La Petite Mort - La Fin

La Petite Mort - La Fin

Summary: We get closure

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Okay so this is the end of the story line for LPM. I will continue to write one shots and headcanons, though don't freak out! Also, there was a drabble I'll link here that happened between Part V and this one.

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V Drabble

The drive to Big Bend was like living in a dream. Between the motel stop and the scenic viewpoint stop, you’re beginning to wonder if Lorraine actually wants to get to where you’re going. You know she’s excited about her newfound freedom, and you are too, but a serious conversation needs to be had. 

You glance over at her and watch as she holds her hand out the window, catching the wind and then cutting through it like a surfboard. She looks content, grounded. You figure she should be; she just came in the backseat of your truck less than an hour ago. But you still need to make sure she’s happy. That she’s sure she made the right choice. For now, you choose to live in ignorant bliss, enjoy the drive and start the talk later. 

The gas gauge catches your attention, riding low over the E. 

“We gotta stop for gas, you seen any signs for a pump station?” 

She turns toward you, nodding, “Saw a sign a few miles back. There should be a few stations comin up.”

You smile as she reaches for you, taking your right hand and holding it between hers. She scoots closer to you, tracing her fingers up your forearm, giving you goosebumps. Her head rests against the seat, and you can feel her watching you, can see the small smile on her lips through the corner of your eye. 

“You’re gonna have to stop doin that, if you ever want to get out of this truck,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She smirks, “I’m not doin anything, I just want to be close to you is all.”

You lift your arm, inviting her to slide into the middle seat. When she does, you let your arm rest across her shoulders, pulling her in close to you. You kiss the top of her head, your eyes not leaving the road. She hums, lets her head rest on your chest. 

It’s so easy to find moments like this with her. Small pockets that exist outside of the world, no influence or judgment. Just you two. But it’s also easy for those moments to shatter when reality comes crashing in, loud and screaming. 

The gas station is a small one, a family operation from the looks of it. It has two gas pumps that look like they’ve seen better days and a store tucked under the awning. You pull the truck and the trailer under the sunshade and park it.

“I’ll get us the gas, run inside and grab some snacks, will ya?” 

Lorraine nods and slides out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head when her feet hit the ground. Your eyes follow her shirt when it rides up, and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. You pump the gas and watch her walk into the store, her shorts even more distracting now than they were in the truck. 

“Oh buddy, you’ve got it bad,” you say to yourself, turning back to the truck. 

When the gas pump clicks, you return the hose and make your way into the station to pay. Lorraine has an armful of snacks, and you gesture with your head to the counter. She drops her loot there as you grab a case of beer and carry it over. The tv on the counter is blaring a church sermon, and the attendant is watching it with obligated interest. 

You slide the goods over and clear your throat, “Filled up on pump two.”

The woman behind the counter narrows her eyes, making it clear you are inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. She slides the snacks and beer over with one hand, taking her time. She tells you your total, and you hand a bill over to her, trying not to take note of her attitude toward you. 

As you’re packing the snacks into a brown paper bag, two men walk into the store. They’re rugged cowboy types, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You’d been around their type your whole life, working ranches and rodeos and everything in between. They can be trouble, or they can be extremely cordial. Unfortunately for you, these two are the trouble type.

They make a show of looking you up and down, letting their eyes take their time as they travel over you. Lorraine comes to your side, and both men raise their eyebrows at her. You flex your jaw, trying to find an easy way out of what you already know is going to be an uneasy interaction. 

One of the cowboys whistles around the tobacco in his lip, the other laughs.

“Ladies,” he says, “what’s got you so far out in the country?”

You hand Lorraine the bag of food and hoist the case of beer under your arm.

“Work,” you answer, moving toward the door.

The man on the tv starts yelling about sexual deviance. The cowboy with the dip in his mouth leans in the doorframe, blocking your exit. He takes his hat off his head, smirking at you. 

“What kind of work?” 

You watch him, aware of the other man making his way down one of the aisles to your right. Lorraine inches closer to your side. 

“Ranchin,” you say, keeping it as short as possible.

The man is still blocking the door, so you stop, look up at him. He grins down at you, his teeth yellow with flecks of tobacco stuck in his gums. 

“I don’t know of any lady ranchers round here,” he says, his eyes leaving you and moving on to Lorraine. “George, you know of any lady ranchers?”

The man at the back of the store laughs, “No I can’t say I do, Nate.”

Nate tilts his head, “So if you’re not ranchin, what’re you doin?”

“Did you miss the trailer with the horses in it on your way in?” Lorraine mumbles, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Nate laughs, “Okay, spitfire! What’s your name? You ladies look like you could use some company.”

You try to casually step in front of her, hiding her with your body as much as you can. “We need to get goin, you gentlemen have a nice day.”

You step toward the door, but he doesn’t move. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, sizing each other up. He’s tall, but he’s skinny. You could scrap with him if you needed to, but his friend would make it nearly impossible for you to win. Your revolver is in the truck, too far to be much use now. Plus, these two have guns of their own; there’s no doubt about that. 

The tv on the counter goes quiet, and a woman’s voice breaks the tension.

“Leave them girls alone, Nate, or your momma will tan your hide.” The gas station clerk finally turns herself away from the tv, glaring daggers at Nate. 

He evaluates his choices, and his fear of his mother wins out. He leaves the door frame and pushes past you, grumbling as he goes, “I’s just bein friendly, Marge. No need to threaten anyone.”

As soon as he’s out of the way, you hustle out of the store, making sure Lorraine is on your heels. You jump in the truck, and as soon as she’s in, you’re driving off. 

“God, I fucking hate Texas,” you growl, your eyes flicking to the side view mirrors to see if anyone followed.

Lorraine sighs, resting her head against the window, “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here for good.”

“We can’t leave your parent's ranch, Raine. They need us there.”

“They really don’t, plus we could visit.”

“Do we tell them about us?”

She bites at her lip, thinking it over, “I think they already know, truth be told. But we probably should tell them.”

“I suppose we should figure out what we are before we go tellin them about it, though.” 

The statement is bait, a question for Lorraine to decide on. You think you’re sly, dropping it out there the way you had, but when you turn your head toward her, Lorraine’s expression is amused. 

“Is that you, askin what we are then y/n?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. You can feel your face heating up, embarrassed that she saw through your veiled question. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time to ask. You just left your boyfriend yesterday.”

“I haven’t been in love with RJ for a long time. It just took being with you for me to accept it.”

You nod, gulp. You don’t take your eyes off the road. 

“I meant what I said to him, you know.” She reaches out, places her hand on your leg.

“What’s that?” You say, your voice cracking.

“I love you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your heart racing. You can feel your hands want to tremble and squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

“Can you give me one hour to get us where we’re goin, set up camp, and say that to me again so I can respond appropriately?”

She giggles, her thumb sweeping over your leg, “Of course.”

Lorraine keeps her hands to herself, for the most part, for the rest of the drive. You think about the conversation to come, the interaction with the cowboys at the gas station, and everything that happened with RJ. It all brews in your mind, mixing and melding into a feeling of uneasiness in your belly. There’s a strong undercurrent of happiness tied in with it, pulling you back to Lorraine every time you freak out. 

The camp is isolated, large enough for your truck, trailer, tents, and horses. The daylight is quickly fading, so after the camp is set up, you let CB and Pearl out to wander the grounds. You drag a stack of hay from the trailer for them, but they both beeline to a patch of green grass at the edge of camp. 

You busy yourself with getting a fire going, listening to Lorraine hum as she finishes getting the tent set up. Just being out here with her is enough for you, but a small voice in your head is already screaming for more. An apartment that has two toothbrushes in it. Closets with clothes that are mostly not yours. A life intertwined even more than it already is. You know it’s a lot to ask for. 

“You’re thinkin' real hard on somethin,” Lorraine says, standing over you.

You turn up and grin at her, “Just how damn good I am at makin' fire.”

She smiles at you, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe that for a minute. She turns away from you and unrolls a blanket next to the now raging fire, and sits delicately. She pats the spot next to her.

“Let’s talk.”

Your stomach flips. You sit in the spot she’d invited you to, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash. 

“Right, okay.”

“So, I know it’s not the best look in the world, breaking up with RJ and running off with you,”

“It’s a look I’m growing pretty fond of,” you joke, smiling at her.

She shakes her head, but you can see the smile she’s fighting, “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Getting out of one relationship to jump into another is-“

“So we’re in a relationship?” You interrupt her.

“Oh, um, are we not?” She twists her fingers, anxiety washing over her. 

You scramble to make the situation more clear, taking one of her hands in yours.

“I was hoping so, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted. If you need time, I can give you time.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had enough time. I love you, y/n. I think I have for longer than I realized.”

You feel giddy, lightheaded when you finally say, “I love you too, Raine. But I can’t promise an easy life. I can’t promise the suburbs or a family. What kind of life would that be?”

She leans over, taking your face in her hands, “It would be a life with you.” 

The fire crackles as she kisses you, soft and sweet, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her lips are slow, deliberate. She lies back, pulling you with her, your hands planted on either side of her body. 

Cicadas and crickets chirp in the dark around you, the air cool and still. The oak trees circling your campsite tower over you, rustling in the occasional breeze. Lorraine’s body envelops you, warm, welcoming. You’ve never felt more at home than you do in her arms. You figure you should thank her for it, now and every day in between. 

You sit up, pulling your shirt off, and she follows suit. You unbutton your pants, taking your time, each movement intentional. Having sex with her now feels heavier, in a good way. It carries more meaning than it ever has before. 

You’re both naked under the stars when you lean back over her, your hands touching as much skin as they can. You kiss her lips, then move to her jaw, down her neck. She can feel the gravity of the moment, her hands gentle and her breathing soft. Your hands run up her ribs, and your mouth works your way down to her chest. You lick her nipple, bite it gently and suck it into your mouth when she gasps.

She pulls you back to her lips, her legs hooking around your waist and anchoring you in place. Your tongue slides across her lips, and you rock into her, your body applying pressure between her legs. She moans through her nose, her tongue running over yours, her hands around your jaw. 

You descend to her neck again, silently coaxing her grip around your waist to loosen. She gets the message and drops her legs from your hips, allowing you to kiss down her chest again. You kiss her stomach, avoiding the ticklish spot on her side that will make her laugh. The skin below her belly button is soft and sensitive; you take some time there teasing her. She lifts her hips, her eyes dark as she looks down at you. Her hand winds its way into your hair, and she bites her lip as you kiss her where she wants it most. 

She’s not used to you teasing, and for some reason, of all the times to start, you choose now to begin. You lick softly at her clit, not hard enough to be satisfying, just a ghost of pressure. Enough to make her moan and tighten her grip on your hair. You sink lower and tease at her entrance, tasting her on your tongue. She’s better than anything you’ve ever had, ever will have, and you know it. So you savor it, close your eyes and enjoy yourself.

You turn your head to kiss her thigh, and she whines. You look up at her to find her face full of want, almost to the point of tears.

“Please,” she whispers, making your heart race.

You consider toying with her, but you want it as bad as she does at this point. You run your tongue from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her slick folds. Done with teasing her, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, earning the most delicious noises of approval from her. You alternate licking and sucking until she’s arching into your mouth, the muscles in the stomach rippling and flexing from the exertion. You lick her with a flat tongue while she cums, making it last even longer until she’s shivering and trying to stop you with her legs around your head. 

She sighs, and you slowly kiss your way up her body, taking extra time on the ascent. You forgot about the ticklish spot, and you accidentally make her laugh, which in turn makes your heart feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest. 

Your fingers are already inside of her when your mouth meets hers, the gasp of pleasure coming from her making your eyes roll back. You fuck her slow, each movement intentional in its goal. Every stroke playing the chords of her body, never out of tune. She doesn’t let you any lower than her throat, wanting to keep pulling you up to kiss you after she moans your name. 

She lasts longer than usual, hanging on to every move you make, her hands all over you. She doesn’t want to be done, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

“You have me for as long as you want me,” you tell her, “I love you.”

Like clockwork, she cums on your fingers, dripping onto the blanket and around your wrist. She holds your head to her chest as she gasps for air, her whole body shaking and rolling. You pull back, wanting to watch her ride her orgasm, see the shape her mouth takes when it’s open like this, the color on her cheeks, the sweat on her brow. When she’s done, she pulls you down, squeezing you around your shoulders. When you try to pull away, she squeezes you tighter, shaking her head.

“You said as long as I want,” her voice is low and quiet, her breathing beginning to shallow.

You chuckle into her chest, kiss her skin, resolve to become part of the earth there if she wishes it. 

——

Today is the day. The day you tell the Days about your intentions with Lorraine. A day with the Days, for your Day. You can do this. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, your apartment bathroom cramped but comfortable with Lorraine’s things making their migration. As if on cue, her hands slide around your waist, her head ducking under your arm.

“Are you freaking out?” She asks you.

“No,” you lie.

She grins, “Lie.”

You nod, “A big one.”

She looks at you in the mirror, a reassuring smile on her face, “You know you’re going to be fine. They love you. Plus, I’m pretty sure they know.”

Your eyes dart around the mirror, looking for anything to distract you, “I know. I know. I can do this.”

“We can do this,” she says, squeezing your waist.

You sweat through your button-up shirt on the drive over. Lorraine is at ease; she doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. You are terrified. Scared Mr. Day will throw you on your ass and tell you to never come back to his ranch again. Horrified at the thought of Mrs. Day looking disappointed, heartbroken because of you. 

They're on the couch in the living room when you get there. Lorraine called ahead to let them know you had something important to talk about so they were prepared. Mrs. Day sets a tall glass of sweet tea in front of you as you sit on the loveseat across from them. You clear your throat, and pull on the collar of your shirt. Lorraine sits close to you, closer than she usually would in front of her parents. If they notice, they don't mention it.

You pick up the glass of sweet tea and lift it, nodding your head at Mrs. Day, “Tha-thank you,” you say and gulp from the cup.

You wince; there's a hefty amount of liquor in the tea. She smiles at you and says, “Thought you might need it.”

You frown at her, confused as to why she would think you'd need liquor at noon. You gulp from the glass again. Mr. Day just watches you, his face impassive. 

“So, I’ve asked to talk to you both today because….” you clear your throat again, wipe your sweaty hands on your pants, “well, because I have something important to tell you.”

Mrs. Day nods encouragingly, Mr. Day smiles under his mustache, his eyes soft.

“See, the thing is, I…well…I uhm,”

Lorraine rubs your back, nodding at you. The intimacy in front of her parents is lost on you; you’re too far into your panic to notice.

“I’m in love with your daughter. And I would like for her to live with me.” You say, your words tumbling out of your lips.

Mrs. Day covers her mouth with her hands, but it's not horror she's hiding. It's a laugh. Mr. Day stands, extends his hand. You stand and take it.

“We know, kid. We’re happy for you both, sincerely. Just take care of her.” His gruff voice is as soft as its ever been, his eyes sparkling.

Your mouth drops open, and you fall back onto the couch when he releases your hand. You close your mouth, open it to speak, close it again. Take another gulp of the tea. Lorraine giggles at your side.

“I…how? How?” You stammer.

Mrs. Day drops her hand, her smile still stretching her cheeks, “Oh, honey. You know, when you were about nine, you told me you loved Rainey. You were very serious about it. And you had the same look today. I’ve always assumed it would end up this way.”

“Just took our ray of sunshine a bit longer to come around. Forced me to put up with that boy for years.” Mr. Day grumbles.

Mrs. Day smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand as Lorraine yelps out, “Hey!”

You laugh, fully agreeing with him. Lorraine pulls your arm over her shoulder, and it takes you a moment to ease the tension that automatically shoots up your spine in front of her parents. You relax, smile at the Days.

“I do need you to do me one favor though, y/n, if you could.” Mr. Day says, leaning back on the couch, his leg crossed over his knee.

“Whats that sir?”

“Stop havin sex in my barn. It spooks the animals, and if I nearly walk in on you one more time, I may have to shoot you in the ass.”

Lorraine cringes and hides her face in your arm, and you gulp back a laugh. Mrs. Day lets hers rip, and you can feel Lorraine giggle into your side.

“Yes sir, I promise.” You say, your fingers crossed behind your back.

everyone but her pt.22

Summary: A hidden part of your past comes back to haunt you. At least you've secured a special place in an unusual family's hearts. You would be paying off the debt for the rest of your life.

Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: swearing, violence, murder (in a flashback) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @elliesbabygirl @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @smromanoff @notheoneforlove

A/N: I've had a clusterfuck of a week and it's only Wednesday morning, so I'm giving y'all this 20mins early because I love y'all dearly 🫶

The sun was out, shining down and leaving a nice little burn to your skin. It was the perfect day to be running around Niagara Falls with Nicky. People were all around, the birds were out, and you were already far too full from street food. It was perfect.

“What next?” Nicky asked once you had both finished your ice creams; you had strawberry and he had vanilla.

“Hmm,” you hummed aloud, looking carefully over everything.

There were carnival games all around, those were always fun. But they cost money, so maybe not those. Go-karts would be fun, but you weren’t tall enough to drive them and Nicky was a bad driver. You could always go see the birds again, but Nicky had gotten bored. There had to be something you could both do.

Oh!

“The skywheel!” You shouted. No one could see, but your little wings flapped under your shirt.

“Really?” Nicky asked, his hand pressing gently on your back to keep your wings steady. It was comforting. “Why? You can see that view any time.”

“But you can’t,” you said. He looked down at you. “I want you to see what I see!”

“Okay,” he said with a smile, and you turned around to look at the skywheel.

It was so much fun! The birds were out, the sun was shining over the water, and the man at the bottom let you go around three times! Even Nicky had fun, pointing out people, talking about how pretty the sky was. Maybe he could appreciate the view a little better when you tried to fly without permission next time.

“Can we go to the gardens tomorrow?” You asked while you picked at the nachos Nicky had gotten. They had tomatoes on them. Yuck.

“We can,” he said. He wasn’t really paying attention to you, but that was okay because you weren’t paying attention to him either. “If you want to.”

“Are we camping again tonight?” You asked. All the tomato pieces finally rested in the corner of the paper tray and you could eat in peace.

“Yeah,” Nicky said with a sigh. “We’ll head out when you’re done eating.”

“Aren’t you still hungry?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said with a smile. “Finish it.”

“Here,” you said, pushing the tray a little closer to his hand, “I saved the tomatoes for you.”

He hesitated, but after looking at you for a minute he reached forward and grabbed a nacho. They were going cold, but you were just happy to share. You had noticed he hadn’t been eating as much since you had left Nevermore for the trip, and he definitely needed more food.

Besides, it was yummy, why wouldn’t he want some?

After watching the sun set over the falls, it was time to start the trip down to where you had both camped last night. It was a nice little spot down by the nature trails below the falls. You had met some nice people down there when you arrived. They had even loaned you a tent!

“Hold my hand,” Nicky said when the street lights were on and you were taking a shortcut through one of the alleys. “Don’t let go.”

“Why not?” You asked, but reached for his hand anyway. It was warm.

“Just don’t,” he said again. His head was looking all around, but you were very focused on the cotton candy the nice man at the cart had given you.

“A little late to be wandering around, don’t you think?”

Yours and Nicky’s heads turned quickly to see two men walking into the alley behind you. They were tall, even taller than daddy. They had some nice smiles on their faces. Were they taking a shortcut to the trails too?

“We’re just going home,” Nicky said. You opened your mouth to argue - you were going to the campground, not home - but he gave you a look that had you shutting your mouth again.

“All alone?” The other man asked with a tilt of his head. “Your parents let you walk alone at night?”

“We can help,” the first man said. “We know a nice place you can both stay.”

“No thank you,” Nicky said. He pulled your hand as he backed away, making you stumble over your own feet. You nearly dropped your cotton candy. “Come on.”

Nicky kept his eyes on the two men as he continued to pull you with him. You tried to walk backwards just like him, but you stepped on something and stumbled, dropping one of the rocks you had snuck into your pocket. Without questioning it, you turned around and bent down to pick it up, your wings fluttering under your shirt to help you straighten up again.

“Would you look at that,” the second man said, and Nicky froze. “We found ourselves a little Outcast.”

“Nicky is too!” You said.

“Y/N, hush-”

“-No no, let her talk,” the first man said. They were walking closer. “You like to talk, kid?”

“All the time,” you said with a smile. He was smiling too.

“What do you like to talk about?” He asked again. The second man was moving sideways. Where was he going?

“Birds,” you said without hesitation. “Oh, and rocks! Wanna see the ones I found today?”

“I'd love to see them," he continued. He took another step closer. "Why don't you come with us to our house and you can show us all the rocks."

"Ok-"

"-Don't touch us," Nicky interrupted, harshly pulling you behind him.

“Don’t get so defensive,” the second man said. You turned your head and saw him standing behind you both. “We just want to give you kids a place to sleep.”

“I thought you wanted to see my rocks,” you said with a huff. The men got closer.

“How about you just come with us,” the first man said as he reached out and grabbed your arm.

“I said don’t!” Nicky shouted.

He dropped your hand and ran head first, hitting the first man's stomach. They both hit the ground hard. You tried to go help, but a big pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back into a big body.

“You’re gonna stay here with me,” the second man said in your ear. He smelled funny.

But the moment the first man hit Nicky with his knee, you lunged forward. Those big hands pulled you back, but you just ducked down further and he let go. Then it was your turn to hit the first man. You knocked him off of Nicky and felt your knee scrape on the ground.

“You fucking brats,” the first man spit out. He pulled something out of his pocket. Nicky was still on the ground holding his stomach.

The moment you saw the knife in the first man’s hand, you turned around to run. You knew to run away from danger, Nicky had taught you that. But you didn’t get very far before you felt someone pick you up. One hand covered your mouth and you bit down hard.

He screamed and dropped you to the ground again. It hurt your feet. You tried to run again, but the man knocked you over. He turned you around, his body pressing you into the hard ground. You turned your head and saw Nicky fighting with the second man.

It didn’t look like Nicky was winning.

“Just stay still,” the first man said above you. He smelled funny too.

Fight back, a little voice in your head said.

What had you seen Nicky do before? He had gotten into fights before, what did he do? Oh! You threw your head forward, feeling the sharp ache when it connected with the first man’s nose. He grunted and pulled back a little bit, but then you felt something hit the side of your face.

Everything started ringing and the alley started spinning. You could feel him pressing into you again, and your wings started to hurt from the ground. Fight back, the little voice said again, so you did. You threw your arms and legs out everywhere, trying to hit something. But then you felt something sharp press against your neck and you stopped.

“Just kill ‘em already,” the second man called out. He sounded like he had been running for a long time.

“With pleasure,” the first man said above you.

No. You felt the knife press into your neck and the sting that followed. What did you do? What were you supposed to do? Nicky had never taught you how to fight a knife!

Knock it away, the little voice said, and grab it.

You thrashed around again, making sure to hit the hand that was holding the knife. The first man groaned again and you kicked your leg up. You don’t know what you hit, but he screamed and rolled off of you. You scrambled to your hands and knees and looked around.

There was the knife.

Your fingers touched the knife right when the first man got on you again. He tried to grab the knife too, his hand much bigger than yours. As soon as you felt your hand grab it, you turned around and swung it.

“Fuck!”

The first man pulled back really fast, holding his cheek. Something red was coming out from between his fingers. He pulled his hand back and you both looked at the blood, and your eyes went to the big cut on his cheek.

“You little bitch,” he said in a mean voice. “Come here.”

He lunged at you again, but you closed your eyes and held the knife out in front of you. Something hit the knife, pushing you back onto the ground again. You heard a gasp and opened your eyes.

The knife was sticking out of the man’s shoulder. He looked at you in shock before his mouth turned into a frown. When he tried to grab you, you pulled the knife out and stabbed him with it again, this time in his hand.

He reached forward, grabbing your wrist and pulled you back. But instead of pulling, you moved forward and he fell onto his back with you on top of him. Stab him, the little voice said; it sounded mean. Without any hesitation, you grabbed the knife with both hands and brought it down. And you did it again. And again. And again again again again again-

-Something warm splashed against your face. The man was screaming, so you closed your eyes and tried to tune him out. You hummed. But you kept bringing the knife down over and over and over and over and over and-

“-Y/N!”

Smaller hands held your wrists, stopping you from bringing the knife down. You opened your eyes again and saw Nicky looking at you. He had blood on his face and clothes and a few cuts all over. Was he okay?

“Let me have it,” Nicky said softly, and he took the knife from your hands. Your fingers felt stiff like they didn’t want to let go. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know. What had just happened anyway? You were supposed to be at the campgrounds with Nicky about now, right? Why weren’t you both down there with those nice weird people from the other night?

The man wasn’t moving underneath you.

“We have to go,” Nicky said. He was looking all over. “We need to go.”

He wrapped his arms around you to pull you up to your feet. Your legs were all wobbly. Nicky grabbed your hand and started pulling you. You looked back and saw the two men laying on the ground. They were really still. Were they okay?

“We have to go,” Nicky said again as he pulled you further down the alley before you both started running-

“-Smith!”

Your head shot up from the hole you had been staring into the table. The quick movement gave you a headache and made your bruised side throb; jail had not been kind to you. Nothing could have properly prepared you for the difference between the singular Jericho cell and an actual jail down in D.C.

People here were mean.

“You’ve got another date with the detectives,” Officer Hartman called out once you still hadn’t moved.

“Better get movin’, cupcake,” your new bestest friend Erin said with a smug look that you wanted to beat off her. Again. “Hartman might scuff up that pretty face of yours.”

“What would I do without your all-encompassing wisdom,” you mumbled as you stood up, inhaling lightly as the bruises on your torso pulled.

“You sure you graduated highschool?” She asked. “Cause you’re sure actin’ stupid as hell.”

“Still smarter than you and your white trash girl group,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“Wanna say that to my face, Outcast?” Erin asked, standing abruptly to be toe-to-toe with you. In  your peripheral, you could see the rest of her gang starting to circle up.

“I thought I did,” you said. She was smaller than you, but far more aggressive. Surprisingly. “I guess your ass and face look the same, that’s my bad.”

“You little-”

“-Summers!”

Erin’s fist stayed cocked and ready as Officer Hartman casually walked up to the group, one hand resting on the baton on her belt. A shiver went down your spine at the sight of it; you certainly didn’t want to be on the other end of it again any time soon.

“Everything alright over here?” Officer Hartman asked, looking between both you and Erin.

“Just showing my little friend the ropes,” Erin said with a sickeningly sweet smile. Oh, you wanted to beat that off her too.

“You can show her later,” Officer Hartman said before turning to look at you. “Let’s get going, kid.”

“See you later, girly pop,” you said with your own smile before you blew a kiss in Erin’s direction.

You’re going to get your ass beat, the voice at the back of your head said. It was almost nice to hear; it had been a few days and you were getting worried it had disappeared. Wow, you were really attempting to make friends with the voice inside your head. Did that make you crazy?

Yes. Yes, it absolutely did.

“Assume the position,” Officer Hartman ordered once you were out of the common area.

It was a bit odd to be accustomed to the cold bite of the shackles placed around your wrists and ankles. To find a certain comfort in the way they were chained to the belt around your waist. You didn’t know what the explanation was, but it was probably something you needed therapy for.

Therapy is for pussies, the voice said. You didn’t necessarily disagree.

“You gonna behave today?” Officer Hartman asked when she started leading you to the interrogation room.

“Yes ma’am,” you said confidently.

“Good girl,” she said. “Maybe we’re finally beating that arrogance out of you.”

You didn’t say anything in reply; it was better that way. But her words made your side throb again. How bad was it now? It had been two days, surely it was looking nice and ugly at this point. But you hadn’t looked at it yet; you weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not that the detectives would care, nor would anyone else you were going to come into contact with.

“Welcome back, kid,” Detective Waller said when Officer Hartman led you into the interrogation room.

“Afternoon,” you said quietly as you let Hartman unshackle you and then cuff you to the half-circle thing on the table. You didn’t know what it was called, but it was kind of fun to run the cuff chain back and forth on it-

“-Stop it,” Hartman ordered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, quickly sitting back in your seat to look at Detectives Waller and Pearce. You didn’t like them. Something about them wasn’t trustworthy.

“How you been?” Waller asked once Hartman left the room. He and Pearce seemed more laid back; you certainly did not.

“Fine,” you said. You refused to look up from where your hands were chained to the table.

A lot of precautions for a single 18 year old, the voice mused.

“I hear you’ve been making friends,” Pearce said, his voice always softer than Waller’s. “We can help you with that problem, you know.”

“You’ve just gotta tell us what happened,” Waller finished. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “We have proof, so just tell us how it went down.”

“We don’t need to know about the domestic,” Pearce said. “We have an entire room full of people who saw what happened.”

“Just tell us about Niagara,” Waller finished.

This again. They had been asking for over a week at that point. Why couldn’t they just let it go? You hadn’t even remembered it until they brought it up that first day. Maybe you had done it, sure, but how were you supposed to remember all the details?

“Quit looking at your hands,” Waller said harshly. “Look at me.”

And you did. You looked up at him and instantly felt like you were a kid again. The way they were both looking at you like a child about to get scolded. Like all the times when you would get in trouble with your mom and dad and be sent to your room to think about what you did.

It made you feel small.

“We’ve got your prints on the murder weapon,” Pearce said, attempting to take over the conversation. “Just tell us what happened and we can get you away from Erin.”

No he can’t, the voice said.

You kept your mouth shut.

“You’re making it pretty hard on yourself, kid,” Waller said. He leaned further; he was getting too close. “You know what happens when you refuse to cooperate?”

“You already arrested me,” you said. “So you clearly feel confident enough without a confession.” Waller narrowed his eyes. “Not much else you can threaten me with.”

“We can always have you transferred to a different block,” Pearce said with a tilt of his head.

“I hear Block C has a soft spot for Outcasts,” Waller continued.

Don’t listen to them.

“I’m sure you’d make a lot of new friends over there.” Your hands were feeling sweaty.

“You can be cellmates with Miss Byrne.”

Fight back.

Your ears were ringing.

“I think she’s in for killing an Outcast, isn’t she?”

Don’t let them do this.

Your heart wanted to jump out of your throat.

“Think she did. Five, if I remember right.”

“I’m sure she’s rehabilitated now though.”

“Probably wouldn’t even think twice to-”

“-Good afternoon, everyone.”

All three of you whipped your heads toward the door to see a man walking into the interrogation room. His dark hair was slicked back except for one or two strands hanging over his face, and his light goatee was, honestly, pretty fabulous. He kind of reminded you of Zorro.

What was Zorro doing in your interrogation room?

“Can we help you?” Pearce asked when it was clear Waller was still too busy glaring at the new man.

“Jair Moreno,” the man said with a big, bright smile. “I’m here to talk with my client.” He had a comfortingly deep voice, and a stunning accent. It reminded you of Mr. Addams.

“Client?” Waller asked.

“I don’t have a lawyer,” you said with a frown, finally able to voice something.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here, no?” He said. His smile turned less performative when he looked at you.

Don’t trust him.

“She never asked for a lawyer,” Waller continued. You almost wanted to laugh at how red his face was getting. He was mad.

Good.

“If you keep him around, we can’t talk to you anymore,” Pearce said with a smile that was a rather pitiful attempt at comfort. “We can’t help you.”

“I…” you looked back and forth between the detectives and your (supposed) lawyer. “I would like to talk with him.”

“It’s your funeral, kid,” Waller said with a huff, pushing his chair back harshly and shoving past Mr. Moreno.

“You have the room,” Pearce said quickly before following suit, though in a much less aggressive way. Both you and Mr. Moreno watched and waited until the door clicked shut again, and you were finally alone.

“My apologies for being so late,” he said with a friendly smile as he sat down in the seat across from you. “It took two days to find you.”

“I appreciate you coming, Mr. Moreno-”

“-Señor,” he corrected. “It’s a simple difference, but it makes the white men uncomfortable in these parts.” He winked as if he was letting you in on a little secret.

“Señor Moreno,” you said; the word didn’t sound as pretty coming from your mouth, but he smiled and nodded at you once anyway. “But I can’t afford you. And I never called you.”

“No you didn’t,” he said quickly, “a close friend informed me of the situation. Said you’re like another child to him.”

You wracked your brain to think of who could have possibly called someone for you. Everyone had seen you getting arrested at the Rave’N, so it wasn’t like you could pick from who had known. And you were close with a lot of parents. Had it been a teacher? No, probably not. It certainly wasn’t Sheriff Galpin; he liked you well enough, but you were also a major thorn in his side.

It’s a trap, the voice said. You physically shook your head to get it out. Now wasn’t the time for paranoia.

“I don’t know who would have called,” you finally said. He was being far too nice, it was starting to be a little creepy. Maybe it was the time for some paranoia.

“No?” You shook your head slowly, and his smile fell into something smaller, much more comforting. “Gomez Addams gave me a call.”

Oh.

“Well then I certainly can’t afford you,” you said immediately. Señor Moreno laughed a deep belly laugh.

“He said you would say that,” he chuckled. “That’s why I’m taking your case pro bono.”

“That’s not a smart business decision,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands and away from his gaze. His eyes reminded you of Wednesday’s; dark, like perfectly stained wood.

You’re going to owe them, the voice said. You’ll never be able to repay them. You’ll be in their debt for the rest of your life.

“But it is my decision to make,” he said. You didn’t look up from your hands but nodded absentmindedly.

You felt small again.

“Let’s go ahead and get down to business,” Señor Moreno said.

You nodded and braced yourself for whatever it was he was going to say. You hoped it wasn’t going to be all bad news. There was only so much more you could take.

“Let’s talk about the domestic first,” he said, and you nodded. “We won’t deny it happened, that would be foolish. But what was your emotional state at that moment?”

He blamed Outcasts; he blamed you. Your fist pounded into flesh and bone again and again and again and ag-

“-I don’t know,” you said with a shrug and another shake of your head to get the image of blood out of your mind.

“Were you aware of what you were doing at the time?” He probed. “Or did you only realise afterwards?”

“I…” you sighed. “I didn’t know until after.”

“And it happened impulsively?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall go with an extreme emotional disturbance defence,” he said. “I’ve used it in New York, I’m sure I can find a loophole here.”

“So it’s actually going to trial?” You asked, your shoulders sagging. You couldn’t handle a trial.

“Not necessarily,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. It was almost hypnotising. He was actually pretty handsome.

Don’t be a whore.

“Now tell me about this double homicide,” he said, looking down at notes that you hadn’t even realised he had. “They have yet to declare it either a murder or manslaughter because of your age at the time.”

“Uh, I was 9- 10,” you blinked frantically. “10, I was 10. Nicky was 14.” So young? “We walked west for a few days and had a mini vacation.” The knife flashed under the street lamps. “Two guys trapped us in an alley one night and tried to kidnap us.” You blinked hard again. “Or not, I don’t know, they just tried to get us to go with them.”

“What happened next?” Señor Moreno asked. His voice was far too soft and quiet, it was unsettling. He shouldn’t be so gentle.

“Uh, Nicky got into a fight with one of them and I got in a fight with the other,” you mused as you shook your head slowly, your eyes darting back and forth but not seeing anything. “The one I was fighting pulled a knife on me, so I knocked it out of his hand and…”

The knife came down again and again and again again again again again-

“And you fought back,” Señor Moreno finished for you.

You inhaled sharply, not realising you had been holding your breath. The room suddenly felt too cold and too enclosed. Your wings itched under the makeshift harness the jail had forced you to wear. You wanted to get out. It was too much, you wanted to leave.

“A double homicide sure, but sounds like self-defence to me,” he said. 

“Technically I only killed one,” you mused, blinking a few times to clear the haze so you could look back up at Señor Moreno.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said with a light laugh.

“Guess Nicky was right though,” you said to yourself. “I’ll always remember Niagara.”

“What did you say?” Señor Moreno’s head shot up from his notes. You frowned at him. “Where did you go?”

“Niagara Falls?” You said hesitantly.

“Which side?” He asked. He was leaning over the table to get close to you, his hands reaching out to grab your own. You let out a sigh; you had missed the touch of soft hands.

“Uhh,” you shook your head and your mouth flopped open and closed a few times. “The left side?”

“No no, which country,” he corrected quickly. “Were you on the American side, or the Canada side?”

“I don’t-”

“-What were the falls shaped like?” He asked. He was talking far too quickly, it was making your head spin.

“I…” your eyes swung left and right, over and over as you tried to remember.

“See that?” Nicky asked, pointing to the falls. You could see them perfectly from your spot on his shoulders. “What does it look like to you?”

“A waterfall,” you said with a giggle. He lightly pinched your thigh.

“What else?” He asked with his own little chuckle.

“Umm.” You tilted your head so you could think better. “It looks like a U.”

“It’s a horseshoe,” he said. “Pretty cool, right?”

“A horseshoe,” you said with a slow, dazed nod of your head. “It looked like a horseshoe.”

Señor Moreno let go of your hands - you instantly missed the warmth - and leaned back in his chair. His hands went behind his head and he smiled. He looked at you, looked into your very soul, and smiled. You frowned. What was he smiling about?

“You’re not going to trial,” he said with a chuckle.

“How do you know?” You asked with a tilt of your head. Your palms were getting itchy. And sweaty.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said. “We have a meeting with your parents and their lawyer.”

“I can’t see them,” you said quickly, eyes going wide. “I can’t.”

“They can’t touch you,” he replied. “If they’re smart, they won’t even talk to you.”

It didn't comfort you, not really. What would it matter if they couldn’t talk to you? They would still be there; you would have to face the people who were supposed to care for you. Love you. Who should have been on your side from the very beginning, not getting you arrested.

“You’ll come back for me tomorrow?” You asked.

“Right after we post your bail,” he said with the most genuine look you had seen since arriving at jail.

“You promise?” You asked again.

He looked at you for a moment with a tilted head and slightly furrowed brows. What was he thinking? He’s not coming back for you, the voice said. But he reached out and placed gentle hands over yours and gave them a light squeeze.

“I promise on my abuela’s grave,” he said softly. Oh so softly.

It made you feel small. But in a good way.

Just the knowledge that you were going to get out was enough to make the rest of the day go by faster. You didn’t even care that Erin and her girl gang were glaring daggers at you the whole day. The only thing on your mind was getting to get out of this fucking jail and get back to the real world again.

You ignored the fact that the real world also sucked.

And that you were not prepared to deal with the real world yet.

Because you’re a coward, the voice in your head said.

You still slept like a baby.

The next morning you took your time heading to the showers; you had picked up on the fact that everyone either showered immediately, or not at all. If you waited just a little longer, the odds of you being alone were exponentially high. It worked out perfectly, and since you weren’t too worried about being late to anything anymore, you took your time. 

Even though it was a bit cold by that time, it felt nice as it cascaded over your face. With your eyes closed, you could just focus on the sound of the water. The goal wasn’t necessarily to wash off anymore, just try to keep your heart and mind in check. You were almost there. Just a little longer.

The water shut off only a moment later, and you let out a frustrated sigh. Of course you hadn’t been keeping track of the time. But it was okay, you would be out soon and could get a hot shower later if you really wanted it. Now all you need to do was dry off and-

-something hard hit the back of your knees and you immediately fell to the ground. The vibration travelled up your palms and the crack of your knees on the tile resonated through your bones and, if nothing else, the bruises that would paint themselves on your skin would be stunning. Wednesday would appreciate the grotesque colours, that was for sure.

You pushed yourself up and looked down at your palms to see the already reddened, sensitive skin on the heels. It ached, and both of your forearms throbbed lightly with each heartbeat. That was going to be a pain in the ass to-

-something rough pulled tight against your neck and yanked you back off your knees. Your hands instantly lifted to pull against it, trying to get your fingers underneath to ease the pressure on your throat. You could feel yourself being pulled backwards across the slick floor until you came to a stop.

Pull it away, the voice ordered. You couldn’t breathe.

Erin stepped in front of you.

“Hey, girly pop,” she said with a grin as she crouched down to be at eye level with you. “Heard you’re leaving today.”

The thing around your throat pulled tighter; it made you choke.

“We couldn’t let you leave without a goodbye present,” one of the women behind you practically taunted.

“Maybe afterwards you’ll learn not to run that big mouth of yours.” Erin’s grin was malicious at best, downright demonic at worst.

They were smart. You knew they were. The moment they pulled whatever was choking you tighter and your hands tried to pull it down, Erin swung. A solid punch that left your ears ringing and the world spinning. The throb in your eye was instant. Only when you were truly dazed did they really get started.

They were smart.

The bruises on your side had already ached before this. Now they genuinely hurt. Each new blow and kick stole what little air you had left in your lungs, and you didn’t know what to do. Did you keep trying not to suffocate? Or did you try to fight back? You couldn’t do both, you were outnumbered.

Fight back, the voice said. But how could you do that when you felt something crack in your side and you couldn’t fucking breath-

“-What’s going on in here?”

It was as if a switch flipped in the room. They instantly released you, and you gasped for air like your life depended on it. You sputtered and coughed, falling forward onto your hands and knees again except this time you didn’t pay attention to the pain in the heel of your palm.

No, this time you were too busy trying not to choke on your own blood.

“Five to one doesn’t seem too fair.” Miss Ethel’s voice echoed off the tiled walls; it sounded fuzzy through the ringing in your ears.

Something red was going down the shower drain.

“We’re just wishing our little friend good luck in the big outside world,” Erin said quickly. At least that’s what you thought she said, you couldn’t actually tell.

“Get going,” Miss Ethel said. You squeezed your eyes shut when the volume of her voice sent a migraine shooting down every nerve in your body. “Now.”

And just like that, they left. Left you on the floor of the showers with a foggy brain and the taste of blood on your tongue. Stand up. No. No, you didn't want to stand up. You wanted to curl up on the cold ground and lay in a pool of your own blood until the foggiest eased and your throat was no longer on fire.

"Come on, baby, get up," Miss Ethel said in a far softer voice that had reminded you of Abuelita.

Her old worn hands held you by the shoulders and steadied you, not rushing you but there as a crutch. As you moved and stretched and stood up, she was there to support you the whole time. Only when you were back up to your feet did she look up at you with a frown.

"So you’re only good for starting fights, not finishing them?” She asked, looking you up and down to assess the damage.

She needs to shut up.

“Just caught off guard,” you mumbled. Your mouth filled again and you spit near the drain; it was a mesmerising dark red. “I can finish fights.”

“Not today though, I see,” she continued. “Decided to be a gentleman, did you?”

“I had it,” you huffed. Something in her eyes reminded you of someone. Someone who cared. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I can see that,” she said with a solemn nod. “You certainly look like someone who had it covered.”

You gonna let her talk to you like that?

“Listen, baby,” Miss Ethel said, her voice dropping a tone and sounding more like a friend. Like someone who cared. “Stop pushing people away. Soon they’ll quit trying.”

“They already did,” you mumbled, your head falling. Your eyes squeezed shut again as a hammer started pounding away at the inside of your skull.

“Then get them back,” she said. You didn’t open your eyes but could feel her hand on your still-naked shoulder. “All that rage and loneliness has to come out sometime. Don’t put your friends on the receiving end and keep your head up. Sad birds still sing.”

“You sound poetic,” you said, finally opening your eyes to meet hers. “Not like someone who murdered her husbands.”

“Read it in a book somewhere,” she said with her charming smile that was missing a few teeth. “Even black widows have some wisdom buried deep down.”

You chuckled lightly before inhaling sharply. Something was definitely broken, probably a rib. It was sticking into your lungs and it just hurt. Every breath, every movement, it hurt. But you took a slow, deep breath and stood up straight again.

No giving up.

“Let’s get you dressed and ready to be picked up,” Miss Ethel said. “Before anyone comes looking for you.”

Miss Ethel helped clean the bit of blood off of you and tidied you up the best she could with what she had. You picked up the towel that had been wrapped around your neck only moments before. It was rough and white. The scratchiness in your throat came back.

You looked brand new by the time you put your suit back on and was escorted out of the jail. It was weird to be wearing the suit, but you supposed it was all you had. Certainly better than nothing, at least. If it wasn’t for the newly blackened eye and broken nose and bruised jaw and… well, anyway, you would have looked ready for the Rave’N.

In theory.

“Dios mío,” Señor Moreno said when he met you outside the jail, running up to you and checking over your face.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I just wanna go.”

“Of course,” he said with a simple nod before withdrawing his hands. “Then let’s get going.”

He led you to the front where a car was waiting, and you hesitated. These things weren’t just dangerous anymore; now they had rightfully killed Nicky. Sure, you had been in the police van on the way down, but this was… it was different. It was smaller and more dangerous.

It was scarier.

Just get in, the voice goaded you. And against everything you had, your feet carried you until you got into the passenger seat.

You couldn’t recall the ride to wherever you were meeting everyone. Nothing about it registered in your head, almost like a blackout. The only thing you became aware of was sitting down in the chair in that big empty room and waiting for everyone else to show up.

That was pretty scary.

“Good morning, Y/N,” someone said in an accented voice, and you and Señor Moreno turned around to greet everyone.

You remembered the man. Vaguely, of course. He was a friend of your dad’s, someone he had gone to law school with. Stokes; Luke Stokes. He was older now, had more grey in his hair, a few more wrinkles. If you remembered right, he had favoured you over Nicky.

But you averted your eyes the moment you saw your parents enter the room.

“You’ve certainly grown into a stunning young adult,” Mr. Stokes said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” you said in a raspy voice; it itched your throat again. Everyone quickly sat down and you let your eyes fall to the table.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Mr. Stokes asked once everyone was settled. “You mentioned you were open to a plea deal?”

“Of course,” Señor Moreno said with his own smile. “A trial would be tedious for everyone, no?”

“I’m glad we agree,” Mr. Stokes said as he started shuffling some papers. It was an irritating sound; he wasn’t even looking for anything in particular, you could tell. “Let’s make this simple. Miss Smith pleads guilty and only serves 7 years.”

“I’ll make it simpler,” Señor Moreno retorted, leaning back in his seat. You felt his foot kick yours slightly. “She pleads guilty, pays her fine, and goes to anger management.”

“Absolutely not,” your dad cut in loudly. You flinched and reached your hand out on instinct; Señor Moreno grabbed it quickly under the table. “Assault and murder?”

“Marcus-”

“-No!” His voice was far too loud, only being drowned out by the racing pulse in your ears. “It’s insulting.”

“We have witnesses for the domestic and prints for the murder,” Mr. Stokes said. Your eyes were closed but you guessed he was trying to calm your dad back down. “Why would we let her off without a sentence?”

The domestic was a simple emotional disturbance,” Señor Moreno said nonchalantly. “Her brother had just died tragically, any juror would understand.”

“And the murder?”

“Just so happened to occur on Canadian soil.” He sounded cocky.

Watch their reactions, the voice said. Again, without any intention to do so, your eyes slowly opened and you looked up across the table.

Your dad was furious; his skin was darkened and there was a fire in his eyes. A dangerous fire. He was looking directly at you like he wanted to lunge across the table and strangle you where you sat. Maybe he did. Maybe he would.

I’d like to see him try, the voice growled. And for the first time in a while, you agreed.

“The United States would never extradite one of their own,” Señor Moreno continued, “let alone a small Outcast child who was defending herself from kidnappers.”

“Any jury would still convict,” Mr. Stokes said. “It’s a good deal, Moreno. Just accept it and let’s all go home.”

The room fell silent. A silence so thick you could choke on it. Everyone was looking at everyone else, watching, waiting to see who would speak first. You didn’t want to take the deal. Seven years in prison? Not even a jail, a prison? You could hold your own, but you would rather die than be subjected to that. There already was very little to live for. It would be the final straw.

Señor Moreno squeezed your hand before leaning forward on the table.

“We will have to reject this deal,” he said with a sigh. “A trial will be tedious, but well worth it.” He looked directly at your dad and you noticed the slightest smirk on his face. “I suppose the knowledge that my client is an Outcast will come to light during the trial.”

Your parents’ faces fell instantly. A laugh tried to bubble up from your throat, and you quickly coughed and cleared your throat to hide it. You bit your bottom lip hard as you looked back up to meet their eyes. For the first time, you saw something that almost made the pain worth it.

They were scared.

“I hope your clients are ready for-”

“-Hold on,” your dad interrupted. “There’s no need for that.”

“So you will accept our terms then?” Señor Moreno asked with a tilt of his head. You turned your head to hide your smile.

Gotcha.

He squeezed your hand again as your parents leaned closer to talk to Mr. Stokes. With another turn of your head, you looked at him. He had a cocky smile on his face that was reserved only for you. And truthfully, you trusted him.

“We’ll agree to your terms,” Mr. Stokes sighed, “but the battery remains on her record.”

Shit.

Señor Moreno looked at you again, waiting patiently for an answer. If a violent crime went on your record, you would never be able to move on. You would have to disclose it to jobs, everyone could look it up and find out. It would ruin your life.

But at least it was a life…

You nodded once.

“We accept,” Señor Moreno said quickly, holding his hand out for Mr. Stokes to shake it.

You hoped you hadn’t just handed your life over to something you couldn’t fix.

—---

The next few days were total chaos. Señor Moreno had allowed you to stay in his guest room before the next day of court. It was a kind gesture, truly it was, but the bed was too soft and the house was too quiet. There was no way to get any sort of sleep so you just stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts consume you.

Then he took you to the doctor, letting them check you over. Two broken ribs, one fractured, a broken nose, and some deep bruising. Nothing too horrifying, you had dealt with worse. The horrifying part came when it was time to pay and Señor Moreno didn’t even let you see it. He just paid for it all himself.

“Any child of Gomez’s is a child of mine,” he said with a charming smile.

It made you feel small. And a little warm inside.

Don’t get soft, the voice said, it’ll ruin you.

The day of court was far simpler than you had thought it would be. At least it was now that you had Señor Moreno on your side. The judge accepted the plea and let you off with a simple “you’re young, don’t throw your life away.” You just mumbled a “yes sir” and left with Señor Moreno guiding you out of the courthouse.

“What now?” You asked as you pulled on the tie around your neck. It was a shame the only nice outfit you had was your suit to the Rave’N; it had quickly turned uncomfortable.

“Now you go home,” he said with a smile, still guiding you down the steps of the courthouse. Thanks to your parents’ aversion to Outcasts, there had been little to no publicity. “You’ll start your anger management once the new year starts.”

“And the fine?” You asked. 

It had been weighing on your mind since the judge had issued it; $15,000. There was no way in hell you would ever be able to pay that off. A few dozen feet away, your parents descended the courthouse steps, eyeing you for a moment before they looked elsewhere. Your hand quickly travelled to the crystal pendent the Addamses had given you; you still kept it around your neck at all times. 

“I can’t afford it.”

“It’s already taken care of.”

You stopped fidgeting with the crystal and nearly tripped over the last stair. Señor Moreno held his hand out to your arm to steady you before you could look up. Mr. and Mrs. Addams were standing near their car with Lurch still inside. Mrs. Addams had a soft smile while Mr. Addams immediately went to clap Señor Moreno on the back.

You didn’t bother trying to keep up as they started talking in Spanish. Abuelita really needed to teach you.

“How are you feeling, little bird?” Mrs. Addams asked softly as her hand reached out to brush against your cheek. You instantly leaned into the gentle touch.

Stop being vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” you said even though you both clearly knew it was a lie.

“Thank you again, Jair,” Mrs. Addams said, and you turned just enough to see Mr. Addams and Señor Moreno walking closer. She still pulled you closer until her arm was around your waist.

She was being far too soft with you, it was making you nervous. But it also left you feeling cared for, maybe even loved. Fuck, when had you truly last felt loved? Mama Weems aside simply because she still had to work all the time, of course. Shit. Now you were just getting sad.

It’s pathetic.

“Of course, Tish,” Señor Moreno said with a smile. “Let me know if anything else comes up.”

“We will,” Mr. Addams said.

Everyone bid their goodbyes to Señor Moreno and watched as he walked away, leaving you with the Addamses. It made you uncomfortable in ways you couldn’t properly express. How much of their money had you wasted on this whole situation? How much time had you stolen from them?

“Are you ready to go home, little bird?” Mr. Addams asked. He still looked to be in good spirits.

You opened your mouth to answer but instantly felt that lump in your throat again. It was not going to cause you to cry, not now. You closed your mouth and nodded once instead, and thankfully they took that as an acceptable answer. Mrs. Addams opened the car door for you to let you in and soon the drive had started.

You couldn’t remember anything that happened on the trip, or even the ride to the Addams house itself. That alone was enough to get your heart racing once again, but you chalked it down to the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks. More than a few weeks. Fuck, how long had it been since the harvest festival? How many weeks had you missed out on?

Fuck.

You had barely gotten out of the car when you felt something crash into you, knocking you back. Your feet steadied the rest of you, but the ache in your body stretched down every nerve it could find. Small, slender arms were wrapped around your neck and, at the familiar scent of her perfume, your own arms wrapped around her waist as your eyes fell shut.

“Never again, cara mia,” Wednesday mumbled into the side of your neck. “Please.”

Oh, how could you possibly say no to that? When you could hear the rare emotion in her voice and feel something wet drop onto your skin? When her nails were digging into your suit and holding you as if you would disappear in an instant? When you could feel her pulse under your fingertips and even just the feel of her body against yours made you feel home?

She’s going to become a distraction, the voice warned. But a distraction to what? And in the end, did you even truly care? Did you care when she felt like home and comfort and warmth all at once? No. No, you didn’t care. You would let her be a distraction to the whole world if that’s what it took to keep her in your arms.

You didn’t bother with an answer, just held her tighter and inhaled deeply once again. The stress of everything started to melt away, even if only for a moment, and you just held Wednesday as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. Maybe something inside you would break, leaving not even your sanity intact if you let go.

You wouldn’t let her go again.

You would pile corpses in front of her door before the world took her from you again.

La Petite Mort - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir

Summary: R deals with RJ, Lorraine gets jealous

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, tiniest little bit of blood and physical violence

A/N: Turns out jet lag is cool because you can wake up at 4AM and start writing again. The headcanons from yesterday helped me break through the writers block, thank you guys!! Let me know what you guys want to see next!

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

The words rattle around in your skull, bouncing haphazardly in the blank space. For a brief, blissful moment, nothing else exists but you and Lorraine. She’s there, right in front of you, in your arms. Her big doe eyes pleading with you, don’t go.

Like many perfect things, your flawless moment is brief and shattered by reality. The hum in your ears begins to fade as voices are raised around you. Your tunnel vision widens, expanding the scope past Lorraine’s freckled nose. Everything seems to be happening in a vacuum, sluggish and unreal. You feel like you’re just an observer of the universe, not meant to interact with its characters.  

You look at RJ over the top of Lorraine’s head, his expression furious. You grant him that; you’d be angry if you were him too. The van door behind him is open, the film crew all watching with bated breath, wide smiles on Maxine and Bobby-Lynne’s faces. Maxine shoots you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, making you huff out a laugh despite the situation. 

Lorraine wraps her fingers into the hem of your shirt, pulling herself tightly to you, completely disregarding everyone else. You know you’re not going to leave with her wrapped around you, and she does too. RJ shakes his head, his mouth open in silent shock. He throws his hands up, his expression pained. 

“What are you doing, Raine?” He asks, pacing, “What is going on right now?”

You don’t speak, only observe. Lorraine squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself against your chest. She’s not ready to deal with him, but she needs to be. You rub her back, trying to comfort her. RJ continues to pace. 

“You owe me an explanation, Lorraine! You owe me!” 

You disagree with his approach; his tone is far too harsh. But you do agree with what he says. She does owe him an explanation. You crane your neck to see her face against your shirt, dip your head down to whisper to her.

“He’s not wrong. It’s the decent thing to do.”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against your sternum. The interaction sends RJ from confused irritation to absolute outrage. 

“Two years, Lorraine! Two years and this is what I get in return? You’re running behind my back, sneaking around and with her?”

That gets her attention; yours already snapped onto him. His face is red, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands shaking. If ever this man can be dangerous, you know it’s right now. There is very little more unstable than an embarrassed man. You eye him warily, unsure of his next move. 

Lorraine turns to him, her gaze lowered to his feet, her back only inches from you. She wrings her fingers, and you can’t see it, but you know her lip is being chewed to high hell. 

“I…I don’t know how…to explain-“ she starts, “it just happened, and then you came back, and I had a lot to figure out- “

“A lot to figure out?!” He shouts over her, advancing on her but stopping a few feet short, “How is there anything to figure out? You’re supposed to be a sweet girl Lorraine. That’s what I loved about you. But you’re not a sweet girl, are you? You’re just…you’re just a whore!”

His words make you tremble with anger. You understand his plight, can have empathy for the man. But you would not stand for him insulting her. You take a step forward, silently setting a boundary. His lip curls at you, his eyes wild. 

“I’m not…I’m not a whore,” Lorraine says, her voice soft and shaking, “I love her.”

RJ looks like he’s had the wind knocked right out of him. His breath comes out in a whoosh as her words snap into the morning air. The audience in the van is dead quiet, jaws dropped open. 

“I-I love you, Rainey. I do. It’s you and me.” He says, reaching out to her, his tone changing completely.

She steps back and leans into you shaking her head, “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream, RJ?” 

Everyone is shaken, Lorraine is standing up to him. Your chest swells with pride, watching her go from cowering to straightening her spine. Her frantic eyes more sure now, watching him. You brush your fingers against her wrist, reassuring her that you’re there. 

RJ shakes his head, “What-what kind of question is that?”

Lorraine tilts her head, “An easy one, I think, for someone who’s in love with me.”

Her expression is pained; she takes no pleasure in this. When RJ answers her with “Chocolate chip,” she closes her eyes and nods. 

“It’s strawberry,” you say from behind her and snap your jaw shut. You hadn’t meant to interject, but it was an unconscious reaction. 

You take note of the fact that RJ’s entire body goes rigid. His fists curl at his sides, his jaw flexing. You know he’s going to do something stupid in his desperation. He takes a step toward Lorraine, and you feel yourself winding up, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action. 

Wayne climbs out of the van and circles around, his hands out in front of him. He wants to diffuse the situation, but you can see in the way RJ’s lip twitches that it hasn’t worked. The moment is a ticking bomb, every second passing by filled with nervous tension. Your heartbeat is slow, steady. Your eyes trained on RJ, tracking his every movement. 

Lorraine steps toward him, her brows furrowed, her worry for him growing. He calms slightly, the muscle in his jaw relaxing and his fists unclenching. His eyes grow wide, his mouth downturned. He looks like a child, you think. It almost makes you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“It’s time for you to go, RJ. I’m sorry it turned out this way.” Lorraine says softly, reaching her hand out to comfort him.

His fingers wrap around her bicep, and the wild look in his eyes is back. He pulls her into his body, her hands pressing against his chest. She struggles back, but his arms around her keep her pinned there. The whole thing lasts less than a second. 

Before RJ can even speak to justify himself, your knuckles are connecting with his cheekbone. A satisfying crunch pops around the bones in your hand, his glasses fly off his face. Lorraine stumbles backward, free of his grasp, as he crumbles to the ground. His shoulder hits the dirt, and his hands fly up to his face, crying out and inspecting the damage. His nose is bleeding, and a red and purple bruise is already forming above his cheek. 

“Woah, now!” Wayne cries out as you step over RJ.

He takes a step toward you but is halted by your look. The girls in the van twitter like birds at the commotion, but neither of them protests. Jackson sits quietly, waiting to see the outcome. You’re not sure where Lorraine is, somewhere behind you. 

You grab the collar of RJ’s shirt and pull him up to your face. With your free hand, you dust his shoulders off, and you give him an apologetic half-smile. You’re not sorry for punching him. You’re not sorry for what you’ve done with Lorraine. But you are sorry that someone has to be hurt in this situation. 

“You don’t love her, man.” You say, your voice low, your faces inches from each other. 

RJ deflates, his weight hanging in your hand, “I…I…” he sighs, squinting at you, “I wanted to.” 

You see Maxine move out of the van and approach you from the side, RJ’s collar still secure in your grip. She squats down and hands over his glasses, which you take and wipe on your shirt. You let go of him, but you remain in his space, Maxine hovering just outside of it. You place the glasses back on his face. 

“She deserves to be loved, not just wanted,” you say, searching his face for a reaction.

Maxine whistles, low and long, “Now there’s some cowboy wisdom. I see why she loves you, handsome. You’re a regular Casanova, ain’t ya?”

RJ turns to look at Maxine, still shell-shocked. You stand and reach your hand down for him to grasp. He hesitates but takes the offer, and you pull him to his feet. His nose gushes with blood, making you wince.

“You’re gonna want somethin for that,” you say, gesturing at the blood geyser on his face. 

Bobby-Lynne sidles up to him, a tampon in her hands. She fusses over him, shoving the cotton up his nose while he whines. She pulls him back toward the van, he follows with unsure backward steps, shaking his head. His eyes lock on to something over your shoulder, and you know it must be Lorraine. You turn to watch her, surprised to find the stubborn set in her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her brown eyes cold. 

You had only seen that look on her face twice in your lifetime. Once when Mr. Day had to put down a sick cow, Lorraine absolutely insisted she be there. Her father had denied her, and the next day she was in the barn, arms crossed and refusing to leave the cow’s side. The second time you were teenagers, and you were slowly drifting apart. Your parent's divorce sent you down a path of alcohol, drugs, and sex at a young age. Lorraine climbed into your bedroom window one night and would not leave until you explained to her why you were pushing her away. She never left your side, and you never pushed her away again.

And now, as she watches her boyfriend… ex-boyfriend get pulled into the van, she wears that same look. You turn back to the van, watch as the crew piles in. Maxine rolls down her window and winks at you. 

As Wayne puts it in gear and begins to roll away, she leans out and yells, “You treat her right, church mouse! Or I’ll come back for her!” She blows a kiss and laughs as the car kicks up dust and rolls down the driveway. 

You put your hands on your hips and laugh, shaking your head. When you turn back to Lorraine, her eyes are narrowed at you.

“What?” You yelp, your smile washing away from your face.

“That’s not funny,” she growls.

You smirk, “I mean, it’s a little funny, Rai-“

Your words are swallowed whole, Lorraine’s lips crashing into yours, her teeth knocking against yours in her haste. She pulls you back and leans against the trailer with her hands wrapped in the front of your shirt. She's possessive, her mouth hot against your lips, her hands pulling at you. You fall into her, let her expend her pent-up anxiety with soft sighs through her nose.

When she calms, you push back, creating enough space to look down at her. There is worry in her eyes, set in the lines between her brows.

“You’re not leavin',” she whispers, her hands still tight on your shirt.

You wrap your fingers around hers, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The relief that washes over her is intense, her grip loosening and her shoulders dropping. She leans her head back against the metal wall of the trailer and exhales, her hands shaking. You feel your tension wash away; all you want to do is comfort her in that moment. 

You kiss her cheek, lean back and smile softly, “Go back a bag.”

She frowns again, “A bag?”

You nod, “I’m already packed up. Let’s get away for a bit. Somewhere we can talk and sort this out.”

She blinks slowly at you, mulling it over, then nods. You step back, and she releases her hold on your shirt, her eyes searching your face.

“If you leave while I’m in the house, so help me-“

You laugh, “I’m not gonna leave you here, Rainey. I’ll get Pearl and load her up. Go pack a bag.” 

——

The drive to Big Bend National Park is probably further than necessary, but 8 hours in the truck with Lorraine seems like the sensible thing to do. Your heart sings at the sight of her in your passenger seat, your bags in the truck bed, horses in the trailer. It feels like living out a dream. 

You glance over at her, absorbing as much of the vision as you can. Her feet up on the dashboard, wind whipping in her hair, the radio softly playing your favorite Queen song. You turn your eyes back to the road, tapping at the steering wheel, watching the desert and tumbleweeds roll by.

Around hour four, Lorraine gets restless. She fiddles with the radio, hand surfs the wind out her window, runs her hand up your thigh. 

“Let’s stop in Sonora, I’m tired of bein in the truck. And the horses need to get out.” 

You glance over at her, apprehensive, “They don’t need to get out, and you know it. We’re halfway there; we can set up camp by midnight.”

She shakes her head, “It’s late, I want to sleep in a bed.”

You chew your lip, torn between wanting to give her what she wants and pushing on until you get where you’re going. 

“Hotels round here ain’t exactly welcoming to two women in one room Raine.”

She shrugs, “We’ll get two rooms then.”

You sigh, rub your eyes. The setting sun is making you sleepy, and it has been a long day. You relent with no further pushing from Lorraine. You pull off the highway exit into the small town, and find the closest motel. 

The parking lot is nearly empty, a broken down Honda on cinder blocks rests near the front office, and a handful of trucks are parked outside sporadically spaced. You pull in sideways, taking up several empty parking stalls. 

“Stay here, I’ll get our rooms,” you grumble, and Lorraine nods sleepily.

The reception desk is vacant when you stroll inside, the dark wood walls and pictures of buffalo making the space feel long abandoned. The only sign of life is the quiet tinkling of a radio playing an old country song. You slap the bell on the counter and wait for a response. A few minutes go by, and none comes, so you hit it again.

You can hear shuffling from a back room, a smoky cough, and then a short old woman titters up to the desk, her hair and makeup bearing a striking resemblance to Dolly Parton. She clears her throat and stares at you, not speaking. 

You blink at her, waiting for her to speak, but she continues to stare. 

“Howdy,” you say, unsure, “You got two rooms available?”

She narrows her eyes at you, and speaks in a growling smoker's voice, “You dealin drugs?”

You jerk back, surprised, “Uh, no, ma’am. My friend and I are on a trip to Big Bend.”

She cranes her neck to see out the window, eyeing your trailer, “No cartel business at my hotel.”

You put your hands up, “No, ma’am I’m not involved in that. Just a ranch hand, takin a break is all.”

Her expression softens as she accepts your answer. She slides two keys over to you and takes your money. 

“Check out is 9 AM. No smoking in the room.”

You eye the burning cigarette in an ashtray behind her and raise your eyebrow at her. Not wanting to push your luck, you nod and sweep the keys off the counter. You tip your hat and back out the door.

Lorraine is asleep in the passenger seat when you round the truck. You open the door and rouse her gently, unlock her bedroom door, and guide her to bed. With her safely tucked in, you leave the keys on her bedside table and head back out to lock the horse trailer. 

When you finally settle into your bed, the exhaustion of the day presses into you. The water stains on the ceiling and the faint smell of cigarette smoke don’t deter you from crashing into a deep sleep.

——

Maxine’s laughter fills your mind, her high-pitched voice wrapping around your throat and suffocating you. RJ begins to laugh and then cries somewhere in the distance. The Days pass through your line of sight, waltzing over the dirt, kicking up dust in their wake. CB snorts and stomps next to you. Everything moves in a choppy, jumpy way. People appear and dissolve in your vision, and then Lorraine snaps into view. Everything else fades away, and suddenly you’re sitting on the hay bales in the barn, she’s in your lap, and she’s kissing your neck. Your heart races, and a jolt of electricity shoots through you. You’re not surprised to find yourself in your underwear and then suddenly naked. 

It occurs to you that you’re dreaming, but the thought is fleeting. Lorraine slides down your body and settles herself between your legs, her hands on your knees. Your chest heaving, your eyes wide, you run your fingers through her thick hair. When her mouth finds your center, you gasp.

You shoot up in your bed, the water stain above your head swimming into view. Your sleep-heavy brain takes a minute to register the hands on your hips and the lips pressing into your leg. The chain on your door is locked; nothing makes sense. You feel a tongue press between your legs, and you gasp again, throwing the blankets back. 

You blink hard, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them, disbelief flooding you. Lorraine fucking Day, snuck into your room, slid under your blankets, stripped you down, and woke you up with her mouth doing unholy things to your body. You push her hair away from her face, sighing at the feeling of her tongue on you. 

Your voice is breathy, low, “Baby, what-“

She sucks your clit between her lips and pushes her hand against your stomach. You drop back into the pillow, deciding to just let the moment be what it is. You’ll gather your senses later. Right now, you’re enjoying what she’s doing to you. Briefly, you wonder how she’s so good at this. You let the thought slip through your mind like sugar in a sieve. 

Her hand slides up your ribs, her thumb caressing your skin as she squeezes your side. Quiet, indulgent moans leave your throat as she runs her tongue through you, building you up. She hums into you, and it sends you into overdrive. Your hips tilt up gently, seeking more contact with her mouth. She continues, consistent and steady, sucking and licking until you’re rocked by your orgasm. Your body shudders under her, your legs squeezing her head. You fall limp around her, and she presses a last kiss to the inside of your knee. 

She crawls up your body, and you can see now she’s bare, naked as the day she came. She sits on your hips, hot against your skin, and leans down to kiss you languidly. Your hands run over her cheeks and back into her hair, anchoring you to her while you come down. She leans back, smiling down at you, and your heart skips a beat.

“Wha-what was that?” You ask, shivering under her.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, her skin illuminated by the strips of silver moonlight creeping in through the blinds, “A reminder.”

You frown, your hands reaching out to hold her hips, “A reminder of what?”

She leans over you, her voice gravelly, “Not to make jokes about running off with Maxine.”

You would laugh if this possessive side of her didn’t turn you on so much. The glint in her eyes makes you feel like you’re made of pure gold, something to be hoarded and guarded aggressively. It’s foreign on her, and it’s delicious. So delicious, you’re practically drooling at the thought of her taste. 

You pull her down into a kiss, running your tongue over her lips, your hands abandoning their post in her hair and making their way to her thighs. You want her in every way possible, all at once. You want to consume her, absorb her into yourself, and carry her around with you everywhere. 

You settle for slipping two fingers inside of her wet heat, your tongue in her mouth, her chest pressing into yours. It’s the closest you can get to becoming one with her, entangled as far as you can go. She sits up, holding her weight in her legs, and grinds into your fingers, one hand on your chest, the other on her own leg. She doesn’t give you room to move, instead taking what she wants from you, rolling her hips and biting her lip. 

You reach up with your free hand and pull her lip from her teeth, running your thumb over it. You don’t think your pupils could expand more than they do when takes your thumb in her mouth, rolls her tongue, and sucks on it, all while riding your other hand. It’s enough to send you into another orgasm. 

She releases your thumb with a pop and watches as you shiver under her. Her mouth slightly open, she begins to pant. Your hand goes straight to her nipple, you roll it between your fingers, and that’s what it takes for her. She moans your name out and drops over you, holding herself up with shaking arms. You lift your head and lick at her throat, your eyes rolling back at the vibration when she groans. She tightens around you, gripping your fingers until she cums around them and collapses. 

When you pull your hand away, your fingers sticky on her ribs, she’s back to herself. She curls around you, leaves soft kisses on your collarbone and under your jaw. She shivers, presses her face into your neck, and sighs. 

“I have half a mind to make you jealous more often if that’s the treatment I’m gonna get,” your voice breaks the silence, a soft chuckle escaping from your chest.

She pinches your side and sits up on her elbow.

“Ouch!” You yelp, trying to squirm away from her.

“That’s not funny,” she says, looking down at you, her hair falling over her shoulder. 

You shrug, grinning, “I mean, it’s a little funny.”

She tilts her head, “You make me jealous on purpose, and I’ll just hold out on you next time.”

You gasp, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You know, without a doubt she is serious. Not wanting to push your luck, you pull her down and kiss her softly, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. She pulls back to lay her head under your chin, her breathing even and slow across your skin. Suddenly you’re grateful for dingy motels and Lorraine’s knack for breaking and entering.

legally binded - 4

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev part | next part

Chapter 4: Family Bonding, Festivals and Feelings?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

Note: Things are gearing up 😮‍💨 (ik i said i was gonna take a break, but i couldn’t help myself, now ill take a break lol, happy readin!)

Word Count: 6k+

“No one’s going to get cancelled — it’ll be fun.” Colin Jost smiles curtly on your flat screen TV.

You sit on the bed with a spoon hanging from your lips, an eye on the bright screen having just finished watching a rerun of Jenna’s SNL episode. You made sure to buy it as soon as it was available; locking yourself away in your room.

Currently, you are watching this week’s episode of SNL and Colin and Che are giving their weekly news update.

“Las Vegas is opening up a pop-up vaccine site in a strip club and don’t worry the strippers say the vaccine comes with singer and actress Y/N L/N. This time she’ll be the designated driver – I heard she’s on a tight leash.”

Your smile instantly drops.

“Speaking of Y/N,” Colin bounces off, reading off the cue cards. “Did you see her last week sitting in the audience during Jenna Ortega’s episode… hey, I wonder if they’re a real thing.”

Colin and Che share a knowing glance, “Nah.” They say in unison then move on to their next bit.

Scowling, you turn the TV off, practically throwing your bowl of cereal on the side table. 

You supposed you can’t be too mad – all too familiar with the snide jabs and harmless jokes from others in the industry. This is what you signed up for, right?

Whatever, you’re sure people are loving it.

It’s been a whole week since you left New York and you haven’t spoken to Jenna. It seems how you two acted back in the Big Apple was a success because it got your managers to back off, for now. You didn’t see a reason to contact the actress so you let the silence pass — you see when she posts on social media. 

You don’t have time to think about it because Coachella weekend is coming up soon. For the first time since Vegas, you will be working and you have been itching – wanting nothing more than to dive head-first into work mode. 

It’s what you do best.

You are invited to do a guest performance on a big producer’s set for the festival. It would be your first ever time performing at Coachella but you were privy to the culture of the festival, having gone as an audience member to support your musician friends.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Link pops his head in your door, holding a phone up.

–

“Please don’t do this.” Your pleas go underheard.

“I don’t know why you keep trying, the answer is the same Y/N.” Link rolled his eyes, pointing to a house.

“I think this is the one.”

You scan the two-story typical American home tucked away in the boroughs of suburbia up in the desert, otherwise known as Coachella Valley.

Or well, Jenna’s parent’s house at least. 

After Link had dropped the most terrible news; you had to be seen with Jenna in Coachella. Liv and Jake had instructed your team to drive you to stay with Jenna as you prepare for the festival – it was convenient they said.

Convenient my ass.

“Relax... Marcus will be back to pick you up, he’s gonna drop off your bags at the rental house.”

“Why can’t I just go with you then?” You ask.

“Liv said to drive you to this address. Jenna gave explicit directions to drive you here.”

You frown pulling on a loose thread on your sweater.

What could Jenna possibly want that she’d want you here? She looked pretty upset at you, the last time you talked.

You really don’t have it in you to fight with her, again, especially after the long drive from L.A. up to the desert where you thought — you’d be staying in your villa for Coachella weekend.

“Now go see the girl, please.” Link reaches over to open the door.

When you step out, the car is already driving speedily down the street not even giving you a chance to change your mind. You hear a flurry of voices from the side of the house but it sounds far away. Toy cars and trollies litter the grass yard. 

Slowly, you walked up her porch, your shoes scraped as you ascend the concrete steps. Hesitating for a brief moment, you realize: Jenna is inside. Well duh.  But the thought of her on the other side of the door has your heart dropping out of nowhere. You see flashes in your memory of her frown as you explain why you have to leave New York so soon.

Unspoken words as she says ‘well I thought–’

What did she think?

You would probably never know.

The door opens with a creak breaking you out of your thoughts.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Aliyah leans against the doorframe, smiling.

You laughed, “Yeah, we do.”

She doesn’t say anything else and just yells over her shoulder, “Jenna, she’s here.”

Then walked off. 

“Hi…” Jenna appears, leaning on the doorframe with a hand.

She scans you for a brief moment; not having seen you since New York, a week ago. She had to make sure you’re still alive because she hasn’t heard from you since then.

You also practically ghosted her.

After feeling guilty about how she left things with you, Jenna sent you a text the next day, asking if you made it back to Los Angeles safely.

You liked her message with a thumbs up.

A thumbs up! Not responding would have been better, the actress bitterly thought.

“Hey.” You greet. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?” She answered quickly, smile sealed tight like an envelope.

“I’m… good. Yeah. Just working.” You answer honestly.

“Oh really?” Jenna asked.

“Yeah, something for Coachella actually.”

Jenna raised her brows in surprise. “Like what?”

You send a tight-lipped smile, “It’s a surprise. People don’t know I’m here yet.”

Jenna can’t fight her excitement; giddy about being in on a secret. But then she remembers that she’s supposed to be annoyed at you and not fascinated.

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Jenna sighed, her voice dropping to a lowly whisper, in case someone was walking by.

You raised your brows, surprised by her question. “Oh… um. I’ve been busy like I said, just working, trying to keep my head down and all that.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” She asked accusingly.

You missed her tone and shrugged, reassuring her, “Yeah. Of course.”

“But, I heard you were busy this week too, filming another movie with Barry Keoghan and The Weeknd?” You changed the subject, hoping to talk about something else. She takes the bait after scanning your eyes for a second.

“Yeah, it was just a short role. But it was a lot of fun. Abel actually talked about you.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you Jen… and yeah he’s an old friend.”

“Sung your praises pretty high, I had to make sure he was talking about the right person.”

You chuckle, “Oh okay, I see how it is.”

Your laugh caused a sudden warmness to manifest in Jenna and she couldn't help but join along. “Come on, my family has been dying to see you again.”

“Really?” You asked, stepping inside her childhood home. “So you think I made a good impression?”

She turned to look back at you, surprised that you care. “Maybe… don’t let it get to your head, though.”

You laughed as you followed her through the house. “Is that jealousy I hear Ortega? Scared you won't be the only movie star around?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot that may have impressed your family?” You cocked your head and grinned wide.

“Yeah, yeah. Like, I said. Don’t let it get to your head. They could care less about celebrities and Hollywood. They’re pretty grounded.”

You shrugged, looking at the various family pictures hanging on the wall. “It’s fine. There’s only one Ortega I want to impress anyway.”

You’re not sure where that came from and it seemed Jenna shared the same thought because she raised her brows at you – but didn’t comment.

Jenna blocks you from walking when you reached the sliding glass door. “What?”

Jenna chewed her lip anxiously, “My family can be a lot. In numbers and in the other sense too. There’s a lot of us.”

“Oh… that’s okay.” You answered. A bit confused as to why she is telling you this. When you see her genuine concern your gaze softens. “Jenna, relax. I can handle the family… and I can charm anyone’s socks off.”

She relented, rolling her eyes at your joke. “Okay, okay.”

"Wait..."

Jenna turns around.

"Why am I here exactly? At your parents, that is. Link told me that you gave my driver instructions to bring me here."

Jenna bites her lip in contemplation. "Um—like I said my family wanted to see you again and I heard you were going to Coachella anyway so you know, two birds one stone."

You nod, accepting her answer.

Jenna opens the door for you two to step out.

–

Sounds of laughter rang around as you and Jenna sat in lawn chairs in her parent’s backyard.

“What are Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya like in real life?” Marcus – Jenna’s brother leaned forward to ask. 

“Marcus!” Jenna scolded and threw her brother a glare.

The actress blushed as she sat beside you but all she felt was the vibrations of your laughter, indulging her brother’s question. 

Jenna can’t help but wonder if you have other family members that spend time with you like this. You look so carefree and genuinely happy; comfortable around her family — after knowing you for a couple months now; she guesses it’s a no.

“They’re cool. Just like everyone else to be honest. Especially, Timothee, sweet guy but he’s a bit of a typical frat bro.” You joked, “And Zendaya, well. She’s just as amazing as everyone says she is. Great work ethic, it’s inspiring when you work with someone passionate like that – makes you want to be better and work harder.”

Jenna’s sisters are eating your story up. Secretly she knew they enjoyed the tales of celebrities and pop culture. It’s nearly impossible to live your life without seeing a public figure pop up on an ad on your phone or on the side of a bus stop on your drive home. 

Jenna is barely home enough to be able to have moments like this where she can humour her sister's questions. But they all had their own lives to live. She's has been looking forward to this break for a while, knowing it was coming up after her long week in New York.

She still can’t describe New York.

Something seems to have shifted between you two by the end of the week. But she didn’t know if it was for the better. The two of you have this constant push and pull; where everything is fine one moment, then one of you says something and it turns tense and weird as you both stay silent or you just completely blow up on each other.

Jenna didn’t know if she had it in her to try to decipher what these restrained responses she gets from you could possibly mean.

You are an enigma; a defensive, hot-headed asshole that grinded every gear the actress had.

“Do you like Zendaya, buddy?” You bounced her niece in your lap, enjoying how the baby grabbed at your fingers. 

But then Jenna turns around and you act like this. Sweet, protective, charming. 

How are you the same person?

She can’t fight her smile as she watched the adorable sight.

Jenna didn’t know you were good with babies. 

“I think Z would think you’re just the most adorable thing. Oh my god, Jen, can I send her a picture of us?” You turned to her, with a bright smile.

Jenna didn’t know when you started calling her by her nickname but she certainly won’t say how she enjoys how it sounds when you say it. “Uh–sure, if it’s okay with my sister.”

“Zendaya’s gonna have a picture of my baby on her phone? Uh yes!”

Jenna laughed, nodding. “I’ll take the picture.” She took your phone, opening the camera.

“What are you doing? Get in here with us." You asked with an adorable scrunch in the nose, surprising Jenna.

“Oh, I just thought— okay.” She swallows her growing grin, sliding in beside you.

Her sisters share knowing glances.

You happily scooted in, pressing your chest to her back.

Jenna is suddenly reminded of her you and her, alone in her dressing room.

She presses back into you. 

“Say, cheese guys!” Jenna clears her throat.

With big bright smiles, you placed your head above her shoulder to get in the frame, repeating, “Cheese!”

Even her niece seemed to be enjoying the attention as she smiled brightly and toothless while standing on your lap with her chubby legs. Jenna snapped a couple for good measure, checking over the pictures. The three of you are squished together as she held it in portrait; you all looked cute Jenna can admit. 

Like a little family.

What?

“Oh Jenna, send me that, please. I want to post it on my Instagram.” Her mom spoke up already reaching for her phone. 

“Okay, okay.” Jenna rolled her eyes but sent herself the pictures first before airdropping them to – everyone – who begged for it. 

“This is adorable, I think I’m gonna make this my lock screen.” You grinned, staring at the photo. She sees you typing a message, indeed sending it to the actress like you said you would. “Just for your niece.”

Jenna felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you saying you’re gonna crop me out the photo?”

“No… but now that’s a good idea, thanks.” You mocked with a smile.

“Mom, how did you already post that picture so fast?” Mia asked.

–

“Don’t be mad.” Jenna begged.

“Mad? Jenna. This isn’t what I signed up for.” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

The two of you were standing in her driveway, in a discord of course. Jenna just forced you into another situation that you wanted no part of.

“You just told Link to call off my driver and now you’re saying don’t be mad. Of course, I’m mad! Why did you say yes to your Mom, Jenna.” You sighed, dropping your hand limply.

“I didn’t know she’d insist.” She groaned walking closer, “She said that you shouldn’t stay in that big house by yourself for the weekend when there is room here, next thing I know she’s forcing me to ask you in front of everybody.”

"I'm sorry." She grabs your arm. “Link said you might be mad.”

You stare at her for a couple of moments. Their hearts are in the right place, you guessed. Eventually, you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Thank you I guess… I appreciate that the sentiment.”

Jenna smiled in relief, “Yeah, of course.” Then scrunched her nose in thought.  “We actually really don’t have the room so I don’t know where she’ll put you.”

She should have known. This is so typical and cliche; sharing a bed trope? Please, can the universe be any more unoriginal? 

“Mom, are you sure?” Jenna whispered as she peaked her head out the small awning of the door – making sure you can’t hear. 

“Jen, go to sleep. We have a packed day tomorrow. Everyone’s coming over for the game.”

Tomorrow is sports night and her uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents are set to come over. It was a weekly tradition for the extended family to host a gathering to watch the game every Friday; with Jenna’s busy schedule, she hasn’t been to one in months. She’s grateful this one is hosted at her house but then inwardly sighed because she should probably warn you about that too.

“Mom…” She pleaded in a whisper.

“Goodnight and be responsible. I trust you two.”

“Mom!”

Jenna dropped her head in defeat as she listened to her Mom’s footsteps dwindle further away. 

“Hey, you should probably get in there before all the hot water runs out..”

She turns, seeing your freshly showered figure. For a moment, Jenna finds herself stuck. You’re rubbing a towel on your wet hair as grey sweats hung lowly on your hips and she was desperately trying to avert her eyes from the small patch of you skin exposed.

“I already showered.”

“Oh okay.” You shrugged walking over to grab your phone. 

“Which side do you prefer?” You asked absentmindedly,

“What?” Jenna blinks away.

“Of the bed. Which side do you prefer?” 

“Oh. The left.”

“Thank god. Every bed I’ve had to share I’ve had to fight for the right side. You’re perfect.” 

Jenna watched as you jump into your preferred side, getting comfortable under her covers.

She doesn’t know why she feels a mismatched thump fall out of rhythm with her heartbeat at seeing you in her bed. 

“Alright, are you gonna be weird about sharing a bed? ‘Cause I can just take the couch or call my driver to pick me up. I can get a hotel room or something.” You sighed sitting up. 

Jenna furrowed her brows, “What no. Can you please stop jumping to conclusions?”

“I’m not.” You mumbled but don’t argue further. Jenna gets in beside you. 

“You satisfied now?” She throws out but it sounds just shy of playful and maybe even flirtatious – definitely not how she meant for it to sound.

“Uh– sure.” You replied sliding the blanket up to your chin as you tried to get comfortable again.

There’s that weird tension again, Jenna thinks and she thinks it’s starting to annoy her.

“Okay, what’s your deal?” Jenna crossed her arms, turning to you.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not.” You sat up to face the other actress.

Jenna frowned, “Yes you are. You have been since New York. Did I do something? Because you still haven’t told me why you just left town like that.”

“I told you. Jake wanted me back for Coachella. Why else would I have just left all of a sudden?” You explained.

“I just– I just feel like you’re not telling me something.” She admits, a bit insecure. “I, at least, thought we’re friends now and when I didn’t see you in the crowd or the dressing room after SNL I was a bit… disappointed? I don't know if it’s dumb but you really did calm me down before my monologue and I wanted to thank you over dinner. But, yeah–” 

Jenna looks away, missing your guilty frown. “Jenna… it’s not dumb. God, I feel like an asshole.”

“Well, sometimes you can be.”

You laugh but it’s dry. “I’m so sorry. I–I should have been there.”

You grab her hands. “Look at me, please.” It gets her to look up, the light from the lamp is bouncing off your eyes making them look softer in the dim light. “I promise, I’ll always be there for the important moments from now on. Before, during and after – we are stuck together until the foreseeable future, so.”

Jenna snorts, looking down at your hands. You begin to rub lines with your fingers on her open palm making her shiver. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She whispers.

She doesn’t know when she makes the bold move to intertwine your fingers. But for the first time since SNL, you two hold hands and this time you don’t pull away. But she doesn’t miss the questioning glint in your eyes as you look down. Jenna ignores the attention and squeezes your hand to make you look at her again.

“You mean it though?”

Your eyes soften. “I mean it.”

–

“Where’s Y/N?” Mia asked over the breakfast table.

“Rehearsals,” Jenna mumbled sleepily shoving spoonfuls of food in her dry mouth – still trying to wake up.

When the actress had awakened, the sun was high above the horizon and the desert heat was already inching inside her cracked window. But she woke up, alone.

Differing from how she went to sleep the previous night with you barely pressed up beside her as you laid with your backs to each other. Jenna only found herself un-tensing after hearing your breathing fall into short even exhales.

When she turned over to grab her phone this morning, you had sent a text:

Sorry for not waking you up. You sleep like a rock but I had to go to rehearsals. I’ll be back by 3 :)

She couldn’t be too annoyed at the smiley face you leave with your occasional messages.

“She’s performing?” Mia asks shocked.

Jenna nods, too tired for words.

“The crowd is gonna lose their minds.” Aliyah laughs. “With who?”

“Won’t say.” Jenna muttered bitterly, thinking back to her incessant begging; you never caved.

“Okay… can we talk about it, now then?”

“Talk about what Mia,” Jenna sighs dropping her fork on her plate.

“You and Y/N.” She says like it’s obvious.

“There is no me and Y/N, it’s all for the cameras. Remember the NDA I had to beg you guys to sign?” The actress rolls her eyes. 

“Then why were you so upset after New York?” She challenges; tired of her sister’s silence over this whole situation. There’s no way she’s just unaffected by this.

“Mia drop it.” Her mom says.

“No. I’m serious, she’s literally staying under our roof, sharing a room with Jenna. And no one is still saying anything? Am I the only one who thinks there’s something going on?”

“Yes.” Jenna says quickly.

Mia rolls her eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question, Jen.”

Jenna crosses her arms, sitting up. “Of course I was upset. She just left town without a warning, if we didn’t catch her in the lobby she was just gonna a send a text. A text! Anyone would be upset at that — but it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

But her sister doesn’t buy it. She opens her mouth to refute but their Dad swoops in saving the day. “Leave your sister alone, Mia. I’m sure whatever is going on with Y/N and Jenna – they can figure it out themselves.”

Jenna groans, “Dad, not helping.”

He shrugs, sitting at the head of the table with his own plate of breakfast.

Eventually, her family scatters to their own corners of the house to get ready for the day. Her other family members would be arriving soon and the actress had to start getting ready. Crap, she forgot to warn you about game night because you left so early. Jenna decides she’ll send you a text after she gets out of the shower.

With the raucous of the day, Jenna forgets to send the text. Her cousins arrived much earlier than anticipated and she was already getting pulled out to living room to talk about her upcoming projects. She gets so lost catching up with her cousins that she doesn’t realize when you arrive.

"Jenna, your novia is here." One of her aunts shouts making her head snap up to you as the front door opens. "Oh wow, and she's brought the whole store!"

Jenna's jaw drops as you walk in, holding multiple large bouquets of different arrangements of flowers. "Y/N?"

"Hey!" You peek your head out from the large flowers. "These are for your family... but I may have overestimated how big these were and Link refused to help me."

"Oh god, these are beautiful Y/N." Jenna's mom gets up from her seat, grabbing as many flowers as she can. "You didn't have to..."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. You guys are letting me stay here, I just wanted to express a little gratitude." You duck your head, all timid now.

Jenna knows it's not nothing. Those flowers cost a fuck ton, she would know she gets gifted those whenever she has an event.

"Well, gratitude expressed. I don't even know where to put these. Mia, Aliyah help the girl, please!"

The two sisters grab all but one smaller bouquet from your hands, walking away with smug smiles.

"Jen, get up," Aliyah whispers in passing as all the women and Jenna's dad filter over to the kitchen to view the gorgeous flowers.

She still hasn't moved from the couch and briefly, she thinks she can feel her cousin's smirking at her reaction.

"You got my family flowers?" Jenna asks dumbly, walking over slowly; ignoring everyone's eyes on them.

"Uh—yeah. Sorry if it's a bit much. I wasn't sure what everyone liked so... I got them all." You scratch your head with a bouquet in hand, catching Jenna's eye.

"These are for you..." You smile, holding out a smaller albeit more personal? flower arrangement. It felt like Jenna, somehow.

“I picked it out myself.” Your smile turns shy.

Like, if she were to walk into a flower shop and see this bouquet, she would instantly grasp it and never let go.

We still talking flowers?

"Thanks..." Jenna mumbles, grabbing the flowers; your fingertips touching sends sparks down her arm.

"Um—you're back early..." Is all she manages to say.

“Yeah… they didn’t need me for a long time so I decided to come back.” You explained, glancing at the new faces in the room. “Uh– what’s all this?”

The actress sends you a sheepish smile, “Family game night, we watch the game every Friday and cook some barbeque, it’s a whole thing. I forgot to text you, I’m sorry. You can call your driver back if this is too much.”

You laugh, squeezing her shoulder. “And miss out on great food? No, thank you.”

Jenna scans your eyes for the truth, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly your scene so I understand.”

“Jen.” Your hand slides down, softly grabbing her hand. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been since the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I’m so in.”

You squeeze her hand for good measure. “Guys close the door.” Someone shouts.

Jenna doesn’t let you drop your hands this time because she’s already gripping them, pulling you to sit with her cousins – introducing you.

She ignores the giddy feeling in her chest that you want to stay.

You don’t say anything even when you’re both sitting and she’s still holding your hand.

–

“Who are you performing with?” Jenna tugs on your arm.

You squint to see her through your sunglasses. The Californian sun was making its presence known today and there are crowds of people everywhere as you tried to find some shade. It’s just past 6 PM and people are already starting to get rowdy – before all the good sets are even on. 

Fish nets, sparkles and bedazzles are all you see in the sea of people and you just know you’re at Coachella.

“I can’t say…” You fight the smile on your face, finding her begging adorable. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“But Aliyah knows! I heard you whisper it to her.” She glares back at her sister standing a fair distance away from you two – who was talking to Mia and her boyfriend.

“I didn’t tell her anything, Jen. We were just fucking with you.” You laugh, sliding your hand in hers. 

An unspoken comfortableness has formed between you two. Light touches are a new development in this… situation Jenna had with you.

Whether it was knees touching under the dinner table, walking shoulder to shoulder on your daily walks around the neighbourhood (there wasn’t much to do as Coachella weekend approached) or leaning her head on your shoulder as she slept when you two watched TV before bed.

And now, it seems like things have escalated to a new level of comfort where you two willingly linked fingers whenever you walked anywhere. Neither of you make a peep when someone eventually reaches for the other’s hand. 

“Rude…” She pinches your side making you flinch away from her.

Jenna’s immediately tugging you back closer.

“Hey… I can’t get an injury before my performance. I’m legally binded to a contract.” You state.

Jenna snorts, “I thought you were friends with the performer? Are you really not gonna tell me who it is?”

“Nope and sure we’re friends but, I’m still contractually obligated to the festival and all that.”

“Come on Y/N!” She groaned unconsciously stepping closer to you. “I’ve been so nice to you, I haven’t called you an idiot all day!”

You laugh, “Is that supposed to win me over?”

“You tell me? Is it working?” The laugh dies in your lips when she tits her head in question.

Jenna misses the gulp you take because she was leaning closer, trying to find your eyes behind the dark-tinted glasses you had on. 

“No…” You replied with a vacant tone.

Jenna steps back when the sun blinds her eye. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t know what to tell you… you’re gonna have to wait like everyone else.”

“Speaking of everyone else, I’m surprised we’re not surrounded by your groupies.” Jenna eyes the group of people hovering not too far away. 

You snicker, “They are not my groupies. I barely know those people but it happens at every music event. They flock over like geese. I let Link handle them.”

Jenna frowns, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?” You look down.

“That you can’t even enjoy yourself at a festival without someone hovering over your shoulder.”

Since Jenna’s started this PR relationship with you her fame’s only increased overnight. She hates to say it but Sarah was right, being associated with you has only made her more famous and well-known. She felt like a Kardashian or Tom Holland who couldn’t even step out of their own homes without a camera being shoved in their faces. 

It’s getting so bad that Jenna has security with her everywhere she goes. She stopped driving herself to places. A headline even dropped that you two are official and serious now and that you have met her family; paparazzi tried to camp at her parent’s house until they called the police.

“Sometimes.” You answer honestly, shrugging. “But it’s part of the job.”

Jenna’s frown deepens, looking around. “This is not part of the job. At least not what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, but we learn to deal with it, right?” You nudge her shoulder. Seemingly unbothered that made Jenna bothered for you.

“How?” Jenna couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Surround yourself with people that genuinely care about you. That still picks you even after all your fuck ups. Only got me about three of those, so I try to keep them close.” Then you let out a sad laugh, “I make it very hard for them sometimes, though.”

Jenna looks at Link as he holds a bored hand up when a girl tries to walk up to you. Then he’s shooing her away and whispering to both of your security guards.

She wants to fight the urge to say that you have a fourth person in your corner with her.

Instead, she says:

“I think you got a good one with him.” She nods to Link.

You follow her sight, “Yeah, I do... He’s usually right about most things too.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up in questioning.

Maybe Jenna’s not so bad? Flashes in your memory but you don’t tell Jenna. “Nothing.”

Jenna squints her eyes. “Fine… keep your secrets.” Tone a playfully bitter.

Eventually, you, Jenna and her sisters walk around aimlessly from set to set, taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere. Jenna would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. Somehow you all managed to find an empty corner by the Artist section of the performances which meant you had loosened up a bit. 

Jenna decided she liked it when you’re smiling, carefree and happy.

It suits you better than your permanent scowl. 

You’ve been so stressed this last week, taking phone calls and Zoom meetings. She tried not to express her concern at seeing how you obsessively fretted over some project, consuming you some nights. 

Jenna knows obsessive. She knows anxiety. This was different.

She finds herself with more questions than answers when it comes to you.

Why are you so closed off all the time? Is this how you work all the time? Where did this recent streak of bad behaviour start? Is there more to it than what you’re saying?

Are you okay?

But Jenna can’t find the right words to ask, so she doesn’t.

Only offering her warm pressure on top of you to hopefully lull you to sleep when you both drift off in her childhood bed.

Somewhere along the evening, she finds herself close to you.

You've loosened up as the days progressed and somehow, you and Jenna have found yourselves wrapped up in each other's arms as you danced.

Jenna had her back pressed firmly against your chest; her head tucked under your chin as your arms wrap around her waist from behind; hands linked as you jammed along to the music.

“The Met Gala’s coming up.” Jenna speaks up after a few moments of silence. “I’m invited.”

“Me too.” You reveal. She perks up, looking back at you.

“Yeah?” She smiles, pleased with your answer.

“Mhmm. I’m actually a co-chair this year.” You send an embarrassed smile.

She turns in your hold, jaw-dropping. “You are?”

“Yeah… why do you think I’ve been taking those calls all week? I was getting ready for the Met.”

“I thought that was for Coachella?” She snorts but can't help but ask, "Do you ever stop working?"

“Says you. Miss Scream Queen.” You tease making her roll her eyes.

“Be my date.” She says all of a sudden. “and walk the carpet with me this time.”

You raise your brows at her bluntness. This time?

You remember the last time she said those words and a tiny part of you prayed she meant it differently this time. But you can't fight your smile because you couldn't even say no if you wanted to — overwhelmed with the sudden want, to show off the girl in your arms. “I would love to be your date.”

Jenna's eyes sparkled with delight, beaming at you widely.

"Great! I'll talk to Enrique and Thom Browne about it."

"But I'm a Prada Ambassador?"

"I'll handle it." She nods with finality.

But before you can say anything, Link slides in with a whisper in your ear and a knowing smirk in Jenna’s direction.

“Hey, I have to go.” You whisper into her ear, pulling away but Jenna tightens her grip.

“Wait.” She steps forward – much closer than she means to.

“Yeah?” You asked softly and suddenly Jenna can’t hear the loud thumping of the bass anymore.

“Good luck and break a leg.” She says in a whisper.

Her hand reaches up to brush your neck still looking into your eyes. Jenna feels the same overwhelming pressure in her chest that she’s recently felt around you and gives into her sudden impulse; leaning in, parting her lips; meaning for them to connect to your cheek but instead swerve and slot in between your lips instead, in a moment’s haste.

She feels you tense for a moment before giving in, cupping her cheeks too. Kissing her back. Jenna loses it a bit, not expecting your lips to feel so soft and smooth and perfect against hers. Jenna can't help but tilt her head to the side, allowing your lips to press harder.

She feels the same electricity from your first meeting – when you shook her hand. The same electricity she tries to fight off every time she's near you. Except this time, it's by tenfold.

Jenna is so lost in you that she can’t even hear her heart beating loudly in her ears anymore — only feeling your thumb softly stroking her jaw.

The sound of coughing breaks you two apart.

“Sorry but Y/N we need to go.” Link sends a sheepish smile but he's trying to fight his grin at having a front-row seat to the show.

When Jenna pulls away she looks deeply into your eyes searching for some kind of indication of your feelings.

You smile shyly, squeezing her waist and rubbing her back. “I’ll find you after the show?”  

“Yeah…” Jenna whispers, still staring into your eyes.

“I’ll find you!” You yell over her shoulder as Link drags you away.

“Holy shit, finally!” Mia slides in beside her. 

Jenna doesn’t have the energy to shrug off the arm Aliyah throws over her shoulder as she brings her fingers up to her burning lips. “I don't know why I did that...”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot. The both of you.” Mia rolls her eyes walking back to her boyfriend.

Jenna looks around, blinking, immediately catching the phones held in the air capturing her moment with you.

She walks off, following her sisters.

Unbeknownst to you and Jenna, a headline is about to drop:

New developments in Y/N L/N's Vegas case. Caught with cocaine! Las Vegas PD makes no official comments on possible charges or arrests. But is this the end for the bright star?

-

:)

The strip club and vaccine bit with Colin and Che is from a real line in one of their segments LOL.

yall happy now?

-

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley @chealsib @fanboy7794 @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @zelload @natashadeservedmoree @orang3-ish @friedryes @canyonyodeler @nahnahnahwhatt @be-missed @jjuncidio @fearstreetsoloyouandurmom @oksana-moods @theirishmanronan @r-ude @wokethefuxkup @bandaidss @skate-to-breathee @user173781 @frasersgf @natblidaclexa @justafoolinlove @bring-mecoffee @slu7her @haughtsauce21 @wheesunsangel @cyberexpertalienspy-blog @jennaortegasfootrest @zaza11sblog @omega-horus @heroofdeath11 @selluequestrian @justalittledissociation @imaloserbby @catswag22 @sorexhera @smjmgko @acutenobody @raven-ss @canceldevvi @sweetaimu @rockwyn @rwndsana @cheesybacon1 @cvluswnt @secretbackrooms @vixen1006 @zhasmindoesntknow @namesduntmatter @ulicebld @rozmrazaradelfinow @icarly23 @cartierdreamx @thenextdawn @annalestern

WHO LIVES, WHO DIES, WHO TELLS YOUR STORY CHAPTER 11

Who Lives, Who Dies Who Tells Your Story

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader get into an accident that leaves Natasha in critical condition. When she wakes up, it’s revealed that she has amnesia and doesn’t remember her life, wife, or children.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Follow my update page @natsxaddiction2

w/c:4.6k

Note: A random picture in here that's not mine meaning i don't own it but it added to the moment lol.

Heartache is an overwhelming feeling. The feeling is pain, devastation, and the end of the world all rolled into one. This version of heartache is the one where you’re in limbo and don’t know what happens next. It’s the worst kind. You walk down one of the many corridors of the compound, your feet feeling as if they’re wrapped with five-pound weights, as your chest heaves. Your breaths are short. Skin slick with sweat. You avoid the lounge for one destination. The only thing on your mind is numb. You need to be so numb you can’t feel your face. You need to distract yourself from this hurricane shitstorm inside of you. Telling Natasha to leave. Telling her you needed space from her? It’s not the bad part. You could handle that. As an adult, you’ve been through worse. No, the hard part was walking away. Not hearing her footsteps after you. Not hearing or seeing her put up much of a fight. You don’t want to address it. You can’t address it. You just need to breathe. You forgot how to do that. You’re not sure how anymore. 

When you spot the bar you make a beeline for it. The girls have the rest of the team to fend for them right now. At this moment you can only worry about yourself. You just need a bit of time to yourself. You go straight for the good stuff. The strongest stuff you can find. Tequila. It’s not the cheap kind either. It’s probably hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, and you could drink the whole thing if it made you feel better. You grip the neck in your hand, fighting through your blurry vision to find a spare glass. It’s too much work. You use your powers, the energy buzzing and vibrating at the tip of your fingers, and you open the bottle with one simple gesture. You down the first half, guzzling the burning liquid, allowing it into your bloodstream. You just need something to take the edge off. It’s either this or blowing something up and neither of them is a very good option. 

“Y/n?” Wanda’s soft, gentle voice reaches your ears. She sounds distant. In another world. You open your eyes, finding the purple mist around you, and you sigh. It’s growing. Festering inside you. Awaiting a moment for you to slip. Waiting for a crack in your armor. You have more control than that. You’ve worked too hard to let it go now. 

Wanda keeps her distance. She stands a few feet away from you. Her curious green eyes survey you. She’s trying to gauge your mood. The violet magic is hot and bright as it sizzles from your fingers. Partly because you want it to. Wanda holds up a hand. 

“Y/n, what’s going on?” Wanda asks. She raises a hand, signaling for you to calm down, and you do. She takes note of your eyes and the purple hue they’ve taken on. 

“I-I,” You struggle to breathe. You look down at the bottle, leaving it where it is before you slide down to the floor. Wanda is over faster than you know it, ignoring the slight sting of your angry magic, as she wraps her arms around you. You don’t cry. You don’t do anything. You simply lie there in her embrace. You wonder how you’ve managed to do this twice in the same month. 

“You need to calm down,” Wanda whispers into your hair. “Should we go to the training room?”

“No,” You say a bit too quickly. You shake your head. “She’s in there.” She’s probably right where you left her. Stunned speechless. Hopefully hurting just as much as you are. 

“Hmm,” Wanda hums. “Okay.” She says. She kisses the top of your head. She runs her fingers over your bare arm. She allows the red tendrils to slip from her fingers. It interacts with yours. She feels airy, light, and good. Her mood is that of concern and it’s expressed through the magic. It penetrates your skin, almost like a dance, and you close your eyes. The feeling of love envelops your body. She’s your sister. She wants to you feel it in every part of you. You wish that could be enough to ease all of the hurt. You wish your chest wasn’t so tight. You wish you could take it back. A tiny part of you wishes you never sparred with Natasha. Never told her to leave. What would become of your marriage? Is this the end? 

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. You’re aware if anyone were to come to the bar they could see you. Distressed, tired, and sad. The glamor is gone and you’re a bit too weak to do anything but allow yourself to feel Wanda. 

“That’s it,” Wanda coos. She doesn’t move for as long as you don’t. When she feels you take your first big gasp of air, she knows you’re okay. 

“I told her to go,” It’s as if you’re afraid of your voice. You’re afraid to say the words out loud. It would make all of this real. It can’t be real. “To stay here.”

“I think you made a good decision,” Wanda says when you raise your head to her. 

“I think so too,” You agree. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” You say before lying your head against her chest again. “I need a release.” 

“I see,” Wanda’s tone isn’t accusatory or judging. She sits you up, holding out her palms, and instructs you to give it all to her. “I know this isn't always the best method but…” Wanda sighs. You nod. This isn’t the best place to do any of this. You sit, crossing your legs, before you place your palms over hers. You just need a release. 

*******************************

Natasha sits alone in the gym. Dumbfounded. The new aches and pains in her body, especially her ribs only serve as a reminder of what transpired only moments ago. She remembers the hurried way you exited the room after you told her the news. You didn’t want her home anymore. You want her to move back to the compound. It’s all her fault.  She can’t say she’s angry. She doesn’t know what she is right now. Surprised? No. All of her behavior has built up to this very moment. 

You said you felt alone. So does she. No one understands her feelings. Everyone wants her to remember. She wants to remember. She’s desperately clinging onto a memory of what was and not living in the present. She’s ruining her life. A life she built. One she’d be dumb to lose. She wanted to go after you. She wanted to protest. It’s her house too. They’re her children too. The decision is hers too. Instead, she remained quiet. Stunned. Silent. 

Natasha raises a shaky hand to feel her ribs. They're sore. Another sign that the sparring was not a good idea in the first place. She shouldn’t have pushed you. She should have left things alone. She should have made herself clear. Did she want to?

It’s the truth. She doesn't know if she can love you. For Natasha, in life before the accident love didn’t exist for her. The messy entanglement of a situation with Bruce could have been. She isn’t so sure of that now anyway. Not when she’s been witness to the real thing. Even if she’s given so much pushback. She sees you. She understands what this life has become for her. It terrifies her. It sends a chill up her spine. The way you looked at her. With wild eyes, purple encompassing the irises, and a bit of exhaustion. Even then the love never left your eyes. You didn’t change course to hurt her. You only wanted her to see you and she knows that. Logically, Natasha knows that. She knows you only want the best for her. You only want her. Why can’t she be okay with that? 

She shakes her head. She needs to get up. She needs to shower or sleep or apologize? Would you accept her apology? Would you listen to her and what she has to say? Would she need to plead her case again until her words die in her throat? Natasha moves to kneel, stretching her hands out in front of her, before she takes her time standing to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, on the far side of the ring, where you once stood, there’s a shiny piece of jewelry. With slow breaths, Natasha walks over to it, eyeing the jewelry until she realizes what it is. 

A necklace with a wedding band attached to it. She bends down with a huff to grip the chain link between her fingers. She’s noticed it around your neck before. It must have fallen off when you were sparring. She raises it to eye level, holding out her palm to inspect it further, when she realizes what the engraving on the inside says. 

“La Vie En Rose,” Natasha reads aloud. She understands the reference. The French flowed from her tongue effortlessly. “Life in Pink.” or “Life in Happy Hues” depending on who gives the definition. She knows the meaning behind it. A song about a woman describing a man and all the love she has for him and how much he makes her happy. She frowns. Could she ever feel that way?

“You’re a widow, you’re made of Marble, Natalia,” The voice is thick and resounding in her head. “Love is for children.” It’s been engrained into her since she was a child. The only one you could depend on was yourself. The only person who has your back is you. Love is messy. It gets in the way. It causes you to see the world in rose-colored glasses. It makes ending things so much harder. Natasha chokes. Was this over? Did she ruin it before she ever really got a chance to experience it?

She tucks the ring into her pocket and sighs. What a mess. 

*****************************

The next few hours are spent avoiding each other. Natasha exits the gym in search of Tony or Steve. She finds them with the rest of the crew just as she left them. She stands before everyone, a permanent scowl on her face, as she clears her throat. 

“If someone could show me to the bedroom I’ll be sleeping in,” Natasha asks when eyes turn to her. The girls, Lily, Olivia, and Morgan are crowded around Pepper as she sticks a wand into what Natasha assumes is a giant bottle of bubbles. 

“Look, Mama, bubbles,” Olivia cheers with a happy giggle. She jumps, clapping her hands in the air in an attempt to catch one, but she fails. She’s not too worried about it. She simply claps her hands again and waits patiently for the next batch. Lily, upon seeing her mother, toddles over to Natasha and raises her arms. 

“I will show you,” Melina volunteers. Natasha's untrusting eyes give her a hard look. She returns her gaze to the floor. She’d rather anyone else but her but she has no fight left in her for the day. She scoops Lily into her arms, even if her body is protesting it, and she follows Melina. They walk in silence, the older Widow in front of her by half a step, as she leads her through a series of automatic sliding doors. 

“Mama.” Lily babbles, clapping her hands together, and making as much noise as she can. She whips her head back to peer up at the ceiling not realizing that she’d almost thrown herself out of Natasha’s arms. Natasha simply fixes on her hips a bit more. Ever so often, Melina will glance back at her. They reach a suite where Melina taps a few buttons. 

“This is yours and y/n’s living quarters,” Melina informs her. They step inside and are immediately flooded with light. The bags and a ton of toys have already been brought in from the car. Melina does a turn to face Natasha. “There are three bedrooms here. It used to be Wanda’s and Y/n’s. I only know half the story.” Melina shrugs. “How are you feeling?”

“No, nope, we’re not doing this,” Natasha shakes her head. 

“Look, Natasha, I know you don’t remember,” Melina begins but Natasha raises a hand. 

“I remember you abandoned me,” Natasha says. “I remember you left me at the hands of a psychopath. You’re not the first mother to do it.” Natasha shrugs. She stares Melina dead in the eyes. Familiar eyes that look at her with such love. Such compassion. Understanding. It heals something inside her. She hates the feeling of it. She dislikes that this woman stands before her and pretends that everything is alright between them. 

“Your mother didn’t abandon you,” Melina says matter-of-factly. She clasps her hands together in front of her and Natasha follows the movement. 

“Mama,” Lily grins and Natasha shares a small smile with her. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Melina?” Natasha tilts her head. “I’m not really in the mood for riddles or whatever it is you have going on. I’d prefer if you just left.”

“Very well,” Melina nods. It’s too easy for her. “Maybe another time.” Melina bids her a good day. She steps around both girls, offering a wave to Lily before she exits the suite. 

“Okay, show me around, baby girl.” Natasha signs. It’s been an adventure relearning the language. Interestingly, she hasn’t lost it fully. The brain works in mysterious ways. She signs the word bed, noting that it may seem jumbled since she can only use one hand, but Lily gets her anyway. Lily shakes her head. No bed for her. “Mama needs a nap.” Natasha smiles. She walks over to one bedroom opens the door and noting the furniture is for children. This must be for the girls. Next. The next one is further down. A master bedroom. It’s decorated much in the same way it is at home. Muted colors, black-out curtains, king-sized bed. 

Finally, she gets to the final bedroom. A guest room. She kicks off her shoes and crawls into bed. Lily, not quite ready to sleep, sits up to look at Natasha. 

“Mama,” Lily bounces on her bottom. She closes her tiny fist, peeking her thumb out between her index and middle fingers, before she shakes it. Natasha narrows her eyes. She’s trying to decipher what exactly this sign is. “Potty,” Lily announces and Natasha understands. Of course, the little one is wearing a diaper but she’s not too concerned. She springs into action. She ignores her aching muscles to rush the little one to the bathroom. Natasha helps with pulling her pants and diaper off, before setting her on the toilet. She’s only eighteen months old but she’s doing quite well. The expectation of potty training is loose. Any progress is great progress. 

Once Lily is done, Natasha flushes the toilet and moves to dispose of the diaper when Lily sets off for a run. So much for a nap. She chases after the little girl and finds her in the living area amongst the bags. Lily reaches into one of the open bags, finding a toy for her to chew on, and she immediately brings it to her mouth. There in the living room, she sits her bare bottom down on the floor to play. Natasha would have to keep watch for any further accidents. This should be fun. 

******************

When you’re feeling a bit better, you wipe your face and stand. It’s still Christmas and you want to engage in the festivities. Starting with cookies for Santa. You find Olivia already in the kitchen with Morgan and Pepper. You grab a spare apron, tie it around your body, and you wash your hands. Wanda follows you as a concerned mother hen. You’re grateful for her. 

“Mommy, we’s making cookies,” Olivia announces to you. She shows you her hands, messy with homemade cookie dough, with a smile. You nod, laughing at her messiness before kissing her head. 

“I see,” You look around you. “Where can I, um, where can I help?” You take a deep breath. Even though you feel like you want the ground to swallow you whole, you’re ready for this night with your babies. Speaking of babies, you wonder where Lily is. “Where’s your sister?”

“Her is with Mama,” Olivia answers distractedly. With the help of Pepper, she’s using a cookie cutter to cut out the shape of a Christmas tree. 

“Auntie Nat and her Mama went to your room,” Morgan chimes in. 

It’s not a surprise. You would rather avoid that area for the time being. You put on your brave face and get to work. You could do this.  You would get through this night. 

*************************************************

Christmas dinner is intense. For lack of a better word. It’s quiet save for the sound of glasses clinking and children’s chattering. Every so often someone will make a comment about how the food is great. It’s a simple dinner considering the actual holiday will be tomorrow night. You have seated two seats down from Natasha, the children in the middle, and everyone else surrounding you. If the others have noticed your distance no one speaks to it. They don’t mention it. Not even a thinly veiled joke from Tony or Sam. Which is unsettling in itself. They all respect your privacy. Right now at least. The accident has changed your life. They could only hope things were going to work themselves out. 

“Have you heard? There’s a situation down in Miami,” Sam informs everyone. “I think we are going to have to keep an eye on that.”

“Supernatural, spooky, or techy?” Tony sits up in his chair. He’s intrigued and ready for a thrill. 

“Maybe both?” Sam shrugs.

“I thought we weren’t going to do shop talk at dinner,” Pepper reminds them. 

“Sorry,” Sam shrugs. “It’s been slow for work the past year or so. I’m ready for some action.” There’s silent agreement from everyone at the table. While it’s nice to have a break sitting still for so long can get to even the calmest person. 

“Not me,” Alexei’s voice is a bit louder than necessary. His words catch the attention of everyone in the room. “I enjoy simple things in life. I’m a simple man. I have my girls here. My beautiful girls. Two bonus daughters.” He raises his glass in celebration as he refers to you and Wanda. “A beautiful, sexy, and healthy woman by my side every day.” 

From beside you Yelena and Natasha have matching eye rolls. 

“Natasha,” Alexei addresses her. Oh, this won’t be good. You try not to seem so interested in what’s happening but you do keep eyes on them. “I am amazed at your resilience. My girl. I raised you to be strong. I know I make mistakes. I think we did good for a couple of Russian spies yeah? Look at you. Healthy. Bouncing back from a tragic accident done by idiots.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha raises a brow. She can’t fathom why she’s even here with these people. Entertaining their conversations and their presence. “You didn’t raise me. You abandoned me. Like a coward.” The blow hits him right where she wants. Alexei’s smile falters. 

“Natasha, that’s not fair,” Melina scolds her. Which only proves to irritate her even more. “I think your anger is justified. Though it’s not appropriate at family dinner.” Melina gestures around her. The rest of the Avengers watch the awkward scene wondering what’s going to happen next. 

“No, I don’t know how any of this is even a thing,” Natasha shakes her head. “You don’t get to tell me what is or isn’t appropriate.”

“Mama’s upset,” Olivia notes. This seems to calm Natasha down. It snaps her back to a state of submission. Maybe. You’re not sure. It’s probably not your place to question it anymore either. You’re not divorced or even separated. You’re just nothing. It only sends another pang in your chest. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Natasha looks down at her plate. She’s not hungry. She kisses both girls. When she gets to you, she glances at you, and you look away to avoid eye contact. It hurts too much. You listen for her footsteps, hearing them trail away, and then the table is back in silence. 

“Mom,” Lily begs with messy hands. She passes you her dinner roll. You break it in half for her, giving her both pieces, and she grins big and wide. She holds one in each hand and alternates eating between them. 

“Y/n,” Melina begins. “Is Natasha alright? The amnesia? What did the doctors say?”

“Well, she has an upcoming appointment,” You answer smoothly. “I can’t say much about it. Her memories aren’t back. I think a lot of things are touch and go. They said with her type of amnesia things can come back instantly or never at all. We have to give her time.” Even as you say the words you don’t believe them. Would Natasha’s memories ever come back to her? Even if they did you don’t think they would erase the hurt you feel. 

Steve can see you don’t want this to be a topic of conversation. So he changes the subject. You zone out then. You sit back in your chair, keeping an eye on the girls, as you finish dinner as you feel like you’re obligated to. 

When it’s all said and done you find that it’s nice to be in the company of good people. They’re here with you because they want to be. You’re part of a team. You have a family outside of Natasha. Even if they were her family first. 

You take the girls to bed all on your own, finding a bottle of breastmilk already pumped for Lily to take. You give the girls a warm bath alone, though Natasha does come in to say goodnight to them. She steps inside the bedroom, noting your stiff posture when she gets near, to kiss the girls goodnight. 

Lily is already half asleep in her crib when you set her down. You switch spots with Natasha to kiss Olivia goodnight. 

“I can go to sleep in ten seconds,” Olivia counts on her hands. Though she does skip numbers. A work in progress. You give her an amused smile before you laugh.

“Go to sleep, baby,” You kiss her and sit with her until she does close her eyes. With the exhausting day, you’ve had you want to follow right after her. With both girls asleep, you can finally enjoy the slight buzz you’ve had for a few hours. You make your way into the kitchen for a glass of wine and then to the living room to set up all the toys. You stand with a hand on your hip, sipping from your glass, and then you shake your head. Not tonight. You wave a hand and all of the decorations and gifts show the perfect display. 

“Y/n,” Natasha’s voice gives you anxiety. It’s anxiety-inducing and you never thought it would resort to that again. Natasha decides against it. She looks at you and you don’t turn her way. You don’t even acknowledge that she's spoken. She’s not worth your time right now. “Merry Christmas.” She says. Whatever she wanted to say she knows not to push. 

“Merry Christmas, Natasha.” You mumble. You retreat to your bedroom and close the door behind you. This is your new normal.

Natasha remains glued to her spot for a while. She wants to apologize. Her lips won’t move. Her mouth won’t work. Her brain is too fast. She’s tired. She walks down to her bedroom. Much to her surprise there’s a gift waiting on the bed for her. 

It’s a tiny box wrapped in brown paper. The thin yarn of the string is yellow and neatly cut. it’s cute and doesn’t give away what’s inside at all. Natasha debates about opening it. She doesn’t know if she deserves it. She sits on the bed, running her fingers along the box before she pulls the string. She tears into the paper gently, afraid but curious about what might be inside, before she pauses. 

A handwritten letter. Due to her snooping, she knows exactly what it looks like. It’s shaky, cursive but pretty. It’s uniquely you and she spends a bit of time memorizing it. The letter is dated a few months before the accident. Happier times and all that. 

My Dearest Natasha,

We’ve spent five Christmases together so far. I still don’t know what to get you after all this time. I spent hours in stores and online. Perusing the aisles and wondering what would be the perfect gift when you have it all. I look at you and I see happiness, life, and light. I see our future and our family and I know this is the life I’ve always wanted. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t know this is where we belong. Together. Raising our girls. I know we can joke about it now. The day in Morroco you stole my heart and I yours. We shared secrets. We’ve lived so many lives. So, when I did a bit, or a lot actually, of digging into my ancestry. Not much came up. No surprise there. We discussed things extensively and I know how much it’s bothered both of us not knowing where we’ve come from. I met with Russian genealogists and diplomats and all sorts of fancy people. Turns out that finding information on someone when you don’t even know their name is tough. Impossible even. For you, I’ve always said I would do the impossible or talk to a God by the name of Thor. Seems he knows a thing or two about genealogy. This is a gift to you from me. I would go to the ends of the earth for you and I hope one day soon we can make a trip to your home to explore and see life from a new lens. I love you forever and always. La Vie En Rose.

Always and forever yours, 

Y/n

Natasha places the letter delicately onto the bed. Her eyes zero in on two small items placed under rose petals. She’s overcome with emotion when she realizes what they are. Two pictures, worn, faded, and torn around the edges. The first one brings Natasha to tears. She doesn’t need to be told what it is. It doesn’t need to be written out for her. Her mother. A woman with luscious red hair, wide eyes, green just like hers, and a jawline that matches hers. There are subtle differences in her features like her dimpled chin and button nose. Her eyes looking into the lens of the camera and inadvertently into Natasha’s soul. Her vision blurs and she wipes her eyes with her arm to view it again. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she takes it all in. Natasha scrambles for the next picture. It’s of the same woman holding a child. A small toddler, Natasha, is in her arms, as the woman smiles at her adoringly. 

This time Natasha doesn’t try to stop the tears. She doesn’t look away for even a second. She flips the picture over. There’s handwriting barely there. 

It reads…

Anika and Natalia, 1986

Natasha has a piece of herself she’s searched for years for. She knows what her mother looks like. She knows that she was loved. She knows that she is loved. So, she sits on the bed, with two pictures from what seems to be thin air. How could she ever repay you for this? How could she ever make things right?

She knows what love is. 

obsessed with this series 👏🏻

everyone but her pt.17

Summary: You're spending the first month of summer with the Addamses, which Wednesday initially loved until you started a war that you couldn't finish. Maybe you were officially indoctrinated into the Addams family? There's no time like the present.

Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: Addams Family-esque violence (in pranks, no one is harmed!), internal guilt, swearing, making out, suggestive themes Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn

“Where is he?” You asked for the 21st time in the past five minutes.

“A watched pot never boils,” Wednesday said as her fingers turned the page of her current novel.

“I’m not watching a pot,” you mumbled, “I’m watching for my best friend Lurch.”

From her spot at her desk, Wednesday finally dared to look up in your direction. You were practically leaning halfway over the balcony, your wings flapping every now and then to lift your feet before placing you back on the ground. You were both waiting impatiently for her family’s car to pull up. All the bags were packed, your family had already given their okay for the month-long stay, and now it was simply a waiting game.

If Wednesday had a dollar for every time you had mentioned Lurch during the last few days of the school year, she would have been able to single-handedly pay for your college tuition. Not that you were going, she thought with a frown that, thankfully, no one could see.

“He’s never gonna get here,” you grumbled again, your wings drooping along with your shoulders.

“Why are you so eager to see Lurch?” Wednesday asked. She finally closed her book and put it aside right as you turned around with the biggest smile on your face.

“I just think he’s neat,” you said.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to fight him,” she said with a tilt of her head.

“Oh I do.” Your smile dropped and you turned deathly serious. “He’s my mortal enemy,” you said with a nod of your head. “And I am going to beat him this time.”

She said nothing, just raised a single brow at you which in turn caused your smile to come back. It was fleeting, however, as you quickly turned to look back over the balcony to watch for the signature Addams family car. You looked childish standing there in your shorts and too-big t-shirt, genuine excitement on your face. The sight brought those spiders back to her stomach, something she hadn’t felt in a while.

But they turned vicious when she started to consider the implications of your eagerness for her family to appear. You hadn’t explained much to her, but she knew your biological parents weren’t necessarily part of the picture. When was the last time someone had picked you up from Nevermore? Her own family not included, when had someone last come to take you home?

"They're here!" You shouted, drawing Wednesday out of her own thoughts.

She didn't even have the chance to breathe before you vaulted yourself over the balcony. Her heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest before she could remind it that you had wings. That didn't stop her from running to the railing to make sure. Just in case.

You were already saying your hellos to everyone as Lurch made his way inside. It wouldn't take him long to get up to her dorm, but it still gave Wednesday plenty of time to watch you interact with her family. There was a twisting feeling in Wednesday's stomach at how physical you were with everyone. A hand on Pugsley's shoulder, allowing her father to hug you, leaning into her mother's touch on your cheek. You certainly weren't usually that physical with her.

The door opened behind her and she quickly pushed that thought down. Lurch nodded at her once before grabbing the luggage, following her out and downstairs to where you all were waiting. She didn't miss the way your smile softened when you met her eyes.

Pugsley and her father gave her their usual hugs - she wouldn't admit it was a welcome gesture - while Lurch put the luggage in the back of the car. Everyone's voices carried across the air, riding only on the occasional sound of your wings ruffling.

"Aren't you coming?" Wednesday asked when you scuffed your feet in the dirt. Everyone else was already situated in the car.

"I- I can't," you said as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt. "It's too soon."

Too soon. Wednesday didn't need to ask what you meant; your birthday was only a week ago. It was still a new piece of information to her, something she hadn't yet incorporated into preparations. She berated herself for not considering it sooner. There were plenty of other ways to get back home, yet she hadn't even attempted to think of any.

"I'll be good," you said with a slight upturn of your lips. "I'll fly overhead."

"Are you sure?" Wednesday asked. Please just get in the car.

"Yeah," you shrugged, "I could use the exercise." A real smile quickly replaced the uncertain one. "I'll even race you."

"You'll exhaust yourself and plummet to the ground," she answered quickly. “And you’ll still lose.”

“I think you’re just scared, Addams,” you taunted, leaning down to be on even eye-level with her. It was demeaning.

She loved it.

“If you leave now,” she said with a glare in her eyes, “you can have a 30 second head start.”

“I expect a reward when I win,” you said with a cocky smirk that, if it had been from anyone else, would have made Wednesday nauseous. And not in a good way.

You made up for it with a wink that very much made her nauseous. In a good way.

The muscles in your legs tensed before you launched yourself into the air with a powerful push of your wings. Without getting the chance to brace herself, Wednesday shamefully felt herself stumble back a step, her eyes blinking frantically to clear the dirt from around her. You were already nothing more than a speck in the sky when she managed to look up.

The race was on.

It was a long car trip, which was to be expected, but what made it all the more torturous were her parents' incessant questions. Didn't they know she was anxiously watching the sky, trying to find you to know you were safe? There was nothing to inform them of, they had talked only last week. Quite frankly, Wednesday believed it was the longest car ride of her life.

You were leaning against the front door frame with grandmama beside you when they finally pulled up to the house. Wednesday could see the sweat still dripping down your face and the pitiful attempt to keep your eyes open. All defiance was wiped from your posture as your shoulders and wings drooped pathetically.

Yet, she would admit, you had beat them to the house.

“Well, well, well,” you spoke slowly once Wednesday finally walked up the porch stairs, “look who finally decided to show up.”

“You need a bath,” she said without bothering to look at you for too long. She didn’t want you to notice that she had missed you.

“Not until I’m done gloating,” you said, “Grandmama even congratulated me for my speed and skill."

"Unlikely," Wednesday said, brushing past you as she entered the house. You followed behind her like a puppy.

"She did," you argued, "we're actually best friends now."

"You've gloated enough," she said, stopping herself short and feeling you walk into her because, as expected, you weren't paying full attention. "Go bathe."

"Do I get my winner's prize afterwards?" You asked. She didn't have to turn around to know you were smiling.

"You can find that out after you stop smelling."

The speed at which you ran to your bathroom was impressive, Wednesday wouldn't lie. It was almost worthy of a smile, but she settled for a soft exhale. You were acting rather childish and you hadn't even been at the house for more than an hour. What was it about this trip that was clearly easing your nerves?

"The gift is on her bedside table," her mother said once you were far out of hearing range.

“Excellent,” Wednesday said before walking off to her room. She was more than happy to use your absence as the perfect time to unpack.

Once you got out of the bath, you stood in the middle of the bathroom and huffed. It was times like this where you wished Wednesday - or any of the Addamses for that matter - used technology. Your wings were soaked to the bone, your hair was dripping down your spine (which tickled), and you just wanted to blow it all dry so you could be warm again. Was that really too much to ask?

Yes. Yes it was.

You shook viciously, your feet lifting off the slick ground for a moment. It took a few more shakes before your wings felt a little lighter, a little too fluffy again, but at least they were (mostly) dry. Much better, you thought as you wrapped one towel around your waist and used another to dry your hair. Sure, it would look funny later in the day, but that was a future-you problem.

All of your bags were already in your room by the time you stepped out of the bathroom. It was easy to dig through and find some comfy clothes, and you got dressed quickly, struggling to pull your shirt on and fit your wings through their respective slots. You might have bumped into a few things in the process, but that was alright; at least nothing broke, right?

The dresser drawer slid shut, signaling your completion of unpacking. With a satisfied grin, you looked around the room, just to double check. But your eyes landed on a small box sitting on the bedside table. A box that you hadn’t brought with you.

A black box.

Hesitantly, you walked over to the bedside table and looked down. It had a small black bow wrapped around it and was resting on top of a card. You grabbed the box first, carefully untying the bow and lifting the lid. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The brilliance of the crystal inside was what caught your eyes first as you picked it up with shaking fingers.

A simple black crystal pendant hung from a golden chain. The crystal itself was smooth and cold to the touch, and you could almost see your reflection in it if you turned it just right. It was heavy when it swung from between your fingers, almost hypnotising in its pattern.

Your chest hurt at how expensive it looked.

You gently placed the pendant back in the box and set it aside to pick up the card and read the cover; One year closer to the sweet release of death. Pretty on point for the Addams. Rough fingers flipped the card open but froze when something fell out onto the desk.

Your head tilted to the left as you reached for it, reading the words on the card first: Happy first Addams birthday. Birthday. That prickling pain settled in the back of your head again, and you shook your head to try and physically get rid of it. It didn’t work.

“If you loved me, you would take me hiking for my birthday,” you said to Nicky as soon as you found him after class.

“You’re so demanding,” he huffed, but you could see the smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself with another shake of your head.

It’s a sweet gesture, the voice in your head said. You knew it was a sweet gesture; painfully aware of it, in fact. A sigh left your lips as you put the card down and looked at the other item in your hand. It took a few seconds of staring at it, your eyes blinking excessively, before you could actually comprehend what it was.

A check. It was a check. An empty check signed “Gomez Addams” on the bottom right corner. An empty check addressed to you and the memo line stating: Medical Expenses.

Once you were aware of the burn in your lungs, you let out a shaky breath that you hadn’t known you were holding. A million thoughts were running through your head, none of them good. Your eyes screwed shut as they echoed in your mind, getting louder and louder.

Another debt to repay?

You could repay it. You knew you could.

You’ve become a burden to yet another person.

No, they were nice, you weren’t a burden. Were you?

That pain in the back of your head grew, quickly turning into a migraine that you knew would make you sick. The strain of your clenched jaw certainly wasn’t doing you any favours either. Fuck, why would they do this? No, why would Wednesday do this? She knew better, she fucking knew better.

With a groan, you grabbed the check and amulet and walked downstairs. You didn’t know where anyone was, but you could find them easily enough. The size of the mansion was infuriating when you were looking for someone, you realised. It was far easier to find someone when there were only a handful of rooms.

You found Morticia and Gomez alone in the greenhouse. Thankfully they were clothed.

“Ah,” Gomez exclaimed when he saw you enter the greenhouse, “you found the gifts!”

“Shall I help you put it on?” Morticia asked, indicating the pendant with her eyes.

Please take them back.

“I- that- that’s actually what- what I- what I wanted to- to talk to you about,” you stuttered. Only imbeciles stutter, stop it.

“Sit, please,” Gomez said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. You promptly sat, your back straight and both gifts laid bare on the table. “Do you not like them?”

“No!” You shouted a bit too loud, a bit too fast. “No, that’s- that’s not it.” You cleared your throat. “It’s- it- it’s stunning,” your eyes darted away from the check, “and generous.”

“Then where does the problem lie, little bird?” He asked, leaning back in his chair. Morticia had now joined him on the other side of the table, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Well now it just felt like an interrogation.

“I can’t accept them,” you said without meeting their eyes. “I could never repay you.”

“Darling, they’re gifts,” Morticia said, “not something to be repaid.”

I have to repay you, you thought. I have to. How could you explain to them that they were wrong? Nothing is free even if it’s a gift. Everything comes with a price. School, gifts, love. It all comes with a price, and if they were serious about that damn check, you would never be able to erase that debt.

“I could never repay you,” you repeated.

They were silent, and that was almost worse than their attempt to get you to reconsider. They needed to say something; they needed to talk so you could move on and get off this horrid topic.

The migraine grew worse.

“How about a compromise,” Gomez said softly. You looked up, finally, to see them both giving you a painfully soft look. “Keep the pendant, we’ll keep the check.”

“It is a birthday gift, after all,” Morticia finished.

Stop saying birthday.

Your eyes trailed down to where the pendant was sitting on the table. It was stunning, you wouldn’t deny that. But it looked expensive. Could you repay them for it? Surely you could, you were working a bit over the summer and you could probably do some things around their house. It couldn’t be too hard to repay, could it?

“Okay,” you finally managed to squeak out. “Thank you.” You would accept the gift. 

But you were definitely going to have a talk with Wednesday about it. She meant well, but this was a bit too far. What was she even thinking? She knew you hated people spending money on you, didn’t she? And she had told them about Nicky? No, no she needed to know. Gently. Hopefully.

You didn’t see the sad smiles the Addamses gave you as you walked off to find Wednesday.

—---

Wednesday hadn't understood your insistence on not gifting you things, nor did she understand your anger at her parents offering to help with Nicky. You were practically on your own, were you not? So why would you be so against help when everyone knew medical bills were preposterous in size? She knew you weren't ignorant enough to believe you, a freshly graduated high school student with no job, could pay them on your own.

But you had insisted, and she had nodded in understanding, and eventually you came to an agreement. Nothing expensive, only things that could be repaid in favours or equal monetary value. Although as you allowed her to clasp the pendant around your neck, you hesitantly agreed you wouldn't attempt to pay them back for the birthday gift. That was a week ago, and she had silently adored every moment of peace that had come with it.

But now you were her mortal enemy once again, and she was not going to lose to the likes of you.

It had just been a normal morning. You had snuck into her room and woken her up with what had started off as a simple kiss. A simple kiss that had quickly turned into multiple kisses. She grabbed the fabric of your shirt and pulled you down until you were hovering above her on the bed and she could tangle her hands in your hair. It was quite a wonderful way to wake up, she would admit.

The smell of you, fresh out of the bath, invaded all of her senses. You smelled like her thanks to using her supplies, but with the faintest underlying smell of dirt and trees. Something she had come to associate with home. It sent her mind reeling, eliminating every thought except for one: you. She hated you for it.

She loved that she hated you for it.

One of her hands trailed down your neck, following the chain of the pendant you now dutifully wore until she could grab the crystal and pull you closer. Knowing you were wearing something from her family, something from an Addams, was intoxicating. Almost like you were now officially part of the family.

"You should get ready," you mumbled against her lips, "I'll meet you downstairs."

You gave her one last kiss, making it count, before pulling away and standing back up. She refused to look at you, refused to let you see what you had really done to her. How you had gotten her heart racing and her skin flushed and hot. Not until she heard the door close did she finally get up, surprisingly eager to start the day.

Until she opened the closet and saw that all of her clothes had been replaced.

Frantically, Wednesday went to her dresser and opened all the drawers there too, hoping it was just her imagination. But no, it was real. She wasn't imagining it, this wasn't some horrifying dream. It was real life.

Every piece of clothing she owned had been replaced with brightly colored versions. It looked like a rainbow had thrown up in her closet and dresser, and she had nothing else to wear for the day. Grumbling to herself and already plotting revenge, she grabbed a pair of pants and a too-large shirt that smelled suspiciously like coffee and chalk.

Rightfully, everyone looked horrified when Wednesday made her way to the downstairs common room. It was as if the world had come to a stop and hell had frozen over. The room filled with gasps of fear and disgust from everyone.

Everyone, that is, except for you.

You, who was sitting in one of the armchairs with a cup of coffee in one hand and the pendant in the other. You, who was making direct eye contact with her even as you took another sip from your mug. You, who's smirk only grew as you continued to watch the realization dawn on her very face.

"You look absolutely dreadful," you said as everyone looked back and forth between you both.

"You'll regret this," Wednesday said, "it will be a slow and painful revenge."

"I'd like to see you try," you shot back.

And thus, your rivalry was reignited and Wednesday was determined to win.

She started gentle, she really did. After all, you weren't Pugsley, she couldn't very well electrocute you for the sake of winning a war. Well. Not yet. So it was a gentle war, one of silly little nothings.

Gods, what were you doing to her?

Gentle. As gentle as handing you your coffee in the morning when your eyes are still half-closed and your wings are nearly knocking everything over. With a sleepy smile and barely-working fingers, you take it and instantly take a big, deep drink of salty coffee that she had made special just for you.

You choke. You choke and your eyes go wide and you make eye contact with her over her own mug of black coffee. But then your eyes narrowed and you continued drinking, never once taking your eyes off her until the coffee was gone.

"Make this yourself?" You asked in a hoarse voice.

Wednesday blinked at you once.

"As a thank you," she said with a half-smile and the slightest tilt of her head, "for the wardrobe change."

"So that's how it's going to be," you stated simply.

"Unless you surrender."

"Never."

You were quick to get your revenge; that same morning, in fact. She had poured her cereal and had gotten up to get the milk, but when she came back her spoon had been replaced with a fork. A simple prank, harmless, juvenile at best. You still smiled to yourself anyway when her first bite of breakfast ended up being a disappointment.

But things ramped up quickly after that. Harmless pranks turned a little more courageous. A bucket of water dropping on your head when you entered her room. An explosion of rainbow glitter when Wednesday opened a new book. Still fairly harmless, all things considered.

It was only when Wednesday found out you had enlisted Pugsley to help you that she realised this was no longer a fun war. This was to the death, and you were gathering backup. Oh, but she could use whatever she wanted on Pugsley, and if you just so happened to be in the way, then so be it.

Your first true Addams prank was good, Wednesday wouldn't deny it. With hands held up in surrender, you had invited her to follow you for a nice picnic. As she followed behind you, you were telling her all about everything you had packed; meats, cheese, apples, oranges, practically an entire feast.

She saw your step falter when you passed through a doorway. Just the slightest lengthening of your stride, just enough for her to notice. You however didn't notice her stop, stretching her leg out to touch the barely-visible trip wire.

A guillotine blade fell where she would have been walking, and you turned your head expectantly, disappointment clearly filling your face.

"You tried to kill me?" Wednesday asked in a more deadpan tone than usual.

"Don't be so dramatic," you rolled your eyes. "I tried to maim, not kill." With a sigh, you turned around. "Pugsley said it would work."

You didn't see Wednesday's smile.

So you were going to play by Addams' rules, were you? Well if that's how you were going to be, then Wednesday wasn't going to hold back either. Of course she wouldn't hurt you. Too badly, that is. It wouldn't matter, there was still plenty of room for creativity.

Although she would admit, she was surprised you fell for the same thing twice. You were just humming to the song in your head while trailing your fingers over the spines of the books in the library. When she handed you a cup of tea, you smiled and instantly took a drink.

And froze.

"What have I told you about drinking anything without thought?" Wednesday asked.

"What did you put in this?" You asked.

"If you hurry, you can ask your new friend Pugsley for an antidote," she said with another smile before walking away.

The glare you gave her when you came back down for dinner was more than worth it.

Yours and Pugsley's pranks weren't as well thought out as they should have been. It explained why they never worked as well as intended. She would give you the benefit of the doubt; this was your first time building Addams contraptions. You didn't have the same knack for it, but you were learning.

Out of all your attempts, you never quite managed to execute them correctly. Not for lack of trying, of course, but you had a lot to learn. For instance, if you were going to sneak up on her, you needed to keep your wings tucked away so you didn't knock something over in the process. Which you did. All Wednesday had to do was turn and look at you for you to groan and drop what appeared to be a bucket full of… spiders?

"You're ruining it, Addams," you mumbled as you walked off, coincidentally in the direction of her next trap.

Your high pitched scream echoed down the halls when you encountered the trap. It sent a thrill down Wednesday's spine. This was becoming so much more entertaining than she had ever imagined.

She did feel bad at first, admittedly. Not everyone could handle the Addams' form of admiration or love for each other; she knew it was unconventional. She didn't care that it was unconventional, but she was aware of it nonetheless. What if you had thought it was too much? Too unusual? Too violent by most standards?

But the morning she woke up and opened her door, feeling her pulse race when an arrow buried itself into the doorframe by her head? And when she took a step back before hearing you cheering down the hall because yes, you had surprised her? Or you high-fiving Pugsley and rushing him off because you hadn't truly realised you had gotten caught yet. It gave Wednesday a feeling in her stomach that wasn't spiders or nausea but something else entirely.

Oh.

Oh.

Her eyes narrowed. How dare you.

She stayed furious with you when you left for two days to go stay with Nicky.

"Here," Wednesday said as she held a book out for you, "in case you need a new book."

"Oh thank god," you sighed. "I don't know how many more times I can read Lord of the Rings." You looked at the cover, and a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. "I think he'll like this one."

"Just bring it back in one piece," she said, to which you only replied with a wink.

Your absence gave her peace and yet simultaneously filled her with an anger that she couldn't quite place. On the one hand, she couldn't deny that you made her… happy. Your presence alone, even when you were being far too loud and creating chaos, gave her a sense of peace. She looked forward to being around you, whether you were talking or just enjoying each other's company.

But on the other hand, she was furious with you. Furious because not only had you made her feel these things to begin with, but the moment she had come to realise those feelings, you left for two days? Now she was forced to stew in her own uncomfortable mixture of thoughts and emotions. You knew how much she hated emotions, they were gateways to weakness.

And the worst part?

She missed you. Your absence around the house was felt by all. Her father no longer had you around to mentor about fencing or the ways of life, instead just moping around. Her mother has resorted to doting over her instead of you now, and that’s just an impossible situation. And Pugsley, dear misguided Pugsley, now had no one to talk to whenever he wanted.

Your presence had become such a normal thing in the house that, now that you were gone, no one knew what to do.

Wednesday would call everyone delusional if they noticed her waiting on the porch for you to finally get back. If there had been no chance of her getting caught by family, she would have gone to greet you out in the yard. Maybe even hold your hand and drag you back to the house where you belong.

Instead she just waited until you saw her, shooting her a quick smile, before walking back inside without you.

From the moment you walked back into the house, the war was back on. Just because you had gone to see Nicky didn’t mean she had admitted defeat. No, she was an Addams, she would never admit defeat. So when you were standing in the doorway and looking down at the dagger in Wednesday’s hand, you scoffed.

“What are you gonna do with that?” You asked. “Stab me?”

Wednesday simply smiled at you and took a step to the side, revealing a rope that was tied to the railing of the stairs. Your eyes narrowed when she looked back at you. Oh, this was going to be enjoyable. With a single swipe, she cut the rope and let the axe swing down. You screamed - that same high-pitched, childish scream that was starting to become comical - and fell to the ground just as the axe swung above your head.

“You’re sadistic!” You shouted.

Wednesday just left you there to wait out the deadly pendulum above you. This isn’t helping, she thought as she marched up the stairs to her room. Against all odds, she still had that forbidden feeling weighing heavy in her chest. She would need to go bigger.

It was time to get serious.

—---

Morticia couldn’t stop herself from eavesdropping whenever you and Wednesday were together. Of course she gave you both your space, but when she walked by and saw you sitting in Wednesday’s homemade electric chair? Letting her strap you to it without a single care in the world? Well, she couldn’t help it.

“What if I die?” You asked as you watched Wednesday tighten the helmet. There wasn’t a single ounce of worry in your face.

“Then I’ll have the opportunity to practice my dead-raising skills,” Wednesday said simply. She walked over to the wall and grabbed the switch.

“I don’t like how you said “practice”,” you mumbled, but otherwise settled back into the chair.

Morticia left the doorway before Wednesday pulled the switch. She knew how personal the situation was, she was no fool. Oh the times she and Gomez had used electrocution for their own fun evenings. If Wednesday was anything like her parents, then Morticia would keep her distance.

Your scream echoed through the house, and Morticia sighed dreamily.

Oh, young love.

She took note of the pranks slowing down while you willingly let Wednesday rope you into more and more despicable experiments. Testing out the larger-scaled steam powered guillotine, which did not work as it should have. If you and a bowling ball were dropped from the roof at the same time, would you reach the ground first? Could you truly catch an arrow if fired at you from a dozen paces away?

Then there were the more entertaining conversations that she walked past. Take, for instance, when she walked by the library while you and Wednesday were having tea.

“I bet they were all so incredibly repressed,” you said, your voice muffled from the walls of books.

“Why?” Wednesday asked, sounding so entirely disinterested.

“They couldn’t even show their ankles!” you answered.

“I believe I briefly showed you my lower leg once,” Wednesday said after a moment’s hesitation, teasing (and maybe even a smile) evident in her tone.

“I remember that, it was pretty scandalous,” you said, “definitely got me all hot and bothered.”

The sound of a slap and your muffled “hey!” resounded to where Morticia was still standing in the hallway. She smiled to herself before walking off. If that was how you were both going to discuss your blooming love life, who was she to judge? At least Wednesday was tolerating such behaviour in the first place.

Little steps.

One certain moment of listening in happened to teach her to stay far away whenever you two were alone. Even though it was hard to believe, she wasn’t intentionally searching for you both when you were alone. She just had a habit of roaming the house, and once she heard Wednesday’s voice or your laughter, she just couldn’t help but listen.

This time you were both in your room watching a movie of some sort.

“Am I ever going to get my sweatshirt back?” Wednesday asked.

“Only if you take it off me yourself,” you snorted. 

There was silence, the calm before the storm, before Morticia heard you scream “wait no!” and ruffling ensued, of course accompanied by your little squeaks and screams. She didn’t plan on hanging around to see how far you two took your movie night; if you were anything like she and Gomez were, then she was definitely going to put distance between herself and your room.

Although hearing the laughter coming from your room was more than worth it.

—---

Wednesday was starting to despise having to compete with her family for your attention. She had felt the same way when you had visited for Spring Break, but this was simply preposterous. Why on earth should she have to be the one to demand your attention when you gave it so openly to everyone else? After all, you were the one who insisted on officially labeling her as your girlfriend.

She was no expert, but that didn’t seem proper.

After interrogating her mother on your whereabouts, she marched her way to the cemetery where, just as her mother had said, you were sitting on the couch and looking up at the stars. You looked almost peaceful, with your wings out and your overly large sweater. How you had a sweater so big on you, she had no idea.

It was… cute.

You didn’t look up when she sat down beside you, just simply continued to look up at the stars while she looked at you. At the faintest scar by the corner of your eye that she suspected was from the full moon incident. Then at your hair, which was getting a little unruly but for some reason it fit you perfectly. Or your fingers which, for once, were simply fidgeting with each other instead of picking them apart.

“I like it out here,” you said after a few moments of sitting in silence.

“Outside?” Wednesday asked. Her eyes never once strayed from your face.

“Your house,” you continued. She took note of the smallest movement of the corner of your mouth. “It’s peaceful.”

Wednesday had to hold back a scoff at that. What part of her family, of all the pranks and experiments, was peaceful? They were chaotic, loud, they had a disembodied hand as family, for heaven’s sake. Nothing about the Addamses was peaceful, she didn’t comprehend how you could think such a thing.

“I think,” you continued slowly, your voice soft, “I think this is where I feel happy.” Wednesday’s eyes shot back up to look at you and the slightest shimmer in your eyes. “I don’t have any sad memories here.”

She would kill anyone if they found out, but she almost felt her black heart break. You were still talking, explaining. It didn’t matter because she was so focused on the movement of your lips, the tears welling in your eyes that were refusing to fall, the gentle, even rise and fall of your chest. Aside from the teary eyes, you looked at peace.

“Thinking about murder again?” You asked, drawing Wednesday back to the present where she finally noticed that you were looking at her. It was infuriating that you could get her so distracted.

“I was listening,” she said defensively, but you just gave her a soft smile.

“I know,” you said. “But you had that twinkle in your eye that usually means you’re thinking about some sort of crime you’re gonna commit.”

She narrowed her eyes at you and sighed. If you were going to notice her distraction, at least you hadn’t noticed the true reason behind it. Although, admittedly, she felt a swell of pride that you had noticed her enjoyment of crimes. Maybe you paid more attention than she thought.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, taking Wednesday aback.

“Why are you asking?” She asked in return. “You’ve kissed me before.”

“I’m trying to be polite, Addams,” you chuckled. “But fine, then I won’t-”

“-you can,” she interrupted a little too quickly.

The embarrassment eased slightly when you didn’t hesitate to cup her cheek and pull her in for a kiss. It was soft, far softer than normal. There was no urgency but kept all the passion. Your fingers scratched lightly against her jaw and as humiliating as it was, she melted into your touch.

Her own arms wrapped around your neck and pulled you down until her back hit the couch cushions. Your hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head protectively, and her heart tried to jump up through her throat. Damn  you and your gentle hands for making her feel this weak. All she wanted to do was pull you closer until there was no space between you and-

“-hey!”

Wednesday’s eyes flew open at your exclamation, fear coursing through her veins. Were you hurt? Had she done something wrong? Her eyes trailed over every inch of you as you moved your free hand around, digging into the couch cushions until finally pulling out a dagger.

“And here I thought you were just excited to see me,” you teased. Wednesday rolled her eyes and slapped you lightly before taking the dagger from you.

“Are you done?” She asked, holding the dagger so it pointed at your side while you hovered above her.

“Are you threatening me with a knife?” You asked. “Cause I’m into that.”

“I will leave you here,” Wednesday threatened with another roll of her eyes. You were preposterous.

“No, wait,” you said quickly. You took the dagger from her and tossed it aside on the ground. “See? All better.”

Wednesday wanted to tease you, to leave you hanging and hopefully force you to reconsider your stupid jokes. But when you were looking down at her with those eyes, and that lazy half-smile, she couldn’t help herself. She just pulled you back down to feel your smile against her.

A sigh fell from her lips when your fingers gently scratched against her scalp. Such a soft gesture from rough fingers, you truly had her wrapped around your little finger. Her own hands moved to rest against your neck, feeling your racing pulse under her touch. Just that feeling alone, the proof of what she did to you, was more than enough to get your own pulse rushing in return.

You kept one hand planted beside her head as your other removed itself from her scalp, trailing down her neck so softly it left her shivering. It came to a stop on her hip, hesitant, before slipping just under the hem of her shirt. Oh. Oh that was different. That was nice.

She pulled you impossibly closer when your thumb started to rub circles on her bare hip. Your lips were rough but soft, which was quite the conundrum. But it was perfect for you because it was you. The perfect mix of rough and soft, gentle with a purpose. Rough fingers that trailed so softly over her skin, leaving an inferno in their wake.

Your hand tightened on Wednesday's waist when you moved your head to the crook of her neck. She could feel your lips brushing against her skin, right over her pulse, but you just stayed there. Every now and then she would feel you press a kiss to her skin, on her neck, under her ear, on her slightly exposed collar bone. Each kiss sending another light shiver down her spine that she desperately hoped you couldn't feel.

"Come home with me," you said in a thick, gravelly voice. "Come meet my family." You left another kiss on her neck.

If her heart could have physically skipped a beat, it would have at your words. She grabbed your face and pulled you back to look at her. Your pupils were blown and you were breathing heavily through parted, kiss-swollen lips. Her answer was leaning up to kiss you again.

Your smile told her you understood.