#kent fisher | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweaterweatherever · 1 year

Note

could you maybe do a Tyler request that's sort of similar to the This Thing of Ours but when Tyler turns on Wednesday the reader sides with him because they've had their own agenda the whole time? im so sorry if it's too broad i just thought it would b an idea for more Tyler ones!!

Master (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Reader’s mother gets killed. Cursing. Canon typical violence. Reader gets a gun. Dark reader, dark Tyler. Smut. Masturbation. Unprotected vaginal sex. Don’t try any of this at home. Aged up characters.

A/N: I always thought any kind of prank enjoyed by high schoolers was mean, so I stand by saying Tyler has a mean streak. After this we are taking a break from him. Also, wordy, and don’t throw guns on the floor, they might go off. Been getting bolder with the whole monster fucker thing.

Requested: Yep. What better agenda than revenge? Also, to the shadows + stalking anon.

You never liked the barista at the Wethervane. He was, much like every other normie in Jericho, an asshole. You had been in the town long enough to notice. Sure, now everyone was buying his good guy act, but you remembered. You would always remember.

You see, you two had met when you both were little. Your mom used to be around the Galpin’s a lot, since she worked as a secretary on the Sheriff’s department. Often, she had to drop papers for the Sheriff to sign off, and that made her meet Tyler’s mother. Francoise was a lovely woman, but there was a sadness to her, a loneliness, that wouldn’t go away. She desperately needed friends. In a tiny town like Jericho, being an outcast and a single mother wasn’t easy, so your mom wasn’t popular either. She tried not to advertise the fact, but it was evident that something was off about her, with the way you both seemed to suck the light of every room you stepped into.

Two lonely women, who saw each other frequently. The result was predictable: They bonded over their shared characteristics, started meeting for coffee. Both mothers, both outcasts, even if you didn’t know it at the time. Unfortunately for you, it’s a truth universally know that every pair of mothers who become friends try to set up a play date for their children.

At five years old, you had been a very different creature than what you were now. You had been quiet, shy even, and obsessed with dolls. You spent hours dressing them, brushing their hair, playing pretend. Normal child behavior, even if a bit of your mother’s isolation from the world showed in the fact you weren’t used to playing with others. Tyler, though, he was. Typical boy, rowdy, loud and not normal. There was something in the way he moved, his smile showing far too pointy canines for a six-year-old, that made your senses stand on edge. A bully, you thought, seeing him for the first time. He looked like the boys who pushed girls down the slide at the park just to scare them.

In his mother’s eyes, Tyler could do no wrong. To Francoise, his toothy grin was just excitement, his odd way of moving was simply a boy being a boy. She was overjoyed she had been able to carry him to term, Francoise explained to your mother, she had such weak health. She always woke up tired, these days, with unexplained bruises and leaves in her hair. Maybe she was going crazy, perhaps she was anemic, possibly a sleepwalker, the doctors said. And so, she didn’t notice the little monster she was raising.

You had been told to be nice, to be friendly. Your mother liked Francoise, and wouldn’t it be nice if you got a friend of your own? The idea certainly appealed to you, made you willing to try. Maybe Tyler wasn’t so bad, Miss Katherine at school always said you shouldn’t judge a book by his cover.

“Do you want to play?” You had asked, offering him one of your dolls. Tyler had shaken his head.

“Dolls are silly.” Tyler said to you, shocking you deeply. You loved your dolls, and your mom, who was very into the early stimulation trend for kids, had always encouraged you to play with them, making up scenarios. It was good for creativity, she said. You didn’t know what the word meant yet, but it sounded fancy and adult like. You guessed it was a good thing. “They are for little girls.”

You wanted him to think you were cool, you wanted him to like you. A friend, mom had said. A friend of your own, someone to play with, a kid who wouldn’t be weirded out by the way your mere presence made the shadows get bigger and the fact that you weren’t afraid of the dark. So, you asked:

“What can we play?”

“Hide and seek!” He smiled, showing a toothy grin. Tyler was missing his front left teeth, and it made him look softer, endearing. It also highlighted your slight age difference, to a kid, a year was a lifetime. Older was almost always synonymous with cool, too.

“Sure.” You answered, looking around his backyard. You had never played hide and seek before, but you had watched other kids do it. The backyard was small, with not really many places to hide.

“Come on!” Tyler had said, and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the path that lead to the forest. You didn’t protest, even knowing you would get in trouble if your mother found out. Even if the darkness did not scare you, even if shadows were your friends, she didn’t like you wandering around on your own. There were men with guns there, and bears. And not, like, Pooh. Mean bears. “I’ll count!”

Tyler seemed to know his way around the forest better than most kids your ages, but so did you. He started to lead you deeper into the trees, in twisting paths that made it hard to remember where were you.

“I’ll count to ten, and you have to hide, and not come out until I find you.” Tyler explained. “You can hide in a cave or something.” He added, a hint of maliciousness on his tone. Jericho’s forest was full of caves, unusually so.

“I…” Your expression probably told him you weren’t sure about it because he pounced on the perceived weakness.

“Don’t be a baby!” Tyler laughed. It sounded strange, mean even, in the quiet of the forest. Even in broad daylight, the only thing that could be heard was the chirping of some birds. “Or are you scared of the dark?”

“No. I’m not.” Tyler didn’t respond, instead choosing to start counting. You hurried to find a place to hide, deciding to stay behind a tree. The silent felt strange, the whole thing was weird. You were hyper alert to any sound, from the crunching of the leaves to the way the wind blew between leaves.

“Nine.” He waited a bit, his voice sounded excited. Maybe it was the way the sound carried here what made it sound so unusual, twisting around the trees and into the open, the city’s noise far away. “Ten! Here I come!” His sneakers crunched on the leaves, sounding closer than ever. Your heart raced in your chest, a ringing in your small ears. You had never seen the point of the game before, but you knew some people liked getting scared, that was what scary movies were for, your mom told you.

You ran away, ducking just in time behind another tree, pushing your hands against your mouth to avoid making noise. Tyler approached again, and so, it got started. There was something odd, something wrong with this. You didn’t feel like you were playing a game, you felt like if he caught up with you, something bad would happen. Like the scariest thing in the forest was him. Back then, you were too young to understand, but you felt hunted. Like he was a predator and you were nothing more than prey.

After a while, you found yourself in front of a cave. Just as you hesitated whether you should enter or not, someone pushed you in and frightened you terribly. You barely felt the tiny hands against your back. You fell, knees scraping against the stone. A little scream left your throat, and you tried to turn around to get out, lips trembling and eyes filling with tears. But just as you were about to exit the cave, a rock rolled in front of it, taking all the light with it. There was only one other person that could be responsible for this, and only one person that knew where you were. What if you never got out now?

Your first instinct was panic. Like any normal five-year-old, you didn’t like enclosed spaces, and much less being trapped. But instead of screaming, you remembered the reason all other kids hated you, why you were so alone: Because shadows were your friends. You took a deep breath and stayed very calm. Your eyes got used to the dark quickly, much like a cat would. With this, you realized two things. The cave was small, so much you could barely stand inside it. And the thing at the door? It wasn’t a rock. It was only cardboard. Feeling very silly once again, you pushed it away, and crawled out, into the expecting arms of Tyler.

“You aren’t crying.” He stated, looking at your ruined pair of jeans, bloody at the knees, and your tearless face. Tyler seemed angry, cheeks red, as if your lack of tears offended him. You hated him then.

“You are mean.” You said, with all the seriousness and insulting tone a five-year-old could have. “I don’t like you.”

“Oh, did baby got scared?” One of his hands went to tangle in your hair, tugging hard on your ponytail. “If you snitch, you get stitches.”

The sting brought tears to your eyes, but you stared him down anyway.

“Stay away from me! I’m telling my mom!”

“Baby is scared.” Tyler gave you a mocking, concerned look. You took a step back. There was something in his eyes that scared you, a darkness no six-year-old should have. ”If you tell, you will hurt.” And with one last push that made you stumble, he walked away.

You stayed in the forest, and only when he got far enough not to hear you anymore, you broke down and started sobbing. Safe to say, you never played with him again.

You feared Tyler for long afterward. Your fear of him only got better in middle school, when the year between you seemed less like an unbreachable distance. Tyler got sneakier at getting his way, then. He ran with the popular crowd, the one likely to bully and play nasty pranks on younger students and eventually, outcasts. Tyler was an asshole, but one that had gotten better at masking his intentions, behind the mask of a popular boy. Everyone was charmed by him, but you didn’t forget the way his eyes had made you feel, years ago.

Unknown to you, Tyler watched you, too. Your lack of fear and ability to keep a clear head when he had tried to scare you made you intriguing. He didn’t forget the defiance in your eyes when he had pulled your hair hard enough to make you shed tears. At first, it had been intrigue. No other kid had resisted him before, girl or boy. A tiny slip of a thing like you, managing to get out by herself? That had caught his attention. He had wanted to scare you so badly, but never acted on those impulses, even when he had plenty of opportunities. You sat alone at recess all the time, and never noticed him watching you. Then, adolescence started, and he got hormones. You had been brave as a five-year-old, and now you were brave and pretty, slowly blossoming into womanhood. His first crush was on you. But you never once looked at him.

Tyler’s mom died when you just got into high school. Your mother grieved her deeply, but never once shared the secret of what had killed her with you. Tyler got nastier. Alcohol, grief, and the usual power plays of high school added gasoline to his fire, he was everyone’s favorite bad boy. He went through girls like they were disposable, using and discarding them. His friends and he got drunk, pulled stupid pranks, targeting the outcasts from the nearby school more and more. His father made him untouchable, and you knew, you knew Sheriff Galpin regretted the path both had walked on. It was about that time you got into Nevermore, and started keeping a closer eye on him. If he did something terrible, were you responsible too? For not speaking up, despite knowing what he was capable of?

You never talked to him. But you knew he was keeping an eye on you. Out of all your friend group in Nevermore, you were the only one who never got targeted by his gang. It was so noticeable, people started to talk about it. You refused to comment, but you knew, you knew, it wasn’t out of friendship or some misplaced guilt. It was because he liked making you uncomfortable, liked the rumors going around, that you were his. Liked seeing you scared, trembling, every time a prank fell on one of your friends, and you ended up unscathed. He liked scaring you with the anticipation of what was to come.

Then, he went too far. Picture the scene. Outreach day, sunny skies, volunteers everywhere. Your post was at the Pilgrim World, serving tourists. A kid, a popular one at that, gets asked to paint a mural. He does, and does it well. So of course, Tyler has to go and ruin it. The charges are as follows: Destruction of private property, vandalism, assault. He is the son of the Sheriff, and Jericho’s high golden boy. A young man with a promising future, the star of the football team. His dad calls some favors, he is white and charming. The charges get dropped, no smear on his record, but off to bootcamp he goes.

For the first time in years, you breathe in relief. Finally, you don’t have to look over your shoulder all the time, answer pointed questions as to what exactly your relationship with him was. Because it’s good, too good to be true, someone has to go and ruin it.

Your mother’s funeral takes place in a sunny day, for Jericho’s standards. It feels almost mocking, to the woman she was, to the woman in which you are becoming. The kind of woman who sucks all light in a room. Your father’s new, normie, uncomplicated wife, stands next to you, two young pretty things in mourning. You hate her, oh, how you hate her.

“We want to avoid uprooting you, sweetheart. Nevermore is the best school in the country for people like you.” Your father explains, as he moves to your mother’s bedroom, as he puts his new wife on the bed. “But you can’t stay here alone, either… What happened to your mother… Jericho’s a dangerous place.”

It’s always like that. What happened to your mother, her tragic passing, she was taken from you too young. It’s never the cold, hard truth you desperately need. Some psycho killed your mother, injection of poison right at the neck. But no one says that. No one dares say your mother was murdered, no one dares speak without pretty euphemisms. You understand Tyler’s anger then.

You learn things, in the following months. First, that your reaction isn’t normal. Normal teenagers don’t obsess over revenge when their mothers are killed. Off to therapy you go. Then, that poison is a woman’s weapon. Easy, clean, no need for overpowering. Third, breaking in and stealing case files is ridiculously easy when the Sheriff has a soft spot for you, remembering how your mother used to be friends with his wife, her tragic passing and your uncanny resemblance. Fourth, that the psycho who killed your mother wasn’t satisfied with injecting her with a syringe filled with concentrated Nightshade, but that they also took her hand. As if killing her wasn’t enough, as if they needed to profane her body too.

The new herbology teacher shows up. Her special interest in your abilities, the plants she keeps in her greenhouse, the fact that is a she. It all drags you to a disgusting conclusion: You think she did it, but you can’t prove it. And if it wasn’t enough with danger lurking the halls of Nevermore, you cross paths once again with the monster in your nightmares.

You are coming out of Doctor Kinbott’s office, after a long and tiring talk about your relationship with your stepmother. You like the doctor. She always has a cup of hot chocolate for you, and cookies. She is nice, she smiles at you, uncaring that when you are uncomfortable the lights flicker and the room gets darker. You open up to her.

“Hi.” Tyler says your name, repeats it even, but you are too busy gawking at him to respond. His hair is shorter, and he has gotten taller and more muscled. Bootcamp did him good. If before he was handsome, now he is even prettier. You know half the town must be swooning for him. The darkness in his eyes, though, it is unchanged. Tyler tries to hide it behind a polite smile, but you can tell he is thrilled at your reaction.

The cup of hot chocolate slips through your hands, shattering against the floor, liquid staining the carpet. You drop to your knees, trying to clean it up, and he kneels next to you. “Careful.” Tyler says, grabbing your wrist, and you scramble back so hard and fast, you hand cuts with one of the porcelain pieces. Blood drips down your fingers and into his. “We don’t want you cutting yourself, but it is too late for that…” He finishes. His pupils dilate, nostrils flaring, almost if he can smell your fear, but you refuse to back away once again and give him the satisfaction. You freeze in his grasp. A bunny under headlights.

“Oh, dear!” Doctor Kinbott says, lured out of her office by all the ruckus. “It seems you have met each other in quite the way!” She laughs, high and airy. “Nine and half, meet ten and half!”

That brings you out of your daze, and you get up on unsteady legs. You mutter something polite. Tyler, ever the gentleman, helps you to your feet. You cradle your injured hand, shake his. Your blood stains his fingers. You look up at him and keep the eye contact: You both know what it means. I will be watching.

Doctor Kinbott is your safe place. You can tell her almost all that troubles you, almost all because you keep secret your nagging suspicions about Mrs. Thornhill. And so, you tell her about Tyler.

“I don’t like him.” You say to her, after your fourth run in with him in a week. Turns out, now he is the barista at the Weathervane, the only café in town. Can’t you just catch a break? “He… He scares me.”

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, eyes soft and never judging. “Is it because he saw you here or because he has shown interest in you?” Of course, she thinks you are afraid of everyone knowing you go to therapy or intimacy.

“No. You have to promise not to tell him, though…” You offer and she smiles at you brightly.

“Patient – Therapist confidentiality is a given here, even if the other person involved is also my patient. I would never discuss something you tell me with him. This is a safe space.” The doctor smiles kindly, and slides you another cookie. You don’t take it.

“It is because we met before. And he made me feel like prey.” You clutch your hot chocolate closer, and start telling her the story of Tyler Galpin.

Kinbott thinks you should be away from Tyler. She doesn’t tell you what he has told her, but you know the story you told her has made the missing piece of the puzzle fit into place. She moves his appointment to Saturdays instead. Not only that, but she looks afraid. For your safety, maybe? She talks to your dad, and he starts escorting you in and out the building, and when the semester starts, that duty falls to principal Weems.

You start watching him, obsessively, then. The shadows have always been your friends, they don’t mind helping you. You sneak out of Nevermore, and sit long hours perched on the ledge of a nearby building, doing homework and stealing glances at him working behind the counter. It’s soothing, being the one watching for a chance. You feel safer, knowing exactly where he is at a given time, cloaked in your shadows. Doctor Kinbott remains unknowing of your new habit because you know she would want you to stop. She would be both concerned because it’s unhealthy and because she thinks Tyler will hurt you. She is right on both accounts.

One day, your normal routine is interrupted because a car pulls over at the Weathervane. Your heart accelerates, beating harder and harder when you realize who is driving. The redheaded, awful, bitch that murdered your mother. You consider warning Tyler, when you see him being friendly to her, but decide against it because you aren’t sure who out of the two of them is more dangerous.

After that, your stalking gets more intentional. They have to be planning something, it’s weird how much time they spend together. She… She seems to like him, she handles him in a way that makes you want to scream, or tell his father. There is something in the way Thornhill touches him that feels dirty, her hands like claws on his arm, his shoulders, anywhere she can reach. You shouldn’t worry about him, this terror of a boy, but you do. The thoughts get confusing, and so, you decide to drop your stalking habits.

The day is an unusually cold one, and so, your friends decide to make a stop at the Weathervane. You don’t have an excuse to wait outside, with the first drops of rain starting to fall. You burrow yourself more inside your coat and trail after Divina and Kent into the café.

“…I’m thinking of getting a caramel latte, and maybe a cinnamon roll?” Divina chatters on, excitedly. She is overjoyed, she has always loved rain. Any water is good water, that’s what sirens always say.

“Don’t you think is way too much sugar? Your teeth will rot.” Kent answers, pulling the door open for the both of you. “What do you think?” He asks you, and you try to form a coherent response that surpasses your fight or flight instinct.

“Yeah, yeah. Next thing you know, she gets diabetes.” You answer, but your attention is not in the conversation. Instead, it is in the boy behind the counter.

Tyler looks just about the same as always, brown polo shirt clinging to his shoulders, apron neatly tied back. But the bruises and the scratches on his arms, those are new. So is the look of pure panic he is sporting, trying to hide it behind a mask of normalcy you know too well. The same one you have worn every day since your mother was murdered. Something rumbles in your stomach, something both possessive and dark. He isn’t supposed to be scared, Tyler is the one to inspire terror in others, not the reverse. And if he is going to be scared, why should other people have the satisfaction? You deserve his fear, after spending twelve years of your life fucking terrified of him from his stunt in the woods. Besides you, no one should be able to scare him.

“We will have a caramel latte, a mocha with an extra shot of espresso and a chai tea. Also, two cinnamon rolls.” Divina says, without even saying good morning. It doesn’t sit right with you. Your policy with anyone working customer service is treating them like a person. Divina is not mean or rude, but she doesn’t think before she speaks most of the time. So, even if this is Tyler, alias your personal nightmare, Galpin, you feel the need to add:

“Good morning, and please.” And smile a little, too. Tyler smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He isn’t paying attention, not even to you. You try to make small chat, but he shifts and avoids any attempt at it. Maybe he thinks this is a power play, too.

When he extends his hand to pass Divina the change, you notice his wrist is purple and green, almost as if he were held too roughly. You wonder what could possibly leave bruises in a pattern so odd.

“Man, did you see his bruises?” Divina loudly whispers when you are walking back to the table. You say nothing. Next to you, Kent snickers.

“Yeah. Who knew Jericho’s golden boy was that kinky?”

“What are you talking about?” You really don’t understand what they are talking about, but their silly mood is contagious. You can’t help but smile.

“Oh, you sweet summer child…” Divina pats your hair. “The bruises on his wrists, those are from shackles.”

Kent laughs. Suddenly, you aren’t smiling anymore.

The first body is discovered only a few days later. The press comments on the attack, hinting at a possible serial killer because isn’t it odd the killer took a foot? This time, your choice of stalking victim is Mrs. Thornhill. But regardless of what you do, she always manages to slip away. And the times she does, a body turns up a few days later, random body part missing.

Your anxiousness must show. Doctor Kinbott comments on it, but you don’t dare tell her. You don’t have the proof. Your therapy rides with Principal Weems get crashed by a pig tailed girl with the name of Wednesday. Her arrival late in the semester puts the school upside down. It’s not hard, to find out she is trying to solve the mystery of the murders.

The next time Weems takes you both to therapy, you slip her your mother’s file.

“Here.” You say to her, trying not catch the attention of the Principal driving you. You pass her a folder, in sober blue. “The notes you asked for.”

“I didn’t ask you…”

“You did. After Rowan’s accident. You were murderous when it happened.” You hope she catches the hint, and Wednesday does not disappoint, grabbing the folder with eager hands.

“Oh, right. I must have forgotten. Thank you.”

In big black letters, just before the detailed autopsy report, you placed your warning: Different MO, same signature. Killer might be closer than you think.

You hope Wednesday can get the proof you need, but you don’t want to lead her on, so you don’t name your suspect.

Tyler shows up at the Rave’n on Wednesday’s arm. He looks better, less bruised and more confident. Your eyes lock across the room, in the middle of your dance with Kent. His lips part, almost as if he were about to mouth something and decides against it at the last minute. Kent pulls you towards his chest, chin hooked over your shoulder.

“What are you staring at?” He asks, following your gaze. For someone who negates the existence of romantic love, he is quite the gossip. “Doesn’t golden boy over there has his own, dark, date to ogle?”

“He has, yes.” You answer, still holding eye contact with Tyler. He has an odd expression on his face, almost as if he has been punched. He looks good tonight, you aren’t going to lie to yourself and say you don’t find him attractive because he is. Shame that you know exactly what lurks beneath the pretty face.

“Seems like our boy has a type. Likes them dark, menacing and tiny.” Kent pokes at your ribs, still with his head on your shoulder. It makes the whole thing awkward because your body arches trying to get away from his touch, but you don't want him falling down either. It looks funny, you know that because Tyler smiles slightly.

“Asshole.” You break eye contact with Tyler to push Kent away. “Not tiny.”

“I’ll stop calling you tiny if, when you fuck him, you share details.” He snorts.

“Gross.” But your response is a little delayed, and Kent definitely notices. He gives you a pitying look, and you wonder if he knows something about you that you don't know about yourself. Both Divina and him are your closest friends, but you know they share a bond that's different from what they have with you. Do they talk about you when you are not there? Do they talk about the way Tyler looks at you, the way that you look at him, half fear, half attraction?

“Babe, the boy has been pinning for you since, like, fourth grade.” The phrase rings in your ear, makes its way to your brain like an insidious worm. It's still there when blood starts to rain from the ceiling, when Tyler rushes out of the room. Maybe that's why you follow him. Oh, how you wish Kent had never spoken them.

You cloak yourself in your shadows, Kent in too much of a panic to notice you slipping away from him. Tyler's looking at his phone, distracted. He doesn't realize you are falling into step behind him, following into the twisted paths of the woods you both grew up into. The same as you did thirteen years ago, follow him inside the forest because you were young and stupid and desperately wanted to be liked.

The night is cold, wind drifting in and out between the trees and making eerie sounds. Your dress sticks to your skin, wet with fake blood. Tyler walks with intend, dodging branches and ducking between leaves. You try to keep up, but you are getting tired. Someone screams, the sound making you jump. A boy, it's a boy screaming. And then, Wednesday's voice rings in your ears, but you can't make out what she is saying. You can barely think because right in front of your eyes, Tyler is turning into the ugliest monster you had ever seen, skin gray, form still humanoid. It looks painful, how the skin breaks, the joints shift. His eyes are dark and protruding, hungry, pointy teeth come out of his mouth. The nice hands turn into claws, and you don’t dare breathe, you don’t dare even whisper a warning because he is pouncing on the boy and slicing with his claws.

You press your hand to your mouth, biting your fingers to keep you from screaming and betraying your position. It’s over fast, the screams of the boy turning into pained, choked whimpers. The monster sniffs at the air and for one terrifying second, you think your eyes meet his. But he walks away, and then Wednesday is there and Thornhill, and it’s all so confusing and scary you end up walking back to your dorm in a daze.

The shower you take does nothing to soothe your nerves, but it helps you clear your head. So, Tyler is the monster. But Thornhill still showed up at the scene, you know the two of them have something like a relationship. Does it mean they are working together? You toss and turn until morning, sleep evading you. Your conclusion is that you need additional information. You decide to explore the woods and do some more stalking in your free time.

This is what you discover: There is a cave, much like the one Tyler pushed you into all those years ago. Someone burned the cave down. Eugene, the kid from the bee club, was trying to get inside the cave, but the person burning it down spooked him. He ran into the monster, into Tyler after that. You also know Tyler got a text before slipping away, that means he was possibly following orders. Thornhill appeared at the scene, and so did Wednesday.

You decide to tail Wednesday after that. It doesn’t last long, the girl too paranoid about being followed to be able to do it easily, but you learn the monster is called a Hyde. Hydes usually have masters, who tell them what to do. You decide to look up that information later.

The first days are hard. You don’t dare tell anyone what you just saw, too paranoid about suffering the same fate as Eugene. Tyler is dangerous, you have known that since you both were just kids, but now you know exactly how much. He is capable of killing people, yet he isn’t the one who killed your mother. You can’t decipher why Thornhill would be interested in killing her… Unless she knew Tyler was a Hyde and could become a problem later on. But that doesn’t explain what Thornhill hopes to achieve by killing all these people. You ponder, and ponder, but can’t get a why.

Then, cold, hard determination settles on your stomach. You can’t go the legal way, but you can get your revenge in other ways. You need a plan, and it won’t be easy, but you think you can achieve it. What can drive a person to become a murderer? Turns out, all it takes is getting pushed a little too much. Suddenly, murder seems like a reasonable reaction. Desperation makes funny things to people. And seeing Tyler attack Eugene had been your last straw. You won’t be able to live without fear until Thornhill is neutralized, and if no one is going to do it, you will have to take matters into your own hands.

The first step is easy. On your next therapy session, you tell the magic words to Doctor Kinbott.

“I’m afraid. Sometimes… Sometimes I get this feeling, like someone is watching me…” You whisper, crying, in what has to be the performance of a lifetime. Kinbott looks almost afraid, too. She takes your hand in hers, gently. You feel bad about manipulating her, but it’s for the best.

“Do you think you are in real danger, or is this a feeling only?” At the question, you think a little. If you tell her it is real danger right away, she might discount you as a traumatized girl. But if you appear to be considering the question, she will think you are sensible, in touch with your emotions, responsible.

“I don’t know.” You answer and start sobbing. Kinbott takes you on her arms, and you hug her back. You walk out of the session with a tired expression. Who knew fake crying was so tiring?

The second step is easy too. You know your mom had a gun. Being a single mother, even in a small town, is dangerous business. Even more when you and your daughter are part of a discriminated minority. It’s a tiny revolver, that you know your dad wouldn’t dare throw, just like all the stuff your mom had. To make room for his new wife, he just put everything neatly up in boxes in the attic and forgot about it. The attic might not be the place for a gun. But the safe in the office might be.

You are right. The revolver is there, collecting dust and just waiting to be used. You don’t take it yet, knowing your father would notice it absence. Instead, you go stalk Tyler some more, and learn two things. His bedroom doesn’t have bars in the windows, and he still keeps a planner for his schoolwork, all done manually. You snap pictures of it.

Now you know he has a date every Saturday after therapy with someone named L. And his handwriting is easy to copy.

When the first letter shows up, you are having breakfast with your father and stepmother. It’s Sunday, and you had asked Principal Weems for permission to sleep at home, citing homesickness. The letter it’s addressed to you, in wonky letters that clearly try to disguise the handwriting. You open it, and promptly start sobbing.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did… What does it say?” Your dad gets up, reading over your shoulder. His face morphs into one of fury.

“What kind of bastard? I’m going to kill him, sweetheart! I will kill that fucking boy!”

“Love, calm down, you are scaring her!” Your stepmother says, laying a hand on his arm.

“Scaring her? She is not scared of me, look at this, at the little bastard. That Galpin boy, I bet he is behind it.” He takes the letter from your hands, and starts quoting it out loud. You start sobbing harder. “Your thighs, they are so creamy. I have seen them, when you walk out of the shower to get dressed. I wonder how they would look if I held them down and forced you to open them, if you would scream, resist me! The guy is sending rape threats to my daughter.” At that, your stepmother falls silent, and pulls you into a hug. You cry on her chest.

“How… Whoever this is, they must be watching the house, to know she would receive it.” She says, carding a hand through your hair.

“That’s it. I’m going to the station.”

“Don’t!” You beg. You have set up Tyler to take the blame for it, but it doesn’t mean you want him to, it’s only a last resource. “Daddy, don’t!” You know he melts when he hears you call him that, reminds you of better times, when he and your mother were still together, when you were his little princess.

“Sweetheart…” He pleads with you, but he is already surrendering.

“She is right. We can’t go to Sheriff Galpin and tell him his son is stalking her!” Your stepmother intervenes, and for the first time, you are grateful for her.

“We should have taken her across the country! Not uprooting her, my ass. This fucking town!” Your father complains, but you fist a hand on his shirt and pull him into the hug too. You need to keep him happy, and if he thinks you are playing family with his new wife, he will be more malleable. He goes willingly.

You sent yourself two more letters, in the same disturbing tone. You are careful to not make them seem more like twisted love letters, never threatening, so you don’t get pulled out of Nevermore. In your next session with Doctor Kinbott, you tell her about the letters, your dad’s suspicions, and you mention how much safer you would feel if you knew how to shoot.

Your lessons with Sheriff Galpin start that same afternoon.

“Look at you, all grown up!” He says to you, ruffling your hair. “Your daddy tells me he wants me to teach you how to shoot, says summer is coming, and you will be all alone in that big house.” Normally, he doesn’t like outcasts, but you look so much like your mother, and she was such good friends with Francoise…

The backyard, the place you will be learning how to shoot, looks the same it did thirteen years ago.

“Thank you so much for taking the time, Sheriff.” You say to him, brightly. Tyler won’t be home for at least five more hours, that you know. He has school, and then a shift at the Weathervane.

“Call me Donovan, kiddo. We will be spending all afternoon together.” He sets up some cans in the far wall. “Your mother had registered a revolver, so you will learn to shoot one of those, okay?”

“Yeah, daddy said he still has it. Couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.” You answer, innocently. The Sheriff mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath, that sounds too much like a dig at your dad and stepmother, but you let it slide because you think mostly the same.

“Pay attention. This, here, is the cylinder.” He indicates a twisty part. “You open it, pressing here.” He hands you the revolver, and you repeat his motions, committing them to memory.

“Okay.”

“Revolvers are easier to handle, less complex than semiautomatics. Good for a lady, they can be concealed in a purse. But since you will be at home, we will go over carrying later.” The sheriff shows you tiny bullets inside the cylinder, slowly taking them out. “God, you are not the person I thought I would be teaching this.”

“Did you teach Tyler?” You ask, curiously.

“No, kid never showed interest. And even if he did…” He trails off, and you can tell he is thinking about what happened last year, when he got sent off to bootcamp. “That’s not relevant. Remember this, always. Guns are dangerous, and it’s more probable that the gun at home will be used against you than to defend you, that’s statistics. So, you don’t pull out the gun to threaten, you only pull it out when you are sure you will take the shot, got it?”

“Yes, Mister…” At the look he gave you, you promptly corrected yourself. "Donovan.”

“Good. This, here, is the trigger. It’s hard to pull, this is why the revolvers don’t usually have other safety’s. Try it.” You put a hesitant hand on the revolver. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s uncharged, you won’t hurt anyone.” You tried pulling it, finding out it needed more force than you thought.

“This one here, is a higher caliber, that means, more recoil. So, try to grab it with both hands. Revolvers carry fewer rounds, but are far more accurate than a semi, so, not that bad. Always aim for the torso, even if you got bad aim, you will hit something.”

The afternoon goes by quickly. He pours you a mug of coffee, and you promise next time to bring something sweet to share. Donovan looks lonely, and it tugs at your heartstrings, that you are manipulating him too. It hurts even more to think that his son is a killer. You are certain that by the end of it, he will be even more heartbroken.

Tyler thinks he is going crazy. Your smell follows him anywhere, sweet and enticing. If he hadn't been experiencing before that afternoon, he would have thought it was his stupid crush rearing its ugly head.

He enters the house, tired after the long shift, and the scent lingers in the air. His dad is sitting in the backyard, there are two mugs in the kitchen sink.

“Was someone over?” He asks, curious about what his dad will say. Will he cover up for you? Tyler knows all about your watching trick, you think you are so sly, but he can smell you from a mile away. His eyes have always been on you, since he was only a kid who didn’t know what wanting someone really meant. He was always going to see you watching him, and most of the time, he was watching back. And the Hyde… The Hyde thought of you as his. Not prey, not quite master, something else entirely. The Hyde’s mouth watered at the thought of running you down, biting you until you whimpered, mouth filing with the coppery taste of your blood. But not hard enough to really hurt you, no. Just enough to get a bit of fear in your eyes, to get the defiance and fire you had had since you were a five-year-old shining on your features. You would be beautiful, glorious even. You already were.

“Yeah, remember my old secretary?” His father says casually. “The one that was friends with your mother?” The way the words come out of his mouth, it’s strange. Almost as if he never speaks them out loud, only to himself. And it’s true. Tyler doesn’t talk to his father a lot about his mom. More like, never.

“Yeah, was she here?” Tyler asks, feigning he doesn’t know your mother is dead. He knows all about you, he always has. From the face you make when you are about to cry, to the way your school skirt sways left and right when you walk. He knows you have a mole on your hip, that you don’t like wearing perfume unless it is a special occasion. He knows you watch him cloaked in your shadows and like to pretend that you are some big sort of predator when you are just a tiny bunny. Maybe a black bunny, but a bunny nonetheless. Prey. His for running down, his for taking.

“Her kid. She passed away, some psycho murdered her last semester, when you were on…” His father starts to explain, trailing off in remembrance of his time at the bootcamp. Tyler doesn’t want to talk about it, so he cuts him off.

“Yeah. What did she want?” A crazy thought crosses his head. Perhaps you are looking into the death of your mother, maybe he can tip you off in some way. He doesn't understand why Laurel might have killed her, but it has her fingertips all over it. She might have been trying to see if she could do it on her own, carrying the whole plan by herself.

“Her dad wants her to learn to shoot. Summer is coming, and the poor kid is all alone in that big house, after her mother’s death… I can’t blame the man for being paranoid. I can blame him for bringing his mistress and having her sleep on the same bed, though….” Tyler is not listening anymore. He isn't concerned with the gossip on your father. He thinks it’s nice, that the guy cares enough to get someone to teach you to defend yourself. After all, you are all fragile human, with powers that aren’t really good for close combat. Even if you are a firecracker, you are easily hurt. Tyler has issues with that. If someone is going to hurt you and scare you, it’s going to be him, not some robber who shows up at the right time.

Your smell chases him still. It takes a lot of self-control, to not just run to the shower and masturbate to the way your perfume drifted through the house, to the space the Hyde calls his, and impregnated the sofa’s cushions. It gets worse, this itch, the more time that passes. Every day, the scent is all over the house, your smell getting stronger with each visit.

The day he feels it in his bedroom is the day he folds, jerking off in a way that’s almost desperate, with a fist on his mouth to keep himself from crying out. He wonders how you would look, all pretty on your knees. Would your eyes be full of the same defiance, or would you melt, turning into all soft skin and whimpers? He wonders if you are watching him, now, perched in some dark corner. His blinds aren’t closed, he realizes. You could be sitting in one of the branches of the tree just across the street, defiant eyes fixated on him, cloaked up pretty on your shadows. Tyler wonders if you would like watching him, and that thought is what sends him over the edge, desperate sounds drowned on his pillow.

Wednesday does the courtesy of inviting you to torture Tyler that night.

“He is the thread we need to pull to get to your mother’s killer.” She says, full of confidence. You hope this time, she gets it right because you had heard about Xavier’s arrest and your therapist’s murder, and you were so tired you could cry. “Thought you had a right to attend.” Like she is inviting you to a damn wedding or christening and not a, you know, torture session. Your morals have been iffy lately, so you are in no place to judge.

“Sure. Thank you.” You say, and the thought of your reaction at seeing Tyler in chains is not something that even crosses your mind.

“You too?” He asks, in a tired tone, when he sees you stepping out of the shadows. “Look, you can’t still be mad about what I did to you.” Tyler is good, you have to give him that. He has you doubting that he is the Hyde and you saw him maul Eugene half to death. But there is something in the way he looks at you, hunger in his eyes, that gives him away. Tyler has always looked weirdly at you, but this, this hunger, is like almost thinks you two share a secret, that you two are partners in crime.

“What did he do to you?” Wednesday asks, but she is slowly losing control of the group. The cops will arrive at any moment now, so you manage to slip away and get the gun from your dorm and be back in position in a miraculous time.

When Sheriff Galpin comes in, guns blazing, you position yourself in front of Tyler, almost as if you are protecting him. It leaves your back open to him, and even with him chained, you don’t like it. Then, you do your favorite trick: You start crying.

When the man sees you, his expression changes. He is about to question you, but you run to his arms, uncaring about the gun in his hand, and hug him hard.

“I’m sorry sir, I tried. I tried, I promise you, Tyler is not the murderer, he was with me all those nights. I snuck him in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I tried to stop them.”

You are sure that behind you, the look Tyler must be giving you has to be of absolute bafflement. Wednesday is staring daggers at you, but you don’t care. Your hand is gripping the gun on the pocket of your coat, and the only thought on your head is that you are getting your revenge.

“Shh, kiddo, it’s okay.” And just like you predicted, the Sheriff is unable to deal with a crying girl, so he rubs your back as another officer unties Tyler. “You three, to the station. Now.” He says, directing Tyler and Wednesday to his truck. He lets go of you, pushing you gently towards Tyler, who he now thinks is your boyfriend. Tyler catches you, pulling you towards his chest, hiding his face in your hair as if he is calming down.

You press the barrel of the gun against his stomach before he can even speak.

“For the record: I am not happy to see you.” You whisper and feel the way his body goes tense. He wraps a hand on your shoulder, he laughs a little, but it’s strained.

“What the hell are you doing?” His lips are dangerously close to your ear, and you shiver. You feel his smirk against your hair. Not knowing if you want him closer, or far away, you shove him with one last warning.

“Saving your sorry ass. We are dating. Go.”

Wednesday rides shotgun, Donovan not trusting her enough to put her in the back with you two. The ride is quiet, you keep your hands in your pockets, revolver firmly in your grasp. Tyler’s eyes never leave you, questioning and dangerous.

When you get to the station, you get sent to separate rooms. They don’t make you go through the metal detectors, there is simply no time. Not when the Sheriff's son was just kidnapped. They take your statement, and you spin your web of pretty, sanitized lies, pinning everything on Wednesday.

You tell the Donovan you and Tyler are dating, but keeping it a secret because you are an outcast, and were afraid of his disapproval. You also tell him your father is really strict, he doesn’t want you dating until you are 21. For almost every murder, you give him an alibi, so he doesn’t get suspicious of everything being too perfect. You tell him how you snuck him in to your dorm, in the middle of the night, how you know his favorite candies are Reese’s cups, and that you had gotten closer after you had asked him for one at the Weathervane, for him to tell you they were not for sale. How you had a crush on him since you were kids, but your father would have never approved. You tell him you think Tyler has been getting better, not getting in trouble until that girl, Wednesday Addams (And here you make sure to enunciate her last name loudly, to play on his prejudice) appeared. You tell so many lies, and so many half-truths already, that your head is spinning.

Tyler and Wednesday kept their statement brief, referring only to the kidnapping and torturing. When you get out, you find him threatening Wednesday, while apparently hugging her. He is angry. Oh, he is angry, and you think it’s not all directed at her, but to you too.

You clear your throat because that’s what a good girlfriend would do. Tyler's expression gets even more pinched.

“Bunny, didn’t see you there.” He lets go of Wednesday, who looks half pissed, half terrified, and pulls you closer to him, slipping a casual arm around your waist. You hug him back, tense smile on your lips, fingers itching for the gun. One of his hands goes to the back of your neck, Tyler runs a finger down your spine. It's a warning. He could snap your neck if he wanted.

“We aren’t finished here.” Wednesday says, looking at both of you like you are monsters. Which, fair, maybe you both are because you are trembling under Tyler's touch, and it's not from fear. Wednesday doesn’t ask for your motivation, but her next words are directed to you only. “He won’t get away with this.”

“I think…” You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tyler leaned down to give you more access, sweet smile on his face, while his hands dug on the skin of your waist in a grip so harsh it was almost claw-like. “He has an iron tight alibi for most of those nights, one willing to testify. And that the DNA won’t be checked again, since it was dismissed and the chain of custody is probably broken already.”

“You don’t know what he is capable of.” She warned, walking away.

“Oh, I am. I got this under control.” You laughed, and Wednesday gave you one last murderous glance before leaving.

“We need to talk.” Tyler whispered to you, leading you out of the station. “I don’t know what game you are playing, little girl, but it won’t end up well for you. I could break you in half…”

“Tyler, sweetie.” You said, pressing the gun hard against his side while you walked. To an outside observer, you looked like any other over affectionate young couple. “This is why, in this relationship, I do the talking.”

“You are bluffing.” He said, leaning more into the barrel of the gun. “You wouldn’t shoot.”

“What is what your father always say?” You asked him, finger going to the trigger. “Never pull the gun unless you…”

“You are ready to take the shot.” For the first time in the night, he seemed scared. “You don’t want me taking it from you, Bunny. You are going to get hurt.”

“Oh, try. Thing is, this is not like the semi your dad uses. One pull of my finger and you are dead. Revolvers don’t have a safety. I got five bullets. Wanna bet on how many I can put on you before you even try to take it from me?”

Tyler kept quiet.

“What do you want?” He finally asked. His eyes were glazed over, his expression half fear, half want. Oh, he was sick. Probably you too. Who liked getting threatened with a gun? But from the look on his eyes, he was very much into it.

“I want Thornhill dead. And from how I see it, you have two options. You help me kill the bitch or go down with her. I don't care.” You spit out, and it feels so good to finally admit it. You had spent months saying to yourself you wanted her in jail, convincing you didn't want her dead. But you are past that point. Justice wouldn't be her living behind bars a long time. The only justice you could get was ending her life, just as she had ended your mother's.

“I can’t…” Tyler whispered, guiding you towards his house. But you could tell, that maybe, he wanted her dead as much as you did. Something rattles in your mind, a memory half forgotten. The way she touched him that first night, the way you didn't like, that made you sick to your stomach.

“Oh, come on, now you remember you have a moral fiber?” It's a shitty thing to do, but you need to press your advantage while you still have it. “You don’t kill women? Well, guess what, you are going down with her.” The barrel of the gun dug harder against his body, so hard you were sure a bruise was forming.

“It’s not that…” His voice sounded pained. “She is my master, the Hyde…”

“Can change its allegiance, I’m sure.” You stepped a little away from him, keeping your eyes on his hands. You didn’t want him trying anything.

“I… I don’t know how.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to kill her yourself. Just help me. I’ll do the killing. Besides, I bet you want it as much as I do.”

“She isn’t so bad…” He tried to joke, a hint of the golden retriever smile appearing on his face. He looked cute. You vanished those thoughts immediately. No time for distractions, not now.

“You could have been normal, you know?” You said to him, jerking to a stop in a dark alleyway. This will work better, he seems the type to be moved by the fantasies. And you, you knew how it felt to miss a mother, grief so encompassing you could barely breathe without hurting. “My mother knew about yours, she could have helped you. That’s why she is dead. For you.”

“My… Would she have?” He asked, looking gutted. The idea of someone helping him is so foreign, you wonder if no one else has offered before. Have all his relationships been transactional, so far? Tyler seems to be that way about touch, too. Always to hurt, to dominate, never touching for the sake of it. Thornhill was another example of that, you betted she had took advantage of how touch starved he was.

“She loved her. It was always, Francoise this, Francoise that. She cried every night after her death for months. She desperately wanted me to be friends with you.” Your eyes filled with tears. You took the gun out of your pocket, gripping it one-handed and pointing it to the ground. Just in case he decided to get smart and take advantage of your distraction. Fuck, you were too soft. You hated it.

“My mother, she liked you too.” Tyler offered, quietly. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. “She always joked how you would have made an amazing daughter-in-law.” His tone was soft, hesitant. He had raised the stakes out of his own free will.

“She was lovely. The only friend my mother had.” Not an agreement, but not a no, either.

“God, wherever they are, they must be so angry.” Tyler laughed, and it sounded a little hysterical. You couldn’t help but join in. “Can I hug you?” He asked. Your hand twitched on the trigger. Tyler followed the motion, only reaction been raising his hands in surrender. For the first time in the whole night, you didn’t know what to say.

Tyler’s eyes were pleading. He had never wanted you more than tonight, when you had manipulated people left and right for him. For him, the Hyde screamed. The monster had already made his decision, to him, tonight had been a declaration of eternal love. This gun to his ribs, nothing more than part of running you down. He had to prove himself strong, worthy of your submission. The Hyde was never letting you go again, you were his new obsession. From this close, you smelled heavenly, the perfect mix of girl, nervousness, and determination. Good enough to eat. He just needed to catch you and claim you.

You could tell, by the way he looked at you, troubled small-town boy and hints of the monster beneath it, that he was sincere. He actually wanted to hug you.

“Sure. Since we are now dating and all…” You trailed off when his hands wrapped around you, nose burying in the crook of your neck and taking desperate inhales of your scent. It was driving him insane. He wanted you close, so close your scents mixed, so close your fear clung to him, gave him the high he wanted.

“You can keep the gun, if it makes you feel safe.” Tyler whispered against your skin, lips moving against your neck. It was soft, this time. He wasn’t gripping you harshly, like he had been at the station. The gun clattered softly to the gun, slipping from your limp fingers. He could be manipulating you, but this felt too good, too right, to not fall for it. “But… I like you. I always have. I have watched you more than I should, my Hyde is head over heels for you already.” Tyler kept talking, hoping you would see he was sincere. This was him, matching your boldness. “I would kill her for you, you know? If you asked. If you wanted me to. I would hold her down, slash her throat. Offer her body to you.” Those words were forbidden words, contemplating killing his master should be impossible. But for you, for you, he would do it. There was no hesitation.

No one had ever told you something half as romantic. So, you took your own leap of faith. You pulled him out of your neck, softly grabbing his hair, and devoured his mouth. Tyler kissed back, just as passionately. He crowded you against one of the walls, thigh slotting between your legs, and you whimpered in his mouth. The happy rumble he gave, it didn’t sound human.

“Mine,” He said, kissing a path down your neck, biting at it, hard. Hard enough to draw blood. “Mine. Mine. No one else will touch you, not even her. Mine.” He seemed crazed, like the only thought in his head was you. And it was. The Hyde was frenzied with the need to claim, to make sure everybody knew you were his.

“Yours. Yours.” You answered, breathless. Oh, you two were fucked. Badly. You knew you shouldn't want him so much, a few days ago you had watched him maul a kid half to death. It was not even an hour ago, you had been pointing a gun to him. But his lips on your skin felt right, the way he was touching you was making your brain throw all precaution through the window. You grabbed at his hair, at his back, anywhere. To wherever you could reach, anchor yourself with.

“Let’s take this somewhere else, please?” Tyler whined, mouthing at your shoulder. His hand tugged at the collar of your shirt, exposing more skin for him to mark. It makes you wonder if this is him or the Hyde talking. He has always had a dark undercurrent to him, even with the monster asleep. “Please, let me have you. I have wanted you for so long…” The last phrase caught your attention.

“Since when?” You pushed him away, just so you could try to get to his house before you two ended up fucking in a dirty alley. But Tyler didn’t seem deterred on the least, taking the chance to slip a hand under your shirt, running his fingers over the skin on your back. “Stop it, we gotta get indoors. After this, I’m not getting arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Since, like, sophomore year.” Tyler laughs, holding you closer still. He gently starts fixing your clothes back to normal. Now you know he is just making shit up because there is no way it has been that long for him too.

“You were kissing half the school, don't make me laugh.” You answer, and it comes way more bitter than you intended.

“Aww, are you jealous?” He mocks you, doing the buttons on your coat with steady hands. “Don’t worry, I never wanted them the way I want you.” Tyler presses a kiss to your forehead, inhaling your scent longer than he probably should.

“Yeah, sure. They weren’t half as crazy.” You let him finish dressing you, giving him a stare.

“I have wanted you since before I knew what having a crush was, but started wanting you like this when I got older. You got fucking pretty, but never looked my way.” Tyler knelt on the floor, looking for something in the pavement. Too late, you remembered the gun. Anxiety clutched at your insides with an iron fist. Had he only been tricking you? But once he got hold of it, he took the bullets out and slipped them in his pocket, as one does. His expression is completely blank. You wanted to laugh. Then, Tyler passed you the revolver, still on his knees, handle first. You grabbed it with cautious hands.

“Left you a bullet.” Tyler explained, hands raised in surrender. “I can smell your fear, you know?” You ignored his commentary, checking the chamber. Just one bullet, true. You wonder if truly his sense of smell is that sensitive.

“Never took you for a fan of Russian Roulette. Also, I watched you too, you know?”

“Yeah, all you know about me comes from your little stalking habit.” He got up from his knees. You stared at him. Was it possible he had only been entertaining you all this time? “Bunny, I can smell you. Well, the Hyde can.”

“Stop calling me that.” You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his. The revolver went back into your coat. “Makes zero sense.”

“Makes total sense. You… To me, you have always been prey. Since we were kids. I didn’t understand it, back then, but I wanted to run you down.” Tyler rubs at his face, a scowl appearing on his pretty features. “I… Okay, if this doesn’t make you run for the hills and decide this is a bad idea, you will stay forever.” He finally says, lowering his voice to a whisper. Is he going to confess a deep dark secret? You hope so. Tyler has so many layers, he makes this whole thing fun. “I like the smell of fear. But I don’t like the scent of terrified, then it makes me sick, like too much of cheap vanilla perfume. You have always balanced it out well.”

You laugh because you don’t know what to say. Thank you? I'm glad you like the smell of my fear? This feels like such a surreal compliment you don't know what to say. So instead, you change the topic.

“Why didn’t you stop me from watching you?”

“I liked you watching…” His voice trails off, in a way you bet is calculated. Tyler is good at playing the charming guy like that. Just ask Wednesday. Then, he leans forward, to whisper in your ear. “And I was thinking, maybe today I could watch you instead…?” Feeling him so close, the insinuation on his words, it’s too much. A blush appears on your cheeks. You hear him snicker, and punch him in the arm lightly. But you let him wrap an arm around you and keep leading you.

That’s how you end up sitting on the bed, completely naked, Tyler's hand rubbing soothing circles on your ankle.

“Come on, show me.” He says, running his index finger along the inside of your calf. It’s awkward, being asked to touch yourself. You are not used to having an audience, to worrying about how you look. Tyler is still fully dressed, a sharp contrast to your nakedness and a way, you guess, to show who is in control. Even if you like him a lot, you find it hard to be aroused. To try to get yourself in the right mood, you rub your clit on circles, but it’s not doing much.

Tyler definitely notices because his hands come to grasp at your ankles, pulling your legs slightly more apart.

“That's how you touch yourself? Straight for the prize?” His tone is neutral. Not judging, but not forceful either. The choice is yours, in the end.

“… Yeah.” Your hands drop uselessly by your sides. You feel too self-conscious.

“You are…” He tilts his head to the side, evaluating. “Okay, this is not working. You are too tense.” Tyler crawls towards you, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Would it be better if I was doing it too? Or… We could do something else?” It's sweet, for someone who had just been threatened with a gun. Odd, too, considering the kind of people you both are. But maybe, he is trying to build trust. God knows this relationship needs it.

“I want to try.” You complain, tugging at his shirt. You really aim to please him, for him to have what he wants. Not many people feel that way about Tyler. Certainly, not his father, who has talked more to you in a week than to his son in a month. Not Thornhill, who is too obsessed with her plan and motivations to care about his accomplice.

“Okay. “ Tyler takes off his shirt. “Sit on my lap.”

You hurry to obey, kissing him hungrily. He kisses back, matching your pace and nipping lightly at your lips. You open for him, letting him take what he wants. He breaks the kiss only when the need for air is too pressing, and even then, he presses his forehead to yours, keeping a close eye on your reactions. It’s strangely intimate.

Tyler grabs one of your hands and takes it to your neck, running it lightly over your exposed collarbones, down the valley of your breasts. Your fingers bend in his grasp, allowing him to go lower and lower, until your hand is just over your pubic bone. He helps your hand do the same path in reverse, until you are squirming for more stimulation. Then, he guides your fingers to your nipples and lets go of your hand.

“Go ahead, Bunny.” You squeeze your nipple, mystified by the sensation. You have never been really sensitive there, it’s not a place you care too much about. Tyler’s hand goes to pinch your other nipple. Your back arches a little, thighs squeezing his at the sudden burst of pleasure. So, that’s what this is supposed to feel like. “Copy what I’m doing.”

You obey, surprised to see it does work.

“Good.” Tyler says, mouthing at your shoulder. His eyes are dark. What is it about this that he likes so much? Control? You are reluctant to fight him over it, you like the idea of him having power over you. It appeals to your love of danger. “Keep going.” This time, his teeth dig in the hollow of your throat, and you can’t avoid moaning. You grind down against him, finding he is half hard already.

“How does this feel?” Tyler asks, scratching at your inner thighs. You pant, muffling your cries on his mouth because the answer is too fucking good. He seems to be playing your body like an instrument, zeroing in weak spots you didn’t know you had. “Do it yourself.”

You obey, raking your nails over the insides of your thighs, lightly. It feels odd. Not as good as when Tyler does it. You never focused too much on these areas when masturbating, you just kind of… Went for it.

“Can you do that?” You plead, looking at him with your widest, most innocent eyes. Tyler is a sucker for them, it turns out because he does. His nails, shorter than your own, scratch at your thighs until you are bucking your hips against his. He draws patterns on your legs, hands everywhere, but never where you need them the most. The desperation starts to show, hips shifting, trying to catch his hands and pull them between your legs. Tyler ignores it, eyes fixed on yours. He wants you to understand this is something you need to do yourself. He even takes his hands off you when you get too impatient. “Please, just… Keep touching me?”

“Fine.” He grumbles, but it sounds more amused than angry. “But I’m not doing all the work.”

This time, your hands go to your folds, spreading the wetness there. Having his hands on you, having him closer, makes it ten times better than before, and it looks like he knows it. You search for his knees, blindly, and place a hand there to hold yourself. The stretch of your back is more than you expected, but you make it work. Tyler wants to watch? You will give him a show.

Tyler smirks at you. He likes that you have taken the initiative, putting more space between the two of you, so he gets a better view.

“Good girl.” The compliment makes you preen, so you reward him by sliding a hand down your stomach, to cup your pussy. His hands tense around your thighs, breath hitching. You tease your clit with the tip of your finger, biting your lip to quiet your moan. Tyler’s pupils are blown, eyes fixated on your hand.

“Fuck.” He says, hand going to spread your labia, so he can have a better look. He seems unable to stop himself.

“Good?” You ask, teasing your clit until it is puffy and aching. There is something about having him look at you while you touch yourself that feels dirty, shameful even, but the embarrassment only adds to your pleasure. The way his hand feels, spreading you open, makes you think how much better it could feel if he were the one touching you. You feel yourself get wetter, slick dripping slightly. Tyler definitely notices because his eyes get wider and his index finger runs down your hole, not pressing, just mapping the route your slick is taking, towards your perineum.

“More than I expected. I thought about this, I thought about you watching me, all those nights… What did you see, Bunny? Something like this?” You can't answer because Tyler takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting like you are his last meal. You grab on his hair, hold almost painful, with the way you are balancing on his lap. He moans and looks up at you. It’s… You don’t know, but it feels dirty, to be making eye contact when he has his mouth on you, saliva spreading everywhere. When he notices you have stopped touching yourself, he moves as if to pull away. Your hand drops his hair and goes immediately to your hole, pressing a finger inside.

“Please, Tyler. I… You had your fun.” You beg, and can feel his smirk against your skin. He likes you like this, all pretty and doing what he says, but he wants you to put more of a fight. Tyler liked you at first because you weren’t afraid of him, you were defiant. This version of you… You aren’t afraid, he can tell, but it’s like you have forgotten you have a spine.

“I guess you have been a good bunny….” Tyler does quick work of his pants and boxers and soon, he is slipping inside you. It’s easy, with how wet you are, but he keeps unmoving, eager for your reaction. He hopes you will try to take control this time. He wants to force you to stay down, to be harsher. Own you.

You don’t disappoint, bouncing desperately on his cock.

“Didn’t you want to claim me so much?” You want him to let go. Sure, it was sweet, this that he had been doing before, casual dominance getting at you. But you fell in love with the guy who locked you in a cave when you were five years old to get off on your screams, the one that jerked off to the thought of you spying on him. “At this rate, I’m the one owning you.” You need him desperate, you want him angry and riled up, so, you do the thing that you know will make him the most mad. You make a grab for his wrists, pushing him to lie on his back.

“Sometimes, I think you don’t have any sense of self-preservation.” Tyler grunts, and fights your grip. It gets messy, you are both rolling around on the bed, his hands desperately grabbing at your hips, you are pushing him down. He slips out of you at one point, you try to force him to go down, and he won’t just let you that easy.

You figure it does something to the Hyde, the idea of forcing you to submit, nipping at your neck, teeth digging hard at your nape. You arch into his mouth, confused by the sensation. It feels good, to be caught finally, but you bet this isn’t a normal reaction. Tyler rolls you over, eyes dark, and pins your wrist over your head. That, coupled with the satisfied smirk on his face as he fucks you, tells you he is making a mockery of what you had been trying to do before. You scratch at his back, angry at him, and at yourself, at the world, really. Your nails draw gashes across his skin, but it only seems to egg him on more.

“You are mine. You are mine.” He bites your shoulder, pointy canines harsh enough to draw blood. That, coupled with his hand rubbing circles on your clit, is what makes you fall apart. He does too, muffling his moan in your mouth.

“You know…” Tyler presses a tender kiss to the wound of your shoulder. “Loyalties change.”

You snort. “Does the Hyde have a new master?”

“By death.” He promises, kissing your neck next and making you squirm. “Didn’t take you for the type to want shared custody. She has to go.” And oh, it feels sweeter, better than the orgasm you just had.

#my writing #wednesday netflix #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin x you #im so tired #tyler galpin imagine #tyler galpin smut #tyler galpin x fem!reader #wednesday addams #kent fisher #divina fisher

559 notes · View notes