summary: the Creature (Adam) gets curious about his physical feelings towards you, so you teach him.
word count: 2.6k
warnings: unprotected piv, cowgirl, pwp, cockwarming. this is basically the Creature's first time. idk i love him
A/N: I wrote this drunk last night & with no real plot in mind, just consumed by Frankenstein (2025). first fic in like 2 years, hope you enjoy❤️
gif: @headph0neson
There is hesitation percolating through his mechanical movements; his eyes betray his restlessness the most, even as they rest comfortably on your figure. You approach him, carefully studying his expression, and it becomes clearer with each passing second and each removed inch between the two of you that something resides on his mind.
“Are you alright?” you can’t help but ask.
He looks as if he’s about to nod, but then changes his mind at the very last second and shakes his head ever so slightly. His eyes are still on your figure, once in a while falling upon your mouth. You draw in a sharp breath.
“What’s the matter?”
“When you kissed me, the other day… I felt—something.”
You try not to chuckle, despite feeling flushed already. “I should hope so.”
Adam smiles—yes, the both of you settled on the name Adam as it carried a certain appeal to him. It was his very own name, something of his own, distinguishable from his dreadful past.
Oh, how you adored his smile.
“No,” he clarifies, still smiling. “Something… more.”
The way he struggles to say the word ‘more’, as if it is something shameful, it pains me in a certain way. Although the more you look at him, the more you come to realize that it most likely comes from a place of curiosity instead of shame.
And then you start to realize what he means.
“Oh,” is all you can get out, feeling more flushed this time around. Truth is, that more has been something heavy on your mind as well—for quite some time. You didn’t want to broach the subject with Adam, fully aware that it is a foreign concept to him and that it is, perhaps, something out of his comfort zone and out of his line of interest.
It seems as if you were wrong.
“What did you feel?” you ask, taking his hands into yours.
“I felt… a twitch. Down—down here. When you kissed me, something ached. A need... of some kind.”
You don’t know how to react more than a playful chuckle, suppressed—you wouldn’t want Adam to feel ashamed in any way or to have him believe you would mock him in any way. But you also cannot help the flood of heat and desire that races through you, coursing shamelessly through your bloodstream. Adam is unlike any other man you’ve ever met; granted, the may not be quite human, not quite man, but everything about him is so curious and kind and untainted.
Yet you long to for a stain in his purity, something akin to pure hunger that you can call your own. To claim him as your own.
“That is normal,” you breathe towards him, your pulse an erratic beat behind your ribcage.
“It is?”
“Yes. When you care for someone, and when you… develop feelings for them… it manifests physically.”
“Physically?”
You subdue a chuckle yet again; everything about him is new and enticing and enthralling, and you want to savor this moment, cherish it, preserve it and freeze it in time.
A moment where there is only you and him, together, and not a single threat posed to either one of you.
You nod. “Yes, physically. The body sometimes responds before the mind—at least, in men’s cases.”
“But I am not truly a man.”
“You are more man than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”
You cup his cheeks, Adam exhaling restlessly inside your palm. You’re not quite sure when it all escalates or how; all you know is that Adam radiates enough warmth for you to tiptoe and press a sincere kiss on his lips, pulling him closer. He’s shockingly vocal, but you suppose it makes sense given how everything is anew to him. That’s how he treats you as well: a blank canvas waiting to be explored, filled with colors you wouldn’t have even dreamt of.
The more you kiss Adam and hold him against your body, the more you feel what he told you about; he’s rock hard at this point, and while you’re quite surprised that all of his bodily functions are intact and normal, you still moan in his mouth.
Which acts as a catalyst for him to evoke the same sounds, more guttural by nature, and end up atop of you. He’s eager, yet restrained; the same restrained curiosity you’ve grown accustomed to. He’s not wearing many clothes, which works in your favor as you work to undress him hastily, all the while with Adam huffing next to your ear, his shock at the sight of you never wavering.
“You are breathtaking,” he tells you, and you shudder at the sound of his voice, the thought of him admiring you so thusly.
You believe him; there is nothing in this world that would make you not believe Adam. You kiss him everywhere, not just his lips, hoping to get a rise out of him as soon as possible: his neck, his collarbones, his arms, all of which are, admittedly, uncharted territory to him, but upon hearing his groans, increasingly more desperate, you figure you’re doing something right. You take it upon yourself to remove your own clothes, albeit your dress proving to be a challenge in and of itself. But haste has its perks, for you move faster than you ever have with the fabric, including undergarments, and soon you’re left bare before Adam, aching and pleading silently with a single lustful glare at him. Your eyes drop fleetingly to his manhood and you gulp, utterly flattered to notice that he is hard and surely aching by this point.
“How are you feeling?” you ask him.
“It’s strange.”
“What is?”
“All of this… desire.”
You fleetingly smile, your legs spreading open further for him. His gaze drops, swallowing harshly.
“How do you know it is desire?” you ask, half curious, half flirting.
“What else can it be when it comes to you?”
You pull him in again and again, kissing him till your lips feel raw and as needy as you feel. Your movements feel rushed as your hands roam freely around his body—surprisingly, he’s never been one to shy away from your touch, regardless of how you proclaim it—and each tug, each caress earns you a moan or a gasp from his side.
“If it is too much, you should tell me,” you tell him, catching his eyes staring in wonder between your legs.
“I’m not sure… what to do. What do I do?”
With a smile, you reach and undo his breeches, keeping your surprise to yourself—you figured Victor would’ve made everything proportional and as beautiful-looking as possible but fucking hell, this was a pleasant surprise.
“Do you trust me?” you ask him.
Adam nods incessantly. “Always.”
“Okay. Touch me.”
You don’t want to overwhelm him, so you take his hand and guide it to your pussy, smiling when you earn a gasp and a surprised face from his side. He caresses you, dragging his fingers through your soaked folds, earning soft gasps from you.
“It’s wet,” Adam remarks.
You chuckle, the sound earnest and pleased. “Yes. That happens to women when they desire someone.”
“You… want me?”
He sounds more than shocked; quite trifled and astounded. You nod frantically, by this point dripping with need.
“Yes, Adam. Always.”
He takes a while to process your words, but he does so nonetheless. It’s almost as if your words become law to him, something to tether himself to.
“What do I do now?” he asks, his voice betraying both curiosity and fear.
“Here.”
You guide your hand to his cock, now fully erect, and he groans as you give it a few strokes and guide it to your entrance. His eyes are fully blown, as if he cannot believe what is happening and what is in front of him as of now.
Adam watches enthralled as you guide him further inside you, a pleasurable moan escaping your mouth as he thrusts inside you. Inch by inch, you swallow him whole it seems.
Fully sheathed inside of you, your mouth remains ajar as you stare longingly at him, unable to suppress the moans escaping past your vocal chords. Your whole body is afire, your face a canvass of your love and appreciation for your beloved Creature, and his face a combination of shock and lust.
“How does that feel?” you manage to ask him.
It feels like you’re going insane, utterly maddened by his curiosity, his sensitivity and love for you, all of which are undoubtable.
“Ethereal,” Adam murmurs, and leans over to press a kiss on your lips and forehead.
His movements remain mechanical. It is clear he’s unsure as to how to proceed, but his eyes, oh his big, wonderful and pure eyes, they remain locked on the movement of his cock between your legs. They seem to be fascinated by the way he fits inside you, and you are no exception to said marvel.
You try to move so that you meet with more of his hips, and you catch Adam by surprise with those motions; he stares in awe, almost aghast, at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you, and you moan as he does so. He doesn’t pose any questions anymore, he simply watches and follows your sounds, your scent and your movements. Soon he catches the drift, especially after one of your hands sinks its nails deep into his back and pulls him forward.
Thank goodness he feels little to no pain from this.
You mean to inflict no pain, you simply wish to sink into him, to have him and own him in primal ways, in caring and loving ways, those of which have not been taught to him by his creator. You both move together in a set rhythm, albeit stunted by it being a first time, with Adam’s eyes alternating between your face and your glistening pussy.
“Is this—good?” he asks, his face dangerously close to yours.
“Yes—oh gods, yes… so… so good…”
Words fail you in this moment of need, but you do not need them it seems. Your hands roam aimlessly on his back, the staccato rhythm of his hips more than a distraction or a want—a necessity; an insatiable craving, a hunger to be held, one you are more than certain Adam shares it as well.
You are very much aware of how touch-starved he is, and in so many ways, you reciprocate the sentiment. But Adam’s curiosity and lack of experience make him the perfect lover. It causes a stir inside of you, a storm brewing all too dangerously to the surface and an ache you found only he can soothe.
You feel him tense above you, a clumsiness about him that is more than endearing. He watches your every move, listens to every sound you make, in awe of how tender and warm you are, how malleable and willing in his presence.
A fact which will never not surprise him.
“Adam, wait,” you breathe, cupping his cheek.
On command, Adam halts all movements, blinking inquisitively at you.
“Have I hurt you?” he asks.
You feel a tug in your chest, eyes a little bit teary. By gods, you couldn’t stand the thought of someone so utterly soft and attentive by nature.
“No,” you smile. “You are wonderful. Do you trust me?”
“With my life. Endless as it may be. But it only means I get endless lifetimes to learn you.”
Breathless, you rise a little and shift so that now you are the one atop of him. Adam is evidently taken aback—one of the many endearing things about him is how he cannot hide a single emotion he feels for the life of him, endless as it may be, as he put it earlier—and you smile widely at him.
The stretch is glorious; Adam’s giant hands reach to your hips, resting there tentatively. He gazes upon your body as if he were charting a map, studious and careful, his eyes never absent of intensity and admiration.
“More,” he groans, mouth agape. “Please.”
And more you give: you start to move up and down slowly, taking every inch of him in a stretch that heats your entire body and causes your head to spin; Adam groans, the sound low and nearly pained from deep within, yet you know by watching him it cannot be that of pain. Adam tries his darnest to remain still on the bed simply because watching you take pleasure from him this way is maddening, but he finds that he cannot do so. He reaches up to meet you halfway, his fingers grazing your cheek. You cling to him, anchoring yourself to his broad shoulders as you keep riding him, and pull him closer. You find his lips in a rushed take, the kiss careless and despairing.
There’s a rush throughout your extremities, a wave of heat impossible to contain in your chest. You have never felt a fire like this one, an affection quite as strong as the one you carry for Adam. It stretches beyond the physical—although gods beware, simply feeling his cock buried inside of you so intimately and sweetly is reason enough.
He feels you tense, your movements more rapid and messy. He tries to hold you steadily, but he fails. Just as he had previously failed. And yet he realizes he does not care. He wants to see you break, he wants to see you come undone before him, with him inside of you. Something tells him you can take it—just as you can take him—and that you want to take it.
“Oh fuck—I am so close—“
He wishes to ask you what you mean, but words fail him. He feels, simultaneously, whole and fractured. He watches your face contort in what he presumes is pleasure, untethered, unashamed and whole, and he feels you quiver around him. You seize, the warmth of your walls clenched all around him, squeezing his cock in a tighter confinement.
And then he breaks.
In this moment, gravity is not what holds him, but rather you. You are all that he sees, all that he smells, craves and wants—and all that he feels. You are all that he feels as he spills himself inside of you with a roar that shakes the room to its foundation. You are all that he feels when his head drops in the crook of your neck, kissing every inch of skin his lips can trail. You are all that he feels as your hands cradle his head, tender and poisoned with raw need.
When your eyes find his again, they are as soft and as kind as you know them, yet they seem to contain something else as well. Something which you can also identify as of now.
Pleasure.
You barely move now, having felt him twitch and convulse inside you mere moments ago. Neither of you seems eager to break the touch, but you suspect Adam is much less inclined to do so than you.
“Can I stay?” he asks.
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
“I wish to stay like this. For a while longer, inside you. You are warm and welcoming and…”
You cup his cheeks in your hands, your palms feeling the small ridges and indentations of him.
“And what?” you ask, kissing his nose.
“Mine.”
You smile wider than you have before, now sated and happy. “I am yours. Always.”
"socioeconomical state of the world" this, "entering a recession" that...
well what about sunghoon sending you a picture of his pretty hand adorned in rings and bracelets wrapped around his even prettier cock??? HUH???? EVER CONSIDERED THAT FOR A CHANGE????
sometimes i have a thought and go “this would do numbers on tumblr dot com” and oh boy the numbers! 0. absolutely fucking nothing. maybe 1 if i’m lucky.
◟warnings — dom!sang-woo ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ unprotected p in v ⋆ MDNI 18+
it’s late. the lighting in shitty motel room is dim, the neon glow from the sign outside bleeding through the dusty curtains. the air reeks with the smell of sex, sweat, stale cigarettes and cheap detergent. CHO SANG-WOO has you on your stomach, one big, calloused hand splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed into the mattress. he’s slow tonight. not in a teasing manner—he’s never been that type of man—but to relish the way you clench around him with every measured thrust.
“shh,” he murmurs when you whimper, his hand sliding up to the nape of your neck. he squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your pulse. “keep quiet for me.”
he’s not being mean about it. if anything, his voice is soft, damn near affectionate. but there’s an edge, a quiet authority that makes your stomach flip. he leans in, his chest pressing to your back, lips brushing over the cartilage of your ear.
“the walls are thin. don’t wanna wake anyone, do we?”
you shake your head, but it’s hard to focus when he’s buried so deep inside you, rolling his hips slow and steady, dragging every inch of himself along your walls. he’s so fucking deep it’s making you dizzy. his free hand slides under your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your stomach before dipping between your legs. the touch is gentle, a contrast to the firm grip still holding you down.
“fuck,” he exhales, voice rough, strained. “you feel that?” he presses his palm against your stomach, right over where he’s stretching you open. “so full, huh? taking me so well.”his pace stutters then, something raw breaking through his control. he groans into your skin, lips trailing down your neck, sucking a mark into your shoulder.
“gonna come for me, sweetheart?” his voice is low, coaxing, but there’s a quiet demand underneath the sweetness. “be good and give it to me.”
and when you do—when you shudder beneath him, nails digging into the sheets, walls fluttering around him—he exhales sharply, thrusts turning rougher, more erratic. his hand clamps over your mouth just as he groans against your shoulder, hips grinding deep, burying himself to the hilt as he comes inside you. his breath is hot against your skin, and he stays like that for a moment, pressed against you, cock still nestled deep. then, finally, he exhales, smoothing a hand over your back, thumb rubbing slow circles against your spine.
“good girl,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck before pulling the blanket over the both of you.
Your second to the last subject professor already dismissed your class, this gave you and your
friends an opportunity to talk to one another. You were asking them who the next professor will be, your friend replied “ It’s Mr. Lee, if I'm not mistaken.” She muttered “Oh, the one with the attractive voice that you two were talking about in our online class?” your other friend asked as you smiled briefly, thinking about how Mr. Lee’s voice echoed through your head, his voice was deep and husky.
Upon hearing his voice during that online class, it almost sounds like a hand between your legs.
Though, you don’t know what he looks like, he just spoke during that day, saying things about himself, about what’s his name, what subject is he going to teach us, and what the subject is all about. It was boring, but god, his voice made you clench your thighs together, his voice sent you to oblivion.
“Earth to Y/n?” One of your friends snapped you away from your thoughts before you turned into a mess, you looked at her, confused, “What is it?” you asked, “I said,” she rolled her eyes playfully “What do you think our next professor will look like?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at you, you chuckled, “Hmm, i’m not sure, but…his voice is soothing.” They nodded in agreement as the three of you exchanged some conversation about today’s class, how the professors are, if one of them would be terror if the class starts normally by next week, because the first week of your class was meant for orientation, to meet your classmates, to meet your professors and for them to tell the students what is their subject all about.
The classroom was loud, your classmates were talking to one another, some were playing games, some were doing dance trends on social media, while some were taking their nap.
Then, the air in your classroom shifts as the door swung open, a tall, muscular man came out of it, he’s wearing a black pants, black chelsea boots, and a button up sleeve—the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up till his elbows, he looked attractive, intimidating, most of all—he looked older.
You and your classmates are stunned, is this really your Contemporary Art professor? Could this be Mr. Lee? Your eyes wonder upon his features, defined jawline and cheekbones, his hair has a dark brown color on it, fuck—you’d die for a brunette man.
The heels of his shoes clicked on the ceramic floor as he went to the table to settle his things, all of you were quiet—not even daring to say a word—but then he spoke.
“Good Morning,’’ He muttered, as his deep voice echoed through the once loud classroom, “I apologize if I'm a few minutes late.” He added as he looked at his wrist watch, he looked rich, and you felt intimidated by him—you’re sitting in front, close to his figure that hovers over you. You looked up at him, staring at his dark brown eyes that took you in, and you wondered what they would look like if he fell in love.
None of the class dared to speak as he looked around, leaning towards the oak table meant for the professors to settle on.
“So,” He cleared his throat “I’m going to be your Contemporary Arts professor for this semester, I’m Lee Byung-Hun.” He muttered, “You can all call me Mr. Lee or Sir BH,” He added as he walked around the table, combing his hair using his hand as he walked around the class, “Other than that, none.” he paused for a moment, eyes meeting yours, his gaze linger on your lips then back to your eyes before looking away, You noticed it—and you blushed.
“Understand?” He asked the class as you and your classmates nodded and acknowledged him. He nodded upon hearing the response of the student, “Now that I introduced myself, I want to hear from all of you.” He muttered, “So, who’s the class president here?” He added, eyes narrowing the class, your classmates pointed at you—who’s already looking at him, “Ah, there you are Ms….?” “Y/n.” You replied, “Well, Ms. President, Y/n, why don’t you introduce yourself in front of the class?” he continued, “But they already know who I am.” You said as you chuckled, “They do sweetheart, but I don't.” he teased, ‘Sweetheart’ you thought, the nickname he gave you made your cheeks turn pink, he noticed your reaction, “C’mon, you can do it.” He patted your shoulder for encouragement, you took a deep breath as you spoke, voice calm and soft, it almost sounded like a calming sound where people listen to fall asleep at night, and Mr. Lee wasn’t expecting that kind of voice from you, from a girl like you.
“I’m Y/n L/n, I’m 21.” You muttered carefully as Mr. Lee’s eyes narrowed on your features, how your skin looked soft, how your voice sounds gentle, the way you dampen your lips a little with your tongue, he noticed everything about you already, and he doesn’t know why.
You looked at him, seeing him already looking at you as if he’s undressing you with those dark brown eyes of his, “Mr. Lee?” You muttered as he blinked, cutting himself with his thought, “That’s it?” He asked tilting his head a little as he stood beside you, Your body looked small compared to his—his shoulder looked big, no, broad—the sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps beautifully, veins popping out as he fixed the roll of his sleeves—Before you could think of anything else, you nodded at his question, “Yes…Sir.” You muttered, giving him a shy smile.
“Alright then, Thank you Ms. President, Y/n,” He said as you sat down on your seat in front of him, He looked down at you, “I really like your voice, it’s…amusing, it’s also gentle.” He confessed as you chuckled. He smiled down at you—then he turned his focus back on the class, “Alright, who’s next?” He said as he walked towards the back of the classroom, pointing at a random student to introduce themselves next.
—
“Alright, That’s all for today, get home safe and see you when I see you.” He said as the class acknowledged him.
All of the student’s left except you, and well…him.
“Do you need something, Ms. Y/n?” Mr. Lee asked in curiosity, looking at you figure, you sat comfortably in your chair, reading a book called, “Twelfth Night” By William Shakespeare.
You closed the book—fixing your glasses using your index finger before looking up at him—his lips curved into a smile, finding your innocence adorable, “I’m sorry Mr. Lee,” You addressed, smiling slightly up at him, “Call me Byung-Hun, the class hours are already done, and…” He leaned down—resting his hands and weight on your table, “It’s just us two here.” he said almost a whisper, your mouth fell open slightly, exhaling as Mr. Lee chuckled at your action, “You’re so easy to tease, Ms. Y/n,” He admitted as he put his index finger on your chin to close your mouth.
The feeling of his touch against your skin made you blush, his finger stayed there for a while, his eyes focused on your lips—he pulled his finger on your chin, “So,” he cleared his throat, fixing his glasses, “Let’s get back to my question, Ms. Y/n.” he crossed his arms on his chest, still looking down at you, “I- I was,” You chuckled awkwardly, “I’m mostly here after class, because it’s quiet, i didn’t know you’ll be staying,” You gathered your things standing up, “I should go, I'm sorry Mr. Lee–” You apologize as your about to leave, Your professor, Mr. Lee grabbed your wrist, stopping you from leaving, “Don’t,” He muttered softly, you looked at his hand wrapped around your wrist, He followed your gaze—seeing his hand on your wrist, he quickly let go of it, clearing his throat, “I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to do that,” he confessed, eyes on you–as if he looked away—you’ll be gone, “Please, stay, i didn’t knew you were staying here, i should be the one who needs to leave.’’ He added, his gaze dropped on the book in your hand, his eyes lit up a little, “I didn’t know you like to read books,’’ he said pointing at the Twelfth Night book between your digits, You chuckled, “Oh, i- i didn’t thought it would matter, telling it earlier on introduction.” You gave hima bright smile, and that also made him smile, “Is that twelfth night?” he asked, you nodded—bringing the book to him, “Yes, i just started reading it earlier this morning.” you informed as he nodded, taking the book in your hand, his hand brushed slightly to yours, “This was one of my favorite books of shakespeare.” He admitted, flipping through pages as he saw your handwriting on some of the pages of the book, annotating lines and scenes from it, “I must admit,” He closed the book—giving it back to you, “You’re brighter than i thought, Y/n” he confessed, the way his name roll on his tongue made you lick your lips, “What’s that supposed to mean, Mr. Lee?” you asked, grabbing the book with your right hand, “It means,’’ He slowly walk towards you— you stepped back, not sure what is he trying to do, he stopped, leaning down just above your height, “Your different from the other student, sweetheart.” he muttered before smirking at you.
You’re not sure what to feel, should you be afraid because a professor is doing this to you? Calling you ‘sweetheart’, teasing you, getting a little too touchy with you, and also the way his gaze lingers on you longer than the other students.
“You’re special, Ms. President, Y/n.” He teased you again as he leaned back up, chuckling at your shocked state, he cleared his throat before speaking, “I should go, get home safe Y/n, I’ll see you when I see you.” He uttered, putting his leather briefcase on his right hand. He looked at you for a moment—as if he’s waiting for you to say something—but you couldn’t, instead of saying something, you just looked up at him, and nodded.
He smirked as he grabbed the handle of the door, pulling it as he leave the classroom, leaving you all alone there like you used to, but after what happened—it feel like you just want to stay in that room, savoring every moment that had happen—that now is a memory for you.
The heels of Byung-Hun’s shoes clicked in the hallway, echoing through it, a few of his colleagues greeted him, he didn’t say anything but just nodded, some students did the same, but he just also nodded, not even wasting his time to open his mouth to reply to them nor acknowledge them.
He sat down on his cubicle inside the faculty, his eyes glued on his laptop, typing his lesson plan for nextweek, then he paused, the image of you looking up to him with those eyes, his focus is now long gone—clenching his jaw as he remembered how soft your skin is against his, how your lips would look good pressed between his, “Fuck,’’ He cursed to himself, removing his glasses as he pinch his nose bridge, sighing to himself as he stood up, closing his laptop as he leave.
He needed to get you off his mind, this isn’t right, he just met you—you’re his student and he’s your professor, crossing that forbidden line would cause him to lose his job.
He left the building, as he went to the nearest coffee shop he could find, maybe he just needed coffee, that’s it right? Just a hot mug of black coffee to ease his mind—to get you off with it.
Meanwhile, You were laying down on your bed, thinking of your professor, Mr. Lee, thinking every detail you could remember about him, how sharp his jaw is, how his deep brown eyes lingered on you longer than the others, how he teases you a lot compared to other students.
Maybe—you are just really a special student, like what he said.
His special student.
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