Summary: The rules were Sam's idea, she had been demanding on the 'no feelings' part. She wasn't here to be loved, or cared for, or cherished. Yet with every touch of her lips on your body, it felt like she was begging you to do just that.
A/N: I neglected all my other works just to write this. Mentions of smut ahead. <3
Masterlist
It was 9:23 PM when you heard the knocking on your door.
Today was a Friday, so you didn't need to look in the peephole to know who it was. This has been your routine for over a month.
You were already in your pajamas; a simple pair of shorts and an oversized shirt, and you could see tiny droplets of rain collecting on the windows as you walked up to greet her. You wondered if she'd have an umbrella.
You had your answer when you opened your door. Sam stood in the empty hallway of your apartment, the raindrops on her black jacket were shining under the yellow light; she had her hands stuffed in her pockets, always looking a little out of place right as she arrived. As much as you shouldn't, you were growing fond of her dark eyes and small smiles.
She walked inside quietly and you locked the door behind her — there wasn't a need for words, not really, you both knew what you wanted; why she was there.
The agreement was made with the effect of a few drinks on one night, just the right amount for extra courage and boldness. No feelings, no personal business, no getting attached; that was the deal. It was all about having fun and blowing off some steam without having to worry about the complications that came with a relationship — with being vulnerable.
You had your reasons for it and Sam had hers. It worked.
Until it didn't.
You kissed down her body. Your lips traced a path against her smooth skin, from her neck to her ribs and all the way to the curve of her waist. You always took your time with her, each of your kisses breaking a rule in their wake. You could feel every hitch of her breath each time you touched a sensitive place on her body; it was honestly quite hard to find a place where she wasn't sensitive.
Though you think she likes it slow too, because Sam tends to interrupt you; she'll tug on your intertwined hands and pull you up so she can cup your cheeks. Her kisses were eager but never bruising, you could feel the hotness of her breath lingering on your lips when the hands tangled in your hair kept you close.
She lay underneath you, with the only light illuminating your bedroom coming from the street lamps outside. You could see the outlines of her features, feel the bare skin of her legs whenever she moved.
You couldn't help bringing a hand up, your thumb tracing her lower lip before you leaned in for another searing kiss.
Sam's nails scratched at your back then, bound to leave a few telltales for the morning. She pulled you into her the closer she could manage, gasping into your mouth when your naked chest pressed to hers.
The rules were her idea, she had been demanding on the no feelings part. She wasn't here to be loved, or cared for, or cherished. It was the one thing she made clear she didn't want.
Yet with every touch of her lips on your body, with every breathy moan that slipped past her defenses, and every time her hands pulled you a little closer — it felt like she was begging you to do just that.
You knew part of her story, mostly from the rumors from before and after the Ghostface attacks on New York. Admittedly, you understood why she wouldn't want to allow people close. Though sometimes her loneliness was almost palpable.
So, you took your time with her. And Sam let you, because she cherished every second of it.
—
The rain had picked up when you gave her the last kiss of the night; the heavy droplets were loud against your windows as they poured down from the sky.
Sam had stolen your shirt. She stood before your window in nothing but her underwear and the faded Bon Jovi shirt you loved, glaring up at the sky as if it would pity her and stop its downpour only for her to get home.
You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, already back in your comfy pajamas. If she happened to stay over, which was quite rare, Sam would be gone in the morning before you woke up. You chewed on your lip, considering what you were about to say. "You know you can stay if you want, wait it out. I don't mind."
Sam glanced at the clock on your bedside table, it read 11:38 PM. She was hesitating; you could see it in the way she pressed her lips tightly together, in the way she bunched up the ends of your shirt in her hands.
Sam got back in your bed silently. She kept a reasonable distance between you two. She didn't look like the same person who had her limbs tangled with yours just a few moments ago.
The air felt electric with tension, with a timidness that shouldn't be there because you knew every curve of her body as if it was your own — yet this felt more intimate than anything else trapped between hot touches and breathless kisses.
You fell asleep first and Sam followed soon after, but not before taking the privileged opportunity to engrave the image of your peaceful features in her mind forever.
—
The red numbers on your clock read 2:59 AM when you woke up.
An unhappy groan escaped you as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. First thing you registered in the darkness of your bedroom was that rain was still pouring heavily outside, though aside from that, nothing seemed out of place, and you wondered what had disturbed your slumber.
Then, you felt movement beside you, and you remembered the visitor who stayed.
Sam was breathing heavily, panicked gasps escaping from her lips. She had a soft frown on her eyebrows and cold sweat collecting on her forehead. The grip she had on the bedsheets was nearly ripping the fabric.
Worry tugged at your heartstrings immediately. You sat up, scooting closer to her so you could lay a careful hand on her shoulder, "Sam," you whispered gently, "Sam, wake up, I think you're having a nightmare." You kept talking yet got no reaction from her.
It was only when your fingertips grazed her cheek, that she jolted awake. A strangled gasp got stuck in her throat when her wide eyes locked on you; she clumsily pushed herself away from you, almost falling off the bed.
"Sam, calm down," you scrambled to turn on the bedside lamp so she could see you more clearly, "it's just me," you spoke softly.
The sight of her broke your heart. You've never seen Sam like this. She was breathing so heavily you feared she might hyperventilate, her lower lip quivering with each intake of air; tears were steadily collecting on the bottom lid of her eyes, still wide as she looked around, checking every dark corner of your room.
It took several beats for her to seemingly recognize you, and when she did, she finally sat up properly; dropping her head on her hands when quiet sobs started shaking her body. It sounded as if she was trying to hold them back, as if she didn't mean for you to see it.
You moved closer then, one of your arms coming around her shoulders. It was uncharted territory, something that wasn't meant to happen.
"Sam," yet you spoke as if you'd loved her for a long time, "it's okay, you're okay." Your lips met the fabric of your shirt on her shoulder and you laid a kiss there, squeezing her body to yours, "you're okay, I'm here for you."
That was enough to break through the rest of the barriers Sam had built around her heart, because she turned to you and hid her face in the crook of your neck. Her arms circled around your waist and her fingers curled around the fabric of your pajama shirt desperately, as if you could slip her grasp any moment.
You brought your other hand to the back of her head, burying your fingers through her hair. She melted into you.
The tears rolling down her cheeks dampened your shirt, but you couldn't find it in yourself to mind; all you cared about was holding her for as long as she needed.
And you wondered just how long it had been since someone was willing to do that for her.
Sam was the one who pulled away first, and she didn't meet your eyes as she did so. She quickly dried off the remaining tears. You could still see the shaking of her hands.
Figuring she could use at least a few moments alone, you got up from the bed and walked to the kitchen. The wooden floor was cold on your bare feet as you waited for the glass to fill with water.
When you came back to your bedroom, Sam's eyes were already following your every move. Though there was a shyness there that was new. She felt bare in front of you, more than she'd ever been before.
You sat back down quietly, extending the glass of water towards her.
Sam took it from you with an unsure tilt of lips. Several beats passed where she just looked at you, there was a mix of sadness, and want, and hesitance in her glinting eyes. "I'm sorry," she eventually mumbled. Her voice was tight, you figured she was one word away from breaking down all over again.
The yellow glow of your bedside lamp highlighted the tear tracks on her cheeks. You knew she wasn't apologizing for tonight. She was apologizing for breaking her own rules.
"Don't be," you told her when you pushed back strands of her dark hair, your touch lingering on her jaw, "because I'm not."
You didn't have much time to prepare for the way Sam reached for the back of your head and pulled you in, her lips colliding with yours as she nearly spilled all the water from the cup she was holding.
When stripes of morning sunlight eventually came in through your window, they highlighted the waves of Sam's hair, the curve of her sleepy smile as she cuddled up to you.
And you kissed her good morning.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.
A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3
Word count: 6,4k (sorry)
Masterlist
There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.
Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.
The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.
When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.
With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.
The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.
Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.
But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.
As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.
But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.
The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.
Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.
Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.
—
Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.
Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?
The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.
She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.
"Miss Addams?"
Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.
A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.
"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"
Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.
The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.
"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."
Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.
You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.
"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.
Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.
Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"
There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."
"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.
The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.
—
When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.
She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.
Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.
Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.
The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.
When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.
Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.
There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.
Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.
—
The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.
The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.
She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.
Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.
"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"
A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.
You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."
See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.
"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.
"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."
No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.
Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.
"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.
You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.
The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.
Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."
—
Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.
Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.
She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.
"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.
Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"
Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.
"And what if they did?"
"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."
Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.
"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.
The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."
"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name in the early 50s, from what I know."
Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"
"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."
—
Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.
Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.
For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.
—
On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.
There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.
Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.
A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.
For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.
The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.
Admittedly, it was bewitching.
The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.
The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?
Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.
Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.
Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.
The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.
—
The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.
A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.
Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.
She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.
Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"
You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."
Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.
Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?
Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?
The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.
"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.
If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.
But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.
—
You weren't sure why you did it.
On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.
You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.
You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.
But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.
You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.
—
It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.
From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.
It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.
You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.
There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.
Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.
"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.
Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.
For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.
"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.
An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"
Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"
Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"
"Why did you hide it-"
"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."
"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."
—
The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.
You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.
Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.
So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.
—
Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.
So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.
When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.
You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.
There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.
She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"
As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."
"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.
You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?
You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.
Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.
You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.
"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."
There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.
"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.
"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.
Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.
It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.
And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.
She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.
Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.
She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"
You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.
"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"
"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."
Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.
"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."
Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.
"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."
The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.
And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.
The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.
"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.
You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."
Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.
Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."
And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.
On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.
—
There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.
Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.
When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.
But she hoped you would.
It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.
"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.
"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.
You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.
You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.
Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.
Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.
Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.
And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.
"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.
Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.
"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.
"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.
Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.
The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.
Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.
She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.
And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Summary: You've been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares haunt you every time you close your eyes, and Wednesday offers a solution in the form of comfort only she is capable of.
Warnings: Soft!Wednesday. Possessive!Wednesday. Intimate. Wednesday ran out of patience. Emotionally charged confessions. Kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3
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Note: I said wednesday is soft for her girl and I will take no arguments about it. The act of kissing in this fic is peak wlw. I'm sleeping on the highway tonight and taking you all with me.
Count: 2.6k
Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.
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Nighttime could be hellish.
It was probably why Wednesday adored it so much.
You loved it too. There was something divine about the nighttime. People feared the dark, but you saw it as an opportunity to rest your weary eyes and bones. The night gave way to being invisible, and there were some days when that was all you could bear to be.
But to Wednesday Addams, who loved the dark, you could never be invisible to her.
It was a blessing and a curse.
To be seen by Wednesday—it was something more than many people could ever hope for.
But to be seen when you wanted to be invisible? It was like being dragged without anything to hold onto.
Nighttime was hellish, and you wanted to disappear into the dark as your nightmares plagued you until you couldn't even tell what was the dream and what was the reality.
But Wednesday Addams saw you.
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You've missed Enid's late-night studying session again. It's the second week in a row that Enid's gotten a text from you two minutes before the session started.
"I guess we can start," Enid told the group with a disappointed smile. "She's not coming today either."
"Fuck," Xavier sighed. "She's the only one who's good at art restoration. I was hoping she'd help me with my assignment."
Wednesday's face scrunched together mildly, and Xavier rolled his eyes. "Except for you, Wednesday. But you hate teaching me and I hate learning from you."
"I can't help it if you're stupid," Wednesday dully replied.
"Not all of us can do it perfectly after being told what to do—told only once might I add," Xavier raised his brow at her.
Wednesday shrugged, which only seemed to irk Xavier more and to prevent them from bickering further, Yoko turned to Enid and asked, "Why isn't she coming?"
Enid shrugged, her lips quirked to the side as they pressed together. "She texted to say she wasn't feeling well and couldn't make it."
"She does seem tired lately," Bianca commented, her expression in deep thought as she recalled the last two weeks when she saw you. "Also, really quiet. Well, quieter than she normally is."
There were murmurs of agreement around while Wednesday sat silently. Of course, she also noticed, but she was waiting for you to say something to her. You always told her whatever was plaguing you, even when Wednesday told you she didn't ask. Wednesday was used to hearing your mundane thoughts or solving your problems.
But there was nothing this time, and Wednesday couldn't figure it out. She tried to think back to see if anything had changed—if something had happened, but there was nothing.
Two weeks of leaving you be was enough, though, Wednesday decided as she packed her things into her bag.
"What! Wednesday, are you leaving too?" Enid groaned. "But I need help with botanical sciences!"
"Ask Bianca," Wednesday didn't even look up.
Enid looked at the siren, who had a deceitful, happy smile.
"I'd be happy to help you, Sinclair. Let's talk The Poe Cup negotiations first."
"Absolutely not!" Enid scoffed before turning back to Wednesday with pleading eyes. "Wednesday..." she whined.
"Ask Xavier," Wednesday didn't budge.
"But all he does is draw in class. There's no way he's doing well."
"I'll have you know I'm getting a C," Xavier looked affronted.
Enid merely stared at the sullen boy for a long moment before she turned back to Wednesday. "I'll just wait for you tomorrow after school."
Xavier was about to say something else when Wednesday briskly nodded, standing up and leaving the group behind without another word.
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It was completely silent on the other side of your door, and from its looks, it was dark as no lights were shining underneath it.
Wednesday knocked in three successions.
There was no answer.
If it were anyone else, they would've believed you weren't there and left, but not Wednesday.
No, she knews you far too well.
This was a place where you could truly be invisible with no roommate.
Wednesday knocked insistently until she heard shuffling, an agitated huff, and footsteps approaching the door.
The door only opened marginally. You looked mildly surprised to see her, but Wednesday supposed you had too little energy to manage anything more.
There were dark circles under your eyes, and they looked puffy and slightly red around the edges from lack of sleep. Your skin was pallor, which suited someone like Wednesday, but she decided it was not on you. Your hair lacked its usual shine, and Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she finished scrutinizing you.
"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly.
"Are you going to just let me stand out here?"
"I'm not in the mood for company, Wednesday," you blinked slowly.
It was new.
You were usually happy for Wednesday's company whenever she stopped by, and you often visited her dorm.
"I have had enough of this," Wednesday glared at you through the gap in the door. "You will let me in."
"And if I don't?" You challenged back, and Wednesday almost wanted to applaud the snippy attitude you've mustered through the tiredness.
"Then I will wait out here and ensure you don't get a. Single. Wink. Of. Sleep." It was a threat that tugged at your nerves. You looked at Wednesday, and for a brief moment, she thought she won before you shut the door in her face.
Disbelief clouded over Wednesday's eyes.
Then, Wednesday began to knock incessantly over and over on your door. Her knuckles knock with a vengeance, and she'll be damned if you think she doesn't take absolute joy in torturing you.
It worked because you open the door wider this time, as you stare at Wednesday with a glare.
"What part of 'I'm not in the mood for company' was unclear, Wednesday?" Your voice was gruff, and Wednesday could tell that you were still trying to not snap at her despite how tired you were.
And that in itself was everything. It was like that all the time.
You were always trying to be considerate of whatever feelings you thought Wednesday might have while gently pushing her to admit which ones she was truly feeling.
Maybe that was why Wednesday could never leave you alone now.
You were a gateway to things Wednesday never wanted, and she genuinely thought you should pay for making her desire things she swore she'd never want.
"Say you don't want my company then," Wednesday said haughtily.
Wednesday knew you wouldn't—couldn't, even. You never would.
Just as you were her exception, she was yours.
You pursed your lip at her, starting to close the door swiftly, and Wednesday stuck her foot partially into your room, preventing you from shutting the door in her face again.
"Wednesday!" You called her name, concerned you might've hurt her when the door hit her foot, but the macabre girl used the opportunity to press her palm flat against your door and pushed it wide open.
She took a step forward menacingly, forcing you to take a step back. She took another step, and you took another one back. When she was inside your room fully, she used the back of her heel to shut your door.
The resounding click of it made you swallow.
"Wednesday," you clenched your jaw, fighting against something you weren't even really sure why. But you were terrified—of her, you don't think, but rather what she was capable of doing to your heart.
"I have been patient," Wednesday's voice is quiet, but her tone is sharp, expressing every bit of her lost tolerance. "I have waited for you silently."
Wednesday kept walking towards you, backing you up until your back bumped into your desk. She looked positively irritated. "I have even refrained from saying a single unkind thing despite them running through my mind at the sight of you moping at whatever has been keeping you up at night."
"How did you know—"
"Do you take me for an idiot?" Wednesday's eyes flashed dangerously at your insinuation. You shook your head.
"Then you must take me for a fool with endless patience," Wednesday glared at you. "I don't take kindly to the kind of games you're playing."
"I'm not playing anything—"
Wednesday cut you off again. "Then explain concisely what has been keeping you up and why you've been keeping it to yourself."
Silence filled the room as you didn't speak, but Wednesday had already waited this long. She could wait a little more.
Wednesday watched how you gripped the edge of your desk, your finger tapping underneath in rapid succession before you closed your arms over her chest.
The stance was defensive, but you looked more reluctant than wary.
"I'm having nightmares about you."
The admittance stunned Wednesday, and she didn't know how to take it. Initially, it felt like a compliment because nightmares were so fascinating and exhilarating to experience, and Wednesday hoped to have nightmares every night she slept based on that logic.
But you were not her.
Nightmares, illogically, were typically not desirable.
"Wednesday, I—" You swallowed. "I have feelings for you. You're the best and worst part of my days because I actually feel clinically insane everytime I see you, spend time with you and then have to face the fact that you're not mine and I'm not yours."
Wednesday's jaw clenched, and it was noticeable. She wanted to open her mouth and demand how you could feel the exact same way she did, but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for you to continue on.
"And I have nightmares about losing you," you confessed. "I have nightmares about losing you to Tyler or another deranged supernatural being. I have nightmares about losing you to Xavier or Enid or somebody like Tyler, minus the whole mass genocide. I have nightmares about losing you in every single imaginable way, only to wake up and realize you're not mine, and you can't lose what you don't have."
"I can't tell if the nightmare is when I'm asleep or when I'm awake." You put your hands to your face, laughing hollowly. Tears well up in the back of your eyes, burning as they were so dry from lack of sleep. "I think I'm going crazy."
Wednesday wanted to tell you that going crazy was supposed to be wonderful. But she, herself, has been experiencing the whirlwind of elation and torment you put her through and believed that going crazy wasn't as wonderful as she thought.
But Wednesday decided then and there that there was no way up from crazy. And while it's unfortunate that she's not the brand of crazy like Uncle Fester, she's been driven mad nonetheless. It's the only thing that could explain all of this and everything that's about to come.
Wednesday grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from her face. No visions plague her, and all she knows is that this meant her decision wouldn't end in misfortune and it wouldn't drive her down a lonely path.
"Enid's not expecting me back tonight," Wednesday told you as she dragged you over to your bed. Her succinct tone leaves no room for you to ask any questions.
"Um, okay?" You said anyway, thrown off by her response and feeling exhaustion saw at your bones, dragging the invisible knife back and forth.
Wednesday guided you to get into bed, and you complied. Resignation settled over you as you rested your head on your pillow. It was cold again with you being away from it, but it brought no comfort.
You lay facing the wall, about to pull the blanket up to your chin, when you heard something drop against the floor. You turned your head and saw that Wednesday had set her backpack down, and now she was zipping off her sweater, hanging it on the pole of your bed frame, leaving her in her black long-sleeve.
Wednesday took her shoes off before using every bit of her vulnerability to steadily and carefully climb into bed with you. It was dark, with only a little light from the moonlight shining just barely into the room, and you could make out the barest hint of her features and knew she was staring intently at you, trying to ascertain if this was a boundary both of you could bear to cross.
Her touch was slow and hesitant, revealing this was something she's never done before, but the moment you were in her arms, you clicked into place like a puzzle piece.
Wednesday was cool against your body, but she was warming from your touch and shared heat trapped under the blanket. She smelt like rain and dry leaves, and you felt like you were going insane. You buried your face into her neck.
Wednesday wrapped her arms around you, holding you close, allowing the things she's been desiring for a while to come to fruition. She couldn't tell if this was making her saner or driving her closer to insanity.
It was deliriously pleasant.
"Who said you're not mine?" Wednesday muttered into the shell of your ear.
It's suddenly not enough, and Wednesday now knew the answer was that it was driving her closer to insanity.
Wednesday pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes that were so tired just moments ago. The dark circles remained, but you were wide awake, speckles of oblivion in your eyes.
Despite how everything else changed as you became sleep deprived, your lips still remained full and soft.
Wednesday moved to close the gap, sighing softly as her lips slanted against yours.
How could she feel like jagged glass, splintered and sharp, while you felt so soft, practically melting around her serrated edges?
Wednesday only pulled back marginally, cupping your jaw and the back of your neck. "Who told you that you don't already have me? I want names."
You couldn't even think straight with how her breath felt on your lips. You pushed forward again, pressing your lips against Wednesday's insistently.
Was it possible for reality to be better than a dream?
Your lips slotted over Wednesday's over and over and over. Wednesday tugged at your bottom lip, smoothing over it with her tongue before it dipped at the edge of your mouth where your tongue met hers.
It was dizzying, something that frequently happened to Wednesday when it was too warm. She usually hated the sensation of it, but, of course, as many things were exceptions when it came to you, this was one of them too.
"Your nightmares are inane."
You couldn't help but laugh against Wednesday's lip.
"I think I am actually insane," you grinned, and you saw a ghost of something similar on Wednesday's lips.
"Sleep," Wednesday ordered you, kissing you chastely initially but ending up biting your bottom lip tenderly. Her hands pull you closer, her lips resting on your forehead. "I'm here, so nothing will plague you."
The softness of Wednesday is unimaginable, and you're nearly skeptical.
"But—"
"No." Wednesday countered bluntly. "I'm telling you that I'm here and yours. You may come to regret it, knowing how...difficult I am. But you're stuck with me. Congratulations," Wednesday tilts her head slightly, brushing against yours, "or condolences."
But you could hear Wednesday's heartbeat, and it was dark, and you were so tired, but you were close enough to hear Wednesday's heartbeat.
Your lips tingle from Wednesday's kisses. You felt your eyelids grow heavy along with your body, and the way Wednesday shifted told you she was satisfied.
Nighttime could be hellish, but Wednesday Addams saw you—she always would. And all she had to do was put her lips over your nightmares.
“Wednesday wrapped her arms around you, holding you close, allowing the things she's been desiring for a while to come to fruition. She couldn't tell if this was making her saner or driving her closer to insanity.”
the exhilaration a crush brings is unmatched and when you finally admit your feelings big oof
Summary: Wednesday is a rigid person. She wears the same type of clothes everyday, eats the same thing every morning, and always wears her hair in braids. You find something exhilrating about undoing all those things—undoing her.
Warnings: the intimacy is real
Library Blog | AO3
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Note: just a little something as I cry over my other wips 🫶 Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 💘
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Wednesday will never be the type of person to say the words, 'I love you,' even if she feels them. They could build in her chest and claw at the back of her throat, but they will never make it past her lips.
The words themselves are incomprehensible. It carries too much and nothing at the same time, and Wednesday may never be ready to release them into the air where she can't monitor them.
Love is flexible, and Wednesday is a very rigid person.
The day starts the same way it always does. She wakes up at exactly 6:15AM, dresses in her monochrome clothing, and braids her hair neatly. After ensuring her bangs are brushed four times, she wakes Enid up before leaving for the cafeteria.
The cafeteria is usually empty at this hour, with many students still sleeping and dreading their day. It's something Wednesday likes to soak in the quiet morning hours. She gets a tray and grabs the same thing she does every morning: a slice of toast with jam, much too sweet, and orange juice that will undoubtedly taste horrid after brushing her teeth.
Wednesday's about to leave when her eye catches a small cup of fruit. It's filled with slices of strawberries and grapes, seemingly the last one, as the other cups are filled with apples and bananas.
Wednesday clenches her jaw, her hands tightening on the tray slightly. She begrudgingly grabs it, places it in the top left corner of her tray, and briskly walks to an empty table. She can already hear the miserable moans of students who are already awake and feels herself relax at it.
As she grabs the little packet of salt and rips it open, someone slumps beside her on her left.
"G'morning," you mumble sleepily as you fight back a yawn and rub your right eyelid delicately.
"You've been up early." Wednesday skips the greeting as she sprinkles the salt on her toast. "Why?"
You smile lazily at her and rest your temple against your hand on the table. You point at the fruit cup on her tray, and Wednesday makes no movement to suggest you can or cannot take it, but you do.
"Because if I'm not, you'll have grabbed the fruit cup for nothing," you tell her as you pop a slice of strawberry in your mouth.
"Are you suggesting that I'm grabbing it for you?" Wednesday's tone is threatening, and her eyes are narrowed at you.
"I would hope you are," you pop a grape into your mouth. "I'll be upset if you're grabbing fruit cups for other people. That's a terrible thing to do to your girlfriend."
The words do something to Wednesday, making her both miserable and filled with pride.
All of this was new to Wednesday, but if she was honest, the beginning of you didn't disrupt her life. Yes, there had been times she was vexed because of you and what you made her feel, but you didn't disrupt her rigidity.
Wednesday had still woken up at the same time, did the same things in the morning, and ate the same foods.
Until recently, it seemed.
Usually, you weren't up until just before the bell rang, often forgoing breakfast for sleep. Then suddenly, you showed up one day, five minutes after Wednesday sat down. You didn't have much of an appetite in the morning, but you looked on in envy at one of the students eating a fruit cup with strawberries and grapes as they typically were the first to be gone.
And Wednesday had watched you stare at the fruit cup.
"You think too highly of yourself," Wednesday's narrowed eyes relaxed. "I'm merely taking it to deprive others—"
You shoved a grape into her mouth, smiling innocently as Wednesday looked murderous.
"You should eat some fruit in the morning, ma diable. It's good for you."
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You've been disruptive lately, and you know it.
It's hard not to push Wednesday's boundaries, knowing she'll let you in it. She may grumble and threaten your life, but she quietly does. She may never tell you she loves you but, quite frankly, this was better.
You had woken up early one day on a whim, and it had nothing to do with disrupting Wednesday and all to do with the fact you simply missed her. And then the next day, when you showed up early again, Wednesday had been waiting for you with a fruit cup. There was no promise you'd be there early again, but Wednesday had done it, and that could only mean that she hoped you would be there.
So, sacrificing some sleep for your murderous girlfriend, who always saved you the best fruit cup, was well worth it.
And now, on a Thursday evening with it pouring outside, you were about to be disruptive again.
You watched as Wednesday typed stoically, her hands never hesitating. She worked methodically, the story endlessly pouring from her mind and her hands working in tandem.
When Wednesday returns the carriage, you see your opportunity.
"Wednesday," you call softly from her bed, grabbing her attention as she looks at you without moving her head.
"What?" Wednesday looks back at her paper.
"It's raining."
"Stellar observation."
You smile at her. "It's raining, so come keep me company."
"We are in each other's company, are we not?"
"Come actively keep me company."
Wednesday furrowed her brows, her lips pursed in displeasure. She turned fully to you, and you knew it could go either way. "You know I write every day for an hour," Wednesday reminded you.
You nodded. "I know, and tomorrow you'll have an hour, and the next day after that, and the next day after that." Sitting up, you look at her more clearly. "But today is the only Thursday evening with thunderous rain and my shifting desire for you to keep me company."
"Are you saying you won't want my company the next time it rains on a Thursday evening?" Wednesday's looked even more displeased and threatening.
"I suppose we'll only know the next rainy Thursday," you nonchalantly retorted.
It was silent as Wednesday debated it; your breath caught in your chest. When she sighed, you smiled wider. Wednesday stood up and walked over to her bed, sitting at the edge rigidly.
"What do you want to do?" Wednesday asked to deflect how weirdly awkward she felt right now. "I've had enough of beating you at scrabble, so not that."
You chuckled without answering as you leaned over towards her, lifting your hand gently to grab her braid and dragging your hand down softly until it reached the end.
"Wednesday, I've never seen you with your hair down," you commented.
Wednesday remained rigid.
"Yes," her voice was stiff. "I only take them out before bed."
You hummed, playing with her braid.
"Wednesday," you called softly again, and Wednesday almost wanted to command you to stop saying her name like that. Except, she can't. She enjoys the way you say it.
"Can I undo your braids?"
The rain thumps against the window roughly, and Wednesday was glad it covered how harshly her own heartbeat was against her chest. It beat with a mission to break her rib cage.
"You can say no," you told her softly.
Wednesday closed her eyes. As much as the word 'no' was in her vocabulary, she nodded once stiffly. You pulled at her, and she let you guide her to sit further on the bed. You sat facing her side as you softly grabbed a braid, gently removing the black elastic at the end.
Wednesday braids her hair so often that it stays in its form without the elastic. But as you start to weave your fingers through the strands of her hair, gently undoing the work she'd done this morning, something starts clawing at the back of her throat.
You looked at Wednesday as her hair fell like water through your fingers. Her eyes were closed with concentration, and every time she swallowed, you could see it.
It was silent as you worked on the second braid, dragging your fingers through her dark hair. When it was in their neat braids, they were contained and distinguished. But undone, they were wild waves and slipped through your fingers unless you endeavored to tame them.
You continued to run your fingers through her hair, even after the braids were undone, watching as the strands slipped from you.
"Your hair is just like silk," you said just seconds before there was a crack of thunder.
Wednesday didn't comment. Her hands were tightly gripped in her lap to the point where her knuckles were white.
You brush her hair over her shoulder, the waves cascading down her back like beads of water. Your hand slid against her jaw as you cupped the back of her neck.
You pulled and pulled at her, and she let you until you were sharing the same air.
"Wednesday," you murmur, your lips brushing against hers. Wednesday visibly swallowed, her eyes opened and intently looked at you, but you're looking at her lips.
You kiss her tenderly, then. It would've been more chaste if Wednesday hadn't insisted on pressing against your lips more firmly and lingered. When you pulled back, your thumb caressed the bottom of her lip.
"Wednesday," you said her name, and Wednesday didn't think you knew how disruptive it also was in the way you said her name. "Your lips are soft just like silk, too."
"I see this has been your agenda all long as of late," Wednesday's voice is quiet as she basks in your scent and cold fingers. You had such terrible circulation, and she's obsessed with it. "You're suave at being disruptive."
Wednesday bit your bottom lip before her tongue smoothed it over.
I recently started working in hospitality, and I’ll tell you guys right now, the trope of “there was only one bed” is not as rare as you’d think in real life. A few times a week, at least, I have guys come in who are working together on projects in town or passing through who have to literally book the last room I have available for the night and lo and behold — there is only one bed, and guess what, they give each other a side-eyed look and begrudgingly take it. So write it up, it happens all the time!!!
Never let your There Was Only One Bed dreams die. I was secretly in love with my best friend for over a year when she graduated and moved to Oklahoma (like 1000 miles away) for grad school. Between that travel restrictions, we were so scared we’d never see eachother again.
At the end of summer, when Covid numbers were at a lower point, I took the risk to visit her in her new apartment and I quickly realized that, unlike when I’d spent the night at her house before, the couch wasn’t made up like a bed. She explained that since her new couch was so fancy and pink, I couldn’t possibly sleep on it, and so I needed to sleep in the bed with her. You know, out of necessity. I woke up with her snuggled around me in the middle of the night.
We’re dating now, and I genuinely think I’m going to marry her. Just the other day, though, I mentioned that if she hadn’t been weird about her fancy couch, I probably never would have like confessed my feelings. AND THEN she stood up, took the cushions off the fancy couch, UNFOLDED IT INTO A HIDE-A-BED, and said “I KNOW.”
THIS GIRL. ORCHESTRATED. BED SCARCITY. JUST SO SHE COULD MAKE THE “ONLY ONE BED” EXCUSE. Y’all when I said I just about lost my goddamn mind, I just about lost my goddamn mind. I love this sneaky bitch so much and the moral of this story is BE THE ONE BED YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD.
I love the trope, because it’s literally how my husband and I started dating. We’d been best friends for years, had to sleep in an “only one bed” situation, and… well, we had our thirteenth wedding anniversary last spring.
Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.
A/N: This chapter is a little smaller than the rest, but I feel like this scene should be its own chapter, otherwise, it won't have the effect I want it to have; let me know what you thought too. Sadly, we're nearing the end :') but I already have other projects in mind. <3
Masterlist | Read ch 7 here
There was no hurry to your steps as you walked up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, fidgeting with two bottles of nail polish in your hand. Anxiety was eating at your insides the closer you got to her dorm.
Ever since last night's dance, she hasn't left your mind not even once.
You dreamt about the words she'd told you. If she knew that, she'd probably make one of those adorable faces and call you pathetic.
But could she blame you? She had been the romantic one after all.
Standing in front of the tall, wooden door, you took a deep breath in and knocked.
It took fourteen seconds for the door to open. Not that you were counting.
Wednesday stood on the other side and you could see her eyes widening the slightest bit when they met yours, but other than that, she stood as impassive as ever.
You awkwardly cleared your throat, "Enid left these in my room last night after the Rave'n," you raised the hand that held both bottles of nail polish, "I just came to give them back."
Wednesday's hold on the doorknob tightened. She blinked a couple of times, extending a hand for you.
Your gaze moved from her eyes, to her hand, and back, before gently laying both bottles on her palm. Your fingertips grazed her skin and you hated this limbo you found yourself in. Unsure of where your relationship stands.
Wednesday, on the other hand, was waging war against her own desires. Her mind was telling her to stay quiet and just let you leave; her heart was having other ideas.
Last night after your dance together, she parted ways with you with nothing but a goodnight and a squeeze of your hand in hers. You didn't tell her if you two were okay, if you still feel something for her, or if you forgave her at all. And this doubt has been pestering her the entire day.
Now, you came to her. It was an opportunity for her to be with you, alone at last; but the time to decide was running out, because you were looking at her with a goodbye ready to leave your lips.
"You may stay if you'd like," Wednesday found herself saying before she could think it through, "wait for Enid."
There was no real reason for you to wait for Enid, but you knew this had nothing to do with her anyway. You stifled a smile, glancing down at your feet. "Alright."
You walked in and Wednesday closed the door behind you. It was suddenly so intimate that you could suffocate. There was only you and her in the room, the electricity in the air was almost palpable.
The moon shines against the half-colorful round window, you could see a strange shape of something standing outside on the balcony.
Wednesday hovers awkwardly beside you, unsure of which step to take when her heart is trying to leap into your hands. "I was about to play a little," she gestures to her cello outside, quiet voice burning with an unusual rawness.
So that's what it is. You glanced outside and back to her. Wednesday is wearing an oversized hoodie, the sleeves will cover her hands if she's not careful; her braids look looser, messier; her cheeks are getting pinkier by the second; her pupils are so big her eyes seem almost entirely black. She looked vulnerable. Not bad vulnerable. Just vulnerable. Relaxed.
You feel privileged.
"If you'd like to listen," Wednesday tries to sound nonchalant but her voice betrays her. She wanted you to listen, to stay.
And now you really want to kiss her. You smile, it hurts your cheeks because of how big it is, "It would be my honor."
Listening to Wednesday play her cello up close is infinitely better than listening to it from all the way down on the quad; she's magnificent, it's like she doesn't even have to think about what note comes next, it just happens naturally. You're enraptured by the way she moves her hands, arms, fingers; by how her head sometimes follows the melody too. She's glowing under the moonlight; ethereal.
If you weren't screwed before, you sure are now — you try to think of a word to describe what you feel for her, but none seems to make it justice.
The song Wednesday chose tonight is not one she'd usually play, it's calmer, tender, gentle on the ears yet still impactful. Each time her fingers press over the cords she feels her stomach flutter. She can feel the way your eyes haven't left her once. She has your undivided attention, and she never cared this much about having someone's attention until now.
Wednesday glanced up at you and she almost stumbled on her rhythm. You're just sitting there, on the balcony's rails, your feet swinging back and forth, moonlight shaping your curves; you're looking at her as if she's a masterpiece, worthy of being in a renowned gallery for everyone to admire; you're looking at her as if she's everything your dreams ever dared conjure up. And no one has ever looked at Wednesday like that.
She doesn't know how to feel, all she knows is that her chest aches for you. She's drowning in the possibility of you and her, of making this a reality.
Part of her wants to play a song for every scar she's ever left in your soul, until it's all mended back together.
It's terrifying what you can do to her. What she would do for you.
The song comes to its end and Wednesday almost doesn't register it. She slowly lifts her fingers from the cords, feeling the familiar burn on the fingertips.
"That was beautiful," you told her, your sentiment escaping you, "thank you for letting me see."
Wednesday nodded, gently putting aside her cello. She sits in silence for a beat. It's a little awkward, moments like these are out of her comfort zone.
"You're gonna fall down if you're not careful."
Of course that's what she says. But it made you giggle.
You looked behind you and way down to the ground with a smile — and it's far, far down. "It'd be quite the tragedy, wouldn't it?" You turned back to her, an eyebrow raised in teasing.
There's something unique about you, Wednesday decides. Maybe that's why the universe entangled your souls.
She wondered if she'd feel it if you died. If a part of her would die with you.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up with the thought and Wednesday shook it off.
"Have you given any thought to…" She clenched her jaw, her eyes focusing on your feet as she got up from her chair, "to what we spoke about yesterday?"
You make me feel a way I never did before.
I don't want it to stop.
I want to make it up to you, if you'd let me.
Just by remembering her words, your heart is already swelling inside your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, "I did."
Wednesday's gaze snapped to yours instantly, she's expecting you to elaborate, to free her of her misery; yet, hardly daring to breathe, you torture her a little longer.
You extended a hand for her to take, watching the way her throat worked through a gulp before she carefully took it. You closed your fingers around hers and pulled her to you, until her petite body was trapped between your knees.
Stars were dancing in Wednesday's eyes, big as she looks at you all delicate, lashes kissing the corner of her cheeks when she blinks. You interlock your fingers together, and it's only then that her other hand comes to rest on your thigh.
You're killing her slowly, all too sweet with her demise. Wednesday captured the way your tongue brushed over your bottom lip, taunting her. Her breathing lands on your lips; just a tad closer and-
Something white fell on your nose, and then on your eyelashes, making you blink. You looked up at the sky with a soft frown, subconsciously squeezing the hand of a frustrated Addams.
Tiny snowflakes were falling, slow and steady, being carried by the cold breeze until they landed on your clothes and on Wednesday's raven-black hair.
"It's the first snowfall of the year," you whispered, lips curling up in amazement.
Selfishly, Wednesday wanted to have her otherwise useless phone with her, because the snowflakes that fall around you are creating yet another image that she indulges to call beautiful. Though she still had something she wanted to do first — it was probably long overdue anyway;
With impatience, Wednesday let go of your hand. It caused your attention to shift back to her, and you shivered when you felt her other hand sneaking under your shirt, raising goosebumps on the skin of your hip.
Your lips part but you can't breathe. It's a long drop down from your place sitting on the rails — Wednesday takes hold of your shirt, bunching it up on her fist and tugging you closer — you know she'd never let you fall.
A brush of lips, and your soul finds home with hers; it's like you can feel them entangling more than they already were. It's dangerous, it's bliss, it's a road with no way back.
It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time. Wednesday pressed her lips more firmly onto yours; her hand, tentative and shy, was tracing the skin of your waist and pulling your body to her; her nose bumping your cheek because no amount of closeness seemed enough.
She pulled back without opening her eyes, only long enough to gasp for air before capturing your lower lip between hers again; she's soft on you, tugging at your heartstrings and changing its rhythm.
You couldn't help the way your hands came up to Wednesday's jaw, burying into her hair and making a mess, as if this was your first and last kiss. She's surprisingly warm, intoxicating; she could be the death of you if she wanted to.
And you'd gladly accept that fate.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Curious for ch 9?
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Summary: The premiere is here! Reader goes shopping, gets all dressed up and rubs elbows with Hollywood
Word Count: 4.6K
A/N: This one is loooong! Send me your ideas, let me know what you want to see, give me fuel! Also judge me for using Italics too often.
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V
It’s 5 AM on a Friday and your phone buzzing next to your head tears you out of the very, very sweet dream you were having. It involved a dark set of eyes, full lips, and roaming hands. To say you were upset to be awake was an understatement.
Ironically, it’s Jenna calling you. You decide you can’t be that upset, even if real Jenna just stole you from dream Jenna’s make-out session.
You answer the phone, putting it on speaker. “Hello?” You croak, your voice thick from sleep.
“Are you sleeping?”
“Jenna, it’s 5 AM and I’m a writer.” You rub your half open eyes with your knuckles, “I’m sleeping.”
You lay your head back down without hanging up, almost drifting back to sleep.
“Well I’ll be over in 15 to pick you up, so get out of bed.”
You groan, “No. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming. Or maybe snoring.” You don’t even bother to open your eyes.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Come on, we have lots to do today!”
She’s far too peppy for such an ungodly hour. You’re not dealing with it right now. You want to go back to kissing her in your dream. You don’t want to be dragged around Rodeo drive to go shopping. That sounded like a nightmare. You grumble something at the phone and hang up, hoping she gives up on you. You fall back to sleep splayed out on your stomach, your arms over your head.
You don’t get the chance to fall deep enough into sleep to start dreaming again. There’s a shift on the side of the bed, and insistent hands shaking your shoulder.
“Good god you sleep like the dead. Get UP.”
You whine, rolling over and throwing your arm over your eyes.
“Ten more minutes mom, I’m so tired.”
Soft laughter filters through your sleep muddled brain and you peek out from under your arm. Jenna is sitting on your bedside, the light from the window behind her creating a halo effect over her head. It’s fitting, you think.
“You look like an angel.” You mumble, and let your arm slide back over your face.
You’re too tired to be appalled at what you’d just said, honesty seeping out of you involuntarily.
“And you look like hell. Seriously, I’ve never seen someone sleep so hard.”
You flop your arm off your eyes and into the mattress. You glare at her sleepily. “How did you get in?”
“Door was unlocked.”
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
The beers from the night before were creeping in on you. Your mouth was dry and your head ached. You groan again. Why had you let your friends convince you it’d be a good idea to drink on a Thursday night? You knew you had to meet Jenna and her stylist this morning. But the sweet call of cold IPAs and the congratulations from your friend group fooled you into thinking you could recover like you were 21 again.
“I think I’m dying.” You tell Jenna, hoping for sympathy.
She pats your stomach, making you feel like you might actually die right then and there.
“Come on champ, I’ll make you coffee. Get up.”
You sit up on your elbows, your hair sticking up every which way. “Careful, she’s a spitter.”
Jenna cringed at your joke, “First of all, ew. Second, I learned my lesson the first time. Get up, or I’ll tell Enrique you want to wear my pink Valentino to the premiere tomorrow.”
“Oh god I might be sick.” You roll over to the other side of your bed, swinging your legs to the floor. You drop your head into your hands, trying to steady yourself.
“Hey! It’s not that bad. You’d look great in pink.”
You groan into your hands. “Okay, I’m up. I’m up.” You stand and stumble to the bathroom door. “Need. To. Shower.”
Jenna gets up and rounds the bed toward your door, laughing at you and shaking her head. “Make it snappy, we have a date with designer this morning!”
Once she’s out of the room you trudge into your bathroom, turning the shower on as cold as it will go. You strip off your t-shirt and boxers and climb in, the icy water making you gasp and shocking you awake. You stand under the stream for a while, letting the water run over your head while you lean against the wall. You wince as memories from last night resurfaced in your mind.
You went on and on about Jenna. Your friends were happy to listen, and would undoubtedly tease you until the end of time about it. Other than that embarrassing bit, the night was a good time. It felt good to be with your circle of friends who know you best. It was good for you to vent some of the feelings you kept shoving into the filing cabinets of your brain. You just wished you’d had one less beer, or maybe stood your ground on not taking the fireball shots.
But you did drink that beer, and you caved to peer pressure with the shots, so now here you are, suffering for your weakness. You take a deep breath, making the conscious decision to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You had a full day with Jenna ahead of you. The thought alone made you feel better already.
You had ruminated on your night out at the farmhouse, replayed it over and over in your head. You’d come to the conclusion that the tension was built up in your head, stemming from the jealousy you had felt earlier that day and clouded by your own feelings. Your friends strongly disagreed with you, but they didn’t know Jenna. She was friendly and empathetic to everyone around her, including you.
“Are you done yet, let’s go!”
Jenna’s voice from your bathroom door scared you senseless. You yelped and slipped around the shower, covering yourself even though the curtain was closed.
“I am EXPOSED here woman!” You shout back at her over her laughter from the doorway.
“Well get dressed, your coffee is in the kitchen. We’ll get you some breakfast on the way.”
You peek your head out of the curtain to glare at her. “You think you can tempt me with coffee and baked goods?” You pause, staring her down. “You’re right you can, temptress. Now get out so I can clothe myself.”
“Temptress? What is this, the dark ages?”
“Out temptress woman!”
“I’m out, I’m gone, hurry up!” Jenna’s voice trailed away as she left your bedroom.
You get out of the freezing water and dry off, goosebumps covering your skin. After brushing your teeth, you shake out your hair, spray some sea salt conditioner in it and call it good enough. You pull on underwear and a bra, and hesitate at your closet.
“Hey Jenna?” You yell.
“Just wear whatever you want y/n, you’ll be coming out of it soon anyway!” She yells from your living room.
You grit your teeth, half at the fact that again, she’s predicted you. The other half is stopping the lousy joke from coming out of your mouth. Luckily, you don’t have to make it because Jenna has predicted that too.
“You know that’s not what I mean I don’t even want to hear what’s going through your head!”
You decide playing the victim is your safest route. “I didn’t even say anything!” You yell back, sliding on a short sleeve, weaved cotton button-up and black linen pants.
“You didn’t have to, I know you were thinking it.”
You roll your eyes and mock her to yourself, not brave enough to do it out loud. You hop on one foot down your hallway as you pull on your Vans, holding the wall with one hand. You must look at least halfway presentable because Jenna raises her eyebrows in an approving look when she sees you.
“You clean up nice.” She says, still appraising you.
“Coffee?” Is all you can respond.
“In the kitchen. Take it to go, we’re meeting Enrique in like 30 minutes.”
“Uuuughgh Rodeo is like ten minutes away why are we leaving so early?”
The stare Jenna levels you with shuts you right up. You’re on her schedule now, and you will close your mouth and follow orders. You know how to do that very well. Shut up and color is the motto of the military. The people giving you commands weren’t so pretty back then, though. Jenna had poured your coffee into a travel mug and left it on the counter for you. You try hard not to overthink the gesture.
You hold the cup up to her, “Thank you.”
“Anything to get you moving.” She says, brushing it off.
You follow her like a puppy out your door and down the stairs to her car. You don’t say anything when she has to remind you to lock your door when you step outside. Another file for the feelings cabinet. Shut up and color.
You convince her to go through the drive through of a donut shop and inhale two maple bars on your way to the shopping center. Your coffee is long gone minutes into the drive, and you actually feel like a normal human again, your hangover thwarted.
Jenna parks her car on the street, Bentleys, Ferraris, Mercedes and BMWs accompany her Volvo. You feel out of place and small. Being around super wealthy people always made you feel that way. You’d never seen real money before, growing up lower middle class in central California and being blue-collar military for most of your life. It was easy to forget Jenna belonged there until you saw her there. Then she looked as if she couldn’t belong anywhere else.
She sensed your discomfort and took your arm, smiling up at you. “Come on James Dean, let’s get you a pair of nice heels.”
You drag your feet a little, making her misstep on purpose, “In your dreams Ms. Ortega.”
“Okay you keep that up and I’ll see to it that Enrique makes you a meat dress like Lady Gaga.”
You gasp in mock horror, “You wouldn’t! The cruelty!”
You can feel your anxiety washing away, and you realize she’s distracted you on purpose. It makes your insides feel gooey and warm. This was not going to be an easy day. Jenna was already making sure of that.
Enrique greets the two of you in front of a tailor, all smiles and giggles as he hugs Jenna, kissing both of her cheeks. He introduces himself to you and you’re immediately comfortable with him. You can see why Jenna has stuck with him all this time. They bring you through the kind of boutiques that offer you whiskey or champagne upon entering, but the thought makes your stomach clench.
Enrique finds the perfect suit, black on white, and pulls you into the fitting room. Once you have it on, he speaks to the tailor taking your measurements, ensuring they get it exactly right. The suit gets pinned and you go to take it off, but he stops you.
“You have to show her.”
“Show who?” You frown, confused.
He tuts at you, “Jenna dummy. Work your magic hombre, quench her thirst.”
You feel as if this man is one of your best friends already, his calling you a dummy endearing him to you even more. Even if he’s making you blush.
“Why would she care?”
He stares blankly at you, “She said you were out there, but I didn’t think you were dumb.”
“Wait, she said I was out there?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Like what?”
“Girl talk is sacred. I would never tell.” He says, shaking his head at you.
“But you just-“
He puts his hands on your shoulders, not letting you finish and steering you out of the fitting room. Jenna is sitting in a chair, waiting for the two of you to come out. Her eyes widen when she sees you, her mouth dropping open. You’re suddenly feeling timid under her gaze, an uncharacteristic feeling for you. It’s unfamiliar, and you’re not sure how to act.
“Told you.” Enrique whispers from the side of his mouth so only you can hear.
You roll your eyes and shrug your shoulders.
“Good yeah?” You ask her.
She blinks quickly, “You look amazing.”
You reach up to grab the back of your neck and look down, scuffing your shoe. “Thanks.”
Enrique looks over to the tailor, “We’ll take it!”
Finding Jenna’s dress takes much, much longer. She’s particular and will settle for nothing less than perfect. Enrique happily keeps dressing her, never seeming to run out of steam. The three of you take a lunch break and get right back to it. You’re just being tagged along at this point, your input not needed or even really valuable. If she were going to a punk show or a dive bar, you’d be her girl. But a movie premiere in designer? Millions of leagues out of your league. You just smile and support, oohing and aaahing on cue.
When she finally does find the one, she refuses to show you, telling you you’ll see it tomorrow on the red carpet. You protest, telling her it’s unfair she’s already seen yours. She does not give in to your attempted guilt trip.
When she takes you home, she doesn’t stay, to your disappointment. But she needs her beauty sleep, and you need a chill pill. You’d see her tomorrow. When you get inside and flop onto your couch, you open your phone for the first time in hours. You had an unread message from Olivia. She was asking if you were still on for tomorrow. You’d asked her to come with you to the premiere a few days prior, and she’d happily accepted. You made it clear it was just an ask as a friend, and she was more than okay with that.
You hadn’t told Jenna about your plus one, though, and couldn’t justify why. She’d find out tomorrow when you both rolled out onto the red carpet. The thought made your nerves feel frayed, and again you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. You liked Olivia, she was easy to be around, plus it helped with movie advertisement. Two birds, one premiere. You texted her back to let her know you’d pick her up at six.
Your sleep was restless that night. Anxiety about the premiere filled your mind, making it impossible to feel well rested. The next morning you were up far too early, with too many hours ahead of you. You stress cleaned your entire apartment. Tried and failed to write. Watched a movie but kept glancing at your phone, but what you were hoping for, you weren’t quite sure. ( A text from Jenna, be real with yourself y/n). You got ready early and spent more time than necessary on taming your hair. You sighed and checked your phone. It was only four. You decided to text Olivia, to see if she was freaking out too.
Y/n
You anxious enough to die too?
Olivia
Nah cool as a cucumber my friend
Y/n
You’re a bad person
Olivia
To the bone! Wanna pregame and take the edge off?
Thirty minutes later, you’re sitting at Olivia’s kitchen counter, your head in your hands. She slides a gin and tonic over to you and leans on the counter across from you.
“So you’re freaking the fuck out.”
“I’m trying very hard not to.” You say, gulping down the drink.
She takes the glass and refills it, sliding it back to you.
“Do these nerves have to do with the premiere or a certain brunette?”
You squint at her over your glass, sipping it this time. “Am I that transparent?”
“Oh like fucking Saran Wrap dude.”
“Fuuuuuuck.” You sip the drink again.
“Hey, I don’t blame you. I’d be flipping out if she looked at me like that too.” She says, picking up her glass to drink.
You frown, “Look at me like what?”
“Oh boy.” She says and gulps her drink.
Irritation blooms in your chest, “What?!” There’s no reason for you to be so volatile, and it makes you even more irritated.
She sighs and shakes her head, unphased by your mood “You seriously can’t see it? She looks at you like the sun shines out your ass. It’s almost too much to bear.”
You shake your head, “She looks at everyone like that.”
Olivia raises her eyebrows at you and sips her drink again. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
“Mhm,” you say back, the drink settling in your stomach and calming you a bit.
She’s looking at you like she feels sorry for you. The filing cabinet in your brain is bursting with all your repressed emotions. You take a drink and shrug at her.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh I don’t know, sweep her off her feet and kiss her? Tell her you’re a fool and you’re crazy about her?”
“I don’t know about all of that.” You’re being stubborn again, you know it.
“Okay Casanova. I believe in you.” She laughs.
“That makes one of us.” You grumble.
——
The Uber drops the two of you off right at the mouth of the red carpet. Your show time was early, not many photographers were out yet, since the smaller names showed up first. They would be there when Jenna arrived, yelling her name and snapping her picture. You and Olivia take a few pictures, smiling arm in arm with the branded backdrop behind you. A reporter asks you who you’re wearing and you tell them. You name drop Enrique and they go nuts. They want to ask you questions about Jenna, but you skirt around them, not wanting to violate her privacy. They ask you about Secessus, and you’re shocked they already know about it. You give them a little detail about your writing process and a tidbit about the story, but you mostly keep it under wraps. The studio wants you to build excitement, not spoil the movie.
A while later, you’re lingering around the entryway, laughing and joking with a few other writers and actors there with Olivia at your side. She’s charming and funny, and you’re both having a great time. Then the shouting starts. Flashes of light fill the dark sky, cameras going off like mortars around you. The stars have arrived. A few cars pull up with celebrities getting out and doing their red carpet waltz, smiling and waving and posing. And then the one you’d been waiting for steps out on the arm of her incredibly handsome date.
She looks amazing. Beyond words. She’s in an earthy toned pinkish brown dress, her neck dripping in diamonds. You can see her skin between the delicate wrap around her body, and you may or may not be drooling. Olivia laughs at you and uses her finger to press under your jaw, closing it as it hung open. You blush and glance at her, seeing her grin at you.
“There’s your girl Casanova.” She says, slapping your back.
You can’t even come up with a witty response. You’re rooted to your spot, staring in awe. You’re taken back to the months before you knew her. When she was a celebrity you’d fawned over, before you knew what she’d looked like when she was anxious, or covered in coffee, or sitting in your passenger seat. Right now, she looked every bit like the star.
You tamp down the jealousy that rears up inside of you when her date wraps his arm around her waist. You know it’s just for show. But still, it makes your skin crawl. When they’re done with their photo op they head toward the entrance, toward you. Jenna catches sight of you and smiles, but it falters when she sees Olivia at your side. The smallest frown is on her face for a split second before she averts her eyes and smiles up at her date. They walk right past you, nodding courteously, but Jenna doesn’t say a word to you. You feel like you’ve just taken a spear to the gut.
“Oof, tough break buddy.” Olivia says, patting your back.
You shrug at her, “She’s a star. She doesn’t have time for us tonight.”
“Uh huh.” She says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s go find our seats lover boy.”
The movie is good, great even, but you can’t focus. All you can see is Jenna toward the front row, laughing and smiling and eating popcorn, piece by piece. When it’s over, the crowd moves from the theater into a large open room for the after-party. Olivia has disappeared into the crowd, wanting to mingle with other actors. You head to the bar and lean up against it taking in the absurdity that you’re even here.
Platters with champagne glasses pass by, and you wonder how they keep them from toppling over. One passes close enough to you, so you grab two glasses, thanking the waiter. You feel pretty good about being in the room with all the famous faces. It may be the alcohol, or you may actually feel like you deserve to be there. The only thing keeping you from having a great time is the nagging thought at the back of your mind that Jenna was upset with you. You didn’t have the slightest clue as to why, but you had this feeling.
You’d been searching for her casually as you took the room in, but she was nowhere to be found. You figure she’s probably caught up somewhere socializing with people that were more her caliber. You sip at your champagne and engage in friendly conversation with the people who approach you. They all seem to know who you are, A24 had done an excellent job at getting the word out about Secessus. People were talking, and they were excited about it.
You’d finished both of your drinks and set about finding a bathroom. It wasn’t easy in a venue that big, but you found a winding hallway that led you to it eventually. It was blissfully quiet, the noise from the other room muted. You wash your hands and head back out, stopping in your tracks when you see Jenna making her way down the hall.
“Hey yooo-“ you start, but she breezes right past you into the bathroom.
“Okay,” you say, “rude.”
You decide to wait for her to come out, leaning back against the wall. Whatever this was, it needed to be settled, or you’d probably never sleep again. She was definitely upset with you, that much was clear. A few minutes later, she comes out, and you catch her arm as she tries to pass you again.
“We just not speaking now?” You ask her sharply. Your feelings are hurt, and you’re confused.
She frowns at you, her expression softening just slightly. “Where’s your date?” She asks.
You don’t drop her arm for fear she will walk away from you again. “Where’s yours?” You bite back and immediately feel bad about it.
Her face is stoic, but her eyes are telling you everything you need to know. She’s unsure about how to respond to you, fighting a battle in her head that you can’t see. She sighs and pulls you around the corner. You lean back into the wall, and she stands in front of you, spinning her diamond rings.
“I’m sorry. For ignoring you.”
“Aha, so you were ignoring me. Here I was worried you’d finally figured out you’re too good for me.”
Her nostrils flare as she fights from smiling at you. She’s losing the battle. “I wish you would have told me you were bringing Olivia.”
“Why?” You ask, shrugging.
“I don’t know, I guess I thought we were close enough that you’d tell me stuff like that by now. It’s great, I’m happy for you.” She sounds hurt, and her voice tells you she is not happy for you. She’s disappointed.
Realization is dawning on you rapidly. You feel like a total idiot. Your friends were right. Enrique was right. Olivia was right. You’re a dumbass.
“Woah woah woah, wait, we’re not together.”
Relief floods Jenna’s face immediately, though she tries valiantly to hide it. “You’re not?”
You laugh, “No. We’re friends. I figured it would be good for the movie for us to come together.”
A soft “oh” falls from her lips. Her expression is a mixed one, pulling back and forth between relief and embarrassment.
You stare at each other, trying to make sense of everything. Voices ricochet down the hall, approaching the bathroom. You hear a man and a woman talking to each other, heading your way.
“Probably around here somewhere,” you hear, recognizing Olivia’s voice.
Jenna’s spine stiffens at the sound. You reach out and run your hand down her arm, trying to soothe her. She lets you take her hand, and you’re willing yours not to get sweaty. Olivia and Jenna’s date round the corner, stopping quickly when they see the two of you. This would be awkward, if it weren’t already known your dates were for show.
Olivia flashes Jenna a wide smile, “Hey Jenna, I wanted to ask if you mind if I steal your date? He says he’s single.”
The man next to her gives you a goofy grin, he’s adorable, you can’t help but think. Jenna’s body relaxes, and she gives them a genuine smile. It makes you feel weak in the knees.
“You can have the mongrel. Just be gentle with him, he’s sweet.” She tells them.
Olivia laughs and wraps her arm around his waist, eyeing you. She’s silently willing you to make your move.
Just before she turns away she says, “Later Casanova, remember our talk!” And the two disappear back down the hall.
Jenna turns back to you, raising an eyebrow at you. “Casanova?”
“Long story, very boring.” You rush to say.
She smiles, “What was that talk about?”
You frantically try to come up with a lie, a story to tell her. You’re a writer for god's sake, you should be able to weave a web of intricate half-truths on the spot. But nothing comes to you. She squeezes your hand.
“You.” You finally mumble, giving in to honesty being the best policy.
Jenna’s eyes light up, and you know she’s going to give you hell. “What was that? I have terrible hearing. Have I ever told you that?”
“Probably from listening to nothing in your headphones all the time.”
“You’re an idiot.” She replies, laughing softly.
Jenna steps in closer to you, looking up into your eyes. She glances down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. It’s textbook. Your heart races. You feel your breathing grow heavy as she leans closer to you.
You are, without a doubt, Icarus in this scenario. Your wax wings melt in the sun that is Jenna, and you fall hard. You don’t even have it in you to try to save yourself. It’s a sweet death to die for love.
Her lips are soft. Softer than you dreamed. She kisses you hesitantly as if she’s waiting for you to pull away. But you know you’d rather run into speeding traffic than stop kissing her at this point. Your hands find her waist and you pull her into your body, kissing her back. It’s gentle and sweet and innocent, neither of you bold enough to make it anything more than it is right now.
Her hands loop around your neck, and she’s pulling you into her, her lips moving against yours. You keep your hands on her waist, not wanting to push her too far too fast. It feels like seconds and hours all at once before she leans back, breaking your lips apart. She’s staring up at you through her lashes and you’ve never felt so light in your life. You wonder if maybe you’ve died and this is your version of what comes after. Either way, you’re not complaining.
Summary- Talking about your feelings for your superior in the locker room may not be the best idea. Especially when she’s not as far as you think she is.
Word count- 728
Warnings- Natasha flustering R. That’s ab it.
ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ
“I think I’m in love.” You say half jokingly, in reference to the spy who’s training session you’d just walked away from. “I mean did you see the way she took us all down without even breaking a sweat. Hot.”
Your friend, Rose, another new recruit for the avengers, laughs at your antics. Thinking you're just being silly. Because of course you’d think that way of your superior. “Sure, y/n/n.”
“Ugh no, you don’t understand.” You sigh exasperatedly. “I would do anything for Natasha Romanoff. Well- almost anything.”
Rose continues to laugh, her eyes crinkling at the sides as she bends over in an effort to catch her breath. “Of course you’d have a thing for Romanoff.” She continues to laugh, making light hearted jokes about you and your inappropriate feelings for your teacher. Until something behind you catches her attention. You watch as her eyes shift slightly to the left of you as she stands up straight, stopping her laughter completely.
“Leave.” A voice comes from behind you, making you freeze in place. You know that voice. It lingers in your mind throughout your days and haunts your dreams. God her voice.
Rose shoots you an apologetic look. Wordlessly nodding her head in understanding and exiting the room. No doubt going to her room to binge watch the hunger games.
Heat rises onto your cheeks as you realize she must have overheard your conversation with your friend. Too embarrassed to turn and face the other woman, you keep your eyes locked on the showers ahead of you. Listening as her steps get closer until you can feel her standing not even half a step away.
Natasha waits for you to look at her, to turn and acknowledge her presence. But patience has never been her strong suit, and she wants to see you. Reaching out her left hand she places it on your waist, using her grip there to turn you to face her. The contact along with the movement causes your breath to catch in your chest, a noise that didn’t go unnoticed by the spy.
“My eyes are up here y/n.” She says smugly, noting your hesitation to meet her gaze. Slowly, you move your line of sight from the arrow necklace around her neck to her eyes. Your gaze catching briefly on her lips.
Natasha’s eyes are dark when you look into them. With anger from what she overheard or something else, you can’t tell. Though you really hope she’s not angry with you. Having your new boss not like you sucks enough. But when you factor in the fact that your new boss is an avenger and part of her job is to train you, training that requires hand to hand combat, your life would be hell.
“I’m sorry, Agent Romanoff. I meant no disrespect.”
Natasha only hums in response to you, amusement in her eyes at the way you've just addressed her. “Why almost anything?” Natasha asks, catching you off guard. She moves closer to you, so you're only a breath away from each other. Instinctively you move to take a step back, but the tightening of Natasha’s hand on your waist keeps you in place.
“What?” You ask, confusion clear in your words.
Amusement flashes through Natasha’s eyes. Her signature smirk curls onto her lips as she asks again. “Why would you do almost anything for me.” She mumbles, moving closer to you so that her next words are spoken against the skin of your cheek, her lips brushing against you. “What wouldn’t you do for me? What lines wouldn’t you cross? What do you deem as too far to go in order to have me?”
Your throat goes dry. Natasha steps closer to you, so that now you can feel her body against your own. This can’t be happening, you must be dreaming. “Or should I ask what would you do for me y/n?”
“Anything.” You answer dumbly, your mind fumbling desperately for the words. “I would do anything for you.”
“Anything?” She asks. You can feel her smile against your skin. Her hot breath fanning against you makes you shiver. You nod, not trusting your voice, closing your eyes to focus on the drag of her lips against your skin.
Slowly, she moves her lips across your face, up your cheek and across to your ear. “Good.” She whispers, before stepping away from you completely.
She smiles at you then turns to leave the room, walking out without even glancing back at you. She’s just left you a blushing mess in the locker room. She’s amazing and frustrating and so so hot. She’s your superior. And now she knows you have a thing for her.
She’s going to have fun using that to her advantage.
ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ
A/n- I don’t usually write stuff like this, just wanted to give it a try. Lmk what you think
Summary: How is Wanda supposed to turn you down when you stop showing up?
Something is off, Wanda notices far too quickly. She tells herself it’s because Clint taught her to be perceptive and it has nothing to do with you personally.
Clint taught her about looking for patterns and knowing when something isn’t right. There is nothing wrong about Wanda not seeing you first thing in the morning in the kitchen handing her a mug of freshly brewed coffee prepared the way she likes it, but it’s definitely a break in your pattern.
2087
stormborns
yousharknotpass
