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oreosmama · 1 year ago

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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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#henry creel x reader #stranger things x reader #vecna x reader #peter ballard x reader #001 x reader #henry creel #peter ballard #vecna #001 #stranger things #stranger things imagine #henry creel imagine #henry creel/001 #peter ballard imagine #vecna/henry/001 #vecna stranger things #vecna/henry/one

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lovetohate001 · 2 years ago

Note

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!

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bebx · 1 year ago

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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.

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r4gg3dy4ndy · 2 years ago

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during science class i had these incredible brain soup ideas about vecna/henry so here they are all sfw!!!

[written down directly from the page so if they are a little incoherent then sorry :( ]

that thought that helps me w/nightmares where you wake up from a nightmare and you are like crying rlly bad and henry hears while hes like patrolling the halls or smthn and he comes in all worried abt you and he holds you/comforts you to sleep 🥺

like he would be so sweet about it too - all soft n warm letting you cry into his chest holding you so close and letting you almost claw at him bcs your holding him so so tight bcs you dont want him to go you need him to stay so you just might be able to sleep again and and and 🥺

AUGH going off of that maybe he really liked it like thouroughly enjoyed it and your nightmares slowly become more upsetting and more frequent so you basically cant sleep w/out him so later (getting permission from brenner ofc) stays with you every night so you wont have nightmares bcs hes "just nice like that" augh 🥺 [btw - the more upsetting and frequent nightmares were totally from him]

trans reader and vecna where after getting bad hallucinations/nightmares he shows up but he calls you byyour preffered name and you get all happy/sappy because nobody really does bcs its the 80s and your bullied like its a thing to do so you start getting all soft on him and hes just like is that not just common courtesy? like is that not just the right thing to do? and you are just so hppy and by proxy are making him like feel bad bcs this is how you get when someone shows you common courtesy? like you are crying and all happy on the ground and hes just like well i cant kill him now can i?

having this comfort item like a figure or plushie you bring around with you but vecna can like see through its eyes and its helpful bcs you go to hawkins high or whatever but the downside of that is that he feels whatever it feels so like when you give it little kisses or hugs and he, trying to spy on the students, feels all that, feels all the love and attention you give it bcs it despite being an inanimate object is basically your only friend and he just... feels bad for you. like strangely. he kinda hates it but he begrudgingly helps you out in secret

continuing the comfort item one - maybe you are having a really bad day, people have been meaner that usual, you didnt get much sleep, your parents were fighting, ect. and you bring your figure/plushie, holding it tighter than normal but this time it almost feels like its hugging you back and and and

#vecna x reader #vecna/reader #jamie campbell x reader #henry creel x reader #henry creel #henry creel imagine #peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard imagine

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mya-cookie-eater · 8 months ago

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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

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ransprang · 1 year ago

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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

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sapppy-cocktail · 2 years ago

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Valentines Special

Sadie Sink x Reader

Masterlist

"Y/N!" A familiar voice calls out from behind me. I turn around to be met with Sadie jogging towards me. "Hey Sadie." I say smiling at her as she smiles brightly at me. "Did you need something?" I ask as I suddenly remember she ran to me. "Do you- Can I?" She begins to say but pauses before restarting her sentence. "I just finished my scenes for the day so I thought maybe we could hang out?" She suggests, her hands playing with the sleeves of her blue and yellow 80s jacket. I glance down at my wrist. 6:25. Earlier than usual. "Yeah, of course. Did you wanna take off your clothes?" I ask looking towards her trailer. "What?" She asks, her voice higher than usual as her widen and eyebrows knit together. My eyebrows furrow and my head tilts at her reaction. "Your clothes? You're still in your clothes from set?" I say wary, unsure if my words could cause the same reaction. She raises an eyebrow at my words but looks down and notices her clothes and her eyes widen. "Oh! Right. Yeah, of course." She says as she looks back up at me. "Come with me." She says as she reaches out for my hand and pulls me towards her trailer.

"So what do you have in mind?" I ask as I take a seat on her bed and watch her disappear into her bathroom. "Well, since it's Valentines day and we both don't have dates I thought it'd be nice to go to a restaurant. Something we could do as friends and enjoy." She says looking at me through the bathroom mirror as she holds 2 hangers with a dress on each, moving 1 in front of her before the other. I nod at the ground before her voice calling out to me makes me watch her as she walks out of the bathroom. "What do you think?" She asks as she holds the 2 hangers, one on each side. "Red or Black?" She asks as she moves them in front of her to look at them properly. "You already know what I'm gonna say." I say, a smile tugging at my lips as her eyes meet mine. "Black. Got it." She says rolling her eyes and walking to her wardrobe to hang the red back.

While Sadie changes I decide to mention the early finish today. "So you guys finished filming early today." I call out to her as I walk around her trailer. "Yeah. The Duffers said something about them needing to repeat a scene from California with Finn and Noah so I left early." She says making me nod. "So did Millie, Maya, Joe and the others finish early?" I ask as she slides the bathroom door open and grabs her makeup bag before returning to the bathroom, this time the door open. "I think so, I'm not sure." She says as she begins washing her face. "What time did you want to leave?" I ask watching as she makes a move for a face towel. I stand up and pass it to her. "Thank you. I was thinking maybe 7? Does that work?" She asks looking back at me. "Yeah. Wait. Where are we even going?" I ask as I realise I had no idea where we were going.

She turns back at me once more and and smiles before facing back to the mirror. "It's a surprise." She says making me groan. "Well obviously somewhere fancy." I say as I fall back onto the bed. I hear her laugh before speaking up. "What makes you say that?" She asks as if she doesn't know how I'm going to respond. I look at my watch. 6:45. "I guess I should go get ready." I say pouting as I walk to her door. I look back at her and she's already paused in her movement, her pink makeup sponge in her hand as she smiles at me through the mirror. I smile back before opening the door and shutting it behind me and as I begin making my way to my trailer I decide to send Millie a text. The one time I get a day off you finish early? Lucky bastard. After sending it I turn my phone off and slide it back into my pocket before opening the door to my trailer.

I look at myself once more in the mirror, looking myself up and down for anything I can improve. "Hey Siri, what's the time?" I call out to my phone that's charging on the other side of the room. "It is 6:58pm." She replies making my eyes widen as I quickly pull my phone out of the wire and shut the door, locking it after me. But then I realise I forgot the red roses I had just gotten. Quickly after unlocking my trailer, running in grabbing the roses and locking the door once more I begin speed walking to Sadie's trailer. As I walk I realise it's pretty silent. Where is everyone? I ignore it and reach her trailer. I knock on the door and as I wait for a response I look at my wrist and watch the 7 flick into 7:01. I made it, it was the end of the minute but I made it.

The sound of the door unlocking pulls me out of my thought and I smile as I see Sadie. "Hello beautiful." I say taking a step back and looking her up and down. She turns her head away as she smiles and lightly hits my arm telling me to stop. I smile and hand her the roses. Her eyes widening as she accepts it. "For me?" She asks as she looks at me, her mouth slightly agape. "Yeah, I thought it'd be nice, y'know it being Valentines day and all." I say grinning as I quote her words from before. She smiles, rolling her eyes at me as she grabs my hand and pulls me towards a car nearby. We both take a seat in the back and the driver begins making his way to whatever restaurant we're going to. I pull my phone out from my pocket and still no response from Millie. Weird

We pull into the underground parking lot of a tall building in the city and I get out of the car offering my hand to help Sadie out before she guides me to me to an elevator. I watch as she taps the second highest floor, my eyes slightly widen and I know she takes notice of this because I can see the small smirk playing on her lips. Once we arrive at the top and the elevator doors open Sadie reaches for my hand pulls me with her towards a desk with a receptionist behind it. She smile brightly greeting us and I look around. It's packed, there's no way Sadie had gotten this last minute. But then again she is a celebrity, she could've used her status, but I know she's not like that. Maybe someone cancelled last minute, couples break up all the time, someone must've booked and then broken up with their partner and cancelled their booking which made an opening.

"Booking for 2 under the name Sadie Sink" She says to the receptionist making me look at her. "Yup, got you. Perfect timing, 7:30 on the dot. Right this way." She says guiding us towards a secluded table in the corner of the restaurant which gives us quite a bit of privacy. I pull out Sadie's seat and she thanks me before sitting down. I take a seat opposite her and look out the massive window beside us. Their was a beautiful sunset to the right of us. "How did you manage to get this so last minute?" I ask as I turn my eyes to her. She shift around in her chair before speaking up. "I uh, I don't know. Luck I guess?" She says as I nod. "Must be the luckiest girl." I say as I look back out to the view. "Yeah." She whispers just loud enough for me to just hear it. I turn back to her, she's staring at her hands which are on the table. She looks upset. I furrow my eyebrows and lean over the table placing my hand over hers which makes her look up at me. "Hey, are you okay?" I ask, concern laced in my voice since I'm genuinely concerned. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" I say making sure she knows that I am here for her. She forces a smile and gives me a nod. "Yeah, I know, thank you." She says making my eyes narrow as I pull my hand back and look at the skyline. I feel a soft smaller hand on mine and I look at her. "I mean it. Thank you." She repeats as she smiles, genuinely this time. I nod and pick up the menu a waiter had just placed in front of us.

"So I said no and just walked away." "No you didn't!" Sadie says laughing. "I literally did, because like what did he think he was gonna do, expel me? He doesn't even have the authority to do that." I say as she continues laughing. "And nothing happened?" She asks as she attempts to stop her laughter but failing miserably. "No, well. The principle came after me but I literally just lied to her because what's she gonna do, ask for proof?" I say making her laugh even louder. "How do you get away with so much?" She asks as she tries to poke bean on her plate with her fork but misses because of how much she was shaking with laughter. I smile before I feel a vibration in my pocket. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I pull my phone out and notice the Caller ID. "Hey Millie, took you long enough to respond. Anyways, did you want to come to my trailer to watch some movies with me later tonight?" I ask not allowing her to say anything. "What? Yeah, sure. But what are you saying I had a half-day I literally just got off set." She says making me pull my phone from my ear to read the time. 8:12pm.

"Oh, what the hell. Sadie said you guys finished early?" I say confused as to why she finished later. "What? It was only her who finished early, said she had an appointment at like 7:30, said she couldn't cancel." She says as her words slow down and she pauses before gasping. "Wait, is she with you?" She asks "Yeah." "Oh my God, are you guys doing something for Valentines day? WOW, just leave work." She says faking annoyance. "Hey, my character is not needed today, I was off work." I reply back but she ignores my comment and backtracks to earlier in the conversation. "What are you guys doing?" She asks and I respond by sending her my location and she gasps, loudly this time. "No you're not!" She says not believing me. "What, what is it?" I ask curious to know why she reacted like that.

"You can't get a booking there for months and you'd still get a bad spot, and especially Valentines day, thats fully booked for the next like 3 years and there's only a few spots left for 4 years from now. It's literally one of the most expensive and luxurious restaurants here." She says making me raise my eyebrows. "Are you serious? She was telling me she got it last minute." I say and Millie laughs. "Noo, she's lying to you hon. She must've bought it from someone else." She says making me think back to when we entered. "It was under her name though." I say confused. "She must've booked that years ago then." She says and I stand there silently before remembering Sadie's waiting for me. "Oh shit! I gotta go, bye Millie I'll see you in an hour or so." I say waiting for her response. "Bye Y/N." She says before I end the call look at the mirror and fix my look.

I walk out and notice our table is empty and I look around notice Sadie leaning on a wall by the elevator waiting patiently, she glances at her wrist before looking up and noticing me. Her face lights up as she meets me halfway. "I thought you ditched me for a second." She says jokingly but by the way her eyes lit up earlier I knew she was lying. "Yeah, sorry Millie called me." I say and she nods before tapping the elevator button. "What are we doing now?" I ask as we walk into the elevator. I watch as she taps the button for the highest floor this time. She smiles at me and looks back at the door and when it opens I realise we're on the roof. She smiles and pulls me towards the edge and we look at the view. "I saw how you were eyeing the view so I requested if we could go to the roof they said yes." She says making me smile before I speak up.

"Maybe I should have my date here." I say as I turn to Sadie and her smile falters. "Date?" She questions. "Yeah, me and my movies." I say and she lets out a breath. I look out to the city and it makes Millies words ring through my head. "You didn't finish early did you?" I ask making her furrow her eyebrows. "What?" She asks. "Today, you didn't finish early, you told the Matt and Ross that you had an appointment." I say and she winces. "Millie?" She asks and I nod. "Yeah, I booked this earlier." She says and Millies words repeat once more. "A few years ago?" I ask and she avoids eye contact nodding once more. "Yeah." She says defeatedly and I nod at her response, taking in her words. "So why'd you take me?" I ask and at first she doesn't reply, she just continues to look to the city glowing around us. The moon shines on us and after a few seconds she looks at me, her eyes glistening. "Why do you think?" She asks, her voice was soft, almost fragile, as if she would break any second.

"Are you serious?" I ask and she scoffs and turns around. "Wait! Sadie." I say grabbing her arm and turning her towards me. "You actually, like me? Like, like like me?" I ask and she rolls her eyes. "Yes Y/N, I like you. Why is that so hard to believe?" She says pulling her arm out mine but doesn't make a move to leave. She sniffs and thats when I take notice of the tears that streamed down her face. "Sadie" "Don't, please." She pleads as she takes a step back. "I like you Sadie." I say and slowly take a step towards her. Sadie looks at the ground as she responds. "But not like that." She says assuming my words as she tries to wipe the tears away. "No, I, I like you like that." I say and for the first time since she confessed she looks me in my eyes. "This better not be some sick joke." She says and I notice the redness in her eyes. "I'm not, I swear. Why is that so hard to believe that I like you?" I say copying her words from earlier and she looks everywhere but me. "Sadie. Please, look at me." I say as I put one of my hands on her face wiping the tear streaming down her face. She turns her face towards me. "God, you're too pretty to cry." I say as my other hand rises to hold her. Her face now sitting in my fingers. My eyes flicker down to her lips and I slowly move closer, mine hovering over hers. "Can I kiss you?" I whisper and she nods.

A/N: I LITERALLY DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT GUYS 😭💀 It’s ass, but like yeah. That took hours.

#max mayfield x reader #max mayfield #sadie sink x reader #max mayfield imagine #maxine mayfield #stranger things #stranger things 4 #sadie sink #robin buckley x reader #billy hargove x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #001 x reader #001 stranger things #eleven x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #peter ballard x reader #sadie sink imagine #max mayfield x you

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edb954 · 1 year ago

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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!

#henry creel x reader #stranger things #001 #001 x reader #henry creel #peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #stranger things season 4 #yandere peter ballard #001 smut #yandere #possessive #jonathan byers #will byers #dark romance #Byers reader #story ideas #imagine ideas #write this please

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reidslovely · 2 years ago

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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.

#peter parker headcanon #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #peter ballard #peter holland 765 articles #tasm peter smut #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #tasm andrew garfield #andrew peter parker #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter one shot

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petersbaby · 2 years ago

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I would if I could - Peter Ballard x GN reader

18+

Warnings: smut, spitting/saliva, choking

“You’re very clingy, you know that right?” Peter asks as he finds you’ve walked into his room to see him for the millionth time in a row.

“‘M sorry. Just love you.”

“I know you do. Come here.” He says softly, holding an arm out to you, pulling you closer until you’re standing right beside his bed where he was sat on the edge.his hands find your hips and rest ever so gently on the top of them.

“Can I ask you something, can you promise you won’t get mad?” You question, becoming apprehensive right after it left your mouth. You had to say it now, he didn’t like when people backpedaled or don’t say what they need to say.

“Hmm. Sure, go ahead.” He allows, looking up at you.

“You think you could ever love me? Like the way I love you?”

“You know I would if I could, it’s just not in me, little one. I don’t know how to love anybody or anything.” He’s stern but also defeated in the way he speaks the words.

You pout slightly, but you understand. He’s not a normal person, he doesn’t have normal emotions. All that mattered was that when you looked down into his ocean eyes that you found the smallest semblance of endearment for you and only you.

He pulls your hips now, and you onto him, straddling his lap. You giggle at the suddenness of it and how you nearly fell when he grabbed you. You wrap your arms around his neck, draping them over his shoulders as you cuddle into him, breathing in his scent buried in his shoulder.

“You’re holding onto me awfully tight, what’s going on?” He questions.

“Nothing. Just missed you all day. You didn’t even talk to me.” He had, in fact, been distant that day, but you knew deep down it wasn’t personal.

“I was busy, baby. I work here, you know, I don’t just live here like you. I have responsibilities.”

“I know.” You pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes, a stupid little smile plastered on your face and a little blush coming to your cheeks as you look at him. You immediately want to hide back into his shoulder but he stops you.

“Such a sweet thing. So shy.”

“Am not.” You attempt to fight against his words but fail, opting to just kiss him instead. It was soft and kind unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you could never get enough of it.

He presses his lips back against yours, hands still at your hips and moving up to your waist. He repeats this a few times, and you can’t help but break out in a fit of giggles. He pulls back and looks at you with a genuinely puzzled expression.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m just ticklish.” You smile.

You lean back in, this time going for the side of his neck to kiss it but he stops you.

“No. Not right now. Just be good, okay?”

You hated being good but loved the way he’d praise you after you were so you decided to obey.

He was on your mind all the next day, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. How much you loved him, you loved him to the point it was all you could think about. Every thought in your brain had been replaced with Peter. You wanted to cling to him forever, to never have to be separated. He was the only stable thing you had in your life, so you can’t help the level to which you adored him.

After dinner, after the day was pretty much over, you come back to him. He isn’t surprised one bit, it’s almost like he was waiting for you like clockwork.

He wasn’t in bed yet, just sitting at his desk doing some sort of paperwork or worksheet when you came in. He quickly abandoned whatever it was to bring his gaze to you. You stood for a moment, fiddling with your fingers awaiting his words.

“What are you being shy for now?” He questions.

“I dunno, just being good. Waiting for your permission.” You shrug.

“For what, exactly?”

“To…. Approach?” You reply, sounding suddenly unsure of yourself, a little embarrassed at the way you worded it.

“You have permission,” he half-laughs, holding his arms out slightly to signal you over.

You smile, climbing in his lap to sit on his thigh as he stays in the desk chair. It was nicer than the one you had in your room, but still kinda shitty. You didn’t mind. “I missed you.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around him in a sitting-down hug.

“Missed you too.” He replies simply.

“So am I?” You question after a minute.

“Are you what?” He responds, a little unsure what you’re talking about.

“Am I good? Cmon, tell me I’m good, please”

He chuckles, placing a hand on your thigh and rubbing it up and down slightly over the fabric of your pants.

“Yes, you are. You’re a good pet. Only for me.”

“Only for you.” You confirm, blushing.

You spend the evening with him in his room, just talking and cuddling after you moved to his bed from the chair obligatorily. At about 10, he breaks the comfortable silence you both sat in. Or, lay in. Right beside one another.

“It’s about time you need to go back to your own room and go to sleep. You know I wish you could sleep here just as much as you would like to but you can’t.”

You lifted your head from where it was laying against his chest.

“I know, but not yet, please?” You ask with a slight pout, looking him in the eye.

“Hmm, I don’t know-“ he starts, stopping mid sentence when you’re finally able to get your lips on his neck. It was something you loved to do, and he couldn’t say he didn’t thoroughly enjoy it as well. He had already established that kisses and small bites are fine, just no hickeys and no marks. To you, leaving marks was the best part, but you understood why he couldn’t have them.

His eyes screw shut at the feeling of you attacking his sensitive skin, kissing and licking all up and down the length of his neck. You worked from the curve of his shoulder all the way up to his earlobe where he shivered every time without fail when you nibbled on it. You had your eyes shut too, enjoying the taste and feeling of his skin beneath your lips and tongue.

“Okay, 30 more minutes.” He manages to finally push out the words, feeling you smile against him after he says them. His muscles relax, his head rolls slightly to the side giving you total access.

You knew exactly how to make him weak, get him where you wanted him. You both know he liked it, all the things you do that he pretends is a nuisance to him.

After a few minutes, he reaches up to bunch his hand up in your hair, using it to pull you back to his face so he can connect his lips with yours in a heated and desperate kiss. In reality, you were probably the desperate one, panting and breathing heavily with need. He noticed this, turning to his side to face you, hands beginning to roam your body.

They find your ass, pulling you into him as close as possible, so close that you can feel his hard dick pressing against your front. This immediately makes you moan into his mouth, growing even more desperate if that was even possible.

You slip your hand down in between the both of you to rub your palm over his erection feverishly and attempting to start working on his pant button and zipper. The belt was long discarded, taken off and sat down across the room somewhere before getting comfortable in bed with you.

He grabs your wrist out of instinct- for some reason he always did that, effectively stopping you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him gently, checking in to make sure he was okay.

“Nothing. You just- you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” He smiles. He fucking smiles and it’s so damn beautiful. You feel your heart melt in your chest at the sight of him being so sweet and vulnerable which he normally was not.

He releases your hand and you pull it away just in case. You come to rest it against the side of his face instead while you continue kissing deeply, tongues fighting for dominance and his winning like always.

“No, please keep doing that.” He asks desperately when he notices your hand now on his cheek instead of where he wanted it.

You smile and snake your hand back down between your two bodies and stroking him through his pants. He pushes back against your touch, rutting his hips into your hand as if he’s a dog in heat. You effectively get the button undone this time when he doesn’t stop you.

Then you were wanting him to take it all off himself because you couldn’t get his clothes off on your own. He reaches down to assist you in pushing his pants and underwear down his legs, and you start unbuttoning his white shirt from the top down. You place kisses on his chest as more of it becomes exposed to you.

It was pale, the skin stretched across it. Soft to the touch but also firm beneath, muscles not insanely apparent visually but able to be felt on contact beneath your touch. You climb on top of him, sitting on his cock with only a thin layer between you both, which would be your underwear. You grind down on him, feeling the friction you get on your clit from doing so and can’t seem to stop.

You lean down to kiss him, then his neck, rubbing your clothed core up and down the length of him til he can’t take the indirect contact any longer.

He gently pulls you off of him, flipping you over and pulling your sweater off and removing your outer layer. This left you in just your underwear and your paper thin gown from which your hard nipples were poking from beneath the fabric.

You eagerly follow his instructions before he even has the chance to say them, sliding your panties down your legs and opening them for him. He starts to make a comment about how it’s like you read his mind, but then remembered you could and that would be a dumb thing to say.

Regardless, he groans watching you get ready for him so excitedly, so desperate to get him inside of you.

His big veiny hands reach to push up the fabric of your dress and it gathers around your hips, letting him get a good look at your pussy before he destroys it. You just lay back and wait for his next move, a fire in your stomach burning, spreading. You can’t help but squirm in anticipation.

His lips find yours once more as he hovers over you, holding himself up with one arm of which the hand of was planted right by your head. His other hand came to wrap around the base of your throat, squeezing lightly to watch your reaction. How with every bit of force added made you dumber and dumber as you struggled to breathe.

Feeling him choking you made you moan out, a sound that escaped your throat and left your mouth without permission. When you do this, your mouth falls open and he takes the perfect opportunity to spit down at you, mostly into your mouth. The rest on your face, but you didn’t mind one bit. You probably look pretty with his spit all over your skin, you think.

You did your best to swallow it right away, but struggled a bit with the pressure on your throat so he let go and watched you swallow his saliva down with glistening eyes, looking up at him.

He reaches down between your spread legs, getting a feel for how ready you were for this and finding out immediately. Your center was so sticky and wet, and he’s just wondering if it’s tight too.

It was, it always was. You were perfect for him, so pretty, sweet, and fuckable and he often wondered how a person as bad as him was blessed with someone like you.

You both remember that even though it may feel that way, that you don’t have forever to spend like this, and you need to get back to where you’re supposed to be soon. You pull him down to you, kissing his lips with need and pausing only to ask him to give it all to you.

With that, he presses in, only slightly at first. You look like an angel so much that it’s hard to remember you aren’t as fragile as he thinks.

“All of it, please. I want it, I need it. Please.” You whisper against his lips urgently and he fully enters you, steadily fucking you while you felt the stretch slowly dissipate and pleasure take it’s place.

“Fuck, it’s so good.” He mumbles quietly, almost as if to just be to himself he’s talking to. “God, so good.”

You keep your lips pressed against his, using it to help quiet your pretty noises that arise from the feeling of him pushing in and pulling out of you at a delicious pace. The pace is fast, faster than normal, and you can tell he’s trying to cum quickly so neither of you get caught and in trouble.

Someone was bound to check your bedroom sooner or later, you knew that too. You realized that all the time spent talking and kissing made way for no time to let you get off too, and just started encouraging him.

“Need your cum, please. Want it so bad.” You beg and encourage him in a whispery tone, and his thrusts get sloppier. You felt every bit of it, from the initial twitching to every single drop of his hot load coming into contact with your walls, to the way he begins to soften just the slightest bit inside you. He breathes heavily for a moment, frozen in time. Only for that moment.

You both rush to get dressed once again, but you don’t quite go. You stand near the door as if you were waiting for something, and he looks at you confusedly. You roll your eyes, coming back to him as he sat on the bed.

Bending down, you place a sweet kiss on his lips and stay there for a moment after, just pressing your foreheads against each other.

“I love you.”

You always tell him, you have to tell him. You need him to know, even if he can’t say it back to you. That doesn’t matter. He looks up at you and smiles, dimple forming on his cheek.

You relish in the sight, such a sweet and pretty boy. You would love to see him more vulnerable some day, but this was the closest you could get for now.

The look he gives you when you tell him you love him could keep you up for days, it could move mountains. It changed your life, changed his too.

“Alright, go.” He gently shoos you away, knowing you could stand there all night and wouldn’t ever go back to your room if you had the choice. You slip away, pulling the door shut softly behind you, then slip into your own bed once you get there.

You totally forget about the lack of orgasm, it doesn’t bother you as you lay in your own bed tonight thinking about him until you drift off to sleep. Physically, you were alone, but you never really were. Not when you know that the love of your life is just down the hall sleeping safely in his own space. You can only pray he’s dreaming about you too.

#001 x reader #001 x fem!reader #001 smut #001 stranger things #001 imagine #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard smut #peter ballard x you #peter ballard #henry creel x you #henry creel smut #henry creel

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 3 months ago

Text

🎸 Stranger Things Masterlist 🎸

Smut: 🔥🔥

Fluff: 🌸🌸

Heated Fluff: ⭐️⭐️

Angst: 🌨️🌨️

💙 Collage Imagine

💚 Oneshot

💖 Preference/Headcanon

💜 Quotes

💞 Blurbs

Billy

- Three 💞🔥

- Skinny Dip 💜⭐️

Eddie

- Three 💞🔥

- Mermaid 💙🌸

- Elf 💙⭐️

Jim

- Uniform 💚🔥

Peter Ballard/Henry Creel/001

- Martin Brenners daughter 💞🔥⭐️🌸

Steve

- Three 💞🔥

#stranger things #stranger things Masterlist #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove #Billy Hargrove x reader #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Jim hopper #Jim hopper x reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x reader #Peter Ballard x reader

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oreosmama · 1 year ago

Text

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

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

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

#henry creel x reader #stranger things x reader #vecna x reader #peter ballard x reader #001 x reader #henry creel #peter ballard #001 #stranger things #stranger things imagine #henry creel imagine #henry creel/001 #peter ballard imagine #vecna/henry/001 #vecna stranger things #vecna #vecna/henry/one

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lovetohate001 · 6 months ago

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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!

#001 imagine #stranger things 001 #001 stranger things #001 x reader #001 #peter ballard stranger things #peter ballard smut #peter ballard imagine #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #peter ballard fluff #peter ballard x you #peter stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things asks #001 smut #001 x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things s4

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bebx · 1 year ago

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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."

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usetheeauthor · 2 years ago

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Love, Papa

Virgin!Henry Creel/One/Peter Ballard x SexWorker!Reader

MDNI +18 (eventual smut)

Summary: You are snatched away from your mundane life and brought to a secluded location in the woods where you are forced to play house with a man who calls himself “Papa” and his two “children”One and Eleven. Now you’ll do everything you can to escape this nightmare…and fast. (Also please bare with me as I am finishing up a couple series before this one)

A/N: This one’s kinda dark but interesting I think. It’ll also be graphic and smutty but also thriller/horror. I haven’t written for Peter in so long because Eddie’s taken up my mind but we gotta show some love to Henry. He may be a psycho but damn is he hot. I believe this will be a 5 part series. It’s set in modern times during the pandemic. The fic will be based on Melanie Martinez songs and themes because why not?! Please enjoy! Ps. Peter is somewhere in his late 20s and Reader early 20s.

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warnings: kidnapping, use of chloroform, graphic language, mentions of sex work and dark sides of it, imprisonment, choking, Brenner being a psycho

Chapter One: One Happy Family

The cold air of the night sends shivers down your spine, prompting you to wrap your coat around you tighter. Tonight was a slow day. Not much creeps out in the streets in search of a risqué night session.

The pandemic’s to blame. The virus was currently running rampant and people were frightened. You should’ve been, too. Instead, the need for money to survive fueled your intentions.

You were all you had. Your parents had long forgotten you after you’d told them you were going to school to become an esthetician and not a doctor like they were.

Big mistake. Not because you regret following your dreams but rather it was how your dreams led you to a man who would soon ruin your life.

He was your teacher. You didn’t take him seriously considering he was a beauty school teacher but that’s exactly the place for a womanizer to prey on a sea of women. The school had a strict no student-teacher policy so once your relationship was exposed. The decision ended with them immediately discarding your future there.

You believe your love would save you but he protected his job. With no other beauty schools in Hawkins, traveling being too expensive, and you being cut off from your parents; you had no choice but to make quick money.

You were introduced to prostitution working as a bartender one night by a woman who ran a business of sex workers. Figuring since it was a woman, you trusted her. Of course, now you realize basing your decisions in the hands of a person specifically because of their gender was also a big mistake.

Life wasn’t very glamorous like how it was with some of the girls you saw online, streaming their work from the comforts of their homes or studios. On the streets, you’d live in fear nearly everyday at the cost of passing money. Sure you get expensive bags and designer clothes but at what cost.

Leaning against the graffiti’d wall behind you, you pull out your phone to make a phone call. Your mother’s contact is the first thing you see. Your thumb hesitantly hangs over the call button. Just as you finally worked the courage to press the button, a car pulls up on the curb.

You hear a muffled “hello” through the speaker and quickly hang up, providing your attention to the car in front of you.

The man lowers his window. “Hello, young lady. What are you doing out here all alone?”

You put on a seductive smile as you sauntered over to him. “I was looking for a good time. Would that happen to be why you’re here, too?” You lean into his window, resting your elbow on the passenger door.

“Actually, I was looking for someone that would be the perfect fit for my family and—congratulations— you are that. And it doesn’t appear to me that anyone’ll be looking for you considering your profession.” He smiles.

“What?” You say, heart pounding. A cough in the backseat has your eyes following in its direction. There’s a young girl with her head shaven, looking back at you with pitiful eyes.

You attempt to run when your back collides with something—someone—behind you. Before you could turn to look, a rag is thrown over your mouth and nose, muffling your screams.

You fight and scratch all you could but you were getting weaker. Chloroform. You get one look at the sky above you and then all you could see is black.

—————

You hear chimes. The beautiful sound of chimes and it brings you back to a distant memory of your childhood. Suddenly, your in your mother’s arms, sitting on the porch as she rocks you along in her favorite chair. She’s telling you stories of great women in history: Joan of Arc, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth. The autumn breeze gently kisses your skin, pushing the chimes into making its music. You were so happy.

The chimes in the distance grew louder and louder until it was too hard to ignore and you’re jolted awake. Your eyes open to an unfamiliar setting. You were in a room of a log cabin home.

You attempted to sit up to check your surroundings when you noticed that your hands and feet were tied to the bed posts. You immediately began to thrash around and whine when your memories of what happened prior washed over you.

The door to the room opens, revealing a tall gray-haired man. Your captor. He looks down at you almost as if he’s sorry for you, sitting at the corner of the bed.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You scream. “Why am I here?”

“You can call me ‘Papa’. I’m your family now. And you’re here because…this is your home.”

You shook your head. “Are you fucking crazy? Let me go!”

“I can’t do that, my belle,” He says, leaning in to caress your face which causes you to quickly pull away. “Papa never abandons his loved ones. You’ll be happy here. You wouldn’t wish for a place anywhere from here once you get used to it. Especially once you meet your siblings. But before we do that…I have some rules. Just a few rules that everyone must follow or else…Papa will be very upset.”

“I don’t care for your rules,” You say through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. FUCKING. GO!”

“Rule 1…Absolutely no profanity of any sort under this roof. You’re new to our family. So I will let you off on a warning just this time. But now you know the rule so there are no excuses,” He smiles. “Rule 2: You must never step into Papa’s study unless you have permission from me and me only. Rule 3: Everyone must treat one another with respect. We are a loving family and we do not tolerate any fighting. Rule 4: Papa knows what’s best. Do as Papa says. Rule 5: No one goes outside unless Papa permits so. And finally Rule 6: No technology of any sort. Follow these simple rules and we’ll have a splendid time together. But break them…and you’ll be punished accordingly. Okay, belle?”

“My name isn’t belle. My name is Y/n and I want to go home!” You sob.

“You. ARE. Home.”

You thrash around again, cursing him and spitting. He lunges for your throat and squeezes. He was surprisingly strong for his tall, lanky frame. You can feel him crushing your windpipe enough for your to begin gasping out loud, wanting to claw at his hands but your wrists were bound.

“I told you the rules, belle,” He whispers darkly. “I can make this a very ugly experience for you. Trust me. I am going to let you go. But you must promise that you will be on your best behavior here on out. Do you understand?”

You nod frantically, eyes pleading. He squeezes even tighter one last time before he finally releases, causing you to rip away from him. You were coughing uncontrollably, tears pouring from your eyes.

“That’s a good girl. Now are you ready to meet your new siblings? I have a girl. She’s only 12 but she is very bright. She’s been needing a mother figure. And I have a boy, not much older than you. He’s never been around women his age. He might be a little shy at first,” He chuckles before clapping with excitement. “Oh, they’re so excited to meet you. They even practiced something to perform for you. I’ll call them in. Stay put.” He winks before exiting the room.

You resume your struggling, crying out. Was this supposed to be your life now? No. You needed to survive. Get out of this freak show. But how exactly were you supposed to that?

Papa enters the room with the little girl that was sat in the backseat. She, now, hid behind the man. There was also a tall young man with pale skin, neatly groomed blonde hair and white clothing. He bore an innocent smile that somehow felt sinister in its intentions. Neither of them looked alike. You assumed he must’ve kidnapped them, too.

“Belle, I’d like for you to meet my son, One.” Papa introduces.

One bows in his greeting to you. “Pleasure meeting you.”

He also speaks in that same polite and formal manner. Like he was a lot older than his age.

“And this little shy princess here is my daughter, Eleven.” Papa says, tugging her sleeve to bring her around in front of him. He rests his hands on her shoulders, lowering to whisper something to her.

“H-hi.” Eleven stutters.

“Don’t you two have something to show our new family member?” Papa asks, smiling brightly.

One and Eleven exchange looks before nodding. One whispers something to Eleven. Grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table, One holds it out on one palm as Eleven concentrates on it.

“As if this situation couldn’t get any weirder.” You thought to yourself.

You’ve spoken too soon. The glass begins to lift off his hand, floating in midair. It appears to be following the little girl’s movements as she turns over to you. The glass begins to float in your direction. It hovers over you, you staring at it in both awe and terror. It lowers and tips just near your mouth.

“How kind! Eleven is offering you some water,” Papa says. You just stare at the glass causing Papa to clear his throat impatiently. “It would be rude not to drink, belle.”

You reluctantly lift your head, eyes searching the room before your lips touch the glass and slurp a sip of the water. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were until the first drop hit your tongue. You eagerly drank until the glass suddenly fell from the air, spilling all over your abdomen and lap.

“Oh no! I’m sorry.” The girl says, lowering her head in shame.

“That’s quite alright, dear. You did amazing! Belle was sooo impressed. She isn’t angry at all. We’ll just get her cleaned right up.” Papa says, petting the girl’s head.

The girl looks up at the man and you notice her nose bleeding. Her eyes begin to blink rapidly and her legs give out. The older man catches her in time.

“You’ve used a lot of your energy for that. It shows how much you care for your new sister. Let’s clean you up for dinner. One…will you please help out with Belle? Get her into some of your clean clothes until I purchase some new clothing for her tomorrow.”

“Yes, Papa.” One nods.

The older man leaves and One stalks his way over to you with his hands out causing you to shift to the side to avoid any touching.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss.

He sighs. “Would you rather stay in those wet clothes? I’m sure it’s very cold against your skin.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m only trying to help,” He groans, looking back to make sure no one hears. “You want to survive here, then you must comply. No back talk. No fighting. Simply follow the rules. Then, you won’t be tied up.”

You stare into his eyes not being able to read anything in them. What is his deal?

“Okay.” You give in.

“I’m going to untie one limb at a time to remove your clothing. Remember…no fighting.”

You nod. “Just don’t be pervy about it.”

He chuckles. “I can assure you. I am not that kind of guy.”

He unties your first arm, trying to pull your tank top over your head. It was then you remembered that you hadn’t worn a bra underneath.

“Wait!” You panic.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m not wearing a bra.” You say, blushing.

“So?”

“So…my breasts will be on full display.”

“Were you not a sex worker? This should be nothing to you?”

You seethe. “First off, I am entitled to who is allowed to see my body. Secondly, I usually receive payment before showing them.”

“I promise you I will only do what was ordered of me and nothing more. You have my word. I should apologize for these circumstances, however. It does get better. Now may I resume?”

“Urgh, fine. Just make it quick.”

He removes one side of your shirt, sliding it down your other arm. Your freed nipples harden at the immediate contact with the air. You hoped he hadn’t noticed. Judging by his facial expressions, he seemed unbothered, simply going about the task as if it were a normal thing.

One makes his way to untie the other hand and remove your tank top completely off you. He goes into the drawer beside the bed for something for you to wear. You take this opportunity to sit up and quickly untie your legs. He spots this in the corner of his eyes, climbing on top of you and pinning your hands above your head.

“What did I say about fighting?” He threatens.

“Worth a shot.” You say.

It was a compromising position. Him, on top of your half naked body with your hands above your head. You were so familiar with this position through your work. Male clients loving to do it as a sign of dominance. It usually has an unsatisfying ending.

One’s warm breath ghosts the skin on your neck and it isn’t any help, only making you think more of the sinful deed. You cringe, shaking your thoughts.

“One! Dinner’s nearly finished. Please have Belle ready to join us.” Papa calls out.

“I’ll let go. Just please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Okay, but let me undress on my own.”

“No. Once the shirt’s on, I’ll be tying your hands again.”

“What about dinner? Will I be tied up then, too?”

“Yes, only until Papa could trust you.”

You groan. “Let me, at least, undress on my own. Then, you could tie me up all ya want.”

Also, something I’ve said in compromising situations.

“Alright, don’t make me regret this or we’ll both be in trouble.” One says as he unties your feet.

You stand up, stretching. It felt like you’d been in that position forever. You weren’t sure how much time passed since you were taken but the concept of time seems to not be a thing around here.

They don’t even have technology. No cellphones, laptops, or tablets. This is hell.

You lower your drenched skirt along with the pantyhose. You were now only in a thong, you glance over your shoulder to see if One was watching. He’s averted his gaze. You must’ve imagined it but…there seemed to be a sizeable bulge growing between his legs. He notices you looking at him and quickly places a hand over it as a cover.

You smirk. ‘Not that kind of guy’. Yeah, right.

“Well, aren’t you going to hand me some clothes?”

“Y-yes,” He holds out an oversized white T-shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have bottoms that will fit your…erm…bottom.”

Was that his way of letting me know that my ass is fat?

You bite your bottom lip to stifle a giggle.

“The shirt will fit you almost like a dress since you’re shorter than I.” One explains.

“I guess this will do,” You roll your eyes before pulling the shirt over your head and smoothing it on. “Let’s hope your Papa isn’t as much of a perv as you.”

“I-I am not.” He blushes.

—————

Dinner was as insufferable as it was awkward. The man who calls himself “Papa” would not stop talking about his discoveries at his job. Aside from your boredom, the others seemed to be enamored by the tales.

All you could think of was trying to loosen the knots on the rope. You were tied tightly to the dining room chair, having to be force fed by One. Every now and then, he’d give you the eye to remind you not to fight back. So, half-heartedly, you obliged taking in the mouthfuls of a casserole concoction you weren’t familiar with what exactly were the ingredients.

“Belle, are you enjoying your meal?” Papa smiles, taking another bite.

You look at One who gives you a subtle nod. “It’s good.” You simply say.

“I’m so glad! After dinner, we’re going to have family game night. It’ll be fun now that we can go in teams. It’ll be me and the little princess and you and One.”

“What game, Papa?” Eleven asks, excitedly.

“Scrabble! We could go on and practice some new vocabulary that you’ve learned, El.”

“Do we get a reward when we win?” One asks.

“You and your rewards,” Papa laughs. “Okay, I’ll entertain a wager. What would you like as your reward should you win?”

“To go outside.” He gives a small smile.

“Hmm, alright you can. But if I win…next movie night will be my pick. Deal?” Papa says, holding out his hand for One to shake.

“Deal.” They shake hands, firmly.

You are dumbfounded. That easily he’ll let you two go outside if you win. You’ll win with flying colors. Having doctors as parents, they knew a plethora of words and were certain to teach you them. Once you win, you can run outside and get far away from this godforsaken place.

Your smile’s wide.

“Oh, look, children. Belle looks so happy.”

Indeed, I am.

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