Not Normal People
pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader
summary: Wednesday’s carefully curated gifts expose a hidden fascination, forcing two outcasts to confront an unexpected connection neither anticipated.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: dark academia, supernatural, wednesday addams x reader, female reader, werewolf reader, vampire reader, werewolf-vampire hybrid, secret admirer, mutual pining, mutual attraction, crushes, slow burn, romantic tension, first kiss, getting together, emotional vulnerability, macabre romance, gothic romance, outcasts, unlikely connection, opposites attract, gift giving, taxidermy, nightshade, fluff, soft wednesday addams, queer romance, happy ending
a/n: i’m dipping back into the world of jenna ortega, i got an ask about it but never posted it so im so sorry im very forgetful. but this is for you!!
You're fine with that. You have your own complications to manage. Being a werewolf-vampire hybrid means you don't quite fit with either group, though both claim you when it's convenient. The wolves invite you to their midnight runs, and you go sometimes, feeling the pull of the moon in your bones even as your fangs ache with a different kind of hunger. The vampires nod to you in the dining hall, acknowledging the sharpness of your senses, the way you move through shadows like you were born to them. You were, in a way. Born to two worlds, belonging fully to neither.
It's made you adaptable. Witty, your friends say. Kind, when you want to be. Sharp-tongued when someone mistakes your kindness for weakness.
Wednesday Addams, you've observed from a distance, is none of these things. She's a blade without a sheath, all edges and precision. You've never had reason to test yourself against her, and she's never given you a second glance.
Or so you thought.
The first gift appears on a Tuesday.
You find it on your desk after Botanical Sciences—a class you share with Wednesday, though she sits three rows ahead and never turns around. It's a small vial, no bigger than your thumb, filled with what looks like ink. Black, viscous, catching the light like oil. There's no note, no indication of who left it, but when you hold it up to examine it more closely, you realize it's not ink at all.
It's nightshade extract. Pure, concentrated, and extremely difficult to obtain.
You'd mentioned once, weeks ago, to no one in particular, that you'd been struggling with insomnia. That your vampire side kept you wired through the night while your wolf side craved the deep, dreamless sleep of the pack. Nightshade, in carefully measured doses, is one of the few things that can bridge that gap for someone like you.
You slip the vial into your pocket and glance around the room. Most of your classmates have already left. Wednesday's seat is empty.
The second gift arrives four days later.
This time it's a book, left on the stone bench where you usually sit to read during your free period. It's old, leather-bound, the title embossed in faded gold: *The Duality of Predators: A Study in Coexistence*. You flip it open and find passages underlined in pencil—neat, precise handwriting that makes your pulse quicken for reasons you don't want to examine too closely.
One passage in particular catches your eye: *"The hybrid does not suffer from divided loyalty. Rather, they possess the rare gift of seeing through two sets of eyes, understanding two languages of instinct. They are not half of two things. They are twice whole."*
You close the book slowly, your fingers tracing the worn spine. Whoever left this knows you. Knows the specific ache of being caught between, the exhausting work of translation you do every day just to exist in your own skin.
The third gift is the strangest.
You find it in your dorm room, which should be impossible because you know you locked the door. It's a small taxidermied crow, perched on a delicate wooden stand, its glass eyes glinting in the lamplight. Tied around its neck with black ribbon is a note, written in that same precise hand:
*"For your collection. I noticed you admiring the ravens from your window. This one died naturally. I thought you might appreciate the craftsmanship."*
You don't have a collection. But you do watch the ravens. Every morning, while you're drinking your coffee—black, with a splash of the blood substitute the school provides—you stand at your window and watch them congregate in the dead tree outside. You've never told anyone about this. It's a private ritual, a small moment of peace before the day begins.
Someone has been watching you watch the ravens.
Your heart does something complicated in your chest.
"Okay, spill."
Enid bounces onto your bed, nearly upsetting the bowl of popcorn you'd carefully balanced on your nightstand. It's Friday night, which means sleepover night, which means Enid arrives in an explosion of color and energy that makes your small dorm room feel even smaller.
"Spill what?" you ask, though you're already smiling. Enid has that effect on people.
"You've been weird all week," she says, pointing a accusatory finger at you. Her nails are painted a glittery purple that catches the light. "Distracted. Moony. And not like wolf-moony, like actual moony. What's going on?"
You consider deflecting, but this is Enid. She'll just pester you until you crack, and honestly, you could use someone to talk to about the strange gifts that have been appearing in your life.
"Someone's been leaving me things," you say carefully. "Gifts, I guess. But weird ones."
Enid's eyes go wide. "Ooh, like a secret admirer? That's so romantic!"
"It's not romantic, it's unsettling. The last one was a dead bird."
"Okay, that's less romantic." Enid tilts her head, considering. "Unless... wait. What kind of dead bird?"
"A crow. Taxidermied."
Enid's expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—confusion, realization, and then something that looks almost like panic. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"Nothing!" She says it too quickly, her voice pitching up. "I mean, that's weird. Super weird. Who would do that?"
You narrow your eyes. "Enid."
"What?"
"You know something."
"I don't!"
"You're a terrible liar. Your voice gets all squeaky."
Enid bites her lip, and you can see her internal struggle play out across her face. She's never been good at keeping secrets, which is probably why Wednesday tells her so few. Finally, she slumps forward, defeated.
"Okay, but you can't tell her I told you."
Your heart starts beating faster. "Tell who?"
"Wednesday!" Enid blurts out, and then immediately claps her hands over her mouth.
The room goes very quiet. You can hear the old radiator ticking, the distant sound of someone's music playing three doors down.
"Wednesday," you repeat slowly. "Wednesday Addams."
Enid nods miserably, hands still over her mouth.
"Wednesday Addams has been leaving me gifts."
Another nod.
"Wednesday Addams, who has never spoken more than five words to me in two years, has been leaving me carefully curated, deeply personal gifts that suggest she's been observing me closely for... how long, exactly?"
Enid finally lowers her hands. "I don't know? A while? She doesn't exactly confide in me about her feelings. But I've noticed her watching you. And she's been weird lately. Weirder than usual. She asked me about you last week."
"Asked you what?"
"Just... stuff. What you like. What you're interested in. If you were seeing anyone." Enid's expression softens. "She likes you. Like, really likes you. I've never seen her like this about anyone."
You stand up abruptly, needing to move, to pace. Your mind is racing. Wednesday Addams. The girl who looks at most people like they're vaguely disappointing science experiments. The girl who once told someone their personality was "aggressively beige" without a trace of irony.
That Wednesday Addams has been leaving you gifts.
"She's going to kill me for telling you," Enid says quietly. "But honestly? I think she was hoping you'd figure it out. She's not exactly great at the whole... feelings thing."
You turn to look at your friend, this girl who somehow managed to become best friends with both you and Wednesday despite being the human embodiment of sunshine. "Does she know that I..." You trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
"That you like her too?" Enid grins. "I had my suspicions. You get this look when she walks by. Like you're trying really hard not to look."
"I don't—" You start to protest, but then stop. Because she's right. You do look. You've been looking for longer than you want to admit, even to yourself. Wednesday Addams, with her dark eyes and deadpan delivery and the way she moves through the world like she's already solved it and found it wanting. There's something magnetic about her, something that calls to the parts of you that have always felt a little too sharp, a little too other.
"Oh my god," you say softly. "I like Wednesday Addams."
Enid squeals and tackles you in a hug. "This is the best thing that's ever happened! You two are going to be so weird together. It's going to be amazing."
You laugh despite yourself, but your mind is already elsewhere. Wednesday knows now. Enid will try to keep the secret, but Wednesday will take one look at her roommate's face and know something's changed. Which means you need to talk to her. Soon.
The thought terrifies and exhilarates you in equal measure.
You find her on Sunday evening, in the last place most people would think to look: the school's cemetery.
Of course Wednesday would spend her free time among the dead. You probably should have checked here first. She's sitting on a stone bench near the back, reading a book, her dark uniform making her look like part of the shadows. For a moment you just watch her, this strange girl who's somehow managed to burrow under your skin without you noticing.
Then she speaks without looking up. "Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you going to sit down?"
You shouldn't be surprised that she noticed you. Wednesday notices everything. You walk over and sit on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a careful distance between you.
"Enid told me," you say, because there's no point in pretending.
Wednesday's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Of course she did."
"Don't be mad at her. I pushed."
"I'm not mad." She closes her book, finally turning to look at you. Her eyes are very dark in the fading light. "I'm... recalibrating."
"Recalibrating?"
"I had a plan. It involved a carefully orchestrated series of gestures designed to demonstrate my interest while maintaining plausible deniability. Enid's inability to keep a secret has disrupted that plan."
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. "You had a plan to woo me with dead birds and poison?"
"The nightshade wasn't poison in that dosage. And the crow was an excellent specimen. I spent three hours on the preservation."
"You made it yourself?"
For the first time, Wednesday looks almost uncertain. "I wanted it to be... personal."
Something warm unfurls in your chest. You think about all the gifts, the careful attention behind each one. Wednesday Addams, who barely tolerates most people's existence, spent three hours preserving a crow for you.
"Why?" you ask softly. "Why me? We've barely spoken in two years."
Wednesday is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is lower, more careful. "You're wrong about that. We may not have spoken, but I've been... aware of you. From the beginning."
"Aware."
"You're different. Not just the hybrid thing, though that's fascinating from a biological standpoint. You move through the world like you're apologizing for taking up space, but then someone pushes too far and you bare your teeth. You're kind without being weak. Witty without being cruel. You watch the ravens every morning like they might tell you secrets." She pauses. "I find it... compelling."
Your breath catches. You've never heard Wednesday string together that many words about another person, let alone with something that almost sounds like admiration.
"I thought you didn't notice me," you admit. "I thought I was just... background noise."
"You're the opposite of background noise. You're—" Wednesday stops, seeming to struggle with the words. "I don't do this. I don't feel like this. It's inconvenient and distracting and I've tried to logic my way out of it approximately forty-seven times. It hasn't worked."
"Forty-seven times?"
"I've been counting."
You laugh, you can't help it. It's so absurdly Wednesday, so perfectly her. And suddenly the distance between you on the bench feels like too much. You shift closer, watching her face for any sign that you should stop. She doesn't move away.
"For what it's worth," you say quietly, "I've been trying not to notice you too. Also unsuccessfully."
Wednesday's eyes search your face. "Why?"
"Because you're Wednesday Addams. You're brilliant and terrifying and you look at the world like you're dissecting it. And I'm just—"
"Don't." Her voice is sharp. "Don't diminish yourself. You're a hybrid who's made peace with two warring natures. You're stronger than most people in this school, and smarter than you let on. You hide behind kindness, but I've seen you eviscerate someone with words when they deserved it. You're not 'just' anything."
Your heart is pounding now. "Wednesday—"
"I like you," she says, flat and direct, like she's stating a fact. "I don't know what to do with that information, but there it is."
You smile, feeling brave and terrified and more alive than you've felt in months. "I like you too. Even though you break into my room to leave me dead animals."
"The door was unlocked."
"It wasn't."
"Fine. I picked the lock. But I was very respectful about it."
You're close enough now that you can see the faint freckles across her nose, barely visible against her pale skin. Close enough that when you reach out slowly, telegraphing your intention, she doesn't pull away. Your fingers brush her cheek, and she goes very still.
"Is this okay?" you ask.
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper.
You lean in slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. But Wednesday stays perfectly still, her eyes locked on yours, and then you're kissing her. It's soft, tentative, nothing like you imagined kissing Wednesday Addams would be. Her lips are cool against yours, and for a moment she doesn't respond at all.
Then her hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, and she kisses you back with a precision that makes your head spin. It's not passionate, exactly—it's too controlled for that, too deliberate. But there's something in it that feels like a door opening, like Wednesday letting you see something she doesn't show anyone else.
When you pull back, her eyes are still closed. She opens them slowly, and you're struck by the vulnerability in her expression.
"That was..." she starts.
"Yeah," you agree.
"I'd like to do it again. Eventually."
You smile. "Eventually?"
"I need to process." She straightens slightly, and you can see her pulling her armor back on, piece by piece. But her hand is still on your neck, her thumb brushing against your pulse point. "This is new territory for me."
"For me too," you admit. "I've never dated anyone who's left me taxidermied animals before."
"There will be more. I have a whole series planned."
"Of course you do."
You sit there in the cemetery as the last light fades, Wednesday's hand still touching your neck, your shoulder pressed against hers. Around you, the old graves keep their silent watch, and somewhere in the distance, a raven calls.
"So what happens now?" you ask.
Wednesday considers this. "Now we... get to know each other. Properly. Without the subterfuge."
"You mean like normal people?"
"I'm not normal people."
"Neither am I."
She looks at you then, really looks at you, and something in her expression softens. "No. You're not. That's the point."
You lace your fingers through hers, half expecting her to pull away. But she doesn't. She holds on, her grip firm and sure, and you think about all the time you've wasted not talking to each other, not knowing each other. Two years of existing in parallel, never quite intersecting.
"I watch you too," you say quietly. "In class. You probably knew that."
"I did."
"And you never said anything."
"I was working up to it. I needed to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
Wednesday turns to face you fully, her dark eyes serious. "That you'd see me. Not the reputation, not the rumors. Me."
Your chest aches with the honesty of it. You squeeze her hand. "I see you."
"I know. That's why I left the gifts."
You sit together as the stars come out, talking in fits and starts about everything and nothing. Wednesday tells you about her novel, and you tell her about the strange dreams you've been having, wolf dreams and vampire dreams tangled together. She doesn't flinch when you describe the hunger, the way it feels to want two different things at once. Instead, she listens with the same intense focus she brings to everything, like you're a puzzle she's determined to solve.
"I don't want to solve you," she says when you point this out. "I want to understand you. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
"Solving implies an ending. Understanding is ongoing."
You smile. "That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I doubt that."
"No, really. It is."
Wednesday looks pleased, in her own subtle way. The corner of her mouth twitches, not quite a smile but close.
Eventually, you have to head back. Curfew is approaching, and even Wednesday doesn't push that particular boundary. You walk together through the darkened grounds, your hands still linked. At the entrance to your dorm, you pause.
"So," you say. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Wednesday agrees. "I'll meet you after Botanical Sciences. We can have lunch."
"A date?"
"If you want to call it that."
"I do."
She nods, satisfied. Then, before you can say anything else, she leans in and kisses you again. It's quicker this time, but no less deliberate. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright.
"Goodnight," she says.
"Goodnight, Wednesday."
You watch her walk away, her dark figure disappearing into the shadows. Your lips are still tingling, and your heart is doing acrobatics in your chest. Somewhere above, a raven calls, and you find yourself smiling at the sound.
Inside your room, the taxidermied crow watches you from its perch on your desk. You walk over and gently adjust its position, angling it toward the window where the real ravens gather. It's macabre and strange and perfectly Wednesday.
You wouldn't have it any other way.h
write me the classifications and a 18 word summary for this one shot
