saw ur tyler galpin post asking for requests so here i come😋 !my request will be a spoiler for season 2 part 1, just a heads up!
can u do a smut of him where he finds reader after escaping willow hill and fulfills his needs after not seeing her for months? reader just allows him and they go on for the entire night ;)
wednesday was late.
she said she'd be back before bedtime but it was pass midnight and you still haven't heard about her. enid wasn't here either. she'd gone off with bruno since wednesday insisted she stay out of the way. this meant your shared dorm with them in ophelia hall was emptier than usual, leaving you alone with your thoughts, something you'd been trying not to do since tyler got into willow hill.
you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury.
even now, knowing he was locked away, there was still pieces of him of lingering around you. the plushies he won for you at the fair sat on your shelf, photos of him that you couldn't bring yourself to throw away were at the bottom of your bedside table drawer, a couple of his shirts still in your closet.
you pushed yourself up after hearing the loud noise that came from outside your window. wednesday specifically told you to not try and be a hero, to run if something happened so you reached for the doorknob when someone pushed through the stained glass window. whoever it was, they knew how to get in.
your breath caught in your throat.
—tyler?
his name slipped out before you could stop it.
he stepped forward, feet dragging across the floor of your room. his hair was longer than the last time you saw him, though the soft caramel curls remained, damply sticking to his forehead. he was shirtless, only wearing the willow hill pajama pants hanging low on his hips. the scars across his chest gleamed with sweat. he must have run the whole way here, through the forest, right up to your window.
and your heart was beating so hard you could hear it in your ears.
—what are you doing here?
you walked to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to you in a tight hug. one of tyler's arms went around your hip, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin.
—couldn't stay away from you any longer, —he grunted.
tyler inhaled, sniffing your scent with something primal and animal. his grip on your hip tightened and you felt his chest rise and fall against you, deep and uneven, just like he did before he turned into the hyde. your pulled away and looked at his eyes, your hands cupping his cheeks. his eyes were bloodshot red, it was like he was trying to go back to the crook of your neck but you held him still, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
—i ran because of you.
his hand slid up your back, pressing you closer until his head rested against the curve of your neck. you gulped, as much as you'd missed him too, you knew he hadn't gotten any better. you saw it in his eyes and you felt it in the heat radiating off his body. tyler hadn't come to nevermore as the boy you once loved, he had come as the hyde.
—you shouldn't be here, tyler.
his fingers curled tighter into your spine, almost painful.
—all i could think about was you. you're the only thing that keeps me sane.
one of his hands climbed to the base of your neck, long fingers spreading wide as his lips found yours. the kiss was nothing like the ones you remembered. it was rough, a mix of desperation and hunger. your hands trembled against his chest, not because you were scared, certainly not because you didn't want it, but because you almost let yourself sink into it when you knew you shouldn't.
—ty...
he shouldn't be anywhere near nevermore. he was supposed to be locked away, far from you, far from this. his thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling it race beneath your skin.
—tyler, —you said, firmer this time. —you can't be here.
—don't do that, don't push me away, —his mouth crashed back onto yours before you could answer and you felt yourself slipping and getting lost in the kiss more and more, —i came back for you. i escaped for you. only for you.
your chest ached. you'd wanted him back for so long. only for you. every step he took, every breath he fought for outside willow hill had been to come back here to you. his hands moved to your pajama shorts, fingers curling into the fabric, letting them fall to your ankles.
—have you not missed me?
you took a few step backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall onto the mattress. tyler followed you, his warm body between your legs caging yours against the sheets. your fingers tangled in the curls at the back of his head, pushing him into another kiss.
—you have no idea what it's been like without you, —you confessed. your thighs squeezed him.
tyler growled low in his throat, the primal sound vibrating against your lips. this is what he'd been wanting to hear all along. you pulled down his willow hill pajama pants, feeling him already hard as a rock against the inside of your thigh. he didn't even took the time to slide down your panties, he just moved them aside and pushed his cock inside you without previous warning.
you gasped against his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders. his hips pressed closer, wanting to go as deep as he could. one of tyler's hands went to held your hips in place as he started to fuck into you at a desperate pace.
and he went for what felt like the entire night.
he flipped you over on your stomach, helped you to climb on top of him, shifted you onto your side, one of your legs over his body to have better access... and each time his pace didn't change. it was raw, animalistic, fast. you felt his cum filling you every time, running down your thighs, dripping out of you when tyler pushed himself inside you again. his sounds were deep in contrast to your breathless gasps and high pitched moans. the rhythm was chaotic. he marked you. bit your neck, sunk his hyde claws along your hips, sucked on the skin of your boobs...
your body felt numb by the time tyler was done with you. you'd come so many times you even lost the count but you felt weak, too tired to even clean yourself when he fell by your side on the bed.
tyler turned to face you and rested his forehead against yours. neither of you spoke for a long moment, letting your shared breathing fill the silence.
—i'm not letting them take me away from you. not again, —tyler murmured.
you know it wasn't right, you knew what he did, why he was kept at willow hill, but you couldn't help but surrender to him every time, to the boy you once loved and maybe never stopped loving.
sooo.... I saw an idea post about if tyler finds the reader after he escapes and he was going to come into her dorm but has to flee because Wednesday catches him. Wednesday moves reader into a safe house, and this is what happens. enjoy!
Wednesday’s blade was still drawn, her expression flat but her eyes razor-sharp as they scanned the storm-slick window for a sign of Hyde or Tyler shaped silhouette.
“He was here,” she said again, though it wasn’t a question.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. “He broke in. I didn’t ask him to. He, he cornered me.”
For a moment, Wednesday studied you. Not with pity, but with the unnerving precision she reserved for crime scenes. Then, finally, she sheathed her blade.
“You can’t stay here. He’ll come back. And the next time, I may not arrive in time to stop him.”
“Where would I even go?”
Her expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of calculation in her eyes. “There’s a place. Few know it exists, fewer still can enter without invitation.”
That’s how you found yourself trudging through the storm an hour later, following Wednesday across Nevermore’s sprawling grounds, past the gargoyles and twisting stone paths that seemed older than time itself. She led you toward the edge of the woods, where ivy strangled an ancient stone archway.
“This was a sanctuary during the Witch Hunts,” Wednesday explained in her flat monotone. “The outcasts who survived built this place as a refuge. It’s been used ever since, for those who need to disappear.”
When you stepped inside, the air changed. The safe house wasn’t just a building, rather it felt alive, humming faintly against your skin. The walls bore faint runes, glowing softly in the candlelight as though they remembered every soul who had once sought protection here.
“This will hold him back?” you whispered.
Wednesday’s mouth twitched in something almost like a smirk. “It will hold back everything.”
The following days blurred into discipline.
At first, the memories of Tyler left you raw, shaken. But under Wednesday’s cold guidance—and your own burning determination—you refused to stay weak.
Telekinesis had once come to you like instinct, effortless, a part of your bloodstream. But since the battle at Crackstone’s crypt, since Tyler’s claws had ripped into your stomach, everything had dulled. The scars across your skin weren’t just reminders—they were barriers.
The first night in the safe house, you collapsed after moving a candle an inch. But you forced yourself up again.
By the third day, your control sharpened. Books flew to your call. Daggers suspended midair without trembling. You could shatter a glass with the flick of a wrist.
By the seventh, your power sang in your veins again. Stronger. Sharper. Ruthless.
And in the rare hours between training, you immersed yourself in your other obsession: your research. Immunotherapy protocols scribbled across chalkboards, DNA sequences mapped onto parchment, breakthroughs blooming under candlelight. It kept your mind sharp, your heart steady. It reminded you of who you were beyond him.
You were not the girl who froze under his touch. You were more than his ghost.
But then the notes began.
Slipped under your door, tucked into the folds of your books, left on your pillow.
You can’t hide from me.
I still feel you.
You’re mine.
You burned the first few. Ignored the next. You buried yourself in training, in science, in focus.
He would not derail you again.
The storm that night felt different.
It wasn’t just the rain against the stained glass or the groan of the wind through the rafters—it was in the air, thick and electric, crawling over your skin like a warning. Every flash of lightning illuminated the runes carved into the walls of the safe house, their glow flickering, almost as if they were faltering.
You had been bent over your desk for hours, ink staining your fingertips, scattered papers covered in immunotherapy notes and sketches of molecular pathways. It should have been enough to keep you grounded. To keep you tethered to logic, to science, to anything but him.
But when the candlelight stuttered and the shadows deepened, you knew.
The hairs on the back of your neck rose. Your power stirred in your veins before your conscious mind caught up.
And then you heard it.
“Miss me?”
Your blood iced.
You turned, and there he was.
Tyler stood just inside the doorway, framed by the storm behind him. Rain clung to him, running down the sharp lines of his jaw, dripping from his dark curls onto the stone floor. His shirt clung to his chest, the fabric plastered against muscle, every inch of him sculpted by the storm.
But it was his eyes that undid you—those storm-gray eyes locked on you with a hunger that was both devastating and familiar.
Your chair scraped back violently as you rose. The air around you vibrated, telekinetic energy flaring in response to your pulse. “Get. Out.”
His mouth curved in a slow, almost lazy smirk, though there was nothing casual about the way his gaze devoured you. “Not even a hello? After all this time?”
“I said get out,” you snapped, your voice sharper than the thunder outside. “You’re not welcome here. This place should have kept you out.”
He stepped forward, unconcerned. The runes on the walls pulsed faintly, resisting him—but he kept coming, as though the house itself bent to his will.
“You really think stone and symbols could keep me from you?” His voice was low, dangerous, threaded with heat. “Nothing could.”
You lifted a hand, books rattling on their shelves, a pen lifting into the air beside you, vibrating with your power. “Try me.”
For a moment, something flickered across his face—pride, almost admiration. “You’ve gotten stronger.”
“I had to,” you hissed. “Because of you. Because you broke me.”
That cracked his smirk. His jaw tightened. “I never wanted to break you.”
“You lied to me.” The words tore out of you, raw, vicious. The pen snapped midair with the force of your fury. “You made me love you while you slaughtered people I cared about. Do you know what that felt like? To realize every kiss, every whisper, every promise was just a mask?”
His voice roughened, breaking through the storm. “They weren’t lies. Not with you. Not for a second.”
“Don’t.” You tried to shove him back with your power, but he held his ground. The invisible force rippled against him like wind against a cliff.
“You think I wanted this?” he growled, stepping closer, each stride a collision course. “You think I chose the Hyde? The blood on my hands?” He stopped just in front of you, his chest rising and falling hard, heat radiating off him despite the storm’s chill. “The only choice I made was you.”
You laughed, bitter and sharp, though your heart was racing against your ribs. “Choosing me? That’s what you call it? Using me? Lying to my face while you killed in the dark?”
His hands slammed against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. The force rattled the shelves, sent a candle crashing to the ground. Your body jolted—but you didn’t flinch away.
“Don’t twist this,” he snarled, eyes burning into yours. “You were the only thing that made me feel human. Every time I touched you, every time you said my name—it was the only part of me that wasn’t the monster.”
Your breath hitched as his body pressed close, his heat bleeding into you, his storm-soaked shirt brushing your chest. The scent of rain and pine clung to him, familiar and devastating.
“You’re insane,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, trembling, frayed.
“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “But you still want me.”
Your fists clenched, telekinetic energy surging until every book in the room lifted an inch from the shelves, trembling in the air. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”
“Then tell me you don’t feel it.” His lips ghosted down your jaw, barely a touch, but it burned. “Tell me you don’t remember how it felt when it was just us. When the world didn’t matter.”
“I hate you,” you spat, but it came out choked, your chest heaving against his.
“Liar,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. “Your body knows the truth.” His hand slid down, firm at your waist, pressing you back against the wall. His thumb traced the edge of your scar through your shirt, making your stomach seize.
You gasped, fury colliding with something hotter, something shameful. “Don’t—”
“I think about this scar every night,” he growled softly. “What I did to you. What it cost me. And still—still—I’d burn for another second with you.”
The storm outside roared, lightning flashing so bright it lit his face in silver. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unhinged with longing, obsession, regret.
“Why are you here?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thunder.
His forehead pressed to yours, damp curls brushing your skin. “Because I can’t stay away. Because I’d rather die by your hand than live without you. Because even if you hate me, even if you never forgive me—you’re mine.”
Your power wavered, faltered, sparking out in the air around you. Books dropped to the floor with heavy thuds.
Your heart was screaming, your body trembling, your lips hovering just a breath from his.
“Say it,” he murmured, his voice raw, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Say you don’t want me, and I’ll leave.”
The words caught in your throat.
Because you couldn’t. And you hated yourself for it.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. His demand hung between you like a live wire.
“Say it,” Tyler whispered again, voice cracked and raw, his forehead pressing harder to yours. “Say you don’t want me.”
You should have. You wanted to. But your pulse betrayed you, hammering against your ribs like it might break free.
The silence was enough of an answer.
His breath hitched, and then his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, bruising, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive. You shoved at his chest, telekinesis sparking uncontrolled, rattling every object in the room. But the second his tongue slid against yours, a fire erupted through you so consuming it made you moan against him.
“Stop—” you gasped between kisses, your hands still pushing, still fighting—
but your body betrayed you, arching into his.
“Never,” he growled against your lips, his hands gripping your waist like he could fuse you to him. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”
Your fury flared hot, sharper than your desire, and you shoved with your power. Tyler slammed back against the opposite wall, his breath punched out of him. For a moment, you stood there, chest heaving, your power surging through your veins like wildfire.
“You don’t get to come back into my life like this,” you spat, stalking toward him, telekinesis holding him pinned to the wall. His chest rose and fell, muscles straining against the invisible force. “You don’t get to break me, then act like I should forgive you just because you still want me.”
Lightning cracked outside, thunder shaking the floor. The storm was inside you now, surging, boiling.
Tyler’s lips twisted into a grim smile, even as he fought against your hold. “I don’t want your forgiveness.” His eyes blazed into yours. “I want you.”
With a guttural growl of frustration, you released the hold—and in a blink, he was on you again. His body pressed you back against the wall so hard the breath left your lungs. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat.
“You hate me,” he rasped, his mouth hot against your jaw. “Say it again.”
“I—” Your words dissolved into a gasp as his teeth grazed your pulse. “I hate you.”
“Liar,” he breathed, his tongue brushing the same spot, making you shiver. “You want me to burn for what I did? Fine. But don’t pretend you’re not burning too.”
Your hands clutched at his soaked shirt, torn between pushing him away and dragging him closer. His lips moved down your neck, slow and sinful, each touch unraveling you further.
“You deceived me,” you gasped, fury spiking again even as heat pooled low in your stomach. “You used me.”
His head snapped up, his eyes wild. “No. I saved myself with you. You were the only part that was real.” His thumb traced your bottom lip again, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You still are.”
The fight bled out of you in a shuddering breath. Your power flickered around the room, sending papers fluttering, candles extinguishing. You hated him. You wanted him. Both truths carved into you like scars.
When his mouth crashed back onto yours, you didn’t stop him this time.
The kiss was molten, all teeth and heat and desperation. You clawed at him, nails dragging down his chest, ripping buttons loose. He groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming with a hunger that made your knees tremble.
“Tell me to stop,” he begged against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath ragged. “Tell me, and I swear I will.”
But the word wouldn’t come.
Because you didn’t want him to.
You surged up, kissing him harder, biting his lip, tasting the blood and the rain and the wreckage of everything between you.
And Tyler Galpin smiled against your mouth like a man who had just won a war.
Summary : You find out Tyler is the Hyde. You see him transform, watch him get taken away, and your heart breaks because you still remember the sweet boy he used to be. Later, he comes back, desperate for you to see him as human, but the fear between you proves things can’t go back to how they were.
Warning : This story contains dark themes, emotional distress, violence, and intense relationship dynamics. Reader discretion is advised.
You had always known Jericho was full of secrets. It was the kind of town that looked peaceful until you stared too long. But you never thought one of those secrets would wear Tyler Galpin’s smile.
He wasn’t supposed to be part of that world — your world of monsters and mysteries and bloodlines whispered in Latin. He was supposed to be the normal one. The warm one. The boy with flour on his hands from baking, who’d kiss your knuckles over the counter when no one was watching.
He was supposed to be safe.
You used to sit in the Weathervane after classes, parchment sprawled in front of you while he pretended to wipe tables just to linger near your booth. He’d steal glances, ask about the strange school up on the hill, and tease you for your dark clothes and even darker humor.
“Tell me you don’t actually sleep in a coffin,” he’d say with that crooked grin.
“Only on Thursdays,” you’d reply dryly, and he’d laugh like you were the only thing in Jericho worth laughing about.
He made you forget you were an Addams — for a little while. With him, you weren’t the shadow everyone stared at. You were just you.
You remember the last night you saw him before everything went wrong. He’d walked you home, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the stars. “You ever think about leaving?” he asked quietly.
“Jericho?”
“Everything.” His voice was careful, almost afraid. “Starting over. Somewhere far.”
You’d smiled, brushing your shoulder against his. “You could, you know. You’re not stuck here.”
He’d looked at you then — really looked. “Maybe I’d stay if you did.”
And gods, you almost told him then. About what you were. About the bloodline, the legacy, the things that didn’t belong in daylight. But you didn’t. Because for once, you wanted something simple. You wanted him.
And then Wednesday came.
Everything after that felt like a storm you couldn’t stop. The attacks. The whispers. The blood. The look in your sister’s eyes when she said she was close to finding out who it was.
You remember standing in your dorm window one night, rain streaking the glass, staring down at Jericho’s flickering lights and thinking, please, not him. You didn’t even know why you thought it. You just did.
And then came the woods.
You’d followed the screams, the smell of smoke and something sharp in the air. Branches tore at your cloak as you ran, heart pounding, calling for your sister, for anyone — until you saw it.
The Hyde.
Towering. Twisted. Eyes glowing with something wild and wrong. You froze, half-hidden behind the trees, breath caught in your throat. Its claws dripped red. Its chest heaved with animal fury.
And then it turned.
You don’t know what made you realize it — maybe the shape of his jaw beneath the monster’s skin, or the way his eyes caught yours with a flicker of recognition. But when it looked at you… you saw him.
You saw Tyler.
Your Tyler.
It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. But you knew. You felt it, in that sharp, gut-twisting way your family always said was intuition.
You whispered his name before you could stop yourself. “Tyler?”
The creature froze.
For one second, there was silence — no screams, no movement, just rain hitting the leaves between you. Then it blinked, stumbled back, and for a moment, you saw something human flash across its face.
And then it ran.
Later, you saw him again — but not as the boy you loved. This time, there were police, and lights, and shouting. They’d found him. They’d caught him.
He didn’t fight. Didn’t speak.
You stood on the edge of the crowd, every part of you shaking as they strapped him down, wires crackling. And when the electricity hit, when his body jolted and that terrible yellow gleam filled his eyes again, your heart broke with it.
They called him a monster. They said he was dangerous, irredeemable.
You wanted to scream that they were wrong. That he used to hold you so gently you forgot what cruelty felt like. That he used to make you laugh so hard your ribs hurt. That he wasn’t born this way.
But you didn’t. You just watched, helpless, as they loaded him into the van. Rain running down his face, his eyes glassy, lost — but they found you, even then.
And in that split second before the doors closed, you swore he mouthed your name.
Now, the woods are quiet again. Wednesday won’t talk about him. Your parents don’t ask. The town pretends to heal.
But every time you pass the Weathervane, you half expect to see him behind the counter — towel over his shoulder, smirk on his lips, saying, “You’re late, Addams.”
And maybe, in some part of you that still believes in things that shouldn’t exist, you hope the Hyde remembers you.
Because you still remember the boy who promised you forever under a sky full of stars — before the monster took his place.
The room smelled like antiseptic and smoke. Bandages, gauze, and a basin of pink-tinged water covered the small table beside the bed. You pressed a damp cloth to Wednesday’s temple, watching her flinch but say nothing. She never did. The nurses had wanted to take over, but you waved them away. She was your sister. You would handle this.
Outside, Nevermore buzzed with whispers. The Hyde. The attack. The betrayal. It spread through the halls like wildfire, burning through every conversation. And then there was his name — Tyler Galpin.
You wrung the cloth tighter until water dripped from your fingers.
“Stop hovering,” Wednesday muttered, her tone dry even as she winced when you tightened the bandage around her arm.
“You nearly died,” you said quietly.
“I didn’t,” she replied, ever stubborn, her dark eyes glinting. “He didn’t get that far.”
The word he cut deeper than you expected. You tried not to react, but your chest felt heavy. They’d said his name so easily — as if he hadn’t once been the boy you loved. You’d overheard the sheriff earlier, his voice low but certain: He confessed. It’s official. They’re taking him away.
A breakthrough, they called it. As if discovering the monster inside him was some kind of achievement.
He was a Hyde.
You looked down at your sister — pale, bruised, but alive — and wanted to ask if she knew. If she saw it coming. If she felt that same flicker of unease you once did and ignored. But before you could speak, Wednesday’s voice cut through your thoughts.
“Don’t,” she said flatly.
“Don’t what?”
“Blame yourself for not seeing it.”
You froze, your hand hovering in midair.
Her gaze met yours, calm and sharp as glass. “You were close to him,” she said simply. “You saw the version he wanted you to see. That’s not a failure. It’s manipulation.”
You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “He wasn’t like that before.”
“Maybe he was,” she said. “Maybe you just didn’t want to know.”
You hated how easily her words fit. Hated how much truth they carried.
“I saw him,” you whispered after a moment. “When they took him away.”
She stayed silent.
“He looked at me like he didn’t even know who I was,” you said, voice barely steady. “And for a second, I think I didn’t either.”
The room went still. Wednesday watched you quietly, her usual sarcasm gone. For once, there was no sharp edge, no coldness — only silence.
Finally, she spoke. “Monsters wear very convincing masks.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “You sound like Father.”
“He’s right more often than he should be,” she murmured. Then, softer — almost too soft to catch — she added, “But you’re not the reason he became what he is.”
You nodded, though you didn’t really believe it. The cloth in your hand had gone cold. Outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance, like the world itself was sighing after everything it had seen.
Soon, the news would spread through Jericho. They would all talk about the sheriff’s son — the Hyde, the murderer, the monster.
But you would remember the boy who smiled shyly at you over coffee. The boy who traced hearts in foam and promised you forever under flickering streetlights.
You push open the door to your apartment, the weight of the day clinging to you like damp fog from Jericho's streets. Spending hours with Wednesday had been a whirlwind—her sharp wit slicing through the town's shadows, her dark eyes pulling secrets from the air. But now, alone in your quiet space, exhaustion tugs at your limbs. Something feels off the moment you step inside: the air thicker, a faint creak from upstairs that you dismiss as the old building settling. Just tiredness, you tell yourself, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag on the kitchen table with a thud.
You rummage through the fridge for a quick snack, your mind replaying Wednesday's cryptic warnings about monsters lurking in plain sight. The clippings you've hidden—yellowed newspaper stories about the Hyde's rampages—flash in your thoughts, but you shove them down. Not tonight. You grab a glass of water, set it aside, and head upstairs, the wooden steps groaning under your feet.
Your bedroom door is ajar, just as you left it. You slip inside, flipping on the lamp, the warm light spilling across the rumpled bed and the small table by the window. You don't see him at first—not until you turn from hanging up your jacket. There, in the corner shadows near the table, Tyler stands frozen, his fingers brushing the edge of those hidden clippings you've stashed in a drawer, now pulled half-open. Shirtless, his torso gleams under the faint light, every inch marred by jagged scars that twist like lightning across his chest and abdomen—remnants of the Hyde's fury, or whatever tortures came after.
Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp that echoes in the sudden silence. He's a Hyde. The monster from the woods, the one they strapped down and shocked until his eyes glowed yellow. Fear coils in your gut, cold and immediate. You take a step back, your heel catching the edge of the rug.
Tyler's eyes—those familiar hazel depths, now shadowed with desperation—snap to yours. Devastation flickers across his face, raw and unguarded. He doesn't want this, doesn't want the fear widening your eyes. Slowly, he straightens from the table, his scarred body tensing as he takes a quiet step back, hands raised palms out like he's approaching a wild animal.
"Are you scared of me?" His voice is low, cracked, barely above a whisper.
You open your mouth to reply—something sharp, something to push him away—but he's faster. In a blur of motion, inhuman speed rippling through his frame, he crosses the room. His hand slams the door shut behind you, the lock clicking with finality. You're trapped, the space between you shrinking to nothing as he looms close, his breath ragged.
He drops to his knees before you can react, the thud echoing like a plea. His hands hover near your hips, not touching, trembling with restraint. "Please," he begs, voice breaking. "Just hear me out. I'll leave Jericho tonight—disappear, I swear. But I need you to listen. I crave you… God, I need you so badly it hurts." He's groveling now, head bowed, scars pulling tight as he presses his forehead to the floor at your feet. "Don't turn me away. Not you. Please."
Your heart hammers, fear twisting with the ghost of old affection. He's not safe. He's the monster. But his desperation cracks something in you, and before you can stop it, your hand reaches down, fingers threading into his hair. You pull him up, and in seconds, his mouth crashes against yours—hungry, bruising kisses that taste of rain and regret. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, as his hands finally grip your waist, yanking you flush against his scarred chest.
The kiss turns feral fast. He rises, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he backs you against the wall. His cock hardens against your thigh through his jeans, thick and insistent, but he doesn't strip you yet. No, he wants it harsh, wants to feel your fear in every thrust. He drops you onto the bed, pinning you down with his weight, his mouth devouring your neck, teeth scraping skin hard enough to mark.
"Tyler—" you gasp, but it comes out half-fear, half-need, your body betraying you as your hands claw at his shoulders, nails digging into old scars.
He growls low, a Hyde's rumble in his throat, and shoves your skirt up, ripping your panties aside with one rough yank. His fingers probe your pussy roughly, two thrusting in deep without warning, curling to hit that spot that makes you arch. But he doesn't fuck you there—not yet. He pulls back, eyes locked on yours, seeing the war in them: the way you look at him like he's a stranger, like the boy you loved is gone, replaced by this beast using your body to sate his hunger.
It guts him. You see it in the flicker of pain before he masks it with desperation. He flips you onto your side, one leg hooked over his arm, exposing the soft flesh of your thighs. His jeans are gone in a scramble, his cock springing free—thick, veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He presses it between your thighs, the head nudging your slick folds but not entering, trapping himself in the tight squeeze of your legs.
"Fuck," he groans, hips snapping forward in a brutal thrust, his cock sliding harsh and fast between your thighs, the friction burning hot. Each pump grinds the shaft against your clit, rough enough to make you cry out, your pussy clenching empty and aching. He's relentless, one hand gripping your hip to hold you still, the other fisting your hair to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.
You stare at him, and it's the fear that stabs deepest—not yours, but his, mirrored in the way your eyes narrow, distant, like he's just taking what he wants, like you're a vessel for his craving, not the girl who once kissed flour from his lips. "You're not him," you whisper, voice trembling as his cock pistons between your thighs, slick with your arousal, the slap of skin echoing.
He whimpers, a broken sound, but it only drives him harder. His thrusts turn punishing, the head of his cock battering your clit with every slide, building that coil in your core despite the terror. Sweat slicks his scarred torso, dripping onto your skin as he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "I am. I'm still yours. Please… see me."
But you don't. You can't. Your body responds—thighs squeezing tighter around his cock, pussy dripping down to ease his glide—but your eyes stay guarded, making him feel like a user, a monster stealing scraps of intimacy. He chokes on a moan, pace fracturing as he nears the edge, his free hand sliding down to pinch your nipple through your shirt, twisting hard.
The pressure builds unbearably, your clit throbbing from the harsh friction, and you shatter first—orgasm ripping through you in waves, your cry muffled against his shoulder as your thighs clamp down, milking his cock without taking him inside. He follows seconds later, roaring your name as hot cum spills between your legs, coating your thighs and pussy in sticky ropes, his body shuddering against yours.
He collapses beside you, still half-trapped in your grip, breath heaving. But the silence after is heavy, your gaze averted, the fear lingering like smoke. He's gotten what he craved, but at what cost? The boy you knew feels further away than ever, and in his eyes, the devastation burns brighter.
|| Warnings; death mentions because ghost!reader, fluffy
|| Summary; reader and Enid vibe while Wednesday tries to do her daily hour of writing.
Requests closed!
Started; November 23rd
Finished; November 23rd
Tag List; @queriaumpastelagora @wreathedinantlers @reneeslvt (if you would like to be added, comment and I'll add you!)
~~~
You could barely remember how it happened. You spent so long hanging around Wednesday that, even though you were a ghost, the two of you began dating.
It was another afternoon at Nevermore. You followed your lover through the halls as she headed to the dorm room from classes.
"Ugh, I'm so glad I don't have to worry about school anymore. Like if one good thing can come from being dead, it's definitely that. I'm sorry babe but your classes are so boring," you rambled. Wednesday rolled her eyes, not looking in your direction and instead focusing ahead as she spoke.
"For someone with a tombstone that says 'Rest In Peace' you are not doing a lot of resting," Wednesday muttered.
You couldn't help but smirk, floating over to her and resting your arm to her shoulder.
"Oh come on, I know you love me."
"Love is a strong descriptor."
Leave it to Wednesday to always keep things interesting, you rolled your eyes and took your arm off her. Waiting patiently as she opened the door to her dorm she shared with Enid.
Could you technically just float through it? Yup, you could. But you'd rather stay next to Wednesday.
Enid looked up from her phone when she saw Wednesday walk in, she couldn't see you though.
"Hey, Wednesday! Is Y/N with you?"
Wednesday gave you a side eye when Enid addressed you," no." You huffed at that and kicked Wednesday's writing chair over, earning a glare and laugh from Enid.
"Hi, Y/N." She waved in the direction of the chair, though she wasn't sure if you were still there. You waved back.
You liked to make yourself pretty known. So, when things started randomly knocking over or going missing in the dorm Wednesday reluctantly introduced you to Enid. Enid, at first, thought Wednesday was joking. She couldn't seriously have a ghost girlfriend, could she? But then you'd gone and knocked a few things over, even possessing her typewriter to say hello and introduce yourself to Enid.
The blonde was definitely startled. Only Wednesday Addams would fall in love with a ghost. But after a while, she warmed up to you and often asked if you were there, or how you were doing.
Wednesday always acted annoyed by it, but deep down was honestly glad you had someone other than her to talk to now.
You and Enid were the same level of ramblers, so you got along quite well. Wednesday walked over to her chair and propped it back up, sitting down in it to do her daily hour of writing.
While you floated over to Enid. Using a pen and paper to talk with her. Even Thing came over and joined the conversation.
Wednesday simply tuned it out. Being used to Enid's yapping, your scribbling and Thing's signing.
You told Enid about your day, how boring Wednesday's classes had been, to which she laughed and nodded in agreement.
"Ugh, I know. Classes here can be tots boring sometimes," Enid agreed.
You, having died before modern slang but still a teenager, looked confused and glanced over at Wednesday.
"Babe, what does tots mean?"
Being friends with Enid meant you were learning lots of new things. She'd even introduced you to TikTok.
Wednesday ignored you and you threw your pen. Aiming for the back of her head but instead it fell helplessly on the desk next to her.
Wednesday sighed and turned in her chair to face you, Enid paused in her rambling.
"What just happened?"
Thing shrugged in response to Enid's question. As best as a hand can shrug, anyway.
"Someone's throwing a fit cause I won't tell her what... tots... means," Wednesday said the word 'tots' with so much distain.
Enid blinked in surprise, then laughed," sometimes I forget Y/N isn't from the 21st century. Tots is just a short form for totally."
You looked at Enid, then back at Wednesday, gesturing to your friend," there. Did that seem so hard?"
"You are lucky I tolerate you," The Addams grumbled. Somedays, you really knew how to test your luck with her.
summary - reader would do anything, anything, to protect wednesday…
warnings - punching, blood, nose broken, SAPPY
an - missed wednesday and r, (mostly wednesday), so i thought id get back into bliss before season 2 comes !!
—————————
It was a beautiful Monday afternoon in New Jersey, golden rays of sunlight bathing the mansion floor in a beautiful blanket of bronze. The windows were open to the outside world, a warm breeze flowing through the house and invading the walls with the scent of pine and apple pie.
You were in the kitchen, humming along to one of your favorite songs while you stirred ingredients together to make a sugar glaze. Your pie was in the oven, almost ready to be taken out and admired for how damn talented you were at baking, but it needed a few more minutes to reach perfection. It’s crust was a delicious looking light brown, dusted with a bit of salt for flavor, that covered the mouth watering apple filling that was crafted from your great grandmothers secret recipe.
Your cooking and baking skills were a great blessing, especially since your wife has a bit of a sour tooth when it comes to entrees. You always made sure to craft each dish to the exact perfect condition of what she was craving in that moment, and every time, without fail, she would praise you in her gothic ways about how delicious each meal was.
Speaking of your wife, she was currently typing away on her typewriter in the office, working on a new book series since finishing her last collection. Becoming such a well respected writer had boosted her confidence a lot, which in turn helped open more doors to new plot lines and perspectives of storytelling and imagery for her to explore. You had been her biggest supporter throughout her journey and definitely earned the title of “#1 Wednesday Addams Fan” after showing up to every conference and book signing wearing her face on your shirt.
She scolded you for it every single time.
“Doing okay, babe?” You called out, whisking the icing gently.
The ‘tap tap tap’ of the typewriter abruptly stopped, and the sound of footsteps ranges out softly in the house as your partner approached the kitchen. You turned your head just in time to see her round the corner, your breath catching in the back of your throat from the sight of her.
Wednesday Addams was a glorious view, and just so easy to look at for you even after all these years. Her skin was supple and pale, almost ghostly white from lack of melanin in her cells. Her eyes, black as ever, were filled with a sense of warmth that to others, would be discomforting; to you, it was home. She was dressed in a knee-length black skirt that held her checkered sweater tucked in at her waist, with a thin silver chain hanging loosely from the front of her hip to the back. She had white, shin-length socks on that hugged her calves in such a way that it was almost hypnotic to stare at her. Her hair was in her usual duel braids paired with her beautiful bangs that you loved oh so much, and she wore an expression of admiration on her face when she spotted you.
“Hey you.” You said, setting your whisk down to fully turn to her, “Finished the third chapter yet?”
“Not yet.” Wednesday replied, stepping into your personal space and tilting her face up to you, “I am stuck in the torturous prison of what the people call ‘writers block’.”
You chuckled, taking her chin in your hand and leaning down to kiss her. She stood up on her toes to meet you, her hands resting on your hips while you cupped her jaw. She tasted divine, her lipgloss flavor consisting of black cherries and dark chocolate with a hint of eucalyptus to complement the sweetness.
“Hi.” You murmured to her after pulling away, staring into her dark eyes.
“Hello.” She whispered back, her hands slithering around your waist, “I missed you.”
“We live together.” You teased, smiling when she undid the tie of your apron.
“You have been baking all morning.”
“Could’ve joined me.”
“And suffer with the nauseating effect of home life and domestication? I’d rather be nailed to a post.”
You giggled, moving around her to hang your apron on the pantry door hook before coming back over to the oven to peak at your pie. It seemed to be done, so you grabbed your black mittens and carefully took the hot dish out and placed it on the stove. The aroma of apple hit you like a warm pillow to the face, and you felt your whole body physically relax from the touching smell.
“I hope to get a slice later.” Wednesday said, sliding her hand into yours once you took the mittens off, “It looks divine.”
“I thought Wednesday Addams didn’t like sweet things?” You asked, scrunching your nose at her.
“I like you, isn’t that enough proof?”
You hummed, pressing your lips to her forehead as a loving gesture. The radio sounded light static before Foolish Girl by Marjorie filled the room. Your unoccupied hand slide to rest on your wife’s waist, gently beginning to sway to the music with her. She let her head rest against your chest, her eyes falling shut at the sound of your heartbeat.
“Twenty-five years old and you still dance like you’re fifteen.” You mumbled, smoothing the wrinkles out of her sweater.
“I need to perfect my skills, I just haven’t had the time.” She replied softly, burying her nose into your hoodie, “Fifteen year old me would be devastated.”
“No.” You said, lifting her head and reaching to cup her face, “She would be so proud to see what you have achieved; you’re incredible, baby”
Wednesday blushed, shamelessly letting her eyes run over your features with pure admiration. You both stayed like that for a while, content in swaying in each other’s embrace whilst occasionally sharing little kisses here and there. The moment was perfect, until a sharp knock at the front door startled you.
“Who could that be?” You wondered aloud, knowing you weren’t expecting anyone today.
“A spokesperson maybe.” Wednesday grumbled, turning and heading towards the front door, “I’ll tell them to leave.”
“It’s not like we get solicitors.” You said, knowing it’s a pretty long walk from the road to your front door, “Be nice, please!”
She waved you off, rounding the corner out of sight but not of earshot. You heard the front door open, and a male voice respond to your wife’s question of his presence.
“I’m here for you, actually.” The person said, his words slightly slurred.
“Sorry, not available, please leave.”
“Seem pretty available to me; pretty cute too.”
“Use the word ‘cute’ to describe me again and i’ll remove your finger nails with my pliers.”
“No need to get attitude with me, gorgeous. How about I come inside and we chat a little?”
You tensed up, dropping the plate you were drying onto the counter and briskly walking to the front door. There was a tall man in the entrance, holding the door open with his hand so Wednesday couldn’t shut it on him. He was scruffier looking, his greasy hair long and his wiry beard unkept on his bumpy skin. He had a smirk on his face that was unsettling and gross looking, like something that came out of a shitty thriller from the 60’s or something of the sort.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man drawled out, seeming to size you up when you approached.
“Her wife.” You deadpanned, standing to slightly in front of Wednesday to block him from entering your home, “And I’m pretty sure she asked you to leave.”
He laughed, his breath reeking of scotch and beer when it hit your nose. You recoiled slightly, mistakingly taking a step back in disgust. The man saw that as an opportunity to strike, and shot his hand out to grab Wednesdays arm.
It felt like everything happened in a millisecond; one minute you were pinching your nose to block the smell, the next you were swinging your fist into his face, his nose breaking with a satisfying ‘crack’. He fell backwards onto your concrete front porch, his hand immediately covering his injury. You breathed heavily, your chest heaving up and down from the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Not many things angered you, but if someone ever put their hands on Wednesday, you would see red.
Call it your wifey instinct.
“OW! What the fuck?!” He screamed, cradling his face, “Son of a bitch!”
“Never, ever, touch her again.” You growled, squaring your shoulders to make yourself appear bigger, “Now get the hell off of my property before I call the cops.”
With that you slammed the door once he retreated down your steps and to the street, locking the deadbolt with a grunt of annoyance. Blood coated your knuckles from the impact of the man’s nose breaking, but you could honestly care less as your focus was on the women standing in front of you.
“Are you okay?” You asked, reaching for her arm to make sure she wasn’t scratched or bruised.
“I am fine.” Wednesday reassured, a glint of love in her eyes as she stared at you, “That was the most attractive thing I have ever seen.”
“Wednesday, I just punched a man in the face.”
“And it was divine.” She replied, biting her lip in a teasing way, “The way you spoke to him; impressive.”
You sighed with a smile, wrapping your arms around her and kissing her softly. She responded with leaning into you, titling her head to the side to welcome you in as much as she could.
“I’m glad to have you.” You whispered against her lips, “Truly.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She whispered back, tugging you forwards with her as she walked backwards.
“The pie is still on the stove.” You reminded her as she began to run her hands down your chest, “Didn’t you want a slice?”
She pulled back from your embrace, nodding in the direction of your shared bedroom. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, a small smirk coming to her face.
Summary: When you and Wednesday visit Enid after she had her baby, seeing Wednesday with the baby made you realize that you want one too. That you want to have a kid with Wednesday.
Warnings: nothing (I think)
Word count: 578
Author's note: I know I'm late with many fics and I'm sorry for that. They're slowly coming, I'm working on them. This was requested for flufftober but that day was already requested with someone else but I decided to write it anyway. I'm sorry it's short but I didn't have much idea to this. I hope you'll like this anyway.
Author's note2: not proofread. Also English is not my first language so maybe there will be mistakes.
Wednesday Addams Masterlist
Wednesday Masterlist
Main Masterlist
When Enid got pregnant with Ajax's baby, she immediately knew who she wanted as the baby's aunts. You and Wednesday. So, when she told you this, you were extremely happy and immediately accepted it. You even saw a small smile on Wednesday's face which was a rare thing to see.
After the baby was born, you visited Enid and Ajax a lot. Just to see their baby. You loved holding their little baby in your arms. A part of you even started wishing it was your child. You always wanted kids. But now, you want one even more. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted one. Especially with Wednesday. It was your dream to have a child with her. To adopt a little girl or boy, and raise the baby together.
And Wednesday was really good with Enid's daughter too. Even if she tried to hide it, you see right through her. You saw how she enjoys being with the baby too.
Which just made you want a kid even more. But you had no idea if she wanted to have kids with you. Or at all. And you were scared to ask her. You didn't wanna get disappointed.
But as the time passed, and whenever you see a baby, you couldn’t stop thinking about anything else other than adopting a child with Wednesday. Which she probably started noticing but she didn't say anything about it.
But the one thing you didn't know was that secretly, she wanted the same as you. At first, she was really against having a child. But once she saw how happy you were when you held Enid's daughter. That how good you were with kids. Her thinking changed about this. And she started thinking about what if you two would have a baby too? What if you two adopt a baby? But she didn't want to be the one who brought it up.
"I want a kid" one night during dinner you blurted out when you couldn’t keep this to yourself anymore.
"What?" Wednesday asked completely taken aback by your sudden words. She didn't expect this now.
"I want a kid. With you. I wanna adopt a child. A girl. Or a boy. Or both. They would be ours. We would raise them together. And everything else" you said.
"You want to adopt a child? Like now?" she asked still a little surprised. But she wasn’t against the idea. Actually, she was glad you brought this up.
"Not right now. But maybe soon. What do you think?" you asked, full of hope that she'll agree.
"We can" she said and now, you were the one who was shocked. Did she really just agree like that? Was it this easy? Or is this a joke? No. It can't be. She wouldn’t joke like that.
"Really?" you asked, just to make sure that she really wants this.
"Yes. Really" she said and you saw a small smile appear on her face.
"Oh my God... yessss" you shouted in happiness and jumped up from your seat. You were probably the happiest woman in the world right now. It was almost too good to be true "We should go to an adoption center tomorrow" you said and sat back down.
"Slow down a little. We have plenty of time" she said and laughed a little. She loved seeing you happy. It made her happy too.
