Rebecca || speaking: English, German || learning: Spanish
Currrent Fandom: Formula 1 RPF
Past Fandoms (below the cut): MCU & Star Wars
Favorite Drivers: OP81, LN4, AA23, KA12, GR63, OB87, CS55
Rooting for a WDC: LN4(✔), OP81( ), AA23( ), GR63 ( ), KA12( )
This space has occasional critiques of fans and drivers (usually anti tagged dw)
I’m AuDHD, that means my tone might sound off or defensive when I write and it might mean you need to be more direct with me when talking to me.
– FANFIC ZONE –
I write both driver x driver AND driver x reader! Majority of my xReader work is x fem!reader and often light complexion reader. Character x Character is signified by their shipname in brackets.
(S) - Smut (18+ MDNI)
Unlinked works are WIPs
Multifandom Series
KINKTOBERS (MDNI)
2019: -M a s t e r l i s t- (MCU)
2020: -M a s t e r l i s t- (MCU & Star Wars)
2025: -M a s t e r l i s t- (F1 RPF)
Current Series
Girlboy (Papaya Princess)
-Ao3 Link-
Pairing: girl!Lando x bi!Oscar
Description: He looked at himself closer in the mirror. The same little marks, the scars on his nose, his slight tooth gap. He softly pulled up the sleep shirt, revealing a lean female body with a beautifully narrow waist, same birth marks. “Huh.”
Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, Genderbent Lando, body dysmorphia, misogyny, experiences of girlhood (positive & negative), Lando keeps his horny on main vibes, Oscar has a major crush.
24 rarepair fics for 24 races
Pairings: Pialbon, Piastrell, Landollie, Pianortrell, Maly, etc.
Summary: A challenge I set myself to fill more rarepair tags with life.
Exposure Therapy
-Ao3 link- (TBA)
Pairing: fem!Reader x 2025 F1 Grid
Drivers React… Masterlist
collection of how drivers would react to a given scenario like a first kiss or receiving flowers (commonly LN4, OP81, AA23, CL16, LH44, OB87, GR63, sometimes other drivers)
Mini-Series
Hibiscus & Rain - Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 (x LN4 & OP81) (A/B/O) (S)
Hate Her - Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 (x OP81) (Enemies to Lovers) (S)
Always Second - Ch 1 | Ch 2a | Ch 2b (Landoscar)
Lancat Meowris - Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 (x shapeshifter!LN4)
Drabbles
Double DSQ Fluff (Landoscar)
Summer Slump (disabled!reader x LN4)
Like Tinkerbell? (reader x fairy!Lando)
One Shots
Lando Norris
Crushed Wrist (x LN4) (Soulmate AU)
Least Scary Vampire To Walk The Earth (x LN4) (Vampire AU)
Soulmate Subscription (x LN4) (Soulmate AU)
You’re too unserious meets you talk too much (x LN4) (Co-Workers)
Oscar Piastri
Cozier Than an On-fire Car (x OP81) (Soulmate AU)
Hot Chocolate & Stolen Hoodies (x OP81) (Friends to Lovers)
Friends Don’t Know How You Taste (x OP81) (Friends to Lovers) (S)
Post-Race Dinner (x OP81) (Co-Workers) (S)
I’d let you (x OP81) (A/B/O)
Thanks. You Mean Fangs (x OP81) (Vampire AU)
2AM in Europe (x OP81)
Summary: Cute lil conversation between Adrian and Simon I was thinking ab, may make it into a comic later??
Pairing: For all intents and purposes for this one, PLATONIC Simon and Adrian, Grace x Simon/ BloodyMary implied
CW: I gave a rock postpartum depression. Didn’t have that on my bingo card.
Author notes: Will expand/continue if requested <3 Please reblog if you enjoy
-
Simon lounged on the back of Adrian while she chirped away at the Pebbles, playing in the sand in the biodome. He glanced at his xenonite hand, one Rocky had made him once they were sure he was safe to be here. Darkened red veins extended from the very top of his shoulder, up his neck, into the skin of his jaw and cheek on the side of his face that was mangled from the mutations.
He hadn’t felt right since his battle in vain with the eel. It went without saying, of course mentally he still had so much work to do. He had barely begun to feel like he was safe, and if there was a single other human that wasn’t Grace, he wasn’t sure he would anymore. But physically, something was deeply wrong. He didn’t know what, it was a sense of unease in his body. It didn’t hurt, but it was different and he hated it. He didn’t know what the sentient blood that had infected his veins would do to him in the long term.
“Adrian?”
“Yes, Simon-friend?” they chirped back at him, perking up a little.
“Do we have any more data about my situation?”
“I am trying…need to develop more technology before I can learn more…alien blood hard to separate from yours..”
He made a noise and looked back at the house on the tall hill.
“I don’t know what it did to me..what it will do to me. I don’t even want to be capable of hurting Grace, I..” he trailed off.
“I’m scared, Adrian..”
She made an inquisitive chirp and let him keep talking.
Adrian felt his increased heart rate reverberate against her carapace. She tucked her legs in closer, wiggling their heavy body into the sand.
“I was scared to have pebbles.”
Simon cocked his head, flipping over to ‘look’ at her, though he got a view of the top of what he called their head. Adrian continued. “Am larger than most Eridians from my region. Pointier, sharper. Was afraid I would hurt them. Pebbles are soft and vulnerable for first 50 years of life, like the… ‘bugs’ that Grace-friend described to me.”
“Fifty?” Simon asked.
Adrian ‘nodded’. “Carapace hardens gradually..I was so scared of harming them. Rocky woke me when having nightmares.”
“I’m sorry..I can’t imagine”
“Was awful…but, Rocky stayed with me. He watched Pebbles when worry became too much. He watched pebbles play while he watched me sleep. Rocky lost much sleep, some days were very hard for him. But he was kind..patient. Assured me that I was safe. Both myself, and around pebbles. I never did hurt them. Some grew pointed like me. All loved me just the same. To them, I was just their parent, never a threat or something scary. Just loved.”
Simon listened and absorbed their words, letting them circle in his mind. Adrian stayed quiet, just offering him a soft, sympathetic trill.
“Thank you…I can’t even decide for what exactly, but thank you.” Simon gave Adrian a hug from his position and they chirped a sound like a chuckle.
“Very welcome, friend. You are no danger. Not to Grace, to Rocky or I, or pebbles. Would not let you near them if you were,”
Adrian gave a teasing growl and shifted back and forth gently under Simon, who held steady on her upper spikes, laughing as they spoke again.
“See! Points keep you safe! … I know you will not harm Grace, but I also do not know extent of mutations. We wait, we watch. You tell me if you feel different, I keep studying. We learn together…”
With a happy noise, she glanced back down at her pebbles, rolling in their exosuits in the rocky sand.
“Is the best we can all do.”
One floated too far out into the water and Adrian reached back with one of their long hind legs to get them to drift back to the terrain, reminding them to play safely. Simon watched quietly, thinking, watching. He listened to the babies chitter excitedly to each other and play-fight from atop their parent.
Looking up the hill, he found a familiar shape walking down. Once the pebbles saw, they gave excited little high pitched trills and skittered toward Grace, who chuckled audibly. Simon softly smiled and spoke to Adrian. “Should we go get your babies?”
Summary: Cute lil conversation between Adrian and Simon I was thinking ab, may make it into a comic later??
Pairing: For all intents and purposes for this one, PLATONIC Simon and Adrian, Grace x Simon/ BloodyMary implied
CW: I gave a rock postpartum depression. Didn’t have that on my bingo card.
Author notes: Will expand/continue if requested <3 Please reblog if you enjoy
-
Simon lounged on the back of Adrian while she chirped away at the Pebbles, playing in the sand in the biodome. He glanced at his xenonite hand, one Rocky had made him once they were sure he was safe to be here. Darkened red veins extended from the very top of his shoulder, up his neck, into the skin of his jaw and cheek on the side of his face that was mangled from the mutations.
He hadn’t felt right since his battle in vain with the eel. It went without saying, of course mentally he still had so much work to do. He had barely begun to feel like he was safe, and if there was a single other human that wasn’t Grace, he wasn’t sure he would anymore. But physically, something was deeply wrong. He didn’t know what, it was a sense of unease in his body. It didn’t hurt, but it was different and he hated it. He didn’t know what the sentient blood that had infected his veins would do to him in the long term.
“Adrian?”
“Yes, Simon-friend?” they chirped back at him, perking up a little.
“Do we have any more data about my situation?”
“I am trying…need to develop more technology before I can learn more…alien blood hard to separate from yours..”
He made a noise and looked back at the house on the tall hill.
“I don’t know what it did to me..what it will do to me. I don’t even want to be capable of hurting Grace, I..” he trailed off.
“I’m scared, Adrian..”
She made an inquisitive chirp and let him keep talking.
Adrian felt his increased heart rate reverberate against her carapace. She tucked her legs in closer, wiggling their heavy body into the sand.
“I was scared to have pebbles.”
Simon cocked his head, flipping over to ‘look’ at her, though he got a view of the top of what he called their head. Adrian continued. “Am larger than most Eridians from my region. Pointier, sharper. Was afraid I would hurt them. Pebbles are soft and vulnerable for first 50 years of life, like the… ‘bugs’ that Grace-friend described to me.”
“Fifty?” Simon asked.
Adrian ‘nodded’. “Carapace hardens gradually..I was so scared of harming them. Rocky woke me when having nightmares.”
“I’m sorry..I can’t imagine”
“Was awful…but, Rocky stayed with me. He watched Pebbles when worry became too much. He watched pebbles play while he watched me sleep. Rocky lost much sleep, some days were very hard for him. But he was kind..patient. Assured me that I was safe. Both myself, and around pebbles. I never did hurt them. Some grew pointed like me. All loved me just the same. To them, I was just their parent, never a threat or something scary. Just loved.”
Simon listened and absorbed their words, letting them circle in his mind. Adrian stayed quiet, just offering him a soft, sympathetic trill.
“Thank you…I can’t even decide for what exactly, but thank you.” Simon gave Adrian a hug from his position and they chirped a sound like a chuckle.
“Very welcome, friend. You are no danger. Not to Grace, to Rocky or I, or pebbles. Would not let you near them if you were,”
Adrian gave a teasing growl and shifted back and forth gently under Simon, who held steady on her upper spikes, laughing as they spoke again.
“See! Points keep you safe! … I know you will not harm Grace, but I also do not know extent of mutations. We wait, we watch. You tell me if you feel different, I keep studying. We learn together…”
With a happy noise, she glanced back down at her pebbles, rolling in their exosuits in the rocky sand.
“Is the best we can all do.”
One floated too far out into the water and Adrian reached back with one of their long hind legs to get them to drift back to the terrain, reminding them to play safely. Simon watched quietly, thinking, watching. He listened to the babies chitter excitedly to each other and play-fight from atop their parent.
Looking up the hill, he found a familiar shape walking down. Once the pebbles saw, they gave excited little high pitched trills and skittered toward Grace, who chuckled audibly. Simon softly smiled and spoke to Adrian. “Should we go get your babies?”
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
🐺Summary: Something has blossomed between two monstrous companions and neither know what to make of it, or how to properly express it.🐺
Pairing: Creature/Adam Frankenstein x Werewolf!Reader (feminine presenting, she/her used), Strangers to friends to lovers, slow(ish) burn, slice of life
Masterlist: here
Words: 1,783. Ik this one is shorter but its a good bridge to the next one, trust me <3
TW: More discussion of meat preparation
Author notes: I was gone for a min, but guess who has a BFA now biiiiiittttch. Thank you for your patience, this series will get finished so help me god.
I listened to so much Laufey writing this, don’t look at me.
-
Weeks had passed, Adam had come back nearly every night. On the nights he didn’t, you found more large game at your door in the morning. He’d come to dinner so the ‘burden’ of storing it didn’t weigh on you, in his words. You saw how his shoulders lowered inch by inch, day by day. Your tail whipped happily behind you in the chair while you two ate.
He had even helped you fix up more of your cottage and the cold drafts bit you less at night. One day, he said he had been unable to sleep so came to you early. You jumped when you opened the door. “OH! I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you during the daylight,” you joked, and he blinked at you.
“I apologize-”
“Don’t! It’s lovely to see you,”
With that you scooted out the door as he moved for you and you gestured to the work you were doing on the side of the cottage, mending the cracked and chipped chimney. You had both learned to maneuver around each other in the same way you’d learn a dance, him bigger than any man you’d met before and you being one of the few people he’d gotten so close to.
As you mixed more clay to mend it, he offered to take it from you. You obliged, still getting used to accepting help.
“Why are you so kind to me?” you asked plainly, amusement playing at your tone which made his cheeks heat up just a little.
He didn’t know why exactly, but he turned away while he answered. “Because I can be…you let me be…”
His answer caught you off guard. Was it really so simple? It must be.
“Is that it?” was all that escaped you after a pause.
“It is.”
“Thank you…”
“No need-”
He froze, bucket in hand when arms wrapped around his middle and his reanimated heart skipped a beat. Even with the gentle sun above you both, your heat melted into him and he took a shaky breath. Your arms only gently tightened around his ribs and his mind raced when something in him finally felt…safe? Was that it?
“I do...I need to thank you. Because it means a lot to me.”
Your voice reverberated against his spine and felt so genuine that it broke his heart.
“I’ve been by myself here for years… I’m the only one that takes care of me. I’ve hurt myself trying to hunt big game, and you bring it to me like it comes naturally…I haven’t been hungry in weeks because of you..”
He finally gathered the courage to turn and arranged his arms carefully, letting them rest on your shoulders and very tentatively he gently squeezed back.
You smiled widely and adjusted your head to look up at him. He was sure his chest would implode, and he still didn’t blink.
“I mean it..”
“I know. You’re welcome” a smile that he barely registered spread over his face.
You smiled and tucked your head against the shirt you’d altered for him. Adam felt his chest swell and was surprised that in all his panic at this moment, he didn’t feel the need to move. This felt..okay. He hugged you back and both of you stayed there than probably socially appropriate. But how would either of you know? The society that shunned you had led you to this small comfort in the sun for you both and where was the harm in it?
-
You both finished your work as the sun went down so you invited Adam in a little early. He didn’t refuse and sat in the chair you left pulled out for him. You bent over to light the fire, tail whipping idly and contentedly behind you. It was small, but would be enough for the still chilly nights.
“Do you need more wood?” He asked.
You shook your head. “I’ll be warm for tonight…y-” your mind caught up to your heart and cut you off.
Adam, ever observant, noticed though. “What is it?”
“I…you said you have some shelter a couple months ago. I never asked…is it comfortable?” You met his eyes and suddenly he felt exposed and glanced down.
“It…it is adequate for one my size.”
“Is it?”
You had a way of asking gently but directly enough that it disarmed him every time. “It’s..enough.”
“You deserve more than enough. I can’t stomach the idea of you helping me build up my cottage to go sleep alone on the ground.”
“How else would I sleep?”
“On a bed-”
“Alone?...” he wondered aloud.
Oh god. How do I recover from this?
Just as you did him, he disarmed you too. Your mouth hung open and you felt your cheeks flush deeply. “I..I meant-”
What had you meant?
“N-nevermind-” You turned to the stove rapidly and awkwardly, grabbing spices for some venison to cook for you both.
In the sunset light, papers on your desk caught his eye and curiosity tickled at his mind. “May I?
“Please, my home is yours” you answered without turning to see what he referred to. An easy trust had built between you two, you didn’t believe he’d ever hurt or steal from you.
He nodded and walked to the desk, picking the papers up. He had to double take at what was on them. It was him.
Many sketches of his face at rest covered the paper in charcoal pencil. Some were rough, only structural, some were rendered. He looked at other papers, finding more of him. Some became more stylized.
Finally he found one that he stared at for what felt like too long in silence.
On it was him again, but his likeness presented as if in a stained glass window in churches he’d seen from the outside. He only vaguely understood what went on in them due to his readings. The lines matched the same ones on his face and he reached up and touched them gently. You’d so lovingly rendered every rough curve and made him into a piece of art to be revered.
It was too late when you realized what the rustling of the papers meant. “Wait!-”
He barely heard you as you flipped around, crossing the cottage in two wide steps. You didn’t reach for the paper, instead braving a look at his face, which was astounded, eyes flicking subtly over details.
He finally looked at you, your face flush and tears of worry brimming at your eyes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to overstep-”
“Is this how you see me?”
“I..” you blinked and looked away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. You took a deep breath and tried to even it out as you tried to speak again.
“Of course. How could I not?” you stepped toward him once and continued.
“I…I used to draw what brought me joy..the longer I was here, the less there was. After you started visiting, I had an urge to draw again and didn’t understand why…but look at you..”
You very tentatively raised a hand up to his jaw and still he didn’t move. His breathing stalled for a moment. “I..I know you may not like how you look..but I was-..am so intrigued by you..”
Your hand shook just a little, vulnerability making you feel like a flayed animal. It didn’t hurt, though.
“None of you matches exactly…like stained glass. It's all pieced together to make someth-..someone so beautiful..”
His lips formed the word but he looked astounded and confused at how that word would ever relate to him.
“Your hair is so many colors, so is your skin..your eyes are both different and-”
He shut his eyes and your heart stung and you removed your gentle touch for fear of overwhelming him. “No! I meant..I meant that-..” you cursed your social ineptness and took another moment, trying not to let your voice break.
“I meant that…I had never seen someone mismatched like me…you bring me comfort. My cottage only felt like a home once you started visiting. You’re so kind and so…so beautiful.”
“H..how?” he managed out, barely over a whisper.
Your heart again pulled because you knew exactly what he meant. How would anyone consider creatures like yourselves beautiful?
“Must everything be rational?” you spoke softly and managed a smile.
He finally looked back at you, eyes moving over your face, focusing on the lower half of it.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know…but it feels right..” For once, his words were sure.
He leaned toward you slowly, carefully, as if approaching a deer. You didn’t move, leaning into him. The last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was the reverent reflection of you in his.
When his lips gently touched yours, you leaned into him. He caught you, pulling you so close but so carefully with one arm. He kept his fingers balled into his palm, almost afraid to touch you too much. One of you made a small noise into the kiss, maybe both, but neither of you cared. You felt the warmth of what was left of the sun and each other melt through you both and stayed in the gentle, tentative but passionate kiss for a while. He set the drawings down, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek as he also set you down, not realizing he had lifted you just a little. You chuckled softly and lightly as he pulled away.
Again you told him, in a softened whisper “You’re beautiful…I mean it.”
He blinked slowly at you, brimming tears wiping away. He simply let his forehead rest against yours. Neither of you knew what to say, but it didn’t matter. You were warm and you’d come to love each other. Neither of you were cold and alone anymore; him not alone in a cold cavern, you not alone in a drafty, nearly unsafe cottage. You had been able to count on company for dinner for the first time in years.
You just hugged him, and both of you cried just a little, a wild concoction of emotions clear in your rapid hearts and shaking hands. You reached to hold his and he stayed there with you.
maybe some special tattoo ink that allows the markings to be visible to eridians, or some form of supeficial scarification. hello. can anybody hear me
more erid!grace hcs below the cut
Grace leans fully into the jewelry. how could he not? Especially when he's been gifted so many beautiful pieces, specifically by Rocky and Adrian. Bracelets, rings, necklaces, ankle bracelets, you name it, its probably been gifted to him. With the help of Armando, he ends up with quite a few piercings (he imagines his mother would faint at the sight). They are mainly on his ears, but he does have nostril piercings and a belly button piercing! (and perhaps nipple piercings).
Obviously, his clothes don't last forever. As he settles into life on Erid, adopting the culture, he starts to wear more "eridian" clothing. Adrian is actually a rather remarkable seamstress (on top of many other things), so they make the clothing for him. His wardrobe slowly morphs into one of shawls, dresses, skirts ("Is practical!" Rocky had chirped when Grace gawked at the first dress). Adrian spares no expense with the material, either. Everything they make has that gorgeous reflective feature of xenonite, with varying colors in mismatched places. Grace finds it beautiful.
Once he is healthy and the eridians figure out how to do it safely (it really isn't complicated, but Rocky about jumped out of his carapace when Grace brought up the idea), he gets markings. The first is one of the petrova line, identical to Rocky's. Like most people with tattoos, it snowballs from there and he ends up with many more. He adores them. He has one for Rocky, for Adrian, for Tau Ceti, for Sol, for Earth, for his profession (teaching), the list goes on.
I just binged your Project Hail Mary fics til 4 am and it has given me a funny idea.
You know how some humans are attracted to monsters and inhuman creatures? Do you think there’d be like one weird Eridian who meets the bizarre aliens (reader or Ryland) Rocky brings back to Erid and just thinks “I’m gonna woo this creature.”? Like I think it would be hilarious for them to try all the courting stuff Eridians might do to either Ryland or reader, while the other partner is just sitting there wondering if they should be jealous of a rock flirting.
Love your work!
"Your Density Inverts My Gravity"
Ryland Grace x reader
summary: read the request above!
yaps!: I CANT STOP GIGGLING WHOLE WRITING THIS..I also made the Eridian woo both reader AND ry eheuheuehehe... Listened to "My Body's A Zombie For You!" by Dead Man's Bones, and "Lovefool" by The Cardigans!
You sat cross-legged on a bench made of some impossibly dense, Xenonite composite material, watching Ryland fiddle with a laptop. His hair was a bird's nest of stress, a pencil was jammed behind his ear, and he was muttering under his breath about Astrophage cross-contamination metrics.
"Ryland," you said, leaning your head back against the wall. "I think your boyfriend is back."
"Rocky is not my boyfriend, we are science-allies," Ryland corrected automatically, not looking up from his screen. "And he said he was going to fetch a specialist in structural engineering to look at the fuel line blueprints. He should have been back twenty minutes ago."
A heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud echoed down the corridor. It was the distinct sound of Eridian motion—five-legged, heavy, and metallic. But as the door hissed open, it wasn't just Rocky’s familiar, bright carapace that stepped into the airlock. Behind him came another Eridian.
This one was… massive. Even by Eridian standards, where everyone looked like a sentient, five-sided boulder made of iron and basalt, this individual was imposing. Their carapace had a polished, almost glossy sheen to it, gleaming with deep, obsidian undertones.
Rocky practically bounced on his five legs, his vocoder chirping to life with a happy, musical series of notes. "Grace! [Name]! This is Oryx. Oryx is very good at big pipes. Best pipe-maker in Erid. Look, look!"
"Hi, Rocky," you waved, offering a tired smile. "Nice to meet you, Oryx."
Ryland finally looked up, his inner teacher instantly switching on. "Ah, Oryx! Welcome. We’ve been having some trouble with the pressure differentials in the main manifold. If you look at the—"
Ryland stopped.
Oryx hadn't moved toward the blueprints. Instead, the giant Eridian had slowly, deliberately rotated on their carapace was pointed directly at you. Then, with a slow, heavy tilt, they shifted their focus over to Ryland. Back to you. Back to Ryland.
A low, resonant hum began to vibrate through Oryx’s body. It wasn't the usual sharp, conversational clicking. It sounded like a massive pipe organ being played in a deep cave—a rich, rhythmic chord that literally rattled the fillings in your teeth.
You blinked, looking over at Ryland. "Is… is the structural engineer humming at us?"
"Maybe it's a greeting?" Ryland muttered, looking intrigued. He held up a hand. "Uh, hello, Oryx. We are humans. Meat-space-aliens. A-mi-gos."
Oryx didn't answer. Instead, they took three deliberate steps forward, crowding into your personal space. The sheer heat radiating from their iron-based biology felt like opening a preheated oven. You instinctively leaned back as a massive, clawed appendage reached out. But it didn't grab you. Instead, Oryx gently, incredibly gently, tapped the tip of one claw against your shoulder, and then duplicated the gesture on Ryland’s knee.
The organ-hum got louder, shifting into a jaunty, syncopated rhythm.
Rocky suddenly let out a sharp, panicked whistle. "Oryx! No! Bad! They are guests! They are friends! Do not do the rhythm!"
"They are magnificent," Oryx’s vocoder translated, though the tone came out in that flat, synthesized computer voice that contrast horribly with the absolute drama of their body language. "Look at their lack of carapace. So soft. So aerodynamic. Their skin moves when they breathe. Is highly erotic."
You froze. Ryland froze.
"I'm sorry," you said slowly, staring up at the giant, amorous space-rock. "Did the translator just say erotic?"
"Oryx is embarrassing!" Rocky clicked furiously, his legs clapping against the floorboards. "Oryx has strange mind! Oryx likes weird shapes! I told Oryx we are doing science, but Oryx said 'I want to see the squishy aliens from the cold star.' Oryx is pervert!"
Ryland’s mouth opened and closed like a landed carp. "I—we—we aren't… we're humans! We're made of water and carbon! We die if you drop us!"
"Water is beautiful solvent," Oryx hummed back smoothly. The giant Eridian then reached behind their back, where they had been holding a heavy, metallic container. With a flourish that felt remarkably like a suitor presenting a bouquet of roses, Oryx set the container down on the table right in front of you and Ryland.
They popped the latch. Inside was a pile of glowing, pulsing, radioactive-looking sludge. It smelled faintly of ammonia and burning rubber.
"I have brought you a gift of high-grade heavy metal isotopes," Oryx announced, their body tilting into what you could only assume was a seductive? stance. "Is was harvested from the deepest vents. Is very dense. Eat it and become strong for laying eggs."
You stared at the sludge. Then you looked at Ryland.
"Are you going to eat the courtship sludge, Ryland?" you asked, your voice trembling as you tried desperately to suppress a massive wave of hysterical laughter. "They think you need to get strong for egg-laying."
"I am not eating the radioactive heavy metals!" Ryland hissed, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson. "And for the record, I don't lay eggs! Neither of us lay eggs!" He turned back to Oryx, waving his hands frantically. "Look, Oryx, thank you, really, it's very thoughtful. Very generous. But we can't digest this. It will literally liquefy our internal organs."
Oryx seemed to ponder this. The low hum changed keys, dropping into a sorrowful, minor chord. "A tragedy. So beautiful, yet so easily melted."
But Oryx was not a rock to give up easily.
For the next two hours, the "science meeting" turned into a bizarre, cross-species masterclass in courting. Oryx completely ignored the fuel line blueprints. Instead, they spent the entire time trying to impress the two bipeds.
First came the display of strength. Oryx casually picked up a three-ton piece of scrap machinery, hoisted it over their head with two limbs, and spun it around like a cheerleader’s baton, all while clicking a complex, rhythmic beat that Rocky informed you was an Eridian love ballad called "Your Density Inverts My Gravity."
You sat on the bench, chin in your hands, very entertained. "You know, Ryland, they’ve got great rhythm. And look at those metallic ridges. That’s a fine-looking specimen of a rock."
"Are you seriously checking out the alien?" Ryland snapped, though his eyes were bulging out wide as he watched Oryx effortlessly bend a steel bar into a neat, perfect heart shape. "They are a completely different phylum! They don't even have eyes!"
"I'm just saying, it's nice to be appreciated," you teased, leaning against his shoulder. "When was the last time you bought me high-grade isotopes or bent steel for me? I feel wooed."
"I built you a hydroponic salad bar!" Ryland protested, his voice cracking slightly.
Oryx suddenly dropped the steel heart on the floor with a loud CLANG. They scurried forward, stopping inches from the two of you. Before either of you could react, Oryx began to gently blow a stream of warm, highly filtered air from their exhalation vents directly over you both.
It felt like being stood in front of a giant, gentle hair dryer.
"Oh, wow," you mumbled, your hair blowing back. "That's actually kind of nice. Like a sauna."
"It is the scent of my home vent," Oryx explained softly. "It tells you that my territory is rich in sulfur and free of predatory molds. Come with me to my vent, squishy ones. I shall build you a nest of soft, fluffy blankets."
Ryland looked between you and the giant, vibrating alien. A deeply comical expression of sheer, unadulterated jealousy shadowed his face. He stood up, stepping squarely between you and Oryx, puffing out his chest in a display of human dominance that looked utterly ridiculous given that he was staring at an iron creature's midsection.
"Alright, look here, Oryx," Ryland said, putting his hands on his hips. "I appreciate the air-blowing and the lead blankets. Truly. But we are a package deal, and we are taken. We are partners. Comrades. Earth-mates. You can't just come in here with your high-density isotopes and try to steal us away to your sulfur vent!"
You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh that your ribs ached. Ryland Grace, savior of humanity, was currently picking a fight with an Eridian over who got to keep the humans.
Oryx tilted their body, processing Ryland's outburst. Then, the Eridian let out a sudden, high-pitched chirp.
"A joint territory defense!" Oryx gasped through the translator. "So fierce! So possessive! Your lack of a shell makes your anger look incredibly dramatic. I wish to be part of this collective. I shall be the third stone in your foundation."
Rocky groaned loudly, slapping his carapace with a claw. "Oryx, stop! You are making friends uncomfortable! They do not want to be a foundation! Go back to the pipe factory!"
"Wait," Ryland said, his brain stalling out. "Did they just propose a throuple?"
"I think they did," you laughed, finally breaking down into fistful of giggles. You stood up, walking around Ryland to pat Oryx’s warm, smooth carapace. "We're flattered, Oryx. Really. But human hearts are small, and we can only handle one disaster of a scientist at a time. We have to decline the nest."
Oryx stood perfectly still for a long moment. The organ-hum slowly faded into a quiet, disappointed click.
"The beautiful shapes have spoken," Oryx said mournfully. "I shall respect the boundaries of the fragile ones. But if your partnership crumbles like poor sandstone… think of the fluffy blankets."
With a dramatic, slow-motion turn, Oryx gathered up their radioactive sludge, gave one final, lingering hum in your direction, and shuffled out of the airlock, leaving a faint scent of sulfur and heartbreak in their wake.
The room fell silent. Rocky let out a long, exhausted whistle.
"I am sorry," Rocky said. "Oryx is very good engineer, but a very weird person."
"It's… fine, Rocky," Ryland breathed, rubbing his temples and sinking back into his chair. He looked over at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as you continued to chuckle. "You liked that a little too much."
"Oh, come on," you smiled, walking over and sliding onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Are you honestly jealous of a five-legged space rock?"
Ryland huffed, burying his face in your shoulder, his arms winding tightly around your waist as if to prove a point to the empty doorway. "They offered you a fluffy nest. I can't compete with that kind of real estate."
"You don't have to," you murmured, kissing his cheek. "You're the only squishy alien for me."
can some1 pls request eva stratt x reader x ryland grace plsplsplsplspls 🙏🤧😞
we need more weirdo!readers, the freaky, just straight up odd readers, cause not everyone who reads x reader fics are normal people (not even close), they’re rarely the type we see in official romance media (books, tv, movies), so why pretend?
summary: a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,299 words
warnings: gothic romance (set in 1800’s), talk of death and murder, slow burn, horror, MDNI (18+ only)
notes: hi first time writing in like 2-3 years so be nice please xoxoxo if you can’t tell i’ve gotten into writing horror/thriller and this was the perfect opportunity to dip my toes back in. anyways if you’re reading this here’s a kiss mwah
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
He’d been haunting the tree line long before you ever saw him.
At least, that’s what he believed.
All winter, something bigger than any wolf stalked the border of your little cottage, keeping the growls and yellow eyes at bay. You’d wake to claw marks in the snow that didn’t belong to any animal you knew, to the broken bodies of wolves dragged far from your door, as if someone didn’t want you to see what he’d done for you. Your lanterns never ran out of oil. Your firewood stack never emptied. Sometimes, there were heavy footprints in the mud—too large, too uneven to be human—leading back into the forest and vanishing with the mist.
He thought you didn’t know.
But you saw him.
You always saw him.
The first time, it was only a shadow: a towering figure half-hidden behind the black skeleton of a pine tree, watching you as you hung freshly washed sheets beneath a washed-out winter sky. Another time, you caught the briefest flash of his eyes, pale and aching with something that wasn’t quite hunger and wasn’t quite hatred, as he melted back into the dark.
The creature.
Adam Frankenstein.
The villagers whispered about a monster in the woods, a patchwork horror that should have never drawn breath, but you knew better. Monsters didn’t leave bread on your windowsill on nights you forgot to eat. Monsters didn’t stack kindling by your step after snowstorms, or set down a freshly killed hare just close enough that your old dog could sniff it out in the morning. Monsters didn’t linger at the edge of your light like a shield, taking every blow the world had meant for you.
So you started leaving things for him, too.
A still-warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and left on a flat stone near the forest’s edge. A thick, clumsily sewn shirt you’d stitched by candlelight, big enough to fit the breadth of his shoulders as best you could guess. A pair of gloves with uneven fingers. Each offering would be gone by morning, and in their place there’d be… nothing. No note. No mark. Just a silence that somehow felt shy.
Spring came slowly, softening the snow into streams and coaxing green from the hard earth. One bright morning, you took your dog and followed the familiar path beneath the budding branches, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. You could feel him behind you—no longer a rumour, but a steady presence in the spaces between birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
He was careful with his distance.
Careful with you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air behind you changed—thicker somehow, as if the very forest were holding its breath.
Your dog’s ears flicked, tail giving the smallest wag, but he did not bark. He sat at your heel, as though he, too, had long grown used to the giant shadow that haunted the trees.
You stood in the clearing, sunlight painting your skirts in pale gold, fingers resting lightly upon your dog’s head.
“I know you are there,” you said, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You have been there for a very long time, have you not?”
Silence.
The birds went quiet. A breeze stirred the budding branches overhead, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—old smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of soap, as though someone had tried, clumsily, to scrub himself clean.
You swallowed your nervousness and smiled, though he could not see it. Not yet.
“Tell me, Adam,” you continued, your tone turning wry, “how much longer until you understand that I have always known about you… and that you do not frighten me in the least?”
Something shifted among the trees to your left. A heavy footstep, then another, crunching over last year’s leaves. Your dog gave a low, pleased whine.
Slowly, as though dragged forward by some unseen chain, he stepped out from the shadows.
He was larger than you had imagined, even after months of stolen glances. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the very shirt you had sewn by candlelight. The fabric sat oddly upon him, as if he were still unsure he had the right to wear something made with care.
His face—oh, his face.
You had prepared yourself for horror.
Instead, you found sadness.
Features too sharply cut, as though chiseled in haste and anger. Eyes a pale, unnatural blue, ringed by the kind of weariness usually reserved for much older men. There were scars, yes, and those patchwork seams that betrayed the unnatural hand that had pieced him together, but beneath them all… he was simply a man who did not know how to occupy his own skin.
He stopped several paces away, hands held slightly out from his sides, as though to show he carried no weapon.
“You… you ought to run,” he said at last, his voice rough and low, the words strangely precise yet hesitant, like a man learning to speak again after a long illness. “The villagers would tell you to flee.”
“The villagers,” you replied, “have never once stacked firewood by my door after a storm.”
His jaw tightened. He glanced away, as though ashamed.
“That was nothing,” he muttered. “A mere… task. I happened to be near.”
“And the hare left upon my step in January? Was that another mere task?”
He shifted his weight, great hands curling into fists. “You were thin,” he said grudgingly. “There were no tracks near your home. I deduced you did not hunt.”
“And the wolves?” you pressed gently. “The ones that never cross the boundary of my field, though their howls wake me in the night?”
His throat worked. For a moment, the creature looked almost… irritated. “They are foolish animals,” he said. “They do not understand when they trespass upon what is mine to guard.”
Your heart stuttered at that word.
“Yours to guard,” you echoed softly.
At last his gaze met yours. There was a terrible vulnerability in it, like a child braced for mockery.
“You ought not look at me so,” he said, voice rougher now. “You ought to scream. Or at the very least, avert your eyes.”
“I shall do neither,” you answered. “You have been my unseen champion all winter, sir. I should think it discourteous to shriek at you now.”
He frowned, as though the very notion of courtesy applied to him was offensive.
“I am no ‘sir’,” he said. “The man who stitched me together did not deem me fit for such a title.”
“Then what shall I call you?” you asked, ignoring the chill that raced down your spine at his choice of words. “The villagers speak of a monster. A demon. A fiend. I do not care for any of those.”
A shadow of something like humour passed over his face. “He called me Adam,” he said quietly. “As though I were the first of my kind.”
You nodded once. “Very well, Adam.”
Your dog, emboldened by your calm, trotted forward and sniffed at his boots. Adam stared down at him as though the small creature were some strange, new invention.
“He does not fear me,” Adam murmured, almost to himself.
“Animals are often better judges of character than men,” you replied. “He knows you have watched over us.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I watched to ensure no harm came to you,” he corrected. “Whether you knew of it or not is of little consequence.”
“On the contrary.” You took a small step closer. His eyes widened, as though you had moved a mile instead of a foot. “It is of great consequence. You believed yourself unseen, did you not?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Then you must also have believed that the bread, and the shirt, and the gloves appeared by some miracle of the woods.” You tilted your head. “Or did you imagine the forest itself had begun to sew?”
Colour—faint but unmistakable—rose along the visible seam of his throat. He looked past you, toward the stone where you always left your gifts.
“I thought…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “I wondered if perhaps you had set them out for the poor. For some wandering soul more deserving than I.”
Your chest ached. “And yet you took them.”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to his hands, as though the gloves were still upon them. “I told myself I had stolen them. That you would never know. That is the sort of thing a monster does, is it not? Take what is not his?”
“If I leave something upon the edge of the wood with no name attached,” you said gently, “is it truly theft for the one I hoped would claim it… to do so?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, startled. “You… hoped…?”
“For whom else do you suppose I stitched sleeves of that length?” you asked, lips quirking. “There is no man in the village with shoulders so broad as yours, Adam.”
He stared at you as though you had struck him. Not in pain—more in stunned disbelief.
“You… knew,” he breathed. “You knew I was there. All this time.”
“Yes.”
“And you were not afraid.”
You considered this. “I was wary,” you said honestly. “At first. One does not wake to strange footprints and dead wolves without a certain degree of alarm. But then I saw you. Hiding like a boy behind those poor trees, trying very hard not to be seen. And I thought—”
You broke off, biting your lip.
He took a half-step forward despite himself. “You thought what?”
“I thought,” you said slowly, “that no true monster skulks in the shadows to keep a woman’s cottage safe through a winter as harsh as this last one. No true monster leaves food instead of taking it. No true monster looks at another living soul the way you looked at my dog last month—do not pretend you were not there, I saw you through the curtain—like you were afraid to even breathe in his direction for fear you might somehow break him.”
He said nothing. His breath misted faintly in the cool spring air, harsh and uneven.
“You should not look so kindly upon me,” he managed at last. “It is… improper.”
“Improper,” you repeated, amusement bubbling up despite the solemnity of his tone. “We are alone in the forest, Adam. There is no vicar here to scold us.”
“It is not the vicar I fear,” he muttered. “It is myself.”
Your smile faded.
“Why?” you asked.
He looked down at his hands again, turning them palm up as though they were strange objects he’d found rather than parts of his own body.
“These hands have done terrible things,” he said quietly. “I have torn wolves apart, as you have seen. I have broken men who sought to harm me. I have throttled hatred at its source and found only more hatred beneath it. I was created in violence and I fear I shall end in it as well.” His eyes lifted to yours, desperate. “I cannot trust myself near that which is gentle.”
Your throat tightened. “You have been near me all winter.”
“At a distance,” he insisted. “A barrier of trees. Of shadow. Of night. It is different now.”
“Is it?” You closed the gap between you by another small step. He sucked in a breath, shoulders going rigid. You could feel the heat radiating from him now, unnatural in its intensity, like standing too close to a forge. “I feel no danger from you, Adam.”
“You should.”
“But I do not.” You lifted your hand, giving him every opportunity to retreat. “May I?”
He stared at your outstretched fingers as though they were some holy relic. “I… do not know.”
“We shall discover it together,” you said softly.
After a moment that stretched thin as spun sugar, he extended his own hand, large and scarred and trembling just enough for you to see. You laid your palm against his.
Warm. Solid. Very real.
He flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of contact.
“See?” you murmured. “You have not broken me.”
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely.
You squeezed his fingers. “Nor shall you, if I have any say in the matter.”
For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but the two of you and the soft panting of your dog at your side. A bird dared a tentative trill somewhere above, as though deciding the danger had passed.
“You treat me as though I were… a man,” Adam said quietly, almost accusingly.
“You are,” you replied simply.
His brows drew together. “I am a collection of parts stolen from graves. I am a blasphemy against God and nature both.”
“You are standing in the sunlight speaking to me with more courtesy than half the men in town,” you countered. “If that is blasphemy, then perhaps we have misjudged Heaven.”
A startled, rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half exhale. As though he had forgotten how ordinary mirth should feel in his chest.
“You should not say such things,” he chided, but there was no true censure in it. “You are too bold.”
“You have been listening to me mutter to myself all winter,” you reminded him. “You ought to know by now that my tongue is not easily tamed.”
“I know many things about you,” he admitted, voice going soft. “I know you speak kindly to your dog even when he chews your shoes. I know you hum that same song each morning when you light the stove. I know you eat too little when you are anxious. I know you cry when you believe no one can hear.”
Your breath caught. “You ought not watch a lady in such moments,” you said, flustered.
“I know,” he said, guilt flickering through his gaze. “And yet I could not look away. Your sorrow… it frightened me more than wolves ever could. I wished to tear apart whatever had caused it, but there was nothing there. Only you, and your hands shaking, and your tears falling into the dough you were kneading.”
You blinked rapidly, your throat thick. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think yourself a monster,” you whispered.
He hesitated. “Do you not?”
You stepped closer until there was barely a breath between you, your hand still cradled in his. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes fully.
“If I say no,” you asked, “will you believe me?”
“I… do not know.” His voice cracked on the words.
“Then I shall tell you as many times as necessary until you do.” Your lips curved into a small, earnest smile. “You are not a monster to me, Adam. You are the reason I have slept safely these many months. You are the reason my dog still runs through these woods without fear. You are the reason I am standing here today, whole and unharmed.”
He swallowed hard. “Any man might have done as much.”
“But no man did.” You lifted your free hand to his chest, pressing your palm lightly over where his heart would be—if it beat. “You did.”
His breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed to forget how limbs functioned, standing utterly still as though one wrong move might shatter the moment into fragments.
“You should not touch me so,” he said weakly.
“And yet,” you murmured, “you do not step away.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. “Because I am selfish. Because I have spent a season watching you from afar and I am not yet strong enough to deny myself this one brief… kindness.”
“Adam,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He obeyed. Slowly, hesitantly, but he obeyed.
“There is nothing ‘brief’ about what I intend,” you told him. “You have guarded my cottage as though it were a kingdom. Will you not allow me, at the very least, to guard your heart in return?”
His lips parted, but no sound came. You could see the war waging behind his eyes—fear and longing and disbelief all tangled together.
“You… would keep company with me?” he managed at last. “Knowing what I am?”
“Knowing who you are,” you corrected. “A man named Adam who walks the tree line at night so that I may sleep. A man who refuses to let wolves cross my field. A man who looks at my foolish old dog as though he were some creature made of glass.” Your fingers curled briefly against his chest. “If that is monstrosity, I shall gladly consort with monsters.”
Another laugh—clearer this time—escaped him. It transformed his face, smoothing some of the harsh lines, revealing the man beneath the scars.
“You are very stubborn,” he said.
“So I have been told.”
“And you would not… flee, if I came nearer? If I…” He faltered, gaze flickering to your joined hands. “If I visited your cottage when the sun has set?”
“I should be most put out if you did not,” you said lightly. “I have an extra chair by the hearth and no one to fill it. My dog prefers company. As, I suspect, do I.”
He stared at you as though trying to determine whether this were some cruel trick of the mind. At last, cautiously, he lifted his other hand to hover near your cheek, stopping inches away.
“May I?” he asked, echoing your earlier words.
You leaned into the space between, closing the distance yourself. His fingers brushed your skin—calloused, uncertain, trembling. He cupped your cheek as though cradling something far more fragile than you felt.
“You are warm,” he whispered, wonder in his tone.
“And you are real,” you replied.
His thumb swept once, reverently, along your cheekbone. “If I frighten you,” he said softly, “you must tell me at once. I will go, and I shall not trouble you again, though it break what passes for my heart.”
“I do not believe you capable of breaking my heart,” you said. “Guarding it, perhaps. As you have guarded everything else.”
His eyes shone, sudden moisture gathering there. He blinked it away quickly, as though ashamed.
“I do not understand why you would offer such mercy to me,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” you said gently, “it is not mercy. Perhaps it is simply… affection.”
The word seemed to strike him with more force than any blow.
“Affection,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “For me.”
“For you,” you affirmed. “For Adam, who walks the forest so that I might live another day to bake too much bread and scold my dog and sew shirts far too large.” Your smile softened. “Stay with me, and I shall show you there is more for you than shadows and solitude.”
He drew in a long, shaky breath. When he exhaled, something in his posture eased—the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. As though a burden he had carried alone for far too long had shifted, just slightly, into your waiting hands.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice low but resolute. “I shall try.”
Your heart lifted, light as the first spring breeze.
“Good,” you replied. “Then you shall walk me home, Adam. And after that, if you wish, you may sit by my fire and tell me all the things you have seen from the edge of the wood.”
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then back to you—the woman who had left bread and stitched shirts and dared to speak kindly to the creature everyone else feared.
“As you wish,” he said quietly.
And when you turned toward the path, his heavy footsteps fell in beside yours—not behind, no longer hiding in the trees, but at your side. Where, you suspected, he had always longed to be.
Y'all if you're American please email your politicians and senators against the parents decide act. I'm fucking begging because we're reaching a tipping point.
Quick and easy link to both find your congressmen/women and giving you a quick and easy way to copy / paste the message into it. You want to oppose. It's an act that will demand that all major OS makers integrate a direct forced age verification control into all OS.
I received a comment on this that I figured would be very helpful- it's a template for communicating with your representatives. Be sure to use it for reference
Dear Representative [Name],
I am writing to express my strong opposition to H.R. 8250 (The "Parents Decide Act"). As your constituent and a concerned citizen, I believe this bill introduces unprecedented risks to digital privacy and security.
Specifically, I am alarmed by:
SEC. 2(a)(1)(B): Requiring age verification to even use an operating system creates a mandatory "hardware lockout" that ends anonymous computing and forces users to hand over sensitive identification data to major corporations just to power on their devices.
SEC. 2(a)(3): Mandating that OS providers create a system for all app developers to access verification data is a massive security vulnerability. This effectively creates a centralized API of user identities accessible to thousands of third-party developers, many of whom may lack adequate data protection.
This bill does not protect children; it creates a centralized surveillance infrastructure at the OS level. I urge you to protect the privacy of your constituents and vote NO on H.R. 8250.
This is a hell that us down under in Australia are already living in, and it’s not even effective at what it claims to do in protecting children.
Given that, in the wake of this mandatory identification policy, my country seems to be moving to hand over its citizens biometric data, like fingerprints, Face ID files, and identification documents, over to the USA and to ICE to maintain the visa free travel (ESTA) we have, I strongly urge any US resident to send these emails, or make calls.
But if you can’t do that, the most powerful thing you can do is spread the word. Tell your friends, family, coworkers, anyone who can help.
My reach will likely be small, and so I don’t know if this will mean very much in the grand scheme of things, but I cannot stand to see this tracking happen to another population as it did to mine.
And if you think it won’t affect you, it will. All anonymity goes out the window when your accounts can be linked via your personal ID
I wish you all luck in preventing this act from going through.
I know Steven Grant is a pathetic, whiny mess when he fucks. Breathing ragged as he tries to steady himself, curls falling across his forehead as his head dips to rest against your shoulder. His hips would falter, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tries to compose himself. He doesn’t want to cum too soon but gods, you feel so damn good and you’re so gentle and soft with him. Palm warm and soothing as it smooths up his back, voice earnest as you canter your hips up ever so slightly, cunt fluttering around his cock when he whines, voice just above a whisper as he begs you to ‘just give him a moment to collect himself’.
I know he whines, slack jawed and desperate as he begs, pleads with you to let him know if it feels good, if he’s doing a good job for you, if he can pleasepleaseplease make you feel good, make you cum around him and let him fill you.
I know his arms are shaking as he braces himself above you, voice a low whine when your tongue presses against his, lids heavy as he gazes down at you with those soft brown eyes, voice wrecked as you urge him on, telling him how well he fills you and how good he feels.
“A-anything for you love, fuck-” Before he’s sighing or whining again, skin flushed and warm as he presses his nose into your neck, drunk on your scent and the feeling of your sweat slicked skin against his.
I know he begs and pleads and cries out, voice incoherent as he nears the tipping point.
current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.
someone brought a cake analysis robot to feed the cake into to determine the exact ingredients and supposedly it can spit out the exact same cake. and if you're like dude. what. then they're like well if it bothers you you should have made more cake. i'm hungry and i deserve cake. and you're like dude we're at a party.
Three months later you find out that fifty people locked themselves in a room to discuss how much they loved your cake and how they wished you made more. None of them ever told you.
I mean obviously I would fuck a monster but more than that I would bond emotionally with a monster over our shared sense of alienation and rejection from a hostile universe. together we would explore our deep-seated fear of being inherently unlovable, and reassure each other of our innate value as sentient beings deserving of love and kindness. i will hold them gently, and wipe the tears from their googly eyestalk-tentacles, and something will begin to heal
Victor died, and the Creature, distraught for something he never did have, left himself to suffer in Antarctica, for what we can assume is forever—but what if this wasn't this case?
(Just a small AU thing of mine that I started during creative writing class, where scientists rescue the Creature—it'll probably be a series, idk)
1957, Antarctica.
Cogito, ergo sum.
A quote by Rene Descartes, in Latin, which translates to “I think, therefore I am”.
Descartes used this quote to assure of one’s existence. If you think, you are something, and if you are something, you exist.
I do not feel as though I exist right now. I have not felt like I’ve existed for a long, very long time. I have been trapped in this ice for what feels eternal, and now, I’ve been freed. It has been many, many years since I have lived like this.
They say being free is chains being broken. They may be right, physically, but not really. The people who liberated me would’ve truly put me out of my suffering, the same suffering my creator put me through.
Victor. Victor Frankenstein was his name. And as I tell the humans this, they give each other weird looks, as if my creator’s name was something unknown to them.
“What is your name?” One asks me, looking up, and I hesitate. My creator gave me no name—a reminder of the machine he thought of me as, not as an actual human, not as a being of his creation of skin and blood and bone—yet, a name comes out of my mouth.
“Adam.” I say, with the shaking voice of a creature encased in ice for only God knows how long.
Adam. The first man, the son of God, the husband of Eve, he who had been extricated from the paradisiacal Garden of Eden, who was many firsts at once.
Adam, who was created, yet ostracized. A rebellious perfection, a creation of beautiful suffering.
I am Adam. In Descartes fashion, Adam sum.
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