Summary: He can learn. He doesn’t need his Maker. Victor’s never been there for him before, but you have. And he won’t let you down.
Genre: Frankenstein 2025 Directed by Guillermo del Toro, Reader Insert! Fic, Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Pairings: Female! Reader x The Creature, Female! Reader x Frankenstein’s Monster, Female! Reader x Adam! The Creature (We Can Expand On This in Future Works)
Warnings: We Are Straying From the Plot (This is a Fix-It-Fic)! Reader Insert in Elizabeth’s Place! Major Character Death and Reanimation (Reader Comes Back New & Improved!), Angst (Temporary), Grieving, Mentions of Past Verbal & Physical Abuse, Mentions & Describes Detailed/Graphic Descriptions Body Modifications & Gore (Organs, Surgery, etc.), Descriptions of Violence (Gunshots, etc.), There May Be Some (or Many) Inaccuracies to Plot Related Lore and Science! Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers to Eternal Soulmates?, Hurt to Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending!
Word Count: 2,178
Written: November 8, 2025, Posted: November 12, 2025
Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! This is my first work, please be nice! This isn’t what my plan originally was, actually. I have about 10 of Bucky’s and other Sebastian Stan characters’ works sitting in my drafts, but I watched this movie when it came out and got severely sidetracked. I probably will be sidetracked on this for a bit if I’m being honest because it just moved me that much. In the long run, I will be writing more works of this character and this wonderful world from Guillermo del Toro in addition to my usual content that I had planned for this blog. I might do follows up to this, prequels, or maybe other standalone works and series of this world, don’t know completely! But I can’t wait! I will write for Sebastian Stan characters as well! Like I said, severely sidetracked! But the theme stays: lost, misunderstood, gentle, soft giants!
It-
No.
He was smart. He was made to learn, to grow, evolve, keep changing. He was given the freedom to think, - to make decisions.
He was going to use that.
He would not let you go so easily, he decided as he softly caressed your cheek, watching the life leave your eyes.
“Better to fade this way,” you had told him so sweetly, hand holding his as tight as your diminishing strength would let you, “with your eyes gazing upon me…”
Creator, you have denied me for the last time, he exhaled, resting his forehead against yours before lifting your lifeless body again.
He had taken you away from him in the beginning of his life, sending you away with your fiancé when you were the only one to show him a morsel of kindness and affection, speaking to him with something other than disdain and anger.
You had soothed the balm in him, countering the poison from his Creator, - thinking on your smile when he had given you a leaf still calms him like no other.
“Can you say…” you had enunciated your name so patiently and so slowly, that same smile never leaving your face as you held his fingers to your throat, showing him how to speak.
And nothing makes his heart settle more, he realized, than the way in which you caressed his face so gently even after so many months, just from the joy of knowing he’d survived that explosion. The way in which you didn’t hesitate to take him in your embrace, hold him, show him love, without an ounce of fear in your eyes.
And nothing made his blood boil more, than the thought of your life being taken from you, for no reason other than his Creator’s uncontrollable ego.
Nothing boils his blood more, he understood, than the thought of your love and kindness being taken from him.
He can’t forget the vile feeling that pools in his stomach at the way Victor had shot, even after you’d screamed, protested, refused to move, turned to shield him.
You hadn’t hesitated to protect him, and he didn’t think he could live without the one person in this world left that would show him that kind of love and affection after the passing of the blind, elder man that taught him so much of this world in the place of the Creator who cared nothing for his precious project after it had come to fruition, eyes full of wonder and pure trust, - innocence.
“Take me with you,” you had gasped out. Those were the words you had chosen to use your last breaths on. Those were the words you had instinctively uttered, - in pain, eyes glassy but never leaving his own, arms clinging to him as tight as you could.
And now, he has learned more, grown. And his last meeting with his Creator, though unfortunate, had given him enough breadcrumbs to do something he never thought he’d achieve after he was so cruelly told ‘No.’
So, he started walking, arms cradling you gently, trying to keep your body shielded from the elements as best as he could.
And he walked, and walked, and kept walking, back to the place that started it all.
To the ruins of the tower.
He found the underground cellar he was kept in, the stone architecture keeping the sturdy basement mostly intact in spite of the main tower being blown to smithereens. He found a covered area to gently place your body, wrapping it in some of his furs.
He had to work quickly, without rest, without pause.
Before your body started to rot when the cold couldn’t keep the inevitable decay at bay.
So he hunted, - carefully, subtly, like a ghost.
He salvaged what notes he could from around the ruins, he hunted in the nighttime, from nearby battlefields, looking for correct organs, some skin and muscle and tendon, maybe bone that needed to be replaced.
He wanted to preserve as much of you as he could, but the polluted parts, as Victor would say, needed to be replaced, or this wouldn’t work, - and he couldn’t afford to do a trial and error form of experiment like his careless Maker had done.
He looked through piles and piles of bodies, because though he didn’t need much, he believed that the few pieces he did need should be the best he could find. You deserved the best he could do.
A few organs, from where you’d been shot, - some muscle, tissue, a few ribs, a hip. It was a comparatively small list when you put it beside everything that had gone into making him, but he considered this the most valuable work he had ever done.
He did it carefully, gentle with his cuts, delicate with his stitches. They may not have been as precise as Victor’s but they had more love in them than Victor could ever be capable of.
And he was proud to say that he was so quick with his work that he didn’t need to replace any of you except for where his cruel Creator had stained you.
He was quick, not needing any rests or breaks, and some part of this universe was clearly supporting his unholy act, offering him lightning within a blizzard.
It was rare, the old man had taught him within some of the books he’d read. It was harder to get lightning that struck the ground during the winter time, and the lightning may not always be as strong as during summer rainstorms. It was more difficult, but he was a persistent creature. And he was an optimistic creature.
So, he tried his best.
He did his best to mimic a telescopic machine to focus lightning down to you, - not as refined, not made of pure silver, but something.
And he found himself doing something akin to praying, he realized, waiting and watching with bated breath when a column of lightning mercifully decided to focus on striking your corpse.
When it finally stopped crackling and sparkling and roaring, it went quiet, and he moved you back under cover, checking to make sure your body was alright, brushing snow off your face and hair gently, slamming on your chest a few times as he recalled being done to him from his first memories and dreams.
And then he waited.
Because he was nothing if not a patient creature.
He waited, never leaving your side, keeping your body covered and sheltered, - watching and guarding.
And something in the universe had indeed smiled upon him for once instead of its usual grimace, granting him this one request, this one plea, despite how unholy.
He watched, eyes widening in wonder as your body twitched before you took in a deep breath, gasping so loud it echoed, back arching off the ground as your eyes flew open.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching while he wondered if this was how he looked when he awoke, except he was alone and confused and afraid as he wandered daunting hallways, looking for something or someone, some life.
And so, when you writhed, fists clenched as you took panicked breaths, he didn’t sit still, - he moved.
He moved to your side, cupping your face with his gentle, large hands, offering you warmth, offering you touch, offering you love.
He was giving it back to you as openly as you had given it to him when he didn’t even know he needed it.
You slowly stopped twitching, hands unclenching to come instead and brace against his forearms as you sat up, leaning against him.
You looked into his eyes when suddenly everything started to fall back into place.
Your old life, your fiancé, meeting him, keeping his little leaf in your book, being torn apart from each other by your agitating brother in law, your wedding, seeing him again… getting shot… dying…
And yet, being alive again.
“It’s you again,” you breathe out, eyes tearing up. “You took me with you,” you spoke fondly, watery smile on your lips.
“You asked me to.” He replied simply. “And… I understood.”
“Understood what, darling?” You ask gently.
“That I cannot be without you.” He rasped, dropping his head to your shoulder, burying his face in your neck.
And everything he had done was proven to be the right decision when you, again, wrapped him in your arms with no hesitation, a hand gently smoothing over his hair as you place a heavy kiss to his temple. It was futile to resist anyway, he had already broken the minute you called him ‘darling’ again.
He never thought he could miss something, or rather someone, so much. But he did.
“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, holding him as tight as he held you. “I told you I felt out of place in this world,” you say softly, “like I don’t belong. But now, I think I’ve found my place.”
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, lifting his head to look at you with guilt set deep in his eyes.
“For what?” You prod him softly.
“For doing this to you,” he replies, “for… for making you like me. A monster. I was being… selfish.” He moves a hand, placing it over your abdomen where you were shot by Victor, now with patchworks of skin, and what you knew were some replaced organs and inner workings.
“I’ve taken away your choice to die, because I couldn’t imagine living an eternity without being in your arms.” He has tears flowing down his cheeks, and his bottom lip is quivering gently. He feels terrible now that he’s looking at this final state of you, permanently altered by his hands, unable to die or be killed.
Breathtakingly beautiful, as you’ve always been, but cursed to eternity like him.
And it’s scaring him that you’re still smiling so sweetly, so kindly, thumbs occasionally wiping away the tears that won’t stop falling from his eyes.
He flinches when you let out a laugh, wondering how much of this entire process he’s messed up from the bits and pieces he put together of Victor’s notes.
But he finds himself immediately relaxing when you bring him in, cradling him oh, so gently, and peppering a few kisses to his cheek, - each one warming him up a bit more from the inside out.
“You’ve given me freedom. You gave me what I asked for. You took me away and you brought me to life again, this time where I feel like I belong. Where I have control of my life. Where I can choose.” You whisper it, lips against his cheek, the both of you huddled together in the ruins of what was once considered the beginning of merciless eternity. But this time, you call it eternal companionship. “And I choose you, beloved.” You finish, nuzzling him softly. “You who put me back together so delicately, so lovingly, who cared for me even when I was nothing but a corpse.”
And he held you closer, savoring the feeling of you all over again, this time without any rush, with the promise of this forever and ever, over and over, until the end of time. And he can feel this warmth blooming in his chest at your touch, and at your words, - your words being the assurance he needed that you wanted this as well.
“You’d want to be a monster? With me?” He looks at you, eyes hurt from past words, past abuses, but still so full of hope and light and innocence and good.
“I don’t think you’re a monster, darling,” you coo at him softly, brushing some stray strands away from his forehead. “But if you want to call yourself that, then let’s be monsters together.” You offer, holding him tight.
And he feels the tears fall again as he sobs against you, clutching you as tight as if you were his lifeline, because you are, and doesn’t know how to deal with the joy and happiness going through him when you hold him back just as tight as he needs, giving him affection he didn’t know he was worthy of after everything Victor had said and done.
And he decided, that no matter how unholy Victor had called this, he would embrace it, because you embraced it. Because you taught him that it’s okay to want, it’s okay to be selfish, and it’s okay to love.
People go above and beyond for love, after all. And he realized, he didn’t care if it was unholy, because your love was worth being damned for the rest of eternity because at least he got to spend it with you.
But it had also struck him that in your warm embrace perhaps, if the universe was willing to give this one little piece of peace to him, then it wasn’t as unholy as his Maker had had him believe, - because how could love in its purest form be unholy at all?
When Mary Poppins' granddaughter settles in 1960s Derry, she uses her magic umbrella and bottomless carpetbag to babysit, waitress... and quietly wage war against the thing in the drains.
But Pennywise takes one sniff of her storm-laced power and decides she's his new favorite obsession. Caught between protecting "her" kids and bargaining with the monster beneath the town, she's forced into a twisted game of rules, teeth, and a bond that feels far too much like being devoured.
🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡
1. The Nanny Bird
2. The Town Takes Notice
3. The Rules of the Game
4. The Dream
5. The Deal
6. The Diner
7. The Lights We Share
8. The Child Nanny Can’t Save
9. The Hungry Truce
10. The Devouring
11. The Price of a Lullaby
12. The Last Taste
13. The Storm That Calls You Back
14. The First Bite
15. The Others Are Mine
16. The One You Guided
17. The Children That Shine
18. The Given Day
19. The Clean Up (Part 1)
19 The Clean Up (Part 2)
20. The Pieces Are Set
21. The First Attempt (Part 1)
21. The First Attempt (Part 2)
22. The Between
23. The Taking
24. The Fight
25. The Oath
26. The Long Drift
27. The Call
28. The Storm Rolling In
29. The Loser’s Club
30. The Double Shift
31. The Plan
32. The Tokens
33. The Betrayal
34. The Reveal
🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡
🩸 Want to make sure you don’t miss a chapter?
Comment on the MOST RECENT chapter so I can see you before the dark closes in 🎈
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The vibe
This wonderful art was created by the talented @selkiescribblez
MAIN GOAL REACHED!
Here’s Sam and Emiko in their Wedding Attire! 💍
We have 10 days left until the campaign ends. How much further can we go? Can we possibly make it to at least ONE of the main stretch goals? We leave that into y’all’s hands.
warnings › dark romance, yandere, obsession, stalking, age gap (reader is a YA), slight blood kink, self pleasure/smut, spanking, cunnilingus, piv, doggy, mdni.
authors note › a piece that predates the events in catacomb heart when arthur is stalking reader but can be read as a standalone
wc › 1.2
He wanted to ruin you. And he would stop at nothing until he finally did.
For the last month, he watched you.
Really, you should’ve known. Were you perhaps, surrounded by idiots? A bunch of Bill Williamsons bumbling about and tripping over shit-filled buckets?
He didn’t need justification — he was protecting you.
Everyday you walked the far side of the dusted road leading into the sty and tended to the boars. You refilled their troughs and on the way out you made sure to give one of the nearby cows a sweet kiss.
More than once, he imagined how those lips would feel. Soft and velvet on his rougher skin. Slippery and aching with the breathless sighs you made just for him.
Shit. He couldn’t watch you pass the fence today. Not when he was rock-hard like this.
He excused himself— a large spruce knit with just the right amount of ample shrubbery should do it.
Arthur was sloppy with the buckle, yanking the clasp in such a fervor that he didn’t care if it broke. A thick gob of spit was all it took and his wet hands were quick working along his shaft just right. Fingers brushing his reddened cockhead. Swollen. Needy. Warm precum slicked his smooth palms and he imagined it, then.
Imagined how your lips would taste: divine and sweet like jarred honey-jam. Your skin tingling with every kiss he pressed down your thighs, burning like a branded sear just before his tongue dipped, plunging inside. Even tastier were the lovely juices that drenched his chin as his working mouth opened your glistening cunt. And he’d reach two fingers up to muffle every mewl until that tight mouth was suckling the very flesh of his digits.
God, he needed every bit of you like fresh air.
He was a hungry man. And you were a mighty fine, deluxe three course meal that not even the most adequate chefs of Saint Denis could serve.
He’d wait for the tides of your sopping orgasm to ripple until your hips were bucking feverishly, fucking into his scratchy face. Oh how he could drink you forever… a sinner’s personal delight of holy water.
Arthur’s eyes were screwed tight. His hand pumped himself up and down over the base of his girthy cock. The harsh winds prickled his lips dry as a guttural groan escaped him, “Fuck, darlin’.”
The image split — you were on a bed now. Naked before him, your breasts goosed from the air biting skin. Nipples taut. He leant forward to firm his tongue over each one and left love bites in his wake. His cock was lined against the fluff of his happy-trail, his thickness brushing across your belly and pressing into your thigh as he lifted your chin, capturing your mouth into a raw and passionate kiss. His erection mingled against your soft hairs, dragging that agonizing pressure even harder against your soaking lips. He knew you were ready for him. God, you were made for him.
He hovered, angling himself up and the mattress dipped from the extra weight.
“On your knees,” he gruffed out.
And like the most precious doe that you were, that babydoll of his, you listened. You always did.
A quick hand spanked your rear, branding the cheek in a bright cherry sting that elicited your sweetest yelp.
His hands were rough behind your neck, shoving you facedown into the thin sheet. He made quick on his cock and rubbed up his steeled length, the head dripping with precum ready to burst. Begging for you. And you begging for him.
“Arthur—”
He’d ignore it. Pretended not to hear. Instead found his fingers busying himself with that leaky, mushroom tip of his and smacking it across your swolleness— teasing. Your puffy lips wept for him. And that foul smirk played deviously on his lips.
Another slap to match the stamp of his red paw print and your ass jiggled before him. “Fuckin’ soaked ain’t’cha?”
“Please…”
Oh, how he desperately wanted you to beg for him to fill you. To torture and deny your excruciating pleasure.
But it was his turn to be a good boy.
Poking your slit, he brushed his cockhead in slowly until he buried himself fully sheathed inside you. Your fleshy walls clamped every inch of him as he began to move. It wasn’t soft, nor gentle, but a pure fuck. He dragged his cock back all the way out before slamming into you again. His thrusts working at a paced rhythm until your moans staggered.
“Arthur— Ah… AH!”
“Jesus woman… yeeah, that’s it,” his arm stretched until his veined hand was tugging your hair and neck rough toward him as he fucked up into you from behind. His shaggy chest hairs rubbing friction across your back. The flesh of his pelvis snapped tight against your supple ass. Arthur’s lips grazed your ear.
“Look at ‘chu. How well you take me like this,” he was stretching you even further now. His swelled tip bruising your aching spot. “Gonna — eughh — never need ‘nother whore when I got you squeezin’ my cock.
“Gon’ tell me yer mine,” he huffed, pulling out.
“Y- Yours…”
And he slammed his cock back in, balls smacking the backs of your thighs.
His fists dug into your hips, turning them blue as the thrusts turned sporadic. Sounds of skin frantically slapping more flushed skin. Labored pants and strangled, throaty moans rising into the clammy air. Each creak of the bed sounding as if the springs were snapping off one by one. Then, his full weight crushing your back as he pushed you down and onto your stomach, pounding his hips at the new angle the position allowed, effectively turning you into a blubbering mess beneath him. His cock tightened and your lips sang out his name in a beautiful mantra of pleading whispers.
Oh, Arthur… Arthur… Arthur…!
He was close. Then he wished for nothing more than to have the real thing. To feel your body quivering under him, writhing in a sweet release of pleasure and pain. To feel your dripping cunt pulsating around his cock, milking him and begging to be dumped full of cum. And to sink his teeth into the taut shoulder of your dewy skin until he could taste the blood.
That’s what drove him over the edge. His thighs tensed as his cock throbbed endlessly.
His eyes opened to reality.
Pearlescent ropes of seed spurted from his tip, painting shiny lines into the tree. His knuckles were sticky and slick. Sweat poured from both sides of his temple and his heartbeat spurred underneath his constricting vest. After a final, heavy gasp, he steadied his breathing and cleaned off his ooze with a used bandana. He tossed it like old cutlery, and then buttoned himself back up. Not forgetting to pick up his hat that had momentarily fell off his head.
His skin soaked up the orangey sunset mass that dipped below the rocky mountains as he watched you wipe down your skirt. Unaware of the dread that would soon forsake the land and the rest to come. With a sharp inhale, the cigarette flume curled up like a vine around his worn lungs.
It was just a matter of time.
Deep above the catacombs, on that sky rise hotel, he is Arthur Morgan. Outlaw. Trusted enforcer and most loyal associate of Van der Linde and co.
But on Emerald Ranch, he is a knight. Your most fierce protector. And he would kill anyone that stood in the way of making you his.
Yes, Arthur Morgan needed to ruin you.
And he would stop at nothing until he finally did.
