#the addams family x you

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

"She's so beautiful, Mi alma." Wednesday muttered -for the first time ever- awed as he stared down at the little babe cradled safely in your arms. Little Blair Addams was a quiet baby, and there was no doubt she was the daughter of Wednesday, streaks of midnight hair and eyes black as coal. She barely cried when she came out.

"Would you like to hold her?" You asked softly, looking up at your husband, exhaustion bare on your face. Wednesday only nodes as he gently lifted his daughter from your arms, allowing you to give in to the tiredness of childbirth.

"il mio cuore, you only just arrived here and I will kill anyone who hurt you. You and your mother ruined me.." Wednesday whispered, his thumb ran over her cheek as she stared into his eyes. Blair cooed at his words as if she understood and a tiny smile on her little lips.

Life had gave him people he never knew he wanted and he would do anything to protect them. Anything.

Il mio cuore: my heart

Mi alma: my soul

[deadlynavigation]

Season’s Greetings

Warnings: swearing. reader has straight hair in this one.

Author’s note: yall when i tell you school has been kicking my ass. like i expected a challenge but this is just straight evil. anyways, so so sorry for literally no writing these past three months. i’m going to work on stuff i swear.

(Addams Family Masterlist)

(Full Masterlist)

“Cara mia, it’s barely November.”

No response.

“Amore mio?”

Still nothing.

“Y/n.”

A muffled “here!” comes from the pile of christmas decorations scattered on the floor. Wednesday slowly walks over to where the little voice emerged, taking in the garlands and ornaments that spring from half-opened, dusty boxes. He carefully sidesteps the multiple throw blankets and pillows strewn about, admiring your eye for such things whilst also trying to recall where he hid the matches and gas. Vinyls, unlike the decorations, are placed neatly on the sofa, one already removed from its case and sitting on the record player waiting to be played. Finally, Wednesday reaches the small bump in the mountain of holiday cheer.

Your head pops out. “Need anything, baby?”

Wednesday has to place a hand over his mouth to contain his smile. You do this every year, and it somehow becomes even more endearing to him. “Halloween was yesterday, cara mia.”

“...Ok?” You fail to grasp his point, blinking up at him as innocently as possible.

“We have months to do all of this, Y/n.”

“Time is ticking, baby. We gotta get a head start on this.”

He sighs, dropping onto his knees and accepting his fate. “Then you must need help, if we’re running on such a tight schedule.”

Your eyes dart from the dried flowers you’d been fiddling with to his face, which, although rare, held no signs of deception or teasing. “You’d really help? You’re not just fucking with me?”

Wednesday chuckles, reaching up to brush back a piece of your hair that had fallen loose in the chaos. “Of course, cara mia. It’s important to you, is it not?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Then I shall help.”

Hours later, Wednesday isn’t regretting that promise in the slightest. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s sorted through pounds of decorations, had dozens of arguments over what to trash or keep, and gone back down to the basement at least a dozen times to grab even more boxes. It’s now past midnight, and he can clearly see your eyes drooping.

“Amore mio, perhaps it’s time to put this away for the night,” He murmurs, reaching for the ornament you hold and gently pulling it away. It’s placed right back in its box, set on top of the pile for tomorrow.

You try to conceal a yawn, reaching for the ornament. “But we’re so close, baby. Just a couple more minutes, we could finish.”

“See, normally, I would agree with you,” Wednesday smirks, memories of last night running through his head, “but you’re exhausted, cara mia. What type of partner would I be if I didn’t chase you up to bed right now?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, pushing at his arm with no real intent. He snatches the opportunity, grasping your arm and bringing it up to his lips. Kiss upon kiss is imprinted on your skin as Wednesday moves from your wrist to your shoulder and back down again. He takes his time, holding eye contact with you as he kisses every individual vein of your arm, appreciating each little indent and bump, even burying himself into the warmth of your shoulder once he draws close enough.

“M’still not tired. Your tricks don’t work on me, baby.”

He snorts, face still tucked safely into your shoulder. “Of course not, my love.”

You almost let your eyes flutter shut at his voice, but remembering all the work that must be done, you shoot awake almost instantly. “No, baby, I mean it–we gotta finish this.”

“And we will–tomorrow. Let me take care of you, Y/n. Let yourself rest.”

You stare at the back of his head for a moment, narrowing your eyes as you run through your options. One: stay here, fall asleep on the floor, wake up with a broken back. Two: let Wednesday take you to bed, where you’ll then end up sleeping for at least fourteen hours. Three: refuse through yawning fits and insist that you’re perfectly fine to handle breakable decorations at one in the morning.

Only one of those options will end up working. You’re still in denial about which one it may be.

Wednesday can practically feel the gears turning in your mind and eventually tires of it, rising from your neck and standing. “Come on, amore mio. Time for bed. I will hear no more of it.”

“Okay,” you grumble, because as much as you’d like to stand your ground, you can feel the exhaustion creeping through your body. It becomes much more apparent as you step forward, legs half-asleep and shaking from the hours spent crouching in uncomfortable positions. “Carry me?”

Wednesday looks down at you, shaking his head. “As if I would allow anything else, Y/n.” With that, he scoops you up, adjusting for a second before maneuvering around the scattered decor and into the foyer. You bury your face in his neck, all too eager to be surrounded by warmth after the sunset brought frigid temperatures into your home. Wednesday plants a short kiss on your hairline before climbing the stairs, steadily guiding you both into the master bedroom.

He stops, and you realize it’s an indication that you’ve reached the bed and have to get down. You cling to him, refusing to jump down.

“Cara mia,” Wednesday cooes, pressing another peck onto your head. “How are we supposed to get ready for bed if I’m carrying you the whole time?”

“You’ll figure it out. I have confidence in you.” Your words are barely there, fading with your sleepiness. Your grip on his clothes slackens, and that’s the final straw for your partner. He gently lowers you onto the pillows, quickly spreading a blanket over your form.

“As much as I appreciate your reliance on my strength, I cannot live up to those expectations,” Wednesday laughs, strolling into the adjoined bathroom to quickly brush his teeth and rinse his face. The splashes of water reach your ears, spurring you to blearily rise and join him over the sink.

“M’tired,” you mumble, grabbing your toothbrush. You run it over your teeth for a time most dentists would consider unacceptable, rinsing and flossing afterwards to make up for your rush. Wednesday smiles softly, handing you your cleanser after you’re done.

“You coat your face in chemicals, I’ll worry about your hair.” He leans down, laying a cold kiss on your collarbone before getting to work. The brush glides through your hair as you rinse your cleanser off, reaching for a serum as Wednesday reaches for the soft little elastics you seem to prefer for nighttime. He combs his fingers through your hair, watching in fascination as the color catches the soft copper lights of the lamps in the bedroom. Over and over again, he watches it fall from his fingers and envisions a future where he combs through your graying hair with weathered hands. Yes, he’ll sleep well tonight with that in his mind.

He’s knocked from his train of thought as you plop your moisturizer back onto the counter, finished with your routine and now just waiting on the braids you were promised. Wednesday smiles sheepishly, kissing the back of your head as an apology before getting started. He manipulates the strands with expert fingers, years of practice on his sisters and mother proving useful.

“M’sorry I yelled at you about the mistletoe. You wouldn’t have known where exactly I wanted it, that was my fault.” You lean back into his chest as he works diligently, the motions lulling you to sleep.

“Amore, I would hang the moon and stars for you if you asked. The mistletoe will go exactly where you need it tomorrow.” He holds back a laugh as he recalls the argument, a five-minute long discussion involving door frames, rulers, and a silly little piece of the plant.

“I’m also sorry for the wreaths. I didn’t even know we had that many.”

“It’s ok, Y/n,” Wednesday whispers as he ties off on a braid, moving to the next one without jostling you from where you practically lie on him. “We all have passions. You support mine. These next two months, I will support yours.”

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you too content to break the silence. He finishes the second braid quickly, trying to get you both into bed before you end up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

“There we go, amore. All done, you did so well for me.” Wednesday rubs your arms up and down, trying to rouse you from your almost meditative state.

“Bed?” You whisper, rubbing an eye while trying to stay attached to him.

“Yes, come on.”

“What time is it?”

“Late,” Wednesday whispers back, checking the clock on your nightstand. He’s right–it’s almost 1:30 in the morning, an hour that he isn’t sure qualifies as late or just incredibly, wickedly early.

You fall into bed, rearranging the pillows until you can comfortably lie on them. Once Wednesday climbs in next to you, you forsake them, instead nuzzling right against his chest as he pulls you into him. It’s so warm and familiar that you fall asleep almost immediately, all the caffeine, disagreements, and upcoming holidays forgotten.

Wednesday almost laughs at how quickly you managed to fall asleep, proving him right that the decorations were a matter for another day. He’ll have to rub it in your face tomorrow, but for now, he envelops you with his arms pressed tightly against your back and dreams of many more holiday seasons to come.

[queenofshippingcringe]

Reblog if you ship the world’s top two sexiest women! 👑🌹

[cami040405]

For Charles lee ray and Vincent Sinclair ? (Seperetly) would they be the gomez to readers morticia ? How much do they love and worship the reader? It can be any genre

Vincent Sinclair & Charles Lee Ray X Reader with a Relationship Dynamic like Gomez and Morticia (SEPARATE)

Summary: Imagine Vincent Sinclair and Charles Lee Ray (Separate) adoring their S/O like Gomez adores Morticia, they love them more than themselves and would kill and die for them.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, I loved writing it, I particularly love this couple and being inspired by them to write this was incredible.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent might not speak, but his love screams volumes. When he loves, it’s with every fiber of his quiet, artistic soul.

Gomez-Level Devotion? Absolutely. Think of him trailing behind the reader like a shadow, silently admiring every detail of them—the way they move, their voice, the way they look at his work like it's more than just wax. To him, the reader is muse, protector, and salvation all in one.

Worship? He doesn’t worship with words—he does it through acts of loyalty and obsession. Every sculpture becomes more refined, more emotional when it’s inspired by the reader. He’d craft wax roses that never wilt. He’d memorize the reader’s routines, quietly fixing things in the house before they ever notice it was broken. If someone disrespects the reader? Vincent’s got the tools and the silence to take care of it without question.

Romance Level? Sky-high. Picture candlelight shadows dancing across the walls of Ambrose as he gently holds the reader’s hand, guiding it over a sculpture they “made together.” He’d cherish any touch the reader offers like it’s sacred.

To most, Vincent Sinclair is a shadow in the dark, an artist of eerie genius, hidden behind silence and a mask that conceals more than just scars. But to you, he’s something else entirely. And to him, you are everything.

From the moment you stepped into Ambrose, you brought color to a world of wax—a life untouched by warmth. At first, he watched from a distance. Silent. Unmoving. Eyes behind the mask studying you with an artist’s curiosity… and something far deeper. Obsession? Maybe. Fascination? Undoubtedly. But it was never cruel. Never predatory. Vincent doesn’t take. He offers.

He’s a man of creation, and you became his muse. But not just any muse—the only one who matters.

Vincent carves you from memory in the quiet of night, every flick of his knife shaped by the way you tilt your head when you're curious, the way your eyes soften when you talk to him—even if he doesn’t answer. He sculpts the curve of your smile like it’s something holy. Wax figures of you start to appear in his studio, some only partially formed, others whole—each one a love letter in form, each one a whisper of “I see you. I need you.”

And not one is ever good enough in his eyes. Because how could he ever capture something as alive as you in stillness?

He doesn't say “I love you.” He shows it. Constantly.

You find your favorite books, once lost or forgotten, neatly placed on the dusty nightstand in your room—cleaned just for you; 

The blanket you left on the couch? Folded; 

The mug you chipped last week? Replaced with one he painted himself.

A small bouquet of wax flowers, made by his own hand, left where he knows you’ll find it first thing in the morning;

That music box you mentioned liking as a child? It plays again one evening, the tune echoing softly down the hallway—because he fixed it. For you;

He notices everything. And you never catch him in the act. It's like he's afraid you’ll see and turn away. But he watches your reactions—those small moments of awe or gratitude—and treasures them like relics.

He burns for your approval, though he’d never ask for it.

That first time you take his hand, truly take it, you feel it. He stiffens, startled—not because he doesn’t want it, but because he does. So much. Too much. It’s been so long since someone touched him without fear or disgust. Since someone saw him and didn’t flinch. When your fingers brush his scarred palm and you don’t let go, something in him cracks—not painfully, but softly. Like wax melting under warmth.

He holds on like he might never get the chance again. No words, just a quiet inhale through his mask. And that’s when you know:

He’d die for you.He’d kill for you.But more than anything�� he’d live for you.

Vincent’s jealousy isn’t loud. It’s chillingly quiet. If someone dares look at you with impure intentions—or speaks to you like you’re something to be taken—Vincent doesn’t argue. He doesn’t growl or posture.

He simply disappears. And so does the problem.

Later, you might find wax where it shouldn’t be. A strange silence over Ambrose, even heavier than usual. And Vincent? He’ll avoid your eyes, working harder, faster, more violently in his studio until you gently touch his shoulder… remind him you’re still his.

That you chose him.

And that’s when he relaxes again. Slowly. Like a wounded animal learning it’s finally safe.

It’s not a love that asks anything of you. It doesn’t demand.

Vincent gives. And gives. And gives.

Even if you never say the words.

Even if you walk away.

But if you stay?

He’ll protect you from his brother. He’ll shield you from the dark. He’ll carve out a corner of the world where only you and he exist, covered in the scent of hot wax, old wood, and silent reverence.

To Vincent Sinclair, you aren’t just someone he loves. You're the only softness in a world that taught him to harden.

The candle in his cathedral.The heartbeat in a town of silence.The one soul who looked past the mask—and never looked away.

.

Charles Lee Ray

Now Charles is raw, passionate, and chaotic. But when he loves, he’s fire and blood and undying hunger.

Gomez-Level Devotion? Hell yes, but add murder and mischief. He’s the type to say, “You looked at someone else today? Nah, baby, I took care of it.” His version of devotion is borderline unhinged—but he thinks of the reader as his queen, his ride-or-die, the only person who really gets him.

Worship? Obsessively. He’ll call the reader “gorgeous,” “my dark angel,” “soulmate” in one breath and threaten the entire world in the next for even thinking of harming them. He’s a worshipper in leather and blood-stained knives.

Romance Level? It’s chaotic romantic. Expect impulsive grand gestures: stealing jewels to “match your eyes,” setting a place on fire just to say, “I burned it down for you,” and saying “I love you” with every kill he makes in the reader’s name. But he means it. In that bloody, intense way only Chucky can.

.

From the very first moment Charles laid eyes on you, something in him shifted—dangerously. He wasn’t the type to fall. He took. He played. He killed. But with you? It wasn’t just lust or power. It was need. The kind that sinks in deep like a knife to the ribs and never lets go.

To Charles, you were the one thing in the world that made sense. The chaos in his head quieted when you were near. He called you “his girl,” “his baby,” “his goddess of gore.” And he meant it. You weren’t just someone he wanted in his life—you were the reason he still had a life.

Chucky doesn’t show affection like a normal person. Oh no, sweetheart. He shows it in blood and bullets, in stolen jewelry, in whispered threats to anyone who dares look at you too long.

"You know I’d kill for you, right?” - Not a metaphor. He means it. One time, you offhandedly mentioned someone who made you uncomfortable at work. By morning, they were in the news: missing. Charles never said anything. Just smirked. “See, baby? Told you I take care of my girl.”

Pet names out the ass: “Doll,” “Sweet face,” “Murder baby,” “Queen of my rotten heart.” And somehow, even in his gruff voice, they sound like poetry.

Grand gestures, Chucky-style: He once carved your initials into his knife handle—right below his own. "Til death do us part? Baby, you and I skipped that step. We’re forever."

Like a dark priest at a bloody altar. Like a cultist who only believes in you. You’re his constant obsession. You walk into the room, and the world stops. His eyes are always on you. He doesn’t just want you—he claims you.

You're his sanity. His chaos. His tether to reality. He might be covered in blood, coming home from a "job," and the moment he sees you? His voice softens: “C’mere, baby. Missed your pretty face.”

He’d kill God for you if you asked. And when he says things like “I’d gut a priest just to hear you laugh,” he’s not joking. He thinks the reader’s happiness is divine. Sacred. Worth everything.

If you’re Morticia, he’s the bloodstained, cackling Gomez who kisses the back of your hand after slicing someone’s throat. He’d watch you walk by in your flowing black clothes, eyes gleaming like a man starved, whispering, “Marry me again, baby. And again. And again.”

He’d brag about you constantly: “You seen my girl? Smartest, hottest thing on this rotting earth. Could burn this place to the ground and still make it look sexy.”

He treats your body like a shrine: Every scar, every curve, every movement—you’re untouchable to everyone but him. He memorizes you. Sleeps wrapped around you like a possessive snake. And god help anyone who tries to separate you.

When you’re mad at him?: He goes feral. Can’t handle the cold shoulder. Will beg, scream, promise you the world. “Don’t shut me out, baby. I’ll slit my own throat if it means you’ll forgive me. You know you’re my f***ing everything.”

You’re a legend. A nightmare wrapped in silk. A goddess of beauty and power and danger. And he worships you like that. When the world spits venom, he snarls right back. But when you speak? He listens. When you touch his cheek, his whole body melts. And when you say, “I love you” his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

Because Chucky—Charles Lee Ray—loves like a wildfire. Violent, all-consuming, impossible to control.

And he’d rather die than live without you.

.

[asterthought]

And you bet I'll bite too,

Do what's truly taboo,

As I'm pulled in a new direction!

— Pulled, The Addams Family Musical.

[karnkritsanaphan]

just a typical morning in the huaibao household [ insp: ★ ]

@asiandramanet creator bingo: free choice

[brenshor]

[pandapetals]

Cara Mia

The whole mansion is celebrating Halloween and you and Logan dress up as Morticia and Gomez Addams.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"Now that’s a costume," you said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe as Logan stepped out of the bathroom. He looked the part of Gomez Addams, dressed in a sharp pinstripe suit that clung to his broad shoulders, a fake mustache meticulously glued above his upper lip. Of course, there was still something rugged about him, the rough edges peeking through despite the polished attire. Somehow, he managed to look like Gomez Addams who’d just finished chopping wood.

Logan grunted as he tugged at the tight collar of the dress shirt, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Remind me again why I agreed to this. And don’t say it’s for the kids," he grumbled, his voice low and rough. "You know damn well I don’t dress up for anyone."

You glided across the room, your long, black Morticia gown swishing dramatically around your ankles as you came closer. "Oh, I’m sure," you replied, your voice silky and laced with playful sarcasm. "You’re doing it because you love Halloween. Besides," you added, reaching up to smooth the lapel of his jacket, "you make a very handsome Gomez."

He huffed, but his lips twitched up in the faintest hint of a smirk as he took in your costume. "And you," he said, his eyes raking over your elegant black dress, "look like you were born to play Morticia." His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you in closer as he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "What’s the line? 'Cara mia?'"

You laughed, lifting your hand to rest lightly on his chest. "That’s right," you replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "And I believe Morticia would respond with, 'Mon cher.'"

Logan smirked, his grip on your waist tightening as he dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Keep talkin’ like that, and we’re not making it downstairs," he whispered, his voice a low growl.

"Downstairs now, " you scolded, swatting his shoulder playfully. "The kids are waiting, and I’d rather not be responsible for a riot because we kept them from their candy."

He let out a low chuckle, releasing you but letting his hand linger on your waist a moment longer. "Fine, fine. Let’s go entertain the little monsters," he muttered, but there was a glint of warmth in his eyes that said he didn’t really mind at all.

As you descended the stairs together, the sound of excited voices filled the air, and you could see the kids gathered in the mansion’s grand entryway, most of them already bouncing with anticipation. The room had been transformed into a haunted wonderland, complete with cobwebs, flickering fake candles, and eerie decorations hanging from the ceiling.

When you and Logan reached the bottom of the staircase, Jubilee let out a dramatic whistle. "Well, look who finally showed up," she teased, grinning from ear to ear. "I guess Logan’s not too cool for Halloween after all."

Logan rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, standing a little taller as though he were playing up the role. "I ain’t here for the costume," he grunted, though the faint curl of his lips betrayed him. "Just here to make sure you all don’t eat so much candy you get sick."

Rogue laughed, stepping closer with a smirk. "Well, Gomez, " she said, giving his suit a once-over, "I have to say, this is the most put-together I’ve seen you in a long time. You clean up nice."

Logan shot her a look, his brows knitting together as he grumbled, "Watch it, kid."

You slid your arm through his, leaning in with a smile. "Oh, come now, darling," you said in your best Morticia impression, "don’t be modest. Everyone knows you’re the most dashing man in the room."

A few of the older students snickered, and Remy, who was wearing a pirate costume that looked like it had seen better days, chimed in with a grin. "You know, Logan," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you really do have that whole Gomez thing down. You’re all protective and swoonin’ over your 'cara mia.' Next thing you know, you’ll be speakin' French."

Logan grunted, shaking his head. "Not a chance, Cajun. But keep talkin’, and I’ll show you how Gomez handles an unruly houseguest."

You laughed, giving Logan’s arm a gentle squeeze. "Now, now, mon cher, let’s not start any duels tonight," you said, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. "We wouldn’t want to frighten the children."

As if on cue, a group of the younger kids came running over, already decked out in costumes ranging from witches to superheroes. "Mr. Howlett, look at my costume!" one of them shouted, holding out his arms to show off his vampire cape.

Logan gave a faint, almost begrudging smile as he looked down at the child. "Not bad, kid," he said, giving the boy a nod. "Got the fangs and everything, huh?"

"Yep!" the boy said proudly, flashing his plastic vampire teeth. "I’m gonna get so much candy!"

"Just don’t go biting anybody," Logan replied dryly, ruffling the kid’s hair as he rushed off to join the other trick-or-treaters.

You watched the exchange with a smile, a warmth spreading through your chest. Even in his gruffness, there was something endearing about the way Logan interacted with the kids; he was always protective and watchful. 

You leaned in close, your voice a low whisper. "I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, his lips twitching upward as he slid his hand into yours. "Maybe," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Don’t go tellin’ anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

"Your secret’s safe with me," you said, squeezing his hand. "But only if you do the tango with me later."

He chuckled, pulling you closer as the two of you made your way toward the candy station, the sound of laughter and squeals filling the room. "Deal, cara mia, " he whispered in your ear, his voice rough and affectionate.

You and Logan spent the better part of the evening wrangling the kids through the whirlwind of activities. There was pumpkin carving, where half the children ended up with more pumpkin guts on themselves than in the actual pumpkins, and a frantic candy-sorting session that resembled a mini stock exchange, with kids trading chocolates for lollipops and debating the merits of sour candies versus chocolate bars. The grand foyer echoed with the sound of squeals, laughter, and the occasional shriek when someone popped out of the fake cobwebs for a scare.

By the time the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine, the sugar-fueled chaos began to show signs of fading, and it was time to herd the little monsters off to bed.

Logan watched as you gently nudged a yawning witch and a sleepy vampire toward the staircase. "I doubt they’ll even sleep," he grumbled, arms crossed as he followed you down the hallway, his rugged features softened just a bit by the evening’s festivities.

"Well, if they don’t, at least it’s the weekend so we don’t have to worry about it in the morning,” you replied with a wink, shooing the last straggler up the stairs.

As the kids finally trudged to their rooms, dragging their candy bags behind them like little zombies, Remy appeared at your side, still dressed in his pirate costume, hat tilted at a jaunty angle. "Well, now that the little devils are out of our hair," he said with a grin, "it’s time for the real fun to start. I didn’t dress up for nothin’." He tipped his hat at you, then at Logan. "Hope you’re ready, chérie, ‘cause I brought out the good whiskey."

"About time," Logan grunted, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Might as well make this night worth the effort."

The moment the kids were safely tucked away, the main floor of the mansion transformed yet again—this time into a proper Halloween party for the adults. The common room was lit with a warm orange glow from jack-o'-lanterns scattered about, and cobwebs hung in the corners while a spooky playlist crackled from an old record player in the corner. A variety of drinks were set up on the bar, along with bowls of snacks and trays of cookies shaped like ghosts and bats.

"Alright, folks," Rogue called out from the center of the room, holding up a shot glass filled with something dark and ominous. "Let’s kick this thing off with a drinking game! Rules are simple—if you get caught in a lie, you drink. If you admit something embarrassing, we drink. And if anyone complains about their costume," she shot a glance at Logan, "they drink twice."

Logan smirked, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar and pouring himself a glass. "Looks like you’re all gonna get real drunk, then," he said, taking a swig.

"Please," you teased, sidling up next to him and giving him a playful nudge. "I’m pretty sure I could outdrink you in my sleep."

His eyebrow shot up, a spark of challenge lighting in his eyes. "That so?" he drawled, setting his glass down. "Guess we’ll have to see about that, cara mia. "

Remy, already leaning into the spirit of the game, handed out shot glasses to everyone. "Alright, first question," he said with a mischievous grin. "Raise your hand if you’ve ever used your powers to cheat in a game."

Several hands shot up—Bobby, who was dressed as Frankenstein, wiggled his fingers. "I mean, is it really cheating if it’s just a little bit of ice to cool the drinks?" he said with a grin.

Jean, who had come as a flapper girl, laughed and raised her glass. "Guilty," she admitted. "Scott and I may have used telekinesis during Twister once or twice."

You glanced over at Logan, who hadn’t raised his hand but was watching everyone with a hint of amusement. "And what about you, Mr. Howlett?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "Ever used those heightened senses to win at cards?"

Logan’s lips twitched. "Don’t need to cheat to beat you," he shot back, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "But if I had used 'em, you’d never know."

"Oh, I see how it is," you teased, stepping closer to him. "Big talk from a guy who almost lost to me in poker last week."

"Almost doesn’t count, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "And if I remember right, you owed me a drink after that."

Remy cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the tension. "Well, well, look at these two," he said with a smirk. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were gonna re-enact that tango scene from Addams Family any minute now."

Rogue let out a laugh, grabbing another drink from the bar. "I’d pay to see that," she said, raising her glass toward you and Logan. "C’mon, Logan, show us your moves."

Logan rolled his eyes but reached for your hand, pulling you closer. "Fine," he grunted, "but don’t say I didn’t warn you."

You grinned, placing your other hand on his shoulder as you let him guide you into an exaggerated, dramatic dip. He held you there for a heartbeat, his face close to yours, a teasing smirk on his lips. "How’s that for a start?" he whispered.

"Not bad," you replied, your voice a playful purr. "But I think we can do better."

The music shifted to a slower, sultrier tune, and Logan pulled you upright, twirling you once before drawing you close again. The room around you faded into laughter and clinking glasses as you let yourselves get lost in the moment, your bodies moving together in time with the music.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept flowing, and the banter grew even more ridiculous. Someone—probably Bobby—had rigged up a costume contest for "Most Ridiculous Outfit," which ended up going to Logan while Hank, who’d put on a fake nose and glasses over his already blue fur, won for "Most Dedicated Effort."

Eventually, Rogue called out for another round of questions. "Alright, last one for the night—who here actually believes in ghosts?"

Several hands shot up, including Jean’s and Bobby’s. Logan remained still, his expression unreadable as he took a sip from his glass.

You nudged him playfully. "C’mon, Logan," you teased. "You’re not afraid of a few ghosts, are you?"

He glanced at you, his eyes steady and serious for just a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. "Darlin'," he said, his voice low and rough, "after all the things I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure a ghost would be the least of my worries."

The room erupted in laughter, and you raised your glass, clinking it against his. "Fair enough, Gomez. If we ever run into one, you’d better protect me."

Logan’s smirk deepened, and he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close. "Always," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "But I think you can handle yourself just fine, Morticia. "

Eventually, the party began to wind down. One by one, people drifted off to bed, the laughter and chatter fading into the quiet hum of the mansion. The candles burned low, casting flickering shadows on the walls, and the faint strains of the last song played softly in the background. It was just you and Logan now, standing together in the dimly lit common room, the lingering warmth of the evening settling into a comfortable silence.

You stifled a yawn, your lids heavy with sleepiness as you leaned against Logan for support. "I’d say this Halloween was a success," you murmured, letting your head rest against his shoulder. "The kids had a blast, no one went into a sugar coma… and I think Hank’s costume might’ve actually caused Bobby to laugh to death."

Logan chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you felt more than heard. "Not bad," he agreed, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. "Though I could’ve done without the 'Most Ridiculous Outfit' contest."

You tilted your head back to look up at him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "Come on , you know you secretly enjoyed yourself," you teased, reaching up to brush a stray piece of lint from his jacket lapel. "I even saw you smile a few times."

He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward in that way that told you he wasn’t actually denying it. "You must be seein' things," he said, his tone gruff but warm. "Maybe it's the whiskey."

"Or maybe," you replied, your voice softening as you ran your fingers along the edge of his collar, "you’re just getting sentimental in your old age."

Logan’s eyes flicked down to meet yours, his gaze dark and steady. "Careful, darlin'," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl that sent a pleasant shiver through you. "You keep teasin' me like that, and I might start thinkin' you actually enjoy my company."

You tilted your chin up, closing the distance between you just enough for your breath to mingle with his. "And if I do?" you whispered, your lips barely brushing his as you spoke.

Before you could blink, his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth met yours in a kiss. It was like the rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in the warmth of each other. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you slid your hands up the front of his suit, fisting the fabric as if you were afraid he might pull away.

Logan didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed you deeper, his other hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you against him. His lips moved over yours with a hunger.

When you finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your forehead resting against his as you struggled to catch your breath. "We should… probably head upstairs," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice as you glanced toward the darkened staircase. "Before someone comes down here and catches us."

Logan smirked, the warmth in his gaze tempered by that familiar spark of mischief. "Guess we wouldn’t want to ruin our reputations," he drawled, his hand slipping into yours as he led you toward the stairs. "C’mon, Morticia. Let’s continue this in private."

The two of you made your way upstairs, your footsteps quiet against the wood floor as you stole glances at each other, the anticipation building with every step. When you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn’t resist pulling him aside into one of the quieter hallways, your back pressing against the wall as you tugged him close again.

Logan didn’t waste a second. His hands slid to your hips, lifting you slightly as his mouth found yours once more, this kiss slower, deeper, as if he were savoring every second. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer, your body arching into his as a soft sigh escaped your lips. It wasn’t just the kiss that made your pulse quicken—it was the feeling of being completely wrapped up in him like he was the only thing that mattered right then.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with a mix of affection and desire. "You look damn good in that dress," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his thumb traced along your jawline.

You smiled, your fingers toying with the collar of his suit jacket. "And you don’t look half bad in a suit," you teased. "But I think I like you better without it."

Logan’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark of challenge. "Then I guess you’ll have to do somethin’ about that, won’t you?"

Your laugh was soft and breathless as you kissed him again, tugging him toward your bedroom with a playful urgency. 

[home-of-renn]

Surprisingly enough, I think Sam and the Addams family would be at odds quite a bit. But Sam wants them to like her, and to some extent, she wants to be like them and fit in with them - which is a very weird first for her. So, she does her best to hold it all in - which is another very weird first. It ends up with her feeling somewhat self-conscious around them. They're more macabre than she is and a hell of a lot more extreme. Sam finds herself not wanting to argue - both for her own sake and Danny's - and for the first time ever, she hesitates over how she expresses her views.

Sam ends up having to reassess how she goes about conveying her beliefs to other people and is forced to take a different approach with the Addamses - one that's less pushy and condescending and actually broaches the topic in a somewhat open-minded manner.

Just imagine the trio getting back from a particularly long stay with the Addams family and the entirety of Amity Park is convinced they've been overshadowed.

Danny's chilled out and still running on the good vibes he picked up from the Addamses and now that inexplicable, foreboding sense of dread that seeps into the room whenever he's present has noticeably reduced.

Tucker, who'd been taken under the gracious wing of Mr Gomez Addams - who just so happened to be the smoothest man Tucker had ever met - had sworn off his creepy attempts at picking up every girl in Casper High. Suddenly he's opening doors in a completely polite and friendly manner, without a single uncalled-for pickup line. He's finally keeping a respectful distance from the girl's changing rooms, and worst of all he managed to make a tasteful joke that actually got a genuine round of laughter from the unsuspecting cheer squad.

Sam had had four separate opportunities to rise up and berate her classmates on various "controversial" topics but chose to remain quiet. And when Paulina had decided to poke the bear and jokingly asked if she was sick, she had replied with a polite, non-sarcastic, measured response that had asserted that she was in perfect health and had gone on to outline her stance in a logical, but firm and almost open-minded series of dot points that she delivered without a single scathing remark about Paulina's recently whitened teeth or 'superficial' personality.

It's safe to say that the entire student body of Casper High had been too afraid to comment on the situation and the Fenton's had been alerted to a code red situation.

[librababe99]

Moths to the Flame

Jason Todd x Female Reader (Addams Family AU)

Tags: Jason Todd, Female Reader, OOC, fluff, Addams Family AU 

Summary: Jason finds his heart captured by you whose haunting beauty and playful spirit ignite a passionate romance that dances delightfully between darkness and desire.

WC: 542 words

A/N: YALL just walk with me for a moment…this past weekend I watched the 1991 Addams family movie and it has become such a comfort movie for me. Like the love Gomez and Morticia have for one another warms my heart! And I couldn’t help but think…what if I wrote an AU with Jason x Reader? This could completely flop but I had to share it 😭🖤

The dim light of the candlelit dinner flickered as Jason leaned back in his chair, an amused grin spread across his face. The opulent dining room was filled with the intoxicating scent of rich, dark food—braised rabbit with black currant sauce, of course. Everything about the evening felt delightfully macabre, from the creaking of the old mansion to the echo of thunder rumbling outside.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched you across the table. You were the embodiment of everything he found enchanting: your long, hair cascaded over your shoulders like a waterfall of night, framing your skin and striking features. Tonight, you wore a deep black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, the lace details giving it a hauntingly beautiful touch.

Jason leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you with unfiltered admiration. "You know, my dear," he began, his voice smooth and low, "every time I see you in that dress, it’s as if the shadows themselves are drawn to your elegance. You could make the Grim Reaper himself hesitate."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "And what, pray tell, would you do if the Grim Reaper came knocking?"

His grin widened, and he leaned even closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Oh, I’d invite him to join us for dinner, of course. But only if you agreed to wear that dress. A fitting companion for our macabre soirée."

You laughed, a sound that danced in the air like a siren's call. It warmed his heart, sending a thrill through him. The way your eyes sparkled with mischief made him feel alive, as if he had stumbled upon a secret no one else could know.

"You're too much, Jason," you replied, shaking your head playfully. "But flattery will get you everywhere."

He feigned a sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. "Ah, but how can I not gush over the woman who makes even the darkness jealous? You are like a night sky full of stars, and I am but a moth, drawn to your light."

You couldn’t help but smile at his theatrics. Jason stood up from his seat, moving around the table with the grace of a dancer. As he reached you, he gently took your hands in his, his gaze intensifying. “Every moment spent with you feels like a dance—dangerous, delightful, and utterly thrilling. I would face any monster, any curse, just to see you smile.”

Your heart raced as you gazed into his deep, stormy eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you. “And what if that monster is you?” you teased, unable to resist.

“Then I would be your monster,” he replied with a devilish grin, “if it meant I could keep you by my side forever.”

In that moment, surrounded by the flickering candles and the echoes of thunder outside, you realized you wouldn’t want it any other way. With a playful spark in your eyes, you leaned closer, your foreheads touching, the tension electrifying the air around you.

“Just don’t forget who the real monster is,” you whispered, lips curving into a playful smirk, and in that breath, Jason knew you were exactly where you both belonged: in each other’s darkness.

[poisonlove]

You⁴ | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Part 1 part 2 part 3

Getting used to it had been more difficult than expected.

It had been almost a month since that kiss and the proposal to see where things would go. Since then, everything between Wednesday and y/n had stayed the same, at least on the surface. Neither of them had put a label on what they were, but the brunette had realized that it was okay. She liked spending time with her, and the only real difference from before was the kisses they exchanged in secret within the walls of their respective dorms.

The real problem, Wednesday realized, was that y/n kept receiving numerous declarations of love from others. Because everything they did remained hidden, she couldn’t openly claim y/n in front of everyone at Nevermore. And that was deeply irritating her.

“Mmmh...” y/n mumbled from Wednesday's bed.

Y/n’s y/c eyes stared with annoyance at the back of Wednesday’s head, half-closed, almost as if she was trying to send her thoughts into Wednesday’s mind, hoping she would stop writing and come to bed with her. Wednesday could feel her gaze.

“Stop staring at me,” Wednesday snapped, her eyes glued to the typewriter in front of her.

Lately, y/n had become very clingy, wanting to spend lots of time with her. Despite tolerating her presence, Wednesday needed her space. She loved writing, loved wandering alone, and enjoyed spending some afternoons in the arms of her... y/n. But that was it. Sometimes she found herself spending time with her and Yoko, and that disturbed her.

“Are you coming?” y/n asked in a small voice.

She had had a horrible morning. She lost in fencing to Bianca, got a terrible grade in English literature, and misplaced her favorite headphones. If that wasn’t enough, she arrived late to the cafeteria and couldn’t eat anything.

She wanted to feel Wednesday’s presence; she needed comfort.

“Is it necessary?” Wednesday asked in a cold tone, her fingers diligently typing away. Her eyes were fixed on the sheet of paper, slowly taking shape as her thoughts were put into words, her character's actions drawing her deeper into the story.

“I need you,” y/n murmured in a soft voice. She was fully aware of Wednesday’s distant attitude, but she hoped she could make an exception for her this afternoon.

Wednesday had to stop writing.

She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. You want to give this a try, she thought to herself, then help her out. Addams slowly turned toward the bedroom and saw y/n looking at her with puppy-dog eyes.

She’s... cute, Wednesday thought, a small smile threatening to escape her lips.

Y/n opened her arms and gave an awkward smile, her cheeks reddening under Wednesday’s piercing gaze. Addams blinked and stood up from her chair, walking with a determined step toward y/n. In a way that felt awkward and mechanical to Wednesday, she complied with y/n’s request, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Thank you,” y/n whispered against her neck.

Wednesday resisted the urge to break the hug, letting herself be overtaken by the emotions that had been chasing her for weeks. The scent of lavender from y/n flooded her senses, making her relax. Addams tightened the embrace, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had grown used to y/n’s affectionate gestures, but part of her still felt as tense as a board. Y/n’s hand moved along her back, noticing how rigid her posture was.

“Are you okay? You’re so stiff,” y/n asked with concern.

Wednesday pulled slightly away from the hug and looked at y/n without blinking. Y/n’s y/c eyes gazed into hers with worry, and Wednesday felt an unmistakable warmth in her cheeks. “I... I need to get used to it,” she stammered.

Wednesday frowned... Since when do I stammer?

Y/n smiled broadly and let out a timid laugh, amused by Wednesday’s reaction. Her hands rested around Addams' waist, giving her a light squeeze. “How about...” y/n began, biting her lower lip, looking thoughtful.

Wednesday’s eyes dropped to her lips.

“We practice a little?” y/n asked in a husky voice. In the weeks they had spent together, y/n always asked for permission before kissing Wednesday. The reason? They weren’t officially a couple, and y/n was terrified of scaring Addams with her emotional intensity.

She was well aware of how clingy she could be.

Wednesday slowly nodded her head, and y/n grinned widely, leaning in toward the goth girl’s face. Y/n’s hands gripped Addams' waist as she gently pressed their lips together. Wednesday sighed and returned the kiss, her cold, full lips melding with y/n’s.

Y/n was careful, keeping her tongue in check.

Wednesday bit y/n’s lower lip and broke the kiss, her dark brown eyes studying the girl next to her with curiosity. Her breath was uneven, and a warmth spread through her chest at the sight of y/n’s tousled appearance. Every time they kissed, a spark ran through her body. Is this what they call love?

“When are we making things official?” y/n suddenly asked, causing Wednesday’s blood to freeze. She had promised herself she would respect Wednesday’s timing, but part of her hoped to be able to call her girlfriend soon. Addams pressed her lips together.

“No,” Wednesday said coldly.

“No what?” y/n asked in confusion.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wednesday said simply, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Coward, Wednesday thought to herself. You’re a coward.

Wednesday was terrified of being seen with y/n. Not because she was ashamed of her, of course not, but because she feared people would think she had softened. She wanted to maintain her character in front of Nevermore, while being herself in y/n’s arms.

Was that too much to ask?

“Fine,” y/n muttered monotonously, getting out of bed. She needed to get out of there. Wednesday blinked in surprise, not expecting that reaction from her.

“Fine,” Wednesday replied coldly.

She watched y/n leave the room and immediately felt guilty. She wanted to spend time with her, to be together. But she was too proud to run after her and ask her to stay, so she returned to her writing, hoping her thoughts would focus on something other than y/n.

“Hey Wed, I saw y/n storm out of here completely mad... What happened?” Enid asked curiously as she entered the room. She had run into y/n in the hallway, and she had barely greeted her, too angry to say much. She was sure it was because of Wednesday. She and Yoko were the only ones who knew about their relationship.

“Nothing,” Wednesday responded monotonously, her eyes still fixed on the typewriter. Enid sighed resignedly and lay down on the bed, flipping through a magazine to pass the time.

She’d meet up with Yoko later.

(...)

Wednesday couldn’t write.

She could no longer ignore the unease tightening her chest. Even though her pride urged her to let it go, she knew she had to talk to y/n. Walking down the hallways, she took her phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed her number, but there was no answer. Again, no response.

Leaving the dormitory, she spotted Ajax leaning against a column near the dorms.

“Have you seen y/n?” she asked in her usual cold, detached tone.

Ajax, surprised by the question, raised his eyebrows. “No, I—”

She didn’t even give him time to finish before turning on her heels and walking away, leaving Ajax perplexed, his mouth still open. It wasn’t unusual for Wednesday to act like that, but this time she seemed a little colder than usual.

She walked through the gates of Nevermore with a determined step, her dark eyes scanning her surroundings. As she made her way through the gardens, she noticed the students' gazes on her, quickly looking away as they clearly sensed her foul mood.

A little further ahead, she saw y/n.

Y/n was sitting under a large tree, away from the other students' eyes. A stick was slowly burning between her hands, smoke rising in thin curls, and her eyes were fixed on the wood, focused on controlling the flame’s intensity.

Despite her heart pounding hard, Wednesday kept her usual impassive expression as she approached. The sight of y/n, immersed in her bad mood and that almost hypnotic gesture, struck her. The fire reflected in y/n’s eyes as she continued to deliberately ignore her, too absorbed in her anger or silent torment.

Wednesday stopped a few steps away, the sound of her shoes on the damp ground breaking the silence. “Y/n,” she said firmly, trying to get her attention but not raising her voice too much. She wasn’t used to apologies or pleading, and even now, she wasn’t sure if it was right to ask for forgiveness. However, her presence spoke for her: she was there, and that had to mean something.

Y/n didn’t respond immediately, continuing to watch the flame slowly consuming the stick in her hands.

Y/n didn’t look up right away, still turning the stick between her fingers as the flame slowly moved from one end to the other. The silence between them became palpable, filled with unspoken emotions and unresolved tension.

Wednesday stood still, her gaze fixed on y/n, but with that typical unreadable expression. She wasn’t used to taking the first step, let alone chasing someone, but with y/n, everything felt different, more complex.

“You should be more careful with that fire,” Wednesday finally said, her gaze shifting slightly to the side, almost as if she was trying to control her words. “It could get out of hand.”

Y/n scoffed, stifling a sarcastic smile. "I handle it just fine, thanks," she replied with a sharp tone, finally lifting her gaze to meet Wednesday's. In her eyes, there was a spark of defiance, but also something deeper—a hidden vulnerability that only someone who knew her well could detect.

Wednesday let out a small sigh, lowering her gaze for a moment. She wasn’t good with words, especially when it came to expressing her feelings, but she knew she had to say something. "Come to the dorm," she then proposed, almost nonchalantly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her. "We can... talk."

Y/n remained silent for a moment, weighing the offer. She was angry and wanted to keep her distance, but the truth was she couldn't resist Wednesday. There was something about that coldness, that way of appearing impassive and controlled, that made her cave every time.

"Talk?" y/n repeated with a slight hint of irony, letting the now-charred stick fall to the ground. But deep down, she already knew her answer.

Wednesday, without looking directly at her, gave a slight nod. "Or whatever else you want."

That small glimpse of vulnerability in Wednesday was enough to break y/n's last bit of resistance. Slowly standing up, she tossed the stick aside and approached, arms still crossed in a defensive stance. "Okay," she finally murmured, avoiding her gaze. "Let's go."

As Wednesday and y/n were walking toward the dorm, a girl approached them with a determined stride. Her eyes were fixed on y/n, completely ignoring Wednesday's presence as if she didn't exist.

"Y/n, can I talk to you for a moment?" the girl asked, blocking her path with a confident smile. Wednesday immediately stopped beside y/n, scrutinizing the newcomer with suspicion.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," the girl continued, ignoring the tense silence around them. "And I can't hold back anymore. I really like you, y/n. I'd like to go out with you." Her tone was direct, with no hesitation, as if she were sure of y/n's response.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say a word, Wednesday intervened.

"I think you've made a mistake," she said in her icy voice, stepping forward and positioning herself between y/n and the girl. "Y/n is not available."

The girl stared at her, surprised by the interruption. "That's none of your business," she replied provocatively, finally acknowledging Wednesday’s presence. "Y/n can speak for herself."

Wednesday didn’t move, her cold, dark eyes piercing the girl. "She doesn't need to answer you because the answer is already clear. Y/n is my girlfriend," she declared, with a calmness that hid a silent threat.

The girl laughed, incredulous. "Your girlfriend? Really?" she asked, skeptical, glancing at y/n as if seeking confirmation. "I don't believe it."

The smile on her face, however, quickly faded when her eyes met Wednesday's again. Wednesday’s expression was icy, impenetrable, filled with an absolute certainty that made it clear she wasn’t joking. The chill in Wednesday’s gaze seemed to freeze the air around them, making it hard for the girl to find words.

"Try questioning what I said again," Wednesday added, her voice dripping with cold menace, "and I promise it won’t be a pleasant conversation."

The girl swallowed, visibly uncomfortable. Without another word, she turned and walked away quickly, her confidence evaporating in the face of Wednesday’s intensity.

Once the girl was finally out of sight, Wednesday turned to y/n, saying nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes. Y/n looked at her, still a bit surprised by the whole situation but with a small smile on her lips, appreciating how Wednesday had handled it.

"So... it's official?"

It was a question that touched on something delicate, something she had never had to confront before. Y/n’s words made her feel slightly out of her comfort zone.

"If official means I don’t tolerate anyone else hanging around you... yes, it’s official," she replied with her usual icy calm, though the tension in her eyes betrayed her effort to stay in control.

Y/n chuckled softly, surprised by Wednesday’s straightforward answer. "That’s not exactly what I meant," she said, stopping so that Wednesday would also turn toward her.

For a moment, their eyes met. Wednesday felt her heart beating faster than usual, but she would never allow her emotions to show too much. Yet, she knew she had to face this situation because losing y/n was not an option she could consider.

Yes," she finally said, her tone softer, though still restrained. "It’s official. You’re mine, and I’m yours."

As difficult as it was to admit it, Wednesday knew it was the truth. Acknowledging that reality was hard, but losing you would have been even harder.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Can you do a male wednesday on what it would be like on their wedding day

Wednesday's cold and frozen heart, came to life, beating wildly against his rib cage as his coal eyes took you in. Your wedding gown hugged your figure in a way that had Wednesday itching for the moment he would have you alone and your long veil trailing behind you in a graceful puddle. Everything slowed down once you finally stood in front of him, with a happy but nervous smile as you stared into his eyes through the lace veil. The words of the priest (who you insisted on) Wednesday could hardly hear him, nothing else mattered to him besides you.

The audience cheered, Addams with your family alike as he pushed back your veil and your lips meshed against his. Sealing your fate forevermore

You were now an Addams. And you will be forever.

[deadlynavigation]

Pretty & Pink

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: request from @cecebabs !! school has been kicking my ass lately so just bear with me yall 🥲

Navigation

**gif is not meant to be a representation of what reader looks like**

Opposites attract—or at least, that’s what they said. Wednesday had never put any stock into the saying until he met you.

You were a bright little thing, full of happiness and hope and all the other disgusting emotions. But Wednesday endured, because at the end of the day, you held his heart in your manicured hand.

Every once in a while, though, he’ll question what he’s doing. Like tonight, for instance. It had been a long day. The errands that had been piling up over the week were finally accomplished a few hours ago, and it was exhausting. So exhausting that all he wanted to do was collapse in the nearest bed, no matter the owner or location. And since you didn’t want your partner to end up in some alleyway mattress, you dragged him over to your apartment, where he was currently camped out on your bed.

“You doing okay in there, sweetie?” You call to him from your bathroom, hands dripping with water as you rinse your cleanser off.

“Yes, my love. Are you done yet?” Wednesday calls back. He knows his question is in vain, though. Your skincare routine is a long ordeal, and you’ve only just started.

He hears your soft laughter float through the air. “I’ll be right out.” You respond, picking up a serum.

Wednesday decides he can’t wait, heading into the bathroom and settling behind where you stand. You greet him with a smile, picking up the next step of your routine to show to him.

“It’s a new moisturizer I got today,” You explain. “It’s supposed to be good for dry skin, and with all the nasty weather lately…”

Wednesday doesn’t hear the rest of your rant, focusing instead on those pretty eyes of yours. Oh, how he longs to drown in them. To sink into their depths, seeing the world from your hopeful view. Unpacking all your thoughts, understanding and empathizing.

Listen to him. He’s practically a puddle of mush. What have you done to him?

“...Wednesday, baby?” You tilt your head as Wednesday snaps back into reality. “Were you even listening?”

He takes one more second to stare at you before sheepishly shaking his head. “Deepest apologies, cara mia. There are simply too many pretty parts to you, I cannot focus on every one of them at once.”

You giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Maybe I should turn away, then. Stop distracting you with my wiles.”

Wednesday smirks. “Turning away from me would entice me even more, Y/n. You really want to play that game?”

“Oh my god. Ok, I’m not facing you anymore. You’ve lost that privilege.” Your cheeks are on fire now, and if you maintain eye contact any longer, you’re worried you might burst into flames. True to your word, you pivot to face the mirror. Then, using your arms, you hop up onto the counter, climbing into the sink for an optimal view.

Wednesday nearly has a heart attack as you jump. His hands fall into place, ready to catch you or save your head from a nasty bang should your acrobatics go wrong, but once you’re in place, he sighs loudly.

“Must you do that, my love?” His seriousness is ruined by a smile creeping onto his face.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. This moisturizer requires my full attention.” It’s hard tamping down your own smile, but the teasing seems to be worth it as Wednesday’s stare darkens.

“The moisturizer gets your attention, hm? That’s a dangerous game, cara mia.”

You don’t respond, instead dipping your finger into the container and dotting it on your cheeks.

“Come down from that sink so we can see who really has your attention right now.” Wednesday taunts you. After a couple seconds, you give in, closing up the product and carefully setting it down before jumping back down onto the floor. Within seconds, Wednesday takes a step and sits on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing your hands and gently tugging you along at the same time. Before you know it, you’re sat on his lap, a smirk on his face and a shocked look on yours.

“Attention still on skincare, love?” Wednesday teases.

You give up on the facade. “No,” You breathe, leaning in. “But what if I share my attention with it?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow as you get up, reaching into the bottom drawer of the counter and coming back to him with a small package. You sit back down, ripping it open and tossing the top in the trash.

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

“Is that one of those grotesque concoctions that spreads all over your face? The one that looks like a death mask?” Wednesday questions, but you’re already reaching into the package.

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

“...Sure.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, and Wednesday is set up on your bed with no intention of moving. A green substance covers the majority of his face, making him question why he doesn’t let you do this more often. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, settled in amongst your many pink throw pillows and cherry blossom sheets. You’re settled in too, resting your head on his chest while trying to sync your breaths with the steady thumps of his heart. Your manicured fingers etch random shapes into his skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle and adding a heart or two every so often.

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

‘Wanna start a movie?” Wednesday asks, looking down at your comfy self with adoration.

You look up, meeting his eyes with the same love. “Can I choose?”

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

An hour later, and Wednesday is ready to commit homicide. Of all the movies you could have picked, you went with Mean Girls. Your defense? “It’s the feminist movement at its finest, Wednesday.”

“It’s… very pink.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part! All the decorations and outfits are amazing. They were actually part of what inspired this room’s decor.”

Wednesday looks around at the brightly colored walls, the pastel curtains, the cute pillows, and even the pink pens scattered across your desk. “I never would’ve guessed, my love.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Wednesday chuckles. “Yes, very.” He agrees sarcastically. You don’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to lay back down on his chest and go back to watching the movie. You don’t get to stay there for very long, though, because a minute later, the timer on your phone goes off.

“Mkay. Time to take this off, babe.” You poke his face mask. Wednesday rises without complaint, heading to the bathroom while you grab some water and a cloth. Internally, though, he’s begging you not to. It feels so nice, and having you apply it was one of the best feelings in the world.

As you start working through the layers of the mask with water and a gentle hand, though, Wednesday revises his thoughts—never mind the application. This was the best feeling in the world.

As you work, Wednesday leans into your hands. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for your whispered promises of comfy beds and pillows and cuddles.

*****

The next morning, Wednesday gets up much earlier than usual. The sun is just barely up, peeking through your pastel curtains and coating the bed in a buttery yellow. You’re burrowed into his arms, tucked safely into his chest with the messy blankets surrounding you. He takes a minute to absorb your cuteness, smiling down at you as he slowly wakes up.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He whispers, not yet wanting to wake you. You’ve reminded him time and time again that the blinking digits on the clock right now are not digits you ever want to be awake to see, and he’s taken that to heart. But he still has to kill time until you wake–maybe a run? He could drop by the gym just down the street that he really likes. Or maybe a chore? The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded.

But those all sound like too much work for this early in the day, so Wednesday settles on just getting you a coffee. A nice five-minute walk and your drowsy smile to greet him when he gets back. Perfect.

Within minutes, Wednesday is up and out. He strolls down the street, taking his time to enjoy the soft sunlight. That’s new, he suddenly realizes–and probably your doing, as well. You’re a fan of tilting your face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, and claiming the rays cheer you up. Maybe you’ve passed that onto him.

A couple more minutes tick by, and Wednesday reaches your regular coffee shop. He enters the place with a little jingle as the door opens, and is immediately greeted with the scent of dark coffee and light chatter.

“What can I get for you this morning, sir?” A too-happy employee asks him as he walks up to the counter.

Damn, what was that drink you really liked? Something with pink in it, he’s sure of it.

“Just two medium coffees, one black and one with that pink flavor, please.” Manners with normies–that’s another thing you’ve unknowingly reinforced with him.

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

“Yes, that’s it. Thanks.” Wednesday pulls out his card, handing it to the guy.

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

“We’ll have those coffees right out for you, sir.”

“Brilliant.” With that, Wednesday finds an isolated corner to haunt until his name is called, quickly grabbing the coffees and exiting the building. It’s an even quicker walk back with the warm drinks providing some heat on this chilly morning.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Wednesday manages to buzz into the building, climb the stairs to your apartment, and work the keys until your door clicks open, all with his hands full. He’s greeted with the sight of you half-asleep on the couch, the news playing softly in the background.

“What are you doing up, love?” He questions, setting the coffees down on the coffee table and kneeling on the floor.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumble, grabbing for his hand and interlocking it with yours. “Was cold in the bed without you.”

Wednesday practically melts. How can one girl be so sweet and caring? So happy?

“I’m sorry, my love. But look, I got you that coffee you like to make up for it.” He gestures to the beverages with his free hand before resting it on your head. He goes about stroking your hair, lulling you back into a dreamlike state.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall back asleep,” you bat at his hand, trying to get it out of your hair. You were up to see him, not to fall asleep on him.

“And I will still be here when you wake up, cara mia. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here. I love you.”

[crow-crystal]

Dp x Addams Family

◆◇◆

Danny is a young ghost. Even after time had passed and he, along with his friends, were adults, he was still a young ghost. Halfa, really. By all formal accounts, he is to be crowned king of the infinite realms. When he's older, at least. By then, everyone would have passed and moved onto the realms anyway.

Instead, he is tasked with aiding various beings and denizens get to where they need to be. Move on, most of the time. When he is old enough, he will be crowned king, and the original beings holding the job he's tasked with will come back to work.

Danny: Better than doing Clockworks job so he can have a vacation, I guess.

◇◆◇

This is where the Addams Family comes in. You see, he'd been alerted of a spirit he needed to help.

Danny: Why are the ghosts in this area complaining about a 'terrifying new but not new gho-'

Sam and Tucker: Just do your job, Danny, we have a game night scheduled, remember?

The whole thing was strange. The ghost, an Addams apparently, had simply been bored. Bored. So, here he was, escorting them back to their dimension so they could get back to their grave. Though, the stories were interesting. Opening a portal, he listens to them cackle before diving back into their grave. Shrugging, he turns to leave.

◆◇◆

It had been a wonderful night. Dark, stormy, and even a slightly ominous, foreboding feeling throughout the day. The couple, Morticia and Gomez Addams, had been taking a night walk at the family graveyard. Of course, when the air shifted, they paused.

Watching in curiosity as the temperature dropped. A rip in time and space appeared, as if something was clawing its way out of between the seams of reality. A boy with hair white as fresh snow not yet tainted by blood, eyes glowing an eerie green that made you feel as if you were being pulled into a realm unknown appeared. Of course, their attention was taken by another being appearing behind the boy.... Ah. It seems one of their cousin was out and about. Their cousin cackles, and oh, isn't that a familiar haunting sound. They witness them dive back into their grave as their cackles fade.

◇◆◇

Danny, about to turn and leave, pauses. Sensing a living (At least it feels like it, geeze, is this what other ghosts feel about him and other halflas?) Being he turns. Blank faced as he looked at the two humans (?) That definitely witnessed him guiding their (probably) family member back to their grave.

"..."

"..."

"They got bored."

Was all he said before he went back into the realms. Portal disappearing after him. He doesn't think much of the encounter. Leaving to have a game night with his friends.

Only, it's not the only encounter. Turns out, he meets an Addams quite a bit as time passes. Alive (debatable, but he won't question it) and Dead. Before he knows it, he's been integrated into the kooky little family. It probably doesn't help he brought Jazz to meet them once, and she ended up tormenting a few people with the Addams. (On accident, they swear!)

Either way, when he gets summoned by the family, all he does is sleepily blink as Grandmama Addams drags him into the kitchen to try recipes she's been trying out with ectoplasm. He was tired after a particularly long shift, so the observants could screw off if they didn't like him taking a small break. Besides, he can't let this food go to waste!

◆◇◆

[temporary-tats]

Well… finally watched Wednesday.

Guess what I’m gonna be fucking insufferable about for the rest of my life?

Surely not the Black Cat x Golden Retriever ship that has burrowed itself into my bones and imbedded itself in my DNA in the past 2 days. Pshhh… nooo….

[imagination-phantom]

Day 25! That Gomez and Morticia love~

“ When we are together, darling every night is Halloween~” then he blows a raspberry on your neck because Stan can’t take anything seriously for more than point five seconds xD

@nyx-universe thank you so much for the ask! I had so much fun with this!

I’m new to making gifs/animations be nice! lol