Today's Document
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Love Begins
KIROKAZE
dirt enthusiast
RMH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Product Placement
Not today Justin
titsay
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Kaledo Art
Game of Thrones Daily
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
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@witheredf1owers
your king!price fic was so beautiful! hope u write more for him, maybe some fluff cuz the fic broke my poor lil heart XD
thank you!! angst is such an underrated, underused concept, i gravitate to it a lot, but i feel as if i am incapable of writing fluff :/
i'll be sure to try when inspiration strike :)
FAMILY PORTRAIT
adam frankenstein x reader
His presence was unseen, yet he haunted each canvas in her halls.
A crimson orb glaring forth.
The artist's eye, keen, always one for details, having painted the gleamed red, a luminous pearl amidst shadows in each painting.
Only it was him.
Once a phantom companion, then solace, a gentle friend. A tender lover in her blossoming, only to become a betrayer, a foe.
Still, in her abode, which held horror and joy alike, he lingered, a haunting presence.
Adam.
warning : age difference, not mentioned but is implied, gruesome childbirth, forced infidelity, toxic relationship, master and dog dynamic.
The mansion he found solage in was not abandoned as he had thought.
After the loss of everything and nothing all at once, he traveled on foot, hiding and walking to nowhere.
What was supposed to be a night's shelter became his home.
That was until it's rightful owner came.
Bargaining in with workers at hands, quick to dust and furnish the once abandoned abode. Portraits hung in various forms, chandeliers gleamed, silk adorned the walls and candles danced in the former dark home.
With it came a plump man and his pregnant wife.
He lurked, amidst wall cracks, separating him from warmth as he hid in the cold. Within dusts, vermin, and other creatures brave enough to approach him before scurrying away.
He lingered.
Escape beckoned him, yet the abode brimmed with life, preventing him from it. Laborers, cooks, maids, painters, gentlemen, merchants, and any other men known to the corpulent master visited the home, bustling with life.
The day he found escape, was the day the creature choose to stay.
The mansion was quiet for once, except the wife's chamber. Her screams rang, and her blood surged.
The husband puffed a cigar in one hand and drank scotch with the other. Beyond the door, maids scurried, rags soaked red, water stained as they fled for more.
The screams lasted for several hours.
He had counted, whispered every minute.
His hands had covered his ears. Never fond of pain until time passed, and he had grown accustomed to it.
He could not see clearly from where he hid between the walls.
He never ventured in her chamber until her screams had drawn him, and he watched as she birthed life.
With a force that contorted the woman's visage, a child's lament finally pierced the air.
"A girl," the midwife cried out, hoisting the writhing infant. The mother's mirst dissolved into tears of happiness.
Just then, the man barged in, the door slamming against the walls, fear carved upon his features.
"A female?" He reverberated. His wife smiled, drenched in sweat and gore, yet radiant with joy. "Yes darling, a girl," she grinned yet he did not return it.
He hurled the cigar from his grasp, massaging his brows as if burdened by immense hardship.
The chamber fell silent, its quiet engulfing even the newborn.
"What wretched creature have you given me? A female? I asked for a boy, a boy!"
He spat out, digits accusatory, as though she were a felonious fiend. "A male to bear our lineage! My legacy! I toiled, sweat, and tears expended to amass this wealth, the wealth in which you luxuriate! I desired, but one thing, a male! Yet you've given me..a girl"
The maids flinched as the midwife and meager men tried to repress the husband. Yet, he knocked their hands, spewing curses as they thrust him out the door.
The mother, a frozen statue, as the father was banished. The babe whimpered quietly, as if afraid until her mother brought her to rest.
He could not hear her mumbles, only observe the tears rolling down her cheeks as she whispered words of love to her blessing.
She pressed soft kisses and caressed her flesh, even when deemed barren by her sire.
The child was everything and more to the woman, meant so much, even her agony meant nothing next to her love.
The day, not life alone was birthed, but also misery.
The child was not the nightmare her father deemed her to be.
The first year, she was a loud wailing child. Crying for milk, crying for her mother, crying to be held.
The second year, she rolled over and crawled, emitting joy to her mother, who happily embraced her. Tickling the child til her breathless pleas.
In the third year, she became a shy little girl. Hiding behind her mother's skirt, tugging and twirling her mother's hair while her mother pressed gentle kisses on her chubby fingers.
In the fourth year, the child was unexpectedly rowdy. Shrieking, wailing, crying until he thought her voice might shatter every fragile thing in her home.
Her mother was pregnant, heavy as she first was when she came to the mansion.
The child had not taken it lightly nor kindly. Her mother could not hold her, nor play, nor love her as she once had.
She was bedridden, lost to slumber or retches.
The child sulked. Toddling arms crossed, hoping her show of sadness would beckon her mother. To come to her bearing and lift her as she once had.
Instead, her mother vomited, retching in the bowls the maids held until vessels burst and the midwife came running, pushing and ignoring the little girl on the verge of tears.
"I ate candies, my teeth are spoiled," the child tugged her lips until her teeth gleamed with the stickiness. She crossed her eyes, poking her tongue out in the hope of making her mother laugh.
None paid attention.
She stomped her foot.
She began again. This time, she scratched her arm raw until it got swollen. "Look, look," she pointed her arm at the running maids.
They only smiled briefly before running for aid.
She pouted.
Her mother always scolded her for itching her skin until it bleed before she would kiss the skin. The maids would even apply a balm until her skin tingled from the remedy.
Yet, not even her tears or burst of anger stirred the attention.
Tears welled up in her ears until one maid took mercy. She grabbed the girl by the arm and shakily smiled.
"My lady, let's play hide and seek, you will hide, and I will count once you are in the hall, I'll find you as soon as I reach a hundred," the child gasped, her ten fingers sticking out when she said a hundred.
The maid nodded, brushing a hand over her hair before pinching her cheek.
The little girl smiled, a few tears falling before she wiped it away. She nodded in glee before gazing at her mother once and fleeing in the hall.
All while he watched her.
He watched as she hid behind a curtain. One, two, five, ten minutes before she lost patient and moved.
She was behind a plant, crouching and counting her toes. She lasted five minutes until she moved again, behind an armoire, closer to her mother's chamber.
In case the maid couldn't find her.
She lasted a minute, rolling on her feet, stumbling, tracing her finger on the wood until she finally sat at last, in front of the door.
Playfulness gone, replaced by sadness.
She opened the door, eyes peering in. The maid sat at the bottom of her mother's bed, rubbing ointment and oil on her feet.
He took pity on her.
Perhaps it was why he revealed himself.
He crept in between the walls, settling down when he saw the child pouting in her own chamber.
She rolled a ball, watching as it hit her dollhouse. She crawled, picked it up and did it again.
She hiccuped, though she did not weep. At times, she would babble her mother's name and mindlessly itch the raw skin on her arm.
She looked at it, brow furrowed, her cheeks bulging before she decidedly toddled.
She took out her mother's scarf, long and soft, bracing it to her small form before covering it over herself. Smelling and burrowing in it.
She kept playing with the ball, laying down, yet eventually she ceased, staring quietly in the void.
The child reminded him of himself.
Of his leaf, of his very first gift of nature, of his own play he had tried with his father.
Although his father wasn't kind and soft like her mother, he saw himself in the little girl.
Alone and so terribly lonely.
Perhaps it was why, when the ball reached the wall, where he was, he quietly pushed it with a finger between the crack of the wood lining.
He watched as it rolled back and touched her nose.
The child blinked up, looking around then at the ball.
When she saw no one, she kicked it in a fit, yet he only smiled as it rolled before him again.
He pushed it again, and this time, the child saw.
A sharp digit pushing the ball her way.
Friendship blossomed between the pair.
She often tried to peek between the splintered wood, seeing barely a silhouette. She grunted when she stumbled.
She returned to the side of her bed and played ball with him til a maid knocked. "Mother calling for you," the little girl beamed before waving her hand at him, "See you soon," then tugged the maid away.
Bewildered, the maid looked confused, and her gaze landed on the toy. Yet she was shifted onwards, drawn by the child's haste and her pulling.
"What is your name," the child queried while tending to her doll's locks.
He sat, limbs drawn near, fingers poking the floor, "Adam."
She spelled it out, then faced the wall's cold gaze, as if she could feel the warmth beyond. "A for apple, D for dog, A for apple," she chirped, pointing at him, "You have two apples, Adam, two A, two apples,"
He knocked on the wood separating them, and she knocked back.
"And M..." she pondered, a finger on her chin.
"M for monkey," he offered, smile faint.
She laughed, "Yes, M! M for money, daddy loves money, mommy says he would have married money if it were a woman," she mindlessly said, not seeing the smile fade from his face.
There was a moment of silence, only the rough tugging on the doll's hair resonating.
"Have you seen a monkey? Mommy says they are hairy like daddy," she giggled, putting a hand on her lips as if she was whispering a secret.
"I hope brother is not like daddy, I don't want a monkey brother I want a mommy brother," her fingers tried to braid the doll's hair, instead they became a twisted mess again, "Mommy so pretty, like a princess, I wanna be a princess when I grow up and brother could be.."
Her voice quietly faded as his thought drifted, her brother, the one yet to be born yet carried an immense importance.
He had been privy to the constant bickering between man and wife. The unborn child was dimmed a boy, even as the doctor was uncertain.
Not that the child was aware.
She was content with her toys and her dolls and Adam, her new companion
Moons waned, her mother veiled within her chambers, safe for the fleeting moment they spent together.
She would lay with her mother, thumb in her mouth, legs thrown over the bump as her mother read.
This time, however, her mother had called for play. Oh, how she longed to play!
She, a whirling dervish, tiptoed in ecstatic dance.
"Mommy, mommy!" she scrambled to get on her bed. Her mother was quick to pat her butt, hoisting her on the bed.
She brushed the hair running wild and free before pecking the skin. "Are we playing, mommy? Hide and seek?" The child felt soothed by her mother's gentle hands.
"Yes, dearest girl, let's play," her smile was fragile yet full of love.
"Mommy might be a little slow for you, my fast legged rabbit," she acted as if as she was going to take a bite of her daughter's cheek which send the little girl in a giggling fit.
The child had noticed the swollen stomach, bigger and larger than before. She knew it housed her little brother, yet she couldn't understand beyond that.
They played, rounds and rounds, circling her mother's keep.
Hiding beneath her bed, hiding in a drawer, her foot betraying her hiding, under the carpet where she stood out as a stump.
Her mother weighted and wobbled, yet nevertheless, her mother always found her.
It was all that mattered to the babe.
"One more, one more," the child jumped up and down, pulling at her mother's skirt.
The smile she wore was pained, one hand bracing her stomach and the other held the post of her bed.
A servant stilled the child, seeing how her mother winced, yet she waved her off.
"Once more it is," she clapped her hands, the child dashing away when her mother began counting.
Yet, her mother never reached ten.
A gasp, guttural, and agonized erupted, maids swarming her side, thrusting her to the bed, as she choked on her breath.
One maid ran to the physician.
All while the child remained oblivious.
She hid beneath a table's skirt, lace drawn, a veil hiding her form.
She panted slightly, knees drawn to her chest, waiting.
Minutes passed.
It wasn't until she heard the hard stomps of her father's incoming and her mother's shrieks, she flinched, frozen in place.
"Get the child, the babe needs to live," he roared, echoing aling her mother's tormented screams. "She cannot, my lord," a frantic voice replied.
"Cut the child out," he bellowed. "I care not, the child must live, rend her forth"
At his words, the maids protested, begging at their master's feet.
Tears welled in the child's eyes as she remained frozen.
She could see the shadows dancing on the fabric, as if they were monster taunting her.
"Do as I say," a slap resounded. "Remove the maids at once,"
The little girl strained for her mother's voice, lost to the father's decree. Her hand trembled, grasping the fabric, yet she recoiled as her mother's scream followed by the tear of a flesh she could not yet decipher.
The chamber, once sweet with rose and lavender, now fostered with gore, metallic and weighty.
The child clutched herself, her face buried in her knees. The shrieks of her mother, flesh tearing and ripping echoing in her ears.
Silence descended.
"A boy, my lord, as foretold," a man spoke.
She heard foot stumps receding, leaving the chamber to an unholy quiet. One which did not belong in her mother's embrace.
She sensed her father's presence leave the chamber, one she always avoided.
She crawled forth, quivering.
The maids were gone, leaving none but her mother upon her bed.
She faltered, slipping upon the crimson slick as she got closer.
Too small to understand the smell, she tugged at the sheets, yearning for her mother's embrace.
Yet it never came.
"Mommy," she whimpered, until her foot stumbled, plunging her forth. She landed upon her mother's face, smiling weakly.
She tapped her cheek, "Not night, mommy," she stroked her hair, mimicking her touch, laying her small form upon hers, "Father is gone, open your eyes mommy," she traced her lashes, under the curve of her eyes.
The ravaged flesh of her stomach unseen until her clumsy hands patted the distented wound.
She stilled, the organs spilling forth, blood gushing as a coldness clung to her mother's skin.
Horror seized her, and she sobbed, "Mommy?" she implored.
Even when her father presence returned.
He quietly watched, a cigar in his mouth, eyes downcast and impassive upon his child begging for her mother.
"Father, mommy is cold, and she has a wound," she gestured, as if he could not see it himself.
He only stared at her, breathing out a puff. He advanced, taking her small hand, which was soothing her mother's skin before tapping it on her own face, "Your mother, lays with death now," he blew a ring of smoke, making the child cough and blink.
He took one last drag before stuffing the cigar in the spilled organs. The child shrieked, snatching the bud.
She threw her fists on his back, to no avail.
He only rolled his eyes, pushing his palm on her face, sending her stumbling in the ground, in the pool of her mother's blood.
Thus began her torment.
The boy lived two nights before death claimed him.
The household crumpled as maids resigned, some fleeing as they were bound by contracts and along rumors spread.
Of the horror which took place.
Her father killed himself a month later, of shame.
Just as her father feared, his wealth was seized by his youngest brother, her uncle.
He turned her abode to one of his own.
Adam, wretched Adam, always a step too late.
He had found the child wailing, scratching at anyone who touched her. She was covered in blood, clinging to her mother's corpse.
When they had pulled her away from her mother's cadaver, she had ripped her mother's hair, and wailed until her voice fractured.
His restrain, threadbare, yet his self-hatred grew.
The one time he had gone to fetch the child a surprise, ruin unfurled, crumpling everything he had known to dust.
Now, dwells a stranger, blood scent clinging in the air, haunting the manor, and the once boisterous child lies hushed, a living cadaver.
She would not speak to him, or anyone.
She hid beneath her bed, her mother's scarf wrapped her frail form, a severed piece of her mother's lock tight within her tiny fist.
He cried alongside her. Her mother's demise, her brother's fate. The cruelty men inflicted.
Anger had surged forth as her father took the shameless path, one with a single shot, leaving the child to fend for herself.
The child did not attend his funeral.
She kicked and bit till the servants bleed, and they left her sprawled.
Adam had tried. He tapped the wound, their secret morse code, swung the ball, hummed, yet nothing worked.
He did not know how to take away her pain.
The rabbit he had caught from the forest, his surprise to her, had fled the long walls he resided in.
He sat crossed legged, in her agony, in her silence.
It was late at night when he rose. His chin digging in his chest until her cries awakened him
The child was beneath the bed, twisting and turning as her cried pierced his very core.
He heard her cry more than he heard her laugh now.
Yet, her cries felt a desperate pleas.
It was a mindless decision when he rose, his fingers pinching the wood until they crumpled and bend under his touch.
He could not think, could not breathe as he crawled out the wall. Crawling over her toys and her carpet until he joined in her shadow, beneath the bed.
She kept whimpering, hands scrubbing her face.
His hand trembled as they touched her skin, his own sob stuck in his throat before he gently pulled her close.
She woke with a gasp, eyes wide, before she looked up at him. She was still bleary-eyed, face twisted in anguish.
Yet, when he whispered her name, she recognized him, Adam, her friend.
She threw herself in his arms, head buried in his neck as he tightened his hold around her. His own tears silent as they fell.
"Mommy's gone, brother is gone, father took them away, now I'm alone, I don't want to be alone," she gasped.
"Never, you will never be alone, I am here always," at his words, she clenched her fist and struck his chest.
"Liar," she repeated her beating, stricking his chest, his face, till she collapsed in his embrace as exhaustion made her bones weary.
"I vow it, I'll remain here, I shall, always and forever, no one will hurt you again, I pledge it upon the gods and the abyss beyond,"
Her mind, a fractured thing, could not comprehend his utterance, yet his fervor, a phantom love's she craved since her mother's demise, pierced her flesh with fevered warmth.
She believed him, a desperate gamble.
She had to believe, or she would dissolve to dust.
The maids whispered madness consumed the girl.
They would find her talking to the walls as if it were a phantom friend. She discreetly brought food and stitched men's clothes only for the garments to vanish the moments their backs were turned.
Rumors spread, yet she could not care less.
At ten, her uncle banished her to a garden shack.
The maids would pass to clean her chamber only to leave with more riddles about their little lady.
Let them ponder, she thought. Here, with Adam, she found peace.
All that truly mattered.
One, two, three.
She felt three taps on her cheeks, gentle throbs rising her awake.
She fumbled in her sheets, twisting in the soft cotton until it restricted her chest.
Her eyes blinked the fuss from her eyes until they landed on him, Adam, smiling at her.
She smiled back, taping three taps of her own on his cheeks.
Excitement clung the air. The servants had left for the grand festival of the town, and so had her uncle left for another one of his abode.
Thus, both could explore the forest behind their home without unblinking eyes.
She sat up, blinking and laughed at the scene before her. A woven basket full and shrouded in cloth, her dress gently placed at the foot of her bed, and Adam stood ready and posed for their promenade.
"Someone's eager," she teased, her grin widening when she saw his blush
Yet, her words contradicted herself as she rushed to get ready, stumbling on the twisted sheets as she ran to cleanse herself.
They used the back door of their home as she glanced around once, twice, before she reached out behind her.
When she felt his hand, they race towards the forest until it's roots and leaves concealed their forms.
They wandered, leaping on roots, blabbling, listening to nature's symphony until the sun rose and fell.
They were eating supper on a blanket, legs spread out by the riverbank when she felt the first tickle of rain.
She paused mid bite, her fingers buttery as they held the pastery.
She blinked looking up as another raindrop fell.
She looked at Adam with a mischievous grin and he grinned back in response, even in his confusion.
It wasn't until he felt a wet drop of his own, then heavy rain surged he understood.
Giggles resonated in the air as they ran for shelter. They round a large tree, beckoning them for haven.
Adam's hand reached out only to meet void. He swirled back in worry, only to see her twirling and dancing in the rain, face tilted up with a smile.
He ought to scold her, less she caught a cold but her smile left him paralyzed.
She blinked as the rain drenched her, her garments weighing down heavily.
Adam loomed, tall and branded, much like the tree he leaned on as he beckoned her with a hand and a whisper of her name.
She smiled, her steps damp and mired with dirt. When she came close enough to the tree's branches, he tugged at her until her flesh met his. Shivering as the cold caught up to her.
The pelting of the rain dimmed in the background as she blinked up at him, raindrops clinging to her lashes.
Adam forgot to breathe for a moment as he felt struck dumb by solace she found in his form, her grasp firm and reliant.
His tongue moistened his parched lips as a droplet fell from her lashes, descending down her chin until they landed on her soft bosom, rain kissed.
His teeth gnashed against restraint as the aqueous bead vanished between her cleavage. He groaned, his head leaning on the tree's bark as she looked at him in question, "Adam?"
Even vocalization fueled torment.
He felt her lips brush against his adam's apple as she rose at the tip of her toes. Her hand clinging to the back of his head, bringing him back dowj to face her.
She was breathing heavily, yet his well being consumed her.
"What is the matter?" Delicate hand held him in place while the other rest gently on his chest.
You, he yearned to confess, even as tormented self loathing surging within.
Instead, he gently laid his forehead on hers as they shared a breath, damming the vile river of his thoughts.
Not seeing as her own eyes betrayed her, as they drifted downwards, yearning for that sweet meeting point, his lips.
"Nothing, nothing at all,"
She sat, perched in a chair, legs drawn up with a romance book clutched upon her lap.
Her flushed cheeks veiled between grasping hands as she read the lines, a forbidden love between a princess and her knights sharing an intimate act of love.
Her gaze drifted to Adam by the fire, carving fruits for her feeding. Her thighs shifted as her heartbeat spiraled downwards, a pulsing need between her legs.
All the while, he remained oblivious to her carnal yearnings. She was not a princess. He, no knight.
Yet, as she read the passages, the lines blurred.
As she imagined her Adam, her protector, taking shelter between her legs and her, his duty, his love letting him as they unraveled in the intimate acts of love.
She gasped, sharp and loud, her book fell from her lap and on the floor. Adam froze, the fruit offerings suspended.
"Forgive me," she waved a hand, kicking the book beneath her chair before he took a peek at it.
"Thank you," she took the plate as he sat by her feet.
Even when she insisted he sit on the chairs, he refused, claiming wood was more pleasing than velvet.
"Interesting book? I kept calling you, yet you seemed distracted,"
She blushed and bit the peach, mumbling, "That's one way to put it,"
He looked at her in confusion, not making out her words, yet she simply shook her head. She took another bite, juices running down her wrist and her chin.
They shared the fruits, mostly she devoured them and he observed.
He smiled when the sourness of an apple contorted her features, before she went back for peaches.
Her handcloth was damp, and she fussed for another. Unbidden, Adam reached, finger tracing the droplet running down her chin to the corner of her lips.
Spellbound, she gazed as he bought it to his own lips, the sweet nectar heavy on his tongue.
The peach tumbled from her hand, knocking the plate over, breaking the spells hold.
She got up in a haste, apologies at the tip of her tongue as Adam scrambled to gather the pieces.
His hands were swift as he picked them up until they touched the rough edge of her tome. He drew it back and froze at the script's revelation.
All while she fussed, unaware. She wiped her dress, pouting, it was her favorite dress.
Huffing, she slumped in another seat while Adam gathered the remnants.
She took another peach, poised for consuming, when it fell again from her grasp into her lap as he emerged, with her book at hand.
"He knelt, feelings erupting aches across his body, submitting wholly to her feet. She lays trembling for his taking,"
Her eyes reddened as he read the passage out loud, peach forgotten.
"Adam," she breathed, yet he could not hear her. He succumbed, book in hand, touching her feet.
He bowed his head at her knees, and it wasn't until he felt her fingers trace his strands that he buried his face in her lap.
He uttered her name, wrongs forgotten as his desires consumed him.
"His mouth met her mound as every breath send shivers and tremble through her core, til her desires tickled down her thighs," he spoke the memorized lines as she watched, a hand covering her mouth.
Eyes on the peach, he continued, "He kissed, licked the flesh," her whimpers escaped, yet he did not stop.
His teeth pulled the fruit in his mouth as he looked up at her. He imagined the peach as her mound, licking and biting the fruit.
The juice stained her dress, much like the slick just beneath the peach laid. Her own slick pooling and beating between her thighs.
Her mouth fell open as he sucked and licked the peach, eating it away while their eyes remained unbroken.
His fingers caressed her ankles, trailing up and down her legs as shivers erupted.
Her hand splayed over his head as she widened her legs until the peach fell in the crease of her lap. His brows furrowed as he plunged forward, falling with the peach until only the seed remained.
His groan echoed as her erotic smell pierced the layers of her fabric, reaching his nostrils and made his mouth water.
The seed swirled in his mouth as his nose nudged her heat. She shifted and winced when his face dug deep in her crease and inhaled until her scent burned his lungs.
Her hands clung to the armrests as her toes curled. She chanted his name as his hands wrapped around her hips, pulling until he could bury his face in her cunt.
He swore he could taste her through the layers.
She could not discern his mumbles until she tugged at his hair, and he looked at her, eyes almost crossed.
"Please, please, I beg of you, let me have a taste, just once," heat flushed her neck as he soothed her until she melted in his grasp.
Both disoriented at the sudden turn of event, and desires clouding their judgements.
She barely nodded as he yanked her cotton wear, the fabric tearing and snapping under the weight of his hold.
Her hips barely sat at the tip of the chair as she rose both her legs until they rested on the armchairs.
Wide and open for his taking.
His mouth fell open as he gazed at the slick and the hair adorning her cunt.
"You are so beautiful," he croaked, his locks askew, falling down messily around his face.
Desire and longing shaping his features until they contorted his visage till her very soul writhed.
She reached for him, and he gladly grasped her hand, interlocking their fingers for safe keeping, before he ravaged her apart.
She sat in the manor, spine taunt as her uncle loomed.
She could not recall the last time he had summoned her. Perhaps when she was aged ten and he banished her in the garden shack.
She kept her head bowed, hoping to stir his attention away.
He was a man of countenance, with stern features as he seized her, stroking his mustache.
Beside him, a man, a little older than her stood as he mirrored her uncle's appraisal.
"Yes, uncle?" she questioned. He nodded at her before handing her an envelope.
She looked at it perplexed, knowing she was not to set foot in high society, especially not with her surname.
"Go on," he gestured, and with hesitant hands, she peeled open the envelope.
Her eyes read, trembling in curiosity before they froze in shock. "I am to marry?" she asked, dreading for the answer.
A nod, he gestured at the man beside him, "Carl, my son shall take you as his wife. Within a few days, the union shall occur. I have planned everything, hence my long absence,"
"I cannot, I will not marry my cousin," she spat, disgust flooding her.
"You will. The wedding has been decided for over a year, an-"
"Am I last to know?" She stood from her seat, the chair falling as she threw the letter at his face.
"I will have to bear his children, or perhaps will you cut them out as your brother once had?" The slap did not come from him, but by the man, her cousin.
Her cheeks stung yet pure hatred lined her face.
"You will know to hold your tongue," he sneered.
"Enough," her uncle raised a hand for silence.
"The maids will have you settled, many guests are to arrive to witness the union, I do not care for your acceptance," he sternly said her name before he rang a bell.
Swiftly maidservants filled the room, ones she did not recognize. "Count your days, cousin, until you become my wife, that is,"
Before she was dragged away.
Adam waited three days.
She had been gone for three days.
Until fear seized him, he wandered back in the mansion he hadn't stepped foot in decades.
The crawlspaces, the walls he once haunted, echoes like phantom of a bygone life. Almost a memory he could only recall in pieces.
His fingers, bony specters, traced the wood as he peered between walls, seeking her form.
He stumbled into a chamber clouded in darkness. A small shape slumped in a curtained bed, yet her scent alone unveiled her.
Luxuries adorned the room, baubles man clawed for.
He crouched, then tapped thrice, stirring the slumbering body. When stillness reigned, he retraced his steps, escaping through the servant's portal. He glanced around for lurking shadows, then he bolted, two steps at a time, to her chamber.
Soundless were his footfalls, not a creak from the polished floor as he drew near the bed. His shadow fell upon the laced curtains, relief flooding him as he spied the pattern of her hair, and the curve of her body.
His mouth opened, words at the tips of his tongue when she stood upright, face twisted in fright and longing, gazing up at him through the lace.
She knelt, her nightgown pooling at her knees, her hand reaching out to him, tracing his features through the fabric. "You are not a dream," she whispered, tears welling.
"Please do not be a dream," she stifled a sob, tracing the line of his eyes, the seams of his lips, yearning closer, even as the curtains quelled her warmth.
The touch of her lips on his was faint, the curtain a barrier, until she clawed at it, frenzied.
She fumbled until he mirrored her want and tore the curtain back.
"I am real," he embraced her, burying her in his grasp. Her sobs wracked her form, tears soaking his shirt.
Questions surged in his mind, yet her pain was his main concern.
"Speak to me," he breathed her name, soothing her as his palm caressed her back.
"I am to marry," she gasped, her nails clawing at his back, seeking solace.
"A year had passed in preparation, and only now do I learn. I desire not this union," her weight shifted until she clung wholly to him.
Fear seized him, his mouth moving, yet his words faltered. "You cannot," he stammered.
"I will not," she retorted, fierceness in her gaze even as fear lingered.
"Take me away, Adam," she clung to him as would a maiden to her god, "Let's us flee, nothing matters to me here, only you," she grasped his cheek, her hand damp, he nuzzled in still.
Yet, his silence remained.
Her eyes pleaded, seeking his answer, "Please,"
"For the better, perhap-"
"It is not," she spat, "Will you have me marry my cousin, watch as I bear his child, watch as they rip the babe out of my womb if needs be?" she sneered, mistaking his fear for cowardice.
"Will you not have me, Adam?" She whimpered as his own eyes welled up.
"They offer what I cannot,"
"They offer nothing," she screamed.
"They shall steal my youth, use me as a vessel, seize the wealth my father bestowed, for their gain. I shall be their prisoner, their puppet" she put a palm to his chest and pushed him away.
"Will you let me be at their mercy?"
He bowed his head, steeped in shame. "After all these years, Adam?" Her arms crossed over her chest, frame trembling, not recognizing the man before her.
"You swore! Upon the gods and the abyss beyond," she echoed his vow.
Suddenly, the child who once clung to him mirrored over the woman before him.
She could not understand the disgust he bore at himself, the same disgust she wore at her cousin's proposal.
How was he any different of him, as if he had not watched her grow and held her in his arms in a way he should not?
"You do not understand," he began, but she recoiled disgusted. "I shall die then," she held a blade to her throat, hidden beneath her pillow.
His eyes widened, her name a whispered terror.
She trembled, the blade unsteady. His hands shook as he crossed past the curtains, rippling on his back as he crawled on her bed, body half bend.
"You are all I have, Adam. You shielded me from the wolves only to cast me in their den when dimmed be," she hissed.
"My affections for you are forbidden! Looked down, scandalous!" he continued, "It is not righteous nor noble,"
"I do not care for nobility, I only want you! Who dares critizes what they know not? Society branding you a monster? Is it whose praise you seek?"
She watched his every move, brow raised as he knelt, attempting to seize the blade, recoiling as it drew blood.
"Never, I only see you, but do you know know the cruelties of the world? You deserve not scorn, but adoration!"
"How can you misunderstand, I have been shunned the moment my father took everything I have loved, everyone! I don't belong in society. In this world of madness, of gold and wealth, I thought you knew I always belonged with you,"
He bowed at last, curving his spine until he prostate at her feet, grasping them. A prayer, his forehead touching her skin.
"You do not know what you ask of me," a final, desperate plea.
"I ask for everything, Adam!" she declared, noble yet arrogant, resembling much like her father at the very moment.
"I ask for you very being, I want you to give me all of you until you bleed dry, even your corpse shall remain mine! You belong to me as I, you. " she aimed the blade at his chin, lightly staining his skin with the red of her blood.
"You can not rewrite fate, Adam, only kneel and embrace it as you are now," she tilted his chin as she dragged the knife, the tip resting on his lips.
His tongue sought the crimson on the blade, licking it until it gleamed with his spit.
His red eye shone into the night, accepting the truth he desperately refused.
Perhaps he had always belonged to her, and she to him.
Adam had planned it all.
Days dwindling, now mere days away from her wedding.
He had fled under the darkness, gathering any and everything they needed. Clothes, food, coins, and small trinkets easy to carry and easier to sell.
It took merely hours to prepare, yet he stretched himself thin. He ventured far to find barren land and perhaps a home.
She did not grow up as a pampered princess, nor was she the noblest of the noble, but she had yet to learn the hardship of not having a roof over her head.
He wished he could shield her from such a harsh lesson.
He unearthed refuge, amidst verdant abyss, lost and abandoned but it could be his and hers alone.
He was inching back towards the manor, bones heavy till he saw her abode.
He was startled. The forest teeming, once desolate, now alive with wedding preparation and servants filling the land.
He stooped low, ducking when he saw men with rifles, with pocket watch gleaming on their chest as they poked at a decreased deer.
He grinded his teeth, he could not revive the dead, and his own doe awaited for his return.
He waited for a breath and many more until the men moved along.
Yet one with a keen eye spied him, mistaking the fur of his coat for an animal.
Adam unknowing did not notice the predator, still counting the men when a shot echoed.
His hand flew to his neck, to the pierced skin. Not noticing the pain nor the blood seeping through.
His eyes were unsteady as he heard the howling of men.
"I found the largest prey after all," some groaned in frustration at the man gloating yet it did not matter.
Adam was dying.
As he fell on his back, his hand slipping from his wound, his very last thought was the woman he was too afraid to love, to embrace and to adore.
He saw her, leaning over him with a smile reserved for him alone.
His fear hit him at once. He should have been selfish. He should have dragged her away the moment she pleaded to him.
Should have told her she was etched in his soul, biding so deep, she scarred him.
Instead, he died as prey, by the hands of men who he willingly offered her too.
He knew not the span of his demise.
Mere days had passed, the forest steeping in gloom, bearing a truth yet veiled to him.
He scrambled, hand to his neck, feeling the skin anew. Yet fear seized him, not for himself, no, for her.
He crawled, then kneeled before. Within a few steps, he stood tall.
He did not pause when he saw the silent mansion. Quiet again, decor swaying gently, the men and the servants gone as the chants stilled.
As if the festive had long passed.
His heart clenched, his palm resting above it as if soothing it, yet he ran. Barreling through the hallways hidden between two walls, fear and agony coursing through his veins.
He marched, a madman, down the halls, half a mind in storming in, yet holding himself back for her sake.
What he stumbled upon made his heart twist in vain.
He recognized her as always, yet not the man above her.
Madness surged as the truth chimed.
He had failed, as with her mother's death, her brother's, her childhoods demise, and now he mourned the woman he held dear.
The intimate scene glared forth, and the candles emitted a low glow as the man, her husband pressed, slotted between her legs.
All while she stared at the wall, eyes empty.
His selfishness tore the wood, his face appearing in between the cracks until the giant hole had him peering through. Revealing himself.
Her eyes turned, numb until they glossed over, twisting in agony upon her recognition.
The man above whimpered, his movements fierce and fast, as if she would slip away from his hold.
She tried, as she reached, a hand towards him, her Adam.
Adam mirrored, his own hand reaching out, shaking with rage at himself.
As the man trusted, one hand slipped down between their bodies to rub at her swollen flesh. She neither trembled nor moaned, only tears cascading down, eyes locked on Adam.
As if she could not feel anything but her Adam.
As Adam's shadow obscured the writhing couple, the man noticed not, focusing on his release.
When Adam's fingertip touched hers, she came, head dipping back, yet she did not break their gaze.
He had returned, yet wretched Adam, arrived too late.
She came out at him at once.
She pushed the man off of her body, leaving him stumbling in the sheets as she ran.
Anger, pain, seized her actions.
She ran, ran and ran, knowing he was only behind.
When they finally came to the garden shack, once their home, she turned to him.
She digged her finger in his chest, her nail piercing his skin, yet he cared not.
He embraced every word of anger and insults she threw at him. "You left! I waited, I waited, and you never came," yet it was not anger she felt. Only pain.
She sobbed and Adam kneeled at her feet, not daring to touch her.
"Where were you?" she pushed at his chest, he yielded at her touch, relishing in it.
"Answer me," she pushed both her fist into his chest. Yet his gaze remained at her feet.
His face twisted in anguish when he saw the remain of her blood and the man's release running down her legs.
He threw himself at her feet, crouching down until he bowed at her ankles.
She stuck his back, chanting his name, a pahnrom called forth. But he hadn't, had he?
She had screamed, yelled, cried, and shrieked his name, yet he never came.
She had married, she had become her cousin's wife, he had taken her first night, taken her wealth, the only momentum her father had left her, beside the scars.
She pounded her fist at his back until eventually collapsing on him.
"Forgive me, forgive me," he chanted as he clasped at her ankles.
As she slipped off his back in exhaustion, he caught her swaying form on his knees.
It was then, she noticed the new scar on his neck, her trembling finger tracing the mark.
Her eyes glossed over as she looked at him and him at her. Tears streamed both their faces as they gazed at each other.
Her was face resolute, "Kill him, Adam," she commanded.
"All who stole from you," her eyes were firm as she looked at him.
They both wore new scars, yet they could be mended, together.
"Kill them all,"
The halls of her home were filled with portraits.
Many were of her mother, smile polite yet warm, and other resided herself in her mother's lap or clutching her mother's skirt, thumb in her mouth.
There was one of her father, and her mother, and herself, young and doll like.
Yet, each antiquated portrait possessed a rubescent pearl, gleaming in the walls fissures, conspicuous yet incandescent.
There were newer portraits, illustrating the new lady of the house, alongside a man always concealed, bowing at the waist, bestowing an affectionate kiss, or shrouded by the veil she wore.
He was tall, lanky, with long hair and a strand of white. And this time, the crimson pearl was not concealed amidst the wall's fissure, as it once was.
Now, it dwelled on the man, adoring her in each portrait.
Her Adam.
MASTERLIST!
clark kent
wolf in sheep's clothing
↳ where a lonesome little wolf believes she finally found her happy ending, not knowing that her mate was not who seemed to be or rather the one he claimed to be.
john price
death girl
↳ king!price | HEAVY ANGST
scott miller
the monster in my closet
↳ in which scott miller finds out his best friend's fiancée is his favorite pornstar!
adam frankenstein
mother's touch
↳ adam frankenstein x singlemother!reader
mind over matter
↳ The heart, ever the victor over the mind.
family portrait
↳ His presence was unseen, yet he haunted each canvas in her halls.
MIND OVER MATTER
dark!creature | +18
The heart, ever the victor over the mind.
Yet, the Creature's heart, a corpse's relic and not one of his own, masters his very being as he is compelled to meet the dead man's wife.
A phantom's doing, a borrowed yearning, not his own creation, stitched from a corpse, one going against his own will.
Affections festered within unbidden limbs, sparing neither the creature nor the widow.
a/n : what if one of the body part, the most important part, the heart, takes over the creature until he is drowning in affection that does not originate from him but from a dead man's heart
may not be suitable for everyone, read at your own risk.
She is a barmaid, quiet and meek. She trailed and wiped the tables, only for her sweat to drip, mocking her actions of cleanliness.
From where he sat, he knew the taste of her sweat, her flesh, and remembers the soft embrace of her tongue.
As she curved around tables, serving with a tight smile and even tighter corset, straining her breasts, a memory flickers.
The mole between her breast, another at the curve of her softness, the shade of her areola, he would gently trace and pluck with idle finger and an eager mouth.
Not he, Frankenstein's creature, Victor's curse.
No, the dead man, nameless still, yet his heart beating in his breastbone, a stolen, morbid beat.
The Creature bore echoes of a thousand souls, yet one lingered. A phantom limb of memories, his touch familiar upon the woman adrift meters aways.
His coat, a shroud of darkness, swallowed him whole, a scarf masked the ghoul below his nose, yet he stood out, a puzzle not fitting in just right.
Men howled, spat curses, and flung their drinks as if it was a burden of the soul. The maiden scrubbed, scrubbed, until a fiend hatched a scheme.
"Clumsy hands," he cast the goblet of silver, a grin stretched across his face as his wife, no the woman, toiled over the spill until her frame threatened to snap beneath the burden of labor.
Lest harsh words be summoned by her patron.
The man whistled, eyes devoured the fleshy mounds straining against the corset, threading to spill forth.
The creature knew of pain and loathing, once a brief moment of love which was stolen by his maker, felt a surge of rage that was not his own.
His grip tightened on the wooden table, splintering under his grasp with a weak creak! that could not be heard in the loud pub.
The woman flushed, fear etched on her visage, yet smiled weakly. Her hand brushed the sweat on her chin before scurrying away in fear.
Not before the grotesque men pinched her waist, urging a swifter flight.
"I fear she will unravel like a petal before I lay even a hand on her," the man bellowed. His men crowding the pub bursting in laughter.
Pretty little flowers are bound to be squashed by men, the Creature thought.
He recalls, for a fleeting moment, Elizabeth, kind and soft Elizabeth, wrapped in white and the sudden stain of red on her abdomen.
A flower ruined by his creator.
He felt pity for the woman that fled before his eyes, yet sudden rage seized control. His heart hammering a beat too fast, memories and instincts that were not his own surged forth.
The darkness he cloaked in tried to hold him back, shadowy hands whispered their pleads for him, No violence, this one does not belong to you, Creature, death does not act for the living, seize your traitorous heart.
For a moment, the darkness held him tight until he was suddenly in the light. Bashing the head of the blabbering man in a single blow.
Blood surged and splattered, with it beginning the long night of a monster in the making.
She counted the silver coins.
One, two, three, four battered coins laid on the creaky table of her small home. Minus two, the patron had taken from her, a patron's charge, he said.
She brushed the tightness between her brows, sinking on the groaning chair.
She did not know how many more sleepless nights she could endure, lest her body collapse, her mind already on the brink of it.
Years had passed, all lost.
Her sanctuary, her home, her husband, her love.
They could not even hand his corpse, his ashes, claiming he had been thorn apart, ripped by the hands of men, under the name of war.
He wasn't a great warrior, nor a general with medals shining on his chest. He was a simple man, who always kept his promises.
He would always come home to her, dead or alive.
Perhaps he had, yet the ones with golden spoons in their mouth and feeding silver to the lesser had stolen him away.
She was sure of it.
She had searched and was able to trace back the land he had last taken his breath, even found the culprit, the enemy that had taken his life.
Yet, she could not foresee where he had gone.
There was a name, Henrich Harlander.
They said he looked for dead bodies, preserved for his grim plucking.
Alas, beyond her grasp, he dwells. Swathed in riches, a legacy untouched, unreachable.
Then came another, Victor Frankenstein.
Yet, he had vanished as quickly as she had learned of him, never to be heard again.
She often wondered why she had tried and kept trying. Even with the dead gone, her body had a strong will to live.
Her stomach gurgled in hunger, her body trying, moving, working. She yearned for sleep after a fatiguing day, and sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she yearned for love.
Even during loss, even when meaning was lost, she desired to live even when her heart protested in agony.
Her mind was cruel, she often thought. Time had passed, yet the truth caved her heart, a hollow left where it whistled dread warning.
Perhaps she had gone mad.
Frustrated, she yanked at her corset, fingers turning crimson as she sniffed and tried to keep her tears at bay.
Her body hungers, yet her sould ached with fatigue. She yearned for naught but the tomb of slumber to banish existence from her mind.
She lurched upright, the laces knotted as she pulled at the string until it became a bigger mess than it was before.
A weary hand dragged down her visage, stifling her cries.
She lifted her gaze as she felt the wind's caress, a doorway yawning into the abyss of the night and a darkened edifice.
She could hear the booming voices, the disadvantage of living above the pub. The most and only perk was the rent was meager.
Although the noise once roused her at night, after so many years, she had grown used to it.
With a huff, she gave up on the twisted corset. She shed the layers of her skirts, bare legs quickened with gooseflesh before she rose to sit at her vanity.
Shattered glasses twisted her face. Eyes contorted, mouth a frown's trail. Perhaps not the mirror's doing, but her own.
She dampened a cloth, wiping the grim on her face and the skin of her neck.
She tugged at her hair as the cold water gave her clarity.
Her mind was adrift, nowhere and everywhere at once.
She took out a small compact, bringing it close to the side of her face. To observe the small bruise when a man had accidentally elbowed her.
She poked and probed at the skin, risen and swollen.
She twisted and turned it mindlessly, when she froze.
Her small mirror caught the moon's shine as it illuminated her room.
Alas, in the corner, where lays the inhabited building facing her own, was a shadowed form.
A red eye piercing through the gloom, fixed upon her.
He knew he gave her a scare.
He had not tried to hide it.
Why would he? The man inside his head had no qualm in tormenting him in return.
She flung, almost comedically, thrown her door shuts, her curtains followed, and even dragged her rickety table in front of it. In fear, he would jump over and eat her.
Perhaps he would.
He sat, minutes dwindled, hours crept.
His fingers were still caked in blood as he remembered the warmth blood that coated it.
He sat until her frantic breathing turned to slumper.
The creature or the man, he did not know, moved.
With one jump, he landed on her balcony. He broke the handle, then the glass, grinning when the loud roaring below hid the shatter.
His shadows reflected the floor of her room, the curtains fluttering in vain, almost as if it was trying to protect her from the beast.
He only ripped it in distain.
The table was next.
He didn't look as he dropped it from her balcony, the crash startling the crowd below, not that he cared.
No, his eyes were transfixed on the woman curled on herself.
With quiet steps, he crept towards her slumbering form.
For a moment, he stared at her, the dead man inside quieting down the longer he gazed.
She has grown older, it was not his thought that resonated in his mind.
Even time was kinder to her than I was, the man thought.
The Creature tapped his fist on his skull for silence.
She stirred lightly, but her slumber held.
His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheet off her body. Slowly revealing what he had only dreamed, memories of another.
She shivered lightly as the sheet pooled at her foot, cold air hitting her skin. She frowned, then pouted until she shifted, facing him.
His breathing held at once.
The woman might have been carved from his own hand as memories flooded. His eyes were trailing over her moles and her scars.
The Creature should not remember, should not know her body so intimately, but the man did.
His fingers unsteady traced her skin, from her brows to the curve under her eyes, following the bridge of her nose until he landed on the plush skin of her lips.
He tugged at the skin, memories creeping in.
Lips parting in a smile, laughing, singing, pouting, moaning.
He pinched the skin until it bruised, and she gasped awake.
Her eyes unfocused until it latched onto him.
She froze in shock before she tried to crawl back, fear evident on her face. Yet, he took her by the twisted laces of her corset.
Her eyes widened as her breathing was cut off by the tightness of his hold on her corset.
"At last, tormentor," he hissed, gaze devouring her flesh, her veins throbbing and adoring her neck.
The pulses made his teeth ache for a bite.
With a tug, he dragged her back until she was a tangle of limbs in front of him.
Her mouth dropped open, chest heaving for air as tears trailed down her cheeks, in fear.
He ensnared the laces around his hand until they became a bundle and held.
She clawed at it, tried to pry it from his hand, but fell short. The small movements rendering her light headed.
"It is you, my torment," he opened his mouth and hovered above her, breathing in her air almost mockingly.
She gasped, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Her veins pulsed tightly under the skin of her neck.
A flush emitted off of her, "Pray tell your name tormentor,"
My petal, doll, sweetness, those were all his names he had once adorned her, but he had never revealed her name.
He loosened the laces, letting her speak.
She took a gulping air, glaring at him through her unshed tears. She opened her her mouth only to spit on him.
He stood for a moment, bewildered.
He raised a hand to his cheek, where her spit remained.
He gathered the slick on his finger before bringing it to his lips, "Sweetness," he said after licking it, swirling her spit within his maw, flesh of his flesh, "It clings upon you true,"
Both the man and the creature were enticed as a wolfish grin contorted his features before he descended upon her.
She writhed on the bed but was tethered by the laces in his grasp. Her spin arching off the bed, following his hold, a puppet dangling from his grasp.
Her protests, guttural, losing meaning as he pried her legs open with the weight of his body.
A thumb pressing at her center. "It is I sweetness, your beloved," she gasped as he thumbed the cotton between her legs.
"In flesh and blood, a warm greeting might have been preferable, but I seize my roses as I will," he bend over her form, his hair draping her in a small prison.
"And you, my love, are my favorite flower," her thorns were nothing against the desire that coursed through his body.
"You lay for picking, and you," he dragged the word, as the cloth dampened from his manipulation, "are ready for my plucking,"
It was a humiliating ritual. As his fingers slipped by the cotton and pressed at her erect nub, she quivered and shivered beneath him.
He gazed, bewitched as memories, and instincts seized him.
His groan echoed as he felt her wetness gathering at her opening, his fingers probing the skin.
The tip of his finger, collecting the slick, then rubbing fierce and swift on her clit. Illiciting pain with pleasure.
It was swift, a release made to shame her and satisfy him.
She came, eyes rolling back, succumbing to oblivion.
The creature kept rubbing her swollen nub until, even in unconsciousness, she flinched and shivered from sensitivity.
With one last glance, he released the laces and watched as her body bounced back on the bed.
His hand, slick with her release, slithered from her cotton wear to tug at his constricting pants.
His bulge strained the fabric as he knelt over her crumpled body.
He could not discern if the desires rising within him belonged to the dead man or of his own vile soul.
She laid, days, consumed in her linen sheets, shivering, mind adrift.
She had thorn her corset with scissor's bite and then thrown it in the fire. She scrubbed her cotton wear at the shame staining it before she she hid under her bed in fear.
The slight creak had her bitting her nails raw.
Days before, her patron had come knocking before bursting through her door when she hadn't answered. When he saw her naked form crumpled and hiding beneath her bed, he was kind enough to hide his crumpled face and leave her in her stillness.
She could feel the man, his hands taking her breath away, mouthing above her. His voice resonated through her body, such gentle eyes that held scorn.
The man made of seams.
The one who had plucked her like a string until she broke.
He haunted her.
The man, his long hair, his crimson gaze, seams etched blue. He forcefully engraved himself in her mind, rendering her mad.
It wasn't until she crawled from under her bed's lair, crouching and pissing in a pot mindlessly.
She saw it.
The newspapers she had stashed when her research over her missing husband had stalled.
William Frankenstein.
His wedding, joy turned to dread as tragedy struck.
William murdered, his fiancée claimed by a beast, his brother, Victor, vanished, chasing shadows.
Victor.
She scrambled to her knees, fingers flipping the newspapers until she saw another article.
Whispers of creation, of monstrous design dismissed as fancy, read the title.
Victor Frankenstein, a man of creation and science. He lacked funds for his creations, his projects until..
Her hand shook as she lingered on another name, Henrich Harlander.
A corpse seeker, now a corpse himself.
All dead, William, Elizabeth, Henrich, Victor.
However, one remained.
The beast from the wedding's tale, stitched and sewn skin, long hair, one strand in white, lanky tall frame, who carried the bride as if it was his own.
Her hand fell to her shaking mouth.
"Some whispers he was a jealous poor obsessed with the beautiful Elizabeth, others says he was a debt collector that emerged to take what was owned, some says, he is Victor's beast." her finger trailed over the sentences, every word igniting fire under her skin, until she was left burning.
"Beware the beast's wrath. Lest it devours you whole,"
She had buried him far away.
Perhaps it is why he came back to haunt her, she thought.
She waited with a bathed breath. He would come, she was sure of it, they would come.
It had been months since the encounter with the man cloaked. She was afraid, then angry, now she waited.
The field was empty, a fog clung to the earth floor, shrouding her eyesight.
She listened to the chirps of the birds until she felt it, the stillness in the air and the presence of another.
She fisted her trembling hands as she heard the shuffle behind her, growing closer until a breath ghosted her neck.
Silence lingered, a moment hung.
She swiveled as the wind picked up, blowing her scarf and unveiling her visage.
The stitched horror loomed as foreseen.
She tilted her head, eyeing, surveying the creature, recalling Harlander's archives.
Men of cadaver, blood-soaked arts, and operations until came the creature that stood forth.
The beast, once ravenous, lingered quietly. His eyes observed her as she did the same.
Her finger hovered at his seams, the shades of his skin alluring her as he followed her movements with his eyes.
They traced the curve of his neck, the expanse of his chest, until they landed on his heart. Palm splayed, eyes misting in recognition.
His palm laid upon hers, and she looked up.
His face suddenly was closer than it was before. He brushed his nose along hers and whispered her name, the one she had never given.
She sighed and pressed her lips to his, taunting and pulling at the skin until he hurriedly opened his mouth. Drooling and groaning.
She whispered his name, the one whose heart beat throbbed beneath her palm.
His arm bound her waist, pulling her in until they became one. He lost himself in her, in her scent and her taste.
Then he felt it, the sting.
She plunged the blade in his heart, her face a grimace of sorrows as she pulled back from the kiss. Blood trickled from his mouth, yet he only smiled softly.
He touched her cheek gently, a gentle tap as he murmured, "My end was always meant to be by your hands," he coughed.
Her hand was unsteady around the knife as her eyes flickered between his eyes. She did not know who spoke, her husband? The Creature? The thousand men who's soul trapped inside?
"Carve out my heart. It was always yours for the taking, confine it, bury me within you until the end of time," he gently placed his forehead on hers.
She wept, crumpling, the creature held her frame, both of them kneeling on the damp grass.
He smothered her crown, brushing back her hair until she dropped the knife and embraced him instead.
One of her palms rested on the wound she had inflicted, yet she felt it, his skin knitting itself back together until it was nothing more than another scar.
As she buried herself in him, the Creature looked over her shoulder and crumpled at the tombstone behind her, his name engraved and beneath it, a love never forgotten.
All those months ago, she had not fled out of fear but sheer determination.
Elizabeth's demise, Harlander's fall, scattered his riches. His legacy auctioned for the highest bidders and collectors.
Years had passed, leaving only scant remains when she had learned of it. A scarred journal, words scrawled from arduous journey, and blank photographic plates.
She had poised as a wealthy woman looking for additions to her collection.
She distracted them, requesting a drink as a feeble excuse before she fled to the restroom with the journal and the photographic plates, where the bitter truth lay veiled.
She had sobbed until she had lost her voice.
The truth of her husband's death revealed at last.
She held so much anger and hatred, her beloved mauled, mutilated, and savaged under the pretense of science. Then she remembered that night, where she gained and lost herself.
The waiting patiently began that horrific night.
She knew he could not die, saw it in the notes, and the truth beneath her hand as his skin was anew.
She knew beneath this creature made of hundred men, wicked and good, was her husband that reached for her.
She reached back.
She whispered his name, and the creature gazed back, seeing the acceptance in her eyes.
He lowered her, pushing his weight on her body until she laid over his tombstone and he upon her.
"Take me as I am, and I'll take you as you are," she whispered, limbs soft and pliant as she looked up at him.
His touch caressed the skin on her ankles, taking her shoes off her feet before pressing kisses at her ankles.
She gasped as he licked the heel of her foot before he brought his hands under her skirts, over her thighs.
His fingers dragged the hose, his nails scrapping her skin, leaving indents behind until he left the cloth hanging by the ankle of her foot.
She curled her fingers in her hair, digging in the grass, the stone, over in anticipation.
A prelude unearthing ecstasy.
"Come," she wiggled her fingers, a bird in flight, "Come to me,"
The Creature laid his body upon her while pushing her skirts until they folded beneath her soft stomach.
She pressed her thumb on the corner of his mouth. He kissed it softly.
Then she lunged with a hard kiss, knocking their teeth, tongue wrestling his, tasting the blood on his tongue as she knotted her legs on his back.
She forced his weight on her, feelings the stone dig at her back. Death chilled her back while life burned her front.
"Take me," she whimpered in the gentle grind forming between their bodies. His engorged flesh humping the warmth between her legs.
"Consume me, seize me, I impore you," her begging had his cock and his mouth drooling as he hoisted her limbs until their folded under his chest.
He looked down and stopped for a moment, the sight between her legs turning his blood ablaze.
His gaze lingered at the intimate part of her, the one he had visioned a thousand times and touched fleetingly months prior. Now laid bare for his taking.
She seized his hand until it hovered her mouth. She placed kisses upon each finger, licking stripes on his palm until it was soaking in her dew.
Urging him forth, she clawed at his wretched garments, freeing him from the confine of his pants.
She bent her fingers around his as she made him smear the slick on himself.
They stroked together, a ghastly dance, once, twice, thrice, until she grazed him with a nail and he hissed.
"I suffer, consumed by this unholy fire while you, my tormentor," she tugged the white strand of his hair, "Revel in my agony," she giggled in a daze as his cock pressed at her center.
"Am I not your most cherished bloom?" She threw the words back to his face, whining as he pressed forth. Her grin gone, eclipsed by pleasure.
"You are," he mumbled, voices of thousands of men responding, "You are my cherished bloom," she heard it then, his voice, her husband's.
She curled her arms over his shoulders as she surrendered to him. He groaned, the sounds of his hips smacking into her flesh resonating.
The fog persisting as it shrouded them til they vanished from sight.
The Creature laid a hand on her hip and the other on the stone above her head. Pounding and thrusting in her heat even as the tomb crumbled to dust in his palm.
Her husband lives, the tomb mattered not.
Only the Creature with heart belonging to her.
MOTHER'S TOUCH
adam frankenstein x singlemother!reader
a/n : i remembered watching the movie and being so confused about the portrayal of elizabeth's and the creature's relationship. she seemed motherly but also so fascinated with the creature that was certainly not motherly. i wanted to explore that concept in this story.
warning : incestuous relationship, although they are not related, they have a dynamic that can be questionable. not explicit, and the theme is a second thought. it merely subtle and can be enjoyed without having that concept in mind.
The world had been cruel to her. The way it always was towards women made of rages or riches alike.
Orphaned, poor, and a mere girl, she had done many vicious things to survive.
It was only by mere miracle that she was saved.
A girl aged as she was had lent her a helping her.
She could not take the same path the gentle woman had. Could not be a woman of the cloth. Nonetheless, she had two hands and two feet that worked just fine in the scullery
It was a simple monastery, in which she was fed, had clean clothes and a plain bed. There was nothing more she could ask for.
However, her nimble fingers had not forgotten their naughty habits or her wandering eyes, which often wandered to the stable men
It was only a matter of time before disaster befall. She could hide it, or she tried the very least.
In spite of it, her nakedness and the roundness which behold the secret that could not be hidden was discovered by a wagging tongue that was quick to lay bare her sin.
Under the disappointed glares, she was sent away.
She would only remain as a stain to the polish chapel.
The chapel welcomed the less unfortunate, not the one who seeked it with open arms.
The sister, the one who had silently cried for her, had brought her to a small broken home with a whistling roof, and walls made more of dust than wood.
It was a quiet adieu. Eyes that briefly glanced at her, then at her growing stomach, then the rotting floors.
She had blessed the entrance with shaking hands before leaving her.
"A gentle heart should not hold place for sinners," the lone woman said before hiding her own tears of sorrow in the decaying sheets.
The silence she had one escaped, clung to her.
She had grown used to the chatters and the quiet giggles in the kitchen. She had forgotten the quietness that came from a lonely life. A silent killer in her dissecting mind.
She had lived through the warmth of the summer alone. Had spent it foraging fruits and grains. Sealing them tightly to keep her full until winter came and left.
It wasn't an easy feat. Her stomach dragged her body till she physically had to bear a hand to her aching back to keep herself upright.
There were days when all she did was cry. Some days were she would walk deep in the forest behind her home, searching for scraps and inspecting the earth for hidden mushrooms that could satiate her appetite.
It was subtle at first, the present of an invisible helping hand.
When she was much younger and naive, she had heard stories of fairies living in the forest, of elves and beasts that roamed freely in the uncharted territory.
The same naivety bloomed again when she heard the rustle outside her home. Only to awaken the next morning with chopped wood and hay wrapped in a single string.
In exchange, she left numerous gifts at her doorsteps. The most polished apple, a slice of bread, silver buttons, and string of fabrics.
Even a silver of her locks, hoping to show her gratitude.
Anyone else would have worried, but it was simply a mysterious trade, and she had always been a strange girl.
Her only worries had been to make the shack a good home before winter came, or her babe.
Whichever came first.
Turns out, both did.
It was a stormy night when she had been awoken by the whitsling of the wind and the thundering of the snow around the walls of her home.
It had scared her for a moment until the ache around her stomach frightened her more.
She had crossed and stitched the days of the months in a soft cloth, first with thick leaves, then scraps of fabric she found. She had hoped to track the days until the birth.
There were still many moons left.
She had tried to fall back asleep, walked around, and even opened a window to distract herself with the coldness of the storm. She tried to hold her breath until the pain passed, but the minutes turned to hours, and eventually, she could not hide away from reality.
Her wails were loud, interwining with the snowstorm beyond her home. She had collapsed on all four, body shaking, nails digging in the soft rotten woods as sweats dripped from every pore.
She silently begged for god, for fate, to take away her pain, even begged for the fairy she believed existed.
She didn't know which could be worse, dying alone, leaving her baby behind, or the loneliness of doing it all alone.
Hours could have passed, and the storm had not relented. Instead, it became a fierce wolf, howling with her.
There was a moment of stillness, and her consciousness had faded from the pain.
When she woke, she felt it.
The presence of another.
She believed she had conjured it until she felt a cold hand press at her chin, a cup held at her lips where she mindlessly drank warm water.
She felt it drag a finger into her hair, sticking on her forehead, before holding both her elbows, forcing her upright.
She winced, but none if it mattered, not when the pain returned between her hips.
"Please," she choked out, "Help me,"
It spoke, she was sure of it, but she could not decipher it. Between the flickering of her eyes, she could trace the tall figure cloaked in a black coat of fur.
It should have scared her, the dark being that reassembled almost an entity.
She could only cling to it, in hope, in fear.
"I shall, I promise,"
The voice was frail, but his hold strong.
"I cannot take away the pain, but I will remain here, I will, I swear it,"
Her vision sawm, agony convulsed her frame, slick sweat betrayed her stance as steady arms held against the collapse of her body.
Her wails and shrieks echoed in the home.
It wasn't until she felt it, her head dipping into her chest as her trembling fingers grazed between her legs.
"The head, I can feel it"
Its hands didn't hesitate. With an arm encircling around her waist, binding her to its front, the other hovering her own, they welcomed the birth of a new life.
She laid upon hays and a coat of fur.
The fire she could never blaze, burning in a heat of yellow and orange in the night.
The babe, a boy, rested upon her chest, yet she could only gaze at the man, the entity that had come to her aid.
He crouched away in the shadows, away from the flame. Clothed in shadows as his fur coat laid beneath her.
"Thank you," her voice a rasp.
He bowed his head in response.
She could see him then, the seams on his skin, the shades of blue and grey before her eyes landed on the string around his neck.
She recognized it then.
During the moment she had slept, he had brought new plank of woods, stack of root vegetables lining her wall, and the once whistling roof had been boarded up instead of it's gaping hole.
"You are the fairy," she smiled, mind still clouded with sleep and lasting pains.
The man barely looked at her, only with the corner of his eyes, but she saw it nonetheless.
Because there, with a leather string she had gifted, hung a piece of her hair, tied with the very ribbon she had given away.
"You've come at last."
It was a forced ritual.
He had tried to leave, yet she had feigned agony dramatically in the hope he would stay.
A twisted game of cat and mouse, only the man was very well aware of her tactics.
"What is your name?"
"Why did you hide away this long?"
When he wouldn't answer, she would talk about her newborn babe. Her loneliness made her a chatter mouth.
"Why are you so tall? Did your mother make you drink lots of milk? Should I do the same for my son? I want him to be tall. My family always has been on the shorter side, but I don't want him to be too tall where he would reach the stars, and they take him away somewhere I cannot reach. He is so small, even the wind could take him away, and I wouldn't know,"
She had looked down at him then, the boy tightly pressed to her chest. The fur hanging over her shoulder while one thick sleeve laid over the child amongst other blankets.
"Isn't he charming ? I think he has my nose, perhaps my eyes?"
His silence remained.
Slowly, her voice became a shriveled thing.
She had offered tea, read books out loud, and made jokes until her skull ached for a new jest.
Beneath her chatter, sorrow clawed forth.
It was quiet for a moment before she rose from the bed.
She wobbled, eyes strained to her hands as she picked a worn book, then a half stitched scarf and stale bread before she walked over towards him.
Her eyes apologetic.
"Thank you," it was her way of saying goodbye, of opening the door of his cage.
The creature gazed at her at last.
At her knotted hair, flushed eyes and quivering lips as she offered her gifts.
She thought he would deny them, like he had denied her everything else.
Doubt clawed until he took.
The storm had waned as he lumbered from her abode. Steps soft and quiet as he opened the creaking door.
Her gazed remained a tether on his back, which he ignored. Just as he had ignored her words, her questions, and the tears in her eyes as she silently begged him to stay. Ignored the way her hands reached out when he had taken the gifts and when she ghosted a hand helplessly at his back when he turned and left.
Ignoring his own want to remain.
He returned a day later, lingering at the step of her home.
He could hear the quiet cooes of the child and the woman responding back just as gently.
In hand, he had the pelt of a wolf and a sack of it's meat hanging from his shoulder.
He thought of leaving it at her door, but he remembered her sad eyes and hesitated.
He didn't get to decide as he heard her voice come closer.
Before he could take a step, she opened the door and gasped at his presence.
"Oh, deary me," she said, a hand over her heart as she stumbled back in the entrance.
It took merely a moment before a smile bloomed on her face, "You've come bearing gifts, how very kind of you,"
She ushered him with a tug on the sleeve of his shirt, "Look, Simon, look who has come to visit us,"
She left him in the middle of the room before going to pick up her boy named Simon.
There was a flush to her face, in excitement or the heat he didn't know. He watched as she brought her son close to her cheek and grinned again at him while the babe smacked his lips.
He shifted in discomfort, suddenly lost and insecure.
"How rude of me, please, please take a seat, I found this chair in the back of the house. It is creaky and loud, but the boy stained the bed, I'm quite a air head really, I blame it on the lack of sleep" her words a ramble as she held her child in the crook of her arm while pointing and throwing her arm around.
There was still a shakiness to her stance, eyes droppy, but the sadness he had left her with was gone. Instead, joy overtook her face.
The child cried out once, taking his mother's attention, which she gladly gave.
He labored to fit within the chair after setting down his offerings upon an unsteady table.
His gaze remained at his feet.
Her sorrow, her longing mirrored in him. He could not find it in himself to not return.
Returned he has, yet actions and thoughts fled as he remained motionless in the chair.
"Thank you," he suddenly felt her fingers graze his forehead before gently petting his head.
"Thank you very much, you are such a sweetie"
His eyes looked up before he could do anything.
Her eyes were warm, and he imagined feeling her warmth trail from her to him.
He inhaled, and her maternal aroma rose. Milk and lilac clung to her, and there faintly, wood and ash that hung on his coat, coated her skin. Almost a fragrance.
Slowly, the game of cat and mouse ended, instead came the play of a mother, a man, and a boy.
"Adam, darling boy," he heard her voice before he felt her body press over the curve of his back.
He felt her laughter before she planted both hands on his head and laying her chin over it.
Her elbows dug into his shoulder as she paced her breathing with his.
With another dramatic huff, "Harg, commander, what does the sun seek on this glorious afternoon?"
She moved, her cheek resting on his shoulder, nose probing the skin of his neck, "Perhaps a cup of tea, and toasted nuts with your dearly beloved and her handsome boy?"
She felt his flush and grinned like a little girl.
She purposely pressed her weight on his back until she felt him hold both their weight under her constant movement.
They heard a wail, then another, almost as if the handsome boy she mentioned was protesting in earnest alongside his mother.
"Come," she jumped upright and held out her hand.
Adam looked up at her and forced his eyes to ignore the sun's glare behind her head, a halo of sorts.
"A feast awaits," her patience wained. She took his hands and tugged at them until he rose.
Together, they walked back to her home, her fingers not once letting go of his as it swung between them.
She only let go when they saw the wiggling little boy on the center of the bed.
With a small sprint, she jumped on the bed before her kisses resonated in the home.
She took Simon in her arms and gave him plenty of kisses until he whined in protest.
She gazed upwards at Adam as he sat politely on the small table she decorated with flowers and fabrics in the reassemble of a small tea party.
Clink!
She taped her silver cup with his. Warm tea slightly sloshing to the sides as she acted out, "What delicious food you have, sir, what delicious tea, from India is it ?"
She was a whimsical little thing, Adam observed.
The sadness she bore that day had been wiped every since he decided to return.
She had welcomed home in her room, which now sat dity and fixed along with various meats hanging on a wire and fire never once burning out since he resided with her.
Winter waned, seasons spiraled and fondness bloomed.
Her presence was a booming voice whilst his was a whisper, yet their souls resonated.
"Adam,"
"Adam?"
"Adam!"
She spun, a whirlwind around him, as she hid between the layers of a sheet hanging to dry.
She peeked out of the cloth, half hiding in the fabric before hiding back in with a shy giggle.
What was supposed to be a simple task turned a game of hide and seek as she wove around the hanging clothes.
His digits twitched as his eyes traced her shadow between the cloth that adorned her more than it hid her.
When she peaked out, a look of horror was on her face as she looked over his shoulder.
Adam turned, limbs posed and ready.
However, the predator he expected to face bumped in his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist, face digging in his back as her smile etched in his skin.
"Got you,"
She did not know of his tale, the wretched creature he is.
Yet, she saw the crude sutures that adorned his body. His terror of flickering flame, a paradox he courted when he saw her shiver, insisting he take care of it. The savage hunts with his bare hands instead of rifles man used.
She was not blind. He carried a wound that made his shoulder hang low, flinch at the flicker of fire, and hunt the wolves that crossed close to home.
But he did not tell, and she did not seek.
"You mustn't frolic as such," the timber of his voice made her step back, flinching at his loudness.
He knew of men and beasts, but most importantly, he knew what could crawl where he could not see, crawl until they got to him first.
They will hurt, burn, and kill till he was ash.
Playful jest, now dread as his fear and anger surfaced. One emotion Adam never thought he would direct to her.
She recoiled from his scorn.
"It was a jest, Adam. I did not mean it," when he clenched his fist and turned his back to her, the fear and loneliness she hid crawled back to her.
"Adam, look at me. I beg," he did not relent.
"Forgive me, Adam," she didn't dare move as she clutched the skirt of her dress.
"Adam?"
With a roar that resonated in the empty field and sending bird flying, he turned, one eye almost red as it pierced her.
She stood shaking as he watched her, yet he could not see.
He saw Victor, the old man, Elizabeth, the men with rifles, the wolves, fire, and pain, thousands memories of the skin of the men he wore, yet he could not see the woman trembling before him.
"Cease speaking!" His voice was booming as he yelled. Adam held suppressed agony, which he sought to soothe and obliterate as he used her as a salve, blind to her dwindling essence.
He only heard a moment later, her feet running through the field, her sobs quiet unlike herself, leaving only traces of her footsteps behind.
The thin sheet she had been playing with laid discarded in the dirt.
The night was eerily quiet. Where it housed the sounds of animals and nature settling into the night, now was a quietness that rang in his ears.
His footsteps sounded like one of an ogre, the one he read in a fairytail once, a step so big it would shake the earth and crumple any living being under it.
Perhaps he was an orgre. He had squashed her beneath his feet without a single shame.
He carried the guilt in his heart until it dragged him to his feet.
When he returned, the night was only settling, yet the abode was strangely quiet, and the lights extinguished. It was cold, and the gurgles he adored to hear, of the boy named Simon, was silent, and the mother he held dearly was wretcher.
He had wrung his hand until he thought the seams on his skin would burst. He had punished himself, dragging and climbing hills until the rocks sank in his skin and bleed.
He felt a phantom, a ghost haunting a manor, as he walked into the darkness of his home.
She was laying in bed, back to him, yet she was here, alive and breathing.
And waiting.
He fell to his knees with a soft thud! and for the first time in the months that they had lived under the same roof, he reached out to her.
A hand lingered on her waist, then fell in a fist, clenched on his lap. Instead, he laid his head on hers until their cheek touched their eyelashes nuzzled in an affectionate kiss.
At the touch, he heard more so felt the sob that racked her body.
His nose nuzzled at the skin under her eyes as she curled on herself.
"I'm sorry," he repeated his words of forgiveness and felt relief when she pulled him closer. Until he slotted himself at her back
"You are mean," she hiccuped.
"I am, forgive me," he whispered, a plea of absolution.
"Cr-cruel," she stammered, and his hand fisted the linen. The maiden once a torrent of speech, now reduced to fumbling words and coherence.
"I was, forgive me"
"Most cruel," tears fell, and he could not stand the sight of it selfishly. He pressed a palm over her eyes in hope of easing her pain
His words of forgiveness became a chant until her tears waned and the shaking of her body was warmed by his frame.
"You didn't come back," she pressed her hands over his that laid on her eyes. "I thought you left, never to tread this path again,"
"Never" his words were fierce, as if the words she spoke were a prophecy he strongly defied.
"You were bad, you left, you yelled, and you didn't come back, bad you were, bad Adam, I ought to throw you to the wolves and see how they spite you back out," she scolded him yet her face crumbled and turned to face him in a haste.
"I did not mean it," she cried out, sobbing, "Don't go to the wolves, stay and yell but stay with me, never leave, never, I'm sorry," she blabbered in fear, fisting his shirt.
He rubbed her back, which was slick with sweat as she trembled. She burrowed in his embrace, a yearning to graft herself within, carve a home for herself in his bones, where he could never leave her
"I vow to stay but I will never yell, never at you never," and when her cries lamented and he soothed her with his voice, he told the story of the creature, one without a mother and a father, one made of death and lighting.
Made from the hands of a madman in the name of science.
Adam brought her trinkets and waited patiently at her feet for her praises, his eyes curved into a smile of their own as she pet him.
"Aren't you a sweetling," she would praise him, and he would smile at her, pressing her fingers on his head until they were flat.
Sometimes, she would scold him.
"Adam, the honey again?"
"Adam, do not tread home with filthy boots,"
"Naughty Adam!"
And most times, she would grace him as if he were her most beloved, her dearest.
Her kisses echoed in the abode as the boy, now almost eight months old, giggled at the antics of his mother.
"A kiss here," she pressed one at the tip of his nose, "Kiss," she pressed two on his cheeks, "Another one, well yes of course," one on his lips until the boy gasped for breath under the tickling of his mother's love.
Adam watched in a trance at the affection, his own fingers lingering on his lips, then his cheeks, following her kisses on the boy with his own touch on his skin.
He read tales, stories of princess and prince, king and queen, saw the affection between a man and a woman, of a mother and her children, of a man and his sons, yet he could not decipher the affection he held for her.
"Alright, mommy loves you so much," with one final kiss, she let the boy down and watched as he clumsily crawled until he found interest in the sole of a chair.
Tha rain battered the wood as her eyes landed on him.
His fingers were still on his lips, yet when she noticed her gaze, he flinched.
"Adam," she dragged his name in two long and dragged syllable before she sprung off the bed.
A kiss resonated as she planted it on his forehead.
She giggled as she pulled back to see his face.
When he said her name, his voice was weak.
"Did my darling boy want a kiss?" She questioned playfully before planting both her hands on his cheeks and dotting his skin with kisses. Until every inch of his skin was untouched by her lips.
Except his lips, which she lingered a hair's breadth distant. Her eyes dilated as warmth rose from her neck to her cheeks, heat he sensed in such confines.
At her hesitation, the ugly emotion in his chest burst. It only ignited as her hands fell from his cheeks.
His eyes moved back and forth between her eyes until his face twisted in anguish, and he fled.
Shame coursing through his veins.
Want.
He wanted her. To behold and to love, to cherish and to protect.
He knocked his own fist to his head as he stumbled. He would not flee, not like last time, but he would hide.
Hide from his shame, of his desires he could not name.
She caught to him, as promised he did not flee, instead he stood back to her, shaking from the rain or his feelings she could not tell.
She did not speak. She lingered.
Though rain drenched her form, as winds picked up and sent dirt flying. Lightening echoed in the distance, his lost mother mocking at the boy she gave life.
Foolish boy! You speak of love, yet the most dammed could be more deserving than a monster like you! Creature!
It spat out as lightning sparked once in the sky, and Adam felt it shake his core.
When her steps finally reached him, she pulled his fist in her palms, her forehead pressing on his back.
He hesitated, afraid and alone, until his fist shakily unraveled in her palm.
"You mustn't see me as a man, a creature, perhaps? A pet? What am I do you?" he said her name at last, almost a plead. Yet he did not turn.
Her silence frightened him, the woman who spoke of riddles and love now quiet as the sky roared and his heart sank.
He thought briefly, he could be her pet, her creature as long she held his hands and called him darling boy or sweetling or even Adam.
Oh, when she called him Adam, it felt a personal declaration of love.
She took a step, another until she was in front of him.
Her eyes were sad, and he thought briefly that all he seemed to make her feel.
He could not bear to watch the redness in her eyes and the pout at her lips, but she did not relent. Instead, as he looked at his foot, she pressed a finger at his chin.
Tilting her head until she gazed up at him and him down at her. Eyes locked with a fierceness he had never seen before.
"You are everything and beyond I could ask for, Adam. You are mine, and I am yours," her eyes flickered between his.
Her fingers on his chin slowly crawled up to his lips, tracing the skin as her own opened.
His wet locks clung to her face as he bent impossibly closer until his neck curved and their nose brushed.
She ran a hand on his chest until she took the string of leather from his chest, "You wear me on your heart," she tugged the necklace, "And I have engraved your name, your flesh in mine, we are one Adam. Not children of men or death, you are my Adam, my beloved, and I am yours, your dearest,"
Suddenly, he could feel everything.
The fog lifted as he felt the rain pelting on his skin. Feel and sense the heat of her body as her breasts brushed his chest, her finger burning on his lips as her hand fisted over the necklace that brought him closer to her.
He nodded mindlessly at her words, and she smiled, nodding back, almost as if it was a secret.
She opened her mouth and breathed in his exhales. One of her hand trailed to grip at his hair before slowly, lowering himself to her until he gently pressed his lips to hers.
Gentle pecks echoed until she pinched at the back of his neck, and he gasped.
Her tongue dragged deliciously at the roof of his mouth, a shiver running through his spine as his arms tightened around her body in a sharp inhale.
The wet smacks made his ears flush as she tugged and turned him at her will.
It wasn't until he felt the puff of air against his cheeks, her chest rising and falling in shortness of breath, he pulled away, his thumb brushing the bottom of her lips.
"Yours," he whispered.
"Mine," she smiled, soft and wide as her eyes crinkled.
He whined, nudging his nose in her cheek, which she giggled to. Almost falling backward before he caught hold of her by the waist.
She held both palms on his cheeks and looked at him.
"Yours," she whispered.
"Mine."
CHASE OF THE HEART!
warnings : { a/b/o, dark fantasy, dark romance, dark!clark, blind!reader, fictional world }
a/n : this took a while to write. i have been rewriting it for weeks now. i haven't written in six years, and english is not my first language, so please be kind
masterlist | one
She had spent the next days hiding.
The town was bustling with the visitors, and she could hear their voices travel and reach over her hut.
She had opted out of visiting the town herself. Instead, she kept herself busy by collecting and sewing, and whichever scraps, the wind blew her away. She even managed to sculpt out the few rocks she had found at the riverside.
She was mindlessly tracing over the shape, half a mind in keeping it for herself as a keepsake when the old man came to visit.
Not deep within the forest but just at the border where she had smelt him miles before he reached her.
He had brought a pair of shoes, the one she had worn until he snatched it away from her when he noticed the thin sole. Alongside, food that wasn't often seen in this part of town.
Something the visitors had bought and he had kindly shared with her.
She knew he had mostly come to check up on her, and this time, he didn't talk about her sudden disappearance. He gave her enough grace to not scold her for it.
It was a brief moment before he was gone, and she was left alone again.
After his departure, she tried to keep herself busy with many distractions. Sewing, tidying, roaming, and fishing.
But there was a certain agitation brewing in her. She could sense an urgency bubbling at the surface, and it set her at the edge.
She didn't feel peace until night fell, and slumper was soothing balm to her restless mind.
It was barely hours later when she woke. Her gums ached, and her saliva grew thick in her mouth. Her mind was awake before her body was.
Her candle had barely extinguished when she had roused again.
The moon was high in the sky, creeping in, through the small holes of the ceiling. The air felt eerily quiet. She had been used to the animals roaming at night and the crickets chirping with the whistle of the wind, but for once, everything felt still.
Not that it mattered, not with the sudden ache at the base of her neck followed by the tug in her chest, almost as if someone had wrapped a ribbon around her chest and tugged at it.
She felt sluggish when she rose, the sheets sticking to her slick body as she stumbled to get a glass of water, almost feverish.
Her hands trembled as she poured herself a glass, the pot clanking with the silver cup.
She felt it again the tug. This one rousing her awake. It was persistent, as if it was silently begging for her attention.
She barely registered when the cup fell from her hand, spilling water over her feet.
Her feet grazed the earth before she could comprehend she had left her home. Her hand mindlessly tugged at a shawl hanging to dry on a branch. The scarf covered the pulsing gland on her neck alongside her head and the lower half of her face.
The grass was damp as she walked, almost in a trance. Her eyes barely flickered as the moonlight brightly shone in her face, ignoring nature's warning.
She kept walking, away from her hut, and out of the little forest, she had built a home. She walked past the sleepy households and traversed further away from the town until she stumbled upon a booming home.
She recognized the rich scents of flowers interwoven together and felt the cement dig in the soft skin of her feet.
She could smell the silver of the enclosure before her hand reached out to it.
Her fingers that loosely gripped the bars suddenly tightened it when a sudden blaring noise echoed, followed by loud laughters and singing.
She smelt it then, the stinging smell mixing and blending together. All beasts. The shawl around her face barely protected her nose from the smell.
She heard of this place. She had thought of it almost a myth as the elders certainly forbid it. The act of mating with the unmated. Not that the youngsters cared, from the looks of it.
She had a sudden urge to turn around.
However, her body was an independent being that night. She barely remembered pushing the tall silver fence and walking in the bustling home.
She had hardly pushed the door when she flinched.
The heat and the smell hit her at once. The vividness of the living startling her awake. Her back hit the wall when she felt someone brush by her, the door closing as they left in a rush.
The warm bodies had her sweating in mere seconds.
Her hand trembled to her side, mindlessly looking for her cane before realizing she had never brought it with her.
With dread, she felt her sense of direction was gradually lost.
The forest, she had traced it with her steps. Her fingers trailing along nature when it had been an unfamiliar home until she could recite the path blind deaf and dumb. But here? She might as well been lost in the middle of the sea.
The door that had just closed to her right was nowhere to be found as her hand landed on a firm body. With a gasp, her body jostled forward before she was pushed into a crowd of heat.
Their scents penetrated her skin. The smell of their ruts and heat flushed her own skin as gasps and sighs resonated all around her.
She moved along the crowd, pushing and being pushed as she flowed through it. Her hands desperately tried to take hold of a surface that wasn't someone.
It wasn't until she stumbled and landed on a firm wall that she was able to gain proper footing. Her fingers shakily traced the surface as she curved and moved along around the furnitures until she felt a cool wood with a curved handle.
With a loud thump! that barely resounded in the home. She took a step out the threshold and breathed in the cool air that heated down her body.
Her thighs shifted in discomfort as she felt the heat between her legs, affected by the sensual dance that was happening just behind the door she leaned on.
She slumped, her legs practically giving out.
With a hand holding the bundled up shawl and the other shakily moving the hair sticking to her face, she tried to analyze the new room.
The tugging she had felt earlier long now felt like an echo.
She chastised herself quietly. Having spent most of her life hiding her instincts and her identity, she came to the one place where she could be easily triggered.
Holding one hand out on the wall, she carefully toed the floor. Her nails digging in the wooden wall when she felt a sudden drop, then another.
Her feet gradually learned the way of the staircase, feeling the steps as her other hand leaned forward to grasp the railing.
She kept following the steps until she came halfway down the stairway. Finally, she found a flat surface where she was able to lean on and breathe away from the turbulent crowd.
She brought one hand over her swollen gland, pulsing under her skin. Her loud gasps echoed in the quiet staircase. She had tried to not breath in the smell surrounding her, but the scents had quietly seeped in her skin. Her body was visibly affected by the pheromones drifting in the building.
The tug that had brought her here had faded, but she didn't seem to notice it anymore. Her body was overwhelmed, and her mind was hazy. Her chest was constricted every time she tried to breathe.
Even beyond the door and the few steps she took, the noises and smell affected her still.
Hoping more space would steady her, her legs wobbled as she tried to find the second pair of stairs.
There was a creak that ticked close to her before she felt a sudden burst of heat fill the room, followed by the smell of heat and steel.
The sudden presence had her wobbling on her feet, but as she was about to lose her footing, she felt a presence creeping behind her.
A hand quick to grasp at her lower stomach, pulling her away from the steps. Her hand flung out on impulse, but the being behind her was quick to grab it.
Their body curving over her back until they were interwined as one.
The shock barely wore off when she felt his hand leave hers, and the wandering hand hovered over her face.
Their palm gently lay on her face. The bottom of their hand rested at the bottom of her lips while their fingers gently spread over her forehead.
Their warmth cooled her heated skin, anchoring her.
“Breath,” his breath gently caressed the hair. She did just as he said until her eyes wavered, cheeks flushing until her body blindly leaned forward. Her nose pressed in the crevice of his palm as his fingers gently pressed on her eyes until they were barely open.
The man felt strangely invisible, yet his strong body was evident with the way he curved over her back. She could faintly feel his shadow above her head, his chin knocking gently on her forehead.
He breathed slowly with control. She could feel his chest brush against the soft cotton of her sleepwear. Eventually, her breath followed his.
The pounding in her ears softened, and she could feel the gentle breeze as her lungs steadied. His fingers gently caressed her brows as her nose dug into his skin.
Not noticing that the being behind her held no true scent.
Just a shadow of silence and steel.
Her brows knitted under his hand, and a whisper escaped her before she could stop it, “Who are you ?”
He hadn't answered, and she could have almost dreamed that she spoke.
She almost felt dizzy, practically in a trance as the warm cage settled around her.
She could have fallen asleep right into his palm, sheltering her and the heat of his body warming her when suddenly a bustle of people barged in the door she had escaped from.
The man before her was quick to move into the corner of the staircase. His broad body hid her away from the crowd, tumbling and whistling behind them.
With a palm still pressed over her face and the other looming behind her head, she greedily drank in his scent.
It took her a moment to realize the crowd of people had left, but his scent was almost addictive. Her brain turned to mush, and her eyes barely flickered open.
She sensed him draping over her. Her hands, having a mind of their own, one hand clinging to his shirt, the other tangling with the palm resting over her face.
She slightly turned her face until her lips pressed against his palm.
"Hng," she practically moaned when she felt a burst of pheromones. The man before her didn't have any distinctive smell, but the sudden pheromones dancing and penetrating her skin had her gripping him tightly.
She greedily gulped his smell. Her mouth was lightly open until her tongue poked at his calloused skin.
He barely flinched when she moaned, head tilting as his palm followed.
The release of his pheromones triggering hers.
The air filling with the interwoven smell. When she whined at the clash, he gently shushed.
“Come on, little wolf, just like that”
She could not see the man, but she could feel him as the words he spoke vibrated though his chest to her own.
The smell of him, the heat of his skin, his shadow crowding her as he pressed himself firmly on her.
It came quietly. The dance on her skin, her skin flushing with another kind of heat. Her mouth drooled in his palm.
His head shifted until she felt him press his forehead behind his hand, which he slowly moved. His fingers curved behind her ear and slightly trailed own to her gland.
His hair caressing her crown as his fingers traced her skin.
Her eyes widened hopelessly, hoping to see but only being met with the darkness.
His pheromones crept in, crawling on her skin like tiny spiders leaving her shivering despite the warmth emitting from him.
She felt her own pheromones respond to his call until they were tangled in a feverish dance.
She felt it then, her muscles tensing, the coil in her lower stomach that had faded coming back in full force. Her hand that had gripped his shirt quick to land on his arms, feeling the thickness of it before another series of pheromones came flooding in.
She felt him move until his lips dragged over to her hot gland, nuzzling in.
Her hand was shaky as it rose to grasp the back of his head, feeling the softness of his hair. She gasped when she felt his teeth graze her skin. Her nails digging in his scalp, which emitted a delicious sound that went directly between her legs.
She rose on her toes, feet shaking from the strain as she invited him for more ministrations.
“Please” she quietly whined as her body slumped forward. Feeling the ridge and curves of his body that had her mouth watering and her sightless eyes to part in a haze.
The stranger only hummed before he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her slightly until her feet rested on his shoes. The leather was a cold contrast to her feverish body.
Her toes digged to the leather as he continued to blow and nose the skin around the gland.
They were tightly woven, and she felt midly embarrassed that he could feel the heat emitting from between her thighs or how she subtly tried to merge into him even more.
He didn't shy away from her advances. Instead, he tightened the hold on her waist while tilting her head to his taste.
He stroked with his tongue, and her eyes crossed. Silently scenting her while tasting her.
She felt it again, the tightness of her muscles. Leaving her to grasp his broad back.
She barely realized when her body tensed until she felt an unfamiliar heat bursting until her legs trembled without even a touch of his finger.
Only his mouth breathing over her gland and his pheromones quietly tightened every muscle in her body until it triggered her release.
He held her trembling in his arms, tenderly. He held her a long time, where she barely felt conscious.
She didn't remember him leaving.
Only the drag of his fingers over her heaving chest, over her lips which had been bitten raw, then the risen gland he had stroked with his tongue until his hand traced to the middle of her chest, where the pull was once.
She twitched as her fingers digged in the wall behind her. Her eyes were trailing and tracing the darkness even though she could not see.
She felt it when the coldness seeped in and his presence was gone.
Her hand mindlessly reached out in hopes of reaching him even though she felt it in her heart that he was gone.
She stayed there, cheeks flushed, and her release coated down her thighs.
For a moment, the quietness rang like a sounding bell.
She shakily took a step, her legs still shaking.
Another.
Before she ended up crumpling on the stairs, body shaking and convulsing.
Feeling that her body was forever rewritten by the shadowless man.
THE MONSTER IN MY CLOSET
pervert!scottmiller | +18
in which scott miller finds out his best friend's fiancée is his favorite pornstar!
a/n : drabble cause i'm too lazy to write a complete one shot
The first time he saw her was behind the screen of his phone, hand stroking down his cock as he watched the pretty little thing in lace moan on his screen.
He had seen her often after that. Sometimes late at night, his phone propped up in bed, or even in the bathroom stall when he just needed a quick release after a long day of work.
He could count her moles and recognize the curve of her body anywhere, even the high pitch of her voice or the low murmurs when she was close. He knew her so intimately that he felt like he could taste her release over the screen.
The first time he actually saw her, she was hanging over his best friend's arm, giggling and nudging her head into his cheek before she even took notice of him.
He had almost dropped the glass of champagne when she had smiled at him. Barely glancing at him when his best friend introduced her to him.
He had tried to smile, which looked more like a grimace, but eventually, she looked away when her group of friends came in the picture.
“How is she? Scored a good one, haven't I?”
“She's perfect” he whispered, tongue poking in his cheek as he shamelessly watched her from a distance.
“What was that?”
His nimble fingers quick to poke around the closed drawers. However, just as he opened the one drawer with laces peaking out, he heard footsteps approaching where he was.
The second time he had seen her was at her engagement party.
Under the pretense of going to the bathroom, he had “accidentally” walked in her room
“Shit,” with a curse, he glanced around the room until he found himself hiding in her closet.
His long legs nudged and probed at the clothes hanging around and the suitcases half full, shoved in much like himself.
“Honey, the guests are gone,” she sang, her fingers meddling with the earring at her ear while letting the heels on her feet fall softly on the carpet.
He heard her words of tiredness before he saw his best friend walk in. He pressed a kiss at the back of her neck as he tried to unzip her dress from her back.
“Mmh, there still a few guests left,” she mumbled, although her own fingers traced the bulge in his pants.
“Naughty,” she slapped his hand without any malice. He chuckled before leaning in for a kiss.
He hummed once, stroking his tongue at the roof of her mouth before pulling away.
“Fine, but how about my pretty little angel, wear this while your perfect husband escorts the guest out, hm?” he took out a black silk blindfold.
She giggled at the sight before walking over the bed, “You better make it quick,” he kissed her nose before gently wrapping the silk around her eyes.
He left with a long glance as she made herself pretty and comfortable on the wide bed.
“Honey?”
It wasn't his fault, really, when he crept out of the closet a beat later. Before walking to the bedroom door, opening it and slamming it shut again.
Really, it wasn't his fault. She called him out so sweetly as he walked over to her.
She just looked lonely in that big bed of hers while her fiancée left her blind and aching to see out the guests.
Personally, he wouldn't have brought such a big crowd for his engagement party and have everyone oogle at her.
Really, it was mostly his best friend's fault.
That is what he kept saying as he impersonated himself as his best friend and took hold of her face. The face he had traced over and over until she had imprinted in his mind.
Her sigh of surprise melted into his mouth as he groaned and moaned into the sudden kiss. Their teeth knocked, and she whined before he licked her mouth to sooth her.
Really, his best friend shouldn't have left her blind and pretty for his taking.
That is what he told himself as he tore the dress off her body in a hurry.
He bit his lips to stop himself from mumbling how pretty she looked, how enticing her scent was, how she could lay perfect still and take his cock like she is supposed to.
He barely had to work her open, the slick between her thighs glistening under the warm light.
The jealousy burning in his chest had him grip her thighs open as he pushed himself in her in one smooth stroke.
Her body flinched before curving into his until there was no place left between them. She whined loud and proud.
The smirk gracing over his face was seen only by himself.
Hard and fast as he mouthed every part of her skin, leaving traces of his spit behind. He tugged at her breasts, licking and sucking the skin until she had goosebumps.
Her hands that were gripping her hair in pleasure were quick to hold his broad shoulder, “Um?” her confusion was forgotten by his thrusts.
“More, honey, more,”
He huffed as his lips bleed from the restrain.
She yelped in surprise as he licked the skin under her armpit, nosing and tasting her flesh before trailing back to suck at her nipple.
One of her finger danced between their bodies, tracing over her clit while the other wrapped around his head as he suckled.
When he looked up, he moaned heartily when he saw the damping of the cloth around her eyes, her pleasure bringing him joy like no other.
It was sudden, the quietness of the house as the guest finally left. Footsteps slowly thread over to the room.
Scott pressed a kiss to her mouth, which she eagerly responded to before she opened her mouth and their tongues met. He could hear it, the knob turning but it only made him fuck her faster.
His own thumb pressing over her finger on her clit as he stuffed her full. He huffed as he tightened the muscles of his body, forcing his own release and hers.
As he came with a grunt, sweet, unfamiliar words fell to her ears. She didn't have time to react before she heard the loud exclamation coming from behind her.
Really, it was his fault for getting engaged to his favorite girl.
DEATH GIRL
king!price | HEAVY ANGST
a/n : this is way longer than i anticipated, it was supposed to be a drabble. also this is angsty, like level ten angst
There was no one who didn't know about their revered king and their queen.
Their long-lasting love went above and beyond of traditions. His kingdom was filled with his statements of his love, a love letter to his queen.
Garden of peony, tall castles bought under his queen's name, stone stairs with her feet carved in, her noble house crest embroided with his royal one. The kingdom overflowed with his token of his love.
That was the people thought until king!price had personally delivered the annulment letter to his queen.
No one had anticipated, much less the queen.
The maidservants still remembered her cries, how she had begged until her knees bled while their king had fled beyond the door that she couldn't reach.
Their own tears pricked their eyes as they watched their queen sob until she was heaving. Cursing their king under their breath.
Not knowing that beyond the door, the seemingly heartless king was hiding his own tears at her cries.
It had been a fulfilling and happy marriage. She had been happy, and he had been too. The quiet signs of wars were signed off with stamps and promising alliances with the neighboring kingdoms. Their commerce was blooming, and their crops were never ending.
What had possibly gone wrong, the people thought.
No one knew until king!price had married the daughter of duke only a few months later.
It was sudden that the people had barely any time to mourn their first queen before their second queen had been crowned.
It was a simple wedding compared to the first one. It had taken place under the chapel and lasted only a day, unlike before where the wedding had been a parade. Confetti had to be scrubbed from the streets for months, and silk ribbons were still being found to this day.
Yet now, a quiet lingering sorrow filled the air.
Had the king fallen out of love? Had it been an affair? Or was it coercion? Had the king hand been forced?
None of it mattered, not when life went on until the second queen bore the king's first child, a prince.
They knew it then, what it had been.
The first queen and the king had been dealing with infertility for many years. Doctors and physicians around the world had been paid in diamonds and gold just to find a cure, a solution.
But time had passed, the queen had grown older and the council was anxious.
An heir, an heir!
Every council, every meeting, they had pointed their finger at her, at their king. Wars could settle and quiet down, but it would never fully rest. Enemies would come for his throne, their fertile lands, their women, and their children.
The queen heard of their words, and she had tried, so very hard, but only sheer will wasn't enough to bear a child.
She just had never anticipated that the king would let go of her first.
Now, she resided in one of the many castles Price had once gifted her.
He had left her in comfort, not knowing the only comfort she seeked was in his arms.
She trailed around like a ghost and wailed at night in grief.
Servants left, servants stole until all that was left in the castle was the half dead queen.
The king hadn't stepped foot once. No letters, no visits. She was alone in the castle where everyone had left her to rot.
Every morning had been the same, and then she heard the news.
The king has a son! An heir!
The same day, she jumped out of a window.
Unfortunately, she only had a broken leg and bruises.
She drank poison, and the few maidservants left had to stick their fingers down her throat until she vomited liquid.
She had tied a rope around her pretty neck. Her neck that Price always reverently kissed and carved his love until all she could feel was his warmth.
They had found her before she could take her last breath.
She fought to fall in the arm's of death, but they clipped her wings every time, please, my queen, please!
They begged.
She snarled back, I'm not a queen, I'm not! I'm a rotting woman, don't you see? Even death doesn't want me!
It took a while for her to settle her down, until one day she didn't make any more sound.
It was because the queen had a secret.
Hidden and locked away, there was a tower. Only the queen knew where it resided.
Inside was a crib made of cotton and sturdy wood. The walls had handcrafted bears and colors of blue yellow and green painted by mastered hands. There were blankets hanging from the ceiling, softly blowing in the wind.
There sat the queen.
No, not a queen.
No longer queen, no longer price's wife. No noble name and no noble title. Just a girl.
A dead woman walking.
It had been so long she had heard her maiden name, always your sovereignty or my love, my pretty girl, my dove, that she had forgotten it.
In the rocking chair, she held a doll, small and lovely, she thought. She shushed it, cradled it, and brought it to her breast.
There there my love, mother is here.
If anyone had been listening they would've of seen her madness.
Alas, she was alone.
Mother will always be here, Father is busy, you see? There are so many documents to sign, so many duties, but he will come, he always does.
The servants thought she had finally settled, that the betrayal had scarred, and the wound had finally healed.
They saw her in the morning, and she would lay in bed to watch the sunrise. She would eat what they made, wincing when she bite in a bread too stale yet she never complained. She took walks when they gently pulled her from her chamber. Took baths willingly, where she mumbled mindlessly. They thought loneliness had made her a little humming bird. Always talking to herself.
They noticed nothing amiss, and time passed as always.
Until the kingdom's bell rang, and with it came a warning.
THE BORDER HAD BEEN BREACHED! THE BORDER HAD BEEN BREACHED! SEEK SHELTER! I REPEAT SEEK SHELTER!
The lasting servants rushed and scrambled to the bunker, the one hidden by a heavy armoire made of ivory wood.
They pulled and clung to each, and in the middle was their queen. They were rushing in the hallway, eyes wide, observing every shadows and movements while the once upon a queen stared blankly.
Moving when they did, stopping when they did.
A little marionette they had to protect.
They were just a chamber away when they heard a clash of a door opening. They all tensed. Some crying out, some praying, but it was only then her eyes focused.
Because who walked in was no other than the second queen, her crown slipping as she wobbled with a small cloth resting upon her chest. The child was no longer a babe. Instead, it was a chubby child with grown legs and hands moving with a mind of their own.
Beside her was the kinguard, the face she was once familiar with, and a nurse maid who protectively held her body around the young queen.
She held her breath, her eyes transfixed on the child the woman held.
Help us please, I beg of you, they have entered the castle, we don't know where to go, it has become a battlefield, there is nothing left standing!
The servants all looked at each other, recognizing the young queen, but it was she who welcomed them.
Y-yes, yes.
Her voice was raspy and trembled as she spoke, but her eyes were fixated on the child the woman held. Almost in a trance.
There was a moment of hesitation before there was a jumble of movements as they all rushed to the bunker.
The last servant was quick to push the armoire back over the bunker as everyone settled down.
Although the tense atmosphere didn't go unnoticed.
It was only broken by the sudden sharp cry of the child.
Hush hush,
The mother jostled the child while rocking nervously before the nurse maid took the child in her arms.
The second queen left out a shaky sigh, head falling in her hands as she crouched.
The kindguard had left to observe the perimeter in case the enemies came too close to where they were. And so, only the servants, the nurse maid, the queen, and the once upon a queen were in the bunker.
But all of it seemed to go unnoticed by her.
What a lovely child,
She had said watching, transfixed on the baby. A stubborn little boy, the young queen said smiling.
Stubborn, just like his father, she continued.
The servants flinched at that.
But she remained unfazed. Instead, she kept watching the child slowly fall asleep.
They stayed hidden for a few days. They waited until they heard the horn, a signal that everything was safe. Until then, they lived off the food they had stored in advance and shared the water they had managed to save.
All the while, the frost that was once between them melted. The servants slowly came to talk to the queen they never met and cooed around the baby. While she maintained her gaze on the baby.
The young queen had often told her to hold the child if she so desired, but she refused.
It was the fourth day when they heard it. It was faint but there. They thought it was another clash of swords or a raid, but they heard it again, the horn.
Relief were breathed out as they all cheered. One by one, they all went out of the bunker.
However, when they go out, they froze. The once lavish castle was overturned. Walls ripped and chandeliers shattered. Paintings were stolen, and windows were smashed.
They only thanked the Lord that they skimmed over the armoire where they hid under.
They tiptoed, still afraid. The glasses cracked under the steps as they held their breath.
It's too quiet, the nursemaid said. Where are the soldiers? This doesn't feel right, she mumbled, but it went unheard as the girls cried out in joy.
They all hugged each other while the young queen leaned on the wall, finally breathing fresh air.
When suddenly a group of shadows came out of nowhere. They hadn't noticed it until one of the servant body went flying.
It's was hard to see in debris and the shadows as everyone screamed and ran for their life. She stood frozen until her body forced her to move. Her eyes were wide, and she trembled lightly as she ran down a hallway.
She didn't know where she was running when she stopped.
She heard a small cry, then a hiccup.
She stumbled and barely registered the glass, piercing her foot when she heard it again.
Within a moment, she traced back her steps as she saw the nursemaid run past her with the young queen, panting, while the queen cried out.
In her panic, the nurse maid dropped the child and ran for safety with the queen, while the remaining servants were slain while others begged.
She saw it then, the child crawling and crying out, and her heart tugged.
My baby, it didn't take a second for her to crawl on her hands and knees before she went and grabbed the crying child.
She almost let put a sob when she felt his warmth on her chest and tucked his head in her neck.
You are safe, sweet child, she held him close to her while dodging and running. Using the shadows to hide before running when the enemies's attention was averted.
It wasn't long before she caught up with the young queen, which the nursemaid was now dragging.
It wasn't until the queen saw she was holding the child that she fell on her knees with a cry.
She could faintly hear the nusemaid apologize, which neither woman registered as they were both focused on the child.
She stood frozen as the young queen took the child out of her arms, the once calm babe whining before it felt the warmth of its mother.
Thank you, she whispered while pressing gentle kisses on the child head.
Not seeing the heartbroken look on her face.
They heard a series of clash before the young queen had practically pulled her along to who knows where.
Yet her mind was numb, blood rushing in her ears as her steps slowed.
My child, my baby, she repeated over and over until her eyes filled with tears.
She tore her wrist from her grasp and stopped walking. The nurse maid and the queen looked at her while she shakily pointed to her left.
Take the left and turn when you see the bridge over the pond. There's a shelter hidden with a net. You can hide there.
The nursemaid nodded before taking the young queen's hand, but she halted.
Come along, come, she practically gripped her fingers off.
But she only grimaced, tears rapidly running down her cheeks. Her body felt hollowed out. She shook her head once again before she ran in the opposite direction.
To the tower.
She was sobbing by the time she raced the twirling stairs and came into the baby's room.
I'm sorry, mother is mean, isn't she? I forgot about my sweet baby, I'm sorry, would you forgive your mother? she picked up and rocked the doll in her arms as she fell to her knees by the crib.
Not knowing the traces of blood her footprint had left behind. Leading the enemies straight to her little heaven.
It wasn't long before she faintly heard the scrap of a sword on the stairs before a shadow fell on top of her head. She sobbed, her hair sticking to her face as she crouched on herself, holding the doll to her chest to protect it.
Please, spare my child, I would give you anything but my child,
She gasped when it pulled her hair with a tight fist, and the last thing she saw was a bloody row of teeth.
Price had fought all that he could. His comrades had taken falls just as he had. He kneeled on the step below his throne, head forced on the bloodied marble as the enemy held him and his men hostage.
They were one step too late.
He could feel a few loose tooth as his tongue poked his cheek. He was a king, and he was on his knees, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He grunted against the ropes around his hands and hissed when the sword at his neck nicked his skin.
Watch it, he growled, but the man spit on the ground before nudging his back with his leg.
Bunch of bastards, if you want to fight a king, show your face cowards.
The band of men chuckled but didn't comply to his demands.
It was quiet for a moment, and he noticed that the leader he saw earlier was nowhere to be found.
He looked at his soldiers on the right, and they shook their head, they haven't seen him either.
He chewed on his lips when suddenly he heard the heavy boots of said man.
Waiting for me, he heard a husky voice mumble by his ear before he felt a kick. He grunted as he fell, curses waiting to be spoken when he heard before he saw him drag the body of a woman.
She was wiggling around as she was dragged by her hair, but he would recognize her anywhere.
He uttered her name faintly.
Found a pretty prey here, he shook her head head once and let go. She scrambled to curl on the marble.
Price barely recognized her. She was all skin and bones, and the silk dresses she wore were replaced by a thin cotton cloth. The fabric stained with dirt and blood.
His eyes misted as he saw the state she was in.
He uttered her name again, and this time she flinched, arms tightly wound to her chest with the head of a doll peeking out.
I heard the queen was a loved woman, she wore more gold than the mines you owned, but, he kicked her once in the stomach, and Price lunched at him with his teeth bared.
Maybe the wrong queen, the masked man cocked his head.
My love, get up, he whimpered, please.
But she shakily curled on herself.
What a grand spectacle, I hoped more for the child, but oh well, seeing your crumpling face is satisfaction enough,
Slowly, she tried to crawl away. To protect her child, she mumbled. I have to protect my baby, I'm the only one who can.
The enemy went on and on with his grand speech, but Price's eyes were fixated on his girl. He held back a sob when he saw her broken leg, the bone oddly shaped in her skin.
Hey, hey, are you listening to me? Listen to my speech before I blow your head off, he tipped his head before slowly he looked back.
Both watched as she helplessly tried to crawl away.
Now we can't have that, the enemy said, before Price yelled out, stop it you fucker.
He watched as he dragged her back with her broken leg, her whines echoing as she tried to kick him off of her to no avail.
She's sort of little coco in the head, he pointed at his head before forcing her upright, kept whining about a baby while holding this dumb doll, tell me Price did you fuck her stupid?
Price barely registered his words as he watched as the enemy ripped the doll from her hands. She cried out, eyes wide in fear as she trembled.
Give it to me, it's my baby, let it go.
The man held the doll above her head, what this baby ?
Before ripping the doll's head off.
Her scream broke his soul.
He watched as she scrambled to take the broken pieces. He never heard her cry so painfully.
With a kick, he jumped to his feet and slammed the sword out of the man holding him. With a deadly slash on his neck, he swung the sword and held it steady on the enemy's neck.
Let her go, his voice was gruff, but the man only put his hand up and chuckled.
I could, won't. It is nice seeing you so railed up, the man chuckled. I guess she's the first wife, huh ? I get it. First love hard to let go isn't? Or was it? After all, you did marry so quickly, and don't we all know how fast your babe was born?
Price tried to graze his neck, but the enemies surrounded him now, him against twenty.
He saw his men fighting in the enemies hold, but only he was free yet remained trapped.
I thought Kings took care of their wife, mmh? The castle I found her in? Man, was it a dump. Come on, you could have been generous. I get it. You have been busy with Missy, but seriously, even people at the slums had more luxuries than whatever shithole you shoved her into.
Shut up, he yelled out, arm ready to swing when he felt a sword pierce him from the back.
Blood fell from his lips as he tried to keep his body upright.
Price!
He heard his men yell, but his eyes fell on her.
She was clinging to the enemy's pants, begging, begging, and begging. While cradling the doll to her breast, madness was written all over her face.
The one he had caused.
A doctor, we need a doctor, please, my baby, please help me,
Her eyes were flushed red, her hair in disarray.
The enemy rolled his eyes and looked back at Price, no wonder you left her, my ears are ringing.
Before anyone could react, he took a sword from his hip, and with a tilt of her head, he sliced her head off her body.
Price crawled on his hands and feet. The sword was still stuck in his chest, but the pain didn't matter.
Only her.
The fights were increasing around him. Violent and brutal.
He heard their voice, his men fighting for victory, the enemies howling, but he only heard her silence.
He took her head and cradled her to his chest while tugging her corpse against him.
I'm here, my love, I'm here, it's okay.
He reached for the doll and it's ripped head and tried to stick them together.
Look, I'll fix it huh? I'll fix our baby a-and, a wail escaped his mouth as he pressed his lips to her head.
He tried to cradle both the doll and her sliced body, but there was so much blood.
Her blood.
I can fix it, he mumbled, won't you answer my dove? I'm sorry for everything. I just wanted to protect you.
He rocked the three of them as the air filled with the smell of blood.
I'll fix it.
They say the king went mad!
They say he sleeps with the corpse of his first wife! They say the servants refuse to clean his chambers from the foul smell! They say he hides in a tower! They say he rocks a headless doll to sleep! They see him carry the head of his dead wife! They see him dance with her headless body! Kiss her sliced head!
The king went mad, they say!
MAD! MAD! MAD!
WHERE EVERYTHING ONCE BEGAN!
warnings : { a/b/o, dark fantasy, dark romance, dark!clark, blind!reader, fictional world }
masterlist | two
She was a lonely woman.
Lonely within the forest that was meant to be her home, in the village she was born. In the arms of a child when she once pretended to be a gentle pet only to be shoved away when it's mother came. Lonely when ashes burned and took her eyesight away, a much lesser pain than losing her father at sea and her mother, who was found dead at the end of a whiskey bottle.
The lonely girl grew to become the quiet woman.
She was often seen covered up to her neck, always had a scarf around her hair, and her lips tightly pursed, fingers clenched tight. Covered in cloth and the stinging smell of the sea, it was easier to hide her scent from her kind.
She sold fishes, often small, and crabs and shells and rocks and little trinkets made of glass. She never sold much, but when she did, it was enough to keep her alive for another day.
Her kind, few but mighty, took care of one another, like blood and flesh mattered none.
That was until three nights ago, where embers burned and with it brought many deaths.
The deaths that brought Clark Kent back home.
She never knew her kind would turn on her.
She hid under their wanderings eyes and their violent hands. Her presence was enough to shake anger to the families who lost their loved ones. They followed her once. With their claws and pelts, ready to end it all.
She had crossed death more time than she wished and yet sought for survival each time.
The fire that took so many, she could not remember how she had survived.
There was a fire once before.
She was still a toddling child when an explosive light of blue and red and gold flashed. She had looked straight at it, with the debris flying until it burned her iris blind.
She had remembered a boy then, small like her in the mist of it. Like a shadow, but everything had burned away, along with her sight.
It was a terrible accident then. However, the second fire she survived made her a target.
La flamme d'enfer.
They called her the flame of hell.
It took a while for the noises to settle down. By then, her small stall had been overthrown, and she had spent her time hiding and running until she found refuse in the small forest, a little far from the sea. Having to live off by the seeds and pines and leaves, she scourged.
She thought of leaving during the times she had been oh so very lonely in the mist of the night. The loneliness clinging to her pores and dripping out from her eyes until the rain had washed it away.
Yet, she could not bring herself to leave. This place was her home, even though it had brought more pain than happiness. It was all she had ever known, the pain.
Pain was familiar, the unknown a stranger.
Most took out their anger on her because she was simple and easy and meek. Others found her pitiful but were overcome by their own struggles to protect her. Some pecked at her, but eventually, their anger lessened until all they were left with was the grief.
The fire had ravaged the halls of the small barn. It had been a festive, a reunion of some sort. Most had left to join the continuation of the celebration by the sea, where booze and smokes ran wild with the wind.
Fews were left behind, the tired ones. The children and the pops and nans that were left to their quiet murmurs and lullabies.
A fire broke out, an ember caught until it engulfed the sleepy household. Nobody knew what had caused it, but it didn't matter anymore.
It had been too late.
Too late for everyone but the poor crawling girl. Blind but alive.
For a moment, it was easier to blame the poor girl. By the time their misjudged anger faded. Guilt remained, but their pride kept their mouth shut.
She had accepted it.
Still, she sold her fishes, her crabs and shells and rocks, and little trinkets made of glass.
She didn't have a stall anymore, but a kind owner let her take over his shop midday. Turning his cobbler shop to one that sold the luxuries of the sea.
The old man didn't demand much. Only to keep the rats away from the soles and to dity up afterward.
“I never know how you are able to skin t'em so closely,” her ears perked up. She stood with her cane by her side with her head slightly tilted to her left.
“My old pop couldn't even manage to guts them as clean you do,” the old man left out a wet cough before settling down on the wooden chair by her side.
She didn't answer. She knew he wasn't looking for an answer
It was nearing sundown, most of her items had been brought, only the trinkets had been left behind. They were never really the town's favorite, but she still sold them.
“The sea always been kind to me,” it wasn't really the truth. There was a pond, one hidden in the forest that had several flows of rivers until it caved in lightly and had all kinds of creatures.
It was easy to dive in and find the creatures that were worth a pretty penny. With her sight gone, it wasn't easier to manipulate the skins and the guts. Still, with her keen sense of smell and her hands calloused from her pickings, she refined her skill just fine.
“Mm,” he settled then, comfy in his chair and a cigar in his mouth, fire ready at hand. “Ma expecting to see you back at the chapel,”
When he saw her face twist in the corner of his eyes, he acted as if he hadn't. “They are paying their final respects tonight, I know you haven't been seeing eye to eye with everyone, but you deserve to be there,”
She started packing her things then, “Yeh, listening to me? When the tower bells, you better be there, or I'm dragging you back by the cane,” her shuffling got quicker even though the old man made no move. All bark, no bite.
“Hiding didn't get you anywhere then, it won't do anything now,” With a grunt, he kicked the foot of his stall before watching her practically run away. “Silly little thing,”
By nightfall, she had practically drilled a hole in the grass. It had taken a lot of contemplation, smoothing her hands over her dress over and over, walking in and out of the entrance, indecisive and uncertain.
Until she heard the bell ring once.
Twice.
By the third, she had adjusted her cane in her hands and smoothed her dress one last time. Before quietly slipping in the chapel door, taking her place in the far back.
Her heartbeats rang in her ears as she settled in quietly in the back. People had glanced at her at first before drifting away. The room was packed, people having to stand up with no more seats left.
Families of the lost ones were grieving in the front. The town people barely fit in the chapel as she shuffled more and more until she was close to the stone walls, everyone squeezing in until even a breath felt too big.
Her cane trembled slightly in her grasp before she switched to it to her right hand as she leaned on the wall.
She could feel the warmth presences, her keen senses heightened. She could even smell the distinct beta smell from the old man and the children who smelled like daisies and mudd and baby cologne.
She could have spent the night stuck to the cold wall, quietly giving her condolences. To not draw attention and leave as quietly as she came.
“Miss,” she felt a touch on her shoulder, “your hand, here, careful it's warm,” the voice was soft as they slowly lowered an oil lamp. She felt the heat of the melted wax and carefully held out her hand.
“Such a tragedy, so many lives lost,” she didn't recognize her voice, yet her scent held a certain familiarity. Probably one of the many villagers, the human ones.
She didn't answer. She had the habit of not answering, staying quiet to stray the attention away from her. Which worked when the unknown woman remained quiet. Instead, she took her attention to the one on her right.
The blend of smell made her nauseous. She wasn't used to it. The sea was a great cover-up in masking human scents and beasts alike.
However, the chapel held no such mercy for her delicate nose.
With a palm holding the warm ceramic, she inserted her cane under her armpit before she delicately placed her other hand around the flame. Less it flickered out.
There were multiple sounds of sorrows, hidden hiccups, and some greetings. It was easy to distract herself when there were so many noises.
She flinched, la flamme. It was quietly spoken in her ear before she felt a harsh tug on her hair.
She couldn't even react before she felt a gust of wind as the person ran by. Leaving her to shallow the lump in her throat. Having to act as if the unknown action hadn't shaken her core.
“Oh goodness, there he is, poor child, I couldn't bear to imagine his pain, the Kent were such good people,” someone ticked their tongue.
She recognized then, Miss Nelly, one of the humans, the owner of the famous pub in town.
Just as she spoke, multiple gasps of surprise resonated in the chapel.
Kent, Clark, Clark Kent.
Ah, she thought, the golden boy was back.
She barely registered her own emotions, and the surprised gasps when a metallic scent overpowered her senses. Such an intense scent, her lungs felt clogged instantly.
She hardly noticed when the fire burned the tip of her finger, leaving a dark ash.
She felt the need to run, to hide away back in the forest, away from the crowds and the shadows that lingered around her.
It wasn't more for the need to hide than the feeling of a sudden predator among the crowd.
She could feel more so hear the greetings being exchanged, the sorrows that were passed on as she tried to make herself smaller.
Her ears began to rang, and she clung to the candle, forcing herself to stand still.
Her palms were damp as they lightly trembled. She could feel the heat of the bodies around her move until only a cold space was left as they walked away to say their homage.
Alone in the corner of the chapel, she hoped she blended enough that no one spared her a glance.
“People of Grand Prey, we are gathered today to honor and give our prayers to those we have tragically lost,” she heard the voice far and loud echoing and silencing the voices in the scared building.
He started by saying the names of the lost ones, to which she visibly reacted too. The children she had known, those who had clung to her skirts, and the elders who guided her cold hands when she was lost.
Everyone had lost someone, yet her loss seemed meaningless.
Her shoulder lightly curved inwards, retreating on herself. Her candle dimming, just as herself.
She was lost in her thoughts, in her pain and the heavy guilt she carried that she didn't notice the tangent smell suddenly hovering over her back, like a buzzing bird carefully landing on her shoulder, quiet but there.
Then, a sudden shadow overwhelmed her being, stark and tall, that her soul recognized it before her mind did. A light chirp escaped her before she slapped a palm to her mouth.
She stood still, paralyzed. She couldn't make sense of what her senses were telling her. A being so unfamiliar. Not yet human nor beast.
She crouched on herself even more before there was a moment of stillness. As if the air around was holding its breath along with her.
A few moments passed until she distinctly felt the heat at her back, warming her enough to bring warmth to her cold cheeks, far warmer than the candle that was slowly extinguishing in her grasp.
She heard a whisper of her name, which she visibly flinched to, not recognizing the voice but sensing it was coming from behind her.
Before she could move or respond, she felt it, an arm passing over her shoulder, sending shiver down her back even though they hadn't even touched her. She heard the clink of two candles ceramics touching.
“Your flame,” she felt the whisper brush the tip of her ear, the heat of his chest lightly brushing her back, “It's going out,”
She held her breath when his smell invaded her senses, first in her lungs until she felt lightheaded.
She hummed, barely an answer when she felt his warm fingers touch her own, his own candle lightly tilted to let her flame catch his. It was barely a few seconds before she felt the presence behind her move away, as if he was never there in the first place.
She blinked a few times, barely comprehending. She wouldn't have known it was real if she hadn't felt the flame burning brighter in her palm.
Or of she hadn't felt his presence lingering behind her, like a protective shadow that stayed until the service was done.
WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
He called her his treasure before he buried her alive!
WARNINGS : dark!clark, blind!reader, fictional world, a/b/o, dark romance, dark fantasy, 18+, mini series
Where a lonesome little wolf believes she finally found her happy ending, not knowing that her mate was not who seemed to be or rather the one he claimed to be.
WHERE EVERYTHING ONCE BEGAN!
CHASE OF THE HEART!
UNDERLYING TRUTH THAT BORE CLAWS!
THE WOLF BECAME THE SHEEP!
THE SHEEP BECAME THE WOLF!