#Peter Ballard imagine

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Imagine being Martin Brenners daughter and secretly seeing Peter

- You meet one another when you go to bring your dad his lunch at work. You had the day off and it gave you an excuse to get out of the house

- Peter was the one to walk you to your dads office and there was an instant attraction from both of you

- He was so cute and a little nervous

- Peter thought you were gorgeous and might have even got the courage to flirt with you, until he found out who your dad was

- You on the other hand found Peter attractive in a less innocent way

- With this long fingers and his sweet eyes, you couldn’t stop picturing how they’d look filled with pleasure

- Peter seemed to slump away when your dad opened the door, and he didn’t join you in the office

- Quickly getting the picture that Peter saw your dad as a superior that he didn’t want to upset, you were more secretive with flirting with Peter

- Coming back a few days later, Peters eyes lit up

- “Your father is busy at the moment, but you can feel free to wait in his office”

“I’m not here for him, Peter. Is there somewhere we can both be alone to talk?”

- The way you bat your eyes and your fingers lightly ghost over his crisp white shirt makes his knees weak

- When Peter closes the door to the small private office, you’re quick to pounce on him with a kiss

- Pulling away you notice that Peter isn’t kissing back, but before you can apologise he has you pinned to the door with his lips on yours

- His kiss is less passionate then yours, more tentative, as if he’s trying to work out how best to kiss you

- Nothing went further then a little make out session and grabbing at each other that day, but you and Peter couldn’t get enough of each other

- You wanted to know where he stayed when he wasn’t working at the facility, and maybe get his number but he told you he worked a lot of night shifts

- Peter blushed when he confessed that he preferred to sneak around with you at the facility

- You teased him for it and were surprised to find he really liked your teasing

- With your palm over his tented pants, your teasing turns less innocent and more heated

- “You like when I tease you, Peter? You’re such a naughty boy, wanting to sneak around with me like this.”

- Your teasing makes him moan as you bite his neck

- You found more and more reasons to visit your dad at work

- Each time he, you and Peter are in the same room, you catch his eye and bite your lip to tease him

- Peter falls hard and fast for you

- Each time you’re intimate he feels like worshipping you, like you’re a high power that he craves to please and be pleased by

- It’s not always sexual though

- Sometimes you sneak in and watch a movie or play card games

- When you showed him the music you listen to it was like he was hearing music for the first time, or like he hadn’t heard music in years

- In those times Peter felt like he’d do anything to protect you, and when he planned to escape, he wanted to take you with him

[oreosmama]

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 2🕷️

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.

Enter: You.

You’re nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you… interesting.

You’ve caught his eye—congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.

Chapter 1

A/N: yay, another chapter! and not a million bajillion months later, either, aren’t u guys lucky? I worked hard on this one! Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4809

The maids of the castle did not have an organized way of awakening. The first one to rise from her cot never rang a bell, nor did she make a sound as she bumbled about the room. The others simply roused at her activity and moved to follow her lead. A soft ray of warmth would peek through window curtains, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the scuffling shoes as the ladies donned their uniforms: white pinafores over black smocks, black sleeves down to the wrists with white cuffs, white bows, black slippers.

A light chatter had begun after one maid, a new recruit hired for the season, had asked another for assistance in tying the pinafore’s bow at her back. By the time the bow was finished, the rest of the room had followed suit. Conversations erupted, and some of the more experienced women had taken to helping the newcomers with their garments. When one began to brush her own hair, so did another. When one adjusted the strap on her own shoe, so did another.

They moved as one body and looked as one body, as was expected of them. None dared to lose their opportunity to work with the castle's wages and living, especially during such a season.

The prince of the Creel Dynasty was finally searching for a wife.

The kingdom had long awaited this announcement from the handsome young heir. In preparation for the many balls, galas, and other festivities promised by this news, the castle staff had welcomed a myriad of new members, all of whom had to be trained before the kingdom could host any visiting royalty.

The maids, therefore, had the strictest schedules and regimens. The nature of their duties made it most plausible to come in contact with a royal, and such required a level of propriety unobserved by them in their previous homes.

But a new fear had struck the collective consciousness of the trainees.

One that made the threat of interacting with royals all the more potent.

You rose from your cot at the tap of the girl beside you. A fierce spasming fired along your spine, where your new wounds must have reopened from the movement.

Briefly, you considered lying back down, letting your headache swallow you whole. Considered Miss Miriam, in a devilish state, screaming at you, dismissing you, dragging you out of the castle. Crawling back home with no money, nothing to show for your promises of dragging them out of the village and whisking them away to a life of less hell. You consider coming out of the castle like you came in. Still nothing. Having nothing.

But a pretty sight struck you—Miss Miriam, with her crop, coming up behind you, and you, twisting and grabbing her by her gray hair, shoving her face into a used chamber pot.

Then swatting the old harpy with her own weapon.

A smile split your face, causing the bruise on your cheek to throb.

One day.

But until that day, you were stuck here under the shameless eyes of your own fellow maids. The show Miss Miriam had put on for the others was one that must be burned into the backs of their eyelids, because the maids did one of two things.

They watched you, or they blinked.

You folded in on yourself, turning away and grasping your uniform tucked neatly beneath your bed. When you rose back up and reached for the hem of your nightdress, you hesitated.

The gazes were so heavy you could drown. Even now, you could feel the oozing blood sticking to the thick fabric. However prominent the bruise on your face was nothing compared to artwork that mangled your back; something was peeling, another splitting, and much was bleeding. It was all one collective wound, one scab healing so slowly that any movement you made renewed the process.

You did everything quickly and quietly. You tore off your dress, peeling off fresh skin with it, and stretched the other one over your head, thankful the black smock wouldn’t stain so evidently. The gasps didn’t slow you down. You tugged on your shoes and straightened your sleeves. You whisked your hair out of your face as you worked, tightening and adjusting and grimacing your way through it.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You were surprised you had any left after last night—your own tongue sat as dry as a rock in your mouth. How could there be more?

But they sprang forth when you pulled the pinafore over your sleeves and realized you couldn’t tie the bow yourself. Not as tightly as it should be. Your own body wouldn’t let you do such a thing to your wound.

You needed help. Would any of them be willing to even speak to you? To be seen associating with the first pariah of the group?

You couldn’t imagine yourself doing it. Self-preservation was at an all-time high after your public whipping. Would anyone even believe that you hadn’t wanted any of this? That you hadn’t been a crown-hunting girl begging for trouble? That something bordering on preternatural had invaded your mind and drowned out your senses, and all you could do was cling onto another human as you grappled for reality—who gave a damn if the man just happened to be Prince Henry, the one person women in all the known kingdoms were trying to obtain?

No.

No one would believe you.

Dear God, you sounded deranged. One step away from fleeing into the woods waving sticks and crying demon at every creature you crossed.

The church bells, of all things, being the sounds you’d heard when your own life was slipping away before your eyes. You may as well hang yourself right now, if the king couldn’t decree it any faster.

You dropped the two fabric strings of the pinafore with a muffled snivel, cupping your bruised cheek and letting your eyes fall closed.

Three months. Just three months to shed the new label and secure yourself a permanent position in the castle. Real servants’ lodgings, proper pay, daily meals. You could live the rest of your life not acknowledged by another soul if you could just stay here, safe and content and unheeded.

What more could a person want out of life?

A gentle touch at your shoulder blade drew your attention, and you flinched away before it got any closer to your injuries. You spun around and bumped into your cot, eyeing the other maid warily. Her gaze was kind and bordered on innocent, vibrant blue barely peeking out from behind a wall of curly brown hair. She looked about your age, and at first glance, you would never notice the proud, acute way she held herself.

Like she always knew what she was doing, and yet always knew too much.

And when she offered her hands like a sign of peace, you did not try to back away again. Far be it from you to reject the first kindness you had experienced since you had arrived here.

“I can tie your bow, if you like?”

That same accent, unrefined when compared to what usually bounced off the gilded walls, and you surmise that she must have come from another small village like yours. Unlike you, however, she seemed to have less fear when navigating through unfamiliarities like castles and cruel maids.

Why else would she bother offering the one persona non grata a helping hand?

You pause at her offer, gnawing on your lip as though you had other options to consider. Perhaps there was some ill intent to her aid, but even if there was, you couldn’t figure out what and why and why bother.

“Yes…” you swallowed. “Please.”

She smiled gently and gestured for you to turn around. When her hands tied the bow, it was all light fingers and quiet conversations.

Her name was Nancy, and you learned she had come from the village next to yours. When she couldn’t get a job working for a seamstress, she wound up as something of a governess in the kingdom’s walls, traversing back and forth between her home and those of higher standings nearer to the castle. She was good at watching children, but the castle was offering far more than royalty’s butlers and vicars could afford.

And she was also very sorry for you. What happened yesterday was hard to watch.

You asked her to tighten the bow, dismissing her small hum of concern, and swallowed the bile that rose when the pinafore dug securely into the gashes of your back.

You both knew she had been fixing to leave it loose, letting you decide if the risk of an untidy uniform was worth the comfort.

It wasn’t.

The other maids, it seemed, had grown uninterested the second your wounds were covered for what would be the remainder of the day, and returned to normal conversation. Few glances were thrown your way since Nancy had tied your bow, and you noticed yet another phenomenon.

Caught up in a sea of black and white, the only difference between you and Nancy, between any one maid and another, was her hair. Brunette and blond hair intermixed with black and ginger, all blended seamlessly when plaited or swept up into a bun.

Yours hung loose and knotted down your back, and without a word, Nancy began to wisp the tendrils into a braid. You wanted to stop her, but you couldn’t. Your own arms could barely raise as high as your heart, and your hands shook the second they entered your vision, lifted to stop Nancy’s at your nape.

“There,” she murmured, dismissing your thanks, “now you really blend in. By tonight, the others won’t even remember which bed you’re in.”

“Should I be concerned they know that now?”

She laughed softly. “I suppose not, although I have overheard a few girls bitter about you being with a royal.”

You blanched. “What? That’s what they’re focused on?”

Maybe… maybe you should have guessed some of them might focus on that fact. But look where it got you, and you hadn’t even been trying.

Properly flogged, and now in the sights of one Miss Miriam.

Nancy shrugs. “Just a few. Most have been scared for you. But,” she pauses, pursing her lips, “you must understand that we’re… thankful, in a cruel way.”

Of course. You could understand that.

It terrified you, angered you to no end, but you understood it. Someone had to be a lesson for the others. A demonstration. The new maids needed a spectacle to understand where the power lied—that power did not lie solely within royalty. There were pockets of it left scattered throughout the castle, and cruel-enough servants snatched it up whenever possible, and lorded it over whoever would listen.

But… you wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. You never thought it would be you.

The collective consciousness reigned over the servants once more, and they began to line up. You spotted a girl, younger-looking than most, step away from the door, and guessed she must have heard footsteps. Nancy nodded at you before joining a line, and you followed.

Like clockwork, the door slammed open, and Miss Miriam entered with a silencing swoosh of her black smock. When her second-in-command entered, goosebumps ran down your spine.

You could still feel yourself struggling in her arms, sobs wracking their way through you as she steadied your form for another lashing. Your heartbeat began thundering in your back, right underneath the bow of the pinafore.

“Ladies, today is a day of utmost importance.” With small, black eyes narrowed and surveying each and every young girl before her, Miss Miriam furrowed her brow and frowned, wrinkles tracing the expressions with ease. Her face pinched together so tightly it resembled a sun-dried grape. “The royal family will be welcoming four promising princesses today, and it will be your duty to clean every inch of the castle they will roam upon before they arrive. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

“We will work as one. We will bow as one. We do everything as one, today and all days, ladies. Efficiently, and quietly.” Her eyes fell on you. “No one will cause trouble today. Understood?”

You gulped. The maids chimed together once more, and you could only mouth along with them.

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

Her gaze left yours, and the tightening of your throat eased.

“Moira will delegate assignments. Those tidying halls will follow me.”

The hallways, all gilded columns and glistening marble, flared victoriously in the morning sun. Most aspects of the castle seemed to emphasize the Creel Monarchy’s pride, their devout sense of self-satisfaction the principal aspect of every painting, vase, and snuffed sconce.

A portrait of the long deceased King James, great-great-great-great grandfather to Prince Henry—though, you pondered calling the number of greats preceding his name into question (and the word great itself)—sneered down at you, seeming perpetually pleased to be two hundred years in the ground and still lording himself over every subject that roamed his halls.

Disdain for all others must have been passed down the family line religiously.

You dragged your eyes down and away, busying yourself instead with dusting the marbleized snoot of Julius Caesar. The crystalline windows of the castle acted like a magnifying glass against you as you worked, adding a heat to the already aching skin of your back. You were a cockroach wandering too close to a flame, and any second now you could burn up from the inside out, crushed with a crunch rather than a squelch.

Using the back of your hand, you wiped the sweat from your brow, eyes wandering dangerously to the maid who worked beside you.

Nancy, owning the more bearable appearance between the two of you, had been sent out to deliver and replace new bed sheets along with thirty other girls. But the girl beside you, taller and owning a mess of dirty blonde hair swept into an apathetic bun, had somewhat of the same spirit of Nancy. A small glimmer of rebellion shone in her eyes each time Miss Miriam wandered far enough down the glittering hallway so as to only be seen by squinting.

Then, with a wry twitch of her freckled face, she’d rasp five blasphemies she’d decided described the witch in that moment.

Musty shrew appeared to be a favorite.

The girl glanced up from where she had been polishing a rickety wooden chair and flashed you a smile, glancing each way before rising from her knees and approaching. She reached out and plopped the brush she had been using on the table holding the marble statue head, and plugged a finger into each of its ears.

“I don’t suppose Jesus here will strike me down for my profanity, will he?”

You looked down. Chiseled above its wrinkled forehead was a laurel crown, and you couldn’t recall a Bible passage describing Jesus’ sabbatical in Rome. You blinked at her.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Julius Caesar.”

The blonde glances at the statue again, gray eyes darting over it before she shrugs. “Same difference. If there is a sculpture of Jesus somewhere in this castle, I have no doubt he’s going to receive the same mouthful of feathers you’re forcing on poor Caesar here.”

“Only if Miss Miriam deems it so.” You nodded your head in the skeletal maid’s direction. “Her words are as good as gospel, after all.”

“And yet, each time she speaks, I feel like I’m taking orders from Satan.”

You let out a ghost of a laugh, biting your tongue when your wounds contract and throb.

Her face splits into a smile, and she lets out a short laugh too. Something flits along her face, though, and you get the sense you didn’t hide your pain well enough. The subject is easily danced around; the maid releases her grip on the statue and instead grasps her skirt, lowering into a teasing curtsy. “The name is Robin, milady.” Her eyelashes flutter rapidly and she waggles her fingers in the air, perfectly, in your opinion, mimicking the interactions between royalty that you’ve seen thus far. Haughty, majestic, and filled with intentions barely skin-deep.

You do the same.

She lets your name roll off her tongue a few times, letting it thud against the crisp white walls in her hoarse tone before saying decidedly, “Very fitting.”

Before long, Miss Miriam decides the hallway is clean enough and herds all the maids, the vast majority of them being newcomers like you, out and away into the next wing.

A chill wracks through you when the word “residential” gets passed down the line of one hundred girls, followed by “prince” and “bedroom” and “handsome.” You scan the white, stone columns as you pass, watching them curve into elegant archways shadowed through the frosted windows. This wing is covered in significantly less dust, and a faint scent of roses and pines floats in the air.

You try to flood out the memories, thinking vigorously about the red carpet before you, the soft slap of two hundred clogs, small shuffles and whispers. Everything around you you swallow up whole, eyes wide as though it will help you take in everything and think about nothing. But you cannot avoid it for long; not when you pass by the entrance to the royal throne room, in all its scintillating enormity, golden thrones set with silk, inlaid with gemstones, all wide open spaces.

And hovering above all four was a single, large oil portrait of the living Creel sovereigns.

King Victor, with his light blue eyes caving underneath the lustrous crown, crisp white beard neatly trimmed. His hand hovered over his wife’s shoulder, smile thin and pale.

Queen Virginia, known for her devout faith and kindness, her amber hair falling in ringlets down to her sides. She sat prim and proper on a ruby-cushioned chair, hands folded prettily, eyes dim.

Princess Alice, the spitting image of her mother, bar her father’s eyes and the last twenty years. Second only to her brother in terms of popularity in the kingdom and out, something distinctly complacent set her brows in such a way you knew instantly why she was desirable to royals and dodged by anyone below them.

And then him.

A part of you hadn’t believed Miss Miriam when she’d called him so.

Your Highness.

But as you looked at him now, standing taller than the rest of his blood, proud and ramrod straight, broad shoulders held back by an invisible force, you knew the portraitist had gotten something wrong.

The hair was right; the golden crown of tousled waves, parted neatly and befitting him far more than any scrap of the earth. The lips, pink and pronounced, and the softness of his brow, and, of course, his posture. All perfect.

But it wasn’t Prince Henry. Not quite.

The eyes. Slate blue and cold, cold, cold. How could the artist have not seen that?

Instead, they were warm and too dark a blue. Almost navy, and gentle, and so soft he almost looked like he was frozen in a smile.

No, no. That wasn’t the Prince Henry you had seen.

Where was the darkness? The cruelty? The evil that shadowed every inch of him?

This was some sterilized version of the crown prince, some unattainable, unreliable, utterly purified visage of him being displayed to the kingdoms in pastime.

He radiated divinity, in and out of the portrait. But without that quality of his that effused danger so potently, you could not help but feel the kingdoms were being sold a lie.

The nervous hiss of your name and a strong grip rattling at your wrist spared you from Prince Henry’s trance once more.

Too much power, he had. Too much… something.

“I get it,” Robin whispered, eyes flitting back and forth as the herd marched on, “completely, I understand. But, you cannot just stand and stare at royalty all day. That’s kind of how you…” she gnawed at the inside of her cheek, “you know, got into your situation in the first place. I’d hate to think what Miss Mule would do if she caught you with a Creel of all people.”

You hesitate to tell her that it was, in fact, a Creel that had gotten you in this position. But if Miss Miriam had decided to hide that information from others, you could only guess there was some merit to hiding that you’d thrown your arms around a prince that was already in high demand.

You had wound up committing one of the worst possible treasons with the worst possible man. You supposed it was quite like learning to swim a day prior and diving into a deep lake the very next day—you’d hit rock-bottom, and you’d only just begun.

To think you shouldn’t already be swinging by your neck right now, face blue and tongue swollen, had the head maid hoarded some minute amount of mercy for you.

That, or she’d known your actions had no great impact upon the integrity of the prince’s pursuits—whether it be accidental or otherwise, Miss Miriam viewed yesterday’s nightmare as a tragic attempt to escape your fate, some sick wishing turned to action wherein you wooed the prince and thus he would marry you.

Of all people. You.

You could retch at the thought.

You’d been raised proper, your parents teaching you well about respect, understanding who deserved it and who did not. They had also taught you that people could be born deserving respect, that it was some inherent betterness of their circumstances that, in turn, warranted curtsies and bowed heads.

Which, in your humble opinion, seemed utter tosh, but so be it. For now, you had a head on your shoulders, feasted somewhat regularly, and slept in warmth. Your clothing had not been sewn by your own hands, and your family was receiving enough coins to not worry about your wellbeing.

No matter that they probably should.

Far be it from you to look gift horses in their mouths, but you felt yourself afforded a nice level of circumspection after your back had been torn to ribbons for a mishap over which you had no control.

You didn’t want to marry the prince. You didn’t want to touch him, and you didn’t want to think about him. And, ignoring all the memories of his larger hands, his blue gaze, his golden strands, and how he may haunt you for years to come, you were quite certain you never wanted to see Prince Henry ever again.

Your back twinged in agreement.

The multitude of fluttering pinafores ahead of you slowed their swishing. Clomping clogs eased into a gentle tapping and finally stopped, and the movements were imparted upon the rest of the maids. A smaller form bumped into your back, and you flinched away, spinning and biting back a cry.

A maid a few years younger than you gaped her mouth, innocence and fear mingling in her expression as brown curls fell over her brow. She seemed so much smaller than the others, more unwitting. Your eyes fell to her hand, a clenched fist in the creases of your skirt, as it hesitatingly fell away.

More distanced shuffling disseminated down the corridor, and you watched the assorted heads of hair in front of you split and separate, clinging to either wall, leaving a wide breadth of distance for someone to pass through. Sunlight filtered between the silent shadows of maids and formed a golden glow of a path.

You followed the others and split off to one side, opposite a window, and grasped blindly for Robin’s hand when she didn’t move to follow. A gentle tug at the fabric of your backside conveyed that the other, younger maid had restored her grip.

From your position, the sun blinded you heavily, and you squinted as a yellow shine overtook everything you saw. White spots splattered your vision when you blinked, but you looked past the maids anyway, curiosity jostling its way down the two lines.

“Your Highness.”

So far ahead, you couldn’t see and only heard Miss Miriam and her staunch and clear-cut announcement. That same loyal tone, somewhat saccharine, frayed your nerves in a second.

The prince?

Curtsies flowed like a wave through the maids, and when you bent low, head bowed, Robin and the young maid followed on either side of you, just as gawky. Nobody rose, and, per Miss Miriam’s orders, nobody would rise until the royalty had passed.

But… dear God, wasn’t it an awful affair that you could tell who it was without even looking? That you could feel a quiet sizzle over the rows of women and girls alike, heard the soft, prideful gait of his finely polished boots.

Back in your village, you’d hated how slowly people could walk. How they’d force you to flounder behind them as they puttered, how they could wander one way and then the other, each footstep a guess. Like they had all the time in the world.

You never would have guessed that a fast pace could be just as troubling. Like he couldn’t stand to be in the same corridor with so many servants, Prince Henry was a brisk wind over the ruby carpets. Even so, you could feel the rise and fall of elation, soft gasps partnered with perfectly timed peeks.

He was a sight to behold—that much had been imprinted on your mind. But he couldn’t possibly be as rumpled as he’d been in the depths of the frosty library, hair thoroughly rakish, white tunic clinging to his golden skin. No; royals held a certain standard of propriety, even as they indulged in the most hedonistic of lifestyles. He must be sheathed in some proper velvet tailcoat, and his face must be severe and sharp, slicing along everything he saw.

Breathtaking in an entirely different way, you were sure.

No, you didn’t look. You couldn’t. You can’t.

Not even as his footsteps approach.

You focus your gaze on your swinging braids, watching them refuse to settle against some unknown breeze. A strain forms in your knuckles with how hard you grip your skirt, and your spine throbs with each heartbeat against the tightened back of your uniform.

Prince Henry slows.

The atmosphere tightens around your little grouping of maids, sun soaking into your black clothing so heavily you can barely breathe.  

We must be in front of a door, some corner he needs to turn to. Something.

Some disturbed pulsing blossoms in your gut when he stops just before you, black boots just inches away. Lithe fingers laden with metal rings hover in your vision.

Prince Henry’s too close all over again.

You want to cry out; you want to say nothing and everything. You want to sink into the furthest recesses of your home miles away just as much as you want to stand at the top of a hill and hold your arms out, waiting for it all.  

Your heart is racing—wild, damned little thing. An insufferable hypocrite after all the ways it had condemned him yesterday for what had happened.

Fingertips, gentle and soft as a single breath, rise and brush over your flaming cheekbone.

A tingle of pain jolts through the bruise so suddenly you flinch away, followed by an indifferent grunt that hangs in the air.

No pity in the sound. No remorse. Barely a hint of acknowledgment.

You want to cradle your cheek and press, hard, at the bridge of your nose, will those wobbling tears to stop. His hand hovers again, twitches near, and, when you lean some scant distance away, falls back to his side.

Within that same second, the boots that hadn’t even turned toward you stalk away. Still fast and proud, no more slows and stops. No more grunts.

But, without a doubt, it was Prince Henry. You’d peeked as the other maids had peeked.

You’d done all that they had done, yet you knew that single touch had doomed you.

That must have been his game. A nice bit of teasing for the maid who'd embraced him; let her be thoroughly beaten down to her station. It was some cruel recognition of what happened to you, some silent sanctioning of a proper punishment.  

Servant does a bad thing; servant gets punished by her peer.

Royal approves. No blood on his hands.

You were right, of course. That portrait was missing Prince Henry’s most vital characteristic: Wickedness.

When the maids rise from their curtsies, trembling thighs and huffed breaths, all eyes fall on you. A range of emotions bombard you before you can rub your cheek.

Wonder.

Awe.

Envy.

And—you can only assume from the thundering footsteps—Miss Miriam’s unparalleled rage.

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[lovetohate001]

hii, its my first time requesting for peter-😭 but

a angst fic where orderly!reader seeing another female orderly flirting with Peter and, peter thinks its cute that reader is jealous so he flirts back. then he got confused on why reader ignores him, she only told how she felt when he finally cornered her and peter makes it up to her?? :))

also, ps. i love ur works!! <3

Brown. As In Charlie Brown?

Peter Ballard x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

CW: angst (but jealousy?), fluff, confessions, jealousy

AN: I am alive! I haven't written for Stranger Things since last year, and I am so happy to be back. and this fic was so fun and fluffy. Bite sized and not too long! Enjoy!

“You have adjusted so well to your new position, Miss Brown.”

That was the first compliment Peter had given another co-worker in months besides you. Miss Brown this, and Miss Brown that. She was a new Orderly who had been placed on your ward after a new group of children had been brought in. Brenner had high hopes for these children and only wanted the best to handle them.

Her name was even perfect. Miss Brown. Like Charlie Brown. The smell of warm coffee at the beginning of a morning shift. Chocolate. The leaves turning for Fall. She was too perfect, and how you seethed.

“Good morning, Wilson. How are the children doing this morning. Any progress with 003?”

Wilson. You met Peter’s gaze, swooning at how kindly he looked at you. Your name wasn’t anything like Brown. It reminded you of football and shoelaces. There was nothing poetic about it, and it made your temper simmer dangerously.

“Morning,” you replied shortly, tearing your gaze away to lock on the floor. Your shoes scuffed against the linoleum, squeaking in the silence. “003 is doing well. 011 is still in conflict. But with time things should mend, we hope.”

“Well, that’s good to-”

“I have to go,” you cut him off, not sparing him a second glance as you made your way out of the hallway and to the breakroom. You needed to breathe. And your heart was in your throat, closing it up.

You shut the breakroom door behind you, sighing in relief when you saw you were alone. You made your way to the coffee machine, slow brewing something dark and bitter. Cupping the mug, you poured as much milk in as you could. If only you could wash Miss Brown away as easily as weakening your coffee.

“This is absurd,” you muttered to yourself, scoffing at how ridiculous you were being.

You had been working with Peter for a long time, and you knew him. He was kind to everyone. But before Miss Brown you had been the only other female Orderly on your ward. You hadn’t known Peter to extend his kindness to another woman before that you happened to work with every day up until now. Knowing that he was sharing his attentiveness with someone else left a pang of jealousy, and hurt, in your heart every time you saw him smiling at her.

With a sigh, you sat down on a rickety fold out chair in the corner, looking down at your sad, weak mug of coffee. This was truly a sorry sight.

“y/n?” a knock on the door.

You froze, eyes quickly flitting up to the door’s window and down again. Of course he’d come running after you, generously kind as always.

You heard the door open as you idly watched your spoon stir your coffee around.

“Are you alright? You seem off today.”

Oh, how concerned he sounded. Like he actually cared.

“I do care.”

Oh, shit you’d said that out loud, hadn’t you?

“Well, I don’t care that you happen to care,” you snapped, finally looking up at him.

He looked surprised at that. You weren’t usually like this at all. This seemed to spur him on, prodding at your thinning patience like a stick to a bear ready to leap.

“I don’t know what I did,” he started, slowly sitting down on a chair next to you. “but I would like to know what is going on.”

You stared at him. Those blue eyes staring into your green ones. Earth against water, and tumultuous with conflict as they battered against one another.

“It’s Brown,” you said simply. You took a large sip from your mug and grimaced, a frown deep in your brow.

“Brown?” he was even more perplexed now.

You got up and threw out the coffee in the basin, moving to the machine to brew another cup.

“Stop. What do you mean by Brown?” He got up and caught your wrist, stopping you from starting up the machine again to drown out his voice.

You whirled around. “B. R. O. W. N! Do I have to spell it out for you? You like Miss Brown.”

His grip on your wrist loosened and you yanked it away, turning your back on him. The grind of coffee beans filled the stunned silence. You could feel his calculating stare land on your back, a target filled with speculation and judgement, no doubt. If he thought you had gone mad, you wouldn’t doubt it.

“You’re jealous?” was what he asked once the machine had finished, a fresh shot of espresso slowly flowing into your mug.

“No.” You shoved the cap back on and moved down the station to put sugar in.

“You clearly are.” Was that the hint of amusement in his voice? Did he find this funny?

You scowled and shook your head, aggressively dumping the sugar in, not sparing the small grains that flew to the floor a second glance.

The crunch of shoes on sugar as he moved with you. This haphazardly made coffee was somewhat entertaining for him to watch. He smiled a little, charmed by how much you had seemed to lose your composure.

Just as you were about to pour milk (a significantly smaller amount this time), he stopped you. His cool hand rested gently over yours this time, pushing your hand to set the milk carton down.

“I don’t like Miss Brown, if that is what you are so ruffled about,” he said gently, his hand still there, palm down, over yours. If anyone were to come in, they’d find it a funny sight: two Orderlies, both holding the same carton of milk, one ignoring the other.

“Then who do you like?” you pulled your hand away from his in defeat. The soft clink of your mug being placed on the metal table before you turned to face him once and for all.

“You,” he said simply, a small shrug. “From how you’ve been lately, I’d say you do too. Like me, I mean, not yourself,” he laughed awkwardly and oh, the way that smile went crooked on one side made your heart flip.

“Maybe.”

You moved back a little, noticing how close he was. The soft crunch of sugar under shoes again as he moved closer to you again.

“Maybe?” that boyish smile of his never left as he leaned forward, a hand reaching up to brush your cheek.

Frozen. You were actually incapable of moving. And he was so very close to you, the soft tickle of his breath on your cheek as his lips softly pressed against yours in a closed kiss.

Your cheeks warmed as he pulled back, meeting your eyes again.

“I’ll see you after morning roll call,” he said softly, breath fanning against your lips. “Don’t be late. Brenner wants us all there at 7:30.”

Before you could say or do anything, he was gone and down the corridor. And you were left with your cooling cup of coffee and the lingering scent of spearmint and a cologne you couldn’t name.

MASTERLIST

SEND A REQUEST!

[bebx]

Relationships: Henry Creel & Eleven, Henry Creel & Martin Brenner, Henry Creel & Doctor Sam Owens

Summary:

It was certainly not the first time Doctor Brenner — Papa — abused him. Doesn't make the damage any less severe than the previous time it happened though.

Henry was trying to survive at the Lab. Sometimes he started to wonder if death might be better than life as a wounded prisoner. Not that he had a choice, anyway.

Takes place during Henry’s time as an orderly at Hawkins Lab.

[mya-cookie-eater]

Imagine…

You’re your comfort characters comfort character 

C/c=comfort character 

Warning ⚠️:kinda sad at the end but at first kinda cute I also didn’t reread this so it might be rushed and not make sense mb plus it’s short

A/n: send request for stories like these I like writing them.🙃 pick a specific character tho and I’ll tell you if I can do them or not (please send requests)

After a long day of school/work they come home and lay in bed they grab their pillow and began to speak. “hey y/n I had a good day today I almost got into a fight but I didn’t because I thought of you and how you wouldn’t want me to do that how you would want me to be the bigger person so I talked to them about it and I know you fight sometimes but you wouldn’t want me to risk everything by fighting so yeah how was your day??”  In their mind the pillow came to life forming your face and body into it. “I had a good day just chilled on your bed you know” you looked into the eyes of C/C and grabbed the side of their face. “I’m proud of you I’m so proud of you” you hugged them and then you laid on their chest they hugged back and you started to cuddle they you felt something hot and wet they were crying. “what’s wrong??” You asked and put their face into your hands. “I love you but your not real” their world of happiness collapsing with those words. Your.Not.Real you made them happy you made them better but you weren’t real. 

A/n:Hey I wrote this because I seen dd Osama confront n3on and I was proud of him and I thought of what it would be like if I had his comfort character or if I was any of my other comfort characters comfort character I seen a story similar that’s what this was based on so if you find that send me a link bc I really want to read it again they wrote it better than me 

[ransprang]

thank you @qlassicc for supporting our kofi <3 here is the last boi!! we hope you liked all the hcs!! we love your taste in men it's so wild, you go girl

if anyone else wants personalised hcs this is our ko-fi

Stranger things - Henry creel - SFW HCs

Whenever you try to be affectionate with Henry or try to spoil him he’d be confused. He’s not used to being attended to. It feels foreign to him, but it will take him some time to get used to.

He hates all of humanity, so you don’t need to worry about him cheating or being disloyal. It’s just you and him in the Upside Down <3

Your emotional side is not a challenge for him at all. With his telepathic powers he reads your mind whenever he wants to and is easily able to tell what is wrong. 

If someone hits on him or checks him out and you tell him, he will instantly use his telekinesis to torture them.

He’s totally ok with you getting heads for him, even if you just do it for fun. If you choose to be a serial killer with him you guys would be such a power couple :3

To mess with Mike and the gang you would use your cosplay skills to make yourself and Henry look like Vecna and the mindflayer for Halloween. 

He is very thankful for your devotion and likes to ask you for cuddles, maybe even your sweaters. As he hates being cold, he gets so happy when you are clingy with him allowing him to simply roll up with you and forget his woes.

Growing up Henry was a sensitive boy, and was very attuned to other people’s emotions. He would notice your little mood swings and telekinesis little snacks or presents for you, if he thought you were feeling down.

Henry gets super careful when you're hugging him and fall asleep on his shoulder. He will make sure to stay extra still, he wouldn't want to wake you up knowing how much of yourself you give to him.

Henry knows he speaks in an unusual tone most of the time, but he knows for sure that one of your 100 personalities will hear him, understand him. He trusts you.

your strange girlies,

admins sar, san & sav

[sapppy-cocktail]

Getting Better - Part 1

Max Mayfield x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: GUYS I FINALLY MADE A NEW TAGLIST

New Taglist

“Y/N!” Max yells on the other side of the door. Knocking against the wood with her fist. “Y/NNNN!” she drags out my name still smashing her fist against the wood. “Coming!” I yell quickly getting out of bed and walking towards the front door. The knocking continues until I open the door to reveal an angry Maxine. Her expression seems to soften once I open the door and thanks me after walking in and past me. I shut the door behind her and follow her to my bedroom. Where she sprawls out on my bed. “You okay?” I ask taking a seat at my desk and turning my chair to face her. “No.” She mumbles, her voice slightly muffled by the bed beneath her.

“Wanna talk about it?” I ask as she begins to roll over, her body now face up. “No.” She says beginning to sit up and looking at me. I nod as sits up, her hands in her lap, playing with skin around her nails, her hair is tied up into a ponytail and little flyaways at the top. Her cheeks red and freckles litter her face. I look at her eyes and realise she’s looking around my room. Staring at the posters on my walls we bought together and then the box filled with comics we read when she comes over. I look back at Max, her jaw clenched and she’s silent. Her hands gripping tightly on the bed sheets beneath her. Her eyes continue moving around my room and her knee begins to shake.

Unsure on what I should do I begin to stand up and walk over to her, taking a seat on the bed beside. Only then is that her eyes land on me, I give her a smile, which she returns only smaller. Now being so close to her, I notice the puffy and slight bloodshot eyes. I think she noticed it too because she turns her head away from me. “Max.” I say leaning forward trying to get her to look at me. She doesn’t reply, just continues looking around my room with her head faced away from me. Deciding on whether or not my next decision is the right one I put an arm around her back. The other following suit and wrapping across the front of her body. My hands connecting on her shoulder. She freezes, she stops everything she’s doing for a second.

“What are you doing?” She asks turning her head to look at me. “What, I can’t give my best friend a hug?” I ask to which she doesn’t respond, staying silent for a few seconds before she hesitantly leans into me. She turns her body around to face me and leans into me, her hands clawing at my shirt, trying to close the space between us, she shuts her eyes tightly and nestles her head into my neck. All while hands tightly grip my shirt, I draw circles on her back in an attempt to calm her and we sit in silence for a while, my hands continuing to draw circles and rub her back soothingly only hesitating once I feel wet splotches on my skin. Naturally I begin holding her tighter and lean my head onto hers.

We sit like this for a few minutes before she shifts, I instantly drop my hands and she begins to move out of my arms and out of my space. “I’m sorry.” She says trying to quickly remove the tears that stain her face. “That was weird.” She says only glancing at me before looking away. “It was pretty weird.” Her head whips toward me, her mouth slightly open as she stares at me with wide eyes. Without missing a beat I speak up again. “I’m only joking, it makes sense with what’ve been through. What you’ve gone through.” I mention to which she sits silently. ”It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been through so much.” I say moving a bit closer to her, waiting to see if she’d pull away to which she doesn’t so I scoot close enough to not be over a meter away like before and close enough to reach out and touch her, yet still giving her space to pull away.

“You have too, and I don’t see you breaking down into anyone’s arms.” She says, her blue eyes piercing into mine. “The only arms I’d break into are yours, but you never give me any hugs.” I say to which she rolls her eyes at, a smile tugging at her lips. “No, but seriously I, it’s a different story for me. Most nights I wake up drowning in my own sweat, sometimes screaming. Like thank God my parents aren’t home a lot. I don’t know what I’d do then. They’d think I’m psychotic or something. I also get ghost pains from bite.” I say to which we both look down at the 20cm healing scar of demo-dog claw marks going down my calf from a few years back. “Rarely, but it’s a pain when it happens.” I say looking back up to her. “We’re all messed up in some way. And there’s nothing wrong with that because we’ve literally saved Hawkins so many times. If anything it should be expected, it’d be weird if there was nothing wrong with us after all this.” I say putting my hand on top of hers which makes her look down at it. “It’s gonna get better. We’re going to get better.” The rooms silents, my words hang in the air before she lifts her eyes from my hand. She doesn’t speak as she flips her hand up and slips it into mine. “Do you wanna stay over tonight?” I ask after looking at clock beside my bed. “It’s late, I’ll get you some clothes for tonight.”

A/N: This one is cause someone in my inbox so kindly asked me to come back. Give you a little crumb Yknow. I’ll begin writing another one later. 20 reposts on this and I’ll release the next part of all too well. 😈 Also do yous want a part 2 to this or nah?

[edb954]

Imagine you being Will’s and Jonathan’s Sister:

and Vecna/Henry/001 takes a liking towards you..:

SOMEBODY PLEASE WRITE THIS!

Also your Jonathan’s twin!

[slut-for-001]

Eyes on me

Synopsis: reader has a panic attack and Henry helps calm her down

Trigger warnings: description of panic attack

—

Tick… tock… tick… tock… tick… tock…

The clock ticked menacingly invading your ears loudly making you that more anxious, usually you were fine but everything that happened today had just ticked your anxiety up to the next level. You were overwhelmed with anxiety to say the least but you tried to hide it as best as you could…. You could hide it from lots of people but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t hide it from Henry. He always seemed to know when you were anxious or upset… you got special treatment from him because he cared for you. You tried to avoid him at all costs but knew that was just preventing the inevitable from happening. You stared at the building blocks in your hands, usually you would’ve built them up into some sort of tower for the kids to have fun with but you just sat there, numb, “Hey…” a sudden voice grasped your attention making you flinch but you quickly composed yourself, his voice was soft but distant as you returned to staring into nothingness your mind whirring with anxiousness “y/n” henry spoke again and for a moment you looked at him before looking away. He could tell something was wrong with you… it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

His hand soon rested upon your back, his fingertips beginning to stroke soothing circles into your back. The tacky hospital gown you wore was uncomfortable on you but the way his fingers immediately melted into your tense skin soothed you your eyes fluttering shut. He knew exactly how to make you crack. “People are ahead of me… I can’t do the simplest of things… it’s frustrating.” You soon whisper out and he listened concern visible in his eyes as he frowned “you can’t think of other people y/n, even I couldn’t do some things. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He spoke softly but honestly “but I… I… I feel so stupid. I’m disappointing everyone.” You continue your breathing growing that slight bit faster, your hands beginning to tremble and Henry was quick to rest his hands on the sides of your chair as he swiftly pulled it so you were facing him “hey… eyes on me… hey…” his fingers lightly clicked just in front of his face making you look up and into his eyes, the calm ocean waves consuming his beautiful eyes immediately soothed you. “Good job… keep looking in my eyes.” He ordered gently before he lightly reached his hand out his slender fingers grasping onto your hand gently as he held onto your hand which was alarmingly smaller than his “you’re not disappointing anyone. I promise you that.” His words eased you, luring you in, calming you down as you gazed into his eyes “promise?” You asked and he smiled giving your hand a squeeze as he nodded “I promise.”

His eyes soon lifted up to meet with the cameras on the wall, making sure the red dot wasn’t on- the red dot meant someone was watching… but it wasn’t on… and so he looked back to you his eyes unable to stay still as he searched your expression “c’mere,” he whispered out and without even hesitating his arms wrapped around your small fragile frame, his hand beginning to rub up and down your back his other hand resting on the back of your hand pressing your ear to his chest so you could listen to the calming beat of his heart “tell me what’s the matter,” he urged more coaxing you as his fingertips lightly stroked little circles against your back a shaky breath leaving your lips, Henry’s eyes remaining on the cameras making sure they remained unattended and blank but he also paid attention to you, giving you his utmost attention. “We’ve lost people… I’ve lost people… it’s a constant fear that I’ll be next…” you whispered gently,

“I wouldn’t ever let that happen to you. As long as I’m here no one and nothing can hurt you. I promise.” He spoke directly into your ear his words soft and soothing “but Im scared of losing you too. I don’t want to lose you next.” You spoke making the man pull back slightly just so he could rest his fingertip under your chin his fingertips soon smoothing against your cheek as he cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand “you’ll never lose me.” He assured picking up on the way your breathing quickened once again, your body trembling, tears sparking in your eyes “y/n.” He spoke calmly trying to get your attention but you were starting to fall down that horrible hole of complete hysterics and Henry could see that, the way you were caving from fear but also the feeling of his touch- the lab had created a mass casualty in touch-starvation, everyone was touch starved and so when his touch brought goosebumps to your skin he knew that was the reason why… you hadn’t been held in so long. He wanted to protect you. Care for you. Comfort you.

“Eyes on me.”

“look me in the eyes, darling” he urged trying to snap you out of it but with every negative thought consuming you it became that bit more impossible to control the panic, your breathing growing heavy your eyes flicking around in total panic as muffled whines that wanted to come out as words began to vibrate against your lips. You didn’t know what to do yourself, your legs quickly working before your mind as you shot up out of your seat Henry slowly standing up after you his tall frame towering over you “I… I hate it in here… I’m going insane!” You found yourself shouting and he knew if you shouted any louder you’d alert the guards and so he used one of his hands to cover your mouth, his other arm wrapping around your shaking frame as he pulled you close into his embrace, your muffled cries and words being slightly quieter as he simply held you. “I want to go home” you begged out to him as your body began to weaken against his own and with that he removed his hand from your mouth his other arm wrapping around you as he held you up in his embrace “I know… I know.” He whispered to you his chin resting atop of your head as you cried meekly his hands fisting against his shirt as both you and him grasped onto each other for what seemed like dear life.

“Breathe for me… breathe in for four…” he breathed in with you, exaggerating the breaths to get you to follow “hold….” He spoke softly “out for four.” He continued going over those few steps until your legs began to weaken. He seemed to put you in a trance like state, your breathing becoming calmer and he not wanting you to fall tightened his grip on you, using his free hand to cup underneath your knees as he lifted you up into his embrace, using one of his large hands to help get you comfortable as your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms tight around his neck- your body instantly snuggled into his arms as he held you “I’ve got you.” He eased your eyesight blurring as you rested your head against his shoulder “I’m gonna keep you safe. I promise you that.” He soothed softly holding you close to him before he started walking to the door, keeping you close to his body one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly and gently the familiar hue of his blue eyes remaining as a constant memory in your head, your breathing calming to the point you were completely relaxed in his embrace “good girl.. good job… that’s it. Relax. I’ve got you…” he soothed into your ear holding you close making sure you could feel the warmth of his body against your slightly cooler one… he wanted to make sure you felt safe and sound with him. Safety was very scarce nowadays… he wanted to make sure you knew that you could trust him and he wouldn’t ever break your trust…. He would be there to support you through thick and thin. Through everything. He would do anything and everything to protect you. Even die

“I’ve got you… you’re safe…” he soothed calmly into your ear as he walked to the door removing one hand from you just so he could open the door before he walked out into the hallway silently pulling the door shut before he carried you down the hallway, his eyes locking onto a camera that glowed red… shit… his heart sank but in those few moments he didn’t care. Even if he did get in trouble for looking after you he wouldn’t give a single fuck… as long as you were okay he was okay. You mattered to him more than anything, no way was he going to let you suffer in silence… and if not letting you suffer in silence was such a bad thing then he would happily suffer the consequences.

[reidslovely]

headcannons for fwb!Peter realizing reader is more than jus a friend

ah thank you for participating friend. sorry it was so short but hope it hits the spot headcanon requests close at 11:59pm on sunday!! just a reminder incase you would like to participate in the birthday bash 🫶🏼

It definitely was not what Peter thought the realization of love would feel like. Especially the 

realization of loving your best friend. He’s seen the movies and knows how it is supposed to go a big sudden change to both of their lives, the guy chases her through the airport or some other crowded area for some type of grand love confession. 

It was slow and happened over a span of weeks for him. One night they got caught up in one another while studying together in his dorm. Her hands were laced tightly in his hair as he laid next to her, his molecular chemistry book pressed between them. Her legs intertwined with his, her feet rubbing against his calf. 

Peter pulled away and looked at her his hand cradled her face softly, for a moment he took her in fully, the discoloring on her cheek from where his hand was firmly placed against her soft skin. Peter smiled as she stared back at him, a laugh building back up in his chest before erupting from his lips. 

“What’s your issue?” She asked, laughing. “Nothing” he responded, shaking his head leaning back in to her face. “You are just so beautiful..really you look so nice tonight.”

It was like in that moment he was finding out how beautiful she had been all this time. All she did was laugh in his face and kiss him. 

Finally after that night he had started picking up on the small cues that maybe this friends with benefits thing was bigger than both of them. 

She would bring him food to his campus job and sit and eat with him and talk about their days so far together. They would make plans for later in the day that Peter slowly came to realize where dates. Most notably he realized this when they were showing a Halloween-Scream feature at the old art house theater downtown. 

His hand in hers felt sweaty and shaky. He knew it wasn’t the movies that had him reacting like this. It was the fact she was in his space, enjoying her time with him outside of the sex that drove his body temp up 100 degrees. His eyes left the screen to find her already staring at him. He leaned over kissing her gently. It was normal, like it was second nature. 

That was when he knew.

[peculiarpatches]

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗖𝗮𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 -𝟬𝟬𝟭.

FINALLY!!! Another fic.  I've been working on this story ever since S4 had come out but alas, I had gotten busy with life and with work. However, it is here now and although there's not as much smut as you all probably would have liked, I do hope you enjoy it regardless. :)   Once again, tips are not to be expected but they are very appreciated. <33  (ko-fi here.)

The taste of metallic dripped on his tongue as blood flowed through his swollen red lips. The man turned to face the girl who had just punched him, a sinister smile blossoming across his face, his teeth stained crimson as he then showed off his pearly whites. “Would you look at that…? It seems as though you do have the strength to fight me. On the contrary, I still don’t believe you are strong…. Not enough to go up against those who'll be soon after you once you leave this place. Are you, pet? I’ll answer that for you — No… You are nothing.” One laughed, practically spitting in (Y/F/N)'s face as he spoke. “You will never amount to anything once you step foot out those doors. As soon as you escape my grasp and leave these walls, leave your home — People will chase you, going after you like the monster you are. They will hunt you down until you are dead and decomposing on the side of a road or lying in a ditch.” He backs her up into the corner of the room, pushing her up against the wall. “Wild animals will feed off of your flesh and bones. Those pathetic humans will not — do not — care about you.” One brings his face so close to hers that their lips almost touch and looks at her, his eyes softening as he speaks, although the look only lasts briefly before it changes to the almost lifeless and sinister glare he had before. “You will be discarded. You will be forgotten. All those people that once gave you the time of day… Sent you those pitying glances… They will all soon forget about you.” Staring at her, his hands slide down to her shoulders and he pushes her further up against the wall, his lower half rubbing against her thigh as he held her firmly in place. His lips were just a mere centimeter away from hers, she could practically feel his warm breath against her skin and smell the mint on his tongue. (Y/F/N) shivered, feeling weak at the knees as well as a swarm of butterflies began to erupt in the pit of her stomach. Although, try as she might, (Y/F/N) couldn't deny her attraction to him... despite him, being a monster... They had experienced the same horrific and terrible events, whether they had done so separately or jointly; despite this, they faced hell and continued to be as resilient as ever. The two of them were far too similar.  She hated it but the words he spoke... they weren't to be told in a manipulative way. He was being truthful... honest. He spoke softly, his voice reflecting his erratic nature once again as it turns cold. “They will hurt you.. Just like they did to me….” She finally gathered enough courage within herself to speak, although her voice was shaky as she spoke. Her heart raced as she looked up at him, her gaze meeting his intense stare. She could sense the tension between them as well as how their shared desire and potential peril were combining to create an explosive concoction. (Y/F/N) knew that giving in to him would be a mistake, but she couldn't help the way her body reacted to his touch. With a fierce determination, she pushed him away from her, her eyes blazing with anger. "I'm not like you," she spat, her voice shaking slightly with the effort of holding herself together. "I won't let myself become a monster." One laughed bitterly, his eyes hardening with a cold fury, it sent shivers up and down her spine the way he was looking at her. "You already are a monster," he growled, his hand reaching out to grab her once more. "You just haven't faced it yet. You have not accepted your fate, for whatever reason that may be, I haven't no idea."   Fear was clearly visible on (Y/F/N)'s face as her heart raced. She made an effort to remain firm and self-assured, though. "Don't say such things... I will not let fear consume me, for I am more stronger than that." "Fear? Oh, my dear pet.. fear is what keeps you blind to your true self. The darkness within you is awakening, it has been unraveling for some time now, you simply just have been so ignorant to see it happening. I am offering you the chance to embrace it, to unlock the power you've denied for so long." He said. "No, I won't let the darkness define me. I won't let it consume my soul. There's still good in me. I am good. I believe in redemption. I am not going to be like you or anything like you." She snarled. Each word she said, however, she and One both knew it was further from the truth. But... she was still trying. Contrary to him, she embodied her humanity, a flicker of the human essence still resonating within her being. But... with each word he said, she felt that flicker beginning to burn out. One's eyes ignited with an infernal blaze, the intensity of his gaze scorching her skin, as if flames danced in the depths of his pupils. With an annoyed scoff, he retorted, his voice taking on an even deeper, more ominous timbre than before. "Redemption? You think you can simply wash away the blood on your hands with a flicker of hope? You're naïve, pet. The monster within cannot be tamed, only embraced. The sooner you accept it, the stronger you'll become." He informed. He then leaned closer to her, only a few inches away from her face as he guided his hand forward, letting the palm of his hand rest against her cheek. One softly thumbs her skin, enjoying the smoothness underneath his fingertips. One then cups her face, a bit firmly, as he forces her to look at him. "Darkness is quite misunderstood, pet. It's a realm of infinite possibilities, where your potential knows no bounds. By embracing the darkness, you can transcend the limitations that society imposes upon us. Think about it. No more restrictions, no more rules. Only pure power. "Power..." One repeated, his tongue darting out of his mouth as he wets his lips before he continues, "It can be wielded with finesse and purpose. With it, you can mold the world to your vision, reshape it as you see fit. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To make a real difference? You can change the world. One by one, you can get rid of those undeserving of life. You can change and be better, the world itself will be better, thanks to you." The thunderous palpitations of (Y/F/N)'s heart continued to ring out in her ears as she continued to be engulfed in an unsettling silence, her breath being restrained. Despite her internal turmoil, she couldn't shake the feeling that One, watching from a distance, had a supernatural ability to recognize the frantic beat of her pounding heart. "Furthermore, you will not have to face it alone," One added in a hushed voice that was equal parts desire and anticipation. "My love, I have longed for this exact moment when we would unite and give in to our true selves. Together, we will let loose the primal beasts within, wreaking havoc on those who deserve it. Do not be alarmed because I will be by your side throughout this path's perilous steps, steadfastly guiding you. I will remain by your side through the darkest of nights and all the way to the end. It has always been you and I... It shall be that way, forever until the world caves in. And even in the dark abyss once the world has ended, it still shall be you and I, forever and always." She could no longer ignore the unavoidable truth that, like One, she too possessed the essence of a monster as the unsettling realization hit her. Instead of fighting this realization, she discovered herself grudgingly accepting it and allowing the burden of her newly discovered identity to fall upon her shoulders. She instinctively knew that she needed to push him away, run as fast as she could, and cut all ties without looking back. Every word he spoke resounded with horror, and One himself exuded a monstrous aura that was devoid of all signs of humanity. But, against her better judgment, she discovered that she was unable to make that move. (Y/F/N) inhaled shakily, her hands trembling just a little as she hesitantly placed them on the nape of his neck. She was overcome by a storm of conflicting feelings, as though her heart and mind were engaged in a struggle. Then, in an instantaneous fit of impulsiveness, before fully understanding what she was doing, she pressed her lips firmly against his in an unexpected and desperate collision of their beings. Their lips merged in a stormy fusion with an intensity that ignited their senses. Their lips coming together sparked a passionate dance as their breaths mixed in a passionate exchange.  The boundaries of the world vanished in that very moment, vanishing into insignificance, as if time itself had stopped. It was just the two of them there — One and (Y/F/N) — locked in a ravenous connection that transcended all other realities, amidst the chaos of their intertwined existence. Nothing but them mattered.

As their lips parted, One's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes burning with an unyielding determination. In a hushed whisper that carried the weight of a solemn promise, he spoke, "They will never forget us, (Y/F/N). We shall etch our names into their memories, imprint our faces upon their nightmares, and make them taste the very pain they inflicted upon us." His words resonated with both vengeance and a twisted sense of justice.

As his lips softly met her forehead, a wave of affection washed over her. It was a gentle act, a gesture that held a multitude of unspoken emotions and vulnerability. In that moment, (Y/F/N) felt an overwhelming sense of being cherished, as if she were the center of his universe.

The realization struck her like a revelation, for she had never experienced such profound love before. (Y/F/N) had never fathomed that he could harbor such depths of affection, let alone direct them towards her.

In that intimate exchange, she found solace and comfort, as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted from her shoulders. The tenderness of his touch and the sincerity behind his actions painted a vivid picture of the love he held for her. In his embrace, she discovered a newfound sense of worthiness, a belief that she was deserving of such devotion...

"It is you and I, united in this dark journey," he declared, his voice resonating with a blend of possessiveness and devotion. The two of them solidified their bond, forged by a mutual understanding of the path they were about to embark upon—a path marked by revenge, intertwined destinies, and an unbreakable connection.

With an unwavering resolve, she comprehended the depths of his intentions, and a profound sense of loyalty stirred within her. No matter the trials that lay ahead, (Y/F/N) was prepared to walk alongside him. Together, One and her would emerge triumphant from the ashes of their shattered past, their shared strength propelling them forward. Side by side, they would leave an enduring legacy that would endure throughout the ages as they inscribed their irrevocable mark on the world. They accepted the challenging journey that lay ahead of them, ready to reshape their destinies and create a new story, their souls entwined and united in purpose. His gaze softened as he looked at her, a glimmer of tenderness returning to his eyes. The intensity and darkness that had consumed him seemed to recede, revealing a glimpse of the affection and warmth that lay beneath. "You have always been my favorite." He said as a small smile crept upon his lips. "My favorite girl." He cooed as he then began to press kisses onto her exposed neck. "Do you wish for me to show you just how much you mean to me?" A wild hunger surged through him as he began to devour her exposed neck with the touch of his lips, as well as his teeth. His lips caressed her smooth skin in a possessive embrace, radiating heat that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. Here and there, he'd dig his teeth into her flesh, smirking as he'd hear the soft mewls erupt past her lips. One's passionate words, rich with intensity, were an invitation to surrender to the force of their connection and explore the depths of their love. The air around them was thick with anticipation, as well as arousement. (Y/F/N) felt her heart hammering against her chest as he touched her. A mix of desire and lust coursed through her veins, warming her from the inside out. She had never done something like this before - she wasn't even exactly sure what it is that she was doing, or where Peter had learned this before. But she couldn't deny the pleasure it brought her. His hands moved up her body - caressing her waist, tracing her collarbone, exploring her curves. Her skin appeared to catch fire everywhere he touched it, and she felt heat throughout her entire body at each movement he did whether by his lips or his fingertips. She gasped, inhaling sharply when she feels One's calloused hands underneath her skirt, toying at her womanhood. One's lips roamed back to her neck, switching between kissing and sucking while his hands kept moving under her skirt. He bit her neck almost hard enough to draw blood, making her squeal with a mixture of pain and pleasure. His voice is husky as he whispers against her skin, "You're so wet.... All of this for me, my love?" Her mouth watered at the sound of his voice.  She couldn't help herself. She wanted him. (Y/F/N) wanted him now. Her lips found his, and she kissed him with as much passion and lust as she could muster. However, the kiss was cut short due to One having pulled away. Luckily for her, One picks (Y/F/N) up and pushes her down on the bed in the corner of the room. She lay there, her body tense as One towered above her. His hands moved around her body, exploring her curves. He leaned in, his lips finding hers. His kiss was gentle yet fierce, demanding yet strangely tender. She melted into the bed, feeling both scared and safe in his embrace. He moved his hands higher, his fingertips tracing lines across her skin as he moved closer to her. She wanted to move away, but also to stay, to be fully present in the moment for as long as she could. One finally broke away, leaving her breathless and wide-eyed. He stood and looked down at her, a coy smile on his lips. He said nothing, but the moment was already written in her memory, a vivid reminder of the power of their connection. One crawled between her legs and lifted up the end fabric of her skirt. The cool night air hit (Y/F/N)'s skin, raising goosebumps along her thighs. She squirmed, feeling exposed as One practically ripped her underwear off. When he lowered his head, placing a hot kiss on her thigh, (Y/N) stiffened, unsure of what he was doing... regardless, she was enjoying whatever it was he was acting upon. His lips moved more and more up, getting closer and closer to her womanhood. Without any warning, One brushed his tongue over her folds, sparks shooting through her body at the contact. Up & down. Down & up. Left to right, right to left. She entwined her fingers in them, pulling him closer, their bodies flush against each other. (Y/F/N) spread her thighs wider, dragging him in deeper as he sensually licked and sucked her most intimate part. Her hands continuously stroked his head and shoulders, tangling in his hair and grazing against face. Her entire body softened into him, surrendering to the pleasure he was providing her. (Y/F/N) gasped and moaned with pleasure, her breath coming out in hushed, passionate whispers. "P-Please.... that feels so good. I love what you are doing. Love the way you make me feel." She says, her voice high and squeaky. He just continued, his kisses and licks gentle but insistent. His hands were busy too, exploring the contours of her body, gently caressing her inner thighs and stomach until she thought her legs would give out from the sheer intensity of the sensation. Finally, with one last kiss, he slowly pulled away, leaving her wanting more. She opened her eyes and found him gazing deep into her, a spark of desire in his eyes, and a large smile painted across his face. "You are amazing," He murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. "Absolutely phenomenal, pet." She smiled, feeling elated. She had never experienced anything quite like that in her life before, and the feeling of being truly and utterly loved was something she would never forget. One then hummed a low, guttural note as he stood up and tossed his pants to the side. His smile was now replaced with a smirk as he took off his shirt in one swift motion and threw it on top of his pants. (Y/F/N) simply just watched in 'awe' as she sat back, never taking her eyes off of him. "Go on." He said as he motioned toward her clothes. "Undress yourself, let me see you in your full beauty without those horrid pieces of fabric covering it." As she does exactly what he says, they both are quick to strip themselves nude. Her eyes were locked onto his hard cock which now aimed right for her.

"Come here." he beckoned her with his finger, swaying it back and forth in the air. (Y/F/N) followed him to the bed, crawling over to him. "What you are going to do is wrap your hand around this." One instructed her as he took her hand and placed it around his member. A shiver went through him at the feeling of her fingers being wrapped around his shaft. He looked down at her and felt some sort of satisfaction as she rubbed up and down on him. "And then you are going to open your mouth, like a good girl does, and take me in."

(Y/F/N) nodded her head and pulled her hand away from his erection. She bit her lip as she lowered her head and opened her mouth. (Y/F/N) felt the tip of his cock press against her lips and slowly she opened her mouth and let his member slip inside of her. Her mouth was wet and warm as his cock slowly slid in and out of her mouth. Her tongue was pressed against the bottom of his shaft, touching his balls with every stroke.

(Y/F/N) was enjoying the way he was moaning and how his body was reacting to her. She was having a hard time keeping her mouth around his length, however. Though, she tried her hardest, not wishing to disappoint him.  There were moments when he was thrusting into her mouth and she almost choked, but she just kept going, wanting to be that good girl he claimed her to be.

It was only a matter of moments before she felt him tense up, his breathing becoming heavier and a tense feeling in his stomach. A warm flow poured into her mouth and she pulled away as he emptied himself into her mouth. (Y/F/N) swallowed quickly, forcing herself not to gag, but she managed. When he was finished, she looked up from her position. He was breathing heavily, but still smiling at her.

“I didn’t think you were going to swallow for me,” he said, his voice low and breathing heavy.

She shrugged and moved her head to clean his cock of the remaining cum. “Why wouldn’t I? I wanted to be your good girl... And I'm assuming good girls swallow?"

One chuckled as he gave a small nod as if to say 'you're right'.

He then leaned down to nip at her bottom lip before slipping his tongue passed her lips and tasting himself. He pulled away and she gasped, but he didn't give her time to adjust to the loss. He leaned in and kissed down her jaw and neck. He grabbed her breasts in his hands and squeezed, causing her to gasp and arch her back at the feeling.

(Y/F/N) felt his lips against her right breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. He took her nipple into his warm mouth and sucked before switching to her left breast.

Then, (Y/F/N) turned his attention to her stomach. He placed small kisses along her stomach, making her giggle. He smirked and slid his hands up her inner thighs, teasing her once more.

One smiled at the sounds leaving her lips as he then placed a kiss on her clit before sliding his tongue through her folds and into her hole. He pulled (Y/F/N) hips closer to his face and placed his hands under her ass, pulling her closer to his face. (Y/F/N) groaned and wrapped her arms around One's head, her fingers digging into his hair.

His tongue explored her hole, tasting her, before he used his fingers to tease her clit. (Y/F/N) squirmed and moaned in pleasure, not caring if she was going to get caught by how loud she was being. She also assumed One didn't care either.

One kissed and licked her clit before using his teeth to gently bite it. (Y/F/N) groaned loudly and arched her back, her eyes closing and her hair falling around her face.

"P-Please..." she begged. "Need you inside of me, One."

One snarled in hunger, his eyes ravenous for any sign of vulnerability in her. When he saw none, a savage determination surged through his veins. He was quick to stand to his feet only to pin her beneath him and he instantly drove himself into her with raw passion, pushing into her at full force. (Y/F/N) cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure flooding in her veins as One possessed her completely, his movement owning her body and soul as they moved together in a rhythm of sheer bliss. Faster, slower, deeper, softer...their connection became a raging fire that consumed them both. "You are too perfect, my love." he murmured, his voice growing darker as he was getting closer to his peak. "In this wretched world, where darkness prevails and the cruelty of humanity knows no bounds, it is you who brings light and warmth to my existence. For you, I would go to the ends of the earth and beyond, traversing the deepest abyss just to ensure your happiness." He said as he rocks his hips deeper into hers, loving the way she felt against his member and loving the way he felt inside of her. "We are to rule the world, you & I." She moaned softly in response, her hands running down his back and digging her nails into his skin. "Yes," she breathed out, "together we will conquer the world and everything in it." He leaned down to kiss her deeply, their tongues intertwined as they moved together in perfect rhythm. He couldn't get enough of her, her touch, her taste, her scent, everything about her drove him wild with desire. As they moved, the room grew hotter and sweat dripped from their bodies. He gripped her hips tightly as he continued to thrust into her, feeling her walls clenching around him. "I want to feel you come," he growled, kissing her neck as he quickened his pace. (Y/F/N) arched her back, crying out loudly as she reached her climax, her body convulsing in ecstasy. He followed soon after, his release washing over him in waves as he collapsed onto her, their bodies entwined in a tangled mess. They lay together for a long time until he shifted off of her, only to lay next to her as he wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her into his side. One leaned up on his elbow to look down upon her gorgeous face. (Y/F/N) was watching him, her eyes filled with a million different emotions. The very top emotion on that list, however, was love. "(Y/F/N)," he spoke, his voice soft and tender. "I love you... and I am proud of the girl you are and I am even more ecstatic to see the powerful woman you are going to be."

A radiant smile illuminated her face, transforming her features into a portrait of pure joy. Her eyes softened, mirroring the warmth that emanated from within her. With a tender touch, she gently grazed his cheek, her fingertips caressing his skin.

"I love you, too," she confessed, her voice filled with affection and adoration. One then grew serious as he brushes his fingers through her hair, mumbling softly as he spoke. "You must remember, dear, remember, the dark side isn't just about destruction. It's about embracing your true potential, finding the strength within yourself to shape your destiny. This? What we share and what we have, it is your destiny. We are each-other's halves, we were meant to be one, meant to be together." (Y/F/N) listened to his words carefully, letting them sink into her like ink on paper. His deep voice was like music to her ears, resonating in the depths of her very soul. The darkness around them seemed to amplify his words, making them more powerful and alluring. As she gazed into his piercing blue eyes, (Y/F/N) felt a surge of desire course through her veins. He was right, we were meant to be together. The bond between her and him was unbreakable, forged in the darkness that surrounded them. His hand then found hers and he squeezed it gently, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "You are powerful, my love," he whispered. "You just need to embrace it, embrace the darkness within you. Together, we are remarkable.. we are immortal. We are God's." She nodded, understanding the depth of his words. It was time to shed her old self, the one who had always clung to the light. It was time to embrace the darkness, to become the person she was always meant to become. Even if that made her a monster, even if that meant she'd be a villain... don't villains usually always have more fun? Together, side by side, One & (Y/F/N) would release hell. And they will do it with a smile on their faces.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

🎸 Stranger Things Masterlist 🎸

Smut: 🔥🔥

Fluff: 🌸🌸

Heated Fluff: ⭐️⭐️

Angst: 🌨️🌨️

💙 Collage Imagine

💚 Oneshot

💖 Preference/Headcanon

💜 Quotes

💞 Blurbs

Billy

- Three 💞🔥

- Skinny Dip 💜⭐️

- I Haven’t Been Taking Care Of Myself 💚🌨️

Eddie

- Three 💞🔥

- Mermaid 💙🌸

- Elf 💙⭐️

Jim

- Uniform 💚🔥

Peter Ballard/Henry Creel/001

- Martin Brenners daughter 💞🔥⭐️🌸

Steve

- Three 💞🔥

[oreosmama]

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 1🕷️

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 

Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.

Enter: You.

You're nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you... interesting. 

You've caught his eye---congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.

A/N: All i ask is that u imagine henry creel’s evil face on jace wayland’s body that’s it that’s all u gotta do, the fic will do the rest. this may or may not be a series, i do have a few ideas for it (but let it be known begging will not speed up the process). one final comment: henry creel hot. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4328

Amongst the cobwebs, the dust, and the black widows, in the abandoned royal library surrounded by the scent of mildew and what once was and is no longer, a pair of eyes watched your every move. Like two frozen fingers poking into the back of your skull, the gaze ran chills down your spine and tightened the muscles in your shoulder blades.

Every move you made was stiff. Despite the season outside being spring, winter had found perpetuity within the four towering walls. There were no windows nor any lit chandeliers; the only light was provided by the brass candlestick that had been forced into your hand before you were thrown into the library, with the promise of being released after ten hours or at the the sight of one hundred spotless, unblemished bookshelves—whichever came first. 

Decidedly, you had three hours left. 

The candle was almost completely diminished to a pool of wax, and the flame on its wick had long weakened and begun flickering. You suspected one last breeze would leave you in complete darkness and at the mercy of whomever was watching you from the shadows. No matter how many times you weaved in and out of the bookshelves that stood at twice your height, five parallel rows of grimy mahogany stacked with fading leather spines, you could not escape the unmistakable feeling. 

This person had not made a sound when they had entered the room. There were no new footsteps tracked in the dust layered on the floor aside from yours, and you had not even heard the twin doors creak open as they had when you entered. You couldn’t hear them over your own breathing and certainly not over the pounding of your heart. 

With every precarious flick of your feather duster over the worn titles, the clouds of your efforts mingled with those of your own exhales. You kept your gaze low, eyes focused on only the task in front of you with the hope—artificial hope—that if you did not disturb them with your own attention, they would eventually remove theirs from you. 

Time trudged by as you shifted from bookshelf to bookshelf, the clogs on your feet scraping the hardwood floors. You kept a wooden chair in tow, collected from one of the tables arranged in the center of the room, and dragged it in closer to the nearest bookshelf, clambering atop the seat and lifting onto your toes to dust the top row of books. The cobwebs were thickest here, spiders having been left to their lonesome far too long and creating their own colony. 

You could barely reach and dusted blindly, allowing the length of the feathers to do most of the work as you ignored the cramps festering throughout your calves. A soft gust of wind floated past and tousled the flyaways at your brow, and as you purse your lips to blow them back and out of your lashes, the room flickered and fell into darkness. 

The candle had finally gone out. 

You squinted and hissed a curse under your breath, your gaze snapping to the outline of the table, where you could barely make out the bowl of wax and nothing more. Just my luck, you thought as you withdrew your feather duster from the bookshelf top. You would have to retrieve a new taper from one of the maids’ closets, though you sincerely doubted the head maid would be all too pleased with your explanation.

Excuses, excuses, you could imagine her barking at you, ire swirling in her small, black eyes. Candles don’t just go out on their own.

“She’ll probably just set my hand on fire and lock me back in here,” you grumbled, huffing as you grabbed the backing of your chair to dismount. A faint tickle on the back of your hand drew your attention. “Hell will freeze over before she—”

Spider.

You yelped, a blasphemy falling from your lips as your clogs slipped on the polished wood seat. Your back hit the ground first, a pained shock shooting from your tailbone up to where your head smacked against the ground with the whiplash of your fall. 

White sparkles lit up your vision, and you sputtered out a cough, not bothering to blink them away. An ache throbbed at your lower back, pulsing at the same wavelength as the ringing in your ears and drawing a groan from your lips. An odd smarting festered up your spine, not unlike a chill. 

Carefully, you slumped back, your head resting against the hard floor and your legs straightening out. You didn’t want to get back up; you didn’t want to move. For a few moments, you let the pain overcome you while you wheezed for breath, choking on the dust that had become unsettled by your fall. It rose and hung in the dark air around you, blurred and wavering with your heartbeat. 

For a few moments, you forgot that someone had been watching you. 

And you certainly didn’t want to know where the spider had wound up. 

The smallest vibration of light footsteps trembled underneath your fingertips, and a sharp pain shot through your skull. Light, blinding and bright and excruciatingly insistent, is all you can see when the vibration stops and some glowing form hinges over you. 

“Not dead,” are the words you think you hear, husked in a monotonous, low gravel and feeding into the loud hum in your head. It’s muffled between the blood pounding in your ears and the hazy confusion that had begun to fog over your mind. 

“Not yet, at least.”

You licked your lips, eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again. “What?” you mumbled breathlessly. 

The glowing form dims, gradually painted by an orange hue. When metal thuds on wood, you guess it must be a candle joining your pool of wax on the table, and before long the presence hovers over you again. Tree sap swarms where the scent of mildewed books had been lingering, and, in a cruel twist of fate, you hazard a guess that this is one of the courtiers the head maid had shrilled about avoiding at all costs. 

Or worse—a member of the royal family. 

But how? And why? None of them would ever idle about in a damp, endlessly cold library. The smell bordered on revolting, half of the volumes were wrinkled and illegible, and you couldn’t walk two steps inside without grime caking your face and clothes. Not to mention, the spiders. Disgusting, horrid spiders. 

Black widows, if the head maid was to be believed. 

The wintry library would never be home to festivities of the upper class, not even the occasional unsolicited rendezvous. There were dining rooms and bedrooms and poor, innocent gardens for all the horrific things they did to one another; entire wings dedicated to the sybaritic tendencies of royalty. 

But this man before you—oh, how otherworldly he was. 

You could believe that he had been the one watching you with how his eyes pierced you in this moment, a being such as him the only one capable of having a tangible effect with a single glance. 

You took in his sharp cheekbones, the soft slope of his nose, his slate blue eyes. His face was haloed by mussed, golden hair, and two pale pink lips set against each other as a look of disinterest with ease. His entire appearance, from his lithe figure to the way his eyes dragged over you, exuded a superiority that had been trained to perfection. 

Staring at him felt like drinking a sweet wine, far too indulgent and alluring to ever be truly satiated, and yet you know all too well it would be condemning to keep on as you are. You know this man has a rank heavens above yours; his skin, tanned and unblemished, has never felt the dust and dirt that encompasses you every day, and his body has never held your scars.

In your muddled daze, you imagined barreling headfirst into damnation for acquainting with this handsome being. Whether he be a marquess or a lord or, God forbid, even a duke, being seen in such close quarters with him was strictly forbidden, especially with the royal prince’s season for courting beginning in a week. 

And then you felt yourself spiraling—you imagined him curling over you, his deft fingers sliding underneath your nape, tracing the curve of your scalp and feeling for injury. You imagined his eyes warming pleasantly as he found you safe and unharmed. You imagined he gave a damn. 

But he didn’t. He never would. 

His hands fell to his hips, the loosely fitted, half-unbuttoned white tunic he donned exposing more toned skin while he glowered down at you.

He certainly wasn’t going to wax poetic about your welfare. 

“No blood.” His head tilted to one side slightly, blond tufts of hair following suit. “And thankfully no mess. I’d have hated to invite yet another servant in here, even if it was to drag your body out.”

A shiver tore through your spine, and you had the most horrible feeling that if you died somehow in this moment, no one would bat an eye—especially not the man before you.

His voice had that regal lilt, the one you could have never gained in your small village outside of the castle. You’d only ever heard it on a few of the higher-ranking maids—certainly none of the girls you had been hired with had such accents either—as well as some passing royalty on your first few days of traipsing the castle with a guide. His voice was deep and raspy, as though he spent his days either growling out orders or not speaking at all. You wonder if that was how he found it so easy to watch you mutely.

Feeling entirely too vulnerable, supine as you were, you brace your hands against the floor and writhe your way into a sitting position, head swimming with vertigo. Bile rises in your throat, and you press your eyes closed, tight, waiting out the wave. The idea that dragging your gaze away from him had played a part in the nausea tickles the back of your mind. 

He watches, seeming somewhat interested, as you struggle.

Once, in your small village, a wolf had snuck into the farmer’s fields. You remember watching from your doorway that morning, the sun barely risen, as the wolf tackled a single lamb and began eating it alive. 

The blood coated its paws and muzzle. Bones crackled with the snapping jaws. Even after the lamb had stopped squealing, the hunger in the wolf’s eyes never quite seemed satiated. 

Something in the man’s and the wolf’s gazes made them indistinguishable to you in that moment. 

The cruel sneers and jeering laughs of the royals you’d seen so far could only contain so much antagonism. This man was cut from a different cloth. 

His body, all relaxed muscles and agile limbs, had a vigorous, agitated thing running within the veins of his arms, sleeves rolled to the elbows; the cruelty in his mien was something you had only ever encountered in wild animals. 

Panic chills the sweat on your brow. Laboriously, you wrench one hand on a bookshelf, hoisting yourself up despite the blaring pain climbing up your spine, and onto your feet. You can feel the weakness in your knees the second you try to take another step, the defiant outcry of your mind and body as you try to move, but the man is so close. The warning sirens in your mind wail. 

A hand grapples around your free wrist, insistent and rigid. 

“Stop.”

You flinch, and your first instinct is to twist away and run. His grip is iron-tight, though, and without much resistance, he spins you back to face him. Frantically, your eyes once more swallow up his bronze, toned skin in the shadows of his candle, waiting for a strike. 

In return, the weight of his gaze bows your shoulders, fostering an urge to find a corner and curl up until you can’t anymore. Something you can scarcely identify flickers through his blue eyes. He’s staring at your wrist, locked in his, and then he’s staring at you, his lips tight and his face hard as stone. Like before, you can feel him searching you, taking note of your every move. 

He’s scrutinizing you like a bug, uncertain of just how and in what way to crush you under his heel. It’s the way he had when his gaze was all you knew about him, and you have no trouble imagining yourself splatting underneath his boot. 

But a sound rings in the distance, drawing your attention away from him entirely. 

Ringing. Ringing like church bells. Ringing like the clang of the metal clapper striking tarnished ocher and rust. The kingdom’s clock tower made the same sound. 

A chime, maybe.

Or a knell. 

But you were almost positive that sound couldn’t be heard so far away, crammed deeply within the towering castle walls. Especially at its volume. 

It chimes again, and you slam both hands to your ears, heart pounding. It’s deafening. You can’t breathe, and you can barely see, still tangled up in the man’s eyes. They’ve grown so cold and strike you so much harder your teeth begin to chatter. 

“No,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re protesting. “Please.”

His pale lips turn red as he smirks, and every angle of his face sharpens into focus. The room fades into black and white. Musty bindings and rotting pages no longer invade your nostrils. It’s like your brain is shutting off each sense one by one so you can take in more of him. 

And you can’t seem to look away. 

No. 

By the third chime, you can barely feel the pain that had been radiating through your body, and the release is almost blissful. Beckoning. You’re swathed up in the tranquility, ears stuffed with cotton and head buzzing in the silence. When your whole body starts rocking back and forth, waiting for another agonizing chime, your knees begin to feel like rubber, suddenly too malleable to stand upon.

A fourth chime, earsplitting. 

They buckle. 

You snap your hands forward in a panic, yelping when you stumble.

All your senses return as fast as the pinch of a needle. Blood roars in your ears, and soreness floods your every limb. It’s like trying to squeeze into clothes that have become too small and completely ripping the seams—all the sights, the smells, the feelings overload your brain too quickly, causing it to swell and split open. 

Your only lifeline is a radiating source of heat, and you cling to it so hard you're half afraid you might smother it. But when your embrace tightens, so too does your grip on reality. You can almost unscramble your own thoughts again—all the curse words you’ve ever known combined with prayers to the heavens above. Giving yourself into refuge becomes second nature, and you burrow further into the cradle of warmth.

A jolt runs up and down your back, and your skull feels cracked in two. 

But the eerie quiet of the library registers anyway. The chiming is gone. 

Blissful silence remains, only occasionally pierced by your gasping breaths. You want to nuzzle deeper, the warmth firm and solid, as the simmering underneath your skin wanes, yet there seems to be no space left that your form hasn’t already curled into.

“What just happened?” Your voice wavers, and it echoes back so loudly that you flinch. 

You can’t see a thing. The dim outlines of the room fuzz and blend, and if you weren’t standing on your own two feet, you wouldn’t have been able to tell up from down. But the chill still nips at your skin. The library hasn’t changed. Nothing’s changed but you. 

But there’s no explanation for the bell-ringing, the sensory overload. It must have all been in your head; it feels like any second now, your ears are going to pop and reality will flood back in. You’re alive. But whatever had just happened was as close to death as you could have imagined—

A breath away from becoming nothing. 

So what stopped it?

Even more—what started it?

The questions slipped your mind the second you heard the library door creak. The pitiful sound allowed the entrance of sunlight directed by the hallway’s window, and the stiffness of your bones crackled at the thought of even more warmth. You felt half-thawed and left for dead, save for the fount of heat caught in your white-knuckled grasp. 

You went still. 

Heat. 

Heat in the library. 

That had to have been one of the most preposterous realities you had imagined since you had first stepped foot in here seven hours ago—and you had raked through your mental fantasies quite thoroughly in that time. 

Carefully, as though jaws might snap at you from the darkness, you withdrew your arms from the motionless frame and craned your head upward. 

Dear God. 

The man was even more beautiful when washed in distant sunlight. Heart-wrenchingly so. More alluring when his hair glowed golden, combed back waves ending neatly at his nape. More potent when his gaze speared yours, his arms limp at his sides, elbows brushing the backs of your hands at his waist. 

Terribly heady.

Five seconds passed before you caught on to your ill deed, and his white tunic fluttered from the speed at which you pulled away from him. When his slender fingers twitched in tandem, you could only assume that, had you waited another second, he would have grasped your wrists so tightly the bones would have snapped. 

How could you? Oh God, this was it. It’s all over. 

You’re seized under his watchful eye, his face washed over with rage, or vexation, or downright disgust at your entirely-too-close, worthy-of-execution contact. 

Certainly, it could not be the wonder you had initially thought it was. 

That was just not possible. 

Impossible. 

Maybe. 

“YN!” 

You jump when the library’s twin doors slammed open, a crotchety, accented voice rattling against the shelves. The clomping of two clogs no different than yours—though, possibly better polished—thunder towards the pair of you, located by your and his candlesticks, stained brass and glossy gold sitting side by side on the oak center table. 

The head maid—Miss Miriam Swinebottom, which, in your humble opinion, was evidence that fate did in fact understand the concept of justice—was a woman of an angular, acidic countenance. Two beady eyes sunk deep into her skull like snakes nestled within a tumbleweed, and she had the capacity for two emotions: disappointment and fury. With a distaste for all things insouciant, the skeletal woman wielded the newly hired maids like an army of rats; she sent all of you scuttling over every inch of the castle and cleaning until your bodies were slow and stiff as though submerged in deep water. 

And you had no doubt that, the second that gaze fell upon you, she was out for blood. The terror that began pulsing in every nerve was no different than when you had first noticed the foreboding air around the blond man. You were not going to get out of this without a scratch. 

Miss Miriam took in you first, but not for long. Soon enough, both of you, as one incriminating sight, were being ascertained. 

You knew what she saw. 

One of her new maids, no better than the grime beneath her shoe, inches away from a royal. 

Unseasoned in the ways of the castle, naive to the new problem you’ve just sprouted, a true simpleton for what you’ve done. You. 

You, with unsteady eyes and flushed cheeks, his shirt unbuttoned, blond hair tousled. 

Fresh meat. 

Dead meat. 

And you hadn’t even done anything. 

You stumble back another step and hesitate to make an excuse. Words, you’d learned, were no better than handing Miss Miriam a switch. Best stay silent and pray for mercy.

Or, rather, for a quick recovery. 

Curiosity slips out of your hands, and you sneak a glance at the man. 

He’s wicked all over again. Somewhat unimpressed by the turn of events, he appears, but the emotion mingles with a strong sense of antagonism no nobility can seem to restrain. You’re only half-glad looks can’t kill. Miss Miriam would be worse off than six feet deep by now. 

To your surprise, she does not snatch you away with promises of a beating. She doesn’t get a step closer. 

Instead, the head maid folds into a low curtsy, then rises back up, bowing her head. “Your Highness.”

You tense at her actions, mind falling blank. 

No. He couldn’t be. 

Your Highness? Your Highness?

But as his gaze trails away from her and back to you, his face abruptly void, you can only stagger back another step, knees giving way into a curtsy as you copy Miss Miriam.

Waiting.

He is.

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of the Creel Dynasty.

And here you had been, none the wiser, completely ignorant to the danger you’d just placed yourself in. 

For a long, excruciating moment, nothing happens. He does not touch you, nor does he move. The only sound filling the room is bated breath and whispering winds. 

Prince Henry. The prized catch of all the kingdoms. Aristocracy who’d never even scoff at a servant like you were here to court him. 

And you’d been so close—you could still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips. 

A huff perks your ears, but you bite your tongue, waiting. He moves, one slow footstep at a time, nearing you with his polished, leather boots. You watch them as they grow closer. 

You watch them as they hesitate in front of you.

And then you watch them as they pass, each thump of leather against hardwood further and further away until there’s no doubt he has left the library. 

The older maid hitches a second longer before she rises, spitting your name like bile. “YN.” Her footsteps thunder toward you, and you barely have time to straighten before she has an iron grip on your upper arm, hauling you out of the room. 

“You had such a simple task. Clean the library and get out.” She grits her teeth, eyes flaring. “No one has used it in a decade, and yet what do I find but a dusty library and you. You, whoring yourself around the prince. And you said you weren’t a wench before I hired you.”

  She leads you down the castle’s marble hallways, dim from the setting sun yet well-lit by the sconces lining the walls. No matter how much you stumble and grunt, she drags you after her into the servants’ wing, swiftly finding the maids’ hall and barging you through the doorway. 

The room falls silent when the door slams shut, and while no crowd gathers, you are certainly the center of attention to the maids awaiting attending dinner. Stomachs are rumbling, but you have no doubt they would rather feast their eyes on this spectacle first. 

Tears pinch at the bridge of your nose. You can’t cry; you didn’t want to be one of the maids that cried. Those that did were in the latter half of the new hires who were younger than you. And you weren’t a little girl anymore. 

No crying. 

But, oh, you were scared when Miss Miriam paraded you in front of the others, hissing warnings and threats of punishment for girls who did what you had done. 

“-traipsing herself around in front of a most respected royal.” Black, burning eyes latch back onto you. “Tell me, YN, what did you think would happen?”

You flinch. 

There’s no point in looking to others for help. You don’t know them well enough to have friends. It’s been three days, and only one name has stuck. 

But you know it’s a sea of pity, disappointment, and nervous movement flowing back and forth. 

“It,” your voice cracks, and you pause, blinking rapidly. Another older maid, same regal accent, same strict demeanor, same gaze hissing you deserve this you deserve this you deserve this, approaches from behind. “It was an accident—”

You reel back into her waiting arms with a yelp. A stinging burn lances at your cheek, and if you hadn’t seen Miss Miriam’s bony hand fall back to her side, you would have thought she’d slashed open your cheek with an average kitchen knife. 

A seasoned backhand. Was there anything worse?

Miss Miriam stepped back, her appearance leaning more towards irate than strictly furious. She turned away from you, searching the walls of the dormitory. Though you had never seen it before, it hung on the wall with a single nail and a small, looped string on the handle.

A riding crop, yet you had the distinct feeling it had never been used on horses before. 

“No,” you plead when swift fingers begin untying your garment backing. “Please, it—it was an accident!” You try to yank away, but the crop swings at your head. When you lurch back, the fingers resume and Miss Miriam simply tilts her head. 

Dread claws up your throat. The edges of your vision begin contracting with your heart beat, while a shrill voice in your head begins screaming to run, to get out, to escape. Cold air assaults your bare back, and when you feel the tears begin to fall, the maid spins you around, presenting the stripped canvas of flesh to the others. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all, girls,” Miss Miriam announces. “This is not a whorehouse. You are not here to prostitute yourselves to royalty. You will not even look at them.” Her voice directs towards you, “They will certainly not look at you.”

You scream when the crop comes down, the white walls blurring, and the skin of your back wails at the betrayal. 

The tears don’t stop for hours.

Masterlist    Next

[lovetohate001]

Stranger Things Asks Are Open!

HELLO, I AM ALIVE! AND ASKS ARE OPEN AGAIN FOR OUR FAVOURITE VILLAIN (AND THE OTHER STRANGER THINGS MEN) ~

send an fic request HERE

Super excited to see what asks come in~ SFW and NSFW are allowed! It's been a solid year since I've written for the Stranger Things fandom! (I've been occupied with Genshin Impact for the past year or so, so you can find my fics for that here: @archonsoflove )

My writing and experience has grown immensely since I first started out on this blog, so I am excited to take on new fics with a fresh style!

[bebx]

Relationship: Henry Creel & Eleven

Summary:

"But if Papa and everybody else lied to me," Eleven trailed off, "why didn't you lie, too?"

"Because," Henry smiled at her, "friends don't lie."

[glorfy-the-bright-haired-ellon]

sorry i saw ur viktor pathologic art and now it is In My Brain, so here are some thoughts i suppose.

i imagine that he would have grown up in one of the poorer parts of The Town, but as he was getting older he started tinkering with inventions and engineering things and eventually i think that the Kains would take an Interest™ in him and get him to work on projects for them, maybe in exchange for a property in the stone yard. (Maybe he gets their last name because he doesnt have one? that would be funny and confusing because they already have a Victor). THOUGH, unlike Peter and Andrey, Viktor's vision for his inventions is much more concrete and expressly about helping those still on the ground vs the Kain's dream of ascending somehow, so they butt heads a lot and their 'sponsorship' of him is on thin fucking ice. They probably consider him their Curiosity™ instead of family or a friend. He is besties with Yulia, that's just correct and true. If we go with patho classic's faction system i DO think that he would ultimately align with the Humbles moreso than the Utopians, which is fun because i do think he would like Clara. Also twyre season makes his lungs worse, poor guy. September hell month. sorry, im actually replaying patho 2 rn and trying to struggle through patho classic for the first time so it's all up in my brain.

omg <3<3 yay crossover thoughts!!

Yes agree - though I do think Viktor is also quite utopian in his. idk. aspirations? Like this is the Glorious Evolution Guy (but debatable as to how much of that was the hexcore talking) and also the guy who designed a big claw laser which has maybe 5 total real world (in universe) applications. That being said, I still think that yeah, he probably still isn't on great terms with the Kains unfortunately :') - possibly over the exact means of ascension or who gets to ascend, etc.

Also. yeah I think he'd get along well with Clara :> They can bond over their similar methods of healing people lmao. Also also rip Viktor absolutely would have super hayfever on top of everything else.

Yayy have fun playing! I have to admit I haven't actually played the games, but I have watched Keith Ballard's playthrough of patho classic and patho 2 like.. twice