paxton

[paxtito]

masterlist

Jenna Ortega

’my beautiful girl’ (18+)

secret door (18+)

Wednesday Addams

coitus (18+)

first time (18+)

pretty girl (18+)

fire and the thud (18+)

wolf in law (18+)

don't dawdle (18+)

Tara Carpenter

make a mess lioness (18+)

needy girl (18+)

cough drop coloured tongue (18+)

and they were roommates (18+)

childhood sweethearts (18+)

grey sweatpants (18+)

Cairo Sweet

forbidden (18+)

Vada Cavell

puppy love (18+)

sex, drugs, etc (18+)

Astrid Deetz

Mabel

info

i write for fem, g!p and gender neutral reader. (i’ve noticed these are mainly smut fics but i do write angst and fluff)

requests are OPEN

i write for

billie eilish

female characters in wednesday and euphoria

florence pugh and her characters

taylor russell and her characters

jenna ortega and her characters listed above + mabel

emma myers, pip and enid

this list may have more in the future.

divider (moon thing)

[paxtito]

hey! Uh, so I LOVE your writing, & this isn't rlly a request, but I wanted to let you know that you are hella amazing and you should be extremely proud of yourself. You r amazing!

🫂🫂🫂 so sweet, thank you

[paxtito]

HAPPY NEW YEARS PAXTON!! Hope u have a good 2026 lol

thank you!! happy (late) new year to you and everyone reading

[paxtito]

paxton come home we miss u

i’ve gotten quite a few things asking where i am. i’m still here (and alive).

i promise i’ve seen every request, and i do plan to write them eventually. college has been keeping me really busy, but i’m hoping to upload something by christmas 🙏

[paxtito]

oh my gosh i discovered tumblr again and YOU WROTE THE PIP FIC I'M IN LOVE ARGHHHHH

thank you thank you thank you

(i'm the anon that requested both puppy love and the pippa one <3)

THANK YOU. i apologise for how long it took <3

[paxtito]

mama i love your bots and fics. I LITERALLY DISCOVERED YOUR ACCOUNT YESTERDAY AND READ ALL YOUR WORK (unemployed behavior, I know).

anyway love u. Hope you're always ok lol.

THABK YOU

[paxtito]

So hello again I made a request for Wednesday x fem reader that loves Wednesday allot and behaves like a golden retriever

And she kisses Enid on Wednesday's body without knowing they switched bodies and Wednesday on Enid's body sees, then I saw that another creator that I didn't know did it and posted practically the same thing it this morning so I didn't know her

But if you want to do the fic, everything is fine. And if you don't want to do it, that's fine too.

Thank you for reading this and have a good day!

i’ll still write it

[paxtito]

Do you have an ao3 account?

i do have an account to read fics but i haven’t used it in a while! it’s under the same name as my tumblr 🫶🏻

[paxtito]

Do you write for Agnes DeMille x reader?

i write for any female character off the show, so yes! since she’s 13(?) it would strictly be sfw 🤗

[paxtito]

the flicker and the shadow ²

chapter 2 pairings: wednesday addams x fem!reader summary: After uncovering concerning research about your powers, Wednesday insists on a training session to help you regain control. However, it takes a turn for the worst. (+ Wednesday being an absolute pest to Weems).

SERIES MASTERLIST. | WC: 6.8k | LAST PART

You were half-listening.

Your elbow was propped on the stone table in the Quad, head resting on your hand, eyes fixed on absolutely nothing as Enid droned on about her latest obsession.

“K-pop comeback season is honestly the most stressful time of the year,” she said dramatically, shovelling crisps into her mouth like she was fuelling up for battle. “Like, STAYC just dropped the teaser and I swear, if the actual music video doesn’t have at least three choreo switches and a sparkly set, I’m rioting.”

You nodded absently, chewing the inside of your cheek. You’d long since stopped trying to keep track of her favourite groups.

“That’s not even the worst part,” she continued, eyes wide with conviction. “The worst part is that the album’s only six songs. Six! That’s criminal. Honestly, it’s giving capitalism.”

You blinked. “Didn’t you buy the album in three different versions?”

“…Yes. But that’s not the point.”

You let out a soft huff, glancing across the Quad. Students were scattered in their usual pockets—vampires under the shaded trees, gorgons basking in the sun like lazy cats.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically on the tabletop. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about Enid’s rambling—it was comforting, in a way. Familiar. But your mind was elsewhere.

Flickering.

You could still feel the aftershocks from yesterday’s fencing match—the rush, the disorientation, the buzz in your bones like your whole body was vibrating at a higher frequency. You’d barely slept.

The loss of control had rattled you more than you cared to admit.

“…and don’t even get me started on the line distribution—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through Enid’s monologue like a scalpel.

You looked up just in time to see Wednesday standing at the edge of the table, arms folded behind her back, eyes as unreadable as ever.

Enid perked up immediately. “Hey, Wednesday! Are you here to finally admit your undying love for Twice? Because honestly, it’s time.”

Wednesday ignored her entirely.

Instead, her gaze stayed fixed on you, cool and unwavering. “Walk with me.”

You blinked. “Uh… now?”

“Yes.”

Enid gasped, practically vibrating in her seat. “Oh my god. It’s happening.”

“It’s not happening,” you muttered, rising from your seat. “It’s probably a murder plan.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she called after you, grinning as you trailed after Wednesday across the lawn.

You caught up easily, falling into step beside her.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment—just led you toward the edge of the woods where the tree line cast long shadows over the grass. A few students glanced your way, but no one followed. They knew better.

“Okay,” you said once the sounds of the Quad had faded behind you. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, or are we starting a cult?”

She glanced at you, deadpan. “If I were starting a cult, you’d be the last to know.”

You raised a brow. “Comforting.”

They stopped beneath a towering ash tree, the same one where you’d practised flickering only a few weeks ago. Wednesday’s boots crunched softly against the earth as she turned to face you, expression slightly more tense than usual.

“I’ve been researching,” she said. “Your ability.”

You swallowed, suddenly alert. “And?”

“I found some things,” she said, measured. “Old records. Case studies. Observations on similar abilities.”

“Similar, not the same?”

Wednesday nodded. “Flickers are rare. There’s very little concrete data. Most of what I’ve found is fragmented. The most relevant case was from the 1800s. A boy who developed uncontrolled flickering during training.”

Your brows furrowed. “Uncontrolled like… what happened yesterday?”

“Similar,” she confirmed. “His power began evolving—responding to reflex rather than conscious intent. It was triggered by adrenaline. Stress.”

You blinked, processing. “So… what? I’m levelling up?”

“That would imply a degree of control,” she said, flat. “What you experienced was instinctual. You bypassed thought. You reacted—and moved.”

You shifted uneasily, arms crossing. “Is that… bad?”

Her gaze softened—just barely. “Not inherently. But it’s dangerous. You could misjudge the distance. Flicker into a wall. A person. Off a ledge.”

You winced. “Right. Okay. Helpful.”

Wednesday stepped closer. Her voice lowered. “I’m not trying to frighten you.”

You looked at her. That was a lie—and you both knew it. But her eyes weren’t cold. Not entirely. There was something behind them—concern, maybe. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“I just want you prepared,” she added. “If your power is evolving, you need to understand it. Master it. Before it masters you.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. “So what do we do?”

She tilted her head slightly, assessing you. “We train. But differently this time. Less distance. More precision. Less speed. More control.”

You gave a dry laugh. “Great. Can’t wait for the Addams-brand boot camp.”

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. “I’ll make you a schedule.”

You groaned. “Please don’t.”

“Too late,” she said calmly, already pulling a folded piece of paper from her coat.

You took it with a resigned sigh, glancing at the handwritten grid of time slots and training objectives. Of course she’d already planned it. Probably laminated the master copy.

“…You know,” you said, glancing back at her. “You’re kind of terrifying when you care.”

She raised a brow. “I don’t care.”

You smirked. “Right. You just obsessively researched my abilities, built me a training schedule, and dragged me away from lunch so I wouldn’t have a panic attack.”

Her jaw tightened slightly. “You were distracted.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were spiralling.”

You paused.

“…Maybe.”

Wednesday’s expression remained unreadable. “Then it’s fortunate I intervened.”

You nodded slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the schedule. “Thanks.”

She looked at you for a long moment, her voice softening just a fraction. “You’re not alone in this. No matter how it feels.”

Your heart twisted in a way that had nothing to do with flickering.

“Right back at you,” you murmured.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just the wind through the trees. The scent of earth and autumn. Her eyes on yours.

For once, it felt like enough.

“Come on,” she said, turning away. “We have work to do.”

You followed without hesitation.

Because whatever this was—whatever your power was becoming—you knew one thing for sure:

You didn’t have to face it alone.

You stared at the crumpled schedule in your hands, brow furrowed. Your name was written at the top in Wednesday’s impossibly neat handwriting, like it was an autopsy report and not a training plan. Every box was filled—precise intervals, painfully early time slots, ominous descriptions like ‘tactical recall under pressure’ and ‘delayed displacement drills.’

Your stomach twisted. “What about the rest of my classes?”

Wednesday didn’t answer.

You looked up at her, expecting some kind of reasonable response. Maybe a reassurance that she’d talked to Weems, or that she’d somehow figured out how to bend time.

Instead, she just looked at you.

Not blinked. Not moved. Just looked.

Deadpan. Intense. Entirely Wednesday.

You blinked. “Wait. You did account for my other classes… right?”

Still nothing.

The silence dragged.

“Wednesday?”

She tilted her head, very slightly. “Irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant—?” you sputtered. “You do realise I have actual classes. With grades. And teachers. And attendance records. I can’t just skip them for your—your Addams Initiative!”

“You can,” she said smoothly, “and you will.”

You stared. “I don’t think that’s how school works.”

Wednesday blinked slowly. “I don’t think how school works is particularly interesting.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “Wednesday.”

“If Weems has an issue, I’ll deal with it,” she added, as though threatening the headmistress was a perfectly normal solution.

You squinted at her. “You’re actually serious.”

“I wouldn’t waste sarcasm on something this important.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but then paused. Because this was Wednesday. The girl who kept crime scene photos in her desk drawer and casually threatened classmates into submission. The girl who made acid skin peels and thought flickering into a sword was just another Wednesday afternoon.

And now… the girl who cared enough to plan all this. For you.

You sighed, glancing down at the schedule again.

“Tactical recall under pressure,” you read aloud. “You know that sounds like something you’d teach in a Cold War drama, right?”

Her eyes glittered, a hint of satisfaction curling at the corner of her mouth. “Good. Then you’ll learn faster.”

You shook your head, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re wasting time,” she replied, already turning back toward the woods. “We start in ten minutes.”

You followed—because of course you did—muttering under your breath. “God help me if I fail Algebra because I was too busy learning how to weaponise myself.”

Behind you, Thing popped up from the underbrush, waving a miniature stopwatch.

Of course.

//

You stumbled to a stop, panting slightly, hands braced on your knees as the rush of your last flicker faded from your bones.

Wednesday stood several feet away, perfectly composed, as if she hadn’t just watched you vanish and reappear three times in a row like some glitch in the matrix.

“That last one was sloppy,” she said, voice flat. “You dragged your right foot again.”

“I’m aware,” you muttered, breathing hard. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied without a shred of irony.

You straightened up, rolling your shoulders, exhaustion beginning to creep in. You’d been at this for the better part of an hour—maybe longer. Time had become weirdly abstract between the flickering drills and Wednesday’s laser-focused glares.

“I’m taking a break,” you announced, slumping down on the nearest tree stump.

Wednesday didn’t argue.

Progress.

You let your head fall back, squinting up at the branches overhead. “I’m starving,” you groaned. “Why didn’t we eat before this?”

“I didn’t want you vomiting on your third jump,” Wednesday replied simply.

You grunted. “Fair.”

There was a beat of silence. Then movement.

You cracked one eye open just in time to see her crouch down, pick something off the forest floor, and straighten.

She walked over and… held it out to you.

A bug.

A fat, wriggling beetle, legs twitching gently in the sunlight.

You blinked. “…Is that supposed to be for me?”

“It’s protein,” she said matter-of-factly, as if that was a normal response to hunger. “Efficient. Sustainable. High in iron.”

You stared at her. Then at the bug. Then back at her.

“…I hate you.”

Her expression didn’t budge. “Then you should be grateful I didn’t offer you the centipede I saw earlier.”

You groaned, waving the beetle away. “I’m not eating woodland creatures, Wednesday.”

“Suit yourself.” She flicked the beetle back to the ground like a disappointed apothecary, then turned on her heel. “Break’s over.”

You stood slowly, brushing dirt off your sleeves. “You are the worst snack provider in the entire universe.”

“I’m not your snack provider.”

You sighed. “I miss Enid.”

“I don’t,” she said coolly. “She would’ve fainted at the sight of that beetle.”

You shook your head with a tired grin, stepping back into the clearing. “Alright, Addams. Let’s do this. But if I flicker into a tree because I’m too hungry to focus, that’s on you.”

“I’ll add it to the data,” she said, completely unbothered.

And with that, training resumed.

//

It happened so fast, you barely even registered the pain.

One second, you were mid-flicker—targeting the edge of the clearing like you’d done a dozen times already—and the next—

CRACK.

Your head collided with solid bark, hard.

Blinding light burst behind your eyes. The world tilted.

Then… heat. Wetness.

Your knees gave out before you could think, collapsing into the underbrush with a crunch of leaves and twigs. There was shouting—distant, underwater. Movement in the blur.

And blood. You could feel it, warm and fast, running down your temple. Something sticky dripped past your brow, across your lashes.

Then everything tilted again.

The last thing you saw before the world went black was Wednesday’s face—

—and for the first time since you’d met her…

She looked afraid.

Wednesday dropped to her knees beside you, the breath leaving her lungs in a sharp hiss as she took in the sight of your crumpled form—limp, pale, and bleeding.

Too much blood.

The gash on your forehead was already leaking a steady stream down your face, into your collar, staining the earth beneath you. Her hand darted out, fingers trembling—barely—and pressed against your neck.

Pulse. Faint, but steady.

Her eyes flicked to Thing, who had skittered over in a panicked blur, fingers tapping erratically.

“Go,” she ordered, low and sharp. “Now. Get help. Enid, Weems—anyone.”

Thing didn’t hesitate, launching himself off the ground and darting through the underbrush with frantic urgency.

Wednesday turned her attention back to you, expression unreadable but deadly still.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were not supposed to collapse in a pool of your own blood because she pushed you too far, because she wanted answers more than caution, because she thought you could handle it—

She inhaled sharply. No. Focus.

“(Y/N),” she said, leaning closer, voice taut. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

She patted your cheek, just once—firmly. Still nothing.

Her eyes scanned the clearing. No bag, no kit. She cursed under her breath—an actual curse, rare and acidic—as she pulled off her blazer in one fluid movement. With methodical precision, she folded it into a pad and pressed it against the wound, holding it there with one hand while the other fumbled to undo the tie at her collar.

The black tie came free. She twisted it tightly, winding it around your head with grim efficiency, tying it at your temple to hold pressure against the cut.

Blood soaked through it almost immediately, but it was better than nothing.

She leaned in again, her face hovering close to yours. “You are not allowed to pass out. That’s my job when the bleeding starts.”

Still no response. Your skin was clammy, your jaw slack, your breathing shallow.

Her hands stilled.

“…You’re infuriating,” she murmured, quieter now. “Reckless. Unfocused. Stubborn.”

Her fingers brushed against your temple—so gently it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze. “And I will kill you myself if you die before I finish training you.”

The wind rustled the leaves above. A bird called somewhere in the distance.

But you didn’t move.

She swallowed hard, the line of her throat twitching. Then she shifted closer, placing one hand flat over your sternum, as if grounding you. As if willing your heart to keep going through sheer force.

“Stay with me,” she said softly.

And for the first time, it wasn’t a command.

It was a plea.

//

Weems arrived in a flurry of heels and authority, her voice echoing through the clearing before she even came into view.

“What on earth is going on out here?! Thing found me halfway through a staff meeting—gesturing—wildly, I might add—and led me out into the woods like some sort of frantic arthritic bloodhound—”

She stopped short when she saw you.

Your body, slumped against a mossy tree trunk. Blood smeared across your forehead. A makeshift bandage tied tightly around your head—black silk, soaked through. Wednesday crouched beside you, silent and still, her face pale and unreadable.

The headmistress’s tone shifted instantly. “Good god.”

She crossed the distance in long, efficient strides, immediately kneeling next to Wednesday. Her hand hovered over your temple, assessing the injury with a practised eye. “She’s unconscious?”

Wednesday nodded once. “She struck her head while flickering. Hard.”

Weems frowned, gently brushing your hair aside to check the wound. “This is deep. And bleeding too much.” Her voice had softened—still commanding, but now laced with concern. “You should’ve come straight to me. What were you two doing out here? You’re meant to be in class, not—”

She paused, glancing at the clearing around them. No bags. No books. Just you, Wednesday, and a field that reeked of exertion.

“—training,” she said flatly, finishing the thought aloud.

Wednesday didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Weems let out a tight sigh. “Of course.”

There was a long pause as she gently turned your face to one side to examine the swelling bruise forming along your temple. You groaned faintly, but didn’t wake.

“I specifically said no unsupervised powers training without faculty oversight. Specifically, Miss Addams.”

“And I ignored you,” Wednesday replied calmly, tightening her grip on the makeshift compress. “You can punish me later. Right now, she needs a healer. Or a surgeon.”

Weems gave her a sharp look but said nothing for a beat.

Then she pulled a slim phone from her coat pocket and tapped the screen.

“This is Weems,” she said briskly. “I need the infirmary team in the north woods. Student head trauma. Significant blood loss. Prepare a stretcher.”

She hung up and knelt back beside you.

“Wednesday,” she said more quietly, eyeing the blood-streaked blazer and the expression on the girl’s face. “How long has she been unconscious?”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched slightly where they rested against your sternum. “Seven minutes. Maybe eight.”

Weems nodded once, her jaw tight. Then, to your unconscious form: “You certainly know how to make an impression.”

She straightened up, smoothing the front of her coat with a sigh.

“I expect a very thorough explanation,” she said, glancing down at Wednesday. “Later.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She just kept her eyes on you.

Waiting. Watching.

//

The infirmary team arrived in a blur of white coats and levitating equipment, their stretcher gliding smoothly over roots and fallen leaves.

Weems stepped aside immediately, allowing them access to you without a word, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease.

Wednesday finally moved back, her blood-streaked hands falling to her sides, black nails now smudged red. She watched in silence as they assessed your vitals and lifted your unconscious body onto the stretcher with careful precision.

“Pupils unresponsive, heart rate irregular,” one of the medics murmured. “But stable. She’ll need observation overnight.”

“She’ll need stitches,” another added, already summoning a kit with a flick of their wrist. “Pressure’s helped, though. Who wrapped her?”

All eyes flicked to Wednesday.

The medic blinked. “Well. Not bad for someone without a licence.”

Wednesday said nothing, but her jaw clenched faintly.

Then came the noise.

Voices. Footsteps. Curious whispers floating through the trees like smoke.

And then, predictably—

“Oh my god— WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Enid burst through the treeline like a pastel hurricane, followed closely by a handful of students rubbernecking with various degrees of subtlety. Divina and Yoko trailed behind her, exchanging raised brows.

Enid’s eyes locked on the stretcher, and her expression crumpled.

“Oh my god, no.” She rushed forward, only stopping when she saw the blood staining your temple. “Is she—? Is she dead?!”

“She’s not dead,” Wednesday said flatly, her tone as sharp as a scalpel.

“She looks dead!” Enid gestured wildly. “There’s blood! And her face is all pale and—oh my god, is that your tie?”

Wednesday didn’t answer.

Weems stepped in, hands raised. “Miss Sinclair, unless you are a certified medical professional or would like to become part of the next emergency, step back.”

Enid swallowed hard but obeyed, hovering beside Wednesday like an anxious satellite.

“She’s going to be okay though, right?” she asked, voice softer now.

“She will be,” one of the healers said as they prepared the stretcher for transport. “Thanks to immediate pressure and someone actually keeping their head.”

Enid’s eyes slid to Wednesday, who was watching the stretcher like she could will you awake by sheer intensity.

“…I knew it,” Enid whispered. “You do care.”

Wednesday’s eye twitched.

“I care about results,” she replied coldly.

“Mhm. And her being alive is a result, isn’t it?”

“Miss Sinclair,” Weems snapped. “Enough.”

The stretcher hovered into motion, beginning its careful path back toward the school. The crowd parted reluctantly, a few students whispering as they passed—words like ‘flicker’ and ‘accident’ already starting to spread like wildfire.

Enid didn’t move. Neither did Wednesday.

Weems adjusted her coat, sighing heavily as she turned toward the pair. “This is precisely why I warned you both. What happened today could have been… significantly worse.”

“I’m aware,” Wednesday replied.

“I don’t think you are,” Weems said, voice tightening. “But you will be. When we speak. Privately.”

With that, she followed the stretcher, the medical team vanishing through the trees in a blur of white.

For a long moment, Enid and Wednesday stood alone in the clearing.

The silence stretched.

Then—

“She’s gonna be okay,” Enid said, not quite asking.

Wednesday didn’t look at her. “She has to be.”

“…You’re not even pretending not to care anymore, huh?”

Wednesday’s eyes flicked to her, slow and sharp.

“I’ve never been good at pretending,” she said quietly.

//

The scent of polished wood and lavender oil was as familiar as the sound of Weems’ pen tapping against her desk.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Wednesday stood exactly where she always did—dead centre of the office, spine straight, hands clasped neatly behind her back like she were about to receive a commendation… or a guillotine.

Judging by Weems’ expression, it was the latter.

“For the billionth time, Miss Addams,” Weems said, her voice deceptively calm, “explain to me how you thought dragging another student—a Flicker, no less—into unsupervised advanced training involving spatial manipulation, concussion risk, and, apparently, tree dodging, was a wise choice.”

Wednesday’s eyes didn’t waver. “I never claimed it was wise. I claimed it was necessary.”

Tap. Tap.

Weems narrowed her eyes. “She has a cut across her forehead deep enough to need nine stitches. She blacked out. There was a concussion. A contusion. And let’s not forget—she missed Algebra.”

Wednesday blinked, slowly. “Which she likely would have failed regardless.”

Weems’s hand froze mid-tap. She exhaled through her nose, setting the pen down with exquisite care—as if not to throw it at Wednesday’s head.

“I cannot decide if you’re deliberately provoking me or if it’s simply your default state.”

“Both can be true,” Wednesday replied, her tone dry as bone dust.

Weems leaned forward. “You are not her instructor, Wednesday. You are not licensed, approved, or even remotely qualified to conduct any kind of training. You’ve been warned about this more times than I can count.”

“I’m perfectly capable of ensuring her safety,” Wednesday said evenly.

“You didn’t,” Weems snapped. “She left that forest unconscious.”

There was a flicker—just the briefest twitch of Wednesday’s jaw.

Weems noticed.

“You’re shaken,” she said softly.

“I am annoyed,” Wednesday corrected. “With myself. For miscalculating.”

“And you care,” Weems added, gentler now.

Silence.

Wednesday didn’t deny it.

Didn’t have to.

Weems sat back with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Wednesday… I understand your interest. I do. And I know your intentions, however extreme, are rarely malicious.”

“They’re effective.”

“They’re dangerous,” Weems corrected. “And if I hadn’t arrived when I did, we may be having a very different conversation right now.”

Another long pause.

Finally, Weems leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “She needs guidance. Yes. But she also needs to feel safe. Supported. Not like a specimen in one of your experiments.”

“I’m not experimenting,” Wednesday said, her voice low. “I’m protecting her. Preparing her.”

“For what?” Weems asked, brow raised. “You’re acting like a war’s coming.”

There was no answer.

But the look in Wednesday’s eyes said enough.

Weems sighed again, this time heavier.

“Fine,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You are banned from conducting further training sessions without faculty oversight. You will submit your so-called ‘schedule’ to me by end of day. I will assign a staff member to supervise—and I expect both of you to attend your regular classes in full. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“And if I hear even a rumour of you involving scalpels, acid, or anything labelled ‘for industrial use only’—”

“You’ll expel me,” Wednesday finished. “You say that every time.”

Weems gave her a tired look. “And one of these days, I might mean it.”

They stared at each other for a beat. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, Weems waved a hand toward the door.

“You’re dismissed, Miss Addams.”

Wednesday turned crisply on her heel and walked out in silence.

And yet, as she closed the door behind her, the words still hung in the air:

You care.

And for once, Wednesday had no argument.

//

Your forehead was bandaged, white gauze carefully wrapped around your head—less Wednesday’s elegant silk and more school-sanctioned caution. A faint bruise bloomed along your temple, stark against your skin. Someone had placed a chair near the bed, but it remained empty.

At least, for now.

Outside the door, however…

Wednesday stood with her arms folded, jaw clenched, and expression pulled tauter than piano wire. Her eyes—dark and sharp—were fixed on the person currently barring her way.

The infirmary assistant, a tall, broad-shouldered man with unfortunate sideburns and an even more unfortunate clipboard, shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“For the last time, Miss Addams,” he said, voice firm but wary, “this room is off-limits to all students. Principal Weems’ orders.”

“I’m not all students,” Wednesday replied coldly. “I’m the student.”

“You’re still not allowed in.”

Wednesday’s stare didn’t waver. “You do realise I’ve broken into morgues with more resistance than this.”

The man’s hand tightened on his clipboard. “That’s… not helping your case.”

She took a single, measured step forward. “Let me rephrase: if you don’t move, I will find a way inside. You will not know how. You will not know when. But rest assured, when I do—”

“I said she’s not allowed, Miss Addams,” came a sharp, familiar voice from down the hall.

Weems.

She moved with practised authority, heels clicking neatly against the floor as she approached.

Wednesday turned to face her, already bracing for the inevitable lecture.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” Wednesday said coolly. “I only wanted to see how she was.”

“You’re not a licensed nurse, a doctor, or a blood relative,” Weems replied, arms folded. “And until she wakes, the only ones allowed in are staff and medical personnel.”

“She’s not contagious.”

“She’s not stable,” Weems countered. “She flickered in her sleep an hour ago. Nearly phased herself out of the bed. She could’ve injured herself again—or worse.”

Wednesday went still.

“Her subconscious is reacting,” Weems said, softer now. “We’re monitoring it closely. But the last thing she needs is more stimulation.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “I wouldn’t wake her.”

“I know,” Weems said, voice gentler still. “But you might keep her from resting.”

Wednesday looked past her—toward the door. Toward you.

For just a moment, her expression cracked. A flicker. Something too raw to be disguised behind sarcasm or cold detachment.

Then it was gone.

She nodded once—barely.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” she said quietly.

Weems hesitated, then placed a hand lightly on the assistant’s shoulder, dismissing him with a glance. As he walked off down the hall, she turned to Wednesday again.

“You’ll be the first to know when she wakes.”

Wednesday didn’t thank her.

But she didn’t argue, either.

Instead, she stepped back, spine straight, gaze steady—but her hand lingered at her side for just a second too long.

Then she turned and walked away, the hall swallowing her back into shadow.

//

Night had settled over Nevermore. Most of the campus was silent, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees and the distant hoot of an owl.

Inside the dorm room, Enid was mid-yawn, her fuzzy pyjamas patterned with cartoonish wolves and little sparkly stars. She flopped back onto her mattress with a content sigh, clutching her ridiculous stuffed alpaca to her chest.

“I’m just saying,” she mumbled, voice muffled by her duvet, “you could wait until morning. She’s not going anywhere. Except, you know… maybe into a wall if she flickers in her sleep again.”

Wednesday, who had been methodically lacing up her boots with surgical precision, didn’t bother looking up. “She’s alone.”

“She’s resting,” Enid corrected. “Which is what normal people do when they’ve lost half a pint of blood and knocked themselves unconscious.”

“I never claimed to be normal.”

Enid groaned, sitting up slightly. “When, I love that you’re emotionally repressed and weirdly devoted, but do you have to break into the recovery wing in the middle of the night?”

Wednesday stood, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath her. Her black satchel hung from her back. She checked the contents quickly: gloves, lockpick set, two vials of smelling salts, and—for reasons known only to her—a small folded note sealed with wax.

She ignored Enid’s question.

“You’re going to get detention,” Enid added, exasperated.

“I’ve had detention every day this week,” Wednesday replied flatly. “I’m unimpressed by repetition.”

She crossed the room with ghost-like steps, already moving toward the door. Enid sat up fully now, frowning.

“You’re not just worried about her flickering in her sleep,” she said softly. “You’re worried about her not waking up.”

Wednesday’s hand paused on the door handle.

“…You didn’t see her,” she said, so quietly that Enid almost missed it. “Not when she went down.”

There was a long silence between them, thick with things unspoken.

Then, without another word, Wednesday slipped out the door.

Enid let out a long breath and flopped back onto her bed.

“She’s totally in love with her,” she muttered into her pillow. “Totally.”

//

The night air was crisp, the scent of damp moss and rain-soaked stone rising from the castle walls as Wednesday scaled the rusted pipe with all the grace of a shadow slipping between cracks.

Her boots barely made a sound, her gloved hands moving with practised efficiency. The metal was cold and slick beneath her fingers, but she didn’t falter—just kept climbing, inch by deliberate inch.

Above her, Thing clung to the pipe like a bizarre little spider, his fingers curling and uncurling to keep pace. When they finally reached the narrow ledge beneath the recovery room’s high window, he scrambled up ahead and pressed his palm to the glass.

Inside, dim moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft silver light across your still form.

Wednesday’s breath caught for half a second.

You were lying on your side, tangled slightly in the thin hospital blanket, the gauze on your forehead pristine now, professionally redone. Your lips were parted just enough to breathe softly. Peaceful. Too still.

Thing tapped on the glass, trying the frame.

Locked.

Wednesday reached into her satchel and pulled out her lockpicks, lips pressed into a thin line. Thing positioned himself near the latch, ready. With one quick glance to ensure no one was watching, she inserted the picks, working by feel.

Click.

The window creaked open just an inch.

Wednesday slipped a glare at Thing, who obligingly wedged his fingers into the gap and pushed harder.

It opened enough for her to climb through.

She stepped into the room—silent, composed, a spectre in boots and braids. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linen. Your monitor beeped slowly from the corner, a steady, reassuring rhythm.

Wednesday stood at your bedside for a long moment.

Then, she quietly pulled the window shut behind her.

Thing dropped onto the floor with a soft plap, scuttling toward the desk where he perched himself like a very judgmental gargoyle.

Wednesday moved to your side and sat—carefully—on the edge of the mattress. Her eyes roamed over your features, noting the bruise on your temple, the way your fingers twitched now and then with involuntary flicker spasms.

Her hand hovered in the air for a long second… then lowered, fingertips just brushing your wrist.

Still warm.

Still here.

She exhaled. Barely.

From her satchel, she pulled the folded piece of parchment she’d sealed earlier—black wax, stamped with the Addams crest. She hesitated… then set it gently on your bedside table.

You stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, her touch careful, clinical—and just a little too long to be either.

Then she leaned in.

Close enough to whisper.

But she didn’t.

She just stayed there, watching your chest rise and fall, as if counting each breath like it might be the last.

And in that silence, beneath flickering candlelight and the cold eyes of Thing watching from the corner, Wednesday stayed.

Just for a little while.

//

The morning crept in quietly, the pale golden light filtering through the curtains of your recovery room like a gentle tide washing over stone.

You were still asleep, breath slow and even, the tension that had gripped your face in the night now eased into something softer. The swelling on your forehead had gone down slightly.

Then came the knock. Soft, then firmer.

Before you could even stir, the door creaked open and Principal Weems stepped inside.

Impeccably dressed, as always. Her heels clicked once against the tile before she paused, casting a critical glance around the room. Her eyes landed on you—relieved, visibly, to see you still breathing—but quickly narrowed when she spotted something out of place.

The window.

It was locked, yes… but not quite as tightly as it had been yesterday. Not the way she left it.

She stepped further in, her sharp eyes scanning the room with the efficiency of someone who had long ago mastered the art of catching students in the act.

Then she saw it.

Sitting neatly on the nightstand.

A folded envelope—thick parchment, sealed with black wax bearing a familiar family crest.

Addams.

Weems exhaled slowly through her nose, her brow furrowing as she picked it up and turned it over between her fingers. The seal was unbroken.

She didn’t open it. That wasn’t her place.

But her mouth tightened into a thin line as she set it back down, carefully, exactly where it had been.

“She never listens,” Weems muttered under her breath.

She moved to your bedside and looked down at you, studying your face in the early morning light. You looked peaceful. Tired, but peaceful.

Weems hesitated. Then gently adjusted your blanket with a surprising tenderness, brushing a piece of lint off your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re still with us,” she said softly.

She glanced once more at the envelope, then turned to leave—pausing only to add one final note under her breath, directed at no one in particular:

“…But I am going to throttle that girl.”

//

It was subtle at first.

A twitch.

A shiver under the skin.

The faintest flicker of movement that didn’t belong to the physical world—just a brief distortion in the air around you, like heat rising off stone. A blink, and it was gone.

Then your fingers curled slowly against the sheets.

Your breath hitched, shallow and unsure, like your lungs were remembering how to work. The first thing you noticed was the light—pale morning sunlight glowing behind your eyelids, warm and soft.

The second was the ache. A dull, throbbing pulse just above your right eye. You frowned.

Then—awareness returned all at once.

You startled slightly, your whole body tensing, and your powers responded. In a snap of blurred motion, you flickered—not far, just a few inches to the left—so small it barely shifted the blanket, but enough that your pillow slipped sideways beneath your head.

You gasped, eyes flying open.

The ceiling above you was unfamiliar—clean, white, and far too symmetrical. You blinked a few times, your heart pounding as everything caught up at once.

The accident.

The tree.

The blood.

Wednesday’s face.

You let out a slow breath and reached up to touch your head, wincing as your fingers brushed the bandaged wound.

Definitely real.

Your body felt like lead, but your mind was catching up quickly, flickers of memory crashing into each other. Training. Falling. Her voice, distant but sharp: Stay with me.

You shifted upright slightly, groaning as your muscles protested. The monitor beside you beeped in approval—or warning. You couldn’t tell.

And then you saw it.

On the nightstand.

A letter.

Heavy parchment, sealed in black wax.

You stared at it, heartbeat rising again—but for a very different reason.

“…She was here,” you whispered.

Your fingers hovered over the envelope for a moment, reluctant. Not from fear—Wednesday didn’t scare you. Not in that way.

It was more like… reverence.

The black wax seal was unbroken, sharp and perfect, stamped with the unmistakable Addams crest. You ran your thumb across it once, briefly considering the irony of how delicate it looked. Like if you pressed too hard, it would shatter.

But it didn’t.

You broke the seal with a soft snap, the wax cracking neatly in two. Then, slowly, you unfolded the heavy parchment.

Wednesday’s handwriting stared back at you—precise, meticulous, every letter sharp enough to cut.

(Y/N),

You flickered in your sleep.

Twice.

The second time nearly launched you out the window.

Consider this proof that you’re not dead, which, while irritatingly dramatic on your part, is marginally reassuring.

I was told not to visit.

So, naturally, I did.

You looked worse than usual. Paler. Still.

It was… unacceptable.

I don’t believe in sentiment.

But I do believe in control. And right now, you don’t have it.

That scares you.

Good.

Fear sharpens the mind.

But if you let it lead, it will undo you.

So when you wake up—

(And I know you will wake up—because I have not spent this much time tolerating your presence just to watch you bleed out like a Shakespearean afterthought)

—read this carefully:

Your power is not a curse.

It is not dangerous.

You are dangerous.

And that is a strength, not a flaw.

I will help you.

Whether you want me to or not.

Try not to bash your head in again. It’s tiresome.

W.A.

P.S.

If anyone asks, I was never here.

Except Enid. She already knows. She squealed.

You read it once.

Then twice.

And on the third time, something strange happened.

You smiled.

Not big. Not wide. Just enough for the bruising on your cheek to pull slightly, and for warmth to stir in your chest—low and steady.

She cared.

In her own… cold, emotionally constipated, probably-stole-medical-supplies-from-the-infirmary way.

You folded the letter carefully, pressing the crease as if it were something sacred. Then you leaned back against the pillows, eyes on the window that she’d clearly come through, lips twitching with something close to awe.

“You’re the worst,” you whispered, “and somehow… also the best.”

//

tag: @mybradontfit

[paxtito]

can I request a paranorman variant gender neutral reader x Wednesday? Basically they’re a da Vinci and can see ghosts, thank you :)

i’ve watched paranorman religiously every halloween ever since it came out

thank you so so much for the request

[paxtito]

Hello!! How are you? I hope you are well.

So I wanted to ask you if you could do like a Wednesday x fem reader that loves Wednesday allot and behaves as if it were a golden retriever and she can be maybe a werewolf or vampire.

So the fic is that Wednesday switches bodies with Enid but the reader doesn't know about it and ends up kissing Enid and Wednesday, like, see, and she gets a little jealous.

And when the reader finds out, she gets sad because she didn't know it wasn't Wednesday. You could make a fluff of this and that everything ends well.

So that's what I thought of, it was just an idea I had after watching some videos of Enid and Wednesday's body swap, sorry if you already have another request about the same thing or if I haven't explained the ideas well, it's just my first fic request. And most importantly, you are not forced to do it. I will understand if you don't want to do it.

So thank you one of the comfort writers!

i’m doing fine (i’m three days into term and i feel like digging my own grave), thank you for asking and for the support

i’m more than happy to write this! it’s cute 🤗🤗

i can’t physically bring myself to watch the last four episodes. 😕

[paxtito]

I thought there will be part 2 of wolf in law?

there will be! i am halfway through it. however, i am stuck on the idea of adding some more smut— originally, i wasn’t but, i’ll do an ask thingamajig below

smut

yes

no

Voting ended onSep 1, 2025

[paxtito]

Just read ‘love of my life’ and it was so cute! (I also love Queen so it was really cool!) However, it sparked an idea in my head that is in the opposite direction😭. I was thinking Reader x Lorraine where Y/n is one of the cast members. She has done scenes with the other women and Lorraine gets kinda jealous/envious overtime. So basically kinda like in the movie but gay and no man lol. A fluffy and soft ending would be cute though!

You can store the idea somewhere I just wanted to write it down here before I forget😭.

Thank you I love your stuff slay 🥰.

[paxtito]

where are you from ? 🤗

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿🏰🐑🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

[paxtito]

WOAH WOAH WOAH

gang is on demon time publishing all these fics HELOOO? 🛐🛐🛐🛐

what can i say? 1k followers is a special occasion 🫡 (i actually wrote those weeks ago and forgot about them)

…college starts back up next week so maybe i’m overcompensating for what the future holds 🌚

[paxtito]

the last virgin

pairings: pippa fitz-amobi x g!p reader tags: smut, both their first times, a bit awkward, p in v, cunnilingus, little bit of dry humping request: omgg puppy love was so cute! would you be open to doing a first time for pip x g!p reader as well

MASTERLIST. | WC: 6.5k

(all characters are 18+) | a/n: thank you for 1k. i forgot this was in my drafts so two posts in a day in celebration wooo

Pippa tapped her pen against her notebook, half-listening to her friends and half-watching the clock drag itself towards the end of your lesson. Her mind wandered, as it often did lately, to you—across the hall in Mr. Cartwright’s English Lit class.

The thought of you was a small comfort: your half-smile when you caught her staring, the warmth of your hand brushing hers under the table, the quiet kind of love that had bloomed, slow and sweet, over the past seven months.

But right now, Pippa was stuck at her usual table in the lunch hall, cornered by the very loud, very nosy trio of Cara, Lauren, and Connor.

Cara leaned in first, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So. How’s you-know-who?”

Pippa raised a brow. “You mean my actual partner? They’re fine.”

Lauren smirked. “No, no, we mean—how are you two doing. Like… relationship-wise.”

Connor chimed in with a low whistle. “Come on, Pippa. Seven months? That’s like… forever in teenage years.”

Pippa rolled her eyes, flipping a page in her notes. “Yeah? And what’s your longest relationship again, Connor? Three business days?”

Cara grinned, unbothered. “Okay, but seriously. Have you two done it yet?”

The question landed like a grenade.

Pippa’s pen paused mid-scribble. She glanced up, only to find all three of them staring at her with varying degrees of interest and horror. “What?”

“You heard me,” Cara said, leaning back in her chair. “Have you guys had sex?”

Pippa opened her mouth—maybe to lie, maybe to deflect, she wasn’t sure—but her brain betrayed her. A beat too long passed.

Lauren’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. You haven’t, have you?”

Pippa flushed. “It’s none of your business,” she muttered, which, of course, only made things worse.

“Oh my god,” Connor said again, eyes wide in genuine disbelief. “You’re telling me you—Pippa Fitz-Amobi—haven’t gone all the way?”

Cara’s eyes widened now. “Wait… Are you still a virgin?”

Pippa’s stomach dropped.

She should’ve said no. Or at least laughed it off. But instead, she hesitated just a second too long again.

And that’s all it took.

Lauren threw her hands up. “Shut up! No way! Pippa is the last virgin in our group?! That’s… wild.”

Connor looked equal parts stunned and impressed. “I mean, nothing wrong with it, but—wow. Honestly didn’t expect that from you.”

“It’s not like I planned it,” Pippa snapped, sharper than she intended.

Her cheeks burned. She hated this. The pressure. The sudden vulnerability. She wasn’t ashamed of it—not really. But having it dragged into the daylight, turned into some sort of headline among her friends? That was a different story.

Especially because you had no idea any of this was happening. You were still in class, probably hunched over a book, taking notes in that neat way you always did. Blissfully unaware that your girlfriend had just accidentally outed herself as the last virgin standing in her friend group.

And now, apparently, it was a thing.

Pippa barely had time to recover from the verbal ambush before she saw you crossing the lunch hall.

You spotted her instantly—your face lighting up like it always did when you saw her, that easy kind of smile that made Pippa feel like she could breathe again. You slid into the seat beside her, nudging your knee against hers without a second thought.

“Hey,” you said softly, like she was your favourite part of the day. And she was.

“Hey,” Pippa echoed, forcing a smile, trying not to look like she was mid-existential crisis.

But then—

“You know,” Connor said, dragging out the words like a threat, “we were just talking about you.”

“Oh god,” you laughed. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” Lauren deadpanned.

Pippa shot her a look that said don’t.

Too late.

“So,” Cara jumped in, all sugary sweetness and barely hidden nosiness. “Are you a virgin too?”

The table froze. Pippa’s stomach dropped again. Her eyes snapped to yours, wide in a please don’t answer sort of way.

But you?

You blinked, paused for half a second… then shrugged. “Yeah.”

The word landed with an easy confidence, like you’d just said you preferred apple juice over orange. You didn’t flinch, didn’t stumble. You just said it and took a bite of your breakfast bar like they’d asked what time your class ended.

Pippa stared at you.

Connor nearly dropped his drink. “Wait, what?”

Lauren leaned forward. “You are?”

You raised a brow. “Is that… surprising?”

“I just thought—” Cara trailed off, eyes flicking between you and Pippa like she was trying to solve a mystery.

Pippa expected you to get defensive. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe annoyed.

But you just kept chewing.

“I mean,” you said with a shrug, “I’m not in a rush. And I’m not exactly gonna do it just to say I have. Why? Are you all holding weekly orgies or something?”

Connor choked on his smoothie. Lauren snorted. Cara looked like she was both horrified and intrigued.

Pippa bit her lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

You turned to her then, finally catching the odd look in her eyes. “You okay?”

She hesitated. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Because somehow, you’d just walked straight into the lion’s den, dropped a bombshell, and left the mess behind like it didn’t even faze you. And maybe it didn’t.

And Pippa couldn’t decide if she felt incredibly relieved… or incredibly exposed.

But the warmth in your gaze, the quiet steadiness in your voice—it reminded her why she liked you in the first place.

You didn’t care what anyone else thought. About her. About sex. About any of it.

And maybe, if she let herself admit it, that was exactly what she needed right now.

//

Pippa had solved two murders, cracked countless conspiracies, and outwitted grown adults twice her age. She was smart.

Which made her current situation—sweating nervously in the ‘intimate health’ aisle at Boots—almost funny.

Almost.

She glanced left, then right, then left again. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, but she ignored it. Her notes app was open, a bulleted list that had somehow ballooned from ‘do some research’ to full-blown operation planning.

SEX MISSION: PREP

• condoms (regular… maybe try latex-free?)

• lube (water-based vs. silicone-based — TBD)

• shave???

• breath mints (not technically required but still)

• make a playlist?? idk

She stared down at the selection in front of her. Rows and rows of condoms, some labeled ‘ultra thin,’ others ‘ribbed for pleasure.’

Why is this so complicated? she thought.

She picked the least threatening box—plain, unbranded, regular—and shoved it into the basket. Then she grabbed a small bottle of lube, paused, and threw a second brand in too. Just in case.

Back home, she dumped the bag on her bed and immediately locked her bedroom door.

The box of condoms stared at her.

She stared back.

Then, in true Pippa fashion, she opened her laptop and began researching.

Not porn—God no—but articles. Scientific ones. Advice columns. Blogs with names like ‘Your First Time: What No One Tells You’ and ‘How To Not Freak Out Even If You Feel Like You’re Going To Die (Emotionally).’

She read every word. Twice. She watched a YouTube video by a sex educator explaining the difference between different lubes and why communication was more important than performance. She took notes.

Actual notes.

She even bookmarked one article titled ‘Sex Is Not A Race’ because, honestly, she needed to hear that.

But the deeper she dove into her self-assigned research, the more one unsettling thought kept sneaking into her brain:

What if you didn’t even care about any of this yet? What if she was the only one obsessing?

She chewed on her thumbnail, glancing over at her drawer where she’d hidden the Boots bag like contraband. You hadn’t brought it up again—not once since that lunch table interrogation. And you definitely hadn’t acted like you were in any kind of rush.

If anything, you seemed… fine.

Happy.

Still holding her hand like she was everything you wanted.

Pippa fell back onto her bed, letting her notes flutter to the floor.

She’d cracked unsolvable crimes.

So why did this feel harder?

//

You were sprawled across your bed, legs tangled in the blanket, iPad balanced against your knees, and a singular goal in mind: Survive the haunted asylum level in Roblox.

The game had lured you in with cute graphics and laughably basic jump scares. But now?

Now, some demon-possessed nurse had just sprinted full-speed at your character from a shadowy corridor, and you—entirely unprepared—screamed:

“FUCK!”

A beat of silence followed.

Then:

“Language!” your mother shouted from downstairs.

You winced. “Sorry!”

Another jumpscare popped out, and this time you just threw the iPad on the bed with a muffled, “Nope.”

As your heart rate tried to settle, your phone buzzed.

Pip 🖤: hey do you wanna sleep over tonight?

You blinked.

It wasn’t unusual—Pippa liked having you over. Her room was always tidier than yours, smelled faintly of expensive shampoo, and her bed had the softest sheets known to mankind. But something about the way she texted this time felt… different.

Short. Clipped.

Not a meme. No emoji spam. No ‘pls bring snacks or I’ll die.’

You stared at the screen for a second longer, then tapped back:

You: sure. everything okay?

It only took a second for her reply to come in.

Pip 🖤: yeah! just want you here x

You chewed your lip a bit, suspicious, but your brain was already shifting to logistics. You could bring your charger, toothbrush, maybe that hoodie she liked you in. And if she wanted cuddles—or was just feeling clingy—you were happy to show up and deliver.

Your iPad dinged again—your Roblox character had apparently died without you. Tragic.

You tossed it aside and flopped dramatically back onto the pillows.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on. Pippa didn’t usually ask for you this abruptly. She was more of a planner. A ‘what are you doing Friday after 6:30pm precisely’ kind of girlfriend.

But she’d said she just wanted you there.

And if there was one thing you were always down to do… it was show up for her.

You slid off the bed with a grunt, snatched your charger from where it dangled near the outlet, and stuffed it into your hoodie pocket. No need for a bag—you weren’t fancy. Toothbrush could live at Pippa’s now. Your toothbrush knew Pippa’s sink.

Grabbing your coat from the back of your desk chair, you slid it on one arm at a time and slipped your feet into your Crocs—beat-up, and in sport mode. The ultimate statement shoe for a romantic rendezvous.

You padded into the kitchen, where your mum was halfway through pouring boiling water into a mug.

“I’m staying over at Pip’s,” you said casually, grabbing a banana off the counter like it was a boarding pass.

She didn’t look up. “You did your laundry?”

“Mostly,” you lied.

“Don’t be weird at her house. And tell her mum I said hi this time, not just a grunt from behind your phone.”

“Love you,” you called, already backing out the door.

She sighed loudly. “Text me when you get there, you little gremlin.”

You gave a thumbs up through the doorway and shut it behind you.

The air was cool—summer winding down, the sky bruised with early evening clouds. You shoved your hands into your coat pockets, humming some stupid song stuck in your head from TikTok, and started the short walk to Pippa’s.

As always, your pace picked up the closer you got to her street.

Something about her always pulled at you—like your body knew exactly where to go. You’d memorised the cracks in her pavement and the exact creak of her garden gate.

By the time her house came into view, the nerves started to kick in a little. Just a little. Because as much as you’d tried to brush it off… you had felt something weird in her texts.

Still, you knocked twice and waited.

When she opened the door, she was barefoot, wearing that oversized hoodie she stole from you three months ago and never returned, even though she pretended she ‘forgot it was yours.’

Her hair was messy in a way that suggested she’d been lying on her bed overthinking everything. Which, in Pippa language, was saying a lot.

You gave her a crooked smile. “Hey, trouble.”

She stepped back to let you in. “Hey.”

You could feel it. Something in her energy.

Not bad. Just… tight. Like she was bracing for something.

“Everything okay?” you asked, slipping your shoes off by the door.

Pippa hesitated, then nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re here.”

And as you followed her upstairs, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands and your brain blissfully unaware of the condoms hidden in her drawer, you thought:

Huh. She’s being weird.

:/

Ratatouille was halfway through, and you were in it. Full focus. Zero distractions.

You were lying on your side, head propped on one hand, eyes glued to the laptop screen resting on the bed between you and Pippa. Your free hand reached occasionally into the bowl of popcorn she’d set on the nightstand, a mechanical rhythm. You didn’t even look when you grabbed a piece—you trusted the popcorn. And you trusted Pippa.

What you didn’t realize was that Pippa had barely watched the last twenty minutes of the film.

She was lying on her back, slightly angled toward you, eyes drifting between the screen and the curve of your jaw. Her arm brushed yours—casual at first. Then stayed there. Then pressed more deliberately.

You didn’t move. Maybe you didn’t even notice.

Your face lit up at the scene where Remy seasons the soup. “Okay but this scene is cinema.”

Pippa didn’t respond. Her hand, now resting near your thigh, twitched.

Her heart was in her throat.

It wasn’t like she planned anything. But something about having you in her bed, warm and close, so trusting—so comfortable—it lit a match inside her. All her anxiety, all her prep, all her overthinking had culminated in this moment where you were lying right there, unbothered, like the idea of sex hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Which, honestly, maybe it hadn’t.

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the side of your leg. You still didn’t react. Her eyes scanned your face—soft, focused, lit by the laptop glow—and for a second she wondered if this was the right time at all.

But then… your pinkie curled around hers. Absentminded. Automatic.

And somehow, that broke her.

She turned her face toward you. “Hey.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, still watching the screen.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hit pause without hesitation and turned to face her. “Of course.”

Pippa hesitated. Her voice was a little quieter now. “Do you… ever think about us doing more? Like… stuff.”

You tilted your head, processing. “Sex stuff?”

Her ears turned red. “Yeah. That.”

You gave a soft smile, one of those quiet ones that always made her chest ache a little. “Sometimes,” you said honestly. “But I figured we were just taking it slow.”

Pippa blinked. “That doesn’t bother you?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I like slow. You never made me feel rushed or pressured, so I figured I wouldn’t do that to you either.”

There was a pause. Then you added, more gently, “Have you been thinking about it?”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Kind of obsessively.”

You grinned. “You mean like, made a whole list about it obsessively?”

Her silence was loud.

“…Wait,” you laughed, sitting up slightly, “you made a list?”

Pippa groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I did research. I needed to feel like I wasn’t going to completely ruin it.”

You gently pried one hand from her face, eyes still amused but soft. “Pip. You wouldn’t ruin anything. You’re the most prepared person I know. I’d be surprised if you didn’t create a sex spreadsheet.”

“I didn’t,” she said, defensively. “…It’s a bullet list.”

You snorted, then leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“I like being close to you,” you murmured. “Even if it’s just this. But if you’re ready… I’m here.”

Pippa stared at you, wide-eyed and stunned by how calm you were. How easy you made everything feel.

Her fingers intertwined with yours again—tighter this time.

“…Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?” she asked, suddenly breathless.

You smirked. “We’re literally in your bed watching a movie about a rat chef. Nothing you do right now can make this weirder.”

She laughed—and leaned in.

And this time, the kiss wasn’t just sweet.

It was new.

It was her deciding.

//

Looking at Pippa, you saw the determination in her gaze—dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. You felt a flicker of nerves, but mostly, you felt a profound sense of love and acceptance.

"Hey," you murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "are you sure about this? Because if this isn't what you want, we don't have to-"

But Pippa cut you off before you could finish, leaning in to press her forehead to yours. Her voice was steady, almost fierce. "I'm sure. I want this. I want you, you idiot."

It made your heart clench. You swallowed hard. "Okay," you whispered. "I want you too."

Pippa's lips curled into a smile against your cheek. You felt her fingers curl into the hem of your hoodie, tugging lightly. Then, she leaned back and rolled onto her knees, reaching into her bedside drawer.

Your brows shot up as she pulled out a carrier bag, setting it on the bed between you both. Peeking out was a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube.

She looked up at you, suddenly shy. "I, um. I got some stuff. I mean, I didn't know if you had any, so I just, um..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

You blinked, taking it in. Then a slow smile spread across your face. "You've thought this through."

Pippa made a face. "Shut up. I just wanted to be prepared." She paused, then added softly, "For us."

You glanced between the hopeful, anxious look on Pippa's face and the bag of sex supplies on the bed, then down at your own jean-clad crotch. You smirked, shaking your head. "I mean, I'm no genius, but I'm pretty sure the key part of this equation is that I need to be hard for it to work."

Pippa blinked, then followed your gaze downwards before her eyes widened in understanding. A deep blush crept into her cheeks, but she held your gaze steadily. "Oh. Right. Of course."

She bit her lip, then reached out to place a tentative hand on your thigh, her fingers brushing against the inseam of your jeans. "So, um... how do we...?" She trailed off, suddenly unsure.

You shrugged, playing it casual even as your heart raced. "I mean, I think it's supposed to just... happen? When you're aroused?"

Pippa nodded slowly, her hand still resting on your thigh. "Right. Aroused." She cleared her throat. "So, um... do you want me to...?"

She let the question hang in the air, her eyes searching yours, a hint of nervousness flickering behind the determination in her gaze. Her fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, not quite squeezing, but not quite letting go either.

You started to say, "It's okay, you don't have to-" but Pippa cut you off, her eyes flashing with a sudden intensity.

"No, I want to," she insisted, her voice low and steady. "I want to make this good for you. I want to learn what you like."

She slid her hand slowly up your thigh, her fingers brushing against the growing bulge in your jeans. She bit her lip, looking up at you with a mix of nerves and determination.

"Show me," she breathed. "Tell me what feels good. I'll learn, I promise."

Her touch was tentative but eager, her gaze locked onto yours, waiting for your guidance. A soft blush still colored her cheeks, but her chin was lifted, her jaw set. She was ready. Ready to learn. Ready to make this perfect for you.

You smiled softly at Pippa, your voice gentle as you explained, "It usually takes a little while for me to get fully hard. Like, a minute or two. And I usually just rub or stroke it to help it along."

Pippa listened intently, her hand still resting on the growing bulge in your jeans. She nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then, hesitantly, she started to move her hand, rubbing you through the denim of your jeans.

"Is this okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours for approval. Her touch was gentle, almost tentative, but her gaze was focused and eager to learn.

You let out a soft exhale, your head falling back slightly as you felt her hand move over you. "Yeah, just like that," you murmurs. "Nice and slow."

Pippa took a deep breath and kept going, her hand sliding along the length of you, feeling you start to harden under her touch. She bit her lip, watching your face intently for any sign of whether she was doing this right.

You smiled shyly at Pippa, rubbing your half-hard bulge through your jeans. "There's, um, a thing I've seen in porn videos..." you started, a blush rising to your cheeks. "It's called dry humping. I don't know if it'll work, but maybe it could help us both get more in the mood?"

Pippa blinked, then nodded slowly, understanding. "Oh. Okay." She licked her lips, her eyes flickering down to your crotch before meeting your gaze again. "How does it work?"

You shrugged. "I think you just, uh, press against each other through your clothes until you're both... you know. Really turned on."

Pippa swallowed, then swung a leg over to straddle your hips, facing you. She kept some space between your crotches, but her thighs bracketed yours, her hands coming to rest on your chest.

"Okay," she breathed, looking down at you with a mix of nerves and determination. "Like this?" She rubbed herself slowly against the bulge of your jeans, watching your face for a reaction.

You let out a shaky breath as Pippa began to slowly grind against you, the denim of your jeans creating a delicious friction. "Yeah, just like that," you murmured, your hands coming to rest on her hips, guiding her movements.

She kept a steady rhythm, her breath growing a little quicker as she felt you start to throb beneath her. Her eyes flicked between your face and where your bodies were pressed together, a newfound hunger in her gaze.

"That feels really good," you breathed, your fingers digging lightly into the soft flesh of her hips.

Pippa licked her lips, her voice soft and a little unsteady. "You're getting harder," she observed, feeling your length swell under her ministrations. "Tell me if this is okay."

You nodded, your breath hitching as Pippa kept grinding against you. Suddenly, she shifted her hips slightly, angling them in a way that pressed her clothed clit directly against your hardening length.

A soft gasp escaped her lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure, her back arching slightly. "Oh!" she breathed, her eyes widening. "That feels... wow." She bit her lip, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks as she kept rubbing against you, chasing that new sensation.

You groaned softly, your fingers tightening on her hips as you felt her heat even through the layers of fabric. "God, Pip," you breathed, your length twitching and hardening rapidly now. "This feels amazing."

She just nodded, panting softly as she kept moving against you, her eyes hazy with building arousal. "I can feel how hard you're getting," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "It's making me... it's making me really wet."

Your heart raced as you felt the heat of your arousal growing, your length now fully hard and straining against your jeans. At Pippa's words, you gulped, a surge of lust and anticipation shooting through you.

"I think I'm ready," you breathed, your voice tight with need.

Pippa nodded, a fierce determination in her eyes. She rolled off you and onto her back, patting the bed beside her in invitation. Your jeans were uncomfortably tight now, your length aching for more contact.

You scrambled to unbutton your jeans, shoving them down your legs along with your underwear. Your cock sprang free, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip. You kicked the rest of your clothes off and turned to Pippa.

She was watching you with hooded eyes, her chest heaving slightly, a damp patch visible on the crotch of her pajama bottoms. She lifted the hem of her hoodie to reveal her bare breasts, rosy nipples hard and pebbled.

You couldn't help but stare at Pippa's bare breasts, a surge of awe and desire washing over you. "Wow, your breasts are really nice," you murmured, a crooked grin spreading across your face.

Pippa laughed, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks. "Thanks," she whispered, biting her lip. "I'm glad you think so."

You blinked out of your daze and reached for the bag, grabbing the box of condoms. With shaking fingers, you tore open the box and took out a single condom, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar texture.

"I've never actually put one on before," you admitted, looking to Pippa for guidance.

She sat up, taking the condom from your hand. "It's okay, I practiced with a banana," she said, a hint of shyness in her voice. She unrolled the condom over two fingers, demonstrating the technique she'd learned. "Here, I can help."

With deft movements, she pinched the tip of the condom to leave space for semen, then smoothed it down the length of your hard cock. It was an odd sensation, but not unpleasant. Her fingers lingered on your shaft, stroking gently.

"There," she whispered, looking up at you with a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. "How's that?"

"Smarty pants," you teased softly, shaking your head in wonder at just how prepared and thoughtful she was. You grabbed the lube, squeezing out a generous amount onto your fingers to slick up the condom.

Pippa watched, biting her lip as she wiggled out of her pajama pants and underwear. She tossed them aside, leaving her bare and exposed, and unbelievably arousing. Your eyes roamed over her naked form, taking in every curve and dip, committing it all to memory.

"Do you want to...?" she started, gesturing to the bed and biting her lip, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Pippa nodded, her eyes widening slightly as you moved to hover over her. The heat radiating off your bare skin was intense, making her acutely aware of how cooled her own was in comparison. She swallowed back the nerves threatening to overwhelm her, determined to be brave for both of you.

You shifted your hips, aligning your now slick-covered length with her entrance. The tip nudged against her, the sensation foreign but not unwelcome. Pippa's breath caught in her throat at the contact, her body tensing slightly.

"Tell me when," you murmured softly, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "I don't want to hurt you."

Pippa's gaze locked with yours, a fierce resolve burning in the hazel-green depths. She licked her lips, tasting the salt on your thumb and nodding. "Okay," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm ready. Slowly."

With those words as your guide, you began to press forward, your length slowly sinking into new, tight heat. Pippa's breath hitched, her fingers digging into your shoulders as she felt you stretch her open. You paused when you met resistance, giving her a moment to adjust.

As you slowly pushed forward, a sudden wave of pleasure washed over you, causing you to let out a low moan. The sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, your hips jerking slightly at the intense sensation of Pippa's tight heat enveloping your sensitive length.

Your movements froze immediately, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks. "Shit," you muttered, embarrassed at your automatic reaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

But Pippa just smiled softly, stroking your cheek with her thumb, her eyes shining with understanding. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice gentle. "That felt good for both of us."

She took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. "Keep going," she breathed. "Nice and slow."

With each inch you pushed forward, Pippa's body resisted, then yielded to the insistent pressure of your hardness. A soft gasp escaped her lips as you broke through the initial barrier, the sensation of being filled for the first time unlike anything she had ever experienced.

"Oh!" Pippa gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders as a sharp spike of pain and pleasure shot through her. She blinked up at you, her hazel eyes wide and glistening.

You froze, concern etched on your face. "Are you okay?" you asked softly, searching her expression for any sign of distress.

Pippa nodded jerkily, her breath coming in short pants as she adjusted to the new sensation of being stretched and filled. "Y-yeah," she breathed. "It just... it hurts a little. But it feels good too."

You pressed your forehead against hers, your breath mingling with her own as you paused, letting her get accustomed to the feeling of your length buried deep inside her. "We can stop if you need to," you murmured. "Whenever you're ready to keep going, just say so."

You stayed still, allowing Pippa a few moments to adjust to the new sensation of being filled. Her body gradually relaxed around you, the initial resistance giving way to a soft, pulsing heat.

"Okay," Pippa whispered finally, her voice steadier now. "You can... you can keep going. Slowly."

With her permission, you began to move again, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside her before pressing back in with a gentle thrust. You set a slow, steady rhythm, mindful of her and wanting this first time to be good for her.

Soft gasps and breathy sighs spilled from Pippa's lips with each push and pull of your hips. Her nails raked down your back as you continued to slowly make love to her, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"Yes," she breathed, tilting her head back as you found a particularly sweet spot. "There... oh god, there..."

Your hips rocked steadily against Pippa's, the slick glide of the condom allowing you to pick up the pace. The tight clutch of her walls around your length grew slicker as she grew aroused, the combination of sensations overwhelming your senses.

Suddenly, you felt it building, the pressure coiling tight at the base of your spine. Your thrusts grew more erratic, more insistent, chasing that peak of pleasure.

"I'm going to... I'm going to come," you gasped out, your voice strangled with impending release.

Pippa's eyes flew open, wide and shocked. "Really?" she breathed, a mix of surprise and awe in her voice. Her nails dug into your shoulders as she felt your length throb inside her.

With a moan, you let go, your hips jerking as you spilled yourself into the condom. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body shuddering and twitching with the force of your climax.

"Oh god," you groaned, collapsing against Pippa as the aftershocks slowly subsided. "That was... fuck, that was intense."

You paused, blinking away the lingering haze of your orgasm. As the fog cleared from your mind, you remembered Pippa was still waiting. You didn't want her to feel left out or unsatisfied.

Pulling out of her slowly, you felt a mix of relief and renewed determination. You settled between her thighs, nuzzling against the sensitive skin. The scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, making your spent length twitch in interest.

"Wait," you murmured, glancing up at her awkwardly. "Crap, I don't know what I'm doing. I've never really... I mean, I want to make you feel good too, but..."

You trailed off, suddenly unsure. Your inexperience in this area was glaring. But your desire to bring her pleasure was fierce. You looked up at her helplessly, hoping for guidance.

Pippa looked down at you, her hazel eyes soft and warm. She could see the awkwardness in your expression, but also the genuine desire to please her. It made her heart skip a beat.

"It's okay," she murmured softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "I don't know exactly what I need either. But... we can figure it out together."

She shifted her thighs, parting them further to give you better access. "I think... I think it might feel good if you touch me here," she said shyly, guiding your hand to the apex of her thighs, just above where your fingers met her slick folds.

You felt her heat, her desire plain and insistent against your fingertips. "And maybe... maybe you could kiss me too?" she added, a hopeful note in her voice. "I think that might make everything feel even better."

Her other hand came up to tangle in your hair, gently urging you closer to her center. She looked down at you with trusting, almost vulnerable eyes, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

"Just... just do what feels right," she whispered. "And don't worry about being perfect. I just want to feel good with you."

You took a deep breath and leaned in, pressing your mouth against Pippa's most intimate area. You had seen this done in porn videos, but doing it in reality proved more challenging. Your technique was a bit clumsy and unpracticed.

You started to lick broad, flat strokes over her folds, tasting her arousal on your tongue. The flavour was new and intense, making your spent length twitch with renewed interest. You focused your attentions on her clit, circling and flicking over the sensitive nub.

"Mmm, yes, like that," Pippa encouraged breathlessly, her hips starting to rock against your mouth. Her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place.

Emboldened by her reaction, you redoubled your efforts, suckling gently on her clit as you slid one finger inside her tight channel. Her walls clenched around the intrusion, drawing you in deeper.

You pumped your finger slowly, curling it to stroke a hidden spot deep inside her that made her cry out. Feeling bolder, you slipped in a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch her further.

"That's it," Pippa gasped, her head thrown back, her chest heaving. "Don't stop, please don't stop..."

You felt Pippa's thighs start to tremble and quake around your head as you continued your inexperienced but enthusiastic ministrations. Emboldened by her responses, you let out a low hum against her slick flesh, the vibrations adding a new sensation.

Your fingers pumped faster, plunging in and out of her tight heat as your tongue laved over her clit. You could feel her growing more aroused by the second, her juices coating your fingers and chin.

"That's it, don't stop," Pippa keened, her voice rising in pitch. Her hips bucked erratically against your face as she chased her impending release. "I'm... I'm almost... oh god, I'm going to..."

Her words cut off into a sharp cry as her orgasm overtook her. Her walls clamped down viciously around your fingers, pulsing and fluttering as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

You could feel the heat of her release flooding your mouth and soaking your hand as Pippa shuddered and twitched through the aftershocks. The sight and taste of her climax was the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced.

Finally, panting harshly, Pippa slumped back against the bed, going boneless and sated. You lifted your head, wiping your chin with the back of your hand as you gazed up at her.

"That was... wow," she murmured, her voice hoarse and distant. "That was amazing. Thank you."

You gazed up at Pippa, a mix of hope and nervousness in your expression. You gently withdrew your hand from between her thighs, your fingers glistening with her essence.

"Did I... did I do good?" you asked softly, searching her face for any sign of satisfaction or disappointment. "Was that okay for your first time?"

You felt a swell of pride at having brought her to such a intense peak, but also a flicker of insecurity at your own inexperience. You wanted to make sure she was happy, that you hadn't somehow fallen short in your eager attempts to please her.

Pippa's eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile spreading across her face as she looked down at you. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her hair mussed from the passion of the moment. She reached out to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip.

"More than okay," she murmured, her voice low and warm. "You were amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better first time."

She tugged you up the bed, until you were curled beside her. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For making this so special. I love you."

You smiled softly as Pippa held you close, murmuring "I love you" against her skin.

After a few moments of basking in the intimacy of the moment, you carefully peeled yourself away from Pippa's embrace. You felt the weight of the used condom, a tangible reminder of what you’d just shared.

"Hey, Pip?" you asked, holding up the condom and feeling a bit awkward about the next step. "Where... where am I supposed to put this thing? I don't want to just toss it somewhere, ya know?"

You glanced around the room, spotting a small wastebasket nearby. But something about throwing it away in plain sight felt a bit crude.

Pippa blinked, following your gaze to the condom. A blush crept into her cheeks as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Oh. Um..." She hesitated for a moment, then reached over to grab a tissue from a nearby box. "Here, you can wrap it in this and put it in the bin under the sink in the bathroom. I don't think either of us wants it sitting out in the open."

She smiled sheepishly, a hint of shyness in her eyes. "I guess that's one of those things they don't really teach you in school, huh?"

You nodded, taking the tissue from her and carefully wrapping the used condom inside.

"Yeah, definitely not something they covered in sex ed," you agreed with a wry grin.