Chapter Text
As the passenger door opens, the LED light casts a soft glow on your teary eyes. You can't help but feel a mix of emotions as Morticia enters the car and quietly shuts the door. The silence between you is heavy, but neither of you dare to break it while the lights dim into complete darkness.
You agreed to meet at your usual spot because Morticia needed to talk to you. But deep down, you know what this meeting is about - her struggle to choose between you or her husband, whom she's still legally married to. Your heart aches as you remember telling her that she had to make a decision, tired of being caught in the middle of their back and forth.
The tears are already welling up in your eyes, not just from anticipation of what Morticia will say, but also from breaking your own heart over and over again with different scenarios of how this could play out. Your friend Ezekiel had tried to cheer you up all night, but even he couldn't shake off the heaviness in your heart.
As Morticia's warm hand strokes your arm, you turn to look at her and realize that you haven't even greeted her with a kiss. But even with that realization, you don't reach out to touch her. You sit there frozen in time, unable to shake off the feeling that this may be your last "loving" moment with her - if you can even call it that.
“You're choosing him?” You break the silence. She reaches out, her fingers finding yours on the center console, intertwining effortlessly. The way her slender fingers fit perfectly between yours is a sensation that etches itself into your memory.
The taste of salty tears floods your mouth as you hold Morticia's hand, knowing that this may be your last moment of physical connection with her.
Attempting to mask her inner turmoil with a forced smile, a glistening tear escapes her eye and lands softly on her chest, followed by a steady stream down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice heavy with regret.
You nod in understanding, exhaling slowly. The weight of your emotions from the previous night's intense crying jag lingers, providing some shield against breaking down completely at her words. Despite this, the pain cuts deep as reality clashes with your thoughts.
Turning away, you stare ahead into the dense woods illuminated by your headlights. Keeping them on serves a dual purpose – to blind any potential onlookers and to create an illusion of decency should this secluded spot transform into a place of intimacy between you both.
For a year, you and her had been conducting clandestine meetings, comfortable in the secrecy until emotions intervened. When you confessed your feelings, she reciprocated, admitting her own love. However, the weight of living in the shadow of her husband grew unbearable for you. The whispered 'I love yous' shared during stolen moments were no longer mere words; they held weight and meaning. By month three, amidst stolen kisses and hushed promises, she began professing her affection openly.
Her lips glisten with plum gloss as she sits beside you, still holding your hand but turning to face forward. Adjusting herself in the seat, a solitary tear escapes her eye. The ultimatum you presented weighs heavily on her; torn between the security of her family life with a devoted husband and adoring children and the passion she found with you - her secret lover.
In your eyes, she sees a reflection of herself - torn between two worlds. She cherishes the stability of her marriage yet revels in the vibrant love affair with you; a relationship that ignited dreams she never thought possible outside her imagination. To express this duality affectionately, she playfully refers to you as her "Puppy," embodying both endearment and secrecy.
Being hidden was necessary for fear of losing it all in what she initially viewed as a fleeting romance. Now, however, she realizes the injustice of keeping you veiled in shadows while basking in the light of both worlds that have captured her heart.
Swallowing the lump that scorches your throat, you muster the words, “I wish you all the best that life has to offer.” The sound of her audible sniffle and soft cry reaches your ears as she tightens her grip on your hand. Avoiding her gaze, you turn to look out of the driver's window. Why does doing what feels right for your heart weigh so heavily on you? You were aware from the start that she wouldn't leave her husband; she made it clear. Yet, neither of you expected the depth of emotions that would accompany your actions.
“I'm sorry for causing you pain.”
“You didn't intend to hurt me.” Her touch envelops you as she sniffs, before you gently pull away. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
She nods, using her free hand to wipe away tears. “Of course,” she replies softly.
“I should go,” you say, scanning the surroundings outside while addressing her. On the verge of tears yourself, you resist breaking down in front of her; it wouldn't change anything.
“Okay,” she whispers, opening the car door to step out. Despite shattering your heart moments ago, she refrains from asking for a goodbye kiss.
“Before you leave,” your voice quivers slightly, prompting hope in her heart that maybe there’s a chance for reconciliation, “could I have my house key back?”
In an instant, disappointment clouds her features. “I... um... I don’t have it with me... I left my keys at home,” she lies unconvincingly. “I’ll return it soon.”
“Please send it by mail,” you request firmly, unable to bear seeing her again. She nods in agreement but struggles to muster a smile.
“Okay.” Biting her bottom lip nervously, she exits the car and walks back into the woods along the path leading to her house. Dressed in an all-black Adidas tracksuit that accentuates her figure flawlessly.
Ever since meeting you, she began to venture out of her usual wardrobe of difficult-to-remove dresses and corsets. The constant battle to take off those clothes on drunken and amorous nights was too much. Her wardrobe bloomed like a garden in spring, full of breezy fabrics and easy silhouettes, all thanks to your love and acceptance.
In your arms, she felt completely at ease and accepted for who she really was. You were the first person to see her without makeup, and even helped her take it off when she fell asleep before you.
Your love for her went beyond physical appearance; you adored every part of her, including her stretch marks which you kissed affectionately.
Even the sudden appearance of gray hairs didn't diminish your admiration for her. She used to pluck them anxiously, but now she embraces them proudly and heads to the salon to dye her hair black. And her natural waves, a discovery made together through research, are possibly your favorite feature. Thanks to the right hair care routines and products, they have flourished into beautiful curls that you can't resist running your fingers through
The drive home is filled with a heavy, suffocating silence. With every mile that passes, you feel the weight in your chest getting heavier and heavier. You walk into the house, expecting to find only Zeke, but instead his boyfriend is there, delicately polishing Zeke’s toes. They both jump up to console you as you burst into sobs, surprise and relief washing over you at their presence.
Turns out, Zeke had called his boyfriend over because he knew he would need help taking care of you. The tall man pulls your face into his chest while his boyfriend wraps his arms around you from behind, creating a much-needed group hug.
“We’re so sorry,” Shane whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
After a few moments of standing in the doorway, they guide you to the living room where they have prepared to listen to you all night. That's one of the reasons why you love them - they're always there for you when you need them.
“I got your favorite snacks, alcohol, and we even rolled some joints if you wanna get high. And if not, we can just lay around together. Whatever makes you feel better, baby girl,” Zeke says softly, brushing back strands of hair from your tear-stained face.
Feeling grateful for their support, you decide to spend the evening with the boys since you don't have anything else to do. You lie on the sofa with a pillow in Zeke's lap while Shane carefully paints your toes the same color as Zeke's.
“So did you wish her the best?” Shane asks after a while.
You nod slowly before replying, “Yeah…”
“That was big of you, sweetie. Personally, I would have wished her ass the worst. No way she's going to break my heart and then run off to her husband,” Shane remarks with a hint of bitterness.
Everyone chuckles at his pettiness, trying to lighten the mood.
“Same,” Zeke interjects.
“I can't even be mad at her - she did tell me that she wouldn't leave Gomez.” You say.
“But didn't she also tell you that you couldn't have a girlfriend? Yet here she is, married to someone else,” Shane points out with a raised eyebrow. “Sounds like she's living in a delusional fantasy.”
“Yeah, and didn't you guys have a huge fight about that?” Zeke asks, raising an eyebrow curiously as well.
[You close your eyes and think back to that night - the night when you brought home a girl from the bar and Morticia was already waiting for you at the apartment. The night that changed everything and ultimately led to this moment of heartbreak and confusion.
The room was shrouded in darkness, each flickering light reflecting off the lenses of your glasses as you entered. Morticia, menacingly, sat on the couch, her once beautiful face now twisted in a venomous mix of anger and betrayal as she watched you with the other woman.
Terror shook through your body as she rose from her seat, moving towards you with a predatory grace like a slithering snake ready to strike. And strike she did, her open hand connecting with your face with a force that sent shockwaves through your entire being. Confusion consumed you - Morticia had broken up with you, so why was she so enraged that you brought someone home? And how did she even find out? The questions only added to the seething anger and fear coursing through your veins as you braced for the next blow.
The situation spins out of control, and you realize too late that Morticia's love for you was never truly gone, but instead turned into a deep-rooted obsession that now threatens to consume both of you.]
“Yeah, we like actually fucking fought. She whipped my ass for like a whole hour before she got tired.” The laughter echoed off the walls, but for you, it was a cover-up. A mask to hide the pain and shame that still lingered from that night.
“Oh! And that time we were all at that bonfire, that’s she wasn’t even invited to, might I add — and she caught you making out with that girl and she almost put your ass in the fire?!” Zeke exclaims. It’s a moment you can all look back and laugh at but it was NOT funny in the moment.
“Oh my god girl, everybody was so confused as to why sweet little Mrs. Addams, of all people, was like… actually physically fighting you, they just knew you must have had to have done something to her. You know everyone thinks she’s the sweetest little person ever. Just by what she wore you could tell she came to catch a fade. Since when does Morticia wear fucking converse and a slicked back ponytail? She was coming to fuck you up for sure!”
“SHE DID FUCK ME UP! And it took you guys so long to get her off of me! We were scuffling for a hot minute.” You dramatically interject.
“Girl, that was like twenty seconds.” Shane exclaimes.
“Twenty seconds too long! How didn’t you guys see her?!”
Shane stops painting, “Again… converse, black jeans, black shirt, slicked back ponytail versus her long black dress and straight hair. You tell me you would have seen her, coming then talk to me!” He chuckles and gets quiet for a moment, “She even knew what car you were in and everything, like she had been watching the entire time.”
“She probably was. She kept tabs on me for sure.” You say.
"Honestly, I've been saying that something had to be wrong with her," Shane exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration. His hand clenched tightly around his beer bottle as he spoke. "What 'straight' married woman pursues someone she taught as a high school student just two weeks after graduation?"
Zeke nodded in agreement, taking a swig of his own drink. The dim light from the table side lamp cast shadows on his face, giving him a sinister look that did quite fit him. "And the fact that no one else knew about your relationship with her made it even easier for her to hide her true nature, hence the beatings you received. She never faced any ridicule for her behavior from anyone."
The air hung heavy with tension as they discussed their former teacher's questionable actions.
"Sweetheart, Tish was toxic... You did the right thing by letting her go." Your friend tries to calm your restless thoughts. All night you have been questioning whether or not you made the right decision by making her choose.
"No, I'm surprised she gave up so easily." Shane corrects his boyfriend as he pulls out a colorful fan and begins drying the first coat of polish on your nails.
"Did she give you back the key?" Zeke, your best friend and roommate, asks.
"She said she didn't have it with her." Both boys pause and exchange a knowing look.
"And you believed her?" Zeke looks down at you.
"What else was I supposed to do? Perform a strip search? I asked her to mail it back." You reply.
"That bitch... If we don't get that key back in four days, you're paying to change the locks."
You roll your eyes and laugh. "I promise I will."
Shane begins the second coat while Zeke massages your scalp, “I’m telling you… Morticia was too crazy and possessive of you for her to all of a sudden be ‘sane’ and just let you live a happy life without her. I don’t trust her. I can feel it in your head... Morticia's still lurking there, waiting for the right moment to strike. She never wanted you to be happy without her, and she'll do anything to make sure that doesn't happen.” Zeke murmurs.
“Why did you stay with her so long?” Shane innocently asks as you and Zeke try to stifle your laughter. The question hangs in the air, causing an awkward tension between the three of you.
Suddenly, Shane's face contorts in disgust as he realizes the implications of what he asked. You can't help but burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Well that and because she pays my tuition.”
But then Shane has another question, one that catches you off guard. "Is Morticia a top or a bottom?" he asks eagerly.
You and Zeke exchange knowing glances before simultaneously responding, "Switch."
“Switch and a sugar mama?”
“She wasn’t a sugar mama, she just enjoyed helping me.” You say innocently.
Shane lets out a groan of playful frustration. "Fuck, I owe Amber twenty bucks! She bet that Morticia was exclusively a top but I just had this feeling that she gave in when she was with you," he explains.
You can't contain your amusement at this revelation. "Well, technically she does give in...to both roles," you clarify with a smirk.
Zeke seizes the opportunity to embarrass you further by revealing a particularly intimate detail about your sex life with Morticia.
Turning to you, Zeke ask with a hint of hesitation, "Did you ever tell Shane about the time she got so turned on that she ended up nutting on your nipple?"
Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as Zeke recounts how the story was told to him. Even though you try to downplay the incident, Shane is practically jumping out of his seat with excitement.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he exclaims. "You have to tell me everything! How did it happen? When did it happen?"
You can't help but smile at Shane's enthusiasm. “Well, after three weeks of not talking because we were fighting... Ezekiel let her in even though I told him not to...” you start to explain before being cut off by Zeke.
"She told me you guys made up!" he protests.
You roll your eyes playfully before continuing, "Well she lied! Anyway, when she finally got to see me again, she was so horny that she couldn't control herself. She tried to climb on top of me and ride my face, but ended up grinding against my nipple and accidentally nutting on it."
You all erupt into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. Despite the embarrassment, you can't help but feel grateful for these moments with your friends.
Shane's jaw practically hits the floor as he exclaims, "Holy shit! Mrs. Addams was a total freak, like seriously, I would have never guessed. She always seemed so prim and proper; stiff too...you know, like a sack of potatoes in bed," Shane continued, causing you to nearly choke on your drink.
“How desperate do you have to be to just say ‘screw it, I'm climaxing on any body part that comes near me?!’”
You come to Morticia’s defense, teasingly saying, "Hey now, don't talk about my ‘ex-wife’ like that! She was just a little...sexually frustrated.”
By now, everyone is having a good laugh because let's be real, that break up was a long time coming.
"I'm also surprised she never showed any signs of violence when she taught us in high school but come to think of it, she seems like she has it bubbling just beneath the surface," Shane comments.
"Yeah, but maybe it's those lesbian relationships that brought out the beast in her. Y/N licked all of her holes, of course she became a psycho.” Zeke chimes in. "I mean, who wouldn't want to pin someone against a wall by their throat every once in a while?"
The house is silent and dark, the only sounds are coming from your restless tossing and turning in bed.
Suddenly, with a faint jingle of keys, your former teacher and now ex-girlfriend Morticia appears in your room. She approaches your bed, her eyes glinting with a twisted desire as she reaches out to touch your face.
The jingle of keys was delicate, almost musical as she set them down, but it sent a ripple of unease through the still air of your room.
It pulls you from the murky depths of sleep, but not entirely into consciousness. Your eyes flutter beneath their lids as the shadows in the corner coalesce into the slender form of Morticia.
"Shh," she whispers, her voice a silk thread unraveling in the darkness. The moonlight traced the contours of her face, casting hollows and highlights that dance with her expressions. As Morticia loomes over you, the silver glow seems to embolden the hunger in her eyes, a flicker of madness that kisses the edges of her irises.
Her hand, pale and cool, brushes against your cheek, trailing a line of shivers down your spine. Her touch, although gentle, carries the cold bite of dread. "There, there, my little Puppy. Mommy's here," she coos, but the words slither around you like a chilling embrace, tightening its hold.
Beneath the spectral caress of her fingertips, your mind races, seeking escape from this paralysis that you are perceiving as a nightmare. Her grin widens, stretching unnaturally as if delighting in the silent scream that caught in your throat. Had you been fully awake, you would have longed to recoil from her icy grip, to shout for help that would possibly come, but your body betrays you, remaining limp and unresponsive under her watchful gaze.
You are trapped, ensnared in a web woven from remnants of love turned sour and lessons twisted into obsessions. With each stroke of her hand through your hair, the reality of your nightmare tightened its grip, ensuring you couldn't wake up from the specter of Morticia—your obsessed tormentor cloaked in the guise of a lover.
Morticia's breath hitched, a soft crescendo in the stillness of the room as she watched your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of sleep. Shadows played across your form, a canvas of moonlit skin that beckoned to her twisted cravings. The faintest of smiles curled her lips, not of warmth but of dark anticipation.
With a sudden, deliberate motion, she grips the edge of the covers nestled around you. In one swift, fluid movement, they are torn away, leaving you exposed to the chill air and her hungry gaze. Her eyes, alight with fervor, traces the contours of your body, feeding the growing fire within her.
Her fingers, the ones that had once taught you with tender precision, now moved with an unsettling purpose. They dance across your skin, delicately grazing without fully waking you, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure that coils tightly inside her. A shudder ran through Morticia's frame as she revels in the illicit thrill of contact, the forbidden nature of the act amplifying her arousal.
The dance of her own hand upon herself was mirrored by the ghostly caress upon your half slumbering form. Each brush on her own clit, each whisper of contact, pushes her closer to the edge of release. She is lost in the moment, in the rapture of her own making, driven by the voyeuristic high of watching over your defenseless state.
A soft moan escapes her, muffled by the silence of the night, as the tension within her peaks and shatters. Her grip on reality, already tenuous, slips away as she surrenders to the wave of ecstasy that crashes over her. In this twisted tableau, Morticia finds her climax, writhing silently above you, while you remain none the wiser, ensnared in the depths of your own troubled ‘dream’.