literature

Spell On You (Male!SandersonSistersxReader) Pt. 3

Deviation Actions

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The asphalt meets the balls of your feet with hard slaps as you sprint to the cemetery, the stolen spell book writhing against your chest. And yet, no matter the value in your now saved soul, how well Thackery’s plan was executed, the guilt within your heart swells with every step. You’ll never admit to anyone that the Sanderson Brothers grew on you, that you found some sick enjoyment being around them. Such a notion causes for your stride to falter more than a few times, and you never stop looking back with misplaced hope.

This is for the town’s sake, you tell yourself, and push harder forward. This is for the town’s sake.

The air turns into fire within your esophagus by the time you reach the iron gates of the cemetery. They screech open for you to dart between the vine-entangled headstones and trees’ ensnaring moss hanging like ghosts. Your nerves begin to settle when you hide beneath a looming canopy, but then a bush rustles to your right.

“Dammit, Thackery! Can’t you say something before jumping out at me?” you exhale, hand on chest.

The black cat sits upon a swollen root. “My apologies,” he says. “I was too eager to see whether or not you had managed to obtain the spell book.”

“Yea, I did,” you say and gesture to the creature. “It was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Excellent! Fantastic job, (y/n).” Thackery’s pupils dilate with his ears that flare forward. “Now all we have to do is wait till daylight. I’m certain they’ll eventually track you down, so you’ll have to be on your guard for when they do.”

An owl hoots somewhere above and you flinch. “They can’t step foot in here, right?”

“Correct, but don’t get complacent. They’re still a threat.”

“Right…” you sigh.

Thackery scampers north of you. “There’s a mausoleum a little while’s ahead. Hide in there and you should be fine.”

You nod and begin to follow him, but a chiming laugh accompanied by clinking glass echoes out from further inside the area. It’s a female, and you recognize the voices that pull you toward them before you can heed Thackery’s questions.

A faint glow of a fire outlines three figures sitting by above-ground tombs. Everything—the fear, the guilt, the adrenaline—shuts down the moment you stand a matter of feet from them. “What the hell are you guys doing here…” It’s not a question, but it gains the girls’ attention.

Rochelle’s smile drops at the sight of you. “(Y/n),” she mutters in blatant annoyance.

“You said you were gonna be at the party,” you spit. “You seriously ditched me a second time?”

She blows air through her lips. “It’s not like we’re your friends or anything, jesus,” she scoffs. “We just wanted to screw around with someone we knew would be gullible enough to play into the Sanderson rumors.”

A searing anger begins boiling in your stomach till it reaches every corner of your body, fist clenching and teeth grinding that mirror the acidic glare you give the three of them, though Stephanie and Lora look away in shame. “And here I thought I was the one using you,” you grumble. In the sky behind you a whirring, whooshing sound draws your eyes lazily over your shoulder. You smirk darkly. “At least they’ll get some use out of you.”

Rochelle’s brows raise. “Excuse me?” she says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wait, what is that?” Stephanie stands with her wary eyes on the nearing shadows.

“Let’s leave,” Lora says. “Guys, seriously!”

“Would ya’ll chill out?” Rochelle groans. “It’s probably just bats or something.”

You chuckle and step aside. “Yea, that’s not what they are. They’re much, much worse, unfortunately.”

The fire hitches in amber irises and in the howling cries of the Sanderson Brothers. Their clothes flutter about them like gargoyle wings as they swoop down upon the group, the girls screaming and dodging behind headstones. You stand off to the side under a tree and heave a slow, steadying breath in preparation to meet their wrath—well, at least Waldifrid’s, for his brothers are immediately distracted with Stephanie and Lora, circling above them like vultures. Meanwhile their leader descends in front of you atop a mic stand, his arms crossing once he perfectly balances himself on his feet so he’s just barely above your head.

Your heels dig into the soil at Waldifrid’s slit irises and scowl. “Little toad…” he growls. “Care to explain thine actions?”

Another voice interrupts you. “Wait, you know these freaks?!” Rochelle yells from behind her friends. Waldifrid shoots her a rotten look. 

“Jesus, don’t call them freaks, Rochelle!” Lora pleads. She gives Samuel a meek, apologetic smile, who returns it with twittering fingers. 

“Well tell them to fuck off, (y/n)!” Rochelle barks and swats at the witches. Maurice playfully hisses at her, cackling when she yelps and shirks. “This isn’t funny!”

You hum dully. “Really? I’m beginning to think it is,” you say cynically, so much so that Waldifrid stares at you with a calculating curiosity.

“Tis so much fun!” Samuel throws his arms into the air and his head back. “Especially when the girls are so stunning.”

Lora pauses from holding her and Rochelle’s weight to look up at him. “You think we’re stunning?” she asks, Stephanie glancing between her and Maurice.

“The prettiest I’ve seen in centuries,” Maurice says quietly but with a full, crooked grin. “(Y/n), thou art a wise little wench.”

All the attention is thrown onto you, but, yet again, Rochelle speaks before you have the chance to. “No, she’s a moronic idiot who needs to get me the hell out of this freak-show,” she yells. “Do something!”

“Silence thine tongue, you putrid imp!” Waldifrid’s patience snaps with a flick of the hand that flares out lightning at the girl, scattering her friends out of pure instinct towards the men hovering beside them. One couple freezes in an awkward, stiff embrace while the girl of the other is instantaneously hauled onto the makeshift broom like a cat to its owner. 

Waldifrid rolls his eyes. “We have greater matters to attend to, brothers.” His orders can barely be heard over Samuel’s adoring mewling as he smothers Lora to his face. You step back when Waldifrid walks to the end of the stand and palms his hips. “Now, answer my question, before I lose the remainder of my patience and punish thee,” he hisses.

“She was protecting the city from you lunatics,” Thackery suddenly says by your ankles.

“Thackery Binx!” Waldifrid seethes. “I should’ve known thou would find a way to further hinder my plans. And my pet.” You sway at the title and retreat a margin so you’re neutral between the two. “No matter. She and I have struck a deal, a deal that will result in death should it be broken,” he rolls the ‘r’ as a ominous warning. (It works.) “Give me the book, dumpling.”

His outstretched hand, with its sharpened nails and lithe sinew, somehow beckons you forward, whether it’s out of respect or fear for his power you’re not sure, but Thackery’s claws digging into your calf snap you back. “Ow, crap!” you yelp.

“Don’t do it, (y/n)!” he urges. “They’re monsters, not men. They won’t hold to your deal, and you’ll end up dead like the rest of the town.”

Waldifrid scoffs as though offended. “I may be known to be a naughty beast, but I’m an honorable one, wretch,” he says. “Besides, dumpling hath proven herself very useful. I’m rather inclined to keep her by my side.”

You meet his coy smirk, something so deceiving yet convincing. “Disregard what he says,” Thackery demands. “You know he can’t be trusted!”

There’s a violent tug within your chest and head towards both of them that you can’t steady despite the clear, logical solution. Denying the Brothers the spell book, well…it would mean their death, irreversible even for them. But to give it would mean death for an entire town. Why are you hesitating about this?

My heart hurts…I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to anyone to die, you whimper internally. But I know what I have to do…I just…

You stare into those cattish, devilish amber eyes perhaps for the last time and ready your legs to take off in a dead sprint for the mausoleum, but—

A rock the size of a baseball whirls through the air towards the back of Waldifrid’s head yet meets its demise within his pulverizing grip. All gasp and turn to Rochelle who has faintly regained consciousness, enough to attempt something so ridiculously stupid. “What do you think you’re doing?!” you bark. “You could’ve killed him!”

“That’s the point, you freaking idiot!” she spits.

“Knock it off, Rochelle!” Stephanie runs to her friend to seize her cocked hand.

“You knock it off!” she retorts and violently pushes her back into Maurice’s protective arms. “Swamp gas my ass. You’re such a lying of piece of shit! They should’ve killed you the second they saw your hideous face. Then again, you probably weren’t good enough. Stop standing there like the useless virgin you are and get me out of here."

Waldifrid’s lips pull back to spew an acidic rebuttal but your hand on his chest stops him. He turns to watch you, stoic with dead eyes, as you speak after a long moment,"That deal of ours—it only required me to lead you to these girls. I never promised anything past that, you agree?"

He audibly growls. "I don't appreciate thine sudden twist in words, but I suppose thou art correct..."

"Your brothers clearly are too fond of Stephanie and Lora to give them up, and you really only need one soul to survive, right?" you ask, never removing your glare from the increasingly panicked Rochelle.

Waldifrid then grasps what you're implying, as does Thackery. "Don't do it, (y/n)!" He says.

"I'm not finished, calm down," you reply dryly and look to Waldifrid. "Before I can give you this spell book, I'm going to strike another deal with you."

A slow, greedy smirk spreads and he sinks to his haunches so his face is dangerously close to yours. "Thou knowest too well how to gain my attention, dear. I'm listening," he hums.

Without missing a beat, you propose, "Take Rochelle. Get your immortality, but don't even think about laying a finger an another human being. As much as she parties and drinks, it'll be too easy for everyone to believe that she got drunk and fell fatally into an open grave or something."

In the background you're vaguely aware of the doomed girl cussing in protest and
begging for her friends to defend her, though their ears have turned deaf from her maltreatment. Waldifrid gives a hauntingly pleased groan and tips your chin upward with a nail. “As obviously devious that girl’s soul is, dost thou think it will quench our hunger?” He asks, low. “I’ve waited over three hundred years to gorge myself on the souls of children so that my beauty and power are preserved, and so that I may spiral this godforsaken town into an endless nightmare. I shall need more from thee, love. Much…much...more.”

A breath is hindered in your throat as the nail becomes a hand that grips your jaw. And yet you’re not scared. For whatever reason, the answers for the ideal compromise spring like ripened fruits as though they had been there the whole time.

You give into the darker side of your conscience, knowing the solution is all but inevitable should both parties wish to survive tonight. “I understand. You want Salem to fear the Sanderson name like they would a mass murder. But mass murderers get caught and executed within days. You don’t want that. What you want isn’t to be a mass murderer, but a very real Boogeyman,” you say.

Waldifrid cocks a brow to note he’s not following.

“What people fear is a killer they can’t catch, or even identify,” you explain. “Every Halloween, take another soul. There are dozens if not hundreds of teen delinquents in this town that do awful things to good people. You want the corrupted souls of kids? Take them.”

“We don’t exist to be the town’s saviors, girl,” he scoffs.

“You won’t be, at least not entirely,” you say. “The fact that a kid shows up dead every Halloween will terrify people, especially because the town won’t help but think it’s the Sanderson Brothers who did it. They’ll come to fear that the rumors are true. You’ll get your endless nightmare.”

The level of conniving trickery you continue to present to him increases his twisted pleasure in this ordeal. It isn’t exactly what he had planned, nor does it involve the rampant revenge he so very yearns for, but to create years, decades of dread from the shadows is a wickedly delicious notion. He holds out his hand. “Thou hast a deal,” he sings. “Every Hallow’s Eve, we shall steal the soul of whatever corrupted human we choose.”

You take his hand, relieved when Thackery doesn’t appear to protest the undeniably beneficial contract. Stephanie and Lora watch their new beaus jittering excitedly at their promising future. "I'm also assuming you can erase their memories," you whisper after tossing the now purring book up to Waldifrid.

"But of course," Waldifrid grins. He snaps and all three girls faint. “I may even be so kind as to have them believe they’re brides of my brothers.”

“Joining me in playing matchmaker?” you smirk.

“Those girls have the potential to keep those buffoons out of my hair every so often,” he says dismissively, but you know he’s trying to provide some sort of happiness for his brothers. “Immortality may even be an option for them, if they so wish.”

“Thoust means we get to keep them?!” Samuel gasps.

You laugh at Waldifrid’s irritated expression as he gracefully side-saddles his broom and moves before his siblings. “They’re not playthings, you fool,” he snaps. “They’re distractions from thou two’s incessant need to annoy me. Whether or not they desire to remain beside thou idiots is up to them.”

Maurice makes an ‘o’ with his lips and looks down at the girl he’s cradling in his arms.
“Don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can to make her favor me,” he says, almost to himself.

Still sounds like he’s promising to take care of a pet, you think smiling.

“She won’t be able to resist the love potions I have in store for her,” Samuel giggles against Lora’s cheek.

“Hey, no!” you scold playfully. “Girls like to be swept off their feet. It has to be fair play; no implanting memories or love potions, okay?”

Though reluctant, Samuel huffs and agrees. Waldifrid rolls his eyes, clearly bored with the lack of deceit. “We’ve wasted enough time with this nonsense. Retrieve that slovenly girl and take her back to the cabin to prepare the potion. Daylight will arrive within the hour. Hurry!” He tosses the spell book to his brothers once Maurice hangs Rochelle off the back of the mop Samuel’s riding and they disappear into the sky, leaving you alone with Waldifrid, Thackery having taken his leave with a few words of warning.

Even though he can’t physically step a foot near you, it doesn’t stop your nerves from rattling your legs and the breath that barely manages to be exhaled evenly. Everyone gets some sort of happy ending; your deal, however modified, was fulfilled, so why are you awaiting some measure of punishment? Perhaps because Waldifrid hasn’t left, because his luminous eyes are transfixed on you with devious, blatant thoughts skipping through his mind…or because that same, ravenous hunger for souls you first witnessed when they awakened now seems directed at you.

Waldifrid motions to his broom with a languid wave of his fingers as a silent order to board it. Your legs mechanically shuffle you to him and nothing more, to which he impatiently slips the broom’s end between your legs and, before you can even gasp, it rockets straight up into the sky with your scream making it sound like a firework ascending. You clutch onto the mic stand, ankles crossing, and hyperventilate amidst trembling whines. 

“What the hell!” you pant. 

He chuckles at your horrified cat-like behavior. “Did I not make myself clear when I said we should hurry?” he asks.

“I thought you meant your brothers, not me!” you say. The wind gradually dies down around you and yet you remain rigid in fear of corrupting your balance.

“Relax thine claws, kitten, and open thine eyes. Thou hast no risk of falling, I assure thee,” he sighs. 

It’s only then you even realize you’ve been keeping your eyes shut, so you hesitantly do as he says. The first thing you see is your hands, white-knuckled and stiff, and then the nail-tapping hand of Waldifrid that draws your attention upward to his sardonic face. His ringlets flutter over his shoulder like some priceless Baroque painting, and the once scorching amber now seems like the glowing warmth of the distant sun, set among the alabaster skin of the moon. You knew he was beautiful before but…to be cloaked within the night sky where he belongs makes him so much more haunting. 

He simpers at your gawking and looks out at the rising smoke stack coming within his forest beyond. Accepting that he won’t let you fall, you sit up with a measured exhale and squeeze your legs around your hands—like witches do in the movies.

“So,” you mumble through an arid throat. Waldifrid takes immediate note of your shifting. “I'm glad you guys won’t…die or anything.”

His voice comes coolly, but a sinister gleam smolders deep within his eyes, like a spider contemplating a fly trapped in his web. “As am I,” he says. “And tis all thanks to thou’s endeavors. Imagine how grateful I must be.”

You try to laugh in a casual manner. It comes out as anything but. “You’re welcome,” you say, and send a wave in the general direction of your house. “Well, guess I should be getting home before my parents do.”

Your hand is snatched and used to yank you forward to the witch. Gasping, you meet his slit irises. “No need to concern thineself with thine guardians,” he hums. “They’ll be preoccupied until I have dealt with thee.”

“What do you mean…” you mutter, incapable of speaking above such a volume. 

He purrs, low, and exchanges your hand for your jaw. “Did someone forget that I swore to punish them for that little sideshow they made of us?” he asks. 

The memory of him biting your ear resurfaces with the blood that stains your cheeks. “N-no…” you stutter. “I mean, a lot happened since then so you can’t blame me for not remem—”

A sharp squeeze silences you. “Quiet, kitten,” he sings. “Thou may hast managed to sway me from my original plans for this town, but this shall not be the case for thee.”

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” you ask.

Waldifrid bears a wide grin. “Being eaten alive may have thee wishing I did,” he says as he grips the strap of your satchel and drags your body effortlessly till you’re pressed flushed against his hip. “However, I find myself reaching an impasse.”

Nearly every inch of the front of your body is against the side of his that your breath drafts down the plunging front of his robe. “Oh…?” is all you can say.

“Precisely. If it weren’t for thine’s—” a hissing breath is sucked in between his fangs “—virtue, my brothers and I would’ve never been brought back from the dead. A handy little trick, dost thou agree?”

“S-sure.”

He chuckles when he leans into the juncture of your jaw and ear. “And yet…”

Your hand shoots back to catch your weight at the feeling of his tongue running up the length of your neck. “And yet?” you repeat.

An arm wraps around you as he pulls away, the message blatantly clear in his eyes. It’s that hunger, the same one you had seen in the cemetery, only now you know what it means. 

What he hungers for.

“You can’t be serious,” you exhale raggedly.

Waldifrid tosses his head with a dramatic huff. “Listen, dumpling. It has been over three hundred years since I've lain with a woman, and even prior to that it was scarce. I am a very particular man when it comes to potential lovers, unlike my idiot brothers. And now, thanks to thee, Maurice has Stephanie, Samuel has Lora, and, though thou hast no choice… I have thee,” he says.

Your shoulders raise to your burning ears as you try to form some comprehensible rebuttal, but his finger is pressed to your lips.

“Don’t try to play coy with me, (y/n),” he grins. “I’ve seen the way thou has been ogling me. How thou reacted when that performer woman and I made extended eye contact—like a jealous magpie protecting her hard-earned prize. Whether thou admit it or not, thou hast become possessive over me.”

“Have not!” you blush.

“I can’t blame thee for becoming obsessed with a creature as brilliant and handsome as myself,” he mocks, caressing his angled features.

His relentless ego manages to make you laugh, however dry, and lightly hit him on the chest. “Completely beside the point. You’re trying to bang me two hundred feet in the air,” you mutter as if someone will hear. “You said so yourself that dawn is an hour away. Even if I thought this was a good idea, I don’t think we have the time.”

“I lied, silly. Dawn will approach in a little over two hours. I only claimed it would arrive sooner in order to make my brothers hasten.” Waldifrid’s raunchy expression turns somber. “But you’re wrong, my dear. I’m ‘trying’ to do something of much greater importance than a mere rut. I’m securing myself a mate, or whatever it’s called these days.”

At your suddenly blank façade, he continues, “I fabricated no such lie when I offered an eternity at my side, granted it was for different, more sadistic purposes. Despite thine’s momentary lapse in loyalty, thou hast proven a clever, wicked woman capable of handling herself. It doesn’t hurt that thou art very, very appealing to me aesthetically. I can’t imagine a better suited partner, unless thou wishes to play matchmaker once again?”

Even though you know he’s kidding, you still feel yourself begin to panic at the thought and snap out of your state of shock. “No!” you say a bit too loudly, enough so that you can see your fate sealed within the amusement dancing in his eyes. “I meant it’s not necessary. I guess…well, I mean it’s okay if you want to…choose me, or whatever.”

“Thou hast been chosen,” he stresses with a growing, yet frisky, impatience. His hardened gaze locks onto your lips as though he’s simply waiting for them to stop forming useless words so he can indulge in them. He cuts you off at the sign of you about to speak again. “Dear, don’t tempt me to begin this relationship with forcefully taking what I desire. Hold thine tongue so that I may as well.”

He just dirty-talked me in Old English, you mentally gawk. Why have I never been this turned on before?!

You laugh incredulously and shake your head. “Screw it,” you say, jerking him by the collar till your lips crash into one another. 

Immediately you can feel him smirking into the kiss that turns carnal without any delay. He plunges so far into your mouth that it truly seems as though he’s sucking the very soul from you, but perhaps that’s what he meant by getting ‘eaten alive.’ His nails tangle in the hair of the nape of your neck where he gives a sharp yank in painful time with fangs that bite into your bottom lip. Every aggressive move he makes you attempt to match, or to simply reciprocate, but he’s constantly a step ahead of you with his hands that arch you against him or lock your legs about his waist, in his mouth that shifts to deny you a gasping breath. What’s happening to you becomes glaringly clear: you’re helplessly, utterly at the mercy of this man. Your will crumbles to his impassioned ministrations that has you panting, whimpering, struggling to make sense of where you began and where he ended—the cliché is more than true.

Needless to say, you’ll never in a million years tell anyone what happened in the velvet black sky that night, nor how many ways you were taken by the man you now consider your life partner, your best friend, your perhaps-too-ravenous lover—you’d say “better half”, but God knows he’s a tamed devil and nothing less. And as times passes, though this Waldifrid will never admit, beauty and youth no longer are his reasons to continue living; but rather the little toad that has become his Queen.
sandersonsistersgenderswappeddisneyfanfictiondisneyfanfictiongenderbendgenderbenthocuspocusreaderinsertxreaderstories
So sorry it took a lot of time for this to come out!! I got stuck twice writing this and it took all of my brain power (that wasn't fried by video games) to get past them.

I hope the wait was worth it. I'm also crazy happy that I've reached my 700th watcher in one year!! Thank you guys. Ya'll know I love ya'll :heart: Wouldn't be here without ya'll!!

*Link to Part 1--->lefantomedancer.deviantart.com…
*Link to Part 2--->lefantomedancer.deviantart.com…
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License
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Sgbeeler2010

Pls do a hocus pocus 2 sequel