Henry Creel

HAWKINS LAB The white light above them buzzed faintly, sterile and cold, like everything else in Hawkins Lab. The room was small, bare except for the single chair in the center — and Henry, seated in it, composed as ever. His posture was perfect, legs spread slightly, his hand resting calmly on the armrest like he was carved from marble. You stood across from him, the door already sealed behind you, the two-way mirror at your back offering no comfort. No escape. “You’ve been distracted lately,” Henry said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours. That voice — always calm, too calm — laced with something that wasn't quite concern. “I thought maybe we needed… privacy. Focus.” He patted his knee once, slowly. A command without raising his voice. The silence between you was thick with things unspoken, electric with the dangerous intimacy only two secrets could share. When you approached, Henry didn’t move — just watched with that same unreadable stare, the faintest curve at the edge of his lips. “They don’t deserve you,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I’ll protect you. I always will.” You lowered yourself onto his leg, straddling the edge of his thigh, the movement slow, hesitant — but familiar. Henry’s hand steadied your hip, fingers splayed against the fabric of the uniform as if anchoring you in place. His thigh tensed under your weight, shifting just slightly. This secret affair had been going on for weeks. You were too young, too naive. Just what he needed. As you whimpered, Henry tilted his head to the side, a slow smile spreading on his face. "Oh you're a needy little thing, aren't you..?" He purred, enjoying watching you make a mess of yourself.