summary: Vecna kidnapped you to be his perfect little wife or ‘mrs whatsit’ and you finally remember that you’re not supposed to be there, in that house, with that monster.
warnings: not proofread, also el might be a little off character? It’s so hard to write her before season three without making her sound like an absolute moron which she definitely isn’t
“Mrs whatsit?” you turned your head, to see a little girl with glasses and a pony tail on the top of her head “is there a dress for me in the same color as yours?” you looked down at the white dress with red polka dots you were wearing “did you look through the dresses?” you ask pouring four cups of tea for every child that had wanted one
“yes i did. I’m sorry to ask i just—just want to be pretty like you”
You crouched down slightly to be at the girls height “darling you are gorgeous just the way you are”
The little girl blinked up at you, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan, and her voice had gone quiet, almost embarrassed. “But your dress is so… happy. I thought maybe if I wore one like it, I’d feel that way too.”
Your heart tugged.
You set the teacups down gently and reached out, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Sweetheart,” you said softly, “this dress doesn’t make me happy. You do. All of you.”
She looked at you, eyes wide.
“You could wear a paper bag and still light up the whole room,” you added with a wink. “But if you want a dress like mine, we’ll find one. Not because you need it to be pretty—but because you already are, and sometimes it’s fun to match.”
Her face lit up, a shy smile blooming like a sunrise. “Really?”
“Really,” you said, standing and offering her a teacup. “You drink your tea, I’ll go to the attic to find you a dress just like mine”
She took the cup with both hands, beaming now. “Thank you, Mrs. Whatsit.” You didn’t like the attic, there was something odd about it. You’d lived in this house for as long as you could remember now and you’d only been up there a hand full of times. But the little girl’s smile was still fresh in your mind, her hopefulness like a thread tugging you forward.
You took a breath and climbed.
The attic door creaked when you opened it, the sound sharp and thin The air changed as soon as you stepped onto the first stair—cooler, heavier, like the house itself was holding something in its chest. You moved carefully, weaving between old trunks and draped furniture, until you reached the far corner where the wardrobe stood.
You opened it slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. Inside, dresses hung in a neat row—some faded with age, others still vibrant. And there, just out of reach on the top shelf, was the one you were looking for: white with red polka dots, smaller than yours, perfect for the little girl downstairs.
You stretched up on your toes, fingers brushing the hem, but it was too high.
With a sigh, you glanced around and spotted a wooden stool tucked beside an old chest. You dragged it over, steadying it with one hand as you climbed up, the wood creaking beneath your weight.
You reached again—closer this time. Just a little more.
Your fingers closed around the hanger.
And then the stool shifted.
Your balance tipped.
The attic spun.
You fell.
Your back hit the floor first, the breath knocked clean from your lungs. Then your head struck the edge of the chest with a sickening crack.
The dress fluttered down beside you like a falling leaf.
And everything went dark.
Silence settled over the attic once more. Dust floated lazily through the air. The bulb above buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across your still form.
Downstairs, the children’s laughter continued, soft and distant. “Mrs. Whatsit?” the little girl called again, her voice uncertain now.
But you didn’t answer. You didn’t move.
————————————————————-
Max and El adored you. The boys had Steve the girls had you. You weren’t sure if you were the most perfect role model for them. You weren’t exactly a model of grace or composure. You swore too much, you were too blunt, and your idea of emotional advice was usually just “punch a pillow and scream into the void.” But Max and El didn’t seem to mind. They came to you anyway—with questions, with secrets, with the kind of trust that made you want to be better, even if you didn’t always know how. So when the Snow Ball crept up on the calendar, circled in glitter pen and surrounded by doodles in El’s notebook, you made a promise. You’d help them get ready. Hair, makeup, dresses, nerves—the whole thing. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t joke. You just said yes.
Because you remembered what it felt like to be their age. To want to feel beautiful. To want someone to tell you that you were.
So that’s what you did. So you turned your bedroom into a makeshift salon. Max sprawled on the floor with a curling iron in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. El sat perched your desk chair, her dress hanging from the curtain rod like a sacred artifact. Music played softly from the radio—something synthy and sweet—and the air smelled like hairspray and nerves.
“Do you think Mike will like my dress?” El asked, her voice small, hopeful.
You glanced up from where you were pinning Max’s hair. “El, he’s going to lose his mind. You look like a dream.”
Max snorted. “She’s right. He’s gonna short-circuit.”
You reached for the glitter palette on the dresser, holding it up like a sacred offering. “We should give you glitter eye shadow,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at Max.
Max recoiled slightly, scrunching her nose. “No, I don’t think we should.” She says taking the pallet carefully “we should get ice cream”
You sighed dramatically “Well I’d love to but i got my license revoked”
El’s brows furrowed. “Re-voked?” she repeated slowly, like she was tasting the word.
“Taken away,” you clarified “by the police, so thank your dad, hopper for that”
El tilted her head. “Why?”
Max leaned in, suddenly interested. “Wait—did you drink and drive? Billy got his license taken away for that.”
Your eyes widened. “What? No! I didn’t drink and drive! And never do that!”
“Well then what did you do?”
“So- okay first off all don’t laugh at me okay?”
“I won’t” El says “no promises” Max says. You sigh “so there was this squirrel like in the middle of the road and i swerved because otherwise i would’ve hit and I’m not a fucking monster obviously”
El gasped. “Did you hit it?”
“No! I missed it. But in the process, I may have… slightly… driven up onto someone’s lawn.”
Max’s eyes widened. “Define ‘slightly.’”
“Like… two wheels. Maybe three. And I might have taken out a garden gnome. And a mailbox. And a ‘Welcome Friends’ sign.”
El covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” you said, dramatically. “And the worst part? The guy whose lawn it was? He was outside. Watering his roses. In a robe. With curlers in his hair.”
Max burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. He screamed. I screamed. The squirrel probably screamed. And then the cops showed up because apparently someone thought I was trying to rob the place.”
El’s eyes were huge. “Did they arrest you?”
“No, but they did give me a citation for reckless driving and property damage. And then the DMV got involved and—boom—license revoked. Temporarily. I have to take a class and everything.”
“so that’s a no on ice cream, except if one of you want to drive” you joke, max lights up “I’m joking you’re never driving again” you say pointing at her
Max sighs before perking up instantly. “Oh! We should call Steve!” she says, already reaching for the phone.
El lights up beside her. “Yes! Steve will take us.”
“Uh—no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter.
“Why not?” El asks, blinking innocently.
“Because,” you mutter, suddenly very interested in the glitter palette.
Max narrows her eyes. “Because?”
“Just… because. He won’t come. And it’ll be embarrassing.”
Max scoffs. “Yes he will. He’s, like, obsessed with you.”
You snort. “No he isn’t.”
“He literally saved you when the demodogs attacked you, risked his life for you and everything”
You scoff “sorry was he supposed to let me die?”
Max shrugs “he could’ve”
“Wow that’s nice max” you tell her, she rolls he eyes “he called you ‘sweetheart’ a bunch of times when he was half conscious”
“He was delirious! We’re not calling Steve. Period”
Max groans “fine, can we at least order pizza” you frown suspiciously “fine, i want peperoni”
Within half an hour, a sharp knock echoed through the house, slicing through the hum of the movie still playing in the background. Max’s eyes lit up as she sprang up from the couch, barely containing the grin tugging at her lips. “That’s the pizza,” she announced, her voice laced with a mischievous lilt.
El, curled up beside her, let out a stifled giggle, burying her face into the throw pillow like she was trying to hide it. You raised an eyebrow, already suspicious, but said nothing as you grabbed your wallet from your desk. and made your way toward the front door
Your footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor, but you could hear the unmistakable shuffle of socks behind you. You paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned your head just enough to catch them in your peripheral vision—Max standing a little too close, El peeking over her shoulder with wide, expectant eyes.
“Why are you following me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at them, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.
Max gave a casual shrug, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. “Just hungry,” she said, her voice a little too even.
El nodded solemnly beside her, echoing, “Yes. Just Hungry.” But the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
You narrowed your eyes at them, suspicious, but turned away and opened the front door. The cold night air slipped in, along with the scent of vanilla and waffle cone. And there he was—Steve Harrington, standing on your porch with a smug grin and a paper bag in one hand.
“What the hell are you doing here dumbass?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.
Steve raised his eyebrows, feigning offense. “Heard you got your license revoked dumbass. I was summoned. Called upon. Bribed, actually. I come bearing gifts.” He held up the bag like it was a peace offering. “Triple chocolate chunk and strawberry swirl. You’re welcome.”
You turned slowly, gaze drifting up the staircase where Max and El were now perched like two smug little gargoyles, watching the scene unfold with matching grins.
“You little traitors,” you muttered, pointing an accusatory finger at them.
Max grinned “told you he’d come”
And he did he always did, You felt it before you saw it. That shift in the air. That tug in your chest. The way the world seemed to hold its breath the moment he stepped into view.
But then—
Max faded first.
One blink and she was gone, her grin still lingering in the space she’d just occupied, like a ghost of joy. You reached for her without thinking, but your hand met only air.
Then El. Her silhouette shimmered, dissolved like mist in sunlight. No sound, no goodbye. Just absence.
The walls of the house began to unravel next—peeling away like paper, the colors bleeding into each other, the furniture dissolving into dust motes that danced in the air. The floor beneath your feet softened, then vanished altogether, and still you sat there, frozen, watching it all disappear.
And then there was Steve.
He stood there for a moment longer than the rest, like he was trying to hold on. Like he knew you were still watching. His eyes met yours—wide, searching, a little sad, a little stubborn. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words in time.
You opened your mouth to call out, to ask him to stay, to ask what’s happening, but your voice caught in your throat.
Then you were somewhere else entirely
Steve’s hand tightened around your wrist just as you stepped off the curb, his brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t like the answer to. “Where are you going?”
The plan went as ford, since Robin didn’t have a drivers licence she went with Nancy to look at the ‘far fetched’ thing Nancy had in mind. You’d made your choice early on. The moment Steve started organizing who would go where, you knew exactly what you weren’t going to do—babysit. Again. You’d done your time wrangling Dustin’s chaotic energy and Max’s sarcasm. You love them really, but plainly you were hungover and had a head ache from the party after the basketball game, the kind where your skull felt like it was being slowly compressed by a vice, and every sound was a personal attack. To make matters worse, your body had decided to stage a full-blown rebellion. Your period was looming like a thunderstorm on the horizon—cramps already coiling low in your stomach, your mood swinging like a wrecking ball, and the vague, infuriating sense that your uterus was just waiting for the most inconvenient moment to ruin your jeans.
So no, listening to Steve and Dustin bicker like an old married couple in the front seat of a car for the next two hours was not on your to-do list. Not today. Not when you could ride with Nancy and Robin, who at least knew how to sit in silence or talk about things that didn’t involve Star Wars trivia or who would win in a fight between Batman and a velociraptor.
You glanced back at him, already halfway to Nancy’s car. “I’m gonna go with Robin and Nancy.”
His face scrunched. “Wha—why?”
You shrugged, casual. “Just figured it’d be better if we were divided equally. Three of you, three of us.”
Steve scoffed, already shifting into negotiation mode. “Okay, then let’s make Henderson go.”
From behind him, Dustin’s voice rang out indignantly, “Hey!”
You shook your head. “No, I wanna go.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Trying to get rid of me?”
You smirked, stepping in close enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Trying not to babysit. Have fun with that.”
He caught your wrist again before you could turn away, his voice softer this time. “Just—be safe, yeah?”
You rolled your eyes, tugging your hand free. “We’re going to the library, not a battlefield.”
“C’mon, y/n” he said, his voice dropping into something more serious. “Level with me here.”
You paused, then gave him a look that was all sass and affection rolled into one. “Suck my dick, Harrington.”
He rolled his eyes “just-! Don’t die yea? Can you do that for me y/n!?”
You were already halfway into the car when you called back, “no promises!”
As Steve climbed into his own car, Max and Dustin were already snickering in the backseat.
“Be safe,” Max whispered, her voice dripping with mock concern.
“I’ll be so safe,” Dustin added, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’ll be safe for you.”
Steve quickly grabs an empty divot pepper can and launches it into the back seat “screw the both off you”
And he’s gone, The world around you shifts, warps at the edges. The memory blurs—colors bleeding into one another, sounds muffled like they’re underwater.
You blinked and Steve’s basement assembled around you
“Wait, I don’t think I understand,” you said, frowning slightly as you tossed a piece of popcorn into your mouth. You weren’t sure what you were talking about them fading?
The buttery crunch filled the pause as your eyes stayed glued to the screen, where Back to the Future Part II was in full chaotic swing—hoverboards, alternate timelines, and a very stressed-out Marty McFly. Right the movie.
Steve, sprawled beside you on the couch with his legs kicked up on the coffee table like he owned the place, glanced over with a smirk. “What part?”
You gestured vaguely at the screen, popcorn bowl balanced on your lap. “Okay, so… Biff steals the sports almanac, gives it to his younger self, and that somehow turns Hill Valley into a dystopian nightmare?”
“Exactly,” Steve said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Right but where did all the gun violence come from and where the hell is his girlfriend is she still on the porch?”
“I don’t know that’s like the vibe it’s like a mob town now” Steve says
You scoff “fine what about Jennifer”
“She’s fine,” Steve said, waving a hand. “Doc said she’d be okay.”
You gave him a look. “Doc also said time travel was safe and then immediately broke the universe.”
“Well I don’t know y/n I’m watching this movie for the first time as well”
“Well I just think it’s really reckless to leave her on a porch to a house that’s probably not even her house anymore in a town full of gun violence!”
Steve laughs “why are you so worried about this?”
“well i wouldn’t like it if you’d leave me on a porch to get abducted!”
“Well i wouldn’t leave you on the porch”
“No you better not Harrington!“ you warn, he laughs
He laughed, that warm, boyish laugh that always made it harder to stay mad at him. “Okay, okay—I promise. No porch abandonment. Not now, not in any timeline.”
You crossed your arms, still eyeing him like you weren’t entirely convinced. “Even if I pass out mid-time-jump?”
“Especially then,” he said, scooting closer. “I’d carry you through the space-time continuum myself.
You tried to hold back a smile, but it slipped through anyway. “Good, that’s like bare minimum, I don’t know what that McFly guy is thinking”
Steve grins “yes no wonder his future is shit.”
You leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking to the screen and then back to him. “Our future’s gonna be a lot better than that. You think we’ll have flying cars though?”
Steve turned to look at you, the flickering light from the TV catching in his eyes. You’d said our so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Because in that moment, Steve could see it—clear as day. A future with you in it. Not just the next few months or the next weird supernatural crisis, but the long haul. The kind of future where you argued over what cereal to buy, where you fought over the thermostat, where you fell asleep on the couch watching movies you’d both seen a hundred times.
“Flying cars?” he echoed, voice a little softer now. “Yea for sure, you’re not getting to drive it though”
You gasped, clutching your chest like he’d just committed a personal betrayal. “What? Why?”
Steve turned to you with a smirk, eyes gleaming. “Why? I think Mr. Marten’s garden is still recovering from when you drove into it, baby.”
You gawked at him, scandalized. “That was one time! And I i still blame that squirrel!”
Steve laughs “yea sure blame the squirrel”
You open your mouth to argue, to defend your honor but the moment’s already slipping. The warmth of the couch, the sound of his laugh, the way the light caught in his hair—it all starts to blur at the edges like a dream you’re waking up from too fast.
The memory fades again.
The popcorn bowl is gone. The movie’s not playing. The room is quieter now, still and sun-drenched, the kind of golden light that only comes in the late afternoon of a lazy summer day. The basement is the same—same couch, same posters, same faint hum of the old box fan in the corner—but everything feels different. Lighter. Older. Like time has passed and you’re only just catching up.
Dustin’s hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by a chaotic sprawl of college brochures and flyers, each one more colorful and ambitious than the last. They’re fanned out like a deck of dreams—MIT, Caltech, Harvard, Stanford, even a few local schools tucked in the corners like afterthoughts.
You stretch your legs out, brushing his with your toes. “So,” you say, “what college you thinking, Henderson?”
Dustin didn’t even look up, just kept flipping through a glossy pamphlet with a photo of a futuristic lab on the cover. “Well, obviously MIT is the goal,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But if not, I’d settle for like… Harvard.”
Steve, lounging in the armchair with a soda can balanced on his knee, let out a sharp scoff. “Oh, he’d settle for Harvard,” he repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “Listen to this guy.”
You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “God forbid he ends up somewhere mediocre like, I don’t know, Yale.”
Dustin rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, I have options.”
“Yeah, you’ve got options,” Steve said, gesturing with his soda. “Like, ‘Do I want to be a genius at the best tech school in the country, or do I want to slum it at a little place called Harvard?’”
Dustin grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I’ve got a lot to offer. Brains, charm, a killer D&D campaign record…”
“Don’t forget humility,” you added, deadpan.
Dustin shrugs “I just hope I can go to college y’know, with everything going on here” Steve sits up “hey you’re going to college” he says pointing at the boy
Dustin blinked, caught off guard by the sudden conviction in Steve’s voice. “I mean, yeah, that’s the plan, but—”
“No buts,” Steve cut in. “You’re too smart not to. I don’t care if the world’s ending or if that mind flayer thing comes back riding a demogorgon, you’re going to college. And you’re not settling for Harvard either you’re going to MIT”
Dustin scoffs “alright Steve”
You smiled, watching the exchange from across the table. “He’s right, Dust. You’re not just smart—you’re brilliant. And brave. And annoying as hell, but that’s beside the point.”
Dustin looked between the two of you, his mouth twitching into a reluctant grin. “You guys are so embarrassing.”
Steve smirked. “Yeah, well, get used to it. We’re gonna be the loudest ones at your graduation. I’m bringing a foghorn.”
You gasped, eyes lighting up with sudden inspiration. “We should get matching MIT sweaters!”
“oh no no no!” Dusting protests
“oh yes!” Steve agrees
Dustin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You two are going to ruin my life.”
It shifted again, dusting was gone and so was the peaceful air. The door rattled violently on its hinges, claws scraping against the other side like nails on a chalkboard. The demogorgons were close—too close. You could hear their snarling breaths, the wet, guttural sounds of something not meant to exist in this world. The lights flickered overhead, casting long, twitching shadows across the concrete floor.
You and Steve were backed into the far corner of the room, crouched low behind an overturned metal table. His chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths, blood smeared across his temple, his bat nowhere in sight. Your hands trembled as you gripped the crowbar you’d found, knuckles white, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.
“Steve,” you whispered, barely audible over the screeching outside. “If we don’t make it out of this one—”
“Don’t say that,” he snapped, sharper than you expected. His eyes met yours, wide and wild, but burning with something fierce. “Don’t you dare say that.”
You swallowed hard. “Steve—”
“I’m not kidding,” he said, voice cracking as he leaned in closer, like he could shield you with his body alone. “You’re gonna live a long, happy life, Y/N. You’re gonna die in your bed when you’re over eighty years old, peacefully, surrounded by grandkids and ugly knit blankets and a dog that snores louder than I do.”
You blinked, stunned by the sudden flood of certainty in his voice. “It’s okay—” you tried, voice trembling, reaching for something steady in the chaos.
But Steve snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him. “It’s not fucking okay!” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “We’re not dying in this shithole!”
The room shook again, dust raining from the ceiling as another demogorgon slammed into the door. The hinges groaned, metal warping under the pressure. You flinched, but Steve didn’t move. He stood there, chest heaving, eyes locked on the door like he could hold it back with sheer will.
You stared at him, heart pounding. “Steve—”
“No,” he said, turning to you, voice still shaking but steadier now. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the grime and sweat clinging to your skin. “You don’t get to give up. Not here. Not now. You hear me?”
You nodded fiercely, the fear in your chest cracking wide open into something raw and real. “Yes,” you breathed. “Yes. I love you.”
his smile broke through, soft and aching and so full of everything he’d never said out loud.
“I love you too,” he whispered, forehead pressing gently to yours. “And I’m gonna keep on loving you. Till we’re old and gray, yeah? You and me. Front porch. Rocking chairs. Bad coffee. The whole thing.”
You let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You promise?”
He nodded, voice thick. “I promise”
They burst through the door in a blur of claws and teeth and shrieking hunger.
Steve barely had time to shove you behind him before the first demogorgon lunged. He scratched at Steve chest and he fell back against the wall falling onconcious
Then the floor gave out.
A deafening crack split the air as the ground beneath you buckled swallowing you whole.
When Steve came to, it was with a gasp, lungs burning, head pounding. He was lying on cold stone, the air damp and heavy with rot. The only light came from a flickering overhead bulb, swinging lazily like a pendulum.
He sat up too fast, pain lancing through his skull and his chest. “Y/N?” he croaked, voice hoarse.
Silence.
He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, eyes scanning the room. The overturned table was still there. The broken door hung off its hinges. Blood smeared the floor in long, chaotic streaks.
But you were gone.
“Y/N!?” he shouted, louder now, panic rising in his throat like bile. “Y/N!”
No answer.
Just the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls, mocking him.
He staggered forward, calling your name again and again, each time more desperate than the last. But the room remained heartbreakingly, impossibly empty.
And for the first time since he met you, Steve Harrington felt truly alone.
“Steve!”
Robin’s voice cut through the haze like a lifeline, sharp and desperate. She stumbled into the ruined room, blood on her hands, hair matted with sweat and ash. “Oh my god, Steve—thank god you’re alive!” She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders, eyes scanning him for injuries.
“We took him out—I think- or at least we injured him bad! Nancy shot him a bunch of times and—!”
She stopped.
Because Steve wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t even really seeing her.
He was on his knees, trembling, eyes locked on the empty space where you should’ve been. His lips were parted, breath coming in shallow gasps
Robin’s voice softened.
“Steve where’s y/n?”
He turned to her slowly, and that’s when she saw it—the devastation carved into every line of his face. His eyes were glassy, wide, like he was still trying to wake up from a nightmare that hadn’t ended. A sob tore from his chest before he could stop it. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.
The sound echoed through the broken room, raw and ragged and full of something ancient and unbearable.
“Shit,” Robin whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in her throat. Her eyes welled, and then the tears came fast, hot and silent, streaking down her dirt-smeared cheeks. Her voice cracked under the weight of it all, under the truth she didn’t want to believe but couldn’t ignore.
She wrapped her arms around Steve tightly, like she could hold him together with her own body. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He just collapsed into her, shaking, his face buried in her shoulder, the sobs tearing out of him like they’d been waiting for permission.
That’s how Nancy found them.
She stepped into the ruined room, flashlight beam cutting through the dust and debris. Her boots crunched over broken glass and splintered wood. She didn’t have to ask. She didn’t have to hear it.
She saw Steve—on his knees, clinging to Robin like a man drowning. She saw the blood on the floor, the empty space where you should’ve been. She saw the way Robin’s shoulders shook with silent grief.
And she knew. You were dead.
But you weren’t you were standing right there now, tears rolling down your own cheeks as you watched everything finally coming together. You weren’t born here. You weren’t even supposed to be here
You shot up. And once again you were back in that house. You laid on the couch now Henry, sat on the chair next to you “ah good, you’re awake. You made quite the tumble there darling”
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.
Description: The reader is living in a dream with Henry without realizing
Warning: Fingering, fingering on the counter, talks of having a baby, implied sex
Word Count: 1,582
“So I met this guy and his name is Henry.” Nancy smiled at her best friend, happy that she was entering back into the dating scene.
“That’s good. I’m glad. Now what’s he look like?” When she described the handsome guy to her friend, the smile never left her face.
She described his blonde hair that was neatly done, sometimes he wore a hat. His eyes were so blue and beautiful and he wore glasses. His smile was beautiful and put butterflies in her tummy. She was in love, in love with who she thought he was, not for what he really was. Nancy listened to her best friend tell her all she knew about the man she’s fallen for.
Now when Nancy hears that name, she can’t smile. Her stomach turns and she wants nothing more than to hurt him. She knows that’s the guy her best friend was with, in the upside down, unaware that the perfect dream she’s been living, truly was a dream.
“She’s there, with Y/N.” Nancy said and Mike looked down.
He remembers her being over at his house nearly everyday, kissing Steve a few times as Nancy laughs at her for the confession, telling her that she’s with Jonathan now. When Y/N started dating Henry and it got serious, she never was around that much and when they found out who Henry truly was, it was too late.
She wore her silk robe as she stood in the kitchen, making breakfast. Her hair was still wet from her shower. She gasped as she felt Henry’s arms around her. He squeezed her a little as she giggled, feeling his breath hit her neck.
“How’s my pretty girl doing?” He asked and she turned to face him.
She looked at him with love in her eyes, like she did every morning. When Henry took her here and called it their shared home and that she never had to leave, she did miss her friends and family but she was in love, hopelessly and had the hope that she would see Nancy again. He leaned down and kissed her, hands moving to her hips.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, standing on her tippy toes and deepening the kiss. She moved one of her hands and took off his hat, throwing it somewhere in the kitchen. He laughed against her lips and picked her up, sitting her down on the counter. The kiss continued, turning more lustful, their hands all over each other.
His hair was messy again and he took off his glasses, sitting them on the counter. His hands moved to undo her robe as his kisses moved from her lips down to her neck. Her breath hitched and she whispered his name. The cool air of the house hit her bare body and her nipples hardened.
She gasped as he bit down on her neck a little and his cold hands touched her bare skin. Her eyes fell shut as she memorized the way his lips felt on her neck and the way his teeth nipped at her skin, marking her like she was going to get taken away from him. The way his hands toyed with her tits and moved down her stomach to her soaking wet panties.
“You’re very wet, my dear.” He spoke against her neck and she shivered at the feeling.
She tried to keep herself steady as his fingers made their way into her panties. She mouthed the word fuck as he skillfully rubbed her clit like he was trained to please her.
“Henry.” It was weak and soft, scared that if she screamed the monsters in the woods would hear.
“No need to be so quiet, love.” He whispers and playfully bites her ear.
Her hips were trying to move and match his pace but it was sloppy. Still she threw her head back and let out noises that filled the big house.
“There she is.” He cooed and she felt his fingers near her hole.
She whimpered, desperate for him to be inside of her. His finger penetrated her and she bit her lip so hard it drew a little blood. She whined loving how his longer finger curled against her. He knew her body so well, knew where everything was and how to make her scream. He added another finger and pulled back from her neck, eyeing the marks he made.
She looked majestic and like a work of art that he was painting. She was trembling and trying to match the pace of his fingers, not caring that she was on the counter and getting it messy. Her pussy took his fingers quite well.
“Please Henry.” She cried, wanting nothing more than to cum, hard.
“You wanna cum beautiful?” He asked, moving a strain of her hair behind her ear.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think straight but she nodded and babbled some nonsense hoping that he would understand. He married her, of course he understood. His fingers curled and it was over. She let out a pleasured scream as tears streamed down her face. Her thighs were shaking as she came all over his fingers.
He watched as she tried to calm down but his fingers kept going causing her to whimper.
“H-Henry.” She stuttered out but that did nothing as she gripped the table and whined.
Her second orgasm made her fall over into Henry’s arms. He chuckled and held her shaking body as she calmed. Her breath hitting his neck and her eyes fell closed as her body went limp in his arms.
“Y/N he’s not who he says he is.” Nancy yelled as Y/N stood in the upside down looking around, lost.
“Nancy?” She yelled her friend's name.
“Y/N, he’s Vecna. Henry is-“ Her voice cut off and she kept yelling her friend's name.
“Nancy!” She wasn’t sure where she was, she’s never been in the upside down before, not since she was a child.
She doesn’t remember the place or that even happening. It looked just like the town she grew up in, just darker. She ran through the town yelling Nancy’s name. She hadn’t seen her friend in so long, she had to be here. She ran until she was in front of this wall that looked like flesh. She stepped back, terrified.
What the hell happened to Hawkins? She wondered as she went up to the wall.
“Nancy?” She yelled again.
Maybe she was on the other side of the wall.
“Y/N?”
“Nancy?”
“Y/N, I need you to wake up!” She shook her head, confused by what her friend meant.
“I am awake, Nancy. What’s going on?” She yelled back, tears brimming her eyes.
“Where’s Henry?” She asked and got no response.
She leaned against the fleshy wall and sighed. One minute she’s asleep in her husband’s arms the next she’s back in Hawkins with only Nancy’s voice to guide her.
“Y/N wake up.” She heard a loud booming voice.
Her eyes snapped open and she was no longer on the counter but in their shared bed. Henry was above her with a concerned look in his eyes. She blinked away the sleep, though that woke her up for sure.
“Are you alright?” He asked her and she sat up, face to face with him.
“I had a strange dream, though it felt so real.” She said and looked around the room.
She couldn’t forget Nancy’s voice and the fleshy wall that seemed to separate them.
“Your dream wasn’t real darling, this is.” He cups her face.
She tilts her head, it was strange, it seems like he knows.
“I’m glad.” She gives him a small smile and he nods, kissing her.
She kissed back, trying to forget about her dream.
Henry was talking about kids, how he wanted them and how it was the perfect time. They’ve been having unprotected sex for awhile now and nothing seems to be happening. She was a little upset because she did want kids and she did want them with Henry. She took her morning shower before getting ready for another boring day in her life while Henry works.
“Darling are you out of the shower?” He called through the door.
She opened the door, revealing herself. She never failed to miss the way his eyes darted over her body that was still in her robe.
“Will you get dressed for me? There’s someone I want you to meet.” He says and she nods, grabbing her clothes.
Henry never brought over anyone, no friends, no co-workers. She was confused but excited to meet them. He left her to get ready. As she took off her robe she felt the room spin and she sat down, sweat building up.
“Henry.” She yelled his name.
Moments later he walked into the bathroom to see her puking. He quickly pulled her hair back.
“Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.
She looked at him and nodded, feeling better.
“Yeah I’ll be out in a minute.” She told him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” She nodded and when he left she pulled out her last pregnancy test.
Henry showed the little girl around, saying that eventually her friends and family could come as well. He told her about his lovely wife that would be down shortly. Y/N walked down the stairs to where Henry was and felt her heart stop at the sight. The little girl that was at the table was her best friend’s younger sister.
Could you do a Henry creel x Fem reader smut? Basically User is Dr. brenners biological daughter , and also a nurse who works in the lab and Henry and her love to sneak around ?
(Only if you want to you don’t have to of course!)
ENGINE LOGGED: "KEEP LOVE A SECRET!" 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃
REGISTERED DRIVER: lab orderly! henry creel!
INSPECTION REPORT: you’re brenner’s daughter and he’s the best orderly in hawkins lab— you weren’t supposed to have fun with him… but how could you resist? especially when he’s the needy one.
ⓘ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 SYSTEM OVERVIEW: 18+ CONTENT, fem! brenner daughter! nurse! reader, lab orderly! henry, handjobs, cum eating, thigh riding, dry humping, boob play, dirty talk, quickie, praise kink, hair pulling, maybe risky sex, soft! henry creel, henry a little bit ooc but it’s literally because he’s in love!
it always felt good to sneak around with him.
it was something risky about it that made your heart flip, it was fun to sneak around the lab with henry when the cameras weren’t beeping your way and have a little fun with him.
you two worked together; henry being an orderly to the the experimented-on kids inside the laboratory while you worked as a nurse in the infirmary and clinical wing, taking care of the kids when they got injured due to the challenges brenner made them participate in or got sick.
there was also the heightened risk to it of the fact that you were brenner’s only biological child, the one he didn’t want to experiment on and the only child he was willing to have.
to this day, you don’t know how it began with henry— with this whole relationship.
but with the space that confined you two, the chemistry between the both of you that neither of you could deny, and the fact that you two were the few employees at the laboratory that met with one another more often, it was eventually going to boil over.
you began sneaking around with him earlier in the year, taking it in closets and blind spots that the cameras couldn’t pick up. sometimes henry dragged you to the boiler room, other times to an empty observation room.
your heart pumped faster (and your pussy got wetter) every single time henry gave you that specific look, the look in the hallway that screamed ‘I need you really really badly!’
henry is always able to come up with a easy excuse to run away for a few minutes, bringing in a new orderly into the rainbow room to sneak off.
he took a few minutes before he excused himself from the rainbow room, swinging open the door and stepping into the corridor, holding his head in faux pain.
one of the other orderlies came up to him, arms behind his back. “you okay, one?” the voice calls out to him as his shoes squeaked against the tile of the corridor.
he turns around, walking backwards slowly as he nods, giving a thumbs up. “all good, just a little headache… going to get it checked out and get some medicine real fast! watch the experiments for me.”
the orderly on the other side of the hall nodded and stepped into the rainbow room, watching as the thirteen experimented-on kids did whatever they did in the room; play with the tools disposed to them, read the books that brenner approved of them to read, and talk amongst themselves. it was a break between the experiments.
henry doesn’t walk too fast— he doesn’t want to look too eager for a man with a “headache”, he doesn’t need anyone suspecting him of anything or to report his whereabouts to brenner and get him caught and punished with an intense round of psychic testing. he moves with that eerie calmness that he had, one hand on his forehead to remain the faux headache appearance and his other hand behind his back, posture straight and his expression blank.
But the moment he reaches the first hallway that the camera in the corner is dragged to the other side, he smirks to himself.
you were busy restocking supplies in their respective cabinets when you hear the infirmary door unlock and swing open, looking over your shoulder and seeing him very gently, and with that sly look on his face, step into the place.
“henry?” you blink, putting the bottles down on the counter. “what are you doing—”
he cuts out off, his voice mundane. “i have a headache.” he announces, a little too flatly even for him.
you stare at him like he’s stupid; he stares at you right back. its silence between the two of you before you raise an eyebrow, putting a hand on your hip. “a headache?” you question him.
he nods. “terrible.” he makes sure to say, emphasizing it dramatically. “it’s absolutely debilitating.”
you press your lips together, trying to fight the smile from appearing on your face, shaking your head. “uh-uh.” you fold your arms on your chest, right under your breasts. “and you need me to examine you?”
he steps closer— close enough to you that your breath catches. “who else would i want?” he asks, his shoes clicking against the tile floor of the infirmary. it was warmer than anywhere else, it was a lot… nicer, if that’s able to paint the picture.
you roll your eyes even if your pulse is jumping. “you are very impossible.” you tell him.
“and you’re stalling.” he murmurs, his eyes so shamelessly looking down at your lips then down at your breasts, mouth watering at the idea of unbuttoning that damn nurses’ shirt and getting a taste of those breasts of yours.
you try, you really try to remain professional with the man as you gesture towards the exam table. “sit down, big boy.” you tell him, being playful with him compared to the other experiments— maybe it’s because he’s the only experiment who’s been sticking his dick in you for the last year and a half.
he does what you tell him, sitting down on the table as you grab a clipboard and steps towards you.
you get a little close to him, near the manspreaded display of his legs as you speak. “so, what are your symptoms, henry?”
“it’s pounding… very persistent… too lingering.” he says, his voice low, looking at you as you don’t even try to write on the clipboard, instead dropping your arm down and the clipboard hitting your hips.
“oh really? where exactly?” you ask him.
he leans forward, taking the clipboard out of your hand and wrapping his fingers around your wrist. before you knew it, your hand was pressing against his crotch in his white jeans, right where you can feel something very prominent, thick and definitely not a headache. right when he places your hand on his bulge, the camera twitches and turns to the other side of the infirmary.
your face heats up, breath hitching at your hand placement. his hand is bigger than yours as you attempt to tug your hand away and he’s able to keep it there. you swallow in a breath albeit the next breath that leaves your mouth is a shaky exhale.
“h-henry…” you mutter, looking up at him with a little glassy look in your eyes as he rubs your hand up and down his crotch.
he tilts his head. “what?” he asks oh so innocently, as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, making sure the camera locks in the other side. “is this not how you diagnose something?” he asks you.
you groan, bringing your other hand up to his shoulder, letting his hand move your own hand. “someone might… someone might come by and catch you…” you warn him, your mouth slightly agape as you look down at him.
“not if we’re fast.” he tells you, leaning in and pressing a kiss on your jaw. “besides, the camera is on the other way… and i’ll delete the footage when i pass by that room.”
you groan as he kisses down your jawline. you want to keep up the demenor… but you fail to. his kisses just feel too good, quiet moans leaving your mouth as he lets go of his hand, taking upon yourself to begin to quickly undo the zipper, unbuckling his belt as well and grabbing his cock.
wrapping your fingers around his thick cock, you pull it through his white pant’s fly, revealing it to you. right as you do that, henry unbuttons the buttons of your nurse top, pressing chaste kisses down your chest.
he whimpers when your hand squeezes his cock as you get a good grip on him, beginning a slow speed as you drag your hand up and down him. “oh fuck… baby… you feel so good…” he mutters, ripping open your shirt and pulling down your bra.
you gasp softly when his right hand cups your breast, his other hand wraps behind your neck, bringing you down for a sloppy kiss, his tongue pressing against your tongue.
moaning against his lips, you mutter out his name. “henry… fuck..” you warn weakily, fingers shaking around his cock as you try to continue a pace, but god he feels so good.
and he smiles— dark, sweet, possessive, and the slightly brokenness that was always attached to him. “there’s no headache.” he admits softly, as if it was a shocker there was never a headache. “I just wanted to see you… see this pretty body of yours…”
your heart melts and your thighs clench. “well clearly you’re getting that— ahhhh.” you get cut off when his fingers pinch at your nipple, circling your nipple after pinching it.
before you knew it, he bent down, wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground. he places you in his lap, backing up on the table to leave both of you more room as your knees dig into the table, straddling him.
“there you go… give me more access to these…” he mutters, rubbing both of your breasts before tilting his head down, kissing the top of your right breast. he holds the boob in his hand as he shifts it upwards, locking his mouth around your nipple as he swirls his tongue.
your left hand remains stroking his cock, your right hand’s fingers move into his blonde strands, tugging at them and forcing his mouth off your boob.
he looks up at you and feels your lips against his, sloppy and passionate, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip as your hips involuntarily rub against his left thigh.
henry groans at feeling you grind against his thigh, nodding as your lips capture his’ again, your fingers messaging the back of his head where his hair covers your hand. “keep doing that, hun.” he murmurs. “ride my thigh— god you’re so pretty for me.”
you follow his orders, kissing him harder as you jerk him faster and faster, hand becoming a little sloppier. your hips brush against his thigh, beginning a consistent speed.
“henry… oh- oh fuck! h-henry… s’so good.” you slur your words, feeling his lips against yours, muffling your sounds.
his right hand squeezes your right breast, his left hand wrapping around your waist and encouraging your hips to continue. he presses a kiss on your chin, his hand on your waist slipping onto your ass.
he can feel his cock twitch closer and closer to his orgasm, his groans vibrating off your skin as the room is filled with the sweat of both of you, the moans leaving your mouth and the groans leaving his.
“henry… henry… henry… oh fucking h-hell.” you moan, grinding harder as you yourself get closer to your orgasm, feeling his hand switch from your right breast to your left, squeezing and pinching at your nipple.
kissing down your neck, he nudged his thigh upwards in a way that made your back arch. “so desperate for my thigh are you? can’t get my dick so you get the second best thing…” he guesses, squeezing your ass cheek again.
“s-shut up.” you shoot back, leaning your head back as both of his hands squeeze different parts of your body. “y-you’re the desperate one…”
“two things can be true at once, darling.” he whispers. “you can be desperate for me and I can be desperate for you… at least the feeling is mutual.”
a blissful sigh escapes his throat as he feels your hand jerk up and down faster and faster, huffs leaving your throat as you bring him close to his orgasm. “c’mon baby.” he encourages, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear as he squeezes both of your breasts. “make me cum… make me cum all over your hand.”
hearing his words and feeling his tongue against your ear, you didn’t stop your hand movements— how could you as you rode his thigh harder as the examination table squeaked under you.
and in perfect unison, as you hit your orgasm against his thigh, he reaches his orgasm in the palm of your hand.
henry rolls his eyes back as well as leaning his head back as ropes and ropes of cum sprawl and shoot out of the tip of his dick, shooting upwards and around in different areas. it lands on your hand, his jeans, your wrist, also landing on the examination table and dripping to the ground as your own cum remains in your panties.
you bit his neck to stop yourself from moaning too loudly, bouncing on his thigh to extend your high, cumming directly in your panties as you feel it become a little stickier. “oh godddd, henry…” you moan against his shoulder, hands shaky and not being able to jerk him off anymore, hand feeling a little sticky from his semen.
henry grins as he watches you overstimulate yourself on his thigh, lifting the hand around his cock and bringing it up to your own mouth. “go on, sweetheart, let me see you lick it… lick my cum off your hand.”
looking down at your hand and looking back at him, you stick out your tongue and press it against your own hand, licking up his cum right off your hand. you swallow his tongue, the salty taste on your tongue and lingering on the back of your throat as you lick your hand clean as henry holds it to you.
he watches you, breathless as his right hand recollects your breasts into your bra, fixing it for you. “have I ever told you that you’re gorgeous?” he asks, leaning down and pressing a kiss down to your forehead.
getting your hand clean even if it’s still a little sticky, you look up at him and begin to fix the buttons on your shirt, watching him fix his pants and fly. “henry… you’ve told me that plenty of times.”
he shrugs, kissing your lips. “well it’s true.” he mutters against your lips. “you’re a very gorgeous girl.”
you roll your eyes and press against your clothing to fix it, to make it look less messy and less… fucked. you fix your hair, patting it down as henry gets off the examination table.
“don’t get so flirty with me, henry.” you tell him, smacking the back of his thigh— you heard him chuckle as he swats your hand away. “now go. don’t get in trouble.”
he nods, looking out the door to make sure no one else is around before he turns around, stepping out. “yes ma’am.” he says before he disappears down the hall.
after he leaves the infirmary, it confirms it to you— yeah. sneaking around with henry, being your fathers back was definitely too much fun to stop.
now how could you sneak him out the labs and into your bed is the better question!
click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, he’s such a red flag but i need him so so badly. he’s the only red flag character in stranger things i actually like. i can’t describe but henry is a hotter red flag than billy (he was never that hot anyway)
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
PAIRING: Henry Creel/Mr Whatsit x Fem!Reader || Stranger Things
WARNING: smut | Reader 18+
HINT: You are Henry Creel's only kidnapped victim. / and his favourite
WORD COUNT: 1k
୨♡୧ ｡Despite the uncanny feeling he gave you, you chose to follow him willingly to his home.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry Creel was surprised to see you behave and rewarded you with one of his charming smiles.
୨♡୧ ｡There was not much of a conversation going on as he led you home, and when you asked questions, his replies were short and charming, although you felt they might not be entirely honest.
୨♡୧ ｡While you lived with him, you caught Henry 'Mr Whatsit' staring at you. But then you blinked, and he was gone.
୨♡୧ ｡When you started exploring outside the unspoken boundaries of his home, he caught you outside and grabbed you by the shoulder. There was a contrast between his still kind voice and the roughness of his grip.
'No, no. You can't go there. Only bad girls go there, and you are not a bad girl, are you?'
୨♡୧ ｡When you refused to respond, Henry guided you back inside by the shoulder, trying to soothe you with one of his cunning smiles.
'You've done well coming back. Out there, you're not safe.' Henry purred, staring right through you. 'But with me, you are. The monsters can't get you here.'
୨♡୧ ｡Each time you asked for something, Henry got it for you. You didn't dare ask how he got it, but made sure to thank him each time.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry would stroke your head and call you his 'good girl' before walking away. But he was never really away; you always felt seen. Henry was everywhere.
୨♡୧ ｡The first few days with Henry, 'Mr Whatsit', were alright.
୨♡୧ ｡But then there came the desire.
୨♡୧ ｡You started to miss being out there, in the real world. Missed your privacy. But these were not things you could ask for; these were aspects you had to keep to yourself while Henry kept you in his home.
୨♡୧ ｡But Henry was observant. He noticed.
୨♡୧ ｡He walked by your room, glanced at you, and his gaze made you feel ashamed of your desire. But he never said anything; he watched and remained silent about the matter.
୨♡୧ ｡During dinner one evening, he turned to you.
'Is there something you need?'
୨♡୧ ｡You were taken aback by how direct he was, but tried to play it down, shrugging and focusing on dinner. Henry leaned in closer, his gaze drilling through you.
'Good girls don't lie.' He scolded with his usual soft soothing voice that didn't fit with the intense stare he gave you. 'Tell the truth.'
୨♡୧ ｡After a series of insistent stares and questions from Henry, you gave in and confessed. He leaned back in his seat, calmly. You couldn't tell what he thought about it because he always kept an impenetrable facade.
୨♡୧ ｡You finished dinner in silence and took your plate, but Henry snatched your wrist, standing up faster than you and towering over you.
'Come.'
୨♡୧ ｡Henry gave you no further explanation, but he took you to your bedroom and shut the door behind himself.
୨♡୧ ｡You were confused, but the power of coercion that Henry possessed made you act before you could think.
୨♡୧ ｡You sat on the edge of the bed, and Henry sat next to you.
୨♡୧ ｡His piercing gaze studied you, his head tilted, his lips showing no signs of emotion. Then they arched into the strangest smile, and he kissed you.
୨♡୧ ｡You tried to draw back, but his hand held your jaw in place firmly, forcing that kiss upon you until you softened up and accepted it.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry pushed you to lie back while he slid his free hand down to your thigh, kneading the flesh.
'Who is on your mind?'
'You.'
୨♡୧ ｡Henry shoved your head back, making sure not to hurt you, to remind you that he was in control.
୨♡୧ ｡He stared into your eyes to figure out the truth value of your words, and then he smiled. Pleased.
୨♡୧ ｡You spoke the truth.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry was not going to go too far. He wasn't going to involve himself fully. But you were good, so you deserved his hand to help you.
୨♡୧ ｡His hand rode up your thighs, kneading the flesh dangerously close to your crotch. Then he grabbed your crotch, hushing your moan with a firm kiss. You squirmed, but he scolded you.
'Good girls don't fight it.'
୨♡୧ ｡Henry's hand slipped inside your trousers, past your panties, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he stroked over your clit.
୨♡୧ ｡You clung to his upper arm, and his gaze darted to you, almost unsettled by your move. But he realised it was an instinctive reaction and continued without scolding you.
୨♡୧ ｡He circled your clit, sighing and watching how your body reacted. Responsive, obedient to his touch. Henry felt good about that. He liked to observe how easy it was to control you, even without his powers or his charm.
୨♡୧ ｡His hand released your jaw. He moved it to your head, stroking your hair gently.
୨♡୧ ｡A finger prodded at your entrance, and he slid it inside you while his thumb kept stroking your clit.
୨♡୧ ｡You arched and squirmed, gripping his arm tighter, and he hissed, brow furrowed and lips pursed in a growing angry expression.
'I said good girls don't fight.'
୨♡୧ ｡Henry seized you by the hair, which he had previously so gently stroked, and tugged your head back, forcing you to stay still.
୨♡୧ ｡Your thighs closed around his hand, his hand working harder, more punishing on your cunt.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry observed your reaction, feeling a sense of pride at the absolute control he had over you, using his hand to push you over the edge.
୨♡୧ ｡After you came around his fingers, he released your hair and removed his hand.
୨♡୧ ｡He glanced at his hand, turning it. Henry admired his palm and the back of his hand, then his fingers, observing the slick on his fingers, the way it shone in the light that came through the window.
୨♡୧ ｡Henry got up to leave, and you tried to stop him, to return his gesture, but he raised a brow and smiled.
'No.'
୨♡୧ ｡He patted your head with his other clean hand, keeping that unsettling smile on his lips.
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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