summary: a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,299 words
warnings: gothic romance (set in 1800’s), talk of death and murder, slow burn, horror, MDNI (18+ only)
notes: hi first time writing in like 2-3 years so be nice please xoxoxo if you can’t tell i’ve gotten into writing horror/thriller and this was the perfect opportunity to dip my toes back in. anyways if you’re reading this here’s a kiss mwah
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
He’d been haunting the tree line long before you ever saw him.
At least, that’s what he believed.
All winter, something bigger than any wolf stalked the border of your little cottage, keeping the growls and yellow eyes at bay. You’d wake to claw marks in the snow that didn’t belong to any animal you knew, to the broken bodies of wolves dragged far from your door, as if someone didn’t want you to see what he’d done for you. Your lanterns never ran out of oil. Your firewood stack never emptied. Sometimes, there were heavy footprints in the mud—too large, too uneven to be human—leading back into the forest and vanishing with the mist.
He thought you didn’t know.
But you saw him.
You always saw him.
The first time, it was only a shadow: a towering figure half-hidden behind the black skeleton of a pine tree, watching you as you hung freshly washed sheets beneath a washed-out winter sky. Another time, you caught the briefest flash of his eyes, pale and aching with something that wasn’t quite hunger and wasn’t quite hatred, as he melted back into the dark.
The creature.
Adam Frankenstein.
The villagers whispered about a monster in the woods, a patchwork horror that should have never drawn breath, but you knew better. Monsters didn’t leave bread on your windowsill on nights you forgot to eat. Monsters didn’t stack kindling by your step after snowstorms, or set down a freshly killed hare just close enough that your old dog could sniff it out in the morning. Monsters didn’t linger at the edge of your light like a shield, taking every blow the world had meant for you.
So you started leaving things for him, too.
A still-warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and left on a flat stone near the forest’s edge. A thick, clumsily sewn shirt you’d stitched by candlelight, big enough to fit the breadth of his shoulders as best you could guess. A pair of gloves with uneven fingers. Each offering would be gone by morning, and in their place there’d be… nothing. No note. No mark. Just a silence that somehow felt shy.
Spring came slowly, softening the snow into streams and coaxing green from the hard earth. One bright morning, you took your dog and followed the familiar path beneath the budding branches, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. You could feel him behind you—no longer a rumour, but a steady presence in the spaces between birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
He was careful with his distance.
Careful with you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air behind you changed—thicker somehow, as if the very forest were holding its breath.
Your dog’s ears flicked, tail giving the smallest wag, but he did not bark. He sat at your heel, as though he, too, had long grown used to the giant shadow that haunted the trees.
You stood in the clearing, sunlight painting your skirts in pale gold, fingers resting lightly upon your dog’s head.
“I know you are there,” you said, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You have been there for a very long time, have you not?”
Silence.
The birds went quiet. A breeze stirred the budding branches overhead, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—old smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of soap, as though someone had tried, clumsily, to scrub himself clean.
You swallowed your nervousness and smiled, though he could not see it. Not yet.
“Tell me, Adam,” you continued, your tone turning wry, “how much longer until you understand that I have always known about you… and that you do not frighten me in the least?”
Something shifted among the trees to your left. A heavy footstep, then another, crunching over last year’s leaves. Your dog gave a low, pleased whine.
Slowly, as though dragged forward by some unseen chain, he stepped out from the shadows.
He was larger than you had imagined, even after months of stolen glances. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the very shirt you had sewn by candlelight. The fabric sat oddly upon him, as if he were still unsure he had the right to wear something made with care.
His face—oh, his face.
You had prepared yourself for horror.
Instead, you found sadness.
Features too sharply cut, as though chiseled in haste and anger. Eyes a pale, unnatural blue, ringed by the kind of weariness usually reserved for much older men. There were scars, yes, and those patchwork seams that betrayed the unnatural hand that had pieced him together, but beneath them all… he was simply a man who did not know how to occupy his own skin.
He stopped several paces away, hands held slightly out from his sides, as though to show he carried no weapon.
“You… you ought to run,” he said at last, his voice rough and low, the words strangely precise yet hesitant, like a man learning to speak again after a long illness. “The villagers would tell you to flee.”
“The villagers,” you replied, “have never once stacked firewood by my door after a storm.”
His jaw tightened. He glanced away, as though ashamed.
“That was nothing,” he muttered. “A mere… task. I happened to be near.”
“And the hare left upon my step in January? Was that another mere task?”
He shifted his weight, great hands curling into fists. “You were thin,” he said grudgingly. “There were no tracks near your home. I deduced you did not hunt.”
“And the wolves?” you pressed gently. “The ones that never cross the boundary of my field, though their howls wake me in the night?”
His throat worked. For a moment, the creature looked almost… irritated. “They are foolish animals,” he said. “They do not understand when they trespass upon what is mine to guard.”
Your heart stuttered at that word.
“Yours to guard,” you echoed softly.
At last his gaze met yours. There was a terrible vulnerability in it, like a child braced for mockery.
“You ought not look at me so,” he said, voice rougher now. “You ought to scream. Or at the very least, avert your eyes.”
“I shall do neither,” you answered. “You have been my unseen champion all winter, sir. I should think it discourteous to shriek at you now.”
He frowned, as though the very notion of courtesy applied to him was offensive.
“I am no ‘sir’,” he said. “The man who stitched me together did not deem me fit for such a title.”
“Then what shall I call you?” you asked, ignoring the chill that raced down your spine at his choice of words. “The villagers speak of a monster. A demon. A fiend. I do not care for any of those.”
A shadow of something like humour passed over his face. “He called me Adam,” he said quietly. “As though I were the first of my kind.”
You nodded once. “Very well, Adam.”
Your dog, emboldened by your calm, trotted forward and sniffed at his boots. Adam stared down at him as though the small creature were some strange, new invention.
“He does not fear me,” Adam murmured, almost to himself.
“Animals are often better judges of character than men,” you replied. “He knows you have watched over us.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I watched to ensure no harm came to you,” he corrected. “Whether you knew of it or not is of little consequence.”
“On the contrary.” You took a small step closer. His eyes widened, as though you had moved a mile instead of a foot. “It is of great consequence. You believed yourself unseen, did you not?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Then you must also have believed that the bread, and the shirt, and the gloves appeared by some miracle of the woods.” You tilted your head. “Or did you imagine the forest itself had begun to sew?”
Colour—faint but unmistakable—rose along the visible seam of his throat. He looked past you, toward the stone where you always left your gifts.
“I thought…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “I wondered if perhaps you had set them out for the poor. For some wandering soul more deserving than I.”
Your chest ached. “And yet you took them.”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to his hands, as though the gloves were still upon them. “I told myself I had stolen them. That you would never know. That is the sort of thing a monster does, is it not? Take what is not his?”
“If I leave something upon the edge of the wood with no name attached,” you said gently, “is it truly theft for the one I hoped would claim it… to do so?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, startled. “You… hoped…?”
“For whom else do you suppose I stitched sleeves of that length?” you asked, lips quirking. “There is no man in the village with shoulders so broad as yours, Adam.”
He stared at you as though you had struck him. Not in pain—more in stunned disbelief.
“You… knew,” he breathed. “You knew I was there. All this time.”
“Yes.”
“And you were not afraid.”
You considered this. “I was wary,” you said honestly. “At first. One does not wake to strange footprints and dead wolves without a certain degree of alarm. But then I saw you. Hiding like a boy behind those poor trees, trying very hard not to be seen. And I thought—”
You broke off, biting your lip.
He took a half-step forward despite himself. “You thought what?”
“I thought,” you said slowly, “that no true monster skulks in the shadows to keep a woman’s cottage safe through a winter as harsh as this last one. No true monster leaves food instead of taking it. No true monster looks at another living soul the way you looked at my dog last month—do not pretend you were not there, I saw you through the curtain—like you were afraid to even breathe in his direction for fear you might somehow break him.”
He said nothing. His breath misted faintly in the cool spring air, harsh and uneven.
“You should not look so kindly upon me,” he managed at last. “It is… improper.”
“Improper,” you repeated, amusement bubbling up despite the solemnity of his tone. “We are alone in the forest, Adam. There is no vicar here to scold us.”
“It is not the vicar I fear,” he muttered. “It is myself.”
Your smile faded.
“Why?” you asked.
He looked down at his hands again, turning them palm up as though they were strange objects he’d found rather than parts of his own body.
“These hands have done terrible things,” he said quietly. “I have torn wolves apart, as you have seen. I have broken men who sought to harm me. I have throttled hatred at its source and found only more hatred beneath it. I was created in violence and I fear I shall end in it as well.” His eyes lifted to yours, desperate. “I cannot trust myself near that which is gentle.”
Your throat tightened. “You have been near me all winter.”
“At a distance,” he insisted. “A barrier of trees. Of shadow. Of night. It is different now.”
“Is it?” You closed the gap between you by another small step. He sucked in a breath, shoulders going rigid. You could feel the heat radiating from him now, unnatural in its intensity, like standing too close to a forge. “I feel no danger from you, Adam.”
“You should.”
“But I do not.” You lifted your hand, giving him every opportunity to retreat. “May I?”
He stared at your outstretched fingers as though they were some holy relic. “I… do not know.”
“We shall discover it together,” you said softly.
After a moment that stretched thin as spun sugar, he extended his own hand, large and scarred and trembling just enough for you to see. You laid your palm against his.
Warm. Solid. Very real.
He flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of contact.
“See?” you murmured. “You have not broken me.”
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely.
You squeezed his fingers. “Nor shall you, if I have any say in the matter.”
For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but the two of you and the soft panting of your dog at your side. A bird dared a tentative trill somewhere above, as though deciding the danger had passed.
“You treat me as though I were… a man,” Adam said quietly, almost accusingly.
“You are,” you replied simply.
His brows drew together. “I am a collection of parts stolen from graves. I am a blasphemy against God and nature both.”
“You are standing in the sunlight speaking to me with more courtesy than half the men in town,” you countered. “If that is blasphemy, then perhaps we have misjudged Heaven.”
A startled, rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half exhale. As though he had forgotten how ordinary mirth should feel in his chest.
“You should not say such things,” he chided, but there was no true censure in it. “You are too bold.”
“You have been listening to me mutter to myself all winter,” you reminded him. “You ought to know by now that my tongue is not easily tamed.”
“I know many things about you,” he admitted, voice going soft. “I know you speak kindly to your dog even when he chews your shoes. I know you hum that same song each morning when you light the stove. I know you eat too little when you are anxious. I know you cry when you believe no one can hear.”
Your breath caught. “You ought not watch a lady in such moments,” you said, flustered.
“I know,” he said, guilt flickering through his gaze. “And yet I could not look away. Your sorrow… it frightened me more than wolves ever could. I wished to tear apart whatever had caused it, but there was nothing there. Only you, and your hands shaking, and your tears falling into the dough you were kneading.”
You blinked rapidly, your throat thick. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think yourself a monster,” you whispered.
He hesitated. “Do you not?”
You stepped closer until there was barely a breath between you, your hand still cradled in his. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes fully.
“If I say no,” you asked, “will you believe me?”
“I… do not know.” His voice cracked on the words.
“Then I shall tell you as many times as necessary until you do.” Your lips curved into a small, earnest smile. “You are not a monster to me, Adam. You are the reason I have slept safely these many months. You are the reason my dog still runs through these woods without fear. You are the reason I am standing here today, whole and unharmed.”
He swallowed hard. “Any man might have done as much.”
“But no man did.” You lifted your free hand to his chest, pressing your palm lightly over where his heart would be—if it beat. “You did.”
His breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed to forget how limbs functioned, standing utterly still as though one wrong move might shatter the moment into fragments.
“You should not touch me so,” he said weakly.
“And yet,” you murmured, “you do not step away.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. “Because I am selfish. Because I have spent a season watching you from afar and I am not yet strong enough to deny myself this one brief… kindness.”
“Adam,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He obeyed. Slowly, hesitantly, but he obeyed.
“There is nothing ‘brief’ about what I intend,” you told him. “You have guarded my cottage as though it were a kingdom. Will you not allow me, at the very least, to guard your heart in return?”
His lips parted, but no sound came. You could see the war waging behind his eyes—fear and longing and disbelief all tangled together.
“You… would keep company with me?” he managed at last. “Knowing what I am?”
“Knowing who you are,” you corrected. “A man named Adam who walks the tree line at night so that I may sleep. A man who refuses to let wolves cross my field. A man who looks at my foolish old dog as though he were some creature made of glass.” Your fingers curled briefly against his chest. “If that is monstrosity, I shall gladly consort with monsters.”
Another laugh—clearer this time—escaped him. It transformed his face, smoothing some of the harsh lines, revealing the man beneath the scars.
“You are very stubborn,” he said.
“So I have been told.”
“And you would not… flee, if I came nearer? If I…” He faltered, gaze flickering to your joined hands. “If I visited your cottage when the sun has set?”
“I should be most put out if you did not,” you said lightly. “I have an extra chair by the hearth and no one to fill it. My dog prefers company. As, I suspect, do I.”
He stared at you as though trying to determine whether this were some cruel trick of the mind. At last, cautiously, he lifted his other hand to hover near your cheek, stopping inches away.
“May I?” he asked, echoing your earlier words.
You leaned into the space between, closing the distance yourself. His fingers brushed your skin—calloused, uncertain, trembling. He cupped your cheek as though cradling something far more fragile than you felt.
“You are warm,” he whispered, wonder in his tone.
“And you are real,” you replied.
His thumb swept once, reverently, along your cheekbone. “If I frighten you,” he said softly, “you must tell me at once. I will go, and I shall not trouble you again, though it break what passes for my heart.”
“I do not believe you capable of breaking my heart,” you said. “Guarding it, perhaps. As you have guarded everything else.”
His eyes shone, sudden moisture gathering there. He blinked it away quickly, as though ashamed.
“I do not understand why you would offer such mercy to me,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” you said gently, “it is not mercy. Perhaps it is simply… affection.”
The word seemed to strike him with more force than any blow.
“Affection,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “For me.”
“For you,” you affirmed. “For Adam, who walks the forest so that I might live another day to bake too much bread and scold my dog and sew shirts far too large.” Your smile softened. “Stay with me, and I shall show you there is more for you than shadows and solitude.”
He drew in a long, shaky breath. When he exhaled, something in his posture eased—the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. As though a burden he had carried alone for far too long had shifted, just slightly, into your waiting hands.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice low but resolute. “I shall try.”
Your heart lifted, light as the first spring breeze.
“Good,” you replied. “Then you shall walk me home, Adam. And after that, if you wish, you may sit by my fire and tell me all the things you have seen from the edge of the wood.”
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then back to you—the woman who had left bread and stitched shirts and dared to speak kindly to the creature everyone else feared.
“As you wish,” he said quietly.
And when you turned toward the path, his heavy footsteps fell in beside yours—not behind, no longer hiding in the trees, but at your side. Where, you suspected, he had always longed to be.
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Last year, your father sponsored a science project you didn't agree with the concept of. Yet, you must visit that place with him because you were sympathetic to the Creature. One day, the project was over, and the Creator intended to burn his own work to cover mistakes. It was the Creature's luck that he could survive and find your manor. And it was your luck to meet someone whom you could be yourself with. Today, after months of residing in your place and learning how to be human, the Creature asked you for kisses and love.
ONE MORE LEAF FOR ONE MORE KISS
Sweet! The Creature (Adam) x Naughty! Fem! Reader (2.6k words) — It should be fluff, but I really can't help myself, so it becomes smut. You'll give him kisses, and your mouth will be full (blowjob). I hope you enjoy reading this short story!
“I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…” the Creature, Adam, said, smiling to himself.
He was sitting on his favorite rug, lap covered with the comfortable blanket you had used when you were younger, hands holding dry leaves he collected from the tree in front of your cottage.
This place, your cottage, was the small space after your family’s manor, locating close to the pine forest, where you secretly let Adam reside. No one but you and your sweet creature cared about your cottage, since you claimed that this place had only books and stuff for your hobby, which your family didn’t want to know about it, or you would keep talking about this and they would walk away. You weren’t a young woman who needed to marry for wealth or dignity, at least not yet, so you lived freely than other young women you knew.
“She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.”
But what Adam just said wasn’t the thing you expected to hear.
“He seemed happy. She seemed happier.”
You paused for a brief moment, before replying: “Kissing a person you love will always make you happy.”
You didn’t look straight at Adam’s seamed face, only staring at flames in the fireplace. As your heart was throbbing, your body was tense on the armchair next to his cozy spot, especially when he leaned his side close to your legs covered with the exquisite skirt.
It wasn’t the first time he was close like this, but you both had never done anything that needed to be closer.
“Love…” He whispered that word to himself, but you heard his voice, full of curiosity and pureness.
You taught him to repeat your words, you taught him to speak with confidence and read with attention, and you taught him to study human behavior to help him understand how to use words.
It had been a long while since the day his creator tried to eliminate him, and to be with you, for almost three seasons, were the most meaningful thing Adam had ever experienced.
“Love… It’s like fairy tales you had read,” you added, tone sultry. One darkest thought you had never revealed to him was: your heart attached to him.
You didn’t admit to yourself that it was love, although recently, you found no way to lie to yourself. You thought he was looking for a companion, you as well, which you secretly imagined the thin line for you to not cross, the thin wall for you to not break.
But another part of you shouted too loud inside your mind: you loved him. You longed to be with him. Your feelings were too intense to sit calmly like you tried to do at the moment.
“I still remembered that tale,” Adam said, looking up at you. In your sight, he was so beautiful, like a broken yet still delicate statue, like a charming stag in the wild forest.
Like a man you would make love until you forgot the time.
You still remembered the day you instructed him how to wash his hair and clean his body. You still remembered when his large hands grasped your hips when you tried to dry his dark hair with a cloth. You still remembered that he wore nothing while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, although you told him to cover his lower body when he was around a gentlewoman… You still remembered that your eyes dropped when he was exposed again and again, although you tried to cover him again and again.
The Creature had a thing like a normal man had, probably having more than a normal man. His figure was incomparable, tall and lean. You liked those seams, since it made your thighs wet for some reason… You didn’t know why. Or, because he was so fragile?
He had what you needed the most from the man you would devote yourself to him: seams on the broad chest and the big cock.
Oh, no. You were blushing. Your breath was ragged, and the curious creature just looked at you with a question. Why did you keep sitting like this? Frozen and nervous.
“Are you all right?” he asked, one of his large hands touching the back of yours. You looked at entwined fingers, warm and cold on two fleshes. How could it feel if you took him deeper—?
“I’m fine,” you said, suddenly pulling your hand from his grasp, although doing that quickly might make him feel vulnerable. You told him to not be frightened by your sudden thoughtless expression, but you had never told yourself to be gentle. “I—I should go home—The sun is going down—”
“I looked around the forest, but I can’t find a flower.” Adam said, his gaze like a sweet plea from a sweet boy. “I… I can find only these leaves.”
Before getting up, Adam placed one dry leaf on your lap to make you sit on the same chair. Your eyes widened with surprise, because his hand was still on your knees.
You stuttered:
“A leaf? For me?”
He nodded, and if your eyes didn’t lie, you thought the pale skin on his cheeks had a tint of red, as if a shy boy confessed something to a girl he adored.
Then, you recalled what he just talked about.
‘I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…’
‘She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.’
You gently held a leaf, and Adam averted. He looked at his own lap where other beautiful golden leaves were. You began to understand what he tried to talk to you.
“You gave me your leaf for a kiss?”
You swore to yourself that you noticed how shy and sweet Adam was. In many fairy tales you let him read, all men got kisses from women they loved. And he saw a man in the real life got a kiss from a woman…
“You… love me?” you asked, your voice laced with hesitation. But your heart fluttered as if you would get a thing you had waited for a long time.
His love.
Adam took a deep breath and looked up at you again, as if he was begging for something.
“I love you,” he whispered, your name on his tongue such a gentle thing you had ever heard. “I love you… and… and I want to kiss you.”
You froze, fingers almost tearing a leaf you just got.
“You want to kiss me?” you asked, the air around you warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he repeated his own answer, smiling shyly.
Forgetting all thoughts you had, holding a leaf in hands, you leaned close to him and pressed your warm lips against his cold ones. He was surprised by your sudden move, so were you. He froze, but you knew that it was his first time, so you weren’t bothered at all.
Then, you pulled back, your eyes looking at his face. He murmured your name, as if he was praying to the God he believed.
“You kissed me,” he said, smiling with contentment. You loved this picture, since it was you who pushed him out of innocence. “Your lips are so soft.”
“Thank you,” you replied, a hand with a leaf on your lap like it was, another hand cupping his seamed cheek, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “When you kissed a woman you loved, you should shut your eyes.”
Adam chuckled, fingers fidgeting at leaves—Right, he had more leaves in his hands. And he got an idea.
“If I give you more leaves, will you kiss me more?”
That question, from the most purest heart, broke your sanity. You wanted nothing but him for so long—too long it hurt—but today, right here and right now, he asked for more kisses.
You smiled at the idea, before saying:
“One more leaf for one more kiss.”
Oh, but how could you cage your intrusive thoughts when the perfect opportunity was here?
“But if you give me all leaves, I’ll not kiss you only on your lips.”
“My cheeks, too?”
“Your cheeks, too,” you chuckled, before shifting yourself to the floor. Since he was taller than you, you were smaller than him at this moment. “But when you love someone so much, you won’t kiss another person only on lips or cheeks.”
“You love me?” he asked, his voice soft, like the time you asked him the same question.
“I love you,” you reassured, biting your bottom lip as your gaze observed his rugged form. He wore proper attire, staying comfortable and adorable, but this picture wasn’t less tempting at all. He made you want him more… That gentle kiss wasn’t the thing you desired.
Your twisted thoughts urged you to teach him a new lesson—a sensual one you had only read from famous erotica you got from markets.
“Your leaves,” he said, smiling as if he saw an angel before him, offering you precious gifts you knew you would keep forever.
And you did… You exactly did what you thought.
Without a word, you grabbed leaves from his hands and placed them with caution on the table nearby. You shifted close to him and pushed the comfortable blanket aside when you straddled his lap. Your skirt wasn’t an obstacle but luring you to press your hips against his lap. Your hands held his cheeks, your mouth kissing him once again.
You had waited to kiss him. You had longed to kiss him. And you now did. Your tongue trailed the line of his lips, urging him to gasp and open his mouth for you. As tongues touched, you felt his large hands grabbed your waist.
Instinctively, Adam was a quick learner. He shut his eyes and absorbed the love he was supposed to receive, as if to collect all of feelings deeply in his sacred mind. His tongue followed your lead, tasting your warmth and sweetness with admiration. His hand touched your back, like the way he held a leaf with tenderness. You heard him groan, soft and vulnerable, and you liked that noise so much.
You poured kisses on his cheek, your tongue trailing the seam without any second thought. So arousing… You were enjoying the broken part of his, and he was willingly giving it to you.
“Move to that chair,” you commanded, your voice thick with craving, as your throbbing core clenched nothing. But no, you shouldn’t push him too far, especially when he just discovered that giving love, like a flower, should receive love, like a kiss.
Right now, he must learn what true pleasure felt like, and he should understand what his tempting body needed the most by himself.
Adam did exactly what you said; he sat on the armchair you just got up, yet he froze when your hands caressed his broad chest, tracing down to his stomach. He had never known how intense this feeling was… It was exciting. It was warmer than he had felt, melting coldness inside his body completely.
“Relax, my dear,” you cooed, hands undressing his clothes. “I’ll take care of you.”
Adam leaned against the backrest, trying to relax like what you said. He looked down at you, sitting on the floor, staying between his thighs, taking off his pants so eagerly. He didn’t know if he was desirable or attractive enough to make you do this… He saw charming men kissing charming women, and what was he doing now?
You looked beautiful for him, delicate and fragile. And he wouldn’t judge you from what you were doing, the sweetest mouth kissing his bare chest, the eager tongue lapping his nipples, one of soft hands holding his length, one of gentle thumbs tracing his cold skin.
You would always be the pure soul for him, and he doubted that he could belong to you or not.
“Should I go and collect more leaves…?” he asked, his hand touching the back of your head as your mouth found his groin. “I don’t know if I… if I deserve you.”
“I don’t kiss you because of your gifts,” you said, your lips touching his ball, your hand stroking his shaft gently. “You deserve me, Adam. I love you… I know I love you since the day I met you. And you love me. That’s sufficient for us to be here, to make love.”
Adam hummed as your tongue trailed over his length, from the base to the top.
“Make love…”
“It’s what I’m doing right now, Adam. It’s not just a kiss anymore.”
He was tense, like the day you dried his hair and saw how thick his cock was. He didn’t know why he was drawn to this feeling, but his instinct told him that it would be fine, as long as he was with you.
His eyes were hazy with desire, almost shut, but he wanted to look at you, wanted to watch you, wanted to observe the way your tongue swirled around his tip. Whenever you glanced up at him, he felt nothing but heated. He began to love it. And when your mouth sucked him… his hand tangling with your hair was the only anchor he could grasp.
Adam whispered your name, his voice gravelly and sensual. That made your thighs slicker, but you knew you should be patient with him. Your warm mouth provided him the new passion he might not know that he needed, your hand still stroking him—making him harder. His skin wasn’t cold like he used to, right now he was as if a mere human, and it all was because of this new lesson.
His instinct told him to buck his hips up, seeking the friction around your lips and in your mouth. You almost choked, but that was fine.
His breath quickened, his chest moving. And you knew what it would happen. You had doubted if his body would work like a human, but spending time with him for months only told you that he was the real human. He knew. He felt. You witnessed it all. His taste was like berries he enjoyed eating, sweet—bitter, intoxicating.
You moaned against his cock, gulping but trying to send pleasure to him. You felt his fist around your hair tighter, his movements against your mouth rougher, and your breath almost faded away. Your tight heat clenched nothing, spilling wetness… And when he shuddered, groaning so deeply, filling your mouth with his seed, you knew what you wanted to do in your lonely life.
You wanted to make love to him, deep and senseless. You wanted to become a vice and fuck him until he came inside you, but you should let this beautiful creature learn this new thing.
“If I want you to do this again, what—what should I do?” he asked breathlessly after spilling his release in your mouth.
You pulled back, letting his cock slip from your mouth. You swallowed that taste and said: “Just ask me when you need me.”
His hand shifted from your hair to your face, thumb stroking the drop of his own seed on the corner of your lips. He didn’t know that he could do such a thing, but seeing you smile and blush made his heart throb with affection.
You kissed his thumb, teasing him by lapping his skin. “Or, say you love me.”
“I love you…” Adam said immediately, spent yet eager to lean forward. His mouth captured your lips and tasted himself through this slobbery kiss. Your hands grasped his shoulders, letting him pull you up to the armchair and straddling his lap.
“So… you need me?”
“I always need you,” he whispered against the kiss, begging for your attention.
“Actually, there is more than my mouth you could feel,” you suggested, hands cupping his seamed cheeks. “Would you love to try?”
He nodded, smiling.
“Please…”
Thank you for reading my fic! This film consumes my soul in the best way. I can write 2.6k words in 24 hrs again after a long, long time, and I'm so happy to do it. And it's a bit dirty 👀 I hope it's not that strange since it's the first English smut I let people see. If you love it, you may tell me, scream at me, or suggest some new plots in my humble ask 💗 Have a nice day, the Creature's girlfriends!
Edit: And the new part is here 🫣 This time, Adam truly made love to you! Xx
Edit 2: And if you like something fluffy, check my new story here!
summary: the Creature (Adam) gets curious about his physical feelings towards you, so you teach him.
word count: 2.6k
warnings: unprotected piv, cowgirl, pwp, cockwarming. this is basically the Creature's first time. idk i love him
A/N: I wrote this drunk last night & with no real plot in mind, just consumed by Frankenstein (2025). first fic in like 2 years, hope you enjoy❤️
gif: @headph0neson
There is hesitation percolating through his mechanical movements; his eyes betray his restlessness the most, even as they rest comfortably on your figure. You approach him, carefully studying his expression, and it becomes clearer with each passing second and each removed inch between the two of you that something resides on his mind.
“Are you alright?” you can’t help but ask.
He looks as if he’s about to nod, but then changes his mind at the very last second and shakes his head ever so slightly. His eyes are still on your figure, once in a while falling upon your mouth. You draw in a sharp breath.
“What’s the matter?”
“When you kissed me, the other day… I felt—something.”
You try not to chuckle, despite feeling flushed already. “I should hope so.”
Adam smiles—yes, the both of you settled on the name Adam as it carried a certain appeal to him. It was his very own name, something of his own, distinguishable from his dreadful past.
Oh, how you adored his smile.
“No,” he clarifies, still smiling. “Something… more.”
The way he struggles to say the word ‘more’, as if it is something shameful, it pains me in a certain way. Although the more you look at him, the more you come to realize that it most likely comes from a place of curiosity instead of shame.
And then you start to realize what he means.
“Oh,” is all you can get out, feeling more flushed this time around. Truth is, that more has been something heavy on your mind as well—for quite some time. You didn’t want to broach the subject with Adam, fully aware that it is a foreign concept to him and that it is, perhaps, something out of his comfort zone and out of his line of interest.
It seems as if you were wrong.
“What did you feel?” you ask, taking his hands into yours.
“I felt… a twitch. Down—down here. When you kissed me, something ached. A need... of some kind.”
You don’t know how to react more than a playful chuckle, suppressed—you wouldn’t want Adam to feel ashamed in any way or to have him believe you would mock him in any way. But you also cannot help the flood of heat and desire that races through you, coursing shamelessly through your bloodstream. Adam is unlike any other man you’ve ever met; granted, the may not be quite human, not quite man, but everything about him is so curious and kind and untainted.
Yet you long to for a stain in his purity, something akin to pure hunger that you can call your own. To claim him as your own.
“That is normal,” you breathe towards him, your pulse an erratic beat behind your ribcage.
“It is?”
“Yes. When you care for someone, and when you… develop feelings for them… it manifests physically.”
“Physically?”
You subdue a chuckle yet again; everything about him is new and enticing and enthralling, and you want to savor this moment, cherish it, preserve it and freeze it in time.
A moment where there is only you and him, together, and not a single threat posed to either one of you.
You nod. “Yes, physically. The body sometimes responds before the mind—at least, in men’s cases.”
“But I am not truly a man.”
“You are more man than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”
You cup his cheeks, Adam exhaling restlessly inside your palm. You’re not quite sure when it all escalates or how; all you know is that Adam radiates enough warmth for you to tiptoe and press a sincere kiss on his lips, pulling him closer. He’s shockingly vocal, but you suppose it makes sense given how everything is anew to him. That’s how he treats you as well: a blank canvas waiting to be explored, filled with colors you wouldn’t have even dreamt of.
The more you kiss Adam and hold him against your body, the more you feel what he told you about; he’s rock hard at this point, and while you’re quite surprised that all of his bodily functions are intact and normal, you still moan in his mouth.
Which acts as a catalyst for him to evoke the same sounds, more guttural by nature, and end up atop of you. He’s eager, yet restrained; the same restrained curiosity you’ve grown accustomed to. He’s not wearing many clothes, which works in your favor as you work to undress him hastily, all the while with Adam huffing next to your ear, his shock at the sight of you never wavering.
“You are breathtaking,” he tells you, and you shudder at the sound of his voice, the thought of him admiring you so thusly.
You believe him; there is nothing in this world that would make you not believe Adam. You kiss him everywhere, not just his lips, hoping to get a rise out of him as soon as possible: his neck, his collarbones, his arms, all of which are, admittedly, uncharted territory to him, but upon hearing his groans, increasingly more desperate, you figure you’re doing something right. You take it upon yourself to remove your own clothes, albeit your dress proving to be a challenge in and of itself. But haste has its perks, for you move faster than you ever have with the fabric, including undergarments, and soon you’re left bare before Adam, aching and pleading silently with a single lustful glare at him. Your eyes drop fleetingly to his manhood and you gulp, utterly flattered to notice that he is hard and surely aching by this point.
“How are you feeling?” you ask him.
“It’s strange.”
“What is?”
“All of this… desire.”
You fleetingly smile, your legs spreading open further for him. His gaze drops, swallowing harshly.
“How do you know it is desire?” you ask, half curious, half flirting.
“What else can it be when it comes to you?”
You pull him in again and again, kissing him till your lips feel raw and as needy as you feel. Your movements feel rushed as your hands roam freely around his body—surprisingly, he’s never been one to shy away from your touch, regardless of how you proclaim it—and each tug, each caress earns you a moan or a gasp from his side.
“If it is too much, you should tell me,” you tell him, catching his eyes staring in wonder between your legs.
“I’m not sure… what to do. What do I do?”
With a smile, you reach and undo his breeches, keeping your surprise to yourself—you figured Victor would’ve made everything proportional and as beautiful-looking as possible but fucking hell, this was a pleasant surprise.
“Do you trust me?” you ask him.
Adam nods incessantly. “Always.”
“Okay. Touch me.”
You don’t want to overwhelm him, so you take his hand and guide it to your pussy, smiling when you earn a gasp and a surprised face from his side. He caresses you, dragging his fingers through your soaked folds, earning soft gasps from you.
“It’s wet,” Adam remarks.
You chuckle, the sound earnest and pleased. “Yes. That happens to women when they desire someone.”
“You… want me?”
He sounds more than shocked; quite trifled and astounded. You nod frantically, by this point dripping with need.
“Yes, Adam. Always.”
He takes a while to process your words, but he does so nonetheless. It’s almost as if your words become law to him, something to tether himself to.
“What do I do now?” he asks, his voice betraying both curiosity and fear.
“Here.”
You guide your hand to his cock, now fully erect, and he groans as you give it a few strokes and guide it to your entrance. His eyes are fully blown, as if he cannot believe what is happening and what is in front of him as of now.
Adam watches enthralled as you guide him further inside you, a pleasurable moan escaping your mouth as he thrusts inside you. Inch by inch, you swallow him whole it seems.
Fully sheathed inside of you, your mouth remains ajar as you stare longingly at him, unable to suppress the moans escaping past your vocal chords. Your whole body is afire, your face a canvass of your love and appreciation for your beloved Creature, and his face a combination of shock and lust.
“How does that feel?” you manage to ask him.
It feels like you’re going insane, utterly maddened by his curiosity, his sensitivity and love for you, all of which are undoubtable.
“Ethereal,” Adam murmurs, and leans over to press a kiss on your lips and forehead.
His movements remain mechanical. It is clear he’s unsure as to how to proceed, but his eyes, oh his big, wonderful and pure eyes, they remain locked on the movement of his cock between your legs. They seem to be fascinated by the way he fits inside you, and you are no exception to said marvel.
You try to move so that you meet with more of his hips, and you catch Adam by surprise with those motions; he stares in awe, almost aghast, at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you, and you moan as he does so. He doesn’t pose any questions anymore, he simply watches and follows your sounds, your scent and your movements. Soon he catches the drift, especially after one of your hands sinks its nails deep into his back and pulls him forward.
Thank goodness he feels little to no pain from this.
You mean to inflict no pain, you simply wish to sink into him, to have him and own him in primal ways, in caring and loving ways, those of which have not been taught to him by his creator. You both move together in a set rhythm, albeit stunted by it being a first time, with Adam’s eyes alternating between your face and your glistening pussy.
“Is this—good?” he asks, his face dangerously close to yours.
“Yes—oh gods, yes… so… so good…”
Words fail you in this moment of need, but you do not need them it seems. Your hands roam aimlessly on his back, the staccato rhythm of his hips more than a distraction or a want—a necessity; an insatiable craving, a hunger to be held, one you are more than certain Adam shares it as well.
You are very much aware of how touch-starved he is, and in so many ways, you reciprocate the sentiment. But Adam’s curiosity and lack of experience make him the perfect lover. It causes a stir inside of you, a storm brewing all too dangerously to the surface and an ache you found only he can soothe.
You feel him tense above you, a clumsiness about him that is more than endearing. He watches your every move, listens to every sound you make, in awe of how tender and warm you are, how malleable and willing in his presence.
A fact which will never not surprise him.
“Adam, wait,” you breathe, cupping his cheek.
On command, Adam halts all movements, blinking inquisitively at you.
“Have I hurt you?” he asks.
You feel a tug in your chest, eyes a little bit teary. By gods, you couldn’t stand the thought of someone so utterly soft and attentive by nature.
“No,” you smile. “You are wonderful. Do you trust me?”
“With my life. Endless as it may be. But it only means I get endless lifetimes to learn you.”
Breathless, you rise a little and shift so that now you are the one atop of him. Adam is evidently taken aback—one of the many endearing things about him is how he cannot hide a single emotion he feels for the life of him, endless as it may be, as he put it earlier—and you smile widely at him.
The stretch is glorious; Adam’s giant hands reach to your hips, resting there tentatively. He gazes upon your body as if he were charting a map, studious and careful, his eyes never absent of intensity and admiration.
“More,” he groans, mouth agape. “Please.”
And more you give: you start to move up and down slowly, taking every inch of him in a stretch that heats your entire body and causes your head to spin; Adam groans, the sound low and nearly pained from deep within, yet you know by watching him it cannot be that of pain. Adam tries his darnest to remain still on the bed simply because watching you take pleasure from him this way is maddening, but he finds that he cannot do so. He reaches up to meet you halfway, his fingers grazing your cheek. You cling to him, anchoring yourself to his broad shoulders as you keep riding him, and pull him closer. You find his lips in a rushed take, the kiss careless and despairing.
There’s a rush throughout your extremities, a wave of heat impossible to contain in your chest. You have never felt a fire like this one, an affection quite as strong as the one you carry for Adam. It stretches beyond the physical—although gods beware, simply feeling his cock buried inside of you so intimately and sweetly is reason enough.
He feels you tense, your movements more rapid and messy. He tries to hold you steadily, but he fails. Just as he had previously failed. And yet he realizes he does not care. He wants to see you break, he wants to see you come undone before him, with him inside of you. Something tells him you can take it—just as you can take him—and that you want to take it.
“Oh fuck—I am so close—“
He wishes to ask you what you mean, but words fail him. He feels, simultaneously, whole and fractured. He watches your face contort in what he presumes is pleasure, untethered, unashamed and whole, and he feels you quiver around him. You seize, the warmth of your walls clenched all around him, squeezing his cock in a tighter confinement.
And then he breaks.
In this moment, gravity is not what holds him, but rather you. You are all that he sees, all that he smells, craves and wants—and all that he feels. You are all that he feels as he spills himself inside of you with a roar that shakes the room to its foundation. You are all that he feels when his head drops in the crook of your neck, kissing every inch of skin his lips can trail. You are all that he feels as your hands cradle his head, tender and poisoned with raw need.
When your eyes find his again, they are as soft and as kind as you know them, yet they seem to contain something else as well. Something which you can also identify as of now.
Pleasure.
You barely move now, having felt him twitch and convulse inside you mere moments ago. Neither of you seems eager to break the touch, but you suspect Adam is much less inclined to do so than you.
“Can I stay?” he asks.
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
“I wish to stay like this. For a while longer, inside you. You are warm and welcoming and…”
You cup his cheeks in your hands, your palms feeling the small ridges and indentations of him.
“And what?” you ask, kissing his nose.
“Mine.”
You smile wider than you have before, now sated and happy. “I am yours. Always.”
݈݇— pairings: The Creature(2025) x Duke's Daughter!reader
݈݇— themes: Established Relationship. Friends To Lovers, Fluff, Gentle Giant, Self-Doubt (Adam), 1800s Era, Desire, First Kiss, Size Difference No use of y/n.
݈݇— summary: Hidden beyond the your father's manicured gardens lies a secret only you know: a towering, gentle creature who saved your life and asked for nothing but friendship in return.
A/N: I am playing it safe because The Creature is precious and deserves to be loved T_T Also forgive me, it ain't proof read.
You had a friend.
A peculiar one.
A friend who is tall, broad, and unyielding as the trees itself. He is a peculiar thing, indeed, for though he is large in a manner that makes even the pines appear diminished for a heartbeat, he is gentle and shy as a fawn startled in the underbrush.
He saved your life long ago, when a pack of wolves had made sport of chasing you through the frost-bitten dark. You would have surely perished had he not stepped between you and their snarling jaws.
After he saving you, he lingered only at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the shadows. You had been shaking, breathless, terrified, and yet something in his stance begged reassurance, not fear.
You offered him the smallest smile you could muster and whispered, “Please, come into the light. I wish to see the face of the one who saved me.”
It became a code. Your gentle call that told him you are safe with me.
You told him then that you owed him your life. When you asked how you might repay him, he had hesitated the way only Adam hesitates; almost frightened of his own voice.
He asked for a friend.
So you granted it.
Night after night, beneath the moon’s silver eye, you met him in the forest beyond your father’s gardens, arms full of novels, philosophy, and whatever academic curiosities you thought might delight him. And he always listened, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched, great hands folded as if unsure where else they ought to rest.
Tonight, you arrive early. A soldier had stopped you on the path back to the manor, handsome in a polished sort of way. He flirted boldly, bowing far too close, fingers brushing yours as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear.
You had smiled simply to be polite.
But in the trees behind him, unseen even by you, Adam watched.
He stood stiff as a plank. Unblinking. Arms tight at his sides. A strange, smouldering something burning low behind his dark eyes. He did not understand the word for it.
He only felt… wrong.
Later that night, the soldier forgotten, you step into your forest clearing and speak softly into the shadows, “Adam… come into the light.”
A breath.
A rustle.
And then he emerges, immense and hesitant, because he knows the code is only spoken when it is you approaching him.
You sit together beneath your usual tree. You finish reading to him and close the book upon your lap. The night hums. The air is velvet.
He is too quiet.
His voice breaks the silence.
“Why did your face alter,” he asks slowly, “when that man laid his hand upon yours?”
You blink. “…My face?”
He nods, gaze following the ground like he fears he has overstepped. “It moved. I know not the term for it. Yet… it changed.”
You let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “How so? What manner of expression did I wear?”
Adam considers the memory with earnest seriousness, brow furrowing.
“You appeared… startled. And warm,” he says carefully. “As though your breath escaped you.” He looks up, eyes gentle, confused. “Does touch compel such a feeling? When the one touching is… desired?”
The laugh dies in your throat.
Your heart seizes. Because you want him. You want him in ways you barely allow yourself to think, let alone admit in the open air.
His voice lowers. Almost frightened. “Tell me… what is it like, to be wanted?”
You freeze.
He is looking at your mouth. Or perhaps you are looking at his. You cannot tell, because the world goes silent except for your pulse.
Your breath hitches and you lean—
No.
No.
You scoot away from him so abruptly the leaves whisper under you, because you nearly did something catastrophically foolish.
His head lifts.
“I see you look at me, at times,” he says, tone soft as moss, deeply innocent. “It confounds me. Am I… displeasing to behold?”
You choke on nothing.
You are caught between You’re beautiful and I must throw myself into a swamp immediately.
He misreads your silence. Of course he does.
“I meant no insult,” he murmurs quickly, shoulders curling inward, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I am aware my form is… strange. I am—”
“Oh heavens,” you cry, hands flying up. “I think you’re beautiful! Inside and out. Must we suffer through this?”
He startles like you’ve hurled a stone at him.
“Beautiful?” he repeats, voice a low, incredulous echo.
You bury your face in your hands. “Yes. Beautiful—Handsome. Maddeningly so. Would you stop looking so wounded? You unsettle me, Adam. You unsettle me dreadfully.”
He moves then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like approaching a wild creature that might flee.
His fingers brush yours.
Barely.
Traced with hesitance, reverence, fear, longing, everything he does not yet have language for.
“Then… why did you draw away from me?”
Because his touch sets your world on fire.
Because you want him with a weight that makes the earth seem too small.
Because if you stay close, you might do the very thing you are terrified he will not want.
You swallow, voice a thin whisper.
“Because had I remained… I fear I would have forgotten myself.”
His brows pull together. “Forgotten… in what fashion?”
You meet his eyes.
They widen.
Very gently, he lifts your hand between both of his, treating it as though it is the most precious thing in creation.
“I wish,” he says quietly, “to understand such a fashion.”
Your breath leaves you in a rush.
You do not kiss him. But you lean just close enough that he feels the tremble of the need you carry for him alone.
And his thumb strokes once, reverently, across your knuckles.
“Would you show me?” he asks, voice unsteady. “What it is… to be wanted?”
The forest holds its breath.
You lift his hand to your lips and whisper, “Put your lips on mine, and I will show you.”
Then he leans in.
Very carefully. Very slowly. Like a man approaching fire with the knowledge it may burn him… yet choosing it anyway.
His lips touch yours.
A tremor goes through him so sharply you feel it in your bones.
This is his first kiss—You can sense it in the hesitant brush of his mouth, the fragile uncertainty of his breath, the reverence in the way he barely dares to touch.
You kiss him gently at first, soft and coaxing, because you do not wish to startle him, do not wish to overwhelm him. Your fingers find the side of his jaw, guiding him, telling him he is welcome in this closeness.
He answers you with a broken exhale.
Then his hand rises—slow, trembling—and he cradles your face.
His palm is broad, slightly cold, shaking as though the moment itself is too precious, too impossible to hold steady. He cups your cheek as though you are something divine, something he fears the world might take from him at any second.
You deepen the kiss by a bare breath, only enough for your lips to mold softly against his—and a sound escapes you.
A quiet, helpless little hum.
He startles.
His entire body jerks back as if struck.
Adam tears away from your mouth, eyes wide, chest heaving, gaze fixed shamefully on the ground.
“I… I did not mean—” He swallows, throat working. “Did I hurt you? Forgive me, I did not know… I thought… I feared I—”
His breath stutters, the words entangled in panic. “Your sound—I feared it was pain.”
Your heart breaks and swells all at once.
You reach for him carefully, your fingers brushing the back of his knuckles.
“Adam,” you whisper, soft but sure. “Look at me.”
He hesitates, shoulders drawn tight, but he obeys.
His eyes lift, and the fear in them is a living thing.
You cradle his face with both hands, mirroring how he had held you moments before, and your voice steadies.
“You could never hurt me.”
His breath shudders. “But you—”
“That sound,” you murmur, leaning close enough that your words warm his lips, “was not pain. It was… pleasure. It was want.”
His eyes flicker.
Understanding comes slowly, uncertainly—yet with a hunger that feels older than his bones.
You draw him nearer again, your lips brushing his as delicately as flower petals.
“This is wanted,” you breathe. “This is me… wanting you.”
He makes a low, astonished sound—and when he kisses you again, it is still gentle, still careful…but fuller. Warmer.
A trembling, reverent claiming from a man who has never dared to claim anything.
One of his hands stays on your cheek, shaking; the other settles at your waist, large enough to span nearly its whole curve, holding you.
Your lips move together slowly, sweetly, with a rising thrum of passion beneath the tenderness.
Not urgent. Not rushed. But something blooming—deep, molten, inevitable.
Every breath, shared. Every tremble felt. Every inch of him learning you.
And every inch of you, melting.
When you part, the air is warm between you, his forehead resting almost shyly against yours.
He whispers, voice barely more than a breath, “Is… is this what it is to be wanted?”
Your smile answers before your words do.
“Yes,” you whisper. “This is precisely what it is.”
And he breathes you in like a man starved.
You barely have time to savor the trembling stillness between you before he leans in again—less hesitant this time, more drawn, as though something inside him has unlatched and will not be shut again.
His mouth finds yours with new hunger. Still gentle…but no longer timid. A firmer press. A seeking. A wanting he has no name for, yet feels with every part of him.
His hand cups your jaw fully now, his thumb grazing the corner of your mouth in a motion that feels almost—possessive.
Your breath catches.
You kiss him back with equal fervor, lips parting for him just enough to draw a quiet, startled sound from his throat. He answers with a soft growl of need, the faintest hint of bite in the way he pulls you closer—your bodies brushing, your pulse thundering.
It is slow and deep and dizzying.
A kiss that tastes like discovery and hunger and that first spark of something far too dangerous to name.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.
His other hand hesitates at your waist—then grips, warm and trembling, pulling you the slightest fraction nearer. The kiss deepens again, heat rising, your lips molding, parting, meeting with a rhythm that feels older than breath.
You make another sound—soft, wanting, shameless.
He echoes it, a low, rumbling answer in his chest that sends shivers down your spine.
You are just about to lose yourself entirely in the press of him—When a voice in the distance calls your name.
“My lady? My lady—are you in the gardens?”
You freeze.
Adam stills instantly, every muscle locking beneath your hands.
Another call. Closer this time. “My lady!”
You breathe out against his mouth, reluctant, trembling.
He draws back only a few inches, eyes wide and dark, the left iris glinting, lips parted, confused and almost wounded by the interruption.
You rest your forehead to his, breath warm between you.
“Adam…” you whisper, already aching for the kiss you have no choice but to leave behind.
His hand stays on your waist, gentle, uncertain. Yours lingers on his cheek.
The voices draw nearer.
You swallow, whispering, “I will see you again soon. Wait for me.”
He nods once.
And as you rise to slip back through the brush, he watches you with lips still swollen from your kiss…and longing blazing in his eyes.
Summary: Locked away in the cellar of your fiancé's tower sits a chained up lonely creature who just wants a friend.
Pairing: The Creature (Adam Frankenstein) x fem! reader, Victor Frankenstein x fem! reader
Warnings/ Tags: Victor being mean/ abusive to the Creature, a lot of smut, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), Victor being a shit fiancé, reader refers to the Creature as Adam, lots of fluff
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: Hi! This is my first fic in over 5 years that I've written and my first smut fic ever! I'm hoping to get back into writing fanfiction so if anyone has suggestion let me know :)
A bright light flashed in the room. Your moans and the sound of flesh slapping against each other was drowned out by the sound of thunder and lightning. Victor had you on your hands and knees facing the cold dark room as he took you from behind. His thrusts were erratic and fast, his own satisfaction being his sole goal.
But as you stared into the darken abyss of Victor’s room you spot a dark pair of eyes watching you. Lightning flashed once more. You could see more of it...of him. Grey skin stitched together. Loose bandages covering his groin and hands. He was incredibly tall yet looked timid and his eyes glistened with curiosity. You gasped as you made eye contact with him. You reached a hand out towards him. He leaned forward slightly raising his own hand as if wanting to connect with you despite being on the opposite end of the room.
Victor groaned loudly as he emptied himself inside of you. You winced as he gave your ass a slap before removing himself. You searched the darkness to find those dark eyes once more, but they had vanished.
“You were quite excellent this evening I must say my dear,” Victor spoke as he tossed a cloth at you before making his way under the covers. You wiped yourself clean with the cloth still tender and sore from the night’s activities. Victor was never a gentle lover but as long as he promised to marry you and start a family you didn’t mind.
You crawled over to Victor who had his arms stretched. The room was freezing. Victor’s body heat and the silk covers were a welcome warmth. He kissed your forehead and held you tightly. Rain continued to patter against the window.
“I thought I saw something in the dark,” you said turning your head up to look at Victor. Victor smiled, “You must be seeing things my dear. You’re safe with me.”
“He had dark eyes and pale skin...and he was watching me,” you whispered. Victor laughed, “It is locked away and cannot get near my bride. I think perhaps the light is playing tricks on you.” You sighed at his response. “It’s best you get some sleep, William is visiting tomorrow with promises of new bodies.”
You closed your eyes and attempted to drift off. The image of those beautiful dark eyes still in your mind. Victor slept soundly and deeply as he gently snored. You sat up slowly as not to awaken your fiancé. The eyes were still nowhere to be seen. But you knew exactly where you might find them.
-
Wearing your lacy nightgown and flowy silk robe, you made your way down the gothic staircase, candlestick in one hand to provide light.
You made your way down into the cellar. It was dark and damp from the rain. You heard something splash in the water. And there he was. He stood up as if to greet you, walking over to you but the chains could only take him so far. You made your way closer to him until you were but a foot from where he stood.
“Vi...Vi-Victor,” he spoke, his voice deep and almost pained. You shook your head and reached your hand toward him. He copied you and interlocked your fingers. You studied the scars all long his body until you reached his face. He was staring back at you almost examining you but not as Victor would when he wanted something from you, the creature looked at you with curiosity and adoration. You walked him over to the stone slab his chains were connected to and sat down with him.
“Were you watching me in the dark?” you asked gently. The creature moved his gaze to the flowing water below him. You placed a finger under his chin moving his head to look back at you.
“I bet you get lonely down here, don’t you?” the creature nodded slightly. He understood you. “I get lonely sometimes too,” you continued. The creature had a saddened look on his face. Although he was confined to the dark cellar, the idea of this beauty that sat before him ever being lonely or sad hurt more than any lashing Victor had given him.
“Perhaps we could be friends? Then neither of us would be so lonely,” you smiled at him causing the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards in his own sweet smile. “Fr-fff-fr-friends?” His reply made you even happier which in turn made him happier.
“Yes friends. But I must go now friend. If Victor finds me here, I worry what he’ll do to you.” You stood and grabbed your candlestick. The creature looked saddened by your sudden need to leave. “Victor,” he grumbled. It broke your heart to leave him so soon.
“Perhaps I could give you a hug before I go friend?” you suggested. The creature stared up at you. You placed the candlestick back down before leaning down and embracing him. The creature felt a new sensation in his stomach. It was as if leaves were jostling around in there almost like butterflies. He inhaled your scent and wrapped his arms around you wishing you’d never let go so that he may never have to leave your warmth. The hug was comforting. You could feel every scar and stitch on his body which only made you admire him more.
You reluctantly pulled away knowing Victor will be up soon enough. You gave the creature a soft kiss on the cheek. “I’ll visit you soon friend,” you whispered as you grabbed the candlestick and made your way back into the main tower.
The creature placed a hand to where you had kissed him. Blood rushed to his cheeks making them feel warm. There was a warm feeling in his entire body, a stark contrast to the cold damp of the cellar. He whispered your name to himself as he rubbed his cheek where your lips once were. He’d heard Victor calling your name which would often echo throughout the tower.
-
As many nights as you could you’d sneak down into the cellar to see him. You’d do your best to teach him new words. He found it difficult at first but seeing how delighted it made you made him try as hard as he could even practicing by himself during the daytime. Other times you’d just rant to him about your day or your growing frustrations with Victor. The creature didn’t mind though he loved the sound of your voice and especially loved the goodbye kiss you’d always give him.
One night you came down sobbing. You ran into the creature’s arms and nuzzled your face into his bare chest. He held you as you cried.
“Wh-what wrong?” he asked concerned for you. You looked up at him teary eyed, “it’s just Victor...he got frustrated with his project and took it out on me.” The creature noticed the red mark on your right cheek which will no doubt bruise. He felt the rage build up inside looking over at the cellar entrance. He roared and pulled at his chains. How dare Victor hurt you.
“Adam please! You must keep silent or he will come down here and punish you too,” you whimpered as you attempted to pull at his arm to sit him down. Adam obeyed but only so that he may comfort you. He wrapped his arms around you as you nuzzled into him. “Mad,” he muttered as he held you. You turned your head to look up at him. His rough callused hand cupped your cheek, his thumb running over the bruised skin. You smiled at his caring touch.
“I love you,” you whispered. His gaze connected with yours. “Love?” he whispered back. You nodded your head. Adam smiled. He didn’t fully understand what the word meant but it sounded like the nicest word to describe how he felt when he was with you.
“Can I kiss you?” you asked. Adam nodded thinking you were about to give him his goodbye kiss. You leaned towards him until your lips connected. Adam’s lips were dry and cold, but the kiss was perfect. Adam felt his heart beat faster with what he could now only describe as “love.”
The sound of Victor yelling out your name echoed in the cellar. You turned to face the cellar’s entrance. Victor stood there with a metal bar in one hand and gasoline in the other. You stood blocking Victor’s view of Adam.
“Please don’t hurt him,” you begged, tears welling up in your eyes once again. Victor ignored you, shoving you out of the way to get to Adam. Adam roared at his creator as you fell onto the concrete floor. Victor beat him with the bar over and over.
“Never. Lay. A. Hand. On. My. Woman. Ever,” Victor barked hitting Adam harder with each word.
“Victor please!” you cried. “Silence!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the cellar. “This is a monster,” Victor growled pointing the sharp end of the bar at Adam. Adam’s gaze was firmly on the floor, ashamed. “Adam,” you sobbed. He lifted his gaze to meet yours, eyes full of tears.
“You gave this thing a name?” Victor roared. He hit the creature five more times before you jumped on Victor’s back in an attempt to stop him. Victor threw you off causing your head to hit the stone floor. Before Adam could react, Victor had pushed the metal bar through Adam’s chains, locking him in place. Inhuman screams came from the creature as he pulled at the bar. Victor began pouring the gasoline all around the monster. You lay still unconscious on the floor, unmoving.
“Say one word. One word. Don’t think I haven’t heard you two down here at night because I have. I know you can speak. You’ll speak to her, but you won’t speak to me? Huh? Your creator? Huh?” Victor raises his voice. Adam does not respond only glares at Victor as he picks you up and slings your body over his shoulder. He begins walking towards the exit. Adam calls your name. Victor pauses. Adam calls for you once more. Victor ignores him and carries your body out of the cellar.
-
The fire crackled providing both warmth and light to your dark cold room. You sat at your desk writing to your sister, detailing the dread you felt of still having to marry Victor. Victor was away working in his new lab, leaving you alone in your soon to be home. You paused writing as you heard a creaking of the floorboards behind you. You turned to face the cause of the sound.
And there he was. Your Adam. His hair had grown, and he wore a thick jacket made of wolf skin. He stood tall, almost proud. You stared at him a moment, not fully comprehending that your friend whom you presumed dead was standing before you.
“Adam?” you whispered. He gave you a crooked smile. You jumped out of your seat and embraced him. He held you tightly. You looked up at him and held his face in both hands. Eyes filled with tears.
“I just can’t believe you’re here! And your hair! I just can’t bel-” Adam cut you off with a passionate kiss. You melted into the kiss allowing your eyes to close as Adam held you. His lips were warm, soft and comforting. He pulled away tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. Adam rested his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered, gazing into your eyes. You smiled tears still in your eyes, “I love you too Adam.” He smiled back at you.
Adam glanced behind you at your bed. “I want to do something with you,” his voice was deep and raspy. Adam placed both his hands on your shoulders and pushed your silk robe off your shoulders allowing it to fall to the ground. You were left in just your lace nightgown. Adam shoved his own covering and kicked off his leather boots. Leaving him in his tunic and trousers. He sweeped you off your feet and carried you bridal style to the bed.
He gently lay you down and began pushing the skirt of your nightgown up. You helped him push it over your head and threw it onto the floor. Adam’s hungry eyes scanned your body, taking all your naked beauty in. You felt shy under his gaze. You’d been naked plenty of time with Victor sure, but this felt different. It felt for the first time, intimate.
“Beautiful,” Adam spoke before leaning down to kiss your lips once more. He then kissed both your cheeks before trailing kisses down your neck paying special attention to your breasts. He licked and gently sucked on your nipples causing you to moan. He gave them a gentle squeeze before continuing his journey kissing down your stomach further finally stopping between your thighs. Adam looked up at you with his dark doe eyes as if silently asking for consent. He wrapped both arms on either side of your thighs before placing his mouth right between them. You moaned his name loudly as he sucked on your clit. His head shot back up to look at you concerned.
“Are you hurt?” he asked in a worried tone. You frantically shook your head, “No. Please keep going.”
Adam smiled at you before continuing to give his full attention to your most sensitive area. He licked and flicked his tongue on your clit. Your moans only grew louder as they echoed through the empty hallway. Adam had to hold your legs still as you wriggled around in pure pleasure. He added two fingers inside of you thrusting them in and out adding to your already growing pleasure.
“Oh Adam, I’m going to- Oh!” you moaned as you came all over his tongue and finger. He licked every last drop you gave him. Adam looked up at you grinning like an idiot with both his soaked finger in his mouth, chin still covered in your wetness.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” you giggled. “I read lots of books,” Adam replied making his way back up to you and kissing you. You could taste yourself on his lips.
“We’ll have to take this off,” you said tugging at his tunic. Adam obliged sitting back and taking the rest of his clothes off. You smiled at him admiring body, a body he grew to loathe, “Beautiful.”
Adam placed his forehead against yours. You could feel him rock hard against your leg. He guided himself into you slipping in slowly, inch by inch. He stretched your walls out with his size. Adam grunted as he was fully inside you.
“You ok?” Adam asked concerned. He was certainly big, but he stretched you out perfectly. “Yes,” you whispered. Keeping eye contact with you Adam began slowly moving his hips and thrusting into you.
“Faster,” you moaned and Adam happily obliged. He began a steady fast pace moaning and groaning with you. His thrust became deeper as he got closer. You wrapped your legs around him to take more of him in. Adam let out an animalistic roar as he finished inside of you. He collapsed on top of you panting. You caressed his head as he snuzzled his face into your neck.
“That was amazing,” you stated. You could feel Adam smile against your neck. You turned your head to face him giving him a gentle kiss. He cupped your face and dragged his thumb gently against your cheek.
“I missed you,” Adam confessed. “I missed you too. I missed our conversations, even if they were a bit one sided.” Adam let out a small laugh.
Adam rose from the bed and grabbed a small towel that was hanging off the end of the bed frame. He gently cleaned you before wiping himself off and rejoining you under the covers. You lay your head on his chest and drifted off as Adam rubbed your back.
And for that brief, blissful moment, the world and the creature were at peace.
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➳ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | The lonely Creature hides in a family's barn, expecting only fear should they ever discover him. Until the eldest daughter offers him compassion and affection. A chance to learn what it is to be human.
➳ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5,509
➳ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Gothic romance, Body horror, Past violence, Themes of isolation/self-loathing, Implied trauma, Romantic tension, Human x monster relationship, Strangers to friends to lovers, Physical desire(From the Creature), Kisses, Some heated touching.
➳ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | The Reader is meant to be a member of the blind old man’s family. I imagined this as part of his story he told the Danish captain and Victor. I’ve watched the movie four times now, and I could not get the idea of an older daughter befriending the Creature out of my head.
masterlist
NEVER HAD THE CREATURE THOUGHT TO FIND KINDNESS FROM THE FAIR FLOWER. The eldest daughter of the very family whose barn he hid within.
After his Maker had sought to vanquish him with fire. After those men wounded him in the forest. No, from humankind he had learned to hope for nothing but loathing.
The first time he glimpsed her had been between gaps of wood. She hung damp linens to dry by the sun’s heat as the little girl asked questions befitting a curious child.
“But sister,” Anna-Maria pondered, passing on a piece of clothing to be pinned. “What is the Spirit of the Forest?”
The flower gazed down, the midday light framing her visage like that of an angel. “The Spirit is a caring being,” she answered as softly as the plush green that grew from trees. “It watches over us and protects all that lives.”
Beyond the wood, within his refuge, the Creature pressed his face closer through the open space. Aching somewhere in his chest to draw nearer to her. This woman of fairest vision was akin to the dawn that broke over desolation. Soft, radiant, and utterly beyond his reach.
He had seen light before, cruel and scorching, as the fire consumed his Maker’s laboratory. It raged and burned, leaving him half-born amidst the ruin as he made his narrow escape into a world that would only fear him. Yes, he had seen light before, but never like this. This was gentle, living, as it poured through her hair as though the heavens bowed to crown her.
Each day thereafter, the Creature lingered in his dim sanctuary, the scent of straw and dirt clinging to his stitched-together skin. And he listened for her voice. When she sang, it carried through the cracks of old wood. A melody as sweet and cruel as longing, trembling through him until even his monstrous heart dared to quicken. He dared to hope for her light to shine on him even for a moment.
But he told himself revealing his presence would be unwanted. He told himself such beauty was not for him. Forces beyond his control and understanding seemed to conspire for something different, though. For on the fifth evening, while the moon hung silver and splendid in the sky, she unknowingly came to him.
The night air was crisp, and his breath came in pale clouds as he trudged through the copse. In his immense hands he carried another colossal bundle of kindling gathered from the forest floor. It was but a humble offering he gave the family, one of the many benevolences he bestowed upon them. He knew not why they coveted the wood so greatly, but the smiles that graced them the following mornings compelled him to keep acting.
So he crept to the front of the cottage, taking care to be as silent as his large stature would permit. The windows were dark save for a single glow that glimmered faintly like the pulse of a living thing. He dared not draw near enough to be seen. Not thinking himself able to bear seeing the terror he inspired in every soul who glimpsed his face.
He bent low, placing his offering by the door, arranging it with care. His great, marred fingers trembled as they brushed away dirt from the threshold. He put his back to the cottage, meaning to retreat once more to his sanctum.
And then—
“Wait.”
The voice froze him in place. Soft, uncertain, but unafraid.
He turned, slow as the turning of the world. She stood there—the flower, wrapped in a woolen shawl, the moonlight making her seem carved from milk and mist. Her eyes darted from the wood to the hulking figure before her. She should have screamed. His brief experience in the world had taught him to expect nothing else. But instead she took a hesitant step closer.
“It’s you,” she murmured, realization blooming in her voice. “You have been helping us.”
He shook his head—a clumsy, desperate motion—for he had no words. No tongue or ability fit to answer her grace. But she saw the denial as humility; her lips softened into something that pierced him more than fear ever could.
“Spirit of the Forest,” she whispered. “You are real.”
The title struck him like a benediction and a curse in one. The flame light from the candle she held flickered over his discolored skin, the seams of his creation, the ruin of his hands. Yet still she looked at him with reverence. Awe.
He tried to speak, to tell her he was no spirit, no savior, only a wretch born of a man’s folly. But all that left his throat was a rasp, broken and low.
Still, she seemed to understand him even though no words were uttered. Some gentle intuition stirred within her eyes, and she stepped nearer, the leaves crunching softly beneath her bare feet.
The air trembled between them, a fragile bridge that might have carried something transcendental had he only been brave enough to cross it.
But the Creature knew what he was. What his Marker had forged him to be. Not a spirit, not a guardian, but a grotesque parody of man. Her nearness felt like light falling upon decay, a warmth meant only for those truly living.
So when she stepped closer, he recoiled.
A low sound escaped him, neither a growl nor a word, but the guttural cry of something wounded by grace. He staggered back, the candlelight dancing wildly across his face, revealing for the briefest instant the horror of his scars. The flower gasped, still not in fear, but in startled pity. And it was that pity, not terror, that drove him into flight.
He turned and fled into the dark.
HE DID NOT VENTURE NEAR THE COTTAGE FOR MANY DAYS AFTER. The shame of his flight burned through him like a sickness. Not that of fire or gushing wounds, but something quietly crueler. He remained within the barn in the lightened hours, and once the sun sank on the horizon, he wandered the edges of the forest. Where lush green clung to trees like velvet, where no light reached save for the twinkling glow of the stars.
Yet still, his gaze was drawn each night towards the small house beyond the trees. The faint chimney smoke rose like morning mist, and he wondered if she still thought of him. The monster who had fled her mercy.
When he crept back to the barn, hunger gnawed at him. The wind carried the scent of the family’s hearth and bread, and with it the ache of longing not wholly born of the body. Near the doors of his refuge, something new awaited him.
A bundle wrapped in cloth.
He approached it warily, the night air holding its breath. Within the wrapping lay not scraps as before, but a meal: bread still soft, a wedge of cheese, and an apple with its skin polished by a careful hand. Beside it, folded neatly, was a shirt. It was plainly sewn yet made with care. He did not know then to realize that the sleeves had been remade to shroud his distorted limbs.
He touched it with reverent fingers. It smelled faintly of floral and woodsmoke. Of her, the flower that smelled of flowers. He smiled at the thought.
The Creature bowed on his knees beside the gifts. No soul had ever given him such a thing; not since his first moment of breath had anyone looked upon him as something worthy of gentleness.
In the days that followed more gifts appeared. A clean blanket one night, its edge freshly hemmed. A flask of some rich broth still warm when he found it. Each token bore her hand, her thoughts, her defiance of the fear she should have held for him.
She had dubbed him Spirit, and now she honored him as one.
But he dared not let her see him again. Each time her figure crossed the yard in the dawn light, his heart quaked with both yearning and dread. He hid deeper in the shadows of the barn or the folds of the forest, afraid he might unmake the kindness she had built between them.
Until the night she sought him out.
The forest was thick with mist, the air soft with the scent of dewed earth. He heard her before he saw her, her steps light, a lantern swinging from her hand like a captive sun.
“Spirit,” she called softly, voice trembling with the hush of anticipation. “I know you are near.”
He pressed himself against the rough trunk of a tree, scarcely daring to breathe. The light danced closer, golden through the fog.
“I only wish to thank you,” she said. “To see you. To know you are real.”
Her words struck through the night like the muffled chime of bells. Distant, but unbearably beautiful. He felt himself drawn toward her helplessly.
And yet, something within him spoke of ruin. Of the evil that created him and the horror he carried.
Still, his foot moved. Just once, and then again, the twigs whisper crunches beneath his heel.
The flower turned.
The lantern brushed across his form, the broad shadow, the stitched hands, and the ruined face half hidden in the mist. Her eyes widened, but she did not flee.
“Please,” she breathed. “You need not hide from me.”
Slowly, he stepped forward through the veil of shadow. The ground seemed to groan beneath his weight, and she startled. Not out of fear, but from wonder. His figure, vast and terrible, emerged from the mist like something half remembered from a dream.
When it was clear he would not flee again, the flower smiled. A gentle trembling thing that exhibited her bravery. She held the lantern higher, its glow quivering over the ruin of his form.
“I… was not certain the shirt fit you,” she said, her tone uncertain but tender. “You are broader than I imagined. I did not know your measure.”
The Creature looked down at himself, at the coarse linen stretched across his chest, the seams simple yet sturdy under his fingers. The cloth was somewhat clean still, but no longer white like the moon’s glow. He wished to tell her it was perfect, that he had never worn anything so fine, but he struggled to find the right words.
“G-Good,” he managed, trying to articulate more, but he knew not how. When he tried again, all that escaped him was a deep sound of defeat.
Her brows knit together in confusion. She took a tentative step nearer, the lantern’s light swaying between them like a fragile heartbeat.
“You have trouble speaking?” She whispered.
He was injured by the shame of that truth. He slowly bowed his head, a gesture of both apology and submission.
“Oh,” she breathed, and the sorrow in that single syllable was so pure it might have sanctified the night itself. “Forgive me. I did not know.”
He raised his head just enough to meet her gaze. Her expression was not of pity, but compassion. A quiet, human grief for what had been denied him.
Her stare lingered unwaveringly—curious and searching—as though she wished to piece together the mystery of his being by sight alone. The lantern light carried over his frame, tracing over the dark folds of the coat that cloaked his massive shoulders.
“That coat,” she murmured after a long pause, her tone softer still, touched by wonder. “It is of a soldier’s make, is it not?”
The Creature shifted beneath her gaze, his shoulders hunching instinctively as though to hide the garment. The fabric was old and singed in spots, the places where brass buttons would’ve been laid bare. He had taken it from the graveyard of bones below his Maker’s laboratory.
She mistook his silence for something gentler. “Were you wounded in battle?” She asked, her voice filled with sympathy. “Is that why you’re wandering these lands?”
He said nothing. His hands, those clumsy, ugly things, brushed at his sleeves as though to erase the question itself. How could he tell her that which he did not know? That his scars were born not of musket or blade, but of the creation of himself that he could not recall.
When the silence grew too heavy, she filled it once again with her voice. “Why are you here?”
He opened his mouth. The first attempt of speech broke on his tongue, harsh and raw. He tried again, forcing air through his lungs that were never meant to breathe.
“Tr…avel,” he rasped. The word came slow, uncertain, like something newborn.
Her lips parted, a small sound escaping her. A sigh, or perhaps a breath of amazement that he had spoken at all. But before she could answer, a voice rang faintly through the trees.
It was a man’s voice, urgent and near, calling her name and coming from the direction of the cottage. Another cry followed it, an older woman this time.
The flower’s eyes widened. She turned her head towards the sound, then looked back to him, torn between two worlds. “I must go,” she said quickly. “They will come searching if I linger.”
He straightened, his great form looming in the pale haze, and for a fleeting instant she looked up at him as though she beheld something sacred. She turned then and vanished into the fog, her light flickering between the trees until it was swallowed whole.
THE NEXT EVENING THE BARN BREATHED WITH STILLNESS. Moonlight spilled through the slats, pooling across the straw like silver dust. The Creature existed within that stillness, his broad back pressed against the worn beams. Each hour crept by as his mind remained caught between dread and longing.
He did not know if she would come searching for him again. He told himself it was unlikely. She had been drawn by mercy alone, and mercy was fleeting. Yet, as the night deepened, he heard once more the whisper of footsteps biting through the leaves.
And then came the glow.
Through the narrow crack of the door, a small light wavered, warm and golden. The latch lifted slowly, and she entered.
The fair flower.
She moved carefully, shutting the door behind her so that the light would not betray them to the house. Her shawl clung to her shoulders, her cheeks faintly flushed from the night’s wind. In her arms she carried a small bundle, and as she crossed the threshold the faint scent of candle wax and parchment followed her.
“Hello again,” she kindly greeted, setting her lantern on a wooden crate. Its glow revealed her burden, two thin books bound it depleted leather, a stub of wax taper, and a small box of matches. “I waited until they all slept,” she said with a smile that seemed both proud and conspiratorial.
He stared, unsure of what to make of her presence, of her gentleness and empathy. Of how willing she was to be before him and all his inadequacy.
“I brought these for you,” she continued, carefully arranging the books and candles between them. “I thought… Perhaps you’d like to learn your language again. And to read. If you wished it.”
The Creature’s gaze fell upon the books as though they were relics of a forgotten god. Their pages whispered faintly as she opened one. He had seen such things before—his Maker’s laboratory had been filled with them—but never had he been invited to touch them.
She hesitated. “Would you like me to teach you?”
He did not answer at once. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, his throat a grave of broken sounds. At last, he inclined his head in a slow, deliberate bow. “Y… yes.”
Her eyes brightened. “Then we shall begin.”
She sat upon a low stool, the hem of her dress brushing the straw. He remained kneeling before her, great and ungainly, his shadow engulfing hers against the far wall. She drew the candle nearer and turned the book toward him.
“See here,” she said gently, pointing to the first letter etched in ink. “This is A. It begins the word apple.”
Her voice was soft and patient in a way that made his chest ache. In a way that was so unlike that of his Maker. He leaned closer, his brow furrowed, tracing the shape of the letter with one big finger.
“A…” he murmured, the sound rough but clear.
She looked up at him, her smile luminous in the candlelight. “Yes, very good.”
Something delicate stirred within him, something like pride, but it was tampered down by disbelief. He dared to meet her eyes then, and for a moment he forgot the spoil of his face, forgot the monstrosity that he was.
Her light gilded his features in gentle gold, softening what nature had not.
“You learn quickly,” she said, turning the page. “There is no need to rush, though.”
He nodded once. The movement was awkward, almost childlike. His heart, that strange and stubborn organ, beat hard within his chest.
She turned another page, her fingertip gliding over the next letter. “This is B,” she said softly. “For bread… or barn.”
He repeated the word after her, the syllables rumbling like stones in his throat. Buh… arn. She smiled at the effort, at the way his voice tried to shape itself into gentleness.
Then came C. Then D. She took her time with each, her tone calm and warm, her laughter quiet when his clumsy pronunciation tangled the words. And though he did not quite understand her teasing, he knew the sound of her laughter was something worth earning again.
When they reached E, she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “E,” she said. “Like earth.”
“Earth,” he echoed, the word coming slowly. His gaze drifted toward the ground, toward the straw that cradled his knees. Earth, yes, he thought. He knew that, that which gave life to all things. Even him, though he was born of its corruption.
She turned the page once more. “And this,” she continued, pointing to a letter that curved and crossed like a branch bent in the wind, “is F. Like for friend… or…” She trailed off, smiling faintly as though caught by a whim. “Flower.”
Her voice softened on the word and she did not know how it struck him.
Flower.
He repeated it slowly, his tongue stumbling over the shape of it. “F…low…er.”
She nodded encouragingly. “Yes, very good.”
He said it again as the sound carried more meaning than she could know. Then he lifted one massive, scarred hand and, haltingly pointed toward her.
Her brows lifted in surprise, and then she laughed, a sound bright and startled. “Me?” she asked, eyes glinting like the lantern flame. “You think I’m a flower?”
The Creature did not answer, but his hand remained where it was for a single moment before he reached forward and touched the place where her life thundered under her skin. He let his hand linger for only a beat then he dropped it down once more to rest upon his knee.
Only the faintest breath of sound escaped her before she was smiling timidly. “You are kind to say so, Spirit,” she said softly. “But I am no flower.”
He watched her as she bent again over the book, her lashes shadowing her cheeks, her voice returning to its normal rhythm as she named the next letter. Yet, he no longer heard the words clearly. Instead he, for some inexplicable reason, solely focused on the shape of her mouth as she spoke.
DAYS FOLDED INTO NIGHTs, AND NIGHTS INTO A QUIET ETERNITY WITHIN THE BARN. There, by the soft flicker of candle light and the murmur of her patient voice, the Creature learned.
At first, words came haltingly, raw and jagged things that scraped against his throat. But the more she visited, the more he conquered them. Sounds that once betrayed him now obeyed. Sentences stumbled, then steadied, until at last he could speak with a fragile grace that astonished them both.
“You learn faster than any common man,” she confessed one evening, grinning over the open pages between them.
“I am no… man,” he replied, and the ache he saw settle within her eyes nearly unmade him. Sweet flower.
“Then what are you, Spirit?”
He had no answer that did not sound like defamation.
Her lessons continued, gentle as wind songs. She came to visit him when the house slept, her shawl drawn tight around her, carrying books like offerings. He devoured them, tales of kings and creatures, of cities that rose and fell beneath divine wrath. He read of a man called Adam and a woman named Eve, and felt something stir deep within the marrow of his being, though he did not yet have a name for it.
When she read aloud to him, her voice filled the hollow barn as though she were breathing life into its very bones. Sometimes she laughed softly when his pronunciation faltered, and he would find himself smiling. An act that still felt foreign upon his face.
She taught him the world through words. He, in turn, watched the world through her.
Her hands were small, but strong from labour. Her voice shook when she grew tired. When she smiled, the whole space seemed to glow, as if the moon bent low to touch her. He began to crave that gleam, though he did understand why.
What was this strange pull within him? This ache that made him linger in her space long after she had gone.
He thought it curiosity at first, admiration for her grace and goodness. But when she brushed his arm by accident and warmth thundered through his chest like fire reborn, he knew it was something else entirely.
And she, though she would not admit it even to herself, had grown to wait for the hours after dark when she could see him again. Her hands trembled not from the cold, but from the thrill of it. His eyes—dark, fathomless things that had once unnerved her—had come to hold an affection that unsettled her peace.
One night, when the wind howled through the eaves and the candle guttered low, she brought him a different kind of book.
“This one is mine,” she said, shyly, as though confessing a secret. “I thought perhaps you might like to read it too. Since you have finished all the others.”
He took it carefully from her hands, because anything in her possession was a sacred thing. Its leather cover was worn soft by years of touch, and inside were not words of God or burning cities. But of love.
A tale of hearts that yearned and could not be.
He read by moonlight long after she had gone. Each page seared something new into him. He read of a man who would have crossed death itself for the warmth of his beloved’s hand. Of a woman whose name was whispered like a prayer. Of the kiss, this strange, holy act that seemed both promise and undoing.
When next she came, he spoke in a voice that was once again unsure. “This is a story… of lovers,” he began, his words cautious. “They… suffer for one another.”
Her gaze lifted, startled. “Yes, that is love.”
He tasted the word like it might poison him. “Love.”
“It is the greatest of joys,” she breathed, her eyes growing distant, “and the cruelest of pains.”
He studied her then, the way the candlelight lingered in her hair, the way her breath trembled in the still air between them. He wanted to ask if she had ever known such a thing, if her heart had ever burned for someone beyond reach. But he feared her answer, so instead he said, “Tell me, could one such as I—” He faltered, unable to finish.
She reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing his hand. “You are kinder than most people I’ve known,” she assured. “If such a one can love, then why not you?”
He looked down at their hands—hers perfect and delicate, his vast and marred—and felt the world narrow to that single point of touch. Her pulse leaped against his skin.
He could not name the look that passed between them, only that her eyes held such a heat that made his obstinate organ of a heart roar within his chest. The sensation felt forbidden like a secret the stars themselves turned away from so as to not overhear.
Long after she had gone that night, he whispered her name into the straw and felt it echo in the cavern of his ribs as surely as his polluted blood rushed in his veins.
PEACE WAS A HARD FOUGHT THING. The more he learned of her—the music of her laughter, the way her breath clouded in the night air, the soft cadence of her speech—the less rest he found. Reprieve fled him as though chased by some invisible hand. When he did close his eyes, she lingered behind his eyelids. The pretty curve of her cheek, the tremor of her lips when she read aloud, the stardust in her hair that caught the firelight like something celestial.
She haunted him. Not as a specter does, but as a dream too unattainable to reach.
Since reading the tale of the lovers, something had come alive within him. A fever that burned quietly, sweetly, and cruelly. He yearned not merely for her voice, but for her nearness. For the brush of her skin against his, the scent that clung to her, the sight of her lips that seemed to be made for uttering loveliness.
It felt as though the words on the page cursed him with knowing what he could never truly possess. Desire lodged itself in the seams of his flesh and the hollows of his heart. He thought himself driven mad by it.
Each night she came, he told himself he would not stare, that he would not linger upon her face. Yet the more he forbade it, the more his gaze betrayed him. He began to memorize her. The tilt of her chin when she smiled, the way her lashes quivered when she looked at him for too long.
In time, their lessons gave way to small walks through the woods when the moonlight was full enough to guide their path. She said the air there was lighter, that the stars seemed to breathe brighter beneath the branches. He always followed a step aside, his shadow large and silent against the golden glow of her lantern.
It was on such a night that it happened.
The forest was alive with a thousand whispers. The sigh of leaves, the faint call of an owl, the quiet rhythm of her voice as she spoke about nothing in particular. Until her words broke upon a sudden sound: the soft tear of fabric.
Her skirt had caught on a thorn thicket.
“Ah— bother,” she murmured, half-laughing as she tried to free it, her slender fingers fumbling with the snare.
Before she could move further, he was already there. He bent low, his great form folding to the earth without even truly thinking. His hands, though monstrous, were careful, his touch reverent as he eased the fabric free from the clutching bramble.
She watched him in silence, her breath held as though afraid the smallest sound might break the spell that had fallen over them. When at last he lifted his head, the torn hem fluttered free.
Their eyes met.
Something shifted, subtle, but vast as the rising and setting of the sun. The air thickened between them, charged with something he could neither name nor withstand.
He rose slowly to his full height, the motion drawing him unbearingly close to her. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for the briefest of moments, she seemed afraid. Not of his form, nor of his ruin, but of what she herself was about to do.
She leaned forward—soft, trembling, and impossibly brave—and pressed her lips to his.
It was no more than a fleeting touch, a breath’s worth of contact. But to him it was as though lightning had struck. His entire being shuddered with it, that single instant blooming through him in fire and light.
She pulled back at once, her face draining, her breath unsteady. “Oh,” she gasped.
“Oh, forgive me,” she stammered, stepping away as if waking from enchantment. “That was terribly forward. I— I forgot myself entirely. I shouldn’t have—”
He could not speak. His hand lifted, ghost-like, to the place her lips had touched.
He did not recoil. He did not curse the moment as sin or mistake. Only silence consumed him. Silence and the fierce, bewildering joy that raced through the vessel of his body.
She noticed it then, the slight tremor in his hand, the wonder dawning across the shamble of his face. Her voice softened, almost breaking.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He wished—how he wished—he could tell her that it was not unwelcomed. That her touch had not disgusted him, but redeemed him. That he would sooner choose to burn in her fire than to live again in shadow.
The only thing that came, soft and stunned in his throat was: “You gave me the lover’s kiss.”
The sweet flower froze, her hands twisting in the folds of her skirt. “I— it was foolish of me. I shouldn’t have—”
“May I return the favor?”
The words surprised them both. They seemed too bold, too human for him, yet they left his mouth with startling certainty. She looked up at him, her eyes wide in the lantern light. “You… you needn’t feel obliged,” she whispered, her voice catching. “You owe me nothing. It was only my lapse in—”
“I want nothing more,” he said, rough but clear. “Nothing more than you.”
Something fragile broke in her chest at that confession. She searched his face, the excrescence of it illuminated in the soft gold, and found no deceit there. Only awe, only hunger carefully bound in admiration.
“I’ve never…” she began, her voice trembling.
“Nor I,” he said, a shadow of humor touching his tone, almost shy. “You have taught me many things, flower. Perhaps… You can teach me this as well.”
She hesitated, but her breath betrayed her, coming quick and shallow. “If you wish it,” she finally murmured.
He nodded once, the motion slow, deliberate. Then, as though fearing he might wake from the respite of a dream, he bent toward her.
His lips met hers like a greeting first whispered, uncertain and aching. His breath was shaky, his hand hovering near her face but not quite daring to touch. For a heartbeat, there was only silence and the trembling brush of their mouths.
Encouraged by her hands coming to rest against the breadth of his chest, he deepens the kiss. She pressed the least bit closer, and that simple contact sent a shudder through him. When a soft sigh slipped past her, he drew back an inch, startled by the sound she’d made.
“Did I—” His voice faltered. “Was that wrong?”
Her cheeks warmed, her lips parted with a shy, breathless laugh. “No,” she said softly. “That was… a good sound.”
Something old stirred within him then. A pulse, deep and electric, thrumming through sinew and bone as if awakening some long buried remnant of a life not wholly his. He wanted to hear it again.
This time when he kissed her, it was changed. No longer so hesitant but certain, fervent, and alive. His hands, wavering with craving, found her waist. He felt her draw closer, her body fitting to his as though the space between them had never been meant to exist. Her fingers clutched tighter to the rough wool of his coat, anchoring herself to him as the world spun quietly out of time.
The kiss deepened, not hurried or unrestrained, but full of something that burned low and molten. When she sighed again, softer now almost like a small whine, he moved without thought. Instinct guided what reason could not. His arms enclosed her fully, pulling her against him as though to shield her from every cruel thing the world had ever known.
Her back met the rough bark of a tree before she realized he’d moved them. Still, she made no protest. The sound that escaped her was half gasp, half plea, and he answered it with a low growl that rumbled from somewhere cavernous in his chest.
For a moment—one suspended, rapturous moment—they were not woman and monster, nor spirit and supplicant, but two souls caught between creation and ruin. They were the lovers themselves. Adam and Eve. And their garden, the forest, seemed to still around them, holding its breath. As if to witness the impossibility of love blooming where light should not reach.
I genuinely love these two so much! Like the Creature and his Fair Flower? Come on! I might do more with them in the future, but for now I'm gonna leave them here.
warnings: 18+, smut, fem!reader, post-canon, sexism, reader lives alone which makes no sense in the time period but we look past that!, reader has a cat and a brother for plot purposes, 1800s, self-hatred, a lot of worldbuilding, switch of povs, angst with a happy ending!!, accidental voyeurism, masturbation (f), cumming untouched, monster sex, virgin!reader, virgin!adam, p in v sex, dry humping, etc.
summary: after victor's passing, adam finally forgives himself, but continues to be ostracized by society. once again, he ventures out, this time taking on the role of a watchful shadow near a lonely girl's shed, praying to a god he doesn't believe in he can at least keep her safe.
wc: 10.5k
it had taken a few days of endless walking for adam to find his way back to habitable land.
acceptance had been a difficult task to confront throughout his journey, with him unable to truly forgive himself in the way he had promised his creator. forgiveness was something innate he had felt deep within him from the moment of his conception, yet he could not understand how to afford himself such grace.
the wind and storms he fought against on his way to refuge had been nothing but a small nuisance in comparison to his endless internal turmoil. now that victor was gone, adam had truly lost all he had once known. all that remained was a never-ending journey of wandering until he found his next temporary home.
it came sooner than expected. four days, five nights, and adam had found what he believed to appear like a familiar sight.
the small cottage, secluded from all else, looked eerily similar to one he had once called home. it brought horrid memories, made him retract to himself as his heavy steps towards it continued.
despite his better judgment, he continued his path. his body ached for rest. it had not known peace for moths, not as it continued chasing after his creator, not after it delivered torturous harm to victor in his aim to make him listen. it had been months since he'd last laid to rest, surviving on minimal rations of food and attempting to overcome the frigid weather.
he did not allow himself to ponder on the consequences of his presence. he entered the empty shed next to the cottage, extracted heart pounding as if it were his own as he walked in, steps familiar to those he'd taken right before meeting his first friend.
thoughts of the old man plagued him as he left the warmth consume him. his tired limbs dropped down, body laid in defeat inside the empty refuge as emotions began to overtake him. he patted his head in an attempt to comfort himself, traced his own cheeks in a similar fashion as to how elizabeth had done, but none of it brought him true peace.
emotionally hurt and physically maimed, adam allowed sleep to overtake him. fear was not something he truly knew, — not from others, only towards himself — so the ability to mind any possible dangers that could've been near had left him long ago. he hadn't bothered to check for inhabitants of the cottage, nor had he truly minded if he awoke to a shriek and yet another attempt on his life. he hoped the next one would be the decisive one, but let his eyes fall shut knowing that would not be the case.
-
slight commotion arose him early in the next morning. his ears had grown attuned to the smallest of noises, his body usually able to travel whilst he avoided creating these noises on his own. his steps fell silent, unlike those of the owner of the cottage.
from his secluded corner in the shed, he had no view of whoever was on the other side of the wall that connected the two structures. the low sound of their steps didn't tell him enough, didn't inform him of the sort of reaction he'd get if he were to make his presence known.
from his limited experiences, he'd come to know that men had a more brusque reaction to his existence, often opting to attack and attempt on his life. women, on the other hand, usually shrieked in terror, terrified of what the monster might do to them.
even the reminder was enough to make him shiver. despite growing used to such treatment, it never became easier. the loneliness slowly ate up at him, amplified now that he knew that every person he ever esteemed was gone from this earth; each being somehow at his own hand.
his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden knock of a wooden door, followed by a few harsher steps and the consequent screech of hinges. he rushed to the door of his refuge, peeking through the small opening that allowed him view of the entrance of the cottage. it was a reminiscent act.
there, he was met with the back of a body. a male, victor's age, or perhaps a little older based on the limited view he had of his side profile.
but the man was of little consequence to adam. it was the person standing before him that caught his attention, that caused his breath to catch and his mouth to open in a silent gasp.
it was a woman. her body was adorned with a dress, one of lesser quality than those he recalled seeing elizabeth don. even from the small distance, her hair appeared soft, as did her skin. he could feel the texture of her touch even as he grew unfamiliar with human contact in general. he found himself reminiscing on the feeling, aching for it without meaning to.
there was an immediate effect in seeing you, in seeing the worry in your eyes. there was fear in them too, as you looked to the strange man who'd come knocking on your door. it caused an immediate reaction in adam. it pained him to see it, made him want to remedy it, created that monstrous feeling inside him he had let fester upon his wish to take revenge against his creator.
that same rage had died as soon as he'd forgiven his maker, ultimately forgiving himself too.
but that look in your eyes, it brought it back.
"why must you chase me into my home to bother me so?" were the first words adam ever heard from you.
there was a desperate whisper in your words. he wanted to hear more, but wished for the distress to leave your tone.
"it's early in the morning, it's most improper for you to be here-" you continued, interrupted.
the man took a confident step forward as he spoke, your flinch at his proximity either going unnoticed by him, or simply uncared for. his voice carried a similar air to confidence as did his demeanor. adam was unfamiliar with such a feeling.
"you must know all forms of impropriety, must you not? living alone, nearing the age of a spinster, hiding out from proper society," he began, voice a bark as he went on, "the village speaks of your impropriety, of the malice you must carry chasing away your one and every suitor. you should consider yourself lucky i remain one of the last willing to conform with your sinking stature in society."
suitor.
adam had heard of such a term a few times before. the various books he'd read during that winter spent with the old man had spoken of romances, as he'd called them — they delved into these ideas.
spinsters, suitors, courtship. the terms ranged from unfamiliar to not, but somehow he still understood. society had levels, standards to be upheld. he understood his place in society, finding himself alone at its best hidden corner.
but you? a lonesome woman, carrying beauty as you did, it made no sense to adam that you'd receive such tactless treatment from this unknown man. and against all prior experience, he found himself immediately understanding why you'd chase away suitors such as this one. victor didn't deserve elizabeth in the same manner that this man didn't deserve you.
you lived alone, he understood by then. your separation from society was a personal choice, as stated by the man. adam had a hard time understanding why one would wish to condemn themselves to loneliness. it'd haunted him from the day of his conception, promising him a life of secluded misery. but he did not dare judge you, not when your peace was disrupted in the way he was currently witnessing.
you cleared your throat, hands gripping at your door, keeping it from fully opening in some form of defense against outside dangers. adam wished to rid you of this danger, be it a man, a wolf, a monster such as himself.
"i do not wish to marry a man in search for the hefty dowry my brother intends to settle. i will live alone until i find a suitor who may carry the burden of life with me, not one who may add to it. i ask you to leave me to my recluse state," you mustered out.
though your voice wavered slightly, adam sat in awe at the commanding tone your voice had taken. this was a choice. your loneliness was the result of undeserving company. this, he could understand. it sparked a hope inside him, one ridiculous and dim, that perhaps he could be worthy to keep you company.
he clenched his fist and lightly tapped it against his temple upon the mere thought. such things were not meant for him. he was not supposed to allow his imagination to take him there.
the man scoffed, making adam frown. he did not want things to escalate. he'd be forced to act, to ensure your safety while giving himself away. he'd be recreating painful memories in the name of a woman he'd only just met. one that had no awareness of his existence (and was better off as is).
"you wench-" he huffed, "i will only hold so much patience for your insolence! your good breeding will only bend a man so much! i will give you until the end of the season, or you shall meet the consequences!"
there was a slight feeling to his words that struck adam. the threats, the lack of understanding. it brought him back to his every engagement with his maker. it made him recoil in your name while also causing that fury burning in him to grow.
upon his last words, the man marched away, huffing as he left you standing there, eyes wide and breath heavier than it'd been upon first opening your door. adam disliked the deterioration in your demeanor.
when you closed the door, you sighed and went further into your home, causing adam to silently chase after you from within the cottage. he crawled akin to the creature that he was and followed the sound of your movements through the wall. he was fortunate to find various ridges along the walls that allowed him a view upon your person.
there, he was met with your form as you walked further inside. you looked crestfallen, peace disturbed and demeanor low.
suddenly, a small figure jumped down from a surface out of adam's view. it crawled on all fours, heading in your direction. despite its sudden appearance startling adam, it looked inoffensive enough to not spark worry in him.
"god, it- i cannot believe he followed me here, kitty! this place grows less and less safe with the passing of days," you spoke to the creature, not pausing as you if you expected no response, "perhaps the presence of a man would help. i continue to struggle to cut the wood that keeps us warm- and the wolves will begin their return as winter rolls around. the men may also stop coming around if i take in a suitor of my own, but," you rambled, suddenly passing and letting your body slump back on a wooden chair, "there is no kind soul in that village who i could possibly gift myself to."
the critter looked to you quizzically, emitting a soft sound that formed a smile on your face.
"you are right, kitty. the one will come. i just need to keep us afloat in the meantime."
the critter made its sound once more, drawing a laugh out of you. it made adam's heart stutter.
foolishly, he caught himself drawn to you. his affections immediately grew, heart soaring for your lamentations, aching to remedy each and every one.
from that day on, adam selfishly remained hidden in your emptied shed. the circumstance made his heart ache, far too similar to the days in which he cared for the old man and his family. the aftermath of such events drew a saddened sigh out of him.
but, even then, he could not bring himself to put his feelings above yours.
you were his to care for, he'd decided. he'd be selfish. he'd aid you without your knowledge, foolishly hoping that one day he could provide you with the same protections a suitor would.
with the passing of weeks, you felt his presence.
at the beginning, you were unsure as to the source of the sudden aid in your daily life. small tasks were completed before you could even ponder in taking charge.
the wood was consistently cut and laid upon your doorstep, your cow thoroughly milked, eggs from your chickens gathered, wolves out of sight.
and, somehow, visits from suitors had seized for the time being.
on your occasional voyages to the village, you'd continue to receive attention from the men seeking your hand. your brother allowed you to look past them, to stay in the small manor isolated from all other society as you awaited for a suitor of your liking. you were lucky in that regard, but the incessant proposals did unnerve you any time you made your way back to society.
it had, however, been a while since that particular nuisance had followed you back home.
whispers of a strange presence began to circulate shortly after the various improvements to your life mysteriously arrived. you didn't care for town gossip (as it pertained to your person on occasion), but this in particular had caught your attention.
the tale told of a lumberjack. a hunter, maybe? or perhaps a lonely traveler. it spoke of the trails of dead wolves, the series of chopped down trees and sudden lack of fish in the pond near the village — at this, you recalled the basket made of twigs you'd found outside of your home full of fish, the lack of wolves, the perfectly chopped wood.
it was after that you truly noticed him; a shadow tethering around the edges of your brother's secluded property.
nary a soul wandered about these parts, with you being its sole inhabitant.
you'd awoken one early morning before the sun had risen. and when you wandered inside your home, you'd found yourself at your window, peeking out and finding a peculiar sight in the near distance.
a large figure covered by various layers of mismatched hide sulked around, chopping wood from trees a few meters off your land. the distance, combined with his face coverings, did not allow you a proper look at your mysterious angel, but you did not need a better look to become enamored by him.
you watched from afar for a small while, saw him go from task to task without as much as breaking a sweat. he gathered water from a well, picked berries, collected wood, somehow managed to milk your stubborn cows, ultimately dropping off every collected item just near enough to your home that there'd be no confusion as to who the collection was meant for.
the figure was big, overwhelmingly so. his brown locks covered the small amount of freed skin upon his face, keeping his eyes mostly out of sight. but in the few instances you managed to catch a glimpse, you couldn't bring yourself to look away.
there was a peculiar shine to one of his eyes, glowing in the same manner kitty's did late into the night. but even this strange feature did not deter you. his heart shone through his actions, his demeanor decided yet dejected. it made you ache inside. you wanted nothing more but to lure him into your home, to take him in and show him your gratitude in whichever manner felt proper upon having him in your vicinity.
his acts of kindness were acted upon with a selfless nature. there was no way for you to catch onto who took such good care of you, resulting in his work going thankless. it made your heart soar, made you ache to open your home to him and make him your official caretaker; to care for him in return.
you felt shame burn through you then.
it was entirely improper how you felt towards the unknown man. you did not know him from adam. but even then, the feelings flowering within you were there. no man, no being had ever cared for you in such a way. your parents, long gone, did not respect you enough to give you independence (which, unfairly, most ladies did not possess). your brother, although he allowed your liberty in the small abode secluded from society, did not show much care past that. the many suitors chasing after you held no respect for you, guided by a mixture of lust and a greed for your dowry.
this man, however, did not know you. he was a recluse, maybe even more so than you. he aided you, expecting no thanks in return. your every fear of danger had alleviated solely due to him. you felt a greed towards him that you never had before.
that emptiness within you dissolved with the passing days. ever since that first day you'd spotted him from a distance, you'd fallen for him. he was the wholeness you'd been aching for ever since fleeing the nuisances proper society provided you with.
you did not wish to scare him away, unknowing of the proper manner in which to approach his person. but you could not take any risks.
his demeanor alone told you about his past wounds. he carried himself guarded, body slumped over in needless shame, shy approach to friendship as he kept himself hidden from you.
what had broken you the most had been an instance mere days ago.
you'd taken up to watching him through your window, — only allowing yourself a few minutes in order to conceal your knowledge of him lest you scare him away — cooing at the way he'd approach your cows, how he'd occasionally have a trail of bunnies or rodents following him around.
it was during one of these early mornings that he'd accidentally knocked over a pole near your corral. his flinch broke your heart, the small, almost inaudible whimper leaving his lips destroyed your insides. the hurry in which he went to fix his error made you itch to run to him, to assure him that an accident was not deserving of his broken up demeanor, that he'd saved you every single day and that he could undo it all and you'd still take him into the warmth of your home.
but you remained inside, fighting with yourself about how you could approach such a delicate creature without scaring him away.
you wished to hear of every hurt he'd been through during his days alone, aching to remedy the furrow of his brow, to annihilate every aggressor he'd met in his life.
adam was ashamed.
weeks upon weeks, he'd remained in your shed, a consistent shadow in your life.
although your lonesome life was quieter than what he'd grown accustomed to while watching over the old man's family, he enjoyed the company you unknowingly offered him. your one-sided conversations with your cat (a creature he had only then become familiar with) proved to be all the interaction he needed. he listened intently, hanging onto your every word and finding a smile forming on his face at your mere voice.
his immediate infatuation with you worried him at first, made him bow down in shame and occasionally deny himself the ability to see you by venturing into the woods after finishing the tasks he'd been taking up to aid you.
adam took care of your every duty, tricking himself into thinking that he'd become the man you'd hoped to find many moons ago. he kept you warm and safe, warding off the men who chased after you by laying the lifeless bodies of the wolves he'd killed along the path to your secluded home.
you rarely went into the village, which allowed adam to keep you all to himself. he was unsure of the reason why you secluded yourself as such while also expressing your loneliness to your furry companion day after day. but adam could not bring himself to complain. it only meant he could live in his wicked fantasy a little longer.
in his mind, you were his. he'd never let you in on his acts of kindness, continuing to keep himself hidden from you as he aided you in the shadows. he kept you safe from outside dangers and from the ugliness found in his person.
he feared for a meeting between you. there had been a limited amount of people who'd ever shown him kindness, with each and every last one having fallen to their demise due to his carelessness.
despite elizabeth's affectionate eyes, the old man's friendship, and victor's remorse, adam still saw himself as an offense to humanity. every other being he'd come across had ensured to reassure him of this fact. he could only convince himself that you'd feel the same.
but even then, he was selfish.
selfishly, he ensured you remained his, all while fostering that senseless hope that you'd offer him the warmth he dreamed of every time he'd see you through the walls of your homely abode.
his shame reached a crescendo sometime over a month into his stay in your shed.
a lone creak along the wall allowed his eyes to tend to you as you slept. he denied himself of this sight more nights than not. it felt disrespectful, a disruption in the privacy you so desired. he felt dirty and intrusive.
still, he allowed himself such a view on occasion.
tonight had been different than most other nights.
he watched over you, pleased in the sight of your preparations for your deserved slumber. you'd pat at your cat, causing adam to do the same in hopes of mimicking the feeling. you'd kiss it and nuzzle against it, making him ache for the same treatment. and lastly, you'd huddle under your warm covers, bed large enough for a companion, but remaining halfway empty.
but instead of your usual routine, instead of laying your head to rest on your warm pillow, you scoot back, sitting back against your bedframe.
adam could see the expanse of your room, with the shed allowing him a view of your living room and bedroom depending on where in the shed he squatted. he'd usually follow your movements throughout the day, allowing you more privacy whenever you'd remain in your personal quarters.
from where he sat, he had direct view of the side of your bed, of the expanse of your body as you laid to rest. you'd usually face in his direction as you slept; one of the only proofs he had of a god providing him with at least the smallest of joys.
beneath the covers, your hand traveled, the back of your head tipping back against your bed frame. ruffles could be heard, making adam tilt his head in curiosity.
when your breath caught, chest going up and down with a heavy breath, adam began to worry. were you in pain? was something causing you agony? his heart picked up, nervous he would be witness to some malady and be unable to help you, lest he worsen the situation.
a sound left you then. it was soft, delicate. it made his breath catch in his throat, his intake of oxygen halt. adam could not comprehend what was happening under the sheets, the view hidden from him beneath your bedding, but he realized then that it was not pain.
the sounds continued, each more enticing than the last. adam's body reacted without his permission, goosebumps forming along his skin, mouth agape as he continued to watch. the shame in him grew beyond its bounds, but his body was overcome with an unfamiliar warmth forming just south of his chest.
he worried his body was defective, what with the way it had come to be. but then he continued to look at you, realizing that the sounds leaving your lips were the result of your actions against your pelvis — the same region of his body that was burning at that moment.
the sight was captivating, driving madness within him, but he could not understand why. it created a conflicting feeling in him. it was a mixture of shame and greed. he felt he must be punished for such emotions.
he'd seen husband and wife engage one another in the bedroom, knew somewhat of the steps of courtship, of the human need for companionship. but this was incomprehensible.
the husband and wife in the old man's shed. he'd seen them make these sounds, he'd seen them lose themselves under the sheets, ashamed as he witnessed it and bowing down in shame. he'd looked away after that, keeping away from that room whenever those tell tale signs would present themselves.
but you were alone. you made those sounds, you lost yourself under the sheets, but you had no companion. there was no husband receiving the gift of procreation from you. you were not a wife gifting it to someone. adam could not understand.
you wept, cries mixed with breathless sighs as your body contorted against your mattress. he felt his anatomy engage with you even without your touch. he felt those same sounds threatening to escape him. it all burned, begging for relief.
could it be that he was the husband? were you the wife, causing this effect on him even without your own awareness?
he wanted to ask you. to march into that room and ease those cries, to make them louder, to direct them at him. he couldn't bring himself to ease his own ache, undeserving of the effect you had on him. but he could feed the desire he had to accomplish your pleasure.
it reached a crescendo after some moments. it drove him to an edge that had been unknown until that moment. he felt his middle tense before reaching a peak, calming down again after a few moments. there was warmth pooling at him, staining his dirty clothes even further.
the shame remained there, but he managed to push it aside as he watched the heaving of your chest come to a halt. he hated himself, but loved the fluttering of your eyes as you finally reached slumber once more.
he remained there, loathing his existence, becoming enemies with the way in which he'd tainted you without your knowledge.
but sleep took over him then too.
-
your feelings remained unpredictable, and quite frankly, mortifying.
madness tugged at you, making you seek out the mysterious man more often than reasonable. you'd become well acquainted with his schedule, watching him from afar every early morning as he'd get up.
his mere figure in the distance made warmth pool within you. the muted grunts you would occasionally hear when he'd take on a particularly hefty task left you breathless. you ached to run your hands through his hair, to drag him to the well and bathe him, to do things respectable women were too ashamed of to even imagine.
you'd come to find you weren't a respectable woman. it had been reiterated countless times throughout your life, sometimes delivered in screams provided by your parents, other times in hushed whispers along a village that had all but ostracized you.
but now you had a companion. the whispers of the unknown did not matter any longer. there was one who was meant for you, waiting for you to take him in, to overcome the fear and make him your own.
or perhaps that was a fear for him to overcome.
you'd found traces of him at your shed.
it was mostly abandoned, not being of any use of you as the spacious abode housed you and your cat well enough. but when you'd come to the realization of the refuge he'd been taking in there, you thanked any power above for its existence.
from then on, you could only assume that he kept close watch over you. you'd found creaks along the walls, tracing them with your fingers, now aware that this was how he knew and predicted your every need, never once disturbing you as he fulfilled duties that brought no benefit to him.
it should've terrified you, but in only drew you in further.
and, unable to help yourself, your body responded to his presence.
it was shameful, an act that required rightful reprimand. but as you touched yourself, hoping he found himself on the other side of that wall, you reached your end with thoughts of him in your mind.
that long hair, those dark, mismatched eyes. they were enough to drive your imagination afloat.
you imagined those deep, animalistic groans directed at you. you pictured that large frame hovering over you. you thought of the calloused feel of his hands along your soft skin. and as your body responded, you fell into deep slumber, only to see him again in your dreams.
adam could not bring himself to stay away even after that shameful night. he could not keep himself away from you even if he tried.
he'd grown selfish as time passed. he sought atonement with life, but only found himself under your unknowing watch. perhaps you were the reward for his long journey of forgiveness for his maker. or perhaps you'd end up his ruin.
the winter days arrived quicker than expected, gifting adam with even more tasks to partake in around your cottage. this, he did not mind. it gave him a sense of purpose. taking care of you had become his lifeline.
but then arrived the snow storms.
staying hidden in your abandoned shed had proved to be a challenge. two months had passed, and he was yet to be discovered. you'd expressed no hint of knowledge as to his presence, only occasionally ranting to your cat about how happy you'd been these past few months, how safe you felt.
he worried you would come to know of him, well aware that you noticed his every task, but grateful for your lack of acknowledgement. he ached for your praise, but feared your contact.
the snow storms made it more difficult to remain in that empty shed. the cold began to get to him, the snow piling up and accumulating at the small opening of the shed, making the frigid weather enter the small space.
the large wooden doors fought against the wind, a losing battle that rattled the hinges and created an awful noise that filled adam with dread. were they to come loose, you'd awaken and run to the shed. the imminent danger of his discovery clawed at him.
he pondered the possibilities. the thought of running off into the storm made him flinch. he'd spent countless nights running from the cold, finally finding a peaceful refuge in your shed. the reminiscent pain of frostbite, however temporary, prevented him from taking this path.
but your discovery of him would destroy the fantasy he'd created for himself. it would break the soulful bond he'd convinced himself he needed to protect.
the decision was made for him as the wind continued to pick up.
the slamming of the wooden doors became too much, and he was not afforded enough time to check whether you remained asleep before the doors opened with a hard thrust against the wall, the sudden movement aided by the strength of the wind.
suddenly, your familiar figure appeared on the other side of those doors, donning your usual sleeping gown and wearing a worried expression on your face. the shock he expected was absent, as you looked to him as if you had been expecting his presence.
"come! it's much too cold. you will freeze to death, please come," you pleaded as you held onto the door, a sturdy surface to ensure the wind didn't waver your stance.
but even with the strong winds, you stretched a hand out to him, eyebrows furrowed with worry and eyes filled with hope he'd take your hand. he couldn't believe it was happening, fully convinced the cold had gotten to him, that he'd fallen into deep slumber after succumbing to the frigid weather.
still, he took some shy steps, allowing his hand to interlock with yours as your thumb ran through his dry knuckles. you guided him the short meters between your door and the shed, letting the wind slam your door shut after your entrance.
the homely ambience inside your humble abode was just as he'd imagined. the lights were warm and the internal climate felt like a pleasant embrace. adam could have dropped to his knees at your mercy.
adam could not grow too comfortable, however. he couldn't bring himself to accept that this was happening. his fear of your anger, of your fright, it was all too strong.
remaining stagnant by the door, he stood there, hands at his sides, itching to hold onto something for peace of mind. his form was slouched, his head downcast so his mane could hide the small amount of skin that remained uncovered on his face. his face coverings were still intact, as were the various layers of fur covering his body. but he still felt shame that you may see his eyes — those of a beast, those of a killer.
you walked straight inside, throwing one of the many pieces of wood adam had left at your doorstep into the fire and mending to it a bit. adam simply watched, ready for you to turn around and demand he take his leave as soon as the storm calms down.
when you turned around, you did so slowly. your eyes were downcast, not meeting his. your hands played with one another in front of your gown, bunching at a piece of fabric as you looked down at the floor. two light steps were taken towards him, causing him to swallow.
you cleared your throat, voice wavering slightly, "should you like a warm drink? you must be freezing."
his eyes met yours, breath bated as he looked to see if he had heard you correctly. he remained silent, looking down once more instead of responding.
"i'm sorry ... did i frighten you by storming in so hastily?" you murmured, "i apologize. it was not my intention. please- be comfortable. you are more than welcome to be here. the storm made me worried for your safety."
as you spoke, you walked further inside, not minding adam's stagnant stance by the door. the howls of winter could still be heard from outside, but that appeared to be the least of your concerns.
even with no answer from him, you stepped into your small kitchen, — an unfamiliar area of your house he had no way of viewing from his place in the shed — pouring some milk into a cauldron before settling it on a surface atop the fire. in your hands you held two identical mugs, making his heart skip a beat at the thought that one of them could possibly be for him.
he remained quiet, guilt drawing within him at the way in which your demeanor continued to mimic his silence. there were no words he felt were safe, so the decision to say none was made.
he could see you hesitate as you finished warming up the milk, slowly approaching him with an outstretched hand that held a warm mug. a bashful nod from you was enough to make him take the small weight off your hand.
again, you hesitated before speaking, but you offered him a small smile as you do so. it is hard for him to focus with you so close, with all that has occurred in the past ten minutes since you rescued him from the frigidness of your shed.
"i know you," you began, tone unsure. you set your cup down to gesticulate with your hands, "you are the man who has taken care of me for months, are you not? the one who resides in my shed," adam could not help but flinch slightly at this, breath catching, heart pounding, "i do not mean to be intrusive or accusatory in my observation!" you lifted your hands in surrender, "i just- i mean to express my gratitude to you, kind sir. i ... i have tried to make prior contact, but i grew too fearful of causing a fright and drawing you away. i also feel immense guilt at allowing you to aid me so — without me ever offering anything in return."
adam stood there, unknowing of what to do. it dawned on him as you spoke. he'd been aware that his presence had been suspected, but had not realized that you were so acutely aware of his proximity. he had deluded himself into believing his haunting presence had been a well-kept secret, that you lived unaware of his residency in your property.
with his silence, you continued, offering him the expression of what he believed to be shame. as you spoke, you took a few more steps, causing him to take a step back and for his back to meet the door behind him.
"kind sir, please ... i wish to repay you for your aid. i ... i know you have watched me through those walls- that you have wandered along the edge of my refuge, wishing for my lack of knowledge-"
the sudden exposure of his heinous acts was too much for adam to take. he could not process your words any longer.
his fingers flexed, itching to wrangle at something to calm his nerves. his skin burned, all while goosebumps formed. his hair stood, his eyes ached. everything was over once again. you had the naive decency to allow him to stay while the harsh storm made its way past your home, too good, too sweet for him to comprehend. but he knew that this was it. his false hopes for something more, for ownership of your heart and a gift of his in return, it was all finished.
without realizing it, the mug tumbled from his fingers, crashing down on the wooden floor and causing him to flinch. his long arms went to cover his face as his back tumbled against the door in an attempt to protect himself. a whimper left his lips, eyes shut in preparation for the punishment to his careless behavior.
but the scream never came. neither did the blow.
instead, your voice halted, and a feather-light weight landed on his arm, touch so light and soft that it was practically non-existent.
he turned his face then, lowering his arms, going back to his tall stance as his confused eyes searched for yours.
in you, he found deep sadness. it rivaled that of his own.
mouth agape, you sniffled once before swallowing. now with a moistened throat, you spoke again, this time with an even softer tone of voice.
"who hurt you?" you whispered.
it made his breath catch yet again. specially so when your hand went up to feel at his skin through the coverings that remained on his face.
without a word, your thimble fingers went to softly pull at it, eyes swimming back and forth between the space covering his mouth and his uncovered eyes. your gaze plead for permission, and he could not muster it in himself to not grant it.
once you uncovered him, he closed his eyes, bowing his head down in shame. but this only made you cup his cheek and and nudge him into looking into your eyes once more. your other hand traced at the various scars occupying his face. he felt ashamed you had to see him.
"oh ... you carry sadness in your eyes. were you hurt?" you breathed out.
your eyes were heavy, focused on his lips for a moment too long. it caused for adam's heartbeat to pick up. by the time your eyes trailed back up to his, he was already beyond affected.
your warm fingertips continued to softly trace at his skin, eyes not once showing any trace of disgust or fear at the sight of him. there was affection in you he had not met since the loss of elizabeth. and there was something more he was incapable of understanding.
"please- i ache to hear your voice. you are safe here, my protector. i will not let harm find you," you promised.
mustering out all the courage in his form, adam chocked out a response, fearful that the naturally scornful tone of his voice would not betray your kindness.
"i ... i am not hurt."
your eyebrows curled, a small smile forming in your lips. he felt your hands cup at his cheeks, thumbs caressing at his skin, ignoring any scar in their path.
"oh ... your voice. i have dreamt of your voice for endless nights," you sighed, "and your name, sir? please. i ache to know."
he hesitated, but responded, demeanor still slightly dejected, "adam."
when you responded with yours, he felt at ease. it was as beautiful as your form. he wanted to sound it out, and could not help himself in doing so. your response was the dulcette sound of a giggle, which caused adam's lips to slightly twitch into half a smile.
adam could not believe his ears. his surroundings were a blur, the storm outside fully forgotten. he ached to touch you, to have his hands reach out and engulf you in his hold. your every touch provoked this greed within him that had been born the moment he'd laid eyes on you. the shame continued to be there, but every word from your lips alleviated such feeling.
his wretched acts came flooding back then. every moment spent watching you without permission, the nights in which he dreamt of you, insulting your soul by attaching it to his own. he remembered that night in which he betrayed your intimacy, loathing himself for the disrespect he'd laid upon you.
you'd inferred your knowledge of his actions, but he was certain you knew not of the extent of his delusions about you.
"i have insulted you," he began, shameful. he began to part from your touch, but you did not budge, drawing a confused grunt from him, "i have overstayed my welcome. do not allow me to aid in your discomfort any longer-"
"you confuse my worry for disdain, sir," you began, hands trailing down from his face to the length of arms, grasping onto his glove-less hands and bringing them up to your own cheek. adam shudders at this, "there is nothing i wish for more than your company. any affection you may feel towards me, i return tenfold. you, my savior ..." you paused, eyes drawing away in bashfulness, "you have earned my heart," at this, you brought one of his hands to your lips, kissing the cold knuckles softly, "you have earned my soul- every part of me is yours. please tell me you share my affections."
adam could not think, could not speak. this cruel joke stole his breath. you looked to him with eyes he was unfamiliar with. with a warmth he could not understand.
yet he knew this could be nothing more than a cruel joke. he held his breath, unable to respond as you continued to stare up at him with that same unfamiliar affection in your gaze. his hands remained warm due to the soft kisses you'd continued to press against his broken skin.
unaware of how to respond, he stayed silent, breath bated and lips agape. he did not know his silence would cause further acknowledgement from you, but even if he had, he would not have been prepared for what you did in response.
slowly, you guided his arms to your hips, your own settling on his shoulders before leaning up. your face came close to his, breath intermingling with his own for a mere few seconds before the distance was closed.
his lips, already open, received yours. he remained still, not reciprocating, as he did not know what to do. everything stood still as your lips engaged with his stilled ones, as the softness of yours intermingled with the rough touch of his.
and then you made that sound again. that same sound from that night. the one that made him discover an entirely new aspect of humanity he did not feel worthy of ever experiencing.
the mere memory of that night made him flush. it had him closing his lips against yours, following the rhythm of your own as best as he could. his arms, which you had rested on your hips, trailed up to your back, remaining flat there as he pressed you against him. he received a pleased noise from you in return. he made of his own in response.
your hands reached his hair, fingers interlocking with it as your lips continued their battle against his. adam was left at your mercy, breathless in his attempt to return your every affection. his body burned in the same way it had that night.
"oh, adam..." you sighed into his lips, the grip of your hands on his hair still soft, but wanting.
upon further opening his lips, your tongue suddenly sought entrance into his mouth, causing a gasp to escape him. it searched for his own, tangling with it and drawing it out to intertwine. adam knew not how to kiss you like this, but he ached for you, and so he allowed you to teach him.
every touch of lips, every wet flick of tongues, it drove adam to madness. his palms ran up and down your back, small yet animalistic grunts leaving his lips when you'd tease at his tongue, when you'd trace at his lips with your teeth.
when you pulled away, he found himself out of breath, but still seeking out more. he wished for no distance between your bodies ever again. the need to keep you attached to him grew animalistically.
against his lips, you remained, breathing heavily into them. your eyes grew heavy, filled with what he believed to be lust. this was also unfamiliar to him, incomprehensible that you'd feel such a thing for a beast like himself.
you were out of breath as you spoke again, but you refused to create distance between your bodies. your chest remained pressed to his, uncaring of the juxtaposition between your soft sleeping gown and the endless layers of rough hide he wore.
"allow me- i must bed you," you rasped out. there was desperation in your voice, "i have saved myself for my beloved ... and that is you, adam. i am certain of it."
the bewildered look in your eyes penetrated deep within him. the madness inside him only grew, that monster begging that he allow himself the pleasures of the flesh — those same pleasures he'd only become acquainted with due to your proximity.
but he could not allow it. you knew not of the monstrosity hiding behind the drapes around his body. seeing his disfigured face may have not disturbed you, but had you known his past, his origin, the every other detail of his body composed of a charnel house, you would have decreed him the monster that he was.
any other suitor of yours could provide you with your deserved future. he would remain a monster, a waif to society. you'd live a recluse due to him; attached to a man who was not truly a man.
he could not take the gift of your virtue away — the gift he'd heard of in the endless novels he'd read to the wise old man; his friend, — not under false pretenses, not under any circumstance.
"i cannot allow this," he pulled away slightly, "you do not want me. what you see, — this scarred face, this broken exterior — it plagues my entire being. my body, my skin, my soul. it is all made of endless decay, my creator ensured as much. i will not oblige you to engage with such a monster."
his tone was gruff, serious. he hoped not to scare you, but perhaps that's what would be necessary in order to ward you away.
still, he could not bring himself to separate his arms from your hold. not when yours remained on him.
you shook your head, eyebrows furrowed and expression determined. a look of offense took over your features. your hands made their path down his chest, fingers trailing their way to the lapels of his fur, slowly disrobing him of it. layer after layer, he allowed you to disrobe, ashamed, yet unable to deny himself of your touch.
once he remained in his sole trousers, your eyes wandered down to the expanse of his chest. your fingers, curious, trailed his every scar, finding the various discolorations contouring his body and expressing nothing but awe.
leaning in close, you pressed a kiss to his chest, trailing slow pecks towards his heart. he knew well of the heightened speed of his heart. it was its natural reaction to your affections.
"you speak of a monster, yet i see no such thing," you spoke, "you speak of a scarred face, a broken body, yet i care not for such thing. what i see is the most uniquely beautiful creature i have ever beheld," your voice was decisive, with some fury hidden behind it, "i mean no offense, but your creator is a fool to hold such beliefs."
he couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips after that.
"was," he found himself correcting, but the ghost of a smile was still on his lips.
you smiled back at him, hands still absentmindedly tracing his skin, "i apologize."
he shook his head to himself, head bowing down yet again, "no, i apologize- i must-"
"you must kiss me again," you interrupted.
"i ... i cannot allow you to-"
"i beg of you, adam," you whispered out, "i ache for my protector, for my beloved," you sighed out, nosing his chin as your lips approached his once more, "take me out of my misery and allow me to gift myself to you. allow us to be forever bonded."
adam shared very few of the characteristics of men, and weakness appeared to be one of them, as he could not find it within himself to deny you. his body ached for you, as did his soul. your eyes, your words, they spoke truth. his soul was already intertwined with yours, drawn in from your very first meeting.
he could not deny your pleas, could not deny himself of your soul that ached for his as much as his ached for yours.
again, you kissed him, this time driven by a passion adam had grown convinced he would never experience. you begged for him to touch you in between kisses, practically weeping for his touch. and as hesitant as he was to enjoy the contours of your ruinous form, he let his hands wander along the length of your back, allowed them to lay at your waist and hips.
you blindly walked him to your bed, lips never once disconnecting as you sat him down before settling on his lap. he welcomed you, still slightly unnerved and unsure of himself, but fully desirous of your connection.
the bed was wide enough for a companion, making his heart ache at the possibility of him being the desired one. the comfort provided by the bed could not compare to the weight of your form on his lap. his hands remained shy and closed off, but they'd gotten use to the feel of your hips under them.
"oh, god, this is most improper. but i cannot help improprieties around you," you chuckled, breathless, "i hope you do not deem me a harlot. i have waited for your arrival for weeks. i've shamefully hoped for you to walk through my door and take me as yours," you continued, your caresses never once seizing, his chest and shoulders well cared for by your soft touch, "i've nothing under my nightgown. no bodice, no corset. it is very scandalous, i know. but i cannot help myself with you, adam. i knew from the moment i saw you from afar, from the moment i took note of your affections, that i'd lose all manner of composure upon having you in my arms."
his trousers were guided off as you spoke, leaving him in the mere rags that covered his center. he found no shame in your view of his body, too enthralled by your lust-filled words. he felt himself blush, felt the blood draw to his middle, causing him to continue to harden.
these were brand new sensations, discovered due to your touch, due to the words you directed his way.
looking down at him, you sighed contently, tracing his skin and drawing goosebumps along your wake.
"oh, adam ... your body is perfection. every inch shall be mine, or i shall die dissatisfied."
it was spoken like a promise, sealed with a kiss and a sudden pressure of your hips on his.
it was an unparalleled sensation.
he'd felt the burning pooling at his center when he had watched you lose yourself in between your sheets, but he had denied himself of any act to remedy the feeling. and now- now you gave him relief.
he was unaware his body could feel such a thing. the rubbing of your bodies together, it created this animalistic greed in him. he wanted to enhance the feeling, to drag you against him like a brute. the base and wanton need of an animal overcame him, hands continuing to grip at your hips and aiding you in your movements.
those sounds continued to tumble out of your lips, and he discovered that you enjoyed his own sounds just as much. you'd sigh after his every grunt, singing his name in ways it was never meant to be uttered.
then you spoke again, readily determined in his ruin.
"did you see me that night, adam?" you whispered into his ear, "did you watch me, knowing you were the cause of my ruin? that i dreamt of your form hovering over mine, of your grunts as i brought you release?"
adam's senses heightened at your every whisper. there was no space for his shame as he took in your words. your desire for him drove him mad, destroyed the composure he'd foolishly deluded himself into believing he possessed. the feeling of your middle meeting his did not help matters. it only drove him further into madness.
no plea for forgiveness could leave his lips. not when you broke him like this. there was a familiarity between your bodies. yours the key to his unraveling.
"please-" he found himself begging, "i must- you will break me."
it only caused a sigh to leave your lips. your face buried in the juncture of his neck, leaving yet another trail of kisses there, reaching his lips whilst your hips daren't halt their heavenly grating.
when you stopped was when he finally became acquainted with pain. such an unfamiliar feeling, barely gracing his being any time he'd become the target of men who dared to attempt on his destruction. he had never felt it until the moment you'd taken away the otherworldly pleasure you'd so selflessly been awarding him.
he could not bring himself to complain, but he did not have to.
suddenly you were getting up from his lap, causing him to sit up as he watched you in utter and complete awe.
your hands bunched at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up before throwing it off your form. it left you fully nude before him, completely bare of any barrier between him and the heavenly curvatures of your body.
you were truly the master of his pleasure, as you could bring him to his end without a single touch. the mere sight destroyed adam, it made his breath catch and his body groan. he could not comprehend what such a monstruous creature had done to deserve the touch and affection of an angel, a seductress who'd come into this earth to provide him with pleasures men could only dream of.
he had no words, hands twitching at his sides as you regained your home on his lap. the smile on your lips told him of your awareness at the immediate effect you had on him. his middle burned for you, uncomfortably settled between you as you began your torture once more.
"please..." he begged, but knew not what for.
"i ache to ruin you," you breathed into his lips, "just as i ache for your touch."
directing his hands, you settled them on your breasts, causing adam to shudder at the softness now found under his palms. you cupped his hands, teaching him to squeeze and let go, sighing out when he'd do as instructed. it only functioned to unravel him further.
"you allow a monster such as myself to touch you," he began, enthralled by the sight of you, "you gift yourself to me, and i cannot possibly compensate you for such blessing."
you leaned in close, noses touching, lips gracing, "gift yourself to me, and i shall do the same in return," you assured, "all i yearn for is the eternal salvation your soul will grant me. allow us to become one."
again, you kissed, hands clawing at the rags surrounding his middle. it took little effort to free him fully, earning yourself a groan of pleasure from adam at the very first touch of your hand on his manhood. as you pushed him to lay flat on the bed, you gripped at him, taking ownership of his body.
"i am yours," he whispered, gasping when you'd begun to drag him against your center.
"and i eternally yours."
you lowered yourself down on him then. it was a slow, torturous process. the pleasure felt like pain, too amplified for his body to fully comprehend. his mouth drew open with a heavy breath, his eyes squeezing shut and the back of his head digging into the mattress below him. your hips fell victim to the squeezing of his fingers, but he could not process his movements as you engulfed him.
it broke him. he became a vessel made to receive pleasure. it was an otherworldly experience. he was certain no man was ever meant to experience such pleasures.
when he dared open his eyes again, he found yours closed, nose scrunched up and mouth agape. your hands still held on to the ridges along his shoulders, digging harshly but causing no pain. you had not moved yet, simply engulfing him in the heat of your body. it was enough to make him shudder.
"oh, adam ..." you sighed out.
he had no worthy words to share. he simply grunted your name, breath stuttering when you began to move up and down.
his body arched against yours, unknowing of how to react to such feeling. he felt himself break little by little. he was tense, but you soothed him, unabashed in expressing the effects your connection had on you.
"please," you begged, "help me ... i- i need- oh, adam, please-"
your hands trailed down to his, gripping them and motioning for him to move you. you needed him to aid you in your shared pleasure. and what was he made for, if not aiding to your every whim and need?
a flash of electricity sparked across his entire body as he followed your instruction. his strength assisted in your movements, his hips soon following along and snapping up against yours. the noise caused by the impact was loud, indicating every connection between your bodies.
the rhythm was off, unsynchronized at first. but your eyes still rolled back, and your forehead still fell on his. your pleas for his pleasure never once seized, drawing him closer and closer to his end.
"adam-" you sighed out again, breath a whisper against his lips, "you will break me. you will- oh, you will break me beyond repair."
and though it sounded like a plea for help, you tightened around him, gasping out a cry of his name. adam's lips braved against yours, interlocking in one final kiss as you shuddered and shook against him.
subsequently, you dragged him down with you. he felt himself break, his body shake and timber and shudder. the warmth in his belly released deep within you, mixing your essence with his and intermingling. your lips never once left his, drooling into his mouth and chasing after his tongue.
your deflated body laid on top of his, lips tracing his chin, then his cheeks, finding a home on his neck. he felt you purr against him, humming as your fingers softly ran up and down any inch of skin they could reach.
his arms wrapped around you, keeping you guarded and close against him. he remained inside you, defeated and limp, but protected by your warmth.
"please remain with me," you whispered, "allow me to protect you from your solitude — and aid me in eradicating mine."
adam felt that familiar dampness form in his eyes, taking in a shaky breath before lifting a hand up to softly pat at your hair.
"please," he pleaded in return.
the morning passed by slowly, while the nighttime flashed by.
adam did not recall the last time he had been able to sleep soundly through the night, had never known the comforts of a bed, much less the solace of holding someone against his heart as he fell into the night's sleep.
but there he laid, slightly slouched in your bed despite its large size, long arms wrapped around your body as you held him in return.
he arose before you, watching your peaceful rest, counting the soft puffs of breath released by your lips. your body faced his, face buried in his chest. cold fingers ran up and down your nude spine for a while, attempting to soothe you in the way you did him with your mere presence.
when you woke up, it was slowly, with the same softness your every action carried. kissed were pressed against his scarred chest, fingers traced at his skin with the same wonder you'd displayed last night.
as you laid there, you heard his every tale, his every lamentation. he shared his story with you, sparing no detail. each tear was met with a kiss, while you continued to soothe him with your calm whispers. your cries for him broke him, but also lulled his uneasiness. in your eyes he saw empathy unparalleled by any he'd seen before.
"oh, adam," you cried out while in his arms, "you have been so alone, my sweet creature. but no more. allow our seclusion to end through our bond," you pleaded to him, "you shall never walk alone again, not as long as i hold the privilege of your affections."
adam could have cried, shedding a few tears of disbelief and of gladness. but again, you kissed them away.
winter was warm that time around, found safely in the refuge of your lonely cottage. though it was lonely no more, inhabited by what was now adam's small family.
whispers of a creature roaming the forest seized, while rumors of your newly wedded status began to spread. your mystery suitor was never revealed to the villagers nearby, allowing you to keep him safe and guarded, and all to yourself.
