Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They say that time is supposed to heal, but Wednesday found little comfort in the thought. As the days passed by, she remained stationary. The world around her kept moving, and perhaps Jericho had even found a way to move on. But something wouldn’t let her do the same. She was stuck - sitting there in the same booth, covered in her usual cold wash. The Weathervane was just the same as it always was, filled with the same people. Still, something felt wrong. It was as if someone had taken a photograph of the small town and placed a shiny film over it, one that only Wednesday could see. The distortion was slight, but unnerving. Perhaps after everything, she simply could not look at it the same. 

Bruises take on different colours before they eventually fade. And then one day, you don’t feel them anymore. Wednesday’s physical injuries had healed just fine, and she was never one to be bothered by scars. Her classmates and friends healed too, but they were back to laughing and smiling as if nothing had happened at all. Even Enid turned her horrific night into an amusing anecdote to hold over Wednesday’s head whenever she deemed her colourful roommate as weak. She would extend her painted claws and playfully swipe at her, reminding her of the time she once had to save her life. Wednesday sometimes wondered if she had missed the healing train somehow - if there was some meeting that she skipped or a ritual that she neglected to participate in. With her usual resilience and pride, she had expected to snap out of her rut a lot sooner. But time dragged on, pulling Wednesday along with it. It made her wonder if she was the problem after all. 

“How are you doing?”

It was a question that she didn’t even know how to answer. Throughout her life, her discomfort had always come from an overwhelming number of feelings. The less, the better. But after months of sitting, watching the motion-filled streets through the same window - it was beginning to feel as though her body was waiting to be taken off standby. She didn’t like it. 

The gruff man cleared his throat impatiently and she blinked back at him. 

“Do we really have a need for these tiresome pleasantries, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Galpin looked as though he hadn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Wednesday figured that having a son thrown into the back of a prison van may do that to a person. Lately he had been peeking his head in at Nevermore, supposedly making sure that things were still in order after the death of the old principle. And when he came in to The Weathervane for his daily drip coffee, she pretended not to notice the way he watched her sitting in that booth, hands limp in her lap. There was no appetite for caffeine anymore. The Sheriff would study the young girl that sat - still as stone. She was always a small, guarded thing, but something about her seemed a little less intense than before. As if the previous events had taken their toll, whether she would accept it or not. He wondered if they chipped away at her - piece by piece - in a way that he knew all too well. He wondered if she woke up in the middle of the night afraid, just like he did. 

“I’ve seen you in here a lot lately.”

Her gaze settled back on the window, “You think I haven’t noticed you keeping tabs on me?”

“Call it concern”, he shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. She stared at it longingly, wishing that her appetite would return. Her writing was turning into incoherent madness without the fuel to keep her going. But its usual bitterness tasted stale in her mouth. 

“Or a fondness for keeping things on leashes. Though I expect you’re a little preoccupied with two cowering dogs in your care.”

He ground his teeth together in warning. 

“Why do you keep coming back here?”

Her blank stare met his again, shoulders squared. Neither of them had much fight left within them anymore, it seemed. From behind his bulky frame, there was a commotion at the cash register. The new trainee looked flustered, struggling with the espresso machine. In their panic, they ended up knocking over a stack of cups and while she would typically delight in the misfortune of others, Wednesday felt something deflate within her ribcage. Turning away after watching the trainee bend over to clear the mess, she found the Sheriff already looking at her. He clicked his tongue, nodding once to himself as if he had managed to see straight through her. Wednesday didn’t like that one bit. 

“I’ve been informed that the file room back at the station has been ransacked twice in the past week.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “So?”

“If you want to know about him…” he watched her carefully, but she refused to let a single muscle on her face even twitch, “…all you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t.”

Wednesday had been born with a strong will, and once she made up her mind there was simply no going back. Since that night, she refused to let herself say his name - let alone even think it. She refused to cower. 

“Look…”

“Is that all?” She picked up her coat, preparing to leave. 

After sitting in the same spot for so long, the air was beginning to get stuffy. An itchiness started to spread throughout her body, limbs restless to move - some small part of her desperate to flee. She needed some fresh air, something to shake off the shivers down her spine that would not leave. 

Sheriff Galpin sighed, taking a moment before looking at her pointedly, “Those files aren’t kept at the station.”

“I can’t imagine why you think I would be interested.”

He rubbed tiredly at his unshaven jaw, “Take care of yourself, Addams. And for the love of Christ, stay out of trouble.”

—- —- —-

The day bled into nightfall, sky a divine black - but Wednesday couldn’t sleep. The darkness washed over her like a woven blanket, windowpane damp with condensation from the cold. It was her ideal night, but as she lay stiff as a corpse with her arms crossed over her chest, she found no peace. When she closed her eyes, she was met with a more sinister kind of nightmare. A sight that she was determined to avoid with all-night writing sessions. But exhaustion had begun to creep up on her and she longed for a dark, dreamless slumber. When she laid herself back on her flat mattress, she was plagued with images of a warm, tender smile. An all too familiar smile. When she closed her eyes, he was there. The human embodiment of honey - gooey and too sweet. Something that got caught underneath her tongue, sticking on its way down her throat, clinging mercilessly to the spot just beneath her bony ribcage. It settled, making room for itself. Too warm, too rich and too dangerous. 

There she lay night after night, dreaming of honey. Glistening eyes and brown sugar curls, gentle dimples and flushed cheeks. Some primal part of her wanted to pull his head back by those honey curls and lick a stripe through the sugar on his golden skin. As a child, she loathed anything sweet. Wednesday could stomach dreaming of his twisted smirk, could perhaps find enjoyment in waking up breathless at the memory of his lies. Deception was an old friend of hers and if thrown in amongst images of blood splatters and his helpless victims, it could be her new favourite nightmare. She could play a loop of his ugly transformation all night long and not blink. She could hear his taunting voice on her neck and not even flinch, patiently awaiting death. It was the rest of it that she could not bear. All she could see was his once honourable gaze and the softness that never left his voice. The brush of his lips against hers, how he tenderly brushed a thumb against her cheekbone - always too gentle with her. She longed for the terror, the bloodshed, the bitterness. But all that she had left was the sticky sweetness. 

It made rage rip through her like she was being torn apart from within. 

It seemed the night would grant her no mercy. With a huff, Wednesday stood and began to reach for her boots. She heard the familiar scuttle of Thing’s fingers and glanced at her sleeping roommate, blonde hair spilled across the pillow. Enid spent her daylight hours feeling - smiling and crying and screaming, yet somehow she managed to sleep peacefully. It was clear that the world had its favourites and that Wednesday was not one of them. 

“Stay here” was all that she told Thing, leaving no room for questions. 

The icy wind rippled through her as she headed towards Jericho, the cold heavy on her back. When she finally arrived, it reminded her of a crime scene. The Galpin house was dark and silent, void of the police cruiser in the driveway. The Sheriff must have been working through the night at the station. As she climbed through the slightly ajar living room window, she looked around and noticed how empty everything seemed. As though nobody even lived there anymore. 

Without realising it, the nagging itch within her twisted her head in the direction of the stairs. A small part of her ached with curiosity, eager to find his bedroom and look around for evidence of who he once was. But Wednesday squashed the irritating feeling down, forcing herself to make her way over to the Garage. She did not have the time to look through his things and let more tenderness grow in her wretched heart. He didn’t deserve tenderness. The filing cabinet that she sent Thing to locate previously, stood in the dark corner of the Garage. This felt too delicate of an operation for Thing’s pesky fingers to ruin. It sent enough shivers down her spine to even open the top drawer. The file labelled with his name sat right beside his mother’s. The two large files were left alone to collect dust while typical police records and household paperwork were stuffed into the remaining three drawers. The man sure had a knack for pushing away his own family. Wednesday ran her fingertips over the file that she had been itching to get her hands on for months, feeling the thickness of its contents. Something heavy cloaked her black heart, just like dust. 

She slipped the file into her satchel, swallowing roughly. 

—- —- —-

Controlled exposure, is what they called it. A testing method to help confront fears, using limited exposure, bit by bit. Teaching the subject to get used to the anticipation. When Wednesday first laid eyes on him, it was just an inkling. A passing fear that she filed away, telling herself to make more of an effort to find allies. Ever since that fleeting thought, it turned into a game. Like pressing a scorpion to the barrier of her skin - anticipating the sting. When it finally came, it was more painful than she expected. 

The momentary sense of panic after having the rug pulled from underneath her feet, it should have been delicious. Somehow, she was only left feeling disorientated, unable to get her footing back. 

When she got back to Ophelia Hall, Thing was signing furiously - too quick for her to understand. She frowned, trying to figure out why he was so freaked out. Before she could, a hand clasped itself over her mouth and she was pulled back against something solid. Wednesday froze, perhaps truly afraid for the first time in her life - because she knew exactly who it was. He held her a little more secure than he once did in the woods, with a rougher grip. It was as though he wasn’t as concerned with being gentle with her anymore. She didn’t move a muscle. 

“Don’t scream.”

His hand was pressed over her mouth, the other wound tightly around her middle to push her against him. They were facing Enid’s side of the room, watching her breathe deeply and sleep without interruption. She wondered if he positioned her like this on purpose, to remind her that not even sharing a room could guarantee her safety. His breath was hot against her ear and Wednesday fought against squeezing her eyes shut to block it out. She wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. All she could feel was her heart hammering away in her chest, protesting in panic. She forced herself to remain calm and collected on the outside, but with how close their bodies were pressed together, there was no guarantee that he couldn’t sense her fear. 

After a few moments, and perhaps feeling fairly confident that she wasn’t going to screech her head off, his grip loosened slightly. Wednesday didn’t dare move a muscle, waiting patiently as he let her go slowly, allowing her more room to breathe. The air around her was still interrupted, particles vibrating with the knowledge that he was within her space. His hand left her mouth shakily and she kept her jaw clenched shut, staying where she was - facing her sleeping roommate. Maybe if she willed it enough, he would evaporate like smoke and she would awaken from this twisted living nightmare. She took a stuttered breath, fighting to gain control of the situation while her back was turned to him. 

“You can look at me”, he told her in a hushed voice, hovering behind her, “…I know you want to.”

An uncomfortable sensation curled in her stomach, teeth grinding together ferociously. If she was a snapping turtle, she could snarl and bite at him. If she was half the beast he was, she would rip his head off and stick it on display proudly. But Wednesday only had her wits to rely on, and right now she did not have much. She was strong, but something about him made her weak. He wore her down over time, until her dark leather turned soft and allowed him to make himself at home. Now she practically wore him around in her skin, without her own permission. He was there inside her chest, festering away like an infection waiting to show through the surface. Despite herself, she slowly turned around until she was facing him. Fists clenched at her side, every muscle tensed in preparation for attack. She hated him. She wanted to see his entrails spilled across the floor, rotting away and being eaten by flies. She wanted to leave him a quivering mess on the floor, lips glistening with his own blood and spit. 

“Wednesday.” 

His voice still sounded like his voice, and she didn’t understand how. 

“Tyler”, she spat. 

And suddenly, it was Tyler standing in front of her. With the honey curls and sugar sweet eyes, Tyler that carried the scent of bitter coffee everywhere he went. Tyler that she went to for help, who she confided in and used whenever she saw fit. If only she knew at the time that he was using her right back. 

For a long few minutes, they just looked at each other. But Wednesday eventually spoke first, practically choking on each word, “How did you get in?”

Tyler simply tilted his head at her, perhaps reminding her that she underestimated him once. Maybe it would be unwise to do so again. 

“What are you doing here?” She tried again. 

He leaned into her space confidently and she had half a mind to think that he was going to laugh directly in her face. “You’ve been looking for me”, he reminded her, “…it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’ve been looking for you too.”

Wednesday let her gaze sweep over him, scanning her prey from the top of his head to the bottom of his shoes. There was mud seeping into the cracks of his skin, coating his face and matting his hair. His clothes looked half torn and stitched back together, his stance shaky and antsy. Those eyes were tired, drooping slightly and his lips were parted as he drew in a haggard breath. He didn’t look so pretty anymore. Everything about him screamed wild, uncaged and vicious. It had been months since he escaped from police custody. Wednesday wouldn’t be surprised if he had been following her every move, watching from the shadows as she stole from his home and sat in his damn cafe. A minuscule shred of embarrassment leaked into her face and she focused her attention on his muddy shoes before he could notice. She wasn’t sure how long he had been looking for her, waiting to engage - but it was possible that he had gleefully noticed her inability to sleep and think about anything other gathering information on him. It made her hate him even more. But she refused to be weak anymore, lifting her chin and keeping it level while she returned her gaze to him. 

“What do you want?” She echoed familiar words. 

That night, he had tilted his head maliciously and asked her what it felt like to lose. Wednesday had reluctantly felt a part of herself crumble, tears stinging in the far corners of her eyes as she watched him walk away from her. Back then, he didn’t seem to want anything from her. But something was different now - now that she could see him up close. While she had nothing to say to him, it seemed as though he had plenty to get off his chest. 

“What happened to Laurel?” 

She gritted her teeth. “Why do you want to know? Snivelling, pathetic dog missing its owner?” 

Tyler planted his hands on her shoulders, determined. “Wednesday-“

“Get off me”, she sneered quietly, “…I don’t care for other people’s leftovers.”

Determination quickly turned into desperation, Tyler starting to shake her forcefully, “Did you kill her? Wednesday, tell me.”

“Put another finger on me and I-“ 

“Dammit, Wednesday!”, he was frantic, “…I need to hear you say it. Is she dead?”

“What do you take me for? An amateur?” She bit back, scowling at him with hatred, “…Yes. She’s dead. I made sure it was slow and painful too. Would you like pictures?”

Something seemed to snap within Tyler, and it set Wednesday on edge. His entire body straightened up, eyes wide and glistening as if he were standing to attention. The air shifted, everything humming and snapping like little fragments of static shock. When Wednesday was a child, she would play with electricity, enjoying the little zaps against her fingertips and the smell of singed flesh. That kind of danger came with an element of fun, but she couldn’t find anything fun about standing in front of Tyler while he salivated. She felt as though she could snap her fingers and he would jump, roll over or whine. It would be amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic. There seemed to be nothing left of the smug, cruel beast that approached her at the Sheriff’s office, gloating over her stupidity and weakness. Nothing left of the creature that tugged her forward in the woods, slamming her against a tree as if she weighed nothing. All of his hard edges had softened, and somehow it made her fear him even more. When she moved to take a step away from him, he followed her without thought.

“What are you doing?” 

“You killed her”, he repeated softly to himself, almost like a chant. 

Wednesday clenched her fists tighter so they would stop shaking. “You need to go.” 

Tyler moved closer, unstable and light on his feet as if he were caught in a trance. A hand reached up towards one of her braids, thumb running over the bumpy texture. It was a tenderness eerily familiar to the boy she once knew, and she detested how natural it felt. 

“I can’t”, he finally whispered, still focused on her raven hair. 

She didn’t like how he was looking at her, “Why?” 

His eyelashes fluttered as he met her gaze once more, “I think you know why.”

A feeling of nausea overtook her, settling deep in her stomach. He was right. Wednesday had read enough of Faulkner’s diary and research to know what this meant. When the horror finally settled into her eyes, a hope lit up within him because he knew that she understood. However much she may have resented it, she could no longer deny what they were to each other. 

“When a Hyde’s master is killed”, he repeated slowly, watching her squirm, “…their main priority is to latch onto another master. As a species, they need to belong…to take orders. By that law, whoever kills their previous master—“

“Stop”, she forced out, slapping his hand away from her face, “…No.”

Tyler relented, not reaching for her again but still hovering way too close. A sick smile came onto his face. It was the most genuine smile she had seen since her dreams and it made her feel physically sick. He tilted his head tauntingly, but she could tell her answer meant something to him. “Have you been dreaming of me, Wednesday?”

She refused to react, holding strong. 

“Have you laid awake at night thinking of me? Remembering…every detail?”, he had her trapped in his gaze and as much as she wanted to, something forced her to stay put. A fly caught in a jar of honey. “Do you hate how I make you feel? How much you want to be close to me?”, his voice was barely a whisper but she felt violated. “How you can’t get me out of your head-“

“If you take one step closer-“

“It’s all the same for me…”, he told her softly, as if it was supposed to make her feel better, “…it’s because of the bond.”

“There is no bond”, she seethed. 

His face fell lightly, like he was afraid. “Wednesday, you can’t fight it-“

“No”, she snapped quietly, “Do you not hear me? I refuse. I refuse to own you. I refuse to have anything to do with-“

“B-But-“, he started to stammer and she took delight in his panic and misery. After his lies, it seemed only fair that he was made to beg and cry like the dog he was. “Wednesday, you’ve studied Hydes. If they don’t…you know the consequences if they are left without a master. Without someone to depend on. They are designed to belong.” He almost whimpered when he finished, looking distraught. 

“I don’t want you”, she spat out. 

Something shifted across his face, like he finally understood. 

“You can’t trust me anymore” he corrected her. 

Wednesday huffed a bitter laugh under her breath, looking at him like he was stupid. “I never could. I just didn’t know it then.”

Tyler opened his mouth to argue, but they were both interrupted by the sound of rustling sheets. Over on the other side of the room, Enid shifted underneath her blankets, starting to wake up to the sound of their hushed yet heated arguing. Wednesday turned to look back at her intruder, but there was no longer anybody there. The window was slightly ajar, ultimately how he broke through in the first place. Enid’s eyes fluttered open and blinked at her roommate with sleepy confusion. 

“Wednesday?” Enid mumbled, “What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep”, she fought to keep her voice quiet and even, swallowing down her fury. It was so thick and hot, she almost choked on it. As she shrugged off her jacket and boots, climbing into bed, she realised that her hands were still trembling. 

The night that Tyler was captured, Wednesday thought that death’s sweet embrace had come for her. After the relief and adrenaline had worn off, a stranger sensation took over. Her chest heaved, lungs grappling for air, feeling as though she was underwater. She couldn’t breathe and it felt as though she was on fire, burning from the inside out. She panted in the sheets of her hospital bed, clawing at her skin and tugging at her clothes until she settled down. Her throat was closing in and she couldn’t swallow. After a torturous hour, the feeling started to fade. Wednesday figured it was her body reacting to whatever pain medication they had forced her to swallow. But after Enid’s breathing settled into a natural rhythm, the discomforting feeling returned. It was less intense, but this time - her eyes began to sting. She turned onto her side so that her body was facing their large round window, staring out into the darkness until her vision began to blur. Her heart would not settle, pounding insistently with unrest. 

Wednesday stared through that window all night long, peering into the black-nothingness - wondering if he was on the other side, looking back at her. 

Chapter Text

As her eyes fluttered open gently, Wednesday was bathed in moonlight. It bounced off the surface of every wall and caressed her skin like icy silk. She hummed sleepily, stretching her limbs like a cat napping in the sunshine, letting the hazy shadow cover her. Time grew to have a fluidity similar to water, the cool light dancing across her bare arms, like the ghost of a touch. 

A soft laugh met her ears. 

Suddenly, there he was. Sat on the edge of her bed as if he belonged there - as if it was his own. He was bathed in the moon’s enticing glow and when his fingertips reached to brush over her black comforter, it reminded her of a greek statue barely touching glistening water. If she was a moonlit pond, he wouldn’t hesitate to take a refreshing dip. 

Wednesday only felt herself able to blink at him, clutching the comforter in her small fists. He had the same contemplative look on his face that she saw in Crackstone’s Crypt. As he shifted closer, it felt as though she was still locked in shackles, feet dangling centimetres above the ground. It was disorientating. Everything felt off - she could not even be sure of where they were anymore, or what time of day it was. Not when he was so close, quietly watching her. Strangely, it didn’t feel so unnerving this time. She could only watch - half of her frozen, half of her curious. In a sinfully slow manner, his fingertips brushed up the length of her arm, simply feeling her skin. They dragged themselves down to her wrist, curling slightly, playing a game of push and pull. She could not look away from him. Light touches danced across her palm until he carefully linked their fingers together. Wednesday looked down at where his skin met hers - cold meeting warm, deathly pale meeting sticky sweet honey. She was trembling at his touch, eyes fighting the urge to flutter closed. But a part of her feared that if she did, he would disappear. He inhaled softly and when they locked gazes, he almost looked sympathetic. Kind even, polite in the way that she once knew him to be. 

“I know that you want to ask me something.”

He watched her closely for a reaction, but her mind was swimming. It felt as though she was looking up at him from underwater, as if he was the sun to gaze up at. When he leaned forward this time, her eyes gave in and slipped closed. She could feel his chest brushing against hers as he hovered above her, mouth finding her ear. He sighed, tenderly whispering his confession that felt more like a final blow, “You want to know how much of it was real.”

Wednesday shot up straight, eyes snapping open with horror. 

Long gone was any trace of moonlight, instead she was left with her humiliation in broad daylight. Her dark bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead, sheets rumpled as if she had been fighting all night long. Oh, how she wished she was. A growl tore from her throat as she ripped the comforter off her small frame. 

There was a taste on her tongue, bitter like defeat. Wednesday longed to rip her hair out at the root, to peel off every fingernail and break every finger bone until she couldn’t even remember his name. Her sweatpants clung to her like a second skin and she wanted to claw her way out of her own body. She could still feel his breath on her neck. 

“Wednesday?” Her eyes snapped over to Enid’s side of the room. “Are you okay?”

“Fine”, she mumbled tensely. 

“Did you have a bad—“

“I said that I’m fine. What don’t you understand?” Wednesday snapped. 

Her roommate had the sense not to push any further, although she kept sending her concerned glances through a curtain of twinkling lights. It was clear that Wednesday had not been very convincing. As she ripped open the shower curtain and shivered under the icy water, she wondered angrily what it would take to convince herself. 

— — —

Since waking up that morning, it was clear that nothing was going her way. Wednesday felt as though she were being tested. She walked around like a half-dead zombie, threatening to collapse in a way that seemed more than exhaustion. Some part of her was crumbling without permission and she couldn’t find a way to enjoy it. Her skin ached, tender to the slightest touch, as if she was unknowingly burning alive. There had always been a beauty within pain that drew her in, but what she appreciated the most was the element of control. It was a fascination that started with the simple prick of a finger. The sharp sting followed by a delicious numbness, her eyelids fluttering to a content close as drops of blood fell onto the floorboards. It was something that she had free rein over, skin and nerves trained into knowing their boundaries and limits. Wednesday soon discovered that she had an abnormally high tolerance for pain. A knife could be pressed against flesh and then drawn away, should one feel like it. Wednesday wondered if some greater being was poking the bear, trying to determine what it would take to reach her limits and break them. 

During class that afternoon, her eyes fought to stay in focus. She set her gaze on the plants across the classroom, watching them blur and fade as her head drooped low. The Addams family frequently stayed awake to feel the sweet sensation of exhaustion, but her body had never reacted so strongly before. Maybe it was finally shutting down. 

Someone tapped a pencil against her desk. 

Wednesday glanced to her side, sending the culprit a warning stare. Xavier merely nodded to their teacher. She straightened up stubbornly, narrowing her eyes at the blackboard that was growing fuzzy. 

Xavier Thorpe was a thorn in her side. One that she tried continuously to remove, tossing it aside. For some reason that she couldn’t fathom and chose not to indulge, he stuck there stubbornly, brushing off her efforts. She had tried hard to make amends, given her knack for falsely accusing him in the previous semester and her often harsh words that were used against him. But the boy had a talent for vexing her. He texted her non-stop over their break from school, asking if she was planning on returning and if she had come across any new mysteries. Wednesday wasn’t sure why she didn’t inform him of her stalker and the loose threads in her previous case, maybe she simply didn’t care enough. If she tried hard enough, and if he let her - perhaps there was a small chance they could become good allies. But his persistent efforts to get her to swoon left her nauseous and agitated. It also seemed he had a talent for seeing things that simply were not there. 

Xavier tapped his pencil again, this time right next to her sleeve. 

Wednesday reached over, snatching the pencil out of his gasp. She snapped it cleanly in half without even looking back at him once. 

— — —

Tyler knew from the moment that he met Wednesday, he wanted to look further. And from where he stood, soaking up every detail of her side of the room - it was an opportunity that he refused to waste. Climbing up their shared balcony and slipping through the window was simple enough. The room was empty and Thing was nowhere to be found, and well…Tyler just couldn’t help himself when it came to Wednesday. Her room was devoid of any clutter or personal items, devoid of any colour and light and warmth - much like her. Everything was black, from the metal bed frame to the sheets, to the desk and beautifully carved dresser. Her typewriter was propped up on her desk, blank sheet of paper set up ready for use. He couldn’t resist pressing a singular key. Her cello - perhaps the only other item that she held dear - sat by the window, held like a trophy in a stand. The sheet music was creased, clearly beloved, and he gently ran a hand down the smooth shape of the instrument, letting himself take comfort in knowing that he was touching something that she had touched. There was something intimate in how she left her room so bare, almost as if it wasn’t even lived in. Unlike Enid’s, it wasn’t covered in materialistic goods and vivid patterns to distract and portray herself in a certain way. With Wednesday, what you saw was what you were going to get. It was something that he always admired about her. 

Wednesday Addams was a painting in black and white - beautiful and haunting. From the day she set foot into The Weathervane, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. Her blunt delivery, neglect for others and dark eyes quickly made some small part of him shiver. It made him feel alive. In those moments that she unapologetically showed herself for who she was, he knew that she made his beast feel alive too. She respected his darkness and he had a feeling that it was her favourite part of him. In those moments, he didn’t have to act, he didn’t have to hide. Maybe this room, was somewhere that she didn’t have to hide either. 

His fingertips hovered over the violin strings, but before he could touch them - something practically knocked him over. 

A small frame clung to his back, legs wrapped around his waist making him fumble and lose his footing. His world tilted and with the suspended moment of surprise and confusion, he was spun around and dragged backwards. Before he knew it, Tyler found himself lying flat on his back on the bed, looking up at a familiar face. Wednesday was straddling him, glaring with hatred and pressing a knife against his throat. 

At first he had the decency to look taken aback, but when taking in their intimate position, it soon turned to something smug and she hated it. She hated him. 

“Are you going to make a habit out of turning up unwanted like this?”

Tyler raised his eyebrows cheekily, “Do you want me to?”

Wednesday pressed the knife harder against his neck, almost enough to break the skin. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” He asked. 

“Shouldn’t you be eating treats out of somebody’s hand?”

“You seem agitated”, he commented. 

“Your presence seems to bring that out in me” she retorted dryly. 

He looked at her with mirth in his eyes, glancing down to the closeness between their bodies and how her thighs straddled his hips. “If you wanted me to leave, something tells me that you would have gotten off me by now.”

“I was taught to never turn my back on the enemy.”

“Or you would have called the police already”, he tried again.

“You’ve clearly evaded arrest before”, she pointed out. 

Tyler’s smug smile faded slightly and it seemed as though something caught his attention, “The enemy? Is that what I am to you now?”

“Perhaps I have already called the police.”

His gaze left her blank stare, looking over to the bedside dresser where a shiny black mobile phone sat. He recalled her frequent criticism of technology, doubtful that it got frequent use. 

“That’s new”, he commented. 

“It was a gift from Xavier.”

Wednesday pressed her lips together after it slipped out, not exactly sure why she needed to say it. But the moment his expression flickered with surprise and something darker, she began to understand. He had knocked down her confidence and bruised her ego when he revealed his true intentions, and it felt only fair to do the same. He deserved to be knocked down a peg and crushed underneath her boot. He deserved to be made aware that he wasn’t special, because that was exactly how he made her feel. 

Tyler raised his eyebrows, a sarcastic smile on his lips, “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

She raised her chin a little. 

He laughed and it threw her off, causing her to blink unexpectedly. “You want to make me jealous”, he explained, “…it’s cute.”

“Are you?” Wednesday challenged. 

He leaned up on his elbows slightly, but she held firm. Their faces hovered close to another, chests heaving. When Tyler replied, there was nothing but unashamed honesty in his voice and his answer wasn’t what she had been expecting. “No”, he breathed. 

Her jaw clenched painfully. 

“You can try and make me jealous as much as you want”, he uttered with a dangerous glint in his eyes, “…and I might find myself tempted to tear his head off…but I don’t need to. I know that he doesn’t stand a chance with you. You’ll never want him. I know that no matter how much you might hate it and certainly will never admit it…that nobody can make you feel the way that I do. He…”, Tyler stressed, “…will never make you feel the way I do.”

Every single part of her was burning in protest, red hot like a fire poker. The flames licked at her cheeks, tinting them with a red flush and she shook with fury - seething. The most painful part of it was that he wasn’t entirely wrong. Xavier idolised her as if she were his favourite fictional character, placing her up on a pedestal. He pined after her from afar, guessing that his fondness was returned. In his head, the artist within him had painted the perfect picture of a tragic unrequited love, believing her to be a part of the narrative. Over time, he would realise that his creative vision was conjured on rose-coloured glass, and that there was nothing shiny for him to admire after all. Wednesday was not shiny, she was closer to rust. Tyler was frustratingly the only one that seemed to understand that. Every deterring trick and strange habit, he found a way to find something endearing in them. At the night of the dance, she practically confessed to enjoying attempted murder and the pathetic boy found himself admiring her for it. He was drawn to her darkness, drawn to her solitude. 

Wednesday couldn’t find anything to say that wouldn’t give her away, so she changed tactics. 

“What are you hoping to get from being here?”

Tyler gestured to where he was pinned to her mattress, sighing impatiently. “Can you get off me first so that we can talk like normal people?”

It was the funniest thing he had said all day. She almost wanted to laugh. “You see us as normal people?”

He let out another huff, “Wednesday—“

“I don’t trust you.”

“What is it going to take for that to change?” He practically whined again like a petulant child being given an early bedtime. “I’m right here. You can ask me anything that you want. You must have…questions.”

Wednesday was thrown back into her nightmare, pressure crushing against her chest. There it was again, the hint of sympathy. The disgusting earnestness that she once associated him with. He had introduced her to the other side of him, a side that was cunning and boastful, one that watched her squirm with glee. But there were times that he looked at her, when he thought she was not looking, with some of the knowledge of how much he hurt her. How he tricked her and stole candy from right underneath her nose, with an impressive sleight of hand. How easy it must have been for him to draw her in - a lamb lined up for slaughter. He had the nerve to look regretful. Maybe even sorry for it, too. 

“Where are you staying?”, she tilted her head, “…you know, when you aren’t drooling on my doorstep.” 

He shrugged. “Out in the woods, here and there. But when my Dad’s not home, I crash in my room. He isn’t home too often, never was.”

There’s disappointment there, tainted with enough bitterness to let her know that he was used to it. Maybe he had been for a long time. His casual glance at his legs tried to disguise the hurt, as if he wanted her to know that he didn’t expect her sympathy. He was good at playing the part of the boy from the broken home. Too good - even now. 

She stopped for a moment, not sure if she should have asked. 

“Did you see me there last night?” The answer was in his eyes, clear as day. “Why didn’t you make yourself known then? Why follow me back to Nevermore and risk getting caught?”

“He needed to hunt.”

Her tone was even. “Right there and then?”

Tyler shifted uncomfortably, “I didn’t want to be hungry around you.”

She scoffed, looking at him as if he were stupid. Of all times to be concerned for her safety, he chose then. 

“He?”

“What?”

“You referred to your beast as He.”

“I don’t like to think of us as the same person”, he replied firmly. 

Her eyes narrowed with curiosity, “How much control do you have over it?”

“Some.”

“It’s master is able to control it better”, she finished for him. 

He nodded, eyes lighting up with something akin to hope. She couldn’t wait to crush it. 

“The black dahlia.”

A once innocent flower, named after her favourite unsolved murder case - now a cruel detail in someone else’s scheme. After their date was interrupted and they packed up to leave, Tyler offered to let her take the token of his affection back with her. She gave him a blank stare, tossing it onto the floor of the crypt. Wednesday had appreciated his acceptance of her colour palette and how he tried to incorporate it into whatever bizarre gifts he gave, but she was nothing if not the opposite of sentimental. Strangely, after Eugene clued her into the true identity of Laurel Gates, her first thought was of that stupid flower. It stung a little. 

“Laurel told me to bring it”, he admitted quietly, moving a hand so that he could brush it against her apologetically. Her body stiffed in response to his touch and with her momentary weakness, he let himself hold onto her thigh to steady her. “But I don’t know why. I figured she knew it would eventually get a rise out of you somehow.”

Wednesday used her other hand to tug at his hair harshly. 

“I-I never meant to-“

Her grip on the knife tightened and she dug it into the flesh of his neck until she saw blood. She wanted him to make him bleed. She wanted to make him hurt. 

Tyler hissed and she smiled slightly, delighting in his pain. But when he opened his eyes and looked at her, they were shining. A golden rim covered part of the usual hazel. It made her blink in wonder. Their gazes locked and something slow and rich stretched between them, warm like syrup. With him beneath her, Wednesday felt powerful. She knew that he would do anything for her. His eyes were blown open, lips parted. She could feel his breath coming out in small pants against her nose. The air that separated them was hot and shallow, thick with tension. His body was warm beneath her, arching up slightly as if she were a vampire, resurrecting him with a single kiss, letting the blade tenderly bite at his neck. It was then that she noticed his hand still gripping at her thigh, fingers softly clenching around her skin. His touch burned through her flesh, stopping her short. Something arose within her, something new - something that she didn’t like. She slowly pulled the knife away from his neck, breaking the moment and rolling off him. Dusting herself off and straightening up her uniform, Wednesday willed her body to calm down. 

“Get out”, she ordered without looking at him. 

He sat up on his elbows, confused. “Huh?”

“Do I need to say it again?” She threatened darkly, “…or do you want me to leave more of a mark? Maybe next time I won’t give you enough time to flirt with me before I slit your throat.”

“Fine”, he looked at her wearily, “…as long as you know this won’t be the last time you see me.”

Wednesday gritted her teeth. “I don’t expect I’m that lucky.”

Tyler reluctantly slid off her mattress, standing there still for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists with the need to touch her. The primal animal instincts in him were aching with the need to claim her, to throw her down on her little bed and kiss the hatred out of her. His Hyde was longing to bare his neck and bow down to her will, whereas his miserable human heart merely wanted to beg for forgiveness. It physically hurt to have her so far away. With a barely-restrained whimper, he began to move over to the window. 

His last weeks had been spent in agony, laying awake with his entire being calling out for her. It seemed the intensity of the bond had doubled, leaving him defenceless without her. In his other form, the Hyde was ruthless - unstoppable. He ripped animals apart, tore through the trees and clawed at the bark with anger. But when he came to - naked and bloody on the forest floor, Tyler felt as though something had been taken from him. All he wanted was for someone to pick him up from the ground, to remind him of his humanity. And he wanted it to be her. The science of the bond agreed, both halves of him crying out into the night, hovering by her window while she tossed and turned. Tyler wondered if he could be driven insane with lust for her. He didn’t just crave her body and lips, he craved her darkness and little black heart. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and make her smile at him again. He wanted to make her crumble - though this time he would be there to put her back together again. 

“Wednesday”, he called out softly, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes “…sweet dreams.”

She practically growled at him. 

Once the window closed behind her intruder, Wednesday finally felt herself start to breathe again. But she could still feel him, she could still feel him on her skin and in the space around her. Her room felt out of sorts - as if he had switched around every single piece of furniture in her absence and then righted them again, just to drive her insane. It was disturbed, ruined even. Her eyes drifted over to the typewriter that sat on her desk, and she angrily noted that he had left her a small token of his affection. A reminder that he was there, that he invaded her private space. And that he would be coming back for her. 

T 

She crumpled up the piece of paper, tossing it in the bin with a silent scream. 

Chapter Text

As a child, Wednesday found a thrill in the moments just before a storm would hit. The impending doom, the sense of danger. She liked being able to feel it in the air. The static of electricity, the way that strands of her dark hair would stand up, reaching up towards the dark sky. She liked running for cover just before the lightning hit. Her mother used to tut, advising her daughter to come inside before she burned to a crisp, but Wednesday paid her no mind. She would stand on her tiptoes, looking up into the black clouds, counting the seconds between the thunder and the lightning. She liked knowing that the storm was creeping closer. It gave her something to look forward to. 

But lately, it seemed as though Wednesday was only at war with herself. She was in the eye of the storm, but this time, there was nowhere to take cover. 

“You wanted to see me?” Wednesday deadpanned. 

The new principle looked out of place in the office. The roaring fireplace, worn leather armchairs and carpeted floors were all the same. They hadn’t even gotten around to changing the name on the door yet. A fresh golden plaque sat on the desk, spelling out PRINCIPLE TATE, but it was not something that Wednesday was going to waste her time trying to remember. She doubted that the poor woman would last that long. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, Miss Addams. It’s a great pleasure to meet you officially.”

The clock chimed on the mantlepiece. 

“I know that you were extremely…involved in the events of Nevermore last semester. And while some of those events and actions didn’t exactly fall into the school’s rules and regulations…I want you to know that as the new principle, I am extremely grateful for your efforts and your sacrifice.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. 

The poor woman was not giving up. “It’s why we were so eager to have you come back and continue your journey here. For in my personal opinion, those particular mishaps and broken rules…they were outweighed by a great deal of good intentions. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She was met with silence. 

“I would like to think that we will get along swimmingly”, the blonde beamed, but she seemed restless in her chair, “…you and I.”

“Principle Tate”, Wednesday eyed the brand new plaque, “…what am I doing here?”

The woman’s perfect smile seemed to falter, but she plastered it back on with great effort. She wiped her sweaty palms on the hem of her dress, standing abruptly. “I have some news to share with you. Now, Miss Addams…I plead that you hear my case out, and that you do not run.”

Wednesday cracked a small smirk. “I don’t run.”

But when the door creaked open, it all felt like one big practical joke. She waited for her classmates to jump out again with a belated birthday cake and laugh at the complete and utter horror in her eyes. When that didn’t happen, she waited to wake up with a guttural scream. She pinched herself harshly, telling herself that it was just another nightmare. But in reality, it was so much worse. Tyler Galpin walked into the office like a free man, smiling politely at their new principle. As his eyes met Wednesday’s, he looked unsure - nervous. Wednesday dug her painted fingernails into her seat, seemingly the only person in the room seconds away from laughing. This truly was such a twisted prank to pull off. She wanted to applaud. The second his eyes left her own to glance down, she noticed another terrifying and cruel detail that they had added to their plot. He was wearing stripes of purple and black - the stripes of the Nevermore uniform. Wednesday didn’t feel like laughing or applauding anymore. Her nails tightened their grip on the chair and as her head began to spin, she was afraid that she would pass out cold in front of them. And she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him see her crumble again. 

When Tyler’s father joined them in the room, taking his hat off and settling into a chair, the terror turned into rage. Tyler hovered by the door, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. In his head, she knew that he must have been cackling at her. She wanted to launch herself across the carpet and wring his neck. Now that he was wearing one of Nevermore’s ridiculous ties - strangling him would be child’s play. 

Wednesday looked the Sheriff in the eyes. “You.” 

“Now, Miss Addams…I’m sure you’re rather confused—“

“Oh, not at all…”, she ground her teeth together, “…I know exactly what is going on here. Don’t I, Sheriff?”

He sent her a tired look. 

“All of those times that you came here under the guise of checking up on things after Weem’s death - you were setting this up. And every time you claimed to take an interest in my wellbeing, all you were doing is preparing me, trying to get on my good side - knowing that the murderous beast that you love to protect—“

“What did you expect me to do?” Sheriff Galpin challenged, “…you might have been able to be involved in the decision if you did anything other than sit in that damn coffee shop, afraid to so much as say his name.”

Hot embarrassment ripped through her. 

“Involved?’, she spat, “…you think I want to be involved with…that?”

“That is my son you’re talking about!”

“And my attempted murderer.”

Principle Tate clasped her hands together in front of her, trying to gain control of the situation. “Remember what you and I just talked about, Miss Addams? The good outweighing the bad? With your own track record, I was hoping that you would have been a little more open to the idea of a second chance. After all, isn’t that what you were given?”

“One that I did not want.”

“We always knew that this would come with difficulty. But Nevermore has prided itself on becoming the place that outcasts can use as a safe haven, to learn to control their abilities. I’ll be continuing on that legacy, starting with Mr Galpin.”

She could feel his eyes on her but refused to look. 

“Now, I want you to know that I understand your concerns. The Sheriff and I have both decided that it would be best to take Mr Galpin out of your classes and amend your schedules, therefore minimising the times that your paths cross significantly—“

Wednesday scoffed. “Like that will stop him.”

“We can still treat this as somewhat of a trial period—“

“And when the trial fails?” She replied bluntly. 

Principle Tate straightened her posture, raising her pointed chin. “Miss Addams, this decision has been made. I was simply making you aware of the situation, not asking for your permission. Mr Galpin will finish this semester at Nevermore, effective immediately.”

— — —

Wednesday had always detested emotions, and lately she had been reminded of exactly why. The tightness in her chest had returned, wrapping around her ribcage like a python. She stumbled into their shared dorm, rubbing her hands over her face in an effort to right herself. When that didn’t work, her fingers worked on loosening the top two buttons of her uniform. God, even wearing the same uniform as him made her feel sick to her stomach. She had never known such hatred before. It was no longer a silent disinterest or carefully planned out revenge plot, in fact she could hardly even start to wish for his demise when his mere presence was suffocating her. He had discovered a way to cut off her oxygen without even getting his hands around her throat. 

Underestimating him was a mistake that she would never make again. It wasn’t enough for him to almost kill her, or to live with the satisfaction that he had successfully tricked her. While she was sitting around wondering why someone like him wanted to be with someone like her, he was pulling the rug from underneath her feet. He was laughing in her face and she hadn’t even noticed it. It seemed that Tyler had a sadistic side, almost as cruel as her own. Wednesday was no coward - she did not have a fondness for trickery or hiding behind masks. Her cruelty was direct, merciless. But somehow, he still walked away from her that night knowing that she had lost. He walked away from every interaction, every date, every dance - knowing that he had won. And somehow it still wasn’t enough for him. 

Wednesday fell into her desk chair, eyes squinting as she typed furiously. It could have been minutes or hours later, when Enid approached her gingerly. 

“Did you…um, did you hear—“

“Yes.”

Enid chewed on her lip, “Did you like…want to talk about it?”

Her fingers paused on the keys. 

“It would be okay, you know. If you wanted to talk. I can skip my next class—“

Wednesday breathed out heavily. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s also okay if…if you feel some kind of way about it. I mean, he’s going to be walking the same halls as you. You must feel—“

“How?” She turned around, shooting Enid a dark look. “How should I feel?”

Enid sighed, feeling hopeless. She thought that they were close to getting on the same wavelength after the last semester, and in a way they were - but not with this. She was clamming up again, acting as if weakness and emotions were beneath her. 

“I’m worried about you”, Enid admitted shakily, “I-I know that he’s on your mind—“

Wednesday opened her mouth to object. 

“You call out his name in your sleep.”

Her voice was quiet but firm, and Wednesday’s chest grew flushed with shame. Bile rose in her throat and she fought to swallow it back down, trying to hold her ground. But it was difficult to appear calm and collected when her darkest desires and secrets were clearly not much of a secret. To have it said aloud - that Tyler had been festering away inside her subconscious  without her permission - made some small part of her want to run after all. 

“I—“

“Get out.”

“Wednesday—“

“I said, get out. If you know what is good for you, you’ll be quick about it too.”

Enid looked truly regretful and it made it all the more difficult to look at her. When the door closed quietly behind her, Thing crawled up onto her colourful sheets, settling there silently. Even the sneaky appendage seemed smart enough to know when not to kick at an angry hornet’s nest. Somehow, being left with nothing but the sound of icy wind through the gaps in the glass, made her feel worse. In a moment of weakness, Wednesday found herself wishing that she knew how to talk about her feelings. She stupidly longed for someone to listen and tell her that this was pain was only temporary. But she didn’t know how. How should she feel about this? How could she even begin to describe it?

It felt like landing wrong. The worst part wasn’t the falling, or even the moment that her foot slipped - it was what it felt like to end up at the bottom. It was the sitting up and looking around, not remembering how she ended up there. She didn’t remember the cruel surprise, the panic, or even the words that sent her tumbling over the edge. All she had was what she was left with. That’s when the panic came. She couldn’t go back to before he let go of her hand, to before she fell in his arms and ended up on the ground. To before she wondered how she had missed the signs waving right in front of her face, why she insisted on ignoring every alarm bell that started to ring in her head. Her hands reached out in the dark, scrambling and clawing at anything that she could find. Defeat was heavy and syrupy on her tongue, and it sat there. It felt like looking at someone and seeing who they truly are for the first time. No matter how well you think you can know someone. It felt like being cut open, rearranged and left empty. 

Wednesday feared that soon enough she wouldn’t even have it within herself to hate him anymore. 

— — —

The sunset had melted into more of a purple hue before there was finally a timid knock at the door. Wednesday had been laying still on her bed, looking up at the ceiling, bringing herself a familiar sense of comfort by playing dead. When the door finally creaked open, she didn’t move a muscle or turn in its direction. She had been waiting for him, after all. 

He was quiet as a mouse, practically tiptoeing around her room. Almost as if waiting for permission to proceed. The thought made her want to laugh - he had never seemed to care for her permission before. 

“You were quiet earlier, too.” Her voice was even, eyes fixed above her.

His soft footsteps paused. “I thought you would have preferred if I didn’t speak.”

“It’s refreshing to know how much my feelings matter to you now.”

“Wednesday, please…” he sighed. 

She turned her head in his direction, noticing that his hands were not empty. He was carrying an obnoxiously large bouquet of dead roses in a glass vase, so large they almost covered his whole face. She scoffed at him and his pitying attempt at affection. At her disgusted reaction, he moved to carefully place them on the desk, right beside her typewriter. He decided against touching it this time. 

Thing was flipping through one of Enid’s magazines, still settled on her messy bed. When their intruder got closer, he closed the page and tossed, aiming at his head. Tyler ducked, dodging it barely. Thing scurried across the floor and perched on the edge of Wednesday’s bed this time, as if daring him to try and come closer. 

“He hasn’t forgiven me, either?” He chuckled nervously. 

“If it is forgiveness that you’re hoping for, I’d give up now”, Wednesday warned. “Better yet, you might have a better chance kneeling at your master’s grave.”

Tyler’s voice was firm. “She isn’t my master anymore.”

In four strides, she was off the bed and standing in front of him directly. There was a fire in her eyes, burning so bright that he stumbled back a step. A hint of a cruel smirk grew on her face at how easily she could still scare him. For a moment, he reminded her of the clueless normie that she once knew. But then her mind reminded her that he stopped messing around with the espresso machine and started messing around with her head. The fire blazed and she tried to burn a hole straight through him. 

“And you think that I’m the replacement?”

“You are”, he forced, growing agitated and taking a step forward again. “You must feel it. I know that you feel it.”

“I don’t.”

“Stop lying to me.”

Wednesday spat out the words. “I don’t feel a thing for you.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

She searched every corner of herself, turning inward to locate the cruelest part of her - wanting to hit him where it hurt. But she kept coming up short and it was humiliating. He said it without taunt, without tenderness, without expectation - like it was a fact. It was mortifying. It was spoken with the confidence of someone that knew she had been lying awake for nights, tossing and turning to the thought of him, calling out his damn name. Someone that had watched from the shadows for months while she sat in his cafe, feeling sick every time she thought about ordering the drink that he always used to make for her. Someone that knew how much she wanted him, and how much she hated him for it. He could see straight through her, right down to every shameful, fleeting thought since the moment he had betrayed her. Wednesday wondered if it was written across her face, plainly for everyone to see. Maybe that was the reason she had a hard time looking in the mirror lately, afraid of the softness that had bled through. But for him - she had nothing but hard edges, razor sharp blades and jagged spikes. For him, she refused to soften. In a moment of internal panic, she wondered if that made it all the more obvious that he was the exception to every single one of her rules. He was an anomaly, circled clearly for everyone to see. 

“You don’t want to, I know. You hate me for it, even. But you can’t deny it. You are a lot of things, Wednesday”, he reminded her with a clear, strong voice. “But you are no liar.”

She fought hard to make sure her voice didn’t wobble. “The game is over.”

“Huh?” He frowned. 

“You won. I don’t know what satisfaction you’re getting”, she raised her chin, “…at this point, you’re only playing with yourself.”

Tyler growled a little. “I’m not playing anymore.”

“You’re very convincing”, she praised in a small voice, “…you always were.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, simply looking at her as if she were breaking his heart. It was laughable. His sincerity deserved applause, a standing ovation even. She wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to claim his prize and run while he still had the chance. When he finally spoke again, he barely whispered the words - as if knowing that she was about to throw them back in his face. “I want another chance.”

“You must be joking.”

“Wednesday, I—“

“You’re more sick and twisted than I gave you credit for, Tyler. I have to hand it to you, crying to your father and getting yourself enrolled at Nevermore just to torture me, is an admirable level of persistence. What’s your goal?”

He closed his eyes with frustration, heaving a long sigh. When he opened them again, there was a determination there. It must have been curiosity, but Wednesday remained still as he moved closer once more. His pace was languid enough that she could reach for her pocket knife that was stuffed into one of her socks, if needed again. Once in her space, it was like he could breathe easier. He took deeper breaths, closing his eyes as if content. There were times that he really reminded her of a kicked puppy, desperate to have its belly rubbed. A hand reached for her braid again, and he ran his thumb over the bumpy texture. She meekly wondered if he could tell that they were uneven - she had undone and retied them several times in a row after storming out of the office in the hopes of retaining some form of order. He let out a quiet whine. “Wednesday…”

“Hands off”, she ordered. 

It didn’t take anything more, Tyler swiftly removed his hand from her hair. The light golden rim returned around his eyes, soft and hazy. 

“Do you…”, he drew in another breath, eyes clearer. “Do you remember pressing your knife to my throat in this very room?”

Wednesday watched him carefully. 

Tyler searched her face, “Do you remember how powerful you felt?”

She didn’t say a word, but the moment treacherously played on a loop inside her head - as if he were orchestrating it himself. As if he was still underneath her, something warm and strong settled low in her stomach. His pupils were blown wide, his lips flushed with a deeper shade of red. Wednesday could remember how she felt sat on top of him, straddling him as if it were her very own throne. She wanted to test her theories - to experiment with making him bend under her will, curious to see how far he would go for her. If there was anything that he would’t do. She imagined herself as the puppet master, holding the reins and pulling at his strings. It was enough to make her shudder, and Tyler was quick to notice it. 

“The thought of giving anybody else that power…”, he breathed slowly, “…of anybody else having that kind of control over me…I couldn’t stand it - we couldn’t stand it.” 

His eyes flashed golden again. 

“It could only ever be you”, he vowed. 

Wednesday could feel that warm, gooey stretch of toffee melting over them again. For a short moment, she let herself believe him and imagine that it was the bond. Binding them together, giving her that kind of power over a destructive beast. It sounded like her wildest dream come true, like the twisted fairytales that her mother used to read to her before bed. But the more she let herself indulge in the idea - a queasy feeling overtook her and everything felt wrong. All of a sudden, she saw herself standing over a chained teenaged boy, covered in blood and bruises, eyes full of terror. She saw a little boy’s mother ripped away from him, transforming uncontrollably and putting their family in danger. She saw Laurel Gates touching Tyler’s face, putting her hands all over him, and Wednesday wanted blood. 

“You want me to make you do whatever I want?”, anger rose in her voice and it had him shrinking back slightly, confused. “You want me to torture you and make you just sit there and take it?”

Tyler searched her face, frowning. 

“You want me to be your new Laurel?” She snapped. “No. I won’t do it.”

“But you—“

“I couldn’t”, she looked at him, disgusted. “I couldn’t do that to you. I may hate you, but that is on my own terms. I don’t need some psychic connection to make you hurt. That would make me a monster and a coward.”

Tyler looked a little lost. From knowing Wednesday and her affliction for torture and control, he expected her to jump at the opportunity to rough him up a little. He thought that she would get started right away, bringing him to his knees until he cried like a baby. But she looked truly disturbed, and maybe even a little upset. And it was then that he realised something that made hope light up in his chest, dim and soft like the flicker of a wax candle. 

His eyes softened, looking at her strangely. “You really care.”

The dark-haired girl scoffed at him, but it didn’t fool anybody. Even Wednesday didn’t believe herself anymore. 

“Don’t delude yourself.”

But it was out in the open, and they both knew it. He looked down at the floor, hoping to make her feel more comfortable. “Do you really not want to talk about any of it?”

“Any of what?” She spoke through gritted teeth, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Thornhill…”, he tested out slowly, “…about us…how much of it was my idea—“

“No.”

He looked at her pointedly. “You may not want to talk about it right now. But when you do want to talk about it - because you will - I’ll answer whatever you want.”

She said nothing. 

“With the absolute truth”, he promised gently. 

Wednesday glanced down at her feet, trying to squish the uncomfortable feeling that was rising in her chest. “That’s comforting”, she retorted, clearing her throat a little, “…given your track record with being honest.”

The words hung in the air, surrounding them and squeezing tight. Several months ago, they were just a boy and a girl that met on a chilly afternoon. They had possibilities, places that they had been and places that they could go. But now, they were nothing but a mirage of broken promises. Unspoken promises, but promises nonetheless. Maybe it was an oath that they swore that night in the Weathervane, after dark, weapons tucked away. When the softest hint of a smile drew itself onto her lips, maybe it was then that Wednesday had sworn to try. To let him in, even if just a little. But the shameful thing she soon discovered about letting someone in, is that there is not always an option to kick them out. 

Tyler let himself wince at her words, aware of her hurt but respecting her enough not to actively acknowledge it. He looked over to the bouquet of roses that he had left on her desk, a peace offering. She followed his line of gaze, clenching her jaw stubbornly. They were dead and crispy, slightly faded and discoloured. They were a deep purple, dark enough to look black unless you looked close enough to notice. It was an attempt at an apology, she reluctantly realised. An apology for the previous time he gave her a flower, at the request of his puppeteer. 

“I’m not being pulled by anyone’s strings anymore”, he told her gently, as if he could read her mind. Maybe he could. “I want you to know that from now on, anything that I do for you…it isn’t because I’m playing a game. It’s just because I want to.”

She looked back at him wearily, not trusting herself to speak. 

He cracked a small, tender smile, putting his hands in his pockets. They had the same uniform on now, only broken up by two different colours. She hated how it made her think of them as two sides of the same coin. 

“I’ll leave you alone for now”, he promised. 

“But not forever”, she glared up from underneath her eyelashes. 

He was filled with so much affection for her, it made her sick. “I can’t.”

When she lay in bed that night, Wednesday wished that somebody would stick pins in her eyes. She longed for brutal torture, for someone to twist and snap her bones so that it would take her mind off the ache in her heart. What had dulled into an emptiness over the semester break, was clawed at mercilessly the moment she laid eyes on him again. He ripped her open with a single utter of her name, leaving her raw and bleeding.

Chapter Text

Betrayal, was something that she saw as a simple thing. A solider working alongside the enemy, passing information, spilling strategies - switching sides. There were countries that cut ties and declared war over trivial matters such as betrayal. Humans, it seemed - were easily hurt. Wednesday was not. She was sturdy, cold even. She was made out of hard stuff. Her skin was thick and her walls were built up high, high enough that even the most ferocious wind could not cause her to crumble. It was something that she prided herself on. 

But lately, she had been slipping. She could feel him when she was sleeping. Even the ghost of his touch was nauseatingly familiar to her now. Her body responded without permission - back arching as he trailed fingertips over her spine, fists clenching painfully as he whispered in her ear all of the things that he couldn’t wait to do to her. He begged her with quiet mumbles to give in, to let him touch her, to let him make up for everything. Lately, it had been harder to push him away, to urge him to leave her dreams. She was growing weak. It was easy to blame the bond - to insist that it must have been starting to affect her, not even leaving her dreams safe. It was starting to leave its sticky residue, poking into her side like a splinter. But no matter how hard she tried to dig it out, she could never pinch her fingers around the root. 

When her eyes closed, he was all that she could see. And when she forced her eyes open, he was merely an echo in the back of her mind, fading into the background - but still there. She tried so hard, forcing herself to remember the bubble of fear as she ran through the dark woods in a blood-soaked gown, hoping that she would reach Eugene in time. She forced herself to recall the pained howls that Enid let out whenever the Hyde locked his teeth around her pelt, how she clung to Wednesday with shaky legs in the aftermath. She tortured her mind into replaying every near miss, every grotesque picture of the victims and violent crime scenes. She needed to remind herself of what he was - a monster. But it seemed as though her own mind had started to betray her. It circled back around to every smile, every joke, every free coffee - as if it didn’t know how to do anything else. Wednesday mournfully recalled herself collapsing against a pillar in Crackstone’s Crypt, clutching at the knife lodged in her stomach. It cut deep and had even been twisted, but somehow it felt more like she had been stabbed in the back. 

“I believe you.”

She had looked at him like he was stupid, or had a death wish - or both. But for the first time in her life, Wednesday had begun to appreciate the feeling of knowing that someone was on her side. That someone had her back. 

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Wednesday didn’t know what to do with herself, she had never had anybody like her before. Not those parts of her - cruel and relentless. 

“I’m tougher than you think.”

She had expected him to grow tired of her scheming, just like Enid did. She had expected him to run and hide after putting him in danger like that. And when he stood there, letting her know that he had every intention of staying - a thrill jolted through her. 

“Does this mean you’re ready to be more than friends?”

She let herself test a theory, to experiment with the curiosity that had been building up inside of her every time that she glanced at his lips. And afterwards, she let herself smile. A new kind of warmth glowed within her, but she didn’t exactly mind it. 

That warmth soon turned bitter and cold. Everything was twisted. Her memories were jangled together, like vines, wrapping themselves around her and tightening their grip. Wednesday was solving puzzles before she could talk, and she decoded cyphers whenever she grew bored. She could free herself from any restraints without her capturer even being aware of it. But for the first time in her life, it seemed her own hands had been tied behind her back without her even realising. Tyler distracted her with a smile, taking her hands in his own. And by the time she tried to step away from him, she looked down and realised that she couldn’t move. She had been lured into a trap like a pig being walked to the slaughterhouse, distracted by the fresh smell of spring. The false sense of security - Wednesday quickly learnt, was the cruelest part of betrayal. 

She was so angry it made her physically sick. But maybe the person that she was most angry with- was herself.

— — —

From the moment Wednesday woke up, there was a dull ache in her head. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that she was merely growing ill. It was that time of the year, after all. The hours blurred into each other, and even though she knew that Tyler had been switched into different classes and sent to the opposite sides of the building, she couldn’t stop herself from looking whenever somebody walked past their classroom. Her eyes tilted upwards instinctually, watching the silhouettes of students passing by as the bell rang, wondering if he was amongst them. A small, spineless part of her wondered if he was looking out for her too. 

When leaving her last class of the day, the ache in her head had turned into a relentless pounding. It throbbed, and she wanted nothing more than to lay down and cover herself in bags of ice. A hand grabbed onto the cuff of her sleeve and she shook it off, terrified to turn around and see her torturer. Surprisingly, it was even worse. 

“Did you have anything to do with this?” Xavier demanded impatiently. 

Wednesday ground her teeth together spitefully. “No.”

“Are you sure about that?”, he challenged. 

She did not have the time for this, and her head was growing worse. 

“What is it that you want?”

“Do you know that he’s walking around the halls right now? Practically a free man, as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Principle Tate wants him to join a club, so that he can immerse himself back into the sense of community at Nevermore. It’s bullshit. I had community service for months just because of the charges. What if he tries to join archery just to get another chance to kill me again?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “He isn’t going to join archery.”

Xavier crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her closely. “Why are you acting like this? This doesn’t bother you? How can it not bother you?!” 

“Who says it doesn’t bother me?” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re just…well, I mean you’re not exactly—“

She huffed. “He isn’t going to try and kill you, Xavier.”

“And how do you know that?”, he argued. 

She tried to move past him, but he side stepped to block her path. Her head was pounding against her skull, getting worse with each minute that she stayed and talked to him. 

Xavier scowled at her. “Actually, why does it sound like you are defending him?”

A feeling of disgust rose within her, and his words struck a nerve. Maybe he was right, maybe in a way she was defending him - but she didn’t know why. In her head, she just couldn’t see the villain that Tyler had turned out to be. She couldn’t see the lack of control and violence, or the bloodshed that he smeared across their town. He was still somehow the quietly confident, helpful barista that helped her look for clues. Or the wonderstruck boy that watched her expressive dance moves and told her that she looked beautiful. Or the Tyler that took her on her first date, setting up a projector and hanging fairy lights around a crypt to make a scene that she begrudgingly admitted was rather romantic. He was a traitor, and yet she still felt the need to defend him. 

“He was under someone else’s control”, she reminded him. 

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but more than anything, he was angry. “You can’t seriously think that. I can’t believe you’re—“

“Go ahead”, she challenged him, “…tell me that I’m a monster. Tell me that he ruined your life just like I did. Tell me again how you should have let Rowan kill me when he had the chance.”

He clenched his jaw, looking down. “After all this, you still choose him.”

Her patience was getting stretched thin and she seethed, scowling back at him while her head throbbed. “If all you’re still worrying about is my love life —“

“He’s a freak—“

“Back off”, she snapped at him. 

Wednesday was tired. She was sick and tied of everyone telling her how she should feel. If she knew how, she wouldn’t be letting herself feel anything at all. It was exhausting and demeaning - letting her bones quiver and heart try to break free from its cage. They all looked at her like it was simple - like she was missing something. As if she could just snap her fingers and go back to the way she used to be. The scariest part was not knowing if she ever would. Enid, Xavier, Sheriff Galpin - they all wanted to fix everything somehow. Their voices poked and prodded at her, making assumptions and offering suggestions - when all Wednesday really wanted was to be left alone. She wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole of her own choosing and sit there feeling sorry for herself for as long as she saw fit. She needed space to lick her wounds. Everything was too loud, too bright and she felt herself begin to cower. But when she stumbled backwards, her small frame was met with a familiar wall. He was stood directly behind her, surrounding her with his warmth and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. 

Her treacherous body sagged against him a little. Her head was already beginning to ease. 

Tyler stood tall, ready to defend. He was pressed up against her, every single muscle tensed as Xavier’s eyes met his own. His beast was practically snapping its jaw, desperate to tear the artist’s limbs away from his his lanky body for even daring to be so close to his master. A sinister smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, eyes flashing gold, tinted with something dangerous. For her, he would be a killing machine. For her, he would wait for the snap of her fingers and pounce, snarling and spitting - foaming at the mouth. But his human side knew that it was not something that Wednesday wanted. Instead, he stood behind her, obediently waiting for her next instruction. 

Irritation spiked within her, and she pointedly ignored the bodyguard behind her. Looking into Xavier’s eyes without so much as a flinch, she spoke slowly and carefully.

“You’re making a fool out of yourself.”

Xavier scoffed bitterly, clenching his fists and looking between Wednesday and the protector behind her. He shook his head, walking away from them to lick at his own wounds. But she could feel the embarrassment rolling off him in waves, and it was delicious. 

For a moment, Wednesday let herself stay there. She could still feel him against her, brushing one of his hands against her hip. His touch was tender, adoring. And all of the stress, all of the hurt that she had been walking around with, pressing down on her shoulders - it didn’t feel so heavy. For just a moment, she wasn’t carrying it alone and it felt good. He hovered close, breathing her in as if knowing how quickly she could slip away. She couldn’t find the strength within her to move. The pain in her head was letting up, giving way for something foggy and peaceful. The tension in her shoulders dripped away, and her knees grew weak. Somehow, it affected her twice as much compared to when she was dreaming him up. He was warm and solid, strong and sturdy behind her and she let herself drink him in. It was only when she felt the curve of his smile against the back of her neck, that her heavy-lidded eyes sobered up. It felt like losing, and Wednesday wasn’t going to let him enjoy it this time. 

She stepped away, letting his hand fall away from her despite her body protesting. It cried out for him, begging her to burrow further into his embrace, to rest her head tenderly in the crook of his neck for a moment. She cursed that weak, slimy part of herself and focused her attention on walking forward, away from him. 

He didn’t let her get far, hand clasping around her wrist this time. 

“You’re really going to ignore me?”

She glared at him. “Trying to.”

They made it out into the courtyard, practically deserted after the final bell had rung. People had places to go, people to see, but Tyler - Tyler was still trailing behind her persistently like an over-stimulated puppy. 

“Does he bother you often?” 

“No more than you do.”

“What were you arguing about?” 

Wednesday stopped, turning to face him with a cold look. “What’s it to you?”

“You were arguing about me?” He guessed, something smug glinting in his eyes. He was delighting in her misery. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Tell me”, there was a territorial edge to his voice. 

That was the final straw. Her eyes darkened and she let every drop of hatred bleed into her voice, hoping that he would choke on it. “Let’s get one thing straight”, she hissed, “…you may have some disgusting longing for me to make you roll over like a dog, and you might even think that you have some pathetic vow to protect me. But hear this, loud and clear. I am not something to be owned. I am not yours.”

Wednesday watched something snap within him. Before she knew it, she was tugged against his body once more, his grip harsher than before. His honourable mask was slipping, giving way to the impatience and pent up rage underneath his skin. He held both of her wrists in one hand, perhaps for the first time clueing her in to the strength he loathed to use. But now, it seemed his thread was tugging and twisting - threatening to break. She swallowed down a bubble of fear. His golden eyes flashed, not letting her look away. He was too fed up, too far gone to worry about hurting her now. For the the first time, she could see the extent of the control that he wrestled with day and night. The Hyde was fighting to come to the surface, muscles underneath his eyes twitching, hands shaking with tension. She refused to let her uncertainty show, raising her chin stubbornly the same way she did when he transformed before her very eyes for the first time. But there was no turn. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, dragging in gulps of her scent in the hopes that it would help him keep a lid on his beast. She was there, in his arms, even if she didn’t want to be. 

“You are”, he spoke in a freakishly calm voice, eyes determined. “You’re just refusing to acknowledge it.”

Wednesday struggled in his grip, at war with every single one of her instincts. 

“You don’t even understand the power you have over me…”, he breathed, voice low, “…the effect you have on me. It’s like I can’t eat…I can’t sleep - I can’t breathe until l see you.”

She swallowed quietly. 

He pulled her wrists against his chest, pressing her hands up against the sturdiness of his sternum. She could feel every muscle twitch at her touch, the racing of his heart underneath warm flesh. He closed his eyes, letting her listen for a moment.

When their gazes locked again, the gold burned brighter. “Feel it”, he demanded. “Feel how it beats for you - only you.”

Her resolve was weakening, slippery as ice. 

“I’m yours in every single way”, he spoke through gritted teeth, practically nose to nose with her now, “…but as much as I am yours, you are mine.”

The moment his lips met hers, Wednesday had no choice but to give in. Her body melted into him without permission, letting his sticky honey glaze cover her, surrounding itself in his sweetness. He was furious, she could feel it in his kiss. And damn it, if she wasn’t furious too. She gave it back to him just as good, letting him feel every last bit of sickening anger and hurt that had been festering away, poisoning her. She hoped he would choke on it. Her wrists were burning in his grip but he wouldn’t relent, curling his free hand around her tiny waist to keep her pressed against him. She was left powerless, gasping into his mouth as he refused to let her take in big enough gulps of air. His tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth - tasting her, reminding her that he had the upper hand. When her teeth caught onto his bottom lip, he hissed at the feeling of the sting, loosening his hold on her hands. Wednesday took advantage of the slip, freeing herself so that she could reach towards his neck, tugging forcefully at his collar. 

She hoped that with every slide of her lips against his own, he understood that she hated him. That with every shuddered breath and swallowed gasp, he knew that she would never be his. But oh, how sweetly she fit into his embrace. She wanted to stay curled there, to let time slip away. A hand left her middle, coming up to cradle her cheek and his thumb rubbed just underneath her cheekbone. He had been gentle when he gave her that first kiss, tentative and slow. He didn’t cage her in or force her closer, in fact - he let her come to him. Wednesday had melted into his embrace then, too. She had let her eyes flutter closed, feeling their lips join in something reminiscent of a dance. Softer and sweeter than the one they once shared. He had then coaxed her closer - just a little - and she had fallen forward, giving in. His thumb brushed underneath her earlobe this time, and Wednesday felt herself stiffen. Suddenly, every part of her tensed in horror for what was to come, just like she was back in that first kiss. It was so strong that Tyler finally pulled away, overwhelmed by her sense of panic, too. She looked up at him in fear, like they were back in the dimmed lights of the Weathervane and it broke his heart. 

“W-Wednesday—“ 

He released her slightly, and she clutched at her chest as if it was closing in on her. 

“Please, I—“

Wednesday was utterly disgusted with herself, ripping herself out of his embrace firmly. She was deathly pale and looked as though she might vomit. Tyler scrambled to grasp onto her hand, but she recoiled as though his touch had began to burn. He looked regretful, pressing his lips together anxiously, realising that he had pushed her too far. 

“I-I’m so—“

“Step away.”

Without resistance, his instincts ordered him to take several steps back. 

And then, she forced her face to become blank. Her shoulders squared, her posture realigning to give her some height, but her hands were still trembling. Any trace of emotion that he had seen, was gone. Her expression void of anything - even hatred. It scared him more than any of her anger did. She was shutting down again, locking him outside of her head.

Her voice was cold, careless. “You want me to have that kind of power over you?”, it sounded like a threat, “…Fine.”

Tyler looked at her carefully, a little afraid. 

“Stay away from me. You are not to come near me, until I allow otherwise. You cannot touch me, and you cannot even look at me. That is an order.”

His face fell, hurt flashing in his hazel eyes at how she used their bond against him. Knowing how her face once twisted uncomfortably at the thought of keeping him at her beck and call, he knew that this was a final straw. He knew how hard it must have been for her to use her power over him so selfishly. Every part of him ached to go to her, to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He had pushed her too far, crossed a line and there was no going back. The thought of not being allowed near her made him feel violently sick, stomach turning unpleasantly. Tyler searched her eyes, looking for signs of doubt or regret, but he found none. Her mind was made up. It felt as if he were being pulled in half, stretched out on a torture device and forced to hear his own bones snap. He wanted to fight her command, to go against his own nature and reach for her. But something wouldn’t let him, her words physically holding him back like restraints tied around his ankles and wrists. It was agony. 

Reluctantly, his nature forced him to turn around and start walking away from her. Wednesday knew that his distraught face would haunt her dreams, keeping her awake for hours on end. With every step he took, clenching his fists in an effort not to defy her and turn around - it felt as though he was taking a piece of her with him. 

Chapter Text

It had been six days. 

Before that, there had been months of avoiding, denying - pretending. Time spent convincing herself that once it was all over, she would be able to continue as she once was and breathe. Time spent refusing to acknowledge certain parts of herself. The space behind her ribcage that she had always believed to be empty - quivering weakly. The child within her that begged to go to him, to reconsider. Within that time, she would have squashed down the twinge of panic when he stopped appearing in her dreams. She would have celebrated no longer feeling the brush of his fingers across her shoulder blades, or sensing his silhouette in the shadows. There may have been sour disappointment on her tongue when rolling over and waking up to cold sheets, but it would have been manageable to stomach. It would have all been easy to ignore. 

Six days alone and counting, the wound was now sliced open. 

She woke up every morning to her head banging against her skull and it wouldn’t let up throughout the day, pounding painfully until she lost consciousness. Her stomach wouldn’t settle, stubbornly refusing to keep food down. It seemed some part of her had not finished mourning. 

But mourning what?

It was all torn apart - an unsalvageable mess. There was not enough left for her to try and make sense of. It was fake. He was a fake. What she thought they had - well, that had been a distraction. A joke. And Wednesday was the punchline. 

It felt like someone had been tugging at the stitches with a pair of tweezers. 

She forced herself to swallow measly mouthfuls of bland food, pushing the fork past her lips with great effort. But as soon as it reached her stomach, Wednesday could feel it crawling back up her throat. She stumbled into the bathroom, violently vomiting up the contents of her stomach, hunched over the toilet bowl. Once there was nothing left to give, she sat there hyperventilating and dry heaving, feeling her body twist and contract uncomfortably. Her hands shook as she scrubbed them with soap, skin red raw by the time she had finished. It felt like drowning, gasping for air and sinking straight to the bottom, rocks attached to her ankles. Wednesday’s small frame would sink to the floor, cradling her legs. She hiccuped miserably, still tasting the bile in her mouth after brushing her teeth. On the worst days, she would begin rocking like a baby. It would go on for what felt like hours, until there was no fight left in her.

Wednesday recognised the signs enough to know that she was going through withdrawal. From what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Her body missed his touch, longed for it even. But her heart missed the apathy - the indifference. 

Now there was no use in denying it - she could only see herself for what she was. Prey - no worse than that. A victim. The entire time, she held her head high, pulling herself up by her pride. In reality, she had been a delicate fawn staring straight into the barrel of a shotgun. Being hunted in plain sight. By the time she had noticed the click of the safety being switched off, it was too late. She allowed herself to cower, stumbling over her footing and stuttering her words. She ran away. All the way down the street, through the darkness of the woods, feeling the branches twist and scratch at her face, until she hid under the covers like a little girl. Too afraid to look herself in the mirror and see how stupid she must have looked. How gullible. Her face must have been a real picture. Half frozen with confusion, half with dread. The hurt didn’t come until much later. Perhaps not until she was chained up in a crypt, watching him mock her. His shoulder knocked hers on the way out, and he didn’t even stop to relish in his victory. As if she mattered that little to him. Wednesday could have congratulated him if he stuck around, could have admitted that he had been at the very bottom of her list of suspects. But he didn’t even stay to listen. He didn’t stay to watch her crawl over the finish line, coming in last place. That stung more. 

Wednesday didn’t think he could get any crueler than that. But then, everywhere she tried to go - he was right there. In her dreams, hiding around corners like a ghost, haunting her. He wouldn’t let her forget how real it all felt. He was everywhere she turned, reminding her of his smile and laugh, forcing her to remember how close she let him. And none of that satisfied him enough. He forced himself back into her life, climbing through her window and tricking his father into letting him into her school. He wanted to twist the knife further. If he was kinder, he would have relented and let her wallow in peace. He would have stood from a distance, watching as she was tortured with the memory of him. Instead, he fixated on getting closer, sadistically staying within reach. He twisted the knife further with every time he turned up unannounced, bringing her flowers and apologising, asking for a second chance. He let it sink in deeper every time he tried to convince her that he had changed. Soon enough, there would be no space left for it to go and he would have to settle for watching her bleed out. 

“You haven’t left our room in days.” 

“I’m tired.”

Wednesday didn’t know any other way to put it. Her body and mind were tired, but most of all her heart was tired. These new feelings weighed it down, and it didn’t know what to do with itself. For the first few days, she dragged herself along to classes and swallowed painkillers, drinking herbal recipes that her mother taught her in childhood. But soon it became tiring to sit up in bed, let alone leave the confines of their dorm. 

“I haven’t seen him all week”, Enid mentioned quietly. “If you’re worried—“

“He’s not my concern anymore.”

“At least come down for dinner today.”

She let out a slow breath, stomach clenching painfully. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“The fresh air might help.”

Every inch of her protested, but she dragged herself out of their room and accompanied Enid to the dining hall. Her hands shook around the tray, and so she left it empty. She probably wouldn’t be able to keep a single bite down anyway. 

The chatter of their peers was drowned out by the throbbing in her head. Wednesday kept her head hung a little low, telling herself that it helped to clear the fuzziness. But maybe she was just afraid to look up and catch eyes with him across the room. 

“Can we go?” She mumbled weakly after Enid had cleared her plate halfway. 

Her roommate stood without argument, not because she was no longer hungry - but because in the months that they had lived under the same roof, she had never heard Wednesday ask for anything. 

The coast was clear, and then suddenly it wasn’t. Tyler stood on the outskirts of the courtyard, food tray in hand. It was empty too. Wednesday didn’t let herself move a single muscle, every part of her clenched in fear, as if a giant predator was waiting to deliver the final blow. His instincts felt her calling out to him, and his eyes met hers before he could help it. She wondered if the non-human part of him could smell her fear. He looked awful. His curls were matted at the top, and the circles underneath his eyes had grown darker. His skin was grey-ish and pale, stance shaky as if a simple click of her fingers would send him tumbling to the ground. It was like holding up a mirror to herself, and she felt rotten. Tyler’s lips parted, eyes pleading with her to let him close. But her orders kept him locked in place, hands twitching and fumbling around the tray. He looked at her as if she was tearing him apart, and she couldn’t stand it. 

As she turned to leave, she swore that she could hear him whimper from across the courtyard. It felt like she was being torn in half, her heart at war with her head. She wasn’t sure if either of them would win. His pitiful sound cut right through her, slicing like a needle. Wednesday had been afraid to look into the mirror since the moment the order left her lips. She was afraid that she would peer into the glass and see Thornhill smiling back at her. After everything, she still ended up feeling like the villain. 

When they made it back to the dorm, she didn’t know where else to go. 

“Are you okay?”

Enid crouched down on the bathroom floor, hovering a hand above her roommate’s knee. Her skin was pale, slicked with cold sweat. She was curled up in a tight ball, face hidden. 

Wednesday didn’t have the energy to lift her head. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

“W-What can I do?”

Her voice was small. “Tell me how to make it stop.”

Enid’s chin wobbled, tears gathering in her eyes. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere.”

The werewolf let out a sad whine, hand meeting knee. Wednesday’s limp hand moved to cover her own, and it was clammy. She was holding on for dear life, desperate to stay afloat. For the first time in her life, she wanted to give up the fight - no longer concerned with winning or losing. Feelings were exhausting. 

Her skin was stinging - it was so sensitive. Even the light pressure of Enid’s hand made her bite her lip to stop from crying out in pain. It felt wrong. Her body didn’t want to receive any touch that wasn’t his. It refused, violently rejecting the thought of anything else. Wednesday’s eyes squeezed closed. The tightness in her chest was building up again, this time creeping up further. Her throat felt dry and raw, and she felt herself fighting the need for some sort of release. If she could just curl up under his arm for a moment, if she could just let her eyelashes flutter against his skin like moth wings - she could let herself rest. If he could hum into her hair, or if she could feel the rumble of his chest beneath her, a rumble that felt so close to purring - it might block out the noise in her head.  If she could just feel the gentle press of his lips against the top of her head, damp and sweet - she would feel sleepy. 

“I-I”, her chin wobbled a little, “…I just want him.”

Admitting it made her feel like a sore loser, but Wednesday had no more excuses left to give. She just wanted to be around him, even if only for a little while. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, let him soothe the ache that she had carried around for months. From the moment Tyler walked away from her in the police station, all she wanted was for him to turn around and take it all back. To tell her that he had just been messing around, that their night in the crypt had not been just another distraction, and that she wasn’t just a pawn in his game. If he did, she would have swallowed her pride and let him laugh at her for a while. If he did, there might have been nothing to forgive. 

— — —-

Wednesday stared at the door to his room at Nevermore. It felt degrading, turning up like that with her tail hanging between her legs. Her hand hovered, trapped in mid air. She was too much of a coward to even knock. 

She was frozen in place, like waiting to receive a death sentence. Or perhaps more like the taking the steps leading up to the cinderblock, heavy chains around her ankles. But something had dragged her there - albeit kicking and screaming. It was the part of her that wanted to scream at him, the part of her that still had so much to say. He didn’t play fair and she tired of keeping her mouth shut, letting him get away with it. 

Her knock echoed menacingly. 

It took him a while to answer, and she hoped that he was crawling his way there, feeling just as humiliated as she did. When they finally looked at each other, she blinked. She couldn’t even speak, he made her so weak. Tyler’s hands found her and he wasted no time in wrapping her up into his arms. His face buried itself into the curve of her neck, and he stayed there for a while, just breathing her in. He made a quiet, pained sound against her neck. He had been kept away from her for too long. Wednesday let herself sink against his chest, feeling the soft material of his sweatshirt against her cheek, hearing his erratic heartbeat in her ear. Her arms defiantly stayed limp by her sides, but she didn’t have it within herself to tear herself out of his embrace. Her eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes resting gently on her pale cheekbones. The pain in her head had faded away, so quickly that she hadn’t even noticed it. A small noise of bliss escaped, so quiet that she wasn’t even sure if he heard it. Tyler seemed too wrapped up in her to pay attention, his own eyes squeezed tightly shut as he kept her close to him. After a long minute, he pulled away from her abruptly, hands on her shoulders, face pained.

“Never do that to me again”, his voice was firm, angry even. “Never make me stay away from you like that. That’s the one you could have done to hurt me, and you knew that.”

She looked down, biting back guilt. 

“Wednesday.” It was almost a growl. 

Her eyes met his, and her shoulders drooped. “I won’t.”

Tyler’s body sagged against the door - with relief, she realised. While he felt secure enough to lean out of her personal space, a part of him still reached out for her. He ran his pointer finger over the back of her hand, then curled three of his fingers around the smallest part of her wrist. Some part of him clearly still felt the need for physical contact, still needed to feel secure in her presence. She could see it in the way he looked at her. He genuinely didn’t know if he could trust her word, and maybe that should have made her feel bad. Instead, she just felt angry. 

Her voice shook. 

“You have no right.”

His fingers faltered slightly. 

“You have no right to look at me like I’m the villain.” Wednesday was fed up of the kicked puppy act, with his droopy eyes and glistening lips. She was fed up of the masquerade. She stressed each syllable. “You do not get to be angry with me.”

“I—“

“I did not do this”, she looked at him sharply. “And you do not get to blame me just because you don’t want to blame yourself.”

“I’m not—“

She shook off his touch firmly. 

“Stop”, she did not intend for it to be an order, but it may as well have been. His lips pressed together, jaw clenched. “I am going to speak, and you are going to listen. I am not going to repeat myself.”

The air around them was brittle. 

“I hate you.”

He looked down, swallowing quietly - as if he had been expecting that one. 

“I hate you”, she repeated, because it was important. She needed him to know. She wanted him to hurt. “I hate it when you touch me, and I hate the way you look at me. I can’t even look at you without feeling sick. I hate you because to this day, I’m still not sure if you played a game, or if after all this time, I’ve just learnt to make you the villain because I couldn’t deal with getting it all so wrong. Getting you so wrong.”

Tyler looked ill, but she wasn’t anywhere near finished. 

“I can’t trust you”, Wednesday’s throat was beginning to itch, “When I look at you, all I can think about is how everything was a lie. A trick”, she spat the word out. “And I fell for it.”

Her gut began to ache. 

“You want to know the worst part?”, her fury propelled her forward until she was pressing him up against the doorframe, spitting the words directly into his face. He flinched away from her, eyes comically wide. “The worst part is that you didn’t need to. If you knew me at all, you would know that being a psychotic killer would have made me like you more. But that was too easy for you. Wasn’t it?”

Wednesday could feel her voice break a little. 

“Instead, you pretended to be better. You convinced me that you were better, and I believed it. But really, you were just like every liar and traitor in the world, and you made me the same as every naive, pathetic teenager that gets her heart broken by a boy.”

She couldn’t stop, couldn’t even breathe. 

“You made me into a joke.”

Admitting it to herself, felt like falling apart. The enormity of it all crept up on her - all of the sleepless nights, all of the hours spent staring out of the window - empty and detached. The sympathetic glances as if she were nothing more than a teenage cliche, the hushed whispers, the disgusting pity. When everyone started looking at her like she was broken, she began to feel it. This time, when her throat started to swell, it didn’t stop. She clutched at her chest, eyes squeezing shut at the pain, panic creeping in. It was relentless, ripping through her like someone had taken ahold of her intestines and squeezed. It was what she imagined being disembowelled felt like. Every sense blurred together, her body starting to shudder and clench with every inhale. Oxygen wasn’t getting into her lungs. The air was trapped in her throat, sitting there and growing like a knotted string that Wednesday couldn’t swallow. 

It had been a game. And with every time that she went to him, asked him to tag along - she helped him gain momentum. Every time her eyes softened without permission, he moved up a level. Was he still playing? 

That night in the Weathervane, must have been his greatest accomplishment. When she took a step towards him, lowering her guard - there was a strange, vaguely proud look on his face. Did that feel like winning? Had he been proud of himself? She wondered if he described every agonising detail to his puppet master after she had left, and if the pair of them had laughed together. It wasn’t their end goal, so maybe it had just been a way to pass the time. She wondered if he got a pat on the head for each kiss. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his - a little clumsy, but sure - did he taste victory? The boy she once knew was merely a cardboard cut out - a flimsy sketch on paper. It was all crumpled now, his outline being shredded before her very eyes. 

Her eyes welled up. Her next words began with a frantic whimper, “I-I don’t know how much of it was real. I still can’t tell.”

With every word, she broke. Tyler stood there, not knowing what to do. He had never been so afraid in his life. Hot tears began to stream down her face, cheeks burning. Ugly sobs escaped, her features squeezed tightly, panicked and desperate. Wednesday Addams was a girl of little emotion - sturdy and stiff. To see her face split wide open, stretching and contorting with pain, it was almost inhumane. He was used to her disinterest, familiar with her apathy. She looked at others with disdain, callous and cold in her delivery, not letting her mask slip for a second. There was nothing familiar about the girl at his door, weeping before him. Tyler had never been more intimidated. Her fragility was terrifying. 

He reached for her, pulling her tight against his chest. It was like closing his fist over a cracked glass, letting it shatter in his palm. At first, she tried to fight him, banging her fists against him weakly, letting out a wet hiccup. Breaking down like this in front of him, it felt like he was still winning - emerging victorious, holding up her heart as a trophy for all to see. She hated it. Tyler curled his arms around her, reluctantly using his strength to restrain her. He let himself receive her wrath, barely flinching at the way she shoved at his chest. She sobbed her black heart out, throat raw, blubbering like a baby in his arms. One of Tyler’s arms secured her to himself, while the other couldn’t stop moving, darting over her shaky form, trying to calm her down. He was a little lost, a little frantic himself. His own eyes filled with tears and he let his head hang in her hair, pleading with her to stop in quiet whispers. 

“You u-used me”, she hiccuped against him, hiding her tear-soaked face.

The hours of torture, the prick of countless needles and the sound of snapping bones as he transformed - nothing came close to this. Tyler didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

She was bawling, whimpering in his hold. 

In her weak state, Tyler coaxed her into his dorm, shutting the door softly behind them. Wednesday was wound tightly against his chest, breathing in shakily. Her cries grew soft as he drew her over to the other side of the room, pulling her down onto his bed. Their entangled limbs sank into the mattress, and when he was sure that she wasn’t in any position to attack, he used a free hand to tuck a blanket over her. Wednesday was so tired, and he was so soft against her. He smelled of stale coffee grounds, but somehow there was still something sweet - like caramel syrup. She sniffed miserably, wiping her nose on his sweatshirt spitefully. He paid her no mind, thumb tenderly assisting her by brushing the remaining tears away, keeping her firmly tucked under his chin. He was so sweet with her, so gentle. It hurt. 

“I want to believe you. I want to believe you so badly”, her voice was tiny, almost undetectable. It was hoarse from crying. “Did you know that?”

She was a hollow shell, too far gone to lie anymore. Part of her was really asking the question, wondering if she had imagined the smugness on his face every time she saw him, or if it really was still there. She needed to know if he shared the same dreams, if he lay awake late at night, heart pounding out of his chest at the thought of her skin. In her dreams, he trailed kisses down her neck, nudging his nose against her, loving and devoted. As she woke up in cold sheets, still clinging to the remnants of sleep - eyes crusty and unfocused, she called out for him. There was not a doubt in her mind that if he came to her in those moments, reaching to brush a thumb over her palm, pleading quietly for a second chance - that she would give him one. She would shrink into herself, eyes slipping closed, letting him make it up to her.

Tyler tightened his grip on her. 

Her whisper was weak, a pitiful confession. “It hurts.”

“Shhh…”, he hushed her, pleading a little. 

Wednesday let out another quiet sob, “Make it stop.”

Her eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks, damp with tears. She seemed so small in his arms, so delicate. One hand rubbed soothing circles over her hipbone, while the other lightly scratched at the back of her neck. He couldn’t stop touching her, trying to ease the pain. He was the cause, but he couldn’t help himself from trying to calm her. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out every pained noise that escaped her.

Her breaths were shaky against him, and her eyes started to flutter closed. The blanket surrounding her was soft, and his room was encased in a dim golden glow, provided by the lamp that sat on the edge of his desk. The window was cracked open, and she could hear the rustle of the leaves on the trees outside. Wednesday was so tired. So sleepy.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, he whispered, leaving a trail of damp kisses down the side of her head. “Forgive me.”

She hated him, and yet she clung to him - because she didn’t know how to do anything else. 

Chapter Text

Wednesday could feel the light on her face, filtering through the gap between the curtains - amber and gold. She could smell the sweet nectar and the wildflowers. Tyler was tucked in beside her, sun-warmed and docile, all parted lips and gentle breaths. She hadn’t planned on staying past dawn, but she was so tired, and he was so warm. Their legs were tangled together, one of hers swung over his hip. They were curled together like baby cherubs, all pale skin and rosy cheeks. She was a fly caught in a jar of honey. He stretched around her, melting and moulding until it was hard to tell where her limbs began and where his ended. He was too rich, cloyingly sweet. And yet - she wanted to stay like that, just for a little while. 

In the sleepy haze, everything was less vivid. His chest rose and fell, breaths undisturbed against the top of her head. He was still touching her, like he couldn’t help himself. The hand that had been lazily scratching at the back of her neck, started to comb its way through her dark hair. Her braids had seemingly loosened in her sleep. His fingertips were featherlight, almost as if he was only really touching the air surrounding her, not quite able to break through. She let herself drift away, sink a little further into his gooey trap. In the sleepy haze, she could pretend that it was nothing more than another shameful dream. 

“I know you’re awake”, his voice was laced with sleep - potent and lethal. 

Her shoulders grew stiff - there was no space for her to pretend. No room left in his comfortable, warm bed to lie to herself anymore. She was stuck in his arms, all-too aware of how she ended up there. She let herself stay for a moment, tilting her head up until she was looking right at him. His sugared eyes were a little crusty, a little sleepy. She let his thumb run under her chin until it brushed against her full lower lip. It stayed there. 

Wednesday always reminded him of a china doll. Old-fashioned, beautiful and possibly haunted. She was pretty, in a delicate way. But she was not fragile - in fact, she was rather terrifying. Her once shiny and polished surface was cracked, dropped carelessly by his own hands. It was damaged, but only if you squinted and looked closely enough. To outside eyes, she appeared indestructible. She stared at him now, unblinking with those dark, expressive eyes. She gave herself away if you cared to notice, and Tyler noticed everything. From her fluttery, curled eyelashes, to her hollow cheekbones and dainty freckles. To her button nose and carved jawline, every part of her was outwardly soft. A contradiction to her cutting words and sharp tongue, always posed for attack. He wondered if she resented her statuesque beauty. 

She was pliant underneath him, letting him angle her jaw better so that he could lean closer. He ran his nose half-way down her neck, breathing in her scent. With her so close, he was light-headed and eager to explore more of her smooth skin. 

Just when his lips grazed a spot on her neck, she pushed on his chest. Tyler made a half-desperate, half-confused reach for her as she began to move away from him. The petulant child inside him wanted to grab her shirt in his fists and tug her back, pressed against his chest like his favourite toy. The beast wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh and lock the doors, reminding her that she had nowhere to go. But he knew that if prodded at her hard exterior any further, she might never let him near her again. He forced himself to let her move away.

Wednesday settled on the edge of his bed, stiff as a board. She was sat up straight, facing away from him. Tyler let himself breathe again. While she wasn’t letting him touch her anymore, she didn’t leave. She had chosen to stay.

He didn’t move a muscle until she finally cleared her throat. 

“I don’t cry”, she told him, because she didn’t know any other way to make him understand. “It isn’t something that I do.”

He swallowed quietly, nodding once. “I know.”

She was locking herself back in the glass case. Back on display, decorated with several warning labels. He was permitted to observe, but forbidden to touch. Tyler could understand why. Wednesday Addams stood tall with her neat braids and straightened school tie. She raised her chin and scoffed in the faces of those that showed emotion. And now - she would have to continue as she was, knowing that Tyler had rocked her in his arms and brushed her tears away with his thumb. He would go as far as to guess that nobody else had ever seen her like that. 

By nature, humans had a tendency to sugarcoat. They didn’t like loose ends or care for mess, instead they had a preference for words wrapped up in shiny paper, tied with neat little bows. They brushed off apologies and smiled like it didn’t cost a thing. Wednesday was not polite. She wasn’t going to spare his feelings and pretend that what he did was okay. She wasn’t afraid to stand her ground and tell him no. Maybe that is why it was once so easy for her to press the taser against his neck without hesitation, to tie him up and spit words at him in the art shed. She wanted him to hurt, because nothing she did could be half as bad as what he did to her. 

“Can you look at me?” It was more of whine than anything else. “Please?”

“You’re in no position to make demands.”

“But it’s okay for you to order me around?” 

It was a low blow and he knew it. But he was tired. Frustration was boiling under his skin, and his muscles ached from all the tension. It was the frustration of someone that had spent all week curled up in blankets, scratching at his own flesh in the hopes that he wouldn’t lose control. His beast was restless, pacing in his mind. Without her touch, he curled in on himself and cried, feeling his body begin to shut down. His monster was in agony, furious at the thought of her being up there in her room, alone. She could have been lying on the floor, shaking and bleeding and he wouldn’t even know it. 

She instantly made a move to stand, and Tyler desperately reached a hand out to stop her. He caught onto her wrist, unable to stop himself from sounding like a scolded child. “No. Wait! I’m sorry. I’ll answer anything you want.”

Wednesday paused, considering his offer. 

“Please”, he tugged on her hand, softer this time. “Just stay.”

The revolting, spineless part of her - was desperate for the opportunity to hear him out. Eager to cower and submit at his hand, savouring the melted sugar on his tongue. He was such a smooth talker, even his lies sounded sweet. That part of her would believe anything at the snap of his fingers. It needed to find something, anything to blame other than him. 

She sat back down, shrugging off his touch. Her hands folded into her lap, a silent warning not to touch her again. 

“Did you know who I was when we met?”

“No.”

“When did she tell you?”

“After the harvest festival.”

“What were her instructions?”

“She told me to keep an eye on you.”

Her shoulders tensed. “I must have made that easy for you.”

It was shameful, as Wednesday began to realise just how well she played the fool. She sat in that booth, after all, stopping by for the free coffee and his freely-given smiles. She brought clues and evidence to him, and it wasn’t because she expected him to have all the answers - in fact, he was rarely of much help. Maybe all those maps, drawings and scraps of paper were nothing more than excuses to keep him close. Tyler never asked why she came by so often, and only on the days of his regularly scheduled shifts. Maybe he knew her better than she wanted to admit, and was smart enough to know that she would never give him a real answer. She went with him to that stupid dance, agreed to his moonlit crypt picnic and dragged him along on every adventure just for fun.  She had practically assisted in their twisted plan. 

She took a deep breath. “How much of it was your idea?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Some of it.”

“Elaborate.”

“When you took Faulkner’s diary, she was desperate to get it back. I told her that I would get you out of your room…”, he licked his dry lips, “…distract you for a few hours.”

“She must have been really proud…”, Wednesday commented grimly. “Popcorn, lights, candles. You really went all out.”

“Wednesday—“

“What about the Rave’N?” 

Tyler shook his head. “That wasn’t an order. I mean, I really wasn’t expecting you to go. But when I got your note—“

“Thing wrote it”, she cut in. “I didn’t want to go.”

His face fell.

Wednesday shrugged. “I’m just being honest.”

They were silent for a moment. Maybe she wanted it to sting, but the disappointment on his face wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. Every bit of fire that she had left in her, had seemingly been suffocated underneath his shoe. 

His eyebrows pinched together, “So why did you still go?”

She turned her head, enough for him to see the top of one cheekbone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why didn’t you just tell me the truth and send me home?”

It was a logical question. One that she asked herself when she opened that door and saw him standing there in a white tuxedo, ice blue shirt making his eyes shine. The logical answer would have been to stomp on his heart and send him away. She could have continued on with her plans with Eugene and maybe ended up one step closer to solving the case. Maybe she would have saved her friend from getting hurt in the crossfire. But Tyler stood there with a boxed corsage in his hand, note in another - and she didn’t have the heart to turn him away. It wasn’t logical. But nothing about her feelings for him had ever been logical. 

She didn’t have an answer for him. “I don’t know.”

The room had been filled with bodies, shuffling and surrounding the pair that stood motionless in the middle of the floor. It was picturesque, all white and sparkly - and Wednesday had stuck out next to him like a sore thumb in a black gown. The lights bathed them all in a hazy blue glow, music pounding out of the speakers while her classmates danced with each other. Tyler didn’t take his eyes off her all night. He looked nice in blue. When she finally caught his eye sheepishly in the middle of the last song, the corner of his lips twitched upwards. And when the music stopped in the middle of the chorus and paint rained down on them from the sprinklers, staining all of the pretty white dresses - she felt her own lips twitch. He looked good in red, too. 

It wasn’t long until Wednesday found herself running through the woods, red paint sticky on her cheeks, eyes stinging. Her heart hammered away in her chest as she stumbled blindly, trying to make her way to the small boy crumpled on the forest floor. His blood was real. 

“But I suppose it ended up working in her favour, didn’t it?” 

Tyler ducked his head, continuing on. “When you mentioned staking out the cave, I thought I could use that as an excuse. She would focus on keeping you away from there, instead of being mad at me. She was already mad at me.”

“For what?”

“She could tell that I liked you.”

That got Wednesday’s attention. She stiffened but still didn’t let him see her face. But he could see it in the way her head tilted slightly, one of her hands twitching by her side. He had to talk himself out of reaching for it. She had already pulled away once, and if he tried again, she might not hesitate before slamming the door on her way out.

“And that made her angry?” She questioned. 

“It made her laugh at me.”

He could still hear her voice in his ear, whispering sweetly. It made him shiver. When she first started coming by the Weathervane, he had thought that her smile was rather nice. But over time, it started to warp and stretch into something cruel and too big for her face. Maybe when she started stroking his hand, making him almost spill burning hot coffee over himself. Or maybe when she started looming over him with a syringe, watching him lose consciousness. His beast followed after her like a slobbering puppy, eager to please and smear blood. At first, Tyler enjoyed the power and praise. It wasn’t until his heart went to war with his head, that everything began to change. He would absentmindedly ramble about what he had learned about their sacrifice - until suddenly, he would stop and realise that he had been smiling to himself. It wasn’t long until Laurel noticed it too. She sneered at him, calling him useless and pathetic. She told him that his teenage hormones were going to ruin their plans, that he was letting his mother down because of Wednesday Addams and her pretty little braids. 

He had wanted to scream. Maybe he should have expected to be laughed at, after all - his feelings were hardly logical. Wednesday was their target, the enemy. But he couldn’t help but hang onto her every word, couldn’t help but stare at her lips. And when she told him that she had asked Xavier to the school dance, it felt like she was laughing at him too. It felt like he had lost his footing, tumbled onto the ground in the schoolyard. Had he just been imagining it all? The same girl was sat in front of him now, still turning her back on him. But she wasn’t laughing. If anything, it seemed like she didn’t quite know what to say. 

“Say something”, he begged in a weak voice. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Honestly, right now I’m just terrified that I’m going to lose you.”

She should have sneered at him, spitting the words back in his face. He had already lost her a long time ago. But that would mean admitting that somewhere along the way, she had fallen for his honey trap and his syrupy smile. It would mean admitting that he did have her once. And yet, after spending the night curled in his arms, feeling the weight of him beneath her - it seemed pointless to deny what was plain and simple. Eventually they would have to acknowledge what that meant, and where they were supposed to go from here. 

With that, she finally turned her body to face him. There was something else, too. A gnawing fear, something dark and rotten that had sat in the back of her mind, growing like mould. It would sit there until she found the courage to ask. 

“Did she touch you?”

Her voice was small, tentative. It was the most delicate she would allow herself to be with him. She waited for him to gag, or to brush off her question with a tone of disgust and confusion. She waited for him to ask why she would suggest such a thing, full of disbelief and bewilderment. But Tyler’s expression hardly wavered. His eyes dulled a little, glancing away from her in a way that was too quick to be played off as casual. His hands tightened their hold on the sheets, and she wondered if he was trying to hide a tremor. His reaction was confirmation that she had not imagined it. The way she placed her hands on his face, entirely too comfortable in his personal space. Her hands trailing down to the lapel of his jacket, giving it a coy tug before letting him go and moving away. Laurel’s eyes twinkled with the promise of something more, grinning like the cat that got the cream - knowing that she had him twirled around her little finger. It was the way that she touched him - too familiar for it to be the first time. 

“I think she knew that it scared me more…”, he took too long to answer, not really looking her in the eye, “…just knowing that she could.”

The first time he woke up, chained to that cave, naked and bleeding - he was afraid to ask. The woman stood over him with a look of glee on her face, eyes trailing over his bare form without shame. Mostly, she just liked to look. When she did touch him - slick with floral-scented hand cream, she took her time. She patted his cheeks in approval, bent over to kiss his forehead and press against the spot with her thumb. She smoothed her fingers over the top half of his chest, and he could feel it through his shirt, trying his best not to flinch away. Above else, he figured she liked the ownership. She liked touching what was hers.

Wednesday clenched her jaw, every inch of her burning. 

It wouldn’t stop replaying in her head - every smile, every wink, every caress. They weren’t just her own memories anymore. She saw Tyler cowering in a cave, covered in blood and bruises, trembling in the cold. Thornhill with her gleeful smile, welcoming them to the Rave’N and taunting him with a promise of punishment for later. She saw pruning shears and grandma glasses, soft cardigans and long skirts. She saw hands all over Tyler, making his skin crawl. Wednesday was out for blood. 

She turned around, still looking down into her lap. And before she could second-guess herself, she rose onto her knees and shifted her weight until her thighs were on either side of his hips. Tyler held his breath, searching her face as she kept her gaze down, looping her arms around his neck. For a moment, she just perched there, letting herself sink onto his lap. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to jump away, he let his hands wrap around her waist. Wednesday let out a deep breath, letting some of her fury dissipate through his touch. She just needed to feel his skin, pressed against hers, knowing that she was the one touching him now. Tyler tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer until her chest was flush against his. She still wouldn’t look at him. 

“You’re angry”, he observed quietly. 

When she finally looked up at him, her face mere inches from his - there was such determination in her eyes. She spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Nobody is ever going to touch you again.”

Tyler let out a small, pleased noise.

Her hands snaked their way up into his curls, tugging gently at the strands wrapped around her fingers. His head tilted back, a hum deep in his throat. As more of his endlessly golden skin was revealed, she couldn’t help but greedily soak up every inch. There was a small mole, just above his collarbone, similar to the cluster on his right cheek. She wanted to press her thumb against it, feel his throat bob as he swallowed heavily. She wanted to run her hands down his bare chest, determined to find out if the warmth in his heart seeped through his skin. Her chest tightened, but it was uncomfortable in a different way. He sat there so patiently, exposing his neck to her in submission, bending to her will. He wanted her to touch him, he couldn’t get enough of her greedy hands and how they started to massage at his scalp. Her teeth longed to scrape against his smooth skin, her tongue aching to swipe a line down the slope of his neck. She wanted to show everyone who he belonged to.

It was frightening. She wasn’t sure when she had even begun to think of him as hers. More than anything, Wednesday just wanted to touch him. It was embarrassing, how eager she was to get her hands on him. It was a curiosity that she couldn’t shake. A need to probe, to explore - to discover. Maybe it was the hope that if she touched him enough, she would begin to understand the countless feelings that she had for him. Then she could sort them into boxes with clear labels, filed away to deal with at a later time. Currently, her brain resembled an overflowing bin filled with crumpled balls of paper, half-finished ideas and explanations. 

“I missed you.”

It was half a gasp, half a whisper and it made her brain go quiet. 

“I felt like I couldn’t breathe”, he confessed in a hushed tone, rubbing circles into her hip bones. 

Wednesday felt like the villain, but maybe this time she deserved it. She had been cold, calculating and deceitful. Some might even say heartless. The fairytale world of heroes and villains, witches and knights - it was something that didn’t reach the contents of her novel. She preferred facts and statistics. Hard evidence and swift justice. But if she looked at herself hard enough in the mirror, maybe she would shiver at the menacing intensity that stared back at her. Maybe she would start to question her own morals, and doubt if her harsh words were warranted after all. Ordering Tyler to stay away, was nothing more than abusing the power that she had over him. It was eerily familiar to the redhead with fragranced skin and needlepoint glasses, spending her time snipping and pruning her plant collection. It made her wonder if she was any better. 

He tilted his head forward so that their eyes could meet, and her hold on him faltered. His hazel eyes were shining, pleading with her. His face was so telling, she wondered how he ever managed to hide anything from her. 

“I’m sorry”, she offered quietly, “…for ordering you like that. I know it was wrong. I knew it then, and I still did it.”

“It’s okay.”

She was frustrated with herself. “No, it’s not.”

Tyler reached to touch her knee, frowning a little.

“I never want to treat you like that”, she told him, voice firm. 

He still looked a little confused when she said that. With Laurel, their dynamic had all been about power play. Owner and property. Master and pet. Adult and child. Everything had a goal, and every order came with punishment or reward. After a while, it was all that he knew. Until Wednesday, he didn’t know that things could be different. Wednesday wasn’t concerned with collaring him and putting her name on the tag. She didn’t want him to kneel at his feet or jump on command, tongue hanging out of his mouth. At first, he didn’t see the appeal. But over time, he realised that she cared about him in her own, strange way. Maybe that meant that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. 

“You’re not like that, you know”, he brushed his thumb against her ribcage, “You’re not as cruel as you think you are.”

His face was so warm, so open. She began to realise that maybe he had always looked at her like that. That maybe what started out as general intrigue and harmless attraction, shifted over time into something more genuine - melting into something sweeter. She didn’t know what to do with herself when he looked at her like that.

Growing up, Wednesday always wondered if there was something wrong with her, some sort of genetic mix-up. Those around her had been nearing the finish line for years, whilst she was still waiting for some unheard whistle to go off. They categorised their feelings and knew exactly what to say - how to console, how to convince, how to empathise. And maybe if she was wired differently, Wednesday would know how to do it too. It wasn’t for lack of trying. For a long time, she had grown comfortable with her family and their eccentric ways, well aware that their ways of showing affection were not exactly traditional. She had grown to appreciate that, and felt no need to expand her repertoire of emotions. But still, she found herself wishing that she was somewhat more like those around her. That she cared just a little bit more. It was confusing, watching those around her spring into action at the sight of tears, or filter their thoughts when deemed appropriate. She didn’t understand. 

“I’m no good with feelings”, she told him, in a clinical way. “I don’t know how to make people feel better, or how to be gentle with them.”

Tyler sat quietly, listening to her. 

“I felt bad”, she confessed, swallowing her pride, “…when you got upset with me about the dance. I didn’t like watching you walk away, and I didn’t know why. I don’t feel guilt. But I did, and I didn’t like it. I wanted it to stop. That’s why I didn’t send you away.”

He nodded, taking her words in. 

“It’s hard for me”, her voice grew a little weak at the end, trailing off. She fought to keep going, to make him understand. “When I told you that I’m not more than friends material, I meant it. And it has nothing to do with you. And it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t like to…try.”

His eyes softened. 

“But I don’t know what I’m doing. I…ruin things. I don’t even do it on purpose. I just…don’t know how. And I need you to understand that.”

Tyler reached out to cup her cheek, tracing a line under her cheekbone with his thumb. Her eyes closed gently, and her arms dropped down from his neck, sitting limp between them. Up close, with her long eyelashes and dusting of freckles, she didn’t look so scary. When he leaned in a little closer, her body began to tense up. He removed his hands quickly, her eyes snapping open at the loss of his touch. He stumbled over his words a little, genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like being touched.”

Wednesday was quiet for so long that when she finally spoke up, he nearly missed it. “I like it when you touch me.”

“Can I?” He looked tortured. 

She nodded once. 

She sat still, every muscle tensed while his fingers began gliding across her skin. One hand curled around her waist once more, squeezing through the material of her shirt. The other reached back up to her neck, fingers dragging down the column of her throat. Her skin was pale, cool to the touch. Wednesday was untouchable - like the moon. Hallowed and luminous. Cold and looming. She should have broken away at his fingertips, fading into the mist. She was supposed to be thousands of kilometres away from earth, floating up in the sky where nobody could reach. But here he was, touching her. And he couldn’t get enough. Her lips were parted as his hand slowly dragged down towards the curve of her hip, pressing down lightly. He could hear her heart pounding away inside her chest, could feel her speedy pulse fluttering against the hand that lay at her throat. She had never been so quiet, so still. 

His head dipped low, mouth hovering over her ear. He breathed in deep, humming to himself at the scent of black cherry. “I like your shampoo.”

If her eyes were open, they would have been narrowed. “I haven’t washed my hair in days.”

“It’s the bond”, he grinned, pressing his nose against her neck. 

She tried really hard to sound angry. “What else can you feel?”

He brushed his lips over her neck, smile growing as he felt her pulse quicken. “I can hear your heartbeat…your pulse. I can feel your emotions when they are really intense.”

Wednesday’s jaw ticked. 

Tyler huffed a small laugh and she felt her skin break out into goosebumps. “I can sense when you’re mad at me, too. Although I’m not sure that’s a Hyde thing.”

His fingertips found the hem of her shirt, dragging over the fabric lightly. He slipped his hand underneath, eliciting a gasp. The bare skin of her waist was warm - so warm. A groan escaped him and her hands that were laying limp in her lap, curled into his forearm. She dug her fingernails into his skin, squeezing tighter as he ran his fingers over the bottom of her ribcage. His hands were so big, they practically covered every inch of her. Wednesday fought to keep her breathing even as his nose nudged at the top of her shirt, pushing it away from her shoulder. Her body was growing hot. Her thighs clenching around him. His mouth found the curve of her neck, right where it met her shoulder, and he left an open mouth kiss on the area. With his hand crawling up the bare skin of her waist, it was too much. All too much.

“Stop”, she whispered weakly, pushing on his forearm. 

His hands left her instantly, eyes searching her face. Panic rose within him as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong, if he had pushed her too far. It took a while to register, but he finally noticed the shakiness in her voice and the way her cheeks tinted just a tiny bit red. It was then that he realised he didn’t do anything wrong - in fact, he did something very right. The corner of his lips twitched and his eyes began to shine, a smugness within them. Wednesday avoided it, pretending to be focused on her own hands. 

Feeling bold, and maybe a little bit reckless, Tyler tilted her chin back up so that she couldn’t look away from him. 

This time, when their lips met - there was tenderness. There was no clashing battle, concealed swords or ulterior motives. There was no deceit. Tyler cupped her jaw in his hand, adjusting the angle so that he could gain better access. Wednesday let her body sag against him without complaint, resting her fingers right over his heart. For once, she understood her body’s efforts in fighting against hating him. She understood the need to be near him, to be this close. And when she pulled away, there was no twisted satisfaction in his eyes. There was no betrayal. There was only him smiling softly back at her, the Tyler that she once knew. 

And Wednesday didn’t feel so afraid anymore. 

Chapter Text

Tyler Galpin was seemingly harmless. He stood at five feet and eleven-inches tall, a little unsteady on his feet. His wardrobe consisted of a tiresome variety of flannels, cotton t-shirts and the same two well-worn jackets. He reeked of sunshine. He was bright in a way that Enid was not, genuine in a way that should have repelled her. But he knew exactly how to reel her in. She wiggled like a fish on a hook, powerless and pathetic. She had taken the bait. He may have used coercion, but she had gone to him willingly. And as it turned out, he was anything but harmless. It had been his warmth that reluctantly won her attention, but she stayed for his darkness. For the thrill of the danger. For the sadistic glint in his eyes that matched her own, and the fascination with violence that - God - turned her on. When he caged her in his arms and ran his nose along the curve of her neck, she felt like a bug squashed underneath his shoe. When he dragged his hands up the bare skin of her waist and sucked in his breath, she felt like prey. 

It should have made her want to run. But Wednesday couldn’t get enough, and it was enough to make her almost concerned for her own sanity. 

A cool breeze caressed her skin as she scanned her surroundings, thin curtains swaying gently. He seemed to like keeping his window cracked open. His room was lived in, but rather bare. He clearly hadn’t been too bothered about settling in and making the space his own. The bed was half-made, covered in familiar red and white plaid pillows and sheets that she was curled up in mere days ago. His mobile phone sat untouched on his bedside cabinet, plugged in and on charge. Her fingers twitched to snoop, but she drew the line at toying with technology. Owning her own phone was painful enough. The bathroom sat in the far right corner, clearly occupied. She could hear the quiet hum of the shower running, steam seeping through the gap underneath the door. She loathed to waste such a freely-given opportunity to investigate.

There was a dresser shoved up against one wall, most of the drawers overflowing with clothes, not fully shut. The desk beside it was messy, too. Aside from an oscillating green fan, its surface was covered with piles of textbooks and school equipment - calculators and pencils. Empty cans of energy drinks and snacks took up the rest of the cluttered space, along with a half full mug of tea that had long since turned cold. Wednesday flicked at an empty packet of Cheetos. 

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and she didn’t even turn to greet him, too busy scanning through a plant biology textbook. She could hear Tyler jump out of his skin at the sight of her, cursing slightly under his breath. 

“I let myself in”, she told him. 

“I can see that.”

When she turned in his direction, she stopped short. He was stood by the door, still dripping from the shower, with only a towel wrapped around his lower waist. He had a medium build, strong and sturdy. His skin was still damp. Wednesday blinked, perhaps caught off guard for the first time in her life. She had never been particularly fascinated with the human form, except when it came to the lifeless bodies stored in the morgue. She had never felt a need to become acquainted with the living, breathing warmth. She had never wanted to look. 

“What are you doing here?”

His curls were soaked with water, falling into his eyes. Her eyes fought hard to stay on his face. 

“Investigating.” 

He tilted his head. “Investigating what?”

She clasped her hands together in front of her. 

“I didn’t realise I was an unsolved case”, he teased.

“The investigation is ongoing.”

Tyler moved, starting to walk forward and Wednesday’s breath hitched in her throat. His eyes never left her face, not hesitant in the slightest. Wednesday could feel herself grow hot. Her fingers curled into the wood of the desk behind her as he grew closer. She was all too aware of how much of him she could see. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t stop until there was less than a foot of space between them, and she could practically feel the dampness of his skin. A few more steps and he would be pressed against her. She had been up close and personal with his upper half before, but there had been something clinical about patching up his wounds. Her touch had been fleeting and professional, not lingering for longer than necessary. Now, she could’t help but notice. His shoulders were broad, and she was now acutely aware of the way he towered over her small frame. He had a knack of that, making her feel small. She hated it. Wednesday wanted to flick her knife across his skin and lick up the fresh drops of blood. Wednesday wanted to shove him against the nearest wall and devour. 

After a moment, he stepped to the side and opened a drawer in the dresser, raising an eyebrow at her. He was seemingly oblivious to the way Wednesday was quickly losing grip on her sanity. 

“Getting some clothes.”

“Right”, she replied quickly, blinking once. 

Judging by the amused twitch of his lips, he clearly wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed. Wednesday span around to face his desk, quietly giving him privacy. 

She busied herself by flicking through one of his notebooks, scanning every word. His handwriting was terrible - he practically scratched the words into the paper. The ink bled into the next page, making it even more difficult to read. She rolled her eyes, placing the notebook down and picking up an empty energy drink can instead. She began to read the list of ingredients and additives, trying to ignore the restlessness of her fingers. In truth, she was all-too aware of the fact that he was standing right there in the same room, getting dressed. All-too aware of the tell-tale sound of the towel dropping to the floor, and his shuffle while trying to get on trousers. It was hard to critique his sugar intake when he was practically naked only a few feet `away from her. 

“Find anything interesting?” 

“Your diet could use some improvement.”

Tyler let out a small laugh. “Glad to know that you’re concerned with my health.”

He was beside her now, leaning on the corner of the desk. His arms were crossed over his chest, comfortably taking up space. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt, hair still damp. It was starting to curl properly at the ends. He was edible. Wednesday took a sharp breath, trying to return back to herself. 

For a while, he let her look. He leaned against the desk, watching her rifle through his things with nothing more than a fondness in his eyes. They were in his space, but he was giving her free rein. Letting her open the drawers in his desk, not even batting an eyelid. Most of it was junk - crumpled post-it notes and study cards, stationary and a childhood baseball. She wondered where he hid his secrets, his embarrassing habits. She wanted it all. Wednesday had been called crazy before - and she scared those around her since before she could even open her mouth to talk. She had a couple of screws loose, bats in the attic - clinically insane. But nothing had quite made her feel like she was losing her mind, like sorting through her sort-of boyfriend’s belongings, trying to find anything that explained how he could appear so normal, whilst making her feel so many things that definitely weren’t normal. His room was kind of a mess, but there was a soft blanket on his bed and the salt lamp on the edge of his desk bathed everything in a slightly golden glow. He was a teenage cliche - but somehow a little softer, a little more sentimental. 

In the bottom drawer, there was an old photograph. It showed Tyler as a child - all wild curls and toothy grin, making grabby hands at the camera whilst covered in flour. But in the background of the picture, there was a woman with soft brown hair, and familiar eyes. Eyes of sugar, eyes of honey. His mother was smiling at her young son, certainly amused by his antics. She looked at him adoringly, an expression that Wednesday wished she could understand. The photograph was small and a little creased, as though it had been folded and carried around in a back pocket. 

She looked at Tyler, watching him stare down at the photograph with a faraway expression. 

“That’s one of the only pictures that my Dad didn’t throw out.”

Wednesday blinked down at the photograph in her hands, not quite knowing what to do or say. Her own family rarely took pictures aside from the occasional family portrait, all of them stood standing stiffly and glaring into the lens. The more menacing, the better. She was in uncharted territory with pictures such as this, all smiles and heartfelt memories. But she knew that to Tyler, this was more than just another captured moment from his childhood. This was a reminder of the time that got cut short, the loss that he suffered. It was the only photograph he had of her, apart from the fencing team portrait that hung in Ophelia Hall. The photograph that she had shoved in his face during an interrogation, seeing it as nothing more than evidence. Guilt tugged in her stomach, and she pursed her lips. 

“You look like her.”

A small, sad smile grew on his face.

He was quiet, quieter than usual. Sure, he mostly let her do the talking, the ordering and the arguing - but this was different. He was shrinking in on himself, fading away before her eyes and she didn’t know how to stop it. A bubble of panic rose up in her chest as she realised how much she wanted to stop it. He was too quiet, and she didn’t like it. 

If she wasn’t herself, maybe she would know what to do. If she was wired differently, maybe she would understand. Instead, all she could do was stare at him in the hopes that he would crack a real smile and turn back into the Tyler that she knew. In the hopes that he would drag himself to the shore before she let him drown. Wednesday was no saviour. She didn’t have the right words and this was no different. 

“I’m sorry”, he shook his head a little, trying to snap himself out of it. He looked at her, perhaps worried that he had scared her off. “I’m not used to…I- My dad pretty much refuses to mention her these days.”

Wednesday straightened her shoulders. “Tell me about her.”

“You don’t—“

She looked at him expectantly. 

He ran a hand though his still-drying curls, frustrated. “There’s no point, Wednesday.” She could hear the hurt in his voice, the pain. “I barely remember—“

“I don’t care”, she tells him firmly. 

Tyler looks at her as if he doesn’t quite know who she is. 

“Tell me about her.”

He hesitated, unsure of where to begin. Every time he tried to bring up his mother, or ask a question about his childhood - he was shut down and scolded like a toddler with his hand in the cookie jar. It made him feel small and insignificant. His Dad was never the warm and fuzzy type. But when he grew more curious about his mother, he became even colder. He turned away and buried himself in his work, calling the house at night, claiming to be too busy to come home. Tyler abided by his curfew and pretended like it didn’t sting that he was coming home to an empty house. The Sheriff told himself that it was better that way, to protect his son from a distance. He didn’t know how to deal with the sugar in his eyes, or the crooked smile. He didn’t know how to deal with the teenage angst, and how to tell if it was normal attitude or something sinister crawling its way to the surface. Wednesday knew it well enough to recognise it. It was about self preservation. Pushing away feelings and minimising casualty. It left collateral, but it was easier to pretend that it wasn’t there. Wednesday knew those kind of coping mechanisms well. 

He sounded unsure as he began, but his voice grew stronger the more he spoke. “She used to bake a lot. I think brownies were her favourite. We used to make them together.”

She listened quietly, dark eyes focused on him. 

“She smelled like cinnamon”, he looked down, “…and she gave the best hugs. She was big on affection. You would have hated that.”

The corners of her lips quirked up. 

“People say I’m a lot like her. My Dad hates it.”

“He misses her”, Wednesday stated, as if it was that simple. 

“So do I.”

Every fighting instinct told her to argue back, to jab and poke. But she wasn’t so concerned with being right anymore. He just needed someone to listen. 

His voice cracked a little. “I missed her too much.”

“What do you mean?”

Tyler was distressed, looking up at her with defeated eyes. “It felt wrong to talk about her at therapy, with a stranger who didn’t even know her. Just there to nod along and get a pay check. My Dad…he wouldn’t even talk about her. I missed her too much, Wednesday. I didn’t even know little I knew about her. Then…”, he screwed his eyes shut, hands coming up to cover his face. “God, I made it so easy for her.”

“Tyler—“

“She told me that she found her file at Nevermore, that she could show me pictures and help me learn more about her. God, Wednesday…it felt so good to talk to someone about her. Someone that understood, someone that could give me what I really wanted. I-I just wanted to learn more about her. To feel closer to her. And she told me everything that I wanted to hear.”

She raised her voice. “Tyler.”

“Fuck”, he groaned, tugging at the roots of his hair in frustration. “I—“

For as long as he could remember, Tyler had been a little lost. Swamped with shifts at the Weathervane, dragging himself out of bed and making his own meals with money left on the kitchen counter. He drifted through the days of the week, as if on autopilot. And then she came along. She smelled a little like cinnamon too, but it was deeper, too-rich. She smiled at him sweetly, and placed a tender hand on his wrist. And he didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. When she presented the file in the front seat of her cramped car, his face lit up. He looked at her as if there were stars in her eyes. God, how easy it must have been. To tuck him under her wing, to whisper in his ear and turn him into a weapon. She was good at it, too. Very convincing. 

And then he went under, scrambling to find his footing. He ended up on the ground, feeling like a tricked child. He met the sharp end of her anger, the sting of her nails digging into his cheek, the pain of the metal shackles tight around his wrists. The more he pulled, the more they bit into the skin of his wrists. The charming smile that coaxed him into her car, was nowhere to be seen. The soft laughter that became familiar over shifts at the Weathervane, was dark and cruel. She laughed at him while he squirmed with pain, shook in the freezing cold. 

As he lost consciousness in the arms of his father, covered in blood and dirt, deep in the middle of the woods - Tyler realised how little he was left with. Someone else’s failed plan, a temperamental beast that he couldn’t control and a trail of torn apart innocent victims. He was left with nothing and he had nobody to blame but himself. He was so easily won over, so eager and clueless. So naive. And it was during those final hazy moments, that he realised he had lost Wednesday in the fallout. She had become collateral damage. And that perhaps, worst of all - she was the only person that really made him feel less alone, after all. 

Tyler was leaning against his desk tiredly, Wednesday stood in front of him with her arms crossed. He reached for her, a little pathetically. His head hung low, dropping down onto her shoulder. He hid face from her, ashamed. “Fuck, Wednesday. I’m so sorry.”

Wednesday let her own eyes fall shut. “I know.”

“For everything”, he mumbled against her, “…for every single second.”

She took in a shaky breath. 

He shook his head against her neck, and she could feel the rumble of his voice on her skin. “I just wanted someone to blame.”

Tucked right against her, he looked about ready to fold in half - ready to crumble. In that moment, she saw him for what he was. Just a boy. Someone who had lost his mother at a young age, only to learn that she was snatched away by the cruel hands and words of others. She was cast out, abandoned. And now his father was doing the same to him. He shook with anger, so much of it that it made him unsteady. But underneath it all, he was only a heartbroken little boy. 

Something tugged at Wednesday from inside herself, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was supposed to be doing something. She was no poet, she did not care for pretty words. She wrote novels - typed on thick paper, tales of bloodshed and mystery. Facts and interrogations. Words of comfort were not something that she was well aquatinted with. But as Tyler leaned out of her space, sluggishly putting his weight on the edge of his desk, the tugging became insistent. It was an uncomfortable nagging. She parted her lips, but nothing came out. She clenched her jaw again, pulling her arms tighter around herself. Tyler kept his eyes on the ground, a submissive gesture. An unspoken apology. He sniffed miserably, and she held back a whine at the uncomfortable feeling in her chest. She didn’t know what to do. 

Eventually, her eyes drifted down to the way his hands held onto the desk behind him. They curled into the wood, flexing and uncurling every so often. There was a faraway look in his eye, as if he was thinking over his previous actions. A child in a time out. Wednesday’s left hand twitched, with the need to do something. Hesitantly, she moved it closer until it rested over one of his palms. His skin was warm beneath hers, but he hardly flinched at the gesture. His eyes did not move, or attempt to meet hers. 

Wednesday huffed in frustration, searching his face for any signal that her touch was helping. When she found none, her fingers began to pry his apart. He was not making it easy for her. But with some tugging, she was able to begin slotting her fingers between his own. 

At that, Tyler looked up in confusion, broken from his thoughts by the feeling of her delicate cold fingers nestling against his own. He took one look at her furrowed brow and determined little face, and let out a soft laugh. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him. “Trying to hold your hand.”

Warmth blossomed in his chest, and he felt himself full of affection for her. She was attempting to hold his hand. Wednesday Addams with her stiff posture, cool tone and hatred for physical affection. The girl that looked terrified at the offer of a hug, nauseous at the sight of romance, that told him point blank that she didn’t do emotions - she was trying to hold his hand. She was trying to hold his hand in order to make him feel better. He noticed the flush on her cheeks, and decided against teasing her for it. Instead, he tugged her closer and pecked her forehead, mumbling against it. “Thank you.”

He gave their joined hands a squeeze. 

Wednesday had a pained expression on her face, uncomfortable at the awkwardness of trying to comfort him. But she pushed through it, letting him breathe in the smell of her hair. She let her eyes flutter shut again, humming a little. 

“Do you want to know how I killed her?” She offered. 

She felt his grin against the top of her head. 

“Eugene ordered his bees to attack her, and by the time they were finished, she was swollen up like a blow fish. All puffy cheeks, light dying out of her eyes…”, Wednesday’s little dark orbs shone with glee, and it was beautiful, “…then I stepped on her head. Stamped on her skull with my boot until it was a pile of mush.”

Tyler gave her hand another squeeze. “That’s my girl.”

She looked a little disgusted, but didn’t correct him. He considered that a win. Then she looked deep into his eyes, deadly serious. “She deserved nothing less for what she did to you.”

His eyes softened, his beast practically purring at her confession. She would never outright say it, but she showed her care for him in quiet, subtle ways. He took one look at the fierceness on her face, and knew how important he was to her. Wednesday’s dark eyes burned through his soul, tenderness buried deep, but there nonetheless. She blinked at him slowly, like a cat when declaring affection. Her expression was so soft. She gave herself away without even realising it. 

She let his thumb rub over her cheek again, body caging her against the desk. A stalker cornering its prey. Her chin was lifted high, one of his fingers tracing over the slope of her jaw. She let him come to her, let him steal her breath away. His kiss was slow and sweet. But when he tilted his head to get a better angle, she gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to nip at her full lower lip. She shuddered in his arms, so pliant, so malleable. He couldn’t get enough. He took control of the kiss, flicking his tongue against her own, groaning deep in the back of his throat. Wednesday let out a soft noise, so quiet and muffled by his mouth, that he barely heard it. He squeezed her tighter against him, fighting the urge to pin her down on his bed and run his tongue over every inch of her flesh. There would be time for that. For now, he pulled away from her lips and pressed his nose into the crook of her neck, letting the tension slip away from his shoulders. It felt so good, just to have her here. Here in his space, letting him get his fill of her touch. 

Wednesday cleared her throat quickly and when he looked back up at her, her own gaze shifted downwards - past him and to the floor. It was like alarm bells ringing in his mind. It took her a moment to speak, and her voice was barely above a mumble.

“My parents keep pestering me to visit for a weekend.”

Tyler’s face fell, stuck on the idea that he will be going without her for a few days. Now that they had got to this point, the thought alone was agonising. He tightened his hold on her waist, nodding sadly, knowing that he was not powerful enough to convince her to stay. 

“Would you…”, she took another breath, starting again, “…would you like to come with me?”

He blinked - once, twice, three times. 

“Tyler.”

He shook his head a little in disbelief, “Huh?”

Wednesday looked taken aback, a frown flashing over her face. “You don’t have to”, she snapped at him meanly, pulling away from his touch. 

His hands reached out again, “Hey, wait —“

She glared darkly. “I wasn’t going to force—“

A smile melts over his face as he rushed to clarify. “I want to.”

“Fine”, she snapped again. 

It’s right there, beneath the words. Hidden in-between the lines, in the subtext. He could hear it in the way she snapped at him, deflecting. He could see it in the way she ripped away from him, closing in on herself defensively. He knew what a big deal this was for her. It meant something. He could see it in the way she searched his room, taking note of his items and looking for his secrets. She called it investigating, but Tyler knew that it was an excuse. She wanted him to know him - the real him. It was her lowering a defence, showing him that she was intrigued. Neither of them were pretending anymore, and so he let her look. Let her sate her curiosity. Let her peek into his head, into his heart - knowing that he had perhaps always had the upper hand. He wanted to prove to her that he wanted her to know him, to really know him. She asked him to join her family, to meet them. To see if he fit amongst them, if he could keep up with their strange habits and ways of showing affection. She wanted him in her life. 

Tyler grinned like a fool, letting her cross her arms over her chest and stare ahead stubbornly. But he couldn’t help himself, leaning over to leave a wet kiss on her cheek. 

She grumbled unhappily, wiping at the spot. 

Chapter Text

The Addams Estate was a sight to behold. With grand architecture, sharp edges and well-maintained grounds, everything about it showcased extortionate wealth and power. But simultaneously, every detail screamed get out. From the spiked gate upon entry, the sturdy iron bars creaking open with only two snaps of Wednesday’s fingers, to the hovering ravens and jagged railings underneath every window. It was grey-scale - void of colour and life. Their home was surrounded by miles of barren land, isolated out in the middle of nowhere. It was encircled by dead trees, and the only sound that could be heard was that of a distant hooting owl. An eerie atmosphere, paired with an icy cold wind. The sleek black car slowed to a gentle stop, brakes squeaking lightly, and suddenly Tyler found himself scared to open the car door. The estate loomed over him, picturesque and foreboding. 

Wednesday didn’t waste a second before exiting the car, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly. Tyler gulped, following suit. He silently hoped that it might all look less terrifying in the daylight. In the dead of night, it resembled the harrowing old-victorian style houses that were most definitely haunted. He practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of the trunk opening, their luggage being deposited on the cobblestone path beside them. Wednesday’s bags were embossed with her initials, WA. Tyler reached for his singular rucksack - stuffed carelessly with clothes, toiletries and books - only to have Wednesday bat his hand away casually, nodding to their driver. The tall, gangly driver looked half-dead, grunting before moving to take care of their belongings. Tyler hovered, not quite sure what to do. 

“Thoughts?” Wednesday gave him a side-way glance. 

He cracked a nervous smile, wringing his hands. “It’s…big.” When she looked at him, unamused, he tried to make a joke. “It, um…kind of looks like a real-life haunted house.”

“Well, I would hope so. Considering that it is haunted.”

“Wait, what?”

Tyler paled, beginning to tremble. He had been shaking like a leaf for the entire journey, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously. Wednesday watched him for a while, observing the way he gnawed at his lower lip and glanced out of each window, as if searching for an escape route. Eventually, she took pity on him and decided to hold his hand. He clung onto it for dear life, feeling as though they were driving straight towards his doom. He was not faring much better now, tensing beside her as they walked down the cobblestone path towards the front entrance. The tall structure towered above him, dark and menacing. 

All it took was Wednesday once again snapping her fingers twice, and the double doors started to creak open. A pitch black hallway stretched before them. The house was eerily quiet, aside from the muffled clanging of a grandfather clock somewhere upstairs. As she stepped forward, one by one, extinguished candles seemed to relight on command, lighting the path ahead. Tyler could start to make out intricate paintings hung along the walls, several portraits of people that he assumed were ancestors. But in the dim candlelight, it almost seemed as though their eyes followed his every move. He fumbled in the dark until he found her hand, squeezing tightly.

“Wednesday—“

She tugged on his hand impatiently and he let himself be dragged helplessly down the hallway, until they came to a grand staircase. The interior of the house - from what he could see - was just as opulent and luxurious as the outside. It was filled with gothic decor - black chandelier hovering from the ceiling, thick velvet curtains and lavish sculptures and statues. Others might have taken one look at Wednesday and expected her home to be filled with cobwebs and dust, flies buzzing and spiders dangling from the ceiling. But the Addams had a great sense of pride. They lived like expensive ghosts - not afraid to show their wealth, or their influence. They were neat and exact, selective and tasteful. Every single item in their home had a purpose, or a story. Wednesday spent the latter half of the car journey spilling precious details about her favourite corners of the estate - namely the extensive library and the torture chamber. There was a proud glint in her eyes as she described the peeling wallpaper, grand pianos and their hunting weapons. It was clear that she was extremely fond of her childhood home. 

Wednesday pulled him down another hallway once they topped the stairs, and Tyler was beginning to lose count of the number of doors that they had passed. Eventually, she stopped at the end of the hallway, in front of the last door. 

“This is the guest room you’ll be staying in.”

She turned the doorknob, stepping into the guest room. The lamps flickered back to life without the need of touching a switch, and he let his eyes adjust to the brightness. The room was huge, for a guest bedroom. A four-poster bed sat in the centre, black silk sheets and pillows - of course. There was a carved wooden dresser, two cushioned armchairs and double doors leading onto a private balcony. In the other corner, a door led to an en suite bathroom. 

Tyler’s face fell a little bit, twinged with disappointment. 

Her eyebrows furrowed together for half a second. “Is it not to your liking?”

“No - it’s…uh, it’s great.” She looked as though she didn’t believe him, arms crossing over her chest. “I just…I guess I thought I’d be staying in your room.”

She levelled him with a look. “I told you, I’m not one for physical contact. Particularly when it is prolonged. I need my own space.”

“But you stayed—“

“That was different”, she argued. 

It was different. The last time she had fallen asleep in his arms, and woken up with their limbs still entangled - her cheeks were slick with fresh tears. Her resolve had been too weak, her head spinning and heart aching. He coaxed her into his bed with soft kisses and soothing touches, and she hadn’t known how to push him away. It was only when she woke up the next morning, that she felt ashamed of herself. She had wanted to run and hide. 

He looked at the ground, speaking quietly. “Okay.”

Her voice was monotone. “I’ll come find you before breakfast.”

Tyler watched her walk away and disappear into the darkness, until she was nothing more than a black blob in the distance. Sighing to himself, he closed the door behind him and started getting ready for bed. Once underneath the sheets, he lay awake - restless. He was in an unfamiliar house, flinching at every creak and snarl of wind, and Hyde was pretty much crying out for her - feeling rejected. He flopped onto his side, huffing. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get much sleep. 

On the other end of the long, winding hallway - Wednesday was restless too. As soon as she closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep, she would wake up and it would be time for breakfast. That would mean facing her parents and their smug looks. It would mean countless questions, questions that she didn’t quite have answers for just yet. Truthfully, she had been trying to figure things out. But as soon as she sat herself down and tried to examine the facts of what she felt for him, and how they got from there to here - a deeply, uncomfortable tug found its way into her stomach. It made her squirm, like being eaten alive. She couldn’t work him out. Sometimes when she looked at him, she still saw the cruel twisted smirk that left her rooted in her spot at the police station, she could still feel herself whimpering pitifully against the toilet bowl. And other times, there was a pesky warmth that was starting to become more and more familiar. A tenderness. She wasn’t sure which she hated more. 

That’s how she found herself walking down the length of the hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards. Her bare feet against the cold carpet, arms wound tight around herself. It was a mortifying thought - but whenever she felt out of sorts, some deeply rooted, primal part of herself - called out for him desperately. 

His door opened with a loud creak, and he stirred in bed - practically shooting up at the unfamiliar sound. She could hear his breath hitch, his eyes trying hard to find her in the dark. 

“Wednesday?”

She squeezed her arms around herself, standing awkwardly at the foot of his bed. 

“I can’t sleep.”

He hesitated, half-expecting her to spit in his face. “Do you…maybe want to—“

The dark blob at the edge of his bed shifted weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. There was something zinging in the air - tense and electric. It was something that Wednesday had felt at the Rave’N, sitting beside him in the light of a fireplace, hearing the muffled sound of the slow melody out on the dance floor. She got the feeling that she was supposed to be saying something, or doing something - but she didn’t know what. Tyler was still looking at her like he did that night, with quiet intrigue and a sense of understanding - just shy of teasing. As if he knew her cue, but wanted her to figure it out herself. 

In a painfully slow fashion, she inched closer to the bed. Her movements were stiff and awkward as she lifted a corner of the duvet and tentatively sat on the mattress. She was still so far away, tucking herself in, eyebrows furrowed. Tyler pressed his lips together so that he wouldn’t laugh at her. That would definitely not keep her in his bed. Wednesday glanced at him through the corner of her eye, shuffling a little closer towards him - pausing every few seconds. When she finally lay down, shoulder pressed against his, she tried to angle her head onto his shoulder. She was still as stone, unmoving. 

Tyler couldn’t help but laugh a little this time, “Here—“

An arm curled around her small waist, pulling her closer and positioning her until she fit snugly in the groove of his body. Her body melted into his without thought, but her hands stayed still on his chest - twitching. It was sweet to see her like this, so unsure of herself. “There you go.”

It was then that he noticed her hair was down. 

It was like the midnight sky - dark and endless. It fell in soft waves down the middle of her back, wrapping around her shoulders like a cloak. She was used to tying it back, keeping it out of her face. With it let loose like this, somehow her intense dark eyes stood out even more, reminding him of a nocturnal creature watching him through the bushes. She peered at him, watching closely as he took a strand between his thumb and forefinger. It was soft. She was softer too, like this. He could see why she didn’t wear it down around people. It made her seem less scary. 

His fingers dropped the strand by her face, instead reaching to curl around the back of her head. When he started scratching gently at her scalp, she tilted her head into his hold like a cat. She was almost purring. Tyler leaned close, inhaling deeply. Her hair was freshly washed, the scent of black cherry stronger than ever before. It made him feel lightheaded. When his fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, she melted against him even more. She nudged her face against his chest, eyes closed. A cat bumping its head against its owner’s leg. He nuzzled further into the curtain of hair, resisting the urge to tug at her roots. See if she liked the pain. But for now, he let himself listen to the sound of her little heart pattering away in her ribcage, chest rising and falling gently with every breath. 

When they drifted off to sleep, her dark hair was spread across his chest, fanned out like a tangle of black silk ribbons. Tyler bunched it up in his fist with a sigh. 

— — —

The room was uncomfortably bright, and significantly colder when Wednesday woke up. Her hand reached out for the sheets beside her, only to come up empty. As her eyes flicked open, an unpleasant jolt of alarm rose within her. Noticing the abandoned side of the bed, made her feel like she was losing her footing once more. Like landing wrong - again. She started to scramble out of the silk sheets, accompanied by the sick twinge of panic that settled heavy, like poison. Abandoned and twisted in the sheets, Wednesday felt like a naive virgin sacrifice. A little girl tricked, candy stolen from right underneath her nose. A terrified part of her wondered if she had just lost the game. A game that he had convinced her was long over, and she had perhaps believed him, until she had woken up alone and confused. Being the fool the first time, she didn’t know any better. But now, she had known better - and she had still somehow let it happen again. 

Just as she began to snarl at herself for letting her guard down so easily yet again - the door creaked open. Tyler entered the guest bedroom, eyes shining and crusty with sleep, still shirtless - and Wednesday started to feel stupid for a very different reason. 

“Where did you go?” 

It was more of a threat spat through gritted teeth, rather than a question. But Tyler didn’t seem to notice, too busy offering her a small mug that she hadn’t noticed in his hands. 

“Thing gave me a tour. I still feel like I’m going to get lost, though.” He smiled at her a little sheepishly, nodding for her to accept his gift. “And I made you a quad. I’m glad you have a proper espresso machine. I finally feel a little useful.”

“Oh”, she scowled. 

“I was going to take a shower, if that’s alright.”

At her singular nod, he placed the small ceramic mug on the beside table. Tyler leaned down at the last second, before he could think better of it, and left a soft kiss on her forehead. It left her blinking like an idiot long after he wandered into the en suite. 

The fresh coffee was still steaming, smelling bitter and rich. Wednesday stared as if it were filled with sparkling cyanide. She picked it up, fingers twitching around the mug, but as she brought it to her lips - she hesitated. It was just a cup of coffee. A quad. Made by her own family’s espresso machine, no less. Something so familiar to her. But as she stared down at the dark liquid, she realised that she hadn’t touched a single drop of coffee in months. Her first taste of it after she left Nevermore, was watery and stale. She hadn’t wanted to go near it. Somehow, it just didn’t taste the same. Closing her eyes now at the familiar smell, all she could see were those weeks spent sitting in the Weathervane, staring out of the window into nothingness. Thinking about the person that used to carefully tramp her coffee beans and press the buttons on the machine with diligent fingers. The person that refused to let her pay, and skipped other orders just so that she didn’t have to wait for her dose of caffeine. His eyes had been so familiar. And then suddenly, she didn’t recognise them anymore and even the smell of coffee made her stomach turn. 

It felt pathetic to admit, that she was staring down at a mug - feeling afraid. Most of all, she feared that she would take a tiny sip and spit it straight out. She feared that it would taste like betrayal. But her forehead was still warm in the spot where his lips had been, and she could still feel his strong arm keeping her pressed against her chest. She could hear the quiet rumble of the shower, and the low timber of his voice beneath that. He was humming. 

Wednesday lifted the coffee to her lips and took a gulp. 

— — —

Sitting at the breakfast table, Wednesday’s grip on her knife was merciless. 

Tyler was sat across from her, picking up his own cutlery and talking politely with her parents. He looked like a fallen angel. He was dressed in a hand-picked, perfectly-tailored black satin suit. A crisp white button-up shirt underneath, collar tight, top button undone. It made him sit up straighter without even realising it, dressed as though he truly belonged to sit at the head of the table with them. He looked like royalty - a dark prince, finished with shiny shoes and cufflinks. In a painting of black and white, he had never looked more beautiful - no longer a contrast to her monochromatic world. He charmed her family upon entry, floating to the table like an angel - but when they finally sat down, he sent her a wicked grin and she was reminded that he was part-sinner. At the Rave’N, he had looked like a white knight in his icy blue shirt and white tuxedo, a little ill-fitted and uncomfortable. He didn’t let his hands stray once, keeping his eyes on her for a perfectly respectable amount of time, following her lead. Sitting at the Addams family breakfast table - he resembled the storybook villain that she always dreamed of, flashing teeth and hiding weapons underneath his sleeve. He answered every single question, watching her carefully, enjoying the way that she was beginning to squirm. 

Wednesday gritted her teeth, glaring at him from across the table. 

“I must say, I was surprised that it took so long for us to be properly introduced.”

“Oh”, Tyler’s eyebrows furrowed, “…why’s that?”

Her shiny red lips merely twisted into a knowing smile, acrylic nail tapping delicately at the side of her temple. She didn’t offer any further explanation. 

“Mother”, Wednesday warned. 

Morticia Addams was beauty itself encapsulated. From her elegant posture, deep neckline and flouncy sleeves - to the soft drawl of her voice, eyes twinkling with mirth. She moved with a swift ease, letting her husband serve her with a fond smile, sitting pretty. But underneath the sense of grace and decorum - she was rather wicked. He had been told that she was a power seer, and that her visions were far lighter and whimsical compared to her daughter’s that were plagued with terror and violence. She watched Tyler like a hawk, examining him from head to toe. She was glamorous and stylish in a way that Wednesday did not care for, tapping her long nails against the table, fully aware of her exquisiteness. She enjoyed being beautiful. Tyler could see why Wednesday was bristled by her presence. 

“Black is awfully becoming on you, Tyler. Don’t you agree, Wednesday?”

Tyler shifted a little at that, eyes flickering to hers. He adjusted his collar, pulling it slightly away from the golden skin of his neck. She wanted to see if it left a mark in his wake, and if she could trace over it with her teeth. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

She pressed her knife into the wood of the table, feeling it start to splinter. 

“Enough.”

“Now, Now, Wednesday”, Morticia gleamed, taking a delicate bite of her potatoes. “There’s no need for bad table manners.”

“What’s it like being a Hyde?” Her little brother, Pugsley asked through a mouthful of food. 

“Oh, um…”, Tyler glanced down at his plate and then back up at Wednesday, “…sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t.”

“Is that what drew you in, my little viper?” Her father asked. 

Tyler slouched in his seat a little, holding in a laugh. Their eyes snapped over to him and Wednesday’s flashed in warning. He twirled a fork in his hand, eyes twinkling with the delight of knowing that he was about to be in big trouble. “Actually, she liked me before then.”

“Says who?” She raised an eyebrow. 

He leaned forward, welcoming the challenge. “You came into the Weathervane nearly every day.”

“For the coffee.”

“Only on the days that I had a shift?”

“Free coffee.”

“You let me assist you with your missions.”

“You were from Jericho”, she argued, “…and owned a car.”

“You patched up my wound.”

“I enjoy the sight of blood.”

“You went on a date with me.”

“You wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

“You kissed me.”

Her mouth snapped shut, eyes wide with the promise of ruin. He was going to pay for that. She stabbed her knife deep into the table, leaving it stuck there as she rose from her seat sharply. She made her way over to his side, towering over him slightly as he stayed put in his chair. Her eyes trapped him, forceful and cunning. “Get up.”

Tyler finally looked a little embarrassed, mouth opening to stumble out an apology for her family - his instincts pushing him to follow her out of the dining room. Her order stretched over their connection, making his limbs feel like jelly as he practically tripped over the carpet. She grabbed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin harshly. He was pulled down the hallway, dragged up the staircase, legs struggling to catch up with her fast pace. 

“Wednesday—“

The room that she pulled him into was unfamiliar, and it took a minute to realise that it was Wednesday’s bedroom. Before he could start to process a single thing, the lock clicked and he gulped. She stalked towards him, looking him up and down like prey. Her hands reach up to tug at the lapel of his suit jacket, staring at the material as if it were offending her. 

“Do you like it?” He asked, knowing full well that she did. 

Her lips were on his before he had the chance to make another smart-ass comment. They were demanding, bruising. She bit at his lower lip, forcing his lips to part so that she could curl her tongue against his. Tyler breathed hard through his nose, hands flaying about her waist, desperately trying to ground himself. Just as quickly as it happened, she pulled away. He panted, cheeks flushed and eyebrows raised high. She let go of his lapel, instead opting to push him backwards. Tyler didn’t know which way was up, and which way was down - until all of a sudden his knees hit the edge of her mattress. He fell back onto her bed, eyes widening comically as she moved to straddle him. 

Wednesday was determined to show him just how much she liked the colour black on him. 

She unbuttoned the black satin suit jacket, pushing it open and running her hands over the thin material of his shirt. They made their way over his pectoral muscles, smoothing over his torso before stopping just above where his trousers started. Her hands were greedy, not sure where they wanted to settle. She had never felt such want in her life. One by one, she began to unbutton his shirt, revealing more of his golden skin. His neck was lean and Wednesday became fascinated with the sharpness of his Adams apple, watching it bob as he swallowed roughly. There was a mole just underneath his collarbone, and another hallway down his sternum - close to his left pectoral muscle. She leaned down to press her lips against each one. 

“Fuck”, he breathed out, eyes slipping closed. “Wednesday.”

“Quiet”, she demanded. 

He swallowed a groan, hesitantly opening his eyes to watch her. She looked so good on top of him. Her thighs either side of his hips, weight pressed down onto his quivering body. Her touch was explorative, hands pushing the fabric of his shirt open and smoothing down over his abdominal muscles. They jumped at her touch, her fingers cool against the heat of his skin. It was torture, but he tried his best to stay still. If anything, he was terrified that he would never find himself in this situation again. He wanted to make it last. 

Wednesday pushed her weight forward, leaning over him to reattach their lips. Every time he tried to chase her and gain control, her hands pressed him firmly back down onto his back. She was calling the shots, that much was clear. Her tongue flicked against his, eager to taste him. It was so different than their first kiss - twinged with inexperience and longing. This time, there was a promise of more. A pure desire to get their hands on each other. When his hands planted themselves onto her hips, she tore away from his lips - much to his dismay - in order to redirect them. She cruelly gripped his wrists, pressing his arms down either side of his head. 

“Fuck”, he all but whined, hips searching for hers. “Let me touch you. Wednesday, you have to let me touch you.”

“I don’t have to do anything”, she taunted him, lips hovering over his. 

Tyler was panting, sure that he had never been so hard in his entire life. Wednesday was above him, and he was putty in her hands. He knew that it had absolutely nothing to do with the bond between them, and absolutely everything to do with how fucking hot she was. Her lips were parted, pupils blown open, cheeks flushed with desire. He wanted to roll over and press her beneath him, see if he could make her scream. He wanted to hold her hands above her head and make her beg for it, just to see how she liked it. But he forced himself to hold back. Wednesday Addams was above him, running her selfish hands over every inch of his torso. She had him pressed down onto her bed, kissing along his jawline and rolling her hips into his. He was not going to move a single muscle until she gave him permission. 

When her lips found his neck, something in him snapped. He became more desperate, hips bucking up into hers without thought. A pathetic whimper left his lips as she stopped, hovering over his skin just to torture him. 

“Tyler.”

“Hmm?” He replied, half paying attention, eyes screwed shut. 

“Tyler. Focus.”

“What?” He whined, afraid that she planned on stopping. 

“I’m going to mark you.” His eyes snapped open at that, wide and begging. “I’m going to mark every inch of your neck and you’re going to belong to me. Every part of you. No more lies, no more games. Do you understand?”

He nodded vigorously, staring up at her. 

“Tell me you understand”, she watched him search her face, needing him to know how serious she was. She was sick of the guessing games, sick of questioning his motives. 

“Yes”, he practically pleaded with her, “…I understand. Wednesday, please. I want that. I want you so bad, you don’t even—“

He couldn’t help himself, cutting off with an obscenely loud moan as she ground her hips against his firmly. The pressure was pure torture - red hot and delicious. She tightened her grip on his wrists, using them as leverage as she leaned down, starting to suck at the edge of his jaw. Slowly, she made her way down his entire neck - teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh, tongue flicking out to soothe. He whined, head thrown back in pleasure at the sensation of her lips. She sucked dark marks into every inch of his neck, hoping that it would bloom in patches of dark purple - just like the flowers he gave her. His skin was so warm, slightly salty underneath her tongue. She couldn’t get enough, slicking her tongue over every inch, humming at the sound of his quiet begging. His hips chased hers, her rhythm faltering slightly as she worked on his neck. 

One hand left his wrist, in favour for tugging at the curls at the base of his neck. He took advantage, free hand curling around her hip, holding on for dear life. He hoped that it would leave bruised fingerprints. He groaned as she pulled his hair, soothing the stinging sensation with a soft press of her lips against his collarbone. 

Then she bit down. 

Tyler hissed, roughly gripping her hip at the feeling of her blunt teeth digging into his flesh. She bit hard enough to break the skin slightly, pulling away to look at the mess she made. There were traces of blood, clear indents of where her molars had been. She wiped the saliva away from her mouth, liking her lips. Tyler cursed under his breath, pressing his hardness against her more firmly. It was then that she noticed the bulge in his trousers, and she reached up to press one more soft kiss against his pliant lips, before sitting back on her thighs. 

He frowned at the loss of contact, but quickly gulped when he saw her hands trailing downwards. She didn’t break from his gaze for a second as she dragged down the zipper on his trousers, reaching her hand inside. When her small hand wrapped around his length, he screwed his eyes shut, hand leaving her hip to fist in the sheets. 

“S-Shit, Wednesday.”

He was hot and smooth, slightly curved at the tip. Wednesday tilted her head curiously, running her thumb along a thick vein on his underside, watching it twitch. There was a bead of pre-cum gathered at the tip and he whimpered quietly when she brushed it away. 

“Open your eyes for me”, she whispered, more of a request than an order. 

Tyler shook his head, bewildered. “I-I can’t. I—“

“I’ll stop”, she threatened, firmer this time. He reluctantly let his eyes flutter open and focus on her, the way that she stared down between his legs - all parted lips and intrigue. Wednesday’s eyes were wide with child-like curiosity and it nearly made Tyler come right there and then, arching up into her small hand. She clearly didn’t know what she was doing, eyes flickering up to his own to gauge his reaction to her slow rhythm. It was a case of trial and error. An experiment. More than anything, she wanted to watch him fall apart. She wanted to make him crumble. 

He looked so pretty beneath her. Messy curls, bright red cheeks, glistening lips. He was so eager. She could feel him shuddering beneath her, hips jerking erratically, trying to search for more friction. She gave his length a soft squeeze, feeling the way his chest heaved in response. She wondered if he was getting close. 

“F-Faster…please—“

Wednesday obliged, speeding up her movements slightly, squeezing lightly each time she reached his base. She tilted her head, watching the way his arm came up to cover his face, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. He groaned low in the back of his throat, finding the pressure unbearable. It felt so good, too good. 

“Baby, I’m gonna—“

All movements ceased. Tyler whined at the loss, eyes shooting open in panic. He wanted to cower away when he saw her fixed glare, the clench of her jaw. Her hand was still wrapped around him, his tip steadily leaking onto her fingers. But she didn’t grant him any mercy. 

“What did you just call me?” She hissed, seething. 

He fumbled over his words, coil still tightening in his stomach. He had messed up big time. “I—“

“Never call me that again”, she squeezed his length tightly, making him release a choked whimper, “…otherwise I’ll leave you here right now and order that you can’t even give yourself any relief until I say so.”

He knew it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.

“Fuck”, he whined, hips bucking up with need, “…Okay, I’m sorry. P-Please—“

It only took a few more strokes of her small hand, and Tyler climaxed with a high-pitched moan. He came all over her fingers and over his lower stomach, leaving a sticky mess. His breathing was laboured, garbled versions of her name leaving his lips as he came down from his high. Wednesday watched his chest stutter, rising and falling pitifully as he tried to catch his breath. Once she released her hold on his other arm, both of them settled on her hips and squeezed. His head was still pressed back against the sheets, lips red and swollen. 

Wednesday had never been particularly interested in physical intimacy. It seemed uncomfortable, messy and the only attempts that she had made to explore her own body had left her feeling nothing but bored and irritated. She heard the whispers of her classmates, had read countless books describing every detail of lingering gazes and flirtatious touches. None of it had ever sparked interest in her. But with Tyler, maybe she was beginning to understand it. It was a form of power play. One person giving, one person taking. It was knowing which buttons to press, which words to whisper to have someone else fall apart on a whim. Having someone else’s fate in her hands - knowing that she could take his pleasure away at any moment. She called the shots, she had the power. And there was something purely delicious about knowing that while she was taking what she wanted, he was letting her. She looked him over from head to toe - taking in his flushed, pleasure-stricken face, his bruised and bloody neck, his chest slick with sweat, cock softening in her grip. He looked truly ruined. 

Wednesday’s eyes lit up with delight. 

Chapter Text

In the bible, it is written that Eve was tricked by a serpent. She was misled and taken advantage of - deceived. And she was made into a mockery, a symbol for weakness. Wednesday knew they were nothing but childish fables. But she was smart enough to see the plain resemblance. The boys in her high school were just like conniving serpents - slithering and crawling their way through life, toying with feelings and stealing virtue. Scales for skin, peering eyes. They had an appetite for anything innocent and pure. She knew their games and had no desire to play. She swore not to fall for their obvious tricks. And then suddenly, she was Eve. Abandoned by Adam, turned into a joke. It was a mistake that she was still paying for. After all, she had no one to blame but herself. She turned her back on each and every one of her values, all of those years spent establishing her sense of self - they were thrown away. Just for a moment, she forgot who she was.  Just for a minute, she sank against his body and lost herself in his kiss. And when she fell into her sheets that night, chest heaving from running through the dark streets of Jericho, eyes wide with the horror of the truth - the ringing in her ears sounded a lot like someone laughing at her. 

Don’t you know their games? A voice sneered at her. 

Her punishment, it seemed, was learning to live with it. Being cut open on the surgery table, gawked at, and left to stitch herself back up. She could still feel it every time she moved, something jostling around inside of her - and that’s when she got it. The sense that something had been put back in the wrong place. 

“Darling”, Morticia’s lips curled upwards into a knowing smile. “Come sit.”

Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest, making no effort to move just yet. 

The small, rounded table was decorated and set for tea. The tablecloth was embroidered with thorns and finished with delicate lace, the place settings set for company. A bouquet of dead roses sat in a vase as the centrepiece. Morticia waited patiently for her daughter to join, lifting her pinky finger as she brought the tea cup to her lips. Her mother was just that - fine china. Sitting pretty as porcelain, there to be looked at. Wednesday was not like her. If anything, she was a cracked mug, left in the back of the cupboard to collect cobwebs and dust. No frills, no fuss. And she liked it that way. Her beauty was nothing more than a nuisance to her, another reason for the serpents to come crawling. Morticia danced like a peacock for them, lips painted blood-red. Her presence was grating. And still, she quietly sat down and poured her own tea. 

“This obvious attempt at bonding is below you…”, she stared at her mother as she stirred sugar into her tea, “…and strangely cruel.”

Morticia kept delicately stirring her tea, bringing it closer to her mouth, only to blow on it gently and pick her spoon back up. It clanged against the sides of the china mug and Wednesday cringed at the noise. 

“There’s something on your mind.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Wednesday drew in a breath, looking back up at her - eyes full of contempt. Her mother had always been able to see right through her, in a way that had nothing at all to do with her psychic abilities. She waited patiently, tapping her nails against her cup. Then, the tea table looked more like a ruthless game of poker. They were trying to call each other’s bluff. Her mother had looked at her that way since she was a little girl, twirling her dark hair, playing the long game. She acted as if she knew Wednesday’s tells, but refused to call her out on them. If it were any other day, she might have left the table without another word. She might have spat tea back into her cup, lips curling up in distaste. But the night had been long. Her heart was heavy and it was something that she couldn’t figure out alone. Maybe that is why she stayed. 

“This is about Tyler, isn’t it?” 

Her daughter’s silence was as much of an answer as she was going to get. 

“You’re finding it hard to trust him again.”

That part wasn’t a question, it was a fact. She could see it in the way her daughter held herself at the breakfast table, snapping defensively and ordering him to leave. She could see it in the way Wednesday looked at him, scowling to herself as if he were a complicated equation that she kept getting stuck on. But he was here. She had brought him to their home, letting him sit around the table with her family - and that meant that she was trying. 

“Are you afraid that he will turn on you again?”

“It would be foolish not to be”, Wednesday replied. 

Morticia sighed, remembering her daughter as the little girl that she once was. Wednesday was a curious child - logical and precise. She used to stab her peas onto her fork, one by one, chewing slowly and carefully. With her little neat braids and laced boots, she stomped around the world as if it were her own. Always believing that she knew better, so sure that she knew best. But little girls grow up. And the sixteen-year old that sat in front of her now, looked a lot less sure of herself. Her eyebrows were pinched together, lips pursed. It was a familiar expression. When she was young, Wednesday spent days sitting in front of her steam-powered guillotine, taking it apart and putting it back together again. That way, there was never a malfunction that she didn’t know how to fix. She had a strange sense of patience - tapping her fingers mindlessly and toying with nuts and bolts until she was satisfied. It was a patience that she did not carry into matters of the heart. When it came to feelings, Wednesday’s instincts were to abort. And she often ended up running away before getting the chance to sit down and work out what needed to be fixed. 

“Wednesday”, she began gently, “…maybe you aren’t afraid of Tyler betraying you again. Maybe you’re afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.”

Her raven blinked, not understanding. 

“Remember what I told you? Sometimes you get in your own way”, she tutted, sipping her tea, “…you’ve spend your entire life believing that you are better off alone. That you prefer it that way. And now, I wonder if you are so sure.”

—- —- —-

The Addams family library, was just as dark and extravagant as the rest of the estate. The ceilings were high, shelves polished and dusted regularly, and their first editions were displayed in locked glass cases. But there was something about it that was private, more tucked away. Their library was filled with countless novels in every language, with a few hidden treasures of paper-bound manuscripts and collectors items. There was a small desk and reading nook, fashioned with a cushioned chair and beaded table lamp. Ladders were attached to every tall shelf, and Wednesday’s small frame often climbed up there just to feel further away from the rest of the house. A hibernating owl hidden up in the trees. She could spend afternoons there, letting the hours drift by until she was called down for dinner. It was one of her favourite places to hide.

Not that Wednesday was hiding. 

She was simply trying to catch up on her reading, tucked away in the far corner. But her eyes were growing tired and it was difficult to concentrate. She turned each page with a huff, not even caring about damaging the more delicate copies. 

“That’s a deep scowl.”

Even his voice was abrasive to her ears, like sandpaper. 

She flipped another page, maybe a little bit too rough. “I’m always scowling.”

“Not always”, he slowly approached, coming closer until he was standing beside where she was curled into an arm chair. With her feet tucked underneath her thighs, she looked smaller - more vulnerable. His hand reached out to touch a braid, running his thumb over the bumps softly. “Not when you’re with me.”

Wednesday stood from her spot and brushed past him, heading for the furthest bookshelf. 

“Wednesday.”

“What?” She replied absent-mindedly, running her finger over the spine of an instructions manual for ice fishing. “Go away. I’m busy.”

He snorted a little, observing. “It’s not exactly the weather for that, is it?”

She ignored him. 

“Wednesday”, he tried again, voice a little firmer. “What are you doing?”

Her mother’s words played on a loop inside of her head, circling like vultures on the search for easy prey. They hovered, waiting for the right moment to trip her up. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know what she was doing. And she hated it. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked again, echoing his question from months prior. And there she was - back in that booth, hiding behind a book. Now, with her nose buried into a bookshelf - the pictures didn’t look so different. He was still asking, still waiting patiently. It should have reminded her that he was just another serpent that she got swindled by. Instead, it made her feel as though, despite his games - she hadn’t been any better. Cowering in the library, hissing at him and attempting camouflage. 

“No”, she huffed, going to select another book from the same shelf. 

Tyler wasn’t deterred and it wasn’t long before she felt the heat of his body behind her. He brushed a hand against her hip, just barely holding onto her. 

Wednesday pressed her forehead to the shelf. Her voice was sharp. “Tyler.”

“Why do you always do this?”, he asked, voice laced with frustration. His hand did not fall off her hip, instead using it to spin her around, forcing her to face him. She stubbornly kept her gaze below his face, glaring at the grey of his knitted jumper. “Why do you always ruin things just when we start to get somewhere? Why do you always pull away? If we take one step forward, you jump back about seven steps. I hate it.”

“I guess that’s just what I do”, her voice cracked, just barely. “Ruin things.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “I wouldn’t hate it so much if it was unintentional. But you do it on purpose”, his fingers dug into her hips, “…it’s like you’re determined to sabotage things before anything else can.”

Her mother’s words circled back around to cackle at her. Taunting, poking and prodding. Wednesday clenched her fists, glaring at him. She hated that he was right. Maybe they both were. She loathed to admit it, but how could she deny it when every single word, every syllable - felt like water slipping through her fingers. She desperately needed to grasp onto them somehow, keeping them tucked close to her chest, after all, if they understood it - maybe she could start to understand it too. It felt like being carved open, there on display. Pens in hand, cameras at the ready. When had she become so easy to read? 

“This is all new to you, I know that. I understand—“

“No”, she cut him off, “you don’t.”

“Stop acting like I don’t know you. Wednesday, I’m serious. I’m not going to keep doing this with you. I can’t stand it when you push me away—“

The words spat themselves out before she even had the sense to think them over. “Maybe I just want you to give me some space, did you ever think about that?” 

His eyes flashed. “You didn’t seem to want that yesterday when you had your hand wrapped around me.”

Her mouth clamped shut abruptly. 

“It makes me feel like shit, you know?” He told her. 

Tyler’s jaw was set, and he spoke slowly through gritted teeth. But there was a softness there, in his eyes. Something that pleaded with her. He might have been frustrated - but he was not angry. He could never be angry with her. Maybe he should have been. After all, after wiping up his mess and letting him catch his breath, she practically kicked him out of her room. Didn’t let him stop and take in every detail like he begged, muttering something about needing to find Pugsley. She had practically sent him away, ignoring the way his face fell as she slammed the door behind them and shooed him down the hallway. But still, there was no trace of resentment for that on his face. Somehow, she was sure that he could peer into every dark crevice of her mind, brush the dust and cobwebs away from her dark thoughts and point out the poorly hidden truths with his flashlight. Maybe it was how he had so much patience when it came to her. Deep down, she was certain he could see how hard she was trying. 

It made her feel rotten, knowing that somehow - he still saw the best in her. Even when she was sparring with him, he was still somehow on her side.

“I-I didn’t mean to make you feel like that”, she stared at her shoes.

He sighed, eyes closed. “I know. Wednesday, I know how you feel. You can try and hide it all you want, but I know you want to be with me. And that’s why it pisses me off so much when you try and fight against it. If you didn’t want this, I could live with that. But you do.”

She was silent. 

“I just…I don’t understand why”, he finished tiredly. 

It would be pointless to deny it now, what he had so plainly laid out on the table. His eyes left no room for argument, his resolve growing weak. Maybe it was her face that had been betraying her, or perhaps the softness that had started to bleed into her voice. With others, she felt no need for hysterics, or to raise her voice. There was no need to jab back, no purpose for spitting through her teeth at them. She didn’t care enough to even raise her eyebrows at most people. But with Tyler, there was an uncomfortable squeezing sensation, similar to panic, whenever she thought - even for just a moment - about him walking away for good. There was a desperation to be heard, to snap and curse at him. It was a strange kind of softness that most wouldn’t notice. But somewhere in the middle ground, he realised it meant that she cared. 

Growing up, Wednesday read every single book in their family library - reading under the glow of the table lamp, turning the pages with nimble fingers. She knew their stories well - tales of gore and violence, twists of heartbreak and betrayal. They were drawn-out, predictable plots with lazy endings. The world was full of treachery and confusion, and she did not need to poke her head into any book to see that. It was all around her. Wednesday refused to partake in those archaic rituals - namely being socialising and dating. It was so much more interesting to stay behind and watch as it all ended in tears. She liked to watch. It was safer to watch. After all, she was an island with a better advantage point. 

But when had simply watching become her means of survival?

Maybe her mother had been right, after all. There had been a safety to holding herself back, convincing herself that she didn’t need anything other than her solitude. She liked her independence, after all. There was no need to add somebody else to the equation. Wednesday liked control. She liked keeping feelings to a minimal, avoiding tears and conflict. And then Tyler came along, with his unashamed ability to feel. It was exhausting. It was exhausting to know that for the first time in her life, she wanted something. Something that she couldn’t rely on herself to get, something that she couldn’t bribe her way into. A variable that she could not control. Maybe some part of her feared that once she got used to it, like everything else - it would be taken away. 

“I’ve never…”, she shifted on the spot, “…I’ve never cared for someone so much. Apart from my family. I don’t…know how to deal with it in a way that’s normal.”

Tyler let out a breath he had been holding. 

“I might ruin things on purpose, but I’m not sure I know any different”, she admitted softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “I don’t know how to be different.”

Wednesday Addams was a stubborn little weed. He could tug at her roots and try to pull her up from the ground all he wanted, but she would persist. She drove him insane. But at the same time, she was like poison ivy - winding herself around his ribcage and curling around his heart without asking for his permission. When she let herself be soft with him like this, eyes wide with all the unspoken apologies that she wasn’t brave enough to speak aloud - he practically melted for her. She was terrifying. Intimidating as hell with her dark, beady eyes, deep scowl and hushed insults. She could crush him under her boot in a second, and it was hot as hell. But he liked her like this, too. Soft and sweet, letting him in - little by little. 

“You need to let yourself be vulnerable with me”, he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me inside your head. Just a little.”

Vulnerable. The word alone was enough to make her shiver. The thought of letting somebody that close, of unveiling every facade she had ever tried on - was something that she was afraid of. Really, genuinely afraid of. While most felt a cathartic sense of relief after spilling their guts and admitting harsh truths, Wednesday felt out of her sorts. Her body felt hot and itchy, every muscle and organ seemingly out of place. It was like being rearranged without permission. How could she be expected to continue as she once was? After allowing herself to feel, she was only reminded of why she so often didn’t let herself. Of why she was so adamant to turn off any emotion that couldn’t be recognised, couldn’t be contained. And her feelings for Tyler - sprung free and danced around her, escaping like little fireflies that she wasn’t quite quick enough to catch. She couldn’t collect them all and hide them behind her back once they were out in the open, and she couldn’t take the words back once they were said. 

Wednesday considered his proposition for a moment, pursing her lips. Then, the words left her lips and she couldn’t take them back. 

“Come with me.”

—- —- —-

Her room was at the end of a long, dark hallway - and even the door was dark and menacing. But once she opened it and they entered, Wednesday swore she had never known a moment so intimate. Tyler’s eyes were greedy, soaking up every last detail. 

The floorboards were a dark, rotting wood and the walls, of course - were painted black. Her four-poster bed took up the largest portion of the space, covered with silk sheets and pillows, matching translucent silk drapes pooling to the floor. It was macabre and sensual. The air smelled of jasmine and pachouli, her balcony doors left ajar to make way for the chilling breeze. It was freezing, but he figured that was her preferred temperature. He knew that her cello was out there on the balcony - he could hear her playing after he was exiled back to the guest room. She let out her anger in every stroke, each chord loud and abrasive, jarring to his eardrums. On the other side of her room, lay her desk. Her typewriter sat proudly on top, shiny black case embossed with her initials WA. She liked to stamp her claim on every one of her belongings - every backpack, journal and pen. Everything was engraved, everything was exclusive to her. On her beside table, there was a bound leather journal and fountain pen lying in plain sight, and his fingers itched to flick through every page. But just standing there, in her space was enough. 

He knew that it was her version of being vulnerable - like this, letting him in her space. Letting him take note of her belongings and catalogue each one, filing away the information like clues. Her dorm at Nevermore was shared, sliced in half. This bedroom, was entirely her. She had lived, breathed and slept in those sheets for years. She had played music on that balcony, curled her fingers around the doorknob since she was a little girl. Her scent filled the air, the indentation of her body sunken into the sheets from where she had been lying down. 

“I like it”, he grinned at her, running a finger over the sharp edge of her desk. “It’s very you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Tyler’s grin grew. “I know.”

Still, her eyes lifted at the corners. She was trying not to smile and he knew it. 

“You can smile around me, you know”, he teased gently, “…you are allowed. I’m pretty sure the world won’t burst into flames.”

Wednesday blinked at him. 

Tyler let out a gentle chuckle, stalking closer to her. She was still hovering by the door, watching him like a hotel manager letting him get settled in. But when he made a grab for her waist, she didn’t fight against his touch. She sank into it, letting him pull her close and bury his face in her hair. He breathed in deep, humming to himself. His eyes fluttered open after a few moments, settling on the clear indent that her small body left curled in the silk sheets. 

“You know”, he breathed into her ear softly, “…you realise that you never let me return the favour yesterday.” 

“Oh?”

“I hope you weren’t expecting to get away with it.”

He nipped at the top of her ear, and Wednesday tried not to let her knees buckle. 

Tyler kept his eyes on her the entire time as he walked her backwards, eyes dark and glazed as he gently nudged her to lay down on the mattress. His gaze was molten and dangerous, sticky and sweet. He didn’t give her the opportunity to look away, catching every minuscule tell of her nerves and anticipation. Her laboured breathing, lips parting as he slowly settled on top of her. The slight twitch of her left eyebrow, showing how unsure she was. 

When his lips fell onto hers, she had to practically hold back a moan. It was embarrassing, how sensitive she was to his ministrations. He hadn’t even touched her yet. After getting her hands on him, the delicious tension had been brewing between them and marinating even while they were apart, and she was ready to burst at the seams. His kiss was passionate and slow, tongue curling against hers, teeth catching onto her lower lip. She released a sigh, body sinking deep into the mattress, every bit of rigidness leaving. She was no longer stiff, but relaxed and limp in his hold. His lips were so soft, so skilled. She wondered if he had done this before. He certainly seemed to know exactly where to place his hands, how to press her down into the sheets and lightly drag his fingers up her ribcage. He bit her lip a little rougher, and Wednesday’s breath hitched. 

Letting go, he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down to the curve of her neck. He did not linger on one spot for too long, instead opting to swirl his tongue over her pulse point and draw soft pecks down to the collar of her dress. 

“Would you let me?”, he mumbled pleadingly against her skin. “Would you let me make you feel good?”

She was too distracted by the gentle suck at her collarbone to answer. 

“Wednesday”, it was half of a whine this time. 

Her nod was too eager, eager enough that he grinned against her sensitive skin. 

“Words, Wednesday.”

She had half a mind to slap him around the back of the head, but despite her impatience, she knew that he was only trying to check in on her. Make sure that he wasn’t moving too fast, or that she didn’t feel pressured into letting him touch her. God, if only he knew how desperate she was for it. In a way that made her feel pathetic. 

“I-I don’t - yes.”

“Have you ever—“

“No.” 

He hummed against her skin, pressing another soft kiss. “Do you touch yourself?”

Wednesday pulled a face, “It doesn’t feel good.”

Tyler pulled back to look at her face for a moment, to see if she was messing with him. But her face was pinched, lips curled downwards slightly in distaste. Her bangs were messy, sticking to her forehead a little while her chest rose and fell. The smugness slid back into his grin and this time he started sliding his big hands down to the hem of her dress.

“Let me show you”, he requested gently, fingertips pressing into the soft skin of her thighs. ‘Let me show that you are very mistaken.”

The feeling of his hands tugging at the soft fabric of her dress, breath hot against the shell of her ear - was something that she had only imagined within the blurred haze of her dreams. The weight of his body pressed against hers, his curious fingertips and devoted lips. His wanting gaze and heaving chest. And suddenly, to have him on top of her was not enough. She tugged at the hem of his grey knitted sweater, hoping that he would get the hint and rid himself of it. Tyler obliged, and she watched with greedy eyes as he peeled away the thick material and swiftly removed his thin t-shirt underneath. His skin was golden and hot to the touch, warmth seeping into her own pale skin. The muscles of his shoulders and chest twitched at her gentle touch, but he quickly refocused himself on her clothing. 

Her black dress was lightweight, and he glanced at her one last time to receive a nod before pushing the material further up her thighs. He let it pool around her hips, revealing her black underwear and more pale skin. Tyler groaned, pressing a kiss just above her underwear, whispering against her. “Let me prove you wrong.”

Wednesday swallowed quietly, watching him between her legs. 

He took his time, pressing gentle kisses to her inner thighs, holding them steady when she jumped at the sensation. She was so warm, so sensitive. 

“Fuck, baby.”

“I-“, she gasped at the sensation of him sucking a mark into the highest part of her inner thigh, “I told you not to c-call me that.”

Tyler smirked at her. “You think I believed that you didn’t like it?”

She opened her mouth to argue, to protest - but suddenly, his fingers were tugging her underwear down her legs. She felt bare, exposed. It made her shake slightly with nerves, but he ran a hand over her thigh soothingly. She was completely out of her depth, giving the reins to someone else for a change, trusting him to give her pleasure - trusting him to teach her. With him between her legs, she could no longer remember the powerful sensation of being on top of him and watching him fall apart. This time, she was at his mercy. 

When his mouth touched her, Wednesday practically jumped out of her skin. Her thighs jolted upwards, and Tyler had to wrap an arm over her stomach to hold her down. Her hips bucked up into him, trying to chase the sensation but also trying to escape it. 

“T-Tyler.”

He shushed her quietly. “Relax.”

She wanted to wrap her ankles around his neck and choke him. 

But as he ran his tongue through her folds, tasting her - her lips fell open. He was slow and careful with his movements, but his grip was brutal when holding her hips down. She squirmed and bucked against him, the sensation unfamiliar and overwhelming. But, oh so good. So good that she didn’t know what to do with herself. Her body was detached from her brain, reacting to every single stroke and flick of his tongue, toes curling into the sheets. She tossed her head back, a quiet whine leaving her throat. 

“There you go”, he praised. 

Her thighs tightened around him, trying to keep him there. She didn’t care if she smothered him. His tongue grazed over her swollen nub, flicking it gently. This time, she whimpered. Her hands reached down to bury themselves in his curls, tugging at the strands. Tyler was undeterred, gently sucking on her clit. She preened, fingers clenching around his scalp, desperate to hold onto something. Something, anything. 

It felt so different than her fumbling explorations in her room, fingers curious and cautious. Her body laid out on her mattress, stiff as a board. She used to reach down between her thighs and prod at herself, expecting some kind of sensation. All she felt was uncomfortable. She twisted in her sheets, agitated until she eventually gave up. She didn’t understand the corny magazine articles and whispers that she heard through school, giggles and flushed cheeks at the idea of something so secretive and taboo. She didn’t understand the fascination. Wednesday came to the conclusion that she did not like being touched, and that perhaps touching herself was no different. Sure, she touched her skin when bathing and dressing - but it was simply methodological and scientific, no lingering movements or sensual explorations. She did not care to feel her skin, to caress herself. Her body was there for practical use only. But underneath Tyler, it jumped and bucked without her permission, muscles clenching and relaxing at his every touch. Her skin was hot and her cheeks were growing flushed. 

His spare hand sunk between her thighs before she even realised it, and he slowly started to slide a finger into her. The sensation was strange, some pressure and tightening of her muscles. But he distracted her by licking upwards again, tongue swirling around her clit. Her breaths were coming out in pants now, quiet whimpers and moans escaping every so often, no matter how hard she tried to keep her lips clamped shut. Once she became adjusted to the fullness of his finger, he sunk another one in. This time, she could feel her walls stretch slightly and her hips wiggled, trying to assess the situation and chase more. 

Tyler gently curled his fingers upwards, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing up against her walls. Wednesday shivered at the sensation, abdominal muscles clenching with effort. He had somehow managed to hit a spot inside of her that she had tried to reach herself, only to be met with frustration and exhaustion. But within minutes, Tyler seemed to know his way around her body and was tuned into every slight breath and sound that escaped her. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” He pulled away slightly to ask, fingers still curling up into her. She clenched around him, hard - as soon as the nickname left his lips. He laughed against her and she whimpered loudly, pushing at the back of his head so that he would stop talking. 

“N-No more talking”, she ordered weakly. 

He hummed against her and her thighs started to quiver gently. “I thought you liked my mouth?”

He emphasised it with another firm lick to her swollen, aching bud. He began to set a gentle pace, drawing his fingers in and out of her, fingertips brushing up against her walls. His hands were so much bigger, so much more skilled than her own. Mortifyingly, she knew that she would never look at them the same without imagining the way they felt inside of her. 

A pressure began to build up in her lower stomach, the need to release. She was aching, somewhere deep inside. She clenched down on his fingers again and he began to pick up the pace, leaving her wet folds to press kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. It was overwhelming and she didn’t know what to do. Her thighs began to shake. 

“Tyler”, she panicked a little, trying to tug his head away. 

He looked up at her, searching her face carefully. “You okay?”

The movement of his fingers had stopped, but she could still feel the fullness of them stretching her. It was unbearable and she didn’t know whether she wanted him to rip his hands off her, or keep going. He must have seen the conflict on her face because his eyes softened and he nudged her thighs a little further apart. 

“I—“

“It’s okay”, he soothed her gently, adjusting his fingers a little inside of her. She gasped loudly, eyes clenching shut. “You’re close, that’s all. It will feel good.”

Wednesday let out a shaky breath, whining as he started to continue his efforts. His tongue slid back between her folds, flattening against her clit. The pressure was sweet, torturous and almost painful for her inexperienced body. Tyler continued to fuck his fingers into her slow and deep, rubbing up against her walls and stretching her out. She was so warm and wet, so tight. He groaned against her and the vibration made her clench around his fingers again, squeezing them tighter than before. A steady flow of quiet whimpers and moans left her lips, hips bucking uncontrollably to chase his touch, and he knew that she was right at the edge. 

He removed his mouth so that he could watch, encouraging her. “That’s it, baby”, he watched her chest heave and she moaned brokenly, “…let go for me.”

She came with a high-pitched whine, thrashing slightly against him. He used his spare hand to hold her thighs apart, forcing the sensation to continue for longer. He watched her spasm, walls closing in on his fingers while she rode her high. 

When she sank back, her lips were parted and her eyes looked sleepy. She looked like an angel, braids spread out beside her head like a halo. 

Tyler thought back to the moment he first met Wednesday, appearing from behind a bout of steam like a creepy ghost girl. She studied him with quizzical eyes and fixed his espresso machine with dexterous fingers, eyes narrowed in concentration. Her uniform was buttoned all the way up, tie straight and backpack level on her shoulder blades. She was the perfect picture of something that was put together. He soon learned that she was a control freak with an appetite for breaking the rules. She liked to be in charge, and to keep herself in check. After everything they had been through, he had only ever dreamed that they would end up here. Her beneath him, eyes glazed over, lips drawing in ragged breaths. Dress pushed up to her hips, inner thighs covered in red marks and his saliva. Braids messy, cheekbones flushed. The creepy goth girl that barely smiled - had called out his name and tugged on his hair, whimpering and squirming in his hold. She squeezed her eyes shut and fell apart, right there in his arms, and it was an image that Tyler was never going to get out of his mind. He wanted to pinch himself. 

The poor thing looked tuckered out, ready to slip into a deep sleep. He pulled her dress back down over her thighs and crawled back over her body to give her a kiss. She could barely respond, breathing pattern yet to return to normal. 

He chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek. “Are you ready to admit that you were wrong?”

“Never.”

Her reply was weak and far-away. 

Tyler buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. He left another small trail of kisses there, feeling her body twitch slightly and relax at the feeling of his touch. 

“I’ll go easy on you this time”, he murmured against the sensitive skin underneath her ear, voice low and purposeful, “…next time I’m going to keep going until you pass out.”

Wednesday made a feeble noise of protest. 

Her body felt so heavy, like she was floating in syrup. It was dragging her under, surrounding her in sticky sweetness until her breathing slowed. In her final moments of consciousness, she could feel Tyler pressing gentle kisses to every inch of skin available, mumbling incoherently to himself. He was curled around her, slotting his fingers into the grooves between her own. He was in every aspect of her personal space, breathing in the same air as her, practically swallowing her every inhale. Wednesday had never had another person so close. Somehow every belief that she had about her tolerance for affection was being questioned, every hypothesis that she drew up about herself had been unsuccessful. And somehow, she had never felt more like herself. 

Chapter Text

When they pulled up outside the Nevermore Gates, it was twilight - quiet and blue. The sky stretched around the grounds in shades of indigo, only broken by the barely-there outlines of spruce trees. The tall, ivy-covered architecture welcomed them, nocturnal creatures just starting to wake. Tyler had been asleep for almost the entire car ride, cheek squished up against the cold window. Wednesday couldn’t help but watch him like this. He looked more innocent, child-like. The silhouette of his side profile: the slope of his nose, soft cheekbones, curve of his upper lip - were all carved out in midnight blue. In the dusky glow of twilight, he was iridescent. If he tilted his head back a little further, baring his neck, she wondered if he would look up at the crescent moon. A moonlit creature, drunken on pain and longing. But underneath the opaque, inky skies, in that moment - he looked peaceful. He looked sleepy. 

Tyler only jostled awake when the car sputtered to a stop, looking around and blinking as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His blinks were slow, fists rubbing at his tired eyes. Wednesday marched ahead, letting him lag behind her. 

Nevermore was an old folk’s tale to the people of Jericho - from the sorcery and witchcraft, to the creepy iron gates and circling ravens. It loomed over the neighbouring town like a storm cloud. Half legend, half myth - most tried to pretend that it didn’t exist. After years of hearing stories passed through word of mouth, and serving the strange students at the Weathervane - Tyler could understand the wariness. It scared him, right down to the cobblestone paths. But now, it wasn’t so bad. And he knew that it had nothing at all to do with the nights spent moving into his dorm room, or the beautiful grounds. No - it had nothing to do with any of that, and everything to do with the girl standing beside him. Somewhere along the way, it had begun to feel a little closer to something called home. 

As they reached the alternating wings, Tyler suddenly seemed a lot more awake. He reached for Wednesday before she could continue her path to Ophelia Hall, tugging at her arm gently. 

“Wait - where are you going?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To my dorm.”

His arms curled around her, holding her loosely - not caging her in. Never caging her in. He leaned down, closing his eyes against the top of her hair. Just breathing, letting his lips brush against her bangs. He wanted to keep her for just a little while longer. He told her as much, murmuring, “Stay at mine tonight. Please.”

“Tyler, I’m tired.”

“My dorm is nearer”, he lied shamelessly. 

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not.”

Tyler squeezed her a little tighter, “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“You’ve had me to yourself all weekend.”

In truth, that weekend had ultimately been Tyler’s ruin. The days stretched slow and sweet, hazy like lying in warm bath-water and losing track of time. They had been on the precipice of something new - dizzying and exciting, albeit a little shaky. And now that he had kept her in his arms all night long, trailing his fingers over the thin fabric of her satin pyjamas, feeling her body nestle against his own - he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to sleep alone. Now that he knew what it was like to watch the early colours of dawn melt across her cool skin, painting her in pale yellow and dusky pink - he didn’t know if it would ever be enough. After having her so close, he couldn’t bear to let her go. Those days spent at her family estate - brewing coffee, being introduced to the menagerie of strange pets, learning about carnivorous plants. Those nights - running his fingers through her unbraided hair, pressing her wanting, aching body into her childhood sheets. It was a dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. 

He couldn’t help but steal a kiss from her lips, winding an arm around her waist. He swallowed a quiet noise that rose in the back of her throat, inhaling deeply through his nose. When he pulled away, she was a little less pale. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

“I would have swapped you for a stray dog if I knew you would be so needy”, Wednesday deadpanned.

His lips trailed down to her jaw, humming against the ridge of it. “Let me get my hands on you again, and I’ll show you what needy looks like.”

Wednesday shivered against him.

He tugged on her hand again, “Just for tonight.”

“No.”

Another kiss was stolen from her lips, his teeth nipping at her gently. 

But she was holding firm. “Off.”

With a barely swallowed whine, his hands and lips left her. It made her feel powerful. It was the way that he looked at her - like he still couldn’t believe that she was letting him touch her. His lips desperate, hands that liked to take their time. Mapping out every inch, learning the topography. He was painfully aware of the idea that she could change her mind at any point, that she could just say the word - and he would have to stop touching her. The mere thought drove him mad. Wednesday knew that, and she used it to gain the upper hand.

Tyler sighed, knowing that if it was a battle - he was clearly losing. He sucked air through his teeth, trying to think of his next move. Wednesday wasn’t one to give in easily, and so he would have to try and find a little wiggle room. “Fine. What about tomorrow night?"

She arched an eyebrow. 

“Stay over tomorrow night then”, he clarified, shrugging as if it should require no thought on her part, as if it was that simple. “We can watch a movie. I’ll even bring the snacks.”

Dark eyes looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes, jaw twitching. Her expression was thoughtful. She was considering it. Ever since he met the buttoned-up, stoic Wednesday - he itched to peel back her layers, to see her unravel like a ball of yarn. He wanted her to be pulled apart at his fingertips, knotted string unfurling in the palm of his hand. Underneath the blue light of the Rave’N, he saw the first peek of an elated smile grow on her face underneath the spray of blood. Amongst the red, her teeth were sharp and pearly white. It was all he could think about for days. He longed to see it again, to see those cold eyes lit up with childlike wonder, with happiness. The more time that he spent with her, the more he hoped to peel back her rigid facade. Bit by bit, little by little. 

But when he tried to meet her eye, he noticed something. Her eyes were a little blank, a little far-away. And then he noticed that it was taking her too long to answer. It didn’t occur to him that while he might have been thinking back to flickering candles and salted popcorn, she might be stuck in a memory of deception and trickery - a distraction. 

“Hey”, his voice was tender, but it was coloured with shame. “It’s not like last time.”

A blink escaped her then, as if she was surprised that he saw right through her hesitation. 

“Wednesday.”

She looked over his shoulder. “I know.”

Tyler tugged on her hand gently, thumb running over the inside of her palm. 

And then, she finally looked at him. “Okay.”

After bidding each other goodnight in sleepy grumbles, the pair split into their respective dorms. Once her back hit the mattress, her familiar sheets felt uncharacteristically cold. Her entire life, Wednesday had been used to being alone. She had preferred it, in fact. And she was born with an aversion to touch, feeling uncomfortable at the feeling of another skin against hers. But with Tyler - being touched felt like being split open. Blinding warmth ripping through her. 

Somewhere along the way, she had lost her composure. Her thoughts less coherent, half-finished. She had already broken her rules for him a long time ago. It was entirely his fault - wearing that enticing smile: half-plea, half-threat. It should have been his violence or body count that lured her into the trap, the metallic stench of his bloodied victims following him like the sweetest perfume. But she could remember when he once just smelled of coffee. Strong and fragrant, freshly-ground. Back then, he was merely a little too-sweet, a little pathetic. She could remember the shame of realising that she just wanted to touch the worn fabric of his jacket, press her nose underneath its collar. She could remember walking through the dead of night to the town square of Jericho, determined for a kiss. Long strides , heart in her throat. 

It had stayed there ever since. 

— — — 

Wednesday had a thing for strange birds - the more wounded, the better. As a child, she would stay behind until dusk, watching the baby birds with broken wings attempt to fly. Watching them stumble and fall, trapped underneath crispy leaves, coated in dirt. She had a taste for the obscure, a fascination with the macabre. All things dark and lost. Broken and bruised. Tyler was the same - a little fragile, a little unsteady. But somehow, underneath the layers of psychological scars and childhood trauma, there was something glaringly normal about him. He was a simple creature. He did not get much, and he did not expect much either. Despite his rare ancestry, he surrounded himself with a boring part-time job as a barista, a slobbery pet dog and the sugary-carb filled diet of every other typical male teenager. He rambled about video games, sports and music. He stumbled over his words when introducing himself to her parents, and almost tripped over his feet like a cartoon character. He was just Tyler. Somehow, it made him all the more endearing. Wednesday wondered if there was something wrong with her wiring, after all. 

The next evening, he opened his door with an easy smile and freshly-washed hair. It was just starting to curl at the ends, and she wondered if it would still be damp to the touch. Wednesday stood dumb for a moment as he rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, the bottom of his sweatshirt rising away from the waistband of his sweatpants. It exposed a delicious strip of golden skin, but his arm soon lowered and it disappeared. 

“Hi”, he breathed, gesturing for her to enter. 

She wasn’t quite sure what she had been expecting. 

There at the door, just her and an overnight bag - crammed with toiletries and a change of clothes. The entire thing felt so domestic, so disgustingly tender. Wednesday wanted to run out of there and go back to the safety of her typewriter and her words. Back there, she was safe. Back there, she had control. Tyler took the overnight bag from her hands, placing it at the foot of the desk. Wednesday shuffled on her feet uncomfortably, watching him sink into the bed. The room had been left rather bare - a lack of a cheesy theme and decorations. A part of her was disappointed, but most of her was surprisingly relieved. They had been here once before. But this time, he had kept it simple. No twinkling lights, no blankets, no hand-picked black and white striped popcorn buckets. Instead, it was just the bed, an open laptop and the glow of a single desk lamp. No frills, no fuss - just them. And it didn’t feel like a carefully curated teenage fantasy, or a picture-perfect movie scene. It felt real. 

Wednesday liked to surround herself with all things familiar. Her cello, typewriter and pristine novel collection - all embossed with her initials, all with a sense of ownership. She stayed within the proximity of her family, firm and stationary within their bubble. Maybe she liked knowing what she had to lose. But looking around Tyler’s cozy room with golden lighting, a too-soft mattress and flannels strewn carelessly over his desk chair - she realised that maybe this was something new, something added to the list of everything that she had to lose. And in that moment, it struck her. She really didn’t want to lose this. She didn’t want to lose him. 

Is that what she was so afraid of?

By putting her heart in his hands - a desperately weak, little thumping thing - she was ultimately signing herself away. She was admitting that he meant something to her, that what they had meant something. She was accepting the risk of it all being snatched away. 

Tyler worked on setting up Netflix on his laptop, scrolling and picking a movie called “The Silence of The Lambs”. When he was done, he patted the spot next to him on the bed patiently. She was still stuck over by the door, shifting her weight between each foot. 

“I’m not cuddly”, she spat out timidly, a brief warning. 

He patted the bed once more, expectant. “Sure you are.”

Wednesday felt inclined to remind him that the last time she had willingly let herself be curled around him, soothed into a deep sleep, his lips pressing sweet kisses to available patch of skin - had in fact been very different. Her body was heavy and sleepy with exhaustion and a feeling of being overwhelmed, every muscle clenching and unclenching. She was wet and aching, spread out underneath him, just about ready to float away. There had been no energy to move or shuffle away from his warmth, and so she let him hold her close while she landed back inside her body. But maybe it would have been worse to shamefully reveal just how much he affected her with his hands and tongue, leaving her boneless and panting. So she kept her mouth shut, reluctantly slipping off her platform boots and moving to join him in the bed. 

The smile on his face was downright cruel. He pulled her against him, positioning them both until he was laying flat on the mattress, leaving her no choice but to settle on his chest. A hand curled around her back whilst the other reached to arrange the laptop, their heads turning so that they could see the screen. Her entire body weight was spread out on top of him, but he refused to let her move. He kept both arms wrapped around her, hugging her close, tilting his head to watch the screen as the movie started. This time, he granted her mercy by choosing something a little dark, a little messed up - just like her. 

“This is stupid”, she grumbled into his chest, squirming a little. 

He pressed his lips against the shell of ear, murmuring, “It’s okay, Wednesday. I won’t tell anyone that you’re actually enjoying physical contact with another person.”

She tried really hard to focus on the screen. But his chest was the firmest pillow for her small head, rising and falling with every breath. She moved with him, their legs intertwined. Wednesday had never been one to obsess over tight sinew and carved muscles, sharp lines and hard exteriors. But there was something about the broadness of his shoulders, the flexing of his biceps that made her entirely aware of how much bigger he was. And how small and helpless she was in his arms. It sent a delicious thrill down her spine as he ran those big hands up the length of her back. His fingers caught onto the hem of her hoodie and skirted underneath the material, moving to trace up the bare skin of her spine. His fingertips were cool against her hot, flushed skin. She tried not to shiver, squinting her eyes at the small screen. But the movie was merely moving shapes and colours at that point. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking about how easy it would be for him to flip them over and pin her to his mattress. 

“Are you enjoying the movie?” He had the nerve to whisper in her ear. 

Wednesday clenched her jaw stubbornly. “It’s fine.”

His forefinger traced a featherlight line from the bottom of her spine to the top of her shoulder blade. “I’m not sure that you’re even watching it.”

“I am”, the weak protest left her. 

But still, her eyes were fighting to close. Since the moment his fingers started tracing patterns across her lower back, her limbs turned into jelly. She was boneless, weightless. He was pulling her down like gravity, tugging at her until she had nowhere to go apart from sinking further into his warmth. The material of his sweatshirt was so soft, but she could feel the lines and edges of his muscles beneath it. With the weight of Tyler’s arms hugging her close, she was slipping under, consciousness fading away. He was soothing her to sleep, without doing anything more than being close to her. Her back should have been arching away with fear, her nerves jolting at his incessant touching. But her body melted into him, heavy-lidded eyes trying to blink away the fuzziness. It was a losing battle from the beginning. 

When she awoke less than an hour later, his bothersome fingertips had moved to her cheeks. The movie had long since finished. Tyler poked her gently, eyes fond when she shifted her head and blinked down at him. He looked so deadly underneath her - soft but lethal. Eyes twinkling with the promise of ruin. Wednesday’s world was still coming back into focus, face twitching with tenderness. 

She was smiling. 

She was smiling, and she had dimples and Tyler swore that he had never seen anything so pretty. He clamped his mouth shut before he could call her out on it, desperate not to wipe the soft expression off her face. It was so open, so sweet. An echo of the twitch of her lips after she kissed him for the first time, except this time - it split her open a little more. It sliced through his chest, squeezing his heart in a death grip. Of all things, it was her smile. Stealing his breath, finishing him off, delivering the final blow. 

A hand left her back, brushing at the edge of her bangs. “I like having you here.”

Her eyelids fluttered a little at that. 

“I like having you close”, he confessed quietly, cupping her cheek properly. She twisted her head slightly into his movement, looking at him through her eyelashes. “I didn’t think you were ever going to let me this close again.”

The fear still fluttered away inside of him, persistent and stinging. It had gnawed away at him, right from the very start. Sitting there underneath the dry ice and dull glow of the fireplace, it chewed at his insides - reminding him that whilst he had decided to be truthful, most of it was still lies. Standing there underneath the red lighting and smell of floor cleaner, he held her tight and refused to pull her lips away from his - afraid of what would happen once he let go. Once the moment passed, how long could he keep up the charade? After she learned the truth, would she ever forgive him? The more he got to know her over the months, Tyler felt his moments with her slipping away, and he wondered how much time they had. Their friendship was a ticking clock, their connection a poorly-directed pantomime. All of it was fake, but it was the most truthful thing that he had ever known - and he didn’t know how to explain that to her. 

He damn near cut her open, that much he knew. Her heart was in his hands - just like he always wanted - but it was small and beaten, and it was his fault. He betrayed her. And when he was sitting in that security van, wrapped in chains, hooked up to a machine like a rabid animal - it was the first time he felt like the villain. He had gutted his victims, tearing them open and slicing their flesh. He held their hearts in his hands, blood dribbling down his wrists. And he felt nothing. Until he held Wednesday’s shrivelled little black heart, feeling it pound away weakly in his palm. He wanted to keep it safe. His chest ached with the belief that he would never hold her close again, never have another chance to make things right. To do things differently this time. Without the strings attached, without the lies and deceit. He just wanted her. 

Wednesday didn’t know what to say, so instead - she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. They were damp and sweet, and her movements were unhurried. 

Her hot little tongue traced his lower lip, and he parted them to let her in. He hummed deep in his throat, one hand on the back of her neck, the other curled around her hip. She was lying right there on his chest, relearning the grooves of his mouth. His breath was hot, coming out in little pants every time that she tilted for a better angle. When she finally pulled away, a small string of saliva was connecting their lips, and Tyler tightened his grip on her hip. 

The steady pressure of his hand, stretching around several inches of her torso - made her squirm with anticipation. When she tried to sleep in her bed alone, his hands were all that she could think of. His long, dexterous fingers. She lay awake until early morning, stubbornly twisting in the sheets with a huff. It was torture. In her weakest moments, she thought about touching herself, but soon realised that her own fingers would simply not feel the same. They were not thick enough, and they couldn’t reach far enough into that spot that tore her apart. She didn’t want to touch herself, she wanted him. His fingers. His hands. 

Her fingers tugged on his hair roughly. 

Tyler groaned, the noise muffled against her own mouth. He could feel Wednesday’s movements getting impatient, more erratic. Her little hands were pulling at his roots, fisting high in the neckline of his sweatshirt, trying to get closer. He couldn’t stand it. In a swift motion, he wrapped his arms around her back and rolled over until he was hovering over her. On instinct, her legs twined behind his waist, ankles locking at the bottom of his spine. She was pulling his weight down onto her, wanting to feel his body pressed against her. He was so big, so heavy on top of her and it sent heat curling between her thighs. She wanted him to crush her, to pin her down into the mattress and not let her up for air. After a while, he pulled his lips away from hers and took a moment to stare right into her eyes. Wednesday huffed a little, trying to reconnect their lips, but he clicked his tongue, having none of it. 

Tilting his head, he asked, “What do you want?”

“I’m not playing this game.”

His grip on her loosened. “Then I guess I’m not playing either.”

“Tyler.” She practically snapped. 

Her big dark eyes were angry, glaring at him like he had snatched away her favourite toy. Her cheeks were flushed in the dim lighting, and her hair was spilled out on the pillow behind her. He wanted to unbraid it again, to feel the dark strands between his fingers. Her needy little thighs were squeezing around his knee like a vice, as if she were trying to keep him there. As if he had any intention of moving. But in-between kisses placed down her neck, he tried to push her a little further, coaxing it out of her. “Tell me what you want, or I’ll stop.”

A quiet, needy whine escaped her. 

Tyler almost felt bad. But he simply brushed her bangs out of her eyes, fixing her with an arched eyebrow. He needed to hear the words, he wanted her panting beneath him - driven insane with desire. His fingertips brushed against the thin fabric of her black tights, teasing. 

“I want your fingers.”

The words were spat out with distaste, but she was too desperate. Underneath her eyelashes, she was glaring at him with hatred. His lips quirked up proudly at the sight. 

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, and she fought hard to school her expression. But it was too late, the damage had already been done. 

A groan escaped his lips. “You like that, don’t you?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His hand slid down from the pale skin of her neck, tracing down to the hem of her shorts. Wednesday was wearing a thick, black hoodie - almost drowning her small frame. It made her look so small. He curled his hands around her middle, eyes meeting hers for permission. After a hesitant nod, Tyler started pulling up the material, leaning back on his heels to give her space to pull the garment over her head. Her braids were all messed up, lips swollen, and when she laid back down before him, he cursed under his breath. Underneath the thick hoodie, lay a lacy black bralette. It was a thin, non-padded material and he could see the outline of her nipples poking through the fabric. His fingers traced over the swell of her breasts, her smooth and pale skin reminding him of carved moonlight. His head leaned down, lips teasing the edge of the lace fabric until she began to twitch beneath him, eager for more. A spare hand snuck around to her back, toying with the clasp blindly until it finally came undone. 

Wednesday gasped sharply when his lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue swirling around the aching bud. She never knew that she could be so sensitive. It was as if Tyler knew her body better than she did, knowing all of her weak spots and exactly how to pinpoint them. She would hate it if it didn’t feel so good. His teeth grazed her nipple and her hips practically jolted up into his, her legs tightening around his waist. He hummed, switching to give some attention to her other breast. God, he couldn’t stop touching her. He couldn’t stop tasting her. 

“Fuck”, he murmured, flicking over her nipple with the tip of his tongue, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Tyler.”

He laughed a little against the skin of her ribs, surrendering. “Okay, Okay.”

She was a greedy, impatient little thing. Her arms clung to him for dear life, tugging at the short hairs on the back of his neck, trying to get him to move. To take mercy on her. Tyler pulled away, unzipping her black shorts, her thin black tights soon following. He was impatient too, desperate to feel her where she was warm and undoubtedly, wet. 

When his fingers made contact between her legs, she keened. An embarrassing noise left her throat and she shuddered in his arms. Having his hands on her, felt like opening up an entirely new part of herself. She had perished and was reborn, panting and aching for him. Doused in fire, burning from the inside. It seemed he was the only one that could soothe her. She was stripped underneath him, eyes dazed, lips parted. Tyler couldn’t stop looking at her face, soaking up every minuscule crease in her forehead, every barely noticeable moan that she tried to hide. She tried to clamp her jaw shut when his first finger made its way inside her, her face muscles practically shaking from the effort. She squeezed her hands around the back of his neck until her fingers ached, every part of her tensing. When he added another, slowly dragging them in and out of her - he still tried his best to be gentle. They had only done this once before, and she was so fucking tight. He needed to stretch her out, to take his time with her. But Wednesday didn’t seem to agree, moving her hips in slightly frantic, uneven motions. It didn’t get his fingers deep enough and she began to huff in frustration, blowing her hair out of her eyes. 

“Patience, baby”, he taunted.

Wednesday let out a choked whimper, clenching around his digits. Tyler’s eyes darkened and he quickened the pace of his fingers, grinding the heel of his palm against her clit. 

“I know you like that”, he murmured cruelly against her neck, blowing cool air across her skin. She broke out in goosebumps. “You clench around me every time I say it.”

She whined pathetically, stomach tightening. All she could hear was his voice, low and purposeful against her ear. Tearing her apart from the inside, cutting her open. He was all that she could feel, too. His body pressing down onto hers, his fingers curling up into her, rubbing against her inner walls. But the weight of his eyes was the most intense, boring into hers as she struggled underneath him. The sensations were still overwhelming, but every part of her craved more. Tyler flicked his thumb over her clit, feeling her walls tighten around him. 

“Are you close?” He pressed kisses all over her cheeks, stopping to nip at her lips. “Hmm?”

She nodded desperately, clinging to him. 

Having her laid out on his bed, shaking underneath the glow of his desk lamp - felt so right. Being so close to her, watching her like this - he didn’t know if he would ever get enough. His spare hand curled around her hip, hugging her tight against him as he worked her through her first orgasm of the night. He tilted his fingers up just a little more, pressing firmly against her clit with his thumb until her thighs trembled around him. 

Wednesday cried out as she came around his fingers, squeezing them like a vice. Her walls clamped down on him and Tyler swore, slowing his movements down as she came back down from her high. His fingers were coated in her slick when he removed them, and when he did - she let out a sad little whine. 

“More.”

Tyler smirked, leaning down to steal another kiss from her breathless lips. She was like jelly underneath him, soft and mouldable. She struggled to kiss him back, panting quietly, dark eyes practically begging him to continue. 

“Careful what you wish for.”

Before she was prepared for it, he pushed his fingers back inside. She was tighter after barely coming down from her first orgasm, but impossibly wet. They curled upwards, relentless and she choked a little on her breath. This time, his head lowered and he removed his arm from around her waist, instead using it to push her thighs further apart. The stimulation was intense and she was still so sensitive, twitching pathetically. Wednesday struggled to catch her breath, trying to focus on her breathing as his shoulders settled down between her legs. He looked up at her with hooded eyes before his mouth reached for her - sucking hard. 

She whimpered loudly, squeezing his head with her thighs. Tyler didn’t go easy on her, pumping his fingers slow and deep as he sucked her clit. After a moment, he let it go and drew circles around the bud instead, his spare hand drawing matching circles on her inner thigh. It was so erotic, her mouth hung open with pleasure. She couldn’t find it within herself to speak, only whining and whimpering to his ministrations, half-pleading for him to stop, half-begging for more. Her body seemed to answer for her, walls squeezing him tight, legs shaking around him. It refused to let him go, her hands grabbing at him as if he were about to disappear. 

“P-Please”, she gasped.

Tyler removed his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. He started to thrust it shallowly into her tight opening, instead moving his sticky fingers to press down hard on her swollen clit. Her hips snapped up into his face and he moaned against her, the vibration bringing her right to the edge. She was so warm, so wet. His tongue curled, trying to get deeper, his fingers refusing to pause even as she began to instinctively push his head away. 

“Too…t-too”, she gasped, brokenly trying to finish her sentence, “…too much—“

This time, when she came - it was with more of a shudder than anything else. 

When he leaned back to check on her, Wednesday was lying there, almost drooling. Her chest was rising and falling brokenly, her eyes hazy and unfocused. She could barely move, just shaking in his hold. Her entire body felt like it was floating, even lifting her head was too much effort. 

“Hey”, he murmured sweetly, eyebrows furrowing, “…you okay?”

She tried her best to manage a nod. 

“Words”, he pushed, a little concerned. 

“I-I’m o-okay”, she struggled, her voice shaky. But her eyes came a bit more into focus, scanning his face. “You can keep going.”

Her hands shakily fell down to the drawstring of his sweatpants, so that he would understand her intentions. Her body was protesting, wanting to sink into a deep sleep so that she could calm the frenzy that had overtaken her. But she was aching, needing something in her - eager for warmth and pressure. Her centre throbbed and all she could think about is how much he would stretch her out, how sore he would make her. She wanted it. She needed it. 

He looked hesitant, hands skimming over her carefully. She already looked so fucked out, and there was still so much he wanted to do to her. She had practically drooled already and he hadn’t even gotten inside of her. 

“Baby—“

She practically growled, pulling his length out of his sweatpants with maybe a little more force than was necessary. “I said, keep going.”

Tyler choked as she swiped her thumb over his sensitive tip. He was throbbing at her touch, flushed and swollen, leaking steadily. He was so hard, it was almost painful. But fuck - Wednesday spread her quivering thighs and looked at him pointedly, so fucking stubborn, so fucking bossy and — he was a goner. She was so wet and swollen, still practically twitching from falling apart twice. It was a lot for her inexperienced body, and she was trusting him with it. The realisation made him groan happily, and he reached over to grab a condom from his bedside dresser. When he returned, hovering over her - she locked her legs around his waist impatiently, face alight with distress. It was as if she couldn’t breathe until he was inside her. 

“Okay, fuck”, he whined a little pathetically, gripping her thigh to control the situation, “…slow down a second, I don’t want to hurt you.”

She glared in protest. 

It was a task, but he managed to pin her down and hold her still long enough to settle his tip at her entrance. Her hips were still bucking, her body acting on its own accord whilst her face was still a little lost, a little far away. The poor thing was so desperate, and he couldn’t stand it. But Tyler fought against every inch of his self control and primal instincts, keeping her thigh in a bruising grip as he began to inch into her. 

“Slow”, he practically ordered, not leaving room for argument. 

When his length began to stretch her, inch by inch, Wednesday stopped fidgeting and complaining. A long, low whine left her and she could feel her stomach tense with the intrusion. Her muscles clenching, trying to understand the new sensation. It burned a little, her walls raw and tight - but the pressure was steady and delicious. Tyler forced himself to stop once he had bottomed out, his hips pressed firmly against hers. She was small and delicate, and while he knew she could take it - he needed to ease her into it. 

She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as they stayed like that for a minute - just with his length sat inside of her, unmoving. There was an undeniable closeness, a tenderness there. Wednesday knew that sex was many things - that people engaged for many different reasons, and that different people got different things out of it. It came with a variety of intentions and experiences, and trust was not always a huge part of it. Sometimes it was just about feeling good, or learning new things about your body. And there was some of that there, too. Wednesday wriggled her hips, trying to get used to this new feeling in her body, the feeling of sharing space and being split open. It was so different than him using his fingers, or his tongue. More intense, somehow. But between them - there was a low hum in the air, an electricity. In the dim lighting of his dorm room, their eyes met and they were both aware of how much trust Wednesday was giving up. Her body was her own, and she was not willing to let just anybody touch it. But with Tyler, she practically folded in half for him without permission, every part of her stretching to make room. 

“Can I move?”, he whispered hoarsely, lips brushing against her jaw. 

Wednesday nodded, breath hitching when he started to rock into her properly. It was a slow drag of pressure, a patient build up of pleasure and heat that started to find place between her thighs. Tyler trailed a hand down between them, two fingers circling her clit once more. She practically jumped at first, too sensitive, but then relaxed into it with a quiet moan. 

He was thick, stretching her out with every thrust of his hips. His other hand held her down, pressing her further into the mattress so that she was forced to arch her back. The angle somehow made him reach deeper into her, and she let out a high pitched noise. 

“Fuck, you feel so good”, he groaned right against her ear, nipping at her earlobe. Wednesday buried her fingers into his curls in retaliation and yanked. 

She could only gasp and pant around him as he sped up, her thighs shaking. When his thumb flicked at her clit, she unexpectedly clenched around him and they both moaned. He did again and before she knew what was happening, Wednesday was shattering apart once more - whining out his name desperately as she came. She almost couldn’t take anymore.

“You’re doing so good”, he squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck, “…taking me so well.”

He was practically babbling at this point, drunk on pleasure. Wednesday couldn’t even speak, a thin line of drool beginning to spill from one side of her mouth, her head turning into the pillow under her head. Tyler tilted his head up to kiss her, both of them practically panting into each other’s mouths - unable to do much else. He licked at the trail of her drool, humming under his breath. It was so hot, Wednesday felt her hands begin to shake around his neck. 

“Look at you”, he cooed quietly, staring at her adoringly, “…you can’t even speak, can you?”

Wednesday shuddered, unable to do anything else. 

His pace quickened, his thrusts harder and faster - and all she could do was hold on for dear life. Her brain was fuzzy, her vision blurred. All she could feel was him stretching her walls, the squelching sound of their bodies meeting together. He fucked her into the mattress, drawing nothing but a series of whines and half-finished nonsense out of her mouth. Tyler just kept giving and giving, pressing her down with his hands, kissing whatever skin he could reach. He was insatiable, relentless. She could scarcely breathe at this point. 

“One more”, he practically begged, “…can you give me one more?”

Her body protested, beginning to tire and ache. She whined, not sure if she had it within her. “I-I can’t—“

“Please baby”, he ran his nose down her neck, whimpering quietly. “You can do it, come on you’ve been so good for me.”

Somehow in the addled, crazed mess of her mind - Wednesday knew that she should have loathed the nickname. She should have ordered him off her, demanded that he never touch her again until he got it through his head that she did not do pet names. Especially that one. But when he croaked it against her skin, drunk on longing and pleasure, filled with nothing but praise and adoration for her - she only knew how to part her trembling thighs and beg for more. She only knew how to open herself up for him, pleading with him to keep going. She couldn’t think straight, and when he called her that - it made the space in her mind go quiet for a little while. She knew that she was safe, that he would take care of her. 

Tyler shuddered, his movements becoming erratic and almost harsh, and she knew he was close. But he was nothing if not a little bastard. He reached down between her thighs once more, ignoring her weak hands batting him away with exhaustion, rolling her clit between his fingers. The bud was swollen and sore, aching at the overstimulation. But he was determined to drain every last drop out of her, determined to leave her a mess on the sheets. 

“That’s it”, he groaned, increasing the pressure, “…just like that. Good girl.”

Wednesday fell apart one last time with a string of garbled curses, mainly being his name - and Tyler soon followed. He stopped his weight from collapsing on top of her, letting himself catch his breath. Once he was feeling a little more capable, he pulled out of her gently, whispering apologies as she winced at the soreness. He threw the condom into a nearby waste bin, getting up and going to the bathroom to grab a wash cloth. It was damp and warm, and he soothed her shaking thighs with one hand as he sweetly cleaned the mess between her thighs. Afterwards, he got back onto the bed and pulled her small frame close, tucking her against his side. Her cheek squished against his chest, her eyes fluttering closed. She was still shaking in his hold, so vulnerable, all he could do was wait patiently for her to regain her strength. He knew he had stretched her limits, tired her sweet little body out. 

He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. She still hadn’t said a word, overwhelmed. His actions were tender, but Wednesday could detect the pride in his voice, the slight teasing that wouldn’t leave for days. “Are you okay?”

She granted him a nod. 

“That good, huh?"

She pushed her face into his chest. “Shut up.”

Chapter Text

Waking up beside him, twisted underneath the dawn - it all felt so delicate. As if they were connected by a tattered string, tugging and pulling, fraying and wearing down. Just looking at him felt like being paused in a snapshot of time, existing in a memory. One blink, and it could all dissipate. One wrong move, and she could lose it all. But the faded colours of dawn brightened, and Tyler’s strong arm tightened around her waist, pulling their bodies closer together. With his nose buried in her hair, breath warm against her ear - he didn’t feel so far away. And what they had, didn’t feel so delicate. There was still so much that she just didn’t understand. Queer little feelings that she struggled to squash, overwhelming sensations that tightened their hold on her and just wouldn’t let go. Sometimes when Tyler looked at her for too long, half-fond, half-exasperated, like he could spend forever trying to work her out. Other times, when he rubbed his thumb over the skin at the back of her neck, and she folded like a paper house - curling herself against him like an affectionate feline. And in moments like these, his cheeks bright with the colours of dawn and what felt close to remnants of poetry. Looking at him, she felt herself go strangely quiet. No biting remarks, no sour expressions. Just quiet. 

He reminded her of poetry. All pretty nouns, verbs and metaphors. There was something inexplicably golden about him, underneath each muscle and vein, leaking through the pores of his skin. And everywhere it went, it stuck. Wednesday practically carried him around without being able to help it, little flickers of gold catching in the light every time she fought not to smile, every time she hesitated - every time she let herself soften. The tightly wound string inside of her was unravelling with time, loosening - softening. Water mixing with honey. 

It was a cold night, bleak and quiet. Wednesday had the dorm room to herself, using the time to catch up on editing her latest chapter. Her typewriter had been neglected recently, her fingers struggling to find their usual rhythm as they strung the words together. She narrowed her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath as she crumpled up yet another page. 

A timid knock echoed throughout the space. 

Looking over at the large window, Wednesday could see his silhouette through the glass. He was shivering out in the cold, wearing that unbearably thin brown jacket. It was ugly, too. But she couldn’t deny that his brown-toned colour palette suited his outward boy-next-door persona. All the way from cedar to fawn, terracotta to cherry wood. But as she approached, the Tyler on the outskirts of her property, didn’t seem so warm. His face was dark underneath the blanket of early evening, and the usual crooked lines didn’t accompany his boyish smile. It was all twisted, his softness skewed and mixed in with something darker. But it was different than the taunting, cruelty that he adopted when needed, and it was different than the heaviness that he carried when talking about his childhood grief. There was a quiet anger there. Wednesday could see how hard he was trying to hide it, even taking the time to huff against the cold glass, letting it fog up with his warm breath. In the empty space, he drew a wobbly heart with his index finger. He was trying so hard to be cute, to distract. But she knew all of his masks, and all of their names. 

She moved to open the window for him, stepping back as he ducked and climbed through the gap. Before he even had both feet planted firmly on the floor, she spoke. “I do have a door.”

“It was quicker”, he mumbled to the floorboards. 

His voice was quiet, too. As if he was afraid of taking up space. 

“Why are you here?”

Tyler tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips graze her cheekbone. But even his touch fell flat, his smile pinched at the sides. “What if I just wanted to see you?”

Wednesday scowled. “Drop it.”

“Drop what?”

This time, it was more of a frown, concern twitching at the edges. “The mask.”

His face fell in a way that was eerily familiar to that fateful night in the woods, back before she could be sure it was anything more than a trick. He had reached for her, leaning in to steal a kiss right in her face, for her only to turn on her heel and walk away - and then, it had slipped a little. It wasn’t until later that night, when the mask dropped to the floor. 

“I’ve had enough of your games, don’t you think?” She squared her jaw, looking him right in the eye, watching his shoulders droop a little with guilt. “Talk to me without the mask on, or leave. You owe me that.”

When she first knew him, it was a game of trick or treat. A trivial game for children, lugging around armfuls of candy - all cheeky grins and eyes full of innocence. Somewhere between the latte dusted with cinnamon, spelling out happy birthday, and the endearing effort to keep up with her dancing - Wednesday had stopped expecting a trick. After all, a child doesn’t knock on the door of a neighbour expecting a cruel surprise, and a teenage girl doesn’t see a boy smile at her and expect to get her heart broken. The hardest part, was trying to figure out if he kept the mask on every time they were together. If every moment, every memory had to be written off - scratched through. Selfishly, when she lay awake after midnight with her eyes staring up at the ceiling, she wished for something more like a dream and less of a nightmare. And now, she knew him. Tyler had weaved himself into her life, twining around her ribcage and making room for himself in the empty cavity in her chest. She wanted it without the masks, without the guessing games. 

“I know”, he stopped trying so hard to smile, let his eyes stop glistening, “…I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow, reminding him that she was waiting. 

“My dad came to visit today.” The expression on his face was pained, and a little more of that quiet anger bled through into his words. He shivered, his body trying to shake off the uncomfortable memory of his father staring at him as less than a son, and more of a problem. “It was just about as awful as I always imagined it would be.”

Wednesday frowned. “He hasn’t visited you before?”

Tyler fidgeted, beginning to look a little embarrassed. It made Wednesday angry. Well and truly angry. His father is the one that should be stood here, shifting on the spot, struggling to look into her eyes. His father is the one that should be embarrassed. But now, all she could think back to was the day that Tyler walked into Principle Tate’s office, with his father in tow. He had spent the entire meeting flinching at every gaze, shrinking down into his chair, and the Sheriff - well, the Sheriff had sighed and nodded along. A little tired, a little indifferent. Wednesday hadn’t stuck around to see, but now she was wondering if Tyler’s father even stopped to say a proper goodbye. She hadn’t cared to ask at the time, but it was a small detail that was now feeling alarmingly significant. The more time she spent watching his disheartened face, she wondered how long Tyler had been feeling like this, and if he even considered telling her. A small voice in her mind piped up, certain that he would have continued on with his incessant touching and gentle smiles, holding up his mask like a second skin - and the thought tasted bitter on her tongue. Was it any wonder he had managed to fool her the first time? What else had she failed to notice? 

“Were you going to tell me about this?” She prodded, bordering on a snap. 

“It’s not important.”

“And who decides what is important?”

He let out a sigh, walking over to her bed. Discarding his brown jacket on the way, he was left in a plain grey t-shirt. He slumped down on her mattress, elbows on his knees. Face hidden partially, fingers rubbing into his eye sockets. 

“Wednesday, when I say it’s not important - what I mean is, I expected it. I’ve been used to it my entire life. It’s just how things have been.”

She felt her own voice growing small. “And how have things been?”

Tyler didn’t know where to start. It would be simple to say that things had been like this since his mother died, that he just woke up one day and the feeling had been sat inside of him. But it was so familiar, he almost swore it had been there for his entire life. Crowding in his throat, squeezing his lungs, sitting in the middle of his gut. He had tried to drown it out, screaming where nobody could hear him. He had tried to smother it, stamping on the fire inside of himself until it was nothing but a pile of ash. But it always came back. As he started growing taller and stronger, things only got worse. They rarely talked unless they were arguing. Voices heated, glares cold. After a while, Tyler didn’t flinch at the sound of the front door slamming anymore. It was always slammed without hesitation - his father leaving without another glance in his direction, grabbing his hat and mumbling something about paperwork at the office. Tyler would watch his father leave, waiting until the house was quiet before he started to cry. Just once, he wished that his father would linger before leaving. He didn’t even have to say anything - he didn’t even have to apologise. But just once, Tyler wanted to see him hesitate before leaving, wondering if maybe he should - stay.

“It’s not important, Wednesday”, he smiled sadly. “Trust me. Dad made sure that I knew that - just how unimportant I am.”

Wednesday didn’t know what to do, and she certainly didn’t know what to say. Her previous feelings for the Sheriff had always admittedly included a degree of respect. He didn’t have an easy job, and judging by the tall drip coffee that he ordered twice a day, he clearly didn’t see much meaning in his life. But he had listened to her. Begrudgingly, he had tried to help. That used to mean something to her. But with Tyler sitting in front of her, looking smaller than she had ever seen him before, she came to the realisation that the Sheriff didn’t listen to everyone. He didn’t listen to the one person that truly mattered. She walked over and sat down beside Tyler, and he didn’t even really lift his head at all. Instead, she focused on the protruding veins on his forearms, and the freckles littered there. As she looked, she noticed that his knee was bouncing. Shaking, maybe. A pale hand reached out to touch his knee, just resting gently. He looked at her then. His eyes were a little rimmed with red, the remnants of held back tears. Wednesday let herself wonder if he had wrestled with himself about coming over, unloading his troubles onto her. If she hadn’t been in her room, would he have walked back to his dorm room and sat there alone, all night? The thought made her grip tighten on his knee, fingernails digging in slightly. 

She didn’t let herself break their eye contact, despite how much she wanted to advert her focus back to his knee. “I know I’m no good at saying it”, she started slowly, watching him search her face, “…but you are to me. You’re important to me.”

Tyler’s eyes brightened a little, for the first time that night. He lifted his head upright and one of his hands covered her own, both resting on his right knee. He squeezed her right back, tenderly. 

“You’re better at it than you think”, he told her, smiling softly. 

Wednesday blinked back at him. 

Her face looked so open, so unguarded - that he just couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, her features becoming less focused, more soft and rounded, the closer he got. He pressed his lips against hers gently, just feeling the fullness of her lower lip, feeling the temperature of her skin against his own. When he pulled away, her nose brushed his and her frown lines were less pronounced. The crease between her eyebrows no longer there. 

He felt like poetry, and Wednesday had never been particularly interested in poetry. It was foliage, pretty words and complicated rhythms, untethered to any rules. Some were written with rhyming patterns, and others were not. Some were finished in one, small paragraph, and others spilled words onto paper and filled up the entire page. Prose and language, emotions and thoughts. They were just words to her. But scanning her eyes over every inch of Tyler’s face, she wondered if there was something in the details, something beneath the stanzas - written between the lines. Something that felt like music. Something to get lost in. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, firmer this time. 

She wanted to etch her poetry into his skin. 

It took half a second to clamber onto his lap, knees either side of his hips, his hands jumping out to steady her. And then, her lips got to work. Running down his neck, never really stopping in one place. With each touch, she could feel the anger dissipate, his body relaxing underneath her own. The tension left his shoulders, his hands a little less shaky. Tyler leaned his head back, unconsciously asking for more. Wednesday didn’t hesitate before latching down on a patch of golden skin right underneath his ear. Grazing the spot with her teeth, swirling patterns with her tongue, a hum deep in her throat. His grip on her waist tightened, a sigh escaping his parted lips. She pulled away from the spot with a wet smack, pulling away slightly to see the redness left behind. She wanted more. Before he could redirect her mouth to his own, her lips trailed further down and found a tender spot right in the crook of his neck. She bit down gently, nipping and sucking her way until it bloomed into a beautiful dark maroon. By the time she felt finished, Tyler was practically boneless beneath her, his neck covered in marks. When her eyes met his, she could hardly see the hazel surrounding his blown pupils - just something dark and primal. Full of instinct and longing, animalistic. And he pulled her hips tight against his own. 

“Take my shirt off”, she told him, feeling his fingers skirt around the hem. 

Tyler didn’t waste a second, pulling the fabric up past her ribs until he was pulling it over her head. Her braids spilled down her shoulder blades once he threw the shirt onto the floor, and his eyes drank up all of the new skin. But once she caught sight of the hazy glow around his pupils, remembering the fluidity and urgency in which he removed her shirt, something made her stop short. Remembering herself, remembering their dynamic. 

“You…”, the crease returned between her eyebrows and Tyler looked up at her, expectant, “…that wasn’t an order - you know that, right?”

He blinked back at her slowly, grip tightening on her waist. “You can if you want.”

The air between them shifted, suddenly feeling a lot tighter. Wednesday scanned his face, taking note of the eagerness, of his wide-eyed curiosity. She didn’t know if she could trust it. Without being able to help it, worry stirred in her gut. Laurel Gates flashed in her mind - red hair and obnoxious glasses, motivational words and sugar-sweet lies. Wednesday wondered if she had ever wanted to try anything like this. If she thought about it every time she touched Tyler’s face or slid her hands around his neck to pull him closer. She grew stiff in his arms, and Tyler - her Tyler, frowned back at her with concern. His eyes flickering between her own, lips parting. 

“Tyler…”

It was a warning, and she started to remove her hands from around his neck. 

He moved quickly, keeping her hands there, keeping her close. He let his eyes soften, the glow slowly disappearing until she knew that there was nothing but unashamed concern and fondness for her left. When he spoke, his voice was sure. “I want you to.”

“Tyler, I…”

She was brought back to the night he broke into her dorm room, looking around and messing with her stuff. Looking through her recent pages, brushing her cello strings, pressing his initial into the keys of her typewriter. With her knife against his neck, leaving droplets of blood on his tender flesh - he resembled naive prey. Sitting up on his elbows, practically begging her to hurt him. To command him, to fulfil the dynamic that his kind searched for their entire lives. Back then, she had felt sick at the thought. Being a puppet master had always seemed appealing, but that felt different. Wrong. And even now, a part of her would always worry that if she pushed him too far, he wouldn’t know how to fight back. He wouldn’t know how to speak up if he changed his mind. 

“Wednesday”, He levelled her with a look, running a hand up her back. “It’s okay. It’s different than with her.”

“You’re sure?”

“I like it”, he admitted quietly, “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

Still slightly hesitant, she settled more comfortably on her lap and pondered what to do next. If they were going to do this, she needed to go slow. She needed to know that he wouldn’t regret anything, that he was doing this because he wanted to - not for her love of control. She lifted her chin slightly, deciding to start with something simple. 

Before Tyler knew it, he was pinned down to her mattress, his wrists in her iron grip. She was small, but quick, and he was helpless to her touch. 

“You want me to be nice and give you what you want?” She asked, voice as monotone as ever. 

His hips bucked up into hers without thought and he nodded desperately, licking his lips while he looked at her. Without her shirt, her chest was clad in a plain black bra. The waist strap was made out of a mesh material, but there was nothing else to it. Somehow, the simplicity of the garment emphasised the scope of her pale flesh, her sharp ribs and slightly concave stomach. She was all sharp edges, but soft skin. He wanted to wrap his lips around the edge of the bra and tug it down with his teeth, getting his mouth on her peaked nipples. He wondered if he would be able to feel them through the thin fabric of the cups. Wednesday cleared her throat and his eyes snapped back up to her face, her blank expression making him harder than it maybe should have. 

“One rule”, she ordered, “no touching.”

Tyler let out a low groan, shaking his head, not above begging. “No. Wednesday, please. Anything but that.”

“You asked for it”, she reminded him. 

“But…”

“Keep your hands there.”

Before he could wonder what was going on, the pressure left his wrists and Wednesday pulled herself up on his body. Sitting pretty, thighs either side of his hips. And then she reached behind and unclasped her bra, baring her chest for him. Tyler licked his lips once more at the sight of her peaked dark nipples, the slight curve of her breasts, soft skin that he wanted to suck into his mouth. The small mounds fit so perfectly in his palms, and it was torture to do nothing but sit there and watch as she tossed the bra behind her. Then, her weight left his hips and she started to climb off, in favour of standing. Tyler opened his mouth to protest, but stopped short when her hands drifted to the waistband of her slacks. Her delicate fingers undid the button and dragged down the zipper, pushing the trousers past her hips and down her slim legs. Underneath, she had a simple pair of cotton underwear - black, of course. 

“Wednesday”, he called out, a groan stuck in his throat.

She merely blinked at him. “Sit up.”

Tyler pushed himself up into a sitting position, hands already reaching out for her greedily. 

“Keep your hands on the bed.”

He huffed in frustration, pressing his hands down onto the mattress. They started to fist in the sheets. She was going to be the death of him, that much was certain. 

When she sunk onto her knees by the edge of the bed, all thoughts left Tyler’s head. All he could do was watch as she picked up her discarded shirt, tucking it beneath her knees so that she would be more comfortable. Her hands ran up his thighs, unbuttoning his pants and dragging them down his legs. Left only in his t-shirt and boxers, he was starting to feel a little exposed. It was laughable, considering the only scrap of fabric left on her, was her black panties. But unable to touch, Tyler felt more and more put on the spot, her attention zeroed in on him. Her fingers pulled him out of his boxers, already hard and leaking with pre-cum. He straightened his body for a better viewpoint, hands fisting in the sheets with the effort to stay there. Wednesday Addams - stoic little Wednesday with her strict routine and pristine space, was kneeling before him, taking her into his hand. Blinking at him underneath her dark bangs, long eyelashes framing her wide eyes. She looked so curious, so innocent. A fallen angel with pouty lips. 

Tyler swallowed heavily. 

Those plump lips parted and her head lowered, and suddenly he was inside her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the tip, staying there - getting used to the sensation. He couldn’t be sure if he was even breathing, or if he was making any noise at all. Her dark eyes kept him locked in place. She didn’t look away for a second as she focused on relaxing her jaw a little, taking in another inch into the warm, wetness of her mouth. Tyler’s eyes fluttered shut. 

Her tongue slid along the side of him, and combined with the gentle pressure of her mouth around him - his hips jumped up a little. Wednesday pulled back a little, still keeping her hand wrapped around the lower half of his member. But she tilted her head down at him, curious, scrutinising every detail and working out what to do next. 

“S-Sorry”, he stammered, worried that he spooked her. His hips were moving with a mind of their own, and he tried to force them to stay still. 

Wednesday didn’t pay him any attention, watching him throb under her close attention. His tip was swollen and pink, slick with pre-cum and she couldn’t resist poking her tongue out to taste it. It was bitter and salty, but he whined a little, and so she found herself not paying much attention to it. The tip was clearly sensitive, and she grew curious. Her tongue dipped into the little slit there, and Tyler choked back a moan. With her other hand, she wiggled her fingers a little to add pressure before starting a steady up and down motion. Tyler tilted his head back a little, groaning low in the back of his throat at the feeling of her small hand wrapped around him, adding pressure and squeezing lightly every time she hit the base. But before he could settle into the rhythm, she was wrapping her lips around the tip once more, adding suction. 

“Fuck”, he moaned loudly, “Wednesday.”

She popped her lips off. “Does that not feel good?”

“No, it’s…”, he panicked, opening his eyes to reassure her and get her to do anything other than stop - when he noticed the mirth in her eyes. He breathed out a little huff, shaking his head at her. “You’re going to kill me, baby.”

She took him deeper in her mouth in retaliation for the pet name. 

“I-I…”

He couldn’t even speak, and if she didn’t have her mouth wrapped around him - tongue swirling, hand adding pressure, jaw widening - she might have smiled. Teeth and all. 

“W-Wednesday, let me touch you.”

Her lips left him once more, tongue pressing to a vein running down the side. “No.”

“I swear — Fuck.”

This time, she fully stopped her ministrations to smirk at him. Wiping her spit-covered mouth on the back of her hand, she tilted her head at him. “Should I be scared?”

His face hardened, glaring at her. “You should be”, his jaw was locked tight with the effort, legs shaking slightly. “When I get my hands on you, I’m going to ruin you.”

A shiver passed through her body, recalling the past week. Everything a blur of damp lips and impatient fingers, of rumpled sheets and skewed clothing. Since that night in his dorm room, they had hardly been able to keep their hands off each other. He practically tackled her back down onto the mattress when she had eventually tried to leave. Coaxing her with the promise of one more kiss, one more minute. She hadn’t taken much convincing. Shamefully, Wednesday couldn’t stop wanting more. She knew that Tyler noticed it, too. And she figured that part of his stolen kisses and incessant touches, were just to torment her. Just to watch her squirm. He liked the conflict on her face - unsure of why she didn’t hate it. He liked moving away teasingly, just to see a flicker of that pained expression before she glared and dragged him back towards her. But most of all, he liked being able to turn her brain off, just for a little while. The last time they spent together, just a few short days ago, Tyler had taken her on a late night walk into the nearby Nevermore forest. He had behaved himself all evening, keeping his hands to himself right up until the moment that it was time for her to get inside for curfew. It was then that he guided her against a tree and trailed his fingers down to the buttons on her pants. 

“Come on baby”, he had crooned into her ear, half-pleading, “…let me make you come at least once before you go inside.”

God, she hadn’t even put up a fight. She tilted her head back against the tree and whined, fisting her hands in his hair while he sucked hickeys onto her inner thighs. Crying out with his name on her lips as he brought her over the edge, again and again. Wednesday walked back into her dorm approximately twenty minutes later, head hung in shame, thighs damp and sticky - because of course Tyler could never do anything just once. 

She knew that he wasn’t bluffing - as soon as she released his hands, there would be no stopping him. He wouldn’t leave any part of her untouched, unsatisfied. 

“Looking forward to it”, she snarked in reply, standing up and dropping her panties. 

Wednesday took her time undressing him the rest of the way, instructing him to lift his arms and then drop them back down to the mattress. She pulled his boxers all the way down his ankles, climbing her way back onto his lap. From this angle, the idea of lowering herself down onto him seemed a little intimidating. She was so small on top of him, and this was new to her. She wondered if it would feel much different. Running her eyes over him, she took note of his heaving chest and his parted lips taking in gulps of air. His muscles were tight, shoulders tense, fists white and clenching the sheets so hard, she feared they might rip. Let them. Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she tried her best to balance herself as she lined up their pelvises. Without his hands to steady her, her thighs were burning, a little shaky. But her face was the perfect picture of calm. Eyes narrowed in concentration, Tyler watched his stubborn little Wednesday focus on lining his tip with her, trying not to show signs of uncertainty. When she finally started to sink down onto him, bit by bit - he could see the way her face changed. His length stretched her open, tip brushing up against her walls, every inch being swallowed between her thighs. When she finally lowered herself all the way, bottoming him out inside of her - a barely noticeable whimper escaped. 

Tyler’s smile turned wicked, his voice low and taunting in her ear. “It’s deeper like this, isn’t it?”

She whimpered a little louder, twining her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her as if that might help. But without his grip on her hips to guide her, the act of lifting herself off his length and dropping back down slowly, was exhausting and slightly uncomfortable. He was so deep inside of her, and it was overwhelming. 

“Come on, baby”, he cooed, “let me help. Just a little.”

Wednesday hesitated, but after another minute of struggle and exertion-  she swallowed her pride and nodded. Tightening her hold on his neck, feeling his large palms settle on her hips. 

Tyler stayed true to his word, only assisting her movements and relieving some of the pressure on her trembling thighs. With his strong grip, she could control her rhythm, and when his hips started bucking up into hers - the angle adjusted slightly to something delicious. She cried out a little, holding on for dear life, wriggling her hips at the feeling of him pressing so deep inside of her. Stretching her out, splitting her open. With him beneath her, she could hear the squelching sounds of their arousal meeting in the middle, could look down and see his length disappearing inside of her with each thrust. She cried out again at a particularly upwards thrust, his tip brushing up against her tight walls. She lost her rhythm a little, trying to readjust her grip on his shoulders, shifting her hips a little with the help of his hands. Tyler moved her like he knew what she needed, watching her face to see every feeling flash across her face. She hiccuped as she grew close, the pressure building up in her groin, a tight knot that needed to be unravelled. Her movements grew a little sloppy, a little frantic as she drew nearer the edge.

“That’s it”, he groaned, watching her writhe on his length, “…good girl.”

Wednesday fell apart with an unexpectedly loud cry, almost a scream. Clenching tight around him, squeezing him in a way that made him moan - all long and drawn out. Turning boneless on him, fluttering around his still hard member. He was still brushing against her walls, and it made an overwhelmed whimper escape. 

As she slumped against him, trying to catch her breath - Tyler finally had enough. Before she could even begin to protest, he was rolling them over and pinning her to the mattress, still buried within her. He started fucking her hard and fast, watching her eyes squeeze shut, lips unable to hold back consistent whimpers. She whined with every movement, sloppy and wet beneath him. So whiny and sensitive, practically still shaking. Distracting her with a particularly harsh roll of his hips, he gathered her wrists in one hand and pressed them down into the mattress above her head. Payback. He stretched her out, forcing her arms to elongate above her head, her neck tilting upwards from the sensation. His teeth bit down on the soft lobe of her ear, tugging at it. She keened, hips bucking upwards into his, despite the overstimulation already taking hold. But she knew that there was no stopping Tyler, his face tight with concentration, low groans and mumbles of praise escaping as he pressed her down beneath him. He was so heavy on top of her, his weight drawing her away from any sense of space and time, any sense of where she was - only knowing that he was between her thighs. Fingertips leaving bruises on her thigh and hip, before trailing down to draw circles around her swollen clit. Her hips jerked away from the touch but he didn’t grant mercy, just applying more pressure as he thrusted into her. 

“You can take it”, he reassured her, feeling her clench around him. “Fuck, you’re being so good for me. Such a good girl.”

Wednesday cried out, burying her face in his shoulder. 

“You like being good for me, don’t you?” He murmured against her shoulder. He gave another harsh thrust, groaning at the way she let out a high-pitched whimper. 

“P-Please…”

“Please what?” He taunted, feeling himself grow close to the edge. 

She shook her head, whining. Just taking what he was giving her, lying back and crying out as he fucked her deep into the mattress. Her eyes were screwed shut, and he wondered if she would cry for him if he tugged her back by the hair. If he forced her to look at him. 

“Eyes on me”, he told her. 

Wednesday’s eyes fluttered open, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. He stuttered out a moan at the sight, the pressure tightening, huffing a curse into the air between them. 

“Say it again.”

She glared at him, but it was broken by another harsh thrust, her bed frame pushing back against the wall with the movement. Instead, she let out a long whine, hands fighting to be free. He pressed them firmer down into the mattress, just to be cruel. Give her a taste of her own medicine. 

“Say it or I won’t let you come.”

Her legs kicked out a little in frustration. 

Tyler was slick with sweat, groaning low and burying his face in her neck. Sucking lightly against the skin, wanting to taste the saltiness there. He was holding himself back desperately, needing to hear her beg for it before he let himself fall apart. His thighs were shaking with the effort, his body growing tired, but he refused to stop until he got what he wanted. He wanted to hear it, right from her pretty little lips. He slowed down his movements just slightly, just enough to keep her on the edge. To keep her desperate and wanting. 

“Wednesday.”

She could barely breathe, dragging in deep gulps of air between whimpers and whines. She tried to squirm out of his hold on her hands, but it was useless. Her orgasm was creeping up on her, the pressure building at a rate that was almost scary. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry out for him to stop, or to keep going and never even think about stopping. His fingers left her swollen, sensitive bud and drifted upwards, brushing past her peaked nipples, curling around the length of her throat. Wednesday choked out a little gasp, feeling him apply light pressure against her windpipe. Not enough to stop her airflow, but enough to give a promise of more. A sign of firmness, almost a threat. A reminder of who was in control. 

“Tyler”, she whimpered, overwhelmed. “Fuck - Please.”

With that, he increased his pace again and snapped his hips against hers, tightening his hold on her throat just slightly. And with a full blown sob, she trembled against him and came, hard. Tyler immediately followed, pulling out of her and painting her ribs with stripes of white. The pair of them clung to each other, panting breathlessly into the open space. 

As the world grew silent later that night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. His fingers drawing mindless patterns down the bare skin of her back, blanket wrapped around her waist, chest pressed down into the mattress. Her face was rested to one side, wide dark eyes watching him closely. That’s all she did, right up until the moment she tumbled into a dreamless slumber. Watch. Wondering how he ever managed to hide a thing from her, when everything was written across his face, in clear letters for her to see. Perhaps the tenderness for her had always been there, never a part of the mask that he was forced to wear. She wondered when her own mask came off. The mask of coldness - icy and unforgiving. At some point, it dropped to the floor and she had forgotten to pick it back up. She figured there was no use - he knew. The window frosted over with the cold air that night, dark trees outlining the borders of Nevermore. The wind blew through them, howling soothingly for the sleeping lovers. For the first time, Wednesday noticed the rest of the world growing quiet. And she felt herself grow softer. 

Chapter Text

While growing up, everything felt like a tightly knotted ball of string. One minute, it would hold together, and the next - it would all start to unravel. Tyler could not be sure when things started to feel that way. The feeling had lived inside of him for so long, stretching and growing, making itself at home. After his mother died, his father tried to convince him that he had everything under control, and for a little while, Tyler tried to believe him. But before too long, the frosty indifference turned his face sick and grey. And his chest burned with anger. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to prove to his father that he didn’t have everything under control - no, not everything. It started with cheating on a pop quiz, and graffiti on the bathroom walls. His sunken demeanour brightened with every time the Sheriff got called into the principle’s office - face red, steam practically blowing out of his ears. A voice pushed him to tug a little more, push with just a few more detentions and snarky comments aimed at teachers. When he began running around with Lucas, Jonah and Carter - things didn’t go much further. Until Tyler wound himself up with a charge for assault and damaging public property, shipped off to a behavioural boot camp. 

As his father dropped him off with a gruff goodbye, refusing to meet his eyes - Tyler looked down at the tangled mess of frayed string in his hands, and he wondered when it had started unravelling. It had gotten away from him somehow, and all he was left with was the twisted, churning, tightening, messed up feeling inside. 

When he was with Wednesday, that feeling softened. It was still there, but muffled. When they were together, everything felt like water. The nights didn’t seem so long, the mornings were less painful, and he - well, he was a little less broken. His entire life, he felt defective. Running just a little further behind the rest, thinking just a little slower. Tyler was a tattered, frayed string himself - feeling tugging from both sides. On one side, his so-called friends taunted him to say things that he didn’t think through, things that he didn’t mean - and on the other, he had his father grumbling about his curfew and remembering to load the dishwasher. With Wednesday, those voices just seemed to fade away. All he could hear, all he could see, all he could feel - was her. 

“Is this some kind of joke?”

And the occasional asshole, of course. 

Wednesday stopped short, her hand tensing in Tyler’s. In the syrupy late afternoon haze of their walk through the Nevermore woods, she had neglected to realise just how close they were to the art shed. The last time she had been there, she had put him in handcuffs, locked behind bars. 

Xavier’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Scratchy and abrasive, rubbing her the wrong way. He approached the pair of them, hesitating before getting too close. Good, Wednesday thought to herself, let him be afraid. He looked at them both, eyebrows scrunched, mouth curled in horror. As if they were a pair of criminals on the loose, still chained around the waist - chasing each other through the trees like Bonnie and Clyde. But it was the way that his eyes zeroed in on Wednesday, flashing with hurt. Sunken puppy dog eyes, cheeks twitching like she had offended him, crossing his arms over his chest like he had a right to be hurt. After a handful of interactions and civil conversation, he believed she owed him something. After countless blank stares and dismissals, he still expected her to soften for him. He looked at her as if he had the right to be angry, the right to be heartbroken over her. It made her grind her teeth, and judging by the way his spare hand curled around to squeeze at her hip - Tyler didn’t like it either.

Xavier continued on, undeterred. “You’re actually with him? I-I heard people in classes - but I, I figured they must be kidding. They must be mistaken. But you’re - you’re actually walking around with him? You’re letting him touch you like that?”

“Where I touch her”, Tyler spoke through gritted teeth, “is none of your business.”

“How can you let him touch you like that after everything that he did?” He spat in her direction, refusing to look back at Tyler. 

Wednesday’s jaw twitched. 

“How could you let him?” He repeated, “He lied to you. You said so yourself! He used you. He never cared about you, and he still doesn’t now. I’m here! I care! I didn’t do anything wrong! I wasn’t the one that hurt Eugene - that was him. He was the one that left him in the hospital, he was the one that killed Dr Kinbott, he was the one that tried to kill Thing!”

She refused to say a word, staring him dead in the eyes. 

“So much for loyalty” he sneered, looking her up and down. His eyes finally left her, and focused on Tyler, who was standing silently behind her. Taking it. He figured that he deserved at least some of it. “I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“Xavier”, Wednesday warned. 

“Do you even know what you did to her?” Xavier looked at him like he was vermin, and Tyler began to feel like it. “She believed you. She trusted you. She sat in the hospital, visiting Eugene nearly every single day, waiting for him to wake up and that was you. She ended up with a knife in her gut and an arrow in her shoulder. She sat in that cafe for months because of you - barely speaking in classes, picking at her food. She was like a ghost. And you did that to her.”

“That’s enough.”

“You have everyone fooled…”, he glared at Tyler, voice filled with venom. “You sweet-talked them, making them believe that you’ve changed. That it wasn’t your fault. But I know you better than she does. I know how easily it is for you to have everyone fooled, everyone believing that you didn’t mean it - that you’re sorry. But you’re not. You never are.”

Tyler’s grip on her loosened, and Wednesday felt sick. 

Xavier turned back to her. “He might have fooled everyone, but I thought you were smarter than that. You’re the last person that should have forgiven him. And if you have - then you’re a fool.”

“You don’t talk to her that way.”

This time, it was Tyler who spoke. His voice low and even, a warning.

“This is who you choose to defend? This is who you choose to be with?” His arms were flapping around, shoes scuffing at the ground like a child having a tantrum. “Really, Wednesday?!”

“Get. Back.” Tyler spoke through gritted teeth.

“If that’s your choice, then fine”, Xavier pressed his lips together, scoffing. “You deserve everything that is coming to you.”

In the blink of an eye, Tyler had him pressed up against the nearest tree - face looming over his, hand wrapped around his throat. It was a kind of anger that he had not felt in a long time. And in an instant, he was back to being that lost teenage boy - skipping class, pranking teachers, taunting outcasts. The boy that became everything that he once hated, all so that for a moment someone would stop, someone would listen - someone would ask if he was okay. He could remember the drive back home with his father, after the incident on Outreach Day. It was silent, the air thick. Tyler slumped against the passenger seat, glaring out of the window. After he finally rolled up onto the driveway and turned off the ignition, his father turned to look at him. He told him that his mother would be disappointed in how he was turning out. He asked him if it was worth it. Tyler sank into the bath that night, temperature scalding, water drumming loudly in his ears - and screamed until his chest stopped burning. 

“Do it”, Xavier puffed out brokenly, “It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

Back then, Xavier Thorpe was just a stranger within the crowd. He was a nameless face that sulked behind the familiar crowd of outcasts that filed through Jericho on Outreach Day. It was Jonah and Carter that had nudged him, leering and pointing at the angsty teen spraying paint onto a mural. It was half-finished, practically a mess at that point. They threw insults back and forth for a while, the pair of them ganging up on him and for a while, Tyler just watched. He was tired. There was not much fight left in him. But as Jonah picked up the bucket of white paint and started pouring it over his mural, ruining it - the voices grew louder. Xavier was shouting at them, all red in the face, and Carter was egging Jonah on, and Lucas was warning them to hurry up. And Tyler - Tyler thought about going home to an empty house, to money left on the counter for dinner. So he threw the first punch. The blood smelled sweet, and it tasted like victory on his tongue. 

He was looking at him the same way now, but with a little less fear. Somehow, it goaded that darker part of him, made it fight harder to rip free. 

“Watch your mouth”, Tyler’s eyes darkened, “I could rip you apart in seconds, and don’t for a second think that I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“W-Wed—“

“Say one more word to her and I will.”

His hands were shaking, face muscles twitching. His eyes flashing between hazel and yellow, Xavier’s anger starting to taste lighter, sweeter - like terror. The Hyde was begging to break free, to smear his blood and tear his flesh. He wanted the artist’s head on a stick, and so did Tyler. A cold, black rage started to fill his stomach. The world began to blur at the edges and he felt himself drifting away from his body. Back to that dark, heavy headspace. 

“Tyler.”

It was bordering on a snap, so out-of-character that he turned around with a deep scowl, fingers still trembling around Xavier’s throat. He met Wednesday’s eyes, but refused to let go. Keeping his prey pressed firmly into the tree, its bark digging into his back and making him whimper. Tyler’s eyes were dark, hungry. 

“Let him go.”

It was an order, and for the first time, Tyler found himself snarling at her. 

Wednesday was undeterred, glaring back at him. “Stand down.”

Her eyes were cold as stone, daring him to disobey. And for a split second, it was his father looking back at him. The trees felt taller, the world seemed bigger and Tyler felt smaller. A child throwing a tantrum, being told to drop his favourite toy. An angry teenager punching a hole through his wall, his father not even caring enough to patch up the drywall. When she felt him resisting -  fingers trembling, teeth clenched, feet digging into he soil - Wednesday repeated herself. This time, it was too strong. His body obeyed before he could help it, joints loosening, grip falling slack. Xavier’s body fell to the ground with a quiet thump. He scrambled back against the tree root, looking afraid for his life. Tyler couldn’t even find it within himself to enjoy it. He stepped away, fists clenching tight enough for it to ache. He looked back at Wednesday with a dark glare, eyes full of resentment. The moment had been so close he could taste it - he could feel Xavier’s throat gasping for air underneath his ruthless grip, he could hear his boots scraping against the ground, body twisting and wringing in an effort to be released. She had taken that away from him - and for the first time, Tyler found himself questioning if he liked her having that kind of power over him. 

He was off without another word, heading angrily back in the direction of Nevermore. The tightly knotted ball of string started to unwind, faster than he could catch it - trailing along uselessly on the path behind him. 

It wasn’t until he was slamming the door shut behind him, alone in his dorm, that he realised that she wasn’t coming after him. 

— — — 

Tyler knew what loneliness felt like. It was cold, right down to the bone. It felt like freshly changed bed sheets, a little too stiff to get comfortable. He knew what it sounded like, too. It sounded like the buzz of his cellphone, only to look down and see a text reminding him to be home in time for curfew. Never in time for dinner - no, his father didn’t see the point in having dinners as a family anymore. It sounded like the door creaking open at night, light filling his bedroom through the small gap, his father’s heavy sigh before shutting it once more. He didn’t even know how to say goodnight anymore. And Tyler knew what loneliness tasted like. It was stale and bitter coffee, sitting in the pot all day. It was sour, like the milk that hadn’t yet gotten replaced. When he was young, Tyler didn’t care enough to remind his father to get more. He poured it into his cereal bowl, trying to swallow without making a pinched face. 

When he got dropped off at Nevermore, the first night was the worst. Wednesday still hated him, refused to even look in his direction if she could help it. His new solo room felt too big, too lonely. It was too quiet, too. He couldn’t hear his father stumbling into bed half-asleep after a long day at the office, and he couldn’t hear his snoring through the wall. He couldn’t hear anything, except the panicked rhythm of his own heart. Halfway through the first night, he rolled out of his own bed, off the stiff new mattress - and pulled on his shoes and jacket. He stood outside her window until the sun started to rise. It was too much, being away from her. And somehow, staring through the large frosted window, into the darkness of her shared dorm - loosened up the feeling in his chest. Standing there, hand pressed against the glass, knowing that she was warm and safe in there - it made him feel less lonely. 

Standing in there now, the light on her side of the room felt different. Still painted with cool stripes of moonlight, the air seemed duller somehow. Less welcoming. Everything felt colder. 

Wednesday was reading on her bed, steadily flipping pages. 

She felt colder, too. 

Curled up, not sparing him a glance since the moment the door creaked open. There he was, standing in front of her with his hands curled into fists, trying his best to curb his anger - and she was the perfect picture of unbothered. Cold. It took hours of pacing inside his dorm before he realised that she wasn’t going to seek him out, wasn’t going to check up on him. With his tail tucked between his legs, he made his way to her. Somehow hoping that she would take his face in her hands and make it all okay. Make him okay. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Tyler tried to keep the frustration in his voice at bay. 

Wednesday turned another page, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You didn’t come after me.”

It was quiet, and a little childish - but he didn’t care. 

She sent him a pointed look before returning to the book. “I thought I would let you calm down.”

“You would let—“ he shook his head, “…like I was the problem?”

“You were the problem”, she corrected him.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “Please enlighten me.”

“You nearly lost control.”

Tyler’s face hardened. He was filling with waves of hurt, every word from her lips sending another one rolling through him. He began to panic under the weight of it, lungs grasping for something to hold onto - the hurt aiming for somewhere to go. “Is that it? That’s it, isn’t it? You believe everything that he said about me?”

Wednesday finally slammed the damn book shut, dark eyes locking on his. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” He pressed. “That I’m dangerous?”

She looked at him as if she did not know who he was, wondering where all of this was coming from. The words spilling out of him like thick black ink, staining his fingertips. “I refuse to sit here and argue with you.”

“Oh, of course you won’t…”, he laughed bitterly, wrapping his arms tight around himself while he glared, “…that would mean that you wanted to fight for me - fight for us. That would mean that you care!”

“You think I don’t care?” Wednesday challenged. 

“I think you like to pick and choose. You pick me up when it suits you, and put me back down when it gets too much for you. When you’ve had enough. Like I’m a toy. But when it comes down to it - when I lose control, when I need you there…you don’t even check that I’m okay. You don’t come after me.”

Her jaw tightened. “You were reckless.”

Tyler spat out his words. “I am not going to apologise for protecting you. I am not going to sit here and act like I should be sorry for hating him. I won’t do it, Wednesday.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. When are you going to understand that?” She pushed herself up from the bed, hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I am not some damsel in distress—“

“I didn’t nearly rip his head off because I think you are a damsel in distress, Wednesday! I didn’t do it because I think I need to protect you, that you are incapable of looking after yourself - I did it because I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you. Talking to you. I did it because he has had it coming for months, and because I love you—“

Wednesday glared at him with spite. “I am not going to have you fight my battles for me like I’m a child - like I am not capable—“

“I—“

“You were reckless, and you could have lost control completely. You only just got into Nevermore, do you want to be expelled? To ruin any future chances for Hydes to—“

“Wednesday”, Tyler started, his voice strained, “Did you even hear what I just said?”

She continued on, voice firm. “You cannot go around doing that. You cannot go around killing people anymore, Tyler. That’s what nearly happened back there. You nearly killed him. Do you understand that?”

“Is it me killing that you have a problem with?” He tested, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “Or is it that you didn’t want me to kill him?”

Wednesday looked at him like he was stupid.

“Go on, tell me. Be honest”, Tyler scowled, “Is he that important to you??”

She didn’t know what to say. 

“I should have killed him.” His voice was dark and cruel. Taunting, just like before he walked away from her under the green glow of the Sheriff’s office and left her reeling. “I should have splattered his blood and left his guts on the floor, just like I did with Rowan. I should have rearranged his face for the way he was looking at you. The way he has always looked at you. Always flirting right in my face - waiting for you to turn around and choose him instead. How do you think that makes me feel? Knowing that he looks at the girl that I love like that? How do you expect me to react?!"

“If you think that I was bored enough to see either of you as mere choices—“, Wednesday shook her head in disbelief, disgust on her face, “—then you are no better than him.”

“Did you ever want to kiss him too?” He had the nerve to ask. 

Tyler’s mind was running too fast - too hot. Thinking back to every time he interrupted the two of them - feeling like he had walked right into the middle of something. A tension in the air, one that he had chosen to ignore for fear of what it would mean. Under the glow of the dark night sky, beside a shelf of stuffed pandas, surrounded by the chatter of the crowd - had she wanted him to stay? In the slow afternoon of Outreach Day, had she merely rung the bell out of pity? Had he imagined the roll of her eyes when Xavier scoffed and turned away from the both of you, had he misread her coming specifically to him for help - had it all been in his head? He could remember standing on the street, swallowing down his pitiful misery at the thought of Wednesday attending the dance with Xavier. The entire morning of the Rave’N, he had sulked through his shift and imagined the pair of them sipping punch and talking under the twinkling lights. He had imagined Xavier trying to steal a kiss. Back then, she hadn’t been his to lose. And then, all it took was for a typewritten note to turn everything around, to ease up the crushing pressure in his chest. No, he had thought to himself naively, it wasn’t all in my head. He should have known it hadn’t been written by her. He should have known she would never really want to go with him. 

After his head cleared slightly, he noticed the look on Wednesday’s face. Then it hit him - the gravity of what he had accused her of. And he was back, under the soft red tint of the Weathervane, tracing a thumb over her cheekbone, holding her like something precious. He was there, with her in his arms, cautiously smiling at him. It had taken so much for her to try, to put herself on the line like that. To show she truly felt. And he had thrown it back in her face. 

“I-I—“, he swallowed thickly, face falling, “I d-didn’t—“

“You did.” She said, somewhat quietly. “You did mean it.”

He moved forwards a step, hand reaching for her. His eyes full of shame. 

“Step away.” It was an order.

Tyler was hurt. “Stop that.”

“I want you to leave.” That one, more of a plea. 

“We talked about this, Wednesday. You said that you wouldn’t use the bond against me when you’re angry at me. It’s unfair and you swore you wouldn’t do it anymore. You promised.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.” 

“Shouldn’t have what?” He asked weakly, “Promised?”

“Trusted you again.”

The ball of string fell from his hands. Everything felt sick, everything felt wrong. It felt like they were falling right back to where they started, with no room left to climb back up. Wednesday had her arms crossed over her chest, her face turned towards the window. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was clamming back up again, locking herself away and throwing away the key. Tyler began to scramble, searching for something to say, for something to do. He was so angry it made him sick. But the thought of losing her completely, left him cold and hollow. 

“Don’t say that.” His voice shook. 

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t”, he was more-so pleading at this point, “…you’re just angry. I’m just angry. We are just saying things that we don’t mean.”

“I’ve meant everything that I’ve ever said to you”, Wednesday told him, voice verging on a taunt, “…you’re the one that can’t say the same.”

“Hey—“

“Was that all your jealousy of Xavier was?” She pressed, turning back to him. But it was as if she was looking straight through him. “Some kind of sick competition? Wanting to know that you could pull the wool over my eyes, and pull me away from any other contenders? Did it make the victory that much sweeter?”

He grew frustrated, raising his voice. “That’s enough. We were supposed to — I thought we were past all of that? You can’t just throw it back in my face when you feel like it.”

“I mean it”, she all-but snapped. “I want you to go.”

“Order me then”, he tested her. 

Wednesday hated herself for hesitating, detested herself for not being able to do it. Instead, she glared at him and clenched her hands into fists once more so that he could not see them shaking. And not from anger, either. 

“I’m not going anywhere until we fix this…”, Tyler’s eyes were filling with tears at that point, his voice shaky. “…I-I—we need to talk about this. That’s how this works.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

His voice broke. “Wednesday—“

“This is my dorm, get out.”

“I’m not leaving!”

Wednesday had no other option, her instincts screaming at her to get out - to get far away. “Fine”, she gritted out, shoving past him. “Then I’ll leave.”

In a thousand shattering moments of heartbreak, he is back with his father - being dismissed. Watching him walk away without talking, without fixing anything. He is alone, fingers tangled around the knots, with this messed up feeling inside. He is a child, asking about his mother and if she ever loved him. He is a teenager, screaming underwater in the hopes that his father would somehow hear the muffled noise and save him from drowning. Tyler scrambled to think of how they got from here to there - how this all turned so wrong. One minute, he was trying to protect her and defend her, and the next she was slipping through his fingers. In the past, their fighting had always felt playful. He used to like it, in a messed-up way. Seeing the fiery glow on her cheeks, her eyes darkening with desire. He used to like pressing her buttons, but this felt different. This wasn’t fun anymore. Even in the midst of their hatred - they had always cared. He had always known that she cared, because she was still stood there, glaring at him. She wasn’t walking away. Wednesday was walking past him now, and he didn’t know how to do anything but let her. She looked just like his father and he didn’t know any better.

Just before she reached the doorknob, he tried to scramble around one last time. Kneeling down on the ground, trying to collect the knotted string in his fingers and roll it back together somehow. Trying to keep it in one piece. Trying to keep them in one piece. 

His voice had never felt smaller. “Are you really just going to pretend that I didn’t say it?”

Wednesday paused on the spot, her hand clenching around air. Reaching for nothing. She was stiff, something pinning her to the floor and not letting her leave. It was those three words floating in the air around her. Tyler had looked her in the eyes as he said them, his heart on his sleeve. His voice firm, leaving no room for argument. No wiggle room. The ones that she had batted away like pesky flies, the ones that she had stormed past and fought hard to ignore. To erase from her memory. Words that she would never be ready to hear. This was it, she realised. The final blow. 

When she finally spoke, he wished he hadn’t asked. Wednesday kept her eyes on the floor, voice tight and wavering slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He looked away so that he didn’t have to see the door close behind her. 

Then the first sob escaped him. 

Standing there in her dorm room, a painting in black and white stripes of moonlight - it almost felt like there was no light at all. The dull glow on the other side of the window could not reach him, could not sink into his skin. He felt cold - every part of him shivering. Somewhere between the broken sounds of his cries, he could hear the buzzing of a cellphone. If he swallowed hard enough, somewhere - he could taste bitter, stale old coffee. 

And Tyler realised that he was alone, again. 

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s hands were not shaking. 

She returned to her dorm in the early hours of the morning, finding it empty. The moon was stuck behind the clouds, and the space felt darker. Quiet. He was gone. The air still trembled around her, but Wednesday’s hands did not. She untucked the stiff sheets from her bed, picking out her pyjamas and laying them down on the edge of the mattress, ready to change into. She brought her cello and sheet music inside, shutting the window behind her, and put her forgotten book back on the shelf. When she padded into the bathroom, her eyes were cast downwards - firmly avoiding the large mirror that hung over the sink. 

Mirrors are skewed, cursed little things. Reflecting only the worst parts of oneself. Vast and unflattering. Unforgiving. In the Addams estate, the full-length, ornate, decorative mirror that held itself up against her bedroom wall - was dusty, its image always slightly faded. From a young age, Wednesday held a vendetta against that mirror. Looking into it, noticing her long dark hair and opaque eyes, hauntingly pale cheeks and sunken cheekbones - Wednesday saw her mother. And well, her mother was nothing if not a mirror held up to the most wretched parts of herself. As a little girl, bared teeth and yelled curses did little to warp the image. Beginning to fix her long hair into twin braids, made little difference. Neither did drowning herself in loose fabrics and covering her pale flesh with stiff, pressed collars and prim buttons. They still had the same sharp facial structure, the same well-groomed cuticles and the same sharp tongue. Over the years, her mother’s had softened. Her face losing its sharp edges, her smile growing tender. In turn, she longed for her daughter to be softer. And so Wednesday, forced herself to harden. 

Home was the first place that she learned to run away from. 

Away from eyes that looked straight through her, down to the wobbliest parts of her inner shell. Straight to the parts of her that trembled. If they could only see her now - they would see her for what she was. A coward. 

That first night, Wednesday decidedly avoided that mirror. Stubbornly, she kept her back to it while brushing her teeth. Closed her eyes while spitting out the extra foam into the sink. For looking into a mirror, would mean looking at herself. 

It took five attempts to re-braid her hair neatly, and eventually, she decided to leave it as it was. She dressed herself with steady hands, and turned off the light. She gathered her sheets within her fists and squeezed, forcing herself to take in deep breaths. 

And her hands were not shaking. 

— — —

As a child, Wednesday spent a lot of her time alone. That’s just how it was, and just how she liked it - her, herself and her typewriter. Sitting at her carved ebony desk, with the rhythmic clicking of the keys - the Viper De La Muerte series was born. To start with, it was merely a work of fiction, but as she grew older, every tightly-wrapped layer unravelled into more of a thinly-veiled echo of the life that she knew. A story drawn from well-acquainted shadows, narrative fashioned out of smoke and mirrors. The corners of herself that she loathed to share. Dominica and Viper were cursed portraits of each other - echoes. And Viper - well, she knew how to be alone. It suddenly occurred to Wednesday, that through all the years of writing the life that she wanted - filled with murder and gore, mystery and puzzles - she had written Viper alone. No white knight, no storybook love interest. She was a solo protagonist. Protagonists were often better off alone. Instead, she brandished her character with a sword and sent her off into the cruel, unforgiving world just the way she preferred it. Alone. 

Is it any wonder that Wednesday herself would end up alone, too?

Her fingers slammed down on the keys, her typewriter making small, jarring noises in protest. Every time she made a spelling error, the entire page would get torn off and crumpled into the waste bin below her desk. Every time she missed punctuation, her fingers would grow more forceful with the keys. Her pace punishing. 

She had been here before, so angry she could scarcely breathe. So angry it made her physically sick. They had been here before. But this time, she didn’t know how they got there. Back then, her anger had somewhere to go. It had a target. And now, it seemed it didn’t know what to do with itself. She had been here before, and Tyler had been to blame - Tyler had been the liar, the manipulator, the crook. And she was the little girl watching the bunny being pulled out of the hat, only to realise that magic tricks were just that - tricks. That magic was not real. What they had was not real. And Wednesday let herself feel. She cursed his name, waking up from her dreams gasping for air. She clenched her fists and fought not to rip her hair out from the scalp. Wednesday sank to her bathroom floor and let herself hate him. This time felt different. This time, every time she tried to muster some kind of anger towards him, spitting his name under her breath and glaring every time she had to press down on any of the letters that made up his name - her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Wednesday had tried retching, willing her food to resurface. She wanted to see it, she needed proof that this time was like the last. 

Instead, she glared at her typewriter and fashioned Viper another sword out of steel. But she couldn’t help but wonder if it was being the protagonist that had her ending up alone, or if it was because she was the villain after all.

— — — 

That first night, Wednesday had been teetering on the edge of sleep, groggily waking up when it entered her system. Smoke and wood. Fresh winter air and old leather boots. The smell of bitter espresso and sweet cream. In her vulnerable state, she stirred gently and hummed into her pillow. It was like she could finally breathe. She waited for his arms to curl around her, hands cool from the biting wind outside, fingers gentle and adoring. She waited for his warm, steady breath in the crook of her neck, for his lips to dance across her skin in quiet apologies. But they never came. Her lips tugged into a frown, eyes fluttering open to where the room was still dark and empty. A note on Enid’s side of the bed, most likely a reminder that she was staying in Ajax’s dorm. A closed window, a distant ticking clock. Time passing. 

Then, her eyes fell on the jacket. The ugly brown one that she couldn’t help but scowl at. Soft and worn, covered with loose threads and faded stains that he hadn’t managed to wash out. It was draped across the arm of her chair, forgotten. 

Wednesday sat up, glaring at the offending object. 

He had done this on purpose. Left something behind like a dog marking its territory. Just something small, covered in his scent, covered in familiarity - enough to drive her insane. Enough to make her want to tear her hair out. A long, haggard breath left her. She tore the black sheets off her frame, padding over to the window before leaving it ajar. Fresh air would eventually fill the room and she would no longer be surrounded with his scent. Then in the morning, she could close her window and there would be nothing left of him. With a huff, she turned over and buried her face back into the pillow so that she did not have to look at it anymore. 

It took roughly two days for her blissful ignorance to be interrupted.

“Isn’t that Tyler’s jacket?”

“Yes.”

“He hasn’t picked it up yet.”

“Your skills of perception astound me, Enid.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, her gaze sweeping over Wednesday’s form in a way that was infuriating but familiar. She was trying to read her mind, trying to psychoanalyse. Wednesday had lost a therapist, but gained a friend. Somehow that was worse. 

“Are you fighting?”

“I’m waiting for him to come to his senses.”

Enid paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Have you broken up?”

Her mouth opened, but words fell short. Had they? The look of defeat on Tyler’s face, the slam of the door behind her — was that it? Something about it felt so final. But she hardly stuck around long enough to say for sure. No, instead - she ran. And realising that now, felt rather humiliating. She had ran from him before, her fingers fumbling, pushing on the stupid pull door at the Weathervane. Too desperate to get away, to escape in any way that she could. The night they fought, the same clawing sensation dug its way through her throat, the throat that was swollen as if she had just swallowed her own heart. Letting it sit there, like food that she hadn’t chewed properly. Letting it fester, letting it throb. After three days of hearing nothing from him, Wednesday’s confidence was beginning to falter. She didn’t quite have an answer. 

“I don’t know”, she admitted in a strained voice. 

Later that night, once Enid had fallen asleep, her soft snores filling the room - Wednesday made her way over to the chair with her tail tucked between her legs. The jacket sat there, untouched for days. Even going near it had made her feel queasy. But now, she picked it up. Holding the soft fabric underneath her nose, taking in a deep, steady breath. Her shoulders loosened slightly, her ribcage expanding, knees weakening. Her eyes fluttered closed. For a while, she stood there with it underneath her chin, letting his scent wash over her. Lull her. 

That night, Wednesday dragged it into bed with her and fell asleep with it pressed up against her cheek. And she didn’t remember to be angry until she woke up the next morning. 

— — —

The hallowed halls of Nevermore had started to blur together, and Wednesday began to feel like a creature bred in captivity, clawing at the walls - the only walls it had ever known. Every corner, every classroom, every winding staircase - had been crossed over twice. She wasn’t looking for him. But every so often, a shadow would pass around one of those corners, just in her peripheral vision and she would convince herself that it was him. Watching through the crowds of people, keeping an eye on her. One evening, just as the sky began to burn with the colours of dusk - she span around at the sound of a scuffle, like a skittish horse, knife raised in defence, a self-righteous smirk on her face. Caught you, she breathed. But she was alone. Every part of her seized up, and it felt like someone had taken a stapler to her stomach. Punching holes through until there was nothing left, just Wednesday left open and gaping. After that, the walls did not seem so familiar and it was almost as if she was wandering through somewhere else. The sharp edges and frightening disposition of Nevermore dulled, moulding into the white-walled, gloomy town centre of Jericho. The streets that she knew all too well. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the bitter wind through the material of her uniform, could almost hear the ring of the bell on the door to the Weathervane. In an instant, she was back where she started. Sitting in his cafe, gagging at the sight of that coffee machine, waiting for the frost to melt from the window. She had told herself that she wasn’t looking for him then, too. 

After days of nothing - not even a singular shadow outside of their rain-soaked window - Wednesday begrudgingly made her way over to the male dormitory. 

The half-asleep housemaster barely moved as she slipped a twenty onto his desk, same as every other time she snuck into Tyler’s dorm after hours. But before her hand left the crisp note, his gruff voice spoke up, eyes not straying from his newspaper. 

“He’s not here.”

Wednesday paused, swiftly turning back to face him. “What do you mean?”

The housemaster took another bite of his sandwich, putting it back down on the plate so that he could wipe the crumbs from his cheek. Still, his eyes did not lift from the crumpled paper. “He got permission to go home for the weekend.”

She frowned. “That-“

It was as if there was water in her ears. There - sloshing around in her skull, drumming against her temples. Everything felt so far away. In a moment of weakness, she reached down to pinch at the tender flesh of her own forearm. It didn’t start to sting until Wednesday realised that she was not waking up. Then, it started to throb. 

“That’s not possible”, she finished. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, girly”, the man finally glanced roughly in her direction, singular eyebrow raised, “…he ain’t here.”

On the walk back to Ophelia Hall, it played in a loop through her head. The night she found the photograph of his mother, and noticed how alike they were. Tyler had barely spoken above a whisper, sounding defeated. He didn’t breathe until the moment she held his hand, squeezing back in a way that told her how much he needed it. And weeks later, Tyler sat on her bed with a smile that struggled to reach his eyes, with hands that trembled. Tyler with his head in his hands, telling her that it was the first time that his father had bothered to visit. The thought of him spending his weekend with his father, in that lonely bedroom with the window that never fully closed, just to be far away from her — it made every part of her rot. The thought of him putting himself through that just to spite her, just to prove a point - it hurt. She had held his hand, she had wiped away his tears as he cried over his father. As he cried over how unimportant he made him feel. And yet, Tyler had chosen to go to him. He had chosen him over her. 

By the time her mind started to picture him pushing his dinner around the plate forlornly, sitting across from an empty seat — Wednesday was halfway through the woods. 

Headed for the outskirts of Jericho. 

The outside of his house was unassuming. It was just a typical suburban home with crusted paint and traces of muddy boots on the doorstep. Wednesday shouldn’t have had any strong feelings about it. And maybe it was the flickering streetlamp or the knowledge of all of the years that Tyler endured there feeling alone, but she shivered on her way up to the front door. When the door swung open moments later, her big dark eyes blinked. Taken aback. Sheriff Galpin was unassuming on the outside, too. Just another middle-aged man with prickly stubble and coffee stains around his lips. A father with a quick temper and tired eyes. If it had been any other day, she might have nodded at him in acknowledgement. Maybe even made a quip about the dark circles under his eyes, and offered her assistance in one of his overflowing cases. After all, this was the same man that watched over her for months, greeting her in a mumble and waiting for her to talk about how she was feeling. The man that was hurting just as she was. But she no longer had the patience for pleasantries. And certainly not with him.

“Why is he here?”

The Sheriff levelled her with a look. “Why do you think?”

Wednesday peered into the space behind his shoulder, into the dim lighting of their kitchen. Suddenly regretting that she did not just climb straight into Tyler’s bedroom window. When it became clear that she was not going to say anything in return, he rubbed a hand over his face. His tone was devoid of any emotion. “You here to apologise?”

“No”, she replied honestly, “I came here to tell him that he is being ridiculous.”

Sheriff Galpin blinked, leaning in slightly as if he had misheard her. When her expression did not change, still expectant, eyes darting between his face and the gap in the door he was stood in front of - his face grew red. Like an overripe tomato. 

“I—“ he spluttered quietly, “I don’t understand you, Addams.”

“You don’t have to understand me. I wouldn’t waste your time trying”, she tapped her foot impatiently, “…just let me in.”

“You’re unbelievable”, he told her, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger in her direction, “I didn’t want you near my son in the first place. I told him countless times that you were bad news, that you’re the kind of girl that would get him hurt. And I figured he wouldn’t listen to me, he’s a teenager after all. But he shows up looking like a goddamn mess and you come waltzing in here, too proud to even apologise?”

She said nothing. 

His voice started to raise. “For someone that sat in the damn cafe he used to work at for months, looking heartbroken — you sure threw him away like he meant nothing.”

Her jaw clenched. 

“After everything, I figured you would treat him a little better than a toy you pick up and play with, just to put down when you’re bored—“

Wednesday’s voice was stone cold. “You sure have a lot of opinions for someone that is hardly around.”

The Sheriff’s face hardened. “You watch your mouth.”

“Do you want to know what he says about you?” She took a step forward, chin raised, every muscle in her face clenched tightly, “He says that you taught him how unimportant he is.”

The man’s face crumpled a little at that, but he fought hard to stop it. It was weakness in Wednesday’s eyes and she lit up with glee, continuing to go for the jugular. 

“That you don’t even care to spend time with him.”

The Sheriff watched her carefully. 

Wednesday took another step so that their boots were nearly touching. “That you are cold.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

She continued on. “That you’re dismissive.”

Every raise of his eyebrow was a challenge for her to dig deeper, and so she did. 

Her voice stayed level. “That you don’t care to concern yourself with his feelings.”

After that, a rough, unfamiliar sound escaped from the back of his throat. It was coarse, rubbing against her like sandpaper. His tongue poked into his cheek, and his mouth widened until he was almost smiling wickedly. His entire face stretched, and it was so unfamiliar that it was almost grotesque. It took a moment for her to realise that he was laughing at her. And something within her started to falter. He adjusted his hat and then looked straight at her, straight through her. 

“And you really think you’re any different?”

When Wednesday was a little girl, she used to go deer hunting with her father. The weapon was heavy in her small hands, and her arms ached from holding it up, but she persevered. She liked the smell of fresh blood, and the sweet taste of victory knowing that she had caught something in a trap. It was her and her prey, staring down the barrel of the shotgun. One on one. No interruptions. In the split second between her finger flicking the safety off, and squeezing the trigger - the small deer’s eyes would widen with fright. The knowledge that its life was in her hands, and that it had nowhere to go, nothing to say. That used to be her favourite part. But it felt very different to stand there - all twitching ears and wobbly legs. To be the one caught in the trap. He had laid out a trap for her and she had stumbled into it blindly, tripping over her own feet and landing on the ground like prey. Every part of her burned. Her lips parted, ready to fight back, ready to snap and jab and sneer. But nothing came out. It wasn’t until she realised that she had nothing to say, that Wednesday knew he was right. 

Turning around and walking her way back down the street, felt like defeat. But somehow, she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Everything was numb. The dreary streets of Jericho made her feel like she was walking in circles. The flickering street lights, half-filled puddles and scattered leaves, all blurring into one. After a while, Wednesday couldn’t even be sure she was walking in the right direction. Where was she going? Back to her safety net, back to what she knew? Back to her room, back to where she left him? It played on a loop in her head now, their last conversation. She couldn’t even make any sense of it. They were just words, and the only thing that she could make sense of was the look on Tyler’s face as she walked away. Cracked, like a broken doll’s head that nobody had cared to mend. Crushed, like gravel underneath her boot. Remembering the look on his face, felt like picking at an old wound. Ripping at the skin until the sting is fresh, until spots of blood make their way back to the surface. It tasted bitter, like a revelation. Like something that she was not - would never be ready to hear.

It felt like looking into the mirror, and being frightened of her own reflection. 

— — —

She couldn’t sleep that night, or the next. The midnight hours where the rest of the world lay asleep, were no longer her favourite. Staring up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in its surface, left every part of her aching. He had felt this far away before. Back when he was nothing but a silhouette in the shadows of her dreams, a brush of fingertips against her cool skin. But he was not there anymore. He was not even a faint, distant echo. She couldn’t hear him calling out for her anymore, quiet and desperate. There was no part of him for her to cling to. Wednesday longed for the way he looked at her in those dreams, tenderness that she once resented - she would give anything for it now. It tore her open to realise that the one person that would listen - the one person that would sit down and rub between her fingers with his own, waiting patiently for her to find the words - was the very person that she had hurt. It took everything in her not to turn around in the street and climb up to his window that night, waiting for him to let her in. He would. She knew that he would gather her in his arms and make it all okay, and that was the very reason why she couldn’t do it. She didn’t deserve that. 

But by the time the weekend was over, her throat was raw. It burned at the thought of everything that she said, and everything that she wished she had said. The weight of those words pinned her to the mattress, her weak little heart fluttering with panic. It was the scariest thought that she had ever had - realising that she could not do this alone. Now that she had felt his touch, it hurt to go without it. Now that she knew what his lips tasted like first thing in the morning, and the way he turned around to whisper good morning - she wasn’t ready to give it up. It was what dragged her dizzy, exhausted form out of bed two nights later, feet padding softly down the hallway to his dorm. She had been here before, too. There, stood outside his door, hesitating and shaking at the very thought of raising her hand to knock. To wave the white flag. But this time, Wednesday’s eyes stung with tears as she knocked rapidly and furiously, swallowing fearfully at the thought of him choosing not to answer. But before her hand even left the wood, the door opened a crack. 

And there he was, the one mirror that she could not avoid. 

Before he could even help it, his face lit up with relief at the sight of her - relief that she did not deserve. And Wednesday felt rotten. 

Tyler’s own face was swollen from crying. His cheeks moist and flushed, eyelashes wet with tears. She couldn’t stand it. It took everything in her not to collapse into his arms, right there and then. To let him brush away her sticky bangs from her forehead, and press his lips against her damp skin. Squeezing her tight, picking her up off the floor until her feet dangled. Until there was not a doubt in her mind that they would be okay. But although he couldn’t hide his initial relief at seeing her at his door, Wednesday noticed the guardedness in his expression. The way he was holding himself back from pulling her close, opting to cross his arms over his chest instead. It wasn’t that simple - things rarely were. 

“Can I come in?” Her voice was weak and she hated how it broke off at the end.

He managed a nod in return, still looking at her as if he was dreaming. After the daze cleared, he shook his head lightly and seemed to snap out of it, opening the door wider. Wednesday slipped through the gap, and as her body brushed up against his on the way through, the both of them trembled. 

Wednesday didn’t know what to say. Something had dragged her there - the feeling that she would never find this again with anyone else, and that she would never want to - but now that she was there, words fell short. Wednesday was a fighter. She knew her way around the world of martial arts and she had ended Crackstone’s life with one single blow through his black heart. But she had never had to fight for something like this before. Admitting it, was terrifying. She was there to fight for him and it already felt like she was losing. 

Tyler spoke up first, quietly. “You tried to see me.” 

Her head snapped up to meet his, her eyes widening a fraction in alarm. 

“My dad told me”, he explained weakly, “…is that true? You came to the house?”

Wednesday nodded. 

He looked pained. “Why didn’t you come in?”

Her mouth opened, and then pressed shut again with a frustrated sigh. It would have been easy to tell him that walking miles through the woods to his house, was enough of a display of her swallowing her own pride. It would have been easy to say that after everything, she was just a coward. Or that she simply didn’t care enough to fight harder. Instead, his father’s words had been swinging around in her head, taking hits at her whenever they got the chance, and all she could picture was the look on his face when she told him that she was just like him - making Tyler feel unimportant. On the walk back to Nevermore, all she could think about was that the Sheriff had been able to take one glance, and see straight through her. Right down to the cracks in her facade, into the cobweb-strewn depths of her soul that she was afraid to even think about.

“Your father."

“My dad what?”

“He helped me realise something.”

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest expectantly. “Okay. He helped you realise what?”

Her eyes were full of shame when she finally looked up at him. “That I’m no different from him.”

A frown fell across Tyler’s face, and he didn’t quite know what to say. It had been humiliating to say the least, to come crawling back home with his tail tucked between his legs. He had felt like a scolded child with his packed overnight bag, ready to get told I told you so. In the end, he had ended up walking in on his father drinking a beer on the couch. The Sheriff had blinked, as if he was seeing things, until he noticed the defeated expression on his son’s face. When he asked what happened, Tyler’s eyes squeezed shut, stinging too much to even look at his father’s face. His voice was a broken mumble, as he confessed to his father that he told Wednesday that he loved her. There was nothing else to be said. The Sheriff had merely pressed his lips together, not saying anything in return. They both knew there was no need to ask the question. It was clear by who his girlfriend was, and the miserable look on his face - that she had not said it back. 

Tyler had stood there for a moment, waiting for his father to say something - anything. But nothing came. So instead, he dragged himself up the stairs to his bedroom, ignoring Elvis wagging his tail for attention on the way up, and shut the door behind him. Elvis had whined for hours, scratching at the wood. It just made Tyler cry harder. 

“I don’t—“ he shook his head at her, confused. “You’re nothing like—“

Wednesday interrupted him. “I’m exactly like him. I’m cold. I’m dismissive. I don’t care enough about your feelings. I never get things right.”

“Wednesday—“

“I hurt you. All the time. Don’t you get it, Tyler?” Her voice was stressed with emotion, more emotion than he had ever heard her use. “It doesn’t matter if it’s now, or a year from now. I’m going to hurt you. That’s what I do. And you’ll let me do it because you love me, but there will come a time where it even becomes too much for you.”

Tyler felt another tear slip down his cheek. 

She felt her vision begin to blur, barely able to whisper. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

It wasn’t until that moment, that Wednesday realised her mother had gotten her wish. But as she allowed herself to grow soft, she had been left with the consequences. For growing softer, meant growing weaker. It made her more open to attack, more easily-hurt, and in building up something that had started to feel so sacred, she had set it up to fall down - and it hurt that much more. Before Tyler, she never knew she could feel this much. It was clear why romantic attachments were often avoided - they were messy, complicated and frustrating. There were a million reasons for her to walk away, but the only one that mattered was how reluctant she was to have Tyler become collateral damage in the fallout. Just another mess that she had left behind. In realising that she would walk away forever if it gave him a chance at being happier - it was in that moment, that Wednesday realised that she loved him. Really loved him. 

It was right there, in plain sight. Beneath the mascara that was clumping together from the dampness of her tears, beneath the incessant picking at her nails throughout the weekend, causing the skin to tear and bleed. Beneath every word she ever said to him, cold and cruel, spat out of protection. Beneath the shake in her voice, the desperation to make him understand. With every word, she was hoping that he would get as far away from her as he could. A lone tear spilled down her cheek, quiet this time. Tyler’s eyes widened at the sight of her crying again, and this time it wasn’t because of him - it was over him. Wednesday saw the pain in his eyes and hoped that he was beginning to understand, that she didn’t have to say it aloud. 

“It only hurts when you’re not here”, he told her, eyes imploring her to listen. He stepped closer, hoping that she wouldn’t stop him. When she made no move to, his hands cupped her cheeks, thumb brushing away a tear.

“I didn’t want you to kill Xavier because I know it would hurt you”, she confessed quietly. 

He let her lean back slightly, so that her own hands could wipe furiously at her eyes. Her mascara smudged lightly, traces of it sliding down her cheekbones. Tyler let her compose herself slightly, and after he did, she didn’t move away. Once she was finished, he took her hands in his own and squeezed lightly. Giving her space to breathe, space to continue. 

“That’s not who you are”, Wednesday told him firmly, “…I couldn’t care less if he lived or died. But I know that you would end up hating yourself for it. It isn’t who you want to be.”

He peered at her through damp eyelashes. 

“If you keep killing, if you give into that instinct — you will turn into a weapon. Captured and experimented on, used for the purposes of others. You would turn into exactly what she wanted. And I won’t let you be anything like what that woman wanted.”

Tyler was so focused on the fierce protectiveness in her voice, that it took a second for her words to hit. And once they did, it felt like something light and airy washed over him. It felt like shackles being lifted off his bleeding body, like the golden tint of daybreak. Over the months of sleeping in the woods and sneaking into his own childhood bedroom, a part of him never expected to see her again. Even when he became desperate enough to break into her dorm and practically beg for a new master, someone new to take control over him - he never thought he would have her like this. Maybe he would be permitted to watch from afar, or to used as a creature for her bidding, leaving dead bodies on her doorstep like a loyal pet. That would have been enough for him. But before long enough, she was letting him in - little by little. He could feel it. The way that she opened up, softening. And it was only after one night of watching her fall asleep with her long hair strewn across his bare chest, that Tyler realised that she had never wanted that from him. She didn’t want a weapon, she had plenty of her own. She didn’t want him to continue the path to bloodshed, because she knew that it had never been what he wanted - not really. 

Wednesday saw him for who he was. And he was too busy crushing his enemy’s back into a tree to notice. Standing there now, her eyes flickering between his, still damp with tears - he felt like a fool for not realising it. He had never expected to be loved like this. 

“You're right”, he admitted, bending to brush his lips across her knuckle, leaving a kiss there, “…thank you for not letting me.”

But her eyes went dim, and Tyler had a feeling he wouldn’t like what was coming. 

She swallowed. “It would be easier—“

“What would be easier?” 

“If we—“

“No.”

Wednesday blinked twice. “What do you mean no?”

“I know what you are trying to say”, Tyler lifted his chin, voice not leaving room for argument, “…and I’m telling you no.”

“You aren’t listening—“

He stepped closer, one hand still cupping her cheek, the other falling to curl around the small of her waist. His voice was surprisingly soft. “Do you want to leave me?”

She was a weakling, melting into his touch. After over a week of not touching, of not having skin to skin contact, their bodies were going lax and dripping down each other like candle wax. And when he was touching her, only the truth could come out - albeit quietly. 

“No”, she admitted feebly. 

“Then you’re not going to.”

At the sensation of his lips on hers, a long high-pitched whine got trapped in the back of her throat. It was muffled by his mouth, tongue licking into her as if he couldn’t wait a second longer. The moment their bodies met, melting into each other - Wednesday couldn’t get enough, taking fistfuls of his curls and pulling hard. His own hands were joined at the small of her back, wrapping almost fully around her small frame. The difference in their size made her shiver, body thrumming in delight at how he could swallow her whole. Those large hands soon dragged up the length of her back, underneath the oversized hoodie, underneath her thin camisole, until there was only hot sensitive skin. God, he missed her skin. It was so warm, so malleable despite its pale complexion. It had been over a week, and he was suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be able to get enough of her. She had felt so far away, just on the other side of the castle. He needed her close. Tyler sighed against her lips, picking her up from the ground. For a while, he just held her in his arms, with her feet dangling off the floor helplessly, his face buried in her neck. 

When he pulled away to look at her, every thought of leaving left Wednesday’s head. She could only peer at him, eyelashes fluttering delicately, eye-lids half closed with dizzy contentment. The world was spinning and she didn’t want it to stop. Not when he was there, right there holding her in his arms, like he had no intention of letting go. 

Tyler felt her weight sag in his hold, and tightened his grip. As he started to walk them over to his bed in the corner of the room, her legs shifted to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at his lower back. She was so light, so dainty. But he could hear the muffled vibration of her grumble in his neck at the idea of being carried like a baby, and it just made him squeeze her tighter. He wanted to coo at her, pressing kisses against her cheeks until she stopped complaining. But as he gently deposited her onto his mattress, feeling her weight sink into it slightly - he realised that she wasn’t complaining anymore. No, she was looking up at him through her eyelashes, blinking so prettily at him. Lush lips parted just so, flushed and swollen from his kisses. Just looking at them made his head duck back down, his mouth eager for more. To feel more of her. To taste more of her. He adjusted the angle of his head, kissing her a little deeper, a little wetter. Wednesday whined into his mouth, nails digging into the taut muscle of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt. He was warm and solid, and all hers. 

“Lie back”, he mumbled against her lips, groaning as she defiantly nipped at his lower lip, “I want to feel you.”

As she gave in, spreading herself out on his sheets - Wednesday realised how much she had missed this. Moments like these - with his fingers in her hair, lips nudging at her jaw, body hovering over hers. She had always been reliant on logic - purely analytical and research-based. Every thought carefully planned out, every decision thought through. But with Tyler, all she could do was feel. Every touch, every kiss - was overwhelming, leaving her lightheaded with desire. And yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself away from it. 

Tyler pulled back from her lips to nose along her jaw, and she practically growled in protest, tugging at the sensitive curls at the nape of his neck to bring his lips back up to hers. He grunted, obliging for a moment, swiping his tongue across her lower lip, before sucking it into his mouth. He wanted it to bruise. As he pulled away, she let out another sound of protest and he almost laughed out loud. What a needy little thing. 

“Fuck, baby”, he whispered, licking a stripe down her neck, “you missed me, huh?”

The second the term of endearment left his lips, it suddenly hit her. Throughout the entire argument last week, the sound of her name in the air felt wrong, and she couldn’t understand why. It had sounded so harsh. It was only now that Wednesday was realising that she had gotten so used to him calling her baby. When he was angry with her, he didn’t say it once. And hearing it now, in such a thick, syrupy voice - made everything feel okay again. 

He was right, she had missed him. It may not have been there at first. She had tried her hardest to continue her week as if nothing was out of the ordinary, writing her novel and making use of the free time without any interruptions. And she might have tried to hide it for a while. Falling asleep with his jacket pressed against her nose, only to wake up and toss the fabric away from her in disgust once her senses returned. But right here, right now - it would feel foolish to pretend that she did not lie awake at night aching for him. Tyler slid himself between her parted thighs, getting comfortable as he leisurely covered the expanse of her neck with his mouth. Nipping, licking, sucking - creating deep red and violet marks that she would feel for days. He moaned against the salty skin of her neck, feeling her the legs hook around his waist and squeeze. His length was already half-hard in his sweatpants, desperately seeking friction. If he tried hard enough, he could probably get himself off by rutting against her while his lips stayed attached to her neck. But he didn’t want to come in his pants like a teenager - no, he wanted to take his time with her.

Even if it meant that she might kill him afterwards. 

His hands curled around the hem of her oversized hoodie, shoving it up her stomach with little effort. The material got bunched around her shoulders, arms struggling to escape through the holes and Wednesday huffed, squirming around beneath him in an effort to get rid of it. When she was finally free of the thick layer, she didn’t wait for his participation before reaching for the hem of her thin camisole. A hand abruptly stopped her. Tyler took a moment to drink in the gauzy material, edged with lace around the bust, silky and flowing. It contrasted against her pale skin, the peaks of her nipples straining beneath the fabric, eager for his attention. Flicking his eyes up to her, seeing the frustration that lay there - he bit back a smirk. One of his hands smoothed down the silky material around her ribcage, whilst another one drifted upwards to cup one of her mounds through the fabric. The small weight of her breast in his palm made his length twitch, and he flicked his thumb over the outline of her nipple just to torment her. Wednesday’s hips jolted upwards a little at the sensation, her lips pulling downwards into an almost comedic pout. Tyler would have noticed it and chuckled, if he were not too busy blowing cool air across the expanse of her covered chest. Watching her nipples strain even further against the camisole. 

Finally, his head bent down and she practically whined in anticipation before his lips finally wrapped around a nipple. He sucked it into the wet heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. Through the material of silk, the sensation was too much and not enough friction at the same time. She opened her mouth to get him to hurry the fuck along, when his teeth gently grazed the nub. Instead, all that left her lips was a weak whimper. 

“Tyler”, she wanted it to sound like a threat, but it was unsure. 

He was busy, staring at the wet patch he had created over her chest. “Hmm?”

“More.”

He blinked up at her, looking almost a little bored. “Oh, you want more?”

Wednesday frowned at his change in behaviour, at the focus of his eyes on her face. It almost seemed like he wanted something, and would stop at nothing to get it. She gritted her teeth, finally forcing out, “Yes.”

Tyler moved across to her other nipple, giving it a short nip. “Well that’s too bad.”

Her mouth dropped open, eyebrows furrowing together. Hot embarrassment crawled up her skin, redness flushing on her neck at his dismissal. Was he planning on denying her? Before she had a chance to argue further, his lips wrapped around her neglected peak and sucked hard. So hard that her hips squirmed, bucking up into his, feeling the outline of his bulge pressing firmly into her. He did not seem concerned with his own arousal, opting instead to flick his tongue over her nub, doing it over and over again until Wednesday started to try and tug his head away. 

“Okay, okay”, he conceded, a glint in his eyes, “I hear you. You want more.”

She could have killed him. “Yes.”

His body slid further down the bed, his weight leaving her. Before she could help it, another petulant whine escaped Wednesday at the loss of sensation, and the cool air on her sensitive nipples. The wet fabric brushing against them, a mere echo of what his tongue was just doing. He shushed her, one large hand pressing her lower stomach down into the mattress so that her hips would stop searching for friction. Her body was so responsive for him, the very sight of it contorting below him and stretching to find stimulation, had him groaning quietly. He had half a mind to immediately give her what she wanted, but held back. She was finally beneath him after over a week of no contact, no touch - and he wanted to savour every moment. But even more than that, he wanted to convince her to stay. To show her how he could make her feel, and how there was no way in hell he was just letting her walk away. 

The second his face lowered between her legs, Tyler’s eyes widened at the realisation that she was only wearing panties underneath that long hoodie. She had been walking around, across the length of the castle, down the hallway to his dorm, knocking on his door - only in panties. Small, black lacy ones too. Framing her hips, hardly covering a thing. His head swam with thoughts, a moan escaping him at the thought of her rubbing her thighs together on those nights that she missed him. Those nights apart, had she called his name? He imagined her small hand trailing down the smooth skin of her torso, impatiently curling into those lace panties, trying her hardest to create the right kind of friction and bring herself to the edge in the way that he could. He wondered if she had given into the urge to touch herself during their time apart. He tutted, head lowering so that he could press his lips to her mound over the material. It was scratchy against his skin, but damp and sticky. He wanted to pull them off her slowly, seeing if a string of her arousal would still be attached to the material. But her hands were tugging at his curls again, more insistent this time, her eyes screwed shut - and Tyler decided to be mean. 

Wednesday fully kicked out her legs in frustration as his lips left a featherlight kiss to her core through the material. Tyler had to hold an ankle down firmly, “Careful.”

“You’re—“, she huffed, looking at him with murder in her eyes, “I need—“

“I know what you need”, he reassured her gently, softening at the sight of her heaving chest and trembling facial muscles. She was struggling to hold it together, so he decided to ease up. A hand running over her hip bone soothingly, “I’ve got you, baby.”

After that, Tyler tugged her panties down and put his mouth where she wanted it. At the first contact of his lips with her folds, Wednesday let out a soft moan. Right there, trapped in the back of her throat. Tyler swiped his tongue through her, swirling around her clit. It was swollen for his attention, soaked in her arousal. He licked his lips greedily, moaning at the taste of her. His head ducked back down, licking into her and spreading her lips with his fingertips. He lapped up everything that she gave him, the juices practically running down his chin from how much she was producing. At this point, his erection was aching and sore in the confines of his sweatpants, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Once she began to grind against his face, chasing the feeling of his nose bumping against her clit, Tyler could sense that she was getting comfortable in a rhythm. That would mean that she was getting close. And that wouldn’t do. Pulling away, he used his forearm to press her thigh into the mattress whilst the other came up to join his mouth. Sinking two fingers into her instantly, Wednesday keened at the stretch. It felt so full, her walls struggling to accommodate his digits. He started moving them once she gave him an eager nod, curling them upwards and dragging them against her walls. 

She was so wet and tight, twitching snd throbbing. He couldn’t get enough. Every so often, his eyes would flicker up to her face, watching carefully for her reactions and silent pleas, watching her climb closer towards the edge. His lips reattached themselves to her clit, sucking it into his mouth gently. He hummed against her, the vibrations making her hips snap upwards into him. He repeated the action, feeling the muscles of her thighs tense around his head. Tyler moved his fingers gently, sinking them in deep, twisting and curling. Her head was tilting back, her heels digging into his upper back muscles. Right as her mouth fell open in a silent cry, her walls beginning to flutter around him - he ceased all ministrations. 

Wednesday’s body tensed with confusion, her head snapping upwards to look at him. 

“W-What?” Her breath was shaky, eyes searching his desperately. 

His fingers were still buried inside of her, but they were not giving enough friction to tip her over the edge. His lips and tongue had been pulled away, and Wednesday felt her approaching orgasm ripped away from her. 

Her voice was pitiful, whiny. She hated it. “I-I…I was close.”

“Apologise.”

“What?”

“Apologise.”

“For what?”

“You know what for.”

Wednesday glared at him, every part of her aching at the absence of his touch. She was gasping for air, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I—“

He looked at her expectantly. 

“I’m sorry”, she choked out, frowning down at him. 

Clearly this was deemed acceptable, as the movement of his fingers resumed. This time, they fucked into her faster, shoving deeper and deeper. He kept his eyes on her though, watching again as she tilted her head back and whimpered at the feeling. His spare hand fell to her inner thigh, helping to adjust the angle as he tilted his hand and brushed his fingers up against that spongy wall - hitting it just right. 

“That’s it, baby”, he praised, groaning at the string of whines that left her lips, her walls clenching around him, “…does that feel good?”

She nodded desperately, worried that he would stop again. 

“Good”, he murmured, scissoring his fingers slightly to stretch her out more, her wetness producing a lewd sound, “…that’s good. Good girl.”

Wednesday let out a small sob, tears pricking her eyes. 

Her back arched, body twisting and squirming in the sheets underneath the skills of his hand. It felt so good, too good. His fingers were so long and thick, and she had never felt so full. After missing his touch for a week, it was no wonder why she had felt so empty. Opening her eyes tiredly to look at him, seeing his determined, awe-struck gaze, made another whimper escape. A plea. It was then that she noticed he was fully dressed, still in his t-shirt and sweatpants, looking composed and in control above her. His muscles straining in his forearms and wrists as he fucked her with his fingers, his tongue flicking out onto his lower lip at the sight of her. Open and wanting beneath him, panting like an animal in heat. She reached down for him with her hands, trying to convey what she needed. Tyler obeyed, leaning up far enough so that she could cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as his hand kept working. His fingers hitting against her g-spot with every thrust, making her vision blur. Wednesday’s hands scrambled around his neck, and she prayed that he would have mercy. 

“P-Please”, she hiccuped, “…please don’t stop. I’m—“

“You’re close?” He crooned in her ear. 

She nodded, whimpering into his neck, holding on tight. 

“Apologise again.”

“Tyler."

His voice was low. “I can be more convincing, Wednesday.”

“I’m sorry”, she pushed out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again…just—“

A hum vibrating against her ear, his teeth nipping at her ear. He kept his fingers pressed insistently against her g-spot, curling them slightly, whilst his thumb grazed over her clit. It wasn’t long before she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Her orgasm ripping through her, drawn out by his sweet words in her ear and thumb rubbing gently across her swollen nub. She clenched down on his fingers, whimpering when he had to remove them gently. When he did, there was a string of her arousal attached at the end, and Tyler didn’t waste any time before sucking on the digits. He closed his eyes, moaning around them. It set Wednesday on fire. 

As she let her body sink into the sheets, gasping with the need to catch her breath, Tyler pulled away from her. Wednesday bit back a noise of protest, watching with pleading eyes as he stood up from the bed, still looking at her. With his eyes not straying for a second, he swiftly pulled his t-shirt over his head, a forest green colour that enhanced the green in his eyes - and revealed his bare chest. She felt her lips part, mouth going dry at the sight of his golden skin. Smooth and taut, covered in moles. She wanted to press her lips to every single one. Before Tyler, Wednesday had never felt such a need to touch. She was not a tactile person, at all. But the moment she knelt in front of him, cleaning the blood off his slashed up chest, feeling his abdominal muscles jump with every touch - she wanted to run her fingers across every inch of him. Since the moment she had walked into the Weathervane, noticing his biceps straining against the ugly caramel fabric - a part of her seethed every time she looked at him. She wanted to dig her nails into his flesh and hear him whimper. But now - she was the one whimpering. As he pulled down his sweatpants, his hard, throbbing length sprung free. It hit his stomach, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Wednesday licked her lips, swallowing heavily. 

She could still feel the heaviness of him in her mouth. The way he stretched her mouth open, jaw aching with the effort to take in as much as she could. She could still feel the pressure of his base around her lips, how it tightened and filled with his seed.

As if Tyler could read her mind,  he shook his head at her. “Uh uh.”

Wednesday glared at him, feeling like a child being denied her favourite toy. She wanted to throw a tantrum, or simply gather her clothes and leave, just to give him a taste of his own medicine - but she was desperate. Too desperate. She didn’t want to risk it. Not when he was climbing back on top of her, nestling between her parted thighs, covered in slick. His lips ducked down to cover her own again, tongue swiping over her bottom lip. Wednesday let out a series of soft sighs at the feel of his lips sucking on her tongue, of him flicking his own against the roof of her mouth, licking across her incisors. For a moment, just having him close was enough. She buried her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His own hands were pressed down into the mattress either side of her head, holding his weight firmly so that he did not crush her. After a sharp tug, more of his body weight sunk against her, pinning her down. Tyler moved to adjust, but her whine stopped him. His eyes were full of hunger, dark against her own as he leaned down to press the last few tender kisses against her lips. An unspoken tenderness, perhaps even an apology.

“Please”, she breathed against his lips, “I need—“

He shushed her again, leaving an adoring suck at the edge of her jaw. “I know.”

After grabbing a condom from the beside draw and rolling it down his aching length, squeezing at the base to relieve some pressure - Tyler settled back between her thighs. For a moment, he just ran the swollen tip through her soaked folds, collecting the wetness for extra lubrication. Every time it bumped against her sensitive clit, Wednesday sucked in a small breath. When he finally sank in the first few inches, they both cried out. Tyler’s arms trembled with the force of holding himself up, his body tense with pleasure at he feeling of her squeezing around him. After a nod to continue, his length sank in the rest of the way and he bottomed out. Looking down at their size difference, he let out a guttural moan. Sometimes he was still amazed that he fit within her tightness. She was so small compared to him, and the fact that she had never done this with anybody else drove him crazy. He stayed like that just for a moment, buried to the hilt, both of them panting and looking into each other’s eyes. Wednesday tilted her head back when he made the first move, rocking into her firmly. Her legs moved up to squeeze tight around his waist, heels digging into his ass to try and drag him in further. 

A squelching sound could be heard between them, every time their bodies met. Grinding filthily, rocking back and forth, his length stretching her out. It was so filthy, it made her skin burn hot. With every thrust, the lace the top of her camisole would brush against his upper chest, stimulating his nipples. After a while, it got in the way. Tyler kept one hand firmly on her hip, guiding her movements with his, and the other one crawled up to her chest, shoving the material up to her chin. Her dark nipples were peaked, begging for attention. They must have felt so neglected through the silky fabric, struggling to get any real stimulation. Tyler blew over them again, feeling Wednesday clench down on his length, eliciting a moan getting stuck in the back of his throat. Lowering his head, his teeth gently sunk into the tender flesh of her breast, just above her nipple. Not hard enough to really sting, but enough to leave a little indent. He switched, doing the same on the other breast, only harder this time. 

“Fuck, Tyler.”

In retaliation, he sucked her nipple into his mouth for a second, only to release it with a pop. 

With the feeling of him inside of her, stretching her out deliciously, it should have been too much. But he knew exactly what he was doing with those little grazes, light touches and marks that were too quick to provide any real relief. He could play her body like an instrument, fine tuning and bending her to his will. 

“I missed you so much”, he groaned against the top of her ribcage, mouth hovering over her skin. 

Wednesday whined in response. 

Tyler gave a particularly harsh thrust, making her choke on her breath. “Tell me you missed me too.”

“I—“, she stammered helplessly, whimpering in pleasure, “…I-I—“

“C’mon baby”, he begged, licking a stripe up to her collarbone, “Tell me.”

It could have been the desperation in his voice, or the way that he was pounding into her at just the right angle — but emotion rolled over her in waves. Her orgasm hit unexpectedly, sending her careening into a string of soft sobs, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She held onto him for dear life as she rode her wave of pleasure, eyes screwed shut at the intensity. She could hardly breathe, and all of a sudden she felt the pain of missing him hit all at once. “I-I missed you”, she sobbed out, voice cracking. 

Tyler seemed to notice her distress, movements slowing down, pressing kisses all over her cheeks. His voice was low, careful. “Hey, are you—“

“Don’t stop”, she pleaded, voice slurring slightly. 

He picked her up, changing their positions so that she was deposited in his lap, knees either side of him. This way, he could see her face more. His fingers came up to tenderly brush some of her bangs out of her face, his eyes gentle and still filled with a twinge of concern. Once she had calmed down slightly, digging her nails into the taut muscles in his back, he resumed fucking her. He held her steady, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her limp body up. His hips thrusting upwards to meet her, letting her close her eyes and just feel. But it wasn’t enough for him, he needed to see her fall apart one more time. 

“Look at me”, Tyler, cupped her cheek, tilting her head forward from where it had fell back.

Wednesday’s eyes fluttered open, still filled with tears from the pleasure and emotion of being back in his arms. Her dark eyes were wide and glistening, her lips parted. Her breathing was uneven, quiet whimpers leaving her throat with every movement of his hips, and as his thumb reached down to circle gently around her swollen clit - she hissed. He kept the pressure light, his other hand cupping her jaw to ensure that she would keep looking at him. 

His eyes were wild again, staring into her soul. “You won’t leave me again.”

She hiccuped, feeling her vision go hazy as another climax approached. Tyler tightened his grip on her jaw, forcing her attention back to him. 

“Tell me you won’t leave me again”, it was more of a plea this time. 

His pressure on her clit increased, just slightly, and Wednesday cried out loudly, her toes curling into the sheets. “I—“

“Tell me or you won’t come.”

It was more of a babble at this point, “I-I…I won’t leave you again.”

Tyler picked up the pace, gritting his teeth at the feeling of his own relief being moments away. His length aching, swollen and dying to release inside of her. “You mean it?”

“I mean it”, she sobbed, “I-I won’t—“

His final thrust sent her mewling, back arching upwards, her chest pressing against his. Tyler’s release came quickly, a broken moan echoing around them as he spilled inside of the condom. The feeling of his body slowing and going limp in her arms, sent Wednesday into a world of her own pleasure. It was like her entire body snapped, white hot pleasure bursting through every pore, her eyesight fading. Wednesday hid her face in the crook of his neck, whining as pleasure washed over her, her orgasm seeming to last forever. It was only when she felt wetness leaking onto the sheets beneath them, that she hiccuped and buried her face deeper, embarrassment creeping up her back. Tyler’s eyes were wide and focused between them, watching a stream of liquid gush out of her. A damp patch clear for all to see. Did she just—

“Baby…”

Wednesday whimpered quietly in response, still hiding away from him. A small plea for him not to finish his sentence, not to ask the question. She had never squirted before, she could hardly even tip herself over the edge in the privacy of her own bedroom. Without his touch, it was pretty much useless. This was all still so new to her. Tyler quickly realised how embarrassed and overwhelmed she was, struggling to even catch her breath and pull away from him. Instead, she opted to bury herself in his neck and pretend that it didn’t happen. Something within him softened, and he shushed her gently, stroking a hand over the back of her head. When she tilted further into his caress, a smile quirked at the corner of his lips, knowing what she was searching for. The moment his fingernails gently grazed against the tender skin at the back of her neck, Wednesday felt like she could breathe again. She curled into him, letting out a pleased noise at the attention. Tyler kissed the side of her head, continuing to scratch along her favourite spot, letting her come back into her body. He knew that she must have been horrified and confused, and he didn’t want to make her feel any worse. Instead, he held his tongue and waited for her to be okay again. 

After a while, he couldn’t hold himself back. His hand left the back of her neck, and slid down the curve of it until she was looking at him. Just barely. Once he knew that he had at least some of her attention, he whispered it softly. “Are you okay?”

She granted him a nod, still boneless against him. 

Tyler nudged his lips against the edge of her jaw, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

In the time that he was away from her, Wednesday focused on her breathing and forced her body to relax. Her fingers and toes were tingling, her centre throbbing from stimulation and she just wanted to lie down for the rest of the night. When Tyler came back shortly after, he scooped her up in his arms tenderly, despite protest - and began carrying her over to the bathroom. He had kept the lights off, as to not overstimulate her. But with the door open, the dim light from his bedroom washed over everything, and revealed a bubble bath that he had drew for her. Wednesday blinked, unaware that he even had a bath. He placed her down on the edge of the tub, widening the door a little further to let more golden light in. The water looked steaming and inviting, and her face was soft and open with a little smile as she looked at him. Tyler smiled back at her, bending to kiss her forehead before nodding at her to remove her camisole and climb in the bath. Once her body was lowered into the hot water, her joints relaxing, a gasp escaping at the sensation - he moved to settle in behind her. Pulling her back against his chest. 

For a while, he just held her. But then it slipped out. “I’m sorry.”

Wednesday shook her head. “You don’t have to be.”

“I said things that I shouldn’t have.”

“I know.”

Her voice was so soft, and he knew that she had forgiven him. He wondered if she would have a harder time forgiving herself. 

One hand rubbed soothing circles into the joint of her hip, right where it met her thigh. The other, linked her fingers through his own before moving to rest their entwined hands onto her stomach. He could feel her relaxing against him, slowly giving more of her weight up until he was practically the only thing holding her up in the water. The bubbles were making her pale skin glisten, water sloshing around them every time they shifted. In the dim light, Tyler could notice the sweat gathering on the nape of her neck, the hairs damp and tangled, falling out of her braids. His hand left her hip, reaching up to run a finger over the bumps of a braid. They were messy now, her bangs still sticking to her forehead. Tyler tilted his chin, pressing an adoring kiss to the sweaty skin at the back of her neck. Slightly salty underneath his lips. It was there that he whispered it, tender and sweet. Honestly expecting her to immediately refuse. “Can I wash your hair?”

Her body stiffed against his before she could help it. 

“It’s okay”, Tyler soothed, putting his hand back down to her hip respectfully, “…I won’t if you don’t want me to. I just want to clean you up, baby.”

For a long minute, Wednesday hardly moved. His words swirling around in her mind, his voice still somewhat far away under the haze of pleasure and warm bubbles. But after some consideration, her hands hesitantly left him, trailing up to the braids spilled across her shoulders. Tyler held his breath, waiting as her unsure fingers reached up to slowly untie her braids. She deposited the rubber bands keeping the hair together on the bathroom floor, running her fingers through the sweaty, tangled hair, until it was all released down her back. When she was done, she leaned forward slowly, giving Tyler some space. With a nod, her eyes cast downwards, she gave him the signal to begin. Tyler’s heart squeezed at the thought of her letting him do this. A great sign of trust, letting someone else touch her hair. Letting someone else take care of her. 

With a shaky breath, Tyler’s hands raised and reached for an empty plastic cup on the side of the bath. He scooped it down, filling it with water before leaning forward, tilting Wednesday’s head back. The water ran over her scalp, making her raven hair impossibly darker and silky smooth. Once it was completely drenched, running in thick long strands down to her waist, he opened a bottle of shampoo. Lathering it in his hands first, he began to gently work it through her hair, getting rid of all of the dirt and sweat. When his fingernails dug into her scalp, massaging gently, Wednesday let out a soft hum. With every movement, her hair loosened up, getting softer in his hands and Tyler could not get enough of it. He wondered if she would let him do this again. He couldn’t pretend as though it hadn’t occurred in some of his dreams, late at night when he was lying there missing her, thinking about her asleep less than five minutes away. After spilling more water over her scalp and getting rid of the soap suds, Tyler reached for the bottle of conditioner. Leaning forward for a moment, he breathed in deeply and came to the realisation that she would smell like his hair products until she next washed her hair. He hoped that it took a long time to fade. His hands smoothed conditioner over the tangles at the end of her hair, gently using his fingers to brush them out and leave it all smooth. 

The entire time, Wednesday was silent. Soaking up his gentle touch. When he pressed an adoring kiss to the side of her cheek, leaning forward to hug her close and breathe in the scent of her freshly-washed hair, shame overtook her. He was treating her with such tenderness, such love. Even after she walked away, leaving him there in tears.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say it back.”

It was something that they had both ignored since she arrived at his doorstep. They had danced around explanations and apologies, talking about everything else but this. The very thing that hadn’t left her mind all week. The sound of those words leaving his lips, the jolt of panic she felt the second that she heard them. The fear. 

Tyler rubbed a thumb over her wrist, not saying anything. 

“I do, you know”, Wednesday whispered, her voice wobbling, “I do love you.”

She couldn’t so much feel his smile against the back of her head, but she could hear it in his voice, clear and undeniable. “I know.”

And he did know, in fact maybe he had all along. Maybe he had figured it out long before she did. He just had a way of knowing her, in a way that had nothing to do with their bond, and everything to do with the amount of time he spent watching. Waiting, observing. Learning her. It was there in her eyes the moment he opened the door, her legs shaking as she walked inside, as if she wasn’t even expecting him to answer. It was there as she bowed her head, shyly letting him wash her hair and run a sponge over her exhausted body. Wednesday believed herself to be hard to read, but Tyler knew her tells. As he wrapped her up in a fluffy dark grey towel, carefully picking out the darkest colours he owned for her to wear in bed, just so that she would feel comfortable. As he watched her crawl into his bed after he changed the sheets, tucking the blankets up to her chin, blinking slowly at him. It was right there. She would never be able to hide it. Maybe it had hurt so much when she refused to say it back that night, because he knew she did. If he had been uncertain, if there had been a shadow of a doubt in his head, it might have hurt less - because he could blame himself for misinterpreting, for misreading things. But no, she loved him and she refused to say it out of spite. Out of fear. That is what hurt the most.

As they curled up together under his blankets, his fingers combing through her wet hair, she wouldn’t stop looking at him. Her eyelids were heavy with the need to sleep, but there was a slight crease between her eyebrows. It kept disappearing, only to reappear moments later. Tyler figured out what it meant before she did, leaning down to murmur the words against her cheek. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up”, her eyes flicked back and forth between his own, glistening with emotion that she was struggling to understand. But it seemed he knew, reassuring her earnestly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, her eyes finally slipped closed. 

Chapter Text

Early morning sunlight poured through the window, bathing the bed in stripes of gold. Wednesday shifted in the sheets uncomfortably. The sun was streaming directly across half of her body, boring down on the bare skin of her shoulders. Everything was too bright, too hot. But when she turned her head - he was there. His cheek was pressed against her pillow, flexed arm providing a pillow for her head. He was there, and he once hadn’t been. And suddenly, she didn’t want to move. It tore her open - the absence of him. It damn near cut through the stitches that had grown over her heart, over the places that he had once been. Without him, there wasn’t even the space to hate him. And that was the worst part of all. Now, Wednesday brushed a stray curl away with her thumb, observing his scrunched sleeping face - and felt pretty foolish. How could she ever hate him? He was perfect for her in every way - cut straight down in the middle, half-angel, half-devil. His wickedness, sharp tongue and blood-soaked teeth only heightened the moments in which he was softer. Tyler was damp with tears and love, the perfect image of a smudged water-colour painting when he cried. Emotion poured out of him, baring the weaker parts of him. More human. Somehow it was the part of him that she loved most of all. 

Wednesday Addams - known for detesting displays of weakness and unnecessary spouts of emotion, had fallen in love with just that. A boy who physically represented all varying degrees of unkempt emotion - flashing hot and cold, snarling at her before whimpering pitifully. 

But oh, how she loved him. 

Admitting it to herself, made the fact unavoidable. Now that the thought had been whispered in her mind, an echo drafted from the dark corner in which she had tried to ignore - it refused to pipe down. Playing on a constant loop, reminding her and never letting her forget. 

The moment Tyler’s own eyes began to flutter open, it took a moment for them to clear. It seemed as if he had almost forgotten where he was, blinking rapidly, cupid’s bow twitching. It was the way he was looking at her too - as if she were a ghost, right about to disappear. But once he seemed convinced enough that she was real and that she was really there - in his arms, in his bed - relief flickered over his features. All of them softening all at once. His arm curled tighter around her waist, tugging her closer against him. Wednesday let him move her, burrowing herself into the section between his shoulder and neck. Tyler let out a soft sigh into her loose hair. He had never known much about love - nothing at all really, except from how much it could hurt. The second she walked out of the door, he crossed a line through everything that they had once been, ripping out the page and staring at a fresh, blank one - preparing himself to be alone again. It had never occurred to him that she might possibly come back, that she might choose to stay. She looked a little uncomfortable in his hold, as if she wasn’t entirely used to being there - but it didn’t stop her from leaving. He saw how much she was trying, for him. Despite how much she tried to hide it. 

A buzzing noise interrupted them. 

Tyler groaned against the curve of her ear, sounding defeated. Wednesday watched him roll over and reach for his cell phone, squinting down at the screen. If she hadn’t become so aware of his tells, she might not have noticed his eyes going a little dim. His face going a little blank. And how it took him a few seconds longer than usual to swipe the screen, accepting the call. 

“Hi Dad”, his voice was flat, too. 

Wednesday strained her ears, but as hard as she tried - she couldn’t listen into the other side of the call. All she could see was Tyler furrowing his eyebrows, his fingers tightening their grip on the phone as if it were about to be snatched away from him. 

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

With that, he hung up. He placed his phone back down on the bedside table after a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. It took everything in Wednesday not to jump on him immediately. She was trying to work on being more delicate with his feelings. 

She lasted all of twenty seconds. 

“You’ll try to what?”

Tyler laughed a little through his nose, turning to send her a lopsided smile. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“No.”

He grabbed for one of her hands, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “He wants to meet for coffee during his lunch break later. I don’t know, he said something about checking in.”

She stayed silent. 

“It’s just so…”, anger bled into his voice, “…he always does this. As soon as he finds a reason to reel me back in, he does it. He’s using our fight to get to me. If I go…he’ll probably just be ready to say I told you so. And when I tell him that we’re fine, he’ll—“

He broke off with a frustrated sigh. 

“He’ll convince you to change your mind.”

Tyler nodded forlornly. 

“I’m just so sick and tired of him deciding that he knows what is best for me.”

Wednesday huffed. “My parents are the same.”

He stiffened a little beside her, but pressed his lips together. She could tell that he was holding back from saying something, and it bothered her. 

“What?” She challenged.

“Wednesday…”, he sighed, squeezing her hand gently. “I love you. But you don’t realise how lucky you are sometimes. You could say anything and your parents would support you. They would throw you a party no matter what decision you’d make for yourself. With my Dad…it’s like he’s only happy if my life fits in with what he thinks is best.”

She kept quiet for a while, thinking to herself. Tyler shifted uncomfortably and she could tell that he was rearing up to apologise, but she wouldn’t have it. He was right. It was bitter on her tongue to admit it, but it tasted like the truth - a pill not always easy to swallow. Wednesday’s childhood had been a blur of adoring worshipers and the doting of her parents. It was filled to the brim with extravagant gifts, and family traditions. The Addams family were a mystery to everyone else, but with each other - they knew where they belonged. And despite how much she complained, Wednesday always knew that she had a place in her family - glaring straight down the lens of every cursed family portrait. Her mother’s slender hand on her shoulder, her father raising a singular eyebrow and her brother fidgeting with the collar of his knitted sweater. While they smothered her with their love, there was never the space to question it. But as she grew older, she began to resent what was expected of her. Those that compared her to the long line of ancestors before her, when she was determined to carve out her own path. 

“It’s hard…”, she tested the words out in her mouth, finding that she didn’t like the feel of them. “To see parts of myself in them, and vice versa. Sometimes it feels like all they expect from me, is to follow in their footsteps. For as long as I can remember, everyone has been telling me how alike my mother and I are. I suggest they get their eyesight checked.”

Tyler pressed his lips together so that he wouldn’t laugh. She could feel it against the nape of her neck, and he left a firm kiss to the top of her shoulder in an apology. 

Wednesday gave him a look, tone accusatory. “You think we are alike.”

He loosened his grip on her, using it instead to turn her around on the bed. Once she was facing him, all pouty lips and puffed out cheeks - he cupped her face. Taking in her soft, feminine features. He stared at her large, dark eyes and her sharp cheekbones. The twinkle in her eyes that would not leave no matter how much she willed it to. Once he was sure she was disarmed, and unlikely to attack - he told her the truth in a soft, gentle voice. “I think you’re both beautiful. And scary.”

A scowl fell across her face. 

Tyler laughed at the pure misery. It was as if she was hearing confirmation for the first time, as if nobody else had said it. As if she had been hoping that her beauty was only in her head - unnoticeable to others. 

“I hate to break it to you, Wednesday…”, he pinched her cheek a little, pulling his fingers back before she could gnash her teeth at him. “…but you are beautiful. And you can hate it all you want, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

In truth, Tyler had never known a beauty like hers - so obvious, so unwavering. He knew that with her every effort, she tried to downplay it. To hide behind oversized clothing, to keep her face free of excessive make-up products that might emphasise the softness of her features. She was determined to appear plain, to appear terrifying. And she was — but it didn’t make her any less pretty. Somehow it made her more pretty. The hollow, ghost-like paleness of her cheeks, the cutthroat shape of her jaw and little pointed chin. The narrowness of her shoulders, her bony elbows and fast stride. At the Rave’N - she moved like water. Amongst the crowd of girls that resembled dressed up dolls - all flushed cheeks, powdered faces and glittering dresses — Wednesday was eye-catching. In a sea of white, she stood out like a sore thumb in black. Her dress made out of chrome-like mesh, almost appearing torn and ripped. As if she took a pair of scissors to it. Her face was clear, but her eyes were outlined just a little bit darker. Smoky and sultry. Her lips covered in a light layer of lip gloss - perhaps borrowed, perhaps found in the bottom of a forgotten drawer and dusted off. 

He could tell that she hadn’t tried to dress up. She didn’t walk down those stairs to flaunt her appearance, or to hear countless compliments. In fact, she almost rolled her eyes when he called her beautiful. But he just needed her to hear it. He needed her to know that she could have turned up to that dance covered in thick, sour paint, or with a paper bag over her head - and he still wouldn’t be able to look away from her. In the end, she got what she wanted. The sky turned red and the sea of people ended up drenched, left in sticky, ruined clothing. And Wednesday had smiled. And Tyler — he had fallen. Tripped, landed on his ass with a shameful reminder of why he couldn’t stray away from the plan, and she - she was a part of that plan. Still - his first thought was to kiss her. 

What could he say?

Occupational hazard. 

But now, there was nobody to stop him from taking what he wanted. Nobody to tell him no, to remind him that she was enemy, that she was the mark — that he was supposed to hate her, supposed to humiliate her. Instead, there was peace. And he ducked his head down, interrupting her scowl. Prying her little pout open with his tongue, cupping underneath her jaw. Letting himself  get his fill, get lost. Finding the beauty in falling. 

“Are you going to go?” Wednesday asked once they pulled away. 

“Go where?”

“To meet your father.”

“Ugh”, he dropped his head down into the crook of her neck, muttering against her skin. “…you sure know how to kill the mood.”

“Tyler.”

He was quiet for a while, “I don’t know.”

Truthfully, he didn’t have a clue. Part of him wondered if it was a good idea, to suffer through an awkward conversation and half-decent coffee for the unlikely outcome of walking away feeling better somehow. Most of him was angry. Really angry. And when he let himself sit with it enough and felt it clear a little - he wasn’t sure what he was left with. Looking in the mirror and seeing a boy with shaking hands, with bloodshot eyes and hatred in his eyes. Not knowing what to do with this love that had nowhere to go. Nobody willing to accept it.

And his little Wednesday, she nodded stiffly and then tucked him underneath her chin. Looping her small arms around the bulk of his shoulders, squeezing them against her. She didn’t need to say it. He heard her anyway. 

— — —

Tyler had worked at The Weathervane since the day he turned sixteen years-old. It was all so familiar to him now - the odour of burnt coffee, the quiet murmur of customers, the whir of the machinery. He had settled into the role with ease, and before long, every shift was running like clockwork. His apron stained with spilled tea and dustings of flour from the freshly baked cookies that he put into the huge oven every morning before opening. His hands knew the routine - wiping down the crumbs off tables, cleaning the nozzles on the espresso machine, pressing the buttons and watching the steaming hot liquid fill little mugs and takeaway cups. He got to know the customers too, building up rapport with the regulars. The little old ladies that smiled at him, asking for herbal tea and a booth in the quietest corner. The chattering school kids, the working middle-class that sent him a thumbs up instead of verbalising their gratitude. Some stopped to drop coins and crumpled dollars into the tip jar, that the staff split at the end of each week. Others argued with him about whether he had used oat milk, or soy. Those four walls had caged him in, but they had also given him a sense of freedom. With the small pay checks, he was able to scrape together enough loose change to fill up his tank with gas and drive through the dark streets of Jericho at night. Just to get away for a little while.

As he approached the man sitting in the same old booth, just to the left - Tyler couldn’t help but be reminded of the reason he started the job in the first place. Not to put a stop to the nagging about growing up and being responsible after the whole bootcamp thing, and not to make some extra cash to take pretty girls out on dates like every other guy his age. No - to Tyler, that job was something to make him feel a little more busy. A little less alone. 

Donovan nodded at his son, getting up to pat him on the back as he sat down. It took everything in him not to flinch away, not to drop the tight smile on his face. Maybe it wouldn’t kill him to try. 

“How’s work?”

It was all he knew to ask without speaking through gritted teeth. 

“Same old, same old. I can’t stay too long. Got a bunch of paper work to sort through, you know how it is.”

Tyler fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket. 

His father observed him quietly for a minute, and if he kidded himself enough - it might almost seem like he cared. But his jaw clicked, his tongue poking out onto his bottom lip and Tyler knew that he wouldn’t like what was coming. 

“You spoken to Addams yet?”

His tone grew sharp. “She has a name, Dad.”

“Fine. Have you sorted things with Wednesday yet?”

“Yes. We’re fine.”

A look flashed across his father’s face, and he didn’t like it. 

“Go on. Say it.”

The air smelled of gooey melted chocolate and spiced chai, but what was being shared between them was anything but sweet. Donovan looked away, glancing out of the window. Switching off. Avoiding. Just like he always did. Sometimes Tyler wished that his father would yell at him. If he raised his voice and went red in the face, vein bulging out of his forehead, spraying him with spit - it would mean something. It would maybe mean that he cared. A tiny voice in the back of his mind, wondered if his father was like this with his mother too. He was too young to recall slamming doors and heated voices, too heartbroken to remember much other than his own memories of baked brownies and cinnamon-laced hugs. It was selfish to think about, but Tyler wondered if his father drove his mother away too. 

“So you’re going to be spending more time with her.”

“What’s your problem?"

“You didn’t even ask before you arranged to spend the weekend with her family”, Donovan felt like a petty child for arguing this, but it was a matter of principle. He had come home after a long shift to a short phone call from his son, informing him that if he should choose to visit Nevermore - that weekend wound’t work. Donovan had sighed, mumbling about being swamped at work but before too long - the line went dead. He cracked open a beer, thinking about Tyler sitting at their cobweb-strewn table, eating maggots and human brains - and put the queasy feeling in his stomach down to that. 

“I didn’t think that my life mattered that much to you.”

“That’s unfair, Ty.”

“Is it?”

“The last time I saw you, you came home looking like a wreck because of her. Do you think I didn’t hear you crying in your room? It’s not like I have no reason to distrust her when it comes to you and your feelings.”

“You sure made that clear to her”, Tyler snapped back.

With a scowl on his face — it was easy to see Tyler as just another bratty teenager. To put his animosity down to attitude. Maybe that is why it had taken so long to make him realise what he had done, waving his son away at every opportunity, always putting his head down to focus on his desk work instead of the kind of work that really mattered. But now, with a small, defeated voice and eyes that looked too old for his tender age - it was like looking in a mirror. He was starting to see someone bitter, someone that was beginning to stop caring. And a jolt of panic struck his chest, as he began to wonder how long Tyler had looked like that. 

When he used to come in late from work, stepping into his messy room to check on him and turn off the lamp that Tyler always fell asleep with — he still resembled a kid. His cheek smushed against the pillow, snoring a little and sniffing every few seconds. His curls never laying flat on his head. The Sheriff was reminded of the little boy that used to knock on his door, clutching his stuffed teddy, asking if he could sleep in his bed instead. He told himself that getting him used to sleeping on his own was the sensible idea. It was easy to turn away when the boy’s chin wobbled. But now — he wasn’t a child anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. 

Tyler let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I know you’re not all that thrilled about Wednesday and me.”

Donovan rubbed at his stubble in thought. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that his son was right. He had hoped that Tyler would end up with a nice, quiet girl that didn’t put his teeth on edge. A girl with light eyes and a sweet smile, maybe one that would politely greet him every time that they crossed paths. Wednesday was none of that. She was not sweet, and her eyes were dark and intense - like a serpent’s. And if the pair of them were unfortunate enough to cross paths, he was lucky to get a nod of acknowledgement. Some days he received a look of distain, or an eye roll. Or merely a blank stare, as if she was looking straight through him. For a long time, he had put it down to the influence of her parents. But seeing them all together in the same place, observing their quirks and habits - he swiftly learned that Wednesday’s parents were somehow the friendliest of them all. After that, he waved it off as typical teenage attitude. It wasn’t until the girl showed up in the very same cafe, day after day, looking smaller than he had ever seen her before - that he started to see her differently. It wasn’t until she turned up on his doorstep, looking like she had gotten slapped in the face by his words, that he wondered if maybe they weren’t so different after all. 

“I love her”, Tyler continued. There was no ifs, ands or buts about the statement. It was pure fact, and he was unapologetic. “I love her, Dad. And somehow…she loves me too.”

Another gruff noise escaped him, and as his eyes flicked away from his son’s - it was then that the Sheriff and Wednesday Addams crossed paths again. She was just out of sight, half of her outline noticeable around the corner of the staff room. Behind Tyler’s shoulder, who seemed completely unaware of her presence. Or maybe after all this time, he couldn’t be spooked by her anymore. She stood like a ghost, arms folded gently over her chest. Her eyes narrowing at him for a moment. But instead of focusing on him, her gaze was directed at Tyler. Those dark, cold eyes were flitting over the back of his shoulders, drinking in every detail, watching for the slightest bit of tension in his body. There was no mistaking it. She was there to keep an eye on him, there to make sure that he was okay. And Donovan was once again reminded of the look on her face when he threw her own words back in her face, seeing the same poorly-masked pain that he saw in the mirror every single day. It was easily recognisable. After saying it, part of him had expected her to run. To grab hold of his words and use them as an excuse. Maybe it said something - that she was still there. Looking after his son, in her own goddamn creepy way. 

And so, he sighed. “Yeah.”

For several minutes, they were stuck in silence. Tyler had grown a little numb over the years, giving up on begging his father for the kind of attention that he really needed. And the Sheriff - well, he didn’t really know what else to say. He didn’t have the right words - he never did. Something that came so easily to others, became jumbled on his tongue. Maybe he had no right to judge the Addams girl for not telling his son that she loved him, after all. It wasn’t as if he found it easy himself. Not when every time he looked at his son, he saw the woman that he lost. 

When it really started to burn, he gulped down the rest of his drip coffee and grunted. “I better get back.”

Tyler nodded, not looking up from the table. 

Just as Donovan reached the door, opening it and hearing the bell chime above him — he turned to look back at the mess he had made. God, he looked so much like her. So much like the bright-eyed, smug-faced beauty that he fell for in what felt like a lifetime ago. But the pain was still fresh, and maybe it always would be. Tyler had her eyes, and her smile. He had her curls. He was the perfect picture of her, and every time that he looked his son in the eye - he saw the disappointment that would be on his Fran’s face if she saw him now. If she saw how he was treating their son. He swallowed roughly, hoping that deep down she would understand. That maybe one day, she would forgive him for not knowing how to do better. If he did know better, he would have turned around and called out to his son, telling him that he loved him without the words physically hurting. If he was better - he would have said that he was sorry. For all of it. 

Instead, he put his hat on and left. 

— — —

Tyler sat there for a long time, thinking about his mother. He wondered if he would feel differently, if he was able to remember more of her. If it would hurt a little less, or if the empty spaces in his memory being filled would only remind him more of all that he had lost. Would she have been better at comforting him than his father was? Would she have convinced his Dad to try harder? Were they happy together? A small part of him wondered if she would like Wednesday. If she were anything like him, like others often pointed out - she would be crazy about her. He let himself imagine the two of them meeting, Wednesday sitting there with her black clothes and pinched expression as his mother attempted to squeeze her hand. A wistful smile found its way onto his face, but his heart ached. It was heavy with the possibilities of what could have been. Something that he would never have. As he thought about his mother, he noticed a coffee stain on the table. Old and faded, but still there. 

A shadow fell across the stain, and Tyler’s lips twitched. He knew the identity of the little sneak without even needing to look at her. 

“How long have you been there?”

Wednesday sat down, saying nothing. She never was good with words. But it was in her actions, the way that she consciously chose to sit next to him, instead of taking her usual place in the opposite side of the booth. They were so close, their shoulders were touching and the tension started to leave Tyler’s body. Still, his tone was a little flat. A little strained. 

“You knew I’d come?”

“Yes”, she admitted. But she didn’t elaborate. 

Tyler nudged his shoulder against her own. The biggest act of public affection that he knew she would allow. “My little stalker.”

“I was bored.”

“Hmmm…”, he clicked his tongue, feeling bold enough to find her hand underneath the table and give it a light squeeze. “It had nothing to do with you worrying about me?”

“I don’t worry.”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re sat on my side of the booth today.”

“Where I sit is none of your business.”

“No?” He murmured low, his hand leaving hers and finding purchase on her thigh. Underneath the table, out of sight. It covered almost all of her skin, fingers splaying out and emphasising how easily he could manipulate her with his hands. Wednesday made the mistake of breaking eye contact and looking down at her lap, and felt herself grow hot. 

It was moments like these, in which the wickedness came out. His eyes glinting with something dark and insatiable, hungry and merciless. It made her throat go dry. She always seemed to be underestimating him, and stumbling back on her heels like a helpless fawn. He was the predator - hand rubbing circles into her skin over the long material of her school skirt, thumb tapping little signals of morse code on the inside of her knee. The last time his wickedness came out in public like this, was at her family’s breakfast table. They sat there exchanging pleasantries and eating amicably, until he turned around and decided that everyone needed to see her falter. Well - that just wouldn’t do. Wednesday Addams did not falter, and she definitely did not crumble. She could remember the fire that spread through her, so hot and visceral — burning her alive. Without more than a singular word, she dragged him up the long, winding staircase like a pet that she needed to discipline. Tyler had fallen back onto her childhood bed in his black, silk suit and his smug little grin - and let her devour. She hadn’t held back. Her teeth sunk into his collarbone, her hands greedily opening the buttons on his shirt and exploring all the new skin, hips pressing him down into the mattress so that he was the one beginning to feel helpless. Oh - she had felt so powerful. 

The nagging returned - the itch to tilt the scales. To remind him who was the monster, and who was the master. Most of all, who had him wrapped around her little finger. Without further ado, Wednesday stood up from the booth and his hand fell back into his lap. His expression twitching slightly, beginning to falter. With him sitting beneath her like this, she was able to step closer, eyes boring down into his - pinning him to the spot. 

“Bathroom. Now.”

Tyler spluttered, as if she was announcing it on loud speaker and not in a dangerous whisper.

“I-It’s out of order—“

But she was wrapping her small hand around his thick wrist, tugging at him until he was up and following her out of the booth. She ignored the bristle of customers that she was forced to barge past on her way, and directed them to the employee door at the back. Her little feet taking them there in no time at all, right past the sign that said STAFF ONLY.

The small space at the back of the cafe was cramped - consisting of a small table and three chairs with wobbly legs, a mop bucket and broom, and a door leading to the stock room. Somehow, the stench of stale coffee beans was even more suffocating out the back. But Wednesday was refusing to slow down, pushing her way around as if she knew the entire floor plan. He wouldn’t put it past her to have snuck in on one or more occasion. Before he could argue, she was throwing open the singular employee bathroom and pushing him inside. His back was thrust up against the opposite wall, while she focused on sliding the lock into place. He swallowed. 

She approached him slowly, with a murderous glint in her eye. The good kind of murder. Tyler was helpless, subconsciously pressing his body further into the wall, as if it could protect him from her wrath. He prepared himself for her venom. His eyebrows furrowed together when her small hands dropped to his belt, unbuckling it with ease. Without a moment’s pause - she sunk to her knees and pulled down his boxers.

“Wednesday…”, he chuckled, half with nerves, half with amusement, “…what are you - OH—“

Without warning, she took him into the wet heat of her mouth. Damn near taking him down to the base, without any prep for her small mouth and tight jaw. She imitated a swallowing motion instantly, her throat contracting around the length of him. Tyler cursed under his breath, eyes shooting to the closed employee bathroom door in front of him. It was unlikely that anybody would come in, especially if she was quick about it — and so, his hand fell down to aid her. He curled it around the base of her neck, fingers sliding through the soft hair there. If they had more time, he would unravel her braids and let it all hang free down her back. Instead, he could hardly choke out little breaths with what she was doing to him. Swirling her tongue around the base of him, lips stretched wide around the thickest part of him. He was quickly growing stiff, swelling in her throat. Usually, she would take advantage of his weak state and look up at him, with those big fucking doe eyes — the ones that drove him insane. She wouldn’t take her eyes off him for a moment, drawing him to the edge and keeping him there. Letting him think that she would have mercy, before showing him just how cruel she could really be. But on the dirty employee bathroom floor, Wednesday had a one track mind. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth focusing on suction and pressure, nails digging into his thighs. 

His hips thrusted towards her without thought, and she gagged a little. When Tyler moved back to ease up on her and apologise, she dug her nails further into his trousers, almost piercing the skin underneath. Keeping him in place. 

“Fuck baby…”, he breathed with wonder, blinking down at her, “…you…y-you need to be quick. I can’t—“

She didn’t even acknowledge his words, pulling back from him so that just the tip was pressed against the seam of her lips. A single string of saliva connected them. Wednesday licked her swollen lips, giving herself a moment to breathe. 

“Baby, anyone could walk in. You have to—“

“Stop?” She looked up at him innocently, eyes flickering between his worried face and the part of him that was now fully hard - flushed red, dripping with need. 

Tyler whined, throwing his head back against the wall. Feeling the dull ache ricochet through his skull, his vision a little fuzzy. She was not playing fair. But then again - had she ever? Instead of bringing him back into her mouth and finishing him off with intense suction and drooling lips, she changed tactics. Pulling back from him slightly, gaze dropping slightly lower. As if testing his reaction, she brought one of her hands up from his thighs, moving it to cup the weight of his testicles. Tyler let out a shuddered gasp at the sensation, the skin sensitive and raw on the underside. Her nail dragged along the edge of one oh, so gently, and he whimpered fearfully. His entire pleasure in her hands, in her control. Her mouth ducked down and her tongue poked out, and Tyler was pretty sure he was done for. His flesh was salty and surprisingly smooth, the weight sitting nicely in her hand - and she decided that she needed to taste more. On her next curious lick, she began to draw one of the testicles into the warmth of her mouth. It was too much, his legs beginning to shake. Thighs trembling, fingers tight and harsh at the base of her neck. He almost wanted to rip her braids from her scalp entirely. 

“W-Wednesday—“

She seemed to hear the panic in his voice, how he was seconds away from blowing his load in her mouth. Whilst there was some relief when she released him, he couldn’t hold back the petulant noise of complaint that grumbled in the back of his throat. He knew it would have been smart to tuck himself back in his trousers, to drag her to his car and finish this back at one of their dorms - but now that she had gotten started, there was nothing else on his mind. Nothing but her big, evil eyes looking up at him from the floor. In her school uniform that drowned her, making her look more tiny than usual. 

Her jaw opened and she took considerable length in once more, going slowly until he hit the back of her throat. Her tongue swirling around what she could reach. There was a thin line of drool escaping from the side of her lips, and he couldn’t help but groan at the sight. She was being so good for him, taking him so well - despite how much of a struggle it was.

“Slow…”, he practically begged, “…otherwise I-I’m gonna finish any—“

Apparently Wednesday decided to take this as a challenge, eyes leaving his - closing with concentration. She relaxed her throat, bobbing her mouth up and down on him. Her tongue still flicking, still sucking - her hands gently massaging the underside of his testicles. It was all too much and he was too sensitive. Tyler gasped and spluttered, feeling his impending orgasm catching up to him all-too quickly. The pressure building up in his lower stomach, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying upright instead of crumpling down to the floor. 

When his orgasm overtook him, it took everything in him not to fold in half. 

White, hot pleasure burned behind his eyes and he moved one of his own hands up to cover his mouth, moaning loudly behind it. Wednesday swallowed him all down, humming at the taste and licking up anything that was left around his sensitive tip. After a while, it became too much and he made garbled noises behind his hand, before releasing it to plead with her quietly. “S-Stop, stop…please. Fuck.”

She leaned back obediently, placing her hands on his unsteady thighs. Her face blank and patient, waiting for him to come back to himself. It took a while for his head to clear, for his entire body to feel slightly stable. She looked far too pleased with herself. 

After a minute, she stood up. Dusting herself off, wiping at her swollen saliva-covered lips. They were taunting him, an image that would never leave his mind. Tyler watched her with disbelief as she turned to him, finality in her tone. 

“I have to get back to class.”

“W-What?”

“I’ll see you later.”

It was like a game of cat and mouse - her toying with her food, tossing him around aimlessly until he got tired of fighting and gave up. But as she started to walk back towards the door with the purpose of unlocking it - Tyler couldn’t help himself. He knew that he shouldn’t have pushed their luck - any minute someone could have come knocking, could have noticed that it was occupied and yelled at them to get out of there. But the moment her fingers touched the lock on the door - he was grabbing at her waist, spinning her back around so that she was pinned between him and the wood. She looked up at him like the cat that caught the canary, having him exactly where she wanted him. And Tyler - well, who would he be to deny her?

“You really think you’re going anywhere right now?” He rasped low in her ear, using his hips to press her further into the wood. Leaving her with no place to go, nowhere to escape. 

“I told you…”, she forced out, challenging him. “Class.”

“Oh, I think I could teach you a lesson or two.”

At that, she had the decency to look a little unsure of herself. Her armour slipping as a knee knocked her legs open, hand crawling up her thigh without stopping to tease. No, he immediately dove in and started rubbing through her soaked underwear. It was thin, lace material and he could feel traces of the wetness seeping through the gaps. If he lifted his hand back to his mouth, he knew that the tips of his fingers would be glistening. But Tyler did not have the time or patience to play nice. Instead, he decided to shove her underwear aside and pinch her clit. Wednesday keened against him, eyes starting to water at the intense sensation and small sting of pain. He felt around her soaked entrance for a few minutes, teasing her by just tapping one singular finger against the opening. If they had more time, he would make her beg. She would beg for one finger, and when he was satisfied - he would work her up to two. Maybe keep going until she was fucking herself on the entirety of his hand. Her face crumpled with pleasure, crying through it all. But they were on a time limit, with the risk of getting caught and exhilaration crept down his spine. He raised the same hand that had been placed over his own mouth, catching sounds that she drew from his lips - and warned her. 

“You’re going to need this.”

Wednesday didn’t have a chance to bite back because suddenly, two long, thick fingers were plunged in as deep as they could go. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and his hand pressed tightly against her mouth as she moaned. It emerged as a muffled noise, but he still jostled her, looking at her with intention. 

“Quiet, baby…”, he breathed against her cheek. “Don’t wanna get caught, now do you?”

She whimpered against his palm. 

“You don’t want anyone to see you like this…”, his hand changed angles, tilting upwards so that he could rub against her spongy walls. “…so needy. So desperate. So helpless.”

The quiet, shameful part of herself wanted to admit otherwise. Deep down, Wednesday knew that she was the one attached to a string - bound to Tyler, bound to anything that he ordered. She would never be like that for anyone else. The very thought made her sick. But when he made her feel this good - she knew in her soul, that she would throw it all away for him. She would invite the entire cafe to come and watch them in the employee bathroom, taking pictures and pointing, if only it meant that he would not stop. She would open her mouth and present her tongue to him, waiting for him to fill her up - crowd be damned. It was a shameful thought, but it had her wanting to rub her thighs together. Tyler’s knee was blocking the way and tears of frustration gathered at her eyes from the lack of stimulation. He seemed to notice her struggle and cooed softly, pressing a trio of damp kisses just below her cheekbone. 

His thumb found her clit and started rubbing firm circles around the swollen nub, as if he seemed determined to make her fall apart as quickly as he did. Her entire body thrummed at the sensation, her uniform making her far too hot and sticky. But there was something meltingly hot about how he didn’t even have the time to take off her uniform, or the patience to drag her elsewhere. He couldn’t let her walk away without giving her what she needed, without her even needing to ask for it. Wednesday whined against his hand once more, trying to chase the sensations as his fingers rubbed cruelly against her g-spot. His thumb flicked her clit, making her entire body jolt. 

“You brought this on yourself…”, he reminded her in an eerily soft, quiet tone whilst she struggled. 

Wednesday tried to reply in garbled nonsense.

“Couldn’t help yourself could you?”

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking his hand. 

“You…”, he stammered each word with a harsh thrust of his fingers, “…drive…me…fucking…insane.”

With a few more determined movements, she was clenching down hard on his fingers and muffling a scream beneath his palm. Tyler tightened it at the last minute, as if knowing that she would have no control over what escaped her throat. He groaned as she gushed over his fingers, slowing his ministrations until she was twitching quietly, eyes fluttering shut. Her body went a little limp, and he made sure to wrap his free hand tighter around her waist. Once she had calmed down a little, he carefully removed his fingers - with a struggle. It was as if she had clamped down on him as hard as she could, desperately trying to keep him there. Tyler removed his hand from her mouth gently, allowing her to lick her swollen lips and gasp in a couple of deep breaths. But he couldn’t let her get far for very long, crushing his mouth against her own. His lips wrapping around her plump bottom one and sucking, tasting the salty aftertaste of his own release. He nipped at her, twining his tongue until her hands were grappling at his shoulders, pushing a little in a plea for more space. Only then did he let up, moving back an inch to let the oxygen flow back to her head. Her dark eyes were hazy and spaced out, and his lips quirked upwards. 

The pair of them panted into each other’s open mouths, their breathless sounds echoing around the space in the rarely-used employee bathroom.