#peter ballard fic
Text
teach me to be cruel.
premise: bad girls get rewarded, good girls get nothing.
pairing: peter ballard x (f)reader
word count: 1.20k
warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, dark, fingering, orgasm denial, mentions of murder and blood, peter is a warning himself, slight degradation, undertones of manipulation.
etc: we’ve finally made it here, i’ve finally done it, it was only a matter of time before another devilish blonde man consumed me, this is not shocking lmao.
i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!
The hard concrete at your back, the blades of your shoulder pressed into it, is cold and seeps through your gown. The heat from your body is radiating off of you like a furnace as if his fingers between your legs were hot pokers that were sparking small flames in your insides until an inferno has started up and you feel like every organ and bone in your body is being melted down to something plabable; like the play-doh the children play with in the rainbow room.
The wire to your morality vacant and lacking a pulse. Sometimes you wondered if there was something wrong with it, that moral part of your brain that everyone has for basic human survival. “Sometimes it gets crossed with another wire, an evil one” Papa had said. Looking at you with about as much interest as he does when he’s ordering the group of you to throw each other across the room, upon your asking of what made someone bad. Cruel.
The answer had done little to make you run off of the beaten path you currently walked along. It hadn’t made that moral wire in your brain go off and rethink this. Rethink meeting him in closets. Rethink using your powers to turn afternoon sneaks into nightly rendezvous between your bed sheets; his hand pressed to your mouth, his deep grunts of “You don’t know how to be quiet do you? Pathetic” in your ear. A smirk on his lips when you looked up at him and gave him those pleading eyes, the ones with tears at your ducts and devotion filled in them like a hornets nest ready to be opened and released onto the world.
It’s where his interests lie with you.
You were a hornets nest he kept kicking until you were nothing but a carcass of something made to be strong, to house something that was supposed to give life. And now all you do is take it away, for him. But wasn’t that your purpose here? To be used for what you have, for what you were. The only difference between him and Papa was that you were in love with him. Devoted.
When you did something bad, made others bleed for fun, on accident, because you went too far, were too powerful; Peter never scolded. Never reprimanded. He filled that whole of shame in you, that morality with something thick and suffocating, something that felt more like home than this sterile hell you were born in.
So why should you feel bad when his fingers are between your legs, or his tongue? Those moral feelings of how wrong it is to let him mold and shape your molten insides that he’s burned into his perfect killing machine to help him with his vision: had no home inside of you.
The wires of power and devotion—lust—wrapping around any good wire you had until it was strangled and all you had left was the bad, the evil that Peter kissed, sucked, and fucked in and out of you.
His fingers inside of you right now is the only kind of good you want, need. His thumb rubbing hard strokes into your clit, forearm resting on the wall beside your head. His scowl is deep, his lips red and raw from how hard he had kissed you—from the teeth you had bit into his bottom lip to silent your moans, so no one would hear through the door as he fucked you with his fingers.
“Here I thought you knew how to listen to directions.” You can trace the annoyance in his voice right back to the girl in the infirmary right now. Body twisted in pain, heart still beating. The weakling he encouraged you to end the suffering of—one of many he’s asked you to take care of for him.
“I did.” You say in puffs, your jaw going slack for half a second when you feel the curl of one of his fingers and it makes your fists ball at your sides, your legs shaking. “She–I–”
His free hand is at the back of your neck squeezing the muscle there, making you look directly at him, a wince of pain replacing your stuttering and getting lost in the mixture of pleasure between your thighs. “She’s still alive. She’s still suffering, even more now that you’ve broken her bones.” The blue of his irises are dark, like a sea you’re drowning in. The casting shadow of his scowl making them appear almost black. “You didn’t listen to directions,” the up tick of the corner of his mouth only makes your stomach sink lower. Leaning his face close to your lips, enough to have your eyes straining to look up at his height, “and now you don’t get to cum.”
The whine you let out is a mix of frustration and anguish at words, and the stretch of him adding a third finger inside of you—something you could take, pleaded for when you couldn’t have the stretch of his cock. But as his fingers press up and move faster, quicker, the squelch of your wetness louder than your ragged gasps from trying to keep quiet. The pressure of his thumb still moving against your clit so good that you know this has nothing to do with your pleasure, this is a punishment.
You didn’t follow orders and now he wants to see if you even know how to; don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.
Peter thinking you were anything less than his devoted disciple was the only thing that could bring you to tears. Not his cruelty, not the bloodshed he’s helped paint your hands with. He was your only weakness, and the only thing that could make you possess any grotesque human condition; love.
And he knows it, brings a smile to his face. Loved using it against you in and out of your bed; teasing you until you were so sickly weak for him to touch you—to fuck you, “you look so beautiful when you have that pathetic look on your face” he’d confess into your ear as he fucked you from behind; “this is the way you were meant to look, covered in their blood, beautiful” he’d declare as he ran his fingers over the dried blood on your tits as he thrusted into you.
He loved your love for him. Just as he loved your power. He could use it. Consume it.
What he didn’t love was good. It only caused disappointment and that’s what you have done. Disappointed him. The girl was still alive and you were being punished for it.
“I’m,” you swallow, whimper. “I’m sorry, please.”
His grin is dark, demented, dead. “Begging only makes it worse.” He presses his lips to your forehead, whispers against it. “Focus. Because if you cum, you won’t for a week.”
“Please,” You can feel your walls throbbing, clenching, swelling around his fingers. That low ache in your belly that feels more like a death sentence right now than it usually does when Peter’s touching you like this.
"You haven't shown me you've earned it. I think you've forgotten our purpose here.” There’s no pity in his eyes as he runs his nose down the bridge of yours, pulling back to grin down at you. “Good girls don’t get to cum.”
#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard#peter ballard x you#peter ballard smut#stranger things smut#001 x reader#henry creel x reader#peter ballard x y/n#001#001 smut#001 x you#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#peter ballard fic#henry creel#henry creel smut
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Nightmares and Day-dreams
Peter Ballard x GN Reader
Note: I hope y’all enjoy this! This’ll be my last fic till May. I thought it would be fun to dip into some horror and angst for this one. (The next one will be fluffy I promise haha)
Comment to be added to my Peter/Henry Taglist
Warnings: Horror, dark themes, blood and gore, dead bodies, manipulating (reader’s innocent and a little lonely and this gets taken advantage of), psychic abilities, a tiny bit of mind control, unhappy ending
A soft knock on the door of your clinic woke you from your light slumber. You jolted, combing your fingers through your hair and wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth.
You smiled as you walked to the door. Only one person ever knocked, the same person who’d occupied your dreams a today and every night for weeks.
Since you’d started working at Hawkins lab, you hadn’t been able to get him out of your head. Sure he was attractive and all, his blue eyes alone would have anyone falling all over him. But there was something about him, something more than just his good looks.
Peter was so…sweet. He was patient with the kids, he was attentive and considerate of you and all his coworkers, God you’d rarely ever seen him without a smile on his face.
He was a genuinely good guy, sort of a rarity for you these days.
So when your day time fantasies had followed you to bed, you hadn’t been all that surprised. Peter was…the perfect man.
When he knocked again, you snapped back to reality. You realized you’d been thinking about his soft smile for much too long, once again.
You yanked the door open, only to be met with the sight of the sheepish, blond man, holding his hand against his chest and staining his all white clothes a deep red.
“Peter!” You gasped, your hands flying to cover your mouth as blood dripped down his wrist. Without Peter’s accident prone nature, you were certain you’d be out of a job.
“Hi,” he grimaced, wincing just a bit in pain.
“Oh my God Peter please get in here,” you grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him inside.
He stumbled in behind you, more boy than man, blushing profusely.
You pulled out a chair, “sit,” you ordered before rushing to grab bandages and antiseptics.
Once you’d gathered supplies you knelt in between his legs. “Show me,” you ordered.
Reluctantly, he pulled his arm away from his chest to reveal the massive gash. It was worse than you could have imagined.
“How’d you even do this!?” You half asked and half scolded.
He cringed, “oh you know…” he trailed off but you hadn’t really been listening, too invested in stitching him up.
You sighed as you finished. “You can’t keep doing this,” you told him.
He gazed into your eyes, that sweet smile you loved so much brightening his whole face. “But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
You blushed, trying to hide it as you stood to put away all of your first aid supplies.
“Don’t you have work to get back to?” you asked, flustered out of your mind.
He chuckled, “yeah I’d better get going.”
As he slipped out the door, you wondered how you managed to get anything done with him around.
You propped your head up on one hand, fighting sleep and losing as you glanced at the clock to read 10:42am. You sighed.
You couldn’t figure out what had you so tired these days. You’d been getting a full eight hours! And damn, you figured with your dreams filled with the face of your favorite blond man you would have slept a lot better.
You rubbed circles into your temples. You felt a wave of the same ‘head in a trash compactor’ feeling you did when you got no sleep at all. What was wrong with you?
Suddenly, you were roused from your thoughts by a familiar knock on your door.
Your pained face morphed into a bright smile. Peter.
When you opened the door he was standing before you, all white uniform, mug in hand.
“Good morning,” he smiled.
You returned his grin, even though your morning had been anything but good, it was much better now.
“No more injuries I hope?” You teased.
He laughed. “Not yet, but it’s still early I suppose.” He opened two creamers and poured them into the mug, stirring absentmindedly.
“Arm heeled up pretty nicely,” you noticed, coming around to touch the small mark where the giant gash had once been.
“Oh yeah,” he flexed a bit, “just needed a couple weeks and some TLC from my favorite nurse”
You giggled at his flirting, wondering what his curls would feel like if you ran your fingers through his hair.
He handed you the mug, “brought this for you.”
You gasped just a bit before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.
“Thank you so much,” you were touched.
“Don’t mention it,” he winked as he slipped out the door.
You smiled to yourself, he was so thoughtful, so considerate. You figured he must have been paying attention to you to notice you’d been so lethargic.
But…then again you hadn’t seen him this morning, not until now.
You shrugged, maybe he brought everyone coffee.
You pushed the thought out of your head, if that was the case, you didn’t want to know. You’d rather believe he thought you were special.
You took another long sip.
You startled awake at the feeling of someone nudging your arm softly. As you scrambled to collect your thoughts, still half asleep, you were met with Peter’s concerned face.
“Are you alright,” he asked.
“Yeah! Yes, I’m fine,” you babbled, blushing profusely.
“I knocked four times, I thought it would be ok to come in…” he trailed off, then frowned. “You’re really ok?”
You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yeah um, I haven’t been sleeping well.” You told him.
But you had been sleeping well. For the past few days you’d been sleeping for ten hours instead of eight. Yet it seemed to be doing absolutely nothing, you were still exhausted. Past the point of struggling to stay awake, you were fully napping at work now.
“Oh that’s awful,” you could feel Peter’s concern, his gaze trained on your drooping eyes. “That’s how they torture people you know…lack of sleep.”
“Really?” you yawned, not processing a single word he said.
“You should get some rest,” he told you.
“What? No! I can’t sleep here,” you protested, “didn’t you need something? You must have come here for something.”
“Just a band aid,” he tugged your hand until you were standing, leading you towards the cot in your tiny clinic. “I can get it on the way out, why don’t you lie down?”
The more you mulled it over, the more that measly cot began to look like a king bed at the Ritz Carlton.
“Well…maybe I could for a little…”
He nodded, “you’re of no use to anyone if you’re tired,” he rationalized, “besides, you deserve it.”
“I deserve it,” you repeated as you climbed onto the cot.
“That’s right,” he smiled as he crept towards the door, flicking off the light switch on his way out.
You barely even noticed him leave as you drifted off.
You awoke abruptly to the sound of an alarm blaring. You stumbled off the cot. Of course something happened during the few seconds, you checked your watch, hours you’d been asleep.
You grabbed your first aid kit and rushed into the hallway, but the sight you were met with chilled you to your core.
Your hands covered your mouth as you slumped against the wall in shock. Corridors you’d walked down every day were now stained with blood. Children you’d tended to when they were sick, held when they were crying, now littered the linoleum floor.
Fear coursed through you. You slid down the wall until you were crouched in a ball, defeated, all but waiting for whatever monster had pillaged the lab to take you too. You couldn’t help but think of Peter, wondering if your perfect boy had escaped, if he was ok.
As tears began to prick your eyes, Peter crept around the corner, covered in blood yet, more serene than you’d ever seen him.
Your heart leapt in your chest. Peter had evaded the murderer, maybe there was hope for the two of you after all.
But as he stalked closer, any semblance of hope left within you shattered.
Peter wasn’t just calm, he was…pleased.
As he stepped over the corpses of discarded children, he smiled down at their youthful faces. He nudged them to the side with his feet.
You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest as you realized the blood splattered on his face wasn’t his own.
He knelt down in front of you, smiling softly and brushing your hair behind your ear. “Hello sweetheart,” he cooed.
You recoiled, his soft touch might as well have been a stab. Any fondness you’d had for him melted away.
“Ah ah,” he chided, gripping your chin and pulling you close. “Don’t shy away from me.”
If you moved to escape his touch, he gripped you harder. His head followed your movements like a snake, waiting to strike.
“Please,” your voice broke, “don’t kill me.” You begged, trading your pride for a chance at survival.
“Kill you?” Peter looked hurt, “no darling I would never kill you,” he moved to cup your face.
You squeaked.
He smiled, “I’d rather keep you.”
Peter was a deadly spider and he’d entangled you in his web. As much as you squirmed and struggled to escape, it was already much too late.
“K-keep me?” You felt a slimey feeling overtake you, “like…you want me to be your…partner?” The dream you’d had for so long had dissolved to a nightmare.
He chuckled as he stroked the back of his hand down your cheek.
The gesture made your skin crawl.
“Silly human, you’re adorable.” He pinched your cheek cruelly, “how do I say this you’re… beneath me.”
You hated that his words could hurt you.
“You’re more like a…hmm how should I say this,” his brow furrowed, “ah, you’re more like a pet to me, a bunny or a kitten or something.”
You felt like you’d been punched.
“Your mind, it’s so fun to play with,” his smile was sinister, “I could never let you go.”
Your face twisted in disgust, you couldn’t imagine a worse fate for yourself.
Peter sensed your discomfort. “You’ll come around,” he decided, “but for now, you’ve had a rough day and you need your rest.”
He threw you a mocking pout as he placed a hand on your forehead.
Your eyes began to flutter closed, as much as you tried you couldn’t fight whatever Peter was doing.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered as your world faded to black.
Taglist🖤:
@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @sad-ghost-of-garbage @bloodywickedvamp @lostboys1987girl @crustyboypix @gothamslostboy @arbesa-mind @dwaynesluscioushair @anna1306
#stranger things#peter ballard#henry creel#Peter Ballard x reader#henry creel x reader#Peter ballard fic#stranger things fic#001 stranger things#001#Henry creel fic#gn reader#gn reader fic#angst#horror#unhappy ending#hawkins lab#dark fic#stranger things 4#stranger things fandom
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♡ + peter ballard + subject!crybaby!reader first time + praise kink + black hair?
to be specific, reader is a subject that just cried over the stupidest reasons and obviously shes aged up !!
note: as anon said READER IS AGED UP! no pedophilia here >:( hope this is what you meant!! AND ALSO I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU MEANT BY SUBJECT LMFAOSJ. not my favorite fanfic that i wrote
warnings: first time for y/n, praise kink, risky sex, dacryphilia (tears make him horny IM SORRY.)
ko-fi | ao3
"Why are you crying, Y/N?" Peter said softly, sitting down on the cold floor next to you and putting a hand on your shoulder.
"I..." you began, sniffing and throwing your hands in the air. "I couldn't move all the blocks they gave me today! I'm a failure!"
"How many did you move?" he said, petting your black hair, which he admired more than ever.
"5.." you stuttered, resting your head on his chest as you tried to calm down, tears sliding down your cheeks.
"Out of...?"
"6!" you crumpled his shirt as your voice broke even more.
"You did amazing, don't worry," he kissed the top of your head lightly.
He turned your head slowly in his direction, wiping your tears off gently with his thumb, then putting it on your lips.
"You're so pretty even when you cry, Y/N," he breathed out, fixating his gaze on your lips. You played with the back of his hair as he leaned in towards you, finally reuniting both of you with a kiss. His hands held you as close as possible to his body, resting your hands on his chest.
You parted your lips slightly, letting his tongue enter your mouth as you moaned softly. His hands traveled all the way down to your ass, squeezing it hard which emitted a yelp from you.
"Peter--" you whispered, moving his hands away. "We're in a hallway."
"So?" he murmured, lips one inch away from yours. "Cameras aren't working, and everyone went to sleep."
You pulled him away as he leaned in again for a kiss, backing away but looking at you with raised brows and parted lips.
"I've never... you know..." you said, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, looking down at your legs to avoid looking at Peter.
"Not even... fingered yourself?" he asked with a hungry look in his eyes, raising your head with his left hand.
"Well... that, yes...."
Peter felt his cock throbbing at the thought of you fingering yourself, calling out his name between pants. His lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking on it softly as his hands fondled your breasts. You started grinding down on his clothed dick, low moans leaving your lips.
"Can I take these off?" he asked you, toying with the waistband of your pants.
You nodded, standing up to give him more access. He slowly took off your pants, staring at the lower half of your body, and especially at your panties. A damp spot could be seen forming on them, and you felt your legs going wobbly as Peter started kissing up your thighs until he reached your entrance, planting soft kisses on top of your panties as he looked up at you.
"I think I'm ready," you breathed out as you ruffled his hair. He pulled away and took off his pants and boxers, finally revealing his thick cock that you had dreamed about for a lot of time.
"Lay down on the floor," he whispered, helping you position yourself. You lay on your back with your legs raised slightly as you helped Peter take off your panties. At the sight of your wet cunt, he wasted no time positioning his cock at your entrance, pushing his head inside. You loudly moaned at the foreign sensation, muffling the sounds with your hand. It felt 100 times better than your fingers.
"Is it ok?" he said, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
"Yeah," you responded.
"I'm going to push myself deeper, ok sweetheart?"
He penetrated your walls as deep as he could, feeling yourself clenching around his perfect length. He started moving at a fast pace, throwing your legs on his shoulders so he could reach your spots. Skin slapping sounds, along with curses Peter was murmuring under his breath, and your quiet moans echoed into the hallway. It would be a miracle if both of you managed to even cum without being interrupted.
"You're doing so good, just a little bit more, okay?" he said, leaning over to kiss you. His hips started gradually moving slower until he came all over your walls with one final push, feeling his member throbbing inside you. As he moaned an assortment of curses and attempts to say your name, the sensation pushed you over the edge and the knot in your stomach untied, releasing yourself while his cock was still inside you.
You shared one last long kiss as both of you rode your high, teeth crashing into each other and lips going sore. He slowly pulled himself out of you, pushing his cum back inside you with his fingers.
"You did so well in making me cum," he smiled, helping you put on your panties and pants. "Did you feel good?"
"I felt amazing, maybe we should do this more often," you flushed when you realized you had said that out loud, which made Peter chuckle under his breath.
"Let's go to the bathroom, I'll clean you myself."
#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#stranger things drabble#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#stranger things smut#stranger things fanfic#peter ballard drabble#peter ballard smut#peter ballard x y/n#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard x you#peter ballard fanfiction#peter ballard fanfic#peter ballard fic#001 drabble#001 smut#001 x you#001 x reader#001 fanfic#shrxmpsrequests
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Relationship: Henry Creel & Eleven
Summary:
Instead of acting in a way that caused Eleven to attack and banish him to the Upside Down, Henry reacted a little differently when Eleven walked in on him in the Rainbow Room, after the massacre at Hawkins Lab.
He didn't even say he asked her to wait.
This was based on this one deleted scene where we saw Henry crouching on the floor next to a dead kid in the Rainbow Room after the massacre and basically looking like a child when Eleven appeared to be walking into the room. If you haven't seen the photos, you can tap here to see what I'm talking about.
#I write things#henry creel#jamie campbell bower#stranger things#jamie bower#peter ballard#001#eleven hopper#el hopper#peter ballard fic#vecna#vecna fic#vecna imagine#001 fic#001 imagine#herny creel fic#henry creel imagine#stranger things fic#stranger things imagine#eleven hopper fic#eleven hopper imagine#stranger things 001#st#001 stranger things#st 001#001st#stranger things vecna#vecna stranger things#st vecna#vecna st
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I want an 001 x autistic reader fanfic so bad bro 😩 There aren’t enough x autistic reader stories out there especially for stranger things and I need representation please. Honestly x adhd reader would be nice too. I feel like he’d be so interested in it and would be so sweet about it and so understanding.
#I just want support#give me love please#I’m so lonely it’s not even funny#i’m in love with this man#x autistic reader#autistic#adhd#actually autistic#autism#autistic reader#001#peter ballard#henry creel#peter ballard x reader#henry creel x reader#001 x reader#headcanons#fic#001 fic#Peter ballard fic#stranger things imagine#stranger things#stranger things 4
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Hey all, I’m suffering from a little bit of a creative slump for Change of Heart. I’ve planned out the entire plot line already and I know where I want the story to go. I’m just struggling with the pacing while also trying to keep it logical. I don’t want to move too fast but I also don’t want it to get boring…
I refuse to put out a chapter for the sake of putting out a chapter, because I’ll write myself stuck in a plot line I never intended to exist, and then won’t be able to write myself out of it. I’d genuinely rather rewrite the whole chapter 5 different times than upload a half assed chapter and be unable to continue the story because I got stuck.
I will figure it out, rest assured. I know it’s been a little bit since the last chapter but please, please bear with me! I’m forever grateful that you even gave it a chance in the first place 🤍
#i guess that’s what happens when you’re a shite writer#spare some forgiveness#puhlease#val talks#change of heart#change of heart fiction#peter ballard fic#behind the scenes#bts of writing
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ik this is probably too much to ask for but can I please have a little story of Henry and Carrie White being besties ^^? I barely see any content of their connection character wise and that makes me sad -Lammy/Carrie
You are so right so let’s change that :)
Summary: AU where Carrie and Henry had known each other in their childhood but the beginning of their true friendship wouldn’t start until they meet again in unexpecting circumstances. In this story, Carrie ends up running away after the events of the prom. (As always I ended up writing more than I thought lol) Thank u the request and hope you like it <3
God’s Plan
Carrie wanted to go home.
The small girl stood outside of the church, wrinkling the fabric of her brown plaid dress between her small fingers. (Carrie was never allowed to wear anything red; it was the color of sin, her mother always told her.)
Mass was over, and Carrie listened to Mama chatting with another woman who she had just met outside the church. She was pretty with her blonde-styled hair and pearls that looked quite expensive. Although her mother was chatting politely to her now, back at home Carrie would later get a lesson about the sin of the day: vanity.
“We always attend mass at least four days of the week,” Mama was bragging to the woman. “ It's one of the few things I will miss from this town. Of course, God will follow us wherever we go.”
“Very true, Ms. White.” The woman nods with a polite grin, showing off her pearly white teeth. She reminded Carrie of one of the dolls that she wanted to get for her birthday, but her mother preferred to get her miniature angel figurines.
“My family and I attend church whenever we can as well.” The woman turns to someone hiding behind her. With her hands on his shoulders, the woman brings up a boy to join them. “This is my son, Henry. His sister must have gone somewhere with her friends. He is the shy one.”
Henry was just as neatly dressed as his mother, but not as chirpy. He says nothing, keeping his hands in front of him.
“Oh, but solitude is a good trait to have, Mrs. Creel,” Mama nods encouragingly. “Makes kids stay out of trouble so that they can spend more time learning about the Lord. Just like my daughter.”
The mother smiled a little and looked down at Henry. “Yes, that's what we are hoping for. Aren’t we?” The boy did not reply, maintaining eye contact on the ground.
The woman’s face faltered at Henry for a second before looking up at them again with her same bright expression and comments, “What a shame that you and your daughter are moving away so soon. Perhaps these two would have gotten more time to become friends.”
Carrie’s mother pursed her lips together before putting on a tight smile. Carrie knew that no matter which boy it was, Mama wanted them all to stir far away from Carrie. “I suppose so, but everything goes according to God’s plan, Mrs. Creel, and we must abide by it.” Mama holds her cross around her neck as she assures her. “If He wants something to occur, it will happen however we least expect it.”
After both mothers gave their final goodbyes. Henry leaves with his mother, never uttering a single word.
X
Carrie opens her eyes, meeting the blue sky above her. She is walking in the middle of an empty road. Carrie rubs her eyes until she feels the blood that is still smeared on her hand. She blinks rapidly, her senses coming back to her. Carrie’s feet sting from pain as her high heels step on the hard concrete. She has been walking without any sort of direction since last night, dozing off every couple of minutes, but only had one particular dream.
Carrie has no idea why she remembered the church boy now after all these years. Perhaps it is her mind wanting to escape the reality of her life, the part of Carrie wishing to be a little girl again like her mother always wanted her to be.
A tickle in her throat makes Carrie cough. Her drenched dress is making her feel colder. Shortly after Carrie sees a pile of trash bags piled on the side of the road. They must have fallen off someone’s truck. It was like, dare she say, a work of a miracle. Carrie stops to search through the bags until she finds an old blanket. She uses it to wipe the blood off her face and hair before wrapping it around her waist. She shivers as she continues to walk.
The road is still far ahead of her. Everything is quiet. The only thing Carrie can hear is her growling stomach with one demand.
Apple pie. Last time she had told Mama she didn’t want any because it flared up her pimples. But Carrie could really go for some right now.
Carrie continues walking, her eyes closing every few seconds. Her hunger and sleepiness were weighing her down, but she somehow still has the strength to keep going. She thought she would walk forever until a few minutes later, the gray clouds moved just enough for the sun's rays to peek down and brighten her path. Carrie stops in front of the familiar sign that reads “Welcome to Hawkins.”
Carrie’s heart jumps. This was far too much of a coincidence. She somehow made it back to her childhood town without even knowing, just when she had just dreamed it. Was this perhaps a literal sign from heaven?
Carrie continues walking down the road, wondering if Hawkins still looks the same as it used to before. However, she knew better than to go out into the main streets looking like this. So instead Carrie steps out of the road and goes towards a crowd of trees, leading her into the forest.
The sound of a crow croaking echoes down the path. Not being able to take the pain in her feet anymore, Carrie takes off her high heels, tossing them aside and walks barefoot on the grass. She needs to find somewhere to rest. Her legs felt like they were going to fall off.
A few feet away in the middle of the grass is a pile of firewood. Another miracle! She thinks. Carrie quickly goes over, kneeling next to it as she puts her blanket aside. The wood hasn’t been used yet. Carrie had never made a fire before. She rubs the pieces of wood together several times, but not a single spark appears. She continues getting more aggravated with every failed attempt, wishing that her powers could have included the fire element.
“Hey! What are you doing to our wood?”
Two men surround Carrie. She jumps to her feet, quickly grabbing onto the blanket to cover her bloody dress. Carrie’s heart hammers when she notices the shotgun that one of them carried.
This isn’t a miracle, it was a trap.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was yours.” Carrie’s voice quivers as she steps back.
As the men got closer, they scan her up and down with disgusted looks.
“Holy shit. What slaughterhouse did you come from?” One of them snickered.
“I'm warning you.” Her voice was quiet but losing the gentleness from before. “Leave me alone.”
“Calm down, girl.” The man holds the shotgun close to his side. “All we wanna know is how you got here.”
His friend whispers next to him, “Isn’t that the crazy bitch in the newspaper? The one who set a high school on fire?
Carrie keeps backing away and looks behind her. Seeing that there is no other way of escape, she takes a deep breath as she lets the blanket drop from her hand. Carrie swore she wouldn’t do this again, but she is growing tired of these men. They were making her stomach curl and her head buzz, just like how she felt at prom.
Carrie remembers that she also swore to herself that she would never let anyone humiliate her ever again.
Her hand was about to move when suddenly, one of the men yelled as he was lifted into the air, dropping his shotgun to the ground.
“W-what the hell?!” The other man backs away as he stares up in horror. His friend was frozen in the air with his arms stuck to his sides, struggling to scream. From the trees on their left, Carrie sees a young, blonde boy approach with his hand stretched in front of him. He sternly stares at the man in the air who gasps and wheezes, like he was being choked.
Carrie’s mind is still struggling to understand what was happening. It wasn’t until the other man got behind the boy, the gun now in his hands, his hands shaking as he pointed that Carrie finally felt the pressure on her body force her to act.
“No!”
With that, the gun‘s direction is pointed up at the sky, and with a bang, the man’s friend lands on the floor with the bullet through his chest.
The boy turns towards the remaining man. Before he could react, the man is thrown against the tree. When he attempts to run away, Carrie makes his neck simply snap, making him fall on his knees before sprawling onto the grass.
Carrie breathes heavily, still feeling adrenaline of her powers burning through her body.
The boy turned to her, looking a lot calmer than she was. “I assume you must be Carrie White?”
Carrie whips out her hand again as a warning. “Who are you?”
Henry blinks. “You really don’t remember me?”
Carrie thinks her suspicion was impossible, but she whispers, “Henry?”
The boy from her church, the one who she had just dreamed about, stood there a lot taller than before, but it was his same neatly kept blonde hair and the monotonous expression shadowing his blue eyes that confirmed it.
Henry nods. “I’m sure it was my mother who made the biggest impression on you that day. She tends to do that to everyone. Yours did as well, I’m sure. ” Henry talks like they were having a normal conversation that wasn’t happening next to two dead men.
Not letting her guard down, Carrie circles around him, her hand still up. “What are you doing here? And how did you . . .” her voice trails off as she struggles to sort out her jumbled-up brain. The only coherent thought that comes across is when Carrie notices blood running down Henry’s nose.
“You’re bleeding.”
For the first time, Henry smiles a little before wiping his nose. “I think I’m not the one whose bloody appearance is concerning.”
Carrie mumbles, “It’s not my blood.”
Giving a short nod, Henry looks down at her dress. “I figured. It must have been quite a party.”
Carrie narrows her eyes at him. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” She finally drops her arm and starts walking away from him, but Henry gets in front of her. “What do you want?” She barks.
“I heard about what happened. Our towns aren’t so far away from each other.” Henry explains, paying no mind to Carrie’s glare. “I wanted to help a friend.”
“Friends? We never even talked.”
Henry shrugs. “Whatever you want to call it. Either way, we both murdered these men, and I think that makes us something. Accomplices, at best.
“I didn't need your help.” Carrie huffs. She runs her hands through her hair, feeling the anxiety and anger still knotted in her chest. It wasn’t until she got overwhelmed that she sits under a tree. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she mutters, rubbing her head. “Everything is out of control.”
Henry stands next to her as he looks around the forest. “I would say this situation got under control a lot better than it would have.“
“No, you don’t get it,” Carrie digs her fingernails in the dirt. “I’ve done terrible things, Henry. Awful things.” The sobs that Carrie had buried are now swelling in her throat. “My mother was right. I-I’m the devil. So many people are gone, all because of my sins!” She buries her head into her hands. “All because I disobeyed-“
“Hey, stop.” Henry puts his hand on her shoulder. When she doesn’t listen, he kneels in front of her, grabbing her arms and forcing Carrie to look at him.
“Stop. Crying.” Henry’s voice is firm but gentle. “It’s not going to get us anywhere. Take a deep breath.”
Carrie closes her eyes and inhales deeply before exhaling a couple of times. After a minute, Carrie feels calm enough to acknowledge the reality of who this boy was.
“You’re like me. “
“Yes.” Henry lets go of her and sit down. “I’m guessing your powers developed as a child too.”
Carrie looks at the grass. “Not until later. It just happened one day in school and. . .” She brings her knees up to her chin, not being able to say anything more without feeling the burning shame of the day when she first got her period, humiliated in front of everyone.
“My mama said I was born from sin,” she adds quietly. “That is the reason why I am like this.”
“And do you believe that?” Henry stares at Carrie.
“I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to believe in anymore,” Carrie turns over her red hands as she looks at them. She thought she had all the answers when she first got her powers, but now Carrie is just as lost as before.
“My mother used to tell me that too.” Henry picks up a small spider that is crawling on the bark of the tree. “She was a hypocrite, calling herself a Christian, yet she kept hiding away from her own sins.” Henry settles the spider on the grass. “What a surprise it was for her,” he says with a dry smile, “for a child to destroy the lie she’s been living in.”
Carrie stares at the spider crawl away as she remembers how her mother has raised her. The way she made Carrie recite the several passages worth of prayers, hitting her every time she wanted to do something that she wanted for once, and locking her inside the closet for hours until Carrie was begging for forgiveness, and it was all done in the name of being good for God only for all of it to be destroyed in a high school dance.
Suddenly, an odd feeling starts to rise from Carrie’s chest. It was something that Carrie didn’t think she would ever do again until everything that has occurred clicked together.
Carrie bursts out laughing.
Henry actually looks startled as Carrie falls to the grass and cackles loudly, making herself be heard everywhere in the forest. The tree seems to shake from the vibration.
“What’s so funny?”
Carrie’s cheeks are bright red as she tries to catch her breath. “It’s just hilarious don’t you think?” she sputters as she gets up. “How hard our mothers tried to do everything to keep us down the “good” and “holy” yet everything still went straight to hell!” Carrie’s fist hits the tree, her strength causing a large tree branch to almost fall over them, and she wheezes more laughter.
Henry watches as Carrie gets to the center of the forest, spreading her arms out dramatically. “Of course, none of it works. People like them are the devil. That’s why none of it mattered!” Breathing deeply, Carrie’s eyes lowered to the ground. “None of it mattered,” she states, quieter. “We were damned from the beginning.”
With that, Carrie slowly goes back to where Henry is. She sits down under the tree, turning away from him as she leans her head back against the tree. Carrie’s stomach aches from the intensity of her laughter. She becomes quiet again as she regains her composure, the familiar emotional numbness settling on her once more.
“You’re looking at it wrong.” Henry finally says. “This isn’t damnation, it’s redemption.” Carrie can hear him lean forward. “We both have a gift, and if we work together, we can be our own saviors. You’ve already proven it.
Carrie slightly snorts. “I don’t think there’s anything heroic about destroying my high school prom.”
“It’s a start.” She knew Henry was smiling. “We both can learn from each other. I can even learn to teach you more about how to keep your abilities more stable.”
Henry leans away when Carrie sits up and sighs through her nose. “How do I know if I can trust you?”
Henry shrugs. “You don’t. But your options are limited, and you don’t really have anything more left to lose.”
Carrie’s eyes meet Henry’s again, and she sees a childlike determination in him that Carrie finds comforting. She barely knew Henry, yet Carrie felt closer to him than anyone she’s been with. They both were the only people in the world who understood each other. Carrie needs that the most.
Henry gets up to his feet. “But we’ll have to get you cleaned up first.” He points across the forest. “There’s a lake close by here. I can bring you some clothes and from there we can find a place to stay. “
Henry offers his hand down at her. When she still hasn't moved, Henry looks away, his face falling slightly as it seems the answer was no.
Instead, Carrie says. “Only on one condition.” Henry looks at her again, slightly raising his eyebrow.
“Can we get some apple pie afterward? I’m starving.”
Henry smiles. “Sure.”
As a new sense of hope grows for her, Carrie grins and takes Henry’s hand.
Perhaps it was all part of God’s plan after all.
#carrie white#carrie white 1976#henry creel#virginia creel#peter ballard#hawkins#cross over fic#stranger things au#carrie white au#stranger things fic#wasn’t sure if I should put this on ao3 or not#henry creel fic#peter ballard fic
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blue - 001
show: Stranger Things [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4]
pairing: female reader x peter ballard
summary: growing up in the lab with Dr Brenner for a father wasn't easy, but you had a friend that made things a bit tolerable.
It wasn’t easy being the daughter of Dr Martin Brenner, but you did your best to please him. He was a very systematic man, who wished to control everything and everyone as he saw fit, and you had no problem following orders, except that it was clear your father was setting you up for failure. He never made a secret that he did not like that you were born a female, not a male, and you guessed that was the reason behind all of his impossible requests he kept on making, always wanting more of your brain than it could ever learn.
That was the reason why you grew old in his lab in Hawkins— he expected you to follow him around like a loyal dog, and you were generally making notes on the things you saw in there.
It was no surprise to you when he asked for your presence to see something that had arrived at the lab. “A new subject,” he had called the boy, not as if dad was king and, the boy, his commoner, but as if the boy was a school subject, as it was what your father envisioned the boy to be to you.
“Come on in, daughter,” he said, getting up from where he was sitting. “This is number one.”
You walked in slowly, scared. You were barely ten, but smarter than most teens, but at that moment, you felt like a little dear, scared for his life. You stared at the boy sitting in front of where your father was and you were shocked to find a calm boy. You expected to see someone as scared as you, or even more, but no. Number 001, as your father called him, was serene, and he stared back at you like he could see your very soul.
“Number one, this is my daughter, [y/n] Brenner,” your father made the room so you could sit in the chair he once sat in. “Get familiar with her, as she is to be your future doctor, once she graduates.”
The boy stared back at your father. His head movement was weird as if he was used to having some hair to move when looking up, but there was no hair on top of his head, just his buzzcut.
“I’ll let you two get to know each other, as I’m sure my daughter can enlighten you about who I am,” was the last thing your father said before leaving and locking the door behind.
You gulped, forcing yourself to stop facing the door and look back at the boy.
He looked your age, maybe just a bit older.
“My name is not one,” he said, breaking the silence with a rasping voice.
“I’m sorry?”
He smiled, not showing his teeth. It was as if he found pleasure in seeing you confused.
“My name’s Henry.”
“Was,” you corrected him because that was expected. You knew that even though your father left, he could be watching you two, by the mirror windows or even the cameras. You learned long ago that they were everywhere in the lab. “You’re not Henry anymore.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Then, the quietness came again. No one uttered a word. You were still nervous, gulping by the second, but the boy just laid back, watching. You didn’t like the silence, it made you overthink.
“You can call me just by [y/n], you know,” you said.
“Not a doctor then?”
“Oh, as much as my Papa likes to brag, I’ll only graduate high school next year. I still have a while before getting hold of my doctored degree.”
“Graduating high school?” that seemed to surprise him.
You couldn’t help but smile. It was a hard life, studying like crazy and not ever getting complimented, but you liked knowing you were a genius. “I am young as I look, but as my father’s daughter, I must be at the top of not just my class, but everyone else’s.”
“Must be exhausting,” he replied, looking away.
He wasn’t expecting you to agree in a whisper.
“It is.”
Both of you exchanged a knowing look. Maybe there was not much knowledge of each other, but there was of yourselves. You knew you weren’t gonna have an easy life, and he knew he was destined for one difficult as well. Doomed, was the word, but back then, you didn’t know. You just didn’t know.
~~
“Sorry I’m late, P,” you said, sitting down on the white floor.
Everything was white at that goddam lab, but you were used to it, or at least, it didn’t bother you as much as it did in the beginning.
Your friend Henry, or as you nicknamed him Peter, was the Number 001, and he was already in the room, sitting on the floor at the very same spot you two had found for each other. It was nice being able to just sit on the ground, and not care about getting dirty, as if there was any chance of that happening in the lab. It was simple and it put you two on the same level, which was true even if your papa wouldn’t agree.
Before getting your doctorate, you and Henry were not much of friends, although you supposed you were each other’s closest person in each life. Peter had access to the other kids, the other numbers, but they were just babies, while you spent your life alone, guided solely by Dr Brenner, your father. It was lonely for both of you, and once you had your degree in your hands, you decided to get closer to the boy who was always staring you around when you came down to the lab.
At first, your father did not approve of your specialization in psychology, but once he started filling the lab with children, he realized your diploma was very much in need, and he gave you a room, so you could listen and take notes on each of the kids’ complaints.
And even though number 001 was no longer a kid, he still had a scheduled hour with you, every Tuesday and Thursday.
When he walked in, for his first appointment ever, you were as nervous as he was shocked to see you. You had only turned eighteen, but he was about to be nineteen, and a lot had changed. Yeah, you saw each other grow up, but not as frequently as the hearts would hope, and a lot had changed.
You were one of them now, at least it was how he saw you that very first Tuesday. You were dressed in white, with your hair fixed in a tight ponytail. There were no more pink and yellow dresses. And he had changed too. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his light blue eyes, and he was way taller than you.
You remembered him being cold, scared to talk. Of course, he did not lose his posture of serenity, as if he was always the most intelligent one in every room he walked in.
Neither of you remembered how or when it all changed, how you two came to agree with sitting on the floor and sharing your lunch (you always brought something tasty from the outside, something the kids would never have access to). Something had happened — maybe a look you shared or a word he spoke, neither of you could point at the thing, but both were very glad it had happened.
Peter looked forward to his appointments with you, for it was the only hour he had to be himself, to feel free. Yes, your room was as white as the rest of the place, but when it was just the two of you behind the closed door, suddenly, it felt coloured. It felt rainbowy.
“It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone,” he said, jokingly, and you pushed him with your left hand while he laughed. “You shouldn’t…” he had to pause because he was laughing too hard “... push me like this, Dr; I’m sure your father won’t like it.”
“Papa?” you echoed. It was funny now that you were twenty to call him papa because that was the very nickname Dr Brenner was forcing the kids, the other numbers, to call him. Well, the word was not funny per se, as it was more weird than comic. “Papa can’t see in here,” you said, smiling, “so I just kill you and it won’t matter.”
Peter smiled again, that beautiful smile that always heated your heart. His hair was growing again, out of his buzzcut, as you noticed it happened way faster than with the other kids. It was so unfair, you thought, for he had the most beautiful golden hair. You were thankful the numbers had a schedule for haircuts, and Peter had to wait for the day with the others, instead of being taken to cut it earlier, because then it allowed you moments like that one, where you could see some locks fighting to grow.
You took advantage of his silence to inform some news.
“I’ve been talking to him, you know. I think… I think he will allow it, P. He’ll let you be a worker here, not just…”
“Don’t say patient,” he quickly interrupted you, knowing very well you hated to use ‘subject’ even though it was way better than ‘prisoner’, which he was.
You stared at him, focusing on every detail of his blue eyes.
You didn’t understand what happened to you two, why were you like this… How did you become friends? And is that the ideal word for the two of you?
Unlike most of the other numbers, Number One had a childhood outside the lab. He got to know some customs of American society, customs that used to reveal themselves without him realizing it. You liked those moments—when he referenced some ‘50s song, or even when he opened the door and let you out first. Most of the other kids couldn’t even form a sentence properly—and they were barely aware of some American habits and customs. It was like talking to little Tarzans, rescued from the forest.
“Sometimes... do you sometimes think about your life before?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Stop analyzing me,” he said, pretending to be angry, but he knew very well that the question had been asked by [y/n] and not by Dr [y/n] Brenner. He was avoiding answering you, which probably meant that yes, he often thought about it. When he was Peter, though he was still Peter when he walked into your room. He’d never be Number One there — you would never allow it. “I think of my father.”
You gulped, nervously, just like you used to do when you were a kid.
There wasn’t much you knew about Peter’s life before he met your father, but you knew enough. He killed his parents, or at least he tried to kill his father, but only managed to end his mother and sister. You never knew his motives, for he never talked about it. All the info you had was given by your father, but he didn’t usually care for motives, only for results. So Dr Brenner theorized Peter killed his family because of something traumatic he must’ve been through, and that was enough.
For you, however, the question always remained.
“Your father… he was imprisoned, right?” you asked, trying to play it casually. You had done your research, but in any way did you want to scare him.
Peter looked back at you, your elbows almost touching.
“He was,” he said as if he wanted to say more but just couldn’t.
“Sometimes, I wish my father went to prison,” you let out your guilty truth. You knew what your father did to the kids, you weren’t dumb. But you spent so many years trying to please him, that it was hard to imagine yourself doing anything that could jeopardize your papa. Besides, his research was important, the kids maybe did not receive the best of treatments, for the love Dr Brenner offered was only when the children had reached important achievements but wasn’t that the love he offered you, his very blood daughter?
You watched Peter as he frowned, clearly feeling sorry for you. Although that was one of the rare comments you made about your father that could indicate a bad upbringing, it was only presumed that the boy used by the doctor would assume that the man was not a good father.
“One day,” he said, “we’ll get out of here, huh.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. We’ll get your fancy diploma and my crazy abilities and make a world of our own.”
“I don’t know about a world,” you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I’m happy with just a house.”
He tilted his head towards yours and the two of you just stayed there, in silence, enjoying each other’s company. There was so much to be said… but there was never the right time. You hoped Peter understood that dreaming of leaving was just that: a dream. You couldn’t escape your papa, and he could even less, as he was not just his whole research base but also his favourite prisoner.
~~
Peter wanted to protect you.
He always wanted to protect you, ever since he met you, the little girl in pigtails, walking in all nervous and looking at him as if you were surprised and scared at the same time. He was not much older than you, but somehow he knew it was his job to be the protector.
He saw through your mind — even though he didn't want to, it was inevitable with a power like his. He saw that you were just the perfect daughter even though your father was far from being the perfect papa you saw him as. He saw a mind as complex and smart as his and he was glad to find in you a twin soul.
Although he saw you grow old, he didn’t see you as often as he hoped, and there were weeks when he grew desperate, thinking Dr Brenner had done some evil against you, but then, all of the sudden, you were crossing the corridors following him around like a puppy, taller and prettier than the last time he saw you, and that was enough. It had to be.
However, three weeks before his nineteenth birthday, a guard came to his room, asking for him to accompany him for Number One had an appointment. Needless to say, Peter was very surprised when, opening the door, he found [y/n], dressed in white this time, just like the other doctors, but at the same time so different. She still had the same energy — a scared little genius. She looked pretty, more like a woman this time than the last, even though she was younger than him.
He was surprised, but he managed to pretend he was careless. What were you doing there, in a room all alone in the lab? He thought by now you’d be free of her father, but he was wrong. Or maybe you didn’t want to be free. Maybe you had become one of them officially.
So he kept his cold distance, scared you were gonna run more tests with him.
But it wasn’t what you did.
In your first appointment, you just sat there and told him about your trajectory, similar to your first conversation when he was eleven years old, except this time you had managed to accomplish all of those things your father had only planned.
He listened to it all because, why wouldn't he? It was you after all. His weak spot. The one that would doom him.
Before he knew it, he was anxious, waiting for your next appointment, and, although again, he remained silent and just listened to you, he noticed that he liked it. He just liked being in your presence.
Something happened then, something shifted, and before he knew it, he was telling you everything, all about the tests and the powers; powers you could not comprehend, but that didn’t stop him from trying to explain and eventually show them to you.
Friends, he supposed. You two were friends. He had never thought of calling someone that before, but perhaps it was fit for the little relationship you two had formed.
And since he defined you as a friend, it was no surprise that one day, Dr Brenner, the Dr Brenner, requested his presence in his office.
“Yes, Papa?” he hated to call the man that, he was bloody twenty-one years old, but if he called Brenner any other thing, he would be a dead man by the morning.
“I have been watching you closely, my boy,” he said, trying to put emotion in his words, but failing miserably. “And I think, as you’ve come of age, you should have a more important job here. Perhaps it’s time you help the other children, huh? Help them achieve their potential maximum, as I’ve done with you. You could be my left hand.”
Peter lowered his head, pretending to be honoured. There was no honour in serving Dr Brenner, but Peter knew it was better being a guard than being a subject. At least someone (the children) would stop looking at him like a child that grew too fast.
“That would be an honour, Papa. I mean, sir, as I suppose should be the one I should call you now,” Peter said, testing the waters. “It wouldn’t be right for the kids to see that Number One is in charge but they aren’t, right?”
Dr Brenner took a second to observe.
“Right. It’d be best if they didn’t know you are Number One. let them think he grew and left for the world. You shall be… I forgot; what was your name from before again, my boy?”
“Peter,” he replied, but soon realised he did it too quickly.
The doctor stared at number One, analysing, pensive towards his easiness of recalling his name. He wasn’t supposed to be remembering that time of freedom, before the lab.
Peter felt like that was his first test in the new position and he had just failed.
“Well, Peter, that shall be you calling from now on. Go to your room, yes? I’ll send someone to take your things to a new area of the building and explain your duties in the new position. But be clear that I’ll still expect you to continue training.”
“Sure. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” And Peter left, not fast enough, but he did not stay to hear more — he just wanted to leave.
~~
“Who’s that?” he asked you, following the little girl that was accompanying your father as they passed down the hall.
“Eleven,” you said, as that was the number the little girl was designated and you had no idea what her real name was. “She’s been raised here, but isolated. Papa thinks she’s powerful.”
Peter crossed his arms, still following the girl with his eyes.
His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, and you liked it that way. Since he became a guard and helper, Dr Brenner cut him off from his appointments with you, so you were only able to see Peter if by chance you two crossed paths in the halls, like it was happening there.
It was unfortunate that you couldn’t see each other weekly, but you knew he would rather be a guard than be a ‘patient’, as you used to call and he used to hate it.
“Powerful how?”
“She had been through this whole way of birth… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s not a patient of mine,” you said.
“Why?” he questioned, genuinely interested.
“I don’t know. Papa says she’s too young. But I’ve talked to her, during some tests… She indeed seems very powerful. Talented.” You tilted your head, remembering the first time you saw Eleven.
“So she���s his new Number One,” Peter uncrossed his arms, only to smile at you, tossing his blond locks away from his eyes.
“You’re still number one,” unfortunately, you thought, a bit sad.
“Am I still the most talented and powerful person in the lab?”
“Oh,” you decided to provoke him. “I think Eleven wins.”
“How dare you!” he said, but he was laughing, and soon, so was you.
When you noticed the time on your watch, you decided to ask for a favour.
“Just… watch over her, huh? I feel like you’ll see her more than me, as it seems father won’t trust her over my surveillance. Eleven, she feels like she’ll need a friend.”
“You know you’re my only friend,” he said, and his expression was serious. He wasn’t lying.
“And you’re mine.”
He sighed. “I’ll watch over her.”
“Thank you,” you mouthed, soundless before leaving to go back to your job.
Peter watched as you left, reflecting on your plea. He saw in your mind that you cared for Eleven, more than you cared for the other kids. And if your request was for him to watch over the little girl, then he would be his bloody guardian if needed.
~~
“Happy birthday, doc.”
You stared up from your cupcake with a candle on top to see Peter, also known as Number One, in your room. There were rare times when he would come in, especially after he stopped being your patient, so you were surprised with his visit, but mostly, you were concerned because he saw your sad moment with the birthday cupcake.
“Thank you, P,” you said, shrugging and blowing the candle. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to say happy birthday. I know those things matter to you.”
You tilted your head while frowning before replying, jokingly, attempting to distract him from your real reasons. “It stopped mattering when I turned 25.”
“[y/n],” he smiled and walked in, closing the door behind, “you just turned 30. You’re not old.”
You were glad he decided not to mention your father — the real reason behind your sad birthdays. He never remembered, or he was always busy; you wish it didn’t matter, mainly as you grew older, but it still bothered you. Fortunately, you had Peter.
“I don't think I've mentioned it before but I like when you call me Peter,” he said, changing subjects.
“I'd never call you 001.”
“I know, but... you could call me Henry. It's better than the number,” he shrugged. “I like being Peter, the guy that works at the lab and not Henry the cursed son of a troubled man.”
You lowered your head, remaining in silence for you had not what to say after that.
“How’s Eleven?” you asked, because, as it seemed, you cared for the girl and it was a good way to change the subject. It was only natural to ask about her to the person who was spending at least ten hours per day with her.
Peter came closer to your chair, looking down at you with pity. It wasn’t as if Eleven was in danger (not more in danger than all of them) or as if she was a stupid child, but Peter didn't like that you cared that much. It made him care too, and that was unforgivable.
“She’s okay. The other kids don’t like her, but she’s managing,” he said.
You sighed. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”
“Sure. It’s not as if your father isn’t experimenting on her or something.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like it isn’t the truth?” he replied, bothered that you didn’t like his sick joke.
“I know what my father does, ok? Do you think I like it?” you shouted, perhaps a bit too louder than needed. “Do you think I have any power against it?”
“No, but I do! I have power!” he yelled back. “Just say the word, [y/n], and we’ll burn this place to the ground.”
By place, you knew he meant your father. Your Papa.
And even though you had enough reasons to agree, you just couldn’t.
You sighed, giving up on the fight.
“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed too, and he placed one of his hands on your chin, forcing you to look back up, to look at him again. You allowed him, mostly because you were tired, but partly because it calmed you down to look at his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn’t come in here to fight. I wanted to give you a gift. For your birthday.”
You stared at him, confused. You could see his hands — there was no package in them.
But Peter’s gift… it didn’t need to be wrapt.
Growing up with parents that loved each other was kinda gross, at least it was what young Peter thought, seeing them touching lips all the time. He didn’t understand the reason behind it, why would they need to kiss at every chance they got?
Then, Peter came to the lab, he became Number One, his mother was dead, and he forgot all about it. He forgot the name of the feeling humans have, the one that curls up their stomachs and makes their hearts beat faster. He forgot it all until he didn’t. Until you showed up. And maybe his heart was racing, maybe he wanted to touch you.
Sometimes, brushing shoulders wasn’t enough.
So he remembered something, something lost in his past and probably unfamiliar to you too, as both had weird upbringings, but he thought it was just perfect. Peter knew he had to give it a try.
He raised his hand from your chin to your cheek and allowed the other to follow. Your eyes widened as you understood what was going on, but you did nothing to stop him. Hell, you had been waiting for that for decades.
You could leave the lab, you had access to movies. Even though there weren’t many kisses in your life — motherless childhood and all (besides the fact that you were always the nerd in school and life) — you desired to be kissed. You waited for that moment when you were fifteen, then at eighteen, then strong as ever when you were twenty (when Peter burst in celebrating being repositioned as a guard and not a simple number).
So you let him and you responded to the kiss. You touched him too, pulling him by his golden hair that you so much admired, and you let your lips open just enough that he could understand the signal. And Peter understood, as he too wanted more — wanted to feel you, taste you, and not just lips and tong, but hands, oh, wandering hands that travelled from your cheekbones to your curves, to pull you close.
If first you were sitting and he had to lean down to reach you, that was in the past minute, because he managed to change your positions with ease, placing you over his lap as he sat on your chair.
“I think…” you started but he kissed you, silencing you.
“Don’t think,” he replied. “If you think, I’ll think.”
“Peter…”
You could feel his smile on your lips.
“Let’s reshape the world, [y/n],” he whispered, kissing your neck, “join me.”
His hands tightened on your back when he noticed you froze. Damn it, he thought.
“We can free all the numbers and we can remake this place, this world, however, we see fit.”
“Why are you saying this to me?” you asked, confused. You thought it was about kissing, but maybe this primitive form of touch awoke something in him. It was two desires combined and you were scared Peter wasn’t gonna forget it.
There was no escaping your father, as much as you liked to dream about it.
You kissed him again. “Forget it, Peter.”
You pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt.
“Focus on me.”
“It’s all I’ve been focused on, [y/n]. Couldn’t you see? How desperate I am to leave but I stay? Why do you believe I stay?” he kissed you back but this time you pulled away. “Don’t think, [y/n].”
You tried to find his eyes, his calming blue eyes that you loved to stare at. You would see sense there. You would see the real him there.
And you saw the real him there.
Blue. Ice cold blue eyes.
“Peter, let me go,” you said, expecting him to drop his hands from your leg and back.
But he didn’t.
“You just kissed me, Peter, why can’t you enjoy it?”
He shook his head. “How can I? Do you think your father will give us his blessing?”
You closed your eyes.
“And even if he does, do you think he’ll leave us be? Do you think he’ll let my children be?”
You gulped. “You’re overthinking, Peter,” you said, trying to remain calm.
“With whom do you think I’ve to learn it?” his voice was louder and it echoed in the room.
“Let me go,” you asked, but he ignored you, he just kept going with his monologue about the world and freedom. “Let me go, Number One.”
He instantly dropped you. One minute you were on his lap, the other you were on the floor. You got up, adjusting your skirt, trying to get to the door.
“Why did you call me that, Dr Brenner?”
You gulped.
“Why did you have to call me that, Dr Brenner?!”
You finally reached for the door. You had the handle in your fingers. He wasn’t holding you anymore. It was going to be ok.
“Say you’re sorry, please, [y/n],” Peter said, his blue eyes looking deep into yours.
“I’m sorry I called you by your number, ok? It won’t happen again.”
“That’s not the apology I wanted to hear.”
“Peter…”
“I think I loved you, did you know that?” he asked, getting closer, step by step, slowly.
You just knew you were doomed because the goddamn door didn’t open no matter how hard you pulled or pushed.
“Loved?”
“I think you loved me too.”
“I love you too,” you said, in an attempt to save your life, even though it was the truth.
“Tisk tisk,” he made the noise with his tongue. “Loved, dear. Loved.”
He didn’t even raise his hand before it all went dark.
#jamie campbell bower#starnger things#stranger things season 4#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#peter ballard#peter ballard x reader#number 001#001 x reader#eleven#jane hopper#mike x will#fanfic#netflix#dr brenner#st fic#st fanfic
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White Rabbit (Peter Ballard x Female!Reader)
PART 2
a/n: how close can i get to writing monsterfricking before being called a monsterfricker?
Warnings: NON-CON (nothing too explicit, but still, be warned, be safe), bathroom-donging (once again), extensive use of a 80′s rock song as a plot device
Summary: Vecna’s Curse finally comes to take what’s his. Only thing is, he doesn’t look like the monster your friends described.
Edit: Y'all are actually insane for giving this fic so many notes. There will be part two, most certainly, after the finale comes out. I will tag everyone in notes and in my askbox. With peace and love, what the fuck
There is a clock, ticking inside your head. It's sound filling every crevice of your brain, seeping into every fiber of your being, rattling every bone in your body until you're unable to move. You know what it means, you've seen what comes after it. The mutilated corpses of a cheerleader and that press kid are burned into your consciousness. Then, Max, floating above the graveyard, her blue eyes rolled grotesquely into the back of her head.
You haven't told anyone, as the team runs around Hawkins, looking for any clues that could help them stop Vecna's Curse.
Speaking of which, you are yet to see the abomination causing your imminent demise. It terrifies you to your very core, but under that overbearing feeling, there is another one. Curiosity. Danger feels heavy on your shoulders, and you love it, the thrill it gives you. Besides, shall things go south, you have a recorder by your side, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson's Airplane recorded on a small cassette, ready for trouble. "You can do this", is a mantra you've been telling yourself for hours now, you can survive.
The Wheeler house is lively with worried chatter, parents lamenting over their kids, in trouble again, and with the Hawkins Police nonetheless. You're sitting in the living room, head hanging low, fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt, which is currently covered in stains of various origin. Moss, mud, some blood, although you don't know where it came from. All the fault will undoubtedly fall on your shoulders. Being the only adult on scene, the only one getting caught. You curse under your breath, thinking of your friends, old and new, currently stuck in the Upside Down. Leaving you to handle everything else on the surface.
It has been a hassle, the interrogation. You got put into a stuffy room with Officer Calahan, who was strangely excited at the prospect of potentially locking up a bunch of kids, for whatever reason. It won't happen, obviously, but you're not here to break his bubble. He asks you questions with an aura of sarcastic authority, giving you patronizing nods, whenever you answer. You want to punch him, not only because your friends are currently in mortal danger, and you could do so much more to help them, if he'd just let you out. There is also the sound of a ticking clock, coming from behind his back, and the suspense drives you insane.
And a spider. Fat and dangerous, it traverses the expanse of the man's shoulder, but when you blink, it's gone.
- Can I use the bathroom? - you ask, voice barely containing all the emotions you were feeling.
The Officer looks at you, startled, as you had just interrupted another one of the monologues. He blinks, as you turn your head, and blinks again, processing your words.
- Yeah - he sounds dumbfounded.
Before the man can say anything more, you bolt out of the room, to the corridor basked in warm light of the ornate chandelier. The ticking is louder here, seemingly just a smidge away from your ear, and slowly, as if not to startle the hallucination, you turn your head left. There, on a cream wall, where normally a lovely family photo of the Wheeler's would hang, you find a round face of a grandfather's clock, staring back at you. One hand comes to life, lazily sliding from one minute to the other, a rusty clank of the mechanism filling your ears. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, as you force your eyes away from the clock.
The world spins around you, as you fall through the bathroom door, closing it behind you. Your hands shake, as you reach for the recorder, fingers fumbling around the headphones you hastily pull over your ears. One click later, and a familiar base enters your brain, the sound of the clock barely recognizable beneath the drums.
- One pill makes you larger - you mutter under your breath, leaning heavily on the sink.
You try to control your breathing, focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest, still muttering the lyrics, like a prayer. The feeling persists, however, and you begin to sway in your place. The mirror shows your disheveled reflection in an almost mocking manner. Hair is sticking to your sweaty face, there are tears framing your eyes, and you're ghastly pale, worryingly so. Unable to focus, you close your eyes, shutting your eyelids tight. trying to block out everything but the music. Specks of light dance beneath your eyelids, and you try to follow their irregular paths, anything to bring you back.
Yet, that ticking sound is persistent, almost impatient. Waiting for the song to end. And with a click of finality, it does. Your heart jumps to your chest, as silence finally engulfs you. Your right hand flies to the Cassette player, fingers immediately finding the rewind button. Your eyes stay shut, as you listen to the whirling of the tape. And the ticking, always the ticking. Finally, it stops. A breath of relief shakes you.
- Don't play it again.
Your eyes fly open, as you give a startled gasp. The bathroom is empty, only your wracked figure reflected in the mirror. But something is wrong, you can feel it at the base of your neck, where the hairs stand up on guard. It doesn't feel like the Upside Down, doesn't look like it too, and yet, you can't shake the ever present sensation of indescribable dread.
Slowly, your fingers skim the play button, the plastic ridges dig into your skin, as you press down.
Then, something catches your hand. Delicately, like it's holding a flower.
You nearly scream, thrashing in the bathroom, turning harshly towards the shower, nails digging into the porcelain edge of the sink. Empty. Nothing.
Your heart stammers out of your chest, blood rushing through your ears in a suffocating display of panic. And the clock keeps ticking.
You're terrified now, properly. Screw all feelings of curiosity from earlier, you're pretty sure you can live without knowing. And so, even more feverishly, you fumble with the recorder, finally hitting the play button so hard, you nearly break your finger. The drums start again, and as the base joins it, you fall to your knees onto the floor, breathing heavily with relief.
- God - you sigh - Why me?
- Why you, indeed...
His voice is barely audible through the music, but you still feel it crushing through your skull. Your body freezes, as you glance up from the floor. There, just centimeters from you, stands a pair of white shoes. At least you think they're white, as the image keeps flickering in and out of existence, like a glitch on a homemade videotape. Your eyes drag up, over slender legs clad in white pants, white shirt tucked into them. Then, you finally see him. An angelic face looking at you from above. Beautiful, blue eyes, sharp features and lovely lips, all surrounded by a halo of blonde waves. An angel, truly.
You blink, and his image shifts out of existence just for a second.
- Who are you? - your voice sounds foreign in your ears, barely recognizable over the music
The man smiles a gentle smile, before kneeling down in front of you. His hands slowly creep towards yours, cradling them in a hold that is so warm and comforting, you want to melt into it without question. His eyes are so incredibly blue, it takes your breath away. And yet, despite the whirlwind of emotions, you can't stop staring into them. The man lifts your joined hands towards his lips. There isn't even a ghost of a breath, fanning your knuckles, as he places a kiss onto the bone. His image shifts again, violently, and a new feeling of slow dread creeps up your spine.
Then, a shadow passes through him, the kind facade falling into something much darker, much more sinister.
- I'm your worst nightmare - he smiles, teeth on full display, sharp and pointy.
You try to free your hands with a yank, but he holds them close with little to no force, eyes leaving your face in favor of studying the way veins move beneath your skin.
- I have many names - he says, his voice is calm and melodic - Henry - his lips brush the outside of your left wrist - Peter - a swift kiss is placed onto the tips of your finger - One...
He lingers for a bit at the juncture between your thumb and your pointer, and you still feel no breath coming from him.
- Although, the name your friends have given me has a nice ring to it - he looks up, capturing you again with those blue eyes of his.
- Vecna - your voice comes out as a mere whisper, one you can't even hear amongst the song, slowly, but without stopping, coming to an end.
Suddenly, the man stands up, and you feel yourself being pulled up to your feet as well. It's not gentle at all, and you nearly trip, before finding your balance. Faster than you can comprehend, the man turns you around, so you're facing the mirror. You can see him fully now. He's almost a head taller than you, slender and elegant. Not at all the monster you have imagined, not the one Max told you about. He peers at your reflection, towering over you in his clean, white clothes.
- My name means very little to me now - he says again, hand coming up to tuck your hair behind, exposing your neck to him - I am very particular about the names of my victims, however - another smile has you shaking, as his wondering hands press slightly on your pulse.
You can't move, your legs feel heavy, like someone tied them down with rocks. Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel it in your throat, where his fingers drum delicately over your skin, to the beat of the song still keeping you alive.
- Chrissy - he hisses into your hair - Sounds sweet like candy, and in a way, that's how she tasted.
A shiver wrecks your body, as images of the Cheerleader's body flood your mind. Her eyes, sucked into her skull, her limbs in disarray.
- Fred - you can feel his hands on the insides of your arms, fingers dragging over your veins - Intelligent, although slightly tart, like unripe apples.
Your head starts to spin, breaths escaping you in quick puffs. They found Fred in the middle of the road, alone, abandoned, mutilated.
- Patrick - he dips his head into the crook of your shoulder, nose sliding up, towards your ear - Stern, but full of life, reminded me of walnuts.
"When logic and proportion, have fallen sloppy dead" the singer wails, and you know, your time is coming to an end. A small whimper escapes you, as slender arms encircle your frame, pushing your back into his body.
- Max - there is a spark of rage at the mention of your friends name, one, he catches in your reflection with a raised eyebrow - Strong, youthful, like mint. When I heard your name amongst thousands, I knew, you'd taste wonderful.
Your entire body starts to writhe, as the man gives your neck a long lick of his tongue, starting from your shoulder, up to the back of your ear.
- Oooh - he laughs to himself, as you watch him in the mirror, still unable to move - There is some kick to you, I can tell. Like hot peppers.
He dives down again, placing open-mouthed kisses to your feverish skin, teeth just barely scraping your pulse point.
- A name like this should be savored. This guilt you feel should be savored.
"Feed your head" the woman sings, the song swelling in your ears, so close to the end, you start to shake. As if on cue, the man slowly reaches up, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair, as he pushes them under your headphones. It takes one move, for the plastic to fall from your head, clattering to the ground.
Your eyes meet in the mirror as sudden silence engulfs the both of you. There is a victorious smirk playing around on his lips, as his right hands starts to twirl your hair around his finger. He rubs the strands, like he's sampling a fabric, bafore bringing them closer to his nose, and taking a long whiff of air.
- ...Or maybe cinnamon - me sighs, eyebrows scrunching together.
- Are you going to kill me now?
Again, images of broken bones and mutilated corpses fill your mind, you can almost imagine the wet cracking.
The man laughs, stepping away from your trembling body for just an inch, the loss of his body behind you makes you sway in place. There's this weird flickering glitch running over his figure, intensifying for a moment. He takes a long breath, you can see muscles work under any visible sliver of skin, and as he relaxes again, his form stabilizes.
That is when you realize, what you're looking at isn't real. He isn't real. This angelic, terrifying boy is just an illusion, a hallucination, meant to lull you into a false sense of security. And it almost works. Almost, because as you focus more on his eyes, they seem to become less blue, and more milky and veiny. More like a monster.
- Guilt is a fickle thing - his voice is lower, more raspy than before.
His head dips down behind you, and he plants a wet kiss to the base of you neck, teeth scraping against your skin in a way, that wrenches a whine out of your lips.
Your stomach churns with a feeling sitting too close to arousal, as his large hands begin to explore your body further.
- It never leaves, not truly. And you have so much of it. - a hand digs itself into your hip, then slides up, leasing the edge of your shirt.
- Stop.
He doesn't, fingers creeping under the fabric, squeezing the soft tissue there.
- You're supposed to protect your brother, but he keeps getting hurt on your watch. How many bones does he have to break? How many times have you failed him?
Tears spring to life in the corners of your eyes, as you try to turn away from your reflection. He's faster though, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look back to the mirror. Then, he cranes your chin to the side, forcefully, so that your face is closer to him.
- Those kids you've taken under your wing, I will devour them all, and you'll watch - he seems unmoved by your sobs, whispering the words into your wet cheek - Your father, poor father, never had the chance of seeing how much of a disappointment you really are.
His lips are soft as he kisses your tears away, tasting the saltiness with a grin. Like a chef, proud of his most delicious meal.
- I see it all, sweetness - the hand digging into your stomach climbs up, over your ribs, stopping just short of the underside of your breast.
- Please... - a choked sob escapes you, as your body tries to free itself from his iron hold.
- Shhh - he shushes you, you can't feel his breath on your lips, when he gives you a chaste kiss.
For that matter, you can't feel anything, that would suggest you're being held by a living being. There is no rise and fall to his chest, no smell, no heartbeat.
His form starts to flicker yet again, and suddenly, you feel something definitely not human sliding and swirling behind you. A constantly moving mass holds you in place and instinctively, you screw your eyes shut. You don't want to know how he looks like in reality, mind focusing back on the angelic man from before. Now, you can feel him breath, a low rumble starts in his gut everytime he inhales, like a beast ready to pounce.
- It takes - the voice coming from behind you is gruff and monstrous - A considerable amount of strength to keep this image in place.
Slowly, with every word, the man's voice comes back to the normal, melodic tone. The shifting mass on your back seizes its movements, and slowly, you allow yourself to crack an eye open.
Blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a halo of blonde hair stare back at you in the mirror's reflection. He gives out a small chuckle, shakes his head slightly, and bends down to take another long sniff of your hair.
- There's no need for you to see my real form - he mutters into the crown of your head - After all, it's not your fear I'm after.
His hands move with unexpected speed, as the both slide upwards, under your shirt, to cup roughly at your breasts. The sound you give out is pathetic at best, as this sliver of friction sets your whole body ablaze.
- It's your guilt - he forces out through his teeth, giving your breasts another sharp squeeze.
Before you have the time to actually understand the implications behind his words, you body is being pressed forwards. The ceramic edge of the sing digs painfully into the meat of your thighs, but the feeling is swallowed completely by a slender hand worming it's way into your pants.
Your entire body rocks back and forth, as the man, Peter, Vecna, plunges two long digits into you without warning.
You feel a raw whine climb out of your throat, as you clench around his fingers, hands flailing at your sides, looking for any sort of purchase. He lets you lean on him completely, one hand massaging your breast, before abandoning it in favor of gripping your pulse.
He works you steadily and greedily, pulling sounds out of you, you'd have never imagined were possible. It feels sick, your stomach tightens into a growing coil, as the rythmic pumping shakes you to your bones.
- I...please - your words come out slurred, as your vision swims around your head.
He chuckles, seemingly unaffected, and presses his thumb down on your pulsing bundle of nerves. The sudden jolt of pleasure wrenches a scream out of you, one, he swallows, forcefully craning his neck, and pressing his lips to yours.
The kiss hurts, plain and simple. His lips, despite being pillowy soft, bite into yours with force you've never experienced in your life. Then, teeth appear, raking abused flesh, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth. It's too much, the whole thing starts to feel less like a nightmare, and more like an execution.
Your lungs scream for more oxygen, the tightening in your stomach accompanied by the sharp pain in your chest. And just when you truly think, this is how you are going to die, something entirely unexpected happens.
"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small"
The song enters your brain like a dose of adrenaline, waking you from your stupor. Immediately, the hand toying with your insides, retracts, leaving you unfulfilled and disappointed. The emptiness carries, as his mouth detach from yours. You can't open your eyes, you refuse to do so, too overwhelmed to see.
- Remember this - the man says into your ear, his words slowly being drowned out by music - Remember this feeling, when I come for you again.
With that, you're being released, your limp body falling down onto the floor, where you're met with gentle hands of your friends cradling you.
- Jesus, we though you were a goner! - Lucas nearly screams in your face, as you try your best to focus on the kid's features.
- Yeah! You were flying under the ceiling - Dustin shoves a finger up, and your glazed eyes follow, looking at an unidentified spot above your head.
- Why didn't you tell us? - Max is gripping your shoulders so hard, you're sure it will leave a mark.
The kids, your kids, look at you with terrified faces, as you try to stand up, bones heavy, muscles trembling with unresolved tension.
- Didn't want to worry you guys...
It's a weak excuse, and right now you're not even sure if it's true. Dustin mutters something about you being an adult idiot, and in your heart you can't disagree with him.
- Just - Max slowly let's go of your arm - Keep the headphones on.
With that, the gang makes their way out of the bathroom, you following right after them. The coil in your stomach dies down, and with it, new, overbearing feeling arises in your chest.
Guilt. Crushing guilt of wanting something so wrong you can never recover from it.
And beneath the familiar drums, and the voice, and the guitar, you hear a gentle sound of a ticking clock.
#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard#stranger things#vecna x reader#vecna stranger things#001 x reader#henry creel x reader#001 stranger things#henry creel#my writing#tw: dark fic#monster#i dont support child murder but i do support men being pretty so here you guys go
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🖤BATTLE OF THE BANDS x ST CAST x MOOD BOARD🎸🤘🏼❤️🔥
#someone write a fic about this please#stranger things#stranger things cast#Eduardo Franco#Finn wolfhard#Maya hawke#Jamie campbell bower#Joseph quinn#Charlie heaton#Joe keery#Sadie sink#argyle#Mike wheeler#Robin Buckley#Henry creel#Peter ballard#eddie munson#Jonathan Byers#max mayfield#stranger things mood board#stranger things 4#stranger things 5#stranger things writers#maddy’s mood boards 🎭
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Eddie Munson ~ Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Angst = ❤︎
Fluff = ✿
Smut = ⚠︎ (minors DNI please)
Dark Themes = ☾
Personal Fave = ☆
Oneshots
The Stars at Lover’s Lake ✿⚠︎
For Later… ✿⚠︎
Concentrate ⚠︎
Payback ⚠︎
Rock the Night ⚠︎☆ (Steve x F!Reader x Eddie)
Save a Prayer ❤︎✿⚠︎☆
Younger ✿☆
Desperate ⚠︎☆
I’ll Make It Up To You ❤︎✿⚠︎☆ Part Two ❤︎✿⚠︎☆
Sick Bastard ⚠︎☾
Time After Time ❤︎✿⚠︎☆
Impatient ⚠︎ (mechanic!Eddie au)
Good Boy ✿⚠︎
Moth to a Flame ❤︎⚠︎︎ (Eddie x F!Reader x Steve) (coming soon)
Drabbles
Cool Guy Persona ❤︎✿
Who You Gonna Call? ❤︎✿
Running Down That Hill ❤︎✿
Tongue Twister ⚠︎
Campaign Planning ⚠︎
Cockbulge / Size Kink ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)
Headcanons
Dating Eddie Headcanons ❤︎✿⚠︎
Reacting to You Being on Your Period ✿
Watching a Scary Movie Together ✿
Being With an Inexperienced Reader ✿⚠︎
Having a Clingy Significant Other ✿
Having a Socially Anxious Partner ✿
Fucking You in a Sundress ⚠︎
A Few Thoughts on Vampire!Eddie ⚠︎☾
Sex Whilst You’re On Your Period ✿⚠︎
NSFW Alphabet ⚠︎
Modern!Eddie Playlist (spotify)
Audio Masterlist (18+ only)
Audio Masterlist 2 (18+ only)
dividers by @silkholland | consent / feedback banners by me
#stranger things#eddie munson smut#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#001 smut#001 x reader#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard#peter ballard x you#peter ballard smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#stranger nightmare
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Imagine…
You’re your comfort characters comfort character
C/c=comfort character
Warning ⚠️:kinda sad at the end but at first kinda cute I also didn’t reread this so it might be rushed and not make sense mb plus it’s short
A/n: send request for stories like these I like writing them.🙃 pick a specific character tho and I’ll tell you if I can do them or not (please send requests)
After a long day of school/work they come home and lay in bed they grab their pillow and began to speak. “hey y/n I had a good day today I almost got into a fight but I didn’t because I thought of you and how you wouldn’t want me to do that how you would want me to be the bigger person so I talked to them about it and I know you fight sometimes but you wouldn’t want me to risk everything by fighting so yeah how was your day??” In their mind the pillow came to life forming your face and body into it. “I had a good day just chilled on your bed you know” you looked into the eyes of C/C and grabbed the side of their face. “I’m proud of you I’m so proud of you” you hugged them and then you laid on their chest they hugged back and you started to cuddle they you felt something hot and wet they were crying. “what’s wrong??” You asked and put their face into your hands. “I love you but your not real” their world of happiness collapsing with those words. Your.Not.Real you made them happy you made them better but you weren’t real.
A/n:Hey I wrote this because I seen dd Osama confront n3on and I was proud of him and I thought of what it would be like if I had his comfort character or if I was any of my other comfort characters comfort character I seen a story similar that’s what this was based on so if you find that send me a link bc I really want to read it again they wrote it better than me
#miles morales#miles morales x you#miles morales x reader#1610 miles morales x reader#miles morales 1610#miles morales imagine#atsv#earth 42 miles morales x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#steve harrington x reader#chato santana x reader#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson smut#fear street#damon smut#kate schmidt#hobie brown x reader smut#lucas sinclair#peter ballard smut#rue bennett smut#steve harrington#sadie sink x reader#steve harrington angst#hobie brown smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fic
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Relationships: Henry Creel & Eleven, Henry Creel & Martin Brenner, Henry Creel & Doctor Sam Owens
Summary:
It was certainly not the first time Doctor Brenner — Papa — abused him. Doesn't make the damage any less severe than the previous time it happened though.
Henry was trying to survive at the Lab. Sometimes he started to wonder if death might be better than life as a wounded prisoner. Not that he had a choice, anyway.
Takes place during Henry’s time as an orderly at Hawkins Lab.
#I write things#henry creel#stranger things#jamie campbell bower#vecna#jamie bower#peter ballard#henry creel fic#henry creel imagine#001#001 fic#001 imagine#vecna fic#vecna imagine#peter ballard fic#peter ballard imagine#stranger things fic#st#stranger things imagine#001 stranger things#stranger things 001#001 st#st 001#st vecna#vecna st#stranger things vecna#vecna stranger things#whump#angst
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This has been plaguing me since I first started reading 001 fics… where did y’all find the name “Peter Ballard”?? Like did they mention it in the show and I missed it? When I went to read the first fic I was like “who the fuck is Peter?” I realized “Peter” was Henry so I just kinda ignored it. (Honestly Peter is a better name so I’m not complaining). Someone please help me out cause I’m so confused 💀
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I’m back to writing :)
#my best friend <3#she has my back#and my heart#horror#stranger things#change of heart#change of heart fiction#peter ballard fic#martin brenner#papa#will delete in a sec#just funny hehe
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We Don’t Talk That Way
Me again, hello!
This was requested by both @effrvcfcr and @cassiopeiagalaxies-blog on my One Shots of Peter Ballard post. You can find it and make a request here, or just send me a message!
I am writing all requests, but pls give me time :)
Genre: Smut. So filthy.
Rating: Explicit as fuck. Minors DNI
Tags: praise and degradation, spanking, punishment, fingering, fem reader, pain play ig?
(I recognize that test subjects in the lab do not have hair. I did not consider this until after it was written and I have decided that I don’t care. If that bothers you, please let me know here)
(Proof reading is for dorks)
“God, I’m fucking starving,” you mumbled to yourself, standing up from your seated position in the rainbow room. Dinner wasn’t for another forty five minutes, and you were expected to spend that time enjoying yourself, or at least keeping yourself entertained.
“‘Scuse me,” you spoke as you approached Peter, your favorite orderly, standing diligently by the double doors that led into the hallway, “I’m fucking hungry, can I get a snack or something?”
“Hey, language,” Peter responded, his voice hushed, but firm.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. Anyways, food?” You snapped your fingers as you spoke, trying to speed things along.
Peter had always favored you a little more than the others. After all, you were closest in age to him out of everyone in the building. You were a few years older than most of the other test subjects in the lab, and he was considerably younger than Dr. Brenner or anyone else with authority. It helped that you were also exactly his type.
“Alright, but we’re gonna have to be careful, okay? Let’s see if the nurse has some graham crackers or something,” Peter sighed. He turned around and pushed the heavy off-white door open, allowing you to train behind him.
“Hand,” he demanded, reaching his open palm out to you.
“Seriously?” You scoffed, “I’m nineteen, give me a break.”
“Rules are rules, do you want a snack or not?”
“Fine,” you huffed, smacking your palm into his.
Peter led you down the hallway next to him. He swung your hand back and forth in stride, and for an unconscious moment, you felt as though you were holding the hand of a lover. Peter’s docile grasp felt like how you’d imagine walking home after a long day during a sunset must feel. You kept your eyesight away from his, praying he wouldn’t notice your heart rate steadily escalating just from having physical contact with him.
“You know, what I’d really like to do is feed Dr. Brenner a fucking knuckle sandwhich,” you muttered, cautiously affirming that no one else was around to hear your crude remarks.
“What did you just say?” Peter asked, stopping dead in his tracks and turning to face you.
“What? I’m just saying, the dude’s a total dickface,” you mumbled, lessening your voice even further.
“Hey, look at me,” Peter snapped, dropping your hand and grasping your chin so you were forced to face him.
His ocean blue eyes dove into yours, and your stomach dropped at the intense eye contact. A switch flipped inside you, and suddenly you felt a hunger for more than just food.
“We don’t talk that way, understand?”
“Yeah, you certainly don’t. At least not when you’re on Dr. Brenner’s leash” you mocked, jerking your chin away from his grip.
Peter inhaled deeply before snatching your wrist, dragging you down the hallway, “Come with me, we’ve got to do something about that attitude.”
“Peter, hey, relax, I was just joking,” you panicked as he approached the door to your living quarters and jerked the handle, yanking you inside behind him.
Once inside, Peter slammed the door behind you and pushed you up against it, holding you pitilessly in place with his hands on your biceps. His face drew in so close to yours that you could feel the air leaving his nose traveling down your neck, cascading onto your chest.
“Did I fucking stutter? We don’t talk that way,” Peter snarled, glaring at you from beneath his knotted eyebrows.
“I- I’m sorry,” you choked out, surprised not only to see him so furious, but to find that it aroused you.
“Are you?” Peter asked deviously.
“Yes, yes I really am!” You pleaded, the tone of your voice bordering dangerously close on lustful moaning.
“I don’t think you are. I think girls like you need to be punished in order for your behavior to change,” Peter grinned at you, expecting you to buckle beneath his expression.
“And how are you going to do that, Mr. Ballard?” You spoke defiantly, turning your nose up at him to challenge his pretentious ego.
Peter smiled at you, any trace of that comforting orderly he masqueraded as fully removed, perhaps discarded as soon as he stepped inside your corridor. He slid away from you, dragging his fingers down your arms tauntingly as he turned around and pulled out a chair tucked into the solitary desk across from your bed. He unclasped his belt as he stared into you, daring you to look away. It became a struggle not to stare as he whipped his belt away from his body and tightened his grip on the buckle and opposite end so that it formed a menacing loop.
Without breaking eye contact, Peter sat down in the chair and motioned you to him with a wave of his hand and a single word, “Come.”
You obeyed him, sauntering over to where he was seated, feeling a heartbeat form between your legs that was pleading for his attention. Once you stood before him, he reached up and snatched a fistfull of your hair, tugging your body down so you were bent over his knee. Your breath hitched as he reached back and grabbed the hem of your hospital gown and began trailing it upwards at a glacial pace.
“You know, Y/N,” Peter thought aloud, “you could be such a good test subject if you only listened.”
His words alone sent electricity up your spine, flowing through your body beneath his touch.
“I’ll listen, I promise,” you whined, your breath catching as you felt the gown slip fully over your hips, leaving you fully exposed to him.
“Save your promises, sweetheart. This is going to hurt.”
Without letting a second slip by, Peter raised his belt and smacked it down on your bare flesh, forcing an unexpected yelp to escape your lips.
“Quiet now. We wouldn’t want anyone else to know what a bad girl you’ve been, would we?” Peter quizzed. Your mind raced to find an answer, but the only thing it came up with was the stinging sensation emanating from the impact and the heat you felt growing not far beneath it.
“Fuck…” you exhaled hoarsly, your breath practically stolen from your lungs.
Peter’s hand twisted itself in your hair and yanked it backwards.
“Language,” he scolded.
“I’m s- sorry. Please,” you began to plead, unsure of what exactly you were even begging for.
“Please what, Y/N?”
Before you could even answer, Peter laid down another swing, his belt cracking as it met your skin. You let out another moan in response, far from a cry for a resolution. With each blow he delivered, your body began whorishly anticipating the next.
“Peter, I-”
He interrupted you again with another smack, clearly not interested in anything you felt the need to express to him.
“Awh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Is the belt too much for you?” He chastised. Peter’s belt dropped to the floor, his buckle clattering to the tile with a metallic clink.
Before you could begin to whimper, Peter smacked you with his bare hand, just low enough that he made a pleasant discovery.
“God… you’re soaked,” Peter remarked, examining his fingertips.
An erotic shame rose in your abdomen and crept out of your mouth with a wanton moan. You squirmed beneath his fingers grazing over your skin, but he reaffirmed his clench on your hair, governing you back under his control.
“Why are you so wet, huh?” Peter asked, his fingers circling around where you needed him most, tracing invisible drawings on your flesh.
“God, Peter, it feels so good, please,” you begged, praying he wouldn’t make you admit your desires aloud.
“Please what? Say it,” he shattered your hopes.
“Please touch me!” You demanded, squeezing your eyes closed with a rigidity that pinched tears out from beneath your lashes.
“This is what you want?” Peter asked, two of his fingers pressing gently against your opening, just shy of how badly you needed him to push.
“Yes, please!” you whined, your hips jolting back into his palm.
“You’re fucking dirtier than I thought,” Peter sighed, sliding into you. You groaned salaciously, your body’s electricity thundering under his manipulation.
Peter reached across your back for your arm, dangling near his feet. He pulled your forearm up and pinned it behind your back, halting you from wiggling away from him. Your opposite arm reached down to the tiled floor, your palm resting on the cool, smooth surface to ground you. Peter plunged in and out of you, setting a pace designed to push you over the edge that was rapidly drawing nearer.
“Thank you, Peter,” you huffed, unsure of what else to say. Gratitude seemed to be the only emotion worth expressing to him.
“What are you thanking me for, slut?” Peter mocked you tonelessly, his momentum never wavering.
“Th- thank you for punishing me,” you managed to squeak out. Your eyes rolled back in your head as if you were incapable of speaking and keeping your eyes open at the same time.
“I knew you’d like being punished,” Peter taunted you, “I can feel you tightening up on me, are you going to cum on my fingers, you whore?”
“Oh God, yes, Peter please!” You whimpered, feeling a wave rise between your legs, drawing the air out of your lungs.
Peter abruptly removed his fingers from you and smacked your exposed flesh again, denying you the release your body so feverishly craved.
“I don’t think so,” he growled. Peter yanked your hair sternly, pulling you up to a seated position on his lap.
Peter’s face lined up next to yours, his lips grazing your ear through your messy strands of hair, “You can cum when you learn to behave.”
#peter ballard#peter ballard x reader#peter ballard x y/n#peter ballard x you#peter ballard smut#stranger things#peter ballard stranger things#001 stranger things#stranger things season 4#stranger things volume 2#vecna#st vecna#001#001 x you#001 x reader#001 x y/n#001 smut#fics#my work#Jamie bower#jamie campbell bower
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