ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ (ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ)
Wednesday Addams x reader
Words : 5.5k+
Summary : You always flirt with everyone, Wednesday included. There’s a rule, though; you always call them by their last names. What happens when you break that rule with Wednesday?
Warning (s) : blood.. lots of blood. Death.. lots of deaths.
a/n : hope this makes sense.. that’s all I ask LMAO
requested by friend @ipharaohosiris and kiddo @mikavlcs .
“Looking good, Addams.”
Wednesday cannot deal with this today. The sun has just taken its place on top of their heads, the heat raining down on them like hellfire upon sinners in the afterlife – and that, would’ve been the better circumstance, Wednesday muses. Because as the students fight for their lives under the bright rays from the sun, their hands and knees dirty, sticky with mud from planting the seeds of multiple deadly plants, you somehow find a way to gravitate toward the naturally gloomy girl, sending a searing heat erupting throughout her body worse than the sun could ever cause anyone.
Wednesday has lost her dark jacket, leaving her in the white shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up – the sight always sends you swooning, reminding you of the time you caught her digging up a grave illegally. You know it’s what she’d prefer to do rather than gardening, though you don’t starve yourself from admiring the rare show of a domestic Addams in her unnatural habitat.
“If you’re going to stand there without helping, you might as well leave.” The ravenette grunts from the ground, her voice harsh, surprisingly without malice laced in her tone. She glares all the same, though, even as you busy yourself with her bag of seeds and begin burying them into the soils you were provided with. Wednesday doesn’t correct you, her hands resuming their movements – she’s sharing her belonging – sure, it’s only seeds, but she knows you have one bag stashed in your left pocket, and the empty land behind her laid bare; it’s where you were supposed to plant your batch. You continue your torment of sending terrible pickup lines at her, your eyes crinkling at the ends as you crouch closer, hands operating expertly with the task.
“Listen. I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together.”
“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.”
Wednesday always thinks her parents are the worst at showing their love to each other verbally, for it usually makes her sick to the stomach, her previous dinner fighting to escape her esophagus as they begun their lovely banter right after the car door slammed shut. Turns out, she has yet to hear the worst of it. Never has she thought that anyone would express their interest in her by flirting openly on school grounds, yet the universe loves giving her the hardest riddles of life.
For example; how long will it take for Wednesday to give in and threaten you with her barbaric nature? Two seconds after sending her a wink. Does she have the full intention to carry her threat out? Yes, she’s already counting up a mental list of equipments she might need for your torture. Did she start to retort with her own horrific lines instead? Yes, and she’s still coming up with ideas to match your insufferably sweet ones.
“It’s a good thing we’re not in a horror movie. The cute ones always die first.”
“You’ve got beautiful skin. I can’t wait to wear it.”
They’re working the opposite way she’s been hoping for, yet her mind never supplies anything that could scare you away – she’s started coming up with more horrible lines that suggests she’s returning your interest, however you’re perceiving it. She only wants you gone, to have her space and silence to herself once more as she’s told Enid more times than the werewolf can count.
“Oh, c’mon, Wednesday. It’s not that bad. And if it was as agonizing as you claim it to be, we all know it wouldn’t have gone on for this long.” Wednesday hates to admit, but Enid does have a point, and it only aggravates the goth further. If anyone could guess the purpose of your flirting, basically the whole school could come up with an answer – however unreasonable it might be – like, “Oh, it’s a little game. No harm done.” Or something along the lines of, “Don’t worry about it, Wednesday. Trust me, it’s nothing personal.”, for they know it’s all talk and no games. So it seems you’ve been doing it since forever, and Wednesday feeling something is her fault entirely.
The more she avoids it, the more it invades her mind and soul, following her like an unwanted parasite living off of her good sleep and sanity. Her dead heart thunders in her chest each time you so much as brush your shoulder against hers, and something hot and red burns when you direct your attention to another. It’s unbecoming of an Addams to feel so strongly for someone who’s obviously lost in their own world, who spends so little regards to their surroundings and what she might feel. Wednesday swears to not let you affect her investigation on the hyde, and it’s working as well as she can expect.
Xavier keeps on tormenting her in classes and showing up in the most unexpected scenarios that leads to her suspects rising – while Tyler follows her instructions around like a lost puppy; Wednesday is beginning to think he must be mentally broken to answer her harsh glares with unnervingly sweet, if not as creepy, smiles.
If he wasn’t bothered by her tendencies for the horrors, then she’s not required to look out for his comfort. So when he stands in front of her door the night of the Rave’N, she resigns with a sigh and finds Thing gesturing to her closet sheepishly. Initially, she’s pondered about asking you, but as she suspected, you’ve already gotten yourself a date – Wednesday scolds herself for feeling even the slightest bit of disappointment filling her stomach.
Her eyes immediately look for any signs of you even in the hallway as she completely forgets about her plan with Eugene – the onyx orbs find Tyler instead, white plain suit for a plain looking normie, the boyish half-smile ever present on his face as he scans her over.
“…, You look beautiful.” Wednesday actively tries to not lose her mind, and the party hasn’t even started yet. Her eyes widen subtly when the hummer questions her about her promise, his dejected expression sending a bitter taste of guilt on her tongue as she makes another agreement to stake out the cave tomorrow. She hopes he’d be smart to listen and stay in the school.
The party is only starting when she arrives, finding Enid who squeals in delight at her decision to show up – annoyingly, she points to her back where you reside, a glass in your hand and without a partner anywhere near.
“Date bailed, best not bring it up. It’s causing a sour mood and it’s never good.” Such a pity. It seems you were thrilled to dance the night away, yet with a partner cancelling on you, you’ve decided to also reject each and every advances made to get you to stop glooming alone on the table.
Her feet carries her to you before she can stop herself, offering you a new glass to trade for the empty one in your grip. You accept it lightheartedly, before snapping up your gaze upon her – eyes trailing down her dress, then up again to meet her equally dilated pupils. A frown makes itself known on your eyebrows, raising your glass to your lips as you try to compile a set of words into a tangible sentence.
“Wait. Weren’t you meant to.. Ottinger-?” Wednesday averts her gaze, crossing her arms as she pointedly ignores Tyler’s awkward glance on her unmoving stance beside you.
“Change of plans. We’re going tomorrow.” You scrunch up your nose at her explanation, following her line of sight and wincing even more when you find the man in question, her date for the night.
“For him?” You raise your palms up in surrender when she shoots a glare your way, standing on your feet as she makes a beeline toward the dancefloor and you away from it.
Throughout the night, she keeps checking her back to find your seat vacant, your blob of hair nowhere to be found. She doesn’t see you again until her vision comes haunting her, and Eugene lays on the ground with a broken ankle, a bleeding arm added with a trauma that’s sure to stay with him for a lifetime. He calls out your name and your broken voice answers a few good feet away, followed by leaves crunching before you offer them a hand and help Eugene onto his feet.
“Fuck. The police will be here soon.” There’s an urgency in your voice that Wednesday fails to grasp, “And why is that bad?” You meet her eyes from over Eugene’s bowed head, sending her a look that says, ‘surely you’d understand’, and she does, her steps carrying on faster without much thinking.
“Oh my God. Is he okay?!” Thornhill intercepts your attempt at escaping questioning again, and Wednesday notices you’re breathing out harder in your rage. Your pale appearance and chapped lips don’t give you the best outlooks to any onlookers, as if you’re the one injured rather than the now unconscious boy in your arms.
“I bet this would’ve been a nice date, huh.” Wednesday sighs loudly as she retreats into her room, begrudgingly letting you in after Enid insisted you spend the night with them and not alone – an illogical demand, but you agreed soon as her bottom lip trembled, the night giving her more emotional damage than the ones attacked.
“Bloody and terrifying. Isn’t it perfect?” You refuse to stain the sheets in blood, and so you settle for the chair by Wednesday’s bedside, where her typewriter lays on the table – you ignore the way it calls for your name, curiousity eating you away.
While you inspect her writing equipment with an intrigued squint, fighting the exhaustion from engulfing you whole, Wednesday studies your form, limp and bent forward, as if you’re ready to fall onto the floor any second.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s Thing that scrambles to her sight, red staining his fingers as he taps the floor wildly. Blood drips from your chair and onto the wooden floor, your head now resting on your folded arms as your eyes slipped shut. Enid freezes on her bed, staring in horror as silence swallows the room, “Something’s not right..” Thing taps even more aggressively, tugging at Wednesday’s dress.
She catches you right as you slip from your position, your body finally running out of strength to hold yourself upright. Without a care and a weak tap on her arm, she maneuvers you onto her black sheets and you hiss as she rips your suit off, the sticky and still gushing blood pulling at your wound. You dare a peak at Enid who’s gone stark white in her frenzy, hurrying to the door – she doesn’t make it far before Wednesday stops her.
“Don’t make a big deal, Enid. Find Weems only.” The werewolf makes a small noise of affirmation before slipping through the door, knees shaking so badly she almost trips on herself several times.
“Dominance looks so good on you, Addams.” Your voice is muffled by her pillow that you’ve taken the liberty of ripping apart as pain courses through you, but she can still hear you clearly – her movements of removing your garments becoming harsher than intended.
“You couldn’t have told us you’re actively bleeding out?” Grunting as she presses a cloth against the gash, your hand finds her wrist to loosen the pressure to no avail, for she only puts her other hand on your shoulder to render your arm useless.
“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Even while dying, you still have the audacity to wink at her, your attempt at removing her strong push on your abdomen ceasing but your hand stays where it is, squeezing her small wrist for comfort instead. Wednesday fights back a grimace, an unwelcome guilt sitting in her chest.
It’s in the brief moments like these, short-lived and fleeting, that Wednesday feels like she knows you best and in turn, you feel her baring herself to you through her careful touches and softer words. She continually challenges you in the most random topics, her mission to keep you awake and talking working better when you don’t know the disguise she’s hiding under – though you’re sure to not let your eyelids drop, for you might miss the sight of her furrowed brows and pursed lips, the tender gaze in which she regards you with as she wonders what’s taking Enid so long.
“Never hide your pain again.” She demands. You exhale shakily through your nose, pouting dramatically at her demand as you feel the uncomfortable warmth of the blood seeping through her bed. “Next time, don’t ditch your investigation for a normie guy.”
Wednesday rolls her eyes. Of course, you’d hold that against her now, although she can’t retort with the fact that you’ve ditched her for some other classmate as a date, for it would expose her completely false and inaccurate feelings for you. The discussion ends there, the room replaced by a much heavier atmosphere when the principal steps inside – followed by police officers.
“You’re accusing me?” Her expression remains deadpanned, as if the answer couldn’t be clearer when you’re sitting on the floor behind bars while she stands with her arms crossed on the opposite end.
“Why else would you be there? Eugene admitted that he didn’t see you until the monster disappeared – all the leads point to you.” One after another accusations keep on firing from her mouth, but your head starts getting heavy and you feel lightheaded; the pain on your abdomen ceases and moves onto your chest, a stinging agony that intensifies at her gaze that reeks of suspicions.
“Have you considered the possibility that I was the one who fought it away?” You fire back, frustration in your tone as you ball up your first on your damp shirt. There was a faint sound of shouting, perhaps principal Weems attempting to reason with the authorities, perhaps she’s the only one in the right mind about who’s the one making mistakes.
Because you stay there for hours, cold seeping to your skin like a jacket, the chill tormenting your night after the commotion shifts to silence. It’s only then did you call out after hours of raking your brain for the Sheriff’s name, vaguely recalling it being spoken in passing from time to time.
“Galpin, Galpin. Donovan,” You try not to wince at the foreign name on your tongue as he comes into view, hat discarded and eyes bleary, keys in hand and no guns in sight. Bingo.
Stupid. She’s revoltingly, agonizingly stupid. Wednesday rummages through her brain on ways to take back her statement without seeming idiotic and unsure – if she takes it back now, there would be no point in the future to trust her again. It’s something she avoids happening; for someone to lose their trust on her words, however deceiving or manipulative they might be. Yet she’s lost it with the one that matters most – to you or your investigation? She ignores the taunting voice in her head. She knows it’ll be hard to be given the same courtesy of faith you’ve presented her.
Too many things are happening only in the first year of her time here, and she can’t deny the excitement of it – murder, mystery, deaths, although she doesn’t much appreciate the addition of feelingsand friendship. The latter, she’s learned to accept. The former, not so much.
“Eugene has been asking for you.” It’s days later that Wednesday manages to gather up the courage to approach you, the silent treatment not serving her well when all you do is exist only on the edge of her vision, disappear when she turns to seek you out, laugh and joke around and flirt with everyone but her, simply nodding without meeting her eyes when you pass each other.
Pausing as you digest her statement—announcement?, it proves harder to hate her when she directs all her attention to you and not her investigations that you’re beginning to think she’s given up on it. “He’s alive, isn’t he? Besides, what good would it do to have someone who tried to murder him near?” Without waiting for an answer, you walk past her and purposely bump her shoulder hard, heart constructing guiltily as you think about losing the poor boy’s friendship. It’s for the best, isn’t it? He’ll hate your guts sooner than later, and you know it’s better now than having a bond to break later.
Days pass by, and to sum it up; everything is turning into shit. Wednesday’s therapist is dead, the major is dead, and she’s beginning to wish for death itself when you continue to torment her in the worst ways possible – you’ve been present for most of these events, trailing after her to prove just how wrong she had been while avoiding her all the same. She doesn’t know how you manage it, but there are times where she thinks she could be redeemed, and the rest of it you choose to wave her failure in her face.
“It’s called vocal mind control,” The situation couldn’t be any worse – any outside activities have been cancelled and students are stuck inside school walls. Today, Teachers have decided a team bonding activity where you have to take out opponents by shooting literal arrows with a coloured blunt end. How ironic, using violence to avoid violence. You like it. And by the seems of it, Wednesday looks to be enjoying herself the most.
You’re on opposite teams, but since the teammate assigned to you were imbeciles, you’ve both found each other and settled for a plan to eliminate everyone just for fun, rules be damned. Groans and whines of defeat fill the huge clearing, amateurs suddenly dancing in victory after successfully shooting opponents with high points, all while Wednesday and you sit behind a tree hiding you from their peripherals. Her wide eyes are almost comical that you couldn’t contain a proud smirk to grace your lips, after so long, you’re winking in her direction – an action she doesn’t know she missed.
“I have to say a name. Only when I meant it will it work, but I avoid it just to be sure.” You hush at her, before losing your grip on the mind of a random classmate you picked to fight your battles and drawing your bow to point at them, giving Wednesday no time to digest the information dump and taking advantage from the element of surprise.
“Cheers, losers!” Green and red explode on their uniforms, making you the winner of the game until you recognize the Addams brushing her clothes absently as a threat. You take an arrow and poke her playfully with it, staining her black uniform in blue, followed by pressing the tip of it to her cheek for good measure.
“Oops. Sorry, Addams.” The ravenette freezes on her spot, sharp eyes glaring at your uncontrollable giggles, causing you to run in order to avoid the lunge of her knife that only missed your head by an inch and landed on a stray tree instead.
“Yeah, you better run, loser.”
Wednesday forces Enid to educate her on the internet to look up your powers, and made sure to delete any history regarding it to keep your secret. She doesn’t know the reason behind it; perhaps a pity, or the familiarity of feeling secure when she still had the knowledge of her own powers to herself. Her eyes scan the screen, and the obscurity of staring at a site with unknown source surely will send her to madness soon. She could ask you, but that’d require openly showing interest in the matter, so she opts to leave it for the library and puts her focus back on the Hyde. For the time being.
Her ongoing suspect; Xavier Thorpe. Suspicious, sure, it’s often wondered why he was always in places at the wrong time – no one can blame Wednesday for pointing the end of her knife at him. And if she hasn’t been blinded by her ability to tolerate Tyler more than others, you assume she would’ve guessed it right. Your assumption is half wrong, though, for the soft, all cute guy who works at Weathervane isn’t the topic that often occupies her mind.
Not by choice – Wednesday could admit her insistence of kicking you out of her brain has been a futile one. You’ve become her undoing, a distraction that takes her mind to the farthest place on earth, a parasite that keeps feeding and clawing away at parts of her brain, leaving nothing but a massive hole in it that causes her heart to jump and flip abnormally whenever you so much as let slip how annoying she’s being.
“I had a vision when I kissed him.” She moves to shove perfectly folded clothes into the suitcase with W. A. written on the front, a white envelope sitting on top of her bed with your name sketched on it.
“You kissed him?” You look mortified by learning the fact, Wednesday has to suppress amusement from showing on her face in the form of a smile – her regret of revealing the moment of miscalculation was humiliating enough.
“I fail to see how that’s the problem right now when you knew all along that it was him.” Your hand grips the piece of paper, turning it around to inspect the carvings of her handwriting.
“And what would you do? Believe me? Put me back into jail? Claim that I’ve bewitched you to trust me?” I’d believe you, Wednesday thinks. She’d believe you then, and even after finding out on your betrayal, she finds herself still capable of believing you now.
Just as she’s getting the door, you push the letter to her chest, refusing to accept her farewell ‘gift’ without a proper end to.. whatever this is. “It’s Thornhill,” For once, you hold her gaze for more than mere seconds, the contact not breaking even as she brushes your hand to take hold of the paper and clutch it in her hands. “She’s his master.” You confess, but she shows no sign of believing you, only averting her eyes to escape from the intensity of yours.
“I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Wednesday moves past your shoulder, the door clicking shut as she leaves you behind, alone to face the wrath of the upcoming night.
“My little pet sold me out, huh?” The strain on her arms from upholding her bodyweight begins to sink in as Wednesday gains back her bearings, dried blood coating her forehead and some sticking to her eyelashes, obstructing her vision. She guesses the pet meant you, though she doesn’t spend the time to dwell on the nature of your relationship with the teacher as Thornhill immediately laps into her villain speech – Wednesday feels she might fall asleep from it.
“I’m far from innocent.” A foreign, disconcerting voice prodded her brain, nudging her awake and alert as the teacher’s ongoing speech tuned out in the background. “I’ve killed, penetrated the minds of innocents to do the dirty work for me.” Wednesday recognizes the signature pause in your tone, remembering how they haunted her dreams and sent her heart stuttering – the unsteady thump, thump now mixes with the suspension and Thornhill’s gloating.
“Forgive me, Wednesday.” There’s a surge of what feels like electricity that shoots through her veins, her stomach dropping and her eyes search desperately for you. She finds nothing.
Before she knows it, she’s running towards the school after having her ancestor heal her through a possible possession, her limbs refreshed like she’s been reborn, the previous wounds closed and the only evidence of it being there is the blood still sticking to her like a second skin. Intercepted, she staggers on her feet to stop herself from slamming face first into Tyler, a growl leaving her lips and she clenches her fist, hurt but most of all angry, all she wants to do is to slam her fist into his jaw. She might’ve carried it out, had he not shifted into the Hyde and of course, she’s no match for the monstrous, bloodthirsty creature.
“Wednesday,” It’s a whisper, so close to her ears and brushing against her spine, goosebumps rising as she realizes what, or who spoke to her. “Run.” A mass of black slams the Hyde away and she’s left to meet the ground hard, adrenaline pumping in her veins preventing her from acknowledging any kinds of pain from the fall. Something in the back of her mind tells her to stay, but she looks the other way, feet heading to Nevermore, Stop. Stop your feet. Turn back. A scream rings out and hurts her ears, yet she keeps on running, leaving you to fend for yourself.
She knows. Your voice, your command is what drives her to move. She hates you all the more for it.
Defeating a Pilgrim wasn’t a hard feat, Wednesday discovers, although she doesn’t let it get to her head – there are other things to worry about; her undercover teacher currently unconscious on her feet, her other teacher possibly dead somewhere she hasn’t bothered to check, her werewolf roommate missing from the fight, and you. You’re on top of her worry list and Wednesday isn’t proud of it, for it means you must be special enough to move up her priorities.
The night is dark and cold, she sees Enid with a cheerful gleam to her eyes, naked as the day she was born, clad in only a pink jacket wrapped around her body with Ajax by her side, followed by you. Her attention shifts instantly, black orbs raking up and down your form as she takes you in, a limp on your left foot, blood on your face and dripping down the tips of your fingers. She doesn’t pull you into an embrace like Enid had done her, doesn’t wrap her arms around you to assure the remnants of evil is no longer in your life. Instead, her small hand circles your wrist and she leads you away from the crowd into the school, first to enter the gates after the never-ending chaos.
Wednesday doesn’t allow her feet to stop, keeping them working as she climbs the stairs, legs straining against the steps yet she makes no indication of resting even for a second. She does, though. When you slow down by a fraction, hand squeezing hers and your weight weighing both of you down, the Addams begrudgingly pauses to take a look.
Blood. Dark, crimson liquid dripping from your stomach. An old wound. Too old to be oozing red. She remembers clearly how it stained her black sheets that she had to assign the task of cleaning it to Thing; in which he’d initially refused. This time, there’s no bed for you to contaminate; only the stone steps and her palms, already wet from it as you bumped your head lightly against the wall and slid down the floor.
“Wednesday,” That’s her name; it all sounds ridiculous if she was to acknowledge the effect it has on her. It’s her name, the most normal thing someone could do is say her name to regard her. But you’ve never said it, not once in less than a year did she ever hear anyone regarded with nothing but their last names.
It takes less than a second and lasts more, the press of her lips on yours, chapped and dry, desperate and only when Wednesday tastes the salty tears did she register that you’re crying. You pull her in, shaky hands on the back of her neck and refuses to let her go – lips lingering for more after parting. It feels.. serene, new. Something she’d like to explore, if you allow it. If she allows herself. A different train of thought passes in your brain, though, as you try to memorize every inch of her you could see, could feel. Might it be the last thing you experience before death.
“Wednesday,” Her name sounds sweet on your tongue, like a melody luring her in with a spell, a drug she’s addicted to just after one sniff – she could get drunk on your voice.
Wednesday starts feeling a strain from her position, knees folded and an arm stretched on the side of your head, palm flat on the wall to support her weight and keep a distance; there’s a frantic beat from inside her chest, a panicked ring in her ears that tells her to run, go get help, but she’s stuck.
“Maybe,” The whisper sounds again. This time, you’re right in front of her instead of somewhere she couldn’t see, the tickle of it brushing against her mind – she could get used to it. “in another life.” A new-found fear grips her tight that the next second, she’s running and shouting for someone, anyone, as you let darkness clouds your vision and wish for her embrace more than anything.
Wednesday doesn’t move, her hand covering yours as it lays on your stomach, stone steps cold and providing an unrelenting discomfort. Her breathing is too laboured while yours stay slow and strained, shaky with each inhale as if breathing was an arduous task. The Addams rests her head on your shoulder, ears close to your chest to feel, listen and count the heartbeats that’s starting to take a longer interval in between the pumps.
“Forgive me.” For accusing you, for running away, for playing along your games, for being too late, for, for, for everything.
She listens, squeezes your hand, closing her eyes as a stabbing pain constricts in her heart, and her own heartbeats begin to overlap yours. She listens, until your breathing ceased and the thumps stutter to a stop. She has never despised death so much until now.
Wednesday always prides herself for having an outstanding self-control during dire times, yet as they snatch you from her arms in a less gentle way she’d have preferred, her so-called tranquility fell into a deep pit and she snaps. There are remnants of a headache in the back of her head and a heaviness settling on her shoulders, the others have to step in front and blocks her sight of the ambulance to physically restrain her from causing any further mayhem.
She doesn’t attend the funerals. Both Weems and yours, though she finally relents and tailed after her family for the memorials the school held. It’s not unlike Wednesday to brood the day away, her presence a dread people usually avoid. After such a victory, they’ve been celebrating and congratulating her heroic actions day and night that Wednesday considers setting off an explosion to take their minds off of her.
They’re happy. Something they shouldn’t be. Something they aren’t allowed to be – because they lost you, she lost you. These people are what you claimed your friends, yet they’re chatting away, cracking jokes as if there isn’t a missing member that made the inside jokes meaningful buried six feet underground. All Wednesday’s capable of feeling right now is fury, anger directed at them even though they’ve done nothing wrong other than being too cheerful to her likings.
You were, in her words, ‘nothing but a loud, bothersome buzz in her ears’ when Enid tried to comfort her some nights ago. But if so, Wednesday should feel relieved to have the quiet to herself again, to not have a burden, someone she has to look after in fights – though you’ve never been one, her body have always gravitated towards you without her consent. She shouldn’t have felt this way, yet she does. With all her dead, psychotic heart, she felt something she’s never granted herself to feel since her pet scorpion died when she was little; grief, sadness.
Love, her mother said. Over my grave, she responded. After musing about it, Wednesday finds her mother to not be that wrong, not entirely. Days are much more unbearable without you, the silence now becoming as much an enemy as affection from strangers. She loathed it. That she’s grown to rely on you, to seek you out, to expect you by her side. She breathes in the air, rain pouring down relentlessly against her umbrella. It reminds her of how you couldn’t enjoy this moment with her, and Wednesday once again curses at the world for it.
“Hi, Wednesday.” Her head turns around so fast, anyone watching would think she’d get a whiplash – empty. She’s alone, as she always is, but her attention is drawn to a splash on the concrete, the puddle rippling as if someone’s stepped on it. She must be losing her mind. It’s a long time coming, an anticipated case, given her nature and history.
An amused giggle rang in the quad. If it was anyone else, they would’ve ran away with their tail between their legs – but not Wednesday, oh, no. She’d run towards whatever was haunting her as she did with Goody. The difference this time; it’s you.
To say she’s not at least a little excited would be an understatement. You laughed again, as if knowing her line of thoughts.
A smile makes itself known on Wednesday’s lips, stretching her cheeks and showing her dimples.
Oh, you have no idea.
reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! they are what keeps me going :) love yall <3