Anaxiphilia

Marvel

The Witcher

Harry Potter

The Addams Family

The Arcana

Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel

Shadow and Bone/SoC

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

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

(Addams Family Masterlist)

(Full Masterlist)

“Cara mia, it’s barely November.”

No response.

“Amore mio?”

Still nothing.

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod enthusiastically.

“Then I shall help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, come on.”

“What time is it?”

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

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

Warnings: mention of weapons/breaking in/mariticide, female pronouns used (lmk if you want a male/nb version!), empty threats

Author’s Note: yall are the best, thank you for being SO patient these past couple months. Send in requests of any kind, even fandoms I previously said were closed. thanks again, love you guys 💕💕

Navigation

“He’s down?”

“Down is a strong word. I kind of just dumped him onto the bed and shut the door.”

Din snorts. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did, cyar’ika.”

You sigh, wandering into the dark cockpit. The lights have long since been turned off for the night, leaving only the bright stars sitting outside the windows to guide you. As you move, they catch on different things, illuminating everything from one of the child’s toys left lying around to your husband’s polished armor. It’s messy, sure, but it provides you with a little comfort after the day you just had.

Speaking of- “The bounty’s been frozen, right?”

Din grunts from his spot in the pilot’s chair. “Yeah.”

You exhale sharply, a weight leaping off of your shoulders. The bounty today wasn’t exactly easy. He had been on the run for weeks now, reportedly heavily armed and off his rocker. No other bounty hunter wanted to chase after that, so of course, you and Din were assigned to him.

“We should probably pick up the pace now that he’s on board. I don’t want the child near him for too long.” You worry, subconsciously picking at a hangnail.

“He’ll be fine, Y/n.” Din’s sleepy voice trails off as you get closer to him. He must have been dozing before you came in, catching up on the sleep that he can no longer afford to lose now that he’s an old man. You have to muffle your laugh with your sleeve. He’s such a dad, taking random naps in spots that he knows will hurt his back while his child runs rampant.

“I just don’t want him to get curious and–” You’re rudely interrupted by Din pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing and wrapping his arms around your waist to make sure you stay put. “Maker, Din. You can’t just do that.”

“Hmm.” Din’s hands slouch to your hips as he melts into the chair again. “Rest, cyar’ika. No more work talk.”

“Din, you know full well that if you fall asleep here—“ He drags a hand up to cover your mouth. Which is unfair, considering you can’t lick the filthy glove, but you’re not strong enough to force him away, either. Instead, you pin him with a glare, trying to burn holes into his helmet.

No words are spoken as he slowly rests his hand against your hip once more. His head is now tilted back, his posture broken, and with you in his lap, it’s only a matter of time before soft snores start coming out of the helmet.

All of a sudden, the peace is broken by a soft whimper in the entrance to the cockpit. Your head snaps over to see a green dot, drowning in his favorite blanket with tears streaming down his tiny face.

“Oh no, baby. Did you have a nightmare?” You coo to the child, rising from Din’s lap and rushing to where he pouts. You scoop him up and wipe his tears from his cheeks, trying to be as gentle as possible so as not to spook him. “Come on, let’s go back to bed and we can talk all about your dream…” Your voice trails off as you climb back onto the lower level of the Crest, to where Din can hear the faint sounds of you settling the child for the second time tonight. He’s left in silence for a good two minutes, settling back into the chair and running through tomorrow’s schedule while trying to keep his eyes open for you.

Eventually, you scale the ladder and make it back to the cockpit with no child situated in your arms. You fall back into Din’s lap where he gladly welcomes you, running his hands up and down your back in a soothing motion.

“He’s down?”

“Don’t you start with me, Din Djarin.” You mumble half-heartedly into his shoulder. He smiles softly, turning his helmet to get a better view of your tired face.

“Ready for bed?” He asks, leaning his forehead against your hair.

“Please. But give it five more minutes–your hands are working wonders right now.” You say in a blissed-out state. He chuckles, adding a little more pressure to your spine.

“Heard that before,” Din murmurs. You snap back up to stare at him, suddenly ready to go all over again.

“I did not just hear what I think I did,” You murmur in awe. His helmet stares at you in a deadpan, yes-you-did manner. You’re seconds away from ripping that helmet off and doing unspeakable things to his face when–

Creeeaaak

Din shoots up from the chair, sending you tumbling to the floor. He pulls his blaster from his waistband in one hand and catches you by the waist with the other, taking on a battle stance to confront the intruder.

But strangely enough, when he scans the room, there’s not a soul to be found.

You’re used to this, though. You grab Din’s chin and tilt his head down, pulling his eyes closer to the ground, until he catches the small green creature at the entrance, this time pulling along one of his many stuffed animals.

“Your turn, baby,” you laugh wearily as Din sighs. He stomps over to the smiling creature, and for the second time that night, the child is carried down the ladder and into his bed. You stand around waiting for Din to come back, knowing that the chair is going to be uncomfortable and stiff without him to sit on. You’ve always wondered how he puts up with it, especially for longer periods of time. Then again, he is a fan of self-imposed suffering.

Finally, Din clambers back up to the top. “Ready for bed, mesh’la?” He questions, barely standing as sleep threatens to take over.

“Yes, but quickly, please. As much as I love him…” You leave Din to fill in the blanks. He nods silently and stalks over to you, hesitating for only a moment before reaching over and hoisting you over his shoulder, subtly shifting you to make sure your abdomen isn’t pressed against his pauldron.

“Din-!” You cut yourself off, not wanting to risk waking the child. However, that doesn’t mean you can’t squirm a little just to let him know that he’s not getting away with this.

“Hold still,” Din grunts, shifting you into a steadier position as he makes his way towards the exit to the ship’s upper floor.

“Din Djarin, don’t you even think about it–” You don’t even have time to finish your sentence before he launches himself down the chute, skipping the ladder entirely. You both land with a thud, pausing for a second to listen for the child’s wails. Nothing.

“I’m going to kill you. You’re going to wake up in the morning, and I’m not gonna be there, and it’s going to be all your fault…” you carry on with empty threats, trying to get a rise out of your spouse as he carries you to the newly-placed bed. The cot directly underneath the child was getting a little aggravating, so you committed to convincing Din of the need for a real bed in a real room. Evidently, your plan worked.

Once the door is open, Din takes the few steps required to get to the bed and unceremoniously dumps you onto it. He doesn’t move after that, taking his time in admiring you, and you swear you can feel the smug little smirk forming underneath that armor. You huff at him and roll over.

“Hide all you want, cyar’ika. Not going to change my plans for tonight.” He turns to the little compartment haphazardly labeled ‘armor’, starting the long process of unclipping, untying, and when he gets impatient, ripping off his beskar. It all gets placed in the correct spot, ready and waiting for tomorrow. Once that’s finished, he heads to the basket you forced him to get to store clothing, digging through folded laundry until he finds some casual pants. Back at the start of your relationship, he would’ve kept looking for a loose sleepshirt, but as time passed and you both became more comfortable, the shirts stayed in the basket.

Din looks over at you and shakes his head. He goes back to the basket, rifling through until he lands on one of his older shirts–a faded gray one, large enough to drape down to your knees. Perfect. He walks over to the bed in a relaxed manner, gets down on his knees to plant a kiss on your forehead without any metal blocking it before smothering you with the shirt. You gasp as he runs away, ripping the shirt off your head and pinning him with an outraged stare. Still, though, you undress and throw the shirt on.

“Stupid husband–in sickness and in health–all lies…” You mumble angrily as he watches on in amusement. “Protector–yeah, ok. Caring, etcetera… should be ashamed, treating me like this…” Eventually, the shirt makes its way onto your body, and you collapse back into bed. Din crawls under the covers as well, pulling you into his chest and covering your face with gentle kisses.

“Done trying to murder me?” You pout, still not giving in to him. He laughs before starting up with the kisses again. One to your forehead, one to each cheek, one to your nose, and finally to your slightly parted lips before repeating the pattern as needed.

“You love it,” He grins, going in for another kiss. You mumble something about mariticide before giving in to him, losing the tension in your back as you wrap your arms around him–

A series of small knocks comes from the closed door. You both gasp and leap away from each other, ready to kill whoever’s escaped your carbon-freezer. The door creaks open, and… no one appears.

You sigh heavily and look down. A small green creature waits for you there, this time two blankets trailing after him. He smiles once he meets your eyes, blinking twice at you.

“Maker,” you sigh as Din flops back onto the bed. You drag yourself to the child, taking him in your arms for what is hopefully the last time as you rock him back and forth in a steady rhythm. His bug-eyes slowly start to close, and soon he is fast asleep in your arms. You sneak back to his little room, laying him down as quickly as possible and shutting the door before nearly sprinting back to Din and, more importantly, your bed.

“Last time. Please, Maker, let that be the last time we see that child tonight.” You pray. Din chuckles, staring at you with those big brown eyes. You’re struck by the depth in them; no matter how many times this man takes off his helmet, bares his face to you without fear of judgment, you will never get used to the striking beauty in every single one of his features. You flop into bed, trying to communicate this with a kiss. Din responds eagerly, pulling you into him with strong and weathered hands that stroke your sides like you’re the last woman on earth.

And all of a sudden, a cry echoes from the child’s room. You almost scream, instead choosing to burrow into Din’s neck, refusing to let go until the cries get louder. Din braces himself for a very unhappy kid, getting up begrudgingly and leaving you with a squeeze.

“I’ll be right back, mesh’la. And then we can continue…” he leaves the promises floating in the room as he leaves you with a squeeze. You watch him go, frustrated beyond belief with the kiddo. Hopefully this not-sleeping stage ends soon.

When Din returns, you are fast asleep, spread out across the bed, blankets tangled under you. All he can do is chuckle and lay across you, falling asleep as soon as his head rests against you.

I know it’s been a while, writer’s block and lack of motivation really kicked my ass these past couple months. However, I’ve been able to get a couple blurbs down for older fandoms, and I want yalls opinions :)

Counting Sheep

Warnings: Slightly ooc muriel, not being able to fall asleep

Author’s Note: just praying this reaches the target audience also praying for a man like muriel to snatch me up

(Navigation)

The moon is high in the sky by the time you finish your daily tasks. The birds are all silent, the wind has quieted to almost nothing, and the lost souls who wander the beaten paths have all gone home.

You sigh as you crack the door open and notice this. It’s far too late for you to be up.

“Ready for bed, Y/n?” Muriel calls from the corner, drowsiness clear in his voice. Sweet thing, he’s waited up for you, even though you told him many times to just rest.

“Almost. Do you know where my nightie went?” You ask, walking over.

“My shirt? It’s over on the table.” You shoot your lover a smirk and wander over to grab it. Quickly stripping to your undergarments, you throw the shirt on and catch Muriel’s eyes scanning you. He looks away a moment too late, blushing profusely.

You giggle before making your way over to him. “You can look, you know. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.

Muriel’s blush deepens. “I know.” He mumbles, eyes still turned away from you.

“In fact,” you crawl on top of the covers, kneeling above where he lays, “I like it when you look.”

Muriel snorts. He finally turns to you with a tiny smile on his face, opening his arms as an invitation. You’re struck with a sense of pride–it’s taken months for Muriel to get to the point where he’s comfortable with this level of affection, but you’re so glad he’s reached it. Hours of panic attacks, breathing exercises, experimentation, and cautious intimacy are being put to use.

You gladly fall into his arms, a small oomph leaving his lips as you collapse onto his chest. You stifle a laugh, tucking your legs and arms into his embrace. His warmth surrounds you, protecting you from the forest’s cold. You feel safe for the first time in a while.

“Comfortable?” Muriel questions, trying to fight a yawn. His arms come up to loosely wrap around you.

“Yeah. Night,” You kiss his chest, knowing he’ll feel it through the thick fabric of his pajamas.

But you get no response–Muriel is out like a light. And for a couple minutes, it’s peaceful, his heart beating a steady rhythm, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths. You press another kiss to his stomach, taking great pleasure in the sharp exhale he releases afterwards. It’s your own version of bliss.

But bliss fades as you become increasingly aware of something digging into your side. You try to ignore it in favor of cuddling into the man below you, but soon it practically forces you to switch positions. You huff, shuffling onto your back to lay besides Muriel. The warmth is now gone, but so is the bother in your side. You sigh, closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep.

It doesn’t work. You fling your arms to the sides, one falling off the bed before you think of the demons under the bed who could steal your hand away. Quickly yanking it back, you cuddle it to your chest, trying to force yourself to rest your eyes and fade away. If you could just hold this position, hearing the faint exhales beside you and the occasional breeze in the forest, you’d be out in no time.

But no, your mind decides this isn’t going to work. You rearrange yourself once again, this time with your back facing Muriel. Your arms and legs come into your chest, forming a sort of ball that better be comfy enough to induce sleep. But there’s none of Muriel’s hands resting on you, the blankets are all tangled up and pressed against you, and now your hands are cold.

For what you hope is the final time, you shift in bed. Your stomach is now against Muriel’s chest, chin resting on your hands as you observe his peaceful expression. How nice it must be to fall asleep in seconds, not concerned about what position will be best for rest or if you’ll wake your partner up in your fight with the blankets.

All of a sudden, Muriel shifts, breath stuttering for a moment before returning to the same steady pattern. You freeze, not wanting to disturb him. The last thing you want to do is wake the poor man up.

It takes a couple seconds to relax your limbs, and in doing that, you realize that you're not that comfortable anymore. You close your eyes in frustration, just wanting the sun to rise so this wretched night can be over. Looking over at the small clock you forced Muriel to install, you groan–it’s only been a few minutes.

You feel like crying. You just want sleep, and the universe seems determined in not affording you that. You shift again to where you started, heading resting on Muriel’s chest and legs tucked in.

You’re disrupted from your pity party by a small laugh coming from your lover. You glance up, noticing that Muriel is awake now, but his eyes are still closed.

“Love, you just completed a full turn around me.” He teases, hand drifting up and down your arm in a comforting motion.

You grumble, turning away from him and onto your back. It’s been hard enough trying to get to sleep, you don’t need his sass as well.

He doesn’t like that, though. His arms come to wrap around you, pulling your back flush against his chest. Like this, you can feel every breath against your neck, every word he whispers against your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as he chuckles.

“Sleep now, love. No more moving around.”

“It doesn’t work like that–on command.” Though you’re already starting to feel a little drowsy.

Quiet Nights

Even Wednesday needs a little comfort sometimes.

Sick Days

Wednesday may not have cough medicine on hand, but he does have his undying love for you.

Money Well Spent

The Addams family is very rich. The top three times you were brutally reminded of this fact.

Married Life

Marriage with Wednesday is great. Even better when you learn he makes really good coffee.

Hellish Mornings

Wednesday’s due for a haircut, but he hasn’t realized that yet.

HC: Your Relationship with Wednesday

My man is whIPPED

HC: NSFW Alphabet

He can be good, he promises.

HC: Pregnancy

Wednesday is in it for the long run, even if you try to behead him a few times throughout these joyous nine months.

Bad Parenting The Right Way

A child falls into your care, and you are thrown into the wonderful world of parenthood.

Clingy

Wednesday is feeling extra affectionate today, so buckle up.

Pretty in Pink

Wednesday will not be caught dead in anything other than black. You won’t be caught dead in anything other than pastels. You’re the perfect couple.

Season’s Greetings

Impossible

After a one night stand with Severus, your relationship with him comes into question.

Flurry

Slow Seduction

Geralt comes home from a long hunt, but you know how to perk him up.

Burned

Society will never accept you and Geralt. He doesn’t seem to realize that.

Reunited

When Geralt is injured, he pays you a visit. Jaskier tags along.

Don Your Masks

Temptress

After a long day at work, you just want to relax. Loki makes that difficult.

Heat Wave

Loki shows you his true form, and you have fun with it.

Ready

Satan’s My Fuckbuddy

A Night At The Inn

Ben Solo Is Dead

You run into someone from your past on an odd job, and the memories it sparks aren’t pleasant for either of you.

Grovel (Anakin’s version)

Anakin has made a mistake, but don’t worry—you’ll make him pay. Confrontation and forgiveness ensues.

Grovel (Vader’s Version)

Darth Vader may be a very powerful Sith Lord, but he is still ruled by your whims, especially when you’re furious with him over a recent mission.

(Little) Intruder Alert

Warnings: swearing

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

Navigation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

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

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

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

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

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

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

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

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

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

“It’s… very pink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

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

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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