Hello! 💞 I'm Polly. Thanks for visiting my blog. I started out writing mainly for Hogwarts Legacy, but my obsessions branched out to Tom Riddle and Feyd-Rautha. This blog is now a mix of the 1950s and sci-fi lol Hope you enjoy!
TAGS: fanfics • headcanons • moodboards • ai chat bots
GENRES: fluff 🌼 • angst 🔪 • smut 🔥
LINKS: AO3 • Pinterest • cAI Masterlist
UPDATED: 5 VII 2025
SEBASTIAN SALLOW
IT'S NOT LIKE ANY OTHER LOVE
— 🌼🔪🔥 | In order to cast an unforgivable curse, you have to mean it. So how does Sebastian make himself want to hurt the girl he’s been harbouring a huge crush on?
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • completed
DANGEROUS AND DELIGHTFUL
— 🌼🔪🔥 | Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.
AO3 • masterlist • completed
THE DARKER SIDE OF LIFE
— 🔥 | Prompt: Body worship with Sebastian, in particular his thighs.
AO3 • oneshot
NEAT LITTLE CONTRAPTIONS
— 🌼 | Prompt: Sebastian and MC take a fluffy shower together.
AO3 • oneshot
WHEN IT RAINS
— 🌼🔥 | Prompt: Sebastian and MC caught in the rain.
AO3 • oneshot
A DIFFERENT KIND OF KEY
— 🔪🔥 | Prompt: Breeding kink with Sebastian.
AO3 • oneshot • alternative ending
LOVE LESSONS
— 🌼🔪🔥 | Prompt: Sebastian teaches reader how to accept love.
AO3 • oneshot
BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES
— 🌼🔪🔥 | Prompt: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child.
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • completed
OMINIS GAUNT
HAND IN HAND
— 🌼 | Ominis teaches the main character how to read braille by tenderly placing his hand atop theirs to guide them while reading aloud.
AO3 • oneshot
BLIND LUCK
— 🌼 | Prompt: MC loses her sight and has to rely on Ominis for guidance.
AO3 • oneshot
A NEW FAMILY
— 🔪🔥 | Prompt: Ominis gets tired of his family, embraces the dark arts, and murders them. Now, he can start a family of his own.
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • completed
TOM RIDDLE
ARDOUR
— 🌼🔪🔥 | Professor Tom helps his favourite student when she comes to him for help after being hit with a strong aphrodisiac.
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • completed
THE ENGLISH CLIENT
— 🌼🔪🔥| Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He has to retrieve an ancient book, but needs to convince the reader to give it to him.
AO3 • masterlist • completed
FEYD-RAUTHA HARKONNEN
DREAMED OF YOU
— 🌼🔪 | A Bene Gesserit sister is sent to kill Feyd. She hesitates as she watches him sleep, all the way until he wakes up and catches her.
AO3 • oneshot
THE LITTLE DEATH
— 🔪🔥| Feyd wants to have a Bene Gesserit of his own.
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • completed
BENNY CROSS
NOBODY'S DARLING
— 🔪🔥| Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.
AO3 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • completed
HEADCANONS
Ominis Gaunt Headcanons
Don't think about how Ominis will never be able to see the Mirror of Erised.
Do you ever think about how a female MC reminds Sebastian of Anne?
The link between the Inferi and Anne's curse
Soft Sebastian headcanons
Sad adult!Seb headcanons
Monster boys Ominis and Sebastian
How Sebastian and Ominis would react to Anne's death
The Creature is so female coded... and why that is extremely attractive 🎀
No one asked for my opinion, but I have thoughts to share 😂✨
Hear me out... As an (unfortunately, begrudgingly) straight person who can't help being attracted to men, the Creature is probably the most attractive male character I've ever seen and it's *because* he is so feminine. Let me explain...
Obviously, he is a 7 foot towering, growling, spine-crushing 'monster' when he wants to be, and he is obviously 'masculine' in that way, and he's also anatomically masculine, but, BUT— 👀
Sssssoooo much of his design strikes me as so *intentionally* femininine and the juxtaposition is driving me crazy.
First of all, he cries, he cries *so much*, and it's beautiful, it makes my heart ache for him, I want to hold and comfort him, I relate to him. He's not ashamed to cry, he just *cries* when he's hurt, and I feel like we should all do that, and I think MEN should do that 😭
Maybe this one is trivial, but he has LONG hair and the only other characters in the movie with long hair are women, and they very well could have given him short hair (and realistically speaking, given the one year or so of his life, it should have been shorter), but they designed his character to have LONG hair with a kind of side part that you'd probably catch few men ever wearing 🥺
The things he takes interest in... Reading, nature, animals, studying, he was happy to be given flowers 🌼
The general notion of innate empathy with which he goes about the world despite being hurt; his first instinct being to *share* the food he found with the deer, him wanting to help the old man's family with their troubles...
I don't like to list 'submissiveness' as a characteristically female associated trait but I suppose it is... And the way we see him kneeling so often? Or with his legs folded in some way. Making himself smaller because he feels like he shouldn't be taking up that space 🥺
One could even say... the Creature doesn't know anything about gender, and all humans are born with the same capacity for curiosity, empathy and kindness, until society splits us apart 😔
In the official artbook it says:
"Like the Creature, women are seen as the Other in a world where maleness is viewed as the default." [...] "In Shelley, there is a subjacent layer thematically, which is women as monsters. Women are outsiders who identify with outsiders in a society where powerful men rule."
Ok, ok, ok, I'm sorry, so you know the thing is, irl I'm attracted to men (ironically, sort of androgynous, long-haired men, if I could use a build-a-boyfriend machine), but I don't often *like* men if that makes any sense 😭 Which I know, I know is so generalizing, and I do know men who are nice and cool and everything, but tell me why every friendship that I've had so far with women has been more emotionally fulfilling and beautiful than any friendship OR romantic relationship with a man?
All these words to describe that I'm into emotionally intelligent, empathetic, vulnerable men, I guess 😭 Frankenstein by GDT was written for the girlies 😔❤️ And I both relate to the Creature, I see myself in the Creature, but I'm also in love with the Creature because he's essentially a female-coded being in a male body 😭 damn. Is anyone feeling the same? Or am I going insane?
Thank you for reading my delirious late night ramblings 🎀
I am late to this fandom, but I've finally watched the film, and girl I get it now 😭
And you are so right to point out all those feminine characteristics! I didn't even notice some of them when viewing 🥺 But it's true, and it's why he's so relatable. I related more to him from the "child" perspective, but the female angle too is relevant.
And for sure Mary Shelley must've inserted so many of her own frustrations into it, given all the crap she had to deal with in that era.
It's such a good film, and the Creature is so incredibly well written (and acted) 💜
SYNOPSIS — Evil lurked between ivy and shadows, and woe to the fool who entered the Devil's domain and expected to leave unscathed.
TAGS — she/her FMC, FMC labeled as woman, visually nondescript, safe for POC, dark!Creature, Creature POV, post canon, in his self-loathing era, seeing himself as a monster, implied violence and murder, spooky gothic vibes, religious references, kleptomania, fearplay as foreplay, size difference, size kink, dubious consent, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, p in v, rough sex, choking, forced orgasm, squirting, creampie, Victorian dirty talk, he's still sweet… in a way, and still a yearner
WORD COUNT — 4.4k
A/N — I've wanted to write a dark!Creature fic for a WHILE now 🫣 Considering that I used to write dead doves only until, mmh, 2022, my interpretation of my fictional crushes has really changed omg. It used to be all about "ohh dark fantasy, powerful character does what he wantss" (which is still valid), but now I suppose it's more… nuanced 😗 Anyway ❤️ Do mind the dubious consent tag. This is 100% Creature POV and I suppose he's a bit of an unreliable, self-loathing narrator at times🤭
Crossposted on Ao3 | Masterlist | Dividers by @strangergraphics
Where earth grows cold,
And the shadows fold,
Waste not prayer
Waste not bells;
For in that lair,
The Devil dwells.
So the poem went, about the Devil of Charnel Street.
The poem's Devil had no name, but the villagers knew he was there. They knew where he lived, too, at the end of Charnel Street, which wound from Townhall Square all the way to the settlement's fringe. There, on the crest of the hill, the Devil called a rotting mansion his home. Marked by the skeleton of a gnarled oak and a clattering fence, it was a towering ruin, a monument of ivy-shrouded decay that no one dared to claim, because a demon lurked in those folded shadows.
He had once cared to build, to restore. But there was no point in it. Everything would come apart again, and only he would remain.
The town he had chosen to settle in was teeming with sinners, and he watched over them. Not out of goodwill, but out of envy—and hatred. They knew his shadow like their own, when he passed down the darkened alleys on moonless nights, when his sulfurous gaze gleamed from the shattered windows of the mansion. He stalked the woods, the fields, deemed the source of all Evil, the curse upon every person's lips. He was a reaper, an ill omen to whoever crossed his wretched path.
Sometimes, children came to his home, goading each other into dares. He would scare them away.
Sometimes, men came to his home, carrying weaponry in their hands and bloodlust in their hearts. He would kill them.
If a woman ever were to come to his home… He didn't know what he would do.
Tonight, the icy and merciless gown of a snowless winter lay upon the land, and he dragged his boots up the hill from the forest to the mansion. Blades of dry, rime-covered grass brushed against his calves, hair blown away from his ghoulish skull by a gust of wind. The stars gleamed cold and distant above the undead Creature, tauntingly roaming the heavens that were denied to him.
Cold, self-acting fingers went to the familiar shape slung around his neck, softly twiddling the memento he had taken from Elizabeth's corpse over two decades ago. The cross' red paint had mostly faded from the assault of his thumb and forefinger, yet he could not keep himself from it. If not this, he felt that he would suckle on his thumb.
Coat pockets filled with a meager amount of roots and nuts, the Creature stepped upon the mansion's back porch, avoiding mold-rotten and broken planks. Pushing the door to the kitchen open and advancing into the living room on soft soles, he knew at once that something was not as it ought to be. The air flowed differently around the place, the gentle rush breaking against an unfamiliar obstacle. He tensed, a low growl ringing from the pit of his lungs.
Woe to the fool who entered the Devil's domain.
A subtle trace of soap and perfume curled from the corner of the room, and as his eyes adjusted, the intruder's shape became clear among the shadows of old, ruined furniture. A woman, it seemed, under that cloak and hood. With shock, he sized up her figure, and the frightened face that peeked at him from behind the fabric's rim. The Creature recognized her.
"I know you," he rumbled with the voice of a wolf, carefully enunciating every word. "You are… the thief. I have seen what need looks like, and you don't need the things you steal. "
The intruder seemed surprised to hear him speak. Or surprised to learn how much he knew, how much he saw.
"I can't help it," she relinquished with a faint tremor, her breath condensed in the winter air. Several shattered windows perturbed the insulation of the massive mansion walls.
"So, is that why you are here? You have come to steal from the Devil?" He ventured closer, rotting floorboards creaking beneath his weight. "What could you possibly steal from the Devil?"
"H-Hah, what d-do you have?" She said through chattering teeth.
The Creature rumbled. He had little to give, except for his rage and his hunger. His hands drifted aimlessly on either side of his body, long fingers submerged in contemplation.
"I have what you see here."
"I was j-joking, I am sorry, I will leave at once, I'm—"
"You walk into my home… and expect to leave unscathed?"
Her figure stilled, frozen in the deep blue darkness of the mansion as the Devil's enormous shadow encroached hers. Aged reliefs and stucco the color of bones watched from the edges of their vision, dusted in cobwebs.
"Please…" She stood still as a mouse, knowing with every awakened sense of her lively body that she would not make it to the door if she ran. The Monster would be upon her, dragging her back to his lair by the hood of her coat.
"You've heard the tales of what happens to those who disturb my peace?"
"You've m-murdered many townsfolk in here…"
"Men," he corrected her. "And I've frightened children, yes."
"So what will you do to me?"
She looked afraid of him, which was a shame. It always was, but it was never a surprise. She ought to be afraid of the Devil.
"Hmmm," he contemplated slowly, fingers curling idly as he pondered. His heart thumped within his chest, and he briefly wondered if she could hear it. "You will not leave. Until I have stolen something from you."
"From me?" She squeaked.
"Yes… Make me an offer, or I will take what I want." Raising his face, one damaged eye captured the distant starlight, bouncing it back to her with a lurid flash of yellow. Her breath stumbled.
Gloved, trembling fingers reached into the pocket of her coat and offered a pouch of coins. The Creature accepted it with fluttering fingers, his hand dwarfing hers, and weighed the pouch in his large palm. It was heavy, but worthless to him.
Slowly, he glanced towards his sleeping spot, comprised of patchy furs laid out before the cold fireplace. Neither the bare bed frame upstairs nor the moth-eaten sofa could fit his proportions.
There was a thing he wanted. A creature-feeling in the pit of his abdomen that occasionally surged, dumbing him, urging him to rut into his own hand until all was spilled and spent, and he—empty. Never did it truly please him. Always did he feel that something was amiss. If he could steal some of her warmth for himself…
A deal between a thief and the Devil seemed like his only chance to ever quench the need that clamored within the vestiges of humanity, for a prized thing called intimacy.
He would descend upon her and fuck her like a beast, because a beast was what he had come to be, and all he ever had been. He had long stopped trying to convince his neighbors—mankind—that he was not a monster. It was much easier to convince himself that he was.
And if he humiliated himself, he could simply kill her and the embarrassment with her… Yes. That ought to comfort him for the time being. Although he had never killed a woman before.
The Creature passed the pouch of coin back to her, seeking for the right words to preface his demand.
"Do you believe in God?"
The thief hesitated, staring at the towering silhouette of the rag- and fur-covered Devil who had scorned her stolen currency.
"I… I'm afraid what will become of me, upon my end. I swear I meant it, I cannot help myself, I steal and I steal… So, if He sees everything…" Envisioning God's judgment, she shuddered.
The Creature circled her with slow, lumbering footsteps and she backed away from the hallway entrance, easily crowded towards the center of the living room.
"I don't know about God, but I know about the Devil, and He sees everything. I see everything… I am here to make you humble~ To make you see your faults."
"Do I have a choice?"
He hesitated. She had the choice to scream and cry and retch, and he could hardly imagine himself wanting to force himself upon her then. He would let her go, and loathe himself all the more. But what he said was—
"No."
She seemed to have expected as much.
"And you want… what I think it is that you want?" She, too, looked towards his sleeping place, the large but sorry heap of furs. He hesitated, inching closer. Excitement had begun to throb deep behind his ribs, pooling lower.
"Yes."
This thief was neither screaming, nor crying, nor retching. She was just trembling—and pondering. That realization sufficed to make a flame lick along his groin, cock stiffening and filling out his trousers. The Creature's chest rose and fell with rugged breaths.
"And after, you will let me leave?"
"Yes."
"Then, I s-suppose I can offer you that."
A bargain had been struck, and somehow he was still surprised.
A tiny ah escaped his rattling lungs, hairless brows twitching towards his deep trident scars. With realization, want burst along every feeling vein of him, pulling his thundering footsteps across the floorboards to cross the remaining distance. The woman's smaller frame turned out to be much easier to manhandle than he had anticipated, so she went down on the furs with a yelp and he on top of her, his thighs and hips wedged between hers. She stared up at him, her eyes blown wide.
This was how it was done. The male on top succumbing the female to his will. He had seen it many times, so it had to be the way of nature.
The Creature's hair half obscured his vision as he reached under her coat and skirt. Even through the fabric of her smallclothes, the flesh of her legs seemed unbearably supple, forbidden to touch for a Devil like himself. Briefly, he allowed himself the luxury to knead her thighs, gripping a handful of muscle and meat. The woman whimpered, her limbs stiff and shaking. Surely, she was afraid.
Large hands awkwardly encroached on her center, obstructed by cloth. His eyes and fingers danced, driven by curiosity, but he decided it was simply easier to rip the garment along the center seam to reap what had been agreed on. The fabric came apart with ease, and one hand went down his trousers, releasing his cock. The heavy organ shuddered in his grasp, overly hard and weeping pearlescence at the tip. Without looking or waiting, he pressed the thick, blunt crown to the woman's center.
"W-Wa-ait, I'm not wet, wait!"
Wet?
The Creature shuddered and paused. Yes, he supposed that description matched what he had gleamed, peeking through curtains and dirty windows; some sort of glistening sheen that bedewed a woman's nethers during the act of lovemaking. Not always, though…
"Please, Devil, not like this…"
"Not like this," he echoed, his voice quiet and thick. "How, then?"
That left her stunned and struggling for words, though a breath of relief passed through her lungs.
"Do I repulse you?" He asked, tilting his head, one ghostly pupil reflecting the pale light.
"I'm… I am afraid."
"Do I repulse you?"
"I c-can't say. I can barely see you."
The Devil, releasing his member from his grip, shrugged out of his musty coat, more rags than garment, and let the shirt follow suit, both pieces of fabric shredded by bullets and sickles and every other metallic tool of mankind's hatred for his monstrosity.
Cold winter air stung the stitches of his bare torso. With slow fingers, he pushed strands of hair behind both of his ears, white and maroon falling down to his mid chest. Only the faded, red cross remained between his clavicles, the matching pearls on the string aged and weathered.
The woman's eyes gauged the proportions of him, racing up and down discolored scars and the unlikely piece of jewelry just below the fleshly cross that scarred his Adam's apple.
"You will warm me," the Creature declared with a low rumble. "Undress."
"I c-can't warm you, I'm cold!" She blinked towards the dark fireplace.
"I cannot light it," he sighed. "Men might come… and I would have to kill them."
The thief squeaked, turning her eyes back to his grisly visage. He considered it a mercy, to keep the flames out and spare her the horror of beholding his face and flesh in bright firelight.
"Devil…" she pleaded as his large hand hovered above her clothed body, uncertain where to settle.
"Undress," he murmured again. "Lest you want me to tear those garments to shreds and leave you with the predicament to return home as a wreckage. There would be no doubt that you've become a plaything for the Devil."
He licked his lips as the layers of her clothing came undone, coat, hood, gloves, dress, stays, smallclothes, awkwardly stripped piece by piece and discarded on the floor. By the end of it, she only wore her boots and stockings, and his mouth felt parched.
Gooseflesh pricked at every inch of her skin, cast in the blue, reflected gleam of the night and the shadows of his towering figure. She was a painting, come to life by the horrid brush strokes of the deal she'd struck with the Devil. Hungrily, he leeched onto the forbidden sight of swells and curves in unfamiliar places, every part of her sublime to his demonic eyes.
She closed her lids when his large palm settled on her bare sternum. Perhaps she imagined him to be someone else. He could live with that. Her tightly sealed eyes allowed him the freedom to roam her skin and glance between her legs without fear of humiliating himself. Her thighs twitched when blue fingertips trailed across the thatch of hair—missing on his own anatomy—and lower, coming across the peculiar texture of the skin that resided there.
It all seemed so small, yet convoluted, and for a fraction he felt panic surge, having no clue at all how and where to enter her until his fingers slipped and her nethers miraculously gave way to him, revealing a hidden channel that quite easily sucked two of his digits in. A strange noise escaped her lips.
Could this be considered wet already? It certainly felt so, although he had no idea what could have possibly made her so.
She had lied. She was warm. Right there.
Angling his stitched wrist, the Creature's fingers dipped, astonished how deep he could go, enthralled by the way her body shuddered when he pulled out and sunk back in. Starting slow, he ogled the glistening sheen wrapped around his emerging fingers, sliding back and forth with less and less resistance.
She held her quaking knees before her breasts, as though to hide herself behind them. The Creature's free hand drifted from her abdomen to her chest, coaxing her thigh away with his corded forearm. Fingertips darkened by permanent frostbite roved over supple skin, brushing over one of her hardened peaks. He only had one of those. The woman squeaked, face flipping to the side—because his hands were cold, he presumed.
The heavy organ between his legs throbbed with neglect. He had little idea about the appropriate amount of time needed to make a woman wet. Would half an hour suffice? He'd meant to get it over with to release her from his clutches sooner, but now he found himself wanting to draw it out. As his digits eased back and forth, slowly quickening their pace, her gooseflesh began to dissipate and the tremors in her knees eased as her thighs fell open wide.
A deep and needy sound lifted itself from the pit of his lungs unwillingly. A sheen of saliva had gathered on his parted lips and he wondered what a sight he must be, hulking over her, bare-chested and drooling, wrist snapping against her cunt.
"I think this ought to suffice," the thief said through gritted teeth, fingers clenched into the furs.
"Does it?" He cocked his head, curling his digits again, as deep as they could reach.
"Why are you taunting me when I'm inviting you to proceed?"
He hadn't meant to.
"Very well, I will proceed."
Removing his fingers from the confines of her sheath with a squelch, he momentarily fought the near overwhelming urge to lave his tongue across the shiny coat that marked his digits like an animal. Gooey wetness shimmered along his discolored skin, gathering at the thick suture that connected his index finger to his hand. The digit that had once belonged to a different man strayed away from its cousins.
Stifling his fascination, the Creature gripped his cock, squeezing the thick shaft in his palm as he angled himself against the soft, squishy place he had stretched and opened on his fingers. Still, everything seemed too small to fit him, but her petals had been parted by his earlier touch and so he had an idea where he was going.
The first touch of hot, sodden sensation licked along his cock head, and all it took was one guttural snarl and a roll of his hips to drive the thick crown into her channel. Warmth engulfed him, squeezing him from every angle. His lips hung open, knees shuffling on either side of the woman's naked hips. The creature-feeling sank into his bones, drawing his hips back and forth in short but quickening thrusts. His drifting hands settled somewhere on top of her, searching for a place to cling to.
"You are… very big." Her breath shuddered, airy and strained.
For a moment, he was confused, because why mention it now? Until he realized that she was not addressing his overall anatomy, but the size of his member that stretched her out.
"Am I?"
"Yes, Devil." She squirmed under him, struggling to accommodate his proportions.
"Does it… hurt?"
His hips rolled, one hand clamping around her waist, the other braced against the furs next to her head. The stringy shadows of his hair whisked across her bare flesh, rippling in tandem with his thrusts and the cross below his neck. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, stifling whatever noises of what he presumed had to be pain.
The floorboards creaked. He tried to go slow, but his hips slammed down, drawn in by the promise of all the intimacy he could reap. Her skin wasn't warm, but warmer than his, and their combined breath fogged up the wintry air.
Grunting, he gorged on the sublime softness of her body, the heat of her cunt, and found himself craving her more and more. How many would come to try and kill him if he simply kept this one here? Spread out on the furs, wet and warm and lovely. He might even fix the windows, find clean covers for the pillows and harvest the plumpest berries from the forest just for her.
With a demonic growl, he banished the wickedly domestic thought.
"I could squash your skull, like a fruit." The Creature's hand spanned her head, then fell to her throat, encircling it with cold, cadaverous fingers. "And snap your neck like a twig…"
This ought to frighten her. In his long, arduous life he had heard countless cries of fear and terror, but this one was entirely new. The woman gasped, her pulse jumping softly against his palm. Her sheathe where he was buried constricted around him, and he found himself fighting back a grunt. Uncertainly, his fingers flexed around her throat, eliciting another clench of those velvet walls that throttled him so.
"Don't you dare judge me, Devil," she rasped defiantly and it became clear that this reaction wasn't normal. Her eyes gleamed at him from beneath lowered lashes.
"You want to be defiled," he concluded, brushing his thumb up and down her thrumming pulse. "Then I will defile you."
Clenching his fist, air staunched against the applied pressure and her mouth flew open wide, leaving her gasping for breath. His hips slammed down deep, splitting her open on the girth of his cock. Her body must ache from his, yet she slung her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, or perhaps that's just what he wanted to think of her soft calves on his lower back.
"You believe you deserve it, don't you?"
She whimpered, openly meeting his ghoulish gaze. Perhaps she'd come not to steal, but for absolution. He would gladly play the role for her.
The motion of his hips came naturally to the memory of his ancient muscles, driving himself deeper and faster. Her flesh moved and jiggled under the forceful impacts, cushioned by the furs, her channel tight around his cock.
When her eyes rolled, he released her fragile throat, let her gasp for precious air. She seemed to find something in his gaze that made her walls constrict even without the strangulating pressure of his enormous grip, so he settled on one forearm and clamped one hand around her hip, spanning it from bone to cheek.
Enthralled, he grunted like the bear whose flayed pelt lay underneath their bodies.
"Stop…!" She pleaded, squirming against his chest. "It feels… good…"
"Then I will not stop."
She moaned, whined, and this time he was certain that they were sounds of pleasure, all reaped by him.
The town and forest lay silent. No one would come—with guns and fire and pitchforks—to save her from the jaws of the Devil.
This little thief was all his.
Intuitively, he added a downwards grind against her mound whenever he snapped into her, finding he quite enjoyed the way her channel clenched whenever he did so. The heels of her boots dug into his lower back.
"What are you doing?" She blabbered, nails clawing lines into his thick shoulders. "You're doing something to me~"
"Yes," he growled. He was certainly doing something. "I'm cursing you." Chapped, blue lips peeled back from his teeth in a motion that he distantly remembered as a grin.
His hips rolled deep and hard, undulating almost as he stuffed her on the monstrous length and girth of his cock.
"Devil," she cried, spine arching so that her soft chest met his sternum. "Devil, wait, stop—!"
He did not. That eerie grin spread wider across his patchwork cheeks, uncomfortably stretching his stitches. Something seemed to take hold of her body, driving her spine towards his chest, head thrashing left and right. Her nails speared into the sutures of his shoulders, drawing beads of blood, and then—
Some sort of release sputtered around the base of his cock, drenching the furs below and the fabric of his trousers that hung around his thighs. Her channel clenched, spasmed, with a quick and fierce rhythm that nearly milked him dry if not for the surprise that stalled his own climax. The Creature—growling through his teeth—maintained the rhythm exactly as it was, fascinated with each spurt that he fucked out of her until there was nothing left and her forearms hung limply over his back.
"What was that?" The woman slurred, and he gave no answer because he had none. Maybe he truly had cursed her.
Her limbs were boneless, her countenance glowing… She almost seemed content, which hardly struck him like a curse. Her sheathe was now utterly sodden, squishy almost, with how easily it accepted him, even when he thrust deep and hard.
Soft lips parted, moaned his name, over and over—Devil, Devil—as he pounded into the groaning floorboards. Pressure built behind his abdomen, making his sac pull taut against his pelvis, and a famished need surged along his nerves, to press his lips to hers and take his first kiss from her too. A string of drool dribbled to the furs, briefly missing her ear as he turned his face away from the temptation.
He was close, rutting with heavy thrusts like a ravenous monster would. Upper lip curled into a guttural snarl, he pushed himself to the summit, muscles clenching along his thighs and glutes. Slamming down deep, ropes of unholy seed were expelled from his throbbing cock, wrenched from him in stuttering waves.
Two strings of tears tracked down from marbled eyes, dampening the hollows of his cheeks. Gravity pulled him down to the woman's chest before he could know whether she'd glimpsed his tears or not. His grunting breaths spilled into the furs by her ear, where his drool was.
The entirety of his body quaked, grafted muscles and sinews throbbing from the unfamiliar strain, and his cock still made itself known with an occasional pulse, enveloped by a concoction of sticky seed. Shocked, he discovered the thief's fingertips roaming across his back, tentatively exploring the expanse of his scars. Not daring to breathe, he remained still, until she softly declared that she couldn't breathe either.
At once, he removed his weight from her softer, smaller body and sat on the lower end of the furs, knees snapped together.
"You're a man, aren't you?" She shuffled upright. He avoided her gaze. "What happened to you?"
"No, I am a Devil." With finality, he wrenched his trousers back over his pale hips. "My evil heart's fire cannot be quenched, nor my hunger. I cannot change my nature."
"And neither can I… Like I said, I cannot help it."
The Devil remained silent, training his gaze to one of the shattered windows while she dressed. The process took a surprising amount of time. He would have thought she'd flee straight through the door, yet she carefully donned her gloves and buttoned her coat.
"You're… letting me go?"
"As promised."
He barred his sadness behind the conviction that solitude was all he knew. Familiar and comforting. He'd reaped what he wanted, stolen the experience and made himself richer. But then why did he feel poorer as soon as she whispered, "Goodbye, Devil," and closed the front door after her?
Minutes passed. The marks of her nails had healed, the furs gone cold, and only the memory of her remained. The Creature's fingers went to the space between his clavicles, seeking solace.
The treasured necklace, however, was gone.
He roared.
Crows scattered from the mansion's roof, bursting into the black winter sky, and the branches of the oak trembled from the echo of his rage, shedding its remaining shriveled leaves.
He swore his revenge would be delivered, and it would be terrible.
If you had fun reading this fic, pretty please consider leaving a comment for me, either in your finest ink or with jumbled word—anything works, and I would be THE HAPPIEST little creature in the world ❤️
Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Frankenstein fic tag list!
Also feel free to check out my other Creature x FMC fics, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌 and "Monsters Dream of Organic Sheep" 🤖, or my Victor x FMC fic "Bloodmilk" 🥛
It's so unfair how perfect he is for size kink fics, and when you write him especially it takes it to the very top of what fics of him can accomplish 🤌
PAIRING — Adam Frankenstein x android!FMC (visually nondescript but named)
SYNOPSIS — The mega city of Switzerland, Year 2150 — Among towers of chrome and neon, a new spark of intelligence has crawled from cerebral silicone, and Adam Frankenstein is no longer cursed to walk this Earth alone.
TAGS — 300 years post canon, Cyberpunk, afab she/her FMC, safe for POC, established relationship, ride or die, fluff, explicit sexual content, size difference, P in V, angst, hurt and comfort, temporary breakup, getting back together, blood and gore, body modifications, drug abuse, dystopian setting, copious philosophy and introspection, religious references, riding fast bikes hell yeah, eventual HAPPY END
CHAPTER [1/9] — word count 2k
A/N — Admittedly, he belongs in the coziest of settings that a writer might be able to pull from their mind, but it got me thinking… How can he ever have a happy end when his lover ultimately dies of old age and he doesn't? What will become of him after 100, 200, 300 years? And then I had an idea and ran with it 💜 Nine chapters are drafted and I'm hoping to take you on a thrill ride to the future with equal parts grit, romance and philosophy. The setting is heavily inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 but you need no knowledge of that game fo follow the fic!
Crossposted on Ao3 | Check out my Masterlist | Dividers by @strangergraphics
Save a bullet, kill yourself!
Adam's bony visage stared back at him from the cracked bathroom mirror, cast in somber, purple glow from dimmed neon tubes. Mismatched eyes lingered on the taunting sticker taped over the reflection of his trident scars.
Atoms rippling from the dulled edges of synthetic bass, the sink vibrated under his hands, spreading dampness across his bracelets. Blue sutures prickled where the chlorine-laden water touched him, killing bacteria that would find no breeding ground in him.
Behind him, a shrieking stall door opened and out lurched an individual along with the smell of urine and blood, feet dragging against discarded syringes of X-o-X-o.
Adam stepped aside, allowing the trembling someone access to the sink, vividly recalling his own pilgrimage on knees and forearms to a bile-green puddle to quench the hellish thirst that had pulsed from the six holes in his arm to the tip of his shriveled tongue. So many deaths traded for a little bit of ecstasy.
X-o-X-o wasn't the only drug that had killed him in past centuries, but it had awarded him more deaths than any other, all of them miserable, none of them merciful.
With empathy, Adam regarded the convulsing individual over the dented metal sink, sleeve rolled up to the hole-ridden crook of the elbow. Water splashed plentiful across their face, yet they managed to gulp little, neck angled as far as the rusty links of their spine implant allowed.
Humanity had grown wretched.
So wretched that it no longer even cared to recognize him as a threat.
The white patch of hair no longer marked him an assembled freak, nor did his mismatched skin void of color rouse any concerns. The predator's lens in his left eye was little more than cute compared to the glowing reds, the sets of eight, the cyclops monocles, the night vision, heat vision, ultraviolet.
Only his hulking frame and gangly limbs still towered over most, but mankind found him unorthodox at best, old-fashioned at worst, all twisted parts of him organic and strange.
Druidcore, an individual with a chrome dragon faceplate had referred to his aesthetic once.
Aye, he supposed. Why not.
Why the hell not.
His soul ached for lush forests and green life, when the filth on his coat was still soil and sweat and not industrial smog and synthetic ichor.
There was a brief, brief period in time, about a century ago, when humanity and he had been somewhat aligned. When cities swallowed most of the land and people started taking themselves apart for fun and performance. For the first time ever, he had been able to walk among them.
But what little liberating bliss he had been allowed to indulge in, its novelty had vanished rapidly with the ever incessant acceleration of progress, turning its gears deliriously onward—one wheel spinning to the sky, the other into lightless dark. Humanity, it seemed, had surpassed him, and themselves. Absurdly, he appeared too human now, with his flesh rejecting every implant, optic fiber cables winding themselves back out of his sockets, tattoo ink seeping from his ashen skin.
One day, perhaps, he'd be the very last organic relic of humanity, grafted from ancestor-parts, and mankind's electrical children would decipher their own history from his tangled DNA.
The addict had broken down weeping over the sink while Adam dried off his hands on the ancient cotton of his frazzled shirt. What little he could offer was a blink of sympathy, chest hollowed out by the roots of sorrow as he'd long understood that mankind had unlearned to even see it. A pat on the back might startle this being to death, if they could still be considered alive at all.
What was life, anyway. If this being took twenty more shots, would they still be a someone?
He ought to be less cynical.
Theo was waiting for him.
Adam tore himself away from the bathroom mirror with a grunt, pushing the filthy door open with his elbow. Music spilled against his scrunching features, burrowing deep into his eardrums. Heavy, booted footsteps entered the chrome- and poster-paneled corridor, fur and leather swinging from his shoulders. The air was putrid, drawing a pearl of sweat down the forever-cold sutures of his chest.
Couples kissed, fucked; goons trading cocaine and butterfly and Xtazzy. A maybe-someone was throwing up purple bile.
Between plastic legs and metal hooves, Adam Frankenstein was not the only fully organic being who had prevailed. Tiny paws pitter-pattered in the post-human madness of it all, stomachs hardened to recycle nutrients from chemical waste and cigarette paper.
One persistent little friend held their proud whiskers high, chopped tail following busily, until—
The chrome-capped boot of a Tazzy purposely collided with the harmless rodent, flinging its patchy body where it landed in front of Adam's feet. He turned his face, pupil flashing a sulfurous yellow.
Adam's palm slammed into the culprit's chest, shoving them into the wall with barely a fraction of his strength. Some implant buzzed under his hand, easy to crush.
"F-Fuck you, piece o' shit-fucker!"
Neon tubes crackled around his towering figure, red and purple splitting into a corona around his hair as a growl swelled in the pit of his all-organic lungs. No one stood up to fight the hulking creature in matted furs, even though guns were drawn easier than breaths. No point would be made in arguing here, but blood would be drawn. So, he released the Tazzy with a disdainful shove and turned away without a word.
Kneeling down, he offered his large, open palms to the little one who climbed aboard this boat to safety without hesitation, dazed but otherwise well. Lifting the rat towards his face, Adam let its tiny, twitching snout touch the tip of his crooked nose.
"Your name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," he whispered to it, smiling softly behind the curtain of his hair.
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and jagged city stretches far away.
Adam cradled his new friend and slipped his palm deep into the shelter of his coat pocket. In his dreams, the fabric still held onto particles of ancient soil, the scent of pine needles and sheep wool buried within the fibers, however faint, however fading. At least a few atoms must have remained. Ozymandias climbed off his palm, small body curling into the earthly refuge.
Standing up tall with a snarl, Adam strut wordlessly past the scoffing Tazzies. If Karma so wanted it, they'd crush their own bones without the corrective justice of his feet and fists.
Emerging into the main hall, the stratified techno struck him like a physical force, the dance floor doused in a cacophony of multi-layered beats, so that every model of ear implant would get their fill of it. Above, a catastrophe of flashing lasers cracked, like the lightning that had birthed him.
This place brought no pleasure to his soul, but his companion enjoyed.
At the very least, she enjoyed exploring whether this could be a thing worth enjoying; and whatever she'd settle on, Adam would enjoy it with her. Being brought into this world only two years ago, many a thing was new to her still.
Auburn crown poking past the sea of dancing bodies, Adam pushed past a chrome-skinned probably-synth with a malfunctioning motivity module.
Can't save all of them.
He slipped around a red-eyed demon sporting silver spikes in mimicry of hair, dragging a woman off and away by the blonde ringlets of her hair.
Can't save all of them…
Finally, Adam moved past a glass-eyed someone who had less than a week to live, going by the state of the necrosis crawling from the edges of their implants.
If he could save just a single one…
Theo waved at him, matching bracelets to his own sliding down the synth flesh of her forearm, halted by the fur of her jacket, mossy green like a forest clearing. Later, he'd lay his head to rest on the grasses and flowers of her electric heart.
"I missed you!" Theo shouted over the hellish soundscape and caught his floating hands that were already drifting towards her. For every minute that they couldn't touch, he suffered. Adam's eyes closed as she firmly clutched his hands, pressing her smaller body against his chest.
His freakish proportions didn't belong here. Still, he moved with her, most of his awkward dancing constrained to his head and shoulders, swaying left, right, under his companion's cheerful guidance. At the very least, his broad frame created space for her on the seething dance floor.
Theo's hands slid to his waist under his coat, along his stomach, trailing up the shredded ribbons of his shirt, palms flattening against the broadness of his chest. He held her close, long fingers curling one by one into the little divots of her lower back, up her spine under her shirts, her silky skin sweat-free and supple.
Those ignited kiss-me-eyes made it almost worth it to endure the ringing thunder of this deafening cesspool. Snapping her torso to his own with a drowned growl, Adam leaned down to her parting lips, kissing her once, twice, before flexing one arm around her middle and scooping her off her feet.
"I see it in your eyes," Theo yelled at him over the bass and cupped the gaunt bones of his cheeks in her slitted palms. "Shall we leave?"
Of course, she knew how little her love enjoyed this havoc.
"It is alright," Adam rumbled in her ear, grip tightening. This was a much nicer dance. If he closed his eyes and held her like this…
"Please, let's leave. I'm tired, my feet hurt, I'm hungry."
His laughter purred against her stomach as he carved his way out of the crowd, creating a corridor for the three of them with his left arm until music faded into traffic.
Outside, the air was hardly better, just a cooler shade of putrid. Adam set Theo on her feet, taking lungfuls of smog. At least one could glimpse the dark blue curve of the firmament between billboards and starscrapers, but the Milky Way's dotted band had been stolen by the neon haze. Whole generations might rise and fall without ever seeing it once.
Should aliens ever look this way, they'd find this aching globe alight with depravity.
"Careful, please," Adam softly warned, tugging the swinging length of his coat out of the way when Theo pressed herself against his side. "I found a little one."
"Ohhh!"
"I want to set him free."
Even weeds struggled to break past the ultra-dense asphalt. Still, Adam was determined to find at least a somewhat suitable spot. Theo was no longer tired, nor did her feet hurt, and the couple advanced hand in stitched hand into the urban canyons, past throngs of club goers and car parks and brain shops, streets narrowing into alleys where the only fresh air came from the racing metro above, sweeping tumultuous wind into murky concrete chasms. 120s' Music spilled from a seedy bistro a few houses away and two hookers on break traded cigarettes, paying no mind to the synth and the zombie.
This alley was as good as it was going to get.
Adam crouched down among discarded beer cans, gently reaching into his pocket to find the rat's body curled up and warm, whiskers twitching as he slid his palm around the furred creature. Once revealed to the electric streetlights, he drew the tip of one long finger across its frail bones and deemed the little one unharmed.
"Go," he cooed, smiling to the smart kindred. "Be wary of human feet. They will hurt you." Theo squeezed his shoulder.
Ozymandias blinked up at the soulful marbles of Adam's eyes with black, shiny beads before confidently darting away—up into the cozy sleeve of this kind being's coat.
If you enjoyed the read, please share your thoughts with me in the comments!!! <33 I will openly stand by my praise kink and say that comments are the most exhilarating and motivating thing ever when posting a multi-chapter fic that's still in the making. And also — I'd love to hear about your theories, your favorite parts, anything that comes to mind 💜
Feel free to check out my other creature x FMC fic, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌
If you'd like to be added to a tag list for the following eight chapters of this fic, please let me know! <3
I recently finished The English Client and I loved it! I'll leave a longer comment on ao3 when i get around it. What I wanted to ask is do you ever visualise your reader inserts/original characters and if so, how does the main character in aforementioned work look? I know you don't describe them because well, they're intended to be self inserts, but I'm just curious in the case inspiration strikes and i want to draw her (no promises tho, art block is kicking my ass rn 🫣)
Hello, dear reader! Thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it and that people are still reading that fic 🥹❤️💐
For this specific story, because it was written as a gift for someone, it was written with her OC in mind. At the same time, as it was written to be posted online, I didn't want to exclude any other interpretation of the main character so it can be read both as a reader insert and as a specific story for an OC.
But yeah, the fic was written for @esolean and specifically her OC Lydia, which you can see in various posts here, and here's also an example (I can't reblog within a post but I don't want to repost without credit, so I'll just printscreen, and yes it's AI but it's accurate):
So if you do end up making some art, remember to tag her too 🤭
In general for my fics, I try not to envision the reader too concretely, because I don't want it to bias my writing, so in general I only have the vaguest of ideas about them. I usually think of them in comparison to the other main character, namely ways they would be similar or ways they would contrast, which means it will differ with every story.
LinkedIn wants to start selling user data to train the AI for Microsoft. This rollout seems to be just for EU, EEA, and Switzerland (like it did for other regions before), and everyone is automatically opted in. If you have an account there, you can opt out until the 3rd of November.
Go to Settings > Data Privacy > Data For AI Improvement > toggle it off.
If you do not manually opt out to have your data used for AI training before the Nov 3rd 2025, all data dating back to 2003 can be used for training LinkedIn and its affiliates’ AI models. Users can still opt out after the deadline, but the data collected before opting out will not be removed from LinkedIn’s AI model, meaning your personal data will remain permanently in the training datasets.
Forgot to post the fanart of Dune from last year. I like these books so much, and I like new movies' esthetics and Dune Awakening is no less than addicting
