I finished my fan fiction 🥰🥰🥰 For anyone who wants to read it, I'll post links so they can do it in order/more easily. Obviously, it's a work forbidden to minors, and I strongly advise against reading it. I'm not a native speaker, so please be patient...
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 3 🔁 1 ❤️ 5 · and now... my idea (I was supposed to write it tomorrow but the plans
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 0 🔁 1 ❤️ 4 · Episode 10
Henry wakes up and starts wondering if you were chosen for
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 11 🔁 1 ❤️ 3 · Part 18 ( 2) The same applies as in the first part of today's post. S
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 3 🔁 1 ❤️ 8 · Part 28 explicit sex scenes. 🔞🔞🔞🔞
You've never slept so well after se
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 5 🔁 1 ❤️ 6 · Part 35 violence typical of the canon , explicit sex🔞🔞🔞
You wake up e
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 2 🔁 1 ❤️ 2 · Part 43 Soft descriptions of childbirth. Soft. But it's not for minors
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➡️ Not every medium of fiction and storytelling has or is expected to have content warnings or extensive tagging.
➡️ Print novels do not traditionally warn for content in any way.
➡️ Until AO3 came along, fanfiction did not traditionally warn for content in any significant way.
➡️ An author is only obligated to warn for content to the degree mandated by the format they publish their fiction on.
➡️ Content warnings beyond the minimum are a courtesy, not an obligation.
➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is a valid tag that authors are allowed to use on AO3. It means there could be anything in there and you have accepted the risk. 'May contain peanuts!'
➡️ Writers are allowed to use 'Creator chose not to warn' for any reason, including to maintain surprise and avoid spoilers.
➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is not the same thing as 'no archive warnings apply'.
➡️ It is your responsibility to protect yourself and close a book, or hit the back button if you find something in fiction that you're reading that upsets you.
➡️ You are responsible for protecting yourself from fiction that causes you discomfort.
HENRY CREEL - 001 | STRANGER THINGS 4 | FAN ART (2022/2023)
Jamie Campbell Bower as 001 💥
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THIS IS WHAT 36 HOURS OF WORK LOOKS LIKE :’)
I am so happy with how this drawing came out!! It was so much fun and I can not wait to make more of these this year!
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#art #ArtistOnTwitter #JamieCampbellBower #StrangerThings #StrangerThings4
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The nurse's uniform fits you perfectly, a white so pristine it's blinding under the fluorescent lights of Hawkins Lab. You're too young for this concrete basement, too sweet for a place where the air smells of ozone, heavy medications, and suppressed fear. The doctors smile at you too much as they hand you files, and the security guards prolong conversations in the hallways just to hear your laughter.
You're the only spark of life in this mausoleum. But you don't care about their stares. There are only eyes you search for among the sea of white coats: eyes so pale and cold they mimic the ice of winter.
Peter Ballard.
To Dr. Brenner, he's just the model orderly: silent, submissive, an efficient shadow cleaning the blood from the rainbow cells. But you know the other side of that coin. You know that behind that hunched posture and his impeccable manners hides a monolithic creature, a dark god trapped in a human body. And what's even more terrifying: you're the only one he allows to see the monster.
Yet Peter sees everything. He sees the chief physician linger a second longer when he touches your hand, he sees the guards' eyes follow you down the corridor. And he hates it. His mind twists with disgust at the thought of other men daring to breathe the same air as you. Taking advantage of the shift change, you slip into the medical supply room to inventory the sedatives.
The moment the door closes behind you, the latch clicks on its own with a metallic click. The air becomes thick, suffocating, as if an invisible spiderweb were tightening around your neck. You hear footsteps behind you. It's him, breaking through his servant's facade.
"They were watching you again," He whispers.
His voice is a dangerous lullaby. His corners you against the metal shelves with the ease of a predator claiming its territory. His hand, cold and firm, rests on your chin, forcing you to look at him. There's no tenderness in his grip, only absolute possessiveness, a wild, hypnotic rhythm that pulls you toward the abyss.
You know it's your downfall, that loving a man like this is gambling on a tragic end, but you're fascinated by the danger in his hands.
"I'm sorry," you say immediately, your voice trembling, desperately trying to please him. "I don't care about them, Peter. You know I don't look at them. I only see you."
He tilts his head, studying your features, searching for any trace of deceit in your sweet eyes. His thumb traces your lower lip with a pressure that almost hurts. You feel a heavy oppression in your chest, as if the laboratory ceiling were becoming a massive black marble statue ready to crush you, a suffocation you don't want to escape.
He's fascinated by your submission, by the absolute power he has to wipe the smile off your face or give you back your breath. "You're so fragile," he murmurs, bringing his face close to yours until you can feel his breath. "You surround yourself with these insignificant men, letting them look at you like you're just meat. You forget who you belong to. You forget that I could erase them from existence with a blink."
"I don't forget," you whisper, pressing your body against his, trying to calm the storm in his mind. "You own me, Peter. No one else touches me. No one else matters to me. I'll do whatever you want."
Your words act like the most potent sedative. Peter's eyes soften just a fraction, transforming fury into a dark, hungry devotion. His hand slides from your chin to your neck, gently encircling it, a physical reminder that your life is in his hands.
He leans in and claims you in a possessive kiss, cold but devastating, that leaves you breathless. It's a silent pact sealed in the darkness of the warehouse: you surrender your will and your smiles in exchange for his monstrous protection.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echo in the outside corridor, stopping right in front of the warehouse door. The handle moves roughly. Someone is trying to enter.
Peter doesn't flinch. He slowly pulls away from you, relaxing his rigid posture and immediately adopting the slumped shoulders of the submissive orderly. He looks at you one last time, a spark of warning and complicity in his blue eyes, before taking a step back and allowing the door to mentally open just as the guard on duty peeks his head in.
"Everything alright in here?" the guard asks, looking at you curiously.
"Perfect, officer," you reply in your gentlest voice, straightening your white uniform with perfectly steady hands. "Mr. Ballard was just helping me reach some tall boxes."
The guard nods, pleased by your kindness, not noticing the barely perceptible smile that plays across Peter's lips. You know the lab is a concrete prison, but as long as you walk its halls under the protective shadow of your dark god, you're willing to be its most devoted prisoner.
Part 20 typical violence of the canon. Bad word. Incriminating magazines.
Tag NSFW/ 18+
After a relaxing bath where you force yourself to stay calm so that Henry doesn't have the slightest suspicion, you go to your room and put on a practical, very simple dress, black with white daisies. It's one of the most comfortable you have and you've always ignored it because of its sad color. You comb your hair carefully then go downstairs to check on the children. That's when you find Captain Teddy on the stairs. "There's no more time, Y/N! Go, bring the picture to Max. Do what needs to be done. I..." you look at him sadly. "You will take care of the children." You repeat. The little bear points to the attic. "Go." An order. A prayer. You turn around and go towards the attic. In there is the usual chaos of overlapping memories. To reach the wall you have to move a hospital bed, some very strange theatrical costumes and a scout trunk identical to the one in Henry's room. You take out the key decisively but no door appears. The little key snorts, "You have to really want it, y/n. Doors don't magically appear if you don't really want to go somewhere." It sounds like a reproach. But then again, do you really want to go all the way? No. But you have to. The mindflyer's plan must be much more complex than anything you've imagined. And it must be stopped. It's just a parasite, a world-eater, and you don't want to let it win. You never thought you'd have to be a hero. You've always admired Eowyn because she found the courage to rebel against her role and her family. But you never thought you'd do the same. But you are, you're the heroine, and the martyr, of this story. You'll do what's right. You'll go all the way. That's when the door appears.
The door is completely different from the last time. If the first door seemed like a simple door from Alice in Wonderland, this door is a mix of the Gate of Moria and the Dantesque door that leads to Hell. It's large, made of stone, and has Latin writing that you don't want to read. You think it's not a good omen to do so, but your curiosity is stronger: the writing is ruined. You can't read it well, then you remember the fourth canto of the Aeneid, " Amor omnia vicit " Love conquers all. You grimace. Your mind wasn't all that funny or original. Without thinking twice, you put the key in the lock. You do it abruptly, but you're too busy walking towards your destiny to listen to the little key's moans.When you reach the other side the cave is dark and more reminiscent of a circle of hell than the reddish cave of Henry Creel's memories.
You didn't realize you were squeezing the little brass key in your hand. You only understand when you feel it wriggling. "Enough! Enough, you're suffocating me! What did I do to you?!" You open your palm, feeling guilty. "Sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't realize I was squeezing." The little key stares at you angrily. "Oh yes, you all say that. I won't do anything anymore," she threatens. You caress it distractedly, trying to calm it down. "You're a good little key," but the key rebels and looks at you suspiciously. "You said the same to the washing machine. And she died," she accuses you. You blush. "It was an acciden" you defend yourself and it's true. It was Henry Creel who killed the washing machine before it raised the alarm. But explaining it seems superfluous to you. The key starts again." Anyway, where did we end up? I'm very careful to find the right door but this doesn't look like the old mine it looks like..." the key is just a key so he doesn't know the divine comedy" Dante Alighieri's inferno " in fact the little key looks at you amazed "whose? who is this now? don't we have enough problems without adding this guy too?" you try to explain that Dante is just a poet but Henry Creel makes his appearance. He doesn't look good. His eyes are wide " y/n what happened to my cave? why is it even more terrifying than it was?" you look at Henry feeling guilty " it must be my fault. I... I reproduced hell. A hell I studied in school. do you know Dante?" Henry shakes his head gloomily " no. and I'd prefer it to go back to normal" he accuses you. You're not surprised that Henry doesn't know Dante. His education was interrupted by Brenner. Henry picks up your thoughts " not all of my education. Not Latin and Greek< Papa was obsessed> , nor Russian or medical stuff. I'm not an ignoramus " he blurts out in a bad mood. that's when Max joins you" and there really is no time for that! Do you have the drawing y/n? please tell me yes!
You take out the ruined drawing and hand it to Max. "Here. I got it back," you say neutrally, trying not to think about what happened in that desk, but you do think about it because Henry drops the radio and looks at you horrified. "No! So I'm really a pig!" he blurts out, but his face is burgundy. You change color too. "Henry, no... you're not. It was really nice..." Henry starts playing with his radio. "It's not nice, it's shameful! My parents must be so ashamed of this rubbish!OF ME! I wonder if I've lost my mind! Certain things were only in the men-only magazines that Lonnie brought to school! Not that I looked at them of my own free will, but when your locker is filled with all that junk for a stupid prank, it's almost certain that one or two will fall to the floor and you'll look at them and... I'm ashamed of myself!" That's when Max finally loses his patience: "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU DID OR DIDN'T DO!!! THERE'S NO MORE TIME!!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL YOU?!"Now you're the one who just wants to disappear. "There's no time. Henry is right. Max. The crack is..." Max gives you a disgusted look. "Come with me." Henry, however, has something to say. "Hey! I'm the boy scout!" But Max is furious and when she's furious she doesn't mince her words. "And you got lost, starting all this mess." Henry is heartbroken and you get angry. "It was the Brenners, not Henry. He's a victim just like us. If Brenner Sr. hadn't created the Philadelphia experiment, nothing would have happened. So Henry isn't the culprit." Max looks you in the eye but doesn't apologize. "Let's go. I'm know these caves. I know where to look." But that's when you hear his voice. It's full of anger, hatred, pain, and resentment. Your heart skips a beat. You were foolish to think you could trick Henry after all, this is his mind. " Y/n! get out of this cave immediately and give me the map. I'm not asking you in case I had any doubts" then there he is, a few meters away from you. Henry creel looks at you alarmed "he changed the cave! He changed the memory! there was no entrance there! we were much further away!" Max clutches the paper with hatred while you look at Henry with your heart in your throat. There was no entrance but now there is. He's there, a few meters away from you.
Your eyes meet, and there's pure fury in his. You've never seen him like this. He looks crazy. He's without his glasses, his hair is messy and unkempt, and he's without a vest. The mask of the good husband, of Mr. Whatsit, has shattered forever. Now only the man with the broken mind remains. He remember you the Mad Hatter , he has the same madness in his eyes "Come here, Y/N. Now!" Henry is terrified, but Max takes charge of the situation. "Come and get us if you have the courage. I know you're afraid of these caves! You're just a coward!" Henry ignores her. "Come here, Y/N! I won't tell you again." His voice is icy. "Sorry," you whisper, but you don't move. Henry looks at you angrily. "So that means I'm will coming to get you." And to your utter horror, Henry crosses the threshold of the cave for the first time. After all, he would do anything not to let you go, not to lose you, and his ridiculous enemies didn't suspect this in the slightest. "Run!" Max shouts and you start running. Henry takes off in pursuit. His voice is dark and full of anger. "Run y/n, run away from me! I'll find you! You're mine! Mine! Besides, you're in my mind. I'm who dictates the rules of the game." And that's when the cave turns into a labyrinth.
The situation is getting worse. Henry is really, really furious.
I've always thought that Henry in the scene where he's at the cave entrance looks a lot like the Mad Hatter (I don't know if that's intentional or not). The next chapter will be mind-blowing.
I always thought Lonnie loved a specific type of magazine (which he resold at school), and they weren't comics. I always thought he tormented Henry with pranks much crueler than what we just saw in TFS... including filling his locker with various junk (Henry is very embarrassed, and replacing his nerdy magazines with that stuff must have embarrassed him greatly).
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After Henry left, you knew things would not go back to how they had been, albeit it was hard to recall what they had been like before. Your past life- everything before Henry returned to you your lost memories was blurred into a haze that you could hardly pass for something believable. There were snippets of who you had been before, but could you trust those? Perhaps not. Henry's version was far more believable, even though there was something so innately fascinating and frightening about it.
Your own mind was not to be trusted; Henry had told you before he left, for it had been meddled with, and he, through a difficult process, was working on helping you remember the truth. His resilience in doing so was admirable, and you had no reason to believe otherwise. Why else would someone like him desire to come all the way for you, no? He could, with his strengths, do so much more and seeing how you lacked what he had would've only made you a thorn in his side. But he came for you, so you deduced he must mean it, that he was working on saving you from things this world had hidden from you. Even after the incident... the massacre, everything had been taken away from you, and your mind had become not your own, which was why you were more than grateful to have Henry slowly return to you what you had lost.
That is what Henry led you to believe.
Things were not quite so, but that was not something you would have to concern yourself with. Dream by dream, Henry was making certain the foundation of your trust was becoming solid enough so that he could go forth with his plan. With him fully allowing you to wake. It was a strange and lonesome task, one that required far more energy than he had wished to spend, but he had to. It was a task imposed on him. That Henry should lead you to see the one who had given him the power to change it all. Keeping you in this dreamlike state was difficult... after all, once he brought you to his mind's place, to his home, he couldn't have woken you. Not immediately. Your mind would have been confused. It lacked this trust, which he had worked on building, weaving memory after memory of your love for him in your mind.
And the more the threads were woven in your mind, the sooner the time was that he should wake you to the 'reality' of his home. He was playing his part meticulously, each 'day' that passed in your dreamlike state adorned with one of his visits. In them, he would impart more and more details about these 'monsters' and slowly guided you to believe in his mission. It was hard; you were peculiarly gifted in catching on to subtle undertones, and at times you would question him, and he would have to come up with ways to soothe your straying thoughts.
It was working...
Slowly, but it was. And each day proved to Henry that the progress was nearing its climax.
There came a time, for what Henry considered his last visit, the one where he should inform you that the next time you met, you'd depart. That it was no longer safe, that the monsters were coming for you. But to make himself believable, once more he would have to play around with your dreams. And so he sat by your sleeping form, in the bed of the Creel house he had carefully reconstructed, prepared to invade your mind one last time. He wondered as he watched you... He wondered what it was that the Mind Flayer needed you for. Was Henry not enough to deliver the new course of the world? Why was there need for another? One so... meek and lacking the gift. Or perhaps it was that the Mind Flayer desired to impart the gift onto you too? It was hard to tell... His mission being not this, but merely to bring you to face Its might.
Henry closed his eyes and heard the ticking, the steady grounding ticking of the clock.
Each second...
Minute.
It was time. Henry would stall no longer.
"It was getting late... I was starting to think you wouldn't pay me a visit tonight, Mr Whatsit."
Your chuckle caused Henry to sigh. Ever since you had given him that silly nickname, you seemed to enjoy yourself greatly at the expense of it. But whichever the case, he was pleased you were comfortable with him now. It reassured him that his tedious work was showing results. So he walked over to you, his hand coming to rest on you as you sat at your desk, thumb tracing a line from your neck across to your shoulder, with just enough pressure to make you sigh.
"That is a remarkably silly name you keep calling me, sweetheart. You know me under so many names, and you choose to give me yet a new one?"
His tone was soft, fatherly almost. The gentleness in it made your eyes close as he repeated the motion, bringing his other hand to mimic the first, both of your shoulders now subject to his massage. You tried to turn your head back to him, but he continued rubbing your shoulders, and your eyes fell closed. You sank in the chair as he continued, your whole body seemingly melting at the motion.
"I don't know how you do that, but it's incredible."
"I am doing nothing, sweetheart. Nothing out of the ordinary at all..."
"I always end up so... relaxed when you touch me. It's strange but pleasant. Your hands are gifted, magical!"
Henry smirked at the corner of his mouth. Faint, before his lips returned to their usual slight smile, soft and reserved.
"I am inclined to believe you had a difficult day, sweetheart. And this... is just the result of your own weary body."
"You might be right..."
Henry nodded, his hands continuing on, the motion hypnotically slow, repetitive.
"Every day feels so hazy... As if the only moments of clarity I have are when you are here with me."
"Sweetheart..."
"No, no. I mean it. I hate it when you leave me, Henry. I keep feeling as if those monsters you keep talking about will come, and... I can't for the love of God understand anything. I need you around. You have to stay for longer... Your visits are never long enough."
Henry nodded thoughtfully, but in his mind, he knew this was the result of his tedious work. This uncertainty- your need for his protection was something he had worked on causing you for days on end, and now, as you were pleading with him, he knew that he was closer than ever to being able to fully wake you. That there was no need for any further dreams to secure your trust in him. You already depended on him, and that was what he had been looking forward to achieving.
"I can't be here for too long, sweetheart... I told you before. I am trying to find us a safe place, and I might have... but until I am certain it is safe, I cannot risk bringing you."
"Henry! But you have to... please. Even if you don't think it is fully safe yet, it is far better that I am with you. What if one of those monsters comes when you are not here? At least if it happens when we are together..."
"No. No, sweetheart, I can't yet."
Henry was merely toying with you, making you desperate so that when he'd accept it, you wouldn't second-guess him.
"Henry... please, I know you aren't a cruel man. I know you don't have it in your heart to leave me again. Take me with you this time."
"No, sweetheart. I can't have you leave everything behind right now... but you are right. I dread to know what those awful monsters are capable of... I promise I will take you with me tomorrow."
You seemed disappointed but less willing to argue. Tomorrow was a clear time indication, and it was soon enough that you couldn't protest much against it. Henry knew that, in theory, for you it would feel longer, but for him, it would be a few mere moments. As soon as he'd leave your dreams, he would wake you up, fully wake you up and introduce you to his home.
"You aren't pleased, sweetheart. I wish I could have done it sooner." He leaned over, watching what you were doing at the desk, but before you could say anything, he continued. "Reading... what a noble activity. Oh, and what a brilliant book. You know, sweetheart, I love reading. So many things one can learn from these wonderful words... and so many worlds to discover."
He came around your chair, placing his hat down on your desk.
"I feel that is quite wonderful, don't you, sweetheart? Being able to take refuge in these worlds..."
"It is... a shame that it is only one's mind that can take refuge in them."
Henry smiled ironically, nodding. You couldn't have caught the slight irony in that smile.
"Soon you will be taking refuge in my world."
"That is a funny way to put it..."
"You are right, sweetheart. I suppose it is..."
Henry took his suit jacket off and draped it on the back of your chair, leisurely leaning down to peck your cheek.
"How about I make your wait a little more likeable before I go, hm?"
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh... I believe you already know what it is supposed to mean."
Henry pulled your chair slightly, farther from your desk, just enough so he could stand between it and you. He reached down, his hands on either side of the backrest as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was a little awkward at first, his glasses slightly in the way as he tried, but that made you chuckle. He pulled back, feigning a little awkwardness as he took them off and placed them behind himself on the desk by the hat, one hand leaving the backrest to come to your cheek instead, cradling it in his palm as he gave your lips tender pecks.
Each time you'd hope he would deepen it, he continued to tease, tiny pecks, causing you to lean in, needing more and for him to smile and lean back, drawing you in from want alone.
"Quite eager, sweetheart... I thought you didn't know what I mean. You need to be patient..."
His soft teasing made you flustered, and you hooked your hands in his vest, tugging him in and kissing him needier, this time without giving him a chance to pull away. Henry wasn't phased. He had expected this, and so he permitted it, his tongue tracing your lower lip before it sought your own. Despite his plans, his intentions, he'd lie if he said he didn't enjoy this. It was a strange sort of enjoyment, a very primal one, which he put on the account of his own body craving it rather than his mind.
Although... even his mind insisted he continued.
He tilted his head, eyes closed, feeling the intoxicating taste of your mouth make him soft, needy, almost unlike himself. Henry parted from your lips to gasp, and you too tried to catch your breath, cheeks warm and lips plumper, enthusiastic. This time, however, he had a different idea. His hands left your cheek and the chair, and he dropped your trousers lower and lower until the fabric pooled down at your ankles and he carefully took them away from you.
His hands then hooked around your hips, and he tugged you closer to the edge of the chair, guiding your legs on his shoulders as he knelt before the seat. From between your legs, he peeked up, almost apologetically, as you were still panting; that swift was the change from kissing to him ready to pleasure you.
"I know this is not the most... suitable of places, not the most comfortable... and yet..."
"No, no, it's fine here too. Anywhere you want."
"That was an eager reply, sweetheart. Why, I hope you're not worried that I will back out of it..."
"No, I... I don't want to wait any more."
Henry nodded, his cheek resting against your right thigh, eyes closing to focus on the sensation of your skin as it acted as a soft pillow for his cheek.
"I understand, sweetheart... I too find it very difficult to tear myself away from you. But..." He placed a kiss on your thigh, then slowly down across until he reached your knee, repeating the gesture to your other leg, this time from knee up the thigh, nipping on occasion. "Oh, but it would be for the best if I took you to bed."
"No. Just keep going, here. Now."
"And your poor back?" He asked teasingly, making you wait, knowing with each second you would crave it more.
"Henry, please."
"Oh, so impatient, sweetheart. I know, but you must learn patience. It's a very critical skill. I already warned you about that..."
Henry loved to see the lengths of your desperation. How different from him you could be. Even when he was pathetic in your dreams, even then he felt he had everything under control. All of his plans were carefully curated and controlled, with the rare... moments when his facade would fall under the insurmountable pleasure caused by lust. But you? Oh, you were subject to your own emotions so easily, and how curious that even with this impressive responsiveness, you still proved so very useful to the Mind Flayer.
He hugged your thighs, palms grazing over the outer flesh, tenderly guiding his fingers across the skin as his head remained nestled so close to your core. Your panties were still in the way, but he could make use of them to tease you and make you ache for him.
Henry's lips pressed softly on the mound, but it was enough to make your hips arch against his mouth. The fabric, already thin and although a barrier, did little to dull the feeling. The shape of his lips was warm and damp, kissing so close to your clit. He did it once, and then he groaned softly, leaning in again with his eyes closed and repeating the motion. Your hips arched with each press of his lips, his hands tightening their hold on your thighs, forcing you to remain still.
Your hands reached down in his hair, trying to grab a handful blindly as your head dropped back, thighs threatening to close around his head repeatedly. He groaned, the kisses swiftly transforming to little licks, presses of his tongue flat against the fabric, making you so needy that he could feel your slick already seep through the damp fabric.
"I can taste you..."
He grunted, teeth pinching the fabric, carefully pulling it back before releasing it.
"Right there..."
"Why do you torture me so? Please give me more."
"In... due time."
Henry sounded pained to refrain himself, but at the same time the slight torturous angle of this, seeing you on the brink of desperation, was too enjoyable to pass.
"You must be patient, haven't I told you, sweetheart?"
That honeyed voice, almost talking down on you with that unshakable tone as if you were a silly girl to him, made your hips jerk and your cunt to arch into his mouth. That seemed to prove too much even for Henry, as he sighed, almost with a disappointed, playful hint in his voice, one hand reaching around your thigh to clumsily pull your panties away with his thumb. Enough for your cunt to be revealed to him.
You felt it, his warm breath against the bareness of your core and attempted to push your hips into his mouth again, but he scolded.
"Don't rush, sweetheart; good things shouldn't be rushed. They should be enjoyed... carefully appreciated, savoured. Like I am savouring you now... Relax..."
He spoke as if you weren't already on the brink of attempting to ride his mouth. So calm and collected despite seeing you tug, whine and plead.
With your knickers pulled to the side with his thumb, he let his mouth rest on your bare cunt, tongue at your clit, flicking lazily over it with the tip a couple times before suckling and letting go with a pop. Then his tongue pressed flat against it, and he bobbed his head, head waggling a few times from side to side, causing your body to tense and your hold on his hair to tighten as you felt the knot in your stomach threaten to make you spill over and cum. But he stopped and pulled back completely, causing you to whine as he observed proudly how easily he had you at his mercy.
How easily it was to make you feel good.
"Stand up."
Your legs were wobbling and your mind dazed from being so close to cum yet having been denied it that at first his words didn't register.
"Come, sweetheart, we don't have all the time in the world. I will have to leave soon. Stand up."
You tried, and he didn't hesitate to help. He guided you over to the bed, kicking the chair aside and making you kneel on the edge of the bed, bend over for him. He wanted to try something new. To eat you out a little differently.
With you on your fours at the edge of the bed, his hands grabbed hold of your butt, panties aside as before and spread your cheeks open, burying his face in your cunt, tongue reaching beneath at your clit, nose brushing across your hole, almost prodding at it. You gasped, and he took that as a sigh that he was doing well, so he kept going, keeping up the pace, lapping at your clit and prodding your hole with the tip of his nose until your squirms were signalling to him that you were indeed close.
He didn't have to look to know you were grabbing the sheets. He felt how your body was arching and jerking, and he had to move his hands from your butt to your hips to prevent you from escaping.
"Don't try to run, sweetheart..." He groaned into your cunt, the sound causing small vibrations which only spurred you closer and closer, threatening to make you climax at any point. "That's it... let go... Sweetheart, let go for me. Please."
The hint of softness which wove into his composed tone made you at last cum, and Henry eagerly licked your cunt clean, gradually slowing down and helping you down on the mattress. He pushed himself up with a slight grunt, panting and licking his lips, a soft smile on his lips. You were recovering, your mind so receptive now to anything that he'd say... He could take advantage of this. So he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple and whispering in your ear.
"Rest... Rest now, sweetheart. I've got to go... By the time you wake up tomorrow, we will be home."
You listened, as if his words were a command, hypnotic and soothing, your mind barely registering their meaning as you fell into a sleep. A deep sleep, so deep that it felt as if for an eternity you were lying nearly dead.
And then...
Tick, tack.
Tick...
Tack.
Faded in the distance, then growing closer and clearer, the sound, the familiar sound from that dream a while ago. That ticking, a clock, a grand clock announcing each passing second, each minute. And then it stopped. Completely still, no sound but an eerie silence broken by a voice...
"Welcome home, Y/N."
NOTE: Part 6! That was a long wait- I hope my writing didn't flop too hard ~.~
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