onwednesdayswewrite

[onwednesdayswewrite]

everyone but her pt.44

Summary: You and Wednesday have an argument. Probably the first one in as long as you can remember.

Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: swearing, unwanted advances, delusions Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

You were still spitting werewolf hair out of your mouth an hour after getting back home.

It had been a mad dash to get Eugene and Enid to the hospital. You had been able to carry Enid, but both Ash and Wednesday had to share Eugene��s weight. The doctors were quick to take them back and assess the damage, and the three of you were left waiting out front.

Thankfully, Enid healed fast and Eugene wasn’t as bad as he looked.

“You know,” you said as you fell onto the couch, “I think we’re one accident away from being banned from the friend group.”

All the air was pushed from your lungs as Wednesday fell on top of you.

“I believe you may be correct.”

“At least they’re okay,” you said.

Wednesday simply hummed in agreement. The weight of her body resting on yours was comforting. Her elbow was digging into a still-forming bruise on your ribs, but it didn’t hurt. Not really. Not when her ring rested securely around your finger. Not when your ring gleamed in the artificial light of the apartment, illuminating every inch of her entire being.

Engaged. Oh geez, you would probably need to tell your family at some point. Abuelita and Momma knew of your plan, at least most of it, but this wasn’t exactly expected. Surely they wouldn’t get onto you, right? It wasn’t like you had planned on Wednesday whipping it out so soon, she still hadn’t graduated yet. Everyone knew marriage before graduation was a recipe for disaster.

Well, maybe it would be fine. After all, Wednesday Addams was anything but normal.

Something tickled the back of your throat.

“I hate werewolf hair,” you said as you tried to cough it up.

“You shouldn’t have bit him,” Wednesday said matter-of-factly. “You were aware of the outcome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled.

Silence fell over the apartment, and the wear and tear of the evening finally started to settle. While not the worst fight you had been in, there was nothing gentle about a werewolf. Simply holding on to his neck was enough to throw you around, leaving your body sore and stiff.

Wednesday, in a strange way, was like your personal ice pack. It was lovely.

Something rattled against the wooden table near the kitchen. It cut through the silence like a knife. Both you and Wednesday jumped. In a move that was uncharacteristic of your girlfriend - fiancee, you thought giddily - she looked at you until you nodded in silent permission before getting up from your lap.

You stared at her ass shamelessly as she walked over to the table and grabbed her phone.

“Everyone okay?” You asked after she set the phone back on the table.

“Eugene is awake, and Enid is back home,” she said.

You pushed yourself up from the couch. “Good.”

Your knee creaked as you shuffled over to the table. The logical part of your brain knew they would be okay; Eugene was tough, and Enid was… well, she was Enid. And she was tough as nails. But there was still a part that worried they wouldn’t be okay. That you and Wednesday had shown up too late, and you would have to sit by idly while they died.

They should have, the voice in your head said. They should have died in the woods.

Then there was that part that you just wanted to shut up.

“No more woods for any of us, right?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around Wednesday’s waist. From that position, she smelled of the damp forest.

“For anyone,” she answered quickly. “Enid can transition into a house dog.”

You laughed to yourself at the thought. Enid? Your Enid? She could never. After she had turned for the first time, she had been an insatiable little beast. If she couldn’t get outside - which had only happened twice - she would cry and whine and practically knock the door down until she could leave the confines of the apartment. It was endearing.

And a little expensive.

Mention of the woods made you pause.

“How did you know Enid and Eugene were in the woods?” You asked. She hummed inquisitively. “You ran out of the apartment like you knew exactly where they were.”

“I did,” she said. “I saw it in my vision.”

“What?” You asked, unwrapping your arms and stepping back. It was like a jolt of electricity had gone through your body.

“Twice, actually,” she said as if you hadn’t just pulled away from her calming… coldness? Was that the right word?

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

Still, she didn’t turn around. “Once at your mother’s faux charity gala, then again after exchanging rings-”

“-stop, time out,” you said. A little louder than necessary, you would admit. “What do you mean, visions?”

Finally, Wednesday turned around. She had a look on her face that eerily resembled the not-deer you occasionally saw in the woods. Not afraid per se, but fearful. Striking an unsettling cord in your own chest while doubtless hers felt the same.

“We were both students at the school specifically for Outcasts,” she said simply.

“I know that,” you grumbled. “But you never told me anything about visions.”

Her head tilted to the left. “Why do you believe I was at Nevermore?”

You could have laughed. Truly, you could have. Why did you believe she was there? It was obvious why she was there, everyone had seen her! All it took was one look before everyone figured out why she was there. Hell, if she had said she created Nevermore, you would have believed her!

“Because you’re a fucking freak!” You said. “Respectfully,” in a softer tone. “And you tried to kill some people.”

“You were mistaken.”

Well no shit, you thought. How could she not have told you? Sure, maybe you had never asked, but you didn’t think you had to. Had everyone else known she had visions? Were you the only one who had no earthly clue what your own fiancee was at the Freak School for Serious Freaks for? She… she didn’t think you didn’t care, right?

She lied to you, the voice hummed. Effortlessly.

No, she hadn’t lied. It was an omission of facts, that was all. Which… oddly enough, didn’t make you feel any better. She really hadn’t even hinted at anything? Just let you think she was constantly having some sort of freaky seizure, or fainting, or who knew what other horrible thing you could think of. And she just… didn’t tell you?

She dragged you into danger, the voice taunted. Find out why.

“What did you see about the woods?” You asked. “About Eugene and Enid.”

“I saw them injured on the ground while…” she paused. That wasn’t right. “Someone stood over them.”

Why would she pause?

“Who did you see?”

She didn’t answer. Wednesday didn’t answer, and that wasn’t right. You two didn’t keep things from each other, that just wasn’t how you operated. You don’t tell her about me, the voice said, but you pushed it aside. You had partially told her about the voice before; this wasn’t the same.

“Wednesday,” you said again, “who did you see?”

Her singular deep inhale should have been answer enough.

“You.”

“Jesus Christ, Wednesday,” you said with a harsh exhale.

Your fingers ran through your hair, getting caught in tangles and picking out twigs and leaves. How could that have happened? How could she have seen you standing over them? You of all people? You would rather die than hurt Enid or Eugene, on purpose or on accident.

“These visions aren’t fact, they can change,” Wednesday said matter-of-factly. How could she be so calm? This was serious.

“Who else have you seen me hurt?” You asked; your voice was getting higher. “If you think I could hurt Enid and Eugene, then who else?”

Her typical glare softened. You didn’t want it to soften. You wanted her to tell you that you were being ridiculous. Why couldn’t she do that? She needed to tell you that things were fine, she wasn’t serious, and her visions were just a… a silly goofy time or some bullshit like that.

But she didn’t. She didn’t say anything, just looked at you like you were a kicked puppy. Your mouth was salivating; drooling, if you wanted to be brutally honest about it. Blood rushed through your body, sounding like waves against the shore. Except it wasn’t as pretty.

Say something.

“Who, Wednesday?” You pleaded. Begged.

Pathetic.

“Mack.”

You know the rush of adrenaline you get after doing something risky or exciting? When you felt elated, invincible, like nothing could touch you. If anything, you felt like you were on top of the world.

Yeah, you didn’t feel that.

You felt the crash. The drop in your stomach that made you feel ill. Trembling hands hung by your side. Wednesday was still looking at you, waiting for a response. Or waiting to see if you would lose your shit.

“Fuck you, Addams.” There wasn’t much else you could say. There wasn’t much else to say.

Wednesday’s eyes went wide before quickly returning to a scowl.

“I said they weren’t fact,” she argued.

“No, no, hang on,” you said, shaking your head. You took a step away. “Let’s forget, for five fucking seconds, that my own fiancee didn’t tell me about her visions.”

She blinked once, but otherwise tried to appear unphased.

“Now you think I would hurt- no, kill Mack?” Another step back; the back of your skull tingled. “I would never put his wife and kid through that!”

“I know.”

She said it too quickly. Did she really know? It wasn’t the first time she had potentially accused you of some sort of violence. When your therapist was murdered, she was hesitant about your innocence even though she said otherwise.

She doesn’t believe you.

Yeah, that much was obvious. For all the steps you had taken away from her, she had yet to step closer. Against popular belief, you did have a logical part of your brain. It knew why Wednesday didn’t come closer and chase you.

But the logical side was drowned out by the overwhelming paranoia that was sitting on your chest. It creeped through your arteries, prying open every valve and filling every inch of your heart until you couldn’t breathe and your fingers went cold.

She doesn’t trust you.

You knew that.

She thinks you’re dangerous.

You knew that too.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. A prison, just for you. You were accutely aware of each and every feather on your wings. Each breath you took rattled in your ears like some kind of ghost.

Out of the corner of your eye, someone was just standing there. Watching you. Waiting for you to lose it and make a mistake. Like usual. Like always.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t do this.” Your voice was so quiet you weren’t even sure if you had psoken at all.

Wednesday didn’t say a word.

The figure creeped closer. Not with steps, no, he never actually moved. He just appeared closer. Your chest felt tighter. A paralysing sense of doom fell upon you. It didn’t land like a blanket, covering you completely. More like it settled on you like snow; small, almost unnoticeable until it was too late and you were trapped under it’s weight.

The figure appeared closer again.

Run.

“I have to go,” you said.

When you turned your head, the figure disappeared back into the shadows.

You had to leave. Something was wrong and you could feel it. It was in the apartment, hiding in some forgotten corner, waiting for you to walk by so it could drag you back to the depths of limbo.

“Where are you going?” Wednesday asked when you stepped into the hallway.

You didn’t know how you had gotten there.

A new feeling crawled into your throat and left a lump.

“Why don’t you ask your visions?” You shot back. Wednesday visibly flinched. “I’m sure they’ll tell you.”

You didn’t wait for an answer before shutting the door and leaving the building.

—---

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

You blinked once, and all the sounds of your surroundings assaulted your ears.

The bartender was waiting for an answer.

You stammered out a response, fully unaware of what was requested. The bartender nodded and smiled politely. You blinked once. When your eyes opened again, you were seated on one of the stools at the bar. It was rather nice. The wood was polished so well you could see your sad, pathetic reflection on top of the reddish wood.

“Here you go,” the bartender said softly as he slid the lowball glass in front of you.

By all accounts, it was a lovely-looking drink. A dark amber liquid filled the glass around a singular sphere of ice; a ripoff. The smallest sliver of spiraled orange peel rested precariously on the rim. On closer inspection, you even saw two cherries at the bottom of the glass. Alright, that made up for the lack of liquor.

The glass was cold as you lifted it to your lips and took a sip.

And shuddered.

You hated old fashions.

As the drink disappeared sip by sip, your thoughts ran rampant. After all those years dating, and all that time being friends - or acquaintances, if you asked Wednesday - how could she have never told you about her vision? Not even a hint!

Not even from your so-called friends.

And that was another thing. Had everyone else known? Even just some of them? You didn’t know which was worse. That everyone knew and didn’t fill you in on that important fact, or no one did. Actually, scratch that, you hoped no one knew. At least it meant you weren’t the odd one out.

They all lied to you.

It made you angry; irrationally so. Wednesday, the woman you loved and planned on marrying, hadn’t told you the crucial fact of what her Outcast ability was. She had hidden it from you for years. Had let you stay in the dark.

Just like Nicky.

Maybe… you had some trust issues with psychics.

From the mirror behind the bar, Nicky stared at you with a malice you hadn’t seen in him. It was wrong. He should never have that look about him. Not your Nicky.

But he smiled like him.

“Buy you another round?”

You practically had to rip your eyes away from Nicky’s to face-

“-Mr. Stokes?” You asked incredulously.

“Please, that makes me feel old,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Call me Eric.”

You weren’t sure you wanted to. This was the man who had represented your parents for… well, for as long as you could remember. He had been the one that attempted to give you a shit plea deal. Sure, he had always been nice outside of that. Even when you were younger he had expressed a soft spot for you, which was kind.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to call him by his first name.

“Sure.” You still didn’t call him Eric.

“So can I?” He asked. “Buy you a drink?”

You looked back down at your empty glass. It had not been good. If anything, it had been rather disgusting; you preferred something sweeter. But you could feel a nice little buzz forming in the back of your skull, and for a moment you weren’t quite as upset with Wednesday as you had been. Granted, the more you thought about it, the more upset you got.

Out of the corner of your eye, you studied Stokes. He was looking professional, yet far too casual for your liking. Surely it was inappropriate for you to be talking to him without Moreno, right? You weren’t under arrest but… you learned quickly not to talk to anyone without your lawyer present. What if he questioned you? Or tried to trick you into trouble again? No, Wednesday would have wanted you to keep your mouth shut.

Wednesday lied to you.

On second thought.

“Sure,” you said with a tight-lipped smile.

With the grace of an alcoholic, Stokes ordered something for the both of you. You didn’t bother listening; at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. The plan for the rest of the night had changed slightly, but the gist was the same. Have a drink, get so hammered you can’t fly straight, and go home to beg forgiveness from your hot goth fiancee.

Life was pretty simple.

The dense muscles at the joints of your back tensed, causing your wings to twitch. Your breath caught as you hastily pulled them tight against your back. The last thing you needed was to cause an incident in a nice bar in… well, you weren’t entirely sure where you were, but it was too nice for you, that was for sure.

“You know,” Stokes said in a sleazy tone. “Your parents might not like them, but I find them rather stunning.”

His fingers carded through the feathers closest to him. The simple touch sent a jolt of white-hot shame through your every nerve. He shouldn’t be touching them. They weren’t for him. Almost instantly, you felt dirty. Like you were tainted now that someone who wasn’t an Outcast had touched you.

You hummed a simple “thanks” and shifted, practically hiding your wings from his view. He didn’t need to see them. It wasn’t any of his business. The only ones who could do so were your friends and your family. And even then, touching them was a privilege reserved for the few. It was not a right.

He sighed and sat back on his stool. “Haven’t seen you since your arraignment,” he said. “You look good.” Gag. “How has therapy been?”

A mangled body was leaning against a tree, similar to how you had been when Yoko had found you. The only difference was, while your wings had been outstretched, his arms were stretched in the same way. His clothes were tattered and hanging off a decomposing frame.

“Well, my therapist was murdered and I haven’t found a new one yet,” you shrugged, “so.”

At his shocked silence, you both looked forward facing the bar, and took a large mouthful of your drinks. It didn’t sting like the old-fashioned, which was nice. No, it coated your tongue and the back of your throat in an almost syrupy texture. Too thick for your liking, but again, you weren’t paying, so who were you to complain?

“My, uh, condolences,” he said once he placed his empty glass back on the bar.

He doesn’t care.

No shit. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

You took another long drink and inhaled deeply. The overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke infiltrated your senses. Whoever was smoking needed to make themselves known and soon. You always did your best not to smoke because, as everyone always pointed out, it was unsightly. Disgusting, is what Ash had called it. And honestly, you agreed.

But not when you were drunk, and not when you were alone, and certainly not when you were drunk and alone.

Being drunk - you weren’t there quite yet, but you were no quitter - made you realise something extremely important. You missed Wednesday. And you were still mad at her, but you missed her more than you cared about holding a grudge. If she hadn’t told you, surely there had been a reason. Wednesday never did anything without prior planning, so you had no doubt she knew what she was doing. Or even more unlikely, she had genuinely just forgotten you didn’t know. You wouldn’t blame her; your ignorance surprised even you sometimes.

You wanted to go home and see her. Maybe give her an idea or two of how she could make it up to you, and you could spend the entire weekend making amends. And in the throes of passion, you could propose properly and she would lay there and say “I love you, cara mia.” It would be romantic and all kinds of out of character and you didn’t care.

Nicky was in the bar mirror once again as you looked up. He was standing directly behind you with something less malicious in his eyes. Something about him still wasn’t right. It was in the slight tilt of his head. The sneer on his lips. The menacing stance as he stood right behind you and placed his scarred hand on your shoulder.

The mix of scalding heat and freezing cold on your shoulder would have been enough to shock anyone into a heart attack. It spread from his hand, chasing each other further down your arm until the burn scars tingled from the sensation. It was unpleasant. You didn’t want it to stop.

It was an impulse; instinct even, to turn around. He was more similar to a Not Nicky, but you wanted to see him. To look into his eyes again, even just one more time. But when you turned your head and looked, he was gone. Gone because he had never really been there. Gone because you could never really get him back.

You killed him.

“See someone?” Stokes asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

Slowly, you turned back to stare into your drink. “Guess not.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod slowly. He wanted to say something else, you knew he did. He was a lawyer, for fuck’s sake, he would never be done talking. As far as you were concerned, it was part of the job, and he fulfilled his duties well.

His knee pushed against yours.

You wanted to see Wednesday.

“I should start heading home,” you said, pulling your leg away from his.

“Why?” He asked with a curious lilt.

“Wednesday is waiting up for me,” you said simply.

“No, she’s not.”

“She is, and I forgot my phone so I’d better get going.”

“Do you even know where you are?”

You froze halfway off the stool. No, you didn’t. Nothing about the bar had been able to tell you where exactly you were in the world. It was easy enough to mark off that you were still in the United States; everyone spoke in a very clear dialect. But aside from that, you had no clue. All you knew was the bar was far too nice for you, and you were starting to feel that bundle of anxiety forming in the bottom of your stomach.

“Since you’re here,” you started, “I’m assuming DC.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Stokes said quickly. “It doesn’t become you.” He looked you up and down. “Did you two have a fight?”

“She went out with friends,” you lied effortlessly. Or so you hoped. “I hadn’t meant to be gone this long.”

You tried to stand up again. Just as quickly, his warm, clammy hand grabbed your forearm. It was almost instinct to swing on him. You wanted to do it; his smug face was becoming increasingly irritating. The faint conversations and the barely audible piano in the corner eased into your brain. It was calming; a nice reminder that you were in public.

“Please don’t touch me,” you said aloud. I’ll slit your throat, is what you kept to yourself.

“We both know you don’t need to rush home,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled. It was repugnant. “Your little girlfriend isn’t waiting up for you.”

She was. You knew she was; it was Wednesday. Not once had she ever gone to sleep while you were out, not even a simple nap. She would wait up until you walked through the door. Would she go to sleep immediately after that? Yes, sometimes, but she would never do so without knowing you were safe.

He’s lying.

“I don’t think we should be talking anymore,” you said.

“What, without your lawyer?” He asked with a low chuckle. “You’re not under arrest.”

He was too close. You were able to keep the bar stool in between you, but that didn’t really matter when he kept leaning over it. His thumb was rubbing circles on your inner forearm and you felt sick. It was scratchy and so very unlike Wednesday’s. Hers would have been comforting. This wasn’t.

“Thank you for the drink,” you said softly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Gently, you pulled your arm back towards your body. He let his fingers trail down your arm, tickling the skin until you were released from his clutches. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, but you still refused to look at him. Sometimes, playing meek worked; you hoped it would work again.

You only took two steps away before he spoke.

“How are those murder investigations going?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he continued. “Your sheriff called me a few weeks ago.” Don’t turn around. “He asked if I thought you were capable of murder.” Don’t. “Or your little girlfriend.”

No. Wednesday would have never killed someone. She killed that hunter. Okay, she would have never killed someone that didn’t deserve it. Maybe she was creepy, sure, and seemed a little unstable in the moral department, but she was no murderer. Who the hell did he think he was? Who the hell did the sheriff think he was?

When you turned, you were greeted with another ominous grin. You were of half a mind to show him just how capable of murder you really were. He wouldn’t be so smug if he knew half the shit you had done just to survive, let alone for fun. And if he so much as breathed in the direction Wednesday was, you would correct his behaviour promptly and efficiently.

Let him talk, Wednesday’s own voice echoed in your head. Let him talk himself into a corner.

“Obviously I haven’t told him anything yet,” he continued, taking a step closer. “I’d hate to see such a pretty thing locked up.” His hand reached out and grabbed your own, interlocking your fingers. A coil twisted in your stomach.

“What do you want?” You choked out.

You wanted to deck him.

“Some colleagues are coming over to my place,” he said with a shrug, “and I’m due for a promotion.” 

“At,” you looked at his watch, “2 in the morning?”

“It’s a nightcap,” he said coolly. A lie. “Be a dear and be my arm candy for the night, would you?”

The very thought of being his “arm candy” was repulsive. Forget the fact that you were dutifully bound to Wednesday in every way imaginable. This man had known you from the moment you were born. He had watched you grow up and had attempted to assist your parents in throwing you in jail. And he wanted you to help him? It was preposterous, you would never agree to it.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll call your sheriff back and say you and your girlfriend wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Well shit.

Over Stokes’ shoulder, you met Nicky’s eyes in the mirror. This was the moment you needed him to speak again and tell you not to go. That you and Wednesday would be just fine on your own and, quite frankly, the sheriff probably hadn’t even called him. There was no investigation into the both of you, and the police were barely looking into the actual murders let alone the fake ones.

He didn’t say a word. Just a sinister smile that shoved a chill into your spine, leaving your entire body cold. But it quickly passed and you were left with a warmth, spreading from your chest to every fingertip and toe. The message was clear. You nodded once, slowly enough for Stokes to not even notice.

“Let’s go.”

—---

As much as you despised the situation, you couldn’t deny; Stokes’ apartment was ridiculous. It was massive, and not in a tasteful way. You wouldn’t say you were a professional when it came to big spaces, but you knew tasteful. Tasteful was space to exist, but not too much where you felt alone even when other people were around. Tasteful was making the space your own, with knick-knacks or photos or… hell you didn’t know, boy band posters or something.

This wasn’t tasteful. It was obscene; large just to be large. An attempt at proving how impressive you were or how much money you made in a year. There was no pride in such an extravagant show of greed. If you were really looking for big words, you could describe the whole thing as gluttonous.

Wednesday would be so proud of your words.

All the men you were supposed to impress were tools. Absolute, total tools. From the moment you walked into the room with them, they eyed you like a piece of meat. It was humiliating. They even touched your wings after you explicitly told them not to. Fuck normies.

They drank. All of them. Most of the time they didn’t even talk about work, which led you to believe this was not a work function. (Which you secretly knew anyway because, let’s be real, who holds a work function at 2 in the morning?). The only thing they wanted to talk about was you. Not even to you, just about you.

“You could have at least hired someone to wear something nicer,” one of the men said.

Your feathers were, quite literally, ruffled.

“Oh please, she’s no escort,” Stokes said with a dismissive wave and a ridiculously fake laugh. “We go way back.”

The least annoying of the men looked at you. “Is that true, darling?”

Oh, you could gag.

You put on a brave face anyway. “It is,” you said with a polite smile. “Practically since I was in diapers.”

The look Stokes gave you was venomous. It didn’t hold a flame to Wednesday’s stare, but it was a decent attempt for a sleazy man. His grip on your waist tightened, and you barely resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. Sure, it would have been childish, but you honestly didn’t care. This felt like some weird hostage situation anyway, might as well get your way about something.

You could have gagged from how incredibly misogynistic they were. It was almost effortless how they talked down about… well, everyone actually. No wonder Wednesday always had a grudge against rich people even though he was one. The difference between the Addamses and these lawyers was like night and day, ironically. You didn’t think the Addamses could be more selfless, and yet the men around you were still talking of how they could fuck everyone up to stay ahead of the game.

Each of them took their shot at getting your attention. Whether it was brushing against your hand, or letting their fingers graze the sensitive feathers of your wings. Another had even tried - pathetically so - to kiss your neck. It was disgusting, and even worse, it had you rushing back to Stokes’ side. Which he, of course, got the greatest pleasure from.

As the minutes ticked by, your anxiety increased. You wanted to get home and see Wednesday; you wanted to see your family. Things were too chaotic, and all you wanted was for everything to slow down and go back to normal. Nicky was already in the corner of the room, so you were halfway there already! All you needed was Wednesday and things could be normal. Things could be nice.

While you were thinking about how much you missed your fiancee (which wasn’t unusual as it was almost exclusively the only thing you thought about), the pigs- oops, you meant men, finally finished their talks. A godsend, truly, to be able to not have to listen to them talk anymore. They had said so many words that meant absolutely nothing. It was practically enough to ease any resentment you held towards Wednesday’s lying by omission.

Any joy you felt at the men leaving was rapidly replaced with nothing less than genuine fear. They had been the buffer. Now that they were gone, you were stuck with Stokes. Alone. In his apartment. And he was looking at you with the drunken gaze of a predator in a college bar.

“Thank you for that,” he said, his words slurring ever so slightly. “I think you helped my case.”

“Then you better hold up your end,” you said. His head fell to the side as he furrowed his brows. “You’ll tell our sheriff that Wednesday and I weren’t involved in anything.”

His face relaxed. “About that,” he said, stepping closer. You took a step back. “I think there’s one more thing I need from you before I’m willing to make that call.”

Each step he took, you matched. All night you had been forced to put up with his ridiculousness. His wandering hands and eyes. His friends. Now it was time for him to hold up his end of the bargain. He was going to let you and Wednesday off the hook so you could both go be happy again.

When your back finally hit the wall, and Stokes effectively cornered you, you saw Nicky over his shoulder. Standing there; silent as always.

You had admitted to Wednesday that you had been seeing him again. The Not Nicky that had attempted to trap you in the burning house. Coaxing you to stay with thoughts of home and family and peace. But you hadn’t told her he never left. He stayed there, watching you, speaking to you. Becoming such an integral part of your day that if you didn’t see him, your anxiety spiked and your stomach dropped.

But he did not tell you what to do.

“Just one more thing,” Stokes said. His breath reeked of cheap liquor.

“Let me go home,” you said softly. Far softer than he deserved, but you weren’t looking to get your ass beat so late into the night.

His hand cupped your cheek, and you fought back the urge to knee him in the dick. The only person who could touch you like that was Wednesday. She was the only one who held not only the privilege but the right to touch you. Her hands were soft and shockingly cold; they held such a unique form of love.

Stokes had rough hands that left you feeling dirty.

“It’s too late for you to go back now,” he said, breath fanning across your face. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly if I didn’t have you stay.”

“I’ll be okay,” you said.

Beside you on the table rested a letter opener. A stunning opener with what appeared to be a pure silver handle and a sparkling blade. In the right hands, it was simple yet effective; lethal. He wouldn’t even notice if you reached over to grab it. The amount of alcohol in his system would make it painless, you were sure.

Nicky smiled.

You left it where it was.

“Agreeing to work with your prick of a father was the best thing I’ve ever done,” he said. He was so close, you hoped he couldn’t hear your heartbeat and believe it was excitement. “I always knew you’d be fucking gorgeous.”

Admittedly, you had always assumed your fight or flight response would be fight. After all, you were a rather… aggressive individual. But when Stokes kissed you, you froze. Every cell in your body was in such a panic that you couldn’t do anything. For a moment, everything felt like fog. Like you were looking at yours and Stokes’ bodies from where Nicky was standing. You looked petrified; he looked sloppy drunk.

When you re-noticed his lips on yours, you were yanked back into your own body. Your hands quickly pressed against his chest, pushing him away. There was a string of saliva hanging between your mouths. His eyes were opened wide and staring straight into your soul.

“I’m going home,” you said softly.

You pushed a little more, and he staggered back. Why he wasn’t saying anything, you didn’t know, but his staring was getting creepy. Slowly, you stepped around him, keeping your own eyes on him to make sure he didn’t do any funny business. He didn’t turn to follow you, or even look at you. Just stayed standing where he was, swaying lightly on his feet.

Nicky was gone.

With Stokes staying in his place, you made your prompt exit from the apartment. If he wasn’t going to say anything more, you weren’t going to question it. You just wanted to go home. Home. Your initial thought should have been of yours and Wednesday’s apartment.

That’s not what you imagined.

By the time you stepped out of the apartment onto the dimly lit streets, you were fully convinced of your next stop. It would be a quick flight. The sun still had yet to show itself, but a few people were out and about. Across the street, you saw a group of kids. They were looking at you with wide eyes and were slowly backing away. Perhaps they knew not to go near Stokes; you wouldn’t blame them.

Behind them, Nicky smiled and waved.

“Go home,” he said in a strained voice.

You walked down the street and started making your way towards home.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

This is so amazing, I can’t wait for more 😌

a cold reunion

Summary: Astrid hasn't visited her mother's old house in a while. She wonders if someone new has moved in by now. Maybe it'll be a "ghost," like her mother claims used to live there. Ha. She would be so lucky.

Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: mentions of death, Tim Burton style tones Pairing: Astrid Deetz x Reader A/N: I know absolutely nothing about this movie, only the original, so I'm just gonna have some fun with it

Being a Deetz was one of the most irritating parts of life. At least, it was in Astrid’s opinion. Even without her own uncommon interests, she was held to the standards of her mother. Because her mother was weird, everyone assumed she was too. Which she was, but it wasn’t fair she couldn’t make that statement for herself.

She used to have a friend. You had been new to town and hadn’t known anything about her mother. It led to a wonderful friendship. Her favourite classes were the ones you had together, and eventually, she invited you over outside of school. Everyone thought you were crazy to agree, but you never faltered.

Even her mother and grandmother liked you, saying you were a “good kid.” Astrid knew better, you were trouble. Always in detention or being scolded by teachers in the hallways. You were anything but a good kid when it came to following the rules. But she wouldn’t deny, you definitely sweet talked your way into her mother’s and grandmother’s good graces.

You had done the same to her, pulling her in until she didn’t want to leave. The first kiss had been under the bleachers at a football game; disgustingly cliche. You had tasted of the cigarettes you stole from your mom. A disgusting taste, but it was good on you.

But as soon as she really started to like you - a little more than like, she would admit - you disappeared. You hadn’t been at school that morning, and when she went to your mom’s work, she had said she didn’t know where you were. Said it was no surprise you left; you could do better than this town.

That had been two years ago. Your mom had left town not long after your disappearance. Everyone assumed she had done something to you; a suspicion that came from the simple fact that your mom was, as the town called it, “trailer trash.” She was a nice person, Astrid had always liked her. She didn’t blame the woman for leaving.

Even Astrid had left for college once school was over. What else was she going to do, stay put? No, she wanted to get started somewhere else. Somewhere she wouldn’t be saddled with the name Deetz like it was some kind of curse. She loved her mother more than she would ever care to admit. But she wanted to do something for herself.

It was winter break before she came back home.

“Leaving already?” Her mother called from the porch when she grabbed her bike and started walking it to the street. “You haven’t even been here for three hours.”

“I’m going to check on the house,” Astrid said with a shrug. “I heard the owners moved out.”

“They did, thank god,” her grandmother said. “They did that house no justice.”

Bold coming from you, Astrid thought but kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t stay out too late,” her mother said.

“Lydia dear, when you were her age, you were almost marrying a ghost,” her grandmother said. “Consider it karma.”

“Mom,” her mother sighed.

Astrid had already hopped on her bike and started down the street. The path to the old house was well-worn; everyone knew it. The old owners had tried their best to convince everyone the house wasn’t haunted, but most of the town didn’t believe it. At least none of the school kids. They had jumped at the opportunity to have a haunted house in town whether it was real or not.

You had always liked that old house. No one had ever fully convinced you that ghosts had lived there, but you liked the thrill of it. I don’t think they’re real, but what if? You had asked one night after sneaking in through her window. We should check it out one day. After you disappeared, she had avoided the house like the plague.

But Astrid knew the path by heart. Snow had been plowed from the streets, and the dutiful citizens had shoveled the bridge. When she approached said bridge, she slowed until she could get off the bike, walking it across instead of riding. Her mother had made it clear that under no circumstances was she to ride or drive over the bridge. It was a silly rule; she followed it anyway.

The house was more run down than usual. It shouldn’t have upset her as much as it did. After all, it wasn’t like she had really ever lived in the house anyway. But it was still part of everything she had known growing up. To see it practically falling apart was… well, it was nothing short of devastating.

Without taking her eyes off of the house, she propped her bike up by its kickstand and slowly made her way to the front door. Step by step, each stair creaked under her weight. The house was a little creepy. Maybe it would be best if she just didn’t go in. After all, the door was practically falling off the hinge, if she actually knocked it would-

-the door swung inwards.

And you were standing there in the doorway with your eyes wide. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” Astrid asked quietly.

You exhaled harshly, shoulders sagging with the movement.

“Want some tea?”

—---

Astrid looked as beautiful as the day you had left. Well, no, you hadn’t exactly left but… no, that was something you would face later. For the moment, you were going to enjoy seeing her again. It hadn’t been long, but she had grown into her own. Beautiful as always, too.

And way too quiet for your liking.

“Chamomile okay?” You asked when the kettle was near screaming.

She nodded once, not removing her eyes from you. It was unsettling; you had used to love it. Astrid wasn’t like normal girls, and not in the “too cool for school” kind of way. It was more of an “I’ll be me whether anyone likes it or not” kind of way. If she wanted to be weird and goth then she would and no one could stop her!

But you didn’t like how she was looking at you.

You placed the teabag in the mug and slid it in front of her. The kettle was only seconds away from screaming when you pulled it off the stove. No need to burst anyone’s eardrums. There was no point in being careful with the scalding water as you poured it into her mug.

“You disappeared,” Astrid said while you were mid-pour.

“About that,” you hummed.

“Does your mom know?” She continued. “That you’re right back where you started?”

Your mom. Momma. She had been left all alone after… how had she fared? Were the townspeople nice to her? They had better be, or you would personally bring hell to every single one of them.

“What does she think happened to me?” You asked as you turned around and placed the kettle back on the stove. You didn’t turn back around.

“What everyone else thinks,” Astrid said, “that you ran off.”

“Was she okay?”

“Honestly?” She asked. “She said she was glad you got out of this little town. Said you were too good for it anyway.”

Well that… that almost hurt worse than knowing she never knew the truth. Your momma hadn’t been perfect, but she had done the best with what she had. Time and time again, she had told you in her drunken stupor that you were destined for great things. You had always taken it to heart.

You need to tell her.

“Hey, Astrid?” You asked with a weak voice.

She hummed for you to continue.

“Remember in school when we would say we didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, why?”

With a sigh, you turned to look over your shoulder. Astrid’s head was tilted slightly in that way you always found cute. It didn’t click just yet. She just kept looking at you, waiting for you to continue. You raised your brows at her. She was almost there, you could tell by the slight crinkle in her nose, and- ah, there it was.

“You’re joking,” she said.

You gave her your best tight-lipped “white person” smile but otherwise didn’t answer.

“You saw one?” She asked.

Oh. Oh, no, she didn’t get it.

“Well, yes,” you said, turning your full body so you could lean back against the stove and look at her, “but that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are-” there it is “-oh.”

There was something in her eyes when realisation dawned. Her eyes, while a gorgeous dark brown, were usually so bright. So happy, even when she was trying to act like she didn’t care about the world around her. But this was different. Any brightness dimmed to practically nothing.

“How?” She asked.

You shrugged and looked away. “The football team pushed me off the bridge.”

It wasn’t a fond memory, that was for sure. The icy layer covering the river had been rather sharp. But even that hadn’t compared to the pain of inhaling freezing water deep into your lungs. From what you could remember, it was slow. A memory you didn’t enjoy having, but maybe one day it would go away.

“You were murdered?” Astrid asked incredulously; horrifically.

“I mean listen, it’s not too bad,” you attempted to play it off. “It got me out of taking winter finals, which we both know I would’ve failed.”

“But it’s-”

“-I know, Astrid,” you interrupted.

You liked Astrid. You would even go so far as to say you loved her, mostly probably. Were you young? Sure. A little stupid and naive? Absolutely. High school sweethearts? You would say so, yeah. But she instigated a little too much, and she wanted to know everything, but this just wasn’t really something you wanted to indulge her in. Not yet, anyway.

Astrid was quiet for a moment. The gears were turning in her head, you could practically smell the smoke coming off them. What was she thinking, you wondered. Was she dwelling on the fact that you had died, cold and slow and alone? You certainly hoped not, it wouldn’t change anything. You were dead, you were now a ghost, and long-distance relationships weren’t that hard any more thanks to technology, so you could both still make it work!

If she wanted, of course.

“I thought my mom said her ghosts were stuck in the house for, like, a century or something,” she said instead.

You laughed. That was much easier to answer. “I told their caseworker I’d take their place. You know, let them rest in peace, or whatever,” you waved your hands vaguely.

“Caseworker?”

“It’s a long story.”

“So you’re why the previous owners left?” She asked.

“Guilty as charged.” You wiggled your fingers in her direction and smiled.

For the first time all day, she smiled back. God, you missed her smile.

“If you really are a ghost,” she said with a tilt of her head, “how can you pick things up?”

“Ooh, we’re getting to the fun questions,” you said with a smile.

The look on Astrid’s face was perfect. Curious, distrusting. The best mix of emotions; you loved when she was uncertain. It was a more genuine look for her, instead of trying to act like she knew everything and always knew what to expect. Always made her look super cute, honestly.

You walked over to where she was sitting at the run-down table. She turned to keep facing you until you were standing directly in front of her. It was going to be a risk, but one you were very much willing to take. Worst case, you stay stuck in the stupid house forever. No different from your current predicament.

“Took me a few months to really get the hang of it,” you said. Her eyes sparkled again. “You just focus on what you want to touch,” she blushed, “and voila.”

Her blush vanished when you picked up the mug beside her. What you really wanted to do was touch her. Gods, you wanted to know if you could still feel her warmth, the softness of her skin. But it wasn’t time. No, she was probably still worried about the fact that you had… well, you know. Died.

“It took you months to figure out how to do that?” She asked with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up,” you huffed, placing the mug back on the table. “It wasn’t like I had much to work with.”

“Why didn’t you ask my mom’s old friends how to do it?” Astrid asked before leaning back against the table. “I’m sure they would’ve helped you.”

“Never actually had the pleasure of meeting them,” you said with a shrug. “I only got to meet the other guy.”

“The other guy?” She asked, looking away in thought for a moment before looking back at you. “Oh, you mean Beetlegeu-”

-you slapped your hand over her mouth before she could continue.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered.

She nodded once, and you pulled your hand away.

“Was he really that awful?” She asked, matching your tone.

“He was that annoying,” you grumbled. “God, I swore the guy would never shut up.”

Astrid did her little crooked smile and laugh. The one that you would always try your best to force out of her during class to get her in trouble. Wait, that sounded bad. You didn’t want her to get in trouble, you just would have enjoyed her presence in detention. With you.

“So what else did you take two years to learn?” Astrid asked. She leaned forward until she was so close you could smell her shampoo. “Anything exciting?”

Wait. Wait, this could be your chance. You might be able to do something about it, this could be your shot. Two years in limbo, sitting in a run down house that did nothing but remind you of Astrid with everything you saw. It was her family’s house. You couldn’t leave her even if you had wanted to.

“Well,” you said, “there is something I’ve been wanting to test out.” You looked up to meet her eyes. “May I?”

“Let’s see what you got, ghosty,” she said.

You nodded to yourself and focused. Focused on her body, more specifically her face. Her stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, smiling face. Day after day, you had been thinking of her, and you had hoped time and time again that somehow she would come back to the house.

One deep inhale, hold your breath. Your hands were shaking so badly you would have dropped everything had you been holding something in the first place. And yet, Astrid didn’t budge when you lifted your hands and placed them on either side of her face. Exhale.

Her body was absent of warmth. Astrid had never been an exceptionally warm individual to begin with but this was… different. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her that you couldn’t feel her. Sure, you could touch things, but you couldn’t feel any of it. It wasn’t something you could describe, except calling it surreal.

“May I?” You asked again.

You could feel her breath on your lips even as she nodded. It was all you needed to pull her into a kiss. There was still no warmth, but there was a… a comfort in it. In feeling her lips against yours again after so long. To feel her breath mix with yours, replacing everything you didn’t need but you so desperately craved.

Her hands attempted to settle on your hips but fell straight through. In turn, you felt her shoulders sag as she placed her hands on your knees instead. That was… not a nice feeling. Maybe you could learn to focus enough to let her feel you back. That was possible, right? Surely it was.

You pulled away slowly. If you could have stayed kissing her for the rest of your century in that hellhole, you would have. But unfortunately, Astrid still had to breathe, and you had to give her the space to do it. Earlier you had questioned if you had really loved her or if it was a puppy love?

Oh no. It was the real deal.

“You can’t leave at all?” Astrid asked. “Not even for an hour or so?”

“You mean the haunted house isn’t romantic?” You teased.

“What do you even do in here all day every day?” She asked.

Once again, she reached out to touch you. Somewhere, anyway. You looked down at where she was attempting to hold your hand. Maybe if you could focus really hard, it would work. As far as you knew, you couldn’t materialise. At least, you didn’t think you could. But if you really concentrated.

Her fingers slipped between yours and, for the first time in two years, you felt her squeeze your hand. Physical touch. Real physical touch.

“I, ah,” you stammered, looking down at where she was still holding your hand. “It’s in my contract to scare people.”

“Contract?” She asked. Your arm moved as she pulled you closer. Okay, maybe physical touch was a bit unfamiliar to you after so long, you would need to get used to it again.

“My caseworker says I have a quota to meet,” you said, finally looking back up to meet her eyes. “So many people each quarter, you know?”

“So you need people to scare?” She asked. “On a regular basis.”

There was a sparkle in her eye. Something dangerous; scandalous.

“You have something in mind?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

Her smile was vicious. And attractive.

—---

The house looked beautiful in the daylight. The paint was fresh, the inside was cosy, and when nighttime fell? Rumour had it the ghosts came out to play. That was why most people rented out the house; their own private haunting for a night. The listing said if you could survive the night, the stay was free. So far, no one had lasted long enough to even give it a good shot.

And as you stood at the end of the bed watching the young couple sprint down the stairs screaming, you knew they wouldn’t be the winners either.

You walked over to the window and watched as they threw their singular bag into their car and peeled out of the dirt driveway. It hadn’t even been any fun, they hadn’t given you any time to actually scare them. Hell, all you had done was stand at the bed! You hadn’t made any faces, hadn’t pulled any jumpscares, you had simply stood there.

Were you really that scary?

“Gone already?” Astrid asked in a sleepy voice as she walked to stand beside you at the window.

“Didn’t even stay long enough for me to have any fun,” you pouted.

“Well, you’ve hit your quota,” she said. She grabbed your arm and pulled it over her shoulder before tucking closer to your body. After a few months, you were finally starting to feel a bit of warmth from her.

At least, you thought you did.

“Your mom is coming by in the morning?” You asked.

She hummed her confirmation.

“Maybe I can try to scare her, then,” you said.

Astrid pulled you away from the window and started walking you toward your shared bedroom. Not that you really needed the sleep, but it was nice to be able to lay next to her. It was exhausting to keep a more physical form, but for her? You would do it all day every day.

“Good luck scaring her,” Astrid said as she pulled you onto the bed. “She practically grew up with ghosts.”

“I’ll scare your grandmother then,” you said softly, but she didn’t move.

Astrid was already asleep in your arms, just like you had always imagined. Maybe being dead really wasn’t as awful as everyone had always made it seem. After all, it got you your dream girl.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

everyone but her pt.42

Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.

Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldn’t have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.

However, with your family around… at least they treated the old home as it deserved.

Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the… unusual habits of the Addams family.

The only one that remained unusual was you.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadn’t heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadn’t even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.

At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.

There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.

“Would you pass the sugar, dear?” Mother asked you.

You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you weren’t entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.

“Daniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,” Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. “He’s asked numerous times about specific plants.”

You still said nothing in return.

Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldn’t even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldn’t even answer? It was borderline rude.

You were never rude to Mother.

“There you all are,” Weems said as she entered the reading room. “Everyone was a bit too quiet.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Mother said with a smile.

She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.

Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?

She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk with her, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.

A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.

She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.

Good. That was progress.

Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weems’ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.

The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didn’t look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.

“Shall I?” She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Mother said with a small smile.

No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.

“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to be here.”

Your attention was captured by Weems’ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didn’t think she had heard before. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that warning tone before.

At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.

Wednesday’s mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadn’t had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.

Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.

“I was hoping you would be here.”

That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesday’s skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didn’t like it.

There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your mother’s presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.

Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.

“I was hoping to talk with you about something,” your mother said directly to you.

“I don’t believe that would-”

“-Alone,” she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.

Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.

“I’ve got it,” you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.

Weems looked at you for another moment more. “Morticia and I will be in the study,” she finally said.

“As I said,” your mother said with the same sickening smile, “this is private.”

“Anything involving me involves Wednesday,” you said.

You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.

“Of course it does,” your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. “Won’t you be a dear and invite me in?”

“No.” You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Say your piece and leave.”

Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.

It was a wonderful look on you.

“Very well,” your mother finally said with a sigh. “I would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.”

“No,” you said quickly.

Your mother stood tall. “You will hear me out, Y/N.”

Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.

“It’s a charity gala,” she continued. “For those with your…” she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, “affliction.”

“We’re Outcasts,” you said, “not lepers.”

“Semantics, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave.

At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesday’s hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.

She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.

“After all the shit you’ve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?” You asked. “Just to make you look good?”

There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you weren’t saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didn’t wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.

You didn’t continue.

“Your father is away, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the restraining order,” your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.

“You’re not listening,” you said. “I’m not going.”

The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldn’t blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.

You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.

“I heard about the fire,” your mother called after you.

You froze.

“Entire house burned to ash,” she continued. “A shame.” Your chest was heaving. “No longer having a home to call their own.”

The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesday’s feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.

In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.

“Don’t pretend you care,” you said quietly. Harshly.

“Oh darling,” your mother said with a smile that didn’t match her tone, “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then don’t talk about them.”

“I just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,” she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. “A gift, if you will.”

You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.

Then she started to think about the implications of your mother’s words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldn’t even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.

“Shall I continue?” Your mother asked.

You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.

“If you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,” she hesitated, “family.” There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.

“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “I’m not that dense.” Your jaw clenched. “It’s an incentive. A rather generous one.”

Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didn’t have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.

When it came to your mother, however…

“You’ll pay for the entirety of a new house,” you confirmed.

Your mother nodded in response. “Large enough for them all, in fact.”

“With the barn and stables.”

“Of course.”

“And nothing will ever need to be repaid?”

“It will be an act of charity.”

“And I can get that in writing?” You asked.

Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.

She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadn’t been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldn’t have had the pleasure of calling you hers. 

However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they weren’t simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?

“You may have it in writing,” your mother finally said. “I’ll draft it when I get home.”

“Oh no,” you said quickly, “I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.

It was terrifying.

“Would you call Señor Moreno?” You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. “Mrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.”

—---

Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.

Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.

Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesday’s to-do list. No, she didn’t truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.

“Come on,” you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.

She loved when you were unsettling.

With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.

This was a far more concerning environment.

Every beat of Wednesday’s heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senator’s wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.

You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.

She was lucky you had promised to behave.

The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.

Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.

She would never tell you.

“This is Wednesday Addams.”

Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didn’t care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.

“Addams, you say?” He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. “I believe I know of your father.”

“How so?” She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.

“We met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,” he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. “He’s doing well, I presume?”

“Quite,” she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, he would leave her be.

No such luck.

“Perhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,” the man said. “He can get proper connections in place for when you take over.”

Your hand on the small of Wednesday’s back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldn’t be bothered enough to notice the change.

“The Addamses are old money,” you chimed in, “there’s no need to take over.”

“Of course, of course,” he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. “In that case, you must take that advice,” he said as he gestured toward you with his head. “You’ll need the good graces.”

Your hand twitched again.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

“When you take over your father’s company,” he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesday’s back. “After dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.” A wink. “Don’t let them know I told you.”

You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldn’t have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.

“Quite,” you said quickly. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, of course, I could tell,” he said with a nod, “I’ve seen that face before.” Another puff of his pipe. “You look just like your father.”

That.

That was the final straw.

Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.

But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.

She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.

“I believe I need a drink,” you choked out. “If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.

She was mortified.

How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didn’t care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.

“I hope our dear Y/N is alright.”

She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldn’t help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasn’t necessarily important.

You had her nose.

“Oh she’s splendid,” the man said, “just stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?” He winked at Wednesday.

She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.

“I presumed,” your mother said. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?”

“Not at all,” he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.

“Walk with me,” your mother commanded.

Silence was Wednesday’s best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.

She was ashamed to admit that she was… uncertain of how to act.

“You’re a rather brave young thing,” your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. “Has our darling Y/N ever told you that?”

“I’m aware of my own strengths,” Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. “Yes she has.”

“Then we raised her properly.”

Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.

It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasn’t one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.

While you hadn’t told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadn’t helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didn’t know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.

No, they hadn’t raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.

“I’m sure she’s told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,” your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. “But everything we did was for her own good.”

Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.

“I believe you truly think so,” was all she said.

“Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.”

“That’s improbable at best,” she said.

“You’d be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.”

Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesday’s heart. It was… difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone… she hadn’t prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.

“Not everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,” your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesday’s silence. Or simply not caring.  “From what I’ve read about you, you know that painfully well.”

Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldn’t properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.

“There’s two sides to every story,” your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. “This curse prevailed long before Nicholas.”

You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didn’t remember. Or you weren’t even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about.

Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.

“We should get together one evening,” your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. “Doubtless you have questions.”

She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?

Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?

Would you hate her?

Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Wednesday’s lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someone’s arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.

This was different.

Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.

She was getting rather tired of the forest.

The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.

When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldn’t. She was silent.

Just like you on that fated night.

She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.

“I said don’t touch her.”

Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.

The ache would subside.

“It might be wise to seek medical attention,” your mother said.

“This happened while she was with you,” you practically spat. Wednesday still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. “I can be forgiven for not taking your advice.”

“I’d advise you not to make a scene, dear.”

Your mother’s tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasn’t a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.

Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.

A smile?

Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.

“Can you stand?” You asked softly.

Wednesday nodded once.

You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldn’t let her fall.

“You should take her somewhere quiet,” your mother said, against everyone’s better judgement. “It will help.”

You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didn’t truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.

There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didn’t care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.

…

She had definitely hit her head.

When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didn’t initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with… confusion.

“The coat closet?” She asked, turning quickly to face you.

You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.

Perhaps you were.

“Did she hurt you?” You asked without looking.

“No,” Wednesday said softly.

You scoffed. “Probably the only thing she didn’t do.” The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. “We never should’ve come to this stupid party.”

There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasn’t often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.

“I can’t do this,” you continued without prompting. “I don’t want to do this.” A turn on your heels. “I didn’t even want their name, let alone their fucking company.” The muscles in your arms tensed. “And apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out I’m a fucking Outcast?” You readjusted your jaw. “He told me we shouldn’t have come.”

Wednesday perked up.

“Who told you?”

There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.

“No one,” you said without looking at her. “Just… just a thought.” You turned slowly. “The voice in my head.”

“Your conscience?” She clarified.

You didn’t answer.

Wednesday didn’t like when you didn’t answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldn’t quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didn’t like the feeling. It made her… well, almost sad.

It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.

She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you continued. “We should’ve just had a nice night at home.”

Wednesday didn’t disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.

An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.

“We can still have a nice night,” she said slowly.

“Wednesday,” you said with a tilt of your head. “You fainted and I’m plotting the death of my mother. You’d have to come up with something pretty… uh…”

Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.

“Wednesday,” you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

“You need a distraction,” she said, “as do I.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to-”

“-I would like to,” she said quickly. 

She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasn’t something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldn’t be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.

Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.

“We’re in a coat closet,” you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.

“I don’t believe it would be our most unusual interaction,” she said with the slightest tilt of her head.

You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. “Please don’t call it an interaction, it sounds… dirty.”

She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.

“I can call it intercourse instead,” she offered.

The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.

“I think that’s worse,” you said, your breath fanning across her lips.

She waited for the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.

Now, she enjoyed it.

Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didn’t stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.

Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasn’t salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didn’t hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. “This will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.”

Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called “quickies.” She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?

But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasn’t particularly picky at that moment.

She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didn’t wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldn’t care about their opinions, she would be mortified.

Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.

It was a good thing you hadn’t completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.

Oh, she rather liked that.

Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.

“You’re already wet,” you noted.

She could kill you.

“The stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,” you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. “From a little makeout session in a coat closet.”

Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.

Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.

She wouldn’t have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadn’t. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.

That warm feeling in her core didn’t build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.

Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didn’t seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.

Footsteps came closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against your lips, “I know it was fast, we can take our time at home.”

Wednesday didn’t have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.

She felt you smile against her lips.

“Here,” you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. “I’ll grab our coats, you take a moment.”

The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.

When she opened her eyes, she froze.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a husky voice.

You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. “I’m stealing.” You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. “If I’m going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.”

Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You leaned down to kiss her again.

“I love you too.”

[onwednesdayswewrite]

Absolute genius once again! Of course Abuela coming in and making me cry😪 although Nicky is a fucking little shit, birb needs all the help she can get, that poor little idiot😪

everyone but her pt.34

Summary: Two years, and you're only just starting to force yourself to acknowledge a few hard truths. Wednesday doesn't know how to help you, but she's going to do her best in her new Wednesday fashion.

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: swearing, mentions of past abuse, mentions of death, grief Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) A/N: I am not one who celebrates Dίa de los Muertos, and I've tried to do my due diligence for researching it and displaying it properly (in Addams fashion) but please let me know if I get something about it wrong! I want to show it the utmost respect, so please point me in the right direction if needed.

You loved the Addamses, truly you did. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for every single one of them. They wouldn’t even have to ask, you would do it in a heartbeat. Extended family was slowly starting to become included as well, and maybe you felt a bit like their self-appointed lapdog, but you didn’t really care. If they said jump, you would ask how high.

But sometimes you wished they would leave you out of a few things.

For instance, this? This whole weekend thing they had planned? You very well would have preferred to stay at the apartment. But no, they just had to invite you over and they just had to invite Abuelita and Tio and you just had to do your best not to be upset. Not that it was their fault, of course, you just didn’t celebrate things the same way.

For example? This dίa de los muertos.

It had been so long, you had truthfully forgotten just how wild the Addamses could get when they were all together. Uncle Fester was having way too much fun with Tio too. You hadn’t understood how much of a disaster that duo could be until you saw the both of them exiting the kitchen with armfulls of unknown substances.

“What, uh,” you scratched the back of your neck, “whatcha got there, Tio?”

He looked down at his arms, then at Uncle Fester’s, then back at you. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m sure it is,” you mumbled when they continued walking out of the kitchen. Sometimes ignorance was the better option.

Ignorance quickly turned to annoyance when something exploded in the backyard. You didn’t have to look to know who the culprits were, not when Tio and Uncle Fester limped back into the house covered in black soot. They did their best not to meet your eyes while Mr. Addams congratulated them on… whatever they had done.

But that was the easy part! Watching Tio and Uncle Fester nearly get themselves killed time and time again was almost even comical, if you hadn’t been so stressed about the whole situation. No, it wasn’t even close to the difficult part. Even trying to help Abuelita cook for everyone was easier than everything else. Sure, she teased you the whole time, but at least she was sweet.

The hard part was trying to act all happy and celebrate when all you wanted to do was settle into a rafter for the weekend until it was time to go back home. You didn’t want to celebrate something that you couldn’t even properly talk about yet. Certainly you weren’t going to stop anyone or bring down the mood, but you weren’t keen on this whole celebration.

“Darling,” Mrs. Addams said, pulling your attention away from the book you had snagged. You looked down from your perch. “Your Abuelita would like your help in the kitchen.”

More cooking. Perfect.

“Yes ma’am,” you said anyway. There was a smile on her face when you dropped down to the floor; it took everything in you not to rub your knee that was not too happy about the landing.

“Are you learning much?” She asked. You frowned at her before looking down at the book. Your mouth quickly made a little “o”.

“I think so,” you said with a shrug and you both started walking slowly toward the kitchen. “It would help if your daughter would teach me herself.”

“She sees value in learning things on your own,” Mrs. Addams said. “It’s something about her you’re rather fond of, is it not?”

“Not right now it’s not,” you grumbled.

Mrs. Addams chuckled lightly beside you but otherwise kept silent. That was alright, you weren’t entirely in the mood to continue talking anyway. Especially not when you passed a certain picture frame that Tio had put up on the table earlier. It was easy enough to avert your eyes even as everyone continued laughing and having their fun.

You’ll ruin their celebration.

Abuelita was already working on… actually, you didn’t know what it was. Oh, never mind, it was just tamales. Now that you knew how to make, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too big of a chore. After all, you were nothing if not a wonderful assistant. Abuelita had even told you that herself.

Although your excitement at the chore quickly dissipated when she instantly put you to work on making more tamales than you thought you had ever made in your life. You loved her, you did, but she was a slave driver. She didn’t even tell you hi or that she loved you.

It was a hard knock life.

“Miercoles is laughing at you,” Tio said when he sat down at the table to watch. He always watched, never helped.

“No she’s not,” you said. But just to be safe, you looked up.

He was right.

“Told you,” he said as Wednesday finished making her way into the kitchen, a barely hidden smile on her face.

“Stop it,” you mumbled when she positioned herself beside you to begin helping.

“Tio was just telling me a few childhood stories,” Wednesday said with a shrug.

“His?” You asked. “Or mine?”

“Yours,” she said, “and Nicky’s.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose and turned to look at her. She was avoiding looking at you, instead using immense focus on the task at hand. Although you quickly turned your attention away because it wasn’t her fault. She was inquisitive by nature, you knew that. No, it was 100% Tio’s fault though, and he knew better. He knew you weren’t ready to talk about it yet.

Tio shrugged his shoulders and gave you what he probably thought was a comforting smile. It wasn’t. Not even close. How dare he? He was very well aware of your feelings about the whole situation, not even including your uncertainty in turning it into a celebration. But he was going to talk about you? Talk about Nicky? As if nothing had happened? It wasn’t fair.

“He can keep his mouth shut,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to the hoard of tamales that could already feed an army even as Abuelita pushed more ingredients your way.

An awkward silence fell over the kitchen, and you didn’t care that you were at fault. They shouldn’t have brought him up, not today, not so close to the second anniversary of him being gone. It was inconsiderate at the least, malicious at best. You weren’t going to let them continue talking about him like he was still there, like he wasn’t haunting your every waking moment.

Someone cleared their throat and you looked up, ready to glare at whoever had dared to disturb the silence you had forced on everyone. But the moment your eyes met his, you froze. Every atom in your body refused to move, locked in place by his ghostly smile. It wasn’t until your lungs started to burn did you inhale slowly.

“You need to learn to flirt better,” he said with a raised brow. “She’s trying to help you.”

You couldn’t manage to get any words out. Not when you knew no one else could see him. He rarely came around, usually only when you were doing something really stupid. Part of you wondered if he had learned it from Twilight, because it was certainly some New Moon bullshit. It wouldn’t surprise you in the least if that’s what his intentions were.

“You’re a disaster of a homosexual,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Making me do everything. Tell her about when we first got Steve.”

Your mouth closed with a clack of your teeth. Why was he such a dick? Even from the grave he couldn’t help himself. Besides, what did he mean you were a disaster? Quite frankly, Wednesday was way out of your league. If anything, he should be congratulating you on bagging a baddie like her.

But you had to admit, he was probably right. Like usual.

Such a dick.

“Did-” you shook your head and looked down at the table even though you could feel someone looking at you “-did he tell you about the time we got Steve?”

You kept working, refusing to look up. Air got stuck in your throat, and you wanted to cough just to clear the silence that was getting thicker than oatmeal. Nicky’s spectre laughed at you, and even though it was very clearly teasing, you wanted to hit him. This was no laughing matter, you were about to humiliate yourself in front of Wednesday because he thought it was a good idea to-

“-No he didn’t,” Wednesday finally said.

“Do I have to teach you how to do everything?” Nicky teased; you weren’t going to give him the benefit of looking at him. “Tell her the story!”

If he hadn’t already been dead, you would have fed him to Mrs. Addams’ carnivorous plants.

Your hands stilled their movements as your brain tried to comprehend what you had just thought. It had been the first time you had acknowledged that Nicky was dead. All moisture in your mouth disappeared, leaving the impression that you were chewing on cotton. 

Nicky was dead.

“Come on, baby,” Nicky said, his voice far too soft for the mental turmoil. It actually made you feel worse. “Tell her the story.”

“I’ll be back,” you said in a strangled voice.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you stepped back and practically ran out of the kitchen. The back of your brain reminded you that Abuelita needed your help, but you couldn’t convince yourself to care. Not when you could feel something chipping away at your chest with each step you took. Not when each breath started to get heavier, started to become so hard to pull that your lungs started with burn with the effort.

The wooden floor turned to dirt as you threw the front door open, practically floating down the steps until you could walk out toward the gate. Fresh air did nothing to ease your laboured breathing. Something brushed against your shoulder. Instinct kicked in and you jumped, brushing your shoulder frantically to get whatever it was off.

Nothing was there.

You’re broken, that voice inside your head taunted. It had been biding its time, staying silent until your moment of weakness. You're a burden on their celebration. A strangled sob caught in your throat. 

Hold it together, your own voice thought. You couldn't let them see you breaking down. This was cultural, they were having fun, you were not going to ruin it for anybody. But just the thought of everything had your head reeling. The world started to tilt and your hand darted out to catch yourself on a tree.

Something wet slid down your cheeks as you let yourself fall to the ground, your knees pulled tightly to your chest. He could've been here with you, the voice said. He could've been celebrating with you right now.

"Shut up," you whispered with a shaky exhale before squeezing your eyes shut.

“We can’t start without Nicky,” you said as you plopped onto the couch. Little Alex was quick to crawl into your lap.

“We’re not starting without him,” Momma said with a gentle smile even as she continued to plate the food. “We’re just getting things ready.”

“Where’d he go, anyhow?” Pop asked.

You simply shrugged. “Think he went to feed Steve.”

You had barely finished getting the words out of your mouth when the porch door opened and Nicky came in, straw stuck in his hair and yellow hair covering his clothes. With a snort, you quickly turned away when you noticed he was covered in drying patches of mud.

“What the hell happened to you?” Auntie C asked, not even trying to hide her laughter.

“That stupid goat kicked me!” He shouted, his finger pointing outside to where you assumed Steve was still standing.

“Were you mean to him?” You asked. “He’s sensitive.”

“He’s about to be dinner,” Nicky grumbled.

“Go clean up before dinner,” Momma ordered. “We’ve all been waiting long enough.”

“Yes, Momma,” he said softly. You stuck your tongue out at him as he passed you.

The warmth of another human spread through your arm when someone sat beside you, their arm pressed gently against yours. That all-too-familiar hammer inside your skull continued its rampage, but you managed to pry your eyes open nonetheless. To the side of you, Abuelita was sitting with her back against the tree and her withered hand fell to your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He loved you,” she said in heavily accented English.

Wait.

English?

You turned your head quickly to look at her, all thoughts of your grief momentarily forgotten.

“You’ve known English this whole time?” You asked. “And you never told me?”

Abuelita laughed. “It is more fun to tease you.”

She looked far too smug about the admittance. Had everyone known she could speak English? Because if they could, that was just rude that they had let you flounder instead of filling you in. Yes you tried harder to learn Spanish for her, but she couldn’t have given you the smallest bit of reprieve? The nerve of everybody.

“He’s watching you,” she said softly.

You followed her pointed finger to see Nicky’s spectre standing across the way, leaning his shoulder against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. He had given you that look so many times it was almost comforting. Except for the fact you could see through him, and his smile had lost its joy. He was nothing more than a shell.

“You can see him too?” You asked when it hit you that Abuelita knew exactly where to point.

She was silent, and when you looked at her there was a mischievous smile on her lips. “Surely you did not think I was only your Abuelita.”

“Well-” you huffed, “-yeah, I did.”

"I've been around longer than you think, cariña," she said.

"Great," you mumbled, "so I've got a witch in the family too."

There was no possible way your mind could comprehend the knew bit of information. Not at that moment. Too much was going on, your head was still reeling, and that prickling behind your eyes was humiliating. Nicky was watching, Abuelita was watching, and that voice in your head still wouldn't shut up 

"He wants you to celebrate his life," Abuelita said. "Not his death."

A lump lodged itself in your throat as the tears started to fall.

"He should be here," you said.

Across the way, Nicky was still looking at you, smiling in a way that made you feel sick. It wasn't his typical happy-go-lucky smile. No, this was more of a final goodbye smile. Was he leaving you? No, he couldn't be leaving, he couldn't.

"He will always be with you.” Abuelita squeezed right above your knee; it almost tickled. “Because he loves you.”

“I need him,” you whispered with a soft exhale through your nose.

“And the living need you.”

What little air was in your lungs left you in a shaky huff. Leave it Abuelita to stab you in the heart with the softest of words. It was nothing you weren’t aware of; you couldn’t coexist with the dead the same way you did with the living. No matter how hard you tried, Nicky wasn’t going to be able to watch movies with you, or give you advice, or help you with your troubles. He would be there watching, but that would be the extent of it.

You hated her for being right.

“Wednesday is worried about you,” she said with another squeeze of your leg. You turned to look at her with glassy eyes that she was kind enough not to mention.

“How do I explain this?” You asked, gesturing your head to where Nicky was still watching you both.

“She’s more understanding than you think,” she said with a nod. “But you could always say her pitiful attempt at tamales was too devastating for you.”

“I’m never asking you for relationship advice,” you said with your own nod. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Abuelita laughed, light and airy and happy, and you couldn’t help but follow.

“Help an old lady to her feet,” Abuelita said when you had both settled.

“Yes ma’am,” you said softly before standing up and easing Abuelita up.

She quickly looped her arm through yours until you were both walking back to the house. You turned around only once. Nicky was still standing there, now with his hands in his pockets. His smile had turned more genuine, and he gestured his head toward the house and waved.

That deep ache in your chest came back. You smiled back anyway and turned back around to the house when Abuelita squeezed your arm. With a deep exhale, you nodded to yourself and helped her in. One step at a time.

One step at a time.

—---

The weekend didn’t get any easier. In fact, it was almost more difficult than before Abuelita had talked with you. The celebrations continued, you helped, and you had to work harder to try and participate. No running out of the house, no crying, you just did your best to pull up your big kid pants and not ruin things for everyone else.

Wednesday had been kind enough not to bring up your daring escape. When you had both settled in for the night and had gotten into bed, she actually turned around and wrapped her arms around your neck. It wasn’t a comfortable position, you both woke up with aches that you hadn’t known existed, but you would admit to yourself that you had never slept better.

But then it was time for a whole new slew of problems.

“Would you like to put Nicky’s picture on the ofrenda?” Wednesday had the nerve to ask.

You had both been sitting on the loveseat in the library, enjoying the few moments of peace it provided. Your coffee had long since gone cold, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Both yours and Wednesday’s books had been far too enthralling, and Wednesday had seemed far too comfortable in your lap for you to disrupt her for a simple beverage.

Deep down, you wanted to tell her no. It would be too official, too condemning. If he was on the ofrenda, then how were you supposed to continue the delusion that he was alive and well? You would be admitting to everyone that he was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

“You’re useless,” Nicky scoffed from his corner of the library. “You’d better put me on there.” You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your retort to his ghost. “And don’t forget the treats, I would love some of those little blueberry muffins you and Momma make.”

“No,” you said simply, finally answering Wednesday’s question. She fidgeted until she could look up at you from her place in your lap.

“Why not?” She asked not unkindly.

Don’t tell her, the voice in your head threatened, she’ll think you’re insane.

Abuelita’s words echoed in your head, quickly drowning out the threats and fear.

“Because,” you started slowly, “Nicky’s in the corner begging for food.”

The library was silent, only interrupted by the occasional noise emanating from the rest of the house. If your heart had been beating any faster, you swore it would have made a great escape from your chest. You knew you shouldn’t have said anything to Wednesday. Her family was weird, sure, but they weren’t “I can see my dead brother laughing at me” weird.

“Your Tio mentioned something about candies,” Wednesday said as if you hadn’t just mentioned your brother’s ghost over in the corner. “Would that suffice?”

“Absolutely,” Nicky answered quickly.

“Nah,” you said with a shake of your head, your eyes never leaving the corner of the library. “He wouldn’t want sweets.”

“I’m haunting you for the rest of your life,” Nicky threatened.

You just smiled and leaned down to press a quick kiss to Wednesday’s forehead. The lightest blush dusted across her cheeks, but she otherwise stayed silent. It would always be funny to you how reserved she would get around other people. You weren’t mean, you wouldn’t dare break her boundaries, but even the little things had her flustered.

Even though you had tried to pretend otherwise, you had quickly dragged Wednesday downstairs to help you make the blueberry muffins Nicky had requested. Maybe you added a little salt, and maybe you didn’t use as many blueberries as he would have liked, but no one else would know. Well, no one except for Abuelita, who laughed when she noticed what you were doing.

It wasn’t too difficult to place the muffins on the ofrenda; they were just muffins. The hard part was when Tio brought you the picture frame. You tried to push him to do it, to have him place it down, but he insisted.

“He would want you to do it, pollito,” Tio had said softly before squeezing your shoulder gently. Your wings twitched.

It was unceremonious at best; you could feel everyone watching you, waiting to see if you could hold on to your sanity for the few seconds it would take to place it down. And you did. You set it on the ofrenda and made sure it was facing just the perfect direction. The light from the overhead window shone just right to illuminate his smile.

That alone was what pushed you to leave the room, practically running back up to Wednesday’s room to recover.

“Do you require a break from everything?” Wednesday asked as she slipped into her room, quickly closing the door behind her.

You shifted on the bed until you could face her. "It's just…” you sighed, “it’s just a lot.”

Wednesday nodded thoughtfully a few times before her feet led her to the bed. Second nature took over and you moved aside just enough for her to sit on the edge of the bed, her back ramrod straight. It looked painful, to be sitting so still and perfectly. How her back didn’t constantly hurt and ache, you had no idea. But when she reached over to take your hand, pulling it into her lap, you suddenly didn’t care anymore.

“You could always take your worry out on Pugsley,” she said, her soft fingers playing with yours. “He’s due for the electric chair.”

“No,” you sighed as you turned onto your side to watch her better. She looked stunning.

“Or we could use him for target practice,” she continued as she turned her head to look at you. With those eyes? You would burn the whole world for her. “You always seem more relaxed when you’re shooting things on your games.”

Well wait, maybe she had a good idea.

“Can I just-” you exhaled slowly through your nose, “-can I just have a hug?”

You knew it was a longshot. Even though Wednesday had eased into physical affection a lot lately, you knew she still wasn’t the biggest fan of it. She wasn’t her parents, as she was so keen to tell you. But that’s exactly what made it all the more exciting when she nodded once and laid down on the bed, quickly wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you into a hug.

“You smell like bread,” you whispered into her hair.

“God you’re gay,” Nicky said, suddenly appearing in the corner of the room. Always the corner. “Can you please just say something normal for once?”

“Is he back?” Wednesday asked, her lips brushing against your collar bone and sending a slight shiver down your spine. “You stiffened.”

“Yes,” you said. “He’s being a dick.”

She hummed before pulling back to look at you. “Then let’s scare him away.”

“What-”

She cut you off with a kiss. Nothing deep, nothing sensual, but still full of the emotions she so rarely allowed herself to openly express. Her fingers scratched lightly against the back of your neck and all the anxiety dissipated from your body. It was amazing how she could manage to do such a thing to you with only a simple kiss.

“I’m gonna puke,” Nicky groaned, “enjoy your girlfriend, you homo.”

You smiled when Nicky vanished.

“Is he gone?” Wednesday asked, her lips still close enough to yours that you could feel more than hear her.

“Not yet,” you lied effortlessly. “I think we should keep going.”

She saw through you, you knew she did. It was in the small smile she gave you and the roll of her eyes. And yet, she pulled you back into another kiss. Except this one she deepened, her grip on you tightening until you couldn’t be any closer. It warmed you from the inside, and you couldn’t have been happier.

Grief could wait. You were with your girl.

--------------------------

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[onwednesdayswewrite]

you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

chapter two of this hell is better with you

Pairing: ghostface!Tara Carpenter x ghostface!Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder (no details, but they do kill someone) blood, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. this isn’t smut...but like smut adjacent, it gets a little spicy. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Reader and Tara are tired of fighting their urges. 

Also no one ever talks about how tiny Jenna would be as Ghostface so I felt the need to roast her a little☠️

~~~~

You watched as Samantha Carpenter’s gray Honda Civic rolled to a stop at the curb in front of you. It sat there for a few moments before the passenger door popped open. Tara appeared, an iced coffee tight in her hands, despite the freezing temperature. Her white Converses were traded for Doc Martens to give her more traction on the ice that covered most of the sidewalk. You met her eyes, and you could tell she wanted to greet you. But she wouldn’t, not with Sam so close. Sam was still ridiculously overprotective despite Tara begging for just a little freedom. You understood Sam’s worries given what they had been through. But this was all just too much, Tara needed to live her life. You shook your head, you didn’t want to look anymore. Tara was an adult, and more than capable of getting  herself to therapy. Sam needed to loosen the leash just a little. 

‘You should get rid of Sam, she will only make things harder’ the pill bottle felt light in the pocket of your winter coat. You shook the bottle but no sounds followed. Empty. ‘It's more fun this way, and you know it’ you wanted to argue back but you knew it was right. With every passing day the urges got stronger. You couldn’t fight it for much longer. You wouldn’t fight it for much longer. 

“I’ll walk back to the apartment” Tara started to close the door of the car. You could tell Sam wanted to make a comment, but the tone of Tara's voice didn’t leave much room for argument. Instead, she nodded, letting Tara shut the door with a thud. Tara stood for a moment, seeming to make sure Sam actually was leaving, before heading in the direction of the meeting hall. 

As soon as Tara was within reach, you pulled her to you. Tara let out a sigh of content when your arms settled around her smaller frame. You didn’t care if Sam was still close by. You missed Tara, and you certainly weren’t going to let her sister stop you from kissing your girlfriend. The taste of her sugar cookie iced coffee lingered on your lips when you pulled away. 

“You're gonna get us caught” Tara scolded, but hardly made any effort to move away from you. 

“Let her” Sam’s car made a left turn onto the main street, almost out of view. Her tail lights disappeared amongst the sea of red. Tara’s giggle turned into a misty cloud as it hit the cool air. You pulled her in for another kiss, and a warmth spread through your cold bones. Her ambrosial smell masked the scent of garbage and cigarettes that permeated through the city streets. Daisy by Marc Jacobs had been a popular choice, but it fit her. Tara bounced on her feet a little in your arms, visibly calmer and happier in your presence.

 The cold february wind cut through the skin, your scrubs doing little to shield you from it. A giggle vibrated against your chest, Tara squirming as you tried to zip up your coat with her inside too. When that didn’t quite work, Tara was still content with letting you hold her close. The start of spring semester brought long, cold days, and endless hours of clinicals. Tara hated it, the hours away from you. You could feel it even now by the way she clung to you, relishing the feeling of your skin on hers. You hated it too, but you knew Tara felt it more. It hurt her. 

Snow whipped around with the wind that cut through your coat like a hot knife through butter. Your gloves only made it harder to put the key in the lock, and served no real protection from the cold. A surgery ran long, leaving you stumbling through the door just after 2 am. All you wanted was your bed, and Tara. But you didn’t expect to see her still awake. 

The original Stab movie played softly, the dim light of the tv being the only thing illuminating the living room of your apartment. Tara’s favorite baby pink sherpa blanket and your old high school band hoodie were tightly wrapped around her on the sofa. Tara looked cozy, and her eyes desperately fought to stay awake to greet you. 

“Baby, what are you doing still up?” you weren’t mad, but you knew the hours tickled closer to her 6 am alarm to have her ready for classes. Your schedules didn’t often match up during the week, but you did your best to make do with what you could. 

“You know I can't sleep when you're not home safe” her voice was quiet and thick with sleep, like she was trying not to wake herself up too much. 

“Can I please take you to bed now?” you pulled off your winter clothes as you rounded the couch. You almost didn’t even wait for Tara to nod before scooping her up in your arms. She was practically dead weight in your arms as her body finally succumbed to the exhaustion. Her pink blanket still hung around her tiny body as you made your way down the hall. 

“Just one second, baby” you whispered in her ear as you set her softly on your bed. It was practically your shared bed now, with Tara using the key you gave her every night to get in once Sam went to bed. Only to get up early and sneak back in before Sam was any wiser. Tara claimed it was because the heat didn’t work right in her apartment, but you knew better. You didn’t dare question it or complain, the fleeting moments late at night and early in the morning were the only thing that kept you going on long days. A soft whine fell from Tara’s lips when you left her to change from your work clothes. 

Tara propped herself up on her elbow, watching your every move as you hurried to get ready for bed. Almost like she was terrified if she closed her eyes, you wouldn’t be there when she opened them again. Every few moments, her eyes would droop, her head following shortly after. Only for her to jerk back up, acting nonchalant as if she hadn’t just almost fallen asleep. But even when you flicked the light off, she didn’t miss a beat and had her hand ready to guide you into the bed. 

“Please don’t ever leave me” her body was warm against your cold one when you slipped under the covers. 

“I’m not ever gonna leave you, baby” you settled her against your chest. The room illuminated with every passing car headlight through a crack in the curtain. Tara’s breath evened out. “I will never, ever leave you, Tara Carpenter” you whispered into her hair, but you knew she was already asleep. 

“So I have a proposition” you leaned back against the brick of the building, rocking on your heels and pulling Tara with you. She eyed you suspiciously. 

“And what would that be?” a soft giggle followed her question. Her nose flared and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was times like this where you craved sunny days to bring back her freckles. Her lip gloss glistened with the evening sun. For a moment you wondered if it was smeared across your face. But Tara’s lips were more tempting than the thought of her lip gloss. You weren’t one to have very good self control, so you didn’t push yourself when unnecessary. You pressed your lips to hers once again, then began peppering kisses along her jaw. 

“I propose that we get the hell out of this place, and do something a little more fun” your voice was barely audible against her ear.

“And what’s your definition of fun?” Tara’s voice dropped, her eyes darting from your lips, and then quickly back up to your eyes just wanting you to kiss her again. Her fingers were playing with the neckline of your scrub top. Other members of your group filtered into the building, paying no mind to the two of you. They were used to Tara being all over you until the very second group started, usually tumbling in a few minutes late. 

“Well there’s a few options” your finger hooked into the waistband of her jeans. Her skin was soft against your calloused fingertips. You tugged her close until her hips met yours. “But I have one that I think you will like the sound of most” you shrugged your backpack off of your shoulder. Tara tilted her head quizzingly, her eyes watching you pull open the zip. She peered into the backpack as you pushed away black fabric to reveal a Ghostface mask. 

“You, Tara Carpenter have stolen my heart, so let’s cut out someone else’s” you felt her shiver against you. 

“I thought you would never ask” she smiled up at you. A darkness took over in her eyes as she took your hand and tugged you down the streets of New York City. 

~~~~

Water ran over your knife. It mixed with the blood on the blade, and swirled together before running down the drain. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide sat by the faucet, your crumbled up shirt perched next to it, its blood strained edge hanging into the sink. You were annoyed to put it simply. Your favorite shirt was ruined, and Tara was taking far too long to return to the apartment. 

Your phone began to buzz, and the incessant tone followed after. It vibrated loudly against the wood where your leg rested on the cabinet door.  Liquid soaked through the sleeve of your robe, you weren’t sure if it was soaked more with water or blood. But at this point it didn’t really matter, you were covered head to toe in both. 

Tara’s picture lit up the screen of your phone. It was a picture you had taken at a local diner when you snuck her out one night when Sam was at therapy. Bloody water drops fell onto your screen as you answered, pressing on speaker mode. 

“Hello?” you answered, continuing to rinse the knife in your hands. 

“Hello, y/n” Ghostface’s voice crackled through the line. 

“Well it’s fancy speaking to you” you chuckled down the line. Tara was playing a dangerous game. Your knife hit the base of your sink with a clatter as you dropped it once it was clean.

“What was that noise? What are you doing?” Even through the voice changer you could hear the concern laced in Tara’s voice. 

“Oh I’m just doing some cleaning” You reached for the knife still coated in blood sitting on the counter. Blood pooled where it had sat. Tara’s knife had been much messier than yours, her body seeming to lose control as she used her blade to take a life. But it was all fun and games, until clean up time, and then? Well Tara wanted to play a different game. 

“Well wouldn’t you make a good little housewife, y/n?” Ghostface purred in your ear. “So do you have a girlfriend?” She quickly followed with. You set Tara’s knife down in the sink. 

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” You chuckled darkly, Tara was gonna pay for this little game later. But if Tara wanted to play, then you would sure give her a show. You let your robe fall off your shoulders, it landed soundlessly on the mat by the sink. Goosebumps rose on your stomach and shoulders. With your shirt by the sink, it left you in nothing but a sports bra. But you knew Tara. And you knew Ghostface’s game, she was watching. 

“Maybe, I really just wanna know whose throat I have to cut for touching you” Tara growled, but you didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. 

“She would probably like that, she’s a bit of a kinky one” you tried to bite back your laughter. You knew if she had been close enough she would have smacked you around the head…if she could reach you with her height. Tara’s sigh was muffled by the voice changer. 

“Wanna play a game?” you could tell Tara was getting frustrated because this was all taking too long. Tara had no patience. You rounded the kitchen island, and made your way into the living room. You pulled the curtain drawn together, not before looking out the window. Not even a ledge or anything for her to stand on. You had been by the front door the whole time and it never opened. Where the hell was she? 

“Well what kind of game are we talking about?” and then it occurred to you, the fire escape at your bedroom window. Got you, Tara. 

“You run, I’ll find you” and with that the lights in your apartment flicked off. You staggered passed the couch and through the entryway to the hall in the pitch black. Not even the lights on the tv display guided you, the whole power to the apartment was cut. 

You kept your guard up, your ears perked up on high alert. If she was already in the house, you would hear her open your bedroom door. You rested against the wall for a moment. All you needed to do was let your eyes adjust.

“Oh please don’t kill me, Mrs. Ghostface” your voice called out into the darkness, taunting her. 

“Boo” and suddenly she was here, pushing you back against the wall, hard. Her Ghostface mask was long gone, but the robe remained, drowning her small stature. Her perfume blended with the metallic smell of blood. 

“I’m ready to discuss those other fun options you mentioned earlier” Tara’s breath was hot against your ear, her hands leaving goosebumps where they touched along your stomach.  Her lips brushed against the side of your neck but never once settled. And then you felt it. The lace of Tara’s thong tickled your side as she tucked them into the waistband of your jeans. She then took your hand, and pulled you down the dark hall.

Yep, Tara Carpenter had stolen your heart.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

flawless {vada cavell}

Pairing: Vada Cavell x Reader  

Warnings: smut (18+) smoking weed, vaginal fingering, oral sex, language, talk of the shooting,  joking about the queen of england (please don’t come for me lol rip)

Vada and reader are both 18+ in this

Word Count: 1.7k

hey y’all, I’ve had this one in the works for a while now, but it’s finally done! Next part of this hell with hopefully be done in the next couple of days!

~~~~~~~~

“And don’t even get me started on the Queen like I’m lowkey not even sad she died. No cap, the old bitch definitely had something to do with Diana’s death, that shit is suspicious as fuck” Vada’s rambling trailed off at the sensation of your fingers running up her leg. The prickle of her unshaven legs tickled your fingertips. Her baseball shorts rode up her thighs as she sat on your bed. You were supposed to be getting ready for Nick’s party, but Vada had somehow roped you into smoking before you went so she could chill more.

“Baby, what the fuck are you doing?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the sudden rise in your girlfriend’s voice. The smoke from your joint left the air between the two of you hazy. The mischievous look that filled your face was enough to tell Vada you were up to something.

“Oh I was just wondering when you stopped being my girlfriend and became Bigfoot” you fired back. A laugh fought its way past your lips as one of her eyebrows shot up. Vada snatched the joint from your free hand, narrowing her eyes at you as she took a hit.

“I’m wounded that you tried to use my dude Bigfoot to insult me” Vada was a little out of breath, and her voice scratched as she spoke. Her attempts to contain her cough from the long drag failed for a moment, but it didn’t stop her from taking another hit before handing it back to you.

“Like Bigfoot is THE MAN, he’s my icon, the legend” with each word her voice raised an octave to the point she was almost yelling, her hands waving about to emphasize her point. “I think I might love him” Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she finished, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

You sat up in bed and leaned on your elbow to look at her. Her eyes were red now, and a dreamy haze seemed to cloud them. She leaned forward to take a drag from the joint still between your fingers, she didn’t pull away though. She seemed to linger for a moment, contemplating her next move. Her lips brushed against yours as she exhaled, milky smoke filled the space between the two of you, and began to enter your lungs. She didn’t move for a moment, allowing you to get the smoke, before she dramatically pushed up from her spot.

“I’ve always wanted to do that” Vada giggled, rolling ungracefully across the bed.

“You are an Idiot, Vada Cavell” you took another hit from the joint before setting it in the ashtray on your bedside table.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful” Vada’s voice shifted when you returned to the bed. All the chatty energy had faded and left something else in its wake.

“Nah, I think you're just high, V” you tried to shake her off, you knew there would be no way you would make it to Nick’s party later if you let her get her way.

“No, I’m being for real y/n, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” Vada took your hands, settling them on her hips. From all her moving around, Vada’s shirt had bunched at her waist. The exposed skin of her stomach was warm under your hands.  Her own hands started to caress your back under her soccer championship hoodie.  

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, V '' but Vada knew she had won when she felt your hands tighten around her waist, pulling her closer. Her lips brushed over yours.  

“Oh I think it will” Her lips were soft and pillowy against yours when they finally met. Your hands left her hips to settle on her neck, tugging lightly on the hair there. Vada’s soft moan vibrated against your lips. You tugged again softly just to hear her moan against you again before you let go. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders as your fingers hooked around the tie holding it back.

The taste of weed still lingered on her lips when she finally pulled back to catch her breath. Her hair fell over her shoulders and tickled the side of your neck. Sunlight trickled in through a crack in your curtain. Sometimes when the light hit the brown in her eyes, it turned them almost golden. Like pools of honey. Now, with Vada’s knees on either side of your hips and hands roaming your body as you felt the sun hit your skin, you didn’t want to go to Nick’s party anymore.

You kissed for a while, Vada’s lips never leaving yours for more than a second to catch your breath. You could feel her getting impatient. The way she kept shifting, trying to get you to move your hands a little higher. The way her hands pushed your shirt up until it gathered at your chest. Her fingers played dangerously with the band of your sports bra, just begging you to take it off. And Vada did win as usual, your shirt hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Reality came crashing back to you like a freight train when Vada’s fingertips brushed over the healed gunshot wound on your thigh. A painful reminder of the first day you met Vada all those years ago. Though neither of you talked about it often, the incident left more than just physical scars on both of you. None of you deserve it, but that’s just how the world is now, cruel and unfair. But at least you had someone to weather the storm with.

You could practically hear Vada’s breathy laugh bring you back to the present ‘I can’t believe you just called it the incident’. You remembered the night Vada had told you all about her therapy sessions, including all of the hassle she had put that poor woman through. In this moment, you were thankful the weed allowed your mind to shift easily from the pain. A droopy smile fell on your face at the thought of Vada.

“What’s got you all smiley now” her breath tickled under your nose as her fingers carded through your hair.

“Just thinking about you” you whispered, seeking the side of her neck. Your lips left lazy kisses around her ear. Your body craved her, to feel her touch again.

“Now who’s pulling the flattery card” Vada snorted, her freckle-spotted nose wrinkling against the side of your face.

You too began to grow impatient, and It didn’t take long before Vada’s back hit your mattress. Your heartbeat thudded in your chest as you fumbled to get her stupid basketball shorts and boxers down. Her squirming settled when your hand found her wet heat, her eyes fluttering shut.

“God, you're so wet” you murmured against her lips, but you knew you wouldn't get a response. You never did, not when she was like this. All of her chatty energy and confidence disappeared when she was under you. A whine left her lips when you moved your hand away. But she was settled quickly when her sports bra joined your shirt on the floor

“Fuck” Vada moaned out breathlessly as your mouth closed around her nipple. You take your time there, kissing… and biting just to hear a soft gasp fall from her lips every time. It doesn’t take long before Vada grows tired of waiting. Her hips shifting under you in an attempt to draw your hands back to her. Eventually you did give in to her, and when you did, the moan that fell from her lip when you gently began rubbing her clit was so worth it.

Vada drew your lips back to hers, her hands wrapped in the hair at the base of your neck, tugging you back to her. Her kisses became sloppy, desperate little whines fell from her lips as she gripped tighter at your hair. Her movements became more and more frantic, her hips shifting and thrusting up to meet your fingers on her clit.

“What do you need, baby?” your movements slowed, and the whine that fell from her was almost pathetic. Her hands tugged harder on your hair, her lips brushing against your neck, anything to get you to continue. “You gotta use your words, baby” you prompted again.

“Your mouth” her voice was low as she tried to stop the moan that threatened to fall from her at your slow movements on her clit.

“Good girl” you wanted to tease her, you really did. But Vada’s arousal was almost dripping onto your mattress now, and you felt bad. The stubble of her thighs tickled your cheeks as you placed kisses there. Her hips shifted, she was getting impatient again. Your hand left her clit to hold her hips in place, and she whined at the loss of contact. But you didn’t leave her for long, your tongue soon replacing where your fingers had been. She hummed, finally satisfied with getting what she wanted.

“Jesus” she moaned out, not quite expecting your finger to press against her entrance. Vada’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment with how easily your finger slid in. Her head fell back and she no longer tried to stop her whimpers.  She was a mess under you now as you slipped in a second finger without losing your rhythm. You knew she wouldn’t last long like this. Not with your tongue lapping at her clit too.

Her nails dug into the back of your neck tugging again on the hair, as she tightened around your fingers, she was close now. You curled your fingers, as you sucked gently on her clit. Her thighs were shaking against the side of your head now. You entwined your fingers with hers as she came. Vada let out one more moan as her body went rigid under you.

The California heat combined with your recent activity left you sweating and trying to catch your breath as you rested your head on Vada’s thigh. Her thighs were still shaking under you, and her breaths coming out in pants, jostling you.

“Let's forget about Nick’s party” Vada’s breath was hot against your neck when she finally reached down and pulled you back up to her. But she didn’t have much to worry about, any thought of that party was long gone.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

this hell is better with you {tara carpenter}

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder, blood, smoking weed, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 3.5k

hey y’all, I had a ton of fun writing this, and have a few more ideas in this little universe so let me know if you would be interested in seeing more!

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the fall of your senior year at Blackmore University when you first realized you loved Tara Carpenter. Your heated debates over Geoffrey Chaucer and Jane Austen had drawn you closer to her. Being the overachiever she was, Tara was taking English Lit as a freshman; while you barely scraped by to get a passing grade. Though your time together was usually cut short, you couldn’t miss the way even the overly bright fluorescent lecture hall lights made her eyes sparkle. Or the way the memory of summer days danced across her cheeks in the form of freckles. Or the way that little scar by her eye crinkled whenever she smiled. 

 Of course you knew of the Woodsboro native’s past, everyone did. It didn’t terrify you like it did most, it only excited you. 

Your encounters had been limited to a few study sessions and passing each other on campus. You wanted more, but her friend group always lingered. Mindy was sweet, a bit of a geek but you found it appealing. And Mindy’s girlfriend, Anika was nice too but you didn't know her well. And Quinn, you liked Quinn. Of course then there was Chad. You didn’t like Chad one bit. Chad rubbed you the wrong way. He always walked around acting like he owned everything. Including Tara.

And Sam? Well Sam was a whole different monster entirely. 

The day started like most did these days. A double at the hospital meant the twelve block trek back to your off-campus apartment would be hell. The caffeine pumping through your veins did little to ease the exhaustion. It was a Sunday which meant you only had a few hours of peace before you had to begin studying for morning classes. You wanted nothing more than to fill those hours with sleep but the constant honking of horns and the wailing of sirens made it seem unlikely. It was days like this where you wished New York City wasn’t the city that never slept, even if it was the middle of the day. 

As the hustle began to ease closer to your apartment, the sounds of sirens continued to fill the air. You didn’t live in the best part of town, but this was unusual. Your phone buzzed in the leg of your scrub pocket. It was a notification from the News app that came pre-installed on your phone. The heading read ‘police release names of Blackmore students murdered to be that of Anika Kayoko and Quinn Bailey’. You felt lighter now, that takes care of two of Tara's friends. Poor Mindy though, she seemed to really like Anika. Your bitten-down fingertips hit the notification, and scanned the article. ‘Kayoko and Bailey were in Bailey's midtown apartment when the attacks took place.’

Your blood ran cold and you felt your heart plummet to your feet, Quinn was Tara’s roommate. Was Tara okay? Your mind ran through every possibility, before you took a moment to settle. Think rationally, y/n. You had been floated to the surgical floor, if anything too bad had happened, you would have known.  

It was when you were about half a block from your apartment and the sirens only got louder and louder you grew concerned. You didn’t live that close to the Carpenter’s and there shouldn’t still be police activity.

When you turned the ally onto your street you knew something was very wrong. The entire block filled with every first responder in the area. New York’s finest. The fire department. Paramedics and emergency medical technicians. The coroner. 

‘They found you y/n. I told you that you should have hidden the body better’ the bottle of pills shook in the pocket of your thrift store jacket. Maybe an extra one wouldn’t hurt, they would kick you from the nursing program if they knew about the voices. The bottle rolled between your fingers when you pulled it from your pocket. Only 13 pills left, you couldn’t risk what would happen if you ran out. You slid the bottle back into the pocket and zipped it shut. 

You quickly realized things were not as they seemed when you spotted none other than Samantha Carpenter amongst the crowd. Her body was covered in blood. It didn’t seem to be her blood, but where the hell was Tara? You knew Sam never let her far from sight, so Tara had been with her? Sam didn’t seem overly upset given the situation. 

Your worries dissipated into the air when Tara hopped down from the back of an ambulance. Your heart settled in your chest. She was walking, talking with Sam and another blonde woman and seemed fairly unharmed. And she looked even more beautiful now than you swore she had before. The way the red and blue lights of the ambulance reflected against her chocolate eyes. And being soaked in blood that wasn’t her own was a good look. Though her arm was in a sling, the white fabric tightened around her neck. A rather shitty job, you could have done better yourself. 

You observed them as they spoke for a few moments. They were just a little too far to hear the conversation, but you certainly saw when Tara’s face crumbled. Oh. Oh. She was crying now, tears driving her mascara stains farther down her cheeks. You had never seen her cry before, and the deep pit forming in your stomach told you that you would never let it happen again. Now if you could only get your hands on whoever did this you would rip-

“Hey, we got another one here” a grimace of pain flashed across her face from the movement, but it didn’t stop Tara from rushing to greet the second paramedic squad rolling a gurney from within the theater. 

“Chad, Chad” Tara’s voice cracked when she called out to him, nothing but joy laced in her words. 

“How are you alive?” Sam joined Tara at the side of the stretcher. A stupid boyish smile found its way to Chad’s face under the oxygen mask as he held up four shaky, bloodied fingers. 

“Core fucking four” Tara let out a watery giggle, and a smile followed. A wide smile. One that made dimples crinkle up the skin on her blood stained cheeks. Normally it would have settled the fire in your stomach, but not this time. Not when Chad was the reason for it. Not when Tara was clinging to him, tightly gripping his arm, scared that he would leave her.  

‘They should have just let him die, he’s too close to Tara’ the voice echoed through your head. The pill bottle felt heavy in your pocket now. You untightened the safety cap and dry swallowed the pill. 12 pills would have to be enough. You would make it be enough.

“Oh my god are you guys okay?” Mindy stubbled past the line of police officers. An IV port in the back of her hand, and a hospital bracelet hanging from her wrist. She practically crashed into the group. Tara’s hands only leaving Chad’s arm to steady Mindy’s gait. 

“Ma’am this is an active crime scene, you can’t be here” the officer was much larger than you, and it was no use fighting against him as he backed you down the street, pushing you farther from Tara. 

You took one final glance back at Tara as she clung to her sister’s side, both watching as they loaded Chad into the second ambulance. With a deep breath, you turned your shoulders and headed down the street. I’ll be back for you, Tara Carpenter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I recovered, I got mad. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters. I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me. Kirby’s words echoed through Tara’s head as she entered Sam’s mandatory trauma group therapy. Tara was tired of it. Tired of always being afraid and running. Tired of being small and tired of being stabbed. Tired of being on the shit end of kill or be killed. Ever since the moment Tara drove that knife into Ethan, something changed in her. It came as a gnawing, aching feeling, a deep desire to feel the warm blood pump over her hands again. 

The therapy did little to ease the continued obsessive thoughts. Sam’s new therapist freaked her out and she hated the sterile environment of private therapy so Sam suggested group therapy. 

Tara felt sick to her stomach as she listened to the others talk about their feelings. She reached for her now lukewarm Starbucks coffee, but it did little to push the bile back down her throat. How could they feel this way when she felt so different? 

“Tara, do you have anything you would like to share?” Every pair of eyes in the room shot to Tara when the older lady running the session spoke to her. Curious eyes, just waiting to hear her sob story. All judging her as if they didn’t have their own fucked up shit going on. 

“Hi…I’m Tara, and about 3 weeks ago my friends and I were attacked and I…” Tara voiced trailed off. She hated the way they all looked at her now. The pity laced in their eyes. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t deserve it. 

“I just keep...I keep having these, um…these thoughts in my head, and I don’t…” Tara’s voice shook as she spoke. What the hell was she even supposed to say? The truth would no doubtably get her locked up. 

“Now die a Fucking virgin” it felt good under Tara’s hands as Ethan choked on his own blood. His chest heaved as he tried to get oxygen past the blood rapidly filling his throat and lungs. Fear floated into his eyes as he realized he was dying, and it was so so sweet. Tara twisted the knife a little more. He gargled for air one last time. Tara let him fall at her feet. Fuck Ethan. And fuck his whole family for what they had done to her. 

“I don’t know if I can control them...and I’m just...afraid of what’s gonna happen” Don’t say it Tara. Don’t say you’ve been longing to take another life since that moment. Don’t tell them it's the only thing you can think about, day and night. Make something up Tara, think fast. Her eyes rapidly scanned the room looking for an answer. All eyes were still on her, wide and scared, just waiting for her to lose it. Her chest felt heavy, how was she going to get out of this one?

Until her eyes found yours across the room. And for once someone was finally looking at her like she wasn’t crazy. Like they weren’t going to lock her up and force pills down her throat. Like someone who finally understood her. Her heart was racing now. It was all too much. 

“I’m sorry, I need a second.” Tara pushed herself up from the chair and darted for the door without a second thought. 

The stale air of the meeting hall had been suffocating her, and now with the cool evening air rushing into her lungs, she felt like she could breathe again. She took another deep breath and settled down against the brick wall of the building. It felt nice on her spine after half an hour of sitting in those cheap plastic chairs. Tara checked her phone again, had it really only been 30 minutes? 

“Want a hit?” Tara almost didn’t notice you settle down next to her, offering a small vape in her direction. “Or may I offer a stale doughnut and coffee that tastes like it was brewed with sewer water?” You offered up your other hand which contained a white paper coffee cup with a black lid with a chocolate sprinkle doughnut balanced on top.

Tara took your offering of the doughnut, maybe the sugar would stop her hands from shaking so much. She picked a few sprinkles from the icing before tearing off a chunk of the doughnut. She was right, the chocolate did settle her nerves a little. 

“What are you doing here, y/n? Therapy I mean” Tara ripped off another piece of the doughnut, and then set the rest down on her thigh. 

“That’s a bit of a personal question, don’t you think?” Your eyes followed a fallen leaf as it tumbled through the parking lot. Tara knew it wasn’t that interesting, you were just avoiding making eye contact. 

“We almost kissed, I think I’m allowed to ask you personal questions” Tara chuckled out, the autumn breeze cooling the fire blooming on her cheeks. 

“And that shows the complex relationship between- y/n, are you even listening to me?” Tara paused her rant about Paradise Lost when she noticed your eyes had been focusing on her and not the book in front of you. You clearly hadn’t been paying attention, you didn’t even notice her lift her head up to look at you. Tara grabbed a paper clip from the nearby stack of papers, and tossed it in your direction. It hit you square in the side of the nose and you jumped. Caught red handed. 

“What? Yeah of course I am” your eyes shot down to the book beneath your fingertips, clearly trying to figure out what the hell she had been going on about. 

“Focus, our midterm is next week” Tara tapped her pastel blue pen down on the paragraph she had been talking about.  “And stop staring, it’s creepy” Tara didn’t really think it was creepy, but she knew if she let you look at her for too much longer then you might notice the pink tint that was finding its way to her cheeks from you being so close. 

“I’m not a creep! I just think you have a pretty voice” you pretended to act shocked, but you knew Tara didn’t take any of your shit. Not when it came to classes. Not with your graduation looming in the distance. Tara wasn’t sure what your plans were after college, but she hoped you were planning on staying close. Would you stay working at the same hospital? 

“That’s something a creep would say” Tara teased, rolling onto her stomach to copy you. She didn’t want to think about you graduating, and leaving just yet. It made her feel like lightning struck her heart. She didn’t like that feeling. “This is important, can we please focus?” As much as Tara wanted you to stay, she didn’t like the idea of you failing being the only reason for staying. 

“I’m already focusing on something important to me” Tara looked up to see you already looking at her. Your hand pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of her messy bun. Fuck. Tara felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Their soft wings tickled the sides, spreading the warmth they left through her body. Tara watched as your eyes shifted down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. Please kiss me. Tara felt the heat between the two of you, something seemingly pulling you closer and closer. 

Your copy of Paradise Lost disregarded somewhere on the bed between the two of you, and for once Tara didn’t care. All she could think about was why the hell you couldn’t put on your big kid pants for once in your life and kiss her. Did she really have to do all the work? Just when she thought she was gonna explode, you leaned forward on your elbows. Your breath tickled her nose. Please just kiss me, you idiot. 

“Tara” Quinn shoved open the door to Tara’s room without a care. You quickly jumped away from each other, the notebooks in front of you suddenly becoming very interesting. That's it, Tara had decided you really were an idiot. She wasn’t even sure she could save you anymore. 

“Did I cockblock you?” it didn’t take a fool to read the situation, and Quinn certainly wasn’t a fool. Definitely not when it came to this. 

“What did you just say?” Tara squeezed her eyes shut. This is not happening right now. 

“Cockblocked you, I cockblocked you, didn’t I?” Quinn waved her finger between the two of you. 

“Immediate no” Tara jumped up from her spot on the bed, shaking her head. Quinn had just ruined this for her, and now she was only making it worse. 

“Please stop saying the word cock” your voice was muffled from where you had your face pressed into your notebook. Tara wondered if your cheeks looked as red as hers felt. 

“What’d…what’d you need?” Tara’s voice stuttered. 

“Sam just texted me asking if I needed anything, so she's on her way home” Quinn waved her phone at them as evidence. Tara hated it. She wasn’t ready to handle Sam just yet. You sent her a sad smile; you knew that meant your night was over. Tara took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She really hated it. 

“Don’t ever enter a room like that again” Tara let out a sigh of frustration and sat back down on the bed. 

“I won’t” Quinn nodded her head, feeling just as awkward now. 

“Nice to see you, Quinn” you waved her direction and she offered an apologetic smile, turning and leaving the room. “But I'm gonna get out of here before your sister kills me” You smiled down at Tara. Tara could feel her cheeks burn even hotter now as you packed up your books. 

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Carpenter” you sent a wink in her direction before slipping out the window and down the fire escape. Tara let herself fall back on the bed. Fuck. The butterflies in her stomach felt bigger now, like a bird had taken over and was starting to flap its wings. 

“I changed my mind, give me that” Tara snatched the vape from your hand, and began to take a hit. The fire had begun to light up in her chest just from being close to you again. And she definitely wouldn’t have the courage to follow through with her plan if she was sober. 

“It’s weed Tara, don’t green out on me” you tried to pull the vape from her lips, but she swatted you away. It burned her throat, and her lungs felt heavy. 

“I know what I’m doing, I’m not some amateur” Tara took another long hit from it just to prove her point. When she exhaled she instantly felt the tickle in her throat. She felt her face start to turn red as she resisted the urge to cough. She wouldn’t let you think you were even a little right. 

“Not an amateur?” Your eyebrow cocked up, and a smirk played on your lips. After a few more seconds of watching her struggle, you offered her the cheap therapy coffee. And Tara took it gratefully, anything to soothe her throat. 

The second the coffee hit her tongue she knew it was a mistake. You had been right about one thing; that coffee HAD been made with sewer water. Tara felt humiliated as she sat coughing and spitting up trash coffee as the people of New York City passed by. Judging her. As if they even had a clue what she had been through. 

“Easy sweetheart, they haven’t given me my nursing license yet” your hand felt warm on her back, rubbing soothing circles. And even when the coughing settled and she sat back upright, you didn’t stop. You pulled her closer even. Tara didn’t mind though, she honestly hoped you wouldn’t ever stop. 

You were so close together now, the scent of coffee and weed still lingering on both of your breaths. Tara watched as you scanned her face for any sign of discomfort. Your face visibly settled when you found none. Tara wasn’t messed up by any means, but she definitely felt the high easing her nerves. She felt lighter now, like the weight of the world wasn't completely on her shoulders for once. And by the look on your face, she was sure you would take that weight if she had asked you to. 

Tara’s fingertips traced the scar above your eyebrow. It ran down the side of your face, and ended abruptly at your cheekbone. How had you gotten it? It didn’t look overly fresh, but was that why you had come to counseling? 

You abruptly grabbed her hand. Tara’s eyes flew to yours, and your skin warmed hers. The warmth burned hotter in her chest too. Tara liked having you this close. 

“I will not be held responsible for my actions if you don’t stop touching me” Your eyes were serious. 

Tara swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. She had been holding back from you long enough that even the idea of giving in made her hands shake. Tara held your gaze for a moment, contemplating her next move, then shifted onto her knees and pressed her lips against yours. 

“Good girl” you whispered when she finally pulled away. She shivered under you. 

“You like that, don’t you? You want everyone to think you're so sweet and innocent. And good.” your breath tickled her ear “but you like the darkness. You need it, crave it. And I'm going to give it to you, Tara Carpenter”. 

And you were right. Tara needed it. She craved it. She craved you. 

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

[onwednesdayswewrite]

would you love me?

Summary: Wednesday is in the middle of her writing hour when you bring up a very important question. But will she answer appropriately?

Word Count: 665 Warnings: swearing Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader A/N: here you go, a little lightheartedness to break up the angst I've been cranking out

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

Wednesday’s fingers stilled on the typewriter and she took a deep breath, her eyes slipping shut for only a moment. She exhaled slowly and looked up, her eyes focusing on the piece of paper sticking out of the typewriter. If she focused hard enough, it was possible that she would forget that nonsensical question you had just asked.

“Wends?”

Or not.

“Worms are not capable of experiencing love,” Wednesday answered simply. SHe didn’t turn around but could hear you shuffling on her bed.

“I didn’t ask if I would still love you if I was a worm,” you huffed. “I asked if you would love me if I was a worm.”

“Where did you even hear of this question?” Wednesday asked, quickly going back to typing on her typewriter. It was a welcome distraction.

“Enid.” Of course. “She asked me at lunch, and obviously I said yes because that’s what best friends are for.”

“You’re both imbeciles,” she said quietly to herself. Hopefully it was drowned out by the clacking.

“Wednesday, this is important,” you whined. “I need to know.”

“Why would it matter?” She asked. “I would have to love you as a human before I could love you as a worm.”

“But you do love me as a human,” you said, and she could hear the smile in your voice. It made her heart beat just a little faster.

“If you utter that to anyone else, I will end you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you answered with what Wednesday could only describe as a dreamy sigh. “But you’re still avoiding the question.”

Wednesday exhaled through her nose before calling it quits. She pulled her hands back into her lap and turned her chair to look at you. You had managed to pull your knees up to your chest while sitting on her bed, your eyes sparkling with a mischief that you usually kept reserved. Until you got a ridiculous thought in your head.

This was the ridiculous thought.

“Okay, let me set the scene,” you said, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. “You see me as a worm,” you hold your hands out to help with visualisations. “Long, girthy, the perfect specimen of a worm because, I mean, of course I am,” you scoffed. “And you knew it was me, right?” You waited for her to nod; she did. “Would you still love me?”

“This is ridiculous,” Wednesday said. She was not understanding the purpose of this question.

“Oh come on, Wends,” you said, your stupid smile only getting bigger. “You wouldn’t pick me up and let me ride on your shoulder?”

“This question has veered into uncharted territory,” she said, “I don’t understand what answer you want from me.”

“I don’t want a specific answer,” you said, “I just want any answer.”

Wednesday looked at you, truly looked at you. Your tilted head, your crooked smile, that sparkle in your eye. She wouldn’t deny, there was something attractive about you when you got on these unusual tangents. Maybe it was in your insistence to try and explain, or to find out everyone else’s opinions. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she liked to see you this way.

She sighed through her nose.

“I would tolerate you if you were a worm,” she finally said, turning quickly so you couldn’t see her smile when you pumped your fist into the air and cheered silently.

“I knew it,” you whispered.

Her fingers had just started typing again when she felt your lips press against her cheek. They were warm and soft and smelled faintly of the excessively flavoured chapstick you usually wore. Your kiss lingered for longer than necessary, but she loved it and couldn’t help but finally smile at the feeling.

“I would love you if you were a worm too,” you said, accentuating your answer with another quick kiss before laying back down on her bed. Maybe your insane questions weren’t entirely pointless.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

Birb being Lurch’s mortal enemy, and using her little flappy wings to see better has me cackling😂

Poor little naïve birb thinks she can keep up with Wednesday’s sadistic pranks 🤭

Poor birb finally feels safe🥺

Wends and birdy are getting a little spicy here, give me more🥵

everyone but her pt.17

Summary: You're spending the first month of summer with the Addamses, which Wednesday initially loved until you started a war that you couldn't finish. Maybe you were officially indoctrinated into the Addams family? There's no time like the present.

Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: Addams Family-esque violence (in pranks, no one is harmed!), internal guilt, swearing, making out, suggestive themes Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn

“Where is he?” You asked for the 21st time in the past five minutes.

“A watched pot never boils,” Wednesday said as her fingers turned the page of her current novel.

“I’m not watching a pot,” you mumbled, “I’m watching for my best friend Lurch.”

From her spot at her desk, Wednesday finally dared to look up in your direction. You were practically leaning halfway over the balcony, your wings flapping every now and then to lift your feet before placing you back on the ground. You were both waiting impatiently for her family’s car to pull up. All the bags were packed, your family had already given their okay for the month-long stay, and now it was simply a waiting game.

If Wednesday had a dollar for every time you had mentioned Lurch during the last few days of the school year, she would have been able to single-handedly pay for your college tuition. Not that you were going, she thought with a frown that, thankfully, no one could see.

“He’s never gonna get here,” you grumbled again, your wings drooping along with your shoulders.

“Why are you so eager to see Lurch?” Wednesday asked. She finally closed her book and put it aside right as you turned around with the biggest smile on your face.

“I just think he’s neat,” you said.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to fight him,” she said with a tilt of her head.

“Oh I do.” Your smile dropped and you turned deathly serious. “He’s my mortal enemy,” you said with a nod of your head. “And I am going to beat him this time.”

She said nothing, just raised a single brow at you which in turn caused your smile to come back. It was fleeting, however, as you quickly turned to look back over the balcony to watch for the signature Addams family car. You looked childish standing there in your shorts and too-big t-shirt, genuine excitement on your face. The sight brought those spiders back to her stomach, something she hadn’t felt in a while.

But they turned vicious when she started to consider the implications of your eagerness for her family to appear. You hadn’t explained much to her, but she knew your biological parents weren’t necessarily part of the picture. When was the last time someone had picked you up from Nevermore? Her own family not included, when had someone last come to take you home?

"They're here!" You shouted, drawing Wednesday out of her own thoughts.

She didn't even have the chance to breathe before you vaulted yourself over the balcony. Her heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest before she could remind it that you had wings. That didn't stop her from running to the railing to make sure. Just in case.

You were already saying your hellos to everyone as Lurch made his way inside. It wouldn't take him long to get up to her dorm, but it still gave Wednesday plenty of time to watch you interact with her family. There was a twisting feeling in Wednesday's stomach at how physical you were with everyone. A hand on Pugsley's shoulder, allowing her father to hug you, leaning into her mother's touch on your cheek. You certainly weren't usually that physical with her.

The door opened behind her and she quickly pushed that thought down. Lurch nodded at her once before grabbing the luggage, following her out and downstairs to where you all were waiting. She didn't miss the way your smile softened when you met her eyes.

Pugsley and her father gave her their usual hugs - she wouldn't admit it was a welcome gesture - while Lurch put the luggage in the back of the car. Everyone's voices carried across the air, riding only on the occasional sound of your wings ruffling.

"Aren't you coming?" Wednesday asked when you scuffed your feet in the dirt. Everyone else was already situated in the car.

"I- I can't," you said as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt. "It's too soon."

Too soon. Wednesday didn't need to ask what you meant; your birthday was only a week ago. It was still a new piece of information to her, something she hadn't yet incorporated into preparations. She berated herself for not considering it sooner. There were plenty of other ways to get back home, yet she hadn't even attempted to think of any.

"I'll be good," you said with a slight upturn of your lips. "I'll fly overhead."

"Are you sure?" Wednesday asked. Please just get in the car.

"Yeah," you shrugged, "I could use the exercise." A real smile quickly replaced the uncertain one. "I'll even race you."

"You'll exhaust yourself and plummet to the ground," she answered quickly. “And you’ll still lose.”

“I think you’re just scared, Addams,” you taunted, leaning down to be on even eye-level with her. It was demeaning.

She loved it.

“If you leave now,” she said with a glare in her eyes, “you can have a 30 second head start.”

“I expect a reward when I win,” you said with a cocky smirk that, if it had been from anyone else, would have made Wednesday nauseous. And not in a good way.

You made up for it with a wink that very much made her nauseous. In a good way.

The muscles in your legs tensed before you launched yourself into the air with a powerful push of your wings. Without getting the chance to brace herself, Wednesday shamefully felt herself stumble back a step, her eyes blinking frantically to clear the dirt from around her. You were already nothing more than a speck in the sky when she managed to look up.

The race was on.

It was a long car trip, which was to be expected, but what made it all the more torturous were her parents' incessant questions. Didn't they know she was anxiously watching the sky, trying to find you to know you were safe? There was nothing to inform them of, they had talked only last week. Quite frankly, Wednesday believed it was the longest car ride of her life.

You were leaning against the front door frame with grandmama beside you when they finally pulled up to the house. Wednesday could see the sweat still dripping down your face and the pitiful attempt to keep your eyes open. All defiance was wiped from your posture as your shoulders and wings drooped pathetically.

Yet, she would admit, you had beat them to the house.

“Well, well, well,” you spoke slowly once Wednesday finally walked up the porch stairs, “look who finally decided to show up.”

“You need a bath,” she said without bothering to look at you for too long. She didn’t want you to notice that she had missed you.

“Not until I’m done gloating,” you said, “Grandmama even congratulated me for my speed and skill."

"Unlikely," Wednesday said, brushing past you as she entered the house. You followed behind her like a puppy.

"She did," you argued, "we're actually best friends now."

"You've gloated enough," she said, stopping herself short and feeling you walk into her because, as expected, you weren't paying full attention. "Go bathe."

"Do I get my winner's prize afterwards?" You asked. She didn't have to turn around to know you were smiling.

"You can find that out after you stop smelling."

The speed at which you ran to your bathroom was impressive, Wednesday wouldn't lie. It was almost worthy of a smile, but she settled for a soft exhale. You were acting rather childish and you hadn't even been at the house for more than an hour. What was it about this trip that was clearly easing your nerves?

"The gift is on her bedside table," her mother said once you were far out of hearing range.

“Excellent,” Wednesday said before walking off to her room. She was more than happy to use your absence as the perfect time to unpack.

Once you got out of the bath, you stood in the middle of the bathroom and huffed. It was times like this where you wished Wednesday - or any of the Addamses for that matter - used technology. Your wings were soaked to the bone, your hair was dripping down your spine (which tickled), and you just wanted to blow it all dry so you could be warm again. Was that really too much to ask?

Yes. Yes it was.

You shook viciously, your feet lifting off the slick ground for a moment. It took a few more shakes before your wings felt a little lighter, a little too fluffy again, but at least they were (mostly) dry. Much better, you thought as you wrapped one towel around your waist and used another to dry your hair. Sure, it would look funny later in the day, but that was a future-you problem.

All of your bags were already in your room by the time you stepped out of the bathroom. It was easy to dig through and find some comfy clothes, and you got dressed quickly, struggling to pull your shirt on and fit your wings through their respective slots. You might have bumped into a few things in the process, but that was alright; at least nothing broke, right?

The dresser drawer slid shut, signaling your completion of unpacking. With a satisfied grin, you looked around the room, just to double check. But your eyes landed on a small box sitting on the bedside table. A box that you hadn’t brought with you.

A black box.

Hesitantly, you walked over to the bedside table and looked down. It had a small black bow wrapped around it and was resting on top of a card. You grabbed the box first, carefully untying the bow and lifting the lid. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The brilliance of the crystal inside was what caught your eyes first as you picked it up with shaking fingers.

A simple black crystal pendant hung from a golden chain. The crystal itself was smooth and cold to the touch, and you could almost see your reflection in it if you turned it just right. It was heavy when it swung from between your fingers, almost hypnotising in its pattern.

Your chest hurt at how expensive it looked.

You gently placed the pendant back in the box and set it aside to pick up the card and read the cover; One year closer to the sweet release of death. Pretty on point for the Addams. Rough fingers flipped the card open but froze when something fell out onto the desk.

Your head tilted to the left as you reached for it, reading the words on the card first: Happy first Addams birthday. Birthday. That prickling pain settled in the back of your head again, and you shook your head to try and physically get rid of it. It didn’t work.

“If you loved me, you would take me hiking for my birthday,” you said to Nicky as soon as you found him after class.

“You’re so demanding,” he huffed, but you could see the smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself with another shake of your head.

It’s a sweet gesture, the voice in your head said. You knew it was a sweet gesture; painfully aware of it, in fact. A sigh left your lips as you put the card down and looked at the other item in your hand. It took a few seconds of staring at it, your eyes blinking excessively, before you could actually comprehend what it was.

A check. It was a check. An empty check signed “Gomez Addams” on the bottom right corner. An empty check addressed to you and the memo line stating: Medical Expenses.

Once you were aware of the burn in your lungs, you let out a shaky breath that you hadn’t known you were holding. A million thoughts were running through your head, none of them good. Your eyes screwed shut as they echoed in your mind, getting louder and louder.

Another debt to repay?

You could repay it. You knew you could.

You’ve become a burden to yet another person.

No, they were nice, you weren’t a burden. Were you?

That pain in the back of your head grew, quickly turning into a migraine that you knew would make you sick. The strain of your clenched jaw certainly wasn’t doing you any favours either. Fuck, why would they do this? No, why would Wednesday do this? She knew better, she fucking knew better.

With a groan, you grabbed the check and amulet and walked downstairs. You didn’t know where anyone was, but you could find them easily enough. The size of the mansion was infuriating when you were looking for someone, you realised. It was far easier to find someone when there were only a handful of rooms.

You found Morticia and Gomez alone in the greenhouse. Thankfully they were clothed.

“Ah,” Gomez exclaimed when he saw you enter the greenhouse, “you found the gifts!”

“Shall I help you put it on?” Morticia asked, indicating the pendant with her eyes.

Please take them back.

“I- that- that’s actually what- what I- what I wanted to- to talk to you about,” you stuttered. Only imbeciles stutter, stop it.

“Sit, please,” Gomez said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. You promptly sat, your back straight and both gifts laid bare on the table. “Do you not like them?”

“No!” You shouted a bit too loud, a bit too fast. “No, that’s- that’s not it.” You cleared your throat. “It’s- it- it’s stunning,” your eyes darted away from the check, “and generous.”

“Then where does the problem lie, little bird?” He asked, leaning back in his chair. Morticia had now joined him on the other side of the table, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Well now it just felt like an interrogation.

“I can’t accept them,” you said without meeting their eyes. “I could never repay you.”

“Darling, they’re gifts,” Morticia said, “not something to be repaid.”

I have to repay you, you thought. I have to. How could you explain to them that they were wrong? Nothing is free even if it’s a gift. Everything comes with a price. School, gifts, love. It all comes with a price, and if they were serious about that damn check, you would never be able to erase that debt.

“I could never repay you,” you repeated.

They were silent, and that was almost worse than their attempt to get you to reconsider. They needed to say something; they needed to talk so you could move on and get off this horrid topic.

The migraine grew worse.

“How about a compromise,” Gomez said softly. You looked up, finally, to see them both giving you a painfully soft look. “Keep the pendant, we’ll keep the check.”

“It is a birthday gift, after all,” Morticia finished.

Stop saying birthday.

Your eyes trailed down to where the pendant was sitting on the table. It was stunning, you wouldn’t deny that. But it looked expensive. Could you repay them for it? Surely you could, you were working a bit over the summer and you could probably do some things around their house. It couldn’t be too hard to repay, could it?

“Okay,” you finally managed to squeak out. “Thank you.” You would accept the gift. 

But you were definitely going to have a talk with Wednesday about it. She meant well, but this was a bit too far. What was she even thinking? She knew you hated people spending money on you, didn’t she? And she had told them about Nicky? No, no she needed to know. Gently. Hopefully.

You didn’t see the sad smiles the Addamses gave you as you walked off to find Wednesday.

—---

Wednesday hadn't understood your insistence on not gifting you things, nor did she understand your anger at her parents offering to help with Nicky. You were practically on your own, were you not? So why would you be so against help when everyone knew medical bills were preposterous in size? She knew you weren't ignorant enough to believe you, a freshly graduated high school student with no job, could pay them on your own.

But you had insisted, and she had nodded in understanding, and eventually you came to an agreement. Nothing expensive, only things that could be repaid in favours or equal monetary value. Although as you allowed her to clasp the pendant around your neck, you hesitantly agreed you wouldn't attempt to pay them back for the birthday gift. That was a week ago, and she had silently adored every moment of peace that had come with it.

But now you were her mortal enemy once again, and she was not going to lose to the likes of you.

It had just been a normal morning. You had snuck into her room and woken her up with what had started off as a simple kiss. A simple kiss that had quickly turned into multiple kisses. She grabbed the fabric of your shirt and pulled you down until you were hovering above her on the bed and she could tangle her hands in your hair. It was quite a wonderful way to wake up, she would admit.

The smell of you, fresh out of the bath, invaded all of her senses. You smelled like her thanks to using her supplies, but with the faintest underlying smell of dirt and trees. Something she had come to associate with home. It sent her mind reeling, eliminating every thought except for one: you. She hated you for it.

She loved that she hated you for it.

One of her hands trailed down your neck, following the chain of the pendant you now dutifully wore until she could grab the crystal and pull you closer. Knowing you were wearing something from her family, something from an Addams, was intoxicating. Almost like you were now officially part of the family.

"You should get ready," you mumbled against her lips, "I'll meet you downstairs."

You gave her one last kiss, making it count, before pulling away and standing back up. She refused to look at you, refused to let you see what you had really done to her. How you had gotten her heart racing and her skin flushed and hot. Not until she heard the door close did she finally get up, surprisingly eager to start the day.

Until she opened the closet and saw that all of her clothes had been replaced.

Frantically, Wednesday went to her dresser and opened all the drawers there too, hoping it was just her imagination. But no, it was real. She wasn't imagining it, this wasn't some horrifying dream. It was real life.

Every piece of clothing she owned had been replaced with brightly colored versions. It looked like a rainbow had thrown up in her closet and dresser, and she had nothing else to wear for the day. Grumbling to herself and already plotting revenge, she grabbed a pair of pants and a too-large shirt that smelled suspiciously like coffee and chalk.

Rightfully, everyone looked horrified when Wednesday made her way to the downstairs common room. It was as if the world had come to a stop and hell had frozen over. The room filled with gasps of fear and disgust from everyone.

Everyone, that is, except for you.

You, who was sitting in one of the armchairs with a cup of coffee in one hand and the pendant in the other. You, who was making direct eye contact with her even as you took another sip from your mug. You, who's smirk only grew as you continued to watch the realization dawn on her very face.

"You look absolutely dreadful," you said as everyone looked back and forth between you both.

"You'll regret this," Wednesday said, "it will be a slow and painful revenge."

"I'd like to see you try," you shot back.

And thus, your rivalry was reignited and Wednesday was determined to win.

She started gentle, she really did. After all, you weren't Pugsley, she couldn't very well electrocute you for the sake of winning a war. Well. Not yet. So it was a gentle war, one of silly little nothings.

Gods, what were you doing to her?

Gentle. As gentle as handing you your coffee in the morning when your eyes are still half-closed and your wings are nearly knocking everything over. With a sleepy smile and barely-working fingers, you take it and instantly take a big, deep drink of salty coffee that she had made special just for you.

You choke. You choke and your eyes go wide and you make eye contact with her over her own mug of black coffee. But then your eyes narrowed and you continued drinking, never once taking your eyes off her until the coffee was gone.

"Make this yourself?" You asked in a hoarse voice.

Wednesday blinked at you once.

"As a thank you," she said with a half-smile and the slightest tilt of her head, "for the wardrobe change."

"So that's how it's going to be," you stated simply.

"Unless you surrender."

"Never."

You were quick to get your revenge; that same morning, in fact. She had poured her cereal and had gotten up to get the milk, but when she came back her spoon had been replaced with a fork. A simple prank, harmless, juvenile at best. You still smiled to yourself anyway when her first bite of breakfast ended up being a disappointment.

But things ramped up quickly after that. Harmless pranks turned a little more courageous. A bucket of water dropping on your head when you entered her room. An explosion of rainbow glitter when Wednesday opened a new book. Still fairly harmless, all things considered.

It was only when Wednesday found out you had enlisted Pugsley to help you that she realised this was no longer a fun war. This was to the death, and you were gathering backup. Oh, but she could use whatever she wanted on Pugsley, and if you just so happened to be in the way, then so be it.

Your first true Addams prank was good, Wednesday wouldn't deny it. With hands held up in surrender, you had invited her to follow you for a nice picnic. As she followed behind you, you were telling her all about everything you had packed; meats, cheese, apples, oranges, practically an entire feast.

She saw your step falter when you passed through a doorway. Just the slightest lengthening of your stride, just enough for her to notice. You however didn't notice her stop, stretching her leg out to touch the barely-visible trip wire.

A guillotine blade fell where she would have been walking, and you turned your head expectantly, disappointment clearly filling your face.

"You tried to kill me?" Wednesday asked in a more deadpan tone than usual.

"Don't be so dramatic," you rolled your eyes. "I tried to maim, not kill." With a sigh, you turned around. "Pugsley said it would work."

You didn't see Wednesday's smile.

So you were going to play by Addams' rules, were you? Well if that's how you were going to be, then Wednesday wasn't going to hold back either. Of course she wouldn't hurt you. Too badly, that is. It wouldn't matter, there was still plenty of room for creativity.

Although she would admit, she was surprised you fell for the same thing twice. You were just humming to the song in your head while trailing your fingers over the spines of the books in the library. When she handed you a cup of tea, you smiled and instantly took a drink.

And froze.

"What have I told you about drinking anything without thought?" Wednesday asked.

"What did you put in this?" You asked.

"If you hurry, you can ask your new friend Pugsley for an antidote," she said with another smile before walking away.

The glare you gave her when you came back down for dinner was more than worth it.

Yours and Pugsley's pranks weren't as well thought out as they should have been. It explained why they never worked as well as intended. She would give you the benefit of the doubt; this was your first time building Addams contraptions. You didn't have the same knack for it, but you were learning.

Out of all your attempts, you never quite managed to execute them correctly. Not for lack of trying, of course, but you had a lot to learn. For instance, if you were going to sneak up on her, you needed to keep your wings tucked away so you didn't knock something over in the process. Which you did. All Wednesday had to do was turn and look at you for you to groan and drop what appeared to be a bucket full of… spiders?

"You're ruining it, Addams," you mumbled as you walked off, coincidentally in the direction of her next trap.

Your high pitched scream echoed down the halls when you encountered the trap. It sent a thrill down Wednesday's spine. This was becoming so much more entertaining than she had ever imagined.

She did feel bad at first, admittedly. Not everyone could handle the Addams' form of admiration or love for each other; she knew it was unconventional. She didn't care that it was unconventional, but she was aware of it nonetheless. What if you had thought it was too much? Too unusual? Too violent by most standards?

But the morning she woke up and opened her door, feeling her pulse race when an arrow buried itself into the doorframe by her head? And when she took a step back before hearing you cheering down the hall because yes, you had surprised her? Or you high-fiving Pugsley and rushing him off because you hadn't truly realised you had gotten caught yet. It gave Wednesday a feeling in her stomach that wasn't spiders or nausea but something else entirely.

Oh.

Oh.

Her eyes narrowed. How dare you.

She stayed furious with you when you left for two days to go stay with Nicky.

"Here," Wednesday said as she held a book out for you, "in case you need a new book."

"Oh thank god," you sighed. "I don't know how many more times I can read Lord of the Rings." You looked at the cover, and a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. "I think he'll like this one."

"Just bring it back in one piece," she said, to which you only replied with a wink.

Your absence gave her peace and yet simultaneously filled her with an anger that she couldn't quite place. On the one hand, she couldn't deny that you made her… happy. Your presence alone, even when you were being far too loud and creating chaos, gave her a sense of peace. She looked forward to being around you, whether you were talking or just enjoying each other's company.

But on the other hand, she was furious with you. Furious because not only had you made her feel these things to begin with, but the moment she had come to realise those feelings, you left for two days? Now she was forced to stew in her own uncomfortable mixture of thoughts and emotions. You knew how much she hated emotions, they were gateways to weakness.

And the worst part?

She missed you. Your absence around the house was felt by all. Her father no longer had you around to mentor about fencing or the ways of life, instead just moping around. Her mother has resorted to doting over her instead of you now, and that’s just an impossible situation. And Pugsley, dear misguided Pugsley, now had no one to talk to whenever he wanted.

Your presence had become such a normal thing in the house that, now that you were gone, no one knew what to do.

Wednesday would call everyone delusional if they noticed her waiting on the porch for you to finally get back. If there had been no chance of her getting caught by family, she would have gone to greet you out in the yard. Maybe even hold your hand and drag you back to the house where you belong.

Instead she just waited until you saw her, shooting her a quick smile, before walking back inside without you.

From the moment you walked back into the house, the war was back on. Just because you had gone to see Nicky didn’t mean she had admitted defeat. No, she was an Addams, she would never admit defeat. So when you were standing in the doorway and looking down at the dagger in Wednesday’s hand, you scoffed.

“What are you gonna do with that?” You asked. “Stab me?”

Wednesday simply smiled at you and took a step to the side, revealing a rope that was tied to the railing of the stairs. Your eyes narrowed when she looked back at you. Oh, this was going to be enjoyable. With a single swipe, she cut the rope and let the axe swing down. You screamed - that same high-pitched, childish scream that was starting to become comical - and fell to the ground just as the axe swung above your head.

“You’re sadistic!” You shouted.

Wednesday just left you there to wait out the deadly pendulum above you. This isn’t helping, she thought as she marched up the stairs to her room. Against all odds, she still had that forbidden feeling weighing heavy in her chest. She would need to go bigger.

It was time to get serious.

—---

Morticia couldn’t stop herself from eavesdropping whenever you and Wednesday were together. Of course she gave you both your space, but when she walked by and saw you sitting in Wednesday’s homemade electric chair? Letting her strap you to it without a single care in the world? Well, she couldn’t help it.

“What if I die?” You asked as you watched Wednesday tighten the helmet. There wasn’t a single ounce of worry in your face.

“Then I’ll have the opportunity to practice my dead-raising skills,” Wednesday said simply. She walked over to the wall and grabbed the switch.

“I don’t like how you said “practice”,” you mumbled, but otherwise settled back into the chair.

Morticia left the doorway before Wednesday pulled the switch. She knew how personal the situation was, she was no fool. Oh the times she and Gomez had used electrocution for their own fun evenings. If Wednesday was anything like her parents, then Morticia would keep her distance.

Your scream echoed through the house, and Morticia sighed dreamily.

Oh, young love.

She took note of the pranks slowing down while you willingly let Wednesday rope you into more and more despicable experiments. Testing out the larger-scaled steam powered guillotine, which did not work as it should have. If you and a bowling ball were dropped from the roof at the same time, would you reach the ground first? Could you truly catch an arrow if fired at you from a dozen paces away?

Then there were the more entertaining conversations that she walked past. Take, for instance, when she walked by the library while you and Wednesday were having tea.

“I bet they were all so incredibly repressed,” you said, your voice muffled from the walls of books.

“Why?” Wednesday asked, sounding so entirely disinterested.

“They couldn’t even show their ankles!” you answered.

“I believe I briefly showed you my lower leg once,” Wednesday said after a moment’s hesitation, teasing (and maybe even a smile) evident in her tone.

“I remember that, it was pretty scandalous,” you said, “definitely got me all hot and bothered.”

The sound of a slap and your muffled “hey!” resounded to where Morticia was still standing in the hallway. She smiled to herself before walking off. If that was how you were both going to discuss your blooming love life, who was she to judge? At least Wednesday was tolerating such behaviour in the first place.

Little steps.

One certain moment of listening in happened to teach her to stay far away whenever you two were alone. Even though it was hard to believe, she wasn’t intentionally searching for you both when you were alone. She just had a habit of roaming the house, and once she heard Wednesday’s voice or your laughter, she just couldn’t help but listen.

This time you were both in your room watching a movie of some sort.

“Am I ever going to get my sweatshirt back?” Wednesday asked.

“Only if you take it off me yourself,” you snorted. 

There was silence, the calm before the storm, before Morticia heard you scream “wait no!” and ruffling ensued, of course accompanied by your little squeaks and screams. She didn’t plan on hanging around to see how far you two took your movie night; if you were anything like she and Gomez were, then she was definitely going to put distance between herself and your room.

Although hearing the laughter coming from your room was more than worth it.

—---

Wednesday was starting to despise having to compete with her family for your attention. She had felt the same way when you had visited for Spring Break, but this was simply preposterous. Why on earth should she have to be the one to demand your attention when you gave it so openly to everyone else? After all, you were the one who insisted on officially labeling her as your girlfriend.

She was no expert, but that didn’t seem proper.

After interrogating her mother on your whereabouts, she marched her way to the cemetery where, just as her mother had said, you were sitting on the couch and looking up at the stars. You looked almost peaceful, with your wings out and your overly large sweater. How you had a sweater so big on you, she had no idea.

It was… cute.

You didn’t look up when she sat down beside you, just simply continued to look up at the stars while she looked at you. At the faintest scar by the corner of your eye that she suspected was from the full moon incident. Then at your hair, which was getting a little unruly but for some reason it fit you perfectly. Or your fingers which, for once, were simply fidgeting with each other instead of picking them apart.

“I like it out here,” you said after a few moments of sitting in silence.

“Outside?” Wednesday asked. Her eyes never once strayed from your face.

“Your house,” you continued. She took note of the smallest movement of the corner of your mouth. “It’s peaceful.”

Wednesday had to hold back a scoff at that. What part of her family, of all the pranks and experiments, was peaceful? They were chaotic, loud, they had a disembodied hand as family, for heaven’s sake. Nothing about the Addamses was peaceful, she didn’t comprehend how you could think such a thing.

“I think,” you continued slowly, your voice soft, “I think this is where I feel happy.” Wednesday’s eyes shot back up to look at you and the slightest shimmer in your eyes. “I don’t have any sad memories here.”

She would kill anyone if they found out, but she almost felt her black heart break. You were still talking, explaining. It didn’t matter because she was so focused on the movement of your lips, the tears welling in your eyes that were refusing to fall, the gentle, even rise and fall of your chest. Aside from the teary eyes, you looked at peace.

“Thinking about murder again?” You asked, drawing Wednesday back to the present where she finally noticed that you were looking at her. It was infuriating that you could get her so distracted.

“I was listening,” she said defensively, but you just gave her a soft smile.

“I know,” you said. “But you had that twinkle in your eye that usually means you’re thinking about some sort of crime you’re gonna commit.”

She narrowed her eyes at you and sighed. If you were going to notice her distraction, at least you hadn’t noticed the true reason behind it. Although, admittedly, she felt a swell of pride that you had noticed her enjoyment of crimes. Maybe you paid more attention than she thought.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, taking Wednesday aback.

“Why are you asking?” She asked in return. “You’ve kissed me before.”

“I’m trying to be polite, Addams,” you chuckled. “But fine, then I won’t-”

“-you can,” she interrupted a little too quickly.

The embarrassment eased slightly when you didn’t hesitate to cup her cheek and pull her in for a kiss. It was soft, far softer than normal. There was no urgency but kept all the passion. Your fingers scratched lightly against her jaw and as humiliating as it was, she melted into your touch.

Her own arms wrapped around your neck and pulled you down until her back hit the couch cushions. Your hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head protectively, and her heart tried to jump up through her throat. Damn  you and your gentle hands for making her feel this weak. All she wanted to do was pull you closer until there was no space between you and-

“-hey!”

Wednesday’s eyes flew open at your exclamation, fear coursing through her veins. Were you hurt? Had she done something wrong? Her eyes trailed over every inch of you as you moved your free hand around, digging into the couch cushions until finally pulling out a dagger.

“And here I thought you were just excited to see me,” you teased. Wednesday rolled her eyes and slapped you lightly before taking the dagger from you.

“Are you done?” She asked, holding the dagger so it pointed at your side while you hovered above her.

“Are you threatening me with a knife?” You asked. “Cause I’m into that.”

“I will leave you here,” Wednesday threatened with another roll of her eyes. You were preposterous.

“No, wait,” you said quickly. You took the dagger from her and tossed it aside on the ground. “See? All better.”

Wednesday wanted to tease you, to leave you hanging and hopefully force you to reconsider your stupid jokes. But when you were looking down at her with those eyes, and that lazy half-smile, she couldn’t help herself. She just pulled you back down to feel your smile against her.

A sigh fell from her lips when your fingers gently scratched against her scalp. Such a soft gesture from rough fingers, you truly had her wrapped around your little finger. Her own hands moved to rest against your neck, feeling your racing pulse under her touch. Just that feeling alone, the proof of what she did to you, was more than enough to get your own pulse rushing in return.

You kept one hand planted beside her head as your other removed itself from her scalp, trailing down her neck so softly it left her shivering. It came to a stop on her hip, hesitant, before slipping just under the hem of her shirt. Oh. Oh that was different. That was nice.

She pulled you impossibly closer when your thumb started to rub circles on her bare hip. Your lips were rough but soft, which was quite the conundrum. But it was perfect for you because it was you. The perfect mix of rough and soft, gentle with a purpose. Rough fingers that trailed so softly over her skin, leaving an inferno in their wake.

Your hand tightened on Wednesday's waist when you moved your head to the crook of her neck. She could feel your lips brushing against her skin, right over her pulse, but you just stayed there. Every now and then she would feel you press a kiss to her skin, on her neck, under her ear, on her slightly exposed collar bone. Each kiss sending another light shiver down her spine that she desperately hoped you couldn't feel.

"Come home with me," you said in a thick, gravelly voice. "Come meet my family." You left another kiss on her neck.

If her heart could have physically skipped a beat, it would have at your words. She grabbed your face and pulled you back to look at her. Your pupils were blown and you were breathing heavily through parted, kiss-swollen lips. Her answer was leaning up to kiss you again.

Your smile told her you understood.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

Masterlist

Tara Carpenter x Reader

this hell is better with you 

you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

Wednesday Addams X Reader

all signs point to you (deaf! reader)

Chapter One  Chapter Two 

Vada Cavell X Reader 

flawless (smut 18+)

[onwednesdayswewrite]

Wednesday is so gay for Birb it’s not even surprising anymore, I can’t wait for her to finally just admit it to herself 👀

a fair trade

Summary: (an "everyone but her" one-shot) Wednesday wasn't entirely sure what she would consider you; acquaintance, friend, or more. You had hung out, but they weren't dates. But when you offer a trade in skills, she supposes it's worth a try. She regrets it for reasons she hadn't anticipated

Word Count: 2k Warnings: swearing, mentions of scars, Wednesday lowkey getting h-word Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

“Come on, Addams, it’s a fair trade,” you said as you followed after Wednesday.

She had been forced to listen to you attempt to convince her to rock climb with you after classes. Time and time again, she had told you no, she didn’t care to rock climb, it was nothing more than a reckless hobby on the best of days. It was idiotic. You could never convince her that the injuries to your hands were worth it for something that had no real meaning.

“Why would I want your callused hands on my cello?” Wednesday asked, not even bothering to turn around to face you.

“I thought you were rather fond of my callused hands,” you shot back, finally stepping in front of Wednesday to stop her further escape. With a singular sigh, she looked up to hold your gaze.

“Why would I be fond of them?” Wednesday asked. “They’re so rough they would scratch the neck of my cello.”

“Then you’ll always have a reminder of me,” you said with a smile. “You know you want to agree.”

“I most certainly do not,” Wednesday answered.

“Think of it as a chance to humiliate me,” you said before she could attempt to walk off. “If I suck, you can tease me all you want. Come on, you love teasing me.”

You were right, of course, she did love to tease you. Over big things, little things, anything you could give her. And maybe she did wish to see you attempt to learn to play the cello; your fingers were far longer than hers, surely you would be almost adequate.

And maybe she wished to see you rock climb. Maybe.

“Very well,” Wednesday said after only another moment of consideration, “but you learn first.” Your grin was irritating. “You’re not getting blood on my cello.”

“I thought you liked blood,” you teased as you stepped aside to let her continue walking. You were quick to follow suit. “You’re spooky enough for it.”

She didn’t answer you; no, not a word. And she certainly didn’t mention your hand on her lower back, guiding her to the table where everyone was waiting. You didn’t need to know how much it made her heart race.

You had knocked on her door right on time. Unfortunately, you looked a little too eager and that concerned her.

“Calm yourself,” Wednesday warned you as she guided you out to the balcony. “Or you’re replacing my cello.”

“Good luck, babe,” you snorted, “I don’t have a dime to my name.”

Wednesday stopped herself short while you kept walking to plop yourself down in the chair. You had called her something. Something… inconceivable. Had you realised you had said it? Was it on purpose? Yoko had warned her that you were a - what had she called it - a flirt. And she supposed you had both gone on an outing (it wasn’t a date) already. Was this how it worked?

“Don’t call me babe,” was all Wednesday said.

“Oh, sorry,” you said with a grin, “sure thing, bro.”

Oh you were insufferable. Would it really be so awful of her to just push you off the side of the balcony? Would anyone really miss you? Surely she wasn’t the only one who found you exasperating. No one would even think twice if you mysteriously fell off the balcony. You were reckless on a daily basis, no one would even be surprised.

“We gonna do this or not?” You asked, pulling Wednesday out of her dilemma. “My fingers are ready.”

Correction. It was no longer a dilemma, it was now a struggle not to push you over the railing.

Wednesday shook her head once to clear the very appealing image of you tumbling over the balcony before moving closer and getting you all set up. As much as she tried to avoid it, you made it very difficult for her to just direct you. No, you practically forced her hand and she had to grab you to position your hands and posture.

But she would admit, once you had stopped fooling around - which took far too long - you weren’t half bad. You listened and did as instructed, and at the very least you got almost a decent sound out of the strings. Enid had never been able to do such a thing. You weren’t good, but you were adequate.

“Your fingers are too stiff,” Wednesday said when, once again, you couldn’t move your fingers fast enough to keep up with the rudimentary song.

“I’m doing my best,” you huffed, “I can’t help it.”

“Learn,” Wednesday demanded.

“You’re such a dick,” you said. But she would hand it to you, you did try to learn.

Time flew as she watched you repeat the song, your fingers slowly picking up traction and moving a little more smoothly with each attempt. You still weren’t any more than adequate at best, but you were improving. If you kept this up she might even be willing to teach you some of her more difficult songs.

“Don’t ask me to try that again,” you said when you finished the song, “my fingers are numb.”

“Because you’re weak,” Wednesday said without hesitation.

“Not weak,” you clarified, “untrained.”

“You’re weak,” she said again with the barest hint of a smirk that she couldn’t stop. She hoped you didn’t notice.

You did.

“Get ready to eat your words, Addams,” you said with your own matching smirk, “it’s time to climb.”

“Your rhyme was horrific,” Wednesday told you as she helped pack her cello up.

“You liked it,” you teased, “now come on!”

You grabbed Wednesday’s hand and pulled her behind you, giving Enid a very quick “later!” before running off. Wednesday truthfully had no idea where you were taking her. As far as she was aware, there was no place to rock climb near Nevermore. And she knew good and well you better not be taking her to climb up the tower or she would leave you there on your own.

“It’s right over here,” you said, more to yourself than Wednesday, as you pulled her around to a building she, admittedly, had never seen before.

The doors creaked when you pushed them open. You flicked the lightswitch and the room was flooded with harsh fluorescent lighting that, truthfully, agitated Wednesday’s eyes. One of the walls was covered in equipment while the other two (she didn’t include the wall they were currently next to) was covered in different coloured shapes. Some of the wall branched out at different angles and formations.

She would never admit it aloud to you, but it was intimidating.

“I wasn’t aware this was here,” Wednesday said instead, and you immediately started pulling her further into the room.

“That’s the point,” you said with a shrug as you stopped them next to a table. “Xavier gets his art shed, I got a climbing studio.”

“Studio?”

“Makes it sound fancy,” you said with a smile. “Take your shoes off and put these on,” you said, pushing a pair of worn sneakers toward her.

She raised a brow at you, but you shrugged and smiled at her anyway. Fine, she thought, I suppose I must uphold my end of the bargain. With a soft sigh, she bent down to take her own shoes off. But when she stood to place them on the table and grab the sneakers, she nearly choked on air.

If you had warned her that you were removing your sweater, she would have braced herself for the sight. But you hadn’t, and now you were standing in nothing more than sweats, your sports bra, and your harness, and she was not prepared. A terrible heat rushed to her face and she rushed to look back down at the shoes before you noticed her staring.

It's not staring, she tried to convince herself, I don’t stare.

“Got ‘em on?” You asked, and Wednesday nodded once; she still didn’t look at you. “Perfect, come on.”

You lead her over to one of the walls, it just went straight up without any unusual angles. The grips (Wednesday assumed that’s what they were called) were larger and stuck out from the wall a little more to make for an easier hold. Ah, she thought, you’re giving me the training wheels.

“So, technically we’re bouldering,” you said, pulling some dirt out of a bag and rubbing it between your hands, “but you don’t need to know the distinction.” You pulled her hands over and rubbed dirt over them as well. “I’ll show you once.”

Wednesday wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t been warned of what all this would entail. There had been no preface to you grabbing the wall, the tendons in your hands becoming more prominent as you pulled yourself up. You were talking, but she couldn’t hear a single thing you were saying. All she could focus on was the muscle in your arm, and the way your back flexed, and the shine of scars going around your right hip.

“Hey, focus up,” you said in, what Wednesday realised, was a tone that said I know what you’re doing. “I’m not repeating it a second time.”

“Just climb,” Wednesday said with a roll of her eyes and a lump in her throat.

“You’re hopeless,” you giggled. A giggle? “Try to climb up to this hold.”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to try and climb while you were watching her with a grin and a sparkle in your eye. No, quite frankly she would have rather been killed on the spot. But you were looking at her not with arrogance, but something far softer.

It was a disaster from start to finish.

You had quickly jumped down and, from then on, practically lifted Wednesday up the wall, holding yourself up as well in the process. Essentially, you were doing two people’s worth of work just to get her a few feet off the ground. Your hands were gentle on her back as you kept her against the wall. The dirt on your fingers rubbed against the back of her hand when you pulled her to a specific place to grab. Your instructions were clear, detailed, and you said it so softly; it was difficult to remember you were talking about climbing.

“How are your fingers?” You asked once you finally helped her back to the ground.

They hurt, she thought, and so do my forearms. And my back. And my legs. But she couldn’t admit that. It wasn’t that she was lacking in athleticism, but she would concede the fact that yes, this was far different. It certainly explained your… physique. That same physique that she was… noticing.

“Fine,” she said anyway. You smiled and licked your lips; they looked chapped. Not that she was noticing.

“Your forearms will hurt tomorrow,” you said as you reached over to grab her hands and rub the dirt off, “and probably your shoulders.”

“I like the pain,” Wednesday said. She hoped you didn’t notice that she was staring at the scar on your hip. It finished wrapping around and went under the waistband of your sweats.

Not that she noticed. Or cared. Please don’t think I noticed.

“I’m sure you do,” you said with a soft chuckle. “We should try this again,” you continued, “I liked the cello.”

I liked watching you, she thought. Not that you would ever know, of course. But it was the truth. She had very much enjoyed watching you do something that you clearly enjoyed doing. There had been a joy in your voice and a looseness in your body that she never saw during the day. You almost looked free.

“Once a month,” Wednesday said. You smiled a big, toothy grin.

“It’s a date, Addams.”

[onwednesdayswewrite]

all signs point to you chapter 1

Summary: All Wednesday wanted to do was go to the library to get a book, is that such a hard ask? She sure didn’t plan on falling in love. 

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x deaf!Reader

Warnings: threats of bodily harm from Wednesday 

Word Count: 1.8k

Hey y’all! I’m not actual deaf or HOH but I've done a lot research and spoken to my partner’s best friend but may not gotten everything right so please let me know! 

all signs point to you masterlist

--------------------------------------------------------------------

When Wednesday Addams stepped into the dusty Jericho Public Library that Saturday morning, she had one thing on her mind: Helter Skelter: The True Stories of the Manson Murders By Vincent Bugliosi. Thunder rolled outside, and it seemed to ignite something within the young Addams girl.  As her ebony braids dripped water onto her uniform, she remembered Enid making a fuss about the coming storm on the way into town, but frankly, Wednesday thought it was turning into a beautiful day.

If it weren’t for the tell-tale squeak of her platform shoes against the linoleum floor, onlookers would have thought Wednesday was floating under her Nevermore skirt with how she seemed to glide as she moved. She felt their glares harden when they realized a Nevermore student had ventured into this part of town. Others would have faltered under the judgment of their gaze, however, Wednesday rolled her shoulders and stalked on. She wouldn’t let some insignificant normies ruin her perfect day with her perfect book. 

“Good morning,” the older librarian called out from behind the large oak desk. Her sickly sweet smile made bile rise in Wednesday’s throat, she couldn’t stand anyone that excited before she was caffeinated. Wednesday had already stopped herself from committing a crime once this morning, a second would be far too much. Part of her was thankful that she had sent Enid to the Weathervane to prevent blood from spilling over excessive headphone volume, although a quad over ice was a tempting thought.

Wednesday didn’t let the thought bother her for too long, all she had to do was get this book, and then she could get her quad. The library wasn’t a very large one, and if Wednesday were to comment on it, she might say that it had something to do with the intelligence level of the town.  Wednesday knew she couldn’t say much though for Nevermore had committed literary atrocity by not having the book themselves. Wednesday knew the Dewey decimal system like the back of Thing’s hand and it didn’t take her long to track it. 364.1523. The numbers seemed to shine out to her. True crime, perfect. 

For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Chicago by Simon Baatz

The Burning of Bridget Cleary by Angela Bourke

An empty space. 

Outrage: The Five Reasons Why O.J. Simpson Got Away With Murder by Vincent Bugliosi

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

“How curious,” Wednesday whispered to herself at the sight of the missing book, though she heard Thing shift around in her backpack, trying to be nosy. For a brief moment, Wednesday was almost impressed, maybe there was some hope that someone else in this town had good taste and was at least somewhat competent. However, it didn’t last long for the realization to set in and Wednesday’s blood turned cold. Heads would roll today. 

Wednesday Addams was a perpetual creature of habit, and the slight change had her reeling. This was NOT part of the plan. Wednesday’s eyes started darting around to see if maybe some imbecile had placed it in the wrong spot. 

Just when Wednesday felt the stone in her stomach getting heavier and heavier, her eyes caught something that piqued her interest. Helter Skelter’s bright red writing against the pitch-black background stuck out of the top of a blue and purple tie-dye backpack. A normie girl. Hardly a worthy adversary, this would be easy. 

By now, Thing had wiggled free from his prison. His freshly manicured nails (courtesy of his bff, Enid) tapped on Wednesday's shoulder to grab her attention, his fingers moving about randomly. “No, I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” Wednesday barked at the hand on her shoulder, resisting every urge in her body to swat him off. The way Wednesday saw it she had two options, either confront you, or tuck her tail between her legs and return Nevermore without her book. The latter simply just wasn’t going to happen.

When Wednesday approached, you were mostly concealed by a huge stack of books up over your head at the edge of the desk. Your head ducked down, reading the book beneath your fingertips. 

The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule

Ted Bundy was another commendable choice. Wednesday couldn’t help but have some respect for you. She observed for a moment longer, hoping you would feel the black cloud looming over you, but you didn’t stir one bit. She made an attempt to clear her throat to get your attention, but still nothing. Were you really going to make her ask?

“Can I borrow your book?” Wednesday’s voice broke through the otherwise silent atmosphere of the library. Wednesday was half expecting you to turn and make a scene about Thing on her shoulder but instead, the only response she got was you flipping the page in your book. Clearly, you have read enough of your books to know what happens when you face the wrong person. Did you not know who she was? What she was capable of? 

Thing scurried down the length of her arm and hopped down onto the book on the top of the tall stack next to you. 

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory by Caitlin Doughty

His fingers pushed the book to the edge of the stack, and it tumbled down onto the ground, hitting with a loud bang. others in the library jumped and sent glares in Wednesday's direction, but all she could focus on was you. Wednesday felt her stomach harden again and her chest began to feel tight. You hadn’t even flinched.

Her jaw clenched as she snatched the fallen book off of the floor. If you weren’t even going to acknowledge her, then she was going to steal your book and that wasn’t the only thing she was going to do. You would pay for this. 

Wednesday threw herself down into the chair diagonal from you, her hands clenching and then splaying out. She needed to relax, or she would never be able to think clearly.

She wanted nothing more than to grab you by the hair and drag you into the bathroom to drown you in the toilet, but that seemed too easy.

A pool of piranhas was a viable option. Maybe this time she will succeed.

“Howdy R-woah Wednesday what’s wrong” Enid stopped dead in her tracks at the site of her roommate. Fingers gripping onto the table so hard they were turning blue and Thing defensively standing on her shoulder.

“Planning a homicide” Wednesday deadpanned, her eyes never leaving the sight of you still flipping through the pages of the book.

Enid paid no mind to Wednesday’s comment as this wasn’t unusual for her. Instead, she placed the plastic Weathervane to-go cup in front of Wednesday, her other arm, reaching across the table to wave up and down softly just in your peripheral vision. You’ve lifted your head and smiled at her, seemingly completely unaware of everything that just happened. 

Enid greeted you with a motion of her hands, and you seemed to respond, understanding. Wednesday must’ve let her confusion known to her roommate, and Wednesday watched as a realization crossed Enid's face about her previous comment. Enid’s pastel nails turned to claws as she clenched her fists. 

“Wednesday, Y/N is deaf” Enid scolded through gritted teeth. Wednesday had heard this tone of voice before and Enid only used it when Wednesday was truly in trouble. Wednesday felt what she only imagined to be shame run through her body as she watched your eyes track Enid’s lips trying to figure out what she had said. Wednesday could’ve sworn she heard a low growl come from Enid’s throat as she narrowed her eyes and shot Wednesday one last painful glare, and turned to continue her conversation with you. 

Despite Enid’s reprimanding, Wednesday still wanted nothing more than the book she came for. Wednesday again couldn’t help but commend you for your lack of reaction to Thing scampering down her arm and onto the table.  Instead, you smiled and waved. Thing’s phalanges moved about wildly in a way Wednesday thought communicated her need for the book. 

Your head cocked to the side and you chuckled. What had she done now? No matter how hard she tried to hide it, Wednesday felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She never liked this feeling and did her best to shake it off.

You held up one finger and told your backpack across the table. You pulled the small zipper bag out causing Helter Skelter to slip across the desk a little, just out of Wednesday's reach. From the small pouch, you pulled out two cochlear implants.

“What I think Wednesday was trying to ask is can she borrow your book?” Enid finally communicated once your processors and magnets were in place.

“Absolutely” a small broke through on your face, as your hands signed out of habit “ it’s nice to meet you Wednesday, I’m Y/N” your hand reached out for her, but she remained deadly still. Enid was prompt in delivering a sharp kick to Wednesday’s shin, and that was enough to kick her into action. 

Her hand reached out to yours and Wednesday felt a spark of electricity. Not one like when Uncle Fester pranked her, but this one was something different. This kind made her head feel foggy, and she felt something strange in her stomach, not hard as she felt before, but almost like something was moving and crawling around in there, and she couldn’t think straight. She almost missed you sliding the book to her.

“Have you read it before? It’s a really good read. Did you know after he died, Manson wanted his body displayed in the glass case, but his fiancé never followed through with his wishes?” Wednesday observed as your eyes seemed to come alive, and an excited smile found its way onto your face that almost made Wednesday forget to grab the book.  Wednesday made a mental note to remember that in the future, serial killers made you happy. 

Wednesday felt another feeling start to stir in the bottom of her stomach, this one different than the ones she had felt before. One she had only felt uttered between her parents. Wednesday waited with bated breath for the usual nausea to rise in her throat, but it never came. However, for one quick moment, Wednesday thought she felt her cold, dead heart give a soft beat in her chest.  

Suddenly the idea of a piranha-filled vat sounded appealing again. She would hang you upside down and let their sharp teeth nibble on your arms. Maybe then you would tell her why you made her feel that horrible feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Why does she feel so drawn to you. Why her mind felt cloudy when you smiled, and more importantly why she couldn’t wait to feel it again.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

It’s finally here! The long-awaited kiss and it was oh so glorious🤤

I present this beautiful chapter with the official gf seal of approval or...in true Wednesday fashion, seal of disapproval 

everyone but her pt.13

Summary: Wednesday has to admit, she had never anticipated her family taking to you in such a way. Nor did she expect everything else she witnessed during your visit. Maybe, just maybe, she does have a feeling or two for you.

Word Count: 7.1k Warnings: swearing, mentions of past abuse Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Everyone But Her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn-backup @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets

Wednesday Addams was not jealous. She had brought you into her home, had invited you to meet her family, had sacrificed most of her free time to be with you. And you went and spent time with her family instead, whether playing poker with Grandmama, or talking with Pugsley, or sneaking off with her mother and father. Every opportunity you got to spend time with them was taken in an instant.

But she wasn’t jealous.

She didn’t feel anything, really.

Not a single thing as she watched her father throw the sword at you and attack. It was a right of passage, everyone in the Addams family knew how to defend themself, she knew that. But watching you nearly drop it, barely moving in time to stop her father’s foil from piercing your heart? Her fingers shook as she turned the page in her book, nearly blinking at the sudden ring of steel as you deflected it. When he swept your legs and you fell so hard Wednesday felt the couch shake from the impact.

Later, you showed her the large bump on the back of your head and she begrudgingly held the ice pack to your head, but she felt nothing.

She felt nothing when she walked into the room and saw you sizing up Lurch. He had been warned that you were out for victory, so he paid you no mind. But you got up slowly and stalked him, staying out of his sight until you were close enough to exact your plan. Her heart raced as you pulled your fist back and she rushed to stop you, ignoring how soft your skin was. She watched your lips move as you talked but she didn’t hear a word.

When she caught you before another fight and you didn’t remove your fist from her hand, she felt nothing.

She felt nothing when Officer Vinny showed up at their door asking for you. In a surprise twist of fate, she didn’t see red when he talked to you, only an uneasiness in her stomach that made her want to curl up into a ball. But that uneasiness turned bearable, enjoyable even when he explained what you had been accused of, and she saw the remnants of black eyeshadow on your skin. She had thought you just weren’t sleeping well. No, she was wrong, you had ferociously defended her brother, and for what? No promise of any reward or retribution.

And when Pugsley couldn’t stop talking to you as they cleaned you up and you gave him the most loving smile she had ever seen, she felt nothing.

But she did feel something as was laying on her bed on the fourth night, not quite seething but something else. You had abandoned her throughout the day and no one would tell her where you had gone. They hadn’t even let her know if you were still in the house or not. In fact, she didn’t even see evidence of your existence until dinner when you sat down beside her as if you hadn’t vanished for the entire day.

It was impossible to sleep after she had left you at the table. You had tried to talk to her, she would give you credit for that, but not once had you attempted to explain your absence. It had made her feel… pity. That’s what it was. Pity for herself for not having you near her, talking with her, just being with her. 

She had felt it on occasion at Nevermore, usually when you were stuck in detention all weekend, but this felt different. You were practically within arm’s reach, she just couldn’t find you. It was the first time she had ever felt alone in her own home. And she hated you for it.

Okay, maybe she was seething. Just a little bit.

Three knocks on her door brought her out of the anger she was working herself into. She knew of only one person who knocked three times in quick succession, and she wasn’t in the mood for the visit. But then the door opened with a small groan, and shuffling feet.

“Wednesday?” You whispered. “Are you awake?”

Don’t answer, her mind told her. No, she was still mad at you. You had made her feel so many negative emotions in her own home. This was supposed to be her space to be herself, to do as she wished with no judgment. Then you had to come in and throw everything around as if you owned the place. Your absence made her feel alone.

It was exactly why she answered you.

“Yes,” she said, just as quiet.

She kept her eyes glued to the ceiling but listened with bated breath as you shut the door and shuffled across the room. Something fell to the floor and you let out a whispered “fuck” before she could hear you trying to fix whatever had broken. It was almost humorous when, after a few minutes of fumbling around, she heard a frustrated groan before pieces were set back down and you shuffled around some more.

“Move over.” You were standing at the edge of the bed in your big shirt and pyjama pants, and Wednesday couldn’t help herself.

You crawled into the bed as she moved over, and the bed dipped underneath you. It felt like ages as you shifted around, twisting and turning, trying to get into any sort of comfortable position. If you had been anyone else, she would have instantly pushed you out. But when she felt your fingers graze her arm as you finally settled, her breath caught in her throat and she tensed even more than usual.

You were on your side. You were on your side and your hands were tucked under your jaw and you were looking at her. Wednesday could feel your eyes staring holes into the side of her head and she couldn’t properly catch her breath. The last time you had been this close was after she had cleaned your hands. But this? There was no barrier, you were completely, entirely attentive.

It was too much.

“Why are you looking at me?” Wednesday asked with a huff.

“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust,” you shot back. “You’re so- so- so condemnatory.”

“Impressive,” she said, finally shifting to lay on her own side to look at you. You looked- stop it. “That’s a big word for you.” She could hear your feathers ruffle behind you. “Incorrect, but impressive.”

“You’re insufferable,” you argued. The furrow in your brows did nothing to erase the fact that Wednesday could see your feathers fluffing up. Your frustration, it seemed, was betrayed by your body.

“Well if that’s how you feel, then leave,” she said.

The way your face instantly relaxed would have been comical if her heart hadn’t started to race at the sight of you. You, in your too-big shirt that swallowed even you up. You, with the bright eyes that shone even in the dark of the room. You, who had somehow, at some point, moved closer until she could practically feel the warmth of your skin.

You, who was looking at her as if you were afraid to lose her.

“I don’t want to leave.” Your voice was too soft, and you were too close, and Wednesday wanted to simultaneously pull you closer and push you away.

“Why not?” She asked. Your eyes showed vulnerability, but they quickly relaxed and you rolled your eyes and turned your head to look at the door.

“I think your house is haunted,” you said as if you hadn’t just given her the most horrifically attractive look. Attractive? “Sounds like a couple of demons.”

“That’s just my parents,” Wednesday said, ignoring her embarrassing thoughts about your physical appearance. “You get used to it.”

“Your what?” You asked incredulously. “It doesn’t, like, gross you out?”

“Why would it?”

“Well…” you let out a huff. “I don’t know, they’re just… painfully open about it.”

“Hence my lack of desire for physical touch,” Wednesday said simply.

She regretted it instantly when your head turned back to her with a look that she couldn’t decipher. But she could decipher the way you eyed the space between you both and discreetly pulled back until you were hanging over the edge of the bed. And that increased distance was almost… unbearable.

She didn’t mean it.

You both laid there in silence, your eyes no longer on hers but instead on the insurmountable space between you both. All the while Wednesday couldn’t stop looking at you. The bags under your eyes - genuine ones this time - were getting larger. Were you sleeping? Were you comfortable in your room? Now that you were in her room, she couldn’t help but wonder if you were truly happy in her home or not.

She wanted to reach out and hold your hand. It was becoming a constant desire, she realised, and she wasn’t entirely disgusted with the idea. Not in the privacy of her own bedroom where it was only you and her. The world could just melt away and she wouldn’t notice because she was so completely focused on you.

“I should go,” you said after far too long.

And when you moved to get up, the intolerable feeling of anxiety started gnawing at her once again. Your hand pressed against the mattress to push yourself up, and in a moment of sheer panic, Wednesday reached out and grabbed it. Your eyes flickered back and forth from your joined hands to her face.

“You can stay.”

She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, admit that the thought of you leaving her alone, especially after abandoning her all day, was enough to keep her from sleeping. Never in her life had she let someone preoccupy her mind to the point she was incapable of falling asleep. But you seemed to make her experience a lot of new things.

“Okay,” you said softly. The bed shifted and creaked once again as you settled back down, moving just close enough so you weren’t hanging off the side as you had been.

“Don’t touch me while I’m trying to fall asleep,” she said harshly as she turned onto her back once again.

“Whatever you say, Wednesday,” you chuckled lightly.

Neither one of you brought up the fact that she was still holding your hand.

—---

Everyone had already started to arrive before you were even finished getting ready. Wednesday had eagerly offered to find you and help you get ready, but her father had quickly ushered her back to the ballroom. “I’ve got it,” he had said to a very disgruntled Wednesday.

Which was precisely how Wednesday found herself; dancing with relatives as she waited impatiently for you to arrive.

It was a far more enjoyable evening than the Rave’N, she wouldn’t dare deny it. At least at her own home there were no expectations. Not that she followed them anyway, but it was a little exhausting to subvert everyone’s expectations all the time. Here, she could do whatever she wanted with no consequences because everyone here was an Addams.

Except for you.

“Waiting for someone?”

Wednesday didn’t bother turning her head, but she did smile to herself when Uncle Fester grabbed her hands and pulled her into a dance. It had been a while since he had last been at the house. She always enjoyed - truly enjoyed - seeing him.

“A friend,” she answered.

“A special friend?” He asked again as he spun her around without a care in the world.

“Certainly no-”

Wednesday froze mid-dip when, even upside down, she saw you finally walking into the room with her father. He was wearing his usual eccentric outfit, but you. Oh, you. Restless hands tugged at the bottom of a familiar Victorian tuxedo that was a little too short. Your bowtie was snug and you looked-

“-What a looker,” Uncle Fester said as he pulled her back up. “You certainly know how to pick ‘em.”

“Don’t I?” She said breathlessly.

Around anyone else, she never would have admitted such a thing, wouldn’t have even hinted at it. But around Uncle Fester, she could be a little more open. He would never compare her to her parents, it was completely, entirely her. So when she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull as she walked toward you, she knew it was out of love, not out of comparison or judgment.

“The tux looks nice,” Wednesday said as she finally approached you. The relieved smile you gave her gave her those old, familiar spiders in her stomach once again.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “Your dad said it belonged to your- your Uncle? Uh, Uncle KnickKnack?” You said with so much uncertainty that Wednesday almost wanted to laugh.

“Yes, I remember,” Wednesday said as she reached forward to straighten your bowtie. You stiffened under her fingers. “He was wearing this when he died.”

“He what!?” You sputtered, looking at her with wide eyes. “I’m wearing a dead man’s suit!?”

“Calm down,” she shook her head, “it’s not like he needs it.”

“What if he comes back to haunt me?” You asked.

“What is your obsession with being haunted?”

“If anyone is gonna haunt me, it’s your family,” you scoffed, finally holding your arm out for Wednesday to take. “And the only Addams I want haunting me is you.”

Oh.

“If you want one of us, you get all of us,” Wednesday said instead. It was a weird way for her to say I want you haunting me too. Hopefully you received the message loud and clear. “Come on. We have some mingling to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered dutifully with a slight dip of your head and an irksome, crooked smile

Wednesday had to admit, you did well. Meeting everyone, remembering names, remembering to compliment them as only an Addams would. Surprisingly, you got along well with cousin Itt and Margaret. Well, more so Margaret, she was an Addams by marriage instead of blood, much like yo-

-Wednesday went rigid at how effortlessly the thought had entered her mind.

“Give me a sec, I see Pugs,” you whispered into her ear as if you hadn’t noticed her going stiff.

You carefully pulled your arm away and gave her a smile before walking off to where Pugsley and Thing were standing. All the while, Wednesday couldn’t get her mind back in check. Something had betrayed her, you were not an Addams, by blood nor marriage. Why had that thought even occurred to her? And why had it occurred so effortlessly?

Margaret was talking to her, she was aware of that, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching you with Pugsley, Thing, and now Uncle Fester. Your hands gestured wildly and you moved around as Thing crawled over your shoulders and across your back. It seemed like you were arguing, but very quickly Uncle Fester and Thing started dragging you into a closet.

Her foot tapped the floor as she waited, eyes glued to the closet door. What were they doing to you in there? Why had they taken you in there in the first place? She turned to Pugsley who just shot back a half-apologetic smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Traitor.

The closet door flew open as you were practically shoved out, your wings flapping enough to keep you up on your feet. Thing was on your shoulder with a pair of scissors while Uncle Fester was still messing with the back of your tuxedo. Whatever he was doing had your wings fluffing up and shaking. The wide-eyed look on your face turned into a scowl, and you reached back and slapped his hand away, giving him a stern finger in his face. With what little sense he had left, Thing quickly jumped ship and went to Uncle Fester.

Gods, Wednesday wished she could have heard what you said to them.

But as you walked back to where Wednesday was standing, she was suddenly entranced. Yes, you had looked rather stunning in the ancient tuxedo to begin with, but with your wings out, curled protectively around your shoulders? It was almost angelic. She had never thought she would find such a thing beautiful.

There was always an exception, she supposed.

“There’s about to be two less Addamses in the world,” you grumbled as your fingers fussed with the hem of the tux.

“Spin,” Wednesday demanded. You rolled your eyes, but did as she asked.

There, on the back of the tux, were two very large, very poorly cut holes where your wings were now sprouting. If she looked close enough, she could almost see the skin underneath; it almost looked raw, like a scar that hadn’t fully healed. You completed the spin before she could get a proper look.

“Ruined a dead man’s tux,” you said with an uptick of your lips. “He’s haunting me for sure now.”

“He means well,” Wednesday said when she noticed the thumbs up and wink Uncle Fester sent her way. It brought the smallest amount of heat to her cheeks.

“If he comes near me with scissors again, I’m stabbing him,” you said as you finally straightened up once again. With your wings you looked… regal.

“I’m sure he-”

“-May I have this dance?” Uncle Fester asked, holding his hand out for Wednesday to take.

“She would love to,” you answered for her. Without an ounce of hesitation, you put Wednesday’s hand in Uncle Fester’s and stepped back until he was pulling her to the center of the room.

Wednesday did her best to keep track of you as Uncle Fester twirled her around, carrying her across the entire ballroom. For a moment she lost you, and an unusual, unnamed feeling settled in the back of her throat. It was worse than swallowing molten lead. Only when she saw you across the room, dancing and laughing with Pugsley, did it dissipate just enough to ease the nausea growing in her stomach.

Before the song officially ended, you disappeared once again and that heaviness made a reappearance. Her head twisted this way and that, desperately searching for you. Uncle Fester was smiling down at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Why would he look at her like that? He only ever did that when he was scheming.

Three taps on her shoulder.

Uncle Fester spun her, letting go mid-spin and his hand was quickly replaced with someone else’s. She was pulled close and when she looked up, she saw you looking down at her. Your happy-go-lucky smile was replaced by something else, something more uncertain. The hand on her waist was warm; she always forgot how warm you were.

“What are you doing?” Wednesday asked as a waltz started up.

“Just shut up,” you said not unkindly with a nervous smile, “I have to concentrate.”

She opened her mouth to argue - you were giving her the perfect opportunity - but was quickly silenced when you started leading her around the room. And you were doing well. The look of pure concentration on your face was comical, but she was, admittedly, far more impressed with your improvement.

It was still too early for her to believe you were good at dancing; she couldn’t give you a big head. But you were leading her around the room expertly, pulling her close, spinning and dipping as the music commanded. There was once or twice you tripped over your own feet, but you recovered quickly and continued as if it had never happened.

You picked her up only once, your hands on her hips and for a moment, just a moment, she felt something settle in her stomach. Something different but good. Definitely good. She desperately hoped you couldn’t feel the slightest shiver run down her spine.

And then, over the top of your head, she saw her father. The weirdest look was on his face, it was almost a smile but not quite. His eyes were locked with hers and the cigar stuck out of the side of his mouth and he looked… proud, her mind filled in. He looked proud.

The dance finished with you pulling her flush against you, and if she focused hard enough, she could feel your heart racing in your chest. Your hand had moved from her waist to the small of her back and you were looking at her. Only at her. Didn’t you know others were watching?

Another song started up, and Wednesday half expected you to pull away - there was no way you had also learned to tango - but you stayed there. She could feel the small push on her back, holding her close. That suspiciously good feeling in her stomach returned along with a heat in her chest.

She should have felt disgusted by it. By the fact that you still hadn’t moved, and you were looking at her with a dumb, awestruck face, and everyone was still watching you. It should have been disgusting and nauseating and torturous in the worst way.

But it didn’t. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to feel disgusted by it.

“Come on,” Wednesday said as the music continued to blast throughout the ballroom.

The moment you removed your hands, she grabbed one and started pulling you through the crowd. In her peripheral, Uncle Fester and Pugsley were watching her with embarrassingly large smiles. If she wasn’t so intent on dragging you away, she would have made a side-trip to kill them.

They should be happy you were there.

You didn’t say anything to her as she took you outside into the cold air. The very tips of your feathers shook in the wind and pulled closer to your body. She felt a single squeeze to her hand while you followed dutifully behind. Not once did you question why you were in the Addams cemetery.

Maybe you were more of an Addams than she was willing to admit.

“Are you gonna kill me out here?” You asked once Wednesday let go of your hand in the mausoleum. “Because your mom said my dancing wasn’t that bad.”

Her body turned to face you but she stayed just far enough away to be out of touch. It was an internal battle with her heart and her mind, and now she was feeling the usual nausea from such emotions. Her mind was telling her not to do it, not to say what she was getting so desperate to say. What if you weren’t the same, and she was displaying her weakness only to have you throw it back like a spear to the chest?

But what if you felt the same? What if you understood and agreed? All the little glances, linking pinkies, setting things up that she would enjoy. The brushes of your hand against hers, the ceaseless teasing, the kindness you had shown to Eugene simply because she had asked it of you. Did you feel the same? Did it feel like there was a vice grip around your throat and needles continuously stabbing through your heart? Was something always trying to claw its way up her throat to say everything you were forcing down?

“Are you okay?” Your wings twitched behind you. “You look like you’re hurting.”

Just say it. Don’t be a coward and just say it.

“I’m fine,” Wednesday said as she took a single step closer to you. “I just… need to admit something.”

“You are gonna kill me,” you said seriously, but Wednesday could see the crinkle of your eyes as you forced down a smile.

An Addams is never afraid.

“I have feelings for you.” The words felt like hot lead burning down her throat. She took another step closer; now she could see the goosebumps on your neck.

“You- you do?” Your feathers fluffed up as you stumbled over the simple word.

“Yes,” Wednesday said, far softer this time.

“What- what do you- what do you feel?” You stammered again, your eyes looking everywhere but directly at her.

“I feel…” don’t show vulnerability, “you’re a little annoying.” Show a little vulnerability!

The immediate laugh that left your lips was hypnotising, almost even enough to distract her from her apparent inability to confess a single thing. The inferno in her chest was growing, but not from embarrassment. No, it was something else, something better. It grew and spread as you reached out and pulled her closer by her hips, her own fingers brushing against your hand-

-her head was thrown back as an electric shock radiated from her fingers, spreading down her veins until leaving a sharp pain in the back of her head. She would know the Nevermore dorms in her sleep, but this one was different. There were a few things on the shelf that she recognised

“But why aren’t they here?”

At the sound of a voice - it was surprisingly young - Wednesday dashed under one of the beds. Her foot knocked something around, but she didn’t look down. She was too focused on the door opening and two pairs of feet walking into the room. The larger pair belonged to a boy around Pugsley’s age who looked like he was in desperate need of a haircut. A frown adorned his face; it seemed unnatural.

Behind him was a child. One with raven black wings and a small scar through her top lip.

“All the parents showed up,” you whined. There was a familiar droop to your wings; it seemed you couldn’t outgrow everything.

“Well not ours,” the boy said. Who was he? Had you ever mentioned him before? Surely you had, how could you not?

“They promised,” you said.

“They’re not coming,” the boy said a little louder.

“But why not?” You asked.

“Because they don’t want us!” He shouted, causing you to flinch and your eyes to screw shut. “They don’t want us and they’re not coming back!”

The room fell under a suffocating silence as the boy looked at you, his face instantly transforming from frustration to regret. A single tear fell down your chubby cheek and past your lips. Your arms wrapped around yourself so tightly, Wednesday could see your knuckles straining against the skin.

“But I was good,” you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at the older boy. He sighed and stepped closer, pulling you into a hug that you clung to, a hug that seemed so personal Wednesday felt the need to look away to give you both a moment.

“I know,” he said softly into your ear.

“Wednesday!”

Her head snapped back and she became painfully aware of the way you were holding her face. There was concern written in your eyes as you looked her over frantically, desperately. Your fingers gently twitched against her jaw and neck and it was so soft it hurt.

“Are you okay?” You asked with a shakiness in your voice that she had just heard in her vision.

After what she had just seen, your kindness and gentleness made no sense. There were few details, but she knew what had happened. All of that and you weren’t angry? You weren’t furious? Didn’t you want to take it out on everybody until you felt better? But no, you were so focused on making sure she was okay and your fingers were so tragically soft even as they moved down to hold her by her shoulders.

Do it.

You were still fussing over her, guiding her to sit down on the marble slab in the mausoleum. A burning jolt shot through her veins as you moved to stand between her legs. Oh, how her hands shook as she reached up to grab the collar of your shirt. Would you reject her if she did something spontaneous?

“Wednesday, you’re not answering me,” you said frantically. She could hear the worry in your voice but was too focused on how your lips moved.

She wanted to do it. For the first time since meeting you, she genuinely wanted to do it. It was in the concern on your face and the frown on your lips. Would you still be frowning if she leaned forward? If she was so bold? She certainly didn’t feel bold anymore, not now when you were so close and so worried about her in a way that few ever had been.

“Just tell me you’re okay.” Your voice was rising, cracking with emotion that she hadn’t heard anyone display towards her before.

It was an unusual situation to be in, this not being confident in herself. Wednesday couldn’t recall a time where she hesitated to do what she wanted. But as she looked up at you and saw the way you licked your lips, she hesitated. She hesitated because this wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She had sworn off romance because she wasn’t her mother or father. It was nothing but a distraction and she had plans for her life, grand plans that no one would get in the way of.

“Dammit, Wednesday, just tell me-”

-she couldn’t take it anymore. In a single moment, she did everything she had sworn she wouldn’t. Her hands gripped your collar tighter and pulled you down until finally, finally your lips crashed ungraciously against hers. It wasn’t pretty; there was nothing romantic about it. It was rushed, sloppy, too hard, and your lips were unbearably chapped.

But by god if it wasn’t perfect. It was perfect in the way your grip tightened around her shoulders before you pulled her closer. In the way she could feel you holding your breath, almost as if you were worried that if you breathed, it would stop. The way she could feel your pulse rushing madly beneath her knuckles pressed against your neck.

She pulled back, fighting against everything in her not to smile when you tried to chase after her. Your eyes fluttered open as you looked down at her in a haze. A haze that was undoubtedly reflected in her own eyes. Looking up at you, with that dumbstruck look of yours and a hunger that she felt deep in her chest as her hands moved to rest against the back of your neck.

“Does that mean you’re okay?” You whispered, your hands sliding down to hold her by her hips.

With a roll of her eyes, she pulled you down into another kiss that you eagerly fell into. This one felt more natural, more like how one would imagine a first kiss to go. It was hungrier, but far softer, almost like you were scared to break her. And as she pulled you impossibly closer, maybe you would. She had never felt this vulnerable before, and maybe you would be the one to break her with your strong grip and soft hands.

But when one of your hands moved to cup her jaw and hold her still, she determined she was okay with breaking if it was you. If you were the one to shatter her heart and soul, that would be okay. Because now, in that exact moment, you were the only thing on her mind. Only you. You and your soft, scarred hands could break her in the gentlest way.

And she wouldn’t dare try to stop you.

—---

Gomez would admit he was a little surprised when Wednesday came down for breakfast without you. Still in her pyjamas from the night before and hair slightly disheveled, a part of him hoped his assumptions were correct. But with breakfast halfway finished and Wednesday still hadn’t said a word, he was starting to lose hope. He certainly didn’t want to lose to Grandmama.

But when you finally stumbled into the kitchen with smudged eyeliner and hazy eyes, he started to feel a bit more hope. You practically tripped into the chair beside Wednesday and reached for the cereal box. With only half-open eyes, you struggled until Wednesday rolled her eyes, grabbed it, and put it in your hands. You turned your head to offer her a sleepy smile, and that’s when Gomez saw it.

“Aha!” He exclaimed as he slammed his hands on the table, startling everyone at the table; you more so than the others.

“The excessive noise is not necessary,” Wednesday said, but Gomez instead just pointed to your neck.

“I was correct,” he continued. Your eyes went wide when you finally noticed where his finger was directed as he turned to face Grandmama. “I shall now take my winnings.”

“You were supposed to wait until you got back to school,” Grandmama said directly to Wednesday, who rolled her eyes in return. The slightest blush dusted her cheeks.

Nonetheless, Grandmama dug into her pocket and threw the cash onto the table, giving Gomez his victory. You were suddenly extremely interested in the cereal you were pouring with shaky hands as he put the wad of cash into his own pocket. It was an amusing turn of events, he thought, to see Wednesday finally at a loss for words.

Mercifully, he allowed you both to finish breakfast without much more teasing. You had already been avoiding his eyes, and as much as he was wanting to continue, he was going to be nice. It seemed you were both still exhausted from the previous night - he and Morticia shared a knowing look - and he was a generous man. He would be fair and let you rest for a moment.

But once you were all finished and you had helped wash the dishes - much against everyone’s insistence - and everyone headed back to the common room, he exacted his plan. You had been here for long enough to know the workings of the house, and he had one more thing he wanted to do before allowing you to rest for the remainder of your time in the house.

Like a tiger, he waited until your back was turned before grabbing his foil and sneaking up on you. The ruffle of your feathers should have given him indication, but he swung anyway. He was stopped in his tracks as he was stopped with the dagger currently residing in your left hand.

“Ha!” You shouted back with the most giddy look on your face. “I knew it!”

Beside you, Wednesday allowed the smallest ghost of a smile before holding out a sword for you to take. Ah, Gomez thought, you had both planned as well. He felt himself let out a laugh as he pulled back and got into position, completely ready to give it all he had.

Wednesday moved to the side as you swung first, and so your dance began. Your actual swordsmanship had improved over the week, you were a far more admirable opponent. But he was more focused on your footwork. He toyed with you, drawing you this way and that, forcing you to move all around the common room. And all the while, you staved off his advances.

“Aha!” Gomez shouted as he cornered you and held the sword to your neck. But you held no fear in your eyes; if anything, he saw defiance.

“Check,” you answered with a smirk and your eyes gesturing down until his own gaze followed.

“Check indeed,” he whispered with a smile when he saw the dagger you held to his side.

He dropped the sword and pulled back, clapping you on the shoulder and offering you congratulations on the draw. Was that happiness he saw on your face as you thanked him? The feathers on your wings fluffed up when you stepped back and thanked him again before following Wednesday out of the common room.

“She is an Addams,” Morticia said once you were both out of earshot.

“Yes,” Gomez said through the haze of his thoughts. “Indeed she is.”

—---

Wednesday opened the door to her room before you could knock the third time. Your hand was still raised and you had a sleepy, stupid smile on your face. Without hesitation, she pulled you into a kiss as she dragged you into the room. Impressively, you kicked the door shut behind you without pulling away.

“Yet you can’t dance?” Wednesday asked, her lips brushing against yours.

“Dancing takes skill,” you shrugged. “I’m a natural kicker.”

“That doesn’t make you sound interesting,” she said as she continued to drag you back to the bed with her. “It’s actually quite vapid.”

“You sure know how to woo a girl, don’t you?” You teased back.

“You’re maddening,” Wednesday said with a roll of her eyes. “Why are you even here?”

“Why do you only ask after you kiss me?” You asked.

She didn’t bother giving you an answer before pulling you onto the bed with her. Thankfully you were (surprisingly) graceful enough not to fall on her, instead landing beside her and staying there. Yes, she had kissed you - more than once at this point - but she still wasn’t too sure about cuddling. That was just a little too intimate. And by some miracle, you understood and didn’t push it.

“You ready to go back?” Your voice was muffled as you shifted around to get comfortable. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for you to get comfortable with wings the size of yours. Was it a struggle every night? Could you ever truly sleep well?

“Yes,” Wednesday lied.

“Well I’m not, I think-”

You rambled on while Wednesday’s mind started wandering. She was not ready to go back to Nevermore where everyone was in her business and you were different. It hadn’t been expected, she had never thought you would have another side to you. But after this week she got to see you happy. A genuine, true happiness that she only just realised wasn’t entirely there at Nevermore.

After what she had seen, she didn’t blame you for acting different. Your parents had abandoned you, had left you in the hands of strangers without any indication of when you would go home again. Did Nevermore bring out that darker side of you? Is that why you were more hesitant, more reserved? Would the excitement you were displaying here continue, or would you fall back to old habits, an old familiar personality?

“Oh my god,” you groaned, drawing Wednesday back to the present.

“What?” She asked, but her question was answered when she heard the noises coming from across the house.

“How are you so okay with hearing your parents fuck all the time?” You asked. “I never heard my parents.”

Wednesday had to bite back the retort that no, of course you didn’t, because they had left you. She couldn’t show all her cards just yet, it wasn’t the right time. And it would hurt you, her heart told her. Yes, she supposed that was true as well, she certainly didn’t want to hurt you. Aside from her feelings, it wasn’t like you had done anything to hurt or scare her-

-wait. Yes you had.

You were still rambling, going off about who knows what. At this point, Wednesday was determined you were talking just to hear your own voice. Not that she minded, of course, it gave her the perfect chance to look around her room to find what she could use in her plot against you.

Ah. That works perfectly.

“Can you pull that lever for me?” Wednesday said, interrupting whatever your train of thought had been.

“What?” You asked, looking around behind you to find the lever in question. “Why?”

“It’s the light,” she lied effortlessly, “I forgot to grab something.”

“Oh,” you said cheerily, “yeah sure!”

She should have felt guilty when you got up with the most eager smile on your face. It should have been eating away at her from the inside out because you wanted so desperately to help. But as you approached the lever and looked at it, all she could think about was the humiliation you had put her through at the end of your date. You had made her scream, and she was going to exact her revenge.

Satisfaction. That’s what she felt when you grabbed the lever and was immediately pulled up into the water tubes that littered the mansion. You didn’t scream, but she heard a very profound “fuck!” before you disappeared. Her heart pounded in her chest like a hammer as she stood to her feet and took her time grabbing her jacket and shoes.

For such a split-second plot, it was going splendidly. Grandmama gave her a wave as she passed, and she was standing at the tube exit right when you were shot out. You literally jumped to your feet and stood there, soaked arms and wings held out away from your also-soaked body. With wide, uncertain eyes and hair sticking up in every direction possible, Wednesday couldn’t stop her smile.

“I usually like my revenge warm,” Wednesday said when you started to shiver. You looked like a drowned rat. “This works just as well.”

Your eyes slowly, impressively slowly lifted until you were locking eyes with her. Her smile slowly fell as yours in turn grew. The muscles of your whole body tensed so much she could see it underneath your shirt. A single twitch of your left wing had her furrowing her brows.

“Don’t,” she warned.

You didn’t listen.

In books and movies, everyone says the accidents happen in slow motion. You can see your entire life flash before your eyes and bear witness to every minute atom in sight. But as Wednesday watched you, she realised they were wrong. There was nothing slow or poetic about the way you shook so violently she swore your feet lifted off the ground. It was reminiscent of a dog; maybe you had learned the habit from the Furs. It would certainly explain the ridiculous noise you let out mid-shake.

The amount of water that came off of you was rather impressive, but she didn’t find it as enjoyable when she was suddenly drenched and standing with you out in the cold. You didn’t back down from her glare, instead standing taller and matching her expression.

Your feathers being extremely fluffed up now did nothing to help you.

“This isn’t over,” Wednesday said as she stepped closer until she was face-to-face with you.

Well. Face-to-chest with you.

“Bring it, Addams,” you shot back, “my momma didn’t raise no bitch.”

Your words meant nothing to her as you pulled her into a searing kiss that took over every one of her senses. Suddenly she didn’t feel so cold anymore.

[onwednesdayswewrite]