summary: You try running away from the house but Henry catches you before you enter the cave. Now he has to punish you.
word count: 3.0k+
pairing: henry creel x fem!reader
notes: i do have to give inspo credit to @wireddless and this drabble she did. because of that drabble i realized i needed more and this happened, lol. hope it's okay!
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, slight dub-con, smut, manipulation, guilt tripping, edging, orgasm denial, fingering, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare?
The screen door slapped hard against its frame as Henry’s hand yanked you backwards through it, your heels scraping desperately over the warped floorboards. His grip was absolute—each finger a vice around your wrist, indifferent to your pleas and squirming, nails digging crescent-moons into your skin when you twisted in one last, futile bid to wrench free.
He didn’t look at you. His eyes were set straight ahead, face carved with anger, jaw sharp and silent. You tried to plant your feet—he barely slowed, just lifted you off-balance and hauled you up the staircase, your shoulder slamming the wall as you tried, half-panicked, to find purchase on the banister. The house rang with the noise, an ugly, echoing thud. He still didn’t pause. “Henry—please—” It was a gasp, half-sob, breathless from the run and the terror.
He cut you off with a hard shake. “You almost made it to the cave,” he muttered, voice dark, almost impressed in its coldness. “Almost.” He shouldered open the bedroom door and flung you inside, letting you stumble and sprawl across the thick rug. As you scrambled to your knees, breath rattling in your chest, you didn’t look back at him—you didn’t dare.
The door boomed closed. Henry was on you before you could stand, grabbing your upper arm, forcing you around to face him. You tried to twist away, shoving at his chest. He didn’t budge. The movement only seemed to amuse him, the corners of his lips curling in something dangerously close to a smirk.
“Fighting me?” he asked, voice soft and curious as if he were observing a wild animal, not a person. His hand slid up to your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek until your eyes watered. “You think that’s going to save you?”
You couldn’t help the shake in your voice. “Let me go. Please, I wasn’t—I was just—”
“Just what?” He pushed you gently backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you collapsed onto it. His body loomed over you, all broad shoulders and cold, blue eyes. “You weren’t thinking. You don’t think. You react. You run.”
His hands were hot on your skin, one at your throat, not squeezing, just holding you down—reminding you how easy it would be if he decided to. The other traced your hairline, almost tender, fingers grabbing onto the back of your neck. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?” His voice dropped, suddenly rough. “You could have tripped in the dark, broken your neck. Or maybe someone else would have found you—someone who doesn’t care what happens to you at all. Not like I do.”
You closed your eyes, blinking back tears, trying to turn away. He tsked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “No. Look at me. You need to understand this. I am the only reason you’re alive. The only reason you haven’t been hurt. I protect you—every day. And this is how you thank me?”
You squirmed again, pulling at his wrist, but he held you fast, his strength unyielding. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of crying, but your eyes burned, vision blurring.
He leaned closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm and steady, a sick intimacy in the way he hovered just above your lips. “You’re lucky I found you first,” he murmured, his voice suddenly honey-sweet, full of dangerous, false comfort. “You don’t realize how cruel the world can be. I do. I see what you’re too naïve to understand. You’d be dead without me.”
A tremor shook through you. You hated how your body reacted to his touch—how heat bloomed low in your belly even as your mind screamed to get away. Henry’s hand slid from your chin down to your throat, his thumb stroking over your pulse. “Do you want to be safe?” he whispered, tone coaxing, seductive. “Or do you want to risk everything, again and again, just to spite me?”
“I—I don’t—” Your voice failed you. The humiliation of being caught, the ache of his grip, the fear—it all twisted inside, making you dizzy.
Henry’s expression softened, but it wasn’t kind; it was predatory, almost pleased. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” He brushed his lips against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. “You need me. You don’t even know how much yet.”
Your body shivered beneath him, thighs pressed together, trying to make yourself smaller. He pressed you flat against the bed, his thigh between yours, forcing you open. “You’re so stubborn,” he said, almost fondly. “Always testing me. I have to teach you. Again and again. And you never learn.”
He paused, taking in the tears slipping down your cheeks, the defiance still burning in your gaze. His eyes flashed, something wicked behind the icy calm. “Maybe I haven’t been strict enough,” he murmured, thumb smearing a tear away with agonizing slowness. “Maybe you need to be reminded what happens when you forget who you belong to.”
You shook your head, words caught behind your teeth, but he only laughed, soft and cruel. “You want to run? Go ahead. See how far you get next time. But for now—” He shifted, pinning you harder, his weight a promise. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you properly.”
His voice was low, menacing, yet almost gentle. His grip never loosened, even as you writhed—just enough to show you still had some fire left. You tried to twist out from beneath him, but he used his weight, his presence, to force you down, breath coming fast and shallow against your ear.
He smiled, slow and cold. “Keep fighting, if you want. See how far it gets you. All you do is prove how much you need me.”
The mattress dipped under his knees, the world narrowed to his hands on your body, the sick pulse of arousal and dread mixing in your veins, his breath hot at your jaw, teeth grazing skin, voice a velvet threat:
“Let’s see if you learn this time.”
Henry’s hands moved with an infuriating slowness, heavy palms skating down your trembling body, mapping every inch as if memorizing the contours of your fear and stubbornness. His fingertips hooked under the elastic of your panties, dragging the thin fabric down your thighs. The backs of his knuckles grazed your skin, a touch both deliberate and dismissive—he wasn’t in a hurry, he wanted you to feel how casual this was for him, how completely in control.
The air was thick, hot with anticipation and the humiliation of being laid bare under his gaze. You tried to close your legs, but his knee wedged itself between them, forcing you open, exposing you to the cool air and his hungry, assessing stare. He sat back just enough to admire his handiwork, one hand braced by your hip, the other lazy and taunting, cupping the heat between your legs. He brushed his thumb idly over your clit, featherlight, barely there, making your whole body jerk involuntarily, a choked gasp slipping from your lips before you could stop it.
“Oh, look at you,” Henry murmured, voice syrupy with condescension. “Always so defiant until I’ve got you like this. You don’t even know what you want, do you?” He circled your clit again, almost a tease, watching the flush creep up your chest, the way your hips tried to arch up for more, desperate for any real friction.
Your hands fisted in the sheets, nails digging in, breath coming in tiny, ragged shivers. “Stop—please, Henry, just—”
He cut you off with a tut, bending over to press his mouth hot and close against your ear. “You want me to stop?” His fingers slid down, parting your folds, slicking themselves with your arousal as if to prove a point. “That’s not what your body says.” He rubbed slow, lazy circles over your clit, two fingers dipping down to tease your entrance, pressing in just enough to make your muscles clench around nothing. Every movement was calculated, designed to drive you mad with need while keeping you just out of reach.
He pressed a little harder, making you whimper, your hips rolling in spite of yourself, seeking more, begging for it. He grinned, voice low and pleased. “Look at you. I barely touch you and you’re already soaking. That’s what happens when you disobey—you make a mess and I have to clean it up.”
You tried to turn away, mortified, but he caught your chin, forcing you to face him, eyes sharp and demanding. “You want to come, don’t you?” His fingers stilled, just barely inside you, refusing to move until you answered.
You hesitated, shame warring with need, but your body answered for you—a needy buck of your hips, a strangled whine in your throat. Henry laughed, the sound dark and knowing. “I knew it. But you don’t get to come yet. Not until you mean it. Not until you’re sorry. Not until I believe you.”
He dragged his fingers back up, circling your clit with maddening patience, teasing but never giving enough. You squirmed beneath him, the pleasure too much and not enough, a sharp ache building inside you, heat pooling deep and urgent in your belly.
“Say it,” he commanded, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Tell me you’re sorry. Like you mean it.”
You shook your head, biting your lip, the words stuck in your throat. He pressed a little harder, the pads of his fingers slipping over your clit in slow, lazy circles that made your thighs tremble. He leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, breath hot and ragged. “Don’t make me wait all night,” he warned, a mock patience in his voice that sent a cold thrill down your spine.
He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, knuckles deep, stretching you slow and deliberate, curling up to stroke that sensitive spot that made your whole body arch off the bed. Your mouth dropped open, a helpless moan pouring out, raw and desperate, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.
“Say it,” he repeated, thrusting his fingers slowly, almost carelessly, as if he could do this forever, as if your pleasure—or your torment—meant nothing to him except as a lesson. “Or I’ll stop. Right now. I’ll leave you like this, aching, desperate, until you learn to be good for me.”
Your pride fought back, stubborn, tears prickling at your eyes, but the pleasure was overwhelming, impossible to ignore. He shifted, pressing his thumb against your clit while his fingers fucked you slow and deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge but never letting you fall.
“Please,” you gasped, voice breaking, body shaking with the effort to hold back, to not give him the satisfaction.
He tsked, shaking his head. “Not good enough. I want to hear you beg. I want to hear you mean it.”
You broke, the shame and need twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice raw, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Henry, please, I’m sorry—”
He smiled, wicked and triumphant, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “That’s my girl.” His fingers sped up, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure, drawing desperate, needy sounds from your lips. “Now come for me. Show me how sorry you are.”
The orgasm crashed over you, violent and overwhelming, your whole body seizing beneath him, cries echoing in the room, every nerve ending aflame with relief and humiliation. He held you through it, fingers milking every last tremor from your body, watching with dark, satisfied eyes as you fell apart for him.
He didn’t stop until you were boneless and gasping, the lesson burned into your skin. His hand finally left you, sliding up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing away the tears, his voice low and almost gentle.
“Maybe now you’ll think twice before running,” he murmured, a threat and a promise tangled together, as he leaned in to claim your mouth with his.
Henry’s hands slid from your jaw down to your collarbone, rough and unhurried, fingertips ghosting over sensitive skin as he pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders. The fabric slipped down your arms, pooling at your waist, exposing trembling skin to the dim light. He caught your gaze, the ice in his blue eyes thawing into something heavier, more wounded than angry.
His palm flattened over your heart, thumb tracing a circle just above your breast. “You really wanted to leave me that badly?” he murmured, voice low, not harsh but laden with an ache that twisted in your gut. “You were going to run from me? After everything I do for you?”
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled with a shaky breath. Henry’s fingers found the clasp of your bra and undid it with a deft flick, letting the final scrap of modesty fall away. He nudged the dress the rest of the way off, his knuckles grazing your thighs, making your breath stutter.
He held you there, stripped bare and shivering, under the weight of his stare. “I’m not angry, darling. Not really.” He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the line of your jaw, warm breath feathering down your neck. “But it hurts. It hurts, knowing you’d rather risk yourself out there than stay with me. Am I really that awful?”
His question crawled beneath your skin. Tears welled up, blurring the world around his face, your throat tight. “No, Henry—no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I just—” Your voice cracked, and you buried your face in the hard muscle of his shoulder, shame burning your cheeks.
He shushed you softly, hands soothing over your ribs. His body pressed into yours, heat and need and ownership all wrapped up in the way he handled you—unyielding, but never hurried. He sat back just enough to undo his own pants, pushing them down over his hips, cock heavy and flushed, the sight of it making your insides twist with nervous anticipation. He didn’t bother to take his shirt off, just let it hang open as he guided your legs apart, body slotted perfectly between them.
He leaned over you, chest brushing your nipples, the scratch of fabric against your bare skin sending a shiver up your spine. His hands framed your face, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine,” he said, soft and final, a statement of fact that demanded no answer. “Say it.”
You swallowed hard, tears spilling over, voice small and raw. “I’m yours, Henry. I’m sorry. I’m yours.”
He kissed you, slow and punishing, teeth scraping your bottom lip as his hips pressed forward. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, slick and aching, your body already yielding from the rough tease he’d given you before. He slid into you in one long, deliberate thrust, filling you completely, stretching you open until your mouth dropped open on a shuddering gasp.
Henry’s breath was hot against your ear as he bottomed out, holding himself deep inside. “You feel that?” he whispered, moving his hips just enough to make you clench helplessly around him. “No one else will ever have you like this. No one else gets to see you fall apart. You’re mine, and you’ll never run from me again.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, shame and relief warring inside you, body clinging to him as he started to move—slow, possessive thrusts, each one claiming you again and again. His hands roamed everywhere: cupping your breasts, gripping your waist, pinning your wrists above your head only to let go and cradle your face while he fucked you.
He kissed along your jaw, and you pressed your lips to his skin in a desperate apology, peppering kisses along his neck, across his throat, up to his cheek, whispering broken pleas between every gasp. “I’m sorry, Henry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t let me go, please—” Your words were muffled against his throat, voice shaking with every thrust, every wet, needy moan.
He grunted softly, thrusts deepening, fucking you harder but never rough—just insistent, relentless, coaxing you toward the edge again. “That’s it,” he murmured, letting you sob into his neck, “say it again.”
Your lips brushed his jaw, his mouth, salty with your tears. “I’m sorry, Henry, I’m yours, I promise, I’m yours—” The words spilled out between kisses, each one more desperate as your body tightened around him, every muscle trembling, the pressure building again, impossibly sharp.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice ragged. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes searching your face, needing to see every quiver, every tear. “Come for me. Show me you mean it.”
You shattered for him, your whole body arching up, walls clenching tight around him as you cried out his name, sobbing into his mouth, legs trembling as the orgasm tore through you. Henry groaned, hips snapping forward, thrusts growing frantic as he spilled inside you, holding you so tight you couldn’t have run even if you wanted to.
He stayed like that, locked together, letting your bodies ride out every aftershock, his lips gentle on your damp cheeks. His hands softened, stroking your sides and kissing away the tears.
Slowly, carefully, he eased out of you and gathered you up, pulling you onto his lap, your face pressed into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you secure and safe, rocking you gently while your breathing evened out. He pressed soft kisses onto your temple, voice a low rumble against your skin.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, thumb wiping the last tears from your cheeks. “I forgive you. You’re safe with me, always. I’m not letting you go. Never again.” He held you close, bodies tangled, the sharp edge of the lesson fading into a quiet, possessive warmth, his forgiveness settling over you as heavy and inescapable as his love.
extra notes: i am going to be making an actual fic with henry - technically i'm gonna make it a two parter, the first one being henry x reader and the second being a steve x reader. if you're interested/want to be tagged, let me know!
“Henry..” Your voice shook a little as you pulled your hand from your mouth, ignoring the jagged bitten nails. “I want to go home.” Blue eyes sought yours before he spoke.
“You know why you can’t do that.” He sighed as he turned his body more towards yours. The kitchen counter no longer resting on his back and now his upper hips. “It’s not safe. When I complete this plan, I can see you there safely.”
“And if your plan doesn’t work? I’d rather be at home, with my friends, in a familiar place.” You turned towards him as well, the counter resting more on your ribs than your hip.
“Have I not made this a home? You’ve become familiar with it, with me..”
“It’s not like that!” You quickly steadied your voice, trying not to seem too emotional. “You’re kind to me, Henry, but this isn’t my home.”
“I’m not going to allow that to happen, end of story.” Henry stood straight and walked out of the kitchen, not bothering to look back. You quickly followed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.
“I’m going whether you like it or not.” Henry’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing. “I won’t stay.”
Henry spoke no words, but he pulled your hand from his, before pulling you towards him pressing his chest flat against you as his other hand slipped up the back of your neck to grip at your hair. If he could feel your heart nearly beating a hole in your chest, he didn’t show it.
“If you want to go and be torn apart by those monsters then be my guest. But, if you want to be good and appreciate all I’ve done for you, the warm home I’ve provided, food on the table whenever you so please, safety from being ripped limb from limb, you’ll understand why you have to stay.”
Henry didn’t let you respond, his lips capturing yours before they could form a smart response. His fingers tightened in your hair as he backed you up against the wall next to the stairwell. You sunk into the kiss, much to your better judgement. You knew you had to stand your ground, to fight for your freedom to leave and be at home, but how could you say no to him? He was right, he had provided so much for you, you didn’t need to work, you had endless entertainment, you had him when you had no one else to warm your bed.
His hand that held your wrist in a vice-grip released it, sliding over your hip and to your back instead. Despite being someone you had clocked as some sort of psychopath, Henry was passionate, desperate in a way. The hand he had just released wrapped around to his back, gripping his shirt as his left leg slipped between yours.
His knee provided a wonderful pressure to your core, prompting you to open your mouth further to him. The warmth in the pit of your stomach was one you had gotten used to when he had you like this. He somehow knew everything you wanted, every urge, every desire. His fingers slipped to the front of the dress he had provided for you, fiddling with each metal disk as he unfastened them. Your fingers tugged his shirt from its neatly tucked place in his pants, quickly finding their way under, to his bare skin.
Before he tried slipping the dress off of you, he pulled you from the wall and dragged you towards the old couch, his lips barely leaving yours. The ‘oomph’ sound you made as you hit the plush sofa was all the invitation he needed to slip the buttoned from your body, bringing your torso up to pull it from your arms as he tugged it over your head. Henry didn’t go back to immediately kissing you, instead burying his nose in your neck as his fingers roamed your mostly bare body.
You could hear the deep inhale through his nose next to your ear as he took in the feeling of you half-naked beneath him. It wasn’t the first time you had been in a scenario like this, bare underneath him as he found some new way to admire your body, but this time felt more predatory, more like he was sizing up his next meal. You couldn’t care to complain, however, shamefully enjoying the feeling of his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra.
Henry’s nose dragged down your neck, over your collarbones, and finally, to the swell of your breasts. His mouth made quick work, suckling on as one hand grasped the other. Your head fell back in pleasure, enjoying the sensation as he made quick work bringing your nipple to a stiff peak, before switching to the other breast.
As he sucked, your mind wandered for just a second. Was it really so shameful to give in? It had been what you assumed to be a month since your last attempt to escape. He had ‘saved’ you then, dragging you back home before some creature came to tear you apart. He was protecting you wasn’t he? And why should you feel shame for at least enjoying your stay, no matter how long it may be?
His lips released your breast as he brought his face back to yours, one hand using its grip in your hair to force you to look at him. He searched you face before yanking your head to the side so he could lean in and kiss your neck. Being in his arms like this was a sensory heaven, feeling his soft lips go from kissing to biting, firing up all the right neurons in your brain. You exhaled as he sucked roughly at the delicate skin, leaving a blooming purple bruise in its place as he pulled away.
“Don’t you see how good you have it? How well I treat you?” His voice was soft. He was playing you like a fiddle and you both knew it. “The way I practically worship you?”
You could barely form a response past an elated sigh as he brought his hand forward over your stomach, fiddling with the waistband of your panties before slipping under, digging through the folds to find your clit. When the pads of his long fingers found the bundle of nerves, he worked quickly, moving them in circles as you writhed beneath him.
“You and I both know you can’t get this back home, that there’s no one else there that can relieve the stress you feel.” Henry reveled in your whimpers and hushed moans, the sound like gasoline on a fire. “I’m the only one who can keep you safe.”
Henry pushed his hand down further, letting one finger circle around your wet entrance, as you bucked your hips into his palm with need. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed. He waited until you were nearly begging before he slipped one finger inside, pulling it back and forth as he coaxed out those sweet sounds you made.
One soon became two as he added another finger, making you fight to keep yourself from getting any louder. Henry seemed to notice the restraint and smiled cheekily, picking up the pace as he whispered in your ear. “There’s no one else here but me to hear you, there’s no need to be silent here.”
As if on cue, Henry added a third finger as he kept up his fast pace, making you whine and squirm beneath him. You felt the pressure in your gut build, your heart race, and the sweat form on your brow, and you braced yourself for that familiar release, but it never came. He quickly pulled his hand from your panties before yanking them down. Understanding his plan, you brought your hands up to fumble with his belt, undoing the buckle as he looked down on you, his cold eyes never wavering. He took great pleasure in seeing you like this, beneath him, at his mercy.
When you managed to undo the buckle, he quickly unclasped the top of his slacks, sliding them over his hips as well as his boxer shorts. You had grown comfortable with his size, having been quite nervous to proceed further during previous encounters. His right hand quickly shot out to grasp your jaw as he pushed you back into the sofa, gripping as though he had every intention of crushing it. His other hand took his length as he spread the bead of precum over the tip, before slowly sinking into you.
Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, opening you up more so he could sink deeper. A wanton moan slipped from your mouth as he bottomed out, making him inhale sharply through parted lips. With bated breath, you held still around him until he finally began moving, setting a painfully sensual pace just to make you squirm. Henry loved how anxious your impatience made you, how it would make your brow furrow and your tone desperate. “Please, Henry- “
Most of all, he loved hearing you use his name when you begged, so sweetly. You weren’t innocent, nor were you naïve, but he let you pretend in these moments, because he knew what kind of animal you truly were. Henry knew of the animal you kept caged inside you, foaming at the mouth, desperate for love and acceptance and pleasure. As much as he delighted in using against you, he loved feeding it as well, nurturing the neglected beast.
Henry took pity and picked up the pace, moving his hips faster and sliding his hand from your jaw to your neck, pressing it into the cushion. You could feel him slowly cutting the circulation to your brain, making you lightheaded and maybe a little delirious. His lips found yours again as you were already struggling for air, feeling empowered as you squirmed beneath him. His pace went from fast to brutal as his free hand slid over your stomach and down to your wet folds, finding the bundle of nerves with ease.
Combined with the thrilling lack of air and being fully pinned down, the added stimulation was enough to bring you over the edge. The pitch of your moans raised as he turned his head from your mouth and to your ear, biting at the lobe. The pressure inside of you continued to build until the coil finally snapped, bringing your orgasm crashing over you in waves.
The feeling of your fluttering walls and you writhing beneath him soon sent him over the edge too, his seed spilling into you as it had many times before. The fingers around your neck tightened for a moment before loosening up and retreating all together. Henry looked you over as he brought over your face, sliding it up your cheek before pushing your hair from your sweaty brow. He slid his hand to the back of your head and brought it up to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to your temple, before slowly laying you back and removing himself from you entirely.
With a slight exhale, he pulled his pants back up and redid his belt, straightening himself out before he exited the living room to go retrieve a rag to clean you up. As his figure retreated through the door, you couldn’t help but stare at the empty space, wondering if now was the right opportunity to run again. The original feeling of shame returned, making your face heat up wit humiliation and anger. You couldn’t understand why he had this hold over you, why you couldn’t fully hate him despite knowing that he was lying.
Henry knew you didn’t believe or even trust him, but he had you right where he wanted you.
running from things that you didn’t understand—emotions you weren’t used to, concepts you couldn’t apply, situations you had no control over—and it worked.
you escaped brenner and his inhumane experiments, you conquered the demogorgons that followed you through thick and thin, you survived the rift that tore hawkins in half.
but running could only get you so far.
heavy pants ripped from your mouth, sweat beading on your brow. twigs and branches snapped beneath your feet, the crunches of leaves behind you eliciting a wave of fear. mud, tar, and blood caked to your clothes, uncomfortably forcing the fabrics to cling to your clammy skin. the black tendrils that seemingly stuck and winded around everything squished and churned, as if alerting him of your location.
you knew he was chasing you, he had been for years.
you were stuck confined to the onyx hellscape, your only comfort the crimson spikes of lightning in the skies. the loud screech of a demogorgon made you freeze, yanking the grapple you’d crafted from scrap metal from your belt and scaling a nearby tree. stopping, when you knew he was so close, was incredibly risky, but you’d prefer to not be tore open by a bloodthirsty demogorgon.
as if he’d ever let them touch you.
you were exhausted, cold, and so hungry. you couldn’t remember the last time you had a proper meal (yes, you could. it was with him, remember?) and you knew it wouldn’t be long before your body collapsed. the soft chitters of the fleshy being neared, and you saw it creeping through the trees. it lifted its petaled face, as if sniffing you out. the demogorgon approached the tree you’d chosen, massive claws digging into the bark.
it snarled, baring its countless rows of teeth dripping with saliva.
it lurched forward, and stopped. you stared, breathing heavy and limbs wracked with static. its inhuman ligaments trembled as it fell to the ground with a thud, and you tilted your head as it stalked away.
“barbaric creatures, yes?”
you flinched, the chill of the upside down seemingly warm compared to the ice flooding your veins. you launched from the tree without a second thought, but it was too late.
henry had you.
you hovered mid-air, that suffocating grip of his powers coating your body. your pack—stuffed with things you’ve made and lived on—was stripped from you and tossed aside. your eyes fell to the ground when his arms circled you. he was warm, his chest pressed against your back.
“you’re freezing, dear. have you been down here all this time?”
you didn’t answer.
your throat closed slowly, and you instantly dug your fingers into his hand. he kept it clasped around your neck, eyes narrowed in displeasure. “answer me.” you nodded as best you could, and he loosened his hold. he hummed, unreadable. henry rested his chin on your shoulder, tracing the imprint of his fingertips left in your skin.
“you were right in front of me for so long,” he whispered, “hiding, waiting—watching.”
he traced a finger down your arm, slipping his hand into yours. the inky abyss surrounding you bled into daylight, and you saw his home before you. it looked flawless, bright, and beautiful. henry gently ushered you forward, guiding you inside. “where…”
“my mind, darling. an oasis for you to rest in.”
tears welled in your eyes as you tried to pull away. he shushed you softly, coaxing you back into his embrace, “it’s alright, you’re safe here. i promise. nobody can reach you but me.”
that made you cry, trying to push him away.
your nose bled, mind straining from the effort of using your powers. “ah, that lovely gift of yours doesn’t work in here, i’m afraid,” he smiled serenely, cradling your face in one hand, “there’s no reason for you to need it.”
you’d realize that eventually, he thought. right now, you’re vulnerable. tired from years of surviving in a wasteland of sludge and bloodthirsty creatures, mind worn from escape plans and nightmares.
he had you right where he wanted you.
“let’s get you inside and warmed up, hm?”
you nodded, accepting defeat.
henry was possessive, obsessive of you in all the wrong ways—but he took care of you. he stalked you when you snuck out, unleashed demogorgons to scare you back into his arms, but then he’d prepare you a five star meal. he would get angry when you ignored his voice in your head, refusing to join him in the mindscape for those precious moments he wanted so badly.
you held his hand as he walked you inside, him smiling at your poorly-disguised relief of a warm home.
he already felt much better. you were where you belonged:
with him, in a sanctuary he controlled.
“i will begin dinner while you get cleaned up,” he muttered, glancing at your filthy clothes, “i’ll make your favorite. how does that sound?”
“sounds nice,” you resigned to your fate, a kind one despite the cruel nature of the world he was creating. henry kissed your temple, moving past you to the kitchen.
after your shower, you quietly went back downstairs. you peeked around the corner, spotting him at the stove. soft hums of your favorite song made a chill run down your spine, and henry simply smiled, “no need to hide, dear. i know you’re there.”
you moved to stand next to him, your senses flooded with aromatics and spices. “i’m glad you’re home,” he laid the wooden spoon to the side, turning to you, “i’ve missed you terribly.”
he held your face in his hands, eyes shifting briefly to your lips. you lifted your hands to rest atop his, and you barely nodded.
why did you ever leave? his voice echoed, this is where you belong.
your mind couldn’t conjure any reasonable explanation, no logical argument even though you’d had several planned points to make. it was like they were vanishing, erased and painted over with the happiest of memories with him.
only me, he thought spitefully, fingertips casting memories of your friends on the surface aside in favor of filling the void with his affections.
“i’m sorry,” you murmured against his lips, voice wavering and pitched with sadness. henry let out a content sigh, as if grateful you’d come to your senses. he was worried he would have to overload your pretty little head, but it didn’t take much for you to relax in his embrace. his eyes sparkled with insanity, love swirling around his pupils.
“i know you are, darling. i forgive you.”
any semblance of logic and denial left in your mind shattered, blurred by the taste of his lips and the warmth of his body.
Plot Summary: Three weeks of playing house with the mysterious Mr. Whatsit, and you finally worked up the courage to test his boundaries. Lucky for you, he knows exactly how to handle disobedient spouses.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, fingering, spanking, punishment, pain, pet names, praise, power dynamics, mild humiliation/shame, possessive dominant Henry, aftercare
The parlor smells of bergamot and old wood. You've set the tea service just as he likes it: the porcelain cups arranged precisely, the sugar cubes in their silver bowl, the cream in its matching pitcher. Your dress rustles as you move, layers of taffeta and lace that he selected for you, pale blue like a summer sky. It fits perfectly, as everything he provides does.
You know he'll be home soon. The pocket watch he gave you says four o'clock, and Mr. Whatsit is never late.
But your gaze keeps drifting to the window, to the dark line of trees beyond the manicured lawn. Three weeks you've been here, in this beautiful house at the edge of the woods, playing at being his perfect wife. Three weeks of tea and pleasant conversation, of his hand at the small of your back, of the way he calls you "darling" and looks at you like you're something precious.
Three weeks of wondering what's actually out there.
The woods pull at something in your chest. They always have, even before you came here, before you agreed to this arrangement. Before you understood what it meant to want something you shouldn't have.
The thought crystallizes with sudden clarity: you're going to look.
Just to the tree line. Just to see.
The grass is cool under your thin slippers as you cross the lawn. Your heart pounds, rabbit quick, and there's heat in your cheeks that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun. You know you shouldn't. He's been so clear about the rules, about the monsters, about keeping you safe.
But your feet carry you forward anyway.
The tree line looms closer. The shadows between the trunks seem to shift and breathe. You're ten feet away, then five, then close enough to touch the rough bark of an oak tree when you hear it.
"My dear."
His voice stops you cold. Not loud, not angry. Just... firm. You turn slowly, and there he is on the porch in his brown suit, his glasses catching the light. The wide brimmed hat casts his face in shadow, but you can feel his gaze nonetheless.
"Come inside, please."
The walk back feels three times as long. Your legs shake with each step, and that heat in your cheeks has spread down your neck, into your chest. Fear and anticipation twist together in your stomach until you can't tell one from the other.
He holds the door open for you, ever the gentleman, and you step into the cool dimness of the entry hall. The door closes with a soft click.
"I'm terribly disappointed," he says quietly, removing his hat and setting it on the hall table. His movements are measured, controlled. "You understand, don't you, that the rules exist for your protection? I've explained this. The woods are not safe. And yet you went to them anyway."
"I'm sorry, I just..." Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.
"Just what, darling?" He steps closer, and you can see his eyes now behind those gold rimmed glasses. Blue and sharp and seeing right through you. "You were curious? You thought you knew better than I did?" He tilts his head slightly. "Or perhaps you wanted this. Needed it, even."
Your breath catches. "I don't..."
"Don't lie to me." His fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You think I don't see you? That I haven't watched the way you look at those trees, day after day? The way your pulse quickens when I remind you of the rules?" His thumb traces your lower lip. "You've been waiting for this. Haven't you?"
The words you've been too afraid to say lodge in your throat, but he sees them anyway. He always does.
"Come with me."
He takes your hand and leads you to the sitting room, to the velvet settee where you've spent so many evenings reading while he worked. But he doesn't sit. He stands there, looking at you with that mixture of disappointment and something else, something darker and more promising.
"You know what happens when rules are broken," he says. It's not a question.
Your mouth is dry. "Yes."
"Then lift your skirts and come here."
The fabric whispers as you gather it in trembling hands, layers and layers until you're holding it all at your waist. The cool air kisses your stockinged legs, the bare skin of your thighs above them. You're aware of every inch of exposure, of how vulnerable you are, of the dampness already gathering between your legs.
He sits and pats his knee. "Over my lap, darling."
You drape yourself across his thighs, your palms flat against the floor for balance, your backside elevated and utterly exposed. The position is mortifying and electrifying in equal measure. You can feel the solid muscle of his legs beneath you, the expensive fabric of his trousers, the heat of his body.
His hand rests on the curve of your bottom, and even through the thin cotton of your drawers, his touch burns.
"How many do you think you deserve?" he asks conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "For putting yourself in danger? For worrying me so?"
"I don't know," you whisper.
"No, you don't." His fingers trace the edge of your drawers, then slowly, deliberately, he draws them down to your knees. The air hits your bare skin and you gasp. "But I do. Twenty, I think. Count them for me."
The first slap lands with shocking force. Pain blooms hot and sharp across your right cheek, and you cry out.
"One," you manage.
"Good girl."
The second follows quickly, on the left this time. Your fingers curl against the floor. "Two."
He establishes a rhythm, alternating sides, each strike precise and measured. By five, your skin is burning. By ten, you're squirming against his lap, and you can feel him hard beneath you, his arousal pressing against your hip. By fifteen, you're sobbing out the numbers, tears streaming down your face, but between your legs you're slick and aching and desperate.
"Sixteen." Your voice breaks.
"You're doing so well, darling," he murmurs, and his other hand comes to rest on your lower back, grounding you. "Just a few more."
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
Twenty lands harder than the rest, right where the curve of your bottom meets your thigh, and you let out a broken sound with it, trembling and gasping.
"There we are." His hand smooths over your burning skin, soothing now. "All done. You took that beautifully. So very beautifully."
His fingers trail lower, exploring, and you feel him pause when he discovers how wet you are, how the arousal has been dripping down your thighs.
"Oh, darling," he murmurs, and there's something almost reverent in his voice. "Look at this. Look at what you've been hiding from me." His fingers slide through your slickness, slow and deliberate. "Your body tells me the truth, even when your words don't. You needed this. You've been craving it. Haven't you?"
Still draped over his lap, vulnerable and exposed, you can only whimper as he explores you leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world.
"My sweet, reckless wife," he says softly, and his voice takes on that hypnotic quality, measured and certain. "You think you were seeking freedom out there in those woods. But this is what you were truly seeking. This surrender. This release." His fingers find your entrance and circle it, teasing. "I know what you need. I've always known."
"Please," you breathe. "Please, Henry."
His fingers stroke through your folds, circling but not quite touching where you need him most. "Please what?"
"Please touch me. Please, I've been so good, I've waited so long..."
"You have been good," he agrees, and finally, finally, his fingers find your clit. The sensation makes you jerk in his arms. "Except for today. But we've dealt with that, haven't we?"
He works you with maddening skill, fingers stroking and circling, occasionally dipping inside you just to make you gasp. His other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you pinned in place, completely at his mercy.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you. Let me hear what I do to you."
The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tight in your belly. Your hips move against his hand, chasing it, shameless now despite the humiliating position. His fingers press firmly against your clit and everything inside you pulls taut, suspended on the edge.
"Come for me, darling," he says, and you do.
The orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure so intense it borders on pain. You cry out, your body shaking, your fingers scrabbling against the floor for purchase. He works you through it, gentle and relentless, drawing out every last tremor until you're boneless and gasping, draped across his lap.
When you finally still, he withdraws his hand. You hear the soft sound of him tasting his fingers, and even without seeing it, the knowledge makes something clench deep inside you all over again.
"Beautiful," he says softly. "Absolutely beautiful."
He helps you up then, carefully arranging you to sit sideways in his lap, your head on his shoulder. He produces a handkerchief to dry your tears, his hands gentle now, stroking your hair, your back, soothing away the last of the tension.
"You scared me," he says quietly. "When I saw you at the tree line. The thought of losing you..."
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I won't do it again."
"I know you won't." He tilts your chin up and kisses your forehead. "Because you understand now, don't you? Why the rules exist?"
You nod against his chest. Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Maybe the monsters in the woods are real, or maybe the only monster is the man holding you so tenderly, the one who just made you sob and scream and come apart. Maybe it doesn't matter.
"Let's get you upstairs," he says. "A bath, I think, and some salve for your poor bottom. And then dinner, and perhaps we'll read together by the fire."
He carries you up the stairs as if you weigh nothing, and you let yourself be carried. Let yourself be cared for. Let yourself sink into the safety of his arms and the beautiful prison of his Victorian house.
The woods can wait.
They'll always be there, dark and full of promises, whenever you're brave enough to try again.
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summary: when you start to remember something you shouldn’t, your husband helps you forget.
henry creel x fem!reader
warnings: smut
word count: 3706
....
Dinner had gone exactly the way it always did.
The dining room was warm, the air heavy with the lingering smell of food and sugar, the long table crowded with children leaning back in their chairs, satisfied and restless.
You stood at the sideboard, smoothing your hands down the skirt of the dress you wore.
It was one of Henry’s favorites. It was a pale pink color with soft fabric that was fitted just enough at the waist before falling loose around your legs.
It was the one you wore most often without thinking, the one that always seemed to exist in this house, like it had been waiting for you before you ever put it on.
You turned back toward the counter and lifted the plates carefully.
You had baked a banana cream pie earlier that afternoon, slicing it neatly once it had set, the custard smooth, and the bananas layered just beneath the surface. The brownies sat on a separate plate beside it, still warm, the smell of chocolate lingering in the air.
The children watched eagerly as you stepped toward the table.
Henry sat at the head of the table with a content expression on his face, his blue eyes following you.
You took another step.
Then suddenly a vision tore through you.
There was no warning or any time for you to brace yourself.
The dining room vanished in an instant, replaced by a rush of red and noise that pressed in from every direction. The walls warped and bowed inward, the air thickening as if the house itself were closing around you. Dark vines crept along the walls and ceiling, winding through cracks that hadn’t been there a second ago, pulsing like they were alive.
You heard screaming that didn’t sound like it was coming from the children at all, and beneath it, beneath everything, was Henry’s voice. Not the calm one you knew, but something deeper, distorted, monstrous, reverberating through your skull as if it didn’t belong to a man anymore.
Your chest started to heave, your eyes growing wide at the horror in front of you.
The air felt wrong, every breath shallow as the vision pressed tighter around you.
Your lungs burned as you tried to inhale, and your heart pounded so hard that you could feel it in your throat.
The screaming faded in and out, replaced by that deep, distorted sound of Henry’s voice echoing through the red, the vines tightening their grip along the walls as if they were responding to him.
Then the dining room slammed back into place.
The chandelier was still overhead. The table was still there. The children were still sitting in their chairs, staring at you with puzzled expressions on their faces.
Then your knees buckled.
Your hands went slack and the plates slipped from your grip. The pie hit the floor first, porcelain shattering loudly as it broke apart, followed by the brownies a split second later, the dish cracking as chocolate scattered across the wood.
Cream splashed up against the table legs and across your shoes, banana slices sliding outward as the children's chairs scraped back in alarm.
You fell with the sound.
Your palm struck the floor hard, straight into the broken glass. Blood spread across the mess beneath you. Your chest kept heaving, breath catching no matter how hard you tried to pull it back under control.
The room erupted with noise.
The children shouted and cried, half-standing, half-frozen, eyes locked on the blood spreading across the floor and soaking into the hem of your dress. Someone backed into a chair. Someone else covered their mouth.
You barely heard them.
Your vision swam as you stared at your hand, red slick against white shards and pale cream.
This wasn’t something that happened to you. You didn’t collapse. You didn’t lose control like this.
Henry was beside you almost immediately.
He knelt and took your wrist, steadying you as he lifted your injured hand to inspect it. Blood streaked his fingers as he turned your palm slightly, his touch firm in a way that made your stomach twist.
“Sweetheart,” he said calmly, his voice back to normal now, as if nothing had happened at all, “are you alright?”
Your chest still rose and fell too fast as you shook your head.
“I couldn’t breathe,” you said, the words coming out uneven.
“I saw something. I heard you.”
Henry’s blue eyes searched your face.
“You panicked,” he said evenly. “That’s all.”
“No,” you said, shaking your head, trying again to pull your hand back. “It wasn’t like that. I heard you. I-”
His grip tightened just slightly.
Around you, the children shifted and murmured, voices overlapping in a confused way, none of them quite sure what they were supposed to do.
Someone whispered your name. Another asked if you were hurt. A few of them stood frozen in place, hands gripping chair backs or the edge of the table, eyes flicking between your bleeding hand and Henry’s face, searching for reassurance and not finding it.
Holly edged forward despite herself. She looked torn, like she knew she wasn’t supposed to move but couldn’t stop. “Mrs. WhatsIt,” she said, her voice small and insistent, “your hand-”
Henry looked up.
The shift was immediate.
The children stilled where they were, shoulders drawn in, watching him carefully.
“That’s enough,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t sound angry, just firm in a way that left no room to push back. “Everyone back to your rooms.”
No one moved at first.
They looked at you again, then at him, hesitation written all over their faces. One of them wiped at their eyes. Another took a half-step toward you and stopped.
“Now,” Henry added, the word heavier this time, settling into the room.
They moved then.
Slowly, carefully, like they were afraid of making things worse. They stepped around the broken plates and smeared cream, around the dark streaks of blood on the floor.
A few of them kept looking back, expressions uncertain, as if they were afraid something else might happen the moment they turned away.
Holly lingered longer than the others. She hovered near the doorway, twisting her hands together, her face drawn with worry.
“Holly,” Henry repeated, his piercing eyes still on you.
The young girl flinched at the sound of her name, then looked back at you one last time, eyes shining, before finally turning and following the others down the hall.
When the last set of footsteps faded, the house felt different like it had closed in on itself.
Henry turned back to you.
Your breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, the sting in your hand sharp where he held it.
Up close, you could see the change in him more clearly now.
His brows were drawn together, not in anger exactly, but in concentration, like he was working through something he hadn’t planned for. The calm was still there, settled into his posture, but it felt tighter.
He looked down at your hand, at the blood slicking his fingers, and something flickered across his face too quickly to name. His grip adjusted slightly, as if he didn’t trust you not to slip away if he loosened it.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.
“I couldn’t breathe,” you repeated, the words coming out thin. “I thought I was going to pass out.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. He lifted his gaze back to your face, eyes searching, assessing, his expression closed off in a way that made your stomach drop.
“You didn’t see anything,” he said evenly. “You scared yourself.”
You shook your head, frustration bleeding into fear. “You keep saying that like I imagined it.”
His eyebrows drew together, the crease between them deepening as irritation finally broke through the calm he’d been holding onto. A dark curl slipped loose from where it had been neatly kept, falling forward against his forehead as he leaned closer.
“I won’t have you upsetting them,” he said, his voice tighter now, edged with something unmistakably irritated. “And I won’t have you doing this to yourself.”
“They were scared,” you said. “Holly was crying.”
“That will stop,” he replied immediately, too fast, his eyes flicking toward the hallway before snapping back to you. “This won’t, if you keep pulling at it.”
You swallowed. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Henry stepped closer, close enough that there was no space left to retreat into. The warmth of him was unavoidable now. His free hand came up, fingers closing around your arm, firmer than before, anchoring you where you stood.
“You don’t need to ask, love,” he said, low. “You just need to stop.”
Your chest tightened. “And if I can’t?”
His mouth pressed into a hard line, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his brows knit even tighter. That loose curl fell further, shadowing his eyes as something dark and impatient moved there.
For a moment, he said nothing.
His grip tightened as if he’d already made up his mind.
“I’ll make sure you do,” he said.
He didn’t give you time to react.
His grip shifted suddenly, releasing your arm only to catch you around the waist as he lifted you clean off the floor and swung you over his shoulder.
The abrupt movement knocked a sharp yelp out of you, your hands clutching at his shirt as the world tipped sideways.
“Henry-”
He ignored your protests as he turned away from the room, his grip shifting just enough to keep you steady against him as he started up the stairs.
You tried to speak again, but the words caught somewhere in your chest as he continued upward.
It felt like this was something he had already decided on as he carried you, like the question you’d asked downstairs had only confirmed it rather than caused it.
At the top of the stairs, he nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder and stepped inside without slowing down.
He set you down on the bed a moment later, firmly enough that the mattress dipped beneath you and your breath hitched as you braced yourself on your hands.
Your chest was still rising too fast as you looked up at him, your palm throbbing where it pressed into the sheets.
Up close, you could see how tight his expression was now, his brows drawn together, his jaw set, as he looked down at you like he was holding something back.
You shook your head, anger finally cutting through the fear.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” you spoke, your voice sharper now. “I was standing there one second and the next I couldn’t breathe, and everything went wrong, and you just keep telling me to stop like that explains anything.”
Henry’s jaw tightened at that.
He took a step closer, then another, until he was right there, close enough that you could feel the heat of him again. His eyes flicked briefly to your hand, the blood smeared across your palm and dried along your fingers, then back to your face.
“You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice tight now, irritation breaking through. “And you’re letting it turn into something it doesn’t need to be.”
“That’s not fair,” you shot back. “I didn’t imagine it. I saw something, and you won’t even let me talk about it.”
His brows knit harder, the crease between them deepening as that loose curl fell further across his forehead.
“Because talking about it makes it worse,” he stated calmly. “For you. For all of us.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” you sneered. “I’m the one who’s bleeding.”
The words hung between you.
Henry’s gaze dropped again to your hand, still red, still shaking slightly, then lifted back to your face.
Something dark moved through his expression, frustration mixing with something more volatile.
“You don’t stop,” he said, low. “Even when I’m trying to help you.”
“Then help me,” you pleaded. “Don’t just tell me to forget it.”
That did it.
He moved in close, one hand coming up to your jaw, fingers firm but not painful, forcing you to look at him. His breathing wasn’t as even anymore, his control slipping at the edges.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?” you replied, your breath still uneven.
“Like you don’t trust me.”
“Right now, I don’t,” you crossed your arms.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then he crashed his lips against yours.
You let out a small moan in surprise, the sound slipping out before you could stop it, and despite yourself you melted into the kiss, your body giving in even as your thoughts lagged behind.
You felt the shift immediately, the way his mouth curved just slightly against yours, a brief grin pressed into the kiss like he’d been waiting for you to do exactly that.
“There,” he murmured against your lips, barely pulling back. “That’s better.”
You swallowed, your forehead brushing his as you breathed. “I’m still upset,” you muttered, even as you stayed right where you were.
“I know,” he replied, like it didn’t matter as much as it should have.
His hand slid from your jaw to your wrist, then, slower now, his thumb brushing near the cut as if he’d only just remembered it. Your hand still throbbed where the glass had caught you, and you hissed softly without meaning to.
His grip gentled slightly. “I’ll take care of it later,” he said, pressing a kiss on your hand. “You don’t need to worry about that right now.”
You looked at him, confusion still sitting heavy in your chest. “You’re just pretending nothing happened.”
“I’m trying to keep you from dwelling on it,” he smiled, his voice low again. “You don’t need to sit with things that only upset you, dear.”
The pet name made your breath hitch.
He leaned in again, kissing you once more, slower this time, like he was settling something rather than starting it. “I’ll make you forget about this,” he added quietly.
And the part that scared you most was how easily your body seemed willing to let him.
He didn’t give you much time to sit with that realization.
He kissed you again, more firmly this time, his hand steady at your wrist as he leaned into you.
The bed dipped beneath his weight as he shifted closer, the space between you disappearing as he pressed you back against the mattress.
You sucked in a breath against his mouth, fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulder as his weight settled over you. He was careful of your injured hand, guiding it aside as he adjusted, but the rest of him stayed close.
The closeness made your head feel light, the rest of the room fading out as his mouth stayed on yours. Your frustration blurred further with every second, replaced by a warmth that settled low and made it harder to think straight.
Henry shifted back just enough to look at you, his eyes dropping to where his hands had already found the fabric of your dress. He didn’t say anything as his fingers slid under the hem and began lifting it up.
The fabric skimmed up your legs, exposing more skin with every inch, and you felt shivers down your spine when the cool air met your bare skin.
You watched him as the dress was pulled over you, your chest rising a little faster as it came free and was tossed aside.
The hungry look in his eyes made your stomach twist, making you grow wet as you shifted beneath him, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were since you weren’t wearing anything underneath.
Henry straightened up and slipped out of his blazer, laying it neatly over the armchair beside the bed. He then took off his glasses next and set them carefully on top of the nightstand before pulling his shirt over his head and setting it aside just as neatly.
You watched him the entire time.
You never got used to how beautiful he was.
His hair was slightly mussed now, that loose curl still out of place, his brows drawn just enough to give him that focused look that always made your stomach flip.
He moved closer to you and then leaned down, angling his head just enough that his mouth brushed past your ear, his breath warm as it fanned across your skin.
“You’re doing that thing,” he murmured, his voice low and close. “The way you look at me when you’re trying to decide whether to give in.”
Your breath stuttered at the sound of it, the words sinking in deeper than they should have.
You shifted beneath him without thinking, your thighs pressing together as a soft, broken sound slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Henry noticed immediately.
His mouth curved faintly, satisfied, as he stayed right there by your ear. “There it is,” he said quietly.
“You’re not as upset as you pretend to be.”
You whined under your breath, frustrated with yourself, with him, with how easily he got this reaction out of you.
Your body felt warm all over now, restless, your thoughts blurring the longer he stayed that close.
He slowly unbuttoned his slacks, releasing his already hard cock.
Your mouth went dry and you swallowed hard at the sight.
“That look,” his voice was low and satisfied as he stroked himself. “You’re not even trying to hide it, are you, darling?”
You rubbed your thighs together again, letting out a soft moan as you looked away for half a second before he caught your chin, tilting your face back toward him.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, tracing a featherlight touch along your jaw. “I want you right here, sweetheart,”
His hands then spread your legs so that your glistening pussy was on display for him.
His gaze lingered on you like he was taking his time committing the sight to memory. His mouth curved just slightly as he leaned closer again.
“You look perfect like this,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to think about what you saw right now.”
His hands slid to your hips as he lined himself with your wet entrance.
Your breath came out shaky.
“Just stay with me,” he murmured. “Let me take care of it.”
He finally pushed inside you, his cock stretching you, making you whine and dig your nails into his back, the pain from your bleeding hand still slightly there.
“That’s it,” he groaned quietly, voice right by your ear now. “I’ve got you.”
You whimpered again, caught between frustration and need, your hips instinctively seeking him as he stayed there, instead of rushing. His hands stayed firm at your sides, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “You’re okay. Just focus on me.”
His mouth brushed along your jaw, then your ear, his tone softening even as the tension stayed tight between you.
“You don’t need to think,” he added. “I’ll do that for you.”
Your pussy throbbed at his words and with that he started to move, maintaining a steady pace.
A faint sheen of sweat had already formed at his hairline, catching the light as he looked down at you, focused and intent. That loose curl clung to his forehead now, his breathing heavier than before but still controlled.
“You’re doing so good,” he praised, as he withdrew half of his length, and shoved into you again.
You whined softly, overwhelmed and flushed, your body completely tuned into the rhythm he set.
He brought one of his hands down to your pussy and circled your clit with his thumb, putting more pressure each time he circled making your back arch.
Then he started to thrust into you at a faster pace making your mouth contort into an o shape.
“Have you forgotten already?” he said, his voice lower now. “Downstairs. The mess you made. The way you stared at me like I was a monster,”
The words cut deeper this time, slicing through the haze instead of skirting around it.
Your breath hitched, emotion surging up fast and hot as your chest tightened, tears burning behind your eyes from the pleasure.
His forearms caged your head in, as his hips slapped against yours with wet smacks.
“You don’t get to look at me like that,” he continued, his tone controlled but unmistakably cruel. “Not after everything I give you. Not after I calm you down.”
The sounds of your slickness and of your panting filled the air.
“Henry-” you practically screamed as his tip kept hitting your g-spot.
Your thoughts scattered, the room tilting as the pressure built, too much to hold onto at once. The vision flickered at the edges of your mind, already slipping, like it couldn’t survive under his voice.
“There,” he murmured, softer again, almost pleased as your focus wavered. “That’s better.”
Henry groaned with pleasure as he felt you flutter around him.
Your breathing turned ragged as everything blurred together. The vision downstairs cracked then, the sharp edges dulling, the images smearing until they didn’t quite make sense anymore.
Henry continued his fast thrusts as your climax hit, your cunt squelching around his cock, making you see stars.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, the edge finally gone from his voice, replaced by something heavier and satisfied.
You clung to him, your breathing slowing as everything settled, your body warm and spent beneath him.
He stayed buried in you for a moment longer, his hand smoothing along your side like he was making sure you were still with him.
“That’s it,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
By the time he finally pulled out of you, the room felt hazy in the aftermath.
Your thoughts were slow, softened around the edges, and when you tried to reach for what had happened earlier, it slipped away just out of grasp.
Henry pressed a kiss to your temple making you smile.
“Rest, my dear,” he gave you a smile. “I’ll clean you up.”
And as you closed your eyes, the memory of the dining room, the vision, the fear, all of it felt strangely muted, like something that had happened to someone else entirely.
SUMMARY: during the final battle, el and the group finds a girl floating inside the abyss, frozen in time.
Henry Creel never meant to love anyone and yet she existed.
She used to sit beside him on the living room floor quietly admiring Henry's pet spiders.
When other kids thought he was strange, she never did.
“You just think louder than everyone else,” she told him once.
Henry thought that meant she’d stay.
The disease came quietly.
At first it was nothing, headaches, dizziness, hands that trembled when she tried to write. She laughed it off, saying she was just tired.
Then Henry suddenly disappeared during her lowest point when she needed him the most.
Years passed, her body finally gave out. Her parents called for help in a panic.
She was rushed to the hospital, tubes and monitors surrounding her.
Even in the bright, cold lights of the emergency room, her thoughts drifted to Henry.
She imagined him standing beside her bed but he wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for years.
The news came to Henry when an elderly man from the lab, one of the few Henry trusted, approached him quietly.
“Henry, she’s been admitted to the hospital.” He hesitated. “I heard from a nurse that she might not make it tonight.”
Henry froze, the world narrowing to that one sentence.
“Her name?” Henry asked, calm but sharp, though his heart was hammering.
The old man met his eyes. “The same one you asked me to watch for… years ago.”
Henry’s chest tightened.
Years ago, he had made the old man promise to keep an eye on anyone with her name, the girl he could never save.
He had thought that would be enough. He had thought that knowing she was safe somewhere, would be enough.
“If anyone finds out I let you go… you know what that could mean for me.”
Henry’s jaw was tight. “I don’t care. She’s in trouble.”
The old man hesitated a moment, then added, almost as if talking to himself, “I hope you know what you’re risking.”
Henry didn’t stop until he reached the hospital.
The nurse looked up, her brow furrowed, studying him like she wasn’t sure whether to trust him. “Sir… do you have any relation to the patient?”
“Yes. I—she’s important. Please. I need to see her.”
The nurse hesitated, but the urgency in his tone made her step aside. “Room 312. But… she’s in critical condition. Coma.”
He ran down the hallway two steps at a time, his mind replaying the soft sound of her voice that he has not heard in years.
Henry opened the door leading to room 312 and reached her bedside and froze. She was fragile, surrounded by tubes.
“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m not leaving. I should’ve been here. I—”
It seems like the world is against Henry when the monitor starts beeping rapidly, signaling that her heartbeat is starting to fade.
The monitor’s beeping was deafening, each rapid pulse a reminder that she was slipping away.
He knew what he could do.
Henry’s hands touched his neck where he could feel a small tiny device suppressing his powers, the small suppressor that had kept him obedient.
He reached into his pocket and drew a small, sharp knife he had kept hidden, one the old man had unknowingly helped him smuggle out.
With a swift motion, he cut the device free.
Pain flared as the device detached from his skin, but he barely registered it.
He closed his eyes, focusing every ounce of his power and ability on her and then it happened.
Time stopped. Only for her.
Not the world around him, but her body, her breath, her heartbeat, and every single fragile cell in her body .
The monitors froze mid-beep and the lights kept on flickering.
She was floating in midair perfectly still and fragile like the perfect moment snatched from the edge of death.
Every ounce of Henry’s attention was on her as she floated when the door to the room opened abruptly and the nurses rushed in panicked.
Henry’s head shot toward them and caught sight of their startled expressions.
He prepared to react, to shield her from them, to make her invisible if he had to but when he looked back at her everything had changed.
She was lying in the bed again.
Henry’s gaze darted to the monitor. The screen was fractured, the screen blinking erratically before going dark entirely.
Henry didn’t stay in the room as the nurses did their work then slipped into a nearby hallway.
He didn’t get far.
The first jolt hit him between the shoulder blades.
Henry collapsed to one knee with his teeth clenched and vision turning back and white.
Another stronger shock followed as hands grabbed him and shackles snapped around his wrists.
When he woke, the ceiling was familiar.
Dr. Brenner stood at the foot of the room with his hands clasped behind his back.
“You disobeyed a direct order,” Dr. Brenner said calmly.
Henry said nothing.
“And for what? a girl?”
That did it.
Henry’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, his eyes burning as power surged despite the restraints.
The metal groaned. Brenner barely had time to react before his feet lifted off the ground.
An invisible force was wrapped around Brenner’s throat. He gasped as his hands clawed uselessly at the air.
The lights began to flickered violently.
“You took years from me,” Henry continued, voice eerily steady. “You took her from me.”
For a moment Henry considered killing him but electricity from the electric chair went through Henry’s body.
Brenner dropped, collapsing to the floor.
Henry screamed and his vision blurred as the world collapsed into noise and pain.
Brenner staggered back to his feet, adjusting his tie with trembling hands, breathing ragged.
“Enough,” Dr. Brenner said to his assistant who turned on the power of the electric chair.
Dr. Brenner slowly approached Henry.
“You will never leave this facility again,”
Henry laughed weakly.
Brenner stared at him for a long moment then he smiled.
Dr. Brenner went to the hospital once more surrounded by guards from the laboratory and went to the girl.
“She isn’t progressing, no brain activity loss and no signs of decay and her vitals are completely unchanged.”
That got his attention.
She lay on the bed like a porcelain figure.
Brenner stepped closer and he checked.
Time had simply stopped touching her.
“Incredible,” Brenner murmured.
“Sir… she’s not breathing.”
“And yet she lives,” Brenner replied softly, very impressed.
“Her cells are suspended. Locked in a temporal stasis.”
His gaze lifted slowly.
“Prepare her for transport,” Brenner ordered, his voice precise and cold. “We are bringing her to the lab. Love, it seems, makes him unpredictable.”
Back in the lab, Henry screamed because he felt the moment Dr. Brenner laid eyes on her and for the first time since he was a child, Henry was afraid, not for himself but for her.
Henry’s fists tightened around the restraints after a while when the doors opened and Dr. Brenner entered.
“This is your new cage which is designed to suppress every ounce of your ability.” Dr. Brenner held a small device.
The device hovered near Henry’s neck then it latched onto his skin as lights flared under.
“You are strong, yes… but now every spark of power is monitored and crushed.”
The abyss was quiet in a way Hawkins never was.
Then she saw her.
“Wait,” Eleven whispered.
The others hovered behind her with their weapons half-raised.
In the center of the hive, a girl floated in midair, motionless.
She wore a hospital gown as it fluttered gently with its sleeves lifting with its hem swaying like she was submerged in water.
Her hair drifted around her head, strands spreading in every direction.
She looked breakable.
Robin’s breath hitched. “Oh my God…”
Steve took an unconscious step forward, instinct screaming at him to help, like he always did when someone smaller and weaker needed it.
“She’s breathing, right?”
“She’s not but she’s alive,” Eleven said. Blood slipped from her nose.
Eleven dropped back into herself with a gasp, knees buckling as memories filled her.
“He hid her here,” Eleven said, voice shaking. “When she was dying. He put her in a sleep so deep even the sickness couldn’t find her.”
Joyce’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at the floating girl.
Robin swallowed hard. “So this is why he built all of this.”
“To keep her,” Will said softly. “To keep one thing untouched.”
“He put her to sleep without end,” Lucas repeated quietly remembering Max. “So the sickness wouldn’t reach her.”
Vecna stepped out of the void with his eyes burning with a rage so raw it felt almost human and went to stand in front as if shielding the only thing that matters to him.
Hopper raised his gun even though he knew it was useless. Joyce grabbed Eleven’s arm.
“El,” she pleaded. “Be careful.” Eleven nodded.
“I can help her,” Eleven said, voice steady despite the pain. “I can wake her up. I can pull her out without hurting her.”
“Wake her up to what?” He demanded, his voice booming through.
“A body that fails her? A world that abandons her? Did you think that I haven’t tried that?”
“You hid her from the lab to here,” Eleven shot back. “You trapped her between seconds so you wouldn’t have to lose her.”
Eleven stepped closer, “Let me help her. Let me help you.”
Vecna together with the abyss went silent.
The girl’s fingers twitched just once and Eleven felt it immediately.
“She’s waking up,” she whispered.
Vecna screamed in agony when the vines slid back into his skin.
His monstrous shape collapsed inward, shrinking, unraveling until the creature was gone.
A man fell to his knees.
Henry Creel gasped like he had just been pulled from deep water.
He stared at his hands, shaking. “No… this isn’t—”
The girl inhaled.
A sharp, fragile breath that tore through the silence.
Her body dropped from the air and Eleven caught her.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Henry,” she whispered.
Henry crawled towards her, stopping just short afraid to touch her like she might vanish.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice breaking. “I didn’t know if you ever would. I tried to keep you safe. I didn’t know how to let you go without losing you—”
“I knew you’d come back,” she said softly. “I’ve always waited for you.”
She lifted her hand, brushing his cheek.
Henry’s chest heaved. Tears spilled freely as he pressed his head to her palm. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here now.”
The hive began to collapse like a dream ending at dawn.
Joyce cried openly, wrapping Will in her arms. Hopper lowered his gun, exhaling heavily. Steve and the others exhaled their breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding.
Dustin’s mouth fell open. “Eddie?” he gasped, voice cracking. He stumbled forward, almost tripping in his excitement, and flung his arms around Eddie.
“I thought you were gone! I thought I lost you..”
Eddie held him tightly and slapped Dustin’s back gently as if grounding him in reality.
“I’m alive. You didn’t lose me.”
Tears spilled down Dustin’s cheeks as he pulled back slightly, searching Eddie’s face. “You have no idea what it felt like… I can’t… I’m just… I’m so happy you’re here!”
Eddie grinned through his own tears. “Yeah… me too, buddy. Me too.”
Meanwhile, Lucas and Steve’s eyes flicked to Billy, tense.
“How’s Max?” Billy asked wary. “Is she…?”
“She’s… she’s okay. Better than okay, actually. She fought her way through, like always. She’s a tough person.”
“Yeah, I know she’s tough. That’s my sister.”
Weeks later, the hospital room was filled with sunlight.
The girl sat upright in the bed. Her cheeks were flushed with color for the first time in years.
Henry sat beside her and his eyes shine brighter than they had in years.
“You… you’re really okay,” he whispered, voice cracking.
“It’s gone.”
Henry laughed, a sound raw with relief and disbelief.
“I couldn’t imagine… I couldn’t survive not seeing you alive like this.”
Eleven stood nearby, smiling softly.
The world outside the hospital was still broken in pieces, but inside this small room, everything was finally right.
She had been healed and Henry had never been happier.
