Peter Ballard / Henry Creel One Shots [REQUESTS OPEN]

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Summary:

You're being chased by your abusive boyfriend when you stumble into the woods, and a forlorn stranger decides to give you a hand.

WARNINGS: fem!reader x m!peter, mentions of abuse, abusive behavior, slight manipulation, blood, slight sexual content

[IF YOU SUFFER FROM ABUSE OR SIGNS OF THIS BEHAVIOR NOTED IN THIS CHAPTER, PLEASE SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP OR TALK TO A TRUSTED ADULT. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY MENTIONS OF ABUSE, YOU MAY SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF NEEDED.]

Your bare feet could only take so much dirt and splinters as you ran to nowhere with no exact destination. Your knees were bruised from faking and stumbling out of your house near the woods, and now they shook as you leaned against a tree, heaving heavy breaths. Just when you thought you had gotten away, the same nightmarish voice called out to you from behind.

"Y/N! GET BACK HERE! When I get my hands on you, you're gonna regret running from me, you bitch!"

You turned to see him running towards you, an empty bottle in hand stained with your blood. He staggered forward through the trees, nearing you with another cluster of curses thrown at you. You gathered yourself and ran forward again, praying he wouldn't catch you. Tears blurred your vision, and you felt as if the world was collapsing at your feet.

Please, please someone help. I can't do this again. Anything but this.

As if your prayers had been heard, you caught sight of a cabin straight ahead, hidden by a plethora of old trees. Thank fuck.

You felt yourself get closer and closer. It was so close and yet so far. You tried to ignore the pain shooting from your ankles and the blood running down your leg from the cuts of low branches swinging by. Almost there, you told yourself.

I'm so close, so close, so—

You screamed as a hand harshly pulled you back, nails digging into your dirt-ridden skin.

"You thought you could get away from me, huh? I'm going to fuck you up right here before I kill you, you ungrateful brat," he growled with aggressive lust.

His hands gripped your shoulders, and you couldn't bear to see his monstrous face again. His hand raised in the air to strike, and you waited for the blow to just take you out. Suddenly you fell back, but nothing had hit you. His hand had released its grip on you.

You opened your eyes to see him standing frozen, hand in air. His shaky voice emitted small grunts and chokes of struggle, eyes wide.

What the fuck, you thought to yourself.

You staggered backward, trying to find some sort of sane reasoning for this phenomenon. It was at that moment when you heard the crunching of leaves, and a figure appeared from the darkness of the woods.

He was dressed in pure white, a buttoned down shirt tucked neatly into white trousers. Crimson stained his collar, shadowed beneath his sculpted features. His harsh blue eyes bore into the man of your torture, and the whites of them were tainted red. Gold hair that shone even in the darkness sat above his brows, perfectly disheveled. His hand was raised and holding itself steady.

You were seeing things, for sure.

The man walked forward, studying the status of your frozen abuser.

"What a peculiar insect. Such filthy words from a filthy mouth," he muttered, his voice sweet and innocent, as if he were talking to a child. You were speechless, unable to justify whatever was happening. "You reek of alcohol, too. Such a shame, I'd hate for you to die in such a hazed state. I want you to be clear-minded as I rip you limb to limb." The last words were muttered in a deep, raspy voice.