typingoreos

[typingoreos]

Merry Christmas | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: After everything that’s happened, you follow through on your promise to spend Christmas with Wednesday and her family.

Masterlist

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I have no idea why I agreed to spend Christmas with the Addams's.

Besides Wednesday, I don't know any of them. I only met them that one time during Parents Weekend, and I'm not sure I made the best impression.

Besides, back then, Wednesday made it crystal clear to her parents that we aren't friends, so what will they think now that we're... together?

Are we together?

I don't know. We haven't made anything official yet, but we are soulbonded so...

Relax.

I stop looking at the landscape flying by outside the window and glance at Thing who's perched on the backseat of the Addams' hearse next to me.

Lurch picked me up from Nevermore two hours ago and while I was disappointed Wednesday wasn't with him, I was consoled by the fact that Thing was.

He explained that Wednesday had intended to come along, just like she'd said in her letter she sent a week ago, but that she'd been too occupied with a fight she had with her mother this morning to come along.

I asked Thing what it was about and he just kind of sighed, or whatever an appendages' equivalent to a sigh is, and signed I'd find out soon enough.

I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me, but there's no point in worrying over it. If they didn't want me at their Christmas, it would have been made abundantly clear.

It must be something else, but like I said, there's no point in dwelling on it.

Making a good impression however...

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous," I admit quietly.

Thing climbs onto my leg and I meet Lurch's eye in the rearview mirror for a moment before looking back at Thing.

There's nothing to worry about. You died for Wednesday. That alone gives you Morticia and Gomez's approval, he taps.

I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. He's right, but I'm still nervous. Especially because I haven't seen Wednesday in two months since the semester ended early.

Most students went home, but the few of us who couldn't leave earlier than expected, or not at all in my case, were allowed to stay under the watchful eye of Coach Vlad.

We have written letters back and forth since she still refuses to use a phone, and things have been good between us, but still. I'm nervous to see her again.

Thing pats my knee in a consoling way and signs that we still have two hours to go, so I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.

A grunt makes me snap out of my daze and I open my eyes, realizing I must have fallen asleep because Lurch brings the hearse to a stop in front of a giant manor and kills the engine before getting out and opening the door for me.

Thing stretches, having also slept on my lap, and then shakes himself before jumping out and landing on the gravel driveway with a thump.

I get out of the hearse as well and gape at the manor.

It's three stories high, built from weathered grey stone, with steep gables, tall narrow windows, and walls covered in dormant, frost-laced ivy.

A thin layer of snow dusts everything from the roof to the windowsill and the stairs that lead up to the massive front door.

I expected it to be... darker if I'm honest, but then again, with the Addams' you can never know for sure what to expect.

I knew they had money, for example, but I didn't know they were this rich.

I move to grab my trunk fastened to the roof of the hearse, but Lurch beats me to it.

"Thanks." I reach for it when he sets it down with a grunt, prepared to carry it myself, but he lifts it onto his shoulder like it weighs nothing and turns and makes his way toward the manor. "I-Uh... Thank you."

Thing scuttles after him, and I swallow nervously before doing the same.

An icy wind bites at my cheeks and I'm quick to shove my hands into my jacket pockets right as the front door swings open, revealing Wednesday's father.

"Ah, Lurch. Finally."

The butler bows slightly and brushes past Mr. Addams, vanishing inside the manor with my trunk.

Thing taps my shoe encouragingly without Mr. Addams noticing before greeting him and hurrying into the warmth of the manor himself, leaving me all alone.

"H-Hello," I stutter, slightly intimidated by the deadpan expression on the man's face. "It's nice to see you again. Thank you for allowing me to spend Christmas with you and your family."

Mr. Addams' dark eyes take me in for a second longer before grinning suddenly and pulling me into a hug.

My eyes widen, but I hug him back, the angle of our embrace a little awkward because I'm quite a bit taller than him.

"Anyone who dares to speak their mind in front of my daughter and gets to walk away in one piece is welcome here," he says, which makes me choke in surprise.

How he knows I'm not afraid to disagree with or stand up to Wednesday, I'm not sure but I'm sure Thing has something to do with it.

"Also, you saved my little girl's life, losing your own, if only temporarily, in the process. That makes you family and 'Tish and I will forever be grateful to you."

He pulls back and I blink back the sting of tears behind my eyes. "I... Mr. Addams I don't know what to say," I admit, feeling a wave of emotion rush over me.

I haven't felt like being part of a family in a long time, and hearing someone say I'm part of theirs makes my heart ache.

My parents don't know what happened a few months ago, and neither does Lara. I refused to inform them since it's none of their business and I didn't want to scare Lara.

Coach Vlad also didn't even know who to contact because only Weems had their number and I wasn't about to give it to him.

"Then don't say anything. Also, call me Gomez. I'm sure 'Tish wouldn't mind being called by her first name either. Mrs. Addams is her mother and the devil knows she does not want to be associated with that woman," Mr. Addams says with a twinkle in his eyes, gesturing for me to come inside.

I exhale softly and offer a small smile before entering the manor. Unlike the outside, it's exactly as I imagined. Black wooden floors, candelabras with black candles everywhere and headless black roses in vases.

It smells faintly like smoke and sandalwood and my pendant heats up against my chest when I get a faint whiff of cedar wood as well.

Wednesday.

I unleash my powers a little and focus, smiling faintly when my ears pick up on her heartbeat somewhere in the house.

"Y/N."

My eyes snap up at the sound of Morticia Addams' sultry voice.

She's descending the grand, winding, black marble staircase to my right in a tight black dress and with a gentle smile playing on her lips.

Her eyes are as dark and piercing as Wednesday's and it takes everything in me to hold her gaze.

How on Earth I had the guts to stab Crackstone, but I'm unable to stay calm in the presence of my girlfriend's mother, I have no ideas.

Wait, girlfriend?! Wednesday isn't— We haven't talked about—

"It's good to see you again."

"You too. Thank you for having me," I reply quietly, nervously, trying my best to reciprocate her smile.

Almost as if sensing my nerves, she softens a little and touches my shoulder gently.

"You're very welcome. I hope the drive went well?"

"If by well you mean without incident, then yes. If by well you mean Lurch hitting a pedestrian and blowing up a gas station, then no."

I have no idea what prompted me to say that, but Morticia's eyes glint with delight and I see her sharing an amused look with Gomez.

"Hmm. What a shame," she chuckles softly. "Well then, I'm sure you'd like to freshen up before dinner. I've instructed Lurch to take your trunk to the guest room. It's upstairs, all the way down the hallway to the right."

I dip my chin in silent thanks and go to ask about Wednesday when Morticia seemingly reads my mind, adding, "Wednesday is in a bit of a mood at the moment. She and I got into a tiff earlier, so if you'd prefer to stay in one piece maybe don't go looking for her."

I cringe.

Yikes. So they really got into it...

"O-okay..."

"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure she'll be back to her old, broody self come dinner."

I smile gently, a little worried about Wednesday but also feeling a bit awkward about being caught in the middle of their family drama.

Morticia gestures for me to go ahead and go upstairs, so I do, feeling her and Gomez's eyes on me all the way until I'm out of sight.

I take in the house, impressed by the portraits on the wall and the ornate black carpets that swallow the sound of my footsteps.

From behind one of the doors I pass, I hear classical music and the tell-tale sound of someone hacking away at a typewriter, which makes me smile softly.

Heeding Morticia's warning, I don't dare to knock though. I simply continue walking until I reach the guest room.

I take in the massive bed with the satin sheets and the black drapes framing the floor-length windows.

The grounds outside are covered in the same dusting as snow as the house and driveway and I take a step closer to the window to admire the view.

Past the rolling meadows surrounding the manor I can make out a dark lake, half frozen over. It looks ominous, almost as if wanting to swallow you whole if you get near enough, so I make a mental note not to. I can also make out the edge of a pine forest in the distance and momentarily wonder how big the Addams' property really is. Then, I turn, grab some clean clothes from my trunk, and head to the ensuite bathroom to shower.

The door flies open and I whirl around with a start. I was just sorting through my trunk in search of a sweater to wear over my shirt.

"Wha—Oh. Hi..."

My heart warms at the sight of Wednesday stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with calm, calculated movements.

"I see Lurch didn't run the hearse off the road," she states, her dark eyes settling on me.

I feel a bit of tension radiating off her, so when I cross the room I do so tentatively and with a disarming smile that she doesn't reciprocate. "Was he supposed to?" I joke and much to my relief, the corner of her mouth actually quirks up.

"I have yet to decide," she says quietly when I stop right in front of her. There's still some tension in her shoulders and a crease between her eyebrows but the longer she looks up at me, the longer said tension fades.

Her eyes soften when I raise a challenging eyebrow and I take that as permission to step even closer, slowly bringing my hands up to touch her waist. "Is that so?"

She doesn't answer but blows a sharp breath out through her nose, almost as though trying not to laugh. Her face stays fairly neutral though, and she holds onto my forearms, keeping me from pulling away. Not that I would, mind you.

I realize this is the first time since Crackstone that I'm not seeing her in her school uniform and I take a moment to appreciate her oversized, black, cable knit sweater and cuffed, black jeans. She's also in socks, which is a sight I never thought I'd get to see. It makes her look soft, even though she's the exact opposite. Well, most of the time...

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly when she doesn't say anything for a couple moments. "Your mother—"

"I'm fine," she snaps, only for her eyes to widen in regret a split second later. "I didn't—"

"I know." I pull her closer and lift one of my hands to brush her bangs out of her eyes. "Parents can be—"

"Obnoxious? Self-serving? Wildly out of line?"

I chuckle and nod, lowering my hand once again to hold onto her waist. "Yeah..."

Wednesday sighs, her face softening again as her eyes dart between my eyes and my lips.

I watch her, waiting for her to move with bated breath.

She tightens her grip on my forearms and gets on her tip toes, meeting my eyes one for permission.

I nod, subtly, and close my eyes when she cups my cheeks and closes the distance between us.

It's a gentle kiss, her soft lips moving against mine slowly but surely. Despite it lacking any heat though, it still makes my stomach flip and I can't help the way my fingers curl around the fabric of her sweater.

When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine and whispers, "Hi..."

I smile without opening my eyes, feeling the pendant around my neck pulse once, almost as if in recognition of my feeling whole again now that Wednesday and I are together once more.

Being apart for the last eight weeks really felt like torture and I realize now how dependent on her presence I've actually become.

"Hello again," I whisper before pecking her lips again. Then I pull back and open my eyes to see a dazed look on her face.

It makes me smile again and I can't help but kiss the top of her head once before wrapping her into a tight hug.

"How's your extended break been so far?" I ask resting my chin on the top of her head.

"Torture," she mumbles against my shoulder. "Just like this hug."

I actually laugh out loud but don't pull away because despite pretending to hate it, Wednesday actually tightens her arms around my neck.

"Sounds like fun." I whisper. I'm actually a little surprised she's tolerating this much physical contact, but then again, who knows how bad her soulbond induced withdrawal symptoms were over the last eight weeks.

I know is she won't be this touchy in front of her family, so I soak it all in while I can.

"I'm assuming Thing told you all about the fight I had with my mother?" she says after a few more moments of silence.

I pull back after leaving one final kiss on her forehead and lead her to the bed, taking a seat on the edge while she remains standing, her hand still in mine.

"No, actually. All he said was you two had a fight," I say, careful not to make it sound as though I'm pushing to know more about it.

"So he can keep his fingers still..." She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before sitting down next to me, keeping her eyes on our intertwined hands. She fidgets with my fingers, her black nail polish glinting in the low light. The sun began to set and it started snowing while I was in the shower which forcing me to turn on the small lamp on the bedside table in order to see something. I could have turned on the overhead lights, but I've always been a fan of smaller lights since they're not so bright and are easier on my sensitive eyes.

I know Wednesday wants to say something because she keeps fidgeting with my fingers, so I stay silent and take in her side profile, admiring her freckles for the umpteenth time.

"My mother is under the impression that she alone knows what's good for me and what I want," she admits finally, meeting my gaze.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate but a knock on the door makes her tense and stand up abruptly, putting some distance between us just as the door opens.

"Y/N I just wanted to let you know that dinner— Oh... Wednesday, darling. You're here." Morticia's eyes flicker between her daughter and me.

"Yes, mother. I'm here," Wednesday snaps, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

It's honestly a little impressive how she can switch between moods.

I still have no idea why she's being like this with her mother because yes, I know they've had a fight but I'm still no closer to knowing why than before.

Morticia sighs softly and simply directs her attention towards me. "As I was trying to say, dinner is ready."

"Thank you. We'll be right down," I say with a gentle smile.

She nods and leaves again, leaving the door slightly ajar as a silent reminder not to take too long.

I get up and grab the sweater I was looking for earlier from my trunk before turning to Wednesday who's still glaring at the door with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come on, let's go eat. If you're still mad at the door later I'll help you break it down." I joke which makes her direct her glare at me and roll her eyes.

She follows me though and even links our pinkies together until we make it to the dining room where the rest of her family is already waiting for us.

I can't sleep. It's almost one in the morning and I'm standing in the Addams' dark living room with a glass of water in hand, watching the snowstorm outside through the big windows.

Dinner was fairly smooth save the dirty looks Wednesday threw her mother every now and then. Gomez kept me engaged in conversation about being an Ægiryn with Pugsley asking questions about my powers every now and then. Wednesday didn't say anything except when asking for some food to be passed to her.

Morticia was also fairly quiet, but I quickly realized it's just the way she is.

I hear the creak of a floorboard out in the foyer, making me tense, but then my ears hone in on a familiar heartbeat which makes me relax once more.

I don't stop watching the snowstorm until Wednesday brushes up against my side.

I look down to find her dressed in a matching set of black silk pajamas. I've seen it before when she came to my room the night I saved Thing after he was stabbed, so I'm not surprised by it. What I am surprised by however is her hair. For the first time ever it's open. No braids or braid, no ponytail or bun. It's gorgeous, framing her face with her bangs perfectly. It's also a tiny bit wavy because of her earlier braids and I can't help but smile at her because it makes her even softer than before.

I know commenting on it, even if it's to compliment her, would make her put it up again, so I don't say anything.

My smile alone makes her squirm the tiniest bit and avoid eye contact so I put an arm around her shoulders and pull her against my side. "Can't sleep either?"

"Mm-hmm." She wraps her arms around my waist and exhales against my collarbone.

It's baffling how physically affectionate she's been since I died and she brought me back, but I'm not complaining. I actually like it a lot, even if she only initiates it when we're alone.

We silently watch the snowstorm for a few moments before she sighs and whispers, "My mother suggested you sleep in my room with me."

"I... What?"

"Thing blabbed about our bond so she insisted."

To say I'm surprised would be an understatement. Morticia wants Wednesday and me to sleep in the same bed? I would have thought it would be the other way around...

So that's what they fought about.

I can't help but feel a twinge of hurt, considering they must have argued because Wednesday doesn't want to share a bed with me, but then Wednesday goes on, much quieter, "I was actually considering asking you when you got here, but the fact that she brought it up..."

I snort and pull her closer. "You didn't want to prove her right."

Wednesday's silence is all the confirmation I need and I roll my eyes fondly. Of course she couldn't ever let her mother think she was right, but then again, I'm sure it has to do with the fact that she doesn't want to be seen this soft and vulnerable by anyone but me too.

"For the record," I whisper, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I would have said yes."

Wednesday freezes for a moment before pulling back and looking at me with an unreadable expression. I smile softly and hold her gaze until she steps out of my embrace, wordlessly grabbing my hand and leading me out of the living room, through the foyer and up the stairs into her room.

I close the door behind us and let her lead me to bed, setting down my glass of water on her nightstand before letting her pull me into bed.

It's warm and smells like her, and I actually shiver when she tugs my arm around her waist so my chest is flush with her back.

Everything's happening so fast, I barely have any time to wrap my head around this sudden step up in physical closeness.

It seems as though Wednesday doesn't care about her mother or her reaction to potentially seeing us like this anymore, so I relax against her and brush my nose against the back of her neck.

It makes her squirm and I hear her heart skip a beat, which makes me smile all the way until I fall asleep.

I wake up to the feeling of being watched and open my eyes slowly. My heart flutters at the sight of Wednesday quickly averting her eyes when she realizes she's been caught and I'm quick to tighten my arm around her, whispering against the side of her head, "Like what you see?"

"Ask that again and you lose your tongue," she snaps. There's no real bite to her tone though, only embarrassment, so I roll my eyes and chuckle, closing my eyes again and settling back in.

Wednesday is draped over me, with her head resting on my chest and her arm thrown over my stomach.

If you'd told me Wednesday Addams could ever be this touchy after our first encounter, I would have had you committed. Now though... My dying and coming back must have really flipped a switch in her.

"Can I ask you something?" I mumble a moment later, trancing gentle circles on her back. It's clear  we're not going back to sleep but that we're going to stay in this moment a little longer.

"That depends entirely on what you want to know," she replies with a teasing edge to her voice that I haven't heard before.

"Okay then," I play along for a second before getting serious. "The bond... What does it feel like for you?"

Wednesday stills completed before lifting her head, prompting me to open my eyes to meet her gaze.

"Why?" she asks, her face blank.

I reach up and straighten her bangs out a little, also running my hand through her hair to tame it a little. "Dunno. Just curious, I guess."

Her eyes stay on me for a second longer before she lies back down, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper she admits, "It calms me... I can sense what you're feeling and every time you're close, I feel this profound sense of being whole."

I take a moment to let it sink in before kissing the top of her head. "Thank you for telling me. I know you don't usually do feelings, so..."

"Bring it up again and I'll make you regret it," she retorts which makes me snort.

"Got it." A beat. Then, "Just so you know, it's the same for me, by the way. Every time you're near, I feel like I can breathe easier."

I expect another sarcastic remark, but surprisingly, Wednesday stays silent.

That is until another thought crosses my mind and I ask, "I've been meaning to ask you since I got here...What did you tell your parents about us? What we are, I mean?"

She shifts and sits up with a sigh, turning to look at me. "I didn't tell them anything."

I frown, a little hurt.

She clocks it instantly. "What?"

I shake my head and sit up myself. It's obvious she's not ready to have the what-are-we talk yet. "Nothing."

I push the comforter off and turn, swinging my legs out of bed. Before I can get up though she grabs my elbow and shuffles over the bed until she's sitting on the edge next to me. "No. What is it? You don't get to just ice me out like that."

I sigh and run a hand down my face. "It's stupid."

"I'm sure it is, but that's not important right now," she says, making me glare at her.

I consider her for a moment before admitting, "I just... What is this?" I gesture between us. "What are we doing? Are we together? Are you my girlfriend? Or—"

"Why would you think I'm your girlfriend?" she cuts in, her nose actually crinkling with disgust at the term 'girlfriend'.

I exhale in disbelief and ignore the way my heart aches.  "Wow. Okay then. Great talk." I go to stand up again, but Wednesday beats me to it, getting up and standing in front of me, blocking my way.

"Wait. That's not—" she shakes her head in frustration "— I didn't mean it like that." Her voice softens and I meet her eyes, seeing genuine concern in them. "I simply wouldn't use girlfriend as a word to describe myself... You're an Ægiryn and we're bonded. That term is just so trivial and doesn't do our relationship any justice."

My eyes widen but she goes on, softly, before I can say anything.

"You are the one constant in this grotesquely unpredictable world. So no, I am not your girlfriend. I'm yours. Period."

I'm yours.

That statement alone knocks the breath out of me. I gape at her, noticing the way her eyes flicker with uncertainty the longer I stay silent so I stand up, leaving virtually no distance between us, before lowering my chin and resting my forehead against hers.

"I'm yours, too," I whisper which makes her exhale shakily, relieved.

She raises her hands to cup my cheeks and kiss me but I lift my head so her lips land on my chin.

She throws me a dirty look and leans up again, but I actually push her back a step with my hands on her hips, saying, "Let's brush our teeth first. No reason to ruin this moment with vomit-inducing morning breath."

She grumbles something under her breath about hygiene and impossibly high standards but agrees with a tiny nod.

I smile and press a kiss to her forehead before slipping past her and leaving her room, heading to my own room to brush my teeth.

I waste no time, brushing my teeth as quickly as I can and even then, when I exit the en suite, Wednesday is already in my room, having already brushed her teeth herself.

I laugh softly at her apparent eagerness but avoid indulging her for a moment longer to grab something from my trunk. It's a small wooden box, the size of my palm and Wednesday's eyes narrow when her gaze lands on it.

"What's that?" she asks.

I smile knowingly and hand it to her, wordlessly gesturing for her to open it herself and see.

When she does, she stiffens at the sight of the signet ring inside. Bewildered and confused, her eyes snap up to meet mine. "How—Where—Why?"

I take the empty box from her after she takes the ring out and toss it onto the bed, closing the distance between us and watching her gape at the ring.

It's the ring with the Stillmark symbol Crackstone stole from that young Ægiryn boy centuries ago. I found it in the Quad right before being taken to the medical ward. It must have been left behind when Wednesday killed Crackstone once and for all, so I took it and held onto it, waiting for this exact moment to give it to her. Not only will it serve her as a reminder of what we overcame, but I thought it might also help anchor her since we know now she's part Ægiryn herself.

Her eyes keep flickering between me and the ring so I take her hand and gently closeted it around the ring. "Merry Christmas, Wednesday."

I'm the only Ægiryn left, so I figured it was up to me to decide what to do with the ring and since I already have a Stillmark, I came to the realization that Wednesday having it would be the only logical conclusion.

Whether she decides to wear it or not is entirely up to her. I just want her to have it.

She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, and I'm convinced she's about to reject it, but then she tightens her hold on it and kisses me, pulling me down by the back of my neck with her free hand.

She tastes like mint toothpaste and I immediately sink into the kiss, pulling her closer by her waist.

I know this is her silent way of saying thank you, so I let her lead until she pulls back again, which is much too soon for my liking.

I chase her lips, but she's gone in a heartbeat, leaving me dazed and confused until she returns a moment later with a present of her own.

She's also pulled her hair out of her face into a neat, low bun, making me smile fondly.

I love her braids, don't get me wrong, but seeing her with her hair down or up in a bun like right now feels special. It's a part of her I'm realizing not even her family gets to see, which makes it feel extra special.

"Whatcha got there?" I tease quietly, eying the present. It's wrapped in shiny black wrapping paper with a simple black bow tied around it.

She hands it to me wordlessly, shifting somewhat nervously as I slowly undo the tie and start unwrapping it carefully.

"I spent some time reading up on your kind over the last couple of weeks and I thought you might find it useful," she explains when I open the cardboard box, revealing a pair of headphones.

They're black and bulky, similar to the ones I already own, but there's a, tiny but shiny black symbol on the headband, contrasting with the matte finish of  the rest of the headphones.

"That's..." I trail off, astonished.

The Stillmark.

I glance at Wednesday, noting how intently she's watching me before taking the headphones out of the box and putting them on.

Almost instantly, everything goes quiet. I can't even hear her heartbeat any more which makes me pause.

It's so quiet...

I can't remember the last time it was this quiet. My ears are always picking up on things, even if I don't notice them consciously, making this is a relief so unexpectedly pleasant, my eyes actually well up with tears.

I swallow thickly and take them off again, sound flooding my ears once again. I don't mind it though because I can hear Wednesday's heartbeat again, and right now it's a little frantic with nerves.

"Do you like it?" she asks, obviously a little confused by my unshed tears.

I chuckle in disbelief and shake my head. "Do I like it? This is the best gift anyone's ever given me," I admit.

I set the headphones back into the box and set it down on the bed.

"You can also use them to listen to music. The witch I bought them from said they have integrated bluemoon."

"Bluetooth," I correct gently, blinking back my tears and smiling softly. "I love them. Thank you."

Her lips twitch the faintest bit and her cheeks turn an endearing shade of red. Before she can turn away or get embarrassed and turn away, I quickly pull her into a tight hug, bending down and burying my face in the crook of her neck.

She hesitates a moment before hugging me back.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N."

I hum and press a kiss to her neck, making her breath hitch.

Then, a door opens down the hallway, snapping us back to reality. I pull back and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We should head downstairs to exchange presents with the rest of your family."

She rolls her eyes and glares at the door almost as if imagining her family standing right behind it.

"Must we? I'd rather listen to Enid's soulless pop music."

"Yes, we must," I tease, kissing the top of her head one final time. "Now come on."

She grumbles again and quickly puts her hair into her signature braids before letting out an exasperated sigh and brushing past me, ready to face her family.

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Surprise little update! Did ya miss me? Jk.

This was a request by @rillylogers

If anyone wants to be added to/taken off the tag list for this AU just comment down below.

Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97 @hellenheaven @iwshemj2 @jizzuo308 @trashcannotbealive @gloriousvariant @brocoliisscared @1863rdorv-reader @fck-this-name @iamprodigious @kiwidreamersstuff @rillylogers @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @aka-persephone

[typingoreos]

Enid: so if you two get married whose last name is being taken?

Wednesday; mine. I will always be an Addams

Y/N: and I’m on better terms with her family than my own.

Wednesday: father tried to have Y/N’s last name legally changed to Addams already. Bribed the courts and everything.

Y/N: I’ve never felt so loved

Wednesday leans against Y/N’s shoulder, a small act of affection…

[typingoreos]

AQUAMARINE (7)

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Repeated Cycle

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: When your fake girlfriend asks someone else to the Rave’n, your uneasy truce starts to fracture. Between courtly pressure and whispered gossip, you’re left wondering what will break first - the arrangement, or you.

word count: 5.9k

author’s note: can’t wait to tell my grandkids all abt the wenclair lore in 2088

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——————

Wednesday Addams was never - and would probably never - be good at feelings.

Emotions, to her, were just another kind of trap. Invisible, sticky, and far more insidious than any of the bear claws she'd studied in wilderness survival or the time she hibernated with a few when she was twelve. They slowed the mind, dulled the edge, turned even the most rational person into something trembling and unrecognizable. Which is why she had no interest in learning how to handle them - not yours, and certainly not her own.

The silence between you had calcified into something with shape and weight after the joint-vision at the old meeting house. At first, it was simply the product of busyness - her vanishing for days under the excuse of leads she "couldn't afford to let go cold," you retreating into your balcony calls and hours spent listening to oceanic council members bicker about diplomacy, territory rights, and whispers of war.

Then came the Rave'n preparations. Being the academy's official royalty meant Principal Weems had roped you into chairing the entire set-up committee. It was more than just selecting flowers and tablecloths - you were mediating budget disputes between the treasurer and the decorating team, settling quarrels over the DJ’s setlist, approving mock-ups for invitations, and signing off on the custom ice sculpture delivery. Every free moment not swallowed by your oceanic duties was consumed by making sure the school's most anticipated event didn't collapse into chaos.

Meals together became rare. Evenings in the library were abandoned entirely. The most you'd offer each other now was a brief nod in the hallway or a neutral glance in the quad, each pretending you didn't notice the other lingering just a second too long before looking away. She told herself it was strategy - you told yourself it was survival.

Enid noticed, of course. She always noticed. Wednesday was pulling her boots on one evening, the dorm quiet except for the distant hum of laughter from the common room, when Enid - lounging on her bed with a magazine - said it.

"You know," she began casually, "when couples stop talking, it usually means they're about to break up."

Wednesday froze for half a second before resuming the slow lacing of her boots. "Couples also stop talking before committing homicide, Sinclair. Your point?"

"My point is," Enid said, leaning forward, "you've been ignoring her for days. She's been ignoring you and if you don't want that to mean something, maybe stop acting like it does."

The words followed Wednesday out the door, heavy and irritating in a way she couldn't quite shake. By the time she made it to her typewriter that night, the logic had already begun to calcify in her mind. If the two of you weren't speaking, if this was the slow erosion of whatever fragile alliance you'd built, then she would adapt. She would pivot. She would prioritize the investigation.

Which was exactly how, the following afternoon, she found herself standing in a small art shack, begrudgingly asking Xavier Thorpe if he would accompany her to the Rave'n. Not for romance, not for spectacle - purely because his proximity to her suspect list made him useful.

It was during the chaos of the third set-up meeting that you noticed it - low, slippery murmurs following you like a tide you couldn't see, just hear.

You were crouched by the far wall, marking where the table skirts would hang, when two freshmen from the decorations team drifted past with armfuls of streamers. "Apparently she just walked right up to him..." one whispered.

"...poor Y/N - do you think they're still together?" the other hissed back.

You kept your eyes on the tape in your hand, pretending you hadn't heard, but their voices tangled with others in the gym. Little fragments caught on the air - Wednesday... Xavier... Rave'n date - and no matter where you moved, they followed.

By the time Yoko strode over from the snack table committee, you'd already pieced together enough to know you weren't going to like what she said.

"So... apparently your girlfriend asked Xavier to the Rave'n," she murmured, crouching beside you like she was delivering a diagnosis. "No explanation. Just straight-up asked him. Everyone's talking about it - the sound crew, the DJ, even Bianca."

Your grip on the tape roll tightened, the plastic edge biting into your palm. "...When?"

"This morning outside somewhere," Yoko said, watching your face. "Guess she didn't think it was worth telling you herself. Xavier certainly can’t shut up about it."

The comment landed heavier than you wanted it to, but you pushed the feeling down. Around you, the committee buzzed on - paper snowflakes being strung, extension cords being dragged, someone shouting about a missing box of candles. You had work to do, a job to finish, and an event plan to execute.

Still, every time another pair of students passed, their voices seemed to dip, eyes flicking toward you like they'd been waiting to see the look on your face. And you couldn't shake the thought that whatever her reason was - if there even was one - she'd chosen to keep it to herself.

By the time you got to Ophelia Hall, the Rave'n committee clipboard still clutched in your hand like some kind of warped shield, your pulse had climbed into your throat. You didn't even remember crossing the quad, just the blur of students still whispering, their faces all blurring into that same quick, pitying glance you'd been collecting all day.

You didn't knock.

Wednesday was at her desk when you came in, posture perfect, typewriter in front of her, the clacking of keys slicing the air in steady bursts. She didn't look up.

"I'm assuming this is about your clipboard, not an emotional breakdown," she said, without stopping her typing. You always believed she had eyes in the back of her head somehow, underneath the tight braids and brushed hair.

"How dare you," you said. It came out sharper than you expected - closer to a blade than a voice.

She paused only long enough to finish the sentence she was on, then pulled the page free from the typewriter. "How dare I what?"

"Ask Xavier to the Rave'n." You shut the door behind you, harder than necessary. "You couldn't even tell me yourself? You just let me find out because the entire school decided it would be fun gossip?"

Finally, she turned to face you, her expression infuriatingly unreadable. "Our arrangement was mutually beneficial, but lately it has been... skewed. Toward you."

"Skewed?" You let out a humorless laugh. "I'm sorry, is playing your fake girlfriend while I juggle actual oceanic council calls and running the Rave'n committee - because of my status - somehow a luxury vacation in your eyes?"

"You've gained social insulation," she said flatly, like she was presenting a piece of evidence in court. "And credibility with certain students who might otherwise treat you as a novelty. Your father has left you relatively alone. I, on the other hand, have gained very little in the past few weeks beyond the occasional ability to enter staff-only areas under the guise of your royal privilege."

"God, listen to yourself." You shook your head. "I'm sorry I can't harness my full abilities on command for your investigation, Wednesday. I'm sorry I'm not a convenient little supernatural bloodhound you can keep on a leash until you need me. I've been trying to keep this school from collapsing into Rave'n chaos and deal with political tensions under the fucking sea - but guess what? That doesn't pause just because you've decided I'm not useful enough."

Her gaze didn't waver, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "My work requires precision. Focus. And as of late, you have been... distracted."

"And whose fault is that?" Your voice cracked - not from weakness, but from the sheer effort of keeping it from shattering entirely. "You pull away without a word, you get me involved in your… visions. You bury yourself in your typewriter, in your suspects, in anything but this - us. And then you have the nerve to act like I've somehow taken advantage of you."

"You agreed to this knowing what I am," she said, standing now, her voice cool but carrying that undercurrent of something you couldn't name - something sharp and fraying at the same time. "I am not sentimental. I do not indulge in dramatics."

You stepped closer, holding her gaze. "I don't care if we're a mess in this school," you said, every word deliberate, steady, "but when Parent Weekend comes... we are a happy, loving couple. No cracks. No cold shoulders. No one gets to see this fall apart but us."

Her silence was worse than anything she could have said. She didn't break eye contact, didn't move - just let the weight of your words settle like ink bleeding into paper.

You turned for the door before you could say anything else. This time, she let you go. Again.

But you could still feel her eyes on your back the whole way down the hall.

———————

The moment you shut the door behind you, the façade cracked. You tossed the Rave'n clipboard onto your desk with enough force to send a pencil rolling off the edge, then kicked your shoes off so hard one landed halfway under the dresser.

Moro lifted his head from his nest of blankets by the window, sea-glass eyes blinking slow and lazy before narrowing, like he could smell your bad mood. His tail flicked once against the floorboards.

"Don't start with me," you muttered, dropping into your chair.

He made a low, questioning trill in his throat - the sound he used when you came back from council calls in a mood.

"She asked him to the Rave'n," you told him, rubbing both hands over your face. "Didn't tell me. Didn't even think I should hear it from her. Just—”You gestured vaguely toward the air, as if Wednesday might step out of it, typewriter and all. "—let the entire school have a free buffet of gossip at my expense."

Moro huffed, stretching his neck toward you, nostrils flaring like he wanted to catch the scent of whoever you were mad at.

"She's making it sound like this whole thing only benefits me," you went on, voice sharper now. "Like I'm leeching off her when I'm the one bending over backwards to keep up appearances while juggling my actual duties. I give her access to whatever she wants. Last week, she wanted the Master-Key to the police station - and I got it for her! And for what? So she can go play detective with her shiny new date? Xavier of all people!”

You turned toward your desk - and froze. Sitting neatly in the center were three glossy photographs you hadn't seen before, stacked like a gift you never asked for.

"What the hell..." you murmured, picking them up.

Each one was a portrait: three unfamiliar men, well-dressed, all roughly your age. The backs had names, ages, and brief descriptions - handwritten in your father's precise, royal script.

"'Strong swimmer, fluent in Waves.'" You read one aloud in disbelief. "'Comes from a good tide-worshipping family.'"

Moro's tail thumped once - hard - against the floor, like even he didn't approve.

"These are potential husbands," you told him flatly, tossing the stack onto the desk like they might burn you. "He's been circling the subject for months, but now he's sending... headshots? Like I'm supposed to pick one out before midterms?"

Moro slithered closer, putting his chin on your knee. The weight of him was grounding, but it didn't stop the tight coil in your chest. "If I ignore it long enough, he'll get bored. Or distracted. Or… something.”

Moro let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through your leg. You reached down, scratching the scales behind his ear fins. "Yeah," you said quietly. "I'm already taken anyway."

You didn't say by who.

But you didn't have to.

———————

Wednesday sat at her desk, ink still drying on the latest page of her case notes, when Thing climbed up beside the typewriter. He didn't bother with subtlety - just landed with a solid thump and pointed toward the door you'd stormed out of not twenty minutes ago.

"I assume you've come to dispense some sort of moral wisdom," Wednesday said, not looking up from her notes.

Thing tapped quickly - You're pulling away from her.

"I am focusing on my work," Wednesday corrected, adjusting the paper in the typewriter. "She has her duties, I have mine. It's efficient."

Thing made a disbelieving wave, followed by a jab toward her chest - Not efficient. Cowardly.

Her fingers stilled over the keys. "If this is another attempt to get me to acknowledge... feelings," she said the word like it was a medical diagnosis, "then you're wasting both our time. I am not pulling away. I am creating distance to preserve focus."

Thing signed a sharp, impatient flurry: She's under pressure. Family. Duties. Father.

That finally made her glance at him. "I am aware of her father's expectations," she said, the edge in her voice making it clear she was more than aware. "But I fail to see how my proximity would alleviate that burden. If anything, my presence tends to exacerbate tension."

Thing jabbed at the desk for emphasis: Exactly why she needs you.

Wednesday's jaw tightened. The idea of being needed made something coil unpleasantly in her chest, something she didn't have the vocabulary for and didn't want to acquire. "I am not the comforting type," she said flatly.

Thing leaned in, his fingers curling slowly - You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

That sat between them for a long moment, the soft tick of the typewriter carriage the only sound. When Wednesday finally spoke, it was quieter. "She knows where to find me."

Thing tapped once - For now. - and then scuttled off the desk, leaving her with her case notes and the creeping suspicion that, for once, he was right.

Wednesday believed her visions were messy, unreliable, and intrusive. A storm breaking into the mind without knocking first, leaving everything soaked in images that weren't hers. They were a reminder that, despite all her control, there were parts of her existence that could be breached.

But that day in the old meeting house had been... different.

The moment your hand touched hers, the vision had swallowed you both. She'd seen Joseph Crackstone, the acrid scent of smoke and burning wood thick in her lungs, the weight of centuries-old hatred pressing down like a suffocating tide. She'd felt your heartbeat spike beside her, too fast, too loud, almost drowning out the echo of her own.

She'd also felt something she hadn't prepared for.

Most people, when swept into a vision with her, tried to yank away - instinctively retreating from whatever horror had pulled them under. But you didn't. Your fingers had curled tighter around hers, nails biting into her palm, and you'd met the flood head-on. Even as your breath stuttered, you stayed anchored to her.

And in that collapsing moment - smoke, fire, screaming - she realized she was anchoring herself to you, too.

She hadn't told you, of course. She doubted she ever would. But the aftermath of that vision lingered, as much in her as it did in you. She remembered the way your eyes had darted around the empty meeting house after it was over, like you were checking for threats only she could see. She remembered the faint tremor in your hand before you dropped it from hers.

And she remembered - most irritatingly - that she had wanted to reach for you again. Not for information, not for the investigation, but simply to confirm that you were still there.

That you hadn't drifted away. And yet, here the two of you were. Ignoring one another and pushing each other away for the sake of your what? Dignity?

It was the kind of impulse she had spent her entire life excising from herself. The kind of impulse that now made it impossible to pretend your absence didn't leave a space she could feel.

Wednesday turned back to her typewriter, the blank page glaring up at her. Words should have come easily - there was still so much evidence to catalogue, leads to cross-reference, more chapters of Viper’s story to create - but instead, her mind kept circling back to you in that meeting house. The way you'd stood beside her, the way the vision had forced you both to see what the other saw.

Thing's words from earlier pricked at the edge of her thoughts. You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

She hated how they lingered.

Because the truth was, you had been there - for her - long before the arrangement, long before Rave'n committees and whispered gossip in the quad. You had been there in the visions, in the woods, in the silences that most people found suffocating but you seemed to breathe just fine. You were in the chapters of her novel as Viper’s secret admirer - the girl who had eyes that killed with just a glance. And now, with the distance stretching wider between you, she could feel something she didn't want to name pressing in on her.

It wasn't guilt. She didn't do guilt.

It wasn't regret. She didn't waste time on hypotheticals.

It was something else entirely.

Wednesday adjusted the carriage on her typewriter and set her fingers on the keys. She told herself it was because she needed to make a note before she forgot it, because evidence had to be preserved. But what came out instead wasn't a line of case notes - it was your name.

She stared at it for a long moment before tearing the page out, crumpling it, and dropping it into the wastebasket.

She would talk to you. Soon.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she couldn't stop thinking about that meeting house - and the way your hand had fit in hers.

————————

The tailor's room in Jericho smelled faintly of lavender and old wood polish, the kind of scent that clung to the air no matter how many bolts of fresh fabric were brought in. Afternoon light slanted through tall, dust-flecked windows, spilling across rows of gowns in muted pastels and inky jewel tones. A few swayed gently on their hangers, shifting shadows against the far wall.

You stood in the center of it all, balanced on a low pedestal while the seamstress circled you like a shark. She had a mouth full of pins, a silver measuring tape draped like a sash across her shoulder, and a pair of sharp scissors glinting in one hand.

The dress was only half-complete, a constellation of chalk marks and loose stitches. Light silk clung to your frame in soft ripples, the hem still raw, brushing just above your ankles. The bodice fit close, boning pressing lightly against your ribs, and the neckline dipped in a way that made the seamstress hum to herself about "proper posture for a princess." You held still as she pinned another dart into place, even as the metal brushed a little too close to your skin.

On a nearby chair sat a pile of discarded swatches - deep ocean blues, white like an angels wings, a pale grey that caught the light like moonlit water. You'd chosen the light blue, of course. The shade your advisors always said photographed well for formal events, the one that nodded to your heritage without looking like you'd been draped in a flag.

The seamstress stepped back to assess her work, and for a moment you were left alone in the mirror's reflection - your face framed by the half-finished gown, hair falling loosely down your shoulders, expression somewhere between regal composure and exhaustion. You took a sip from your salt-water bottle while the seamstress yelled at you for moving.

The bell above the shop door jingled. You didn't look over - until a familiar, bright voice cut through the quiet hum of the sewing machine in the back.

"Y/N?”

You turned your head just as Enid Sinclair stepped inside, a paper shopping bag hooked over one arm, her curls catching the light like spun gold. She blinked when she saw you, her gaze flicking from your face to the dress and back again.

"Whoa," she breathed, stopping a few steps away. "Okay, you look... I mean, wow. That's your Rave'n dress?"

You smoothed a hand over the silk and the corset, the fabric cool under your fingertips. "It's not finished yet."

Enid laughed softly. "If this is unfinished, I'm terrified of what you're going to look like when it's done." She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. "Wednesday's going to combust."

You kept your eyes on the mirror, adjusting the set of your shoulders. "She's going with Xavier."

That wiped the smile from Enid's face. "Yeah, I... heard." She hesitated, then offered a small shrug. "Doesn't mean she's not going to explode."

The seamstress returned, pin cushion in hand, and Enid stepped back, watching quietly as the woman added more pins to the skirt, lifting and draping until the fabric fell in smooth, deliberate lines. The room was quiet except for the hiss of the iron in the back and the occasional snip of thread.

When the seamstress finally stepped away again, Enid caught your gaze in the mirror. "Whatever's going on between you two, just... don't disappear on her, okay? You've got that whole mysterious princess thing down already. You don't need to add vanishing act to the list."

You didn't answer, just kept your eyes on the reflection - the silk, the pins, the unfinished seams - trying not to think about how much easier it was to stand perfectly still for a stranger with a handful of sharp objects than it was to stand in front of Wednesday Addams and ask her why she'd pulled away.

You'd been fitted for more gowns than you could count in your life, but the Rave'n dress still felt different - less like armor for a royal function, more like a costume you'd chosen for yourself. It wasn't meant for diplomatic photo ops or formal dinners where the wrong posture could spark rumors in court. It was for one night, one dance, in a place where - at least in theory - you got to decide who you were.

Growing up, choice was rare.

Your earliest memories were of marble halls that echoed when you ran through them, the sound bouncing off columns carved with sea creatures whose eyes seemed to follow you. The floors were always cold under your bare feet, even when the water was warm, and the light filtered down from the surface in fractured gold. It made everything look like it was already fading into memory, even as it happened.

Your father's voice carried in those halls, deep and measured, every word precise enough to cut. He didn't raise it - he didn't need to. Commands landed like anchors, immovable once spoken. For the good of the kingdom. Your duty comes before your comfort. You'll understand when you're older. His presence was a current you couldn't fight, even on the days you wanted to.

Your mother's voice had been different - softer, lilting, full of tide-pool stories and secret smiles. But she was gone before you could cling to more than fragments: the outline of her hair drifting like ink in the water, the scent of crushed coral on her hands, the sound of her laughter echoing off the reef.

After that, the ocean was both sanctuary and prison. You learned to swim before you could walk, to recite tide-law before you could write your own name. Your lessons were peppered with warnings about dangerous alliances, treacherous tides, and the sharp smiles of rival courts. You learned to listen more than you spoke, to observe before you acted.

The human world was dangled before you like a shimmering lure - something to approach for diplomacy, never to linger in, always to treat as foreign. That changed at fourteen, when the currents of your life shifted overnight. An accident - one your father never discussed in full - left you standing in front of him as he pronounced that you would be spending a year at Nevermore Academy. He framed it as a gesture of goodwill toward the surface. You understood it as an exile.

Still, you adapted. You always did. You learned the rhythms of Nevermore, the way students here divided themselves into cliques not unlike the courts back home. You survived the gawking, the whispers, the people who wanted to see the princess, not the person. You perfected the kind of composure that made it impossible for anyone to tell if you were a novelty or a threat.

And then there was Wednesday Addams.

She hadn't cared about the title, just the privileges. She hadn't cared about the stories. If anything, she'd seemed mildly irritated by the attention you got, which was a relief in itself. The arrangement - as fake as it was - was the first thing here that felt even remotely on your terms. Mutual benefit. A shared understanding. A tether in a place that constantly shifted under your feet.

Until it wasn't.

The walk back from the tailor was short, but your thoughts stretched it into miles.

The afternoon air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke, the kind that clung to your clothes and hair. Students passed in small clusters, carrying books or trailing laughter, and you wondered - not for the first time - what it would feel like to be one of them. Just another face in the crowd. No titles. No whispers. No arrangement.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted back to the meeting house. To the way your hand had fit in Wednesday's during the shared vision, and how - afterward - she'd looked at you. Not quite wary, not quite curious. Just... assessing, as if she was cataloguing you the way she might a suspect.

You'd tried to shake it off, but the thought had lodged somewhere deep: maybe you'd been too much. Too much history. Too much baggage. Too much trouble for someone who thrived on precision and control. Wednesday didn't like mess, and you - no matter how carefully you folded yourself into clean lines and cool expressions - were nothing but mess beneath the surface.

Your family. Your duties. The quiet way you sometimes froze when people touched you unexpectedly. The calls that came at midnight, dragging you back into a world Wednesday could never fully understand. The suitors your father kept sending like clockwork, reminders that your life here was temporary, conditional.

Maybe she'd seen it all in that vision or a vision you weren’t there to witness. Maybe she'd decided, right then, that you were more liability than ally. And maybe asking Xavier to the Rave'n had nothing to do with investigation strategy and everything to do with quietly replacing you.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself it was just an arrangement. That everything in the past few weeks had been what it started as: fake. But the knot in your chest didn't loosen, and the memory of her hand on your back still burned like salt in an unhealed cut.

When the day of Rav’n came, your dorm looked like a shipwreck had washed ashore and decided to stay.

Bolts of fabric and half-emptied jewelry boxes cluttered the bed, your desk was a graveyard of open compacts and curling ribbons, and the faint scent of sea-salt perfume drifted through the air. Your roommate, Yoko, was busy at her girlfriend’s dorm doing whatever they did - you never asked. You sat in front of the mirror, shoulders squared but eyes unfocused, as Isla rummaged through a box of hairpins like she was preparing for battle.

"I swear," she said, her voice carrying the easy authority of someone who had dressed for more state events than she could count, "if you don't stop glaring at your own reflection, you're going to give yourself worry lines."

"I'm not glaring," you muttered, though your face in the mirror betrayed you. “And we don’t get worry lines.”

"Right," Isla drawled, stepping behind you to part your hair into clean, deliberate sections. "And the ocean's not wet." She worked with quick, practiced precision, her fingers warm against your scalp as she began to braid, tucking in strands with a gentleness you hadn't expected.

The dress hung from a hook on the wardrobe door - finished now, the silk light and gleaming, every seam smoothed to perfection. Even from here you could see the way it caught the lamplight, the blue shifting like the skin of deep water.

"You've been quiet all day," Isla said after a moment, her tone softening just enough to slip past your guard. "Which either means you're nervous, or you're overthinking something you can't change."

You almost said both, but bit it back.

She secured the braid with a silver clasp shaped like a cresting wave, then leaned down to meet your eyes in the mirror. "Whatever it is... just remember the Rave'n isn't for them. Not for your father, not for the council, not even for whoever's decided to test your patience this week." She hesitated - just a beat, but you caught it. "It's for you."

You glanced at the dress again, then at the small pile of accessories Isla had laid out - pearl-drop earrings, a delicate bracelet, the gold arm cuff you always wore for formal events back home. It all looked right. It all felt wrong.

When she moved to retrieve the dress, you stood automatically, letting her unzip the garment bag and hold the silk open for you. The fabric was cool against your skin as you stepped in, the skirt whispering around your ankles. Isla fastened the laces at your back tightly, smoothing the bodice into place before stepping away.

"There," she said, smiling faintly. "Now you look like the princess they all expect to see."

You swallowed. "And if I don't feel like her?"

Isla's smile tilted into something knowing. "Then tonight... you fake it until you do."

Her words followed you to the mirror, where your reflection stared back - poised, polished, perfect. You knew it was an illusion. You wondered if Wednesday would see through it instantly.

The night air had a bite to it, crisp enough to make the silk of your dress feel thinner than it had in the tailor's room or even your own dorm. Ophelia Hall's windows glowed faintly behind you, golden light spilling over the stone steps before fading into the deep shadows that pooled along the quad. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint thud of bass from the gym where the Rave'n committee was already testing the sound system.

You were halfway across the lawn when a small figure caught your eye, moving with quick, deliberate steps toward the tree line.

"Eugene?" you called, your voice low but carrying.

He froze mid-step, shoulders hunching like he'd been caught red-handed. Slowly, he turned, flashlight in one hand, the strap of a small, overstuffed messenger bag digging into his shoulder. His jacket, patterned with tiny embroidered bees, seemed almost too bright under the pale wash of moonlight.

"Oh - hey, Y/N." His smile was thin, nervous, the kind you gave when you were trying to play something off.

Your gaze dropped to the bag. "Please tell me you're not skipping the Rave'n for bee business."

"Not... exactly bee business," he said, adjusting the strap. "Just checking on something. In the, uh, woods.”

The woods.

Your stomach tightened at the word. "That's off-limits, Eugene."

"Yeah," he said, already shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting toward the shadows at the edge of the quad, "so's half the fun stuff around here."

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. "And you're going alone?"

"I won't be," he answered a little too quickly, glancing away. "I've got my smoke bombs, my bug spray, and if things go south, I'll just—uh—run really fast. Like... Olympic fast."

Despite yourself, you felt your mouth tug into the beginnings of a smile. "That's your plan? Speed and bug spray?"

He grinned back, sheepish. "It's worked before."

You studied him for a moment, tempted to press harder, to tell him that whatever he thought he might find in the woods, it wasn't worth the risk. But something in his expression - an eagerness that edged into stubbornness - reminded you too much of yourself when you'd decided to follow Wednesday into the woods for the first time.

You knew Eugene had a hard time finding things he enjoyed outside of bee-keeping. The hives were his world, and you’d always respected that, but it made you worry about him in the quiet ways you never said out loud. You’d always seen him as a little brother—someone you wanted to protect, even if he didn’t think he needed it. He had a way of talking about bees like they were old friends, but when the conversation shifted to anything else, he’d retreat behind that shy smile of his, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged. The thought of something happening to him - of that gentle smile disappearing - made something sharp twist in your chest.

You didn’t think you could stand the idea of the sweet boy you knew getting hurt.

"Good luck tonight, by the way," he added, his gaze flicking to your dress. "Seriously, you're gonna... knock 'em dead." He winced immediately. "Metaphorically, of course.”

"Right."

You let him go with a nod, watching as he turned back toward the trees. His flashlight cut a narrow path through the dark, the beam swaying with his steps until it disappeared completely into the shadows.

For a long moment, you stood there, the cold creeping into your skin, wondering if you should follow him. It would be easier, in some ways - easier to chase after trouble in the dark than to step into the Rave'n and face Wednesday Addams in front of the entire school.

But trouble had a way of finding you no matter where you went.

So you turned toward the gym, the bass growing louder with every step and let Eugene have fun doing whatever he set out to do. You remember him telling you he liked to watch the stars at night sometimes, it made him feel more comfortable in the Nevermore Academy environment.

The Rave'n had transformed the gym into something unrecognizable.

The walls were lost beneath layers of cascading silk - stormy greys, deep ocean blues - that caught the shifting spotlights like moving water. Glass orbs and mirrored shards turned lazily overhead, scattering constellations of fractured light across the crowd. Beneath it all, the bass thudded slow and steady through the floorboards, a pulse that synced with your heartbeat whether you wanted it to or not.

It was beautiful. It was exhausting.

You'd spent weeks in the middle of this chaos - approving decorations, mediating arguments over table placement, wrangling delivery schedules - and now, standing in the finished space, you should have felt some kind of pride. Instead, you felt strangely apart from it, like you were watching the Rave'n happen through glass.

All you wanted was a pat on the back.

The student body had dressed like they were auditioning for a scene in a music video. Sequins flashed like fish scales under strobe lights, white fabrics floated as couples moved past, and here and there you caught bolder choices - someone in a full white feathered raven mask, another in a suit lined with tiny LEDs that winked in the dark.

You navigated the room in slow, deliberate steps, the silk of your dress whispering around your ankles. People looked - of course they did - but their attention skimmed over you like the surface of the water, never lingering long enough to pierce the shell you'd built.

Enid passed you on the dance floor in a whirl of silver glitter, her laugh carrying over the music. Bianca stood posted at the edge of the room, arms crossed, gaze scanning the crowd with her signature brand of calculated disinterest while she waited for someone to hand her a cup of spiked punch. Yoko waved from the refreshment table, a cup in hand.

It was almost easy to pretend you were just another face in the crowd - until the music shifted, and the doors opened again.

She didn't arrive with Xavier.

Wednesday walked in wearing black so sharp it seemed to slice through the haze of the room, her hair perfectly braided up, her expression perfectly unreadable. But it wasn't the outfit that caught you off guard - it was the fact that she wasn't alone. Tyler Galpin stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, smiling in that easy, open way that made half the girls in Jericho lean closer without realizing it.

The sight hit harder than you wanted it to.

Instinctively, you glanced towards Bianca who was thanking Xavier for getting her a drink, her hand on his back like it was meant to be there.

Oh, yeah, you were sure this was hell.

There’s no way to spin this without it sounding absurd.

Xavier - the guy who purposely wrecked things between you and Bianca - likes your current fake girlfriend. He almost took her to the Rav’n, but that fell apart. Now he’s here, at the event you planned, but now with Bianca - the same ex who cheated on you with him.

And your fake girlfriend didn’t come with you. She’s here with the barista who’s openly obsessed with her instead - a normie who’s everything you secretly wish you could be: normal, simple, boring, and entirely human.

You needed a fucking drink.

But instead, you didn't move. Just watched as they stepped into the crowd, Wednesday's gaze sweeping the room in that calculating way she had, like she was taking inventory of potential suspects instead of attending a dance. Tyler said something to her, something casual, something that made his grin widen, but her reply was hidden behind the noise of the music.

It didn't matter. You knew it wasn't you she'd chosen to stand beside tonight.

Someone brushed past you, jolting you back into motion. You forced yourself to turn away from the door, to focus on the glittering orbs above and the cool weight of your bracelet against your arm, to remember Isla's words from earlier - It's for you.

But no matter where you moved, no matter who you passed, you could feel her somewhere behind you, that dark, magnetic presence cutting through the heat and the noise like a cold current.

And every time you glanced over your shoulder, she was still there, not standing beside you like planned but instead standing beside him.

[typingoreos]

Physical Contact

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

All characters are over 18 years old.

Summary(AU): Senior year. It's been about a year and a half since Wednesday and reader started dating, and everyone but the two notices the tension between them. Or so others assumed they hadn't.

WARNING: (I don't know anything about warnings)

Word Count: (idk I honestly didn't keep track)

Authors Note: This is my first xreader/yn post on here. I'm used to using Wattpad so I apologize if I get anything wrong. Have a good day/night💜

♡♡♡♡♡♡

A bell rings, signaling class ended for the day.

A familiar brunette stood next to you, laughing about the story you told during class. "You traumatized that little girl." The Vampire known as Yoko spoke.

Yoko Tanaka was your only friend when you arrived at Nevermore all those years ago. You guys used to be childhood best friends back when playing outside was every child's only concern, not grades, a job, or dating someone. Now 18 years old(100+ in Vampire years), you hate being outdoors, but it calms you. The night sky and how the stars shine above you and how bright the moon shines during a full moon were two out of three of your latest interests, and lastly, your late-night casual visits to the graveyard in town with your gothic girlfriend for “date” nights.

You rolled your eyes. "They identified as a boy." You corrected as you and your two friends walked to the door to leave the classroom. "I felt bad, and when I tried to apologize, they ran away crying to their father, who yelled at me and Enid until Wednesday arrived." You shake your head unhurriedly at the memory of last night's ALMOST blood bath.

"And WE didn't traumatize him." You and your two friends were now in the hallway. "Me and Y/N had to yank and do whatever it took for us to get Wednesday away from the two when she pulled out a knife in front of that little boy." The blonde girl side-eyes the brunette as you three continue walking. "What stopped Wednesday was when Y/N kissed her," She says, fake gagging.

Enid loved to be dramatic, and you seem to love her for it. You and almost everyone at Nevermore knew this about her. It's practically the first thing you noticed about the werewolf when you met her, and besides, you were used to it. Growing up with siblings can make you used to anything that they do that you may see in others, which can be annoying at times, but eventually, when you see through that feeling toward them and your siblings, you learn to love every little odd thing about them. You would never tell them you do, only insulting them as a form of expressing love for them. As I said, never tell them.

The blonde lightly bumps her shoulder into yours to draw your attention. “I don't know what's going on with you two lately, but it's like your guys' emotions are all over the place." The blonde spoke while looking at Yoko. "One minute you're feeling on top of the world, then the next you or her are either mad and yelling at the other, or either confused about why you were mad at each other in the first place." The blonde said as she pulled out her phone covered with colorful My Little Pony stickers. "During this month, I had to lock myself in the closet with Thing to protect our eyes and ears when you two were in a heavy make-out session in front of the door. The window lock got jammed when we tried leaving that way." She said, shaking her head as she remembered the event that may or may not have caused “trauma” to the two.

The brunette raised an eyebrow as she eyed the blonde as well. "When don't you feel bad, Y/N,” She looks at you and then the blonde beside her. “And don't you mean for the past year, not just recently?" Yoko inquired the blonde girl as you three entered the main corridor.

You groan. "If you stayed in the room instead of running into the closet and blasting music, you would have seen that Wednesday was trying not to hurt me when she allowed me to apply makeup, and don't act like you didn't hear her when she told me that she may hit my arm away as a reflex.” You explained without mentioning too much for the sake of lingering ears. “And we only kissed once since I made her agree to not kiss when you are in the dorm room with us. To not make you uncomfortable.” You whispered to them, knowing if Wednesday heard you, then she would most likely lecture you for it.

The brunette places her arm around your shoulder as she speaks. "Hey, Wednesday, do you wanna join us? We're going into town for food and probably go shopping after." You smile when you smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend, who is now standing in front of you with her hands clasped in front of herself.

You stare at Wednesday as if she might disappear and never return to you. It's something you noticed you started doing, and you never looked at her in this way. It was new for you, and you would usually do nothing but stare at her. Your friends noticed your behavior before you had, claiming you were in love or wanted her lustfully when you were alone with them, and they had caught you staring at Wednesday from across the room or the quad. A few weeks ago, when you and Wednesday were in town with Enid and Yoko, you would hold eye contact with Wednesday longer than you ever had.

Your girlfriend looks at the girl, who has her arm resting on your shoulders. "I can't.” She then looks at you, her eyes softening. “I will be with Eugene all day today, and I came to let Y/N know of my whereabouts if she may need me," Wednesday spoke to Yoko while maintaining eye contact with you.

"Y/N better get us kids happy meals since we get treated like one." The brunette whispers to Enid.

“I want chick nuggets now,” Enid spoke, causing Yoko to silence her.

You look down while adjusting your blazer. An old habit your friends and girlfriend took notice of when they all met you. "W-What?" You spoke, looking dazed as the brunette and blonde suddenly felt tension. It's something your friends talk about to each other when you are not around, and it's always when you and Wednesday don't seem to take notice when speaking to each other or making eye contact.

The y/e/c girl steps closer to Wednesday. "I do not like repeating myself, mi amor." The name the goth calls you when you two are alone slips from her lips.

The blonde looks back and then forward between you two with widened eyes. "I wanted you to come into town with us instead of hanging back.” You smirk. “We could even do the thing you love to do." You stare at your girlfriend with a smirk. “It'll be fun.” You said as your pinky linked with hers before she quickly removed them when she stepped back.

"Next time." The goth spoke, almost smirking at the thought of sneaking off to be alone with you in town.

"Next time." You repeated her, subconsciously moving towards her.

"Very well." You hold eye contact with each other, not daring to break it by looking away.

"Very well." You repeated her once more.

Someone clears their throat, and the other person fake gags. "We'll be at the Weathervane, away from whatever is happening with you two." One of the two girls spoke while starting to walk away.

You grab the closet person by the shoulder and lightly pull them back towards you. "I'll see you later, pretty girl." You whisper to her. You thought Wednesday was going in to leave as she always has, but instead, she pulls you into a kiss by your blazer. It took you by surprise, but you returned the kiss. Her lips were cold and a little chapped, but you never mind when it comes to a kiss with her.

Wednesday Friday Addams. The gloomy girl you met last year. You two became girlfriends in under nine months of knowing each other and have been dating for seven months. She is never one to be or like physical contact with anyone when it comes to holding hands, cuddling, or kissing. You respected her boundaries when you met her, and unlike her roommate, you had common sense. It took about four months for Wednesday to allow you to hold her hand or kiss her and many months for your guy's first ‘I love you’ to be said to each other. It still makes you as nervous as the first time Wednesday said it to you, even after a while since it happened.

"Stop calling me that." The short goth girl's stoic eyes stare into yours as she withdraws her lips from yours.

You smile at her response. "But you love being called pretty," You whisper while you position your hands over your girlfriend's smaller ones on your blazer.

The goth blinks as if she were mimicking a cat-like action as she removes her hands from your blazer. "I got to go." You two share a look before your girlfriend leaves you alone with your friends.

Their eyes were on you the whole time, and when you turned to face them, Enid nearly tripped, but Yoko grabbed her in time before that could happen.

It took you and your friends about an hour and a half since Enid thought that it was a nice day out for a walk into town. And thank God you had sunglasses and changed clothes before you left because the uniform would have made this walk a lot worse. You guys HAD to stop whenever Enid thought she saw flowers that looked 'interesting' to her. And there were a lot of flowers for it only being the side of the road. Luckily, it's only 5 in the evening as you three walk the side of the road, talking and teasing each other, mainly about the tension between you and Wednesday, which you hadn't noticed. Or so they assumed you hadn't.

——————

It's been a week since you kissed, let alone had a conversation with your girlfriend.

It had been one week, one day, twelve hours, and thirty-eight seconds since you told Wednesday that you couldn't hang out with her due to the many late assignments you had to turn in by the end of tomorrow. When you turned them in and went to your dorm room to change and then to see your girlfriend, you accidentally fell asleep for the rest of the day. You were about to greet Wednesday the next morning, and your friends practically dragged you into town with them and away from your girlfriend. Ever since then, it seems someone always needs your help for unknown reasons the minute you go to see or about to talk to Wednesday. You only made eye contact with your girlfriend during class, longing glances from across the Quad or passing time. The few times when you had classes together and were able to sit next to each other, Wednesday's pinky would touch yours when your hand rested on the table, or you felt a hand rest near your inner thigh or on your knee, but that's about it. Not a word was spoken between you and Wednesday, only eye contact.

You didn't mind being away from Wednesday as much as you thought you would, but the time away from you seemed to be bothering your girlfriend from what Thing had informed you of when you were helping Ajax with his research.

From what little information you could gather from Thing in the afternoon during lunch, he informed you about the time away from Wednesday. The first few days were as calm as they could be. Around the fifth day, a feeling started growing within her while it was her writing time. For the next few days, Wednesday would threaten students for simply looking into your decision or speaking to and about you when she's near them without them knowing. It was all good things about you, but it didn't matter. It was three days later that was an issue for Wednesday, being today. Thing explained this morning how Wednesday would usually go easy on Enid during fencing since she was fully aware of how bad Enid could be at times. During class, the blonde girl tried to bring up your relationship with Wednesday, but Enid only ended up receiving the silent treatment from your girlfriend and a trip to the infirmary.

After class, you took it upon yourself to visit Enid to check up on her, and when you turned the corner that leads to her dorm room, you saw Wednesday by the door talking to Thing when you approached them. “You better be here by the time I come out of this room, Wednesday.” You say in an unfamiliar tone to her, staring at your girlfriend as you enter the room.

You understood how Wednesday gets, and you saw it firsthand when someone insulted you in front of her. The few times someone was too close to you, you had to stop her from doing anything to them, but you haven't seen those who had done that or verbally insulted you. Even though she said she wouldn't harm anyone, Wednesday still hurt Enid, of all people.

When you entered the room, you saw Enid lying in bed with Yoko next to her, and you couldn't help but feel bad for her when she started joking about her injury after you three talked for a while.

Before leaving the room, you hugged Yoko and Enid and told them you had to speak to Wednesday.

The door shuts behind you, and the conversation between Thing and Wednesday comes to a standstill. “Hey, Thing, can you keep Enid and Yoko company? I need to speak with Wednesday.” You told him, opening the door for him, and what he tapped made Wednesday stare at him before he moved into the room.

You shut the door when Thing was in the room. “Is she alright?” Wednesday asked, observing your every movement.

You hum. “Physical, Enid will heal, but mentally and emotionally, not so much.” You shook your head, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her away from the door and the few students lingering nearby. “You could have killed her.” Informing your girlfriend in a whisper, you two walked through the corridor. “What made you act like this? You never act out of character, and don't even think about lying Wednesday.” You felt like yelling at Wednesday, but you knew it didn't get you anywhere from what the blonde told you about her before meeting the girl.

The hallway wasn't as crowded during school hours, but knowing Wednesday, you wouldn't get anything out of her with others being able to hear. You made your way to your dorm room, opened the door when you arrived, and told your roommate to get out. Your roommate didn't dare to protest when she looked up at Wednesday and then at you, gathering things into her backpack. “I’m sleeping somewhere else tonight anyway.” Your roommate stood up, putting her phone into her back pocket before heading towards the door as you held it open with a tight grip. “Do not do anything on my bed.” The girl said, leaving the room and you raised an eyebrow at this.

You point to your desk chair as you slam the door behind the Vampire. The hinge sounded like it broke off the wooden door and frame, but it was the least of your worries. “Now answer.” You spoke as Wednesday sat down where you pointed towards.

“You told me we could not spend time together when we could have it made me-” You eye her. “It made me feel unworthy of your time, Y/N.” If it weren't for the way she avoided eye contact with you while she spoke, the one thing you knew she prided herself on maintaining with others, you would be upset, but you weren't, not in the slightest. You were far from anger.

The sun's appearance on your Gothic girlfriend's face made her seem godly to you. “You could have come to me and talked about this instead of trying to kill Enid of all people, Wednesday.” You placed your hands on her chin, lifting it so she could look at you. “Please don't hurt anyone else because of this feeling you feel.” Your thumb rubs her jawline. “You are allowed to talk about unwanted feelings you feel.” You remove your hand from her chin before stepping away. “You don't have to feel like you can't express yourself to me, pretty girl.” You spoke with warmth in your tone.

Before you and Wednesday got together, you would use the same tone with her when it came to anything that was such as this. She would always make her usually snarky comment like always, or it would be about how calm you seemed, only to get a reply in the same mellow tone as before.

“You are not unworthy of my time, Wednesday. It's quite the opposite.” Her eyebrows frown a little at your words. “It may come as a surprise, but you make me feel a lot by being near or kissing me. It's why I wanted to work alone and away from you.” You admitted, biting your bottom lip. “I would not have been able to finish my assignments if you were to be with me.” You watch her facial expression change as you speak. “I got done with my last assignments a week ago, and I accidentally fell asleep, and even after that, I got distracted or pulled away from you.” You were about to ramble but stopped yourself from doing so.

“You get aroused by me?”

You groan at her words. “Is that your only takeaway from this?” You question, covering her face with your hands to hide your cheeks the best you could.

You turn away from her. “No.” The chair squeaks as your girlfriend stands up, and the floor does the same. “I understand, Y/N.” The wooden floor squeaks with every step Wednesday takes, letting you know she is walking up behind you. “You wanted to be alone to catch up on your last assignments only because you get aroused by me,” Wednesday spoke as if she hadn't had a clue.

“It's embarrassing when you say it out loud, but yeah.” You confirm, nodding your head.

“Is that why you always go to the bathroom so many times when we kiss?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god!!” You quickly closed your eyes, but it was worse when you imagined inappropriate things with and about her, so you opened your eyes and turned to face her. “I'll be with Enid.” You said, cringed at the thought of your thoughts.

As you walk towards the door to leave, a cold hand grabs you by your waist and spins you around in one motion. With a cold hand still on your waist and the other hand on your arm to keep you in place against them, you look down at the person to see your girlfriend looking up at you. “Stay.” Her grip tightens on your waist and arm to keep you from leaving. “Please.” Wednesday pleads with you, slowly moving her hand up your arm until she reaches your shoulder.

You placed both of your hands on her face. “My pretty girl.” You said as you leaned down.

“Mi amor.” She spoke softly, her breath hot against your lips.

You look into her eyes, her lips, and then back into her eyes. “I could never leave you.” You said as you felt her rest her forehead against yours.

Our lips had collided. It was over before it had begun since Wednesday pulled away. Her fingers covered her lips then yours, and her eyes widened twice their size. You crossed over to her quickly, since she'd backed away, and removed her hands from your lips. You look up at her to see salty water glossed over her eyes, though you didn't know the cause of them was being away from you for, to her, it was too long, eight days. You saw her vulnerable eyes look up at yours for a split second before it happened for a second time. Our lips connected for a mind-shattering time, but this time, neither of us backed away. Her fingers immediately dragged into your hips, pulling them closer to her own. You were gripping her back possessively, the breath you and her breathed becoming one as you continued kissing. The heat of her fingers left red hot stripes on your hips when she removed them to steady herself against the desk you began guiding her to. She allowed your teeth to drag out her bottom lip while her hands made their way into your hair. Her tongue ran over the carvings in your bottom lip and became a gateway as you welcomed it in.

If you were anywhere around her, you had stopped breathing or forgotten how to. No other woman has had that type of effect on you until her.

People compare love with fire, which honestly is stupid. Not only do they have no relation, a fire burns out. In your opinion, that's why 50% of marriages don't work out. Your feelings for Wednesday weren't like a fire, more like a candle, content and overlooked. It wasn't struggling to get its flames anywhere or growing when fuelled.

It can be hard to explain sometimes, but Wednesday gets you even if her way is weird to many. If it is normal for your girlfriend, then it would become a new normal for you if needed, it had to be a new normal for you.

It's her.

It had always been Wednesday.

[typingoreos]

wednesday x vampire reader

Wednesday Addams Dating a Vampire!Reader HCs

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Vampire!GN!Reader

Warnings: blood eating, death, blood intimacy, fluff

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Wednesday Series Masterlist | Wednesday Addams Masterlist | Join my taglist!

Wednesday always sensed a roaming pleasure and dreadful aura of the undead when you first met her

Someone who finally understands her, she feels like everything is complete and where it needs to be.

Before you guys start dating, she interrogates you on loads of questions such as: coffin usage, how many feet distance of garlic you can be from, bloodlust control.

All questions you were happy to answer.

It took time for Wednesday to get used to PDA, but it's all worth it to feel your cold, hard hand in hers while walking to class or in town

She would give you a necklace of her blood, to help you calm down or if you go away on a trip

Both of you hate the sun and love to be in the shade, you always bring sun screen and she never forgets to bring a back up just in case

You two are known as the couple in Nevermore and in town to not be messed around with.

But when you are by normies, you open your fangs and they all usually run away

Whenever Wednesday is doing mysteries, you transform into a bat and watch her to make sure she's ok.

She's annoyed by it, but gotten used to it.

Morticia and Gomez would be pleased at the fact that Wednesday found someone similar to her and makes sure to cover all windows and hide away garlic when you come over

Pugleys definitely is intrigued by you being a vampire, asking questions such as "So do you hunt people or have a preference?"

Wednesday would threaten him in a calm but determined tone, which always makes you smile

Whenever you guys have the chance, you take strolls at the cemetery at nighttime to look at people's headstones and wonder how many could be vampires right now

You sometimes pull all nighters to read Wednesday's new book and give feedback

She offers you to feed on her, if she's really in the mood

When she sees you feeding off her, she'll watch with a slight smile, writing in her mind to put in her next novel

The best part is that there's no humanizing each other. You're unapologetically a vampire and she's unapologetically Wednesday herself

[typingoreos]

My Second Shadow (W.A.)

Warnings: None

Wednesday Season One Episode One

Summary: When Wednesday first arrives at Nevermore, Weems asks you to keep on eye on her. So you do—following Wednesday as if you were an unseen second shadow.

Reader Insert - Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Masterlist | Next

AO3

Word Count: 6.7K

A/N: This was awful to proofread but I finally got it done.

Weems’ office is shockingly big. There’s a fireplace in one of the walls and a giant window facing the front of Nevermore. “Why am I here?” You ask her, already moving to sit in one of the chairs across her desk.

There’s a knock on her office door. She sighs.

“We have a new student coming in today, they’re early. Hide.” You don’t question her. A second later you’re gone, transparent. Weems says you’re a chameleon, but you think you’re more of a shadow.

Three people walk in a moment later. You silently get up from your seat, you can’t be seen but you can be felt. It’s a shorter man and a fairly tall woman, with a girl who seems to be their daughter.

The three have similar apparel, black with little white to complement it. You walk around to Weems’ side of the desk as they talk.

“Wednesday is certainly a unique name.” Weems says after a minute of them talking. “I’m guessing it was the day of the week you were born?”

“I was born on Friday the 13th.” The daughter, Wednesday, says quickly. Her mother, who you learned is called Morticia, smiles. “Her name comes from a line from my favorite nursery rhyme. Wednesday’s child is full of woe.”

You smile. Definitely not a normal family. The room is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the fire place’s constant crackling.

Weems breaks the silence. “You always had a unique perspective of the world, Morticia.” Morticia just hums “Hmm” as her response.

“Did your mother tell you we were roommates back in the day?” You smile at the tension. Weems has a polite smile and Morticia smiles too but it’s more of a nervous one. Her eyes glance at Wednesday who has this constant annoyed glare. “And you graduated with your sanity intact?” She asks.

“Impressive.” Morticia’s face makes you want to laugh. Her mouth relaxes, no longer smiling. I like this family.

Weems seems to switch the subject. “You’ve certainly had a very interesting educational journey. Eight schools in five years.” Her father looks proud.

“They haven’t built one strong enough to hold me. I bet this place isn’t any different.” Oh yeah, she definitely doesn’t want to be here- wait a minute. Last time a student-

You almost let out a groan. Last time Weems accepted a student that didn’t want to be here she made you be her little spy. You glance at Wednesday.

Gomez finally talks. “I believe what our daughter is trying to say is that she greatly appreciates the opportunity.” Morticia nods, putting on a small smile again.

“Nevermore doesn’t usually accept students mid-term, but given Wednesday’s perfect grades and your family’s long history with the school; I’ve spoken with the board and we’ve made an exception.” Gomez and Morticia look happy, they must have loved it here.

Wednesday, however, looks more mortified than she did before.

“Larissa, what about Wednesday’s, um… therapy sessions? The court ordered them.” Morticia says. Weems just nods with a hum. She doesn’t seem surprised. I wonder what’s on her record.

“The school has a relationship with a therapist in Jericho. She can meet twice a week.” Dr. Kinbott. You liked her.

“Did you hear that, my little storm cloud? You’re in excellent hands.” Gomez tells Wednesday. Aw that’s actually a pretty cute nickname-

“We’ll see if she survives the first session.” Wednesday’s tone is monotone but threatening at the same time. Cute nickname for a terrifying work of nature. Nice.

Her parents’ smiles fall slightly, Weems looks down awkwardly to see Wednesday’s file.

You look at Wednesday. The girl never blinks. Since she came in, not once. You wonder if she can sense you.

“I’ve assigned you to your mother’s old dorm. Ophelia Hall.” Morticia smiles widely and turns to her daughter.

“Refresh my memory. Ophelia’s the one who kills herself after being driven mad by her family, correct?” You expect Morticia’s smile to fall again but it gets wider and she nods.

“Should we go meet your new roommate?” Weems finally says. She tells the Addams to wait outside her office as she gathers some papers. “Only for a moment.” She tells them. They leave.

“Y/N, she’s staying with Enid. I want you to monitor her after classes.” Weems says softly into the now—mostly empty—room.

“What am I? A mercenary?” You reappear in front of her desk. “Please.” She says. You sigh, nodding reluctantly. She’s basically your mother. “Can I go now?“ She nods. Your form shimmers away. You wait for Weems to exit the room before silently following behind her, still transparent.

As her and the Addams go left towards Ophelia Hall, you head right towards the quad.

.

.

Enid’s sunshine-like behavior was beginning to torment Wednesday—but not in the satisfying ruthless torture way.

Since meeting Enid in her new dorm, she’s been constantly pestered by her. She should get an Instagram, a TikTok, get a new wardrobe.

“Welcome to the quad.” Enid bubbles.

“It’s a pentagon.” Wednesday says with a bored tone. Enid looks at her.

“The whole snarky Goth girl thing might have worked at normie school, but here things are different.” Enid chirps. Wednesday doesn’t look at her, instead she observes the various clumps of people

“Let me give you a wiki on Nevermore’s social scene.” Still sounding as happy as ever, walking along the pentagon’s walls.

“I’m not interested in participating in tribal adolescent cliches.” Wednesday’s eyes spot you.

You’re sitting on one of the steps leading down to the grass patch in the middle of the quad. A clothbound Penguin Classics edition of ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ in your hands.

“Well, then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain. There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners and Scales.” They stop walking.

You look up, feeling someone’s eyes on you. You and Wednesday meet each other's eyes. It doesn’t feel awkward, not in the way it does when someone catches you starring. It’s just—recognition.

“Those are the fangs-“ Enid pauses after Wednesday interrupts.

“Whose that?” Her voice is still as monotone as ever. Wednesday turns her head back to Enid.

“Oh that’s Y/N, she's pretty cool. Hard to pin down though. Sometimes she’s there and then she isn’t.”

Enid gestures back to you. Wednesday looks and you’re gone. Her eyes narrow, scanning the exits, trying to find a glimpse of you leaving.

“She does that a lot, light manipulation or something. One time I asked her to help me pull a prank on April Fools. It was so much fun.” Wednesday makes note of that. They keep walking, Enid continues her welcome tour.

You watch as she tells Wednesday who Bianca is. You’re still in the same spot, you didn’t move from the step. Just disappeared to see what Wednesday would do.

Smiling when Ajax’s snake goes back under his beanie after seeing Wednesday. You get up and reappear, walking towards Ophelia Hall.

Wednesday sees you leaving as you walk past Xavier. Her eyes track you until you’re out of sight.

.

.

You lean against the archway of Nevermore’s entrance. You’re not in a visible form at the moment. Weems made you aware that Morticia, Wednesday’s mother, has agreed to let you supervise her daughter.

You witness Wednesday’s goodbyes to her brother and father. Eventually the two boys enter the car after Morticia asks for them to be alone for a moment. Leaving her alone with her daughter.

“Any plans you have of running away end right now.” You hear Morticia say. “I’ve alerted all family members to contact me the minute you darken their doorstep.”

You see Morticia’s eyes glance over to you. She saw you against the wall earlier, before you disappeared. “You have nowhere to go.” Her eyes go back to Wednesday.

Wednesday’s arms are still crossed. “As usual, you underestimate me, Mother. I will escape this educational penitentiary, and you will never hear from me again.” You watch Morticia sigh and shake her head.

“You are a brilliant girl, Wednesday, but sometimes you get in your own way.”

Maybe they are somewhat normal. You think.

“I’m sure you’ll grow to love Nevermore and find it as life-changing as I did.” She smiles.

“Oh, I got you a little something.” Morticia pulls out a pendant. She turns it. “W” she turns it again “M. Our initials. It’s made of obsidian, which Astec priests used to conjure visions.” Her smile is bigger now, showing teeth. “It’s a symbol of our connection.”

She gives it to Wednesday, who surprisingly enough, takes it. “Which one of your spirits suggested this toe-curling tchotchke?” Morticia’s smile falls, so does yours.

Wednesday continues anyways. “I’m not you, Mother. I will never fall in love or be a housewife, or have a family.”

“I’m told girls your age say hurtful things, and I shouldn’t take it to heart.” Maybe I shouldn’t be here. You start regretting following Weem’s lead. This feels like a private matter.

“Fortunately, you don’t have one.” Wednesday says. Morticia smiles. So that’s how their family dynamic works.

“Finally, a kind word for your mother.” You end it at that and walk off. This was a family matter, the scene feeling too private for you.

As you walk through the arched door behind Wednesday, you reappear. You did so carefully, making sure Wednesday didn’t see you.

Morticia did.

.

.

Wednesday walks into the fencing club’s assigned room. There’s five long white mats for the students to fence on. All of them are occupied at the moment.

You wait for Coach to assign you to a mat. While you wait, you doodle ideas for your new fencing uniform. The one you’re wearing right now is the standard issued white one but it has small drawings on it.

You drew a raven on the chest so it would sit over your right breast. Then there’s a black cat on the outside of your left leg. There was even a small skull on your left knee. But your favorite drawing is on the back.

There’s a flock of birds, 13 in total, flying upwards to the left. 7 of those birds cascade down your legs. One of the flies above the rest.

Coach didn’t mind because the uniform was still functional, and nobody was going to comment on some doodles.

Wednesday cuts through the clashing bouts as if they were nothing but mundane obstacles. She stops when one of the students beats another. The loser falling onto the floor.

The student on the floor hazardly takes off their helmet. “Coach, coach, she tripped me.” The winner takes off their helmet too, its Bianca Barclay.

“It was a clean strike, Rowan.” The coach tells him.

“Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn’t suck.” Bianca bites back. She turns to the coach.

“Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get real competition?” The coach holds up Rowan’s classes so he can grab them.

“And don’t say Y/N, she’s too busy doodling away over there.” You hear your name and look up. Bianca is already looking at you. You move your arms as if to gesture ‘what the hell did I do?’

She rolls her eyes and turns back around. “Anyone else want to challenge me?”

“I do.” Wednesday answers quickly, already standing in front of her.

“Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in.” Bianca smiles. Wednesday doesn’t seem amused.

“And you must be the self-appointed Queen Bee. Interesting thing about bees. Pull out their stringers, and they drop dead.” You join the other fencers in their “Ooh’s.” You smile at Wednesday and Bianca’s antics.

“Rowan doesn’t need you to come to his defense. He’s not helpless, he’s lazy.” Rowan takes a breath of his inhaler.

You stand up, wanting a good view. You slip your helmet on. Putting your sketchbook in your bag.

“Are we doing this or not?” You hear Wednesday say.

You subtly walk to lean against the wall facing Wednesday’s back. This’ll be interesting to watch.

They don’t exchange any other words, just get into position on the mat.

“En garde.” You can’t see their eyes, but their movements speak for them. Nothing but clashes fill the room. Xavier and his partner stop fencing, wanting to watch Wednesday and Bianca as well. The other three groups stopping as well.

You flinch each time one of them gets close to touching the other. You hiss when you think Wednesday loses. But really, she’s all the way down on her heels with her saber touching Bianca’s chest.

“Point to Wednesday.” The coach says, murmurs fill the room.

Bianca lets Wednesday get up slowly before continuing after Wednesday strikes. Wednesday plays this one aggressively, but Bianca’s saber hits the top of her head when Wednesday goes for a lunge.

“The score is even.” Wednesday gets up and takes off her helmet, Bianca does too.

“That first point was clearly beginner’s luck. Let’s finish this.” Bianca says smugly. You’re still leaning against the wall. Your watch vibrates on your wrist. Dammit.

“I gotta go, fill me in after?” You ask Xavier. He nods and you leave, not noticing Wednesday’s subtle glance at you.

.

.

You walk through Nevermore’s busy corridors. You’re invisible at the moment so you try your best to avoid walking into someone. Enid asked you for help confirming her latest gossip scoop with the promise of a future favor.

“Could you help me with this super big scoop? I’ll totally owe you one.”

You didn’t mind, not really. Enid’s favor system was ironclad, you could trust her to keep her word. Plus, helping Enid meant she wouldn’t post anything about you. You didn’t have anything to hide but everyone knowing your business would make your skin crawl.

Apparently, these two popular students in her English class broke up but nobody can confirm it. She asked you to find out. You had no idea who these students were and you truly didn’t care until you heard:

“Ruth? Yeah I’m still with her.”

You stop walking, scribbling down what you just heard with a shocked face. Now this is a turn of events. Suddenly you know why Enid has a gossip blog in the first place.

A few minutes ago you saw the boy kissing a girl who you know was not named Ruth. You want to stay and write some more but Wednesday is walking through the hall as well.

You follow her instead, closing the notebook and quietly slipping it in your bag.

Why are we going outside? Oh, Ophelia hall is this way.

It’s raining as she heads outside, opening her umbrella. You look down and suck it up. Walking behind her knowing invisibility will not protect you from the water. You look up from your feet, Wednesday stopped, now looking at a statue.

You heard it creak, groan as it started shifting. You don’t think—you just run.

“Wednesday!” You move out of invisible form and run to push her out the way. Lunging as she just stares, accepting her death. The statue shatters behind you.

“Fuck.” You say, looking back at it. You turn back to Wednesday. Your heart still pounding at the near death experience you witnessed. “Wednesday?” You shake her. Nothing.

Well fuck me huh? You think.

You’ll have to carry her. Wasn’t she just in the infirmary? You heard some students talking about her. Now you have to carry her back.

.

.

You sit on the stool by the end of the cot’s frame. You study her. Her natural position sleeping position is a bit unconventional. With her arms crossed flat on her chest—like she’s posing for her funeral.

You sigh and look back down to your notebook, tapping the pen on the paper. You see movement in your vision and look at Wednesday. Her lashes flutter and then her eyes open.

“Welcome back.” You say, closing the notebook. She sits up rapidly.

“Just take it easy. The nurse said you don’t have a concussion, but you probably have a pretty nasty bump.” You try to calm her. She looks down like she’s sorting through her memories.

“The last thing I remember was walking outside feeling a mixture of rage, pity; and self-disgust.” You look down, suppressing a smile. She was funny in a weird way.

“I never felt that way before.” She says, glancing at you.

“Losing to Bianca has that effect on people, I think.” You look up at her. A small grin on your face.

“Then I looked up and saw that gargoyle coming down and I thought, well at least I’ll have an imaginative death.”

Her eyes sharpen as she looks at you. “Then you tackled me out of the way. Why?” Her head tilts slightly.

You let out a puff of air and look to your left through the window for a second. “Call it instinct?”

“So you were guided by latent chivalry? The tool of patriarchy to extract my undying gratitude.”

You hum and nod. “Y’know most people just say thank you.”

“I didn’t want to be rescued.”

“So I should have just let that thing smash you to mush?”

“I would have rather saved myself.”

You grin. “Well then, next time you have a near death experience I’ll document it instead.”

She looks at you, nodding once. “Good.”

.

.

You were already in Jericho when Weems messaged you. ‘We’re almost there. Wait outside.’

Sighing, you put the phone back in your pocket and finish your drink while walking to Kinbott’s office.

Weems drove you here beforehand and let you get something at the Weathervane. Basically her payment for babysitting Wednesday.

Like a mother awarding her daughter.

You can’t go invisible in public, it would bring too much attention. You throw the now empty plastic cup in a trash can outside the white wooden building where ‘Dr. Valerie Kinbott Psychology’ is. There’s some other offices, Millar & Gough, Harper & Co, but you’ve never seen someone go to them.

You walk into the alleyway right next to the building and hide behind the trash before going invisible. If anyone saw you, they would just think they’re crazy.

Eventually Weem’s car shows up and you stand outside of it. You can see Wednesday talking to her in the front seat. After a minute of them talking she gets out of the car but turns back to Weems.

“And chauffeuring your students around is clearly below your pay grade.” Wednesday goes to close the door but Weems talks so she stops.

“Given your history, I’m sure you’re intent on running away. I’m here to prevent that from happening.” Wednesday tilts her head down.

“I wish you luck.” She closes the door.

Weems smiles as Wednesday walks through the glass double door of the building. You follow her silently as you both walk to the second floor and the office titled Kinbott’s Pyschology.

While Wednesday waits in a chair for her name to be called you walk around, looking at the various posters on the wall. The air smells like peppermint instead of antiseptic like most offices. Although you suppose this office isn’t exactly medical.

When Wednesday’s name is called she gets up and you follow. “I read the notes from your school counselor.” Kinbott says while guiding you two to her office down the hall. Well, she’s technically only guiding Wednesday.

“Mrs. Bronson. She had a nervous breakdown after our last session and had to take a six-month sabbatical.” Wednesday says, walking to one of the white couches in the middle of the room. Her office is really white and beige themed, something out of a Pinterest mood board.

“Go ahead and take a seat.” Kinbott sits on the small one person couch to the left, and Wednesday sits on the one to the right.

“How did you feel about that?” Kinbott starts off.

“Vindicated.” You grin.

“But somebody who crochets for a hobby isn’t a worthy adversary.” You smile at that too, you’ve crocheted one or two things before.

Maybe you’re just a happy person. Something in your head whispers to you.

“Adversary? I hope we can forge a relationship based on trust and mutual respect.” Kinbott says happily. She’s like Enid. Wednesday scoffs quietly but Kinbott continues anyway.

“This is a safe space, Wednesday. A sanctuary where we can discuss anything. What you’re thinking, feeling, your views on the world, personal philosophy.” You lean against a wall near the front door, watching. It's like an odd reality show.

Wednesday seems to get more annoyed by every word Kinbott says. “That’s easy. I think this is a waste of time.”

Kinbott smiles but lets Wednesday trail on. “I see the world as a place that must be endured, and my personal philosophy is kill or be killed.”

Damn, she said all that without blinking once.

You watch Wednesday’s facial expression more closely now. She has to blink.

“So, for instance, when someone bullies your brother your response is to dump piranha in the pool.” You move your head side to side. It’s an unusual reaction but it makes somewhat sense.

Wednesday doesn’t fall for it. In her same monotone voice she says: “You know the old saying, never bring a knife to a sword fight. Unless it’s concealed.”

Kinbott’s tone changes this time. It’s not the same soft therapist voice. It’s stern, almost a little angry. “The point is, you assaulted a boy, and showed no remorse for your actions. That’s why you’re here.” Wednesday replies immediately.

“He lost a testicle. I did the world a favor. People like Dalton shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” Kinbott’s expression doesn’t change. You however, raised both your eyebrows in surprise.

‘Note to self, don’t let her find out about you.’

“I’ve answered all your questions.” She stands up from her seat. “We’re not done yet.” Kinbott says quickly, following up with a smile. Wednesday sighs and sits back down. You smile, she’s unintentionally funny—or maybe your sense of humor is a little twisted.

“Therapy is a valuable tool to help you understand yourself. It can teach you new ways to deal with your emotions. It can also help you build the life you want.” You walk a little closer. You’re not sure if it’s to see Wednesday’s reaction or help Kinbott if Wednesday attacks her.

“I know the life that I want.” Wednesday says.

“Tell me about it.” SHE BLINKED! You grin in victory. You knew you would see it eventually.

“Everything said in these sessions is strictly confidential.” You pause. She just looked at you—her eyes moved onto you. Maybe it was coincidental? It could have been.

“Do your plans involve becoming an author? I understand you’ve written three novels about a teen girl detective.” If she saw you she’s forgotten already. Her head moves up slightly, she blinks again. Her mouth opens slightly but closes again.

The smile from your previous victory falls.

“Viper de la Muerte?” Kinbott says. “Can you tell me about her?” Kinbott has a small smile of victory, like she’s finally getting somewhere with her.

“Viper is smart, perceptive, chronically misunderstood.” You take note of that in the little notebook in your other pocket. Wednesday's eyes moved to the side again but not at you. It was a coincidence.

“Any luck getting your work published?” That must have got her. Wednesday’s eyes look like they want to kill Kinbott.

“Editors are short-sighted, fear-based life forms. One once described my writing as gratuitously morbid, and suggested I seek psychiatric help.” Now you’re even more intrigued by her writing. Must be amazing if that’s the response she got.

“Ironic isn’t it?”

“How did you take that?” Kinbott chirps.

“I sent her a ‘thank you.’” Wednesday says with a little smirk. The room goes quiet for a moment. “I’ve always been open to constructive criticism.” I doubt that.

You look at Kinbott but you don’t think she buys it. “I’m glad to hear that. Because I was sent the manuscripts as part of your psych evaluation.”

Again you felt like you’re intruding on a private moment, especially when Wednesday’s face changes. The manuscripts for her novel? I’d be pissed too.

“The relationship I found most intriguing was that of Viper and her mother, Dominica.” Wednesday seems more stiff than usual. Yeah, definitely intruding on something private.

“Why don’t we dig into that?” Wednesday blinks again, opening her mouth and then closing it just as quickly like she doesn’t know what to do yet.

“Wednesday part of this journey requires us going to uncomfortable places emotionally.” Kinbott tries to reason.

“I don’t travel well.” They look at each other for a moment. “Would you mind if I used the powder room first?”

You still. She’s probably going to try leaving right? So you should follow. But also, if she doesn’t try to escape you’ll just be a creep…

Kinbott gestures for her to go. Fuck it, you push off the wall and follow her. When Wednesday locks it she looks around rapidly, twirling and all. You go in 20 different directions just to avoid her. She pushes something off the sink by accident.

“Wednesday are you okay?” You both hear from outside the door. “You can’t hide in there for the rest of the session.”

“I’m all right.” She keeps looking around. “I’m just preparing myself for our uncomfortable journey.” Wednesday says, her eyes locking on the frosted window. She hits her backpack and turns her head.

“Nail file.” She says softly. What is she doing- your eyes widen. A severed hand just… handed her a nail file?

Not the time to question. You watch as she walks to the window and picks the lock.

She turns back to the door, looking right through you. You hold your breath. She doesn’t notice and opens the window, slipping through.

She walks on the roof, leaning over the side and scanning for Weem’s car. You’re right behind her—until she slides down the building’s rain gutter.

You question if this it’s truly worth the Weathervane drinks Weems gives you.

You sigh and slide down it anyways. You’re not as silent as you would have liked because Wednesday turns back around quickly. She doesn’t question the sound for long though, instead she sees Weem’s car still in front of the building and she starts walking in the opposite direction.

You follow her across the street but she bumps into an old man with a crate of apples. She looks up to the sky, eyes wide, and her body rigid. A second later she’s fine and turns to him.

“Who let you out? You goddamn weirdo.” Your chest tightens. If you weren’t invisible you just might have hit him. Wednesday, however, doesn’t seem to care as she looks back at Weem’s car and walks away quickly,

You follow her. She’s heading to the Weathervane. When you two walk in there’s a burst of smoke coming from the coffee machine. Dammit Tyler, look at the manual.

Wednesday walks to him. “Holy crap!” He says surprised. You grin. Always fun to see him scared.

“Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” He’s still shocked. “It’s more of a hobby.” Well at least the little nightmare seems pleased with herself.

“You go to Nevermore. Didn’t realize they changed up the uniform.” She doesn’t comment. “I need a quad over ice. It’s an emergency.” You stop listening to the conversation and take out your notebook again. Writing down her order. More information never hurts. You doodle a little coffee next to the note.

You look back up when Wednesday moves behind the counter. “I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimeter Allen wrench.” She says after looking at the manual. “Wait, you read Italian?”

Seriously Tyler? Couldn’t just put in google translate?

Wednesday turns her head to him. “Of course. It’s the native tongue of Machiavelli.” She moves the manual down.

“Here’s the deal. I’m going to fix your coffee machine, then you’re going to make my coffee and call a taxi.”

“Uh, no taxis in Jericho. Try Uber?” You roll your eyes. “I don’t have a phone. I refuse to be a slave to technology.” Yup, pretty much what you expected from her. You watch her use the screwdriver, turning away to people-watch everyone else. It’s oddly enjoyable.

You hear them talk for a bit before tuning back in. “What about trains?” Uh oh. “Nearest station is Burlington. It’s half an hour away.” You write it down, this time on a different page.

One page for your own personal notes, and another for Weem’s spy notes.

You hear Tyler say he can drive Wednesday in an hour. It might be time to tell Weems.

You smile when she tries to buy his help but it doesn’t work. Wednesday takes a seat at one of the booths. You can’t sit on the cushions because she’ll see the dent, but you lean against the table, arms crossed.

You want to stay and watch her in case she leaves but you really have to use the restroom. You give up after a minute. She’ll be fine.

.

When you walk back out the restroom you’re not invisible anymore. Weems texted you she’s going to get you two after she saw your phone location.

When you walk out the sheriff is in front of Wednesday and Tyler. You walk closer.

“This little thing took down three boys?” Wednesday’s eyes move to you. “Did you help her?” The sheriff asks Tyler.

“Dad, I swear, I wasn’t involved.” Sheriff Galpin’s eyes turn to you.

“What about you?” You walk closer, holding his gaze. Your eyes then move to Weems who walks through the open Weathervane door.

“Apologies, Sheriff.” He turns away from you. “These two must of slipped away from me. Come on Miss Addams, Miss L/N, time to go.” You walk past the sheriff and go behind Wednesday.

“Wait a minute, hang on.” You and Wednesday pause and turn back to him. You act like a subtle shield.

“You’re an Addams? Don’t tell me Gomez Addams is your father?” You clench your jaw. “That man belongs behind doors for murder.” He turns to you.

“Of course a L/N would be running around with Addams. The apple doesn’t fall from the tree does it?” He says the last line to both of you.

Your posture tightens. “What’s that meant to mean?” You ask him.

“Your family likes sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Been doing it for centuries. Must run in your blood huh?”

Your jaw moves slightly. He can see he’s pushing something. “I’m gonna keep my eye on you. Both of you.”

Weems finally steps in. Putting her hand on Wednesday’s shoulder and turning her to the exit. “Okay.” She says.

You turn back around to face her. Following them through the exit.

“Cmon Y/N, I’ll take you home early.” You nod and get in the backseat. Wednesday in the front passenger.

.

.

You put on your headphones as Weems drives back to Nevermore. You’ve been a stalker long enough today.

The car’s speed changes so you look up from your phone. Seeing the crash on the road you take your headphones off. The wailing sirens cry out.

“I hope the driver’s okay.” Weems says. “He’s dead. Broke his neck.” Wednesday replies, looking out the window.

Your eyes widen. That’s the old man from earlier, it’s the same red truck. You try to glance through the back window. From your angle it’s blurred but you know no normal neck curves that way.

“Shit.” You say absentmindedly. Weems reaches into the back seat and smacks your knee. “Language.”

You flinch slightly. Because language matters after seeing that traumatizing scene.

Hearing a faint clink you look towards the front of the car. Wednesday’s twirling the pendant her mother gave her.

You smile, using your hand to cover it.

.

.

You’re woken up by loud music. You groan and get up. You glance outside your window and see Wednesday playing the cello on her balcony. You smirk.

I swear I’ve heard that song before.

You slip into an invisible state and climb through the window of your single-person dorm onto a safe patch of the roof. You watch her. It might be creepy but you imagine she’s the type of person who would admire having a stalker.

She plays well. The severed hand you saw earlier helps turn the page when she finishes a section of the song. You don’t think, you just listen. The bow dances against the strings and she moves with a practiced ease. The song tugs at something familiar but you can quite pinpoint what.

You see her talking but you’re too far to hear it. She glances around before finally turning in your direction.

She must see the open window because she’s staring at it. You let your form reappear with a pixelated shimmer. You’ve mastered different transitions of visible to invisible—light manipulation is fun when you know how to use it.

You’re sitting with your knees close to your chest, arms sitting on them.

Your eyes meet. She doesn’t look angry or afraid—like she knew you would be there before she even picked up the bow.

She turns away. You see Enid opening the window and you disappear, climbing back into your room.

This’ll be fun.

.

.

You loved the Harvest Festival. Especially when Weems gives you pocket money.

She slipped you a few small bills earlier. “Funnel cake,” she said, already keeping one eye on Wednesday with Enid. You obliged, weaving through the crowd in search of the funnel cake stand.

By the time you found it and came back, Wednesday was glaring at her. She glanced at you before turning away and walking to a nearby dart balloon game.

You walk to Weems and sit on the table next to her. “Here.” You hand her the funnel cake fries. She smiles. “Thank you. You sure you don’t want to run off?”

You think about it. “Think I have time to walk around? Saw some guy juggling fire.” She nods and you push off the table.

A few stands away from you Wednesday was playing the dart game, talking to Xavier. You lingered just far enough to be near without being suspicious.

Maybe Sheriff Galpin’s right, stalking is in my blood.

You observe from a far. Wednesday glancing at you as well. You wave and she looks away, so do you—trying to concentrate on the fire juggler.

You overhear Xavier talking to Wednesday.

“Who’s the lucky guy… or girl?” You don’t look back at her, not wanting to officially commend yourself to the title of her stalker.

Wednesday doesn’t answer right away, but her eyes flicker to you. She throws the final dart, the balloon pops.

You hear Tyler‘s voice join the conversation and walk off towards another performer. You’ve intruded on enough of her private moments.

Pretty soon after though, your phone buzzes. It’s Weems:

She’s gone, find her.

You sigh. You can’t use invisibility here, not in such a large crowd. You turn back at the dart game where Wednesday was, she couldn’t have gone far.

Your eyes scan the crowd, as you work your way through it.

Maybe she’s on the Ferris wheel?

Rowan barrels around you, almost knocking you over. Odd.

When you get to the base of the wheel you finally find her—she’s running next to Tyler. Rowan accidentally runs into her, you freeze as Wednesday’s head goes up after bumping into him. That happened outside Kinbott’s office as well.

“Rowan, come back!” You hear her yell. She hesitates for a second before running after him, leaving Tyler. You run past him, chasing after Wednesday.

The fireworks and moonlight are your only source of light as you follow them to a wooden bridge on the water.

“Ugh what do you want? Why are you following me?” Rowan’s voice cuts through the forest. You follow the sound through fallen branches and dry leaves.

“I don’t have time to explain, but you’re in danger.” You hear his low laugh—you pause. The hair on your neck stands, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“I think you got it backwards.” Rowan says.

“Wednesday!” You call into the forest, searching for her. There’s no answer. Dammit. “Wednesday!”

“You’re the one who's in danger.” You shove through the bushes separating her voice from yours.

“Y/N?” You hear say—you turn to her. You finally found her. She turns to you too, looking at each other for a brief moment before Rowan yanks her upwards and slams her onto a tree.

He turns to look at you. “Rowan. Put her down.” You say, your hand in front of you. “Please.”

“You don’t understand Y/N.” He says with tears in his eyes, his voice shaking. “What are you doing?” Wednesday says, she sounds—scared.

“Rowan.” You beg. What do I do?

“I’m saving everyone from her.” He says to you before turning back to Wednesday. “I have to kill you.” His voice breaks as he talks to Wednesday.

You take a step forward—Wednesday gasps. “Don’t.” He says. You put your hands up, inching back.

“The gargoyle—that was you?” Wednesday says, eyes wide. Rowan nods with a smile. “Yeah.” Your jaw clenches. You reach for your phone. “Y/N.” His voice tightens.

“Rowan please.” You beg into the air. His face turns angry. “Look.” He makes a picture float towards you. It’s Wednesday…

He makes it float to her. “Girl in the picture. That’s you.” Wednesday looked shocked. This is the most emotion you’ve ever seen her express. “You want to kill me because of some picture?” She sounds flabbergasted.

You manage to silently tap on your phone, opening the medical ID. You think anyways, you’re relying on pure muscle memory. If you can just-

SHATTER

Your phone slams into a tree—Rowan’s doing. “Fuck.” You wince, eyes closed, hand clenching into a fist out of frustration. “Rowan please, Weems can still see my location you don’t have to-“

“YES I DO!” He screams, trembling. “My mother drew that picture 25 years ago when she was a student at Nevermore. She was a powerful Seer.” He’s shaking…

“Told me about it before she died.”

“Rowan, put me down.” Wednesday tried.

“No! My mother said it was my destiny to stop this girl if she ever came to Nevermore, because she will destroy the school and everyone in it.” He pushes Wednesday against the tree harder.

“Rowan. Rowan.” She pleads.

You run. You didn’t want to run to him, not if he would hurt Wednesday—but it’s too late now. You tackle Rowan. You two tumble around for a second, forming a web of limbs and dirt. He lets Wednesday go.

All you feel is pain as he throws you against the tree instead. A low cry chokes in your throat.

Wednesday’s eyes go wide as she sees you gasping. A low snarl cuts through the air, making the woods go quiet. Some weird fucking thing, shrieks—lunging at Rowan. He drops you and you cough.

Wednesday watches as Rowan screams in pain and the beast snarls. You run to her.

“Wednesday!” You yell at her, wanting to pull her up so you two can run. The beast stops and looks at you two. You fall to the ground next to her, shielding her from whatever this creature was.

It looks at you for a second before running off into the woods. Wednesday rushes past you to Rowan’s limp body.

You slowly get up and walk to her, scanning the woods in case it comes back. Flashes of fireworks briefly illuminating the treeline for you. Your heart hammers in your chest, all your ears hear is your pulse.

The drawing Rowan showed you two sways in the air, landing on his chest. Wednesday grabs it and looks at you, eyes wide.

“I’ll get Weems.” You say, your eyes already looking at your shattered phone. Despite its cracked screen and dented frame, it works.

You hit Weems’ contact and call her. The call chime echoing through the quiet woods. You stay close, acting as Wednesday’s shadow while she examines the picture Rowan had. Her expression unreadable now, her thoughts locked behind the wall she built for herself.

The wind rustles, like even the forest is holding its breath.

╰── Next Episode ──╮

A/N: This took so long but it’s finally done. It follows the same events as episode one and the same dialogue.

Want More? Wednesday Masterlist

[typingoreos]

How weak

Bianca: I sleep with a knife under my pillow.

Enid: How weak. I sleep with a sword.

Y/n: You're both pathetic.

Bianca: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Y/n: Wednesday.

[typingoreos]

Silent Pulse (W.A.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Rh-null is the rarest blood type in the world—and the most unpredictable. Its lack of antigens cause potions and curses to act erratically. For this reason, you volunteer to help Nevermore’s advanced hemomagic class with their experiments. But Wednesday doesn’t seem to approve, and she has a good reason not to.

Romantic - Fluff/Comfort - Reader - Slight Angst if you squint hard enough

AO3

The Experimental Hemomagic course wasn’t a very popular elective for the majority of Nevermore’s alumni. You were only in the class so you could share a class with Wednesday.

You probably shouldn’t have chosen your courses based on a small crush, but what’s done is done.

Dr. Cartwright—the class’s professor—was handing out flyers. Volunteers needed.

“These flyers contain details for blood donation. Since our class isn’t approved by the Red Cross or the state of Vermont, we have to experiment through less official means.” He paused, glancing at you.

“You are not required to donate to continue this class. Remember that. But because this class is project-based, it cannot continue without volunteers.”

You read the flyer. ‘Please enter classroom 203 during lunch hours. All blood types are welcomed. Rh-Null is preferred.’ Of course it is. You sigh quietly, looking back up to follow whatever lesson he planned for today.

Practical applications of hemomancy. Wonderful.

.

.

When the class comes to an end, you pack up, the same as everyone else. “Miss L/N, please stay for a moment.” You pause.

Everyone else was indifferent, not caring whether you stayed or not. They all wanted to get to lunch. What you didn’t notice, however, was Wednesday watching Cartwright like he just said something rancid.

“Of course.” You respond, feeling a strange heat at the back of your head. You turn; Wednesday wasn’t just watching, she’s glaring.

‘I’ll be fine.’ You mouth. Liar. She doesn’t mouth it or say it, but you can tell that’s exactly what she’s thinking. You shrug and get up, going to Cartwright’s desk. You hear Wednesday leave.

“At your service, Sergeant.” You try to be nice, like you aren’t bothered by what he’s going to ask.

He just smiles. “I’m sure you’re aware why I asked you here.” You nod reluctantly. How did he even know?

“Your participation would be invaluable. Rh-null in itself is incredible; it bypasses all we know about blood magic. But that’s not all; despite the lack of antigens in your blood, you aren’t experiencing any health complications like a regular person would. That makes your blood extraordinary.”

“Is flattery meant to work here?” You’re still skeptical. It wouldn’t be the first time an outcast tried to gain access to your blood. He smiles again. “It’s your choice. Nothing’s going to be forced on you.”

Wednesday will like it. You think before you can stop yourself. Dammit. You two are supposed to be friends. She barely likes Enid, much less you.

“I’ll consider it. I’ll come by tomorrow during lunch.” He nods. You give him a polite nod and leave.

“Well?” You jump, making a small noise of surprise. “Fuck—don’t do that.” Your hands over your heart. Wednesday raises an eyebrow. She has basically hiding behind the door, waiting.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Wednesday starts walking towards the mess hall, and you trail behind her, falling into the role she’s already written for you.

“Good. It’d be foolish to.” That surprises you; you figured she’d want you to donate blood. “Why?” She scoffs. “Your blood is invaluable for certain spells. I highly doubt Cartwright will do a good job of protecting your identity.” You consider her warning.

‘You don’t want me to?’ You almost ask. Stop it. She’s trying to be a good friend. “Would be fun though… wouldn’t it?” You ask hesitantly.

She stops. “Do what you’d like.” You pause as well. “Ok.” Your voice is small when you reply. Wednesday keeps walking, and you follow, dropping the subject.

.

.

You lie on Enid’s beanbag. She’s rambling on about her Pinterest; she made a mood board on a ‘Sunshine Werewolf Aesthetic’ or something like that. You’re only half aware of what she’s saying.

Your mind is occupied with what Cartwright said. ‘Rh-null in itself is extraordinary…’ You were born rare.

Telekinesis was amazing, but other students had the same ability. Your blood was the only thing that separated you from them.

You hiss. “Wake up.” Enid poked you with one of her claws. “That hurt a lot more than I would have expected it to.” She grins, flopping onto the beanbag next to you.

“So… Someone told me about Cartwright’s volunteer flyers. I was thinking of donating some of my own, but I’m O positive so I’m sure he already has a lot. What about you?” You shrug, moving your arms above your head and linking them. “I don’t know yet. Would be cool to see how the spells react.” Enid already knows about your blood; she was there when Wednesday ran tests on it when she saw you bleed golden blood while fencing.

Cheeky bastard.

Enid hums. “I think Wednesday’s planning Cartwright’s funeral. I saw her looking at that little graveyard model you made her; she still updates it.” You begin to smile, but then you pause.

“Really?” She grins. “Mhm… told you she thinks of you as a friend.”

The model—you made her a graveyard model out of Legos. ‘For your murder plans.’ You told her. ‘So you always know where there’s an empty spot.’

Wednesday’s plan to commit premeditated murder on your behalf caused a concerning but not unwelcome warmth to your chest. It’s almost uncomfortable.

You let out a puff of air. “Mmm, I think I’ll try it. Maybe the experiments will be fun.” Enid hums in acknowledgment and starts rambling about her Pinterest again. This time you pay attention.

.

.

The next day during lunch, you find yourself outside Dr. Cartwright’s door. You knock faintly and open it. The cold air surrounding you smells like antiseptic. The professor is sitting at his desk writing down student information. Probably other volunteers.

“I wouldn’t mind donating.” He looks up from the papers. He doesn’t seem surprised, like he knew you would come.

“Miss L/N, nice to see you. If you truly want to donate, I’d be happy to do so now. This way we can experiment tomorrow.” You nod hesitantly. “How much would it be?”

He replies quickly, “Absolutely no more than one pint a day. Since you’re not fully grown, I’ll only take half a pint.” You nod. “That doesn’t seem like enough for so many students.”

He grins, “Don’t worry Miss L/N, each experiment should only use a drop, maybe a little more, for full effect.” He gets up, gesturing to you to sit at one of the front desks.

You hear a cabinet open as you find your seat. A few moments later he sits next to you with some supplies.

When the half-pint bag is filled, he expertly puts a cotton ball and gauze on the incision site. “All done. You can choose to donate more in 3 days if you wish.” “Alright.” And that’s the end of it. You get up and leave, meeting Enid and Wednesday in the cafeteria.

“Hi.” You say a small greeting as you sit down at the table. Wednesday sees your bandage, and her jaw clenches down slightly.

“Oh my gosh, how was it?” Enid seems happy. “Normal. It was just a donation.” You shrug. It really wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“How much?” Wednesday asks. “Half a pint.” She doesn’t respond, just looks back at her meal. Enid starts to rant to you, and the day continues just as it would normally.

.

.

“Hey Y/N, can you pass me the mint green?” Enid asks from her desk. You hum and make the nail polish float towards her–

CRASH

Glass shatters on the hardwood, the nail polish splattered around.

“Oh shit–I’m sorry.” You start apologizing. “Woah woah woah, it’s fine, it’s fine.” Enid reassures you. “That’s never happened before, has it?” You shake your head, already reaching for something to clean up the mess. “Shit.” Thankfully your backpack has some napkins from yesterday’s lunch.

“Least it wasn’t on the carpet.” You say, trying to calm yourself. Enid scoots back from the mess on the floor.

Enid grabs a napkin and helps you clean up some of the drops that splattered away from the main mess. “Are you okay? You look sick.” You puff out a breath of air, thinking.

“Thanks for the compliment.” You reply absentmindedly. When you stand up your vision clouds slightly. It’s not unusual for that to happen sometimes, right?

But your telekinesis has never done that.

Enid reaches for some of the glass. “Don’t cut yourself.” You say without thinking, already reaching to grab it yourself. She grabs the big piece of glass anyways and gets up to throw it away.

“I think we have a broom in Wednesday’s closet.” You grin, “Is that her midnight ride?”

“No, but we could test it if you repeat yourself.” You don’t even have to turn to know who it is. “Bummer. Suits you.”

Her eyes flicker to the shattered glass on the hardwood. “What happened?”

“Well you see, gravity causes-“ Enid smacks your shoulder. “She was making it float and it dropped.” Enid helps you scoop the glass into the dustpan.

You can feel Wednesday’s gaze lingering on you. You try to ignore it while you throw away the soiled napkins, but your chest decides to tighten anyway.

“Did you eat? Water?” You hear her ask. “Yes?” She doesn’t answer. If she nods you don’t see it—because the moment you look back at her she turns and walks to her side of the room.

.

.

So far you’ve only donated blood for Cartwright’s class twice. Once Tuesday of last week, and on this week’s Monday. You thought donating blood once every few days would be fine, but now it’s Thursday and your powers are still weak.

You sit at your usual lunch table with Wednesday and Eugene. Enid went off somewhere with another group which wasn’t unusual. She still needs gossip for her blog and of course she wants to be around her pack.

Your vision feels slow, like your brain isn’t registering it as fast. Maybe you didn’t sleep enough last night. You stayed up watching a new show and fell asleep at 2AM. Yeah, that’s probably why.

“Stop staring at me. You’re creepy remember—or am I that beautiful?” Wednesday’s been looking at you since you’ve sat down. But it’s more of a glare than a look of concern.

“I’m searching for symptoms of hypovolemia.” She ignores your comment. Eugene tunes in. “Oh yeah, you’ve been donating haven’t you?”

You nod. “Hypo- what?” You don’t hear Enid behind you until she says “AHH” and grabs your shoulders. You jump. “Dammit Enid.” She sits down next to you.

“Low blood volume causes weakness and dizziness.” Wednesday looks at your hands. “And loss of fine control.”

She looks up at you. Her gaze strong enough to kill you if she willed it, but maybe that’s just because she’s looking at you. “You have to be monitored.”

“She’s just worried you’re going to paint our dorm’s floor pastel again.” Enid teases beside you. “Do I hear a volunteer?” You ask, Wednesday doesn’t seem amused.

“I never specified that you had a choice in the matter.” Enid snickers, a heat creeps up your neck. You end the conversation there.

.

.

By Friday your movements still feel sluggish, like your head isn’t quite there. It’s only 2 donations a week—one on Monday and one on Friday—spaced out just like Cartwright promised.

Wednesday is waiting for you outside his class. She’s leaning beside the door like a guard. You ignore the faint hum in your head.

“I’ll be here when you’re done.” It’s not a question, not even a command. Ever since lunch yesterday she’s been monitoring you.

Commenting on your clear signs of low blood volume. How you press on your temple when you think nobody’s looking, or how your powers slip last second when you carry your phone towards you. How the paper cut you got yesterday hasn’t healed yet despite your enhanced healing ability.

“Yes sir.” You mumble and enter the class. Pretending to not be shaken by her eyes burning into you. That her presence itself doesn’t make your chest feel odd in ways you can’t explain.

When you come back out—sure enough, Wednesday is waiting in the same spot you left her in. “Wens, I’m fine.” It comes out softer than you intended.

“Your color’s off.” It’s a simple statement—clinical even. There’s nothing intimate about it, so why does it feel like it is?

You sigh quietly. Wednesday doesn’t comment, she just starts walking knowing you’ll fall in behind her. You always do.

.

.

It’s Saturday now, Enid invited you over to study for Monday’s English exam. Frankenstein.

You float your pen in the air, flipping it. It feels heavier than usual. You walk around Enid’s side of the room, it helps you concentrate.

Enid’s rambling about the creature, how his creator just left him like a newborn being left at an orphanage in an oldies movie.

You’re about to respond to something she said but something feels off. Your head starts ringing—loud. Then the edges of your vision blur, like a photo that isn’t fully developed. You close your eyes trying to steady yourself, reaching for her nightstand.

You have a faint memory of someone running to you. You’re on the floor, leaning against the nightstand. Why is it so loud?

Fuck can someone stop that ringing. Shit. And why is it so bright?

You can hear someone talking but it’s muffled. Your eyes are open, you know they are, but there’s black dots everywhere like you looked at the sun too long.

“Y/N.” Wednesday. You understood that. You can feel her hands on your face, your heart beating weird.

You hum a response, still dizzy. “I’ll get her water.” It sounds like Enid. “Look at me.” You try to focus your eyes on Wednesday’s face. You try to blink the dots away. Enid comes over with a bottle of water.

Wednesday makes you drink it. After a minute they can see your eyes start to focus. “How many times?” You hear Wednesday ask. Your vision comes back just enough to clearly see her.

“Monday and today.” Your reply sounds weak, almost empty. Her jaw flexes. “And you think that’s acceptable?” She sounds angry. I just wanted you to have fun. You think.

They give you a minute to catch yourself. “Ok. Ok, I think I’m good now.”

“You’re not donating anymore.” She pushes hair away from your face. “I told you, I’ll be fine. Just give me a bit.” You mumble, still a bit drowsy.

“You’re telling yourself what you want to believe.” Her voice is still stern, but her voice is softer now. “You were wrong.”

“C’mon, let’s get you off the floor before I have to be an alibi.” They help you up. You stumble slightly as they help you onto Enid’s bed.

You try to ignore the warmth building up on your face. Wednesday’s hand is still secured behind your head. She makes you lay back on Enid’s heart pillow.

You see Enid hesitating. You know she was planning on hanging out with Yoko later. “Go Enid, I’m fine.”

“She’s not.” Wednesday says quickly, looking back at Enid. “Go, I’ll watch her.” Enid nods hesitantly. You close your eyes when Wednesday hands you another water bottle. You hear Enid move around the room as you drink the water.

Before she leaves you open your eyes and look at her. ‘Good luck.’ She mouths. You give her a lazy thumbs up as she closes the door behind her.

The room goes quiet after the door clicks. Like a forest when it’s waiting for a predator to strike. Maybe I should try to make a joke?

“You don’t have to guard me Wednesday. I think I’m retiring from dramatic dizzy spells.” Her expression stays the same. “No. You’re staying where I put you.”

Your face feels slightly warmer. You ignore it—try to at least. “Bossy much?” She gets up and goes to Enid’s desk. She sits on the chair but spins around to look at you, arms crossed.

“Look, I’m fine Wednesday, really. I’m choosing to donate-“

“Well your choice is flawed.” Her tone is flat but just as sharp. “I can decide for myself Wednesday.” Your voice is defensive.

“No.” You freeze. “You are not donating again.”

You want to argue—you do—but when you look at her you just, stop.

The icy expression she usually wears is gone. Her jaw is tighter, movements far more calculated. Like she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Ok.” Silence fills the room again. It's not comforting, it’s loud, and it’s heavy.

She looks down. She turns and grabs whatever book she can find on Enid’s desk. Frankenstein. You almost laugh but you can’t find it in yourself to move. “I’m tired.” You mumble.

You don’t remember what happens next, just that you wake up in Enid’s bed. The digital clock on the nightstand says 8 PM. Two hours. You’ve been asleep for two hours.

“I’ve decided.” Wednesday says after a minute. “You stayed.” You tell her. She’s still sitting in the chair. From what you can see, she hasn’t progressed through the book. At least not enough for it to be noticeable.

“I told Enid I’d watch you.” She doesn’t look up from the book. You study her, her eyes haven’t moved much. Is she even reading?

You hum. “I thought you meant until I fell asleep, or I left.” She finally looks up, closing the book. She wasn’t reading.

“That would be pointless. You’re most vulnerable when asleep, and I wouldn't have let you leave. Not in your condition.” She turns around in the chair, setting book down and turning back to face you.

You move your head back against the pillow. “So you watched me sleep? What if I started snoring? Like, full blown middle aged man snoring.” You turn your head to look at her.

Her response is quick. “You didn’t.”

“You would’ve told me if I did?”

Her eyes narrow. “I would have documented it, for future leverage.” Wednesday’s answer makes you smile. “What did you decide?” You say, sitting up.

Wednesday stands up and hands you a snack bar. Where did she even get this?

“Cartwright. Bloodletting seems like a fitting punishment.” You laugh nervously. This wasn’t really Cartwright’s fault, he probably thought your quick healing would prevent this.

“Wednesday that’s not-“ She shakes her head. “Only if necessary.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “You’re inconveniently important to me.” Your mind goes blank. She looks away from you.

“Ok. I’ll tell him I’m out on Monday.” She nods. ‘Inconveniently important’ You know better than to mention it.

.

.

When Monday comes Wednesday personally monitors your conversation with Dr. Cartwright after class. She’s subtle, staying behind like she’s just moving slower than usual. Her eyes linger on you in front of Cartwright’s desk.

She can’t hear what’s being said—not clearly. But she catches the ‘of course’ from Cartwright and moves towards the door.

You fall in behind her. She comes to a stop when you both leave the classroom, the corridor already empty. “Wednesday?” You ask softly. She turns, a small glass jar in her hands.

“Hibiscus tea leaves, for blood circulation.” You take the jar from her when she hands it to you.

“For someone who says I’m an inconvenience, you seem to keep going out your way for me.” She doesn’t reply right away. She takes a step towards you. A small one.

“You aren’t donating again?” Her voice sounds small. Not gentle though—never gentle.

“No. I’m not.” Her stance relaxes slightly. The corridor is silent, but it’s calm. Wednesday leans in and you freeze.

Her lips graze your cheek. “Good.” She pulls back and turns around quickly. She starts walking, knowing you’ll always be behind her.

╰────╮

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: This is definitely the longest work I’ve written so far.

Want more? Wednesday Masterlist

[typingoreos]

A Devoted Shadow Masterlist

Warnings: None

Summary: When Wednesday first arrives at Nevermore, Weems asks you to keep on eye on her. Soon, a babysitting job becomes an unlikely alliance. But shadows have a tendency of getting attached.

Reader’s Abilities: Invisibility & Raven Shapeshifter

Reader Insert - Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Season One:

Episode One - Episode Two

Episode Three - Episode Four

Episode Five - Episode Six

Episode Seven - Episode Eight

Epilogue

Season Two:

Episode One - Episode Two

Episode Three - Episode Four

Episodes 5-8 Coming September 2025

Episode Five - Episode Six

Episode Seven - Episode Eight

Epilogue

I’m writing each chapter as I rewatch season one and start season two. Each chapter should take 3-5 days.

Updates: 6.9K words for S1E2 so far and I’m only 20 minutes in

[typingoreos]

Woe out the Storm (20) - Alone in the Darkness

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Chapter summary: You've returned after not seeing Wednesday, or anyone really, for a year and nine months, yet nothing feels the same anymore. Especially between you and Wednesday.

Spotify playlist

Story masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

Word count: 4.6k

-Darkness pulling me apart at the seams like every breath is taken, I see now what I didn't want to believe-

A month after the two gods came to the mountain you sat at the camp, determined and focused with the four mountain goats sitting around you. Varp approached, eyeing the animals. “I see you finally caught them,” he stated matter-of-factly, but there was a somberness to his tone that you never heard before.

The first trial was simple, landing a clean blow on him, not grazing him with a spark or two, but a good, solid hit to the body. The second trial pushed the boundaries of your connection to your tiger. The third, that you just completed, was not only catching the goats, but getting them to stay with you.

And now, there was only one trial left. “I advise you to leave now,” he suddenly said, as if the time you’ve spent on this mountain made him care even one bit about you.

You chuckled at that, and raised an eyebrow. “Come on now, after everything you’ve put me through this is where you tell me to quit?” you asked and he nodded.

“There’s still time,” he tried, and you realized deep down he was actually a huge softie.

But you shook your head. “No, there isn’t.”

“Elijah didn’t go for it,” Varp tried one last thing that might have stopped you. Your father didn’t do the final trial.

You shrugged, you knew what was coming, in theory. “There’s too much on the line for me to back out now,” you replied, getting up and Varp nodded and with a wave of his hand the winds spread the layers of snow apart, showing a door imbedded in the mountain.

“Fourteen years ago, I stood here with your father. It took him twice as long as it took you to catch the goats,” you glanced at the animals that followed after you now. You hummed at that, believing you simply got lucky, even if you were aware that you were now stronger than he was when he was killed.

The doors seemed normal, nothing out of the ordinary, aside from their size. They were about thirty feet tall, but there weren’t any designs on them, nothing to take notice of. Yet, you felt uneasy looking at them. The goats backed away, they wouldn’t follow you into the mountain.

“We stood here, and he backed away, gave up,” Varp looked at you. “Because you were already born, too much was on the line for him to so recklessly go in there,” there was something ironic in the situation.

Your father feared he’d lose everything if he went inside the mountain, you feared you’d lose everything if you didn’t do it. So, without any further consideration you pushed the doors open.

“Remember. Once I close these doors behind you there will be only one exit left. On the other side, and you’ll be the only one able to open it. No one can come after you, not me, not even Raijin. I’ll only be able to open these doors again when you come out or when you die,” yeah, you were aware of that.

“Close them,” you said, determined to do this, you looked around you, taking in the inside of the mountain while there was still sunlight coming inside it. You saw a broken hexagon on the doors.

“When you find the doors with a whole hexagon, you’ll find your exit,” there were only two doors, the entrance, and the exit. “Do not underestimate endless nothingness, and try to keep your mind intact,” he said with a sigh and closed the doors behind you.

And then there was nothing. You were left in complete darkness. Your eyes turned red, but you still saw nothing, so, you formed a ball of electricity, you were sure you did, but you neither saw nor heard it, you didn’t even feel electricity at the tips of your fingertips. “Endless nothingness,” you were sure you said that, but you didn’t hear your own voice.

In what felt like an instant you were robbed of all your senses, and in another instant you began questioning if you even did anything when you tried forming the ball of electricity, when you spoke.

You had to count, to hope your body was moving. One, two, three, four, that would give you a sense of time at the very least.

You moved forward, though you genuinely had no idea if you were even moving. You felt weightless, empty, like the darkness was consuming you as well. For a moment you thought you should have eaten something before coming here, not sure how long it would take you to get out, but hunger or thirst never came, it was like you were robbed of more and more of your senses, of basic human needs as you moved deeper into the darkness.

One hundred fifteen, seventy-eight, two thousand and three, what came after that?

And then you felt something, like a brush against the back of your hand and it felt like your entire body was struck by lightning with how intense that one sensation felt to you right now.

You gasped, maybe.

Probably.

There was a sudden hissing sound right next to your ear, and you were sure you cried out, you were sure you stumbled, your body twisting as you tried to cover your ears to make the hissing stop. It would stop and start again, like there was a rhythm to it, some longer, some shorter.

It felt like you hit something, and your entire body went rigid at the overwhelming sensation.

You had to make the hissing stop, you had to make it all stop.

But they didn’t stop, nothing stopped, the hissing began sounding more like growling, and you began seeing spots in the darkness, pairs of them, different colors, different something. And the more pairs appeared the more often it felt like you were hitting something as you moved. Were you even moving?

And then the growling became clearer, but still as irritating. -ke, m-, -st, w-, -op, words, parts of them. What were words again? What was- What were you even thinking again?

The words became clearer. Wait. Stop. Let me out. Let me leave. Don’t leave. Let me die. But you didn’t understand them, but you felt like you were being dragged down, like your entire body was falling apart, like the lightning that formed your body was being discharged, drained, destroyed.

‘Mi Rayo’ suddenly broke through everything, a clear image of your room at Nevermore, a girl in front of you, her cold fingers and even colder eyes. Name. What was her name? You could almost feel her breath against your lips, you felt your heart beating faster, aching for her.

Wednesday.

“Enough!” you roared, unrestrained, yellow lightning bursting all around you and you could finally see your own body, but the sensation of being dragged back continued, even though you couldn’t see anything physically holding you. With a roar similar to that of a wounded, desperate beast the lightning grew brighter, turning blue and violently bursting all around you, lightning the area up and you finally saw it all clearly.

Ghostly apparitions of those who came before you, covering from the lightning as you stood there, in your human form, with bright blue lightning all around you. “You failed! All of you! This has nothing to do with you anymore!” you yelled as some of the apparitions tried to get closer, to grab and pull you back as you pushed forward, one step at a time. “Whatever you want from me, you can’t have it,” not these ghosts from the days long gone, not some gods, no one.

But they still latched on to you whenever your lightning would get even a bit weaker, crying for mercy, crying to be taken away from this place, to be freed and the darkness inched closer, consuming your lightning bit by bit.

You had no idea how long you kept on moving like that, desperately clinging to the memories pushing you forward, and then you reached the end, the other side and pushed. But nothing happened and then you saw it. The broken hexagon. Despair made lightning disappear and you crumbled to your knees. At some point you turned around and instead of moving toward the exit you went back to the doors that wouldn’t open.

The voices came back louder, more aggressive, demanding, feeling your despair and realizing this was the moment to strike. You felt like your very soul was being engulfed in something, squeezed into something to make space for something else. How much time did it take you to come back to the beginning?

There was no way of knowing, and then you saw it, right in front of you, the tiger. Growling at you, its eyes fierce, demanding more, so you placed your hands on its shoulders, pushing yourself back to your feet. The tiger roared with you, lightning forcing the apparitions away once more.

“Sorry, I nearly gave up,” you apologized, leaning your forehead against the tiger’s. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, taking on your tiger form, and running as fast as your legs could carry you.

You ran, further and further from the entrance, dodging the apparitions that broke through your lightning until you finally found it, the other doors. You pushed them with your front paws, and they turned human as you opened the doors and ran through, stumbling and collapsing onto your hands and knees gasping for fresh air as you gripped the snow beneath your hands.

“I’ll be damned,” that was… that was Varp’s voice, yeah, you were sure of that. “You came out,” you looked at him, barely conscious. “Who are you?”

You looked at him, stuck somewhere between defiance and numbness. “Y/N L/N, Wednesday Addams’ lightning,” his eyes widened as you blurted that out. Through it all, the one thought that remained, that kept you going, wasn’t who your parents were, wasn’t what you were, it was what you were to Wednesday.

~X~

A year and eight months, that’s how long it’s been since your father died, and two weeks after that you began your journey to the mountain, leaving your mother and everyone else behind. And now you were once again outside your childhood home, and you barely felt anything. You felt… numb… empty.

You came out of the mountain, but the defiance you’ve shown inside of it vanished by the time you regained consciousness, leaving only the endless nothing, like you left the inside of the mountain with a piece of it within you.

Still, you were home, and you knocked, something you never did before, something not even your dad did, no matter how long he spent away from the home. You felt like a stranger in front of your own home.

The doors opened and your mother stood there, shocked, tears shining in her eyes as you smiled. “Hi, mom,” you said and she flung her arms around you, clinging to you like you were the only reason she was still alive, like letting you go would break her and you hugged her back, though not nearly as tightly as you wished you could.

The months spent inside the mountain, in that darkness, made everything feel more amplified now, the touch that used to comfort you before now hurt, but you didn’t flinch, you didn’t show any reaction to the pain. Your smile did disappear as you stood there for what felt like an hour, though it was probably closer to five to ten minutes as your mom cried her heart out, overcome with happiness.

~X~ Two weeks later ~X~

Before you knew it, the time flew by and you were back at Nevermore, standing there, right at the entrance, your things already delivered back to your room. You put a hoodie over your head, as if hiding from the world and you walked through the quad, not even bothering to correct the name. You weren’t even wearing your uniform yet, but you walked through the students unnoticed. They didn’t notice you until you burst into lightning and zapped to the balcony of your room, and by that point if anyone wanted to stop you, they were already too late.

You walked through the window, not even bothering with the doors and saw chaos in the room. You recognized some of the faces, the werewolves from your year, though you didn’t recognize all of them. There was a new guy with Enid and she seemed enamored by him. What happened with Ajax?

Well, you were gone for twenty-one months, a lot of things could have happened. Enid looked, different, more confident, more comfortable and you managed a smile at that. And then you noticed two people making out on Wednesday’s bed.

“Get off, now,” you said evenly as you approached Wednesday’s bed. They didn’t notice you, too lost in their activities and you didn’t have patience for them. “Enid, Wednesday will be pissed if she catches them in her bed,” you called out to Enid, but not even she noticed your presence yet.

You sighed and turned the power in the room off. “Do I have your attention now?” you asked as the werewolves all turned to look at you. “Good, get off that bed now, in fact,” you flicked your wrist and formed a thin lightning barrier between Enid’s part of the room and your and Wednesday’s parts. “Hop on over to the other side,” you said, and they recognized you, scrambling to their feet and jumping over the lightning barrier.

“Y/N,” Enid gasped, and you glanced at her.

“Hey,” you turned to look at her and lowered the hood down, revealing your bandaged hand to her. Both of your arms were covered in bandages, they’ve been like that for almost a year now.

“Hey?” she repeated. “Do you have any idea how worried we all were?” and there it was. You figured you deserved it. “It’s been almost two years, and you just come in here saying ‘hey’?” she demanded, stuck between relief and anger.

“A year and nine months,” you corrected, not that it mattered much.

Enid huffed, didn’t even consider getting over the lightning. “I’m in the middle of unpacking, I’ll talk with you later,” she decided and you shrugged, going over to your part of the room and lying down on your bed, not really looking forward to that conversation.

You missed Enid biting her lower lip as she glanced at you, so taken aback by what she was seeing that she had no idea how to even approach you now. She stood there, hoping Wednesday would have a solution.

~X~

She was back for ten minutes, and she was already done with all of this. The new principal, the obsessed students who seemed to enjoy wasting their lives and making it her problem, the constant attention, and now even these ridiculous drawings pinned to her wall. But even among the drawings some felt like even sharper needles sticking into her eyes.

The ones with you.

You were probably inside, she could hear noise coming from inside the room, and what felt like sparks crackling as well. “We need to set bear traps out here,” she said to Thing and walked in to see perhaps the most horrifying scene not even her mind could have come up with. There were so many people in the room, swinging from the ceiling, wrestling, making out on the floor, running around and yelling and laughing.

And then there was the familiar red lightning, forming a clear barrier between Enid’s part of the room, where the chaos happened, and her and your parts of the room.

She guessed she should feel a bit thankful, because she was almost certain the two that were making out like the horny teenagers they were probably would have done that in her bed. She felt disgusted even thinking about it.

Enid basically bounced over to her, much like she did when they first met, with that same enthusiasm, but luckily without trying to initiate a hug. “Howdy, roomie!” Enid greeted her way too happily, but deep down she missed that, only a bit though.

“Enid,” she refused to show it though, she’d rather die than openly show her feelings to anyone ever again, not after she got burnt, not once but twice. Falling for you, and then putting you in danger by admitting it to Tyler. That kind of blunder could not be allowed again.

“All right! Everyone out! Thanks for the help,” and with that the irritating group that happened to be in her room began leaving. Well, not all of them moved toward the door, there you were, looking at her from your part of the room as you made the lightning vanish. For what it was worth, it looked like you had even more control over your lightning now. At least you sacrificed your bond with her for something useful.

She caught your eyes and focused entirely on Enid, but from the corner of her eyes she noticed you freezing on the bed just as you were about to get up. Good. She’d take some minor pleasure in that.

“Don’t put too much pressure on it,” one of the werewolves told Enid.

“No pressure. Right. Got it,” and for whatever reason Enid sounded nervous, like one of the love-struck girls from her old schools and even more nervous than she was when she was supposed to have her first date with Ajax.

“Catch up with you later at the lupin cages? With the others,” the guy told her, and she seemed to melt at his words.

“Absolutely, Bruno. Can’t wait,” so that was his name. Enid even leaned back against the doors when he left, proving to Wednesday that she was actually love struck.

A foolish mistake on Enid’s part.

“How was your vacay? Because I’ve just had the best summer ever, and I’ve been dying to tell you all about it!” Enid’s excitement would have been contagious in any other room, and perhaps Wednesday did have a soft spot on her, but she wasn’t about to entertain an extended retelling of the events.

Enid waved at Thing and he waved at her before running off to your part of the room. The traitorous hand.

“I’m sure I’ll want to kill you after you tell me, so, we both win,” she replied dryly and caught Enid glancing toward your side of the room, as if there was anything or anyone there.

Finally figuring Wednesday wasn’t going to pay attention to a vacant part of the room Enid continued. “Well, I’ll spare you the details, but, I did get you a gift at Lupinpalooza in Golden Gate Park. Don’t worry, it’s not a snood,” Enid quickly assured her as she accepted the bag and pulled out a shirt with an awful pun on it. “Get it? Like Beowulf? I thought you’d love the literary reference.”

At least Enid, unlike someone who wasn’t present in the room, put in effort. “Nothing like a bad pun to throw dirt on the coffin of epic poetry. I’ve got you a gift as well, from my summer travels,” she announced and pulled a large doll from her suitcase, the blonde one from the serial killer’s room.

“Uh… Oh,” Enid accepted the doll, though she wasn’t exactly in love with it. “Thank you, I mean, it is a little creepy, but um, the curls are super soft.”

“It’s made from real human hair,” she explained with the tiniest hint of excitement in her voice.

“Right, did you get one for Y/N too?” Enid asked as if she’s been searching for a way to direct her attention toward you.

“No,” she replied, still refusing to spare another glance toward you. Still acting like you weren’t even there.

Enid winced at that. “Oof,” she flinched like she was in pain but Wednesday believed you didn’t deserve a single word, let alone any gifts.

Thing got on her shoulder and pointed behind her, claiming she wasn’t being fair. Fair? Were you being fair when you left? Were you being fair when you didn’t contact her once in twenty-one months? No. You didn’t deserve fair.

You deserved eternal silence.

“Wednesday, come on, we know you miss her,” Enid dared to claim and just for that she never should have turned around, but she did, and she looked at you, and it caught her off guard.

You… were different. Physically, sure, you looked stronger, but that was the least important difference. You weren’t smiling, and she was sure you were in your bed when she arrived, yet now you were leaning against the wall in her part of the room. Yet she didn’t hear you move. And your eyes… they looked empty, like you were the one who was abandoned.

When she met you, you had some sense of humor, but looking at you now, she was sure you wouldn’t even try to joke.

“Did you have fun these past twenty-one months?” she asked, the smallest part of her bitterness slipping into her voice, making it drip with poison.

“Yeah, I was catching goats,” and she was wrong, she had to admit that. You did try to joke, regardless of how bad the joke was.

“And that’s your excuse for disappearing?” Wednesday demanded before she could stop herself.

You looked into her eyes, resigned to her reaction like a coward, taking hits instead of hitting back. Spineless. Cowardly.

Broken…

“I had to,” at least you didn’t look away when you said it, when you gave yourself an excuse just so you wouldn’t have to deal with what you did.

“I had no idea if you were even alive until your mother sent us a letter a week ago,” she glared at you and then pulled the letter your mother sent out of her bag. “Here, you can have it back,” she really only wanted to get close enough to shove you, there was no need to give the letter back, but it was a good enough of an excuse.

The moment she touched you a vision struck her against her will and the two of you were no longer in the room, instead it looked like you were in the quad and the vision was definitely from her own point of view. You were leaning against her, your chin on her shoulder, one arm weakly wrapped around her waist, and she was trembling. “It’s okay,” you whispered so softly she nearly threw up.

What was okay? She saw a dark tiger behind you, blood dripping from its jaws and claws of one of its paws. Wednesday felt something warm and sticky dripping onto her hand and looked down, seeing the knife she gave you, stabbed to the hilt into your guts, blood dripping down from the blade to her palm.

“I only regret that it had to be you,” you coughed, blood staining the back of her shoulder as something heavy fell onto the ground next to you, like you dropped it, and she didn’t want to look down, but she did, seeing an old, rusty axe there. Your right arm, the one that was probably holding the axe had deep gashes, as if a beast struck you there with its claws.

“Thank you, for everything,” you managed to say and for the first time in her life Wednesday screamed in anguish as she stopped feeling your breath against her, as your hold on her became limp, nonexistent, as your legs stopped supporting your weight and all of it fell on her, somehow pushing the knife deeper into you.

Wednesday gasped as her vision ended and she actually scrambled out of your hold, of course you caught her before she could fall. Even almost a year and nine months later you still had that instinct and she despised how natural it felt. The vision had to be wrong though. No matter how angry at you she was, no matter what the situation was, there were some things she knew she’d never do, and one of them was stabbing you with a knife.

Perhaps the rage she felt toward you manifested as that vision.

You stared at her cheeks, your hand trembling when you reached up and brushed her cheeks and she noticed black stains on your thumb. “What is this? Wednesday?” you looked worried sick, and it sickened her. How dare you be worried? How dare you show emotions now, when your eyes have been empty since she saw you?

“Nothing you should concern yourself over. You left,” she spat out, glaring at you with so much venom in her glare that you actually took a step back.

“I told you, I had to do it,” you defended yourself, but there was no fire behind your words, no resolve, nothing.

“No, you chose to do that, just like your father did before you,” the moment she mentioned your father she knew she crossed a line, but you didn’t react, your eyes didn’t even change shade, there was no anger, there was nothing there.

“Okay, maybe you two should calm down,” Enid got between the two of you, a lot like how you got between her and Enid her first night at Nevermore. Did she not realize how eerily calm you were?

You walked past Enid and her and went toward the balcony. “Don’t worry, I’m calm,” you said, walking out the window.

“Run, that’s all you ever do,” she said, glaring at your back. So much for Addams-raiju bonds, granted, she’s given up on them almost a year and four months ago when she gave up on whatever was going on between the two of you before.

Besides, even she could see you weren’t the person you were before your father died. She couldn’t speak of your emotional state, but looking at your back she could see the tension in your every move, like a wounded, caged beast that could strike at any moment. Yet your eyes remained empty.

You didn’t answer, you just jumped from the balcony, and her heart skipped a beat before she heard a faint sound of your lightning, and she knew you were fine. She stared at the window and glared, not sure what else to do.

“Wednesday,” Enid sighed, and she noticed Thing disapproved as well.

“Not one word about this, or her,” she spoke through gritted teeth. She was foolish enough once to fall in love. That would never happen again.

~X~

You walked through the forest, basically in a random direction, just getting your mind off of Wednesday’s words, and the worst thing about it was that you couldn’t even get angry. You wanted to react, to feel something stronger than these barely present emotions, but you were just too numb. Coming back home, and now coming to Nevermore didn’t fix what you went through in the mountain, you still carried it with you.

The air suddenly got cold and you felt a shiver running down your spine. It was that same sensation and you looked behind you to see those two twins descending from the sky several meters behind you. But it wasn’t their presence that shocked you. No, what shocked you was that they were wearing Nevermore uniforms.

A/N: Thoughts? Anything? Comments keep me happy and motivated so consider donating a couple of words.

Taglist: @brocoliisscared @alexkolax @osnapitzmel1

[typingoreos]

The Dunkening (W.A.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Warnings None

Summary: You and Enid are having a sleepover. After Wednesday’s writing time is up, You and Enid want to include Wednesday in your activities. You come up with something that Enid doesn’t think will work, and maybe it won’t.

Standalone OneShot

Romantic - Fluff/Comfort - Reader - Slice of Life

AO3

“Okay, but we’ve already done seven games of Uno and two of Monopoly. I’m done with the board games.” Enid says. She’s sprawled out on her back on her bed. You sit on the floor, leaning back on the foot of the bed.

“We’ve already done face masks and blackhead strips…” you reply, still thinking. “OH! We can summon a demon? Wednesday is right there.”

“No!” Enid screams immediately. “I am never doing that again.” You laugh at Enid’s insistence.

Last time you two “summoned” something was when you walked in on Wednesday trying to contact an old Addams family relative. You don’t remember the name, but apparently she accidentally summoned the demon that possessed him. Enid hid behind you until it was gone.

“Oh, I brought something we can do with Wednesday.” Enid scoffs. “I highly doubt she’ll indulge you.” You shrug. “I’ll set it up; you try to convince her. Tell her if she doesn’t like it, I’ll give her my blood to do God knows what with.”

Enid turns her head to look over at you. She doesn’t speak but you smile at the look she gives you. “You said you wanted to help her make more friends.” Enid sighs. She thinks about it and finally looks happy when she realizes you’re right.

“Ok. But you have to tell me what it is.” Enid says excitedly. “Should I be afraid?” Her eyes are cautious. If you’re this confident Wednesday will like it, it could be anything.

“I promise you’ll like it. It involves Oreos.” She smiles.

When she gets up, you dig into your backpack. You pull out a small pile of supplies. It’s a plastic cup, milk in a mini grey thermos, a pack of Oreos, some food coloring pens, and cookie decorating pens with frosting in them. The works.

You can hear Enid and Wednesday chattering, but you can’t really tell what they’re saying.

You set up a little activity area on the small pink bed table you bought Enid. Perfect size for this. You put 3 napkins on the table and set one Oreo on each. Then you put the pens and grey thermos in the middle.

On Wednesday’s side of the room, Enid tries to get Wednesday to at least see what you planned. “Come on, you should join us. You need more friends.” Enid tries.

“I doubt Y/N would approve of me interfering with your bonding.” Wednesday replies dryly, not looking at Enid as she organizes her manuscript papers.

Enid scoffs. “She wants you to join Wednesday. Believe it or not, not everyone is against you. C’monnnn… If you don’t like what she brought for you, then she’ll give you blood to experiment with.”

Wednesday sighs and continues organizing the papers she typed. She is curious. What could you have planned that you were confident enough to offer your blood? I win either way. She thinks.

“Very well. I’d like to see how golden blood reacts to certain conditions.” She puts away the folder.

Enid squeals. Wednesday walks to the little activity area you set on the floor, Enid following behind her. Cookies? Is she a child to you?

“Ok look, I know it’s unconventional for sleepovers, but look at what the Oreos do when they’re submerged.” You dunk an Oreo from the pack. The milk begins to bubble.

“I figured you could pretend you were drowning something. I even brought cooking decorating pens; you can draw someone if you want.” Enid looks happy. She loves dunked Oreos, and Wednesday doesn’t seem… appalled by the activity.

“I think your blood would be a more appealing test subject.” You smile. “Ok, but just try it. You could use the yellow pen and add blonde hair to it. Drown Cookie Enid, Wednesday.”

You laugh when Enid gives you a look. Wednesday sits down when Enid does. She’ll try it.

“You know, I was hoping for something not violent... but I don’t think Wednesday would have joined us if it wasn’t.”

“It’s not violent.” You say smugly. “It’s just regular cookies and milk… with added imagination.”

You and Enid continue bickering lightly while decorating the Oreos. Enid covers the top of her Oreo in blue frosting and starts making a lily pad. You’re making yours into a penguin face.

You glance over at Wednesday’s. You hold in a laugh as she finishes making the top of her Oreo tan frosting just to grab the yellow coloring pen.

When the three of you are done, Enid proudly presents her ladybug on a lily pad. You show off your crooked penguin face with a droopy eye. Then Wednesday turns her napkin so you and Enid can see the face she made on hers.

She covered the top in tan frosting. Then she used the food coloring pens to add blonde hair on top with pink and blue in it and then blue eyes. Then smile is just a black happy face. But the hair definitely gives away that it’s supposed to be Enid.

Of course all three aren’t very good considering they’re Oreos covered in frosting and food coloring, but the images are there.

“Wednesday.” You say, handing her a little tool to dunk the Oreo with. Thankfully Yoko gave you an Oreo dunking kit last Christmas. You doubt Wednesday would be okay with getting milk on her hands.

“This is childish.” Wednesday says, but she doesn’t complain and makes eye contact with Enid when she drowns the Oreo.

After a second she looks at it. “It’s struggling.”

You grin. The milk is bubbling like the Oreo can’t breathe. It’s actually just air being displaced, but you won’t say that.

After it stops, she takes the cookie out and puts it on Enid’s napkin.

“I expect a blood bag on my desk tomorrow.”

She gets up and goes back to her side of the room. You grin anyway and shrug at Enid. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it?”

“I felt like I was being threatened.” Enid laughs nervously.

“You were.” Wednesday shouts.

“I feel like I sold my blood to the devil.” You mumble.

“You think this would taste good?” Enid says, looking at her lily pad. “I doubt it. Try it.” She shrugs. Enid eats the one Wednesday made. “It’s actually not that bad.”

The next morning you wake before Enid does. You groan and get up from your pallet on the floor. “You have a blood kit?” You say absentmindedly. It’s quiet; you know Wednesday can hear you. You swear she wakes up the second the wind blows too hard.

“Of course.” You hear her move around while you clean up the pallet on the ground.

You turn around and see Wednesday setting up the blood draw supplies on her desk. The office chair turned towards you. Such a nice invitation.

You sigh, walking to the chair and sitting in it. “How often do you really take someone’s blood?” You give her your arm when she gestures for it. She presses down on the skin after having you squeeze something.

“Most people don’t offer their blood just for the sake of persuasion.” She finds a vein and wipes the planned incision area with an alcohol wipe.

It’s gentler than you would expect from her. You barely even feel the needle. You look away as the blood flows through the tubing.

“Why?” She says suddenly. Watching you.

“I can’t look at my own blood—“ You ramble nervously. “Not that.” She replies quickly. “Then?” “Why did you offer your blood?”

Your breath hitches. Wednesday pretends not to notice. “Enid said you’ve been wanting some. Rh-null is far from common.” You try to brush it off. “Plus, I thought you’d like drowning cookie Enid.”

Her face twitches—a small, almost imperceptible movement near her lip. You don’t notice it. “It wasn’t terrible. But I’d much rather have this.” She says as she pulls out the needle. She quickly puts a cotton ball to the inside of your elbow where the blood pools. Her fingers are steady, but moving slightly, as if they yearn to continue being impersonal.

She pulls away and you hold it as she grabs the gauze to wrap the wound. The action feeling more intimate than it truly was.

“You shouldn’t offer your blood for free.” There’s a small shift. She looks up at you. You look at her as well. “Someone might get used to it.”

╰────╮

Word Count: 1.4K

Want More? Wednesday Masterlist

A/N: I thought this would be a cute idea after I saw a TikTok of someone ‘drowning’ their Oreo.

[typingoreos]

Are Flowers Even Real?

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Wordcount: 8K-ish.

Summary: A florist’s voice brings color to Wednesday's world—until all that remains are flowers, silence, and a question that won’t stop echoing in her mind.

Theme: Angst, Heavy Angst! Loss. Blood.

Warnings: Some might already guess the plot with the pic above, the theme's a bit vague here too but it will be all clear at the end kinda like my Restless dreams or lost valentine's.

She used to hate this.

People who couldn’t help themselves—who spilled every thought like it mattered, who narrated their lives in real-time like the world was desperate to listen. Enid had done that every day of their shared dorm years. “Oh my God, you won’t believe what Ajax said,” and “I saw the cutest squirrel near the quad!” and “Wednesday, are you even listening to me?” She wasn’t, mostly. Not really.

Back then, she counted words like falling leaves in autumn—an inevitable mess. She hated the noise, the color, the feeling. Enid had been loud and bubbly and relentlessly present.

But you?

You made noise feel like quiet. Like it mattered.

Now she held the phone to her ear like it was lifeblood. Like it was you.

And your voice was soft today. Soft, but fast—your usual pace when you were excited or tired, or both. The hum of your flower shop drifted into the background.

“Okay, so—today was chaos. And I know I say that every time, but I mean it, this time? Pure chaos.”

Your voice was light, and she didn’t interrupt. She doesn’t roll her eyes. She closes them. Leans back against the cold bark of the tree behind her, the night wind slipping through the forest like a hand across skin.

There’s blood somewhere nearby, but she’s not thinking about that yet.

"This bride walks in—and I mean, she had this energy, right? Like she’s never heard the word ‘budget’ in her life. She’s dragging her fiancé behind her like he’s an old suitcase, and she’s listing every flower under the sun. Roses, peonies, baby’s breath, lavender, delphinium, freesia, tulips—I mean, Wednesday, she wanted them all. For one bouquet. Who does that?!"

Your voice had that kind of bright rhythm she’d never admit she looked forward to. The pitch of it changed depending on the flowers you were talking about—soft when you said “lilies,” amused when you said “sunflowers,” reverent when you said “gardenias.” You loved your flowers. You were annoyingly loyal to them, like they were alive, like they had personalities.

“...I told her it wasn’t going to look like a bouquet if we threw in every single bloom from every hemisphere,” you continued, laughing to yourself. “I even suggested doing a seasonal theme instead, but she looked at me like I just asked if she wanted a bouquet of weeds.”

You laughed, breathy and exasperated. Wednesday closed her eyes. Just for a second.

"Have you ever had to calculate fifty-four table arrangements, not including the bridal arch and the aisle runners, in under thirty minutes? Because I have. Today. Today, I did that.”

She could hear the smile in your voice, even through the stress.

“And then, oh—oh, get this—her fiancé shows up with a last-minute request for a boutonniere made of succulents. Succulents! For a winter wedding! Who even—?!” You groaned, a theatrical sigh. “Anyway. I didn’t say no. Of course I didn’t. I just nodded and smiled like a professional while internally praying for divine intervention.”

She doesn’t respond. Her jaw clenches, the silence between your sentence and her reply longer than it should be. But you don’t comment. You never did. You understood her silence was never empty—it was just crowded with too many words.

“I’m gonna be late tonight,” you say after a pause, your voice dropping into a soft kind of tired. “Definitely pushing midnight. I still have to sort out the invoices—do math, ugh—and call the supplier who keeps sending me crushed orchids. I swear I’m gonna fight that man.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Wednesday asks flatly.

A beat of silence on your end. Then: “Mm… tempting. But I think you should save that kind of rage for someone who deserves it more.”

She opens her eyes. Watches her breath ghost into the cold night air. “I do.”

“Oh, and get this—” you pause suddenly, voice pulling away like you're shouting over your shoulder, “Sorry, we’re closed! Yeah, we stay open from eight a.m. to eight p.m. No exceptions! Thank you! God, I need a sign that actually scares people away.” You came back like you’d never left. “Where was I? Oh right. Hell orders. Seriously, though, this bride is lucky I didn’t charge her a stress fee. I should start doing that. I’ll call it the ‘flower frenzy’ tax. Like, if your expectations are out of control, that’s ten percent extra for emotional damage.”

Wednesday finally spoke, her voice low and dry. “You’d never charge anyone extra for being overwhelmed. You like chaos. You call it ‘natural.’”

“I do not!”

“You do. You said that exact phrase last week.”

You laughed again. “Okay, maybe I did. Once. But I was high on pollen and caffeine. Not a reliable source.”

The call was winding down now. She could feel it. The energy in your voice had started to fade—just a little. Still bright, still you, but… slipping. Like the sun behind curtains.

“Anyway. I should get back to it. I’ve got calculations to do, receipts to cry over, and oh—! I almost forgot—one of the orchids bloomed today. The one I thought was going to die last week. It just needed a bit more light, apparently. Go figure.”

Wednesday stared at the moon. Didn’t blink.

“Oh—and I love you, by the way. Just in case I forget to say it later. You should try it sometime too, you know. I promise your tongue won’t turn black and fall off.”

Another beat. Then a quieter, sheepish: “Okay. Talk later.” The line went dead.

Wednesday doesn’t move for a long moment. She keeps the phone to her ear even after the silence settles.

Then, slowly, she lowers the phone. Pockets it with the careful reverence of an addict putting away the last dose.

Her hand brushes against cold steel. She wraps her fingers around the handle of the knife. Pulls it out.

There’s a sound—scraping, desperate.

The man in front of her, half-covered in dirt, is trying to crawl away. He’s bleeding from the mouth, knees shredded from dragging himself over rocks.

He looks back. Sees her. Freezes.

She doesn’t say a word.

Just steps forward, slow. Controlled.

The knife glints.

Her voice, calm as ever, cuts the silence.

“One finger at a time now.”

She had come to your shop out of habit. Or maybe it was curiosity. Or the way you said, “You should visit sometime,” like it was just a law of nature. You’d said it with your hands buried in soil and a daisy tucked behind your ear, completely unaware of the chaos you caused with every smile.

The bell above your door had jingled, and the moment she stepped inside, she was swallowed whole by a riot of scent and color. Flowers bled from every surface—sunlight dripped through windows onto baskets of wild blooms, and you were already at the counter, fussing with a vase like the world wasn’t quietly tilting on its axis.

She stood in the doorway for too long. You looked up, grinned

“Good evening, Miss Addams. You stalking me again?”

Wednesday stepped forward slowly, arms crossed behind her back. “I was in the area.”

“You were never in the area before we started dating. Anyway come here. I need help deciding which of these flowers gets to be sacrificed for a bouquet.”

She stood beside you, looking down at the spread of colors and chaos. It was an overwhelming mess—vibrant and overstuffed—but in your hands, it was art. She admired that about you, though she’d never say it. Not out loud. Not directly.

You handed her two stems. “These are Ranunculus. One means charm, the other means attraction. Which one looks more ‘mysterious woman who possibly has a knife in her purse’?”

Wednesday arched a brow. “Neither.”

You fake-gasped, putting a dramatic hand to your chest. “You wound me.”

“Not yet,” she replied, and you laughed like she’d told a joke.

She didn’t correct you.

You picked up a small bouquet and began trimming stems. “Did you know bleeding hearts mean undying love?”

Wednesday blinked slowly. Of course she knew. She learned the language of flowers in her second year at Nevermore—before she met you. She could read petals like poetry, dissect colors like motives. She memorized the meanings the way most kids memorized multiplication tables.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she looked at the flower you held up and said, “They look like they’re crying.”

You beamed. “Exactly. They’re dramatic. Just like you.”

“I’m not dramatic,” she said coolly, stepping aside as you nudged past her to reach a coffee cup. “I’m precise.”

“Sure,” you said. “And this isn’t my third cup of coffee.”

You chuckled. “And what about this one?” You picked up a marigold. “It means grief. Despair. Remembrance.”

Her eyes moved from the marigold to your face. You were smiling again, soft at the edges like you always got when talking about meanings, stories, symbolism. You swore half the fun was in the mystery.

Wednesday knew the meanings already.

Of course she did. She’d studied them in Botany. But she never said a word. Never once interrupted you to say, “Yes, I know.”  Because she preferred to hear you say it. It was different when it came from your mouth—something in your voice, the way you cradled petals like they mattered. Like you were part of their purpose. And she wanted to be a part of that too.

You spent the rest of the afternoon explaining the meanings of delphiniums and hemlock and hydrangeas. You told her about customers who reminded you of daisies and she just stood there. Watching. Drinking it all in. You told her everything. And Wednesday Addams—queen of silence, princess of the macabre—just sat there and listened like it was her religion.

He couldn’t scream anymore. Only pant. Wet, ragged breaths through clenched teeth. His lips were cracked, and his eyes were wide with the knowledge that he was alive and shouldn’t be.

The sound of agony twisted the air again.

Wednesday sat nearby, legs folded beneath her like she was in a garden. Her phone was pressed to her ear again, as if none of this was happening.

You were laughing on the other end.

“You wouldn’t believe how long I argued with that girl. She wanted orange roses. Orange! For a funeral. I mean, who does that? I asked her if she wanted the flowers to say ‘rest in tropical zest.’”

Wednesday let out a slow breath. “What did she say?”

“She said her grandmother loved citrus. Which is sweet, I guess. So I added lemon balm and marigolds. Made it work.”

“You always do.”

A pause. The wind rustled leaves overhead.

“You sound tired,” you said softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

Another pause.

“I just worry about you,” you said. “All those late nights. Chasing monsters. Investigating murders. You know you don’t have to keep carrying everything alone, right?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked up at the stars that just didn’t shine hard enough anymore so she listened to the sound of your voice like it was oxygen and she’d been holding her breath.

“You’re the most stubborn person I know,” you continued. “But you’re not bulletproof. You’re allowed to rest.”

The man groaned again. Gurgled.

Wednesday’s eyes flicked to him, but she didn’t move. Not yet. Not while you were still speaking. You talked about your day. The cat who scratched a customer. The kid who wanted to eat the flowers.

You said you loved her. Just like always. And she didn’t say it back.

Just like always.

When the call finally ended, when your voice faded into silence again, she took a slow breath. Looked down at the man whose blood soaked the soil.

He was still alive.

She crouched, pulled a wad of cash from her coat, and threw it beside his mangled hand.

“Fix yourself,” she said, voice flat. “You have until the next bloom.”

Then she pulled her phone again.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Attempted homicide. Coordinates incoming,” she replied coldly. “The suspect is injured. Severely. Unarmed. Unconscious.”

Wednesday texted the GPS location, then cut the call short.

She knelt beside the man, “I’ll remember you. Every bone. Every nerve.”

She paused at the edge of the woods.

“And I will be back again.”

You were humming again.

That same wandering, tuneless hum that always floated into the air when you were deep in concentration. Wednesday stood silently in the corner of the flower shop, arms folded, black coat dusted with pale pollen, watching you balance on your toes to reach a top shelf.

She didn’t speak. Just observed.

There was something ritualistic in the way you worked. Like a priestess. Like a witch. Each flower touched with reverence, as if it breathed back at you.

You looked down at her eventually and grinned, sweeping your hands outward toward the display you were building.

“What do you think?” you asked. “Too much? I always overdo the daffodils. They’re too loud, I think. They talk over the tulips.”

“You believe flowers… speak?”

“I think they understand,” you said without hesitation. “Not in words. Not in the way people mean. But they know things. They feel things.”

“This one’s for resilience,” you said, holding up a chrysanthemum.

“People say they’re funeral flowers, but I think they’re just misunderstood.”

Wednesday raised a brow.

You smiled over your shoulder. “They’re stubborn and hard to keep alive and everyone thinks they’re depressing. Sound like anyone you know?”

Wednesday almost smirked. She moved toward the arrangement. Reached out. Brushed her fingers over the white edge of a daisy. The petals were soft. Barely there. Almost like breath. “This,” she murmured, “feels like you.”

You paused, surprised. A flush of red crept across your cheeks, but you didn’t turn away. “That’s one of the gentlest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment. I just said it as an observation.”

You smiled. “That’s why it means more.” You talked as you moved, voice light, melodic, like wind through reeds.

She watched you pick up a sprig of rosemary next. You handed it to her. “Memory,” you said, with something softer in your voice. “This one’s for remembering.”

She took it slowly, fingers brushing yours. It was strange how warm your hands always were. How you held things like they could bruise if you were careless.

Moments like those bled into each other. Quiet exchanges while trimming stems. Her fingers brushing yours when you passed her scissors. Her trying not to stare when you tucked a flower behind your ear.

You started giving her one word every day. One flower. One meaning. Bleeding hearts—undying love. Lavender—devotion. Black tulips—rebirth. Snapdragons—grace under pressure. Rosemary—Remembrance Nightshade—dangerous beauty. She never said she cared. But she remembered every single one.

And then she left. Again. Back to the darkness. Back to blood.

The man was on the ground again.

This time, it was the fingers of his other hand. Gone. Wrapped in bloody gauze that had once been part of his shirt. He was wheezing, tears running down his face as he crawled toward the barn door. He was slower now. Weaker. Still alive.

She crouched beside him again.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, voice mild.

He didn’t respond.

She pulled a knife from her boot and pressed it gently under his chin. He froze.

“I could end it now,” she whispered. “Would that be mercy?

He trembled, said nothing.

She stood. Dropped another thick wad of cash beside him. Then turned and walked away.

She just sat on the hill, watching from the trees as he dragged himself to the road and flagged down a car. She didn’t move. Just watched. Unblinking.

When she finally pulled her phone out, it was almost midnight.

“Where are you?” you asked, and she could hear you yawning.

“Graveyard.”

You laughed. “Only you would take me on a date to hell.”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“So much ambiance. Ten out of ten.” There was a long pause. “I miss you,” you said, quieter.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Do you want to hear something stupid?” you asked.

“Always.”

“I kissed a lily today. Accidentally. I was leaning too close. It kissed me back.”

“Scandalous.”

“I know. We’re basically engaged now.”

She exhaled, something caught in her chest. “Don’t cheat on me with foliage.”

“I’d never.”

Another quiet stretch passed, softer now. You hummed something tuneless.

“Hey,” you said, voice warm, sleepy. “I love you.”

“I—”

She hesitated.

You laughed. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” There was the sound of rustling, you shifting beneath your blankets.

“I’m gonna fall asleep on you,” you mumbled.

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll call you in the morning…”

And you did.

Two days later, the man ran again.

The man had tried to leave town. Made it all the way to the county line.

She found him in the back of a rental truck, bandaged, panicked, clutching a gas can and a stolen phone.

He didn’t even have time to beg.

That night, she called you again. You were tired. She could hear it in your voice.

“Long day,” you murmured.

“I can tell.”

“I had to fill a funeral order. A big one. Lots of lilies.”

She exhaled. “Too many lilies in your life lately.”

I know, right?” You yawned. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sound tired.”

“So do you.”

“…Stay on the line with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She listened to you breathe. Counted the beats between your sighs. You fell asleep like that—murmuring something about tulips and your heater being broken.

She kept the phone to her ear until the sun came up.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Only silence answered.

Another day, another call,

“Hey, you. I know, I know—I’m late again. I swear this time it’s the register’s fault. Or maybe the marigolds. They were being a little too dramatic today.” You chuckled to yourself, a soft breath of warmth over static. “I had this old Pedro Pascal looking guy come in. Said he needed something ‘apologetic but not desperate.’ I gave him yellow roses. Told him to deliver them with a smile and a very sincere, ‘I’m an idiot.’ He laughed. Paid in cash. Even gave me a tip.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched. She sat on the edge of a rooftop, the city crawling beneath her. Her knees drawn up, phone pressed to her ear like a lifeline.

You kept talking.

“There was this one moment though—something stupid. I—I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but… there was this rose. Deep red. Looked almost black in the light. It reminded me of my mom. You know, the way she used to wear that lipstick that bled into the corners of her smile?”

You went quiet.

And then the sound—sharp and soft at once.

A breath caught. A sniffle.

“I—I snapped the stem by accident,” you whispered. “It just broke. And I don’t know why, but I started crying. Like full-on, ridiculous, snot-on-my-apron crying.”

Wednesday closed her eyes. She imagined your face—crumpled in sorrow, eyebrows drawn together in that quiet way you had when you were trying to stay strong for something that didn’t deserve it.

“I felt so dumb,” you laughed. But it wasn’t a happy sound. “It’s just a flower, right? Just… a stem. But I think—I think I was just scared. That I’d forget her. That maybe people aren’t made to last. Maybe even the flowers know.”

Another pause.

She could hear you shift the phone, the way your voice grew smaller. Closer to the truth.

“Sometimes I talk to the flowers because I’m scared no one else will ever really listen.”

She whispered into the speaker, “I listen.”

It was early. Too early for customers, but not too early for you to be animated and half-dressed in an apron and already juggling three ideas at once.

You were on the floor, arranging petals like you were solving a crime scene. She watched from the counter, long legs crossed, sipping bitter black coffee you’d insisted she try—“If I’m suffering, you are too.”

“Okay,” you were saying, lifting a pale marigold to the light, “I know you don’t care about table aesthetics, but imagine this for the engagement party centerpiece.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in centerpieces,” she replied dryly.

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

You turned to her with a grin. “You’re lying.”

“I never lie.”

“Okay. Then you’re emotionally repressed.”

“Fair.”

You snorted and tossed the flower back into the pile. “I still think we should do something small. Intimate. You and me, our parents, maybe five friends, your creepy Uncle Fester playing violin in the corner.”

“He doesn’t play the violin.”

“Well. It’s never too late to learn.”

She watched you with a careful expression, one she reserved for delicate autopsies. It wasn’t suspicion. It was wonder. The way your hands moved. The way you lit up just saying the word “engagement.” Like it wasn’t just a party to you. It was something sacred.

You looked up suddenly. “Hey. Are you okay?”

She blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re… doing that thing where you look like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

She tilted her head. “I’m here.”

“Promise?”

She didn’t speak right away.

You stood, brushing petals from your skirt, and stepped close enough for your shadow to fall over her. Your hand brushed her shoulder. “Hey. I need you to say yes. I need you to say you want this too.”

Her eyes flicked to your mouth, your nose, your lashes. “You already know I do.”

“But you haven’t said it.”

“I don’t say things I’m afraid of.”

That caught you of guard. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“No,” she agreed, “I’m afraid of losing you.”

That stopped you.

Your fingers froze on her shoulder, and she felt the tiniest tremble under your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “Unless you kill me, which I have warned you would be deeply counterproductive to our wedding plans.”

“I’m already planning it then.”

You grinned, eyes gleaming, and for once, Wednesday allowed herself to look. Really look.

At the curve of your lip, at the crease beside your nose when you smiled, at the soft flush of your cheeks. She touched your hand. Pressed her thumb into your palm.

“I’m serious,” you said. “Promise not to kill anyone on the day.”

She smirked. “Not even if they’re rude to the florist?”

“I am the florist.”

“Exactly.”

You laughed, full and bright and real.

She breathed it in like oxygen.

And she began to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could be something softer. Just for you.

The guillotine was old. Weather-worn wood, chipped and splintered like the bones of an antique. It had taken Wednesday weeks to restore it—polishing each blade support, sharpening the steel until it gleamed like a smile.

He was gagged at first, slumped and bloodied, missing both hands, one leg bound and stitched just enough to keep him breathing. Wednesday had always been meticulous. Every cut had purpose. Every stitch had meaning.

She stood a few feet away, still as stone, black coat moving slightly in the wind. Her hands were bare. No gloves today. Her fingers curled and uncurled slowly at her sides. She held a phone in her left hand.

The right was twitching.

On the ground near her, a phone picture flickered with signal. She’d sent it minutes ago—his face, barely recognizable, eyes wild and swollen, mouth red with spit and screams. And she gave them the address so they would come to save him.

All they had to do was open the door.

“Who the hell are you?!”

It was hoarse. Desperate.

She didn’t move.

“Why are you doing this?! Who the hell are you?! What did I do to you?!”

The words were shredded by pain, but they still stabbed the air. He writhed beneath the frame, muscles shaking, eyes darting in every direction but hers.

Wednesday stared at him, her face unreadable. Not rage. Not triumph. Just a long, heavy stillness like the moment before glass breaks.

He didn’t even remember what he did.

Of course he didn’t. People like him never did because they weren't even people.

Wednesday opened the phone.

The screen lit up in her palm. Her thumb hovered over a file she’d listened to too many times already. It was cracked at the edges now, her phone screen shattered where she’d dropped it once—twice—when the grief had shaken her bones so hard she couldn’t hold anything.

She tapped play.

Your voice came through the speakers, warm and full of life.

“Sorry, we’re closed! Yeah, we stay open from eight a.m. to eight p.m. No exceptions! Thank you!”

She remembered.

She was sitting at home that night. The lights were dim. Your voice had ended in her ear. She had said something back—something simple, probably something dry and sardonic. You would’ve laughed at it. But you didn’t call again.

An hour passed. Then two. Midnight came and went. She told herself you were just working. You’d warned her. You always warned her.

But then one call.

No answer.

Another. Voicemail.

Another.

Then another.

Wednesday never panicked. That was a rule of hers. Panic was for people who had the luxury of helplessness.

But her heart had gone hollow.

She didn’t change. She didn’t grab a weapon. She didn’t even lock her front door. She just walked. All the way to your flower shop.

It was just before dawn when she got there.

The sky was still dark, but the edges were bleeding gold, creeping like guilt. The bell above the frame jingled when she pushed it open. You never locked it properly. You said it made the place feel more welcoming.

Inside, it was too quiet. Far too quiet. Not even the soft humming you sometimes did when arranging bouquets. Not the sound of your little radio. Just... stillness.

The flowers were wrong.

They were wilted. Slumped. Some had fallen from the shelves. The petals were scattered, torn, like they had tried to escape something that came in behind them.

The scent was wrong too. Sweet. And something else. Something sickening. Metallic.

Her boots clicked against the tiles. She didn’t call out. Not yet.

She walked past the counter. Past the shelf where you kept the lavender because you liked its color. Past the wall where your engagement board still had pictures pinned to it—samples, notes, fabric swatches. One of them had fallen to the ground. Her own handwriting stared back at her from it, a single word she’d let you coax out of her weeks ago: Maybe.

There was a bouquet on the counter.

It was half-finished. Carefully chosen. A mixture of deadly plants—your inside joke. Your love language to her. Monkshood. Nightshade. Hemlock. But there were gentle things in it too—carnations, a single lily, even a tucked-in daisy.

You made that for her.

Then she stepped into the greenhouse.

Glass crunched beneath her foot.

And she saw you.

The greenhouse had always been your favorite place. You’d told her you could breathe there. You’d even said once that if you died, you wanted to be surrounded by the things you loved.

You got your wish.

You were laid out like a sleeping bride, lying beneath the skylight. The glass above was shattered. Pale morning light streamed through, illuminating the tiny cuts all over your arms. Your head was tilted slightly to the side, resting against a bed of marigolds.

You were surrounded by flowers.

Your dress had been torn and smoothed again.

Petals were placed in your hair.

Your hands were folded across your stomach, like a child sleeping in a garden bed.

But you weren’t sleeping.

You weren’t breathing.

Your eyes were still open.

Wide. Glassy. Empty.

On the wall above you, scrawled in deep, thick red, were the words:

“Even the most beautiful flowers rot.”

Wednesday did not scream.

She did not collapse.

She did not shake or sob or wail.

She knelt beside you.

Her knees cracked against the glass, but she didn’t care.

She touched your cheek with her bare fingers, brushing a streak of blood that had dried beneath your ear.

You were cold.

She let her thumb rest on your chin. Her hand on your collarbone. She traced the curve of your jaw the way she’d done a hundred times before.

You didn’t move.

Her eyes didn’t well. Her mouth didn’t tremble.

Her breath stayed steady. Controlled. Slow.

But her hands shook.

Her hands shook so violently she had to clench them into fists just to keep touching you.

She pressed her forehead against yours.

She stayed like that for a long, long time.

And when she finally pulled back—

She made a promise.

Slowly.

She didn’t cry at the funeral.

Not when Enid sobbed shaking and muttering things like, “She was so kind,” and “She made everyone feel safe.” Not even when Weems paused mid-speech, voice cracking as she said your name. Wednesday just stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of her, face like marble.

She didn’t cry during the burial.

Not when the coffin—your coffin—was slowly lowered into the earth, and the sound of the dirt hitting the lid echoed through the tight silence like gunshots.

Not when her father quietly stepped behind her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder with a kind of restraint Wednesday didn’t have the energy to analyze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. No one really knew what to say to her. No one could fathom what your death meant to her. And if they had tried—she might have killed them too.

The only time she moved was when Enid leaned in to sob against her shoulder, and even then, Wednesday didn’t flinch—just allowed it, like a statue accepting offerings. Her eyes were focused on your name etched into the granite headstone. Clean. Polished. Final. It didn’t feel real.

Later that night, she went back.

The flower shop still bore the yellow caution tape across the doorway. It had become a symbol of everything she devoted her life too... a crime scene. She stepped through the yellow tape without hesitation, her boots crunching on the broken remains of your shop's heart. The place didn’t look like yours anymore. Not the way she remembered it. It had always smelled like fresh earth and life and the odd sweetness the flowers.... of you. But now, the air was heavy with dried blood and rotting blooms.

She imagined you standing there, maybe working on a bouquet, maybe laughing about a weird customer, maybe humming that ridiculous song you always sang when you thought no one was listening. She imagined you glancing up at the sound of the door. Smiling, welcoming. Then confusion. Discomfort.

She saw it all in her mind. You stepping forward, asking if he needed help. Him smiling back, reaching out—not to shake your hand or take a bouquet, but to grab the ceramic pot on the edge of the shelf and slam it into the floor. Shards flying. You stumbling back. That confusion turning into fear. A scream building in your throat—but he moved faster.

She could see it in flashes, like a strobe light of horror. His hands, the knife, your blood against the daffodils. She saw him pose you afterward, like a child setting up a tea party. Flowers in your hair. A performance. An insult. She imagined it all, and still… she didn’t cry.

The crime scene investigators had done their job. They’d taken photos, collected samples, made lists, labeled everything. But they hadn’t found him. And they hadn’t let her help.

“You’re too close to the victim,” they’d said.

“She was my fiancée,” she’d answered.

They still said no.

So she didn’t ask again.

She remembered the moment clearly. The moment she decided. The precise second she rewrote her entire to-do list with a single item: destroy him.

It wasn’t rage. Rage would’ve burned her out. It was something quieter, colder. Like slipping into a second skin. She watched herself from a distance, her own grief turning into focus.

She was going to kill him. But not like the others.

This wasn’t going to be efficient, or quiet, or merciful.

No, this time… she was going to take her time.

She closed her eyes.

The memories came uninvited. You laughing, your eyes crinkling in that way that made her stomach ache. You holding up a bouquet and saying, “Guess what this means?” You pulling her down to your level and tucking a flower behind her ear. You whispering against her mouth, “I love you more than all of them combined.”

Wednesday opened her eyes again. And this time, they burned.

But still, she didn’t cry.

Instead, she turned and walked back through the wreckage, her footsteps slow and deliberate. Every petal on the floor, every dried bloom, every bit of dirt clinging to the walls—she took it all in. She carved it into her memory. The scene of the crime, yes. But also the final place you existed. The last time you were alive in color.

By the time she stepped out into the night, she already knew how it would end.

He was going to suffer. And she was going to watch every moment of it.

Not for justice.

Not for closure.

But because she couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t breathe—not until he understood what it meant to destroy something beautiful.

The days blurred together in an endless cycle of silence and torment, and Wednesday never once allowed herself to break it.

Every moment, every minute she spent hunting him, tracking his every step, felt like something she could not pull herself out of.

The man was just a reflection of everything she despised—someone who had seen beauty and crushed it with no second thought. He didn’t just take a life; he took a piece of everything that could’ve been.

So, she hunted him. She tracked him like prey, never letting him slip from her grasp. She would come to him in the night, shadows in the alley, outside his car, standing just far enough to see the panic rise in his chest when he realized she was there. He would tremble, stare into the coldness of her eyes, but he never knew where the danger truly came from.

She tortured him slowly, steadily, as she listened to the one thing she couldn’t escape—the calls she had recorded, the calls that felt like the last connection she had to you.

Your voice, soft and melodic, filled the empty spaces as Wednesday stood in the dark. It was a constant. A reminder of you. A reminder of how she failed you.

And now, she is standing there, a few feet away from man tied to the guillotine, for her final act.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” she would hear you say. “Yeah, we stay open from eight a.m. to eight p.m. No exceptions! Thank you!”

The man’s eyes widened, his face paling as he connected the dots. He laughed. A low, bitter chuckle that sent a cold shiver through the air. “I remember now...” he said between fits of laughter. “So it is because of that florist!” His laugh echoed through the room, a sound full of self-satisfaction and madness. “That’s what this is all about. Her, right?”

The sound of his amusement made Wednesday’s chest tighten, a slow-burning rage igniting in the pit of her stomach.

"It was all so simple. I had my fun killing her just like I killed so many, and you’re just another one of those people who got caught up in it. And now you think you can kill me, but what’s the point? You’ve already lost, haven’t you?”

The man’s laugh only increased in volume, like the sound of a fire crackling as it devoured everything in its path. Wednesday didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed steady. Calm.

“You can kill me if you want, but you’ll never get the satisfaction. Because I already won, and you lost! . It won’t even matter in the end. It won't even have an effect!"

The laughter grew louder. He seemed to relish in the moment, his mind broken by the realization. And yet, he has no idea... what revenge does to a person...

Without hesitation, Wednesday stuffed the rope into his mouth. She made him bite down on it, securing it between his teeth.

“Do you really think it won’t leave an effect?” she whispered, her voice soft but carrying an edge that was unmistakable. The rope was tied to the front door. If anyone opened it, if anyone walked through that threshold, the rope would snap. And the guillotine would fall. It was simple. But it was enough. It would be enough for him to understand the pain he had put her through.

The sound of footsteps outside.

His face went pale, his eyes widening as the panic began to swallow him whole. He started to struggle, trying to twist against the rope.

He realized the truth then. His family was there. His wife, his children, his father—he could hear them outside, their voices getting louder as they neared. He could feel the panic creeping into his chest, suffocating him as the reality of what was happening hit him.

“No! No!” he screamed, his voice muffled by the rope. “You can’t—don’t—please don’t let them—”

Wednesday didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. His eyes were wide, frantic, as he listened to the footsteps outside, getting closer. He was starting to beg. The fear was raw in his voice, in the way his body trembled. But Wednesday didn’t respond. She stood still, her face unreadable, her heart as cold as the blade hovering above him. The room was silent except for his frantic breathing and the distant voices of his family, unaware of the horror that was about to unfold.

She turned on her heel and left through the back door, the cool night air greeting her like an old friend. The sound of her boots echoed in the stillness as she walked away, each step measured, deliberate. She wasn’t in a hurry. There was no need to rush. The world would keep turning, and she would keep walking.

The sound of the front door opening reached her ears, faint at first. But then, the rope snapped. The guillotine blade fell with a deafening clang.

And then, the scream.

A woman’s scream. High-pitched, raw, full of terror. . It was followed by other screams, other cries of horror.

But Wednesday didn’t turn around. She didn’t look back. She just kept walking.

The sound of their screams faded behind her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Not anymore.

She just kept walking. Further. Further still. Away from everything. Away from the memories, the pain, the loss. Away from the life she had once known. The night stretched before her, silent, empty. She still didn’t feel anything.

She just walked. And kept walking.

And she knew where she had to go.

The bell above the door no longer chimed.

It was rusted now, stuck in place as if even it had no strength left to announce visitors to a store that no longer served the living.

Every time she’d walked through this door in the past—always reluctantly, always pretending she didn’t care—it would chime, this tiny, inconsequential sound that somehow made her feel like she was walking into a different world. A ridiculous little fairy tale. One of scent and color and... you.

Now it didn’t.

The warmth was gone. The smell, too—no more freshly cut stems, no more lavender oil misting the corners, no more petals underfoot like fallen laughter.

Just rot.

Dust in sunbeams.

And dried flowers that sagged from their hooks like mourning veils.

She stepped in slowly, boots echoing across the cracked hardwood floor. Her coat was heavier now, not from weight, but from silence. From everything she carried in her lungs, her mouth, her heart. Her ribs felt like cages, like graves.

Inside, everything was as she remembered it—and not. Counters still in place. Shelves still lined with empty pots, ribbons limp and curled from moisture.

But the flowers… the flowers were no longer alive. They drooped where they hung, their colors now brittle whispers of what they used to be. Roses that once blushed scarlet were the color of rusted wine. Daisies had curled in on themselves. The baby’s breath looked like bone dust.

The register sat lifeless. Your little stool was still tucked behind the counter, where you'd prop your foot on the lower rung and scribble ideas on sticky notes—"wedding theme: wildflower forest?" "ask Mrs. Delaney if she likes callas again!" "tell Wednesday she's beautiful (deathwish!)"

She walked slowly. Past the counter where you used to perch on your elbows and pester her with questions you already knew the answers to. Past the vase with the crack she refused to fix because “imperfection is character.”

She moved without purpose until she reached it.

The greenhouse. The floor.

The spot where your blood had dried.

It had been cleaned, of course. The investigators, the forensics team. It wasn’t visible now.

She reached into her coat pocket, past the dagger, past the photo she’d taken of him as he screamed, and found her phone.

She didn’t look at it. She just unlocked it by feel. Muscle memory.

The screen flickered for a moment.

Then: RECORDED AUDIO CALL — March 17, 9:47 PM.

“Wednesday?”

Your tone was warm. Light. Sweet in a way that clutched at her ribs and twisted.

“Oh! Okay, you picked up. I thought you were gonna let it ring again just to scare me.”

You giggled. That sound. That sound.

"Oh me? I finished an insane bridal order, one with the thousands of flowers and zero sense of proportion. I swear, that woman thinks flowers grow from credit cards.”

Another breathless laugh. She hadn’t realized she’d leaned closer to the phone until she could hear the faintest buzz of the old recording.

“Anyway, I made you a little something. A bouquet. But not like a romantic one—I mean, yes, obviously romantic, but like... us-romantic, not generic-romantic. It’s black dahlias, white lilacs, and one single daisy. Guess what the daisy’s for. Go on, guess.”

The recording was quiet for a beat.

You chuckled again. “Wrong. It’s for Enid. She dropped in today and told me she misses you. I told her you miss her too and she made that little squeak she does when she gets excited.”

She remembered that squeak. It had annoyed her.

It broke her now.

“I miss you too, you know,” you continued, softer now. “Like… really miss you. Even tho had lunch together only a few hours ago. I know it’s stupid but you make me feel stupid.”

Wednesday’s hand gripped the phone tighter.

“Do you ever think about what it’ll be like when we move in together?” you asked. “Like... actually live together? I mean, I’m messy. You’re... you. We’ll probably fight over drawer space and you’ll threaten to hex my slippers.”

A pause. A breath. You smiled again. She could hear it.

“But I think we’ll figure it out. I really want that, Wednesday. Us. I want to argue about dinner and hold your hand at 3 a.m. because I had a nightmare that you would call "sweat dream." ”

She was shaking now. She didn’t realize when it started.

“God, I sound clingy,” you said, laughing softly. “I swear I’m not! Okay, maybe a little. Okay maybe a lot! But you love that, right? Say you love that. Say you love me.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched. Her throat ached with something ancient.

The call kept playing.

“Fine! Still worth a try. You know what I realized today?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no one I want to call at the end of the day but you. No one I want to share all this with. Even the dumb parts. Especially the dumb parts.”

Her vision was going blurry.

“I love you, Wednesday Addams. I love you so much it’s kind of terrifying.”

She closed her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She remembered the way she’d sat there that day, silent, listening to you say those words. And not saying them back.

She hadn’t said them back.

She should've said them back...

“I know you’re not great at feelings,” your voice said gently. “And that’s okay. I’ll carry the feelings for both of us. I’ll carry all of it, if you let me.”

And then—your smile again, alive in your words.

“Okay, that’s enough sappy nonsense. I’m gonna go get some food and then fall asleep surrounded by empty ribbon spools like a tired goblin. Goodnight, my love. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The call ended.

Silence fell again, deafening.

Wednesday stared at the screen. At your name. The last of you, trapped in a speaker, looped in time.

She tried to swallow. Her chest didn’t move.

Her hand fell limply to her lap, phone still in it.

The first sob escaped before she could kill it.

It tore from her throat like it had claws.

She fell on her knees, folding in on herself as if trying to make her body small enough to disappear.

The sound that came from her mouth was not human. It was grief in its rawest form—broken, bloody, bare, clawing its way up from a place deeper than marrow. Her shoulders shook with the weight of it. Her hands trembled as she covered her face. She tried to contain it, tried to trap it behind her teeth like everything else, but it spilled out anyway.

Sobs tore through her.

Violent. Heaving. Shattering.

She cried like she was trying to bring you back. Like if she cried hard enough, the flowers would listen. That the pressed petals on the shelves would breathe again. That your laughter might echo down the hall. That time might open a door and let you walk through it.

She gasped for air between sobs that didn’t stop. Her fists clenched in her lap until her nails carved crescents into her palms. Her face was wet, red, contorted in a way it had never been allowed to be.

And she hated it.

She hated how much it hurt. She hated how empty her vengeance had felt. How no amount of screaming or slicing or orchestrated executions could fill the space you left behind. She had tied your murderer’s fate to his own family. She had set the guillotine. She had delivered death with poetry.

And none of it changed anything.

You were still gone.

She sobbed.

Loud, broken, primal. The kind of sound a person makes when nothing is left. When even memory turns to dust in their throat.

She screamed your name once. It cracked mid-syllable.

Her hands clutched a wilted daisy from the floor. The petals crumbled in her palm.

“You were a flower,” she whispered, her voice foreign and cracked and barely human.

She closed her eyes.

“You were the only thing I ever believed in.”

Her body shook with the weight of it. With the memory of your laugh. Your voice. The way you’d say her name like it meant something good. Like she meant something good.

“So why didn’t they save you?” she whispered. “Why didn’t the flowers save you?”

Silence. Her nails dug into the floor.

No answer came.

Only the sound of her breathing too hard. Of her tears hitting the ground. Of the shop creaking with the wind from outside, where it was still night. Where the world still spun without you in it.

She looked up. At the hanging bundles above her—flowers you once raised, once spoke to, once loved.

They were silent now.

Ashamed.

And then she asked the question.

The question that had no one left to answer.

“Are flowers even real?”

[Author's note: Yeah, this is very much inspired from a movie, guess it in the comments, also let me now how did this angst feel lol.]

Taglist: @rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk @mally-ka @protozoario @machyishere @freakshow2501 @101rizzlrr @jinxslapdog @just-zy @gray-cheese @hellenheaven @blue-because-no-yellow @thyhooligans

[typingoreos]

I want you to want me

[typingoreos]

Where Light Bends Wrong - Epilogue | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Masterlist

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Tyler.

Crackstone.

Thornhill.

Lara.

Wednesday.

It’s dark, but I’m no longer cold. I’m not warm either though. I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’ve become one with this endless nothingness. 

I don’t know how I got here, where I’m going, or how much time has passed since I got here, but I’m here.

Please.

I frown. 

Please.

The voice… It’s not my own and it’s not part of the darkness, but it tugs on something deep inside me. If only there was a me left. 

All there is is this darkness and nothingness. This endless–

“Please!”

I jolt and my eyes fly open. Coldness rushes through me and I blink. It’s dark, but not as dark as it was a second ago. There’s a familiar golden glow…

“No, no, no.” 

There’s that voice again. 

My head lolls to the side in search of the source of that voice and when my eyes land on Wednesday of all people, everything that happened comes rushing back to me.

Thornhill tricking me. Crackstone’s resurrection. Wednesday fighting Crackstone. And then me, saving Wednesday from Crackstone.

Almost at the same time as the memories, a searing pain shoots through my stomach, radiating up and down my entire body.

Crackstone. 

The dagger–the one Wednesday threw at me to test me. 

I cringe at the memory of the blade piercing my stomach… How wickedly Crackstone smiled as the life drained out of me before tossing me away.

Wednesday. 

I watch her, hunched over me with her hands pressed against my stomach. I can’t see her face properly because it’s angled away from me, but her shoulders are shaking as she cries silently. She’s covered in dust and her hair and clothes are ruffled, and there’s still some blood on her temple.

Before Thing got stabbed, I never thought I’d live to see her cry, and after, I hoped to never see it again. But here we are…

She’s crying over me. Why’s she crying over me? Oh right, Crackstone stabbed me. Wait, did I die? No. That can’t be. If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now. Unless I’m a ghost.

Oh no, please don’t let me be a ghost. That is a fate worse than death. 

No, I’m not a ghost. I’m in too much pain. Ghosts surely don’t feel pain, right? Right?

There’s another flicker of golden light. My eyes drift to my stomach, and that’s when I see it. The veins in Wednesday’s hands are glowing gold.

Wait…

She doesn’t seem to notice because she’s got her eyes squeezed shut, a tear rolling down her cheek and dripping onto her glowing hands. Her face is twisted in a grief stricken grimace, unlike anything I’ve ever seen on her before and I instinctively go to lift my hand to touch hers, but I’m too weak.

My fingers twitch though and her eyes snap to them before she looks up, her gaze meeting mine. 

She shudders and gasps, a stray tear dripping down her cheek. “Y/N?”

I can feel the grief and pain radiating off her, making my heart clench, so I try to smile a little and whisper around the dryness in my throat, “The one and only…”

She blinks rapidly, almost as if not believing what she’s seeing before wordlessly hauling me up by the front of my shirt and pulling me into a hug.

I groan at the blinding pain shooting through my stomach and wince at the awkward angle, but hug her back nonetheless. Well, if you call my fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform’s jacket hugging back that is.

“H-How?” she stutters, tightening her grip when I sag against her a little more. “You’re dead. You died. You can’t be–You’re–”

“Obviously not dead,” I whisper. I cough and almost gag at the taste of blood in my mouth that I’m only now noticing.

Wednesday pulls back and shifts so I’m leaning back against her. It’s a much more comfortable position, but now I can’t see her face anymore, only her hands which are on my stomach again, pressed against the stab wound which has somehow stopped bleeding. 

It’s stopped bleeding… Her veins are still glowing gold.

“Your hands,” I acknowledge finally.

“Wha–?” 

I feel her breath hitch by my ear as we both watch the way the glow pulses in time to her heartbeat. 

“How are you doing that?” I ask quietly, feeling the pain in my stomach slowly but surely subside, making way for a warm, grounding feeling. 

“I don’t know,” she admits breathlessly. 

“Wednesday!” 

I look up to see Bianca rushing across the burned Quad, a frantic look on her face. When she notices I’m with Wednesday, her eyes widen even more and she drops to her knees once she’s next to us.

“What happened? Are you okay?” she asks Wednesday, her eyes roaming over the raven haired girl behind me before they move to me. “Are you?”

Her voice comes out shrill at the sight of my blood-soaked shirt. 

Wednesday mumbles something about being okay, and I take a moment to delight in the warm feeling in my stomach before nodding as well.

“Where’s Enid?” I ask, suddenly panicking at the thought of the blonde. Wednesday stiffens too at the reminder of her roommate, but Bianca is quick to reassure us that she’s fine.

“She and Ajax fought Tyler in the woods. They’re both fine and Tyler’s been taken into custody by Galpin.”

I feel relieved that she’s fine, but for a moment I can’t help but feel bad for Galpin, having to arrest his own son. Then again, though, my pendant pulses gold one last time, making me snap out of my thoughts, before it stops glowing. Wednesday’s hands stop glowing too, and I don’t have to look down to know that she somehow managed to heal me.

Bianca is still a little breathless, but she saw my pendants glow and now her eyes are filled with recognition. 

She knows what I am…

Her gaze meets mine, and she must see something in my eyes, because instead of commenting, she dips her chin wordlessly and says, “I’m going to get some more help. Thornhill is–?”

“Dead,” Wednesday deadpans, and a flash of surprise goes through Bianca’s eyes before she simply nods and gets up.

I watch her leave, the burnt grass crunching under her feet, before turning slightly to look at Wednesday who’s already looking down at me.

“You killed Thornhill?” I ask quietly, nonjudgemental, but still a little weak.

She shakes her head and sighs. “No, Eugene and his bees took care of her after I killed Crackstone.”

Probably not the right reaction to the death of a murderous lunatic, but I can’t help the tired chuckle that escapes me. “Good… You killed Crackstone?”

She nods.

I let out a sigh of my own and close my eyes for a moment, mumbling, “That’s my girl.”

A puff of air hits my temple, and I’m not sure if she’s amused, relieved, or embarrassed, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it’s over.

Addams’ have a long history with all kinds of outcasts.

I freeze when I remember what Thing signed and open my eyes again. Dark, red-rimmed eyes are watching me anxiously, almost as if afraid I might disappear so I quickly curl my fingers around Wednesday’s wrist in a reassuring touch.

Addams’ have a long history with all kinds of outcasts.

“You’re part Ægiryn,” I mumble. It’s the only explanation I can come up with to how she could have resurrected me. I’m sure the soul bond helped, too, but it must have been the Ægiryn blood in her that saved me. 

For the first time all night, Wednesday actually cracks a small smile and I find enough strength in me to reach up and over my shoulder to wipe the traces her tears left off her cheeks. 

“That’s the least surprising revelation of the night.”

I roll my eyes fondly and drop my hand again, exhaling softly. It’s been one hell of a day and all I want to do is sleep now. I’m more tired than ever before, but I know it will be a while before I can go to bed because I hear the other students who fled the school earlier returning, police and teachers in tow.

For now, we have one more moment of peace though, so I grab Wednesday’s hand and lace our fingers together, asking, “So, tell me. What is an Addams appropriate gift for me to get your parents when I come visit for Christmas?”

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It’s done. Finally. I know it’s a little short but I will write that Christmas one shot and maybe if the mood strikes a second story (same characters and everything) based on season 2.

Thank you so much for all the support you guys have shown ❤️

Tag list:

@sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97 @hellenheaven @iwshemj2 @jizzuo308 @trashcannotbealive @gloriousvariant @brocoliisscared @1863rdorv-reader @fck-this-name @iamprodigious @kiwidreamersstuff @rillylogers

[typingoreos]

Lullaby

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Warnings : None

Summary: Wednesday tries to teach you to play the cello. It’s not going well so far… Oh, and Enid is there as well, for support.

Standalone One-Shot

Established Relationship - Fluff/Comfort - Slice of Life

Y/N sits by Wednesday’s desk on a small stool. Wednesday adjusting her arms to hold the cello properly.

“I don’t think I’m doing this quite right,” Y/N says. Wednesday replies, “Brilliant observation. What’s wrong.?” Y/N huffs, “Uhhh, this hand goes here?”

She moves her hand slightly. Wednesday looks at her blankly. “Well done; maybe you aren’t hopeless.”

Across the room, Enid watches them with her legs swinging in the air. It looks like a scene right out of a coming-of-age movie. “I feel like I’m watching a gothic romance. It’s beautiful.”

“Say that again and you might have to wear a hat tomorrow.” Wednesday starts to adjust Y/N’s hand placement again, not even looking back at Enid to see her reaction.

With Wednesday’s approval, Y/N tries to play a singular note from the song Wednesday showed her. Enid covers her ears as the room fills with an uneven screech. It could be confused with a dying raven.

“Not as bad as I expected.” Wednesday comments. “Are you sure?” Enid yells.

“Now now, ladies, one at a time.” Y/N replies dryly. “Why am I doing this again?”

“Because I told you to. Try again, but move your hand like this.” Wednesday uses Y/N’s hands to play the note. Hers is drastically better; it actually sounds like something musical.

“Maybe I can play… do it again.” Wednesday just looks at her blankly. Y/N sighs but plays the note again—by herself. It’s slightly better. The cello doesn’t screech as loud, but the sound is still uneven and a bit shaky.

“Atrocious. If the goal was to hurt someone, I’d enjoy it.” Wednesday says amused, well—as amused as she can be. “Here.” Wednesday moves to help her.

“Your grip is too tight, cara mia. It has to glide; it’s not a piano.” Y/N sighs. Enid doesn’t comment on the nickname; she treasures her hair too much to risk losing it. Wednesday shoots her a disturbing glare anyways.

“Again.” With a groan, Y/N plays the note again. The cello sings instead of cries, as if it was finally given life. Wednesday studies her in the same way an artist examines their final creation.

“Acceptable… move on.” Wednesday says, a little absentmindedly, like her mind was occupied elsewhere. She simply watches as Y/N plays the notes on the music sheet. The music is off, barely in tune, but it’s there, and it’s heard throughout the room.

By the end of it, the room is quiet. “It’s not the worst piece I’ve heard.” Wednesday says, like a proud parent. Enid feels the need to encourage Y/N as well. “I didn’t want to stick my head in Wednesday’s knife drawer that time!”

“Well, that’s a start.” Y/N grumbles. “Also, knife drawer?” Wednesday ignores the comment. She retunes the cello and has Y/N try again. Her second attempt at ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ is amusing, but the song is intelligible.

Enid hums along, following the off-key notes humorously.

“I think I did an excellent job.” Y/N comments after the third try. “Adequate. But yes.” Wednesday says flatly, but softly—for her at least.

╰────╮

Word Count: 528

A/N: I like how this one turned out, hope you do too!

[typingoreos]

Woe out the Storm game? Kinda?

Okay, with season 2 right around the corner, let's get a bit of a bit of hype going.

Give me a headcanon, your favorite moment from the story, or something you'd like to see, and in turn I'll answer a question you have, or maybe even write a small scene based on a prompt you might give me. (It can be before Season 1 or during Season 1 and involve any characters you want)

Use asks, or comment here and I'll make one big post with all the scenes I end up writing.

And for those that are only now learning about this story, here's a link to the story masterlist.

Woe out the Storm (Wednesday Addams x female Reader)

Ongoing (18/? chapters - 86.5k)

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

[typingoreos]

Y/n: *Giggling.

Wednesday: What?

Y/n: *In her mind "Baldnesday"