#henry creel/001

[oreosmama]

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

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

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

Enter: You.

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

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

Chapter 1

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

Word count: 4809

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then swatting the old harpy with her own weapon.

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

One day.

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

They watched you, or they blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No one would believe you.

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

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

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

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

What more could a person want out of life?

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

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

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

“I can tie your bow, if you like?”

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

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

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

“Yes…” you swallowed. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

“Should I be concerned they know that now?”

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. You could understand that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

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

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

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Musty shrew appeared to be a favorite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then him.

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

Your Highness.

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

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

But it wasn’t Prince Henry. Not quite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of all people. You.

You could retch at the thought.

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

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

No matter that they probably should.

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

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

Your back twinged in agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Highness.”

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

The prince?

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

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

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

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

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

Breathtaking in an entirely different way, you were sure.

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

Not even as his footsteps approach.

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

Prince Henry slows.

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

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

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

Prince Henry’s too close all over again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Royal approves. No blood on his hands.

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

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

Wonder.

Awe.

Envy.

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

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[bebx]

2 legendary characters portrayed by 2 legendary actors, Johnny and Jamie !!

@twihs-blog

[medium-rare-bimbo]

Faster than light thoughts

♡Masterlist♡

MINORS DNI

May contain stepcest, age gap, dubcon dark content

༺*:ﾟ･✧･:*:ﾟ･♡ readmore ♡･ﾟ:*:･✧･ﾟ:*༻

♡dark!!! CULT LEADER EDDIE !!! CULT LEADER EDDIE !!! CULT LEADER EDDIE !!!!!!! Imagine being his object of affection, the one he devotes his followers life to <3<3 did someone say virgin! Reader ?? 👁👁 yes me I did. He takes your virginity as a ritual, there are people surrounding your bed as he takes what's his, telling you that this is what needs to be done so you can ascend into a higher being

♡ chrissy, nancy, robin sleepover where they teach virgin! reader how to cum. Youd be so embarrassed to admit it :(( but that's okay they tell you its completely natural and to go at your own pace and not every boy is going to make you cum. Boys are useless! When you shamefully tell them that you've never EVER cum and that you havent even had your first kiss, they assure it that it's okay and robin offers to teach you <3 naturally you end up with your back against her chest and her fingers in your cunt, you had gotten fuzzy a while ago and everyone was fawning over you pretty pussy. They all take turns in fingering you and tasting you, you have the best sleep you've ever had ♡♡♡

♡ being fucked with a beer bottle <3 would be with either eddie or billy, they'd laugh at you while you cry about how gross it is

♡ cucking Jason <3 what better way to get back at your bully than fucking his girlfriend, chrissy deserves her tits in my mouth

♡ stealing their shirts so you can put it on a pillow and hump it later !!!!!

♡ making you squirt infront of people!! Maybe billy, thinking he gets an ego boost after it. Or eddie think he would let everyone have a go of making you squirt <3 such a sweetheart

♡ hopper catching you working at a strip club then blackmailing you after you beg for him not to tell anyone <3 he makes you fuck yourself dumb on his cock then mocks you when your legs go numb

♡ bimbo! crybaby! Reader getting her clit pinched after she gets bratty

♡ hybrid reader!! Hybrid reader !!! Hybrid reader!!!!!! Bunny! Puppy! Kitty! Cow! Bird! Bear! Lamb! Mouse!! SO MANY THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN!!!!!!!

♡ I think steve would like a kitty, all pretty and only exists for the purpose of looking good and being a hole to stuff <3<3 spoil me so much !!!! Or maybe a puppy, gets to leash me up and make me choke on his cock maybe breed me

♡ eddie would like a bunny, a soft little thing that can keep up with his fat loads of cum, or maybe a kitty who does nothing but lay there and mewl for his cum <3 he just wants a little dumb thing he can corrupt

♡ hopper likes the puppy because old grumpy men and puppies are soul mates!!! Hed be so strict but I'd love him for it !!! Make me feel so special 👁👁 piss kink with hopper x untrained puppygirl reader 👁👁 smoking a cigar while you cock warm him I'm all gooey inside

♡ I think billy would definitely be into cow hybrids 👁👁 cuz like hes the bull of Hawkins and I think he needs a little breeding cow and on milky titz to sucky suck👁👁 shy lil thing that follows him around

♡ robin would like a bird because they're so quiet and pretty!! Just so nice to look at and she would definitely love it when you try to groom her makes her feel so special!!! Or when you coo as shes eating you out omg !! loves how soft your lil wings are !!!

♡ nancy definitely be into puppygirls<3<3 I think shed love to just do whatever she pleases especially when you take everything she gives you, you're so obedient and eager to please her !!!!!!!!!

♡ argyle? Definitely a cow orr maybe a mouse, just wants someone whose soft and warm. Would let you sit on his cock while he smokes, all the praises !!! Stroke your pretty little thighs and pet your ears sucky sucky on those titties

♡ my sick little freak Jonathan? The original perv? Bear. Just something that lays there all pretty and soft, let's him take pictures!! His fav are when you're lying in the sun and he pulls your underwear to the side to see your pussy <3

♡ what if hybrid! boy/girlfriend !!!!!!

♡ AAAA WOLF EDDIE AND BUNNY READER IM GAGGING CHOKING NOT BREATHING, him wearing a muzzle!!! Spikey collar that leaves scratches in my thighs

♡ wolf steve and puppy reader 👁👁 wants to get you full of pups, all hairy and warm treats you so well<3 hunts you the biggest deer he can find just so he can prove how much of a good mate he is

♡ bear hopper x bunny reader <3<3 so big and warm so strong and smart he has to protect his little dumb cocksleeve, let's you have all the blankets for your nest!!! Soothes you when you cry because hes so big and doesnt fit in it :(( but its okay because he likes being pressed against you so tightly

♡ bull billy and cow reader !!! Hes so mean at first!! Always huffing and grunting at you making you think he hates you </3 makes all the others bully you because hes the alpha and whatever he says goes until some dumb new bulls start showing interest in HIS shy submissive mate he gets into so many fights!! Hates that they think they can have you >:00 YOURE HIS >:((( sneaks into your separated room (because everyone is so mean and the farmer cant have their pretty little Hefner sad) just so he can mark you as his. would 100% let's you touch his horns, but only you >:((

♡ dont get me started on heats and ruts

♡ breed me so good!!!! I'm going feral possibly even insane

♡ joyce + hopper with puppygirl!!! Makes my heart all gooey and gross, joyce would spoil you so much!!! Give you extra rewards and treats when you behave or when hop is being grumpy and strict! Definitely would stuff you with toys and make you lick them clean

♡ step dad! hopper digging out a bullet vibrator from his bimbo Step daughter after she gets it stuck inside her because shes so dumb </3

♡ brothers bestfriend/dealer! Eddie corrupting naive! Innocent! Virgin! Reader, him waiting for your roommate to arrive and he gets to know you so well

♡ scumbag! Stepbrother! Jonathan x innocent! Reader. making you sit on his lap, he blows smoke into your face all the time :((((( makes your eyes tear up and forget about his boner that hes rocking against your clothed cunt!! Dont get me started on his Best friend  perv! Argyle who is soooo nice to you but only so he can feel you up close against him

♡ theres a belt that has a lighter attached to it omg imagine eddie using it to light the blunt in your mouth omfg I'm going insane right now

♡ mean! eddie making his artist! Girlfriend draw porn only so he can cum on it and ruin it :(((

♡ being the new secretary at the police station and befriending hopper through your husband. Staying late one night, you and hop start talking which leads to you complaining to him about struggling to have a baby and how you're so worried that you may not be able too, he assures you that theres nothing wrong and even offers to help, your husband is oblivious when you become pregnant, he doesnt even bat an eye when the baby comes out huge (giant genes jim hopper ♡♡)

♡ argyle becoming a masseuse and getting a bit too handsy with his favourite client <3<3 his hands are amazing with pizza dough they would be amazing with my ass <3

♡ would I let Vecna absolutely destroy me? Yes I'm not a coward, I want his claws to make my hips bleed is that too much to ask? "BuT nYmPH hES UgLy aND scARY" and I'm horny so what

♡ you know those baby dolls that you have to take care of for like a week? Imagine being forced to take care of one with whoever, unfortunately it unlocks their breeding kink and they cant get the thought of you and their baby out of their head so it's only natural for them to stuff you full

♡ serial killer! eddie escaping from prison and hiding in your house!! Somehow convincing him to let you live by saying you'll cook him meals and clean him up, he forces you to be his housewife until you're no longer useful to him but once he gets his cock in your sweet tiny little hole he cant stand the thought of you being harmed. When the cops arrive to search your house he takes you with him because he cant just leave his personal fleshlight behind

♡ argyle fucking the new delivery girl, he drives you to the houses because there were too many complaints about him being high </3 but that's okay because your cute little face gets extra tips and he doesnt mind staying in the car especially when your skirt flips up as you climb off the seat. Would let you ride him after you come to the car all teary eyed after you get yelled at by a mean customer who wanted a new pizza

♡ perv! Robin, nancy and chrissy convincing innocent! Reader to try on new clothes infront of them, they assure you that you dont need to change in the bathroom because "they're all girls" they grope you claiming that they're "just making sure it fits right" they then make you try on some underwear that would look sooo cute on you. You think nothing of it until you're stood infront if them and you feel vibrations coming from the fabric pressing directly to your clit, but dont worry chrissy makes sure to catch you as your legs struggle to hold yourself up plus shes holding your hands <3<3 and robin is being so sweet and 'fixing you bra' while telling you how pretty you are, nancy is the sweetest however as she reaches down to help you with false concern, rubbing your clit "trying to make it stop"

♡ hopper x fairy! Nymph esc! Reader !!! He finds you in the forest and takes you back to his cabin because a little thing like you shoudlnt be out here all alone >:((  You're so curious of this big strong creature that took you with them that you follow them around like a puppy, so he shouldnt have been so shocked when you wondered into the bathroom and watched him while he showered, as much as he tried to shoo you away it was hopeless which is why he invited you to join him. Definitely not a ploy to see you naked

♡ want 001 to gaslight me while his cock tears me in two!! "It doesn't hurt that bad, you were made to hold my children how can you give birth if you cant take my cock?"

♡ steve x bimbo reader <3 he thinks you're so dumb and hes looking at you in shock most of the time because how can anyone be that stupid? But he doesnt mind because you're his housewife and he loves that you make him feel all gooey inside, you cook him meals and bake him desserts you're so good with the kids and dustin adores with his moms new girlfriend. When you come home from babysitting with eyes watering about how you have "baby fever" and how you "cant wait to have a baby of your own" he obviously takes the opportunity to help you, he cant have his favourite girl sad now

♡ joyce and karen getting wine drink with reader, they all start talking about how awful their husbands are in bed (let's pretend hopper isnt with joyce ♡) and how they're never satisfied luckily you've bought some new sex toys and because you're so generous you cant help but share with your best friends

♡ 001 being in charge of you at the facility means he watches you do everything, sleep, eat, shower, exist, all of it. Hes all you've ever known and it feels so natural for you to come to him about the ache between your legs

♡ the way I would suck the soul out of this man

♡ dark! Reader being absolutely infatuated with mr Phil Callahan after you gets arrested at a house party, you're always getting In trouble just so you can see him not even hoppers huge cock can make you behave, you want HIM. Thankfully callahan is a good man, a good citizen who would do anything to help someone in need, so when your bent over begging him to fuck you he cant refuse, he doesnt question how you got into his house or how you knew where he lived. Your pussy is worth it <3

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Will: I can hear him, feel him…

Mike: is he… is he saying anything now?

Vecna: personally, luv, I wouldn’t waste time on him. That outfit he came in was atrocious and you know it. He wore her favorite colors and didn’t even offer you a handshake or anything? Dearie? Do better you deserve much more than that. Anyway your mom friend is gay and my new puppet boy is madly in love with him. Steve ain’t it? A beauty that one.

Will:… I don’t.. I don’t feel comfortable saying everything. But he judged my life choices..

[oscarwildebutwilder]

JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER as HENRY CREEL | Stranger Things S4E7 "The Massacre at Hawkins Lab"

[laurienotteddy]

part 5 of stranger things textposts by me

prev

[magnolias-make-me-happy]

“joseph quinn is the sexiest man alive” i say into the mic, the crowd boos. i begin to walk off the stage in shame. “no, she’s right!” i hear a voice in the back say. the lights come on. it’s jamie campbell bower.

[endiness]

ONE Stranger Things 4.07 "The Massacre at Hawkins Lab"

[oreosmama]

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

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 

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

Enter: You.

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

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

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

Word count: 4328

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

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

Decidedly, you had three hours left. 

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

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

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

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

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

The candle had finally gone out. 

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

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

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

Spider.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet, at least.”

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

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

Or worse—a member of the royal family. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. He never would. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watches, seeming somewhat interested, as you struggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

A chime, maybe.

Or a knell. 

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

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

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

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

And you can’t seem to look away. 

No. 

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

A fourth chime, earsplitting. 

They buckle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath away from becoming nothing. 

So what stopped it?

Even more—what started it?

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

You went still. 

Heat. 

Heat in the library. 

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

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

Dear God. 

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

Terribly heady.

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

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

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

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

That was just not possible. 

Impossible. 

Maybe. 

“YN!” 

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

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

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

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

You knew what she saw. 

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

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

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

Fresh meat. 

Dead meat. 

And you hadn’t even done anything. 

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

Or, rather, for a quick recovery. 

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

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

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

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

You tense at her actions, mind falling blank. 

No. He couldn’t be. 

Your Highness? Your Highness?

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

Waiting.

He is.

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of the Creel Dynasty.

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

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

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

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

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

You watch them as they hesitate in front of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No crying. 

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

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

You flinch. 

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

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

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

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

A seasoned backhand. Was there anything worse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tears don’t stop for hours.

Masterlist    Next

[bebx]

I know Vecna was watching the whole thing with a Starbucks drink and a bowl of popcorn on his lap

[medium-rare-bimbo]

Thinking about thoughts

♡Masterlist♡

MINORS DNI

May contain Dubcon, age gap, dark characters, somnophilia, stepcest

༺*:ﾟ･✧･:*:ﾟ･♡ readmore ♡･ﾟ:*:･✧･ﾟ:*༻

♡ sucking steve and Billy's cocks when they've just finished their basketball practice they suffocate you in their balls

"God you're fucking disgusting bet you're getting off on this arent you?"

"Billy be nice shes too dumb to care about a little bit of sweat"

♡ eddie would bite your boobs </3 would probably make your nipples bleed then flick them through your shirt

♡ I love the whole "stuck in the washing machine" porn plot <3 maybe you hosted a small get together at your house (Nancy, robin, eddie, steve, Jonathan, billy, argyle) and you quickly decide that you need to grab something from your room. Its stored at the back of your bed so you have no other choice but to crawl underneath to get it, unfortunately your bed frame decides to fall just as you were pulling out leaving you stuck with your back arched. Thankfully your friends hear your yells and come to help you but not before they have some fun with you first, you're covered in cum and spit by the end. Your cunt all puffy swollen and sore but your night doesnt end there because they soon find out that they cant Lift the bed :((( meaning they have to call for help, big strong hopper shows up and stretches you out even more but eventually pulls you out from beneath the crushed bed.

♡ billy would 110% fuck you then take pictures of you just to show to his teammates (who tried to flirt with you) that you were his

♡ •whoever• helping there favourite cheerleader stretch, pressing your legs to you chest as they repeatedly hit that special spot that makes you feel all gooey inside

♡ rockstar! eddie fucking you on stage 👁👁

♡ billy/eddie making you cry just so they can wipe your tears and jerk off with them. They're being so mean to you, tears are streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto their cock

♡ mrs wheeler had a bad date night and comes home wine drunk, you're having a sleepover with nancy (whose already asleep) you stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water when you hear her enter. You're not sure how you ended up with her red lipstick smudged between your thighs or your swollen, juice soaked lips but you're not complaining especially when she invites you over the next day

♡ robin really likes your boobs. Almost in a obsessive kinda way. Theyre always so sore and bruised from how much she sucks on them, there are small crescent moon shaped cuts from where she squeezes them aswell as finger shaped marks. Shes always so sorry when you whine in pain as struggle to put your bra on choosing to just pull your shirt on without the wired piece of fabric, her apologies are insincere as she cant help but gawk at your chest and your hardened nipples. It's a win her book

♡ steve x bimbo! reader who loves skating !! He always sees you in your mini skirts and roller skates but can never seem to get the opportunity to talk to you that is until you come into family video looking for some elvis movie for your grandma, despite his charm and flattery you're too dumb to understand his flirting and brush him off he assumed  you were playing hard to get and Almost like clock work youd come in every week to return and rent a new movie then indirectly reject him. Steve had gotten tired of the schedule you had both fallen into when he decided to ask you directly

"Are you not interested in me or something? Am I getting the wrong signals? Because everytime i try to flirt with you, you just ignore it.  Arr you ju- just not into men? Or-"

"Oh my god! I didnt know you were flirting with me silly! like I dont think you ever said something in a flirty way. And by the way as much as I love women I also totally love men maybe not as much but that's not important. You know if I had known you were flirting I would've soo gone out with you I mean-"

He coudlnt believe his ears, you didnt know he was flirting with you? He used the most obvious pick up lines

"W-wait what do you mean you didnt know I was flirting with you?"

"Well it's not like you asked me to bend over so how was I supposed to know?"

"...I dont think that's flirting"

You felt so bad for him :((( you couldnt believe how dumb you were for not realising sooner </3 luckily for Steve his break was soon which gave you a chance to make up for it, although the storage room was not the ideal place for you to be on your knees you couldnt find a thought to care.

♡ eddie would bite your pussy. Nobody else will say it but he would be devouring your cunt then bite you

♡ breeding kink! With dark! Steve!!! Hed fuck you anytime he gets the chance, bent over the sink? Boom cock in you, in the shower? Boom filled, when you sleep? BOOM BOOM BOOM COCK

♡ sucking on man titties 👁👁

♡ hehe flayed billy making you eat ice before you suck him off because he likes the cold

♡ hopper cucking Phil!! Fucks his pretty lil wife right in front of him, hes tied up with a cock ring !!!! Hopper threatens to knock you up and claim you !!!

♡ argyle jerking off infront of you <3<3 you're getting high in the back of his van and he cant help but get turned on by the look of you, you've always been close and in the drug induced haze you cant help but let him stroke himself especially when he asks so nicely

♡ nancy has so many toys its insane, shes also very adamant about using them on you

♡ eddie in panties!!!! Eddie in panties!! MY PRETTY BOY!!! dont think this means hes going to be submissive for you if anything he gets meaner maybe he makes you wear them after he gets all his cum smeared on the inside

♡ stepdad hopper fingering you under the table at dinner !!! His thick fingers sliding against your gummy walls, he sucks off your juices playing it off as him enjoying his food

♡ billy pulls your pussy apart just to spit on it before eating, sometimes smacks your clit too just so see it swell up, likes forcing his fingers into you so he can feel how you try to push him out. Hes probably tattooed his name on to your mound

♡ eddie pretends to pray before spitting on your clit, he uses his pointer finger to move his salvia around maybe nibbles at it too. He just likes watching your hips jerk towards him, gets him worked up to know that only he can please you

♡ steve kisses your clit but not just a simple peck this man makes out with your clit !!! He sucks and swirls his tongue around it practically forces his faces as close as he can get. He loves tasting you, he loves knowing that you juices linger on him

♡ argyle loves stretching your pussy apart to watch your hole clench around nothing. He thinks your cunt is the prettiest thing hes ever seen and could spend forever looking at it. He eats you out slowly trying to prolong leaving his space between you thighs, his lips are swollen by the end and his face is covered in your juices

♡ Jonathan kisses your clit before going down on you, his mouth is all over you and hes constantly lapping up the juices that spill out of you. His fingers are buried inside of you and are moving from your hole to his mouth

♡ hopper is mean and spits on you aswell as spanks your poor cunt. He fingers you so expertly that you feel like you're in heaven, his mouth never leaves your clit and you're all sensitive the next morning from his moustache. He prolongs your orgasms until your screaming and crying for release

♡ nancy is also mean </3 she gets you on the floor and presses her foot into you covered pussy, she makes it seem like such a hassle to eat you out but her actions contradict as shes always pulling down you panties to press you against her mouth

♡ 001 is the worst of the worst that man loves watching you wither in whatever pain mixed pleasure he gives you, hes so mean and always bites and pinches your clit. You rarely get to cum when he goes down on you, only granting you permission when you're wrapped around his cock

♡ robin is in awe everytime she gets to taste you, shes constantly looking up at you as you whine and moan. Shes spent hours training herself to know your weak spots, she makes you cum so many times that you can barely keep your eyes open. She loves looking at your fucked out face and wet thighs

♡ chrissy is so sweet!! When the rest of the cheerleaders have left the locker room and have gone home you're both left alone. You're feeling bad about not perfecting a move and she has to make sure you're feeling good. She takes her time with you making sure you feel loved, she has you sat on a bench with her kneeling on the ground. Shes suffocating herself between your thighs and she wouldnt have it any other way

♡ innocent(?) Reader wants to know if cocks can get hickeys, luckily her boyfriend/bestfriend is willing to help in her experiment

♡ mean girl! Bimbo! Reader calls dark! Eddie's friendgroup "a bunch of virgin incels" he corners her and forces her into the hellfire room. He then shows her how much of a "virgin incel" he is

♡ prince! Steve,  banished! Eddie, rival! Prince! Billy, royal painter! Jonathan (no cameras so hes a painter now) royal cook! Argyle, king! hopper, princess! Nancy, royal advisor! Robin x maid! Reader (maybe not all at once but the thoughts are there)

♡ mechanic! Scumbag! Eddie who always says theres something wrong with bimbo! Readers car just so he can see her, he always gets under the car when youre wearing your infamous mini skirts. Hes so nice to you and you get him lunch when hes been working so hard <3<3 his only desired payment is your tight warm hole <3<3<3<3<3<3

♡ 001 getting obsessed with Billy's girlfriend after he possesses him <3<3 hunts you down after billy is killed, traps you in the creel house to be his housewife

♡ hopper breed me challenge, want to be his dumb personal fleshlight whose only good for being his house wife

♡ argyle hate fucking dominos worker! Reader

♡ perv! eddie has a set of dice that has been blessed by your pussy, thinking innocent! reader wanted to know how to play dnd and goes to eddie only for him to get carried away and just stuffing you with dice. Probably got bored and somehow convinced you to get on his lap, he held your down as he rubbed your clit as he forced the 20 sided die inside of you. He keeps a die on him at all times tucked away in his jeans, it's his good luck charm the rest get stored next to his bedside table where he kisses them goodbye before hellfire

♡ mrs wheeler boobs in my mouth please !!!!!! Got a vibrator pressed against eachother, she calls me her little baby and I just AEAKSBWON

♡ being Jonathan's girlfriend and coming to meet his parents only to be face first in Joyce's pussy with hoppers fat cock in your womb <3<3<3

♡ innocent(?)! Stalker! Reader takes pictures of herself naked, posed on her teddy pair, in her cotton panties, in the shower, fingers deep in her cunt just so she can give them to her favourite people. Thankfully shes always wore long skirts and baggy cardigans so nobody can trace back whose body it is

♡ I'm still not a furry but I 170% believe that eddie needs a bunny girlfriend (aka me)

♡ vampire eddie chasing down nymph! Fairy! reader to have his way with her

♡ bear! Hopper fucking bunny! Reader over fallen tree maybe it's just regular hopper and his fairy/nymph! Fuck toy

♡ AAAAA dark! Eddie coming home after a bad day finding you sleeping on the couch, he needs relief and you're the perfect thing. He climbs on top of you fucking you awake with his pierced cock.

♡ billy cums on your pussy before the day starts just so your cunt gets nice and moisturized with his seed

♡ eddie walks around the trailer with his hand down his pants he says it's to keep them warm but hes really just touching himself

♡ picnic in the woods where I just get fucked dumb and fed fruit <3 taken back to a cabin where I'm all warm and naked near the fire <3<3<3<3<3<3

♡ 👁👁 Murray keeping nymph! Reader as a pet as much as he likes his strange horny creature he cant keep up with your stamina so calls for backup from his good ol friend hopper

[inklore]

teach me to be cruel.

premise: bad girls get rewarded, good girls get nothing.

pairing: peter ballard x (f)reader

word count: 1.20k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, dark, fingering, orgasm denial, mentions of murder and blood, peter is a warning himself, slight degradation, undertones of manipulation.

etc: we’ve finally made it here, i’ve finally done it, it was only a matter of time before another devilish blonde man consumed me, this is not shocking lmao.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

The hard concrete at your back, the blades of your shoulder pressed into it, is cold and seeps through your gown. The heat from your body is radiating off of you like a furnace as if his fingers between your legs were hot pokers that were sparking small flames in your insides until an inferno has started up and you feel like every organ and bone in your body is being melted down to something plabable; like the play-doh the children play with in the rainbow room.

The wire to your morality vacant and lacking a pulse. Sometimes you wondered if there was something wrong with it, that moral part of your brain that everyone has for basic human survival. “Sometimes it gets crossed with another wire, an evil one” Papa had said. Looking at you with about as much interest as he does when he’s ordering the group of you to throw each other across the room, upon your asking of what made someone bad. Cruel.

The answer had done little to make you run off of the beaten path you currently walked along. It hadn’t made that moral wire in your brain go off and rethink this. Rethink meeting him in closets. Rethink using your powers to turn afternoon sneaks into nightly rendezvous between your bed sheets; his hand pressed to your mouth, his deep grunts of “You don’t know how to be quiet do you? Pathetic” in your ear. A smirk on his lips when you looked up at him and gave him those pleading eyes, the ones with tears at your ducts and devotion filled in them like a hornets nest ready to be opened and released onto the world.

It’s where his interests lie with you.

You were a hornets nest he kept kicking until you were nothing but a carcass of something made to be strong, to house something that was supposed to give life. And now all you do is take it away, for him. But wasn’t that your purpose here? To be used for what you have, for what you were. The only difference between him and Papa was that you were in love with him. Devoted.

When you did something bad, made others bleed for fun, on accident, because you went too far, were too powerful; Peter never scolded. Never reprimanded. He filled that whole of shame in you, that morality with something thick and suffocating, something that felt more like home than this sterile hell you were born in.

So why should you feel bad when his fingers are between your legs, or his tongue? Those moral feelings of how wrong it is to let him mold and shape your molten insides that he’s burned into his perfect killing machine to help him with his vision: had no home inside of you.

The wires of power and devotion—lust—wrapping around any good wire you had until it was strangled and all you had left was the bad, the evil that Peter kissed, sucked, and fucked in and out of you.

His fingers inside of you right now is the only kind of good you want, need. His thumb rubbing hard strokes into your clit, forearm resting on the wall beside your head. His scowl is deep, his lips red and raw from how hard he had kissed you—from the teeth you had bit into his bottom lip to silent your moans, so no one would hear through the door as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Here I thought you knew how to listen to directions.” You can trace the annoyance in his voice right back to the girl in the infirmary right now. Body twisted in pain, heart still beating. The weakling he encouraged you to end the suffering of—one of many he’s asked you to take care of for him.

“I did.” You say in puffs, your jaw going slack for half a second when you feel the curl of one of his fingers and it makes your fists ball at your sides, your legs shaking. “She–I–”

His free hand is at the back of your neck squeezing the muscle there, making you look directly at him, a wince of pain replacing your stuttering and getting lost in the mixture of pleasure between your thighs. “She’s still alive. She’s still suffering, even more now that you’ve broken her bones.” The blue of his irises are dark, like a sea you’re drowning in. The casting shadow of his scowl making them appear almost black. “You didn’t listen to directions,” the up tick of the corner of his mouth only makes your stomach sink lower. Leaning his face close to your lips, enough to have your eyes straining to look up at his height, “and now you don’t get to cum.”

The whine you let out is a mix of frustration and anguish at words, and the stretch of him adding a third finger inside of you—something you could take, pleaded for when you couldn’t have the stretch of his cock. But as his fingers press up and move faster, quicker, the squelch of your wetness louder than your ragged gasps from trying to keep quiet. The pressure of his thumb still moving against your clit so good that you know this has nothing to do with your pleasure, this is a punishment.

You didn’t follow orders and now he wants to see if you even know how to; don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.

Peter thinking you were anything less than his devoted disciple was the only thing that could bring you to tears. Not his cruelty, not the bloodshed he’s helped paint your hands with. He was your only weakness, and the only thing that could make you possess any grotesque human condition; love.

And he knows it, brings a smile to his face. Loved using it against you in and out of your bed; teasing you until you were so sickly weak for him to touch you—to fuck you, “you look so beautiful when you have that pathetic look on your face” he’d confess into your ear as he fucked you from behind; “this is the way you were meant to look, covered in their blood, beautiful” he’d declare as he ran his fingers over the dried blood on your tits as he thrusted into you.

He loved your love for him. Just as he loved your power. He could use it. Consume it.

What he didn’t love was good. It only caused disappointment and that’s what you have done. Disappointed him. The girl was still alive and you were being punished for it.

“I’m,” you swallow, whimper. “I’m sorry, please.”

His grin is dark, demented, dead. “Begging only makes it worse.” He presses his lips to your forehead, whispers against it. “Focus. Because if you cum, you won’t for a week.”

“Please,” You can feel your walls throbbing, clenching, swelling around his fingers. That low ache in your belly that feels more like a death sentence right now than it usually does when Peter’s touching you like this.

"You haven't shown me you've earned it. I think you've forgotten our purpose here.” There’s no pity in his eyes as he runs his nose down the bridge of yours, pulling back to grin down at you. “Good girls don’t get to cum.”

[cuethemulti]

Mans really said 🧍

[oscarwildebutwilder]

I spent years with One. Right here. In this very room.

[kaylawritesfics]

Could we get a Peter Ballard x fem!reader fanfic where they fall asleep cuddling in her bed and Peter accidentally forgets to go back to his own room so they get found out by Brenner? With Peter being all protective and ‘don’t touch her’ over the reader and like trying to take all the blame and hiding her behind him to try and keep her safe? Fluffy ending please. Sorry I know it’s pretty detailed lol

71. “You can’t take her, please! I’ll do anything, I swear!”

summary: after he spends the night in your room, your secret relationship with peter is discovered.

pairing: peter ballard x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, slight torture?

note: this is a little long i will add a read more tag to it tomorrow !!

You woke to the soft sounds of Peter’s delicate breathing. His messy, blonde hair was sprawled across your pillows and his head was tucked into the crook of your neck. His arms were wrapped loosely around your waist and below the white blanket that was covering the two of you, your legs were intertwined, creating a mess of limbs.

You slowly turned your body to face him, dragging a single finger down the bridge of his nose and across his lips. His face was illuminated only by the small stream of light coming in through the blinds of your window. You studied the details of his face; the way his lips were a little chapped, the way his long eyelashes fell gently onto his cheeks, and the redness of his nose, which indicated the winter weather could be felt even from inside the lab. A small smile made its way onto his face, giving away his awakening. “You’re staring,” he whispered, his eyes still closed as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “You’re so beautiful, Peter,” you whispered back, continuing to draw little shapes across his face with your index finger. His nose scrunched as you found a ticklish point near the base of his ear.

Quick, constant footsteps throughout the hallway outside you room alerted both of you to the time. It was well past the time Peter would usually sneak away back to his own room. A pit of anxiety began to grow in your stomach as Peter’s eyes fluttered open and he held a finger to his lips, signaling you to remain quiet. He calmly placed a soothing kiss to the crown of your head, untangling himself from you and standing up. He had fallen asleep in his work clothes, which were now wrinkled and he looked quite disheveled. Doing his best to make himself seem more presentable, he placed an ear against your door, listening intently for any sign of approaching footsteps. When he concluded that it was safe, he cracked the door open, peering out. Before exiting, he sent you a grin and a promise to see you later.

The rainbow room was your favorite in the entire building. The children were allowed to play and explore using their talents and you were allowed more time with Peter, who often patrolled the room with you. You noticed that he looked far more presentable than he did that morning, his hair was neatly fixed and he had changed his clothes, opting for an outfit with less wrinkles. To preserve the secrecy of your relationship, the two of you chose not to interact very much in front of the children, however, the lingering glances spoke enough for the both of you. From his place next to 011, Peter caught your stare, sending you a barely noticeable wave and a tight smile.

The sound of a door opening caught the attention of everyone in the room. Dr. Brenner entered the room, eyeing each of the children before his eyes finally landed on you. “Miss Y/L/N and Mr Ballard, I need to see both of you in my office,” the tone of his voice frightened you and you sent a worried glance towards Peter, who kept his eyes on Brenner. The two of you followed Dr. Brenner out of the rainbow room and down the scarily white hallways of the lab.

Brenner’s office was a place you had visited very rarely. The walls were white and decorated only by various awards he’d won over the years. Everything seemed to have a specific place and was organized neatly. Two guards stood menacingly on either side of the room and you gulped as you suspected what this was about. Brenner took a seat behind his desk, motioning for you and Peter to take the two chairs across from him. “I suspect the two of you know what this is about,” Brenner leaned forehead, intertwining his fingers on top of his desk. “Perhaps you should blame Mr. Ballard’s blatant ignorance and disregard for security cameras,” Brenner’s dark eyes fell on you as he spoke, his tone becoming more hostile as he continued. When neither you not Peter responded, Brenner motioned the guards forward. “Take them to the electric shock room,” he demanded, standing and casually stretching his limbs.

Peter’s chair created a loud screeching noise that captured the attention of the room as he abruptly stood up. He struggled against the guard’s grip, thrashing about as he tried to free himself. The other guard quickly grabbed you by the arms, dragging you slightly. “Don’t touch her!” Peter’s unusually gruff voice rang through the air as he tried to reach for you. “It was my fault! Please, she didn’t do anything!” He begged, tears filling his waterline as he attempted once more to free himself. “You can’t take her, please! I’ll do anything, I swear!” Brenner seemed to perk up at Peter’s words and emotions, holding up a hand to stop the guard from dragging you from the room. “If Mr. Ballard wants to take the blame for this, we’ll let him. Escort Miss Y/L/N to her room and take Mr. Ballard to the electric shock room.” Peter’s eyes never left yours as he was violently dragged from the room and down the hall.

You didn’t see Peter for the rest of the day, choosing to lock yourself into your room and hide in your bed instead. As night fell, your room became too dark to see, however, as your door knob rattled and turned, a bright light filled the room from the hall. You peaked up over your blanket, watching as Peter made his way slowly into your room, softly closing the door behind him. A groan escaped his lips as he sat down on your bed, pain evident on his face. “Peter?” You mumbled, crawling over to him and wrapping your arms around his back, resting your head on his back. “Hi, darling,” he greeted, visibly relaxing at your touch. You gently pulled him down to lay beside you, your hand finding his hair. “Why’d you take the blame?” You inquired, running a hand through soft, blonde locks. He smiled wryly, closing his eyes at the feeling of your hands tugging through his hair.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe.”