sunroom —frankenstein's monster
—summary:
"What does a vagina feel like?"
"Do you just want to try it out?"
—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, size difference, premature ejaculation, creampie
—note: i had this ready to got for almost 3 weeks and every day i forgot | also on AO3
You consider the Creature your most prized achievement. The amount of work and care and love you put into looking for and assembling the pieces you patched him together from is… probably the most effort you’ve put into anything in your life. Even medical school, though medical school was never your first choice. Just something to placate the whispers in your ears, telling you what you should do and who you should be. The concept of medicine felt like it was a cancerous growth needing to be extracted.
So then, creating him — even if it meant trailing a dying werewolf for weeks or giving a gryphon, paralyzed from the waist down from a head-on collision with a tree, a merciful death — felt right. Ripping and cutting and assembling and stitching and stapling — all to create something new, felt right. Sitting with your brand new creation, living and breathing and warming himself in front of the fireplace, felt right.
He’s always done his best to help you in any way that he can, whether that be helping you in or out of your coat, taking care of meals, or cataloguing every book and notebook you have (and their location he so painstakingly returns them to every time you leave something lying around) so you don’t have another almost-meltdown when you can’t find any of the materials you’ve written up about him. He’s assigned himself a role in this household, in your life.
It’s… nice to be taken care of, you’ve realized. It makes your chest feel warm.
You find him in front of the stove. The house is full of aromas, rich and warm and delicious to the senses. He spent the entire day there yesterday, chopping and dicing and keeping an eye on the slow cooker. Which kind of defeats the purpose of a slow cooker, you think, but hey, it’s his free time.
“I thought we could have lunch in the sunroom today,” he says, ladling stew onto the plate, “radio said it was going to rain for the next week or so.”
You glance outside, at the deciduous trees lining the property that have shed their leaves for the winter. You swear they were full of leaves just a week ago, yellows and oranges and reds fluttering in the wind. Maybe you should plant more evergreens in the spring. There was that store — something gardening-related, you think — in town when you drove down to stock up on groceries the other day. You file it away for the future.
“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” You rummage through the drawers for utensils and mugs.
You follow him to the sunroom, lingering a few steps behind him. His tail swishes back and forth, right to left as he walks. To his credit, he’s agile with it and very mindful to keep it close to his body so you don’t trip over it when you’re moving around. It had taken a while for him to get the hang of it when he was still adjusting to his body (and maybe part of it was your fault for trying to force a griffin’s hind legs to be bipedal and substituting inefficient parts with ones from a bipedal werewolf) but hey, who in this house hasn’t fucked up more or less severely?
A broken vase here, a dent in the wall there, an egregious misconduct of the moral and ethical variety — it’s all the same in the end.
The Creature (you really should give him a name but he hasn’t asked for one and it would feel like a weird overstepping of boundaries if you decided to just start calling him by some random name) places the tray holding your bowls of stew onto the small square table in the middle of the sunroom. He makes quick work of setting the table as you offer him the utensils and napkins. It’s good for his motor controls, is your justification for not overtly helping.
You eat in silence. There’s really not much to talk about if you spend every single day together. Everything experienced in a moment is more or less likely shared with the only other living soul inhabiting the house.
The fall chill bites at your exposed fingers and you flex your free hand to get the blood circulating again.
“Oh, we need to take a look at this when spring comes,” you say, motioning around the room with your spoon, “might need to re-apply some insulation in the rest of the house, too. Good stew, by the way.”
“Thank you. Should we seal it off for winter?”
“Maybe. I don’t think there’s any exotic or super rare plants in here, anyway.”
Then, it’s quiet again. You spoon the stew into your mouth and pick a few grapes from the bowl he’d grabbed from the fridge. Dessert and main course all in one.
“What…” The Creature speaks up only after he’s finished his food, bowl placed back onto the tray meticulously. He’s rolling a grape between his fingers, brows furrowed at the floor.
“Take your time.” You crack open a can of soda. It’s sweet but doesn’t linger on the tongue like these stupid new-age sugar substitutes.
“What does a vagina feel like?”
“Warm… like… yeah.” It’s all you can manage at the moment. It’s pathetic and also… yeah, pathetic is the word for it. You take another bite of your quickly diminishing bowl of stew. Its warmth is finally kicking in and you shove the blanket off your shoulders. The cool air in the sunroom feels like a balm against your skin. “Do you mean like temperature or…” you clear your throat, “texture?”
“Either, I guess?”
You open your mouth to — you don’t even know what you want to say. So, you gape at him like a fish for a few moments. And then,
“Do you just want to try it out?”
You don’t know what compelled you to think of it, hell, to say it out loud. But if you’re going to hell for making him, might as well make it worth the ride.
He stares at you, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips, to your cleavage. You see the flash of sharp teeth when he licks his lips.
You stand abruptly. “Lube, need lube. Uh, sit. Stay. I’ll…” you motion towards the door and take off, nearly sprinting through the house and taking two steps at a time on the stairs. “Sit?! Stay?!” You hiss at yourself as you rummage through your underwear drawer, grabbing handfuls of underwear and socks and bras and tossing them onto the floor. “What is he, a fucking dog?” You pause abruptly. Right, werewolf parts. So, technically?
Lube in hand, you make your way back down. At the double-doors to the sunroom, you pause and straighten out your hair, shirt. Fuck it, you think and shimmy off your pants and underwear before you can change your mind, kick them away. You steel your nerves and enter the room.
The Creature is sitting where you left him and if you weren’t half-naked and about to drop to your knees between his legs, you’d call him a good boy. Because he is, he’s so good to you. But the image of his cock rutting between your thighs has you dizzy and horny and fuck, you need to get laid.
You drag your fingers along the length of his thigh as you settle between his legs. The bulge in his pants stares back at you but you’re not a coward, because you made him like this. Not a coward. Hands trembling slightly, you undo his belt and pull the waistband of his pants down. His cock, thick and long and holy shit you don’t remember it being that big, springs out, already hard and seeping precum at the tip. You can’t bear to look up at him from between his legs, so you uncap the lube bottle and drizzle a more than generous amount into the palm of your hand.
You pointedly ignore the way the bottle you drop onto the floor is almost empty.
His cock jerks at your touch as you lather it in lube and you realize you have to find a way to unhinge your jaw if you want to give him a blowjob. You file it away with everything else for now as you wrap both hands around his cock to spread the lube.
His breathing is loud in the quiet room. There is no wind outside, no birds singing, no rain droplets pelting against the glass. You can’t fight the impulse to lean in and press your tongue against the slit at the head of his cock and he whimpers, high-pitched and needy. Your cunt aches.
His head snaps up, eyes bleary when you pull away and stand. You just place your hands onto his shoulders and shimmy onto his lap. The Creature’s hands hover around your waist and then slowly, carefully find their place on your body. His vampire hand is cool against your skin. A shiver runs up your spine and settles at the base of your skull as a pleasant buzz.
You reach between your bodies until your fingertips graze the tip of his cock, let your fingers slide down his shaft to drag the lube across it. Its thick and long and holy shit, how the fuck is it supposed to fit inside you? But you dug this hole yourself and now you have to dig your way out of it. The Creature shudders beneath you. If you stall any more you’re going to explode.
“I’ll be slow, okay?”
“I’m more worried about you,” he says, avoiding your eyes, voice small. His grip on your waist is more firm now, the pads of his fingers pressing into your flesh. His claws scrape at your side but you don’t want to spook him.
“Oh.” You clear your throat and angle his cock against your entrance. Slowly, you ease your weight down. And holy shit, he’s so goddamn thick you have to work to push him past your entrance. Your throat is tight as you press down against him, lungs burning as you try to level your breathing. There’s a fog in your brain and all you can make out through it is the lust, the urgency of stuffing him inside yourself. You exhale slowly, relax your cunt and take him half an inch at a time. Your thighs burn and your face burns, skin on fire.
You almost want to curse at yourself, find a way to punch past-you in the face for obsessing over anatomy, over size, over the proportionality of him. It would be so much easier to take him if he was smaller but you did this to yourself and you don’t hate it.
He’s in your goddamn throat by the time your clit hits the bulb at the base of his shaft. It’s so much and you’re dizzy from the size and a little from the fact that you actually did it, you fit that monstrosity of a cock inside your drooling cunt.
He’s so warm, so goddamn snug inside you but the stretch is easing as you breathe through it. You test it, try to clench around him and fuck, you can barely feel your cunt contracting. His breathing stutters in his throat.
“Please —” his voice wavers. Claws dig into your skin.
He feels like he’s melting. You’re so warm around him and his cock aches and his entire body is hollow and insides twisting at the same time. His hips have a mind of their own as they buck into you, try to push deeper inside to chase the heat of your cunt wrapped around him. His head is swimming and he’s so hot all over, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
He bucks into you and a small whine leaves your lips and fuck, you want to take all of him, swallow him whole, that goddamn knot and all. You can do it, you think, half-delirious already, you could take him, all it’ll take is some practice. You’ll take it even if it splits you in half.
Slowly, you ease your weight onto your knees and, thighs shaking under the strain of accommodating him, sit up. A gasp catches in his throat, his eyes shooting open. There’s a tinge of panic in them but he feels so good buried inside your cunt, you just want to keep him there. You can make him feel good and you can feel good and maybe he’ll never want to pull out.
His cock twitches, you swear you can feel the blood flowing inside of him, down the thick vein on his shaft. And then he spills. Hot, hot, so hot, your insides are on fire, your skin is on fire. There’s so much, you’re so full of him and his cum. You sink your nails into his shoulder and sit up, pull away from him.
His cum gushes from your cunt with a wet pop. It splatters onto his pants, onto the lumpy sofa, dribbles down your thighs. His softening cock flops against his stomach, glossy and sticky. You don’t think, just act on instinct, like a goddamn animal and grind down on it. The coil in your stomach is tight, but he’s so slippery and you want to cry.
“H-hand,” you manage to stutter out, already prying the wrist of his cold hand from your waist to shove between your thighs. You’re rutting your hips down on him, the shape of his fingers against your clit. He fumbles, not sure what to do but you’re so goddamn horny he doesn’t even need to do anything.
You come with a stifled whine in the back of your throat, teeth digging into your bottom lip.
The room spins as you blink. The Creature yanks you forward before your knees can give out, your chests flush together. Your skin is sticky with cum and sweat. The fall chill presses against you. But his body is warm so you press into him, tuck your head under his chin. He adjusts himself, reaches over and drapes your fleece blanket across your shoulders. You feel his cum slowly ooze from your spent cunt.
“So,” you ask when your breathing has evened out and the world is no longer spinning around you, “same time tomorrow?”
He jolts under you, already trying to string together a sentence of stutters and you giggle.
banners/dividers by cafekitsune
