#reanimated heart x male reader

[foxholewriting]

Orphan Heart

Crux/Male Reader - Mystery/UA sorta - Words/ 1,042

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - Talk of dead parents (Or parents that never existed)

This isn't fully canon accurate, that is okay! Unless the creator asks me to change or delete this I won't change a thing, this is sorta an AU/theory series

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Half past 2am, it’s been three weeks since Y/N had ended up in a messed up version of home and he had barely settled down. Determined to find a way home or even find a way to make this place less deadly, both with souring results. Black and Crux were to be avoided or for now kept at a distance, was it hard for Y/N to do that? Maybe. But he knew the only reason he was even here was because of them or at least Crux, it was hard to get any sort of information from anyone it was as if he suddenly appeared in the universe and there was never a trace of him before. 

If what Crux said was right and every universe or timeline or dimension had one of Y/N that means there either should be someone already here that's some form of him or at least an idea of what the hell was happening. The libraries weren’t very helpful, either books were in languages Y/N had never seen or the information was too complex. Talking to anyone about leaving this place got him weird stares or more questions that he didn’t want to answer, why did they want to stay? 

“Should be around here.” Y/N mumbled as he held a crumpled piece of paper, the writing was like chicken scratch and words overlapped but it said to meet at the tree. He figured if he died he died, if he learned anything was that he had no control over this world or his own fate. He didn’t have the heart to tell Grete on the off chance something did happen to him and he never comes back that she’d feel guilty for not stopping him or worse try to get Crux to stop him. 

Navigating the tree was weird, it felt overwhelming like he knew everything and nothing at the same time. He stepped closer making sure to avoid being seen and taking extra caution to not be near the scientist, something about him made Y/N skin crawl. 

Lost in thought on what this random meeting could be around he fell over a metal box, tucked away inside the rusty metal was baby photos of Y/N but they felt wrong. Everything was wrong with them, he touched the plastic material and even that felt wrong. It was him as a baby in the photos but he didn’t recognize the people around him, but in one photo they were kissing his cheek and another celebrating his first birthday they all looked eerie. An aged letter sat at the very bottom of the box, he plucked it up and unfolded it. 

“Dear Y/N, 

Our sweet baby boy, I hope you don’t miss us nearly as much as we miss you. Maybe you won’t even remember us if this goes well, maybe you’ll find a safe family and you’ll be protected. We can only hope, but in case you do remember us then we are sorry. We are sorry we couldn’t protect you, we are sorry that you are probably lost and confused, maybe even hurt but remember to keep that book we gave you. That will protect you.

In case you don’t remember us, why are you here? You shouldn’t be here, you should be at home any home but here. Don’t be fooled by the tree or the people or the ones that watch you”

The letter ended there, the bottom half was torn off and the back was smeared with black ink, Y/N checked the metal box no book or anything else was in there, just this half torn paper that gave him little to work off of and baby photos with people he’s never met. The air suddenly felt thicker, even more than usual for being near the tree and Y/N learned fast enough to get the hell out of the area when he felt that feeling. Sprinting away before whatever it was decided to pull it’s next move, once tucked away behind a dumpster he tucked the half letters and photos away in his pocket before the long walk back to Grete’s house. 

Small beeps and buzzes came from the phone, which Y/N ignored for the last few days Black and Crux seem extra persistent to get a hold of him which only drove him to ignore them harder. Almost dying wasn’t in his cards again after Black seemed to be pretty determined to put himself and Y/N into life ending situations, but Crux was different. Y/N has seen him around but did his best to avoid him, he was looking for his own answer and didn’t want to be wrapped up in what nonsense that he could be dragged into by Crux or Black or any other creature that walked this dimension. 

When he returned home the house was empty but thankfully he had remembered to grab the key Grete gave him when he first moved in. The house felt warm unlike everything in this dimension; it felt like it wouldn’t kill Y/N with one wrong move. The room had slowly been changed over the past few weeks, different things he found, news articles on missing citizens, notes he rummaged for in the scientist’s trash and other miscellaneous things scattered across the surfaces. The letter, photos, and the meeting notes were added to the pile he decided later he’d look through everything he had to piece together a new lead but as if this moment the only thing he could think about was the letter. 

Who was watching him, was this planned way before the accident? Was Crux wrong about saying this was an accident, was this all meant to happen but doesn’t that mean that Y/N didn’t die and was still alive? He shook his head and sat down at his desk to write more notes. There wasn’t a defined answer for any of this but maybe he was a step closer with these photos, he made mental notes to take the photos down to the library and maybe he could find photos of these people if anything he could match handwriting to other things he may find.

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@doubledeadstudio

Sorry for the influx of my confusion in the inbox hope my little fic shows that i'm not that crazy

[bettyfrommars]

Dr. Munson & The Monster

mad scientist!Eddie x The Monster x fem!Reader

Based on a sweet ask I got about how Reader's boyfriend cheats on us, and then we get revenge with his dad. I'm sure this was not what they had in mind 👀 my apologies. wc: 1.7k

18+Only, mature content, smut, cheating, mention of monster sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, breeding!kink, mention of being forced to live at the castle, mention of male impotence. Frankie and Reader are 25+, doctor!Eddie is 40+.

Things with you and your boyfriend Frankie were complicated.  When he first put you over his shoulder and carried you back to the castle, determined to be your mate, you wondered if it would work out.  But, you’d grown to love that zipper-neck lothario, and the enormous cock attached to him.  Munson’s Monster was famous by that time for being the first reanimated human, and he had so many women throwing their panties at him, it was intimidating for you at first.  

“Baby,  where are you going?” You called to him from the bed where you were in one of your sexiest nightgowns, draped perfectly to expose the curve of your hip that drove him bonkers.

“Out!” But he didn’t actually say it, he just grunted it, stomping off toward the balcony on stiff legs.  He liked to use the thick vines on the side of the building to climb down.

He flung the terrace doors wide open, and you watched him make his clumsy descent with a shake of your head.  “You’ll break your neck again one of these days, you know that baby? Just use the front door next time!”

He was too busy banking on his arm strength to hold his substantial weight to look up at you, but he did offer a growl and a grunt, and by the time he dropped to the ground in a crouch, there were tears glistening on your lash line.

The first few months together had been so rich with discovery and the promise of new  love. Frankie mated you from sunup to sundown, stretching you out and chasing his release with animalistic passion, the likes of which you’d never experienced before. After a few weeks, you were confessing your love; there was even talk of planning an October wedding.

But, the honeymoon phase was over, as they say, and word had made its way back to you that Frankie was getting in bed with every village woman within arms reach.  They all snickered and laughed behind your back when they saw you in town.

You watched him stumble into the night, and then you peeled yourself away from the balcony and wiped your eyes.  

You didn’t want to be alone again.  The only people who lived in the castle besides you and Frankie were Dr. Munson, his assistant Igor, and a housekeeper named Frau Blucher.  You put your silky robe on and brought a candelabra downstairs with you, following the golden glow of light coming from under the door of Dr. Munson’s library.

You knocked first, because he was a very private man, and you were paranoid that he hated you for whatever reason.  Maybe he didn’t think you were good enough for his creation?

“Enter,” a gruff voice bellowed from inside.

Edward Munson, brilliant surgeon and mad scientist, was hunched over his desk, fingers flying from inkwell to paper as he scribbled notes in his journal.  Long, dark curly hair wild around his shoulders, with a touch of gray at the sides, and fingertips stained black from the ink.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, never looking up from the paper.

He knew it was you.  He recognized the way your footsteps sounded on the floor above, the cadence of your knock, the way his heart jumped into his throat whenever you were near.

You shut the door behind you, pushing it until it clicked.  A cozy fire roared in the hearth, the air smelled of old books, pipe tobacco, and leather. You intertwined your fingers in front of you and went to take a seat by the fire.

Eddie finally glanced up, your silence making him curious.  That was when he saw your puffy face and the tears in your bloodshot eyes.  The horrible way his “son” treated you was no secret among the house, and sometimes his thoughts found their way to wondering how it would’ve worked out if he’d found you first, and not Frankie. 

With the pen still in his hand, he sat back in his seat.  “I’m sorry this keeps happening. You deserve much better than this.”

You snapped a look at him.  He was always so grumpy with you, this was the first time he’d ever offered you any semblance of comfort.

The nightgown under your robe was so tight to your skin that he could see the outline of your breasts and the way you weren’t wearing any undergarments.  He cast his eyes back down at his desk, ashamed for even allowing himself to dream.

Pausing in the middle of the room, on your way to the couch by the fire, you were struck with a sudden epiphany: Dr. Munson was attracted to you.  How had you never noticed it previously?   The way the light from the fire danced on his skin, making his dark eyes sparkle.

Driven by loneliness and a sudden, rabid burst of horny, you slinked over to the big oak desk, hitching your ample hip out to rest it at the edge.  The muscles in Eddie’s jaw flexed, eyes anchoring to yours, refusing to let them roam your body like they wanted to.

“What do you want from me?” His tone was tight, his cock twitching in his pants at how close you were.  “You should go back to your room.”

What you wanted was to get back at your neglectful, cheating boyfriend.  He got to have his fun several nights a week with whoever he wanted.  Why couldn’t you have the same?

You came around the desk to be closer, now your leg was touching his.  You let your hand graze up along your inner thigh over your nightgown, lips parted as you watched him from under hooded eyes.  “I want you to touch me, doctor.”

Dr. Munson hasn’t been with a woman intimately for years.  Mostly because he was a recluse who had no patience for the small talk required for getting to know someone, but also—he’d been harboring a secret crush on you since that first day Frankie brought you home.

His eyes flicked from the outline of your cunt to your face.  “Show me,” he told you, pushing the sleeves up on his shirt.

Eager to please him, you ran your hands up your thighs to shimmy the silky skirt up around your hips, giving him the perfect view of your kitten.  

Eddie’s mouth went dry at the sight, his brows knitting together.  He inched forward to brace one hand on your thigh while the other worked a finger along your slit, hissing at your wetness.  You yanked down the front of your nightgown to play with your nipples.

“Get on the desk,” he demanded, unbuttoning his shirt.

You had your knees bent, feet on his shoulders, quivering as his fingers spread you, his tongue seeking out the special nub that Frankie could never find.  The scientist that he was, he had studied a woman’s anatomy extensively, and wanted to use his gathered knowledge to please you.

“Your mouth feels so good, doctor,” you whimpered.   

He pulled away, chin dripping with a mix of saliva and your arousal, and then he worked a finger down, slipping in one, two, and then three.  You were all the way back on the desk now, knocking things over as you writhed, spilling the inkwell.  

He got to his feet, pushing his pants down to expose a generous pink length. You propped on your elbows to lick your lips and watch as he rubbed the tip along your slit with a groan, frowning in concentration.  

“Is this what you want?” He mumbled, pulling open your lips to watch how well you took his tip.

You sat up to meet his mouth, fingers clawing into his crazy hair as you forced his lips open with your tongue.  “I want you to give me a baby,” you begged. You found each other's eyes then, hovering on the implication of what was being asked. “Because we know Frankie can’t.”

It was true.  As much of a medical miracle and scientific treasure Frankie was, Dr. Munson suspected his sperm was no longer viable. Sometimes he blamed his skill as a surgeon for how Frankie had turned out, but he had to be gentle with himself—that brain Igor found for him was not the organ of an intellectual.  

Locking eyes with you, he sank all the way in, filling you to the base at first thrust, making you both cry out.  He cursed, bracing his hands on the desk for leverage to piston his hips against you.  You held his face between your hands and matched his need with your tongue.

His deft fingers moved from working your nipple to your clit, watching you unravel before his eyes.  It wasn’t until he felt your walls flutter around his cock and heard you whimper his name that he allowed his release.

He grunted, fingers digging into your soft hips. He hadn’t tended to himself in days, and so the potential for seeds to be planted deep in your womb was strong. 

 It took a while for him to finish pumping it all in, and then you stretched back on the huge desk, planting your feet, knees wide.  Maintaining eye contact with him, you used your fingers to push his cum deeper inside of you, tilting your hips up, holding it there, and then rubbing the excess up through your folds, before bringing them to your mouth to suck. 

He kissed your stomach and your breasts, up your throat, sticking his own fingers inside to keep any from leaking out.  “Stay like this until I say you can go,” he mumbled against your mouth.  “And when it starts to drip down your leg, I want you to remember who put it there.”

“Yes, doctor,” you whined, listening to the plop of the tiny ink droplets as they fell from the desk and collected in a puddle on the floor. 

[holylulusworld]

Two kings (prologue)

Summary: You have fallen in love with the king of Brooklyn. When your wedding day arrives, there is much more to discover about the man you fell in love with than you thought...

Pairing: Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader  

Warnings: angst, modern royal au, mentions of destruction/war/fighting/mystery, dystopian world (kinda), royals bashing (kinda), no dialogue in the beginning

A/N: Please consider this is a short prologue to get to know more about the world the reader is living in. It’s necessary to understand a few aspects of the story. We are living in modern times, but in a dystopian/post war world.

Two kings masterlist

Five decades ago, ...

Blood was staining the ground fifty years ago; feeding the world with more pain and hatred of those who had fallen.

Millions of lives were lost. A war without sense. Doomsday. Final tick of the clock.

With governments and armies losing battle after battle, the ones with royal blood raised their swords again.

Modern times have taken away their rightful place in society. They just had to wait for their chance to get it back. Hidden in the shadows they planned on taking over the world once again.

Their knights stood tall by their kings' and queens’ sides, fighting down the enemy threatening to eat their world alive. An enemy this world hadn't faced for centuries.

Enemies from a different time. The forgotten ones. Their history has been banished from history books.

Revenge of the second sons. The spare. Greedy corpses wanting to get their hands on the crowns their heads never felt.

Dark Age reanimated. Brutal. Deadly. Bloody.

It took more than five years and more losses – but the war was won.

Only winning always comes with a price. One that everyone agreed to pay.

An awful price paid with blood and death.

Today, age of seven, …

You always wondered how the world before the world war tearing it apart was alike.

Love. Freedom. Free will.

Did you have all of this? Was life better back then, when the powerful didn’t decide how you must live your life?

Of course, your father and your tutors tried to teach you about history. Reading about the world you lost before you were even born is just not the same.

You’re only a child, but you know there are rules that must be followed.

Rules you cannot break. Not even as a princess.

“Bunny Boo,“ your father tuts as you stick your nose into another book. “Y/N, you know today is important to our kingdom.”

You close the book, sighing deeply. “I know, daddy.”

“Today I’m not daddy, Bunny Boo,” he crouches down next to your chair to pat your knee. “Around our guests you must call me your majesty. You remember our lectures?”

You recite your tutor's words, "I should act like a princess today. I’ll make you proud your majesty. I remember every word. I promise to be respectful and well-behaved.”

“I know you will,” he runs his hand over your head. “You are my pride and the apple of my eye. One day, you will become queen and rule this kingdom.”

If not a brother will take my place," you remind your father. He smiles softly. You’re too young to understand that a male heir won’t take your place in his heart. Only the throne. “Who will come today, daddy? I forgot.”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” he softly says. “First we need to change into something new. You cannot run around in your shirt and jeans.”

As you drop your eyes to your chest, you reply, "But I like the bees on my shirt. They are cute and help the flowers.”

“For me, Bunny Boo," your father says as he gets back on his feet. “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

“Hey, you cannot pick the flowers," you say as you let go of your mother's hand to move toward the roses. A boy just picked three red roses and now you are furious. “These are my mom’s flowers.”

As he looks at you sheepishly, he replies, "They're nice.”

“You can’t just…” you stomp your foot. “Who are you? How dare you rip my mom’s flowers out?"

“Sorry,” he looks at the flowers in his hands. The boy is a little elder and taller than you but oddly he shies away as you get closer to him. “I wanted to pick some flowers for the princess. My father said she likes flowers.”

“You want them for the princess?”

He nods. "I forgot the gift my mother bought for the princess. Dad was mad and I wanted to get some flowers to make up for the forgotten gift.”

“You’re an odd boy,” you giggle. “You want to give me my mom’s flowers?”

“You are the princess?” his cheeks redden as you look him up and down.

“Yes.”

He grins and hands you the flowers. “Princess Y/N, it’s an honor to meet you,” he bows. “I’m Prince Steven Grant Rogers. Will you give me the honor to show me around the gardens?"

“Only if you promise to stop stealing flowers…”

>> Part 1

Tags in reblog.

[babbling-idiot]

Do you think you could do Herbert x an half zombie half human trans male reader? Just like fluffy stuff, maybe Herbert taking care of him or something :)

Herbert West

First off, at the time Herbert wasn't expecting you to come back at all.

He literally got an axe ready to chop your head off the minute you turned on him

But when you sat up and just looked around, he literally dropped everything and walked around the table to look at you

Sure, enough you were looking around and squinting from the bright lights

He immediately turns them down and walk over to you with caution

"W-where.... where am I?"

He gasped, never had he heard one of the reanimated people talk or let alone come back with full brain activity

He tried to keep it together through the whole thing

"You are in my lab. You died. And I have brought you back. My name is Dr. Herbert West, and you will be under my care."

You were honestly just as shocked as he was

He later ended up telling you that you had passed from blood loss after a car crash you were involved in

You were perfectly fine despite a bad cut to your main artery in your thigh

Which is what killed you

Anyhow, you became Herbert's every priority

All he could think about was making sure you were fine, checking brain activity, motor skills, your heart your lungs, literally anything and everything

Though through doing that he does get to know you and who you were in your past life

Finds that you are trans which he is perfectly cool with, he sees nothing wrong with that and is completely accepting of it

Though he won't admit it he has become very attracted to you

He knows that being attentive and caring for your being is appropriate but with his conflicted romantic feelings for you it’s become very difficult

He does later on tell you this and to his surprise you feel the same

Now, even though he is a doctor and looks after you, you can't help but feel special

Anytime you feel something is wrong or not feeling right you tell him and to no surprise he is immediately checking you out

He wants to make sure you are in perfect condition at all times

Though sometimes to his knowledge or not you will actually make up feeling bad just to get him close to you

Even if he knows you are up to something he will do it anyway

But when you actually are feeling bad or is coming down with something it actually ends up being ten times worse for you since you are reanimated

So the flu? Common cold? Is like death touching you all over again

He, like always is very attentive

Gets you soup, any drinks that would help, will literally carry you around the house

Stole a wheelchair just so you could get around downstairs if he's not there to get you something

Though truth be told you kind of just wait till he gets back to then want something, because he likes taking care of you, loves how you can rely on him

He'll always be there for you, and you'll never be alone

[jangofctts]

Don’t Push Your Luck (Boba Fett x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k wooF

Warnings: smut, language, handjobs, oral (male receiving), fingering, heavy petting, there is SOFT. I REPEAT SOFT FLUFF. but only SOME 

Chapter (1), (2)

a/n: hey y’all...welcome...finally this bITCH IS OUT. thanks to @djxrxn​ WHOMST HAVE BEEN THE MAIN MOTIVATOR BEHIND THIS. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 💖🥵🤠 

(also lmk if you wanna be tagged or just wanna YELL at me)

It’s impossible not to count down the days, the hours, the seconds leading up to your untimely end. A sleep cycle and half to be exact. A perfect amount of time to finish counting each loose wire and rusty screw holding together this heap of junk—a miracle really, that it’s able to jump to hyperspace, let alone fly.       

You’re no expert on the inner workings of a spacecraft, but your familiarity with Imperial grade cruisers gift you the impeccable skill of deducing that the hiss of air every couple minutes out of the hydraulic piping is not ideal. Nor is the solar light overhead that flickers and hums, skirting the precarious line of exploding in your face or simply plunging the cargo hold into murky darkness. 

At this point you’d take either.  

You sigh, resting the back of your head against the wall as the barbed tendrils of an oncoming headache settles behind your eyes.    

  Between that, the stupid light, and your boredom; it’s enough to make anyone stir crazy. Stars—even the arduous task of talking to Boba Fett is morphing into something akin to craving. Even if his idea of a conversation runs parallel to the art of smug, male pride and snide words meant to pick and prod—it’s better than whatever this is. 

Scoffing, you curl your knees up to your chest and rest your chin over your knee. This is pathetic. 

You should despise him—feel like kicking his teeth in—or helmet—whatever. He aided in the killing of you friend—probably took care of all the other poor souls who even dared to breathe your way too. Boba Fett is a despicable, no good bounty hunter who finds far too much fun in the misfortune of others.  

And yet… 

The task of attaching your hate to the man is proving to be more difficult than you would’ve guessed. You don’t regret what you’ve done with him—far from it in fact—but your tolerance, bordering enjoying his company, is concerning. To say in the least.   

Nothing good will come out of the conflicted ball of knots that settle in your chest, ensnaring your heartstrings into that endless monstrosity. 

Though none of it stops the way your chest constricts, heart skipping a few vital beats at the familiar sound of his spurs resonate through the ship. They chink against the metal pegs of the ladder, boots settling on the ground with a heavy thump. A moment later Boba steps into your line of sight, tattered cloak and chipped armor in all its battered glory. 

He isn’t an immanent threat, but your eyes still track each movement. The rational part of you knows he won’t lash out, but you’re still his quarry and even a wolf with a severed head has the power to bite. No part of you wants to brave the sharp points of his teeth.  

Not even a fraction of his attention is thrown your way as he does his routine inspections of your fellow captured quarries, frozen in their carbonite prisons. You just hope none of them spontaneously reanimate—you’re not too keen on another shipmate. Your little corner is crowded as is and forget sharing your blanket. It’s tattered and smells like dust and mothballs and you have a sneaking suspicion it’s just one of Boba’s old cloaks he outgrew—but you’re thankful for it anyhow. 

You flinch as he punches in a code, the loud grate of metal on metal piercing your ears as the carbonite slabs swing back into their storage space. With an incline of his head, his weighted gaze settles on your person.

“Still nervous?”

You sniff and shake your head. “You just…startled me is all.” 

Boba snorts in disbelief and pads closer. He reaches the toes of your boots and squats, one gloved forearm resting over his knee as the other reaches out to capture a lock of your hair. He twirls it between his fingers and gently tugs, quiet as he studies you behind the visor. The action is familiar—doesn’t scare you as much as it once did, but his closeness still overwhelms. 

“I see you’ve found some courage, gentle Rabbit,” he surmises, untangling his fingers from your hair to tap beneath your chin. “While we’re at it…any last favors I can provide?” 

It’s whiplash—so stupefying it renders your tongue speechless, a heated blush rushing up your cheeks and to the tip of your ears. He snickers and shakes his head, rocking back onto his heels to stand as you sputter for words. 

It’s a joke—a garbage one at your expense. Always at the butt-end of things with no room to snap back. Yet, as he turns on his heel to return to the cockpit—it’s the perfect opportunity. Not the sort of favor he’d be expecting, but a favor nonetheless. 

“Can I—“ He pauses and casts a glance over his shoulder as you muster enough bravery to follow through. “Do you think I could—could sit in the cockpit? Just for a little while…” 

It’s a long-shot—like launching a flimsy javelin at a target no larger than a thumbtack three thousand clicks away. Not happening—more likely to beat a rancor in a fucking wrestling match then sway the bounty hunter’s opinion. Regardless, the question must stun him—the terse silence drags on for an agonizing amount of time, amping up your anxiety tenfold. 

“I’m sorry—I just—I wanted to see the stars one last time,” you mumble, curling into yourself with a wince. “It’s stupid—“     

“It’s hyperspace—not much to look at.” He curtly interrupts. “An asteroid if you’re lucky.” 

Your spirits plummet further—scraping against the dirt like a crashed speeder geared to the highest velocity and headed straight for a brick wall. Maker this was dumb—

“The second you try anything funny—“

You perk up, your spine straightening as he turns swiftly on his heel and marches back. He leans down at the waist, firmly ensnaring your chin between his forefinger and thumb, straining the muscles in your neck. “—you’ll end up in there.” 

He jerks his head over his shoulder at the carbonfreezer. Yeah. No thank you. Absolutely zero interest in becoming a human popsicle. 

“You won’t even notice I’m there,” you breathe, holding your stare steady. “Promise.” 

Boba hums in thought, releases your chin and pats your cheek. He straightens and taps at his vambraces and with a hiss of air the stasis cuffs around your wrists clatter to the floor. You stand and sigh, rubbing at the angry raised lines, just shy from a dark bruise.   

The bounty hunter ushers you towards the ladder, his hand anchored to your shoulder. You stop yourself from scoffing. The action is useless—you’ve got no clever scheme up your sleeve or malicious motive but you can never be too cautious you suppose—not with this line of work.  

You try not to snoop once you clamber up into the second level—but Maker—it’s interesting. There’s a small bunk on the other end of the short corridor, messy blankets thrown on top and a deconstructed blaster that’s seen better days. Gray and off-white undershirts hang off the metal rigging on the bunk and the sight of his laundry is undoubtedly jarring. It’s silly not to think he doesn’t do laundry but—imagining the most feared bounty hunter in the Galaxy washing his tidy whities is hilarious.

“Come on,” Boba urges, nudging your shoulder with his own.

Your tiny smile never falters as he leads you into the domed cockpit, the neon blue of hyperspace reflecting across his chipped armor with miniature streaks of light. He gestures at the co-pilot’s seat tucked beside the com board, a litany of buttons blinking and flashing as you gingerly sit. 

The hinges squeak as the chair spins, your eye catching the mess of beaded and jeweled necklaces that hang on a tiny hook above the board. You recognize a few—Kashyykian ceremonial beads, the glittering coil of pure, refined diamonds from Pantora and the braided strands of bantha leather common on Tatooine. Your fingers drift up and thumb at the carved wooden Wroshyr beads. 

Trophies—

“Don’t touch those.”

You jump and yank your hand back. “So...all I can do is...sit?” 

“Isn’t that what you asked for?” 

You have to agree—there isn’t much to look at. Hyperspace, as fascinating as it is, looses its charm once the vertigo sets in. To be honest—you weren’t expecting to get this far. 

Oh well. 

A change in scenery is always nice. Different loose wires and screws to count…

And the seat spins. Score. 

Boba however, does not share in your bemused sentiments. Your mopey sighing and the constant squeak of loose bearings on your spinny chair is not pleasant to the ear, apparently.   

“If you’re that bored, Rabbit,” he sighs, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder. “You could always put those hands to work.” 

You pause and swipe a finger through the dust between the toggles on the comm board and absentmindedly respond. “I don’t think I’d be much help. I’m not very technically inclined and oh—“

Your cheeks flush when he tilts his head. “You, uh...didn’t mean that sort of work, did you?” 

Boba snorts and crosses his ankle over his knee and rests his helmet on the headrest. The stretched out figure of his body is alluring—fascinating to studying each nick and scratch on his armor without the repercussions of him staring back. His vambraces clink against his cuirass as he laces his fingers together, resting his hands just above his codpiece.      

“Do you need something, Rabbit?” 

You swallow, your eyes flicking back up to a more respectable place for them to linger. “Um..n-no. I’m fine. Just…”

He rolls his head to the side, the shadows from hyperspace carving out the sharp lines of his helmet into an even deeper dramatic cut. You squirm and focus your eyes on the frayed laces of your boots.  

“It’s alright. You can tell me, sweet girl.” His goads, tempting you out onto that slippery slope of desire. 

He uncross his legs and uses the tip of his boot to languidly spin himself around, his knees spread wide in a display of mock easiness. Boba’s thumbs drum against his ammo belt, the quiet, rhythmic tap…tap…tap…the only sound filling the charged silence. It’s the Academy all over again; sat down and scrutinized until you crack—spill every secret until they’re satisfied— and Boba Fett is no different…   

You scramble for words, wrangling your thoughts into something somewhat comprehensive.  “I’m—I—well—“

He cocks his head, light bouncing off the silvery pockmark on his helmet. Boba’s hand idly travels lower, brushes off imaginary dust on his thigh and settles his fingers over the clasps to this codpiece. His thumb flicks it open then closed, all too keen on where your eyes are glued to.    

“You want your hands on my cock again? Is that it?” Boba purrs in amusement. You tongue passes over your lip as you wrench your eyes off of him yet again. 

“There’s no need to be play coy, girl,” Boba snickers, “Tell me.”   

The words jump out of your mouth—no forethought and apparently not an ounce of self control. “Yes—I want...to p-put my hands on you.”  

“On me or my cock?” 

You mouth goes dry as you mumble out a feeble agreement. “Your…cock.”

Boba huffs in self satisfaction. “Come here then.”   

On already shaky legs you stumble out of your seat and plant yourself in front of him. You have no visual confirmation but the hair-raising sensations as his eyes rake down your body sends shivers up your spine. 

Your mouth parts, but before you’re even able to ask what he wants—he beats you to it. 

“Your choice, Rabbit.” 

Not helpful, you think.  

Regardless of the lack of direction, you chew on the inside of your cheek and slowly lower yourself onto your knees, sliding easily between his parted legs. The only indication you know he’s aware you’re there is a quick shift of his hips, settling further into the leather cushion.    

His leg jumps involuntarily as your fingers skim up his knee. If you weren’t interested in receiving a lovely black eye, you’d have the nerve to accuse him of being ticklish. 

Biting the corner of your lip to stave off your coy smile, your hand continues its path up along his inner thigh. There’s a short huff of air that filters through the vocoder as your fingertips reach the codpiece. They brush over the circular dent left by a blaster, curiosity piqued at the strange location. 

You want to ask—but—the thought is fleeting, far more interested in finding the tiny clasps on the side that easily pop open, the offending piece of armor going lax in your grip. You toss it to the side with little hesitation, greeted by the firm outline of his cock filling out the front of his trousers. 

Boba Fett is not a patient man and your lecherous gawking, enough to notice, irks him. With a grunt he snakes his fingers around your hand and presses it against his cock. He rolls his hips, guiding your hand into applying a firmer touch until you’re palming him without the extra help. You give the hardening flesh a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears. 

By the time your hand sweeps up to ease off the heavy ammo belt around his waist, the bulge in his pants is considerable—a fucking pain to maneuver around as you tug down his trousers into a dramatic ‘v’. Boba’s hand, hanging off the arm rest, jerks the moment your fingertips brush along the dark curls, trailing up and taking a hold of his cock with a careful grip.  

He’s heavy in your hand, thicker than the circumference of your forefinger and thumb pressed together, and harder than kriffing durasteel. You can feel his watchful gaze carve a burning path over the contours of your face, drifting to where you hold him. 

He grumbles an inaudible complaint under his breath, curling his fists by his sides. Despite his obvious irritation with your feathery touches, he lets you continue without so much as a grumpy sigh or snippy redirection. You preen at the small victory, delighted you’re able to explore before the short rope of his patience runs thin and snaps. 

A sharp hiss of hair passes through the vocoder as you lightly tug on his cock, mesmerized by the firmness and the searing heat beneath your palm. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the dark flesh, flushed and pulsing as wetness pools at the tip as you pull down the foreskin, exposing the entirety of the wide head.

With your thumb you spread the bead of liquid around, intent on continuing your little exploratory endeavor until Boba shifts and grumbles out an order to stop. 

“Not like that,” he huffs, laying his fingers over yours that hold his cock. “Harder.” 

A fiery blush licks at your cheeks as he squeezes both sets of fingers into a firm fist, leading your hand into the pace he desires. 

It’s rough, much firmer than you’d think would be pleasurable—but you oblige. The wetness that dribbles from the flushed tip lessens the friction but with quick lick over your palm, he glides easily in your hand. Boba’s head rolls back against the headrest, exposing a sliver of brown skin beneath the lip of his helmet. 

It’s not long before your wrist aches—just shy of a couple moments. Luckily enough for you and your poor hand musculature, it doesn’t take more than a handful of minutes—rough and with no real discernible technique other than just fucking into your fist. Boba’s knee jerks as he lifts his head and arches his hips, chest heaving with shallow inhales.    

“Take it in your—in your mouth,” he orders in a rough rasp. His chest heaves as his hand finds purchase in your hair, jerking your head closer to his cock. It stings—Maker, why does he pull so hard? 

With a huff, you listen and part your lips. The tip of his cock slips into your heated mouth, twitching as your tongue rolls against the small slit leaking a near continuous stream of precum. With a couple short tugs and a gentle suck around the head, his fist clenches tight and drags you further down his shaft.

You gag around him, a low grunt rattling through his diaphragm as he cums. It’s warm, thick and fills your mouth, but the heavy weight on the back of your head leaves you no other choice than to swallow. Boba curses, cock still twitching when he lets you up and pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for precious air as you wipe off your lips with your sleeve, sparring a look up at the bounty hunter.   

The reclined figure of his body molds into the chair, a strip of dark skin peeking out from beneath the cowl has his head rests back against the seat. His fingers twitch when you shift, squirming as the twisting heat in your lower stomach festers and grows. 

You watch his throat bob as he speaks, “If you want something...take it.” 

The hard enamel of your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you carefully rock forward, dragging yourself off the ground. It takes a moment to shuck off your pants and perch yourself over his knees after shimming his trousers further down his legs. Boba only bothers to look up with lazy interest once your cunt, soaked and smeared over your inner thighs presses against his upper legs, wetting the muscled limbs. 

You steel your nerves against the sharp analytical gaze through the carved lines of his vizor and give your hips a tentative roll along the length of his softening cock. For all you know he could be asleep—yet you have a sneaking suspicion as to what his eyes are glued to. You’re no idiot.  

Boba’s gloved fingertips skim up your thigh, tempted to go higher but instead they drop back onto the armrests. You chew the inside of your lip, shooing away the urge to frown. Whatever—dwelling upon the quick movement is best left in the dark.

He sucks in a sharp breath of air as you rock your hips for a second time, your slick folds gliding smoothly along his member. It’s a light pressure, no more than a gentle caress so as not to overwhelm—but nonetheless still pleasurable, sating that untamable fire that burns bright in your belly. 

Your eyes drift back to those white gloves, his fists balled and stationary on the armrest. You want them on you. You want to feel his callouses scrape over your skin—one last craving you need to put an end to. 

It’s a risk—a big one. Yet, throwing your worries out the window is easier than your indecisiveness.

Both your hands slowly crawl over the white gloves, cautious in pulling them off as if he were some rabid Nexu ready to bite. He is, in a way and your sneaky little ploy certainly does not go unnoticed. 

Boba jerks his hands up the arm rests. “What makes you think you’re allowed to touch me?”

His tone is scathing—knocks you so far off that small pedestal of bravery you’ve mustered and leaves you wilting. You should’ve known, stopped while you were ahead. Though knowing in the back your mind that something like this would happen, doesn’t take away from the razor sharp embarrassment that cuts through your chest.

Your forearm shoots up to rub away the burning itch of tears that threaten to fall, your head turning away in a mixture of shame and regret. Stupid—

You’re about to retreat, slide off his lap like a miserable pile of goo, but the delicate touch on your chin, coaxing you to face him startles you. Even more so when he tugs at the offending glove and brushes a bare finger down your cheek, a mere whisper against your skin. “You have a soft heart.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he slips the other glove off, settling one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other tentatively slip between your legs and presses against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. 

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him and with a firm hand, he parts your soaking cunt and thrusts two of his fingers inside, grinding the heel of his palm into the little bundle of nerves. 

With a chuckle his hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. “Good little Rabbit—cum on my fingers.”

Your body seizes as white hot heat sears through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a long whine filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around his fingers. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body after your euphoric high. You’re barely conscious of your actions as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. With a satisfied hum, he slips them out, allowing your head to finally rest against his chest.   

His hands are warm around your hips, tracing little patterns into the exposed skin—so light you’re sure you’re imagining it. You chide yourself—there’s no space for these kind of things. Not now.   

The beskar is an uncomfortable thing to lay your cheek on—cold too—yet his soft sigh convinces you to stay put. Just for another second, suspended in a strange intimacy that neither of you should be dipping your toes into. 

A gentle hush encompasses the cockpit, lulling you into a light doze. Though as your eyes struggle to stay open, the subtle inhale before a sentence is spoken keeps them from shutting. You wonder if he’ll muster the courage to speak or if he’ll let the words settle back into that lake teeming with uncovered mysteries and things better left unsaid.     

“What would you do...” The beginning of his words tapers off as if he could pretend you wouldn’t hear it. It’s low, almost...uncertain. Well, as uncertain as Boba Fett could be with a head so full of his arrogance and pride. 

His fingers drift higher up your back, ghostlike and teasingly soft.You hate the goosebumps that are left in the wake of his bare fingertips crawling up your spine. Swallowing, your fingernail taps at the chipped paint and circles the little brand on his cuirass. “Do what?” 

He doesn’t answer right away—chewing on his words like they’ve stuck to the roof of his mouth and don’t intend to leave. He shifts and you’re afraid he’s about to shove you off his lap and storm away, but all he does is clear his throat and settle a palm on your upper back. “If I...if I let you go. What would you do?” 

Your brows furrow, your heart kicking up into a rapid flurry of panic. That’s not fair—that’s not fair of him to say. You look up, your own twisted features staring back at you in the muted spectrum of blacks and grays in his visor. This is a joke—another one of his games to push you over the edge while he gets to bask in his idea of proclaimed hilarity. “That’s not funny.” 

“It’s not supposed to be.” 

You ball your hand into a fist as a tidal wave of resentment, followed with chilly anguish washes over you. Your head spins and battles with opposing opinions and reasons why he should just go through with delivering you to his employer. Be done with it and get his moneys worth without any consequence. 

And yet, there’s a minuscule part of you, sprouting away from the dark cloud of inevitability, that wonders. Wonders if you should fight—convince him you deserve to live, untangle you from the disastrous web the Empire has cast around your limbs with no hope of escape. You sigh and shut your eyes. 

“I’d never escape from the Empire even if you did,” you murmur. “The only time I’d be free is if I were dead.”

                                             <><><><><><><><>

He promised himself that this would never happen. 

Never let his own desires and emotions interfere with a job. 

It’s irresponsible, bad for business and frankly quite stupid. This could cost him his credibility, his credits, his life.  

You don’t double cross your employer—it’s the first rule of business that even a child would understand.   

Boba Fett is cunning and clever; always one step ahead of his enemies. Always methodical, refusing to leave any loose ends that even hint at coming back around to bite him in the ass. He’s convinced himself that a will of iron is necessary—the only way to survive and to grow stronger than those who’ve hurt him—bested him in the game of life.  

Cold, methodical, a legend.   

And you…

You are soft. Gentle and too kind for someone to be caught up in this sort of mess. He shouldn’t be delivering you to Death’s doorstep in exchange for credits. You should be off living on some remote planet, far out of the reaches of the Empire. Away from him. Billions of miles from his bloody fingertips that stain your skin like black ink against a white canvas.  

But you’ve made your choices and he’s made his.    

And none of it soothes the festering storm, with winds more forceful than those on Kamino, that rattle through his ribcage. It tears through his sternum, cuts through the beskar and leaves an open wound—raw and tender that grows tenfold the second your eyes land on him. 

You don’t beg when he hoists you up from the floor, no blubbering tears or last minute bargains to spare your life. Not even as you both reach the loading ramp, one mere tap of the button that would reveal you both to the man waiting on the landing platform. One button and he’d be free of you. You’re braver than most. 

He’ll give you that. 

He shouldn’t have said anything—saved himself from the steady ache that comes with having to look you in the eye. Drives a stake so deep into his chest the second you spare him a precious smile that twinkles like unrefined coaxium and thank him. You’re thanking him for the barest amount of kindness he offered to you on your last days of life. 

Boba isn’t sure who he hates more; himself or you. 

He must be staring too long—committing each soft slope and contour of your cheeks, the freckles, your softly parted lips, to memory—because the gentle nudge to his arm startles him. 

“I’ll be alright,” you grin. You make a poor impression of a blaster with your finger and thumb and mimic the sound of it firing. “One shot to the head and I’m gone.” 

“I know how blasters work.”

You shrug and glance at his hand that hovers over the button. “Then why are you hesitating?”

The million credit answer. One that you both know the answer to. 

“Because you won’t be dying. Not today and not while I’m still alive.”  

                                     <><><><><><><><><><><>

The outfit is garish. 

Too white.

Too clean. 

A color that deceives his true nature and masks what he truly is— a viper laying in wait for unsuspecting prey and witless victims. The smile that curls along the man’s unshaven face is meant to charm, but all it does is unsettle. 

Boba has never once trusted a man who relies solely on the weight of his words rather than his own actions. All that this man has are words. Words, and a flimsy position within the ranks of the Empire. That, and twelve heavily armed Death Troopers that guard him, if you count them as well.  

Orson Krennic. 

A man that’ll get what’s coming to him. Perhaps not Boba’s own plasma bolt through the middle of his finely pressed uniform—but something equally as satisfying.

Grey hairs that escape his hat glint like shards of metal shrapnel in the midday sun, the Director’s smile steady as he speaks. “Took you long enough, bounty hunter.” 

Boba’s teeth clamp onto his tongue, the metallic taste of blood flooding his tastebuds. “Too bad you have to rely on one, Director.” 

Krennic snorts, folds his arms behind his back and saunters closer. “And your bounty? What of her?” 

“Dead.”

[malereader-inserts]

To Our Deaths and Beyond

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Male!Reader Summary: Today is the day, the batlle between the living and the dead, the question is: who will survive for another day? Word Count: 1,222 Request: “Hiya! Please, can I request and angsty Jaime Lannister fic, please? I love your work!! 💖” “Hi! Could I request a Jaime Lannister fic, please? Only seeing him for like 3 mins in today’s ep killed me.” A/n: I just want to note that this is just a spin-off of the white walkers vs Westerosi - this is written before whatever episode it’ s gonna be so as far as I am concern there are no spoilers

War, what is it good for?

Survival. 

Jaime was gasping for air, but there was no use. The whole battlefield was full of smoke and ashes of the dragon fire. He could see men dying, people he knew fighting for their lives. Hell, he wouldn’t like to admit it for the Northerners was much more terrifying in their fighting - especially the free folks.

But, there was only one person he was concern about. The person he trusted with all his heart, the person who made him realise he was worth so much more than his twin’s plaything. There, in all your glory, you were fighting side by side with Brienne. He could still see you laugh at the wights who come colliding with your sword.

Your dragonglass sword stained with the ashes of the smoke, he felt like choking at the polluted air. Slashing at the charging wights, watching in horror as they crumble like glass. Jaime hadn’t felt so defeated in his life before.

He was an excellent swordsman, despite having to adjust himself to suit his left hand, he was remarkable. Yet, these dead men put more effort into fighting than men who had a beating heart. So, he went with all his might, slashing, stabbing, cutting through these mad fuckers, doing everything in his power to fight another day for his people. 

All he wanted to do was be at your side, the man who offered him a friend when no one would be. Jaime, though he would refuse to admit, had a lonely childhood. You were a squire when he and you had met, the first real friend he ever had. You gave him the most memorable moments in his life.

He wonders how you’ve kept being pure in a way, you were kind and considerate, everything he turned not to be. You were the polar opposite to him, perhaps that’s why you both complemented each other so well. Yet, Jaime was so blinded by Cersei’s love that he hadn’t noticed the way you look at him, he hadn’t noticed that you held onto him a second longer before parting the hug.

It took Jaime to realise what real love was until he was with Brienne. That journey was full of lessons for him, realisations. How Cersei had him wrapped around her pinky.

You hadn’t changed a bit when he returned back to Kings Landing. Still the playful man he grew up with. Handsome as ever, all in your glory. 

He hadn’t noticed how you managed to pave a way for you and him to fight next to each other. You grinned at him as he grinned back, there was something positive to your attitude. 

“Hope you’re not tired, old man,” You teased as you stab a wight behind Jaime.

He nods his thanks, “Not yet.”

Laughter had made his heart beat ten times faster. He felt determined with you by his side, watching how Brienne and Tormund fought together with Podrick somehow not getting killed in the process of two vicious killers. The Hound was swinging his axe wherever it was needed, Jaime could see it was a release of anger, past mistakes. 

Jaime noticed how Drogon, Rheagal and Viserion were battling each other in the skies. Drogon and Rheagal roaring at the anger towards the Night King, forcing them to once again kill their brother, to once again witness Viserion’s death. 

Jaime turns to look at you again, swinging Widow’s Wail towards a wight, scowling at the walking corpse that would try to harm you. Despite wearing armour, these things were unpredictable.

Jaime hadn’t seen many people fall, at least, people of importance. Jon Snow was still decapitating white walkers with every anger in his blood. Stannis’ old right-hand man, Davos Seaworth still fighting, fighting for Jon Snow. He was impressed to see many free folk men still alive, ripping the battlefield into a new definition of battle.

With Unsullied, Dothrakis and Wildings, this was a battle of fear and no mercy. If these armies were to invade Kings Landing, the Golden Company would have no chance against Daenerys. Jaime felt better about this, he sees a means of survival. Most of the white walkers were dead and Jon was desperately trying to fight the Night King.

Then a scream, a shout, a bellow had torn against Jaime’s ear.

Jaime turns around behind him, his eyes widen as he sees you look at him. Your windswept hair falls flat, you blink ever so slowly as blood starts to trickle out of your mouth.

Jaime hadn’t realised he was screaming your name, he hadn’t realised the tears starting well up in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed how Brienne, Tormund, Podrick and many more stopped to see what cause Jaime to scream. All of them had been riddled with shock before returning to fight the wights off. 

Jaime brings down his sword upon the wight that dared to take away your life. Crumbling into the wind, he sees you crumble onto the snowy ground. Jaime hadn’t noticed the wall of protection of Tormund, Brienne, Podrick and Sandor. 

He crumbles to his knees, this was not the time to stop and cry, but with you. 

You lie on your back, choking on the blood that was spilling against your blue lips. Jaime clings onto your armour.

“(Y/n),” Jaime softly calls out your name, you liked how it rolled off so perfectly, “You’re going to stay alive.”

“Jaime-” You cough, Jaime would do anything to hear you say his name like that again, “Burn me when I die.”

“No-”

Jaime clenches his jaw, anger surging through him, offended at such a thought that he knows is inevitable. Your hand grabs his chest plate, his left hand instinctively holds onto your wrist. 

He feels the warmth, despite the heavy snow falling. He looks at your features, your face full of dirt and soot, yet you were still perfect in every way. 

“Please Jaime,” You begged, gulping, unable to find pure air within the affected ashes, “I don’t want to fight you.”

He knows you mean in wight formation, the thought of you fighting Jaime, trying to kill him. He doesn’t want to burn your body, he wants a proper burial for you. Then again, what’s the point of having a proper burial if no man survives. Jaime closes his eyes as he feels his left-hand intertwining with yours.

He lets out a defeated sigh as he opes his eyes, his vibrant eyes staring at your, watching the life drain away.

“I love you Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime could gasp, but it was stuck in his throat, but he managed to choke out a sob. He bites his lips before nodding, kissing your forehead.

“And I with you, (Y/n) (L/n).”

You send him one last smile before life is drained out of you. 

He picks up Widow’s Wail, he rips out an angry cry. He kicks a burning body to your dead body, watching it set aflame to present reanimation. His chest heaves up and down, it wasn’t anger anymore. It was rage, it was animosity, it was virulence. 

He grips his sword tighter as he had one big reason to fight.

To avenge your death.

Make the wights, the night king, regret stealing love ones away. 

Especially from Jaime fucking Lannister.

[byuneebuns]

Fenced In (Part 5)

Chanyeol(??????) x Reader College AU 

Rating: M for Smut

Tags: College AU, Slow Burn, Fluff

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this hot mess. I didn’t expect this to get any attention and I’m very grateful that people are enjoying it so far <3 

Fenced In Mini Masterlist

You sat there dumb-struck, trying to work out what exactly you’d done wrong, when a knock sounded from the front door. You sprang up and jogged to answer it, a little taken aback to find Baekhyun standing outside. You’d been so lost in your thoughts of Chanyeol that you’d almost forgotten that he was coming.

“Can you try not to look so disappointed by me, I really tried to look nice,” He said dramatically, sticking out his lower lip as far as it would stretch. He actually did look quite nice, he was wearing a blue and green patterned sweater-vest over a long sleeved white shirt with a long tan coat and dark gray pants. It was so easy to forget how insanely attractive he was when he wasn’t in right front of you.

“Are you going to invite me inside, or is this all part of your plan to tear my ego to shreds?” You stepped to the side and smiled at him softly.

“You look very nice, Baekhyun.”

For a brief moment you could see his eyes sparkle with warmth and genuine happiness at your praise and your heart skipped several beats, but it was soon replaced with that of mischief.

“If you think I look nice in this wait until you see what I’m like without it,” He said while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I changed my mind, get out,” You said, trying and failing to shove him back out of the door.

He swatted your hands away, both of you giggling, and entered your apartment. His eyes roamed your living room while he took off his shoes and as he stepped inside you felt like he was investigating everything his eyes touched.

“You live here alone?” He asked as he walked around the living room, picking things up at random and eyeing them curiously.

“No, I have a roommate but no one is home right now.”

His eyebrows wiggled again in reply and you held up a fist threateningly before he could follow up with any lewd remarks. His eyes fell on one of Chanyeol’s pairs of shoes in the foyer.

“A very…tall roommate?” He asked, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

“Ah, my roommate is a male. He is actually quite tall though.” You prayed that you weren’t now prone to blushing at the mere mention of Chanyeol.

Baekhyun’s other eyebrow raised to meet its twin and you could almost see gears turning while he digested this new information. He, astonishingly enough, chose not to make any comment.

“So, are you done scouring my apartment for clues now, detective? Can we start working yet?” You asked with your arms crossed and your foot tapping to further drive home your impatience. Beakhyun pouted and crossed his arms.

“You’re not even going to show me around? You’re a bad host.”

“Show yourself around, I have nothing to hide,” You said with exasperation, waving your hand dismissively.

He took off without hesitation, exploring every inch of space available like a dog becoming accustomed to a new home. 

He was thumbing through your hall closet, making casual remarks about its various contents like “Yah! These heels are sexy! Please wear them for me! Can you even pull them off?” (“I will not wear them for you, please, stop, don’t put them on yourself.”) and “Wow your roommate must be a giant, this coat goes all the way to my ankles.” (“Maybe you are just really short, Baekhyun….”, “HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT???”).

Finished with his investigation of the closet, he moved on to your bedroom. You followed behind him, amused despite your outward appearance of annoyance.

“Wow, your bedroom is so clean! You didn’t have to go to such great lengths just for me,” He said in a sing-song voice, clearly trying to get a reaction from you.

“It’s always this clean,” You said flatly, rolling your eyes. He giggled and sat down on your bed, patting the space next to him eagerly. Your stomach somersaulted. This was reaching dangerous territory. Your eyes sought out his lips and you gulped when his tongue darted out to wet them.

“Hello? Are you distracted by something?” He said, his voice lower and eyes darker than you remembered. He scooted over to the edge of the bed and put his hands on your hips, trying to pull you towards him.

Your brain was sounding off alarms and despite the growing ache in your core you found the mental strengh to place your hands over his and gently pry them from your hips. 

Worried you might offend him if you rejected him too harshly, you didn’t let go of his hands immediately and squeezed them gently.

“If you’re finished exploring do you want to go study now?” Baekhyun didn’t answer immediately, he was reading your face again with an inscrutable look in his eyes. He returned your smile after a few moments of silence, squeezing your hands back and rolling his eyes.

“If you insist.”

You led him back to the living room by the hand until you were in front of the couch, placed your hands on his waist, and sat him down like you would a toddler. You took the spot on the opposite end of the couch and opened your laptop.

You were unsurprised to find him glowering at you, arms folded petulantly, looking more childlike than ever.

“Did you even bring your work?” You sighed, massaging your temples.

“I didn’t think you would actually want to study. Who even does that? Can we please just have fun this once and I promise next time I’ll be boring with you? Now that I know that you’re a wet blanket and all.” He fell to the side, groaning with annoyance, his head landing in your lap.

He’s really such a kid.

After several more minutes of childish banter and whining you relented to his demands and were curled up on the couch together watching a zombie movie of his choice. His head was still in your lap and his hands were curled tightly around the hem of your skirt. 

It was painfully obvious that his intention had been to scare you and then comfort you as your manly protector (gross), but it had backfired to say the least. A reanimated corpse appeared on the screen, gnashing what remained of its teeth and eliciting otherworldly screams of terror from the both the characters in the movie and Baekhyun. Your hands found his hair and without thinking you stroked it soothingly.

“Quiet.”

Baekhyun merely hummed happily in response, nuzzling his face deeper into your lap. You couldn’t help smiling. You felt incredibly warm and comfortable just sitting with him like this. Although he clearly he had ulterior motives in coming here you were still enjoying yourself more than you anticipated. Maybe he was more tolerable than you gave him credit for.

You continued playing with his hair absent-mindedly for the remainder of the film, pleased at how effective it was in calming him down and at how soft it was. When he didn’t stir once the credits started rolling it dawned on you that he had passed out.

What a hypocrite. You smiled to yourself, leaning down to peer at his sleeping face. He looked so angelic, in stark contrast to his personality. His pout was even more pronounced in slumber and you had to resist a strong urge to poke his lips. You shimmied your way from beneath him, your heart fluttering when he tried to cling to you, and replaced your missing lap with a pillow. You covered him carefully with a spare blanket and tucked him in, gently patting his head one final time before dragging yourself to your room to follow his example.

[foxholewriting]

Orphan Heart - Two

Crux/Male Reader - Mystery/UA sorta - Words/ 1,076

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - N/A

This isn't fully canon accurate, that is okay! Unless the creator asks me to change or delete this I won't change a thing, this is sorta an AU/theory series

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The next morning started rough, the window in his room was covered with sticky notes each one had different symbols or words that weren’t really words. Whoever was doing this was trying to either warn Y/N or trying to scare them off either way it was working, he got all the sticky notes down spreading them on his floor the symbols didn’t make any sense they didn’t seem to connect in any way. It was a language that was completely foreign to him, maybe if he went and asked Crux for help this could go smoother but Y/N still didn’t trust him. A part of him still blamed him for being here or maybe he would have ended up here anyways after the car hit him but either way he needed someone to blame; he couldn’t blame Black since they both were in sorta the same position. 

Crux also did say that he needed to just accept the fact that he’s here and that led him to believe he wouldn’t try to help him even if he was asked. He could ask Black but then they would still be in the same boat but this time it would be guaranteed that Crux would find out and maybe try to stop him. 

A knock on the door snapped Y/N out of his thoughts and made him jump a little, standing by the doorway was Grete who seemed more stressed than usual. She glanced around the room anxiously, maybe she hated what he was doing to her mom’s old room or maybe she was hating who he was turning into. 

“Breakfast is ready.” She quickly turned around shuffling back to the kitchen with Y/N in tow, he closed his door turning the little lock on it.  He sat down at the table eating the pancakes that Grete had attempted, sometimes when Y/N didn’t feel like being disappointed by the lack of answers he was finding he’d help Grete learn new recipes which she seemed to enjoy. 

“Do you know anything about the scientist at the base of the tree?” Grete swallowed a bite hard and put another piece in her mouth giving her more time to think, Y/N knew that she had told him everything that she knew about him from the last conversation they had on the topic but things could change. This place seemed to always change and stay the same, it was hard to figure out. 

“Not anything I haven’t told you before, he doesn’t speak to anyone much outside of talking to anyone new that shows up.” She seemed to shrug loosely, Y/N didn’t have any reason to not trust her or her intentions. She’s been the only constant in this world since he showed up, she glanced at him almost wanting to ask a question but decided that wouldn’t be the best choice. 

“Is he hostile?” She shook her head quickly, almost as if the question itself was foolish and wasn’t worth the air to ask it on. Well that settled it his next lead would be going to the scientist. 

“Have you looked for any jobs yet?” Grete finished off her plate of food and stood up, Y/N had completely forgotten about getting a job, maybe the scientist needed an assistant. 

“Yeah, I’m going to go to the scientist and see if he needs an assistant.” Eerie silence fell on the both of them, Grete didn’t say much but didn’t actively protest against it. 

“Have you talked to Crux? He’s worried, he hasn’t heard from you recently.” Y/N stood up and deposited the dish next to the sink then left the house after getting his shoes on. He knew exactly where he was going, he didn’t want to break Grete’s heart by telling her he didn’t trust Crux. 

The walk wasn’t quick but it gave him plenty of time to think, to form his questions and a chance to walk off any additional stress he was feeling. A slight breeze was picking up carrying the scent of something rotten, voices could be heard as well. 

“Has he replied to you?” Y/N panicked realizing it was Black’s voice meaning he was most likely talking to Crux. How did they figure out what he was doing or was this a consequence, with Crux being involved that wasn’t very likely but maybe that was giving him too much credit. 

“No, Grete said he was going to see the scientist.” Crux’s voice made Y/N sick, but he kept listening. He was pissed that Grete would have told Crux anything but he also knew she was just worried especially if he was sleep talking. Plus Grete was probably worried that Y/N wasn’t settling well into this new life and maybe Crux could help. 

“Why?” Black sounded more concerned than Crux seemed. 

“To get a job but she thinks it has more to do with him talking in his sleep and the stuff he has on his walls. I know he’s avoiding us.” Crux’s voice was a mix of hurt and concern, which Y/N found rich since he was the reason he was there anyways. 

“What stuff on his wall?” Y/N leaned over trying to find where they were standing; they couldn’t be too far if he could hear them so well, but he had to make sure Black didn’t smell him. 

“She doesn’t know and the door is locked so she can’t check not that she would.” The talking stopped as Black’s truck doors were open, the slam and the start of the engine roaring to life was almost comforting. Y/N scrambled behind the dumpster as the truck rolled by. Once the truck was well in the distance he got out of his hiding spot and started the walk back to the tree. 

Almost an hour passed before he managed to make it to the tree, he decided to go back to the metal box from the day before. This time when he looked into the box it had a leather bound book, he took it out the leather was cracking from being worn down and the pages were loose. All the pages were covered in frantic phrases of “RUN” “HE’S WATCHING” and “IT’S TOO LATE.” Branches snapping behind him made him run for cover tucking himself under the roots of the tree only peaking out enough to watch Crux look around. 

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@doubledeadstudio & @kiiyoooo

[foxholewriting]

Reanimated Heart

“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.” ― Mark Twain

Crux -

Orphan Heart Two

Black -

Hunter

Grete -

General -

Dr.Frankenstein's Monster

[foxholewriting]

Hunter

Black/Male Reader - Slice of life/Fluff - Words/ 728

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - Murder (light murder), Zombie being a zombie

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“I’m not doing this Black.” Y/N glared at Black and then looked at the poor dude that was tied up with rope, he had appeared a few days previous causing havoc on everyone most recently committing armed robbery. He seemed to have a particular target for younger women. 

“Why not?” He looked down at the man who was worming and wriggling around like a pathetic worm dirt was stirring up making Y/N cough, he was sure that Black would do what he wanted with this man either way but making Y/N watch wasn’t fair. 

“So what you want me to do is release this man so you can hunt him down? Why do you need me here to do that, your arms stop working? Oh wait, maybe they fell off? I was having a cozy night with Grete watching a very strange version of the price is right where people had to fist fight to get to guess the price. I just saw two old ladies dook it out but now i’m out here feeding you like my pet zombie.” Black stared at him as if to say “Are you done yet?” Y/N rolled his eyes and took Black’s pocket knife. 

“Wait until i’m-” Y/N raised his hand to flip him off, this is the same song and dance they’ve had for the last few weeks. 

“I know I know, you need to get into position while I interrogate the guy to find out whatever scraps of information he could possibly have. I swear your brain has rotted through.” Black huffed walking away into the factory already done with Y/N, it’s become a ritual, a silent agreement that not even Crux intrudes on. 

It took several attempts to pin the man down and cut the ropes that were gagging his mouth, he looked at Y/N panicked then looked around as if this was the first time he’s ever been here. 

“Where the hell am I? Where’s my daughter?” Y/N let him panic and get it out of their system, usually when they panic they don’t give clear answers or even a worthy hunt for Black making it a lose lose situation. After a few minutes the man seemed to calm down enough to answer Y/N’s questions. 

“I don’t know where your daughter is, do you know what happened to you?” The man, admitting his name is Colin, had a puzzled look on his face. 

“What happened to me? All I can remember is me having an argument with my daughter over her boyfriend,  her screaming at me to turn around seeing her boyfriend carrying something then everything went dark.” Colin didn’t give any answers beyond that, why he was stealing or why he didn’t even try to look for his daughter. The story didn’t add up, there wasn’t a way to cross reference any news or articles in his past universe to compare notes. 

“What are you? A fucking detective?” Y/N rolled his eyes, okay time to cut this dude loose he was causing a headache and he was giving him the creeps. The ropes gave way easily with small sounds of ripping, Y/N stepped back running somewhere to hide. It took several minutes before the man got up and moved around, he was looking for Y/N but it was hard to coordinate the factory yard to even try to find him. 

This part was usually the more grotesque part of the event, not that Black was grotesque but the act of him feeding was grotesque since he still hadn’t mastered a more neat approach to it. It was like he didn’t act human, it was primal and raw which made it so much harder to stomach. An hour passed before Black came to find Y/N who was currently writing in his journal. 

“Ready?” Y/N looked up and grimaced before using a washed rag to wipe his face, careful to not be too rough as he washed away whatever human by product was stuck to his skin. 

“Feeling better?” Black smiled and nodded. 

“Yes, I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a while.” They both laughed as they walked back to Grete’s house, without either of them saying anything they linked hands and for a moment everything felt okay. Everything felt human again. 

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@kiiyoooo & @doubledeadstudio

If you want to be tagged in anything please let me know

[foxholewriting]

Dr.Frankenstein's monster

Reanimated Heart/Male Reader - Angst/Hurt - Words/ 1,208

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - Medical experiment, Eye removal, medical torture, disfigurement, brief reader death

Please PLEASE listen to the warnings even if they aren't the most intense scenes still pay attention to them. This is set if reader got stuck in the under market for the experimentation.

Note: The surgeon is an actual character just not called by a surgeon and depends on how I feel I might make a second part

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The sound of a heart monitor beeping woke Y/N, a groggy fog clouded his vision as he tried to wipe it away but couldn't. It was like his entire body was lead, all his limbs were anchored down and an IV was attached to his arms wires and cords were attached to his body. It took him several minutes to notice he could only see out of one side of his face, he blinked a few times before primal panic set in. He had no idea where he was, he was naked, and his eye was missing. What was worse it didn’t hurt. The room was freezing cold, so cold that it almost burned his skin. 

Muffled conversation could be heard outside the room, nurses started to filter in and out carrying papers, others were holding little medical equipment bags. Y/N strained to try to understand what they were saying but it was almost impossible, it was like they were far away; a film was between them. Spots of black started to dance around his vision as a plastic mask was strapped to his face, a surgeon walking into the room wearing an all black uniform was probably an attempt to hide any blood or bodily waste on him. All that he did notice on him was that his hair was black and maybe a white streak on it, hard to make out with all his moving. 

After Y/N was knocked out it was time to start the second round of experiments, they had removed his eye mostly because they had a client that wanted the color but they also wanted to see if an eye transplant was possible. The underground heard about some new outsiders that showed up in the hollow but only one of them would be a worthy experiment, they had stalked him for sometime trying to find the perfect time to strike when Grede or Crux or Black was away. Who knew a simple mysterious letter promising to help him get back home was all they needed. 

The nurses pulled away some of the cords from Y/N’s abdomen, the surgeon barely spoke, only muttering a few sentences. 

“Bring the plague, switch it for the IV.” His idea was that the plague, supposedly, came from Y/N’s world and was a medical “phenomenon” which they took as a good thing. The nurses chirped in agreement and then swapped out the bags attaching a fluorescent green black liquid bag to the line. The liquid slowly dripped down leaking into Y/N’s blood stream spreading through his body, his abdomen was wiped down sterilizing it before the first cut. A simple abdominal cut was made, the skin being peeled back as the surgeon slowly went deeper each slice of Y/N’s body slowly changed him as the plague filtered through his body. 

He was very pleased once the cavity was open, all the organs working together perfectly. It quickly became a frantic scene as black started to bloom over the organs, the beautiful red being taken over by a black spider. The surgeon ignored it as he opened up Y/N’s chest cavity seeing the same black spider web pattern across his lungs and heart, the nurses looked between themselves. This didn’t look normal but they refused to interrupt the surgeon. They knew he had a short term bad for them but worse for Y/N. 

New organs were brought in from different creatures, each one slowly replacing an old organ, a new set of lungs, new intestines, new kidneys, and as he started to replace the heart which was the hardest organ to change, the artificial heart started to sputter. 

“FIX THAT NOW!” The nurses jumped when the surgeon screamed at them, the lungs started to falter from the irregular blood flow and the rest of the body was losing its color a mute black red started to spread. The operating room started to grow panic as they ran around trying to salvage the experiment but it was becoming harder by each passing second the new heart was in place but it wasn’t beating like it should have been, the surgeon quickly sew him back up then attached electric rods to his body thinking it was needed. 

The situation went from panic to all out chaos, the heart monitor flat lined, Y/N was seizing on the table, the plague bags were completely empty and the nurses were scared to touch the body. 

Y/N started to wake up but his entire body was numb, it felt heavy and light at the same time. He felt an animalistic hunger while this sickening need to eat something full of iron, not human meat but human heart. His head lifted only by a bit before it slammed back down. 

The surgeon threw his gloves on the ground, finally breaking into a cold sweat. He was sure that he did the surgery by the book of Dr.Frankenstien to bring back the dead. Which by his conclusion meant that if he were to replace Y/N’s organs there would be a way to bring him to a different dimension sure the logic was extremely flawed but it was a starter experiment being that Y/N was only the second person he did this to. He had successfully brought back others in other ways but he had found this book that seemed to be an easier method that just needed a bit of fixing. 

They needed to dispose of him now, if they threw him in the right place he would just be eaten and forgotten about. The nurses quickly took out the IV, the cords and wires dragging him out of the room. They gave up once they broke out into the cold air, deeming the dumpster outside the backdoor was good enough. 

Y/N’s body hit the ground with a thud as they scurried inside, it took several hours before all the drugs wore off as he slowly staggered to his feet. This time he woke up and could see out of both sides of his face, one eye was normal but the other eye was seeing things that weren’t like gold threads crossed with red threads. He reached out and plucked the threads they moved but burned his fingers, it took several more minutes to move his body looking around staggering towards Grede place. 

Over an hour later he knocked on the door having lost his key, phone, and even pants which took him an embarrassingly long time to pay attention too. Grede opened the door and somehow grew paler than she usually was, she gasped when she looked at him. Her hand jerked him inside, Crux and Black sighed happy to see him before both of their faces turned into a mixture. It was hard to say which expression was the most prominent one; disgust? Anger? Pity? Guilt? 

“What happened to you?” Black spoke first staring at the stitches that ziggaged across then at Y/N’s face then back at his abdomen. 

“Well at least you didn’t have exposed genitals.” Crux’s weak attempt at a joke fell deaf on the group, Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed then looked down. 

“THEY STOLE MY DICK!” 

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@doubledeadstudio

Please enjoy the weird little experiment