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what wolves fear.
summary: a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,299 words
warnings: gothic romance (set in 1800’s), talk of death and murder, slow burn, horror, MDNI (18+ only)
notes: hi first time writing in like 2-3 years so be nice please xoxoxo if you can’t tell i’ve gotten into writing horror/thriller and this was the perfect opportunity to dip my toes back in. anyways if you’re reading this here’s a kiss mwah
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
He’d been haunting the tree line long before you ever saw him.
At least, that’s what he believed.
All winter, something bigger than any wolf stalked the border of your little cottage, keeping the growls and yellow eyes at bay. You’d wake to claw marks in the snow that didn’t belong to any animal you knew, to the broken bodies of wolves dragged far from your door, as if someone didn’t want you to see what he’d done for you. Your lanterns never ran out of oil. Your firewood stack never emptied. Sometimes, there were heavy footprints in the mud—too large, too uneven to be human—leading back into the forest and vanishing with the mist.
He thought you didn’t know.
But you saw him.
You always saw him.
The first time, it was only a shadow: a towering figure half-hidden behind the black skeleton of a pine tree, watching you as you hung freshly washed sheets beneath a washed-out winter sky. Another time, you caught the briefest flash of his eyes, pale and aching with something that wasn’t quite hunger and wasn’t quite hatred, as he melted back into the dark.
The creature.
Adam Frankenstein.
The villagers whispered about a monster in the woods, a patchwork horror that should have never drawn breath, but you knew better. Monsters didn’t leave bread on your windowsill on nights you forgot to eat. Monsters didn’t stack kindling by your step after snowstorms, or set down a freshly killed hare just close enough that your old dog could sniff it out in the morning. Monsters didn’t linger at the edge of your light like a shield, taking every blow the world had meant for you.
So you started leaving things for him, too.
A still-warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and left on a flat stone near the forest’s edge. A thick, clumsily sewn shirt you’d stitched by candlelight, big enough to fit the breadth of his shoulders as best you could guess. A pair of gloves with uneven fingers. Each offering would be gone by morning, and in their place there’d be… nothing. No note. No mark. Just a silence that somehow felt shy.
Spring came slowly, softening the snow into streams and coaxing green from the hard earth. One bright morning, you took your dog and followed the familiar path beneath the budding branches, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. You could feel him behind you—no longer a rumour, but a steady presence in the spaces between birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
He was careful with his distance.
Careful with you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air behind you changed—thicker somehow, as if the very forest were holding its breath.
Your dog’s ears flicked, tail giving the smallest wag, but he did not bark. He sat at your heel, as though he, too, had long grown used to the giant shadow that haunted the trees.
You stood in the clearing, sunlight painting your skirts in pale gold, fingers resting lightly upon your dog’s head.
“I know you are there,” you said, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You have been there for a very long time, have you not?”
Silence.
The birds went quiet. A breeze stirred the budding branches overhead, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—old smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of soap, as though someone had tried, clumsily, to scrub himself clean.
You swallowed your nervousness and smiled, though he could not see it. Not yet.
“Tell me, Adam,” you continued, your tone turning wry, “how much longer until you understand that I have always known about you… and that you do not frighten me in the least?”
Something shifted among the trees to your left. A heavy footstep, then another, crunching over last year’s leaves. Your dog gave a low, pleased whine.
Slowly, as though dragged forward by some unseen chain, he stepped out from the shadows.
He was larger than you had imagined, even after months of stolen glances. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the very shirt you had sewn by candlelight. The fabric sat oddly upon him, as if he were still unsure he had the right to wear something made with care.
His face—oh, his face.
You had prepared yourself for horror.
Instead, you found sadness.
Features too sharply cut, as though chiseled in haste and anger. Eyes a pale, unnatural blue, ringed by the kind of weariness usually reserved for much older men. There were scars, yes, and those patchwork seams that betrayed the unnatural hand that had pieced him together, but beneath them all… he was simply a man who did not know how to occupy his own skin.
He stopped several paces away, hands held slightly out from his sides, as though to show he carried no weapon.
“You… you ought to run,” he said at last, his voice rough and low, the words strangely precise yet hesitant, like a man learning to speak again after a long illness. “The villagers would tell you to flee.”
“The villagers,” you replied, “have never once stacked firewood by my door after a storm.”
His jaw tightened. He glanced away, as though ashamed.
“That was nothing,” he muttered. “A mere… task. I happened to be near.”
“And the hare left upon my step in January? Was that another mere task?”
He shifted his weight, great hands curling into fists. “You were thin,” he said grudgingly. “There were no tracks near your home. I deduced you did not hunt.”
“And the wolves?” you pressed gently. “The ones that never cross the boundary of my field, though their howls wake me in the night?”
His throat worked. For a moment, the creature looked almost… irritated. “They are foolish animals,” he said. “They do not understand when they trespass upon what is mine to guard.”
Your heart stuttered at that word.
“Yours to guard,” you echoed softly.
At last his gaze met yours. There was a terrible vulnerability in it, like a child braced for mockery.
“You ought not look at me so,” he said, voice rougher now. “You ought to scream. Or at the very least, avert your eyes.”
“I shall do neither,” you answered. “You have been my unseen champion all winter, sir. I should think it discourteous to shriek at you now.”
He frowned, as though the very notion of courtesy applied to him was offensive.
“I am no ‘sir’,” he said. “The man who stitched me together did not deem me fit for such a title.”
“Then what shall I call you?” you asked, ignoring the chill that raced down your spine at his choice of words. “The villagers speak of a monster. A demon. A fiend. I do not care for any of those.”
A shadow of something like humour passed over his face. “He called me Adam,” he said quietly. “As though I were the first of my kind.”
You nodded once. “Very well, Adam.”
Your dog, emboldened by your calm, trotted forward and sniffed at his boots. Adam stared down at him as though the small creature were some strange, new invention.
“He does not fear me,” Adam murmured, almost to himself.
“Animals are often better judges of character than men,” you replied. “He knows you have watched over us.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I watched to ensure no harm came to you,” he corrected. “Whether you knew of it or not is of little consequence.”
“On the contrary.” You took a small step closer. His eyes widened, as though you had moved a mile instead of a foot. “It is of great consequence. You believed yourself unseen, did you not?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Then you must also have believed that the bread, and the shirt, and the gloves appeared by some miracle of the woods.” You tilted your head. “Or did you imagine the forest itself had begun to sew?”
Colour—faint but unmistakable—rose along the visible seam of his throat. He looked past you, toward the stone where you always left your gifts.
“I thought…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “I wondered if perhaps you had set them out for the poor. For some wandering soul more deserving than I.”
Your chest ached. “And yet you took them.”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to his hands, as though the gloves were still upon them. “I told myself I had stolen them. That you would never know. That is the sort of thing a monster does, is it not? Take what is not his?”
“If I leave something upon the edge of the wood with no name attached,” you said gently, “is it truly theft for the one I hoped would claim it… to do so?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, startled. “You… hoped…?”
“For whom else do you suppose I stitched sleeves of that length?” you asked, lips quirking. “There is no man in the village with shoulders so broad as yours, Adam.”
He stared at you as though you had struck him. Not in pain—more in stunned disbelief.
“You… knew,” he breathed. “You knew I was there. All this time.”
“Yes.”
“And you were not afraid.”
You considered this. “I was wary,” you said honestly. “At first. One does not wake to strange footprints and dead wolves without a certain degree of alarm. But then I saw you. Hiding like a boy behind those poor trees, trying very hard not to be seen. And I thought—”
You broke off, biting your lip.
He took a half-step forward despite himself. “You thought what?”
“I thought,” you said slowly, “that no true monster skulks in the shadows to keep a woman’s cottage safe through a winter as harsh as this last one. No true monster leaves food instead of taking it. No true monster looks at another living soul the way you looked at my dog last month—do not pretend you were not there, I saw you through the curtain—like you were afraid to even breathe in his direction for fear you might somehow break him.”
He said nothing. His breath misted faintly in the cool spring air, harsh and uneven.
“You should not look so kindly upon me,” he managed at last. “It is… improper.”
“Improper,” you repeated, amusement bubbling up despite the solemnity of his tone. “We are alone in the forest, Adam. There is no vicar here to scold us.”
“It is not the vicar I fear,” he muttered. “It is myself.”
Your smile faded.
“Why?” you asked.
He looked down at his hands again, turning them palm up as though they were strange objects he’d found rather than parts of his own body.
“These hands have done terrible things,” he said quietly. “I have torn wolves apart, as you have seen. I have broken men who sought to harm me. I have throttled hatred at its source and found only more hatred beneath it. I was created in violence and I fear I shall end in it as well.” His eyes lifted to yours, desperate. “I cannot trust myself near that which is gentle.”
Your throat tightened. “You have been near me all winter.”
“At a distance,” he insisted. “A barrier of trees. Of shadow. Of night. It is different now.”
“Is it?” You closed the gap between you by another small step. He sucked in a breath, shoulders going rigid. You could feel the heat radiating from him now, unnatural in its intensity, like standing too close to a forge. “I feel no danger from you, Adam.”
“You should.”
“But I do not.” You lifted your hand, giving him every opportunity to retreat. “May I?”
He stared at your outstretched fingers as though they were some holy relic. “I… do not know.”
“We shall discover it together,” you said softly.
After a moment that stretched thin as spun sugar, he extended his own hand, large and scarred and trembling just enough for you to see. You laid your palm against his.
Warm. Solid. Very real.
He flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of contact.
“See?” you murmured. “You have not broken me.”
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely.
You squeezed his fingers. “Nor shall you, if I have any say in the matter.”
For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but the two of you and the soft panting of your dog at your side. A bird dared a tentative trill somewhere above, as though deciding the danger had passed.
“You treat me as though I were… a man,” Adam said quietly, almost accusingly.
“You are,” you replied simply.
His brows drew together. “I am a collection of parts stolen from graves. I am a blasphemy against God and nature both.”
“You are standing in the sunlight speaking to me with more courtesy than half the men in town,” you countered. “If that is blasphemy, then perhaps we have misjudged Heaven.”
A startled, rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half exhale. As though he had forgotten how ordinary mirth should feel in his chest.
“You should not say such things,” he chided, but there was no true censure in it. “You are too bold.”
“You have been listening to me mutter to myself all winter,” you reminded him. “You ought to know by now that my tongue is not easily tamed.”
“I know many things about you,” he admitted, voice going soft. “I know you speak kindly to your dog even when he chews your shoes. I know you hum that same song each morning when you light the stove. I know you eat too little when you are anxious. I know you cry when you believe no one can hear.”
Your breath caught. “You ought not watch a lady in such moments,” you said, flustered.
“I know,” he said, guilt flickering through his gaze. “And yet I could not look away. Your sorrow… it frightened me more than wolves ever could. I wished to tear apart whatever had caused it, but there was nothing there. Only you, and your hands shaking, and your tears falling into the dough you were kneading.”
You blinked rapidly, your throat thick. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think yourself a monster,” you whispered.
He hesitated. “Do you not?”
You stepped closer until there was barely a breath between you, your hand still cradled in his. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes fully.
“If I say no,” you asked, “will you believe me?”
“I… do not know.” His voice cracked on the words.
“Then I shall tell you as many times as necessary until you do.” Your lips curved into a small, earnest smile. “You are not a monster to me, Adam. You are the reason I have slept safely these many months. You are the reason my dog still runs through these woods without fear. You are the reason I am standing here today, whole and unharmed.”
He swallowed hard. “Any man might have done as much.”
“But no man did.” You lifted your free hand to his chest, pressing your palm lightly over where his heart would be—if it beat. “You did.”
His breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed to forget how limbs functioned, standing utterly still as though one wrong move might shatter the moment into fragments.
“You should not touch me so,” he said weakly.
“And yet,” you murmured, “you do not step away.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. “Because I am selfish. Because I have spent a season watching you from afar and I am not yet strong enough to deny myself this one brief… kindness.”
“Adam,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He obeyed. Slowly, hesitantly, but he obeyed.
“There is nothing ‘brief’ about what I intend,” you told him. “You have guarded my cottage as though it were a kingdom. Will you not allow me, at the very least, to guard your heart in return?”
His lips parted, but no sound came. You could see the war waging behind his eyes—fear and longing and disbelief all tangled together.
“You… would keep company with me?” he managed at last. “Knowing what I am?”
“Knowing who you are,” you corrected. “A man named Adam who walks the tree line at night so that I may sleep. A man who refuses to let wolves cross my field. A man who looks at my foolish old dog as though he were some creature made of glass.” Your fingers curled briefly against his chest. “If that is monstrosity, I shall gladly consort with monsters.”
Another laugh—clearer this time—escaped him. It transformed his face, smoothing some of the harsh lines, revealing the man beneath the scars.
“You are very stubborn,” he said.
“So I have been told.”
“And you would not… flee, if I came nearer? If I…” He faltered, gaze flickering to your joined hands. “If I visited your cottage when the sun has set?”
“I should be most put out if you did not,” you said lightly. “I have an extra chair by the hearth and no one to fill it. My dog prefers company. As, I suspect, do I.”
He stared at you as though trying to determine whether this were some cruel trick of the mind. At last, cautiously, he lifted his other hand to hover near your cheek, stopping inches away.
“May I?” he asked, echoing your earlier words.
You leaned into the space between, closing the distance yourself. His fingers brushed your skin—calloused, uncertain, trembling. He cupped your cheek as though cradling something far more fragile than you felt.
“You are warm,” he whispered, wonder in his tone.
“And you are real,” you replied.
His thumb swept once, reverently, along your cheekbone. “If I frighten you,” he said softly, “you must tell me at once. I will go, and I shall not trouble you again, though it break what passes for my heart.”
“I do not believe you capable of breaking my heart,” you said. “Guarding it, perhaps. As you have guarded everything else.”
His eyes shone, sudden moisture gathering there. He blinked it away quickly, as though ashamed.
“I do not understand why you would offer such mercy to me,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” you said gently, “it is not mercy. Perhaps it is simply… affection.”
The word seemed to strike him with more force than any blow.
“Affection,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “For me.”
“For you,” you affirmed. “For Adam, who walks the forest so that I might live another day to bake too much bread and scold my dog and sew shirts far too large.” Your smile softened. “Stay with me, and I shall show you there is more for you than shadows and solitude.”
He drew in a long, shaky breath. When he exhaled, something in his posture eased—the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. As though a burden he had carried alone for far too long had shifted, just slightly, into your waiting hands.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice low but resolute. “I shall try.”
Your heart lifted, light as the first spring breeze.
“Good,” you replied. “Then you shall walk me home, Adam. And after that, if you wish, you may sit by my fire and tell me all the things you have seen from the edge of the wood.”
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then back to you—the woman who had left bread and stitched shirts and dared to speak kindly to the creature everyone else feared.
“As you wish,” he said quietly.
And when you turned toward the path, his heavy footsteps fell in beside yours—not behind, no longer hiding in the trees, but at your side. Where, you suspected, he had always longed to be.
how Frankenstein got me feeling recently
I feel so maternal towards him
Last year, your father sponsored a science project you didn't agree with the concept of. Yet, you must visit that place with him because you were sympathetic to the Creature. One day, the project was over, and the Creator intended to burn his own work to cover mistakes. It was the Creature's luck that he could survive and find your manor. And it was your luck to meet someone whom you could be yourself with. Today, after months of residing in your place and learning how to be human, the Creature asked you for kisses and love.
ONE MORE LEAF FOR ONE MORE KISS
Sweet! The Creature (Adam) x Naughty! Fem! Reader (2.6k words) — It should be fluff, but I really can't help myself, so it becomes smut. You'll give him kisses, and your mouth will be full (blowjob). I hope you enjoy reading this short story!
“I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…” the Creature, Adam, said, smiling to himself.
He was sitting on his favorite rug, lap covered with the comfortable blanket you had used when you were younger, hands holding dry leaves he collected from the tree in front of your cottage.
This place, your cottage, was the small space after your family’s manor, locating close to the pine forest, where you secretly let Adam reside. No one but you and your sweet creature cared about your cottage, since you claimed that this place had only books and stuff for your hobby, which your family didn’t want to know about it, or you would keep talking about this and they would walk away. You weren’t a young woman who needed to marry for wealth or dignity, at least not yet, so you lived freely than other young women you knew.
“She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.”
But what Adam just said wasn’t the thing you expected to hear.
“He seemed happy. She seemed happier.”
You paused for a brief moment, before replying: “Kissing a person you love will always make you happy.”
You didn’t look straight at Adam’s seamed face, only staring at flames in the fireplace. As your heart was throbbing, your body was tense on the armchair next to his cozy spot, especially when he leaned his side close to your legs covered with the exquisite skirt.
It wasn’t the first time he was close like this, but you both had never done anything that needed to be closer.
“Love…” He whispered that word to himself, but you heard his voice, full of curiosity and pureness.
You taught him to repeat your words, you taught him to speak with confidence and read with attention, and you taught him to study human behavior to help him understand how to use words.
It had been a long while since the day his creator tried to eliminate him, and to be with you, for almost three seasons, were the most meaningful thing Adam had ever experienced.
“Love… It’s like fairy tales you had read,” you added, tone sultry. One darkest thought you had never revealed to him was: your heart attached to him.
You didn’t admit to yourself that it was love, although recently, you found no way to lie to yourself. You thought he was looking for a companion, you as well, which you secretly imagined the thin line for you to not cross, the thin wall for you to not break.
But another part of you shouted too loud inside your mind: you loved him. You longed to be with him. Your feelings were too intense to sit calmly like you tried to do at the moment.
“I still remembered that tale,” Adam said, looking up at you. In your sight, he was so beautiful, like a broken yet still delicate statue, like a charming stag in the wild forest.
Like a man you would make love until you forgot the time.
You still remembered the day you instructed him how to wash his hair and clean his body. You still remembered when his large hands grasped your hips when you tried to dry his dark hair with a cloth. You still remembered that he wore nothing while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, although you told him to cover his lower body when he was around a gentlewoman… You still remembered that your eyes dropped when he was exposed again and again, although you tried to cover him again and again.
The Creature had a thing like a normal man had, probably having more than a normal man. His figure was incomparable, tall and lean. You liked those seams, since it made your thighs wet for some reason… You didn’t know why. Or, because he was so fragile?
He had what you needed the most from the man you would devote yourself to him: seams on the broad chest and the big cock.
Oh, no. You were blushing. Your breath was ragged, and the curious creature just looked at you with a question. Why did you keep sitting like this? Frozen and nervous.
“Are you all right?” he asked, one of his large hands touching the back of yours. You looked at entwined fingers, warm and cold on two fleshes. How could it feel if you took him deeper—?
“I’m fine,” you said, suddenly pulling your hand from his grasp, although doing that quickly might make him feel vulnerable. You told him to not be frightened by your sudden thoughtless expression, but you had never told yourself to be gentle. “I—I should go home—The sun is going down—”
“I looked around the forest, but I can’t find a flower.” Adam said, his gaze like a sweet plea from a sweet boy. “I… I can find only these leaves.”
Before getting up, Adam placed one dry leaf on your lap to make you sit on the same chair. Your eyes widened with surprise, because his hand was still on your knees.
You stuttered:
“A leaf? For me?”
He nodded, and if your eyes didn’t lie, you thought the pale skin on his cheeks had a tint of red, as if a shy boy confessed something to a girl he adored.
Then, you recalled what he just talked about.
‘I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…’
‘She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.’
You gently held a leaf, and Adam averted. He looked at his own lap where other beautiful golden leaves were. You began to understand what he tried to talk to you.
“You gave me your leaf for a kiss?”
You swore to yourself that you noticed how shy and sweet Adam was. In many fairy tales you let him read, all men got kisses from women they loved. And he saw a man in the real life got a kiss from a woman…
“You… love me?” you asked, your voice laced with hesitation. But your heart fluttered as if you would get a thing you had waited for a long time.
His love.
Adam took a deep breath and looked up at you again, as if he was begging for something.
“I love you,” he whispered, your name on his tongue such a gentle thing you had ever heard. “I love you… and… and I want to kiss you.”
You froze, fingers almost tearing a leaf you just got.
“You want to kiss me?” you asked, the air around you warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he repeated his own answer, smiling shyly.
Forgetting all thoughts you had, holding a leaf in hands, you leaned close to him and pressed your warm lips against his cold ones. He was surprised by your sudden move, so were you. He froze, but you knew that it was his first time, so you weren’t bothered at all.
Then, you pulled back, your eyes looking at his face. He murmured your name, as if he was praying to the God he believed.
“You kissed me,” he said, smiling with contentment. You loved this picture, since it was you who pushed him out of innocence. “Your lips are so soft.”
“Thank you,” you replied, a hand with a leaf on your lap like it was, another hand cupping his seamed cheek, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “When you kissed a woman you loved, you should shut your eyes.”
Adam chuckled, fingers fidgeting at leaves—Right, he had more leaves in his hands. And he got an idea.
“If I give you more leaves, will you kiss me more?”
That question, from the most purest heart, broke your sanity. You wanted nothing but him for so long—too long it hurt—but today, right here and right now, he asked for more kisses.
You smiled at the idea, before saying:
“One more leaf for one more kiss.”
Oh, but how could you cage your intrusive thoughts when the perfect opportunity was here?
“But if you give me all leaves, I’ll not kiss you only on your lips.”
“My cheeks, too?”
“Your cheeks, too,” you chuckled, before shifting yourself to the floor. Since he was taller than you, you were smaller than him at this moment. “But when you love someone so much, you won’t kiss another person only on lips or cheeks.”
“You love me?” he asked, his voice soft, like the time you asked him the same question.
“I love you,” you reassured, biting your bottom lip as your gaze observed his rugged form. He wore proper attire, staying comfortable and adorable, but this picture wasn’t less tempting at all. He made you want him more… That gentle kiss wasn’t the thing you desired.
Your twisted thoughts urged you to teach him a new lesson—a sensual one you had only read from famous erotica you got from markets.
“Your leaves,” he said, smiling as if he saw an angel before him, offering you precious gifts you knew you would keep forever.
And you did… You exactly did what you thought.
Without a word, you grabbed leaves from his hands and placed them with caution on the table nearby. You shifted close to him and pushed the comfortable blanket aside when you straddled his lap. Your skirt wasn’t an obstacle but luring you to press your hips against his lap. Your hands held his cheeks, your mouth kissing him once again.
You had waited to kiss him. You had longed to kiss him. And you now did. Your tongue trailed the line of his lips, urging him to gasp and open his mouth for you. As tongues touched, you felt his large hands grabbed your waist.
Instinctively, Adam was a quick learner. He shut his eyes and absorbed the love he was supposed to receive, as if to collect all of feelings deeply in his sacred mind. His tongue followed your lead, tasting your warmth and sweetness with admiration. His hand touched your back, like the way he held a leaf with tenderness. You heard him groan, soft and vulnerable, and you liked that noise so much.
You poured kisses on his cheek, your tongue trailing the seam without any second thought. So arousing… You were enjoying the broken part of his, and he was willingly giving it to you.
“Move to that chair,” you commanded, your voice thick with craving, as your throbbing core clenched nothing. But no, you shouldn’t push him too far, especially when he just discovered that giving love, like a flower, should receive love, like a kiss.
Right now, he must learn what true pleasure felt like, and he should understand what his tempting body needed the most by himself.
Adam did exactly what you said; he sat on the armchair you just got up, yet he froze when your hands caressed his broad chest, tracing down to his stomach. He had never known how intense this feeling was… It was exciting. It was warmer than he had felt, melting coldness inside his body completely.
“Relax, my dear,” you cooed, hands undressing his clothes. “I’ll take care of you.”
Adam leaned against the backrest, trying to relax like what you said. He looked down at you, sitting on the floor, staying between his thighs, taking off his pants so eagerly. He didn’t know if he was desirable or attractive enough to make you do this… He saw charming men kissing charming women, and what was he doing now?
You looked beautiful for him, delicate and fragile. And he wouldn’t judge you from what you were doing, the sweetest mouth kissing his bare chest, the eager tongue lapping his nipples, one of soft hands holding his length, one of gentle thumbs tracing his cold skin.
You would always be the pure soul for him, and he doubted that he could belong to you or not.
“Should I go and collect more leaves…?” he asked, his hand touching the back of your head as your mouth found his groin. “I don’t know if I… if I deserve you.”
“I don’t kiss you because of your gifts,” you said, your lips touching his ball, your hand stroking his shaft gently. “You deserve me, Adam. I love you… I know I love you since the day I met you. And you love me. That’s sufficient for us to be here, to make love.”
Adam hummed as your tongue trailed over his length, from the base to the top.
“Make love…”
“It’s what I’m doing right now, Adam. It’s not just a kiss anymore.”
He was tense, like the day you dried his hair and saw how thick his cock was. He didn’t know why he was drawn to this feeling, but his instinct told him that it would be fine, as long as he was with you.
His eyes were hazy with desire, almost shut, but he wanted to look at you, wanted to watch you, wanted to observe the way your tongue swirled around his tip. Whenever you glanced up at him, he felt nothing but heated. He began to love it. And when your mouth sucked him… his hand tangling with your hair was the only anchor he could grasp.
Adam whispered your name, his voice gravelly and sensual. That made your thighs slicker, but you knew you should be patient with him. Your warm mouth provided him the new passion he might not know that he needed, your hand still stroking him—making him harder. His skin wasn’t cold like he used to, right now he was as if a mere human, and it all was because of this new lesson.
His instinct told him to buck his hips up, seeking the friction around your lips and in your mouth. You almost choked, but that was fine.
His breath quickened, his chest moving. And you knew what it would happen. You had doubted if his body would work like a human, but spending time with him for months only told you that he was the real human. He knew. He felt. You witnessed it all. His taste was like berries he enjoyed eating, sweet—bitter, intoxicating.
You moaned against his cock, gulping but trying to send pleasure to him. You felt his fist around your hair tighter, his movements against your mouth rougher, and your breath almost faded away. Your tight heat clenched nothing, spilling wetness… And when he shuddered, groaning so deeply, filling your mouth with his seed, you knew what you wanted to do in your lonely life.
You wanted to make love to him, deep and senseless. You wanted to become a vice and fuck him until he came inside you, but you should let this beautiful creature learn this new thing.
“If I want you to do this again, what—what should I do?” he asked breathlessly after spilling his release in your mouth.
You pulled back, letting his cock slip from your mouth. You swallowed that taste and said: “Just ask me when you need me.”
His hand shifted from your hair to your face, thumb stroking the drop of his own seed on the corner of your lips. He didn’t know that he could do such a thing, but seeing you smile and blush made his heart throb with affection.
You kissed his thumb, teasing him by lapping his skin. “Or, say you love me.”
“I love you…” Adam said immediately, spent yet eager to lean forward. His mouth captured your lips and tasted himself through this slobbery kiss. Your hands grasped his shoulders, letting him pull you up to the armchair and straddling his lap.
“So… you need me?”
“I always need you,” he whispered against the kiss, begging for your attention.
“Actually, there is more than my mouth you could feel,” you suggested, hands cupping his seamed cheeks. “Would you love to try?”
He nodded, smiling.
“Please…”
Thank you for reading my fic! This film consumes my soul in the best way. I can write 2.6k words in 24 hrs again after a long, long time, and I'm so happy to do it. And it's a bit dirty 👀 I hope it's not that strange since it's the first English smut I let people see. If you love it, you may tell me, scream at me, or suggest some new plots in my humble ask 💗 Have a nice day, the Creature's girlfriends!
Edit: And the new part is here 🫣 This time, Adam truly made love to you! Xx
Edit 2: And if you like something fluffy, check my new story here!
Edit 3: Fluff & Smut Alphabet is here 😏
monster f*ckers we are so back
⚡︎ Adam Frankenstein x fem!reader/creature!reader ⚡︎
⚡︎ A/N: I'd like to thank Mr. del Toro for forming my bizarre taste with Abe from Hellboy. And I'd like to apologize to Mr. Elordi- I was not aware of your game, sir. (One chance and I'd climb him like a tree). ⚡︎
⚡︎ Your marriage to Victor had been unwilling for both parties. All these long years, you've kept quiet, been docile. But when you discover the secret hidden beneath your home, you can no longer remain as submissive as you'd once been. The consequences of your rebellion are more bloody than you'd been prepared for. ⚡︎
The choice to marry Victor had not been your own. But when was it ever? Women rarely got a say in the future of their lives. Your distant cousin, Elizabeth, was one of the few exceptions you’d met. Though you doubted very much that she truly loved Victor’s brother. Rather, you thought it to be a choice of comfort.
William was a kind man, a good man. He may not have been a romantic or loud with his passion for Elizabeth. But he would not hurt her. Would not silence her or diminish her so he might be bigger. The comfort he would provide her was worth sacrificing love and passion if only so she did not have to spend her life wiggling under the thumb of a man.
She did not have to say it aloud, but you knew when she had told you of this engagement, of William’s kindly countenance, she had thought of Victor. You were not blind. You knew that at a point in your marriage, Victor’s eyes had finally wandered from his grotesque dissections and bloody displays. But they had not landed on you as you had so often hoped in your youth. Rather, they went to Elizabeth. His brother’s betrothed.
It did not surprise you. Victor had as little say in your coupling as you had. His father’s last exertion of control before finally departing this earthly realm. It was not a surprise to find him enamored with a woman who was not you. But it did not abate the disgust that, rather than choosing any other woman in the world, he sought after your only friend.
It was a blessing when Elizabeth’s uncle had procured Victor’s help for his experiment. It meant Elizabeth would be free from Victor’s leering eyes and domineering presence. And you would no longer have to stomach the humiliation of being so disenchanting to your own husband.
But each blessing must, of course, come with some sort of penance. You had your own rooms in the tower, separate from Victor's. He claimed he wanted no distractions. But you knew that he had finally found an excuse to escape from you. Aside from that, you were not permitted access to any other chamber.
You knew of the laboratory on the topmost floor. There was a drainage system that was like a sort of catacombs below you. But this room, this lovely gilded cage, was the only place you were truly allowed to exist in. It did not stop late-night wanderings or occasionally dipping your head into the laboratory when Victor finally slept.
For once, you were allowed peace. No husband breathing down your neck, demanding perfection you were not capable of. No reminders of your failings as a wife. It was a blissful quiet.
But only for a short while.
The candelabra in your hand burned bright against the dim moonlight escaping into the tower. You usually did not risk a light during your explorations, but tonight it felt like you might have need of it. You had heard Victor shouting in his laboratory earlier, raging against something you did not know of.
But he had gone silent long before sunset. Hopefully, that meant you would not have anyone interrupting your rare experience of rebellion.
The floors were cool against your feet. The chill shot straight through your legs as you moved toward the lowermost floor. The catacombs were one of the rare exceptions to your exploring. Until tonight, you’d had no desire to creep through wet, dirtied tunnels. But something was beckoning you forward, calling you toward a mission you were not yet aware of.
Just at the entrance, shouting stilled your movements. You quickly blew out your candles and hid behind the overgrown foliage infesting your new home. “One thing!” Victor’s voice, you recognized his anger well.
“Say one thing that is not my name!” He demanded. Either your husband had finally lost his mind, or he’d accomplished his life-long mission. You could not determine which one terrified you more.
There was loud grunting, the smack of something metal against flesh. It made you grimace, further tucking yourself into the vines. A loud metallic clatter against the floor and then your husband was storming out. His robe flew behind him as he ran up the stairs, raging about something you could not understand.
Watching him carefully, you waited a few minutes before you decided it was safe enough to leave. You should have picked up your candelabra, should have headed back upstairs and gone to sleep.
Instead, you find yourself turning toward the catacombs, searching for the source of Victor’s rage. “Hello?” you call softly, the cold night air seeping in from one of the drains.
Silence is to be expected as you lean toward the idea that your husband’s mind has finally shattered. Instead, you hear something broken and strained. “Vic-tor.”
The voice stills you, your heart thudding against your ribs as you keep yourself hidden behind one of the stone columns. The gravel of the voice is deep and rougher than any man you’ve ever heard. But there’s something broken rattling within it, scared and hesitant as it waits for your husband to return.
The pain calls to your own as you slowly reveal yourself. In front of you, curled up like a babe on a stone slab, is something grotesque.
Not revolting in the sense that the creature hurts to look at. Though the seams along his body do make you ache for it. It is grotesque that any man would attempt to play god like this. To finally bring life into this world and then shelter it away from the sun, from life and light.
“Oh,” you breathed out. Lifting your skirts, you rushed over the small canal of water and moved toward it. The creature, or man, you suppose, remained curled.
His hands were covering his head and you could see fresh blood spilling along his arms. Beside him, abandoned on the floor, was a metal poker. Disgust burned in your stomach as you kicked it away. He stirred at that, lifting his hands and peering up at you.
Something lit up in his eyes at his discovery. You smiled softly at him, attempting not to flinch as you took in just how much your husband had pieced him back together. How many sons did he mutilate to make his own? How many mothers will mourn their young while he takes them and shames them for still living?
“Hello,” you whisper. Your voice is soft from lack of use, strained after remaining silent in this tower for so long.
The creature’s eyes widen as he slowly unfurls himself. Something about you, perhaps just that you are not Victor, stops him from cowering. And as he uncurls, you realize just how much of himself he was protecting.
His movements are stilted, like a poorly manipulated marionette, as he moves to stand in front of you. You take a step back, peering up at his face and marveling at just how your husband sculpted him.
“Has he named you?” You ask, smiling as the creature tilts his head, observing the lace of your gown with fascination. His eyes dart to your hair. To the tight style that Victor insists on, he does not take well to disorder in his wife.
He lifts his hand, movements stilted as his fingers fiddle with the charm hanging from your pin. “Here,” you reach up and pull it out, caring not for the unkempt look as your hair falls free. You hold out the golden pin with its dangling charm of a leaf.
The creature runs his finger over the charm and the barest thing close to a smile lifts his lips. You watch, perplexed, as he tucks the pin to his chest and turns back toward the stone slab. With how broad his body is, you struggle to see around him.
Though he does not make you wait long. He turns back quickly, holding out a large, orange maple leaf.
“For me?” You ask, and he gives a quick nod, eyes eager as he watches you trace your fingers over the veins. “Look,” you reach out for the pin and smile. “We match now,” nodding toward the charm.
His mouth moves, though no sound escapes. He seems to be attempting the word match, but his voice can’t conjure the sound. His eyes narrow, and you place your hand over his. The coldness of his skin is startling. But your husband had left him with no clothes or blanket, you should not be surprised he froze down in the catacombs.
Before he can grow frustrated, you tug your shawl from your shoulders and reach up. It’s a slight challenge, attempting to drape the fabric over such broad shoulders, but you manage. He seems startled by the gift, watching you warily as you sit on the slab behind him.
“So you might be warmer,” you tell him. You know not how much of your words reach him. Victor seems to have taught him nothing but his name. He rubs his fingers over the softness of the fabric and smiles as he sits beside you.
“A name?” You ask once more.
“Vic-tor.”
You take his hand in your own, noticing just how much he seems to lean into your touch. His eyes track your thumb as it rubs against his palm. Slowly, he reaches up to trace the shapes of your veins, to marvel at how differently your skin is compared to his seamed flesh.
“That is his name,” you tell him. “You deserve a proper one.” Looking up into his eyes, you’re reminded of the freshness of a babe. He has just been brought into this world, with no love or warmth to greet him. No mother’s hand to cling to and explain the workings of the world. He is the first of any sort of creature like him.
“He does always call you his Adam. While he plays with the power of a God.” You reach up to cup his cheek and his eyes flutter shut, the weight of his head resting easily in your palm. “Adam, then.”
His lips part, but again, he cannot produce any sound. “That’s alright,” you soothe. Instead, you tell him your own name. “You don’t have to say it. Just remember me.”
His chin dips and, again, you wonder how much of this he can truly understand. Is it just the softness of your voice he registers? The kindness of your touch? You wish you could better understand him. Wish that you had been with him since Victor dragged him into the world. He did not deserve the cold and darkness all on his own.
Glancing down, you see the chains on his legs and wrists. “Wait here,” you tell him. His grip around your wrist barely tightens and you offer him a brief smile. “I’ll be back. I swear.” Slowly, his fingers drift along your skin until you’re backing away and running out of the catacombs.
It did not take you long to find the chain’s keys in Victor’s laboratory. They had been so easily disregarded, as if he never planned to release Adam at all. When you had returned, he’d seemed surprised. Delighted, but surprised. As if he were already so used to people breaking their promises that he could not comprehend you keeping yours.
You led him from the catacombs, and though he’d wanted to explore, you made him be quiet and follow you up the stairs. He did not resist or fight your grip, but rather followed you like a freshly imprinted babe.
There was an instinct inside of you, left unfilled for too long, that called for you to care for him. To sit him on your bed and wrap him in as many soft blankets as you could find. You threw open your curtains and finally let him see the true glory of the night sky.
After so long being trapped in the dark, he’d nearly walked through the window trying to get closer to the stars. “No,” you told him, struggling not to laugh. “You must watch from here,” you directed him back onto your bed.
He smiled up at you and you brushed your thumb across his cheek, frowning as one of his seams opened. A small trickle of blood ran down his skin, but the wound closed as quickly as it had opened. “Does it hurt?” You asked, wiping the blood off.
You had not expected an answer and he did not give one. You’re not sure he would even know what hurt means if it’s all he’s known since his heart has beat.
Slipping onto the bed behind him, you simply watched as he marveled at the night sky. His lips parted slightly, eyes wide and shining with something you’d never seen in Victor’s gaze. “If the only word you know is Victor,” he repeated the name dutifully and you smiled. “Perhaps, tomorrow, I will read to you. Let you learn more of the world outside of your creator.”
Adam watched you now, but silence was thick between you. You pulled back your comforter and leaned against the headboard. “Let’s sleep,” you beckoned him forth. He followed hesitantly, seemingly confused by the softness of your bed. Your hand grazed gently across his arm as you helped him lower himself.
He curled like a child again, his head resting against your thighs as you tried to revive warmth in his limbs. Tomorrow, you will read to him and work on fitting him with some proper clothes.
When you awoke, the sun was shining brightly through your open window. It rested along Adam’s back, a better blanket than any you might provide. He’d moved in the night, one arm twined around your legs and the other around your waist as he held you close. His head still rested against your thighs, and you smiled at how soft his face was while he slept.
“So,” you jumped, head whipping up to find Victor standing at the end of your bed. “This is where it had gone.”
“It?” You questioned, voice sharp and quiet as you tried not to wake Adam.
“Do you dislike how I refer to my creation?” His lips are tilted in the familiar sneer you’ve grown to despise.
You scoff, pulling the blanket higher up Adam’s chilled shoulders. “You do not get to claim him when you would not even name him. Would not give him clothes or light or warmth.”
Victor’s head tilted and he shook his head with a dismayed expression. “Do not tell me that you care for that… that thing.”
“If you will not, then someone must.”
His lips pulled back and he let out an incredulous scoff. “This is ridiculous and I will not allow you to indulge him in such soft comforts.”
“Comfort? Do you not mean basic respect? The barest responsibilities of what we owe the life we create.”
Victor rounded your bed and your hands tightened around Adam’s shoulders. It was enough to finally have him stir. His eyes were bleary as they opened, the soft look on his face slipping through your fingers as his widened eyes found Victor’s glare. His hands tightened around you and you tried to comfort him, but Victor was reaching for his wrist and jerking him forward cruelly.
“There was no ‘we’ in this, wife. As I recall, you seemed to fail under the one responsibility women have to society.” Your brows turned in as you leapt to your feet. You took Adam’s hand in your own, stopping Victor from dragging him away.
“You have no right wielding that against me. If I gave you children you would treat them as you treat Adam. And when I do not you create your own life and mistreat it still.”
But Victor heard nothing you said, he never did. The only aspect he would give attention to was Adam. “You named it?”
“Him,” you snapped. Adam shrank into himself as you argued around him. You ran your thumb across his wrist but it did little to quell the fear in his eyes.
“Enough!” Victor snapped. He released Adam and turned to you instead. You had little warning as he shoved you back against your bed. Your spine hit the post of the frame and you let out a low groan. Adam whipped around, hands raised as he stumbled toward Victor.
For a moment, there was true fear in your husband’s eyes. A reminder to you why he’d had Adam locked away. He was something new, something fresh, built into the strongest body conceived in this new world. When a babe heard its parents fighting, it cried. But what was it to do when it had all this unknown strength in its hands?
”Back!” Victor shouted, as if Adam were nothing more than a rabid hound. When Adam continued toward him, his only noise a low growl, Victor darted back to you. His hand wrapped into your loose hair and you whined as he jerked your head back. “Back or I will strike her!” He threatened, hand poised over your cheek.
Adam paused, the anger on his face ebbing into worry. “It’s okay,” you assured, reaching up and ripping Victor’s grip from you. Slowly, Adam’s arms fell to his sides and he shrank back into the shadows of your room.
Victor spared you no looks or words as he strode toward Adam. He grabbed him so roughly, Adam’s arm bled as he jerked him from your room.
“Victor!” You shouted, rushing toward your door. But he slammed it closed, your hand wrapped around the handle just as you heard the click of the key outside. “Victor, don’t you dare!” Your fists pounded against the wood but he did not respond. He did not answer your calls.
The only sound you made out was Adam’s pitiful call of your name. Your heart ached as you slid back against the door, nightgown pooling around your legs as your head fell into your hands. You did not want to fathom what Victor’s punishment would be for Adam being allowed warmth.
Victor did not return to you until the sun was resting well below the horizon. You had moved from your door to slump against your desk. Your hand stilled on the letter you were penning when you heard his footsteps approaching. You quickly covered the parchment, worried he might catch a glimpse of the plea you were sending Herr Harlander.
His key slid home and the lock clicked just as you sprang to your feet. Victor’s chin was tilted down as he walked in, curls fallen over his disheveled face. You were going to remain silent, let him stew in his feelings before he finally decided to release you. Just as you always did.
But then you caught a glimpse of the crimson staining the hems of his sleeves. The composure you usually kept so well shattered as you let out a shuddering breathing.
“What did you do to him?” You demanded.
Victor’s face finally lifted, there were grooves so deep under his eyes they might be mistaken for bruises. Never before have you seen your husband so worn, so weary and human. He rarely showed you more than carefully curated disinterest. But if he had wanted you to see him in any other light, he should have done so before you discovered Adam.
“He plagues me,” he beseeches. “He is an insult to that which I dedicated my life. I have done nothing but be disappointed by him.”
“Oh,” you scoff. “Is that your excuse for beating him?”
Victor shakes his head. “I thought you might listen, I should have known better.”
He turns to leave and you follow. “No, Victor. You do not walk away this time.” He turned but it was clear how little he cared for what you said. “When I am with you, I have no voice. When you are beside me you have no ears. But tonight, for once, you will listen to me. You will pretend I am someone that you care for, respect. Pretend I am Elizabeth if you must, but listen.”
Your voice is the surest it’s ever been when addressing him. It is not soft or controlled, but filled with the jagged edges of anger. Victor watches you warily, eyes widened in surprise that you might speak against him. But, for once, you hold an ounce of his attention.
“God has granted the gift of life to women. He did so with care and reason. And you stand there and spit in his face, in the very face of life and nature. You have stolen a dozen mother’s sons. You have not granted them the peace or even the dignity of a burial.”
Victor shakes his head with a scoff and turns toward the stairs. But this time you will not allow him to escape. You will not let the sins of his past slip through his fingers as he simply ignores them. You will be the voice of all those he has hurt if you have to, if only to help the man he keeps buried beneath your home.
“You have debased them and dissected them to create your own life. Through that you ignore the cries and grief of those mothers. You care not for any pain or suffering but your own as you torture and shun that life which you created. The life which you so vehemently sought after.”
"Oh, yes!” He whirls around as you both reach his laboratory. “And what a life it is! Dull and useless, capable of only one word!”
"Yes! Your name. You are his creator, his father, his mother. There is a reason, my dear Victor, that God gave this gift only to his women. Through this endeavor, you have not grown closer to your mother or recovered the pieces of her that were stolen from you. You have become your father as he was to you.”
"Do not,” he steps forward, finger jabbing toward your face. “Do not compare me to that man,” he hisses, turning and pacing the length of the lab. You are relentless, a shadow nipping at his heels, a voice to all the ghosts following behind him.
“Why? Because you know I speak the truth? He saw you, Victor. He saw the hollowness, the void where a soul and heart ought to be. You have no light inside of you so you must steal it from others. This is why he cherished William, why he hated you as you hate your own son.”
Victor lunges for you and the breeze brushes along the back as you realize how close to the edge of the lab he’s backed you. “That thing,” he shouts, “is not my son!”
"No,” you agree, eyes welling with tears as you struggle not to reach out and just hurt him. “He is the son of a dozen other women. All of whom would rip you to pieces so they might have another moment with their child.” His hands wrap around your arms, jerking you back, but you will not relent. You will not cower. “You have no respect for life,” you hiss. “You wish only to control it. And if your mother could see what you have become, she would turn from you just as you have Adam.”
You could see this shift in his gaze. The moment where he stops seeing you as a wife, as something to dismiss, and as an adversary. Victor hated Adam because he was a reflection of all that Victor could never be. And now, in your eyes, he saw the same. He saw the honesty of himself, the monstrosity of his grotesque being.
“Enough!” He shouted, releasing you with a shove. Your feet slipped along the cool floor and your breath remained frozen as you fell from the edge. Victor rushed forward, eyes wide as he reached for your hands. But all you could feel was the wind against your back, the momentary weightlessness as you saw nothing but the moon shining above you. Until your body smashed against the rocks below and the lights went out.
And Adam, stuck beneath the home, he could hear only the vaguest noise of anger and hatred. Then, through his one opening to the world, he saw something white and free. Like the biggest bird he’d never seen, falling past him. And he wondered what it would feel like to fly.
Victor held no particular love or affection for you. You were a living reminder that even beyond the grave, his father would always have control over his life. You had not given him sons of his own, or embodied the role of his wife in any sort of way as his mother had.
Truthfully, he’d always imagined that your death would make his life better. Oftentimes, he caught himself picturing how a fever might take you, or you might even face death as his mother had. But, despite his disinterest, he always found himself shamed after such thoughts.
Still, in all of those shadowed moments of his life, he had never imagined himself so desperately working to bring you back to him. Not as he did now, with thunder sounding above his laboratory. His hands bloodied and shirt ruined as he stitched together the ruined pieces of your flesh.
The rocks had done much damage to your body, but he could fix you. Just as he’d done with the creature. He could make you better, stronger, and live again. Perhaps, him doing this so quickly after your death meant you might retain some of the intelligence his other creation lacked. Perhaps you might return to him as you once were.
Much of your bones had been shattered against the jagged coast. He’d had to borrow skeleton and skin from his leftover remains. But you would not nearly be as patchwork as the creature was. Even now, he could still see you beneath his stitches and seams. Your eyes were still your own, your lips and nose. You were still his wife.
Victor placed the metal casing around your body and lifted you as he’d once done with the creature. You would be his once more. No one ever need know of what happened tonight. Of his brief insanity when he’d pushed you over the edge.
Elizabeth would never have reason to look at him with hatred in her eyes as she learned of what he’d done to her only companion.
Victor pushed his rain soaked hair back from his face and watched the lightning strike from above. Your body arched from the slab as his lab worked to ignite life in you once more.
Yes, it could be as it always had been.
But, perhaps, this time you would not look at him with such ire in your eyes.
Adam, that was what you called him. Victor, he’d thought, was the name for all. He knew the sun, knew that sun meant life. But the rest was slow to come. His name first, and then he’d discovered yours. It was the prettiest word he’d ever heard. Though, he had not heard many.
With that name, it was followed by softness. A touch that was not accompanied by the sharp sting of that rod Victor used. He had not had long with you. But it had been the sweetest moments since he’d first opened his eyes. Sweet as it had been when Victor had first shown him sun, before he took it away.
And when Victor brought you back down to Adam, he felt something tight within him. He had no word for the feeling, just that it was good. Even in the presence of his creator.
Adam looked up from the pretty charm you’d given him and stood as Victor carried you closer. The sharp glare his creator gave him had him moving back a step. “Back!” Victor snapped, even if Adam was already doing so. Another feeling, aching and sharp, rattled through him. It was like having something taken from him, that’s all he knew every time Victor appeared. Though, that was less and less lately.
Victor moved to the slab across Adam and placed you carefully down on the stone. Adam frowned, seeing that you now had bandages similar to his own. They were wound around your arms, chest and bottom. But your face remained similar, only a few marks along your chin. Victor allowed you to keep your hair, something he had not granted Adam.
Victor’s hands ran over your chest before he leaned down, pressing his ear to the bandages. Adam crept closer, wondering why you were not smiling or speaking. “Back!” Adamn flinched and stayed where he was. But you did not move, your eyes were not open to him and he felt that ache once more.
Why did you not look at him?
Victor’s eyes pinched closed before your chest lifted and he finally let out a sharp breath. He moved, pressing his forehead to yours as he whispered something Adam could not hear. Victor’s lips lingered against your temple before he stepped back.
“Do not touch her,” Victor warned. He even picked up the rod, lunging toward Adam until he was curled up along his slab. “I will be back later. Do not make a noise, do not even look at her.”
For good measure, Victor brought the rod down against Adam until he could feel his seams splitting. Only when Adam was limp against the ground did Victor leave once more. Adam waited until the cold of the ground began to hurt to finally stand.
Slowly, he crawled toward you. His chains managed just enough length to be able to kneel at your side. His fingers reached out, slowly trailing along the seams of your arms. You had not looked like this before. But now, you were like Adam. Cold like him, skin discolored as his. Did this mean Victor would hate you now as he did Adam?
Your chest stuttered and Adam watched the bandages around them carefully. Slowly, your eyes began to open. He sank down further, worried you might not want his to be the first face you see.
Your eyes darted across the ceiling before you sat up. Slowly, Adam began to recognize something else you shared with him. Your eyes, once so warm and soft, were as confused and scared as his so often were.
His lips struggled around your name, the sound coming slow and broken. Nothing like how you had so sweetly told him. Finally, you looked at him. The care was gone, the warmth was gone and Adam felt that unnamed feeling. Your lips parted, but nothing came from them and he realized just what Victor had taken from him. From both of you.
He held you as you had held him. The coldness of your skin made him ache as you curled into his arms. Adam did not think himself capable of gentleness, not when Victor had told him he was nothing more than an abomination. The word was foreign to him, but he knew that it was not a term one would use for a sweet creature such as yourself.
He missed you, even as he held you. He missed the gentleness of your touch, how you had looked at him with such care. You seemed only frightened now, trembling as you took in the grey confines of your new home. You were not chained as Adam was, but you stayed with him nonetheless.
He said your name again, clumsily stroking your hair as you struggled to repeat the word. You caught on quicker than he had. Already, you had more words than Adam did. “Wrong,” you kept saying. Adam wasn’t sure he knew what you meant, but a bad feeling accompanied the word.
“Am wrong,” you muttered. Adam simply handed you his favorite leaf, hoping the color might distract you from this feeling of yours.
Footsteps echoed through the room and Adam tensed, grip tightening around yours. It would be Victor, coming to take him away from you again.
“Hello?”
No, this was not Victor. This voice was soft, kind as yours had once been. Adam turned slightly and found the most colors he’d ever seen greeting him. The woman offered a fragile smile, pulling back her veil and revealing hair even brighter than his leaf.
She moved closer and Adam did not release you. Even as you sat up, head tilting like you recognized the sweet cadence of her voice. She stilled as your face appeared above Adam’s shoulder. The smile fell away and she dropped her hat.
Your name was a broken sound as she rushed toward you. Adam flinched as she dropped before you both. Her hands shook as she reached toward. Another shattered whisper of your name and you were sinking from Adam’s grip into her arms.
“What has he done?” The woman curled her arm around you and looked at Adam. Her hand came up to cup his cheek and he sank into the warmth of her touch. “Oh, to both of you? You poor creatures.” Her hands urged at Adam until he was compelled to follow beside you and sit on the floor with her.
It was in her arms that he felt the warmth Victor had stolen from you. Even you stopped your whispers, simply leaning into her touch. “I am sorry,” she told you. “I never should have let you follow him.”
“Elizabeth,” his creator’s voice. Not as sharp as it always was, but enough to make Adam curl himself around both of you.
Elizabeth looked up and glared at Victor. “What have you done to her?”
“There was an accident,” Victor snapped. “I saved her.”
“No,” clear liquid trickled down Elizabeth’s cheeks, dissimilar to the blood that usually stained Adam’s skin. “You killed her.”
Victor came over then, he growled when he saw Adam holding you both. “What did I say?” He jerked the chains around his wrists and dragged him back to his own slab. “You do not touch her!” Adam flinched as Victor shoved him back into the slab.
Victor stood in front of Elizabeth, arm outstretched as you slowly uncurled from her. “Elizabeth, come, I do not yet know if she is dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” Elizabeth scoffed as she got to her feet. “The only dangerous one here is you.”
“Trust me,” Victor breathed sharply, “it is not me.”
“Wrong,” they both went still as you whispered. “wrong,” you muttered again. Adam wanted to go to you, but he didn’t want Victor to punish you both.
“What?” Victor’s eyes were wide as he discovered an intelligence that had been buried in Adam.
You lifted your gaze, stringy hair dropping in front of your face. “Victor,” you pushed out, words strangled and cracking. “Victor did this. Am wrong.”
Victor grabbed Elizabeth before you could stand. He led her and another man from the catacombs, despite Elizabeth's protests. You stayed where you were, glaring as he retreated. Slowly, you slumped back against the floor, eyes fluttering shut.
Again, Adam had little time with you. Despite Victor’s vehement hatred of Adam, you would not leave his side. Victor attempted to shackle you, but you did not trust him as Adam once had. Instead, you fought, clawed and kicked until Victor was flying through the catacombs. His back had struck a column so hard debris had rained down around him.
Then, you crawled beside Adam and sat stubbornly at his side. Victor had not tried to separate you again after that. Words came to you faster than Adam could discover them. Sometimes you would just mutter them under your breath, stringing something together that Adam had not witnessed.
“Fall,” you would say. Push and Victor. You would tell him names of people he had never known and Adam would listen, just so long as you stayed so stubbornly at his side.
Now, something pungent struck the air. Greasy and wrong, something pooled through the water of Adam and yours canal. You held tight to Adam’s hand as Victor carried down large metal jugs that held the same smell.
Neither of you spoke, simply watched Victor. Each time Victor grew too close, you would position yourself in front of Adam, eyeing the metal rod by your feet with a threat. Victor did not acknowledge either of you, not until he had brought down the last foul-smelling jug.
“One word,” he said to Adam. “One word!”
Adam said the only word he truly loved, your name. Adam doubted he ever could have said something that would have been the right answer. But that was clearly worse than anything else he could have uttered. Victor strode forward and before either you or Adam could react, he slammed a knife deep into your chest.
Adam was frozen, eyes wide as he watched the blood spill from your chest. Watched as it bled through your bandages and stained the stone below you crimson. Victor did no hesitate in throwing your limp body over his shoulder. He did not turn even as Adam shouted your name, as his chains rattled as he failed to chase after you both.
Your blood dripped from Victor’s shoulder, oozed into the water splashing around Victor’s feet until it made its way back to Adam. Something ached in his chest, it burned and ripped until he thought his seams might split.
When a word made its way to his mind, when something that could poorly capture this devastation was discovered, the fire came. Adam could not chase after you or Victor, not as the water before him ignited. He had little choice but to rip at his chains and follow the downward path of your blood in the water.
Elizabeth ran her fingers gently across your hair. It was her, not Victor, who taught you what life was. Who read books to you until you could remember the vague outlines of your life. Your mind held no faces, no true memories, just the shadows of feelings.
Victor had been your husband. Now, he was your creator. Nothing more than a warden to keep you hidden from the world. Elizabeth, you assumed, must be what a mother is meant to be.
It is her wedding, yet she sits behind you and cares for you. You read from the Bible, a passage of Adam and Eve as that familiar ache of loss burns against the back of your throat. Elizabeth’s fingers go still in your hair as your voice stumbles to a stop.
“Are you thinking of him again?”
You nod, forgetting the words she’d dutifully retaught you. Elizabeth moves from her chair and kneels before you. Her soft hands soothe over your cheeks as she offers you a small smile. “He is out there,” she promises you. “You feel when the people you love are gone.”
Her hand presses to your chest and you mimic the movement, letting the beat of her heart calm your racing mind. “It is something hollow inside you. Something instinctual as breathing. We feel those we truly love.” She tilts her head and smiles, “Do you still feel him?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
She nods and brushes your hair back. “So do I,” she promises.
You let yourself sink into her touch and revel in the warmth only she seems capable of in this cold, aching estate.
“What have I said?”
You refuse to open your eyes as Victor limps into her room. She pushes your hair down and looks over your shoulder. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
”I thought that was only meant for the groom,” he attempted humor but he was a poor actor at hiding his own bitterness. Again, you could feel his eyes boring into your back. “Now, Eve,” the name was a mockery of the one you’d gifted Adam. A cruel reminder of that which he had stolen from you.
Elizabeth slowly released you and you got to your feet. As you brushed past Victor, his hand shot out, jerking up your elbow. “I do not want to have this conversation again.”
Your eyes narrowed on his hand and he faltered. With a sharp shove, you sent him stumbling back, his new leg buckling from under him. You took no joy in watching him suffer, just felt that familiar emptiness within you.
You spared him not another glance as you left Elizabeth’s room and moved quickly to his. He did not want others seeing you. You would not even be allowed to watch Elizabeth be wed tonight. Your only joy would be hearing her recount it to you later.
Why would he bring you back if he did not even want you? If he had never wanted you?
Inside Victor’s rooms, you found yourself walking toward the windows as you often did. You watched as the guests began to arrive, women veiled and gowned in white. You looked down at your own black dress and felt yourself begin to crumple.
Tears were something new to you. Discovered only after you’d awoken after Victor’s second time murdering you. When you realized the other half of yourself had been left to burn away. But if you could come back, surely so could he.
Sniffling, you sank to the floor and let your head press to the cool glass.
“You,” a low voice called.
You gasped, jumping to your feet as you whirled around. “Who’s there?” You attempted to peer into the shadows of the room, but Victor kept it far too dark for you to see anything properly.
Then, softer than anyone’s spoken to you in a long time, you hear your name. And he’s appearing. Bigger than you remember, with hair grown in rebellion against your creator. His eyes are still the same, wide and yearning for a kindness the world has given neither of you.
“Adam,” his name was the first breath of relief you’ve had since you were reborn. Possibly before then.
He stepped fully into the light, shoulders hunched beneath his furs as you rushed toward him. Your arms flew around his waist and he stilled, unsure what to do with himself. But when you tightened your grip, when you let out a shuddering cry against his chest, he finally held you. Just as he’d done when you’d first woken up in a new body. As you had done for him when you’d first discovered him.
“I thought he had stolen you from me,” he whispered, back hunched as he cradled you in his arms.
“I knew,” you whispered. “I knew you would find me again.” Adam’s arms held tighter to you and you basked in the warmth he was finally capable of providing.
“I will not let you walk this world alone,” he swore. “Will not let you face the harshness of the hordes of man on your own.”
"You will not lose me,” you promised to him. “No matter what man or creature tries, we only have each other in this life and all the next.”
Vows more meaningful than any a priest might have you echo, you and Adam parted, finally having found a reason to live again. Not simply to survive, but to move through this life knowing that there was purpose for it.
And when Victor returned, he found his chambers empty. His wife and creation having disappeared completely. The only sign where she might have gone being a dying leaf left on his desk.
end. — I do not own the characters or the novel/movies Frankenstein, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
A/N: I've never had a character that I want to mother and love so much. I'm pretty sure this movie is everything Freud was trying to tell society.
I loved Frankenstein so of course I had to draw the creature and anon together