Chapter Text
Tyler Galpin had always wanted to be a good person, though he didn’t seem to be any good at it.
That struggle had started the day he’d pushed the neighbor’s daughter off a tree - oh, how he had enjoyed watching the girl crying her little tears, hands wrapped around her swollen ankle - and had culminated in the violent assault of Xavier Thorpe. He’d surprised himself with how vicious he could be, as he slammed Thorpe’s head against the freshly painted wall, ruining the dark, intricate motifs the boy had tirelessly worked on for hours, while taunting him and threatening to do far, far worse.
But he wasn’t a bad person, he just had… bad instincts. At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself.
Sheriff Galpin insisted that he spend several months in a boot camp specializing in the rehabilitation of young offenders, so he could “get a taste of the real world” and a fresh start away from the distressing memories of his dead mother. His father also hoped this little “forced vacation” of a few months would be enough to drive Tyler away from his usual crowd of bad influences, stubbornly blind to the fact that his son was, in fact, the bad influence.
But the Tyler that came back from boot camp was significantly different from the one who had left. For a while, Sheriff Galpin was able to let out a sigh of relief - his son was finally a well-adjusted, productive member of the community, with decent grades and a steady job, and even a crush on a pretty girl: you.
You noticed Tyler’s affability, his sweet disposition and the way he’d offer a awkward smile to everyone who entered the Weathervane, and that was enough for you to foolishly discard all the memories of how fucking mean he used to be to you, choosing instead to fixate on the way he now looked at you with nothing but sweetness, shyly looking away when you caught him staring. When you two started dating, even his father noticed the effect you seemed to have on him, how uncharacteristically thoughtful and caring you made him.
“When did you become such a ray of fucking sunshine, huh?”, he’d ask him.
Some people start whispering that maybe love did soften him up - some part of him really wants it to be true.
When you press him on his past, he tells you that the person he was before wasn’t the person he wants to be. That he wants to be the kind of person his mother would have been proud of. Those aren’t lies - he hopes he’ll live up to the truth, one day.
But his mind has been getting so foggy lately.
The “thing” that secretly fueled his earlier sadistic tendencies and childish tantrums seems to have grown like a tumor in his mind and even developed a voice . A malevolent little voice whispering dark, deranged thoughts into his ear in the dead of night, infecting his dreams with horrible visions. Despite his best efforts to tune it out, it has only grown louder and louder over time.
Even you start noticing his odd, changeable moods, the way he sometimes squeezes your hand a little too hard when you talk about going away for college, and the distant look he gets when a new body is discovered in the woods, as if he were imagining the scene, or even daydreaming about it.
You know the warning signs are there, but like his father, you’d rather convince yourself that you’re being paranoid.
*************************
Your first time with him is sweet and a little awkward - he’s a worried lover, the kind that asks if you’re okay all the time. He’s especially considerate when you confess to him that you’ve never been with anyone before.
“I promise I’ll be gentle”, he soothes with a shy smile, peppering your stomach with a trail of sweet kisses as he makes his way down your body.
You don’t know it yet, but something lurking underneath the surface of his deceivingly gentle doe eyes really, really likes the idea that you’re a virgin. It means you are his. His to have, to take, to possess, to consume in every way…
“Is… Is this your first time too?” you ask him, chuckling awkwardly, interrupting his disturbing train of thought.
“No” the answer falling from his lips more candidly than he had intended. “But honestly, I kinda wish it was”.
That part is also true. Memories burst through the walls of his mind like a storm, memories of cold touches, hands fumbling where he didn’t want them, cherry-red nails tracing circles on his exposed, vulnerable throat, and the humiliating way she’d whispered a few “good boy” and “honey” into his ears…
But what truly makes his stomach convulse with revulsion was how fucking powerless he’d felt in those moments.
The memories are so vividly painful that he almost loses his arousal completely.
“Sorry” he chuckles dryly, his cheeks burning up with embarrassment. You - as sweet as you’d always been with him - happily help him recover his desire with your hands, your mouth, and your pure, uncomplicated love for him…
I’m never letting you go , he thinks. He knows he’ll have to eventually, because sooner or later, Laurel will want you gone.
Or worse. He suspects that one day, the vicious little voice in his head might want… something more.
But for now, he just focuses on you.
*************************
At night, when you two are apart, he likes to spend hours daydreaming about you - it soothes his agitated mind to sleep.
This time, he’s thinking back to the way you’d sneaked your way into the Weathervane’s staff room to kiss him good morning, a faint aroma of cappuccino and cherry chapstick on your lips. He remembers how you looked so sweet, so lively, so…
“Delicious” purrs the Hyde, echoing from a dark corner of his mind.
Tyler’s heart skips a beat.
Shut up.
The Hyde ignores him.
"And I can’t wait to sink our claws in her soft, warm flesh”
Groaning in frustration, Tyler tosses and turns in bed and buries his head under a pillow, in a stupid, hopeless attempt to silence it.
“The delicate flesh of the throat is most toothsome, but tearing it brings death much quicker. You’ll have to pace yourself and carefully prolong the agony, if you want her to be -”
Shut the fuck up, you psychotic, sadistic bastard.
“Don’t tell me you’ve actually grown sweet on her. You’re so fucking weak. She’s naive, helpless, and she doesn’t suspect a thing - the ideal victim. Her gullibility is tragically wasted on you, my subservient little friend.”
Fuck off. There’s no use in harming her.
“But you want to, don’t you?”
Tyler’s eyes well up with tears of anger and shame because he knows the Hyde is right. All the cold showers in the world wouldn’t be enough for him to forget the sick, dirty thoughts he’s had about you, or to silence the part of him that tells him that it’s not enough to just have you - it’d be more fun to force you.
He pours an abrasive cleaner down his body and scrubs his skin raw in an attempt to wash away all the blood, all the guilt, all the violent fantasies of forcing you down on your knees, fucking you raw, and pretending, for the sake of play, to notice the feeble resistance you’re putting up, and punish it hard .
There must be something horribly fucking wrong with me.
**************************
Tyler was exhausted.
He’d slaughtered the old homeless man in the Meeting House, made his way back home through the deep dark forest, alone and shivering, thrown away his bloodied, lacerated clothes, and quickly hidden the man’s severed toes before his father could notice.
It took every ounce of whatever was left of his shattered mind to kill the man quickly, and stop the Hyde from fulfilling its perverted fantasies of methodical, agonizingly slow torture.
Once in the bathroom, he carefully avoids looking in the mirror. He fills up the bathtub with freezing water - his aching, murderous body undeserving of warmth and comfort - while desperately trying to get his breathing under control.
I’ve never been so fucking tired.
Slowly, he lets himself sink into the unpleasantly cold water.
He likes to imagine that all the memories he would rather forget are absorbed into the tiny bubbles that escape his mouth and nose, shimmying their way up to the surface, before disappearing with a pop!
If he stays down there long enough, he thinks, in the quiet and the cold, all the thoughts will vanish from his head and he will feel a wonderful, terrible, absolute nothingness .
He wonders if the old man of the Meeting House is now floating around in the same kind of cold, mind-numbing void. He wonders if his mother is, too.
If I scream, will the cold water rush through my lungs and drown us? He asks the Hyde.
“You’ve been drowning since the day I met you”, the Hyde replies.
He screams until there’s no breath left in him.
*************************
Some twenty-something minutes later, a knock on the bathroom door disrupts his morbid thought spiral.
“Dad? Are you back already?” he calls out hesitantly, tensing up.
“No, it’s me”
His shoulders relax and he lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice.
“Oh sorry, I, um...I didn’t realize we were supposed to meet up”
“No, no, don’t worry”, you call out from the other side, “your dad’s gonna be working extra late tonight because something happened in the woods, so I thought we could do a movie with some pizza!”
“Oh, you’re too sweet”, he smiles. Too sweet for your own good, he thinks. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute!”
You don’t hear that last part because you’re already in his bedroom, rolling your eyes at the mess he’s managed to make since the last time you were here, empty wrappers and cans of Red Bull lying all over the place. You take some time to admire the drawings on the wall, sketches of boats and planes and trains - they bring up warm memories of the times he’d tell you about his childhood dream to be a pirate, an aviator, and a train conductor all at once, and explore the entire world from every angle possible...
Plip. Plip. Plip.
Alerted by the wet plopping noise, you turn around and notice that a small puddle of a dark, thick liquid has gathered at the foot of his desk, leaking from one of the smaller drawers.
Curious to a fault, you approach the desk and grab the handle of the drawer.
Before you get the chance to open it, you suddenly notice a dark silhouette at the door.
It’s Tyler, standing in the doorway, his hair still wet, wearing nothing but a pair of clean shorts. You expect him to greet you joyfully, but his gaze is fixated on your hand - still wrapped around the handle of the drawer - frowning, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
“You sure you wanna open that?” he says, a tense, sinister edge in his voice.
“Why not? What’s in it?”. Apprehension tightens your chest like a vice.
No answer.
You slowly pull the drawer open, the dim light of the room scarcely enough to reveal what’s inside. After a few seconds spent desperately trying to comprehend what you were seeing, reality finally hits you like a brick.
Two human toes, wrinkled and ash-colored, lying in a small puddle of dark blood.
What in the hell - ?
The realization of why and how these things got here, in the messy childhood room of the boy you love, hits you slowly, adrenaline running down your spine like ice-cold water.
You turn back around to face him, your mind spinning dizzyingly. He looks at you in a way he never has before, his face completely indecipherable.
Beneath this impassive facade, a storm is raging, ready to tear apart the curtain of kindness and gentleness that usually covers his face. A familiar darkness is bleeding over the edge of his consciousness, taking over his mind, his body, his will …
He doesn’t want to think of what’ll happen to you if he lets go - but he is exhausted from his earlier struggles against the Hyde, exhausted by grief and anger and guilt, and whatever resistance he is putting up is being easily deflected.
So he does the only thing that will silence the beast for a little while - he becomes it.
He smiles at you - a cold, humorless smirk.
“I guess I won’t really convince you that it’s a Halloween prop, huh?” he chuckles dryly, as he sits down on the bed, facing you.
Rendered speechless by the coldness of his response and his sudden change of behavior, you stare at him in disbelief.
He softly taps the spot on the bed next to him.
“Hey, it’s okay. Come - sit down.” Though the tone is calm and soothing, the look on his face tells you he won’t take no for an answer.
You sit down next to him, holding your breath. A tense silence lingers for a few seconds.
“I’m the killer they’re looking for”, he says bluntly, coldly, removing any lingering doubt you might have had. You feel the blood drain from your face. “Oh, don't look so surprised. You knew something was off, didn't you?"
You stay silent. He cups your cheek in his hand.
"Makes me wonder why you came here, in the middle of the night, alone.” He stresses that last word, a playful, cruel edge to his voice.
You look away, cheeks burning, because he’s right. Even you can’t explain to yourself why you came here, why you ignored the glaring warning signs, and why you can’t seem to stay away from him.
“I bet your mind’s spinning, thinking of all the things that could happen to you now”, he teases. “You won’t outrun me. There’s no sense in trying to”.
“I don’t want to”, you assure him, still unable to look at him, attempting to fake confidence despite your trembling voice. “I love you.”
Your mind is flooded with the images of dismembered bodies, the flashing lights of police cars, the sound of dirt hitting a coffin.
“I love you, Tyler”, you repeat clumsily, struggling not to let your desperation seep through your words.
He smiles fondly at your wide-eyed, sincere plea.
Fuck. You’re even more adorable and enticing when you’re scared.
“That’s very sweet. But…”
“I won’t tell anyone”
“Oh, I know you won’t. But I can’t just… let you go . I’m sorry” he says, sincerely apologetic, his fingertips softly caressing circles across your cheek.
His hand starts traveling lower, wandering around the curves of your chest, then lingering around your heart. Despite your best efforts to appear calm and composed, his touch draws out goosebumps and shivers from you, your chest heaving with shallow, shaky breaths.
His lips slightly parted, he looks at you with the look of a starving man.
“What do you want?” you ask eventually, though you already suspect the answer.
His response, gentle but firm, comes after a few seconds of silence.
“Take off your clothes”.
He doesn’t have to tell you twice - it’s the kind of opportunity you were hoping for. Clearly, he doesn’t want to kill you just yet, and you’re hoping to distract him until his father comes back home - you’ll seize on the chance to make your escape then.
Slowly, you take off your muddy boots, your coat, then your jeans and shirt, shyly averting his gaze, until you’re left in your underwear, slightly shivering.
You lean in to kiss him, but he pushes you off.
“Not yet”, he says softly. You look at him questioningly. “Get on your knees first.”
You kneel between his open legs, slowly and carefully, suddenly hit by the realization that you’ll have to be his obedient plaything for the next while. You press a soft kiss to his groin - even through the fabric of his shorts, you can see the outline of his arousal. After a few seconds of this, he takes off his shorts and underwear and kicks them to a corner of the room - a warning that his patience is wearing thin. His cock, not yet fully hard, but already thick, springs up.
You wrap your soft hands around it and caress it slowly, until his breath becomes shallow and irregular. After a while, you take him in your mouth; your tongue, velvety soft and slick, sends bursts of pleasure through his body. He throws his head back and groans.
“Good girl” he praises huskily, voice heavy with lust, his fingers sinking into your hair to hold you down.
You stifle a moan. You’d enjoyed going down on him before, as pleasuring him seemed to trigger some primal, animalistic part of your brain - this time is no different, even with an imminent threat looming over you. As your body starts to tingle with the familiar sparks of arousal, you wonder what the hell is wrong with you, and how you could possibly find pleasure in a moment like this. You could never actually want something like this, right?
Tyler’s vision becomes a little blurry when he feels your soft lips wrapped around him, your tongue fluttering gently against the sensitive underside of his cock. As he gazes at you through half-closed eyelids, he notices the wetness at the corner of your lips, and your wide, pretty, innocent eyes staring back at him - it all drives him wild.
There’s also the sinfully delicious thrill of knowing that you won’t deny him, of knowing how helpless you are - he’s so turned on he can barely hold himself back.
He notices how your hand has slipped between your legs, desperately trying to give yourself some release.
See? She fucking craves this.
He’s not sure whether that thought belongs to him or the Hyde - he doesn’t really care anymore.
As he feels himself getting closer to the edge, he pulls you off, resisting the urge to force your head down a little longer. He doesn’t want it to be over yet. He reaches down between your legs and takes your hand, gently bringing your already soaked fingers to your mouth.
“Clean it”. His voice is a low growl, barely audible.
You obey, your tongue lapping up your own wetness. He smirks.
“Look at you, a moaning mess, enjoying letting the big bad monster have his way with you. Isn't that fucked up?"
You try to protest, but he pulls you in for a hot, hungry kiss, one that feels like he’s going to consume the life out of you, his nails digging into the nape of your neck. The truth is, he’s tasted your sincere, irrational desire for him and the deep, primal fear on your tongue, and he can’t get enough of it…
But he needs more. He turns you around and pushes your upper body down onto his desk.
He steps back and takes in the wonderful view in front of him: his flustered, breathless girl, bent over his desk, legs slightly spread apart - so docile, so ready for him. He wonders how long he could keep you here, fulfilling his deepest, darkest desires.
The sound of your whines snaps him away from his delicious fantasies. But it doesn’t matter - he has you, right here in his bedroom, entirely at his mercy.
Your heart skips a beat as his manhood presses against your quivering thighs, his hand finding its way between your legs. He gives your clit a few gentle, slow strokes, circling delicately around your swollen bud, eliciting a whimper of surprise and delight from you. He chuckles, pleased.
"This might not turn out to be the worst experience for you after all. It could be pleasure or pain, you decide which”.
Burning up with desire, you hate yourself in that moment. Your quiet sobs of guilt and shame fill him with a sadistic, euphoric joy. He lines himself up with your entrance, and you wince slightly as his cock forces its way into you. Pleasure slowly leaks over the dull ache of his thickness, stretching you painfully.
His fucking is slow at first, totally overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of your hot wetness gripping him tightly, but he quickly picks up the pace, going harder and deeper with every thrust. One hand steadies your hips, nails digging into your flesh, while the other grasps your hair, pulling your head back as he ruts mercilessly into you. You start feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of it - the sounds of his body slapping against yours, his hitched, hot breath on the back of your neck, and the groans that fall from his lips…
An especially hard thrust has you arching your back, your nails digging into the wood of his desk.
“Don’t stop, I’m begging you”, you’re surprised to hear yourself moan, the words escaping your lips.
“Begging me? Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to beg a lot better than that”.
“Please don't stop… master.”
It sounds odd, even to you, and you don’t know why this specific word sprang to mind, but it hits him like a ton of bricks. He stops his thrusting completely and grabs your throat, eliciting a whimper of surprise and pain from you.
“What the fuck did you call me?”
“My master. I’m your slave.” You struggle out against his iron grip, grinding softly against him.
For reasons that he’d much rather not dwell upon, this drives him wild. He starts slamming his hips against yours again, his thrusts becoming rougher and more desperate.
He tried to pretend, for a long time, to be a gentle, puppy-eyed, reformed troublemaker with an excellent memory for people’s coffee orders and a sweet disposition - but now that you’re here, he doesn’t have to pretend anymore. You are everything he has needed his entire life, everything the Hyde had told him you could become, everything that Laurel’s abuse and his father’s neglect had made him crave - a good, loving, submissive little slave.
"Yes, you are", he grunts, still choking you, his hips pushing his cock just a little deeper.
You gasp, your fingernails digging into the firmness of his forearm. Your orgasm crashes around you like a wave in a storm, while his breath becomes shallower and irregular. Finally, with a loud grunt, he pushes in deeply and spills himself inside you.
He collapses on you, crushing the breath out of your lungs, as you both come down from your intense high. He pulls out with a wet sucking noise, leaving a dull ache behind, and flips you over with ease. You were hoping his gaze would be warmer and kinder after this, but it isn't.
“What now?” he muses quietly, his lips softly grazing your cheeks. “What will I do with you?”
Your heart misses a beat. He’s seemingly done having his fun with you, and his father still hasn’t come back - any hopes you had of escaping die with a whimper. Your mind is running wild with disturbing ideas of what he might want to do with you next.
He cups your face with his hand, his thumb caressing your cheeks with a surprising gentleness, but it takes an immense amount of effort for you not to flinch under his touch.
Suddenly, he pushes you unceremoniously on his bed. You try to kick him away in a desperate, final attempt to make your escape, to no avail. He single-handedly pins you down, using his free hand to grab a leather belt from a pair of jeans that were lying next to his bed, and wraps it around your wrists. You wince as the cold leather digs into your flesh, your hands tied up painfully tightly to the metal frame of the bed.
Once he’s done tying you up, he steps back, taking in the wonderful view of you, naked, chest heaving, neck and hips bruised where he’d grabbed them, his cum oozing out of you and leaking onto his bed. The very image that had been floating around in his mind for the last few weeks, a shameful, hazy, buried fantasy he never thought he’d actually fulfill …
Tyler had always wanted to be a good person.
But now that you’re here, his delicious, hopeless prisoner, he thinks he might just keep you here a little while longer.