Sweet but psycho
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader
Summary: A psychopathic patient and her nurse — what could possibly go wrong?
“Did you need to see me, Dr. Weems?” Y/N asked timidly.
The nurse pushed the door open a little wider—just enough to step inside. Nervousness was written all over her face as she stopped in front of her supervisor’s desk.
The imposing blonde woman was leaning over a beige faux-wood desk, her attention fixed on a stack of files arranged with almost obsessive neatness.
Her brows were furrowed, a faint wrinkle creasing her forehead—a clear sign that she was struggling to make sense of something she was reading. Her blue eyes scanned the pages, pausing longer on certain lines than others.
When the woman finally looked up, their eyes met.
“Y/N, how lovely to see you,” Dr. Weems said with genuine enthusiasm. “And I’ve told you before, you can call me Larissa. We’re friends by now,” she reminded her, using a tone of mock reproach.
Y/N smiled faintly, her arms relaxed at her sides as she absentmindedly wiped her palms on her light blue uniform pants — more out of habit than nervousness. Larissa’s blue eyes remained fixed on her, her expression softening.
“I called you because I wanted to ask you… a favor.” She hesitated before finishing, her lips parting into a picture-perfect smile.
Y/N frowned slightly.
“Would you like a cookie?” Larissa asked in a friendly tone, deflecting the conversation, and offered Y/N the basket of cookies that sat in the corner of her desk, still wearing that plastic smile.
It must be something awful if she’s offering me her favorite cookies, Y/N thought to herself.
She hesitantly reached for the basket, smiling politely as she picked up one of the cookies and took a small bite. Larissa watched her carefully, the silence between them heavy with anticipation, as if she waiting for the right moment to reveal whatever was coming next.
“Well…” Larissa finally broke the silence, setting the basket back in its usual spot on the desk before turning toward her employee with a hint of unease. “I’m short-staffed and need someone to work in Wing D — the psychiatric ward.”
The smile on her face faltered, her eyes settling on Y/N with a nearly imperceptible plea.
Y/N almost choked on the cookie.
“The psychiatric ward?!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with horror.
Larissa’s gaze was steady, her tired expression saying more than words ever could.
“You’ll be well compensated,” Dr. Weems added quickly. “No night shifts, unless there’s an emergency. And you’ll only be responsible for one patient. The usual things: bringing her meals, making sure she takes her medication, and running routine checks.”
She paused. “You’ll also assist the head doctor of the ward.”
“One patient?” Y/N repeated, curiosity creeping into her tone as she raised an eyebrow.
Larissa glanced down at the file before her, then back up.“Her name is Wednesday Addams. She’ll be twenty-three in a few months.”
“Didn’t Caroline go to Wing D a few days ago?” Y/N asked, brushing a crumb from her lip.
“Yes,” Larissa replied with a casual shrug, “but she complained, so they gave her some time off.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly, suspicion flickering across her face. She sighed, biting her lower lip — she knew she couldn’t afford to say no. Rent, bills… and now this offer that sounded more like an ultimatum.
“All right, I’ll take it,” she said flatly.
Larissa’s smile returned instantly, revealing her perfect teeth. “Wonderful! I’ll prepare the paperwork and you can start tomorrow,” she said with relief.
Y/N rolled her eyes upward.
(...)
The sharp scent of disinfectant and cleaning products filled her nose. Most people found it nauseating, but to Y/N it was oddly familiar — almost comforting.
She walked down the corridor of the psychiatric hospital, her footsteps echoing against the polished tiles. The white, bare walls were lit by a harsh fluorescent light that made the air feel sterile, amplifying the chemical smell. She caught the eye of a patient sitting on his bed — he smiled at her, too wide, too cheerful for the atmosphere of the ward. A shiver ran down her spine, but she kept walking.
Turning a corner, she exhaled in relief when she saw Bianca — the head doctor of the ward, and her friend.
“Good morning, Bianca,” Y/N greeted, smiling, genuinely glad to see a familiar face.
Bianca looked up from the chart she was filling out and smiled, both surprised and relieved. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” she asked, pressing the pen’s clicker and slipping it into the pocket of her white coat in a mechanical motion.
“I’ve been transferred,” Y/N said casually. “I’m supposed to take care of someone named Wednesday Addams.”
Bianca’s eyes widened.
“You know her?” Y/N asked, puzzled by her reaction.
“Yes,” Bianca said quietly, her tone almost sympathetic. “Don’t be fooled by her Hollywood looks. That psychotic little bitch is manipulative — and very, very dangerous. Be careful, and don’t get too close.”
She gave Y/N’s arm a comforting squeeze before walking away toward her office.
Y/N swallowed hard.
The hours passed slowly until it was time to bring lunch to her new patient. Her fingers clutched the tray so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her stomach twisted, her heartbeat pounding violently in her chest as she tried to keep calm.
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, tracing a path along her cheek before falling from her chin. She bit the inside of her mouth, stopped in front of door number 77, and took a deep breath through her nose. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she steeled herself.
She opened the door carefully, making sure not to spill the soup and the slice of meat — neither of which looked particularly appetizing — and stepped inside.
The room was larger than the others: white walls, a messy bed in one corner, a door leading to the bathroom, a nearly empty desk with a black-bound book on top, and two barred windows.
Her gaze immediately caught a figure perched catlike on the windowsill, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting atop them.
Wednesday’s skin was pale, her jaw sharp enough to carve marble and her long black hair framed her face, falling partly down her back. Her bangs nearly brushed her eyes.
Y/N swallowed hard and stepped toward the desk and the metal tray rattled just a little as she set it down.
“Good afternoon, Wednesday,” she said, her voice calm but careful.
From the windowsill, a slow, even voice replied “It’s never a good afternoon in here.”
Then she turned.
Those eyes — black, deep, unreadable — locked onto Y/N’s, and for a heartbeat, the nurse felt as though she were being studied, not simply seen.
Wednesday slid down from the windowsill with the graceful silence of a cat. Her bare feet touched the floor without a sound as she walked toward the table. She stopped in front of the tray, head tilted slightly to the side.
“This is lunch?”
“It’s what the diet plan requires,” Y/N answered, keeping her tone steady.
Wednesday examined the tray for a moment, then grimaced. “It looks like dog food. Except dogs don’t have to pretend they enjoy it.”
Y/N bit back a nervous smile. “I could ask the cook to add a sprig of parsley next time, if that helps.”
For the first time, something flickered in Wednesday’s expression — amusement, maybe. A faint, slow smile curved her lips, carving a small dimple into her left cheek.
“You have a sense of humor. I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“It helps. In places like this,” Y/N replied, crossing her arms, more for confidence than comfort.
Wednesday took a step closer.
She was smaller than Y/N expected — barely five foot three — yet somehow her presence filled the room. Up close, Y/N noticed the delicate freckles across her nose and cheeks, also the ink-black tattoo of a raven spread across her forearm, wings unfurled.
“Are you afraid of me?” Wednesday asked softly, her tone almost curious.
Y/N swallowed but didn’t move back. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Y/N said, steady this time.
Wednesday tilted her head, her gaze cutting through her like glass.
“That’s what they all say. Before they get scared.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
Wednesday’s lips twitched — not quite a smile. “We’ll see.”
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then Wednesday turned her head, glancing back at the tray with visible boredom.
“You can leave it. I’m not hungry.”
Y/N hesitated, then stepped back, her throat dry. “As you wish.”
She left the room without looking back, only realizing once she was outside that she’d been holding her breath.
Wednesday Addams hadn’t yelled. She hadn’t threatened her. She hadn’t even raised her voice.
And somehow, that was what terrified her most.
Because the unhinged ones — the loud, violent ones — could be contained.
But the calm ones…
The calm ones were the most dangerous of all.
