my whole collection of writing for marilyn thornhill (my beloved) because who could get enough of her?
⤿ all reader insert fics do not include y/n !
SERIES
no second thoughts. [ ongoing ] an invitation arrives in careful handwriting, personally addressed to you; others are invited, but none so deliberately, calling you to some sort of party at the long-abandoned gates mansion. the gates family are said to be dead, the house empty. it isn’t. as the night unfolds, you are guided, watched, and chosen. these parties begin to happen more often and slowly, dangerously, you become enamoured, unable to imagine a world where she does not exist.
ONESHOTS
in bloom. [ writing ] principal weems gave you a detention with miss thornhill. she needs help with getting some plants from nevermore's stores. you accept, only because you don't want to get into any more trouble. however, you seem to stumble on some unusual plants along the way.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 3.4k
it had been around a week since you went to the mansion with wednesday.
you had hardly seen her since, which, honestly, probably wasn’t surprising. she had most likely decided to work alone. it made sense—she couldn’t trust you, and you weren’t exactly helpful when it came to giving her information.
you sit in the quad with enid, listening as she excitedly shows you an update on her blog, something about the fangs. she scrolls through it, pointing things out as she talks.
you nod along, giving her the reaction she expects, even though you aren’t really paying much attention. your mind is somewhere else.
then your eyes move; a figure catches your attention as it's someone you haven’t seen in a while, divina.
she has been your roommate since the start of the year, though she had originally lived in puck hall before moving.
you stare for a moment because you honestly hadn’t realised how long it had been since you last saw her. you just assumed she had been spending time with her other friends.
bianca had mentioned it at the start of the year, saying that divina had a habit of disappearing sometimes, so you didn’t think much of it until now.
she’s walking quickly, her head lowered as she moves, almost like she doesn’t want anyone to notice her, or maybe like she doesn’t want anyone to stop her.
enid is still talking beside you, still explaining whatever update she’s showing you, but you don’t look away from divina.
you stand up slowly, your eyes staying fixed on her as she disappears further across the quad. you step forwards to follow her.
"hey—"
enid calls your name, making you pause for a second, but you don’t turn around.
"i’ll talk to you later, enid." your voice is quiet, already moving again before she can respond.
you don’t even make it out of the quad because suddenly, wednesday appears. you don’t even see where she comes from.
one second you’re following divina, and the next wednesday is standing in front of her, stopping her completely.
divina looks surprised.
wednesday says something you can’t hear at first, but then she gestures towards the edge of the quad, towards the edgar allan poe statue.
you slow down, your curiosity immediately taking over. you quickly move behind one of the pillars nearby, keeping yourself hidden while still being able to see them.
you hold your breath slightly, listening and waiting to hear what wednesday is saying. wednesday stands in front of divina, blocking her path completely so she has no way of simply walking away.
"where have you been?" she asks, her voice calm but suspicious, her eyes studying every small reaction divina gives.
divina immediately looks defensive. "nowhere! i've been switching between bianca and yoko's rooms for a few weeks."
wednesday tilts her head. "hmm." she studies her. "peculiar." her arms are crossed over her chest. "considering both bianca and yoko have separately informed me that they haven’t seen you either."
divina’s expression shifts slightly. just enough for wednesday to notice.
"but that’s not the most interesting part."
she reaches into her pocket, pulling something out. a necklace.
your eyes widen from behind the pillar: the siren necklace. the one from the mansion. it's divinas?
"missing this?" wednesday asks, holding it out towards her.
divina’s expression changes instantly; the tension leaves her shoulders slightly.
she looks almost relieved. "where did you get that?"
wednesday watches her carefully. "the gates house." she lets the silence sit for a moment. "perhaps you have something to explain."
you start to worry for a moment because divina isn’t wearing her necklace, and if she doesn’t have it, then what’s stopping her from using her siren abilities on wednesday?
your eyes flick between them. you know you should probably wait. you know wednesday can handle herself...but still.
you step out from behind the pillar, moving around it slowly, ready to intervene if something happens.
"what? i—" divina starts, her expression shifting as she looks between wednesday and the necklace.
but before she can finish, everything is interrupted.
"hi girls!"
you freeze slightly. marilyn walks past you, and you realise she had been there the entire time. you didn’t even notice her.
she must have seen you listening or maybe she noticed the tension between wednesday and divina and decided to step in. either way, she doesn’t act like anything is strange.
she just smiles warmly. one hand moves up to push her glasses higher on her face, while the other carefully holds a plant pot against her side.
you look at her.
"oh, wednesday," marilyn says, her voice gentle as she looks towards her. "principal weems wanted to see you in her office just about now." she gives a small smile.
"what for?" wednesday asks, her expression not changing.
"she didn't tell me," marilyn replies, tilting her head slightly. "but she looked very eager to see you."
marilyn watches the two of them as she speaks and you do too.
wednesday eventually looks back towards divina and holds the siren necklace out, handing it back to her.
divina takes it carefully, her fingers closing around it as she looks at wednesday for a moment.
then wednesday turns and walks straight past you. she doesn’t see you or at least, you think she doesn’t.
you stay still for a second, watching her disappear, before deciding you can’t keep standing there. then, you step out from where you were hiding, walking towards marilyn as casually as possible. as if you weren’t there the entire time and as if you hadn’t been listening.
"hi," you say softly.
marilyn looks towards you and she doesn’t say anything about it; neither does divina.
the two of them don’t exchange a word before divina looks between you and marilyn. there’s a strange expression on her face, like she’s noticed something.
you frown slightly, but before you can ask, she turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with marilyn.
you stay still for a moment.
"you really need to stop eavesdropping, sweet girl."
your eyes widen slightly because that answers your question: she did see.
marilyn tilts her head, looking at you with that familiar soft expression, though there’s a hint of amusement there too.
"you’ll get caught one day," she continues, adjusting the plant pot in her hands slightly, "and i won’t be there to save you."
you stare at her for a moment. "oh..." you pause. "you saw?"
a small sound leaves her, almost like a sigh, shaking her head slightly. "you’re not very discreet."
you look away, a little embarrassed because, unfortunately, she isn’t wrong.
"anyway," marilyn says, shifting the plant pot slightly in her arms as she looks down at you with a calm, almost expectant expression, "since i've got you. do you have your practical workbook? i would like to show it to some of my other classes."
you blink, straightening a little as you register what she’s asking. "oh, yes, of course, miss—"
you stop mid-sentence when she looks at you. it isn't sharp, but a small frown forms behind her glasses.
"marilyn," you correct yourself quickly, your voice softer now. "it's in my room, though."
she nods slowly, considering that for a moment, her gaze still fixed on you. then she relaxes again, that gentle tone returning. "oh, that’s okay, i have time now?"
you both walk towards your room, the conversation quiet as you move through the corridor together.
on the way there, marilyn stops for a moment and places the plant pot on one of the small wooden stands along the wall, carefully adjusting it so it sits properly.
"principal weems wants more plants around the school," she explains, giving it a small glance before continuing. "said it would make the place feel a little more alive."
you smile slightly at that. of course she would be the one to make sure there were more plants everywhere.
when you reach your room, you open the door and step inside, moving towards your vanity and you reach out to open the drawer.
but then you stop, because sitting there is a box. a box that looks painfully familiar.
your eyes narrow slightly as you stare at it. it is similar to the one you received back in october. there’s a rose placed carefully on top of it and a letter.
you don’t move for a moment.
marilyn doesn’t fully walk into the room. instead, she stays by the doorway, leaning against the doorframe as she watches you, her eyebrows slightly raised.
"what’s that?" she asks.
you don’t answer straight away. you slowly pick up the rose, your fingers brushing over the petals before you walk over and place it into a vase. your eyes linger on it because there’s another rose already there. it's the exact same kind: the one from october.
and suddenly, you’re very aware of marilyn standing behind you.
"oh, a gift," you say, picking up the vase carefully and studying the old rose inside it.
your fingers move around the glass slightly, looking at the petals that somehow still haven’t wilted.
"there’s a way to keep roses from dying, right?" you ask, glancing back at marilyn. "i received this one in early october and it’s still alive."
marilyn looks towards the rose, her expression softening slightly as she watches you.
"yes, there is," she says. "you can make it from moonwater reeds and shade lotus petals, though the plant has to take it every month."
your eyes widen slightly. "oh?" you look back at her. "the ingredients i got for you?"
you are so distracted by the roses that you had completely forgotten why marilyn was even here in the first place.
for a moment, she doesn’t answer; she just stays there, leaning against the doorframe, her head resting slightly against it as she watches you.
there’s a small, almost amused look on her face but you don’t notice. you’re too focused on the rose.
you open the box in front of you and there it is: the dress for the masquerade. just like she said.
you let out a small sound without even meaning to, completely caught off guard by how beautiful it is.
your fingers carefully reach out, pulling it from the box and letting the fabric unfold in your hands.
it’s a burgundy ballgown with long sleeves, the material falling perfectly as you hold it up.
you stare at it for a moment, almost forgetting marilyn is still there. "oh my... that's so—"
"gorgeous?" she finishes for you.
she’s still leaning against the doorframe, watching you closely. not the dress. you.
she looks like she’s taking in every little reaction, almost amused by how easily you’re impressed.
you look back at her. "yes." the answer comes out quietly because it is, it really is.
you hold the dress up against yourself, turning around to face marilyn. "do you like it?"
for a moment, she doesn’t answer. her eyes move over the dress, taking in the details, but then they shift back to you.
there’s something in her expression that changes slightly. it's a softness, like she already knows the answer but is trying not to show it too much.
she does like it more than she probably should. she pushes herself away from the doorframe slightly, lifting her head as she looks at you.
"what's it for?" she asks.
you look down at the dress for a second. "oh, for a masquerade i'm going to."
"a masquerade?" she repeats, pushing her glasses up with one hand. "what's the occasion?"
you shrug slightly. "i have no idea."
your fingers move to the sleeve of the dress, gently fiddling with the fabric as you look at it.
marilyn watches the small movement and then she tilts her head.
"well, since it's a masquerade, shouldn't you have a mask?"
"oh, yeah."
you turn back towards the box immediately, looking inside and there it is: a matching mask.
you pick it up carefully, folding the dress and placing it neatly to the side before holding the mask up. it’s beautiful.
you turn back around, holding it against your face in a slightly silly way. "whatcha think?"
marilyn lets out a small laugh, shaking her head slightly as she looks at you. "you look beautiful, silly girl."
the words are soft and for a second, she looks at you like she means more than just the mask.
"anyway, before you make me forget," marilyn says, a small amused look on her face, "please could i have that workbook?"
you blink, realising you had completely got distracted again.
"oh, yes, of course, mari," you say. the nickname slips out before you even realise you said it; it is just natural to you.
marilyn’s expression changes slightly at the sound of it. a small smile appears, but you don’t see it because you’ve already turned away.
you walk back over to your vanity and open the second drawer, searching through the mess inside. you move things around, gently pushing papers aside as you rummage through the drawer until you finally find the green book.
you pull it out and turn back around. walking over to her, you hold it out.
she takes it carefully, almost like it’s something fragile.
"thank you," she says, looking down at it for a moment before looking back at you. "i'll bring it back tomorrow."
"take as long as you need," you reply quickly. then you continue, because apparently you can’t stop yourself. "in fact, i can just pick it up in our next lesson. when is it? is it—"
you don’t even get to finish as marilyn answers immediately.
"thursday."
you pause. then nod. "yes, okay, thursday."
you smile slightly, and she watches you for a moment before looking down at the workbook again.
you watch her for a moment, waiting for her to say something else but instead, she just gives you one last small smile. "i'll see you later, sweet girl."
your heart does that weird little thing again at the nickname.
you nod. "see you later, mari."
and there it is again: that small smile. you don’t notice it this time either.
marilyn turns, holding the workbook carefully against her chest as she walks towards the door. she pauses for a second, looking back at you like she wants to say something. but she doesn’t.
instead, she simply shakes her head slightly, almost amused, before stepping out into the corridor.
you stay there, watching as she walks away.
only when she disappears around the corner do you realise you’re still standing in the same place. you look down at the dress sitting on the side, then at the rose.
you walk back over to it, picking up the dress carefully and placing it back into the box, making sure the fabric isn’t folded awkwardly. you then place the mask on top of it, letting it sit neatly against the dress. once everything is inside, you put the lid back onto the box.
you move it under your vanity, pushing it back slightly so it’s out of the way.
only when you stand up properly again do you notice it. a note. you stare at it for a moment because somehow, you completely forgot about it.
your eyes move over to it, and slowly, you reach out and pick it up. you turn it over in your hands before opening it. inside, there’s only one sentence.
'as promised, november 26th 8pm, you know where.'
you read it again and again, your fingers tighten slightly around the paper.
she kept her promise.
you sigh, pushing the note away slightly, trying not to think too much about it but as you move it, you accidentally knock another piece of paper from the edge of the vanity.
it falls to the floor, causing you to crouch down, reaching out and picking it up.
at first, you don’t think anything of it until you see the writing.
your eyes move over the page. it’s familiar, maybe a bit too familiar.
it’s marilyn’s writing. it's the timetable she gave you near the start of the year.
you stare at it for a moment, your fingers tightening around the paper. the writing...
you slowly reach for the other note you just read, comparing them. your eyes move back and forth between the two pieces of paper.
it's the same handwriting, the same curves and the same little details.
exactly.
your heart stops. there’s no way...no, it can’t be.
you nearly fall over from how quickly you reach for the stack of other letters you had received. your hands move faster than your thoughts, grabbing them from where you had kept them and pulling every single one out.
the papers scatter slightly across your vanity. you don’t even care.
you pick up the first one. then another. then another.
your eyes move over every word, every line, every little detail.
the handwriting, the same handwriting, every single one matches.
your fingers go still around the paper in your hand because suddenly everything feels different.
the gifts.
the rose.
the dress.
the bracelet.
the necklace.
all of it.
you stare at the pile in front of you, your mind trying to catch up with what you’re seeing.
marilyn. it was marilyn.
the woman you had seen was ginger...just like her.
your eyes stay fixed on the letters in front of you, your thoughts moving faster than you can process them. her voice, you thought, was familiar, but was it because it was marilyn’s voice you were hearing the whole time?
you don’t know.
you try to think back to every moment, every word she said, every time she was near you but now that you know, everything feels different, like every little detail is suddenly connecting.
and yet...you still don’t want to believe it because it feels impossible and it feels too unreal.
you look down at the rose necklace around your neck, your fingers slowly moving to touch the pendant.
the one she gave you. your breath catches slightly, was that why she knew i have the bracelet around my ankle?
then, you hear footsteps coming closer, causing your head to snap towards the door.
your heart is still racing, your thoughts still trying to catch up with everything you just discovered.
you quickly gather the papers, your hands moving without thinking. you grab every letter, every note and every piece of proof and shove them back into the drawer. you close it quickly, turning around just as the door opens.
it’s enid. she steps inside, completely unaware of what she’s just interrupted.
"hey," she says, looking at you.
you force yourself to act normal. "hey, enid." you say, standing there awkwardly.
"are you...okay?" enid asks cautiously as she steps further into the room, tucking a strand of her multicoloured hair behind her ear while she studies your face.
"yes!" the answer comes out way too quickly, causing enid to pause.
she gives you a weird look, raising her eyebrows slightly like she knows something is off.
you immediately realise how obvious you were being. "yes," you repeat, quieter this time, letting out a small sigh.
you walk towards her, reaching out and taking her hands before gently guiding her towards the bed. "it's just that i feel bad about divina," you say.
the lie comes out easier than you expected, and you hope she doesn’t notice. "i left you because i haven’t seen her in ages, and well, she didn’t look okay."
enid’s expression softens. "yeah, i know. don't worry about it!" she smiles at you, giving your hands a small squeeze. "was she okay? i mean, she is your roommate, so you kind of have to care about her."
you nod. "yes, just some trouble at home."
"ugh, don’t we all have that?" enid says, rolling her eyes playfully. "i mean seriously, what is it with parents traumatising their kids?"
you let out a small breath, but you don’t really respond, because she continues. she starts talking about the gossip she was telling you about earlier, her hands moving as she explains everything, completely invested in the story.
you aren’t really listening as your mind drifts—back to your own family, back to your mother, and then...back to marilyn.
because now you can’t stop wondering.
how much did you miss? was it really her? it couldn't be.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 3.4k
you had told wednesday that it was your mother.
the one who wrote the letter and the one she originally thought was from your obsessor. the one she thought would finally give her a clue but it didn’t.
it was your mother and after you told her, she didn’t ask about it again. not because she didn’t care but because, in her mind, it had nothing to do with the person she was trying to find.
though, to you, it was obvious – painfully obvious – that your mother’s words were disguised as kindness, but there was something underneath them.
they are a warning, a threat, pretending she wants to see you.
she wrote that she wants to "amend things" between you both, that she regrets the way things had been left and that she wanted her daughter back.
but then, right at the end, the real meaning appeared.
'you have been away for long enough.
it is time you remember where you belong.
reply soon, or i will have to come and find you myself.'
you had gone quiet after reading it because you knew what it meant.
but wednesday didn’t focus on it for long; it wasn’t the mystery she cared about, and it wasn’t the person leaving rose jewellery and letters filled with strange affection.
so, to wednesday, it became another problem, another thing to deal with later, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
your mother wasn’t just asking you to come home; she was reminding you that she knew where you were.
another thing: you don’t tell marilyn about the letter.
you don’t want to depend on her and you don’t want to put this problem onto someone else, especially when marilyn has already done so much for you.
and besides...your mother hasn’t become a direct threat.
not yet.
nevermore is your safe place, so as long as you stay aware, as long as you keep looking over your shoulder, you’ll be fine.
right?
this meant all of wednesday's theories, all of her planning, and all of her carefully put-together clues have led her nowhere.
she is back at square one and she hates it.
so, wednesday decides the next step is to go back to the gates mansion.
at night.
you don't want to go and you have made that very clear, but wednesday is getting more and more frustrated with your lack of interest in finding out who the person was, especially when you keep defending them despite everything.
"you’re being unusually difficult," she says, standing in front of you with her arms crossed, her expression completely unreadable.
you sigh. "because i don't want to break into a creepy old mansion at night?"
her eyes narrow slightly. "technically, we’re investigating."
you stare at her. "wednesday."
she tilts her head. "fine."
she pauses.
"if you refuse to come with me, i'll personally make sure you spend an entire week watching me write my novel: Viper de la Muerte."
your eyes widen slightly. "you wouldn't."
she raises an eyebrow. "i absolutely would."
you open your mouth, ready to argue, but she continues before you can. "and i would also mention that you have been far more interested in defending this mysterious person than helping us identify them."
you immediately look away because she’s right, and she knows it.
"that’s unfair."
"it’s effective."
you let out a sigh, knowing you’ve already lost.
so now you stand outside the gates mansion with wednesday, staring up at the dark building. the windows are empty and the whole place feels like it’s watching you.
"wednesday," you whisper-shout, keeping your voice low as you follow her through the dark grounds. "i'm telling you, this is a bad idea."
she doesn’t even look back; of course she doesn’t. she’s far too focused on the basement door of the gates mansion, standing in front of it like breaking into abandoned houses in the middle of the night is just another normal part of her routine.
"good."
you frown. "good?"
she finally turns her head slightly. "fear means you’re paying attention."
you stare at her. "that was almost comforting."
"it wasn’t meant to be."
you watch as she pulls a small tool from her pocket. you don’t even ask why she has it because with wednesday, you already know the answer.
she kneels down, examining the lock carefully, before sliding the tool inside and twisting it with slow, precise movements.
there’s a small click and then another. finally, the door unlocks.
you stare. "of course you can do that."
wednesday opens the door and steps inside without hesitation.
"wednesday?"
nothing. she doesn’t answer; she just disappears into the darkness of the basement.
you stand there for a moment, waiting, hoping she’s going to come back. surely she isn’t actually leaving you outside alone.
you glance around: trees surround you and the forest is dark, quiet, and somehow even more unsettling now that you’re standing there by yourself.
you sigh. honestly? you’d rather be with wednesday and risk whatever is inside the house than stand out here and get taken by something you can’t even see.
you huff quietly. "this is so stupid."
you walk towards the basement entrance, stepping inside after her. "i can't believe we're back here."
you brush your hands over your clothes, wiping away invisible dust as you look around the old basement because somehow, being in a creepy abandoned mansion with wednesday still feels like the better option.
wednesday walks straight through the basement without hesitation, her flashlight already in hand as the beam cuts through the darkness ahead of you.
she looks completely comfortable, like walking through an abandoned-ish (you still weren't very sure) mansion in the middle of the night is just another normal evening.
you follow closely behind her, not wanting to admit that being left alone down here would probably be worse.
"wednesday," you whisper, staying right behind her, "where are we going? there could be someone here."
she doesn’t answer. there isn't even a glance back. she just keeps walking, her footsteps echoing through the empty basement as she leads you towards the stairs.
you sigh quietly. "of course."
she eventually reaches the ground floor of the mansion, and you follow after her, the flashlight moving across the walls and furniture as you step inside.
from what you can see, it looks almost exactly like it did before the ball a few weeks ago.
the place isn’t abandoned anymore, not really.
everything is spotless, too spotless, and to be honest, it really freaked you out.
wednesday moves through the hallway, scanning everything carefully before stopping at one of the doors. she reaches for the handle. this time, it opens.
you blink. "huh."
you follow her inside, looking around the room.
wednesday immediately starts searching. she moves with purpose, checking every corner, her eyes scanning the room before she notices a bookshelf against the wall.
you watch as she walks over to it.
she runs her fingers along the edges of the books, studying them, before pulling one out. then another, then another and you just stand there.
you have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing.
you look around the room, trying to find something useful, anything that could help. then something catches your eye. in the darkness, you can just about make out something on the wall.
a painting or, at least, something that looks like one.
you step closer, squinting. "wednesday."
she stops.
"shine your flashlight here."
she turns around, shining the flashlight towards the wall. the beam moves across the darkness until it lands on the painting.
you step closer. it’s a family portrait: a mother, a father and two children. a boy and a blonde girl.
wednesday’s eyes narrow as she studies it. "the gates," she says.
you look between her and the painting.
"that's the girl, laurel."
you blink. "oh?" you look back at the painting, studying the blonde girl. "the girl who's supposed to be haunting this house."
"yes," wednesday replies, her eyes still fixed on the portrait. "though i don't feel the dead with us."
you frown slightly. weird, you think to yourself, because it can’t be laurel. it can’t be the person who has been leaving you gifts.
the woman you saw had ginger hair; she was warm; she spoke to you, and somehow, you don’t think a ghost would be the one making you feel that way.
"oh." you tilt your head slightly. "maybe she's not dead then? but i doubt this 'laurel' is the one who...likes me; i don't know."
you look at wednesday. "you seem to have 'a way with the spirits' so you would know, right?" you lift your hands, making imaginary quotation marks with your fingers.
wednesday looks at you, completely unimpressed. "your sarcasm remains as unnecessary as ever."
you shrug slightly. "i'm just saying."
you glance back at the painting.
she turns to look at you, her expression completely serious. "go upstairs. i'll stay down here."
you stare at her. "wednesday. i don't have a flashlight."
you gesture slightly around you, looking at the darkness surrounding you. "how exactly am i supposed to see?"
she doesn’t even seem bothered by this. "you said there was a candle in the corridor last time. just use that."
you blink. "right." you look at her for a moment. "okay, so if this is the last time we see each other, don't be surprised."
you huff, turning away from her. you step, squinting into the darkness as you make your way towards the stairs. you can barely see but eventually, you manage to make it upstairs.
you look around. nothing.
there was no candle, no light. absolutely nothing.
you stare at the dark corridor.
are you actually joking?
you sigh quietly. of course there isn’t a candle this time.
you slowly move forward, reaching your hand out and placing it against the wall to guide yourself. your fingers brush along the cold surface as you walk, trying to find a door.
maybe one of the rooms has a light, maybe something that can help. you keep going, carefully feeling your way through the darkness.
you stop abruptly when you feel your hand touch something. it felt like a person; you could feel their steady breathing beneath your hand.
"well hello to you too, angel."
your mouth dries. you don't dare move a muscle.
"you know... you can take your hand off my chest now, or not; i dont mind."
"oh!" you let out, rapidly moving your hand. "i'm sorry..." you trail off, realising that it's her, and you still don't know her name. "i cant see."
she huffs a laugh. "clearly."
"why are you here? hm? to see me? or because you can't say no to wednesday?"
you don't reply to her. she knows you too well. yet, you can't figure out why.
"i know you don't want me to see your face but... can i touch it?" you ask quietly, the words slipping out before you can overthink them, more because you just want something real to hold onto than anything else.
there’s a pause, a small, almost breathless one.
"you want to touch my face?" she repeats softly.
you nod immediately, even though you know she can’t see it in the dark.
for a moment, nothing happens. then you feel her hands.
she gently takes yours and guides them upward, placing them against her face so they rest against her cheeks. she doesn’t let you move them away; she doesn’t flinch, she just lets you feel her.
her skin is soft and warm. it is real in a way that makes your chest feel oddly steady, like something inside you finally stops shaking for a second.
you don’t even realise how tense you were until you aren’t anymore.
"thank you for the bracelet," you say quietly, your hands still resting on her face for a moment longer than you probably should. "it's pretty."
you hesitate, almost wanting to feel more, to memorise more of her like this, but she speaks before you can.
"well, it’s not much of a bracelet if you're wearing it around your ankle, is it?" she says lightly.
then she gently takes your hands away from her face. before you can protest, she lifts one of them and presses a soft kiss to the top.
your breath catches. how did she...?
the thought doesn’t even finish properly before it’s interrupted. a light suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, spilling into the corridor and breaking the moment apart.
you blink, turning your head slightly. wednesday. and in that instant of distraction—
her voice returns, quieter now, almost like it’s meant only for you.
"november 26th," she says.
your fingers twitch slightly where she had been holding them. "your dress will be with you soon, angel."
and then she’s gone.
you're just left standing there until wednesday shines a light in your face. "jesus! can you not?"
"found anything?"
"no. i can't see."
your words come out strained as you squint into the dark, trying to make out anything beyond the faint shapes in front of you.
she doesn’t respond immediately.
instead, she narrows her eyes slightly, like she’s already decided something doesn’t add up.
then she lifts the flashlight again, sweeping it across the room in a slow, deliberate arc. the beam reveals more of the space, and what it shows makes the silence heavier.
it looks… abandoned. completely. not just empty, but erased.
it is like someone had taken the time to strip it of anything that once made it feel lived in.
you slowly straighten, looking around more carefully now. it isn’t how you remember it at all. not even close.
your brow furrows slightly. "oh."
you glance around again, quieter now.
"it wasn't like that when i came up here at the ball," you say slowly. "it's just... gone."
your eyes linger on the empty space.
"as if no one were here at all."
"this person knows how to hide their tracks," she says, her voice low and controlled as she scans the room again with the flashlight, "but i did find something."
you turn your head towards her immediately, the feeling of being watched still lingering at the back of your mind like something you can’t quite shake.
your eyes narrow slightly as you try to focus on her in the dim light. she holds something up in her hand. it's a necklace.
you stare at it for a moment, then frown, waiting for her to explain. "...okay?"
"it's a siren's necklace? a scarab pendant?" she says, as if it should be obvious just from looking at it, her tone unchanged as she studies it carefully.
you blink slowly.
"oh," you say, processing it, your expression tightening slightly as you think it through. "so you think she's a siren?"
the idea settles in your mind for a moment. and strangely, it doesn’t feel completely wrong because if you’re being honest with yourself…it would make sense.
you glance away, your thoughts drifting back to the way she speaks, the way her voice seems to wrap around you when she talks.
it does feel like she’s pulling me in when she talks to me. your fingers twitch slightly at your side. like just then too.
then, wednesday starts walking back the way she came, turning sharply on her heel without hesitation, her flashlight cutting through the darkness as she moves like she already knows exactly where she’s going.
you hesitate for a second before quickly following after her, your footsteps a little faster now as you try to catch up.
"where are we going now?" you ask, jogging slightly to match her pace, your voice echoing softly down the empty corridor.
she doesn’t slow down and doesn’t look back at you.
"to find which siren's not wearing their necklace."
her tone is flat. certain. it's like she’s already narrowed it down in her head and just hasn’t told you yet.
you fall into step behind her, glancing around the dark hallway as you move, the idea settling uncomfortably in your mind. it's as if you don't want her to be caught.
"...i think it's best if we just wait for the masquerade," you say, trailing behind her as the two of you finally step outside, the cold air hitting you the moment you leave the mansion.
wednesday stops abruptly. so suddenly that you nearly walk straight into her back, only catching yourself at the last second.
she turns her head slightly. "what."
you blink. "yeah," you continue, a little unsure now under her stare, "november 26th, she said."
there’s a beat of silence. then her expression changes. not dramatically, but just enough for you to know you’ve said something wrong.
"you talked to her?" she asks slowly. "and you didn't think to mention that in the house? just now?"
you shift slightly under her gaze. "i didn't think it was that important," you admit. "i mean, i still didn't see her face."
wednesday stares at you for a moment longer. completely motionless.
then she exhales through her nose, sharp and disbelieving. "you are unbelievable." she turns away slightly, already starting to walk again. "your ability to misprioritise danger is almost impressive."
"i'm sorry, but—"
you start to speak again, still walking just behind her, trying to keep up as she moves ahead without slowing down, her posture rigid with frustration.
she cuts you off immediately. "she could've been caught. now she's gone, again."
her voice is sharp and controlled, but there’s an edge to it now that wasn’t there before. she doesn’t look back at you when she speaks.
you swallow slightly, watching the way she keeps walking like she’s already replaying everything in her head, already trying to piece together what she missed.
then she adds, colder this time, almost to herself, "and you chose now to develop a sense of timing."
you hesitate for a second, still walking behind her, the tension sitting heavy in the space between you as she keeps moving forward without slowing down.
then, without turning around, she speaks again.
"if we don't find her," she says flatly, her tone already shifting from frustration back into something more calculated, "we've got another chance at the masquerade."
you blink.
"right," you say quietly, trying to keep up with her pace as she pushes ahead, already reorganising the situation in her head like it’s just another puzzle to solve.
she finally glances back at you over her shoulder, just for a moment. "which means," she adds, "you will not be withholding information again."
you open your mouth slightly, then close it again.
the way she says it doesn’t sound like a request, but it sounds like a fact she’s decided for you. you already know she expects you to agree.
"okay, okay. i'm sorry."
the words come out quickly, almost automatically, as you try to match her pace while still feeling the weight of everything she’s just said.
wednesday doesn’t stop walking. doesn’t immediately acknowledge it. she just keeps moving ahead, her posture straight, her attention already shifting back to the problem at hand rather than the apology behind her.
you swallow slightly, watching her from just behind as the silence stretches out a little too long.
and even as the words leave your mouth, soft and compliant, you already know the truth sits unspoken between you both.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 3.4k
the next day after school, you find yourself back with miss thornhill.
she had asked you to help her with the ingredients again, and who were you to say no?
you don’t even think about it when you agree. you just do.
you hadn’t seen wednesday since the note and bracelet had been left outside your door, so you have no idea if she was any closer to finding out who was behind all of this.
though, if you’re being honest...you’re starting to wonder if you even want to know. the truth had felt so important before, but now, you find yourself wondering something else: when will you two meet her again? (in thunder, lightening or in rain)
you don't even know who she is, but somehow you still find yourself thinking about it.
you stand beside miss thornhill’s desk, helping her prepare a sample potion that she plans on using in class, carefully mixing the ingredients together as she explains what each one does.
this was always your favourite part of botany. not just learning what plants could do, but learning what could be made from them. you love watching something small and ordinary become something completely different.
you watch as the mixture changes slightly, the colours blending together as the room fills with the familiar smell of plants and herbs. it was fascinating, really, and basically the only reason you said you would help. well...
miss thornhill stands beside you, quietly mixing it.
you watch her, and for some reason, there's a little inkling in the back of your head that knows that you actually want to spend time with her. maybe because being here feels easy, like this is where you’re supposed to be.
"darling, can you pass me the moonwater reeds?" she asks, holding one hand out towards you while the other continues stirring the cauldron.
you reach for them and pass them over, watching the way she moves. her wrist doesn’t even seem tired. she had been stirring for at least twenty minutes now, and somehow she still looks completely calm, like it’s nothing.
it’s a silly thing to focus on, really. but you do anyway.
you watch the small movements of her hand, the way she keeps the mixture steady, and the way she seems completely at ease.
miss thornhill gives a small smile down at the cauldron, almost like she knows you’re staring. and maybe she does.
the top of the greenhouse is open, letting fresh air flow through the room, and something catches your attention; the peaceful atmosphere between you is interrupted suddenly.
there's movement, causing your eyes to lift. a letter drifts down from above, followed by that familiar trail of pink glitter.
you immediately recognise it.
"oh for fuck's sake," you mutter under your breath.
you quickly move around her desk, stepping away from the cauldron and positioning yourself directly underneath it before it can land somewhere else.
"language, sweet girl," she calls out, her voice amused rather than annoyed.
you turn your head towards her. "sorry!"
then your attention immediately returns to the letter. you look back up, holding your hands out beneath it and waiting.
the paper floats down slowly, the pink sparkles following behind it like they’re trying to make sure you know exactly where it came from.
eventually, it drops into your hands. you look down at it and for some reason, your heart beats slightly faster.
you study it carefully. a letter with a feather attached by a small piece of string.
it is not just any feather; it's one that looks just like yours, causing your eyes to widen slightly.
"oh no," you whisper, biting your lip as worry starts to settle in.
you’re so focused on the letter that you don’t even notice miss thornhill has moved closer until you feel her hand gently rest on your shoulder.
you look up slightly.
"what is it?" she asks, leaning closer and pushing her glasses up so she can see the letter properly.
you let out a small sigh because you already know.
you reach for the string, carefully picking up the feather by its quill and turning it over in your fingers, inspecting it.
"my aunt."
miss thornhill looks at you. "your aunt?"
you nod slowly, turning around to face her properly as you hold the feather out. "please, could you hold this?"
she takes it from you carefully. she holds it like it’s something fragile, like the smallest wrong movement could break it.
you unfold the letter, your eyes moving across the words. the longer you read, the quieter the room becomes.
after a while, you let out a slow breath. "she's dead."
miss thornhill’s expression changes slightly.
you look down at the feather in her hands.
"this always happens when a swan dies," you explain quietly. "a letter, through the last of their magic, goes to the closest or chosen kin."
her eyebrows furrow slightly, and a look of sympathy crosses her face as she steps closer to you, her expression softening as she takes in what you’ve just said.
"i'm so sorry, sweetheart."
you swallow slightly, looking down for a moment.
"it's not that i'm worried about it," you say quietly. "i mean, yes, i am sad. she was... nice."
you take a deeper breath, your eyes drifting down to the floor as you try to organise your thoughts.
miss thornhill doesn’t interrupt you. she doesn’t push. she just waits, her hand still holding the feather carefully as she lets you continue when you’re ready.
"but she was disowned from her family," you say, your voice becoming quieter. "my family."
you pause.
"she was the only white swan. well... until i came along." your fingers move slightly, fidgeting as you continue. "my family only took care of me until they could ship me off to nevermore."
you glance away.
"she sent me letters, often, actually."
miss thornhill’s expression changes again, her eyes softening as she listens.
"oh," she says quietly.
she reaches out, gently rubbing your upper arm in a comforting gesture, her touch careful as if she knows you’re already feeling vulnerable.
"were they not nice to you?"
you shake your head, letting out a small sigh as you look back down at the letter in your hands.
"and now she's left me all of her money," you say quietly. "all of it."
you pause. "and there is a lot."
miss thornhill watches your face carefully. "is that a bad thing?" she asks, her voice gentle.
you bite your lip, your eyes moving over the words again as if rereading them will somehow make the situation less real. "yes."
your voice comes out quieter. "my family... they'll find out. they'll—" you stop, your breathing changing.
your chest starts rising and falling faster as the panic begins to take over, your fingers tightening around the letter.
"they'll..." you try to speak, but the words get caught.
"calm down," she says softly, immediately noticing the change in you. her hand moves back to your arm, rubbing it gently as she tries to ground you. "they'll what, sweet girl?"
you look at her, your eyes beginning to water. "they'll kill me," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
you quickly look away, wiping at your eyes as if you’re embarrassed that you’re even reacting this way.
miss thornhill’s expression changes. she lets out a small breath. "no they won't."
you shake your head, trying to explain, trying to make her understand. "no... i don't think you understand who my family are," you say, your voice becoming more frantic again. "what they can do."
your breathing picks up once more.
"oh no." you look back down at the letter. "this is so bad."
your fingers tremble slightly. "this is so very bad."
you swallow. "my mother—"
"listen to me," she interrupts softly, her voice cutting through your panic.
her hands move from your arm, gently finding their way to your cheeks, her fingers carefully brushing away the tears before they can fall further.
you freeze slightly, looking at her.
her eyes soften, but there’s something darker underneath it too, a quiet anger at the thought of anyone making you feel this afraid.
"nothing," she says, her thumbs gently wiping your tears away, "and i mean nothing will happen to you while i'm here."
"but—"
"uh, uh." she cuts you off gently, her hands still resting against your cheeks as she looks at you.
"trust me, sweet girl," she says softly. "i'm very good at protecting what's mine."
you’re still too overwhelmed to fully process what she’s saying.
your mind is still racing, your thoughts tangled up with fear and confusion, so all you can do is nod slightly, sniffling as you try to calm yourself down.
you don’t notice the way her expression shifts. you don’t notice the way her eyes darken slightly at her own words. it’s almost like some part of you accepts the reassurance before you even realise what she said.
you take a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. you try to say her name. "m—"
but the panic makes your voice catch.
she immediately understands. "marilyn," she says quietly, interrupting you before you can finish.
your eyes meet hers.
"call me marilyn when we're alone." her thumbs move gently, brushing away the last of your tears. "plus," she adds, a small smile appearing on her face, "it's easier to say."
you stop, your breathing still heavy from panic, but for the first time since reading the letter, you manage to properly look into her eyes.
"mari—" you start, the nickname slipping out naturally. "what... what do i do?"
she gives a soft smile at the nickname. it’s small, but you catch it. her head tilts slightly as she thinks, her hands remaining steady on your cheeks as she considers her answer. for a moment, she simply looks at you. then she speaks.
"if any of your family members contact you, come to me straight away." her voice is calm. firm. though it sounds more like a command than a suggestion.
but, you don't question it. instead you simply nod. "okay."
she lets out a quiet sigh, her hands moving from your face to your upper arms, holding them gently as she looks at you. "i'll keep you safe," she says softly. "don't worry, sweet girl."
and before you can really think about what you're doing, you're moving. you step forwards and wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her neck.
her ginger hair brushes against your face, tickling your skin as you hold onto her. for a second, she seems surprised. then you feel her relax.
"thank you, mari. thank you so, so much," you mumble into her shoulder. you close your eyes, everything feeling quieter now that she's holding you. you feel safer.
you love the way she speaks to you, the certainty in her voice whenever she promises to protect you, and the way she acts as though keeping you safe is the most important thing in the world.
and even though a small part of you knows you should probably question why she cares so much, you're far too caught up in the moment to think about it.
when you finally pull away, you stay close for a moment, your hands slowly falling back to your sides as you try to steady yourself again.
marilyn watches you carefully, making sure you’re alright before she speaks. "so your whole family are black swans?" she asks softly.
you nod.
"well, that makes you special."
you let out a small huff of laughter, even though there are still tears in your eyes. you’re calmer now. not completely fine, but calmer.
"yeah," you say, shaking your head slightly. "specially doomed."
you look away, your fingers playing with the edge of the letter again.
"i mean, i'm sure they kept me alive because they knew how much my aunt was worth." you pause. "and they knew that she'd give everything to me."
you swallow, the smile fading slightly as you realise how awful it sounds when you say it out loud. like you were never really a person to them; just something they were waiting to benefit from.
miss thornhill stays quiet for a moment, watching the way your expression changes as you say it, how the little bit of humour disappears and you’re left with the truth of what you actually mean.
she reaches out, her fingers gently touching your arm again, almost like she’s reminding you that you’re not alone in the room.
"you know," she says softly, "you shouldn't have to feel like you were only kept around because of what someone else could give you."
you look at her. she gives you that same soft expression she always does, the one that makes it feel like she’s actually listening to every word you say.
"you’re more than that."
you look down, unsure what to say, because no one has really said that to you before. not like that.
"my family wouldn't agree," you mumble.
she tilts her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowing. "then perhaps your family is wrong."
you look back up at her. she says it so easily, so confidently, like she has no doubt. for some reason, that makes your chest feel lighter.
"you really believe that?" you ask quietly.
she doesn’t even hesitate. "yes. i do."
you stare at her for a moment, trying to understand why she sounds so certain about you when you barely even understand yourself. instead of questioning it, you just nod, because right now, you want to believe her.
"WE'VE FOUND OUT WHO YOUR STALKER IS!"
enid bursts through the door, her voice echoing through the room as she storms in, looking far too excited to care about how dramatic she’s being.
you immediately turn towards her, surprised by the sudden interruption.
behind her, wednesday walks in much more calmly, her arms crossed over her chest and her usual unimpressed expression on her face.
"enid," wednesday says in her monotone voice. "i told you to be quiet."
enid stops mid-step, her excitement slowly disappearing as she realises who else is in the room. her eyes move towards miss thornhill. "oh."
she immediately straightens up. "sorry, miss thornhill."
a small blush appears on her face as she looks away, suddenly much less confident than she was a second ago.
miss thornhill raises her eyebrows slightly behind her glasses, looking between enid and you. "a stalker, huh?"
her voice is calm, almost too calm.
"well, i— not a stalker, per se," you try to add quickly, your voice softening as you attempt to correct the way it sounds, like saying it differently might make it less serious.
wednesday’s expression barely changes, but she cuts in immediately. "you need to stop defending her."
you let out a small sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly as you glance between them.
"but i just can't stop thinking about her," you admit quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. "i don't think she's a stalker. maybe she just... likes me."
miss thornhill watches you carefully as you say it, her gaze steady and unreadable for a moment before she speaks again, her tone softer but still firm.
"sweetheart, you need to be careful, though," she says gently, tilting her head as she studies your face. "remember what we just talked about?"
your thoughts catch for a second, the conversation from earlier flashing back into your mind.
your family.
you nod slowly. "yeah," you say. "i know."
a brief silence settles over the room, tension hanging in the air as enid shifts uncomfortably, clearly sensing the shift in mood. then she straightens up, suddenly forcing energy back into her voice.
"anyway," she says quickly, clapping her hands together, "we know who it is! let's go! i'll show you."
she pulls you out of the room just after miss thornhill gives you back the letter, her hand gripping your arm just enough to steer you forward, only allowing you one last glance back over your shoulder.
you catch a final look at the ginger before the doorway shifts out of view.
but she’s already turned away from you, completely focused again on the mixture she was working on earlier, as if the interruption never really happened at all.
the door closes behind you as enid practically drags you down the corridor, her steps quick and excited, while wednesday follows at a slower, more controlled pace behind you both.
"guys, seriously," you say as you’re pulled along, glancing back toward the door one last time. "couldn’t you have shown me... you know, after i was done talking to thornhill?"
"no," enid replies immediately, not even slowing down. "your crush on our dorky botany teacher can wait."
you blink, turning your head slightly toward her. "i— you know what, i'm not going to say anything to that."
"yeah, because you know it's true!" enid adds brightly, practically skipping now as she leads the way down the corridor.
you shake your head slightly. "no, enid, she's just nice."
enid glances back at you with a grin. "yeah," she says, dragging out the word, "nice to look at!"
and honestly…you can’t even argue with that. because she is, and there’s no denying it.
she’s so effortlessly gorgeous in a way that feels unfair sometimes, especially with those glasses sitting so perfectly on her face, like they only make everything about her sharper, softer, and more impossible to ignore all at once.
but it’s not just that. she’s kind, patient, and somehow always gentle with you in a way that makes it hard not to think about her even when she isn’t there.
so of course you like her; it would be stranger if you didn’t.
you get to your door and stop abruptly, noticing it’s already open. it shouldn’t be.
you slow your steps slightly, glancing between enid and wednesday as confusion settles in your expression.
"why are we at my room?" you ask, still standing in the doorway.
wednesday doesn’t answer immediately. she simply pushes the door open further with a calm, deliberate movement and steps inside first, her eyes scanning the room.
"we went in while you were..." she pauses, her gaze flicking over you in a brief, assessing look, "talking with thornhill."
you follow them inside, your stomach tightening slightly at the way she says her name. enid bounces in after you, far less cautious, already looking around the room with interest.
wednesday walks straight to your bed. there’s something placed there: a letter. it is neatly positioned, as if it were meant to be found.
"it arrived through the window," wednesday says flatly, standing over it with her arms crossed again.
enid leans in, eyes widening.
"red sparkly mist!" she says quickly, pointing excitedly. "like your pink magic!"
your breath catches immediately.
fuck.
your eyes widen as you take a step closer. "no," you say under your breath, shaking your head as the realisation starts to sink in. "no no no."
"same cursive," wednesday says flatly, holding the letter up between her fingers as her eyes scan it with that usual unnerving focus. "they put their name this time."
your stomach drops instantly. the second she lifts it higher, you’re already moving.
"wednesday. give it to me. now."
your voice comes out sharper than you intend, but you don’t care.
she doesn’t react immediately. instead, she studies you for a fraction of a second longer, like she’s deciding whether or not you should actually have it, before finally holding it out toward you without a word.
you snatch it from her hand. your fingers tighten around the paper as you pull it open, eyes darting across the writing far too quickly, as if, if you read it fast enough, it won’t fully register.
it does anyway.
enid, meanwhile, flops dramatically onto your bed behind you, completely unfazed as she kicks her legs slightly and stares up at the ceiling.
"what is it with all of these letters?" she says loudly, waving an arm around. "we have phones now; this isn't the 1920s!"
you barely hear her.
your focus is stuck on the name at the bottom of the page.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 4k
"so... like, are you sure you didn't see her face?" enid asks, sitting beside you on your bed. "like anything that could give us a hint as to who she is?"
you let out a small sigh.
"no, enid," you say, looking over at her. "i've already told you. she blew out the candle before i could see who she was."
enid frowns, crossing her arms slightly. "i know, but maybe you’ll remember something?" she asks, leaning forward. "come on!!!"
you stare at her. "enid."
a voice says from across the room. "maybe if you stop whining like a puppy, she will be able to remember," wednesday says.
you turn your head to see wednesday, who is already moving towards your vanity, completely ignoring enid’s reaction.
enid opens her mouth, looking offended. "wow."
wednesday doesn’t acknowledge her. instead, she reaches for the drawers.
"where is the invitation?" she asks.
you look up from your bed, pointing towards the first drawer.
"it's in the first drawer. why?"
she pulls it open, her movements careful and precise.
"i had another vision."
enid immediately sits up straighter. "weds!" she says, letting out a frustrated breath. "you said you would tell me if you had another one of those!"
wednesday looks at her.
"i did."
enid pauses. "yeah, but—not straight away!"
wednesday ignores her completely, taking the letter out again, unfolding it and smoothing it out like she’s examining evidence. you watch her carefully.
"what was your vision?" you ask.
you stand up from the bed, walking over towards her, but wednesday’s eyes stay on the paper.
"the writing," she says, her fingers moving slightly over the page. "i saw her writing something."
she studies the invitation again, searching every inch of it for something that could identify the person who seems so unbelievably obsessed with you.
"there were times on the paper."
you step closer, looking over her shoulder and you read the invitation again, your eyes moving over every word.
"the only thing is '8pm'," you look at wednesday. "it's not that, is it?"
she doesn't even hesitate. "no."
"ooooh! i know," enid suddenly says, her eyes lighting up like she’s just solved the entire mystery. "you're a dove, aren't you? a psychic like wednesday? can't you just have a vision?"
you look at her.
wednesday looks at her, neither of you answering for a second.
"enid, we can't simply 'have a' vision," wednesday says, her voice filled with obvious sarcasm as she looks over at her.
enid’s excitement drops slightly.
"yeah, besides," you add, looking at her with a small frown, "i'm a swan, not a dove, enid."
you pause as you see enid's reaction—confusion. she literally knows everything about everyone but always seems to mix up what type of outcast you are.
"i can quite literally turn into a swan." you tilt your head slightly. "even though i don't really see the point of that."
enid stares at you. then she slowly stands up from the bed and walks towards you.
"hello??"
she waves her hand in front of your face. you blink at her.
"you literally calmed me down the other day," she says dramatically, pointing at you. "i could've died from how much i was hyperventilating!"
you just stare at her, unsure how to respond.
wednesday doesn’t even look up from the letter.
"dramatic," she says simply.
enid turns around, offended. "excuse me?"
wednesday continues reading like she didn't say anything. "you survived."
enid opens her mouth, then closes it because unfortunately, she knows wednesday is right.
then, there is a knock on the door, causing all of you to stop, looking towards it.
"come in," you say, but no one opens it.
you wait a few seconds, frowning slightly when nothing happens. slowly, you stand up and walk over to the door, opening it yourself.
the corridor is completely empty. you look left, then right, searching for whoever knocked, but there is no one there.
however, sitting on the floor is a small note and a small box. just like last time.
you pick it up, still looking around the corridor, but there is no movement, no footsteps, nothing that gives away who left it there.
you close the door and walk back towards your bed, sitting down with the small box resting on your lap.
enid and wednesday both watch you carefully, enid looking more worried than curious, while wednesday’s eyes stay fixed on the box as if she’s already trying to figure out what it means.
you slowly open it, and inside is a bracelet of some sort.
your fingers lightly touch it as you lift it up, noticing how similar it looks to the rose necklace around your neck. it was too similar.
"the note," wednesday says.
you look up at her.
"open it."
you look back down, unfolding the paper carefully and reading what’s inside.
'to my little swan,
since you loved the necklace so much.'
you read it out loud, your voice becoming quieter as you reach the end of the note.
you place the paper back down beside you on the bed, your eyes moving back to the bracelet in your hands.
you stare at it for a moment.
"you're not going to put it on, are you?" enid asks, her face showing a mixture of concern and disbelief as she watches you.
you look at her, then at the bracelet. you shake your head.
"no," you say quietly.
you let out a small sigh before carefully placing it back into the box, putting the note back with it.
you hold the box out towards wednesday, letting her take a closer look.
she doesn’t say anything; of course she doesn’t.
she simply takes it from you and examines it, turning it over in her hands.
her fingers run over the edges of the box, then the bracelet itself, studying every tiny detail like she’s looking for something everyone else would miss.
she brings it closer to her face, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"interesting," she says.
you look at her.
"got anything?"
wednesday ignores the question for a second, turning the bracelet around again.
"whoever gave this to you knows you well enough to know you kept the necklace," she says, her voice calm and analytical. "they also know you’re curious enough to keep accepting their gifts."
you frown slightly.
"that doesn't really tell us who they are."
"no," she agrees.
she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small pair of gloves before picking up the bracelet again.
"but it tells us they’re confident."
she looks back at you.
"and people who are confident enough to leave evidence behind are usually either very stupid..."
there is a pause.
"...or very sure they won’t be caught."
you sigh, looking down at the box in your hands.
"she sounded nice, though."
enid pauses, looking at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.
"nice?" she repeats, her eyebrows rising slightly as she points at the box. "she sounded nice? you do realise you're talking about your weirdo stalker, right?"
you look back at her. you know how it sounds. but still...
"maybe she's not weird," you say, tilting your head slightly. "maybe she just has a weird way of expressing her... likeness towards me?"
enid stares at you. her mouth opens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything for a moment. then she slowly shakes her head.
"you are actually defending the mysterious person who keeps leaving you creepy gifts."
you look away because when she says it like that, it does sound a little strange.
wednesday, who has been silent the entire time, closes the box and places it down carefully.
"while you sit here trying to justify the actions of an unknown person who has developed an unhealthy interest in you, we are going to search for answers."
she stands up, adjusting her sleeves.
"they have already managed to enter nevermore without being noticed. which means either they are close by..." her eyes move towards the door. "...or they want us to think they are."
you look at her. enid immediately follows her lead, standing up as well.
"see? this is why we have wednesday," she says. "she makes everything sound ten times more terrifying."
wednesday walks towards the door without reacting. when they're gone, you stay there for a moment, looking at the door after it closes.
the room is quiet again.
your eyes slowly move towards the vanity where wednesday placed the box.
you walk over, staring at it for a few seconds. what am i doing the thought crosses your mind, making you pause, because you know this is strange and you know wednesday is right.
yet, you reach out and open the box.
your fingers lightly trace over it as you study how perfectly it matches the necklace around your neck.
you should put it away. you should leave it alone.
instead, you find yourself picking it up, but you don't put it around your wrist; you know better than that.
you pull the vanity chair closer and place your foot on it, carefully securing the bracelet around your ankle instead.
once it's fastened, you lower your foot and stand up, walking towards the long mirror.
the same mirror you stood in front of while wearing the white dress and the same mirror where you first looked at the necklace.
you look at the bracelet now. it looks pretty, and you hate that it does.
you’re still staring when you hear footsteps. someone is walking towards your room and your door is still open.
you immediately move, pulling your sock up slightly to cover the bracelet, assuming it’s enid or wednesday coming back.
you look up, but it isn't either of them. it's miss thornhill.
you freeze, knowing she saw it as you didn't cover it quickly enough.
her eyes linger on your ankle for a moment, just long enough for you to notice.
then her gaze slowly rises back to your face, giving you that same sweet smile she always gives you.
"hi, sweetheart, are you alright?" she asks, her head tilting slightly as she looks at you. "you look a bit... jumpy."
you realise you’ve been standing there frozen, caught off guard by her sudden appearance.
"oh, yes," you say quickly, nodding as you straighten yourself properly. "do you need something?" you ask, trying to act like you weren’t just hiding the bracelet from her.
miss thornhill watches you for a moment, her expression softening slightly as if she can tell something is different, but she doesn’t mention it.
"actually, yes," she says, stepping further into the room. "i came to find you."
she pauses for a second, her fingers adjusting her glasses as she looks at you.
"i know this is probably a strange thing to ask, but could you help me?"
you blink, slightly surprised. "oh, yes, of course, miss thornhill."
the answer leaves your mouth before you even really think about it.
you only realise afterwards how quickly you agreed, how naturally you accepted without even asking what she needed or why.
miss thornhill seems pleased with your answer, as a small smile appears on her face as she watches you, like she expected you to say yes but is still happy that you did.
"thank you, sweetheart," she says softly, adjusting her glasses before turning towards the door. "i promise i won't keep you too long."
you follow after her, leaving your room behind and walking through the corridors of nevermore together.
"where are we going?" you ask, glancing over at her.
she looks back at you, her expression calm. "the forest."
you raise an eyebrow slightly. "the forest?"
she nods. "there are a few ingredients i need for my plants," she explains. "normally i would collect them myself, but some of them are... a little difficult to reach."
you look ahead as the two of you walk outside, the trees getting closer with every step.
"what kind of ingredients?"
she gives you a small smile.
"ones that grow near the water."
you continue walking beside her, the sounds of the school slowly disappearing behind you as you enter the forest.
the trees surround you, sunlight slipping through the branches above and creating patterns across the ground.
after a while, you reach a small pond hidden between the trees. you look down at the water, which is completely still, almost like glass.
you look down at it.
"what ingredients do you need?" you ask, trying to make sense of what she means as you glance around the edge of the pond, the forest around you still and heavy with damp air.
miss thornhill hums softly at your question, her gaze already fixed ahead as if she can see something you can’t, and she gestures slightly toward the water.
"moonwater reeds, shade-lotus petals, and a trace of siren moss."
you stare at the pond again, narrowing your eyes as you try to follow her instructions, but all you can see is the still surface of the water and the dark reflection of the trees above it.
"can you see them, just across the pond, near the middle?"
you squint harder, leaning slightly forward, trying to pick out anything unusual among the ripples and reflections.
"no, i can’t, miss thornhill."
she exhales softly, and before you can fully register her movement, she steps in behind you and takes your hand, guiding it forward.
you freeze for half a second as you become very aware of how close she is to you, her presence right against your back as she adjusts your arm like she’s aligning your sight with hers.
she points your hand out toward the water, directing your focus.
"can you see it now?" she whispers, her voice close enough to your ear that it sends a faint shiver down your spine despite the warmth of her tone.
you nod quickly, even though she is still behind you and you are only seeing what she is guiding you toward, your voice coming out a little too easily.
"yes."
then, as her grip loosens, you step forward toward the pond, slipping away from her hold as you move closer to the water’s edge.
just before you step in, you bend down and remove your shoes and socks. you place them aside, revealing the bracelet now secured around your ankle, catching faint light even in the shade of the forest.
you don’t think much of it, not really.
it doesn’t matter if enid or wednesday would notice, because they aren’t here, and you tell yourself it’s easier not to question where it came from or why you’re still wearing it at all.
behind you, the redhead watches you closely, her eyes briefly flicking from the necklace at your throat down toward your ankle before settling again, though you don’t see any of it.
you step into the water.
it’s freezing.
you steady your breathing, letting yourself adjust to the cold as it wraps around you more fully, the shock slowly fading into something you can manage.
then you close your eyes.
your body shifts in an instant, dissolving into that familiar pink, shimmering mist before reforming again in a different shape entirely, transforming into a swan.
you begin to swim forward, cutting through the stillness of the pond as the water parts around you.
behind you, miss thornhill remains at the edge, watching intently, her head tilted slightly as she follows your movement across the water.
she is completely focused on you in a way that makes the rest of the forest feel distant, and she doesn’t even seem to notice her glasses slowly slipping down the bridge of her nose as she watches.
you glide toward the middle of the pond where she had guided your hand earlier.
you spot the ingredients beneath the surface, snapping the moonwater reeds with your beak and gathering the siren moss with ease as it clings lightly to the water’s edge.
but when you reach for the shade lotus petals, you drift too close to the plant itself. one of your wings catches against a hidden thorn, sending a sharp sting through you that makes you let out a sudden sound of pain as you instinctively grab at the plant and pull it free anyway.
you quickly turn and swim back toward her.
you reach the edge again and place the ingredients carefully down in the shallow water near the bank. you are still partially submerged as you try to recover from the sting in your wing.
miss thornhill barely looks at the plants.
instead, she immediately steps into the water with you, her boots and the bottom of her jumpsuit getting soaked as she closes the distance without hesitation.
her attention is fixed entirely on you rather than on what you just collected.
she frowns slightly behind her glasses as she looks down at you.
"oh dear," she says softly. "you hurt yourself."
you make a small sound in response, still in swan form, not shifting back yet, your wing held slightly tighter to your body where the thorn caught you. a feather is loose from your cut.
she reaches out carefully, her fingers brushing along your wing as she pulls the feather free.
you react instantly, a sharper sound escaping you in pain as the movement stings more than expected.
"shhh," she says gently, her voice lowering as if she’s calming something fragile, staying close as she watches you carefully in the water.
you watch her, the sting from your wing still lingering as the cut throbs more sharply than before, making it harder to focus on anything else.
she looks at you closely for a moment, her expression soft but focused as she studies your injury.
"can you transform back?" she asks.
you nod slightly, and in another shimmer of that pink, floating mist, your swan form dissolves and shifts back into yourself.
you sit in the shallow water with your hands pressed against the pond floor for balance.
you look down immediately, your breath catching as the pain becomes far more noticeable now that you’re human again.
what was only a small cut in swan form has deepened far more than you expected. it turns into a wide, painful gash across your upper arm that makes your shoulder tense as you try not to move it too much.
“oh, no,” she says softly, her voice shifting as she immediately steps closer, reaching down and helping you up. she is surprisingly strong as she guides you to your feet, steadying you before you can even fully adjust to standing.
you hadn’t expected her grip to be so firm and so very certain.
she moves back toward the edge of the pond, carefully collecting the ingredients you retrieved.
she places them into a small bag hanging from her shoulder, along with the feather she had removed from you earlier, keeping everything together.
then she turns back to you.
"that needs treating," she says, her tone gentle but final as she steps closer again, taking your hand with careful ease.
you don’t pull away.
she leads you out of the water, guiding you back toward the forest path and then toward nevermore, her hand still holding yours lightly as she walks beside you, pulling you along with steady purpose.
"come on," she adds quietly, glancing at your arm. "let’s get back."
the walk back to nevermore feels longer than it should.
you are freezing from the damp fabric of your clothes and you try not to focus too much on the sharp sting in your arm, even though it pulses every time your hand moves in hers.
miss thornhill doesn’t let go.
she walks just slightly ahead of you, still holding your hand as if she’s guiding you rather than simply walking beside you.
you glance down at your arm again.
the gash is still there, still angry-looking, and it makes your shoulder tense as you try not to let it bother you too much.
“try not to move it,” she says softly, noticing the way you keep looking at it without even needing you to speak.
you nod slightly.
the distant shape of nevermore slowly coming back into view and when you finally reach the edge of the school grounds, she slows her pace.
“we’ll go straight to my classroom,” she says, glancing at you briefly before continuing. “i have everything we need there.”
you don’t argue. you don’t really feel like you could. but to be honest, even if you could, you wouldn't argue with her.
by the time you reach the classroom door, she opens it, stepping inside first and guiding you in after her, still keeping hold of your hand.
the room smells like plants and earth again, familiar in a way that almost feels comforting.
she closes the door behind you gently.
“sit,” she says, letting go of your hand, already moving toward her desk. “i’ll clean it properly before it gets worse.”
you hesitate for only a second before sitting down.
your arm is still burning faintly as you watch her move around the room, gathering supplies without rushing, without panic, like this is just another thing she knows how to handle.
somehow, that makes it feel a little less frightening.
“i'm sorry,” miss thornhill says softly as she cleans the cut carefully. her fingers steady, but her expression tightens slightly as she focuses on the wound, “i shouldn't have asked you to help me.”
you frown a little at that, watching her instead of the injury as she works, the way her hands pause for just a fraction of a second like she’s thinking too much about what she’s doing.
“it isn’t your fault,” you say, your voice quieter now as you sit still for her. “i'm the one who got hurt because i swam too close to the plant.”
she exhales gently, the sound almost like a sigh, and she looks up at you properly for a moment instead of just the cut, her gaze softening as it meets yours.
“you're too precious,” she says, almost absentmindedly, like the words slip out before she can decide not to say them. her hands still rest lightly against your arm as if she’s forgotten to let go for a second longer than necessary.
then, once she’s done, miss thornhill pauses for a moment as if checking her work one final time.
then, she slowly leans in and does something completely unexpected: she presses a soft kiss just below the cut.
it’s brief and gentle, almost as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
your breath catches immediately, your body going still as you watch her and your cheeks begin to warm in a way you don’t quite manage to hide.
it’s subtle, but she notices.
her eyes lift almost instantly to your face, lingering there as she studies your reaction with quiet attention, as if she’s memorising it without making it obvious.
she doesn’t pull away right away.
instead, she stays close for just a second longer, her hand still lightly holding your arm as she looks at you.
then she speaks, her voice barely above a breath, soft enough that it feels like it belongs only between the two of you.
“thank you.”
you nod once, giving her a soft smile. your other hand unconsciously twirls your necklace around your finger. it is like you need something steady to hold onto.
her eyes follow the small motion at your collarbone, then the way your fingers trace the rose pendant.
her expression softens in a way that feels almost thoughtful, something she won’t say out loud, something that sits just behind her gaze like a memory she is carefully choosing not to give away.
and you don't ask what it is.
maybe because something buried deep in your unconscious mind already knows, but your brain is choosing to ignore it.
okay this may seem very silly, but i've just realised that i've been writing about the reader being a dove...while thinking about a swan. bare with me while i fix that xxx (don't ask me why it took forever for me to realise)
guys guys guys. so… i’m going to delay the next chapter until tomorrow because i’m literally so tired i can't even read it. all i need to do is proofread it and tie up loose ends. it will be posted early morning tomorrow (promise)!!!
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 2.52k
it's the next day, a friday unfortunately, so you have to go to classes.
the weight of it sits in your chest before you even fully wake up properly.
you make your way into the breakfast hall, the sound of cutlery and quiet conversations filling the space, chairs scraping softly against the floor as students come and go.
you sit down alone, and just for a moment, it’s quiet.
then yoko slides into the seat beside you. she moves easily, like she’s been there the whole time, adjusting her posture as she sits down, not bothering with food since she doesn’t need it.
"alright?" she asks casually, glancing at you.
you let out a small sigh, leaning back slightly in your chair.
"yeah," you say. "a bit tired, though."
yoko smiles, nudging your shoulder lightly with her own.
"yeah, i bet you are. guest of honour? what did you do to get yourself that title?" she teases, raising an eyebrow.
you look at her properly now, shaking your head just a little, trying—and failing slightly—not to smile.
"i didn’t do anything."
yoko tilts her head, studying you. "mmhmm."
she clearly doesn’t believe you.
you glance down at the table for a second, then back up.
"in all seriousness though," she says, leaning in a bit closer, lowering her voice slightly like she’s sharing a secret, "you were literally sat at the head of the table."
you pause, your fingers stilling slightly against the edge of your cup.
"I know," you say quietly. "and trust me, i have no idea why either."
yoko watches you for a moment longer than necessary, like she’s trying to decide whether you’re lying or just not telling the whole truth.
then, you see her head turn slightly, and since you can't see her eyes behind her round glasses, you follow where she is looking.
your gaze shifts across the room. miss thornhill.
"oh, bless her," yoko says.
you turn back to her immediately, frowning.
"bless her?" you say. "yoko, you never feel bad for anyone."
she shrugs lightly, resting her weight back in her chair like it’s nothing.
"yeah, but look at her," she says, nodding subtly in thornhill’s direction. "all alone. it's sad."
you let out a small sigh, eyes flicking back over to her.
"i know," you say quietly.
thornhill stands by herself, slightly apart from everyone else, her posture composed but still distant.
she looks like she belongs in the room and doesn’t at the same time, her hands resting neatly as she watches the movement around her without really joining it.
then you feel it: yoko shifting beside you. there’s a change in her expression, a small, cheeky look forming as she leans in just slightly.
"i'm going to call her over," she says.
your head snaps toward her. "what? no yoko, don't—"
but she’s already turning her attention back to thornhill, clearly ignoring you. you know exactly what she’s doing. you’ve seen that look before.
yoko knew exactly what she was doing, and worse, she knew exactly what she was getting out of it.
she had been teasing you about it for days now. about the fact that you had a little crush on your botany teacher and dorm mom.
and judging by that expression on her face now, she was absolutely not about to stop.
"miss thornhill! a moment?" she calls out.
you immediately tense slightly in your seat, your head turning a fraction too late to stop it. your botany teacher looks over, her eyes landing on you first. just for a second, like she assumes it was you who spoke.
your posture stiffens almost automatically under her gaze. then, after a brief pause, she looks at yoko instead.
she starts walking over; her steps are calm and unhurried, like she has nowhere else she needs to be. her expression stays soft as she approaches, head slightly tilted in a polite kind of curiosity.
"is everything okay, girls?" she asks.
you watch her closely as she stops in front of your table.
she does that habit again. the small, absent motion where she pushes her glasses up with her palm, fingers brushing the frame lightly before letting her hand fall back to her side.
you don’t even realise you’re watching until you tilt your head slightly, eyes following the movement like it’s stuck in place.
yoko, far too pleased with herself, straightens up immediately.
"we were wondering—well, not really me—if you would like to sit with us?"
your head turns sharply toward her, giving her a look. a very clear what are you doing? kind of look, because she has very much just implied that this was your idea.
yoko does not acknowledge it. instead, she just smiles sweetly like she’s done nothing wrong.
the redhead looks at you now. properly this time, and you feel it immediately.
your expression shifts before you can stop it, something softer slipping through the cracks of your composure. you give her a small, slightly sheepish smile back.
“i would love to, girls, really, but it's first period soon. i need to get going,” she says, her voice softening slightly as she gives a small, apologetic frown behind her glasses.
miss thornhill adjusts her posture subtly as she speaks, shoulders relaxing just a fraction before she looks away.
then her gaze moves from your eyes down to your chest. exactly where your necklace rests against your skin. you hadn't bothered to take it off last night. it felt too...sentimental.
then she glances back up again.
it happens so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. like a flicker; like a trick of the light.
“oh, that's okay, miss thornhill, we understand,” yoko says.
thornhill gives her a polite smile in return, then her attention shifts back to you. fully this time, as if she’s made a decision to focus on you instead of the conversation around you.
“in fact,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “we’ve got first period together, don't we, sweetheart?”
the word lands softly, causing you to nod almost immediately. there was no hesitation, no thought behind your eyes. there was just a quick, automatic movement of agreement.
and for a split second, something shifts in her expression. it was subtle but there. it is like a flash of satisfaction that she tries, and almost succeeds, to hide.
“would you mind coming a bit earlier so you can help me move some of my plants?”
you straighten up slightly in your seat.
“oh, yes, of course, miss thornhill,” you say, already standing before you’ve fully finished speaking.
your chair scrapes softly against the floor as you push it back, following her out of the hall.
you can feel yoko’s eyes on your back, causing you to glance back just once.
she raises her eyebrows at you, a smug little smile tugging at her lips. then, out of nowhere, she makes a scissoring sign with her fingers.
your mouth drops open slightly in disbelief.
but before you can even react properly—
“up late last night?” the woman beside you asks.
you blink, your heart stuttering for half a second.
“…no?” you say. “why?”
she keeps walking, not missing a step. her voice is light when she answers.
“you just look tired, that's all.”
you don’t reply to her, because by the time you even think about it, you’re already at her classroom.
the door swings open with a soft creak, and you step inside behind her.
the room smells like soil and something sweet underneath it—flowers, damp leaves. you loved it here, though you didn't spend much time actually in reality.
“these are the ones i need help moving,” she says, walking ahead of you and pointing lightly toward a group of plants sitting on her desk.
you pause as you spot them. they’re not small. not even close.
you look at them properly now: the size of the pots, the weight of the soil, the way they sit there like they belong somewhere much more permanent than a classroom desk.
and for a second, you wonder how she even got them up there in the first place.
then, like she’s heard you thinking it, she answers without turning around.
“principal weems got the davincis to put them there. fascinating powers, really.”
you blink once.
“…yeah,” you say, moving forward and reaching for one of them.
you try to lift it but it barely budges. so, you adjust your grip and try again, putting more strength into it. nothing. it’s too heavy.
“Silly girl,” miss thornhill huffs lightly, but there’s a smile in her voice as she watches you struggle. “they’re too heavy for me to pick them up on their own, so what makes you think you can?”
you stop immediately; your hands are still hovering near the pot.
“oh,” you say quietly. “i didn’t really think about that.”
she steps closer without hesitation.
“clearly.”
then she reaches out, and for a moment you both lift it together.
your fingers brush hers, briefly. it is barely anything but your entire focus narrows down to that point of contact for half a second too long.
you look away quickly, placing the plant down on the first table before she can notice anything on your face.
then you keep going. one plant on each table, the classroom filling slowly with the plants as you work.
after a while, you place the last one down and straighten up slightly, rolling your shoulders back.
for a second, everything is calm, then—
miss thornhill knocks over a jar of water, hitting the floor with a sharp crack, glass scattering slightly across the tiles. you flinch.
“oh dear,” she says, immediately bending down to pick it up.
she moves too close to one of the plants. a venus flytrap shifts suddenly, its mouth opening wide in an agitated snap, reacting to her presence like it’s deciding whether or not she’s a threat.
you notice it instantly and before it can react further, you step forward slightly and blow a kiss.
pink mist and tiny sparkles spill into the air, drifting over the plant like a calming wave.
the venus flytrap freezes. then slowly, almost lazily, it settles back into place. it is completely calm, like nothing ever happened.
miss thornhill watches the pink mist dissolve into the air, her eyes tracking it with quiet fascination as the venus flytrap slowly settles back into place.
the plant’s sharp movement fades, its mouth closing as if it had never been disturbed at all.
she stays still for a moment longer than necessary. then her attention shifts back to you.
“that's… why, thank you, sweetheart,” she says softly, her voice lowering just a fraction.
her eyes linger on you in a way that feels slightly different now, something darker threading through her expression as she looks at the way you’ve just protected her without hesitation.
“that one has always been a bit agitated. i can never seem to get it to calm down.”
you frown slightly, your gaze flicking to the plant and back.
“it looked like it was going to bite you.”
your voice is quieter than before, more serious, like the thought itself bothers you more than it should.
for a moment, she doesn’t respond. instead, she stands up, tilting her head. she watches your expression carefully, as if the simple act of you frowning over it has caught her attention more than anything else in the room.
then, without warning, she steps closer, her hand lifting. her fingers find your necklace.
she twirls it gently between them, the chain slipping slightly as she draws you forward just a fraction without fully meaning to release it.
you freeze. her touch is light and deliberate.
“that's lovely,” she says, almost under her breath now, her voice softer than before. “where did you get it from?”
you blink, caught off guard by how close she suddenly is.
“oh…” you start, swallowing slightly as your eyes drop for a second before lifting again. “someone gave it to me.”
her mouth curves faintly, like she’s been expecting that answer.
“someone gave it to you?” she repeats, tilting her head just a little more. “who?”
you hesitate as her fingers are still lightly holding the necklace, still making you aware of how easily she can guide your attention back to her.
“well,” you say slowly, “that’s the problem. i didn’t see their face.”
there’s a brief pause, her expression shifting subtly but intentionally: curiosity sharpening into something more focused.
“you didn’t see their face?” she asks. “so then why are you still wearing it?”
her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second. she watches you like she already knows the answer you’re going to give, and she’s simply waiting to see how close you get to the truth.
“i…” you start, your voice quieter now. “i don’t actually know. i guess i was drawn to her."
"oh? her?" she asks, her eyebrows lifting slightly behind her glasses.
you frown, wondering if she thinks there is something wrong with that.
she notices immediately.
"well, how do you know it's a her?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "you said you didn't see their face."
"i didn't see her face," you say quietly, your eyes dropping for a moment as you think back, "but i saw her dress. it was black and looked just like mine, but mine was in white."
you pause. "and her voice..." you look back up at her. "it was very pretty."
your voice drops slightly at the end.
miss thornhill moves just a tiny bit closer, barely noticeable, but you notice.
"pretty, huh?" she says, watching your expression carefully.
you nod. "she reminded me of someone, but i can't quite put my finger on it."
you frown again, trying to figure it out. you focus so hard that you almost forget she is standing there.
"stop thinking so hard," she says softly. "that frown is going to ruin that pretty face."
her hand moves from the necklace, gently brushing near your forehead as if she’s trying to smooth out the expression.
you immediately stop, your thoughts disappearing for a second. your frown fades, and you feel warmth rise to your cheeks.
"there you go," she says, her mouth moving to your ear. then, she whispers:
"good girl."
she moves back, watching your reaction. your breath hitches slightly, and you blink, still trying to process what she just said.
before either of you can say anything else, the bell rings.
the sound makes you both move, the moment breaking instantly.
you quickly gather yourself and make your way to your seat just as everyone starts entering the classroom.
you sit there quietly, wondering if what just happened actually happened. you find yourself thinking about it. and, yes, you want to be her good girl.
and you don't want to keep thinking so hard.
as a matter of fact, she could just think for you.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 4.23k
it's the night of the party.
the day that you have been dreading, but also somehow looking forward to.
you stand in your room, getting ready. your fingers smooth over the fabric of the dress as you pull it into place, the one that was given to you.
the one that fits you perfectly.
as you look at yourself in the mirror, watching the way the white dress falls around you, you can't help but smile slightly.
it is pretty. you don't want to admit it, but it is.
enid walks into the room, already talking before she even notices you.
"come on, we're going to be—"
she stops, her eyes widening as she looks at you.
"woah... that dress is so... gorgeous."
her mouth falls open slightly, staring at you through the mirror.
you turn your head slightly, looking at her reflection.
"i know," you say, a small smile appearing. "as much as that invitation creeped me out, the person definitely has good taste."
your eyes move back to the mirror, watching enid behind you. she's wearing a white dress too, but it's completely different from yours. it suits her perfectly.
you couldn't imagine her wearing black. not enid. it would ruin the contrast between her and wednesday.
"let's go," wednesday says suddenly.
you turn to see her standing by the door, already looking impatient.
"before thornhill catches us."
"alright, alright," enid mutters, rolling her eyes slightly as she follows after wednesday.
you stay behind for a moment, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. then you follow after them.
you all arrive at the house, standing in front of the large doors.
"wednesday, i'm really not sure about this—"
wednesday doesn't answer, like always. she simply steps forward and pushes the doors open.
a loud groan comes from them, the sound echoing through the entrance like they haven't been opened in years. you step inside.
you were the first people there, exactly how wednesday planned.
it wasn't abandoned like wednesday described it. there weren't cobwebs or dust everywhere. the house was done up, decorated, and ready for everyone to arrive.
but still...something about it feels wrong. there's a quietness to it. a stillness.
it is like the house itself is waiting.
"this is really creepy, weds," enid says, immediately moving closer and clutching onto wednesday's arm.
wednesday makes no effort to move away from her.
she just lets enid hold onto her, standing there with her usual blank expression.
you look around, taking everything in. then your eyes drift upward.
the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room catches your attention, glowing softly above you. the light reflects across the room, making the whole place look almost magical.
you can't help but stare.
"let's look around."
wednesday doesn't even look at us before turning away and starting to walk.
"you two go together."
and just like that, she leaves.
you and enid stand there, watching her disappear further into the house.
both of you are thinking the same thing: you do not want to be here.
you let out a small sigh, looking over at enid.
"right, let's go downstairs since wednesday is going upstairs."
enid nods slowly, still looking slightly unsure as she follows after you, and the two of you start exploring.
the house is much bigger than you expected.
the walls are covered in old paintings, each one staring down at you as you walk past. the furniture is covered in dark, expensive-looking fabric, and the floors creak quietly beneath your feet with every step.
despite the decorations, despite how much effort someone has clearly put into making the place look beautiful, there is still something unsettling about it.
the air feels heavy.
like the house is holding onto something.
enid walks beside you, looking around carefully.
she reaches out and grabs the handle of one of the doors, turning it. it doesn't open. she tries again, pushing a little harder.
still nothing.
"it's locked," she says, frowning.
you step closer, looking at the door.
"let me try the others," you say.
you move to the next one and place your hand around the handle and twist.
nothing.
you pull a little harder, but it doesn't move. you try again, but it still won't open.
your eyebrows furrow slightly as you move on to the next door. same thing. and the next. and the next. no matter how hard you try, none of them open.
enid watches you, her expression becoming more worried.
"okay..." she says slowly. "that's not creepy at all."
you look down the hallway at all the locked doors. something about it doesn't feel right.
"this is definitely some kind of joke," you say.
you glance over at enid, expecting her to agree. but before she can say anything, music suddenly starts playing from the room with the chandelier.
both of you freeze.
the sound echoes through the house, filling the silence that had been hanging over everything since you arrived.
you and enid look at each other.
then, without saying a word, both of you start moving towards the music.
the closer you get, the louder it becomes, and when you reach the room, wednesday is already there.
she stands near the entrance, hands behind her back, watching as people begin filing into the house. more and more arrive every second.
you stop beside her, watching the crowd.
"did you find anything?" i ask, turning my head to look at her.
"no. doors were locked," she says, not looking at me. i follow where she is looking, towards the crowd.
everyone had followed the theme, white and black, just like your trio.
students from nevermore walk through the doors in groups, talking excitedly amongst themselves. some are already laughing, some are looking around in amazement, and others are trying to figure out who organised all of this in the first place.
the room that had felt empty only minutes ago suddenly feels alive.
music fills the air, people start dancing, and conversations blend together into one constant hum.
you look around and recognise faces from jericho too, not just nevermore students. there is normal people, shop owners, teenagers from town and people you've seen walking through jericho countless times.
it seems like everyone is here. which only makes the mystery stranger. who could possibly organise something this big? and why?
"okay, this is actually kind of amazing," enid says, looking around the room with wide eyes. she spins slightly, taking everything in.
"creepy, but amazing."
wednesday remains completely unimpressed.
"if by 'amazing' you mean suspicious, then yes."
you barely hear them as your attention drifts elsewhere, across the room, through the crowd.
you start walking without even thinking.
your feet move before you can even decide where you’re going, as if there is something pulling you forward, something you can’t explain.
"where are you going?" enid asks.
you hear the confusion in her voice as she turns to look at you, but you don't look back.
your eyes stay focused ahead, scanning through the crowd.
"i'm going to find yoko."
enid pauses.
"yoko?"
you keep walking, weaving between people as they dance and talk around you.
"yeah."
you don’t know why you say it so confidently.
but you walk through the crowd, walking up the stairs. you aren't trying to find yoko. not at all.
you walk down the hall like you’re being pulled forward, like something has called you and you’re answering without thinking. you’re in a trance, moving on instinct alone.
you can’t see much at all. the darkness presses in, thick and almost complete.
then a candle appears ahead of you. it sits in a holder with three candlesticks, the flame small but steady.
you pick it up. it’s heavier than you expect, solid in your hand, but still light enough to carry easily in one grip. the light doesn’t reach far. it only shows you what’s directly in front of you.
the carpet comes into view where it’s been laid over the old floorboards, and as you step forward, the wood beneath creaks softly, reacting to your weight as you pass.
you start to trip over the back of your dress. your foot catches, just barely, and you stumble before steadying yourself.
with your free hand, you gather the fabric and lift it slightly, bunching it up so it won’t drag. then you keep walking, careful now, the candle still guiding you forward.
then you stop, and so does your heart. the sound of your name drifts out of the darkness, spoken by someone you can’t see.
for a moment, you have no idea where you are anymore. you’ve been walking for what feels like ages, time stretching thin and meaningless.
then you feel it—someone grabs the arm that was holding your dress from behind. your breath catches and you jump, spinning around in a sharp movement.
“who is that?” you say, your voice coming out tighter than you mean it to.
you twist in their grip and lift the candle, trying to force the light up into their face, desperate to see who’s there.
for a split second, you hope it’s just wednesday being… well, wednesday. but their hand closes around your wrist, firm and deliberate, stopping the candlelight before it can reach them.
“hi, love.”
the words make you freeze. confusion washes over you, sharp and disorienting.
you’ve heard that voice before; you’re almost sure of it. it’s a woman’s voice, unmistakably so, but you can’t place it. maybe you’re wrong. maybe you don’t know her at all.
“who are you?” you ask. only then do you realise both of your arms are held now, secured in her grasp, leaving you with nowhere to pull away to.
she doesn’t answer immediately. instead, a soft, almost musical chuckle drifts through the darkness. her grip tightens just a fraction, a subtle reminder that she isn’t letting go.
“not so fast,” she says, her fingers closing around the candle. before you can react, somehow, without even seeing her face, she snuffs it out.
instantly, the world goes black. the two of you are swallowed by darkness, and you can feel her presence closer than ever.
“what’s going on?” you ask as she pulls you with her down the hallway, her hold firm, guiding you through the dark.
“i’ve been waiting for you, my sweet girl,” she says, her voice close, almost amused.
“you...you were the one who sent the letter? who sent me the dress?”
she clicks her tongue, a sound of clear approval. “smart girl.”
you don’t ask where she’s taking you. you feel… safe. maybe even curious about her. that’s why you don’t wrench your arm free or try to run.
she leads you forward until you hear the quiet click of a lock turning. a door opens, and she guides you inside.
it’s still dark as you enter. then you notice a candlestick holder fixed to the wall. it looks exactly like the one you picked up earlier. it was the same shape, the same design; only this one you can't move.
you still can’t see her whole face when she turns back toward you. the candlelight only reaches the lower half of her face and the outline of her body, leaving the rest in shadow.
she’s wearing a gorgeous dress. black. it looks almost exactly like yours. her hair seems to be pinned up, with only a few loose strands visible in the light. and then you notice the colour.
she’s ginger.
huh.
“i got you a gift,” she says, standing perfectly still.
you’re not really sure where to look. the top half of her face is nothing but shadow, so you end up staring there anyway, hoping you don’t look strange.
“oh. well, thank you,” you say, your voice careful. you keep looking at her for a moment, then glance around the room, searching. but you can’t see any gift anywhere.
“silly girl,” she says, one corner of her lips curling into a smirk. “it’s there, on the mat.” she points down at a small box resting on the floor.
you move to it at once, dropping to your knees in front of it. the box is black, tied neatly with a white ribbon. you have to admit it; she’s perfectly on theme.
you undo the ribbon, your fingers working carefully at the bow.
you lift the lid of the box. inside is a necklace.
you stare at it for a moment as it rests against the dark lining, the metal catching what little light there is. it feels deliberate, chosen with care. you’re not sure why, but your chest tightens as you look at it, aware of her watching you from the shadows.
it’s a rose.
“it’s so...beautiful,” you say, lifting it carefully from the box. “thank you.”
you turn to face her, the necklace cradled in your hands. you try to put it on yourself, fingers fumbling for the clasp, but you can’t seem to find it.
“here,” she says, stepping closer. “let me.”
she takes the necklace from your hands. you try to catch a glimpse of her face, but the shadows still hide it completely.
frustrated, you glance back toward the box, watching as she fastens the clasp around your neck with careful, deliberate movements.
once the necklace is clasped, you turn on your knees, looking up at her. the shadows still hide most of her face, but you can feel her presence looming above you, the air between you charged and expectant.
“can i…” you start, then stop, searching for the words. you don’t know how to say it without sounding wrong.
“see your face?”
she doesn’t answer, maybe lost in thought, weighing whether she can trust you with it. you tug gently at the hem of her dress.
“please?” you say, putting on your most pleading expression.
for a moment, she seems caught off guard. her mouth parts slightly, as if in awe, struck by the sight of you.
she lets out the tiniest chuckle, almost just a soft huff, then bends her knees and gently takes your chin, tilting your face up toward hers. you don’t know how she’s managed to keep her face hidden this entire time yet still see you so clearly. she studies you for a moment, slow and deliberate.
“in time, angel”
angel.
that’s what she wrote in the letter.
then she leans forward and presses a kiss just beside your mouth. instinctively, you follow it, tipping forward, trying to find her lips. she pulls back before you can. you surprise yourself.
you don’t know why you did that. it’s like you didn’t think at all. like you’re completely enamoured with her, caught in something hazy and unreal. trapped in a trance you don’t want to wake up from.
she seems pleased by your reaction, a quiet satisfaction settling over her.
“go, my love. people are waiting for my guest of honour,” she says.
and then, just like that, you can’t feel her presence in the room anymore.
“hello?” you call out, but no one answers.
still confused by what just happened, you notice the door and manage to step back out into the hallway.
relief washes over you when you spot a strip of light further down the corridor. you assume that’s where you came from.
you start walking toward it. if you’re being honest, the dark terrifies you.
you move quickly, clutching your dress with both hands and lifting it as you go, desperate not to trip as the shadows close in behind you.
you make it down the stairs. everyone is chatting away, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, laughter spilling out as glasses clink and someone deals cards on a nearby table. it all feels strangely normal, like nothing happened at all.
then, as you turn, a hand suddenly grabs you. before you can react, you’re pulled sharply under the staircase, swallowed by shadow once again.
"wednesday, the next time you do that im going to hit you."
she barely reacts, dark eyes flicking to you, unimpressed.
“do try,” wednesday says calmly. “it might be the most excitement i’ve had all evening.”
you roll your eyes, letting out a sharp huff.
“anyway,” you say, brushing yourself off, “what is it? why did you feel the need to drag me under the staircase?”
“where did you go?” she asks, her voice low and sharp, eyes fixed on you like she’s been tracking you the entire time.
“i found myself wandering the house,” you say, your voice trailing off as you stop mid-sentence, eyes flicking away as you try to decide how much of it actually makes sense to say out loud. “and then…”
you glance at wednesday, watching her reaction carefully.
she stands exactly as she always does: rigid posture, arms crossed tightly over her chest, expression carved into something permanently unimpressed.
her gaze doesn’t soften for even a second. she already looks like she’s decided this is either important or completely ridiculous, and you’re leaning heavily toward the second option in her mind.
“well,” you continue, “i saw her and she… talked to me.”
wednesday’s head tilts a fraction. “what did she look like? who was the obsessive maniac?” she asks, her voice completely flat, like she’s reading it off a report instead of asking about something that just happened to you.
you hesitate, swallowing slightly.
“that’s the problem,” you say quietly. “i couldn’t see her face. she blew my candle out before i could see.”
wednesday’s eyes narrow just slightly, the only real sign she’s paying closer attention now.
“did you notice anything else? anything that would help identify her?”
you pause again.
you were going to mention the ginger hair. you almost do. it sits at the edge of your thoughts like something you’re not supposed to say out loud, like naming it would make it more real.
there’s something about the woman, something about the way she spoke, the way the air felt heavier when she was near. like she wasn’t just there, but everywhere.
you should feel uneasy.
instead, you feel pulled.
you swallow it down.
“no,” you lie smoothly. “other than the necklace she gave me, there was nothing else.”
for a moment, the room changes.
wednesday's eyes narrow and her breathing seems to pause. her dark eyes drop immediately to your neck.
to the rose pendant.
her expression tightens, sharpening at the edges as she steps closer without hesitation.
her hand lifts slowly, almost deliberately, and she touches the pendant with two fingers.
the moment her skin makes contact with it, everything snaps.
her face jerks upward.
you barely have time to react before she gasps sharply and her body lurches, vision overtaking her. it happens fast, like something forcibly pulling her out of the room.
“wednesday!” enid shouts, spotting her from the middle of the crowd, already rushing forward, panic breaking through her usual brightness.
she stumbles over her own feet as she runs, hands reaching out.
you move at the same time, both of you catching wednesday just before she collapses completely to the floor.
wednesday’s weight is sudden in your hands, all tension collapsing at once as her body goes slack.
you and enid lower her carefully to the floor, your knees hitting the cold wood as you both try not to let her head knock against anything.
enid is talking fast and panicked, her hands hovering uselessly for a second before she finally presses two fingers to wednesday’s wrist like she’s checking she’s still there.
“okay, okay, she’s breathing! she’s breathing,” enid says, more to herself than anyone else. her voice shakes on the second repetition.
you stay quieter.
your hands are still near wednesday’s shoulders, like letting go would make it worse somehow.
her head tilts slightly to one side, dark hair splayed against the floor, her expression frozen in something between pain and focus, like she’s somewhere else entirely.
“what did you do?” enid snaps suddenly, looking up at you.
you blink, caught off guard. “i didn’t—i didn’t do anything.”
but even as you say it, your fingers twitch slightly where the pendant was just touched. like your body remembers something your mind is trying to avoid.
wednesday’s eyes flutter once.
then again.
a sharp inhale cuts through the room as she comes back. it is too fast, too sudden. she stands up in one jerking motion, almost knocking into you.
you shift back instinctively, giving her space.
wednesday blinks slowly, as if the room is reassembling itself around her. her gaze locks onto you first, then enid, then drops immediately to your chest again.
“don’t touch it,” she says.
her voice is flat, but there’s something underneath it now. not fear. not exactly. something sharper. recognition that tastes wrong.
enid looks between both of you. “touch what? what did you see?”
wednesday ignores her, eyes still fixed on you like she’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t agree to show.
“the pendant,” she says again, quieter this time. “it’s not a gift.”
your throat tightens slightly.
“what do you mean it’s not a gift?”
wednesday pushes herself up fully, steadying herself without help. she refuses your hand when it instinctively moves toward her.
“i saw her hands,” she says.
a pause.
the air feels heavier again, like whatever she pulled back from didn’t fully let go.
“and she was going to put it in the box with the dress. she waited instead, waited to put it on you herself...like a claim.”
like a claim? you think to yourself. for some reason, you weren't weirded out by it at all.
“oh my god, oh my god!” enid starts hyperventilating, pacing in a tight circle like she can’t decide whether to sit, stand, or simply dissolve into panic.
her hands flap uselessly at her sides, fingers curling and uncurling as her breathing gets faster and sharper, eyes wide with alarm.
“this is bad, this is so bad, why is it always something with you two—”
her posture resets itself into something precise again, shoulders squared, chin lifted.
her eyes flick to you.
not enid, but you, like she’s expecting you to fix this, like you always do.
there’s a beat where you just stare back, blinking slowly, as if you’re trying to catch up with the situation rather than escalate it.
enid is still spiralling. “i think i’m going to pass out, i think i’m actually going to—”
“oh, right!” you say suddenly, as if remembering something you were meant to do ages ago.
you step forward without urgency, without panic, like the chaos around you simply doesn’t stick.
you raise a hand and gently blow a kiss toward enid.
it lands instantly.
a soft burst of pink mist spills from your fingertips mid-air, drifting forward like weightless smoke. tiny sparkles scatter through it, catching the light as it moves.
it touches enid’s face and curls around her like warm air. her breathing slows in real time and her shoulders drop, the frantic energy draining out of her instantly.
“oh…” enid blinks, swaying slightly as the panic disappears from her expression. “oh wow. okay. that’s… actually better.”
she exhales, long and shaky, "then looks at you like she can’t decide whether to be impressed or offended that it worked so easily.
"thanks."
wednesday watches the entire thing without blinking.
her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen slightly, tracking the pink sparkles as they fade into nothing.
then she looks back at you.
“useful,” she says, turning on her heel and disappearing back into the crowd as if nothing has just happened at all.
no pause. no follow-up. just movement: wednesday folding herself back into the corridor traffic like she was never there in the first place.
you watch her go for a second longer than you probably should.
enid lets out a long, dramatic sigh beside you, shoulders slumping as the tension finally drains out of her body in one heavy release.
“wow, wednesday really needs to stop scaring us like that,” she says, dragging a hand through her hair. “i mean, she literally just collapsed.”
you glance down at the spot where wednesday had been seconds ago, then back toward the crowd she vanished into.
“i don’t think she can help it,” you say quietly, still steady, still calm in that way that feels almost unnatural compared to everything else in the room.
“enid… she just touches something and… poof, she sees a vision.”
enid makes a face. “yeah, well, ‘poof’ is one way to put it. another way is ‘near-death experience with extra drama.’”
you don’t answer that.
instead, your fingers drift absently to the rose pendant at your neck. just for a second. it is barely a touch, like checking it’s still there.
enid notices immediately.
“hey,” she says, voice softening a little as she leans closer. “you okay? about all of this?”
you pause, your expression stays gentle, almost serene, but something flickers underneath it. something you don’t let rise all the way to the surface.
“i’m fine,” you say, and your voice is calm enough that it almost sounds true.
behind you, somewhere deeper in the crowd, the air feels like it shifts again.
it was as if something were watching, as if she were watching.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
series masterlist
wc: 2.32k
you’re walking to class, bag slung over your shoulder, the corridor already louder than usual. it’s the day of the ball.
no one knows; no one knows that you got a little more than just an invitation. you think. well, you hope.
groups of students pass you, voices low but excited, whispers slipping through the air as they talk about the ball. you catch fragments as you walk by: "gates mansion, 8pm, can you believe it?"
someone laughs. someone else shushes them, like saying it too loudly might ruin it. the excitement feels thick, buzzing, almost alive.
you keep your head down, pretending you’re not listening.
then yoko appears beside you, falling into step like she planned it. she grins, eyes bright. “hey, girl!” she says, bumping your arm lightly. “ready for tonight?”
you put on a happy face. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?” you shrug, like it’s nothing, like your stomach isn’t twisting.
yoko squints at you, slowing her steps so you have to stop too. “what’s wrong?” she asks. “i can tell something's bothering you.”
“nothing,” you say quickly. then, quieter, “it’s just… what if it’s not even real? what if it’s a prank? i mean, the gates mansion hasn’t been used in years. not since…”
“not since the family tragically died?” yoko cuts in, eyes lighting up. “i know, right? if you’re asking me, that’s what makes it so cool.” she lowers her voice dramatically. “you know, people say the little girl haunts the house now. waiting for her next victim—”
she jumps toward you suddenly.
“oh my god, yoko!” you yelp, heart leaping into your throat.
“wait. the girl?” you say after processing what she had just said.
“laurel gates,” she says easily, like it’s common knowledge. “you don’t know? apparently she walks around the house at night, waiting for her family to come back.”
“that’s…” you slow your steps, the excitement around you suddenly feeling distant. “that’s actually quite sad.”
yoko’s grin fades a little. she shrugs, kicking at the floor as she walks. “yeah,” she says, quieter now. “i guess it is.”
for a moment, neither of you speaks. you picture it without meaning to: a big, empty house, lights never turning on, a little girl waiting in rooms that never answer back.
your chest feels even tighter, and you don’t know why.
“still,” yoko adds, brightening again like she’s embarrassed by the silence, “ghost or no ghost, it’s going to be legendary," she says and shakes your shoulder.
you manage a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. something about the story sticks with you, lingering as you push open the classroom door and step inside.
you sit in botany class. miss thornhill is talking about something—plants, probably—but you aren’t listening.
she moves slowly at the front of the room, chalk dust on her fingers, her voice calm and even. someone near you flips a page in their notebook. another student shifts in their chair.
you stay still.
you can’t help being nervous. actually, you’re very nervous. your leg won’t stop bouncing under the desk, and you keep pressing your pen down too hard, like it might slip out of your hand.
you don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. you don’t even know if it’s real. this could all be a prank, something elaborate and humiliating, and you’d be the idiot who showed up anyway.
the gates' mansion hasn’t been used for years. everyone knows that. the whole family died there, tragically, a long time ago. since then it’s just been sitting there, falling apart, empty and watching. no lights. no people. just ruins.
there’s no way the story about laurel is true, you tell yourself. people must have made it up to scare everyone, to make the night feel bigger than it really is.
then your mind keeps going anyway. what if the girl is real? what if she’s the one who wrote the invitation?
no. it can’t be.
wednesday had told you the plan, like she promised, a few days ago. it wasn’t much or complicated. it was 'simple'; that was the word. all you had to do was wait. stand around. do whatever until the person comes up to you… if they even show up at all.
you still don’t know what the point of going is. so wednesday can unmask another person, expose another secret, and look like the hero again.
yay!
you roll your eyes at the thought and look back down at your desk, dragging your pen across the paper. little shapes take form without you thinking about them: loops, lines, and the same pattern over and over.
you don’t even realise the bell has rung. chairs scrape against the floor, voices rise, people start getting up, and it all washes past you until someone says your name.
you look up.
it’s miss thornhill.
“love, can you come here?” she says, rounding her table. “just for a minute. i won’t keep you long.”
“of course, miss thornhill,” you say, pushing your chair back as you stand. you quickly gather your books, slide them into your bag, and sling it over your shoulder before walking toward her.
“is everything okay, miss?” you ask, stopping in front of her. you shift your weight from one foot to the other.
around you, students are filing out, their voices low hums of conversation, the scrape of chairs on the floor punctuating the air.
miss thornhill sighs, a soft, almost sympathetic sound, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “i think i should be asking you that,” she says, her eyes flicking to yours.
“what do you mean?” you ask, frowning slightly, shifting your bag on your shoulder.
“well,” she says, leaning on her desk, fingers tapping lightly against the wood, “for one, not once did i see you put your hand up. you’re normally the first person. and second… you were drifting off into space for most of the lesson.”
she tilts her head, studying you like she’s trying to read something hidden just beneath the surface.
“oh! i’m so sorry, miss thornhill,” you say, twisting the strap of your bag nervously in your hands. “i’m just… nervous about something i have later.”
(the ball, of course, but she doesn’t need to know that—you’d probably get in trouble. you’ve already been out twice this week).
she looks at you strangely. it is just a quick glance, so small you almost miss it. like she already knows what you’re up to. but the moment you notice it, it’s gone.
“oh,” she says, smoothing it over, “well, i hope everything goes… okay.” she sits back down in her chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor. she pulls open a drawer, rummages for a second, then takes out a small piece of paper. a note.
“you know,” she says, looking back up at you, her expression gentler now, “you can always come to me if you need anything.” she holds your gaze. “my door is always open.”
“thank you, miss, i really appreciate it,” you say, smiling at her. your hands fold together in front of you, fingers resting awkwardly against each other as she smiles at you in return.
you get the feeling the conversation is over. she looks back down, already writing something on the piece of paper, pen moving in neat, careful strokes. you should leave. everyone else already has.
but you don’t.
you stay where you are, rooted to the spot, like something unseen is tugging at you, pulling you to linger just a second longer.
you notice her writing. it’s beautiful, the pen gliding easily across the paper, letters looping into one another like they’ve been practised a thousand times. almost as if… you’ve seen it before.
huh. maybe you have.
it’s cursive. just like the invitation.
obviously it’s just a coincidence. you’ve been seeing those a lot this week. like earlier, when yoko was holding a rose and you nearly had a heart attack, convinced for half a second that maybe it was her. it definitely wasn’t. you’re just being paranoid.
“i like your writing,” you say before you can stop yourself. “it’s so pretty.”
“oh, well, thank you, dear,” she replies, scrunching her nose as she smiles. if you’re being honest, it’s your favourite quirk of hers. “i learnt it when i was young.”
“oh really? my family doesn’t write in anything other than cursive,” you say, twisting your bag strap in your hands. “was yours the same?” you ask.
she pauses, pen hovering over the paper. for a moment, she hesitates, like she’s not sure what to say.
“yes,” she finally says, careful and measured. “you could say that. my mother taught me.”
you nod slowly, your eyes following the way her pen starts moving again, smooth and unhurried. “it’s… nice,” you say quietly. “cursive makes things feel… careful, i guess. thoughtful.”
she looks up at you then, one eyebrow lifting just a little behind her glasses, something almost amused flickering across her face. “careful and thoughtful, hmm?” she says. “i like that.”
your stomach twists. you don’t know why it feels like she’s looking straight through you.
she finishes writing, the pen finally still, and lifts the paper from the desk.
you’re surprised; she holds it out to you. you reach for it, fingers brushing hers for a moment as she lets go, and take the small, folded piece of paper.
“if you need to talk,” she says, “here are the times that you and i are both free during the day.”
you glance down at the note, brow furrowing. “thank you… but how do you know when my frees are?”
she lets out a soft chuckle, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “i’m your dorm mom, silly. i know all of my girls' timetables.”
“oh, you’re right. silly me! that makes so much sense,” you say, tucking the note carefully into your bag. she looks… almost pleased at your reaction, a small, quiet satisfaction in her eyes.
“thank you so much, miss thornhill,” you add, smiling genuinely this time.
“of course. i’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, standing and gesturing for you to follow. her hand rests briefly on the small of your back as she guides you toward the door, and you feel your cheeks heat up a little.
as you reach the hallway, she glances at you with that same unreadable expression. “try not to stay out too late tonight, alright?” she says, her voice casual, but somehow it feels like she already knows exactly where you’re headed.
but someone in ophelia hall has probably told her. who wouldn't be able to resist telling her when she asks what everyone is talking about? it is miss thornhill. after all, she has that effect on people.
you smile in response, giving a small wave, and step out into the hallway.
unbeknownst to you, she watches your figure retreat down the corridor for a moment longer, silent and still, before finally closing the door behind her.
not long after you start walking, someone suddenly pushes you into a corner of the corridor.
"what—" you jump back, heart racing.
it’s wednesday.
“wednesday! didn’t i tell you, like, last week, not to jump out at me like that?” you say, brushing yourself off, trying to sound more annoyed than you feel.
“did you really think i’d forget?” she says, her voice flat, eyes scanning you like she’s already three steps ahead. “pay attention next time.”
you completely ignore what she says; there is no point in arguing with her.
“i—look, about the plan for tonight…” you start, trying to steady your voice. “are we still doing it like you said? i don’t even… i don’t know what’s going to happen.”
wednesday tilts her head slightly, regarding you with that same unreadable expression. “yes. we’re still doing it,” she says simply, as if that should settle everything. “just follow instructions. nothing more, nothing less.”
“okay… but if i get killed, it’s your fault,” you mutter, folding your arms and leaning back against the wall. you glance down the corridor, half-expecting something to jump out at you again.
wednesday doesn’t react the way you want her to. she barely blinks. “statistically unlikely,” she says dryly. “but if it happens, i’ll make sure it’s quick.”
if you’re being honest, you’re a little flattered. in wednesday’s language, that’s practically affectionate. it means she at least likes you.
“anyway,” you ask, pushing off the wall and brushing imaginary dust from your sleeves, “why did you need me?”
wednesday’s eyes flick briefly down the corridor before she looks back at you. “change of plan,” she says. “we’re going in first. before any other guests arrive.”
you stare at her. “what? are you crazy?” you gesture wildly with your hands, your voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “what if it’s a trap? then we get killed.”
wednesday tilts her head, expression unreadable, but there’s a faint glint in her eyes. “exactly,” she says, voice flat. “it makes it more… exciting.”
you roll your eyes. “right, because your girlfriend will be so happy.”
if looks could kill, even more than usual, she’s managing it now. “enid is not my girlfriend,” she says, voice flat but sharp.
“well, you knew i was talking about her, so she must be,” you laugh, teasing.
then you see the look on her face. and just like that, your laughter dies in your throat. “okay… jeez,” you mutter, holding up your hands.
wednesday doesn’t say anything more. she simply steps aside, letting you pass, her eyes lingering on you just a second longer than necessary. you take a deep breath, heart still racing, and walk down the corridor, the weight of the night ahead pressing against your chest.
the shadows stretch long in the dim light, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s holding its breath with you.
synopsis — an invitation arrives in careful handwriting, personally addressed to you; others are invited, but none so deliberately, calling you to some sort of party at the long-abandoned gates mansion. the gates family are said to be dead, the house empty. it isn’t. as the night unfolds, you are guided, watched, and chosen. these parties begin to happen more often and slowly, dangerously, you become enamoured, unable to imagine a world where she does not exist.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
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wc: 2.4k
you sigh into your pillow, sprawled on your bed with your phone hovering inches from your face, doomscrolling without really seeing any of it. your thumb keeps moving out of habit. you have nothing to do. the quiet stretches, heavy and dull.
it’s the start of october, your favourite month, and you’re meant to be sorting out what ophelia hall is doing for halloween with enid. decorations, themes, something fun.
instead, you’re stuck here, watching the minutes slide past.
enid was supposed to help, but of course she’s busy with wednesday. said she needed “help” with something. you snort softly at the thought, rolling onto your side and locking your phone. as if you believe that.
you drop your phone somewhere on the bed without looking and drift over to your vanity, sinking down onto the chair.
if you’re being honest, you’ve only moved from one spot to another to do the exact same thing—rot in your boredom, just with a better view of yourself.
the room feels too quiet.
divina is off, who knows where, which means you can’t even bother her about her obvious crush on yoko.
that thought earns you a soft huff. you lean forward, elbows planted on the vanity, palms pressing into your cheeks as you stare at your reflection. your expression looks as bored as you feel.
you don’t even realise how long you’ve been staring at yourself until, out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow slide past the door, thin and sudden. you barely register it at first. it's someone passing by, probably. nevermore is full of people, after all.
then there’s a knock.
you straighten, pushing lightly off the vanity so the chair spins beneath you, slow and lazy. you stand, the motion unhurried, and cross the room toward the door, your steps soft against the floor.
“you know you can just come in, right? you don’t have to knock,” you call out, your voice carrying as you make it halfway across the room.
there’s no response.
you open the door anyway. the hallway is empty. no footsteps fading, no retreating shadow. nothing. the air feels still, almost expectant.
a frown pulls at your mouth as unease prickles up your spine. you stand there for a second longer than necessary, wondering if you’re finally losing it, if you imagined the sound entirely. did someone actually knock, or did your boredom just start messing with you?
you peek your head out fully and glance to the left. no one. then to the right. still no one. that’s… weird.
you step out into the hallway, and something brushes against your foot. you jump instinctively, heart kicking up into your throat.
“oh!” you blurt, looking down.
it’s a piece of paper? you bend down and pick it up, fingers pinching the corner. it’s thicker than you expect. not just paper, but some kind of letter. the front is written in neat cursive, dark ink looping carefully across the page.
the swan of ophelia hall.
you frown. that’s… weird. it was obviously for you since you were the only swan in nevermore.
you turn it over in your hands. on the back, a red wax stamp seals it shut, pressed with a small family crest: a curling symbol framed neatly around a single 'g'.
your thumb hesitates for a moment before you peel the seal open, the wax cracking softly. you slide the letter out, holding the paper carefully as you unfold it.
you read it slowly. the cursive is tight and elegant, a little difficult to follow at first, but you manage. besides, you come from a family who wouldn’t dream of writing in anything but cursive. your eyes know how to trace the loops and slants without thinking.
'to the swan of ophelia hall,
you are personally invited to attend a ball at gates manor at 8p.m. on october 14th. i trust you know where it lies.
the evening will be held in black and white. however, i have taken the liberty of having a dress delivered to you—one i believe will suit you perfectly.
you have been placed at the head of my table as guest of honour.
until then, i await you, my angel.'
there’s no signature at the bottom. no name, nothing. just the empty space where one should be, staring back at you like it’s waiting to be filled.
what in the world?
a sound comes from behind you and you turn your head quickly. the candle on your vanity has gone out, the flame reduced to a thin thread of smoke. now the only light comes from the hallway, pale and stretched across the floor.
your dorm lights had broken recently, so there’s no point reaching for the switch.
you move back toward the vanity anyway, careful and slow, setting the letter down, hopefully in the right spot, before feeling along the edge for the drawer. your fingers find it. you pull it open, rummaging briefly until you hit the box of matches.
you strike a match and light the candle, the flame catching and blooming softly. once it’s steady, you drop the matches back into the drawer and push it closed.
when you look up again, you jump.
there’s a box sitting on the counter.
you reach for the box and lift the lid. resting on top is a deep red rose, its petals dark and velvety. beneath it, folded carefully, is a sweep of white fabric.
you pick up the rose first, setting it gently on top of the letter from earlier, like it belongs there. then you lift the fabric out of the box.
it’s a gorgeous white dress with a fitted corset and soft folds that spill over your hands.
you gasp quietly, caught off guard by how beautiful it is.
you hold the dress up against yourself and look into the mirror, lining it up the best you can. it fits. perfectly. your stomach flips. how on earth did this person know your size?
actually, mind that. how did it even get here? you were standing right there no more than forty-five seconds ago, probably less, and the counter had been empty. the thought makes your grip tighten on the fabric.
the more you think about it—the letter, the dress, the way it all appeared so easily—the more it starts to scare you. the excitement drains, replaced by something tighter in your chest.
who was this person, really, to be able to do all of this?
you quickly fold the dress back into the box, hands moving faster than your thoughts. before you can spiral any further, a high, excited squeal cuts through the room.
enid.
you turn just in time to see her in the doorway, practically vibrating in place. she’s grinning so wide it looks like it might hurt, eyes bright, shoulders bouncing with barely contained energy. there’s a letter clenched in her hand.
“O… M… G,” she says, already hopping toward you. “look what wednesday and i just got.” she all but shoves the piece of paper into your face, excitement spilling out of her in every movement.
“woah, enid, calm down,” you say, laughing a little as you take the paper from her hands and glance down to read it.
“don’t tell me to calm down!!” she squeals immediately, sliding in beside you and craning her neck to peer over your shoulder. “we’ve just been invited to the gates mansion for a freaking party!”
the note is short. much shorter than yours. it isn’t handwritten either. it’s typed, clean and impersonal, like it could’ve been copied a hundred times over. the words are brief and vague:
you are formally invited to attend the gates mansion ball. theme: black and white. 14th october, 8:00 pm.
“weird,” you say, the word slipping out without much feeling behind it.
“what do you mean, ‘weird’?” enid asks, already snatching the note back from your hands so she can reread it. “did you not get invited?”
“i got an invitation too,” you say, turning back toward the vanity, your voice casual despite the way your shoulders tense.
she follows you over, stopping right beside you. her eyes widen almost immediately. “no way,” she breathes, already picking the letter up from the vanity and scanning the page.
by the time she finishes reading, her excitement has dulled into something more uneasy. she lowers the letter slowly, glancing at you. “guest of honour? a dress delivered to you?” she shakes her head. “okay, what kind of freak show is this?”
“my kind."
both of you nearly jump out of your skin.
“jesus, wednesday,” you blurt, clutching at your chest. “i’ve nearly had a heart attack too many times today. do you think you could maybe, i don’t know, tone it down?”
she fixes you with that signature wednesday glare, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, then steps closer, her movements slow and deliberate.
“obsession,” she says flatly. “fixation. devotion bordering on delusion.” a pause, the corner of her mouth almost—but not quite—curling. “yes. that sounds like my kind of night out.”
the three of you look at the scene laid out in front of you: the letter spread open, the red rose resting beside it, and the white dress folded neatly in the box.
wednesday reaches out and picks up the letter, reading it in silence.
“i don’t think we should go,” enid says after a moment, gnawing nervously at her multicoloured nails. “i mean, i was excited at first, but now i’m just… terrified.”
“we’re going,” wednesday says, voice flat and final.
“no… i agree with enid. i’m creeped out,” you say, fingers worrying at the hem of your top, twisting the fabric without realising it.
“we need to find out who it is,” wednesday replies, unblinking.
“i’d rather not,” you and enid say at the same time.
for a second, you both smile at that. then the smile fades as you speak again.
“i mean, no one’s lived in the gates' mansion since god knows when,” you say, rubbing your arms. “it’s literally ruins.”
“exactly.”
and just like that, you know you aren’t escaping this. there’s no arguing with that tone, no backing out now. you’re going.
besides… a small, traitorous part of you is curious. you want to know who wrote that letter. who knew you well enough to address it like that?
suddenly, voices spill through the hallway—too many at once, overlapping and loud. you all glance at each other before moving toward the door together. stepping out into the corridor, you’re met with the sound of excited chatter, everyone talking over one another at once.
loads of people are standing outside their doors, clustered in small groups, all holding the same invitation that enid and wednesday received. voices buzz with excitement and confusion as they compare notes.
you take it in slowly, your gaze drifting from paper to paper, until something clicks. it’s only the upper years. none of the first-years, none of the newer students. just last years, all holding identical, typed invitations.
enid breaks the silence, her voice pitched low despite the noise around you.
“what the freak is happening?”
a girl approaches the three of you, hovering a little awkwardly before stopping. you recognise her vaguely. you’ve exchanged a few hellos in passing, nothing more.
“did you guys get invited too?” she asks, holding up her letter.
you nod and say yes, keeping your voice casual. you don’t mention the small differences in yours.
a voice cuts through the chatter, sharp and unmistakable. “girls, what are you doing? it’s lights out!”
it’s miss thornhill. you can tell even before you see her properly; the flash of ginger hair is just visible above the crowd as she moves closer.
everyone turns at once, then quickly scatters, doors opening and shutting in a rush. within seconds, the hallway empties. everyone except the three of you.
wednesday leans in slightly, her voice low and precise. “do not mention your invitation. not a word.”
you nod immediately. god knows the trouble it would cause if thornhill found out. she’d make a whole thing of it: questions, concern, rules. and then principal weems would know. you don’t even need to look at wednesday to know how she feels about weems getting involved.
“girls, what is happening?” she asks, a plant pot balanced on her hip as she nudges her glasses back up her nose.
you can’t help but notice it but she’s absolutely gorgeous. soft and warm in a way that feels almost out of place here, and so dorky it borders on endearing. it’s… charming, in your own strange way.
“miss thornhill, hi!” enid chirps, clasping her hands behind her back. “they’re just excited because they got invited to a party.”
“oh, well,” thornhill says with a gentle smile, adjusting the pot in her arms, “outside of the semester, i hope?”
“yes, absolutely!” enid says a little too quickly.
she scrunches her nose slightly. “i don’t mean to be a bore,” she says, glancing at you before looking back at enid, “but do you think you could, you know, go to bed?”
“well, yes, of course, miss thornhill,” enid replies quickly. “wednesday and i were just going.” she reaches out and grabs wednesday’s arm, earning an eye roll in response.
“don’t rush,” thornhill adds. “i’ll be back in five minutes to check.” her gaze flicks to you again, lingering for half a second too long. then it’s gone, replaced with a pleasant smile. “i trust you girls.”
she turns on her heel and walks away, footsteps fading down the corridor.
once you’re sure she’s definitely gone, wednesday turns to you. “tomorrow, we discuss the plan.”
you blink. “wow, wednesday. you’re actually including me instead of doing it on your own?”
she tilts her head slightly, eyes dark and unimpressed. “well,” she says coolly, “you are the one with the sadistic obsessor. it would be inefficient not to.”
“okay, fair enough.”
wednesday gives a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and disappearing into her dorm room. enid lingers for a second, offering you a nervous, apologetic smile before slipping in after her.
you’re left in the hallway, the quiet settling back in. although, you don't feel like you are alone.
synopsis — an invitation arrives in careful handwriting, personally addressed to you; others are invited, but none so deliberately, calling you to some sort of party at the long-abandoned gates mansion. the gates family are said to be dead, the house empty. it isn’t. as the night unfolds, you are guided, watched, and chosen. these parties begin to happen more often and slowly, dangerously, you become enamoured, unable to imagine a world where she does not exist.
tags — mdni. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. angst. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. slow burn. fluff. violence. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. obsession. tags will be updated as the series continues.
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