Victor Frankenstein x wife! reader
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Waking up next to your husband was an indescribable joy. You had opened your eyes to find his arms locked around your stomach, hugging you close to his front while he breathed in the scent of your hair. You could feel his cold nose buried into your shoulder. One strange feature of Victor is that he seemed to run cold, while you always acted as his source of heat, like an organic radiator. As always he’d gotten back from the lab at an ungodly hour of the night and first thing he did was snake his ice-cold hands up your chemise. Something you did not appreciate.
Turning in his hold you tuck your head under his chin and tangle your legs together, “it’s cold” you whispered into his chest. “It is winter, my darling” he mumbled into your hair, you huffed and buried yourself into him a little more “It’s still cold, my love”. He only hums and rubs his hand in small circles over your lower back.
A comfortable silence passes and you relish it, soaking up your husband's presence as much as possible before he inevitably leaves. Lucky for you, he’d spent all of last night in the lab, which means he’s given himself an excuse to lie in.
Eventually you both start getting ready for the day, “Victor” you call over your shoulder, he holds his scarf in his mouth to quickly help you with your corset laces. You turn and help him fix his collar. Reaching up, your fingers brush against his jaw. He takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your fingers, the back of your hand, then your palm, and the inside of your wrist. You smile up at him and he grabs your lip stain (which he made for you out of the beetles that Elizabeth had gifted him) off of your vanity table and patted it gently on your lips with his finger.
“What will you be doing today?” his eyes stay trained on your face as he answers “just finishing my notes and clearing my lab, you?” you brush off imaginary dust from his shoulders “just organising my library with Adam, he’s gotten so good at…at.” your voice dies in your throat as you acknowledge your mistake. Victor sighs and pulls away from you, rolling his eyes, “I told you this would happen” he could sound so disappointed in you without actually yelling.
Your brows scrunch up in concern “Victor, don’t say that” you weren't scared of your husband, only cautious. “No. You’ve gotten attached to that creature like some brooding hen. It’s ridiculous.” he waves his hands around to emphasise his point, similarly to a tantrum-having child. “He needs guidance Victor. What do you expect me to do? Would you rather him rot in our cellar? Then what?” you put an emphasis on his name when spitting it out of your mouth.
“Yes. it is a mistake, understand? It’s a fruitless endeavour to treat that thing like an infant, when it is clearly absent of intellect” your eyes widen as he turns from you, busying himself by shrugging on his jacket. You let out a huffed laugh, one empty of any positive emotion “Like you are such a gifted teacher.”
He turns back to face you now “Oh? Well in that case, please, do educate me on how to instruct a being incapable of parroting more than three words” you bite the inside of your cheek at his ignorance “And who taught him those words? Who taught him how to walk, how to paint, how to sit and stand like a man” he sneers down at you “Those things hardly require intellect”
There's an invisible wall between you now. You glare daggers into his eyes, hoping and wishing for him to understand by some act of divine intervention. Never in all of your years of marriage have you related to the women who poison their husbands with arsenic.
Swallowing the venomous words threatening to spill out, you storm out of the bedroom and down the stairs to Adam’s door. Pausing for a moment, you look up at the ceiling to prevent any of the tears from spilling, they make your eyes sting slightly but you pull yourself out of that emotional pit and knock. You’ve gotten into the habit of knocking the same rhythm into the wood each time you’re there, just so that he knows you’re not Victor. It’s been two months since the creature was welcomed into your world, but only a week since Victor decided to have some role in educating him. From your fresh argument it’s obvious they haven’t had much success.
Upon entering the room you notice that the curtains are still closed, walking over you welcome the morning light in before making your way over to a large ball of blankets. You notice the chain that victor recently installed at the foot of the bed leading up and under the covers. “Ducky?” you call softy, “It’s a brand new day, don’t you want to come welcome it?” you kneel next to your bed and peak under the covers only to find little red speckles littered over his cotton sheets. “Ducky?” your voice raises slightly with urgency.
The body shifts lightly, with a low groan following the movement. Peeling back the covers reveals the creature wound up tightly in the foetal position. Who knew someone so large could seem so small in a moment like this. Your eyes scan over his face as your heart burns, the scar that stretches over the bridge of his nose is oozing blood. Heavily. His eyes refuse to meet yours, he only stares at his hand covered in the dried redness from trying to wipe his nose, just to spread it across his face more. You take out your handkerchief and press into the cut, “Ducky can you hold this for me? Hold it” he moves his hand away from yours when you try to touch it. Letting out a shaky sigh you move to take his hand as softly and slowly as you could, moving to place it to compress the fabric over his nose.
You lift his chin slowly to get him to look at you, “Can you sit up for me?” his eyes are now fixed onto you, wide and unblinking. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand once you see the rest of him. His shirt sleeves were torn and the rest of him was bloodied. Picking up one of his hands, you note how they were covered in dirt and cuts from bits of gravel or maybe even glass. Each little cut and bruise fed the rage that built up in your chest.
You join him on the bed and reach up to cradle his face in your hands, his head hung low as he stares off. Brushing your thumb under his eyes he leaned into your hold a little, your voice was unsteady as you murmured with tears in your eyes, scared of the possible answer. “What happened hmm? You’re all shaken up” he slowly blinks at you, dazed and aching before pointing to his nose and letting out a raspy “Vi-ctor”, then he tugs at the rips on his shirt, making them hang loosely off his shoulder “Victor”. He moves his hands in front of you, cupped like he was giving them to you “Victor”.
He moves to lay back down only this time he rests his head in your lap, facing your stomach, he has his arms scrunched up to his chest and goes back to ‘sleep’ with his eyes closed. You sit there, processing. You rest one hand on his back to shift him closer to you with the other on his head, thumb tracing his brow bone gently as he rests. You stare at the blood covering the initials on your handkerchief. Slowly, you began to rethink your entire marriage…was this really the man you’d married? What happened? How could you let it happen? It was your fault, you thought. You were the one to convince him to teach Adam, you let it happen in your home.
After a little while you move Adam into your library with his blanket and pillows, which he helped you carry, like a gentleman. Grabbing your sewing kit you let Adam return to his place in your lap while you fix his shirt. As you stitched he stared out the window, watching the sea birds and clouds as they passed by. “He even took your lovely hair,” you muttered as you picked out the little sharp bits from his palms, placing them in a tea cup resting on the arm of the couch.
Adam seems unbothered by the pain but you make sure to pass him a chocolate for every chunk you dislodged from his skin. “One day it will grow back, and you’ll have lovely long hair like Elizabeth” you cooed, he smiled up at you before slowly repeating back her name "That's right, I’m sure she’d love to make your acquaintance”
You move Victor into your library in order to keep him safe. You are the only one with the key anyway and have sewn the skeleton key to inside one of your painting’s frame. Since it doesn't require "intellect" to paint, you doubt Victor will go looking for it in your room. You and Adam spend the night picking out music to listen to on your Gramophone, while also organising some of your newer books. You’d purchased a spelling book off one of the schools in town to hopefully aid in Adam’s teaching. A subject you’ve now decided only one person can be involved in.
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