Dominion - Henry Creel x Reader
Plot: After entering into a coma, you find yourself deep within Henry’s mind. Little by little, you grow close to him. Possibly to your own detriment.
(Prequel to Control, can be read as a standalone)
TW: light(?) smut (minors dni), dubcon(!), manipulation, Henry Creel
The world is bright when you awaken in to it. Colors are overwhelmingly oversaturated without enough contrast to make them look real. You’d think you were dreaming if the pain in your body weren’t so breathtakingly real.
A man stood over you - a familiar one at that. Though, this version of him fought against the one you knew to be real within your mind. “Who are you?” “My name is Henry.” “Creel, right? Henry Creel.” His lip twitches. “We’ve met actually.” “Have we?”
“Sure have. I went to the upside down to kill you, Henry. Thought we had, actually.” You looked around. “And now I’m here. How the hell did that happen?” “You were going to die. I saved you.” “Is that so? Last I remembered, I barely had a scratch on me.” “Then you don’t remember getting torn apart, I presume.” Your heart skips a beat. “I don’t.” “Your friend summoned them, actually. It was quite a stunt he pulled, sacrificing your life for theirs.”
“I don’t believe you.” “Why else would you be standing here? In the safety of my mind while your physical body rots in a hospital bed.” “Why would you save me? This charade doesn’t even make sense.” “I saved you because no one else would. I know you better than you think, my dear. And I have for a while.” “I don’t believe a word of that bullshit. How the hell do I get out of here?” “I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”
“Let me guess - I’ll die if I leave and this is another ‘kindness’.” He chuckles lowly. “No, you cannot leave because I will not allow it. You are my guest and you will do as I say.” “I don’t think so.” “I really didn’t want to have to do this so soon,” he says, drawing closer to you. “It would’ve been so much easier if you’d just obeyed.”
He placed a hand on your temple, the touch immediately snapping you from his mind into yours. You were in your old house, the one you’d lived in from the time you were a baby to the time Hopper died and you uprooted across the country.
Will had been home for months but your mother still refused to let him go anywhere by himself. As his older sister, you were forced to go everywhere with him. It didn’t matter if you had plans. Poor Will just came home - you really can’t indulge him just this once? Your mother’s words were the same every time.
“Mom, seriously, I can’t. It’s my last prom. I worked for a month straight to afford my dress.” “I’m sorry! I’m working and Johnathan is the school’s photographer so he has to be there. You’re just going to have to miss this one.” “No, it’s not ‘this one’. It’s a huge event in my life and you’re treating it like a joke!” She huffed out a laugh. “If a high school dance is one of the biggest events in your life then you have a pretty pathetic life, dear.” “And I do!” you shouted, exasperated. “All I do is whatever the hell Will wants to do!” “A few months ago, we thought he was dead.” “And now he’s not. I don’t think he’s going to be pulled into the great beyond twice so I don’t know why he needs a babysitter 24/7.” Her eyes darkened. “If something ever happens to you, I’ll remember this exact conversation. I’ll show you the exact same care.”
You had stormed to your room and cried yourself to sleep that night. Then the next day while your friends went to prom, you stayed home and played Magic with your brother and his friends.
The scene jumped.
You stood in front of Eddie Munson, in the moment after you’d bared your soul to him. The two of you had been close throughout your time in high school together, and you felt yourself still drawn to him after you’d graduated. One night, after smoking a bit too much, it just slipped out. How much you liked him. How bad you wanted to be with him. “I’m sorry Byers, I’m just not into you like that.” You smiled, but your eyes still blurred with tears. “Oh, that’s okay. I just wanted you to know.” His lips tightened into a frown. “I really wish you hadn’t.”
You weren’t quiet when you’d cried in your room that night. No one had checked on you.
Your memories changed again. This one was recent. It was spring break of your final semester at college and you’d flown back to Hawkins to spend it with Nancy. You’d grown closer after graduation since you were majoring in the same study. Unfortunately, it was Hawkins and shit had gone wrong, as it often did.
You were in the Upside Down, armed with one of Nancy’s guns and standing between Eddie and Dustin. A swarm of bats fly in the distance, inching slowly closer to you. Eddie holds the smoke bomb a foot away from his body, drawing them in. “We need to go now.”
You nod, following his lead and getting on your bike. The second smoke bomb sits comfortably in your hoodie pocket, ready to be lit when you were far enough away from him. “Let’s get this over with,” you sigh.
You start in the same direction, trying to get as far from Dustin and the trailer as you could. The bats were quicker than you anticipated. They were gaining on you quickly.
“We need to split!” you yelled to Eddie. “They’re too close!” He was panicking now. “It’s fine, just a little further!”
Your words didn’t do anything. He kept looking between you and the bats before throwing the smoke bomb right at your chest. It threw you off balance and you immediately fell off the bike. There wasn’t any time to get up. The bats were already there.
Henry didn’t make you live through them attacking you.
“I don’t think they’ll miss you at all, actually.” His voice was low and smooth and sank into your mind like honey. Where protests should’ve been, there was only confusion. It was like your brain was actively trying to refute what it was shown. It just shut down.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
He practically had to carry you up the stairs. Like your brain, your legs had turned to mush. He supported you easily as he turned the corner into a bedroom. It was shockingly similar to yours, down to the pattern on the bedspread. You didn’t question how he knew what your bedroom looked like. Or how he replicated it so closely.
You just slept.
When you woke, your mind was a lot less forgiving. All the confusion you felt the day before had solidified into something stronger and meaner. You stormed down the stairs to find him sitting at a fully adorned table.
“Sit. Please,” he said, motioning to a seat across from him. “I’m good, actually.” “You need to eat,” Henry insisted. “No, I don’t. I’m not real.” “Yes, you are,” he persisted. “And while you can survive without it, the hunger pains will be very real to you.” “Then I guess I’ll eat when I’m hungry enough.”
That time came four days later. With the last of your strength, you stumbled into the kitchen, finding the table already set and filled. Henry chuckled. “Oh, how time changes us.” He sat a steaming cup of tea in front of you. You drank it, maybe a bit too eagerly. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done it already.
“Time made you an asshole.” “No, I was like this far before time had her way with me.” “Your poor parents,” you said, taking another sip of tea. “Double poor them since you killed them, if I’m remembering correctly.” “You’re not. My father survived.” “Lucky him I guess.” “Luckier than he deserved.”
He sat across from you, helping himself to the meal before him. You begrudgingly followed his lead. “So this is my life now, huh? 3 square meals and off to bed before dark? How quaint.”
“There are things to fill your time here. Books, films, radio. Room for a garden out back. Your time here will only be as torturous as you make it.” “Glad my cage is a fun one,” you smiled sarcastically. His eyes darkened. “It is a kindness for you to be here. The sooner you understand that the better off you will be.” “I don’t want your kindness,” you said through clenched teeth. “You will.” “I won’t. I am your prisoner. That fact doesn’t change just because you’re pretending to be nice.”
He stood, lips pulling into a tight smile as he did. “There are monsters in the woods. Go out there or don’t, I really don’t care. If you’re not here when I return I’ll assume you’re in one of their stomachs.” “And I’d be better off for it,” you spat. “See you never, if I’m lucky.”
It had been 37 days since he left. 37 days since you’d seen another living soul, since you’d heard a voice besides your own. The loneliness was hardest in the first few days. Now your worst enemy was the boredom. Your body ached for something to do, for a task to finish.
It took you two days to learn to propagate the garden. You’d read a book on the subject and followed it to the letter. It would take time to see results. You didn’t mind. It felt good to have a project.
By day 60, little sprouts had formed and you expanded your patch of land to plant more seeds. You had nothing but time, room, and energy. Every moment you spent tending the garden was a moment not spent thinking of Henry.
You were pretty sure you missed him.
Which was a thought that frightened you far more than the monsters in the woods. He was evil, and most certainly a liar, but he was all you had. Your resolve to push was slowly crumpling. Especially in solace.
By 90 days you were well-settled into your routine. You’d wake up, make meals for yourself, tend to your garden, and read whatever was left on the shelf as the radio played. It was monotonous and dull, but far improved from your first days alone. You often went a full day without crying - something you couldn’t say in those first few weeks.
Two months later, the sound of the door shutting reverberated through the whole house. Your first thought was not that Henry was returning. He’d been gone for well over a hundred days at that point, given that your calculations were correct. You inched down the stairs slowly, iron fireplace poker shaking within your tight grip.
“I’m armed,” you called into the emptiness. “With what?” Henry called up to you. “Armed is typically reserved for firearms, I believe.”
You exhaled deeply, somehow relieved that he was back. You descended the staircase fully, throwing the rod at his feet. “Slept with that every night.” He hummed. “Great thinking. Interdimensional beings are terrified of fireplace pokers.” “It’s a pointy metal stick. I think that transcends dimension.” “Wouldn’t even nick the beasts in the forest, I’m afraid.” “Fuck me for trying to defend myself, I guess.” His eyebrows raised. “You were never in danger.” “How could I trust that? You left me alone for months.”
“I was doing as you wished.” “As I wished?” “You didn’t want my kindness. So, I took it away. And look how much it hurt you.” You crossed your arms. “I got on just fine, don’t you think?” He tilted his head, studying you. “Then I can leave you again, let you enjoy your time alone.” “No.” The word came out quickly, before you even finished processing his. He smiled. “That’s what I figured.”
Henry didn’t disrupt your routine. He simply… added to it. You’d wake to find breakfast already made and served. You’d eat together. Conversations would consist of plans for the day or the weather. Very rarely, Henry would talk of before - his childhood and early years as Dr. Brenner’s test subject.
Far more often, he’d ask about you. Not about your family or anything that might pull you away from him, but actually about you. Your favorite color, hobbies, routines. He learned that you did ballet as a child but had to give it up when your father left because money was too tight. He’d turned the basement into a studio for you the next day. He learned that your favorite dessert was cherry pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He’d served it after dinner that night.
There wasn’t a word you could say that he wouldn’t remember. Even trivial things like your favorite scent of soap were remembered and acted upon. Your life was being tailored to your desires without an ounce of your own effort.
After a few hours in the garden each day, you’d return into the coolness of the house to prepare lunch. It was often simple, and always used fresh produce from the backyard. Henry would join you, never failing to compliment whatever was served.
Then, at night, when the air had cooled and the stars filled the sky, you’d sit under them and simply be. Henry never pried during this time. He simply allowed your mind to wander. If you’d had a good day, he’d sit beside you, lending a strong shoulder for you to lean on. If it had been bad, he’d remain on the porch, simply observing you.
Then, eventually, night would truly come and he would escort you to your room. He was always a gentleman. If you disregarded to times he invaded your mind, of course.
One afternoon, the two of you sat in the living room, Henry reading a newspaper and you a book. Suddenly, music filled the air, seemingly unprompted.
“Okay, how are you doing that?” you laughed. Your favorite song was playing from nothing. It was soft and sweet and you felt it in your soul. Something warm and comforting settled there. “Doing what?” Henry asked, seemingly confused. “The music! The radio isn’t even on.”
You started to turn in its direction but Henry yanked you by the arm up the stairs and into his bedroom. “What the hell!” you protested. You tried to free yourself from his grasp but couldn’t. He released you into his bed and stood over you. “What was that?” “I don’t know! I just heard the music and then you freaked out!” “Not good enough.” Tears prickled your eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on, Henry.” “We’ll see about that.”
He entered your mind for the first time since that first night. It hurt just as much as it had then. You cried out, but he pushed on.
He only went through the past hour, stopping at the moment the music began. He studied the memory, pulling at it and distorting it. When he was satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he exited your mind.
You gasped, pushing yourself as far away from him as you could muster. Tears fell freely down your face as you tried to slow your frantic breathing.
“Why?” you choked out. “I needed to know that you were being truthful with me. You did so well.” “That was a test?” your lip quivered as you looked at him. He was so gentle now, a completely separate man from the one who violated you a moment ago. “Of course it was, darling.” He sat beside you now. “I need to be able to trust that you’re being truthful with me. For your own safety. If you do something that could hurt you and lie to me about it, I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”
“I have always been truthful with you,” you argue. “I did nothing to deserve that.” “I know, sweetheart. Please don’t be cross. It’s for your own good. You know I always do what’s best for you.” You hesitate. “I know you do.” “Then why would this be any different?” “I guess it wouldn’t.”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t.” You sniffled. He pulled you into his chest, rubbing calming circles into your back. “Why don’t you sleep in here tonight, darling? I’m sure you don’t feel well.”
You didn’t. Your body ached like it had just finished running a marathon. Your brain was a jumbled mess that just wanted to shut itself off. You nodded.
“Good girl.”
You’d slept in his bed every night since then. He hadn’t forced you to, but he offered it each night and you accepted. Eventually, it wasn’t even an invitation, it was just routine. He was the only person in your world and his touch was the most comforting part of it. When you were overwhelmed by loneliness or exhaustion or the invasion of your mind, the feeling of his body against yours was the only thing that could calm you. It was a drug that he gave willingly.
And when his touch turned into…more…you welcomed it. After invading your mind, he’d invade your body - hurting and soothing you in the same breath. He’d bring you to orgasm by his mouth or hand before ever entering you. He always asked before he did, but he’d trained you well enough that he always knew what your answer would be. He knew your deepest desires that you’d tucked away in the back most corners of your mind.
His fingers would find your clit as he drove into you, pulling another orgasm from your flesh before he’d finish inside of you. By the time he was done, your mind was incomprehensibly jumbled, a mess that only he could clean.
Just the way he liked it.
A few months later you stood before him, more frightened than you’d ever been within his home. “Henry, I… I don’t know how to say this,” you stumbled over your words. “What is it, dear?” He laid down his paper, attention solely focused on you. “I think I’m pregnant?” Your statement came out more as a question. “Is that even possible?” He smiled, standing and crossing the distance of the kitchen to you. “Of course it is. And such perfect timing, too.”
He placed a hand on your stomach. Yours naturally fell on top of his. “Are you happy, my love?” You nodded, throat tightening as tears pooled on your lash line. “So happy.” You look up at him. “Are you?”
He laughs as tears shimmer in his own eyes. “I am. I just wish I’d done this sooner,” he said as he lowered to one knee. You gasped, hands flying to cover your mouth. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” you whisper, reaching a shaky hand out to his. The ring slips on perfectly, bright and shiny against your skin. And then he’s on his feet, pulling you into a deep kiss that ends with you sprawled on his bed.
Your pregnancy moved slowly, but quickly just the same. The days were long, but the months short. When the time finally came for her arrival, you were overjoyed. You labored all throughout the house, followed closely by Henry, as attentive as ever.
She was born in your shared bed - brought into the world by your strength and her father’s hands. Her cries were immediate and easily drew out your own. She was, in every sense of the word, perfect.
“Who is she?” you asked, eyes refusing to stop studying her. “Our daughter.” Your jaw quivered. “No. Who is she out there?”
It wasn’t often you’d thought of the outside world. In the beginning it hurt too much, and now it simply failed to cross your mind. But holding a very real baby in your arms pulled you back to reality - he couldn’t create life. It was the one catch of his world. Everyone in it was borrowed.
“She and her mother were sick. Only she survived, but just barely. She’s in a coma in the same hospital you are. Five floors up.” Tears streaked down your cheeks. “It’s okay, baby girl. Your father and I are going to take great care of you.”
Days with your daughter were easy. As long as she was in your arms, she was content. She really only fussed when you or Henry weren’t in her sight. That, of course, hardly ever happened. Henry was equally as obsessed with her. The two often took strolls to the park across the street just so he could see the wander in her eyes as she looked at nature.
She was four months old when Henry left overnight again. It wasn’t unexpected and he’d apologized fervently before leaving. Still, his absence hurt.
When he returned, he looked equally as pained.
“What’s wrong?” “She’s gone. I went to visit her in the hospital and she’d passed.” Your hand flew to her chest. She was breathing. How was she breathing? “What does that mean for her?” “She only exists here now. With us.” You cried, as you often did over the fate of your daughter. “Then we’ll just have to make this life as wonderful as we can.”
When your other two children were born, you didn’t ask Henry about their earth-side fates. Maybe it was too hard. Maybe you were too far detached. It didn’t matter. You welcomed both into your family with ease and a joy only a child could bring.
As they grew older, Henry’s trips grew more frequent. He didn’t get away easily from any of you. The four of you extorted anything you could think of out of him after this absence - from candy to books to toys. Your ask was always only his undivided attention - for him to take care of you in the way only he could.
It was during one of his trips when your routine came to an abrupt halt. Outside, a loud symphony of bangs and screams filled the air.
You’d lost count of how long you’d lived with Henry, but in all that time you had never heard a noise like that. The monsters in the woods kept to themselves and Henry would never make those sounds and risk scaring the children.
“Mommy, what is that?” your son asked, hiding behind your skirt. “I don’t know, baby, but there’s no reason to be scared.” Even so, you armed yourself with the fireplace poker. “Well, I am,” your daughter said, holding onto her sister. You turned to her. “Your father would never let something happen to us. As long as he’s alive, we will always be safe.”
Still, you approached the door with caution. Henry would always protect you, but there was no reason not to be cautious. You risk a glance outside, not sure what to expect but never expecting her.
“Nancy?”
