summary: the Creature grows curious and keen as to how you taste.
word count: 1.3k
warnings: cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, established relationship. my hc is that he has pretty much endless stamina, so... yeah.
gif: @horroredits
The best thing about him is that his curiosity never falters.
This thing between you and him came in increments: slowly, steady, yet cautious. Where you hesitated to ask, he did; where he hesitated to ask, you showed him. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment this yearning curiosity arose from you both. You know with certainty it had been a long time. The least you could do is make sure you take things slowly, step by step; the last thing you wished for is to drive him away.
His physical curiosity also came in increments: first a tentative kiss, then a touch on your waist, a caress of your thigh, then gradually building to something greater, something more and bigger.
So when his mouth traveled a bit more south between your legs and you gasped, you haltered.
“Is this alright?”
Every touch of his is tentative, cautious and gentle. How could you say anything to the contrary?
“Very much so,” you manage to whisper.
“I do not know what to do. Only that I want to taste you.”
“You can.”
Permission slips quietly between the two of you. You only know of this moment, when he kneels before you, parting your legs. His hitched breaths tickle your core just right, just enough to tantalize you before a mere action had taken place. Desire had grown steadily in between you two, passing quietly, needing not to be spoken of, but burning so ardently, so feverishly with time, it took all of your mighty restraint to not act upon your urges before you could be certain this is what he wanted as well.
There is no doubt about it now, he yearns to taste you almost as much as you yearned to taste him, if not more.
Over the months, he’d grown better at handling your body’s tells and requirements; where you once had to teach him verbatim, now he remembers, he intuits what you want before a single word leaves your mouth. Now, he knows the sweet nectar resides in between your legs, and as he parts them, he unconsciously licks his lips in anticipation of the deliciousness soon to touch his lips and tongue. The tip of his nose brushes slightly against your clit, and you gasp—out loud.
His eyes immediately rise to meet with your flushed face. You can see the hunger within them, the amber flicker of the lights passing by his right eye and creating the illusion of a hungry animal chasing its meal.
Though there is no doubt to be had about it, you would happily surrender each and every time.
“Please,” is the sole word that escapes your lips.
You don’t know how to else to plead for his attention—or most importantly, his mouth. Luckily, with him there is no need to. He is diligent and eager, so he dives right back in, his nose brushing up against your clit once more, causing you to dig your fingers right into his scalp, feeling all the ridges there.
Hunger takes control over you, insatiable and untamable—almost. He kisses your inner thighs, savoring each press of his lips against your warm flesh, till eventually reaches the small Eden in between your legs.
Once he does and licks his first stripe against your wetness, you throw your head back, nails digging into his skin. He growls and starts to kiss and lick and do whatever he can, starved as he is, to get more sounds out of you. Albeit this being his first time doing this—and your first time feeling this—he simply rewinds the instructions you once gave him, thinking this should be no different than when he is buried deep inside you and moving along with you as one being, one entity, failing to realize where one begins and the other ends.
But it is different; it’s better. In so many ways, it’s so much better to bury his face against your folds and kiss dutifully, his ears in true ecstasy listening to your moans and gasps, all silent pleas for more, more, more. That is all you know, all you can think of and all that you can feel: burning, itching, aching, him, all over you, inside of you.
Right where he’s supposed to be.
“Yes—please, yes—oh my G-God—“
He doesn’t know to whom you’re calling out for, but he fleetingly decides he does not care. All he cares about is chasing this odd sensation building within him, the same one that has you in its iron spell. His insides scorch, and under any other circumstance he might’ve been alarmed—but he’s long learned to recognize the blaze of want, and it’s all thanks to you and your patience to teach him all the ways in which his body, albeit not truly his own, works to his aid.
He licks hungry stripes, without finesse, but with a good enough aim. There is something roaring inside of him, something primal and animalistic like he’d never known. It is fueled by your every sound, every whisper, every tug of his hair or every cut of your nails in his skin, the way your body folds under his mouth, molded simply by desire.
“I think I’m close—“
The warning you tried to disclose didn’t even need to be heeded; he could already tell by the way you are squirming and nearly trapping his head between your thighs, but any care or consideration you might have is out the window. With a final suck, you seize all around him, hips bucking and struggling to remain in place.
“Need all of it,” he murmurs in a guttural tone.
As you ride out your climax, he’s staring at you, absorbing every movement, every crease of your face and every single thing he can. There is something truly ethereal about you overall, but especially as you are in the throes of passion. There are days when he cannot believe that he is as lucky as to know you inside and out and to share his existence with you.
After a little while, you try to climb down from your high, eyes locked on his figure, surprised to see the hunger in his eyes hadn’t subsided. You inquire with a single glare, and he’s already lapping at your folds again, collecting every ounce of arousal on his tongue, savoring it like the finest dessert known to mankind.
“I—“you smile, trying to be as coherent as possible. “I do not think it’s possible to give you anything more right now, darling.”
You feel him smile against your clit, now his fingers having found their way there and rubbing gently. You gasp aloud, proving your own words wrong.
“I cannot help it,” he growls in your slit, slurping loudly. “You taste much better than I dared imagine.”
“Thank you, but—“
You interrupt yourself with a big moan, much to his delight. One of your hands works on its own accord and guides one of his fingers straight inside you and you jolt in surprise. Your moans fill the room, shattered and desperate as you are. He flicks his tongue over and over again, chasing that same high that only you could provide him.
Soon he discovers that he can fuck you like this too: with just his fingers, and then a combination of fingers and tongue, and then, at long last, when he fills you up again with his cock and tells you how much you mean to him.
You lose count how many times you finish tonight. You lost track of reality and the number after four. All you know is his embrace and his touch, gentle yet ever so curious and hungry.
Adam initiating sex with shipwreck anon after she's been with him for awhile please. If you don't mind I'd like it to get kinda spicy, as explicit as you're comfortable bc I am down BAD for Adam Frankenstein.
This has been sitting since I created the fishbowl and there were a couple other "shipwrecked anon" requests that I ended up ignoring in favor of other ones so I decided to go ahead and do this one.
Rated M for sexual content.
It's very fluffy and it's not super graphic but there is a sex scene at the end
We were sitting before the fire, Anon in my lap, nestled comfortably against my chest. It was that part of the year where winter was at its peak and there was naught but ice and darkness outside the reach of our warm little cave. I did my best to fill the days with activities and conversation to keep her spirits up. She had mourned for some time, the loss of the others on her ship and I sensed she was beginning to lose hope of being found.
Saddened thought was to see her despair, secretly I did not wish to part from her for she provided me the companionship I had craved since my birth and here, at the end of the world, it was only the two of us. The only people on earth given dominion of the seals and the musk oxen that roamed the tundra. It was not Eden; the land was too harsh and unforgiving to be considered a paradise but for me it was sufficient for I now had my mate.
Mate I did call her in my mind for she accepted my flowers when the heather bloomed, ate the food I hunted for us and now, as I wrapped our bodies in furs she partook of my warmth and laid her cheek against my breast.
I had been reserved about touching her at first, wishing not to give her cause to fear me I had restrained myself from taking anything that was not offered. Starved though I was I wanted to show her that I was benevolent. After sufficient time had passed to be assured that she would not reject me I had tentatively reached out one night to stroke her hair as it shined in the firelight. She had leaned into my touch, encouraging me to continue and I had trailed the very tips of my fingers over the curve of her cheek, the delicate shell of her ear and even, slowly, with the utmost gentleness, traced over her lips.
I had withdrawn after that, too shy to continue and to afraid that she might recoil from me in disgust. Instead, she had moved closer, reaching out her own hand to my face to explore my features. When the softness of her touch moved me to tears she had held me. I wept a lifetime of suffering into her arms that night. If it was only mutual loneliness that brought use closer I did not know or care. I had grown to need her as I needed food or sleep or breath. I knew that if she were to leave me, I would surely die.
She confided me often, treated me as her companion and after months of caring for her and protecting her from the cold harshness of the artic wastes I had grown to love her. I wished to express this to her and determine whether she returned my affection but whenever I thought to voice it my words seemed to abandon me.
Tonight, as she cuddled deeper into my arms, I wondered if I could tell her without words how I felt about her. I smoothed her hair away from her cheek and stroked the soft skin there, tilting her head up to meet my eyes. She looked up, expectantly, as though in anticipation. Did she know?...
I dipped my head down to touch her lips with mine. Her arms wound around my neck and pulled me closer. The kiss deepened, became hungrier and found myself picking her up and placing her on the pile of furs that serves as a makeshift bed. I pulled away from her mouth to draw my hand, very deliberately, down the length of her body, watching for her reaction as I caressed her through her clothing.
She arched upward into my hand. I began to work the hem of her shirt loose from her skirt so my fingers could make contact with her bare skin.
“Yes?” I breathed, stopping just short of touching her naked flesh.
“Yes,” she replied, her face flushed and to my delight I could hear the desire in her voice.
I discarded her shirt and skirt and pressed my lips to her exposed skin. I nuzzled, suckled and licked at the heat of her. She trembled and grew steadily warmer under my touch, her breath quickening when I brought my mouth up to the pulse at her throat.
She raised her legs to cradle my hips with her thighs. I hesitated, worrying the difference in our size might cause her pain. Size was not the only difference I noticed. In the firelight my eye was drawn to my thick, gnarled hand resting next to her head, the deathly pallor, the ragged scars from stitches and the inelegant musculature of the appendage looked obscene next to her lovely face; I felt myself grow ashamed.
What right did I have to touch her?
Beneath me she gave a curious look and touched one of my hands, drawing it to her cheek so she could kiss it. I bowed my head to take her lips with mine. In the midst of our heated kissing she reached out to caress my chest, following the Y shape of the scars there, down my stomach, then between us to join my flesh to hers.
I moaned, shuddered, and rocked my hips forward, overcome with the sensation of her around me. We moved together, clumsy at first but slowly finding a rhythm. When we reached our end together, I was sure I saw stars. I came to my senses enough to ease myself off of her and gather her to me. I told her I loved her, for surely what I felt for her must be love for the emotion ran deep into my very soul. My lips moved fervently against her hot cheek as I whispered it to her.
She grew quiet, thoughtful and for a terrible moment I was afraid that she would reject me. But then she smiled and kissed me.
You had caught sight of it while passing his room. Right as Konig was leaving. Through the open door you had just a glimpse. Barely a second. But that was enough. The big bad Colonel had a fleshlight taped to his bloody bed. What a weirdo. What a pervert. You had hurried by without a word. To him at least. You had said plenty of words to just about everyone else. Anyone who would listen. The rumours spread like wildfire. Konig had a toy on base and seemingly he used it often.
This all ended with the toy being confiscated. You had heard a couple of nosy recruits chatting about it. But you were sure it was true when Konig's mood tanked. Always angry. Always on edge. Pushing you and the other Privates past your limits until you near passed out from exhaustion. Your gossiping had lead to his only form of relief being taken away.
He knew it was you. The nosy little recruit who couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut. He despised you for it.
You didn't see him approaching in the mess hall. Catching you by surprise when he gripped you by the arm and dragged you away from your fellow soldiers. No one tried to fight for you. Who would. This hulking mass of masks and muscle. Konig was intimidating enough when he wasn't on a war path.
The hard metal of the bedframe hit your hip when he tossed you into his room. Making you stumble and trip until you were lying flat on his bed.
"Wichser..." He scowled down at you. Shoving you back down when you tried to sit up. "You gossip. You lie about me. Get my room searched. You will make it up to me."
You forced out a scoff. Trying to hide how intimidated you were by this beast of a man scolding you.
"Oh please. It's not my fault you're a fuckin' perv-"
Konig cut you off by grabbing you hips suddenly. Nearly tearing your pants with out quickly he ripped them off. Before you could yell he lifted you off the bed like you weight nothing. Bending you over the railing of his bed. There was an odd ripping noise, and it took a moment for your mind to catch up. But when the sticky strip wrapped around your wrist your realised. He was taping you down. Just like his toy.
There was not much point in struggling, but you did try. Kicking out until he taped your ankles to the bed posts. Hitting and clawing until you were strapped down firmly. Pants around your thighs and cunt in full view. Humiliation burned through you when his large fingers spread you open. Running through your folds and humming as he shoved two fingers inside you. Laughing meanly when you sobbed.
"Schatz..." He cooed in your ear as he leaned over you. "You will struggle. This pussy is much tighter than what I am used to."
A sob escaped your lips when he pulled back. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't turn your head far enough to see how big he really was. Only able to hear his belt hit the ground as he undressed.
Your struggles started up again when the fat head of his cock prodded your entrance. Legs shaking when he started to push forward.
"Sir! No sir I'm sorry! It was meant to be a joke! I didn't mean it I'm- ah!"
He leaned over you once again. Broad chest pressed against your back. Pushing in deeper until he felt resistance. Then grinning below the hood as he forced his cock further still.
"A sorry will not make it up to me."
Konig's hand clamped over your mouth when you started to cry out in pain. Each thrust felt like it was rocking your brain against your skull. Pain and unbearable fullness making your whole body shake.
The bed frame creaked and rattled as he fucked you. It was a wonder he hadn't broken the damn thing considering how often he fucked his toy against the metal bars. You were afraid it would collapse beneath you if it kept going at this pace. But Konig didn't seem worried in the slightest. Pounding into your aching cunt like his life depended on it. Mumbling harsh words in german in your ear. You were sure if you understood him it would be entirely filth.
Right when it was starting to feel good. When your sobs into his hands were just starting to become moans, he came. Thrusting so deep you felt his cock prodding your brain stem, filling you with so much cum you actually felt a little bloated. Before pulling out and giving your ass a hard slap.
"Now be good, Püppi. I am going to lunch."
Once again you tried to crane your neck to see him. Gasping when the door shut behind him and you were alone. Needy and full of cum and still taped to the bloody bed.
"Konig! Konig get back here!"
You wanted to yell for help, but the thought of one of your fellow recruits finding you like this was humiliating. So you just stayed there. Uncomfortable, leaking spunk so it dripped down into your panties caught around your thighs. Grimacing as it started to cool.
Sova's hands play an important role in the kisses. (Not in that way, you dirty potatoes.) (But also maybe?)
His hands tend to roam your body while you guys kiss. He usually likes placing them on your waist, or around them. He does that to pull you closer to him.
He likes to cup your face and kiss over your eyelids. He loves your eyes, let him smooch.
He's not normally affectionate in front of other agents, but he's not against kissing you on the forehead before you leave for a mission, and he doesn't mind when Phoenix jokingly gags at him for that.
In private, he's a lot more touchy. He sometimes enjoys make-out sessions because he just loves how close your bodies are like that.
He'll pant against your mouth, look at your lips, then dive back in for more.
Carding your fingers through his hair in the middle of it- 100/10.
Chamber
Chamber knows how to make his kisses linger on your skin.
He doesn't do PDA often, but he's not against it either. He knows to be professional on the job, but sometimes he can't help it!
He's not very fond of quick pecks on the lips or cheek - they rile him up. He doesn't like half-assed kisses AT ALL. You'll have to deal with the background teasing of the other agents as he kisses you for a good few seconds before you leave for your mission.
In private, he finally gets to let loose and love you however he wants. He's definitely a make-out kinda guy - you both do it often and never get tired of it.
He grunts at you when you try to remove his glasses.
He thinks pulling him in by the tie is so unsexy, but also thinks caging you against the wall is hot.
50/50 the make-out sessions lead to something else when you're with Chamber. Tell him no, he won't fight it, but he'll groan and walk away painfully.
He is shamelessly a grabber. His hands drift to places they shouldn't be during kisses. Even plain kisses.
A punishing type. He prefers being the one to initiate, because he feels in control that way. (He'll get over it later.)
Wowie! I made this blog 3 years ago and never posted a single thing - but now I'm back on my Valorant (specifically Chamber) hype and I'm ready.
[WARNINGS]: Mild Dub-Con, Chasing, Explicit Sexual Content.
Fem! Reader, no use of Y/N.
@bucksfucks this one is for you. I read yours and had to write one of my own. It's not as good as yours, but I figured I should help add to the Dark side Adam pile of FrankenFics out there. :)
Enjoy!
W/C: 1.9k
~~~~~~~~~
You jolted awake at the crack of gunfire. Heart pounding, you shot upright in bed, breath sharp and terrified. Another shot echoed through the valley, followed by a roar. A bear?
Someone was in danger—there was no mistaking that.
You slid out of bed and into your boots, shrugging on your jacket as you grabbed the shotgun from its resting place against the wall. Before hesitation could settle in, you had already stepped out into the frigid night, sprinting toward the source of the noise.
The full moon spilled its haunting light across the field and the forest beyond. Another shot rang out—closer this time.
You didn’t think. You simply ran.
Someone was about to be mauled—on your land, no less—and you’d be damned if you stood by and let it happen. Movement flickered just ahead.
Through the trees, you spotted two figures. One smaller, limping, fumbling to reload a rifle with shaking hands. The other… massive. Impossibly so. Fur was the first thing your mind registered—it had to be a bear, and that rifle was only enraging it further.
“HEY!” you shouted—stupidly—raising your shotgun. Both figures turned toward you, and the breath froze in your lungs.
Not a bear. Absolutely not a bear.
Your heart hammered painfully as the towering figure stepped your way.
“No!” the smaller man cried. “Get away!”
It took you a moment to realize he was warning you—not the monstrous shape stalking him.
You did the foolish thing. You kept going.
“Why are you trying to kill each other?” you demanded, stopping a dozen paces away—far too close. As if this was any of your business.
Neither answered.
Instead, the giant shifted toward you.
“Hmmm,” came a low rumble from beneath the tattered layers of fur. “Fascinating.” He tilted his head with sharp curiosity.
Your hands trembled as you kept the gun trained on him.
“What’s fascinating?” you asked—anything to keep him talking, to keep both you and the other man alive a few moments longer.
The creature—man?—glanced back at the smaller figure. “Even a woman shows more bravery than you, Victor.” He mocked the name with a cruel ease.
Victor.
The bastard was no longer fumbling with his weapon—he was preparing to bolt. To use you as a distraction.
“Go on then, Creator. See how much distance it grants you.” White teeth flashed as he taunted Victor.
Victor didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even look at you as he began his uneven, desperate sprint through the trees.
“Don’t come any closer!” you managed, voice quivering. “I’ll shoot, I swear!”
“Be my guest. Your bullets will do nothing.”
Your fingers shook so violently that the gun slipped from your grasp and thudded to the ground.
The giant moved impossibly fast, closing the distance in three effortless strides. You scrambled backward, yelping when your spine struck a tree.
He loomed over you—taller than any man should be—moonlight finally revealing his face.
He was horrifying. And beautiful.
A lattice of scars crossed his features like stained glass, his flesh a patchwork of pale whites and bruised blues. Dark hair tumbled across his brow, black lips curling into a predatory grin. And his eyes—deep, hungry brown—fixed on you with unsettling focus.
Fear coiled tight inside you, mingling with something far less rational as his cold hand curled into the front of your nightdress, pinning you against the bark.
“I give you a chance to escape, little one,” he growled. “If you can elude me, I’ll return to my original pursuit.”
He inhaled deeply—scenting you.
A shudder tore through you.
“Y-you want to chase me?” Your mind reeled. None of this made sense.
“It would not be fun otherwise,” he murmured, amusement rumbling low in his chest. Heat flared traitorously beneath your skin. He leaned close, his breath ghosting along your ear. “Run.”
He released you and stepped back.
You didn’t hesitate.
You ran.
Leaves crackled beneath your feet as your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You wove between the trees, desperate to put distance between you and whatever he was. But when you glanced back, your breath hitched—he hadn't moved. Not an inch.
He was giving you a head start.
And you weren’t sure whether you wanted it to be enough.
You shoved the thought aside and pushed harder.
“You’re faster than Victor,” his deep voice called from behind—far too close.
Cold air burned in your lungs as you plunged deeper into the forest, the familiar path dissolving into shadows.
Until your foot found nothing but empty air.
A strangled cry tore from your throat as you dropped nearly ten feet into a ravine. You hit the ground hard, the impact blasting the breath from your chest.
Above, heavy footsteps approached.
With a desperate gasp, you scrambled backward just as he dropped down effortlessly in front of you.
“Found you.”
You never stood a chance.
His hand wrapped around your ankle, dragging you forward with terrifying ease, and then he was on you, pinning your hips down with his own, one hand landing hard next to your head, the other pressing your shoulder into the dirt.
His eyes flashed, one shining golden as you let out an involuntary whimper.
He's enjoying this, you thought. Lording his strength over you. The thought did not cause you the disquiet it should have.
"Please..." you gasped.
His breath hit your neck when he next spoke and you felt your hips twitch. "You should be afraid and yet... fear is not what I can smell upon your skin." His voice was as smooth as sin.
"I'm terrified." You argued, but your pulse raced for all the wrong reasons.
"Then why aren't you fighting back?" Came the soft reply, his nose grazing the spot below your ear. You had to bite your lip to avoid letting out a moan.
You have no answer. He had not restrained your hands, yet they had stayed where they were.
Not one coherent thought makes it's way though your head.
"Please..." you whispered again, not entirely sure what you were begging for anymore.
"That's it, little one. Beg me to stop, and I will." The hand that had been on your shoulder now trailed it's way down your waist, the thin fabric bunching beneath his long fingers. "Say it." He hissed.
You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You should. You should end this now. But you can't.
Your body had betrayed you in the most wonderous way possible. You felt your skin flush and you squirmed against him, suddenly so desperate for friction.
He let out a low growl of approval, and the fire in your core seemed to double in temperature. Your hands, moving of their own accord find their places, one on his chest, the other tangling itself in soft hair, pulling his face farther into the crook of your neck.
Teeth nip at the sensitive skin, and you melt. He's leaving bruises but you were unable find it in yourself to care. More. More. You want more.
Powerful hips roll into you, and you could feel the hardness straining beneath his clothes.
Any semblance of sanity broke as you ground against the wonderful length of him, wishing you could push him into place you needed, but he was too strong. You could do nothing but writhe beneath him and let him move at his own pace. It was maddening.
Pushing your jacket off your shoulder, he reached up to palm one of your breasts, the nipple instantly peaking against his fingers.
"Please I need... oh God." You prayed.
His head lifted from your throat and you found yourself incapable of speech as his eyes met yours, pupils blown black with desire. The hand that had wound itself into his hair slid to his face and he did not protest as you pulled him down roughly, your lips crashing into his.
You moaned into him, wanting nothing more than for him to shred off your clothes that very second. Your skin itched under the cloth that covered it, too hot, too much.
His kiss was brutal, clumsy and perfect.
His hand moved lower, continuting his feral exploration and he lifted himself enough to push your nightgown further up your thighs. His fingers pressed into your underclothes, and you knew instantly he felt how soaked the fabric was.
He broke the kiss.
"All this for me?" He mumbled through a groan, and your hips bucked, silently begging for more.
He indulged your request with relish. Cold air rushed between your legs as the material ripped as easily as tissue paper.
You whined as his fingers slid between your folds, and he seemed to savor the slick coating them before moving them up and against the bundle of nerves at your peak.
Flames lick up your spine and this is what heaven must feel like.
Your release hit you faster than ever in your life, your body shuddering against him, a gush of wetness leaving your core with a noise that would make a whore blush.
Your hands flew downwards, fingers aching as they fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers.
He pulled his hand away from your cunt and you felt the loss of contact like a physical blow, but he just assists your frantic attempt to dirobe him, and you shove his pants down his hips, as he shifts again, his legs now between yours.
He's huge, more than you had thought as you wrapped shaking fingers around his cock and squeezed.
"Tell me to stop." He said again, his hips jutting forward, rutting into your hand.
"No." You breathed. And the tenuous control you could sense within him snapped.
"I am not gentle." He warned.
"Then don't be." You groaned, guiding him to your soaking entrance.
You are an animal, broken down to your basest instict and you can tell he needs this as much as you do, if not more.
The stretch of him was the most exquisite sensation in the universe and your consciousness narrowed to the point where you are joined.
He was true to his word.
Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you with wild abandon, a deep rumble in his chest reverbarating through your body.
The noises coming from you are nothing short of sinful, and they double as his hand found your clit again, stroking it in time with his brutal thrusts.
You feel yourself coming apart at the seams. Your hands scrambled across his back, looking for purchase, anything to ground you.
"Let go for me. Give me everything." He purred and you sob. White flashed across your vision as your second release shot through you.
With a roar, he followed you over the edge, his cock twitching against your walls as you felt the heat of him spill inside of you.
He rolled to the side, barely avoiding crushing you as he collapses, gasping for air.
Your breath came in sharp pants, mingling with his.
You looked at him again, and your trembling fingers traced along one of the deep scars across his face.
He purred at your touch.
You laid there in silence, at some point, strong arms wound around you and pulled you into his chest. You did not protest.
"Whenever you're done hunting down Victor, promise you'll come back?" You almost begged.
summary: Adam and you find refuge in new, abandoned cottage after days of fleeing, and while building a new safe haven together, their long-buried longing finally breaks open into tender, overwhelming intimacy.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,376 words
themes: hurt reader, protective!adam, lots of yearning, longing, tension, desire, slow burn, adam's first time, happy tears, 18+ only (MDNI)
author's note: guess who finally figured out how to end this chapter finally. no more hurt. only love and good news from here on out
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
[frankenstein photo credit]
It took three days for the forest to stop feeling like a graveyard.
Three days of moving carefully, quietly, half-expecting shouts behind you. Three days of Adam pausing every few steps to listen, scent the air, or gently shift you more securely in his arms. Three days of muddy ankles, aching ribs, and the constant vertigo of knowing your entire life fit into the small satchel you carried on your back.
But on the fourth morning, the world softened.
The trees thinned. The canopy lifted. And as dawn cracked open the horizon, Adam tilted his head and murmured:
“There.”
You followed his gaze. A clearing. A little cottage of old stone and wood. Crooked chimney. Moss on the roof. Windows clouded with dust. Overgrown herbs tangling the walls.
Abandoned.
But alive.
Your breath caught.
Adam watched your face rather than the cottage, trying to read you in every twitch of expression. He always did that now—looked at you like you were the map and he was lost without you.
“Does it… please you?” he asked quietly.
Please you. As if that were the world’s greatest priority.
“It’s perfect,” you whispered.
His shoulders dropped, something between relief and awe.
You stepped toward the cottage, and his hand hovered at your back, not touching, just near. Ready. Always ready. When your ankle wobbled on a stray stone, his fingers brushed your waist instantly.
He snatched them back just as fast, like the touch had burned him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I—did not wish to presume—”
“Adam,” you said softly, “you’re allowed.”
His eyes dipped to your waist where his hand had been.
Then back to your eyes.
Then away again, like he didn’t trust himself to look too long.
You pushed the door open.
The hinges screamed, dust spiralling in the sunlight, but nothing collapsed. Inside, the air smelled of old herbs and forgotten summers. A single semi-wide bed sat against the far wall. A table with one chair. A hearth, soot-stained but sturdy.
It wasn’t much.
But after everything, after rope and bruises and torches, it felt like salvation.
Adam stepped in behind you, ducking automatically even though the doorway was just wide enough for him.
He scanned the room slowly, methodically—checking corners, shadows, places where danger could hide. Only when he was certain it was empty did his posture ease.
And then he looked at you again.
Not the cottage.
You. Always you.
“Is it enough?” he asked.
“It’s more than enough,” you said.
He nodded once, as though committing himself to the task of becoming worthy of that answer.
The next hours blurred. Cleaning, sweeping, fixing the hearth, coaxing life back into the neglected space. Adam did most of the heavy lifting, literally and figuratively.
He repaired a cracked beam with his bare hands.
He cleared the chimney in one climb.
He patched a hole in the floor using stones from the garden.
Every so often he glanced at you, expecting… something. Maybe fear. Hesitation. Second thoughts.
Instead, you smiled at him. Every time. It lit him up in quiet, devastating ways.
And when you brushed dust from your cheek, he stared like the act was scandalous. When you pushed your hair behind your ear, his breath faltered.
When you bit your lip while arranging the shelf, he made a small sound and pretended he hadn’t.
You felt it. All of it.
The desire simmering under his restraint. The longing so potent it made the air thick. The fear that wanting you too openly might scare you away.
The certainty that wanting you at all was already too much.
He kept his distance, barely, but his body betrayed him in small, helpless ways.
The way he leaned toward you without meaning to. The way his gaze dropped to your mouth whenever you spoke. The way he inhaled as though breathing you in was the only thing tethering him to earth.
By evening, your legs ached, your back throbbed, and your ankle pulsed, but the cottage felt like yours.
Like something you and Adam had built together with sweat and stubbornness and the refusal to die when others wanted you to.
When you lit the hearth with new flames, Adam stared at it like it was a miracle.
“You look…” he began, then stopped, flushing.
“How do I look?”
His throat bobbed.
“Like you belong here.”
“You belong here too,” you said.
His breath hitched, soft and sharp, like the words pierced something deep inside him.
He looked away.
Then back.
Then away again.
“May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the edge of the bed.
“As if you need my permission,” you laughed.
“I do,” he said simply.
You crossed the room and sat beside him.
The bed dipped unevenly, your combined weight was almost too much for the old frame. It creaked dangerously.
You both froze.
“…well,” you said. “That’s ominous.”
“It has endured worse,” he said sternly, as if defending its honor.
You snorted.
Adam stared at your smile like he wanted to gather it up in both hands.
“You are tired,” he observed softly. “Your leg pains you.”
“Only a little.”
His brows knitted. “You do not hide pain well.”
“And you worry too loudly,” you countered gently.
“I cannot help it.”
He reached for your ankle, then paused, checking your face for permission.
You nodded.
His fingers were warm as they traced gently around the swollen joint. He was careful, achingly so, touching you like you were made of paper and he was all thumbs. But his touch was also hungry in a way he didn’t understand how to hide.
“Does this hurt?” he murmured.
“Only when you stop.”
His head jerked up, eyes wide, pupils dilating.
“You should not… say such things,” he said shakily.
“Why not?”
“Because I—because I cannot think when you—because…”
He broke off, breath trembling. You tilted your head, studying him.
“Adam. Look at me.” He obeyed instantly.
The tension in him coiled tight, like he feared the next words might undo him entirely.
“I want…” he began, then swallowed. “I want to be near you. Closer than this. I want…” His hand flexed helplessly on your ankle. “But I do not know how to ask.”
“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered. “Just come here.”
His breath left him like you’d punched it out. But he moved. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wild and dangerous dream.
He shifted until he sat fully beside you, thigh pressed against yours, shoulders brushing. His body heat wrapped around you like a blanket pulled tight.
Your pulse stuttered.
“Here?” he asked, voice wrecked.
“Closer,” you said.
He swallowed hard.
You moved first, leaning gently into his side, tucking your head beneath his jaw. He made a broken, helpless sound, one hand rising automatically to your back as though pulled by instinct.
“I—this—are you comfortable?” he stammered.
“Not quite,” you murmured.
He went still. “What should I—?”
“Lie back with me.”
He did not breathe for a full second.
Then, “yes.”
You shifted, guiding him, and he obeyed like your touch rewrote the laws of his world. He lowered himself onto the bed, slow and tense, waiting for panic or refusal.
None came.
You followed, lying beside him so your bodies touched from hip to shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed in something like agony.
“This is…” He exhaled shakily. “This is more than I thought I would ever be allowed.”
“You’re allowed,” you whispered.
You weren’t sure who moved first, maybe both, but suddenly you were half atop him, head tucked under his jaw, legs tangled, his arm banded around your waist.
His hand splayed over your ribs, holding you, guarding you, needing you.
Your breath warmed his neck.
His chest rose too fast beneath your palm.
“Where do my hands go?” he whispered, voice hoarse with want.
“Anywhere,” you breathed, “as long as you’re gentle.”
He made a low sound, deep, reverent, almost pained, and slid one enormous hand up your back, fingers tracing each notch of your spine like he was memorizing you.
You felt his desire—hot, bright, restrained to the point of shaking.
“Are you well?” he whispered.
“No,” you teased faintly. “I’m ruined.”
His breath stuttered. “I am trying to be careful.”
“You are,” you said. “And it would be very easy for me to forget what care even is.”
He groaned—quiet, tortured.
Your nose brushed his throat. His fingers curled into your hip. Your lips grazed his collarbone by accident...or maybe on purpose.
“Do not stop,” he whispered.
So you didn’t.
You pressed a soft kiss to the warm skin where his neck met his shoulder. He shivered violently.
“Please,” he breathed.
You pulled back just enough to see his face. His pupils were blown black. His lips were parted. He looked undone.
“Adam,” you whispered, “come here.”
He kissed you.
Desperate.
Hungry.
Terrified of wanting, incapable of stopping.
You kissed him back, matching him, guiding him, showing him he didn’t have to hide. His hands slid up your sides, trembling, then steadied.
He deepened the kiss until you were breathless, dizzy, clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer because closer wasn’t close enough. His body curved around yours, fitting you to every line of him like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on.
When you finally broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together, breath mingled, he whispered:
“If the world tries to take you from me again… they will find I am not as gentle as you think.”
Your leg brushed his again.
His hand tightened, almost imperceptibly, at your waist.
A breath caught, yours or his, you couldn’t tell. You lifted your head. He was already looking at you.
Slowly, as though afraid the moment itself might shatter, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek with the backs of his fingers, trembling so gently it made your eyes burn.
“You should sleep,” he whispered.
“So should you,” you answered.
His throat worked.
“You make that… difficult.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
His voice was raw velvet. He exhaled a sound like prayer.
“You keep looking at me like—”
He broke off, breath shaking.
“Like you want.”
You swallowed.
“I do,” you said. “I want you.”
It knocked the air out of him—literally.
He shuddered, full-body, like something had slipped loose inside him.
“…tell me how,” he whispered, voice hoarse with a kind of terror that was not fear of you, but fear of his own longing. “Tell me what you want from me and I will do—anything—”
“Adam,” you murmured, brushing your thumb along his jaw, “you don’t have to do anything. You only have to be here.”
His eyes fluttered shut.
He leaned into your touch as though he had been waiting his whole life for that small, simple gesture. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker—wide, unguarded, full of painful, beautiful need.
“May I…”
His voice broke.
“May I kiss you again?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, please.”
He kissed you like he was learning the shape of prayer.
Soft at first, then deeper, heat blooming through both of you like something waking after years asleep. His hands framed your face, slid into your hair, pulled you closer, closer still.
Desire curled low in you, warm and molten, and you felt him feel it. His breath caught against your mouth, a tiny, helpless sound he tried to swallow.
Your fingers slid under the edge of his shirt without thinking, just to feel him, just skin to skin.
He flinched. Not away. Toward.
“Is this…” He swallowed hard. “Is this allowed?”
“More than allowed,” you whispered. “Wanted.”
He made a low, broken noise you would think about for months.
You shifted, rising slightly so you could straddle his thigh—not fully, not boldly, just enough that your bodies aligned in a new, devastating way.
Adam froze.
Every muscle locked.
“You have to tell me,” he said, voice shaking like he was balancing on a knife’s edge. “If I should stop. If you’re frightened. If I’m too much—”
“Look at me,” you said softly.
He did.
You held his gaze and guided his hand to your waist.
Then lower, until his trembling hand rested against your heat, hips jerking up to meet his fingers. The hunger in his eyes darkened, deepening into something feral and starving—like a man who had spent his whole life watching a feast from behind a locked door.
Adam," your voice was a whisper. "You're going to make me come undone under you. Here. Now."
He gasped, actually gasped, like the contact had broken him open.
“This…” he choked.
“This is what I dreamed. This is what that book described—what men do when they...when they want—”
You kissed him to quiet the spiral.
He kissed you back, desperate and reverent and sweet all at once. His hands roamed with aching care, as though memorizing you, shaping your silhouette with gentle palms and trembling fingertips.
When your shirt slipped slightly off one shoulder, he groaned into your mouth, a sound of pure, stunned awe.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Not to flatter. Not to seduce. Just truth.
Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently, and he shivered.
“Adam,” you breathed. “Lie with me.”
Not a command. Not a demand. An invitation. His breath stuttered long and hard.
“Are you—are you certain?”
He sounded wrecked. As if one wrong word would unmake him.
“Yes,” you said simply. “I want you close. No fear. No distance.”
He gathered you into his arms like something precious and lowered you back onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. Your breath tangled with his.
The world shrank to the space between your mouths.
He braced himself carefully above you, chest hovering an inch from yours.
“I will be gentle,” he promised, voice shaking. “I will be so gentle.”
“I know,” you whispered.
He kissed you again, deeper than before.
Slower.
Hotter.
Your hands roamed.
His followed.
Every movement cautious at first, then bolder as he learned the shape of your desire. His mouth slowed against yours, breaths ragged, as though he didn’t know how to handle the intensity of wanting someone so much.
His careful fingers undressed you, slowly. Memorizing each seam and button as if to be able to do this again and again with his eyes closed and his hands behind his back.
"Gods," he breathed, barely. "You are going to unmake me."
He finally rested his forehead against yours, panting softly.
“We should stop,” he rasped.
“Yes,” you agreed.
Neither of you stopped. He kissed you again instead, feverishly, helplessly. You laughed breathlessly against his lips.
“Adam—”
“I know,” he said, breaking away only to mouth along your jaw. “I know we should. I am trying.”
“You’re failing,” you whispered.
“I am,” he admitted, nearly groaning. “Completely.”
You pulled him down until your bodies were flush, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. The touch unraveled him entirely, in an instant he was lost, stripped of every hesitation until there was nothing left in him but want for you.
He made a sound so low and rich it vibrated through you.
“I want you,” he whispered into your skin, reverent and shaking. “I want...everything.”
You gave it to him in that moment. Guiding him deep inside of you, a new fullness bloomed through you, a sensation that rooted deep in your bones.
He shuddered, a sharp, broken gasp tearing from his throat as he nearly collapsed, catching himself on his forearms to keep from crushing you.
"If there is a God listening," he whispered, "I pray he looks away. I want this moment to belong to us alone."
He held you like you were the first warmth he’d ever known.
You didn't need to guide him; Adam's body seemed to understand instinctively, moving with a reverence that stole your breath. His fingers found yours, weaving together until your palms pressed flush, his eyes locked to yours as though he could read every shiver you felt.
"I love you," he whispered, a confession torn from the deepest part of him.
His hips moved slow, calculated, stealing the air from your lungs with each movement.
"I've been trying to bury it," he said, "God, forgive me." It was a plea. "But I can't. Not when you're in my arms, not when you look at me like this."
Tears stung your eyes as you clutched his fingers.
"I love you," you breathed, a vow carved from bone. "Before this night, before this life, always."
He broke with a quiet, wounded sound, sinking against your as if you were the only altar he had ever known. His face pressed against the curve of your throat, like a man collapsing into safety for the first time in his life.
You remained entwined, bodies still joined in the quiet afterglow, listening to Adam's harsh, uneven breaths softening. Each exhale drawing him back from the edge he'd shattered upon.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
The world felt impossibly small, narrowed to the heat where you were joined, the tremble in his arms, the way his forehead pressed to your temple like he feared you might vanish if he lifted it.
“Are you—” His voice broke, low and wrecked. “Did I… was I too much?”
You stroked his back, feeling the shaking beneath his skin. “No,” you whispered. “You were perfect.”
A fractured sound slipped from him, half-sob, half-laugh, relief hitting him so hard his whole body sagged into yours.
He held you tighter, almost fierce in the way his arms closed around you, yet unbearably gentle, always too gentle, as if every inch of you were sacred.
“I didn’t know,” he murmured against your skin, voice shaking, “that anything in this world could feel like… like that. Like you.”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging slightly so he’d lift his head. He did, reluctantly, eyes blown wide and soft and reverent. You brushed your thumb over the corner of his mouth, still swollen from kissing you breathless.
“And you?” you asked softly. “Are you alright?”
He nodded, then shook his head, contradiction wrapped in honesty.
“I am undone,” he confessed, voice raw. “Completely. I do not think I will ever recover from you.”
Your breath caught, part laugh, part gasp. “Good.”
He huffed a broken laugh of his own, leaning in until your noses brushed, until you tasted his breath on yours.
His hands found yours where they rested against his ribs. He laced your fingers together, palms pressed flush, holding them there like a vow.
“I did not know my heart could hold this much,” he whispered. “I did not know I had a heart to hold anything at all.”
You felt tears sting your eyes again, gentle, grateful ones. You squeezed his hands back.
“You have one,” you said. “And it is mine.”
He broke then, just a little, shoulders shaking, breath hitching as he pressed his forehead to yours, a quiet sound escaping him, something like worship.
“I love you,” he breathed, the words torn from somewhere deep and long-starved. “I love you. God forgive me, I love you so much it frightens me.”
Your hands tightened around his.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” you whispered. “Only something to keep.”
He shuddered, sinking fully against you, chest to chest, heart to heart.
He kissed you then—soft, trembling, reverent—as though the world had finally given him something he was terrified to break.
You kissed him back with all the steadiness he lacked.
When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far. His thumb stroked your cheek; yours brushed the curve of his jaw. You lay there tangled together, breaths mingling, heat shared, limbs entwined, the world held at bay for just a little longer.
“Stay with me,” he murmured into the hollow of your throat, voice gone soft and sleepy and unbearably tender. “Don’t let this be a dream.”
You curled closer, your hand slipping up to rest over his heart.
“It isn’t a dream,” you whispered. “I’m here.”
His arms tightened again, protective, disbelieving, in love.
And in the dim light of the new cottage, with the world finally silent around you, Adam Frankenstein held you as though he’d finally found the one thing he was made for.
pairing: the creature/adam frankenstein x fem reader
themes: hurt/comfort, warm domesticity, adam learning to love, forest setting, quiet moments, romantic tension, gentle touch, innocent jealousy, mutual trust building, slow burn and established relationship ♡
a/n: i thought about this while listening to the twilight soundtrack heheh, i hope you guys like it, i apologize if there are any errors in the text, english is not my first language, so enjoy it! xoxo
w/c: 4.2k
The forest always smelled different after the rain; the cabin was filled with that damp aroma, as if the earth were breathing deeply and seeping between the wooden walls of the cabin. Adam noticed this more than any human; every change in the weather altered his body, as if his skin remembered things his mind couldn't yet put into words.
That afternoon, he was sitting on the floor, his legs awkwardly bent, watching you take the bread out of the oven. The smell of wood smoke filled the place. He didn't really talk much, but he was close enough that his presence was already part of the place.
Suddenly, a voice was heard from outside; a man was asking if anyone was in the cabin, seeking refuge from the cold.
It wasn't unusual for travelers to get lost in that forest, and although you raised your head like a calm person receiving a simple visitor, he reacted as if someone had thrown ice water on him, getting up too quickly and retreating to the darkest corner of the cabin, that place where the light never quite reached. He didn't want to take the risk of being seen.
He knew what he was to others: a poorly armed shadow, a being who caused fear even before opening his mouth.
You opened the door just enough to speak to the traveler. There he was, soaked from the rain that had just passed, holding his backpack against his chest and with his face reddened by the cold.
"Excuse me… could I take shelter for a moment? The rain took me by surprise," he said, barely audible.
From that moment on, you let him pass, stepping aside to let him cross the threshold and quickly closing the door to prevent any more icy air from entering. The traveler stayed near the door, not daring to move forward, until you pointed out the space in front of the fire.
"Sit there, warm yourself up a bit," you told him in a kind but firm voice.
You kept talking to the stranger, offering him a slice of baked bread. He thanked you and warmed his hands for a moment. You talked about the basics: where he was coming from, where he was going, and if there were wolves nearby.
Meanwhile, Adam remained silent, pressed against the wall, hiding as if the sound of his own breathing might betray him. He wasn't looking at the traveler; he was looking at you. He was seeing how your face lit up a little when you were kind to someone, how your voice grew warm, and how that stranger stared at you, spoke to you with confidence, and smiled at you.
And something burned inside him.
It wasn't anger, but it was similar — a strange pang, as if his chest were too small for such a feeling.
Until something minimum happened, but for him it was huge.
The traveler touched your hand as he said goodbye. Adam felt that pang again, stronger this time. He didn't understand why; he only knew that something inside him was protesting, an uncomfortable pressure that seemed to want to push him towards you.
As soon as you closed the door, the tension dissipated a little. You turned around to look for him and found him where he was, pressed against the wall, with his shoulders rigid and his gaze lowered.
You walked slowly towards him.
"He's already gone," you told him, reaching your hand towards his arm.
Adam trembled when you touched him; it was a small tremor, as if your touch were the only thing capable of ordering what was jumbled inside him. His enormous, trembling fingers moved slowly toward yours, seeking contact and checking that you were there.
When you intertwined your hand with his, he let out a deep, relieved sigh.
He didn't speak, he didn't know how to describe what he had felt; he just leaned his forehead towards yours, breathing with you, letting your presence calm that feeling that had no name for him.
That night, when the sky was already dark, he suddenly got up from where he was sleeping. He approached you silently; it wasn't usual for him to wake you, but he did so with that excessive care he had, and he touched your shoulder as if he were afraid of scaring you.
"Come…" he whispered very softly, almost shyly.
You grabbed your cape and went out with him into the forest. He walked slowly, careful of every stone, every root, so that you wouldn't trip. He didn't explain to you where they were going; he simply kept walking until he reached a meadow hidden among tall trees. The air was filled with a soft mist.
And then they began to appear.
Fireflies, first one, then several, until the meadow seemed to fill with tiny lights drifting between you.
Adam stopped; he didn’t move. He only watched you while you set your gaze on this unexpected spectacle. He listened to the way your breathing changed with the surprise, that small sound you made when you grew thrilled without meaning to. To him, that sound was more important than all the lights in the forest.
“You… like it?” he asked, hopeful in a trembling way.
“Yes… it’s beautiful,” you whispered.
When you took a step to see the spectacle more closely, he took your hand — this time without doubts, without awkwardness. His fingers wrapped around yours with a new, gentle confidence, as if he had finally understood that he could take your hand without being afraid of hurting you.
"I saw them… the other day," he said, his voice low. "I wanted you to see them too."
You lifted your head to look at him, the fireflies' light reflected a little on the scars of his face.
"Is that why you brought me?," you said, smiling.
"Yes… because I saw it and thought of you," he said.
Adam didn’t know that what he was doing was a date; he didn’t know he was taking you to the most beautiful place he knew because something in him wanted to see you happy. He only knew he needed to share it with you.
You stepped a little closer. He stayed perfectly still. You let go of his hand to lift it to his cheek — cold, yet soft to the touch. His eyes widened at the gesture, as if the universe had stopped just to teach him something new.
"You were acting strange today," you said, caressing his skin.
He blinked.
"I felt… something when the man touched you here," he said, pointing at your hand. "I didn’t know what it was, it just hurt… here." He brought a hand to his chest, over his heart, wearing a confused, vulnerable expression.
Your other hand rose to his face, holding it gently.
"You don’t have to understand everything right now," you said. "You’re learning."
Adam lowered his head a little, bringing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes.
"With you… I’m not afraid," he whispered, with an honesty that seemed to strip him bare."With you… I feel good, and I don’t want anyone else… to pull you away from me."
There was an innocence in his words — without any intention of possessing you, only the fear of losing the one good thing he knew.
You stroked his cheek with your thumb.
“I’m here, and I’m not leaving your side,” you promised.
Adam drew in a breath as if your words were the most precious thing he had ever heard. His hands, large and awkward, settled on your waist with such careful gentleness it seemed he feared breaking you. For the first time, he embraced you of his own will, without hesitation, without you having to ask.
And while the fireflies kept glowing around you, he understood something.
That warmth he felt for you wasn’t confusion.
It wasn’t fear.
It was affection.
It was the desire to protect you.
It was love, even if he didn’t yet know how to call it that.
And it was growing inside him like something that finally had permission to exist.
the creature who is exploring your body- groping, licking, biting, etc - wondering why yours is so different from his. at first it’s nice and sometimes even tickles, but when you slowly respond to his touch its not long til he’s overstimulating you.
whispers of darkness
a/n: love love your mind babes because this had me nodding in solidarity at the screen. between jumping from a borrowed laptop and my phone this took a bit to write. but thankfully i managed to sit down and churn out the rest in a mad rush. and because it's me there's a bit of angst but like not really if i'm being honest. this was so fucking fun to write and i did change it up a tiny but i really love how it turned out. divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics.
summary: time ceased to exist when you found him in the forest, when he read to you by a fire, and the moment you kissed him with an earnest smile. OR letting the creature explore how he wants.
word count: 2.2k+
pairing: the creature x f!reader
warnings: explicit so minors dni 18+ only!! tiny itty bit of angst, romance, body worship of sorts, gothic love, overstimulation, edging, lots and lots of kissing, the use of my english lit degree, waxing poetically about needing to fuck the creature.
The baritone of his voice grew dark against the glow of a raging fire he started to keep you warm. Chunks of wood ripped clean off trees he toppled, brush gathered at the forest’s edge and packed in around the base, and a cauldron—now empty of stew—settled on a hook in the center.
The pages were crinkled beneath his fingertips. Flipped delicately and set back into place as the curve of his spine bent forward to see the words better as night drowned the world in darkness again.
“I have loved her all my youth, But now old, as you see, Love likes not the falling fruit, From the withered tree.”
Your head pressed into his arm, fur draped over your legs as his voice washed over you. Calming waters strung together with blotches of ink, mistakes from the press no doubt yet still legible despite it all. He recited poetry like a whisper, reverence dripping off the stanzas and melting into your skin like chocolate on your tongue. Sweet, pleasant the longer he kept going.
“Know that love is a careless child, And forgets promise past, He is blind, he is deaf when he list, And in faith never fast.”
“Your voice is practically warmer than the fire,” you mused, pressing your nose into the thin fabric of his shirt—the cloth now smelling of rosemary and river water.
His hair was pinned back with twine you found in your pocket, giving you the chance to see his face in its entirety. The pale shades of his skin and muted gray tones of dead flesh sewn together with nimble fingers. You know the stories of his creator, listened intently as he recounted the years he spent on this plane of existence—the anguish in his throat that spilled out back tears and suffocating grief.
Solemnly uttered a year ago when you came across him in the woods—lost to the world and yet returning from the icy tundra from where he once existed. To say you clung to one another was an understatement. He could see the strike of lightning that brought life to his bones in your eyes, the dark clouds of forever slowly dissipating the longer he remained in your vicinity.
You smiled at him as if you’d know him all your life. An old friend returning from the past. A new soul already etched into yours.
There was no other option but to take his hand in yours and let him follow where you went. Traipsing after you with earnest in his heart and a belonging in his bones. You saw love beneath scars and healed stitches. An eternity was trapped in a steady beating organ he knew belonged to you. He never said it aloud, terrified of your response even after the time you spent together.
But you knew in the way he pulled you close by the fire, his chin resting soft atop your head, thumb running smooth along the length of your forearm. Tracing your only scar that sat ugly and raised on the edge of your wrist. A disgusting promise of permanence from a man who once claimed to love you—a life you could forget in the deep rumble of his voice.
“Tell me the end,” you breathed, tipping your head back to catch his gaze. “Before we sleep.”
Lips pulled into a grin, fingers tugging the page over with a breath. “But true Love is a durable fire, In the mind ever burning; Never sick, never old, never dead, From itself…never…turning.”
“Mm,” you sighed. “I understand that.”
“Tell me.” The bend in his neck was unconscious, a familiar instinct he did to hear you better, to feel the sound of your voice vibrate against his skin.
“True love being a durable fire.”
The crack of wood splintering beneath the heat and sparks scattering out into the air echoed in place of your voices. Shared breath taking over the space where your lips were so close to his. You kissed him once. Months ago in the warmer air as he followed you through the forest on a stroll to find herbs and flowers. It was quick—fleeting. Stolen and chaste beneath a tree that wept the petals of small pink flowers, a soft press with a smile before you were dashing away on a different path.
It wasn’t until hours later that you wanted to ask what he thought. Pick his mind for more than just the comfort of friendship and hope it might evolve into more. But embarrassment won the battle warring in your mind, emotions traded for silence until life had no choice but to go on.
“Never sick,” he muttered, nose brushing yours as heat spilled into your cheeks. “Never old.”
“Reminds me of you.”
His eyes shut, lashes a dark shadow along the tops of his cheeks—both different lengths and some paler than others. “I…remind you…of love.”
“I like to believe-” Your fingers clasped around his wrist as you pulled his large palm to your face, allowing it to splay across your cheek. “That you were made for me to love.”
Breath stuttered in his chest and you smiled at the soft choking sound that came from his throat—warmth settling in the base of your stomach. This was inevitable. The wanting, the need for more than just friendship trapped within these four walls. He didn’t just exist to be a stranger turned companion, he was yours. Never in the hand of his creator, nor in his command, but meant for you to spend your days with. To hear the promise of his love in every breath and flutter of his heart.
His mouth sealed over yours, clumsy and unsure, barely remaining a second before he started to pull away. But your hand stopped him. Your fingers pressed soft against his cheek and dragged him back with a gasp, tasting the weight of poetry on his tongue when you licked into him with a bitten back moan. The fire raged in your bones, spreading out to the tips of your toes as he banded an arm around your waist and yanked you up into his lap.
“What do I…” The book hit the ground with a thud, your fingers quickly undoing the laces at the front of your bodice.
This was more than what you intended, but his curiosity kept you still and waiting. His dark gaze slid along your form uncovered by the thin fabric of your clothes, the top pooling around your waist and exposing your hard nipples to the cold air. Tension simmered between you, echoing with a loud breath he took when your hand guided his to the base of your throat.
You could feel the hesitation bleed into the air, fear of harming you, of doing something wrong, now pressing down on his shoulders. “How?” he pleaded with wet eyes.
“Touch,” you breathed, leaning into his mouth with a grin. “Wherever you wish.”
Nimble and trembling fingers traced the lines of your collarbone, the expanse of smooth skin so unlike his stitched together chest and abdomen. Marks littered his skin like a map he would never be able to retrace. Your body remained the way he imagined as you slept soundly beside him—unmarred by the cruelty of a creator, grown and formed and certainly not made.
You shuddered beneath his hand, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the first brush of his thumb along the curve of your breast. He wanted to study you. Watch the rise and fall of each breath, witness how your limbs pulled and bones shifted beneath hot skin that warmed his palm. And you would let him.
There would be no question, no resistance to his touch. You were pliant beneath him, malleable and soft as he cupped your breast and felt the weight in his hand—your nipple pressing into his rough skin.
“Oh-” He flinched at the sharp gasp, but your hand clamping tight around his wrist kept him in place. “D-Don’t stop.”
“You echoed with pain.”
Lips molded to his with a breath he swallowed, a smile twisting soft against your mouth. “That wasn’t pain my love.”
The click of spit on your tongue trading the taste with him echoed in his ears, burning against pulsing skin as he dragged his mouth to your throat. He wanted to hear it again. That soft pull of breath and sharp pitch of your voice in the depths of your chest. Fingers pinched your nipple tentatively, pulling slow as your thighs clamped tight around his thighs, your head falling back and chest pushed forward.
“Bliss,” you got out between heavy breaths. “It’s bliss.”
Pleasure, paradise, satisfaction.
The meaning was familiar to him now. As if his body recognized it long before he did, parts of his soul flickering to life at the sight of you writhing against the strokes of his hand. Need shot down your spine when his mouth suckled at your other breath, his hand gripping tight at your back when you went limp in his arms. A cry ripped free when he cupped at your breast, kneading it gently as spit glistened along your skin.
It was soft, a silent prayer etched into your form when his hand slid down to your bare waist. Fingers spreading along your ribcage and mapping the layout of a body he’d see behind shut eyes. You giggled at the stroke of his thumb against your stomach and until then he never realized the skin could be ticklish.
He wrenched free from your breast, heaving in a breath just to see you smile, to hear your laugh again. “Some parts are different than others.”
“My side is tender,” you replied, curling your fingers into his now mussed hair. “It usually doesn’t get touched.”
“Should I move past it?”
“No.” Another stolen kiss had him chasing you with a grin. “Keep going. Please.”
You couldn’t exactly be sure how much time passed in the span of you being shifted from his lap to the pile of furs on the floor, but he had relented from his exploratory touches. Clothes were pulled off your form until you lay bare beneath him. With your legs hooked around his waist and his bare chest pressed to yours as heat crowded around you.
Something formed between the two of you. Expanding with every exhale until you could no longer ignore its existence. That unspeakable love you now felt press into the base of your chest. Thundering along your heart.
He watched the flutter in your chest as he dipped his hand between your thighs, the wet pool of slick jarring him for a brief moment until he was brave enough to see it web around his fingers.
Trembling beneath him, you felt his mouth seal over your breast again, his touch pressing against your folds as you sobbed brokenly. Your eyes were blurry with tears, body reaching past the limit you could take. But a part of you didn’t want to tell him no.
It broke you to think of him pulling away, severed you down the center to imagine the loss of his touch. So you grit your teeth and let him bring you to a brink that continued to grow and fade in a pattern that broke you. The edge rushed up to meet you again as you shut your eyes and blindly grasped for it with a shuddering breath. A crest you knew would never crash, a flood of heat pulling tight at your stomach.
He began to pull away, to slide his hand over your thigh, but something kept him there. Dark eyes latched onto your twisted up face, your mouth falling open the moment his fingers pressed against you roughly. The shake in your thigh should have let him know, but he’d never seen someone like this before.
Oblivious to the signs of what you could feel in your bones. It snapped with your cracked shout, his face pressed in close as another gush of slick poured out of your fluttering hole.
Tears spilled onto your temples, your eyes fluttering open to see his mouth parted in a gasp and feel his breath on your cheek. But the burn of pain had you yanking at his arm to make him stop—your mouth finding his with a soft pleased sigh.
“That was bliss,” he stated, touching your hip as you came down with shallow gasps of air.
You nodded, feeling his tongue press soft against yours. “That was more than bliss.”
He smiled. “The fires of love then.”
“Well…it did say it would never die.”
Brushing two fingers along your cheek, he watched in rapture when you chased their touch, your nose nuzzling into his palm. “Will the embers of it die out one day?”
“No,” you vowed. “Not as long as I’m with you.”
“The companion I sought but could not find?”
“It was I who found you.” The words wound tight around his heart. “Or were you looking for me all this time?”
His nose pressed against your cheek. “I searched for what seems like centuries.”
“Then time has finally ceased.” Wet fingers cupped your neck to tilt you closer. “You’ve found me my love. Your companion.”
A smile was traded between kisses, his other hand reaching for the furs to drape over your bodies. “A durable fire.”
Summary: Returning home later than usual sends your beloved husband into a spiral.
The cottage is warm when you push open the door, but the night air clings to you like a warning.
You can tell before you even take a full step inside that something is wrong.
He is not at the table. He is not by the fire.
The moment you call his name, you hear the heavy thud of footsteps outside.
You step back onto the threshold just as he emerges from the dark. His broad frame is hunched as if bracing for a blow, and the moment his eyes meet yours, everything inside him seems to break.
He crosses the distance in seconds.
He falls to his knees in front of you, arms locking around your waist in a desperate, crushing embrace.
His forehead presses into your stomach, and you feel the tremor that runs through his entire body.
“You were gone,” he whispers, the words shaking. “I thought… I feared…”
You thread your fingers through his coarse, dark hair, easing the tension there.
“I was only delayed,” you murmur. “The cart from the village broke its wheel. It took longer to return, that is all.”
But he shakes his head.
His hands move to your hips as if making sure you are really here, really warm beneath his touch.
“I saw the empty path,” he says. “The sun went down and you did not return. My mind… it created terrors. I imagined you hurt, alone, calling for me, and I would not reach you.”
You kneel with him, cupping his face in both hands. His golden eyes shimmer in the lamplight, full of unbearable relief and the leftover pain of fear.
“I always come back to you,” you whisper. “Always.”
He closes his eyes, exhaling a shudder.
“If anything ever took you from me… I do not know if I would endure it.”
You press your forehead to his.
“Nothing will,” you promise.
His hands rise to cradle your ribs, your spine, your shoulders. He holds you close, as though warmth alone is the proof he needs. And there, on the cool ground beside the cottage, he breathes you in, grounding himself in the reality that you are safe.
Later, inside, you curl together by the fire.
You sit in his lap, his chest against your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he can tether you to him through touch alone.
“Rest,” you whisper.
He shakes his head lightly.
“Not yet. Let me hold you a little longer.”
You lean into him, letting him feel your steady breaths.
Only when his fear has finally eased does he press a gentle kiss to your temple, his voice barely a thread.
“You are my heart. Do not wander too far from it.”
