#corpse x gender neutral reader

[x-reader-theater]

Secret Messages from a Lover

summary: While you're streaming, your boyfriend sends you a message.

pairing: Corpse Husband x Gender Neutral Reader (no pronouns are used.)

word count: 670

warnings: none.

a/n: i really just needed to write something so self-indulgent because god i want this so bad. i figured others want it too. i've been so depressed lately that I just need a little fantasy, you know? my requests are open, and you can find my request rules here.

“God, that video is so fucking funny,” you say, pulling your blanket around your shoulders tighter with one hand while the other brings your patterned tumbler with the sparkly straw up to your mouth, so you can drink your water. Your knees pull further up to your chest, which is easily done in your very spacious gaming chair. “OTV never fucking misses.”

You press a button on your stream deck, switching from the video you were just watching to your face, with chat scrolling in the top left-hand corner. You take another sip from your tumbler and pick out one of the comments passing by, scrolling to stop it from moving as you read it aloud.

“Were you on the newest Fear& episode? I was. QT, Hasan, Will, and I just kinda chatted for a bit. That was a good fucking episode, though,” you say with a grin. “Love those guys. QT especially, she’s fucking hilarious. She makes me laugh so fucking hard whenever I talk to her, even if we disagree on Taylor Swift.”

You keep scrolling back down, so you can keep seeing the comments when another one jumps out at you. “Are you gonna keep streaming? Yeah, chatter, I actually just started before that OTV video. I think Toast is gonna invite me to some Pico Park today? If not, I’ll just play some Valorant or something to pass the time. I gotta git good if I wanna beat, well, anyone,” you admit with a laugh, hiding your shame by taking another drink of water.

You see your phone light up in front of you. It’s a Discord notification, which you quickly check on your second monitor, assuming it’s Toast inviting you to the Discord call.

It’s not. It’s your boyfriend, Corpse.

“You look so cute today babe. You look so cosy wrapped up in your blanket and your smile is so bright. I'll never get tired of seeing it. I love you and have a good stream 🖤”

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, and you take a sip of your water to try and hide your reaction. You haven’t told anyone you're dating Corpse yet, and you have no plans on it any time soon, but he makes you so happy you find it hard not to blurt it out whenever you can.

You send back a bunch of yellow hearts and an “I love you too!!!!!!! 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛”, biting your lip as you type on your very satisfying, clack-y keyboard.

That’s when you get the notification from Toast to join the shared call.

“Ah! Toast’s calling!” you exclaim for the benefit of your audience.

You quickly join the call, the connection sound filling you comfortable, over the ear headphones.

“Hey! What’s up!” you say into the call, getting a couple of “Hey!”’s and “Hello!”’s back.

Then you hear a familiar voice say, “What’s up.”

“Corpse!” You’re grinning at this point as you continue, “I didn't know you were gonna be playing!”

“Uh, yeah. Toast invited me last minute. Surprise?” he says like it’s a bad thing.

“We haven’t played anything together in a while and I saw him online and thought, ‘Fuck it,’ yaknow?” Toast asks and you chuckle.

“Well, it’s good to talk to you again, Corpse,” you say, setting your tumbler down on your desk. He got you that tumbler for your birthday not long ago, and it’s your favourite thing you own. He also got you the blanket that’s wrapped around your shoulders for your six-month anniversary, and it’s the warmest blanket in your house. You always wear it when you stream because the A/C is always blasting.

“It’s good to talk to you too,” you say, shivering as your heart hammers at his words.

You begin loading up Pico Park, just listening to everyone talk to each other, when you get another notification on Discord.

“I love you 🖤” it says.

“I love you too 💛” you reply, smiling into the camera for just a moment, just for him.

[enderfenderdragon]

what do you think?

i've been thinking and watching corpse husband, sam and colby and just paranormal investigating.

what do you guys think about sam and colby having corpse husband do a video or episode with them?

just a thought

and i am aware that corpse husband has stepped away from content creation.

im not saying that i want this to happen.

im not saying im gonna do anything bad if this doesn't happen.

im just puting out my thoughts for you guys who watch corpse husband and/or sam and colby content.

[yandere-toons]

would you write for the corpse bride? need to kiss emily so bad

“A kiss?” parroted Emily. She raised a hand to her mouth and pressed her bony fingertips to her lips, allowing a chuckle to slip past them.

Her blue hair swung around behind her as she spun in a circle, with her arms rising from her side and twirling through the air. “Why, I haven't been kissed in ages!”

Emily gyrated away from you in a slow manner resembling a graceful dance. The hem of her wedding dress flowed in the breeze, and her veil flew in the wind from its snug spot on the back of her head.

She had closed her eyes and was humming a quiet melody that rose and fell with her nimble steps.

Then, the song came to an abrupt end.

The crunching of grass beneath her shoes went silent, and she stood with her head down and her back facing you. “I wasn't sure if it would ever happen,” mumbled Emily, clasping her hands together and rubbing her fingers across the dead skin.

In her voice was the sorrowful call of a maiden waiting for someone to return. The look in her eyes was heartache, for she grieved the loss of so many dreams that came once her body lay stiff in the dirt.

A glimmer of hope arrived in the form of a smile when Emily turned to you. She crossed the cemetery and rested her arms around your shoulders, pulling you forward until your forehead touched hers.

Her lips were chapped and cracked and smelled faintly of rot, but you reciprocated. Although the moment was brief, it held a bittersweet significance.

Emily leaned back but kept her hands on your shoulders. “Maybe we can have the wedding here.”

[forgetminot]

Hello there! I saw your post for requests and I have one for you. A Leon x Reader fic based on corpse bride where the reader represents Emily and Leon is Victor. You can do whatever I just thought it would be interesting to see Leon in that position. Have a nice day and with kind regards, anon.

Till Death Do Us part.

~ Leon Kennedy x gn reader ~

[ Warnings ; Reader is, well... a corpse. Violence, based after resident evil 2, Leon has seen some shit.]

A/N ; Oooo! This is so creative Anon, I hope you enjoy! This is short, but i can't write the entire movie in one story sadly. This is how I think Leon would react to another dead person. A normal day for Leon.

----

Leon has seen his fair share of dead people, so when you rise from the ground in front of him; he's not as surprised as most people would be. He is however, still reaching for anything nearby he could use as a possible weapon. He watches carefully as you take in the new surroundings, listening to the rustling of the trees above. You place your foot on the dirt underneath you, gleaming with joy as you step towards the man standing in front of you.

"I do." You say, slowly holding out your hand for him to take; the wedding ring fitting perfectly on your ring finger. Leon takes a step back, raising the sharp rock that was tightly in his hand.

"You do?" He questions.

"You said your wedding vows perfectly!" You smile, holding your ring finger up for him to see. He's shocked and confused but he shakes his head, ignoring all the weird thoughts going around his head.

"Listen, I've seen some weird shit." He chuckles. "But i did not just marry a corpse."

"But you did!" You rush towards Leon with glee, a huge grin on your face. He acts fast, stabbing the rock through the gap in your rib cage. You gasp, glancing down to where the rock entered, before looking back up to face Leon. That's a new one, most dead things he stabs, usually bleed and fall to the floor. "Why?" You question.

"I've had my fair share of dead people." He states. You delicately remove the rock from inside your body, placing it softly on the ground. "You, however." He tilts his head to the right slightly, raising his eyebrow in thought. "You are something I've never seen before." He replies.

"I mean no harm." You reply. Without giving Leon a chance to think, you abruptly place your lips against his; dragging you both into complete darkness.

--

Leon wakes, surrounded by the dead. He stands quickly; backing himself away from everyone. "Where am I?" He questions. He scans the room, looking for anything he recognises... But he doesn't.

"Welcome!" You grin taking his hand and pulling him towards you. "To the land of the dead!

[shrieking-aristocrat]

YOOO YOU DO RUFUS?? can I request some general fluff headcannons for him, gender neutral

Rufus "RJ" Firefly FLUFF HEADCANONS

Rufus Firefly x Reader (GN)

You worked as a bartender at Charlie's club and knew of the family's reputation. First one of the siblings you met was Baby. She was working there and you helped her get some creep off her ass and she latched on, you're her new best friend.

Being her best friend means meeting the family, and that's how you met Rufus.

At first, Rufus was quiet and reserved, almost distant. But once it became clear Baby wasn't going to get bored of you any time soon and that you'd be spending a lot of time around, he warmed up to your presence in their home and actually acknowledged your existence.

Baby doesn't shut up about you when you're gone and well, he finds you cute. You're the cleanest person he isn't related to to set foot in their home and so it's not hard for him to begin entertaining thoughts about you. Next time you visit, there's a hand sized sculpture of a bear carved in wood waiting for you.

That's not the last time he leaves a gift for you. It's always animals carved in wood, sometimes in bone, that are slipped into your backpack at some point whenever you visit. You've tried catching him in the act, but Rufus is very stealthy despite being a big guy.

But he needs to succeed each time, and you only need to succeed at catching him in the act once. So eventually, you catch him.

He freezes like a deer on the headlights, one hand inside your backpack, the other instinctively reaching for the hunting knife he's so attached to, at his hip. Rufus visibly relaxes when he realizes it's you and not Baby —who can't keep quiet— or Otis —who is an asshole and wouldn't let him hear the end of it—. But he's still visibly shocked by being caught.

Depending on how you approach the situation, he's either going to slip away to his garage or stick around.

If you get him to stick around, he will show you the sculpture he made you this time around: a wooden deer with carefully carved bone antlers, and actually ask if you like his gifts.

[unhonest-iago]

Mistletoe

Gn reader

Corpse wasn’t used to the bustle that happened around Christmas time, no matter how many times he’d spent it with friends. It always brought out a little anxiety in him, keeping to the side, sipping on a tall glass of eggnog. He’d watch the festivities with what looked to be a brooding glance. Really he admired the effort y/n put into decorating, the effort it took for everyone to bring a dish. Even if a few were bought from the store, it made no difference to him. ‘Thanks.’

‘Tis nothin’. Plus you looked like you needed a pick me up.’ The two sitting in silence as they played many rounds of I spy. ‘I spy with my little eye something silver.’ They’d been eyeing the tinsel, reminiscent of how someone they used to be friends with in high school would get tinsel put in her hair every winter. Continuously around Christmas time, after Halloween, before thanksgiving. Y/n had told Poki about her once & now every year y/n would spot Poki with tinsel in her hair.

‘Like that helps any,’ Corpse glancing over the pile of presents under the tree, all the shining sparkles covering it. He was looking completely in the wrong direction, but y/n didn’t mind. The purpose of it being a distraction as a Brodin placed mistletoe around the joint.

While Corpse attempted to find what the correct answer for y/n’s prompt, y/n was watching for their cue. Grabbing his hand, Corpse looked to where they were pointing, ‘That’s not silver.’

‘No shit Sherlock. It’s mistletoe.’ Looking at his feet awkwardly before asking, ‘So no kiss?’ Leaning down so he could kiss y/n even though y/n was the same height as him.

‘Merry Christmas Corpse.’

[obsessivevoidkitten]

An Interesting Safari

Yandere Male Gnoll Pack x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Violent and painful noncon, gangbang, face fucking, gagging and slight suffocation due to face fucking, dacryphilia, spitroasting, cum swallowing, scent marking, piss marking, reader gets their insides piss marked, musk, spit as lube, kidnapping, non-sexual bondage, gagged and bound reader, escape attempt, chasing, shocked reader, broken reader, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.7k (I hope you enjoy this Halloween meal I have prepared for you all.)

You had wanted to go for years to see all the animals of East Africa and finally you had managed to make it happen.

But then at one of the rest stops you had spent a bit too long in the restroom and the vehicle full of tourists had just up and left without you.

Now you were stranded in the savanna with this little bathroom stop being the only structure for miles. You were about to make a U-turn back into the restroom to just hide in until the next tour arrived, but you heard a cackling laugh.

Thinking that someone was there you turned around and called out.

“Hello, is someone there?”

No response. You turned back towards the door and were pulled back suddenly. You were quickly gagged and bound before a large bag was wrapped around your head.

It felt as if you had been slung over the shoulders of someone very strong as your captor began hauling you back home. Even through the sack on your head you could smell his strong scent.

All you could perceive was a demented cackle but after a while your abductor spoke. Apparently he wasn’t alone. They spoke with frightening alien voices that were high pitched to match the laughing.

“I can’t believe we found a mate so easily!”

“Yeah! Normally when we smell a good one the humans get in that contraption and drive off before we can catch up.”

What were they? They spoke as if they were not human at all.

Then a third voice spoke up.

“I found 'em, I get to mate first!”

Oh god, they were going to rape you. They’d probably rape you then kill you and dump your corpse for some animals to rip apart. You couldn’t stop the hot tears from streaming down your cheeks, running as if trying to escape the fate you were sure you were about to experience.

“Hey, it smells scared.”

“I like it, it’s kinda cute.”

The one that was holding you stroked your back in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture, but its claws lightly grazed you and only brought forth more fear.

“Don’t worry, we will keep you safe and warm and fed, and all nice and full of dick. What more could a little mate want??”

As terrifying as that last part was, at least it didn’t sound as if they were going to kill you.

But that night as they removed the bag around your head and the gag from your mouth you almost wanted to be dead.

You were outside of a cave. Terrifying hyena-like visages stared down at you. Tall and intimidating, muscular bodies completely covered in fur. One was black furred, one red, and one tawny and spotted. They wore only tattered loincloths.

They had rounded ears, hungry eyes, sharp teeth and claws. Clearly apex predators.

Gnolls. You never imagined that monsters such as these prowled the savanna in real life.

You were too shocked to even scream so you just cried silently. One of them leaned down and stroked the tears off of your face.

“No need to be scared, even if it is cute~ We won’t leave you behind like your own kind did.”

They all began removing their loincloths revealing large and strikingly thick cocks on each of them. You screamed as best you could through your still present gag at the sight. You didn’t want that in you.

They surrounded you, undid your binds, and took your clothes off. You didn’t bother with struggling, too scared of what their claws and teeth could do to you if you rebelled.

Then they did something you did not expect. They each grabbed their cock, aimed at you, and began pissing. Your entire body was drenched in the foul liquid.

One of them chuckled at your obvious disgust.

“Sorry, gotta mark our territory.”

They took you into the cave, drenched and naked, and finally removed the gag from your mouth. You knew screaming would do nothing to help you since there was surely no help nearby, so you resorted to the only option you had left available to you. Begging.

They ignored you and only laughed.

“Do you think we are stupid? When else are we gonna find a nice mate all ready to be taken?”

“Yeah, you’re ours and you can’t do anything about it.”

The spotted one, the one that seemed to love your dismay and tears, licked your cheek and placed you on what passed as bedding for these beasts. You were on your back with your legs on his shoulders, pleading and crying the entire time.

He didn’t go in dry, thankfully. He opted instead to sniff at your enticing entrance, giving it a few tentative licks, before going feral and lapping at it like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Thick gobs of drool drenching your hole, his tongue twirling circles in you and stretching you out a bit.

When he couldn’t hold himself back anymore he jammed his dick right into you, hilting himself to his large testicles in one hard plunge.

You screamed as loudly as you were able as despite the stretching and slippery drool his thick member still opened you up painfully. You were sure you’d rip something.

With your mouth open from yelling, the black furred one took the opportunity to ram his sweaty dick right down your throat. You were dizzy not just from lack of oxygen but from the scent of his cock.

You gagged helplessly as your throat bulged out with each thrust, and you were sure your abused hole was bleeding by now with how hard the spotted gnoll was pounding into you.

They began using you like a two way fleshlight, establishing a rhythm. The spotted gnoll would pull you towards him by your hips and slam you down on his prick before the black furred gnoll would pull you the other way and impale your face and throat on his.

All the while the red one jerked himself off while watching.

You could barely cling to consciousness as you were so thoroughly abused on both ends but finally they both pumped into you. You were forced to swallow mouthful after mouthful of musky gnoll seed at the same time that a massive load was being dumped into you from the other end.

They both finally pulled out and you thought that your ordeal was finally over. You gasped for breath, shaking as you sobbed.

But you were not allowed much time to recover, you had forgotten about the red gnoll. His cock was slightly smaller, and he was less brutal in wielding it, going slow enough for you to manage to feel some pleasure in this whole horrible ordeal.

Though that was almost worse. At least when you felt pain you didn’t feel the guilt that came with your body betraying you.

You felt immensely dirty and ashamed as you came.

They all cuddled you and cleaned up the cum as it leaked down your soft human thighs. Running their hands over you and licking you affectionately as you cried yourself to sleep.

For over a week after that, you were on autopilot. Broken and in despair. The gnolls didn’t care, they were sure you’d come around eventually. As long as they had you there they were happy. They cooked for you, cleaned you, reapplied their “scent mark”, and cuddled you and told you how happy you made them.

And every few days they’d breed you again. Though they were a bit gentler given your weak human constitution. Bakari, the spotted one, was always the most eager to stuff you full of his seed. Kito, the gentlest one forced himself into you less often but cuddled you and babied you constantly. And the black-furred Akida behaved in a way that fell in between the other two.

But no matter who did what to you, you barely reacted.

But one day, you were no longer catatonic. But you didn’t let them know that.

Instead you waited until they were all asleep together one night. You carefully extracted yourself from their grasp. And you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you.

You had no idea what direction you were heading or where anything was, probably why they had put the bag over you when bringing you here, but that did not slow you down in the least. You didn’t care where you ended up or what happened to you as long as you were far away from your abusers.

But even that was too much to hope for. You were sure you had managed to escape but then you heard the cackling. You knew right away that there was no escaping them now. It was close and from all directions.

Suddenly you were on all fours, pushed into the dirt from behind before being forced into a face down ass up position.

“I thought you had learned to be good!” That was the unmistakable voice of Bakari, the most violent of the three, “I guess we have to REALLY show you your place.”

“You were being such a good mate for us, so well behaved.” That was Kito. He almost sounded hurt. Like you had betrayed him.

Bakari ripped your clothes off, shredding them into confetti, before lining up his dick with your hole and driving it right into you with no prep or lubrication. This was far more painful than the first time he had taken you.

He fucked you right into the dirt, thrust after thrust, taking a sadistic pleasure from your tears and pained wailing.

It was by far the worst thing you had ever felt.

He finally emptied his nuts into you and bit your neck hard as he did so. Blood welling up where he had bitten you. It would certainly scar so you would never forget who owned you.

But even then his cruelty wasn’t at an end. He kept his cock in you as he began draining his bladder into your pained hole.

“Gotta mark your insides as property too since what we were doing before clearly wasn’t enough for you.”

It burned all the sores and tears he had created from railing you so hard.

And he was just the first… you would have to endure the other two doing the exact same things to you before finally being given a break and taken home where they would nurse your bites and clean you up and treat you like their sweet little mate.

[reine-uls]

I just read an interesting isekai, harem uppermoons x reader (gender neutral) fanfic on ao3 called the awakening of the demon king by wholesome_sliced_bread and plot so far is amazing!

In a nutshell, reader found a dead Muzan and ate him and they became the Demon King. (I find this terribly disturbing and funny at the same time).

You were just a student but then you stumbled across Muzan’s corpse and nom nom nom. ✨ expensive mukbang ✨ You got isekaied to the Demon Slayer world. (I drew another version of reader for another fanfic— I’m not running out of ideas at this point. But I drew them female huhu I should’ve drawn them ambiguous.)

Since you became the Demon King, all of the demons under Muzan’s creation, especially the Twelve Kizuki are under your control.

The original story of Demon Slayer might change depending on Reader, who is a fan of Demon Slayer in the real world, meaning they know everything what will happen to the story, who dies and survives, and how the original story will end. The fate lies upon their hands.

I enjoyed the story so far. I recommend everyone to read it~

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[x-reader-theater]

Unexpected Meetings

summary: You meet someone in a boba shop and hit it off.

pairing: Corpse Husband x Gender Neutral Reader

category: Gen

word count: 939

warnings: none

a/n: people still like Corpse, right?

"God I love Boba," you say quietly to yourself as you deftly and expertly push the straw from its sheath and professionally stab it into the cup. You take a long sip and sigh in contentment, eyes closing as you enjoy the taste. "Yup. Just as good as the reviews said."

You sit in the little boba shop, sipping your drink and enjoying the warm spring air in San Diego. It wasn't too hot, and while you've never been to San Diego before, you're so glad that it hasn't been as hot as people said it could get. 

While this particular shop had good reviews, it's very very quiet today, barely anyone having come in during your rest in the shop. 

The small bell above the door rings and one of the employees comes out from the back of the shop. You're sipping your boba as you notice a very, very pretty guy wearing a black face mask, an eye patch, and more alternative and, you might even say, emo, clothing walks in. His very curly hair is hanging over the top of his face and even though most of his face is obscured, you know he's insanely attractive already. Just your type. The music is playing a little too loud to hear him order but you keep your eyes on him as you do, admiring all the little details of hus outfit. When he turns back around, and chuckles as you see the hoodie he's wearing. 

"I like your hoodie!" You shout over the slightly too loud music, leaning towards the guy so he can hopefully hear you. Evidently he does because turns and gives you a nod. You think he may have even thanked you but you didn't hear anything. "It's Corpse Husband, right?" 

The man freezes in place and you frown slightly but try not to show any concern or anything. Maybe he's just not used to people talking to him. You get it. 

"Uh, what?" the guy asks, louder this time so you can hear him. His voice is incredibly low, bass-y, so you now understand why you couldn't hear him over the music before. Longer waves means more time to travel means harder to hear. 

You point to his hoodie. "It's a Corpse Husband hoodie, right?"

He looks down and grabs one of the ties that's dangling from the bottom of the hood. "Uh, yeah, yeah it is," he says. You grin at him before taking another sip of your drink. "You uh, you know him?" 

The man steps closer to you to talk, presumably so you can hear him better over the music. You shrug. "I watched him during the pandemic, yaknow when there was nothing to watch but content creators, but I haven't in a while. I have a friend who's kinda… obsessed with him? But honestly, whatever works for her," you say with a slight laugh. "You kinda sound like him, yaknow? You probably do, you have the hoodie. Unless it's a partner's that you took it from?" You pause before realizing you just couldn't keep your mouth shut and you quickly backtrack, saying, "Sorry, sorry I keep talking, you don't have to answer any of my questions." 

You chuckle nervously and scratch the back of your head, looking away as you sip your drink. You're so nervous because of how attractive he is you can hardly think. 

You look back at him, seeing that he's still just staring at you, but before he can say anything, you see the employee holding the man's drink and you point behind him. "Uh, I think your drink's ready," you say, awkwardly. 

He turns around and graciously accepts the drink. You smile at him when he turns around and raise your hand to give him a wave, expecting him to leave the shop, but instead he sits back down as the employee goes into the back once more. 

"This is my hoodie," he answers, and you stare at him wide eyed, before grinning. 

The two of you chat for a few minutes, finding an easy rhythm even with your anxiety at talking to such an attractive guy. Eventually though, he says he has to go. 

"I was actually supposed to be home like, 15 minutes ago…" he trails off. 

Your eyes go wide and you smile brightly. "Oh! Well I don't want to keep you any longer then!" 

You see his one uncovered eye crinkle and you assume he's smiling underneath his mask as he says, "I-I enjoyed… talking to you, today." 

Your smile turns warm. "I enjoyed it too. Maybe…" 

You trail off and the man leans in a little and asks, "Yes?" 

"Maybe-maybe we could, do it again? Sometime?" you ask, nervousness making your voice stutter. 

The man nods. "Yeah-yeah I'd-I'd like that," he replies, seemingly just as nervous. 

The two of you stare at one another for a time, before you exclaim, "Oh!" and pull out your phone which you finally remember owning, and open it up to the contacts, handing it over for him to input his name and number. "Uh, for next time," you say, feeling your cheeks heat in anxiety and self consciousness. 

He quickly puts his number in and sets your phone on the table in front of you before giving a quick, "Text me, okay?" and he scurries out of the boba shop. 

You nod at his retreating form and grab your phone, and when you look down at the contact, you almost choke on your own saliva. 

"Corpse Husband 🖤"

"Holy shit," you mutter to yourself as you take a disbelieving sip of your boba. 

[enderfenderdragon]

which one do you prefer?

corpse husband

or

colby brock

which one do you prefer?

or someone else?

[get-shiggy-with-it]

*bg3 spoilers ahead*

word count: 1.5k

content: canon typical violence, Astarion x gender neutral!reader

What if you could hug Astarion after he finally kills his master? (set after the option where he does not ascend)

“Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.”

—

“But I'm not above enjoying this.”

—

The body fell to the ground with a rather disappointing thud—muted and squelching into a heap at his feet. It was, of course, a glorious moment still; Cazador dead by his hand, the light fading from his monstrous eyes. It was just that, well, Astarion had envisioned it would all play out with much more spectacle than the altogether clumsy manner his centuries-long tormentor crumpled lifelessly to the bloodied stone.

There ought to have been more of a flourish, he thought maybe foolishly. Something befitting of the dramatic climax when his freedom was finally secured for good. 

Cazador had loomed so large, seemed so above, reigning over him for centuries—controlling every aspect of his being that he might as well have been a god for all Astarion could refuse him. Ultimately, he had expected him to die like a god as well. Not like a man. 

Astarion had envisioned the hall echoing with the finality of his hollow corpse hitting the floor. Like the satisfying boom of great castle gates slamming shut on that portion of his life forever. This creature who ruled him, boot on his neck for hundreds of years, vanquished at last.

Above all, he expected satisfaction. A flood of it flowing through his cold veins and bringing warmth to his long dead skin. That the elation of it might bring him back from the brink of his undeath, however impossible that may be. 

And he did not get that.

Shocking. 

Instead, Astarion’s knees banged painfully to rest on the ground amidst his bloody handiwork rang out in the chamber. The sound of his bones jarring in his ears. 

The air felt thick and cloying, a dank weight in his lungs that constricted like a snake, leaving a growing tightness in his chest. Astarion sat for a moment—still waiting for the rush of fierce joy that never came. 

Which was strange, he thought distantly. He felt very distant now, somewhere between floating and tethered horribly to the ground, the magnitude of it all crashing down was suffocating. 

It would stand to reason, he had assumed, that at the end of it all—when his freedom had been secured for good—there would be a sort of immediate relief, like cool water to a burn, like the blissful ebbing of pain after a healing spell. Though apparently that did not stand to reason at all as now it seemed more as if he’d thrust the raw wound of himself straight back into the flames. There was no wave of elation as he stared from far away at his hands that still clutched the blade, as tightly as when he dealt the killing blow. 

So Astarion sat — feeling something slip away from him, leech out and stain the floor like the blood of his former master. And in all the empty space left behind, something else began to grow in him. Something which he knew must have always been there lurking under the weight of his rage and waiting to be released.

The tightness in his lungs culminated in the familiar sensation of a stone stock behind his tongue. His mouth filled with coppery spit as he fought through the pain to swallow it back. His throat felt as though it had been torn to shreds, burning as his eyes began to sting and something roared in his ears.

Astarion wondered from a place outside of his body if someone was weeping—the sound of it barely audible over the pounding in his head.

It wasn’t until the strangled reverberation of a sob, wrenched from his gut and leaving him flayed open as Cazador, tore through the chamber walls again that he realized it was he who wept, who wailed shamelessly in anguish. His head fell back — fanged teeth bared in a snarl, face contorted with the ugliness of a grief long since buried in the coffin he’d broken out of years ago. 

The dull constant pulse of vengeance pushing him ever onward after his escape had gone. In its place an awful throbbing ache that bloomed, growing in intensity like a knife to the skin of his back, a twist of the blade for every year he spent in Cazador’s possession. 

He’d done it. 

He’d slayed the beast. 

He’d won his freedom. 

And now he was left with all this pain that had driven him. That he’d clung to desperately so he would not give up. With no place left to put it all down. 

Nothing more to do with it but feel.

Though he took some small pleasure that the creature who had planted this seed laid before him now, just as small and broken as Astarion had been. 

Good, he thought — spat in his head. Another shout bubbled up in his chest, clawed its way past his fangs that scratched the plump flesh of his lower lip, scarred over years of self-inflicted bites. 

His knees ached where the harsh stone bit into them, his head spun as everything blurred around him with the moisture beaded in his eyes. 

Slowly, as if moving through honey, the world began to shift. The cavernous ceiling tilted down, down, down until his eyes were locked on the stone steps that led in from the hall. There was something warm and blessedly solid at his back - covering him where he was bare, enveloping him slowly into its sturdy, gentle embrace. Bringing him back to his body.

For a brief moment he thought maybe it was him that died. Maybe this was Death come to ferry him away. Wherever it was things like him went. 

But he didn’t think death smelled so sweet or so familiar. The rich smoke of campfires permanently woven into soft linen and leather, the light notes of lye soap underneath the metal tang of well-worn armor.  

Nor would Death have held him so kindly, cradled in a circle of strong arms. 

You were knelt behind him in the bloody mess, pulling him to rest against your chest with a light hand guiding his head to your shoulder. It was a balm - your touch -  a soft heat to the aching muscle of him.  Behind you, Astarion could just make out the blurry outline of his companions and the soft shapes of the other spawn, drifting back down to the stone dias. 

He couldn’t muster the energy to feel even a bit embarrassed by the way he turned in your grasp, the blade clattering forgotten to the floor as his nails scratched at your back, pulling you in closer, trying to crawl under your skin. 

“I’ve got you,” your voice came out in a hush. It seemed to him you were saying it more to yourself, an assurance of sorts. But he took solace in the words regardless.

How long had it been since he’d craved this—the touch of another? Since that time he could no longer recall, since touch had been a comfort, since his body had been his own. 

And now he longed to be fully engulfed, hidden away from the sting of the world, nestled safely between your ribs. As you muttered to him, he pressed his face to your neck which became increasingly wet with something that ran thinner and saltier than the sweet rushing of blood in your veins. 

Astarion thought he might have said your name — a whisper as the flood inside him began to ebb to nothing more than a trickle.  That you might have shushed him, petted his head like a dear thing. Brushed the tangled, silvery curls from his eyes and held him closer still. 

“You’re safe now,” he heard through the ringing in his ears. 

And Astarion—creature of the night, hungry beast, quick to bite and slow to trust—had never believed anything more in his life. 

“It’s over,” he said. 

And it was only partly true, but there was triumph in that still. 

This, at least, was over and you were still there at the end of it all. He found the relief of that simple fact so staggering that he could do nothing to resist your gravity pulling him in.

A drifting, icy comet caught in the orbit of your celestially warm chest.

“Well done, I think you got him.”

And despite himself, Astarion laughed. More of a hoarse coughing, really, than anything else. You were chuckleing too, your shoulder bouncing under his cheek and there was the miraculous feeling of lips pressed briefly to the crown of his head. 

“I should hope so,” he replied after a moment, reluctantly—though he would never admit it—allowing himself to be detangled from you and pulled to his feet. 

He tried to think of some sharp-tongued quip to diffuse the tension in the air but nothing came. Your eyes were red rimmed when he met them, looking up at him with something that might have been pride. 

And then the words came easily.  

“Always so full of surprises, aren’t you?”

[ctheathy]

Yandere Changelings w/ human!Darling

The Changelings x Reader

Yandere Headcanons

Author's note: Gotta love these big buggo babies

reformed Changelings < unreformed Changelings

The Changelings/Reader [Platonic+Romantic-ish?]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

The Reader is quite humble • Abduction • Jealousy between changelings • Stalking • Invasion of privacy • Co-dependency • Aggression • Use of adhesive/the green goo • Violence • Possessiveness • Overprotective behaviour • Predatory behaviour • Love feeding • Overfeeding/“Overdosing” on love • Heart failure • Corpses of changelings mentioned

Changelings have certainly never had a very positive reputation around Equestria. The species of bug-like creatures mainly known to have ruthless mannerisms that only acts on instinct. Especially when considering the changelings eat love and love alone to keep them from starving. As you can see... These creatures, too, need to feed. And so steal the love hidden within ponies and other living entities for themselves with brute force. And this tiny human here... has love, and a lot of it.

But despite being an aggressive species, they are also known to be rather curious towards creatures they've never seen or heard of before. Which is why being a human is really just a saving grace for you in this scenario. Cause instead of pouncing immediately purely from starving impulse, they know they'd need information to report back to the Queen first. And since this is the first human the changelings have ever met, their natural reaction to encountering a new species is to learn more about it instead of feeding off of it, atleast not before they got all the answers they'd be satisfied with. Considering you are the only source of love and affection around.

The first changelings that have noticed your presence may start seeing you as a tasty morsel. if love is like meat for them, then they're being deprived of it, and then the one creature comes along that's a walking talking buffet of love. They'd observe your actions and behaviours from a safe distance for a little while, taking note of aggression signs or being a potential threat to the hive. But in truth... you weren't. You were more of a lover than a fighter, which gave the changelings the signal to not waste any other opportunity to abduct you into the hive for some answers.

And that's... when something sparked.

Being calm and sedate in your position would usually cease a changelings’ natural instinct to hunt and would often cause in less aggression and forceful measurements. But even if they did try feeding from your love, that would be similar to essentially trying to suck from a dry well, because the transporting process from the human realm to Equestria drained you of many strong emotions to begin with, and it takes a lot more time for your entire alternation from universe to universe to take full effect. And the changelings wouldn't budge from their stubbornness until you reached out to one of them... Brushing a gentle hand over its malnourished frame.

The love that you'd contain would be a tad bit ‘different’ from normal love they'd consume, mainly due to the fact that they never had to actually take it with force. You gave it to them willingly, making the love inserted into them a lot stronger and effective than if they were to steal it. Which results in giving their bodies an intense emotional ‘shock’ as you basically feed them little by little... The shock would still feel good to them, like it would make them feel warm and light headed, but their heart would begin beating rapidly by the shot of immense adrenaline they just got.

The reason why changelings need love and affection in the first place was because they need it for their survival. The value feeds them. As they learn you're capable of feeling and giving love, they would want to keep you around permanently to feed. However, in extreme cases it might lead to a changeling becoming dependent upon one person's love. And their survival might be based on that person's love and affection. and what happens when that person's love and affection starts to falter? There is such a darker side to something so innocent as eating some consensual love.

Which could go either two ways...

Plan A being a bit more complicated. Since they ended up taking a ‘sample’ of you to basically extract the hormones and emotions of love, you had proven yourself to be more productive than all of the ponies they've held captive combined. Feeling more satisfied with the mere sip of love you've happily handed out to them than with any usual prey they had ripped the love from. But the Queen desires love too, because it is essential for their race. And because the hive is almost completely devoid of any love in the first place. You could become a sample for the Queen... Just keeping you there and farm you for love.

But there's also a considerable chance the changelings who captured you would scrap plan A and would instead focus on a plan B... Keep you a secret from Queen Chrysalis and prevent you from being cocooned at all costs, but only under the condition if you keep blindly feeding them with your lovey-dovey personality. Changelings tend to function with a very strict hive mentality... conclusions are set by the swarm's majority of drones’ standpoint. They all have a strong tendency to fall for group decision-making, but they're also quick to swap their beliefs if it seems like the right choice for the best of the colony. So it likely wouldn't even take long for the entire swarm to come to an agreement to keep you secured under high protection and warding.

Due to being a good source, you would give them more positive energy than any other creature who would falter in their fright after being captured... which would make you a rather popular target for the swarm of drones. To a point where the entire hive would start to view you as the "heart of the colony" of sorts. Because a changelings emotions are based on their diet. And the more love they receive, the more addicted and obsessed they'll become with it. So they would all be head over heels at some point, bordering on complete worship ...viewing you as an object of their affection and admiration. And getting even more physically violent to defend and protect you from what they consider a threat to their food source.

They might be feeding off of the love you give them and emotional positivity for now. But if they keep feeding and feeding, eventually they are probably going to want something else than just your emotions, which isn't good... But at the end of it all, they will want to protect you. But their methods might be a bit morally questionable. They have been looking for a more ‘sustaining’ source of love their entire lives. And from what we know... love only grows stronger.

So what happens when a creature becomes utterly emotionally dependant on someone?

What if... they begin to get obsessive?

Instead deciding to ensure no one else gets to have you?

Signs of attacks outside of the hive would become more apparent as time went on, a variety of breeds beginning to disappear aside with half dead creatures covered in adhesive emerging from their hideout as no entity even dares to get close to the shapeshifters. Some changelings would begin arguing with eachother over the delightful taste of your love. But knowing how naturally greedy and hostile they can get, these would convert to physical violence sooner or later, causing a bunch of internal conflict in the colony. A bunch of love starved changelings just riskily fighting over a single human.

It would get so bad, in fact, that there's possibly not even second you'll spend in the hive without a changeling being nearby, just ... watching you. With or without you knowing, there to strike and pull you back in at a moments notice if your demeanor gets too close to flight response. The changeling that you first bonded with would feel remorse about doing it, but the rest of them won't really care much as long as they can keep you in their grasp. Though you would still be allowed to travel closely outside of the hive, they'll keep their little eyes on you anyway...

You'd have this love that's a bit diluted, but even with just having a weaker type of love to feed off of, they'd have to feed for a longer time and drain their energy in order to get it. Which in terms causes in them taking more than they can physically handle. You aren't necessarily a dry well, but rather more of a dripping faucet while they are all dying of thirst. So they could still eat from your given love for a while, but if they try to go all out, there could be horrific consequences...

Because each of them are essentially trying to take enough to survive, their individual feeding sessions can become more aggressive. They don't want to kill you, nor do they understand how strong of a heart you have. So they don't see that they need to be gentle. Because in their eyes, you're considered weaker as a mortal. And your emotions, not being very strong, make their hearts race and they aren't feeding slowly and cautiously enough to keep the heart beating at its normal pace. You're basically a complete reverse card on them. To the point of them becoming so infatuated with you, that they literally forget what they are doing, and basically, accidentally kill themselves with a massive case of overdosing love.

The more of your love they take, the more they will like you. And the more they like you, the more they would try to suck it out. And the more they try to suck it out, the more it would turn into a "want" instead of something more natural. And then, that's when some would begin to die from overfeeding. The emotional shock and overdosing on love being much more overwhelming than the changeling's bodies are capable of handling. And of course, you wouldn't really understand why they were all suddenly lifelessly scattered around you...

It would be quite a challenge for many changelings to have the self control to prevent that fate. I doubt the majority of them would even understand the concept of death enough to avoid it even when their heart rate was going at unsafe speeds. The situation would honestly be safe for the changelings that have enough self-control to hold themselves back, but those who don't would become history real quick... Especially as changelings mainly seem to cocoon their prey. You may have more love to give when you're out in the open, but perhaps you even walking freely might just be enough to push many changelings over the edge.

Though this would also highly depend on the distinct personality of each changeling. Those who were more reasonable would try to just suckle in love. Then we have those who would become a bit feral and aggressive trying to tear the love out of you. Making it like a really twisted irony that they want love, but by trying to obtain love, in this way, they could essentially doom themselves. The ones who are more in control and more disciplined may survive. But either the greedier or younger, more immature changelings might get too excited and just want more and more. Which leads into them destroying their bodies via the very thing they wanted. The ones that do manage to control themselves will remain very interested in you however. But even if their fair sense of attachment and perhaps even bond towards you won't fade...

This is nothing more and nothing less than a parasitic relationship

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere! Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 0: The Body I Stole

(CW: death, femme bodied gender neutral reader, child abuse) very short prologue for a story idea I had

There was a muffled sound of a woman struggling quietly as she chased the terrified gasps of a child running for his life. A small boy, maybe five years old, covered in scrapes and bruises new and old, was fleeing his mother as she limped after him.

Avery had caused the accident.

Her eyes were cold and sharp, glaring at the road ahead of her as they drove down the curvey mountain. It wasn't his fault, the scene at the birthday party, but his mother didn't believe it. She never did. The fear of being "disciplined" was something Avery never really shook, in fact, it was something he learned to expect..

He didn't know why he did it. But a surge of adrenaline electrocuted his fingertips, and launched his little arms towards her and the steering wheel. The family car swerved towards the trees, rolling twice before smashing into a tree.

The mother was practically dragging her shattered ankle through the weeds as she tried to catch her kid.

"AVERY! COME BACK HERE RIGHT! NOW!" Her voice tore through the woods. The venomous words that promised pain was heard by more than just Avery, however.

They didn't know what the situation was, nor did they care.. All (Reader) could think about was their hunger.

A twig snapping made the woman stop, believing she had found her child. The scowl on her beautiful features deepened, making the woman look more like a monster than the creature who had just woken up.

"Avery. If you come out right now I won't be mad. I promise."

Even to a monster that had been sleeping for the past hundred or so years, her lies were obvious. (Reader) listened to the little one covering his mouth a few feet away, and guessed that he was the Avery this woman was speaking to. But unfortunately for her, Avery was hiding in the opposite direction.

She couldn't even fake a smile as she hobbled over towards where the monster hid, stretching out their creaky joints.

As she passed the thick trees to where she heard the snapping branches, a small look of hateful triumph was shattered as she found something else standing where she assumed her son would be. The eight foot tall creature with grey skin smiled down at the human. Their body smelled of dirt and moss, but looked like a mummified corpse stretched out. Black hair fell around their shoulders, almost covering their six, blood red eyes, focusing on the trembling prey before them.

Her beautifully painted lips weren't given a chance to scream before the creature opened it's jagged toothed maw, and bit her pretty little head in half.

(Reader's) strong jaw crushed the woman's skull easily, splashing her soft innards down their throat and across their naked chest. It had been so long since they ate that they forgot to take the basic feeding steps.

What was her height? Her hair color? Her chest size? They forgot to care. It wasn't until the only thing left of her body was her left leg.

"Ah.. I made a mistake." (Reader) mumbled to themselves as they tried to recall what their meal's appearance was. If they hadn't been starving, they would have morphed into their new persona before eating them.

They did their best in replicating the woman.

Their spine snapped loudly as they shrunk, hair and skin rapidly changing in color and texture, until they were the woman as they somewhat recalled her to be. 'I'll just find a better suit later..'

Not even the woman's clothes remained in the bloody aftermath. (Reader) sighed as they shook her leg. 'My starvation made me sloppy.' They finished off the last leg of their meal, before turning and surprising themselves with the appearance of a small boy with black hair watching them. (Reader's) new eyes widened, having been so focused on their food that they hadn't noticed him sneaking up on them.

As they contemplated killing and taking the young boy's form, he surprised them again, rushing forward suddenly and wrapping his thin arms around (Reader's) naked flesh.

A/N: I know it's short, but I had an idea for a multiple chapter story, with a clingy adoptive son ❤️ needed to get the OG mother out of the way before the story, because even though this is what I want to happen in the story, it doesn't fit the way I want the first chapter to start haha

[fungisthings]

Astarion x Eldarin!Reader HC

Gender-neutral reader, no pronouns mentioned | Author's note: I'm back and obsessed with Astarion... No surprises here! The Eladrin (or Eldarin as I spell it) are my favourite race in D&D so I must write for it <3 | Not proof read | 536 words

When you admitted to being an Eldarin — a race of Fey, the ancestors of elves and drow — Astarion was surprised for certain!

I mean, the Eldarin are not a common race in Faerûn, nor in the rest of Toril, but it's not to say he's displeased, not at all!

After all, he's finally got a reason as to why your blood tastes so... Distinctive. Almost as if the weave itself was infused within you.

The Eldarin weren't so different from the elves, so there wasn't much change in the first place, and the reason why you hid so well in the first place.

Astarion doesn't mean to cause harm, but he certainly loves to ask questions about your history and home. Since you're most likely from the feywild, not Faerûn.

He loves to ask questions about your native language — Sylvan, asking how you would address him and how to flirt. He wants to call you all sorts of beautiful things in your language.

Though, he has to start getting used to the fact that your emotions determine how you look.

It's probably why you told him in the first place — your emotions will inevitably change and so will your look. And you don't want to scare him when you change from your autumnal colours to your winter as you think to the future in sorrow; or rather his or your own past, depending which crosses your mind.

He's very intent on listening to you explain it all. Wanting to understand this new part of you fully.

When he notices you've changed to your winter season, he does everything in his power to see that is no longer so. Even potentially seeing your spring glory.

Astarion is always so careful when noticing your changes. Not because he doesn't want to lose what he is familiar with, no, he simply wants a better grasp of you.

The first time you openly use feystep it scared the crap out of him. Gods, you've just told him about how you change according to how you feel, now you teleport around with no warning! It's like you're trying to give him a heart attack. (As much as he can for an unliving vampire.)

He eventually gets used to it, stops jumping whenever you're suddenly by his side, or wrapping your arms around him in the blink of an eye.

For your other changes, he swears you're colder than a corpse in your winter season and hogs the blankets (out of love). And in your summer season, he's so careful... He thought you were sick at first, with how hot your skin burned, but eventually got used to it. It just feels so odd against his frigid skin.

When he sees you bloom in spring for the first time, he swears you are the most adorable thing in the world. Look at you! Blooming a flower atop your head just because he made you laugh! Gods, he loves you so much.

At the end of the day, he finds all these unusual features of yours all the more endearing than ever before, not quite caring you've kept this secret for so long.

But please, don't keep anymore, okay?

Characters I write for | Masterlist

[johnkahner]

Omg i have so much to request-

But i shall be kind. Can you write bi-han x (femal or gn) reader where bi-han is protecting the reader from something??

Plz >_<

AN: Thank you for being kind lol. I finished writing this a little past midnight where I live. I wrote it pretty quickly compared to the other things I wrote previously. I hope that you enjoy this. Not proof read.

Notes: Gender-Neutral Reader

You were getting ready to head to rest for the night. The training you endured today felt like hell. Your body was sore. Being changed into your pajamas, you lay down on your bed. Almost as soon as your head hits your pillow you are out like a light. 

In your slumber you don’t notice what is happening outside your home. The sounds of clanking weapons, grunts and screams, do not exist in your dreams. You nuzzle in closer to your pillow. Hopefully the intruders won’t attack you during your slumber. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Bi-Han notices that you are nowhere to be seen. Are you off somewhere else in the compound fighting? Or perhaps you went somewhere for safety in case you didn’t have the energy to spare for this battle? 

He spots someone going to your quarters. The lights are not on, but Bi-Han decides to follow the intruder from behind. The assailant pulls out his weapon to stab you, but Bi-Han uses his cryomancy to save you. 

 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Feeling the temperature drop you slowly open your eyes to see your Grandmaster picking up the intruder. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “Huh?” Looking at the corpse and back at him.

“He was trying to kill you. I thought you would be more observant, but it seems I was mistaken about that.”

“O-oh. U-um, sorry about that Bi-Han…” Not really sure how to respond. “Thank you nonetheless for saving me.”

For a brief moment he didn’t seem so cold, but again just for a moment. “No problem. Just try to be more conscious in the future.” For some reason he randomly patted you on the head, and with that he turned to leave the corpse in hand. 

“Night Bi-Han.”

“Night.”