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“I have to admit, I’m both impressed and disappointed,” Wednesday reveals, dispassionately looking at Xavier and Tyler engage in an amicable exhibition of camaraderie by the snacks table that now had crumpled cocktail napkins and half-eaten confectionaries that party-goers had surmised weren’t actually tasty at the second bite. There is a lack of animosity that had been present for the first few months of your knowing them. Most of it, you could admit, was in fact, Tyler’s fault — he’d even had the good sense to confess to it. His remorseful tone had temporarily mollified Xavier’s ire.

“Disappointed?” you inquire curiously, peeling the cupcake casing before taking an abundant bite.

“Yes, actually. I was looking forward to a fight till death over your hand,” she admits, looking more sullen than usual.

“Oh Wednesday,” you coo, “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“I enjoy a grand gesture with a subsequent death,” she muses.

"I get it," you say, trying to keep a straight face and when Wednesday looks at you out of the corner of her eye, you can't resist adding with mock solemnity, "I also love it when men die for me."

Silence hangs in the air like a head in a tightened noose until Wednesday’s voice cuts into it. “Fine. I’ll bite.”

“I’m sure you will,” you grin wolfishly.

She ignores your comment. “How did you do it?”

“I could show you,” you offer, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Your paramours would despise that. A tempting offer, I’m almost inclined to agree,” she replies and it’s a little hard to tell with Wednesday but you think she’s being genuine — or at least she finds the prospect of Xavier and Tyler hating something she was the cause of, appealing.

“But,” she interjects, impeding your thoughts from running wild. “I don’t like being touched.”

You hum thoughtfully. “You like to watch?”

She pauses, and considers this question thoroughly before answering with a simple, “yes.”

You nod and your voice dips lower so no one can hear what you’re talking about. “You wanna touch?”

She stares ahead, letting the question sink in, then says, “not them. Just you.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Didn’t think you were interested in me.”

Wednesday lapses back into her dreary silence.

“Wait, do you like me?” This was news to you. For the longest time, you thought she had been barely tolerating you for Tyler’s company. Or more accurately, his aptitude for getting her what she needs for her ongoing investigation. Tyler had conjectured that they were friends based on their minimal interactions and you didn’t have the heart to tell him that Wednesday didn’t do friends but at the same time you’re positive that she had most definitely made that fact perspicuous.

She glares daggers at you. Don’t push it.

“I’ll talk to them,” you concede. “If either of them says no, then the whole thing’s off.”

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

.

Xavier’s place is huge; embellished with ornate furniture that seems to be customized to the Thorpe’s liking. His bedroom feels more personalized, however, and out of all the rooms in the manor, it was your favorite. Taped on his walls were a cluster of sketches of both you and Tyler. An odd one of Wednesday and any prophetic dreams he had. Most of it is nonsensical. You’d ask him about any dreams that plagued him often and he’d confide in you, even if they didn’t make much sense. It just felt good to share them with people so he didn’t feel like he was spiraling. His father had enough diatribes, he didn’t want to hear any new additions.

“You’ve made Tyler a muse too?” Wednesday asks, vetting the sketches. It sounds a lot like goading. You don’t mention the copious amounts of leather journals with provocative delineations of both you and Tyler in compromising positions nor the concealed canvases depicting the same thing in higher quality paints.

Xavier shoots her a dark look, then an exasperated one at you. “Is she gonna be like this the entire time?”

“You know what she’s like,” you reason and he softens but not without rolling his eyes. You take it as a begrudging acceptance.

You turn to her. “Wednesday,” you croon, “remember what I said about being nice and what it gets you.”

“I’m beginning to understand,” she begins, her unwavering stare meeting Tyler’s. Who usually engages in a one-sided conversation with Wednesday but not today. He seems on edge, observing her like she’s an anomaly which is strange for two reasons: they’d both acquiesced when you had made the offer and out of the two, Tyler is the one who actively seeks out her company.

“Understand what?” he bites out.

Wednesday’s dull, lifeless eyes light up in amusement and she raises a brow. “What you see in her.”

From what you know about Wednesday, you understand that this isn’t entirely a compliment. She’s doing it to rile up Tyler. And it’s working.

Xavier goes to stand next to him, arm nudging Tyler when he crosses them and Tyler finally looks away and at you; there’s an intensity to him, a possessive glint in his eyes.

“If you’ve changed your mind…” you taper off.

“No,” Tyler says with a frown. “I want her to see what she can’t have.”

“And here I thought you liked me,” Wednesday intones laconically, not particularly caring about Tyler’s opinion of her but intrigued by this sudden change in demeanor. This confused you to no end, Tyler was usually the level-headed one out of the two, it was much easier to get a rise out of Xavier and you were under the impression that Wednesday was on good terms with Tyler. You brush this thought off; obviously, there is a soupçon of acrimony when your partner allows a voyeur into the room.

Xavier cuts in, divesting his shirt and pants. “Tyler. You wanna go first?”

Tyler hesitates for a moment like he’s just remembering where he is then licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“Interesting,” Wednesday comments.

Xavier opens his mouth to retort.

“Kiss me, Xavi.” You let yourself get comfortable on his bed, holding yourself up on your forearms.

His mouth dries up at the sight of you and he follows you, tall body hunched over your relaxed frame. He kisses you long and slow, slim fingers curling around the nape of your neck and pushing you in closer, occasionally tugging at the coils.

You tilt your head up and Xavier leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jawline before dragging himself back, watching Tyler move to encapsulate you in a covetous kiss, maneuvring you so that your back hits the soft, fresh linen of Xavier’s bed.

“How do you want me?” you murmur against his lips.

He pulls back with that gentle crooked smile you love. “Normally, on top of me,” he glances back on Wednesday, “but right now, I wanna fuck you like this.”

“Yeah? Want Xavi to hold me open?”

Tyler groans and Xavier takes this as a sign to hold one of your thighs and spread you open, rubbing a thumb down your slit, eyebrows flying up at how wet you are already.

“Shit, you’re soaked already,” he says. “Don’t even have to get you ready. Come feel her, Ty.”

Tyler swipes his thumb at your cunt and you quiver, your cunt fluttering around nothing, slick gushing out of you and coating his hand.

“Is this for her?” he asks slowly, thumb spreading the wetness and rubbing careful circles at your clit.

“No,” you gasp out at the contact. “‘s for you and Xav. Just you two.” You raise your head to look at where he’s touching only to immediately throw it back onto a pillowcase encased in silk — something that Xavier had specifically bought for you should your head wraps come loose while you were spending the night. You take to tilting your head to the side, watching Xavier steadily stroking the length of his cock.

“Shit, Xavi,” you moan, holding out a hand for him, which he is quick to grasp, thumb tenderly stroking the back of it. “You look so good.”

His mouth is popped open but he graces you with an open-mouthed smirk at your comment, hand twisting around himself. He feels a little lightheaded from the way your pretty cunt glistens. “If you think I’m the one that looks good then I have to get a mirror in here.”

Tyler lines his cock up at your entrance, a feather-light hovering as he rubs it along your folds, coating the length of it with your wetness, then uses his hand to press the weight down, rutting himself against you.

“Ty?” you whisper tentatively.

“Hm?” His voice is strained, distracted but he still lifts his head to look at you.

“Can Xavi come hold me?”

He chuckles. “Uh, I think he’s a little busy...”

You give a little fucked-out grin to Xavier who hasn’t taken his eyes off you before remembering that Wednesday is there, cloistered exactly where you left her and not a step closer. You notice she hasn’t even sat down, her hands by her side. “You know you can touch yourself too, Wednesday?”

“I’m here to watch,” she says monotonously. "And I'm not interested in pleasuring myself."

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean you’d just be stood there doing nothing.”

“I’m enjoying myself, can’t you tell?” Her eyes remain cadaver-like, and her cute plum-lacquered mouth is pressed firmly together.

“Not really.” In all honesty, you couldn’t tell when she was enjoying herself unless there were very specific tells: a razor-sharp glint in her eyes, the beginnings of a dimple that had endeared her to you in the first place — a physical trait she shares with Xavier. The former you rarely had the pleasure of seeing.

“I am,” she repeats, then makes an offer that confounds you all. “I can come and… hold you.” To harshen the blow, she adds, “seeing as Xavier is preoccupied with his own pleasure.”

Xavier sneers at her blatant heckling.

“No, I like it, he does it for me,” you say defensively. And it’s true — Xavier enjoys fucking your mouth over jerking off. It isn’t until he realized the effect pleasuring himself had on you that he started doing it more. “I love watching him, it makes me feel so good. Can always feel my fingers slide inside myself easier when he does.”

Xavier whimpers, pale cheeks mottled with poppy-red; a look that makes you beam at him, infused with an amalgamation of arousal and puerile joy.

“You should come closer,” you beguile, a smile gracing your face.

“Nice try,” he scoffs. His eyes gloss over as he trails them down your body. He has to forcefully tear them away from you with a shaky exhale so he doesn’t cum there and then.

You spread yourself open with one hand, sending Tyler a coy smile which he amusedly mirrors. “But I want you to feel me from inside. Wanna feel you deep in my throat.”

His dick visibly twitches. “Shut up,” he hisses, embarrassed that he’s already so close.

Tyler calls out your name, voice cracking, “you’re killing me here. Need you so bad.”

You grin, the back of your hand stroking along the apple of his cheek. “Not yet. Let her come closer.”

His hips stutter at the contact, grinding his dick against your cunt and he leans his face into your touch.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh like he can’t believe he’s doing this and looks over his shoulder. “Wednesday?”

“Tyler,” she acknowledges.

He leans back, hooking your thighs around his hips. “Come and give her what she needs.”

Wednesday takes calculated steps, warily eyeing Xavier and then Tyler before methodically taking off her shoes and ensconcing herself behind you. Her long black pleated skirt fans out on Xavier’s bed and you peer up at her with an idyllic smile. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she replies flatly.

You hold out your hand for her to tentatively clasp hers around.

Tyler shakes his head and you curl your calf around his waist. “Still okay with it? It’s okay if you change your mind.

“Yeah, no. I’m good. This is… I wasn’t expecting it,” he divulges. “Guess you could say I’m still getting used to it.”

“Don’t,” Wednesday deadpans.

He takes his dick into his hand, tapping the head of it against your swollen clit, failing to hide a grin when he feels your thighs tremble around him. He nudges the tip between your folds, allowing you to soak the head of it to facilitate an easier fit.

His breath catches in his throat and you have to hold back a snarky comment at his slackened jaw.

Your hips buck, wanting nothing more to ease the dull ache inside you. “ C’mon. Fuck me.”

Tyler sighs. “Yeah… yeah . Hold on a sec.” He slowly inches his length inside you, grinning when he feels your legs push him closer, hips twitching impatiently. “Wanna fill you all the way up.”

You wail when he pushes himself all the way in, hands flailing against the bed sheets, Wednesday’s skirt, her hand. Anything you can reach for. You scramble up to see exactly what he’s doing with the support of Wednesday’s body. She’s rigid behind you, arms held out mechanically as she holds your hands.

Tyler’s cock throbs. “That’s it, there you go.” And he begins to thrust at a steady pace, pulling out a series of gasps from you, manicured nails digging into the back of Wednesday’s hand. The sting of pain doesn’t deter her, she just tightens her hold on you, a visible tick in her jaw from how hard she’s clenching it.

“Fuck,” you pant, dizzy at the stretch, searing, white-hot pleasure that erupts in your stomach, coiling and tightening each time Tyler’s hips collide with your quivering thighs, the slick crash of skin against skin resonating through your whole body. “Feels so big.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck. “It’s all yours.” He lifts your leg up, the crux of your knee sitting atop his shoulder.

“That all it takes for you to forget about me, huh?” Xavier jokes dryly.

“You can join him, y’know?”

The blush on Xavier’s face makes you laugh into Tyler’s neck.

He fucks into you with a renowned vigor and you attempt to lift your hips to meet his movements halfway. With a grit of his teeth, he pushes himself up and drags you out of Wednesday’s hold, your back arching into him as you cry out when you feel the drag of his cock against your velvet-soft walls.

“Shit!” you moan, the pressure in your belly winding up tight. “Xavi. Xavi.”

“Yeah, I got you,” Xavier murmurs, pressing a knee into his mattress as he leans over you. He presses his thumb to your clit and feels you jolt with a breathless laugh, then takes it between his forefinger and thumb and gently pinches it as he watches Tyler’s cock move in and out of you. He catches your lips in a fervent, desperate kiss despite you not being able to return it.

“Squeezing me so tight,” Tyler murmurs.

Your whine metamorphoses into a scream and you thrash your head against Wednesday’s chest, pushing up for a modicum of reprieve from Tyler’s incessant fucking. Xavier, unable to tear his lips from you, takes to leaving wet kisses on your cheek and jaw— wherever he is able to reach. You feel yourself tighten around the girth of Tyler’s cock before you cum.

“I love you,” you gasp out, clinging onto him, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his shoulders and side. His hips stagger and he whines, nose digging into your cheek as he pants into the side of your face. He nudges Xavier’s nose with his own and Xavier laughs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tyler’s unresponsive mouth as his strokes become uneven.

Tyler groans, his body stiffening as he spills his cum into you, the act prolonged, as if he’s unwilling to relinquish the sensation, to let the moment slip into the void where pleasure eventually dissipates into memory. His hips falter, though his gaze doesn’t waver from the juncture where the two of you remain locked. He’s utterly consumed by the sight of his own release mingling with yours, the mingling of fluids, the almost alchemical way in which they combine—an exchange both primal and grotesquely intimate. His movements become languid, deliberate, as if relishing this convergence. His hand drifts lower, the back of his finger grazing the raw nerve of your clit, eliciting an involuntary lurch from your hips—a jolt of response so instinctual, it almost betrays you. Tyler’s eyelids flutter, a sigh, more akin to a growl, escapes him, rasping and coarse. “You always smell so good,” he rasps, the words heavy, weighted with a dark reverence, a proprietary tone woven into the thick cadence of satisfaction.

Wednesday’s voice cuts through like ice breaking the surface of still water. “I wasn’t aware you had such strong olfactory senses, Tyler,” she remarks, every syllable sharpened, wielded with precision. The words hang, cool and surgical, punctuating the thickened air, though her eyes—those black, inescapable eyes—remain fixed entirely on you, as if you are some enigmatic puzzle only she can solve.

Tyler, for all his fixation, barely acknowledges her remark, absorbed as he is in the overwhelming tide of his own pleasure, too far gone to wade into the depth of her observations. His brow furrows, confusion etching across his face, the barest hint of recognition flickering but quickly drowned out. “Uh… sure, I guess,” he mutters, as though responding to a question in a dream, untethered from reality.

"Wednesday," Xavier's voice crackles with tension, a low, simmering warning. His posture is taut, shoulders rigid as his gaze sharpens, flicking between you and her, suspicion twisting his expression into something clenched, controlled, yet barely holding back a deeper unease. He knows this moment is anything but benign.

“I am simply stating a fact,” Wednesday replies, unperturbed, cool as ever, her focus unwavering, fixated. Her hand moves with calculated calm, her thumb swiping the corner of your mouth, dabbing away the glistening thread of drool as if this, too, is part of her methodical observation. The gesture is absent of affection or tenderness—no more than the cleaning of an experiment’s residue.

Xavier watches her, his lips drawing into a taut line, the controlled façade beginning to crack under the weight of a realization that gnaws at the edges of his mind. He scoffs, though the sound is hollow, resigned. You see it in the flicker of his gaze, the way he shifts his weight. There had been a strangeness from the start, hadn’t there? The way you’d first introduced the idea—how carefully, how cautiously you’d broached Wednesday’s involvement in all of this. The absurdity of it. Wednesday Addams, whose very presence seemed an antithesis to any form of intimacy, let alone this kind of carnal entanglement. And yet, somehow, here she was.

But now, standing on the precipice of understanding, it all begins to crystallize in Xavier’s mind. Of course, Wednesday had ulterior motives. She always did. How had he been so blind, so hopelessly naïve, to think otherwise? His own infatuation, his own delusions, had cloaked her in some false mystique, some foolish romanticism. He’d allowed himself to be deceived, to view her through the cracked lens of his own making.

“Right…” Tyler’s voice, slow and uncertain, trails off, the confusion on his face deepening, thickening in the charged air. He senses it too now—the subtle shift, the unspoken change in atmosphere. There’s something darker, heavier, settling over all of you, like a storm cloud rolling in just before it breaks.

You stir slightly, your mind still fogged, the remnants of your shared pleasure clinging to your thoughts like a mist. “Feel like I’m missing something,” you murmur, your voice barely audible, a soft, questioning lilt beneath the languid drowsiness still rippling through your body. It’s a quiet confession of your own bewilderment, spoken aloud without the expectation of an answer.

Xavier’s eyes, hard-edged moments before, soften at the sound of your voice. There’s something almost protective in the way his gaze shifts toward you, his hand flexing as though he’s contemplating reaching out, but doesn’t. His response, though gentle, is taut with residual tension. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, though the tightness in his jaw betrays his words. He flicks his gaze back to Wednesday, unable to shake the gnawing distrust clawing at the corners of his mind. “Wednesday needs to go.”

You blink, still adrift in the aftermath, struggling to reconcile the abrupt shift in tone. “Already?” you ask, your voice tinged with surprise, almost disappointment, as if something vital is being cut short before you’ve had the chance to fully comprehend it.

Wednesday shifts minutely, her posture as rigid as ever, her stillness unnerving. Her gaze remains pinned to you, her expression inscrutable, a mask of cold, deliberate calculation. “Yes. This was… enjoyable,” she says, though the flatness of her tone makes the word feel clinical, stripped of warmth, as though she were commenting on a fleeting curiosity. “I am… willing to do it again.”

A smile curls at the edges of your lips, a slow, unhurried grin that spreads as you instinctively lean into her orbit, a heat reigniting in your chest. You open your mouth, ready to respond, to agree, to push for more, but Xavier’s voice slices through before you can speak, his frustration bleeding into the air, thickening it like a toxin.

“The next time you want to accuse either of us of something,” Xavier says, his tone sharper now, hard as flint, as his gaze locks onto Wednesday with an intensity that borders on fury, “don’t drag our girlfriend into it. This was low, even for you.”

The accusation lands like a stone, heavy, sinking into the charged atmosphere. Your brow furrows, confusion knotting your features as you try to make sense of the sudden shift in the dynamic, the weight of what he’s saying settling slowly into the back of your mind. You start to form a response, to ask what he means, but Tyler’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, pulling you closer to him, as if to shield you from whatever is unfolding between the others. You can tell he knows too. His touch is soft, protective, but there’s an underlying tension in the way his fingers hold you, something unspoken in his need to pull you close.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wednesday’s voice cuts through, ice-cold and precise, as though carved from the very air itself, untouched by the undercurrent of tension now thickening the room like smoke. Her gaze—obsidian, all-consuming—remains resolutely locked on you, a stare so unwavering it feels like the weight of the universe is pressing against your skin. “I didn’t come here for either of you.” The words fall from her lips with a lethargic grace, each syllable deliberate, measured, like the final strokes of an artist painting a canvas with the dark, inevitable truth. “But I will admit, observing Tyler was simply an added bonus,” she continues, as though the revelation were an afterthought, a footnote in a grander scheme, devoid of any real significance to her.