Corpse Husband One-shots

Switchblade⨀

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Heartbreak

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

Genre: Angst

Summary: Y/N gets asked about an item she's often seen with during her streams and she shares the sentimental value that item has for her.

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Corpse's POV

Here I am, watching her stream again. She's as upbeat and cheerful as ever. Nothing about her indicates that she's still hung up on what happened a few nights ago. I, on the other hand, am still torn over it. I'm still beating myself up and am still praying for a miracle that could turn back the clock just seventy two hours. Oh, what I would give to go back and act on what my heart was saying instead of letting my brain lead me. That was a foolish move - my brain froze, leaving me hanging when I needed its guidance most. I now realize it's not my brain's guidance I needed.

I can't do shit right.

"Oh, I'm in some deep shit now." I hear her say, her voice anxious.

She's only been streaming for a few months, but she's a natural. She claims she gets anxiety it often causes her to make horrific mistakes in the game she's playing, but it rarely shows. Her nervousness shines through only when she is in an actual pickle, like right now.

She's playing a fan-made FNAF game, one I suggested, and she's actually into it. She's been doing quite well so far. Too well, if I take in account our recent fall-out, if you can even call it that.

It's a cut and dry, spot on example of a phenomenon that gets rarely talked about: Realizing you had feelings for the person only after you messed things up with them. My mess up was pretty bad.

I've silently been struggling with a certain mix of emotions that overwhelms me every time we played a video game together; whenever she commented or complimented something I had done; every time we would break out in a song together; and every time she left my house. I could never place them, never find a proper term to label them with and that scared me more than anything.

"Guys, if I don't die now, I don't know when I will." her laughter reminds me just how much I miss hearing it in response to my jokes. How much I miss hearing her voice talking only to me. How much I miss the feeling of being her one in a million instead of just one of the hundred thousand viewers of her stream.

The jump-scare following her comment scares her to the point of letting out a small scream. Y/N is by far the least jumpy person I know, so even if it might seem unrelated to our situation, I find it odd that an animatronic jumping out at her caused her to low-key scream.

"Ugh, OK, that was too intense. I need a break." She takes a sip of her water, "I'll look through some of your guys' comments."

I once again zone out, focusing on her and her voice more than the actual words she's saying. I find myself reliving that horrible night that will haunt me forever.

Y/N and I are chilling in my living room, watching a randomly picked movie which neither of us is really invested in. It's all happening in front of me again, I can see myself on one end of the couch and Y/N on the other. It's like an out of body experience.

"Hey, I almost forgot." She suddenly sits up, reaching her hand to fish for something in her bag that's on the floor by the couch.

I see her pull out the switchblade I had given her like a month prior. I remember that night almost as vividly as this one: She stayed at my place until around 1AM as per usual. She's always walked to and from my place, never wanting to drive. She claims it's good exercise and that it poses as her 'me' time. I never question her about it. But this time, I was legit worried to let her walk the twenty to thirty minute walk alone. She, on the other hand was prepared to argue with all my solutions, including staying the night or allowing me to walk her home, saying she wasn't a baby and that she could take care of herself. She's always been prideful like that. Finally, after a lot of back and forth, we settled on the middle-ground of her taking my switchblade as a weapon since she doesn't even carry pepper spray with her. That was the last time I saw the switchblade until a few nights ago.