The Pitt (mostly Jack Abbot fanfics) has given me inspiration again. I also made whole ass family trees for both John's family and Reader's family.... Anyone interested?
Part one | part two | part three | part four | [masterlist]
The two of you have been going steady for a while now. And one thing you've been dreading for a while has arrived: meeting his parents and siblings.
Never before had you had to meet a boyfriend's family. Going over to a friend's house for the first time was exciting. Also a bit scary. But nothing like this.
You've spent hours deciding which outfit to wear, consulting your best friend and your mom. In the end, you've decided on a green gingham dress that's playful but not too revealing.
When John picked you up, he was quite literally speechless. He doesn't like to admit it, but when he saw you, he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm himself down.
Picking at your nails, you're very quiet on the ride over there. So quiet that it worries John. "You okay in there, sweetheart?", he asks softly, grabbing your hand that's resting on your lap and bringing it to his lips.
You look at him and smile. "Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"We've driven past countless farmfields and not once have you pointed out the cows. What's going on in that head of yours? Tell me, dollface."
You feel the heat creep up your neck. He knows you too well, even now.
"It's just...", you let out a sigh. "What if your mom hates me? Or hates the flowers I picked." Shaking the bouquet in your lap to emphasise your words. "Or what if your siblings think I'm a child? That I'm way too young for you and that you're wasting your time."
John can't help but chuckle. It makes you pout.
"None of that you can control. So what if my mom hates the colour of them? Or what my siblings think of you? The only thing that matters is you being yourself. And if you'll just be yourself, they'll love you just as much as I do."
With wide eyes, you look at him because of his confession. "What?", you whisper.
John stops the car in front of a house and turns towards you. "I love you. And I'm not afraid to say it. And if you don't feel the same right now, that's okay. But I want to be clear about my feelings for you and that I'm very serious about them—"
"John", you interrupt him. He looks at you with wide eyes with a slightly scared look in them. "Just kiss me."
He leans over the middle console and cups your cheeks. You hum against his lips and close your eyes. John pulls you closer as your hand slides to the back of his neck, lacing your fingers in the hair at the back of his head.
A sudden knock on John's window makes you pull away scared, looking over his shoulder at the person. A man and a woman lean on the car with teasing grins on their faces.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I'm never going to hear the end of this...", groans John as he closes his eyes.
You quickly scramble out of the car as you fix your hair and outfit. John reluctantly climbs out of the car and glares at the two. "Don't you two muppets have anything better to do?"
"And miss out on you absolutely swallowing up her face like a schoolboy?"
Mortified, you turn around and hide your face in your hands. Can the ground swallow you up like right now? Oh, how horrible!
You hear John grumble something, a laugh, and footsteps rounding the car towards you. When you look up, you see the woman standing before you with a kind smile and her hand stretched towards you.
"I'm Laura, John's sister. It's nice to finally meet you. That doofus over there is Tom. The baby of the family."
You smile awkwardly and introduce yourself, even though her smile says she already knows your name. "Nice to meet you too. And you." You also give Tom a hand and go to stand next to John, using him as a physical shield.
"Mum's anxiously waiting for your arrival. Shall we go?" Tom smiles and marches up the garden path towards the back gate of a two-story cottage with white bricks and dark shingles. Laura follows him, sending you a wink.
John mumbles a curse under his breath while grabbing your hand and leading you down the same path. "Don't listen to them. They like to... poke the bear with a stick. Younger sibling privileges, they call it."
"You weren't the oldest, right?", you question, remembering something about three siblings.
"There's also Kiran. He's inside somewhere with his kids."
John brings you around the house and holds the gate open for you. Behind the house is a patio with a seating area and a dining table. At the back of the garden is a small pond and a little waterfall, giving the garden a relaxing ambience.
A bunch of kids run around, kicking a ball, but stop as soon as they see John and you enter the garden. "Uncle John!", they scream and run towards him, tackling him towards the ground.
The door towards the kitchen swings open and out comes a middle-aged woman with a wide smile. She completely passes by John, buried under the children, and embraces you happily as she calls out your name.
"So very nice to finally meet you! Oh, look at you, you're as pretty as John said."
You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as John's mother fusses about. You look at John over your shoulder, who has finally managed to wrestle the kids off him. His ears are as flushed as your cheeks feel. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, something he does when he is nervous.
John's mother excitedly brings you inside, introducing herself as Margareth. She gushes about the flowers and takes them from your hands, declaring she needs to put them in a vase immediately.
You feel a warm hand at your lower back as you stand awkwardly in the dining room. Looking over your shoulder, John smiles reassuringly towards you before leading you further into the dragon's den.
He leads you towards the living room, where you can hear multiple voices talking over each other eagerly. The radio in the background plays some seventies song while a handful of children play in the corner with vintage wooden toys.
Laura passes you from behind, the flowers you gave neatly arranged into a clear vase as she places them in the centre of the coffee table.
The action seems to pull some family members from their conversations towards John and you.
A man who looks like an older version of John raises with a groan from a comfy-looking chair, and he gives you a smile you've seen so much on John's face. His father. "It's so very nice to meet you. John was very excited when he told you that you were coming with. We all are". He winks before giving you a warm hug. "Christofer is the name."
You introduce yourself — even though you can bet he already knows it. It leads to you introducing yourself to the others in the room.
At first, there is Laura and her husband Cian. Their children, Corey and Reuben, were the ones outside tackling John with their cousins, Dylan and Maude. Which are the twins of Kiran and Lydia. There is also Dakota, Laura's toddler, who happily sits on her father's lap. Tom and his partner, Marshall, are the last to greet you warmly.
You're feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the people and children giving you so much attention. John seems to notice and takes your hand. "I'm going to show her around", he says to his father before pulling you away towards the stairs.
He leads you into a bedroom. Which is a feast for your eyes. It's a neatly kept teen boy's bedroom, with posters, soccer trophies and knick-knacks. It's so undeniably John's room.
But the poster of Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch era makes you laugh. It brings a bright pink hue to his cheeks as John steers you away from it. "Don't... Just don't", he grumbles as he wraps his arms around you.
You smile up at him. "I get it. Pam's such a babe." Reaching up, you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Even though I was more of a Zac Efron kinda girly."
That makes John raise his eyebrows. "Who?"
Reeling your head back, you look at him incredulously. "You're kidding, right? Zac Efron? He was in the new Baywatch movie. Hairspray? High School Musical? Come on, you do know... The Disney Channel original movie franchise High School Musical?!"
"When did that come out?"
You shrug. "Don't know. 2006 or something?"
A smile grows on his face. "You know I was 15 in 2006, right?"
With pursed lips, you grimace teasingly. "I forget how old you are sometimes..."
Your comment makes John guffaw, and he grabs you by your middle and throws you on his childhood bed. He cages you between himself and the mattress with one arm while the other tickles your side.
You squeal and laugh, trying to push him away. Once he finally relents, you're both out of breath. He looks at you with such love-filled eyes that it makes you squirm in a good way.
He sighs deeply and drops his head to the crook of your neck. "If we weren't in my childhood bedroom and my family wasn't downstairs..."
You run a hand through his hair. "What then?", you tease, biting your bottom lip.
John raises his head and cups your face. "I could show you how much this old man loves you."
"You can still do that", you whisper before lifting yourself up a bit and pressing your lips against him.
At first, it's soft and still a bit searching. But when you clutch his shoulders, and he reaches behind to press your body closer to his, you let out a soft moan. That makes John groan before he pulls away, peppering small kisses from the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, and in your neck.
Just as you tilt your head to the side to give John more room to explore, a sharp knock on the door ruins the moment.
"Quit being horney teenagers and come down. Mom made her charcuterie board and she's very proud of it." Laura's voice has a teasing lilt to it before you hear her walk away.
John grumbles as he gets off the bed and helps you up. You catch a glimpse of the two of you in a mirror and gasp. You look so... rumpled.
You quickly fix your hair and makeup before doing the same to John, rubbing your lipstick from his lips and cheeks. Once you look a lot more presentable, you exit the room.
You can't believe you just did that on John's childhood bed...
When you enter the living room, you're pulled towards the sofa by Tom. He excitedly asks you about you and your life, the whole family listening. John drops into the seat next to you and hands you a glass with your favourite drink. Something the way his mother smiles proudly tells you that John told his parents that you like it and to get it for you.
The afternoon goes by swimmingly. John's family really seems to like and (and you them!). Even little Dakota climbed into your lap and asked you all sorts of adorable questions. Your enthusiasm in answering them made the Price family exchange gleeful glances — also a couple of smug ones aimed at John.
As the day winds down, an unexpected guest waltzes into the living room.
"Hello, family!", calls out a high-pitched voice. A woman with fiery-red hair and a dress that's a tad too tight and short enters the room like she owns the place.
Marshall and Tom, next to you, groan, and John stiffens. His arm, which was previously lying relaxed on the backrest behind you tenses, unconsciously gripping your shoulder a bit tighter.
Margareth rises from her chair, a tight smile on her face. "Lexie. What a... surprise. How are you dear?"
Wait... Lexie? That can't be the Lexie.
You glance at John, who looks very uncomfortable. But one look from him confirms your suspicions. That's John's ex-wife.
"What is she doing here?", whispers Lydia to Laura and Tom, who both shrug.
You watch her interact with Margareth. She acts with a familiarity that isn't well-received by the reactions of the family members around you.
"Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood, and I saw John's car, so I thought, why not drop by and say 'hi'." The fakeness drips from her voice, and it makes you frown.
But then she brings her attention towards you. "Oh! I didn't even see you there!" She walks towards you so she's towering over you as you're still seated on the couch. "You must be John's new partner."
You can practically taste the superiority dripping off of her. Not one to be messed with, you stand up with a wide smile and hug her enthusiastically. "Oh my god, it's so nice to meet you! You must be John's ex."
"Wife", she corrects you. "Ex-wife."
"Well, an ex is still an ex, wife or not. John hadn't mentioned you were still so close with your ex-in-laws." With a wide smile, you cock your head to the side. If she can be bitchy, so can you.
It makes her smile falter just a bit. She stutters out her response. "I-I... we're not. But as I said, I was in the area."
You can hear a couple of snickers from behind you. Lexie's cheeks flush in embarrassment, and she glances around.
"Let me walk you out", says Margareth to Lexie, "we were just ending the day."
"We were?", questions Christoffer, who's mid-bite of a handful of crisps. But a look from Margareth makes him swallow quickly. "Yes, we are! Children, come give Granny and Grampy a kiss goodbye!"
As Margareth passes by you, she sends you a wink before practically shoving Lexie out of the door.
Once the living room is quiet and everybody's eyes are on you, the mortification sets in. "Why did I do that?" you whisper-yell to yourself as you drop back onto the couch.
"Balls of steel", nods Kiran approvingly.
You do not dare to look at John, afraid of what he will say or do. Because you know you just fucked it up. Majorly.
Laura stands up and starts to clean, you quickly do the same and begin to carry back empty bowls towards the kitchen.
"I'm so sorry", you whisper once you're alone with her in the kitchen. "I don't know what came over me."
Laura gives you a look that you can only explain as motherly. "Has John told you why he and Lexie divorced?"
"He said that they had a short marriage, and I could notice that something had happened but I didn't want to pry."
She sighs, busying herself with the dishes. "John was still on active duty when they married. He was away a lot, and for some reason, they decided to marry. Probably tax benefits or something. I believe he actually loved her at that time and was scared that if he died, she would get nothing.
"Apparently... she couldn't handle that John was away so much, so she started to cheat on him. With multiple men. He kept it all to himself while going through the divorce. Mum's a very 'you marry you stay together' type of person. It was not after John told Kiran the reason that we all finally knew. Mum felt awful afterwards."
Holy shit. That explains a lot. Now you feel less bad about how you acted.
"You're the first person he brought back home after everything to introduce to us. So I think you have nothing to worry about." She smiles at you, but it doesn't really reach her eyes.
A figure in the corner of your eyes catches your attention. Through the kitchen window, you see John standing outside, his hands on top of his head.
Sending a shy smile towards Laura, you exit the house and walk towards John. Hesitantly, you stand next to him and look at him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that... I've—"
You don't get the chance to finish your sentence as John has grabbed your face and smashed his lips against yours. He breathes through his nose as he pulls you impossibly close to him.
"That... was the hottest thing I've ever seen", he mumbles against your lips. It makes you giggle.
"So I don't need to apologise?"
John pulls back and strokes your lips with his thumb. "No. I should apologise instead. If I had told you about how it ended, you would have been prepared. But I've never imagined..." He sighs deeply.
A smile forms on your face. "I understand, John. It's not an easy thing to tell."
The look in John's eyes makes you melt on the spot. His big eyes are so filled with love that it gives you the warm fuzzies.
"Please stay the night." You glance back at the house. He understands what you're implying and laughs. "No. At my place. I can't imagine going to sleep tonight except with you in my arms. Please humour an old soldier."
You laugh and nod. "So now you are old?"
"When it suits the situation", he shrugs playfully.
Pretending to think about it while John presses pecks to your jaw. You hum before nodding. "Yeah, I would love to. But could we stop by my place first? I would like to get some night necessities first."
"You could borrow a shirt of mine," he mumbles, his lips still against your skin.
"Underwear, John. I need clean underwear for tonight and tomorrow."
He pulls back and narrows his eyes teasingly for a moment. "Fine, but only because of your balls of steel." He mimics Kiran's words and you feel your cheeks flush.
"Please don't remind me. I know it will haunt me for the rest of my existence."
Tyler Galpin x Oldest Addams sibling!Reader x Obsessed!Isaac Night
Songs that inspired me:
Keep Your Eyes Peeled — ULTRA SUNN
Me and the Devil — Soap&Skin
CHIHIRO — Billie Eilish
[Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]
It's around an hour before midnight when you get dragged out of the cottage. You stumble over your feet as you struggle against Tyler's hold on your bound hands.
"Let go of me!" You try to yank your hands out of his grasp, but that only earns a growl from him.
Short before you were so graciously dragged away from the cabin, Isaac whispered something in Tyler's ear, which made the latter bristle in anger. He's been on edge ever since.
Tyler doesn't stop walking until reaching a familiar-looking tree. The Skull Tree. Oh, how poetic. He produces a set of chains from somewhere and starts to tie you to the tree. You struggle every second of it, trying to make it harder for him to lock the chains.
You even try to zap him, but it ends up biting you in the ass. The spark misses Tyler and instead hits the chain. You let out a pained groan as the electricity finds its way to the ground through your body.
Looking satisfied, he crouches down and holds your face. "Now... stay put and scream for help."
It makes you frown. What could he possibly mean by that? But you soon find out because Tyler starts to walk away, leaving you alone in the forest.
"Tyler?! Come back! You asshole, don't leave me here!" You struggle against the chains. It results in them digging into your skin further. Your shackles have started to break your skin, making it bleed.
For the first time, you actually feel helpless. And when a branch snaps somewhere to the side, you whimper. Who knows what's lurking in these woods.
As the full moon casts the forest around you in a pale blue hue, you see something moving between the trees. "Who's there?!", you call out.
But before you get a reaction, Isaac appears from somewhere with Pugsley dragged behind him. You call out your brother's name and begin struggling again.
Isaac snaps his attention towards you. He crouches down and tuts. "Why don't you sit still and enjoy the show, my love? I'm sure you'll find it delightful." The wicked smile on his face chills you to your core.
Suddenly, Wednesday appears out of the bushes and Isaac straightens up. Pugsley's speech is muffled by a gag as he spots his sister, and he gets pulled back by the collar around his neck.
"Well... looks like all the Addams siblings are here, how touching. Tyler warned me you were formidable. And now I've witnessed the havoc you can wreak."
Wednesday's eyes flicker towards you before boring her icy stare into Isaac. "Give me my siblings, crawl back into your hole, and stay dead this time. I know what you did to my father."
"Yet I'm the one who died. Thanks to him and your dear mother."
You look rapidly between the two. What did he do to your Papa? What happened? How did he actually die? What does it have to do with your Mama? So many questions rapid-fire through your brain, and you also imagine in Pugsley's.
"Why don't you let your brother pay for their mistakes, I'll take your sister, and we'll call it even?" Isaac gives you an almost satisfactory look before focusing back on Wednesday.
"Don't listen to him! He'll kill us all in the end!" You struggle against the chain and whimper as they dig painfully into your skin.
But Wednesday keeps her unchanging, blank expression on her face. She's unimpressed with his words. "You don't have the machine. Both Willow Hill and Iago Tower have been destroyed. It would take months to rebuild. By the time that you did, it would be too late to save your sister."
At that moment, an arrow is shot from somewhere straight at Isaac's head. Instead, he holds up one of his gloved hands, and it pierces right through it. You let out a scream and close your eyes. You expect to hear him yell out in pain. Speaking from experience.
Instead, he lets out a laugh. He flaunts the pierced glave smugly. "I... I applaud your effort. You keep me talking while your faithful right hand takes his shot."
You follow his gaze and see Thing perched in a tree, his grasp on a crossbow. Ah. Of course. You should know that Wednesday had more of a plan than come here and fistfight Isaac or something.
Tyler appears from behind Thing and grabs him, stuffing him into a clear box. You can't help but watch helplessly as Tyler brings Thing over towards Isaac.
"Except he has never been yours-", Isaac turns towards you, "He's mine. Turns out your parents didn't kill all of me that night." He tugs off the clove. Out falls dirt and it reveals a stump. It eerily matches the way Thing's top.
You meet Pugsley and Wednesday's eyes. Both look as shocked as you are in their own way. I guess the three of you never really wondered where the rest of Thing was all this time.
"Imagine my surprise when I saw my right hand wandering the halls of Willow Hill without me. And a DaVinci... is nothing without his right hand."
He suddenly lunges towards you, surprising you. He gets out of the chains and holds you tightly by your hair. "Your mother cut it off. Causing my machine to go out of control and explode. The power surge must have animated my hand. And now you, my love, are going to return it to me."
Wednesday surges towards the four of you and Tyler grabs a hold of her by her throat. He juggles both your siblings while Isaac grabs Thing. Thing wiggles in his grasp, but Isaac is too strong. He brings the hand to his wrist and a needle and thread float out of his pocket. "Now... SOW", he roars at you.
Shaking like a leaf, your eyes fill with tears. Is this how it feels to lose someone beloved?
With another tug at your hair, you whimper and grab the floating needle with quivering fingers. He lets go if you so you can take hold of his wrist.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry", you whisper to Thing as you pierce his skin with the needle. Your siblings watch in horror as you rob Thing of his individuality. But truly? You know you have no choice in this situation. To get out alive, you have to play along.
As you finally tie the ends of he string together, tears roll over your cheeks.
Isaac holds Thing his hand out in front of his face, flexing and turning it. A smirk grows on his face. "Now I am complete."
Wednesday breaks out of Tyler's hold — as he was very distracted, looking disgusted at his uncle. But before she can attack Isaac, he holds up his right hand. She gets lifted off the ground by an invisible force, petrified.
Like it's child's play to him now he is has his full power back. He floats her over towards the Skull Tree, where a hole in the ground has opened up. A grave.
"No!", you call out, clawing at Isaac's arm, trying to break his concentration. But with a flick of his other wrist, you're lifted up from the ground and thrown towards a tree.
"What did I tell you about obedience?!", he growls while you whine as pain shoots up your spine.
Isaac focuses back on Wednesday, who he has twisted cruelly above the grave. "The Addams family ends tonight. Starting with you." And with that, he drops her into the grave.
"Wednesday!", both you and Pugsley call out. Pugsley struggles in Tyler's hold, doing his best to get out, but he is no match for the elder boy's strength.
You dig your fingers into the dirt, trying to drag your body towards where she is currently buried alive. Tree roots wrap around her body before the dirt pile next to the hole begins to move and cover her.
You cry out, but you know it has no use. Isaac said so himself, you all die tonight.
With a wide, satisfied smile on his lips, Isaac turns towards Tyler and your brother. "We have an appointment at Iago Tower. Your pathetic little life will finally have a purpose. And you..." He lifts his hand and pulls your body towards him, dragging you over the forest floor. "Shall finally be mine. Released from the curse that is your family."
A whimper escapes your lips as he grabs your face with both his hands and places a kiss on your lips. With wide eyes, you look to the side, and yours meet Pugsley's scared ones. Flickering your gaze towards Tyler, a chill runs down your spine. He looks like he's ready to murder. It makes your heart beat in your throat.
With a satisfied huff, Isaac parts from you. He holds your face for a moment longer before he grabs your hand, laying his fingers between yours. "Let's go", he whispers, pulling you with him and letting Tyler and Pugsley follow after the two of you.
The four of you pass through a graveyard, where you meet Françoise. Isaac gleefully shows his newly attached hand towards her and the two of them laugh and hug each other. It makes you feel sick at what you've just witnessed and endured.
The elevator at Iago Tower strains under the weight of the five of you. You've never dared to venture into the tower. There were always rumours of it being haunted. And by the looks of it, it could be true.
It's a mess inside. Dusty and dirty. Broken glass and metal lie around. You can still see the remnants of the explosion that took Isaac's life.
He's the first to stalk out of the elevator. "It's all still here", he says, amazed. Because yeah... that his stuff is still here after 30 years is a wonder.
"How are we gonna put this junk back together?", Tyler asks as he looks at the state of the place.
Isaac looks back at the three of you. "We're not. I am."
With a flick of his wrist, a gramophone begins to play a song that you can't describe as anything other than evil scientist Dr Frankenstein. He conducts the restoration of his lab like he's leading an orchestra.
Cabinets fly to their place, coils fly to the roof by themselves, and other parts that you don't recognise straighten. It would actually be a sight to behold if you weren't in your current situation.
Isaac's a bit out of breath when he is finished. But he looks satisfied with what he has accomplished. "Shall we begin?", he asks to no one in particular, sticking his hand up in the air. The machinery around you comes to life, lights blinking, coils zapping, and dials turning.
That seemed to really drain all the energy out of him. He collapses forward, his hand finding your arm to steady himself. You just barely catch the two of you before he's up again, instructing Tyler to 'secure the power source'.
Tyler shoots you a look before following behind his mother and uncle up a spiralling staircase and strapping Pugsley in some sort of electric chair.
Once you've reached the second floor, your breath hitches. A cross-like medical table stands in the centre. Two coils hang from the ceiling and point towards the table. You watch Tyler struggle to strap in your brother, doing his best to break out of the hold.
But your attention gets snatched away as you yourself get pulled by invisible hands towards Isaac. He stands at a control panel, the colourful lights reflecting on his face.
"I've waited 30 years for this moment. And I won't let you ruin it, my love. So why don't you sit on tight", he drags you towards the railing and locks your cuffs onto it, "and enjoy the show?"
You protest, rattling loudly against the railing. "Let him go, Isaac. He's a child. Take me instead. Just like you said, I'm way more powerful than him."
Isaac leans down, tracing your face. "You really don't get it, do you?"
You want to roll your eyes so badly. But you know you'll lose the last bit of bargaining power you have with Isaac if you do that. Instead, you lean into his touch. "Please", you whisper, looking deeply into his eyes. "You wouldn't want me to go through the same as Françoise, right?"
That makes him hesitate for a moment. His eyes flicker towards his sister, who is already looking at the two of you. "It's time, Isaac", she says urgently with a wild gaze, "Do it now. Now. You promised me."
Her words seem to melt any softness he had on his face like snow before the sun and he straightens up. A sad look flashes over his face as he points his hand towards Tyler and lifts him into the air, dropping him on the medical table. The restraints lock around his arms and feet, keeping him securely in place.
"Wait! What are you doing!" He protests, chest heaving up and down rapidly. "Mom, we're here to save you!"
Françoise rakes her hand through her son's curls. "It's too late for me, sweetie. This is your time now. We can save you from this life, give you a fresh start." She smiles down at him.
But her words seem to only anger Tyler. "No, no, you have no right to take this power from me-" Françoise sushes him, giving Isaac the okay to fire up the machine.
While he presses buttons and flips switches, you watch helplessly as Pugsley squirms in the chair on the other side of the room, the machine already sucking out his electricity.
A bolt of electricity shoots from the coils above you and hits Tyler. He screams out in pain and you can't help but yell out his name, worried. Both Pugsley and Tyler squirm as the shocks fly around. The helmet on your brother's head starts to smoke.
Pulling on your shackles, you do your best to break free. You're almost ready to break your wrists to get out when you suddenly see a familiar head of black pigtails coming from the side, an axe held between her hands.
Wednesday raises the axe as she stands before Tyler. "Kill me", he croaks out in pain.
"No, please don't!", you protest, making Wednesday hesitate for a moment. But she strikes down and cuts one of his hands loose.
"Why?"
Her eyes shoot towards you and she shrugs. "I missed."
It pulls the attention of Isaac, who is looking over the rails at Françoise. While Wednesday quickly moves towards removing the energy-sucking helmet from Pugsley before it's too late, Tyler flips around on the table and Hydes out.
You watch how his bones snap and pop and how his face morphs into that of a Hyde. His eyes lock on yours and he surches forwards.
"Tyler, no!", calls out Isaac as you scream, closing your eyes and waiting for the pain.
Instead, with one swoop of his claws, your shackles break and your arms drop next to you on the ground. Tyler turns around and grabs Isaac by his middle, picking him up and throwing him far away from you.
You look at him with scared, wide eyes, slowly inching away from him. But he doesn't move, only watches you before jumping down where Isaac lies, knocked out from his fall.
While Françoise tries to calm Tyler down, you crawl towards Pugsley and take his face in your hands. "Oh my gods. I am so sorry. Please tell me you're fine." Your brother nods and hugs you tightly.
"Tyler... Honey", you hear from downstairs before a growl and an explosion. Witha. scream, you look down the railing and see that Tyler has thrown his mother against the wall and is ready to pounce on Isaac.
But another roar stops him.
Out of the smoke comes Françoise, transformed as Hyde. She's just as monstrous as her son. They begin to fight, throwing each other around.
Using the fight as a distraction, your Mama comes out of the smoke and releases Pugsley from his bindings. Worried, she checks you over before the two of you pull Pugsley towards the exit. Wednesday has taken the axe towards the control panel and started to destroy it.
Françoise pushes Tyler out of a window, and the two of them fall down below, bouncing off the roof before landing on a balcony. Isaac watches them with wide eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he catches white streaked hair move down the stairs and towards the exit. It snaps him out of his daze and he hurries towards his machine, trying to salvage it.
From the trap door below comes your Papa. You let out a relieved sob as he takes both you and Pugsley in his arms. You look around for Wednesday so you all can leave, but you see her approach Isaac with the axe.
He doesn't notice her until she calls out his name. "You have something that belongs to me!"
Before Wednesday can swing down the axe, the machine goes wild and explodes. It blows you from your feet and you hit the ground painfully, just below the window. From outside, you hear a growl. You push yourself up, just in time to see Françoise hanging from the roof before letting herself go, falling towards the ground. Dead in the arms of the werewolf statue.
You want to call out Tyler's name, but your Papa's voice stops you.
"Tish!"
Turning around, you see your Mama lying underneath a large coil. Luckily, her eyes open as soon as the three of them lift it off of her.
You scramble to your feet and see that Isaac slowly stumbles towards them. He holds out his hand and Wednesday stumbles forward, clawing at her neck as he restricts her airflow.
"Because of you, I've lost the only person I truly ever loved. One more STEP! And I snap her neck!" He flexes his hand in demonstration, and Wednesday lets out a soft, struggling noise.
"Isaac, please!", you call out, desperate to save your sister. "Let her go!"
His gaze flickers towards you before going back towards your sister. She claws at the invisible hold he has around her throat.
You close your eyes for a split second, debating mentally if you're really going to do it... And if he's really that obsessed with you as Tyler claims, it will work for sure.
Looking one last time over your shoulder at Tyler below, you let out a shaky breath.
"Let her go a-and... I'll go with you! We leave this miserable town together!" You try to hide the desperation in your voice, slowly inching towards him. "Yeah", you nod as he looks at you, his eyes wild and deranged, heartbreak evident. "Like you said before, Frankenstein and his Bride. We'll go somewhere they won't find us. Won't break us apart. We'll start over and live happily ever after. You want revenge? What better revenge than to take their daughter and leave them with nothing to bury. Knowing she's out there but will never return."
You lay a hand on his outstretched hand, trying to let him listen to reason.
"But we can only do that if you don't kill my sister. No matter how much I want to strangle her too, sometimes. I love her very much. Like you do- did with your sister. And I will never forgive you if you hurt mine."
"But you forgave Tyler." He spits out his nephew's name like it's venom, a curse.
Shaking your head wildly, "I didn't. I hate him for what he did, how he took advantage of her and me. But he doesn't matter. Right now, only you and I matter." You wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly, laying a hand on the back of his head and cradling him against your shoulder. He sighs contentedly and lets go of Wednesday in favour of returning your hug.
Slowly, you turn the two of you around so you're facing your family, your eyes meeting theirs over his shoulder. "You know I love you very much, right?" Tears prickle in your eyes, and one slowly rolls over your cheek.
Your family watches on with horror in their eyes, understanding your words are meant for them. Because there's no way Wednesday was going to get out of Isaac's hold alive. It's the same way in how you're offering up your life right now. Offering up your freedom in favour of theirs.
Isaac releases you from his iron grip and lays both hands on your cheeks, his right hand wiping away your tears. "They are happy tears", you croak out, "Happy that you're finally whole again." Leaning down, you place a soft kiss upon his right attached hand.
His breath hitches, and a blush rises to his pale cheeks. You look up at him through your lashes and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "Let's get out of here."
You pull him towards the metal elevator, and in doing so, you brush past Wednesday's hand. You pray to any and all ancestors and gods above that your thought projection reaches her.
Pulling Isaac into the elevator, you close the gate behind you and press the ground floor button. Cornering Isaac with a shy smile, you lean closer to him, acting like you're going to kiss him.
"Now Wednesday!" You suddenly call out and the elevator stops abruptly. Channelling all your electric energy into your hands, you grab with your left hand the side of the metal cage. With the right, you place it on Isaac's chest, right on top of his mechanical heart. Raw electric energy flows through you into your hands, shocking anything and everything that comes in contact with the cage and you.
Both you and Isaac scream out in pain, the electricity frying both your bodies. But you clamp down, wanting to end it for once and for all. You feel him trying to grab you, pull you off of him. But more skin contact only makes it worse.
Under your hand, you feel his heart speed up, working overdrive before it finally stops. When it does, you finally cease your electricity.
The elevator plummets towards the bottom of the tower and lands there with a loud crash. But you don't feel the pain of the metal construction falling on top of you and Isaac. Your head rolls to the side, limp.
Once your family reach you, Morticia wails out as she sees your lifeless body lying there. She drops to her knees and pulls you to her lap, cradling your face. "Oh my dear child, my darling bat. My brave soul..."
Wednesday can't believe her eyes. She won't accept that you've so carelessly given up your life for her. She glances towards Isaac and sees that a beam has pierced his heart, his empty eyes staring at you, a hand reaching out towards you. Your own hand just out of reach for him.
"Do something!", she yells out, grabbing Pugsley's collar, shaking him. "Be useful for once and do something!"
"Wednesday-", Gomez protests, but the girl doesn't listen to her father.
"Shock her! Restart her heart! Use your powers to save her!"
Shaking, Pugsley nears the body of his sister. He rubs his hands together, firing up his power. He glances at his parents for reassurance, and they nod, holding each other tightly.
Placing both his hands on your heart, he fires a shock through your body. Your body jerks, but nothing happens. Pugsley fires again, and still nothing. He wants to give up, tears dripping down his cheeks onto yours. Three times the charm, he tries one last time, giving his all.
But it doesn't seem to work... Your heart still doesn't beat.
Pugsley falls back as Morticia cries out, pure heartbreak in her sobs. Gomez gets down on his knees next to his wife, holding her hands and mourning over the death of his eldest child.
But then, suddenly, your eyes shoot open. An electric crackle like lightning shoots through the air and you sit upright. Your chest heaves violently, and a scream escaped your mouth.
Before you have time to process, Pugsley flings himself at you and hugs you tightly, his tears wetting your shoulder.
You're dazed and confused, the last couple of minutes fuzzy. You recall calming Isaac down... Going to the elevator... And then...
You whip your head around, towards Isaac. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact with two lifeless ones. It actually scares you so much that a sudden zap escapes your hand, the one right next to his. You jerk your hand back and watch in horror as his right hand twitches and moves on its own.
"Thing?", your father calls out, unsurely. "Is that you? Come back to us, old friend."
Thing lifts himself up, shaky in his stance. He walks towards you and pulls hard against the stitches that bind him to Isaac's body. They finally rip apart. He stumbles over to you and when he is in reach, you grab him and press him close to you, sobbing.
"I'm so sorry, Thing! I didn't want to do it! But he made me! I love you soo much!"
Your Papa and Mama crouch down, happy to take Thing in their embrace.
Wednesday helps you up and you smile towards her. You swear you see her lips twitch, but you don't dare to mention it.
"Let's go", you huff, "I'm really sick of the look of this tower."
It's been a day or two since… everything. You've finally been cleared by the hospital to leave, worried that your heart would give out. Scared to lose you again, your parents wanted to take you home immediately. But after some convincing and promising you'll be back within the hour, they agree to let you roam Jerico on your own (they actually made Thing follow you. He was all too happy to do so).
You pass by the graveyard and see a familiar head of curls standing before two graves, that of his parents.
"Tyler", you whisper out, relieved to see he is still alive.
He flinches, turning around quickly. His eyes fall upon you and his arms drop next to him. The two of you stare at each other awkwardly.
You don't know who moved first, but you move toward each other and you hug him tightly. "Ty", you sob, crawling at his shirt, scared he will be dragged away again.
Because after everything that happened, after you died, you realise that you still have feelings for him. That they never disappeared despite everything that he did.
"I'm so sorry about your mother." You lay a hand on his cheek, sorrow on your face.
He hesitates for a moment. Like he's at war about everything inside. But then he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.
"I'm sorry about your bro-", he says while he opens his eyes, but stops. "Your hair." He runs a hand through your now stark white hair. Worry fills his eyes.
You swallow, casting your eyes downwards. "When I electrocuted Isaac… and when Pugsley restarted my heart… The doctors think it's because of all the stress my body endured in a short time. But they're not certain. I'm not sure how to feel about it yet…"
"You're beautiful", he says almost immediately. "Always have been. And still are."
You blink up at him. The two of you stand like that for a while.
"What's… What are you gonna do now?"
Tyler looks at the two graves. "Nothing ties me to Jericho anymore. I'm not too sure what to do now."
Hesitating, you bite your bottom lip. "You could always come back with me?" You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. "I'm sure I could convince my Mama and Papa to let you stay with us."
His gaze zooms around your face, an unreadable look on his. You think you've blown it, until he leans in and presses his lips on yours. It's not as forceful a kiss as in the Hyde-out, but at the same time, it's not like how he used to kiss you before.
Letting out a soft whimper, you reciprocate it and take hold of his shoulders to steady yourself. His hands find your waist and push your body against his. You mould together, clawing at each other.
Once you break the kiss to breathe, he presses his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry for everything I've done. The killing. The stuff with your sister. Everything with my mom and Isaac."
You shrug. "Let's just say it'll be a funny story we'll tell to our children."
That makes him laugh. "So you've thought about our future children?"
It lightens the mood and you nod. "Of course. Haven't you?"
"After our first date, I already imagined you in a wedding dress."
The confession makes your cheeks heat up. Tyler laughs and pecks them. "Are you really sure your family won't mind me coming with you? Not even Wednesday?"
You look up at him. "Wednesday spared your life for me. I'm sure I could ask one more thing."
The two of you lace your hands together and you pull him with you, towards where your parents are waiting for you to return.
And yes, they agreed to let Tyler stay with you. And yes, Wednesday wasn't happy with him and even tried to kill him a couple of times (missing on purpose every time). And yes, the two of you eventually got married and had three children. And yes, you told the story to them of how sometimes, love makes people do crazy shit.
A/n: Does the end feel a little rushed? I hope not... I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THE STORY. See you next time!
Tyler Galpin x Oldest Addams sibling!Reader x Obsessed!Isaac Night
Songs that inspired me:
Tear You Apart — She Wants Revenge
Want To Love - Just Raw — Aloboi
[Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]
You wonder if your family has noticed that you're gone by now. If they're searching for you like you helped Pugsley search for his zombie. Or maybe they don't notice. Wednesday's surely too busy with her own stuff. She's probably glad you're no longer bothering with her investigation anymore.
Your three kidnappers disappeared for most of the day. Tyler managed to convince his mother and uncle to release you from your shackles. Vowing for your obedience to not leave and promising to hunt you down himself if you did run. And when they returned, you sat curled up on a chair, a book you found lying around in your lap.
Isaac looks better, more alive. You shudder at the thought of what he had done to achieve this. A vile thought flashes through your brain that makes you frown. He is handsome. You're rationalising the thought by filing him in the same category of hot that young Stalin is. Or some serial killers.
Tyler, however, looks way worse. He stumbled into the Hyde-out and you caught him just in time before he collapsed. "What have you done with him?!"
Françoise helps you lead him towards his bed while Isaac lingers close to you. When you turn, you bump into Isaac's chest. He takes hold of you and pulls you towards him. You freeze in his embrace, eyes wide, not knowing what to do. You just hope this moment ends soon.
"We're going on a little outing tonight. A date." He traces your cheek and smiles. "A masquerade gala."
You frown. "My mother's?"
Cupping your cheeks, he smiles widely. "Smart girl!" Isaac places a kiss on your forehead. "And we've gotten the prettiest dress for the prettiest girl, right Françoise?"
He turns towards his sister, who nods enthusiastically. From behind her, she grabs a bag and pulls something out of it. A red and black Rococo-style dress. "It matches mine", he smiles proudly, holding a suit up in front of him. Two identical masks hang around the necks of the dress and suit.
It sends a shiver down your spine. You glance at Tyler, who is still passed out cold.
"Why don't you try it on?" Françoise pushes the dress into your arms and guides you towards the bathroom.
Sighing, you slowly remove your clothing and start to put on the many layers of the dress. Until you try to tighten the corset yourself. You know you can, but you just do not know how. You struggle for a couple of moments until you sigh in defeat.
Peeking your head out of the bathroom, you search around for Françoise. But the only person you see is Tyler, who has woken up.
"Are you okay?", he asks as he slowly scrambles up from his bed, sweat on his brow.
You suck in a breath, biting your bottom lip. "Ye-yeah. Do you know where your mom is?"
Tyler cocks his head to the side like a curious dog. "She went to lie down as she wasn't feeling too well. Why? What's wrong?"
A deep sigh leaves your lips. Fine... "Would you mind helping me? I can't get the corset to lace up tight enough on my own." You open up the door wide so he sees what you mean.
His breath hitches as he sees you in the dress. You are a vision straight from his fantasies. Nodding dazed, he watches you turn around, exposing your back towards him. You watch him through the mirror. A dark glint that you can't quite place fills his eyes.
Tyler traces a finger down your spine, making you shudder. He grabs hold of the two laces and twists them around his hands, holding them tightly in his fists.
He yanks strongly on the satin laces. A gasp leaves your lips- it almost sounds like a stifled moan. It makes the two of you freeze. Until Tyler pulls again. Biting on your tongue, you let out a whine. The tug has so much force that you stumble backwards and into his chest.
Tyler grabs your throat and makes you watch the two of you in the mirror. He runs his nose up and now your neck, breathing in your scent. His other arm wraps around your middle and cages you against him.
Your chest tightens, already constricted by how tight Tyler tied your corset, but also by the intimacy of it all. You close your eyes and your brain pretends that you're in Tyler's room at the Galpin's house. You pretend that everything is fine, that you're not locked into an underground bunker with a bunch of psychos- Tyler sadly a part of them.
"He's obsessed with you", growls Tyler as he bites the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. It's hard enough to leave a mark, but not that your skin's broken or bruised. "You should hear how he talks about you sometimes. I bet if you ask him to do anything, he would actually do it... It disgusts me. Because you're mine, aren't you?"
You swallow a lump in your throat. You know who he's talking about, and it scares you. His statement also scares you. A dangerous look flashes over his face when you don't answer immediately. His hold on your neck tightens. "Aren't you?"
"You can't... You can't own someone, Tyler."
That little defiance makes him laugh. It's dark and vibrates through his chest. He turns you around so you're facing him and he cages you between his arms and the sink behind you. "I forget how naive you are sometimes", he laughs and forces a kiss upon you, before pushing away and sauntering out of the bathroom.
You desperately try to stop the quiver that consumes your entire body. Pushing your hair behind your ears, your shaking hands do their best to fix your hair. But the bruising feeling of Tyler's lips against yours keeps haunting you.
Even long after, when Isaac knocks on the bathroom door, demanding you get out and show him the masterpiece you've become. After tightening the mask behind your head, you slowly open the door and reveal yourself.
The red and black of his coat complements your dress, and his hair is combed back. A wide smile grows on Isaac's face as he makes you twirl around by a twist of his hand. You almost stumble but he catches you, and you scramble out of his hold just as quick.
"Shall we go then?" Isaac lays a hand on your back and guides you towards the metal doors.
You look over your shoulder and catch Tyler's eyes. He looks like he's ready to murder Isaac.
The way towards Nevermore is tense. This is the first time you're truly alone with Isaac. Him as Slurp doesn't count. Sure, he was dangerous then, but not like right now. Then he was driven by animalistic instincts.
Now he is driven by pure determination and revenge.
Just before you sneak into the school, Isaac grabs the back of your neck and forces you to look at him. "I expect you to be on your best behaviour. Do you understand?"
You feel his fingers press into your spine and you nod, a pained whimper leaving your lips. That seems to satisfy him. He wraps an arm around your middle and leads you into the party hall.
It's truly amazing how decadent the gala is that your mother has managed to throw together. She really deserves her praise.
As Isaac wants to pull you towards a perch overlooking the courtyard, you stop. Maybe this is your chance to get the attention from your family.
"I- Are we really not going to dance?", you ask, thinking quickly as to how you're going to get the two of you anywhere near your family. "It's a waste of the occasion." You lay on your charm thickly, playing wth the lapels of his suit jacket.
Isaac wants to protest. But he gives you the same kind of condescending smile you would give a child as he nods. "You are right, my love." He holds his arm out for you to wrap your hands around and the two of you enter the main hall.
In the middle of it all is a small space where a handful of couples are dancing a waltz. Isaac leads you towards it, taking your hand and leading the dance.
Your eyes scan around until you spot your parents and Pugsley, entering the party. Pugsley shuffles sadly behind your Mama and Papa. It worries you. Focusing back towards Isaac, you give him a smile. One that you hope comes across as genuine.
The ends of his lips seem to be turning upwards. "I didn't know you could also smile", you tease, trying to lighten the mood.
That earns you an eyeroll from Isaac, but he can't suppress the way his smile makes its way on his face.
"Are you satisfied now?", he questions once the dance has finished, and you nod.
"Yes. Thank you, Isaac. I really enjoyed that." You look shyly down and look at him through your lashes. He brings your gaze back upwards with a push of his gloved knuckles.
Here in the middle of the dancefloor, with the lights circling around both of you, you have him exactly where you want him to be. You want him to believe that he chipped away your defiance with a pretty dress and a dance. That you're ready to give your all to him. And you know that you have to do one last thing to hammer the nail into the coffin.
Leaning closer, you trace circles around the buttons on his lapel. Isaac bends down slightly, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, playing with his combed back curls.
With a growl, Isaac closes the last bit of distance and crashes his lips on yours. You let out a 'hmpf!', pressing your nails into his shoulders.
Isaac's kiss is anything but soft. It's filled with want, possessiveness, and claim. He wants you to only think of him when you touch your lips. But he also wants to savour the taste of your mouth. He bites your bottom lip, drawing blood and you let out a yelp.
He looks at you with a smirk and licks your blood from his lips. The predatory look makes you shiver.
Leaning closer again, his lips brush against your ear. "We have to keep on schedule. Come, my love."
You're whisked away from the gala before you can make any contact with your family. Your only hope is that Wednesday was creeping around and saw you and Isaac.
Stumbling after Isaac through the forest, you condemn Françoise for the heels she chose for you to wear. The height and chunky sole are a curse as you practically sink away on the soft forest floor.
As you near the Nevermore graveyard, a bunch of moths fly towards the two of you. Isaac waves them nonchalantly away as you look at them, fascinated. You've seen them around the Hyde-out, but you just thought they were just moths hanging around a stuffy place.
But now you notice them swarming around Isaac.
Isaac looks around the graveyard, like he's searching for something- or someone. And as he finds that someone, a wicked smile grows on his lips.
You look over his shoulder and your breath catches in your throat. Out of instinct, you grab Isaac's hand to stop him in his tracks. "He's just a boy, Isaac. Please don't hurt him. You've already got me."
Isaac lays a hand on your cheek and strokes it with his thumb. "You're so cute when you're so... naive." He smiles, and you feel a pit form in your stomach.
Your face falls as he pushes past you. But you can't let Isaac take Pugsley. God knows what he wants to do with him. Because if you get him to run, maybe then he will escape Isaac's grasp. Consequences be damned.
Kicking your shoes off in one swift motion, you turn around and start to run towards Pugsley, who sits alone on cold stone, eating a chocolate bar.
Reaching him, you pull him up by his shoulders. "You need to go", you say, trying to pull him away from his impending doom.
But your idiot little brother doesn't listen. His eyes light up as he sees you, and a wide, happy smile grows on his face. "You're alive! Where were you? Mom and Dad are worried sick about you."
You shake your head. "There's no time to explain. You have to run as far away from here. Or he'll get you."
"Wh-who?!"
From behind you, his voice startles you and dread settles over you. "Hello, old friend."
Isaac appears out of nowhere, and you quickly push Pugsley behind you. But he can't help but let his curiosity win, and looks over your shoulder. "Slurp?", he asks, getting away from behind your protective wall.
"I hate to ask, old friend", Isaac's eyes flicker towards you dangerously. He grabs something out of his pocket and balls it in his fist. "But I need your help." Suddenly, his hand shoots out and he presses a cloth against Pugley's mouth, rendering him unconscious.
You scream out, lunging at Isaac to get him away from your little brother. But in the struggle, you get thrown off him and against a headstone. You hit it with the same spot that's still sore, and you're out cold.
Isaac stands over your unconscious body and tuts. Do you have to make everything so difficult? Why can't you just let him do what is necessary for him to save Françoise?
It is a shame you're sometimes so much like your mother...
Not too far away from the graveyard waits his sister with the car, so he takes you first. He lays you carefully on the backseat, making sure you're comfortable. He then returns for Pugsley and puts him in the trunk.
Françoise gives him a look when he finally gets in himself. "What has happened to her, Isaac?"
He glances over to you and sighs deeply. Used to his silence, Françoise resumes talking as she speeds off. "Well, I'm glad you've changed your mind about using her. Tyler would be heartbroken if she died."
Isaac hums, looking complacent out of the window. "Yes- because of Tyler. Of course..."
When you wake up again, you're not back at the Hyde-out. But at the Galpins' cottage. Tyler used to bring you here when he wanted to escape his dad. It's very remote and hardly anyone passes by. It's the perfect place to hide out in.
Your arms are tied again in shackles. This time to each other and not to the wall. You blink drowsily at the sound of a voice.
"It's not very fun to be tied up like a pet... Is it?"
You stir, head killing you really bad. You see Isaac talking to Pugsley, who he has tied and gagged to a chair. He pulls the gag down and crouches down, pointing towards a plate. "Mystery-meat-sandwich! Your favourite!" He grabs the sandwich and stuffs it into Pugley's mouth. "Conserve your energy. You're gonna need it."
As he stands up, you quickly close your eyes and pretend you're still out cold. Isaac hovers close, brushing hair out of your face in an almost loving way before he walks over towards his sister.
The door behind the couch suddenly bursts open and Tyler storms in. He is in a long brown coat and tattered pants. A still-healing scar is visible through the front of the coat. It makes you want to wince at how much it looks like it should hurt.
"I made Hyde tracks about 20 miles north and dropped Pugsley's costume, then made an anonymous tip. Just like you said." He locks the door behind him before his gaze falls upon you. "What did you do to her?"
Isaac ignores Tyler's question about you. Instead, he swings an arm over his nephew's shoulder. "Good, huh? That keeps the cops off our trail. Now we only need to position the only sibling left on the board."
Françoise lays her hands on Pugley's shoulders, and the boy looks scared between the three of them. His gaze flashes towards you, but you shake your head. You want to take advantage of them thinking you're still asleep.
"Wednesday will know she's getting played."
Isaac moves from clutching Tyler to grabbing hold of Pugsley's shoulder. "Yeah, an Addams... would never sacrifice one of their own. Not even a pawn." He crouches low and gives Pugsley a mean smile.
You see the hurt reflected in your brother's face.
But Isaac continues. "And that emotional weakness will be our checkmate."
The idea of him using your family's closeness makes you sick. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, to not blow your cover. But you want to know their plan. In the hope you can break free and stop it before more Addams fall victim to this family.
"Do you have it ready?", asks Isaac, and Françoise nods enthusiastically. She grabs a black box from behind her, and Isaac opens the lid. Smiles widely and places a kiss on his sister's cheek. "You're amazing."
With a flourish of his coat, Isaac exits the cottage with the box.
Françoise lays a hand on Tyler's arm. "Why don't you take a shower, and I'll fix you a cup of tea?"
Tyler nods and disappears through a door. Françoise hums to herself as she walks towards the kitchen.
You sit upright but groan as a sharp sting squeezes your brain. "Are you okay?", you whisper towards your brother, squeezing your eyes shut. "They didn't hurt you?"
"I could ask you the same." He watches you struggle to stand up and drag your body over to him. With your hands still tied, you try to loosen the collar around his neck. But it won't budge.
It dawns on you that there's no way out of this without a key. And you can bet your life that Isaac has it.
Lowering so you're on eye level with Pugsley, you look deeply into his eyes. "You know I love you, right? That Mama and Papa both love you very much. Even Wednesday in her own weird way. They are tearing everything apart to find us.
"Don't you dare listen to their words. You are not a pawn. You are so important in our family. Always remember that."
Pugsley smiles sadly with tears in his eyes, and you ruffle his hair. At least try to.
Françoise's humming gets louder and you quickly move back to the couch. You close your eyes and focus on her movements.
She sets down two mugs of tea on the table before moving towards you. Sitting down on the edge of the couch, Françoise brushes a soft hand over your face. "Sweetheart, wake up."
You pretend to do so and let out a soft groan, blinking and looking up at her. "Françoise?", you ask innocently.
She smiles kindly at you, but it flickers for a moment. "Isaac told me you were naughty. That you didn't listen to him..." She runs her hand through your hair, but her tugs begin to be more forceful. "You know that means you're back into your shackles."
Frowning, you shake your head. "No, please, Françoise. Please, I promise to be good. I was just trying to protect Pugsley."
With pursed lips, Françoise tuts at you. "I know, sweetheart... But you also promised to be on your best behaviour. And what did we do to deserve such behaviour? We treated you so kindly."
You want to give her peace of mind. That no, they didn't treat you kindly. They've kidnapped you, forced you to sleep on a mattress tied to a wall. Both Tyler and Isaac touched you without your consent. Tyler even kissed you! She wanted to slap you. And above all... they're trying to kill your family.
But, instead, you fake a whimper and nod. "I'm sorry", you whisper.
Françoise gives you a motherly smile. "Good girl. Now... you must be starving. I'll fix you something nice, okay?"
You nod and she's off to the kitchen again. You kinda feel for the woman. She missed so much of being a mother that she forces it on anyone.
You sit up straight on the couch and make eye contact with Pugsley. "You scare me sometimes", he whispers with an amazed smile. You shrug, knowing you'll have to do anything to survive this.
The door to the bathroom opens and out comes Tyler, dressed in a pair of pants and a shirt. He's drying his hair with a towel but stops as soon as he sees you're awake and sitting upright.
He rushes towards you, taking you in his arms and checking your face over. He touches a particular tender spot and you hiss, scrunching up your face, pulling it out of his grasp.
You watch Tyler fuss over you. His lips move, but you don't register them. Because the only thing you can see is the Tyler from before. How he cared about you, made sure you were safe and warm and comfortable.
Oh, how much the Hyde has corrupted your once sweet Tyler.
You snap out of your thoughts and face away from him. "Were the shackles really necessary?"
It makes Tyler frown, and his hand reach out towards yours. "I didn't know..."
"Not on me", you hiss, frowning at him. "Did you need to put a collar on Pugsley?"
Your hostility makes Tyler take a step back from you. The warmth in his eyes has disappeared. It's like the two of you see each other's real side for the first time.
"It'll always be the Addams Family first with you, isn't it?" He dares to act offended and hurt.
It makes you angry. Getting up from the couch, you stand toe-to-toe with him, your chest pressing against his. "If the choice is between a handful of psychopaths and my family? That's not a hard decision to make. It will be my family above everything. Always the Addams Family."
A/n: Welp... tried to put it in two parts... A trilogy it isss. I also don't know where that sudden power came from with Reader. I guess don't fuck with her brother?
Tyler Galpin x Oldest Addams sibling!Reader x Obsessed!Isaac Night
Songs that inspired me:
My strange addiction — Billie Eilish
Angel — Massive Attack
[Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Okay, so like imagine you're the eldest Addams sibling, a year or two older than Wednesday and you're a Sparky like your dad Uncle Fester.
You're already at Nevermore when Wednesday joins you. And it's you who introduces her to Tyler. He's the normie boy that you're totally not crushing on and totally not texting almost every day (against both your parents' wishes). Chief Galpin even once interrupted an... in-depth biology study session. You were definitely not allowed in their house after that.
You genuinely thought you found a nice boy to go steady with. Being the romantic soul, like your mother, you even fantasised about a wedding. Wednesday almost burst a vein in her eye when she accidentally brushed your hand and had her mind flooded with your wishful thinking.
But it all shattered when the monster your sister had been hunting all year turned out to be Tyler. Your heart broke when you found Wednesday and Tyler in the woods, Tyler's Hyde-form showing with his claws around her neck.
"Tyler...", you couldn't help but whimper out, heartbroken, and the Hyde turned around, something akin to fear flickering in his bulbous eyes.
When he tossed Wednesday to the side and approached you, you didn't know if it was to hurt you or not. But then something jumped from the side and attacked him. Scrambling away and dragging Wednesday with you, you hurry towards safety.
After everything with Crackstone, you stood hugging Enid, whispering how brave she was when you saw Tyler being led away in a straitjacket and thrashing violently. But when his eyes met yours, he calmed for a second. His lips formed words that you didn't hear. You turned away so he didn't see your tears.
Going home for the summer was actually a blessing. You've spent most of your time in your room with Thing — who wiped your tears away gladly — or with your brother. Pugsly discovered he had the same powers as you and was very excited.
The two of you frequently sat at the dinner table with your hair fried upright. It happened so much that you've begun noticing some white chunks growing.
At first, you tried to hide it. It made you look like Grandma Frump, and you knew she and your mama didn't have the best of relationships. But your mama, being your mama, she knew you were hiding something, and you pulled down your hoodie, revealing your white streaks.
She hugged your worries away and kissed you on the top of your head.
When the new year at Nevermore finally began, Pugsley joined you and Wednesday. You were far more excited to have all your siblings close to you than Wednesday, but you paid her no mind.
Because of your closeness with Pugsley, you were actually the first one he introduced to his new pet, Slurp. Pretty early on, you realised it was actually the poor boy who died in the Iago tower accident thirty years ago. Prof Orloff once talked about the boy who extended his life before tragically passing early, never dropping his name.
You grimaced as Pugsley forced the zombie to eat honey and caf mystery-meat-sandwiches. As you walked through the forest after another visit to 'Slurp', you suddenly got the idea when you saw a dead dear on the ground. A really weird and disgusting idea...
Grabbing a pair of gloves, one of Wednesday's knives, and a Tupperware container or two, you ventured into the forest in search of dead animals. After a while, you had collected a bunch of mice and squirrel brains, and you returned to the bee shed.
Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and closed it immediately behind you. The zombie turned around from where he was facing the wall and stumbled towards you. Quickly, you pulled out the container and threw the brains towards him. He scrambled towards them like a man starved (which he was) before devouring one after the other.
Once he finished, he looked at you with his one eye, and it seemed like it was a little bit clearer. "Was that okay? I'll try to find more, but I can't promise any of the good stuff." You send the zombie boy a guilty smile before exiting the shed again, almost puking because of the stench and the sheer absurdity of what you just did.
To get your mind off the zombie in the shed, you decided to accompany Wednesday to a visit to Willow Hill. To Tyler. As a good older sister, you couldn't let Wednesday visit that place on her own, so you joined her, much to your sister's dismay.
After signing some paperwork and having a very weird conversation with Miss Spannagel, Dr Fairburn led the two of you towards a heavily secured part of Willow Hill. Once inside, your heart broke. You couldn't help but rush towards the bars, clutching them tightly.
There was Tyler... His hands were in chains towards the wall and a thick strap around his neck. At the sound of your trembling voice calling out his name, his head snapped towards the three of you.
"Am I dreaming or is that really you?", he rasped out, slowly stalking closer.
He looked bad. Grimy and sweaty and dirty and deranged. Not like the boy whom you previously shared kisses with. His eyes were wild, sizing you up before snapping towards Wednesday. With his head cocked to the side, he moves towards you like a predator seeing his prey.
Your feet moved on their own and brought you towards the bars of his cell, clutching the cold metal. You ignored the warning coming from your sister and leaned your head against the bars. "I missed you", you whisper, almost guiltily.
Because it felt so wrong to miss him after all he had done. He killed so many... Even if your sister is all about murderers and homicide, you aren't.
Before you could pull away, a hand grabbed your jaw roughly through the bars and you let out a whimper. A spark escaped from your hands as Tyler's lips crashed upon yours.
Tyler moaned into the kiss, his hand going from your jaw towards your throat. "I like your hair", he whispered against your lips once he finally parted from you.
Not long after, you were pulled away from the bars by a security guard and Tyler let out a guttural scream as electricity coursed through the collar around his neck.
You couldn't help but let out a scream as you saw him fall to the ground and on the verge of Hyde-ing out as the guard dragged you towards the hallway. Tears streamed down your face, a hand clutched over your mouth as you stared at the locked door in front of you.
Hugging yourself, you didn’t wait for your sister to finish up and make the long walk back towards Nevermore. At your dorm, you collapsed into your bed and pulled the covers up to your face.
You heard a bunch of tippy-taps and Thing made his way to you, keeping you company and letting you vent about Tyler and your sister and everything that's on your mind. He suggested to join the camping trip to led out a little steam.
But of course, nothing goes to plan...
Your idiot of a brother actually brought the damned zombie with him to the trip! And he found it weird that the creature escaped and ate a man's brain clean out.
You, Pugsley, and Eugene tried to look for the poor zombie, but your search wasn't very fruitful. Until he started to attack the campers and your father, who was showering. He clumsily swung the axe around until the police were finally able to catch him and drag him away in chains.
The sight felt very familiar to you, and you couldn't help but shudder at the thought.
After the disastrous camping trip, you actually had some free time again — Pugsley and Eugine were in detention and Wednesday had made a new friend that she pulled into her investigation or whatever. You didn't really care.
However, there's news that an incident occurred at Willow Hill, resulting in multiple patients escaping, like Tyler and the zombie. But what worried you more was that Uncle Fester and Wednesday were there. Wednesday even got thrown out of a window!
You spend most of your days at her bedside, caring for her and making sure nothing happens to her. But one day, as you were leaving the hospital, a nurse stopped you and gave you a bouquet of dark, almost black roses. When you asked who they were from, she pointed towards the end of the hallway and you just barely caught a view of Tyler's curls.
Angry and heartbroken, you hurry after him, desperate to catch him. But he was too fast, losing you in the crowd.
Going back home towards the cabin your parents staed in, you collapsed in your papa's arms and explained what was going on with tears in your eyes. He held you tightly and let you cry. Afterwards, he suggested you join him and Pugsley in finding Slurp, your brother still hopeful that the zombie will return to him.
The three of you track endlessly through the forest surrounding the school, but found nothing. Only a crowd that went to Pilgrimworld's Dia de los Muertos festival. Sharing a look, you all agreed to not tell Mama.
The cultural appropriation... was something else. But at least it's fun. Until there was a scream and people fleeing from the haunted house. Pugsley started to run towards it, and you and your papa follow after him, but only you go into the building.
There, you found Pugsley and Slurp Isaac in a conversation, the now half-zombie convincing your brother to let him go. But just as Isaac left, his eyes found yours and it seemed like he hesitated for a moment. Until he showed you a half-smile-half-smirk and left.
It sent chills down your spine that you couldn't explain. So you decided to search for answers with the only person you knew talked about the boy before. Professor Orloff.
So, the next day after classes, you made your way towards Prof Orloff's classroom. The question was almost halfway out of your mouth when you stopped abruptly.
A grotesque slurping sound came from the front of the classroom. There stood a figure bent over Prof Orloff's fishtank. It was cracked open and the water inside turned red.
A scream escaped your lips before you could help it, and the figure looked at you like a deer in headlights. It was Isaac.
You decided to not wait until he made a move. You turned around and sprinted. But a sudden force swept you off your feet and slammed you into the wall. Your head collided hard into the wood panelling and you slumped down. You just barely saw two feet shuffling towards you before you passed out. A mop of black curly hair was the last thing you remembered.
And that's how you end up here... Tied up in metal chackles in the Hyde-out bunker of the Galpins.
Your head feels heavy, your throat like sandpaper. As you reach up to touch the sore spot on your head, the sudden sound of metal makes you hesitate. Old, rusty shackles bolted to the wall are clasped tight around your wrists. Every movement irritates your skin. You hiss.
The sound gets the attention of the people not too far away from you at a sort of breakfast table. Two of which you recognise — Tyler and his mother. He showed her the few pictures he had of her. You remarked then that they had the same eyes. That made the boy smile.
Those two pairs of the same eyes look at you very differently; one curious and the other worried. Tyler whispers your name and wants to rush to you, but his mother's hand on his arm stops him.
Instead, you watch the other person, a man, stalk towards you and lower himself to be on your eye level as you sit tied up on a mattress on the ground.
"You're awake", he smiles and reaches out, brushing hair out of your face. "Did you have a nice nap?"
You narrow your eyes as you try to place his face. You swear you've seen it before. And then it clicks. You did see his face before, but it was less human-like. His skin still sags here and there, but his hair has grown completely back and the open wounds are no more.
"Isaac?"
A wide smile grows on said man's face, and Tyler's mother claps happily in her hands. "Isn't it marvellous!"
Isaac straightens out and you scramble slightly back until your back hits the wall behind you. "Excuse my sister's excitement. It's been... a long time we've seen each other."
Sister? So that means... You furrow your brows and turn towards Tyler. He has slumped down in his chair with an annoyed expression on his face.
"Well", she smiles, rising from her chair and walking towards the kitchen. There is a kitchen? Where on earth are you? "Come join us for Tyler's favourite breakfast."
You tug your knees under your chin and turn your head away, not in the mood to play happy family along with your captors. The gesture's not received well because Tyler's mom storms over towards you and raises her hand. But before she can strike you, two sets of growls vibrate the air.
Both you and the woman turn wide-eyed towards Tyler and Isaac. They both stand ready to pounce; Isaac's hand raised in the air and Tyler's lips curled up in a snarl.
"Now, Françoise, no need for violence." Isaac's voice sounds dangerous- protective. Sickly sweet at the same time. It makes the woman falter in her anger.
You slowly scramble up from the mattress — your legs wobbly and unsteady. You take place at the table and look at the plate stacked with pancakes before you. Anxiously, you scratch the top of your hand, realising you're very much in danger with these people.
Out of instinct, Tyler reaches under the table towards your hand to soothe your nerves. Instead, you snatch your hand back and hiss, "Don't touch me."
He looks heartbroken at your tone and balls his fists.
"Why am I even here? Where the fuck is here?"
Isaac takes the seat next to you and shuffles closer. "You, my dear, are the key to curing my sister. The Hyde gene is taking more and more from her and with your... co-operation she will finally be rid of that plague."
Meeting his eyes, you frown. "And what do you need from my co-operation?"
"Your Spark. Your father tried back then, but from what Tyler told you are quite the powerhouse."
That makes your head snap back towards Tyler. "He did what?" Your fists curl in anger and accidental electricity zaps around them.
A gloved hand grabs your wrists and Isaac studies your hand fascinated. "At first, I wanted to go for Pugsley. As a little payback for the mystery-meat sandwiches. But then, quite brilliantly, Tyler remarked that the only one with a bit of power control was you", he lets go of your wrist and instead holds your jaw, "And how could I forget the one who so kindly helped me. Who fed me actual meals instead of the slop?"
Isaac opens his mouth wide. Out slithers an elongated, black tongue. It swipes a long, wet stripe up your cheek. Almost like a kiss.
You squeeze your eyes closed and contort your face. Please let it end soon. Please let it end soon.
Even Tyler and Françoise were too stunned to speak. They watch their brother and uncle have a satisfied look on his face as he leans closer to you, his lips against your ear. "I will be your Frankenstein, and you will be my bride. You've got the look and powers for it, now only one thing is missing..."
With that, he stands up with a flourish and calls his sister with him, disappearing through a thick metal door. At the slam and sound of a mechanism locking, you let yourself fall out of the chair and drag yourself back towards the mattress you woke up on.
Once you collapse there, you can't help but let out all the pent-up emotion. You start to sob. This is it, this is how you die. At the hands of a maniac who has thought up a weird, obsessive tale about you and him.
A warm hand slides up your back. You want to pull away, scream at him to get lost. But you don't have the energy. So you let him. Let Tyler comfort you and pull you into his arms.
As Tyler rubs soothing circles over your back, he whispers apologies against your temple. That he didn't mean for this to happen, that he only wanted to see you again, hold you in his arms again.
You're too tired to protest or struggle out of his hold. And not soon after, you feel yourself get drowsy. The familiar earthy scent of Tyler lulls you into false comfort. You're passed out cold pretty quickly.
Apparently you've slept for hours, because by the time you wake up, there are two sets of arms wrapped around you; Tyler holds you tightly against his chest, scared you're about to vanish. Behind you lies Isaac, his arm draped over your middle and his face pressed into your back.
The contrast between the two men is jarring. While Tyler is running hot like a furnace, Isaac is as cold as a... as a corpse.
Feeling overwhelmed (and also having a full bladder), you wiggle out of their iron-clad holds and shuffle towards the bathroom — you gather as much of the chains in your arms so you don't make a lot of noise.
Once you've done your business and open the bathroom door, you almost let out a surprised scream as Françoise stands in front of you, her head cocked to the side.
"I can see why my son loves you", she whispers, her voice wavering.
That makes you frown. Looking over towards the boy curled on the mattress, his arms wrapped around himself and his back towards Isaac.
"He looks the same at you as he did at a girl from a cartoon he used to watch on Sunday mornings." A fond smile grows on her face as she calls back the memory. She wraps her arms around her middle and moves towards the kitchen table, sitting so she can watch both men.
You slowly move towards the chair next to her. Eyeing her warily, you lean back.
"I've missed so much of his life", she continues after a while. "How is he? As a person?" Françoise turns her head towards you expectantly.
"He is...", you trail off, not knowing what to say exactly. Does she want the Tyler you knew or this new Tyler? "Tyler's very social. He can talk up anyone like that, you know. That's how we met, actually."
You can't help but smile at the memory. "I used to come study at the Weathervane. Tyler worked there as a barista after school. In no time, he knew my order by heart. He actually tried really hard to make a heart out of foam every time. It looked absolutely horrendous — even a bit phallic at times — but he meant well."
As you ramble on, Françoise looks fondly at you. Oh how happy she is that Tyler found someone like you.
She sees so much of Morticia in you, and it makes her heart ache. Françoise feels bad for the plans Isaac has for you, how he wants to use you like he did to your father.
"Better get back to bed, dear. It's bad to turn your day and night around."
A lump forms in your throat that's hard to swallow as you watch the empty space between Tyler and Isaac. Glancing back at Françoise, you see her smile at you like a mother does at a child she just ordered to do something.
Raising slowly, you make your way back towards the mattress. Dread fills you as you move snail-like between the two men, lying on your back. Like they sensed your presence, both men move towards you and wrap their arms around you, snuggling closer.
This is going to be a very long night...
A/n: I'm still not sure how I'll end this. At first, I wanted to post this as one part, but I'm way too excited to not post this. And this is the first natural break in the story so I though why not post this today? Hope you guys liked it and see you next part!
INCAPABLE OF MAKIN' ALRIGHT DECISIONS, AND HAVIN' BAD IDEAS.
synopsis You’ve heard the tales of the infamous Isaac Night that resides in that ancient, dark house on that ancient, dark hill. The man who exhales terror like tobacco, whose home is unforgiving to its rare guests that seemingly vanish whenever they venture too close. But you were in need of a job, and he in need of a fresh meal.
contains alternate universe. smut. kinda sub!isaac. nevermore not mentioned. normie!reader. mentions of illness. parent death. cursing. cumming in pants / premature ejaculation. maybe dubcon. kinda slow burn. dryhumping. themes of stalking / abuse. choking. heart kink if you squint. typical zombie shenanigans. dark content. kissing with blood (yours and someone he ate lol). boss/employee dynamic. hes lowkey sadistic. virgin!isaac intended. isaac and reader are both freaks.
aria speaks!! for @isaacnights, my dear aleena, who placed the idea of writing an isaac fic into my mind, and who deserves all the credit for inspiring a heart kink!!! i couldn’t not, just look at him!!!! also im a sucker for aus, so enjoy!! also this is loooooooong, lots of buildup so hope you guys like that!!! PS idk if i’ve written isaac a little ooc but i had to get this out of my brain-also considering a p2, feel like a lot has been left unexplored in this one and i feel this may be a little turdish cause i’m sick and sleep deprived but oh well (not rlly proofread)
Your father passed away a month ago. A process that was prolonged, exhaustive, and until the bitter end, tedious. Taken by a mysterious, incurable illness that rotted his body like he was already a corpse. Smothered the light from his eyes slow, like a plant decaying. His form thinned, skin becoming ghostly pale and sinking into his skeleton like a sigh. His hearty laughs faded into gasps for breath, wise mind hushed into a slumber.
Your father passed a month ago. He died three years ago.
You’d made your peace with it long before, watching him wither in that bed tore all the grief your pathetic soul could muster. By the end, you didn’t even consider him the man you once knew—he just became another piece of furniture you’d had to throw out.
When he first contracted his disease, you were thrust into a sealed box of fury, helplessness, and despair. The doctors would come with their briefcases, examine him carefully like they didn’t already know the outcome, and then, with pursed lips, would inform you that he couldn’t be saved. There was just no cure.
Then they’d demanded all the money you had in your pockets.
For a year or so, you’d been desperate. Prayed to God every night, or any divine authority, to save him. To miraculously cure him. It was when he’d only gotten worse that you’d grown bitter, unable to breathe in your father’s direction without bubbling with resentment. For not fighting harder. Leaving you to fend for yourself. Abandoning you, even when he were still alive.
Then, indifference. Cold and dismissive. You cleaned him, fed him, and clothed him. But you’d stopped being his daughter a while ago. You became his carer instead, a nurse. He became your patient.
His funeral was expensive, almost as much as his life was. Old friends visited, whispering their condolences to you as they left, forcing saddened looks onto their face before stuffing themselves with all the chicken they could at the wake. You’d shed a tear for him, just one, but it was one more than you had in a long time.
You were left alone then, in your house. Silent. No machines beeping or humming, no strangled coughs emitting from the room you won’t dare glance at.
Maybe you weren’t as indifferent as you’d hoped.
You were left alone, without your father, and without money.
Jericho was practically barren in that area. You’d applied everywhere, desperately looking your best at interviews and offering your skills in hopes one of them may take a chance on you. Just one. You would’ve blown their fucking socks off if they’d given you just a chance.
Without any past experience and hardly any good education stats (due to your final exams happening simultaneously with the grand kickoff of your father’s condition), you were left with nothing.
For a while, the government issued you benefits for your father—barely enough for the two of you to scrape by every month. Now they’ve ceased too. You felt hopeless, and cornered. You’d tried everything.
Except you hadn’t. Not really.
There was one last place to try your luck, despite your reluctance. There was a reason you’d tried to ignore this job in the past.
Isaac Night. His name was a whisper in the town almost constantly, as if he was an urban legend, mythological—something you’d seriously consider to be true if not for the flyer in the Weathervane.
Maid wanted, live-in, Monday-Saturday, $50/hour.
It was a heck of a deal. You’d be a fool to not try. But you’ve heard things of that house. Past takers have gone and allegedly never been seen again, their faded pictures on ‘Missing’ flyers all over town. Night hasn’t been seen around in almost a decade, not counting the tales the children tell their mothers of seeing him from their windows at midnight. You’d see the house as you walked around the town square, high on that hill like he was silently declaring his superiority over you all. The sight of it gave you chills. Being inside? Living there? You can’t even imagine.
Fifty bucks an hour.
What do you have to lose?
You’ve never felt regret like you do in this moment.
It didn’t take more than two days for the man to get back to your application letter—no interview, no questions, just a simple ‘Monday, 8 AM’. Short, to the point, you can appreciate that, and hey, you’re employed now.
But come Monday morning, you feel a crippling sense of dread wash over you like a monsoon. You can’t take another step. Not yet. Your eyes are fixated on the house before you, old and uncared for bricks that have chipped away, the porch which has become sunken with time and weight, and the door that looks like it knows something you don’t. It’s ominous, and you’ve half a mind to turn back and abort the entire plan.
Instead, you persevere. A step forward. Then another. The gravel cracks under your weight, sounding final and grave. The earth beneath you is greener than you’d expected, the path that you presume was once here overgrown by grass and weeds. Still, stones click beneath your worn boots as you approach the steps in front of the door.
As you crept, you noted more things about the house. Vines crawled up the sides like veins, wrapping around the build as if it wanted to choke it, whilst simultaneously looking like they were keeping the whole structure together, like stitches.
The porch creaked dangerously beneath you. Your eyes darted from the door to the hollow window a little ways beside it, as if the legend himself would be waiting for you. You know he is. Where else would he be?
Then, you’d crossed the Rubicon. Your feet ceased their steps as you settled on a faded mat right by the door. No ‘welcome’ or witty joke on it, just an old piece of fabric that groaned dust once you’d put your weight on it. Like it’s never felt footsteps in years. Maybe it hasn’t.
You raise your hand tentatively, heart rate spiking. They’re just make believe, you assure yourself, swallowing dryly. Nothing to be afraid of.
And with that, you knock.
The reverberating sound itself seems to resound in your soul, like you’ve just made a decision that’ll change fate. You lower your hand and clench your fist tighter, feeling the flesh grow clammy with nerves. You waited a few moments, with nothing but eerie birdsong and your own sharp breathing to accompany you.
Nothing.
You could see the town from up here, more insignificant than it ever felt before. Your eyes glance sideways to the dirt path you’d trekked up to get here. You could go. Forget this entire thing. Let his flyer stay up in the Weathervane, ignored and decaying.
But something roots you to the spot. Like leaving isn’t an option, not even in your imagination. You bite the inside of your lip anxiously, your brain screeching curses as you shakily reach out to the doorknob. You twist, and push. You damn near fall in with the pressure you handled, half expecting it to be locked. Your right foot settles on the wooden planks, old and loud. With a wince, you step in fully, dragging your suitcase with you.
Your eyes never remain in one place for more than a second, gaze flying around the foyer as you examine the details of the house you’d only ever heard tales of. The walls were white, weathered down to the colour of bone with a sickly tint. The staircase is to your right, lined with the same wood you’re standing on, railing splintered like a cracked spine. Along the stairs, paintings line the wall. You’re too far to properly see them.
Ahead of you is a doorway, the inside of the next room so dark it looks like a blot that was forgotten to be filled in. Even with the sun almost fully risen and casting the remnants of its early golden veil through the windows, you couldn’t catch a glimpse. To your left, another doorway—inside, you can see a grand, mahogany piano that looks so dusty it’s almost an insult. You consider taking a step towards that room when a voice, almost silent, pierces the silence in the softest of ways.
“Don’t linger at the door.” Your eyes snap to the arch in the wall, the dark, enticing room ahead now blocked by a figure leaning on the doorway. “I might think you plan on leaving.”
Isaac Night. Your heart skips a beat. This is him. The man that everyone in Jericho fears, the very one who’s name is never whispered thrice in worry that he’ll magically appear and lay waste to the town. The man who lives in that old Victorian farmhouse on the hill that has a room designated for dead bodies that he feasts on when he’s bored, the corpses serving as reminders of past people foolish enough to take this job.
You’re a little underwhelmed.
He doesn’t have sharp teeth or haunting red eyes like the children cry, nor claws or a forked tongue like a snake. He’s just a man. Admittedly, an extremely handsome one. The kind you’d never see casually, both alluring and dangerous in the most mysterious way. He’s tall, very tall, easily over 6 foot. A lean, thin frame that’s pale and sheltered. His face is slim, freckles gracing his chin and cheekbones. A mop of dark, curly hair rests on his head—slightly astray, from what, you’ve no clue. And you can’t really tell from here, but his eyes look equally as dark, enchanting and almost seductive in the way they’re trained on you.
Snap out of it.
“Oh, I…” You stammer, your voice a nervous breath. You glance back at the open door, and stagger further inside with your suitcase so you can shut it. Your movements are stiff and awkward, fingernails digging into your palm as you try to avoid direct eye contact at all costs. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, Mr. Night, it’s just… well, I knocked, you see, but there was no answer, and the door was unlocked, and I thought well, I basically live here now, so I thought I’d just…”
You trail off when he puts a hand up, effectively silencing you instantaneously. Your mouth remains open, then closes, then opens again like a fish out of water. Eventually, you purse your lips and watch with wide eyes as he takes a few slow, agonisingly slow steps forward. There’s an amused tilt to his lips, but an impatient glint in his eyes.
“Don’t bother yourself with formalities. Isaac.” His voice is clipped, measured and articulated in a rehearsed kind of way. Not his first time saying these words. “I trust you know you will be living here full-time. I have no patience for tardiness, so it’s preferable you’re here.” His lips curl in a polite, yet forced, smile. “As said on the flyer.”
You stare at him for a few moments, before nodding dumbly. “Yes.. yes, yes I’m aware.” You glance at your suitcase briefly, practically empty save for clothes and other essentials—you didn’t think you’d be here long, and if you were, you didn’t think.. Isaac would have a certain penchant for your trinkets. Not that you had much. Couldn’t afford any since your father got sick.
He offered one curt nod, sending you one last inspecting look before turning and making for the stairs. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.” He didn’t wait for you. Your brows raised, and you wasted no time in grabbing the handle of your suitcase and quickly trailing after him.
He climbed the steps with a certain practised elegance, whereas you were all two-left-feet as you tried to balance your luggage and keep up with him at the same time. He didn’t glance back or offer any help. He just continued speaking.
“You can have majority of today with no responsibilities whilst you settle in. I have work to tend to. My bedroom, office, and laboratory are located on the third floor. You’re strictly prohibited from entering any of them without my explicit permission.” His voice sounds almost bored, and you almost slip as you quickly turn to go continue up the stairs that turn. He glances at you in his peripheral. How humiliating. “Everywhere else, be my guest. Don’t go rummaging around past sundown, don’t distract me from my work during the day, don’t bother attempting to go into rooms with locked doors, and don’t bother cooking for me.”
You raise your brow at that last part. Fifty dollars an hour, just for cleaning? The house is big, sure, but surely you were expected to cook as well. You’d actually prefer the extra work to waste away the hours of the day in this place. You don’t say anything.
As you reach the top of the stairs, you slow your steps a little to look around. More stairs continue to the third floor, and past them is a hallway. A singular door at the end, the window on the wall facing you situated so that the morning sun shines directly through and almost blinds you. You turn, watching as Isaac makes his way to the other end of the hall. You bite your cheek, adjusting your grip on the suitcase and trailing after him.
He stops at the end, where two doors are situated on opposite ends to each other. He searches the pocket of his dark trench coat (who wears those inside, at the crack of dawn?) and pulls out an ancient looking key. Whilst he twists the rusted lock, your eyes scan the walls. They’re chipped and worn like the ones downstairs, but bare. You forgot to inspect the paintings lining the stairs in your chase after Isaac. Oh well, you’ll certainly have lots of free time to later.
There’s a soft click as the door finally unlocks. He stands straight, and you back up a little, almost forgetting how tall he is in those few moments. Without waiting or sparing you a look, he steps inside the room, floorboards creaking with strain. You stifle a sigh as you follow him in, immediately looking around your new bedroom. It wasn’t all that big—but surprisingly, it was cleaner than the rest of the house. The walls were coloured a fresh oyster, not dirtied like the others. On the right wall, a bay window, unlike the other hollow panes that look like they’ve forgotten to blink for decades that decorate the rest of the house. There’s a single canopy bed in the left corner of the room, a vintage wooden dresser beside it with a singular lamp on it—soft whites and cream. There’s even a rug—worn, and slightly discoloured from what it used to be, but the floor isn’t bare like the other rooms.
It’s nice. Surprisingly nice. Not as modern as you’re used to, but infinitely better than you were expecting.
You’re almost breathless with gratitude. He lives alone, from what you’d gathered, so he must’ve cleaned it up nice for you. You blink, turning to face him, readying yourself to thank him—no matter how awkward you find it to speak to him. Your heart jumps when he’s already looking at you, as if studying your reaction. His gaze is clinical, like that of a scientist studying a chemical reaction.
You briefly swallow, feeling the need to fix your posture under his unwavering stare. “Thank you for… well, it’s really beautiful.”
His lips twitch with amusement, his brow furrowing almost incredulously. “It’s a bedroom.” Is all he dignifies you with, keeping his eyes trained on you as he reaches behind him and places the bedroom key on a small table beside your door. He inhales after a moment, giving the room and you one last look over, before turning and moving to step out. “Lock the door at night.” Is the last thing he grumbles, before leaving you to yourself.
You hear the stairs creak as he climbs to the third floor, and you turn to look around your new space once more. You glance from your made bed, to your suitcase, then back to the bed. Then out the window to where the sun has risen.
You shut the door, and abandon your suitcase, beelining for the bed. You kick your shoes off, letting them clutter on the wood below as you sit on the edge of the bed. It sinks beneath your weight, surprisingly soft and comfortable.
You’ve not been used to getting up so early, and well, no responsibilities for today. Might as well relish in one last nap before the real work starts.
The piano is out of tune.
The key groans beneath your finger, vibrating sluggishly. It’s not been played in a while, if at all, you muse. You trail your fingertips across the keyboard, dust sticking to you like a stain. You sigh as you look at the thing, lamenting its antique grandness going to waste. Forgotten, like everything else in this house.
The bookcase beside the piano is the same. The shelves looking more chestnut with the early evening glow, highlighting the sheer amount of classic literature lining them—novels that you’re practically born knowing the name of. All left to rot.
You’re bored.
You’d actually prefer some work. Having slept the morning away, and spending the afternoon in your room doing nothing, you’ve began to wander. Exploring the spaces you couldn’t before. You’ve come to realise there’s no food in the house, and by the time you make it to town all grocery stores will be closed. So much for cooking for yourself.
The house is eerily quiet. You hear the odd creak of the floorboards and a quiet tap in the walls, but those are just common whispers of houses old as this one—especially when it’s so unkept. You can’t hear anything from the third floor. You’d gathered Night was a scientist, from his ‘laboratory’ and old science books lining the shelves to go with the fiction. You suppose he does look like the cliché ‘mad scientist’, with his hair, clothing, and even that restless glint in his eyes. You almost laugh aloud at that. But it’s confusing, that there’s no whirring, clinking of test tubes, or, well, any noise at all coming from up there.
With a sigh, you walk out of the room and back into the main hall of sorts, looking around with boredom. Then, you remember, the paintings. One of the only things that decorate the plain walls of this godforsaken house.
You swiftly turn, making your way to the staircase and rushing up the first few steps, eyes immediately settling on the first.
It’s a family portrait. You furrow your brows as your attention instantly focuses on Isaac. He’s young in it. He looks impossibly paler and sickly, lips curled into a shaky-looking smile that looks like it’d drain all his energy. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes appear somewhat more tense than he’s trying to come across as—you wonder if it’s with frustration, nerves, or just teenage awkwardness. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing extremely old fashioned clothes.
The rest of the family is similar. There’s a girl beside Isaac, dark locks of brown hair wrapped in two delicate pigtails that rest upon her shoulders. Her smile is more timid, a barely there upward curve of the painter’s brush. She has pale skin to match her brother’s, you assume, but her cheeks are far more flushed than his could ever be. Her eyes look sad. You briefly wonder what her name is.
A woman stands behind the girl, wearing a white lace dress. It’s an old thing, with frills and lacy cuffs, but it suits her. She looks just like the girl. The front of her hair is pinned back, locks of matching chestnut waves framing her face. She has more colour to her. Her smile is one that holds class, and name. The kind that’s worth something. Her hand is settled on the girl’s shoulder, and your eyes flicker to the wedding ring that surely costs more than your entire life.
The father, you like a lot less. He doesn’t attempt to smile for the painter, his face neutral and hardened. His eyes expel no emotion like the others do. His posture is upright and rigid, one hand settled on the back of his wife, the other on his son, Isaac’s, shoulder. His grip is tight. So tight that it’s noticeable through a painting. You see where the shoulder pads of Isaac’s blazer scrunch between his father’s fingers. You don’t enjoy looking at him for long. It doesn’t take rocket science to guess what sort of man he was.
Your eyes linger on Isaac a moment more, your employer that seems so clinical and cold, smiling. Albeit a fake one. You’re tempted to smile back. Instead, you step forward, looking to the next.
Another family portrait. This one is different. Isaac and his sister are older, surely early teenage years. Isaac is sat straight on a wooden chair, feet firmly planted on the floor and his hands scrunched in his lap. His skin is paper white, and his expression is uncomfortable. He looks more like his father in this one, not bothering to smile for the painting, rather staring blankly at you. His hair is still slicked back, curls more prominent at the back of his neck, longer. His sister is stood up, behind the chair with her hands settled on the top of it, right behind Isaac’s head. Her smile is the same as the last. Her hair is still in pigtails, longer now and perhaps darker. She wears a similar dress to the last.
The mother isn’t in the portrait. The father stands beside the girl, hands behind his back and he’s wearing that same cold, intimidating glare. His dark hair is shorter. From stress, perhaps, or maybe he had just gotten it cut and you’re reading too much into it.
Your eyes dart down to check for inscription on the bottom of the frame. Context, names, a year perhaps. There’s a blotched rectangular outline, like it has been ripped off. You don’t let it keep your attention for long. Your eyes trail to the next. This is the last one.
The girl from the others, Isaac’s presumed sister. It’s not a painting. It’s a photograph. You step closer, eyes widening with renewed interest at the clearer quality of her face. She’s older, surely late teenage years in this one. Her hair is pulled into those same old pigtails, and she’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve seen on her yet. It’s a candid photo, looks like someone took it right as she was writing something. You glance down at the book. The cover is black, and the book is thick judging from how many pages. You briefly wonder if you saw it on the bookshelf earlier. Then at the surroundings. She looks like she’s in this house, behind her is a doorway into a room with a clean, mahogany piano. She’s in room you’ve not seen yet.
Your gaze travels back up to her face. What happened to you? To this house?
You have questions, curiosity swirling behind your eyes like an elixir. You don’t hear the footsteps descending the stairs.
“Francoise.”
You yelp. Your body jolts, and you stagger back a step, then another. You almost stumble and trip down the stairs, reaching behind and gripping the cracked railing with a surprised gasp. You look up to where Isaac is stood, watching you with furrowed brows. Your cheeks burn and your chest heaves as you try to calm your heart.
“What?” You ask, your voice coming out more of a snap in your sharp breaths. Your brows furrow in confusion, and anxiousness at having him speak to you directly.
He doesn’t move, or stop looking at you, as he gestures with his chin to the portraits. “My sister. Her name is Francoise.”
It’s as if he read your mind. You glance between him and his sister, slowly straightening yourself up, removing your hand from the railing. It gives a creaking sound as you let go. “Oh.”
You swallow nervously, looking back up at him. He’s still looking at you, as unreadable as ever. “What happened to her?” Curiosity did kill the cat.
His expression doesn’t shift. “She died a long time ago.”
Your face softens, looking back over to the portraits. At her little smile and braids. “Oh… I’m— I’m sorry.”
His head tilts for a moment, and he hums as he follows your gaze to her youthful face.
You look at him tentatively. “Can I ask how?”
He lingers on her for a moment before slowly looking back at you. There’s silence for a moment. Then he shakes his head softly. “No.”
Your lashes flutter in surprise. But you can’t say you really expected different. He gifts you a drop, you ask for an ocean. You won’t get it. You nod once, looking away and pursing your lips.
Isaac eyes you for a few more awkward seconds, before his gaze moves past you. Behind you. Your head turns and you follow his eyes, furrowing your brows when you see nothing out of the ordinary.
“I think it’s time you retire to bed.” He speaks, voice clipped and monotone. “It’s getting dark.”
You glance over, then back behind you to the windows by the door. The sun sets quicker now as autumn is creeping in. There’s a few rays of the soft, ambient glow of the sun as it shines its final residue.
“Yes, you’re… probably right.” You breathe, looking down and brushing down the creases of your shirt. You move to walk by him without looking.
You brush shoulders with him on the somewhat narrow staircase, and you feel him tense. You say nothing. You carry on up, but stop in your tracks when he says something else.
“Lock your door tonight.” He muttered, leaving no room for argument. Like he was almost warning you. “Don’t come out until morning.”
You turn to face him halfway, eyes trained on the back of his head. You let the words sit in the air a moment as you process them. He’d already told you this—but not like he just did. He seems a lot more serious about it than you thought. You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I will.” With that, you go to continue up the stairs. You take a step, then pause. You tilt your body slightly, hesitation inhibiting your movements. After a moment, “Goodnight.”
His head shifts slightly, as if he was going to look at you but decided against it. You can just make out the curve of his sharp jawline. He doesn’t reply. You don’t know if you wanted him to. You carry on upstairs.
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.
You find that the house isn’t all that boring, nor as unsettling, when you’re actually doing things. And there was a lot to be done.
You’d found a duster in a broom closet, by some miracle, and had spent a total of nearly two hours just clearing the first floor and the stairs. Seriously, how can anyone live like this? You’re lucky that Isaac hadn’t stormed downstairs from his lab to scold you for your relentless sneezing.
You’re out of breath and practically sweating profusely by noon, despite the gloomy weather outside—rain has been pattering softly at the old wooden walls all day. You consider taking a break to cool off, leave the next two floors for the future you. But knowing that you’ll have to deal with it later, topping it up to the total tasks you have: grocery shopping, shopping for a vacuum and other essentials that just aren’t here, mopping, wiping the windows, and cooking for yourself? You simply can’t win against yourself. So with a sigh and a dramatic groan, you bend down to pick the duster up from where you’d tossed it in frustration. You drag yourself up the rest of the stairs, gaze catching on Francoise’s face as you pass.
Her smile mocks you.
The air seems impossibly thicker on the second floor, leaving your face damp. Another sneeze ambushes you and makes you stumble back from the sheer force of it. With a grumble on a certain someone’s probable hygiene in these conditions, you get to work.
As you clean, you think of your new boss. You think of his unwavering nonchalance in every aspect, even when talking about his dead sister. His mystique, how he’s alluring and confusing all at the same time. You think of how he repeatedly told you to lock your door at night, as if someone may come in. But as far as you know, nobody else lives here save you and him. And he certainly seems like he’d like to avoid you at all costs.
You think of his mannerisms as you swipe the duster song the corner of the floor where wood meets drywall. The way his eyes narrow at you when you embarrass yourself. How he keeps them on you when he wants to see your reaction to certain things. Your chest flutters as you recall those dark orbs, gleaming with exhaustion and melancholy. Asking you, begging you, to notice. You have. You’re not sure he has.
You loathe how enticing he is. You met him yesterday morning, and you’re already making him your problem. You must be insane. Or you’ve just gone far too long without a proper, human interaction in the place you live. You need help, you think.
You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes dry from the dust. He’s baffling to the core, one big contradiction. You think of how he’s not been seen in a decade, and has had this house for a lot longer than that, yet he doesn’t look older than 25 at most. You assume that he lived here with his family, but they’ve never been mentioned in all the rumours circulating in Jericho. Never. You think of how he can even survive up here, no food in the kitchen, telling you to not cook for him. Does he have a fridge in his lab, or something? And why is there no WiFi or TV or any modern technology? It’s like you’ve travelled to the past. And how come the house has gotten this bad? Does he just stay up there constantly, and only ever comes down once to greet his maids their first day, then retire back up there? Who is he?
Is he the man you’ve mentally built up in your head? The monster you suspect? Expect? Or is it all wrong, and you’re really the crazy one.
Caught up with these thoughts, you don’t realise you’ve climbed the second set of stairs as you were dusting them. Your eyes raise as you snap back to your senses, examining the floor you’ve not seen yet. He didn’t say you couldn’t come up here. You just couldn’t go into any of the rooms.
This floor isn’t long like the one below it, but you don’t notice that. You don’t notice anything save for how spotless it is. You stand up straight slowly, standing up the last step that doesn’t even creak below you. You peer around curiously. The walls aren’t chipped or withered—they look similar to the ones in your room. The wooden floor is polished and smooth, a long, grey rug with intricate patterns lining the centre all the way down. It feels like you’ve travelled to an alternate dimension. You glance downstairs, then back to what’s before you. Surely your eyes deceive you? How can this be so clean and kept whilst the rest of the house looks practically abandoned? Maybe you weren’t crazy, and he really did just live up here.
Then you hear it. A ticking? No, a clicking… Is it coming from his lab? You take a tentative step forward, eyes narrowing as you look at one of the doors (you don’t even know what room his lab is). What’s he doing in there? The sound of metal twisting becomes louder. Your heart rate spikes, a sense of anxiety cloaking you like a blanket.
Then, from the door completely opposite from the one you were looking at, the noise climaxes.
He was just unlocking and opening the door, you idiot.
Your eyes snap to his as he steps out, and you tense very clearly. He pauses, not exhibiting any surprise or anger in his expression, but you see him hesitate to walk further. His hand is frozen on the doorknob.
You blink at each other for a few awkward seconds that feel more like hours, your eyes never leaving the other’s, yours wide and his narrowed.
You purse your lips. You want the earth to swallow you whole and just rock you to a sleep in which you never wake from.
Then finally, finally, he steps back into the room he came out of and shutting the door. It slams loudly. It snaps you back to reality, and your cheeks heat up so hot you worry your face is actually on fire. You grab your duster and rush down the stairs.
You find that you much prefer being bored.
Your cheeks don’t cool for the rest of the day. Not even relentless cleaning can distract you, nor the trek down and back up those uneven, slippery stone steps leading up the hill with grocery bags, nor even cooking the food.
It’s getting late now. You sigh, twisting your now cold meal with your fork, chin in your palm. You don’t have much of an appetite since that awkward encounter. Had you breached some kind of rule? You don’t remember him saying you couldn’t go up there, so you don’t think you did. Are you fired? Your movements freeze at that last thought. If you couldn’t hold this job, you’d be literally done for. You’ve tried everywhere else.
Then you began to panic. You’re such a screw up, always self-sabotaging yourself just because you can’t understand boundaries. Now you’re struggling to actually remember whether he told you to not go up there or not. You stand, abandoning your plate, the chair scraping behind you. You are not losing this job. You’ve left your childhood home for it, left the place your father died, left the town despite your better judgement. If this fails, you fail, and you can’t have that.
You can’t think about it, or you’ll back out because of nerves. You have to ignore how scary it is to interact with your boss for now. You’re walking through the foyer, making for the stairs with anxiously clenched fists when you look up seeing him already walking down. Same time he was yesterday. Another thing for you to wonder about.
You stop, and so does he. You can’t hesitate. “Mr. Night,” You close your eyes for a second. “Isaac, I just wanted to apologise for, uh— coming to the third floor when I’m not supposed to and intruding. I didn’t mean to distract you or anything, or seem nosey, I was just dusting and I didn’t notice I came up.”
He furrows his brows, glancing around, his mouth opening as if he wanted to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance. “Please don’t fire me because of it. It won’t happen again, I swear. I just..” You swallow nervously, voice becoming slower and quieter as you process what you’re actually doing. You dig your nails into your palm. “I really need this job.”
He keeps his eyes on you a moment, eyes flickering between yours. With what? Bewilderment? Amusement? Second hand embarrassment? Your face is hot, and your heart is in your throat. This is it, he’s going to mock you and throw you out. Leave you to fend for yourself in the middle of the night.
But the worst never comes. He doesn’t even acknowledge anything else you said. He just questions, “Why are you down here?”
Your brows twitch, before you frown completely in confusion. You glance behind you. You’ve been on the first floor about a thousand times since yesterday already. “Uh.. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.”
His gaze hardens, voice agitated. “Why are you down here when it’s dark? I gave you explicit instructions to not be wandering around the house after sundown.”
You stammer, checking behind you and seeing that the sun had in fact set. The sky was a twilight blue, hushing the first floor into a growing darkness. You look back to him when you hear him begin to walk down the stairs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise- I’ll go to my room now, but I just- I have to know, am I fired?” Your words are desperate, mentally praying that he decides to keep you. Your eyes are wide as you look at him pleadingly. He just stares at you as he reaches you.
He says nothing for a minute, keeping his cold gaze on your anticipated one. Your breath hitches. Finally, “You’re not fired.”
You visibly deflate with relief, eyes closing and mouth curling up into a smile. “Oh. Thank you, sir, really, I won’t-”
You’re cut off when he reaches up swiftly, gripping your upper hand to steady your relieved swaying. His hand is cold, and you gasp, looking from his tight hold to his eyes. His face hasn’t changed. He managed to hold you in place effortlessly. Your chest flutters and your stomach drops simultaneously.
When he speaks next, his voice is grave, goosebumps raising on your arms. “Get to bed.”
You stare at him a second as you replay his words in your head. The look in his eyes is enough nightmare fuel for a lifetime. They’re slightly wide and he looks almost furious. But why? Because you’re up past your bedtime?
You just nod wordlessly. He maintains eye contact with you another moment, the only sounds being your shallow breaths and the floor creaking as he shifts his weight. He lets you go, and you nearly stumble. Your arm throbs where his fingers dug into you. He doesn’t look away. You do. You rush past him, and up the stairs, feeling him watch you as you go.
A thousand things are rushing through your brain. You feel uncomfortable and you’re unable to suppress the swirling feelings of anxiety, and confusion—the worst part is you find you didn’t hate him touching you, even in such a way. But hey. You’re not fired.
You only remember that you didn’t lock the door the next morning. Then you remember that nothing even happened.
The next few days pass without incident. You get up early, have a shower in the bathroom opposite your room (in which you always take forever, trying to figure out the buttons), then clean. Go to town when you need to stock up on food or get more appliances. Clean some more. Eat alone. Be in bed before sunset.
You haven’t had any more run-ins with Isaac since that night. It’s like the lightbulb of interest has finally clicked off in your mind. You’re his maid, and he’s your employer. You shouldn’t be trying to speak with him, shouldn’t be snooping around his portraits, you should just be dusting them. Shouldn’t be going up to the third floor, because clearly, your services aren’t needed up there judging by how clean it is. Follow his instructions like a good employee. Keep the job.
Except, you don’t follow all his instructions. The act of locking your door, and unlocking it, is tedious. The lock is rusted and old, and you have to twist the key so hard that there’s deep indents left in your fingers afterwards. And after finding out that there’s no point to it, you stopped. Must be some humiliation ritual. Nothing happens. The key collects dust on that little table.
You know a thing or two about being detached and indifferent. So that’s what you become.
You even gain a little comfortable routine. You feel as if you live alone in this big house, and instead of being a maid, you fantasise that you’re a rich, classy woman living here and that you’re cleaning your own property. You avoid Francoise’s smiling face at all costs when you dust the portraits. But your eyes seem to always drift over to Isaac. Not his expressionless face that you’ve become accustomed to, but rather where he’s forcing a weak smile. You wonder what his real smile looks like.
You even forget that he lives here too sometimes. Never any sounds coming from up there, never comes down. The only reminder you get is when each morning, you open your door to see an envelope on the floor, containing all the cash you need. He always seems to know how many hours you’d worked that day.
Cash is a little annoying, but you doubt he even has a phone. No service up here, and he seems to think far too high of himself to have a bank card. It’s money. You can’t complain.
But you do get lonely sometimes. Back when your father was alive, whenever you’d feel completely isolated, you’d go and sit with him. Wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t even hold his cold hand like you used to. You’d just sit in the chair beside his bed, and watch him struggle to breathe properly with his illness. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but you’d mentally tell yourself you’re not alone yet. He’s not dead yet.
You can’t exactly go and sit with anyone here. Your only human interactions are a brief smile and a ‘thank you’ with people behind tills whenever you pay for whatever. You think you’ll probably go insane the longer you’re here. Would probably make you fit in better.
You realise being here has made you a lot more cynical. There are some positives. Like now. The highlight of your day is probably getting ready for bed. The sun shining through your bay window, where you’ll sometimes sit with a book you’d taken from downstairs, or just look out at the rolling hills beyond Jericho. Remind yourself that there’s more to life than this myopic hell.
Your eyes trace where the sun hides behind the horizon, its last rays swirling with the decaying green of the trees. Trees that sway gently with the growing wind, a hint at the colder months that are fast approaching. The sky above is a shade that can’t be replicated, a mix of violets and soft blues as night creeps in. You sigh, and stand. Your knees click softly as you do so, and you mentally scold yourself for always sitting so still for so long, even though you’ll do the same tomorrow.
You shuffle over to your bed, exhaustion from the days activities catching up to you. You’d finally gotten a vacuum. Then remembered there’s no sockets in the house. So you had to take that back to town, refund it, and then buy a wireless one. Vacuuming the entire first floor and second took more effort than you’d care to admit.
And another thing about living in basically the wilderness, is dust settles quick. So with your new companion, the duster, you’d wasted away another hour. Then you’d mopped the floors with the new mop you’d bought a day prior, which isn’t as good as the ads make it out to be.
Your arms ache, and your legs. Without hesitation, you clamber under the sheets as darkness begins to infiltrate your room. Fatigue pulls at your eyelids, and you pull the sheets up to your chin. You fall asleep almost instantly.
You don’t know what time it is when you wake up. Opening your eyes is too difficult a feat, but you’re awake. You turn over, trying to get comfortable and go back to sleep. But something tugs at you, urging you to get up. Something’s off.
You begrudgingly open your eyes, hands reaching to rub them harshly in your frustration. You sit up, your bed frame creaking. You squint your eyes as you scan the room. It’s pitch black outside, and you can hear rain lashing harshly at the window. You sniffle tiredly. Nothing is wrong—
Then you see it. Your door is wide open. Your eyes open fully, and you sit a little straighter. It was closed when you went to sleep, you’re sure of it. Fear curls in your stomach as your legs shakily move from beneath your sheets. The floor is so cold on your feet that it practically numbs them instantly.
You take slow steps towards the door. Your hand grabs the doorknob, and you reluctantly peer your head out to look down the hall. The sight is haunting, the hall is empty as usual, but seems longer at night. The window at the opposite end shines with moonlight and raindrops, casting shadows along the length of the floor. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. You straighten up, swinging the door shut, fully intending to just go back to bed.
You turn, swiftly beelining for your bed. Just as you grab the corner of the sheet to pull it back, there’s a booming slam from downstairs. You jump so hard that you accidentally pull the sheets halfway from your mattress. Your wide eyes look back over to your now closed door.
“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, voice shaky with fear. You reach down to grab the candle thats on your dresser beside the lamp that doesn’t even work, frantically fumbling with a lighter to light it. It takes a few attempts with your quivering fingers, and you sigh with relief at seeing the flame gently grow. You grasp the handle, turning and looking at the door with heavy breaths. You’re the one who takes care of this house. It’s your responsibility to go investigate the noise. “Shit, shit, shit… ohhhhmygod.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply, before walking with reckless abandon, swinging the door open and stepping out into the hall.
The shadows that lined the floor are flushed away with the candlelight. It reassures you slightly. Only slightly. You slowly pad your way down to the stairs, goosebumps raising on your entire body. It’s cold out here.
You hold the candle in front of you as you take one step down. It’s just an old house making noise, you tell yourself, or if it is an intruder, it’s just some curious kids. You’ll yell at them and tell them to get lost. Another step. Maybe you left a window open and the draft from outside caused a door to slam shut. Yes, that’s probably it, you’ve not heard anything since.
Another few steps. You inhale sharply as you turn the corner to the last few steps. The part of the main hall you can see is empty. No one is here. No one would dare to come, what with the fear circulating this house. You pause, holding the candle far before you to look further, bending slightly. Still seeing nothing, you continue down the stairs with a little more confidence.
You finish the last step, eyes looking around the room. No sounds coming from the room with the piano, and nothing coming from the connecting kitchen. You swallow as you look to the last room down here. The one that seems to always be engulfed in darkness. The door is shut.
Your breath hitches, and you look behind you. No windows are open. Your heart skips a beat.
You decide you want to go back to bed.
There’s been no sounds since, so it’s all okay. Probably. You take a step back, then turn on your heels and moving back towards the stairs. The floorboards squeak loudly beneath you.
And just as your hand grasps the railing, and you spin to step up the first step, you hear the damned door creak open.
You freeze.
You slowly tilt your body to look through the gaps of the railing, squinting through the darkness, but the light of your candle prohibits you seeing very far. With reluctance, you tremble as you bring the candle close. Quietly as you can, you blow it out. The room is immediately smothered in darkness.
You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you look back through the gaps of splintered wood. The door is definitely open. You tense and hold your breath as you shift your face closer.
Your shoulders deflate in relief as Isaac steps out. Of course. No one would come here, never here. What else were you expecting? He’s always downstairs at this time. You’re about to stand straight and just go back to bed, but something roots you to the spot. You watch closely, as he walks out of the room and the silvery light moon reflects on his face.
Your heart stops.
Blood. Lots of it. All around his mouth like when a child finds chocolate. It dots his neck, beneath his eyes and cheeks.
You tell yourself you’re crazy. You must be seeing things. You’re tired, or it’s so dark that your mind is playing tricks on you. This house is making you mad.
But he reaches up with a gloved hand to wipe at his mouth, smearing crimson along his chin, and you know you’re not hallucinating or making this up.
Is your boss a fucking cannibal?
Your breath hitches on a gasp. He freezes. You slap your hand over your mouth. His head snaps in your direction, and his spine straightens.
You stare at each other for a moment, not unlike the way you did a few days prior. Your eyes begin to water as you begin to completely register the sheer amount of blood on his face. Your hands tremble violently. You drop the candle.
It smashes on the wood, the resounding clap seemingly breaking you both out of your trances. The step he immediately takes in your direction makes your heart drop to your feet.
You won’t be able to reach the door. Not with him already making his way to you, looking furious. No, murderous. So you do the next best thing. You spring into action, nearly tripping over your own feet as you sprint as fast as you can up the stairs. So hard that your toes bash into the end of the step multiple times. You don’t register the pain through the adrenaline, only growing as you hear the stairs creak dangerously behind you—he’s chasing you, and he’s fast.
You reach the second floor, and you waste no time in beelining for your room. You bolt down the hallway that seems impossibly long, ears straining as you hear the staircase railing rattle as he grabs it, turning rapidly to keep up with you. You don’t look back. You’ve seen too many horror movies.
You’ve felt fear before. When bullies in the sixth grade would send you notes in class that you were getting beat up after schools out. When you read a question in an important exam on a topic you didn’t study. When the doctors first told you that your father’s illness was terminal. You’re no stranger to the feeling of anxiety curling around your stomach and choking the breath from your lungs. But you’ve never experienced it quite like now.
You reach your door, springing inside and slamming it shut so roughly the window rattles. You push against the doorknob to keep it closed as you reach for the key. Just as you’re about to jam it in, Isaac slams himself against the door so hard that it hits your head as it swings open. The key clatters to the floor and the door hinges squeak in protest as the door hits the wall with great force. You stumble back, one hand on your temple where the door hit you, the other settling on the wall behind you as you back up against it. Your heart is beating so fast that it might as well jump right out of your body.
He wastes no time. He walks towards you with such rage in his darkened eyes that it’s the most intense emotion you’ve ever seen on him. On anyone.
You attempt to sprint past him, but he tuts and grabs your throat with his right hand tightly, his left gripping your elbow as he slams you back against the wall. The back of your head smacks it hard, and you cry out as pain buzzes in the backs of your eyes. The force causes the lamp on your dresser to go tumbling to the floor, the pretty glass smashing loudly, shards flying across the wood.
His heavy breaths are all you can hear. You can’t hear the rain, or the wind, or the squeaks of the walls. Just him. Your glossed over eyes narrow with pain and frustration as you look up at him, cold fear taking root in your stomach as you make eye contact. He’s staring at you with wide, frenzied eyes. Dried blood is still coating his face.
“What did I say?” He spits, his voice shaking with fury. His hand tightens on your throat, his glove scratching at your skin as your breath becomes shallow. “Hm? Don’t come out after dark. Are you so incompetent that you can’t follow simple rules?”
You squirm in his grip, one hand reaching to grip his wrist tightly. He just rags you forward before slamming you against the wall again, his chest to yours as he pins you back against it. His harsh breath fans your face. “Now look what you’ve done. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”
Your temple throbs. You tilt your head up, trying to find some leverage against his grip for air. You choke on a breath as you squeeze out, “Ruin what?”
At that, he scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching as if he were going to smirk but couldn’t find it in himself. He shakes his head softly. His words are quieter, but not calmer. “I was going to kill you.”
You muffle out a cry, fighting against him harder, but he just tightens his grip as he leans against you harder, his weight knocking the air from your lungs. He shushes you quietly, the hand thats wrapped around your elbow tightening.
“I was going to kill you,” he continues, lips curling into a sick smile. “I still could.”
You snarl at him. “Then why don’t you?” Your voice is scratchy and fraying at the edges.
He sighs through his nostrils. “I’ve been watching you. I always play with my food, but I’ve found that playing with you is more exhilarating than it would be to just eat you and be done with it.”
You furrow your brows, coughing in your throat. You attempt to shake your head in disbelief, but his grip just tightens. His thumb reaches up to rub your jawline softly. “No one’s ever lasted this long.”
He must see the confusion in your eyes, because he just smiles smugly and tilts his head. “They always get too curious. Look where they shouldn’t.” Irritation bubbles beneath the surface. “The last snuck into my lab. She was dead before dawn,” You tremble. He doesn’t blink. “Before her, the maid read the portrait inscriptions. She recognised me for what I am, and she tried to leave.” He shakes his head. “But I knew she would. I stopped her. Her, and all the ones before her that refused to follow a couple simple rules.”
You swallow dryly, straightening your spine in the little space you have. Your eyes dart around his face—the blood, the crazed look in his eyes, curls spilling over them. Your breath hitches. “What are you?”
At that, his smile fades. There’s a pause, an almost imperceptible reluctance in him, but then he does the one thing you expected last. He releases you.
You double over, slumping against the wall as you heave air into your lungs and cough so hard you nearly choke. One hand wraps around your neck, where his was, and you wince at the pain that flashes behind your eyes. You lean your weight against the wall as you straighten up, eyes trailing the mess on the floor—glass shards glinting with the moonlight. You can vaguely hear the rain rattling the window over the ringing in your ears. Your wet lashes are cold on your brows as your eyes meet his, and you tense in preparation, expecting another attack. You can’t go for the door. You know it. You just watch him, waiting.
Your heart drops as you see his gloved hand reach for the first button of his shirt. Your gaze is fixated on his movements, and you whimper fearfully through your pants. He doesn’t react. He just unbuttons the next, and the next. Your brows knit together, but you don’t move—you can’t, your body is weak and you feel like you could pass out with the dizziness swirling around your brain.
But what you fear doesn’t come. But you do think you’ve gone mad.
You blink once, twice, thrice for good measure. Your eyes are fixed on the left region of his chest, or, where his chest should be. There’s a jagged outline where his skin has been cut, and in the darkness, you make out a blot on his chest where his heart should be—a black hole in his flesh. Whatever is in there glints as he steps closer. You don’t notice his movements, unable to concentrate on anything else but the impossible contraption before you.
As he takes another step, you’re able to see more. It’s some sort of machine—a regular ticking emitting from the metal like a heartbeat. Exactly like one.
You briefly look up at him to see he’s already looking at you, studying your reaction like he had when you’d both first came into this room. You look back down, numbing anxiety mixing with some sort of sick fascination, brows furrowing as you shake your head.
Your voice is hoarse and no louder than a whisper. “What is it?”
His lips curl up. “My old heart was a failing one. A frail, human thing.” His eyes flicker down, fingers gently taking his shirt and pulling further, so that it’s clearer to you. “I invented this clockwork heart so I could live on.” He licks his lips, eyes darting around your face. “For Francoise.”
You look back to him at that, remembering. Her soft smile, her pigtails. Remembering how she’d died young. “Your sister.”
He nods once, not looking away from you, not for a moment. “She was sick. Sick with a thing that had no cure. Those in the past with her… condition would die young.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t let her. So I stayed, in this damned world, to try and cure her.”
Your skin crawls, but a sense of intrigue curls in your chest. You relate, no matter how much you wish not to. Except, you weren’t some kind of genius scientist. You couldn’t invent a cure just because you wanted to. You swallow, and your throat burns. “What happened?”
He doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “I died.”
Your brows twitch. He doesn’t seem the type to jest, ever. You search his eyes for any sort of amusement, or dishonesty—you only find sincerity.
He nods once, cementing his words and seemingly reading your mind. “I died forty years ago. But I was brought back.” One hand reaches up, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, as if willing you to believe him. “For ten years, I’ve been living impossibly. Walking the earth as- as an undead. An embodiment of science.”
Your brows knit. You find yourself not shrugging him away. “How?”
He breathes heavier, simple talk of science igniting his deep-rooted passion. “Electricity.” His hand settles on your shoulder. Not squeezing or gripping, just holding. With his other hand, he gently takes your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. You both watch his movement. “Twice, I should’ve been dead. And twice, I’ve surpassed the laws of life by all accounts.”
You hesitate, your hand still shaking with adrenaline and fatigue. Your fingers twitch, and the fingertip of your middle finger brushes against it. His clockwork heart. His breath hitches, and his hand around your waist tightens momentarily.
You’re breathless with disbelief. “You built this yourself?”
He nods.
“Then why couldn’t you create a cure? For your sister?”
You half expect him to grow angry like before, or for his expression to shift. It doesn’t. He maintains his composure, doesn’t display any change in emotions. You suppose he must be numb to it by now. “Science is trial and error.”
He says nothing more. You don’t think you want him to. You bring your hand away from his heart, feeling yourself become dangerously fascinated—becoming deluded in your hallucinating that tension is crackling between the two of you. He lets you.
You divert as you feel his gaze burn into yours, buzzing through your nerves and furling in your abdomen as desire. “If she died, what are you doing in your lab all day?”
He sighs through his nose, his head tilting slightly, almost in pity. His next words knock the wind out of you. “I wish you came to me sooner. Perhaps your father would still be alive.”
Your eyes widen. He doesn’t budge. “I told you, I’ve been watching you.” The hand thats on your shoulder slides to the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing the skin there, almost reverently. “Their conditions weren’t the same. Only the end to their pursuit. Trying to find a cure for your father gave me a scientific purpose I’ve not felt in a long time.” He pauses. “But I failed.”
Your brain is scrambled—you are crazy. Because all you’re hearing is not that he’s been stalking you for God knows how long, or he’s a fucking zombie, but that he was trying to find a cure. A cure that would’ve saved your father. You hear that he silently cared for you when you felt the like the most isolated person in the world. That he cared when no one else did, not even yourself.
You don’t feel the dull throb in your temple as a bruise starts to form, or the pain in the back of your skull. Just the feeling of his hand on your neck, not gripping, but holding, his thumb rubbing your bruises that he caused so delicately that you don’t half deserve it.
You don’t see the glass on the floor, or the slightly crooked door from where the hinges have loosened, but just his dark eyes. Softer and more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen on anyone. His machine heart, ticking regularly and rhythmically as yours skips a few beats.
His hand shifts, holding the entirety of the back of your neck now with his large hand, looking down at you through his criminally long lashes. The air becomes electric, snapping with every intake of breath shared between you. Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“I could kill you.” He murmurs, his words lacking incentive. “I was going to.”
The anxiety and desire that have made themselves comfortable in your chest beat at the danger of it all. “You won’t.”
He exhales quietly. He doesn’t say anything else. He just leans in, ducking his head down low as he presses his lips to yours in the softest of kisses. His lashes tickle your cheek as his eyes flutter closed, yours following.
His lips are dry but unexpectedly soft, moving against yours with all the reluctance of a man inexperienced, all the patience of a scientist. You can smell the coppery blood on his face. You’re weirdly unbothered by it now.
One of your hands tentatively moves upward, gingerly settling on his cheek. He pulls away, looking down at you with a typical unreadable expression—confusion, desire? It’s hard to tell. You guess it’s the latter when he ducks back down, lips connecting with yours. His hand thats on your neck pulls you in closer, his other hand settling on the curve of your back as he presses himself against you reverently.
Your other hand moves to his arm, holding him as you reciprocate. You don’t know why you do. You’ll think about it later, you tell yourself as you move your lips against his with growing fervour.
You don’t register the iron taste as the kiss intensifies, as your tongue mingles with his in a way that’s not languid, but rather desperate and needy. Your fingers slide through his curls, softer than you’d fantasised when you grew bored around the house.
You feel him growing more frenzied, lips almost violent against yours—it should deter you. It should, but it doesn’t. You only become more enticed, your morals becoming warped and blurred with every wet brush of his tongue against yours. The hand holding the back of your neck tightens, nails leaving crescents even through his gloves. You find you don’t mind it.
When he pulls away, he takes your bottom lip between his teeth—biting so hard that blood spills, crimson drooling into his mouth. He groans low at the taste, keeping his eyes on you as you wince. Your stomach flips. Your own blood drips slowly from the surprisingly deep indents, tricking down your chin like a stream. You nearly moan outright when his tongue flicks out to lap it up, his approving hum vibrating against you as he licks back up to your lips, connecting them with his in a way so sloppy its almost beneath him. A man so composed and indifferent humiliating yourself for a drop of your blood, and he doesn’t seem to care. Your cunt drools.
His hand moves from your back to your waist, and it’s like he’s pawing at you. His lips leave yours, and you heave for air. He doesn’t. He just kisses along your jawline, down to your neck where he bites hard. You gasp a pained yelp, and he moans, rocking forward, his hips catching yours as you sway with him. Your hand tightens in his hair that tickles your chin, feeling him pressing hard against you.
“You have no idea,” He sighs, his voice hoarse and whiny as he rocks against you again, unable to stop himself. “The things I want to do to you.”
Your mouth gapes as your stomach curls at his words, need blooming in your abdomen like a late flower. “Tell me,” You breathe, brows knitting when his nose nudges your cheek.
He reaches down swiftly, his movements choppy and desperate, gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise. He positions it right between his long legs. He lets out a gruff whimper when his clothed cock rubs against it in just the right way.
“I’ll eat it for hours,” He blurts out, the words coming out breathy as his hips push up against you quicker, he’s choking on his breath. “The thought of tasting you tears at my mind, and I cannot find reprieve. Not while you’re under this roof.” He bites at your neck again, like he can’t stand any skin bare of his teeth. “I’d hold you, keep you down. Or let you sit and ride.”
His words kindle the fire thats already roaring in your core, and you can’t help but sigh out a moan of his name.
His hips stutter in their rhythm, and he huffs against the crook of your neck. You shift your thigh to press against him, and the noise he lets out is borderline orgasm-inducing. He continues, “Since I saw you, I knew I’d do it- anything you asked, and it’s unlike me. But I can’t hate it when it’s you undoing me. I’d do it all—bring you the whole town just for a breath of it.”
He’s rutting against you like he’ll do something wicked.
He’s panting against you like how the neighbours dog would in the summer heat, a sound that would normally drive you to retire inside—but now, you’d trade the world for more of it. His chest is heaving up and down against yours so hard that you’re forced up against the wall again. And his thrusts are growing sloppy, fingers digging into you so rough it’s numbing, and he’s choking on a moan—
You feel it. Warmth spreading along the front of his dark pants, seeping into your thin pyjama pants like honey. And he’s punching out a grunt, grabbing at you, pulling you impossibly close- “Oh, that’s— I’m sorry, sweet girl— I’m sorry, fuck..”
His voice is shredded, used up. He’s ruined and he’ll thank you for it. Rutting against you and allowing himself to cum in his pants like a schoolboy. Like hes never known dignity, or pride. The inside of your thighs feel sticky with want.
You let him ride through it, his hips pushing shallow against you in a way that’s so pathetic you can’t help but let your need for him grow to a visceral level. His hips tremble. So do yours.
“Isaac,” You whisper, breaking the intimate silence of rain and his uneven breaths. He doesn’t reply, but his nose drags along your neck as he breathes you in. “Get on the bed.”
And he looks at you with hesitation, as if he didn’t just cum in his pants from a little friction. But it’s inevitable. When he steps over the broken glass as he makes for your bed, you swear you hear his heart skip a tick.
And in this moment, he isn’t civilised. He isn’t undead. Just yours. And just as crazy as you are.
Like. I've never heard a duck go "Quack." Duck goes WAUK or ERK or HEHHHHH-HHH-H-H, if it's a Muskovy
Chickens are the most accurate with the buk-buk-buk noise, and baby chicks do in fact go "peep", but the "peep" is really more of a squeaky beEEP and adult hens will also bwuAAAAAAAAAAK-AUK-AUK-AUK-AUK.
Roosters do NOT "cock-a-doodle-doo", though. Roosters ER ER-ER ER ERRRRRRRR and they will do it at all ungodly hours of the day from sunrise to sunset.
Cows, again, pretty close with "Moo", but it feels like it needs an "r" in there somewhere. Like mmMMOUuuuure.
Sheep. Sheep really do actually "baa". I can't argue with that. Though an adult might also Phbrbobrbr, and a lamb will mostly MAAAH.
Horse sounds like NH-Hh-Hh-Hhr, or Pphft, or RIIIIII if shit's going down. So I guess "neigh" is fine.
Pigs. Pigs... they'd cab say oink, but only 'cause I don't know how to spell a deep, phlegmy sinus snort with English letters. f'gĥŭrhk, maybe. Pigs are beyond mortal laws.
Dog goes BOOF or Aurk or AuoooooooOOOOO unless it is a Husky or a Beagle. Husky goes AWOWOWOWOWOWeeeeeswAAAAUUGGHGGGGHGGOOOOIOOORAURAURAURA. Beagle goes weeeIGHIHIGHIGHIGHIWROWOOOOOWBROUROUROURBROUGHAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH in the voice of a dying adult man
Cat makes whatever noise it fucking wants
And turkeys, of course, say mrrrrr or WOBBLEOBBLEOBBLEOBBLEOBBLE all together at the same time like a terrifying hivemind. This is known
Honestly... shout out to the people in the comments who said their parents would be chill abt it. Couldn't be mine lmaooo
Part one | part two | part three | part five |
John has noticed that in the short time he has gotten to know you, you have some magical power over him that makes him feel like a sixteen-year-old schoolboy all over again. He doesn't know if it is your smile or the twinkle in your eyes, but he feels moths rampage in his stomach every time you look at him.
Sometimes he feels great. But sometimes... he feels like a cradle robber, just like now. The two of you are sitting in front of your parents at their dinner table. The flowers he gave your mother placed in the middle of the table like a centrepiece.
Before John arrived you've given your dad a strong request to not be too hard on him. Because, and I quote, "I know he's older than me Dad, don't need to rub in in."
"So John, what do you do for a living?", asks your mother to break the silence.
"I'm in the military, ma'am. Currently on desk duty."
"How come?"
"Dad!" "Frank!", you and your mother say at the same time.
You turn towards John. "You don't need to answer that", you say softly.
But he shakes his head. "No. It's alright. I was driving with a convoy in Iraq from one base to the other when an enemy missile hit the truck we were driving in. Luckily I only broke my left arm in three places so they stuck me on desk duty after my recovery to still keep me active but not actually send me out."
That leaves you and your parents speechless. You reach out and grab his hand under the table, giving it a squeeze. In return, John gives you a soft smile that doesn't miss the ever-observant eyes of your mother.
Later that evening, after dessert, you're enjoying coffee and cake while your mother tells embarrassing stories about your youth. She even pulled out the baby photos. How cliché.
Your dad leans closer to you and says, "Don't let him meet Jolanda or she'll disown you."
John gives you a curious look and you groan. "Jolanda is my best friend's mom. Kinda like a bonus mom. She served as an army nurse way back and now works at the hospital as an RN. She always said to me to never date a soldier." It makes you laugh when you think about the countless times she told you to steer clear of the camo.
Your mom perks up. "Show him the audio! The one she sent years back!"
Groaning, you pull out your phone and go to the chat of your best friend. Scrolling way back you find the audio.
"No! Don't even think about it. He may be hot, tall, brown, have beautiful eyes- don't fall for it!"
You give John a cheeky smile. "I guess I didn't listen to her."
John can't help but return a smile. "And I'm glad you didn't."
After that, the conversation shifts to something different while John and you sit next to each other on the couch, John's hand on your knee. He traces circles and shapes that let you know he's still nervous about it all.
It's just short after 1 at night when John reluctantly decides to go. Your folks have gone to bed a while ago and so it was just him and you together, nursing a drink.
"Please drive safe", you whisper as you stand in his arms, pecking his lips.
He rubs his beard against your cheek — something he notices makes you giggle — and hums. "Of course. Wouldn't want you to worry."
You stay like that for just a little longer before you can't suppress your yawns anymore.
"Go to bed doll, you look dead tired."
You hum and lean against the doorpost, watching him walk down the path and towards his card. He waves one last time before getting behind the wheel and driving off. You watch until you can't see the lights of his car anymore and even then you stay a little longer to breathe in the crisp night air.
"Dear god", you think, "I'm so in love with that man."
I wrote this at work today so it's small and not much but I had to get it out of my system and I thought it was cute.
Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five |
You: sooooo remember when we saw my aunt while we were out for coffee a while ago?
John <3: Of course. Why do you ask?
You: she kinda told my mom and now mom's expecting me to invite you over for dinner.
You: tomorrow
You: like some inspection or smth :/
You: and I totally get if you're busy and can't come. It's kinda last minute
John<3: Doll calm down.
John<3: It's no big deal. I would love to meet them.
You: Isn't it too much tho? You don't have to if you don't want to
You: It's not like we're official or smth 🤷🏻♀️
You stare nervously at your phone as John types and stops and types again. While you and John have been going out for a while, you never really talked about what you two are. And you're not one to assume so unless one of you actually says something, you try to keep it casual.
Also, you're not totally freaking out that you like him a lot and he seems to like you a lot but nothing's happening.
Your phone lights up with a picture of John as he calls you. With a shaking hand, you press the call accept button.
"Hi", you say softly, gladly that you don't have to face him at the moment.
"I thought...", he clears his throat. "Wasn't I obvious with my intentions to you?"
You feel your heart drop at the slight insecure wobble his voice has. Great, now you feel bad...
Plucking at the hem of your jacket you answer, "I just didn't want to assume... What if you were just being nice?"
John sighs kind of relieved. "Doll... Who makes out with someone to just be nice?"
"I don't know!", you defend yourself, "I don't know how guys your age date." Dear lord you are digging a deeper and deeper hole for yourself.
John chuckles, a deep sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in a good way. "Oh, how you wound me sometimes doll." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Fine", he sighs but it doesn't sound irritated. More... amused.
There's slight rustling and creaking from the other side of the line like he's sitting up straight. Unconsciously you do the same, pulling your legs towards you while you rest against the headboard of your bed.
"Would you do the honours of officially being my girlfriend?"
A wide smile spreads on your face and you nod, despite knowing he can't see it. "I would like that, John. Very very much."
Part two to this. This series also has a title now: John has liked your photo! Hope you enjoy this as much as last time. Does it also show how little I know about kissing?
Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | [masterlist]
The second time you and John see each other in a cafe in the city centre. This time it's you who suggests meeting up. It made John feel giddy and like a schoolboy again when your text lit up his phone screen.
Your anxiousness made you way too early — as usual. But not too soon after, John appears in the cafe, also way too early. It makes you giggle.
"What is your go-to coffee order?", you ask while waiting in line, eyeing the menu and the delicious-looking pastries.
John hums, his hands clasped behind his back. "I hate to disappoint you, doll, but I'm a black coffee guy. Or tea."
Turning towards him with your eyes wide, not knowing if it is because of the nickname or the confession to drink coffee with nothing in it. "Not even some milk?"
He shakes his head with a smile. "None. If I'm in shipped out I'm happy to get a cuppa so I got used to the stuff raw."
Now you feel stupid for your usual very sweet coffee order. John sees the subtility in your face and he bumps his shoulder against yours. "Well, you are what you eat. So no wonder you're so sweet."
It makes your face heat up and you stumble over your words, not sure how to get out a response.
The line quickly moves along and John orders his black coffee and you your white chocolate mocha. Before he has time to grab his wallet, you've whipped out your phone and paid for it. You give him a daring smile while giving your name.
The two of you go sit in a quiet corner and wait for the coffee to arrive. You are telling some story about what has happened at work this week and halfway your name gets called out. John holds out his hand so you can stay put, and he grabs the order.
"Sorry, go on", he says with a smile when he returns with the coffees, placing yours in front of you with the ear facing your dominant hand.
"So", you say after finishing your story, "we haven't really talked about what we seek. You know... with dating and such." You nervously trace the rim of the glass, glancing up at the man.
John's leaning relaxed back into the chair, his legs spread wide and a comfortable smile on his face. "Gauging the vibe, doll?"
You can't help but feel your cheeks heat up again as you slink slightly down. "Maybe. Wouldn't want to waste your time if you want something completely different than me." You shrug, trying to play it cool.
That makes him lean forward a bit. "You sayin' that your time's less valuable than mine?"
That leaves you gaping like a fish. And it makes John crack a cheeky smile, showing he's teasing you.
"So do I have to worry about crazy exes or something?", he asks with a smile.
You shrug, putting your hair behind your ear. "Don't have to worry about something that's never been there", you say casually, taking a sip of your drink.
John's eyes bulge out of their sockets. Did he hear you correctly? Have you never dated anyone? How could such a wonder as you not have boys and men lined up and down the street, jumping for just a glance from you?
"Do I?", you ask timidly at his wide eyes and no response.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat. Now is the time to come clean. "I mean... not like you have to worry about her, but there is my ex-wife."
"Wife?!" You clasp a hand over your mouth as you said that a bit too loud. "A-and for how long are you divorced? If I may ask, at least."
John smiles at your bashfulness. "Almost two years. We were married just short of a year. It was impulsive and I quickly discovered that being married to her wasn't as great as I thought it would be."
Unconsciously, you reach out and take hold of his hand. You can understand how hard it is to admit something like that to practically a stranger. "It must have been hard, going through that time in your life. Never mind the judgement of others."
He nods. "Something like that. It was more of the pitying glances of my family and their comments that got me at first. Their opinions about her and me and our relationship weren't always the kindest. But you get used to it and after a while, you get desensitized."
As you open your mouth to say something, a call of your name makes the two of you turn your heads. "Oh lord", you mumble as your aunt and cousin come walking towards the two of you.
"How are you, dear? " your aunt smiles widely, pulling you up for a hug. "I haven't seen you in a while! How's school? Oh, right. Your mum told me you quit and are working now. How do you like it? And who is this?" She turns her attention towards John.
The man dutiful stands up and offers his hand to your aunt. "John Price, ma'am."
From behind your aunt, you see your cousin lean over and mouth the words, "Who's that?", to you. "Date", you mouth back. She checks him once over and nods in appreciation.
"Oh mum, didn't you say you needed to go to that one store before it closes?", asks your cousin loudly, pulling the attention from your aunt.
"Right! It was lovely meeting you, John. See you next time, dear." Your aunt kisses both your cheeks as a goodbye before pulling her daughter behind her. You just know you'll get a text from her later on to demand the tea.
"I am so sorry", you laugh as you sit back down, hiding your face behind your hands.
John joins you and shakes his hands. "It's fine. Aunts are kinda my speciality."
"Really?"
"No", he smiles.
The rest of the afternoon goes by with smiles and laughs and good conversation until the staff has to, again like last time, kick you out and you're reluctant to say goodbye to John.
He walked to your car. It cracked him up to see the bright yellow car that lights up when you press the unlock button. Oh, how fitting of you to drive such an eyesore.
You hoover by the door, fiddling with your keys. "I had a really good time today, John." You shyly look up, your cheeks radiating heat.
John slowly inches closer, laying a hand on your cheek. "I did too." His eyes flicker between your own and your lips. You can't help but swipe your tongue over your bottom lip before taking it between your teeth.
"I desperately wanted to kiss you all day. Can I kiss you?"
Looking at him, you nod, searching for the right words. Stumbling out a 'yeah', John closes the distance and lightly presses his lips against yours.
Not knowing what to do, you lean into the kiss and close your eyes. John slides his other hand around your middle to pull you flush against his body. Your hands feel awkward so you replicate what you've seen over the years in movies and TV and place them first on his shoulders before sliding to the back of his neck.
A soft grumble comes from deep within his chest before you pull back, feeling like you are going to pass out if you don't. Either from the lack of air or your first-ever kiss.
Smiling wide, John rests his forehead against yours. "How am I to drive away from you now, doll."
You shrug, still slightly out of breath. "I'm wondering that myself." A giggle escapes you, licking your lips. "But I really have to go through... My parents are waiting for me. We're going to my grandma..."
"Those blasted parents of yours", teases John, letting go of you. "But if you have to go. Text me when you get home safe?"
You nod, opening your car door. "Will do. You too?"
John nods with a smile and watches how you drive away. Dear God. Is he crazy that he could envision the rest of his life together with you after the second date?
Okay so is this kinda inspired by my own wishfull thinking? Yes absolutely. Do I give a damn? Absolutely not. Warnings? Age gap (reader 23/John 35) / Reader lives at home / kinda rushed because I want it out of my system :)
Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | [masterlist]
Ever since covid you and your friend had a Tinder Night every two weeks, to help you with your never-ending singleness. And when she moved across the country to move in with her boyfriend, the Tinder Nights got digital. And by now you've also broadened your horizon to Hinge.
But one evening bored out of your mind by the selection of boys, your friend — plus her boyfriend who tries not to be invested but is failing very badly — and you decide to up the age to 30 to 40, for shits and gigs of course.
And after an evening of swiping and giggling about the creepy dudes who put their minimum age to at least 23, you kinda forget to put the age back to your five-year rule. Until you get a notification of Hinge a couple of nights later.
John has liked your photo! Match to continue the conversation.
You hesitate at first. From the small picture, the notif gives you you can see that the guy isn't 25 of something. Opening the app, you scroll through his profile.
He's... handsome. You're not going to deny that with short brown hair and a pretty mighty moustache and beard, he kinda gives you puppy vibes as his eyes radiate kindness.
His profile says he's 35 and in the army. Pretty tall too. And his prompts are pretty hilarious too. At least... you think so.
You send a screenshot to your friend of his answer to:
I'm totally obsessed with:
Sleeping in a freshly washed bed.
You: Oh he's... like ADULT adult
Your friend: That answer comes across as if he is going to give you tips about the airfryer
And against your better judgement... you match with him.
The conversation is awkward at first (from your side at least) but slowly and surely you start to warm up. His jokes are horrible and dad-jokey but make you smile anytime he sends them. He's the first person you text and the last one from whom you check if you have a message before going to sleep.
After a week he asks you out to dinner. He wants to meet you and see if you match each other in real life. And you agree.
So that Friday, after work, you get all dolled up and you ask your mother to drop you off so you can drink a cocktail or two and don't have to worry about driving.
When you walk into the restaurant your breath hitches. There he is, waiting patiently for you. He's wearing a simple white button-up with the sleeves rolled up his arms and dark slacks. Effortlessly handsome.
John rises from his seat when you approach and hugs you, a wide smile on his face. He pulls the chair out for you, like the gentleman he is, and asks about your day.
To your surprise, this is the first date you truly enjoy. John is attentive and seems to really pay attention to you and what you say. He asks about you, your job, and your life. Of course, you do the same. he's a very interesting man and his job is just amazing. He explains he's a captain in the British Army but that he's on desk duty until his injury from his last deployment has healed. He can't say a lot about his job as a Captain, but what he tells you sounds all so brave.
Without even realising hours have passed and the restaurant staff is not so subtly urging you to pay and go home. You want to grab your purse to split the bill. But John gives you a stern look and pays instead.
"You really didn't need to do that", you say as he drives you home, feeling kinda guilty that he paid the bill.
John gives you the same look as before. "Darling, my mother raised me right. And she would give me a stern talking to if she knew I would let a lady pay on the first date."
"Fine", you huff, "but next time I pay!"
"Next time huh?" He gives you a cheeky smile.
You feel your face heat up and choose to say nothing, opting to look out of the window.
John stops in front of your house and gets out to open the car door for you. He walks you to the front door and you hesitate for a moment with the key in your hand.
"I would love to invite you in for tea but..."
He nods understanding. "But you have roommates that are probably asleep by now. I get it."
Pursing your lips, you embarrassingly scratch the back of your neck. "No... I still live with my parents."
John's eyes widen with shock for a second before he masks it. "Ah. I see."
This is it, you think, I've blown it.
"It's a bit too early to meet the parents, isn't it?", he jokes and you let out a sigh of relief. You nod in agreement, a smile forming on your face.
Standing up on your tippy toes, you press a kiss against John's cheek. His beard prickles your lips but you don't mind it.
"Thanks for tonight. And thanks you for driving me home", you smile softly. "Text me when you get home safely?"
John nods and you wait before entering your home until John's driven away. Once inside you sigh deeply.
How are you going to explain to your parents that you're dating a guy who's seriously twelve years older than you?!
bsf! m. riddle x fem!sallow!reader, stepbrother! t. nott x fem!sallow!reader
Bound by Blood, Betrayed by Fate. When you’re dragged to Malfoy Manor under orders from Voldemort himself, you learn the price of your mother’s mistakes: an Unbreakable Vow, tethering your life to the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Forced to navigate a web of dark magic, family debts, and impossible expectations, you must tread carefully in a house brimming with enemies—and a few familiar faces. As tensions rise and the lines between loyalty and survival blur, one question remains: will you find a way to break free, or will you lose yourself to the darkness?
content warnings: 18+ dark themes, aged up characters (by a year), mention of y/n, mentions of anxiety and isolation, death, crossover references with HP legacy, canon HP themes involving death eaters, blood status, purity, house prejudice, and underage coercion. let me know what if there’s anything missing!
Word count: 1.5k
A/n: I’ve been keeping this fic held near and dear to my chest for a while, but have been too nervous to post it and wanting it to be perfect aligning the canon, noncanon, potential AUs, etc. Also I’m just a girl with a full time job and life. 🥲 But as I keep adding on to this story, I think, at least, hope others will enjoy it as much as I’ve been while writing. Feedback, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated 🫶🏻
[playlist: no time to die—Billie eillish ]
<< next part >>
The click of your heels against the cold, tiled floor echoed hauntingly through the desolate halls of Malfoy Manor, a sound that mingled with the steady pressure of Fenrir Greyback’s wand digging into the small of your back. Each step felt like an eternity, your pulse hammering in your ears as Narcissa Malfoy led you down the dimly lit corridor. Her movements were calm and composed, her shoulders drawn back with an elegance you envied in that moment. She, at least, did not have a predator breathing down her neck.
“Keep moving, girl,” Fenrir growled from behind you, his voice low and guttural, sending shivers down your spine. “Mistress doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“That’s enough, Fenrir,” Narcissa snapped, her tone cutting through the air like a blade.
Her icy demeanor, usually so measured, betrayed her frustration. You could sense it in the stiff set of her shoulders and the clipped tone of her voice. Narcissa Malfoy hated what her home had become—a fortress for Death Eaters, a cold and dark parody of the life she once knew. But most of all, she hated that the lives of children, her son and his friends included, were being consumed by the dark tide that had overtaken their world.
When Narcissa came to a halt before the double doors of the dining room, her fingers meticulously adjusted the buttons of her blouse, her sharp gaze fixed on the brass knobs. “Leave us, Greyback,” she commanded, her voice devoid of emotion but brooking no argument.
“Mistress said—”
“Do I need to remind you,” she interrupted, turning on her heel with a venomous glare, “that your mistress is *my* sister? This is still my home, and I will not tolerate being undermined in it. Now. Leave.”
Her warning crackled like electricity in the air, but Fenrir relented with a sneer, retreating down the hall. Narcissa exhaled slowly before turning her attention to you. Her cold, pale fingers reached out to smooth your hair and adjust the sleeves of your dress, though you’d ironed them to perfection just that morning. Her dull gray eyes darted behind you, ensuring the hall was empty, before she spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Listen to me, child,” she said, her hand cupping your cheek with an unexpected gentleness that contradicted the steel in her tone. “You go in there with your head held high. Shoulders back. Do not let her see your fear. She will exploit it.”
The lump in your throat grew unbearable, but you managed a trembling nod. Narcissa’s hand tightened on your chin, forcing your watery gaze to meet her own lifeless one.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand,” you murmured, the words scraping against the knot in your throat.
Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then, with a curt nod of approval, she turned to knock on the doors.
The dining room was frigid, both in temperature and atmosphere. Bellatrix Lestrange lounged at the head of the table like a queen upon her throne, her wild, matted hair framing her pale, deranged face. Alecto Carrow stood beside her, her towering, stocky figure and lifeless gaze only adding to the oppressive weight that filled the room.
Bellatrix’s lips curled into a sinister grin as her dark eyes landed on you.
“This is the girl?” she drawled, rising with an unsettling excitement.
“She will be in her sixth year, like Draco,” Narcissa said coolly, her tone devoid of the pride she’d once reserved for introductions.
Bellatrix let out a high-pitched laugh, tilting her head back as though the very idea of you amused her. “Sixth year! A mere child!”
“She turned 17 in the spring,” the younger sister noted, clearing her throat. She was aware of what Bellatrix wanted, and the idea of a child doing her sister’s bidding stirred the already restless unease in her body.
Your stomach churned as she circled around you, her wand tracing invisible lines along your jaw and down the column of your neck. Her closeness made your skin crawl, but you stood your ground, your face a mask of carefully constructed neutrality. You couldn’t afford to falter now—not in front of her.
“You look so much like your mother,” Bellatrix said, her voice dripping with mockery. “The Veela blood is strong in your family. A pity it didn’t make her smart.”
Your nails dug into your palms as you resisted the urge to react, hearing Narcissa’s earlier warning echo in your mind. Bellatrix’s gaze bored into yours, relishing in delight at your discomfort.
“She’s one of the top in her class, and heavily involved in the school’s extracurriculars.” Narcissa interjected, her voice brittle, though she stood rigid behind you. “I believe she will do well with the tasks you assign her.”
Bellatrix’s twisted smile widened, and she gestured for Alecto to step forward. The red-haired woman stalked closer, her soulless eyes narrowing as she assessed you like one might a piece of meat.
“Do you know why you’re here, Y/n Sallow?” Alecto asked.
“I’m here to finish the business my mother couldn’t,” you recited in monotone, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you.
“Good,” Alecto purred, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. “And do you know what happens if you fail?”
“I will be executed,” you replied, the words chilling you even as they left your lips.
Alecto chuckled darkly, seemingly satisfied with your response. Bellatrix clapped her hands together, her giddy laugh echoing off the cold stone walls.
“You will not bear the Dark Mark,” Bellatrix said suddenly, her voice gleeful. “No, the Dark Lord has other plans for you. You will be bound to me instead—by an Unbreakable Vow.”
The words struck you like a physical blow. Your mask faltered as you turned to Narcissa, whose own composure cracked for just a moment. This was not discussed–Dark Mark or Unbreakable Vow–you were supposed to be unscathed by any affiliations Theodore Nott Sr, your step father, told you.
“Bella, this wasn’t—”
“Dark Lord’s orders,” Bellatrix snapped, her wand digging into your chin as she forced your gaze back to her. “Take my arm, child.”
I hate you.
With trembling fingers, you obeyed, grasping her sickly pale forearm as she held it out. Alecto began the incantation, her voice cold and mechanical, each word sealing your fate.
I hate you.
The vow burned as it took hold, a searing pain lancing through your arm and up into your chest.
I hate you.
The three words chanted through your brain as the woman laughed maniacally listening to Alecto talk.
In the moment, resentment tugged through you at your mother for leaving you alone in this world to take the weight of her debts. Alecto’s words becoming muffled to a deafening screech of the thoughts that thrummed in your head. The brand of the vow making itself known, threading through the fibers of your being.
And when it was over, you staggered back, Narcissa catching you before you could fall. Bellatrix’s laughter rang in your ears as she clapped her hands again.
“I will call on you soon to prepare for your new role,” she said, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. “There are other matters to take care of.”
Narcissa dragged you from the room, her grip ironclad. The tears you had been holding back slipped down your cheeks as the weight of what had just transpired settled over you. The woman beside you offering icy coles trying to coax the tears to stop.
“Y/N?”
The sound of your name stopped you in your tracks. You turned to see Theo, Draco, Enzo, and Mattheo walking toward the dining room. Theo and Draco acknowledged you with stoic nods, while Enzo’s concerned gaze lingered. Mattheo, however, didn’t even spare you a glance.
Mattheo had always been the one to meet your gaze when things got bad. A silent promise shared between the two of you—‘I’ve got you.’ But now, there was nothing. No glance. No acknowledgment. As if the weight of your fate was too much for even him to bear.
The sight of him ignoring you sent a fresh wave of anguish crashing over you. You tore your gaze away, as Narcissa pull you further down the hall, sparing one more glance back at them. Enzo was still turned towards you as Theo tugged his arm to pull him away. You could feel your chest be torn apart as you were carried further down the halls past death eaters gathering.
There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.
A/n: eeeeee it’s out to the world, chapter one will be out soon to not keep you waiting. If you want to be added to the taglist let me know or have suggestions of making it efficient pls pls pls
Genre(s): Modern!au / Ice hockey!au
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Ice hockey player!Mattheo Riddle x Reader
Summary: You decide to go to an ice hockey game on your own and end up with a broken nose, a round trip to the ER, and a boyfriend.
Warning(s): Broken nose (obvs) / kinda rushed
A/n: Is it kinda inspired by a Saturday evening of mine? Who knows?
[Masterlist]
It was stupid. Who goes to their very first ice hockey game all alone? Well... apparently you. You've tried to ask your friends and even your parents. But your friends were all busy and your father said, "I'm not going to spend my Saturday evening anywhere else except at home, on the couch." Spoiler alert: he and your mother went to a dinner with their friends that evening. Hypocrite.
So here you are, all alone and being very cold. You're having a great time nonetheless — even preferring ice hockey above soccer (don't tell your manager) — but even though you went with a sweater and one of your thicker winter coats, you are so damn cold! And seeing people pass by with steaming coffee you decide to get a hot beverage for yourself once the second break starts.
As soon as the buzzer sounds, you're out of your seat and off to the coffee corner. Smiling at the lady, you order a hot cocoa with whipped cream on top.
"How are you liking the game so far, dearie?", she asks with a kind smile.
Swallowing a big gulp of whipped cream, you wipe your mouth. "It's great! It's my very first one and way more brutal than I thought but it's so awesome. The cold's something I have to get used to", you laugh.
"Well then", she reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bright green beanie, "take this, love. Think of it as a welcome-to-the-sport present." She winks and you thank her profusely.
Seeing as the fifteen minutes are almost over, you quickly hurry back to your seat. But once you approach you see someone else sitting in it. No big deal, enough space. Moving further down, you spot an empty seat between two families and decide it's good enough for you.
Thanking the people who get up from their seats to let you pass, you quickly take place and put on the beanie. To your surprise the combo of beanie and hot chocolate does wonders.
The players skate back on the rink and the game starts again. Your hometown team the Green Snakes stand with 7 to 2 points before the Godrick's Lions and the crowd is electric. You know there's some age-old rivalry between the two teams — two cities really — that you never really understood. But hey, people need something to be competitive about.
For the so many-ith time, the game stops and number 86 is sent to the penalty box. Again. He's been playing rough all game, really firing his pucks at the opposite goal and knocking other players to the side. You pull up his profile on your phone to see who's behind the mask.
Number 86. Riddle, Mattheo. Hmm... he's rather handsome with his dark curly hair and, if you dare say, adorable smile. According to the Green Snakes' website, he's known for playing rough and getting up just as hard as he's knocking people down.
While you're distracted by your phone, you don't see how said player misfires a puck at the goal. It bounces off the sides before launching over the rink walls and into the stands. Straight at you.
With full speed, the black mini-missile lands right in your face. It bounces off your nose to be more precise. You feel it crack under the speed and pass out almost exactly directly.
Meanwhile, on the ice, Mattheo winces as the puck he shot hits the very cute girl straight in her face. He's been eyeing you the whole game that's also why he's getting so much time in the penalty box — to look at you but he won't admit that.
He wants to immediately rush off the ice and run over to the stands where paramedics are loading you on a stretcher. But the hand of his captain stops him and he shakes his head. "We can visit her after the game. It's only ten minutes left and then you can make sure she's fine."
Mattheo knows his captain is right but he can't focus on the game anymore. His coach switches him out for Malfoy and he sends the remainder of the time on the bench. As soon as the buzzer sounds the game is over, and he's off to the dressing room to have a quick shower before sprinting towards the medical bay.
When you came by, you were lying in a slightly warmer room than you remember. Wait... what do you remember? Hot chocolate, the beanie, 86, the puck. THE PUCK!
You shoot up and immediately regret it. The room spins around you and your head throbs. Your nose hurts like a bitch and you have an unrelenting runny nose. A nurse rushes over to you with gauze in her hands and presses it to your nose.
"Oh dear. Try to breathe slowly and through your mouth. I'm afraid your nose is broken. I've already called the doctor to set it straight for you".
"It's broken?", you say softly, not believing what you're hearing. Reaching up with a hand, you touch the tender flesh and hiss as pain flashes through your body. And now your head throbs, amazing...
As the nurse cleans up the bloody rags he turns towards you with a soft smile. "I'll tell your boyfriend that you're awake so he can come in."
"Boyfriend?", you echo perplexed.
That makes the nurse frown deeply and scribble something on the chard she's holding before exiting the room.
Since when do you have a boyfriend? You've surely hit your head pretty hard. How else could you forget a whole-ass boyfriend?
The door opens and a head with dark curls peeks around, scanning the room until his eyes fall upon you. As he closes the door behind him you recognise the guy. The one and only number 86 standing before you with a guilty look on his face. That puck for sure did a number on you.
"How are you feeling?"
"Considering I've gotten a puck against my noggin? It hurts and my nose is broken. And apparently, I've got a boyfriend in the time I was KO."
He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the hospital bed pretty harshly. "Yeah... Sorry about that. They wouldn't let me stay if I wasn't family or involved with you." You can see him cringe with the way he phrased that. "I'm really sorry about the whole puck incident. Coach always says I play too roughly and this just proves it..."
Before you can answer, there's a knock on the door and in walks a doctor followed by the same nurse. "Good evening Miss, how are you feeling?", asks the doctor as she shines a light into your eyes.
You throw number 86 a glance. "Despite that my nose is crooked and my head hurts, pretty okay."
The doctor hums. "So no dizziness, vagueness, or forgetfulness?"
You shake your head, slightly regretting the motion.
"Good. Good. I'll grab a colleague from ENT to put your nose back how it belongs and then you are free to go home. Sounds good?"
You nod and soon you're left alone with number 86 again. Breaking the silence, you hold out your hand and introduce your name. Even though he broke your nose, you still have manners.
He's quick to take your hand to shake it. "Matt. Is there any way to make it up to you?"
"You could let me break your nose in return?", you joke, but quickly backpaddle as Matt legitly seems to consider it. "No, you're crazy! It was a joke!"
Matt chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. "Can I take you out to drink once your nose is fine again?"
A small smile grows on your face and you nod. "Yeah... I would like that."
Around an hour later you let yourself fall on your bed; your nose bandaged and yourself still a little woozy because of the anaesthesia they gave you. You hold your phone dangerously above you as you stare at the text that has come in.
Hey! Looking forward towards our date next week! I promise you we'll stay off the ice (for now)
This is Matt btw :) Goodnight
Genre(s): Strangers to friends/crushes / 6th year / I tried to make it suspensfull
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Blaise Zabini x Reader
Summary: While on a school assignment to an astronomy table, you and Blaise get attacked by something
Warning(s): It's a bit scary? / Blaise being a dickhead at first
A/n: Completing all those astronomy tables in Hogwarts Legacy was such a chore. Also!! it's so DAMN HARD TO FIND A NICE GIF OF BLAISE???? WTF
[Masterlist]
When you picked astronomy as a subject, you expected to learn about stars, planets and constellations. Not trekking through the forest in the dark of the night, almost stumbling over tree roots that stick out of the ground. The worst thing of all is that Professor Sinistra paired the duo's.
Blaise walks in front of you, the tip of his wand lit as he treks up the hill where the blasted table is situated. He's quite speedy and you find it hard to keep up with his long legs.
Professor Sinistra had assigned a constellation to every astronomy table. The farther away from the castle, the more difficult they are. But higher the grade. And of course, Mister Blaise 'try-hard' Zabini signed you two up for the table the furthest away in Feltcroft. FELTCROFT.
It all wasn't that bad if Blaise wasn't such a stuck-up, holier-than-thou twat. The first thing he said to you when you got paired up was; "Don't slack off. I expect you to pull your weight in this project."
And it wouldn't be as bad if you didn't have the fattest, biggest crush on him. From the first time ever you've gotten paired with him to now, you constantly feel like you're making a fool of yourself.
The trip down there wasn't that bad. You could floo flame to the west of Hogwarts Valley until you had to walk the remainder of the way. It was around half past eleven when you finally reached the astronomy table, and you collapsed across it.
Luckily it's not cloudy otherwise the whole journey would be for nothing.
"Can you not?", asks Blaise irritated as he unpacks the supplies and puts his telescope into the holder on top of the stone table.
You give him a nervous side-eye but push yourself up to a seated position. "Who's idea was it again to walk such an abysmal distance?"
Blaise glares at you but remains silent, fine-tuning the telescope. You pull out your own gear and fiddle with it, checking the notes on where the constellation should be. After a while, you hop off the table and stand next to Blaise as he starts to look around the night sky.
By now you've realised that Blaise likes to work in silence and you're bored. It's supposed to be a group effort but the Slytherin boy does all the work without giving you a chance to contribute.
"What's your favourite colour?", you ask to break the silence.
The boy looks up from the telescope and slowly turns his head towards you. You cock your head to the side as he gives you a glare. "Why do you care?"
You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm trying to strike up a conversation, seeing as we're stuck together until we both have found it." You motion towards the sky with your hand, making dramatic circles. "So... what's your colour?"
Raising your brows, you look at him expectantly. "Blue", he answers gruffly after a beat or two, his attention back towards the sky.
It's not much, but you're happy that he answered. Should you push your luck? Yeah, most definitely. "What shade?"
Blaise looks really done with you and the silence returns. You hear crickets and off in the distance a weird sound. You turn hastily around towards where the noise came from but see nothing. It's your imagination. Let's keep it on that. Just your imagination. Totally not something lurking in the distance.
After some more silence — and you slowly creeping closer to the Slytherin boy — it's your turn to find the constellation. But it's a lot harder than you expected. You search from left to right and zoom in and back, but you can't seem to catch a glimpse of the right stars.
The boy behind you sighs in exasperation. He lets you fumble around some more before he pushes you to the side and positions the telescope right. "There. Now look."
You feel the heat travel up to your cheeks as you lean back in. You can't help but make a small noise of frustration when you still can't find it. "I'm sorry, Blaise", you say with knitted brows, looking up at him with guilty eyes, "I'm afraid I'm no good partner after all..."
In the warm light of the torches, it almost seems like the harshness of his face relaxes a bit. "Here... If you just..." He motions for you to lean in towards the telescope and you do so.
Blaise moves close to you and with hesitant hands moves your head so you're positioned right and finally you see the constalation. "I see it! I see it! Is that Cassiopeia or-"
You excitedly turn your head to the side and your nose just barely mises Blaise's. Two pairs of wide eyes meet each other and you quickly look back through the peephole. From the corner of your eyes, you see him quickly take a step back and adjust the collar of his sweater.
"It's Lacerta", you whisper quietly, jotting it down on a piece of parchment with a quick sketch next to it.
Nothing more is said as the two of you pack up your things and slowly make your way downwards the slippery hill and onto the road back to school.
As you pass through a particular thick bit of forest, a shiver runs up your spine and you clutch the straps of your backpack tighter. "Blaise", you whisper, "I've got a weird feeling like we're being watched."
His eyes dart around and he slows in his steps so he's closer to you, his wand at the ready. He hums, a hand reaching out and pulling you behind him.
Suddenly, a howling way too close for your liking is heard behind you and a pair of glowing eyes reflect in the moonlight.
Taking slow steps back, Blaise grabs your hand and pulls you along with him as he breaks out in a sprint.
You can hardly keep up with his long legs. Stumbling over tree branches sticking out of the ground and whatnot, Blaise never lets go of your hand. Until you step into an unseen hole and a sickening crunch is heard followed by immense pain. You cry out and reach for your leg, seeing your shin bend at an odd angle.
You half expect Blaise to leave you behind. But instead, he whisks around and with an elegant flick of his wand, sends the wolf — who was closing onto you dangerously quick — crashing into a tree with a red flash and knocking it out cold.
A second one from behind you grows and starts to sprint towards the two of you. This was an ambush. Of course, wolves always hunt in packs.
In all your pain, you find a small amount of adrenaline to crawl away and kick the wolf in its face. Teeth manage to take hold of your ankle and it drags you away. It shakes you, making you wail in pain.
Blaise hears your cry and his heart drops. Frantic eyes meet his own and he doesn't hesitate for a moment. With full force, he runs towards the wolf and throws his weight against the animal.
The wolf lets go of you as its focus is entirely on Blaise. Teeth snarles, and it licks his lips. Blaise mirrors the wolf and bares his teeth, a low growl coming from deep within his chest.
Your arms buckle because of the pain just in time for Blaise to send an electrifying shock through the air, rendering the other one unconscious.
He rushes towards you, dropping to his knees and you can just see wild eyes scanning your entire body and his lips moving to yell something. Your head lulls to the side and through the thick of the trees, the last thing you see is the moon disappearing behind clouds.
When you come through, you are lying in a hospital cot. The sterile smell of the Hospital Wing itches your nose and you sneeze. A call of your name makes you turn your head towards the side where Blaise raises his head from his arms, a worried look on his face.
A groan escapes your lips as you try to sit up. A dull ache in your leg makes you turn back the covers and watch how your toes wiggle effortlessly and the almost perfectly healed shin — safe for a red line where the break was — makes you raise your eyebrows.
"Wha-what happened? How did we get back?" You turn towards Blaise, who looks, for lack of better words, almost guilty.
"I... I carried you towards Feldcrofd and asked someone to apparate us as close as possible to the school. How are you feeling?" He lays an instinctive hand upon yours and you swallow, the cold of him seeping into your burning skin.
"Fine... I think. And you?"
Blaise hums and the two of you sit in silence next to each other. Happy that you've survived it.
"Do you-"
"Thank you-"
The two of you speak at the same time and can't help but laugh. He motions for you to speak first.
"Thank you, Blaise. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be alive right now."
"If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be here right now." His face hardens and he looks away.
You can't help yourself but reach out and grab his hand, watching how he stiffens before looking back at you. You want to pull away but he takes a firm hold of your hand, pulling it closer to himself. Surprising a smile, you look up at him and have to bite your lip as a red hue tints his cheeks.
He mumbles something which you don't get. You cock your head to the side and ask him to repeat himself.
"Gooutwithme", he blurts out, still not looking at you.
This time you can't help to giggle, which makes Blaise turn his head towards you. At first, there is a look of betrail on his face. But as soon as he catches your bashful look, he softens.
"I would love to", you smile, squeezing his hand.
A wide and radiant smile forms on his lips — a rare sight — before he coughs and tries to conceal it. "Great... Great."
The two of you keep sitting like that in silence, smiling and grinning at each other, before Madam Pomfrey ushers Blaise out of the Hospital Wing under the excuse of you needing your rest.
Before Blaise disappears through the exit, he looks one last time at you and gives you a wave. You return it and can't keep the smile on your face.
Gods. You can't wait for your date. As long as it's not in the forest.
Genre(s): Nuisance to Lovers / Fake dating / Fluff / No Voldy au
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader
Summary: After finding out your (now ex)boyfriend cheated on you with the girl he told you not to worry about, you decide to get into a fake relationship with the kid of another founder of Hogwarts. What could go wrong?
Warning(s): It's the (badly written) smut chapter (is it obvious that I don't know how kissing works?) / Weee Woo mature smut hour is here!!! / semi-exhibitionistic (office fucking while the door is locked?) / The oral fixation is back / dunno if I missed smth.
A/n: The long-awaited final part of the series. And I swear to GOD if the tags don't work I'm going to screeaaAAAMMM
[Masterlist] [HoH masterlist]
When Mattheo opens his eyes, a ray of sunshine peaks through the curtains and it falls over your sleeping face. In your sleep, you have tucked yourself closer to his body.
Mattheo can't help himself but smile. He rests his head on his fist while he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from your face. Oh, how peaceful you look — how at ease with him beside you.
At his touch, you scrunch your face and turn away, nuzzling into his chest. You grumble something and he laughs.
"Good morning, Sunshine."
Groaning, you reach for the covers and pull them up to hide yourself from the light. "What time is it?"
Looking over his shoulder towards the small clock on the bedside table. "Half past eight."
Another groan comes from you and you push the covers just down so your face is peaking out with a pout. "Way too damn early..."
At that moment your door gets kicked open and the twins storm in. "Get up! Mom made breakfast and she has given you ten minutes to get dressed.
As Danny drags you out of your bed and into your bathroom, Victor gives Mattheo a stern glare. "You listen to me, Riddle. If you hurt but one hair on our sister's head you're a dead man! Understood?!"
Mattheo nods dazed, not jet have been really woken up before the invasion.
With one last curt nod, Victor turns around and marches out of your room. Not before saying, "If I were you I would get dressed. Mom doesn't like tardiness."
The way one-half of your brothers send you sly looks while the other half glares daggers at Mattheo as the two of you join your family at the breakfast table makes you want to be swallowed up whole by the ground.
"Slept well?", muses Felix as he peels a tangerine and gives his wife the segments.
Pursing your lips, you wait until both your parents aren't looking before flipping him off. He returns the gesture, only to get whacked by his wife — who in turn winks at you.
As Mattheo tilts his head towards you and as he parts his lips to say something, Victor calls out, "Hey! No canoodling at the breakfast table! Felix and Jean were bad enough, we don't need to experience you two being disgusting too."
"Hey!", both you and Felix call out, offended. Felix because he and his wife were called disgusting, and you because of the accusation of canoodling while you were literally doing nothing.
As you and your siblings bicker — because let's be fair, Felix needs to pull Herbert and Danny into the argument — Mattheo looks around the table with a fond smile.
It's nice to see how your family is. Even while you bicker and pester each other, he can see you hold so much love for each and every one of your brothers. And they do for you. And now he can see certain traits that you do that come from your parents or that all the Hufflepuff siblings do.
It's nice. It makes him jealous deep down.
When you notice Mattheo's faraway look on his face, you reach under the table to hold his hand. You give him a squeeze and in return, you get a smile. A genuine one luckily.
The two stay like that until it's finally time to go. After all, you have so much homework to do.
Your mom hugs you with tears in her eyes, having always found it difficult to let her babies go. She also gave Mattheo a tight hug and made him promise to come back another time. Maybe for the summer holiday, he can join you and your family at your vacation home — the idea was protested with grumbles from most of your brothers.
Your father pinches your cheeks before clapping Mattheo on his back and shaking his hand. "It was nice meeting you, Mattheo. Take good care if my daughter, will you?"
"I wouldn't dare otherwise", he smiles while reaching for your hand.
Waving goodbye, the two of you walk back to the portkey. And with a final deep breath, you touch the small cup and get sucked in a portal.
With a slight stumble, the floor changes from grass to the creaking floorboards of Sprout's office. You manage to catch yourself by the desk.
Having let go of your hand, Mattheo takes out his wand while he walks towards the door. He peaks his head out and looks around the corridor. Once he closes the door, he casts a locking and silencing charm upon it.
"What are you doing?", you ask laughing as he slowly turns around.
Mattheo says nothing but strides towards you. Taking your face in his hands, your breath hitches as his thumb rubs circles over your cheeks. Your eyes flicker over his face as you recognise the look in his eyes. It's the same as last night.
"Matt", you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.
He silences a groan by biting his bottom lip, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Tell me now if you don't want this. Tell me and I will stop. But once... I can't stop- won't stop. You fill my every thought, awake or at night."
You trail one hand up his body and place it on his shoulder, moulding your body against his as he presses you against the desk, his own hands simultaneously travelling down your body. He grabs the backs of your thighs and hoists you up the desk.
A surprised yelp escapes your lips and Mattheo seizes the opportunity to crash his lips against yours. His eyes close shut as he laces his fingers into your hair, holding your head in place to deepen the kiss.
You moan as you grind against him. Mattheo's all-consuming, all over. You feel and smell nothing else than him. One of his hands is in your hair while the other travels down your side towards your knee. How he grabs the flesh of your thigh to pull you even closer ─ if that is even possible.
Wrapping your arms around him, you throw your head back as his lips travel from the corner of your mouth towards your neck. He peppers open-mouthed kisses, running his tongue over your skin and sucking softly. You bite your bottom lips so as not to sound too desperate.
While his lips assault your neck, Mattheo's hand has travelled from your knee up your thigh to underneath your skirl and his middle finger toys with the elastic of your underwear.
Your body moves like it has a mind of its own and your legs open further to give him room to slip his hand beneath the fabric.
As he explores and rubs slow circles on your clit, he groans loudly. "Gods", he breathes out, his forehead resting against your shoulder and his eyes trained on the movements of his fingers hidden under the fabric of your panties.
"Matt... please", you beg, squirming at the teasing touch.
As if your plea snaps him out of a daze, he rips his hand away from your core ─ earning a desperate whine from you ─ and he pushes your underwear down your legs, stuffing it in his back pocket.
He pulls your hips to the edge of the table while he drops to his knees. Looking up at you through his lashes, asking your permission to continue.
"Mattheo I swear if you don't soon- OH!" You moan loudly as he licks a stripe up your pussy. Your hands shoot to his curls and you pull on them as he continues his ministrations, pulling moan after moan from you.
His lips wrap around your clit and you swear that you see stars. A finger prods at your entrance, slipping in easily with how wet you are. Soon, a second finger gets added and you can't help yourself. "I could eat you for lunch", he groans.
"Please Mattheo... please!"
With one last kiss, he pulls away and looks up at you, his mouth and chin glistening. "What is it, baby?" He leans his head against your thigh while his thumb rubs lazy circles around your clit.
You groan and whine, writhing under his heavy gaze and stimulation. "I... please- do something. I feel so..."
He pouts, speeding up his fingers. "Do something? Okay." He rips his fingers away and you feel like you could die.
"Not that!", you hiss, glaring at him.
Mattheo chuckles and rises from his kneeled position. "You're oh so cute when frustrated, love." He grabs your cheeks with one hand and pushes his soaked fingers into your mouth.
The taste of your own arousal dances on your tongue and you moan, closing your eyes and sucking on his digits. Mattheo can't help but watch you with fascination as you hold his gaze.
You grab his wrist and pull his fingers away with one last kiss. "Fuck me, Mattheo Riddle. Fuck me so good that I forget that our relationship used to be fake." You use his own words, which earns you a growl.
Mattheo grabs your hips and turns you around so that your ass is up in the air and your chest laying on the desk. He pushes the hem of your skirt up so you're fully exposed. A groan escapes him while Mattheo grabs two hands full of your asscheeks and pulls them to the side.
One hand leaves your skin and you hear the metallic sound of a belt buckle before a zipper. You look over your shoulder and see that he has pushed his pants just down enough to free himself. He strokes his length a couple of times before lining up with your entrance.
With one fluid trust, he's fully inside you. You grip the edge of the desk and a loud moan rolls from your lips. You're so full. So filled to the brim.
Mattheo swears he's in heaven. Your pussy is pure ecstasy. "So... tight", he says with a clenched jaw, trying his best not to immediately spill inside of you.
Rolling your hips against his, you look over your shoulder with your bottom lip between your teeth. Mattheo has his eyes closed and his head thrown back. The grip on your hip is bordering on bruising but it feels so good.
You can't help the moans coming out of your mouth when he bottoms out before pulling out of you completely and plunging back in. It shocks your entire body and Sprout's desk he has you folded over.
A hand travels down and you roll lazy circles over your clit for extra stimulation, his own hand engulfs yours and moves in sync with you.
It makes your body buzz and you feel the end coming closer and closer. Squirming underneath him, stars flood your vision and soon you feel yourself teetering over the edge.
Mattheo, feeling your pussy convulse around him, pulls you up and presses you against his chest. He captures your lips in a fiery kiss and helps you ride out your orgasm.
"Shit", he curses under his breath, the squelching sound of your cum sending shivers down his spine. "I don't know how much longer I can hold it."
"Cum in me", you moan, arching your back.
You don't have to say that a second time because Mattheo swears he's in heaven and cums almost immediately with a loud grunt, his head thrown back. You moan with him and he holds the both of you still.
The two of you stay like that until he has gone soft and you are starting to cramp. As he pulls out, you feel a dollop of his cum run down your leg. Mattheo drops to his knees and licks it up.
"No", you squirm, feeling so overstimulated that even the thought of his tongue touching you makes your pussy twitch.
He helps you up on the desk and cleans you up with a towel he conjured. "How are you feeling?"
"Good", you smile, "Tired. Spend."
Mattheo returns your smile as he pulls you closer for a kiss. Once he has enough, he presses his forehead against yours. "Come to my game tomorrow."
You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. "And do what? Watch my house beat yours?", you tease.
"You could sit there all prettily in my jersey while watching me beat up your ex."
A laugh escapes you. "That way to original deal wasn't it? You distract my parents while I distract Malcolm. All so Slytherin can win the house cup."
Mattheo smirks. "You know it, baby." He takes your face and traces your lips with his thumb.
"And after that?" You lean into his touch.
"After that, I am going to fuck you silly in the locker room showers and make you moan my name so loud everybody knows you're mine."
And he did just that. With his knuckles still bloody from punching Malcolm in the face — nearly earning a suspension when he almost didn't stop — he holds your hands in a tight grip as he ploughs roughly into your cunt as the water from the shower makes his sweater cling to your skin.
And you bet the school did know your two definitely were an item after that.
Tag list (bold means I couldn't tag you):
@mylosz0 @kermits-bitch @jolly4holly @daisiesformylove @frogtape @dancing-inasnowglobe @slytheos @nicoleeblossom @reverse-soe @nikkissecretlibrary @moon-struck-meraki @bengbengbengi @justhavingsomefun1 @itsamusical4lifee @genshingeeksworld @y0urm0m12 @alnitakstarsky03 @mel-vaz @slytherinboysappreciation @sailtomarina @bubybubsters @jasmine2105 @abaker74 @lovelyygirl8 @vickykazuya @eltrss @llpovi @m1kasawps @sol3chu @ledtassoo @itsarajr @glittervame @glittervame @mjlock @universallyblizzardlove @hoeforvinniehackerrr @iamkaku @elltheawkward @hey-there9-its-me @mattheosangel13
Genre(s): Nuisance to Lovers / Fake dating / Fluff / No Voldy au
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader
Summary: After finding out your (now ex)boyfriend cheated on you with the girl he told you not to worry about, you decide to get into a fake relationship with the kid of another founder of Hogwarts. What could go wrong?
Warning(s): Matt beats up a bitch / some foul language / smut in the last part🤷🏻♀️
[Masterlist]
