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thedemoninme141 · 4 months ago

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The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3- Part 4--Part 5

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

Part 2

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

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poisonlove · 6 months ago

Text

The Addams curse | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

A/N: Okay, I admit it. I read a story that inspired me so much that I "stole" the idea

Wednesday was painfully aware of the curse she inherited from her family: the Addams curse. It was a curse that had existed since the 5th century, binding an Addams to their soulmate. A curse that would drive one to madness if rejected by that person, a madness that would torment them even after death.

As alluring as that last thought sounded, Wednesday didn’t want to become a slave to another person.

And she especially had things to do.

Just the thought of her father's expression when he looked at Morticia sent a warm, nauseating sensation to her stomach, a warmth that was far from pleasant. It was a reminder that in her life she would encounter… her other half. She would prefer to skin herself alive than to fall into this trap.

Because love was, in fact, a trap.

Thanks to reading a book about her family's history, she learned that the curse activated with the first contact with the destined person. A touch that sent thousands of electric shocks coursing through the body, a bond capable of quenching the thirst of her cursed soul.

That’s why she was averse to any contact: no one, ever, would trigger that curse to drag her into madness. She categorically rejected the idea of succumbing to temptation; she was even willing to kill the destined person, fully aware that she would die immediately afterward.

there was another side effect: if your soulmate died, you would follow them incapable of living without them.

Wednesday pressed her lips into a thin line.

That moment had arrived the instant she crossed the gates of Nevermore Academy. A warmth spread through her body and an annoying itch kept her on edge. Wednesday mentally cursed herself for having attacked students at her old school: at least she wouldn’t have anticipated her end. Her parents watched her with curiosity as they approached her new room and Wednesday tried to maintain an unreadable expression, fully aware that chaos reigned inside her.

Where her mother stayed in the past: Ophelia Hall.

As soon as they opened the door the itch intensified and something indefinable vibrated in the air. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the curse or the fact that she had entered a painfully colorful room. A girl immediately sprang up from the bed, a smile stretching from ear to ear as her blonde hair with blue and pink streaks danced toward their direction. Another girl sat cross-legged on the bed to the girl to far too… enthusiastic.

There it was again, that annoying itch.

“Hi, roommate!” the blonde exclaimed excitedly.

Wednesday felt nauseated, a wave of discomfort tightening her stomach in a cold grip. It was a new sensation for her. She felt her throat constrict, the urge to vomit ready to explode but the lack of food ingested that morning left her with only a painful emptiness, like an abyss sucking her from within. With a shiver she realized that the nausea wasn’t caused by hunger but by the curse that poisoned her insides, slithering through her veins like a subtle venom.

Oh no.

The impression of tiny spiders weaving her stomach from the inside sent a chilling shiver through her, insinuating itself between her bones. Every thread of that imaginary web seemed to tighten around her, making every breath harder than the last. The sensation of being trapped, of losing control, terrified her in a way she would never admit to anyone. Wednesday found herself immobile; perhaps "paralyzed" was the best word.

“Are you okay? You look... pale,” the blonde said with concern.

Other eyes turned in her direction.

“Oh… Wednesday always looks half dead,” her father commented with an ironic smile.

Her mother’s hand rested on her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze, a gesture that could have seemed comforting but for Wednesday was a reminder of the distance between them.

But inside, Wednesday felt a turmoil boiling in her chest. A raw, primitive energy surged through her like an electric current, making her muscles tremble. Paradoxically, it was the first time she felt so… alive. That pain, that sense of oppression and that devastating nausea had awakened an intensity she had never experienced before. It was as if the curse was showing her the limits of her humanity, forcing her to feel closer to life, precisely because she was on the brink of her annihilation.

If her mother hadn’t placed her hand on her shoulder, she probably would have fainted.

“I understand,” the blonde mumbled, a look of confusion on her face. “Anyway, I’m Enid, and that over there is my best friend Y/N,” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Y/N timidly waved her hand as a greeting.

“I’m happy to meet you!” Enid exclaimed, filled with bubbly happiness, opening her arms and walking toward her.

Wednesday’s eyes widened and she quickly took a step back to avoid contact. The itch had appeared as soon as she entered this room and the gothic girl didn’t know if it was the blonde girl who was the possible cause. There was also the chance that it was the other girl, Y/N, but honestly she didn’t want to know in any case.

Enid slowed down and looked at her with disappointment.

“Oh… I see you’re not a hugging person,” she mumbled weakly, still wearing a big smile on her lips.

“Do you like the room?” she asked curiously, her eyes so bright it seemed like she had two stars instead of irises.

“No,” Wednesday replied venomously.

“Sorry… Wednesday… is allergic to colors,” her father justified and Enid raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What does it do to you?” she asked weakly.

“My flesh is peeling off my bones,” Wednesday replied in a flat tone, her lips reduced to a thin line. She felt the itch slowly fade but the annoyance remained on her. A faint laugh reached her ears, forcing her to turn toward Enid’s best friend. “Sorry… that was funny,” the latter stammered trying to justify herself as her cheeks flushed.

Wednesday stared at her intensely, a visceral hatred bubbling within her.

“Well… I’ll go now,” Y/N mumbled weakly. The girl got up from the bed and Wednesday found herself analyzing her quickly: tall, slender, long y/c hair and eyes of the same color. A smile resided on her lips and the goth felt as if her own were about to rise in reflex

she held back.

“It was nice to meet you,” she mumbled timidly.

Y/N passed by her and the proximity was enough to awaken the unsettling sensation gripping her insides. But luckily for Wednesday, it lasted only a few seconds.

(...)

Nevermore turned out to be much more fascinating than Wednesday had imagined: gorgons, werewolves, sirens, vampires and all the other creatures that populated the world of outcasts. However, what intrigued her the most was the series of murders wreaking havoc in the quiet town of Jericho. A frenzy of curiosity filled her; she felt inspired.

She longed to discover the identity of the killer, continue her novel about Viper and investigate any mystery that could be connected to her ancestor Goody Addams.

She would think about escape later.

Regarding her curse, Wednesday had narrowed it down: Enid, Y/N, and Yoko. Tayler and Xavier had quickly been eliminated from her list. Tayler for covering her mouth during the excursion in the woods to avoid being discovered by Sheriff Galpin and Xavier for taking her to the infirmary when she fainted. In both cases, she hadn’t felt anything, a total absence of emotions.

But Y/N was different. She was almost 80% sure that you were her soulmate.

Every time they spoke, even if she could detect a note of sarcasm in your responses to her icy remarks, she felt a palpable energy between you two, an electric current that seemed to draw her closer to you. Her eyes couldn’t tear away from yours and an unbearable fire exploded in her chest. She found herself experiencing mental blackouts lost in your gaze and on more than one occasion she had even stammered. She hated the curse, hated herself, and above all, hated you.

But what got her into trouble were her thoughts crowding her mind like a chorus of impatient voices: Take her hand, kiss her, find out if you are her damn ruin. These thoughts didn’t manifest with Enid or Yoko. With Enid, there was a weak itch, a sense of comfort but not attraction, probably because they were roommates. And Yoko? Well, she was simply a friend of Enid and Y/N.

Wednesday blinked and directed her gaze back to her plate.

The goth found herself having lunch at a table with her roommate's group. Despite loving solitude, she found herself amidst Enid and Yoko, with Y/N sitting in front of her, a calm expression on her face.

The buzzing continued.

Wednesday was close to Enid, so close that their shoulders brushed against each other. Anxiety gripped her stomach but she needed to narrow down the list, she wanted to know: she bit her lower lip and decided to eliminate the distance by leaning her weight against Enid's shoulder.

Nothing.

“Oh, sorry,” Enid shifted.

Wednesday furrowed her brow. Why hadn’t anything happened? Maybe the contact needed to last longer? Should she hold her hand or something? The goth extended her hand and placed it on the blonde’s arm.

Nothing.

She quickly fell into a panic, the electricity increasing around her and decided to touch Yoko.

Absolutely nothing.

“Do you want to kill me? Did you touch garlic with those hands?” Yoko asked, panicking as she looked at Wednesday through her sunglasses.

“I don’t think so… You would have already burned,” Y/N commented playfully. Wednesday looked up and locked eyes with Y/N. This only meant one thing... Her suspicions were true.

It was you.

You were her soulmate.

Oh, fuck it.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #miércoles addams #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #jenna x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna x y/n #x y/n #y/n

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letorip · 1 year ago

Text

somethin' stupid [ii]

"and though it's just a line to you, for me it's true and never felt so right before"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: it's all her fault, and wednesday can't help but feel it in her bones.

warnings: mentions of blood, the police (gross), hospitalisation, crying

word count: 4.8k

A/N: thank you all for the love and support you have given to this silly little story of mine. it is absolutely insane. red font denotes the thoughts of those around you. kind of worried i may have rushed the ending, but i hope you like it anyhow. right, anyways...

===+++===

It took an additional thirty four minutes and twenty eight seconds after the beast sunk its claws into your chest, for Wednesday to come wandering out of the line of trees stretching to the cloudy sky and onto the nearby mountain street, still wearing your bright yellow raincoat bunched around her wrists.

Finding the cave had not turned out to be entirely as difficult as she had expected, and she managed to find its charred remains just as Eugene had said. There was no evidence to gather, really, and there never had been to begin with.

In the far away distance, only lightly covered by the rain, it sounded as if a flock of birds were screaming at each other and fighting, and the noise rang throughout the forest before settling in Wednesday’s ears. She had already been annoyed and frustrated enough tonight. The extra noise just set her even more on edge than before.

It took another sixteen seconds and a few steps closer then, for Wednesday to realise the noise bleeding from around the bend in the road wasn’t in fact, a group of birds. Instead, it was the worst sound Wednesday could ever want to hear.

Within an instant, Wednesday took off running, every sickening realisation clicking at once. The vision that had been plaguing her nightmares and every interaction with you came back in full force. Her stomach began to churn as she went, heart burning and ears ringing. She knew.

When Wednesday rounded the curve, she saw the cars and their sirens.

The red and blue lights bounced off of the dirt and pavement even from far away, reflecting in the rain water as it pummelled to the ground. Five police cruisers sat strewn every which way along the shoulder of the road, headlights on and pointed into the underbrush. Officers wandered the clearing, pointing their flashlights into the dark and yelling loudly to each other in an attempt to overcome the rain.

As Wednesday rushed towards the vehicles, a man stepped out of the closest car to her, wearing a plastic blue poncho that did mostly nothing to stop the merciless pounding of the furious rain. He spoke into a little radio on his shoulder, staring out into woods at his men while they searched.

Wednesday’s loud steps from her thick shoes warned him of her nearing, and the man turned, hand dropping from his radio. She was immediately displeased, greatly so; the man was Sheriff Galpin. He looked just as unhappy to see her, frown drooping into a wry glower.

“Addams what are you doing out here??!” He shouted at her over the storm, hands placing themselves on his hips. “It’s sure as hell past your curfew, now go back to Nevermore, dammit!“

Wednesday walked right up to him then, tugging him roughly by the poncho and his collar, which she balled up dangerously in her fist. It was a warning, and she meant it. Potentially, she meant it more than any threat she had previously given. “Who did you find.”

Sheriff Galpin’s eyebrows lowered, a line appearing in his forehead as he stared her down. “That’s official Jericho Police Department business, missy. You need to-“

Her grip on his clothing tightened. “Now.” Her voice shook a little. “Who did you find.”

He looked at her for a moment in the flickering blue and red of the dark, examining the look on her face. Her eyes were shining, though she would never admit to it. The old sheriff sighed. “Some kid from Nevermore was attacked. You might have known ‘em. Name was like, (Y/n) or something.”

Wednesday’s hand went slack, dropping back down to her side. “Were…,” she swallowed, attempting to cool the heat rushing to her face. It felt as if the Earth had just broken away from its orbit, to float off directionless into space. “Were they killed?”

For the first time, Sheriff Galpin seemed almost soft. He bent down to her a bit, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly as if to say ‘there, there.’ He had never liked the Addams girl much, though that seemed highly irrelevant in the moment.

“Uh, luckily no, though the camper who found them said they were awful close. The EMTs got here just in time. They’re headed to the hospital.”

Wednesday pulled back, tensing at his hand. “Give me a ride to the hospital,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. The sheriff shook his head.

“Nuh uh, no way. You’re going back to school, kid. It’s too late for you to be out here anyways, and I’m sure Weems would like to know why the hell you were out past curfew in the first place.”

She glared. “I need to be at that hospital.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes at her, any moment of softness gone upon remembering why he disliked her and her family so much. “Like hell I’m going to take you there.”

Wednesday blinked at him.

===+++===

The night was still dark but no longer raining, when Sheriff Galpin speedily dropped Wednesday off with her bloody fist at the front step of the hospital.

Punching the tree again and again had hurt, the sharp bark slicing through the skin of her knuckles, but it also meant she needed a nurse and potentially stitches, and there was only one place capable of offering such services. Suffice to say, the sheriff wouldn’t become her fan any time soon.

The clock had slowly crawled to four in the morning, and though Wednesday was exhausted, and Enid and Thing were potentially freaking out back at the school as to where the hell either of you were, Wednesday was a bit more concerned with figuring out where in the hospital your room was. Oh, and maybe aiding her fist, which was now dripping blood onto the patterned green carpeting as she went.

Upon entering and striding right up to the front counter, Wednesday had gotten straight to business. She held up her bloody fist, placing it with a 'thud' on top of an infographic that sat on the reception desk. The previously sleepy-looking teenage receptionist stared at Wednesday with a look of wide awake, abject horror. “Tell me where the ER is,” she said.

"Uh...over there?” said the girl, raising a weak finger towards the doors in the far left and unable to pry her eyes away from Wednesday’s hand.

Wednesday nodded a single time before walking off, leaving the receptionist to lean over the counter and watch her go. The sign over the door was marked 'ER,' and Wednesday followed down the brightly lit hall until she arrived at a new waiting area. The people in there looked much worse for wear than the empty entrance at the front.

Nervous parents sat cradling their obviously sick children, a construction worker was repeatedly coughing in the corner with his head propped up, trying to stay awake, and a woman in a pantsuit was cradling her foot in a cast and wincing. If this was an omen to who was in your company, it was certainly a bad one.

Wednesday did just as she had before, walking right up to the desk with her hand and showing it to the nurse at the front. Only this time, the woman gave her a worried look, picking up the black phone to her right immediately and dialling a few numbers into the keypad.

“Uh, stay right there, ma’am,” the woman said. Wednesday nodded. She didn’t intend to go anywhere anyways.

The nurse who had come to find her was an older woman, with smile lines crinkling around her mouth and winging off the corners of her eyes. She looked almost like a grandmother, except the electric pink afro she had curled off of her head in coils that spoke of youth and vitality and fun. Enid would have liked her, and Wednesday knew you would have too, but she hated the colour pink just as she (mostly) disliked fun people.

The woman had gotten straight down to business, pulling Wednesday into a room with a metal tray of supplies already picked out and holding up her hand.

Even being someone who enjoyed pain as she did, the antiseptic stung when it was placed over the scratches on her fingers. She hissed a bit, and the nurse glanced up at her with pitying eyes, grabbing the supplies for her stitches off of a metal tray.

"You said you punched a tree?"

Wednesday was suspicious of the woman's sudden interest, but nodded. The nurse could probably tell her where you were anyhow. She didn't like making friends, but she could at least make allies. She had called you one of her allies when you had asked. Remembering that hurt now.

"Yes,” she replied, a bit annoyed with the question.

"Why'd you do that, then?"

"I needed to come here. It's important." The nurse began to stitch her up, and Wednesday flinched at the sudden contact.

"What’s important about here?"

Wednesday glanced down at her soaked, dirty shoes. "There's someone staying here I need to see." The nurse looked up at her then, studying her carefully.

"You're here for that kid that came in after being attacked." Wednesday swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The nurse sighed, wrinkles filling her forehead as she finished up Wednesday's middle finger and moving to her ring finger, holding up the pad to the light. "They were rushed into emergency surgery about twenty minutes ago. You'll have to wait here a while, and just to warn you: it isn’t pretty." Wednesday sent a small glance to her, one that spoke of a timidness the situation had drawn out of her that wasn't previously there.

“Why don't you go home for the night? Get yourself cleaned off and dry."

She shook her head at the woman, frown deep and telling. "I need to be here when they wake up. They don't have anyone else. Both of their parents are deceased, and I need to be there for them."

"I'm sure they would appreciate you coming this far, honey. They're very lucky to have someone who cares for them as much as you do. I've been a nurse for a loooong time, and trust me when I say you've done plenty."

She certainly had not. Wednesday was not immune to the morbid irony of the situation at hand. In reality, she had cared all too much, pretended that she cared not at all, and tricked you for the longest time into thinking she cared too little. Caring had gotten her nowhere- worse, it had gotten you into an ambulance.

"I'm...worried," she struggled to spit the word out at the nurse, who looked at her with soft eyes of encouragement. "I've said some things, that I don’t think I’ll be able to apologise for."

"Shhh," the nurse hummed, finishing Wednesday's final knuckle and taking out some bandages to wrap around the raw skin. "You'll get the chance."

“I’m not sure I will,” Wednesday's frowned deepened. Her lip threatened to quiver a bit, but it was true. She had been so foolish to bring you along- so selfish to allow you to push the bounds of your own safety. It sat lodged in her stomach like a tumour, growing and growing.

If this is what it meant to love you, Wednesday wasn't sure she was ready.

The older woman gave her a sad smile. "Look, there's no shame in making mistakes. The shame is in being too proud to ask for forgiveness for them," she said, standing up from her chair. "They'll be in room 304, I think. Should be out of surgery in a couple hours, in case you want to…”

“I’m not leaving,” Wednesday insisted. And she didn’t, for a while.

Very little could spook an Addams, especially one such as Wednesday, but she had decided it was all too much, seeing you after surgery. It was an utterly horrific sight. Had it been anyone else, Wednesday would be staring at the intricacies of the scars waiting patiently to form, marvelling at the magic of twisted skin and scabs. But no, it was you in that bed, wheeled right in, and she felt the rare urge to vomit.

You were hooked up to so many machines. Buzzing, whirring, and beeping were the only things keeping you alive, and it served as a painful reminder for everything that could have been lost.

A ventilator sat over your mouth, covering your soft lips and strapped to your jaw. Live, it said, as did the several needles and monitors that were hooked into the skin of your hands and arms. There was too much surface area covered. Wednesday, even if she had wanted to, couldn't have held your hand.

Blood was still very much crusted to the planes of your skin in parts, or at least what was visible of it behind your bandages. The white cotton sat in squares and rectangles, taped to your chest and along the stretch of your cheeks and face. You would never be the same, and Wednesday knew it then.

Always, you would bear the evidence of the attack when someone saw you for the first time and winced a bit, and Wednesday held herself as partially responsible. Her love was too thick to sit in. Wednesday Addams swallowed the tears she would deny crying.

She sat with you an hour, then she walked down to the payphone on the corner and called Enid as the sun finally settled for the morning sky.

===+++===

In the three weeks since your attack, you had yet to wake up. The doctors said it was a coma, and that they had no idea when you would wake, if at all, and that only made Wednesday feel worse. She had gone to visit you before, after, and sometimes even during class. Her own hand had healed nicely, though there would be a permanent scar over the knuckle of her index finger from a particularly nasty cut,

On one visit, Enid had said it was as if you "were sleeping," but Wednesday couldn't disagree more. When you slept, it was on your side with your mouth, open, snoring softly. No, instead, you looked like a dead body. Even after acquainted with the room, Wednesday still felt a great pain in her chest upon seeing you every day like that.

Principal Weems had been more than angry, discovering another student had been hospitalised as a result of Wednesday's actions. She was also worried, and annoyingly tried to sign Wednesday up for more sessions with Kinbott.

That wasn't what Wednesday needed, and she shrugged it off as such, every time Kinbott tried to bring up what happened to you, like she was waiting for her to burst into tears. An Addams didn’t cry. Instead Wednesday let the guilt eat her alive.

She also hungered for vengeance. Strewn across her floor was a giant mental map of everything involved in the case, from photos of the bodies (Enid had fainted twice) to crime scenes, and even potential suspects, all laid out accordingly.

As soon as visiting hours were over, she bid you adieu and threw on your yellow raincoat that still smelled like you, before heading out into the dark to solve the mystery. Maybe it was a way to say she was sorry, maybe it was a manifestation of you potentially never waking up- Wednesday didn't know.

What was even more frustrating was how she knew you held the final puzzle piece. She wasn't a fool- your ability to see into the thoughts of those around you was probably what had caused the attempt on your life in the first place. You had intentionally placed yourself in harms way, then, turning off your abilities for her.

You were incredibly powerful for one so laissez-faire about life- a fact that only offended Wednesday more, as you had been the target and not her, or someone else. You, who had just worn your heart on your sleeve to her, listened to her throw it away, and then immediately gotten attacked. You didn't deserve that, just as much as Wednesday didn't deserve you.

Then came the question of what you did deserve to hear when you awoke. If she was such an excellent writer, why couldn't she think of what to say to you if that ever happened? It still didn't feel good enough, no matter how many times she rewrote the letters or changed the order of the sentences. Nothing seemed to feel good enough.

===+++===

Around the fourth week, Wednesday began to leave you long thoughts, like diary entries. She didn't even know if you could hear her, from in there. You had been taken off a ventilator and it looked as if you were finally starting to level out a bit. Wednesday didn't know why, but she suspected you could hear her thoughts.

So she started thinking to you.

It had started small, at first. 'Today is the twenty-sixth day of you being asleep, you know. If you don't wake up, I swear I'll kill you.' She didn't even know if you could actually hear her, or if you'd want to, considering your last interaction. Wednesday itched to talk to you again, and her recounts grew longer and longer.

'Today is the twenty-eighth day of you still not waking up. Mayor Walker passed, yesterday. I have my suspicions of Xavier. He seems to meet with Dr. Kinbott frequently, and it's possible she's Laurel Gates. I'm not sure if I told you about this yesterday, but I summoned my ancestor a few days ago, Goody Addams, and she warned me of the Gates Mansion.'

'Today marks an official month, 31 days, of you not being awake yet. My Uncle Fester is in town. He sends his regards, by the way. He's the bald one I spoke of before, and he was eager to meet you... Enid and I visited the Gates' Mansion with Tyler. We were attacked and Tyler was injured. I know that may alarm you, but I assure you, I'm fine... If you don't wake up... I'll curse you forever.'

She didn't mean it.

‘Today is day thirty six and you’re still not awake. Enid will be waiting with you while I go confront Xavier and have him arrested. You must forget this when you wake, but I miss you… I’m not proud of it but I do. I said I wouldn’t care for you this way but look at me now. You didn’t spoil anything, (Y/n). If you said you loved me now, I would say it back. Give me the chance to say it then, or else.’

Wednesday waited patiently for another minute, hoping even a little bit that her mind would spark you to life. When nothing happened she sighed just as she had every previous day. Enid gave her a sad smile.

“Go get him, Wends. We’ll both be here when you get back,” she said. Wednesday glared at the use of the nickname, but grabbed your yellow raincoat off the back of her chair, shrugging the oversized jacket on and heading out the door. If there was one thing she thought would make amends, it would be catching your attacker and achieving revenge all on her own.

Of course, thirty seconds later, when Wednesday was long gone, you shot up right like a rocket, and Enid let out a scream.

===+++===

You were climbing, it felt like. You weren’t sure what, but you were pulling yourself up and out of something, pads of your fingers gripping the surface and lifting. It was one clutch after the other, and you had no idea how long or where you could possibly be climbing to.

Were you dead? That was entirely possible. You had blacked out with Tyler’s claws ripping and tearing at your chest and come-to in the back of the ambulance as it sped towards the hospital. A nervous-looking paramedic stood over you, casting a shadow over your eyes, and from there you had passed out again. Maybe you had died then.

Of course, it was a possibility. Not a welcome one, but it was still a possibility. Either way, you had to figure out a way to warn Wednesday about Tyler. Maybe if you just kept climbing. Time seemed to slow down, and it was one hand after another.

There was definitely sound coming from the outside world, and it wrapped around your head in mumbly nonsensical jargon. You recognised the voice, that was definitely Wednesday, and she was definitely close. Every now and again small words like 'Xavier,' or 'Kinbott,' would peek through the mist and you were left to wonder as to why they were relevant.

You climbed a bit harder. The voice would come in and then out again, and you were left wondering if days were passing or maybe it had just been an hour. All you knew was to keep climbing. Your fingers felt raw, your arms ached to stop, but you kept going to keep Wednesday safe, wether she wanted you to or not.

Before you knew it, a hand came forward for the last time, and it was like a button had been pressed. Suddenly, you weren't in any void, or any back of an ambulance, you were in a bland hospital room, sitting straight up and looking right at a mortified Enid.

"Oh my god!" She yelled out, pointing at you in surprise. "OH MY GOD!!!" 'WHAT THE FUCK!!!!'

"TYLER!" You yelled back.

"WHAT?!" Enid yelled.

"IT'S TYLER! And hi!"

Enid fainted again, just in time for a nurse to rush in upon noticing you were awake.

===+++===

One thing you had missed dearly whilst in a coma were fruit cups. You sat rather contentedly, eating a mango fruit cup in your soft hospital bedsheets and leaning back against a checkered pillow. From around you in the hospital, noise buzzed in your mind. It felt good to have your blinders off for once, even if it meant you had to focus in on Enid and the noise directly in the room with you.

"Thirty six days???" you asked. Enid nodded.

"Wednesday- I mean all of us 'But mostly Wednesday', were worried sick that you wouldn't wake up. Are you okay? What was it like in there?" 'How the hell are you still alive???'

You shrugged. "Not really sure. I just remember my arms hurt and I was in this void-thing, trying to pull myself out..." You grew serious. "I need to speak to Wednesday."

Enid leaned forward. "And you're sure it was Tyler? He doesn't seem like he could hurt a fly."

"I saw him, Enid. He was covered in blood and he was in his own head thinking about the attack and how pleased Laurel would be for him to succeed. It's him."

"Wednesday thinks it's Xavier," she said. You shook your head.

"She's wrong. I know she's sweet on Tyler, but-"

"-She's not sweet on Tyler, (Y/n). 'You CANNOT still believe that after all of this...though I guess you were comatose' I've said this since the beginning of the year, you bozo. She's sweet on you, and you two are such idiots running around and pretending like you don't know."

The painful memory of your final interaction before the attack came back in waves, pulling you under and tugging you into the deep. You cleared your scratchy throat, still sore from its lack of use. "Enid, Wednesday made it perfectly clear how she felt about me."

Enid rolled her eyes. "You two, I swear you're going give me grey hair. Oh! Speaking of appearances," she sat up. "You haven't seen how you look yet!"

You frowned, not entirely sure you wanted to. You knew you had facial scars- the sharp slashes to your nose and cheeks were enough to know that now, but you weren't sure how much you wanted to see them. Enid pulled out her phone camera, flipping it around to selfie mode.

It wasn't as bad as you thought- a giant twist of a scar curved around the apple of your cheek before reaching up through the lateral third of your eyebrow and stopping shortly after. Another crisscrossed over the bridge of your nose. Still bad, though. They were noticeable, and those were only the ones on your face. You frowned, and Enid seemed to regret asking to show you them. 'I just messed up, didn't I.'

'Oh my, cara mia' said someone's noise in the doorway. You looked up, hearing her arrive, and there she was. Wednesday stood looking almost nervous, hands crossed over her chest awkwardly, like she was uncertain if she was welcome. You tensed. "You're awake," she said.

You nodded. Then you did Wednesday a favour and turned your own noise off to give her the privacy she coveted. Wednesday sent a look over at Enid who just stared. When the werewolf didn't take the hint, Wednesday cleared her throat.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry," said Enid, standing sheepishly. "I guess I'll just go get some food from the cantina...even though I already ate and want to see how this happens," she muttered. Wednesday sent her a much sharper glare, and Enid scurried out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Wednesday spun to you. "If you died, I would have killed you."

"I know," you nodded. "Enid told me you were here all the time." She frowned.

"Never speak of that again," Wednesday said, seeming almost embarrassed. "Enid wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"She's not really good at keeping secrets. You probably shouldn't have told her anything if-"

"-Did you hear them, when you were in there?" She asked, cutting you off mid-sentence with what she had really been wondering the entire time, but too nervous to ask. You blinked.

"Hear what?" If she had been saying important things to you whilst you were under, you didn't know what she was referring to. The look on Wednesday's face was unintelligible.

"I said some important things, (Y/n)," she said, fidgeting with her fingers. "I sent them through my thoughts."

"You also said some important things before I was attacked, Wednesday. You called me a lost puppy."

"I know," she replied. "I was worried this very thing would happen if I didn't."

You snorted cynically. "Looks like it happened when you did, actually." She looked wounded by that, and now you felt bad. "I didn't mean it that way, Wends, I'm just trying to warn you-"

"I love you too," she said.

Any thoughts or words you potentially could have come back with were lost, slipping through your fingers and tumbling to the floor. Wednesday took a step closer, placing her hand on the bed next to you, flipping it over to show you her knuckles. A few small pink scars littered the skin there. You picked it up in your own, brushing over them with your thumb.

"I meant it. I love you too. Even with your scars- which are magnificent." Wednesday thought for a moment, then looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you with a love that is more than love."

"That's Edgar Allan Poe," you whispered. She nodded, then she swallowed, forcing the words out.

"I see now, that I was...wrong. I have been deceitful, and I have been unkind. I pushed you away when you deserve much more than that- likely much more than me. I cannot express how earnest my regret is, and just how much I want your forgiveness-"

"Yeah yeah, stop talking like an old English guy," you said with a laugh, pulling her scarred hand to your lips. You sat up a little bit more, and though it hurt, you pressed your lips to her palm. When you pulled away a moment later, she kissed you full-force. Her hand moved to your neck, playing with the hair there and delivering the perfect amount of gentle longing that made you fall back against the pillow.

She pulled away all too soon again, but the small smile that teased the corner of her mouth spoke of future ones to come. "You said you were going to warn me of something?" She said in between attempts to catch your breath. You raised your eyebrows, remembering the dire information at hand.

"Oh, yeah, Tyler attacked me," you said, leaning your neck back against the pillow.

"What?!" Wednesday said, pulling away with her eyes as angry as ever. "Why didn't you lead with that??" She didn't want to believe it, but she knew you wouldn't lie.

"I got there eventually, and you needed to apologise!"

Wednesday sighed, shaking her head. Though she would never admit it, she did truly miss your ridiculousness. "Anything else?"

"The master of the creature-"

"-It's called a Hyde," Wednesday corrected you.

"Yeah, that. The master of the creature wears red boots. I saw it in Tyler's vision."

The girl in black stood up, heading for the door. "Thank you, cara mia. I'll be back when this is over."

"Go get 'em tiger." She turned to you, unimpressed.

"Shut up."

"Yeah yeah, love you."

After a moment she sighed. "I love you too."

thank you all so much for your support on this story! i absolutely will be writing again, and am here to stay. i cannot thank you all enough, and as always, PLEASE tell me or message me about any typos as i will fix them ASAP. i'll definitely come back and change this later if i feel like it. i tried not to rush the ending but was also majorly conflicted as to where i should leave it off. so if it bugs me later down the line, i'll change it.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine

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milfsloverblog · 2 months ago

Text

Secret Benefits (part 9)

(Previous parts here)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

N/A: Huh you’ll probably hate me after reading this chapter. Please send all complaints to my lawyer (myself, but less evil). Enjoy and don’t forget to reblog and let me know what you thought :)

The aroma of garlic and simmering herbs filled the air as you slipped on the apron Larissa had handed you. “A cooking class?” you mused, tying the strings around your waist and glancing at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this.”

Larissa smirked, adjusting her apron with effortless elegance. “You did say you were tired of the usual dinner dates. I thought something hands-on might be more entertaining.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “And here I was thinking you’d take me to the opera or something equally extravagant.”

“I do enjoy surprising you,” she admitted, smoothing down the front of your apron before reaching for your hand. “Besides, I rather like the idea of cooking something together. It requires teamwork.”

The instructor called for attention, launching into a demonstration on making fresh pasta. You focused on kneading the dough, your hands working through the soft mixture as Larissa stole subtle glances at you. Every now and then, her fingers would brush against yours, a gentle reminder of the connection you had built over the past two months.

Larissa maintained control in the ways you had come to cherish. When your dough wasn’t coming together properly, she stepped behind you, her hands settling over yours, guiding your movements with a quiet authority that made your breath hitch. “Like this,” she murmured against your ear, her voice low and firm. You followed her lead, pressing and folding as she directed, your body instinctively responding to her presence.

As you shaped the pasta, she remained close, ensuring you executed each step properly. When the instructor walked by and complimented your technique, Larissa gave you an approving nod, as if the praise was hers to grant. It sent a familiar warmth through you, a mixture of pride and something deeper, something that kept you tethered to her.

When it came time to cook the pasta, she didn’t hesitate to take control of the process, ensuring everything was done to her exact standards. She plated both portions herself, serving yours with an air of quiet satisfaction. “Taste,” she instructed, offering you a fork.

You obeyed, savouring the bite as her gaze lingered on you. “Delicious,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure whether you were referring to the meal or the way she was looking at you.

Later that night, as you curled up on the couch in Larissa’s quarters, she received a message that made her posture stiffen ever so slightly. You raised an eyebrow, setting down your wine glass. “Bad news?”

Larissa hesitated before exhaling softly. “Morticia Addams is back in my life.”

Your stomach tensed. “Morticia Addams. As in… your Morticia Addams?”

Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “She’s hardly mine anymore.”

“And why, exactly, is she back?”

“Her daughter, Wednesday, has enrolled at Nevermore.”

When Morticia arrived at Nevermore, she carried herself with the same effortless grace that Larissa remembered far too well. She was dressed in black silk, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in waves, and when her gaze met Larissa’s, a slow, knowing smile curved her lips.

“Larissa,” she purred, stepping forward as if no time had passed at all. “You look radiant, as always.”

Larissa kept her expression composed, her hands clasped in front of her. “Morticia. It’s been a long time.”

“Far too long,” Morticia agreed, her gaze sweeping over Larissa in quiet appraisal. “I must say, it feels almost poetic to be back here. Nostalgic, even.”

Larissa inclined her head. “I imagine so. Though I trust this visit is more about Wednesday than nostalgia.”

“Of course,” Morticia said lightly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the… familiar comforts of the past.”

Larissa’s jaw tightened. “Wednesday will be in excellent hands here.”

“I have no doubt.” Morticia tilted her head, watching her carefully. “I heard something interesting, you know. A little rumour that you have someone special in your life.”

Larissa’s expression didn’t waver. “I do.”

Morticia’s smile sharpened. “How lovely. I must admit, I never imagined you settling down. It suits you.”

Larissa exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else you needed?”

Morticia chuckled, reaching out to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle from Larissa’s sleeve. “Not at the moment. But I do hope we can catch up properly some time. Perhaps over dinner?”

“I’m afraid I’ll be quite busy.”

“Shame,” Morticia murmured, her fingers lingering just a second too long. “But I suppose I’ll see you around.”

You took a slow sip of your wine, considering your next words carefully. “How did she react to seeing you again?”

Larissa’s gaze flickered away. “She was… familiar. As she always is. But when she learned I had a partner, she became rather insistent on reminiscing about old times.”

You set your glass down, tilting your head. “How insistent?”

A pause. “Flirtatious.”

Your fingers curled against the cushion beneath you. You had never met Morticia, but you knew of her. The way Larissa had once loved her. The way she had never quite spoken of what had been left unresolved between them.

“And does she know about me?”

“She knows I have someone.” A shadow of something unreadable passed over Larissa’s expression. “She doesn’t know how young you are.”

Your lips quirked, though there was little humour in it. “Do you think that would make a difference?”

Larissa sighed, reaching for your hand. “I think it might only encourage her.”

A sharp sting of irritation settled in your chest. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“She doesn’t matter,” Larissa said firmly. “You know that, don’t you?”

But the uncertainty gnawed at you. Because Morticia was beautiful, poised, and had a history with Larissa that you couldn’t compete with.

Before you could say anything else, Larissa’s phone buzzed again. She sighed, picking it up—and you watched as her expression shifted ever so slightly.

“Is that her?” you asked.

Larissa hesitated before nodding. “Yes. She says Wednesday is adjusting well.”

You leaned forward. “And?”

Larissa hesitated again. “She invited me to dinner.”

Your jaw clenched. “And what did you say?”

“I haven’t answered yet.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken. Finally, you exhaled sharply. “If you go, I want to know everything. No secrets.”

Larissa reached for you, pulling you into her warmth. “No secrets,” she promised.

But as you curled into her, the uncertainty remained, lingering in the quiet space between her heartbeat and yours.

The next Saturday night, Larissa found herself sat across from Morticia in a dimly lit, upscale restaurant. The atmosphere was intimate, the soft murmur of other patrons filling the air as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the table. The crisp clink of silverware on porcelain seemed too sharp in the silence that lingered between them.

Morticia, ever the picture of elegance, was dressed in a black silk dress that flowed effortlessly around her as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes were dark and calculating, and though she wasn’t actively glaring, there was a weight to her gaze—a silent challenge that Larissa could feel pressing against her chest.

The tension between them was palpable, thick with unspoken history, old feelings, and years of silence. It had been far too long since they'd last shared a space like this, and Larissa wasn’t sure whether it was the familiar ache or the unpredictability of the evening that was making her feel so unsettled.

“You look stunning, Larissa,” Morticia said, her voice low and smooth, as if they were still in the intimate world they had once shared. “You always did know how to wear power with such grace.”

Larissa gave a tight smile, sipping her wine to give herself a moment of distance. “Thank you, Morticia. It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has,” Morticia agreed, her eyes never leaving Larissa. “Too long, I think. So much time… wasted.”

Larissa’s throat tightened at the subtle implication in Morticia’s words, and she quickly took another sip of her wine. The alcohol burned down her throat, but she welcomed it—the warmth spreading through her chest was a welcome reprieve from the cold knot of nerves that had settled in her stomach.

Morticia leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering even more as if sharing a secret. “It’s strange, don’t you think? To see you so… settled, so sure of yourself. I remember a time when we used to be sure of each other.”

Larissa forced her focus on the glass in front of her, her fingers wrapped tightly around it as if it could anchor her. “I’ve always been sure of myself.”

“Mm.” Morticia’s smile was knowing, sharp. “I don’t doubt that. But you’re different now. I can see it. You’re not the same woman I once knew.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Larissa felt the edge of something, something that might have been guilt or longing or both, but she refused to let it show. She took another long sip, the liquid making her feel both warmer and more exposed.

“I’m still the same person,” Larissa said, trying to keep her voice steady, though there was a crack in it that she couldn’t quite cover.

“I’m sure you are,” Morticia replied, leaning back in her chair, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “But I wonder, Larissa, do you still remember all the little things we used to do? The late-night conversations, the way we’d talk about everything and nothing all at once.”

Larissa froze, her hand momentarily tightening around her glass, her mind flashing back to those nights—those endless hours when everything felt easy, when she’d lost herself in Morticia’s laughter and their shared secrets. But that had been so long ago, before the distance had formed between them.

“It’s been a long time,” Larissa said softly, her voice almost too quiet.

Morticia’s smile deepened, and she tilted her head, as though studying Larissa with the same intensity she always had. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How time can change everything… and nothing at all. The way we can slip back into old rhythms, as if no time has passed.”

Larissa looked at Morticia, her breath catching for just a moment. She didn’t know what was happening, but something—something about the way Morticia was looking at her—was stirring old feelings she had tried to bury. The air around them felt thicker now, charged with something Larissa wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

She could feel the warmth of the wine spreading through her, blurring her thoughts as she took another long drink. The words felt like they were slipping past her, too heavy to hold onto. She was losing control—losing her grip on the composed exterior she worked so hard to maintain. And Morticia knew it.

“Larissa…” Morticia’s voice was a velvet whisper now, one that tugged at the edges of her consciousness. “Do you ever wonder what could have been? I know I do.”

Larissa’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, she was back in that place where everything had once felt so effortless between them. Morticia’s fingers brushed against the stem of her wine glass, just shy of touching her hand, but it was enough to make Larissa’s pulse quicken.

Her breath was shallow, her thoughts clouded by the alcohol, by the proximity. She could feel Morticia’s presence like a weight pressing down on her, heavy and demanding. It was the same pull she’d always felt—a gravitational force she couldn’t escape.

And without thinking, without really understanding what she was doing, Larissa took another drink, almost too fast this time. The burn of the wine felt sharper, more intense, as it slid down her throat, and it was only then that she realized she was already tipsy, her nerves disjointed in a way they hadn’t been in years.

Morticia’s eyes flickered, and Larissa could feel the moment shift. There was something different in the way Morticia was looking at her now—something more predatory, more deliberate.

“You know,” Morticia said, her voice barely a whisper as she leaned even closer, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like if we gave in to the tension between us. If we just let go and did what we always wanted.”

Larissa felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her heart pounding in her chest. But the words were already slipping from her lips before she could stop them. “We can’t. It’s not… I can’t…”

But Morticia’s lips were already close to hers, her breath warm against Larissa’s skin. The air seemed to crackle between them, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Larissa didn’t realize what was happening until it was already too late. She was kissing Morticia, her mind too foggy to process it, too drunk on the wine and the years of unresolved tension to stop. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if neither of them wanted to admit what was happening. But soon, the pressure grew, and Larissa found herself caught up in it, her heart racing faster, her pulse louder in her ears.

When they finally pulled away, Larissa’s breath was shaky, her head spinning from the wine and the kiss and the way Morticia was still looking at her—like she had won something, like she had always known this moment would come.

Larissa blinked, trying to make sense of the whirlwind inside her chest. “What… what did we just do?”

Morticia’s smile was soft, almost affectionate, but there was a sharpness behind it that Larissa couldn’t ignore. “We did what we’ve always wanted to do,” Morticia murmured, her fingers lightly grazing the side of Larissa’s face. “And now, Larissa, you have a choice. What happens next is up to you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, as Larissa sat frozen in the moment, her mind racing to catch up with the sudden reality that had just crashed into her.

And as the evening wore on, the uncertainty lingered in the space between them, even as they finished their dinner in silence.

Larissa opened the door to her quarters, the familiar warmth of the space immediately enveloping her. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she stepped inside, and her eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on you sitting on the couch. You were curled up in one of her oversized blankets, a book in your lap, but you looked up when you heard the door close behind her.

You gave her a soft, knowing smile, but there was an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place, a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

“How was dinner?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though you couldn’t hide the slight edge to your voice.

Larissa paused, her coat still draped over her arm as she stood in the doorway, seemingly caught off guard by the question. She was suddenly aware of the quiet hum of discomfort between you two.

“It was fine,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral, though her voice carried a hint of something unspoken. She shrugged off her coat, folding it with deliberate care as she crossed the room toward you. “Business, more than anything.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly as you watched her movements. “Business with Morticia Addams, right?”

Larissa’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but you were watching her closely enough to catch it. She didn’t let the moment linger, however, quickly smoothing over the brief hesitation with a cool smile. “Yes. She’s here because of Wednesday, you know that already.”

You sat up a little straighter, a frown tugging at your lips. “And how is she? Morticia, I mean. How did she react when she saw you again?”

There was a long pause, and Larissa finally sat beside you, her gaze distant as she smoothed a hand through her hair, a nervous habit you’d come to notice in her when she was sorting through something complicated. “She’s the same as always,” Larissa said finally, her tone clipped. “Graceful, poised... she knows how to make an entrance, as you’d expect.”

You studied her face, sensing that there was more she wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t press further just yet. “And was she...?” You let the question hang in the air, not needing to finish it for Larissa to know exactly what you meant.

Larissa hesitated, her fingers tapping absently on the edge of the blanket you were wrapped in. “She was... familiar,” she said carefully, as if choosing each word with caution. “And it seems like some things haven’t changed.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean by that?”

Larissa’s expression flickered briefly with something unreadable, but she quickly masked it with a tight smile. “She’s still the same, just more... insistent. In her own way.”

You swallowed hard, the thought of Morticia pressing into Larissa’s life again stoking a mixture of unease and jealousy that you didn’t want to admit even to yourself. “Insistent, how?”

Larissa sighed, leaning back into the cushions as she closed her eyes for a moment, her posture stiff. “She’s always been good at making things complicated. But that’s all it is. Complicated.” Her voice softened toward the end, almost as though she were reassuring herself more than you.

You wanted to believe her, wanted to trust in the steadiness of her words, but the knot of doubt in your stomach was tightening with every passing second. Morticia’s return felt like an echo of a past Larissa hadn’t fully closed, and you couldn’t help but feel like a part of her still lingered there, in that space between them that you couldn’t even touch.

Still, you nodded, trying to push down the uncertainty. “So, no more dinners with her, then?”

Larissa chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No more dinners. Not unless it’s strictly necessary.”

The tension between you both hung heavy, unspoken, yet undeniable. You leaned your head on her shoulder, a quiet surrender to the comfort of her presence, though you knew that something had shifted—something between you, and something between her and Morticia that was too fragile to ignore.

As the silence stretched on, you closed your eyes, letting the soft rhythm of Larissa’s breathing settle you, unaware of how deep her past with Morticia would bleed into your present together.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi i @i-love-nerdy-stuff @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #secret benefits #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems

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gothwineaunts · 21 days ago

Note

Can we have the backstory to s2 design change?Especially lenore’s design. She was quite slim before but now it looks like she has a similar body type to annabel. I feel like it defeats the purpose of her trauma and what she’s been through you know?

Design changes for S2 were limited to some hair/outfit changes, and some of those changes won't even go through until after this arc ends to keep things from being jarring. Some people have been talking about the "art style change" and also certain character changes like characters looking younger, or as you mentioned above, Lenore's body type changing, and a few other things too. Like lighting changes and whatnot. These are not intentional changes, and in some cases, not changes at all. I think two things are happening simultaneously: 1. We were a little rusty getting into the production of S2 and as a result a few things were inconsistent for a second there but I believe they're in the process of evening out. We're just two people working on this, there's no team. We try to stay as consistent as possible, but this is all done by hand, and inevitably, even when we're at the top of our game, some panels will look better than others. 2. The art style developed a lot throughout S1 and I think in their minds, people have kind of blended all of those iterations into one art style that isn't representative of what the series looked like by the S1 finale. If you look back at the last 20 or so episodes of S1, they look very very similar to what you see in S2. In fact we actually wanted to reel back Lenore's curves from the end of S1 because we thought they got too pronounced. She's actually boxier and thinner in the few panels you've seen of her in S2 than she was at the end of S1. So idk! Maybe some of it is that we're getting back into the groove of a new season, and also that people kinda forgot what Nevermore looked like during the break. Or idk maybe I'm completely delulu and just can't see what y'all are seeing. The only intentional art style change was that in the S2 eps, Flynn started adding an effect on the lines (she's been doing this on promo art for a long time) where they've got this slightly blurred appearance which makes them feel kinda dreamy and pretty, imo. But people are really panicky about these perceived changes, some real and others imagined, and to that I'm like - art styles do develop with time. It's not bad because it's different! But, I also don't think it's as different as people think.

#red post

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achromatophoric · 2 months ago

Text

Pre-Wenclair. Enid makes another attempt at cooking a meal.

Yoko: *whispers to Wednesday* What are you waiting for? Compliment her cooking.

Wednesday: *nods and stands*

Wednesday: Enid.

Enid: *looks up* Hmm?

Wednesday: This meal of yours…

Enid: Yeah?

Wednesday: …is a gross violation of human rights.

Yoko: 😧

Enid: Wh-What?

Wednesday: It is to the human gastrointestinal system what an industrial lathe is to long loose hair.

Enid: 🫢

Wednesday: That is to say, a horrific accident awaiting its inevitably gruesome moment—

Yoko: 🙅‍♀️

Wednesday: —the result of which can only be traumatically disfiguring at best and grotesquely lethal at worst.

Yoko: 🤦‍♀️

Enid: *softly* Is… is that what you really think?

Wednesday: *glances at Yoko*

Yoko: 🙏

Wednesday:

Wednesday: It… is what I think. In fact, I must go test the efficacy immediately. Thorpe best pray that his gut lining is as thick as his skull.

Wednesday: *picks up her plate and storms off*

Yoko: *watches in disbelief*

Enid: 🫢

Enid: *sniffles*

Yoko: Aw, pup. Look, I’m sure—

Enid: Oh-em-gee! She LOVED it!

Yoko: —thawhut?

Enid: *excitedly* Gosh, I’ve gotta go thank Pugsley for the recipe.

Yoko: 😦

Enid: See ya later, Yoko~ *cheerily skips away*

Yoko: 😐

Yoko: 🤔

Yoko: 😎

Yoko: Looks like this bitch is the best wingwoman in Nevermore.

Xavier: *distant unholy retching*

#pre wenclair #enid’s cooking #wing woman yoko #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #yoko tanaka #xavier thorpe #wednesday netflix #wenclair #incorrect wenclair #incorrect wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect quotes #ficlet

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coconut530 · 1 year ago

Text

WE BACK FOR SPOOKY MONTH BABY!!!

#Nevermore #Nevermore Webtoon #Webtoon #Oh so good to have them back #Just swell #Dang I didn’t figure Annabel would be so shocked (although poor bby sorry Lenore gave you a panic attack)#She usually thinks of everything #Like even if Duke didn’t tell her Ada told the others they just smacked him in there #But like still WHAT IS THE PURPOSE ANNABEL #OF LOCKING HIM AWAY #Like it’s her best friend she’s bound to notice #And everyone else like Morella and Pluto #But eh anyway #Lenore’s threat was MMMM good like that ribbon line definitely shook Annabel #That paneling is great #She may seem small compared to Annabel but she has more power (3 panels versus 1)#Very cool and clever #I love when Prospero comforted her like she did to him in 71 #Very cute #three guys (tm)#I wonder who they are #Will tiny man #Lenore SLAMMING HIM INTO HIS ROOM #Epic #although Lenore sweetie you have no bullets #I guess it still makes a good threat but still you have no bullets #OVERALL EXCITED WE’RE BACK SO COOL AND FUN #YAYYYYYY

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worstgenerationloser · 5 months ago

Note

I loved the last fanfic you did of shanks! If you accept request could you do shanks x a reader who doesn't like public pda? Like glance at him everytime he touches her but in the private or when women at the bar try to get him she will sit on his lap or kiss him? Thank you!

,, Me, not them. ''

Shanks x Fem! Reader

warnings.. shanks grabs your ass and chest (not described in much detail nor in sexual context) , dirty joke(s)? just... shanks. reader is lowkey tired of shanks' shit. shanks also calls beck "daddy" in a playful way LMAO.

words... 1.7k!

A/N... breaking news the people love shanks!!!

With a groan, turning back at your red-haired lover, you harshly grab his ear, earning a warm laugh from him.

"That's not funny." A huff escaped your lips, but it was replaced by a soft sigh when a passerby seemed to let their eyes linger on your predicament longer than they should have. You harshly yanked him by the collar of his shirt behind a large poster, staring him down. "Do. Not. Grab. My. Ass. In. Public." Your words were stern as ever, but Shanks simply grinned at you, shrugging his shoulders with a wiggle of his brows. Your eyes drifted down to his hand, which was already slowly not-so-sneakily making its way to your backside once more.

Despite the earlier events, right now you felt the exact opposite. Once again, in yet another small tavern. Always the taverns with the red-haired pirates, wasn't it?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"She hates me! Swear she does! Not even one little squeeze, or a poke... Ah, I may not survive the winters without a firm grope to her bosom, her warmth may reach me nevermore..." Shanks was going on a playful spiel, a very annoyed and tired first mate forming his lips into a thin line at the information, the lack of your presence always ended with Shanks either rambling on about the private parts of your relationship, or a pretty lady finding her way to him again. Sadly, this time, it was both, unbeknownst to you.

"Another round of drinks for the table of handsome pirates?" Said the barmaid just now approaching the table of senior officers for the first time that night. Her hair was tied back, and she seemed to have her eyes set on one particular pirate. The pirate in question? Why, your boyfriend, of course! Shanks the Lady-Killer. Absolutely nobody calls him that... Beckmann stared around at the rather quiet table, Roux and Yasopp playing cards in relative silence, before nodding with a gruff grunt. "Yeah. Get us some rum, will ya' sweetheart?" Beck licked his dry lips, already aching for a smoke as watched the barmaid walk off after shooting the table (Shanks) a soft smile. Shanks snickered, a daft smirk flowing effortlessly onto his lips.

"Whatever you want, daddy Beck!" Shanks mimicked the womans voice terribly, placing his hand on his cheek as if he were fawning over Beck, batting his dark and thick lashes as he puckered his lips in Beckmann's direction, Roux and Yasopp snickering at him like little kids. Benn merely sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to breathe in through his nose. "It seems more like she'd prefer daddy Shanks." Yasopp laughed, slapping his knee, but accidentally dropping his cards, mumbling a few curses as he bent over to grab them, hitting his forehead on the way down, allowing Shanks to begin cackling like a maniac.

Laughter burst out at the table, but it slowly subsided when the overtly flirty barmaid came back, drinks in hand for Shanks' table. She glanced around at the table, noticing a conveniently empty seat next to Shanks himself, glancing at the busy bar, she saw that her coworkers seemed to have it covered. "Here are your drinks... And here's yours, handsome." She winked at Shanks in particular, allowing everybody else to grab their own, but she decided to hand Shanks specifically his own drink. Yasopp raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest as he gestured his head to the woman as if to say "see?"

Of course, the woman took it upon herself to sit next to Shanks.

"Ah, actually—" Shanks attempted to interrupt the woman, really, he did! But it seemed he was a bit too late, and it felt rude making a lady get out of her seat... Shanks wasn't that kind of man, of course. So, he bit his tongue, assuming you were gonna be gone long enough for the woman to get the hint that he wasn't interested. She struck up a conversation with Shanks, it was about something trivial like the weather or how he was doing... His first mate just shook his head, lighting up another cigarette, breathing a sigh of relief as the smoke invaded his lungs.

Yasopp suddenly stood up, clearing his throat with a smile forming on his face, ready to distract his mind from the sabatoged game of cards, and prepared to share yet another story of his amazing captain. Roux, sensing the incoming performance, let out a snicker, teeth on display as he bit into the leg of meat in hand.

Where were you during all of this? On the ship, of course, for some reason, you didn't feel like partying that night, so you opted to stay in Shanks' quarters, laid out on his hammock after a few minutes in said tavern. A few other members had walked back with you, though they weren't there to entertain you or whatnot, simply uninterested in partying too much or still hungover from the previous night. Though, you did miss your boyfriend, so you decided it would be nice to see him, clearly not expecting anybody to swoop in and try to steal him away. But, alas, with somebody like Shanks, people flocked to him constantly.

You weren't planning to drink, simply wanting to at least enjoy the drunken chatter of your crew and captain. As you approached the tavern, you heard cheers and yells of joy, and the booming voice of Yasopp echoing throughout the night.

"Our captain struck him down without a second thought— One singular swing of his sword and the man was no more... Silence grew over the barren lands, all of us on edge— Then.... BOOM! A loud crack echoed through the skies, and as Beck readied his gun—"

Tuning out the rest, you walked through the swinging doors, none paying you any mind. It didn't take long for your eyes to find their way to red-hair again, but it took a while for you to register another thing.

Was that woman... In your chair?

She was talking to Shanks, giggly and flirty, but not overbearingly so... Either way, it was weird, but hey, at least you didn't walk in on Shanks kissing her or touching her? Not that he would, anyways.

You couldn't reassure yourself, and jealousy flared in your mind, fists clenching tighter with each shaky breath of yours. The only person that seemed to be watching Shanks was really just that flirting woman, but there was still alot of people at his table, Limejuice filling in Yasopp's empty spot while another sat where Roux would normally be. Your body felt hot in a thousand ways, both bad and good, until you decided to throw your morals out the window. You would let him feel you up as long as that woman, assuming she was a barmaid, ended up backing off. But, how would you? You could just walk up to him and kiss him, then run away— No, no... Definitely not, she would probably assume Shanks was open to things like that... You had to make sure she knew for a fact that he was yours. God, you sounded oddly possessive but, for the greater good.

Your shoes clacked against the hardwood floor, you walked a little faster than intended, but as soon as you reached Shanks, you knew what you had to do.

"Oh, you're back, I— Oh, wow..."

Your body felt warmer when you heard him speak, and your legs felt like jelly when he laughed, his singular arm resting around your waist. Suddenly, he pulled you closer into his lap, your back pressed against his chest how he normally had you when you were in private. You lowered your head, really contemplating what to do, and whether you should go through with the other thing you had in mind... "Didn't expect to see you back so soon, sweetheart." Shanks giggled, his fingers gently tickling your side, an indicator he was either going to grope you or poke your side, but you paid no mind.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, twisting your upper body to kiss Shanks. Your fingers gripped his collar, legs shifting so you could kiss him a little better, and you may have accidentally backed up into him to get a little closer, you could practically feel the smirk in his lips. Once a closed mouth kiss from you found its way to Shanks, it didn't end so soon. Maybe that's what you wanted, though, didn't you want to show off your lover to that woman, anyways? Or were you perhaps planning on saying you just wanted to put her into her place? Shanks parted your lips with his own, the taste of the spiced rum he had been drinking lingered faintly in your mouth, making your hand rest on his cheek to deepen the kiss, chasing the taste of him the rum.

His hand moved downwards, fingers trailing down your spine before landing you know where, squeezing the flesh of your ass. You leaned deeper into him, allowing it to go on for just a little longer... You know, to make sure that woman wasn't interested, or anything...

You both pulled away for a little air, with Shanks practically grinning from ear to ear. Was he blessed today? If not, then why was his PDA hating girlfriend all over him right now? The gods must be smiling down at him. Still, he wondered why you did this out of the blue... Following your gaze, he noticed you looking at the barmaid, who was now leaving with a tray in hand, ah, that's why.

"Jealous much?" With a signature brow wiggle, Shanks' hand trailed up to your chest, softly squeezing through the fabric, though, this time, it was met with a glare from you. Shanks pouted, his eyes silently pleading with you, but your stare was kept firm. Suddenly, you were aware of the fact that there were people at the table with him who weren't there to try and chat him up, and you really didn't want to look away from him, you would probably die from embarrassment if you saw how horrified poor Limejuice looked. But, despite not wanting to look back in front of you, you attempted to stand back up.

"Nuh-uh, stay riiight there..."

Shanks kissed your cheek, pulling you back into his lap, keeping his arm firmly wrapped around your waist so you would stay in place.

"Aw, come on! Get a room!"

You could hear the horror in Limejuice's voice, and now you definitely weren't leaving until Shanks carried you out to avoid looking in anybody else's eyes.

"Why would we get a room when we can do it right here?"

You're gonna kill this man.

END.

#shanks x reader #akagami no shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #xochitlwrites

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wol-fica · 3 months ago

Text

-𝕎𝕠𝕖 𝕀𝕤 𝕄𝕖?- ℙ𝕋5

pairings - wenclair x daughter!reader

summary - it’s christmas break at the addams mansion, what could possibly go wrong?

warnings - none

an - hi hello yes, this story progresses :D

—————————————————————————

You groaned, resting your head on the cool hardwood floor.

It was Christmas break, and you and Luka have come home from Nevermore to spend time with your family. Unfortunately, there were more relatives staying at your grandparents mansion than you would’ve liked, and you were struggling to interact and be at least somewhat social with all of them.

All twelve of your cousins were there, running among the halls and causing so much ruckus that even Leo was exhausted. Uncle Pugsly was doing such a poor job of keeping them under wraps hat he instead gave up and chose to relax with your other uncle, Pubert, who was really only there for the expensive food your grandmother ended up cooking.

Your great grandmother was also there, cackling and joking around with your great uncle Fester while your parents sat nearby, chatting while keeping a close eye on Leo while he juggled his knife collection. You and Louis were playing chess, and each game you beat him, but he refused to stop until he won at least one round.

“Louis, you’ve lost basically every game, there is no point in trying to beat her again.” Leo said from across the room, hissing when he dropped one of his knives.

“I hate leaving a duel defeated.” He pouted while you packed up the board, “It’s a sign of weakness.”

“Maybe you should train harder, all you do is sleep anyway.” Leo quipped back, snickering.

You smirked slightly, turning your head away to hide your smile while your mother scolded Leo for being rude. After sliding the packed up board onto the shelf it belonged on, you moved to the couch where your jacket was folded up. Enid reached out to you, managing to brush her knuckles against your skin.

“Hmm you’re cold.” She murmured, frowning, “Are you sure you wanna go out with Luka today?”

You nodded, wiggling away from her touch to stand up, “I’ll be fine, he wants quality time anyways.”

In all honesty, you were the one who wanted ‘quality time’ with your brother, but you were never going to tell that to anyone. Luka was the only person that you could admit to that you admired and enjoyed being around him. As annoying as he was, you still loved him for being your brother, and you would tolerate his behavior until the day you die.

“Take some gloves with you, as much as I love frostbite I would much rather you keep all of your digits.” Wednesday said, sipping her cup of coffee, “And don’t go past the front line.”

“I know the rules mom.” You grumbled, zipping up your jacket before grabbing your gloves and moving to the front door, “We won’t go far.”

“Be safe!” Enid called, smiling at you with a wave.

You feebly waved back before exiting the house and hurrying down the path to Luka. He was at the tree line, building a little snowman to pass the time. It had a top hat, probably stolen from your grandfather, and an eye piercing rainbow scarf he definitely was previously wearing. As you approached, he turned to look up, his face brightening at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N/N!” He called, beckoning you over, “Meet Gerald, Sir Snowman The 33rd.”

“Regal.” You deadpanned.

“He’s such a cutie.” Luka said, smiling at it with shining eyes.

“I cannot wait until he melts.”

“Y/N!”

You shrugged with a grin, walking past him towards the path in the woods. He pouted at Gerald for a moment before following you, jogging to catch up to your pace. The two of you ventured down the trail, footprints left as you strolled further into the forest.

The snow crunched under your feet while you walked, the crisp air leaving the tips of your ears a subtle pink. The scarf wrapped around your neck did its job keeping your body warmer, but it left your nose to fend for itself in the cold wind. You didn’t mind though, as the sharp wind hitting your skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spin.

Soon, a large opening between the trees appeared, shiny and pale ice coming into the view. The lake had frozen over for the winter, and for years before, you and Luka would venture out into the middle to see if the ice was thick enough to hold you.

There had only been one year that the ice wasn’t solid enough, and Luka had almost fallen in.

Almost.

Makes you love the thrill even more.

“Looks nice this time.” Luka said, peering across the flat surface, “And walkable.”

“We shall never know until we try.” You replied, picking up a palm sized rock.

You weighed it in your hand for a moment, before throwing it up and out onto the lake. It hit the ice, but didn’t break through, instead rolling around before stopping a few feet in front of you.

“Suitable.” You noted, before stepping out onto the slippery surface.

“WEEEEE!” Luka cheered, running out and sliding on his feet.

You huffed, fighting back a laugh when he stumbled and fell back on his butt, instead rolling your eyes at him as you carefully made your way towards the middle.

“You’re insane.” You told him, snorting when he fell after trying to stand, “And incredibly clumsy, do you need a walking stick?”

“Honestly yeah.”

You hummed, walking past him and heading towards the center of the lake. He scrambled up, wobbly on his feet, and carefully followed you. It was a tradition between you and him that you both take a knife to the ice to see if it will crack. If it does, it means the year will be bad, if it doesn’t, it means the year will be wonderful.

Once you reached the middle, you pulled your pocket knife out, flipping it open and handing it to Luka. He grinned, taking it and kneeling down on the cold surface. He raised the knife above his head, and plunged it into the ice. The blade pierced through, and a loud crack echoed across the lake.

“Hm.” You said, taking a few steps back, “Didn’t break.”

“Yes!!” Luka cheered, standing up and jumping up and down, “I knew it would be a good-.”

Before you could tell him to not jump on the cracked ice, the stability broke and he fell right through. The water enveloped him, and the large pieces of ice hid where he sunk into the murky water.

Maybe it was a good time to mention that Luka can’t swim.

“Luka!” You yelled, peering down to see if you could spot him.

The water was still, not a sound to be made, until a pounding from a couple feet over caught your attention. It was your brother, hitting his fist against the ice in an attempt to get out. You ran over, bringing your fist down to try to break the ice as well, but you weren’t strong enough.

You looked down helplessly as his pounding slowed down, air bubbles escaping his throat as he panicked. Fear overcame you, and before you could even register what was happening, a large spout of fire burst from your hand and onto the ice. It cracked and melted, swiftly dissipating into water right before your awestruck eyes.

You stuck your hand into the water, reaching around until Luka’s grasped yours. You heaved him up and out of the cold lake, both of you stumbling backwards from the large hole in the ice. You laid on your back in shock, gasping for air while Luka retched and coughed, water spewing out of his mouth. He rolled over and dry heaved, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his adrenaline died down.

“Dammit.” He breathed, resting his forehead against his arm.

You extended your hand over to him, grasping his when he reached for you, “Never jump on cracked ice again.”

He chuckled, shaking his head feebly. You both laid there for a few minutes, trying to calm down enough to return home safely. You finally felt the strength to sit up, waiting patiently for Luka to regain his composure. You turned to him, expecting him to be shaking off the water in his hair with a smile on his face, but instead he was just sitting and staring at you blankly.

“What.” You asked bluntly, “If it's about the fire I-.”

He shook his head rapidly, fear filling his eyes, and raised a shaking hand to point behind you. You turned slowly, a chill running down your spin when you realized what he was so bothered by. There, a few steps out from the treeline, was a large figure watching you quietly. It was pulsing, a rhythmic manner that mirrored breathing as its back rose and fell. You squinted, not sure what you were looking at, before it began to rush towards you.

Its shape was contorted uncomfortably, its spine hunched over like it had been broken and healed improperly multiple times. Grey skin stretched over its lanky bones, wrapped around its ribcage like a vacuum sealed plastic bag. Pale scars were scattered about its body, almost mimicking that of an inverted Zebra, with large eyes protruding from its head, bulging and bloodshot; you swore you could see physical hunger swirling around in its iris’. It moved like a deformed gorilla, its back legs short and stubby while its front arms were long and muscly, with long claws digging into the ice with every step it took. Its mouth foamed, drool and slobber drenching its maw as it approached.

It was beautifully horrible.

“Run.” Luka whispered, slowly standing.

“What is that…?” You wondered curiously, almost leaning in its direction, “It looks…”

“Y/N, RUN!!”

Luka grabbed at your jacket, yanking you up to your feet and pulling you away from the approaching monster. You both fell into a sprint, clumsily stumbling every few steps but nonetheless running. Luka was farther ahead of you, naturally being a faster runner due to his werewolf genes, but you were still with him. The creature roared behind you, its thunderous steps echoing across the lake as it began to gain on you.

Your feet hit the frosted grass, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scampered up the hill to get back to the house. Trees blurred past you as you both ran for your lives, and you almost felt your heart stop when you heard a low growl so close to you. The sound of Luka panting next to you pushed you a little harder, a small feeling of relief hitting you when you saw the large mansion come into view, but just before you could relish in your near escape, you were yanked sideways.

White hot pain shot through your shoulder and back, the air being pushed out of your lungs when you came in contact with the tree you were thrown against. Over the loud ringing in your ears,, you could dimly hear Luka shouting and the monster roaring, but the world seemed to spin as you tried to stand on your wobbly legs. A large blurry figure stalked towards you, its large claw rising high to be brought down upon your face, but just as it was swinging to attack and you closed your eyes, everything stopped.

No scream.

No roar.

No crunch of bones.

No splatter of blood on the leaves.

Not even the tiny whispers that plague you.

Nothing.

You feebly peeled your eyes open, looking around in confusion to see that there was no monster to be seen. The forest was the same, clustered with snow covered trees and your grandparents' massively gothic mansion a few yards away, but that was it. Luka was gone, the creature was gone, it was just you and the cold.

Peaceful.

If this was death, you were not a fan.

“Y/N”

You whipped around, scoffing when faced with the body of the voice that just spoke your name.

“You.” You grumbled.

“Me.” She replied.

“Where is Luka?” You asked firmly, glancing around for a moment, “Am I dead?”

“Luka is fine, and no, you're not dead..” Goody replied, eying you up and down.

“Then where am I?” You demanded, still expecting the monster to appear out of the trees and tear you to bits.

Goody didn't reply, and you turned to see her brushing little snowflakes off of her shoulders. You saw red, picking up a pinecone and chucking it at her. The fruit passed right through her incorporeal form, landing somewhere behind her. She frowned, looking up at you with a bothered gaze.

“Excuse me, your ghostly-ness.” You seethed, “I'd like to know where the hell I am.”

“Don’t use such repugnant language with me.” She conned, “I am here to guide you.”

“Well then GUIDE me to the exit, please and thank you.”

“I have to speak with you.”

“Jesus!” You threw your hands in the air, turning away from her and kicking a rock in frustration.

Of all times that she could have chosen to have a conversation with you, of course she has to decide that right now, the time that you very well could be mauled and eaten, is the perfect moment.

“This is the first time I have had the chance to talk to you.” Goody asserted, walking around until she was in front of you, “We have things to discuss.”

“I very well could be decapitated and dismembered right now,” You drawled, rubbing your hands against your face, “yet you think this is a good time to have a discussion with you?”

“Yes.”

“Some guidance you are.”

Suddenly, you were pushed backwards by a heavy gust of wind, causing you to fall on your behind. Goody stood over you, her book open and her finger pointed at you. You gasped, shaking the pine needles off of you and standing up.

“Did you just spellbook me?” You snarled, glaring at her.

“I just ‘spellbooked’ you.” She replied, her tome closing with a soft hiss.

“I swear to god I will gut y-.”

She waved her hand at you, a short puff of air hitting your face that smelled oddly like hotdogs. A faint whisper came from her, something you could not pick up over the harsh wind, and you felt your lips seal shut.

“Mmm!” You tried to speak unsuccessfully, your words coming out muffled instead.

“Your lips have been locked with a small silencing spell, it will wear off in a few minutes.” Goody said, “Now, vide tuum futurum.”

The air started to thicken around you, almost like a weighted blanket being draped over our head. Images started to appear in the fog, flickering and shining like a projector screen whilst shapes began to form. Teeth bloody and sharp, a low growl exuding from a beast's throat. A familiar howl was heard, a full moon appearing in the air. People shouted from afar, pitchforks and torches stabbing through the glowing orb with an eerie scream.

“This is your future.” Goody murmured, gesturing to the fog, “This is what I’ve been trying to warn you about.”

You turned to her with a glare, stamping your foot while you gave a grunt. She sighed, taking her pointer and middle fingers to your lips. “Loqui.” She whispered, a faint warmth exuding from the tips of her fingers, and you felt your lips unseal.

“These things, the images, will inevitably happen. You must prepare.”

You eyed her spell book, the very same that you currently had under your pillow back at your dorm in nevermore. You knew of the spells that are inked on the pages, ranging with ones of fire casting to full body possession. You couldn’t use any of the incantations in fear of messing something up that you couldn't fix, yet you yearned to speak the latin phrases out of pure curiosity of what you could do.

“Preparing, how would…should...I prepare?” You asked carefully, licking your dry lips.

“However you deem necessary.” Goody mused, “I cannot decide your decisions, it would rewrite the outcome.”

You squinted at her, “The outcome? What’s the outcome?”

Her body started to fade, her skin going paler than what it already was. Specs of her began to float away in the wind, and oddly enough, the forest around you started to melt away into darkness.

“Prepare.” Goody echoed, now almost transparent, “Use the book.”

“Goody you useless piece of sh-.”

And then everything was gone.

—————————————————————————

spookyyyyyy

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