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@ventrue-rosary
Been a while, but worth a shot! Please donate towards me and my fiancés wedding if you can!
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He has bewitched me body and soul
Being Victor Frankenstein Wife Would Include
-Victor fears losing you more than death. The idea doesnât make him sad, it makes him terrified, frantic, and reckless.
-Sleepless nights where you wake to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, just watching you breathe, reassurance flooding his face with every rise of your chest.
-Victor doesnât dominate; he binds himself to you emotionally. You are his last tether to humanity
-You noticing how gentle he is only with you careful fingers, soft kisses pressed to your knuckles, as if heâs afraid to break you the way heâs broken everything else
-Long nights alone while he locks himself away, candles burning until dawn. You learn to recognize the sound of frantic pacing versus triumphant scribbling and which nights he will forget to eat unless you bring food to his study.
-Long absences where he vanishes into his study for days, then returns hollow-eyed, immediately seeking you out just to prove youâre still alive and real
-You being the only person allowed to interrupt his work without consequences. Anyone else would be dismissed.
-Victor is fiercely protective of you, almost possessive. He watches strangers too closely, keeps you close at gatherings, and bristles at anyone who lingers near you too long especially other intellectual men
-Quiet domestic moments are rare but precious. On good days, he reads to you softly, kisses your knuckles absentmindedly, and speaks of futures he swears he wants: children, peace, redemption.
-You being the only person who can touch him when heâs spiraling your hand on his wrist grounding him when his thoughts turn feverish and obsessive.
-Becoming his moral anchor. You ask should we, not can we and sometimes he listens. Sometimes he doesnât.
-Loving him despite the monster not just the one he created, but the one he believes lives inside him. Loving Victor Frankenstein means loving a man split between godhood and damnation and being the one thing that keeps him human.
-Victor fears losing you more than death. The idea doesnât make him sad it makes him terrified, frantic, reckless
-He would rather destroy his own work than let it endanger you. If forced to choose, the world loses you never do.
Note: For more content, follow me on https://www.tumblr.com/sammyquarius
Frankenstein 2025, dir. Guillermo del Toro
he's so prettyyyyy
i CANNOT express how much more lovable my friends are to me at their most annoying. i'd rather hear the same story 3 times than not at all. i'd rather read a 22 message text rant about something totally inconsequential than not hear from you all day. i'd rather you tag me in the stupidest post i've ever seen than not know that it made you think of a conversation we had a month ago. BE ANNOYING AT ME. I LOVE YOU
Soft mornings with AdamâŠ
Fluff and suggestive at the end!!
âWhy do you do this?â Adam asked you, gently turning you around to face him. You tilt your head in question, holding a mug and preparing to pour coffee inside.
He softly cups your face and then presses his lips to your cheek. And then the other, followed with your nose and finishing with your forehead. You smile up at him as he lingers over your skin for a few seconds. His dark hair is combed out of his face and he leans back. Adamâs hands rest on the side of your neck.
âOh, I read about it in a book many years ago. I saved it for the right man, I always thought it was sweet to do.â He gave you the softest expression.
âAnd I am theâŠright man?â He questioned and you set the mug down on the kitchen counter. You stretched on your tip toes and then wrapped your arms around him. He returned the hug with expert control of his super strength. Adam breathed in the scent of your hair and lifted you off the floor.
âYou are the perfect man, Adam.â You said against his ear. He didnât set you down on the ground, instead he carried you to the couch and knelt on his knees.
You swept a thumb across his cheekbone and Adam melted into your touch. He was similar to a puppy in that way. He placed his hands on your knees and peppered kisses on your legs, making you giggle. He traveled up your stomach and made his way up. Adam kissed your entire face, pressing you further onto the seat. He caught your lips, silencing your laughter.
âDo it again.â He whispered and you happily granted his wish. Adam held still as you kissed both sides of his face; forehead and then mouth. He brushed his tongue against yours, sighing as he added intensity.
to simply exist
Gingerbread Kisses
The cottage smells like winter warmth.
Cinnamon, cloves, and ginger swirl lazily in the air as the fire crackles behind you.
Snow presses against the windows, but the kitchen is bright and golden.
He stands at the counter, sleeves rolled up, a dusting of flour across his arms and nose.
Once, his movements had been hesitant and fearful. Now he stirs with confidence.
âYou are smiling,â he says, glancing up from the mixing bowl.
âYou look very serious about the dough,â you tease.
âGingerbread must be respected.â
You laugh, and his mouth curves into a proud smile.
He pours the flour into the bowl and mixes the butter and sugar with strong, steady strokes.
The smell of molasses fills the room.
He presses the dough onto the counter, kneading it easily.
âIt feels right to make something warm with you.â
Your heart melts a little at that.
Together, you cut the dough into shapes.
He chooses the gingerbread man cutter and holds it up beside his face.
âDo you think it resembles me?â he asks, tone playful.
âNot nearly tall enough,â you reply.
He huffs amusement and presses the cutter into the dough with a gentle precision that comes naturally now. When his hand brushes yours, he doesnât flinch, instead, he lets his thumb linger for a slow, soft second.
The cookies bake into golden perfection, filling the cottage with sweetness.
And then comes the decorating.
He stands over the small bowls of icing and sugar decorations like a giant trying to master tiny tools.
You hand him a piping bag, already snickering.
âDo not laugh. I am perfectly capable of this.â
The first squeeze sends a thick line of icing shooting across the gingerbread manâs face like a crooked smile. He stares at it.
You try not to laugh.
âYou promised not to,â he mutters, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
âItâs beautiful,â you choke out.
âIt is⊠lopsided,â he admits, staring at the unfortunate icing.
Before he can start over, you dip your finger into a bit of icing and dab a tiny dot onto his nose.
He freezes.
Then slowly, very slowly, he raises his gaze to you.
âYou have⊠marked me.â
âRevenge for laughing at your icing skills.â You grin.
He narrows his eyes and dips a large finger boldly into the icing bowl.
âDo not dare,â you warn, already backing up.
But he does dare.
He boops your cheek with a gentle but unmistakably victorious smear of icing.
You burst out laughing.
He laughs too, a deep, warm, delighted sound that fills your home better than any Christmas spice ever could.
Soon, you are both leaning over the counter, icing everywhere: on the cookies, on your hands, on his forearm, even a bit in his hair. Decorated gingerbread men line the tray, some neat, some chaotic, some clearly made in the middle of a frosting battle.
Your sides hurt from laughing when he finally captures your hand in his, holding you still.
The mess doesnât bother him. Not anymore.
He looks at you with warmth so deep it softens everything about him.
âYou make this life⊠sweet.â he says softly, brushing a crumb from your lips with the gentlest touch.
You lift your hand and wipe a tiny bit of icing from his cheek, smiling.
âSo do you.â
He leans his forehead against yours, breathing your warmth in, his thumbs brushing the backs of your hands.
âThis is the best Christmas I have ever known,â he murmurs.
You kiss him, tasting of sugar and ginger.
And he kisses you back, steady and sure, surrounded by crooked gingerbread men that somehow feel perfect.
~Masterlist~
Frankenstein Collection
i had to
"now, run."
summary: Adam chases reader through the forest after she saves Victor from the monster, until Adam decides he's done playing with Victor and wants to play with her, instead.
pairing: the creature x reader
word count: 5,913 words
themes: dubcon, light non-con, this is a dark fic, unprotected sex, oral, monster sex, talk of murder and death, violence, cat and mouse, alludes to reader being a virgin, victor being a bitch, fear, stalking, 18+ ONLY MDNI
author's note: this adam makes me fear for my life and i love it i wish this was me and my therapist will be hearing about this
You grew up on stories about the monsters in the woods.
Shadows that walked. Voices that mimicked. Eyes that gleamed between the trees, watching from the treeline whenever a light burned too late in a cottage window.
Parents told those stories to keep their children close.
The monster, they said, would take you if you wandered.
You believed them, of course, until you got older. Until you saw what real monsters looked like.
The monsters weren't ugly and uncivilized, the monsters were men. Men with polite smiles and cold hands. Men who drank too much and laughed when you said no. Men who looked at you like a prize instead of a person.
Compared to them, the thing in the forest felt almost⊠honest.
At least monsters didnât pretend to be anything else.
You might have gone your whole life never knowing whether the tales were real, if not for the night Victor Frankenstein staggered through your front door drenched in rain and pure terror.
You found him on the road, mud splattered up his coat, eyes wide and bloodshot. You thought he was drunk at first, or maybe sick. Then, he clutched at your wrist when you reached for him.
âHeâs coming,â Victor rasped. âPlease. Please. Iâll pay anything. Just let me in. Heâs coming.â
You should have turned him away, stranger ranting about some unseen threatânothing good could follow. But the urgency and fear in his voice compelled you to open your door to him.
So you let him in anyway.
You always were too soft-hearted, as your father reminded. Too curious, too easily hooked by disaster or a firing gun.
He sat by the fire and shook like he was freezing from the inside out. As the hours passed and the wind howled outside, pieces of the story slipped out between trembling lips.
He was a doctor. No, more than that. A genius, he said. Brilliant. Visionary.
Arrogant. Pompous. Vain.
He spoke of graveyards and lightning and blasphemy dressed up as science. He told you he had built something, a man, almost, stitched from death and dragged screaming into life.
You would have laughed if he hadnât looked so utterly, irrevocably haunted.
âHe hates me,â Victor whispered, staring into the flames as if he saw something else there. âHe should. I made himâŠand then I left him. I ran. I thoughtâI thought time would dull his rage.â
âHow long has it been?â you asked.
He swallowed. âYears.â
âAnd now?â
Victorâs jaw clenched. âNow heâs found me again.â
There it was. The monster in flesh and blood, no longer a myth, but a man-made nightmare. You should have told Victor to leave, yet you didnât.
You let him stay and sleep in your spare room. You tried to convince yourself the heaviness in the air was just a storm rolling in, not fate tightening its grip around your throat.
On the third night, the trees began to whisper.
You woke to a sound outside your window. Not an animal and certainly not the wind.
A footstep. Heavy. Measured. Terrifyingly calculated.
You crept to the glass as quietly as you could. The forest beyond your cottage was a dark mass of trunks and shadows, the moon a blurred coin behind clouds.
At first, you saw nothing.
Then the world shifted, and you realized the âtreeâ youâd been staring atâŠwas breathing deeply and unevenly.
He stepped forward into the moonlight and every story youâd ever heard about monsters felt like a childrenâs rhyme compared to what stood before you.
Tall didnât even begin to cover it. He towered. Massive shoulders, heavy arms, hands that could probably crush bone without effort. Scars crisscrossed his face and throat, some puckered, some clean like old surgical work. His hair was dark and tangled, dishevelled to match his ghastly appearance.
He was grotesque. He was beautiful. He was wrong.
His eyes found your window with unnatural precision and you froze. He just stared, standing motionless.
You didnât know how long you stood there, locked in his gaze. Long enough for your breath to slow instead of quicken. Long enough to understand instinctively: he could see you. Really see you. Not just as another warm body in a lit room.
As you.
Then he turned his head slightly, like he heard something in the distance. You watched as his lips peeled back in a humourless hint of what you could only describe as a smile.
Without a word, he disappeared back into the trees. That night, you didnât sleep.
Victor insisted in the morning you must have dreamt it. But you saw the way his hands shook when you mentioned a figure in the dark and you saw the sweat bead at his hairline.
âHe wonât come near you,â Victor said too quickly. âHe wants me. Only me.â
You werenât sure if that was meant to comfort or reassure himself. It did neither.
The next day, the villagers spoke of deep footprints at the forest edge. Broken branches and trunks. A cow had gone missing from its pasture.
By sunset, the sky bruised purple and black, and you felt itâlike something in the air shifted, the tension drawn tighter.
You knew he was close.
You just didnât expect him to walk straight out of the trees before your eyes under the darkening sky.
It happened near the clearing beyond your garden after Victor insisted on âgetting some fresh air.â He nearly jumped out of his skin when a crow flapped its wings too close to him.
âMaybe we should go back insiââ The words died in his throat.
Because something was stepping out of the tree line. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Certain.
You recognized him.
That impossible body, that scar-drawn face, those eyes that looked less like an animalâs and more like a god whoâd been dragged face-first through hell.
Adam.
You didnât know how you knew his name. No one had spoken it. Maybe it was the way he carried it in his bones.
Victor stumbled backward. âNoâno, no, noââ
Adamâs gaze slid right over him and landed on you.
This time, there was no glass between you. No safety. No distance. Just cold air, damp earth, and the weight of a creature whose existence should have been impossible staring at you like youâd been placed here for him.
âVictor,â Adam said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in your ribs. âYou ran.â
Victorâs breath hitched. âPlease...donâtââ
âI gave you time,â Adam went on, ignoring his plea. âYears. I learned. I watched. I waited. I asked myself if I could forgive you.â His eyes didnât leave your face. âThe answer was no.â
Victor shook his head, stepping between the two of you. âShe has nothing to do with this.â
Adam tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering. âIs that so?â
He took one step closer.
You should have moved back, but you couldn't find the will to do so. Your body felt carved from stone and adrenaline, sown to the ground you were standing on.
Adamâs attention dropped, just for a heartbeat, to Victorâs hand where it hovered near you.
You saw how his jaw ticked and worked.
âFunny,â he said coldly. âHe said the same thing about me once. âNothing to do with this.â A side effect. A mistake.â
He took another step.
Victorâs voice rose in pitch. âPlease...if you must kill someone, kill meââ
Adam still didnât look at him. âWhatâs your name?â he asked you, calm and low.
You swallowed, your mouth dry. You told him. He repeated it, like he was testing how it tasted in his mouth. You felt that more than you should have.
âPretty,â he murmured. âDoes he own you, too?â
âNo,â you snapped before you could think. âNo one owns me.â
Something flickered behind his eyes. âGood,â he said softly.
Victor grabbed your wrist. âGet inside. Now.â
Adamâs gaze dropped to where Victor touched you and the air changed immediately.
Slow and deliberate, he stepped around Victor like he was a piece of furniture and not a man. Victor tried to block him again, but Adam merely placed one large hand on his shoulder and pushed.
Victor flew.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him. Adam didnât spare him even a flicker of a glance.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him. Close enough that you could see the stitches at the edge of his jaw, the small irregularity in his left pupil, the faint scent of rain and forest and something metallic clinging to him.
Up close, the âmonsterâ was less a horror and moreâŠa collision of contradictions. Rage and restraint. Power and precision. Violence and, somehow, a thread of aching loneliness wound tightly beneath it all.
You realized, in that moment, that Victor hadnât just created a monster. Heâd created a man and then abandoned him.
Adam looked down at you like you were an equation he was solving.
âYou let him stay in your home,â he said quietly. âYou fixed his wounds. Fed him. Kept him warm.â
Your lips parted. How did he know?
âYou watched me from your window,â he added calmly. âYou didnât scream.â His eyes searched yours. âYou should have.â
âI wasnât afraid,â you lied, watching as his mouth twitched.
âYou were,â he said. âJust not the way you think.â
Your heart stuttered as Victor coughed behind you. âPlease...leave her outââ
Adamâs expression didnât change, but his voice dropped, dangerous and soft.
âGet up again,â he said without looking at Victor, âand I will break something in your precious body.â
Victor stayed on the ground while Adamâs attention shifted entirely to you.
âIâve been watching him for a long time,â he murmured. âRunning. Hiding. Lying.â His gaze dragged slowly down your body, then back up, not lecherous, not polite, justâŠassessing. Claiming. âAnd then I saw you.â
You swallowed. âSo what, Iâm a witness?â
His pupils thinned. âNo,â he said. âYouâre a variable.â
You didnât know whether to shiver or scoff. âWhat do you want?â
A slow, dark smile ghosted across his lips. âI want to see something.â
You donât know why that scared you more than any threat could have.
He took a step back from you, just enough that you could move if you wanted to. The forest loomed at his back, every tree suddenly feeling like part of him.
His eyes gleamed.
âRun,â he said.
Your stomach dropped. âWhat?â
He nodded toward the trees. âRun.â
Victor wheezed, âDonât you touch herââ
Adamâs hand twitched once, annoyance flickering across his features. âThis isnât about you anymore,â he said flatly, still looking at you. âItâs about her.â
Your voice came out quiet. âWhy?â
âBecause I want to know,â he murmured, âwhat you do when youâre afraid.â
His tone was almost gentle and that made it worse, but still, you didnât move.
You stood there, heart hammering, while every instinct screamed at you to obey and boltâbut there was something else, too. Something traitorous. A spark of heat in your chest that had nothing to do with fear.
He watched you, patient.
âRun,â he said again, this time softer, more dangerous. âBefore I change my mind and skip straight to the part where I catch you.â
That got you moving.
You turned and sprinted toward the tree line, lungs seizing with cold air, skirts tangling around your legs. The forest swallowed you fast that the cottage vanished from sight, the world shrinking down to your beating heart, cracking twigs, and the rush of your own breath.
For a few fierce seconds, you could almost pretend this was just another late-night dash through the woods like youâd done as a child. You knew these trees, you knew these paths and if you could reach the creek, the old oak, the slope.
A low laugh rolled through the darkness behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was there. Of course he was there.
Not right behind youâno. That would have been mercy. He walked.
Effortless. Unhurried. His long strides ate up the ground with terrifying ease, but he didnât run. He was holding back.
He was letting you widen the gap. Letting you think you were doing something. You simply pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, roots lurked like traps beneath the leaves. The cold cut your lungs raw, causing a deep ache. Still, you ran. Because if you stopped, if you let yourself feel the way his gaze burned between your shoulder blades, you didnât know what would happen.
âYouâre fast,â his voice drifted through the trees. âFor someone whoâs never been hunted before.â
You nearly tripped at the sound. It was closer than it had any right to be.
âHowââ you gasped, putting all your weight into climbing a small hill, ââare you...still talking?â
He chuckled and the sound was dark and almost joyful.
âYouâre the one running,â he said. âIâm just enjoying my view.â
Heat flared in your chest. Anger. Embarrassment. A reluctant, unwanted thrill you didnât have time to unpack. âYouâre insane!â you shouted.
âProbably,â he called back. âKeep going. I want to see how far you think you can get.â
Your legs burned.
You veered left, deeper into the forest where the undergrowth grew thicker. You could hear water nearby, it was the stream. If you crossed it, maybe you could mask your scent, hide under the overhang near the rocks like you did as a child. You half-slid, half-stumbled down the incline toward the rushing sound.
The stream appeared in front of you, black and fast. You didnât hesitate.
You splashed through, cold water biting into your boots, soaking your skirts. You reached the other side and scrambled up the muddy bank, fingers digging into damp earth. Your lungs screamed and your heart battered at your ribs.
You tucked yourself into the hollow under a large, tangled root system, the earth cool against your back. You stifled your breathing as best you could, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasps.
Silence.
Then, a footstep.
On the other side of the water.
Your entire body went still.
You couldnât see him from where you hid, you could only hear him. The deliberate slosh of boots through water, the slow crunch of leaves on your side of the stream.
He knew. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would help. His voice came from far too close.
âClever.â
You flinched.
âMost people run in a straight line,â he mused aloud, as if chatting with himself. âThey donât bother with cover. They think speed is enough.â A pause. âYou broke my sightline. You crossed the water. You hid.â
Dry leaves shifted just beyond your hiding place.
âVery clever,â he repeated softly. âBut youâre shaking the ground with your heartbeat, do you know that?â
You clamped your teeth down on your hand, hard enough to sting. He stopped right in front of your hiding spot. You didnât breathe, couldn't breathe.
Time stretched. Hung. Trembled. Stopped altogether.
Then, with infuriating casualness, he crouched down and flipped the dangling roots aside like a curtain.
"Found you." He sang.
You stared up at him, chest heaving. He filled the entry, blocking the faint moonlight behind him. For a moment, neither of you dared to move.
His eyes roamed over you, taking in your damp clothes, mud-streaked knees, trembling fingers digging into the earth.
You expected mockery. Instead, he lookedâŠpleased.
âYou made it farther than he would have,â Adam said quietly. You didnât have to ask who he meant, Victor probably already halfway to the next town over.
Coward.
âLet me go,â you managed, your voice hoarse. âYouâve proven your point.â
His head tilted. âHave I?â
âMy heart is pounding, Iâm filthy, Iâm terrified. Congratulations.â
âAre you?â he asked. You frowned. âAm I what?â
âTerrified.â
Your throat tightened. âYes.â
He reached in. You tried to kick, lash out, claw at him. It didnât matter because his hand closed around your ankle with an unyielding grip, warm and solid.
He only had to tug once.
You slid straight out of your hiding place like prey dragged from a den.
You hit the ground on your back, air punching out from your lungs. Before you could scramble away, a shadow moved over you, and then he was there. One hand braced beside your head, the other still wrapped around your ankle, pinning you down with a fraction of his strength.
You could feel how careful that fraction was.
He leaned over you, his body heat seeping through your soaked clothes, the scent of damp earth and something electric clinging to his skin.
âLook at you,â he murmured.
You glared up at him. âGet offââ
âYouâre shaking,â he cut in. âBreathing like youâve swallowed the storm. Skin flushed. Eyes blown wide.â His gaze darkened. âYou call it fear.â
Your chest rose and fell too fast and too uneven. âWhat else would you call it?â
His hand slid from your ankle to your calf, then to your knee, his touch slow, deliberate, never fully gentle. You felt every inch of contact like a spark.
âIâve seen fear,â he said. âReal fear. The kind that stinks of sweat and piss and desperation.â His eyes burned into yours. âThis isnât that.â
You fought the urge to squirm. âStop pretending I want this,â you snapped. âI didnât askââ
A harsh, humorless sound escaped him. âYou didnât say no either.â
Your breath stalled. âYou told me to run.â
âYes,â he said simply. âAnd you did. But not the way they do.â His eyes flicked down to your parted lips, then back up. âYou looked back three times. Do you know that?â
You said nothing.
âYou wanted to see me,â he murmured. âYou wanted to know how close I was.â
âBecause youâre hunting me,â you spat.
His mouth curved in a sinister way.
âYes,â he admitted. âBut tell me the truth.â His face lowered, his nose brushing the side of yours, his voice dropping to a rasp. âDid you really want me far away?â
Your heart slammed so hard it hurt.
You hated that he could read you. Hated that you couldnât lie convincingly right now. Hated that somewhere beneath the panic and adrenaline there was a twisted, burning thrill at being seen like this by something so utterly, terrifyingly focused on you.
âEven if I did,â you whispered, âwhat difference does it make?â
Everything in his expression shifted.
He loosened his grip on your leg, only to slide his hand to your hip, fingers spreading as if measuring how much of you he could hold in his palm.
âIt makes,â he said softly, âall the difference in the world.â
He lowered his head to your throat and you froze.
His nose brushed your skin, his breath warm against the rapid pulse hammering under the surface. He inhaled slowly, deeply, like he was committing your scent to memory.
A shiver tore through you. You couldnât help it. He felt it too.
A low, pleased sound rumbled in his chest. âThere,â he murmured. âThatâs the truth.â
Your voice trembled. âYou said you wanted Victor. Not me.â
âI wanted revenge,â he corrected, his lips ghosting over the hollow at the base of your throat without ever really touching you. âThatâs different.â His grip on your hip tightened. âYou, I want for something else.â
âLike what?â you asked, though part of you already knew.
His head lifted, his eyes locking onto yours.
âYou really donât know?â he asked, almost amused.
âI want to hear you say it,â you shot back, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your tone.
For a heartbeat, he just stared at you. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, not kindly. Dark. Wicked. Dangerous.
âDangerous,â he murmured, almost to himself. âYouâre dangerous.â
He shifted, his body settling more fully over yours, bracing his weight on his arms so he didnât crush you but kept you pinned between him and the unyielding forest floor.
You were trapped.
âIâve spent years alone,â he said, his voice growing rougher with every word. âHiding in shadows. Watching life happen to everyone but me. Listening to their laughter, their pleasure, their cries.â His eyes flared. âWanting. Always wanting. Never allowed to have.â
His hand slid up your side, fingers splaying against your ribs, the heat of his touch burning away some of the chill from the stream.
âAnd nowâŠâ He swallowed once, thickly. âNow you stand in front of me and tell me I should pretend I donât want you?â
Your breath hitched.
âI didnâtââ
âBut you didnât tell me to stop,â he said. âYou didnât tell me to let you go. Even now,â he added softly, âyouâre not telling me to get off you. Youâre asking me questions.â
He leaned down until his lips hovered a breath away from yours.
âTell me to stop,â he whispered, âand I will.â
The forest held its breath with you.
You stared up at him, every nerve lit, every rational thought drowned under the weight of his body, his voice, his attention. The world had shrunk to the space between his mouth and yours.
You could say it.
You could end this.
You could turn away from the cliff edge.
You parted your lips.
ââŠDonât...don't stop,â you whispered.
His eyes flashed and for a moment, he looked almost startled. Then, slowly, something unmistakably feral slid into place behind his gaze.
âYou are going to ruin me,â he said hoarsely.
His hand at your hip flexed, pulling you against him. His other braced by your head, fingers biting into the earth.
âOr Iâm going to ruin you,â he added. âMaybe both.â
His forehead dropped to yours, the contact almost jarringly intimate.
âSay it again,â he murmured. âTell me not to stop.â
You swallowed. âDonât stop.â His jaw clenched.
âOnce I start,â he said, voice shaking with a cocktail of hunger and warning, âI wonât want to stop. I wonât want to be gentle. Iâve never been given anything gently. Everything Iâve ever had, Iâve had to take.â
You held his gaze. âThen take me.â
Silence. Absolute, shattering silence. Then, something in him broke, quietly and completely.
âGods,â he breathed. âYou donât know what youâre asking for.â
His mouth brushed your jaw, the corner of your lips, the edge of your throat. Each almost-touch made your body arch toward him of its own accord, seeking more.
His lips finally pressed firmly against your throat, not biting, but not soft either. His hand traveling your body drew your attention away from the cold, from the mud, from everything except the paths he traced.
The monster in the woods was worshiping you like a man starved.
The moment Adam caught the edge of your skirts, it was with a desperation that felt older than the grave. Fabric whispered and tore as he dragged it upward, his touch neither gentle nor hesitant, like a creature who had only just learned what wanting was.
Cold night air lashed your skin, raising gooseflesh that made you shiver. He noticed. Of course he noticed. There was nothing human left in his gaze now, only hunger, devotion, and something far more dangerous.
Moonlight broke through the clouds just long enough to illuminate the ruins of your clothes, scattered and ruined as he held you pinned between his body and the damp, trembling earth.
âThis,â he growled, voice cracking like thunder, âwas carved into my fate. I have earned it.â
He lowered his head, breathing in your arousal in like a man starved of warmth, starved of life itself. The air between you thickened, your own traitorous longing betraying every rational thought youâd ever clung to.
When your eyes met his, a crooked, sinful smile tugged at the edges of his mouthâtoo wicked for any mortal man.
âScream,â he murmured. âNo soul dares to wander far enough to save you from me.â
Then he claimed you, not with gentleness, but with the reverence of a worshipper kneeling before a forbidden altar. His touch was fevered, greedy, tasting, learning. His arm held you steady when your body tried to escape the intensity of him, though you no longer knew whether you wanted freedom or surrender.
Your breath hitched. Your voice broke. The world spun.
And yet it was not fear that hollowed youâit was something far sweeter, far more damning.
âIâve decided,â he whispered against the tender skin of your thigh, breath uneven, âthat I could spend eternity discovering you.â
He returned to your centre with slow, deliberate devotion, savouring every trembling moment. Your hands, dirt-streaked and shaking, flew to his hair, unsure if you meant to pull him closer or push him away.
Even you didnât know.
âHarder,â he groaned, voice fraying at the edges. âIf you wish to hurt me⊠then hurt me. I am yours to ruin.â
Stars burst behind your eyes like dying worlds, a pleasure you had never known until tonight. Adam rose in the moonlight, looking wild and starved and achingly alive. Hunger darkened his gaze as he captured your mouth with his, stealing whatever breath you had left.
This was wrong. This was sacrilege. You were betraying every law written for mortal souls.
âMy creator,â Adam murmured against your throat, words sending a tremor through you, âmust have shown me mercy.â
His weight shifted, his heat pressed to your hip, and your head tipped back with a gasp.
âI should have thanked him,â he said, lips curling into a wicked smile. âBecause even after death, he left me the parts that make me a man.â
He didnât let you answer, instead claiming you fully, and your body arched beneath him as the forest seemed to hold its breath. You clutched at his stitched, unholy skin, marking him with crescents of dirt and desperation, your claim etched into him like scripture.
The ground trembled. Birds erupted from their nests in panicked flight as Adam roared into the night, your bodies moving as though summoned by some ancient, terrible rhythm.
He pressed shuddering kisses along your neck, between gasped-out half-words, his voice a rough, reverent rasp in your ear.
âMine.â
âLook at me.â
âDonât hide from me.â
âSay my name.â
You didnât know when you started saying it, but once you did, it didnât stop.
âAdam.â
His body flinched the first time you whispered it.
No one had said it like that before. His breath hitched and his rhythm broke, but you didnât care, you only clung to the dark, rising heat curling tight inside you, desperate now to chase it to its end.
You said his name again, and his control frayed further, his movements growing more desperate, more claiming. His hand tightened at your hip, his mouth hovering, then pressing, then dragging along your pulse.
You were both hanging off the edge by fingertips.
âYouâre are mine,â he growled. âAnd I am yours.â
His hand closed around your throat with the helpless instinct of something made for ruin rather than tenderness. Through the blur of your tears, you managed only his name.
"Adam."
Then the two of you collided like storm-torn constellations, souls striking sparks in the dark as the sky twisted above you. His uneven breath tangled with yours, and an impossible, shattering pleasure unfurled between you as though the night itself had split open.
You didnât know how long you stayed there, tangled in breath and heat and half touches under the watchful shadows of the trees. Time had no meaning in that hollow. There was only the rise and fall of his chest and the frantic rhythm of your heart.
When he finally pulled back, it wasnât because he wanted to.
It was because he had to.
He stayed close, kneeling beside you in the leaves, one hand still on your waist as if to reassure himself you were real.
Your clothes were damp, your hair was a mess, your throat felt raw.
You couldn't have cared less in this moment. Adam watched you like he was memorizing the sight.
âWhat now?â you asked quietly.
He looked toward the direction of the village, where faint distant lantern lights flickered between trees.
âNow,â he said, âI finish what I came here for.â
Cold crept back into your chest. âVictor,â you whispered.
Adamâs jaw hardened. âI could break his neck with two fingers.â
âWill you?â You asked. He was quiet for a moment.
âI wanted to,â he said. âFor years. I thought about it every night. About how his skull would feel in my hands. How easy it would be.â
He closed his eyes, jaw tense. When he opened them again, the anger was still there, but something else had joined it.
âYou changed that,â he admitted.
You blinked, thrown. âMe?â
âYouâre the first person who didnât scream when they saw me,â he said. âThe first who didnât pretend I was invisible. The first who didnât try to use me or run from me without looking back over their shoulder like they wanted me to follow.â
His gaze softened in a way that felt dangerous. Manipulative.
âYou gave me something more interesting than revenge,â he said. âThatâs⊠inconvenient.â
You almost laughed. âSorry?â
âDonât be,â he said. âIf it werenât for you, Iâd be on my way back there right now to paint the trees with his blood.â
You shivered. Not entirely from fear. âWhat will you do instead?â you asked.
His fingers flexed on your waist. âIâll let him live,â he said slowly. âFor now.â
Relief and dread twisted together in your gut. âSo youâll leave?â
His hand tightened. âNo.â The word dropped like a stone.
You stared. âThen whatââ He leaned in again, his mouth hovering by your ear, his voice quiet and cruelly tender.
âIâm not leaving without you.â Your breath caught. âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â You shook your head, trying to sit up fully. He let you, but stayed close, his presence a wall at your side.
âI canât just disappear,â you said. âI have a life here. A home. People willââ
âForget,â he said with a shrug. âThey always do. Or theyâll tell stories about you the way they told stories about me. The woman the forest took.â His lips curled. âYouâll be a warning for children who think they can stray too far.â
âThatâs not funny,â you snapped.
âIâm not joking.â
He cupped your face again, calloused thumb brushing the edge of your lip.
âIâve spent years wandering alone,â he said. âIâm done.â His eyes burned. âYou ran from me, and then you told me not to stop. You said my name like it meant something.â
âIt does,â you said before you could stop yourself.
His breath hitched. "Then you understand,â he said. âIâm not leaving you here.â
âAnd if I say no?â you asked quietly.
He considered that, really considered it. You saw the war flicker across his expression.
âI donât want to force you,â he said at last, voice raw. âIâve had enough of being forced my entire existence.â
âBut?â you pressed. He swallowed, his nostrils flaring.
âBut if you stay,â he said, âtheyâll hurt you. Not the villagers, the world. Men like him. Men worse than him.â He nodded vaguely toward where Victor might still lay. âTheyâll see you, and theyâll want you, and theyâll try to take from you what you offered me freely.â
His eyes went black.
âIâll feel it,â he whispered. âEven from miles away, Iâll feel it. And Iâll come back here and tear this place apart. Iâll kill them all.â His fingers dug into your jaw. âAnd it will be your fault.â
Your blood ran cold. âThatâs not fair,â you said.
âI know,â he replied. âI never said I was fair.â
Silence hung between you, heavy and terrible.
âYouâre asking me to choose,â you said. âBetween my home and⊠you.â
âIâm not asking,â he said. âIâm telling you what happens either way.â Your chest hurt. âAnd if I go with you?â
His grip gentled and he stroked your cheek once, almost reverent.
âThen Iâll burn for you instead of the world,â he said simply. âIâll be your monster. Your shield. Your ruin. Iâll give you every violent, ugly, precious part of me that no one else wanted.â His mouth hovered above yours again, close enough to feel the warmth. âAnd I wonât let anything touch you unless you ask for it.â
Your heart hammered against your ribs, bruising. âI donât even know what that life looks like,â you whispered.
His smile was sharp and soft at once. âNeither do I,â he said. âWeâll find out.â
He straightened then, towering over you once more. He held out a hand as the forest watched.
The cottage stood somewhere behind you, full of fear and lies and the same grey days youâd always known.
In front of you, a monster who wanted you with unapologetic, terrifying clarity. A man stitched from rage and loneliness whoâd decided you were the one thing he wouldnât let the world keep from him.
He wouldnât beg.
He wouldnât promise you safety.
He wouldnât promise you sanity.
What he offered instead was devotion sharpened into a weapon, and a life lived at the edge of the firelight.
You took a breath and you put your hand in his.
His fingers closed around yours, firm and absolute. Something like relief flickered across his face before he smothered it.
âGood,â he said, voice low. âVery good.â
He pulled you to your feet and didnât let go.
You walked back through the trees together, his grip steady, his frame a shadow at your side. The cottage came into view, lantern light flickering weakly against the dark.
Victor still sat there, hunched and small on the ground near the clearing like a discarded marionette.
He looked up as you emerged. His eyes widened, darting from Adamâs hand around yours to your face.
âYou canât...â he croaked. âYou canât go with him. Heâs a monster. Heâll...heâll destroy you.â
You glanced at Adam as he watched Victor with the same sort of detached irritation one might reserve for a buzzing fly.
âYou had your chance to care about what happened to me,â Adam said mildly. âYou chose yourself.â
His gaze slid back to you.
âYouâre sure?â he asked quietly enough that Victor couldnât hear. âYou can still say no.â
âAnd youâll leave me alone?â you asked.
His jaw flexed once.
âNo,â he said honestly. âIâll just leave you. The rest of this place?â His eyes flicked to Victor. âI make no promises.â
You believed him as the weight of your choice settled in your bones like cold iron.
You squeezed his hand tighter. âIâm sure,â you said.
He nodded once. No smile. No grand display of joy. Just a small, precise shift in his posture, like something inside him finally unclenched.
He turned to Victor.
âYou get to live,â Adam said. âYouâll tell them whatever story you like about what happened here. You always were good at lying.â He tilted his head. âBut if I hear youâve tried to chase us, to take her back, to drag her name through the dirt,â
He stepped forward, and Victor shrank back. âI wonât be nearly as merciful next time.â
Victor opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out, but Adam didnât wait for one, instead he tugged your hand.
âCome,â he said. âBefore I change my mind and kill him anyway.â
You went and you didnât look back.
you bring me home
pairing: frankensteinâs creature x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, kissing, loss of virginity, babyâs first handjob <3 lol, finger sucking, guided touching, clit play, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex
a/n: hello EEEEK long time no seeâŠ. this movie has taken over my life and obviously i had to do something about it. so hereâs this. title from harry stylesâ sweet creature⊠hehe⊠see what i did there. anyways, i hope you enjoy <3
w/c: 4.9k
the one you love concerns himself with your worn books and your sleepy-eyed cat that likes to curl beside him on the bookshelf while he reads.Â
sheâs there beside him now, perched precariously and purring on the shelf by his shoulder and swishing her tail against the end strands of his long hair. he doesnât mind it, he never does, despite the shudder that courses through him at the ticklish feeling and the way his neck pops when he tucks his head to the side. your love is still skittish when it comes to the yipping dog outside that jumps and barks his greeting, but he has taken a gentle interest in your little orange tabby, and she is just as interested in him.Â
âsheâs fond of you,â you smile, hands tucked under your chin and blanket curled in your fists. the bed is cold without him but nearly just as cold with him in it, patchwork skin stuck in a constant chill that never seems to leave him unless youâre pressed close. your body still searches for his regardless, curling inward and bending toward his silhouette like a flower reaching for sunlight. adam looks to you with shining eyes and closes his book before turning his attention to the cat.Â
his lifts his hand slowly and lets her smell him, his body held taut and still. only after she butts his hand with her hard little head does he caress her ears with a subdued palm and benevolent fingers, humming deep under his breath when her purring only increases at his touch.Â
you cannot lie and say you donât understand her. you feel the same way when adam graces you with his touch too, a hand over your heart as you sleep soundly beside him, a hesitant pat to your head after a hearty supper or a particularly good book you found for him. always gentle, mostly painstakingly hesitant. boundless reassurance and patience chips away slowly at the thawing want that you know resides under the surface of his skin; underneath innate selflessness lies the vastness of his yearning, the warmth of his own beating heart aiding your practice. he longs for merciful touches and a forgiving gaze, though thereâs hardly a thing to forgive him for.Â
adam is slow and soft to speak, his voice a rumbling gravel when it finally kisses your ears. âshe likes this.âÂ
she tilts her head again and rubs her face into his palm.Â
âshe likes you,â you reiterate. thereâs a shy, pleased smile tugging at the dark corners of his lips, and your own trails behind. âshe is not the only one who does.âÂ
you tuck your face further into your pillow to laugh at your own brazenness, and when you look to adam again, heâs standing from his chair and regarding you with those shining eyes of his, regarding you like youâre something purely unbelievable. you uncurl your fists from the blanket and beckon him with a quirked finger and a thrumming heart.Â
his first few steps are stiff, his neck cracks again as he sets his shoulders, but he moves with the motion of your beckoning finger and sheds his clothes the closer he comes, rounding the corner of the bed and hesitating only a moment before you lift the blankets for him. heâs stiff again as he settles beside you, shifting on his back to find the most comfortable position to lay in.Â
âdo you hurt?â you ask. your hand finds his sternum, fingers tracing suture lines along cool, blue-gray skin.Â
âmy body aches,â he answers easily. day in and day out he aches, but the cold always makes it worse. you frown then, only appeased by the way his fingers twitch when you curl closer to him to share your body heat, a long pinky grazing the soft skin of your thigh. âbut it feels better like this.âÂ
only when you slip your thigh over his and tuck your face into his shoulder does he allow himself the simple pleasure of wrapping an arm around you; he slips it underneath your neck and around your back, cold fingers relearning the shape of your spine and the give of your hip. his other hand slips to the bent elbow of your arm thatâs resting on his puzzle piece chest. everything about you is so soft, so warm.Â
âmy love,â you whisper, a kiss placed over his heart, over the tender lines of borrowed flesh.Â
your nose brushes his chin when you lift your head to find him already peering down at you, gaze as warm as the lit hearth crackling by your bed, an equally orange tint in one sparkling eye. the tip of his nose taps the bridge of yours then and traces shyly upwards until his lips meet your forehead. he rests them there for a moment, turning himself closer to you to lay his forehead on yours and share your trembling breath.Â
âwhy do you refer to me as such? is adam not to your liking?âÂ
adam is very much to your liking. he is your adam, just as he is your love, your sweetheart and darling and treasure. he told you that was his name the first time you met. how could you take that away from him when it belongs so wholeheartedly to him?Â
adam, the first of his kind, the antithesis of sin. an unwitting creation and the greatest joy of your life.Â
âadam is certainly to my liking,â itâs said through smiling lips and glinting teeth. you lift your arm to tuck the sweet strands of white behind his ear. âitâs like⊠hm. a term of endearment for someone you care about, you see? i call you that because i love you. you are my love because you have my heart.âÂ
his breath wheezes. he lifts his own hand to mimic you, tucking your hair behind your ear in return. you cup his scarred cheek in your hand and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes in contentment when you keep it there. you keep it there when you lean in too, your nose nudging the gray tip of his just before you press your lips to his for the first time that night. adam exhales through his nose, shuddered and surprised as always, even though this is far from the first time youâve come together to share a sweet kiss.Â
itâs slow and chaste, a soft press of lips thatâs easy for him to melt into. and thatâs exactly what he does â he melts, thawing underneath your touch and the give of your mouth. adam is pliant under your hands and content to let you guide him, tilting his head as you do to deepen it and sighing into your slick lips. his body clings to the cold but his mouth is blissfully warm, his timid tongue hot when it finally brushes yours.Â
the noise you breathe into his mouth is as earnest as your greedy hands. thatâs what you wholly are to your core, greedy, the furthest inverse of adamâs selfless nature, open and honest in your desire for him while he learns to navigate his own. what he gives, you will undoubtedly take.Â
and take you do, with hands roaming the bare ridges of his shoulder and carding through his hair. adam is lax when you lift onto an elbow to kiss him deeper, a large hand smoothing up your spine to brush the ends of your hair, but he stiffens when you adjust your leg thatâs settled over his hip.Â
adam shudders then, your name a ragged whisper through his uneven breath. his cock is hard at the bend of your knee, hard from longing touches and a kiss that reached the depths of your soul. he looks away from you as if heâs ashamed, so you cup his cheek once more to guide him back to you.Â
âi apologize,â he insists. adamâs hand comes to cup yours that still rests on his cheek. âit was not my intention-â
âitâs alright,â you insist in return. youâre faring the same, an ache deep in your belly and heat dripping between your legs. honey dipped and slick you are for him, your body readying itself to take and take and take in whatever capacity he wants to give. you tuck yourself further into his side so that your breasts press to his cool skin, nipples tightening at the instant chill. his hips kick as if he canât help but move against you, and he ducks his head to the side to press his forehead to the top of your head. your arm slips down his chest, your fingers find the taut skin of his stomach. âmay i⊠touch you?âÂ
adamâs throat clicks as he swallows, another small grunt leaves his lips and his searching eyes look to yours for reassurance.Â
âyes.â whispered yet steady. willing. curious.Â
âeven here?â your own voice is hushed, scared to speak any louder as if it would shatter the moment youâre sharing together. the tips of your fingers trail underneath his bellybutton in wait of his answer. his cock bobs its own response underneath the blanket, but you still wait for his with a drying mouth and a rabbiting heart.Â
âanywhere that would please you.â his fingers find the ball of your shoulder, twitching and tapping where they caress.Â
you want to touch him so badly you feel it in your bones, carved deep in your marrow. a lifetime of pain and sorrow eclipsed by the vastness of pleasure and love, both of which you are willing and able to pour upon him until he understands that heâs deserving of both.Â
âbut i want it to please you,â you beg. you sit up on your elbow again to look at him closely. you cup his neck desperately with one trembling hand, brush your fingers along the lobe of his ear. âi want to show you, if you would let me. i want to show you what it feels like to be touched in this way.âÂ
you adjust your knee again, curling further onto your side so that itâs the softness of your thigh pressing to the length of his cock instead. adamâs lashes flutter, his breath leaves his heaving lungs in a rush.Â
âplease. please, show me everything.âÂ
your eyes roam his face, the lines that make him. shifting your leg away from his cock, the first brush of your fingers against his drooling tip makes your brows furrow and your jaw drop. adam clings to you like a limpet, blue-gray fingers curling around wherever they can, but they donât seem to stay in place for long. he doesnât know where to keep his hands, so he keeps them everywhere, your shoulder, your hips, the back of your head and arms. despite the chill coming from the rest of his body, heâs warm here, from the collection of pooled blood or the weight of your leg or both. his body tightens and releases when you wrap your fingers around the head and ease your grip down. heâs leaking enough that the slide is slick. it could be slicker if you went to retrieve a vial of oil, but thereâs nothing youâd rather do less than pull away from him.Â
you stroke him slowly, eyes locked on his and reeling over the way his fight to stay on yours when they want to roll into his skull. his breathing is ragged, a soft, gruff growl leaving his lips every time you twist your wrist at the crown of him.Â
âhow do you feel?â
âi feel,â he starts. his throat bobs, his legs twitch. âi cannot⊠i cannot describe it, my lady. i have never⊠felt this.âÂ
greed flares, a boiling pot of water thatâs bubbling over the edges and spilling down the sides. you whimper then, the simple thought that youâre the one showing him even the basest pleasure sends a lick of heat down your spine.Â
âdoes it feel nice?â a push. you need to know if it feels as good to him as it feels to you.Â
âyes. yes, it is nice. you are⊠so soft, your hand. on me.âÂ
his stomach tightens. you know heâs close to his climax before he does, and thatâs just another thing youâll be able to show him. his eyes sparkle in the dim light, one reflecting the flickering firelight like heâs the one whoâs ablaze inside. adam places his hand on your flexing arm to feel your muscles working, and his teeth gnash.Â
âsomething is-â he starts, but you donât let him finish.Â
âmm. yes, thatâs good. itâll feel even nicer soon. is that alright? may i help you feel nice, lovie?âÂ
adam is too overcome by the feeling of his building orgasm to give you a verbal answer, but he nods his head because heâs nothing if not polite. his hips buck unconsciously into your slick grip, his fingers squeeze your skin lightly every time your stroke hits his pelvic bone. adamâs eyes roam then to the movement of your hand underneath the blankets, so you push them to his thighs so he can watch himself receive the pleasure you so willingly give him. you look too â eyes widening at the sheer size of him in your grip, the dark color at his tip and the way your fingers shine with his pre. your love curls into you when he cums from just your hand, a new, serene first, feral growl bursting from his lips as he tips over the edge and sinks into your embrace.Â
your hand is sticky with his release, white coating your fingertips. itâs without a second thought that you bring them to your lips for a taste and suck the bitter spend down your throat with a low hum. adam watches with curious, wide eyes and equally curious fingers. they trail to your cheek and then to your neck to feel the way you swallow.Â
âis there-?â adamâs chest heaves, those beautiful eyes find yours again. âis there something i could do for you? like that.âÂ
you smile then, suddenly shy at the mere thought of reciprocation. it wasnât what you were seeking when you wrapped your hand around him, hungry only to make him feel the pleasure he so graciously deserves.Â
âwell, yes, but. but it was my desire to do this for you, not to have you do something for me.âÂ
he shakes his head, silk strands falling into bright eyes. âplease,â he pleads. âi beg, allow me this. you have shown me a new world, i only wish for you to accompany me there.âÂ
adam finishes his plea by pressing his angular face to your chest and kissing whatever he can reach. he is clumsy and sweet, his chapped lips mapping your collarbones and the tender swells of your breasts. he grunts and whines into your skin, and you canât deny him anything, especially when he asks for something so sweetly, even more so when heâs admitting to something he wants.Â
your fingers find his, and he waits with bated breath against your chest as you bring his digits between your thighs. heâs cold where youâre warm, boiling hot and silky wet under the touch of his fingers. he looks to you then, as he so often does, letting you guide him under your touch so that he can learn the feel of somewhere so intimate, a place heâs never been before. you settle further into your pillow with a dreamy sigh, curling an arm around adamâs shoulders to hold onto him. he watches you keenly as his fingers slip and nudge and assess.Â
âiâm soaked,â you whisper, half disbelieving of just how much his fingers slide against you. thereâs hardly any friction between your legs. âfor you.âÂ
âfor⊠me?âÂ
he lifts his hand from you then, eyes leaving your face only to survey the wetness coating the pads of his fingers. they shine under the light of the fire, and you press your thighs together at the sight.Â
âwould you like to taste it?â your eyes are heavy lidded and your voice is low. he nods then, slowly, like heâs making sure heâs allowed to want such a thing. you take hold of his wrist but let him set the speed, bringing his own fingers to his lips and meeting them with a slippery tongue. his pulse spikes under the tips of your fingers, and he takes his own between his lips then to get a better taste. Â
adam purrs from deep in his throat, a sound reminiscent of your orange tabby he loves so much, pleased and content and satisfied at the new taste of you on his tongue. you slip your hand up his arm and back down just to feel him while he sucks your sweetness from his fingers. they pop from his mouth when heâs done, and he looks at you with something akin to awe in his dark eyes, that starry wonder only deepening when you take the meat of his hand in your grasp to bring his fingers to your own lips. your tongue finds the wet tips of them and meets the taste of his skin, only the faintest hint of yourself left behind from his diligence.Â
his hand dips back between your legs with a renewed vigor, a curious tenancy to learn your body the way you so quickly learned his. but he falters at the first moan you give him, something loud and unbridled that heâs not expecting. his hand snaps away like heâs been shocked.Â
âi- apologize, i apologize, i couldnât help it.â your words are warbled and wet in your throat, tongue thick and heavy. you reach for him with trembling hands and clutch onto his arm in a pitiful attempt to bring his fingers back to your core.Â
âyou are not in pain?âÂ
a wild shake of your head. adamâs fingers find you then after your quick reassurance, gentle and cool like a fall breeze in a place that burns so hot. his hair sweeps into his eyes as he leans over you to keep careful watch on your face, the expressions you make that cause conflict in his mind. furrowed brows, a clenching jaw, wild noises falling from your lips that he immediately assumes are out of pain, but you hold him close to you instead of pushing him away. you donât hit him or scold him or mock him, you lean into him with spread legs and tender arms. Â
âyour hands feel wonderful,â you breathe. âi sound this way because you are- ah! do you remember how it felt when you spilled over my fingers?â a quiet, throaty yes from adam. âyou are making me feel the same. it feels, oh, it feels so nice.âÂ
ânice?â he parrots. âfeels⊠nice.âÂ
your hips raise, and the first glide of his fingers over your swollen clit makes you keen. adam repeats the noise back to you, a trill in his throat to copy yours in his own special way, to share the sounds of your pleasure and join with his own.Â
âthat little bump⊠it is sensitive to me. touch me there, feel it with your fingers.âÂ
adam learns what pleases you the most like that, with the pads of his fingers massaging the ridge of your clit and his earnest focus on your face. he takes into account the way your breath hitches when he touches a certain way, or how your thighs quiver when he circles around it slowly. your toes curl when he traps it between his slick fingers; your cries bless his ears when he presses them slightly harder. he lets you guide him further down then with your own insistent fingers, down to the give of something sweet and sticky and warm, where your hunger for him is ravenous.Â
you feel it then, so overcome by your own pleasure that the jut of his hard cock against your hip only registers when he prods curious fingers at your clenching hole. you reach down for the length of him, arm hugged between your bodies and tucked tight to your side. you can only brush the tip of his cock with your fingertips, but adam purrs like youâve fully engulfed him with your hand again.Â
âi want to take you.â youâre squirming by now, desperate to wrap your hand around him again but ultimately unable. âi need it. but you must- you must prepare me first, yes?âÂ
âhow, my lady?âÂ
âwith your fingers, like this.â you angle his wrist and use your grip to ease it forward, sliding two long fingers into your cunt. two from the start burns pleasantly, but your desperation exceeds the need for only one, and he slips in soundly regardless, aided by your wetness. âit will help me relax a bit, and it will help you⊠fit.âÂ
he mouths the word. you can see the cogs turning in his head â he looks down at himself and then down to where his fingers spear you open. his eyes find yours again when you clench down on him purposefully, and you smile at him, something soft and playful, the type of smile that adam canât help but return with one of his own.Â
âi understand. i have read of such in your books.âÂ
âin my books!â you guffaw. âmy- my-! no. you have not. have you?!âÂ
he hums in response, pressing his smile to your glistening throat. âmm. the red one, at the far end of the furthest shelf. you have marked several pages. what did you like about them?âÂ
you release his wrist and throw your arm over your face instead, narrowly missing knocking adam over the head with your errant knuckles. of course you forget about the erotic novel terribly hidden in your bookshelf, and of course adam has already read it front to back, thumbing through countless pages of your wildest desires, of written words that made your heart flutter and your cunt pulse.Â
âif you must know, i will inform you later.â you rock your hips into his hand and finally pull your arm away from your face to wrap around the back of his head. âplease, my love, will you curl your fingers? place your palm- yes, right there.âÂ
with his palm pressed to your clit and his fingers curling inside, you see stars on the inside of your closed eyelids. adam is mouthing at your neck once more, his subtle playfulness replaced by his need to please. he listens well and learns quickly, massaging your insides with diligent fingers as your noises pitch in his ear, noises that he responds to in kind, breathing grunts and huffs and coos into your neck to answer your own.Â
âyou are so warm,â he grunts. a deep hook of his fingers that makes you shudder in his hold. âso soft, everywhere i put my hands.âÂ
if you donât feel him inside of you in the next minute, youâre going to burst into a million pieces, stardust covering the floor of your cabin and swept into a jar of glittering desire.Â
âbecause i am ready for you.â he lifts himself from the cradle of your neck and looks into your eyes, leaning down just as you crane your neck in search of a kiss. you lose yourself in it for a moment, the sweet press of his lips and his shy tongue. but his cock still throbs at your hip, and you still pulse around his fingers. âiâm going to roll us over now.âÂ
adam is as pliant as can be as you roll him onto his back and take your seat atop of his lap. his hands hover for a moment but ultimately seek the solace of your hips while his eyes roam your naked form, pausing at the swell of your breasts before dipping to your heaving belly and then farther down. he resettles his gaze onto your face when your soft fingers knead his shoulders and dig into the base of his throat.Â
âyour neck must feel better like this,â you muse.Â
âi would not know, as it was not on my mind.âÂ
he has such a way with words even if he doesnât know it. your lips tug at the corners, and you lean down to blanket him with your body, kissing his lips just once and then his chin, making your way down to kiss the suture marks on his neck and feeling the saccharine vibrations on your lips when he purrs deep in his throat.Â
your cunt drags up his cock like this, and you reach down to hold him steady so that you can ease yourself down onto his tip. itâs hot in your hand, silky and warm and primed for you. adamâs breath leaves his lungs in a rush, his mouth moves like he wants to speak but just canât. youâre faring no better â itâs sugar coated no matter how base it is, the first act of your coupling is as sweet as the berries that grow on the bushes in the summer.Â
âyouâre stretching me,â you keen. your fingers scramble for purchase on his patchwork chest, sinking, sinking, sinking down until your clit mashes against his pubic mound. âadam, my adam, youâre so deep inside.âÂ
âdeep. deep, yes.âÂ
heâs so deep that it feels like he could pierce your lungs. if he bucked his hips just once heâd carve a place for himself between your ribs. he already holds your heart in his hands, so he might as well, shape a home for himself inside your body where heâs always welcomed, where heâs always loved and wanted.Â
but adam doesnât buck his hips. he doesnât chase the pleasure you know he must be feeling. he waits for you instead, keen to let you move at your pace and bring the pleasure to him rather than taking it for himself. with your hands braced on his chest, you lift yourself up to the crown of his cock and back down with a whimper. you repeat the movement slowly until you set a rhythm to your liking, and adamâs hands travel to your wrists, cupping the bone and tapping expressive, bending fingers onto the top of your flexed hands. his touch is tender. youâd never expect someone of his size, someone made of his manner to be as gentle as he, but thatâs just the nature of your adam.Â
just as it is his nature to help you when you falter. despite your eagerness to bounce on his cock, you tire out easily, thighs burning as you lift yourself high to feel the entirety of him. adamâs large hands find the dips of your waist. itâs the hardest heâs ever taken hold of you but only with the purpose to aid in your movements, taking some of your weight into his hands so that you can ride easier.Â
itâs beautifully relentless, a never ending pleasure. adamâs long, heavy cock strokes all of the right spots inside. you want to watch his face, see how pleasure contorts it, but your eyes wonât stop rolling, you can hardly keep them open. your own heavy breathing is nearly deafening in your ears, the only thing louder than your own pathetic noises is the steady clap of your skin together, the sound of adamâs raspy grunts following close behind. what a perfect melody youâve created together, one you want to replicate again and again.Â
you bend over him again, pressing your forehead to his to look into his eyes. your hardened nipples brush his chest like this, your belly nudges his, and adam wraps his arms around you to hug you close with two large palms pressed to your spine.Â
there are so many ways to make love again. there are so many ways to show him pleasure, to learn that pleasure together. there are locations you can go, positions you can try, sluttish books to read and outdo. but itâs perfect like this, with your fingers brushing through brunette and white strands and a palm to his sutured cheek, kissing his lips and easing your tongue along the slice in his top lip.Â
âmy lady,â adam growls. he changes his course, follows it up with another deep growl of your name that you swallow down with an eager tongue. âi feel it. it is happening again, i am-â
you cut him off with frantic words and an equally frantic roll of your hips. âinside of me. please, stay inside!âÂ
adamâs body locks tight when he cums. he clings to you as his cock kicks inside the snug haven of your cunt, pouring rope after rope of his spend where you want it the most. it doesnât take you long to follow, not when you guide adamâs fingers between your thighs to nudge circles on your sensitive clit. you tip over the precipice just as adam catches his breath â itâs easier for him to catch you this way.Â
your heart rabbits in your chest, and when you rest your cheek atop of adamâs sternum, his heart is thunderous, a quick thrum that slows to a lull the longer you breathe together.Â
his hand is stuck between your bodies, but heâs made no attempt to move it; his wrists will ache tomorrow from so much diligent work, but youâll hold them between your hands and blow warmth onto his fingers. youâll ask him to read to you by the fire, and his voice will lull you into a peaceful sleep, just as the beat of his heart does now.
Wait is that THIS cat?
IT IS
Mind your manners, Madej!
My toxic trait is that no matter what I need three hours to myself at the end of the day to do absolutely nothing.
Reblog this to ease the back pain of the person you reblogged it from
itâs almost halloweenâŠâŠ vampiresâŠâŠ my window will be openâŠâŠâŠ..




