It was a simple enough ask. But one that made Ryland pause and sigh.
"Yeah-" He said solemnly. "I have a mate but we don't- we don't say mate."
"What Grace say, question?" Rocky asked in return.
"Different things for different stages. Girlfriend, fiancé- wife." Ryland looked down, memories flooding his mind.
"Wife is mate, question?" Rocky persisted. Ryland simply nodded a soft mhmm. "Why not say mate, question?"
"Because-" Ryland sighed and leaned back, staring at the hull of the ship, his eyes drifting to blurriness. "Humans don't work like that." He said softly. "Mate would mean something- uh- predestined. Humans like to choose."
"Grace choose?" Rocky asked, leaning towards the glass wall.
"Yeah. Yes. I chose." He smiled a little, thinking back on you.
Your smile, your laugh, the way your face softened when you slept, the way your brows would crease when you concentrated, the way you'd roll your eyes at his dumb jokes. All of it.
But then his ugly mind twisted the happy into the horrid. The sickness, the hospital stays, the funeral and most of all- The empty house.
"Where Grace mate?" Rocky's voice softened.
"She- Uh-" Ryland cleared his throat. "She's back on Earth." He decided to say instead of explaining too much.
Ryland laughed a little. The absurdity of it all. He shook his head. "No- No she didn't stop choosing. She - Uh- She didn't have a choice."
"No understand." Rocky huffed a little.
"She got sick. She died." He said it quickly. Not wanting to linger on the thought of it all again. "She didn't choose to leave. She didn't have a choice."
Silence wrapped around them both as Rocky clicked his tips, trying to figure out what to say next.
"Mate bone broken by not choice?" Rocky asked with slight confusion.
"Yeah- Yeah, pal. Something like that." Ryland closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
"Grace still choose, question?" Rocky's voice gentled.
"Yeah." Ryland smiled a little, "Always. I'd always choose her."
"Then bond not broken." Rocky said firmly, making Ryland roll his eyes and smile.
"That's not how it works, buddy." He said softly. "When people die- You're supposed to move on."
"Replace mate, question?" Rocky sounded almost appalled by the notion.
Ryland chuckled and shook his head. He took a deep breath. "Not replace. Find ... new. Try to keep living."
"No understand." Rocky's voice dimmed a little.
"She would've liked you." Ryland said with a smile, instead of explaining or even trying to explain.
"Grace mate like Rocky?" The voice was almost chipper. Excited at the thought.
"Yeah buddy." Ryland hummed. "Grace mate like Rocky."
.
.
.
i don't even know man- i haven't seen the movie yet but i keep seeing clips and reels and i couldn't help but write this. enjoyyyy <333
Imagine a yandere husband who continues to have crises and denial after your death.
The bed was soaked with sweat when he fell off it, gasping and sobbing after the fourth nightmare of the night. He should already be used to it. The room was completely ruined after countless violent fits of rage—not just the bedroom, but the entire house. It had gotten to the point where he tore his arm open after breaking down a door, and only asked for help after collapsing on the floor from sheer weakness.
Why did he do that? Why did he call the hospital? Did it make any difference? Didn’t he want to see her again? Why doesn’t he just kill himself already and join her?
How many years have passed?… Years? No. It was last year that it happened. His beloved wife, his sweet and gentle wife who changed his miserable life the moment she entered it. He met her in high school—he had always been reserved and closed off since childhood because of his conservative, cold family. Her entering his life with so much affection and warmth in her arms slowly made him “rebel” against his family, distancing himself from them to find his own happiness.
Sighing, he gets up and goes to the bathroom to start yet another day. Looking at himself in the mirror with dark hair stuck to his forehead and deep eye bags had become normal. Just brushing his teeth and taking a shower is enough. During the day, he functions on autopilot. Wrinkled suit, dark circles hidden under the cold office lights, short and irritated responses to anyone who annoyed him too much. He works, signs papers, attends meetings without hearing a single word. Hearing his boss’s voice has stressed him ever since he learned about what happened to his wife.
It’s in the middle of one of those meetings that his mind drifts away.
As two young adults madly in love, it didn’t take long for them to get married after finishing college and saving money for years by doing odd jobs here and there. Everything was going perfectly—it felt like a distant dream to even think about it now. Well, until her symptoms began. Frequent fainting, fatigue, shortness of breath… He believed it was the heat since it was summer. He made her rest all the time, did the housework, cooked so she wouldn’t get tired. And then it got worse. Chest pain, high fevers, and… a frighteningly rapid weight loss.
One night, he came back from work, waiting for his wife in front of her workplace so they could go home together, and noticed how thin she was, with deep dark circles under her eyes… What? How had he never noticed this? When did this happen?
Then his mind snaps back.
The anxiety comes in waves. A noise that’s too loud, a distant siren, someone casually mentioning hospitals—and something inside him cracks. His hands tremble, his feet tap repeatedly against the floor, his vision narrows, the air disappears.
On the day his wife died, he had already spent thousands of dollars, racking up enormous bills and desperately turning to bank loans to get her treated faster, because she only kept getting worse. Those sons of bitches kept repeating the same thing—that nothing could be done and all that was left was patience… That very same night they said that was the night they announced her death.
No—no—n-no… He rushes into the office bathroom to pull himself together, or he’d do something crazy right there. Kneeling in the corner of the bathroom, shaking, he struggles to breathe while unconsciously scratching his arm through the fabric of his suit. Remembering that the love of his life is now buried and not waiting for him at home still doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. She probably just went to visit her family—that’s it. Fuck the company, fuck the debts, he needed to see his beloved NOW.
He grabs his keys and drives straight toward his wife’s parents’ house—for the eighth time, for the very same reason.
Megatron misses his conjunx. He was always serious. Many would say he was born serious, but after meeting you, he became softer.
When he spoke of freedom, the love of his life supported him through and through. You were the kindness and whimsy that was lacking in his spark. He loved you dearly, and wished nothing more than to bond with you forevermore and love you until death.
So when he lost you in a mine collapse, he was devastated. Tears shed for a long time, as anger enveloped him. He wasnt the same mech you knew. Your lover never held that soft look in his optics again.
Not even when he joined the Lost Light to be redeemed.
So when everyone found out, they were shocked.
Rodimus, baffled: You had a conjunx.
Megatron: Yes, I did. They were my everything. Very chaotic, yet utterly sweet. Most likely autistic.
Whirl: Wow, so they’re the one that had all the whimsy. No wonder you’re so serious.
Everyone else, minus Megatron, to Whirl: Dude–
Nautica: Were they cute?
Swerve: GIRL–
Megatron had a feeling that you would’ve loved this gaggle of idiots.
Bruce Wayne x Dead! Reader who is haunting them. [Platonic]
Listen, you ever go onto TikTok and hear that one audio that goes "I know you know who I am" from the song "I Am The One (Reprise)"?? Because it's been all over my fyp and I'm getting those brain worms that are telling me to do something about it. So here it is! A.K.A I give you the Jason Todd special whammy curse, cause we all saw how he haunted the narrative after his death. And I loved it! Also known as the aftermath of Death 4 in the Time Loop where Bruce's guilt eats away at him.
Also can you spot the Demon! Reader ref? I like making little hints to them
Bruce stared into the mirror. His appearance was less like his 'Brucie' persona and far from how he'd look as Batman. It looked more like a man whose been haunted by the past in a way that leaves a person looking half dead and on the brink of insanity. But he wasn't looking at him, no that's the last thing he wanted to do right now. He was looking at them, the thing that stood behind him.
This thing that wouldn't let him go. Wouldn't just let him grieve like normal. No this thing had to cling to him like a parasite, haunting his every waking moment. He couldn't look in the mirror anymore without seeing them behind him, taking on the appearance of his late child. The very same child who he was too late to save.
It was an accident, honest to god it was. It had been raining, raining wasn't anything to write home about considering it's Gotham and Gotham always rains, but tonight it was different. There was a nagging feeling in his gut, something that was forcing him on edge. But he just couldn't understand why.
What was wrong tonight? What was putting him on edge? What had he forgotten? Who had he forgotten? Dick was in Bludhaven, Jason was in some warehouse near crime alley, Tim was at the cave like usual, Barba was in the library, Steph was doing her own thing with Cass, Damian was probably with Jon or with one of the animals, and Duke had taken some time to go hang out with his friends. So who was missing?
Bruce felt his stomach churn, an uncomfortable twist that made him want to heave a little. Fine. He'll go out on patrol, something to put his mind at ease. Perhaps that would help. Right?
It went as well as you'd expect. First thing he did was stop some robbers trying to break into a hospital which saved a single mother who was working over time with her son. Then he went on to stop another mugging that was happening in the middle of an undisclosed location.
It was fine really. It was something putting Batman's, or rather Bruce's, mind at ease. Until Damian called. He voice sounded...quiet, upset, and a little bit angry at something. "Robin, what's wrong?" Batman responded with ease, used to doing things like this. You could even call it a habit at this point.
"It's....it's [Name]....I found them bleeding out in an alleyway. Of course I've fallowed all instructions as needed. First aid, called the authorities....however they had lost too much blood before I arrived."
And in an even smaller voice, one that sounded like it was teetering on the edge of tears or a manic break down, Damian continued. "They're...cold. I don't think they'll make it..."
Oh...so that was what the feeling was about.
"...I'm on my way." And as fast as he could he ran over. But by the time he got there it was too late. There was too much blood. It was like someone dropped a jar of tomato sauce and it exploded all over the kitchen floor. Surely this had to be a joke?
There's no way Reader would have bled out here, the very same Reader who spent all their time inside? He hasn't seen them since they were young considering he just...never had the time. Or that's what he'd like to tell himself considering he hasn't visited them since their mother passed.
Bruce wouldn't say that he hated them...it's just that...how could he ever bare to look them in the eye when all he saw was his late wife? Well guess she wouldn't be the only one haunting his dreams at night.
Knowing that if he had noticed just a bit sooner they could have lived really does take a lot out of someone. Especially for Gotham's greatest detective and long time Hero.
After that night Bruce threw himself into work. From boring projects for Wayne enterprises, much to the dismay of Tim considering he was supposed to be the one managing it at the moment, to the plenty of cases meant for Batman to handle.
And it worked. For a small moment Bruce forgot about Reader's passing, their lifeless eyes, how they looked so gaunt and sickly from how they isolated themselves in the manor. Everything about them he forgot, just for a moment. And then reality came crashing down the moment he had time to think.
His thoughts were like a sickness. It always circled back to how he let his child rot inside these walls. How he never went looking for them, claiming they were fine on their own despite the fact that they never interacted with anyone else and choose to be hauled up in their room.
Readers funeral was small. They didn't have much friends so who would Bruce invite? There was no one outside the family who knew of them, not even the ruthless media who was starved for any type of Wayne drama knew about them. It was just Bruce and the rest of his children.
The funeral was a mess. It started raining, thundering even, and the casket fell. Jason had picked a fight with Bruce for "Letting another child die alone". Damian had remained quite, eyes to the floor in silent mourning, which was to be expected considering he's the one who found them. Everyone else was crying, or watching the fight between Bruce and Jason go down.
Which brings us back to now. The hallucination Bruce had somehow conjured up in the middle of one of his "episodes". They didn't say anything, not yet at least, and all Bruce could do was weep silently as they walked closer in the reflection of the mirror.
"I am the one who waited. And now you act like you don't give a damn?" The ghost was speaking to him now. Wonderful. Can you tell he's being sarcastic as he's trying not to cry? It's not helping though, he's still tearing up at their appearance.
"But I know you know who I am." The voice of Reader's 'ghost' came out warped. Like they were speaking from a distant dream.
"No" His voice wobbled, his hand coming up to muffle a sob. You can't do this to him. You can't. Anyone but you.
"I know you know who I am" Their voice repeated as they stepped closer to him, one step at a time.
"Can't you just leave me alone?" Bruce closed his eyes shut as he sunk to the floor, not bothering to pick up the products he knocked off the vanity.
"I know you know who I am" It was mocking him by now. Repeating that one line like it was the only thing they could say to him.
"Why didn't you go with her?" Bruce sobbed at this point. His hands clamped over his mouth so he wouldn't alert the others of his ongoing break down.
They looked so sickly, their shirt was covered in blood near the stomach from where they were shot. Blood was dripping on the floor from each step they took and Bruce couldn't bare to look at them any longer.
That was his child. His baby. He was there for their birth, they were supposed to outlive him. He was there for their first steps, their first school dance, their birthday parties, their silly emo phase, everything. He was there for everything and now they were six feet under and he was powerless to stop it.
Fate was a cruel thing. If he could turn back time he'd help them, spend however much money it took to save his wife so his child wouldn't feel the need to hide themselves away and wither like a corpse.
He wasn't man enough to take the blame for this. He was only a father. A father who had failed his children.
Sorry this seems so rushed, I've had this sitting in my drafts for a hot while and I just couldn't find the motivation to finish it until today. I, personally, think I do all my best work when I'm tried and manic at 12 am. Do let me know if you enjoyed it!
Au: established relationship, reader is dead, f!reader
Summary:‼️ SM AU ‼️ reader dies from an illness.
Author Notes: CRY CRY CRY YOU FOOLS! (i did too D:) Im not sure i like the way sukunas turned out but these two are hard to write in this situation. Theyre more likely to outwardly greive (sukuna especially, he'd destroy a town) ENJOY
Cw: ANGST!!!!, swearing/ vulgar language, mentions of death
♒︎description: Dean gets hit with hallucinations of some sort and ends up seeing you…the question is will he jump for another chance with you or stay dry? (Dean Winchester x Fem! Reader)
♒︎a/n: I was listening to suffering and was like OMG YES also i’m really into musicals now which is making me crazy NOT EDITED
♒︎warning: curse words, death?
♒︎song inspo: Suffering - Epic Musical
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
“Shit,” Dean grabbed his head like it was splitting open, heat blasting through his skull like someone lit a fuse behind his damn eyes. He staggered back, boots skidding in the mud, nearly dropping to his knees.
Sam lurched toward him. “Dean?! What the hell—”
Dean’s breath came ragged, eyes blown wide. “That fucking siren—she hit me with some goddamn magical seashell or some shit,” he grunted, one hand still clamped over his temple. “Feels like someone shoved a goddamn firework in my brain.”
Sam’s jaw clenched, eyes scanning the dark water, searching for any sign of the siren - and of course to his luck there was none. Quickly he turned his attention back to Dean,“don’t listen to anything you hear, alright? Whatever you do—don’t trust what you see.”
But it was already too late.
The lake shimmered, rippling unnaturally as fog rolled over the surface like fingers. The world tilted. Sound muffled. Dean blinked once and like magic she was there.
You.
Standing in the water like you belonged there, soaked in moonlight, smiling that sweet, impossible smile. You were supposed to be dead. He watched you die. Held your lifeless body, blood cooling on his hands.
But now? You were glowing.
“Dean,” you called, voice soft like a lullaby wrapped in broken glass. “It’s okay, baby. Come here… just jump in.”
Dean’s breath caught. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, no, you’re—”
You laughed, carefree, spinning in the water, arms open wide. “I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Don’t you miss me?”
“More than you know.” He whispered under his breath.
“Dean!” Sam barked behind him, voice distant, like it was echoing down a tunnel. “Don’t move! That’s not her, man! It’s not her!”
But fuck—it felt like you. The way you tilted your head, the way your lips curled just for him. The water looked so warm. So inviting. And his feet—his feet were already stepping closer.
“Then jump in the water and kiss me,” you smiled, and oh how that smile made him urn to dive in.
“Y/n,” he said gently, “you know I can’t do it.” His hands trembled as you moved closer to the dock.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound, come play with me in the water, let’s watch our love leave the ground.” The waves softly clashed against your back moving you closer towards Dean.
“Dean!” Sam yelled, “you need to snap out of it man, that’s not y/n!”
But it was all so quiet around him, Dean never caught a word his brother was saying. Instead he looked down at the woman he loved and said, “oh I would but i’d be suffering the whole time.”
The response was as painful but as healing as ever. “I would take the suffering from you.”
“Y/n, why, you know I’m too shy,” Dean smirked as you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.
“I will take the suffering from you.” You said once more. Your lips soaked in red lipstick. Your skin as smooth as ever with no cuts or bullet wounds taunting you from the previous life. It was so tempting. So fucken tempting. Like a fucken drug - you were is on personal heroin. His high, his climax of emotional turmoil being resurfaced yet dissolved - it was so addicting.
So it came to no surprise to Sam when his brother said “ ah the things I do for you,” before diving into the water.
