Summary: He can learn. He doesn’t need his Maker. Victor’s never been there for him before, but you have. And he won’t let you down.
Genre: Frankenstein 2025 Directed by Guillermo del Toro, Reader Insert! Fic, Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Pairings: Female! Reader x The Creature, Female! Reader x Frankenstein’s Monster, Female! Reader x Adam! The Creature (We Can Expand On This in Future Works)
Warnings: We Are Straying From the Plot (This is a Fix-It-Fic)! Reader Insert in Elizabeth’s Place! Major Character Death and Reanimation (Reader Comes Back New & Improved!), Angst (Temporary), Grieving, Mentions of Past Verbal & Physical Abuse, Mentions & Describes Detailed/Graphic Descriptions Body Modifications & Gore (Organs, Surgery, etc.), Descriptions of Violence (Gunshots, etc.), There May Be Some (or Many) Inaccuracies to Plot Related Lore and Science! Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers to Eternal Soulmates?, Hurt to Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending!
Word Count: 2,178
Written: November 8, 2025, Posted: November 12, 2025
Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! This is my first work, please be nice! This isn’t what my plan originally was, actually. I have about 10 of Bucky’s and other Sebastian Stan characters’ works sitting in my drafts, but I watched this movie when it came out and got severely sidetracked. I probably will be sidetracked on this for a bit if I’m being honest because it just moved me that much. In the long run, I will be writing more works of this character and this wonderful world from Guillermo del Toro in addition to my usual content that I had planned for this blog. I might do follows up to this, prequels, or maybe other standalone works and series of this world, don’t know completely! But I can’t wait! I will write for Sebastian Stan characters as well! Like I said, severely sidetracked! But the theme stays: lost, misunderstood, gentle, soft giants!
It-
No.
He was smart. He was made to learn, to grow, evolve, keep changing. He was given the freedom to think, - to make decisions.
He was going to use that.
He would not let you go so easily, he decided as he softly caressed your cheek, watching the life leave your eyes.
“Better to fade this way,” you had told him so sweetly, hand holding his as tight as your diminishing strength would let you, “with your eyes gazing upon me…”
Creator, you have denied me for the last time, he exhaled, resting his forehead against yours before lifting your lifeless body again.
He had taken you away from him in the beginning of his life, sending you away with your fiancé when you were the only one to show him a morsel of kindness and affection, speaking to him with something other than disdain and anger.
You had soothed the balm in him, countering the poison from his Creator, - thinking on your smile when he had given you a leaf still calms him like no other.
“Can you say…” you had enunciated your name so patiently and so slowly, that same smile never leaving your face as you held his fingers to your throat, showing him how to speak.
And nothing makes his heart settle more, he realized, than the way in which you caressed his face so gently even after so many months, just from the joy of knowing he’d survived that explosion. The way in which you didn’t hesitate to take him in your embrace, hold him, show him love, without an ounce of fear in your eyes.
And nothing made his blood boil more, than the thought of your life being taken from you, for no reason other than his Creator’s uncontrollable ego.
Nothing boils his blood more, he understood, than the thought of your love and kindness being taken from him.
He can’t forget the vile feeling that pools in his stomach at the way Victor had shot, even after you’d screamed, protested, refused to move, turned to shield him.
You hadn’t hesitated to protect him, and he didn’t think he could live without the one person in this world left that would show him that kind of love and affection after the passing of the blind, elder man that taught him so much of this world in the place of the Creator who cared nothing for his precious project after it had come to fruition, eyes full of wonder and pure trust, - innocence.
“Take me with you,” you had gasped out. Those were the words you had chosen to use your last breaths on. Those were the words you had instinctively uttered, - in pain, eyes glassy but never leaving his own, arms clinging to him as tight as you could.
And now, he has learned more, grown. And his last meeting with his Creator, though unfortunate, had given him enough breadcrumbs to do something he never thought he’d achieve after he was so cruelly told ‘No.’
So, he started walking, arms cradling you gently, trying to keep your body shielded from the elements as best as he could.
And he walked, and walked, and kept walking, back to the place that started it all.
To the ruins of the tower.
He found the underground cellar he was kept in, the stone architecture keeping the sturdy basement mostly intact in spite of the main tower being blown to smithereens. He found a covered area to gently place your body, wrapping it in some of his furs.
He had to work quickly, without rest, without pause.
Before your body started to rot when the cold couldn’t keep the inevitable decay at bay.
So he hunted, - carefully, subtly, like a ghost.
He salvaged what notes he could from around the ruins, he hunted in the nighttime, from nearby battlefields, looking for correct organs, some skin and muscle and tendon, maybe bone that needed to be replaced.
He wanted to preserve as much of you as he could, but the polluted parts, as Victor would say, needed to be replaced, or this wouldn’t work, - and he couldn’t afford to do a trial and error form of experiment like his careless Maker had done.
He looked through piles and piles of bodies, because though he didn’t need much, he believed that the few pieces he did need should be the best he could find. You deserved the best he could do.
A few organs, from where you’d been shot, - some muscle, tissue, a few ribs, a hip. It was a comparatively small list when you put it beside everything that had gone into making him, but he considered this the most valuable work he had ever done.
He did it carefully, gentle with his cuts, delicate with his stitches. They may not have been as precise as Victor’s but they had more love in them than Victor could ever be capable of.
And he was proud to say that he was so quick with his work that he didn’t need to replace any of you except for where his cruel Creator had stained you.
He was quick, not needing any rests or breaks, and some part of this universe was clearly supporting his unholy act, offering him lightning within a blizzard.
It was rare, the old man had taught him within some of the books he’d read. It was harder to get lightning that struck the ground during the winter time, and the lightning may not always be as strong as during summer rainstorms. It was more difficult, but he was a persistent creature. And he was an optimistic creature.
So, he tried his best.
He did his best to mimic a telescopic machine to focus lightning down to you, - not as refined, not made of pure silver, but something.
And he found himself doing something akin to praying, he realized, waiting and watching with bated breath when a column of lightning mercifully decided to focus on striking your corpse.
When it finally stopped crackling and sparkling and roaring, it went quiet, and he moved you back under cover, checking to make sure your body was alright, brushing snow off your face and hair gently, slamming on your chest a few times as he recalled being done to him from his first memories and dreams.
And then he waited.
Because he was nothing if not a patient creature.
He waited, never leaving your side, keeping your body covered and sheltered, - watching and guarding.
And something in the universe had indeed smiled upon him for once instead of its usual grimace, granting him this one request, this one plea, despite how unholy.
He watched, eyes widening in wonder as your body twitched before you took in a deep breath, gasping so loud it echoed, back arching off the ground as your eyes flew open.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching while he wondered if this was how he looked when he awoke, except he was alone and confused and afraid as he wandered daunting hallways, looking for something or someone, some life.
And so, when you writhed, fists clenched as you took panicked breaths, he didn’t sit still, - he moved.
He moved to your side, cupping your face with his gentle, large hands, offering you warmth, offering you touch, offering you love.
He was giving it back to you as openly as you had given it to him when he didn’t even know he needed it.
You slowly stopped twitching, hands unclenching to come instead and brace against his forearms as you sat up, leaning against him.
You looked into his eyes when suddenly everything started to fall back into place.
Your old life, your fiancé, meeting him, keeping his little leaf in your book, being torn apart from each other by your agitating brother in law, your wedding, seeing him again… getting shot… dying…
And yet, being alive again.
“It’s you again,” you breathe out, eyes tearing up. “You took me with you,” you spoke fondly, watery smile on your lips.
“You asked me to.” He replied simply. “And… I understood.”
“Understood what, darling?” You ask gently.
“That I cannot be without you.” He rasped, dropping his head to your shoulder, burying his face in your neck.
And everything he had done was proven to be the right decision when you, again, wrapped him in your arms with no hesitation, a hand gently smoothing over his hair as you place a heavy kiss to his temple. It was futile to resist anyway, he had already broken the minute you called him ‘darling’ again.
He never thought he could miss something, or rather someone, so much. But he did.
“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, holding him as tight as he held you. “I told you I felt out of place in this world,” you say softly, “like I don’t belong. But now, I think I’ve found my place.”
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, lifting his head to look at you with guilt set deep in his eyes.
“For what?” You prod him softly.
“For doing this to you,” he replies, “for… for making you like me. A monster. I was being… selfish.” He moves a hand, placing it over your abdomen where you were shot by Victor, now with patchworks of skin, and what you knew were some replaced organs and inner workings.
“I’ve taken away your choice to die, because I couldn’t imagine living an eternity without being in your arms.” He has tears flowing down his cheeks, and his bottom lip is quivering gently. He feels terrible now that he’s looking at this final state of you, permanently altered by his hands, unable to die or be killed.
Breathtakingly beautiful, as you’ve always been, but cursed to eternity like him.
And it’s scaring him that you’re still smiling so sweetly, so kindly, thumbs occasionally wiping away the tears that won’t stop falling from his eyes.
He flinches when you let out a laugh, wondering how much of this entire process he’s messed up from the bits and pieces he put together of Victor’s notes.
But he finds himself immediately relaxing when you bring him in, cradling him oh, so gently, and peppering a few kisses to his cheek, - each one warming him up a bit more from the inside out.
“You’ve given me freedom. You gave me what I asked for. You took me away and you brought me to life again, this time where I feel like I belong. Where I have control of my life. Where I can choose.” You whisper it, lips against his cheek, the both of you huddled together in the ruins of what was once considered the beginning of merciless eternity. But this time, you call it eternal companionship. “And I choose you, beloved.” You finish, nuzzling him softly. “You who put me back together so delicately, so lovingly, who cared for me even when I was nothing but a corpse.”
And he held you closer, savoring the feeling of you all over again, this time without any rush, with the promise of this forever and ever, over and over, until the end of time. And he can feel this warmth blooming in his chest at your touch, and at your words, - your words being the assurance he needed that you wanted this as well.
“You’d want to be a monster? With me?” He looks at you, eyes hurt from past words, past abuses, but still so full of hope and light and innocence and good.
“I don’t think you’re a monster, darling,” you coo at him softly, brushing some stray strands away from his forehead. “But if you want to call yourself that, then let’s be monsters together.” You offer, holding him tight.
And he feels the tears fall again as he sobs against you, clutching you as tight as if you were his lifeline, because you are, and doesn’t know how to deal with the joy and happiness going through him when you hold him back just as tight as he needs, giving him affection he didn’t know he was worthy of after everything Victor had said and done.
And he decided, that no matter how unholy Victor had called this, he would embrace it, because you embraced it. Because you taught him that it’s okay to want, it’s okay to be selfish, and it’s okay to love.
People go above and beyond for love, after all. And he realized, he didn’t care if it was unholy, because your love was worth being damned for the rest of eternity because at least he got to spend it with you.
But it had also struck him that in your warm embrace perhaps, if the universe was willing to give this one little piece of peace to him, then it wasn’t as unholy as his Maker had had him believe, - because how could love in its purest form be unholy at all?
Summary: He can learn. He doesn’t need his Maker. Victor’s never been there for him before, but you have. And he won’t let you down.
Genre: Frankenstein 2025 Directed by Guillermo del Toro, Reader Insert! Fic, Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Pairings: Female! Reader x The Creature, Female! Reader x Frankenstein’s Monster, Female! Reader x Adam! The Creature (We Can Expand On This in Future Works)
Warnings: We Are Straying From the Plot (This is a Fix-It-Fic)! Reader Insert in Elizabeth’s Place! Major Character Death and Reanimation (Reader Comes Back New & Improved!), Angst (Temporary), Grieving, Mentions of Past Verbal & Physical Abuse, Mentions & Describes Detailed/Graphic Descriptions Body Modifications & Gore (Organs, Surgery, etc.), Descriptions of Violence (Gunshots, etc.), There May Be Some (or Many) Inaccuracies to Plot Related Lore and Science! Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers to Eternal Soulmates?, Hurt to Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending!
Word Count: 2,178
Written: November 8, 2025, Posted: November 12, 2025
Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! This is my first work, please be nice! This isn’t what my plan originally was, actually. I have about 10 of Bucky’s and other Sebastian Stan characters’ works sitting in my drafts, but I watched this movie when it came out and got severely sidetracked. I probably will be sidetracked on this for a bit if I’m being honest because it just moved me that much. In the long run, I will be writing more works of this character and this wonderful world from Guillermo del Toro in addition to my usual content that I had planned for this blog. I might do follows up to this, prequels, or maybe other standalone works and series of this world, don’t know completely! But I can’t wait! I will write for Sebastian Stan characters as well! Like I said, severely sidetracked! But the theme stays: lost, misunderstood, gentle, soft giants!
It-
No.
He was smart. He was made to learn, to grow, evolve, keep changing. He was given the freedom to think, - to make decisions.
He was going to use that.
He would not let you go so easily, he decided as he softly caressed your cheek, watching the life leave your eyes.
“Better to fade this way,” you had told him so sweetly, hand holding his as tight as your diminishing strength would let you, “with your eyes gazing upon me…”
Creator, you have denied me for the last time, he exhaled, resting his forehead against yours before lifting your lifeless body again.
He had taken you away from him in the beginning of his life, sending you away with your fiancé when you were the only one to show him a morsel of kindness and affection, speaking to him with something other than disdain and anger.
You had soothed the balm in him, countering the poison from his Creator, - thinking on your smile when he had given you a leaf still calms him like no other.
“Can you say…” you had enunciated your name so patiently and so slowly, that same smile never leaving your face as you held his fingers to your throat, showing him how to speak.
And nothing makes his heart settle more, he realized, than the way in which you caressed his face so gently even after so many months, just from the joy of knowing he’d survived that explosion. The way in which you didn’t hesitate to take him in your embrace, hold him, show him love, without an ounce of fear in your eyes.
And nothing made his blood boil more, than the thought of your life being taken from you, for no reason other than his Creator’s uncontrollable ego.
Nothing boils his blood more, he understood, than the thought of your love and kindness being taken from him.
He can’t forget the vile feeling that pools in his stomach at the way Victor had shot, even after you’d screamed, protested, refused to move, turned to shield him.
You hadn’t hesitated to protect him, and he didn’t think he could live without the one person in this world left that would show him that kind of love and affection after the passing of the blind, elder man that taught him so much of this world in the place of the Creator who cared nothing for his precious project after it had come to fruition, eyes full of wonder and pure trust, - innocence.
“Take me with you,” you had gasped out. Those were the words you had chosen to use your last breaths on. Those were the words you had instinctively uttered, - in pain, eyes glassy but never leaving his own, arms clinging to him as tight as you could.
And now, he has learned more, grown. And his last meeting with his Creator, though unfortunate, had given him enough breadcrumbs to do something he never thought he’d achieve after he was so cruelly told ‘No.’
So, he started walking, arms cradling you gently, trying to keep your body shielded from the elements as best as he could.
And he walked, and walked, and kept walking, back to the place that started it all.
To the ruins of the tower.
He found the underground cellar he was kept in, the stone architecture keeping the sturdy basement mostly intact in spite of the main tower being blown to smithereens. He found a covered area to gently place your body, wrapping it in some of his furs.
He had to work quickly, without rest, without pause.
Before your body started to rot when the cold couldn’t keep the inevitable decay at bay.
So he hunted, - carefully, subtly, like a ghost.
He salvaged what notes he could from around the ruins, he hunted in the nighttime, from nearby battlefields, looking for correct organs, some skin and muscle and tendon, maybe bone that needed to be replaced.
He wanted to preserve as much of you as he could, but the polluted parts, as Victor would say, needed to be replaced, or this wouldn’t work, - and he couldn’t afford to do a trial and error form of experiment like his careless Maker had done.
He looked through piles and piles of bodies, because though he didn’t need much, he believed that the few pieces he did need should be the best he could find. You deserved the best he could do.
A few organs, from where you’d been shot, - some muscle, tissue, a few ribs, a hip. It was a comparatively small list when you put it beside everything that had gone into making him, but he considered this the most valuable work he had ever done.
He did it carefully, gentle with his cuts, delicate with his stitches. They may not have been as precise as Victor’s but they had more love in them than Victor could ever be capable of.
And he was proud to say that he was so quick with his work that he didn’t need to replace any of you except for where his cruel Creator had stained you.
He was quick, not needing any rests or breaks, and some part of this universe was clearly supporting his unholy act, offering him lightning within a blizzard.
It was rare, the old man had taught him within some of the books he’d read. It was harder to get lightning that struck the ground during the winter time, and the lightning may not always be as strong as during summer rainstorms. It was more difficult, but he was a persistent creature. And he was an optimistic creature.
So, he tried his best.
He did his best to mimic a telescopic machine to focus lightning down to you, - not as refined, not made of pure silver, but something.
And he found himself doing something akin to praying, he realized, waiting and watching with bated breath when a column of lightning mercifully decided to focus on striking your corpse.
When it finally stopped crackling and sparkling and roaring, it went quiet, and he moved you back under cover, checking to make sure your body was alright, brushing snow off your face and hair gently, slamming on your chest a few times as he recalled being done to him from his first memories and dreams.
And then he waited.
Because he was nothing if not a patient creature.
He waited, never leaving your side, keeping your body covered and sheltered, - watching and guarding.
And something in the universe had indeed smiled upon him for once instead of its usual grimace, granting him this one request, this one plea, despite how unholy.
He watched, eyes widening in wonder as your body twitched before you took in a deep breath, gasping so loud it echoed, back arching off the ground as your eyes flew open.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching while he wondered if this was how he looked when he awoke, except he was alone and confused and afraid as he wandered daunting hallways, looking for something or someone, some life.
And so, when you writhed, fists clenched as you took panicked breaths, he didn’t sit still, - he moved.
He moved to your side, cupping your face with his gentle, large hands, offering you warmth, offering you touch, offering you love.
He was giving it back to you as openly as you had given it to him when he didn’t even know he needed it.
You slowly stopped twitching, hands unclenching to come instead and brace against his forearms as you sat up, leaning against him.
You looked into his eyes when suddenly everything started to fall back into place.
Your old life, your fiancé, meeting him, keeping his little leaf in your book, being torn apart from each other by your agitating brother in law, your wedding, seeing him again… getting shot… dying…
And yet, being alive again.
“It’s you again,” you breathe out, eyes tearing up. “You took me with you,” you spoke fondly, watery smile on your lips.
“You asked me to.” He replied simply. “And… I understood.”
“Understood what, darling?” You ask gently.
“That I cannot be without you.” He rasped, dropping his head to your shoulder, burying his face in your neck.
And everything he had done was proven to be the right decision when you, again, wrapped him in your arms with no hesitation, a hand gently smoothing over his hair as you place a heavy kiss to his temple. It was futile to resist anyway, he had already broken the minute you called him ‘darling’ again.
He never thought he could miss something, or rather someone, so much. But he did.
“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, holding him as tight as he held you. “I told you I felt out of place in this world,” you say softly, “like I don’t belong. But now, I think I’ve found my place.”
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, lifting his head to look at you with guilt set deep in his eyes.
“For what?” You prod him softly.
“For doing this to you,” he replies, “for… for making you like me. A monster. I was being… selfish.” He moves a hand, placing it over your abdomen where you were shot by Victor, now with patchworks of skin, and what you knew were some replaced organs and inner workings.
“I’ve taken away your choice to die, because I couldn’t imagine living an eternity without being in your arms.” He has tears flowing down his cheeks, and his bottom lip is quivering gently. He feels terrible now that he’s looking at this final state of you, permanently altered by his hands, unable to die or be killed.
Breathtakingly beautiful, as you’ve always been, but cursed to eternity like him.
And it’s scaring him that you’re still smiling so sweetly, so kindly, thumbs occasionally wiping away the tears that won’t stop falling from his eyes.
He flinches when you let out a laugh, wondering how much of this entire process he’s messed up from the bits and pieces he put together of Victor’s notes.
But he finds himself immediately relaxing when you bring him in, cradling him oh, so gently, and peppering a few kisses to his cheek, - each one warming him up a bit more from the inside out.
“You’ve given me freedom. You gave me what I asked for. You took me away and you brought me to life again, this time where I feel like I belong. Where I have control of my life. Where I can choose.” You whisper it, lips against his cheek, the both of you huddled together in the ruins of what was once considered the beginning of merciless eternity. But this time, you call it eternal companionship. “And I choose you, beloved.” You finish, nuzzling him softly. “You who put me back together so delicately, so lovingly, who cared for me even when I was nothing but a corpse.”
And he held you closer, savoring the feeling of you all over again, this time without any rush, with the promise of this forever and ever, over and over, until the end of time. And he can feel this warmth blooming in his chest at your touch, and at your words, - your words being the assurance he needed that you wanted this as well.
“You’d want to be a monster? With me?” He looks at you, eyes hurt from past words, past abuses, but still so full of hope and light and innocence and good.
“I don’t think you’re a monster, darling,” you coo at him softly, brushing some stray strands away from his forehead. “But if you want to call yourself that, then let’s be monsters together.” You offer, holding him tight.
And he feels the tears fall again as he sobs against you, clutching you as tight as if you were his lifeline, because you are, and doesn’t know how to deal with the joy and happiness going through him when you hold him back just as tight as he needs, giving him affection he didn’t know he was worthy of after everything Victor had said and done.
And he decided, that no matter how unholy Victor had called this, he would embrace it, because you embraced it. Because you taught him that it’s okay to want, it’s okay to be selfish, and it’s okay to love.
People go above and beyond for love, after all. And he realized, he didn’t care if it was unholy, because your love was worth being damned for the rest of eternity because at least he got to spend it with you.
But it had also struck him that in your warm embrace perhaps, if the universe was willing to give this one little piece of peace to him, then it wasn’t as unholy as his Maker had had him believe, - because how could love in its purest form be unholy at all?
