Toodles

Mon âme, mon amour, prends tout car c'est à toi // 19

[typingoreos]

Navigation & Masterlist

╰┈➤ Wednesday

╰┈➤ A Plague Tale

╰┈➤ FTWD

AO3 | Wattpad

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

[typingoreos]

A Plague Tale Masterlist

Pairings: Amicia De Rune x fem!reader/OC

Series

Nothing here . . .

Oneshots

Nothing here . . .

[fleurilyy]

. . . Promise ?

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Series Rewrite — Each chapter corresponds to an episode.

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Life at Nevermore has always been lackluster. You’re in clubs, a secret society, and have a wide range of friends, but still, most days start and end the same. That is until Wednesday Addams shows up.

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. . . SEASON 1 !

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. . . Chapter 1 !

. . . Chapter 2 !

. . . Chapter 3 !

. . . Chapter 4 !

. . . Chapter 5 !

. . . Chapter 6 !

. . . Chapter 7 !

. . . Chapter 8 !

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. . . SEASON 2 !

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. . . Coming soon ?

[halfmoonaria]

enough for now

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: sometimes love looks like holding someone when they can't hold themselves.

word count: 7.2k

Jenna knew something was wrong when your texts stopped sounding like you.

You still responded, at first. Not consistently, and not with the same energy, but enough that she could almost pretend things were normal.

The messages were short. Abrupt. Some of them didn't answer the question she'd asked. Others didn't say much at all.

Usually, you rambled. You'd send whole paragraphs about things she didn't even fully understand—TV shows you were rewatching, snacks you suddenly hated, how the sun was doing this weird stripe-thing on your bedroom wall that made you think about childhood for some reason. You texted the way you spoke—easily, often, without overthinking it.

You used to text her in waves—message after message, thought after thought, like everything in your head spilled out the second you felt it.

Even when you were tired, even when the day had drained you, you still texted like you were there.

Now, your responses came hours later. Sometimes a full day. And when they did, they were clipped. Blunt in a way that didn't feel intentional—like you weren't trying to push her away, but you didn't have the energy to bring her closer, either.

She'd send something light atleast every day, hoping to spark a little warmth.

How's your day been?

Was the most common one.

Which most times received a reply hours later. You'd answer with just:

fine

Or nothing.

At first, she convinced herself you were just overwhelmed. Maybe something had come up with work, or school. Maybe you were sick. Maybe your phone was just dying all the time. There were always reasons—normal ones.

But it didn't sit right.

She started noticing how rarely you initiated a conversation. How some of her messages went unread for hours. How you didn't ask about her day anymore. How sometimes, when she said something funny or sweet, you'd reply with a single emoji, or not at all.

You used to ask things. Little things.

What she had for lunch. Whether her meeting ran long. If she ever figured out what that weird sound was in her bathroom sink. You used to send links to articles she'd never open, videos that made no sense without context, blurry pictures of your dinner just so you could complain about how bland it turned out.

And now it was like... none of that.

She started checking your activity—saw you were online, sometimes. Not posting, but there. Typing, maybe. Staring at the screen. She wondered if you opened her messages and then just didn't know what to say. If maybe you meant to answer and just couldn't.

That was the part that scared her most—not the silence, but the effort in it. Like responding had turned into something heavy. Like it wasn't just that you didn't want to talk. It was that you couldn't.

And still, she didn't push. She told herself you'd come back around. That maybe tomorrow would be different.

But tomorrow came. And so did the next day.

And you still weren't there.

She knew what it was.

In reality, she'd known the entire time. Not from the first unread message or the first too-short reply, but long before that. There had been a shift. Something subtle, quiet, hard to name. But she'd felt it.

She just didn't want to admit it.

You'd been okay. More than okay, even. For months, you'd been steady. Laughing more. Eating better. Leaving the house, making plans, sticking to them. She remembered thinking, Maybe this is it. Maybe it's passed.

She let herself believe you were better. That it was behind you.

And now, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd let her guard down too quickly. If she'd let herself get too comfortable with your good days. If maybe, in some way, she'd looked away right when you needed her to look closer.

There was guilt—of course there was guilt. The kind that settled low in her stomach and stayed there.

She'd been gone for weeks now. Not gone-gone, just busy. Caught up in press, in work, in the blur of early call times and late-night flights. She hadn't had much time to talk. Some days, all she managed was a good morning text and a voice note she'd record half-asleep from hotel rooms. She figured you understood. You always did.

But now she looked back and realized how long it had been since you sent anything unprompted. Since your voice sounded light. Since you said her name.

And part of her wanted to blame herself. Like maybe her absence was the reason you'd started to slip again. Like maybe she should've made more time. Called more. Asked better questions.

But she also remembered what your therapist had told them both, once—on a rare day you agreed to let her sit in.

That sometimes it didn't have to be triggered by anything. That sometimes it just... returned. Quietly. Without warning. Even when things were going well. Even when everything on the outside looked fine.

That it didn't mean you weren't trying.

Jenna tried to hold onto that. To remind herself this wasn't something she could've prevented just by being closer. But it didn't make the weight in her chest go away.

Because no matter how many times she'd heard it, part of her still felt like she'd missed it—like she'd left you alone with something you didn't know how to carry on your own.

Which was why, when she finally got a few days off from it all, she didn't hesitate.

You hadn't asked her to come. She hadn't asked if you wanted her to. Neither of you had really said anything at all.

But that morning, she sent a simple message.

im coming over in a few

No question mark. No filler. Just a fact.

And after a long pause—maybe ten minutes, maybe fifteen—you replied with a single red heart.

It didn't say much, but it also didn't say no.

That was enough.

She grabbed her keys, pulled a sweatshirt over her head, and left the apartment without bothering to do anything to her face. She didn't need to. You wouldn't care.

The drive over wasn't long—fifteen minutes, give or take—but it felt stretched, quieter than usual. No music. No podcast. Just the soft hum of tires on pavement and the sound of her own thoughts moving faster than the car.

She tried to imagine what your place would look like.

Tried to picture what kind of state you were in—if you'd showered, eaten, if you'd even gotten out of bed at all. She told herself not to assume the worst, but she couldn't help the way her mind filled in the gaps. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Something uneaten on the nightstand. Your phone face-down somewhere across the room.

She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

A few months ago, she would've called first. Asked if you wanted company. Given you time to clean up or pretend things were fine. But now, it felt like pretending wasn't helping either of you. And she didn't want to be polite about this. Not now.

Not when she knew better.

So she drove. Street after street, passing neighborhoods she barely looked at. The sky was already starting to dim, that kind of muted gray-blue that felt like the day was slipping away before you had the chance to use it.

And she couldn't stop thinking about how many days you'd probably let pass like that—quietly, painfully—without telling anyone.

Without telling her.

By the time she parked, she still didn't know what she was going to say. She just knew she had to be there. Even if all she did was sit on the floor by your bed and stay quiet.

Even if you didn't say anything at all.

She stepped out of the car and pulled her hood up, mostly out of habit. The air had that weird in-between chill—too cold for just a sweatshirt, not cold enough to call it winter. She looked up toward your window automatically, the way she always did when she came over.

It was dark.

Not just dim. Not just drawn curtains with a sliver of light sneaking through. Dark.

She held her breath without meaning to. Exhaled slow. And then she kept walking.

The entrance to your building buzzed faintly as she pushed the door open, nodding once at a neighbor she didn't know by name. She pressed the button for the elevator with her sleeve-covered hand and waited in silence, staring down at the chipped tile floor like it might give her answers.

The ride up felt longer than usual. Every floor that passed made her stomach feel heavier.

She didn't ring the bell when she got to your door. She didn't need to.

You'd given her a key months ago—quietly, almost nervously—right after one of your better stretches. You'd said something like, "Just in case," and she'd nodded, pretending not to overthink it.

She slipped it into the lock now, turned it gently, and pushed the door open.

Inside, it was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that felt peaceful. The kind that sat still and heavy.

She didn't turn on the lights right away.

The living room was mostly shadows, but she could make out the shape of your couch, a blanket balled up at one end. A mug on the coffee table, half-full, probably cold by now. The TV remote was on the floor, like it had slipped out of your hand and never been picked back up. A hoodie—hers—hung over the armrest, untouched since the last time she was here.

Most things hadn't moved.

The book you were halfway through the last time she saw you was still open on the arm of the couch, pages slightly curled. One of your shoes sat by the door. The other was missing, probably somewhere you'd forgotten about mid-step. An empty glass near the sink. A stack of unopened mail, a takeout bag crumpled and left on the counter.

It looked exactly like it had the last time she was here. Like time had pressed pause and never quite resumed.

And she knew why.

You hadn't been up for it. You hadn't had the energy to shift things around, to care whether mugs were in the sink or blankets were folded or whether your place looked lived-in or just stalled.

She finally reached for the light switch, but only flicked on the small lamp near the hallway. It cast a soft, warm glow over the edge of the apartment—not enough to brighten everything. Just enough to see her way forward.

She didn't call out your name yet.

She didn't need to.

You were here. She could feel it. Somewhere inside this too-quiet apartment that still smelled faintly like your perfume and something slightly stale, like air that hadn't moved in days.

She took off her shoes, left them by the door next to yours, and started walking toward your room.

Slowly. Quietly. Like she didn't want to startle you. Like she didn't want to break the air.

The hallway felt longer than usual. Her steps were light, almost uncertain, even though she knew the path by heart. She'd walked this exact stretch of floor so many times—barefoot, laughing, half-asleep, half-dressed—usually following the sound of your voice calling her in.

You always called it our room.

Not my room, not the bedroom. "Our room," even before she ever spent a night there. Even when she still kept most of her clothes in her own apartment. You said it casually, like it was obvious. And after a while, it started to feel that way to her, too.

But now, everything about it felt still.

As she neared the door, she hesitated just outside it. Her hand rested lightly against the frame. The hallway light barely reached the edges of the room, and the rest was black—soft and heavy like the sky before a storm.

She spoke your name. Quiet. Almost careful.

She didn't expect an answer. She just needed the sound of it to be there, in case it helped.

You didn't respond.

She stepped inside.

The fan on the ceiling was spinning slowly, humming in lazy circles above the bed. The curtains were still drawn tight, so tightly that the room had that strange, directionless darkness—no glow from outside, no shape of the hour, no sign of how long it had been like this.

And there you were.

Curled slightly on your side, facing the wall, your back to her. You were wearing a hoodie—one she recognized, one you always seemed to reach for when everything got too loud. The covers were tangled around your legs, pulled only to your waist like maybe you'd gotten too hot, or just didn't bother pulling them higher.

Your arm was half-under your pillow, the other one slack across the mattress, your fingers twitching faintly like you'd just stirred and then stilled again.

The bed was messy, but not in a careless way. More like you'd never properly remade it after the last time you left it—like you'd laid back down one day and just never really gotten up again.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand. Unfinished. Condensation dried at the base. Her scrunchie sat beside it. You must've found it on the floor and placed it there without thinking.

The air was a little stuffy, but not unbearable. Just... unwashed. The scent of your detergent still hung faintly on the sheets. The room smelled like stillness. Like nothing had changed for days.

Jenna stood there for a moment, completely still.

Her chest tightened—not in panic, but in that deep, aching way where it felt like something inside her was sinking. You weren't crying. You weren't moving. You weren't doing anything wrong. But everything about the scene in front of her made her want to reach for you and pull you back into the world.

You looked so small. So tired. Like someone who'd been holding something heavy for too long and finally stopped pretending it didn't hurt.

And Jenna couldn't help the way her throat tightened. The guilt pressed deeper, sharper. She hadn't seen it sooner. She hadn't come sooner.

But she was here now.

And so she did the only thing that felt right—she stepped closer.

Her voice came first, soft and quiet, just above a whisper.

"Hi, baby."

The words floated out gently, barely meant to be heard, but enough to settle into the space between you.

You didn't move. Not fully. But she saw the faintest shift in your shoulder, like your body had registered her voice before your mind had caught up. It wasn't surprise. It wasn't relief. It was just awareness. Like part of you had already known she'd come, even if the rest of you didn't know what to do with that.

She walked closer.

Her hand brushed lightly against the side of the mattress as she rounded it, the sound of her jeans against the bedding quiet but present, familiar. You'd shifted just off-center—laying somewhere between the middle and her usual side—and without a second thought, Jenna moved around to where she always slept.

The room was dim enough that she couldn't see everything clearly, but she didn't need to. She felt her way through the space like she'd done a hundred times before—carefully, quietly, without hesitation.

She lowered herself onto the bed slowly, knees sinking into the mattress, her body folding in behind yours with that same muscle memory she hadn't let herself use in weeks.

And she fit. Perfectly.

You'd left just enough space for her without meaning to.

The sheets were warm, faintly rumpled beneath her, and she adjusted herself just enough to slide an arm around your waist, her hand resting lightly over your stomach. She pressed in close, chest to your back, legs curling slightly to match yours. Her nose brushed the back of your neck—close enough to feel your warmth, close enough to smell your skin.

You still smelled like you.

That faint trace of your shampoo, now dulled by days without washing. Fabric softener. Sweat. Skin. That particular scent of being lived-in, not dirty, just tired. She breathed it in quietly and let her eyes close for a second.

You didn't react. You didn't lean back into her, didn't reach for her hand or shift to make room. But you didn't pull away either. You stayed exactly as you were—quiet, still, sunken. Not tense, not soft. Just... depleted.

Like whatever weight had been pressing down on you had worn your body into this shape, and there was nothing left to hold up or let go of.

Jenna felt it in your shoulders, in the way they didn't drop or flinch. In the steady rhythm of your breathing. You weren't startled. You weren't soothed. You were just there.

And so was she.

She kept her arm around you, fingers resting gently in the fabric of your hoodie. Not gripping. Just touching. Like a tether. Like she didn't expect you to reach back, but needed you to know you weren't alone.

She didn't say anything else. There was nothing she needed to say.

She was here.

And she wasn't going anywhere.

But the quiet started pressing in.

It always did, after a few minutes—once the stillness settled and the adrenaline of getting there faded into something heavier. Once her body stopped moving and her mind started filling in all the empty spaces.

She didn't know how long it had been like this.

A few days, maybe. A week. Longer?

You hadn't said. And the thing was, she hadn't really asked—not in the way she should've. She'd told herself you were just tired. That your silence wasn't that bad. That you probably just didn't want to text. That it was nothing. That you were okay. That you had to be okay.

Because you'd been okay for months. Happy, even. Not cured, not done, just... better.

You'd laughed again. You'd made plans. You'd sent her videos of your breakfast or texts about the weird dream you had or pictures of the stupid hoodie she left at your place that you wore anyway because it smelled like her.

You'd been okay.

And now this.

Now the room smelled like stillness. Like you hadn't opened a window in days. The air was warm but heavy. The lamp on your nightstand was still slightly crooked the way she remembered, your water bottle untouched, your hoodie—hers, actually—bunched under your arm like you'd hugged it at some point and forgot to let go.

She didn't know how long it had been like this.

But she knew this wasn't new.

She knew what it looked like when the color started fading from you. When everything stopped moving. When you started sinking and didn't say a word about it because even you didn't notice at first. Until it was too late.

Her fingers tightened slightly on your hoodie.

She wondered what you'd been thinking in all that quiet. In the days when she wasn't there. In the nights when she didn't call, because she was on set, or because she'd fallen asleep, or because she thought you'd tell her if something was wrong.

But you hadn't.

Were they back?

Those thoughts?

The ones that used to scare her. The ones you used to tiptoe around, used to call "the noise." The ones that made you curl up and disappear into yourself until she had to say your name two or three times just to get you to blink.

The idea that they might be back—that they might've crept in while she was gone, while she was smiling on red carpets and learning her lines and pretending everything was fine—made her bury her face in your neck.

Like she had to feel your pulse against her lips just to make sure you were still here.

She didn't cry.

She just breathed.

And then, quietly—so quietly it barely passed through her lips—she asked:

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice cracked just slightly at the end. Not enough to sound broken. Just careful.

She felt you stiffen, not from surprise, but like you'd been pulled up from somewhere far away. Not fully back. Not yet. But present enough that your breath hitched a little.

You didn't answer.

But she heard the sound—just the smallest one. A breath through your nose, shaky, wet. A sniffle you didn't try to hide.

And it said enough.

She didn't push. She didn't ask again. Her fingers just curled tighter around your hoodie. Her nose brushed your skin. And she stayed.

The quiet stretched again, but this time it felt heavier. Not like before—not distant. Just waiting.

Jenna didn't move at first. She only breathed. Only kept her face tucked into your neck, her arms loose around your waist like she didn't want to press too hard. Like even pressure might be too much for you right now.

But her voice came, eventually. Soft. Close. Barely louder than a breath.

"Talk to me."

She didn't say it like a demand. She said it like a hope.

Because she wanted you to. She needed to hear your voice. Not because she didn't believe what she was seeing—she did—but because hearing you meant you were still here. Still you. Even if just a piece.

You didn't speak at first. You didn't even shift. And she almost said your name again—almost whispered baby, the way she always did when she wanted to gently bring you back—but then.

"I don't know..."

Barely a whisper. Small. Quiet. Sad.

It cracked right down the middle, like you didn't have the strength to say more. Like a child trying to make sense of something too big. Too invisible. Too inside.

Jenna's eyes burned, but she didn't cry. She just tightened her arm around you and waited.

Then, lower:

"It just...came out of nowhere."

You said it like it caught you off guard. Like you'd been standing in the sun one moment and then suddenly—gone. Like you didn't even know it had started until you were already deep inside it. And Jenna felt something in her chest twist in a way it hadn't in a long time.

She hated how familiar that sounded.

Without speaking, her left hand slid gently up from your stomach to your chest, then higher, until her fingers found your hair.

She didn't play with it, not really.

Just moved her hand slowly. Softly. Stroking near your scalp, her fingers weaving carefully through a few strands and letting them fall again. Over and over. It was barely a movement. But it was steady. It was there.

She pressed her forehead lightly against the back of your head. And for a long time, that was all she did.

No questions. No pressure.

Just a hand in your hair. A warmth behind you. And a voice, finally, in the dark.

"I know."

And then, quieter still.

"I'm sorry."

Jenna stayed like that for a while, hand in your hair, forehead resting gently against you, breathing in the quiet. She wasn't trying to fill it—wasn't trying to talk just to talk—but eventually, the questions came.

They rose up quietly. Hesitantly. Like she was afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

"For how long?" she whispered.

You didn't answer, not right away. Your body shifted just slightly beneath her arm, the kind of small movement that didn't even register unless you were this close. Then you shrugged—barely. A tired, half-hearted lift of your shoulders, like even that felt too heavy. But she understood. Of course she did.

Because she'd seen that shrug before.

Because she knew exactly what you meant.

That time didn't really exist in that state. Days blurred together. Melted. Everything became soft around the edges. You could blink and it would be Tuesday again. Or still. You'd wake up and not know if it was morning or night. If you'd eaten or just thought about it. If the clothes on your body were from yesterday or the day before or some strange in-between you hadn't kept track of.

Jenna's lips parted a little. She wanted to say something, but nothing felt right yet. So she just breathed again, tucked her face into your shoulder, her thumb still brushing the side of your head with that same slow rhythm.

Then, after a pause, softer than before:

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It wasn't accusatory. Not even close. It was gentle. Sad. The kind of question you ask even when you already know the answer, just because part of you hopes you're wrong.

You let out a breath. It caught a little, uneven. And for a second, Jenna didn't think you were going to say anything. But then, voice quiet, worn down:

"I didn't want to ruin anything."

It made her heart drop.

"I didn't want you to worry," you added, even quieter. "You were working. You were excited. I didn't want to... I don't know. Pull you out of that."

Jenna swallowed, eyes stinging again. Her hand stilled in your hair for a moment, then started again, slower this time. Softer.

You weren't trying to be brave. You weren't trying to be strong. You were just trying to stay invisible long enough that she didn't have to see this part of you. Like if you could keep it hidden, it wouldn't matter as much. Wouldn't be real.

But it was. And she was here now.

And she saw you. Every part of you.

Even this.

Especially this.

Jenna didn't speak for a little while. She just stayed close, her arm still draped lightly over your waist, her hand still brushing softly through your hair like she was trying to settle your thoughts by calming your body first.

But then, finally—softly, close to your ear, like a thought spoken aloud:

"Did you eat today?"

There was a pause. Just long enough to give yourself a chance to lie.

You wanted to say yes. She could feel it—the way your body tensed for a second like you were bracing for the effort of pretending. And then you did try. You even got the word out, barely.

"Yeah."

It was small. Weak. Tucked between breaths like maybe she wouldn't hear it if you said it gently enough.

But she did.

And she knew.

She couldn't see your face, couldn't read your expression in the dark, but it didn't matter. She heard it. Felt it. Every part of you gave it away.

She waited a beat, just to give you space. Then:

"When?"

You hesitated again. Then you shifted under her arm—just a little—and said, "I think... yesterday?"

Her heart clenched. Quietly. Heavily.

You swallowed. "I had, like... some crackers. I think. And a juice."

Crackers and juice. That's what you'd had. Maybe. You sounded unsure even about that. Like the memory was faint. Like it belonged to someone else.

Jenna pressed her face a little deeper into your neck, breathing in slowly, grounding herself so she wouldn't let the worry take over her face. So you wouldn't feel her panic. So you wouldn't pull away.

A second passed. Then her voice again—gentle, careful:

"Do you want me to make you something?"

You were quiet.

She waited, patient.

"I'm not hungry."

Your voice was flat. Not defensive, not dismissive. Just empty.

Jenna exhaled slowly through her nose, her arm tightening slightly around your waist.

"You have to eat something."

She didn't say it like a scolding. It wasn't a demand. Just soft truth, spoken like a fact she didn't expect you to argue with.

Her eyes adjusted more to the dark now. She could just barely make out the curve of your shoulder beneath the hoodie, the way your fingers were curled up near your chest. Still. Quiet.

She started thinking.

Something easy. Something warm. Something familiar. She ran through your kitchen in her head, mentally checked what she'd seen on the way in.

"I could make grilled cheese," she said after a moment, barely above a whisper. "With that soup you like. The tomato one. If it's still in your cabinet."

You didn't say anything.

But you didn't say no, either.

Jenna pressed a kiss to the side of your head, barely more than a brush of her lips against your hair, and then she shifted carefully out of the bed. You felt the mattress lift as her weight left it, the cold rush of air where her body had just been.

She didn't say anything else—just moved quietly through the apartment, the way she always did when she didn't want to disturb you. You heard the fridge open. The soft thud of a cabinet closing. A drawer sliding out, then in. The subtle click of the stove turning on.

She knew where everything was.

It didn't take long. The familiar smell of butter and cheese hit the room first, followed by something warmer, tomato-sweet. You hadn't realized how quiet the apartment had been until the faint hum of the microwave started.

When she came back in, her footsteps were soft again. The overhead light stayed off, but she'd turned on the little lamp in the hallway just enough to see.

"Sit up," she said gently, standing by the bed with the plate and bowl balanced in her hands.

You blinked a few times, slow, like it took effort to rejoin the moment—but then you did. You sat up. The hoodie slumped on your frame, and your eyes didn't quite meet hers, but you moved. That was enough.

Jenna smiled, trying to play it casual, even though her chest swelled with quiet relief. She placed the food down on the nightstand, reached for the tray she'd brought in, and set it carefully over your lap.

"I didn't burn it," she said, like a joke. "Somehow."

You gave her the smallest tug of a smile. Barely there. But real.

You didn't eat much. A few bites of the grilled cheese, a couple spoonfuls of soup. But Jenna acted like that was all she'd hoped for.

While you ate, she talked.

Not about you. Not about this.

Just... things.

About how she nearly tripped over a light stand last week during a shoot. How the coffee on set tasted like dishwater. About a movie she'd watched on the plane—terrible, but that you might love it.

She kept her voice light. Calm. Not pushing. Just filling the space with sound so you wouldn't feel watched. So it wouldn't feel like this was something to be ashamed of.

She knew it wasn't a big meal.

But you were eating.

And that meant everything.

Jenna sat beside you again once you'd taken a few more bites. Close, but not crowding. Her leg folded under her on the bed, one hand resting on the mattress between you like she wanted to reach for you but didn't want to rush it.

You didn't finish all of it. The sandwich was half-eaten, the soup mostly cooled now. But you'd eaten. More than she expected. More than you probably had in days.

When you set the tray aside, Jenna took it without a word and placed it back on the nightstand. Her fingers brushed yours for a second—warm, careful—and then she leaned back against the headboard with a quiet sigh, her body angled toward you.

She didn't let the silence settle this time.

"You know they brought bagels to set one morning," she started, like she was picking up from something earlier. "Big boxes of them. Like, fifty. And not one of them was toasted. Just... dry bread with cream cheese."

You let out the smallest breath through your nose. Almost a laugh, but not quite. She took it.

"I tried to ask for a toaster, and someone thought I was being dramatic. Like I was demanding caviar or something."

You pulled the covers higher up your legs. Not out of cold—just to do something. You didn't look at her, but your shoulder relaxed a bit where it leaned near hers.

She kept going. About the director who talked with his hands so much he'd knocked over two water bottles and one light stand in a single day. About the girl from costume who tried to guess people's zodiac signs for fun and got furious when she was wrong.

It wasn't exciting. It wasn't forced.

Just her voice. Just there.

You didn't say anything, but you listened.

And she could tell. In the way your eyes didn't glaze like earlier. In the way your fingers picked slightly at the edge of the blanket. In the way your breathing shifted—not lighter, not completely—but different.

She inched a little closer, folding her leg underneath herself again so she was angled toward you. The bedside lamp cast a low golden wash over the room, just enough to see the edge of your cheek, the slope of your jaw. You looked soft like this. Still so quiet, but soft.

She always thought you were pretty—especially like this. The kind of pretty that didn't try to be. Skin that didn't glow in the filtered Instagram way, but in the real way, warm and familiar. Your lashes were long even when you hated them. Your brows never grew the same on both sides, and it drove you crazy, but she liked that. Liked the unevenness. The human-ness of it.

You never liked the shape of your nose. You'd said that once, and it made her sad—because she did. It made you look a little stubborn and a little strong, and somehow still so soft. She'd memorized that nose. Every curve of it. It was yours.

Without thinking too much about it, she brought a hand to your face and gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered for a second against your temple, brushing a few strands off your forehead. The softness of your hair. The warmth of your skin.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" she asked, quiet as anything. Like an offer, not a suggestion.

Your eyes shifted downward, avoiding hers, and your mouth parted like you were going to say something—but it took a few seconds for the words to come. When they did, your voice was small. Careful.

"It's okay. You don't have to."

You didn't mean it as a rejection. She knew that. It sounded more like a reflex than anything else, like you'd gotten too used to not asking for help. Too used to doing things alone.

Her heart tugged.

"I want to," she said softly. Her hand was still in your hair, still brushing through it slow and steady. "If you'll let me."

You didn't answer.

Not out loud, anyway.

Your throat felt thick, eyes a little hot, and you didn't know why. Or—you did, but you couldn't explain it. You couldn't explain how shame curled up under your ribs and sat there heavy, stupid, wordless.

You couldn't explain how your mind had started spinning the second she offered to help, whispering things like you're pathetic, this is too much, she's going to get tired of this. The kinds of thoughts that didn't even sound like your own voice, but were always waiting in moments like this—when you felt slow and hollow and vaguely embarrassed just to be alive.

You didn't mean to ignore her. You just didn't know how to say yes.

But Jenna didn't wait for it. She'd already seen it in your eyes—seen the way you wanted to nod but didn't, the way you stayed still like a pet that didn't know if it was allowed to move.

She got up slowly from the bed, gave your shoulder a light press, and said, "Come on," her voice warm like the light that hadn't touched your room in days.

Then she held out her hand.

Not expectant. Not dramatic.

Just there. Just for you.

And you reached for it.

Your fingers slid into hers—dry, your knuckles a little tight from how long it had been since you properly moisturized or even noticed your hands at all. But she didn't mind. Her thumb rubbed softly over the back of your hand as she helped you up.

She ran the water while you sat down on the edge of the tub, arms wrapped around yourself in the hoodie you hadn't changed out of in maybe three days. You tried not to think about how you must've smelled, how greasy your scalp probably was, how the sleeves were crusted at the ends. But when you looked up, Jenna was rolling them up for you—gentle, unrushed, like it was nothing.

You sat in the bathtub, legs tucked in, hoodie peeled off and tossed in the hallway. The warmth of the water rising around your shins made your throat close again. It always did. That first feeling of being cleanable. Of being touched.

Jenna knelt beside you on the tiles, one hand resting steady on your back as she used the other to scoop water over your hair. She was quiet. So were you. Not in a tense way—just in that way where sound didn't matter as much as being careful.

She used your shampoo. The one she liked because it smelled like the candle she always burned in her apartment. Her fingers moved in small circles on your scalp, gently scratching, not too hard, but firm enough to make your shoulders drop for the first time in what felt like hours. Maybe days. The kind of touch that was meant for more than just cleaning.

Somewhere between rinsing and conditioning, she said, "Tilt your head back for me" and you did.

You closed your eyes.

Water ran down your cheeks like tears you didn't have the energy to cry.

She brushed the hair back from your face again, using both hands this time. Tucked it behind your ears. Cupped your jaw with wet palms for just a second before letting go.

There was something unspeakably kind about the way she dried you, too. Careful with the towel, slow when she helped you into a clean shirt. She didn't flinch when she touched your arm and felt how cold it still was, how tense your body stayed even now. She just helped you into it like you were someone worth caring for.

And you let her.

You didn't say much. But when she pulled your sleeve over your wrist, you looked at her, just for a second.

You put on clean clothes.

The shirt Jenna had handed you was soft, oversized, smelled faintly of her laundry detergent—warm, lavender-like. You brushed your hair too. She did most of it, careful to hold it near the roots when pulling through the knots so it wouldn't tug too much at your scalp. You didn't talk. Not because you didn't want to, but because it felt like too much. And somehow, Jenna already understood that.

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of her picking a movie. She didn't ask what you wanted to watch. She just chose something familiar. Something you'd both seen before. The kind of movie that didn't ask anything from you—no energy, no focus. Just something to fill the space without making it feel too full.

You laid in bed together, blankets tucked around your legs, her body curled close beside yours. She watched the screen, eyes tracking every scene, but not really for the story. More for you.

Because you weren't watching.

Your eyes were open, but distant. Barely blinking. Glazed over in that particular kind of way that made Jenna's chest ache. Not just because she was worried, but because she knew that look too well.

Your eyes were red around the edges, waterline stained, like you'd cried recently but hadn't even realized. Your skin was pale and soft in the glow of the screen, the kind of pale that didn't come from winter or bad lighting, but from spending too much time indoors. The color had slipped out of you quietly, the way everything else had. Bit by bit.

And Jenna could see it.

She didn't say anything about it. She just reached over and rested her hand against your arm, thumb brushing softly back and forth, like a quiet anchor. You didn't look at her, didn't move, but she felt the way your body leaned into it slightly. Just enough.

She knew she couldn't pull the thoughts from your head. Couldn't chase away the heaviness that sat behind your ribs, the fog that blurred out time, the ache that made everything feel flat and unreal. She knew depression wasn't something you could solve for someone. You couldn't love it out of them. You couldn't fix it with soft words or hand-washed hair or warm food. But you could stay.

You could sit beside them through the numbness.

You could hold their hand when they forgot how to ask for help.

You could help them brush their hair when their arms were too heavy.

You could watch them fade and still choose to stay.

And that's what Jenna did.

Because loving someone with depression meant showing up even when they didn't answer the door. It meant learning their silences, knowing when not to ask questions, when to nudge and when to wait. It meant reading between the lines of a text, the stillness of their body, the flicker of their eyes—and knowing this is enough for now.

She didn't need you to smile. Didn't need you to talk. She just needed you here.

And you were.

That was the thing.

No matter how quiet or far away you felt inside your own skin, you were still here. In clean clothes. Hair combed. Laying beside her, breathing in time with the sound of the movie you weren't watching.

And she was here, too.

So even if everything else still felt broken and heavy and too hard to carry—this part didn't.

As long as she was beside you, you'd find your way through. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not soon.

But she'd be there. Every step. Every silence. Every small beginning.

[typingoreos]

My Phantom Witness (W.A.)

Warnings: None

Wednesday Season One Episode Two

Summary: Rowan’s death puts a crack in the sheriff’s view of Nevermore. With the Poe Cup looming closer, and Wednesday snooping around more than usual, you’re pulled in more directions than you can think of.

Reader Insert - Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous | Next

AO3

Word Count: 13.1K

A/N: Opening this draft made my phone freeze for a second.

‘Stay out of sight.’

That was the last thing Weems told you before you left her office. You slipped behind Sheriff Galpin’s search party. Thankfully the dogs didn't alert them. They’re not looking for you.

‘Just listen. Don’t interact with them.’

You cling to Weem’s instructions. Ignoring the dull ache in your back from what happened a few hours ago.

As the search party traveled to the area Rowan attacked you and Wednesday—there was nothing. No mess of leaves where you and Rowan fought; no broken branches where you had pushed through the bushes to get to Wednesday.

Nothing. There was no sign of Rowan or the creature anywhere. Not a drop of blood—nor a broken branch.

The forest was untouched. There weren’t even any pieces of glass on the ground from Rowan smashing your phone.

You follow the Sheriff and his officers. Weems said she’d pull you out of classes tomorrow. For a self-care day.

‘Stay as late as you have to. Just come back.’

It’s been hours. Your legs start to ache ever so slightly, and you didn’t bring a water bottle. Idiot.

You watch as Galpin’s deputy runs to him. Going down a small dirt hill.

“We’ve been searching for hours, Sheriff. The dogs need a break.” She’s slightly out of breath. I don’t blame her.

“You think we missed something?” She asks.

“I say we double back, sweep Collet Creek, and then call it a night.” Sheriff Galpin’s tone sounds skeptical.

Like he doesn’t quite believe the statements Wednesday and I gave him.

You trail behind them, keeping your breathing steady. They can still hear you, you aren’t inaudible.

The dogs start barking as you near the creek. The hairs on your body stand again, just like they did with Rowan the night before.

Something’s here.

.

.

“How could you miss a dead body?”

Wednesday says angrily. Her and the sheriff walk in front of you. You’re walking beside Weems through one of Nevermore’s front doors.

He turns to look at Wednesday while walking.

“‘Cause it wasn’t there.” He turns his head back to look in front of him as he walks. “No footprints, no blood, no sign of struggle. Nothing, nada.”

“My search party looked all night.” Weems walks in front of him up the staircase, taking the lead.

“Well, your search party must have left their seeing-eye dogs at home.” Wednesday says. The four of you begin going up the staircase.

“We saw that monster kill Rowan right in front of us.”

He sighs. “Get a good look at this monster thing?”

“It didn’t stick around for a chat.” Wednesday barks. You want to say ‘Giant eyes, like a deformed hairless cat’—but instead this happens:

“Maybe it was one of your classmates.” He retaliates. He turns to you. “Maybe her? She was the only other one there.” You hold eye contact with him, raising an eyebrow.

“Sheriff, I find that question offensive.” Weems says quickly. Turning around.

He turns back to Weems. He’s angry. “Well I don’t care ‘cause I got three other dead bodies in the morgue.” His tone is sharp. “Hikers just ripped apart in the woods.”

“The mayor said those were bear attacks.” Weems replies. You look at her, she’s blinking more than normal. This must be a mess for her as the principal.

“Yeah well the mayor and I disagree on that.” The three of you look at Weems as she starts talking.

“So you automatically assume a Nevermore student is the murderer; Even though there’s no evidence a crime was even committed.” He glances at you and Wednesday.

“I’m sorry. I forgot, you only teach good outcasts here, right?” He sneers. Weems sighs and closes her eyes.

She opens them. “Let’s get to my office.” She says calmly.

You follow behind Wednesday. You don’t mean to be her shadow—not this time. It just feels natural.

.

You close the door to Weem’s office after the other three walk in ahead of you.

“My guess is Rowan ran away.” She walks confidently to her desk, large strides and head up. “State troopers have put out an alert, and I’ve contacted his family.” She sits down on her desk chair. “But they haven’t heard from him either.”

Sheriff Galpin stands to the left of Weem’s desk, Wednesday on the right. You contemplate standing in the middle but instead you sit on one of the chairs across Weem’s desk.

The right one, behind Wednesday. That wasn’t intentional either. The sheriff glances at you before turning back to Weeems.

“Dead people are notoriously bad at returning calls.” Wednesday says before he has a chance to talk.

“What were you doing out in the woods with him, Ms. Addams?” He grunts, sitting on the chair to the left of Weem’s table. Wednesday looks at him, her wrists crossing over each other.

“I heard a noise in the forest and went to investigate. That’s when I stumbled upon the attack. Y/N followed me out of concern for my safety.”

His face turns a little more serious. “Then what happened?” Wednesday continues. “Then Y/N called for Weems, she didn’t pick up so we ran back to the festival and stumbled on Bianca. Next thing I remember I was awaking in my dorm.”

“Hmm. And you Miss L/N? You were awfully broad with your statement.” You glare at him while you respond.

“Your officers were quite hostile, sheriff. Maybe if I felt comfortable I would have remembered more. It was quite traumatizing.”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t believe you. “And just to be clear, this monster wasn’t a bear or some other wild animal?” He questions.

“I’ve hibernated with grizzlies. I know the difference.” You turn your face to the right, hiding your smile from the other three. You suppress it and turn back to them.

Weems suddenly gets up. “Thank you Sheriff, I think the girls are done now.”

“Actually, I would like to speak to Sheriff Galpin. Alone.” Wednesday says.

“I’m not sure I can allow that.”

“I’m sure I could take her to the station and get a formal statement.” He looks at Weems seriously before giving her a fake smile and dropping it as quickly as it came.

That cheeky bastard.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He says.

“Fine.” Weems’ reply is quick. She gets up from her desk.

“You have five minutes and everything is off the record.” She stares down the Sheriff for a second.

“Play nice.” There’s a pause. Tension fills the air.

“Or I will call the mayor.” She says.

“Y/N.” You get up and follow her out.

When she closes the door she looks at you. “I don’t know.” You say quickly. “Y/N.” She says sternly.

“I really don’t know. I swear.”

Weems sighs, closing her eyes and putting 3 fingers on her temple. “Okay then. Stay here.”

She has you sit on one of the cushioned chairs outside the door. Then she leaves. You don’t know where; until another minute passes by and the deputy runs over with—Rowan in tow. She doesn’t ask you for Weems or for the sheriff, she just barges through the door.

“Sheriff?” She says.

You hear a faint answer from him. “What?” Your eyes don’t leave the ‘boy’ standing in front of you. He waves at you.

“You’re gonna wanna see this.” She lets the door slowly creak open to reveal ‘Rowan’ to the sheriff.

It’s Weems. I know it is.

Rowan always walked small, cowardly. Like the world was going to trip him the second he took another step. He’s not walking like that anymore.

His strides are longer, his head higher, even a faint smile on his face. Not only that but he didn’t have an inhaler in his pocket like he usually does. You know he carries one around everywhere, he used to use one every time you two fenced.

You knew Weems was a shapeshifter. But you never thought she’d cover up the murder of one of her students. Not like this.

.

.

Rowan’s face flashes in your head. Your mind spirals though memories of Rowan’s limp body and the boy that stood right in front of you yesterday.

Why would Weems want to cover his murder?

You suppose it makes sense. Making you and Wednesday look crazy would make Sheriff Galpin disregard you two as reliable witnesses. Especially Wednesday and her persistent presence.

A banging on your door snaps you back to reality.

“Cmon Y/N! You said you’d help this year.” It’s Enid. What day is it? You check your phone—which now has a new screen.

“Shit.” You whisper into the cold air of your dorm. “Give me a minute!” Enid’s knocking stops, you know she heard you.

You promised to help with the Poe Cup.

You rush to put on something other than pajamas. At least you just took a shower. You ran out of purple Nevermore vests yesterday so you put a black sweater vest on.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You say as you slowly open your dorm door.

“Finally!” Enid retorts, still as bubbly as ever. The second your door locks she pulls you down the hallway. “We’ve got a boat to paint and traps to plant!”

.

.

You work next to Yoko, testing the trigger system for a net trap you’re adding to the boat. You two listen to Enid’s worried speech.

“Ladies, come on! Let’s work on those teeth.” Yoko glances at her. You shrug, adding a little more WD-40 to the peddle so it doesn’t squeak.

“More scowl.” She says to the painters. You smile as Yoko looks up at Enid who's right next to her on the side opposite of you. “This kitty is taking no prisoners.”

Enid stands up properly. “If Bianca Barclay wins again this year, I will literally scratch my own eyes out.” You test the peddle, hearing a faint click. It works.

“I’d pay money to see that.” You jump—hearing Wednesday right behind you. I thought she was still in therapy.

Enid happily goes to stand in front of her. “Howdy, roomie! I’m so glad you decided to stay.” You glance at Wednesday, her arms crossed. Yup, don’t look at her.

She’s not exactly your biggest fan at the moment. Not after Weems pulled you out of therapy with Kinbott but made her go.

“I thought you wanted your single room back.”

“Full disclosure? I don’t like living solo-” She quickly turns to you mid sentence before turning back to Wednesday. “-and Thing gives a killer neck message.” Enid says with a smile.

“It’s a win-win.” Enid looks happier than usual.

“So… why the change of heart?” Enid asks.

“I refuse to play the role of a pawn in someone else’s corrupt game.” You smile lightly. You get up and grab the net you made. You try not to eavesdrop but you do anyways.

“You mean Rowan?”

“I witnessed his murder, Enid. And it wasn’t just me either.” Wednesday says. You feel a burning sensation on your neck. Wednesday’s gaze. Nothing else would give you that pain.

You look at your net. Last year Bianca’s team had sirens sabotage the other boats, hopefully this’ll stop that from happening to yours.

“It’s just, we all saw him this morning. Very much, like, not dead.” Enid says. You pull on the net, making sure it’s sturdy.

“I know.” Wednesday retorts. “Y/N.” She says. You turn to her. “You saw it too? Correct?” You nod, fingers still tangled in the netting.

“Hard to forget.” You murmur absentmindedly. Picking up the net and carefully folding it into the small compartment you built for it. Wednesday hums.

“Which leads me to believe I’m losing my mind. Considering someone isn’t as concerned as I am.” You glance over. She looks at you with an annoyed expression.

“It’s not really as fun as I anticipated.” Wednesday looks at Enid. “You’re Nevermore’s gossip queen. What’s Rowan’s story?” Enid clicks her tongue.

“Other than being a weird loner? Uh… No offense.”

“None taken.” You grin at Wednesday’s response.

“Xavier Thorpe's his roommate. If you had a cell phone you could just text him and ask him.” Enid turns around to check on the painters.

“Yoko. Come on! Flare those whiskers. The Poe Cup droops for no one.”

Wednesday looks at you as you finish the net’s compartment. She walks closer to you. “Phone.”

You’re not surprised. “You’re more than welcome to say please.” Already handing it to her. “1845.” You add, telling her the passcode. She raises an eyebrow but unlocks it anyway.

“Don’t you hate technology?” You ask her, painting a small black cat on the net box.

“I despise inefficiency even more. Time is valuable.” She turns to Enid and hands the phone to her. Enid looks at you—you wave her off.

‘You could have just searched his contact.’ You want to say—but you don’t. Wednesday night send that severed hand to choke you at night.

After a minute Enid hands it back to Wednesday and she types the message.

“If he replies, find me. I refuse to become a slave to that thing for any longer.” Already placing the phone on the table.

“What is the Poe Cup anyway?” You groan at Wednesday’s question. It’s all Enid’s been talking about today. You carry the net trap to the boat as Enid rambles on to Wednesday.

“Only my entire reason for living right now. Part canoe race, part foot chase, no rules.”

She grins, knowing Wednesday might like the next part.

“Each dorm has to pick an Edgar Allen Poe short story for inspiration. You could grab a brush.”

Enid trails on. You grin at her attempt. “Ms. Thornhill’s just ordered pizza. Want to take a stab at being social?”

“I do like stabbing.” Wednesday's eyes move around uncomfortably. “The social part, not so much.”

Same. You think. Smiling at your thoughts. Maybe you are just a happy person.

“Besides, it’ll cut into my writing time.” Her response is fairly calm.

“No worries. Just as long as you’re lakeside cheering us to victory on race day. We even have an extra shadow on our team.” Enid says proudly.

Wednesday looks at her blankly, Enid holds her smile awkwardly. “Or you can just glare uncomfortably. Whatever works for you.”

.

.

Your eyes are fixated on the chandelier above Weems’ desk. She’s typing something on her laptop. You assume she’s replying to emails because that disgusting Outlook notification keeps sounding through the room.

The fire crackles to your left. You’re sitting in the cushion chair to the left of her desk. Instead of sitting properly your legs hang over one of the sides. A half-finished copy of The Great Gatsby sits on your chest.

I hate English.

“Do you think crows ever get bored of cawing?”

Weems stops typing for a second, blinking. “What?” She looks at you confused.

“Like, are there different types of caws? So it’s their own language? Or are they just forced to make random sounds with no system?” You try to explain.

Weems opens her mouth to respond until the office door squeaks. Weems sighs and looks back at her laptop.

“I need to speak with Rowan. I can’t find him.” Of course it’s Wednesday. Weems reads something on her screen and starts typing again.

“It won’t be possible, I'm afraid. He’s been expelled.” Wednesday doesn’t even glance at you, focused on Weems.

“For what?”

“Never you mind. He’ll be on the first train out this afternoon.” Weems looks up at her questioningly.

“What were you doing out in the woods with him? Y/N said you ran off.” Now Wednesday glances at you. You give her a nervous smile.

“I told you already. I heard a noise and I went to investigate.” Weems scoffs. “That excuse might have placated the sheriff, but you can’t fool me.” Her face relaxes—turning serious, unblinking.

“You had a psychic vision, didn’t you?” Am I invisible? You actually look down and check. Nope—definitely visible.

“I realized you might have been having them we passed by the accident and you knew that poor farmer had broken his neck.” You think about it.

Wednesday did say what happened to the farmer long before you got close enough to see for yourself. You just never questioned it. Do you ever really question anything? Nothing important.

“Your mother started having visions around your age. They were notoriously unreliable and dangerous. I remember at first, she thought she might be losing her mind.” You watch, having moved to sit properly.

Wednesday’s eyes glance around for a second. “Have you spoken to her about them?” Weems continues. You don’t speak. You’re scared of both of them.

“Clearly the person withholding information here is you.” Wednesday doesn’t deny it.

“Maybe I go now?”

Weems smiles. “Not until you’ve picked your extracurricular activity. We want our students to be well-rounded.” Wednesday crosses her arms.

“I’d prefer to remain sharp-edged.” Weems presses her lips together and hums. “Well.” She reaches for a clipboard to her right.

“I took the liberty of putting together a list of clubs that have openings.” She places the clipboard on the other side of her laptop for Wednesday to grab.

“How thoughtful.” Wednesday glares at the clipboard.

“You need to have picked one by the end of the day. I’ll be keeping my eye on you. No doubt you’ll find something that tickles your fancy.” Wednesday scoffs, moving forward to grab the clipboard anyways.

“The last person who tickled me lost a finger.” She starts walking away. “Ah ah ah, wait a minute.” Wednesday stops and turns. Her face is blank as usual.

“Y/N will go with you.” You turn to her, putting your arms in front of you to gesture ‘WHY?’

“You’re already here and it’ll save me the headache. Think of it as community service.” You sigh, sitting up.

Walking towards Wednesday. Weems nods and Wednesday turns back around to walk out. You shadow behind her.

Unfortunately you don’t get to shadow her without being investigated. As the two of you walk she starts asking questions. “Why are you always with Weems?” You let out a sigh.

“Uh… I like her office.” You shrug. “It’s fairly comfortable. Plus whenever I ask her weird questions she’ll look them up for me.” Wednesday scoffs.

After a minute of walking she stops abruptly and spins around to you—locking eyes. “Where’s Rowan?” She asks monotonously with a glare.

You aren’t surprised. You’ve studied her behavior enough. “I don’t know.” She raises an eyebrow. “I really don’t know Wednesday. I saw him die too. I believe you.”

Her jaw relaxes slightly. She studies you, but there’s no indicator you’re lying.

She turns to keep walking. When you two get outside and near the quad she stops. “Thing.”

The hand you saw when she was playing the cello yesterday comes towards you two on the floor.

“Weems is clearly trying to keep tabs on me.” Her eyes move to you. You shrug. “Keep an eye on Rowan. Don’t let your fingers out of his sight.” She says to the hand.

You freeze when Wednesday looks at you—threateningly. “And you,

—you don’t tell Weems about Thing.” You nod. Weems might be intimidating to you—but Wednesday? She’s terrifying.

She sighs and walks into the quad where Bianca and the rest of the singers are. You walk behind Wednesday like a lost dog. When Bianca turns to Wednesday she glances at you before speaking.

“Weems said you’d be stopping by. But to be honest after your performance at the Harvest Festival, the drama club might be more your speed.” She tries to antagonize her.

“Bianca.” You say. She looks up at you, your expression is tense with narrowed eyes. It’s enough to tell her to stop. You didn’t mean to look at her like that.

“After Y/N and I ran to you, who did you tell? The sheriff?”

“You think I’d trust normie cops?” Bianca scoffs. “I went straight to Weems and let her handle it. She was going crazy trying to contact Y/N.”

Wednesday's eyes narrow slightly, like she just found the last corner piece of a puzzle only she can see.

Your thoughts flicker back to the woods—after Rowan was attacked. When you tried to call Weems, she didn’t answer in time. When you tried calling her again there was no signal. The two of you ran back to the festival and found Bianca. Wednesday passed out not too long after that.

You stayed with her until Bianca came back with Weems who was already calling for help.

“Anyway, let’s get this audition over with. What are you? Alto, soprano, or just loco?” Her choir chuckles.

One of the students plays a piano note and Wednesday opens her mouth. You don’t hear anything but then one of the choir member's glasses crack.

“What was that?” Bianca says shocked. You’re shocked too because what the hell.

“A note only dogs can hear.” Wednesday remarks. She storms away back to the arched exit. You turn to leave too but then Bianca puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, offer still stands, we need an alto. I don’t know why you’re shadowing her.” She invited you to join earlier after fencing class—apparently one of her choir members got sick.

You were in the choir during your first year at Nevermore as a technician, they don’t have one this year. No way in hell you’d consider joining just to sing though.

“I’d rather climb one of those really big trees, but instead of jumping off of it I’d just wrap a noose around my neck.”

Bianca chuckles, now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve actually talked to her. “Good luck with Addams.” You scoff and keep walking.

Wednesday stopped—waiting for you. “How considerate of you.” You say to her, waiting for her reaction.

“Next time I’ll leave you.” She snapped—turning to the exit sharply. There’s a familiar ding in your pocket.

You sigh and check who it is.

‘Xavier: No clue, why are talking like Wednesday’

You scoff. You forgot Wednesday texted him through your phone. “Mr. Thorpe texted back. He said he doesn’t know Rowan’s story.” You say.

Wednesday scoffs as well. “I can question him in a few minutes. Next is archery.” You hum in acknowledgment and walk with her.

Wednesday spots Xavier in the middle of the outer quad—or whatever it’s called. Outer grass area?

He’s standing next to several piles of stacked hay bales. One of which has wooden arrows with yellow fletchings poking out of it.

You let her walk ahead, lingering behind so she can talk to Xavier. She quietly makes her way after handing you the clipboard. He doesn’t jump when he turns to his right and sees Wednesday.

“Huh. You actually showed up. Ever shot a bow and arrow before?” He asks.

You see movement in one of the top windows and look up. It’s Weems’ office—she’s watching us. With binoculars? Really?

You two make eye contact. You quickly look away hoping Wednesday didn’t notice.

“Only on live targets.” She responds. He raises both eyebrows and quickly puts them down again. He turns and reaches for a new arrow.

“Okay. Crash course.” He gets into position. “Square stance. Load the arrow like this, yellow side out.” He puts his hand in the air and moves three of his fingers. “Three fingers.” He puts the bow in the air. “Pull back and…”

It flies—hitting the 3rd scoring ring of the target.

“Let it fly.” He turns to Wednesday. He glances at you. “Have a second shadow of something?” He asks her—he looks at you.

“Still keeping tabs on people?” He asks you, you shrug. Xavier’s aware of your tendency to shadow people. Actually, most people are now that you think about it.

“When’s the last time you saw your roommate Rowan?” Wednesday says to him. He turns back to her.

“You mean the one that was killed by a monster?” It sounds accusatory. He grabs another arrow. “The Harvest Festival.” He says after a moment. “I haven’t talked to him since. But his side of the room was all packed up this morning.” He looks down at his bow.

“Rowan’s always been a little off, but, uh, the last couple weeks he’s been more erratic. You know, telekinesis can mess with your head, you know. He’s… it started to freak me out.” He aims the bow back at the target.

“So what’s the deal with you and Tyler?”

The arrow sings as it hits the target. It hits the outer ring. He’s awful at this. Wednesday looks at him.

“I’m sorry, were you the only one who got to ask non-archery questions?” He scoffs getting another arrow.

“There is no deal. He was doing me a favor driving me out of town.” She explains. Xavier hands her the bow and she takes it.

“Yeah, word of advice. Steer clear.” He offers an arrow and Wednesday takes it out of his hand.

“Why? Because he’s a normie?”

“Because Tyler and his friends are jerks.” He says quickly. “Ask Y/N. They can’t stand that this school’s the only thing propping up their Podunk town.” Wednesday makes note of that.

“Says the boy whose life was served on a silver platter.”

“Hey y’know, girls in glass houses-“ Wednesday interrupts him.

“Should throw bigger stones.” You look around awkwardly. You’re just kinda, there. Wednesday throws you an apple and looks at you. You understand faster than you’d think.

You walk next to her and she aims the bow. “At least I’m not an elitist snob.” She says to Xavier. You throw the apple. When she lets go of the arrow it stabs the apple and they hit the bullseye.

Xavier looks surprised and back at Wednesday. “Ouch.”

She hands the bow back to him. “What’s next?” She asks you. “Beekeeping. I’m in this one.” You say looking down at the clipboard. She raises an eyebrow at you. You shrug and she sighs.

.

.

This time Wednesday is the one trailing you. You walk to a forest clearing assigned to the beekeeping club.

When Weems made you join a club at the beginning of the year you tried the beekeeping club first. Instead of bees though, you found some boys from Puck Hall messing with one of the hives.

You turned invisible—silently slipping through the treeline. One of them was using telekinesis to shake the hive so you pushed him forward.

Unfortunately for him, the bee hive you pushed him on had bumblebees, not honeybees. Bumblebees can sting several times without dying. Weems told you he got stung 6 times. One of the other boys was only stung once but it was enough to make them not come back.

You smile at the memory. Eugene came back to his bees swarming around you in appreciation.

Wednesday walks ahead of you now, inspecting the beekeeping building. It’s a small shack made of vertical panels. There’s a faded bee painted on the front.

“Are you interested in the ancient art of beekeeping?” You both turn around to the sound of Eugene’s voice.

“Oh hey Y/N! I didn’t realize it was you.” You smile at him.

“Oh! Eugene.” He says, extending his gloved hand to Wednesday. “Eugene Ottinger. Founder and president of the Nevermore Hummers.” Surprisingly, she takes it.

“Wednesday. Wednesday Addams.” She turns to the beehives. “Are we late or is it only you?” Their hands pull back.

“The hive life isn’t for everyone.” He says slowly. “Most kids are afraid of venomous insects. Well, except Y/N.” You shrug, not really knowing what to say.

You look at her, she seems intrigued by being around dangerous insects. Of course she would be.

“Are you willing to feel the sting?” Eugene offers for her to try a beekeeper’s suit and interact with them. She reluctantly agrees. He offers one to you too but you don’t take it. You two wait outside the shack while she puts one on.

“Sooo, how’d you meet her?” You scoff at him.

“Weems made me come with her.” He chuckles. “I mean, you’re definitely always someone’s shadow so it can’t be that bad right?” You hum.

You think about it a little more. “Is it that obvious?”

He nods. “Usually you’re trailing Weems after classes. Not in a weird stalker way, more like a stubborn toddler way.”

You grin. Both of you turn to Wednesday who comes out in the suit. Eugene starts what you like to call his sales pitch.

“Bees have been producing honey in the same way for 150 million years. They’re nature’s perfect community. All working together to achieve a common goal.” You hear a familiar tapping—Thing.

You follow Wednesday’s gaze to Thing tapping on a wooden bench nearby. She looks at you, you nod. “Go, I'll stay with Eugene.”

In the background you hear him still speaking. “Fun fact, it’s also one of the few ecosystems which females dominate. From queen bee to her workers.” She walks to where Thing was.

Eugene turns around. “There's no patriarchy in the hive!” He says happily, he sighs when he sees Wednesday’s gone.

“Did I come off too strong again?” You shake your head. “I think she wants to join, but something came up right now so I let her walk off, sorry.” He sighs again but nods.

“I’ll bring her back here later. Hummer’s promise. But Weems sent me to be her shadow so I gotta.” You move your hands around.

“Yeah I know, don’t worry. You’re coming to the next meeting?” You nod, giving him a thumbs up as you disappear with a pixel transition. It’s your favorite one—it’s like a sci-fi movie.

.

.

You run in the direction Wednesday left in. She went back to Nevermore?

You catch up to her as she speed walks through Nevermore’s front arch. Now you see why she left in such a hurry. Rowan’s leaving, he’s putting his luggage in the front passenger seat of a blue car.

“Rowan! We need to talk.” She walks next to him. Rowan groans.

“Wednesday, I’m not allowed to speak to anyone.” He sounds slightly out of breath. Probably from moving all his stuff.

“You had a lot to say when you tried to kill me. Kill Y/N.” She says quickly. Rowan’s face twitches ever so slightly, like he didn’t know he had a hit list. You know it’s Weems.

Your form fades in behind Wednesday. It’s slow—deliberate, like the specter that’s only revealed at the end of a horror movie. You’re silent, your face appearing before the rest of your body. Something shown in the last frame before the jumpscare.

Wednesday doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even glance at you. Her eyes still locked on ‘Rowan.’ “Told me I was destined to destroy the school, remember? Where did you get that drawing?” She persists.

Rowan’s eyes slip to you and back to Wednesday. Nervous—calculating. Like saying the wrong thing will shatter him.

He responds. “I just went into the woods to clear my head. Then you came after me.” His voice is steady, but the hesitant glance at you says otherwise.

You don’t blink, you barely breath—you watch. The same way a shadow does when a moonlit clock strikes three and the world goes quiet.

That is, until Ms. Thornhill walks behind the car. “Wednesday.” All three of you look at her. “You shouldn’t be here.” She walks to get into the driver's seat.

Rowan turns to Wednesday again. “Yeah, back off and leave me alone.” You see Wednesday’s jaw clench, your eyes don’t leave Thornhill who glances at you through the car window. What’s going on?

To your left near the back bumper of the car you see Thing. Suppressing a grin, you glance down before watching the car leave.

Without sparring you a glance Wednesday walks somewhere. “Let’s go.” She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t have to.

“Do you have any more classes?” She asks you, her walk unwavering.

“No.” You keep your answer plain, short. She seems to appreciate it.

“Good, I need to find more evidence about Rowan’s death and you seem to have a reputation of shadowing. Your intimidation factor isn’t horrible either.” She’s not asking, not even commanding.

You hesitate. You could say no and disappear, leaving her to handle this mess alone. But something isn’t right. Weems’ interference with Rowan’s death is one thing but whatever monster you two saw that killed him? That’s what concerns you.

Plus, it’s not like she’s asking you to do anything different than you were already doing. Weems asked you to keep tabs on her; the only difference now is that Wednesday is aware you’re there. You hesitate again, should you even report to Weems anymore?

No, you have to. She’d get suspicious. You could always just avoid the whole truth, throw a few white lies in the tangled web Weems already formed.

Your body flickers away in a dissolve transition. Nobody questions you two, not outwardly. You don’t know whether it's because they’re scared of you—or scared of Wednesday.

.

.

You didn’t mind Ms. Thornhill’s class, you took it last year out of curiosity. Although that decision backfired as soon as allergy season came. It was abysmal.

When you two walk in, Ms. Thornhill is at her desk waiting for everyone to get settled. “I’m going to give you all the materials again…” You tune it out, you’re not here to learn what you already know.

Wednesday glances around and walks to one of the tables on the left. Thing is already waiting behind a plant. He starts tapping.

“How do you lose him in a bathroom with no windows?” Thing moves as if to shrug.

“A lefty wouldn’t have failed me.” He flattens out. Wednesday looks at him disappointedly. “Don’t sulk.” As you lean against the wall next to Wednesday you see Bianca and the choir group watching her.

Wednesday continues. “I’m going to have to find new evidence myself, since you lost our only lead.” You tap on Wednesday. She turns to her left.

Bianca smiles. “I see you finally made a friend.” Did they see Thing? No, he’s behind the plant.

“Even if it is a plant.” Knew it.

“I go for quality over quantity.” Wednesday snarks. You grin as Bianca rolls her eyes and turns back around to go to her table. You keep looking at her, she’s looking at Xavier. You smirk.

Wednesday walks to the desks, they’re all full. Except for one.

The only open seat is next to Xavier. Wednesday stands beside it awkwardly. He sighs. “There’s an open spot next to me.” He looks back down at his paper. “If you can stand sitting that close to an elitist snob.” He draws on his paper.

You move out the way as Wednesday moves to sit next to him. You see Bianca’s posture change. She sits straighter, eyes flickering between the two erratically before settling on Xavier.

When Wednesday sits he puts his hand above his paper. Of course. Wednesday watches as the spider he drew comes to life and slowly walk off the page.

You look at everyone else. Enid and Yoko are talking at the desk behind Xavier and Wednesday. Bianca and Divina are watching Xavier and Wednesday’s interaction. The other students aren’t paying attention.

Thornhill’s head looks up to see the spider. “I doubt Wednesday is impressed by your tricks, Mr. Thorpe.” She readjusts her glasses.

Xavier smiles. “Admit it, you’re a little impressed.” Everyone’s eyes are on Wednesday now. You shiver, feeling them on you too. Her eyes, however, are on the spider. It walks towards her, she hits it, her palm facing downwards.

There’s a loud twack through the room. Enid and Yoko smile, quietly laugh. You hear laughing on the other side of the room too. Thornhill smiles too before addressing her.

“Wednesday, we’re thrilled to have you join us on our journey into the world of carnivorous plants. Now…” Thornhill puts her palms together, linking her fingers.

“Who can tell us the name of this beauty?” She gestures to the plant behind her. It’s trapped in a glass container.

Bianca’s hand shoots up before Thornhill can finish her question. Wednesday glances at her before saying the answer. “Dendriphylax lindenii.”

You turn to Bianca and grin. She looks offended. “Otherwise known as the ghost orchid.” Bianca says. Oooo, your favorite. For obvious reasons—and Thornhill gave one to you when you first came to Nevermore. It currently clings to one of the walls of your dorm.

On a piece of hardwood of course, Weems would never let you harm the building’s structure. You’re broken out of your thoughts as Wednesday talks back.

“First discovered in the Isle of Wight in 1854.” Bianca side eyes her, but Wednesday certainly doesn’t care. Thornhill moves her head shocked yet impressed.

“Very good, Wednesday.” She praises, turning to Bianca. “Looks like you may have competition for first chair, Bianca. Someone other than Nevermore’s ghost.”

Some students snicker. You stand behind Wednesday with your arms crossed. People-watching is fun.

“Wednesday, perhaps you can identify the ghost orchid’s greatest qualities.”

“Resilience and adaptability.” Damn. She answered quickly. “It’s able to thrive in even the most hostile environments.”

Bianca butts in. Trying to reclaim the spotlight. “But its mere presence can change the ecosystem, causing the established plants to reject it.”

Wednesday responds. Her advantage against Bianca is that she doesn’t want the pedestal. “Usually because the native species is allowed to thrive unchecked.”

You look at Bianca. Her eyes are wide and unblinking. Watching the two is a thousand times more entertaining than any piece of media.

“Nothing a weed wacker couldn’t fix.” A small smile grazes your lips. “You can most certainly try.” Bianca says.

Xavier smiles, “are we still talking about flowers?” The class chuckles. You can’t see Wednesday’s eyes but you’re sure they’re still fixated on Thornhill, not allowing the Bianca the satisfaction of being acknowledged.

Bianca is quite the opposite. She’s locked on to the calm Addams, her glare never wavering.

Thornhill chuckles as well. “Clearly the plants aren’t the only carnivores in class today.”

Thornhill changes the subject to the Amorphophallus titanum, or the corpse flower. You walk around the classroom since nobody can see you. Quietly examining some of the new plants near the greenhouse’s windowsills.

You walk back to Wednesday after a few minutes

“Is your shadow here?” You hear Xavier ask.

Wednesday’s eyes flick between him and at Thornhill. You answer for her, flicking his elbow with your finger. He jumps. “Guess that’s my answer.”

.

.

When the class ends you’re already waiting by the door still invisible. Wednesday walks in a random direction and you follow, becoming visible after a minute or so.

“I have to get to the Hummer’s meeting and help with the Poe Cup preparations.” You want to help Wednesday, but you made promises to Eugene and Enid.

She sighs. “Are the meetings required?”

“Yup.” You keep your answer short. You noticed her jaw seems to clench whenever someone answers her question but continues on rambling.

“Fine, I’ll go to the hummer’s meeting, but I need to talk to Enid first.” You hum, matching your pace to hers. The two of you walk.

“Why does nobody seem to take into consideration that you saw Rowan’s death as well? You’re like a phantom to them. Which means my only witness is a ghost.” She grumbles.

You shrug but realize she can’t see it if you’re behind her.

“I’m Nevermore’s ghost, remember? They can’t say I’m lying if I’m gone by the time they see me. Plus, I don’t think most of them know I was even there, I’m not exactly as vocal as you.”

“How is it that you seem to be everywhere?” Her tone is still monotone.

“I like to watch.” Your voice is low. It’s not a secret but it’s not something you admit out loud. “I’m not everywhere, I'm just where it seems to matter.”

She hums. She’s quiet for a moment. “I have an idea to get you out of both your plans.” You sigh. “And that is?”

“Enid. I’ll ask her to attend the Hummer’s meeting, giving Eugene someone to concentrate on. Giving us an alibi in case Weems asks where we were after classes.” She pauses.

“And given Enid’s insistence that I make acquaintances, I’m sure she’ll allow you to have less responsibilities regarding the Poe Cup.” You think about it.

This way you won’t be expected to be at two places at once. And having a reliable alibi like Eugene means Weems won’t get suspicious. As much as you liked being around Weems, whatever killed Rowan in the woods has to be found.

You can’t deny it’s an adequate plan. “And if it fails?”

“We adapt.”

You smirk. Any other answer would have been inadmissible.

.

.

You walk ahead towards the Black Cats’ boat.

“Sorry, I got held up.” You apologize. Yoko raises an eyebrow. “By what?” Enid asked. She’s not mad, she finds it a bit funny.

“I have to get back to the woods, but Weems has been watching me like a vulture circling a carcass.” Wednesday says to Enid. Straight to the point. “Nevermind, I see why.” Enid mumbles lowly before returning to her regular voice. “And you want me to cover so that you can return to the scene of a crime that didn’t happen?”

“I have beekeeping club this afternoon. I need you as a decoy.”

Huh, so this is why people like having roommates. You never had that ‘you’re thinking what I’m thinking’ experience with your roommates. That’s why you opted for a single room.

Enid winces. “Sorry. Two strikes. I’m busy and bees totally creep me out.” You make note of that. Never too much information right?

“Why don’t you ask Thing? Oh wait, you can’t, because he’s mad at you.” You keep forgetting about Thing. You’ve seen him maybe three times? Being friends with a severed hand would be cool though.

Wednesday raises an eyebrow and turns to Enid fully. “Why is he mad? He’s the one who screwed up with Rowan.” Yoko taps your leg as you watch the two. You look down at her painting the boat and she hands you a brush.

You kneel down to help her finish one of the eyes. That doesn’t mean you can’t still hear Enid and Wednesday though.

“All I know is that we spent an hour giving each other manis, and he really opened up. He feels like you don’t respect him as a person.” You and Yoko look at each other.

“Well technically he’s only a hand.” You look up the two, smiling as you see Wednesday’s side eye towards Enid.

“Wednesday! He’s your family. And he would do anything for you.” Enid smugly looks back at the boat.

“Go apologize and I’ll reconsider helping you.” Her eyes have a sparkle, like she knows she won.

Wednesday hesitantly looks at you, you nod. She looks at Enid and clenches her jaw before walking back towards Nevermore’s main building.

“So… Wednesday?” Enid says, trailing off. She squints at you with a small smile. “Blink twice if you need help.” She says right after.

You scoff with a smile. “I believe her, y’know—about Rowan.” Enid hums. The conversation goes quiet.

“Oh, I designed the other traps, just not sure how to make them.” You put the brush down inside Yoko’s plastic water cup.

“I have to get to the beekeeping club, but I can bring them after. If Wednesday doesn’t drag me along.”

Enid grimaces. “As much as I want her to apologize to Thing, if I get stung by a bee I will freak out.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, Eugene has beekeeping suits for a reason. You’ll be fine.”

.

.

You stand next to one of Eugene’s honey jar tables. There’s a bee sitting on the top of your head. You trust them not to sting you.

Your calmness however didn’t stop Enid from freaking out for at least 3 minutes before coming into the shed. You hand the helmet of the suit to Enid.

“You’ll be fine Enid.” You try to reassure her but the bee nestled in your hair isn’t helping you.

“If Weems comes sniffing around keep your distance, look grim, and don’t say a word.”

“Payback is going to be a bitch.” You’re not sure if Enid’s saying that to Wednesday for bringing her here, or you for encouraging her antics.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Wednesday replies flatly. She walks to Eugene whose on the other side of the shed.

“Blab and I will squeeze you like a honeycomb.” She says. Eugene turns to her.

“Snitches get stung. It’s hive code.” He smiles.

“Besides, I should be thanking you. This is the most girls I’ve ever had in the shed. Other than bees.”

“Shocking.” Wednesday replies. You smile but you hide it with your hand.

Eugene glances at Enid. “I’ve always had a thing for werewolf chicks.” You internally groan.

“The chance that Enid ever becomes romantically interested in you is less than 1%.” You shake your head. That’ll only encourage him.

“So I’ve still got a shot?” He smiles. “Yes!” He pumps his hand in victory.

Your shoulders shake a little as you let out a small laugh. Wednesday glares at you before walking forward towards the door. “I need you to shadow.” She walks past you.

You walk behind her. She opens the door. “Invisible. I want to see what Galpin’s search party missed.” You hum.

“And where how do you know they missed something?” You ask. Wednesday doesn’t slow down as she walks down the forest path behind the shed. “Just follow.” You smile but you don’t respond.

When Wednesday turns back you’re gone—just like she told you to be.

.

.

Wednesday walks towards one of the trees in the clearing Rowan died in. She’s looking down for evidence on the ground. You follow behind her looking around the treeline.

If Galpin’s actually committed to the case, he might come back.

Something moves in the distance. It’s Galpin and his dog. You sprint to Wednesday who isn’t very far ahead and pull her back around the tree, hand over her mouth. She can ask questions after.

Her body’s slack in your grip—she knows it’s you.

Someone bumps into you from behind. You exhale sharply before letting Wednesday go—pinning whoever it is behind the tree until Galpin and the dog leave.

“Woah.” You look up. It’s Tyler. Shit.

You’re still invisible.

Wednesday’s eyes move erratically around him, looking for you.

You push back—he stammers to hold himself upright. His eyes looking around. Your invisibility slips away in a pixel shimmer. Tyler’s eyes are wide.

“What…” He trails off, looking at you.

Your eyes nervously move to Wednesday. She’s glaring at Tyler. “What are you doing?” She asks sharply.

He tenses, standing up properly now. “I just—Sorry, I didn’t want Elvis to pick up your scent.” You take a step back so you’re closer to Wednesday, giving him his space.

“Hmm. How’d you throw them off?” She says. He awkwardly reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bag of coffee with a wryly chuckle.

“Coffee grounds?” Wednesday says. His eyes flicker between you two, he doesn’t know who to look at. He looks at the ground, putting the bag back in his pocket. “Deer hunting hack.”

“One of the perks of being a part-time barista.” His eyes stop moving around, instead he chooses to just look at Wednesday. You turn your head to check if the sheriff was coming back.

“I assume your father didn’t bring the bloodhound to play fetch.” You can see Wednesday’s unblinking gaze settle on Tyler in your peripheral vision.

“He doesn’t tell me shit.” You hear him quickly add on. “You must think it’s weird I’m stalking him.” He says slowly.

“No, I consistently stalk my parents.” Wednesday starts walking, continuing her search.

“Hey, wait, what really happened the other night at the festival?” He follows her, glancing at you. “You guys clearly aren’t normal.” He looks back ahead at Wednesday.

“Look, I swear I won’t say anything to my dad.” She stops walking and swivels to face him with a blank face.

“I thought Rowan was in danger. Turns out I was wrong. Then he proceeded to use his telekinesis to try and choke me to death.” Then she turns around and keeps searching.

Tyler’s eyes look at you two. “Holy shit. Wh…Why would he do that?” You exhale and look around as the two talk.

“No idea. That’s when the monster came out of the shadows and gutted him.” You close your eyes for a second as the memory comes back to you.

“Whoa, Whoa… so you really saw it.”

“She did too. Even if nobody acknowledges that fact.” Wednesday says glancing at you. You shrug, but you’re not sure if she saw it.

“And it didn’t try to kill you two?”

She hums. “It actually saved me from Rowan. That’s the part I’m trying to figure out. I came out her to find something that can prove he was murdered and that I haven’t lost my mind. Yet.” Leaves crunch under her shoe as she walks.

“So what’s she? Like your stalker or your second shadow?” You smile.

“Stalker is much too flattering of a term.”

Before Tyler can respond Wednesday's eyes lock onto something on the ground in front of her. She quickly walks towards it and so do you. It’s Rowan’s glasses…

Part of you scoffs at her discovery. You were out here with Galpin’s search party and you still missed it.

“These are Rowan’s.” Her eyes narrow. “I knew it was a cover-up.” She grabs them and her head goes back. You quickly lean towards her, hand reaching to protect her head thinking she was going to fall back—but she doesn’t. Her body is stiff.

You and Tyler nervously flicker yours eyes to each other and to Wednesday.

“Does this… happen often?”

You sigh. “More so now… Give her a minute.”

He nods hesitantly. A few seconds pass and Wednesday's head goes back down. You realize your hand is still on her nape and you pull it away.

“Okay?”

Her eyes are wide as they look at the glasses. Your thoughts go back to what Weems said.

‘Your mother started having visions when she was around your age.’

.

.

“I keep seeing that same purple book.” Wednesday says to to Thing. She made you come along to the library with the promise of helping you with your traps for the Poe Cup. Thing was more than happy to help you make them.

You arms are crossed as you stand in front of one of the library tables behind Wednesday. Her bag over your shoulder. Thing moves a book towards her.

“The cover was darker. More like a day-old contusion. Keep looking.” While Wednesday holds a sketch she made and Thing looks over the bookshelf, you use your phone and open the browser.

Most of your recent searches are new vocabulary words—courtesy of Wednesday. ‘Contusion’ you search up. She was talking about a bruise.

You look up with a jump as Thornhill’s voice echoes through the library. “I don’t usually find students in here looking for actual books.” She says with a chuckle.

“Most sneak in to make out.” Her eyes on Wednesday but she takes a small glance at you with a smile.

“I accidentally walked in on two vampires fanging. I can’t unsee that.” Wednesday says. Thornhill smiles and puts her hands together. “Is there something I can help you two find?”

Wednesday's eyes flicker—examining her. She looks down at her sketch, unfolding it to show to her. “Have you seen this before? It’s a watermark from a book I’m looking for.”

Thornhill’s eyes lock onto it. “I think it’s the symbol to an old student society. Um… The Nightshades.”

Oh. Them.

It sounds familiar, you think Bianca tried to recruit you—twice. Xavier too. You didn't want to though. Should you tell Wednesday? Surely she’ll figure it out.

Wednesday hums. “Like the deadly flower. Color me intrigued.”

Thornhill continues. “I was told they disbanded years ago.” You almost snort but quickly realize you shouldn’t.

“Any idea why?” Wednesday asks, but Thornhill shakes her head. “Sorry.”

Wednesday nods and walks towards you, holding out the sketch. You take it and carefully put it in her bag.

“I was very impressed with your answers in class today. Y/N is the only one whose challenged Bianca like that.”

“My mother is a carnivorous plant aficionado.”

Wednesday continues. “I assume I get my red thumb from her.” She hands you her pen after you place the sketch somewhere safe. She watches you.

Everything in her bag seems to have a place, you just have to look for it. You make note of that. Nothing seems to be out of order or freely placed.

“Are you and your mother close?” You hear her ask.

“Like two inmates sentenced to life on the same cell block.” You smile. Wednesday’s eyes glance at you.

“I know it can’t be easy… showing up mid-semester.” Thornhill says.

“I’ve been here for a year and a half, and I still feel like an outsider.” That makes you sad. You noticed how teachers didn’t disrespect her but they didn’t chat with her in the hallway after classes like they did with the others.

Perks of being a ghost, nobody knows you’re there. You would watch as she put her head down and kept walking.

Definitely villain-arc material.

“Is that because you’re the only normie on the staff?” You close your eyes in grimace. Who told her?

“Enid told me.” You sigh quietly from your spot near the table. Of course she did.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never really fit in anywhere.” There’s a pause.

“Too odd for the normies, not odd enough for the outcasts.” She smiles towards you. You’ve never treated her differently, you even shadowed her a bit. Although you stopped because something always felt wrong when you did.

Weems is funner anyways.

She sighs. “I thought Nevermore would be different, but there’s still a handful of teachers who will barely acknowledge me.”

Wednesday responds. “I act as if I don’t care if people dislike me. Deep down.” You shift uncomfortably, too much emotion from her. “I secretly enjoy it.” She ends. You pause. That feels much more familiar.

Thornhill smiles at her. “Never lose that Wednesday.”

“Lose what?” Thornhill sighs again. “The ability to not let others define you. It’s a gift. I admire the two of you for having it.” Her eyes shift to you and then back to Wednesday.

“It doesn’t always feel that way.” Wednesday says.

“The most interesting plants grow in the shade.” Thornhill walks to the door leading to another section of the library. “Oh.” She turns back. “And if you ever need anyone to talk to, the door to the conservatory is always open.” She nods at you before walking away again.

You take a step towards Wednesday. “Find it?” You whisper into the empty air. Wednesday shakes her head.

“Thing.” She calls. Thing crawls back and does a shrug motion. She hums.

“Rowan must have had it in his dorm.”

You think. “His dorm is packed, it should be gone.”

“One way to find out.” Wednesday says.

Fuck.

.

.

“Why’d I agree to this?” You grumble, helping her onto Xavier’s balcony.

“You didn’t.” Wednesday dusts herself off.

You sigh, looking in the window. The lights are off. You jingle the balcony door—locked. Before you can say anything Wednesday pushes past you and starts unlocking it. Where did she get a lock pick? You realize it’s probably better not to ask questions.

She opens the door once it’s unlocked, walking inside. “Let’s just hurry before he comes back from his run.” You say. As if on cue, the front door starts jingling.

You close the door and grab Wednesday, making both of you disappear. You hadn’t tried it before but it works. Xavier opens the door and turns on the light before walking to the bathroom to change.

Once the door to the bathroom closes Wednesday pulls out of your grip and starts looking around. “That purple book has got to be around here somewhere.” She says. Thing climbs on your shoulder before jumping onto Xavier’s dresser.

Her eyes fall on Xavier’s desk. “Start investigating.” You nod absentmindedly. Thing goes to the bookshelf first, Wednesday searches the desks.

You turn and lock on Rowan’s dresser. You walk to it and quietly open the drawers to see if anything was left behind. You hear Wednesday flipping the pages of Xavier’s sketchbook.

“Nothing.” You whisper—turning back to her. She pulls a black light out of her pocket and walks to Rowan’s bed. She turns off the room light and flicks her black light on.

Wednesday scans Rowan’s bed with the light. Thing goes back to checking the bookcase. You watch as Wednesday flicks the blacklight to Rowan’s desk. Nothing.

“Under the bed.” You whisper. She looks at you then at the ground. She crouches under the bed, you know you were right when you hear something open. “Under the floor.” She whispers.

Her head comes back up from under the bed, she’s holding a mask. You walk closer to her as she uses the black light on it. “Rowan’s full of surprises.” There’s a small pause in the room. This is what she wanted.

You both get up, having the same thought. You put your hand on the door to open it but pause when someone knocks on Xavier’s door.

Wednesday quickly dives down to hide under the bed. Just as she turns to look at you, she blinks and you’re gone. Her eyes dart around confused. There was no flicker, no shimmer, nothing. You were just gone.

The two of you hold your breath and Xavier comes out of his bathroom. He walks to the door. It’s Bianca? She has a small smile on her face.

He sighs. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He pulls her in. She scoffs. “Nice to see you too.”

He walks to his bed. “How’d you get past the Housemaster? Use your siren powers?” You slowly shuffle to Rowan’s side of the room. It’s darker there, easier to stay invisible with less light to manipulate.

Bianca responds quickly. “Not while wearing this.” Her hand goes to her necklace.

Her hands go out to make a ‘what the hell’ gesture. “Would it kill you to not think the worst of me for once?” She walks towards him. Xavier does not look happy.

“What do you want, Bianca?” He sighs.

“To see how you’re doing.” Your eyes look down to Wednesday. Thing is next to her. At least Wednesday’s dark outfit makes it harder to spot her.

“I’m sorry about Rowan. I know you guys used to be close.”

“Since when did you give a damn about Rowan?”

You watch awkwardly, sinking further into the dark corner you found yourself in. Why are you always there for the awkward moments?

“You were the one afraid he’d do something to Wednesday.”

Your eyes widen. What?

“Isn’t that why you’ve been following her like an eager-eyed puppy? Or is there something more?” Bianca accuses.

Wednesday’s eyes shift from Bianca to Xavier.

“Seriously, what do you see in her?” Bianca presses.

Xavier gets up from his bed and walks to his desk, closing the sketchbook. He leaves his hand on top of it as he turns to face Bianca who walks towards him.

“You have a thing for tragic goth girls with a funeral-parlor fashion sense?”

“How about you ask Y/N that, she’s glued to her. Why are you here Bianca?” He emphasizes the last part.

“Y/N is Y/N, she’d marry any goth girl that looked at her.” You nod along admittedly. It’s a fair assessment.

Bianca continues. “I want to know what you see in her.” She crosses her arms.

“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t tried to manipulate me.” Your face makes an expression like you just watched a plot twist scene in a telenovela. This might be better than finding gossip for Enid.

“I make one mistake and you can’t forgive me.” Bianca says, making a small pause. “She treats you like crap and you can’t get enough.” Xavier’s face doesn’t have an emotion you can pinpoint. It’s between annoyed and mad—even a little confused.

“Why are you so fixated on Wednesday?”

“Because she thinks she’s better than everyone else.” Bianca retorts angrily, but she continues on. “I can’t wait to crush Ophelia Hall tomorrow and watch her werewolf roommate crumble.” She smiles, walking next to Xavier.

“It’s gonna be a Poe Cup finale to remember.”

“And Y/N?”

“She’ll be fine.” She says. Xavier scoffs.

“I hate to think what you’ve got planned.” He says.

“My games already started.”

Your eyebrows furrow. What does that mean? You see Wednesday and Thing look at each other for a second before turning back to Bianca and Xavier.

“Is that so wrong?” Their shoulders are touching. Yet again you feel that familiar discomfort in your chest whenever you witness a private moment.

“And you wonder why I broke up with you.” He doesn’t blink as he looks at Bianca.

“You used to love my killer instinct.” She smiles, grabbing Xavier’s hand before pulling him away from his desk.

“We were good together, Xavier.” He doesn’t move, letting Bianca pull on him.

“Were we? Or is that just how you wanted me to feel?” Bianca’s mouth falls open looking for a response. She closes it before talking. “Trust me.” She lets go of his hand and takes a step back. Her voice lowers.

“Wednesday Addams is not the girl of your dreams.”

“She’s the stuff of your nightmares.”

Bianca turns and walks towards Xavier’s door.

“And Y/N? You’re not gonna warn her?” Xavier says—his tone sharp. Bianca’s hand rests on the door knob.

“The ghost of Nevermore?” She smirks. “She would be someone’s alibi if they asked. She’ll be fine.” She opens the door and leaves.

It slams behind her.

Wednesday and Thing look at each other. You look at Xavier. Damn. He’s stressed.

He sighs. He rubs his face with his hands. He grabs a speaker from his drawer and goes to the bathroom, closing the door. Wednesday quickly slides out from under the bed—mask in hand.

You dive towards the balcony door next to her. Opening it once you hear the shower running. The cold night air stings your lungs as you hold the door open for Wednesday and Thing.

“Let’s get out of here. Please.” You mumble, more to yourself than her.

.

.

“C’mon. Before Weems catches us.” You say to her. Moving towards Ophelia Hall.

“Do you control how fast you disappear?” She asks you. You pause for a second.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I can. The transition effects are more out of courtesy.” She scoffs.

“I would get rid of that. It’s much more terrifying for someone to blink and you’re gone.” You hum, avoiding the main entrance of Ophelia Hall.

“You can get to your balcony from my window through the roof, it’ll be easier than trying to sneak past Weems. I don’t doubt she’s waiting to see if you try to leave at night.”

Wednesday doesn’t say anything as she follows you. Is this how she feels? Feeling another shadow in line with yours?

You shake the thought, unlocking the door to your dorm.

“There’s a small path on the roof that connects the buildings. I used it on April Fools' to scare Bianca, it’s safe.” You say, already going to your window to open it

Wednesday closes and locks the door behind you.

You make a grabby hand towards her. She raises an eyebrow. “Your bag. It’ll be easier.” She doesn’t blink as she slips off her backpack, handing it to you.

“C’mon.” You take the first few steps, showing Wednesday where to step and climb.

“Impressive.”

You still. You awkwardly nod as she figures out where to go to get to her balcony. The top of the roof is flat, she walks ahead of you already recognizing the way to her dorm.

It’s really fucking cold.

When you two get there she slides down the rain gutter just like she did at Kinbott’s office. You don’t mention it, you just do the same thing.

“Ok.” The air is still, not even a slight breeze. Which is odd considering a few seconds ago you were freezing.

You carefully take off her backpack—holding it out to her. She puts it back on, Thing climbing out to rest on her shoulder.

“I’ll send Thing over tomorrow morning to look over your Poe Cup designs. He’s an Addams, his inventions are adequate. It runs in the family.” You smile and give her a nod.

“Alright then. Goodnight Wednesday.” She nods and looks down. You sigh and turn around finding a way to climb up.

You hear the squeak of her balcony door. A low sob cuts the air until the door closes.

Enid?

You hesitate. Enid might not be your best friend but you two were still friends—somewhat.

Your mind flips between your options. If you check on her it might make it awkward considering you would be going through the balcony. The sob lingers in your ears.

You keep climbing up the roof.

If Wednesday wanted you to help she would have turned back and called for you. They’ll be okay.

.

“Looks like the Ghost of Nevermore finally wandered off Addams’ leash.” You turn your head to look behind you, it’s Bianca. Her arms are crossed and she has that permanent smug look on her.

You sigh and turn back to your book. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to talk back during the Poe Cup.

Last night Thing came by your dorm and told you—or rather tapped to you—that Wednesday would be joining the Poe Cup as Enid’s co-pilot.

You two went over your designs and he liked them so he brought them to Wednesday. They started on your designs, you helped the two finish them in the morning.

Now you’re next to Enid outside Nevermore, waiting for Wednesday’s confirmation.

“What’s going on there anyways?” Bianca asks, walking over to lean next to you. Enid looks between you two, you wave her off.

“Some ghosts are shades, not poltergeists.”

She chuckles and sits next to you. “Mhm.” She hums. “Y’know I love you but I’m still gonna crush you today.” You smile. “I don’t know about that one.”

She sighs, a small smile resting on her face. She puts her hand out. You shake it.

“Can’t beat a ghost if you can’t see it.”

“Can’t beat a siren if it drags you under.”

You both smile, competitive glints in your eyes. She walks off. Enid looks at you.

“Seriously?”

You shrug. “I don’t have any ill will towards anyone.” Except maybe Rowan—but you don’t vocalize that.

Enid scoffs. Squealing when she sees Wednesday. You look up and see her too. Just in time to see Bianca turn her head for a second when Wednesday walks by.

You smirk. You close your book after placing a bookmark. The Great Gatsby isn’t that bad. Wednesday leans next to Enid. “We’re all set.” Enid says.

“Good. Thing’s in position.”

“Want to tell me what you two were up to all night?”

“And spoil the surprise?”

Enid smiles widely. “Speaking of surprises… your costumes in the tent.”

Wednesday’s eyes go wide. “Costume?” She asks. Enid’s smile doesn’t falter. Neither does yours.

.

.

Wednesday walks out of the tent—her expression would be comical if you weren’t the victim of it. She walks towards you two. You and Enid are already in your costumes.

“O.M.G, you look purr-fect!” Enid does a little cat motion with her hands. Her smile falls.

“Only thing, where are your whiskers?”

“Ask again and you’ll be down to eight lives.”

Enid smiles. The three of you look towards the boats as Weems’ announcement plays. It’s almost time.

“It’s ok, Y/N won’t put them on either.” Wednesday’s eyes switch to you.

You don’t have any face paint on either. “Makes me uncomfortable.” You say.

She doesn’t question it. Enid jumps cheerfully. “C’mon.” She says, dragging you to the boat by your wrist, Wednesday following.

You sit down first. You’re in the back seat. Wednesday sits in front of you and then Enid in front of her. One of Enid and Yoko’s friends in the front seat. You forget her name…

Wednesday hands you an oar. You take it—fumbling it, trying to remember how to position it. “Like this.” Wednesday helps you. You nod.

Enid looks over at Ajax with a smile, but he looks away. “Focus.” Wednesday says. Looking over at Xavier. You look at her.

“What do we have here?” Bianca says from her boat. You and Wednesday look at her. “The runt of the litter.” Bianca says again, directing it to Wednesday.

Wednesday stays quiet for a moment. “For the record, I don’t believe I’m better than everyone else.” Bianca’s eyebrows furrow. You resist the urge to wince, now Bianca knows Wednesday was there yesterday.

“Just that I’m better than you.” Wednesday ends. You smile. From the corner of your eye you can see Xavier smile too.

Weems announces the cup. You ignore most of it—although you tune in to hear ‘dating back 125 years.’ We’ve done the Poe Cup that long?

Thing tugs at you, you look down at him and nod. Ignoring Bianca’s look. You listen to Weems now.

“Each team must toe across Raven Island, pull a flag from Crackstone’s Crypt, and hustle back without sinking or being sunk.” Thing moves to be in front of Wednesday.

“First team to cross the finish line with their flag wins the cup and bragging rights for a year—as well as some special privileges.”

You smile as Weems puts the fake gun in the air. You know it’s fake but seeing Weems with one is funny to you. “Let the Poe Cup begin.” She hits the trigger, releasing the blank shot.

The four of you begin to row. Your arm burns slightly, not being used to the movement. Ajax and Xavier’s team bumps into you.

“Excuse us.” One of them says. They row ahead of your boat, blocking it. You glance behind you.

“Bianca’s behind.” You warn Wednesday. She nods. Your eyes move to movement on your right. One of Bianca’s siren friends just jumped into the water.

Before you can say anything another boat rows next to you four.

‘The Pit and the Pendulums’ is on the side of the boat.

Something clicks and all four of you dodge an incoming axe. “Fuck.” You wince quietly as the axe sways above you. Eventually it pulls back. Before you can do anything their boat stops.

It starts moving the opposite way they want it to. You grin—the siren’s doing. They hit a red buoy and fall into the water.

You keep rowing until Wednesday puts her oar down and looks into the distance with a comically small monocular.

“Thing.” She says. He moves to the switch next to you and pulls it. Your net idea.

You can’t hear the net release but the bubbles on the water’s surface tells you it hit the siren. You knew it would work. You grin at your internal victory.

Xavier’s team hits the shore in front of you, the four of you row faster.

When your boat lands you and Wednesday get up. Enid moves to follow but Wednesday stops her. “Stay here and make sure Bianca can’t sabotage our boat. We’ll get the flag.”

You follow Wednesday as she runs towards the Crypt.

Xavier and Ajax run past you two after getting their flag. “Later ladies.” Xavier yells as they run. They’re close enough that you trip him and keep running with a smile when you hear him drop behind you.

When Wednesday grabs the flag her head goes back again. “Shit.” You say under your breath.

She starts falling and you run forward, barely catching her. Your eyes wide. The flag doesn’t matter right now. Her head resting on your knees as you kneel on the ground.

The flag lays beside you.

—

Wednesday looks around. She’s in same spot she was before but the world has a blue hue. Her eyes wander around to look for you.

She turns—making eye contact with a girl that looks just like her. Except her hair is blonde and her clothes white. She has a book in her right hand. Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow slightly but she doesn’t blink or look away.

Neither does the girl.

“You are the key.” She says.

“She’s the specter.”

—

You shake Wednesday. “C’mon.” You whisper.

Bianca’s team runs up beside you. You look at her. She looks slightly worried but she runs to her flag anyway with her teammate.

“Taking a cat nap?” She says. Ironically she says it the moment Wednesday’s eyes open. She looks around, watching as Bianca runs back. Her head flickers back to the crypt.

“Let’s go.” Wednesday says. She gets up and starts running—trusting you to grab the flag.

You do, running behind her. You’ll question her later.

By the time you two get there the other two teams are already rowing away.

“Come on! Hurry up, we have to go!”

You two settle in the boat after you secure the flag on the front. As you row past Xavier and Ajax their boat starts to sink. Enid cheers in front of you.

“I just asked myself WWWD? What would Wednesday do.” She says. You smile.

Wednesday stops rowing when your team catches up to Bianca. You grin knowing what trap she’s going to use next.

She flips the lever, spikes poke out of your boat. Now all you have to do is get next to her.

You row harder hoping it helps. Bianca’s teammates look back at you four as you get close.

But just as the spikes are inches away from their boat your boat gets pushed. Dammit. The siren escaped the net. Your boat starts heading towards another red buoy.

Thing climbs up to the ledge of the boat next to you and jumps into the water. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion until the boat stops being pushed.

You don’t notice it but the sides of Wednesday’s lips twitch up at Thing’s idea.

Bianca’s eyes go wide as your team catches up again, the spikes scratching their boat until it finally pokes through. Water starts to drag them down.

“Gotcha!” Enid says in victory.

You don’t look back like Enid and Wednesday do, you keep rowing. You're exhausted from today.

And I still have to ask Wednesday what happened.

The two of them jump out of the boat first. They’re captain and co-pilot, they should go first. You and the other girl—what was her name—run behind them.

You grin as you look back at the boat and see Thing shaking the water off of him like a dog.

Beside you Enid screams in victory. “Admit it, you kinda got into the whole school spirit thing.” She says.

Wednesday looks back at Bianca with you. This time you do see the small smirk Wednesday has as Bianca glares at her.

“You didn’t tell me it was a dark, vengeful spirit.”

.

.

“The first Poe Cup took place in 1897.”

You stand behind Wednesday as Weems announces the winners. Enid is next to her. The other girl behind her.

Seriously, what was her name?

“As a way to not only honor Nevermore’s most famous alumni, but to celebrate those values that outcasts share. Community, perseverance and determination.”

And physical harm. You think with a smile. I’m so funny.

“And we certainly saw those values on display today.” Weems picks up the giant black trophy and hands it to Enid. You smile. You can’t see her face from here but she must be happy.

“Whoo!” She screams and puts the trophy up. Definitely happy. “Congratulations to Ophelia Hall!” Weems says.

Wednesday leaves. You sigh. You want to be here with Enid but part of you wants to follow her.

And you hate this crowd. Seriously. Wait. I still have to ask her what happened when she got the flag. That excuse is good enough for you and you follow her.

She goes inside and sits next to the statue of Edgar Allan Poe. She sighs and her head goes back to hit the statue. Her eyes are closed.

“Want to tell me what happened there?” You ask, walking inside. She opens them to look at you but her eyes quickly glance up again.

You look at her confused. Her eyes don’t move from the book the statue is holding.

“What are you two doing down here?” Enid says behind you. You turn and give her an awkward smile. She frowns at you and walks to Wednesday.

“Hiding.” Wednesday says, standing up when Enid pulls on her elbow. “People keep randomly smiling at me, it’s unsettling.”

“It’s called having your moment.” You sigh and move so they can walk past you back outside. You follow behind them. “Not sure how much more of this moment I can take.” You say under your breath.

You’re not sure if they hear it because nobody says anything.

“You took down Bianca Barclay, try to enjoy it.” Enid says to Wednesday. “The girls want to know if you want to hang out later. Same goes for you Y/N.” She adds. You groan and she smiles.

Wednesday separates herself from Enid. “Oh come on, it won’t kill you two.”

Wednesday looks at her—she’s actually contemplating it? “I’ll think about it.” She responds. Enid nods and turns to you with a smile.

You sigh. “Maybe.”

She squeals and skips back to the table with Yoko and that girl.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, a soft squeeze accompanying it. You turn and smile when you see Weems.

“It’s good to see you fitting in Wednesday. Just like your mother.” She tries to praise. You close your eyes with a small grin and look down. You haven’t known Wednesday long but you know she won’t like that.

“My mother and I are two different people/species/everything.” Wednesday using ‘/‘ in a sentence? She’s been around Enid too much.

Weems' smile doesn’t fall. “The last time Ophelia Hall won the Poe Cup, your mother captained the team. I was her co-pilot.” She continues.

“Maybe you two are more alike than you think.”

.

.

You wait by the Edgar Allan Poe statue. You know Wednesday is going to come back. While you’re here you look at the symbol she saw last time you saw her.

You hear soft footsteps echo down the hall. “Addams.” You say, getting up from the statue and turning to lean against the wall near it.

“I was wondering if you’d be here.” She says, going to the statue to examine the symbol under the book. She turns on a small flashlight.

She moves the light around, you watch. Simultaneously straining your ears for anyone else’s footsteps. She steps on the statue to look inside the book, writing something down on a notepad she got from her pocket.

“It’s a riddle.” You whisper in realization. What else would she be writing down? She doesn’t comment. She gets down from the statue after a second, standing next to you. She flicks her flashlight to her notepad, a slight smirk on her lips.

“Snap twice.” She murmurs. She puts the light away and turns around. Two clean snaps fills the air.

You uncross your arms and stand up properly behind her as the statue moves. The raven on the statue’s arm moves—its wings go down and the wall behind the statue moves.

“Visible?” You ask her.

“Just barely.” Your thoughts short circuit. What does that mean? You decide on following her instructions clearly. You don’t do a transition effect, not in front of Wednesday.

Your body is just barely visible. There’s a fair shimmer outlining you—something someone would have to look closely at to identify. She pulls out her light again.

“I can go first.” You whisper. She shakes her head, shining the light in front of her as she steps through the newly revealed passageway.

You follow her down a set of spiral stairs. This place is creepy. There’s photos along the wall. Creepy.

Wednesday’s flashlight lingers on a certain photo before moving towards a bookshelf. She walks to it, her finger moving to choose one. The notebook still in her left hand.

You want to see what photo she was looking at but you respect her privacy and move towards the bottom of the stairs to start walking up when she’s done.

You turn around—freezing when you see Xavier with a black bag behind Wednesday. Pulling it over her head.

What the hell? Wait.

‘Nightshades.’ You remember. This is the Nightshade’s hideout. You internally groan.

You’re not going to get sleep today, are you?

╰── Next Episode ──╮

A/N: A lot happened in this episode but I finally got it done.

Want More? Wednesday Masterlist

[djlj-panda]

Siren Song

Synopsis: How Does Wednesday React To You Dancing With Bianca At The Rave’N

A/N: this Is Really Short I’m Sorry But If You Guys Don’t Like It And Have Better Ideas Please Let Me Know.

Spoilers For Wednesday.

Female Reader In Mind When Making This.

“You know I guess our dates blew us off and not in a good way”, Bianca turned her head to see you standing behind her.

“Alone too?” “Sadly I guess she didn’t really care that much about me” “Y/n I know we haven’t been close in a while but tonight would you like to-“ “Dance?”.

You smiled as you held your hand out, “Now let’s go, no one puts baby in the corner”. Bianca laughed as she took your hand in her as you both rushed back onto the dance floor.

Wednesday didn’t know what Thing did by being Tyler. But yet she can’t be mad at Thing as she never said that if she was gonna go to the Rave’N it would be with you.

But here she is watching you dance with none other than Bianca. Wednesday may not have seemed it but she was a bit hurt. Which surprised her cause usually she loves all sorts of pains. But seeing you being happy with someone else and especially in a situation where Wednesday could have been here dancing with you.

When the red paint started to spray down you and Bianca held hands as you both ran out. Once far away enough you smelled yourself, “It’s okay it’s only paint” “How does that make it any better!”.

Bianca said as she was now storming to her dorm. “Before you leave Bianca I had a nice night. I almost forgot how much fun we use to be”, you said getting ready to head back to your dorm.

“Wait, would you like to walk me back to my dorm?”, the whole walk was filled with jokes and story’s till your reached Bianca’s room.

With that you and Bianca started to become closer mainly due to the whole Wednesday was leaving you with.

Wednesday was confused when you stopped wanting to come find out who the monster is. But you both talked again after visiting Eugene together.

“I should have just went that night” “wouldn’t have been nice to stand up three people at a time”, Wednesdays looked at you.

“I just hope Eugene gets better”, you said as you walked a bit behind Wednesday creating a distance.

“Y/n why do you seem upset?” “I-I just thought we were really close. We held hands, vented to each other, but yet you blew me off for who, Tyler!”.

“It’s either Tyler or Xavier it seems you can’t make up your own mind”, you were angry and Wednesday just stood there stunned even if she wasn’t showing it.

“Do I not matter that much to you, did I ever?”, you said sounding as if you were about to cry. Before you could run off Wednesday held onto your wrist tight.

“What about you and Bianca” “Well I wasn’t gonna be alone the whole time at the dance”. You said now a bit more calmer.

“Y/n I apologize if I had hurt your feelings I promise to never let go of you again”, all the many times you couldn’t really Wednesday but here you felt the genuine in her voice.

“I-I just don’t want to lose you Wednesday” “You won’t know one is coming between me and you. And if you leave me again I’ll lock you up next time”, you smiled a bit as Wednesday let go of your wrist.

“Thank you Wednesday” “Thank you Y/n for listening”. Wednesday does love you but right now after what happened with Eugene she has to make sure your safe as she couldn’t lose you.

Not to Bianca and especially the monster, Wednesday feels bad for hurting you and when she felt that she knew her feelings for you were different.

No person ever made her feel jealous, worried, and a bit heartbroken. The dances proved to Wednesday that Wednesday will always look for you in a crowd.

But here is where our story will end. Maybe now Wednesday is feeling what you are feeling towards Tyler and Xavier, competition. Let’s see how Wednesday handles more jealousy in the future.

[tortillamastersblog]

Merry Christmas | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: After everything that’s happened, you follow through on your promise to spend Christmas with Wednesday and her family.

Masterlist

‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆ ⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧˚⋆⋅‧

I have no idea why I agreed to spend Christmas with the Addams's.

Besides Wednesday, I don't know any of them. I only met them that one time during Parents Weekend, and I'm not sure I made the best impression.

Besides, back then, Wednesday made it crystal clear to her parents that we aren't friends, so what will they think now that we're... together?

Are we together?

I don't know. We haven't made anything official yet, but we are soulbonded so...

Relax.

I stop looking at the landscape flying by outside the window and glance at Thing who's perched on the backseat of the Addams' hearse next to me.

Lurch picked me up from Nevermore two hours ago and while I was disappointed Wednesday wasn't with him, I was consoled by the fact that Thing was.

He explained that Wednesday had intended to come along, just like she'd said in her letter she sent a week ago, but that she'd been too occupied with a fight she had with her mother this morning to come along.

I asked Thing what it was about and he just kind of sighed, or whatever an appendages' equivalent to a sigh is, and signed I'd find out soon enough.

I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me, but there's no point in worrying over it. If they didn't want me at their Christmas, it would have been made abundantly clear.

It must be something else, but like I said, there's no point in dwelling on it.

Making a good impression however...

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous," I admit quietly.

Thing climbs onto my leg and I meet Lurch's eye in the rearview mirror for a moment before looking back at Thing.

There's nothing to worry about. You died for Wednesday. That alone gives you Morticia and Gomez's approval, he taps.

I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. He's right, but I'm still nervous. Especially because I haven't seen Wednesday in two months since the semester ended early.

Most students went home, but the few of us who couldn't leave earlier than expected, or not at all in my case, were allowed to stay under the watchful eye of Coach Vlad.

We have written letters back and forth since she still refuses to use a phone, and things have been good between us, but still. I'm nervous to see her again.

Thing pats my knee in a consoling way and signs that we still have two hours to go, so I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.

A grunt makes me snap out of my daze and I open my eyes, realizing I must have fallen asleep because Lurch brings the hearse to a stop in front of a giant manor and kills the engine before getting out and opening the door for me.

Thing stretches, having also slept on my lap, and then shakes himself before jumping out and landing on the gravel driveway with a thump.

I get out of the hearse as well and gape at the manor.

It's three stories high, built from weathered grey stone, with steep gables, tall narrow windows, and walls covered in dormant, frost-laced ivy.

A thin layer of snow dusts everything from the roof to the windowsill and the stairs that lead up to the massive front door.

I expected it to be... darker if I'm honest, but then again, with the Addams' you can never know for sure what to expect.

I knew they had money, for example, but I didn't know they were this rich.

I move to grab my trunk fastened to the roof of the hearse, but Lurch beats me to it.

"Thanks." I reach for it when he sets it down with a grunt, prepared to carry it myself, but he lifts it onto his shoulder like it weighs nothing and turns and makes his way toward the manor. "I-Uh... Thank you."

Thing scuttles after him, and I swallow nervously before doing the same.

An icy wind bites at my cheeks and I'm quick to shove my hands into my jacket pockets right as the front door swings open, revealing Wednesday's father.

"Ah, Lurch. Finally."

The butler bows slightly and brushes past Mr. Addams, vanishing inside the manor with my trunk.

Thing taps my shoe encouragingly without Mr. Addams noticing before greeting him and hurrying into the warmth of the manor himself, leaving me all alone.

"H-Hello," I stutter, slightly intimidated by the deadpan expression on the man's face. "It's nice to see you again. Thank you for allowing me to spend Christmas with you and your family."

Mr. Addams' dark eyes take me in for a second longer before grinning suddenly and pulling me into a hug.

My eyes widen, but I hug him back, the angle of our embrace a little awkward because I'm quite a bit taller than him.

"Anyone who dares to speak their mind in front of my daughter and gets to walk away in one piece is welcome here," he says, which makes me choke in surprise.

How he knows I'm not afraid to disagree with or stand up to Wednesday, I'm not sure but I'm sure Thing has something to do with it.

"Also, you saved my little girl's life, losing your own, if only temporarily, in the process. That makes you family and 'Tish and I will forever be grateful to you."

He pulls back and I blink back the sting of tears behind my eyes. "I... Mr. Addams I don't know what to say," I admit, feeling a wave of emotion rush over me.

I haven't felt like being part of a family in a long time, and hearing someone say I'm part of theirs makes my heart ache.

My parents don't know what happened a few months ago, and neither does Lara. I refused to inform them since it's none of their business and I didn't want to scare Lara.

Coach Vlad also didn't even know who to contact because only Weems had their number and I wasn't about to give it to him.

"Then don't say anything. Also, call me Gomez. I'm sure 'Tish wouldn't mind being called by her first name either. Mrs. Addams is her mother and the devil knows she does not want to be associated with that woman," Mr. Addams says with a twinkle in his eyes, gesturing for me to come inside.

I exhale softly and offer a small smile before entering the manor. Unlike the outside, it's exactly as I imagined. Black wooden floors, candelabras with black candles everywhere and headless black roses in vases.

It smells faintly like smoke and sandalwood and my pendant heats up against my chest when I get a faint whiff of cedar wood as well.

Wednesday.

I unleash my powers a little and focus, smiling faintly when my ears pick up on her heartbeat somewhere in the house.

"Y/N."

My eyes snap up at the sound of Morticia Addams' sultry voice.

She's descending the grand, winding, black marble staircase to my right in a tight black dress and with a gentle smile playing on her lips.

Her eyes are as dark and piercing as Wednesday's and it takes everything in me to hold her gaze.

How on Earth I had the guts to stab Crackstone, but I'm unable to stay calm in the presence of my girlfriend's mother, I have no ideas.

Wait, girlfriend?! Wednesday isn't— We haven't talked about—

"It's good to see you again."

"You too. Thank you for having me," I reply quietly, nervously, trying my best to reciprocate her smile.

Almost as if sensing my nerves, she softens a little and touches my shoulder gently.

"You're very welcome. I hope the drive went well?"

"If by well you mean without incident, then yes. If by well you mean Lurch hitting a pedestrian and blowing up a gas station, then no."

I have no idea what prompted me to say that, but Morticia's eyes glint with delight and I see her sharing an amused look with Gomez.

"Hmm. What a shame," she chuckles softly. "Well then, I'm sure you'd like to freshen up before dinner. I've instructed Lurch to take your trunk to the guest room. It's upstairs, all the way down the hallway to the right."

I dip my chin in silent thanks and go to ask about Wednesday when Morticia seemingly reads my mind, adding, "Wednesday is in a bit of a mood at the moment. She and I got into a tiff earlier, so if you'd prefer to stay in one piece maybe don't go looking for her."

I cringe.

Yikes. So they really got into it...

"O-okay..."

"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure she'll be back to her old, broody self come dinner."

I smile gently, a little worried about Wednesday but also feeling a bit awkward about being caught in the middle of their family drama.

Morticia gestures for me to go ahead and go upstairs, so I do, feeling her and Gomez's eyes on me all the way until I'm out of sight.

I take in the house, impressed by the portraits on the wall and the ornate black carpets that swallow the sound of my footsteps.

From behind one of the doors I pass, I hear classical music and the tell-tale sound of someone hacking away at a typewriter, which makes me smile softly.

Heeding Morticia's warning, I don't dare to knock though. I simply continue walking until I reach the guest room.

I take in the massive bed with the satin sheets and the black drapes framing the floor-length windows.

The grounds outside are covered in the same dusting as snow as the house and driveway and I take a step closer to the window to admire the view.

Past the rolling meadows surrounding the manor I can make out a dark lake, half frozen over. It looks ominous, almost as if wanting to swallow you whole if you get near enough, so I make a mental note not to. I can also make out the edge of a pine forest in the distance and momentarily wonder how big the Addams' property really is. Then, I turn, grab some clean clothes from my trunk, and head to the ensuite bathroom to shower.

The door flies open and I whirl around with a start. I was just sorting through my trunk in search of a sweater to wear over my shirt.

"Wha—Oh. Hi..."

My heart warms at the sight of Wednesday stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with calm, calculated movements.

"I see Lurch didn't run the hearse off the road," she states, her dark eyes settling on me.

I feel a bit of tension radiating off her, so when I cross the room I do so tentatively and with a disarming smile that she doesn't reciprocate. "Was he supposed to?" I joke and much to my relief, the corner of her mouth actually quirks up.

"I have yet to decide," she says quietly when I stop right in front of her. There's still some tension in her shoulders and a crease between her eyebrows but the longer she looks up at me, the longer said tension fades.

Her eyes soften when I raise a challenging eyebrow and I take that as permission to step even closer, slowly bringing my hands up to touch her waist. "Is that so?"

She doesn't answer but blows a sharp breath out through her nose, almost as though trying not to laugh. Her face stays fairly neutral though, and she holds onto my forearms, keeping me from pulling away. Not that I would, mind you.

I realize this is the first time since Crackstone that I'm not seeing her in her school uniform and I take a moment to appreciate her oversized, black, cable knit sweater and cuffed, black jeans. She's also in socks, which is a sight I never thought I'd get to see. It makes her look soft, even though she's the exact opposite. Well, most of the time...

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly when she doesn't say anything for a couple moments. "Your mother—"

"I'm fine," she snaps, only for her eyes to widen in regret a split second later. "I didn't—"

"I know." I pull her closer and lift one of my hands to brush her bangs out of her eyes. "Parents can be—"

"Obnoxious? Self-serving? Wildly out of line?"

I chuckle and nod, lowering my hand once again to hold onto her waist. "Yeah..."

Wednesday sighs, her face softening again as her eyes dart between my eyes and my lips.

I watch her, waiting for her to move with bated breath.

She tightens her grip on my forearms and gets on her tip toes, meeting my eyes one for permission.

I nod, subtly, and close my eyes when she cups my cheeks and closes the distance between us.

It's a gentle kiss, her soft lips moving against mine slowly but surely. Despite it lacking any heat though, it still makes my stomach flip and I can't help the way my fingers curl around the fabric of her sweater.

When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine and whispers, "Hi..."

I smile without opening my eyes, feeling the pendant around my neck pulse once, almost as if in recognition of my feeling whole again now that Wednesday and I are together once more.

Being apart for the last eight weeks really felt like torture and I realize now how dependent on her presence I've actually become.

"Hello again," I whisper before pecking her lips again. Then I pull back and open my eyes to see a dazed look on her face.

It makes me smile again and I can't help but kiss the top of her head once before wrapping her into a tight hug.

"How's your extended break been so far?" I ask resting my chin on the top of her head.

"Torture," she mumbles against my shoulder. "Just like this hug."

I actually laugh out loud but don't pull away because despite pretending to hate it, Wednesday actually tightens her arms around my neck.

"Sounds like fun." I whisper. I'm actually a little surprised she's tolerating this much physical contact, but then again, who knows how bad her soulbond induced withdrawal symptoms were over the last eight weeks.

I know is she won't be this touchy in front of her family, so I soak it all in while I can.

"I'm assuming Thing told you all about the fight I had with my mother?" she says after a few more moments of silence.

I pull back after leaving one final kiss on her forehead and lead her to the bed, taking a seat on the edge while she remains standing, her hand still in mine.

"No, actually. All he said was you two had a fight," I say, careful not to make it sound as though I'm pushing to know more about it.

"So he can keep his fingers still..." She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before sitting down next to me, keeping her eyes on our intertwined hands. She fidgets with my fingers, her black nail polish glinting in the low light. The sun began to set and it started snowing while I was in the shower which forcing me to turn on the small lamp on the bedside table in order to see something. I could have turned on the overhead lights, but I've always been a fan of smaller lights since they're not so bright and are easier on my sensitive eyes.

I know Wednesday wants to say something because she keeps fidgeting with my fingers, so I stay silent and take in her side profile, admiring her freckles for the umpteenth time.

"My mother is under the impression that she alone knows what's good for me and what I want," she admits finally, meeting my gaze.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate but a knock on the door makes her tense and stand up abruptly, putting some distance between us just as the door opens.

"Y/N I just wanted to let you know that dinner— Oh... Wednesday, darling. You're here." Morticia's eyes flicker between her daughter and me.

"Yes, mother. I'm here," Wednesday snaps, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

It's honestly a little impressive how she can switch between moods.

I still have no idea why she's being like this with her mother because yes, I know they've had a fight but I'm still no closer to knowing why than before.

Morticia sighs softly and simply directs her attention towards me. "As I was trying to say, dinner is ready."

"Thank you. We'll be right down," I say with a gentle smile.

She nods and leaves again, leaving the door slightly ajar as a silent reminder not to take too long.

I get up and grab the sweater I was looking for earlier from my trunk before turning to Wednesday who's still glaring at the door with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come on, let's go eat. If you're still mad at the door later I'll help you break it down." I joke which makes her direct her glare at me and roll her eyes.

She follows me though and even links our pinkies together until we make it to the dining room where the rest of her family is already waiting for us.

I can't sleep. It's almost one in the morning and I'm standing in the Addams' dark living room with a glass of water in hand, watching the snowstorm outside through the big windows.

Dinner was fairly smooth save the dirty looks Wednesday threw her mother every now and then. Gomez kept me engaged in conversation about being an Ægiryn with Pugsley asking questions about my powers every now and then. Wednesday didn't say anything except when asking for some food to be passed to her.

Morticia was also fairly quiet, but I quickly realized it's just the way she is.

I hear the creak of a floorboard out in the foyer, making me tense, but then my ears hone in on a familiar heartbeat which makes me relax once more.

I don't stop watching the snowstorm until Wednesday brushes up against my side.

I look down to find her dressed in a matching set of black silk pajamas. I've seen it before when she came to my room the night I saved Thing after he was stabbed, so I'm not surprised by it. What I am surprised by however is her hair. For the first time ever it's open. No braids or braid, no ponytail or bun. It's gorgeous, framing her face with her bangs perfectly. It's also a tiny bit wavy because of her earlier braids and I can't help but smile at her because it makes her even softer than before.

I know commenting on it, even if it's to compliment her, would make her put it up again, so I don't say anything.

My smile alone makes her squirm the tiniest bit and avoid eye contact so I put an arm around her shoulders and pull her against my side. "Can't sleep either?"

"Mm-hmm." She wraps her arms around my waist and exhales against my collarbone.

It's baffling how physically affectionate she's been since I died and she brought me back, but I'm not complaining. I actually like it a lot, even if she only initiates it when we're alone.

We silently watch the snowstorm for a few moments before she sighs and whispers, "My mother suggested you sleep in my room with me."

"I... What?"

"Thing blabbed about our bond so she insisted."

To say I'm surprised would be an understatement. Morticia wants Wednesday and me to sleep in the same bed? I would have thought it would be the other way around...

So that's what they fought about.

I can't help but feel a twinge of hurt, considering they must have argued because Wednesday doesn't want to share a bed with me, but then Wednesday goes on, much quieter, "I was actually considering asking you when you got here, but the fact that she brought it up..."

I snort and pull her closer. "You didn't want to prove her right."

Wednesday's silence is all the confirmation I need and I roll my eyes fondly. Of course she couldn't ever let her mother think she was right, but then again, I'm sure it has to do with the fact that she doesn't want to be seen this soft and vulnerable by anyone but me too.

"For the record," I whisper, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I would have said yes."

Wednesday freezes for a moment before pulling back and looking at me with an unreadable expression. I smile softly and hold her gaze until she steps out of my embrace, wordlessly grabbing my hand and leading me out of the living room, through the foyer and up the stairs into her room.

I close the door behind us and let her lead me to bed, setting down my glass of water on her nightstand before letting her pull me into bed.

It's warm and smells like her, and I actually shiver when she tugs my arm around her waist so my chest is flush with her back.

Everything's happening so fast, I barely have any time to wrap my head around this sudden step up in physical closeness.

It seems as though Wednesday doesn't care about her mother or her reaction to potentially seeing us like this anymore, so I relax against her and brush my nose against the back of her neck.

It makes her squirm and I hear her heart skip a beat, which makes me smile all the way until I fall asleep.

I wake up to the feeling of being watched and open my eyes slowly. My heart flutters at the sight of Wednesday quickly averting her eyes when she realizes she's been caught and I'm quick to tighten my arm around her, whispering against the side of her head, "Like what you see?"

"Ask that again and you lose your tongue," she snaps. There's no real bite to her tone though, only embarrassment, so I roll my eyes and chuckle, closing my eyes again and settling back in.

Wednesday is draped over me, with her head resting on my chest and her arm thrown over my stomach.

If you'd told me Wednesday Addams could ever be this touchy after our first encounter, I would have had you committed. Now though... My dying and coming back must have really flipped a switch in her.

"Can I ask you something?" I mumble a moment later, trancing gentle circles on her back. It's clear  we're not going back to sleep but that we're going to stay in this moment a little longer.

"That depends entirely on what you want to know," she replies with a teasing edge to her voice that I haven't heard before.

"Okay then," I play along for a second before getting serious. "The bond... What does it feel like for you?"

Wednesday stills completed before lifting her head, prompting me to open my eyes to meet her gaze.

"Why?" she asks, her face blank.

I reach up and straighten her bangs out a little, also running my hand through her hair to tame it a little. "Dunno. Just curious, I guess."

Her eyes stay on me for a second longer before she lies back down, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper she admits, "It calms me... I can sense what you're feeling and every time you're close, I feel this profound sense of being whole."

I take a moment to let it sink in before kissing the top of her head. "Thank you for telling me. I know you don't usually do feelings, so..."

"Bring it up again and I'll make you regret it," she retorts which makes me snort.

"Got it." A beat. Then, "Just so you know, it's the same for me, by the way. Every time you're near, I feel like I can breathe easier."

I expect another sarcastic remark, but surprisingly, Wednesday stays silent.

That is until another thought crosses my mind and I ask, "I've been meaning to ask you since I got here...What did you tell your parents about us? What we are, I mean?"

She shifts and sits up with a sigh, turning to look at me. "I didn't tell them anything."

I frown, a little hurt.

She clocks it instantly. "What?"

I shake my head and sit up myself. It's obvious she's not ready to have the what-are-we talk yet. "Nothing."

I push the comforter off and turn, swinging my legs out of bed. Before I can get up though she grabs my elbow and shuffles over the bed until she's sitting on the edge next to me. "No. What is it? You don't get to just ice me out like that."

I sigh and run a hand down my face. "It's stupid."

"I'm sure it is, but that's not important right now," she says, making me glare at her.

I consider her for a moment before admitting, "I just... What is this?" I gesture between us. "What are we doing? Are we together? Are you my girlfriend? Or—"

"Why would you think I'm your girlfriend?" she cuts in, her nose actually crinkling with disgust at the term 'girlfriend'.

I exhale in disbelief and ignore the way my heart aches.  "Wow. Okay then. Great talk." I go to stand up again, but Wednesday beats me to it, getting up and standing in front of me, blocking my way.

"Wait. That's not—" she shakes her head in frustration "— I didn't mean it like that." Her voice softens and I meet her eyes, seeing genuine concern in them. "I simply wouldn't use girlfriend as a word to describe myself... You're an Ægiryn and we're bonded. That term is just so trivial and doesn't do our relationship any justice."

My eyes widen but she goes on, softly, before I can say anything.

"You are the one constant in this grotesquely unpredictable world. So no, I am not your girlfriend. I'm yours. Period."

I'm yours.

That statement alone knocks the breath out of me. I gape at her, noticing the way her eyes flicker with uncertainty the longer I stay silent so I stand up, leaving virtually no distance between us, before lowering my chin and resting my forehead against hers.

"I'm yours, too," I whisper which makes her exhale shakily, relieved.

She raises her hands to cup my cheeks and kiss me but I lift my head so her lips land on my chin.

She throws me a dirty look and leans up again, but I actually push her back a step with my hands on her hips, saying, "Let's brush our teeth first. No reason to ruin this moment with vomit-inducing morning breath."

She grumbles something under her breath about hygiene and impossibly high standards but agrees with a tiny nod.

I smile and press a kiss to her forehead before slipping past her and leaving her room, heading to my own room to brush my teeth.

I waste no time, brushing my teeth as quickly as I can and even then, when I exit the en suite, Wednesday is already in my room, having already brushed her teeth herself.

I laugh softly at her apparent eagerness but avoid indulging her for a moment longer to grab something from my trunk. It's a small wooden box, the size of my palm and Wednesday's eyes narrow when her gaze lands on it.

"What's that?" she asks.

I smile knowingly and hand it to her, wordlessly gesturing for her to open it herself and see.

When she does, she stiffens at the sight of the signet ring inside. Bewildered and confused, her eyes snap up to meet mine. "How—Where—Why?"

I take the empty box from her after she takes the ring out and toss it onto the bed, closing the distance between us and watching her gape at the ring.

It's the ring with the Stillmark symbol Crackstone stole from that young Ægiryn boy centuries ago. I found it in the Quad right before being taken to the medical ward. It must have been left behind when Wednesday killed Crackstone once and for all, so I took it and held onto it, waiting for this exact moment to give it to her. Not only will it serve her as a reminder of what we overcame, but I thought it might also help anchor her since we know now she's part Ægiryn herself.

Her eyes keep flickering between me and the ring so I take her hand and gently closeted it around the ring. "Merry Christmas, Wednesday."

I'm the only Ægiryn left, so I figured it was up to me to decide what to do with the ring and since I already have a Stillmark, I came to the realization that Wednesday having it would be the only logical conclusion.

Whether she decides to wear it or not is entirely up to her. I just want her to have it.

She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, and I'm convinced she's about to reject it, but then she tightens her hold on it and kisses me, pulling me down by the back of my neck with her free hand.

She tastes like mint toothpaste and I immediately sink into the kiss, pulling her closer by her waist.

I know this is her silent way of saying thank you, so I let her lead until she pulls back again, which is much too soon for my liking.

I chase her lips, but she's gone in a heartbeat, leaving me dazed and confused until she returns a moment later with a present of her own.

She's also pulled her hair out of her face into a neat, low bun, making me smile fondly.

I love her braids, don't get me wrong, but seeing her with her hair down or up in a bun like right now feels special. It's a part of her I'm realizing not even her family gets to see, which makes it feel extra special.

"Whatcha got there?" I tease quietly, eying the present. It's wrapped in shiny black wrapping paper with a simple black bow tied around it.

She hands it to me wordlessly, shifting somewhat nervously as I slowly undo the tie and start unwrapping it carefully.

"I spent some time reading up on your kind over the last couple of weeks and I thought you might find it useful," she explains when I open the cardboard box, revealing a pair of headphones.

They're black and bulky, similar to the ones I already own, but there's a, tiny but shiny black symbol on the headband, contrasting with the matte finish of  the rest of the headphones.

"That's..." I trail off, astonished.

The Stillmark.

I glance at Wednesday, noting how intently she's watching me before taking the headphones out of the box and putting them on.

Almost instantly, everything goes quiet. I can't even hear her heartbeat any more which makes me pause.

It's so quiet...

I can't remember the last time it was this quiet. My ears are always picking up on things, even if I don't notice them consciously, making this is a relief so unexpectedly pleasant, my eyes actually well up with tears.

I swallow thickly and take them off again, sound flooding my ears once again. I don't mind it though because I can hear Wednesday's heartbeat again, and right now it's a little frantic with nerves.

"Do you like it?" she asks, obviously a little confused by my unshed tears.

I chuckle in disbelief and shake my head. "Do I like it? This is the best gift anyone's ever given me," I admit.

I set the headphones back into the box and set it down on the bed.

"You can also use them to listen to music. The witch I bought them from said they have integrated bluemoon."

"Bluetooth," I correct gently, blinking back my tears and smiling softly. "I love them. Thank you."

Her lips twitch the faintest bit and her cheeks turn an endearing shade of red. Before she can turn away or get embarrassed and turn away, I quickly pull her into a tight hug, bending down and burying my face in the crook of her neck.

She hesitates a moment before hugging me back.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N."

I hum and press a kiss to her neck, making her breath hitch.

Then, a door opens down the hallway, snapping us back to reality. I pull back and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We should head downstairs to exchange presents with the rest of your family."

She rolls her eyes and glares at the door almost as if imagining her family standing right behind it.

"Must we? I'd rather listen to Enid's soulless pop music."

"Yes, we must," I tease, kissing the top of her head one final time. "Now come on."

She grumbles again and quickly puts her hair into her signature braids before letting out an exasperated sigh and brushing past me, ready to face her family.

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Surprise little update! Did ya miss me? Jk.

This was a request by @rillylogers

If anyone wants to be added to/taken off the tag list for this AU just comment down below.

Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97 @hellenheaven @iwshemj2 @jizzuo308 @trashcannotbealive @gloriousvariant @brocoliisscared @1863rdorv-reader @fck-this-name @iamprodigious @kiwidreamersstuff @rillylogers @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @aka-persephone

[fandomnerd9602]

Enid: so if you two get married whose last name is being taken?

Wednesday; mine. I will always be an Addams

Y/N: and I’m on better terms with her family than my own.

Wednesday: father tried to have Y/N’s last name legally changed to Addams already. Bribed the courts and everything.

Y/N: I’ve never felt so loved

Wednesday leans against Y/N’s shoulder, a small act of affection…

[itsnotyouithink]

AQUAMARINE (7)

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Repeated Cycle

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: When your fake girlfriend asks someone else to the Rave’n, your uneasy truce starts to fracture. Between courtly pressure and whispered gossip, you’re left wondering what will break first - the arrangement, or you.

word count: 5.9k

author’s note: can’t wait to tell my grandkids all abt the wenclair lore in 2088

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

——————

Wednesday Addams was never - and would probably never - be good at feelings.

Emotions, to her, were just another kind of trap. Invisible, sticky, and far more insidious than any of the bear claws she'd studied in wilderness survival or the time she hibernated with a few when she was twelve. They slowed the mind, dulled the edge, turned even the most rational person into something trembling and unrecognizable. Which is why she had no interest in learning how to handle them - not yours, and certainly not her own.

The silence between you had calcified into something with shape and weight after the joint-vision at the old meeting house. At first, it was simply the product of busyness - her vanishing for days under the excuse of leads she "couldn't afford to let go cold," you retreating into your balcony calls and hours spent listening to oceanic council members bicker about diplomacy, territory rights, and whispers of war.

Then came the Rave'n preparations. Being the academy's official royalty meant Principal Weems had roped you into chairing the entire set-up committee. It was more than just selecting flowers and tablecloths - you were mediating budget disputes between the treasurer and the decorating team, settling quarrels over the DJ’s setlist, approving mock-ups for invitations, and signing off on the custom ice sculpture delivery. Every free moment not swallowed by your oceanic duties was consumed by making sure the school's most anticipated event didn't collapse into chaos.

Meals together became rare. Evenings in the library were abandoned entirely. The most you'd offer each other now was a brief nod in the hallway or a neutral glance in the quad, each pretending you didn't notice the other lingering just a second too long before looking away. She told herself it was strategy - you told yourself it was survival.

Enid noticed, of course. She always noticed. Wednesday was pulling her boots on one evening, the dorm quiet except for the distant hum of laughter from the common room, when Enid - lounging on her bed with a magazine - said it.

"You know," she began casually, "when couples stop talking, it usually means they're about to break up."

Wednesday froze for half a second before resuming the slow lacing of her boots. "Couples also stop talking before committing homicide, Sinclair. Your point?"

"My point is," Enid said, leaning forward, "you've been ignoring her for days. She's been ignoring you and if you don't want that to mean something, maybe stop acting like it does."

The words followed Wednesday out the door, heavy and irritating in a way she couldn't quite shake. By the time she made it to her typewriter that night, the logic had already begun to calcify in her mind. If the two of you weren't speaking, if this was the slow erosion of whatever fragile alliance you'd built, then she would adapt. She would pivot. She would prioritize the investigation.

Which was exactly how, the following afternoon, she found herself standing in a small art shack, begrudgingly asking Xavier Thorpe if he would accompany her to the Rave'n. Not for romance, not for spectacle - purely because his proximity to her suspect list made him useful.

It was during the chaos of the third set-up meeting that you noticed it - low, slippery murmurs following you like a tide you couldn't see, just hear.

You were crouched by the far wall, marking where the table skirts would hang, when two freshmen from the decorations team drifted past with armfuls of streamers. "Apparently she just walked right up to him..." one whispered.

"...poor Y/N - do you think they're still together?" the other hissed back.

You kept your eyes on the tape in your hand, pretending you hadn't heard, but their voices tangled with others in the gym. Little fragments caught on the air - Wednesday... Xavier... Rave'n date - and no matter where you moved, they followed.

By the time Yoko strode over from the snack table committee, you'd already pieced together enough to know you weren't going to like what she said.

"So... apparently your girlfriend asked Xavier to the Rave'n," she murmured, crouching beside you like she was delivering a diagnosis. "No explanation. Just straight-up asked him. Everyone's talking about it - the sound crew, the DJ, even Bianca."

Your grip on the tape roll tightened, the plastic edge biting into your palm. "...When?"

"This morning outside somewhere," Yoko said, watching your face. "Guess she didn't think it was worth telling you herself. Xavier certainly can’t shut up about it."

The comment landed heavier than you wanted it to, but you pushed the feeling down. Around you, the committee buzzed on - paper snowflakes being strung, extension cords being dragged, someone shouting about a missing box of candles. You had work to do, a job to finish, and an event plan to execute.

Still, every time another pair of students passed, their voices seemed to dip, eyes flicking toward you like they'd been waiting to see the look on your face. And you couldn't shake the thought that whatever her reason was - if there even was one - she'd chosen to keep it to herself.

By the time you got to Ophelia Hall, the Rave'n committee clipboard still clutched in your hand like some kind of warped shield, your pulse had climbed into your throat. You didn't even remember crossing the quad, just the blur of students still whispering, their faces all blurring into that same quick, pitying glance you'd been collecting all day.

You didn't knock.

Wednesday was at her desk when you came in, posture perfect, typewriter in front of her, the clacking of keys slicing the air in steady bursts. She didn't look up.

"I'm assuming this is about your clipboard, not an emotional breakdown," she said, without stopping her typing. You always believed she had eyes in the back of her head somehow, underneath the tight braids and brushed hair.

"How dare you," you said. It came out sharper than you expected - closer to a blade than a voice.

She paused only long enough to finish the sentence she was on, then pulled the page free from the typewriter. "How dare I what?"

"Ask Xavier to the Rave'n." You shut the door behind you, harder than necessary. "You couldn't even tell me yourself? You just let me find out because the entire school decided it would be fun gossip?"

Finally, she turned to face you, her expression infuriatingly unreadable. "Our arrangement was mutually beneficial, but lately it has been... skewed. Toward you."

"Skewed?" You let out a humorless laugh. "I'm sorry, is playing your fake girlfriend while I juggle actual oceanic council calls and running the Rave'n committee - because of my status - somehow a luxury vacation in your eyes?"

"You've gained social insulation," she said flatly, like she was presenting a piece of evidence in court. "And credibility with certain students who might otherwise treat you as a novelty. Your father has left you relatively alone. I, on the other hand, have gained very little in the past few weeks beyond the occasional ability to enter staff-only areas under the guise of your royal privilege."

"God, listen to yourself." You shook your head. "I'm sorry I can't harness my full abilities on command for your investigation, Wednesday. I'm sorry I'm not a convenient little supernatural bloodhound you can keep on a leash until you need me. I've been trying to keep this school from collapsing into Rave'n chaos and deal with political tensions under the fucking sea - but guess what? That doesn't pause just because you've decided I'm not useful enough."

Her gaze didn't waver, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "My work requires precision. Focus. And as of late, you have been... distracted."

"And whose fault is that?" Your voice cracked - not from weakness, but from the sheer effort of keeping it from shattering entirely. "You pull away without a word, you get me involved in your… visions. You bury yourself in your typewriter, in your suspects, in anything but this - us. And then you have the nerve to act like I've somehow taken advantage of you."

"You agreed to this knowing what I am," she said, standing now, her voice cool but carrying that undercurrent of something you couldn't name - something sharp and fraying at the same time. "I am not sentimental. I do not indulge in dramatics."

You stepped closer, holding her gaze. "I don't care if we're a mess in this school," you said, every word deliberate, steady, "but when Parent Weekend comes... we are a happy, loving couple. No cracks. No cold shoulders. No one gets to see this fall apart but us."

Her silence was worse than anything she could have said. She didn't break eye contact, didn't move - just let the weight of your words settle like ink bleeding into paper.

You turned for the door before you could say anything else. This time, she let you go. Again.

But you could still feel her eyes on your back the whole way down the hall.

———————

The moment you shut the door behind you, the façade cracked. You tossed the Rave'n clipboard onto your desk with enough force to send a pencil rolling off the edge, then kicked your shoes off so hard one landed halfway under the dresser.

Moro lifted his head from his nest of blankets by the window, sea-glass eyes blinking slow and lazy before narrowing, like he could smell your bad mood. His tail flicked once against the floorboards.

"Don't start with me," you muttered, dropping into your chair.

He made a low, questioning trill in his throat - the sound he used when you came back from council calls in a mood.

"She asked him to the Rave'n," you told him, rubbing both hands over your face. "Didn't tell me. Didn't even think I should hear it from her. Just—”You gestured vaguely toward the air, as if Wednesday might step out of it, typewriter and all. "—let the entire school have a free buffet of gossip at my expense."

Moro huffed, stretching his neck toward you, nostrils flaring like he wanted to catch the scent of whoever you were mad at.

"She's making it sound like this whole thing only benefits me," you went on, voice sharper now. "Like I'm leeching off her when I'm the one bending over backwards to keep up appearances while juggling my actual duties. I give her access to whatever she wants. Last week, she wanted the Master-Key to the police station - and I got it for her! And for what? So she can go play detective with her shiny new date? Xavier of all people!”

You turned toward your desk - and froze. Sitting neatly in the center were three glossy photographs you hadn't seen before, stacked like a gift you never asked for.

"What the hell..." you murmured, picking them up.

Each one was a portrait: three unfamiliar men, well-dressed, all roughly your age. The backs had names, ages, and brief descriptions - handwritten in your father's precise, royal script.

"'Strong swimmer, fluent in Waves.'" You read one aloud in disbelief. "'Comes from a good tide-worshipping family.'"

Moro's tail thumped once - hard - against the floor, like even he didn't approve.

"These are potential husbands," you told him flatly, tossing the stack onto the desk like they might burn you. "He's been circling the subject for months, but now he's sending... headshots? Like I'm supposed to pick one out before midterms?"

Moro slithered closer, putting his chin on your knee. The weight of him was grounding, but it didn't stop the tight coil in your chest. "If I ignore it long enough, he'll get bored. Or distracted. Or… something.”

Moro let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through your leg. You reached down, scratching the scales behind his ear fins. "Yeah," you said quietly. "I'm already taken anyway."

You didn't say by who.

But you didn't have to.

———————

Wednesday sat at her desk, ink still drying on the latest page of her case notes, when Thing climbed up beside the typewriter. He didn't bother with subtlety - just landed with a solid thump and pointed toward the door you'd stormed out of not twenty minutes ago.

"I assume you've come to dispense some sort of moral wisdom," Wednesday said, not looking up from her notes.

Thing tapped quickly - You're pulling away from her.

"I am focusing on my work," Wednesday corrected, adjusting the paper in the typewriter. "She has her duties, I have mine. It's efficient."

Thing made a disbelieving wave, followed by a jab toward her chest - Not efficient. Cowardly.

Her fingers stilled over the keys. "If this is another attempt to get me to acknowledge... feelings," she said the word like it was a medical diagnosis, "then you're wasting both our time. I am not pulling away. I am creating distance to preserve focus."

Thing signed a sharp, impatient flurry: She's under pressure. Family. Duties. Father.

That finally made her glance at him. "I am aware of her father's expectations," she said, the edge in her voice making it clear she was more than aware. "But I fail to see how my proximity would alleviate that burden. If anything, my presence tends to exacerbate tension."

Thing jabbed at the desk for emphasis: Exactly why she needs you.

Wednesday's jaw tightened. The idea of being needed made something coil unpleasantly in her chest, something she didn't have the vocabulary for and didn't want to acquire. "I am not the comforting type," she said flatly.

Thing leaned in, his fingers curling slowly - You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

That sat between them for a long moment, the soft tick of the typewriter carriage the only sound. When Wednesday finally spoke, it was quieter. "She knows where to find me."

Thing tapped once - For now. - and then scuttled off the desk, leaving her with her case notes and the creeping suspicion that, for once, he was right.

Wednesday believed her visions were messy, unreliable, and intrusive. A storm breaking into the mind without knocking first, leaving everything soaked in images that weren't hers. They were a reminder that, despite all her control, there were parts of her existence that could be breached.

But that day in the old meeting house had been... different.

The moment your hand touched hers, the vision had swallowed you both. She'd seen Joseph Crackstone, the acrid scent of smoke and burning wood thick in her lungs, the weight of centuries-old hatred pressing down like a suffocating tide. She'd felt your heartbeat spike beside her, too fast, too loud, almost drowning out the echo of her own.

She'd also felt something she hadn't prepared for.

Most people, when swept into a vision with her, tried to yank away - instinctively retreating from whatever horror had pulled them under. But you didn't. Your fingers had curled tighter around hers, nails biting into her palm, and you'd met the flood head-on. Even as your breath stuttered, you stayed anchored to her.

And in that collapsing moment - smoke, fire, screaming - she realized she was anchoring herself to you, too.

She hadn't told you, of course. She doubted she ever would. But the aftermath of that vision lingered, as much in her as it did in you. She remembered the way your eyes had darted around the empty meeting house after it was over, like you were checking for threats only she could see. She remembered the faint tremor in your hand before you dropped it from hers.

And she remembered - most irritatingly - that she had wanted to reach for you again. Not for information, not for the investigation, but simply to confirm that you were still there.

That you hadn't drifted away. And yet, here the two of you were. Ignoring one another and pushing each other away for the sake of your what? Dignity?

It was the kind of impulse she had spent her entire life excising from herself. The kind of impulse that now made it impossible to pretend your absence didn't leave a space she could feel.

Wednesday turned back to her typewriter, the blank page glaring up at her. Words should have come easily - there was still so much evidence to catalogue, leads to cross-reference, more chapters of Viper’s story to create - but instead, her mind kept circling back to you in that meeting house. The way you'd stood beside her, the way the vision had forced you both to see what the other saw.

Thing's words from earlier pricked at the edge of her thoughts. You don't have to be comforting. You just have to be there.

She hated how they lingered.

Because the truth was, you had been there - for her - long before the arrangement, long before Rave'n committees and whispered gossip in the quad. You had been there in the visions, in the woods, in the silences that most people found suffocating but you seemed to breathe just fine. You were in the chapters of her novel as Viper’s secret admirer - the girl who had eyes that killed with just a glance. And now, with the distance stretching wider between you, she could feel something she didn't want to name pressing in on her.

It wasn't guilt. She didn't do guilt.

It wasn't regret. She didn't waste time on hypotheticals.

It was something else entirely.

Wednesday adjusted the carriage on her typewriter and set her fingers on the keys. She told herself it was because she needed to make a note before she forgot it, because evidence had to be preserved. But what came out instead wasn't a line of case notes - it was your name.

She stared at it for a long moment before tearing the page out, crumpling it, and dropping it into the wastebasket.

She would talk to you. Soon.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she couldn't stop thinking about that meeting house - and the way your hand had fit in hers.

————————

The tailor's room in Jericho smelled faintly of lavender and old wood polish, the kind of scent that clung to the air no matter how many bolts of fresh fabric were brought in. Afternoon light slanted through tall, dust-flecked windows, spilling across rows of gowns in muted pastels and inky jewel tones. A few swayed gently on their hangers, shifting shadows against the far wall.

You stood in the center of it all, balanced on a low pedestal while the seamstress circled you like a shark. She had a mouth full of pins, a silver measuring tape draped like a sash across her shoulder, and a pair of sharp scissors glinting in one hand.

The dress was only half-complete, a constellation of chalk marks and loose stitches. Light silk clung to your frame in soft ripples, the hem still raw, brushing just above your ankles. The bodice fit close, boning pressing lightly against your ribs, and the neckline dipped in a way that made the seamstress hum to herself about "proper posture for a princess." You held still as she pinned another dart into place, even as the metal brushed a little too close to your skin.

On a nearby chair sat a pile of discarded swatches - deep ocean blues, white like an angels wings, a pale grey that caught the light like moonlit water. You'd chosen the light blue, of course. The shade your advisors always said photographed well for formal events, the one that nodded to your heritage without looking like you'd been draped in a flag.

The seamstress stepped back to assess her work, and for a moment you were left alone in the mirror's reflection - your face framed by the half-finished gown, hair falling loosely down your shoulders, expression somewhere between regal composure and exhaustion. You took a sip from your salt-water bottle while the seamstress yelled at you for moving.

The bell above the shop door jingled. You didn't look over - until a familiar, bright voice cut through the quiet hum of the sewing machine in the back.

"Y/N?”

You turned your head just as Enid Sinclair stepped inside, a paper shopping bag hooked over one arm, her curls catching the light like spun gold. She blinked when she saw you, her gaze flicking from your face to the dress and back again.

"Whoa," she breathed, stopping a few steps away. "Okay, you look... I mean, wow. That's your Rave'n dress?"

You smoothed a hand over the silk and the corset, the fabric cool under your fingertips. "It's not finished yet."

Enid laughed softly. "If this is unfinished, I'm terrified of what you're going to look like when it's done." She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. "Wednesday's going to combust."

You kept your eyes on the mirror, adjusting the set of your shoulders. "She's going with Xavier."

That wiped the smile from Enid's face. "Yeah, I... heard." She hesitated, then offered a small shrug. "Doesn't mean she's not going to explode."

The seamstress returned, pin cushion in hand, and Enid stepped back, watching quietly as the woman added more pins to the skirt, lifting and draping until the fabric fell in smooth, deliberate lines. The room was quiet except for the hiss of the iron in the back and the occasional snip of thread.

When the seamstress finally stepped away again, Enid caught your gaze in the mirror. "Whatever's going on between you two, just... don't disappear on her, okay? You've got that whole mysterious princess thing down already. You don't need to add vanishing act to the list."

You didn't answer, just kept your eyes on the reflection - the silk, the pins, the unfinished seams - trying not to think about how much easier it was to stand perfectly still for a stranger with a handful of sharp objects than it was to stand in front of Wednesday Addams and ask her why she'd pulled away.

You'd been fitted for more gowns than you could count in your life, but the Rave'n dress still felt different - less like armor for a royal function, more like a costume you'd chosen for yourself. It wasn't meant for diplomatic photo ops or formal dinners where the wrong posture could spark rumors in court. It was for one night, one dance, in a place where - at least in theory - you got to decide who you were.

Growing up, choice was rare.

Your earliest memories were of marble halls that echoed when you ran through them, the sound bouncing off columns carved with sea creatures whose eyes seemed to follow you. The floors were always cold under your bare feet, even when the water was warm, and the light filtered down from the surface in fractured gold. It made everything look like it was already fading into memory, even as it happened.

Your father's voice carried in those halls, deep and measured, every word precise enough to cut. He didn't raise it - he didn't need to. Commands landed like anchors, immovable once spoken. For the good of the kingdom. Your duty comes before your comfort. You'll understand when you're older. His presence was a current you couldn't fight, even on the days you wanted to.

Your mother's voice had been different - softer, lilting, full of tide-pool stories and secret smiles. But she was gone before you could cling to more than fragments: the outline of her hair drifting like ink in the water, the scent of crushed coral on her hands, the sound of her laughter echoing off the reef.

After that, the ocean was both sanctuary and prison. You learned to swim before you could walk, to recite tide-law before you could write your own name. Your lessons were peppered with warnings about dangerous alliances, treacherous tides, and the sharp smiles of rival courts. You learned to listen more than you spoke, to observe before you acted.

The human world was dangled before you like a shimmering lure - something to approach for diplomacy, never to linger in, always to treat as foreign. That changed at fourteen, when the currents of your life shifted overnight. An accident - one your father never discussed in full - left you standing in front of him as he pronounced that you would be spending a year at Nevermore Academy. He framed it as a gesture of goodwill toward the surface. You understood it as an exile.

Still, you adapted. You always did. You learned the rhythms of Nevermore, the way students here divided themselves into cliques not unlike the courts back home. You survived the gawking, the whispers, the people who wanted to see the princess, not the person. You perfected the kind of composure that made it impossible for anyone to tell if you were a novelty or a threat.

And then there was Wednesday Addams.

She hadn't cared about the title, just the privileges. She hadn't cared about the stories. If anything, she'd seemed mildly irritated by the attention you got, which was a relief in itself. The arrangement - as fake as it was - was the first thing here that felt even remotely on your terms. Mutual benefit. A shared understanding. A tether in a place that constantly shifted under your feet.

Until it wasn't.

The walk back from the tailor was short, but your thoughts stretched it into miles.

The afternoon air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke, the kind that clung to your clothes and hair. Students passed in small clusters, carrying books or trailing laughter, and you wondered - not for the first time - what it would feel like to be one of them. Just another face in the crowd. No titles. No whispers. No arrangement.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted back to the meeting house. To the way your hand had fit in Wednesday's during the shared vision, and how - afterward - she'd looked at you. Not quite wary, not quite curious. Just... assessing, as if she was cataloguing you the way she might a suspect.

You'd tried to shake it off, but the thought had lodged somewhere deep: maybe you'd been too much. Too much history. Too much baggage. Too much trouble for someone who thrived on precision and control. Wednesday didn't like mess, and you - no matter how carefully you folded yourself into clean lines and cool expressions - were nothing but mess beneath the surface.

Your family. Your duties. The quiet way you sometimes froze when people touched you unexpectedly. The calls that came at midnight, dragging you back into a world Wednesday could never fully understand. The suitors your father kept sending like clockwork, reminders that your life here was temporary, conditional.

Maybe she'd seen it all in that vision or a vision you weren’t there to witness. Maybe she'd decided, right then, that you were more liability than ally. And maybe asking Xavier to the Rave'n had nothing to do with investigation strategy and everything to do with quietly replacing you.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself it was just an arrangement. That everything in the past few weeks had been what it started as: fake. But the knot in your chest didn't loosen, and the memory of her hand on your back still burned like salt in an unhealed cut.

When the day of Rav’n came, your dorm looked like a shipwreck had washed ashore and decided to stay.

Bolts of fabric and half-emptied jewelry boxes cluttered the bed, your desk was a graveyard of open compacts and curling ribbons, and the faint scent of sea-salt perfume drifted through the air. Your roommate, Yoko, was busy at her girlfriend’s dorm doing whatever they did - you never asked. You sat in front of the mirror, shoulders squared but eyes unfocused, as Isla rummaged through a box of hairpins like she was preparing for battle.

"I swear," she said, her voice carrying the easy authority of someone who had dressed for more state events than she could count, "if you don't stop glaring at your own reflection, you're going to give yourself worry lines."

"I'm not glaring," you muttered, though your face in the mirror betrayed you. “And we don’t get worry lines.”

"Right," Isla drawled, stepping behind you to part your hair into clean, deliberate sections. "And the ocean's not wet." She worked with quick, practiced precision, her fingers warm against your scalp as she began to braid, tucking in strands with a gentleness you hadn't expected.

The dress hung from a hook on the wardrobe door - finished now, the silk light and gleaming, every seam smoothed to perfection. Even from here you could see the way it caught the lamplight, the blue shifting like the skin of deep water.

"You've been quiet all day," Isla said after a moment, her tone softening just enough to slip past your guard. "Which either means you're nervous, or you're overthinking something you can't change."

You almost said both, but bit it back.

She secured the braid with a silver clasp shaped like a cresting wave, then leaned down to meet your eyes in the mirror. "Whatever it is... just remember the Rave'n isn't for them. Not for your father, not for the council, not even for whoever's decided to test your patience this week." She hesitated - just a beat, but you caught it. "It's for you."

You glanced at the dress again, then at the small pile of accessories Isla had laid out - pearl-drop earrings, a delicate bracelet, the gold arm cuff you always wore for formal events back home. It all looked right. It all felt wrong.

When she moved to retrieve the dress, you stood automatically, letting her unzip the garment bag and hold the silk open for you. The fabric was cool against your skin as you stepped in, the skirt whispering around your ankles. Isla fastened the laces at your back tightly, smoothing the bodice into place before stepping away.

"There," she said, smiling faintly. "Now you look like the princess they all expect to see."

You swallowed. "And if I don't feel like her?"

Isla's smile tilted into something knowing. "Then tonight... you fake it until you do."

Her words followed you to the mirror, where your reflection stared back - poised, polished, perfect. You knew it was an illusion. You wondered if Wednesday would see through it instantly.

The night air had a bite to it, crisp enough to make the silk of your dress feel thinner than it had in the tailor's room or even your own dorm. Ophelia Hall's windows glowed faintly behind you, golden light spilling over the stone steps before fading into the deep shadows that pooled along the quad. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint thud of bass from the gym where the Rave'n committee was already testing the sound system.

You were halfway across the lawn when a small figure caught your eye, moving with quick, deliberate steps toward the tree line.

"Eugene?" you called, your voice low but carrying.

He froze mid-step, shoulders hunching like he'd been caught red-handed. Slowly, he turned, flashlight in one hand, the strap of a small, overstuffed messenger bag digging into his shoulder. His jacket, patterned with tiny embroidered bees, seemed almost too bright under the pale wash of moonlight.

"Oh - hey, Y/N." His smile was thin, nervous, the kind you gave when you were trying to play something off.

Your gaze dropped to the bag. "Please tell me you're not skipping the Rave'n for bee business."

"Not... exactly bee business," he said, adjusting the strap. "Just checking on something. In the, uh, woods.”

The woods.

Your stomach tightened at the word. "That's off-limits, Eugene."

"Yeah," he said, already shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting toward the shadows at the edge of the quad, "so's half the fun stuff around here."

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. "And you're going alone?"

"I won't be," he answered a little too quickly, glancing away. "I've got my smoke bombs, my bug spray, and if things go south, I'll just—uh—run really fast. Like... Olympic fast."

Despite yourself, you felt your mouth tug into the beginnings of a smile. "That's your plan? Speed and bug spray?"

He grinned back, sheepish. "It's worked before."

You studied him for a moment, tempted to press harder, to tell him that whatever he thought he might find in the woods, it wasn't worth the risk. But something in his expression - an eagerness that edged into stubbornness - reminded you too much of yourself when you'd decided to follow Wednesday into the woods for the first time.

You knew Eugene had a hard time finding things he enjoyed outside of bee-keeping. The hives were his world, and you’d always respected that, but it made you worry about him in the quiet ways you never said out loud. You’d always seen him as a little brother—someone you wanted to protect, even if he didn’t think he needed it. He had a way of talking about bees like they were old friends, but when the conversation shifted to anything else, he’d retreat behind that shy smile of his, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged. The thought of something happening to him - of that gentle smile disappearing - made something sharp twist in your chest.

You didn’t think you could stand the idea of the sweet boy you knew getting hurt.

"Good luck tonight, by the way," he added, his gaze flicking to your dress. "Seriously, you're gonna... knock 'em dead." He winced immediately. "Metaphorically, of course.”

"Right."

You let him go with a nod, watching as he turned back toward the trees. His flashlight cut a narrow path through the dark, the beam swaying with his steps until it disappeared completely into the shadows.

For a long moment, you stood there, the cold creeping into your skin, wondering if you should follow him. It would be easier, in some ways - easier to chase after trouble in the dark than to step into the Rave'n and face Wednesday Addams in front of the entire school.

But trouble had a way of finding you no matter where you went.

So you turned toward the gym, the bass growing louder with every step and let Eugene have fun doing whatever he set out to do. You remember him telling you he liked to watch the stars at night sometimes, it made him feel more comfortable in the Nevermore Academy environment.

The Rave'n had transformed the gym into something unrecognizable.

The walls were lost beneath layers of cascading silk - stormy greys, deep ocean blues - that caught the shifting spotlights like moving water. Glass orbs and mirrored shards turned lazily overhead, scattering constellations of fractured light across the crowd. Beneath it all, the bass thudded slow and steady through the floorboards, a pulse that synced with your heartbeat whether you wanted it to or not.

It was beautiful. It was exhausting.

You'd spent weeks in the middle of this chaos - approving decorations, mediating arguments over table placement, wrangling delivery schedules - and now, standing in the finished space, you should have felt some kind of pride. Instead, you felt strangely apart from it, like you were watching the Rave'n happen through glass.

All you wanted was a pat on the back.

The student body had dressed like they were auditioning for a scene in a music video. Sequins flashed like fish scales under strobe lights, white fabrics floated as couples moved past, and here and there you caught bolder choices - someone in a full white feathered raven mask, another in a suit lined with tiny LEDs that winked in the dark.

You navigated the room in slow, deliberate steps, the silk of your dress whispering around your ankles. People looked - of course they did - but their attention skimmed over you like the surface of the water, never lingering long enough to pierce the shell you'd built.

Enid passed you on the dance floor in a whirl of silver glitter, her laugh carrying over the music. Bianca stood posted at the edge of the room, arms crossed, gaze scanning the crowd with her signature brand of calculated disinterest while she waited for someone to hand her a cup of spiked punch. Yoko waved from the refreshment table, a cup in hand.

It was almost easy to pretend you were just another face in the crowd - until the music shifted, and the doors opened again.

She didn't arrive with Xavier.

Wednesday walked in wearing black so sharp it seemed to slice through the haze of the room, her hair perfectly braided up, her expression perfectly unreadable. But it wasn't the outfit that caught you off guard - it was the fact that she wasn't alone. Tyler Galpin stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, smiling in that easy, open way that made half the girls in Jericho lean closer without realizing it.

The sight hit harder than you wanted it to.

Instinctively, you glanced towards Bianca who was thanking Xavier for getting her a drink, her hand on his back like it was meant to be there.

Oh, yeah, you were sure this was hell.

There’s no way to spin this without it sounding absurd.

Xavier - the guy who purposely wrecked things between you and Bianca - likes your current fake girlfriend. He almost took her to the Rav’n, but that fell apart. Now he’s here, at the event you planned, but now with Bianca - the same ex who cheated on you with him.

And your fake girlfriend didn’t come with you. She’s here with the barista who’s openly obsessed with her instead - a normie who’s everything you secretly wish you could be: normal, simple, boring, and entirely human.

You needed a fucking drink.

But instead, you didn't move. Just watched as they stepped into the crowd, Wednesday's gaze sweeping the room in that calculating way she had, like she was taking inventory of potential suspects instead of attending a dance. Tyler said something to her, something casual, something that made his grin widen, but her reply was hidden behind the noise of the music.

It didn't matter. You knew it wasn't you she'd chosen to stand beside tonight.

Someone brushed past you, jolting you back into motion. You forced yourself to turn away from the door, to focus on the glittering orbs above and the cool weight of your bracelet against your arm, to remember Isla's words from earlier - It's for you.

But no matter where you moved, no matter who you passed, you could feel her somewhere behind you, that dark, magnetic presence cutting through the heat and the noise like a cold current.

And every time you glanced over your shoulder, she was still there, not standing beside you like planned but instead standing beside him.

[cloud070]

Physical Contact

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

All characters are over 18 years old.

Summary(AU): Senior year. It's been about a year and a half since Wednesday and reader started dating, and everyone but the two notices the tension between them. Or so others assumed they hadn't.

WARNING: (I don't know anything about warnings)

Word Count: (idk I honestly didn't keep track)

Authors Note: This is my first xreader/yn post on here. I'm used to using Wattpad so I apologize if I get anything wrong. Have a good day/night💜

♡♡♡♡♡♡

A bell rings, signaling class ended for the day.

A familiar brunette stood next to you, laughing about the story you told during class. "You traumatized that little girl." The Vampire known as Yoko spoke.

Yoko Tanaka was your only friend when you arrived at Nevermore all those years ago. You guys used to be childhood best friends back when playing outside was every child's only concern, not grades, a job, or dating someone. Now 18 years old(100+ in Vampire years), you hate being outdoors, but it calms you. The night sky and how the stars shine above you and how bright the moon shines during a full moon were two out of three of your latest interests, and lastly, your late-night casual visits to the graveyard in town with your gothic girlfriend for “date” nights.

You rolled your eyes. "They identified as a boy." You corrected as you and your two friends walked to the door to leave the classroom. "I felt bad, and when I tried to apologize, they ran away crying to their father, who yelled at me and Enid until Wednesday arrived." You shake your head unhurriedly at the memory of last night's ALMOST blood bath.

"And WE didn't traumatize him." You and your two friends were now in the hallway. "Me and Y/N had to yank and do whatever it took for us to get Wednesday away from the two when she pulled out a knife in front of that little boy." The blonde girl side-eyes the brunette as you three continue walking. "What stopped Wednesday was when Y/N kissed her," She says, fake gagging.

Enid loved to be dramatic, and you seem to love her for it. You and almost everyone at Nevermore knew this about her. It's practically the first thing you noticed about the werewolf when you met her, and besides, you were used to it. Growing up with siblings can make you used to anything that they do that you may see in others, which can be annoying at times, but eventually, when you see through that feeling toward them and your siblings, you learn to love every little odd thing about them. You would never tell them you do, only insulting them as a form of expressing love for them. As I said, never tell them.

The blonde lightly bumps her shoulder into yours to draw your attention. “I don't know what's going on with you two lately, but it's like your guys' emotions are all over the place." The blonde spoke while looking at Yoko. "One minute you're feeling on top of the world, then the next you or her are either mad and yelling at the other, or either confused about why you were mad at each other in the first place." The blonde said as she pulled out her phone covered with colorful My Little Pony stickers. "During this month, I had to lock myself in the closet with Thing to protect our eyes and ears when you two were in a heavy make-out session in front of the door. The window lock got jammed when we tried leaving that way." She said, shaking her head as she remembered the event that may or may not have caused “trauma” to the two.

The brunette raised an eyebrow as she eyed the blonde as well. "When don't you feel bad, Y/N,” She looks at you and then the blonde beside her. “And don't you mean for the past year, not just recently?" Yoko inquired the blonde girl as you three entered the main corridor.

You groan. "If you stayed in the room instead of running into the closet and blasting music, you would have seen that Wednesday was trying not to hurt me when she allowed me to apply makeup, and don't act like you didn't hear her when she told me that she may hit my arm away as a reflex.” You explained without mentioning too much for the sake of lingering ears. “And we only kissed once since I made her agree to not kiss when you are in the dorm room with us. To not make you uncomfortable.” You whispered to them, knowing if Wednesday heard you, then she would most likely lecture you for it.

The brunette places her arm around your shoulder as she speaks. "Hey, Wednesday, do you wanna join us? We're going into town for food and probably go shopping after." You smile when you smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend, who is now standing in front of you with her hands clasped in front of herself.

You stare at Wednesday as if she might disappear and never return to you. It's something you noticed you started doing, and you never looked at her in this way. It was new for you, and you would usually do nothing but stare at her. Your friends noticed your behavior before you had, claiming you were in love or wanted her lustfully when you were alone with them, and they had caught you staring at Wednesday from across the room or the quad. A few weeks ago, when you and Wednesday were in town with Enid and Yoko, you would hold eye contact with Wednesday longer than you ever had.

Your girlfriend looks at the girl, who has her arm resting on your shoulders. "I can't.” She then looks at you, her eyes softening. “I will be with Eugene all day today, and I came to let Y/N know of my whereabouts if she may need me," Wednesday spoke to Yoko while maintaining eye contact with you.

"Y/N better get us kids happy meals since we get treated like one." The brunette whispers to Enid.

“I want chick nuggets now,” Enid spoke, causing Yoko to silence her.

You look down while adjusting your blazer. An old habit your friends and girlfriend took notice of when they all met you. "W-What?" You spoke, looking dazed as the brunette and blonde suddenly felt tension. It's something your friends talk about to each other when you are not around, and it's always when you and Wednesday don't seem to take notice when speaking to each other or making eye contact.

The y/e/c girl steps closer to Wednesday. "I do not like repeating myself, mi amor." The name the goth calls you when you two are alone slips from her lips.

The blonde looks back and then forward between you two with widened eyes. "I wanted you to come into town with us instead of hanging back.” You smirk. “We could even do the thing you love to do." You stare at your girlfriend with a smirk. “It'll be fun.” You said as your pinky linked with hers before she quickly removed them when she stepped back.

"Next time." The goth spoke, almost smirking at the thought of sneaking off to be alone with you in town.

"Next time." You repeated her, subconsciously moving towards her.

"Very well." You hold eye contact with each other, not daring to break it by looking away.

"Very well." You repeated her once more.

Someone clears their throat, and the other person fake gags. "We'll be at the Weathervane, away from whatever is happening with you two." One of the two girls spoke while starting to walk away.

You grab the closet person by the shoulder and lightly pull them back towards you. "I'll see you later, pretty girl." You whisper to her. You thought Wednesday was going in to leave as she always has, but instead, she pulls you into a kiss by your blazer. It took you by surprise, but you returned the kiss. Her lips were cold and a little chapped, but you never mind when it comes to a kiss with her.

Wednesday Friday Addams. The gloomy girl you met last year. You two became girlfriends in under nine months of knowing each other and have been dating for seven months. She is never one to be or like physical contact with anyone when it comes to holding hands, cuddling, or kissing. You respected her boundaries when you met her, and unlike her roommate, you had common sense. It took about four months for Wednesday to allow you to hold her hand or kiss her and many months for your guy's first ‘I love you’ to be said to each other. It still makes you as nervous as the first time Wednesday said it to you, even after a while since it happened.

"Stop calling me that." The short goth girl's stoic eyes stare into yours as she withdraws her lips from yours.

You smile at her response. "But you love being called pretty," You whisper while you position your hands over your girlfriend's smaller ones on your blazer.

The goth blinks as if she were mimicking a cat-like action as she removes her hands from your blazer. "I got to go." You two share a look before your girlfriend leaves you alone with your friends.

Their eyes were on you the whole time, and when you turned to face them, Enid nearly tripped, but Yoko grabbed her in time before that could happen.

It took you and your friends about an hour and a half since Enid thought that it was a nice day out for a walk into town. And thank God you had sunglasses and changed clothes before you left because the uniform would have made this walk a lot worse. You guys HAD to stop whenever Enid thought she saw flowers that looked 'interesting' to her. And there were a lot of flowers for it only being the side of the road. Luckily, it's only 5 in the evening as you three walk the side of the road, talking and teasing each other, mainly about the tension between you and Wednesday, which you hadn't noticed. Or so they assumed you hadn't.

——————

It's been a week since you kissed, let alone had a conversation with your girlfriend.

It had been one week, one day, twelve hours, and thirty-eight seconds since you told Wednesday that you couldn't hang out with her due to the many late assignments you had to turn in by the end of tomorrow. When you turned them in and went to your dorm room to change and then to see your girlfriend, you accidentally fell asleep for the rest of the day. You were about to greet Wednesday the next morning, and your friends practically dragged you into town with them and away from your girlfriend. Ever since then, it seems someone always needs your help for unknown reasons the minute you go to see or about to talk to Wednesday. You only made eye contact with your girlfriend during class, longing glances from across the Quad or passing time. The few times when you had classes together and were able to sit next to each other, Wednesday's pinky would touch yours when your hand rested on the table, or you felt a hand rest near your inner thigh or on your knee, but that's about it. Not a word was spoken between you and Wednesday, only eye contact.

You didn't mind being away from Wednesday as much as you thought you would, but the time away from you seemed to be bothering your girlfriend from what Thing had informed you of when you were helping Ajax with his research.

From what little information you could gather from Thing in the afternoon during lunch, he informed you about the time away from Wednesday. The first few days were as calm as they could be. Around the fifth day, a feeling started growing within her while it was her writing time. For the next few days, Wednesday would threaten students for simply looking into your decision or speaking to and about you when she's near them without them knowing. It was all good things about you, but it didn't matter. It was three days later that was an issue for Wednesday, being today. Thing explained this morning how Wednesday would usually go easy on Enid during fencing since she was fully aware of how bad Enid could be at times. During class, the blonde girl tried to bring up your relationship with Wednesday, but Enid only ended up receiving the silent treatment from your girlfriend and a trip to the infirmary.

After class, you took it upon yourself to visit Enid to check up on her, and when you turned the corner that leads to her dorm room, you saw Wednesday by the door talking to Thing when you approached them. “You better be here by the time I come out of this room, Wednesday.” You say in an unfamiliar tone to her, staring at your girlfriend as you enter the room.

You understood how Wednesday gets, and you saw it firsthand when someone insulted you in front of her. The few times someone was too close to you, you had to stop her from doing anything to them, but you haven't seen those who had done that or verbally insulted you. Even though she said she wouldn't harm anyone, Wednesday still hurt Enid, of all people.

When you entered the room, you saw Enid lying in bed with Yoko next to her, and you couldn't help but feel bad for her when she started joking about her injury after you three talked for a while.

Before leaving the room, you hugged Yoko and Enid and told them you had to speak to Wednesday.

The door shuts behind you, and the conversation between Thing and Wednesday comes to a standstill. “Hey, Thing, can you keep Enid and Yoko company? I need to speak with Wednesday.” You told him, opening the door for him, and what he tapped made Wednesday stare at him before he moved into the room.

You shut the door when Thing was in the room. “Is she alright?” Wednesday asked, observing your every movement.

You hum. “Physical, Enid will heal, but mentally and emotionally, not so much.” You shook your head, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her away from the door and the few students lingering nearby. “You could have killed her.” Informing your girlfriend in a whisper, you two walked through the corridor. “What made you act like this? You never act out of character, and don't even think about lying Wednesday.” You felt like yelling at Wednesday, but you knew it didn't get you anywhere from what the blonde told you about her before meeting the girl.

The hallway wasn't as crowded during school hours, but knowing Wednesday, you wouldn't get anything out of her with others being able to hear. You made your way to your dorm room, opened the door when you arrived, and told your roommate to get out. Your roommate didn't dare to protest when she looked up at Wednesday and then at you, gathering things into her backpack. “I’m sleeping somewhere else tonight anyway.” Your roommate stood up, putting her phone into her back pocket before heading towards the door as you held it open with a tight grip. “Do not do anything on my bed.” The girl said, leaving the room and you raised an eyebrow at this.

You point to your desk chair as you slam the door behind the Vampire. The hinge sounded like it broke off the wooden door and frame, but it was the least of your worries. “Now answer.” You spoke as Wednesday sat down where you pointed towards.

“You told me we could not spend time together when we could have it made me-” You eye her. “It made me feel unworthy of your time, Y/N.” If it weren't for the way she avoided eye contact with you while she spoke, the one thing you knew she prided herself on maintaining with others, you would be upset, but you weren't, not in the slightest. You were far from anger.

The sun's appearance on your Gothic girlfriend's face made her seem godly to you. “You could have come to me and talked about this instead of trying to kill Enid of all people, Wednesday.” You placed your hands on her chin, lifting it so she could look at you. “Please don't hurt anyone else because of this feeling you feel.” Your thumb rubs her jawline. “You are allowed to talk about unwanted feelings you feel.” You remove your hand from her chin before stepping away. “You don't have to feel like you can't express yourself to me, pretty girl.” You spoke with warmth in your tone.

Before you and Wednesday got together, you would use the same tone with her when it came to anything that was such as this. She would always make her usually snarky comment like always, or it would be about how calm you seemed, only to get a reply in the same mellow tone as before.

“You are not unworthy of my time, Wednesday. It's quite the opposite.” Her eyebrows frown a little at your words. “It may come as a surprise, but you make me feel a lot by being near or kissing me. It's why I wanted to work alone and away from you.” You admitted, biting your bottom lip. “I would not have been able to finish my assignments if you were to be with me.” You watch her facial expression change as you speak. “I got done with my last assignments a week ago, and I accidentally fell asleep, and even after that, I got distracted or pulled away from you.” You were about to ramble but stopped yourself from doing so.

“You get aroused by me?”

You groan at her words. “Is that your only takeaway from this?” You question, covering her face with your hands to hide your cheeks the best you could.

You turn away from her. “No.” The chair squeaks as your girlfriend stands up, and the floor does the same. “I understand, Y/N.” The wooden floor squeaks with every step Wednesday takes, letting you know she is walking up behind you. “You wanted to be alone to catch up on your last assignments only because you get aroused by me,” Wednesday spoke as if she hadn't had a clue.

“It's embarrassing when you say it out loud, but yeah.” You confirm, nodding your head.

“Is that why you always go to the bathroom so many times when we kiss?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god!!” You quickly closed your eyes, but it was worse when you imagined inappropriate things with and about her, so you opened your eyes and turned to face her. “I'll be with Enid.” You said, cringed at the thought of your thoughts.

As you walk towards the door to leave, a cold hand grabs you by your waist and spins you around in one motion. With a cold hand still on your waist and the other hand on your arm to keep you in place against them, you look down at the person to see your girlfriend looking up at you. “Stay.” Her grip tightens on your waist and arm to keep you from leaving. “Please.” Wednesday pleads with you, slowly moving her hand up your arm until she reaches your shoulder.

You placed both of your hands on her face. “My pretty girl.” You said as you leaned down.

“Mi amor.” She spoke softly, her breath hot against your lips.

You look into her eyes, her lips, and then back into her eyes. “I could never leave you.” You said as you felt her rest her forehead against yours.

Our lips had collided. It was over before it had begun since Wednesday pulled away. Her fingers covered her lips then yours, and her eyes widened twice their size. You crossed over to her quickly, since she'd backed away, and removed her hands from your lips. You look up at her to see salty water glossed over her eyes, though you didn't know the cause of them was being away from you for, to her, it was too long, eight days. You saw her vulnerable eyes look up at yours for a split second before it happened for a second time. Our lips connected for a mind-shattering time, but this time, neither of us backed away. Her fingers immediately dragged into your hips, pulling them closer to her own. You were gripping her back possessively, the breath you and her breathed becoming one as you continued kissing. The heat of her fingers left red hot stripes on your hips when she removed them to steady herself against the desk you began guiding her to. She allowed your teeth to drag out her bottom lip while her hands made their way into your hair. Her tongue ran over the carvings in your bottom lip and became a gateway as you welcomed it in.

If you were anywhere around her, you had stopped breathing or forgotten how to. No other woman has had that type of effect on you until her.

People compare love with fire, which honestly is stupid. Not only do they have no relation, a fire burns out. In your opinion, that's why 50% of marriages don't work out. Your feelings for Wednesday weren't like a fire, more like a candle, content and overlooked. It wasn't struggling to get its flames anywhere or growing when fuelled.

It can be hard to explain sometimes, but Wednesday gets you even if her way is weird to many. If it is normal for your girlfriend, then it would become a new normal for you if needed, it had to be a new normal for you.

It's her.

It had always been Wednesday.

[creamecafe]

wednesday x vampire reader

Wednesday Addams Dating a Vampire!Reader HCs

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Vampire!GN!Reader

Warnings: blood eating, death, blood intimacy, fluff

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Wednesday Series Masterlist | Wednesday Addams Masterlist | Join my taglist!

Wednesday always sensed a roaming pleasure and dreadful aura of the undead when you first met her

Someone who finally understands her, she feels like everything is complete and where it needs to be.

Before you guys start dating, she interrogates you on loads of questions such as: coffin usage, how many feet distance of garlic you can be from, bloodlust control.

All questions you were happy to answer.

It took time for Wednesday to get used to PDA, but it's all worth it to feel your cold, hard hand in hers while walking to class or in town

She would give you a necklace of her blood, to help you calm down or if you go away on a trip

Both of you hate the sun and love to be in the shade, you always bring sun screen and she never forgets to bring a back up just in case

You two are known as the couple in Nevermore and in town to not be messed around with.

But when you are by normies, you open your fangs and they all usually run away

Whenever Wednesday is doing mysteries, you transform into a bat and watch her to make sure she's ok.

She's annoyed by it, but gotten used to it.

Morticia and Gomez would be pleased at the fact that Wednesday found someone similar to her and makes sure to cover all windows and hide away garlic when you come over

Pugleys definitely is intrigued by you being a vampire, asking questions such as "So do you hunt people or have a preference?"

Wednesday would threaten him in a calm but determined tone, which always makes you smile

Whenever you guys have the chance, you take strolls at the cemetery at nighttime to look at people's headstones and wonder how many could be vampires right now

You sometimes pull all nighters to read Wednesday's new book and give feedback

She offers you to feed on her, if she's really in the mood

When she sees you feeding off her, she'll watch with a slight smile, writing in her mind to put in her next novel

The best part is that there's no humanizing each other. You're unapologetically a vampire and she's unapologetically Wednesday herself

[typingoreos]

My Second Shadow (W.A.)

Warnings: None

Wednesday Season One Episode One

Summary: When Wednesday first arrives at Nevermore, Weems asks you to keep on eye on her. So you do—following Wednesday as if you were an unseen second shadow.

Reader Insert - Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Masterlist | Next

AO3

Word Count: 6.7K

A/N: This was awful to proofread but I finally got it done.

Weems’ office is shockingly big. There’s a fireplace in one of the walls and a giant window facing the front of Nevermore. “Why am I here?” You ask her, already moving to sit in one of the chairs across her desk.

There’s a knock on her office door. She sighs.

“We have a new student coming in today, they’re early. Hide.” You don’t question her. A second later you’re gone, transparent. Weems says you’re a chameleon, but you think you’re more of a shadow.

Three people walk in a moment later. You silently get up from your seat, you can’t be seen but you can be felt. It’s a shorter man and a fairly tall woman, with a girl who seems to be their daughter.

The three have similar apparel, black with little white to complement it. You walk around to Weems’ side of the desk as they talk.

“Wednesday is certainly a unique name.” Weems says after a minute of them talking. “I’m guessing it was the day of the week you were born?”

“I was born on Friday the 13th.” The daughter, Wednesday, says quickly. Her mother, who you learned is called Morticia, smiles. “Her name comes from a line from my favorite nursery rhyme. Wednesday’s child is full of woe.”

You smile. Definitely not a normal family. The room is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the fire place’s constant crackling.

Weems breaks the silence. “You always had a unique perspective of the world, Morticia.” Morticia just hums “Hmm” as her response.

“Did your mother tell you we were roommates back in the day?” You smile at the tension. Weems has a polite smile and Morticia smiles too but it’s more of a nervous one. Her eyes glance at Wednesday who has this constant annoyed glare. “And you graduated with your sanity intact?” She asks.

“Impressive.” Morticia’s face makes you want to laugh. Her mouth relaxes, no longer smiling. I like this family.

Weems seems to switch the subject. “You’ve certainly had a very interesting educational journey. Eight schools in five years.” Her father looks proud.

“They haven’t built one strong enough to hold me. I bet this place isn’t any different.” Oh yeah, she definitely doesn’t want to be here- wait a minute. Last time a student-

You almost let out a groan. Last time Weems accepted a student that didn’t want to be here she made you be her little spy. You glance at Wednesday.

Gomez finally talks. “I believe what our daughter is trying to say is that she greatly appreciates the opportunity.” Morticia nods, putting on a small smile again.

“Nevermore doesn’t usually accept students mid-term, but given Wednesday’s perfect grades and your family’s long history with the school; I’ve spoken with the board and we’ve made an exception.” Gomez and Morticia look happy, they must have loved it here.

Wednesday, however, looks more mortified than she did before.

“Larissa, what about Wednesday’s, um… therapy sessions? The court ordered them.” Morticia says. Weems just nods with a hum. She doesn’t seem surprised. I wonder what’s on her record.

“The school has a relationship with a therapist in Jericho. She can meet twice a week.” Dr. Kinbott. You liked her.

“Did you hear that, my little storm cloud? You’re in excellent hands.” Gomez tells Wednesday. Aw that’s actually a pretty cute nickname-

“We’ll see if she survives the first session.” Wednesday’s tone is monotone but threatening at the same time. Cute nickname for a terrifying work of nature. Nice.

Her parents’ smiles fall slightly, Weems looks down awkwardly to see Wednesday’s file.

You look at Wednesday. The girl never blinks. Since she came in, not once. You wonder if she can sense you.

“I’ve assigned you to your mother’s old dorm. Ophelia Hall.” Morticia smiles widely and turns to her daughter.

“Refresh my memory. Ophelia’s the one who kills herself after being driven mad by her family, correct?” You expect Morticia’s smile to fall again but it gets wider and she nods.

“Should we go meet your new roommate?” Weems finally says. She tells the Addams to wait outside her office as she gathers some papers. “Only for a moment.” She tells them. They leave.

“Y/N, she’s staying with Enid. I want you to monitor her after classes.” Weems says softly into the now—mostly empty—room.

“What am I? A mercenary?” You reappear in front of her desk. “Please.” She says. You sigh, nodding reluctantly. She’s basically your mother. “Can I go now?“ She nods. Your form shimmers away. You wait for Weems to exit the room before silently following behind her, still transparent.

As her and the Addams go left towards Ophelia Hall, you head right towards the quad.

.

.

Enid’s sunshine-like behavior was beginning to torment Wednesday—but not in the satisfying ruthless torture way.

Since meeting Enid in her new dorm, she’s been constantly pestered by her. She should get an Instagram, a TikTok, get a new wardrobe.

“Welcome to the quad.” Enid bubbles.

“It’s a pentagon.” Wednesday says with a bored tone. Enid looks at her.

“The whole snarky Goth girl thing might have worked at normie school, but here things are different.” Enid chirps. Wednesday doesn’t look at her, instead she observes the various clumps of people

“Let me give you a wiki on Nevermore’s social scene.” Still sounding as happy as ever, walking along the pentagon’s walls.

“I’m not interested in participating in tribal adolescent cliches.” Wednesday’s eyes spot you.

You’re sitting on one of the steps leading down to the grass patch in the middle of the quad. A clothbound Penguin Classics edition of ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ in your hands.

“Well, then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain. There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners and Scales.” They stop walking.

You look up, feeling someone’s eyes on you. You and Wednesday meet each other's eyes. It doesn’t feel awkward, not in the way it does when someone catches you starring. It’s just—recognition.

“Those are the fangs-“ Enid pauses after Wednesday interrupts.

“Whose that?” Her voice is still as monotone as ever. Wednesday turns her head back to Enid.

“Oh that’s Y/N, she's pretty cool. Hard to pin down though. Sometimes she’s there and then she isn’t.”

Enid gestures back to you. Wednesday looks and you’re gone. Her eyes narrow, scanning the exits, trying to find a glimpse of you leaving.

“She does that a lot, light manipulation or something. One time I asked her to help me pull a prank on April Fools. It was so much fun.” Wednesday makes note of that. They keep walking, Enid continues her welcome tour.

You watch as she tells Wednesday who Bianca is. You’re still in the same spot, you didn’t move from the step. Just disappeared to see what Wednesday would do.

Smiling when Ajax’s snake goes back under his beanie after seeing Wednesday. You get up and reappear, walking towards Ophelia Hall.

Wednesday sees you leaving as you walk past Xavier. Her eyes track you until you’re out of sight.

.

.

You lean against the archway of Nevermore’s entrance. You’re not in a visible form at the moment. Weems made you aware that Morticia, Wednesday’s mother, has agreed to let you supervise her daughter.

You witness Wednesday’s goodbyes to her brother and father. Eventually the two boys enter the car after Morticia asks for them to be alone for a moment. Leaving her alone with her daughter.

“Any plans you have of running away end right now.” You hear Morticia say. “I’ve alerted all family members to contact me the minute you darken their doorstep.”

You see Morticia’s eyes glance over to you. She saw you against the wall earlier, before you disappeared. “You have nowhere to go.” Her eyes go back to Wednesday.

Wednesday’s arms are still crossed. “As usual, you underestimate me, Mother. I will escape this educational penitentiary, and you will never hear from me again.” You watch Morticia sigh and shake her head.

“You are a brilliant girl, Wednesday, but sometimes you get in your own way.”

Maybe they are somewhat normal. You think.

“I’m sure you’ll grow to love Nevermore and find it as life-changing as I did.” She smiles.

“Oh, I got you a little something.” Morticia pulls out a pendant. She turns it. “W” she turns it again “M. Our initials. It’s made of obsidian, which Astec priests used to conjure visions.” Her smile is bigger now, showing teeth. “It’s a symbol of our connection.”

She gives it to Wednesday, who surprisingly enough, takes it. “Which one of your spirits suggested this toe-curling tchotchke?” Morticia’s smile falls, so does yours.

Wednesday continues anyways. “I’m not you, Mother. I will never fall in love or be a housewife, or have a family.”

“I’m told girls your age say hurtful things, and I shouldn’t take it to heart.” Maybe I shouldn’t be here. You start regretting following Weem’s lead. This feels like a private matter.

“Fortunately, you don’t have one.” Wednesday says. Morticia smiles. So that’s how their family dynamic works.

“Finally, a kind word for your mother.” You end it at that and walk off. This was a family matter, the scene feeling too private for you.

As you walk through the arched door behind Wednesday, you reappear. You did so carefully, making sure Wednesday didn’t see you.

Morticia did.

.

.

Wednesday walks into the fencing club’s assigned room. There’s five long white mats for the students to fence on. All of them are occupied at the moment.

You wait for Coach to assign you to a mat. While you wait, you doodle ideas for your new fencing uniform. The one you’re wearing right now is the standard issued white one but it has small drawings on it.

You drew a raven on the chest so it would sit over your right breast. Then there’s a black cat on the outside of your left leg. There was even a small skull on your left knee. But your favorite drawing is on the back.

There’s a flock of birds, 13 in total, flying upwards to the left. 7 of those birds cascade down your legs. One of the flies above the rest.

Coach didn’t mind because the uniform was still functional, and nobody was going to comment on some doodles.

Wednesday cuts through the clashing bouts as if they were nothing but mundane obstacles. She stops when one of the students beats another. The loser falling onto the floor.

The student on the floor hazardly takes off their helmet. “Coach, coach, she tripped me.” The winner takes off their helmet too, its Bianca Barclay.

“It was a clean strike, Rowan.” The coach tells him.

“Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn’t suck.” Bianca bites back. She turns to the coach.

“Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get real competition?” The coach holds up Rowan’s classes so he can grab them.

“And don’t say Y/N, she’s too busy doodling away over there.” You hear your name and look up. Bianca is already looking at you. You move your arms as if to gesture ‘what the hell did I do?’

She rolls her eyes and turns back around. “Anyone else want to challenge me?”

“I do.” Wednesday answers quickly, already standing in front of her.

“Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in.” Bianca smiles. Wednesday doesn’t seem amused.

“And you must be the self-appointed Queen Bee. Interesting thing about bees. Pull out their stringers, and they drop dead.” You join the other fencers in their “Ooh’s.” You smile at Wednesday and Bianca’s antics.

“Rowan doesn’t need you to come to his defense. He’s not helpless, he’s lazy.” Rowan takes a breath of his inhaler.

You stand up, wanting a good view. You slip your helmet on. Putting your sketchbook in your bag.

“Are we doing this or not?” You hear Wednesday say.

You subtly walk to lean against the wall facing Wednesday’s back. This’ll be interesting to watch.

They don’t exchange any other words, just get into position on the mat.

“En garde.” You can’t see their eyes, but their movements speak for them. Nothing but clashes fill the room. Xavier and his partner stop fencing, wanting to watch Wednesday and Bianca as well. The other three groups stopping as well.

You flinch each time one of them gets close to touching the other. You hiss when you think Wednesday loses. But really, she’s all the way down on her heels with her saber touching Bianca’s chest.

“Point to Wednesday.” The coach says, murmurs fill the room.

Bianca lets Wednesday get up slowly before continuing after Wednesday strikes. Wednesday plays this one aggressively, but Bianca’s saber hits the top of her head when Wednesday goes for a lunge.

“The score is even.” Wednesday gets up and takes off her helmet, Bianca does too.

“That first point was clearly beginner’s luck. Let’s finish this.” Bianca says smugly. You’re still leaning against the wall. Your watch vibrates on your wrist. Dammit.

“I gotta go, fill me in after?” You ask Xavier. He nods and you leave, not noticing Wednesday’s subtle glance at you.

.

.

You walk through Nevermore’s busy corridors. You’re invisible at the moment so you try your best to avoid walking into someone. Enid asked you for help confirming her latest gossip scoop with the promise of a future favor.

“Could you help me with this super big scoop? I’ll totally owe you one.”

You didn’t mind, not really. Enid’s favor system was ironclad, you could trust her to keep her word. Plus, helping Enid meant she wouldn’t post anything about you. You didn’t have anything to hide but everyone knowing your business would make your skin crawl.

Apparently, these two popular students in her English class broke up but nobody can confirm it. She asked you to find out. You had no idea who these students were and you truly didn’t care until you heard:

“Ruth? Yeah I’m still with her.”

You stop walking, scribbling down what you just heard with a shocked face. Now this is a turn of events. Suddenly you know why Enid has a gossip blog in the first place.

A few minutes ago you saw the boy kissing a girl who you know was not named Ruth. You want to stay and write some more but Wednesday is walking through the hall as well.

You follow her instead, closing the notebook and quietly slipping it in your bag.

Why are we going outside? Oh, Ophelia hall is this way.

It’s raining as she heads outside, opening her umbrella. You look down and suck it up. Walking behind her knowing invisibility will not protect you from the water. You look up from your feet, Wednesday stopped, now looking at a statue.

You heard it creak, groan as it started shifting. You don’t think—you just run.

“Wednesday!” You move out of invisible form and run to push her out the way. Lunging as she just stares, accepting her death. The statue shatters behind you.

“Fuck.” You say, looking back at it. You turn back to Wednesday. Your heart still pounding at the near death experience you witnessed. “Wednesday?” You shake her. Nothing.

Well fuck me huh? You think.

You’ll have to carry her. Wasn’t she just in the infirmary? You heard some students talking about her. Now you have to carry her back.

.

.

You sit on the stool by the end of the cot’s frame. You study her. Her natural position sleeping position is a bit unconventional. With her arms crossed flat on her chest—like she’s posing for her funeral.

You sigh and look back down to your notebook, tapping the pen on the paper. You see movement in your vision and look at Wednesday. Her lashes flutter and then her eyes open.

“Welcome back.” You say, closing the notebook. She sits up rapidly.

“Just take it easy. The nurse said you don’t have a concussion, but you probably have a pretty nasty bump.” You try to calm her. She looks down like she’s sorting through her memories.

“The last thing I remember was walking outside feeling a mixture of rage, pity; and self-disgust.” You look down, suppressing a smile. She was funny in a weird way.

“I never felt that way before.” She says, glancing at you.

“Losing to Bianca has that effect on people, I think.” You look up at her. A small grin on your face.

“Then I looked up and saw that gargoyle coming down and I thought, well at least I’ll have an imaginative death.”

Her eyes sharpen as she looks at you. “Then you tackled me out of the way. Why?” Her head tilts slightly.

You let out a puff of air and look to your left through the window for a second. “Call it instinct?”

“So you were guided by latent chivalry? The tool of patriarchy to extract my undying gratitude.”

You hum and nod. “Y’know most people just say thank you.”

“I didn’t want to be rescued.”

“So I should have just let that thing smash you to mush?”

“I would have rather saved myself.”

You grin. “Well then, next time you have a near death experience I’ll document it instead.”

She looks at you, nodding once. “Good.”

.

.

You were already in Jericho when Weems messaged you. ‘We’re almost there. Wait outside.’

Sighing, you put the phone back in your pocket and finish your drink while walking to Kinbott’s office.

Weems drove you here beforehand and let you get something at the Weathervane. Basically her payment for babysitting Wednesday.

Like a mother awarding her daughter.

You can’t go invisible in public, it would bring too much attention. You throw the now empty plastic cup in a trash can outside the white wooden building where ‘Dr. Valerie Kinbott Psychology’ is. There’s some other offices, Millar & Gough, Harper & Co, but you’ve never seen someone go to them.

You walk into the alleyway right next to the building and hide behind the trash before going invisible. If anyone saw you, they would just think they’re crazy.

Eventually Weem’s car shows up and you stand outside of it. You can see Wednesday talking to her in the front seat. After a minute of them talking she gets out of the car but turns back to Weems.

“And chauffeuring your students around is clearly below your pay grade.” Wednesday goes to close the door but Weems talks so she stops.

“Given your history, I’m sure you’re intent on running away. I’m here to prevent that from happening.” Wednesday tilts her head down.

“I wish you luck.” She closes the door.

Weems smiles as Wednesday walks through the glass double door of the building. You follow her silently as you both walk to the second floor and the office titled Kinbott’s Pyschology.

While Wednesday waits in a chair for her name to be called you walk around, looking at the various posters on the wall. The air smells like peppermint instead of antiseptic like most offices. Although you suppose this office isn’t exactly medical.

When Wednesday’s name is called she gets up and you follow. “I read the notes from your school counselor.” Kinbott says while guiding you two to her office down the hall. Well, she’s technically only guiding Wednesday.

“Mrs. Bronson. She had a nervous breakdown after our last session and had to take a six-month sabbatical.” Wednesday says, walking to one of the white couches in the middle of the room. Her office is really white and beige themed, something out of a Pinterest mood board.

“Go ahead and take a seat.” Kinbott sits on the small one person couch to the left, and Wednesday sits on the one to the right.

“How did you feel about that?” Kinbott starts off.

“Vindicated.” You grin.

“But somebody who crochets for a hobby isn’t a worthy adversary.” You smile at that too, you’ve crocheted one or two things before.

Maybe you’re just a happy person. Something in your head whispers to you.

“Adversary? I hope we can forge a relationship based on trust and mutual respect.” Kinbott says happily. She’s like Enid. Wednesday scoffs quietly but Kinbott continues anyway.

“This is a safe space, Wednesday. A sanctuary where we can discuss anything. What you’re thinking, feeling, your views on the world, personal philosophy.” You lean against a wall near the front door, watching. It's like an odd reality show.

Wednesday seems to get more annoyed by every word Kinbott says. “That’s easy. I think this is a waste of time.”

Kinbott smiles but lets Wednesday trail on. “I see the world as a place that must be endured, and my personal philosophy is kill or be killed.”

Damn, she said all that without blinking once.

You watch Wednesday’s facial expression more closely now. She has to blink.

“So, for instance, when someone bullies your brother your response is to dump piranha in the pool.” You move your head side to side. It’s an unusual reaction but it makes somewhat sense.

Wednesday doesn’t fall for it. In her same monotone voice she says: “You know the old saying, never bring a knife to a sword fight. Unless it’s concealed.”

Kinbott’s tone changes this time. It’s not the same soft therapist voice. It’s stern, almost a little angry. “The point is, you assaulted a boy, and showed no remorse for your actions. That’s why you’re here.” Wednesday replies immediately.

“He lost a testicle. I did the world a favor. People like Dalton shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” Kinbott’s expression doesn’t change. You however, raised both your eyebrows in surprise.

‘Note to self, don’t let her find out about you.’

“I’ve answered all your questions.” She stands up from her seat. “We’re not done yet.” Kinbott says quickly, following up with a smile. Wednesday sighs and sits back down. You smile, she’s unintentionally funny—or maybe your sense of humor is a little twisted.

“Therapy is a valuable tool to help you understand yourself. It can teach you new ways to deal with your emotions. It can also help you build the life you want.” You walk a little closer. You’re not sure if it’s to see Wednesday’s reaction or help Kinbott if Wednesday attacks her.

“I know the life that I want.” Wednesday says.

“Tell me about it.” SHE BLINKED! You grin in victory. You knew you would see it eventually.

“Everything said in these sessions is strictly confidential.” You pause. She just looked at you—her eyes moved onto you. Maybe it was coincidental? It could have been.

“Do your plans involve becoming an author? I understand you’ve written three novels about a teen girl detective.” If she saw you she’s forgotten already. Her head moves up slightly, she blinks again. Her mouth opens slightly but closes again.

The smile from your previous victory falls.

“Viper de la Muerte?” Kinbott says. “Can you tell me about her?” Kinbott has a small smile of victory, like she’s finally getting somewhere with her.

“Viper is smart, perceptive, chronically misunderstood.” You take note of that in the little notebook in your other pocket. Wednesday's eyes moved to the side again but not at you. It was a coincidence.

“Any luck getting your work published?” That must have got her. Wednesday’s eyes look like they want to kill Kinbott.

“Editors are short-sighted, fear-based life forms. One once described my writing as gratuitously morbid, and suggested I seek psychiatric help.” Now you’re even more intrigued by her writing. Must be amazing if that’s the response she got.

“Ironic isn’t it?”

“How did you take that?” Kinbott chirps.

“I sent her a ‘thank you.’” Wednesday says with a little smirk. The room goes quiet for a moment. “I’ve always been open to constructive criticism.” I doubt that.

You look at Kinbott but you don’t think she buys it. “I’m glad to hear that. Because I was sent the manuscripts as part of your psych evaluation.”

Again you felt like you’re intruding on a private moment, especially when Wednesday’s face changes. The manuscripts for her novel? I’d be pissed too.

“The relationship I found most intriguing was that of Viper and her mother, Dominica.” Wednesday seems more stiff than usual. Yeah, definitely intruding on something private.

“Why don’t we dig into that?” Wednesday blinks again, opening her mouth and then closing it just as quickly like she doesn’t know what to do yet.

“Wednesday part of this journey requires us going to uncomfortable places emotionally.” Kinbott tries to reason.

“I don’t travel well.” They look at each other for a moment. “Would you mind if I used the powder room first?”

You still. She’s probably going to try leaving right? So you should follow. But also, if she doesn’t try to escape you’ll just be a creep…

Kinbott gestures for her to go. Fuck it, you push off the wall and follow her. When Wednesday locks it she looks around rapidly, twirling and all. You go in 20 different directions just to avoid her. She pushes something off the sink by accident.

“Wednesday are you okay?” You both hear from outside the door. “You can’t hide in there for the rest of the session.”

“I’m all right.” She keeps looking around. “I’m just preparing myself for our uncomfortable journey.” Wednesday says, her eyes locking on the frosted window. She hits her backpack and turns her head.

“Nail file.” She says softly. What is she doing- your eyes widen. A severed hand just… handed her a nail file?

Not the time to question. You watch as she walks to the window and picks the lock.

She turns back to the door, looking right through you. You hold your breath. She doesn’t notice and opens the window, slipping through.

She walks on the roof, leaning over the side and scanning for Weem’s car. You’re right behind her—until she slides down the building’s rain gutter.

You question if this it’s truly worth the Weathervane drinks Weems gives you.

You sigh and slide down it anyways. You’re not as silent as you would have liked because Wednesday turns back around quickly. She doesn’t question the sound for long though, instead she sees Weem’s car still in front of the building and she starts walking in the opposite direction.

You follow her across the street but she bumps into an old man with a crate of apples. She looks up to the sky, eyes wide, and her body rigid. A second later she’s fine and turns to him.

“Who let you out? You goddamn weirdo.” Your chest tightens. If you weren’t invisible you just might have hit him. Wednesday, however, doesn’t seem to care as she looks back at Weem’s car and walks away quickly,

You follow her. She’s heading to the Weathervane. When you two walk in there’s a burst of smoke coming from the coffee machine. Dammit Tyler, look at the manual.

Wednesday walks to him. “Holy crap!” He says surprised. You grin. Always fun to see him scared.

“Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” He’s still shocked. “It’s more of a hobby.” Well at least the little nightmare seems pleased with herself.

“You go to Nevermore. Didn’t realize they changed up the uniform.” She doesn’t comment. “I need a quad over ice. It’s an emergency.” You stop listening to the conversation and take out your notebook again. Writing down her order. More information never hurts. You doodle a little coffee next to the note.

You look back up when Wednesday moves behind the counter. “I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimeter Allen wrench.” She says after looking at the manual. “Wait, you read Italian?”

Seriously Tyler? Couldn’t just put in google translate?

Wednesday turns her head to him. “Of course. It’s the native tongue of Machiavelli.” She moves the manual down.

“Here’s the deal. I’m going to fix your coffee machine, then you’re going to make my coffee and call a taxi.”

“Uh, no taxis in Jericho. Try Uber?” You roll your eyes. “I don’t have a phone. I refuse to be a slave to technology.” Yup, pretty much what you expected from her. You watch her use the screwdriver, turning away to people-watch everyone else. It’s oddly enjoyable.

You hear them talk for a bit before tuning back in. “What about trains?” Uh oh. “Nearest station is Burlington. It’s half an hour away.” You write it down, this time on a different page.

One page for your own personal notes, and another for Weem’s spy notes.

You hear Tyler say he can drive Wednesday in an hour. It might be time to tell Weems.

You smile when she tries to buy his help but it doesn’t work. Wednesday takes a seat at one of the booths. You can’t sit on the cushions because she’ll see the dent, but you lean against the table, arms crossed.

You want to stay and watch her in case she leaves but you really have to use the restroom. You give up after a minute. She’ll be fine.

.

When you walk back out the restroom you’re not invisible anymore. Weems texted you she’s going to get you two after she saw your phone location.

When you walk out the sheriff is in front of Wednesday and Tyler. You walk closer.

“This little thing took down three boys?” Wednesday’s eyes move to you. “Did you help her?” The sheriff asks Tyler.

“Dad, I swear, I wasn’t involved.” Sheriff Galpin’s eyes turn to you.

“What about you?” You walk closer, holding his gaze. Your eyes then move to Weems who walks through the open Weathervane door.

“Apologies, Sheriff.” He turns away from you. “These two must of slipped away from me. Come on Miss Addams, Miss L/N, time to go.” You walk past the sheriff and go behind Wednesday.

“Wait a minute, hang on.” You and Wednesday pause and turn back to him. You act like a subtle shield.

“You’re an Addams? Don’t tell me Gomez Addams is your father?” You clench your jaw. “That man belongs behind doors for murder.” He turns to you.

“Of course a L/N would be running around with Addams. The apple doesn’t fall from the tree does it?” He says the last line to both of you.

Your posture tightens. “What’s that meant to mean?” You ask him.

“Your family likes sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Been doing it for centuries. Must run in your blood huh?”

Your jaw moves slightly. He can see he’s pushing something. “I’m gonna keep my eye on you. Both of you.”

Weems finally steps in. Putting her hand on Wednesday’s shoulder and turning her to the exit. “Okay.” She says.

You turn back around to face her. Following them through the exit.

“Cmon Y/N, I’ll take you home early.” You nod and get in the backseat. Wednesday in the front passenger.

.

.

You put on your headphones as Weems drives back to Nevermore. You’ve been a stalker long enough today.

The car’s speed changes so you look up from your phone. Seeing the crash on the road you take your headphones off. The wailing sirens cry out.

“I hope the driver’s okay.” Weems says. “He’s dead. Broke his neck.” Wednesday replies, looking out the window.

Your eyes widen. That’s the old man from earlier, it’s the same red truck. You try to glance through the back window. From your angle it’s blurred but you know no normal neck curves that way.

“Shit.” You say absentmindedly. Weems reaches into the back seat and smacks your knee. “Language.”

You flinch slightly. Because language matters after seeing that traumatizing scene.

Hearing a faint clink you look towards the front of the car. Wednesday’s twirling the pendant her mother gave her.

You smile, using your hand to cover it.

.

.

You’re woken up by loud music. You groan and get up. You glance outside your window and see Wednesday playing the cello on her balcony. You smirk.

I swear I’ve heard that song before.

You slip into an invisible state and climb through the window of your single-person dorm onto a safe patch of the roof. You watch her. It might be creepy but you imagine she’s the type of person who would admire having a stalker.

She plays well. The severed hand you saw earlier helps turn the page when she finishes a section of the song. You don’t think, you just listen. The bow dances against the strings and she moves with a practiced ease. The song tugs at something familiar but you can quite pinpoint what.

You see her talking but you’re too far to hear it. She glances around before finally turning in your direction.

She must see the open window because she’s staring at it. You let your form reappear with a pixelated shimmer. You’ve mastered different transitions of visible to invisible—light manipulation is fun when you know how to use it.

You’re sitting with your knees close to your chest, arms sitting on them.

Your eyes meet. She doesn’t look angry or afraid—like she knew you would be there before she even picked up the bow.

She turns away. You see Enid opening the window and you disappear, climbing back into your room.

This’ll be fun.

.

.

You loved the Harvest Festival. Especially when Weems gives you pocket money.

She slipped you a few small bills earlier. “Funnel cake,” she said, already keeping one eye on Wednesday with Enid. You obliged, weaving through the crowd in search of the funnel cake stand.

By the time you found it and came back, Wednesday was glaring at her. She glanced at you before turning away and walking to a nearby dart balloon game.

You walk to Weems and sit on the table next to her. “Here.” You hand her the funnel cake fries. She smiles. “Thank you. You sure you don’t want to run off?”

You think about it. “Think I have time to walk around? Saw some guy juggling fire.” She nods and you push off the table.

A few stands away from you Wednesday was playing the dart game, talking to Xavier. You lingered just far enough to be near without being suspicious.

Maybe Sheriff Galpin’s right, stalking is in my blood.

You observe from a far. Wednesday glancing at you as well. You wave and she looks away, so do you—trying to concentrate on the fire juggler.

You overhear Xavier talking to Wednesday.

“Who’s the lucky guy… or girl?” You don’t look back at her, not wanting to officially commend yourself to the title of her stalker.

Wednesday doesn’t answer right away, but her eyes flicker to you. She throws the final dart, the balloon pops.

You hear Tyler‘s voice join the conversation and walk off towards another performer. You’ve intruded on enough of her private moments.

Pretty soon after though, your phone buzzes. It’s Weems:

She’s gone, find her.

You sigh. You can’t use invisibility here, not in such a large crowd. You turn back at the dart game where Wednesday was, she couldn’t have gone far.

Your eyes scan the crowd, as you work your way through it.

Maybe she’s on the Ferris wheel?

Rowan barrels around you, almost knocking you over. Odd.

When you get to the base of the wheel you finally find her—she’s running next to Tyler. Rowan accidentally runs into her, you freeze as Wednesday’s head goes up after bumping into him. That happened outside Kinbott’s office as well.

“Rowan, come back!” You hear her yell. She hesitates for a second before running after him, leaving Tyler. You run past him, chasing after Wednesday.

The fireworks and moonlight are your only source of light as you follow them to a wooden bridge on the water.

“Ugh what do you want? Why are you following me?” Rowan’s voice cuts through the forest. You follow the sound through fallen branches and dry leaves.

“I don’t have time to explain, but you’re in danger.” You hear his low laugh—you pause. The hair on your neck stands, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“I think you got it backwards.” Rowan says.

“Wednesday!” You call into the forest, searching for her. There’s no answer. Dammit. “Wednesday!”

“You’re the one who's in danger.” You shove through the bushes separating her voice from yours.

“Y/N?” You hear say—you turn to her. You finally found her. She turns to you too, looking at each other for a brief moment before Rowan yanks her upwards and slams her onto a tree.

He turns to look at you. “Rowan. Put her down.” You say, your hand in front of you. “Please.”

“You don’t understand Y/N.” He says with tears in his eyes, his voice shaking. “What are you doing?” Wednesday says, she sounds—scared.

“Rowan.” You beg. What do I do?

“I’m saving everyone from her.” He says to you before turning back to Wednesday. “I have to kill you.” His voice breaks as he talks to Wednesday.

You take a step forward—Wednesday gasps. “Don’t.” He says. You put your hands up, inching back.

“The gargoyle—that was you?” Wednesday says, eyes wide. Rowan nods with a smile. “Yeah.” Your jaw clenches. You reach for your phone. “Y/N.” His voice tightens.

“Rowan please.” You beg into the air. His face turns angry. “Look.” He makes a picture float towards you. It’s Wednesday…

He makes it float to her. “Girl in the picture. That’s you.” Wednesday looked shocked. This is the most emotion you’ve ever seen her express. “You want to kill me because of some picture?” She sounds flabbergasted.

You manage to silently tap on your phone, opening the medical ID. You think anyways, you’re relying on pure muscle memory. If you can just-

SHATTER

Your phone slams into a tree—Rowan’s doing. “Fuck.” You wince, eyes closed, hand clenching into a fist out of frustration. “Rowan please, Weems can still see my location you don’t have to-“

“YES I DO!” He screams, trembling. “My mother drew that picture 25 years ago when she was a student at Nevermore. She was a powerful Seer.” He’s shaking…

“Told me about it before she died.”

“Rowan, put me down.” Wednesday tried.

“No! My mother said it was my destiny to stop this girl if she ever came to Nevermore, because she will destroy the school and everyone in it.” He pushes Wednesday against the tree harder.

“Rowan. Rowan.” She pleads.

You run. You didn’t want to run to him, not if he would hurt Wednesday—but it’s too late now. You tackle Rowan. You two tumble around for a second, forming a web of limbs and dirt. He lets Wednesday go.

All you feel is pain as he throws you against the tree instead. A low cry chokes in your throat.

Wednesday’s eyes go wide as she sees you gasping. A low snarl cuts through the air, making the woods go quiet. Some weird fucking thing, shrieks—lunging at Rowan. He drops you and you cough.

Wednesday watches as Rowan screams in pain and the beast snarls. You run to her.

“Wednesday!” You yell at her, wanting to pull her up so you two can run. The beast stops and looks at you two. You fall to the ground next to her, shielding her from whatever this creature was.

It looks at you for a second before running off into the woods. Wednesday rushes past you to Rowan’s limp body.

You slowly get up and walk to her, scanning the woods in case it comes back. Flashes of fireworks briefly illuminating the treeline for you. Your heart hammers in your chest, all your ears hear is your pulse.

The drawing Rowan showed you two sways in the air, landing on his chest. Wednesday grabs it and looks at you, eyes wide.

“I’ll get Weems.” You say, your eyes already looking at your shattered phone. Despite its cracked screen and dented frame, it works.

You hit Weems’ contact and call her. The call chime echoing through the quiet woods. You stay close, acting as Wednesday’s shadow while she examines the picture Rowan had. Her expression unreadable now, her thoughts locked behind the wall she built for herself.

The wind rustles, like even the forest is holding its breath.

╰── Next Episode ──╮

A/N: This took so long but it’s finally done. It follows the same events as episode one and the same dialogue.

Want More? Wednesday Masterlist

[jybyls]

How weak

Bianca: I sleep with a knife under my pillow.

Enid: How weak. I sleep with a sword.

Y/n: You're both pathetic.

Bianca: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Y/n: Wednesday.

[typingoreos]

Silent Pulse (W.A.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Rh-null is the rarest blood type in the world—and the most unpredictable. Its lack of antigens cause potions and curses to act erratically. For this reason, you volunteer to help Nevermore’s advanced hemomagic class with their experiments. But Wednesday doesn’t seem to approve, and she has a good reason not to.

Romantic - Fluff/Comfort - Reader - Slight Angst if you squint hard enough

AO3

The Experimental Hemomagic course wasn’t a very popular elective for the majority of Nevermore’s alumni. You were only in the class so you could share a class with Wednesday.

You probably shouldn’t have chosen your courses based on a small crush, but what’s done is done.

Dr. Cartwright—the class’s professor—was handing out flyers. Volunteers needed.

“These flyers contain details for blood donation. Since our class isn’t approved by the Red Cross or the state of Vermont, we have to experiment through less official means.” He paused, glancing at you.

“You are not required to donate to continue this class. Remember that. But because this class is project-based, it cannot continue without volunteers.”

You read the flyer. ‘Please enter classroom 203 during lunch hours. All blood types are welcomed. Rh-Null is preferred.’ Of course it is. You sigh quietly, looking back up to follow whatever lesson he planned for today.

Practical applications of hemomancy. Wonderful.

.

.

When the class comes to an end, you pack up, the same as everyone else. “Miss L/N, please stay for a moment.” You pause.

Everyone else was indifferent, not caring whether you stayed or not. They all wanted to get to lunch. What you didn’t notice, however, was Wednesday watching Cartwright like he just said something rancid.

“Of course.” You respond, feeling a strange heat at the back of your head. You turn; Wednesday wasn’t just watching, she’s glaring.

‘I’ll be fine.’ You mouth. Liar. She doesn’t mouth it or say it, but you can tell that’s exactly what she’s thinking. You shrug and get up, going to Cartwright’s desk. You hear Wednesday leave.

“At your service, Sergeant.” You try to be nice, like you aren’t bothered by what he’s going to ask.

He just smiles. “I’m sure you’re aware why I asked you here.” You nod reluctantly. How did he even know?

“Your participation would be invaluable. Rh-null in itself is incredible; it bypasses all we know about blood magic. But that’s not all; despite the lack of antigens in your blood, you aren’t experiencing any health complications like a regular person would. That makes your blood extraordinary.”

“Is flattery meant to work here?” You’re still skeptical. It wouldn’t be the first time an outcast tried to gain access to your blood. He smiles again. “It’s your choice. Nothing’s going to be forced on you.”

Wednesday will like it. You think before you can stop yourself. Dammit. You two are supposed to be friends. She barely likes Enid, much less you.

“I’ll consider it. I’ll come by tomorrow during lunch.” He nods. You give him a polite nod and leave.

“Well?” You jump, making a small noise of surprise. “Fuck—don’t do that.” Your hands over your heart. Wednesday raises an eyebrow. She has basically hiding behind the door, waiting.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Wednesday starts walking towards the mess hall, and you trail behind her, falling into the role she’s already written for you.

“Good. It’d be foolish to.” That surprises you; you figured she’d want you to donate blood. “Why?” She scoffs. “Your blood is invaluable for certain spells. I highly doubt Cartwright will do a good job of protecting your identity.” You consider her warning.

‘You don’t want me to?’ You almost ask. Stop it. She’s trying to be a good friend. “Would be fun though… wouldn’t it?” You ask hesitantly.

She stops. “Do what you’d like.” You pause as well. “Ok.” Your voice is small when you reply. Wednesday keeps walking, and you follow, dropping the subject.

.

.

You lie on Enid’s beanbag. She’s rambling on about her Pinterest; she made a mood board on a ‘Sunshine Werewolf Aesthetic’ or something like that. You’re only half aware of what she’s saying.

Your mind is occupied with what Cartwright said. ‘Rh-null in itself is extraordinary…’ You were born rare.

Telekinesis was amazing, but other students had the same ability. Your blood was the only thing that separated you from them.

You hiss. “Wake up.” Enid poked you with one of her claws. “That hurt a lot more than I would have expected it to.” She grins, flopping onto the beanbag next to you.

“So… Someone told me about Cartwright’s volunteer flyers. I was thinking of donating some of my own, but I’m O positive so I’m sure he already has a lot. What about you?” You shrug, moving your arms above your head and linking them. “I don’t know yet. Would be cool to see how the spells react.” Enid already knows about your blood; she was there when Wednesday ran tests on it when she saw you bleed golden blood while fencing.

Cheeky bastard.

Enid hums. “I think Wednesday’s planning Cartwright’s funeral. I saw her looking at that little graveyard model you made her; she still updates it.” You begin to smile, but then you pause.

“Really?” She grins. “Mhm… told you she thinks of you as a friend.”

The model—you made her a graveyard model out of Legos. ‘For your murder plans.’ You told her. ‘So you always know where there’s an empty spot.’

Wednesday’s plan to commit premeditated murder on your behalf caused a concerning but not unwelcome warmth to your chest. It’s almost uncomfortable.

You let out a puff of air. “Mmm, I think I’ll try it. Maybe the experiments will be fun.” Enid hums in acknowledgment and starts rambling about her Pinterest again. This time you pay attention.

.

.

The next day during lunch, you find yourself outside Dr. Cartwright’s door. You knock faintly and open it. The cold air surrounding you smells like antiseptic. The professor is sitting at his desk writing down student information. Probably other volunteers.

“I wouldn’t mind donating.” He looks up from the papers. He doesn’t seem surprised, like he knew you would come.

“Miss L/N, nice to see you. If you truly want to donate, I’d be happy to do so now. This way we can experiment tomorrow.” You nod hesitantly. “How much would it be?”

He replies quickly, “Absolutely no more than one pint a day. Since you’re not fully grown, I’ll only take half a pint.” You nod. “That doesn’t seem like enough for so many students.”

He grins, “Don’t worry Miss L/N, each experiment should only use a drop, maybe a little more, for full effect.” He gets up, gesturing to you to sit at one of the front desks.

You hear a cabinet open as you find your seat. A few moments later he sits next to you with some supplies.

When the half-pint bag is filled, he expertly puts a cotton ball and gauze on the incision site. “All done. You can choose to donate more in 3 days if you wish.” “Alright.” And that’s the end of it. You get up and leave, meeting Enid and Wednesday in the cafeteria.

“Hi.” You say a small greeting as you sit down at the table. Wednesday sees your bandage, and her jaw clenches down slightly.

“Oh my gosh, how was it?” Enid seems happy. “Normal. It was just a donation.” You shrug. It really wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“How much?” Wednesday asks. “Half a pint.” She doesn’t respond, just looks back at her meal. Enid starts to rant to you, and the day continues just as it would normally.

.

.

“Hey Y/N, can you pass me the mint green?” Enid asks from her desk. You hum and make the nail polish float towards her–

CRASH

Glass shatters on the hardwood, the nail polish splattered around.

“Oh shit–I’m sorry.” You start apologizing. “Woah woah woah, it’s fine, it’s fine.” Enid reassures you. “That’s never happened before, has it?” You shake your head, already reaching for something to clean up the mess. “Shit.” Thankfully your backpack has some napkins from yesterday’s lunch.

“Least it wasn’t on the carpet.” You say, trying to calm yourself. Enid scoots back from the mess on the floor.

Enid grabs a napkin and helps you clean up some of the drops that splattered away from the main mess. “Are you okay? You look sick.” You puff out a breath of air, thinking.

“Thanks for the compliment.” You reply absentmindedly. When you stand up your vision clouds slightly. It’s not unusual for that to happen sometimes, right?

But your telekinesis has never done that.

Enid reaches for some of the glass. “Don’t cut yourself.” You say without thinking, already reaching to grab it yourself. She grabs the big piece of glass anyways and gets up to throw it away.

“I think we have a broom in Wednesday’s closet.” You grin, “Is that her midnight ride?”

“No, but we could test it if you repeat yourself.” You don’t even have to turn to know who it is. “Bummer. Suits you.”

Her eyes flicker to the shattered glass on the hardwood. “What happened?”

“Well you see, gravity causes-“ Enid smacks your shoulder. “She was making it float and it dropped.” Enid helps you scoop the glass into the dustpan.

You can feel Wednesday’s gaze lingering on you. You try to ignore it while you throw away the soiled napkins, but your chest decides to tighten anyway.

“Did you eat? Water?” You hear her ask. “Yes?” She doesn’t answer. If she nods you don’t see it—because the moment you look back at her she turns and walks to her side of the room.

.

.

So far you’ve only donated blood for Cartwright’s class twice. Once Tuesday of last week, and on this week’s Monday. You thought donating blood once every few days would be fine, but now it’s Thursday and your powers are still weak.

You sit at your usual lunch table with Wednesday and Eugene. Enid went off somewhere with another group which wasn’t unusual. She still needs gossip for her blog and of course she wants to be around her pack.

Your vision feels slow, like your brain isn’t registering it as fast. Maybe you didn’t sleep enough last night. You stayed up watching a new show and fell asleep at 2AM. Yeah, that’s probably why.

“Stop staring at me. You’re creepy remember—or am I that beautiful?” Wednesday’s been looking at you since you’ve sat down. But it’s more of a glare than a look of concern.

“I’m searching for symptoms of hypovolemia.” She ignores your comment. Eugene tunes in. “Oh yeah, you’ve been donating haven’t you?”

You nod. “Hypo- what?” You don’t hear Enid behind you until she says “AHH” and grabs your shoulders. You jump. “Dammit Enid.” She sits down next to you.

“Low blood volume causes weakness and dizziness.” Wednesday looks at your hands. “And loss of fine control.”

She looks up at you. Her gaze strong enough to kill you if she willed it, but maybe that’s just because she’s looking at you. “You have to be monitored.”

“She’s just worried you’re going to paint our dorm’s floor pastel again.” Enid teases beside you. “Do I hear a volunteer?” You ask, Wednesday doesn’t seem amused.

“I never specified that you had a choice in the matter.” Enid snickers, a heat creeps up your neck. You end the conversation there.

.

.

By Friday your movements still feel sluggish, like your head isn’t quite there. It’s only 2 donations a week—one on Monday and one on Friday—spaced out just like Cartwright promised.

Wednesday is waiting for you outside his class. She’s leaning beside the door like a guard. You ignore the faint hum in your head.

“I’ll be here when you’re done.” It’s not a question, not even a command. Ever since lunch yesterday she’s been monitoring you.

Commenting on your clear signs of low blood volume. How you press on your temple when you think nobody’s looking, or how your powers slip last second when you carry your phone towards you. How the paper cut you got yesterday hasn’t healed yet despite your enhanced healing ability.

“Yes sir.” You mumble and enter the class. Pretending to not be shaken by her eyes burning into you. That her presence itself doesn’t make your chest feel odd in ways you can’t explain.

When you come back out—sure enough, Wednesday is waiting in the same spot you left her in. “Wens, I’m fine.” It comes out softer than you intended.

“Your color’s off.” It’s a simple statement—clinical even. There’s nothing intimate about it, so why does it feel like it is?

You sigh quietly. Wednesday doesn’t comment, she just starts walking knowing you’ll fall in behind her. You always do.

.

.

It’s Saturday now, Enid invited you over to study for Monday’s English exam. Frankenstein.

You float your pen in the air, flipping it. It feels heavier than usual. You walk around Enid’s side of the room, it helps you concentrate.

Enid’s rambling about the creature, how his creator just left him like a newborn being left at an orphanage in an oldies movie.

You’re about to respond to something she said but something feels off. Your head starts ringing—loud. Then the edges of your vision blur, like a photo that isn’t fully developed. You close your eyes trying to steady yourself, reaching for her nightstand.

You have a faint memory of someone running to you. You’re on the floor, leaning against the nightstand. Why is it so loud?

Fuck can someone stop that ringing. Shit. And why is it so bright?

You can hear someone talking but it’s muffled. Your eyes are open, you know they are, but there’s black dots everywhere like you looked at the sun too long.

“Y/N.” Wednesday. You understood that. You can feel her hands on your face, your heart beating weird.

You hum a response, still dizzy. “I’ll get her water.” It sounds like Enid. “Look at me.” You try to focus your eyes on Wednesday’s face. You try to blink the dots away. Enid comes over with a bottle of water.

Wednesday makes you drink it. After a minute they can see your eyes start to focus. “How many times?” You hear Wednesday ask. Your vision comes back just enough to clearly see her.

“Monday and today.” Your reply sounds weak, almost empty. Her jaw flexes. “And you think that’s acceptable?” She sounds angry. I just wanted you to have fun. You think.

They give you a minute to catch yourself. “Ok. Ok, I think I’m good now.”

“You’re not donating anymore.” She pushes hair away from your face. “I told you, I’ll be fine. Just give me a bit.” You mumble, still a bit drowsy.

“You’re telling yourself what you want to believe.” Her voice is still stern, but her voice is softer now. “You were wrong.”

“C’mon, let’s get you off the floor before I have to be an alibi.” They help you up. You stumble slightly as they help you onto Enid’s bed.

You try to ignore the warmth building up on your face. Wednesday’s hand is still secured behind your head. She makes you lay back on Enid’s heart pillow.

You see Enid hesitating. You know she was planning on hanging out with Yoko later. “Go Enid, I’m fine.”

“She’s not.” Wednesday says quickly, looking back at Enid. “Go, I’ll watch her.” Enid nods hesitantly. You close your eyes when Wednesday hands you another water bottle. You hear Enid move around the room as you drink the water.

Before she leaves you open your eyes and look at her. ‘Good luck.’ She mouths. You give her a lazy thumbs up as she closes the door behind her.

The room goes quiet after the door clicks. Like a forest when it’s waiting for a predator to strike. Maybe I should try to make a joke?

“You don’t have to guard me Wednesday. I think I’m retiring from dramatic dizzy spells.” Her expression stays the same. “No. You’re staying where I put you.”

Your face feels slightly warmer. You ignore it—try to at least. “Bossy much?” She gets up and goes to Enid’s desk. She sits on the chair but spins around to look at you, arms crossed.

“Look, I’m fine Wednesday, really. I’m choosing to donate-“

“Well your choice is flawed.” Her tone is flat but just as sharp. “I can decide for myself Wednesday.” Your voice is defensive.

“No.” You freeze. “You are not donating again.”

You want to argue—you do—but when you look at her you just, stop.

The icy expression she usually wears is gone. Her jaw is tighter, movements far more calculated. Like she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Ok.” Silence fills the room again. It's not comforting, it’s loud, and it’s heavy.

She looks down. She turns and grabs whatever book she can find on Enid’s desk. Frankenstein. You almost laugh but you can’t find it in yourself to move. “I’m tired.” You mumble.

You don’t remember what happens next, just that you wake up in Enid’s bed. The digital clock on the nightstand says 8 PM. Two hours. You’ve been asleep for two hours.

“I’ve decided.” Wednesday says after a minute. “You stayed.” You tell her. She’s still sitting in the chair. From what you can see, she hasn’t progressed through the book. At least not enough for it to be noticeable.

“I told Enid I’d watch you.” She doesn’t look up from the book. You study her, her eyes haven’t moved much. Is she even reading?

You hum. “I thought you meant until I fell asleep, or I left.” She finally looks up, closing the book. She wasn’t reading.

“That would be pointless. You’re most vulnerable when asleep, and I wouldn't have let you leave. Not in your condition.” She turns around in the chair, setting book down and turning back to face you.

You move your head back against the pillow. “So you watched me sleep? What if I started snoring? Like, full blown middle aged man snoring.” You turn your head to look at her.

Her response is quick. “You didn’t.”

“You would’ve told me if I did?”

Her eyes narrow. “I would have documented it, for future leverage.” Wednesday’s answer makes you smile. “What did you decide?” You say, sitting up.

Wednesday stands up and hands you a snack bar. Where did she even get this?

“Cartwright. Bloodletting seems like a fitting punishment.” You laugh nervously. This wasn’t really Cartwright’s fault, he probably thought your quick healing would prevent this.

“Wednesday that’s not-“ She shakes her head. “Only if necessary.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “You’re inconveniently important to me.” Your mind goes blank. She looks away from you.

“Ok. I’ll tell him I’m out on Monday.” She nods. ‘Inconveniently important’ You know better than to mention it.

.

.

When Monday comes Wednesday personally monitors your conversation with Dr. Cartwright after class. She’s subtle, staying behind like she’s just moving slower than usual. Her eyes linger on you in front of Cartwright’s desk.

She can’t hear what’s being said—not clearly. But she catches the ‘of course’ from Cartwright and moves towards the door.

You fall in behind her. She comes to a stop when you both leave the classroom, the corridor already empty. “Wednesday?” You ask softly. She turns, a small glass jar in her hands.

“Hibiscus tea leaves, for blood circulation.” You take the jar from her when she hands it to you.

“For someone who says I’m an inconvenience, you seem to keep going out your way for me.” She doesn’t reply right away. She takes a step towards you. A small one.

“You aren’t donating again?” Her voice sounds small. Not gentle though—never gentle.

“No. I’m not.” Her stance relaxes slightly. The corridor is silent, but it’s calm. Wednesday leans in and you freeze.

Her lips graze your cheek. “Good.” She pulls back and turns around quickly. She starts walking, knowing you’ll always be behind her.

╰────╮

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: This is definitely the longest work I’ve written so far.

Want more? Wednesday Masterlist

[typingoreos]

My Devoted Shadow Masterlist

Warnings: None

Summary: When Wednesday first arrives at Nevermore, Weems asks you to keep on eye on her. Soon, a babysitting job becomes an unlikely alliance. But shadows have a tendency of getting attached.

Reader’s Abilities: Invisibility & Raven Shapeshifter

Reader Insert - Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Season One:

Episode One - Episode Two

Episode Three - Episode Four

Episode Five - Episode Six

Episode Seven - Episode Eight

Epilogue

Season Two:

Episode One - Episode Two

Episode Three - Episode Four

Episode Five - Episode Six

Episode Seven - Episode Eight

Epilogue

I’m writing each chapter as I rewatch season one and start season two. Each chapter should take about a week but I’m taking 9 classes so give me the benefit of the doubt.

Updates:

Episode: S1E3

Episode Time: 5/49

Words: 1.1K

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (20) - Alone in the Darkness

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Chapter summary: You've returned after not seeing Wednesday, or anyone really, for a year and nine months, yet nothing feels the same anymore. Especially between you and Wednesday.

Spotify playlist

Story masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

Word count: 4.6k

-Darkness pulling me apart at the seams like every breath is taken, I see now what I didn't want to believe-

A month after the two gods came to the mountain you sat at the camp, determined and focused with the four mountain goats sitting around you. Varp approached, eyeing the animals. “I see you finally caught them,” he stated matter-of-factly, but there was a somberness to his tone that you never heard before.

The first trial was simple, landing a clean blow on him, not grazing him with a spark or two, but a good, solid hit to the body. The second trial pushed the boundaries of your connection to your tiger. The third, that you just completed, was not only catching the goats, but getting them to stay with you.

And now, there was only one trial left. “I advise you to leave now,” he suddenly said, as if the time you’ve spent on this mountain made him care even one bit about you.

You chuckled at that, and raised an eyebrow. “Come on now, after everything you’ve put me through this is where you tell me to quit?” you asked and he nodded.

“There’s still time,” he tried, and you realized deep down he was actually a huge softie.

But you shook your head. “No, there isn’t.”

“Elijah didn’t go for it,” Varp tried one last thing that might have stopped you. Your father didn’t do the final trial.

You shrugged, you knew what was coming, in theory. “There’s too much on the line for me to back out now,” you replied, getting up and Varp nodded and with a wave of his hand the winds spread the layers of snow apart, showing a door imbedded in the mountain.

“Fourteen years ago, I stood here with your father. It took him twice as long as it took you to catch the goats,” you glanced at the animals that followed after you now. You hummed at that, believing you simply got lucky, even if you were aware that you were now stronger than he was when he was killed.

The doors seemed normal, nothing out of the ordinary, aside from their size. They were about thirty feet tall, but there weren’t any designs on them, nothing to take notice of. Yet, you felt uneasy looking at them. The goats backed away, they wouldn’t follow you into the mountain.

“We stood here, and he backed away, gave up,” Varp looked at you. “Because you were already born, too much was on the line for him to so recklessly go in there,” there was something ironic in the situation.

Your father feared he’d lose everything if he went inside the mountain, you feared you’d lose everything if you didn’t do it. So, without any further consideration you pushed the doors open.

“Remember. Once I close these doors behind you there will be only one exit left. On the other side, and you’ll be the only one able to open it. No one can come after you, not me, not even Raijin. I’ll only be able to open these doors again when you come out or when you die,” yeah, you were aware of that.

“Close them,” you said, determined to do this, you looked around you, taking in the inside of the mountain while there was still sunlight coming inside it. You saw a broken hexagon on the doors.

“When you find the doors with a whole hexagon, you’ll find your exit,” there were only two doors, the entrance, and the exit. “Do not underestimate endless nothingness, and try to keep your mind intact,” he said with a sigh and closed the doors behind you.

And then there was nothing. You were left in complete darkness. Your eyes turned red, but you still saw nothing, so, you formed a ball of electricity, you were sure you did, but you neither saw nor heard it, you didn’t even feel electricity at the tips of your fingertips. “Endless nothingness,” you were sure you said that, but you didn’t hear your own voice.

In what felt like an instant you were robbed of all your senses, and in another instant you began questioning if you even did anything when you tried forming the ball of electricity, when you spoke.

You had to count, to hope your body was moving. One, two, three, four, that would give you a sense of time at the very least.

You moved forward, though you genuinely had no idea if you were even moving. You felt weightless, empty, like the darkness was consuming you as well. For a moment you thought you should have eaten something before coming here, not sure how long it would take you to get out, but hunger or thirst never came, it was like you were robbed of more and more of your senses, of basic human needs as you moved deeper into the darkness.

One hundred fifteen, seventy-eight, two thousand and three, what came after that?

And then you felt something, like a brush against the back of your hand and it felt like your entire body was struck by lightning with how intense that one sensation felt to you right now.

You gasped, maybe.

Probably.

There was a sudden hissing sound right next to your ear, and you were sure you cried out, you were sure you stumbled, your body twisting as you tried to cover your ears to make the hissing stop. It would stop and start again, like there was a rhythm to it, some longer, some shorter.

It felt like you hit something, and your entire body went rigid at the overwhelming sensation.

You had to make the hissing stop, you had to make it all stop.

But they didn’t stop, nothing stopped, the hissing began sounding more like growling, and you began seeing spots in the darkness, pairs of them, different colors, different something. And the more pairs appeared the more often it felt like you were hitting something as you moved. Were you even moving?

And then the growling became clearer, but still as irritating. -ke, m-, -st, w-, -op, words, parts of them. What were words again? What was- What were you even thinking again?

The words became clearer. Wait. Stop. Let me out. Let me leave. Don’t leave. Let me die. But you didn’t understand them, but you felt like you were being dragged down, like your entire body was falling apart, like the lightning that formed your body was being discharged, drained, destroyed.

‘Mi Rayo’ suddenly broke through everything, a clear image of your room at Nevermore, a girl in front of you, her cold fingers and even colder eyes. Name. What was her name? You could almost feel her breath against your lips, you felt your heart beating faster, aching for her.

Wednesday.

“Enough!” you roared, unrestrained, yellow lightning bursting all around you and you could finally see your own body, but the sensation of being dragged back continued, even though you couldn’t see anything physically holding you. With a roar similar to that of a wounded, desperate beast the lightning grew brighter, turning blue and violently bursting all around you, lightning the area up and you finally saw it all clearly.

Ghostly apparitions of those who came before you, covering from the lightning as you stood there, in your human form, with bright blue lightning all around you. “You failed! All of you! This has nothing to do with you anymore!” you yelled as some of the apparitions tried to get closer, to grab and pull you back as you pushed forward, one step at a time. “Whatever you want from me, you can’t have it,” not these ghosts from the days long gone, not some gods, no one.

But they still latched on to you whenever your lightning would get even a bit weaker, crying for mercy, crying to be taken away from this place, to be freed and the darkness inched closer, consuming your lightning bit by bit.

You had no idea how long you kept on moving like that, desperately clinging to the memories pushing you forward, and then you reached the end, the other side and pushed. But nothing happened and then you saw it. The broken hexagon. Despair made lightning disappear and you crumbled to your knees. At some point you turned around and instead of moving toward the exit you went back to the doors that wouldn’t open.

The voices came back louder, more aggressive, demanding, feeling your despair and realizing this was the moment to strike. You felt like your very soul was being engulfed in something, squeezed into something to make space for something else. How much time did it take you to come back to the beginning?

There was no way of knowing, and then you saw it, right in front of you, the tiger. Growling at you, its eyes fierce, demanding more, so you placed your hands on its shoulders, pushing yourself back to your feet. The tiger roared with you, lightning forcing the apparitions away once more.

“Sorry, I nearly gave up,” you apologized, leaning your forehead against the tiger’s. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, taking on your tiger form, and running as fast as your legs could carry you.

You ran, further and further from the entrance, dodging the apparitions that broke through your lightning until you finally found it, the other doors. You pushed them with your front paws, and they turned human as you opened the doors and ran through, stumbling and collapsing onto your hands and knees gasping for fresh air as you gripped the snow beneath your hands.

“I’ll be damned,” that was… that was Varp’s voice, yeah, you were sure of that. “You came out,” you looked at him, barely conscious. “Who are you?”

You looked at him, stuck somewhere between defiance and numbness. “Y/N L/N, Wednesday Addams’ lightning,” his eyes widened as you blurted that out. Through it all, the one thought that remained, that kept you going, wasn’t who your parents were, wasn’t what you were, it was what you were to Wednesday.

~X~

A year and eight months, that’s how long it’s been since your father died, and two weeks after that you began your journey to the mountain, leaving your mother and everyone else behind. And now you were once again outside your childhood home, and you barely felt anything. You felt… numb… empty.

You came out of the mountain, but the defiance you’ve shown inside of it vanished by the time you regained consciousness, leaving only the endless nothing, like you left the inside of the mountain with a piece of it within you.

Still, you were home, and you knocked, something you never did before, something not even your dad did, no matter how long he spent away from the home. You felt like a stranger in front of your own home.

The doors opened and your mother stood there, shocked, tears shining in her eyes as you smiled. “Hi, mom,” you said and she flung her arms around you, clinging to you like you were the only reason she was still alive, like letting you go would break her and you hugged her back, though not nearly as tightly as you wished you could.

The months spent inside the mountain, in that darkness, made everything feel more amplified now, the touch that used to comfort you before now hurt, but you didn’t flinch, you didn’t show any reaction to the pain. Your smile did disappear as you stood there for what felt like an hour, though it was probably closer to five to ten minutes as your mom cried her heart out, overcome with happiness.

~X~ Two weeks later ~X~

Before you knew it, the time flew by and you were back at Nevermore, standing there, right at the entrance, your things already delivered back to your room. You put a hoodie over your head, as if hiding from the world and you walked through the quad, not even bothering to correct the name. You weren’t even wearing your uniform yet, but you walked through the students unnoticed. They didn’t notice you until you burst into lightning and zapped to the balcony of your room, and by that point if anyone wanted to stop you, they were already too late.

You walked through the window, not even bothering with the doors and saw chaos in the room. You recognized some of the faces, the werewolves from your year, though you didn’t recognize all of them. There was a new guy with Enid and she seemed enamored by him. What happened with Ajax?

Well, you were gone for twenty-one months, a lot of things could have happened. Enid looked, different, more confident, more comfortable and you managed a smile at that. And then you noticed two people making out on Wednesday’s bed.

“Get off, now,” you said evenly as you approached Wednesday’s bed. They didn’t notice you, too lost in their activities and you didn’t have patience for them. “Enid, Wednesday will be pissed if she catches them in her bed,” you called out to Enid, but not even she noticed your presence yet.

You sighed and turned the power in the room off. “Do I have your attention now?” you asked as the werewolves all turned to look at you. “Good, get off that bed now, in fact,” you flicked your wrist and formed a thin lightning barrier between Enid’s part of the room and your and Wednesday’s parts. “Hop on over to the other side,” you said, and they recognized you, scrambling to their feet and jumping over the lightning barrier.

“Y/N,” Enid gasped, and you glanced at her.

“Hey,” you turned to look at her and lowered the hood down, revealing your bandaged hand to her. Both of your arms were covered in bandages, they’ve been like that for almost a year now.

“Hey?” she repeated. “Do you have any idea how worried we all were?” and there it was. You figured you deserved it. “It’s been almost two years, and you just come in here saying ‘hey’?” she demanded, stuck between relief and anger.

“A year and nine months,” you corrected, not that it mattered much.

Enid huffed, didn’t even consider getting over the lightning. “I’m in the middle of unpacking, I’ll talk with you later,” she decided and you shrugged, going over to your part of the room and lying down on your bed, not really looking forward to that conversation.

You missed Enid biting her lower lip as she glanced at you, so taken aback by what she was seeing that she had no idea how to even approach you now. She stood there, hoping Wednesday would have a solution.

~X~

She was back for ten minutes, and she was already done with all of this. The new principal, the obsessed students who seemed to enjoy wasting their lives and making it her problem, the constant attention, and now even these ridiculous drawings pinned to her wall. But even among the drawings some felt like even sharper needles sticking into her eyes.

The ones with you.

You were probably inside, she could hear noise coming from inside the room, and what felt like sparks crackling as well. “We need to set bear traps out here,” she said to Thing and walked in to see perhaps the most horrifying scene not even her mind could have come up with. There were so many people in the room, swinging from the ceiling, wrestling, making out on the floor, running around and yelling and laughing.

And then there was the familiar red lightning, forming a clear barrier between Enid’s part of the room, where the chaos happened, and her and your parts of the room.

She guessed she should feel a bit thankful, because she was almost certain the two that were making out like the horny teenagers they were probably would have done that in her bed. She felt disgusted even thinking about it.

Enid basically bounced over to her, much like she did when they first met, with that same enthusiasm, but luckily without trying to initiate a hug. “Howdy, roomie!” Enid greeted her way too happily, but deep down she missed that, only a bit though.

“Enid,” she refused to show it though, she’d rather die than openly show her feelings to anyone ever again, not after she got burnt, not once but twice. Falling for you, and then putting you in danger by admitting it to Tyler. That kind of blunder could not be allowed again.

“All right! Everyone out! Thanks for the help,” and with that the irritating group that happened to be in her room began leaving. Well, not all of them moved toward the door, there you were, looking at her from your part of the room as you made the lightning vanish. For what it was worth, it looked like you had even more control over your lightning now. At least you sacrificed your bond with her for something useful.

She caught your eyes and focused entirely on Enid, but from the corner of her eyes she noticed you freezing on the bed just as you were about to get up. Good. She’d take some minor pleasure in that.

“Don’t put too much pressure on it,” one of the werewolves told Enid.

“No pressure. Right. Got it,” and for whatever reason Enid sounded nervous, like one of the love-struck girls from her old schools and even more nervous than she was when she was supposed to have her first date with Ajax.

“Catch up with you later at the lupin cages? With the others,” the guy told her, and she seemed to melt at his words.

“Absolutely, Bruno. Can’t wait,” so that was his name. Enid even leaned back against the doors when he left, proving to Wednesday that she was actually love struck.

A foolish mistake on Enid’s part.

“How was your vacay? Because I’ve just had the best summer ever, and I’ve been dying to tell you all about it!” Enid’s excitement would have been contagious in any other room, and perhaps Wednesday did have a soft spot on her, but she wasn’t about to entertain an extended retelling of the events.

Enid waved at Thing and he waved at her before running off to your part of the room. The traitorous hand.

“I’m sure I’ll want to kill you after you tell me, so, we both win,” she replied dryly and caught Enid glancing toward your side of the room, as if there was anything or anyone there.

Finally figuring Wednesday wasn’t going to pay attention to a vacant part of the room Enid continued. “Well, I’ll spare you the details, but, I did get you a gift at Lupinpalooza in Golden Gate Park. Don’t worry, it’s not a snood,” Enid quickly assured her as she accepted the bag and pulled out a shirt with an awful pun on it. “Get it? Like Beowulf? I thought you’d love the literary reference.”

At least Enid, unlike someone who wasn’t present in the room, put in effort. “Nothing like a bad pun to throw dirt on the coffin of epic poetry. I’ve got you a gift as well, from my summer travels,” she announced and pulled a large doll from her suitcase, the blonde one from the serial killer’s room.

“Uh… Oh,” Enid accepted the doll, though she wasn’t exactly in love with it. “Thank you, I mean, it is a little creepy, but um, the curls are super soft.”

“It’s made from real human hair,” she explained with the tiniest hint of excitement in her voice.

“Right, did you get one for Y/N too?” Enid asked as if she’s been searching for a way to direct her attention toward you.

“No,” she replied, still refusing to spare another glance toward you. Still acting like you weren’t even there.

Enid winced at that. “Oof,” she flinched like she was in pain but Wednesday believed you didn’t deserve a single word, let alone any gifts.

Thing got on her shoulder and pointed behind her, claiming she wasn’t being fair. Fair? Were you being fair when you left? Were you being fair when you didn’t contact her once in twenty-one months? No. You didn’t deserve fair.

You deserved eternal silence.

“Wednesday, come on, we know you miss her,” Enid dared to claim and just for that she never should have turned around, but she did, and she looked at you, and it caught her off guard.

You… were different. Physically, sure, you looked stronger, but that was the least important difference. You weren’t smiling, and she was sure you were in your bed when she arrived, yet now you were leaning against the wall in her part of the room. Yet she didn’t hear you move. And your eyes… they looked empty, like you were the one who was abandoned.

When she met you, you had some sense of humor, but looking at you now, she was sure you wouldn’t even try to joke.

“Did you have fun these past twenty-one months?” she asked, the smallest part of her bitterness slipping into her voice, making it drip with poison.

“Yeah, I was catching goats,” and she was wrong, she had to admit that. You did try to joke, regardless of how bad the joke was.

“And that’s your excuse for disappearing?” Wednesday demanded before she could stop herself.

You looked into her eyes, resigned to her reaction like a coward, taking hits instead of hitting back. Spineless. Cowardly.

Broken…

“I had to,” at least you didn’t look away when you said it, when you gave yourself an excuse just so you wouldn’t have to deal with what you did.

“I had no idea if you were even alive until your mother sent us a letter a week ago,” she glared at you and then pulled the letter your mother sent out of her bag. “Here, you can have it back,” she really only wanted to get close enough to shove you, there was no need to give the letter back, but it was a good enough of an excuse.

The moment she touched you a vision struck her against her will and the two of you were no longer in the room, instead it looked like you were in the quad and the vision was definitely from her own point of view. You were leaning against her, your chin on her shoulder, one arm weakly wrapped around her waist, and she was trembling. “It’s okay,” you whispered so softly she nearly threw up.

What was okay? She saw a dark tiger behind you, blood dripping from its jaws and claws of one of its paws. Wednesday felt something warm and sticky dripping onto her hand and looked down, seeing the knife she gave you, stabbed to the hilt into your guts, blood dripping down from the blade to her palm.

“I only regret that it had to be you,” you coughed, blood staining the back of her shoulder as something heavy fell onto the ground next to you, like you dropped it, and she didn’t want to look down, but she did, seeing an old, rusty axe there. Your right arm, the one that was probably holding the axe had deep gashes, as if a beast struck you there with its claws.

“Thank you, for everything,” you managed to say and for the first time in her life Wednesday screamed in anguish as she stopped feeling your breath against her, as your hold on her became limp, nonexistent, as your legs stopped supporting your weight and all of it fell on her, somehow pushing the knife deeper into you.

Wednesday gasped as her vision ended and she actually scrambled out of your hold, of course you caught her before she could fall. Even almost a year and nine months later you still had that instinct and she despised how natural it felt. The vision had to be wrong though. No matter how angry at you she was, no matter what the situation was, there were some things she knew she’d never do, and one of them was stabbing you with a knife.

Perhaps the rage she felt toward you manifested as that vision.

You stared at her cheeks, your hand trembling when you reached up and brushed her cheeks and she noticed black stains on your thumb. “What is this? Wednesday?” you looked worried sick, and it sickened her. How dare you be worried? How dare you show emotions now, when your eyes have been empty since she saw you?

“Nothing you should concern yourself over. You left,” she spat out, glaring at you with so much venom in her glare that you actually took a step back.

“I told you, I had to do it,” you defended yourself, but there was no fire behind your words, no resolve, nothing.

“No, you chose to do that, just like your father did before you,” the moment she mentioned your father she knew she crossed a line, but you didn’t react, your eyes didn’t even change shade, there was no anger, there was nothing there.

“Okay, maybe you two should calm down,” Enid got between the two of you, a lot like how you got between her and Enid her first night at Nevermore. Did she not realize how eerily calm you were?

You walked past Enid and her and went toward the balcony. “Don’t worry, I’m calm,” you said, walking out the window.

“Run, that’s all you ever do,” she said, glaring at your back. So much for Addams-raiju bonds, granted, she’s given up on them almost a year and four months ago when she gave up on whatever was going on between the two of you before.

Besides, even she could see you weren’t the person you were before your father died. She couldn’t speak of your emotional state, but looking at your back she could see the tension in your every move, like a wounded, caged beast that could strike at any moment. Yet your eyes remained empty.

You didn’t answer, you just jumped from the balcony, and her heart skipped a beat before she heard a faint sound of your lightning, and she knew you were fine. She stared at the window and glared, not sure what else to do.

“Wednesday,” Enid sighed, and she noticed Thing disapproved as well.

“Not one word about this, or her,” she spoke through gritted teeth. She was foolish enough once to fall in love. That would never happen again.

~X~

You walked through the forest, basically in a random direction, just getting your mind off of Wednesday’s words, and the worst thing about it was that you couldn’t even get angry. You wanted to react, to feel something stronger than these barely present emotions, but you were just too numb. Coming back home, and now coming to Nevermore didn’t fix what you went through in the mountain, you still carried it with you.

The air suddenly got cold and you felt a shiver running down your spine. It was that same sensation and you looked behind you to see those two twins descending from the sky several meters behind you. But it wasn’t their presence that shocked you. No, what shocked you was that they were wearing Nevermore uniforms.

A/N: Thoughts? Anything? Comments keep me happy and motivated so consider donating a couple of words.

Taglist: @brocoliisscared @alexkolax @osnapitzmel1

[typingoreos]

The Dunkening (W.A.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Warnings None

Summary: You and Enid are having a sleepover. After Wednesday’s writing time is up, You and Enid want to include Wednesday in your activities. You come up with something that Enid doesn’t think will work, and maybe it won’t.

Standalone OneShot

Romantic - Fluff/Comfort - Reader - Slice of Life

AO3

“Okay, but we’ve already done seven games of Uno and two of Monopoly. I’m done with the board games.” Enid says. She’s sprawled out on her back on her bed. You sit on the floor, leaning back on the foot of the bed.

“We’ve already done face masks and blackhead strips…” you reply, still thinking. “OH! We can summon a demon? Wednesday is right there.”

“No!” Enid screams immediately. “I am never doing that again.” You laugh at Enid’s insistence.

Last time you two “summoned” something was when you walked in on Wednesday trying to contact an old Addams family relative. You don’t remember the name, but apparently she accidentally summoned the demon that possessed him. Enid hid behind you until it was gone.

“Oh, I brought something we can do with Wednesday.” Enid scoffs. “I highly doubt she’ll indulge you.” You shrug. “I’ll set it up; you try to convince her. Tell her if she doesn’t like it, I’ll give her my blood to do God knows what with.”

Enid turns her head to look over at you. She doesn’t speak but you smile at the look she gives you. “You said you wanted to help her make more friends.” Enid sighs. She thinks about it and finally looks happy when she realizes you’re right.

“Ok. But you have to tell me what it is.” Enid says excitedly. “Should I be afraid?” Her eyes are cautious. If you’re this confident Wednesday will like it, it could be anything.

“I promise you’ll like it. It involves Oreos.” She smiles.

When she gets up, you dig into your backpack. You pull out a small pile of supplies. It’s a plastic cup, milk in a mini grey thermos, a pack of Oreos, some food coloring pens, and cookie decorating pens with frosting in them. The works.

You can hear Enid and Wednesday chattering, but you can’t really tell what they’re saying.

You set up a little activity area on the small pink bed table you bought Enid. Perfect size for this. You put 3 napkins on the table and set one Oreo on each. Then you put the pens and grey thermos in the middle.

On Wednesday’s side of the room, Enid tries to get Wednesday to at least see what you planned. “Come on, you should join us. You need more friends.” Enid tries.

“I doubt Y/N would approve of me interfering with your bonding.” Wednesday replies dryly, not looking at Enid as she organizes her manuscript papers.

Enid scoffs. “She wants you to join Wednesday. Believe it or not, not everyone is against you. C’monnnn… If you don’t like what she brought for you, then she’ll give you blood to experiment with.”

Wednesday sighs and continues organizing the papers she typed. She is curious. What could you have planned that you were confident enough to offer your blood? I win either way. She thinks.

“Very well. I’d like to see how golden blood reacts to certain conditions.” She puts away the folder.

Enid squeals. Wednesday walks to the little activity area you set on the floor, Enid following behind her. Cookies? Is she a child to you?

“Ok look, I know it’s unconventional for sleepovers, but look at what the Oreos do when they’re submerged.” You dunk an Oreo from the pack. The milk begins to bubble.

“I figured you could pretend you were drowning something. I even brought cooking decorating pens; you can draw someone if you want.” Enid looks happy. She loves dunked Oreos, and Wednesday doesn’t seem… appalled by the activity.

“I think your blood would be a more appealing test subject.” You smile. “Ok, but just try it. You could use the yellow pen and add blonde hair to it. Drown Cookie Enid, Wednesday.”

You laugh when Enid gives you a look. Wednesday sits down when Enid does. She’ll try it.

“You know, I was hoping for something not violent... but I don’t think Wednesday would have joined us if it wasn’t.”

“It’s not violent.” You say smugly. “It’s just regular cookies and milk… with added imagination.”

You and Enid continue bickering lightly while decorating the Oreos. Enid covers the top of her Oreo in blue frosting and starts making a lily pad. You’re making yours into a penguin face.

You glance over at Wednesday’s. You hold in a laugh as she finishes making the top of her Oreo tan frosting just to grab the yellow coloring pen.

When the three of you are done, Enid proudly presents her ladybug on a lily pad. You show off your crooked penguin face with a droopy eye. Then Wednesday turns her napkin so you and Enid can see the face she made on hers.

She covered the top in tan frosting. Then she used the food coloring pens to add blonde hair on top with pink and blue in it and then blue eyes. Then smile is just a black happy face. But the hair definitely gives away that it’s supposed to be Enid.

Of course all three aren’t very good considering they’re Oreos covered in frosting and food coloring, but the images are there.

“Wednesday.” You say, handing her a little tool to dunk the Oreo with. Thankfully Yoko gave you an Oreo dunking kit last Christmas. You doubt Wednesday would be okay with getting milk on her hands.

“This is childish.” Wednesday says, but she doesn’t complain and makes eye contact with Enid when she drowns the Oreo.

After a second she looks at it. “It’s struggling.”

You grin. The milk is bubbling like the Oreo can’t breathe. It’s actually just air being displaced, but you won’t say that.

After it stops, she takes the cookie out and puts it on Enid’s napkin.

“I expect a blood bag on my desk tomorrow.”

She gets up and goes back to her side of the room. You grin anyway and shrug at Enid. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it?”

“I felt like I was being threatened.” Enid laughs nervously.

“You were.” Wednesday shouts.

“I feel like I sold my blood to the devil.” You mumble.

“You think this would taste good?” Enid says, looking at her lily pad. “I doubt it. Try it.” She shrugs. Enid eats the one Wednesday made. “It’s actually not that bad.”

The next morning you wake before Enid does. You groan and get up from your pallet on the floor. “You have a blood kit?” You say absentmindedly. It’s quiet; you know Wednesday can hear you. You swear she wakes up the second the wind blows too hard.

“Of course.” You hear her move around while you clean up the pallet on the ground.

You turn around and see Wednesday setting up the blood draw supplies on her desk. The office chair turned towards you. Such a nice invitation.

You sigh, walking to the chair and sitting in it. “How often do you really take someone’s blood?” You give her your arm when she gestures for it. She presses down on the skin after having you squeeze something.

“Most people don’t offer their blood just for the sake of persuasion.” She finds a vein and wipes the planned incision area with an alcohol wipe.

It’s gentler than you would expect from her. You barely even feel the needle. You look away as the blood flows through the tubing.

“Why?” She says suddenly. Watching you.

“I can’t look at my own blood—“ You ramble nervously. “Not that.” She replies quickly. “Then?” “Why did you offer your blood?”

Your breath hitches. Wednesday pretends not to notice. “Enid said you’ve been wanting some. Rh-null is far from common.” You try to brush it off. “Plus, I thought you’d like drowning cookie Enid.”

Her face twitches—a small, almost imperceptible movement near her lip. You don’t notice it. “It wasn’t terrible. But I’d much rather have this.” She says as she pulls out the needle. She quickly puts a cotton ball to the inside of your elbow where the blood pools. Her fingers are steady, but moving slightly, as if they yearn to continue being impersonal.

She pulls away and you hold it as she grabs the gauze to wrap the wound. The action feeling more intimate than it truly was.

“You shouldn’t offer your blood for free.” There’s a small shift. She looks up at you. You look at her as well. “Someone might get used to it.”

╰────╮

Word Count: 1.4K

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A/N: I thought this would be a cute idea after I saw a TikTok of someone ‘drowning’ their Oreo.