Youraveragemilfslover - Julie - Tumblr Blog

everyone but her pt.44

Summary: You and Wednesday have an argument. Probably the first one in as long as you can remember.

Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: swearing, unwanted advances, delusions Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

You were still spitting werewolf hair out of your mouth an hour after getting back home.

It had been a mad dash to get Eugene and Enid to the hospital. You had been able to carry Enid, but both Ash and Wednesday had to share Eugene’s weight. The doctors were quick to take them back and assess the damage, and the three of you were left waiting out front.

Thankfully, Enid healed fast and Eugene wasn’t as bad as he looked.

“You know,” you said as you fell onto the couch, “I think we’re one accident away from being banned from the friend group.”

All the air was pushed from your lungs as Wednesday fell on top of you.

“I believe you may be correct.”

“At least they’re okay,” you said.

Wednesday simply hummed in agreement. The weight of her body resting on yours was comforting. Her elbow was digging into a still-forming bruise on your ribs, but it didn’t hurt. Not really. Not when her ring rested securely around your finger. Not when your ring gleamed in the artificial light of the apartment, illuminating every inch of her entire being.

Engaged. Oh geez, you would probably need to tell your family at some point. Abuelita and Momma knew of your plan, at least most of it, but this wasn’t exactly expected. Surely they wouldn’t get onto you, right? It wasn’t like you had planned on Wednesday whipping it out so soon, she still hadn’t graduated yet. Everyone knew marriage before graduation was a recipe for disaster.

Well, maybe it would be fine. After all, Wednesday Addams was anything but normal.

Something tickled the back of your throat.

“I hate werewolf hair,” you said as you tried to cough it up.

“You shouldn’t have bit him,” Wednesday said matter-of-factly. “You were aware of the outcome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled.

Silence fell over the apartment, and the wear and tear of the evening finally started to settle. While not the worst fight you had been in, there was nothing gentle about a werewolf. Simply holding on to his neck was enough to throw you around, leaving your body sore and stiff.

Wednesday, in a strange way, was like your personal ice pack. It was lovely.

Something rattled against the wooden table near the kitchen. It cut through the silence like a knife. Both you and Wednesday jumped. In a move that was uncharacteristic of your girlfriend - fiancee, you thought giddily - she looked at you until you nodded in silent permission before getting up from your lap.

You stared at her ass shamelessly as she walked over to the table and grabbed her phone.

“Everyone okay?” You asked after she set the phone back on the table.

“Eugene is awake, and Enid is back home,” she said.

You pushed yourself up from the couch. “Good.”

Your knee creaked as you shuffled over to the table. The logical part of your brain knew they would be okay; Eugene was tough, and Enid was… well, she was Enid. And she was tough as nails. But there was still a part that worried they wouldn’t be okay. That you and Wednesday had shown up too late, and you would have to sit by idly while they died.

They should have, the voice in your head said. They should have died in the woods.

Then there was that part that you just wanted to shut up.

“No more woods for any of us, right?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around Wednesday’s waist. From that position, she smelled of the damp forest.

“For anyone,” she answered quickly. “Enid can transition into a house dog.”

You laughed to yourself at the thought. Enid? Your Enid? She could never. After she had turned for the first time, she had been an insatiable little beast. If she couldn’t get outside - which had only happened twice - she would cry and whine and practically knock the door down until she could leave the confines of the apartment. It was endearing.

And a little expensive.

Mention of the woods made you pause.

“How did you know Enid and Eugene were in the woods?” You asked. She hummed inquisitively. “You ran out of the apartment like you knew exactly where they were.”

“I did,” she said. “I saw it in my vision.”

“What?” You asked, unwrapping your arms and stepping back. It was like a jolt of electricity had gone through your body.

“Twice, actually,” she said as if you hadn’t just pulled away from her calming… coldness? Was that the right word?

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

Still, she didn’t turn around. “Once at your mother’s faux charity gala, then again after exchanging rings-”

“-stop, time out,” you said. A little louder than necessary, you would admit. “What do you mean, visions?”

Finally, Wednesday turned around. She had a look on her face that eerily resembled the not-deer you occasionally saw in the woods. Not afraid per se, but fearful. Striking an unsettling cord in your own chest while doubtless hers felt the same.

“We were both students at the school specifically for Outcasts,” she said simply.

“I know that,” you grumbled. “But you never told me anything about visions.”

Her head tilted to the left. “Why do you believe I was at Nevermore?”

You could have laughed. Truly, you could have. Why did you believe she was there? It was obvious why she was there, everyone had seen her! All it took was one look before everyone figured out why she was there. Hell, if she had said she created Nevermore, you would have believed her!

“Because you’re a fucking freak!” You said. “Respectfully,” in a softer tone. “And you tried to kill some people.”

“You were mistaken.”

Well no shit, you thought. How could she not have told you? Sure, maybe you had never asked, but you didn’t think you had to. Had everyone else known she had visions? Were you the only one who had no earthly clue what your own fiancee was at the Freak School for Serious Freaks for? She… she didn’t think you didn’t care, right?

She lied to you, the voice hummed. Effortlessly.

No, she hadn’t lied. It was an omission of facts, that was all. Which… oddly enough, didn’t make you feel any better. She really hadn’t even hinted at anything? Just let you think she was constantly having some sort of freaky seizure, or fainting, or who knew what other horrible thing you could think of. And she just… didn’t tell you?

She dragged you into danger, the voice taunted. Find out why.

“What did you see about the woods?” You asked. “About Eugene and Enid.”

“I saw them injured on the ground while…” she paused. That wasn’t right. “Someone stood over them.”

Why would she pause?

“Who did you see?”

She didn’t answer. Wednesday didn’t answer, and that wasn’t right. You two didn’t keep things from each other, that just wasn’t how you operated. You don’t tell her about me, the voice said, but you pushed it aside. You had partially told her about the voice before; this wasn’t the same.

“Wednesday,” you said again, “who did you see?”

Her singular deep inhale should have been answer enough.

“You.”

“Jesus Christ, Wednesday,” you said with a harsh exhale.

Your fingers ran through your hair, getting caught in tangles and picking out twigs and leaves. How could that have happened? How could she have seen you standing over them? You of all people? You would rather die than hurt Enid or Eugene, on purpose or on accident.

“These visions aren’t fact, they can change,” Wednesday said matter-of-factly. How could she be so calm? This was serious.

“Who else have you seen me hurt?” You asked; your voice was getting higher. “If you think I could hurt Enid and Eugene, then who else?”

Her typical glare softened. You didn’t want it to soften. You wanted her to tell you that you were being ridiculous. Why couldn’t she do that? She needed to tell you that things were fine, she wasn’t serious, and her visions were just a… a silly goofy time or some bullshit like that.

But she didn’t. She didn’t say anything, just looked at you like you were a kicked puppy. Your mouth was salivating; drooling, if you wanted to be brutally honest about it. Blood rushed through your body, sounding like waves against the shore. Except it wasn’t as pretty.

Say something.

“Who, Wednesday?” You pleaded. Begged.

Pathetic.

“Mack.”

You know the rush of adrenaline you get after doing something risky or exciting? When you felt elated, invincible, like nothing could touch you. If anything, you felt like you were on top of the world.

Yeah, you didn’t feel that.

You felt the crash. The drop in your stomach that made you feel ill. Trembling hands hung by your side. Wednesday was still looking at you, waiting for a response. Or waiting to see if you would lose your shit.

“Fuck you, Addams.” There wasn’t much else you could say. There wasn’t much else to say.

Wednesday’s eyes went wide before quickly returning to a scowl.

“I said they weren’t fact,” she argued.

“No, no, hang on,” you said, shaking your head. You took a step away. “Let’s forget, for five fucking seconds, that my own fiancee didn’t tell me about her visions.”

She blinked once, but otherwise tried to appear unphased.

“Now you think I would hurt- no, kill Mack?” Another step back; the back of your skull tingled. “I would never put his wife and kid through that!”

“I know.”

She said it too quickly. Did she really know? It wasn’t the first time she had potentially accused you of some sort of violence. When your therapist was murdered, she was hesitant about your innocence even though she said otherwise.

She doesn’t believe you.

Yeah, that much was obvious. For all the steps you had taken away from her, she had yet to step closer. Against popular belief, you did have a logical part of your brain. It knew why Wednesday didn’t come closer and chase you.

But the logical side was drowned out by the overwhelming paranoia that was sitting on your chest. It creeped through your arteries, prying open every valve and filling every inch of your heart until you couldn’t breathe and your fingers went cold.

She doesn’t trust you.

You knew that.

She thinks you’re dangerous.

You knew that too.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. A prison, just for you. You were accutely aware of each and every feather on your wings. Each breath you took rattled in your ears like some kind of ghost.

Out of the corner of your eye, someone was just standing there. Watching you. Waiting for you to lose it and make a mistake. Like usual. Like always.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t do this.” Your voice was so quiet you weren’t even sure if you had psoken at all.

Wednesday didn’t say a word.

The figure creeped closer. Not with steps, no, he never actually moved. He just appeared closer. Your chest felt tighter. A paralysing sense of doom fell upon you. It iddn’t land like a blanket, covering you completely. More like it settled on you like snow; small, almost unnoticeable until it was too late and you were trapped under it’s weight.

The figure appeared closer again.

Run.

“I have to go,” you said.

When you turned your head, the figure disappeared back into the shadows.

You had to leave. Something was wrong and you could feel it. It was in the apartment, hiding in some forgotten corner, waiting for you to walk by so it could drag you back to the depths of limbo.

“Where are you going?” Wednesday asked when you stepped into the hallway.

You didn’t know how you had gotten there.

A new feeling crawled into your throat and left a lump.

“Why don’t you ask your visions?” You shot back. Wednesday visibly flinched. “I’m sure they’ll tell you.”

You didn’t wait for an answer before shutting the door and leaving the building.

—---

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

You blinked once, and all the sounds of your surroundings assaulted your ears.

The bartender was waiting for an answer.

You stammered out a response, fully unaware of what was requested. The bartender nodded and smiled politely. You blinked once. When your eyes opened again, you were seated on one of the stools at the bar. It was rather nice. The wood was polished so well you could see your sad, pathetic reflection on top of the reddish wood.

“Here you go,” the bartender said softly as he slid the lowball glass in front of you.

By all accounts, it was a lovely-looking drink. A dark amber liquid filled the glass around a singular sphere of ice; a ripoff. The smallest sliver of spiraled orange peel rested precariously on the rim. On closer inspection, you even saw two cherries at the bottom of the glass. Alright, that made up for the lack of liquor.

The glass was cold as you lifted it to your lips and took a sip.

And shuddered.

You hated old fashions.

As the drink disappeared sip by sip, your thoughts ran rampant. After all those years dating, and all that time being friends - or acquaintances, if you asked Wednesday - how could she have never told you about her vision? Not even a hint!

Not even from your so-called friends.

And that was another thing. Had everyone else known? Even just some of them? You didn’t know which was worse. That everyone knew and didn’t fill you in on that important fact, or no one did. Actually, scratch that, you hoped no one knew. At least it meant you weren’t the odd one out.

They all lied to you.

It made you angry; irrationally so. Wednesday, the woman you loved and planned on marrying, hadn’t told you the crucial fact of what her Outcast ability was. She had hidden it from you for years. Had let you stay in the dark.

Just like Nicky.

Maybe… you had some trust issues with psychics.

From the mirror behind the bar, Nicky stared at you with a malice you hadn’t seen in him. It was wrong. He should never have that look about him. Not your Nicky.

But he smiled like him.

“Buy you another round?”

You practically had to rip your eyes away from Nicky’s to face-

“-Mr. Stokes?” You asked incredulously.

“Please, that makes me feel old,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Call me Eric.”

You weren’t sure you wanted to. This was the man who had represented your parents for… well, for as long as you could remember. He had been the one that attempted to give you a shit plea deal. Sure, he had always been nice outside of that. Even when you were younger he had expressed a soft spot for you, which was kind.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to call him by his first name.

“Sure.” You still didn’t call him Eric.

“So can I?” He asked. “Buy you a drink?”

You looked back down at your empty glass. It had not been good. If anything, it had been rather disgusting; you preferred something sweeter. But you could feel a nice little buzz forming in the back of your skull, and for a moment you weren’t quite as upset with Wednesday as you had been. Granted, the more you thought about it, the more upset you got.

Out of the corner of your eye, you studied Stokes. He was looking professional, yet far too casual for your liking. Surely it was inappropriate for you to be talking to him without Moreno, right? You weren’t under arrest but… you learned quickly not to talk to anyone without your lawyer present. What if he questioned you? Or tried to trick you into trouble again? No, Wednesday would have wanted you to keep your mouth shut.

Wednesday lied to you.

On second thought.

“Sure,” you said with a tight-lipped smile.

With the grace of an alcoholic, Stokes ordered something for the both of you. You didn’t bother listening; at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. The plan for the rest of the night had changed slightly, but the gist was the same. Have a drink, get so hammered you can’t fly straight, and go home to beg forgiveness from your hot goth fiancee.

Life was pretty simple.

The dense muscles at the joints of your back tensed, causing your wings to twitch. Your breath caught as you hastily pulled them tight against your back. The last thing you needed was to cause an incident in a nice bar in… well, you weren’t entirely sure where you were, but it was too nice for you, that was for sure.

“You know,” Stokes said in a sleazy tone. “Your parents might not like them, but I find them rather stunning.”

His fingers carded through the feathers closest to him. The simple touch sent a jolt of white-hot shame through your every nerve. He shouldn’t be touching them. They weren’t for him. Almost instantly, you felt dirty. Like you were tainted now that someone who wasn’t an Outcast had touched you.

You hummed a simple “thanks” and shifted, practically hiding your wings from his view. He didn’t need to see them. It wasn’t any of his business. The only ones who could do so were your friends and your family. And even then, touching them was a privilege reserved for the few. It was not a right.

He sighed and sat back on his stool. “Haven’t seen you since your arraignment,” he said. “You look good.” Gag. “How has therapy been?”

A mangled body was leaning against a tree, similar to how you had been when Yoko had found you. The only difference was, while your wings had been outstretched, his arms were stretched in the same way. His clothes were tattered and hanging off a decomposing frame.

“Well, my therapist was murdered and I haven’t found a new one yet,” you shrugged, “so.”

At his shocked silence, you both looked forward facing the bar, and took a large mouthful of your drinks. It didn’t sting like the old-fashioned, which was nice. No, it coated your tongue and the back of your throat in an almost syrupy texture. Too thick for your liking, but again, you weren’t paying, so who were you to complain?

“My, uh, condolences,” he said once he placed his empty glass back on the bar.

He doesn’t care.

No shit. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

You took another long drink and inhaled deeply. The overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke infiltrated your senses. Whoever was smoking needed to make themselves known and soon. You always did your best not to smoke because, as everyone always pointed out, it was unsightly. Disgusting, is what Ash had called it. And honestly, you agreed.

But not when you were drunk, and not when you were alone, and certainly not when you were drunk and alone.

Being drunk - you weren’t there quite yet, but you were no quitter - made you realise something extremely important. You missed Wednesday. And you were still mad at her, but you missed her more than you cared about holding a grudge. If she hadn’t told you, surely there had been a reason. Wednesday never did anything without prior planning, so you had no doubt she knew what she was doing. Or even more unlikely, she had genuinely just forgotten you didn’t know. You wouldn’t blame her; your ignorance surprised even you sometimes.

You wanted to go home and see her. Maybe give her an idea or two of how she could make it up to you, and you could spend the entire weekend making amends. And in the throes of passion, you could propose properly and she would lay there and say “I love you, cara mia.” It would be romantic and all kinds of out of character and you didn’t care.

Nicky was in the bar mirror once again as you looked up. He was standing directly behind you with something less malicious in his eyes. Something about him still wasn’t right. It was in the slight tilt of his head. The sneer on his lips. The menacing stance as he stood right behind you and placed his scarred hand on your shoulder.

The mix of scalding heat and freezing cold on your shoulder would have been enough to shock anyone into a heart attack. It spread from his hand, chasing each other further down your arm until the burn scars tingled from the sensation. It was unpleasant. You didn’t want it to stop.

It was an impulse; instinct even, to turn around. He was more similar to a Not Nicky, but you wanted to see him. To look into his eyes again, even just one more time. But when you turned your head and looked, he was gone. Gone because he had never really been there. Gone because you could never really get him back.

You killed him.

“See someone?” Stokes asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

Slowly, you turned back to stare into your drink. “Guess not.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod slowly. He wanted to say something else, you knew he did. He was a lawyer, for fuck’s sake, he would never be done talking. As far as you were concerned, it was part of the job, and he fulfilled his duties well.

His knee pushed against yours.

You wanted to see Wednesday.

“I should start heading home,” you said, pulling your leg away from his.

“Why?” He asked with a curious lilt.

“Wednesday is waiting up for me,” you said simply.

“No, she’s not.”

“She is, and I forgot my phone so I’d better get going.”

“Do you even know where you are?”

You froze halfway off the stool. No, you didn’t. Nothing about the bar had been able to tell you where exactly you were in the world. It was easy enough to mark off that you were still in the United States; everyone spoke in a very clear dialect. But aside from that, you had no clue. All you knew was the bar was far too nice for you, and you were starting to feel that bundle of anxiety forming in the bottom of your stomach.

“Since you’re here,” you started, “I’m assuming DC.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Stokes said quickly. “It doesn’t become you.” He looked you up and down. “Did you two have a fight?”

“She went out with friends,” you lied effortlessly. Or so you hoped. “I hadn’t meant to be gone this long.”

You tried to stand up again. Just as quickly, his warm, clammy hand grabbed your forearm. It was almost instinct to swing on him. You wanted to do it; his smug face was becoming increasingly irritating. The faint conversations and the barely audible piano in the corner eased into your brain. It was calming; a nice reminder that you were in public.

“Please don’t touch me,” you said aloud. I’ll [insert threat here], is what you kept to yourself.

“We both know you don’t need to rush home,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled. It was repugnant. “Your little girlfriend isn’t waiting up for you.”

She was. You knew she was; it was Wednesday. Not once had she ever gone to sleep while you were out, not even a simple nap. She would wait up until you walked through the door. Would she go to sleep immediately after that? Yes, sometimes, but she would never do so without knowing you were safe.

He’s lying.

“I don’t think we should be talking anymore,” you said.

“What, without your lawyer?” He asked with a low chuckle. “You’re not under arrest.”

He was too close. You were able to keep the bar stool in between you, but that didn’t really matter when he kept leaning over it. His thumb was rubbing circles on your inner forearm and you felt sick. It was scratchy and so very unlike Wednesday’s. Hers would have been comforting. This wasn’t.

“Thank you for the drink,” you said softly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Gently, you pulled your arm back towards your body. He let his fingers trail down your arm, tickling the skin until you were released from his clutches. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, but you still refused to look at him. Sometimes, playing meek worked; you hoped it would work again.

You only took two steps away before he spoke.

“How are those murder investigations going?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he continued. “Your sheriff called me a few weeks ago.” Don’t turn around. “He asked if I thought you were capable of murder.” Don’t. “Or your little girlfriend.”

No. Wednesday would have never killed someone. She killed that hunter. Okay, she would have never killed someone that didn’t deserve it. Maybe she was creepy, sure, and seemed a little unstable in the moral department, but she was no murderer. Who the hell did he think he was? Who the hell did the sheriff think he was?

When you turned, you were greeted with another ominous grin. You were of half a mind to show him just how capable of murder you really were. He wouldn’t be so smug if he knew half the shit you had done just to survive, let alone for fun. And if he so much as breathed in the direction Wednesday was, you would correct his behaviour promptly and efficiently.

Let him talk, Wednesday’s own voice echoed in your head. Let him talk himself into a corner.

“Obviously I haven’t told him anything yet,” he continued, taking a step closer. “I’d hate to see such a pretty thing locked up.” His hand reached out and grabbed your own, interlocking your fingers. A coil twisted in your stomach.

“What do you want?” You choked out.

You wanted to deck him.

“Some colleagues are coming over to my place,” he said with a shrug, “and I’m due for a promotion.” 

“At,” you looked at his watch, “2 in the morning?”

“It’s a nightcap,” he said coolly. A lie. “Be a dear and be my arm candy for the night, would you?”

The very thought of being his “arm candy” was repulsive. Forget the fact that you were dutifully bound to Wednesday in every way imaginable. This man had known you from the moment you were born. He had watched you grow up and had attempted to assist your parents in throwing you in jail. And he wanted you to help him? It was preposterous, you would never agree to it.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll call your sheriff back and say you and your girlfriend wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Well shit.

Over Stokes’ shoulder, you met Nicky’s eyes in the mirror. This was the moment you needed him to speak again and tell you not to go. That you and Wednesday would be just fine on your own and, quite frankly, the sheriff probably hadn’t even called him. There was no investigation into the both of you, and the police were barely looking into the actual murders let alone the fake ones.

He didn’t say a word. Just a sinister smile that shoved a chill into your spine, leaving your entire body cold. But it quickly passed and you were left with a warmth, spreading from your chest to every fingertip and toe. The message was clear. You nodded once, slowly enough for Stokes to not even notice.

“Let’s go.”

—---

As much as you despised the situation, you couldn’t deny; Stokes’ apartment was ridiculous. It was massive, and not in a tasteful way. You wouldn’t say you were a professional when it came to big spaces, but you knew tasteful. Tasteful was space to exist, but not too much where you felt alone even when other people were around. Tasteful was making the space your own, with knick-knacks or photos or… hell you didn’t know, boy band posters or something.

This wasn’t tasteful. It was obscene; large just to be large. An attempt at proving how impressive you were or how much money you made in a year. There was no pride in such an extravagant show of greed. If you were really looking for big words, you could describe the whole thing as gluttonous.

Wednesday would be so proud of your words.

All the men you were supposed to impress were tools. Absolute, total tools. From the moment you walked into the room with them, they eyed you like a piece of meat. It was humiliating. They even touched your wings after you explicitly told them not to. Fuck normies.

They drank. All of them. Most of the time they didn’t even talk about work, which led you to believe this was not a work function. (Which you secretly knew anyway because, let’s be real, who holds a work function at 2 in the morning?). The only thing they wanted to talk about was you. Not even to you, just about you.

“You could have at least hired someone to wear something nicer,” one of the men said.

Your feathers were, quite literally, ruffled.

“Oh please, she’s no escort,” Stokes said with a dismissive wave and a ridiculously fake laugh. “We go way back.”

The least annoying of the men looked at you. “Is that true, darling?”

Oh, you could gag.

You put on a brave face anyway. “It is,” you said with a polite smile. “Practically since I was in diapers.”

The look Stokes gave you was venomous. It didn’t hold a flame to Wednesday’s stare, but it was a decent attempt for a sleazy man. His grip on your waist tightened, and you barely resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. Sure, it would have been childish, but you honestly didn’t care. This felt like some weird hostage situation anyway, might as well get your way about something.

You could have gagged from how incredibly misogynistic they were. It was almost effortless how they talked down about… well, everyone actually. No wonder Wednesday always had a grudge against rich people even though he was one. The difference between the Addamses and these lawyers was like night and day, ironically. You didn’t think the Addamses could be more selfless, and yet the men around you were still talking of how they could [f word] everyone up to stay ahead of the game.

Each of them took their shot at getting your attention. Whether it was brushing against your hand, or letting their fingers graze the sensitive feathers of your wings. Another had even tried - pathetically so - to kiss your neck. It was disgusting, and even worse, it had you rushing back to Stokes’ side. Which he, of course, got the greatest pleasure from.

As the minutes ticked by, your anxiety increased. You wanted to get home and see Wednesday; you wanted to see your family. Things were too chaotic, and all you wanted was for everything to slow down and go back to normal. Nicky was already in the corner of the room, so you were halfway there already! All you needed was Wednesday and things could be normal. Things could be nice.

While you were thinking about how much you missed your fiancee (which wasn’t unusual as it was almost exclusively the only thing you thought about), the pigs- oops, you meant men, finally finished their talks. A godsend, truly, to be able to not have to listen to them talk anymore. They had said so many words that meant absolutely nothing. It was practically enough to ease any resentment you held towards Wednesday’s lying by omission.

Any joy you felt at the men leaving was rapidly replaced with nothing less than genuine fear. They had been the buffer. Now that they were gone, you were stuck with Stokes. Alone. In his apartment. And he was looking at you with the drunken gaze of a predator in a college bar.

“Thank you for that,” he said, his words slurring ever so slightly. “I think you helped my case.”

“Then you better hold up your end,” you said. His head fell to the side as he furrowed his brows. “You’ll tell our sheriff that Wednesday and I weren’t involved in anything.”

His face relaxed. “About that,” he said, stepping closer. You took a step back. “I think there’s one more thing I need from you before I’m willing to make that call.”

Each step he took, you matched. All night you had been forced to put up with his ridiculousness. His wandering hands and eyes. His friends. Now it was time for him to hold up his end of the bargain. He was going to let you and Wednesday off the hook so you could both go be happy again.

When your back finally hit the wall, and Stokes effectively cornered you, you saw Nicky over his shoulder. Standing there; silent as always.

You had admitted to Wednesday that you had been seeing him again. The Not Nicky that had attempted to trap you in the burning house. Coaxing you to stay with thoughts of home and family and peace. But you hadn’t told her he never left. He stayed there, watching you, speaking to you. Becoming such an integral part of your day that if you didn’t see him, your anxiety spiked and your stomach dropped.

But he did not tell you what to do.

“Just one more thing,” Stokes said. His breath reeked of cheap liquor.

“Let me go home,” you said softly. Far softer than he deserved, but you weren’t looking to get your ass beat so late into the night.

His hand cupped your cheek, and you fought back the urge to knee him in the dick. The only person who could touch you like that was Wednesday. She was the only one who held not only the privilege but the right to touch you. Her hands were soft and shockingly cold; they held such a unique form of love.

Stokes had rough hands that left you feeling dirty.

“It’s too late for you to go back now,” he said, breath fanning across your face. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly if I didn’t have you stay.”

“I’ll be okay,” you said.

Beside you on the table rested a letter opener. A stunning opener with what appeared to be a pure silver handle and a sparkling blade. In the right hands, it was simple yet effective; lethal. He wouldn’t even notice if you reached over to grab it. The amount of alcohol in his system would make it painless, you were sure.

Nicky smiled.

You left it where it was.

“Agreeing to work with your prick of a father was the best thing I’ve ever done,” he said. He was so close, you hoped he couldn’t hear your heartbeat and believe it was excitement. “I always knew you’d be fucking gorgeous.”

Admittedly, you had always assumed your fight or flight response would be fight. After all, you were a rather… aggressive individual. But when Stokes kissed you, you froze. Every cell in your body was in such a panic that you couldn’t do anything. For a moment, everything felt like fog. Like you were looking at yours and Stokes’ bodies from where Nicky was standing. You looked petrified; he looked sloppy drunk.

When you re-noticed his lips on yours, you were yanked back into your own body. Your hands quickly pressed against his chest, pushing him away. There was a string of saliva hanging between your mouths. His eyes were opened wide and staring straight into your soul.

“I’m going home,” you said softly.

You pushed a little more, and he staggered back. Why he wasn’t saying anything, you didn’t know, but his staring was getting creepy. Slowly, you stepped around him, keeping your own eyes on him to make sure he didn’t do any funny business. He didn’t turn to follow you, or even look at you. Just stayed standing where he was, swaying lightly on his feet.

Nicky was gone.

With Stokes staying in his place, you made your prompt exit from the apartment. If he wasn’t going to say anything more, you weren’t going to question it. You just wanted to go home. Home. Your initial thought should have been of yours and Wednesday’s apartment.

That’s not what you imagined.

By the time you stepped out of the apartment onto the dimly lit streets, you were fully convinced of your next stop. It would be a quick flight. The sun still had yet to show itself, but a few people were out and about. Across the street, you saw a group of kids. They were looking at you with wide eyes and were slowly backing away. Perhaps they knew not to go near Stokes; you wouldn’t blame them.

Behind them, Nicky smiled and waved.

“Go home,” he said in a strained voice.

You walked down the street and started making your way towards home.

a cold reunion

Summary: Astrid hasn't visited her mother's old house in a while. She wonders if someone new has moved in by now. Maybe it'll be a "ghost," like her mother claims used to live there. Ha. She would be so lucky.

Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: mentions of death, Tim Burton style tones Pairing: Astrid Deetz x Reader A/N: I know absolutely nothing about this movie, only the original, so I'm just gonna have some fun with it

Being a Deetz was one of the most irritating parts of life. At least, it was in Astrid’s opinion. Even without her own uncommon interests, she was held to the standards of her mother. Because her mother was weird, everyone assumed she was too. Which she was, but it wasn’t fair she couldn’t make that statement for herself.

She used to have a friend. You had been new to town and hadn’t known anything about her mother. It led to a wonderful friendship. Her favourite classes were the ones you had together, and eventually, she invited you over outside of school. Everyone thought you were crazy to agree, but you never faltered.

Even her mother and grandmother liked you, saying you were a “good kid.” Astrid knew better, you were trouble. Always in detention or being scolded by teachers in the hallways. You were anything but a good kid when it came to following the rules. But she wouldn’t deny, you definitely sweet talked your way into her mother’s and grandmother’s good graces.

You had done the same to her, pulling her in until she didn’t want to leave. The first kiss had been under the bleachers at a football game; disgustingly cliche. You had tasted of the cigarettes you stole from your mom. A disgusting taste, but it was good on you.

But as soon as she really started to like you - a little more than like, she would admit - you disappeared. You hadn’t been at school that morning, and when she went to your mom’s work, she had said she didn’t know where you were. Said it was no surprise you left; you could do better than this town.

That had been two years ago. Your mom had left town not long after your disappearance. Everyone assumed she had done something to you; a suspicion that came from the simple fact that your mom was, as the town called it, “trailer trash.” She was a nice person, Astrid had always liked her. She didn’t blame the woman for leaving.

Even Astrid had left for college once school was over. What else was she going to do, stay put? No, she wanted to get started somewhere else. Somewhere she wouldn’t be saddled with the name Deetz like it was some kind of curse. She loved her mother more than she would ever care to admit. But she wanted to do something for herself.

It was winter break before she came back home.

“Leaving already?” Her mother called from the porch when she grabbed her bike and started walking it to the street. “You haven’t even been here for three hours.”

“I’m going to check on the house,” Astrid said with a shrug. “I heard the owners moved out.”

“They did, thank god,” her grandmother said. “They did that house no justice.”

Bold coming from you, Astrid thought but kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t stay out too late,” her mother said.

“Lydia dear, when you were her age, you were almost marrying a ghost,” her grandmother said. “Consider it karma.”

“Mom,” her mother sighed.

Astrid had already hopped on her bike and started down the street. The path to the old house was well-worn; everyone knew it. The old owners had tried their best to convince everyone the house wasn’t haunted, but most of the town didn’t believe it. At least none of the school kids. They had jumped at the opportunity to have a haunted house in town whether it was real or not.

You had always liked that old house. No one had ever fully convinced you that ghosts had lived there, but you liked the thrill of it. I don’t think they’re real, but what if? You had asked one night after sneaking in through her window. We should check it out one day. After you disappeared, she had avoided the house like the plague.

But Astrid knew the path by heart. Snow had been plowed from the streets, and the dutiful citizens had shoveled the bridge. When she approached said bridge, she slowed until she could get off the bike, walking it across instead of riding. Her mother had made it clear that under no circumstances was she to ride or drive over the bridge. It was a silly rule; she followed it anyway.

The house was more run down than usual. It shouldn’t have upset her as much as it did. After all, it wasn’t like she had really ever lived in the house anyway. But it was still part of everything she had known growing up. To see it practically falling apart was… well, it was nothing short of devastating.

Without taking her eyes off of the house, she propped her bike up by its kickstand and slowly made her way to the front door. Step by step, each stair creaked under her weight. The house was a little creepy. Maybe it would be best if she just didn’t go in. After all, the door was practically falling off the hinge, if she actually knocked it would-

-the door swung inwards.

And you were standing there in the doorway with your eyes wide. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” Astrid asked quietly.

You exhaled harshly, shoulders sagging with the movement.

“Want some tea?”

—---

Astrid looked as beautiful as the day you had left. Well, no, you hadn’t exactly left but… no, that was something you would face later. For the moment, you were going to enjoy seeing her again. It hadn’t been long, but she had grown into her own. Beautiful as always, too.

And way too quiet for your liking.

“Chamomile okay?” You asked when the kettle was near screaming.

She nodded once, not removing her eyes from you. It was unsettling; you had used to love it. Astrid wasn’t like normal girls, and not in the “too cool for school” kind of way. It was more of an “I’ll be me whether anyone likes it or not” kind of way. If she wanted to be weird and goth then she would and no one could stop her!

But you didn’t like how she was looking at you.

You placed the teabag in the mug and slid it in front of her. The kettle was only seconds away from screaming when you pulled it off the stove. No need to burst anyone’s eardrums. There was no point in being careful with the scalding water as you poured it into her mug.

“You disappeared,” Astrid said while you were mid-pour.

“About that,” you hummed.

“Does your mom know?” She continued. “That you’re right back where you started?”

Your mom. Momma. She had been left all alone after… how had she fared? Were the townspeople nice to her? They had better be, or you would personally bring hell to every single one of them.

“What does she think happened to me?” You asked as you turned around and placed the kettle back on the stove. You didn’t turn back around.

“What everyone else thinks,” Astrid said, “that you ran off.”

“Was she okay?”

“Honestly?” She asked. “She said she was glad you got out of this little town. Said you were too good for it anyway.”

Well that… that almost hurt worse than knowing she never knew the truth. Your momma hadn’t been perfect, but she had done the best with what she had. Time and time again, she had told you in her drunken stupor that you were destined for great things. You had always taken it to heart.

You need to tell her.

“Hey, Astrid?” You asked with a weak voice.

She hummed for you to continue.

“Remember in school when we would say we didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, why?”

With a sigh, you turned to look over your shoulder. Astrid’s head was tilted slightly in that way you always found cute. It didn’t click just yet. She just kept looking at you, waiting for you to continue. You raised your brows at her. She was almost there, you could tell by the slight crinkle in her nose, and- ah, there it was.

“You’re joking,” she said.

You gave her your best tight-lipped “white person” smile but otherwise didn’t answer.

“You saw one?” She asked.

Oh. Oh, no, she didn’t get it.

“Well, yes,” you said, turning your full body so you could lean back against the stove and look at her, “but that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are-” there it is “-oh.”

There was something in her eyes when realisation dawned. Her eyes, while a gorgeous dark brown, were usually so bright. So happy, even when she was trying to act like she didn’t care about the world around her. But this was different. Any brightness dimmed to practically nothing.

“How?” She asked.

You shrugged and looked away. “The football team pushed me off the bridge.”

It wasn’t a fond memory, that was for sure. The icy layer covering the river had been rather sharp. But even that hadn’t compared to the pain of inhaling freezing water deep into your lungs. From what you could remember, it was slow. A memory you didn’t enjoy having, but maybe one day it would go away.

“You were murdered?” Astrid asked incredulously; horrifically.

“I mean listen, it’s not too bad,” you attempted to play it off. “It got me out of taking winter finals, which we both know I would’ve failed.”

“But it’s-”

“-I know, Astrid,” you interrupted.

You liked Astrid. You would even go so far as to say you loved her, mostly probably. Were you young? Sure. A little stupid and naive? Absolutely. High school sweethearts? You would say so, yeah. But she instigated a little too much, and she wanted to know everything, but this just wasn’t really something you wanted to indulge her in. Not yet, anyway.

Astrid was quiet for a moment. The gears were turning in her head, you could practically smell the smoke coming off them. What was she thinking, you wondered. Was she dwelling on the fact that you had died, cold and slow and alone? You certainly hoped not, it wouldn’t change anything. You were dead, you were now a ghost, and long-distance relationships weren’t that hard any more thanks to technology, so you could both still make it work!

If she wanted, of course.

“I thought my mom said her ghosts were stuck in the house for, like, a century or something,” she said instead.

You laughed. That was much easier to answer. “I told their caseworker I’d take their place. You know, let them rest in peace, or whatever,” you waved your hands vaguely.

“Caseworker?”

“It’s a long story.”

“So you’re why the previous owners left?” She asked.

“Guilty as charged.” You wiggled your fingers in her direction and smiled.

For the first time all day, she smiled back. God, you missed her smile.

“If you really are a ghost,” she said with a tilt of her head, “how can you pick things up?”

“Ooh, we’re getting to the fun questions,” you said with a smile.

The look on Astrid’s face was perfect. Curious, distrusting. The best mix of emotions; you loved when she was uncertain. It was a more genuine look for her, instead of trying to act like she knew everything and always knew what to expect. Always made her look super cute, honestly.

You walked over to where she was sitting at the run-down table. She turned to keep facing you until you were standing directly in front of her. It was going to be a risk, but one you were very much willing to take. Worst case, you stay stuck in the stupid house forever. No different from your current predicament.

“Took me a few months to really get the hang of it,” you said. Her eyes sparkled again. “You just focus on what you want to touch,” she blushed, “and voila.”

Her blush vanished when you picked up the mug beside her. What you really wanted to do was touch her. Gods, you wanted to know if you could still feel her warmth, the softness of her skin. But it wasn’t time. No, she was probably still worried about the fact that you had… well, you know. Died.

“It took you months to figure out how to do that?” She asked with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up,” you huffed, placing the mug back on the table. “It wasn’t like I had much to work with.”

“Why didn’t you ask my mom’s old friends how to do it?” Astrid asked before leaning back against the table. “I’m sure they would’ve helped you.”

“Never actually had the pleasure of meeting them,” you said with a shrug. “I only got to meet the other guy.”

“The other guy?” She asked, looking away in thought for a moment before looking back at you. “Oh, you mean Beetlegeu-”

-you slapped your hand over her mouth before she could continue.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered.

She nodded once, and you pulled your hand away.

“Was he really that awful?” She asked, matching your tone.

“He was that annoying,” you grumbled. “God, I swore the guy would never shut up.”

Astrid did her little crooked smile and laugh. The one that you would always try your best to force out of her during class to get her in trouble. Wait, that sounded bad. You didn’t want her to get in trouble, you just would have enjoyed her presence in detention. With you.

“So what else did you take two years to learn?” Astrid asked. She leaned forward until she was so close you could smell her shampoo. “Anything exciting?”

Wait. Wait, this could be your chance. You might be able to do something about it, this could be your shot. Two years in limbo, sitting in a run down house that did nothing but remind you of Astrid with everything you saw. It was her family’s house. You couldn’t leave her even if you had wanted to.

“Well,” you said, “there is something I’ve been wanting to test out.” You looked up to meet her eyes. “May I?”

“Let’s see what you got, ghosty,” she said.

You nodded to yourself and focused. Focused on her body, more specifically her face. Her stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, smiling face. Day after day, you had been thinking of her, and you had hoped time and time again that somehow she would come back to the house.

One deep inhale, hold your breath. Your hands were shaking so badly you would have dropped everything had you been holding something in the first place. And yet, Astrid didn’t budge when you lifted your hands and placed them on either side of her face. Exhale.

Her body was absent of warmth. Astrid had never been an exceptionally warm individual to begin with but this was… different. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her that you couldn’t feel her. Sure, you could touch things, but you couldn’t feel any of it. It wasn’t something you could describe, except calling it surreal.

“May I?” You asked again.

You could feel her breath on your lips even as she nodded. It was all you needed to pull her into a kiss. There was still no warmth, but there was a… a comfort in it. In feeling her lips against yours again after so long. To feel her breath mix with yours, replacing everything you didn’t need but you so desperately craved.

Her hands attempted to settle on your hips but fell straight through. In turn, you felt her shoulders sag as she placed her hands on your knees instead. That was… not a nice feeling. Maybe you could learn to focus enough to let her feel you back. That was possible, right? Surely it was.

You pulled away slowly. If you could have stayed kissing her for the rest of your century in that hellhole, you would have. But unfortunately, Astrid still had to breathe, and you had to give her the space to do it. Earlier you had questioned if you had really loved her or if it was a puppy love?

Oh no. It was the real deal.

“You can’t leave at all?” Astrid asked. “Not even for an hour or so?”

“You mean the haunted house isn’t romantic?” You teased.

“What do you even do in here all day every day?” She asked.

Once again, she reached out to touch you. Somewhere, anyway. You looked down at where she was attempting to hold your hand. Maybe if you could focus really hard, it would work. As far as you knew, you couldn’t materialise. At least, you didn’t think you could. But if you really concentrated.

Her fingers slipped between yours and, for the first time in two years, you felt her squeeze your hand. Physical touch. Real physical touch.

“I, ah,” you stammered, looking down at where she was still holding your hand. “It’s in my contract to scare people.”

“Contract?” She asked. Your arm moved as she pulled you closer. Okay, maybe physical touch was a bit unfamiliar to you after so long, you would need to get used to it again.

“My caseworker says I have a quota to meet,” you said, finally looking back up to meet her eyes. “So many people each quarter, you know?”

“So you need people to scare?” She asked. “On a regular basis.”

There was a sparkle in her eye. Something dangerous; scandalous.

“You have something in mind?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

Her smile was vicious. And attractive.

—---

The house looked beautiful in the daylight. The paint was fresh, the inside was cosy, and when nighttime fell? Rumour had it the ghosts came out to play. That was why most people rented out the house; their own private haunting for a night. The listing said if you could survive the night, the stay was free. So far, no one had lasted long enough to even give it a good shot.

And as you stood at the end of the bed watching the young couple sprint down the stairs screaming, you knew they wouldn’t be the winners either.

You walked over to the window and watched as they threw their singular bag into their car and peeled out of the dirt driveway. It hadn’t even been any fun, they hadn’t given you any time to actually scare them. Hell, all you had done was stand at the bed! You hadn’t made any faces, hadn’t pulled any jumpscares, you had simply stood there.

Were you really that scary?

“Gone already?” Astrid asked in a sleepy voice as she walked to stand beside you at the window.

“Didn’t even stay long enough for me to have any fun,” you pouted.

“Well, you’ve hit your quota,” she said. She grabbed your arm and pulled it over her shoulder before tucking closer to your body. After a few months, you were finally starting to feel a bit of warmth from her.

At least, you thought you did.

“Your mom is coming by in the morning?” You asked.

She hummed her confirmation.

“Maybe I can try to scare her, then,” you said.

Astrid pulled you away from the window and started walking you toward your shared bedroom. Not that you really needed the sleep, but it was nice to be able to lay next to her. It was exhausting to keep a more physical form, but for her? You would do it all day every day.

“Good luck scaring her,” Astrid said as she pulled you onto the bed. “She practically grew up with ghosts.”

“I’ll scare your grandmother then,” you said softly, but she didn’t move.

Astrid was already asleep in your arms, just like you had always imagined. Maybe being dead really wasn’t as awful as everyone had always made it seem. After all, it got you your dream girl.

when you love it pt.2

Summary: Learning to accept yourself again is a hard task. Thankfully, you've got two lovely Outcasts to help you

Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, typical vampire violence Pairing: Wenclair x Reader (part 1) A/N: Surprise, this is not the last part, there will be one more. So sorry but... it gets better

“Have you ever eaten somebody?”

Ah, there they were. The Little Bane of your existence, as you had come to endearingly call them over the last few months. A menace at best, the little wolf had, for some unknown reason, made it a point to attach themself to your hip. Even on the full moon, the pup would sniff you out and remain with you until they turned back into the headache they truly were.

Admirable.

“Why do you ask?” You asked without looking down to meet their eyes. The eyes of an Addams, you thought.

“Mother said people go insane after eating human flesh,” the child said. “I’m trying to collect evidence to prove her wrong.”

The question was pure Addams.

“I believe it’s only if they eat the brain matter of a human,” you said, finally looking down.

“So you have then?” They asked. “Eaten someone?”

“What do you think?” You asked.

Their head tilted just like Enid's as they thought of an answer. After all this time, you were still finding more and more similarities between them and their mothers. It was almost comical. The toothy grin, the troublesome look in their eyes. A perfect mix of two perfect women.

“No,” they finally said. “I don’t think you have.”

You smiled, showing your fangs. “Correct.”

You both looked back out toward the scenery in front of the cabin. Winter was always the most beautiful time, if anyone asked your opinion. The snow coated the trees in the finest powder, creating an almost constant appearance of fresh snowfall. To the back of the cabin was a lake that froze over so thoroughly, you could skate for hours and never fall through.

Though falling through was always an adventure of its own, you would admit.

Perhaps you could get Enid to skate with you again. Oh, wouldn’t that be grand? It had been ages since you had last danced together upon the shimmering ice. The amount of trust that came with such an act… would you be able to skate as before? Could she put her life in your hands once again?

You deflated; you wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t.

“Have you ever had blood from someone you know?”

Each cell in your dead body froze.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

“What do you think?” You asked, looking back down at them.

They didn’t look away in contemplation. No, they kept their eyes locked with yours. It was uncomfortable. They had Wednesday’s stunning brown eyes. Eyes you had stared into night after night before watching the light slowly fade from one mistake. Just one.

“Yes,” they said.

“Aunt Yoko’s here!” One of the other children yelled from the house.

You looked back out to the scenery before your Little Bane ran off to join the others.

“Correct,” you mumbled with a sigh.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the feel of her blood falling down your throat. The heat that pooled in your chest and had your dead heart wishing to beat. Each inch of scar tissue embedded in your skin ached at the memory. She’s just inside, your Instincts whispered. Just a sip.

Your lip caught on your fang as you snarled at the thought. An animalistic sound; pathetic. But the sound made you feel as if you could quiet the Instincts. You would not drink from her again. Had it learned nothing from the last time? There was blood in the fridge, you would survive just fine.

Heavy footsteps came up behind you.

“Aunt Yoko wants to speak with you,” your Little Bane said.

You exhaled slowly and nodded to yourself. Of course she would. She had never truly been your biggest fan. Vampires don’t trust other vampires, she had said, if you remembered correctly. Which you did. Her Instincts may have dulled over the generations, but her intelligence remained as sharp as ever.

“Lead the way,” you said.

Your Little Bane’s lip caught on their canine, so reminiscent of Enid you wanted to laugh. At times, the child was pure Addams. Every cell of their being practically screamed it. Yet, at moments like this, you were reminded that Enid was also an Addams in her own right. And that child, though outwardly appearing as Wednesday, was Enid’s little copy.

In the past, Yoko Tanaka had never intimidated you. After all, why would she? Her family had gone soft, adamantly refusing to drink from a source regardless of its humanity; or lack thereof. There had been a few instances during your college years where she had debated your own family beliefs, questioning the primality of it all. And it was, you wouldn’t deny it. Drinking from the source was what your ancestors had done, and the Instinct continued to flow through your veins whether you liked it or not.

You had silently agreed with her, though you would never let her know.

Now, however? After what Enid had jokingly titled The Beatdown - which neither you nor Wednesday found very humorous, but if that was how she coped then who were you to deny her such a trivial thing - Yoko terrified you. And given how she was looking at you as you walked closer…

She was aware of it.

“Tanaka,” you said with a polite nod and smile.

Her arms crossed tighter over her chest.

“In the car, pup,” she said in a tone that contradicted her body language.

“Aunt Div is in my spot,” they said without hesitation.

The immediate change in Yoko’s body was comical. She turned to look into the car where Divina - with whom you shared no ill will, though you knew it was no mutual feeling - was sitting in the front passenger seat. Her head was facing the back of the car where she was, supposedly, talking with the other Addams children.

Yoko rapped her knuckles against the window. “You’re being displaced, babe,” she called out.

Divina’s shoulders slumped, but she promptly unbuckled her sit and got out of the car. The look she gave you was anything but polite as she slid into the middle seat, pushing one of the children into the back. They were all laughing and smiling; truly Enid’s children.

“Good luck,” your Little Bane said to you.

“Thank you,” you mumbled back as they climbed into the car and shut the door, leaving you alone with Yoko.

How enjoyably torturous.

“Hello, Tanaka-”

“-Cut the bullshit,” she interrupted. Straight to the point as always. “No one wants you around them.” Her finger jabbed into your chest. “No one trusts you around them.”

“I understand,” you said.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

A wet gasp-

-snarling-

-relief-

-pain-

“I very much do,” you mumbled.

“I should rip your heart out now and eliminate any chance of the past repeating itself,” she said. Silence hung thick between you before she pulled her arms back to her body. “But I won’t, because Enid would cry and Wednesday would bury me six feet under.”

“This is my house, Tanaka,” you said. “I am more than prepared.”

“You’d better be,” she said as she started moving at a glacial pace toward the driver’s side of the car. “Because I’ll kill you and curse your entire line if you touch a hair on either of their heads.”

The threat was enough to have you shiver. Oh, if you failed and your family was cursed? They would never forgive you. They would start hunting you for sport, and it would be no less than you deserved.

Yoko stopped before opening her door.

“Not that I’ll need to,” she said. “You’re proof Enid can do it herself.”

Her words bounced around your skull as the car finally pulled away, taking all the Addams children with it. A part of you was almost… disappointed. You had grown to tolerate them over the past few months. They were rather enjoyable at times even, constantly inviting you for games. Or movies, once games had quickly become outlawed due to the… unruliness.

“I wish I had gotten another goodbye hug,” Enid said, appearing beside you seemingly out of nowhere.

You should have been able to smell her approach. Wolves were… not the most pleasant. Not horrific, simply not as appealing as humans. She had asked you to describe it once, what the difference was between her and Wednesday. Like a Christmas candle during the heat of summer, you had explained. So not like in Twilight? She had teased.

She’s my Christmas candle, you thought with a smile.

“It’s only for a weekend,” you told her. Her eyes sparkled. “Then you can have hello hugs instead.”

Her smile could have illuminated the world. “I do like hello hugs.”

“Come inside,” you said with a gesture toward the cabin, “I believe it’s going to snow.”

Enid’s joyful disposition had never waned over time. If anything, she almost seemed more joyous and carefree. Something lightened its load on your chest at the observation. You hadn’t ruined her outlook on life. She was, for all intents and purposes, outwardly okay.

A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

Wednesday was precisely where you had left her earlier; sitting in your small library, a book in hand and a cup of tea on the table. It was one of your more obscure books, having come from your long line of ancestors. In other words, from some murderous Frenchman’s basement. The pages were probably stained with blood.

“I had almost forgotten the joy of silence,” she said as Enid practically fell into her lap. With practised ease, she made way for her wolf without taking her eyes away from the book.

“It’s too quiet,” Enid said with a sigh.

You walked over to the record player you kept in the corner of the room as your married women talked silently amongst themselves. It was endearing to hear them talk of their young. To talk as if they truly loved them. What was that like, you wondered? To care for your young in such a deep, conditionless way?

Cold fingers ran against the thin spines of records in their cases, unsure of where to stop. Would they have ever had children if you had stayed with them? Younglings had never been in your future; you wouldn’t dare bring a child into your bloodline. But they seemed so very happy and content with their choices in life. Perhaps it was going to happen for them regardless.

Without looking, you picked a record out of its case and gently placed it on the player. Could you be trusted around their whelps? The children themselves seemed unconcerned, but what about Enid and Wednesday? Would they trust you? You weren’t even sure if you wanted them to trust you. Children were creatures you had yet to conquer.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

The beautiful sounds of jazz fell from the record playing, encasing the room in a warmth that had previously been absent. Deep down you knew it wasn’t the music that made the house feel correct. But things were still new - again. You weren’t ready to make that admittance just yet.

“What are the plans for this weekend?” Enid asked when you sat in the second chair in the room. Only a small round end table was situated between you and your girls. Could… you still call them that?

“We should enjoy the silence while we can,” Wednesday said.

Enid huffed. “You know they aren’t that bad, Willa.”

They continued to bicker - lovingly, of course - while you just sat and watched. Unlike the soiree those few months ago, they were far more relaxed. Casual even, if you had to put a word on it.  Enid was bundled in warm clothes - funny, considering she ran hot - and Wednesday was in a simple black sweater and leggings.

Everything about them in that moment reminded you of college. When you would all relax in the evenings. You were usually stuck with your nose in a book, terrified you wouldn’t manage to pass your classes, let alone the bar exam. But you could never properly focus because Enid and Wednesday were always around, bickering like an old married couple even from the very beginning.

Would you ever have that relationship with them again? Simply existing with them without fear of injury or betrayal. Whether it was just you or all of you, there was tension so thick in the air it was suffocating. You didn’t want to keep a tense, cordial relationship with them. Though, it did no good to dwell on the fact. You would respect their wishes until your dying breath.

Something warm grabbed your hand. Something with claws that pressed deep into the palm of your hand. There would be indentations left behind. If she didn’t ease up, perhaps a spot or two of blood. With you, she had never learned to manage her strength; there was no real need.

You never minded.

“What do you normally do?” Enid asked.

You exhaled slowly. “I sit here, listen to jazz, and work.”

“Both of you are so boring,” Enid groaned. “It’s our one full weekend without the kids,” she continued. “We can’t waste it by working.”

“I’m not working,” Wednesday said as she placed the book down on the table and looked at her wife with the softest of smiles. “I’m reading.”

The way they looked at each other was mesmerising. It was pure, unadulterated love. You hadn’t known either of them back when Wednesday was - as Enid so endearingly described - emotionally stunted. You two hadn’t been as outwardly romantic as Enid - she set the bar rather high - but you would’ve never considered her stunted. Especially now, watching the way she looked at her wife.

“We should do something,” Enid said. Her hand squeezed yours; her nails pricked your skin. “All of us.”

“All of us, you say?” You inquired. She glared at you.

“What a scandal,” Wednesday chimed in.

“I forgot how annoying you both are,” Enid mumbled to herself with no attempt to hide her little smile.

Her smile. The thing you had looked forward to seeing every morning before everything had crashed down around you. Even on the worst of days, you knew her smile would be enough to fix everything. Just the same as you hoped you could have fixed everything for her.

Until you couldn’t.

Outside, you could hear the snow starting to fall.

“What is there to do around the cabin?” Wednesday asked; her eyes never left Enid’s. “So our winter wolf doesn’t get too antsy?”

Another squeeze of your hand, digging the sharp, colourful nails deeper.

“Well,” you drew out the word as you thought. “There’s a frozen lake down the path.” Enid’s ears perked up slightly. “Or the town over usually has a winter market around this time.”

That was what did it. At the mention of a market, Enid practically jumped up from Wednesday’s lap. You kept your eyes on her even as you saw Wednesday smile out of your periphery. Her hands clasped together and she looked between the both of you with an excitement you hadn’t seen from her since before that night.

“Grab your winter coats, we’re going to the market!” She proclaimed excitedly.

You looked over at Wednesday with a raised brow but didn’t bother stopping your smile. She smiled back; anything for your wolf.

—---

It had only been a year or two since you had last attended the market and, as such, everyone still remembered you. As such, it was a little more complicated to get through everything than you had initially thought. With everyone stopping you to talk and catch up, you felt like you were holding Enid and Wednesday back as opposed to letting them have their fun.

The sweet older lady who ran the flower shop was still talking to you when you saw Enid walking off, leaving Wednesday to sidle up beside you. Had she done that on purpose? Clearly, she hadn’t just abandoned Wednesday, right? Not in your care, at least. None of you had trusted you two alone just yet.

Even though it hurt, it was a necessary precaution.

Finally, after what had probably been an hour of conversation with the sweet flower lady, you managed to separate with a polite goodbye and a promise to stop by next time you were in town. Whether she knew of your… infliction or not, you had no clue. It didn’t matter. At least she was kind.

“Where did our pup run off to?” You asked as Wednesday all but led you through the market.

“She saw some hot cider,” Wednesday said softly, stopping at one of the little booths. “She can never turn down a sweet treat.”

“Oh, I remember. We spent far too much money on her sweet treats,” you grumbled.

If you had kept track, you would have been horrified at how much both you and Wednesday spent on Enid. It hadn’t been with the intent to brag, or show off, you just wanted her to have everything she wished. Most of the time, that included drinks and sweet treats. And you were nothing if not eager to please.

“At least it’s not chocolate,” Wednesday said in a voice so soft, you wouldn’t have imagined it had actually come from her.

She was looking down at some of the trinkets at the table. They were brilliantly made, and you smiled politely at the woman in charge before standing behind Wednesday. Over her shoulder, you could see it wasn’t particularly anything interesting. Not to her.

Her body tensed up when you brushed against her. This close, you could hear the blood coursing through her veins. It was enticing. More than enticing. Your fingers twitched with the very thought of tasting something so delectable once again. Pain pricked at the inside of your lips as you re-positioned your fangs. It would be a simple thing.

The scars on her neck looked angry; they held shame not even thousands of years of instinct could fight. You had done that to her. You had nearly killed her. She was deathly still as you lifted a shaking hand to lift the collar of her coat, hiding the guilt you could never erase.

“You look cold,” you said softly, pulling your hands back to clasp them behind your back.

You both knew you were lying.

“I’m quite warm, actually,” she said. “I figured you could tell.”

You swallowed loudly. It didn’t ease the ache that was growing in the back of your throat. If anything, it made it worse. Each time she breathed, you could see the pulse in her veins. Enid wasn’t around. Surely you could handle it this time, you were far more mature this go around.

“I still believe I was correct,” she said.

Your head tilted to the side. Correct about what?

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Right.

“We must remember that night very differently,” you said as you looked up; there was a mirror in front of you. She couldn’t see you, but you could very well see her. “I remember proving you wrong.”

You weren’t prepared for her to lean back into you. To be touching you after so long. She was cold; not from the snow starting to fall. And as ridiculous as it sounded, she felt like she trusted you. Did she? After you had very nearly killed her, could she trust you?

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said softly as she pulled your arms to wrap around her waist.

“My dear,” you whispered into her ear, “I very much did hurt you.”

“Yet I’m still here.”

You barely held back a laugh. “All that means is Enid kicked my ass.”

“And I would do it again.”

Part of you urged you to pull apart from Wednesday, like you had just been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. There was nothing wrong with holding her again; hell, your girls had practically encouraged it. But the last time Enid had seen you both together was… not pretty.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

“What are we talking about?” Enid asked after she practically squeezed herself directly in between you and Wednesday.

“Your sweet treats,” Wednesday said effortlessly. “Is it worth it?”

She wrapped her hands around the paper cup and shrugged her shoulders high. “Always.”

“I think there’s some chocolate covered strawberries a few booths away,” you said while Enid continued to shimmy her way into more warmth. “White and dark chocolate.” Both women’s eyes lit up. “My treat.”

Wednesday looked at you with soft eyes. A look she hadn’t given you since… it was nice. Without uttering a single word, you were left with a warmth in your chest that your dead heart could never replicate.

“Lead the way,” she said softly.

—---

For reasons unknown to you or Wednesday, Enid was still freezing hours after getting back to the cabin. Hot tea had been made. And remade. And remade again. Then you had finally given in and lit the fireplace, as well as setting up a pallet on the floor in front of it so she could curl up and try to warm her fur.

And she was still shivering.

“Cara mia, please.” Wednesday’s voice carried from the living room to the kitchen. “Will nothing ease your cold?”

Enid hummed. “I know something that could warm me up.”

Her quiet giggle was all you needed to hear to know what she was implying. Your darling pup was the most insatiable creature you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Perhaps that was why she seemed to fit so well with two other partners; it would take at least two to keep her satisfied.

Outside, the front porch creaked. If you hadn’t already been accustomed to the sound, you would have brushed it off as wind. After all, it was still snowing steadily outside. But it wasn’t the sound of snow falling onto the porch. No, it was something else. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

In the living room, you could still hear the soft sounds of Enid and Wednesday enjoying their time together. As you passed, you could vaguely see them on the pallet in front of the fireplace. Every aspect of it reminded you of your times in university, each living your own lives, yet doing it together. Perhaps you could get back to that again. Surely their children wouldn’t mind another… parent? Hmm, that wasn’t quite right, you could figure it out-

“-Hello, bon ami.”

If you hadn’t been frozen in place, you would have slammed the door in his face. What the hell was he doing? In your home? No, he wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be back home, hunting humans for sport like everyone else. He knew better.

“You gonna let me in?” He asked in his thick accent that charmed some and repulsed others.

“Go home, Bas,” you said quietly.

“Why? You got company?” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’m a’comin’ in.”

He pushed his way past you into the cabin. If your mind hadn’t felt like mush, you would have had the good sense to stop him. Or at least to have warned Enid and Wednesday. But no, you were simply stuck wondering how he had even found you in the first place.

“I smell a rougarou.” His smile was sadistic and his fangs were sharp. Lethal. “What if Daddy found out, huh?”

“How about some tea?” You asked, gesturing to the kitchen.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at you. Just looked. Was that what Wednesday had seen in you that night? No, surely you had been more vicious. Nothing curious about you, that was for sure.

“Got some of that boudin left?” He asked.

You nodded once.

“Lead the way.”

He continued to look around as you did your best to lead him as far away from your girls as possible. If he wanted to make a pop-in visit, fine. But you weren’t going to let him torment everyone else in the cabin. He could have a cup of tea, some boudin, and be on his way back home.

“Make it the good way?” He asked as he practically fell into one of the chairs at the table. “I’d hate to have to help myself in this house of yours.”

Without waiting for him to finish, you tossed a bag of blood onto the table. It slid across the smooth wood until stopping directly in front of him. He didn’t even look down, just kept his cold eyes glued to yours.

“Keep your teeth to yourself,” you said.

He laughed while you turned back to the stove. The sooner you got the tea going and could get him fed, the sooner he would leave. That was all you really wanted. Things were going well, and Enid and Wednesday were in good moods. You didn’t need him to ruin it.

The stove lit with a single spark, and you gently placed the kettle on top. It would still take a minute to boil, and you had it all planned out. You would grab the blood and boudin from the fridge. Put the food in the oven, make the tea, and get him fed and out of your house.

But you should have known better.

“I smell meat,” Enid said as she practically skipped into the kitchen.

And stopped short when she saw someone at the table.

“Oh, couyon,” he said with a smile toward you once Wednesday walked in. “You naughty thing, you.”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. Wednesday was looking at you with her “explain Or Else” look. Something you hadn’t minded before, but now? Now it made your skin crawl. Like spiderwebs caught on every inch of your body, and you couldn’t get them off.

The pan slid smoothly into the oven, and you started the timer.

“This is Bastien,” you said with a lazy gesture toward the parasite at the end of the table. “My brother.”

“Baby brother,” he corrected quickly. “And you two must be the delectable little snacks.”

“Told you to keep your teeth to yourself,” you said with a raised brow. You quickly looked at Enid with far softer eyes. “Food will just be a few more minutes.” Then to Wednesday. “I’m making tea.”

Carefully, slowly, both Enid and Wednesday sat down at the table. Across from each other, but not near Bastien. The whole time, he watched them like a predator. Biding his time, the way he had been taught. You met his eyes.

His gaze towards your girls turned softer.

“So,” Bastien said as you turned back to the stove and grabbed the kettle. “Which one of you gave my sweet sibling all those scars?”

You poured some blood into the bottom of two mugs.

“I did,” Enid said. “So don’t try anything or you’ll have some to match.”

Bastien howled; a deep, obnoxious belly laugh. It… was nice to hear. As much as you didn’t want him there, he was your brother. Baby brother, as he constantly reminded you. There was comfort in the sound of his laugh; there always had been.

“That’s good, I like that,” he said, still failing to keep his laughter in check. “So that means your witch was the blood bag.”

You practically slammed the mug onto the table in front of Bastien. He looked up at you again, tilting his head to the side. It reminded you of Enid. He reminded you too much of Enid. No, you weren’t going to be phased. You knew the vampire charm; you wouldn’t fall for it.

“Serve yourself,” you demanded.

“Come on, cher,” he said as you proceeded to pour tea into Wednesday’s and Enid’s mugs. “I’m just askin’ if that’s what you almost died for.” You set the teapot on the table and walked back to the oven. “Simple curiosity.”

“Almost died?” Enid asked.

You didn’t turn around.

“The scars didn’t give it away?” Bastien asked.

You grabbed the kitchen counter.

“How did you know?” Wednesday asked.

He started talking, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t have to. The entire night was engraved into every fold of your brain, etched into the walls of your skull. No amount of alcohol, or nicotine, or blood, or the occasional line would erase. It stayed there, taunting you. Teasing you.

Blood pumped in your ears. It was loud, but not loud enough to ease the growls and screams that were bouncing off your skull. The trees soared past you. Each step of your foot was jarring as it practically bounced off the hard ground.

Wednesday’s blood still coated your lips.

The pain in your throat was harsh; it wouldn’t heal fast enough to ease the ache. Miles and miles flew by without you ever noticing. The sun rose, then set, then rose, and finally set again. Each new day was a blur. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

You hoped Enid was okay.

And Wednesday was alive.

Oh. The thought of Wednesday, lying there with your teeth marks in her flesh. Blood pooling around her; her life pooling around her. All because of you. Because of you. You killed her. You killed one of the loves of your life.

Panting breaths came faster. You killed her. Everything slowly came to a stop. The bark was rough under your fingers as you leaned against a tree to stay upright. Around you, the bugs from the bayou were loud in your ears. Still not louder than the fight.

You killed her.

Possibly killed Enid as well.

You killed them both.

Something scratched against the soft tissue inside your throat. It grew and grew until you couldn’t tell where your exterior wounds ended and the interior ones began. Only when you inhaled deeply did you discover the cause.

“What you screamin’ for, cher?” Daddy said, appearing out of thin air. Or directly in front of you. You didn’t know. “Thought you were up at that fancy university of yours.”

“Looks like you brawled with a hunter, little monster,” Bastien said. “Did you at least get a snack out of it?”

A snack.

Wednesday.

You leaned over and expelled every bit of blood you had gotten into your body. It didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, it only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

A chunk of the countertop broke off in your hand. The kitchen went silent. You blinked slowly before looking down. It wouldn’t be an easy fix. But you could do it, it would just take a weekend or two. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to replace the entire counter.

“Boudin’s burnin’, cher,” Bastien said softly from beside you. When had he gotten there? “Go sit down, I got it.”

Niceties would get him nowhere. And yet, you still went and sat at the table between Enid and Wednesday. They were looking at you, you could feel it. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the scar on Wednesday’s hand.

The scars you had caused.

You killed her.

“I know I asked for dinner,” Bastien said, “but I think I should head out for the night.” His hand rested on your shoulder; it was cold and soft. “It was nice meeting you both.”

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. His lips - much like you believed of your own - were cold. It wasn’t long before he pulled away. His footsteps were loud against the wooden floor, slowly getting softer and softer until the door opened and clicked shut.

Leaving you alone with your two girls.

Your two girls you nearly killed.

A monster.

everyone but her pt.43

Summary: Wednesday knows she'll discover the killer. She will end this string of disasters. Even if it's the last thing she'll ever do.

Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: swearing, blood, canon typical violence Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader A/N: This has maybe two or three allusions to the one-shot revenge, but it's not required to read before this chapter. (Masterlist)

The summer air was starting to give way to fall in the most minuscule of ways. Heat still enveloped the atmosphere, leaving you miserable and sticky with a sheen layer of sweat. Wednesday liked seeing you with a layer of sweat covering your skin. It was attractive in a primal way that she wouldn’t dare be ashamed of. The only thing she didn’t like was your attitude.

Which had only gotten worse since the charity event.

You weren’t unkind, not intentionally. It was evident in the guilt written across your face whenever you snapped at someone or something. Not too long ago, you had snapped at Wednesday after she had asked to assist you with making dinner. She had stood her ground as you berated her, saying you were “more than capable of cooking on my own, I’m not inept.” No sooner had the words left your lips had you turned to face her with tears in your eyes.

Of course you had apologised instantly, incessantly. Never had you said something to her with the intent to injure. Not unless you were already hurting over something you had yet to talk with her about. She knew this, knew your insecurity with emotions. After all, she was learning along with you, and it was no easy journey.

But those very instances were what led Wednesday to struggle with figuring out how best to assist you. Nights passed where you were found unconscious on the couch, all the lights on and the television still playing. It was usually something childish; a technique you and Enid shared in common to disallow the nightmares from reappearing.

Even when Wednesday attempted to stay awake with you, insisting she preferred your company, the nightmares prevailed. Or perhaps they weren’t nightmares, but intrusive thoughts. She could hear you mumbling to yourself, both conscious and not, arguing with someone who wasn’t there. If you finally managed to sleep, you twitched and whined and cried.

Initially, she had believed you were talking to Nicky; she remembered when you had told her you could still see him. For a long while, she had believed that was who you were talking to. She knew siblings bickered and fought, it wasn’t too unusual. After all, she and Pugsley fought as well, it was quite common.

She wasn’t so confident in her beliefs after the fire.

You were more on edge, jumping at the slightest of noises. And after the charity, your reactions had gotten worse. If you were unaware of her presence, you talked in a normal tone, arguing with whoever you could see. Or perhaps you didn’t see anyone at all; after all, you weren’t a Seer. Whatever was inside your head, she had no idea. All she knew was it was slowly driving you insane, and she couldn’t help.

I’m scared, you had said once. I don’t think I’m alone in my mind. She had asked her mother what it could mean, but she had no concrete answers. And it wasn’t like she could very well ask you, seeing as you were unaware of what was going on as well.

The only saving grace through the entire summer was Eugene graduating from Nevermore and getting accepted into the same university they all attended. For the first time in years, Wednesday saw you smile effortlessly. You had instantly invited Eugene out for a night, and he had eagerly accepted. She enjoyed seeing you happy. If she had known all those years ago that her forcing you to hang out with Eugene would have led to this sort of friendship, she would have never believed it.

“Don’t go into the woods,” Wednesday said when you grabbed your keys by the door.

“Why?” You asked.

Images flashed in her mind of the woods. The two people from her last vision were standing there in their own blood, looking directly into her soul. Surely her visions didn’t always come true. Whatever the case, she wouldn’t let this one come to pass.

“Every time you two have gone into the woods, you’ve come home injured,” she said instead without an ounce of hesitation.

“The first time was a full moon, and the second was a freak accident,” you argued, entirely too stubborn to accept defeat so easily. “We’re a perfect duo.”

“A perfect duo of tomfoolery,” she said.

You smiled. “I like that word,” you whispered. “But quit worrying, we’re just going to get coffee.”

“In town?”

“No, in the forest,” you chimed back. Wednesday turned just enough to give you the look she knew you hated. “Of course it’s in town, love,” you chuckled.

She turned back to face the overly large Investigation Board you had bought for the apartment. Though she loved her original one, it was hard to deny she had needed the extra space. Information came to light almost faster than she could keep up with, and her one board had long since become crowded. With your new addition, she could continue to investigate without any worries.

Boots hit the ground lightly, getting closer until an arm snaked around her waist. It used to startle her, sending her pulse skyrocketing before she remembered who it was. Now, it was a comfort. Your warmth scorched its way to her soul, and the silent possessiveness of the act was not lost on her. It was a character trait you had picked up after the gala. She wasn’t upset about it.

“We’ll be safe,” you said softly, your breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “My phone is charged this time.”

“Is Eugene’s?” She asks.

“Let me check,” you said. Behind her, you shifted to your other foot and leaned down to her other ear. “Yeah, it’s good.”

She knew you didn’t check.

“No unplanned excursions without prior warning,” she said. Demanded. Pleaded. It was humiliating.

But when she thought of the two previous instances you had been caught in the woods with Eugene - three, if she included when you had gone with Yoko - she lost any care about how she sounded. Too many times she had seen you on the brink of either death or mental anguish. Or both. If pleading for you to be careful was humiliating, then she would put her pride aside for the time being.

“If we do something else, I’ll call,” you said.

“If I do not answer?”

“I’ll call Enid,” you answered immediately.

Good. She had trained you well.

“Inform Eugene that I said hello,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you said.

Behind her, you shifted, pulling her back into you ever so slightly. Not enough to disrupt her train of thought - though you had done that already - simply to get her attention. Warm lips pressed lightly to the back of her neck and, not for the first nor last time, she thought of how unusual the comfort was.

Perhaps you had made her into her mother after all.

Oh. Oh, that was a horrific thought.

“We’ll go over the board when I get back?” You asked when you stepped away and made your way to the door.

“I’ll have my findings in bullet points,” she said without turning to face you.

“Sounds good, I'll be back!” You called out. Far louder than necessary, but that was rather typical.

Wednesday didn’t answer. Which, quite frankly, was also rather typical. She was too focused on trying to find out how to get you unconnected from the list of suspects. Of course, she knew you weren’t the one that had attacked those fraternity boys, or your therapist, or Ash and Joel. She knew, because you had told her you hadn’t.

Perhaps it was foolish to believe a suspect, but she trusted you implicitly.

Which left her feeling at a loss for new leads.

Your mother’s words echoed in her head. This curse prevailed long before Nicholas. Surely that hadn’t just been a threat. There wasn’t much that she knew about your mother, but she did know the woman was calculating. Raised in a higher society that valued cold precision over reckless action.

Was it a genuine curse? She was well aware of them, Grandmama Addams had taught her everything she knew. Her mother had taught her everything she knew. If it was a genuine curse, there would be some way to break it. Perhaps, if she talked with your mother, she could learn the nature of your downfall and reverse it.

The thought of something surrounding you, enveloping you in chaos and distress was unsettling. Wednesday was well versed in chaos and distress, she craved it, actively sought after it even. But when it involved you? She had seen your troubles enough over the years she had known you, she knew you didn’t need any help from outside forces.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk with your mother after all. Would you hate her terribly for it? Surely not, she was doing it for you, after all. If it could help you have a normal life like you wished, then there would be no problem at all. You just needed to trust her.

Now all she needed to do was find a time to make it happen.

“Hey Wil-,” Wednesday turned quickly to see Enid stopped in the doorway, “-um, ew.”

Of course. The Investigation Board.

“Finding any answers?” Enid asked as she precariously entered the apartment.

Wednesday huffed. “No.” Her arms sat crossed over her chest. “Though I have a list of suspects.”

“Is your girlfriend anywhere on that list?” Enid asked cautiously with hands clasped tightly behind her back.

“Of course not,” she said quickly. “Why would she be?”

“Well.” Enid let the end of the word drag out. “Okay listen,” she sighed. “You know I totes love her to death.” Wednesday nodded once. “But don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that everything happening seems to revolve around her?”

Well, she didn’t like that train of thought one bit.

“All of her whereabouts have been accounted for since everything started,” Wednesday defended.

“Have they?” Enid asked. “No one knew for sure where she was when Mac was murdered.”

“At the shop, there were cameras.”

“That weren’t working,” Enid said quickly.

“I was by her side the entire fraternity party.”

“Until you went to round everybody up.”

“We were together when we discovered the murders of her parents’ acquaintances.”

“How about before they were discovered?”

Wednesday opened her mouth to argue. Of course she had been with you the entire time. Where else would you have been if not by her side? It wasn’t like you would simply run away, commit a murder, and come back like nothing had ever happened. Besides, every new murder had seemed to shock you, and you weren’t a good actor. She would have noticed if it wasn’t genuine.

Her mouth slowly fell closed. She supposed you had left before at least one of the murders. Or… all of them. No, that was impossible, you couldn’t have done such a thing. You had been gone for reasonable times, and never unaccounted for. Even if you hadn’t told Wednesday personally, you had told someone else. There was no possibility that it was you.

“I mean, she did kill those Canadian guys when she was younger,” Enid said with a shrug.

Wednesday did her best to push the thought of her mind. As usual.

“Have you found anything useful?” Enid asked softly, changing the train of thought either nary a hitch.

Wednesday turned to face her. “Do you truly wish to know?”

She hummed and nodded.

Not that there was much to tell. Wednesday went over the knife wounds, and the attempt to blame a werewolf (which she was, appropriately so, angry about). About the possibilities of a siren, or shapeshifter, or who knew what else (you had both agreed it was still up in the air). Everything she knew, she informed Enid of.

Much to her surprise, Enid didn’t faint at the autopsy photos.

“Are they even still out there?” Enid asked as she stepped closer, her shoulder brushing gently against Wednesday’s. “It’s been a while since the last one.”

“The family house burned down only a few months ago.”

“Well yeah, that was weird, but I mean the murders,” Enid said. “We technically can’t say if the two were related.”

“They’re out there,” Wednesday said definitively.

A phone vibrated on the small dining table. She left Enid to look at the board as she picked the phone up. Anxiety bubbled up into her chest at your name, but when she swiped the phone open and read the message, it eased.

“Everything okay?” Enid asked.

“Y/N and Eugene are going to lunch with Devan and Casey,” Wednesday said as she placed the phone back on the table.

“I’m glad they all get to hang out,” Enid said as she finally placed herself on the couch. It only took her a moment to find the remote and put something on the television.

As am I, Wednesday thought before situating herself beside Enid. She was elated that you were hanging out with Eugene again. You had sighed and moaned about missing Eugene more times than she could count. You had both talked on the phone plenty of times and played your silly little games together, but it wasn’t the same. Or so you said, she believed it was rather similar.

Though she could have done without you seeing Casey and Devan. They were most certainly on her list of suspects.

Enid didn’t stay long; a bit unusual for her, though it was a full moon later so it could be excused. Her absence, along with yours, left the apartment quiet. Cold. An unusual situation to be stuck in. Wednesday wondered when she had started to rely on your presence to make the living space feel complete.

Her eyes trailed away from the television. Your things were so interspersed with hers that she was unsure what belonged to who. That dagger on the shelf had belonged to her, but you had stolen it at Nevermore, and now it sat wedged perfectly between a handmade mug and an old Addams vial of poison. An heirloom if ever there was one.

If one were to open the closet, one would assume it was split perfectly in half. Wednesday’s dark wardrobe in contrast to your carefree, occasionally bright and colourful one. Yet that’s not what they would find. They would find black mixed with colour, items not belonging to one person but to you both. With the exception of a few items that didn’t fit the other, everything was shared amongst you both.

Though she had fought the idea at first there were even… photographs hanging around the apartment. She knew of the paintings in the Addams family home, all of her ancestors. But this was different. To know she was in the photographs with you, together, showing the most vulnerable of emotions around you. It was solidified in a physical manifestation, laid bare for the world to see. Or the photographs you had taken without her knowledge, of her and the friend group and your family and her family. It lit a fire in her chest that she had initially thought was horrific.

She was wrong.

As much as she despised the thought, she wondered if her mother had seen such a thing happening. Had she predicted that you would be so intertwined in Wednesday’s life? That if someone wished to see you separated, they would have to surgically remove each part with inhuman precision.

And she found a surprising amount of joy in that fact.

Wednesday found herself still staring at those pictures when the door to the apartment opened. There you stood, bags in your hands and an unusually serene look on your face. She liked seeing you come back to the apartment. To home. Your shared home. She wished to have you come home to her every night for the rest of your lives.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you closed the door behind you.

Wednesday hesitated. “Of course,” she said, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s your writing time,” you said with a head gesture toward the typewriter.

Of course. She had nearly forgotten you cared enough to remember - and respect - her schedule. Something you had done from the moment you met her, and yet it still surprised her. Though she was stuck in her own determinations, she should have realised then that you were different. Special.

“I'm quite content to skip my writing time today,” Wednesday said.

You smiled. “Too busy with the Board?”

She hummed in response. It was better for you to believe she was investigating. As soft as you had made her over the years, she didn't have the humility to inform you of her actual actions throughout the day. To tell you she had done nothing but think of your life together.

“Oh,” you said from the kitchen, “I brought dinner!”

It wasn’t even nearing the proximity of dinner time.

You reappeared with empty hands. “Chung had a few pickup orders that were never picked up,” you explained as you walked toward the couch. “Eugene took some home and I gave some to Ash since, you know, she claims I’m going to get her killed.”

You fell onto the couch, and your hand instinctively went to her knee. The skin on your palms was unbearably rough and calloused. From years of use, whether it be climbing or carpentry or helping your family, your skin was what she could consider “worn.” Yet when you touched her, all she could feel was the gentleness underneath the rough exterior. The love and care you put into every movement around her.

She stiffened. There. This softness was the perfect motivation to ease whatever curse had been laid upon you.

“Did you give any to Joel?” She asked. You tilted your head. “Since the same argument can be used for both him and Ash.”

“I’m not gonna get him killed,” you mumbled. Even softer, “he wasn’t home.”

Wednesday nodded in answer. Silence enveloped the room as you both sat on the couch and looked off into nothing. Something was playing on the television, but she couldn’t have said what. The sound was down so truly, it didn’t matter. Your fingers rubbed gentle circles on the inside of her knee.

Your head tilted once, then again.

“Is it morbid that we have pictures of dead bodies in our living room?” You asked.

She looked back at the Investigation Board taking over a good portion of the living room. It was quite the anomaly to most people, she would admit. Since Nevermore, Enid would always faint and the others would comment. None of it mattered to her, of course, but it was an undeniable fact.

You had never said anything negative.

“I believe it’s quite acceptable,” she finally said.

You nodded subconsciously. “My thoughts exactly.” Your shoulders sagged with a sigh. “Whatcha wanna do now?”

With a turn of her head, she looked out the window. Clearly she had misjudged the time, as the sun was starting to make its decent to the ground. Still bright, leaving a column of light on the floor, but fading second by second. It was a calming sight, to watch the sun start to set from the comfort of her living room. Your living room.

The idea was bold. She didn’t care.

“I would like to bathe,” she said. Her eyes met yours. “With you.”

Your smile met your eyes. “I’ll go start the bath.”

Without time to say a word, you practically jumped from the couch and ran to the bathroom. Always so eager, she thought as she stood. You were rummaging around in the bathroom before the faucet squeaked and water rushed into the tub. What were you looking for? Had you found it? Her questions internal questions about you were endless.

“Don’t come in yet,” you called out through the still-open door.

You had a plan, that much was obvious. She loved when you had plans; more often than not, they failed. There was something enjoyable about your failed plans. It made them more realistic. Not because you weren’t good at planning, but because you simply planned bigger than life.

Her feet carried her to the bedroom while you continued to shuffle around out of her sight. The closet doors eased open and Wednesday lowered herself to her knees. There, in the back right corner of the closet - in what had originally been her side - was a pair of boots that often went unworn. A small black box sat in the left boot, shoved into the toe behind a rolled-up pair of socks.

Small fingers gently pulled it from its cave before opening the top. And there, in the middle of the box, was a ring. A ring that she had gotten from her mother, who had gotten it from her mother, and the list went on farther than she could accurately remember. Just a simple silver band with a black stone in the middle; simple, efficient, comfortable.

Your humming floated into the bedroom before reaching Wednesday’s ears. She hadn’t heard you do that in months, if not longer. Something you only did when you were relaxed. Safe. An unknown song that you were probably making up on the spot. A soothing melody that rested peacefully in her chest.

The ring would look stunning on your finger.

“Hey did you want-”

-Wednesday’s head spun to look at you standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Looking directly at the box in her hand; no, at the ring.

“Put it back,” you said quickly. What? You pointed directly at her. “Wednesday Addams, you put that back in your boot right this instant.”

She couldn’t find the words to say. What could she say? What did you mean? How did you even know she had kept the ring hidden in her boot? You practically stomped over to the closet and kneeled beside her, mirroring everything about her. Even down to the boot on your side.

You pulled out a box of identical size.

“You’ve beat me to everything,” you said as you shifted, falling further to the floor to cross your legs. “I wanted to beat you just this once.”

Between your slender fingers, you gripped the ring gently and held it up for her to see. A black band that held a white stone between thorny vines. On each side of the stone was a small metal skull with white eyes. It was macabre; perfect. How long had you saved up for such a thing?

“I was gonna ask you after graduation,” you said with a crooked smile. “Didn’t wanna distract you.”

“You are rather notorious for it,” Wednesday answered.

Your smile grew. “I found your box back when we went grave digging,” you continued. “Reminded me I needed to step up my game.”

The peaceful look on your face warmed Wednesday’s cold heart. Her mind was still running rampant with the implications. You had… taken the time and money to buy a ring? For her? After all the things she had been unable to do for you? You still got something that solidified your feelings.

She had been - and still was, at times - unable to talk about her feelings with you. Or even listen to your own without prior warning. Time and time again she had been unable to emotionally console you because her own emotions were so far separated from the average person. She had taken her sweet time to learn how to be in any sort of relationship, even something as simple as a friendship.

And yet, that ring stayed firm between your fingers.

“I’ll wear yours if you wear mine,” you said, pulling her out of her mental spiral.

She blinked once. “Is that a proposal?” She asked. “I don’t believe this would be considered romantic.”

“I have a plan for later, I promise,” you chuckled as you held the ring out to her. “But now I’m kind of excited.”

Something stuck in her throat to prevent her from voicing a similar opinion. Instead, she simply held the ring out for you to take as well. Your smile was almost contagious, leaving her with spiders in her stomach. An almost forgotten feeling, but she wouldn’t wish for anything else.

Surprisingly, by some grace of the Addams ancestors, both rings fit perfectly.

“So do I get to be an Addams now?” You asked.

You were happy. You were excited at the prospect of being an Addams. To be part of her family in every way possible. The sight of your joy at being one of them left a feeling in her chest that she couldn’t explain. Something that spiderwebbed across every nerve and blood vessel in her body.

It was too much emotion for her. She only truly knew of one way to dispel such feelings. You were still looking at the Addams family ring on your finger. Her hand - adorned with a ring of its own - reached out and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. She leaned forward as she pulled you into a kiss.

Your lips were uncharacteristically soft. Surely you had been using the chapstick everyone continued to gift you time and time again. Not that Wednesday cared, she simply enjoyed the feel of your lips against hers. It went no further, just a kiss, but it was all she wished for, all she could ever want.

Lightning struck behind her eyes. Your lips were no longer on hers, instead replaced by the warm wind of late summer. She looked around to see a familiar sight. It was becoming too familiar to her mind; talk about unsettling. There behind her stood two figures, dwarfed in comparison by a hulking creature behind them.

A creature with menacing eyes.

“Wednesday.”

Her eyes opened to see you looking at her with a concerned face. How often had she had visions in front of you? How long would it continue? She couldn’t even begin to fathom the cause of such an event. But she refused to believe it had anything to do with you.

“You’re fainting more often,” you said softly, “maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

Wednesday looked away from your face to see it was finally dark outside, the full moon hanging low in the sky.

Wait.

“We have to go,” Wednesday said quickly as she stood up from her spot and started rushing out of the apartment.

“Go where?” You called behind her, followed by a whispered “shit” as you too followed behind.

The door remained open as she ran out. Only a second or two passed before it slammed shut and your footsteps followed. Down the stairs, past Ash - who you mumbled a quick “hello” to - and out the front of the building. Far in the distance, she could hear the howl of a wolf. A wolf much larger than Enid.

“Where are we going?” You asked from somewhere behind her.

She couldn’t talk. Perhaps that was how you felt when your house was going up in flames.

Wednesday picked up the pace once she saw the woods. If she could get there in time, her vision wouldn’t come true. She could keep everyone safe. Her brisk walk turned into a run once the wolf howled again. She could get there in time.

“Wednesday, come back,” you called out.

Warm fingers wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop. She was forced to spin her body to face you. Vaguely, far away from her thoughts, she could feel the ring pressing into her skin. It was comforting; you were actually wearing it. You were an Addams.

“What’s going-”

-a familiar howl echoed through the woods.

“Enid?” You asked.

Both your eyes went wide.

“Okay, go,” you said as you took off into the woods, pulling Wednesday along behind you.

It was unintentional, but she always forgot how fast you could be. Her feet barely touched the ground with your speed, and if your wings had been out, she swore you would have been airborne. Even with your shirt covering the harness, your wings twitched underneath the cloth, begging to be set free.

Her body slammed into yours when you pulled up to a stop.

“Oh shit,” you whispered.

Wednesday looked around you to see the realisation of her vision. On the ground was Eugene, covered in dark liquid that continued to pour from wounds across his chest. Enid’s wolf stood over him, splotches of red in her otherwise blonde fur. Opposite her was a wolf.

A familiar wolf.

“That’s the bastard who got me at Nevermore,” you huffed.

“How can you tell?” Wednesday asked while you took your shirt off and started undoing the harness.

“I left that scar on his shoulder,” you said with a frown. “Help Eugene.”

If you had given her time, she would have argued with you. Told you to stay put, not to get involved. Enid wouldn’t dare hurt you, but when two wolves were fighting, casualties were expected. You weren’t invincible like you believed you were. She told you not to even go into the woods earlier, you most certainly weren’t supposed to be fighting werewolves.

But she couldn’t stop you. Not when you took off into the air with a gust of wind behind you. It agitated the dirt and left a cloud behind. Each particle that went through Wednesday’s nose tickled and, if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she would have sneezed.

Enid growled and took off, and Wednesday struggled to keep track of where everyone was. But she knew where Eugene was. Yeah, she could take care of him, that would be easy enough. She could keep her concentration long enough to help him. Not like she was worried about you.

Someone whimpered when she kneeled beside him.

“Don’t bite,” You growled.

Another animalistic scream.

She looked down at the injuries on Eugene. He seemed to be breathing just fine. That was good. The blood had soaked through his shirt, but it hadn’t pooled around him like she had been worried about. That was also good. Okay, she knew what to do. All she had to do was put her hands on the wounds and push down, it was simple.

Something ripped through flesh behind her.

The fight carried on behind her. You and Enid were putting yourselves in danger while she sat there and tried to keep her friend alive. Things were supposed to be getting easier. You were wearing an Addams ring, you weren’t supposed to be putting yourself into such needless danger. The both of you should have been in the bath, enjoying your evening together.

Eugene was still unconscious.

Something solid hit the ground.

A whimper.

Another growl.

There were too many sounds, and she couldn’t bring herself to look. Couldn’t bear to see her friends dying, to see her fiancee getting hurt. Why was it always everyone else? Why was she not the one to ever suffer? Was her punishment for existing simply to watch everyone she cared for get hurt because of her visions-

-a gunshot.

A lingering whimper that faded into the forest.

Wednesday’s dead heart was frozen as she spun around faster than she believed possible for a human. Had someone shot you? Was Enid okay? Oh gods please let Enid be okay, she already looked injured when you had both arrived in the woods.

Ash stood by the thick trunk of a tree, rifle held steady in her hands.

That hadn’t been part of her vision.

“What are you doing here?” You asked breathlessly.

From what Wednesday could see, you were standing tall. Blood dripped from your fingers, but you didn’t appear injured. Beside you, Enid was slowly turning human again. You kept your eyes on Ash, but kneeled to cover Enid with the shirt you had taken off what felt like hours ago.

“Y’all ran past me in the apartment,” Ash said calmly, lowering the rifle. “Addams doesn’t run.”

“Crazy bitch,” you mumbled as you got on the ground to replace Wednesday’s hands on Eugene’s wounds. “Thank you.”

Wednesday stood and looked at Enid. She was finally back on her feet, pulling your shirt tight around her. Blood fell from the deep claw marks on her face. Thankfully, aside from that, she seemed to be okay. As okay as she could be for a werewolf fight.

“Willa,” Enid said with a whimper.

Without hesitation, Wednesday walked forward and pulled Enid into a hug. Enid’s breath on her neck was comforting; it meant she was alive. The thoughts continued to ravage her mind. She could have lost her best friend. She could have lost everyone she cared for. Enid’s hands gripped her tighter.

As much as the thought killed her, Wednesday decided then and there what she needed to do.

She needed to talk with your mother.

our little secret pt.vi

Summary: Life has a funny way of coming back around. Maybe, for the first time, it's actually going to come back around for the better.

Word Count: 10.9k Warnings: swearing, homophobia, HIV/Aids crisis, religious trauma, excessive smoking Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (Masterlist)

The sun was just starting to rise by the time you finished letting the cattle into the field. Fall was coming in nicely, and the spring calves had more than come into their own by that point. They were rather mischievous at this age. They reminded you of such as they continued to butt their heads into the back of your legs every chance they got.

Adorable little bastards.

The crops surrounding the small gathering of buildings were looking pretty damn good, if you said so yourself. You let your fingers trail over a few peas as you squatted down to look for pests. They were almost ready to harvest. Not too much longer and it would be market season, and with any luck you would have enough harvest to make a little more to put back.

As you stood up, you picked two pods off the vine. One went straight into your mouth. The crunch was superb. Definitely ready. You tossed the other pod to Hank, who was lying in his spot on the porch, more than ready to start sunbathing. He was a useless cowdog, but you’d be damned if you didn’t love him.

“You’re doin’ great, buddy,” you said softly. He continued to crunch on the pea pod as you scratched behind his ear and walked inside.

Based on the noise echoing through the log cabin, everyone was already in the kitchen. Good, you wouldn’t have to chase them down. Not that you had to do that much anymore, everyone had fallen into a rather comfortable rhythm. A schedule, if you will. A routine fit for the veterans you now called your family.

“Thank god,” Jane sighed as you walked through the doorway into the kitchen. “Roy’s burning breakfast.”

“Course he is,” you mumbled.

“I’m not burning anything,” Roy called back. He still stepped aside without protest when you walked up beside him.

“Yet,” you said with a raised brow.

“Morning,” was all he said in reply before walking back to sit at the long kitchen table.

The whole crew was already up and ready to go while you finished saving breakfast. A wonderful array of eggs, bacon, sausage, and… well, whatever they could get out of a can. For some unknown reason - it wasn’t entirely unknown, just unconfirmed - they made it a habit to steal cans from an old military warehouse not too far away. They’d grab whatever they could carry, come back, and barter them amongst each other until their next run.

You weren’t sure why they didn’t just share, considering they all lived in the same place.

“Are you working today?” Greenback asked from where he was sitting on one of the counters.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. You turned and gave him The Look, as they all dubbed it. “Which means I can’t bail you out today. So unless you want to spend the night in jail,” you look back down, “don’t get arrested again.”

“Yes mom,” he mocked. “You don’t have to remind me every day.”

“Sure she does,” Hippie said. Unlike the others, he was waiting patiently for breakfast. “She didn’t remind you last week. Remember what happened?”

There was an awkward silence. You bit your lip to keep from laughing because you certainly remembered. So had your savings, quite frankly. And he was paying you back for it dollar by dollar, so he remembered too.

“I got arrested,” Greenback finally answered, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

“So maybe she does need to tell you,” Hippie said.

“Now listen here-”

-the noise of their argument died out. It was a skill you had learned after only a year of being there. All of them were wild, constantly arguing and occasionally devolving into screaming. Terrifying at first, considering each of them had killed someone at least once in their lives. Now you knew better.

They just needed someone to care.

“Here.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Roy held out a cigarette. You mouthed a silent “thank you” before taking it, waiting patiently for him to flick his lighter open. Smoking was a nasty habit. Yet, when everyone around you imbibed, it was easy enough to fall into it with them. In a strange twist of fate, Camels were preferred over Marlboros. Peculiar.

Disgusting.

“Going to the hospital this morning?” Roy asked.

You nodded and exhaled the ashy smoke. “Wanna go with me?”

He was already shaking his head. “Those are your people, not mine,” he grumbled before leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Some are vets,” you said, looking at him with a raised brow. “Just cause you don’t claim ‘em don’t mean they’re not yours.”

“Tell that to our old man,” Roy said, all joking aside.

“Yeah, well.” You exhaled the last cloud of smoke before you put the cigarette out on one of the many trays around the house. “I got a few other things I’d rather say to him.”

“You and me both,” he said, patting your shoulder and pushing away from the counter with his hip.

He was doing better, you thought as you told everyone breakfast was finally ready. He was much better. Maybe it had something to do with being around a bunch of other people who understood. Everyone in the compound - or commune, as Hippie called it - except you had been in Vietnam. They knew each other’s struggles and fears. As much as your daddy hated the term, it was everyone’s safe space.

“Hey Preacher, you’ll bail me out if I get arrested tomorrow, right?”

And unfortunately, you were everyone’s Commune Mother. Who would’ve thought?

—---

“Morning, Richard,” you said once you saw the kind doctor behind the desk.

“Good morning, Preacher,” he said with a smile that hid behind his mustache. “I was hoping to see you this morning.”

You smiled to yourself and gripped your bag tighter. Dr. Richard was a sweet man, not too different from Huck. If Huck was closer to your father’s age than yours, that was. His smile wasn’t as crooked, but you supposed some would find it attractive.

Not you. But someone.

“Who do you have for me this mornin’?” You asked, instinctively leaning over the counter.

You weren’t supposed to, you knew it was against policy. Richard had said it was something against patient privacy or something like that. The first few times, just the thought of violating someone’s privacy was enough to send you home. The last thing you wanted to do was read something they didn’t want you to. You knew that better than most.

Now though? Oh, now they could tell you to your face if they wanted you to back off.

The long list of names was almost as recognisable as the Bible itself. You visited a very specific type of patient. A type that had gotten you ostracised your first few months. You knew every single patient that came in, and every single one that Robert - you adamantly refused to call him daddy anymore - condemned to hell. If they were going to hell, you were going with them.

“Here we go,” Richard said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Mr. Baker.”

You leaned further across the table, almost touching foreheads with Richard. Mr. Baker was new, if you remembered correctly. In his 50s, grumpy, determined the world was out to get him. Maybe it was, you knew the feeling. Hell, the world had been out to get you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe it might be the same for him.

“He gonna throw anything at me?” You asked as you finally dropped back to the floor.

“He’s been advised not to,” Richard said with a sigh.

“Oh thank the lord, he’s been advised.”

“I’m sure he’ll behave,” he said. His smile was always nice. Kind.

“I’ll go see,” you said. You pushed yourself away from the desk but didn’t get very far before you heard Richard call after you.

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

You looked at him for a moment, your head tilted. This wasn’t a new question. In fact, he asked nearly every week, if memory served you right. Part of you wanted to tell him yes, just once. Just once to see if you could change. It would certainly make the world a lot easier to deal with.

It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I have to work,” you said with a soft smile. He kept getting smaller as you walked backwards.

“How about a drink?” He leaned forward on the desk.

Oh, he was charming. And yet, you still felt nothing but a platonic admiration for him. Nothing you did would “fix” you. If you couldn’t fall for someone who was inarguably a perfect match, with the only issue being he was a man? Nothing would work. And for the life of you, you still couldn’t decide if it was because you were broken?

Or perhaps nothing was wrong with you at all.

“Ask me again next week,” you told him.

“Will you say yes?” He asked as he stood up straight. It was the same old song and dance, week after week. A routine. Comfort.

“No,” you said with a cheeky grin. You managed to see Richard shake his head and smile to himself before you turned around and continued your walk through the hospital halls.

As unusual as it sounded, there was something comforting about the hospital. Yes, it was filled with disease and death and despair. An unfortunate consequence of the times. But with all the time you had spent between the walls, you felt at home. No one judged; they didn’t have the time nor capacity. You felt welcome. Wanted.

Mr. Baker’s door wasn’t hard to find; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. Though you would admit, you didn’t think you had been to that particular room before. Not that it mattered, they were all the same. At least it would be easy enough to find for next time.

You knocked on the door three times, gave it a moment, and walked in.

“Good morning, Mr. Baker, I-”

“-Get out of my fucking room,” he said before you could even close the door. “I don’t want some fucking priest in here.”

Your mouth snapped shut. In your mind, you checked off the boxes as you studied him. Grumpy? Judging by the set of his mouth, check. Older? His balding head of grey hair was a check. Sick? Well, he was in the hospital, so check. Scared?

Check.

“Good thing I’m not a priest,” you said slowly. He could hear perfectly well, but you didn’t want to make him more angry. A skill you had learned rather quickly.

“I can see a bible thumper from a mile away,” he continued. “It’s sticking out of your damn bag.”

Slowly, you looked down. Damn. He was right.

“I’m not a bible thumper, Mr. Baker,” you tried to say.

“If you’re not some priest, what are you?”

“Would you like my name?” You asked.

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is.” He shook his head. “I want to know what you are.”

“What do you want me to be?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“You some kinda prostitute or something?” He asked. You finally noticed his thick Yankee accent.

“Is that what you want me to be?” You asked again, taking another step.

He opened and shut his mouth twice before looking away from you. The very first few weeks you had started coming to the hospital, you remembered what everyone had told you. They’re like cornered animals. You had initially taken offense at the sentiment. They were scared, and the staff had the nerve to compare them to animals?

Until you remembered when you were cornered. You had been just as angry, just as scared, and just as vicious. Those first few months alone without the three people you knew would have protected you. Those were the most terrifying months of your life. Each time someone looked at you, fear raced through your veins. Did they know? Would they try to kill you too, just for the crime of existing? Were they angels, coming to personally drag you to hell for the sin of love?

Only once you had someone who cared did you feel any sort of comfort in your skin. Roy and his entire gang would fight heaven and hell for you. They didn’t care who you loved, they just cared that you were safe. That you were loved, unconditionally. It wasn’t a feeling you were accustomed to.

Everyone you visited in the hospital just wanted to be loved, not feared or ridiculed.

You took another step closer.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you said softly. “Just say the word.”

Mr. Baker continued to look out the window. It didn’t feel right to stay if he didn’t want you, and you wouldn’t blame him. You waited a few more seconds in awkward silence before nodding slowly to yourself. He didn’t want you there, and that was okay. You backed up and turned to face the door. It was alright, you could always try again next-

“-you can stay.” You smiled to yourself while still facing the door. “Since you’re already here.”

It was a lovely visit with Mr. Baker. He had been a lawyer, back before the epidemic scandal. Hell, he had been a lawyer less than a week ago. All until he had gotten too sick, and got fired for being gay. He complained about his wife leaving him, but he didn’t seem all that upset by it. You could understand.

“If you’re not a priest,” Mr. Baker said, “why carry that damn book?”

“Cause it used to bring me comfort,” you said as you flipped aimlessly through the Bible. “It’s the last thing I have of home.”

“You get excommunicated?” He asked.

You turned and gave him a sad smile. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Do you feel free yet?”

No. Not entirely, at least. That feeling of guilt that had weighed on you throughout your entire adult life had eased, but you weren’t free. Free would be living with Lorraine, and Beau and Huck. Not a care in the world, just living off together and doing whatever you all wished. Yeah. Yeah, that was freedom.

“Not yet,” you finally answered.

Mr. Baker chuckled humourlessly. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stay much longer. He made you promise to come back next week. Well, he didn’t so much make you promise, it was more like you can come back, if you want. But you had been around enough people to know what that meant, so you said you’d come back.

Without your bible, of course, that was what he emphasised.

“Hey Mama.”

You smiled at the words. “Hey baby.” Quietly, you closed the door behind you. “How are you today?”

Eric smiled back at you. “Better and better each day.”

You both knew it was a lie. From what Richard had patiently described to you, Eric was at most a few months away from dying. No more than a boy at only 19, he was going to die without any of his family around. All because they thought he was gay. Perhaps that was why he had attached himself to you as quickly as he had; there was no time to be picky.

“Come sit with me,” he said as he patted the spot beside him.

Without hesitation, you placed your bag at the end of the bed and crawled in with him. The television was situated directly in front of the bed, on a rolling cart that you often found yourself moving. It was some western, but you couldn’t be bothered to know which one. All knowledge of westerns had been forcibly shoved out of your mind the moment you had been displaced.

If anyone from home would have seen you at that moment, they would have keeled over. Not only were you in bed with a suspected gay boy, but one with AIDS? The devil’s disease? The thought of their disgust alone was enough to warm your soul. You hoped they would find out, and you hoped it killed them.

You wouldn’t bother going to their funerals.

“You bring the goods?” Eric asked.

You were already nodding your head as you leaned forward to grab your bag. “If you tell anyone I got these for you, I’ll never buy them again.”

“My mouth is shut,” he said.

He watched with hungry eyes as you pulled out the contraband. The first was a pack of cigarettes; Lucky Strikes. Eric claimed he liked them for the flavour. You knew it was because his grandfather had smoked them during the second world war. Second was a pack of baseball cards, unopened, directly from the corner store a few blocks away. Rumour had it they carried the best cards around.

Third was a Playboy, which you quickly handed over so you wouldn’t have to touch it anymore.

“Oh, you’re the best,” he mumbled to himself as he ripped open the pack of baseball cards with his teeth. “Bet there’s something special in here.”

“I hope there is,” you said with a barely concealed laugh.

While he pulled the cards out, he handed the pack of smokes to you. As much as you knew better, it had become a nice little routine of yours. You would open the smokes and get one started for both you and him. He would look through the cards and show you the “good ones,” going on about every little detail. Once your cigarettes were nothing more than a filter, you would sit back, enjoy a bit of company, and watch whatever you could find on the television.

“Oh this is amazing, wanna hear about it?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before starting talking.

You slipped the light cigarette into his mouth while he talked. His enthusiasm was contagious. You had not the slightest idea who he was even talking about, but even you were impressed with the person’s statistics. Not enough to remember any of it, but that didn’t really matter.

Eric carried on, and you just sat there and watched him. He reminded you of Jimmy. Young, eager, excited about the little things. It was good to be young. Good to be excited about things that others would consider silly or inconsequential. Maybe that was why you had such a soft spot for him. You might not have had Jimmy, but you had someone that gave you hope in the world.

It wasn’t enough. But it would do.

“Oh shit,” Eric said in a hushed voice. You looked down to see the Playboy in his hands. “They’ve got Miss Minx in here.”

Your brows pulled together as you looked down at the magazine. Admittedly, you couldn’t have cared less about the issue. Your small window into the world of smut had closed that night Lorraine had left. It didn’t have anything to do with you anymore and, quite frankly, perhaps it was all for the better.

But nothing could have prepared you to see a full print of Maxine in a Playboy.

“She made it,” you whispered to yourself with a small smile. “The crazy bitch made it.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked. His eyes grew wide as he looked up at you. “Wait, did you know her?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Her and her whole crew.”

“You knew her early stuff?” He asked excitedly. His body turned to face you.

You nodded.

“Like Bobby-Lynne?”

Another nod.

“And Jackson Hole?”

And another.

“And-”

“-Yes, I knew them all,” you interrupted. 

You couldn’t hear her name coming from someone else’s lips. It would have been sinful to speak of the woman you would have worshipped day and night. Something about hearing someone else talk about her felt wrong. Blasphemous even. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

At least out loud.

“Think you can get me an autograph?” Eric asked, still as enthusiastic as ever. “It can be my, uh,” he exhaled harshly. “What’s it called,” he mumbled. His eyes lit up before he looked at you again. “That Make A Wish thing.”

“Ain’t that for kids with cancer?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m a kid with AIDS, so I think I count.”

“Don’t think it works that way, baby,” you chuckled.

“Just one autograph,” he begged. “I won’t ever shoot up again, I promise.”

“You already can’t shoot up again,” you said not unkindly. “That’s what got you here in the first place.”

“Oh come on, please?”

You sighed and shook your head. You always had been a sucker for big brown eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said dejectedly.

The rest of the visit went exactly as it always did. Eric talked non stop about everything that crossed his mind, and you listened. From what he had been “forced” to eat last night, to what he was looking forward to you bringing next week. He very much wanted a burger from your bar. You couldn’t argue; it was the most sensible thing he had asked for in months.

“Don’t get in trouble before I come back,” you told him as you walked to the door. It was past time for work.

“I promise on my life,” he said with a smile that showed off the purple lesions on his gums. “Love you, Mama!”

“Love you too, baby,” you called out, shooting him one last smile before leaving the room.

The first tear fell before the door clicked shut.

With a shake of your head, you made your way out of the hospital. Richard gave you a quick goodbye, and you were off to work. It was some sleazy gay bar on the outside of town. You knew better than to try and take a cab out there. If Roy or Jane couldn’t grab you from the hospital, you would just walk the 30 minutes to get there. Safety first.

Unfortunately, it was far too hot for the walk. It was nothing you weren’t used to, but that didn’t make it enjoyable. Sweat was dripping into your eyes and keeping your shirt stuck to your back by the time you finally walked through the doors of the bar. Thankfully you kept a change of clothes in the back.

“Thank god,” Jessie groaned when you came back to the bar in much cleaner clothes. “I was about to panic.”

“Don’t be a dick,” you whispered in his direction as you smiled at the man on the other side of the bar.

“Is your doctor coming in tonight?” He asked with far too much excitement.

“Go serve your drinks, pretty boy,” you told him before turning back around to start working.

There was something surprisingly enjoyable about working at a bar. Or perhaps it was technically called a club, you weren’t entirely sure. Regardless, you loved it. It was freeing in a way. No one expected you to act a certain way, or pretend to be something you weren’t. You could just laugh, have fun, and genuinely thrive.

“Can I buy you that drink now?”

You smiled to yourself before sitting on the other side of the table. Richard had made himself at home - as he usually did when you worked - and was still nursing his singular drink. His usual doctor’s coat had long been abandoned, instead replaced by a flowery shirt and some cargo shorts. Something that made him stick out tremendously among the group of gay men and women.

“Not on my break,” you told him.

“How about a smoke?” He asked, pulling out a fresh pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket. With skilled fingers, he opened it and pulled a single cigarette out.

“Oh, you’re my hero,” you mumbled, leaning forward to wrap your lips around what he had dubbed the “cancer stick.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” he said even as he lit it for you and slid the pack and lighter across the table.

“I stopped caring about that a long time ago, Rich,” you said.

As the patrons continued to mill about and enjoy their night, you sat quietly with Richard. He really was a good man, and a part of you wished you could love him. Hell, he had helped you through a lot, the least you could do was give him the one thing he wanted. If you had any belief that you were capable of it, you would have taken him up on his offer long ago.

But you couldn’t in good conscience marry a man that you couldn’t properly appreciate. It wouldn’t have been fair to him. You had watched Lorraine go down that road with RJ, and it hadn’t gone well. She was miserable, doubtless, he had picked up on it as well, and neither one ended up being happy. That was no way to live.

You put out the smouldering cigarette on the ashtray and immediately lit another. That train of thought was not going to end well. You hadn’t painstakingly forced yourself to keep going just to end up thinking too hard one night at work. No, you simply needed to feel the sticky burn at the back of your throat a few more times.

“Is Roy taking you home tonight?” Richard asked.

You hummed affirmative. “No need to play taxi cab,” you teased.

“Will you be back in the hospital soon?” You nodded again. “The men love you.”

“How ironic,” you said with a humourless laugh. “If we had loved each other to begin with, all our lives would’ve been different.”

“Don’t be cynical,” Richard said. He reached out and placed his hand on top of yours. It was warm. Soft. So very different from Beau’s.

You thought for a second before answering. “What do you want me to be?”

“Don’t start that,” he said, quickly pulling his hand back. You couldn’t help smiling at him. “That trick doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you said. Another inhale, another ache in the back of your throat, another satisfying cloud of smoke. “Jessie said I need to quit usin’ humour to cope.”

“He’s not wrong,” Richard said. His voice was soft over the sound of the music playing in the bar. “Do you need to talk about it?”

He really was sweet, you thought. Truly a shame.

“I’m alright, Rich,” you said. “Really.”

“I know, just,” he sighed. “I know we aren’t compatible, but I do care for you.” He, too, had irresistible big brown eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was all entirely too much, and you were still feeling emotional from hanging out with Eric earlier. The last thing you needed was for Richard to get emotional on you. If you were being honest with yourself, you needed him to mind his own business.

“You need to go home,” you said with a smile. It was a poor attempt at teasing. “Jessie works tonight.”

“Oh shit,” Richard mumbled. His back straightened and he looked around frantically. “Yeah, I had better go.”

“You should say yes sometime,” you said as you both stood up from the table. “You’d make his year.”

His eyes got big before he undoubtedly noticed the crinkle by your eyes. “I couldn’t dare lead him on like that.”

“Go home, Rich,” you laughed.

You leaned up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. It was scratchy; he needed to shave again. Roy had told you not to give the man hope, but you weren’t. From the beginning, you had been very clear with him where you stood, and he had never pushed you for a different answer. A kiss on the cheek was nothing more than kindness.

“Get home safe, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

You bid him goodbye and walked back to the bar. If you put all your attention into work, it wouldn’t be long before you closed and you could go home. Tomorrow would be calm until you had to go back to work later that evening. There should be plenty of time to start harvesting crops and getting everyone set up for the next few weeks.

“I’ll get that man to love me one day,” Jessie said. You followed his line of sight to see Richard walking out the door.

“Sorry, Jess,” you said with a shrug, “but I don’t think he’ll budge.”

“Then he can tell me no himself,” he said. “I can wait.”

“You’re gonna get you in trouble one day,” you said as you started preparing a drink for one of the usuals that had just walked in the door.

“So are you,” he said from his spot beside you. “Someone was asking for you while you were with Doctor Handsome.”

You slid the drink across the bar. “And what did you say?”

“We don’t give out that information,” he repeated like he had so many times before. “I know the rules, I’m no amateur.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you continued working. Who could have come asking for you? Perhaps it was one of the Vets; Jessie didn’t know all of them. Vulture was quite the intimidating character, maybe it had been him. He was the least likely of the crew to remember your work schedule. Yeah, it was probably him.

The rest of the night was reasonably quiet. Those were some of your favourite nights. There were fewer expectations and interactions. You could simply do your job, get paid, and go home. No stress, no need to overthink, nothing. It was wonderful.

Like clockwork, Roy walked into the bar after everyone had left and you were finishing cleaning. He sat down at the bar, resting his arms on the cool wood. Without stopping your movements, you slid the pristine pack of cigarettes over to him, which he swiftly opened and lit.

“How was the hospital?” Roy asked.

You leaned forward so he could place a smoke between your lips. “Same as always,” you said. “Eric’s magazine had Maxine in it.”

An exceptionally tough stain captured your attention. Having something to focus on was nice, you didn’t want to think about seeing Maxine. In fact, you already regretted bringing it up. You knew Roy had liked her too, even though he had only met her once or twice. It wasn’t fair to either one of you for you to have brought it up.

“Well hello, Roy,” Jessie said as he sidled up next to you.

“Hello, Jessie,” Roy said politely. And nothing more than polite.

“You ever going to party with us?” Jessie asked. He was not helping you clean. “I think you would be good for business.”

“It ain’t really my scene,” Roy said with an unsure smile.

“It could be,” Jessie said. The flirt.

You quickly shoved your hand towel into Jessie’s hands. “Think you can finish closin’ on your own?”

Roy took that as his sign to head out, telling Jessie a short “good night” before heading to the truck waiting on the street. You loved Jessie to death, you really did, but he was going to get himself into a world of hurt if he didn’t stop. Roy wasn’t homophobic by any means, but the man still wasn’t consistently stable. He was not the one to play with.

“Quit flirtin’ with my brother,” you hissed as you grabbed your Camels, lighter, and cash tips. “And my doctor.”

“Quit bringing handsome men to the bar,” Jessie called after you. “It’s not fair, you know.”

“Night Jessie,” you shouted. He answered as the doors swung closed behind you.

If there was one thing you could say about Roy’s truck, it was that the interior was as pristine as a farmer’s truck could get. Everything was in its place, and everything had a place. The car lighter was always ready, and he kept one pack each of three different smokes in the center bucket. In the glovebox was his pistol and a few spare rounds in an unmarked cardboard box.

“You didn’t share a cigarette with that boy earlier, did you?” Roy asked once he pulled off onto the main road to get back out to the compound.

“No, Roy, I ain’t stupid,” you huffed. “I lit his, then got my own.”

“Don’t get testy,” he defended quickly, “I just don’t want you gettin’ sick too.”

“Oh I’m fine,” you mumbled more to yourself before looking out the window.

It was because he cared, you reminded yourself. Maybe a bit too much, but he did. Even though you both considered the other Vets your family, you still only had each other. No one understood you like he did, and vice versa. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, and he was protective to a fault.

That did not mean you had to enjoy his line of questioning.

“Make any new friends?” He asked after a bit of awkward silence.

You told him all about Mr. Baker; not that there was much to say yet. He listened intently, nodding along with your tale and mumbling encouragement when appropriate. It was a pretty one-sided conversation, but that didn’t matter. He listened, and you got to say a bit. Hell, he even laughed when you complained that Mr. Baker had called you a priest.

“Hey Roy.” You waited until he grunted for you to continue. “Did you ever think maybe Robert was wrong? With his preachin’?”

He laughed. A big laugh, one that would put anyone else to shame. It caught you off guard and you frowned at him even though he was focused on the road. He didn’t need to be so rude.

“I knew he was wrong the day I was drafted,” he said after calming down. “Why d’you ask?”

You looked down at the pieces of paper you were slowly picking off the pack of Marlboros in your hand.

“I’ve just been thinkin’ about it lately,” you said with a shrug.

“What exactly have you been thinkin’ about?” He probed.

“You think God is ashamed of us?” You asked.

When Roy was silent, your fingers pulled at one of the cigarettes in the pack. Maybe Richard was right, you needed to slow down. But with all the thoughts running through your head day and night, the last thing you were worried about was a smoke. That sounded like a problem for the future, if you ever got to it.

You exhaled smoke before continuing. “Think He saw us and decided it was easier to turn his back?” Roy was silent. “Cause He don’t talk to me anymore.” You turned to face Roy, who was still looking straight ahead. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“You did nothin’ wrong,” he said quickly. If you looked closely, his knuckles were paling from his grip on the wheel.

“Just what I’ve been thinkin’ about,” you said quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I did somethin’ wrong.”

The truck pulled up to the front of the house you shared. The lights were on downstairs and in the kitchen. Hopefully Moose wasn’t drunk again. The last thing you wanted to do was deal with his nonsense so late at night. Honestly, you just wanted to go get in bed and start a new day.

“Guess we should head inside,” you mumbled.

You put the cigarette out on the heel of your boot before putting the now-cool butt in your pocket. Everyone knew better than to leave trash in Roy’s truck. But when you went to open the door, Roy’s arm reached in front of you and pushed down the lock.

“Why’d you do that?” You asked with a small laugh. “We’re already parked.”

Both of his hands stayed on the wheel. He still wasn’t looking at you. You knew the look on his face. It had never led to anything good.

“Remember when we first got here?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You asked. He didn’t move. You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You didn’t get out of bed for two months,” he continued.

“Why are you askin’?”

He exhaled slowly. “I wrote a letter back home not long after we arrived.”

“What?” You asked incredulously.

“I didn’t leave a return address, but I wrote to Ma that we were safe,” he said.

“You never told me that,” you said.

“I didn’t want them to hear from Mr. Dylan first and think badly of you,” he said.

Finally, he turned to face you. He wore a troubled look, one you so often saw when he was having a hard day. It usually accompanied a bit of crying, perhaps some yelling, and a lot of nightmares before that look of his went away. You didn’t like that he had it again.

“A few weeks ago, I got a letter from someone,” he said. “Through the circuit.”

You vaguely remembered him explaining that to you. Some backroot way Vets were talking with each other. A system they had all created with a bunch of different towns. If you sent a letter through the circuit, some way somehow, eventually it would find who it was supposed to. You didn’t question it much since none of your Vets used it.

But only other Vets knew about it.

“Who sent you a letter?” You asked.

Roy looked at you with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“Roy,” you said, more stern, “who sent it?”

“Jackson.”

You looked back at the house. And the silhouette of someone now standing in the window. Perhaps they were looking out, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You knew that silhouette. Knew it like the back of your hand; better than that, actually.

With shaking hands, you put another cigarette between your lips. It took far too many tries to start the lighter, and even longer to keep it still long enough to catch a light. The smoke and ash didn’t hurt enough. It didn’t quell whatever was going on inside your chest.

“Unlock the truck, please,” you said softly.

Roy didn’t move. 

“Unlock the fuckin’ truck,” you said more forcefully.

The moment you heard the lock click, you threw the door open. Heavy boots hit the hard ground, and you gripped the door handle until you were sure you could stand on your own. The ground tilted beneath you, like a ship on the sea. Back and forth in front of your very eyes. Or maybe it was still.

You started walking away from the house. It would be a decent walk, but that was okay. Long enough for you to clear your head, get a grip on reality, and rest. You knew where to find a warm bed, and no one would do anything to you. Everyone knew not to mess with you, you had friends in high places.

“Where are you goin’?” Roy called out to you.

You took a drag of the cigarette. “I’ll stay the night at Richard’s,” you called back. You sounded pathetic. Weak. Broken.

“You ain’t just walkin’ away-”

“-why not?” You interrupted as you spun on your heels to face him. “Why can’t I just walk away?” He looked at you intensely. “That’s what we did four years ago. Why is this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died,” Roy said quickly. “When I walked in, you were about to be fuckin’ executed.”

“Better than bein’ lynched,” you said. “At least it would’ve been quick.”

“Don't act like you weren't scared.”

“I've been scared every day of my adult life,” you admitted. There was a lump in your throat. “How would you even know how I feel anyway?”

“Because,” he laughed, “none of us are stupid. You're not as good at hidin’ your feelings as you think”

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, standing taller. “Then how come everyone always saw you as a bigger suicide risk than me?”

You froze. 

“Yeah, now you're listening,” he continued. “You think no one talked behind your back? Even Ma would ask me if you were alright, if you and Beau were good.” He shook his head. “Everyone was worried as all get out about you.”

“If y'all were so concerned, you sure knew how to hide it,” you argued.

“What were we gonna do, Y/N?” Roy asked. “Potentially out you to the whole town? You're right, they would've lynched you outside the church.”

“I already told you, I wasn't scared of dyin’,” you said as you walked closer.

“Don't act like you gave up in that church because you weren't scared,” he said harshly. “You gave up to protect Lorraine.” His finger jabbed into your chest harshly. “If you died, no one would've ever known about her and she could've lived happily ever after. You gave up because you love her,” he practically hissed.

You took a step back. The burn of a lit cigarette inched closer to your knuckles. It was a feeling you could live with because at least it was a feeling. A better feeling than whatever Roy’s words had done to you. They were carving out your insides, scraping you off the edges until you wanted to cry and scream and hike into the woods until you couldn’t remember your own name.

“We missed Gramma’s funeral.” You shook your head. “We missed our baby brother’s wedding.” It wasn’t true. “I ain’t lettin’ you miss anything else.”

It was too much. Everything was just too much. What did he mean? Gramma had been in perfect health when you had left. Hell, you all swore she would live forever. And what about Jimmy getting married? Sure, you had expected it sooner or later, but without you?

He got married without you?

“I’ve spent four years workin’ on movin’ on, Roy,” you said. The lump in your throat only grew bigger. “I’ve worked day and night to try and live without her.”

“And look where you are, darlin’,” he said. “You still have nightmares from that damn church. And Jessie told me how many women you’ve turned down.” The cigarette butt fell from your fingers. “Think someone who’s moved on would do that?”

Damn Jessie. Damn him for talking with Roy. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Over the course of working at the bar, more than your fair share of women had asked you to dinner or to buy you a drink. They were all nice, and attractive. But you told them no time and time again because of one flaw that wasn’t their fault.

They weren’t Lorraine.

“You’ve been through some shit,” Roy said softly, and you looked up to meet his eyes. “Don’t go throwin’ away your shot at happiness.”

You wrapped your arms around your body and looked at the house. The silhouette was still in one of the windows of the living room. If you looked closer, you could see the scene you had always wished for. Holding Lorraine close, in a house you called your own, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. No fears, no shame, just love.

It was what you wanted more than anything.

“I don’t wanna lose her again,” you whispered.

For the first time in a while, Roy smiled at you. “I promise you won’t.”

His hand rested on the small of your back before gently pushing you forward. Right, you needed to move. Okay, you could do that, you could move. All you needed to do was get to the house, right? Get to the house and get the girl. That’s what Jimmy would’ve told you. It’s what Beau and Huck would’ve told you.

Each step closer to the house forced your heart to beat harder and harder. Roy had seemed pretty confident, but what if he was wrong? What if Lorraine was there to officially end it? After all, she had been engaged to RJ. Not happily, but she had been. Without you around, what need would she have to break it off?

Oh, that wasn’t a good train of thought. Not good at all. Maybe you didn’t want to see her again. You didn’t think your heart could handle rejection, not after everything it had already been through. It would be less painful than jumping in front of the train that ran through the outskirts of town.

But what if she said yes?

Now that. That would be worth the risk.

Roy’s footsteps could be heard around the porch. There was a side door that lead to the second half of the house, the one that had originally been its own building. After everyone had knocked the middle wall down to make one house, they had still treated it as separate. That’s where the Vets stayed more often than not.

Which left you alone.

You couldn’t stay outside the door forever. Well, you could. Maybe you should. Would that really be so bad? Just sleep outside for the night, you could go find Hank’s dog house and rest. Moose had built it big enough to fit, well, a moose. Yeah, you could fit, it might be a good idea just to stay in there.

Someone shuffled around inside, and you couldn’t take it. You needed to know if it was her. You needed to know for sure, and you needed to give your heart a break. Whatever the outcome, it would bring some sort of closure. Anything was better than the limbo you had been living in.

The door creaked as you pushed it open. It pierced your heart like the splinters outside. Your palms could not have been more clammy. The floor was solid beneath you. It swayed beneath you, but at least it didn’t feel like it was falling out under your feet. That was always nice.

You faced the door as you closed it. The shuffling behind you - it was in the kitchen - came to an abrupt stop. The wooden door was rough beneath your fingers. If you scratched it, you could flake off the paint. Some scratched paint was the least of everyone’s worries in that house.

Turn around. If you could just turn around, it would be okay. Roy said it would be okay, and you trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to you, not about this. With a sigh, you let your forehead rest against the door. Come on, you just needed to turn around. Right. Something weighed heavy in your stomach. You felt sick.

One slow breath in.

Slow breath out.

A splinter pricked your finger as you pushed yourself back and turned around. You focused on that, looking down at the sliver of wood. Tired fingers picked at it, and you used it as a distraction. Work at the splinter, and get your breathing under control. Once you were ready, you could look up.

But you couldn’t wait. You had waited so long already. Within your chest, your heart was aching. Reaching out for its other half. Scratching at the confines of bones and flesh to escape and relish in its freedom once again. To drown itself in the love that it so desperately desires.

You just needed to look up.

The moment you saw those brown eyes again, you knew it was over. All the pain and suffering and rejection. The fear of being found out, or being ostracised for a love that was no different than anyone else’s. It was over once you locked eyes with her.

She looked tired. The bags underneath her eyes rivaled your own; no small feat. If she had lost weight, you wouldn’t have faulted her. You had certainly lost your fair share. It was difficult to keep yourself well fed when you didn’t see the point in continuing. You knew that well.

Should you say something to her? She was looking at you like it was expected, but what could you possibly say? A simple hello wouldn’t suffice, not after everything you had both been through. Not after you had nearly been killed. What could you say to the woman you loved? What could make up for those years apart? Those years spent denying something serious was taking place within your hearts for the sake of peace?

Turned out, all you had to do was breathe.

One inhale was all it took. Lorraine’s body slammed into you before you could do anything else, knocking all the breath out of you in one fell swoop. Her momentum carried you, and before you could steady yourself, the floor rushed up to meet your back. It should have hurt, should have stolen the breath from your lungs and ached for days to come.

But you didn’t feel anything besides her body against yours. You had forgotten how well she fit in your arms. Like you were supposed to be together, two halves of the same mould. She was warm, and soft, and her heart beat rapidly against your chest. If you listened closely, your heart was in sync with hers. Like it should have been. Like it always had been.

With your back to the floor, she couldn’t properly wrap her arms around you. But you could. Your arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her tighter. Her breath tickled against the hollow at the base of your neck. When you inhaled, she smelled of spring. She always smelled of spring.

“I knew I’d find you again,” Lorraine mumbled against your skin. Her lips were soft.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all. You just pulled her tighter against you. If you could keep her where she was, it would be impossible for her to disappear. No running off to go on some film shoot, no leaving to save face with RJ. She would stay right there in your arms where she belonged.

Where she was supposed to be.

“Baby?” She whispered. You hummed in acknowledgment. “This is getting uncomfortable.”

An ache shot through your hips when you tried to move. Clearly, she was right. Your girl was always right. But you weren’t going to let her go, not so soon. Instead, you kept your arms wrapped around her and struggled into a sitting position. It was like instinct for her to maneuver herself so she could sit in your lap and rest her head between your collar and jaw.

“They said you and Roy ran off,” Lorraine said softly. Small fingers played with the buttons of your shirt. “First it was a vacation, then he kidnapped you, then y’all were dead.”

A low rumble cleared your throat. “Weren’t no vacation, that’s for sure.”

“Missing the fourth of July gave that away,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her hair.

“Beau lost his mind,” she continued. “Huck couldn’t even keep him calm.”

“Are they-”

“-they’re still good,” she said quickly. “Just worried about you.”

“And you?”

You knew she cared. God, you knew. But you needed to hear her say it. All your feelings had been put aside day after day because you couldn’t ruin whatever pretend lives you had on display for everyone. She needed to say it, to confirm that yes, she does love you, she did miss you, you weren’t imagining everything.

“Every day, I prayed to find you,” she said softly. “And if that wasn’t possible, then I prayed for God to just kill me.” Her breath tickled your neck. “When every beat of your heart hurts because it longs for something it can’t have, you start to wish for the worst.”

You didn’t have any sort of reply for her. What would you say? If they had all been that concerned without even knowing what had happened that night, you couldn’t in good conscience tell her the truth. I’m sorry you were worried, baby, but we left because I was almost murdered. How would that help anything? Besides, you were more than content to try and forget the whole night anyway.

In your lap, Lorraine shifted until her back was pressed against you and your hands rested in her lap. Naturally, your chin rested on her shoulder as you looked down. Her warm hands played with your own, twisting them this way and that. Gently, of course. It was then you noticed something different, and you rubbed your finger across her bare ring finger.

“I broke it off,” she said.

Hell, she didn’t need to say more. Those four words were enough to have your stomach rolling. Those shackles you had both been bound by were gone. No need to pretend you were nothing more than best friends. Friends. The word left an ashy taste in your mouth. No, you would never be her friend again.

“Was he upset?” You asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I think he saw it comin’.”

“Damn,” you said. “I was hopin’ he was devastated.”

Lorraine laughed. A big laugh. God, it was beautiful. The sound of her laugh warmed your chest from the inside, spreading down to every nerve in your body. Only she could make you feel like that. You had always known it, but this just proved it even further.

“I missed you,” she said softly. Her fingers continued to gently pick at yours. “Missed just bein’ with you.”

“I missed you too,” you answered.

Hesitantly, you turned your head to place a ghost of a kiss on her cheek. If you thought about it for too long, you believed you felt her shiver. It could’ve been a figment of your imagination, but you didn’t think so. She leaned back with what little space she had left, leaving no room between the two of you.

“I think you need a new ring,” you said as you ran your thumb over her ring finger again.

“Buy me dinner first,” Lorraine said without hesitation. Her voice sounded sleepy. “I’m still recovering from a failed engagement, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I bet you’re devastated.”

“Heartbroken, really,” she said as she turned around, placing her legs on either side of your hips, keeping you trapped. You were done when her arms wrapped themselves around your neck.

“You have my condolences,” you said. Her eyes were mesmerising.

“Thank you.” Her fingers played with the hair on the back of your neck. It tickled. “I think I just need some comfort.”

“Well lucky for you, that’s my job,” you said. “I can bring you all the comfort you need.”

Her smile was contagious. God, it was so pretty. She was so pretty, scars and all. You had missed her, in every way you could imagine. Being able to sit with her, tease, joke, enjoy just being with her? You had missed it all. And when she leaned forward to rest her forehead against yours? You were in heaven.

“I think I just want-”

“-oh shit.”

The voice forced your body to tense up. Lorraine’s hands gripped the back of your shirt tighter before she hid her head in the crook of your neck. Across from where you were sitting, at the bottom of the stairs by the kitchen, was Bull. A monster of a man if ever you saw one.

If you ignored his Garfield sleep shirt.

“Sorry, Mama,” he said with a smirk. “Just came down for a snack.”

Of course he did. Out of everyone, Moose and Bull were the ones who snacked in the middle of the night. None of the other Vets came down. They would wander, sure, but they wouldn’t get the munchies. For Moose, it was from the weed. Bull? Well, he was just a big guy.

“Cookies are in the cupboard,” you said with a gesture of your head.

Lorraine gripped you tighter.

“Chocolate chip?” He asked even though he was already digging for them.

“Shortbread,” you answered.

“Fuck yes,” he mumbled once he found them. “Thanks, Mama.” He froze at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at you. “Night, you two.”

“Night, Bull,” you called back.

The two of you must have been quite the sight to see in the middle of the night. Sitting on the floor, not moving, holding each other like your lives depended on it. Which maybe they did, you couldn’t be sure. It certainly felt like they did. Like Lorraine would disappear if you gave her any sort of space. You had lost her too many times, you wouldn’t risk it again.

“Sorry,” you mumbled into her hair. “The guys get restless.”

“Mama?” She asked. You could feel her smile against your skin.

“Someone’s gotta mother them,” you defended. “It ain’t like they’re grown or nothin’.”

Lorraine giggled. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Your fingers traced every inch of her skin they could find. When they ran out? They trailed under her shirt. Nothing scandalous, you just wanted to touch her. To feel her and confirm that yes, she was with you. She wasn’t gone, she wasn’t someone else’s, she was yours. Only yours. Your girl, your Rainey.

“Don’t they care?” She asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.“About…” she trailed off. You knew who she was talking about.

“No,” you said with a soft smile, “not at all.”

“Can we-” she stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes drifted down.

You stayed silent to give her time to focus on her words. This whole situation was… difficult, to say the least. Disappearing for years, lying to everyone for years before that. The years had flown by, and who knew how many you had left. But you could give her a few more minutes to get her thoughts in order.

“Can we stay here?” She asked, finally looking back up at you. “All of us? Together?”

That was all you had ever wanted to hear. All you had ever desired from the moment you had realised your feelings for her. To be able to be with her forever, in any capacity, as long as you could call her yours. Lorraine was the only one your heart and body and soul yearned for. 

And to have your guys with you? The ones who had been with you both through thick and thin, who had supported you even when things were tough? They were as much your loved ones as Lorraine. Your happily ever after included them too, and you knew Lorraine felt the same.

You leaned forward to capture her lips in a kiss. Soft, gentle, slow. But no less passionate. It was a kiss to make up for the years apart. To make up for all the secrecy, and hiding, and shame. A single kiss to confess your devotion to her and her only. It was enough to have your heart beating so fast you swore it would explode.

Even though she chased after you, you pulled away until you could look into her eyes again.

“Buy me dinner first,” you said, repeating what she had told you earlier.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said with a smile that stretched across her face in the most delectable way.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” you said, leaning forward to give her another kiss. One that held no shame. It tasted of freedom.

“I need to hold you,” she whispered against your lips. “Take me to bed?”

Well that. Now that you could do.

“I’m your Huckleberry.”

—---

The sun was hot on your back, scorching whatever piece of skin it could find. If you didn’t quit soon, you’d be burned to hell and back. And if you were sunburned, you knew there was an entire compound full of people that would make it a point to hit it. A bunch of sorry bastards is what they were.

The joints in your knees ached as you stood up straight and stretched. A pop here or there released some of the tension. Enough, at least, to start walking back to the house. With a towel in hand, you started scrubbing the dirt off your ring. The last thing you wanted was Lorraine to see you had dirtied it all up.

“Your wife is making cookies,” Huck said when you stepped onto the porch. “Something about you havin’ a sweet tooth?”

“Legally she’s yours,” you said with a raised brow that intimidated no one. “And I don’t have a sweet tooth, that’s Tack.”

“Can’t be, he’s out at the barn with Beau,” he said.

He held out a beer, nice and cold, and you took it with a mumbled “thanks.” His lazy ass was in the same spot it had been all day; on the rocking chair beside Hank’s little dog bed. The moment he had seen Hank, you knew it was love. If it had been up to him, the dog would’ve been sleeping in the bed with him and Beau every night.

Beau shut that down real quick.

“Beau and I got competition in two weeks,” Huck said as you quickly sat down on the porch in front of him. “Think we can harvest in time?”

You took a swig of your beer and pulled out the pack of cigarettes from your shirt pocket.

“Probably not,” you said before inhaling the smoke. “But Greenback’s arrest last week means he owes me.” A slow exhale. “We’ll get it done while you’re gone.”

“I think Hippie wanted to travel with us,” he continued. “Said he was curious.”

“He’s been curious for years,” you chuckled. “At least he’s finally askin’ instead of mopin’ while y’all are gone.”

“Be nice to him,” he said. “At least he likes hangin’ around.”

“Course he likes hangin’ around, the four of us do everything for ‘em,” you teased.

Huck laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. “Ain’t that the truth. Where would they be without us?”

“Gettin’ arrested,” Beau said, appearing beside you. Tack was nowhere to be seen.

“Speak of the devil,” Huck mumbled.

“You only show up when we’re gossipin’,” you claimed.

“I heard your wife’s makin’ cookies,” he said. You smiled to yourself and took another drag of your cigarette as Beau fell gracefully into Huck’s lap. You also ignored the sound of him kissing him.

“Know how you only call Beau my husband when he’s in trouble?” You asked, turning back to look at the both of them. “You do the same with Lorraine, so what’d she do now?”

“We just think you should be the one to test her cookies first,” Beau said.

“Make sure she don’t poison any of us, again” Huck continued.

“Y’all better hush before she hears,” you whispered as you reached out to slap one of the four legs that you could reach. You didn’t know who it belonged to, and you didn’t really care.

“Her cobbler the other day poisoned Roy,” Beau claimed. “Said so himself.”

“Roy don’t even like peaches,” you said, “so he’s full of shit.”

“He said he- oh hey, Rainey.”

Beau changed his tune quickly when Lorraine walked out onto the porch. Judging by the look on her face, she had heard the gossip. Damn her and her good hearing. You certainly didn’t have it, you would have been ignorant to everything if it had happened outside the door. And that was just fine by you.

“Jane helped with the cookies,” she defended, “so no one is gettin’ poisoned.”

“Told you it was fine,” you called back to them.

Lorraine sat down beside you and pulled you into a quick kiss. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the feeling. Every time she even looked at you, your stomach twisted and turned into knots in the best way. Let her ring be in sight? Oh god, it drives you crazy. She was your wife. And everyone knew it.

“You goin’ to work tonight?” She asked.

“Nah,” you shook your head. “I’m free till tomorrow night. Why?”

“Max and the crew are comin’ by later,” Lorraine said as she rested her head on your shoulder. “Wanted to make sure we’d be home.”

“Course we will be,” you said as you pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “There’s nowhere better.”

The four of you sat on the porch and continued to look out at the home you had all built. A full barn, trailers, and bales of hay waiting to be moved. Across the way were the fields full of more crops than you could reasonably harvest, but that was alright. You would just prepare better for next year. Out to the left was a field you had claimed as your own. It housed the crosses for all the patients you met at the hospital. In the very front was Eric’s. You kept some Lucky Strikes and a pack of baseball cards by it.

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever imagined you would have everyone together and actually living the lives you had all hoped for. To think, it had all started off messy. Now, you all had lives, and hopes and dreams that you didn’t fear would be squashed just for existing. You could love. You could be loved. Out there in the East coast where your dreams had always led you.

With Lorraine’s fingers intertwined with your own, you exhaled another cloud of smoke and looked out.

There was something relaxing about spending a day outdoors on your and your loved ones’ farm.

our little secret pt.v

Summary: Letters to you.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, mention of possible suicide (slight mention, nothing happens), mental instability, mental spiraling, religious talk (Southern Christianity) Pairing: Lorraine Day x Reader (Masterlist) A/N: this is like a little filler, just having fun trying out something different. Don't worry, there's still a giant chapter left! Also? When Lorraine signs the letters to you, she puts a little heart over the i <3

June 15th

I thought you said you’d always be waiting. But I come home to hear from your momma that you’re on a vacation with Roy? Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would have given you a proper goodbye.

It’s probably a good idea, though. Roy could definitely use the break and I’m sure you can too. I know the past few weeks have been… rough. I’m sorry. I didn't know it was going to happen. But we can talk more about things when you get back. For now, make sure you have some fun, okay?

Your momma said y’all went out West. If you could write me back and let me know where, maybe I can meet up with you. We can have a proper vacation for once. Do y’all have any real plans, or are you just traveling? I’m sure either one will do the job. You always did want to get out of town for a bit.

Our shoot went well. Max and Bobby-Lynne asked about you the whole time. It doesn't sit right with me when they're constantly checking up on you. Maybe I'm just jealous. It's probably nothing compared to how you feel. At least they mean well, I suppose. They send you their love. Maxine sent… a little more than love, but I’m not telling you about that.

By the time you get this letter, it shouldn’t be too long before you’re back home. I’ll be here waiting for you, okay? Don’t forget to send me some postcards. And if you find anything cute, don't forget to buy it for me! I'll pay you back, I promise.

I'll see you soon.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 29th

Having too much fun?

We all thought you'd both be home by now. The 4th is next week, you know. We never miss the 4th. Daddy said he would cook out this year. He's making your favourite and Beau and Huck got the good fireworks. We can take the truck out and watch the show, just you and me. RJ will be out so we can be free for a bit. That’ll be nice, right? A nice little break. So you better not miss it.

Speaking of, Beau isn’t too happy that you’re not home yet. He’s been doing a lot of pacing and mumbling a bunch of nonsense. I think he’s being a bit dramatic. He’s not happy that you left without letting him know. Said he could have told you a few places to go to be safe. I think he just misses you. We all do.

We haven’t been out to a shoot for a while. I’m glad. It hasn’t been the same since RJ proposed. Nothing has, really. Things just don’t feel the same. There’s guilt in everything I do now, I don’t know how to explain it. I just don’t feel comfortable with anything, even daily chores. Did you ever feel that guilt? The one that sits deep in your belly?

On a brighter note, Jimmy and Liz are back in town. They seem to be doing good. And no, they’re not pregnant, thank God. It’s a modern miracle. They had hoped to see you before the summer is over. Of course they will though, it’s not even July yet, the summer is still young. Besides, I know no vacation is more fun than hanging out with us, right? Even Roy would agree, I know it.

Momma is calling me to dinner now, so I’ll wrap it up. I’ll see you on the 4th, okay?

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 23rd

Hey darlin, I think it’s about time you came home. You’ve more than missed the 4th, and Lorraine ain’t too happy. It’s the first time you’ve missed a holiday, you know? It ain’t like you. I know this ain’t the happiest place for you right now, but your family is here. We’re all here.

Where’d you go anyhow? You and Roy are homebodies, y’all don’t know anybody out West. If you really wanted a vacation, you could’ve waited for us to get home. We would’ve taken you. I’m sure Lorraine would’ve been happy to go too. We could’ve had a double vacation, you know? Like we always talked about?

Huck and I won our competition the other day. Wish you had been there to cheer us on. We wiped the floor with everybody. Best team ropers in the South, just you wait. You’d best come home for the next one. I’d hate to get too popular for you to notice us, you know?

I’ll keep Lorraine calm and happy, but I really need you to get home, darlin. It’s a bit past time to be concerned. At the very least, send us a letter back. I can handle you being gone for so long if I know where you are. I know this isn’t a happy place, but we’re still worried about you. We can make it a better place again, I promise.

Just send me something back, okay? I’d appreciate it.

Love you, Beau

—---

August 12th

Hon, I really think you need to come home. Lorraine and Beau are losing their minds. No one has heard from you or Roy since you left, and your parents don’t seem worried at all. Your momma seems the slightest bit concerned, but your daddy isn’t. Everyone is just acting weird, so you need to come home.

Jim and Liz left for seminary again last week. They were mighty upset they didn’t get to see you before they left. It’s been about since Christmas since y’all were together, right? They miss you both. Y’all are family. Maybe try to write him while y’all are gone, I’ll write his address at the bottom in case you don’t remember.

If I have to listen to Beau and Lorraine ask where you are one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. You know neither one of them knows how to be patient or think logically. They have a single bad thought and run with it. I need you here to help me calm them down, because you’re fine, just taking a break from everything.

No one blames you for taking a break. After everything… it’s the least you deserve. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Lorraine asked the other night if this is her fault. I told her it wasn’t. We all know that girl loves you to the moon and back. And we all know you love her back. Things can be worked out, but you’ve got to come back home first, okay?

After all this, you had better be having the time of your life, darling. I’m going to assume as much since you’re not answering anybody. Hey, if you can’t write back, can you at least give us a number to try and call you at? Beau said he’d pay any long-distance charges, he just wants to make sure you’re okay.

He’s playing the part of a dutiful boyfriend, you know. Everyone thinks it’s romantic. I know he’s just worried about you, but it’s weird to hear everyone giving him their sympathies. Is this how you feel when everyone talks to Lorraine about RJ? Like you’re in second place in a race you hadn’t wanted to compete in? Because if so, then I think I understand you a bit. It’s… not a nice feeling.

Ah, I won’t get sentimental. We can talk more when you get home. I think I understand you a little better. That’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Took you leaving for me to get a better grip on your feelings? Well, just come home soon so we can talk. As I’ve made clear, Beau and Lorraine miss you. But I miss you too, darling. Enjoy your trip, but please come home soon safe and sound.

With love, Huck

—---

October 9th

This ain’t funny anymore, you know. It ain’t funny, and you need to get home now. You can quit ignoring all our letters, we get it. You’re hurt, you’re upset, you wanna teach us a lesson or somethin. We get it, we understand, just come home.

Lorraine is losing her gotdamn mind, and quite frankly I am too. No one’s heard a peep from you or Roy. You didn’t even like the West, you had always said it was too different. Never liked how they did their food either. So why would you even go out that way anyway?

You’re probably out drinking those fancy beers they try to peddle up there. They’re not as good as ours and you know it. Or you’re out doing those stupid hikes that you never cared for, getting more blisters on your heels because you don’t even like walks. There’s nothing good out there and you need to come back.

You should’ve left us a note before you left. That ain’t like you, you know. You always let us know where you’re going. You couldn’t even go to church camp back in the day without leaving a personalised letter for each of us. But now you just up and leave in the middle of the night? No warning? That ain’t right and you know it.

People keep asking me where you are and I don’t have any more answers. I can only say “she’s on vacation” so many times before people realise it’s a lie. And it is, isn’t it? It’s a lie. You’re not on some damn vacation. If you ran off, just let me know. I’ll leave you alone as long as I know you’re safe.

Did we make you that miserable? Was being around us so awful that you had to leave? You could’ve told us first. We could’ve come up with a plan, something that wouldn’t hurt you so bad. I don’t know what we could’ve done, but we could’ve tried something. Anything at all.

I need you to answer my letters, honey. I really need you to let me know you’re safe.

Please be safe.

Love you, Beau

—---

December 17th

You missed Halloween. And Thanksgiving. Are you going to miss Christmas too? And New Year's Eve? Am I going to have to jump into the new year without you? Please let me know if I am, because I need to be prepared. I’ve spent holiday after holiday waiting for you to come back, for you to spend it with me again. I get my hopes up every single time just for you to not be there.

RJ keeps asking me what’s wrong, and I’m honest with him. I miss you. I miss you so badly my chest aches. But he doesn’t understand. He thinks I just miss my best friend. And I do, you’ve always been my best friend. But you’re so much more than that, and I can’t explain it to him until you get back because I need someone to hold on to while you’re gone. When are you coming back?

Are you waiting for an apology? Because I’ll give you one, I’ll give you as many as you want. I’m sorry about RJ. I’m sorry about the proposal and that I didn’t say no. I’m sorry about Mr. Dylan, he never should’ve touched you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye properly. I’m sorry I avoided you after the proposal, I was just scared and didn’t know what to do.

I’ll say sorry for anything you want or need. Just please answer me. Please come home. I don’t want anything else for Christmas, I don’t want any other miracle, I just want you. Please come home.

I miss you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

January 24th

We searched Roy’s room and found all his guns gone.

I’m done asking, darling, you need to call us or send us a letter. Now. Now, I don’t believe Roy would do anything to you, but your daddy is on a kick about how unstable he was. How he’s still sick from the devil and all that nonsense he would always preach. I know he wouldn’t touch a hair on your head, but I really need you to answer me.

Lorraine has been losing her patience with RJ. She yelled at him the other day just because he tried to hold her hand. Told him not to touch her. It was quite the show. And it’s going to get her in trouble. She needs you, you know? You’re not the only one who has to hide.

I’m sorry, but I went through your room. It’s been long enough, your momma practically gave me the go ahead. You didn’t take any of your letters from Lorraine. Did you mean to leave them? I hope you didn’t. I hope it was an accident, and you didn’t mean to leave us behind.

Beau has a letter for you too, but he’s not done with it. I don’t know how to help him. He’s got himself convinced he should’ve done more. I don’t know what he should have done. I don’t know what he could have done differently. Did you want him to propose? The three of us could’ve moved off somewhere, you know. We could’ve made it work if it’s what you wanted.

Everyone wants you home. They need you to come home. No one is complete without you, it’s like a big part of town is missing. Stevie from the bar finally pulled me aside and asked about you last weekend. I couldn’t even give him an answer. He said he’d pray for you. Said he’d keep a shot of the good stuff saved for when you get back.

Fuck it. I miss you too. You’re one of my very best friends, hon. You’re the one who’s been with me through everything. Hell, you introduced me to Beau. You’re the only one I can truly talk to about things. I need you home too, okay? You’re part of my home, so I need you to come back.

I need you to write back.

With love, Huck

—---

January 30th

You’re an absolute bastard. You know that? You’re a fuckin bastard. A vacation? Give me a fuckin break, you didn’t go on no gotdamn vacation. Where’d you go, huh? Somewhere we’d never find you? Did Roy convince you to leave? He probably did, the prick. Ain’t no way you would’ve left on your own, you’re not stupid.

What the hell were you thinkin? Just up and leavin like it ain’t nobody’s business. Well it’s my business. It’s my fucking business and you should’ve told me. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. I don’t care that we’re pretendin, I still fuckin care about you and you just fuckin left? Did I mean that little to you?

We had a pretty great thing goin, you didn’t have to leave and ruin it. I don’t care that it was a lie, we were happy. I still had Huck, and you still had Lorraine, and we were happy. You didn’t have to pack your bags and leave like a thief in the night to, what, prove a point? Well I get it now, you weren’t as happy as I thought. You could’ve told me instead of doin all of this.

You’d better answer the gotdamn letter this time. I ain’t playin around anymore. You better answer the letter and get your ass home. And if Roy is readin this, then you better get her home. You’d better have kept your gotdamn hands and your guns away, and you better get her home. Now.

Beau

—---

February 15th

Hey, momma said I should try to send you something. She said you might answer me since I’m your baby brother. Are you and Roy okay? I don’t care what Pap says, I know y’all aren’t dumb, y’all didn’t go do something stupid. Roy probably just grabbed his guns to keep you safe. He’s not crazy.

Gramma came down with something nasty. The doctors think it’s pneumonia, but we’re still waiting for tests to come back. You both should probably get back just in case it’s bad. She misses you. She prays for you both twice a day. It’s really sweet, she just wants you both safe.

Seminary has been alright. Boring. You would’ve liked it more. Heck, you would’ve been better at it. No one knows the bible quite like you, I don’t care what Pap says. If any one of us should’ve gone off to study, it should’ve been you. Maybe once he sees how bad at it I am, he’ll change his mind. Think so? Probably not.

I’m waiting to propose to Liz until you both get back. I’ve got it all planned out and everything, even bought a ring. You’d like it, I think. But I can’t get married without my big siblings, right? Don’t worry, I can be patient. Y’all just get home safe and sound, you hear?

We love you. The both of you. We’ll see you soon.

Jimmy

—---

February 18th

Your Gramma passed away today. The funeral is in two weeks. That should be more than enough time for you to get back.

We’ll see you soon, love.

With love, Huck

—---

March 4th

Your Gramma’s funeral was today. You weren’t there. Why weren’t you there? You meant the world to her. She meant the world to you. You were the one she wanted to see, and you weren’t even there to see her buried.

She would have wanted you to be here.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

April 4th

A police report came in that they found two bodies in the river a few hours away from here. The bodies are decomposed too much to make identifications. I swear to god, hon, it better not be you. I know things were hard. For the both of you. But you didn’t have to go and do that.

It better not be you.

With love, Huck

—---

May 26th

Your daddy practically declared you both dead at church this morning. I guess after almost a year, he’s tired of worrying about it. He was never a patient man. I don’t think anyone really believed him, but who’s going to argue with their preacher? No one in this town, that’s for sure. Momma and daddy said you’re probably fine, just got sick of your daddy. No one would blame you if that were the case.

After church, Mr. Dylan told your daddy you and Roy had tried to kill him the night you left. If that were true, I don’t know why he didn’t bring it up when everyone was asking where you were. Don’t know why he saved it for now, but he did. Said you had both tried to kill him in the church.

He told your daddy you were a queer. Said you were a queer and you were going to infect the town with your sin. Huck hit him. Square on the jaw, knocked him out cold. I had thought it would be Beau. I hope he gave Mr. Dylan a concussion.

Did he really find out? Because I didn’t tell anybody, I swear. We always kept things a secret. At least I think we did. No one was ever around that didn’t already know. I know none of my crew told, they wouldn’t dare. I promise I didn’t tell anyone.

Momma asked me this evening if you really were queer. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what her reaction would be. She has always loved you, I didn’t want her to think any less of you because of what Mr. Dylan said. Daddy said we shouldn’t talk about it while you’re not here. Said it wasn’t right to talk behind your back. I don’t want them to hate you.

I won’t ever let them hate you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 1st

I hate you. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hate you. I hate you, and I hate Roy, and I hate this fuckin town and everyone in it.

You were supposed to be here, gotdammit. You were supposed to be here, and we were all supposed to grow old together. What the fuck were you thinkin? Don’t you know how much you’ve hurt me? Don’t you understand? We might not have been in love, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love you. I loved you, and you went and broke my heart like this?

We were all supposed to be together, you know. No matter what, remember? I thought you were my Huckleberry. Well what are you now, huh? A coward. You’re a fuckin coward. What, times get hard so you leave? You just pack your shit and leave with your crazy fuckin brother?

What were we to you? Were we just a means to an end? Nothing more than a toy for you to play with? Cause you were never that to me. You were never anything less than my best friend, the only girl I ever loved. And you just fuckin left me. Was I not good enough for you?

If that’s how you feel, then good fuckin riddance. Stay away. We don’t want you back in this town anyway. Go stay with your new fuckin friends that won’t ever fuckin know you or care about you the way we do. No one is ever gonna understand you like we do.

Don’t even bother comin back.

Beau

—---

June 2nd

Please come back. I can’t do this without you.

Beau

—---

June 4th

I broke off the engagement today. It’s all just too much. I can’t even stand looking at him anymore. Every time he looks at me makes my skin crawl. I can’t even stand being in the same room with him anymore. Each time he touches me makes me feel like a piece of my soul dies.

Did I do this to you? Did I push you to leave? If I did, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. If I had been smarter, I would’ve suggested dating Huck instead. Then none of this ever would have happened. The four of us would’ve been together and no one would have ever known. We could’ve been happy.

Were you that unhappy? I never wanted you to hurt. All I ever wanted was you. Every time I had to fake a smile with RJ, or play nice, I always thought about you. I didn’t care about him, he was just a good distraction so no one would know about us. It was stupid. I never should’ve been afraid of how I felt.

I need you to come home. I need you to come home and tell me everything will be okay. Nothing feels the same without you. Foods don’t taste good, the sun isn’t as bright, nothing is fun. Most days I don’t even want to get out of bed anymore. I would rather rot away than go another day without you.

I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for everything. I’ll take everything back, I’ll tell the whole world that I love you. I’ll hold your hand at the store. I’ll sit in your lap at the bar, and pull you to dance with me. I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want. I just want you back. I need you back.

I love you. You’re my home. I need you here with me.

Please come back to me.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 1st

You took my heart with you, you know. No one else is ever going to have it. Please keep it safe.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

The bonfire was hot against Lorraine’s skin. Far too hot. Combined with the sweltering summer heat, it was painful. She didn’t care. Painful at least felt like something. It felt like something real, something she could focus on. Almost as real as the pile of letters in her hands, all stamped with the same thing on the front in red.

Return to sender.

“I’m sorry,” Max said softly. Her hand was surprisingly cool against Lorraine’s upper arm.

On the other side of the fire, off in the distance, she could hear Beau yelling. Drunken, incoherent rambling that no one could really understand. Huck had given up on trying to console him. After all, how could he console him about something that they couldn’t fix? What would be the point?

Another beer bottle shattered against the hard ground.

You were supposed to come back. You were supposed to be there waiting for Lorraine when she got back from filming. Then you were both going to talk, and you were going to come up with a plan to get out of the engagement, and then everyone was going to be happy. Maybe you could’ve gone out East for real, like the four of you had always talked about.

The letters in her hand felt like lead.

“Do you want us to give you a minute?” Bobby-Lynne asked. She squeezed Lorraine’s shoulders. It was comforting. Grounding.

“No,” Lorraine said softly. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”

The letters were the last connection she had to you. Your daddy had quickly emptied out yours and Roy’s rooms, labeling you both as sinners and traitors. She had been lucky enough to grab your hat before he had thrown everything out. It sat comfortably on her head right at that moment.

Her last remnants of you.

No tears came as she held the letters over the fire. The flames licked the skin of her damaged fingers. She knew, logically, it should have hurt. It didn’t. Maybe, if she kept her hand there long enough, you would appear and pull her back. You would scold her for doing something dangerous, and then you could both go to bed.

That’s all she wanted. She just wanted to go to bed.

Her fingers pried themselves away from the letters, and she watched them fall onto the bonfire. One by one they caught a spark, turning a dark brown and curling around the edges before igniting. She could see the different handwriting on each page. Beau, Huck, Jimmy. Her own. All filling the pages with their thoughts, their concerns, their feelings. Things they would never dare tell each other.

She watched the fire until the very last letter burned. Your name faded away into the orange flame. You faded away into nothing, and when your name was no longer legible, Lorraine felt her own heart go with it. There was a space shaped exactly like you within her chest. No one would ever fill it, and she didn’t want them to.

You were her heart and soul. Her home.

She would never find anyone else for as long as she lived. And then, she would find you in death.

She would find you in every lifetime. No matter how long it took.

everyone but her pt.42

Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.

Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldn’t have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.

However, with your family around… at least they treated the old home as it deserved.

Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the… unusual habits of the Addams family.

The only one that remained unusual was you.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadn’t heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadn’t even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.

At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.

There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.

“Would you pass the sugar, dear?” Mother asked you.

You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you weren’t entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.

“Daniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,” Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. “He’s asked numerous times about specific plants.”

You still said nothing in return.

Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldn’t even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldn’t even answer? It was borderline rude.

You were never rude to Mother.

“There you all are,” Weems said as she entered the reading room. “Everyone was a bit too quiet.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Mother said with a smile.

She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.

Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?

She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk with her, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.

A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.

She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.

Good. That was progress.

Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weems’ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.

The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didn’t look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.

“Shall I?” She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Mother said with a small smile.

No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.

“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to be here.”

Your attention was captured by Weems’ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didn’t think she had heard before. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that warning tone before.

At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.

Wednesday’s mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadn’t had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.

Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.

“I was hoping you would be here.”

That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesday’s skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didn’t like it.

There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your mother’s presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.

Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.

“I was hoping to talk with you about something,” your mother said directly to you.

“I don’t believe that would-”

“-Alone,” she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.

Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.

“I’ve got it,” you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.

Weems looked at you for another moment more. “Morticia and I will be in the study,” she finally said.

“As I said,” your mother said with the same sickening smile, “this is private.”

“Anything involving me involves Wednesday,” you said.

You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.

“Of course it does,” your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. “Won’t you be a dear and invite me in?”

“No.” You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Say your piece and leave.”

Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.

It was a wonderful look on you.

“Very well,” your mother finally said with a sigh. “I would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.”

“No,” you said quickly.

Your mother stood tall. “You will hear me out, Y/N.”

Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.

“It’s a charity gala,” she continued. “For those with your…” she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, “affliction.”

“We’re Outcasts,” you said, “not lepers.”

“Semantics, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave.

At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesday’s hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.

She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.

“After all the shit you’ve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?” You asked. “Just to make you look good?”

There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you weren’t saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didn’t wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.

You didn’t continue.

“Your father is away, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the restraining order,” your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.

“You’re not listening,” you said. “I’m not going.”

The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldn’t blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.

You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.

“I heard about the fire,” your mother called after you.

You froze.

“Entire house burned to ash,” she continued. “A shame.” Your chest was heaving. “No longer having a home to call their own.”

The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesday’s feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.

In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.

“Don’t pretend you care,” you said quietly. Harshly.

“Oh darling,” your mother said with a smile that didn’t match her tone, “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then don’t talk about them.”

“I just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,” she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. “A gift, if you will.”

You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.

Then she started to think about the implications of your mother’s words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldn’t even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.

“Shall I continue?” Your mother asked.

You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.

“If you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,” she hesitated, “family.” There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.

“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “I’m not that dense.” Your jaw clenched. “It’s an incentive. A rather generous one.”

Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didn’t have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.

When it came to your mother, however…

“You’ll pay for the entirety of a new house,” you confirmed.

Your mother nodded in response. “Large enough for them all, in fact.”

“With the barn and stables.”

“Of course.”

“And nothing will ever need to be repaid?”

“It will be an act of charity.”

“And I can get that in writing?” You asked.

Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.

She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadn’t been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldn’t have had the pleasure of calling you hers. 

However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they weren’t simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?

“You may have it in writing,” your mother finally said. “I’ll draft it when I get home.”

“Oh no,” you said quickly, “I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.

It was terrifying.

“Would you call Señor Moreno?” You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. “Mrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.”

—---

Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.

Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.

Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesday’s to-do list. No, she didn’t truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.

“Come on,” you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.

She loved when you were unsettling.

With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.

This was a far more concerning environment.

Every beat of Wednesday’s heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senator’s wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.

You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.

She was lucky you had promised to behave.

The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.

Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.

She would never tell you.

“This is Wednesday Addams.”

Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didn’t care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.

“Addams, you say?” He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. “I believe I know of your father.”

“How so?” She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.

“We met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,” he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. “He’s doing well, I presume?”

“Quite,” she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, he would leave her be.

No such luck.

“Perhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,” the man said. “He can get proper connections in place for when you take over.”

Your hand on the small of Wednesday’s back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldn’t be bothered enough to notice the change.

“The Addamses are old money,” you chimed in, “there’s no need to take over.”

“Of course, of course,” he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. “In that case, you must take that advice,” he said as he gestured toward you with his head. “You’ll need the good graces.”

Your hand twitched again.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

“When you take over your father’s company,” he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesday’s back. “After dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.” A wink. “Don’t let them know I told you.”

You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldn’t have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.

“Quite,” you said quickly. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, of course, I could tell,” he said with a nod, “I’ve seen that face before.” Another puff of his pipe. “You look just like your father.”

That.

That was the final straw.

Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.

But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.

She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.

“I believe I need a drink,” you choked out. “If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.

She was mortified.

How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didn’t care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.

“I hope our dear Y/N is alright.”

She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldn’t help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasn’t necessarily important.

You had her nose.

“Oh she’s splendid,” the man said, “just stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?” He winked at Wednesday.

She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.

“I presumed,” your mother said. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?”

“Not at all,” he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.

“Walk with me,” your mother commanded.

Silence was Wednesday’s best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.

She was ashamed to admit that she was… uncertain of how to act.

“You’re a rather brave young thing,” your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. “Has our darling Y/N ever told you that?”

“I’m aware of my own strengths,” Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. “Yes she has.”

“Then we raised her properly.”

Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.

It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasn’t one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.

While you hadn’t told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadn’t helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didn’t know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.

No, they hadn’t raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.

“I’m sure she’s told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,” your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. “But everything we did was for her own good.”

Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.

“I believe you truly think so,” was all she said.

“Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.”

“That’s improbable at best,” she said.

“You’d be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.”

Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesday’s heart. It was… difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone… she hadn’t prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.

“Not everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,” your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesday’s silence. Or simply not caring.  “From what I’ve read about you, you know that painfully well.”

Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldn’t properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.

“There’s two sides to every story,” your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. “This curse prevailed long before Nicholas.”

You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didn’t remember. Or you weren’t even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about.

Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.

“We should get together one evening,” your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. “Doubtless you have questions.”

She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?

Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?

Would you hate her?

Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Wednesday’s lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someone’s arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.

This was different.

Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.

She was getting rather tired of the forest.

The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.

When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldn’t. She was silent.

Just like you on that fated night.

She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.

“I said don’t touch her.”

Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.

The ache would subside.

“It might be wise to seek medical attention,” your mother said.

“This happened while she was with you,” you practically spat. Wednesday still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. “I can be forgiven for not taking your advice.”

“I’d advise you not to make a scene, dear.”

Your mother’s tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasn’t a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.

Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.

A smile?

Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.

“Can you stand?” You asked softly.

Wednesday nodded once.

You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldn’t let her fall.

“You should take her somewhere quiet,” your mother said, against everyone’s better judgement. “It will help.”

You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didn’t truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.

There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didn’t care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.

…

She had definitely hit her head.

When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didn’t initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with… confusion.

“The coat closet?” She asked, turning quickly to face you.

You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.

Perhaps you were.

“Did she hurt you?” You asked without looking.

“No,” Wednesday said softly.

You scoffed. “Probably the only thing she didn’t do.” The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. “We never should’ve come to this stupid party.”

There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasn’t often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.

“I can’t do this,” you continued without prompting. “I don’t want to do this.” A turn on your heels. “I didn’t even want their name, let alone their fucking company.” The muscles in your arms tensed. “And apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out I’m a fucking Outcast?” You readjusted your jaw. “He told me we shouldn’t have come.”

Wednesday perked up.

“Who told you?”

There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.

“No one,” you said without looking at her. “Just… just a thought.” You turned slowly. “The voice in my head.”

“Your conscience?” She clarified.

You didn’t answer.

Wednesday didn’t like when you didn’t answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldn’t quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didn’t like the feeling. It made her… well, almost sad.

It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.

She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you continued. “We should’ve just had a nice night at home.”

Wednesday didn’t disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.

An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.

“We can still have a nice night,” she said slowly.

“Wednesday,” you said with a tilt of your head. “You fainted and I’m plotting the death of my mother. You’d have to come up with something pretty… uh…”

Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.

“Wednesday,” you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

“You need a distraction,” she said, “as do I.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to-”

“-I would like to,” she said quickly. 

She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasn’t something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldn’t be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.

Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.

“We’re in a coat closet,” you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.

“I don’t believe it would be our most unusual interaction,” she said with the slightest tilt of her head.

You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. “Please don’t call it an interaction, it sounds… dirty.”

She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.

“I can call it intercourse instead,” she offered.

The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.

“I think that’s worse,” you said, your breath fanning across her lips.

She waited for the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.

Now, she enjoyed it.

Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didn’t stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.

Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasn’t salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didn’t hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. “This will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.”

Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called “quickies.” She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?

But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasn’t particularly picky at that moment.

She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didn’t wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldn’t care about their opinions, she would be mortified.

Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.

It was a good thing you hadn’t completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.

Oh, she rather liked that.

Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.

“You’re already wet,” you noted.

She could kill you.

“The stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,” you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. “From a little makeout session in a coat closet.”

Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.

Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.

She wouldn’t have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadn’t. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.

That warm feeling in her core didn’t build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.

Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didn’t seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.

Footsteps came closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against your lips, “I know it was fast, we can take our time at home.”

Wednesday didn’t have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.

She felt you smile against her lips.

“Here,” you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. “I’ll grab our coats, you take a moment.”

The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.

When she opened her eyes, she froze.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a husky voice.

You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. “I’m stealing.” You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. “If I’m going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.”

Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You leaned down to kiss her again.

“I love you too.”

This is the money Marge. Reblog for good fortune

Luck Runs Out |Part 10|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.4k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Mabel paced around her apartment. You had just left not too long ago, left to go meet a bunch of drug dealers who would put a bullet in the back of your head the second they got what they wanted. She hated you; you were a selfless self-sacrificing asshole. She didn’t know what to do with herself, she would never know for sure if you were alive or dead, she’d never know if you suffered. You almost kissed her, she wanted nothing more than to close the gap, but you pulled away, going that extra distance would have meant something, she didn’t think she could handle it meaning something if you were just going to go off and die.

She kept glancing at the clock, every minute felt like hours. You might not have even been on the boat yet, you had to walk, so there was a chance you were just getting to the dock. Mabel kept glancing at her keys, it would be so easy for her to hop in her car, drive down there and pull you into the safety of her vehicle. Doing that would just mean, she, you, Charlie, and anyone else connected to any of you would be in danger.

Unable to take the unbearable silence Mabel grabbed her keys and jumped in her car. She turned the key and just sat there, the sun had just begun to rise, the rest of the world still wasn’t awake yet. She smacked her steering wheel until the palm of her hand began to sting. She really hated you for what you were making her do. She let out a scream that turned into more of a groan and let her head flop onto the steering wheel. Mabel lifted her head, putting on the familiar emotionless expression she used to always use before flipping on her turn signal and pulling out of her parking space.

Mabel drove, her surroundings a blur as she passed them. She didn’t even bother turning on the radio, her thoughts were solely filled with you. God, she really hated you, she hadn’t known you for very long and yet you had effortlessly worked your way into her heart. Part of her really wished she had met you before, then maybe the two of you could have been something, maybe the two of you could have lived out each of your dreams. Part of her felt that way, the other part of her was glad she met you when she did. If she had met you before, she probably wouldn’t have given you a chance. She would have written you off like every other dealer she’d known, like she almost did.

She glanced out the window at the condo complex and she parked her beat up red car on the street. She sighed, looking up at the tall building, even if she got her dream job, she still wouldn’t have even been able to dream about living some place so nice. The doorman glanced at her, wrinkling his nose as she yanked open the door to the lobby but didn’t otherwise so much as attempt to stop her. Mabel glanced around the fancy lobby as she waited for the elevator, seeing the leather couch and chairs by the window that didn’t look like they had ever been sat in.

Even the elevator was fancy, soft music playing as it lightly hummed, as it took her to the floor she wanted. A robotic female voice lightly crackled through the speaker, informing her when she arrived at the floor, then told her to have a nice day. When she stepped out, she looked from side to side, seeing a handful of doors stretched out on each side. As Mabel made her way to the correct door, she noted how the space from one door to the next was bigger than her entire apartment.

Mabel let out a sigh, shaking her hands as she put her game face on. She raised her hand and knocked on the door, her knock sounding louder than ever as it echoed through the quiet hallway. Mabel looked down the hall as she waited for an answer, the amount of people living in the building, and she doubted any of them knew each other. She wasn’t friends with her neighbors, but they all knew each other, these people probably couldn’t pick their doorman out of a line up let alone tell someone his name.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she finally heard the click of the lock being slid out of place. She knew the condo had to be big but that didn’t mean it had to take three minutes to answer the door. Mabel had a snarky remark at the ready, but the words quickly died in her mouth when the door opened.

“What are you doing here?” The doctor asked, glaring at Mabel. He stood in his doorway, using his body and the door to block her from seeing into his place.

Mabel stared up at the doctor, her mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. “What the hell happened to you?” Finally left her mouth.

The doctor’s face looked like it had been beaten in. There were dark bruises around his eyes and cheeks, his nose was smashed, he had a split lip and more bruising. He somehow looked even worse than you. Mabel might not have spent much time with the doctor, but she had never seen so much as a scratch on him. People begged to work with him, they bent over backwards to please him, he wasn’t some lackey on a random gang's payroll.

“Come to get an up-close look at what your little friend did?” he sneered.

Mabel furrowed her brow, she didn’t have any friends, she definitely didn’t have any that knew the doctor, besides Charlie, but she knew there was no way he had done that. “Y/N?” Mabel’s eyes widened.

“Nearly broke my fucking hand,” he said through gritted teeth.

He held out the hand he had originally hidden on the side of the door. Mabel’s mouth dropped open. The doctor was a surgeon, his hands were basically everything. His right hand wasn’t in a cast or even wrapped up, but Mabel could still see the impression of a boot. There was bruising all across the back of his hand, if whoever stepped on it had pressed down just a bit harder then surely, they would have smashed his hand completely.

He pushed off the doorway, leaving the door open as he walked back into his apartment. “Or did you come to finish the job?” he called out.

Mabel slid her foot forward, almost crossing the threshold into his apartment. In the hallway she was safe but if she crossed into the apartment anything could happen. Before she could think through her decision and why it was a bad idea, she stepped into the apartment.

“What happened?” she asked again. She looked the doctor up and down, he was favoring his left leg as he made his way to the kitchen island to poor himself a drink, despite it not even being eight in the morning yet.

The doctor spun around, drink still in his hand, tilting his head as he watched Mabel. “You don’t know?” he asked, letting out a humorless chuckle.

Mabel could only shake her head. You visited the doctor, but you had barely even met him, she didn’t know how you could possibly know where he lived or worked. You beat the shit out of him, Mabel hadn’t even seen people who were late on payments suffer such a beating. Maybe you knew the doctor from before, because clearly this was personal for you. Mabel didn’t think you were much of a fighter, not in that way, but she hadn’t known you very long, so many the truth was she didn’t know you at all, maybe this was exactly who you were.

“Your friend,” the doctor spit, Mabel could hear the disgust in his voice. “Paid your debt.” He chuckled loudly, sloshing his drink as he waved his arms around.

“What?” Mabel whispered, her eyes widening at the implication of those words.

“Your debt,” he said bitterly. “Paid off!” he threw his hands in the air, sloshing more of his drink, not that he seemed to notice. “Warned me to stay away from you,” he pointed at her. “Completely paid everything,” he pointed across the room. Mabel followed his finger to a duffel bag next to his couch. “Said if I ever contacted you again, they’d kill me.” He threw his head back, downing the rest of his glass.

Mabel ignored him as she walked to the duffel back. She held her breath as she slowly unzipped it. She pushed the bag apart, her eyes landing on stacks upon stacks of money. She brought a hand to her mouth, the only way you could get access to that much money that quickly would be if you used your savings, the money you had been saving to get a sailboat so you could follow your dream.

“When?” Mabel asked, turning back to the doctor.

“Yesterday,” he said, shrugging. “Had to use my vacation time. Now, get out,” he pointed towards the door.

Mabel didn’t need to be told twice; she was out the door before the doctor could pull himself away from the kitchen island. On her way down to her car she kept trying to figure out how you knew about the doctor. Mabel had never told you about her debt to him let alone mentioned how much she owed him. She didn’t tell you because though you were the one he was helping it wasn’t your problem, she was the one who called him.

Based on the timeline you had visited him before going to see your boss. You grabbed your life savings and paid Mabel’s debt before you went to try and save the life of her ex and his friends. You really were selfless, god she really hated you. When she got in her car, she turned her key and sped down the road, already knowing where she was going. If you thought you could just go off and secretly pay her debt and then go get yourself killed, you were wrong.

Mabel sped down the street, ignoring most traffic laws, she didn’t have time to stop at things like red lights and stop signs. She slammed on her breaks when she got in front of her destination. She got out of her car, slamming the door before she started her march up the walkway, to the house she had become very familiar with in the last year.

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, coming out the front door before Mabel even got to the first step. “Did something happen? Are you okay?” He rushed down the steps, reaching his arms out as if he were going to touch her but stopped before he could.

“We’re going to rescue Y/N,” Mabel said.

“What?” Charlie took a step back, his eyes widening.

“Call Tommy,” Mabel gestured impatiently. “We don’t have a lot of time, they’re probably already on the water.”

“Are you insane?” Charlie held out his arms, his eyes darting all around Mabel’s face.

“They paid my debt.” Charlie scrunched his eyebrows before his shoulders relaxed, his mouth dropping open at the reveal. “I can’t just let them die.”

“What do you expect to do?” Charlie asked softly. Mabel clenched her jaw, it took everything in her to not snap at Charlie, she knew he was just looking out for her. “These guys are bad news, you said that yourself. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know!” Mabel ran her hands across her face and through her hair. “But I can’t just do nothing! Please,” she begged, looking up into Charlie’s eyes.

Charlie held her gaze, his eyes searching for something before they widened slightly as if realizing something. Charlie nodded but there was a small frown on his face. “Okay,” he sighed. “Okay.”

Charlie called Tommy from the car. Mabel didn’t waste time as she sped her way down to the docks. She caught Charlie out of the side of her eye as he argued back and forth with Tommy until he tossed his phone onto the dashboard when the conversation was over. Charlie had his elbow resting on the door and his head propped up in his hand. He looked focused, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Tommy letting us take the boat?” Mabel asked, she quickly flicked a glance at Charlie, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed. “He’s already there, we’ll be ready to go as soon as we arrive.”

Mabel nodded, opting not to say anything else. Charlie called Tommy and he was willing to come with her and help try and save you. Charlie’s mood was close to how it was after they broke up. Mabel couldn’t be sure what Charlie saw when he looked into her eyes but whatever it was it seemed that he finally accepted that they were truly over and that she was ready to start moving on.

Mabel whipped into a parking spot, slamming on the breaks as soon as she could. She didn’t even look to see if she was between the lines before she jumped out of the car and ran down the ramp to the docks. She heard Charlie right behind her as they rushed to the boat, seeing Tommy on the deck, Nunes, and Costa beside him. Costa grabbed her hand, helping her onto the boat.

“This is stupid,” Tommy said, locking eyes with Charlie.

Charlie shrugged. “We can’t just do nothing.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, adjusting his hat before flicking a glance at Mabel then back at his brother. “You better have a plan,” he shook his head.

“Figured we’d gameplan on the way.”

Tommy grumbled something incoherent before making his way to the helm. Charlie tapped Mabel’s arm, nodding at her to follow along. Mabel joined Charlie, Costa, and Nunes around a table behind Tommy and began planning out exactly how they thought they could save you while also taking on a bunch of drug dealers.

Tommy put in the location they found originally and used weather patterns to determine where and how far you drifted from, giving them a solid area to start heading towards. With Tommy at the wheel, they began making their way to your location, Mabel was just hoping she had moved fast enough and that you wouldn’t already be on the ocean floor by the time they got to you.

everyone but her pt.41

Summary: You were getting used to the weird. Hell, you were almost even comfortable with it. But when weird turns to unsettling, you panic. At least Wednesday's there to panic with you.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, violence, arson, mentions of murder, slight gore Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

It was dark and you couldn’t breathe.

No, that didn’t seem right. You were still alive, weren’t you? Surely you could breathe. With great effort, you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with the hot summer air. Every moment of it hurt, but you could breathe. Okay, that was much easier to work with, now you needed to focus on the dark.

Wednesday had invested in even thicker blackout curtains (which were unnecessary, though appreciated), so that must have been it. There was a dull pain in your eyes - yes, actually in your eyes - but you marked it down to still being exhausted. The alarm clock on Wednesday’s nightstand read 3:33 am; way too early to be awake. It was no surprise your eyes were hurting.

It wasn’t immediately obvious why you had woken up at such an unusual time. Wednesday was still asleep in your arms, her head tucked carefully underneath your jaw. Her breathing was deep and even and, against her desire, she was almost horrendously warm.

If she was still with you, what could be wrong? You couldn’t remember a nightmare - even though your racing heart said otherwise - and there weren’t any strange sounds in the room. The muscles in your back pulled with the shift of your wings; you still couldn’t tell what was wrong.

You settled deeper into the bed and held Wednesday tighter. Her breathing caught for a moment before resuming its typical slow pace. The thought nearly made you laugh. If you hadn’t known her better, you too would have assumed she was nothing more than a corpse. She was completely still and you could barely feel her breath on your skin. Which was exactly what she was going for, but it was still funny to you.

Maybe nothing was wrong. Your eyes slipped shut at the unsurprising revelation. Just because you were wide awake and panicking didn’t mean something was wrong. That was one of the benefits of dating an Addams; she always made you panic - in a good way - and helped you learn not everything meant something. Sometimes life just moves on without a single care for you. Not everything mattered. That was something you could live with.

They’re dying.

You exhaled through your nose, causing Wednesday to shift momentarily. She quickly settled again. For the past few weeks, the voice stayed within the confines of your nightmares. It maintained a presence on the fringes of your mind, only coming forth when you were already beaten and broken. But when it stayed away from your waking hours, you couldn’t complain.

However, you were not having a nightmare, you were awake, and it was making its presence known. Perfect. Fantastic. You loved hearing your personal doomsayer wax poetic when you were trying to fall back asleep with your girlfriend. Besides, why was it so vague? Normally it was painfully specific, what gives? You kept your eyes closed; it would need to try harder to get your attention.

Your parents, the voice said, the children.

You held your breath and waited. Wednesday moved in your arms.

Your grandparents. They’re burning.

That got your attention.

One of the benefits of Wednesday being, well, Wednesday, was she slept like the dead. Both physically and literally. She had convinced your entire friend group that she was a light sleeper and no one could ever sneak up on her, but you knew it was a lie. Hell, you swore she wouldn’t wake up even if a nuclear war started around her.

It came in handy when you wriggled your way out of bed. You smiled to yourself at Wednesday’s adorable nose scrunch when you pulled your arm out from under her head, but she was still within moments once again. She looked so peaceful there on the bed. Even with your body removed, she stayed curled up on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.

You loved her.

You would die for her.

You would kill for her.

They’re dying for you.

Your beating heart was almost painful in your chest as you willed your body to move. It was soon accompanied by a sharp pain radiating from your toe as you, unsurprisingly, tripped over Wednesday’s shoes. It wasn’t the first time. And you couldn’t even get upset because she had placed them exactly where she always did. Maybe you just needed to pay more attention to your surroundings.

You were taking too long. A nail was driven into your brain, sticking gruesome images into every space in your head. Fire. You forced some shoes on. Screaming. The jacket felt too small; you didn’t care. Burning wood creating an inferno. Your fingers jammed into the doorknob, and you swore under your breath before successfully grabbing it.

“Cara mia?”

The sounds and images in your mind remained, but they parted to give way to Wednesday’s small, sleepy voice. If anyone could see her at that moment, tired and small and vulnerable, they wouldn’t have believed it was her. She was growing soft, but even in that moment, she was still your girl. Your love.

They’re burning while you stay here.

“Go back to sleep,” you said softly as you walked back over to the bed. The voice started to grow louder in your mind.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. The sleep started to slip away and she looked more alert. Her usual state since she had restarted her investigation board.

There was no use in lying to her. “I have a bad feeling about home,” you told her. “I’m going to go check on them.”

Wednesday held your gaze until you were both uncomfortable. “Give me a moment and we’ll go.”

The voice started screaming in your mind. It was deafening and left a distinct ringing in your ears. The first few months of its disturbance had nearly driven you insane. The constant screaming, the bloody, gorey images, the fear response your body would have. All of it had left you feeling like you were losing your mind and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself out of it.

Now, however, you could cope. At least in the short term. You had worked out a plan with Wednesday, and it had yet to fail you. Whenever the screaming started, or the images put too much pressure, you would just look at her and focus on whatever she was doing. It was simple, Yoko had even teased it was a bit self-centred of Wednesday, and yet it worked.

You watched as she pulled on something a bit comfier; something she wouldn’t mind flying with. She grabbed the shoes you had stubbed your toe on and slid them onto her feet effortlessly. She also made sure to toss you a single shoe and, when you looked down, you saw the matching pair on your left foot. Your right was in a lazily-tied boot that did not match.

Wednesday also tugged your jacket off; which wasn’t actually your jacket.

“Let’s go,” she said as she grabbed your hand and started dragging you out the door.

You didn’t have to ask if she was good with flying; you knew she wasn’t. But she was brave - as she had often insisted - and she wrapped her arms around your neck the moment you both got outside the apartment building. In return, you wrapped your arms around her waist before taking off. Perhaps you would need to get a harness for your rare flights together. Now that would be funny.

The voices got louder the closer you got to the house. That… wasn’t a comforting thought. You were sure Wednesday could hear your racing heart from where she was resting her head, but you didn’t care. Something just didn’t feel right. The feathers of your wings puffed up and the hair on your arms stood up and you weren’t sure what to do.

Your hands stopped shaking when Wednesday started lightly scratching the back of your neck. It was an uncomfortable position for her; flying itself was weird even when it was just you. There was no telling how many dozens of flights you had experimented with to get the hang of how to hold your body. If Wednesday had flown with you more than the required minimum, she would have been able to figure it out too.

At another time it would have been funny. Now it just left your palms clammy and your grip tighter.

The world was distressingly quiet when yours and Wednesday’s feet planted on the ground. You couldn’t hear the birds chirping, nor the goats bleating as they stayed up later than they should. Every light in the house was off - as they should be so late at night - but it still didn’t feel right. Every fibre of your being was on high alert.

Even the voices had grown silent.

“I see nothing wrong,” Wednesday said, her voice sounding extraordinarily loud in the silence.

“Me either,” you mumbled.

Your eyes darted every which way. The barn looked completely untouched, aside from someone forgetting to properly latch the door. The limbs of the surrounding trees swayed in the barely noticeable wind. To your left, on the other side of Wednesday, you could see the empty doghouse. Nothing was out of sorts.

That was unusual enough.

Finally, a larger gust of wind blew by, ruffling through the leaves and your hair. It felt nice on a summer night. Nothing was more unbearable than the stillness of summer heat. You let your head fall back a little to enjoy the breeze and inhaled deeply.

Then you froze.

“Do you smell that?” You asked as your head slowly lowered.

“Yoko warned me that was a trick question,” Wednesday answered.

“What?” You asked, then smiled to yourself. Oh yeah. You had pranked Yoko plenty of times with that question. “No, I’m being serious this time.”

Wednesday looked around. “I don’t smell anything.”

You hummed in response. She didn’t smell it. But you knew it was there, and it was familiar. The name was on the tip of your tongue, you could almost taste it. A strong taste that clung to every taste bud, taunting and teasing you to think of the name. It was a mix of sticky and bitter and intense and… like a sharpie? Maybe?

Well that just sounded stupid, you would keep thinking about it.

“I’m just going to look around real quick,” you said. “Go wait inside.”

“And if your Grandfather has a gun?”

You faltered.

“Don’t go inside,” you corrected. The corner of her mouth ticked upward. “I’ll be right back.”

Her knuckles brushed against the back of your arm before you started your way around the yard. Twigs snapped under foot; the only sound that reached your ears. Even the birds were silent. That was the part that worried you. You walked further into the tree line, following the smell, and the birds stayed silent.

The smell was stronger in the tree line behind the house. It pervaded all of your senses, you just couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. You stepped precariously, not wanting to get too close to whatever it was. Though you still couldn’t name it properly, you knew what it was; it smelled like danger. 

You took another step forward and reached your hand out to a tree trunk for support. It was wet. Sticky. Whatever it was, the trunk was soaked in it. You pulled your hand away and held it up in front of your face to see what it was. The lack of light didn’t help, but it was something dark.

The smell nearly made you gag. It was nauseatingly strong and very much not natural to the area. The liquid trickled down your arm slowly until you let it fall back to your side. Your eyes trailed down the tree, following the liquid until you could see it puddled on the ground. 

It was shiny, and when you tilted your head to let the moonlight catch, it almost looked like a little rainbow was trapped within it.

You stood up quickly and eyed the shimmering line leading directly to the back of the house. Your house. The house where your family was fast asleep. The feathers on your wings were standing up so high it was almost painful. Each step you took toward the house was like moving through the water.

Something sparked and popped behind you.

“Oh fuck.”

A wave of heat hit your back. Thankfully it wasn’t strong enough to push you forward, but that didn’t mean it didn’t light a fire under your ass. The spark of the fire slowly grew to a roar as you sprinted to the house. You wanted to scream, to get someone’s attention, to wake up everyone in the house before you could get there.

The scream lodged itself in your throat even as you rounded the corner of the house. Your turn was too sharp, and your feet kept sliding across the too-dry dirt. Loose gravel embedded itself into the palm of your hand as you fell. It was almost second nature to dig your fingers into the ground and pull yourself forward while simultaneously pushing yourself back to your feet.

Ringing echoed in your ears as you ripped the screen door and threw the front door open. It should have made a loud “thud.” You couldn’t hear it. There should have been a plan. You should have made a plan. But the only thing in your head was static; a red static that left your head feeling heavy.

A hand rested on your arm.

“Wake up your parents,” Wednesday said. Her voice sounded like it was muffled by a pillow. “I’ll wake up the kids.”

Okay. That was a plan. Someone had a plan. You could work with that. You didn’t wait for her before running up the stairs, three at a time. None of the stairs creaked, at least not that you could hear. Down the hall, third door on the right, it hit the wall so hard you could feel the floor shake.

At last, you heard a noise. A gun being cocked.

“I ain’t afraid to shoot.”

You stared down the barrel. The voice slowly started to creep back into your mind. A low rumble accompanied by the crackling of the distant fire. Only the fire wasn’t outside, it was within you. Burning hotter and hotter until you wanted to rip your skin off and feel the light summer breeze once again.

You stared down the barrel of the gun.

“Y/N?”

You blinked slowly.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Pop asked. “Thought you was some critter from the woods.” You didn’t move. “Coulda shot you, baby bird.”

You’ll get him killed.

“What’s wrong?”

Each muscle in your body was locked; you couldn’t move.

“And why the hell you smell like a barrel of gasoline?”

Tell him.

The muscles of your jaw tensed when you opened it and closed it a few times. Fire. The house. Run. No words would come out. They stuck in the back of your throat like a cold. But you had to tell him. You had to warn them. The crackling was growing louder.

“Wednesday?”

Someone sidled up next to you. You didn’t have to guess who.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is goin’ on?” Pop demanded.

You’re all going to die.

You were silent.

“The house is on fire,” Wednesday said.

Five words. You couldn’t even say five words.

Pop nodded once and shook the body beside him. “Come on, Momma, we gotta go.”

You clenched your jaw and watched them get up. Watched them do the things you couldn’t make your body do. Why couldn’t you just answer them and move? How was Wednesday doing all of it while you just stood there on the sidelines like it wasn’t your family in danger?

Nicky would be very disappointed in you.

“Go grab your Abuelita,” Pop said when he was suddenly standing in front of you. When had he gotten there? “Wednesday, you help Momma grab a few things.”

Wednesday nodded once and walked over to where Momma was already starting to gather things. You didn’t know what. All those instincts you had harboured, all those dangerous things you had managed to avoid, and now you were frozen in place. Your feet felt rooted into the ground as if they wanted to stay. As if they wanted to go down with the house.

Maybe they did.

“Y/N.” Fingers snapped in front of your face. You blinked once before using every bit of strength you had to look up into Pop’s eyes. “Get your Abuelita and get the hell out.”

His words echoed in your head, twirling around the voice that continued its onslaught of doom and dread. It didn’t help you move, it didn’t do anything but paralyse you with more fear than you had started with. Fear. That was the word you had been looking for all evening. You were afraid.

Wednesday’s hand brushed against your arm, the one not covered in gasoline. Not that it would have mattered, it sent a jolt through your body anyway. A jolt that gave you just enough energy to finally move your body. One step at a time, getting progressively easier until you made it to your grandparents’ room.

They were already up.

“Help an old woman down the stairs,” Abuelita said as she reached forward. You held out your dry arm for her.

“I’ve got the important things,” Grandpa said, hoisting a duffle over his shoulder and following you both out of the door.

You could smell the smoke when you approached the stairs. A red glow reflected off the front wall of the house. The sight nearly had you frozen in place again. The kitchen was on fire. It was on fire. Your house was burning.

You’re all going to die because you can’t move.

“Keep moving, puișor,” Grandpa said with a gentle nudge.

It was enough to keep you in step. The way down the stairs was slow, and Abuelita seemed to be in no true rush. Did she know something you didn’t? No, she was simply old, that must be it. By the time you got down the stairs, you could feel the heat of the fire suffocating your every breath.

Everyone else was already out by the road when you managed to get Abuelita and Grandpa out as well. You stood up straight and started counting heads; two parents, two grandparents, six kids, one girlfriend. That was everyone. The roar of the fire grew louder.

Everyone was safe.

You’re forgetting something.

Were you?

“Wait,” Emily said. “I forgot Miss Spider.”

“We’ll get you a new one, baby,” Momma said as she held onto Emily’s arm to keep her still.

“But Nicky got her for me.”

Nicky.

You forgot Nicky.

You looked up and met Wednesday’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and you could see the ever-growing fire reflected in them. You took one step backward. She shook her head slowly. Each step had her shaking her head increasingly fast.

You forgot Nicky in the house.

You turned and sprinted toward the house.

“Y/N, get back here!”

Everyone’s voices were drowned out by the fire. A loud mixture of sounds that created a horrific orchestra from hell. The crackling fire, the roaring heat, the wood burning away and crumbling to the ground. It wasn’t even the heat that had you hesitate; it was the sound.

You forgot Nicky.

The steps were hot as you sprinted up the stairs. They weren’t burning just yet, but they were hot. Your bedroom door was still wide open, and you could see the flames licking up the window. Miss Spider was laying on the floor beside Emily’s bed, miraculously unscathed aside from what looked like a single scorch mark on one of the legs. You snatched it up and shoved it under your shirt to keep it safe as you made your way out.

“You gonna forget me?”

You froze. The floor got hotter underneath your feet. Smoke continued to invade your senses, filling your lungs and suffocating your very thoughts. You needed to get Miss Spider back down to Emily. But you couldn’t leave him.

You turned back to face the room and stood tall. The last time you had seen him had been that one weekend at the Addams’ household. He had stayed fairly under wraps, as far as you could remember. He seemed shorter. Or perhaps you had just grown.

“You left me waiting long enough,” Nicky teased. “I thought you were gonna leave me here.”

A lick of fire brushed against your bare leg.

“I’d never leave you,” you said with no effort at all. “That’s why I came back.”

“Then come on,” he said as he held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

You looked down at the hand he was offering you. It was normal. No IV scars, no cuts, no dirt, no fire. It was his normal hand that you had held time and time again. It was Nicky. Your Nicky. Miss Spider’s legs itched and tickled under your shirt when you took a step forward and lifted your hand.

The fire continued to rise around him, but you couldn’t feel the heat. All you really needed to do was reach out and take his hand. Then he could come back home, and you could all be a family again. He could properly meet Wednesday, and Hailey wouldn’t be so mad, and you could all belong. 

That was all you really wanted, right? To belong? To have Nicky by your side as you both grew out of the trauma that had been inflicted upon you for no other reason than being different? You could have that. You could have your brother, and your girlfriend, and your family. You could have it all. You just simply had to reach out and take his hand.

“We can sneak out and go camping,” he said. “Mom and Dad can go with us.”

Your muscles locked up again when your fingers were only centimetres away from his.

“What?” Nicky asked. “What’s wrong?”

Flames continued to climb up your legs.

“Nicky hated them,” you said with a shake of your head. “He would never invite them.”

The smell of burning feathers permeated the air.

“Don’t turn your back on me now,” he said in a voice that was no longer his. “Just come with me.” 

You looked down at where your outstretched hand nearly met his. His skin was black; charred and bloody. Following up his arm removed the char but was replaced with lacerations. Blood. Injuries that had been carved into the inside of your skull, unable to be scrubbed away no matter how many years it had been.

His eyes were pale.

It wasn’t your Nicky.

Fire jumped from his hand to yours; it caught the gasoline on your fingers. You couldn’t feel it race up your arm. At least, you couldn’t feel the pain. It simply felt like a tickle against your skin. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t your Nicky, and you weren’t taking him with you.

You pulled your arm back to your body and turned around, nearly tripping over your own feet in an attempt to run from the burning house. Your burning house. You took no risk of falling down the stairs, instead just jumping from the top floor and landing on the ground with a harsh “thud.” The first sign of pain was in your knee. It didn’t stop you from running out of the house.

The air was clear outside. Muffled voices reached your ears once you were far enough away from the screaming fire. In the distance, you could hear sirens. Something wrapped around your arm, and you finally felt the pain. A burn that was nothing short of indescribable.

You still couldn’t scream.

Instead, against the screaming coming from every atom of your body, you reached under your shirt with your good hand and handed Miss Spider to Emily. She said something that you couldn’t hear. You hoped it was something nice. People were still talking to you when you turned back around.

Nicky’s silhouette stood in the window of your burning home.

—---

“Can’t thank ya enough, Mr. and Mrs. Addams,” Pop said after Lurch had led the kids upstairs to get them settled in their own rooms.

“It’s our pleasure,” Mr. Addams said with a wave of his hand. “You’re all Addamses now, you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you for letting the littles bring Steve,” Momma said.

“Pugsley loves pets,” Mrs. Addams replied. “He’s always happy to have more.”

Both sets of adults kept talking as they made their way into the sitting room. At least you thought that was where they had gone. Truthfully you didn’t know. All you knew was you couldn’t get Nicky’s gaze out of your head. Or, no, it hadn’t really been Nicky, you didn’t think. Something else. Something sinister.

“Cara mia.”

You didn’t want to face her. You couldn’t face her. God, how could you have been so stupid? She shouldn’t have even been there, it had been dangerous from start to finish. You had put Wednesday in danger again. How could that ever be forgiven? She could have died.

“Let’s go.”

She grabbed your good hand and slowly led you to her room.

You didn’t save them all. You squeezed your eyes shut while she guided you. Everyone will burn in the fires of your sins.

Everything hurt when you finally got to her room. You hadn’t heard everything the paramedic had said, but you didn’t have to. It was your body anyway. The soles of your feet were burned, and you would have to regrow more than your fair share of feathers. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t need to do anything else for the burns on your arm.

You weren’t so optimistic, but you would rather die than go back to a hospital.

Wednesday quickly crawled into bed with you after you had both changed into something more comfortable. Everything was still foggy, but you noticed her hesitation before touching you. You didn’t care. You pulled her closer, ignoring the unbearable heat even her body created against the burns. It hurt.

You didn’t care.

“You terrified me,” she said softly, her breath tickling your skin. “I believed I would lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything.

Your mind was running rampant even as Wednesday settled into an unsteady sleep. She nearly had lost you. You had nearly walked into that fire without a single hesitation. If that spectre hadn’t mentioned your parents, you would have taken his hand and stayed in that house until you burned down with it. You would have died without thinking twice. How could you have let that happen?

I’m not done with you yet.

And what if it happened again?

Let The Light |7|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Seven: Tis' The Damn Season

Summary: After that eventful night at Tara's apartment, you find yourself pondering on a few things, but your banter with Tara never ceases. There is enough on your plate as it is, so when you bump into a familiar face it catches you completely off guard

Warning(s): Swearing, making out, mentions of drinking & intoxication, r has a case of bad communication, chemistry (like the actual subject 😣), compulsions, & implied anxiety

Notes: I took over a year off to cut you readers some slack, tell a friend to tell a friend - she's baackkk! 🤭 Ik you missed these stubborn little jerks, so did I. Also not this chapter being at like 10k+ words. Even then, there was a bunch more I wanted to add but I figured I'd save it for the next chapter (already plotting) I didn't wanna keep you waiting any longer than I already have

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The box of pizza and plate of wings sat completely abandoned, forgotten, on Charlotte’s coffee table as her hands traveled to your neck. You let your own hands drop to her hips, pulling her in. Her lips felt soft, yet foreign. You ignored that thought and continued to kiss her, slipping in your tongue while she maneuvered her way onto your lap.

Everything felt hot, you could feel your face heat up as she ever so slightly played with the hem of your shirt. When you gave her the silent signal, she slipped a hand under your shirt—not too high of course, but enough to feel your hips. You felt goosebumps at her touch, suddenly feeling nervous. You once again pushed any negative thoughts to the back of your mind, continuing to kiss her. 

That’s when it clicked. Why you got so nervous all of a sudden, your mind was trying to tell you something, warn you.

You separated from her lips. She looked at you, a confused expression on her face. You weren’t meeting her eye line, feeling rather timid at the moment. “Are you okay?” She asked you. You barely heard her with your heartbeat drumming so loudly in your ears. 

“Um…” You cleared your throat, still not meeting her gaze. “Yeah… I just—sorry.” Charlotte’s expression stayed put as you managed to remove yourself from the couch. 

“Did I do something?” She asked, moving to also stand up. She looked at you with what you could only describe as confusion and concern. You couldn’t blame her one bit—one second you’re all over each other, the next you’re pulling back like she stung you.

“No—no, no, no,” you shook your head while gesturing with your right hand. “You did nothing wrong. I um,” you finally looked to meet her gaze, “it’s just been awhile, I guess.” You could only hope she didn’t see through your lame excuse, it wasn’t completely untrue. 

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “…Oh,” she then repeated when she realized what you meant. “Shit, I didn’t push you did I?” 

“I promise you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been in a weird place  …for a while,” you shrugged, not expecting to add that last part, your tone getting lower as you spoke those words.

“I get it,” she mustered an understanding tone. 

A suffocating silence enveloped the room for a few seconds, causing you to look out the nearby window to be met with pitch darkness.

“It’s actually getting pretty late anyways and I’ve got an early shift in the morning…” You said while slowly getting your jacked that hung from the couch. 

“Of course. Call me?” 

“Yeah,” you briefly smiled at her while adjusting the collar of your jacket. “Sorry, again, for making things awkward,” you apologized while grabbing the last of your things.

“No, don’t worry about it. Stuff happens,” she waved you off while managing a reassuring tone. 

You nodded at her before muttering, “thanks,” and finally leaving the apartment. As soon as you walked out into the crisp night air, you exhaled your own pocket of air you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

That’s when it all came crashing down; the awkwardness, stupidness, and cringyness that came from the situation all because you were scared to let your situationship see your scars. 

Nice going.

You repeated words like moron, idiot, and dumbass while you walked to your car—the train of thought never breaking as you drove to your apartment. Manhattan’s late-night traffic didn’t exactly ease your frustration. You were in the middle of cursing out the car in front of you when your phone started to ring.

Still feeling ridiculously stupid, you were going to let it just ring out, but that was before you saw the contact name. 

You answered the phone. “Tara?” You immediately asked with furrowed eyebrows. Why on earth is she calling you so late?

“Y/NN,” you heard her slur over the phone. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel, immediately realizing what you were about to be in for. Before you could get another word out, she interrupted you. “Have I ever told you you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts?” 

Your eyes widened as heat rushed to your face, your hands nearly slipping off the wheel. The tips of your ears suddenly began to feel very warm while your mouth opened and closed a few times before you could get sound to come out.

“I—uh,” you cleared your throat before continuing. “Where are you right now?”

“Hommee. Where else?” Her answer was followed by hiccups.

“I’m coming over,” you said firmly before hanging up. Being distracted any further by her voice was the last thing you needed right now.  You silently hoped nothing drastic was waiting for you at her apartment as you changed your route.

When were you going to stop jinxing things?

—

It had now been a few weeks since the night at Tara’s apartment took place. Not long after you put her to bed, you gave yourself some time to reflect on her words. And ever since that night, you have been repeating them in your head whenever you were with the Carpenter. It seems as though she was able to move on easily, at least, her silence on the topic made it appear that way. On the outside, you gave the impression that you too had moved on from that night, that it had not affected you whatsoever. But on the inside, you were in emotional turmoil. With replaying your memories, that same tightening feeling in your chest that you felt that night reappeared.

There were so many key points of that night to completely crumble over; for starters, the incident with Charlotte. You are beyond embarrassed thanks to your repulsion for emotional intimacy. You knew if she saw your scars questions would ensue, thus putting you in an uncomfortable position to spill your guts out. The last thing you needed was for that to happen, but that alone had you thinking.

You’ve been on over four dates with Charlotte now and you have no idea where you stand with her. She’s just a situation-ship as of right now, and for all you know she could be seeing this as more. But the thought of asking her where you stand with her makes you emotionally grimace and cause your stomach to churn. 

If you can’t even talk to her about your relationship status, should you even continue seeing her? This question had you thinking even further. Maybe you rushed into this relationship, maybe it was far too soon. Was nearly a year too soon? 

That was the last time you were in a relationship, the last time you allowed yourself any form of emotional intimacy with a partner. But that was the result of three years, three years of building trust and connection. It was going to take a lot more than just a few dates with someone you don’t truly know to recreate that. It was going to take effort.

As for the Tara part of that night, you didn’t even know where to begin. Where could you? From her compliments to her insults, the night was certainly an eventful one. And just to think, you had seen her just hours before and there hadn’t seemed to be any issues. 

The coming semester is certainly going to be an interesting one.

—

You and Tara were in your apartment, huffing and groaning could be heard throughout your room. She sat cross legged at the edge of your bed while you were leaned up against the headboard. Papers sprawled all over the bed, pens and pencils scattered—almost imitating what the inside of your mind currently looked like.

“Was the first sheet you gave me—was it nine or seven?!”

You let out a huff, mixed with a long sigh, at Tara’s repeated question. After running a hand down your face, you slid closer beside her to get a better look at her paper. “This is table nine right here,” you emphasized by rapidly tapping your pencil on the spot of the paper you wanted her to focus on.

She rolled her eyes as she mumbled, “Oh my god—” She turned her head to looked at you as she huffed, “Answer my fucking question with a yes or a no; was it a yes—was it a nine or a seven?”

You muttered a few curses under your breath—curses you knew she heard because of your close proximity—before taking your pencil to her paper once again. “Alright, okay so I’m gonna circle this—”

“What the fuck—?!”

“This is—this is nine,” you glanced at her for a moment to make sure she was paying attention. All you were met with was a dumbfounded look.

“But what’s the top??”

“That’s table seven.” 

There were a few seconds of her just staring at the paper and you looking between her and the paper until she said something.

“What?” Her voice indifferent.

“So I’m assuming you don’t get it…”

She turned her gaze from her paper to you, hitting you with a hard glare. “No, asshole. I don’t get it.” She then threw her pencil to the side and got up from the bed. Her arm brushes against yours as she does so but you choose not to pay any mind.

“I’m so tired of chemistry,” she all but whined before dramatically plopping back down on your bed face first.

“You’re the one that said you needed help,” you pointed out while curiously flipping through her notebook. “I remember wanting to stick with routine and work on our history project.” Her doodles are cute.

“So helpful,” she sarcastically remarked, muffled; she was still face planted on your mattress, right beside you. 

“I try,” you reply in a monotone voice; you were still flipping through her notes as you talked.

Tara rolled over on her back, pushing loose strands of her raven hair away from her face. She exhaled before clearing her throat—which didn’t get your attention, so she tried again …and again, after the third time she just settled for throwing a nearby pillow at your head.

You finally turned to look at her with furrowed eyebrows and a hand to the back of your head. “Um, can I help you?”

“Can we just start on the math now?”

“You couldn’t have asked that without the pillow to my head?” You asked incredulously.

“Do you have this, like, mental illness that prevents you from properly answering ‘yes or no’ questions—”

“Get your other notes out before I change my mind.” 

Tara scrambled over to the side of the bed, reaching over to grab her bag that sat beside your bed. She quickly wiped off a giddy smile as she took out her needed papers. You were neatly setting her previous papers to the side as she did so.

“Alright, what do you got for me, Carpenter?” You inquired while she scooted back next to you; you’re both sitting side by side, leaning against your bed’s headboard as you looked at the page of notes she was showing you. 

“This is basically everything that's going to be on my exam next week,” her stress regarding her exams was evident from her tone. “Some topics I’m good with, other’s I’m okay with, and a few I’m struggling with.” She turned to look at you, eyes practically burning holes in the side of your head with a pleading look. Pleading for you to help her.

After a moment of silence—of you intently staring at the paper—you hummed to yourself, nodding, as you finally returned Tara’s gaze before speaking. “I have highlighters; I want you to circle the ones you’re okay with in orange, and the one’s you’re struggling with in red,” you told her while reaching into the drawer of your nightstand for the highlighters. 

All you got was a brief, “Mhm,” while you blindly thrashed your hand around for the highlighters. When you finally got the right colors, you handed them to her before getting up from your bed which earned you a confused look from the other girl.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. Don’t miss me too much,” you couldn't help but smirk at the girl, leaving before she had the chance to counteract. You weren’t sure if you were smirking because of your own remark, or if it was thought Tara was missing you. It definitely left a warm feeling inside of you.

She doesn’t miss you. She wants less of you, remember? Your head reminded you, causing that familiar feeling of your chest tightening. Your breathing was still a bit hollow from the feeling as you finished up in the bathroom and walked back to your bedroom.

“You finished?” You asked Tara while returning to your previous seat beside her. 

“Yes but I have a proposition for you,” Tara responded almost immediately. You stopped your movements, eyeing her with a suspicious look. 

“Lay it on me,” you said.

“We can continue doing all this,” she gestured to her notes, “—but instead we can do it in a place with food.”

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate, please.”

“I want to go to the diner nearby, and finish studying there. I’m tired and starving—and you haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks so I already know there’s not much to find in your fridge.”

“Wait, how do you know the last time I went shopping?”

Tara ignored your question, instead continuing to look at you with those doe eyes of hers as she continued to plead. “Pleeeaaase, Y/N?”

You looked at her, feigning a reluctant look before letting out a sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Thank goodness. My stomach was starting to make noises I’ve never heard before,” she said as she was gathering her papers.

—

“Done!” Tara announced in a cheery tone. You looked up from your book as she slid over the sheet of loose leaf she was just working on. “I put a star next to number three; I was having trouble with that one the most,” she told you before sipping her half drunken milkshake. 

You nodded her way as your eyes skimmed her paper. “All these are correct—including number three. Was there a specific reason you didn’t fully understand it?”

“Mainly the order of the steps,” she answered.

“I see. Well you were correct. But if you continue to have trouble with the memorization stuff, flashcards are great memorization tools. Especially colored ones. I can lend you some of you want,” you offered her while giving her back the piece of paper.

“Oh—yeah. Totally,” she chuckled before loudly clearing her throat and practically shoving the straw in her milkshake into her mouth. There was something that washed over her—possibly embarrassment? You couldn’t be too sure. But why would she be embarrassed? Sometimes you wish you could hear her thoughts, just so you could get some insight on what was going through her head during certain moments.

Tara stared down at her straw, subconsciously refusing to pick up her head until she felt less flushed. That was so embarrassing, she kept thinking to herself. ToTalLy! Goodness, Tara, she just offered you some flash cards—not her hand in marriage. Her cheeks got even warmer at the idea.

“You good, Tar?” You just had to ask with that painfully soft voice you get when you’re concerned. Oh, and why did you have to call her Tar? She still remembers when you called her Tar for the first time—you and her were in her bedroom after the incident at the halloween party. She felt her knees physically grow weak as heat rushed to her ears, and now she’s found herself in that same predicament due to you opening your stupid, occasionally sweet, mouth. 

“Hm? Great!”

“Um,” you let out a short, awkward, and airy laugh. “Okay, good, yeah.” Your eyes subconsciously took a quick scan around the diner due to Tara’s sudden volume change. “So anyways, from the looks of those problems, you’re gonna nail your exam. Just try not to overthink your answers too much.”

Tara hummed before returning to her milkshake just to realize she was all out. Guess she’s going to have to find another thing to distract her eyes from you.

You, on the other hand, were still confused. Did you say something? Why did she seem so timid all of a sudden? Did the flashcards somehow cross a line? If so, in what way did it? Tara was being a little too silent for your liking, which is really saying something considering how much you value your quiet time. 

You were about to do one of the hardest things you have ever done. Attempt small talk.

You cleared your throat, “So. How’s—how are you and uh Chad?” This finally got Tara to look up. She eyed you with a confused expression. “Like, dating and stuff,” you awkwardly added. Your palms were already growing sweaty as your leg began to bounce. 

“Me and Chad? Dating?” That’s when she bursted out laughing, handing over her mouth and everything. You suddenly felt like a total dumbass but you weren’t sure as to why. Were they no longer dating? Well obviously, if you had to take anything from her reaction. But you weren’t doing a lot of laughing when you and your ex-girlfriend broke up.

“Oh—I’m sorry, let me catch my breath for a second.” She literally wiped away a tear from how hard she was laughing before speaking up again. “Y/N, Me and Chad are not together.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. And we never will be, never ever ever.”

“Never ever?” 

“Never ever.”

You couldn’t help the sudden wave of relief that washed over you, but you weren’t sure where it came from.

“But I saw you two kissing at a party,” you told her.

“Right …that. Yeah, I try not to think about that night if I’m being honest. It was honestly super embarrassing; I was completely drunk, so drunk to the point where I thought he was… someone else,” her voice grew a little quieter towards the end as she sank a little in her booth.

“Oh.” Was all you said. You didn’t know what else to say. What could you? That night was a misunderstanding, and judging by Tara’s words and reaction to the accusation of her and Chad dating—that relationship is long from happening. Yet another feeling of relief washed over you as you had that thought. 

“Yeah,” Tara shrugged. That’s when something clicked in her head …she could use this awkward discussion to her advantage. “Since we’re on the topic of dating, how are you and Charlotte? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.” And good riddance for that, she silently thought to herself. 

“I kinda ended that,” you nonchalantly answered before shoving a fry in your mouth. 

“Oh that sucks,” she feigned a sympathetic tone. “It seemed like you two were really hitting it off.”

“I guess.”

Tara wanted to leave it that, really she did, but she just couldn’t help but pry. “Something happened?” She asked you.

“Nope. Just fizzled, I guess. situation-ships do that sometimes, not surprising.”

“Wait, ‘situation-ship’? What do you mean by that?” Her question and her tone of interest had you looking at her with raised eyebrows, utterly confused for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“Like, it wasn’t serious. I wouldn't call her my girlfriend, doubt she’d call me hers. Nothing more than a casual relationship,” you responded, for some reason you felt the need to tread lightly.

“Didn’t you go on like five dates? If you go on multiple dates, that means you’re dating. Thus the word dating being an extension to date,” she sternly replied. 

“Alright, I understand the responsibility of a verb—why are you getting upset over this?”

“I’m not upset.” The pout she wore as she defensively crossed her arms with slumped shoulders told you otherwise. “I just—I don’t know. I want pie.”

“Okay. I’ll get you pie, but could we please switch to a different subject?”

“Fine,” she mumbled; her gaze may have been directed toward her napkin, but it threatened to meet you every second. 

—

“I can’t believe you finally watched it!” You exclaimed to Tara. The both of you were headed back to your apartment; it was dark out as it lightly snowed. You were holding the bag of leftovers, walking on the street-side of the sidewalk as Tara kept her hands firmly placed in her jacket pockets, protecting them from what felt like sub-zero temperature.

“I only avoided it for so long because of you!” She laughed.

“Wow, so you’ve been missing out on one of the greatest shows of all time due to pettiness?”

“Okay, okay—I said it was good, not great.”

“Ah, but you wanna say great. It’s that darn pettiness holding you back, once again,” you said as your smile never broke.

“Did you just say ‘darn’?”

“Yeah, what?” 

Tara only laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Oh! You should watch the extended cut—if you thought it was funny before, you're gonna love the superfan episodes.”

“I’ll give them a shot,” she truthfully responded. She would say anything to keep you talking like this. One of the things she loved listening to was you geeking out over something you were passionate about. Maybe it was the sound of your voice, maybe it was how you lit up, maybe it was how animated you were while talking. 

“Definitely do—” You were cut off by a body colliding into you, causing you to drop the bag of leftovers you were carrying. You muttered a “sorry” before crouching down to pick it up. Tara was about to help until your eyes met with the other person’s.

“Y/N?” The stranger asked.

“Olivia?” You mirrored a confused look.

What was your highschool sweetheart from Woodsborro doing in the middle of Manhattan?

“Oh my gosh—it really is you.” Olivia laughed a bit as the realization set in. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit too. 

“Yeah—yeah, and it’s you.” You responded before she came in for a hug. Your movement stuttered for a second before welcoming her hug. She was still as warm as the day you met, her dark hair still holding its shine it did since the last time you saw her.

The hug was understandably awkward, but for once you didn’t mind awkward. “What are you doin’ in New York?” You finally asked her. 

“I’m here for this documentary thing I’m working on,” she said.

“That’s right—your documentaries. I’m glad you’re still doing those,” you told her with a genuine tone.

She grew a smile at the words you spoke. “Thanks… that means a lot.”

“Oh—uh, you remember Tara, right?” You turned and briefly pointed at the Carpenter who slightly waved.

“Yeah, I do. Hey,” Olivia said with no bitterness. She took a few steps and held out her hand to Tara, which the other girl took.

“Hey,” Tara nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“I’m surprised you two are out in public together,” Olivia joked. You and Tara both laughed awkwardly at your dynamic being brought up.

“Me too,” you joked back. “So uh—you staying long?” You asked, purposely deflecting to a different topic.

“It’s currently indefinite, I’m crashing at a friend’s place right now.” There was a glint in your eye that Olivia picked up. “Would you like to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to catch up.”

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” you replied; you were trying your best to hide your eagerness. 

“Awesome,” she grinned at you. “So, see you around?”

“See you around,” you said. You instantly began to cringe at yourself as she started walking away, but she didn’t leave without giving you one last look. As soon as she left ear shot, you let out a long awaited sigh.

“Geez.” The sound of Tara’s voice caused you to flinch, you completely forgot she was standing right there. “That was hard to watch,” she remarked.

“No one asked,” you said with an eye roll as the two of you began to walk again. 

“Someone’s bitter,” she replied. “Hey—” She put the back of her hand on your chest to stop you from walking as she turned to look at you, “Let’s go to my place instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanna finish these leftovers on the roof,” she answered.

“My apartment has a roof,” you told her.

“Not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

“It's just not. Now come on before our food gets even colder and more destroyed.”

“I guess I’m following you,” you mumbled while trailing behind Tara.

—

You and Tara were sitting on white patio chairs; the same ones you recall from the last few times you’ve been up on the roof. The wind had calmed down since your walkover, snow still lightly falling from the sky. You were eating your fries as Tara was eating what was left of her pie. 

“I’m just saying, I could totally take down a bear.”

“Not in a million years, Tara. You, a 5 foot gremlin, versus a big furry thing with claws that could rip you to shreds? Be serious,” you deadpanned.

“First of all, I’m 5 foot 1, second of all, you’re really underestimating me here. If I can take down a sociopath while crippled—”

Tara didn’t talk about Woodsboro a whole lot, really the only time she’s talked about it—with you at least—was the night it happened, the party at Henry’s house, and just now if that even counted. She never seemed to name-drop anyone connected to that night. But you understood. You don’t remember the last time you said Dewey’s name out loud. 

“A sociopath? Yes. But last I checked, the said sociopath didn’t have the same physical traits as a bear—therefore, your argument holds no power.” You shoved a few fries in your mouth before silently offering her some, in which she accepted.

You glanced over at her to see her expression—she looked kind of disappointed. You sighed, thinking for a moment, before speaking again. “Okay, I’m not saying you have no chance. You’d still do some damage—and I guess it’s not impossible to beat a bear.” You hated the instant flip in your stomach from seeing the way she lit up, it was subtle but you’re grateful you noticed.

She smiled, almost grinning but she resisted. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jump on its back, put it in a headlock,” you added with your own little smile.

“Exactly. You get me,” she absentmindedly said right before taking another bite of her pie.

“What a mad world we live in,” you joked while reaching beside your chair for your milkshake. Tara wasn’t sure what you meant by that, but she just decided to ignore it rather than dwell on it—at least for the moment. She looked over to see you sipping your milkshake and a sly smile appeared on her face as she began to lean closer to you, her elbows resting on her chair’s armrest and expression never faltering.

“You want something, Tar?” 

“That’s an awfully tasty looking milkshake you have there,” she commented; she feigned an innocent tone.

You glanced at her from your peripheral vision—she was on your left side—as you played with the straw in your milkshake. “Tara…” You all but sang. She hummed in response, her position still the same. “Would you like my milkshake?” You asked, but your tone hinted that you already knew what her answer was going to be.

“Well, I guess since you’re offering. Who would I be to pass up a perfectly good milkshake?”

“You’re a piece of work,” you remarked with a broad smile that Tara could describe as gleaming. 

“You’re the sucker who gave me her milkshake,” she sneered before taking a sip from said milkshake.

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, ‘cause this sucker could easily take it back,” you threatened, lightly laughing along with the other girl. 

She scoffed and waved her free hand, “Yeah right. I’d like to see you try.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You get up from your chair, eyes never leaving Tara. “I bet I could take it back from you, no sweat.” 

A smirk grew on Tara’s face as she also got up from her chair. “Okay, okay, you’re on then. Winner takes all—all being the milkshake.” 

“You got yourself a deal.”

“Okay then let’s do this, come on bring it,” Tara’s grin was just too strong to fight off as she lifted up her elbows; one, to use as a shield for her milkshake, and two, to use as her weapon. 

You let out a laugh when you saw a defense mechanism. “That’s pathetic,” you quipped.

“Oh, really?” She said with raised eyebrows. She then shoved her elbows towards you, both of you laughing during all this. 

“Oh!” You took that as a chance to grab her from behind and wrap your arms around her waist, holding her in place as she attempted to break loose; in her defense, it wasn’t as easy to do so while she was flushed against you, her face heating up from both the action and her ceaseless laughter. 

The milkshake dropped to the floor, but neither of you paid any mind. You lifted her up a bit as you spoke, “Not much of a fighter now, huh?” You quipped in a smug tone. 

“You are so playing dirty right now!” She said; her shirt rose a little bit and her hands were loosely holding onto your forearms.

“I don’t remember seeing a rule book. Just surrender and I’ll put you down,” you told her as if it was the simplest thing ever; for anyone else, it would have been.

“No way!” At her response you lifted her higher at which she started rapidly patting arm. 

“You finally surrender?”

“Never in a bazillion years!” Just as Tara said that, she felt a drop of water on her forehead. She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing up at the night sky. “Shit—I think it’s raining.”

“Yeah right, you just don’t wanna be the one to surrender,” you accused while adjusting your hold on Tara.

“I actually felt—” Before Tara could finish her sentence, a loud grumble could be heard as it started to abruptly pour. “I told you!”

“Shit,” you cursed as you put Tara down.

“We need to get inside.”

“Incredible observation. Thought of being a detective?” You quipped.

“Shut up. It’s freezing, let’s just get inside.” Tara was visibly shivering, wrapping her arms around each other while hugging them close to her torso. 

“Okay, come on.” 

Tara barely let you finish speaking as she started rushing towards the door. “Wait—! Tara, don't run! You could slip!” You tried to match her speed without breaking your neck in the process. You nearly sighed in relief when she slowed down. 

She looked at you with an inpatient look as she waited for you to catch up. You were in the process of taking off your jacket as you caught up to her. “If you’re going to slow me down, at least walk a little faster. I’m getting drenched, and this outfit isn’t exactly water resistant—I’m not water resistant!”

“Geez, alright. Quit complaining.” You caught up to her, trailing behind her as you wrapped your jacket around her. “Stop looking at me funny, just open the door,” you said in response to the lost expression she gave you.

She mumbled something incoherent while reaching for the door’s handle and turning. 

As soon as you stepped inside, you let out a long exhale while rubbing your hands together. You looked beside you to see Tara attempting to shake off the water she was drenched in; of course, as a result, she ended up spraying you in the process. “Do you have to do that near me?”

“Where else am I doing it?” She tightened your jacket around her, holding it impossibly close to keep herself warm.

“Whatever, I gotta get home anyway. Picked up a few extra shifts,” you said while double checking your phone’s dryness.

“I thought the cafe gave you off on Saturdays.”

“Uh, yeah. I do. I’m—covering for a coworker, I owe them so,” you trailed off with a shrug; you batted your eyes away from Tara, suddenly finding your drenched jeans very interesting. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, see you,” Tara responded; you made your way down the stairs but not before sparing a small smile.

—

It was the next day, 8:52 am on a Saturday. You had woken up around 4:00 since you had to get in around 7:00 to help set up and open at 8:00. Exhaustion was hitting you back and forth, the only thing that was keeping you awake, barely, was your few hours old coffee you had brought from home. Staying out late with Tara was really biting you in the ass, but you were usually tired these days so it wasn’t much of a difference.

Although it was slow since the day had just begun for many, you still found yourself dealing with incompetence so early in the morning. Truly, it was too early for this. If one more person asked about Halloween stuff, Thanksgiving stuff—any other thing they should’ve gotten months prior, you are going to bash your head into a wall.

Why are people asking their barista about stupid out of season decorations? It’s simple, the cafe wasn’t paying you enough; attending college and living off campus wasn’t getting any cheaper and you needed a reliable job. So when you saw that Target was hiring, you applied. That’s how you came to balance two jobs and some of the most insufferable customers you have ever had the displeasure of conversing with.

“I’m sorry miss, but we stopped selling that after October. But if you’d like, I can show you to the candy aisle—”

“No, listen to me, these are what I want,” she snarled while shoving her phone in your face; her phone showed a picture of the Halloween candy she wanted. “I don’t want regular sour patch, I don't want regular m&m’s, I don’t want regular reese’s pieces—I want Hal-lo-ween candy.” 

“I know that, but miss—”

“Can you just go check in the back? Please? My son has been driving me insane and I need to at least do this one thing right,” she begged.

You let out a silent sigh, “Of course. I’ll go check in the back to see if we have anything left.”

“See, now that wasn’t so hard,” she said as you made your way to the storage room. You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore her statement. It really was too early for this.

You went into the storage and sat down on a nearby box; you just stared at the ceiling, zoning out for about a minute before heading back.

“I apologize, we don’t have what you're looking for. Is there anything else I can help with?”

She scoffed at you, clutching her purse as she did so. “No, I do not need your help because clearly it is no use. Your manager will be hearing from me,” she angrily said before strutting away.

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” you remark out loud to yourself. Once she’s out of your eye line, you let out an aggravated sigh. Working in retail is not for the weak.

You walked back to the end of the aisle and began to restock the shelves again, the thing you were previously doing before being interrupted. You picked up one of the boxes of cereal when your hand accidentally knocked something out of your pocket. It fell by your feet, you glanced at it for a moment before looking back at the shelf—but that’s when it registered what it was. You immediately placed down the box then kneeled down to pick up what you dropped. 

It was a folded piece of paper. You slightly furrowed your eyebrows as you unfolded it before you traded your confusion for a smile. You looked at the doodles that covered the paper, the doodles drawn by Tara. Her name was even signed at the corner; sometimes she draws her name in different fonts to pass the time. Over the years, you noticed her favorite font to draw is graffiti lettering. You were now standing up, still smiling down at the piece of paper. You always admired the way she wrote—

—Suddenly somebody clears their throat. You jumped, blinking rapidly while attempting to shove the paper back into your pocket. You turn your head around to see your co-worker, Avery, crossing her arms while giving you a look you couldn’t quite read. “Secret admirer?” She remarked with a smirk.

“No, it’s just—it’s nothing. Scraps, really if you could even call it that,” you stammered while trying to nonchalantly lean against the shelves. It wasn’t a total failure, you guess.  

“...Right,” she narrowed her eyes at her, clearly not believing your crappy save, but dropped it nevertheless. “Anyways, me, Vicky and a few of the others are gonna go out for a drink tonight; can I count you in?” 

You stopped leaning on the shelves as you thought for a moment. You usually weren’t one for going out, but it’s been a long few months. With that thought, everything that’s happened in the past year flashes through your mind. It’s been nothing but motion sickness, and maybe you could go for a drink or two. 

“You know what—yeah, I’m in,” you nodded at her before returning to the boxes of cereals that sat in the cart beside you. 

“Wait, really? You never wanna come to these things …damn it, I owe Vicky like 20 bucks,” Avery silently moped as she walked away. You laughed a bit at her comment as you continued stocking the shelves.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

—

When you got home that day, you made sure to take a nap before it was time to leave for the bar. When you got there, you stood at the doorway for a few seconds, honestly not sure what your next move was but luckily you caught Avery’s eye and she waved you over. You walked over to where she and the others sat at—the bar—you sat down on the stool beside Avery who was sat next to Vicky. You were surprised they weren’t sitting on the same stool with how tangled with each other they were.

“You made it!!” Avery shouted in a cheery voice that made you wince as she pumped her fists in the air. “Look, Vicky! Y/N’s here!”  Vicky nodded at the girl while trying to subtly ground her by rubbing her lower back.

She looked over at you with an apologetic look. “Sorry, she gets kinda loud and hyper when she’s drunk.”

You chuckled a little, giving her a reassuring shake with your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a pretty embarrassing drunk anyways so I couldn’t talk. Probably why I don’t do it much,” you told her while your arms rested on the table. 

“Gosh, I can’t wait to see you drunk,” she said while adjusting her arm as Avery was now resting her head on Vicky’s shoulder.

“That’s never gonna happen—just a club soda for me. At most I’ll do some watered down beer, but that’s really it,” you said. 

“Wow.”

“I know, I’m a party animal,” you quipped with sarcasm laced in your voice.

“Total rebel,” she added as you both laughed. “So, other than the fact that you’re a total bad boy—how are you liking New York?” She asked with Avery still wrapped around her who had snuggled up closer to her.

“It’s fine. Hasn’t changed much since the last time I lived here.”

“Yeah? Did you live in Manhattan before or someplace else?” 

“Brooklyn. I was born there, and lived there until …I didn’t,” you answered with your train of thought trailing off with your answer. So much has changed since you moved. What if you didn’t move? What if you never moved back? What if you lived in Woodsboro first? What if—

“—Did your family  move around a lot?” She asked another question out of pure curiosity.

“Uh…” You picked at the wood surface in front of you, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. “ No. Just one time.” 

“Cool, my family moved around a few times. It’s a pretty hard thing to go through, even if it’s just once,” she said in an understanding tone. She looked back to Avery, smiling to herself as she stared admirably at the half-a-sleep girl nuzzled up against her. 

You glanced over at the adorable site before asking, “How long have you two been dating?”

“A couple months, but we’ve known each other for ten years,” she responded while pushing back loose strands of hair that covered Avery’s eyes.

“That’s a long time,” was all you could think to say. 

“Yeah, she’s literally my other half. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” After letting herself stare at Avery for another moment, Vicky turned her gaze back to you. “How about you—you seeing anyone?”

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

“I was uh, sort of seeing someone? But broke that off recently. Too close for comfort,” you elaborated for her while silently deciding if you should drink tonight.

“Your casual relationship get too intimate?” She raised an eyebrow before you responded with a tiny nod, she probably would have missed it if she blinked in the same moment. “Yeah, I used to be like that before Avery.” 

“Guess I just gotta wait for my Avery,” you half-joked, earning a laugh from Vicky. 

“I hope you do, she’s definitely a keeper,” she said fondly. She looked at you—your head now resting on your folded arms—and saw the distraught expression you wore, it looked as if you were silently having a debate with yourself. 

“Something up?”

You did a double-take at her, lifting up your head before sparing her a meek smile. “Just thinking, you know?”

Vicky nodded before adding on. “You need advice? I’ve always been told I give great advice.” Her voice was kind and held nothing but honesty.

“Sure…” You were hesitant to accept but you were also on the verge of digging yourself into a hole just to avoid decision making. To be fair, you often think about barricading yourself to avoid dealing with your problems—and oftentimes, you have actually done it. “So last night I bumped into my ex,” you reluctantly began, “and we briefly talked, and she mentioned meeting up sometime to catch up.”

“I’m assuming you’re nervous about the catching up part?” 

You confirmed with a hum.

“Are you nervous about being the first to reach out, the catching up part overall, or both?”

“Yes.”

She let out a tiny laugh, not unkindly, before telling you that advice she told you about not long ago. “This was all last night, right? I say, wait a couple more days, then reach out if you’re up to it, and then once you get that part out of the way the rest will build itself.”

“You really think so?”

“Promise, I really don’t think you should stress too much on this. And listen, if you’re really not ready to meet up with her yet, I think she’d understand. Either way, it’s your choice,” she told you before sipping her drink.

“That’s… really good advice. Thank you,” you complimented.

“You’re welcome, anytime. I did mention that I give great advice.”

“I said good, not great,” you said in a tone that hinted you were just teasing.

“Yeah, okay whatever.” Vicky playfully rolled her eyes as you smiled at your own taunting.

Maybe this was not as bad as you were making it out to be, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up.

—

Things were awful. You could never have been so wrong in your life. It was one thing after another. First with the text; you had to just hope Olivia didn’t change her number as you looked for her contact—which you had to look for by number since your removed her name and photo right after your breakup out of pure pettiness—and it took you about half an hour to think of the right words to send, and as soon as you sent them you immediately regretted it.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Next was when she actually responded. 

Y/N (4:42 pm) Hey, it’s Y/N. Catching up sounds cool, so if the offer still stands I’d love to take you up on it

(XXX) XXX-XXXX (4:56 pm) Hi, yeah offer still stands. I’m actually free tonight if that works? I know that’s short notice so I completely understand if you’re unable to

You were in the middle of revising your notes at the kitchen counter when you heard the ding from the couch. Your head immediately shot up, and as soon as it processed what that ding was—you ran to it, hopping over the back of the couch and grabbing your phone. 

You read the message over to yourself exactly seven times before impulsively reacting to her message with a thumbs up. After your response, you got another text from Olivia and the two of you made a decision of when and where to meet. 

Oh, how deeply you regretted your impulsiveness as you stared at the same outfit over and over again. That’s what came right after the communication part; what exactly you were going to wear. You felt ridiculous, you’re usually not like this—but that happens to be a reminder of all the different things Olivia brings out in you. Good and bad. It was like you were 17 again.

Eventually you decided on something comfortable, casual, it’s not like you were going someplace fancy. The air in your apartment suddenly grew to be suffocating the closer it got to the time you had to leave. You gathered your belongings; you gathered your wallet, keys, phone, headphones, and lighter, shoving a few of them into your pockets. Just before leaving you stood still for a second.

What could I be missing? There has to be something. There has to be something. Damn it, there has to be something! 

Your eyes wandered around your apartment for a good minute before you called it in. You patted yourself down while muttering the names of the items you felt in your pockets before finally leaving. You locked up behind you and let out a long sigh as you ran your hand down your face. 

When you got to the bakery, your heart was beating in your ears and you felt your ears warm up when you made eye contact with Olivia from just a few tables away. She waved at you and you waved back as you subtly gulped. On the way towards the table, you silently hoped she didn’t pick up on the urge you had to perish right then and there.

“Hey,” you said. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hug her or shake her hand, something, so you just stuck with sending a small but simple smile her way.

“Hi,” she responded. She returned your smile as she looked you up and down. “You look good—I mean, you look yeah,” she awkwardly laughed, flustered from her stammering.

You returned a short laugh, feeling a tiny bit of the tension beginning to ease but not entirely, “You look good too,” your smile grew softer as you spoke. You noticed her eyes still wandering. “Didn’t get a good look last time?” You quipped in a teasing tone.

She shook her head as she tried to fight off the bright smile that painted her face. “I see you haven’t changed much,” she said.

“Well, me and change have never mixed well.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” she made her tone less monotone to ease the weight of her words. But that didn’t make you oblivious to their meaning.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture while you folded your hands and dropped them to your lap. “So, how’s the documentary going?”

“Just fine,” she said positively. “Still in the early stages, and you know how that can be.” You nodded along to her words.  It suddenly became awkwardly quiet. 

You picked at your cuticles, pressing harder and harder for that sweet sensation you craved, your gaze everywhere but at Olivia. That tension you felt before started to settle in your chest again, and you didn’t know how to cope. You just wanted out. You regretted agreeing to this. You wish you never bumped into her. You wish you never agreed to dinner with Tara because then this wouldn't be happening. 

Of course it goes back to Tara. It always seems to.

“You still do that thing with your fingers?” She asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your lap to where your hands rested. 

“I don’t have to look to know. We dated for three years, Y/N,” she said.

“Oh.”

“And I can hear you picking at them from under the table.”

You suddenly felt small, slumping in your chair, and continuing to avoid eye contact with the woman who sat across from you. However, Olivia did not return this treatment. She sat up in her chair, placing her own hands on the table before turning them over to expose her palms. “Let me see your hands.” 

“What?”

“Show. Me. Your. Hands.”

 It didn’t seem like she was asking. There was definitely not a question mark in there. You rolled your eyes, letting out a small sigh that held aggravation. Reluctantly, you complied with her commands. She took your hands in hers and began to examine them, her fingers tracing down and softly rubbing against yours—you forgot how soft her hands were. As soon as her hands made contact with yours, you felt your joints grow weak and your cheeks felt too warm. You don’t remember the last time you held hands with her but it was certainly having an affect on you.

“Have you been using these as a chew toy?” She rhetorically asked, referring to your fingers whilst still examining them.

“Okay, they’re not that bad.”

“Yes. Yes they are,” she said with no hesitation.

She finally stopped looking at your fingers and instead at you. When you saw the worried expression that painted her face, you knew a line of questioning was approaching. “Are you okay?” She inquired in an unbearably gentle voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Which means you’re not fine.”

“Putting words into my mouth, as always,” you said in a low tone as you pulled your hands away from her.

“You really want to go there?” She let out a short exasperated laugh with her question, raising her eyebrows as she spoke.

“When I say I’m fine—I’m fine,” you said while leaning in and emphasizing your words by pressing on the table with your index finger; you leaned back against your chair when you finished speaking.

“Oh my God. You are literally so unbelievable—do you even hear yourself?” She looked at you with pure disbelief which only confused you further.

“What are you even talking about? All I said is that when I say I’m fine, I mean those words. How am I wrong here? I genuinely don’t understand,” you expressed in both frustration and genuine confusion.

“And what I am trying to say is you’re still the exact same person I was arguing with right before we broke up.”

“What?”

“You never want to talk! Listen, baby, I get you’re grieving—but you can’t just shut me out like this. It’s apparent that you need help! You don’t have to rush into it, but eventually—”

“Whether I talk or not is my choice! And I’m not seeing some stupid grief counselor, okay? Just because I don’t wanna talk to you about certain things, doesn’t mean I’m shutting you out—and I don’t need help! I’m fine. I’m just—damn it, I’m just processing. Can’t you let me do that at least?”

“You have been ‘processing’ for months! It’s time to—”

“Time to what? Move one?”

“That’s not what I was going to say!”

“But you’re thinking it. You’re thinking it just like everyone else is; my mom, my brothers, everyone at school—just leave me alone, all right!”

“Y/N, nobody is—”

“No! Everyone is thinking! Just stop, okay! I don’t need your bullshit sweet nothings, I don’t need some therapist, I don't need to talk about it—I’m fine!”

You and her could not even go five minutes without your conversation, or lack of, forming into an argument. And it was your fault. You were the problem. You couldn’t answer a simple question. Maybe you were hiding behind the fact that you didn’t know how to answer that question, or that you're trying to hide the answer from others. Either way, you always find yourself forming emotional barricades around you, no one in and no one out. 

“Hey, come back,” Olivia’s voice rang. You were pulled from your thoughts, blinking rapidly as if it would wipe away the memories you tried so hard to erase. She leaned in, her irritated expression replaced with a comforting one. “I know how mean that voice in your head can be, I know what it does to you—but I just want you to be okay.”

You met her gaze, your expression equivalent to the look of a lost puppy. “Thank you, Olivia,” you simply said. It was not much, but it still weighed in emotion. 

 The rest of the night was less intense. She asked about Blackmore and how it’s going, which inevitably opened the door to her questioning you about seeing you with Tara the other night, and you found out more about her documentary. The night was long and tiring, but as much as you hate to admit it, you’re glad you agreed to catch up with Olivia. And you would be a bold faced liar if you said you didn’t miss her. The wound is still arguably fresh, but it’s beginning to heal. 

You walked into the apartment, looking forward to changing into a pair of pajamas and binge watching some TV on the couch until you passed out. You have been studying non-stop for exams for the past four weeks, so why not give yourself a treat? Plus, this upcoming school week, you will officially be exactly one week from exams so you will be locked in. What does that mean? You do what you usually do but multiply that by a million, anyone who has known you long enough knows they’re going to hear less and less from you the closer you get to exams. It’s as if you completely shut down from the outside—actually, that’s exactly what happens.

As you walked inside, you yawned and rubbed your tired eyes. But as they begin to focus again, you notice a few blobs sitting in your living room. When your eyes are fully focused, that’s when you see them.

“Are you shitting me,” you expressed in a monotone voice while turning the locks on the door before throwing your keys to the side.

“No—no whining!” Anika immediately said. “You knew they were coming over.”

“I thought you canceled,” you said.

“Uncanceled.”

“What a miracle,” you remarked as you took off your jacket.

“How come whenever I have people over you have a problem with it as if this isn't a shared apartment?” 

“Y/N being an inconsiderate jackass? What a revolation,” Tara pitched in with a smirk. You looked over to deadpan at her and she was already staring back at you.

“Says the woman who still owes me a milkshake,” you wiggled a finger at her. You both smiled at each other before you turned back around to kick off your shoes. “You know what, Nik, it’s fine. I’m just kind of grumpy right now.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry for not giving you an update,” she said, matching your own apoplectic tone. “You wanna join us? We were gonna play some Uno then watch a movie.”

“Uh, I don’t know—”

“Yeah, probably 'cause you’re gonna get all embarrassed when I wipe the floor with your ass in Uno,” the younger Carpenter knowingly instigated.

“Oh, excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m the reigning champ in my family—don’t start something you can’t finish, princess,” you instigated back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Alright,” your gaze stayed on Tara for a moment before switching back to Anika, “I’ll join you.”

—

“Tara is totally looking at my cards!” Chad shouted while shoving his cards to his chest like an elderly woman clutching her pearls.

“I am not! You’re the one who keeps leaning on my side!” Tara whined back with just as much passion, if not more.

“Okay—no one looks at anyone's cards!” Anika cut in. “Alright, babe, it’s your turn.”

Mindy wore a devious smirk, slowly picking a card from her deck for dramatic effect. 

“Boom, suck on that!” Everyone leaned in to look at the plus four Mindy slammed down on the pile of cards. Chad instantly groaned, immediately feeling a sense of regret for wasting his last plus four. He sulked while taking four more cards.

Now it was your turn. Tara was right after you, you had the chance to make her life a living hell. All you had to do was place the three plus four from your deck and you would double Tara’s deck in size and be one more card away from Uno.

You made a decision.

“Plus four,” you gloated regarding the single plus four you placed down.

“Damn it!” Tara made sure to glare at you while she picked up her four cards. “Just wait, you’ll see. I’m going to make my comeback.” 

“Whatever you say,” you said in a doubtful tone. As Tara silently cursed to herself while flipping through her deck in frustration, you couldn’t help but stare fondly at the girl. She always had a competitiveness to her that you couldn’t help but respect. It was kind of cute.

After another seven minutes, it came down to just two people; you and Tara. You sat from across each other, debating your next play while one taunted the other.

“You know you’re going down, right?”

Tara laughed at your words. “You have at least ten cards, I just have two more turns and I’ll be following through with wiping the floor with your ass.”

“Oh, yeah?” You said, unintentionally with a come hither voice. You leaned in, your voice lowering but the tone still the same as you spoke to her. “You keep that energy, Carpenter.”

Tara's face suddenly grew warm, her stomach enveloping with butterflies as your voice crashed against her ears. You leaned back against the couch, looking at your own cards as it was Tara’s turn now. 

Shit, you were in her head now. You totally did that on purpose, you had to. And what a dick you were for that, you knew what you were doing—again, you had to be aware of your actions. You must know the stupid feeling you give her, the way her stomach flips, how her legs turn to jello when you call for her. No. Focus. Come on, Tara. Lock in. Wipe the floor.

She cleared her throat, blinking down at her cards while processing them. It took a moment for it to click before she tapped back into her competitiveness and slammed down a card. “Uno! Plus four—suck on that!” Now she had just one card remaining in her hand, just one more turn and she would be victorious.

You smiled at her, your head tilted a bit as your eyes lit at the sign of her celebrating. She calmed herself down, feigning a calm demeanor. “Alright, it's your turn.”

You sighed. Well it was fun while it lasted, you enjoyed playing with Tara. It was entertaining. It’s nice playing with someone who can handle your competitiveness. “Uno, uno out,” you said while putting down your entire deck. You sat in your spot, looking at Tara with a shit-eating smirk with your hands folded together as Tara sat there dumbfounded.

“That’s—what, no, wait,” she furrowed her eyebrows as she rummaged through the cards you just placed. They were all green sevens. All of them. “How’d you—”

“Chin up, honey,” you teased, winking at her

“Oh you’re a real piece of work.” She shot up from her seat as she rushed over to a nearby closet. Your eyes followed her movements as you raised your eyebrows at her sudden actions. 

“You two finally finished?” Mindy asked but was ignored by the other girl. “What are you doing with that—can you like stop ignoring me?” Tara returned with a box of Jenga in her hand and the others trailing behind her. 

“I’m too tired to play Jenga,” Chad said.

“Good thing you’re not.” She now looked to address you, “You, me, Jenga—now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was all you said as she immediately began setting everything up.

“What’s this about?” Anika asked you.

“Oh, I beat her ass in Uno—graciously so—and she’s being petty about it,” you shrugged.

“I am not being petty, I am unsatisfied. Seriously—how do you win with all green sevens?! Ugh, never mind that. We’re playing this and I’m going to hold out on my promise.”

“Of wiping the floor with my ass?”

“Exactly.”

“Woman of her word,” you say while getting comfortable in your spot.

Mindy, Anika, and Chad watched from the sidelines as you and Tara went at it in Jenga. There were many, many close calls, and few times where the other nearly flipped a table. You both tried to get into the other’s head while the other was sliding out their pieces, but so far no mistakes. But the tower was growing wobbly, it was getting late, and it was only a matter of time before that tower fell over. Now, it was simply a matter of who would make it come to that.

It was Tara’s turn, and there were not many places left for her to take from so she was forced to resort to an incredibly risky spot. You took this as another opportunity to mess with her. “Hey, Tar?”

“Kind of busy here,” she said—the block just halfway out. 

“Will you marry me?” You casually inquired.

Tara’s eyes widened and her eyebrows jumped in surprise. Her hand immediately faltered, dropping her piece as the tower came crashing down. Her mouth opened and closed, her stare averting back and forth from you and the fallen tower; she didn't even know where to begin. 

The others just remained on the sidelines, completely entertained by what was unfolding in front of them.

“Is that… a no?” Your eyes were almost pleading as you continued to taunt the girl, your millionth smirk that night threatened to show itself. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Tara responded as she squeezed her eyes shut, still processing what just happened.

“Not before the honeymoon,” you quipped. Chad, Mindy, and Anika could now be heard laughing, no longer able to hold it in.

“You can’t just—” She shut her mouth out of frustration, settling for narrowing her eyes at you.

“I can’t just what, sweetie? Come on, use your words.” Oh, this was fun. 

Suddenly you got a pillow to the face which only made it funnier, to you at least. “You owe me a rematch, cheater!” 

“Excuse me, I didn’t cheat. You messed up on your own devices,” you said while patting down the pillow and putting it to the side.

“You know what you did,” she said with bitterness laced in her voice. 

“I don’t, so how about you tell me? Tell me how exactly my words affected you; you know, so I can prevent myself from accidentally cheating next time.” You never broke eye contact with Tara; you enjoyed how much she was squirming thanks to you, maybe you enjoyed it a little too much.

“Next time?” 

“You wanna rematch, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do.” This whole interaction had Tara blushing; she needed to leave, like right now. “How about I get back to you in 5-7 business days? Sounds good? Cool. Well, it’s late and Chad’s my ride so we should probably head home, right Chad?” Her words were rushed which made you raise an eyebrow at the sudden change. 

“Hm? Oh sure, I’ll just get my keys and stuff and we can go,” Chad said before going to get his belongings.

“So, I’ll see you around—buddy,” she awkwardly punched your arm in a playful manner.

“Um, yeah, buddy. See you around,” you chuckled at her awkwardness.

“I’m still expecting an answer though!” You called out as she made her way to the front door.

“5-7 business days!” She repeated back to you.

“I’m holding you to that!”

-----------

A/N: well that escalated, gosh, keep it in your pants R! 😦

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She Don’t Wanna Marry Me

Part 5

You wake up groaning and with a bad back.

You crack your neck from side to side waiting for that all too familiar pop before you get up and grab a glass of water and some Tylenol. Once you finish you make your way to your bedroom.

“Raine?” You try not to be too loud as you approach. You’re met with another groan making you chuckle before you gently place the water and pills on the bedside table next to her.

“Take those and I’ll make us some breakfast yeah?” The girl just groans again making you laugh and think back to the first time you’d send her drunk.

14 years old

“I don’t know Raine what if your parents find out?” The smaller girl rolled her eyes.

“They’re out of town and we can get more from the store before they notice it’s gone.” Big brown eyes looked at you accompanied by a small pout.

“Please.”

You sigh twisting open the small bottle full of brown liquor. You take the first swig making the girl smile triumphantly. She danced in her seat before you passed her the bottle chuckling as she winced and coughed from the after burn.

“That’s disgusting.” You laugh taking another swig. “How can you not die after drinking that?”

You shrug swirling the bottle around. “I may have snuck in sips when my mom wasn’t looking. She left bottles open a lot.”

A saddened silence falls over both of you before Lorraine nudges your shoulder.

“Bet I can out drink you.” She grins at you, you grin back scoffing.

“Little ole you? Pfft I’ll

Win this easy. What are we betting on?”

“Loser has to buy dinner?” You smirk internally, already knowing you planned on getting her a slice of her favorite pizza from the corner store down the road. As you always did every Friday.

“Deal.”

Twenty minutes later Lorraine’s small body was leaning against yours barely able to hold her own weight, head on your shoulder as you try to keep her up.

“C’Mon Rainey let’s get you some pizza.”

“Pizza!” She jumps up excited and begins running almost tripping over her own feet before you catch her.

Laughing you pull her back against you to keep her upright.

After finally getting her into your house, your mom nowhere to be found as usual. You gently lay her on your bed.

“You ok Raine?” She hums eyes closed as she smiles.

“Mhmmm.” You catch yourself staring for a moment her slightly red cheeks brushed by long eyes lashes. You brush a finger across her cheek making her hum once again and lean forward. Blearily brown eyes lock onto yours.

“Y/n?” You gulp at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Yeah Raine?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Your eyes flash down to soft pink lips. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

The smaller girl hums unconvinced before she laughs.

“I think you’re lyin’.”

You stroke her cheek softly making her nuzzle herself further into your bed.

“I am.” Lorraine frowns eyes wide as she stares at you horrified. You lean in a little closer. “I don’t think you’re gorgeous I know you are, but even that isn’t good enough to describe what I really think of you.”

Blunt fingernails slightly dig into the back of your neck. “Swear you mean it?”

Dark eyes bore into yours as you nodded.

“Y/N! I KNOW YOU TOOK MORE MONEY AND MY LIQUOR YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

It’s a flurry of movement as you pick up Lorraine and hid her in the closet. Next to her a kaleidoscope.

“No matter what don’t come out.” You shut it quickly as your mom barged in the room.

Lorraine picked up the toy looking in to find a sky full of stars looking back at her. She didn’t realize she hadn’t moved for 30 minutes until you came to get her.

You came back with a busted lip and a scrape above your eyebrow but still smile at her as if she’s the only thing that matters.

“Come on, let’s get you some rest and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You brought back to reality by shuffled footsteps. Placing two plates on the table you feed Lorraine then yourself. She lets out a quiet thank you as you two eat in silence.

Lorraine stares for a moment hand reaching out to stroke the scar on your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her slowly chewing on a pancake.

“I don’t know why I-“

You chuckle. “It’s alright Raine.”

She shook her head. “No you took care of my drunk ass…again.”

You laugh. “It’s nothing new.”

She tries to hide her smile but fails.

“You know as long as we’ve known each other I’ve never seen you drunk. Why is that?”

You breathe softly through your nose amused.

“Because you can’t carry me home short stack.” She gasps in fake shock.

“Rude.” You smile cheekily at her as you go to stand making her do the same. She backs away slowly as if you’re a lion waiting to pounce.

“Don’t you dare-AHH”

She tries kicking and punching but you have her too high up.

Once you put her down back in her seat safely she giggles.

You get her back home before you start your shift. As always you try to shove away the thought of waking up to brown eyes, freckles and a pretty smile.

Back at the Days after she’d gotten settled in, Lorraine goes downstairs to find Bobby, Maxine and her parents looking at old photos.

Her mom pulls up one of her favorites. It’s you smiling wide with a trophy surrounded by teammates and Lorraine, her parents just a step behind the crowd. But that’s not what catches Bobby’s eye. It’s the brunette next to you. She looks from the girl in the photo to the girl in real life finding the look on her face to be something more. Something she’s not even sure Lorraine has admitted to herself yet.

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our little secret pt.iv

Summary: Your sins catch up with you.

Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: swearing, heavy religion and religious trauma (Southern Christianity), heavy religious homophobia, slurs, misogyny, guns, threats of violence, talk of death Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv) A/N: this has super heavy religious themes, if you're not good with that please don't read, do what's best for y'all 🫶

Lorraine was coming home.

Well, they were all coming home, but you were only truly excited to see Lorraine. It had been nearly three months since you had seen her last. There was little to no contact because they were moving around a lot, but you would get her letters. Simple little things to tell you where they were, what they were doing, how much bigger they were getting in the industry.

Each letter felt more precious than the last. She never said anything explicit - though you couldn’t say the same for the rare letter from Max or Bobby-Lynn - but the message never changed. She missed you. Filming wasn’t the same when she knew she couldn’t go to you immediately after. Sometimes, if you were lucky, she would even complain about RJ.

The letters stayed hidden in a lockbox in Beau’s truck. You had wanted to keep them with you so they were easier to get a hold of, but both he and Huck had reminded you of the dangers of such a thing. What if someone found them? It would put both you and Lorraine in danger.

It wasn’t something that should have been a surprise to you, yet it partially was. You had gotten comfortable with the small group you surrounded yourself with. All but one or two knew of your little secret, and every single one of them was in support. Or at the very least, they were accepting. When you were with them, you almost forgot you weren’t supposed to be with Lorraine; you were supposed to be in your good, Christian, church-ordained relationship with Beau.

Yet, it was easy enough to keep your secret when Lorraine was away so often. You were so very proud of her and all she was achieving. Each time you saw her, you made sure to remind her of such. A kiss for each time you had felt proud of her while she was away, just to ensure she felt proud of herself. It didn’t matter what she did, all that mattered was she was working hard and moving through life successfully.

Beau and Huck had just gotten back from their own trip as well. They were scheduled to get back a few days after Lorraine, but out of some strange sense of responsibility, they had come back early. You wouldn’t complain. After all, you may not have been romantically interested in either of them, but you still loved them. They were family. They were your family. When they were around, life felt less chaotic. You could breathe and relax and feel however you wanted to feel because you knew, no matter what, that they loved you.

Things felt… good. As good as they had in a long while. You often spent your evenings with Roy. After talking with Jackson a few times, you had some idea on how to talk with your brother. He had been hesitant at first, seemingly not even able to comprehend his own thoughts. But slowly, day by day, you managed to get him to talk.

In the dead of night when you should have been asleep in your room, you sat across from Roy in the barn and listened to his rambling stories. I was an electrician, he had said, a pole jockey. You didn’t ask what that meant. Average life of a pole jockey is 7 seconds. For the first time since coming home, he showed you his overabundance of scars.

It was no wonder he felt trapped within his own mind.

“How’s it goin’, Roy?” Beau asked as he walked into the barn with Huck right on his heels. “Brought you some barbecue.”

Roy grumbled an acknowledgement before gingerly taking the Tupperware box from Beau’s outstretched hand. He always seemed to go fairly nonverbal when someone else was around. A small part of you felt proud that he trusted you enough to talk with you. It didn’t outweigh the feeling of knowing he would probably never get better.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday?” Huck asked gently. 

He took a different approach to interacting with Roy than Beau did. While Beau very much kept his “big boy britches” on (as he had so much fun saying), Huck was more outwardly compassionate. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, or they thought Roy incapable, they were just raised differently. At least it was better than how you were both raised.

At least they showed they cared.

“Our sweet girl is preachin’,” Beau continued.

Roy looked at you and raised an eyebrow comically high. If you hadn’t just been talking about people dying and his nightmares, you would have teased him for it. Maybe you should have, just to invoke a sense of normalcy in it all. You opted to keep your mouth shut.

“It’s just kids’ church,” you said with a shrug. “Nothin’ important.”

“You are shapin’ the young minds of America’s future voters,” Beau said with a finger pointed in your direction. “That’s mighty important.”

You laughed and kicked out at him, managing to barely catch his heel. “You hear that from the television set?”

“Yes ma’am, I did,” he said with that cheesy smile that made all the women in town swoon. “You’re doin’ the Lord’s work.”

“You still don’t have to go,” you said to Roy.

He looked at you with a small smile before looking back down at the food in his hands. Yeah, you knew that would be the answer. So did Beau, but he still tried, bless his heart. You looked at him as he continued talking with Huck and felt something tighten in your chest.

You wished you loved him the way you were supposed to. If you could just feel those butterflies whenever he held your hand, or kissed your cheek, or wrapped his arms around you, everything would be better. You could still love Lorraine, and you could still love Huck, but the guilt wouldn’t be sticking to your very bones, weighing you down until you could feel the very fires of hell licking at your skin.

Maybe you could learn. Perhaps you could learn to feel for him the way you were supposed to. Lorraine felt for RJ - or could at least pretend convincingly - and no one was the wiser. If you could pretend, or learn, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. You could get away with loving Lorraine if you could convince everyone that you felt for Beau the way you were supposed to.

While he talked with Huck and Roy, you sat back and really looked at him. He was handsome, you didn’t have to fancy him romantically to see it. Just near every girl in town thought you were lucky as could be; you couldn’t entirely disagree. His laugh, his smile, his kindness, he was everything a girl could want.

And you felt nothing.

It weighed heavy on your soul as the days kept passing you by. Each day brought you closer to seeing Lorraine again, which meant you distanced yourself from Beau. You desperately hoped he understood; you loved him dearly, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But you just couldn’t love him the way you knew you should.

You sighed and put your thoughts aside when a truck pulled up to the barn. It wasn’t one you had seen before, at least not one you could remember. But it pulled up beside Beau’s truck as if they had done it a million times before. Not even Jimmy pulled up so well, and he lived there.

“You invite somebody?” You asked whoever was listening.

“You say that like we got friends,” Huck said with a chuckle and a swig from his beer bottle. He didn’t even look.

“Then somebody invited themself,” you said.

The lights of the truck were still on, seeming brighter as the sun continued to dip beneath the horizon.  It would have silhouetted the still-budding cotton field if not for the blinding lights. Not many people made it a habit of coming out to the barn; they went to the house with daddy and not much else. There really wasn’t much sense in coming out this way.

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh before you heard something scrape across the concrete floor. Hesitantly, you stopped looking at the truck and turned to look at him. His eyes were glued to the truck, and his hand was wrapped carefully around the handle of a pistol. A pistol that you hadn’t known he still had access to.

“I got it,” you said softly as you reached out to place your hand on top of his. He stiffened beneath you, but nodded once and let go of the gun.

You would need to figure out what to do about that another day.

The driver’s side door opened without a creak - something unusual in your bunch - and someone stepped out. You stood up and took a few steps toward the truck in an attempt to see who it was. With the truck’s lights still on, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t even properly see their silhouette. When the lights turned off, you were stuck blinking erratically; the beam of light wouldn’t fade quickly enough.

“You lost?” You called out. The words carried across the now-silent driveway. “Town’s the other way.”

“I’m where I wanna be.”

Every atom of your being sparked at the voice. If you had been thinking logically, you would have remembered Roy was sitting on a box behind you. There were witnesses to your actions. But you weren’t thinking logically. You could never think logically if she was around.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation before you practically sprinted toward the truck. Your arms knew where to go; they secured themselves around Lorraine’s shoulders as if that was where they belonged. In return, her arms wrapped around your waist, and her breath hit your neck, and her giggles reached your ears, and you were home.

She was your home.

“Got back a few nights early,” she said. Her arms squeezed tighter around your waist. “Thought I’d come surprise you.”

“It’s a good surprise,” you said softly.

You would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity. With her head resting between your collar and jaw and her arms holding you like a lifeline, you didn’t have a single complaint. Why would you even want to leave? She was your home. She was what made your heart beat so fast you started to question if it would even hold up to the abuse.

“Look who’s back.” Beau’s voice came from behind you like the mighty voice of God himself; calling you out for the very sin of feeling love.

Lorraine pulled away to give everyone a hug, and you watched her do so. No one cared about your… affections for Lorraine; if Roy noticed, he certainly didn’t say anything. He even reached out to squeeze her hand, which was much more than he did for most.

Did he know? When Lorraine pulled up a box right beside yours and let her thigh rest only a hair’s breadth away from yours, did he see? It hadn’t ever occurred to you that Roy might know more than he let on. He was traumatised, not blind. How much did he see that you weren’t aware of? 

Would he hate you? Had daddy gotten to him before you had even been born, teaching him that your very existence was a blight on the earth? Your stomach twisted into knots at the possibility. Jimmy was younger, he was more open minded, but Roy? The very thought of him condemning you to hell even after everything he had seen made your chest squeeze and tighten.

“You get yourself a new truck?” Huck asked as he held out a newly opened beer for Lorraine to take. “Looks mighty clean.”

“It’s daddy’s,” she said as she grabbed the bottle by the neck with her good hand.

“What happened to the truck I was fixin’ up?” You asked.

“He gave up on it,” she said with a shrug. “Said she was done for.”

“She was not done for,” you grumbled.

The toe of Lorraine’s shoe pushed gently against your heel; a teasing gesture she had adopted when other people were around. Just something small to let you know she acknowledged what you were saying. A habit you almost wished didn’t exist. The very existence of it meant you both were well aware of the ramifications of any sort of potentially scandalous words or activities. It was humiliating.

Your thoughts wouldn’t stop when everyone started talking and catching up. Lorraine was being particularly open. Nearly every time she came back from a trip, she stayed distant for a few days. The entire town knew you were all best friends, but you both tried to keep nothing but professional. It was fake. It was painful.

What about this break made her throw away that distance? Your chest warmed at the possibility that something had happened with RJ; perhaps everything wasn’t so awful. It wasn’t likely, but you let yourself relish in the feeling even if just for a moment. God could spare you a single moment of peace.

“We all gettin’ together Friday night?” Beau asked. “The usual?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lorraine said. She turned to look at you with a sparkle in her eye. “Think you can handle it?”

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh at the same time Lorraine’s thigh did the same. Something about the potential judgment from your brother and the warmth from the woman you were forced to love in secret pulled at your insides. Tugging them in different directions, stretching you thin until you wanted to fade away into oblivion.

A moment of peace.

“I’m your huckleberry,” you said with a shrug.

Lorraine’s smile eased the tension in your chest. For the moment.

—---

The worn-down barn had been rearranged since the last time you had visited. The bar took over the better half of the left wall, and the makeshift stage had been reinforced at the back. Your usual table, which was originally found near the front of the barn, was now located closer to the back end of the bar; you could see directly out to the pitch black fields.

That was where your crew found themselves that Friday night; sitting at the table with more than a few empty drinks scattered around. It wasn’t like the Mexican restaurant down the road. There weren’t waitresses and people working there to clean. It was your responsibility to take your empty glasses back so they could be cleaned and reused. And on that night, it was your turn to be the waitress.

“Hey sugar,” Beau called to you when you were grabbing the empty cups to take back. “Get us another round?”

“You’re gonna have me lookin’ like an alcoholic,” you said with a pointed look.

You ignored Lorraine’s angelic giggle.

You also didn’t say no.

“What can I get for ya, Preacher?” Stevie - Stephen on Sundays - asked. “Your boys are throwin’ ‘em back.”

“So’s Rainey,” you said with a slight shake of your head. It didn’t erase your smile. “How’s about somethin’ watered down.”

“You truly are doin’ the Lord’s work,” he said with a smirk that most girls around town fell for. “A small bit of whiskey and some sweet iced tea.”

You mouthed a silent thank you as he got to work on the drinks and you turned to look back out at the scene. It was no surprise to see Beau and Lorraine already up and dancing. They couldn’t get you to dance to save your life, but you knew how much Lorraine loved it. She could have fun and laugh and smile without a care in the world. Did it help that she only danced when she was drunk? Yes, but that didn’t really matter.

The sight of her smiling has that vice grip closing around your heart again. It was cold and made you feel like you were drowning on dry land. Something about it didn’t sit right with you. Love was supposed to be something warm, something you could crawl back home to. It wasn’t supposed to hurt so bad, was it? Surely there was more to love than the hurt that you couldn’t even tell anyone about.

God was looking down on you. You could feel it. He was looking down at you, waiting to smite you where you stood. If he could hear your thoughts, could feel the way your body reacted to just hearing Lorraine’s voice, he would command Satan himself to drag you down to hell. You would feel the fiery pits of hell before you could ever show anyone how much you loved her.

But a part of you didn’t care. You would face whatever was thrown at you just to see her smile again. To feel her fingers brush against your hand when you passed her a bible at church because she had forgotten one again. You would have stood in front of God himself and rejected the heavenly gates if it meant you could hear her voice each morning you awoke beside her.

Blasphemy.

You knew it was.

You’re condemning your God for something that will never come to fruition.

You knew that too.

“Here ya go,” Stevie said, pulling you out of your downward spiral into a controlled madness. “Should help ‘em sober up a bit.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you said with another polite smile as you grabbed the glasses he held out to you.

Lorraine and Beau were still dancing when you placed the drinks on the table and drug yourself into your seat. It was one of those tall seats that you almost had to climb into if you were a little shorter. Beau always teased you for it, but you at least got to tease Lorraine in return. She was shorter than you, after all.

“Please tell me these don’t have alcohol in ‘em,” Huck said even as he pulled the glass closer to him. “I can’t keep up with those two.”

“Little bit of whiskey,” you said, “mostly iced tea.”

He nodded once. “I can work with that.”

“Think they’ll dance all night?” You asked, turning your head to look at your boyfriend and the love of your life. That ball in your throat reappeared. You pretended not to notice it.

“They’re already stumblin’,” he said with a shake of his head. “I reckon they’ll come back in a bit.”

You nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch the pair. This very scene was a repeat of when she had gotten back a few months ago. The scenes played out in your head perfectly as you imagined the sound of Lorraine’s laughter to go with her dancing. It didn’t cover the sounds of her moans or the feel of her on top of you, but you were allowed an indecent thought every now and then.

If you were going to hell, you may as well enjoy the moment.

God, your mind was a mess. Maybe you needed to get away from town for a few days.

Lorraine’s voice reached you before she did. If you had been blinded, you would have been able to pick her voice out within a moment. Hers was the voice that guided you through your days, instilling a confidence and comfort that nothing else truly could. It rivaled God himself, and you understood how the prophets could be so comforted when listening to Him.

“You didn’t get yourself a drink,” Lorraine commented when she sat down beside you with the same grace as a newborn lamb.

“I’ll just share yours,” you said.

Her toothy smile sent a jolt to your very core.

“You’re dancin’ with me next, darlin’,” Beau said. He attempted to point at you, but just ended up making a mess and spilling half his drink.

“Ask me again when you’re sober, cowboy,” you teased.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday, Rainey?” Huck asked.

“Don’t talk about church,” Beau whined. “We’re tryin’ to have some fun.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” she answered anyway. “So will the rest of the crew.”

That was new information.

“They’re here?” You asked.

“They said they missed y’all,” she said with a smile that was far more sober, almost even bashful.

“You sure they won’t burst into flames when they step foot inside?” Beau asked. You did your best not to laugh when Huck slapped his arm. Lorraine laughed aloud anyway.

You all talked about everything. You talked about nothing. You talked about plans that meant nothing and everything all at the same time. A vacation, perhaps out west, to see the ocean. Perhaps another one to Tennessee, where Huck knew a family that made moonshine in their shed. Or up to those big ole cities like New York, where rumour had it you could get yourself some crab that you didn’t catch out on the Gulf.

Lorraine’s thigh was flush against yours. It was just warm enough outside to warrant shorts, and even though you were wearing your sundress, you could feel her bare skin against yours. The very thought was indecent to its core. There were so many people around that had no idea of the indiscrete touch, yet it was enough to shake you to your very soul.

“I wanna watch you dance,” Lorraine whispered in your ear. It’s possible it wasn’t a whisper at all, but with the band and talking all around, no one else would have heard.

“I didn’t think you liked watchin’,” you said with a straight face that completely contradicted your teasing thoughts.

“I like watching’ if it’s you,” she said with a mirrored expression.

Damn her and those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

“Come on, lover boy,” you called out to Beau even as Lorraine brushed her knuckles against your thigh underneath the table. “You get one dance.”

“I’ll take it,” he said quickly.

He downed what little was left in his glass before hopping down from the stool. Your feet had barely touched the dirt floor when Beau grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. He was far past tipsy, though you wouldn’t quite say he was drunk. He was, however, well on his way.

“Just a nice lil two-step,” he warned you.

“Don’t drop me,” you warned.

He smiled the dopey, crooked smile that Huck loved so much. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t dare.”

As much as you hated dancing, it wasn’t half bad with Beau. He was one of the best in town, there was no denying the fact. There was something about his two-step that made it different, a little more special. He could have led the blind with how confident he was. Each step, each twist, each dip, you just simply had to follow. Not once would he ever leave you to falter.

You gave him more than one dance; after all, how could you stop when you had seen the look on Lorraine’s face as she watched? What would it feel like to dance with her, you wondered. Would she prefer to lead, or follow? How would her hand feel resting on your hip for something as simple as a dance? Would it send the same jolt of passion through you as everything else she did?

Once the music started to die down, you could feel the blisters starting to form on your heels. You couldn’t recall the last time you had danced in boots, and your feet were reminding you of such a thing. With a small grimace, you realised you would have to take care of them once you got home. The last thing you wanted were untreated blisters.

“I’m done,” you told Beau. You weren’t looking at his face; you were too focused on your feet. “I think I’m gonna regret this come mornin’.”

His grip on your waist tightened. “How’s about one more?”

“I ain’t losin’ my feet for a dance,” you said with a light laugh. You went to turn towards the table, but he pulled you back.

“Just one more,” he insisted. “Then I’ll let you escape.”

You tried to pull away again. “I reckon I really just need to sit dow-”

-Beau’s lips were pressed against yours before you had time to acknowledge the fact. He was pulling you tight, and your hands pushed lightly against his chest. His lips were chapped; they were nowhere near as soft as Lorraine’s. That was the only thing you could think about as the kiss seemed to drag on.

Until it clicked that you were kissing Beau.

No, he was kissing you.

You finally managed to push him just far enough away for you to look at him. He was looking down at you with startlingly sober eyes. That wasn’t like him at all. In all your years of knowing him, he had never sobered up so quickly in his life. He wasn’t a lightweight, but once he was gone? He was gone.

“What the hell was that for?” You asked softly enough for no one around you to hear.

He didn’t answer.

“Beau,” you insisted.

His eyes flickered above your head before meeting yours once again. What was he looking at? You shouldn’t look. The internal voice that so often resembled your guilt sounded more desperate. Desperate like the look on Beau’s face. It was right, you shouldn’t look.

You turned around anyway.

You didn’t immediately see anything out of sorts. Stevie was starting to pack up at the bar, indicative of either shift change or the barn being out of alcohol for the night. At the table, Huck was facing the bar and throwing back a shot that you didn’t recall him getting. Hadn’t he said he was done drinking? He wasn’t really one to go back once he was done.

Until you locked eyes with Lorraine. Who was standing right outside the barn in front of a kneeling RJ. Who’s left hand was clasped between both of his. Who looked painfully sober while he slid a ring onto her finger. Who looked at you with the same look you got from Jimmy and Huck and Roy when she was with RJ.

You weren’t supposed to look.

Each beat of your heart hurt.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you said around the lump in your throat.

Beau’s arms held you tighter to his chest. “I’ll take you home.” His heartbeats hurt too.

“No thank you,” you said before finally turning back around to face him. You tried not to think too much about the look on his face. “Stay here with Huck and celebrate.”

“Baby-”

“-It’s alright,” you interrupted with a smile that convinced no one. “Stevie’s goin’ my way anyway.”

Every inch of your body was both numb and engulfed in pain all at once. You stood on your toes - ignoring the sting of raw blisters on your heel - and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. He had a bit of stubble; it was scratchy against your lips and made a nice momentary distraction. It wasn’t enough.

He only tried to hold you close for just a moment more. It was nothing more than a half-hearted attempt, and the instant you pulled away, he let you. With each step, you focused on your heels. On walking carefully so the rough leather of your boots wouldn’t tear them to shreds. A practiced walk that any true Southerner had mastered by the time they were old enough to dress themselves.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up when you approached the table. It was itchy and you wanted to scratch it until you ceased to exist. But you didn’t, you kept your hands clasped politely in front of you until you grabbed your hat off the table.

“I’m headin’ on home,” you said to whoever was sitting at the table.

You knew who was at the table.

“You okay-”

“-Just feelin’ a bit sick ‘s all,” you interrupted Huck with a dismissive wave and a fake smile. No one was convinced. “Guess I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Need us to drive you home?” RJ asked. His voice alone set your nerves alight and a new pain radiating across your skin.

“I’ve got a ride,” you said. The next word forced its way out of your mouth. “Congratulations.”

She was looking at you, and you knew it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. After all, why would you want to see the confirmation on her face?  Did she not know what that would do to you? Your heart was barely getting by as it was, you didn’t need to add her pity to the mix.

You patted Huck on the shoulder before turning away, placing your hat back on your head in the process. It still smelled like Lorraine from when she had worn it earlier in the night. The act had made your fingers tingle with hidden excitement. No one had guessed the hidden meaning behind it; it was lovely.

Now it didn’t matter.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Stevie asked. Oh. You were at the bar. “You’re lookin’ a little green.”

“Just feelin’ a bit tired,” you said. “You headin’ my way?”

He tipped his hat. “Sure am.” A shit-eating grin took over his face. “Want a shot and smoke for the road?”

You should’ve said no. Stevie was someone you trusted greatly, and it was clear he wasn’t planning on taking the shot with you. Well, it wasn’t clear, but he only set one shot glass on the bar, so you assumed as much. But it wasn’t about his potential drinking and driving, it was the way it would look. It wasn’t proper for you to be leaving the bar with a man who wasn’t your boyfriend.

Your hands shook. Then again, it wasn’t quite proper for RJ to show up on your night out and propose to the woman you loved, either.

“I’d love one,” you told Stevie with a smile.

“Atta girl,” he said as he poured the whiskey into the glass. Bottom shelf; more than suitable for the job. “The smokes are in the truck.”

The hair on your arms stood up again. You tried not to think about it as you threw the shot back. The sting of alcohol hit your stomach like a semi hitting a brick wall. Nothing was appealing about it, and yet you weren’t disappointed. The sting was better than the pressure getting heavier and heavier on your chest.

“Alright, you ready?” Stevie asked when you slid the glass back toward him.

“Yessir,” you said with a smile that you hoped was more convincing than the last few.

It seemed it was.

The whole group was staring at you, you could feel it. Looking at you in pity, like a stray dog no one wanted. Everyone would feed it, would love it, would treat it well until the moment it came time to go inside. Then it would be left on the streets to fend for itself. With any luck, it would survive until the next encounter, but no one would take the risk of bringing it inside.

“Here you go,” Stevie mumbled as he held the cigarette pack out to you. It was so worn you couldn’t even tell the brand. You didn’t care. 

He held the lighter up, and you leaned forward to get the spark. When you inhaled, the scalding ash burned every inch of your throat. It coated your lungs and took the pressure off your chest, if only to relocate it. The truck started driving off before you could exhale that first cloud of smoke. That was okay. You quickly inhaled again.

The burn showed you what hell felt like.

—---

The sun had risen long ago, and you were still in bed. The dusty yellow curtains were drawn, allowing only the thinnest sliver of light to penetrate your room. Whenever you dared to face the world for a few seconds, you could see the dust motes floating in the air, almost like spring snowflakes.

Momma had talked to Mrs. Day on the phone that morning. You hadn’t been present, but you could hear her through the walls. Her excitement at the news made you sick. You simply held your head out of your window and let yourself be sick before crawling back into bed. The blankets did nothing to block out the world, but you could at least pretend to hide away for a few hours.

You tried not to let yourself think about Lorraine; no easy feat considering she held your heart and soul in the palm of her hand. No, if you thought about it for too long, you felt you might turn into Roy. Stuck in your own head, unable to go about the intricacies of life without the trauma constantly looming over your head. You were more than content to lay in your bed and just rot away.

Hell could go ahead and take you. Surely it was no worse than what you were already experiencing.

“Come on, lazy bones,” momma said as she finally made the bold move to open your bedroom door. “Gramma’s here to help with the garden.”

She didn’t wait for you, but you knew the expectation. When momma asked you to do something, you usually had about 15 minutes before she started to pitch a fit. If you wanted to avoid a guilt trip, you would at least be up and in the process of heading outside by the time she started to get irritable.

You made sure to take up every minute you had. The slightly windy weather was perfect for a pair of jeans, so you made sure to take your time picking them out. The worn pair of garden boots sat in the corner; your heels stung just looking at them. It wouldn’t hurt to work barefoot for the day. After all, God brought you into the world without boots, you could experience another day without boots.

Momma and Gramma were already kneeling in the garden by the time you finally managed to make your appearance. Your hat hung low on your brow to block out the high afternoon sun. It was already hot on your arms, but you could work with it. A bit of sun wouldn’t kill you.

No one said a word as you grabbed the trowel and kneeled next to a still forming row of… well, you weren't sure what it would be this year. Last year it had been carrots, but they hadn’t lasted long. Perhaps this year you would make a bold suggestion of black eyed peas again. You knew you could get it right if you had another chance.

“What’s got you so down today, honey?” Gramma asked after what felt like far too long in the sun.

It had only been about five minutes.

“Does it have to do with Rainey gettin’ engaged?” Momma asked. The question made you sick to your stomach again.

“Yeah, kinda,” you said with a shrug even as you refused to look up at either of them.

“Oh honey,” Gramma said softly, “don’t be upset.” You couldn’t help it. “Beau will propose before you know it.”

Oh. Right.

You didn’t want Beau to propose. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than putting Huck through what you were feeling at that moment. Knowing that his heart would break every time he looked at you, no matter how happy he would be for you. He would have to sit on the sidelines, pretending to be joyous about watching his lover marry someone else.

Would he question God the way you did? Because you couldn’t comprehend why you were getting punished for the very fate of falling for someone you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like you had planned on falling in love with Lorraine; did He really think you would do this on purpose? After seeing how painful life could be, why would you willingly choose such a life? To not feel a single thing for the man you were “supposed” to be with.

Surely it couldn’t have only been you. Surely you weren’t the only one who didn’t feel a certain way for Beau. Momma felt things for daddy, didn’t she? She had to, there was no other explanation. People didn’t just marry someone they didn’t love, did they?

Did they?

“What does love feel like?” You asked aloud to neither one of them in particular.

“What do you mean?” Momma asked.

You set the trowel down and leaned back on your heels. It stung. “When you look at Daddy, do you ever get, I don’t know, butterflies or somethin’?”

You finally looked up and saw both Momma and Gramma look away in thought. You needed them to confirm it. Needed them to tell you that yes, they felt something for Daddy and Pappy. They felt butterflies, and their palms got sweaty, and they wanted to do everything for them because they loved them. They needed to say it.

“Don’t think I ever have,” Momma finally said.

“Never?” You asked indignantly.

“Not that I recall,” she confirmed.

“How about you, Gramma?” You asked.

She needed to answer differently.

“Not for your Pappy,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I’ve felt somethin’ for someone else before.”

“Mom,” Momma scolded.

“Oh please,” Gramma said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “we’re all grown now.” She turned to look at you. “A man I grew up with.” You kept your eyes locked with hers. “Every time we were together, I’d get this giddy feelin’ in my chest.”

“Did you love him?” You asked.

“I believe I did,” she said with a nod. “He was certainly the one I wanted to spend my forever with.”

The pressure in your chest returned. “Why didn’t you?”

“He wasn’t the one I needed to love,” she said with a shrug before going back to digging up a few weeds.

“How d’you know?” You asked. The sweat made it harder to hold the trowel in your hand.

“God told me,” Gramma said as if it was the most logical answer in the world. “I was s’posed to love him, but I needed to love your Pappy.”

The pressure in your chest turned sharp.

“And you?” You asked Momma. “God told you to love Daddy?”

She nodded instantly. “He certainly did, and I thank Him every day for it.”

“But you don’t feel nothin’ special for him?” You asked. You wanted her to deny it.

“I feel what I’m s’posed to feel,” she confirmed.

You looked back down at the dirt. The tiny little splinters of the trowel handle dug into your fingers as you gripped it tighter. If you looked close enough, you could see a worm or two digging through the rich soil. Would it be easier to be that worm? To not have to worry about who to love, or if God would punish you for desiring someone else?

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Momma said, and you felt her hand rest on your shoulder. “Beau seems to be both the one you’re s’posed to love, and the one you need to love.” You felt sick. “You’re mighty lucky for it to turn out that way.”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile before digging into the soil again.

Even though Momma and Gramma got back to work, you dug mindlessly with your bare hands, the trowel all but forgotten. Perhaps you had given your Momma too much credit. After all of this, she had ended up with someone that she didn’t love. Gramma had missed out on someone she loved because it wasn’t proper. Three generations of women who were stuck.

Was it a punishment? Surely God wouldn’t punish three generations of women for having feelings for someone. Someone that wasn’t ordained as the “right one” for them. No one could be quite that cruel, could they? What happened to love being something pure, a true gift that was to be held dearly?

Maybe your Momma had fallen victim to the same sin as you. Destined to love someone you weren’t meant to be with. The thought made you sick to your stomach. You were your mother’s daughter. And you were all suffering for the sin of love.

—--

Somehow, some way, you had managed to avoid any sort of small talk with people before church had started. You had stood at the doors to tell everyone good morning, giving Beau and Huck quick hugs before ushering them in. Daddy was already in the chapel talking with everyone, and you were more than happy to practically push the Days in without sparing them a second glance.

You ignored the coiling in your stomach when Lorraine gave you that pity-filled smile.

“You clean up nice.”

For the first time in two days, you allowed yourself to smile for a moment. Maxine was the first to give you a hug, then Bobby-Lynne, followed up by Jackson and Wayne. Truth be told, you had missed them too. There was something comforting about knowing that they accepted you, all of you, and wouldn’t shame you for a single thing.

Except for being a preacher. They still teased you for that one.

“And Beau was convinced you’d catch fire when you stepped in,” you said with a small smile.

“Not yet,” Bobby-Lynne said in her most confident tone. It was a good look for her.

“Everyone’s already inside,” you said with a gesture of your head, “go sit where you’d like.”

“We’ll behave,” Wayne said as he tipped his hat at you.

“Please do,” you called out to their backs.

Only a few more people were left before church started and you could finally close the doors. The kid’s church was in the small connected building on the side of the church. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the whole town had pitched in one year to build it. Something about having their own building made the kids more excited to go to church than anything else. And quite frankly, no one cared what the children enjoyed about it as long as they were excited to go.

“Alright y’all, let’s get started,” you said as you closed the doors behind you.

Daddy had made it clear you would never be the head preacher at church; that right was reserved for when Jimmy got back from seminary. You had tried not to act hurt when he had broken the news to you. The original plan had been for you to go to seminary because Jimmy wanted to go to an actual college. But it seemed none of you would get what you want, and you were all having to live with the cards you were being dealt.

Leading kids’ church was something you enjoyed, so you wouldn’t complain too much. After all, kids were far more open to learning than adults were. They wanted to hear whatever they wanted to hear and nothing else. You couldn’t count the number of times you had preached to the adults and they had come up to you afterwards to debate the meaning of a scripture. The joke was on them, though; you had taken enough seminary to know some of the original translations, not just the watered down version they preferred.

It was a wonderful lesson for the day; love thy neighbour. Something most people seemed to have trouble with at one point or another. Hell, even you had issues with it. There was more than once you had wished trouble up on a neighbour. Particularly when they attempted to belittle you when you were trying to live your day-to-day life. You wouldn’t take it back, but you accepted it had been a fault of yours.

“Alright y’all,” you said when the clock on the wall hit 12:30pm. “Let’s pray for our neighbours before we go.”

“Except those faggots, right?”

“Excuse me?” You said as quickly as the words had reached your ears.

Mr. Dylan’s son - Scott - tilted his head in confusion. You had known it was him; he was usually the one who spoke out the most. And his views were… well, they were perfect copies of his daddy’s views, and that wasn’t something you accepted. Especially not when they came out sounding the way it just had.

“I ain’t prayin’ for those faggots up north,” he repeated.

“Don’t say that word,” you said. “Why would you even say that?”

He sighed and looked at you like you were stupid. “Daddy says those fa-” he paused at the look you gave him, “-homosexuals are dyin’ cause they’re sinners.”

That coil in your stomach from earlier had turned into hot lead. A part of your mind told you to keep your mouth shut; you were in the middle of a church in the middle of a very Baptist town. It was dangerous to say anything that could be considered problematic or un-Christian.

But those people were dying and no one cared. They were suffering for loving someone society told them they shouldn’t. No one was trying to help them, they were just being condemned for something they couldn’t help. All the guilt of the world was being thrown onto them for nothing more than the sake of putting the attention on someone else.

Like you, they were being punished for the sin of loving the wrong person.

You could feel a heat growing in your chest. “They’re God’s children too, and they deserve prayers and love just the same as you and me.”

“That ain’t what my daddy says,” Scott defended.

You couldn’t recall another time you had been itching to beat a child.

“Your daddy is divorced,” you said, “and that’s just as much a sin as anything else. We still pray for him, don’t we?”

Scott thought for a moment. “Yes ma’am.”

“Then we pray for everyone, understand?” You said.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

“Good,” you exhaled. The heat in your chest wouldn’t go away. “Now bow your heads and let’s pray.”

The prayer was half-assed at best. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Scott had said. The absolute nerve of Mr. Dylan to tell his son such a thing. You could only be so upset with Scott. He was a kid, and kid’s would mimic whatever their parents said. It was natural, and you wouldn’t fault him for it.

But you could certainly fault Mr. Dylan.

The kids all ran out of the church to go meet up with their parents in the parking lot. The sun was starting to shine down on everyone, and you could feel the asphalt burning through the soles of your shoes. They were a horrible pair, but they were the only ones you had that didn’t rub the blisters on the back of your heels. A small price to pay for the sake of not having nasty scars on your feet.

Across the parking lot, you could see the whole crew leaning against their cars. They were all talking and laughing, most likely catching up. You desperately wanted to go over and talk with them. You wanted to be part of their family again, to feel the comfort in acceptance.

But RJ’s arm stayed wrapped around Lorraine’s waist, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to go through that just yet.

You turned your body to go back into the church; you hadn’t grabbed any of your stuff, and Daddy usually wanted help cleaning up before heading out to lunch. If you could help him then maybe God would forgive you for the day. Surely he wouldn’t hate you if you were in His house-

-a loud smack hovered below the ringing in your ears before you felt the sharp sting.

Your eyes teared up almost instantly, before you could even bring your hands up to press against the tender flesh of your right cheek. That heat in your chest from earlier had frozen, leaving you motionless even as the threat loomed above you. Even though you couldn’t make out the words, you could vaguely hear the low rumble of a voice over the ongoing ringing.

When you finally managed to blink away a few tears, you looked up. First you saw someone’s back; they were so close you could smell them. Beau. In front of him was Mr. Dylan, standing tall and furious. He looked like one of the avenging angels. Was he coming to kill you? To end your miserable life and escort you down to hell himself?

“We may not be in the church, but this is still holy ground,” Beau said. He sounded angry. He was never angry.

“Then you best take her out back and beat some sense into her,” Mr. Dylan said just as angrily. Perhaps more. “If she defends those faggots again, I’ll beat her myself.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself,” Beau said. At least you thought he did. The ringing still hadn’t gone away. “And you’ll take yourself on home. Now.”

You finally locked eyes with Mr. Dylan, and you wished you hadn’t. He was furious. You couldn’t recall a time you had seen such raw hate in someone’s eyes. What could have caused him to have such a visceral reaction to someone’s differing opinions on life? Was that not one of the better parts of life? Being able to disagree and live in harmony?

“I’m watchin’ you,” he said as he pointed a finger in your direction. But just as Beau had commanded, he turned around and left.

“Are you okay?” Beau asked almost immediately.

“I’m fine,” you said slowly, ignoring the slight copper taste in your mouth. “I just wanna go home.”

“I’ll tell your daddy,” he said. “Go get in my truck.”

You didn’t really listen to what he was saying; the ringing had mostly gone away, but things still sounded a little dull. But you knew you could make it to his truck. Your steps were uncertain at first, and you felt like you were drunk. With the way the world tilted ever so slightly beneath you, you were sure you looked drunk too.

You passed the crew without a glance. If they were looking at you, you didn’t notice. The only thing you could focus on was stepping up into Beau’s truck and the warm metallic blood on your lips. Had it come from Mr. Dylan’s ring? Or had you bitten your lip when your head snapped back? You weren’t sure; you didn’t think it mattered.

The window felt cool on your cheek. It was a welcome feeling, easing the stinging sensation ever so slightly. What you wouldn’t give to have a cold steak on it. Maybe a cold washcloth if you could swing it. But as your eyes started to close and the noises stayed at a low thrum, you figured the window was more than good enough.

You were asleep before Beau came back to the truck.

—---

The barn was empty on Tuesday afternoons. Those were the days you used to find yourself hanging in the rafters with Lorraine. Sneaking away before you had found better ways to be together. Your fingers ran over the rough wooden beams that you had sat on time and time again. Even though it ached, you smiled at the memory. You were thankful you didn’t have to pick splinters out of your ass anymore.

“Beau said you were here.”

You could hear the creaky wooden ladder before you saw Lorraine pulling herself up onto the rafter. It had been just long enough for instinct to kick in, and you looked at her left hand. That ever-present pressure in your chest eased a little when you noticed she wasn’t wearing the ring.

You should have been ashamed of being relieved.

You weren’t.

“How’s your cheek?” She asked. Her hand lifted and hovered over your cheek before she thought better of it and let it fall back to her side.

“Fine,” you said with a shrug. You both knew it was a lie. The bruise had turned an ugly dark that circled your eye and highlighted the split of your lip.

“I don’t love him,” she said without hesitation.

“I know,” you said with a nod as you sat down on the barely-standing hay bale.

Lorraine sat down beside you and let her head rest on your shoulder. You desperately wished she wouldn’t. Her touch still sent a fire down your spine. The feel of your heart beating in sync with yours was enough to drive you to near-insanity. You craved her touch far too much for her to be so gentle with you.

“Can we please talk when I get back?” She said softly. “We have to.”

You didn’t want to talk. Honestly, that was probably the very last thing you wanted. No part of you wanted to hear about her having to marry RJ and pretend to be happy about it. Yeah, you knew it was going to happen. Some part of you had always known it would happen eventually. You were hopeful, but you weren’t stupid.

What you really wanted was for her to hold your hand. To pull you in for a kiss without fear of getting lynched. You had just gotten beat outside of a church, but you wanted to be able to feel love without fear of reprise. And you couldn’t even have something as simple as that, because you wouldn’t dare put her in such a position.

Lorraine lifted her head when you still hadn’t said anything. Her eyes held that pity that you hated. They always seemed to hold that pity when she looked at you. You dared to lift your hand to cup her cheek. The scars were healing up nicely, and you could barely tell the difference when your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek.

You shouldn’t have done it. The crew was in the driveway, waiting for her to come down so they could get going. You didn’t care. You leaned forward and kissed her lightly, ignoring the sharp pain in your cheek. Her lips were warm and soft; they always were. She tasted of home.

As you sat there, kissing the woman you loved with the desperation of a man on his deathbed, you believed you would be happy if those were your last moments. If God had come down in that moment to take you, you would have been content. The last thing you would have experienced was a moment of love and the taste of Lorraine on your lips.

“I love you,” you mumbled against her lips.

You hoped she understood the many other things you were trying to convey with those three words. I love you. You’re my home. I have betrayed my God and my family for you, and I would do it again. The world hates me and wants me dead, but I would give up everything for you. Only you.

“I love you too,” she said just as softly before leaning forward into another kiss. Something softer. Somehow holding more desperation than the last.

It was all over far too soon. It was bound to be over too soon. Lorraine had a life outside the four walls of the barn, and you were being called back to the church. When she pulled away, you chased her lips for a moment more. One more kiss, one more touch, one more instance of the comfort and turmoil and peace that she instilled within your soul.

“I promise I’ll be back,” she said. “Please be here when I get back.”

You nodded. “I’ll always be waiting for you.”

Her answer was one more kiss, filled with everything she didn’t have time to say. It could have lasted for the rest of your life and it still would have been too short. When she pulled away, everything felt cold. But you were brave. You watched Lorraine head back to the ladder and pause. The tears in her eyes matched your own. As much as you hated to see her cry, it left a feeling in your chest that she hated leaving just as much as you did.

“I love you,” she said. Perhaps a bit too loud. You didn’t care.

“I love you,” you repeated.

She bit her lip and continued her way down the ladder. You let the tears fall freely as you listened to her boots on the gravel making their way to the van. It started up quickly and they were gone almost as soon as the van door closed. The barn didn’t feel so familiar when she was gone. No, it felt empty, foreign.

Sinful.

You waited until the moon was high in the sky before coming down from the rafters. It wasn’t wise to be out so late, but you had nowhere else to go. Beau and Huck had left the night before to help with an emergency, and home held no comfort. All you would have done was rot away in your bedroom, and even that didn’t sound desirable.

Instead, you found yourself walking to the church. It would take a solid thirty minutes, but that was alright. After all, what else would you be doing? You were certainly in no mood to sleep. You wanted to stay awake so you could remember the feel of Lorraine’s lips on yours for as long as possible.

She was right, you would need to talk. Even if it was a talk to cut everything off completely, you both needed to be on the same page. Neither one of you had to be happy about it, but the inevitable was coming to fruition. At some point, one of you was bound to get married. And not to each other.

Perhaps you could all still live near each other. It wouldn’t be the same, and you would still have to hide away, but it would be better than nothing. All you wanted was to stay close to Lorraine by any means necessary. If that meant you could only stay close to her as a friend, you would do it. It would drive stakes into your heart day after day, but it was better than losing her forever.

Your feet were aching by the time you reached the church. Like the true Southern child you were, you had gone barefoot for the night. Your body was used to it, but that didn’t mean the long walk on dirt and gravel wouldn’t leave its mark. Not a single part of you cared about the dust as you opened the church doors and walked into the chapel.

The candles up front were the first things you lit. They weren’t numerous, but they were enough to light the small part of the pulpit that you kneeled in front of you. The carpet was rough against your knees; you must suffer to worship God, your Daddy had said at one point. Nothing about your beliefs were easy, and that was the point.

You rested your hands on your thighs as you looked up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit. It was a simple wooden cross, stained white. If you looked at it hard enough, you could see every one of your sins staining the cross. A horrific red against the startling white.

You wanted answers. You wanted to know why you were being punished. Had you not been good? Had you not been dutiful in your passion for Him? You had done everything you had been told. You had preached, you had read His word, you had followed His rules to the letter. Most people struggled to follow the most basic of rules, and they certainly weren’t being punished.

Tears welled up in your eyes not from sadness, but from anger. He had created you. He had known everything about you and had created you anyway. And now you were being punished for that very same existence? No, you had been good, you had behaved. You were a good girl. What would it take to prove that you were good?

The church doors clicked.

You hastily wiped the tears from your eyes and stood up. No one was supposed to be at the church, it was late. Whether it was a person or an animal, no one was supposed to be around. Should you defend yourself? Daddy usually had a gun at the church, but he had started taking it home lately to prevent accidents.

“Needed some extra prayers?” Mr. Dylan asked. His voice gave him away before you even turned around.

He was in his usual work clothes, but his pistol rested loosely in his hand. Part of you hoped he had brought it for protection from the coyotes and wild boars that liked to roam during the nights. You weren’t entirely stupid enough to believe your own hope.

“How’s ‘bout I pray with you,” he said as he walked closer.

You didn’t want him to. You wanted him to go on home, and you would go on home as well. Neither one of you needed to be in the church so late at night, you both needed to be home. Your families were waiting for you, weren’t they? It wasn’t proper for you to be in the church alone with a divorced man.

“Mr. Dylan-”

“-go on,” he insisted as he used the pistol to gesture to where you had been only moments before. “Kneel and pray.”

You did as instructed. “What would you like me to pray about?”

“Ask God for forgiveness,” he said. You couldn’t see him from where you were kneeling. “For the both of us.”

The carpet still stung on your knees.

“Forgiveness for what?” You asked. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you weren’t sure if you would even hear him.

“See if He’ll forgive you for that hellish demon you’ve been afflicted by,” he said.

You kept your mouth shut. You couldn’t recall what he meant. Yes, you had defended homosexuals on Sunday, but surely that wasn’t worth threatening you over, was it? He was a bit rash in his decisions, but he wasn’t ignorant. He wouldn’t risk jail just for this.

“And for you?” You asked.

“See if He’ll forgive me for doin’ His work.”

You heard a familiar sound from the pistol. Your hands shook. Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to face him. He wasn’t the bravest man, there was no way he would kill you if you were looking him in the eye. And yet, your heart told you to close your eyes and pray.

“Somethin’ ‘bout you never sat right with me,” he continued. “Never figured you for one ‘a them queers.”

You had heard of this happening. Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised. But you were. You were scared. There was no beating around the bush, you were flat-out scared. He was holding a gun to your head. Wasn’t that something Daddy had always talked about in church? If someone held a gun to your head and said he’d shoot you if you were Christian, would you admit it? You had thought it was just some silly question he used to get people to think about his lesson.

You had never imagined he would be right.

“I shoulda done somethin’ ‘bout you years ago.” He just couldn’t quit talking. He’s nervous. “I ain’t gonna let you ruin these kids.”

He cocked the gun again; he must have uncocked it at some point. He just needed to get it over with already, what was he even waiting for?

The shaking in your hands stilled. Perhaps it would be for the best. The suffering would end. What would it be like not to hurt? Surely Lorraine would be alright, she had RJ and the crew. Beau and Huck would keep her safe. They always did. You wouldn’t have to feel that pressure in your chest and you could still watch over her anyway, couldn’t you? Probably better than you were now.

Something cold pressed against the back of your head.

“Say one last prayer.”

You risked tilting your head up to look at the cross one more time. Maybe it was time you died for your sins. After all, you hadn’t lived with the guilt for years without thinking this would happen eventually. How long had you truly thought you could get away with such a secret? No, this was bound to happen.

Lorraine had been smart enough to get out of town. She had gotten herself a beau that would be suitable for the purpose and had left. No one had any time to question her, and as much as you hated it, she had been right. Maybe she could be safe after all of this. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be so afraid.

She would forgive you. Lorraine had never been one to hold a grudge against you. Against others, sure, but not you. You were glad you had told her you loved her earlier. It eased the guilt. She knew you loved her; she knew you would have died for her. You were just upholding your end of the bargain.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the guilt start to fade away. You had spent so long afraid of what God would do to you for your sins. Seemed He didn’t really care all that much; it was man who cared. No one was going to come save you. You let your mind wander to Lorraine as the barrel pressed harder against the back of your head.

I don’t want God’s forgiveness. I want Lorraine’s.

The metallic sound made you flinch, but you didn’t hear the shot. Your body froze completely. Had you missed it? Were you already dead? It didn’t even hurt, maybe it was quick. That was the best anyone could hope for, right? For it to be quick and painless.

You cracked your eyes open and looked around. It was still your church. The cross still loomed over you like some holy judge and executioner. Were you in purgatory? Well now, that would just be worse than hell, you believed. An entire afterlife full of nothing? You would rather burn in the fiery pits.

“I suggest you step away from my sister.”

“Roy?” You asked immediately even though you knew you should have kept quiet.

You turned around quickly, ignoring the carpet burns on your knees. It was him. Roy was standing near the back of the chapel, rifle held in steady hands. You didn’t know he still had one. It was aimed directly at Mr. Dylan who, for the first time, looked surprised.

“You’d best put that gun down, boy,” Mr. Dylan said. “This don’t involve you.”

“It does if you threaten my sister,” he said again. He wasn’t looking at you but gestured his head. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Stay where you are,” Mr. Dylan said. He froze when Roy readjusted the rifle.

You kept your eyes on Mr. Dylan as you slowly pushed yourself up to your feet. His grip on the pistol tightened, but he otherwise stayed still. Each step you took was slow, calculated. It felt like you were walking before God to the gates for judgment. Your every move was scrutinised and all it would take was one wrong step.

But he never did anything. He just watched you until you were standing firmly behind Roy. The shakiness that accompanied his every move was gone, replaced with something you didn’t recognise. It was reminiscent of the old Roy, the one who had never gone to war. The only difference was the dull look in his eyes.

“Go get in the truck,” Roy said softly.

“What?” You looked at him. “I ain’t leavin’-”

“-Now.”

There was a harsh tone to his words. Authoritative. He sounded just like Daddy when he was preaching. It left no room for argument; his word was law. There was too much comfort in the way he held the rifle. If you left him, would he kill Mr. Dylan? Would he kill a man in the middle of the church?

He had nearly done the same to you.

Perhaps that was a good point.

“Okay,” you said aloud since he wasn’t looking at you.

You backed away slowly, keeping your eyes glued to the both of them. The last thing you wanted was to turn around and have something happen. It would have been shameful to go out that way. But no one else moved; they just stared at each other until you were out of the church and could run to Roy’s truck.

The silence was almost painful. You could hear the crickets outside creating a symphony with the locusts. If you strained your ears, you could hear a few frogs. But you weren’t listening to the wildlife; you were listening for the gunshot you were afraid was imminent.

Each second ticked by so slowly you felt you had aged another few years. What was taking him so long? He needed to leave Mr. Dylan alone so you could both go home. You could all get some sleep and pretend none of this had ever happened. You wouldn’t tell anyone if he didn’t, you just wanted it all to be over so you could see Lorraine again.

It felt like your heart had nestled in your throat by the time Roy walked outside. He wasn’t even looking back at the church. The rifle was casually slung over his shoulder, and for a moment, you could imagine him in the war. But then he got in the truck and tossed the rifle in the backseat.

He didn’t even put on his seatbelt before driving off.

“What happened?” You asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Roy,” you said again.

He missed the road to your house.

“That’s our turn,” you said aloud.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter.

“Roy, what the hell is goin’ on?” You asked again.

“We stay here, they’ll kill you.” The blood in your veins froze. “I know some guys out East.”

You leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. It was dark outside, but the stars were bright. Orion’s Belt was there, just as always. Night after night, he appeared to give you consistency and comfort. You didn’t entirely feel it.

“What about Lorraine?” You asked. There was no point in hiding it anymore; Roy wasn’t stupid.

Roy sighed. “She’s got Beau and Huck.”

His words didn’t put the pressure back in your chest. No, it was something worse now. It wasn't pressure, it was a knife. A knife that had missed your heart completely, keeping you alive as it twisted deeper, touching your very soul with its fiery edges.

Lorraine wouldn’t know what happened to you. She wouldn’t know where to find you. What if something happened and she needed you? What if you needed her? That wasn’t supposed to be the last kiss you gave her. You weren’t supposed to leave without even telling her goodbye. How were you expected to keep going when you knew you couldn’t see her again?

A hot tear fell down your bruised cheek. God had a cruel sense of humour.

You would have rather died. At least it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

a novel life pt.4

Summary: You were really starting to understand a few things about the younger generation. For example, every time you looked at Sam, you thought "I can fix her." It was happening a bit too frequently for your liking.

Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Swearing, Scream levels of violence, suggestive themes Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Reader (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4)

“Baby?”

You kept your eyes on whatever was on the floor.

“You broke it.”

“Tara, shut up.”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t moving.

“Hey.”

The red creeped and crawled toward the flowers on the ground.

“Baby.”

Hands held both sides of your face and tried to pull you in the other direction. Gentle, but firm. It didn’t matter, they could pull all they wanted, it didn’t stop your eyes from staying glued to the thing in the middle of the living room floor. The shape was familiar, and you were aware that you should recognise it. But the harder you looked, the more the shape seemed to blur and distort.

“Stop looking at it.” Sam. “Look at me.”

You couldn’t.

You opened your mouth to answer, stopped to clear your throat, and started again. “Is that a body?”

Everyone seemed to hesitate.

“Yes,” Sam answered.

You nodded slowly.

“Is it dead?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

A sigh. “Tara.”

“Yes,” Sam repeated.

You nodded again. The red almost touched your shoes.

“It’s a dead body?”

“Jesus fuck, Sam, get them out.”

“Come on,” Sam said softly, keeping her hold on your face to pull you with her.

Your eyes never left the scene until she had pulled you into her room and shut the door behind you both. There was a dead body in Sam’s living room. A body. A dead one. In the living room. Right there on the floor. Visible to god and anyone who opened the front door. Which included you.

“You need to breathe,” Sam said. “Look at me and breathe.”

You inhaled deeply and blinked slowly. Only when you opened your eyes did you actually see Sam for the first time that evening. She looked stunning, as usual. Her beautiful brown eyes looked lovely in the artificial light of the apartment. You tried not to notice the blood on her arms.

Not even her beautiful, kissable face could distract you from the scene that had plastered itself behind your eyelids.

“There’s a dead body on your floor,” you said.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said with a humourless chuckle.

“It looks like a dead body,” you repeated, “in your living room.”

She sighed. “Maybe it is what it looks like, but I can explain.”

You shook your head and took a half step back. Did you want an explanation? Perhaps you could act like you hadn’t seen anything. That would create plausible deniability, would it not? No, not entirely, you had still seen a body in your girlfriend’s apartment. Your deniability wouldn’t be that plausible.

As you took another half step back, you were finally far enough away to realise what was hanging off Sam’s frame. A black cloak. Or robe. Whatever it was, it was familiar. Very familiar. The only thing missing was the mask. Your head tilted slightly.

Perhaps you liked the robe. It looked… nice.

“Please let me explain,” Sam said as she stepped closer.

You took a step back, but nodded in her direction.

“He followed Tara home because he thought she was a kid,” she said. “It was for good reason.”

Good reason. Someone had died. Horrifically, if the amount of blood was anything to go by. And the amount of knives. Someone had clearly suffered. What about that explanation made it such a good-

-oh.

Okay, perhaps it was a good reason.

“Is this the first…” you sighed and shook your head, “accident?”

The way Sam’s face fell was answer enough.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Okay, I need to go home.” You couldn’t look at her. “I need to think.”

“I can walk you home-”

“-it’s okay,” you said. She stopped moving closer when you held your hands up in front of you. “I promise I’ll call.”

The look on her face was enough to break your heart, but it was sitting backseat to the body that you couldn’t help but look at as you walked out of the bedroom. J was already dragging it to the bathroom. They stopped, smiled, and waved at you before continuing to move. Beside them, Tara gave you a look that was akin to what you would give a dog at the shelter.

You bent down and picked up the flowers from the floor, placing them gently on the table. Blood started to pool underneath the petals as you left the apartment.

—---

Sleep had evaded you since you had gotten home a few nights ago. The world had simply kept turning. You had handed out the graded essays in class; you had introduced new material. You had ordered takeout because the last thing you needed was burnt food from your own kitchen. The world kept turning, and everything kept moving forward.

And you still hadn’t called Sam.

You had turned the volume off on your phone the moment you had gotten home. If you saw the notifications from Sam, you would cave and call her back instantly. Against all your better judgements that told you to think everything through, you would have called her and gone back to her apartment to face whatever trouble came your way.

There was no promise you wouldn’t still do that. But the least you could do was think through every aspect.

And you did. You tossed over every possibility, every facet of truth, every miniscule detail that may or may not have mattered, starting with the biggest fact; Sam was Ghostface. Or she was a Ghostface. Clearly Tara and J were involved to some degree. So on one hand, Sam was the only one, on the other hand, there were three Ghostfaces.

Splendid.

That knowledge forced your hand, and you bought all the books and movies and every little news article you could find, old and new. The movies were on in the background - they were far more disgusting than you had planned, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly pay attention - while you read the books. The majority came from that news reporter, Gale Weathers. They were a little tasteless, but seemed legit nonetheless.

Your handwriting littered the books, pointing out motives, tactics, patterns, anything you could find. Most were petty, certainly not worth killing for. At least Sam had given a fair reason; you could understand that one. Not killing people because your father had cheated on his wife.

Thankfully Sam hadn’t gotten that level of pettiness from her father.

Inevitably you found the online forums that claimed Sam had been the killer after Woodsboro. All the theories were, quite frankly, baseless. From an academic point of view, they would have been tossed out within the first few words. There was no reasoning, no critical thinking, simply everyone jumping at the chance to blame someone else because it was popular.

It was no wonder Sam had thought you were stalking her on the day you met her.

When all your research was said and done, you had what amounted to the entirety of a second thesis at your disposal. Everything from past Ghostfaces, their motives, conspiracies being disproved, all the way up to the most recent sighting not too long ago. In New York City. With J, Tara, and Sam in the news.

Things had added up, and you were ready to face the solution.

Sam answered before the first ring had finished.

“Are you all at the apartment?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said; you could all but hear the relief in that one simple word. “We’re here.”

“Stay there, I’m coming over,” you said quickly. You nearly hung up, but spoke again. “I’ll bring dinner.”

You didn’t wait for Sam to say anything else; you were in the proper headspace you needed for the upcoming conversation, and you couldn’t risk losing it because you missed her. Stay strong, you told yourself, say what you need to say. You weren’t going to get sidetracked, this was going to be solved, and you weren’t going to let anything get in your way.

Except for the rundown pizza place on the way to the Carpenter apartment. It was a rather delicious place, somewhere you wouldn’t have imagined visiting if it hadn’t been for Sam. You grabbed the three pizzas you knew everyone would eat, making sure to tip generously before continuing the trip to the apartment.

You also stopped for some more flowers.

And a few sweets.

And that new game you knew J had been wanting.

But then you were finishing your walk to their apartment because nothing could stop you. You were brave. You were going to talk with Sam, and you were going to talk with everyone, and you were all going to come to some form of conclusion so you could close out this thesis and move forward.

The walk up the apartment building stairs was more terrifying than it had ever been in the past. But you were brave. You took it step by step, giving yourself a pep talk with each flight. By the time you got to the apartment door, you were feeling thoroughly hyped. Nothing could stop you. Not even the… door that you… couldn’t open… because your hands were too full…

You set the bags on the floor to open the door, but then you were walking back into the apartment. A man on a mission, that’s how your dad had always described people that walked with the same attitude you were in that moment. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t look up just yet even when you knew they were all looking at you. You closed the door, set the bags and flowers and pizzas on the table, and then you looked up.

And oh god, you had missed Sam so much.

When it was all said and done, you had actually only been away from Sam for eight days; barely over a week. No time at all where most things were concerned. But each minute that ticked by had been agonisingly slow, almost painful to the very atoms that made up your being.

“Grab your dinner,” you said with authority. And a shaky voice. “And back on the couch so we can talk.”

Tara tried to hide a laugh, and J wasn’t far from doing the same, but that was okay. They could laugh at your attempts at being brave; as long as they listened. And they did. You got out the plates and handed them to everyone so they could grab their food before they politely made their way back to the living room.

You made sure to give Sam a kiss on the cheek when she passed.

“Now,” you said as you stood in front of everyone on the couch. “We’re going to talk about what happened.”

“Hell yeah,” J said around an already full mouth, “lay down the law.”

“Thank you,” you said. They gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “We’ll start with last week.”

Everyone was silent, sans the occasional sound of chewing. That was good, they were going to let you talk. Perhaps they had prepared for such a situation. Surely they had seen this coming at some point, right? It wasn’t like they thought they could get away with murder forever, right?

Right?

“Sam told me the reason you-” you sighed and shook your head, “-and it’s an understandable reason.”

“Understandable?” Tara asked. “I think it was a bit more than that.”

“The Professor is talking,” J said, “don’t interrupt class.”

“Please continue,” Sam said with that small smile that always made your knees weak.

No, focus. You had a mission.

“We all know murder is wrong,” you said. “Illegal, even.” You looked each of them in the eye. J was nodding enthusiastically, Tara rolled her eyes, and Sam… wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Since we’re all in agreement, I have a few questions.”

“I didn’t study for a pop quiz,” J said.

“I’ve seen you study,” Tara said, “it wouldn’t have helped.”

“Have I told you I love when you’re mean?” J asked with a lovesick smile. It was precious.

And unnecessary.

“A few questions!” You repeated a little louder. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Please just ask,” Sam said without removing her hand.

“Okay,” you said softly, folding your hands behind your back, “when did all of this start?”

“After the New York attacks,” Sam said.

“I’m still salty about that,” J mumbled, quickly taking another impossibly large bite of their pizza.

“They’ve healed well,” Tara said softly. In a rare gesture of kindness - at least in front of you - she lifted her hand and gently brushed her thumb over the scars on their cheeks.

You gave them a moment before clearing your throat to get their attention once again.

“Who all is involved in these…” you bit your bottom lip as you considered your wording, “activities?”

“You mean murders?” Tara clarified.

“Stop it,” Sam said with a pointed look before facing you again. “All of us.”

“I feel like we’re in detention,” J whispered.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Tara asked. The niceties were long gone, it seemed.

You nodded at the information, ignoring Tara’s gibes. “All of you,” you said to yourself. Your feet froze in place, stopping your pacing. “Which one of you did I see in the alley that night?” You asked, turning to face them.

“That was me!” J said proudly with their hand raised high. “Did I scare you?”

“So badly I was sick,” you said instantly.

“Hell yeah,” they mumbled with a cocky nod of their head as they leaned back on the couch. “That was a good night.”

You stood there and watched as they looked at each other with not shame, but abject exasperation. So that was their attitude about the entire thing. You should have known, it wasn’t entirely a surprise. The fact that J had waved at you before you left last week should have been enough of a warning. But it didn’t exactly sit right with you.

There should have been shame from murdering someone. Your research had told you the Ghostfaces of the past had been particularly remorseless in their actions, but the three people in front of you weren’t like them. They were troubled, but they were kind. They had accepted you - even if it took Tara a bit of time - and had allowed you to care for them.

Sam was your Sam. Nothing about her was indicative of some internal Ghostface turmoil. She was soft. Night after night, she sat with you and talked out her feelings from the week. Multiple times she had voiced her frustration at being a Loomis, stating she was better than her genetics.

Nothing was adding up.

You had walked into this meeting with a plan; measure their responses to the allegations and get them to stop. But you very well couldn’t convince them to stop if they suspiciously felt no remorse or shame, could you? There wouldn’t be near as big of an impact if they didn’t agree with your arguments in the first place. That alone left you with very few options.

You stood up straight.

Very few didn’t equate to zero.

“Would any of you be willing to stop?” You clarified.

Sam opened her mouth.

“No,” Tara cut her off. Sam didn’t argue. “We just wouldn’t tell you.”

“Very well,” you said with a nod to yourself. “Then we’re going to come up with a few rules.”

“You’re putting rules?” Tara asked. “On Ghostface?”

“No,” you said, “I’m putting rules on the three of you.”

“Oh shit,” J said while Sam tried to hide a smile, “we got ourselves a mastermind.”

You did your best to hide your visible flinch. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a wonderful idea. Would you be connected to all of this? What if they were found out? What if you were found out? You couldn’t hold up under pressure, what if someone interrogated you? No, no this wasn’t going well at all.

But they all sat dutifully in front of you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t just leave, or change your mind, and it was far too late to pretend you hadn’t seen what you had. No, you were going to have to be brave. You were brave.

You were brave.

—---

It turned out you were, in fact, not brave.

In the moment, you hadn’t been able to come up with a genuine rule for any of them. The only one you had managed to get out was “please don’t do it in my apartment.” Which, to your delight, they had all readily agreed to. Aside from that, you had stumbled over your words and decided you would come up with rules later.

Tara had laughed. You couldn't even be upset about it.

At least you could see Sam again, which, in the end, made everything worth it. You had missed holding her, and feeling her hands on your neck, and her lips pressed against yours. No one said a word when you stayed the night, doing nothing but holding Sam close and reminding her how much you had missed her.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said from your couch; her books were lined neatly on the table. Something you had loved about her from the very first moment you had seen her study.

“For what, darling?” You asked as you sat down beside her. She mumbled a “thank you” as she took her plate from you.

“Ghostface,” she said softly. You quickly turned to look at her even as she averted her own eyes.

“Oh,” you said before looking back down at your plate. You didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she said quickly.

You sighed and placed your plate on the table. Not on her books, of course. Then you took her plate as gently as possible, placing it down as well before turning to face her. Not just look at her, but to properly face her. If she wished to talk, you would give her your full attention.

“You deserve more,” she said.

So that’s where it was going. Okay. Now this, you could handle this.

“Before you go on this tirade of self-abuse,” you said, reaching out to grab her hands and pull them into your lap, “may I say something?”

After a slight hesitation, Sam nodded once.

“You and I are both old enough to make our own decisions, yes?” She nodded slowly. “Then trust I am old enough to know what I do and do not deserve.” Her eyes fell to her hands in your lap. “If I felt you were not what I truly wanted, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“You don’t need to be brought into all of this,” Sam said anyway with a shake of her head. “You’re better than some traumatised Woodsboro kids.”

“I’m not better,” you said quickly, “just different.”

“Sounds the same to me,” she said with a humourless laugh.

“Samantha Carpenter, my darling dearest,” you said. You waited until she looked back up at you before you brought her knuckles to your lips, leaving the softest of kisses upon them. “I love you dearly and no, ah,” you laughed lightly, “hobby of yours will turn me away.”

There was a light blush on her cheeks when she met your eyes. “You love me?”

Oh.

Oh dear.

“Was that the first time I’ve said so?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a smile.

You sighed. “Far less romantic than I had planned.” Your eyes widened as you looked back up. “But no less true,” you said quickly.

She shook her head before leaning forward, and you eagerly met her halfway. Her lips were soft; they always were. The faintest taste of tobacco always lingered no matter how long it had been since her last cigarette. A constant in the ever-changing lives you both led. If you could have found a way to frame it all to keep with you forever, you would have.

“I love you too,” she mumbled against your lips.

You held still as she moved across the couch, crawling into your lap and kissing you again. Her hands rested on your neck and not for the first time, you did your best to keep your cool. It was something about the contrast between the gentleness of her kisses and the strength in her hands. You were putty under her fingers; she knew it.

It wouldn’t be polite to ravage her before she had eaten dinner. If there was one thing you knew about Sam, it was that she would forget to eat. Often. And as ready as you were for a very particular meal of your own, you couldn’t push back the concern of when she had eaten last. Truly eaten, because everyone knew neither she nor Tara had enough free time to cook for themselves very often.

“Darling,” you said softly. Her nails scratched lightly against your neck as she hummed for you to continue. “You need to eat.”

“I’d love to,” she said, her lips already starting to move across your jaw.

“Real food,” you clarified.

You felt more than heard her huff before her head fell into the crook of your neck. She didn’t like when you laughed at her, so you didn’t. Not out loud, at least. Your thumbs rubbed against her lightly exposed hips until she relaxed a little more under your touch.

“Now?” She asked.

“Now,” you repeated.

Sam sighed again, but lifted her head and looked down at you. The unhappiness was clear on her face. Quite frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care. There was plenty of time left in the evening to have your fun, and she would thank you later for making sure she had eaten something.

“Do quickies require food first?” She asked. Her eyes fell slowly along with her hands, raking her nails lightly along your skin until she reached the first button of your shirt.

“Yes they do,” you said.

She undid the second button.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

You swallowed loudly. She undid the third button, and you could feel her fingers ghosting across your skin. Perhaps she made a good point, perhaps you didn’t have to have food before a quickie. After all, that was the whole point, was it not? To do it before getting back to everything else? And when she bit her bottom lip and looked at you, you knew you were a goner.

She knew it too.

“Maybe we have a little time-”

-the door to your apartment flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. Your hands gripped Sam’s waist as you both jumped and looked toward the commotion. The door slammed shut once again before you could properly get a good look at who was in the two black robes.

“Hey guys, wanna watch a movie?” J asked breathlessly.

“Are you serious?” Sam asked; she still didn’t remove herself from your lap.

“I just wanted to freak him out,” Tara said as she held her arm. You noticed a single drop of blood on the floor. “He had creeped out Anika.”

“There was one rule, Tara,” Sam said.

“It was this or go to jail, which would you prefer?” Tara asked.

“I’d prefer if you were more careful-”

-a knock at the door caused everyone to shut up and freeze.

“NYPD,” the muffled voice said from the other side of the door.

“Fuck,” J whispered.

You couldn’t really argue with that statement. No one had moved, and the police were still right outside the door. Sam’s nails dug into your skin, leaving behind a sting that, in any other situation, would have been lovely. But this wasn’t any other situation, you were all frozen while the police knocked on the door again.

“Go to my room,” you said as you lifted Sam off your lap and stood up. “Lock the door.”  Tara and J nodded before running as quickly as they could to your room. “Stay here,” you told Sam.

You gave her a quick kiss before heading over to the door. Your fingers played with the buttons on your shirt before you decided better of it. Behind you, you could hear Sam stand up. With a deep breath in and a slow exhale, you decided to be brave and opened the door.

The policeman instantly looked you up and down before looking behind you. You hoped he saw Sam in slight disarray. A second policeman was leaning against the wall outside, not even having the decency to look at you before speaking.

“Did two people in black robes come in here?” He asked in a gruff voice.

“No sir,” you said quickly, “no visitors today.”

“You sure?” The first officer asked. “We saw them run into this building.”

You needed to come up with a better lie. Something more convincing. What could be convincing enough? You couldn’t blame the neighbours, you knew nothing of them. If they saw the two coming into the building, you would have to think of something. What would work? Clearly those fancy degrees you had meant nothing.

Ah.

Maybe not entirely useless.

“I’m really sorry, I haven’t noticed anything,” you said. “I’ve been a little, ah,” you cleared your throat and looked back at Sam. She gave you a small smile, and you turned back to the police, “preoccupied tonight.”

The officer looked behind you. You didn’t dare turn away and waited patiently for him to focus on you once again. Hopefully he couldn’t hear your heart attempting to beat out of your chest. He just needed to hurry and leave.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your night,” the officer finally said. “Thank you both for your time.”

You nodded and gave them both a smile. “Stay safe, officers.”

They tipped an invisible hat at you before leaving, and you didn’t wait for them to be very far before closing and locking the door. You let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall against the door with a solid thud. That was… far too close. Was that something they had all dealt with before? Had the police come to their doors before?

You took a deep breath and stood back up. Okay, you were brave, you had been very brave. When you turned around, Sam was still looking at you, but there was a different look in her eyes. You didn’t know what it was; at that moment, you were still too wound up to care.

“Come on out,” you said once you had walked over to Sam and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“They’re gone?” Tara asked while J opened the door.

“Yes,” you said with a nod, “they’re gone.”

“I thought we were fucked,” J said.

“I wish I was,” Sam mumbled softly enough for only you to hear.

You ignored the heat in your face. “Not tonight,” you said.

“Thank you,” Tara said in an uncharacteristic show of gratitude. “We didn’t know where else to go.”

“You can always come here,” you said. Tara nodded and made as if she was going to leave the apartment with J. “Don’t even think about it.”

Sam sighed.

“We need to go get cleaned up,” Tara said.

“You can clean up here,” you said forcefully. Or you hoped that’s how it came out. “Then we’re laying down some ground rules.”

Tara kept eye contact with you. You would have caved at any other point in time; there was nothing more terrifying than a Carpenter. It wasn’t questionable, there was no room for argument, it was a matter of fact. But you had just lied to the police for the first time in your life. Ever! If this was going to be a common occurence, then you were going to stand your ground.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Tara mumbled, but grabbed J’s hand and dragged them to the guest bathroom anyway.

“Thank you,” Sam said softly once she heard the shower turn on.

“Of course,” you said, placing a lingering kiss behind her ear. An idea sparked in your mind. “How long do you think it’ll take them?”

“Tara showers slow,” she said as she turned around in your arms to face you. “And if they’re both in there, it’ll be a while.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I did tell the police we were preoccupied,” you said as you started manoeuvring her to the couch.

“Yes you did,” she said with a slowly growing smile.

“I’d hate to lie to them,” you continued, followed by another kiss.

Sam let herself fall onto the couch, pulling you down with her. She wasted no time in getting to work on the remaining buttons of your shirt. Her lips felt heavenly. You knew she still needed to eat, but something more important had come up.

Besides, you were happier to eat out anyway.

when you love it

Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.

His money was still just as good as anyone else’s.

The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.

It wouldn’t work. But it was lovely.

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble,” you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your client’s hand.

His smile was sinister. “I’ll be calling on you again.”

You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. “I’ll be expecting it.”

The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.

If he called again, your rates would double.

“You did your job masterfully.”

You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.

Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.

“Thank you, mister…,” your voice trailed off.

“Pubert Addams,” he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

A wet gasp-

-a snarl-

-relief-

-pain-

“-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,” you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

“I believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?” He asked as he let go of your hand.

A breathy moan-

-airy laughter-

-a warm sigh-

“-Quite a long time ago,” you said, “but yes.”

“Yes, I knew it was you,” he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. “Are you free for a short while?” He asked. “I have a proposition for you.”

You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.

There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.

Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.

Just like his older sister.

“I suppose I have time,” you finally said with a toothy grin. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.

“A coffee then,” you amended.

He had no objections.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your client’s body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victim’s brother into their cruiser.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.

You didn’t dare hide your smile. “A beautiful sentiment.” You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.

His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.

“What can I get for you, sugar?” The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.

“A quad?” You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.

“Heavens no,” he said with his own charming smile, “I’ll take a mocha, thank you.”

“An espresso, darling,” you said with a smile at the waitress.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”

You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.

So were you.

You promptly ignored the thought.

“What is your proposition, Mr. Addams?” You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.

“Ah, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.”

“I’m nothing but a stranger to you,” you said simply. “What about me warrants an invitation?”

“My sister and her wife still talk of you,” he said. “Incessantly.” His smile was gentle; genuine. “I believe inviting you would make them happy.”

You didn’t grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.

It didn’t matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didn’t - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.

And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.

The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadn’t accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.

You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.

There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadn’t earned the title by sitting around.

On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.

Perhaps…

“When is this little soiree of yours taking place?” You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.

Now that smile was identical to his sister’s.

“I’ll fetch you the invitation.”

—---

You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.

It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.

And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.

The balcony door slid open.

“You coming back, baby?” The woman asked.

It was a shame you didn’t remember her name.

“Come on, baby,” she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. “I know you want another drink.”

You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.

The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to… the… other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didn’t particularly care. All you knew was they weren’t Enid, and they weren’t Wednesday.

You were pathetic.

You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.

If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.

They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you weren’t the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasn’t the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just weren’t right.

It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didn’t stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.

You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.

Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that weren’t entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasn’t the optimal day. It didn’t require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.

It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.

You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.

While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadn’t been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.

The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didn’t waste your time looking at them.

After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.

Their happiness didn’t distract you from the scars down the side of Enid’s face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldn’t see Wednesday’s; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enid’s, you could imagine.

You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.

Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.

“Excuse me!” One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.

“Behave!” You froze. “And don’t push people!”

“Yes ma’am!” The children shouted.

If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Don’t turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.

“Cara mia.” You forced yourself to take a step. “You forgot your shawl upstairs.”

Don’t turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasn’t even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.

“Are you a vampire?”

You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldn’t think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.

“I am,” you said with a singular nod of your head. “And you are?”

“Oh,” they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. “I’m an Addams.”

You were thankful they couldn’t see your eyes. “Charmed.”

Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didn’t have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.

“My mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,” the child continued.

You wished they would leave.

“But you have scars, and the person in their picture doesn’t.”

You would have no shame in killing a child.

“My momma has scars too.” It would be simple. “They almost match yours.”

“Don’t harass the guests, dear.” 

Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.

But she didn’t continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didn’t move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.

“We weren’t sure you would come.”

You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.

“You look good.” Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.

Growls and screaming echoed in your mind’s ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.

The scars you had caused.

“You look healthy,” Enid said with a soft smile.

She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.

“I fed before arriving,” you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. “No need for history to repeat itself.”

“We have more in the kitchen,” she said quickly. “If you need it.”

You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. “I came prepared, thank you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.

“I hope the kids weren’t bothering you,” Enid said. “They get excited when we host gatherings.”

“They seem decent,” you said. Decent?? That’s the best you can come up with? “That one-” you pointed to the one with the bright eyes “-is rather talkative.”

Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. “Willa says she gets it from me.”

Willa. You could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?

Come on, Willa, put it down, I’m being serious.

You turned your body ever so slightly. You didn’t want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.

“Oh, there she is,” Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. “Stay right here, I’ll bring her over!”

The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldn’t take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.

But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldn’t recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.

Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.

“I told you I saw them,” you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. “And I was right.”

Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. “So you were.”

Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldn’t ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.

Wednesday!

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? “Hello Wednesday, I’m sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasn’t a monster.” Or even to Enid. “I apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.” There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldn’t forget.

“I told them you had their picture,” the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.

For the first time, you were thankful for children.

“So you told our secrets?” Wednesday asked. “You know what happens to those who tell our secrets.”

The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.

“You’d better run,” Enid whispered.

Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost… cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.

“As intimidating as ever, my love,” Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.

It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.

“You seem pale,” Wednesday said.

It seemed you wouldn’t combust soon enough.

“I only arrived out of courtesy,” you said as you stood taller. “Now that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.”

You tried to act like the looks on Enid’s and Wednesday’s faces didn’t kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didn’t even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.

“Do you have to?” Enid asked. “You could stay.” Her eyes fell. “We could talk.”

“Did Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?” Wednesday asked.

She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.

“I don’t do house calls,” you said. You could hear Wednesday’s pulse over the crowd. “Especially with those I cannot pay penance to.”

And yet, you didn’t make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesday’s heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldn’t leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasn’t appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.

“You could stay,” Enid said.

“We can go somewhere quieter,” Wednesday continued.

You didn’t want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didn’t live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.

They were your home.

“Please?” Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.

You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enid’s skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.

The scars reminded you of it every day.

“Very well,” you said with a slight nod.

Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.

The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.

When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.

How comical.

They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.

You sighed when you deduced they wouldn’t speak first.

“You both look well,” you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. “Are all those children yours?”

Think of something less ridiculous.

“Yes they are,” Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.

“Pubert said you’re a lawyer?” Enid asked.

“Defence attorney,” you said with a nod, “yes.”

“Is it, ah, fun?” She asked.

You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.

“It’s acceptable,” you said before placing both palms on the table. “I believe I really should be getting on.”

You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasn’t often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.

And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.

Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didn’t. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.

“Wednesday, put it down,” you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.

“You’re fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.

You didn’t feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didn’t hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didn’t see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.

But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldn’t keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.

Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldn’t tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-

-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didn’t matter. You zeroed in on Wednesday’s wrist again.

You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldn’t hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.

Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.

You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.

That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.

As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.

So did the pain.

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.

“I know,” Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.

It was lovely.

“Please stay,” Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.

You shouldn’t. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadn’t experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldn’t risk hurting them again. Couldn’t risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.

They looked at you expectantly.

For when is a monster not a monster?

You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enid’s.

Oh, when you love it.

everyone but her pt.40

Summary: Wednesday is on the hunt for whoever - or whatever - is attacking everyone. She just needs to make sure you both don't get in over your heads.

Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: swearing, mentions of attacks, descriptions of a dead body (nothing graphic) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

As summer approached, Wednesday was no closer to finding the culprit that had attacked Ash and Joel. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, that much was certain. With your assistance, she had combed the woods near the attack, had talked with Ash and Joel, and had even done some digging into the past attacks since the group had started school.

Her investigation board was packed, every inch covered in research and police reports. It didn’t even include her own notes, which were in a folder on the side table. Or it should have been; it was currently residing on the table beside your side of the bed. She supposed it was nice to know you were interested in her research.

She just wished you would be interested without displacing her things.

Though she supposed she shouldn’t complain; any time you spent at the apartment was positive. After the events of the attack, you had made sure to keep both Ash and Joel within sight. It wasn’t your usual “Let’s hang out” attitude, but the one she recognised when you first got released from prison.

The nights, she realised, were the most difficult for you. Something about it reminded Wednesday of the days immediately following Mack’s death. Those nights where you wandered around, either too afraid or too wired to sleep. Sometimes you would end up staying in bed, keeping you both awake with your incessant moving, or your wings keeping her so warm she felt she might combust.

But at least she could keep an eye on you far easier.

Wednesday’s feet were suspiciously cold when she awoke. After so many years of you sleeping by her side, her feet had grown warm during the nights. You didn’t run quite as hot as Enid, but your temperature was nothing to scoff at. She had hated it at first; you were ruining her attempt at being as close to dead as possible. But she had grown used to it, and now it was uncomfortable.

She let her eyes adjust to the dark before moving. The sounds of your light snoring, or your wings twitching were absent in the empty room. Silence, much like her cold feet, was something she now found no pleasure in. For what was a room without your presence? Even just the sounds of your breathing was enough security to continue to face the days head on. Your presence was no longer simply a gift, it was a requirement in her life.

And you were no longer sharing the space with her.

She knew where you were; Wednesday always knew where you were. You had the ability to be silent, but you were not, on your own, silent. Whether it was the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, or the almost-inaudible program you had put on the television. There was never a time, in your shared apartment, that Wednesday was unaware of where you were.

So she wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear the television on and the soft drip-drip-drip of the coffee maker when she stepped out of the bedroom. Instinct had her looking at the couch, where she would more often than not find you unconscious in the most inhuman, uncomfortable position she had ever seen. When you weren’t there, she turned to the table.

That was where she found you. Sitting at the table with a coffee mug and the laptop in front of you. The back of the laptop was facing the hallway she was standing in. Your face was illuminated by the blinding glow of the screen. Even in the dark she could see the bags under your eyes and your slumped shoulders.

There were two ways Wednesday could get you back into bed. The first, which was only occasionally her favourite, was to entice you. Sometimes all it would take was a well placed kiss, right behind your ear or between your wings. One singular kiss and, if you were both consenting, you would carry her back to bed within an instant.

At that moment, Wednesday would have been okay with it. She would have revelled in it, actually. To feel you above her, your callused hands feeling impossibly soft on her skin. The feel of your lips on her neck, even just in imagination, was enough to have her shifting her weight between her feet. 

Your head fell slowly before you jerked it back up and blinked rapidly. No, it wouldn’t take a well placed kiss to get you back in bed, not at that moment. Which left Wednesday with her second option and, quite frankly, her favourite. She made sure to emphasise each step as she walked toward you. You slow blinked once, but otherwise didn’t move.

By the time she finally approached you, you had leaned back in your chair. With the ease of a veteran, she sat in your lap. Her legs hung over your thighs and she could rest her head in the crook of your neck. You smelled of coffee and the slightest hint of whiskey.

Wednesday knew you didn’t drink, not really. Especially not after the frat party. You would, however, try on occasion. It occurred most often when you were worried. There was a singular bottle of whiskey in the top cupboard; you would usually pour it into your coffee on nights like tonight. She had never worried about it because you never went beyond a single, half-hearted attempt before you replaced it with your regular coffee.

On your laptop, there were numerous tabs open. She couldn’t read every title, but the page you were on was enough; some obscure website about the different Outcasts. There was a good deal of information just on that one page alone, and Wednesday could practically feel the mental strain coming off you. You weren’t unintelligent by any means, but you had never denied your distaste in lengthy readings.

“I don’t think it’s a shapeshifter,” you said in a raspy voice as your arms wrapped around Wednesday’s waist.

“It would explain the resemblance to Bianca,” Wednesday replied. Not argumentative; she never felt the need to defend her beliefs with you.

“I talked with Ash and Joel the other day,” you said. “They said they never saw anyone, just heard voices.”

“Joel said he didn’t remember anything.” She shifted on your lap so she could look at you. “He simply woke up in the hospital.”

“He lied,” you said with a shake of your head. “He told Ajax he heard you asking him to help you with something.”

Wednesday remained silent. She could feel you tensed up beneath her, your arms squeezing around her just a little too tight for comfort. It wasn’t painful by any means, simply more secure. There was no need to question the change.

“Sirens can mimic voices,” you continued as if nothing was wrong. “I don’t think it’s all of them, but some of them can.”

“You believe a siren is at fault,” Wednesday said.

“Doesn’t explain the wounds themselves,” you sighed, “but yeah.”

One of your arms lifted and you placed it on the table. You flipped through the tabs on the screen until you landed on a different page, this one looking far more like a - what had Kent called it - a forum. She didn’t try to read through everything seeing as you scrolled too quickly, but you stopped on one of the replies.

“This person is from Latvia,” you said as you pointed at the reply with your finger. “It’s a rough translation, but they said they’ve seen sirens and fairies team up a lot.”

“Fairies,” Wednesday deadpanned. “You believe a fairy attempted to kill our friends.”

You gave her a tired smile. “You said our friends.”

“Focus,” she commanded. Thankfully, you couldn’t see the light flush on her cheeks.

“I think it’s a possibility,” you said, looking back at the laptop screen. “I’ve gotta do some more research though.”

You didn’t make any sort of move to close the laptop. In fact, you continued to scroll, looking through more posts. Wednesday hadn’t thought you meant more research at that moment. There was nothing healthy about it. Even just the shake of your fingers was enough to confirm her belief.

She lifted her hand to cup your jaw, gently turning you to face her. As usual, you didn’t dare put up any resistance. You were nothing if not compliant to her every wish. Sometimes she found it incredibly attractive how pliable you were for her. Following her every command with an eagerness that was often found when you were seeking praise.

Other times, like that moment, made her sad. You followed without question not out of an eagerness to please, but an acceptance of authority. It was the way you had been when your parents still had some form of control over you; when Nicky was still alive, even if it was in the loosest sense of the word.

“No more research tonight,” she said. It was an unusual thing to come out of her mouth; she was usually the one staying up late to do some more research.

“I have to figure it out,” you said softly.

“Not tonight,” she replied just as softly, though no less stern. You could be upset, but she wouldn’t dare let you throw yourself into an endless pit of despair. That was her job.

You didn’t utter a sound as Wednesday slid off your lap and stood up. Her fingers locked with yours and, with the gentlest of tugs, pulled you out of the chair. The trust you put in her was unparallelled. You didn’t even question her closing your laptop, or pulling you back to the bedroom.

There was also no argument as she pushed you back onto the bed. Wednesday made sure she was gentle; she didn’t want you to crush your wings or bend something into an unnatural position. Only she could bend you unnaturally. You positioned yourself to be laying on your side, as usual, which left just enough space for Wednesday to crawl into bed in front of you.

It was instinctual after that much time for your arm to wrap around her waist and pull her closer. When she slept on her own - which so rarely happened - she still slept as she used to; on her back with arms crossed over her chest. But with you? There was an unexpected comfort in being enveloped in you. Your scent, your warmth, your touch, it was all so… horrifically wonderful.

Neither one of you said another word. She felt your lips press against the back of her neck before you fully sank into the bed. There was no joy in having to find more and more creative ways to get you to take care of yourself, but she would do them without hesitation. And if she slept better with you beside her, that had nothing to do with your health. It was simply a bonus.

—---

“Tell me again why we’re out here?” You asked from behind Wednesday.

“Because,” she said without turning around, “I need to read the autopsy reports.”

“That’s so weird,” you mumbled to yourself even though she could still hear it.

Wednesday smiled internally to herself. As weird as you supposedly thought it was, you were still following her down the dark street to the police station. After hearing your theories thoroughly the morning after that night, she had started to dig deeper. You were a surprisingly thorough researcher when it was something you were passionate about. It was far more attractive than she would have anticipated.

Though all of the joint research was moot when she realised she had no idea how the two fraternity brothers had died. Yes, the police had said a werewolf had killed them, but it wouldn’t have been the first time the police had lied. You yourself were proof of how far they would go to put someone specific behind bars. She wanted to see the reports for herself.

And the only way to do that was to get them directly from the police station.

Much to Wednesday’s pleasure, you hadn’t argued when she had first brought up the idea. Although she hadn’t expected much opposition from you, she felt you would voice a concern or two. She should have known better. You were nothing if not an eager accomplice.

However, it did not guarantee you wouldn’t find something to complain about.

“You won’t let them take me to jail again, right?” You asked, thankfully quiet enough for no listening ears to hear.

“Cara mia,” she said with a smile you couldn’t see, “you look stunning behind bars, but I prefer you with me.”

Behind her, you chuckled. “Save the dirty talk for the bedroom, dear.”

Thanks to walking around in the dead of night, the usual crowd was long gone. There was something comforting about an empty street in a town full of life. Eerily ethereal to hear the silence, backed only by the creaking signs or the wind blowing between the buildings. Your footsteps were light, and she could barely hear the ruffle of your feathers.

It almost made Wednesday laugh to herself at your ability to be silent when you really wished to. In the day to day, you were loud and a bit clumsy. Not that she still had an issue with it. If anything, she almost preferred it seeing as it was easy to keep track of you. It was simply humorous how quickly and efficiently you could turn it off and on.

“Did you want me to go in?” You asked when the police station appeared. “I can cause a distraction in the lobby while you go around back.”

“They know you,” she said with a shake of her head. “It would simply tip them off.”

“Well that’s no fun,” you mumbled.

You reminded Wednesday of the old days. She had thought it on a few occasions recently, this certainly not being the first. It was an oddity now for you to be more carefree and make jokes about everything. An oddity that she wished wasn’t reality. She may never admit it aloud, but she found a spark of joy in your lightheartedness of all situations.

As you both passed the police station to go to the back where it was pitch black, she could feel the energy radiating off of you. She believed it was similar to how the athletes you watched felt before a game. Even though she didn’t turn around to confirm, she could hear your feet hitting the ground a little harder than your usual walking.

Wednesday turned around to face you once you both approached the proper location. You had both scoped it out on numerous occasions the past few days. There was a singular spot to the left of the station, right underneath a window, that was outside of every camera. All they had to do was stick to the side of the building to stay out of view until they reached the blind spot.

She didn’t hide her miniscule smile from you when she saw you jumping on your toes and shaking your hands. You very much looked like the athletes you watched, with the exception of circumstance. It was endearing to see how excited you were to break the law with her. She truly couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

Both for life and in crime.

“I’ll hoist you up,” you said as you walked over to the wall underneath the window. “You’re sneakier.”

She nodded. “Whistle if someone comes near.”

“You got it, pretty girl,” you said with a crooked smile.

It was as if something had taken over her body. Before she stepped onto your thigh, she leaned forward and kissed you. She heard you inhale sharply before leaning forward into the kiss. When she pulled away, she could still taste your lips. Too sweet coffee with a hint of the marijuana you still sporadically smoked with Kent and Ajax.

“Hurry up already,” you said as you shifted into a better position. “I want another kiss like that when we get home.”

Wednesday simply gave you a small smirk before finally stepping up onto your thigh. Thanks to you being so much taller than her, it was almost effortless to reach the window. Much to her pleasure - though not surprise - the window wasn’t locked. Perhaps they believed it was high enough off the ground to be safe. How foolish.

The only downside to the window being so high off the ground was dropping into the room. It was the filing room, and the poorly carpeted floor muffled her drop. She took just a moment to dust the invisible filth off her clothes before properly looking around and getting to work.

To no one’s surprise, it wasn’t Wednesday’s first time searching for files in a police station. She knew her way around the unsystematic filing cabinets that called the room their home. It would be a waste of time to look alphabetically; she would just have to get started on the most worn looking drawer.

Which just so happened to be the one directly to her right.

Wednesday pulled out the small flashlight you had gifted her only a few weeks ago. It was small enough to remain unnoticed, yet held a bright enough light to assist in her late-night excursions. The filing cabinet creaked when she pulled on it, but otherwise slid open smoothly. She waited a moment to make sure no one had heard before she started to dig.

If she hadn’t been so focused on her mission, she would have paid attention to everything she came across. There was no question in her mind that she would find something good, something she could dig deeper into. But she was on a sole mission to find more information on those attacks, and that’s what she was going to do.

Or so she thought, until she found a file with your name on it.

A part of her mind told her not to touch it, to leave it where it rested. There was nothing in it that she wasn’t already aware of. You had told her everything, even if it was a time after the event. Nothing was hidden between the both of you, and she would have betrayed your trust if she looked through the file.

On the other hand, she couldn’t deny her curiosity about what the police were saying about you. Wednesday wasn’t ignorant of the tactics the police used to get what they wanted. Surely they would be aware of your past seeing as it was public record. Had they found a way to spin it in their favour yet?

Against her better judgement, she reached out and took your file. It was far thicker than she had anticipated; full of loose papers and sticky notes. Her fingers flipped through page after page until she finally opened it, looking down at the handwritten notes unceremoniously taped to the page.

Her heart stopped beating when she read the one on the top left.

Connected to Malcom Riley’s murder.

A whistle from outside the window made Wednesday jump and nearly drop your file. She looked around quickly to confirm no one was around before shoving the file back into the cabinet and closing it. It was stupid to look through your file, she thought as she started climbing out of the window. She should have been looking for the thing she had gone in there for.

She could think about your file later.

“What on earth do you two think you’re doing?”

Wednesday’s feet had barely hit the ground before she heard the familiar voice. It wasn’t even a shock when she turned around and saw Weems standing in front of you, her hands on her hips. For a moment, Wednesday felt like she was back in Weems’ office at Nevermore getting scolded for leaving the grounds on a full moon.

Oh, those were wonderful days.

“I finally leave my office for the night and see you two sneaking around the police station,” Weems said. “What do you believe you’re doing?”

“Some light reading,” you said with a shrug that failed to hide your fear. “The library is closed.”

“I didn’t ask for an excuse,” Weems said harshly. No one missed your slight recoil. “What are you doing?”

“Attempting to find more clues on who has been attacking people lately,” Wednesday said.

“And you believed breaking into a police station was the wisest decision?” Weems asked.

“It’s more than the police are doing,” you said, standing taller than before. Wednesday almost swore you were a little taller than Weems now. “They don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Connected to Malcom Riley’s murder.

“It is not your responsibility to find the attackers,” Weems said. “That is solely the responsibility of the police.”

“Then make them fucking do it,” you said quickly. “All they ever seem to do nowadays is question me for shit that I didn’t do.”

Connected to Malcom Riley’s murder.

“Perhaps if you stopped putting yourself in dangerous situations, they wouldn’t be questioning you,” she said harshly.

Wednesday looked over at you. There was a hardness to your features that she couldn’t quite place. She knew Weems wasn’t entirely incorrect in her statement. A lot of the situations were coincidence, of course, but even Wednesday couldn’t deny you somehow always found yourself at the centre of things. It was an unusual change of pace, seeing how it was normally her who was in the centre of trouble.

“You must be more careful,” Weems said in a far softer tone. “The both of you.” She looked at Wednesday for a moment before looking back at you. “What would Nicky think of this recklessness?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said as you adopted the harshness Weems had dropped. “He’s dead.”

Weems looked at you with eyes that only a mother could have. It was easy to forget how much she loved you. There hadn’t been many talks between Wednesday and Weems, not when they involved you, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see it. Only a mother could look at you the way Weems was; Wednesday wondered if you could see it too.

“He would be very disappointed in you,” Weems said in a small voice.

Your shoulders tensed at the words. Wednesday could only imagine what was going through your head. She wanted to reach out and comfort you. Take your hand in hers and remind you that you weren’t alone. She didn’t know if Nicky would have been disappointed in you or not, but Weems would. And if she dared to voice that belief, it must have been genuine.

You shook your head slowly. “He can get in line.”

Wednesday and Weems watched as you walked off, back to the sidewalk and, supposedly, starting the walk back to the apartment. She wanted to follow you and confirm you were alright. Well, alright, she was no professional with emotions but even she could tell you weren’t alright. At least she could make sure you were safe.

“She’s bound to get herself killed at this rate,” Weems said quietly with a shake of her head. “And I don’t know how to help.”

Wednesday stayed silent. Not out of the stubbornness she so often fell into, but out of not having a single thing to say. As much as Wednesday hated agreeing with Weems - out of principle - she did. She wasn’t quite convinced you would get yourself killed, but you would certainly get yourself hurt. Or in trouble. Or possibly both.

“Please look after her,” Weems said, and Wednesday finally looked her in the eye. “She loves and respects you enough to let you.”

Wednesday didn’t know what to say to that. She opted instead to nod in agreement. It seemed to be enough for Weems, who reached out to place a hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze. Part of Wednesday wished she would pull her into a hug. The thought quickly disappeared when it caught up with her that she did not like hugs.

You were turning her soft.

Weems bid her a goodnight as they both headed in opposite directions. Thankfully, Wednesday caught up with you at the apartment. However, what should have been the end of the night was turning into something else. Instead of your usual pouting and hiding in the room, you were rummaging around the apartment.

“What are you looking for?” She asked when you slammed the closet door shut.

“Your shovel,” you said. “It’s not in the closet anymore.”

She walked over to the bed and knelt down. The wooden floor was rough on her knees, but she quickly grabbed the shovel from underneath the bed and stood back up. Her skin pulled tight before relaxing again, and the ache around her knees quickly subsided. Only once it had eased did she hold the shovel out to you.

“Why do you need it?” She asked as you grabbed it and shoved it into your duffle bag.

Which also held a crowbar and what looked to be two flashlights.

“You remember our first date?” You asked as you stood up straight.

She thought back to all those years ago. “Yes,” she said slowly, “you took me gravedigging.” It had single handedly been the most amazing date she had ever been on. She would never forget it, in life or death.

“We’re recreating it,” you said with a closed mouth smile.

You hoisted the bag over your shoulder and grabbed her hand with yours. She didn’t have any time to protest or question you further before you started pulling her out of the apartment. A small part of her mind told her to convince you to go back inside and sleep off your emotions.

The much larger part was ecstatic to go gravedigging once again.

The streets were still empty as you made your way through town. Wednesday took note of how much more careful you were being; staying away from the street lights and cutting through alleys when necessary. It was admirable how you were sticking to the dark even when she knew you had the slightest fear of it.

“Here,” you said when you pulled her to the open, ungated graveyard. “Should only need one of them.”

You set the duffle bag on the ground and opened it, quickly pulling out the travel shovel you had also gotten her in the past. Now that Wednesday thought about it, you seemed to get her a lot of suspicious looking items. They were all things that she adored, but most would find it suspicious.

She loved that you always knew what she would want.

“Are you sure I can have the honours?” She asked as she placed the tip of the shovel into the dirt.

“It’s all yours, darling,” you said with a full smile that showed off the slight glint of your slightly larger than normal canines.

For the third time that night alone, Wednesday didn’t bother hiding her own small smile. You certainly knew how to woo an Addams. She didn’t even hesitate before pushing the shovel into the dirt and got to work excavating.

You kept a look out for any potential passersby. If you felt someone was near, you placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her still; only once the potential threat was gone did you let go and allow her to continue. Luckily for you both, she was a professional. She made quick work of the grave before hitting the top of the casket.

“Here,” you said as you squatted down and handed her the crowbar. “Make it fast, the keeper might come to work soon.”

Wednesday took the tool from you and shoved it into the thin crack of the casket. It only took a slight amount of effort before popping open, and you craned your neck to peer in. The smell was immediate, but it was such a lovely scent. Behind her, you did your best to hide your cough, and out of respect she ignored it.

“That’s nasty,” you mumbled even as you continued to look. “Check out the wounds.”

The body itself was already decomposing. It would be more difficult to tell the differences between wounds, but when you handed Wednesday a camera, she knew your intent. The first flash was enough to startle the both of you, and you looked around frantically to ensure no one had noticed. Only once you were certain did you nod for her to continue.

Wednesday took more photos, making sure to document every injury she could see. She moved clothing aside and took photos to be certain she covered every inch of skin possible. If she wanted to find the culprit, she would need solid evidence. Once she was completely sure she was finished, she closed the casket back up. You held your hand out for her to grab and pulled her out with ease.

She loved to see your strength in action.

“Let’s cover him back up,” you said as you started using your hands to push the dirt back into the grave. “I’m not getting arrested for grave robbing.”

It only took a few moments of frantic shovelling to fill the grave once again. Once full, you shoved everything back into the duffle bag and grabbed Wednesday’s hand, pulling her into a light jog back to the apartment. It was just early enough in the morning that a few building lights were starting to turn on as their occupants got ready for work.

“I’ll print them off,” you said the moment you shut the door to the apartment behind you. “Give me just a moment.”

Wednesday knew your determination wasn’t coming from a sense of wanting to know who the culprit was. She wasn’t in the place to have you explain. At the moment, you were keeping yourself busy, and she would allow it. Now that you were both back in the apartment, she couldn’t complain too much. At least you were safe.

While you were working on printing off the photos for her board, she sat on the couch and finally, finally started to consider what she had seen at the police station. That handwritten note had been bouncing around her head all night, and she wasn’t sure what to think of it.

You had been devastated about Mack’s death. If she was to compare, you were almost as devastated as Nicky’s death. Something about it had shaken you up to your core, and it had taken you months to sort out your grief. How could they possibly believe you were involved?

“Got it,” you said, pulling Wednesday from her thoughts.

She stood up and walked over to the table as you laid the photos out. Some were blurry and unusable, but most were of decent enough quality that you could see the individual injuries. The lacerations covered the torso and face, and they very much looked like claw marks.

To the untrained eye, at least.

When Wednesday looked closer, she noticed a few discrepancies. There were only three lacerations in each spot; from what she had seen on Enid’s wolf out, a werewolf paw would cause four lacerations. Then the depth varied from each injury, leaving not even an ounce of uniformity.

“What?” You asked when Wednesday stood up and sighed.

“You’re right,” she said, “it’s not a werewolf.”

“Was I right about the fairy shit?” You asked. “Because if so that’s cool as hell, it was a longshot.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t believe it’s a fairy.”

You looked disappointed even though you had already admitted you knew it was unlikely.

“What is it?” You asked again, leaning back over the pictures to attempt to see what she had.

“I believe they came from a knife,” Wednesday said.

You stood up slowly and looked down at her.

“The police said it was a werewolf,” you said.

The muscles in your jaw tensed as you looked back down at the photos. It seemed the police had lied to the entirety of the town. Which meant they had surely lied about other things in the process.

Which meant it was just you and Wednesday against the police.

This was going to be fun.

a novel life pt.3

Summary: You admit a few things to Sam, and finally she starts to feel a little more normal. Almost as if Ghostface was truly a thing of the past. Almost.

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: mentions of Scream-typical violence, mentions of trauma, light swearing Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x GN!Reader (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

Oh you had messed up. You had messed up so badly. Why hadn’t you told Sam about Ghostface all those weeks ago? It was certainly far too late to tell her now, it had happened last year. Okay, slight exaggeration, you had simply passed into the New Year last week but still!

And now it was too late. You didn’t know why, it just was.

“Can you hand me that pen?” Sam asked.

You hummed and handed her what was on the table, still staring off into the distance. The television was on in your apartment and you couldn’t have told a single soul what was on. Perhaps it was the news. It was usually the news, you liked to keep up to date with everything.  If you had time, you would even split the screen between all news stations so you could compare all sides of information.

It was a miracle you had managed to keep Sam as long as you had.

“I think I’ll fuck J on the coffee table in an hour, is that okay?”

“Yes darling, whatever you want,” you said as your mind continued to race through possibilities.

You straightened up and quickly turned to look at her.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, her words finally forcing its way through the plethora of thoughts to the forefront of your mind. “No, it’s absolutely not okay.”

Sam smiled and placed the remote on the table. Which you supposed you had handed her instead of a pen. Because of course you had, why would you hand her the pen she had so clearly asked for? She placed a warm hand on your jaw and you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“What’s going on in your head?” She asked far softer than she had any right to. “You’re usually not this distracted.”

You didn’t want to tell her. It felt like a betrayal of her trust that you hadn’t told her right after it had happened, how could you come back from it now? What excuse did you have other than you were afraid? Being afraid certainly wasn’t going to win you any favours, not with the Ghostface Murder family.

A mental note popped up to never, never call them that to their faces.

You should tell her.

No you shouldn’t.

Yes you should.

No.

Fine.

“I saw Ghostface the night I was buying your stockings,” you said rather unceremoniously.

Sam looked at you like you had grown a second head. Oh lord, had you grown a second head? Oh you bet you had, you absolute fool. Your mother had told you time and time again, there were consequences to lying. And now that you had finally come clean, you were facing the consequences. You hoped Sam still liked you with a second head.

“You saw Ghostface?” She asked in a whisper.

“I know I should have told you,” you said quickly, “but to tell you the truth, I was too afraid to tell anyone so instead I simply kept my mouth shut.”

Sam still said nothing. She almost looked afraid, which you could understand. You yourself were rather afraid as well. There had been no news of Ghostface running around New York again, but you knew for a fact he was out and about. And judging by the look on Sam’s face, she knew it was the truth as well.

Oh, this was precisely why you had kept it from her! You hadn’t intended to terrify her, oh no, quite the contrary. You wanted nothing more than for her to not fear the masked delinquent that habited wherever she existed. It was rather unfair when you started to think about it. No surprise at all that Tara was untrustful of… well, everyone.

“Promise me you won’t try to find him again,” Sam finally said, her voice far more vulnerable than it had any right to be.

“My dear,” you said, doing your best to emulate her tone. You reached out to hold her hand in a tight grasp. “I would rather defend my thesis a second time than try to find that… hoodlum again.”

Her laugh, though nervous, was beautiful. There was nothing quite like the sound of Sam’s laughter. Even when unsettled, there was a heartiness to it that called to your soul. It touched the deepest parts of you, coaxing them out of their hiding spots until you were laid bare before her, eagerly awaiting her next move.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called Ghostface a “hoodlum” before,” she said before squeezing your hand.

“Well they should,” you said, all joking put aside. “Or perhaps even a coward,” you continued. “Only a coward prevents their victim from seeing the face of their attacker.”

Sam leaned against your arm as she grabbed her textbook again. “You’re talking pretty big for someone who was supposedly terrified of him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get within one hundred feet of him,” you clarified. “I’m bold, not brave, my love.”

Her weight settled into you a little more as she pulled her knees up and rested the textbook on top of them. She was doing her best to stay calm; that was what gave her away. The faux-relaxation and attempt to act like you hadn’t just been talking about the person that had terrorised not only her, but her family for years.

And shame on you for bringing it back up again.

You wrapped an arm around her, allowing her to truly sink into you as you both continued your studies. It was not, nor would it ever be, an easy thing to live with. You hadn’t experienced it long, but you could already imagine the constant horror. There was something horrific, not about the immediate threat, but about the ever-looming fear that it could be a threat.

Maybe Tara’s suspicion of you was making more and more sense.

—---

Days passed by without even the slightest hint of Ghostface returning. You kept the news on (when Sam was away) in case there was talk of any familiar murders, but there was nothing. Well, nothing outside of the usual murder and carnage that could be found all over New York City. The more you watched the local news, the more convinced you were that you were not living within a safe city.

Then there was the neverending curiosity that desperately clawed itself up from the deepest recesses of your brain. You hadn’t wanted to think of that… that criminal. Not his motives, his history, none of it. There had been an attempt to push it back down. You had even asked your mother for advice, not wanting to bring it up to Sam in an effort - however futile - to keep her away from it all. Again.

She had not been on your side.

“Just ask her, dear,” your mother said. In the background of the call, you could hear Jeopardy playing on the old television. “If you want the knowledge, you ask the expert.”

You sighed as you flopped down on your own couch. “I don’t want to upset her though.”

Subconsciously, you turned on Jeopardy to watch it with your parents. Just like old times.

“She’ll tell you if it upsets her,” she said. Then, quieter, “what is Metamorphoses.”

“Gosh darn, hon, at least give me a chance to guess it,” you heard your father say. It was a faux complaint; his laugh gave him away.

“He needs to guess faster,” you mumbled, not entirely to anyone in particular.

“Did ya hear that?” Your mother started to blab. “Our little Doctor says you need to guess faster.” She barely contained her giggle.

“Don’t tell him that,” you huffed.

“Well I’m sorry we’re not all fancy pants doctors, kiddo,” he said, far too loud. He still couldn’t really comprehend how phones worked. At least he tried. “Takes some of us a bit of time to think, ya know?”

“What is the knee,” your mother said.

“See?” Your dad groaned. “Got me all distracted, I can’t keep up.”

“Then let me let you go,” you said quickly before either one of your parents could say anything else.

“Don’t forget to ask Samantha,” your mother said with an air of nonchalance that you only dreamed of achieving.

“I will,” you said. The commercial had ended and you knew if you waited much longer, you’d hear your parents arguing over the answer again. “I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.”

“Tell Samantha she needs to watch Jeopardy with us some time,” your dad called out.

“Good night,” you insisted.

“Night, hon,” both of your parents mumbled before you finally managed to end the call.

You loved them, you really did. But the last thing you were going to do anytime soon was invite Sam to watch Jeopardy. You wanted to keep a girlfriend, not lose one. Although maybe it would be the mundanity that she needed. There was nothing less exciting than watching game shows with your parents, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Who is Castro,” you mumbled to yourself before the screen showed your exact answer.

It was truly amazing you had kept a girlfriend for as long as you had so far.

—---

“You’re quiet,” Sam said softly.

You looked up from the abyss that was your wine. The restaurant of the week was a bit more luxurious, “fancy,” as J called it. Tara called it “ridiculous,” but you kept your mouth shut; she would be going on a date to the same place within the month. Her opinion didn’t change the fact that it was a lovely restaurant, only made more beautiful by the woman sitting across from you.

“I’m sorry,” you said just as softly. “I’m just thinking.”

She leaned forward on her arms. “Anything in particular?”

Yes, your mind started, would you truly consider yourself a child of Ghostface? After all, Billy Loomis is technically the forefather of the Ghostface lineage, but he didn’t raise you. Would you still consider him your father? Or, perhaps he is your father but not your dad. Some people make that distinction, you know. Does such a thought bother you-

“-My parents are coming to visit in two weeks,” you said with a calm smile that contradicted your internal monologue. “Would you like to meet them?”

Now that made Sam freeze. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at you. If you looked closer, you almost thought you saw her jaw nearly drop. Oh, so she could fight off Ghostface twice and yet she couldn’t meet your parents? They weren’t so bad! Well, not really, just in a different way. Okay, maybe they were a little intimidating, but not in a bad way!

“Are you afraid of my parents?” You asked as you both sat up, sitting back far enough for the waiter to place your food before you. He pursed his lips and attempted not to smile.

“I’m not afraid of them,” she said indignantly. “I’ve just,” she shrugged, “never had to meet someone’s parents before.”

“Never?” You asked. It was easy enough to maintain eye contact - which your mother claimed was important during serious conversations - while picking at your food. “Not once?”

“Not really, no,” she said. She, however, was not making eye contact. “I mean, there was a boyfriend or two in highschool, but I already knew their parents so it doesn’t count.”

“What about Agent Reed?” You asked before taking another bite of your dinner.

Sam smiled softly. “Already knew her parents too.”

“Right, right,” you said with your own nod before finally looking down at your food. You had nearly forgotten what you had ordered to begin with.

You supposed you couldn’t blame her for being worried. No, you couldn’t blame her at all. Though not quite on the same level - although it completely was - you had been as terrified to meet Tara. Though not her parent, Tara was the only family she had left, aside from the twins. That was terrifying enough without technically being a parent.

Then there was the fear that, although you knew Sam would never admit it aloud, she was afraid of parents. Perhaps it was from the fear that they wouldn’t approve of her as her own mother had made painfully clear. There was no gentle way to tell her that her mother was not a good mother. Parents were rarely disappointed in their children, even on the worst days.

Not every family was as tragic as hers.

“Would it help if I told you about them?” You asked slowly. “Then you can decide if you would like to meet them or not.”

Sam chewed her food thoughtfully before looking up at you through her eyelashes. You hated when she did that, truly you did. It made you fold within an instant. She knew it too. Samantha Carpenter knew what she could do to you, and she used her wiles shamelessly. A femme fatale indeed.

“That would actually be nice,” she finally said. There was a raspiness to her voice that she kept reserved for whenever she wanted something.

You didn’t know what exactly she wanted, but you would have given her the world just to find out.

“Alright then,” you said softly, almost inaudibly as you swallowed harshly. “Where to start?”

Throughout the rest of the evening, you told her of your parents. Of their childhoods, or at least what you were aware of, and their accomplishments. You spun tales of their “wild years,” as they had called it back in the ‘70s. She slowly scrolled through the photos on your phone, the ones you had scanned from their physical photos.

By the time you had ordered dessert - a tiramisu that was to die for - you had moved your chair closer to hers. You had told her of their professions; your mother was a librarian at the small elementary school, and your father worked at the local pharmacy. Nothing fancy, nothing to brag about, but they were proud of their jobs.

All the while, Sam listened intently. You could feel her eyes on you the entire time you talked. It was as if she was staring into your soul, trying to pick apart what could be a lie and what was fact. A painful realisation of just how deep her familial trauma ran, even though she and Tara would never admit it aloud.

“That’s about it, really,” you finally said with a shrug. The signed check had been sitting in front of you for far longer than you could say. “My parents’ entire story in the span of a singular dinner date.”

You… wouldn’t think too hard about the fact you had spent an entire dinner date talking about your parents.

“They sound like good people,” Sam said. Her hand was warm in yours.

“They’re rather eccentric in their own way,” you said, “but they mean well.”

You didn’t ask the question yet. It would be up to Sam whether she wanted to meet your parents or not, and you certainly weren’t going to push her one way or another. This was wholly her decision, you had simply laid out enough for her to make an informed decision of her own.

“Would they like me?” She asked softly.

There was a desperation on her face that she rarely let show. Sam was a tough woman; not just physically. But something about this was making her second guess herself and her own abilities. It was preposterous, though you knew one couldn’t fight their own insecurities so easily. The very look on her face broke your heart.

You lifted her hand to cup her cheek, which she eagerly leaned into.

“My darling,” you said gently, “they already do.”

The smallest of smiles lifted the corners of her mouth. Just as with every time you saw her smile, you knew you would do anything for her if she but looked at you the way she was in that moment. All bright eyes and carefree smile and as beautiful as the day you had first seen her.

“I want to meet them,” she said. “If it’s alright.”

You leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “It’s always alright.”

—---

Your parents loved Sam.

On top of that, your parents loved Sam and Tara. The literal moment they had found out Sam had a little sister, they had demanded you have her over as well. You had done your best not to eavesdrop, but when Sam called it was clear Tara wanted no part of it. However, for better or worse, the decision was made and Sam agreed to bring Tara over the next evening.

Then you all made the mistake of mentioning J. You should have known better, truly you should have. You knew your parents and their proclivity for practically adopting everyone into the family. They had picked it up in the ‘70s and had never gone back. Tara was practically blackmailed into bringing J with her the next night.

Your parents took to all of them like they were blood.

“You three better start practising,” your dad pointed out when the three newest family members were unusually silent while The Price is Right played in the background. “We only take it easy on ya the first time.”

“Dad,” you warned as you continued putting up Trivial Pursuit.

Your mom had wiped the floor with everyone, as usual.

“Don’t listen to him, hon,” your mom said. She was sitting proudly on her Winner’s Chair, as she had dubbed it after only the second win of the night. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“You sure about that?” J asked, their accent almost a comical contrast to your mother’s. “I felt like a fish outta water.”

“Practice makes perfect,” your mom said with a smile that was far too cheery for the humiliation she had instilled upon you all.

You would never forgive her for embarrassing you in front of Sam.

“We should get going,” Tara said rather reluctantly. “We have to be somewhere in the morning.”

“Where?” J asked.

The disappointment on Tara’s face was worthy of a picture.

“Brunch with your parents,” she said quietly.

“Oh shit, I forgot,” J said. Their voice, on the other hand, was far too loud for the situation. It was rather comical; you didn’t know how those two had ended up together, but their contrast was a work of art. “We gotta go.”

“Before ya head out,” your dad said as everyone stood up to tell them bye, “we gotta hug it out since we’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

J and Tara shared a look before looking at you. Right. None of them were really touchy-feely people. Being around your parents for the week had erased that possibility from your mind. With your bunch, you were all touching, hugging, patting each other on the back, whatever you could get away with. There hadn’t even been a thought in your mind that everyone else was a bit hesitant with their physical affection.

“You don’t have to,” you said softly with a shake of your head.

“Oh, are ya not a hugger?” Your mom asked.

“How’s about a handshake, bud?” Your dad said just as quickly.

“Handshake works great,” J said with their stereotypical toothy grin.

Your parents shook both J’s and Tara’s hands, telling them how lovely it was to meet them, inviting them over for Christmas and Easter and 4 of July and every other holiday they could think of. You walked the both of them out of the apartment while your parents continued to shout invitations to them.

Come over if ya need to get away for a weekend.

I’ll mail ya both some homemade cookies soon.

Expect somethin’ for your birthdays.

They didn’t stop offering things until the door closed behind the couple and it was only Sam left. Not that it stopped your parents, of course, they just simply turned their invitations towards her. Your parents were overwhelming, you knew they were. They meant well, they were just… a lot.

Yet Sam managed to handle it with grace and charm, and you simply fell more and more in love with her. She had your parents laughing, smiling, cracking jokes that they normally wouldn’t when they were alone with you. Something about her brought out a slightly less reserved side of them that you didn’t think you had ever seen.

And when she looked up and met your eyes as they continued talking with her, there was a familiar sparkle that you didn’t see as often as you would like, especially after hearing that Ghostface was back. She looked like your Sam, the one who had joked with you and teased you about your proclivity for books. The one you had woken up with last summer without a single care in the world.

The one you were utterly devoted to and would have sacrificed anything to make happy. That was your Sam once again.

—---

It was a beautiful late-winter day. The air was still a bit chilly, and you were bundled tightly in your warm coat that went down to your ankles. One of your hands was shoved deep into the pockets while the other held a small bouquet of flowers. The sweet bodega owner on the corner of your street was notorious for having the most beautiful flowers, and you now had to agree.

You were supposed to be home grading essays while Sam studied. One of the few relegated nights a week where you were both at your own homes. But you had missed her during the day, and you wouldn’t apologise for it. On the walk home, you had decided you would surprise her. After all, everyone loved flowers, didn’t they?

The streets were as busy as they usually were, but that was alright. It was a rather lovely evening, and it gave you more time to think about Sam. There was no doubt in your mind that anyone, possibly everyone would have teased you for how much of a… what did J call it? A simp you were for her. Yet you didn’t mind. You would have done anything for her without an ounce of hesitation.

Your mind started replaying the nights you spent with her. Some more exciting than others, though none of them a bore. The nights you spent together in each other’s bed, keeping quiet at her place while not bothering to do the same at yours. Or the nights you would just lay there, tracing scars and telling stories. Hers were far more interesting than yours, that was for sure.

Would it be too soon to start questioning if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her? It had been nearly a year, if your memory served you well. Not the longest length of time, but you knew plenty of people that had questioned it much sooner. Would you want to spend the rest of your life with her?

Yes. Yes, you would. Being able to wake up to Sam every morning, hair splayed out on your pillow even as she insisted she was on her own. To be there for her when the nightmares and fears became too much. A shoulder to lean on, to cry on, a hand to hold when she needed it. You wanted to be by her side through it all, the good, the bad, the fun, the terrifying.

Nothing sounded better than being able to call her yours for the rest of your lives.

You didn’t bother buzzing to be let in; someone already downstairs let you in, having recognised you, you supposed. It wouldn’t have been too far of a stretch, you had frequented the apartment complex often enough. You were almost certain you knew the Carpenters’ neighbours better than they did.

Each step up the stairs had your heart racing faster. You were of the mind of a giddy school child, seeing their crush for the first time after the weekend. It was a little silly, but you didn’t care. Your parents had instilled in you the ability to be proud of your tendencies that most would find a little ridiculous. And you would never be shamed for wanting to see your girlfriend.

There were a few muffled voices behind the door when you approached the apartment. It wasn’t unusual, they were the centre hub for their friends. Sometimes the twins would come over, sometimes Anika would come around for a short escape, sometimes all three would arrive at once. On occasion you had even seen Quinn, though she had moved out some months ago and only frequented the bigger gatherings.

You opened the door quietly, doing your best not to disturb whoever else was inside. Slowly slipping into the apartment and easing the door shut, you did your best to keep the flowers as presentable as possible. After all, that was the surprise you had spent so long picking out. It would do you no good to mess them up before you could even give them to Sam. You turned around-

-the flowers fell to the floor with a thump.

“Oh shit.”

The Quiet One Pt V

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!reader

Summary:With Ghostface closing in on them, Act 3 finally begins as everyone teams up to hopefully once and for all take them down. ~ Word Count: 9.8k ~ Warnings: descriptions of gory injuries, blood, and anything that comes with Scream, Scream VI spoliers!!, hella swearing

A/N: OMG HEY!!!! IM BACK!!! It has been such a ridiculously long time since I have written, and I'M SO SORRY. Life really got in the way for a while, but I am back. This fic is so damn long it took me ages, but I hope it's everything you guys wanted. I love you all! COME ON MOTHERF*CKER!!

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

Stepping onto the brisk streets of New York, a cool breeze brushed against your skin, painting a rosy hue on your nose and cheeks. The gentle breeze caressed your scar, providing needed relief to its subtle throbbing as you walked hand-in-hand with Tara, who was engrossed in conversation with her sister, while the rest of the group led the way to the station. Eyes scanning your surroundings hastily, your brain attempted to adjust to your new vision as you watched people walk past, utterly oblivious to the psycho that was tormenting their city.

You had never been more jealous.

While meeting Tara was undoubtedly the best part of your life, walking nonchalantly down a busy street at night without checking your shoulder regularly sounded pretty nice. Was it worth throwing your love for Tara away for? Absolutely not, yet you would be lying if you said there wasn't a little voice in the back of your mind that liked to remind you how every day your life could've been - especially after everything you've suffered, as if Woodsboro wasn't enough.

As if sensing your discomfort, Tara paused her conversation with her sister to glance at you worriedly, her eyes scanning your rigid posture and distant eyes moving too fast for her to track. She squeezes your hand to grab your attention as your eyes finally meet hers, your lone e/c eye standing out against its pale white counterpart. "You okay?" she whispers softly, her eyebrows creasing slightly. "Yeah," you sighed dejectedly, "just kinda wishing I had a normal life... you know, without all this Ghostface shit".

You watched as Tara's face fell slightly at your words, causing you to panic, "It's not your fault! I love you and everyone here. I just hate worrying about who will be alive in the morning." Her expression was slightly lifted as a small smile formed on her lips, but guilt continued to gnaw at her eyes. You could hear her whisper, "Yeah, I get it", as she briefly looked away to look at others a few metres ahead of you. She lets go of your hand with a comforting squeeze as she quickens with each step. "I'll be right back."

Watching as she walked off, a gentle hand on your shoulder pulled your attention from the small girl now talking to Mindy. "Did I say something?" you ask, knowing it was Sam standing next to you. "No, she just likes to run off sometimes," she jokes lightheartedly, a slight chuckle falling from your lips. "Tell me about it.". Mindy glances back at you as Tara approaches Chad and Danny. "She's a difficult girl to understand, but if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that she loves you. It's a little obsessive, honestly." Your cheeks flush as you look at Sam questionably, "Sam being sentimental? Never thought I'd live to see that." "Oh shut up" she shoves your shoulder playfully as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you.

Curious, you gaze at Tara as she returns to her position beside you, intertwining your hands without hesitation. You enquire softly, "What was that all about?" while she keeps her gaze fixed on the approaching station stairs. "Nothing. I just needed to talk to them about something.". Despite feeling it was about you, as said friends kept looking over their shoulders at you, you stopped yourself from pushing it.

As soon as you stepped foot in the station, you were greeted by an overwhelming influx of people, many of whom were dressed in Halloween costumes. Mindy steps back from the group in front to stand by your side as you take in your surroundings for the first time. Like you, she looks through the crowds, her expression more serious than you're used to on her. You excused her unusual behaviour until you both walked into someone who stared at you wide-eyed, horrified by your scar.

"What the fuck are you looking at?! Fuck off! Jeez... some people."

Now, you were the one who had to look at Mindy with wide eyes. This type of aggression was uncommon for the typically gentle and humorous girl, so the fact that she even displayed it, especially to defend you, it shocked you, to say the least. "Damn, Mindy… thanks," you muttered under your breath as Mindy returned your timid smile, "They deserved it."

Walking further onto the platform, the group waited momentarily whilst the train came to a stop and the doors opened. With tons of people trying to squeeze through the small doors to fit in the tiny space left on the packed train, it became a free-for-all. It happened in a blur; your hand separated from Tara's as Danny dragged her onto the train, leaving you and Mindy amongst the wave of people.

Amidst the chaos of people jostling your shoulders, your attention shifted away from Mindy's presence and focused solely on reaching a concerned Tara. Mindy's frustration became evident through the curse words she hurled at those around you. As you pushed your way towards your girlfriend, an obnoxious person dressed as Ghostface forcefully pushed you from behind, causing you to stumble onto the train and into Tara's embrace, the girl grunting softly at the impact. The echo of Mindy's furious tirade filled the air as you finally turned to witness her forcefully pulling off their mask.

Tucked in Tara's embrace, a soft chuckle escaped your lips at the scene before you. That was until the doors of the train started to close. "Shit… Mindy!" you exclaim, feeling a surge of guilt wash over you as you desperately try to reach the door, only to be held back by Tara. You watch Mindy's sudden realisation of the closing doors, a loud 'fuck' escapes her lips as she tries to navigate through the remaining crowd in her path.

The doors shut just as she's about to reach them.

You pound your fist against the door in frustration, mirroring the same exasperated look on Mindy's face. Grabbing your phone, you motioned for her to do the same through the glass as you texted her. The whine of the train starting to move fills your ears as Tara pulls you closer, her body wrapped around your free arm.

In the midst of all the chaos, it escaped your attention that Ethan had also managed to miss the train, although you couldn't quite fathom how. Your phone dings with a text from Mindy. "She's taking the train right after us with Ethan," you inform the group, slipping your phone into your back pocket and releasing a quiet sigh.

"She'll be okay. She's Mindy." Tara comforts you softly, gently stroking your arm as you gaze down at her, nodding in response. You embraced your girlfriend in a tender and heartfelt hug. You were burdened with guilt. You're not sure where this sudden protective nature had come from, and although your heart felt some relief knowing that she cared, you couldn't help but feel responsible for it.

She was protecting you, and look where that got her.

Letting go of Tara, you gently kissed her forehead and intertwined your hand with hers. Until now, you were completely absorbed in your thoughts, oblivious to the tension brewing within the group. Taking your gaze off your girlfriend, the source of said discomfort became obvious.

Ghostface.

Everywhere.

"Oh, what the fuck" you cursed as Tara's grip on your hand tightened. Everywhere you looked, there were individuals wearing the costume that perpetually plagued your nightmares, and their unwavering gazes seemed to be fixated on you. "Why are there so many of them?" Chad asked, his frustration evident in his voice as he, too, grew tired of encountering the same pale mask wherever he went.

Everyone's faces are ridden with anxiety. "How many stops do we have?" Tara inquired with a heightened sense of urgency, eager to get off the train just like the rest of you. Sam gazes at the map, undoubtedly internally pleading that it's not too many. Looking back at the group, she hesitates slightly, revealing the news couldn't be good. "Ten", she speaks solemnly. Tara's eyes are filled with concern as you exchange worried glances, causing your heart to race at an abnormal speed.

The subway lights start flickering, intensifying the eerie atmosphere inside the train. Your vision, already impaired, struggled to follow every Ghostface amidst the flickering lights. It became nearly impossible for you to keep track of them, adding to the waves of anxiety that were rushing over you.

As the train came to a halt, the lights flickered into a steady glow, and a voice over the intercom announced your arrival at 79th Street. In a matter of seconds, as you glanced down the carriage, your gaze met that of one of the masked individuals. Your face fell. A sense of fear filled the air, your breath catching in your throat as both of you remained motionless, captivated by the piercing gaze of those intense black eyes.

As if they had never been there, your intense gaze was interrupted when they vanished behind someone getting on the train. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach as you scanned the area, desperately searching for any sign of them, but your efforts proved futile. The others remained clueless about what you just saw as the train started to move again, the lights resuming their irritating flickering.

You pulled Tara closer to you as the carriage grew dim, the silhouettes of your friends becoming the only discernible shapes in the darkness. With a tender embrace, she places her hand on your back, tracing soothing circles that bring you a sense of calm. You locked your gaze on the floor as the cabin continued to flicker around you.

"This is 72nd Street", the announcer speaks monotonously, the train coming to a stop as you look up from the floor, noticing your girlfriend's concerned gaze directed towards you. Attempting to avoid her gaze, your sight lands back on the Ghostface from before, again staring daggers at you. You try to maintain an equally stern gaze, which you manage until they start moving towards you at pace.

"Guys", you quickly inform the others about the imminent danger. The atmosphere instantly tense up as all eyes fixate on the approaching figure. Tara and Chad both step forward to protect you. The Ghostface suddenly stops right in front of you, causing your friends to freeze in an effort to avoid giving away any reaction, just in case it's not the real killer.

Attacking a perfectly innocent person on a New York subway was the last thing you needed, especially with the rumours surrounding Sam.

With a sudden and effortless motion, the person in front of you removes their mask, making Chad flinch. Instead of those frightening black eyes, a teenage girl's soft brown eyes fixated on you, brimming with a curious intensity that seemed almost unhinged.

"Holy shit, your makeup is so good! I saw it from across the train, but, oh my god, it looks so much better up close. How did you do it?" she chirps out in excitement. You freeze, immediately recognising she is talking about your scar.

Your perfectly real scar.

You find yourself speechless, unable to form a response as the unexpected question catches you off guard. Without hesitation, the girl extends her hand towards your face, her fingers inching closer to your scarred face. Taken aback, you witness Chad's hand swiftly grasping the girl's wrist with a firm grip. The expression on the girl's face is filled with surprise, whilst Chad displays determination.

"Get away from her before I make you." Your eyebrows raise slightly at his words, your lips quirked into a small smile as you revelled in your friends' newfound sense of protectiveness.

It made you feel human again.

You softly thank Chad, who gives you a curt nod and a smile as your face lights up with a smile that hadn't adorned your lips for many days. Since Ghostface's return, your life has been completely turned upside down. Your friends began to turn against you as the blame game singled you out as its victim, tearing apart the very essence of your being.

However, at this moment, as you bear the marks of your past and the lasting impact it has had on you, a newfound determination surges through your veins as you observe the individuals surrounding you.

These were your people. Your family.

You were determined to go to any lengths to protect them, even if it meant sacrificing yourself for their sake.

With your hands still interlocked, you finally emerge from the sweaty train and lead the way up the stairs, closely followed by Tara and the others. You quicken your pace up the weathered stairs, your gaze searching for a blonde who had agreed to meet you here. A voice you recognise calls to you as you reach the peak of the staircase. "Hey," you hear her say, your eyes meeting Kirby's as you shift your gaze towards the woman.

As she approaches, she effortlessly inserts herself into the group, seamlessly blending in as you all make your way towards the theatre. "I've talked to Bailey. I've got everything set up," she explains before noticing the lack of numbers in the group. "Where are Mindy and Ethan?" she asks, her voice tinged with a mixture of worry and suspicion. Clenching your jaw slightly at the reminder of the people you left behind, Tara jumps in to respond, "They're five minutes behind us."

"Let's get you all inside.", Kirby speaks, nodding in response before she redirects her attention to the theatre, which is now just a few steps in front of you. As the dilapidated structure looms before you, its imposing presence casts a shadow over the group. Everyone's steps come to a halt as Sam directs her attention towards Danny. "Not you."

Turning towards them, you watch as shock comes over Danny's face, "What?" he says, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Don't trust anyone, remember?" Sam speaks softly yet assertively. "We don't know you. Not really.". His face contorted with hurt as he leaned towards Sam. "You know me," he said, trying to convince her to let him protect her.

"You're not Woodsboro. I'm sorry." Whilst you felt bad for Danny, despite knowing that Sam would never willingly let anyone protect her, the revelation that being part of Woodsboro meant you were trusted filled a small part in your heart that you weren't aware was missing.

Releasing Tara's hand, you gently wrap your arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as you watch the interaction. Unbeknownst to you, a small smile graces Tara's lips, a sign that she's starting to see the return of the girl she loves after the emotional and physical turmoil you've both endured over the past few days.

"It's okay. It's okay, I get it." Danny finally speaks up. "Be safe, okay?" he pleads Sam, leaning in and kissing her cheek tenderly while delicately caressing her arms. Sam's face reveals a hint of guilt as she replies, "You too." before swiftly turning around and continuing walking. The rest of you cast sympathetic glances at Danny before joining the girl on the way to the theatre.

"Good call."

As Kirby unlocks the doors with a reverberating clank, a surge of nervousness courses through you as the doors swing open, revealing the dimly lit theatre. With Tara clinging tightly to your side, a sense of unease washes over you as you cautiously enter the room, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. "I cleared the whole place before you got here. This is the only way in or out." Despite your best efforts to pay attention, Kirby's words seemed to go unnoticed as you surveyed the familiar surroundings, a sense of unease growing within you.

"So, this is the only way in or out. He steps in through the first door, both doors lock automatically, trapping him inside. We turn it into a kill box." Kirby continues to explain enthusiastically, clearly entertained by the fact that this is finally her chance to bring one of these psychos to justice. "Weapons?" Sam questions. "One gun and I hold onto it." Sam gives Kirby a disapproving look, but before she can say anything, Kirby interrupts her, "I'm the only one with a badge here. That's the way it's going to be. We're safe here."

As much as you want to believe what she says, this was Ghostface you were dealing with. Despite the lingering uncertainty, you made an honest attempt to maintain trust in the plan's success, not only for your own sake but also for the sake of the others, particularly Tara.

"I'm gonna check in with Mindy. See if they're close." Sam interrupts, breaking the suspenseful silence that had fallen amongst the group. As Sam walks away and Chad follows, Tara squeezes your hand for your attention. "Come with me?" "Of course", you reply softly. She guided you to the old confectionary stand, a room that had unexpectedly become an escape for the two of you, as it felt like the only safe spot in the entire building.

Besides, it was Tara. You would follow her wherever she went.

"When was the last time anybody used this place? It's so old," Tara comments as you walk through the door. Although not well-maintained, the room decor still manages to evoke a strange sense of comfort as you softly chuckle at her words. "Yeah," you respond softly as you both make your way to the counter, gently letting go of Tara's hand and resting your elbows on it.

As you spot an old box of Milk Duds across the counter, your hand instinctively reaches out to grab them, only for your hands to collide with the girls next to you. A faint blush tinges on your cheeks as her hand pulls back, causing a soft chuckle to escape your lips, "I-I'm sorry, you can have them". You apologise, holding the box towards her, a hint of nervousness evident as you gently bite your lower lip. She pushes your hand back towards you with a slight smirk. "Take them."

"No, I mean…" you stuttered, her touch sending a shiver down your spine as you savoured the rare moment alone you'd shared with her for a while. "If you want them, you have them," you eventually finish. "You think I want these?" she chuckles, prompting a shared embarrassed laughter between the two of you. Your eyes lock, smiles forming on your faces, entirely captivated by each other. "Kind of", you joke, raising your eyebrows at her. "They're like a hundred years old. Maybe that's your thing."

Your soft laughter trails off into a comfortable silence as you look down at your hands, your heart racing, but this time from a much more pleasant catalyst. "I really missed you. I don't know why I told you to back off." You smiled gently at her, tears starting to well in your eyes. "I was so stupid. This whole time, all I really needed was you."

The more she spoke, the more flustered you got. Instead of enjoying the sentiment, you couldn't help but let your mind destroy it.

You're different from the person she is talking about.

She fell in love with the girl whose face wasn't mutilated and would probably scare off young kids. Whilst Tara and your friends could look past it, understanding the trauma you had gone through, you would never be able to walk down the Street without being met with horrified gazes from every direction. And even though Tara would undoubtedly try to protect you from it, you were convinced that her efforts would be futile.

"I'm not the same anymore," you said dimly. Tara frowned at you, gently taking hold of your trembling hand. "What do you mean?" "I just... someone mistook me for a Halloween costume for fucks sake... I'm not the same, and I never will be." You speak, deliberately avoiding eye contact with your girlfriend, as if her reaction would confirm the truth behind your words.

She could never see you the same.

Instead, her delicate touch caressed your cheeks, mindful of your scar, as she tenderly lifted your gaze towards her. Your teary eyes met hers as she looked at you with a tender smile. "Y/n... scar or no scar, you are still the same girl I fell in love with. Nothing will ever take you away from me, especially a scar that makes you look pretty badass if you ask me." you chuckle at her words, a few stray tears escaping, which she gently wipes away.

"I love you," she says, her gaze locked with yours, ensuring her words reach you. "I love you too," you speak with a chuckle, leaning closer to her as she wraps her hands around your neck and draws you in. The moment your lips connect, it feels like heaven. The taste of her lips is a sweet revelation, and you plan to savour every moment. The room seems to blur as the outside world dissolves, leaving only the two of you. The warmth between you intensifies, and a current of desire courses through your veins. Sinking deeper into the kiss, you wrap your arms around her waist, squeezing her tightly as your lips begin to move.

As you tried to deepen the kiss, a sudden jolt of pain shot through your scar, causing you to pull back. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to suppress the pain, you eventually look towards your girlfriend apologetically as she looks at you worried. "Sorry," you chuckle lightly, "It's... still a little tender." You offer the girl a gentle smile as her hands glide down to your hips. "Don't say sorry. We'll just take it slow." Her seductive gaze locks with yours, setting your senses ablaze and causing a familiar blush to creep onto your cheeks. Briefly taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you lean in again. Nothing else mattered at this moment.

Or so you thought.

As your lips are seconds away from colliding, Tara's body is slammed into you as a scream erupts from her throat. Your eyes go wide in panic as you scream her name, only to see Ghostface standing behind her with a knife in her back. She is ripped from your grip as she is thrown to the ground. Although your instincts told you to help her, the masked individual who was now staring straight at you told you otherwise.

Without warning, their knife comes swinging towards you. Taking a swift step back, you barely dodge the blade as they go to swing again, their arm colliding with you. With a grunt, you harshly grip their arm before pulling them around you and throwing them into the wall. The shattering of glass from the poster frame intensifies the chilling encounter as another swing of the knife inches dangerously close to your face. Dodging the swing, you swiftly regained your footing and delivered a powerful punch to the psycho's face. As your fist made contact with their chin, they crumpled to the ground. As the cries of Tara echo in your ear, in a fit of anger, you direct your attention towards their fallen form and deliver a forceful kick to their stomach.

Frantically realising that there was little time they would be on the ground, you swiftly pivoted and rushed to your girlfriend's side, urgently helping her to her feet and guiding her towards the door. With a sudden burst, the door swings open, startling you as Sam and Chad's faces, filled with terror, appear on the other side, their expressions clearly reflecting the echoes of Tara's bone-chilling scream. They quickly notice your dire situation and urgently drag you from the room.

"Come on, go, go, go!" Sam screams as you run out of the room, and Chad slams the door behind you. "It's Kirby! She's the killer!" Sam yells at you, "No shit!" you scream back, desperate to get out of this place. Running towards the caged exit, you grip its rusted bars and pull at it desperately. "That's locked. Come on". Your face falls further, "Are we trapped?" you yell in disbelief. "She made the whole theatre the kill box. For us."

"Hey, what about that? There's an exit door." Tara directs everyone's attention to an opening on the roof, positioned just above a set of scaffolding. "Maybe it leads to the roof or something," you suggest, looking at your girlfriend, who nods in agreement. "There's only one way to find out. Let's go." Chad quickly takes the lead, leading the group towards your potential escape route.

"Bailey's on the way, but-" Sam's words are abruptly interrupted as Ghostface unexpectedly pounces on you from the shadows of the stage. Tara frantically tries to evade the swinging knife, ending up on the floor in an attempt to do so. Unfortunately, you are unable to do the same as the blade slices the side of your arm. You firmly grasp the wound on your arm as you clench your jaw in pain. You watch as the Ghostface continues to swing at Chad and Sam before Chad manages to tackle them onto the floor.

"Y/n! Come on." you hear your girlfriend exclaim, her voice filled with urgency, as you catch sight of her and Sam moving towards the stage. You swiftly move as Chad forcefully slams an old movie camera into their masked face, causing their head to snap back and hit the ground with a resounding thud.

Chad follows you with the camera in hand as you join the girls backstage, both of them looking around frantically for an exit. "This way! Come on!" Tara's voice echoes through the air as she swiftly dashes towards a small tunnel backstage. You eagerly trail behind her along the narrow path, acutely aware of the ominous footsteps of Ghostface closing in from behind. Until now, your lack of vision in one eye hadn't posed much of a problem. Yet, as you sprinted through the narrow pathway, you kept crashing into the walls while Chad struggled to guide you in the right direction.

As you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, a chilling realisation washes over you - Ghostface is steadily closing in. "Fuck, they're fast," you exclaimed, as Chad also realised their proximity. "Get fucked", he shouted as he made the quick decision to hurl the bulky camera at them, immediately slowing them down.

With the additional advantage, you all made it back into the confectionary area as Chad threw the popcorn machine behind you. They quickly push it out of the way as you all turn around to face them. With a slight tilt of their head, they launch a series of aggressive swings towards you and Chad.

The knife narrowly misses both of you as you attempt to position yourselves for some kind of counterattack. Swinging down at Chad, he manages to grab their arm as you grab their shoulders, throwing them back onto the counter. Sam and Tara swiftly seize their arms, desperately trying to subdue them, while you deliver a decisive blow to their face, sending them crashing to the ground once more. As they fall to the ground, Tara quickly runs up to them and boots them in the face.

You couldn't help but think how hot it was.

"Go! Go!" Chad exclaims, swiftly grabbing the old bubblegum dispenser from the counter. With a determined gaze, he raises it above his head, preparing to deliver a decisive blow to Ghostface. Tara and Sam guide you away from him, leading you towards the door, expecting him to join you momentarily.

His piercing screams quickly disrupt the plan, causing everyone to turn their heads in disbelief. Your jaws hang open in shock as you see another Ghostface standing beside him, clutching a knife pierced in his side. "No! Chad!" Tara screams, sending a shiver down your spine. With Sam holding her back, you watch in suspense as the two masked figures surround Chad and lift him up to his knees.

They absolutely butchered him.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you witnessed the relentless onslaught. You watched him get stabbed over and over and over again as if it was never going to end. You were frozen to your spot. He somehow mustered up the strength to tell you to run, but no one could move. "Go," he sputters out, his determination to save the rest of you clear. In a swift and chilling motion, the Ghostfaces allow his lifeless form to crumple to the ground. With synchronised precision, they wipe their blades clean, sending a shiver down your spine.

Finally getting over your shock, you immediately grabbed the two sisters and dragged them out of the door. "This way. Up here. Come on." Sam directs your pointless running as she tries to get you both backstage. Before you can make it, one of the Ghostfaces pounces from behind the screen. Instinctively turning around, you are stopped immediately as the second Ghostface traps you, waving their knife mockingly.

You're surrounded. Whipping your head back and forth, you watch as they both close in on you, the tension in the air palpable. Thinking quickly, Sam assesses the situation with a determined glint in her eyes. Without hesitation, she swiftly grabs some bricks from the debris-laden floor, handing one to you and another to Tara. In that instant, a silent understanding passes between you - do anything to survive.

As Sam moves the two of you so that you find yourselves back to back, forming an impromptu defensive triangle, the weight of the brick in your hand provides an unexpected but reassuring comfort. The cold surface of the brick grounds you, grounding your resolve as you prepare to face whatever unfolds.

"Ready?" Sam asks, and you swiftly reply, although Tara's distressed cries hinder her ability to respond, overwhelmed by panic and fear. "I need you to be ready. Ready?" With your free hand, you firmly grasp Tara's, offering a comforting squeeze while she inhales deeply. Her hesitation overwhelms Sam, prompting her to urge Tara to look at her. As Tara meets her gaze, a newfound determination fills her voice as she declares, "I'm ready."

"Come on motherfucker!"

Just as the fight was about to begin, the deafening echoes of gunshots reverberated through the vast theatre, prompting an instinctive duck for cover. The ominous figures of the two Ghostfaces hastily retreat into the shadows, leaving an unsettling silence shattered only by your heavy breathing. In the dimly lit ambience, a figure emerges from the stage, and a collective gasp escapes the group as the familiar face of Kirby comes into focus, blood streaming down from a fresh wound on her temple.

"It's okay!" Kirby's voice rings out, a desperate attempt to reassure, though her pained expression reveals the gravity of the situation. The vivid red streams on her face contrast with her pale complexion, creating a chilling scene that leaves everyone motionless.

"Stay the fuck back!" Sam's voice pierces the tension, laced with a mix of fear and anger, earning a confused glance from Kirby, disoriented yet resolute. "We know it's you, Kirby," Tara adds, her tone unwavering as Kirby hesitantly approaches the group. "One of them knocked me out," Kirby pleads, her expression changing to one of desperation. Her eyes are genuine, making you want to trust her more, but your trust issues weren't easy to overcome.

"Kirby, stop!" A deep voice slices through the air, redirecting attention to Bailey, who strides into the theatre with a drawn gun, his gaze fixed on Kirby. "Get away from the girls!". The urgency in Bailey's command prompts an instinctive protective response as you push Tara behind you, eyes fixed on the unfolding standoff.

"What are you doing?" Kirby pleads desperately, the air thick with accusation and uncertainty. "Did you kill Quinn!? Did you kill my daughter!?" Bailey's vengeful glare intensifies, scaring the shit out of you.

He clearly wasn't afraid to kill for his kids.

"Jesus Christ!" Kirby exclaims, her eyes darting between you and the detective in disbelief. With her focus back on you, she pleads again, "Whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him." The desperation in her gaze transforms into one of resolve as she turns back to the man threatening her. "He's probably the killer," she speaks assertively.

Your gaze remains fixed on Bailey, his expression unwavering even as the damning accusation hangs in the air. Suddenly, the figure of Ghostface appears behind Bailey, and Kirby's frantic scream fills the space, warning him of the imminent threat, "Behind you!" she screams. Disregarding her desperate plea, Bailey swiftly pivots and unleashes three deafening gunshots that pierce through the air, each shot finding its mark, striking Kirby in the chest, and causing her to crumple to the ground.

The aftermath is a haunting symphony of laboured breaths and the lingering echoes of her cries. As your focus shifts back to the killers, you watch in horror as two Ghostfaces stand alongside Bailey, their presence casting a sinister pall over the unfolding chaos. The dim lighting accentuates their ominous figures, while Bailey, wearing a sadistic smirk, reveals himself as an orchestrator of this grim spectacle.

"Great job. Both of you."

"You?"

A palpable tension filled the air in the dimly lit theatre, engulfing you as the truth unravelled right before your eyes. "Yeah, of course me." Bailey teases with a smirk growing on his lips, "Frankly, I expected more from you two after what you did to us."

"What do you mean 'us'?" Tara questioned hesitantly. Bailey's smirk grew into an insufferable smile as he looked to his left, where one of his accomplices was moving to remove the mask. Your heart pounds inside your chest as the white face and black fabric are torn away, revealing your friend's face.

Ethan.

The seemingly unassuming roommate revealed himself with a sinister grin. "Ta-da!" Bailey laughs, finding the shock on all of your faces amusing. The sick look on Ethan's face made you want to puke, the revelation that someone you considered a friend had been out to kill you all along.

The feeling made Woodsboro feel like nothing. The two killers were Sam's boyfriend, whom you had hardly met and someone who you hated from the beginning.

It was nothing compared to seeing the real side of your friend.

With a smirk plastered on his lips, he begins to taunt you about how unsafe you were the whole time, "Mindy was right; it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. All I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad. Fuck it felt good to kill him.". You felt a surge of anger coursing through you as he spoke, causing your jaw to clench and your grip to tighten around the brick in your hand.

The idea of Ethan pretending to be his friend for months, only to have been plotting his demise the whole time without any hint of remorse, ignited an unbearable anger inside you.

"This one was your grandmother's Sam. Nancy Loomis?" Ethan smiles at Sam, pointing to his mask with his bloodied knife. "Really runs in your fucking family, doesn't it? And speaking of family, my name isn't Ethan Landry, is it, Dad?"

"Dad?" Tara speaks for the rest of you, your faces growing more shocked. As the shock washes over you, your focus shifts to the second masked figure who still stands menacingly staring directly at you.

"But, if you're Ethan, that just leaves… Mindy?" Sam breathes out in disbelief. Your expression twisted in confusion as you looked back at the memories of how much Mindy had loved Anika. It seemed impossible, yet who else could it be?

Shock filled the room as Quinn removed her mask, leaving you all in stunned silence. "Hey, Roomies. Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"But you died?" Tara spoke, a hint of anger behind her voice. "Yeah, kinda didn't, though." Quinn quipped mockingly, "It was a good way to get off the suspect list, stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy on the train, that sort of thing."

Bailey's proud smile made you feel sick as his proud eyes bore into yours, "I made sure I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with a fresh one. You'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with."

Your anger was starting to burst at your seams, being played for fools and having someone come back from the dead to kill your friends, pulling very tight on your last nerve.

"I got Stu Macher's mask. He was my favourite.". You rolled your eyes at her giddy proclamation. Of course, he was.

Bailey, clearly the leader of this psychotic trio, took slow and calculated steps towards Sam. "Number three and number two. Which just leaves…" Pulling out the most weathered mask from his jacket, he holds it out towards Sam, his eyes menacing. "I'm gonna need you to put it on."

Sam stands tall and looks back at the man with a matching expression, slapping the mask out of his hand as you watch his jaw clench in anger. Ethan is quick to react and slashes his knife towards the girl, slicing through her upper arm with a hiss.

You are quick to catch Sam as she falls back into you. She quickly recovers as she grasps her arm, now dripping with a familiar crimson liquid. Bailey's two minions begin to move around you, circling you as your anger finally comes spewing out of you; you step in front of Sam with rage filling your eyes. "You did all this as a family?" you yell at them incredulously. "Hell yeah, bitch! Sam should know why better than anyone!"

You immediately knew they were talking about Billy, yet the true origin of their motive still escaped you. What family had Sam ever hurt for them to hate her so much to go on a murderous rampage?

"They still haven't figured it out. Maybe we overestimated them." Ethan mocked as the confusion was clearly evident on your faces. Sam was the most confused of all, knowing that she had never done anything wrong. "I don't know what you believe, but I didn't commit the murders in Woodsboro…"

Bailey's laugh fills the theatre, slightly offended that Sam would think that they would believe some stupid internet rumour. Instead, he reveals that it was, in fact, Quinn who had started the malicious rumours, making life in New York for Sam absolute hell.

Each time you think the betrayal couldn't run any deeper, they manage to beat themselves yet again.

"You're a killer, just like your father was.". "I'm not…". "Yes, you are, you motherfucker! You killed our brother!". The gears could finally tick inside your heads as you looked between each other in an attempt to connect the dots. As far as you were aware, the only person Sam had ever 'killed' was… Richie.

Oh shit.

"You're Richie's family?" The realisation also struck Sam as her face sank. "Ding-ding-ding, now she's finally getting it." You shook your head in disbelief. A family seeking revenge for their dead son, okay, sure. Seeking revenge for a murderous psycho by killing his victims who had killed him out of self-defence? Too far.

Yet clearly, nothing was too far for this family, as Ethan revealed the sickening detail that they had killed their own mother because she had refused to avenge Richie. You knew all Ghostfaces were, on some level, psychotic, but this was getting insane.

"Great job with the parenting…" Tara quipped at Bailey, her words bringing the tiniest of smiles to your lips, her sarcasm never failing to entertain you, even if it's whilst you are surrounded by killers.

"You shut your whore mouth!" Quinn screamed at the girl, your jaw clenching at the insult as you looked at her, infuriated. The temptation to throw the brick in your hand at her face almost overcame you until you felt a gentle hand on your wrist.

"I loved my son. So I helped him build this collection." You shifted your gaze towards the older man as he looked amongst the exhibitions with a reminiscent smile. "All of this is Richies?"

The more you seemingly find out about Richie, the more Sam's expression seems to fall. The guilt she had felt after Woodsboro was reborn as her ignorance about her then-boyfriend increased tenfold.

Knowing that this was all Richie's made the space somehow more bone-chilling than before. As your eyes scanned the numerous exhibits, filled with items that belonged in an evidence box somewhere, a part of you pangs with guilt for the other siblings who were clearly the least favourite.

"This is where you have to die." Your attention is brought back to him as he redraws his gun and points it directly at Sam. Instinctively grabbing for Tara's hand, you spare Sam a quick glance, noticing her expression shift as she tilted her head at the man.

Oh, he was fucked.

"He was pathetic, you know?". You watched the deadpan expression on Bailey's face break. "That's not true…" he shook his head. "He was a man-baby who made his girlfriend do almost all the killing." You had to hold back your smile as you watched his facade breakdown. "He was a strong, virile young man!" "He was a weak little bitch who cried before I cut his fucking throat."

As the words leave Sam's mouth, Quinn lunges towards the three of you with a bloodcurdling scream. She is quickly and effortlessly stopped as Tara clocks her in the face with her brick. With teeth and blood flying out of her mouth, she falls to the floor.

A sign that their moment is finally over, your senses are heightened as Act 3 appears to finally kick off. Before you can make any moves, gunshots ring out from behind you as you turn to see Kirby apparently coming back from the dead.

Her resurgence doesn't last long as Ethan quickly rushes towards her with his knife ready in his hand. You're quick to follow the boy as he reaches Kirby and stabs her in the stomach. Finally reaching them as Kirby falls to the ground in pain, you run straight into Ethan, throwing him into the ground. He quickly gets back up and runs away with a maniacal laugh as you shift your focus back to Kirby.

Noticing the knife still sticking out of her stomach, you look at her with a grimace as you realise it's the only way you're gonna get a weapon anytime soon. "Sorry, but I need this." She gives you a small nod as she squeezes her eyes shut.

Gripping onto the handle, you pull the knife out swiftly in an attempt to minimise her pain. She howls in pain, and her hand grips on your arm, her nails digging into your skin as the wave of pain washes over her. Finally relaxing, she opens her eyes back up and looks at you with a tiny smile.

"Fuck 'em up."

As you stand up, you see Ethan reappear from behind a wall, his eyes set on you. Turning towards him, he begins to charge towards you with a sick grin still plastered on his face. "What are you gonna do, scar-face…" he calls out mockingly as he closes in.

That made you snap.

With a new vigour burning inside of you, you lunge towards him as you pull the knife above your head. With a loud grunt, you drive the knife down into his chest. His smile finally washes over his face as he looks at you surprised. Ignoring it, you continue to pump your knife in and out of his chest as if he were a piece of meat, his blood splattering all over you, but you couldn't care less.

Out of breath, you push his limp body off of you as he keels down with blood sputtering out of his mouth. Standing still, you look at his blood-covered body with laboured breathing. Noticing he is still alive, you move to stab him again until you hear your girlfriend's voice from behind you.

"Y/n!" she calls, your head instantly turning in her direction as you notice her beginning to climb the scaffolding behind her sister. Taking your chance, you quickly run towards them, weaving in and out of the display cases before you reach the base of the scaffolding.

Looking for a place to hold your knife, you settle on wiping it off on your shirt, adding to the mural of crimson colours, before placing the knife between your teeth.

As you begin climbing, the gash in your arm aches as new blood begins to flow from the wound. Biting painfully onto the knife, you continue your ascent as you see Tara at the top, reaching her hand down to you. Hearing noise behind you, you turn your head as you watch Bailey and Ethan begin to circle you like sharks, smelling your blood.

With a final grunt, you reach the top and grab Tara's hand as she helps pull you towards the balcony. Watching the two sisters scale across it in front of you, you take the time to try and settle your breathing, which is easier said than done when you're clutching a knife between your teeth.

Moving to follow them, you take the knife out of your mouth and carefully hand it to Tara. Climbing carefully along the railing, you are seconds from making it to safety with the others before another shot rings through the air.

A burning sensation instantly erupts in your leg as you lose your balance and fall backwards. Screaming your name, Sam and Tara barely manage to catch you as your hands barely grip the slippery railing.

Peering over your shoulder, you watch as Bailey moves towards a set of stairs and Ethan moves to stand directly underneath you. "Shit. Not good," you whisper to yourself as your gaze returns to the sisters' terrified looks.

With your injured arm weakening by the second, a noise from the balcony catches your attention as Quinn appears behind Sam, brandishing a bloodied knife in her hand. As Quinn moves towards her, she is forced to let go of your arm, and she turns to face her.

With Ethan taunting you from below and Quinn and Bailey closing in on the girls, you overcome your panic and realise it's your life or theirs.

"Tara, let me go". Your words cause the girl to look at you in shock. “No, I-” “Tara! Let me go.”. Your grip continues to slip as she looks at you as if you have lost your mind.

"Tara… Please." you give her a small smile as she looks at you with tears in her eyes. You watch as her lips begin to quiver, and you feel her grip loosen. Giving her a nod, she finally lets go of your wrists, causing you to plummet down from the balcony.

Turning your attention to the killer below you, you land with a loud bang, and your injured leg collapses beneath you. In an instant, Ethan is plunging his knife into your stomach, a meek whine escaping your lips as you bend over his arm. Twisting his knife inside of you, your loud cru echoes through the theatre as tears threaten your eyes.

Finally, bringing your head up to look at the boy, his smile sent a shiver down your spine as your breathing became more and more laboured. Just as you thought your time was coming to an end, another figure comes falling down from above you.

It was Tara.

Before you can say anything, she lands on her feet with a knife in her hand. Catching Ethan off-guard, she grips his hair and rips his head back. Looking at her with his mouth open, she lifts up her knife and plunges it into the back of his throat. You can hear him gargling on his own blood as she twists the knife, blood splattering on her face.

"Now die a fucking virgin."

Pushing him so that he falls to the ground with a thud, Tara quickly averts her attention back to you, who, to her surprise, was wearing a smirk on her lips. "That was really hot." you chuckled in pain as she kneeled down next to you, noticing the knife was still in your abdomen.

"Shut up," she said before moving to lie you down. Knowing she was about to pull it out, you exhaled shakily before nodding at her, and just like you did Kirby, she pulled the knife out quickly, earning a pained groan from you, before immediately applying pressure to your wound.

Gently removing her hand from your stomach, you move to sit up and attempt to ignore how her hand is now stained with your blood. Making into an upright position, you look at Tara, who is scanning you for any other wounds, whilst you watch her face with a tender gaze.

The bang of a gunshot, followed by the thud of a body that vibrated the creaky floors above your head, brought you both back to the situation you were in. "Help me up," you say quickly, urgently trying to get up and help Sam, presuming it wasn't her body that you heard fall.

As Tara wrapped her arm around your waist gently, she pulled you to your feet; the faint sound of Sam's voice talking to someone calms your nerves. The throbbing from your bullet and stab wound was a rude awakening as to the shape you were in, not to mention the blood that covered almost every inch of your body.

Before the two of you could move towards the stairs, the sound of screaming rang through the theatre as you both looked up. Your jaw dropped. Bailey and Sam came flying over the railing before plummeting into the displays beneath them. As the glass shattered beneath them, you were quick to notice their lack of movement.

Pulling Tara off of you, you pushed her towards her sister. Running to her side, you hobbled as fast as you could towards them. Thankfully, Tara had managed to shake her awake by the time you got there. As she helped Sam to her feet, you sighed in relief as you looked over at a still motionless Bailey.

As the sisters check over each other, your sights remain on the unconscious killer in front of you. "What are we gonna do about him?" you ask, nodding your head in his direction.

You watch as the gears turn in Sam's head, weighing the options between ending it now and letting him die somewhat peacefully or giving him a taste of his own medicine.

She chose the latter.

Hidden behind the curtains on the side of the stage, you watched Bailey through a small slit, waiting for him to move in order to signal Sam that your plan was in action.

It was simple, really. Make him go crazy, and then you kill him.

After a few minutes, Bailey finally began to stir as he moved to sit up. You quickly poked your head around the corner into the hidden hallway, where Sam was standing in her father's costume; you gave her a nod before she pulled a phone out of her pocket and pulled it to her ear.

The sound of Bailey's phone ringing echoed through the now disturbingly quiet theatre. Repositioning yourself so that you can see him, you watch as he rapidly looks around him before standing and bringing his phone to his ear.

You can't hear what Sam is saying to him, but you watch him make his way to the stage as planned. "Oh yeah, what's that?" his voice grows louder as he finally appears on the stage.

Now, the fun part.

As planned, from your place on the ground, you reached your uninjured leg out and kicked a floorboard. Before you could even retract your leg, Bailey snapped towards the noise and fired two precise shots into the heads of the mannequins that lined the stage.

"You put on your true face, huh? Your birthright. Poetic that you're going to die in it…" Exhaling quietly as he spoke, you moved to a spot against a wall where you could relax your weakening body for a minute as Tara played her part.

A noise sounded from the other side of the stage. Closing your eyes as you leaned your head back onto the wall, you listened as Bailey once again flinched and fired his gun, this time the sound of shattering glass filling the stage.

"You know the truth now. Murder's in your blood."

It was your turn again. As quietly as you could in your state, you reached your arm over to the brick that Sam had given you. Picking it up, with the strength left in your arms, you threw it into the back corner of the stage, away from you.

The sound of Bailey's gun firing once again filled the air as he screamed frustratedly, "Stop fucking around and show yourself!". Knowing that it was Sam's turn, you quietly crawled towards the curtain, pulling it aside slightly so that you could peer through.

"I'm a fucking police officer! What are you gonna do, huh? Who do you think they're gonna believe?" he screams once again. A faint smile lands on your lips as you watch Sam appears behind him, wearing the mask and all. Before he even notices her presence, she quickly spins him around before, as you would put it, stabbing the shit out of him.

As crazy as it sounded to say, the sound of his screams was like music to your ears. His family had singlehandedly taken everything from you, so watching him suffer was like heaven to you.

Spotting Tara appear from behind her hiding spot and walking towards Sam, you decided to do the same. With a groan and the help of a wall, you pulled yourself to your feet before weakly hobbling out from your place behind the curtains.

As Sam finally stops stabbing him, and he pleads for his life, you watch with a mixture of admiration and concern, confused as to why she is giving him any chance to live.

She didn't entertain it for long.

"But you did fuck with my family, so…". You watch with wide eyes as Sam gruesomely stabs him straight in his eye, the blade clearly reaching his brain as he falls to the ground, twitching.

"Aw, now we're matching." you joke, earning a laugh from the girls as you look at the mutilated body of the once detective who now also had only one functional eye - had he been alive, that is.

"Let's get out of here," Tara says softly as she grasps your hand with hers. Her touch never fails to make you giddy, but something was off this time. As she tried to pull you towards the stairs off the stage, your head began to spin uncontrollably as a wave of nausea hit you like a truck.

Your legs collapse underneath you as Tara catches you, her face ridden with worry. "Y/n?!? Hey, you're okay, just breathe.". Your vision was fading in and out of a blur as the feeling of your limbs began to escape you. Sam kneels down on the other side of you, matching Tara's expression, as you try to nod to Tara's words.

"Yeah… I just… need a little break." Your eyes begin to flutter shut as you try your best to keep them open. "Keep your eyes open for me, okay," Tara speaks as calmly as she can as she notices the blood beginning to spill from your wounds again.

“Yeah… of course…”

Opening your eyes slowly, you groan softly as the bright light hanging above you stings your eyes. Carefully rubbing your eyes, still careful of your scar, you move to sit up slightly, noticing you are in an empty hospital room. Confusion washes over you, as last you remember, you were on a bloodied stage, and yet here you were.

Doing your best with your aching limbs, you move a pillow behind your back in order to give you a better view of your new environment, admittedly much nicer than your previous one.

Scanning the room, you notice the small TV in the corner of the room is playing The Babadook. You know you didn't put it on, so someone must be here, and it's not particularly hard to figure out who it must be.

With your attention focused on the screen, you fail to notice when Tara walks in the door with a bag of chips in her hand. As she notices your moving figure, a loud gasp escapes her lips. She drops everything in her hands to cover her mouth, her eyes immediately watering.

The sound makes you immediately turn to her, a smile growing on your lips as your eyes meet hers. As the fact that you are awake and alive sinks in, she runs over to the side of your bed and brings her hands up to your face.

Gently cupping your cheeks, her teary eyes look into yours as your hands gently grip her wrists. "Hi," you chuckle softly, the wave of relief finally hitting you. "Hi," she chuckles back even softer, her eyes scanning every detail of your face.

"Is everyone okay?" you ask with furrowed brows as she nods enthusiastically in response. "Yeah, yeah, we're all fine.". The sigh that escapes your lips rids your mending body stress, all of it melting away as soon as you know you have all made it.

Your eyes return to Tara's as she whispers softly, "I can't believe you're alive.". You smile sincerely at her words. "I'm not going anywhere." At your words, she lets go of your face and climbs onto your bed. Your eyes were filled with curiosity. You watch as she wraps her arms around your neck and buries her head in your shoulder.

Instantly reciprocating, you wrap your arms around her waist and hug her with all the strength you can muster. You can feel her tears falling onto your bare shoulder, entangling one of your hands in her hair as you gently play with her hair.

"We made it, Tara. We made it."

Tag-list:@nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @simp4nat @natashadeservedmore @livingforwaddams @alexkolax @ssinfulprayers @wifeyjennaortega@thenextdawn @zhasmindoesntknow @faunusrubyrose @harleyspunchingbag @yourmamacom@rockwyn @androgynouscloudenemy@padf00ts-l0ver @wol-fica @captainbeat @sophiexoxo-lol@perfectartisanwerewolf @pedrosprincess @dark-hunter16 @daenerys713 @dksjskx @blazemaster4014 @l4venderia @marsyay78 @edearx0 @randomnessbecausewhynot @pixielovers2account @buba424 @niqmandu @karsonromanoff @spidey-beans 

everyone but her pt.39

Summary: Everything is starting to play tricks on you, and all you really want is for Wednesday to swoop in and fix it. Even if only for a moment.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, injury, shock, grief, suggestive themes at the end Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

Ringing echoed in your ears. It felt so deep that you could almost feel your teeth vibrating. At least it was a feeling. Something other than the unusual mix of numbness and the heavy weight that had settled in your stomach. The ringing was some sort of distraction from the stench of the hospital.

Underneath the dried blood, your skin itched. A nice contrast to the way it usually felt like it was crawling. Your dirty nails peeled the dried flakes of blood off your skin subconsciously. Piece by piece, falling to the floor like rusted snow. Beneath your hands, resting on the ground, a tiny horrific winter wonderland was being born.

You couldn’t see it. The blackness had crept upon your vision, leaving you with something that was like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. A small pinprick of the spot in front of you, distorted and distant and looking like nothing more than a speck of light in the pitch black.

The doctors were saying something to Yoko. You wouldn’t know; you hadn’t been able to hear anything aside from the ringing for… you didn’t know how long. Time moved both too fast and too slow. Existence seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace, and yet it felt like you were ageing with each shaky, pained breath you took.

That grounding hand on your knee disappeared, leaving you with nothing but the small speck of light and the itching of your skin. The ringing started to dull, slowly becoming overwhelmed by muffled voices. It started off low, almost inaudible, growing into what could almost be recognised. Something familiar.

Something angry.

You blinked hard once, twice, squeezing your eyes shut the third time. When you opened them, the tunnel vision started to pull back, revealing two tiles on the floor, then four, then letting them take over your vision. There was something powdery beneath your hands. Had it come from you?

Two sets of shoes stepped into your still-growing field of view. A pair of boots and a pair of heels. Both black. Neutral. Safe. It was like Wednesday. Black was safe. Your eyes slowly raked up from the shoes to the legs, to the waist, then finally up to the face.

Bianca. She was safe too.

“What did you do?” She asked, demanded, her voice ringing crystal clear in your ears.

Maybe she wasn’t safe.

She’s accusing you, the voice said, almost sounding more clear than Bianca. You killed her girlfriend. You blinked hard again. You’re a killer. No, that couldn’t be right. Right? No, of course not. No one could have died. Why would they have died?

Everyone around you dies.

“We didn’t do anything,” Yoko said. In contrast to Bianca’s, her voice sounded far weaker, almost uncertain. That couldn’t be right. “You should be happy we even found them at all.”

“Are you here for-”

“-Yes,” Bianca said quickly, interrupting whom you assumed to be the doctor.

You tried to see who they were, to finally get a firm grip on what was going on, but it was like you were moving through molasses. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t move fast enough. It was like a bad dream, one of the ones where you tried to save someone but you just couldn’t get your feet to run faster.

“You can all come with me,” the doctor said by the time you finally managed to look at her. “We put them both in the same room.”

Bianca didn’t wait for either of you to follow. You didn’t blame her. A pale hand reached across your gaze before resting on your arm. It slowly slid down until it cupped your elbow and gently pulled upward. Oh. Oh, of course, you should follow. The creak of your knee was horrifically loud in your ears. You wondered if the entire hospital had heard it.

Yoko’s hand never strayed from your elbow as she helped you down the hallway to the room. Did she think you were incapable of getting there on your own? She may have been older, but you weren’t a child. Even as you tripped over the floor when the toe of your shoe scuffed the tile.

You’re incompetent, the voice chided. A feeble killer.

“They’re stable,” you heard the doctor saying when you walked through the doorway. “They should wake up soon.”

She politely pushed past you then, leaving you alone in the room with Yoko and Bianca. And two corpses. No, they were alive, the doctor had said so. Stable even. As long as you didn’t have to look at them, they would be okay. Your mind couldn’t play tricks on you if you didn’t look.

“What happened?” Bianca asked after a few moments of tense silence. “I need the truth.”

“I already told you,” Yoko started with a sigh.

Her hand vanished from your elbow while she rambled on, talking about what had happened out in the forest. At least you assumed that’s what she was saying; each word from her mouth was melding with the next, leaving nothing but a constant stream of noise.

Look at them.

You didn’t want to.

Look at what you caused.

Your eyes raised from the hole you were attempting to stare into the ground. All of your insides were screaming, telling you something was wrong. The usually pristine white bed sheets were soaked, dripping steaming blood onto the sterile tile below. Yoko’s voice was drowned out by a flatline that grew louder with each heartbeat from your own chest. Bandages were soaked through and they were looking at you with ghastly white eyes. You wanted to scream.

But you couldn’t move.

It was like that story Wednesday had read to you at Nevermore; I have no mouth, and I must scream.

It burned in your throat. Like swallowing hot coals, one by one, devouring them before they devoured you in return. You weren’t sure what it felt like to drink fire, but this must have been close. There wasn’t even any saliva left in your mouth to ease the scorching heat threatening to bubble past your lips.

If only you could open your mouth.

A cold hand slipped into your own from behind. Small, seemingly fragile even though you knew the strength it held underneath the skin. All it took was a squeeze of her hand in yours, and the acid rising up your throat started to recoil, slithering back to whatever crevice it had crawled out of.

It wasn’t just the feel of her hand that tamed your nerves; it was her very presence. The moment you felt her beside you, the pools of blood on the tiles started to absorb into the tiles. Each drip from the bed sheets slowed down until they stopped completely. And each set of nightmarishly white eyes closed until you were standing in a normal hospital room again.

You had always been in a normal hospital room.

Voices - muffled and high pitched - came from behind you before quickly ending up in front of you. The air in the room grew lighter, and you inhaled slowly through your nose. Your lungs then exhaled in relief, the burning ache easing into nothingness. There were plenty of people in the room, you could tell, but you just looked back down at the floor.

Wednesday’s black platforms made for a wonderful focus point.

“Why were you in the woods?”

Bianca’s voice was grating against your ears. It didn’t sound any different than normal, but something about it made your skin crawl. Someone cleared their voice. It was a wet sound; too fleshy for your liking.

“You asked me to go with you.” That was Ash. She didn’t sound dead.

“What do you mean?” Bianca asked, and you finally looked back up. Everyone had gone dead silent. “I was in my apartment.”

“No you weren’t,” Ash said. Her voice sounded raw as she cleared her throat again. “You asked me to go on a morning walk with you.”

“When have I ever wanted a morning walk?” Bianca asked not unkindly as she gently took Ash’s hand in hers.. “Mornings are the worst part of the day.”

Everyone turned their heads slowly to look at you. Why would they be looking at you? You weren’t Bianca; you didn’t even look the same. Besides, you had an alibi, and everyone tended to believe Yoko about things. She was your best friend, but she had made it clear over all the years that she would call you out if need be.

“What about you?” Ajax asked the other bed; Joel’s eyes were slowly opening too. “Who did you follow?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a similarly croaky voice to Ash. “I don’t remember anything after going to sleep.”

Wednesday squeezed your hand again, holding on tightly for a few seconds longer than usual. It was grounding. The longer you stared at Ash and Joel, the more their bandages started to bleed. But each time Wednesday moved, or touched you, or spoke, the bleeding would dissipate. Slowly. Surely.

“Have the police come in yet?” Divina asked. “They were still outside when we got here.”

“Not yet,” Yoko said. She looked at you; you weren’t paying any attention. “But I’m sure we’ll have to.”

“Get lawyers,” Kent said. “No one’s pressing charges, but you can’t trust cops.”

Everyone mumbled in agreement.

“My family will assist with the lawyers,” Wednesday said. “We maintain a list of all attorneys we currently have on retainer.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Bianca grumbled. You didn’t hear her say she didn’t want the list, though.

“Moreno is on his way,” Wednesday said directly to you.

You knew she was speaking to you because her voice lost its edge. The purposefully professional tone she kept around everyone else - though it slipped more and more with each day - didn’t exist with you. Instead she was soft, almost even kind; something she kept reserved just for you. Only Uncle Fester received the same treatment, and that was something you were okay with.

Something sealed your lips together from the inside. You wanted to say something to her; scream out that you were scared. There was too much red, things didn’t seem real. But you couldn’t even tell her a simple “thank you.” Instead, you just nodded once and blinked slowly. You hoped she understood.

—---

You could feel the exhaustion settling in your bones as Moreno walked out of the interrogation room with you. His hand rested between the connecting point of your wings. Fingers scratched between the joints and kept you grounded. Something usually only Wednesday did, but it worked just about the same, you supposed.

Wednesday was sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby of the police station. The tunnel vision from earlier returned; you could only see her. Her, in your worn out hoodie that added just a splash of colour to her usually black repertoire. It looked almost unnatural, yet not unpleasant.

She looked tired.

It’s your fault if she is.

Moreno stopped you in front of Wednesday and started saying something to her. You couldn’t decipher any of it. The only thing you could hear was the difference in who was talking. It seemed they were having a conversation. Well, that was typically what happened when people talked, so of course they were.

Talking about you.

Yes, you could have guessed that on your own. Maybe they were talking about how you were going to jail again. Surely that couldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility. Maybe it was for the best. Clearly nothing was going right, maybe it would be safer if you were in prison.

Cold hands pressed against your cheeks and tilted your head down. You blinked hard once, forcing your vision to come back. You couldn’t even be concerned about how you had gotten back into your apartment. It was so far detached from the numbness of the situation.

You just didn’t care.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly. It was too soft for Wednesday Addams. A shiver went down your spine.

Her hands lingered on your face for a moment, nails scratching against your jaw. Comfort. Your eyes fell shut as you let yourself feel. The sharpness of her nails against your skin. The shocking cold of her hands in comparison to the warmth of her body pressed against yours. You felt… love.

“In any other situation,” Wednesday said as her arms slid down your neck and arms, “the blood would look lovely on you.”

It should have upset you. The blood belonged to your friend and you should have been upset. You were soaked in it, to the point where your clothes were stiff and your skin itched. But it didn’t. Instead, you felt a warmth in your chest, slowly pushing out the cold that had been tightly nestled into your ribcage.

Wednesday’s hands slipped into yours and pulled. It didn’t take an ounce of brain power to follow wherever she was taking you. The hardwood of the floor turned into tile, and you looked around at the bathroom. A simple room; you would have expected nothing less from her. A clawfoot tub against the wall and a shower across the room.

She let go of your hands to start filling up the tub.

You knew the steps to getting into the bath. Take your shoes off, remove your clothes, and step in. Simple steps, something children could do on their own. Yet you couldn’t get your body to do it. It was too busy staying locked up, refusing to move. Your body felt heavy, like you were trapped underneath rubble and couldn’t get out.

Air caught in your throat when cold hands slid underneath your shirt. Flinching because Wednesday had touched you was humiliating. You hadn’t done it in… you didn’t know how long. She wouldn’t think you were scared of her, would she? Oh god, what if she did? You didn’t think you could handle that.

She’ll think you’re a coward.

“May I?” She asked, eyes uncharacteristically wide.

The words still wouldn’t form on your tongue, so you settled for nodding instead. She gave you that little smile that most wouldn’t even notice before gently taking the hem of your shirt and helping you out of it. Most of the blood was dried, but you still felt a few sticky parts catching your skin. The scalding water filling the tub had already left the bathroom full of steam, so it wasn’t cold when you were bare to the world.

You still shivered anyway.

She held you steady as she helped you out of your stiff jeans. You didn’t know when you had taken your shoes off. Wednesday’s hands kept you steady. She was far sturdier than she seemed. The water was far too hot, but you wouldn’t say anything. If Wednesday Addams had one guilty pleasure, it was a painfully hot bath.

“Wait,” you said when Wednesday started removing the jacket. She froze and looked at you, waiting. “I can help.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” she said. You simply nodded and turned back to face the water.

It would have made anyone laugh if they saw the tub in Wednesday’s apartment. Hot water, fresh black roses on a small table nearby, and a relaxing bubble bath that created a wonderful aroma in the air. Rather soft for what people typically associated with the Addamses. Oh how wrong they were.

The water parted as Wednesday stepped in, quickly straddling your lap. There was nothing scandalous in the position; it was one of comfort, nothing more. It often led to the perfect position for her to help you wash your hair, which was enough of a battle on a normal day. The second upside was your wings could rest on the outside of the tub, staying perfectly dry.

“Stay still,” she demanded, though it held no venom. Her words never held the same sting as they used to. Sometimes you missed it.

Not all the time, obviously. But sometimes.

While one of her hands gripped your chin, the other grabbed a wet washcloth and started washing the grime off your body. It’s blood, the voice made sure to remind you. Your friend’s blood. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from that very fact.

It didn’t distract from the knowledge that you were literally bathing in Ash’s blood.

“Would you find any sort of comfort in talking?” Wednesday asked. “It doesn’t have to be about what happened.” You exhaled slowly through your nose. “It can be about any topic you wish.”

Your thumb rubbed against her hip bone. Did you want to talk about anything? Though you had stayed silent for the majority of the day, you worried that if you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. Or worse, you would fall into uncontrollable sobbing and wouldn’t be able to stop.

But Wednesday was offering, and she so rarely offered.

“Am I bad luck?” You asked.

The washcloth stopped moving for only a moment.

“No,” she said simply. “You are not bad luck.” Her thumb rubbed underneath your eyes. “You simply have a penchant for getting yourself into complicated situations.”

You choked on a laugh. “Did Wednesday Addams just try to sugarcoat my apparent proclivity for trouble?”

“I would never stoop to such a level,” she quickly attempted to defend herself. “I’m simply saying perhaps it’s not all you.”

“Maybe not,” you mumbled. A smile slowly formed on your lips. “Maybe it’s Yoko.”

“What?” She asked.

“Yoko.” You weren’t necessarily looking at Wednesday, but you felt her hands rubbing the product into your hair. “She’s always with me when I get in trouble.”

Wednesday hummed in reply. “You may have a point.” The corner of her mouth tilted upward. “She is a rather unlucky vampire.”

“Exactly,” you said as you leaned your head down so she could better reach the back of it. “I would bet money she’s the reason I’m always in trouble.”

Wednesday smiled. It was her equivalent of a laugh, and you adored it. Even though you would kill to hear her actual, verbal laugh, you had become obsessed with her smile. There was nothing more beautiful, more perfect. The sight alone made your heart skip a beat in the best way.

You wanted to see it for the rest of your life.

That will never happen, the voice taunted. It sounded deeper. Sinister. She will abandon you once she learns how dangerous you are to those you love.

After what had just happened… you couldn’t disagree.

“You’re thinking rather loudly,” she said. You hadn’t noticed she had finished with your hair. “Would you care to share those thoughts?”

No. No, you didn’t want her to know about the voice in your head and how it was right. You hurt those who loved you. Everyone that had ever felt any sort of affection for you had gotten hurt. Fuck, Nicky had gotten killed. How could you explain that to anyone without sounding like either a jinx or a superstitious lunatic?

You couldn’t let her know.

“Do you think Ash really saw Bianca?” You asked instead, doing your best to change the topic before Wednesday caught on to your original train of thought. “Or, I mean, do you think she thought she saw B?”

Wednesday’s hands rested on your shoulders, and her thumbs rubbed against either side of your neck. They were perfectly poised over your jugular; a spot she was rather fond of. You didn’t know if it was because of the power it gave her, or if she simply liked knowing how vulnerable you willingly were around her. All you knew was you kind of liked it.

“If she did,” she started slowly, “then it must have been a hallucination.” Her eyes trailed off to the side. “Or perhaps a shapeshifter.”

“They said the wounds were from claws,” you said. “Shapeshifters usually don’t have claws.”

“Perhaps a werewolf then,” Wednesday continued. “Though it wasn’t a full moon.”

“Enid can grow claws whenever she wants,” you pointed out. “Full moon or not.”

“We should be putting this on my investigation board,” she said.

She didn’t give you any time to object or even fully comprehend what she had suggested. The next thing you knew, she was already getting out of the tub and drying off with her towel; a black, monogrammed towel you had managed to get her for her birthday. You tried not to stare, but she did look rather good with it wrapped around her.

“Are you coming?” She asked.

“Yes ma’am,” you said quickly.

Wednesday was already leaving the bathroom by the time you managed to start emptying out the tub. Of course she would leave you with cleanup. Once a spoiled rich kid, always a spoiled rich kid. The thought made you smile to yourself. Ah, but she was your spoiled rich kid, that was for sure.

By the time you had managed to get out, dry the floor, and dry yourself off, Wednesday had already gotten dressed and set up some sort of board in the living room. You peaked at it on the way to the bedroom. Shit, she had been serious, you didn’t have any time to waste. You hastily threw on a pair of old sweats and pulled the sweater over your head. It was a good thing she was too busy looking at her board to watch you squirm to pull your wings through the holes on the back.

“Did you have this at Nevermore?” You asked as you finally managed to look at the black board. It was littered with notecards and- were those autopsy photos?

“Yes,” she said without turning away from the board. You did your best not to notice that she was wearing another one of your sweaters. And no pants. “I’ve had it since I was nine.”

“Sounds normal enough,” you said with a subconscious nod to yourself. “What else would a nine year old girl want?”

“You said the injuries came from claws?” Wednesday asked.

Okay, no room for small talk, she was in serious mode. That certainly hadn’t happened in a while. It was a lovely look on her; all business. You had missed it. But when she still wouldn’t look at you, you pouted. You hadn’t missed that.

“That’s what the doctor said,” you confirmed. “At least, that’s what Yoko said the doctor said.”

Wednesday nodded once and put something up on the board with a thumb tack. “Plus the possibility of a hallucination.” She tacked a second piece of paper on the board. “What’s the connection?”

“Maybe Bianca’s just a secret psychopath,” you grumbled. This wasn’t turning out to be as fun as you thought.

“I had considered it,” she said, “but it’s rather unlikely.” She turned her body toward you slightly. “Weren’t you and Yoko attacked as well?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. Was it bad you had practically forgotten your own attack? “But we didn’t see anything, it just… happened.”

“What was the worst injury?” She asked, already reaching for a stack of cards. At least that’s what they looked like.

“Yoko got a cut on her head,” you said with a shrug. “And a few scratches on her back, I think.”

Wednesday turned quickly to look at you. “You’re alright?”

You tried not to smile. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

She nodded to herself and turned back to the board. It wasn’t like she hadn’t just seen you in the bath, though you supposed your body was a bit obscured by the bubbles she just had to have. But you knew better than to bring that up. She wasn’t too keen on being teased about her super secret love for bubble baths.

“Preliminary evidence leans toward a werewolf,” she said as she tacked up another card, this one looking like a picture. “Though obviously we’ll need to do some more research.”

“Research?” You asked, standing up straighter. The pop in your knee was not hurting; you were just getting old.

“Whatever it is has attacked my-” you raised your brow as she cleared her throat “-your friends.”

“Nuh uh,” you said as you grabbed her hand and pulled her around. “Joel is all yours, mi vida.” She exhaled through her nose. “And admit it, Ash is your friend too.”

She seemed to think for a moment. “It might also take the pressure off Enid for those fraternity murders last year.”

You sighed. Well, you hadn’t gotten her to admit they were her friends, but at least she hadn’t openly denied it. That was a start if you had ever seen one. Slow, baby steps with Wednesday.

Baby steps.

“Are we going to be doing this all night?” You asked.

Wednesday turned to look at you with a smile so big you almost, almost, saw her teeth.

“Can I at least get a kiss as motivation?” You asked with a sigh.

Her hands held your head in place as she stood up on her toes and kissed you. She tasted uncharacteristically sweet, as if she had been eating candies recently. Coupled with the warmth that had seeped into her skin thanks to the bath, it was almost like you were kissing a Wednesday from another dimension.

But you could still taste the bitter undertones of black coffee, and her fingers had already lost their warmth, and only your Wednesday let her fingers gently hook on either side of your jaw to give her complete control. Only your Wednesday knew just how to kiss you so you felt utterly wanted, loved, desired even.

“Motivated yet?” She asked, her lips still moving against yours.

You shook your head and bent down, wrapping your arms around the backs of her thighs and picking her up. She inhaled sharply, nearly taking your breath away. But that didn’t stop her from wrapping her legs around your waist and pulling your face closer. Not quite into a kiss, but just to hold you close.

“Just a little more,” you said softly.

You couldn’t tell her you couldn’t look at the board yet. That just the thought of finding out who had done something to Ash and Joel was enough to hammer away at what little sanity you had left. She loved mysteries, and you weren’t going to stop her from it.

But a little distraction from the world wouldn’t hurt. You could get your distraction, she could get a clear head, and you would both be all the better for it. After all, maybe if you were lucky, she would test out a few methods of, ahem, marking to see how possible they were.

For her research board, of course.

a novel life pt.2

Summary: You're trying to make nice with Sam's little sister, for everyone's sake. Maybe it leads to an interrogation. Maybe it leads to more. And maybe you end up sucked into the unusual events that follow Legacies

Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: swearing, distrust, mentions of past trauma, mentions of blood, mentions of Scream typical violence Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x GN!Reader A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Yule, and whatever holidays y'all all celebrate 🫶 (pt.1)

“Are you sure this is okay?” You asked as you nearly tripped over your feet.

Sam gave you a look that was both sweet and condescending. “Yes, because I said so.”

“That doesn’t seem like solid reasoning,” you mumbled, but nonetheless continued following her up the steps to her apartment.

It was nearing Halloween, with the cooling air finally allowing for the use of jackets. Which you had few of, since Sam had decided to keep them for herself. Not that there was anyone to blame but yourself; it was what you deserved for offering her jackets every time she forgot one. She had simply decided it was rather nice to have an unlimited selection of jackets, both too-large and just right.

In all her wisdom, Sam had suggested the two of you, and Tara and her partner have a movie night. Tara got to choose the movie, and no one could object. All in all it should have been a win for the younger Carpenter; she could make you suffer if she truly wanted, and you couldn’t say a word about it. Which was going to cause the night to be very, very long.

Oh, the things you would do for her.

“Is she going to pick something scary?” You asked before you both approached the door. “Because I don’t like scary.”

“I have no doubt it will be scary,” Sam said with a barely-concealed smile. “I’ll hold your hand to keep you safe.”

“You’re my hero,” you said as you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She tasted strongly of the cigarette she had smoked on the way from your apartment to hers.

You tried to pull away, but she quickly followed, keeping her lips pressed against yours. Every sense was enveloped by her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her body pressed against yours so tightly it was as if you would float away without her. There was nothing you could have ever wanted more than your Sam.

“We shouldn’t give Tara something to be upset about,” you mumbled against Sam’s lips when she finally pulled back just the slightest distance.

“Tara’s always upset,” she answered before sighing, “but you’re right.”

“Baby steps,” you said with a smile.

“For the big baby.”

“Samantha.”

“I’m kidding,” she tried to argue as she grabbed your hand and started finally moving into the apartment.

You both knew she wasn’t kidding.

“My dude!”

You had barely walked through the door when Tara’s partner called out to you, a genuine, toothy grin visible on their face. They had asked you to call them J, which you had happily agreed to. Sam teased that it was short for Joker - you assumed because of the scars - but the look on Tara’s face told you not to ever bring it up. Ever.

It was a rule you could oblige by.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” you said as you hung your coat on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table. It had only taken you dropping your coat once before you realised the Carpenters saw no need for a coat rack.

How utterly uncivilised.

“They think it’s a pleasure to see me,” J said to Tara, who rolled her eyes almost instantly. 

You would never say it aloud, but you noticed the small smile she sent their way. So, she wasn’t as heartless as she wanted you to believe. Exactly like her older sister. It would be simple enough to chalk it down to their past experiences with the world; it had taught them nothing but hardness. But maybe they both just needed a safe space to let those walls come down.

“What did you choose?” Sam asked. She very quickly made her way to the couch opposite Tara and J.

“Depends,” they said.

“On?” Sam asked.

J turned to look at you and held something up to their mouth. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” The voice came out almost robotic, sounding similar to… something you possibly recognised? Vaguely?

“That’s not funny,” Sam said quickly.

“Lighten up, Sam,” Tara said even though she pushed J’s hand - and the voice changer - into their lap. “We’re watching Hellraiser.”

“Thought you didn’t like that one,” Sam said. She reached over and grabbed your hand the moment you sat down beside her on the couch.

Tara’s eyes darted to where your hands were joined and lingered. “I don’t.” She looked back up at you with a hard gaze. “I picked it out just for you.”

“Oh,” you said, perking up instantly. “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Sam with a stupid smile on your face, missing the look J sent Tara. Well, this was turning into a lovely evening! Tara had picked out a movie just for you! Surely that was progress to the finest degree, was it not? If all it took was watching a movie with them every month, you were more than happy to do so. This was turning out to be a rather lovely evening.

At least you thought so until the movie started and you realised just exactly why Tara had picked the movie out just for you.

It was… well, it was a movie. Filled with hooks and needles and… blood. Oh gosh, so much blood. There was a singular blessing amongst it all; you hadn’t eaten before coming over. Thankfully the popcorn sat untouched between you and Sam as your stomach twisted and turned and tried its best to embarrass you.

Sam squeezed your hand as you did your best to keep your cool. Not that it was such an easy thing with all the… you couldn’t even think the word without feeling queasy. Surely there was no way they all enjoyed this kind of thing, right? It was grotesque! The creatures on the screen, the inhumanity of it all, how was it an enjoyable movie?

The room started to shrink around you. Oh, that wasn’t good, you didn’t want to feel claustrophobic, you were trying to be tough. You couldn’t let anyone know that you had an, um, aversion to blood. What would they say? They were all horror fans, how could you ever possibly mention that you just… didn’t enjoy it? Quite frankly, it made you sick to your stomach, like all those science experiments you had to do back in grade school.

The credits couldn’t have rolled a moment too soon. If anyone were to ask you what you thought, you wouldn’t have been able to answer. The only thing you were aware of was your heart beating loudly in your ear and the saliva that continued to fill your mouth. Maybe it would actually be better if you didn’t try to answer anyone for a few more moments.

“So, Professor,” Tara asked all too soon. “What did you think?”

“I-”

-You cut yourself short. There was a part, a rather significant part of your mind that said you should lie. Tell Tara it was a wonderful movie, and you would love to see more if it existed. But lying had never gotten you anywhere in the past, had it? It certainly wasn’t going to assist you in winning over Tara, not when she was already sceptical of you. How was a lie going to assist you?

It wasn’t. 

“It’s not my cup of tea,” you finally said before swallowing the remaining saliva in your mouth. “I don’t really enjoy scary movies.” You nodded to yourself. “Or blood.”

“Oh my god,” Tara huffed, “why can’t you just lose your shit about something?”

“Tara,” Sam warned.

“No, this is ridiculous,” she continued as she stood up from the couch, ignoring J reaching for her hand. “Why can’t you lose your shit?” She pointed at you. “Nobody is this level-headed about everything.”

“That’s enough,” Sam said as she followed suit, standing up from the couch. Similarly, you reached out for her hand but she moved just far enough away.

“Get out,” Tara said before promptly looking Sam dead in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“Get out,” she repeated.

“Hey, T-”

“-You too,” Tara interrupted J, who froze with a comically shocked expression on their face. “Both of you get out so I can talk to them-” she pointed at you “-alone.”

“Absolutely not-”

“-Sounds reasonable,” you interrupted Sam. She looked at you like you had grown a second head. “I would love to talk.”

“Come on, Baby Ghost,” J said as they stood up. You were starting to feel left out by being the only one still sitting. “I’ll buy you a new pack of cigs.”

Sam looked like she wanted to argue, but both you and Tara gave her a look. Differing looks, of course, but still. While Tara seemed to get her a death stare that was almost permanently etched onto her face, you tried to go the more convincing route. If Tara wanted to talk, who were you to tell her no? Talking was key, that’s what your family had always done and it had never ended poorly.

“Fine,” Sam finally said. She seemed resigned. “But you have 15 minutes and that’s it.”

“Deal,” Tara said. “Now get out.”

You stayed as still as a statue when Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. A little more forceful than usual, but you wouldn’t complain. Any kiss from her was perfect. A sigh came from behind her, and you both knew who it was from, but she took her time before pulling away and standing back up.

“Don’t let her bully you,” she said.

“Sam,” Tara said forcefully. “Get out.”

“Fine,” Sam said, throwing her hands up. “But I mean it,” she said as she and J walked to the door together. “15 minutes.”

You and Tara both watched your partners leave the apartment, practically abandoning you to the force of nature that was the youngest Carpenter sister. It shamed you to admit you were a little afraid of her. You knew there was something going on deep down that she either wouldn’t or couldn’t accept, and you wouldn’t dare fault her for it. But she let her internal frustrations out in a very external way.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tara asked the moment the door shut behind the two. You stayed silent. “You don’t yell, you don’t scream, you don’t even freak out when I put on a movie I knew you would hate.”

You waited a moment to make sure she was finished. “I was raised by two very… pacifistic parents,” you said, gesturing for her to sit on the couch opposite you. “We talked through our issues, we didn’t yell about them.”

Tara opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, or complain, or something. Slowly, her mouth closed and she pursed her lips. She kept looking at you, but slowly took a seat opposite you. There was something going on behind her eyes, you could see it, but you knew better than to question her just yet. Just like your mom had taught you; let them lead the conversation.

“I don’t trust you,” she said slowly. Her eyes stayed locked with yours. “You’re too understanding and too kind.” You stayed silent. “Sam only ever falls for freaks.”

“Didn’t she date an FBI agent?” You asked. You could vaguely remember what Sam had said about her, but she had seemed nice enough.

“Kirby is cool, I’ve always liked her,” Tara said with a dismissive shake of her head. “But she was attacked by Ghostface twice,” she said, “so she’s a freak by proxy.” She looked back at you. “So what’s your deal?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you said, “ask your questions and maybe you can find out.”

It had initially been your idea, but before Tara could even open her mouth you started to second guess yourself. Perhaps allowing her to ask whatever questions she wanted without any repercussions was… not the smartest idea on your part. You had nothing to hide, but what if she really started to ask unusual questions? What if your answers weren’t what she wanted to hear?

But when you thought of Sam, and being with her, you felt that, without question, it was worth the gamble.

“Have you ever used a knife?” Tara asked quickly. It seemed she wasn’t going to wait.

“Not outside of cooking,” you answered just as quickly.

“How about a gun?” So, it would be a rapid fire interrogation. Game on.

“Never.”

“Ever hurt anybody before?” A tilt of her head.

“Not on purpose.”

“What about animals?”

“No.”

“Not even in science class?”

“I-” you attempted to clear your throat to buy a bit of time “-I fell ill that day.”

Tara paused and narrowed her eyes. “Because of blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” you said anyway. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“You’re pretty pathetic,” Tara said as she leaned back on the couch. For the first time in… well, ever, you thought you almost saw her smile at you. “That’s exactly Sam’s type.”

“I thought you said it was freaks,” you pointed out.

“Pathetic freaks,” she corrected quickly. That quirk near the corner of her mouth rapidly disappeared. “Why did you choose Sam?”

You paused. It was uncertain what exactly Sam had told Tara about you both meeting. Surely she wouldn’t have overdramatised it, but had she told her the truth? The truth was… well, it was pathetic as well, but you weren’t entirely convinced Tara would approve. Not that it was entirely her place, but the two were the only family each other had. They both had a right to be cautious of anyone new coming into their lives.

But perhaps you could answer the question a little differently.

“She’s kind,” you said with a subconscious nod of your head. “And bold, and intelligent - god she’s intelligent - and brave.” You averted Tara’s eyes. “And she’s really pretty too.”

Tara nodded once. “What are your intentions with her?”

Another question that you believed was potentially a trick. You couldn’t very well say you loved Sam just yet; you hadn’t even told Sam that little piece of information. But there were other intentions with her even if you didn’t necessarily use the word “love.” There were other things that were just as important.

“I don’t want to sound overly self-important,” you started off, looking back up to meet Tara’s eyes. “But I would very much like to be the one by Sam’s side as she continues on this path she’s created for herself.”

Tara looked at you; really looked at you. She was so very difficult for you to read. Unlike Sam, Tara did a better job at hiding her emotions. While Sam would give it away with her facial expressions, Tara did not. No, her feelings came out differently, whether in the slight twitch of her fingers or the impatient tapping of her foot on the rug. You hadn’t been around her long enough to know what exactly those feelings were, you simply acknowledged they were feelings.

“I’ll give you a chance,” Tara finally said, her voice far softer than you had ever heard. At least when it was directed at you. “But if you do anything to hurt her, or upset her, or lie to her, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” You gulped. “I’m not afraid to kill again.”

“I forgot you’ve both killed someone before,” you mumbled to yourself before speaking up louder. “Those are acceptable terms.”

“Good,” she said with a single nod of her head. “But don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you.”

You could both hear the other two finally approaching the door, bickering in a way that mimicked biological siblings.

“I would expect nothing less,” you told Tara as the door opened and the moment ended.

—---

The rest of the semester went by without incident. Tara had stayed true to her word and gave you a fair chance to prove that you could be trusted with her sister’s heart, and it wasn’t something you had taken lightly. You knew how important the both of them were to each other, and you had done your best to prove that not only did you care for Sam, but you cared for Tara too.

She had finally eased up during classes, allowing you to properly teach without an ounce of disdain for you personally. In fact, she had even dared to come to office hours on more than one occasion to discuss certain pieces you had offered as optional readings. The Carpenters were immensely intelligent, no matter what the subject matter was.

You and Sam had fallen into a rather comfortable routine, always going for a date night on Thursdays to whatever new place your colleagues had recommended, and movies with Tara and J on Saturdays. You would spend the night at her place Thursday through Monday morning, and she would stay at yours Monday through Thursday morning. It was comfortable, and you were more than content.

But with school finally over for the semester, you could focus on the real gem; Christmas.

Both Carpenters - and J, for that matter - had been nonchalant with their decorations. A minimal Charlie Brown tree that had, at most, four ornaments on it. It was awfully quaint, and if they hadn’t been so blase about it you would have been content to leave it standing. Nevertheless, they had made it clear they didn’t care if there were any decorations, and you had taken that as a cry for help.

Your own apartment had, of course, been decorated since the day after Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful gift from your mother, learning how to decorate for the holidays, and you weren’t keen on squandering the skills and letting them fall off the wagon, so to speak. Sam had made a few comments, though you hadn’t taken her for a non-believer.

“It’s okay, really,” Sam tried to say when you and J finished bringing in what had to have been the seventh box of decorations from your apartment.

“Oh no, I insist,” you said with a smile. “Besides, my mother would be downright dismayed if she knew the decorations were sitting in my apartment unused.”

“Great,” Tara mumbled as she walked by without even offering to help, “we get to live at the North Pole.”

“Isn’t it exciting?” You said with a smile. “These are more neutral, so you shouldn’t feel too out of place, but they still embody the holiday spirit.”

“Well I think it’ll be fun,” J said with their own smile. “Do I get to hang the ornaments?”

“Why-”

“-the ornaments won’t be the only thing hanging this Christmas,” Tara said, tossing a mini marshmallow into the air and catching it in her mouth. “Especially with those blinding lights.”

You looked down at the ones in your hand and frowned. “I thought they were rather tame.”

“And they’re lovely,” Sam tried to cover, even though you could see the fake smile she had on her face. “You’re doing great,” she continued as she left a simple kiss on your cheek.

The decorating ended up being a one person job, you quickly realised when you discovered J could not, for the life of them, listen to instructions. More than once, the lights had been blown and you had to find the faulty one to fix it. Normally you would chalk it down to bad luck, but when it was only the ones that they were installing? You became a little suspicious.

At least they were all eager to help with the snacks and desserts, and that was something you could live with. Surprisingly, Tara was the one who had the most ideas. You knew you weren’t the best cook; you could follow instructions but that didn’t necessarily mean they would turn out nice. But with Tara at the helm? They were almost as good as your mother’s! Though obviously you would never dare to tell her that.

You also rather quickly discovered that they were not gift giving people. Understandable, you supposed, they had much more important things to worry about in life. It was still unacceptable. The moment you had found out, you had called your parents and told them the tragic news.

Gifts for all three of them - plus a gift each for Mindy, Chad, and Anika - had been delivered to your house within the week. Express shipping to be certain they would arrive before Christmas.

Which led to yet another tragedy; they had no stockings.

“It’s really not worth buying,” Sam attempted to persuade you over the phone on one of the rare nights you two weren’t spending together. “Just stay home tonight.”

“It’s no trouble, Sam,” you argued. “I’m heading out for a bit anyway.”

You didn’t admit you were already at the store, trying to decide which one would fit each person best.

“Just stay safe,” she said. You could hear car horns in the background but thought nothing of it. “I mean it.”

“I’ll be safe,” you insisted, “I always am.”

“Call me when you’re back home,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a smile that she couldn’t see.

She hung up first, and you continued your search without any second thoughts. In the end, you had decided on a Santa stocking for J, a reindeer for Tara, and a snowman for Sam. They would look lovely hanging underneath the mounted television in their living room. But with the stockings, you needed things to fill them with.

Santa’s work was never finished.

It was dark by the time you finished buying everything you believed you needed. Stockings, fillers, and some snacks to make for a lovely evening. That should surely be enough to give the three of them a very merry Christmas, would it not? Your mother had already sent their Santa presents, and their other presents were underneath the tree, so as far as you were aware of at the moment, everything was taken care of.

You were still going over your mental checklist when you heard a commotion down one of the alleys on the way home. Every cell in your body told you not to bother looking; people got desperate around the holidays and it would do you no good to go poking your head where it didn’t belong. But if someone was getting hurt, then you needed to attempt to help.

Or at least make enough of a scene that someone else would come help.

“Excuse me?” You called out foolishly as you started down the dark alleyway. “Is everyone alright out there?”

You pulled your coat tighter around you as you continued walking. It hadn’t been raining or snowing recently, and yet something started to soak through your shoes and socks. The shocking cold that normally came from liquids in December wasn’t present; it was warm.

There was another noise. It almost sounded like something solid, but it was overshadowed by something metallic. You did your best to see something in the dark, even as your body continued to tell you to move along. But something didn’t feel right; you were feeling queasy again.

Something hissed in front of you, but it wasn’t a snake. No, you knew what those sounded like and this wasn’t even close. This sounded much more human, though that sound would only ever really happen in dire circumstances like if-

-a large white mask faced you. It was the only thing you could see in the dark, thanks to the lights behind you causing just enough radiance to make the mask almost seem luminescent. You weren’t a movie buff, especially not scary movies, but you weren’t stupid. Everyone knew what that mask was.

Ghostface.

All those cells that had been telling you to run? They were silent. Frozen in fear, just like your mind. The killer wasn’t moving toward you, simply facing you, almost as if it was the very reason you were stationary. Which, it was, but not in the typical way that most would be privy to. You felt like a deer in headlights, and if you moved then you died.

You supposed that was how all the movies went.

“Aren’t you going to run?” Ghostface asked, in that same voicebox that J had had during the movie night.

You swallowed the saliva filling your mouth. “No,” you said in a trembling voice.

“Why not?” He continued. “I like when they run.”

“I’m not very fast,” you said. “You’ll catch me before I get to the street.”

He still didn’t move, and your eyes finally adjusted enough to see the silhouette of a body slumped at his feet. Your throat constricted at the sight; you were going to be sick. The very image started to worm its way into your brain; there was a very simple explanation for what was still soaking through your socks. It wasn’t snow.

“You should get home, Professor,” Ghostface said.

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if he could see you. “Yes I should.”

“Stay on the sidewalk next time,” he said.

“I- I believe that’s sound advice,” you said with more frantic nods of your head. Your palms were starting to get clammy.

Ghostface lifted up a hand - holding a knife - and waved. “Good night, Professor.”

“Good night,” you said with your own shaky wave.

You walked backwards out of the alley, keeping an eye on the figure until it was completely out of sight. Your feet were frozen on the ground once you were under a street light. There were no more sounds coming from the alley, not even the sound of someone leaving. Wherever Ghostface had gone, he hadn’t followed you.

In an incredibly brave moment, you leaned over and vomited directly into a storm grate before going back home. You called Sam the moment you got back into your apartment.

You couldn’t find the courage to inform her of the night’s mystery encounter.

Friends? (Part 4)

(Wednesday Addams x fem! reader)

Summary: After your encounter with your mother, you go back to your time, and to your girlfriend Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 Warnings: none (?) a/n: this might be the last partttt (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

When you opened your eyes again, you were back in your room, in your girlfriend’s arms. She was awake already but seemed lost in thoughts. You tilted your head up and kissed her jaw softly, letting her know you were awake too.

She looked down to you and pressed her lips on your forehead.

“Good morning”

“Wends, you’ll never guess what I saw!” you started, so excited to tell her about your mom

“What did you see, cara mia?”

You both repositioned yourselves on your bed in a more comfortable position to talk.

Your eyes were shining the whole time you talked. You looked so happy to finally know who your mother was…

“And you? Did you see anything?” you asked your girlfriend, a bright smile still on your face

Wednesday’s eyes scanned your face for a split second, as if she was taking in your features and traits. Again, she seemed lost in thoughts.

She woke up in a room, in Nevermore, but it was certainly not yours. The decoration had changed, and you were nowhere to be found. The raven frowned, confused. You were in her arms just moments ago, you couldn’t have disappeared like that.

She took a moment to examine the room with attention to try to understand what was going on. The decoration was quite pleasant to her; she could’ve decorated her room like that. But it was clearly not her room.

She was about to look at a picture on a shelf when the door burst opened. Surprised by the unusual discretion of the person, Wednesday jumped slightly, and took out the knife she always had in her pocket. A knife you had gifted her on one of your dates after hers broke.

The other person didn’t seem to have noticed her yet. It was a girl, who was looking for something into a drawer.

The raven took a few steps closer, silently, but the other girl seemed to hear it because she quickly turned around. Out of reflex, Wednesday’s knife found its place close to the other’s throat.

Surprisingly, the girl had a knife as well and it was also close to the raven’s throat. That was very unusual now.

“Who are you?” the girl asked

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Wednesday replied, unimpressed

“I asked first! You have to answer first, that’s the rules”

Wednesday held back a little smile. It was totally the kind of thing you could say.

“My knife is closer to your throat.” she simply said

The girl looked at the knife, and it was clearly closer to her. She rolled her eyes and mumbled:

“I knew I had to practice more” she then looked back at Wednesday “Truce? We put the knives aside and then we can talk?”

The raven considered the suggestion for a second, before giving her a slight nod. They both put their weapons down at the same time but stayed alert.

“So?” Wednesday said again, becoming impatient

“Yes, sorry. I’m Lilith”

“Do you have a last name?”

“Addams. With two D’s” the girl declared as if people made the mistake very often

The raven was surprised, to say the least.

“Does Fester have a child he never told us about?” she asked, raising an eyebrow

“What? Why are you- How do you know- What is happening?”

“I didn’t know there was another Addams in Nevermore…” Wednesday mumbled to herself

“‘Another’? What do you mean?”

“I’m Wednesday Addams.” she simply replied

Lilith’s eyes widen at her words, and her mouth formed a perfect O.

“That’s why you look so familiar! But- how- I mean-”

She didn’t have the time to finish her sentence and got cut off by the door opening again. Wednesday’s eyes shifted to the person who opened it. It was an older version of you in her mid 30’s.

“Honey, is everything okay? You’ve been gone for a long time, we-” Wednesday’s gaze met ‘yours’ “Wednesday…? What the-”

You turned to Lilith, confused, then back to Wednesday.

“What is happening here?”

“I don’t know! I just wanted to show you the snowball, and then she was in my room! I swear mom, I-”

“Mom?” Wednesday repeated with wide eyes

You ran a hand through your hair, biting your bottom lip, trying to figure out what to do. Wednesday noticed a ring on your left ring finger.

“Lilith, baby, can you find your mother and tell her she needs to come right now?” you finally said

The girl looked at you, then nodded before going out of the room, not without a last glance towards Wednesday.

“Okay um… Hi? I guess?” you said awkwardly “Do you know how you got here, maybe?”

“… Y/n?” was all that the raven managed to say

You smiled at the sound of your name.

“Yes, it’s me. I take it as I didn’t age badly” you chuckle softly

“Oh, you clearly didn’t…” she looked you up and down “I have… no idea how I got here.” she then admitted

“What do you remember? Anything in particular?”

“We found a ritual in Goody’s spellbook but it didn’t work. And then we went to bed. That’s all.”

“The… the ritual? Oh god… Oh god…!” Your surprised expression soon turned into an offended one “So you didn’t wake up yet? I didn’t tell you anything about what I saw yet?”

The raven shook her head.

“Oh my god…” you put your hands on your hips

She was about to say something when the door opened again, revealing an older version of herself this time.

“Cara mia? What’s wrong? Lilith told me-”

“Wednesday Friday Addams!” you said, not letting her any more time, your index poking at her chest “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Confusion was visible on her face. Then she looked over to her younger self, and her expression changed to an amused one.

“Oh, so it’s today?”

“Don’t dodge the subject! You told me you saw nothing!”

“Sorry my love, I did not want to risk our future”

You rolled your eyes but had a little smile on your face.

“You were scared I wouldn’t marry you if you told me? I would’ve married you even if you had a third arm or something”

Her expression softened a bit more, and she kissed you softly.

“Let’s talk about that later, okay?” then she turned to her younger self “you have the answer you wanted, don’t you?”

“No. I didn’t see anything.” she gave you one of those smiles only you got to see “But it’s normal as I didn’t have any question.”

“Oh, right, sure” you said with a light chuckle, before your gaze fell on your alarm clock “Oh, shit! We need to go to class!”

You quickly got out of bed and ran to your bathroom to get ready.

Wednesday watched you from the bed, halfway between amused and exasperation, looking at the date on your phone: ‘Sunday 12 May’.

I am going to marry an idiot… My idiot.

[Previous part]

everyone but her pt.38

Summary: You invite everyone over for a dinner and get roped into going on a hunting trip with Yoko, set up by Enid and Divina, of course. It would be nice if something went as planned for once.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, injury, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of trauma, hunting (not graphic), murder Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

Yoko would never admit it to anyone, but you were acting a bit odd, even for you.

She didn’t know what you had been doing the other weekend when you disappeared with Wednesday. Not that she cared all that much, you and Wednesday were both odd enough that the disappearance itself was… pretty on point, actually. Sure, she had checked with Enid to make sure it was normal, but when both Enid and Divina had given her a look that said “are you serious?” she gave in.

But after that, you had both acted a bit off. You weren’t quite as outgoing as usual; she had noticed it immediately after Nicky’s death, obviously, but you would go through swings and she thought you had been getting a bit better. She wasn’t so sure anymore. Instead of teasing her and everyone else, you seemed distant. Like you weren’t entirely present with everyone.

That didn’t even touch on the moments of panic you had when you thought no one would notice. Maybe most people didn’t; Yoko had no doubt that Wednesday noticed, obviously, but who knew about the others. All Yoko knew was that at the most random times, you would freeze. Just enough for her to notice. It only took a touch and some whispered words from Wednesday for you to come back to your senses, but she noticed.

Not that she was going to mention it to you. Yoko truly considered you her best friend. There were few people she cared about more than you, and that consisted of Enid and Divina. She loved you, and seeing you so distraught over something she didn’t know about was devastating. It made her dead heart ache.

Which was precisely why she took you up on your offer of a “family” dinner with everyone.

“Please hurry,” you said when Yoko, Enid, and Divina knocked on the apartment door. “Wednesday is trying to get Bianca to fence with her in the living room.”

“I’m on it,” Enid sighed before walking past you.

“The Ambiguously Gay Duo?” Divina asked.

“They snuck some weird looking bag into my room,” you mumbled.

“I’ll make sure they don’t have shrooms,” Divina said. “Again.”

“Thank you,” you said when she walked past you, leaving you with Yoko.

Who could very well see the bags under your eyes.

“You okay?” She asked as she stepped into the apartment, keeping her eyes on you as you closed the door. “You looked tired.”

“I’m not sleeping well,” you said. “Nightmares.”

Yoko… didn’t really know what to tell you. Honestly, she had expected you to lie to her like you had been for the past few months. You would usually tell her you were fine, or tired from work, and she would press a meagre two times before accepting that you wouldn’t tell her the truth. But this… was unexpected.

“What kind?” She dared to ask.

Your hand froze on the doorknob. “Later?” You turned to look at her with those big eyes that you used to have when you were far younger. “Please?”

“Of course,” Yoko said with the best smile she could muster.

She looked around to make sure Wednesday wasn’t coming around - she didn’t want to cause her to ask questions - before pulling you into a hug. You stiffened underneath her for only a moment. Her head was tucked into your neck - you still smelled lovely - when you relaxed, wrapping your arms around her waist and holding her just as tight.

It was no surprise that Wednesday wasn’t as physical in her affections, and everyone very much respected it. Sometimes Yoko wished she would show you a little more physical affection, but it wasn’t her place. But you were acting like you hadn’t even been touched in weeks. You clung to her as if she would disappear the moment you let go.

Underneath her fingers, she could feel the raised scars littering your back. She had never gotten to see Nicky’s scars from the accident, but she had seen yours. Rough, large, scattered scars that would always serve as a reminder of the worst day of your life. It had been a while since she had remembered them; it didn’t evade her that you had to live with them.

“Come on,” you said, finally pulling away. Reluctantly, Yoko noticed. “I don’t want dinner to burn.”

“Wednesday doesn’t help?” Yoko asked, leaving a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t talk so loud,” you said quickly, waving your hands to shush her and peeking around the corner. “She might hear you.”

“Pussy,” Yoko said as she did her best to hide her smile.

Your hand rested on the small of her back while you guided her down the short hall to the rest of the apartment. “She helps, she just doesn’t need to.”

Yoko cackled. “She’s going to kill you.”

“She can’t cook, Yoke,” you whisper-shouted before you entered the kitchen. “It’s horrifying.”

“Like I said,” Yoko whispered back. “Pussy.”

Everyone was in the living room; she was even surprised to see Joel and Ash as well. Yes, she knew Ash was with Bianca, but she also knew you considered her a mortal enemy. She supposed she owed Divina $25. Enid didn’t get anything, she had figured you would keep at least Joel out of the apartment.

Yoko was so proud of you. That was growth.

Wednesday was still facing Bianca, who was similarly holding a foil at the ready. Enid was off to the side with her head in her hands; a clear sign of failure. Not that anyone was truly surprised, if Wednesday had done what Yoko thought she had, then there would be no way Bianca would turn down the challenge. Which, judging by the look on Bianca’s face, was exactly what had happened.

Everyone watched in awe as Wednesday and Bianca started their duel. Without suits. Or helmets. Yoko turned her head to see you still finishing up dinner. Thankfully. She could only imagine the fear on your face if you saw what was currently happening in your living room. How you didn’t hear it was beyond her.

On the other hand, Joel was watching Wednesday with the most impressed look Yoko had ever personally seen on someone’s face. That was another reason it was good you were too busy cooking. The poor boy would be dead before he had a chance to realise what he did wrong.

“Done!” You said as you turned around triumphantly.

And literally shrieked when you saw Bianca best Wednesday with a point to the chest.

“One day, Addams,” Bianca said with a smile.

“Your skills are still impressive,” Wednesday said in reply. “Though I believe I could do without you “humbling me,” as Y/N says.”

“That was amazing,” Joel said, eyes wide with wonder.

“Great job, babe,” Ash said with a smile and a quick kiss pressed to Bianca’s cheek.

Yoko swore the siren blushed.

“Crisis averted,” Divina said as she literally pulled Kent and Ajax into the room by their shirt collars. “It wasn’t shrooms.”

“Can we please sit down to eat?” You asked, your voice tense and high pitched.

It didn’t take long for everyone to mumble their agreement before sitting down in one of the many seats around the table. Yoko didn’t think she had ever seen it in the apartment before. No doubt it was new; Wednesday would never willingly agree to host a dinner party.

The apartment filled with talk and laughter as everyone started eating. Conversation came easily for everyone, whether it was about gossip from Nevermore, or something to do with classes, or complaining about family. Even Wednesday chimed in, offering her opinions and thoughts. Which, to everyone’s surprise, were almost… kind. She had definitely been spending too much time with you.

“How’s Thing?” Enid asked. “He hasn’t texted me in a while.”

“His phone was confiscated,” Wednesday answered simply. “An intervention was necessary.”

“He wouldn’t quit playing Among Us,” you explained.

“I was wondering why he disappeared,” Kent mumbled.

“He was a cheater anyway,” Ajax said just as quietly.

Everyone resumed their conversations, and Yoko didn’t bother keeping track of what everyone was saying. It was too difficult, with 10 people chiming in whenever they felt necessary. Instead, Yoko kept her eye on you. You and the way your smile fell slowly until it was little more than a grimace.

With her leg pressed up against yours, she felt you start to bounce rapidly. Your eyes were squeezed shut and your nostrils flared with short, quick breaths. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do; she knew your panic attacks, but it had been a while since she had done anything to help. Was it even her place? Or was it Wednesday’s? Surely it had to be someone, right?

It was. She did her best not to stare, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Wednesday lean closer. Not enough for everyone else to notice, especially if they weren’t paying attention. But she was close enough, and her lips were moving near your ear, and slowly your leg stopped bouncing and your eyes opened.

Yoko had vastly underestimated Wednesday. She was aware that the goth girl was good for you, there was no good in even trying to deny it. But she hadn’t thought Wednesday would ever truly learn what you needed or what was best for you. Not for lack of trying, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do. You had problems, you had trauma, you had so many things that worried and concerned you. As much as she loved you, she knew you weren’t easy to be with romantically.

And yet, there Wednesday was, easing you down from a panic attack and proving her wrong yet again. She had never been more pleasantly surprised to be wrong.

“Yoko, you’re hunting in a few nights, aren’t you?” Divina asked, pulling Yoko out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Why?”

“I’ll go with you,” you said as if you hadn’t just been pulled from a panic attack.

“You sure?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I can get Alex and Grandpa a bit more too, they’re always running low.”

Yoko thought about it for a moment. It wouldn’t really be the worst thing in the world. She hadn’t hunted with you in years, probably since before the accident. You had always been rather good at it, probably better than she ever had been. Which was insulting, but she would keep her mouth shut.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Yoko finally said.

Enid gave Divina a high-five. “Yay.”

She started to think her girlfriends had staged this hunting trip, the sneaky little bitches. Oh how she loved them.

—---

The night was perfect for a hunt, Yoko thought. She followed behind you as you stalked through the densely packed forest. The nearly full moon shone beautifully through the trees, illuminating the space around you. There was still plenty of time before the sun was supposed to rise, which left ample time to find what you had both ventured to find.

In a hilarious twist, you had borrowed Yoko’s sunglasses to keep the animals from spotting your bioluminescent eyes.

“How many tags do you have?” You asked; your voice would have been inaudible to anyone without heightened senses.

“Six left,” Yoko answered with the same volume. “Should last until the next replenish date.”

“Mind if I snag one for Alex?” You asked. “I’ll give you one of his after I visit them next.”

Yoko mumbled an agreement. Your love towards your siblings had grown more harsh since Nicky. Not in terms of you being mean to them, hell no. She was convinced you would die if you were ever mean to them. But you didn’t go about things as sweetly as you used to. Now it was “I have to do this” instead of “I want to do this.” Your love was cold, but it was still love, and you made sure everyone knew it.

The forest was quiet as you both continued to walk. Each step was taken with careful consideration, leaving as little space for detection as possible. Yoko absolutely loved hunting with you. Thanks to your time with your Grandpa, you knew how important silence was. And after plenty of practice, you were the perfect partner to go with.

“To the left,” you said, gesturing your head in the proper direction. “Yes or no?”

She looked where you were pointing to see a single buck standing in a small clearing. He wasn’t the biggest she had ever seen, but he wasn’t weak by any means. His antlers were fairly large, a bit unsymmetrical, but they would have taken a decent amount of blood to grow.

But was he really worth a tag?

“Keep going,” Yoko said after a bit of consideration. “We can find better.”

“Then let’s go,” you said.

You hoisted the gun higher up on your shoulder and kept trudging through the forest ahead. If it hadn’t been for the glasses, you would have looked like a professional. For the first time in a while - at least to Yoko’s knowledge - your wings were out and free. As free as the birds that nested above your heads.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, not even bothering to turn around.

“Sure,” Yoko said. Your voices were still so quiet they didn’t even echo.

“Did Nicky ever tell you anything about Casey and Devan?” You asked.

Yoko nearly stumbled. “No,” she said, “at least not that I can remember.”

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” You asked. There was a lilt in your tone that she couldn’t quite pick up on.

“I wasn’t his keeper,” she said with a shrug that you didn’t see. “He didn’t tell me anything about them.”

“Isn’t that weird though?” You kept going. “Like, they’re supposedly his loves and no one knew about them?” The smallest twig broke under your feet. “Not you, not me, not anyone, as far as I can tell.”

Yoko kept quiet, pondering the train of thought you were verbalising. She supposed it was a bit unusual. Though, there hadn’t really been any occasion to talk about significant others during school. Nicky had always been more focused on you and trying to keep you from remembering the neglect. That was a full time job in and of itself. If he kept one little secret to himself, one source of happiness, she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

“To the right,” you said, pulling Yoko from her thoughts. “Yes?”

She barely had to see the oversized buck before mumbling a rushed “yes.” You nodded once before lifting the rifle that she hadn’t seen you pull from your shoulder. It was humiliating, but she turned her head before you pulled the trigger. She may have needed blood, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the process.

“Perfect,” you said a little louder. Almost enough for a normal person to hear. “Excellent tag usage, Yoke.”

“Just get it over with,” she said. She refused to turn around until you were done.

“Pussy,” you said with a teasing tone.

She liked hearing you tease again, even if it was at her expense. You had gotten far too serious, and not in a good way. Yoko couldn’t even blame Wednesday for it, because she had even started to lighten up! It wasn’t your fault, anyone would have broken under all the stress of your life, but she didn’t like it.

“Done,” you said, popping up beside her. Thankfully, she kept her cool.

“Then let’s go,” she said, “I want to get this over with.”

“You make such a bad vampire,” you teased. You weren’t sneaking the way you had been earlier; it must have been a good buck. “How did you survive before me?”

“Easily,” she answered instantly.

You laughed lightly but kept walking. “We may as well head back,” you said.

“Why?” Yoko asked. “We only used one tag.”

“Anything nearby would’ve run at the sound,” you said. You turned around with a sheepish smile. “My bad.”

“It still works,” she said as she patted you on the shoulder and gave you a smile. “Let’s go.”

With no need to be quiet any longer, you both started walking normally. Which was wonderful, because sneaking was hard on the knees. She may not have been as old as most, but that didn’t mean her knees didn’t hurt. It was just part of growing up, everyone knew that-

-something creaked behind you both.

“Hang on,” Yoko said, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You nearly fell backwards as your feet kept moving but your top half stayed still.

“What?” You asked.

“Did you hear that?” She asked, her voice lowering again so only you could hear.

You straightened up and looked around, even daring to take your glasses off. The glow of your eyes would surely scare someone away; at least it usually did. Her ears were stilled trained for any sort of sound that would indicate something coming close. 

Or someone, though she didn’t think that was possible. You were both deep in the woods, how was someone supposed to trek around and find you both? It was still deep in winter, and though there wasn’t snow on the ground, no one would even want to be out if they didn’t have to. Hunting season was over, holidays were over, and everyone should be nice and cosy in their beds at home.

Something loud thumped to the ground.

Again.

Again.

“Yoko?” You said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah?” She answered. Her eyes zoned in on your paling knuckles as you tightened your grip on the rifle.

Another thud.

“Run.”

Yoko barely watched you lift the rifle before she turned around and started running. Oh Wednesday was going to kill her! A shot rang out behind her, and her hands flew to her head. Oh, Wednesday wasn’t going to kill her because something else was!

A soul shaking sound echoed around her.

Something hit Yoko’s back.

Everything had gone dark before she even hit the ground.

—---

Yoko’s eyes burned.

She tried to sit up and stopped. Scratch that; everything hurt. Her back felt like Enid had scratched the hell out of it, leaving it sore and stiff and throbbing. A spot above her eye burned nearly as bad as her eyes, which were still squeezed shut. And none of that even included the killer migraine that felt like someone was trying to claw their way out of her skull.

She was never going hunting with you ever again.

The sun was out; that much was clear. Without her glasses she wouldn’t be able to see hardly anything. Her hand lifted to shield her eyes, and though it still burned when she looked around, at least she could see. That was a start. A mediocre one, but she supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Y/N?” She called out, her voice raspy and painful. It was like she was looking through a haze. If you were anywhere near, she couldn’t see you.

A groan came from her right, and she didn’t even hesitate. She took off in that direction, taking long blinks to ease the burning as much as possible. Her back burned with each step, and even her knee started to throb, but she wouldn’t stop. If there was any chance you were nearby, she needed to find you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, and Yoko finally got close enough to see you leaning against a tree, wings outstretched and… brown?

“Are you okay?” Yoko asked. She kneeled down beside you to check you over. Her glasses were still hanging from your shirt; she carefully took them back and put them on. It was like an instant flood of relief.

“I feel like I got run over by a truck,” you grumbled; you still hadn’t opened your eyes. “And I’ve got the worst hangover in the world.”

“Not a hangover,” she said. Thankfully, aside from some missing feathers and a swollen wrist, you seemed to be okay. “But you might be right about the truck.”

“Do I still have the blood?” You asked.

Yoko froze. “Your blood?”

“No, dumbass,” you said, finally opening your eyes. Slowly, but still. “The blood.” She didn’t answer. “The one thing we came here for.”

“Are you serious?” She asked as she stood up, leaving you leaning against the tree. “Wednesday is going to kill me and you’re worried about blood?”

You groaned as you pushed yourself up to your feet. “Yes, Yoko, because if I’m going to get hurt then at least it’s worth it.”

“I hate you so much,” she mumbled to herself.

You stretched your arms high above your head, and Yoko could hear the pops coming from your joints. The noise you let out was ungodly, and she wondered if Wednesday had heard it yet. Usually you kept your stretching noise reserved for private, but you did love Wednesday so. Maybe.

You two were so disgusting.

“We need to get back,” she said. “I can’t have Wednesday kill me for getting you hurt and kidnapping you.”

“So you admit this is your fault?” You asked.

She dignified your question with a slap to your stomach. You doubled over and mumbled a few “fucks,” but then stood back up as if nothing had happened. Good for you.

“Let’s go, bloodsucker,” you said. “If Wednesday will kill you, Enid and Divina will bury me.”

“Lead the way, bird brain,” Yoko shot back, entirely fed up with you already.

She wasn’t going to comment on the fact that you grabbed her hand and pulled her along with you. Especially when it meant she didn’t have to walk alone through the woods, going in a direction that might not guarantee getting back to the apartments.

And maybe it helped that she could use you to help ease the limp from her ever-increasing aching knee.

“What’s your problem?” You asked after a few minutes of walking.

“My knee hurts,” Yoko admitted.

She really shouldn’t have.

“Poor baby,” you teased, “want me to carry you?”

“Touch me and I’ll bite your head off,” she answered instantly.

You hesitated. “That’s kinda kinky.”

“Oh my god shut up,” Yoko sighed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Wednesday.”

“Well she is my girlfriend-”

“-Just get us out of here,” she cut you off, wanting nothing more than to just get back, take a shower, and take a long, long nap.

You were both still walking when the sun finally finished peaking above the horizon. That meant the air would start to heat up and Yoko could finally ease some warmth into her stiff fingers. She may not have had blood circulation but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the outside cold-

“-Holy shit.”

Yoko ran into your back - or rather, your wings - and sputtered a few feathers out of her mouth. She nearly scolded you, asking you why you were stopping when you were (hopefully) so close to civilization, but she followed your line of sight and froze. And not from the winter air.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered.

A mangled body was leaning against a tree, similar to how you had been when Yoko had found you. The only difference was, while your wings had been outstretched, his arms were stretched in the same way. His clothes were tattered and hanging off a decomposing frame.

And he was missing a foot.

“That’s Shaun,” you said softly.

Oh fuck.

“We should call the cops,” Yoko said when you either wouldn’t or couldn’t move.

“We can’t,” you said with a shake of your head.

“It’s a dead body, yes we-”

“-They already think I did it,” you interrupted her, finally turning your body to face her. There was a look on your face that she hadn’t seen since Nicky. A look of pure fear.

“Something happened to us too,” Yoko said, “maybe that’s reason enough to believe we’re innocent.”

You shook your head slowly and looked back at the body. “I can’t go to jail again,” you whispered.

Yoko stood there, looking between you and the body that she was starting to smell. She didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, the police needed to know there was a body in the woods. Especially one they had been looking for for a few weeks at that point.

On the other hand, she couldn’t bear to see you arrested again. Especially for something she knew you hadn’t ever done before.

“Did he have any family?” She finally asked.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well,” she sighed, “then I guess it’ll die out.” You blinked, long and hard. “We can come back and bury him later.”

You still didn’t move, but at least you opened your eyes. If Yoko was to put a word to it, she would almost say you were the true definition of catatonic. She squeezed your hand once before pulling you with her, leading you in the (hopefully) right direction. The best thing to do would be to get home. Everything else could be discussed later.

There was nothing she could say to bring you out of your thoughts. You weren’t in the middle of a panic attack, you were just… gone. It was evident in the glazed over look in your eyes and the way your hand rested limply in hers. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be the subject of just near every nearby murder for the past two years.

Maybe she just needed to get you back to Wednesday; she would know what to do. The past four years had done nothing but prove her loyalty to you, even though Yoko had been worried about it at the start. But time and time again, she had been proven wrong, and she knew the Addams girl - and her family - would take good care of you if given the chance-

-Yoko froze.

She felt you bump into her back, almost the same situation as when you found your therapist. Except this time, you still gasped first. Pools of mostly-frozen blood littered the ground, looking like crystals in the morning sun. Following the trail, she felt her dead heart beat painfully in her chest.

“That’s Joel,” she said.

“And Ash,” you continued, dropping her hand instantly and rushing forward.

She was quick behind you, going to check on Joel while you practically fell to your knees next to Ash. Their blood smelled slightly bitter, indicating they had been out there for at least a few hours. The only good sign was she could still hear their pulses. Faintly, but they were present.

“Call 911,” Yoko said.

Your hands were still hovering over Ash, attempting to find the best place to put pressure. You finally settled on a gash on her shoulder, and you pressed down as hard as possible. The smallest whine fell from Ash’s dried and cracked lips. Another good sign, in a way.

But you still weren’t listening.

“Y/N.”

Your head snapped up. There were tears in your eyes and your bottom lip shook.

“I’m calling 911.”

You looked at her hard before looking back down at Ash.

You didn’t stop her from pulling out her phone and dialling the number.