#I might make myself some stickers out of these | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloudcountry · 6 months ago

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OH MY GOD. THE MIX UP VALENTINE POST. YOU ATE!!!! could i rq a version with riddle, ace, deuce, octavinelle, and lillia? 🫶🫶

SUMMARY: you get a gift that was meant for the student you like, and the contents spur you to action.

COMMENTS: this is a spin off post of this post!! IM GLAD U LIKED IT ANON i was proud of that one myself ehehe

also the character limit is five so i picked azul from octavinelle

You stare blankly at the box of chocolate in your hands, the gift crammed into your desk haphazardly. At first, you thought it was for you—that’s what anyone would assume, right? Except...the note on top of it is not addressed to you, but rather, the guy you like. It makes you wonder if this is some joke, or if one of his friends wanted you to deliver it for him. You pick at the heart sticker sealing the note shut and peel it open, taking a peak of the contents.

Your eyes wide and your heart lurches in your chest, panic and annoyance roaring like red hot flames as you read what sounds like a genuine confession of love. Someone had their eyes on him? How did you never notice?

Was it weird to get jealous? I mean, he’s not even dating you yet...you don’t even know if he feels the same way. You can’t deny it doesn’t feel good that there’s another student trying to woo him, though. You’ve been so scared up until this point, so nervous about what he might think, but the clock is ticking. You’ve got to tell him before it’s too late.

Riddle sits up even straighter when he sees you approaching him with a heart shaped box and an envelope, his cheeks flushing pink. He clears his throat when you arrive, expression all twisted up as if you’re unhappy about something. Riddle turns to look at you, holding his chin high as he addresses you by name.

“Do you have something to tell me?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“This is a pathetic gift for the Queen of Hearts.” you reply dryly, throwing the gifts on the ground and stomping on them, “Someone thought that would be enough for you, but I won’t stand for it.”

Riddle stares open mouthed at the torn envelope and crushed box of chocolates, but a giant bundle of roses blocks his line of sight.

“This.” you say, a bouquet of roses in one hand and an entire strawberry tart in the other, with the truffles from the box placed in a circle around it in your hands, “Is a far more fitting gift for courting the queen.”

Deuce freezes after he reads the note you gave him with a sour face, cheeks turning pink. He wonders why you look so upset when you just confessed how much you like him—even though the words seem a bit off...

“See, Deuce? I told you you were popular.” you scoff, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

You glare so intensely at the envelope that Deuce feels your anger and jealousy.

“Is this...not from you?” he asks softly, his heart plummeting out of his body. And here he was, getting all delighted and cheesy about it—

“Nah. It’s not.” you say flippantly, “I’m confessing my feelings in a much better way.”

Deuce gasps when you pull out a bouquet of dark blue roses, kneeling at his feet as you take his hand. He swears you see hearts in his eyes as he stares at the flowers and your face, which look up at him with determination he knows all too well.

“Deuce Spade, I want you to be mine.” you declare, and his legs turn to jelly as he babbles out an enthusiastic yes.

“I can’t believe someone who isn't me likes your dumbass.” you smack Ace’s arm as he snickers over the note, an immature gesture if there ever was one.

“Well, if you like this dumbass what does that make you, huh? A stupidass?” he quips, knocking his whole body against you.

You squeal and shove him back, sticking your tongue out at his shocked face as he falls off the bed.

“Really!? This is how you’re confessing your love to me?” Ace huffs, playful as always, “I want a divorce.”

“You idiot, I’m just speaking your language!” you snap back, throwing a pillow at his head, “All you do is tease and yap and jab so I’m giving you a taste of your own medicine!”

“Oh you’re on!” Ace jumps to his feet, pillow in hand.

It’s obvious he likes you back. It always has been. And even if that person hadn’t sent that note, you two still would have known just how much you care for each other, even if it remains (mostly) unsaid.

(You still trampled that note at least ten times during your pillow fight though.)

“Is this some kind of joke?” Azul says blandly, placing the letter down on his desk of his VIP Room, “This obviously isn’t your handwriting, nor is it your style of writing.”

“That’s because it’s not mine.” you say just as blandly, raising an eyebrow as Azul looks over his spectacles at you, “Were you hoping it was?”

“What is the purpose of this visit then? You bring me some random letter with a confession of love...don’t tell me you’re hoping to butter me up.” Azul chuckles, standing up as gracefully as ever, “You should know better than anyone that those tricks do not work on me.”

You stand up as well, arms crossed over your chest as you meet his stare with your own.

“Because, Azul, someone left that note in my desk. It was addressed to you, as you can see, so I bought it for you. What you just read is what encouraged me to take action.” you take a deep breath and summon all of your courage, there truly is no turning back now, “Azul, I am interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you. I can assure you I’ve thought this over many times before coming to you with this proposal. If you’re willing, I would love to sit down and have a talk about the terms and conditions of this deal.”

You hold out your hand for a handshake.

Azul’s mouth forms an o shape, and for a second you’d say he looks shocked, but he composes himself quickly as is all too inclined to place his hand in yours.

“Well, well, well!” he beams, voice light and airy with what you can only assume is joy, “Let’s get negotiations underway, shall we?”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” Lilia coos, bringing a hand up to his mouth, “Why do you look so sour, sweets?”

“Because it’s not from me. It was stuffed in my desk and addressed to you.” you wrinkle your nose, the envelope clenched in your fist, “I don’t like the idea of someone confessing to you before I could.”

Lilia giggles, still hiding his mouth behind his hand. You stare blankly at him, tapping your foot so hard your ankle starts to cramp up.

“Oh, no need to look so anxious, dear. I’m sure you’re well aware of where my affections lie, yes?” Lilia approaches you, his fingers intertwining with yours as the envelope flutters to the floor, unnoticed and uncared for.

He doesn’t have much time left. He’s loved and he’s lost, he may as well go for what he wants while it’s still here, in front of him.

“That is such an indirect way of confessing.” you groan, squeezing his hand, “I even got you a whole bag of mystery flavored red lollipops...”

“Gifts are best shared, my dear!” Lilia laughs, pulling you over to his bed, “Now, hurry up! I want to see which flavor I get first!”

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daydreamtofiction · 3 months ago

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The Feature XXI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) While on assignment at another glamorous event, Quinn takes the opportunity to have some fun. Though it doesn't quite go the way she'd hoped.

Chapter Word Count: 8K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, tones of jealousy and possessiveness, fake event, op-ed excerpts contain graphic imagery. Quinn back at it again with her nightmarish antics. Readers must be 18+

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Julia would bounce her knee when she sat at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, the heel of her Louboutin slingback clinking against the table leg with an irritating rhythm. You were sitting across from her as she read your final draft, your gaze focused on the blood red sole of her shoe, the remnants of the discount sticker she hadn’t fully peeled off.

She placed the papers on the desk and cleared her throat. You looked up at her, only then realising you’d been making a face; eyes narrowed, lip curled disdainfully. It wasn’t intentional, your face just settled that way sometimes. So you softened your edges, rounding your eyes and relaxing your jaw as you waited for her to speak.

“Quinn…” she sighed.

Your thorns quickly returned; lids turning heavy with indignation as you rolled your shoulders and pressed your back into the chair.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she continued with a patronising smile. “It’s well written, there’s no denying that, but it’s not going in the mag.”

“Why not?” you asked bluntly.

She picked up the papers and licked her thumb, using it to flick to the second page where she began to read aloud. “I just wanted those men to stop looking at me. I wanted to erase myself, piece by piece, I imagined my face sloughing away, then my arms, my breasts, until there was nothing left but a pool of flesh and marrow where I’d once stood. But then, I thought, would they even care? Or would they still find pleasure in my remains; dig their hands into the slurry and let it slip between their fingers. And that scared me more than disappearing altogether...”

You blinked at her, waiting for her to explain the problem. But the way she was looking at you made it seem like you should have already known.

“It’s quite graphic,” she said.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Yes, obviously I understand that. But it’s not the most pleasant of visuals, is it? Really, the topic of the op ed on a whole, it’s- It’s dark, heavy-”

“It’s about gender, sex, inequality, how I’ve learned to navigate society as a woman, it’s not meant to be all bubblegum and rainbows. And it’s not like the magazine hasn’t shed light on these kinds of topics before.” You shrugged.

“Yes but not this… Brutally.”

You furrowed your brow.

She sighed, flicking to another page. “I thought sex was supposed to make me human, make me whole. But in the end, he was just a prop, an object. They all were. I could always tell they wanted me to love them, and they thought I might if they gave me everything. But nothing ever seemed worth taking.” She looked at me. “You can’t seriously think Draft would publish this?”

“It’s an op ed,” you said, your tone growing snippy. “It’s supposed to be personal, subjective, opinionated-”

“But there’s a fine line, Quinn, between sharing your views and experiences on important topics and oversharing to the point where it becomes disturbing and completely indigestible for readers.”

“Disturbing?” You breathed out a laugh. “So this, a woman’s real, lived experience of men and sexuality and emotional connection is ‘disturbing’, but the piece we let that dick head comedian write back in August where he said Hitler ‘wasn’t such a bad guy’ was okay?”

“It was a joke he made in poor taste and a retraction was published almost immediately.”

“Still made it to print though.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good piece of writing. Because it is. I know you’ve been working on it for months and it shows. It’s important and it’s relevant, I get that. But we have to give readers balance; some escapism, y’know. And that’s the job of our staff writers, to uplift the magazine with stories about celebrities and fashion and lifestyle and-” She sighed. “We have the hard hitting stuff covered. What we need from you is-”

“Fluff.” You inhaled sharply through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I just thought after the Benedict Cumberbatch interview and how well it was received I might finally get to write something with more… substance.”

She let out a single, clipped laugh, shaking her head at you condescendingly. “Quinn, one feature on a big name celeb doesn’t fast track you to serious journalism. You wrote about his films, his love life, what he does in his spare time. It wasn’t exactly an exposé.”

You bit back a retort, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the office through the glass wall. “What did Ellen Ford say about it? The op ed.”

“I haven’t shown her. And I’m not going to.”

“Julia-”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Quinn. I was given this position permanently because I know what I’m doing. Ellen trusts my judgement and my judgement is that this piece is a no go. If you want to write something for the next issue then you can cover the London Arts and Culture Gala tonight. Kate was supposed to be going but she just called to say she’s sick.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers into your eyes. “Why do you keep sending me to fucking galas?”

She tutted sarcastically, pushing out her bottom lip. “Getting dressed up to have free food and drink while rubbing shoulders with celebrities all night, how evil of me.”

You glared at her.

“I hear Benedict Cumberbatch is on the guest list,” she said, a slight snarkiness in her tone. “Maybe you can cosy up to him, get yourself a follow up interview. Not exactly Pullitzer material but hey, it’s another step towards those doors you’re so desperate to open.”

You already knew Ben was going to be there. You wanted to tell her that you knew; that he’d told you about it as you lay together in bed last night - still not having sex, to your utter dismay - and that you’d scoffed when he asked if you were covering it for the magazine. You wanted to punch her for suggesting you cosy up to him, as though he was nothing more than a rung in the ladder of your career.

“The last editorial assistant that suggested I get ‘cosy’ for a story ended up escorted out of here by security,” you said with a cold, flat smile.

She held your gaze, her foot bouncing more quickly now. “I know you like to think the world’s against you, Quinn. But I actually think you’re a good journalist. Hence why I keep sending you to fucking galas…”

You paused a moment before finally giving in and standing up with a huff. “Can I get another dress?”

“I’m sure you have something at the back of your wardrobe you could wear.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and snatching your papers off the desk before turning to leave her office.

The back of your wardrobe had provided you two options: the first was a short, bright chartreuse dress with a boned bodice and sparkly straps. It was awful. So awful that you grimaced when you pulled it out, wondering what kind of fugue state you’d been in when you bought it. But then you noticed the tag was still attached, realising you must have come to your senses and decided to never let it touch your body or see the light of day again.

The second option was plain, black, high neck and sleeveless. It hugged your figure like a second skin, skimming just above your ankles as you stood on your tiptoes in front of the mirror. You wondered why you’d never worn it before. Then you remembered you’d bought it for a funeral, only to get it home and realise your dead uncle’s family probably wouldn’t appreciate being able to see the outline of your arse at his wake.

You put your hair up and did your makeup, feeling pangs of excitement in your stomach at the thought of seeing Ben’s face when you arrived. You hadn’t told him you were coming, much preferring the idea of him spotting you from across a crowded room, having to hide his surprise and keep his cool, to pretend he barely remembered your name. You slipped into a pair of heels, stuffing your ticket and press pass into your bag alongside a notepad and pen, your fully charged phone and the perfume he always complimented.

When you arrived at the Claridge’s hotel, you stepped out of the cab to a mob of flashing cameras lining the carpeted entrance. There was something humbling about being unimportant, being able to weave through a sea of celebrities and influential figures like a ghost as paparazzi screamed for them to stop and pose for photos. It was comforting, almost, to be overlooked.

You made your way inside, the grand hall warmly lit with ornate chandeliers, large round tables covered in pristine tablecloths and floral centrepieces. The room buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and reserved conversation, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne and dainty canapés. You took a glass from a waiter with the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen, unable to resist a glance at his backside as he walked away.

The press table was at the other end of the hall. You took a large swig of champagne and began the long walk, meandering through tables and crowds of famous faces you never got used to seeing in person. Olivia Colman was at a table to your left, close enough for you to reach out and touch her - and you thought about it, just for a moment - but you resisted.

You hadn’t been watching where you were going, an elbow almost knocking the drink from your hand as you walked right into it. You looked up to see an actor you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, his surprise softening to a friendly laugh as he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted by Olivia Colman.”

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” he replied.

He was tall, smartly dressed, with a crooked smile and reddish hair. He’d been in a TV show you watched. Or was it a movie? God, what the hell was his name?

You gave an awkward laugh. “Sorry again.”

He waved his hand, as if telling you not to worry. You smiled appreciatively and turned to walk away, but his voice suddenly made you halt.

“Benedict! How’ve you been, man?”

You glanced back over your shoulder to see him pulling another tall, suited man into a hug, the pair smacking each other hard on the back in that weird way only men ever seemed to do. The corner of your mouth curled, threatening a smirk when you saw the side of Ben’s face.

You tilted your head, waiting for him to notice you. And when he did, it was as delicious as you’d imagined it would be. It began with a flicker of recognition, followed by the slow widening of realisation, his expression changing so subtly that only someone who knew him as well as you did would notice.

He composed himself quickly, giving the man he’d been hugging a final, firm pat on the back before stepping away with a slight smile. You kept your face neutral as you stood in his eyeline, as if seeing him was no big deal, as if you hadn’t spent the majority of your evening fantasising about this very moment; the way his eyes travelled down your body, his jaw clenching as he lingered on your curves. You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow sip of champagne, never looking away from him as he tried to engage in polite conversation.

It didn’t take long for him to excuse himself, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he stepped around him and made his way towards you, his long strides closing the distance far too quickly. You’d wanted to make the moment last, to savour it, make him sweat a little while longer.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and warm as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Benedict,” you replied coolly, giving a slight nod.

He glanced around before returning his gaze to you. “You said you weren’t coming.”

You smiled, giving a casual shrug. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

He gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. Then his eyes flitted down again, taking you in once more. “You…” He trailed off, his gaze returning to your face, and for a second you thought he might lose his composure. “You look… Nice.”

“Nice?” you repeated, feigning offence.

His mouth twitched, his voice darkening. “Very nice.”

You could feel his restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to touch you, to close the distance between you.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re here for the magazine?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking another sip of champagne. “Mhm. Julia, the editorial assistant, completely shat all over my piece, decided I was more useful rubbing shoulders than writing anything of actual substance.”

His brows came together for a moment with a sympathetic smile. “Well clearly she’s an idiot.”

“Tell her that.”

He leaned in slightly. “I’ll tell her, if you want.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, that’ll go down well; getting the guy I’m fucking- sorry, not fucking, to pull strings for me at work.”

He smirked, dropping his head and fixing the cuff of his blazer. “Just say the word.”

“Stop it,” you laughed, holding back the urge to push him playfully in the chest.

“Well I suppose there’s worse assignments you could’ve ended up with.”

“Yeah.” You looked around at the glitzy hall, the man he’d been talking to finding his seat at a table. “Oh my god, what’s his name by the way? It’s been driving me mad.”

He looked over to where you’d pointed before turning back and opening his mouth to speak. But before he could, a sudden presence appeared at his side.

“Benedict, good to see you again!”

You recognised Leo McGrath immediately. He was a documentary filmmaker, award winner, known philanthropist. Yet it was his recent appearance at the Oscars that had shot him to sudden, unexpected internet fame. You wondered what it must feel like, to be so unbelievably attractive that just standing there on a red carpet could send the whole world into a frenzy. To have millions of people suddenly know you, not because of your work, but because they fancied you.

It was true, he was undeniably stunning; green eyes framed by masses of dark lashes, full lips and thick wavy hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, his imperfect teeth giving him a charm that made it hard not to swoon, even just for a second.

“Ah, Leo,” said Ben as he shook his hand. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, it’s been… intense.” He breathed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I can imagine.”

“Well I suppose you don’t need to imagine, you’ve been there too. What did they call you? The Internet’s Boyfriend?”

Ben rolled his eyes, nodding with a laugh.

Leo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lighting up as if he hadn’t noticed you until now. “Sorry, I’m so rude!” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Oh, of course, sorry. Leo, this is Quinn Armitage. She’s a writer for Draft.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he said, looking you up and down, far less subtly than Ben had.

You shook his hand with a smile, catching a fleck of irritation on Ben’s face. “Likewise. And congratulations on your Oscar win.”

“Ah, thank you very much.” He took a step back, his eyes bouncing between the two of you. “So are you here together, or?”

“No,” Ben replied, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the speed of his response. “Quinn wrote a piece on me at the end of last year. We were just catching up.”

“Oh right.” He seemed pleased to learn you were there alone, his interest in you piquing, attention lingering on your face. “So you’re here for work then?”

You nodded, watching Ben’s jaw tighten from the corner of your eye, like he was grinding his teeth. You held back a grin; the sight of him ruffled was a rarity, and you couldn’t help but take some pleasure in it.

“Well you should join me at my table,” said Leo. “It’s near the front, a much better spot for you to get some good material.”

You glanced up at Ben, the slight flush in his cheeks, how hard he was having to work to stay calm. He was jealous. You liked it.

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That sounds good, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you did, meeting Ben’s gaze as you stepped aside and began to walk away. You couldn’t hold back the smirk as you watched his eyes darken, a silent warning etched on his stony, unamused face.

You followed Leo to his table, the weight of Ben’s eyes heavy on the back of your neck. You couldn’t help but feel excited, perhaps even satisfied; Leo’s sudden interest in you was undeniably flattering, and Ben’s barely contained jealousy made it all the more enjoyable.

He pulled out a chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The view was indeed better from here; the stage only feet away, every guest visible with the turn of your head. He took a seat beside you, getting comfortable as he chatted casually to the other people around the table.

Then he turned to you, snatching you out of a daze.

“So is this what you do for Draft then?” he asked. “Report on parties and events and stuff?”

“Well I’m a staff writer, so I pretty much just do what I’m told,” you said, your voice laced with cynicism.

He smiled. “I sense some… unrest.”

“You could say that.” You drank down the dregs of your champagne, twirling the stem of the flute between your fingers.

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head as he looked at you with narrowed eyes, an amused smirk creating a deep dimple in his cheek. “Let me guess, you’re trying to work your way into serious journalism, but all they’re giving you is celebrity gossip and… listicles.”

You pressed your lips together, exhaling a laugh through your nose. “I wrote this piece - it’s my best work to date - put it forward for an op ed but they weren’t interested. Sent me here instead.”

��Y’know, this industry is… brutal. You fight to be heard, to have your work taken seriously, amplified, given the platform you know it deserves. Then you finally get recognised for that work after years and years of graft, and yet somehow it still ends up overshadowed by how fuckable women on the internet think you are.”

“You are quite fuckable though, to be fair,” you replied bluntly.

He dropped his head to disguise a laugh, before composing himself again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He stretched his arm along the back of your chair to lean in closer, speaking quietly. “What I’m saying is that no one in this industry gets anything without going over heads and stepping on toes. It’s a fight. And even when you get to the top, you have to claw at it if you want to stay there. It’s like… the Hunger Games but for losers who watched the news too much as kids.”

You gave a slight smile, allowing a quick glance over your shoulder to Ben’s table where he sat fidgeting with his hands, watching you beneath a heavy brow. You looked down at Leo’s arm draped behind you, your smile quickly turning into a smirk.

You leaned in closer to Leo, mirroring the intensity of his gaze. “So you’re saying the only way I’m going to transition to serious journalism is if I… play dirty?”

“Exactly,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“How do you suggest I do that?”

He thought for a moment, running his tongue across his top teeth. “When I first started making docs, I got turned down by every production company, every channel and network. No one would give me a penny, wouldn’t even agree to broadcast. So I said fuck it, went out there with my camera, whatever money I had in my account and I made them anyway. Then when these companies saw that people actually gave a shit about the things I was documenting, they came running to me.”

“So you’re saying I just go rogue?”

“Potentially.”

“Hm. There’s just one problem with that; there’s this thing called rent, and erm… needing to eat…” you said sarcastically.

He laughed. “I’m not saying you go and quit Draft and start a fucking blog or something. I’m saying… check out. Quietly quit, as they say. Attend the fancy events, write the fluffy articles, do whatever you need to do to keep your affiliation with the magazine and use it to your advantage.” He reached up and took your chin between his finger and thumb, turning your head towards the sea of tables behind you. “See all of these people? Actors, producers, investors. You have direct access to them all right now. You could charm and persuade and get numbers in your phone and your name on people’s radars. And all you have to do in exchange is write a silly little article about their clothes and how they spend their evening.”

You turned your head back to him slowly; his insight like an epiphany, turning the banality of your surroundings to an abundance of possibility. Ten minutes ago this man was a stranger, yet now here he was with his face inches from yours, giving you the best advice you’d ever heard.

“Let me interview you,” you said.

He leaned back, brow furrowed in curiosity.

“What? I’ve made a connection and I’m using it to my advantage.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Fair play. Though, an interview… with Draft…” He scrunched his nose with scepticism.

“I won’t write anything about your looks. Won’t ask a single question about anything other than your work.”

“It’s tempting,” he replied with a hum.

The lights of the hall dimmed as a single, bright spotlight illuminated the stage. A woman stepped up to the microphone holding a stack of cue cards and clearing her throat. Leo turned away from you to listen, and you felt your chest heave with a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. He was intense. Beguiling, even.

“Welcome everybody,” said the woman, her voice creating a screech of feedback through the speaker. She took a step away from the mic with an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you so much for coming…”

Your phone buzzed inside the clutch bag on your lap as the woman continued to speak. You dug it out and opened the message waiting on the screen.

I know what you’re doing.

You subtly turned your head, giving Ben a mischievous wink from across the dark hall.

What am I doing? you replied.

Flirting. Stop it. Now.

Your stomach fluttered as you pictured the tension in his fingers as he typed each word, the firmness of his jaw as he grit his teeth.

Flirting???

Quinn. I’m serious.

Not my fault he fancies me. I’m actually quite enjoying the attention.

As if on cue, Leo turned his attention back to you, leaning in to speak directly into your ear. “What’s so interesting on your phone?” His breath was warm against your skin, his hushed tone filled with playful curiosity.

You looked over at Ben again, smiling as you put the phone face down on the table, turning your attention back to Leo. “Nothing.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I was losing your attention so soon.”

The woman on stage continued her speech, her words fading to a muffled hum as you lost yourself in the game you couldn’t resist playing.

“You haven’t lost my attention,” you said, keeping your voice low. “I still want that interview.”

He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But I don’t think a formal interview is what you really want from me…”

Your heart began to race, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the hunger in his eyes. If this had been a year earlier, you were sure you’d have ended up in Leo’s bed by the end of the night. But instead, you found yourself more thrilled by the idea of Ben watching you; the power you wielded to make his blood boil from across a crowded room.

“What else could I possibly want?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly towards Leo, your lips nearly grazing his cheek.

He let out a low, throaty laugh, his hand sliding from the back of your chair to your thigh. You wondered how far you could take things before your actions became indefensible, before the flirting verged beyond a game and evolved into something less playful.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot of things you want.” His touch was soft yet bold, his fingers tracing swirls that tickled, even through the material of your dress. “Some I might be able to… help you with.”

You bit your lip, unable to hold back a smirk, before leaning in close. “And here I was, thinking you invited me to sit at your table because you wanted to do a good deed for a struggling journalist.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Turns out you just wanted to fuck me.”

He turned his head to look at you, his face so close you could feel his breath. “Can I not want both?”

“You can,” you replied simply. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get it though.”

The room erupted with applause, quelling the tension between you as you turned your attention to the stage. A young woman made her way to the microphone with a guitar in hand. She smiled shyly as she waited for the clapping to fade, before pressing her fingers to the strings and beginning to play.

Your palms were beginning to itch; every speech and performance receiving a lengthier round of applause than the last. You had no choice but to join in with it, no matter how boring or mediocre you thought it was, putting down your little notebook and pen with a quiet groan to bring your hands together in feigned appreciation.

You’d been nursing your second glass of champagne for most of the evening, knowing it was your last and taking small sips to savour it. Julia warned you not to get drunk, and you’d taken offence to the insinuation that you couldn’t be trusted to stay professional. But when you realised Leo’s arm was still draped along the back of your chair, you thought perhaps she’d had a point.

The last wave of applause rippled across the room as the host made her way offstage; the spotlight dimming, chandeliers regaining their warm glow as the atmosphere began to relax, the hum of conversation drifting through the air like a sigh of relief. You skimmed over the pages in your book, trying to decipher the chaotic notes you’d scrawled in the dark when Leo turned to look at you.

“Get everything you need?” he asked, nodding to your notebook.

“Eh, I’ll probably have to employ some creative writing here and there,” you replied as you looked up at him.

He smirked. “You weren’t paying attention to any of it, were you.”

“More than I would have if I were back there at the press table.”

“Well it’s a good job I had a spare seat.”

“Mm.” You allowed your gaze to flit from his eyes to his lips and back again, just enough to keep him interested. “I better do a few rounds, get some quotes from people before they start to leave.”

Mingling had never been your thing, the idea of approaching strangers or interrupting conversations creating a pit of dread in your stomach that made your skin clammy and your mouth dry. Usually you came with someone else; dragged Nick along or found yourself on assignment with another writer who would do most of the talking. This time, you had no choice. .

You moved around the hall, weaving through a maze of tables as you searched for targets. And with each interaction, it became easier. You took quotes from a table of theatre directors, had surreal conversations with celebrities, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to Olivia Colman, the only thing you managed to write down was ‘aaahhhh’.

You took a moment to breathe, scanning the room to see Ben still at his table, deep in conversation with another actor you vaguely recognised. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his usually easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how he kept brushing the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip. To anyone else, he seemed happy, comfortable. But to you, it was clear he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.

You made your way over, navigating the scattered chairs and waiters topping up champagne until you were close enough to hear their voices.

“...and everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said I should do it,” the other man was saying. “But it’s just such a big commitment.”

Ben nodded, his eyes flickering in your direction for just a moment. “It is a lot. But you’ve just got to weigh up the pros and cons…”

He trailed off as you finally made it to their table, turning his attention to you as though he hadn’t known you were coming.

“Sorry for interrupting,” you said as you cleared your throat and held up your notebook. “My name’s Quinn, I’m a writer for Draft Magazine. I was hoping I could steal you for a second to ask a few questions?”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment before returning to the actor beside him. “Sorry.”

“Ah no worries, duty calls.”

“But if you want my honest opinion, I think you should go for it.”

The man smiled appreciatively as he rose to his feet, raising his glass in a mock salute before walking away.

You quickly sat in his place; the seat was still warm, turned towards Ben at an awkward angle. You shifted it further to face him, leaning back with the notebook in your lap.

“Hi,” you finally said, holding back a smile.

“Hi,” he replied, his face calm, tone unreadable.

“So, the question I have for you is…” you flicked to another page. “Do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary-”

“What the fuck was that?” he interrupted quietly, gesturing subtly towards Leo’s table across the hall.

“What was what?” you replied casually, defiantly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he mirrored your posture, leaning back in his chair and lowering his chin slightly, his eyes darkening beneath the shadow of his brow. “His hands were all over you…”

“So?”

“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You cocked your head, widening your eyes to feign innocence. “What was I doing?”

“Trying to piss me off.”

You pushed out your bottom lip. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous-?” He exhaled a laugh through his nose. But there was no amusement in it. Then he lowered his voice. “I was jealous when I saw him eyeing you up. I was jealous when he invited you to sit at his table. But now? I’m not jealous, I’m furious.”

You regarded him for a moment, taking undeniable pleasure in his silent rage. But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, a hand on your shoulder made you still.

You looked up to see Leo standing at your side, glancing down at both of you with a charming smile.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Quinn, my team and I are heading to an afterparty at the Edition. I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

“Oh, I…” you looked at Ben, then back up to Leo. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m still working.”

“Your boss doesn’t have to know…”

You breathed out a laugh. “No really, I think I’m going to be good for once and actually do my job.”

“Or you could come with me to the afterparty and start being good tomorrow…”

“She said no,” Ben interjected firmly.

It caught you off guard, raising the hairs on your arms and sending a shiver down your spine. It was his unexpected harshness paired with a friendly smile, the restraint it was clearly taking him to keep his cool.

Leo seemed taken aback too, turning to him with raised brows and parted lips, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. He eventually gave up with an understanding nod, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card.

“Give me a call some time,” he said as he handed it to you. “If you want, of course.”

You took it with a smile, waiting for him to walk away before turning your attention back to Ben.

“That was rude of you,” you said.

“Sorry… Rude of me?”

You rolled your eyes and slid the card between the pages of your notebook.

“Are you really keeping that?” Ben asked.

“He’s a documentary maker, I’m a journalist. It might come in handy.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he continued to glare at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking when you said you were furious…”

“No. I wasn’t. I told you the mind games and manipulation wouldn’t fly with me. I told you that.”

“You are taking this way too seriously.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his movement sharp, teeth clenched. “Too-” But he stopped himself, pressing his lips together and looking around the bustling hall as he slowly reclined again. “We’re leaving.”

You furrowed your brow as you watched him stand up. “Did you not hear what I just said? I’m working, I can’t leave yet.”

“I said we’re going.”

You hadn’t seen him like this since the first night you met. You’d almost forgotten he was capable of it; the hard angles and stern tone, the dominance of his demand sending a flutter through your core. The thrill of it was undeniable, but his anger was palpable, making you stutter as you tried to speak.

“Ben, I’m- I’m not-”

“Now.”

You yielded with a sigh, shoving everything into your bag and tucking it under your arm as you rose to your feet. Your heart was pounding as you began to follow him, almost tripping over the leg of your chair as you went. He didn’t speak as he made his way to the exit of the hall, his fist opening and closing at his side in a steady rhythm, face brightening with a polite smile whenever someone greeted him as he passed.

He gripped your wrist as you neared the exit, leading you out into the large, echoing foyer. The indelicacy of his touch surprised you, flooding you with a fleeting rush of panic, like a child preparing to be scolded once their parents got them home.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, your quick, uneven footsteps struggling to keep up with his long strides as he walked you towards a quiet, hidden corner.

“Don’t you need to tell people you’re leaving?” you asked. “Like your publicist or whoever you came with?”

“I came alone,” he replied, stopping once you were out of sight.

“Really? Why?”

“Because I drove here.” He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the paparazzi as they waited outside. “You’re going to go and wait for me by the car. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.”

You did as you were told, emerging into the mild spring night and slipping through the chaos with ease. When you got to Ben’s car, you waited with your arms folded over your chest, watching from a distance as an explosion of camera flashes illuminated the darkness like fireworks.

You pressed your lips into a straight lined smile when he finally reached you, hurrying around to the driver’s side without a word. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. You raised onto your tiptoes to look at him over the top of the car, breathing out a laugh when he almost scowled back.

“Are you seriously still annoyed with me?” you asked.

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I can barely look at you right now.”

He slipped into the car and pulled the door closed. You paused for a moment before deciding to climb into the back seat instead.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want to look at me,” you replied brattishly. “You don’t have to if I’m back here.”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Get in the front.”

You thought about defying his demand, but you quickly gave in; choosing to clamber arduously over the centre console instead of getting out, purely to annoy him that little bit more. You settled into the front passenger seat, turning to look at him as you dragged the seatbelt across your chest.

He drove in silence at first, the journey ebbing and flowing between heavy traffic and dark, deserted streets. You’d been waiting for him to speak, but with each silent wait at a red light, you found yourself growing impatient. He turned his head towards you, and you glanced back at him hopefully, only to realise he was looking past you, checking the road was clear before driving across it.

You huffed. “Fine, you win, I apologise for flirting with the sexy man, alright? Can you stop acting like I slapped your mum now?”

“You really don’t get why I’m pissed off, do you.”

“He was just giving me career advice-”

“Career advice? What career advice requires him to touch you like that? To whisper in your ear, run his hand up your thigh?”

You couldn’t resist; the old Quinn taking over with a shrug and a surly glare. “I was just having a bit of fun-”

A deep growl rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Nothing about that was fun.”

“Maybe not for you…”

“Quinn. I swear to god.”

You threw your head back and let out a groan. “It was flirting, Ben. He clearly fancied me and I took the opportunity to tease you, wind you up-”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure you got no pleasure out of it whatsoever,” he quipped cynically.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Y’know, it’s almost like I haven’t gone the past four months without sex because the man I’m seeing refuses to touch me anywhere below the fucking neck. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been masturbating so much I could give a teenage boy a run for his money; forgive me for indulging in a bit of physical affection for one night.”

“So you did like him then...”

“No, Ben-” You stopped yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and letting out an exasperated breath. But when you composed yourself again, your brows came together in sudden realisation. “Actually, what if I did?”

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at you in confusion.

“What right would you have to tell me I couldn’t flirt with him? Couldn’t let him touch me?” You sat up straighter, turning your body towards him. “What if I wanted him to do that? What if I enjoyed sitting with him and decided I wanted to go to that afterparty? What authority would you have to tell me I couldn’t?”

He rolled his eyes.

“What if I went with him? Danced, drank, let him take me home, undress me, kiss me…”

Your words were getting to him; crawling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he was trying to shrug the image away.

“I mean, you said it yourself to whatshisface back at the gala; I’m just Quinn, the journalist you met once back in November. Why would you care who else I fuck?”

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car into a layby with a sudden stop. It was dark, void of streetlights, thick trees lining both sides of the road. You jerked forward as he broke, the seatbelt pressing firmly against your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Ben.”

He shut off the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “You know full well that neither of us want people to know about this. You don’t get to use it against me to justify flirting with someone else.”

“I flirted with him to annoy you. Clearly it worked… A bit too well.”

“But why? Why would you think I’d find that amusing?” His voice was raised, his hands moving in time with his words.

“I didn’t. I thought I’d find it amusing.”

He growled, letting out a hot angry breath through his nose. “You are the most infuriating fucking person.”

“Then why have you stuck around for this long?”

“Why have you? If taking it slow and doing things right has been such a fucking chore for you then why are you still bothering?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance, unclipping his seatbelt to lean in closer.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you know I’m the only man who’s ever been able to handle you. Who sees you for who you really are and likes it.”

Your heart began to race, your back pressing against the passenger door. He was right, and you hated it.

“Because even though I haven’t touched you in four months, you still aren’t bored of me.” His voice was dangerously soft now, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because even as another man threw himself at you tonight, you still found yourself looking for me.”

“So if that’s what you think, why do you care that I let him touch me?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Because I don’t like watching someone else touch what’s mine.”

You swallowed hard, your defiance faltering as his words sank in. He was so close now, one arm outstretched along the back of your seat, the other holding back the urge to reach out and touch you.

Your eyes flitted from his face to his crotch then back again. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you…”

His gaze flickered with something dark, primal. He exhaled slowly, the angles of his face sharp with anger, partly with you, but mostly with himself.

A rush of excitement flooded through you as he reached out to cup your face, pulling you into a sudden, intense kiss. You could feel his possessiveness; the way his lips moved with a firm pressure, tongue sweeping impatiently into your mouth.

You fumbled for your seatbelt, unfastening it quickly and letting it snap back against the door, your hands immediately snaking around the back of his neck, pulling yourself into him. His hand dropped to your side, his touch rough, almost painful as he pressed and squeezed his fingertips into your waist. You felt him pulling you closer, his body radiating a heat that almost made it hard to breathe. His hand travelled lower, pushing up the material of your dress and allowing his fingers to graze the bare skin of your thighs. He ran his palm over the place Leo had touched, as though he was cleansing you of it, wiping it away and replacing it with his own.

You’d been starved for so long that even his hand on your thigh made you tremble, a soft moan escaping your parted lips as he kissed you. The sound stirred something in him, and in moments you found yourself straddling his lap in the driver’s seat.

He was hard. You could feel it straining beneath his trousers, pressing against your centre as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths hot and heavy, anger and lust fogging the windows like steam. You rolled your hips, the steering wheel letting out a short, loud beep as your backside knocked against it. But neither of you paid it any attention, giving in to the fevered, passionate release you’d been denying yourselves for so long.

His hands settled on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed himself against you, the friction drawing a satisfied groan from his throat. You’d missed those sounds, the way it felt to have him desperate to fill you. But you knew he was losing himself, intoxicated by his own frustration. You were in a car, parked on the side of a quiet, winding road. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and you weren’t sure it was how you wanted it to be either.

You broke away, letting your head fall back as he began traipsing hot, hungry kisses down your neck. “Ben,” you whispered breathlessly. “If we go any further I won’t be able to stop.”

You felt him pause, his lips still, breath tickling your skin.

“This isn’t how you wanted it to be,” you said softly, masking your disappointment. “We need to stop.”

He lowered his forehead to rest on your collarbone, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with lust.

He pulled away from you, his hand lingering on your waist for a second longer before finally letting go. He sat back, his head tilting against the headrest as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.

You slid off his lap, climbing back into the passenger seat and fixing your dress. You looked over at him, watching him in silence, fearful of what awaited you when he finally opened his eyes. You’d spent four months wanting nothing more than to see him break, to give in to you, and if it were anyone else, you would have taken full advantage of this lapse in judgement. But you couldn’t.

The silence was awkward, moonlight casting a soft glow through the steamy windows, your slowing breaths providing the only sound. When he finally looked at you, there was a clarity in his expression; his jaw softening, eyes rounding.

“Thank you,” he said.

There was something about the way he said it, like your restraint had renewed his faith in you, shifted something inside him.

You nodded slightly, reaching behind you for your seatbelt.

He nodded back, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before finally starting the car again. The engine rumbled and he leaned forward to wipe the windshield, using his sleeve to clear it.

The tension remained as he drove, but it was different now. He was no longer angry, and you no longer cared to push his buttons. After a while, you gathered he was taking you to his house, and it filled you with a sense of relief you couldn’t quite explain.

The road was empty, quiet, yet still the traffic light turned red. He slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the gearstick as he waited for it to change.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “About Leo. I really was just teasing you. I never would have-”

He reached out and took your hand in his without a word, giving it a gentle squeeze. You relaxed back into your seat, looking down at your intertwined fingers as they rested in your lap.

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

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Woe out the Storm (2) - Paint it black

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Next part

Word count: 4.6k

-I look inside myself and see my heart is black-

The very first thing that greeted you when you came back to your room after lunch was a tape splitting what used to be Enid's part of the room right down the middle. 'She works fast, but was the tape really necessary?' you wondered and chose to stay in Enid's side of the room for a moment. You glance to the right, and there it was, another tape, separating your part of the room from Wednesday's.

"You're not expecting me to build a bridge or fly across somehow, are you?" you asked jokingly, complete with a small grin on your face. Not that Wednesday saw it, as she was busy peeling off the colorful decoration from the window. When you left the room before the large window looked like a flower, but now Wednesday's half started looking more and more like a spider's web.

"That would be asinine. I expect you to keep your belongings in your part of the room and to minimize the time spent in my part of the room," you were more surprised she answered, but that sounded reasonable. She had her space and was protective of it, you actually understood that.

Maybe it was your imagination, but the tips of her fingers seemed a bit red. Was she actually allergic to color? "I can work with that," you replied to her earlier statement and walked over to her. She definitely noticed you approaching, even if she didn't spare a single glance toward you. Upon closer look, you confirmed her fingers were a bit red. So, without a word, you stepped into her side of the room and began peeling the stickers off.

"What are you doing?" she asked with the tiniest hint of surprise in her voice. Just a tiny, barely noticeable shift in her tone. Since you would be living together you figured you should pay attention to the minute changes in her behavior, since she clearly wasn’t going to be very expressive about her feelings.

"Scratching the window, it told me it had an itch somewhere around here," you looked up at her, dead serious as you said that, and just for good measure you lightly scratched the part of the window that still had the stickers on.

Wednesday paused and stared at you, without blinking. Once. Well, if that was how she was going to be. "Don't worry, I won't disappear if you blink," you grinned a bit and caught the minuscule twitch of her brow at that.

"You are irritating," she simply stated and went back to clearing the window.

You shrugged. "I can live with that," she didn't tell you to stop, or go away, so you continued until her half of the window was completely bare. After that, you just grabbed the discarded decorations and threw them into a trash bag. "A bit of a warning, I don't think Enid will like this change of scenery,” you realized your words could be taken the wrong way the moment you said them, but it was one moment too late.

"You have your parts of the room, I have mine," you looked at the shorter girl to see her glaring at you.

"That goes without saying, and Enid agrees with that. I'm just saying the first reaction might not be supportive," you explained because you really didn't want to make Wednesday feel like she needed to defend herself. Or however she was feeling at the moment because you couldn't read how she felt to save your life. Maybe she was being defensive, maybe she was irritated, maybe she felt an entirely different negative emotion you had no idea even existed.

The glare lost some of its edge, but she glanced at the spot you were standing on, which was in her part of the room.

"Right, got it," you gave her a thumb up and stepped over the tape into your side of the room.

~X~

And then Enid came in, with the grace and patience of someone who came back home to an unwanted guest after a bad day at work and horrible traffic. "What the hell did you do to my room?!" she demanded, immediately turning toward Wednesday.

Wednesday, who was sitting at her table, turned her chair so she could face Enid. "I divided our room equally. It looks like a rainbow vomited on your side," maybe you imagined it, but you could have sworn there was a small tremble in her voice. And it didn’t escape your notice that she said ‘our’ room, unlike Enid who said ‘my’, honestly, you were surprised by that.

Worried about things possibly escalating you placed a bookmark to mark the page you were on and got up from your bed. You moved to the border and leaned sideways against the wall, fearing you might just become a witness to a war that could easily engulf what was once a peaceful room.

Noticing your approached Enid swiftly turned toward you. "Why did you let her? Better yet, why did you help her?" Enid automatically turned her attention toward you.

"Because it's her part of the room?" you raised an eyebrow, really hoping Enid would think about this rationally. "Half of that oversized window is hers."

"A third of it is," Enid corrected you, and well, you didn’t really see it, it wasn’t in your part of the room. But you guessed there was some logic to what Enid was saying.

Not that it mattered. "Okay, then half of mine is yours and the other half is hers. I don't care about the custody over the spider web flower window," you just wanted the first night to remain peaceful. Was that too much to ask?

"I-" Enid tried to say something.

Wednesday didn't let her. "Silence would be appreciated. This is my writing time," she turned back to her table, and you finally noticed the typewriter. You were slowly piecing some things together now.

"Your writing time?" Enid asked, momentarily forgetting about the almost argument over the window.

It slipped your mind that Wednesday easily had fifteen minutes between clearing out her side of the window and Enid's arrival and that she was only now getting ready to start her writing time.

"I devote an hour a day to my novel," she clarified and you couldn't help but nod. That was some dedication. "Perhaps if you did the same your vlog might be coherent. I've read serial killer diaries with better punctuation."

You covered your eyes and raised your head. There goes the peaceful night. "Well, that was uncalled for," you sighed, unaware that the goth girl glanced at you for a split second.

"I write in my voice. It's my truth. It's what my followers love," Enid became defensive, and with Wednesday already intent on arguing her point it was as if all three of you were running head-first into a wall.

Wednesday stood up and approached Enid. "Your followers are clearly imbeciles. They respond to your stories with insipid little pictures."

Right, at this point, there was nothing you could do, you only wished you had popcorn for the chaos that could easily ensue.

"Uh, you mean emojis? It's how people express their feelings you know? I realize that's a foreign concept to you," Enid retorted.

Your jaw dropped a bit, and you could just look at Enid, flabbergasted.

"When I look at you the following emojis come to mind. Rope, shovel, hole," Wednesday turned around. "By the way, there are two Ds in Addams. If you're going to gossip about me, at least spell my name correctly," she said as she went back to her table.

You let out a sigh of relief and were about to go back to your book. Which meant you didn't see Enid turning the music on. Much to your horror and Wednesday's irritation, Enid started dancing to the music. Any other time you'd be fine with this, you liked Enid having fun and being passionate about something. This just wasn't the time.

"Turn that off. This is your final warning," Wednesday didn't even try to conceal the threat as she stomped back to Enid.

"Okay, let's just settle down!" you got between them, somehow standing right in the middle of the room.

Enid roared and her claws came out. "Don't mess with me. This kitty's got claws and I'm not afraid to use them," Enid threatened back and considering the way Wednesday wasn't even flinching you couldn't help but question your decision to get between them.

Luckily, the doors opened, and Thornhill entered, saving you from untimely doom. Huh? Saved by Thornhill? That was something you never expected to experience, yet here you were.

"Good evening, girls! Oh, sorry about the mud. I wanted to make sure that Wednesday was settling in," no one was interrupting her, but she definitely noticed the tension in the room as you turned around and took a few steps back. You and Thornhill, well, you didn't have a great start. "Ah. Is this a bad time? I'm Miss Thornhill, your dorm mom. Apologies I wasn't there to greet you when you arrived. I trust Enid and Y/N have given you the old Nevermore welcome."

"They've been smothering me with hospitality," Wednesday replied and you could already sense the morbid continuation. "I hope to return the favor. In their sleep," there it was. She didn't even think twice about saying it.

‘Talk about subtle’ you thought as you turned to look at her. "How about no?" you asked.

"Sleep with one eye open," she stated evenly, her eyes still fixated on Thornhill.

You threw your arms up in the air, looking at her incredulously. "What did I even do?!"

Wednesday looked back at you. "Plenty."

That didn't answer anything!

Thornhill faked a cough, bringing Wednesday's attention back to her. "Well, here's a little gift from my conservatory," she handed her a black flower. "I try to match the right flower to each of my girls. When I read your personal statement in your application, I immediately thought of this one."

You got yellow spider lily and Enid got a bluebonnet. Kinda obvious choices, but it was the point of Thornhill’s gesture.

"The black dahlia," Wednesday recognized it, hell, she even sounded impressed.

Thornhill's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, you know it?"

"Of course, it's named after my favorite unsolved murder. Thank you,” Wednesday replied as se took the flower.

Thornhill clasped her hands together. "Okie-dokie. oh, before I leave, I want to go over a few house rules. Lights off at 10:00, no loud music, and no boys, ever, or girls with those intentions in mind," she listed off the most important ones.

Wednesday, however, wasn't interested in any of those rules. "What's the story about going into the local town?"

"Passes to Jericho are a privilege, not a right. It's a brisk 25-minute walk, or there's a shuttle on the weekends," Thornhill explained. "The locals are a tad bit wary about Nevermore, so please don't go making any waves or perpetuating any outcast stereotypes. That means keep your claws to yourself, don't go electrocuting people, and no smothering people in their sleep. Are we clear? Great talk!" Thornhill left the three of you alone, but the damage was already done.

You tried to ignore Wednesday looking at you and just went back to your book.

"She was defending Xavier on the previous Outreach day," Enid explained.

"Enid!" you exclaimed, looking at her. There was no need to explain to anyone what happened that day. "It doesn't matter," you still electrocuted those four. As far as you were concerned the conversation was over.

Fifteen minutes later your phone buzzed next to you and you saw it was a message from Enid. You lowered your book and raised an eyebrow at her. She just shrugged and motioned toward your phone.

You gave in and opened the message. It just said 'Sorry 😓' and you stared at it, puzzled.

You: Shouldn't you say that to Wednesday?

Enid: 🤨

You: Kinda went too far with feelings jab. Also, I sent you a message so you could calm down, not storm in ready to fight.

Enid: Oh, I meant sorry about mentioning Xavier.

Enid: Speaking of Wednesday, how come you're taking her side now?

You: I'm not taking sides. It's her room as well

Enid: Yeah, but you're calling me out on that now.

Enid: At least openly take her side next time. 😒😒

You: I'm not going to gang up on you with basically a stranger.

Enid: She's been cold and mean to me all day.

You: And she just got here. Give her a chance?

You looked up from your phone and saw Enid reluctantly nodding at you.

~X~

The next time you got a few other pieces of the puzzle known as Wednesday Addams was during the fencing class. You were paired up with Kent at the end of the row so you didn't notice when she came in. You heard her, and by that point she already set things into motion.

"I do," she declared boldly and the split second you took to look at the girl dressed completely in black cost you the point and the match.

"Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in," apparently Wednesday went right for Bianca, for reasons you couldn't understand at the moment. Did Enid tell her about the apparent ‘hierarchy’ in the school so she was going for the Queen of Nevermore? Wednesday didn’t strike you as someone interested in something like school status.

"And you must be the self-appointed Queen Bee. Interesting thing about bees. Pull out their stinger and they drop dead," Wednesday stated, proving to you that she must have listened to Enid yesterday because there was no other explanation as to how she knew that. But it still didn’t explain her behavior. Maybe she was just looking for a challenge.

"Rowan doesn't need you to come to his defense. He's not helpless, he's lazy," Bianca said after a short pause.

"Are we doing this or not?" Wednesday asked and they were, in fact, doing it. She put her mask on, and you took yours off to better look at her fight.

They began and you were genuinely impressed. Bianca could be self-appointed Queen Bee all day long, but there was no denying the fact that she knew how to fence. She was the best at it, without a doubt, yet there Wednesday was, parrying and deflecting each of Bianca's attacks and fighting back with equal force.

You watched, as if hypnotized, as Wednesday bent her knee and raised the tip to Bianca's neck.

The second round was quick, with Bianca fiercely attacking and using the height advantage she had to get the second point.

Bianca took her mask off and smirked. "That first point was clearly beginner's luck. Let's finish this," she taunted smugly.

Wednesday, while probably not shaken by the loss of a point, acted recklessly. "For the final point, I would like to invoke a military challenge. No masks. No tips. The winner draws first blood."

You frowned. It was an immediate decision on Wednesday's part. A spur-of-the-moment reaction that didn't match the girl's quick and clever retorts. She was cornered just for a moment and upped the stakes, much like she did last night.

"Let's see if you bleed in black and white," Bianca accepted the challenge, and all the rules and all the matches were off by now, with everyone closely watching the even struggle between the two. Wednesday was graceful, dodging and flipping effortlessly and attacking with dangerous precision. She was fast, aware of her surroundings, clearly much more experienced than even Bianca.

The thing is, fights to the first blood aren't always won by the more skilled fighter. Luck played a role in them, as did the range yet again and the tip of Bianca's blade nicked Wednesday's forehead, right above the left eyebrow.

"Looks like your face finally got that splash of color it so desperately needed."

You watched as Wednesday just left.

~X~

By the time you came back to your room with Enid, you figured Wednesday would already be there. It was just a nick, it shouldn't take too long to patch up.

"She's not here," Enid pointed out and you frowned, immediately heading outside. "Wait, Y/N! It's raining!" Enid ran after you. "You don't even know if Wednesday is still in the infirmary! Maybe she went out for a walk, this kind of weather seems like something she'd like, or tolerate at least!"

You could see Enid's reasoning, but it still didn't stop you from rushing down the stairs. Were you worried about Wednesday? No, not really. You just wanted to make sure she wasn't still at the infirmary. Was it raining? It was. You could handle a bit of rain because it didn't make sense for her to still be there. But as if drawn to a storm something just pulled you to get there.

Enid came with you after all, though the moment you stepped into the rain she kept a safe distance from you. Luckily the rain wasn't pouring so the brief run through it didn't make your lightning unstable. You still felt the heat within you, but you were completely in control.

You opened the doors to the infirmary and saw Xavier and then you noticed Wednesday, lying on the bed in a corpse-like position. "What happened?"

Xavier abruptly stood up, surprised to see you and Enid. "Y/N, it's raining!" he chastised you, but seeing as you were already there he gave up and sighed, pointing his hand toward Wednesday. "She was nearly crushed by a gargoyle."

"What? Is she okay?" Enid covered her mouth in shock and approached the sleeping girl.

"I pushed her out of the way. Don't worry, she doesn't have a concussion," Xavier assured and Enid let out a sigh of relief.

You nodded and looked at Wednesday from afar, not daring to approach while you were still even slightly wet from the rain. "I'll come back to the room later, don't wait for me," you said and stepped outside.

There weren't many people who could make a gargoyle fall in this school, and there was no way that was an accident. Furthermore, not a lot of people had an opportunity to do it. You couldn't think of a reason why he'd do it, but there was one person in your class who had the opportunity and ability to do it.

~X~

You tucked the knife into the holster attached to your belt, hidden on your back, just beneath the jacket as you landed on the fence of Xavier and Rowan's balcony. Your eyes were bright red as you pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

Rowan jumped to his feet. "Y/N! Why are you here? How did you even get up here?"

"Raiju secrets Rowan," your eyes turned back to their usual color, indicating you weren't there to fight. "What's up with that gargoyle, hmm?"

He backed away as you approached. "What are you talking about? What gargoyle?"

"The one you tried to kill Wednesday with," you could see how tense he suddenly got.

"I didn't do it. I don't know what you're talking about," he threw his arms up in the air and began pacing. "Why would you care even if I did? She just got here! You've been friendly with me for years, and didn't make me feel like an outcast! That's why I'm not attacking you for accusing me!"

Something was seriously wrong with him. He wasn't like this before. He was awkward and timid, not mad as he was right now. "You and I both know how that fight would go. I don't want to hurt you, confess and let's go to Weems," you offered and felt an invisible force lifting you into the air, but you remained calm. Your eyes once again turned red as sparks danced around your body.

"You underestimate me, Y/N!" he yelled, but before either of you could do anything else a knock on the door interrupted you.

"Rowan? Who is in there with you?" a voice demanded from behind the doors.

"I'm watching you, don't start a fight you can't finish," you warned as he released you from his hold. You left the same way you came, jumping from the balcony and tossing the knife toward the ground.

~X~

You were outside, sitting on the fence of the balcony with your back against the gargoyle. The sky was clear, and you just wanted some fresh air. Rowan didn't try anything after the first attempt, but he also didn't get the opportunity to do it either. You were lost in thoughts, just looking at the stars when Wednesday came out, cello in hands and a severed stitched-up hand by her side.

"I'm guessing it's four of us now?" you tilted your head, smiling slightly.

Wednesday actually blinked and that surprised you way more than a moving severed hand. "This is Thing," she said as Thing climbed up to her shoulder and bowed down as a greeting.

You just raised your hand. "Hey, Thing. I'm Y/N," now, you couldn't say you saw anything like him before, but at this point, you just went along with anything that could or would happen. "You can play cello?" you asked, though seeing as she had it you probably just asked a bit of a dumb question.

"Yes," Wednesday said as her and Thing set the instrument up.

"Can I stay and listen?" you asked, already prepared to leave her if she said you couldn't.

"Do what you want," she, instead pretty much told you you could stay. So, you did just that. You closed your eyes and listened as she played 'Paint it Black' without once messing it up.

Once she was finished, she exhaled sharply and you heard Thing tapping.

"No, I don't really feel better," Wednesday said, frankly you were surprised she said it in front of you, but you chose not to comment on that. "There's just something wrong about this place. Not just because it's school."

You remained silent once again. Wednesday was right. Now, you didn't know much about the history of the school, but you heard from your dad some things that weren't entirely normal kept happening at the school. He'd been a bit paranoid about letting you stay here when he heard the news four years ago, but you didn't have much of a choice. At first, you thought he was messing with you, the jokester that he is, but you felt it from the first storm. Something about the school made storms more difficult, and you doubted it was only because you were getting stronger. And that voice... you still didn't understand what that voice was, why it was laced with static, or why it seemed like only you could hear it.

It existed. You knew that much. Because when you mentioned it to your dad he told you he heard it too. He, a raiju, had the same experience.

The question that plagued you the most was why could you only hear it during storms that lasted for days?

Of course, you weren't about to tell Wednesday about any of that.

Enid came outside and noticed the cello. "How the hell did you get that oversized violin out the window?"

"I had an extra hand," Wednesday replied and you couldn't help but grin at that. true, but a bit playful, though you figured it wasn't intentional.

Enid looked confused until she noticed Thing. "Whoa. Where's the rest of him?"

"It's one of the great Addams family mysteries," Wednesday said.

"So, you don't know?" you teased jokingly.

"I could push you," she threatened as a response.

You smirked at that. "Go ahead and try. I might surprise you," she looked like she might take you up on that offer until werewolves began howling.

"Why aren't you wolfing out?" Wednesday asked, perhaps only now remembering Enid should be turning into a werewolf as well.

"Because I can't," Enid showed her hand and her claws came out. "It's all I got," she somberly went over to the fence and leaned down. "My mom says some wolves are late bloomers, but I've been to the best Lycanologist. I had to fly to Milwaukee, would you believe it?" her voice trembled as she spoke. "Yeah, she says there's a chance I may never... you know."

You looked to the side. You were a raiju. You could never comfort her, as much as you wanted to. Werewolves and raiju were about as close to opposites as you could imagine, at least as far as social structure went.

"What happens then?" Wednesday asked.

"I'd become a lone wolf," Enid sighed.

Wednesday took that information in before eventually responding. "Sounds perfect."

"Not what she wants to hear, Wednesday," you sighed, you figured she didn't mean it in a bad way, but it still came off as insensitive.

"Are you kidding me? My life would be officially over! I'd be kicked out of my family pack with no prospects of finding a mate," Enid cried out, frustrated by her inability to wolf out.

"I'm failing to see the problem here," okay, maybe she just was insensitive.

"I could die alone!" Enid exclaimed.

"We all die alone, Enid," Wednesday just said it how it is.

"You really suck at this, cheering people up," Enid criticized and leaned down, hiding her face in her hands and sobbing.

"Why are you crying?" Wednesday eventually asked much to your surprise.

"'Cause I'm upset! Haven't you ever cried? Or are you above that too?" Enid assumed, perhaps a bit too harshly, but considering the way Wednesday was responding to her turmoil you couldn't say you blamed her.

Surprisingly, Wednesday began talking. "It was the week after Halloween. I was six years old. I took my pet scorpion Nero out for his afternoon stroll when we were ambushed. They wondered what kind of freak would have a scorpion for a pet. Two of them held me down and made me watch while the others ran Nero over until... It was snowing when I buried what was left of him. I cried my little black heart out, but tears don't fix anything, so I vowed not to do it again."

You remained silent, taking the story in. It explained a lot about the girl. Once upon a time, she loved so deeply that violently losing such love meant she was no longer open to loving that hard.

"Your secret's safe with us, I don't know how Y/N doesn't, but I still think you're weird as shit, though," Enid told her.

"The feeling is incredibly mutual," Wednesday replied, for a moment she looked at you and your eyes met, but she didn't address what Enid said about you. Eventually, she averted her gaze from you. "How would you like to have your room back to how it was before?"

"Nah, too much pain in the ass to put the window back together," you climbed down from the fence, yawning as you did so. "Good night you three."

You heard Thing tapping, basically telling you good night back.

"Night!" Enid exclaimed as you went inside.

Wednesday, as usual, didn't respond unless necessary.

A/N: You know, one thing that really caught my attention as I wrote this is the fact that Wednesday is the one saying 'our room' right from the start, while Enid opens with 'my room', when their personalities on the surface would imply the opposite. Also, you can't tell me Wednesday's voice doesn't tremble a bit when she says 'rainbow vomited' just listen to it and compare it with the rest of her lines.

Story Masterlist / First part / Next part

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednsday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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