Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one ever beat Tyler Galpin to the store for the opening shift. And, truth be told, he liked it that way. He appreciated that quiet hum of white noise in the twenty minutes he was there before anyone else got there. There was something zen-like about being with only your own thoughts and the neat rows of books at the Prose & Cons Bookstore. If anything, it was much preferred over hearing his three roommates raucously play beer pong until two in the morning like they had last night. 

Which meant that coffee was needed immediately. Tyler unlocked the front door before ambling over to the security pad to hammer in the code. When he got there, however, he noticed that no one had activated the security code the night before. He sighed, gritting his teeth, cursing lightly at the closing crew. 

“I swear if I find out you two were making out instead of doing your damn jobs…” Tyler started, thinking of how he had caught his closing shift employees, Enid and Ajax, heavily petting in the supply closet versus actually attending to their responsibilities more times than he liked to count. He also knew that he wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it except maybe give them some shit about it. 

Sighing, he flicked on one of the lamps that was littered throughout the bookstore, one adjacent to the store’s small barista station. Turning on the espresso machine, he listened to it rumble while it warmed up. In the machine’s shiny chrome, he caught a distorted reflection of his face and sighed: the lines under his eyes were bruise-dark and his curls were touseled to the point of almost being matted. He tried, unsuccessfully, to comb through them with his fingers but that only seemed to make more of a mess. And the dark circles? If only he could just get one good night’s sleep without Lucas, Jonah, and Carter holding another cacophonous party or his insomnia coming for him. But, at least now he had a few moments of quiet and an upcoming Americano to look forward to. 

He made his drink quickly and then started a carafe of drip coffee so that when the opening crew - Bianca and Xavier - stumbled for their shifts they could use it to wake themselves up. And so that Xavier wouldn’t be such a fucking grouch and do something for once. Tyler swore if he caught him fiddling with his phone instead of doing his job one more time, he would actually consider firing him. Except he couldn’t fire him if he was being honest. With the holiday season approaching and the store already being short-staffed, he was just going to have to grin and bear Xavier Thorpe’s terrible attitude. 

Tyler left most of the lights off while he walked to the back office and break room. Sipping lightly on his Americana, he let the bitter liquid almost scald his tongue. The pain was satisfying in an odd way, working with the caffeine to wake up what he had to admit was a very deep physical exhaustion. Night classes and the opening shift were a brutal combination but there wasn’t really an alternative. 

Strolling into the back office, he turned on the overhead light, booted up the office laptop. He punched in the code for the safe and got out the tills, sighing when he saw a note on receipt paper: Cash out was $1.25 short for some reason. Sorry! There was a small littering of hearts and then Enid had signed her name in a too-flourished scrawl. Great, now he was going to have to explain that to Laurel. He thought of the bookstore owner’s pinched face and over-cloying smile when she admonished him for “being too nice” to his employees. Like they weren’t her employees as well and like she gave a shit about the till being short every once in a while. Not like her family didn’t own half the damn town and this was just her way to show that they “gave back to the arts and culture of Jericho” or whatever placating line they liked to use at the yearly Department of Commerce function that he was always forced to attend. 

Which was coming up soon, now that he thought about it. Great. Just fucking great. Last year he had evaded the way Laurel’s hands got a little too generous on him after a couple glasses of champagne. Her star employee , she would half-coo, half-slur to Jericho’s upper brass as her fingers trailed across his arms, against the small of his back. And he had to just offer a gritted grin, telling himself this job was just a stop-gap, only temporary. He was going to get his degree and then get into grad school a million miles away from this hellhole town. But it didn’t make his boss’s advances on him any less fucking creepy. 

Tyler left the till for a second, deciding this was a problem for after the caffeine had taken effect. He strolled into the breakroom, pitch-black still, and that’s why he didn’t remotely see what was coming when he flicked on the overhead fluorescent light. 

The light flickered on, and there sitting at the employee lunch table was a small figure, a young woman, clad entirely in black, glaring at him as if he had truly offended her.  

“Holy crap!” He yelped, jumping back, his fight or flight instinct confused; while he probably should immediately run outside and call the cops, this wisp of a girl seemed hardly worth that level of panic. And, she was just sitting there, looking at him expectedly. So, instead, Tyler rocked back on his heels, still ready to retreat, but he hedged, “Who the hell are you?”

She regarded him coolly for only a second before she said flatly, “You said in the job description that punctuality was a preferred quality of an employee.”

He blinked, his brain trying to rapidly process the scene in front of him. He had planned an interview today, with Enid’s roommate who she had vouched for. 

“She’s a little eccentric,” Enid had warned but then smiled, “But oh my god, she’s so smart. And funny. If you’re into dark humor at least.”

Eccentric was a bit of an understatement, Tyler decided. The woman in front of him was sitting stiffly, her back ramrod straight. Her fingers, nails painted inky black, were clutched around her knees. Everything about her seemed ready for some sort of intense interrogation. And her dark eyes bored into him, unblinking. The two braids on either side of her head seemed as tightly wound as the rest of her body. Not one iota of her body language looked phased that she had broken into the place of employment that she was interviewing for.

“ You’re Wednesday?” He asked, finally, eyebrow lifted. “Enid did say you were a little… kooky.” 

“I prefer spooky,” she countered quickly.

“Sure,” Tyler drawled and then finally allowed himself to breathe, realizing he was not getting robbed by a woman who was probably about ninety pounds soaking wet but also gave off the vibe that she would give him a fair fight. “Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” 

“It’s more of a hobby.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you generally start interviews in this fashion, or does it get more tortuously tedious than this?” 

Tyler smoothed down the front of his shirt, still trying to calm his nerves. Honestly, he should tell her that this was entirely inappropriate, that he wasn’t going to interview someone who literally just broke into the store they were planning on working for. But the fact of the matter was that he needed someone desperately. The store always got nuts after Halloween when the holiday shopping kicked in, and the paltry pay that Laurel was willing to offer store employees made it difficult to get anyone, let alone keep them. Hell, the local supermarket paid the cashiers a dollar more an hour than Prose & Cons did. 

Also, he had to admit that there was something compelling about this strange woman in front of him, something that had him taking a breath and asking, “Do you generally start interviews by breaking and entering the place you’re planning on interviewing at?”

“There was no need to break anything,” she retorted, looking clearly unaffected by his sarcastic question. “I could have picked the lock on your front door while I was asleep as a child.” 

He gawked at her. The lock to the store involved two sets of keys and an industrial-strength deadbolt. If he wasn’t kind of pissed, Tyler would have been impressed. “You… picked the lock? To the store.”

“Naturally,” she replied, again, her voice an emotional deadpan, as if this was a standard procedure for her. “And Enid keeps the keypad code written on a sticky note on our fridge.” She eyed him coolly over the fringe of her dark bangs. “You really should have a conversation about security with your employees.” 

He regarded her in shock for a long second, also silently cursing Enid for being such a ditz sometimes. Not that Ajax probably hadn’t done the same thing, but still . Then, finally, he said, “Okay, so, for the record, usually I would ask you to leave.”

She glared at him like this affected her zero percent.

Tyler sighed. “But since you’re already here, and we actually do need someone, um… do you want a coffee or something?” He looked down at his cup and then offered, “I have a pot brewing. It should be done by now.”

“Drip?” She asked, arching a brow.

“Um, yeah?” He then stuttered, “We have cream and sugar, too.” Why was he basically apologizing to her for the current coffee offerings? He needed caffeine and he needed to get himself together. He did not need to be so disarmed by this person, despite the fact that she was intense and possibly also a criminal. 

She stood. “Drip is for people who hate themselves and know their lives have no real purpose or meaning.” Quickly and cat-like quietly, she moved past him and back into the store, saying over her shoulder. “I’ll take a quad, instead.” 

Blinking, Tyler took three seconds to process his current situation and that he had just been bossed around by a prospective employee. Quickly, he took after her, catching up to say, “Uh, sure?”

“It’s four shots of espresso,” she said flatly as if he didn’t know what a quad was. Reaching the espresso machine, she offered him a raised eyebrow. “A Dalla Corte? For a town as pathetically reductionist as Jericho, it could be… worse.” 

Well, now he knew her feelings as a whole about the town, not that he disagreed with her in the slightest. A small smile tugged on his lips when he said, “Yeah, our old one broke last year. The fact that I convinced my boss to buy this one is probably my greatest achievement as an employee.” He stopped, and tipped his head at her, “Wait. You’re versed in expresso machines?” 

Wednesday regarded him for a long second before she reached into her small, black leather backpack. Plucking out a piece of paper, she shoved it toward him in a way that did not invite any debate on whether he would take it. “Yes. It’s on my resume. Along with the various other skillsets that should be adequate for the…” here, she shuddered, “... store associate role.” 

He took the paper gingerly, scanning it briefly. It seemed to have been made with a typewriter, which seemed in line with the descriptive eccentric that Enid had bestowed on her roommate. Tyler read through briefly: she was a current student at Nevermore University, which was what all the staff at Prose & Cons was composed of. Well, except him. The thought of him ever going to that stuffy, prestigious school tucked away in the tall hills of Jericho was almost laughable. So, Jericho Community College called his name after high school, and now he was stuck working with a gaggle of rich, self-important Nevermore students. He guessed most of them were alright, and, in some cases, pretty cool. But, on the whole, the Nevermore student body always had this air about them like they couldn’t give you the time of day let alone come work with you. 

Wednesday, though? She seemed entirely unapproachable, but in a different sort of way, like she bestowed this level of cool indifference to everyone without bias. 

And, without asking for any further permission, she set about turning on the espresso bean grinder and tamping down the grounds into the basket. She screwed the portafilters into the machine with a strength that confirmed his suspicions that she shouldn’t be underestimated in a fight. Sliding four shot glasses under the spouts, she started the brewing process and then glared up at him. 

“It’s really not my most engaging writing,” she noted, nodding at the resume. “And I didn’t add my past assistantship at the mortuary. I didn’t think that working with dead bodies would be relevant for the current position.” 

He almost choked on his sip of Americano. “Yeah, um, you’ll be dealing with a lot less dead bodies here at Prose and Cons.” He offered her a small, grim smile, “I would hope at least. Although this is a mystery and thriller-themed bookstore, I’m guessing you’re aware?” 

“I am,” she replied curtly before taking the shot glasses and emptying them delicately yet quickly into a small mug. “In fact, several of my books are in stock on your shelves.” 

Again, he gawked, unsure if he had heard her right. “Your… books?” He blinked at her as she took a delicate sip of her quad. “You’re a published author?”

“Do you have a policy of stocking unpublished authors on your shelves?”

Tyler couldn’t help but keep a slightly agape expression on her. “Um, well, no. Fair enough.” He eyed her for a long moment, and then asked, “Can I ask what the title of your books are?”

She seemed to debate answering for a long second before saying, “I publish under a pseudonym. W. A. Shelley. I write the…”

“... Viper De La Muerte series,” he finished for her, disbelief permeating his words. 

“You know it?” She sounded vaguely impressed, or as much as Tyler could assume she ever sounded impressed. 

“Um, yeah? Of course.” He shook his head and gave her an incredulous smile. “They’re kind of popular.” 

She shrugged as if this mattered about as much to her as if someone had offered her a cup of drip coffee. “They’ve seen moderate success, I suppose.”

Tyler had read them. All of them, actually. They were the brutal, Nordic-type of thriller-mystery, the one with a hardboiled, professional sleuth heroine who didn’t take shit and was always a problem for the local DA. Something like a gothic and American version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo , but five times more gory. And they were good; well-plotted, full of interesting and complex characters, and he honestly never saw the gnarly twists coming. The fact that this slip of a woman who couldn’t be more than twenty-two years old was the author of said novels? It was frankly blowing his mind.

Also, another thing wasn’t computing. “Why in the hell do you want to work here ?” Tyler blurted out and then checked himself when she raised an appraising eyebrow at his outburst. He chuckled and then said quickly, “I mean, you’re a successful author. You have a…” he scanned her resume to make sure he had read it correctly and then continued, “... a 4.3 GPA? I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

“Honor classes,” she said blandly, rolling her eyes. “They claim they’re more difficult, so they incentivize them with a weighted GPA average. It would make sense if those classes weren’t as much of a joke as the general education ones.”

Okay, sure, of course this strange woman in front of him would think that the honors classes of the already-rigorous academics of Nevermore University were a joke. Clearing his throat, he said, “No offense, but if you find the honors classes at Nevermore kinda boring, you’re probably going to find working at Prose & Cons a real snoozefest.” He winced as her eyes flittered in reaction to the term snoozefest. He internally chided himself. God, he could be such a dork sometimes. 

But then, rather than level another one of her rather blanche statements at him, she looked almost shyly into her quad and offered, “I have some deficiencies with… human interaction.” She straightened her spine suddenly, recovering her uptight quality quickly, “Not that it bothers me, of course. But, Enid has suggested it may be why I am having some issues with writer’s block. I tend to agree: I think a job that challenges me in said deficiencies would help unblock me. Also, it would probably help with my insomnia.” 

That caught his attention. A pang of empathy hit him, eyeing her for what felt like really the first time, catching the way her own eyes were lined in the same kind of dark circles as his. Every other part of her seemed rather polished and buttoned-up, but those bruise-dark lines were telltale and he knew exactly what it felt to be that person who was floating throughout the day, trying to engage on a normal level all the while knowing another night of tossing and turning was waiting for you even though you were so fucking exhausted. 

And then he evaluated her as a manager, turning his critical eye on her resume, weighing the pros and cons of her as a candidate. She had a smattering of internships and assistantships, including one at Nevermore’s literary journal. She had worked at the university library on what was noted as a “work study” program. And she was a fairly well-known author, even if her government name wasn’t the one printed on the actual books. The per-hour amount was advertised in the job description, so she must not have been turned off by the meager pay.

Also, Tyler was desperate for another person. He knew the madhouse that this place became when the holiday season rolled around and the thought of having to face it with just the four-and-a-half of them (Xavier was a pointedly only .5 employee) was migraine-inducing. 

Additionally, he had just watched her navigate a very European and somewhat complicated espresso machine with an ease that frankly had him half-hard in appreciation. 

“Can you make anything other than a quad?” He asked her after that long moment of evaluating silence. 

Wednesday took another sip of her drink before saying smugly, “You really shouldn’t insult your brand-new employee.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, although he couldn’t suppress the grin on his face at her level-headed cockiness. “Okay, hotshot, if you’re so sure of yourself, can you make me a mocha?” 

Her expression was borderline horrified. “A mocha?” Her face paled lightly. “Do people actually order those?” 

The laugh that left him was completely unbidden, but then he realized she was a thousand percent serious. Then, shaking his head, he said with a chuckle, “It’s probably our most popular drink.” 

“And you just let people order that?”

He couldn’t stop chuckling. “Listen, we don’t get to place moral judgments on our customers. They order it, we make it.” 

Wednesday glowered at him for a long moment, like an internal war was happening inside her head. “ Fine ,” she hissed before turning to the espresso machine while muttering, “I knew there was a reason I’m not a people person. All of them, mocha-loving psychopaths.” 

That felt rich coming from the person who had penned the unusually brutish Viper De La Muerte series, but Tyler kept his lips zippered from comment. 

She moved quickly, not asking him once for help. Emptying out the baskets in the trash, she quickly rinsed them before refilling one with espresso grounds. Her eyes scanned briefly the syrups that stood arrayed next to the drip coffee maker before she pumped some chocolate syrup into the bottom of a mug. Flicking the frothing wand on for only a second to see if it was steaming, she nodded at the acceptable amount of heat. Making quick work of frothing the milk, her eyebrows drawn at attention, she was finished almost perfectly in sync as the espresso finished brewing. Her hands flew quickly to dump the espresso in the mug first, mixing lightly so that the chocolate syrup was blended well. And then, she carefully poured in the warm milk, layering on the frothed milk on top, moving her hands in what looked like a way to create some fancy pattern that Tyler had been working on himself for the customers that he liked best. 

Then, with a frown, she brought him the mug, setting it rather unceremoniously in front of him. “One mocha for the man who wants to watch the world burn,” she growled, clearly grumpy at the fact that she had just been forced to make a drink that she found offensive at best. 

Tyler eyed the drink, noticing that the pattern that she had swirled into the frothed milk looked suspiciously like a middle finger. He almost choked in surprise, but merely nodded appreciatively. “Not bad. Now, let’s see what it tastes like.” 

He took a sip and wasn’t at all upset at the taste. The milk didn’t have the sometimes burnt taste that pervaded Ajax’s concoctions. The warm milk to frothed milk ratio was perfect. It was a little more bitter than what the average Prose & Cons customer wanted, but otherwise, it was the quintessential mocha drink, sans the rather inflammatory coffee artwork. 

Taking another sip, he asked, “How do you know your way around an espresso machine anyway?” He hadn’t seen anything on her resume to indicate actual barista work experience. 

“Another hobby,” she offered, and when he only blinked at her, she shrugged. “I’ve been making espresso since I was child. Although Enid insists this is… odd, my family appreciates the more bitter things in life. Coffee drinks included.”

Okay, fair enough, considering every part of her black-clad visage seemed to echo that this would totally be the kind of household she grew up in. 

So, that was it, then? Tyler hesitated only a second, not believing he was about to hire the person who had broken into his store and just told him to fuck off via coffee art. But, honestly, he’d made worse hires; Xavier Thorpe was evidence of that. 

“This is probably only a seasonal gig,” he started, watching her face for a reaction. When she didn’t balk at the temporariness of the position, he continued, “After the holiday season, we can talk about how we could continue, but I can’t promise anything.” 

She nodded. “Acceptable. The job description said as much.” 

He fiddled with the end of her resume, suddenly feeling sheepish. “You’d be working with me in the morning shifts, here in the cafe. It said on your application that you’re available in the mornings every day? Are you sure that doesn’t conflict with your classes?” 

“I only do night classes,” she remarked, coolly. “I think best at night.” 

Tyler could relate; it was why his insomnia was relentless. His damn brain was perpetually exhausted but wouldn’t turn off as soon as night rolled around. But he didn’t feel like revealing that would do any good, so he continued, “I’ll have to do office work for the middle shift, so you’ll be alone in the cafe from noon to two. Then the night shift takes over. You’re going to be ok by yourself for that long? You know, with the mocha-loving psychopaths ?”

Her lips pursed in a way that was somehow adorable, but Tyler squashed this thought quickly. “It will be a learning opportunity,” she said through gritted teeth and he merely grinned widely at her. 

“Customer service is an… acquired taste,” Tyler offered, although he tended to agree with her sentiment. As much as he had learned to deal with working with the public, there was always that one person who insisted on stirring some level of wrath inside him.

Of course, there were people like Enid who thrived off it, with her hive of adoring customers who came in just to have her rave over the newest novel she had finished and loved (most of them involving cozy mysteries with a cat featured as the main character). There was also a level of local gossip that was indulged in during those conversations, but Tyler had pointedly decided to ignore that. 

“Alright,” he said finally, resigning to the fact that he was doing this. “When exactly can you start, Wednesday…” he checked her resume, scanning for her last name, “... Addams?” 

She flashed him what seemed like the biggest smile she ever offered anyone, which meant it was slight at best.  Then, her smile dissolved and she asked, “Did you ever plan on telling me your name?” 

“Oh! Right!” He chuckled and then extended his hand for a shake. “I’m Tyler. Tyler Galpin. I’m the store manager.” 

She stared at his hand like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. But then, she took it gingerly, her palm cool and dry. Her intense dark eyes met his own when she asked, “How about I start today, Tyler Galpin?” 

Chapter Text

Bianca and Xavier were late, of course. Tyler wouldn’t normally be annoyed, but he had been busy throughout the morning trying to get Wednesday’s hiring paperwork up and running. She had brought the appropriate identifications (he had grinned goofily that she had assumed she was going to get hired enough to bring a whole, damn birth certificate and social security card with her). However, the fact that she had been born in Romania proved to be a small kink in his plans. 

“The payroll software is really mad that you weren’t born somewhere in the US,” he grumbled, cursing as another error message popped up saying that the Romanian country code wasn’t valid. 

She crossed her arms tightly across her middle before saying, “A computer program just as biased and ethnocentric as Nevermore. Seems apropos.” 

That made him pause. He certainly hadn’t expected that sentiment from what was probably Nevermore’s star pupil. “Sorry about this,” he groaned, before throwing up his hands. “I’ll wrestle with that later. Let’s go ahead and get you a tour of the store.” 

He was in the middle of showing her the way they shelved the books based on themes and subgenres, and he was about to show her how they had categorized her series on the “Blood & Guts” section but was interrupted by a swift knock at the door. 

“That would be the morning crew,” Tyler muttered, checking his phone for the time, realizing they were a solid twenty minutes past the time they were supposed to arrive. “And showing up at their regular time, which is always late as fuck.” He paused and then swiftly said, “Uh, sorry about the language.”

She raised an appraising eyebrow. “Have you read my books?”

He had , in fact, and knew that she was no stranger to literally any curse word in the English language (and some in Spanish). Also, now that he was really musing on it, she seemed to not shy away from the entire human experience, including some of the more vivid… spicy scenes that he’d ever read. Tyler didn’t have long to linger on that thought, however, because another knock pounded on the front door’s glass panes, and Xavier’s voice whined, “Come on, man. We know you’re in there. We can see the cafe lights on.” 

Rolling his eyes and swallowing a rather derogatory remark, Tyler marched towards the front door, making sure to level a less-than-pleased glare at the two of them. They were both shivering in the coolness of the morning and seemed completely undeterred by his pissed-off expression. 

Unlocking the front door, Tyler swung it open and grumbled sardonically, “So nice of you to join us.” 

Bianca rolled her eyes at him before she stopped, gave him an inquisitive look. “Us?” 

“Yep!” Tyler chirped, the venom in his glare dissolving easily. He always had a hard time staying mad for longer than a couple of seconds when it came to the Prose & Cons crew. “Guys, we just made a new hire, so wanted to introduce you to…”

“Wednesday?!” Both Xavier and Bianca stopped dead in their tracks, mouths slightly agape at the person standing next to him. Tyler glanced down in surprise at Wednesday, but her expression was as blank as usual, eying both of her new coworkers without a hint of emotion.

Well, of course, why hadn’t he thought of that? They were all Nevermore University students, all the same age. It was a small, private university, each class only with a couple hundred students at most. Of course they would all know each other. Tyler felt suddenly pretty stupid, standing there in the middle of all of them, not amongst the elite Nevermore club.

“Uh, well, I guess you all know each other already?” Tyler offered meagerly, feeling suddenly very sheepish. Bianca provided him a stare that made him feel even more like an idiot; she had the unique ability to do that with her disarming pale eyes.

Xavier ran a hand through his long hair, flicking it out of his eyes. There was always something oddly superior about him, like he was gracing everyone with his presence. Shrugging he said, his voice forcefully casual, “Uh, yeah, I guess Wednesday and I dated for a bit.” 

At this, Wednesday snorted, completely derisively. Tyler stared wide-eyed at her; it was the most emotion he had seen her exhibit in the entire couple of hours he had known her.

“I would hardly call having subpar sexual intercourse once as dating ,” she leveled back at Xavier, her voice as deadpan as usual. 

Tyler almost choked on his own saliva. He had overheard certain bits and pieces from Enid’s gossip sessions that there was always a tangled web of almost-incestuous encounters at Nevermore University, but for some reason, he hadn’t thought that it would rear its ugly head at Prose & Cons. 

Holding his arms out in a placating gesture, Tyler offered, “Okay, okay, my bad. I should have assumed that you all are already… well acquainted?” Did that work for whatever was happening right now in the tense space between all of them? Shit. Shit, shit, shit . Why did he have to keep hiring Nevermore students? No matter that the one he had just hired seemed smart as a tack and could make a mean espresso and probably could rake in a good amount of tip money since she had that grim reaper Barbie vibe. Still, when would he ever learn? Tyler ran a tired hand over his face and said, “So, I guess we don’t have to do introductions? That's good, right?”

The venomous glare that Xavier and Bianca gave him only confirmed that he might have a problem.

Great. Fucking great. 

Sighing, Tyler felt the shift inside him, the one he hated the most. It was the personality shift that he had to don when things got sticky, when Xavier was being a real turd, or when Enid and Ajax couldn’t keep their hands off each other in the middle of their damn shift . It was the manager persona, the one that felt too old and too ridiculous for his twenty-three-year-old body. “Guys, this is happening. It’s not up for debate. Wednesday is going to start training today in the cafe. She’ll be helping with the holiday season. I’m not sure if you all have beef or whatever, but while we’re here, we have to work like a team.” He glared at all of them, trying to stop all debate on the subject. “And you’re late. Both of you. Stop that shit or else I’m going to have to tell Laurel.”

Bianca blinked at him and offered him a twitch of her lips that seemed to indicate he was heard but she wasn’t happy about it one iota. Then, her pale eyes shifted to Wednesday in an unkind way but she walked toward the break room without any further verbal objection. 

Xavier, however, couldn’t help himself to a smug grin in both of their directions. “Sounds good to me, boss ,” he said to Tyler in a tone that indicated that he didn’t respect Tyler in the slightest. Then, his lips curled in a way that felt a thousand percent slimy as he said to Wednesday, “It’s good to see you again, Wednesday.” 

If looks could murder someone right on the spot, Wednesday Addams would have succeeded immediately in killing Xavier Thorpe. His grimy smile dissolved at her glare and he simply shrugged like it hadn’t affected him, scuttling away to the back room to grab his work apron. 

There was a long stretch of silence where Tyler felt himself only mentally cursing himself. And maybe Enid as well. The woman knew what she was doing when she had personally recommended Wednesday as an employee, knew the history that apparently held heavy over both Xavier and Bianca and Wednesday. It felt charged in a way that was not conducive to overall workplace harmony. 

“Well, sorry about all that?” Tyler hedged, eying Wednesday, trying to gauge if she was going to quit right on the spot. “They’re both always a pain in the ass, but usually… less so?” 

She swiveled her wide eyes to him. “Stop being kind,” she said blankly. “They’re always a pain in the ass.” Then, shrugging, she added, “I’m used to having a nemesis or two. This isn’t an issue.” 

“Uh, okay?” He offered, not sure how to parse all of this. He’d try to create as harmonious a working environment as possible. Bianca and Xavier got along well enough, verging on flirting on a fairly regular basis. Enid and Ajax… well, that was going too well. But this? This might throw a real kink in the whole Prose & Con dynamic. But, to be fair, Bianca and Xavier were bookstore-facing employees and he and Wednesday would be barista-facing. So maybe the small division would be enough to keep the peace, or at least for the two-and-a-half-month stint? 

God, he had made a mess, hadn’t he?

But then, Wednesday walked towards a row of books, plucked one from the stacks, and asked, “Why is there a proliferation of books with cats on the cover?” 

Tyler grinned before launching on the popularity of cozy mysteries, completely pleased at the horrified expression on Wednesday’s face. 

–

Things were going alarmingly well. 

The store opened with a flurry of customers, the sudden chilly weather blowing both Jericho locals and the staff and student body of Nevermore to come in droves. Tyler had handled the till and the customer service facing part of the cafe, imparting customer orders to Wednesday, who hardly blinked as he issued the itinerary of various drinks. He had fully expected that he would be making them himself, but she had simply issued a death glare when he tried to help with a vanilla latte. 

“Let’s keep the artwork to a bare minimum,” he mumbled to her when she refused his help with this certain drink. Her lip quirked for only a second in recognition of her earlier message to him via the requested mocha, but she nodded curtly in acknowledgment of his request. 

Literally no one had commentary on the new hire at Prose & Cons, too busy with their own morning routine, until Dean Weems sauntered in on her kitten heels. 

The woman was a tall drink of water in her burgundy suit skirt, her lips a dramatic shade of red. There was something commanding about her that Tyler always appreciated; if he was being honest, he found her command on authority and self-confidence incredibly attractive. If the woman had been even one percent interested in men, he might have shoot his shot with her a while ago just to see what happened, never mind that she was a good fifteen years his senior. 

“Morning, Larissa!” He chimed at her, flashing her the brightest smile. Flirtation was just a natural part of the job, even if they had zero percent interest in the way he grinned at them. “You want that dirty chai extra hot today?” 

Dean Weems smiled warmly at him, clearly flattered by his attention that was landing as well as a deflated balloon. “You must be quite psychic, Tyler, because that’s… exactly what I was thinking.” Her words trailed once she caught sight of Wednesday standing sentry behind him. Then, tipping her head, she said, “Good morning, Ms. Addams. You are…”

“... the new barista,” Wednesday finished blandly, her wide eyes on Dean Weems, revealing nothing. 

The smile on Dean Weems's face was lukewarm at best. “How excellent.” Her lips pursed tightly and then she offered, her voice quiet, “Have you consulted your therapist about that, Wednesday?” 

Tyler blinked and then issued a quick glance over at Wednesday, who looked stoical at the question. Instead, she merely averted her gaze, looking intensely out the front windowpanes. “Is that a court-ordered consultation, Dean Weems?” 

Woah. Wait the fuck up. Tyler felt his eyes turn saucer-wide, his stare quickly turning between Dean Weems and Wednesday, feeling again entirely uncomfortable at his odd position as the middle man. 

But, after the briefest moment of consideration, Dean Weems simply sighed heavily and admitted, “No, of course not.” She issued Tyler a warm smile, “And it looks like you have Tyler as your tutor, so you’re in good hands.”

His normal modesty wouldn’t allow for this, so he was about to counter with a self-deprecating joke, but Wednesday interrupted with, “Yes. Agreed. He’s quite tolerable.” 

For some reason, this felt like a high compliment, at least coming from Wednesday.

Larissa Weems paid for the chai, leaving a thirty-percent tip, lifting her to-go cup in a sort of toasting sort of gesture. “Good luck,” she said, issuing that declaration mostly to Tyler. He waited for a long moment until Larissa Weems’s blood-red figure was only a dot on the Jericho city sidewalk before turning around and offering Wednesday an appraising stare. 

“Is there something I might need to know?” Tyler hedged, watching as Wednesday wiped down the milk frother with a vigor that felt slightly manufactured. 

Her dark eyes swiveled to his own. “The application asked only about felonies. I don’t have any.”

“Oh, that’s super reassuring,” Tyler quickly countered sarcastically, pushing up from the counter, and taking a couple of paces towards her. “Wednesday, I’m not really in a place where I can have the law coming in and asking why I hired you. So, some transparency would be excellent.” 

So, there was a problem. The apron that was standard issue for all Prose & Cons employees was entirely too… flattering on Wednesday Addams’s frame. She had pulled it tight around her middle, accentuating the way her hips flared from her waist, how tiny she really was even though there was a powerful vibe that exuded from every part of her. It had been distracting him all morning, and Tyler Galpin was not a man easily distracted. But, there was something about the juxtaposition between Wednesday’s tiny physicality and her aura that made Tyler hesitate as he tried to impose his taller frame over her own. 

And Wednesday seemed entirely unintimidated, her wide eyes up at him, stopping him from coming a step closer. “When I was in high school, I had… anger management issues,” she said, her voice even. “To appease the courts, I need to attend counseling sessions until I’m out of university.” She shrugged, dropping his gaze. “It’s not a problem. Not anymore. I’ve learned that revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.” 

Tyler froze, completely caught off guard. The story was entirely too relatable, a flash of his own high school panning through his mind. And him, so angry, so furious, the blood on his knuckles, the way his own father had slammed the door to his bedroom, told him that he had practically given up on him, only boot camp could fix him. 

But, after all, it was, really, none of his business. As long as he hadn’t hired a fugitive, Tyler had no reason to inquire further, and the way that Wednesday was holding herself truly encouraged no further conversation. 

He nodded. “Fair enough,” and then, for no reason really, he offered, “If it helps, I’m kind of… in the same boat.” 

Wednesday’s dark eyes flashed up at him, but before he could offer an explanation, the trill of an all-too-familiar voice cut through their conversation: “Yohoo! Earth to Tyler Galpin! Your MVP is in the house!”

His teeth ground together involuntarily. Laurel Gates had the impeccable talent to really dampen all vibes. 

Turning, Tyler flashed his most brilliant smile to the woman behind him. She was decked in a smart ensemble of a gray leather jacket and a ridiculously poofy houndstooth scarf, her moto jeggings hugging every part of the bottom half of her body. Laurel Gates wasn’t an unattractive woman, not in the slightest, but there was an entirely slimy quality about her that was an immediate turn-off. Tyler couldn’t help but feel his skin crawl every time that she issued her own branded grin at him. 

“Hey, Laurel!” Tyler greeted, the sanguine tone practically dripping with falsities. Thankfully, for him, Laurel Gates was a piss-poor judge of character. “I was just making a mocha for you! It’s almost like I can totally tell that you’re on your way.” 

Her grin was borderline sensual, and she leaned herself towards him. “I knew I made you store manager for a reason.” Ugh. Tyler swallowed a small gulp of bile. “And make it extra hot. The wind is totally rude this morning. I think winter is going to be brutal. But you know… good for the coffee business!” 

And then, she caught sight of Wednesday. Laurel literally did a  double-take, blinking rapidly. 

“Um, hello?” she offered, flicking her gaze between Tyler and Wednesday. “And who’s this?”

Tyler smiled sweetly at her, preparing the espresso for Laurel’s mocha. As much as he trusted Wednesday with the rest of the drinks, he knew Laurel’s mocha was cloyingly sweet, something that he suspected Wednesday would offer her best middle-finger artwork towards. 

“Laurel, this is Wednesday Addams.” Wednesday only gazed wide-eyed, completely devoid of all visible emotion. “Wednesday, this is Laurel Gates, owner of Prose & Cons.”

The smile on Laurel’s face was a thousand percent fake and when she cooed at Wednesday, “Are you the new holiday hire?” Tyler knew he was in trouble. 

After handing Laurel her mocha, she crooked her finger at him, indicating that she wanted to talk to him in the back office. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking shit . The last thing he needed was to be on both Dean Weems and Laurel Gates’s radar. Plus, as he walked towards the break room after issuing a quick sorry, be right back to Wednesday, Bianca offered him a smug grin that seemed to say I told you so . 

Goddamit, he was getting fired today, wasn’t he? 

Honestly, Tyler was slightly relieved. This job, despite the minimal promotion he had received in the past months, was the worst-paying managerial position in all of Jericho. He was a junior in college and managing staff and inventory and even issuing the regular marketing programs for this dumb (but admittedly, cool) bookstore. And he still had to live with three dumbass guys who insisted that smoking dope on the roof of their house at three in the morning was a normal Tuesday. God, he was so done. Let Laurel Gates rip him a new one for hiring the weird Goth girl, even if she was totally capable of running the cafe single-handedly. 

Once they were back in the store’s office, Laurel turned to him and hissed venomously, “Do you know who you just hired?” 

Tyler was already prepared for the inevitable firing, so he unclenched his fists and said, “Uh, yeah? Her name is Wednesday? I know she’s kind of got… grim reaper Barbie vibes, but did you know that she is actually the author of…”

“Her mother is Morticia Frump,” Laurel hissed, closing the office door with a slam that was anything but subtle. She leaned against the closed door, glaring up at Tyler. “Does that ring a fucking bell, Galpin?”

Uh, yes. Yes, it did. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing internally. 

Morticia Frump was Laurel Gates's brother’s ex-girlfriend. The one who, after she broke up with him, had driven him into a depression so deep that he had almost killed himself. Thankfully, he had been unsuccessful, but he was still in the custody of Willowhill Psychiatric Hospital, even all those decades after their relationship was over. Tyler had heard the story over hushed conversations and in potlucks and basically everywhere in Jericho. It was kind of a cherished local fairytale or something: the strange Nevermore girl who had bewitched Garret Gates, son of the powerful Judge Ansel Gates, into almost killing himself.

To be fair and entirely clear, Tyler had always known that none of this was Morticia Frump’s fault. Also, Tyler was no stranger to the ins and outs of mental health: obviously, Garrett had some deeper-seated issues to work out other than Morticia Frump breaking up with him. But, that was an opinion he had kept to himself for no other reason than it had felt entirely like none of his business.

Until now. Now the complete messiness of the situation was coming for him. Him and Wednesday. But it wasn’t his fault that all this happened years ago and it wasn’t hers either. 

But that didn’t seem to deter Laurel when she said, “You have to tell her that it isn’t going to work out.” 

Tyler blinked, taken aback. He had fully expected that he was going to be let go, not asked to let someone else go. “Um, no?” the words came out of his mouth before he could really evaluate them. 

Laurel looked entirely shocked. She had gotten used to him complying immediately, a placating expression spread across his face every single second of the day. The smile that cracked her face was completely menacing. “Excuse me?” She asked, and then followed up with, “I think I heard you wrong.”

“You didn’t,” Tyler said quickly, surprised at the rage brewing in his belly. “We can’t let an employee go because of something their parents did thirty years prior.”

Laurel's smile turned more lethal, almost crazed. “We can do whatever the fuck we want, Tyler. This is an at-will state.” She took a step closer to him and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Tyler worked his jaw to keep himself from slapping her hand away from his face. “So, I need you to be my good little manager and go back out on the floor to tell Wednesday Addams that her services are no longer needed.”

It had been a long time since Tyler had felt his old anger boil in his chest. He had actually taken his therapy sessions to heart, practicing daily meditation and trying out breathing exercises to help quell that lick of angry flame that so easily consumed him back in high school. But right now? Right now he was fucking livid. Tyler wasn’t sure if it was because all of this felt so unfair or if it was because Laurel was using him like a bargaining chip or if because he hadn’t really slept well for almost a week or what it really was, but he could literally feel the steam rise off his face.

And maybe part of it was that he had a weird hunch that Wednesday Addams had gotten used to this kind of rejection, based on the way literally every person this morning seemed to skirt around her like she was a kind of plague. An attractive plague, but one nonetheless. And Tyler knew how it felt to be treated like that, and it made his skin crawl.

So, finally, he said, keeping his tone measured. “ I’m not firing her, Laurel. She’s probably the best barista we’ve hired in a long time and we need the help before this place becomes a madhouse during the holidays.” He took stock of Laurel’s face, watching as her delirious smile dissolved. Tyler took a deep breath before he issued his next statement, “If you want to fire her, fine. It’s your business. Go for it. Just know if you fire her, I’m leaving, too. Because firing her because of her mom is total bullshit, and you know it.”

Holy shit, he had done it. He had basically tendered his resignation. The inside of him panicked, quickly calculating how long he could pay his rent and live off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until his meager bank account was drained. Another part of him thrilled as he surveyed Laurel’s reaction: it flickered only briefly with a type of rage he rarely saw before being covered up with a sanguine fake smile. She was going to fire him, and you know what? Good fucking riddance.

But instead, she only sighed. “That’s cute,” Laurel finally said, nodding her head like she understood something. “I’m happy for you, Tyler, really I am. I thought for a little while there that maybe you were one of those asexual kids that are so popular now.”

Tyler clenched his fists. Of course, Laurel Gates would be a fucking social orientation bigot. It just completed the picture of her neatly.

Laurel shrugged. “But I get it: she’s a cute girl. I guess. If you’re into that pale Goth chick shit.”

He balked and then stammered out an objection, “I’m not a fucking creep, Laurel. I didn’t hire her so that I could hit on her. She’s genuinely a great fit for the job.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Laurel brushed past Tyler and pressed one of the keys on the laptop unnecessarily hard in order to wake it up. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tyler. Or maybe that’s the plan: she’s going to be sleeping with you soon?” Laurel sent a teasing eyebrow in his direction.

What. The. Actual. Fuck. He had endured a lot of bullshit over the years from Laurel Gates, including essentially getting sexually harassed on the daily, but now she was going too far. It wasn’t just him she was being a real bitch about, she was being a bully to someone else in her employment and not even doing it to their face. Tyler felt the anger inside him swell and he couldn’t stop the flush on his face from visibly showing. 

“Oh, look,” Laurel said, almost giggling. “Looks like I really touched a nerve, didn’t I?”

She was needling him. Tyler blinked, seeing it now. There was something about her that seemed secretly thrilled at how he was seething. Well, fuck that , he wasn’t going to give her that pleasure.

Running a hand roughly across his face, Tyler reset himself quickly with a deep breath. Then, he said, “I’m going back to do my job, Laurel. Feel free to let me know if I’m no longer employed. Until then, there’s a ton of shit we’ve got to get done.” When he looked up to gauge her face, she was practically pouting. A small ping of victory lighted in his chest at throwing her off so thoroughly.

Then, she huffed before flicking up a piece of paper that had been lying on the desk. “What the fuck is this, Tyler?” 

Sighing, he realized he forgot to throw away Enid’s note about the till being short. At least now they were back to problems that he was used to and away from the very pointed problem of Wednesday Addams.

-

Enid flounced in, actually early for her shift for once. And flounced was literally the only description that Tyler could ascribe to how she entered the store. She was wearing an array of colors: a bright orange pair of leggings and a mustard yellow sweater tunic. 

When she saw Bianca, she smiled brightly and said, “Hey girly! You coming out tonight for drinks?”

Bianca gave her the most judgmental once-over before saying, “You look like you skinned Big Bird and are wearing his pelt as a coat.” 

Enid either completely understood the sarcasm in Bianca’s voice and decided to ignore it or it went completely over her head. “I know, right?” Enid beamed at Bianca. “Cute, huh?” 

Tyler swallowed a laugh. He liked Enid the most of all of them. Her unflappable positive attitude was like a damn ray of sunshine amongst Xavier and Bianca’s moody dispositions. 

“So, drinks?” Enid asked, leaning against the cashier counter that Bianca was manning. They had hit the mid-afternoon lull with only a couple of people browsing the stacks. Applying a thick layer of glittery lip gloss to her mouth, Enid turned, saw Tyler working on taking the inventory and waved.

“Tyler! Drinks? You know you want to!” Her voice was practically a chirp.

Tyler suppressed an eye roll; Enid was constantly trying to get him to go out with the lot of them after the night shift closed up. Sometimes he did, but only for a single beer, and he had to drink it quickly because Enid and Ajax devolved into demands for ridiculous shots fairly early on in their outings. The last thing he needed was to get drunk with a slew of Nevermore students whom he had to not only see the next day at work but had to technically be their boss. Not to mention he always felt like the odd one out as the conversation generally revolved around Nevermore classes and gossip. 

“If you promise you’ll keep showing up early to your shift, I’ll go out whenever you want, Enid,” he said teasingly and the pink-haired woman practically glowed in his direction. 

Then, she revealed why she was really here early: “So… have you had the interview with Wednesday yet?” She leaned in, offering her sweetest smile. It wasn’t flirtatious, and Tyler always appreciated that about Enid: her kindness was a hundred percent no strings attached.

Bianca huffed, loudly. Then, crossing her arms across her chest, she grumbled, “So that’s how we got stuck with having Wednesday Addams as a coworker. Couldn’t keep your combative roommate to yourself, could you, Enid?” 

Enid’s eyes widened almost comically large before a high-pitched squeal peeled out from her. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, muttering, “We’ve talked about this, Enid. Not while customers are in here.”

But Enid thoroughly ignored him and cast her eyes wildly around the store. She found Wednesday’s dark slight form behind the cafe station quickly; she was in the middle of pumping a cup of drip coffee for a customer with a thoroughly disgusted look on her face. Tyler sighed; he’d had to talk to her about veiling her opinions a little better despite how intensely she felt about certain types of caffeinated beverages. 

“Wednesday! Oh my god, I can’t believe it!” Enid ran over to her friend, thoroughly ignoring the customer who was bemusedly waiting for his cup of coffee. She rushed behind the counter, embracing Wednesday in a bear hug. Wednesday didn’t quite reciprocate but she also didn’t flinch away from her roommate’s embrace; Tyler suspected that not issuing a violent rejection was as close as Wednesday Addams got to a hug. 

“Hello, Enid,” Wednesday said primly. She handed the coffee cup to the customer with a lethal scowl. The customer, in turn, quickly paid with a tap of his credit card and scuttled away. Tyler watched him go, almost laughing and then halting when he thought about the scathing message he might receive later on the Prose & Cons Facebook business page: your employee looked like she wanted to end my life, what kind of customer service is that?!

“Why didn’t you text me, bestie?” Enid moaned, still clutching her friend in a tight grip. “I’ve been on pins and needles all day!” 

“You know I refuse to be a slave to technology,” Wednesday said, flicking on the frothing wand with her usual venomous mood. The machine spat and Enid shrunk away, finally releasing her hold on Wednesday. “Why would I text you when I knew I would see you later today?” 

Enid huffed at that. “Because texting is fun!”

Wednesday's glare only confirmed that she did not, in fact, think that texting was fun. 

It was then that Xavier sleepily wandered his way over to the commotion. Tyler had been acutely aware that he had been napping in the small book alcove for the last twenty minutes, but he honestly didn’t have the energy to wake the lazy asshole up and deal with his mood.

Enid, upon seeing Xavier, perked up immediately and then offered a coy smile at Wednesday. “Oh yeah! Did I mention that Xavier works here too?” 

Xavier offered another one of his crooked grins that made Tyler’s skin crawl. “I think it was a happy surprise. For the both of us.”

Again, Tyler was shocked that Xavier Thorpe didn’t drop utterly dead from the look that Wednesday leveled at him. Her voice was flat when she said, “Surprise, yes. Happy, never.” 

Xavier’s face fell, but Tyler heard Bianca issue a small snort like she had at least thought it was pretty funny. He had to agree with Bianca, trying to purse his lips to hide the smug grin that had formed on his face. 

What he didn’t like was that gleam in Enid’s eye, apparently undeterred by Wednesday’s scathing reply. She was eying the two of them like she had a million machinations brewing in her mind and Tyler had an odd sinking suspicion taking form: Enid had vouched for her friend not only because Wednesday wanted a job but because she had some scheme to force Wednesday and Xavier into some sort of meet-cute. Or whatever a meet-cute was after two people had already been… intimate. Although the idea that cool-headed Wednesday Addams would engage in any such activities seemed odd to Tyler, he remembered certain passages in her novels and maybe it didn’t seem so odd to him anymore. He ducked his head, feeling an odd blush coming over his face as he recalled fairly vividly one of the scenes where Viper had chained the attractive villain and interrogated him by grinding herself up against him, getting him almost to a point of release before backing off cruelly. It had been admittedly a hot scene, especially when Viper got the information from the villain and then lowered herself onto him so that she could milk out numerous orgasms from him. Then, chiding himself, he tried to make himself look busy by burying himself in taking inventory. This was not a healthy line of thought for him to engage in, not when everything was already pretty precarious with Prose & Con’s newest hire.

That said, he still didn’t like the way that Enid was looking secretively between Wednesday and Xavier like she could just eat them up in some sort of delicious scheme. 

The front door opened and Ajax strolled in, smelling entirely like ivory soap and pot. His coily hair peeked out of the beanie that was almost permanently attached to his head.  

“Yo!” Ajax greeted, a lackadaisical grin plastered lazily on his face. Tyler rolled his eyes; if Ajax’s work was actually impacted by being stoned, he might say something about it, but the man was a better employee when he was high. 

Ajax caught sight of Wednesday quickly and his grin grew even larger. 

“Babe!” Enid called out, waving at him like Ajax couldn’t find her in a crowd. “Babe, check it out! Wednesday is our new barista!”

“Sick!” Ajax offered before walking over to Enid and placing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on her lips. Sighing, Tyler almost said something, but the store was relatively empty so he decided to keep his admonishment about staff PDA to himself this time. “Welcome to the team, Wednesday. I’m guessing you’ve met all these crazy motherfuckers already?” 

“Considering I’ve already been here for eight hours and most of us attend the same university, yes, I’ve met everyone,” Wednesday offered, wiping down the countertops. “I’m guessing that you’re my replacement?” She gave Ajax a once-over like she couldn’t believe that this was the person who would be her substitute. 

“The one and only!” Ajax grinned at her, wrapping his arm around Enid’s waist affectionately, his one hand snaking down to issue a small squeeze on her ass. For fuck’s sake, who were these animals he worked with? Tyler was about to say something this time, but Ajax pointed at him good-naturedly and said, “Tyler! My man, drinks! Tonight!”

He issued them all a small crooked grin. “I don’t know… I’ve got a paper due that I really need to start working on.”

“Ah, man, fuck that paper!” Ajax said, loud enough that one frizzy-haired patron did issue them all a rather withering stare. Tyler offered her an apologetic expression which she only returned with a scowl.  

“Could you all maybe keep the cursing down to a non-shouting level?” He hissed at them, but his venom evaporated when Ajax clearly winced and proffered a quick My bad, my bad . 

“But seriously, dude,” Ajax added, his voice much quieter this time. “Come on . You haven’t come out with us in ages. And it’s Wednesday’s first day, we gotta go out to celebrate. For like… team bonding and shit. I mean, team bonding and crap.” 

Tyler eyed all of them for a long second. Bianca merely shrugged and said, “I don’t have other plans, so I guess I’m in.” Xavier stared at Wednesday for a long moment as if he was hoping she’d offer him some sort of sign that she was planning on attending. Wednesday, for her part, was not even giving Xavier an indication that she was aware of his existence. In fact, her round dark eyes were only locked on Tyler, like she was waiting for him to say something. Her declaration that she was a bit spooky wasn’t completely inaccurate; her large eyes had a strange effect on him that almost had him squirming. 

“What about you, Wednesday?” Enid asked, her voice cloyingly sweet as she cast one more glance between her roommate and Xavier. “You’re coming out, right?” 

“I had been planning on working on my manuscript,” she answered, eyes still fixed on him, unblinking. “But I’ll go out if Tyler does.” 

“Oh shit!” Ajax yelped, laughing. “Nice one, Wednesday!” Clapping Tyler on the back, he said, “She straight up trapped you, man. Now you gotta go… Wednesday never goes out, so you got to go or else we won’t have that chance again in like… a billion years.”

Well, great. Tyler sighed, eyeing the lot of them. He really needed to work on that damn paper, especially since he was supposed to have ten different notations included. With work and classes and the craziness of getting the store inventory updated before holiday shopping started, he had literally done zero research on the subject. And it was due next week.

But Wednesday’s eyes were unflinching in their gaze, and now the entire staff was staring at him as if their lives depended on it. 

Fuck it. 

“Yeah, sure,” he groaned and when they all cheered, he quickly added, “But just one drink. For real, you all.” 

“Sure, man,” Ajax said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Just one drink. Totally.” 

Chapter Text

Tyler realized quickly that he would most definitely not be getting just one drink. In fact, as he toasted his third shot, he realized that he’d be lucky to get out of the bar not totally trashed. 

The night hadn’t even started out tame. They all had agreed that they would meet up at the Pilgrim’s Pint, the grubby dive bar that skirted the edge of town right before the road slid into the private drive up into Nevermore University. Tyler was glad they decided on Pilgrim’s Pint versus the more swanky places that some of the Nevermore students sometimes haunted on the weekend, their parent’s black and platinum credit cards on display as they wracked up their bar tabs. He always felt hella out of place at those sorts of establishments. 

Also, his roommate, Jonah, worked at Pilgrim’s Pint. Which was good because there was always a free drink that would pop up somewhere in the night. It was bad because the free drink was usually a shot of horrible well whiskey. And Tyler felt like a dick refusing a free drink, so he always drank it, and the next thing he knew he was playing a vigorous game of beer pong at four in the morning even though he had to be Prose & Cons at seven. 

That was what was happening now. He had hardly walked through the threshold of Pilgrim’s Pint when Jonah hollered at him, poured two oversized shots, and insisted that Tyler toast with him immediately. He cursed himself for being such a damn pushover as he slid the whiskey down his gullet, feeling the burn of the cheap liquor crawl over his body.

“Okay, man, enough of that shit,” he said, laughing, feeling the alcohol already burn a hole in his willpower. Why hadn’t he at least grabbed more for dinner than a spoonful of peanut butter and a slice of cheap American cheese? He was going to be a goner, and soon. “Give me just a light beer and a water.” 

“You can put it on my tab,” came a flat voice behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, not expecting Wednesday Addams to be directly behind him, glaring up at him with those fiery dark eyes. 

“Holy shit, you really do make a hobby out of scaring the shit out of people,” he breathed before issuing her a good-natured grin, one that she didn’t return in the slightest. At her nonplussed expression, Tyler merely chuckled before turning to Jonah and saying, “Jonah, this is Wednesday. She’s the newest member of Prose & Cons.”

“Oh, we’ve been introduced,” Jonah said, looking thoroughly spooked by Wednesday's presence. “She told me that she would hang, drown, and quarter me if I gave her well scotch again.” 

She shrugged. “Criminal actions have consequences. I don’t make the rules.” 

“Uh, yeah, you actually do. That’s a rule that you literally just made up,” Jonah countered, using his bar key to flip open a beer for Tyler and then pulling down a higher-shelf scotch and pouring it with soda water into a small tumbler. “Good luck with that one, Tyler,” Jonah grumbled and then said, “And no water, Galpin. Don’t be a pussy.” 

Rolling his eyes at his roommate, Tyler handed the scotch to Wednesday, who was leveling a venomous glare at Jonah as he went back to other customers. 

“Charming, isn’t he?” Tyler asked before chuckling at her furious expression. “He’s actually not half-bad most of the time. Or, I think so? We’ve been friends so long that I don’t really know anymore.” 

“This is why I don’t have friends,” Wednesday replied tartly, sipping lightly on her drink. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Um, don’t let Enid hear you say that. You’d think you two shared a womb the way that she talks about you.” 

Wednesday blinked and then said thoughtfully, “Enid doesn’t count. I find her company a good foil for my own. She’s more like a ying to my yang, like we have to have each other to work.” 

“So… like friends?”

Thinking, she hummed, “I suppose that’s an acceptable term.” 

So, Wednesday Addams was truly a weirdo, Tyler realized, although he thought that with admiration. She was taking another hearty sip of her drink and it dawned on him that she was on at least her second drink and with her whole hundred pounds, she was going to be in trouble soon.

“You want a water? I know Jonah was a dick when I asked him, but he’d give you one.” He went to flag down his roommate again, but Wednesday stopped him with a quick, “Don’t bother. I’m fine. I have a high tolerance for a variety of poisons, alcohol included.” 

Of course she would, Tyler thought, shaking his head, issuing her a grin. “You know, I should be the one buying the drinks tonight. It’s really good to have you on the team, Wednesday.”

She blinked up at him, clearly disarmed by his sincere statement. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn a slight amount of color stained her cheeks before she said, “Consider this my way of saying… thanks… for not terminating me even though I’m pretty sure your boss would have liked to see nothing more than for me to pack my proverbial bags.” 

He almost choked on a sip of beer. How in the hell had she known that? Had he and Laurel been obtusely loud in the back room? No, he’d gotten into outright shouting matches with Xavier back there and Bianca had been none the wiser. Or she had just acted like she hadn’t heard anything; that was a strong possibility. 

So, instead of quickly denying it, Tyler hedged, “Laurel is usually… fine?” That was a damn lie, but it was as far of a stretch of the truth that he felt comfortable with. “But sometimes she can be kind of moody, I guess.” 

Wednesday met his gaze. “I’m not an idiot, Tyler. I’m fully aware of the story regarding my mother and Garrett Gates.”

Well, shit. Tyler guessed there wasn’t any point in mincing words anymore. He offered her a sympathetic glance and said, “If it’s of any consolation, I think the Gates are absolutely batshit crazy.” 

“More than me?” She eyed him over the rim of her tumbler. 

He chuckled, shaking his head before replying, “You’re not batshit crazy. I thought we already established that: you’re spooky .” 

Then, miracle of miracles, he actually got a grin on her face, if only for a second, before it disappeared behind another sip of alcohol. 

Then, from across the bar: “My dude!” Tyler looked up to see Ajax at the front door of the bar, lighting a joint as he strolled inside. He had his arm slung around Enid’s shoulder and Xavier and Bianca followed, all of them looking pink-cheeked and laughing. They honestly all seemed like they had pre-gamed it, which meant that Ajax and Enid had probably snuck in their flasks again to sip on as they did the closing up. Christ, if he didn’t like all of them so much he would probably have fired them on the spot. 

The pack of them found a table near the dart boards, Ajax shit-talking both Tyler and Xavier into a game. 

“Wednesday, you don’t get to play!” Ajax said and offered the joint to Tyler. When he tried to refuse, Ajax shook it at him and said, “I’m not asking, man, I’m telling.” Tyler rolled his eyes and took a thin puff before coughing profusely. 

“Wait, why can’t Wednesday play?” Tyler asked in between coughs, feeling a little like he should stick up for the wide-eyed and silent woman who was sitting stick-straight at the high-top table. 

She frowned at them all. “Because they are piss-poor losers.”

“Hell yeah, I am!” Ajax laughed heartily before grabbing the darts off the board. 

“She kicks our ass thoroughly every time,” Xavier said, trying to offer Wednesday a kind grin. His usual smarminess had evaporated with a couple of drinks, and Tyler wondered if it was the alcohol in his brain that was making Xavier more palatable or if it was the alcohol’s work on Xavier. Hell, it could be both, because another round of shots was being placed in front of him, courtesy of Enid. It was a horrible fruit-punch-tasting thing that had the awful kick of cheap vodka on the backend. You were supposed to chase it was a lime slice, which just added to the acidity of everything. 

And that’s when Tyler knew he was in trouble. About halfway through the third dart game, the world was turning soft and a little blurry and when he caught himself rolling his very own joint with Ajax, he thought what the fuck am I doing?

“I’m going to press pause on this,” Tyler said, laying the joint down and then rubbing a hand over his face. “I think I’m going to go outside for some air real quick.” 

He must have looked pretty messed up because even Ajax didn’t object, and Enid handed him a glass of water that she had gotten at the bar. He gave her an earnest thanks, earning him a brilliant smile and a ruffling of his hair. Just as he was about to exit, Wednesday said flatly, “I will join you.” Her tone didn’t invite room for debate, so he shrugged and allowed her to get in step with him before they both made their way to the small patio area in the back of the bar.  

There were just a couple of smokers also out on the patio, even though Pilgrim’s Pint didn’t care one iota if you smoked literal crack inside, just as long as you tipped well. The night was chilly but bearable, mild for a Vermont November. 

He leaned against the building’s cool brick wall and took a sip of water. Wednesday stood beside him, silent and seemingly in her own thoughts. She looked into the middle distance, drinking measurably on her possibly fifth or sixth drink of the night. How she wasn’t fall-down sloppy drunk was beyond him. At this point, this waif of a woman was about to drink him under the table.

Tyler eyed her for a second longer than he usually would, the alcohol in his brain dulling the usual warning signs his brain usually issued when he found himself staring too long at a pretty girl. She had the same hairstyle tonight as she had at Prose & Cons: the twin braids, the dark fringe of bang falling lightly in her eyes so that pieces of it moved every time she blinked (which, admittedly, wasn’t often). Her outfit was slightly different though: she wore a black dress that was strategically tight in all the right places, lower cut so that a small crest of cleavage heaved up each time she inhaled. Her legs were clad in black fishnet stockings and she had a pair of platform patent leather black boots that were laced all the way up to her shin. He had spent all damn night pointedly trying to respectfully not gawk at her, but the alcohol was really fucking that up now. 

So, okay, Wednesday Addams was a good-looking woman. He had known that the second he had seen her glaring at him in the breakroom. But that was not why he had hired her, Laurel could go fuck herself. 

He cleared his throat more to reset himself than anything. “Water?” He offered, pushing his glass over to her. 

Wednesday considered him for a long moment, and then she pushed her index finger under the glass so that it was tipped against her mouth. She took a slight sip, but his hands were still clutched around the glass. Her intense dark eyes met his own as she swallowed leisurely. And did she lick her fucking lips after she swallowed? 

Well, that settled it: he was officially a pervert. Because whatever the fuck Wednesday had just done had gone straight to his cock. He should just pack it up right then, call an Uber and get way the fuck out of there. He had hit that stage where he couldn’t be drunk and be in public and being here with this intensely beautiful girl who was also his coworker was only going to make a fool of him. And what was worse was that he was three thousand percent sure that she was not flirting with him, so his visceral reaction was just him being an inappropriate idiot.

Girls like Wednesday Addams didn’t flirt with townie boys like him. They weren’t even in the same stratosphere. 

Sure, Tyler had a couple flings with some members of the Nevermore University student body. There had been Yoko, who admittedly only wanted to make out with him to make sure she wasn’t into guys after all (spoiler alert: she most definitely was not). He’d briefly dated Kat Parks, who was one of the few students on a full ride to Nevermore, and although she had been drop-dead gorgeous, they both had about as much chemistry as oil and water. And lastly, there had been Kent, whom Tyler had met at a house party. They both had got really wasted and Kent was damn pretty for a dude, and fuck it, Tyler always wanted to confirm that he was into guys as much as he was into girls (spoiler alert: he was). 

But, there were those girls like Wednesday who he knew were something special, who were at Nevermore University not only because their parents were loaded but because they were brilliant in a way that transcended just being smart. They were the type of people who had it in them to save the world. Or burn it to the ground in Wednesday’s case. 

Also, Tyler Galpin had zero game. How he had even managed to swindle some people into being romantically linked to him was a mystery unto itself. 

And to really drive home the point that his game was clearly in the basement level, he cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, “So… Romania, huh?”

Wednesday gave him an incredulous stare like she wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. 

What the actual fuck was wrong with him? But he was too far into this line of questioning, so he tried again, “You were born in Romania? Do you… have family there?” 

She blinked slowly at him, like no one had ever asked her this before. Then, finally, she said, “You could say that.” Taking a leisurely slow drink of her scotch, she added, “My Uncle is a Count there, and I’m the heir of the estate.” 

He practically choked on the sip of water he was working on. “A Count? Like royalty or something?”

Her dark eyes swiveled towards him, evaluating him. “If you’re referring to elitist hierarchies that are based on nothing more than winning genetic lotteries, then yes , I guess it is like royalty.” 

Well, damn. As if Wednesday Addams wasn’t unapproachable as is, now he found out that she basically some Eastern European princess. Seemed fitting, with her prim air and perfect posture.

Lifting his water glass towards her, he said, “Well, congrats on winning the genetic lottery.” Then he tipped his head at her in a mock bow, “My liege.” Tyler winced both internally and physically at that. Goddammit, he was such a dork. And he was drunk. Officially drunk.

Wednesday, to her credit, looked vaguely amused. In fact, there was almost a small grin on her face. But, she shrugged and said, “The hope is that I’ll piss off their royal sensitivities enough that they’ll skip me and go directly to my younger brother.” She shrugged, “He has a much more amenable disposition towards these types of things.” 

“Huh. You’re a big sister. Makes sense,” he said, stating the obvious, but when her eyes again looked intensely on him, Tyler quickly qualified his statement, “I mean, you totally have that fuck with my brother and die vibe.” 

Again, he was awarded with another quirk of a smile. “Indeed. It’s what got me into trouble in high school.” 

Ah, so they were going to get looped back to the conversation that had been interrupted earlier today by the passive-aggressive greeting of Laurel Gates. He leaned back against the wall and said, “You totally don’t have to share. But as one high school delinquent to another, I would love to hear it.” 

Wednesday was quiet for a long second and then eyed his glass of water skeptically. “If I tell you, you have to do something for me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“Get a real drink.” 

-

He had, indeed, gotten a “real drink” which had been one of Wednesday’s scotch and sodas, which he discovered with despair was a double . The fiber that made up Wednesday Addams must have had supernatural abilities because he took one sip and felt a shiver roll up his entire body. 

“Um, are you sure you didn’t order rocket fuel instead of a cocktail?” He asked, realizing that this was definitely not the direction he needed the evening to turn. He glanced briefly at his phone, noticing that the time was ticking towards midnight (and two missed calls from his dad). What he really needed to do was be on the way to sober, not getting more drunk. But a pretty girl with big eyes was buying him drinks and so, you know what? Fuck it.

“If it’s not painful, is it even worth drinking?” Wednesday asked, but there was nothing about the question that encouraged him to even offer an answer. She swung a leg around one of the outdoor patio tables and stared up at him, seemingly her invitation (or demand) to sit down. 

He sat down and felt himself staring at her again. Dammit, he was a mess. It had been a long time since he not only gotten drunk but gotten drunk with a girl who seemed interested in talking to him. Sure, Enid and Bianca were fun, but both gave off little sister vibes and their shared interests were that they worked together, they were around the same age, and they enjoyed getting drinks on occasion. And not that Wednesday was at all putting out any vibes other than she was interested in having a conversation, and he truly didn’t want anything other than that. For fuck’s sake, he was her boss now, right? So yes, of course, he was just glad to get the chance to enjoy a stiff, paid-for drink and talk to what seemed like a fascinating person. 

Now, if only he could tell his cock that. The damn thing had been at half-mast for the past hour and he had to excuse himself to the restroom to make certain… adjustments in order to not make a complete fool of himself. 

But, if Wednesday had noticed, she had the decency not to make a remark. 

After he had settled into the seat, Wednesday took a long swill of her drink and then said nonchalantly, “My high school’s swim team kept insisting on bullying my brother. When they refused to heed my very specific warnings and threats…” She shrugged as if she could only blame the aforementioned bullies, “... I had to make good on such threats and warnings.” 

Tyler had a distinct feeling that said threats and warnings were more than just TP-ing a house or even keying a car. 

“And such threats and warnings were enough for court-ordered therapy sessions?” He asked, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from grinning. 

Wednesday shrugged again, clearly unaffected. “Let’s just say that it wasn’t my fault that they couldn’t out swim a sudden onslaught of piranhas.” Here, Tyler literally spit out his drink, coughing roughly on it. She continued, “Maybe if they spent less time terrorizing freshmen instead of practicing they wouldn’t have had their testicles removed by exotic carnivorous aquatic animals.”

Holy shit. She was a monster. A beautiful, crazy-ass monster that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. 

“Where did you even find piranhas?” He asked, still fully choking on his drink. 

Wednesday was watching him intensely as she was waiting for him to pick up his drink and run from her. Then, slowly, she replied, “The internet is a treasure trove for instruments of death and destruction.” 

He leaned back, surveying her, chuckling lowly to himself. Although part of him thought maybe he should take up on the warning glint in her eyes and make a run for it, another part of him was thoroughly amused by it on the whole. And maybe… just a little turned on? Tyler had to fully admit that the powerful, dangerous woman was his total weakness. The more it seemed like she could crush his head with her pinky finger? The better. 

Also, he wasn’t going anywhere because honestly? He was in the exact same boat.

Swirling the ice in his drink with the tip of his finger, he took a swill before offering, “Just to make it official: no judgment. I kind of… almost killed someone.” He wasn’t looking at her and the silence between them was long, thick even. Tyler thought for a second that maybe his confession had been received just like a lead balloon, with Wednesday slipping away in her cat-like quiet way and leaving him drunk as hell and alone with his sordid confession. But when he looked up, she was staring at him, her chest heaving for some reason that he couldn’t quite figure out. All he did know was that he couldn’t look at the way her cleavage pulsed against her collarbone. He chided himself and forced his eyes to stare back down at his drink. 

Finally, she breathed, and her voice was oddly husky for some reason: “Why? How?” 

Tyler leaned his head back, evaluating the night sky. It had been a great many years since he had done this exercise: the police station (his dad, furious), a school counselor, the boot camp’s stone-faced therapist, his current therapist in their first session. Sighing he said, “I had lots of anger issues in high school. And there was just this one guy? He was just a dick, nothing more, nothing less.” He took a long swig from the drink, wincing as the burn of scotch slid down his throat. “And my mom… she struggled for years from BPD. She fought it for a long time until she just couldn’t fight it anymore.” He paused, feeling a knot in his chest, but he pushed it down. Yes, he was drunk, but this wasn’t the time or place to get emotional about his mom, not in front of someone he had literally just met this morning. “This guy was just trying to needle the fuck out me, said something about my mom… like… taking the coward’s way out?” The knot intensified, and Tyler pushed it down with another drink from his glass. “And I just saw red. Like, I feel like I really just blacked out. The next thing I knew I was getting pulled off him and there was just so much fucking blood.” Sighing, he looked deeply into his glass, eyebrows furrowed. “He ended up being okay. I mean, he was fucked up, had to have his entire nose rebuilt. Was in the hospital for weeks. But he lived.”

They were silent for a long moment. He thought back to that moment, the sixteen-year-old version of himself who pinned down some other kid and beat the life out of his face. His knuckles had been almost shattered, the skin split almost down to the cracked bone. But he hadn’t felt a thing, could only lean fully into his rage like it was the one thing giving him life. And then the afterburn of thinking what the fuck did I just do?  

“I would’ve… I would’ve ripped his fucking soul out of his body.” 

His eyes shot up to her and Wednesday was staring at him like she had finally just seen him for the first time, her eyes shining in the dim light of the moonlight, of the flickering light of the bar’s terrible outdoor lights. Her chest was heaving even more now, like she might be asphyxiating. There was something earnest about her expression, so much so that he almost felt her anger in his own chest. 

Tyler shook his head, trying to rip himself out this moment. He’d had enough therapy about this to know that alcohol and indulging in violent fantasies could land him nowhere good. 

“To be fair, I’ve realized since then that beating the hell out of someone wasn’t going to bring my mom back.”

“Sure,” Wednesday said, quickly, and she leaned in conspiratorially, her dark eyes never leaving his face. “But that doesn’t mean that shit like that needs to be unpunished.” Then, with a thin, grim grin, she said, “If you ever decide that you need to enact revenge via piranha, you know you can count on me.” 

He couldn’t but help a large smile from breaking across his face. God, she was such an insane weirdo, which meant she was only going to keep growing on him. Lifting his glass to her in what seemed like a mock-toast, he said, “Although not the most traditional show of support, I do appreciate it.” 

Wednesday leaned back, stared blankly up at his glass before raising her own and clinking it with his. Her slim, cold fingers brushed his own as their glasses collided. Then, she said lowly, “I’m not really a traditional kind of person.”

“I’m becoming very aware,” Tyler replied, a stupid little smile on his face. 

He suddenly noticed that all the other smokers and outside drinkers had gone inside. Tyler checked his phone again. Fuck. Half past midnight. He really should just call it a night, but when he looked back up at Wednesday, she was staring at him as if she had no intention of going anywhere. 

She broke their brief silence with a flat statement: “You never answered my question.”

He wracked his brain, trying to remember a question that she had asked. The alcohol was thoroughly muddling everything, so he chuckled and said, “Um, sorry? I’m a little… drunk. Remind me what the question was.”

“Correction: you’re not a little drunk. You are thoroughly intoxicated,” Wednesday replied breezily, everything in her tone of voice indicating that she was not even slightly drunk. 

What the hell was this woman made of? Tyler shook slightly his head in disbelief

Wednesday continued, “You should be glad you’re with someone who won’t take advantage of you. Yet, at least.” She took a quaint sip of her drink and then leveled a stare at him that did nothing to help his current crotch situation. 

Tyler told himself for the millionth time tonight he needed to get it the fuck together. Wednesday Addams was just an odd bird. These wide-eyed stares at him were nothing more than her eccentricities. If he had been sober, he could’ve convinced his bodily anatomy of this, but given his current blood-alcohol level, that kind of rationale was not on the docket.

Not deterred by what seemed like his apparently odd beat of quiet, Wednesday said, “I didn’t ask you the question at the bar, though. I asked you at Prose & Cons.”

Again, he tried hard to remember. Today had been… a lot. Trying to pinpoint a certain question at any time during the day was evading him. 

“I asked if you had read my books.” 

Oh. Yeah, she had. Hadn’t he answered her? Tyler cocked his head to the side and realized that they hadn’t really discussed it yet. He’d indicated that he was aware that her books existed, but no other details.

And she was looking at him expectedly, but he was suddenly feeling very sheepish about answering. There was something about it like he had been a real creep and read through her diary. Especially since now that he knew who W.A. Shelley actually was, there were echoes of Viper in Wednesday Addams. 

Finally, he hedged, “Would it be totally weird if I told you that I’ve read all of them?” 

If Wednesday Addams could preen, that would be exactly what she did in response to his question-answer. But, she seemed to quickly cover that reaction with a cool indifference when she said, “You don’t really… look like the average Viper De La Muerte reader.”

He chuckled. No, he didn’t, she totally had a point. There were really two kinds of people who followed that series religiously: unsuspecting middle-aged suburban women who probably had a secret pain kink, and quintessential goth kids. The twenty-something townie guy was definitely not the one who strolled into Prose & Cons and decided to go with the brutal as fuck detective novel about a bisexual badass. 

“What can I say?” Tyler said, finally, shrugging. “I’m a little in love with Viper. I’m a sucker for a strong, borderline-psychopathic female protagonist. Plus, you’re a really good writer, Wednesday.”

Again, it looked like he had ruffled her feathers for a mere second, but she blinked quickly and asked, “They’re not too… racy for you?” She quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh, they’re violent as hell. I have to always let people know they’re probably the most gory books that they’ll ever read.” 

Taking another sip of her drink, she said, “Fair enough. But I wasn’t asking about the violence.” She eyed him, unblinking, when she asked, “I was referring to the books’ smut scenes.”

For the millionth time that night, Tyler physically choked. He tried to keep himself from coughing on his own air like a fish. The woman across from him hadn’t flinched one iota, and was waiting for an answer and all he could do was act like a stupid grade school kid practically giggling about being asked about sex scenes in a book.

Maybe if they weren’t so viscerally rendered he wouldn’t be feeling the heat creep into his face. They were, for all intents and purposes, the most graphic sex scenes he’d ever read, although there was nothing really pornographic about them in the slightest. It was just pure erotica, and he was sure that was a large part of why the mouse-quiet suburban moms came back to the store to get the books on fairly regular occasions.

But Wednesday was sitting there, waiting for him to respond. And so, he prayed his voice wouldn’t sound too squeaky when he replied, “They’re definitely spicy. But… well done?” God, once again, he sounded like such a dork. Also, maybe a perv, so he added quickly, “Although that’s not the reason I read them.” 

She considered him, eyes narrowed only briefly like she wasn’t sure if she believed him. Then she shrugged.  “You’re in the minority, apparently.” Wednesday looked off into the distance, a borderline annoyed expression on her face. “As much as I was hoping to cultivate a fanbase of readers who enjoyed a more hardboiled thriller experience, it seems like I’ve managed to encourage only a readership of people who equally enjoy the more erotic sections of my novels.” Sighing, she added, “My editor wants me to add more of those types of scenes into my current manuscript. It’s where my writer’s block is stemming from.”

Um, okay. Tyler knew he shouldn’t be surprised. The old adage was sex sells , after all. But the fact that this slight of a woman was the one writing this type of book was still blowing his mind. 

He meant his next question to be rhetorical, joking: “So, how does one become unstuck from that kind of writer’s block?” 

Wednesday didn’t even pause when her eyes flashed up at him and answered matter-of-factly, “By having sex, of course.” 

Tyler stopped breathing. Or maybe he died? He wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that his brain most definitely short-circuited. All he could do was just stare at her, eyes wide.

To her credit, Wednesday looked thoroughly unruffled, merely inhaled sharply and then said, her voice as cool as ever, “Not all my writing can exactly be method, or else I would most definitely be in jail. Most of the writing inspiration for the more violent sections of my novel can be facilitated by mere fantasy.” Her gaze turned far away, longing. Then, she recovered and added, “But I find that the erotic scenes are better the more I have first-hand experience. The fact that I’ve hit a dry spell is problematic. Xavier proved to be a worthless muse.” 

A part of his brain that was still slightly functioning thought: So that was what that was all about with Xavier. The thought of Xavier being able to handle one iota the woman that Wednesday Addams was almost made him laugh. But, of course, his brain wasn’t really working, not in any sort of normal way, so he wasn’t able to ponder this for long at all. Instead, he only gawked at her, trying to keep his mouth from hanging agape. 

“And I asked Enid for assistance. But she refuses. Says sex between roommates would be odd? I don’t know, even Ajax agrees with me that it would be just fine.” She ran a finger along the edge of her glass thoughtfully. “The looming deadline is not helping inspiration strike any better.” 

His throat was dry and his entire body felt like it had taken a bath in an electric socket. There was a literal lack of words in his brain, it just felt like an entire confusing ball of emotions and being incredibly and inappropriately turned on. 

This was his employee . He was her boss . She was talking about her professional life, even if it was a rather… unconventional writing process, it was still a process nonetheless. He needed to get his mind out of his groin, and offer her something other than what he was sure was an entirely blank stare. 

“Um, sorry?” He offered. Christ, that was it, that was all he could manage? “I mean, that has to be frustrating, feeling forced to write something even though it’s not how you envisioned your book.” 

“Yes!” It was the most emotion he’d seen out of her all night, her eyebrows perking up, a suddenly passionate expression flitting across her face. “Yes, incredibly frustrating. I don’t understand why they can’t just trust the writer with the story. I’m the one who would know best for the plot, anyway.” Then, in a huff of frustration, she tipped back the rest of her drink, which was about half of the entire glass. She practically slammed the tumbler down, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth. “It’s almost as frustrating as not being able to secure interesting sexual intercourse.” 

Well, there went what little control that he clawed back. And this time, Tyler choked mid-sip. 

He would have been way more fucked in a deluge of completely inappropriate thoughts, but he was saved by a very drunk and very happy Ajax practically kicking open the back door and shouting, “Yo! Last call, you all!” He caught sight of the two of them sitting together at the table and he immediately raised an appraising eyebrow. Tyler didn’t like that look on Ajax’s face, not one bit; it seemed far too devious for it to mean anything good. But whatever Ajax was thinking was gone quickly as he declared loudly, walking towards them,  “We’re all getting our last drink to go and then we’re heading back for a nightcap at the Enid and Wednesday’s.”

Ah, yes, the Pilgrim’s Pint, the one place in town that would have not one problem in selling someone a drink to open-carry back to the next party. 

“We are, are we?” Tyler said, chuckling at the fact that as Ajax tried to sit down on the patio table, he almost missed and went crashing to the ground. “Do Wednesday and Enid know that?” He looked over at Wednesday, who merely shrugged lightly. 

“Our house seems to be the rest stop for these debaucherous animals,” she nodded towards Ajax and the door, where he was sure Enid, Bianca, and Xavier were stumbly and stupid-drunk. “And often the last place they end up before passing out.” Her eyes were unflinching when she said, “You can spend the night if you want.”

Shit. There he went again, thinking with his crotch. He visibly balked, and Ajax must have caught it because he echoed slyly, “Yeah, you could totally spend the night, Tyler.” 

Again, he was saved by an interjection. Bianca opened the door, leveling them all with her pale eyes and shouting, “Uber’s here! Enid’s got your drinks, now get the fuck out to the front before our driver leaves our drunk asses.” And then, before she went back in, she looked at Wednesday, “This all went on your tab, by the way, Wednesday.”

She rolled her eyes before standing up smoothly, not looking even a little intoxicated. “I’ll go close the tab. If you forget me again, Ajax, I swear that I will ensure that you cannot utilize your genitalia for a week.” 

Ajax chuckled but then offered, “How do you know I wouldn’t be into that?” 

In response, she offered a swift but firm tap against Ajax’s crotch as she left to pay the tab, which had Ajax both doubled over in a flinch and a laugh. 

Still laughing, Ajax turned to Tyler, a drunk grin on his face. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes as well when he asked, “That girl is something else, huh?” 

Tyler swallowed before finishing up his drink in one, long swig. Then, he said, his voice solemn, “Yeah, you can definitely say that,” while also thinking, I’m in big fucking trouble.

Chapter Text

Wednesday Addams would never in a million lifetimes admit it, but she was slightly tipsy. 

It had been many years since such an occurrence had happened; she had diligently trained her body to accept various types of poisons to a certain degree since she was a child, and it had been a long moment since one of them had shown an effect on her body. She had always figured that alcohol would be the easiest to build a tolerance for: it was easier to acquire than something like arsenic, and the strategic advantages of being able to drink an enemy under the table were plentiful. Especially when you were a twenty-two-year-old woman who lived in a college town. 

But tonight, she hadn’t been watching herself like she usually did. Although she had stuck to her usual poison (scotch and soda, double, on the rocks), she hadn’t equated that she would be caught unaware by a certain person the entire evening, especially when he had indulged her in a conversation that was honestly downright fascinating, to say the least.

Sure, she instantly recognized that Tyler Galpin was pretty the second she had taken him unaware at Prose & Cons, but she hadn’t expected him to be a thoroughly interesting person on top of that. That had caused her to be distracted and distracted meant she had drunk maybe one too many drinks and now her brain felt a little fuzzy as she climbed out of the Uber to go unlock her and Enid’s apartment, the gaggle of her completely inebriated friends in tow. 

Enid let out a howl while she stumbled out of the rideshare and Wednesday shook her head in dismay. She had lost count of how many shots Enid had drowned herself in, and her petite roommate had most certainly not trained her body like Wednesday had in order to divert the worst and most annoying parts of alcohol. It didn’t help that her significant other was not one iota more sober. Xavier and Bianca were equally intoxicated and practically all over each other. Honestly, the only person who seemed to have a grip on reality was Tyler, who, Wednesday could tell, was trying his best to put on the “responsible adult” act in front of them even though the alcohol was heavily slurring his speech, dilating his eyes. 

The one thing it wasn’t doing was giving her a single tell if he was at all interested in her advances. 

Wednesday Addams didn’t really pride herself on subtlety, so she thought she had been fairly overt when it came to displaying her interest via heavy flirtation with him. And while he seemed interested in conversation, every innuendo and hint she had thrown his way seemed to bounce right off him. 

So, either he was not interested in her (understandable), he was not interested in women (she hadn’t asked), or Wednesday was doing a terrible job at flirting (improbable, but had been told her intensity made it hard to tell what her intentions were). 

Their apartment was on the second story of the local women’s club. Enid had sweet-talked her way into the living situation by bringing a platter of watercress and cream cheese sandwiches to the local women’s chapter meetings for a month because her ex-girlfriend was graduating and would be vacating the space.

“It’s incredible,” Enid had promised Wednesday. “When Divina and I hung out there it was like living in some sort of Hallmark movie.” 

“Sounds horrific,” Wednesday had grumbled, but her best friend had pouted enough and with enough heartbreaking vigor that Wednesday finally relented, especially when Enid had insisted it would not be weird to live in the space that her ex had once occupied. 

And Wednesday had to begrudgingly admit that it was indeed incredible. The entire apartment was one huge open space, save the bathroom, which was cornered near the front with a shiplapped wall. Wednesday and End had been able to partition their spaces through various methods: Enid with brightly colored tapestries that hung from the tall ceilings, Wednesday with a plethora of bookshelves. They had compromised on the living room space: a black couch, an umber-colored rug, and Enid had insisted that if she couldn’t insert rainbows in any of their shared spaces she be allowed at least twinkle lights. With a gulp of bile, Wednesday had tolerated the strings of white lights that literally littered every inch of their high ceilings. 

And, aesthetically speaking, the best part was that against the far wall was a huge circular lead-glass window that opened onto a patio that overlooked not only the town of Jericho but also provided a view of Nevermore U’s towering turrets up on the hilltop. 

Also, Wednesday appreciated she could get off-campus for her living situation. It was enough that she had to scrub that icky elitism that permeated every inch of that place in a steaming shower every day. The idea that she couldn’t escape it for at least a few hours if she had lived on campus made her skin crawl. 

Their apartment had also turned into a sort of halfway house for the drunken parties that were always happening between Nevermore and Jericho. Since the women’s club was at the edge of town but not quite on campus, Wednesday and Enid had gotten over the fact that they were perpetual hosts to a slew of their various coeds who couldn’t quite make it to their dorm or those who didn’t want the party to end. At first, Wednesday had been livid at the perpetual interruptions, but she found eventually that it had made for an excellent way to people-watch and get inspiration for her next book.

What it didn’t help was her insomnia. And god, she was exhausted . 

Wednesday blamed this entirely on lack of sex. 

She wasn’t sure what was exactly to blame for her dry spell. When she had first arrived at Nevermore, she had gone straight to work to find inspiration for Viper De La Muerte. It didn’t hurt that Wednesday Addams was not going to say no to an orgasm when it was to be had. And, to her credit, she was able to find a few amenable partners at first, but as she had gotten to know her fellow classmates, she realized that they were mostly legacy kids who were here to just drink and get their business degrees so that they could take over their family’s corporations. The shine had worn off, most definitely, and the idea of getting off with them was all but an orgasm killer. She had thought maybe Xavier would be acceptable: he was pretty in that lanky androgynous sort of way with his hooded eyes and high cheekbones. He had a “real job” in town, at the local bookstore nonetheless. In fact, he was the reason that Enid got the job there in the first place, the pair of them sharing a biology class in their freshmen year that had somehow evolved into drinking buddies on the weekends. But when Wednesday and him had sex, it was the most unimaginative endeavor she’d ever experienced: in the dark, him on top, not a peep from him except a groan when he came, and not a thought to her own orgasm. She would have been better off having sex with a pillow. 

To be fair, Xavier Thorpe was just average for his age, she realized. But average wasn’t going to cut it for her next novel. Not when she had already written some pretty filthy scenes in her last novel; the editors and readers were going to expect more than a twenty-two-year-old stereotypical hookup.

That’s why she had pursued the job at Prose & Cons in the first place: it would put her in a place to scout out the local Jericho population outside of Nevermore University. As much as a customer service job served to make her literally break out in hives, she realized she was going to have to suck it up if she really wanted to make the deadline for her newest manuscript, which was due at the very end of the year.

What she hadn’t expected to find on her first day was that the store manager was not only acceptable to look at, but that he passed her extensive list of pros and cons that she made for each potential new muse: although he gave off the immediate impression that he was just that good-looking boy next door, he was puritanically hardworking, could make a half-way decent espresso, was well-read (and an avid reader of Viper De La Muerte at that), and apparently had a hidden dark side, which she appreciated immensely. When he told the story that he had beaten some bully to the edge of their very life she had practically come right there and then in front of him.

But he was giving every signal that he was not interested in flirtations, so as Wednesday stalked up the stairs towards the apartment’s front door, Enid’s arms slung around her, she had to sigh in resignation. She might not be his type, or he may have a partner that had been unrevealed. Either way, it was time to start fresh, scouting out fresh blood beginning tomorrow morning when she started her morning shift at Prose & Cons. 

They crashed through the door and Wednesday realized they had lost Bianca and Xavier at some point. Good riddance. Those two had been dancing around each other for months now, let them get that sexual tension out of the way so that she didn’t have to see it nauseatingly on display every day in the halls of Nevermore U. 

The four of them - herself, Enid, Ajax, and Tyler – made new drinks in the apartment’s small kitchenette. Their “to go” drinks had already been consumed in the Uber ride back.

When she pulled down her liquor of choice, Tyler had inquired with a tinge of amusement, “Is that absinthe?”

She turned, raised an eyebrow at him, again impressed by this strangely compelling townie. “Indeed it is. Do you want some?”

He chuckled, shrugged. “I mean, sure, why the hell not? I haven’t had that stuff since doing shots of it with some traveling Mormon missionaries one night. In a hot tub. Yeah, we were in a hot tub, I think?” 

Wednesday blinked, shock clearly painted across her features. What other plot twists would Tyler Galpin reveal?

He chuckled at her expression. “It’s a long story. A good one, but a long one.” 

Opening a drawer, she got out her absinthe spoon, two tumblers, and a pair of sugar cubes. She quickly prepared their drinks while saying, “You should regale me sometime. You never know, it might make it into the next Viper De La Muerte novel.”

Here, he looked vaguely flattered. “Really? I mean, hell yeah, anything for my girl Viper.” When she handed him the tumbler with his drink, he clinked her glass like a true nerd. The small smile that crept on her face was irrepressible. 

Tyler seemed about to launch into the story, but then Ajax called out to him, “Tyler, my dude! Come smoke this down with me!” 

Wednesday glared at Ajax. “I swear if you make the entire apartment smell like pot again…”

“Yeah, yeah, defunct genitalia and all that.” Ajax laughed and then placed a messy kiss on Enid’s mouth before saying playfully down to her, “Babe, Wednesday is kind of obsessed with my junk.” 

“She obsessed with everyone’s junk,” Enid giggled before swatting Ajax at the window and out onto the apartment’s patio. “Now move it, the two of you. I’ve hardly had any time to talk to my bestie about her first day of work!” And then Enid ran over and enveloped Wednesday in a warm, drunk hug, her cheek pressed against her own; she smelled like fruit punch and vodka and vanilla lip gloss. It was oddly comforting

“That's our cue, Tyler!” Ajax yelped and then added playfully, “Let them do whatever girl best friends do, make out or whatever.” 

“I wish,” Wednesday grumbled and Ajax merely tipped his glass at her and offered a, “I’ll keep working on her, Wednesday” before he disappeared with an entirely bemused-looking Tyler Galpin on the patio area. There was a flicker of light as Ajax turned on the patio’s outdoor lamp and then she could only hear their muffled conversation. 

Enid still held her and then groaned, “You don’t really want to have sex with me, do you, bestie?”

“Enid, we’ve been over this,” Wednesday sighed. “It’s just sex. What’s an orgasm between two roommates? Plus, you would really be helping me with my writer’s block.”

Giggling, Enid drew back and patted Wednesday lightly on the cheek, the same way that a mother might a toddler. “You’re cute but weird, Wednesday,” she said and then took a long swig from her cloyingly sweet gin and Sprite concoction. 

Wednesday eyed Enid as her friend flopped ceremoniously on their couch before saying, “Some people might find that a part of my charm.”

“You mean people like… Tyler?” 

Her eyes flashed down to Enid, who was already giggling devilishly. Nothing did escape her roommate, although, to be fair, Wednesday was sure she had been incredibly obtuse all night about her intentions. Or at least very obvious to everyone except for the person she was directing her laser focus on. It was practically infuriating. 

Inhaling, Wednesday tried to keep it coy, taking a small sip of her drink. “What’s Tyler’s story anyway?” 

“I knew it!” Enid said, pointing with joy at Wednesday. She sat up too fast and almost plunged herself off the couch. Recovering quickly, she wobbled for a second before saying, much quieter, “I knew it. You’ve been practically his shadow all night. Wednesday… what are you up to?” 

Wednesday moved her roommate’s legs so that she could sit on the couch before rearranging them so they were in her lap. This was the truest test to her tipsiness: she was offering up unsolicited contact, one that Enid immediately beamed at, her toes wiggling against Wednesday’s thighs. 

Then, she launched into her pragmatic list of questions, “Does he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” 

Enid looked like she was about to burst with joy. “Neither! I mean, I think he’s hooked up with a couple of people before, so I think he’s game for you know… whatever machinations you have in your head, Wednesday.” Sighing, Enid shook her head, still grinning a thousand percent like an idiot. “When I envisioned you getting this job, I thought maybe you and Xavier could rekindle your flame.” 

Wednesday snorted. “If that was a flame, it was equivalent to a child’s birthday candle.”

Enid ignored Wednesday’s jab and said, “But I kind of totally forgot about Tyler. I mean, he’s practically like a big brother to me now, so I mentally strike him off any potential hookup list.” She peeked over at Tyler and Ajax out on the patio and then whispered conspiratorially, “I mean he’s a cutie patootie, right?” 

“You truly have a way with words, Enid,” Wednesday offered flatly, mind churning. So, Tyler was possibly available, of the orientation to be interested, and yet? She had received zero signals of interest throughout the night, even when she tried her go-to “eye contact while drinking” trick.

Wednesday sighed, conceding, “He’s not interested.” 

“In you?” Enid sounded scandalized. She propped herself up on her elbows to level her furrowed brows on Wednesday.

“No, in early twentieth-century Shinto philosophy,” Wednesday countered, and when Enid practically pouted at her sardonic answer, she added, gentler this time, “Yes, in me , Enid. I’ve been a very obvious flirt all night and there hasn’t been a single signal back from him.” 

“Okay, but your obvious is not always conventional , Wednesday,” Enid said and then threw a couch pillow in her direction, “Plus, you’re like… intense. Intensely sexual at that. Most guys our age fumble with that kind of interaction like it’s a hot potato.”

She wasn’t wrong. Wednesday had far more luck with women than men with her flirtations, especially when they were only twenty years old and some change. They were all like golden retriever puppies, bold with bark but with zero bite when push came to shove. And she meant push and shove in the most literal sense.

But no, she was sure. She had thrown the entire gamebook at Tyler tonight, and he had alcohol dulling his inhibitions at that. There should have been something, a small sign; there had been decidedly nothing.

Stirring her drink mindlessly with her index finger, Wednesday watched Ajax and Tyler engage in what seemed like an entirely teasing conversation, which was what Ajax excelled at. Initially, Wednesday had objected to Enid dating this stoner party animal (and a man at that, why did they as bisexuals keep dating men anyway?). But the more she had grown to know Ajax, the more she realized how great they were for each other. Enid’s sparkly personality was only amplified by essentially a hype man who thought that Enid walked on rainbows and glitter. So, Wednesday had allowed it, despite threatening to cut Ajax’s balls off on the regular if he were ever to hurt Enid. 

There was a small break in the conversation, and suddenly Tyler looked over at her. It caught her off-guard, not at all suspecting that their gazes would lock. But she didn’t flinch from it, even when his expression turned sheepish very quickly. 

Curious. That shyness in his eyes was odd. Almost a tell?

She was going to try something. Wednesday removed her finger from stirring her drink, raised her tumbler in a toast, and then slid her finger in her mouth, sucking deeply on the drip of absinthe there, her cheeks hallowing with effort. 

His face blanched. The grin on his fell quickly and something dark and dangerous flittered across his features for the briefest of seconds. Then, rapidly, he turned his attention back to Ajax, lips pursed and his fingers knuckle-white-tight around his own tumbler. 

There. There . She finally got him. 

The flare of his nostrils. The dangerous, lusty quality of his face. The way he had captured his bottom lip with his teeth for a brief second before looking away.

He was at least vaguely interested. He had to be, or else she knew nothing about body language after astutely studying it for years so that she could write about it in her novels.

Wednesday felt a smug smile on her face, a plan already assembling in her mind, a singular mission driving her thoughts: she was going to seduce Tyler Galpin.

-

The absinthe that Wednesday had prepared for him was expensive . He could tell just by the way it had a complex bitter flavor profile but was also strangely smooth. While watching her make it, he had been once again impressed with the ways her fingers nimbly assorted all the various instruments to make a more complex drink.

Should a twenty-something woman know how to navigate pouring just the perfect amount of water over a sugar cube and into a glass of absinthe? No, but this was Wednesday Addams, after all, and he had decided that being surprised by anything she did was probably a fruitless endeavor. 

The next he knew, he’d crawled out on the patio with Ajax, another tall drink in his one hand and a joint in another. 

Tomorrow morning was going to be rough. Although to be fair, it was already tomorrow morning. Tyler decided he was already too far gone to allow rational thought about abandoning ship and heading back to his house, which was actually only a fifteen-minute walk from here. 

Taking a deep inhale from the joint, Tyler handed it back to Ajax, who took it greedily. He let the breath sit in his body for a long second before exhaling, staring up at the clear early morning sky. It was still dark, not a hint of the sunrise on the plane where land met land, but he knew he only had a handful of hours before the sun would be an orange seam on the horizon. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight, man,” Ajax said, breaking the silence. Tyler adjusted his gaze so that he was staring at the man next to him. As much as Ajax sometimes annoyed him for being a lackadaisical goof on the regular, he had to be one of the more genuine people he’d ever known. 

‘Yeah, sure. Of course.” Tyler offered him a small grin and shrugged. “It’s been a long time overdue, I guess.”

“Damn straight,” Ajax said, and gone was the sincere person who had stood next to him just five seconds earlier, replaced by a thousand percent goof. “We’ve been trying to get you to go out for eons, dude.”

Tyler laughed. “When you’re right, you’re right. I’ve just been… busy.” Busy was an understatement. He’d been downright swamped with trying to balance work and school and also battling the worst case of insomnia he’d ever experienced. He felt like he was experiencing life behind a veil of exhaustion and overstimulation.

“So, what changed your mind tonight?” Ajax asked before pulling deeply from the joint. When he exhaled, he added thinly, “Was it… Wednesday Addams… that was the deciding factor?” 

Oh, shit. So, he hadn’t been as subtle about his pining looks all night as he prayed and hoped. It didn’t come as a surprise to him, but he was sure as hell going to die on the hill of denial.

“Wednesday? She’s cool. I’m glad that she joined the team,” he hummed, drowning himself in another drink in an effort to look noncommittal. 

Ajax just laughed at him. Loudly. Tyler cast a look over at the women who were now sitting on the apartment’s living room couch. They were engrossed in a conversation of their own, seemingly unaware of Ajax’s mocking chuckle. 

“Come on, man, you know you don’t have to bullshit me,” Ajax finally said before perching himself precariously on the patio ledge, nothing between him and a two-story drop. Taking another drag of the joint, he paused and said, “So, what’s the deal? You two gonna fuck or what?”

Again, for what felt like the millionth time that evening, Tyler almost did a spit-take. Gagging almost as the absinthe slid down his throat, he choked out, “What the fuck, man? I’m her coworker, for Christ’s sake.” 

“Yeah, true,” Ajax said, a sarcastic glint in his eye. “That would be totally weird to fuck a coworker.”

Well, he had walked himself right into that one. Tyler chided himself for not knowing his audience. And then, in an attempt to change the subject, he said, “By the way, if I find out you and Enid were making out instead of closing up Prose & Cons again, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Cute that you think we were just making out.”

Tyler leveled a glare at him, but it hardly had any venom in it.

Ajax chuckled and said, “Relax, Tyler. We’re ever the consummate professionals.” Here, Ajax tipped a proverbial hat at him, which only got him an eye roll. He handed the joint to Tyler, who pinched it before taking a small puff on it. “But seriously, what’s the deal with Wednesday? She’s not really a huge conversationalist and she was chatting you up all night.” When Tyler flashed him a look that felt a little too inquisitive, Ajax grinned smugly and then added, “Plus, she’s been looking at you all night like she’d like to eat you.” 

So, that’s what that had been? Those wide eyes staring up at him all night had been… her coming on to him? Nope, he had lost his mind, and Ajax was just making up shit to get a rise out of him. 

“Knowing as little as I know about Wednesday, I’d imagine the I want to eat you stare is actually pretty typical,” he mumbled, to which Ajax literally guffawed, rocking his body precariously on the ledge. Well, if the alcohol didn’t kill him tonight, Ajax giving him a heart attack would do the trick.

“Fair enough, my dude,” Ajax said before adding, “But I didn’t mean it like that.”

Tyler furrowed his brows.

Ajax shrugged. “I meant like she wants to sit on your face.” 

And again, he choked. Ajax only offered him a coy grin before taking another puff on the joint. 

He was too drunk for this. He was too drunk for all of this, to be up and smoking dope in the wee hours of the morning when he needed to be back at work soon. Like, really soon. It was not the time to debate whether the woman he had just hired this morning was interested in him sexually. And that wasn’t even a thought he should be entertaining period, sober or drunk or high or whatever state of consciousness. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help himself from sneaking a small glance over to where Wednesday sat inside. And although he should be getting used to meeting her wide eyes, it still made him internally jump to find her eyes on him as soon he gazed her way.

And then she did something that was equivalent to dropping a nuclear bomb on his brain. She had been idly stirring her drink with her finger, but when their eyes met, she paused, tipped her glass in the air like a toast, her face as stoic as ever. And all of this would have been fine, a totally acceptable exchange between two new-ish acquaintances. But then she took her slender, pale finger that had been stirring her drink and stuck it deep in her mouth and sucked. Sucked hard , her cheeks puckering at the sides, and all the while keeping her eyes trained dead on his own. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Every part of his body blazed on fire like he had stuck his finger in a live electrical socket. Tyler felt the way his eyes flashed at her before he hurriedly looked away and knew he had fucked up. She had to know he was a total perv now, this guy who was supposed to be her boss, this guy who should not be lusting after her and making every work shift uncomfortable for the next two months. 

Tyler knew he had to get out of there before he did something even more dumb than what had just happened. The only problem was that he was now fully erect and there was no amount of adjustments that was going to hide that. 

Thankfully, Ajax seemed oblivious to his current state and merely chatted briefly about the normal things: school, his band (they were awful, Tyler had been dragged to several shows where he had grinned and pretended he had enjoyed it), about how he and Enid were going to visit her parents in San Francisco on New Years. It was the type of droll conversation that was an excellent boner killer, and Tyler was grateful that Ajax would literally chat with a brick wall. 

Then, suddenly, he felt something rub against his leg. He almost jumped out of his skin, issued a reactionary oh, shit before noticing it was just a black cat, purring and figure-eight-rubbing in between his legs. When it blinked up at him, he noticed that it was missing one yellow eye, a scar etched down the side of its face and sealing the lid shut. 

“Oh, that’s just Thing,” Ajax said before adding, “And huh… he likes you. He’s usually a dick to me.” 

“Thing?” Tyler reached down and gingerly scratched the spot near the cat’s tail and back. This earned him an appreciative louder purr.

“Yeah, Wednesday and Enid’s cat.”

Tyler offered Ajax a raised eyebrow. “They have a cat together?” When Ajax nodded, Tyler added teasingly, “Ajax, I think your girlfriend has a girlfriend.”

“And I love that journey for her,” Ajax said, not missing a beat. The toothy grin he gave Tyler invited no further conversation about Enid and Wednesday’s unique relationship, one that Ajax seemed zero percent threatened by and might actually be a little too into it. 

The cat, Thing, scratched at the lead glass window’s door, needing it to be cracked slightly more to get in. Ajax jumped down from his perch and opened the door, the cat scuttering inside. 

“You want another drink, man?” Ajax asked, noting Tyler’s empty tumbler. Huh. How did he drink the whole damn thing and not notice? It probably had something to do with trying to choke down the burning sensation flowing through his entirely and inappropriately turned-on body while attempting to push away the thought of Wednesday Addam's eyes on him as her cheeks hollowed out. 

Nope, he didn’t need to go back there. He had finally got his crotch in an acceptable place and he really did need to go the fuck home. 

Shaking his head, Tyler followed Ajax inside and said, “I got to get home. You all can knock yourselves out. And maybe, literally, with the amount of alcohol we’ve consumed tonight.”

“I had eight shots!” Enid announced proudly. “It’s my new record!”

Okay, so maybe he was turning all his coworkers into alcoholics. Or maybe they were doing that to him . Tyler wasn’t sure, but he knew that he needed to get back and at least try to get some sleep before heading to work tomorrow. 

Chuckling at Enid, Tyler dared one last look at Wednesday. She had curled herself up on the couch, her knees crooked and her boots off so that he could see her toes primly pointed and pressed against her backside. She looked as unflappable as ever, almost stone-cold sober. 

“Are you walking home?” She asked and then took a sip of her drink, her dark eyes locked on his face. 

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to not let her gaze affect him in his drunken state. “Yeah, it’s actually only about a fifteen-minute walk from here.” 

"I can walk with you,” she said, her tone again not inviting debate. She started to rise from the couch, but he stopped her with a quick yelp of No!  

Tyler had kind of expected her eyes to turn on him angrily. Wednesday Addams seemed like the type that didn’t like someone telling her what to do. But instead of angry, she looked almost shocked. Annoyed maybe? Yes, definitely annoyed. So, he tried in a gentler, less-panicked tone, “Come on, Wednesday, it’s like two AM. I can’t let you walk back by yourself after I get home.”

“Maybe she could just stay at your place,” Enid interjected coyly, drunk-giggling so much that she almost fell off the couch. 

Oh, great, so Enid was in on the joke as well. Ajax only offered him a smile that said, You’re so fucked, man . 

Wednesday, for her part, didn’t say anything, merely gave him a long once-over, like she was evaluating him thoroughly. Then, she nodded her head and merely said, her voice completely unaffected, “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow in the morning, Tyler.” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you then. Bright and early.” He sighed wearily and then offered a small grin to her, which Wednesday unsurprisingly did not return. Then, pointing his finger at Enid and Ajax, he said, “And you two better not call out tomorrow. I’m actually blaming you two for all this nonsense tonight.”

“Okay, Dad ,” Enid said, giggling again. He simply shook his head good-humoredly at her and then issued one final goodbye.

The last thing he saw before closing the door was Wednesday’s dark gaze slide over his own one more time. 

-

His roommates were still awake when he got home, all three of them drinking beers on the front porch. As he walked toward them, they all whooped at him like the true brutes that they were. He couldn’t help but smile at them as he stumbled his way up the lawn. As they saw him approach, they all started to mock-jeer him in terrible British accents that he was back from hanging out with the “fancy lads” of Nevermore University. 

“What the fuck do you even talk about with those losers?” Carter asked, his round face grinning in a way that indicated he meant well even if his words were inflammatory. He flipped open a beer and handed it to Tyler that meant he was at least going to have to hold the damn thing.

“Believe it or not, they are actual human beings with lives,” Tyler said, rolling his eyes at all of them. “Although you wouldn’t know that, seeing as you’re all goddamned cretins.”

“Ooooohh, cretin , is that one of those fancy words you use with your fancy friends?” Lucas leveled at him before throwing an empty, crushed beer can in his direction, laughing. “Get the fuck outta here with that kind of talk, Tyler.” 

He chuckled, took a small sip of beer, and then realized that he most definitely did not need another drink. He needed sleep and now. 

“That goth chick hanging out with you,” Jonah started and then continued after a gulp of beer, “as much as she was a pain in the ass, tell her she can come hang out at Pilgrim’s Pint anytime she wants.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow at him.

“She fucking left a two hundred dollar tip,” Jonah said, shaking his head in disbelief. “What is she? The heir to some kind of empire?”

Blinking in bemusement, Tyler suppressed a thin grin. “You’re actually not far off,” he replied, sighing. What was he going to do with Wednesday Addams? 

“Kinda thought she’d be heading back with you,” Jonah chimed in, and when Tyler stared up at him incredulously, Jonah snorted. “Come on, dude. She was following you around with fuck me eyes all night.” 

Okay, was everyone fucking with him tonight? Tyler shrugged, said, “That’s just how she looks, I think, Jonah.”

Lucas laughed and then flipped himself open another beer. “Typical Tyler. As much game as the Nevermore basketball team.” And here, all three of them laughed; mocking Nevermore University’s sports was a favorite pastime of theirs. “He wouldn’t know if a girl was hitting on him even if she was actually hitting him.” 

That was it, he was done with the night. It was time for bed, now, and for everyone to stop putting ideas in his damn brain. 

“Girls like Wednesday Addams don’t flirt with guys like me,” Tyler said with a level of finality and then passed his beer back to Carter. “Now, if you all promise not to burn down the damn house, I’m going to call it a night.”

And although he received plenty of good-natured mocking jeers as he went inside, they let him go, thankfully.

As soon as he got in the house and closed the door to his bedroom, Tyler felt the exhaustion overwhelm him. He wanted to just crash into bed and pray for sleep, but he knew that he should take at least a quick shower to wash the booze and pot off his skin. He stumbled into his bathroom, pulling off his clothes sloppily; paying a little extra in rent for his own ensuite shower was worth its weight in gold.  

The water was scalding, but he didn’t adjust it, invited the way it seemed to almost bleach his skin raw, relax his muscles so that they were practically mush. 

What a fucking day. He had gotten the shit scared out of him by Wednesday Addams, hired Wednesday Addams, almost gotten fired because of Wednesday Addams, and had gotten drunk and uncomfortably turned on all night because of Wednesday Addams. Never in his life had he had an entire day boiled down to one person, but if anyone was to be that person, it made sense it was her. 

And now she wouldn’t leave him alone, even as he tried to scrub his body clean. Her dark gaze was burned into his brain, watching him even as he screwed his eyes shut. A vision of her with her finger getting sucked clean wouldn’t leave his mind and he could feel himself getting hard again just at the mere memory. Tyler pressed his forehead against the shower wall, willing himself to get a grip and not be such a horny mess. He usually wasn’t like this, but something about Wednesday was getting under his skin and wasn’t going to leave him alone, especially with all the alcohol and dope swimming through his brain. 

Fuck it. He needed the release or was just going to replay this shit over and over in his head and get zero sleep. Tyler took ahold of himself, starting slow, rotating his hand ever so slowly over the head, letting a jolt of almost painful electricity buzz through his body. And as much as he tried to clear his mind from anything Wednesday Addams, it was all-consuming, it was all he could think about as he fastened his pace. Her dark eyes on him, the way the corner of her mouth quirked ever so slightly when he had amused her, the way she hadn’t run from him when he confessed that he’d been so angry at one point in his life that he had become a literal monster. Her legs in those damned fishnet stockings. Her prim braids, him wondering what it would be like to pull them, angle her face up towards his own. When he came, Tyler couldn’t stop from breathing her name. 

He stood under the steaming water for longer than he should have, trying to clean up and trying to chase away the sinking feeling that he was being a real creep. Getting himself off to some girl that he had just met? And he was technically her boss ? What the fuck was the matter with him? He needed to stop this, this ended tonight, he was getting his brain back under control. 

Tyler had a singular mission in mind: he was going to stop this developing obsession with Wednesday Addams before it got more out of hand than it already had.

But when Tyler finally crawled out of the shower and fell into bed, he closed his eyes and fell into the deepest and best sleep he’d had for weeks, dreaming of fishnet stockings and almost-black eyes.

Chapter Text

Not only was Tyler Galpin late, but he was also battling a monster hangover. He had grabbed a bottle of water and two ibuprofens and literally ran out his front door, thanking the gods of alcohol that his house was only a ten-minute walk from the Prose & Cons storefront. 

But the four hours he had slept? Blissful as hell. The blistering headache taking form in his brain was almost forgivable compared to the relief from the exhaustion that had been pressing on him over the past several days. After getting only an hour or two and then just tossing and turning for the rest of the night, the solid stretch of sleep was like a godsend.

Of course, he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell too long on why he might have slept so well. His dreams of a dark-haired woman were not hurting anything other than his perception of himself as not being a slimeball.

When he unlocked the front door, he noticed that the keypad was once again not activated.

“Goddammit you two,” he grumbled, thinking of how Ajax had hinted that him and Enid had been busy with other… activities the previous closing shift. “If I was actually good at my job, I’d of fired you both by now.” 

“To be fair, it was me who deactivated the keypad.”

Tyler was pretty sure his soul left his body. The voice was clear and deadpanned in the darkness of what he had thought had been an empty store. Turning rapidly on his heel, he found Wednesday Addams standing inside the cafe area, her usual ramrod-straight frame silhouetted against the shadows of the store’s unlit interior. 

“Holy shit, Wednesday,” He clutched his chest, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. “You really need to work on your interjections. Also, you do know we have lights that you can turn on?”

She blinked at him; even in the blackness of the room, the wide whites of her eyes were highly visible. “I like the darkness.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the adrenaline spiking through his body. “Yeah, that checks out,” he grumbled and then started walking towards her. “Also, I’ll get you an actual key. You don’t have to keep breaking in each morning.” 

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.” 

“Well, I do . You’re two-for-two of scaring the shit out of me in the morning. I may actually die of a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-three.” She watched him intensely as he drew nearer, and he prayed to all the gods that she didn’t have any psychic or mind-reading abilities. If she knew the filthy thoughts he had indulged in last night, she would probably give him a swift kick in the groin and be out of there in a second. 

However, instead of running, as he drew nearer, she took a step forward and extended a mug towards him. When he glanced at it with furrowed eyebrows, she said, “I took the liberty of making you a quad. I figured you may need the extra caffeine after last night.”

It struck him as oddly adorable, her extending this mug almost shyly towards him. Why did he get the feeling that Wednesday Addams wasn’t one for thoughtful gestures? He took it, issuing her what he hoped was a warm, chipper smile, “Thanks, Wednesday. You have no idea how much I actually do need this thing.” He took a sip, tried not to wince at its bitter intensity on his tongue, but it went down smooth. Hopefully, the quad combined with the water and ibuprofen would get him through the day.

After taking his second sip, he looked down at her. It was hard to make out much other than the lines of her face and her wide eyes. “How are you feeling?” He hedged. 

“Excellent,” Wednesday deadpanned although her tone was not sarcastic. She really did seem pinned up, completely unruffled. “I got two straight hours of sleep. I was even inspired to write several pages of my manuscript this morning.” 

Tyler couldn’t help but gawk at her. Of course, Wednesday Addams would not only be early to work after a night like last night but she would also be super productive. 

Then, she eyed him in that way that gave him flashbacks to last night, a gaze that went from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. “How are you? You were quite inebriated last night.” 

“Quite,” Tyler agreed, chuckling. “I, uh, I’m hungover as hell. But I actually slept okay last night? So I think that plus this quad is going to help me power through the day.” 

Wednesday nodded, her intense eyes still on him. “I was not… opposed to you hanging out with us last night.”

This elicited a true laugh from him because Tyler was pretty sure this was Wednesday’s attempt at a compliment. “Your roommate and her boyfriend are maniacs, but I’m glad I came out. It was definitely an… entire experience.” 

And here, like an idiot, he met her intense gaze. He couldn’t look away for a long moment and he was having flashbacks from last night, when he had thought of her face in the shower and all the things he’d let himself fantasize about, her name on her lips as he came undone. 

Get a grip, Galpin , he chided himself and frowning into his quad, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, you don’t have to make up for Xavier and Bianca’s tardiness by coming in extra early.”

“I’m not early. You’re late.”

He couldn’t suppress a small, acknowledging grin. “Okay, fair. But I’m blaming that entirely on Enid and Ajax.” 

Wednesday regarded him for a long second and then nodded. “An acceptable deduction. They are the very definition of instigators.”

“Rich coming from the woman who insisted that I drink a double scotch and soda when I was trying to be a responsible adult and sober up.”

Here, she raised an eyebrow and said, “I paid for it.”

Issuing her a crooked grin, he walked over to one of the lamps and turned it on. “One fun fact about me, Wednesday, is that I can’t be…” his voice trailed off when he turned back around and finally caught sight of her in the full light of the lamp. His mouth felt dry when he finished, “... can’t be bought.”

Oh. No. Tyler realized he was in trouble. Because Wednesday Addams’s outfit was going to prove entirely too distracting for him to be a functional member of society today.

There was nothing to pinpoint as to what was necessarily the problem, but it was a combination of the various items that was dangerous. He hadn’t noticed them in the dim light of the store beforehand, but now that the lamp was shining fully on her frame, he could take stock of her ensemble: a tight black cardigan, a skirt that covered all the necessary parts (but that was where it ended), and a pair of sheer black tights that had a nyloned spiderweb pattern laced throughout it; underneath, he could very faintly see the glowy skin of her thighs. 

Prose & Cons didn’t necessarily have a dress code, although cafe employees had to cover up their legs and have nonslip shoes for health code reasons, which she had strapped to her feet with a pair of platform Doc Martens. Her legs were, for all intents and purposes, covered. So, there was no way he could ask her to go home and change under those pretenses. The excuse I might have a boner all day if you wear that was not only unprofessional but borderline illegal.

So, he was going to have to suck it up. This was entirely his personal problem, and he was going to have to concoct a way to get himself through the day. 

Tyler chided himself thoroughly and then went about busying himself with turning on the rest of the store lights. “Why are you even here this early?” he asked, still keeping his eye thoroughly trained on everything not her. 

“You have a valve problem.”

So, he had to turn and look at her for that one. Confusion stopped him from gawking at her and her entire outfit, and he said, “Excuse me?” 

She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed that she would have to explain. “I noticed it yesterday. The espresso isn’t brewing at optimal temperature, so it’s got a slightly more bitter note. Not that I mind that, necessarily, but it’s technically a problem.” She strode over to the espresso machine and he noticed that she already removed the hood, and somehow found the toolbox that was in the office (which was also locked, but he’d have to talk to her about breaking into that room later). She’d also pulled out the step ladder that they used to stock the upper bookshelves. Climbing up it, she took hold of a set of instructions that the espresso machine had come with and had been tucked away in one of the cafe’s drawers. 

The only problem? The entire manual was fully written in Italian. 

“Wait,” he started, walking towards her and the machine, “you can read Italian?”

She lowered the manual so that she could peer at him over the top of the manual’s edge, “Obviously. It’s the native tongue of Machiavelli.” Then, she pointed at the toolbox. “I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimeter Allen Wrench.”  

Okay, at least he knew what the fuck those were, even if he wasn’t aware of the Italian translation for either of those items. He sorted through the toolbox, plucking out both of the needed tools and handing them to her gingerly. Wednesday snatched them up but she still needed to lean on her tiptoes to see clearly into the machine’s innards. 

And, while doing so, her cardigan inched up just enough that Tyler caught sight of what looked like an extensive and very complex tattoo, covering her from hip to ribcage. 

He knew it was rude to stare. He knew . But it was nearly impossible to look away. It was all black, like everything on Wednesday, and the artwork was finely rendered: a bird in flight, the feathers gleaming, a taloned foot curled against her hip bone before the rest of the tattoo disappeared underneath the bottom of her cardigan. Her last rib bone pressed against her skin when she inhaled, and it was like the tattoo was breathing with her. 

Tyler felt his stare bore a hole in her side, but for once, he wasn’t sure that he cared. 

“Would you like to see it better?” 

Blinking, Tyler broke out of his reverie and stared at her blankly. 

Her intense eyes were on him. “My tattoo. I can give you a better view.”

Um. Well. He wasn’t really sure how to hell to respond to that, because yes he would like to see more of it, honestly for no other reason than it looked cool as hell.

Handing the screwdriver and Allen Wrench to him, which he took his hand limply, she reattached the hood of the espresso machine and climbed down from the ladder. Then, once she had her feet firmly on the ground, she began to undo her cardigan, her fingers flitting on the bottom button and flicking it open.

“Woah!” Tyler said, proffering his hands out. “Let’s um… let’s keep our clothes on, okay?”

God, he was a fucking disaster. Tyler worked his jaw when she gave him a skeptical glance before she said flatly, “I’m aware that disrobing at work is not exactly the professional MO. It’s just easier to see the ribcage part when this button is undone.”

Tyler clenched his eyes, praying a completely cosmically random sinkhole would open underneath him. But when it didn’t, he dared to open them again, she was lifting her sweater just a tad on the side to put the tattoo more on display.

“My Grandmama did this,” she said. “On my mother’s side. It’s a Frump family tradition to get your Familiar tattooed close to your heart. Mine is a raven.”

Truly, it was beautiful. It was like the raven had been born with her, like a natural extension of her body. 

Wednesday took a breath and again, it was like the bird taking flight. He reached out and then drew back, his alarms blaring. 

What the fuck was he doing? Did he almost just press his fingers against his coworker's hipbone? 

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice so unaffected that he trusted her when she said, “You can touch it.”

And then he did, without hesitation. His whole hand, palm against the indent of her waist, thumb pressed upwards toward her ribcage. Her skin was cool, smooth, and when she took another breath, he swore he could almost feel the thick smoothness of the feathers. His thumb brushed against a section in the middle of her ribcage and at this touch, Wednesday immediately shivered.

He looked up at her, apologetically. “Sorry! Are you ticklish?”

“Not at all,” The darkness in her eyes was almost unreadable, but there was something different there, something that felt eerily dangerous. 

Tyler swallowed hard. But then, he let his eyes drop down to the tattoo again, breathing, “It’s… quite beautiful, Wednesday.” 

And then, damn it all to hell, he made the mistake of looking back at her face and the dangerous glint was still there and it felt like some part of him was bottoming out. 

But before he could stammer something over his hammering heart, the front door unlocked quickly, swung open, and they heard the too-chipper, sing-song voice of Enid Sinclair, “Good morning! I come bearing gifts!” 

Tyler dropped his hand like Wednesday’s skin had suddenly seared him. He was sure his entire face was a single shade of beet red. 

Enid had been wearing a pair of sunglasses, but she caught sight of the both of them, she lowered them down the bridge of her nose. An impish grin formed on her lips. “Well, so sorry for interrupting…” she waved her hand in their general direction, “... whatever this is.”

Again, thoughts and prayers for a giant hole to open up beneath him and consume him entirely.

Wednesday lowered her arm and re-buttoned her sweater. “Tyler wanted to see my tattoo. I obliged.” 

Enid raised an eyebrow and snickered. “Did you show him the entire thing?”

“No, that would be inappropriate, Enid,” Wednesday chided and then added, “Inappropriate to do at work, at least.” 

Okay, so he didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but he had a sinking suspicion that the fact that the raven seemed to extend in both directions on Wednesday’s body was a good indication that the tattoo wrapped around parts of her that he was not going to let him indulge himself on imagining. 

“It’s impressive, Tyler,” Enid said before adding slyly, “You should definitely let Wednesday show you the rest of it sometime.”  

Tyler waited for Wednesday to object or at least tell Enid to fuck off, but instead, she simply said, her voice the usual deadpan, “That’s up to Tyler.” 

His brain was short-circuiting and he didn’t really know what was going on. Were they all in on this joke since they caught him making eyes at her all of last night? This was not good, he needed to claw back some form of dignity, or at least just stop blushing like he was thirteen again. 

He tried to keep his voice level but he asked, “What are you even doing here, Enid?” And then, when she practically pouted in his direction at his jab of a question, he said, “I mean, may I remind you that you had eight shots last night? How are you even standing?” 

“Oh, I’m dying inside,” Enid said, the sunny smile on her face not at all revealing that sentiment. “But alas! I’m the idiot who signed up for a Saturday morning class, but it’s nothing that lipgloss and an Adderall can’t fix.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at this. “Good to hear you’re incorporating all the food groups in there, Enid.” 

She giggled and then said, “Speaking of food groups, that’s why I came here.” Enid proffered up a bag she had been clutching and then waggled it with a shimmy. “I brought you all breakfast sandwiches. Figured it was a way to pay back for being the one who dragged you into all that - and I quote you, Tyler - nonsense last night.” 

Tyler laughed, shrugged, and said, “I just call it like I see it. But, dear god, thank you, Enid.” 

Flashing him a grin, she plucked out two sandwiches from the bag and handed one to him and Wednesday. He practically tore into it, unwrapping it with vigor, and eating it ravenously with little regard to any sort of politeness. He was famished, seeing that his dinner last night had practically been exclusively alcohol and marijuana. 

“You’re a goddess amongst us mortals,” Tyler said around a mouthful, beaming up at her. Enid mirrored his joyful expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so good in my entire life.”

“It is acceptable,” Wednesday offered, and he couldn’t stop the smirk on his face at her version of thankfulness. 

Enid leaned back, surveying the both of them inhale the food. “Well, it’s no Tyler Galpin pumpkin bread, but consider it penance for getting you sloppy drunk last night.”

Wednesday was mid-bite, but she issued him a raised eyebrow and asked, “Pumpkin bread?” 

“Hey, you’re not the only one allowed to have hobbies,” he said, raising his own eyebrow at her teasingly, hoping she got the reference to scaring the living hell out of him as one of her hobbies. A small gleam in her eye indicated she had, in fact, recognized his playful jab. “When I can keep the kitchen clean for a couple of milliseconds from the animals that I call roommates, I sometimes dabble in baking. Found it’s better therapy than a punching bag after having to work in customer service all week.” 

The disbelieving look on Wednesday’s face almost made him choke on a laugh.

“And he’s good!” Enid interjected, her voice so earnest that Tyler had to quickly correct, “I would absolutely not call my baking good , but I have yet to poison anyone.” 

“That’s a pity,” Wednesday said coolly, completely in character. She finished the sandwich before primly licking the ends of her fingers; he promptly looked away, willing himself to not let his thoughts stray once again into territory that was only going to get him into trouble.

Thankfully, Enid changed the subject so that he could focus on other activities other than the way that Wednesday sucked a light coating of grease off the pad of her thumb. “Speaking of hobbies, are you coming to Wednesday’s concerto tonight, Tyler?” 

For the first time since he’d known her (which he had to keep reminding himself, was only since yesterday but it felt so much longer), Wednesday Addams looked slightly embarrassed. “It is hardly a concerto,” she mumbled, and when she caught Tyler’s interested stare, she said, “I am being forced under duress to play a cello solo of Nevermore’s Fight Song at a fundraiser tonight. As if this pathetic excuse for a University had an ounce of fight in it.” 

Tyler filed away the last statement for examination later, but he merely quipped back, “Under duress kind of seems like your kind of thing, so does that mean you’re into it or not?”

Her lips quirked for a second. “Astute observation. Unfortunately, this is the kind of torture that even I don’t enjoy.”

Enid's voice was coated with a thin layer of mirth when she said, “Wednesday's being punished for being naughty. She played a prank on her professor and now Dean Weems is making her play nice.”

Wednesday’s eyes flashed at her roommate. “Prank? Don’t sell me so short. It was simply revenge, Enid.”

Tyler stared at them bemusedly, trying to follow along. 

Enid rolled her eyes on Wednesday and then turned to Tyler and said, “Our literature professor said that Wednesday’s sex-positive reading of Pride and Prejudice was - and I’m quoting him - a bit of a stretch . So she filled his entire desk with boiled potatoes. Like, to the brim. Even his computer keyboard was jammed with like… disgusting soggy potato.”

Wednesday shrugged. “If he wants to be a puritanical asshole, then he can dine just like Mr. Collins.” 

Holy shit, she was surely something. Tyler laughed, took the last bite of his sandwich, and offered, “You do know the boiled potatoes line is only in the movie, right? Austen didn’t actually write that.” 

“I’m aware,” Wednesday snapped, her eyes flashing now up to him. This whole incident must have struck a very exposed nerve. “But the metaphor still stands.” And then, she sized him up, her eyes trailing the length of his body. “You’re familiar with the source material?” 

“ Pride and Prejudice ?” He asked, laughing. “One of the most famous novels in English literature? Uh, yeah, I’m familiar. ”

“Tyler’s an English major,” Enid said, her tone so familiar to a proud sister that Tyler could help but feel a pang of affection for his colorful coworker. “I think he’s the only person I know who’s a bigger book nerd than you, Wednesday. His bedroom is basically just a giant library.”

It was true, and his bedroom was a fucking mess. He had planned on cleaning it last night, but well… last night happened . 

“I’d like to see it someday,” Wednesday said, her voice cool. “Your library. I like to know my competition.” 

He chuckled, nodded. “Sure, you’re on. Although you’ll have to forgive the rest of my house: I live with three farm animals.” 

“Fair enough,” Wednesday said, tipping her head at him. “So, are you?”

“Um, am I… what?” 

“Coming to the fundraiser?” She asked and then began making a drink absent-mindedly on the espresso machine, seemingly making her own quad now. When she flicked it on, he had to admit that it seemed to run smoother than it had before she had done her small surgery. “I currently do not have anyone to accompany me to it.” 

Well, if he let his imagination take him away and if he wasn’t who he was and she wasn’t who she was, he’d have thought that sounded a lot like Wednesday Addams had just asked him to be her date. But that couldn’t be right, after all, so he simply offered a small grin, “What time does the punishment start?” 

Enid was sitting there, grinning mercilessly, like she was holding in something apoplectic. Her whole body was practically vibrating. Tyler raised an eyebrow at her, “You okay there, Sinclair? Maybe the Adderall was a bad idea?”

“I’m fine!” she interjected, and then added hurriedly, “Just excited that you’re hanging out with us two nights in a row!” Enid gave him a vicelike side hug, her cheek squished against his arm. 

Chuckling, he patted her on the head and said mock-sternly, “Just no high jinks tonight from you and Ajax tonight. I can’t be seeing that side of three AM again or I’m going to need hospitalization.” And then he looked up at Wednesday and said playfully, “And no scotch and sodas, Wednesday.” 

Her lips only twitched in a small smile and said, “I make no promises. And I don’t play until nine. I do not intend on being there a second earlier. At the Ophelia Building on campus. You know where that is?” 

Tyler nodded and then pried Enid off of him. “Enid, this does not mean you get to close the store early to get there in time.” The night shift ended at nine, but he knew how Ajax and Enid’s minds would work: they would most definitely play the no one is coming anyway card and shutter the store early. And then he’d hear about it the next morning on Facebook or through a Google review: I was there at 8:55 and they were closed! And Laurel read all those damn reviews and his ass was always the one getting chewed out for them.

She looked up at him, full-on puppy eyes on display. “Come on, Tyler. Fifteen minutes early? Just this once?”

Throwing his hands up in the air, he sighed and then frowned in her direction. “I guess if the power goes out fifteen minutes before nine, there’s really nothing left to do but close up.” He leveled a glared at Enid as her mouth broke out in a face-splitting grin. “Just put up a sign, okay? I don’t want people complaining that we were closed for no damn reason.” 

“Boss of the year, right here!” She said and enveloped him in another of her signature bear hugs. 

Some boss he was. Not only was he letting his employees get away with proverbial murder, but he also had just gotten caught practically fondling the newest hire just a few minutes prior.  

Running a hand over his face, he said, “Okay, I’m going to get the tills ready. You two try not to cause too much trouble, okay?” 

“You got it!” Enid practically squealed and then said, her voice sheepish as he started walking towards the back office, “Um, so the till was off two dollars last night?” 

Tyler groaned. Thank god he had Wednesday’s quad in hand. Now if only he could keep his damn hands off her, then the day would start looking up. 

-

The workday did not, in fact, look up. Xavier and Bianca showed up epically late again, and this time they were both grumpy as hell. Also, hungover as fuck. They were also skirting around each other like they didn’t know what to do with the other person, so Tyler assumed that the inevitable hookup had happened and now things were super awkward. 

Great. Everyone except the brand new employee was hella hungover and the morning was shaping up to be busy, the beginning of holiday shopping finally becoming apparent. 

He was rushing around the cafe with Wednesday, trying to refill the espresso container and finish up a batch of iced coffee when a smug voice popped up behind him, “I see that you’re both here.” Tyler turned, saw Laurel smiling at them in a way that was giving shark vibes. Her eyes flicked over to Wednesday and then back to Tyler before she said through gritted, fake-smiling teeth: “ Still .”

Wednesday merely glared at her, her dark eyes glinting. “Indeed,” she said, waited for a beat to let Laurel survey the busy situation she was interrupting, and then added, “And I see you’re here as well. Still. ” 

He barely repressed a surprised snort, his eyes darting between Laurel and Wednesday. There was a tense silence that stretched between the two of them and Tyler was about to interject something about the store being really busy but Laurel finally puffed out the most false titter of laughter and then said, “She’s cute and funny, huh, Tyler?” 

“Yeah, she’s a hoot,” he deadpanned, giving Wednesday a look that he hoped imparted the message, maybe turn down the snark, please? It seemed like she relented, blinking before she busied herself with a coffee order. And because they were genuinely in the weeds, Laurel did quickly leave them alone but not without giving Tyler a venomous glare. He simply offered a sanguine, oblivious grin right back in her bitter face.

Let her be pissed. If she didn’t have the guts to fire them both, then that was her problem. Tyler grinned to himself; the idea that Wednesday Addams had upbraided Laurel Gates so thoroughly was almost delicious. 

The morning rush was almost over and the caffeine and ibuprofen was kicking in beautifully and Tyler was thinking maybe the tide was turning. And then he caught sight of someone who made his heart sink. 

“Fuck me,” he breathed, a little too loud so that one of the customers gave him a stink eye. Wednesday, however, only looked up at him in surprise before following his gaze out the store’s window to see an approaching figure come up the sidewalk in front of the store. 

“You know the Sheriff?” 

“Uh… yeah,” he replied, massaging his temples. “I guess you could say that. He’s my dad.” 

Her dark eyes burned against the side of his face, but Tyler couldn’t bear to look at her. Being the Sheriff’s son wasn’t exactly going to get him cred with Wednesday Addams, the woman who seemed intent on causing trouble in every room she walked into. 

And his dad looked pissed . He knew that when he had ignored two phone calls last night that he’d hear about it the next day, but he hadn’t expected that an in-person work visit was necessarily what was waiting for him. 

Sheriff Donovan Galpin strode into Prose & Cons hesitantly, like he wasn’t at all sure if he belonged in a place with so many books. But then, he caught sight of his son, and that too-focused, pissed-off stare fell across his features. He marched over to where Tyler and Wednesday were trying to recover from the morning busyness. 

His dad approached the counter, his fingers looped into his holster. Tyler felt his jaw work and he couldn’t make his gaze look innocuous. He knew exactly the chastisement he was about to receive and he was not at all looking forward to it. 

Donovan Galpin got as close as he could get to the cafe counter and leaned towards him and said brusquely, “Do I really need to barge into your damn workplace to get you to talk to me, son?” 

There was a small group of eyes on him now. To Wednesday’s credit, she was far from gawking, instead busying herself with other various cafe tasks. 

“I’m kind of busy here, Sheriff ,” he spat, hoping that the last word landed like a brick onto his father’s annoyed expression. 

It kind of worked. His dad grimaced before sighing despondently. “I get that, Tyler,” he grumbled. “But you don’t answer your phone for days . I had Dr. Kinbott call me, wanting to know why you didn’t show up to yesterday’s session.”

Fuck. He had totally forgotten in the chaos of yesterday’s events that he was supposed to go to his court-ordered therapy session. 

“Oh,” he said and then sucked in a thin breath of air. “Christ, Dad. Yeah, I totally forgot. I’ll call Kinbott tonight and…”

“... And I heard you’re down at the Pilgrim’s Pint instead? Doing shots with a bunch of…” Here his dad leaned in and said lowly, although not low enough that Wednesday wouldn't hear, “... a bunch of Nevermore kids? Come on, kid, you know how they are.”

“You mean like Mom ?” He spat at his father before thinking and instantly regretted it. His dad drew back, looking disarmed for a second before a shield fell over his features. Now, it was a lost cause. His dad was going to really give it to him, right here in front of everyone at the cafe. 

But then, he felt the ghost of a hand on his arm. And then she gripped harder, the pressure almost possessive. “Apologies, Sheriff,” there was something about Wednesday’s tone that was slightly dangerous, daring a challenge, “I’m to blame. He was with me all last night.”

Donovan Galpin blinked, bewilderment painted clear across his features. He took stock of the woman behind Tyler, all dark braids and eyes and unflappable-ness. 

And then something dawned on his features and he said, “Wednesday. Wednesday Addams?”

Okay, what ? Tyler turned and stared at Wednesday, who didn’t look at all affected.

“You’ve heard of me.” It was a question, but also not a question, like she knew that his dad knew exactly who she was. 

His dad set his lips in a thin line. “Dean Weems has… given me the heads up, yes.” 

This seemed to affect Wednesday zero percent, who only met his father’s gaze measurably. “Probably disappointing that you haven’t had the chance to meet me one-on-one until now.” 

“Disappointing is exactly the word I would use.” His dad furrowed his eyebrows and then inclined his head toward the outdoors. “Tyler, if I can, a short word.”

He felt his jaw work. Goddammit. If this morning could get more ridiculous, the last thing he needed was the admonishment of his father. This was exactly why he had to move out and pay a stupid amount of money to live with three men-children in a dilapidated house on the edge of town. Anything would be better than this every damn day, his father’s face shadowed by the Sheriff's wide-brimmed hat, glaring at him constantly. 

Tyler stalked outside, feeling Wednesday’s eyes as he left without saying a single thing. A pang of guilt shot through him for leaving her by her lonesome in that cafe, but he had the thought in his mind that he would tell his dad off and then be back inside in thirty seconds. 

Once outside, Tyler turned viciously on his heel and glared at his father. “Seriously, Dad? I told you I would call Kinbott…”

“Oh, fuck Kinbott,” His dad said. Woah. Okay. Tyler reeled back and glared at his father, the whole fucking Sheriff of Jericho and squinted his eyes. Then, running a hand over his face, his dad sighs and says, “Okay, maybe not fuck Kinbott. But you know why I brought you out here.” 

“You didn’t bring me anywhere,” Tyler growled through gritted teeth. “I’m indulging you, Dad. Now get to the point.”

Now he had really pissed him off, he could see it in the way his father’s face hardened and he practically spat down at Tyler, “Please don’t tell me that you hired that… girl. ” Here, he pointed very obviously to where Wednesday was standing behind the cafe counter, unapologetically glaring at the both of them. “And tell me the truth, boy.”

Oh. He hadn’t expected that, but he was also getting really sick and tired of how all these people seemed to be ganging up on Wednesday Addams. “So, do you want me to tell you that I didn’t hire her or do you want me to tell you the truth?” 

Sheriff Galpin’s made an exasperated grunt immediately. “Goddammit, son, don’t you know who she is?” 

“I’m aware.” Tyler’s jaw worked.

“And who your boss is? And who my boss is?” 

He threw up his hands, feeling incredibly frustrated. “Why is everyone in this fucking town obsessed with something that happened thirty years ago?” 

His dad glared down at him. “Maybe because it was Ansel Gates’s son, the man who practically runs the whole damn town? And because your boss, may I remind you, is the daughter of Ansel Gates? Come on, Tyler, think with your head and not your dick for once. I get it, she’s a pretty girl but…”

“... that is not why I hired her.” His voice was pure venom. “She’s a good barista, Dad.” 

“Good for her,” his father snapped back and then continued, “but she’s also trouble, Tyler. She almost killed a kid in high school for Christ’s sake.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Tyler grumbled, glaring up at his dad. He really hadn’t wanted to rehash this entire part of his life this morning, not this his dad and him on full display of everyone at Prose & Cons. He could even see Bianca glancing up from her spot at the cashier counter, her usual indifference replaced with a hint of concern. 

To his credit, Sheriff Galpin seemed to notice he was making a bit of a scene. He sucked in a thin stream of air and then took a small step closer to Tyler and said lowly, “Exactly why it might not be best if you two don’t hang out too much.”

Tyler felt his eyes flash, and his dad immediately seemed to notice that he may not have made the best call in telling him what to do. Who to hang out with. He felt his fists clench tight, felt the odd anger rise in him again, a pot about to boil over. 

Almost apologetically, his dad said, “Tyler, I’m…”

“Don’t even, Dad,” He said, his voice low. “I’m not going to ignore someone on some kind of moral high ground when I did the exact same thing as she did. And I’m especially not doing it just because you said so.”

It was a low blow, Tyler knew it. His father’s eyes looked despondent, resigned. Their relationship ever since his mother’s death had been… strained at best, but then after Tyler had flown off the handle in high school and after his dad shuttled him off to boot camp, things had been way, way worse. And the second he turned eighteen, he had packed his bags and moved in with the gaggle of sorta friends that currently trashed their house on a regular basis. 

Sighing, his dad’s shoulders sagged and he said, “Fine. I get it. But… at least wear a rubber, okay, son?” 

Why the fuck did everyone insist on making every conversation around Wednesday Addams uncomfortable? “It’s not at all like that, Dad,” Tyler groaned, although he knew that it was kind of like that since he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting when he thought about her. 

“Sure, sure,” his dad drawled sarcastically and then started walking back to his patrol car and then half-shouted, “And call Kinbott! You know I hate talking to her.” 

Rolling his eyes, Tyler watched his father climb in his car, drive off in a way that indicated that his dad had come down just to tell him off and not on any official business. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face before stalking back inside. 

He couldn’t help but catch Bianca’s gaze first, and she raised her eyebrow at him which he quickly interpreted as You okay? Tyler shrugged, indicating he wasn’t really in the mood to talk about it, and to Bianca’s credit, she offered a small conciliatory grin and went back to scanning in products for inventory. 

When he got back to the cafe, he quipped a quick and curt apology to Wednesday before he threw himself back into his tasks. Wednesday said nothing although she did survey him several times; he could feel her dark eyes drift over his frame like she was trying to size up the entire situation just from his body language.

God, why couldn’t his dad just be like a normal parent, realizing that their college-age kids who were doing a full-time school and full-time work schedule might be too busy to talk? Not like his dad ever wanted to actually talk. The longest conversation he’d ever had with his dad was about what he should wear to his mother’s funeral. Otherwise, it was usually just to upbraid him on a fairly regular basis. He felt the anger inside him continue to build, a curdling sensation in his gut. 

He needed a break. He needed a goddamn vacation. But all that was waiting for him was a job where he was wrangling what felt like mostly toddlers, an ornery boss, and a woman who was doing absolutely nothing purposefully to turn him on but was doing it anyway. Frustration and boners were not his ideal situation right now, especially since there was a growing sensation inside him that was encouraging him to punch a hole in the wall. 

“You know,” Wednesday sliced through his thoughts, her voice level, “I could arrange it so that the Sheriff finds himself face-to-face with several piranhas the next time he decides to haunt the community center’s pool.”

He froze and he couldn’t help but let a grim smile pass on his lips. “Did you just threaten to kill my dad? To my face?” 

Wednesday raised an eyebrow coolly. “Who said anything about kilI ? I just think maybe losing  a testicle might give him a new perspective on bursting into his adult son’s place of work and making ridiculous demands.” 

The anger inside him flared before diffusing. He needed to chill the fuck out because he was sure everyone could read the tension in every part of his body. 

Then, teasingly, he said, “He did say that you were trouble.”

“He’s not wrong,” she sniffed. “Although interesting that I am even on his radar. Does the town of Jericho not have anything better to worry about than a former teenage delinquent?” 

“Apparently not. Or at least my Dad seems to be hyper-focused on it, seeing as I am also a former teenage delinquent. ” Then, sighing one more time, he said, “Seriously, sorry about that. I think my Dad’s lack of subtlety is a workplace casualty.”

Wiping down the counter, she replied, “I understand lack of subtlety well.” 

Oh, yeah, had he forgotten his audience? “It manifests itself differently in you,” Tyler said hurriedly. “You’re not obtuse. Just… honest.” 

Wednesday turned and regarded him for a long moment. And then she said, “You’re a perceptive person, Tyler Galpin.” 

He didn’t know whether that was a compliment or an accusation. Offering her a sheepish grin, he hedged, “Thanks?” 

She didn’t return his smile, merely kept peering at him like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. Then, finally, she said, “You’ll need to wear a suit tonight. I’m wearing black.” 

“Oh, really?” He asked, his tone a thousand percent teasing. “That is a plot twist.” 

Her glare on him was softened with a pleased upturn of the corner of her mouth. “Just wear a black suit, Tyler.”  

Chapter Text

So, this might have been a mistake. First, Tyler hadn’t worn a suit since his Great Aunt Laura’s funeral a year ago and he was having a bit of an out-of-body experience wearing it. Second, he knew just enough people and just not enough people for it to be oddly super uncomfortable. When he had walked into Ophelia Hall, he caught sight not only of Yoko, but also Kent, who seemed to all know each other as they chatted and laughed together. It really was a giant web of incestuous academia at Nevermore, wasn’t it? 

He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, grabbing a flute of the complimentary champagne and pretending to study the bubbles intensely. 

It didn’t work. 

“Tyler?” He heard Yoko ask and he pretended to look up in surprise. She was wearing a pair of loose, high-waisted tuxedo pants and a shimmery silver blouse, her long dark hair a curtain around her face. Her bright-red lips offered him a small smirk.

He smiled brightly, hoping his expression didn’t show the nerves on his face. “Oh, hey, Yoko! Funny seeing you here.”

Really, Galpin? Funny meeting you at the school you attend? Not for the first time today, Tyler prayed for a fissure in the Earth to eat him whole. 

Yoko noticed, but only chuckled and said, “Uh, yeah. More funny seeing you here.” She turned and indicated Kent, “I’d introduce you to Kent, but I think you two have already met?” 

Kent’s eyes flashed in mischief and he answered coyly, “You could call it that.”

Fuck. He should really just tuck tail, admit defeat, and head home. But he had told Wednesday and Enid he’d be here and he didn’t feel like getting shit all next week. And then have to explain the reason that he didn’t attend was because he had apparently been in his slutty era when visiting the string of Nevermore parties last year? He was just going to have to grin and bear it.

“What are you doing here, Tyler?” Yoko asked, not unkind, just genuinely curious. 

“Enid used her powers of persuasion to force Tyler to attend,” Wednesday said, again appearing seemingly out of nowhere and making his heart leap into his throat with surprise. 

Even Yoko and Kent seemed to be surprised to see her suddenly, both of them blinking at Wednesday. Then, taking in her words, Yoko smirked at the both of them, “The ol’ Sinclair puppy-dog eyes attack. Yes, I know of it well. I think we’ve all been fatalities at one point or another.” 

“Indeed,” Wednesday said and then shifted her eyes slowly up to his. She gave him one of her thorough once-overs and then nodded. “I see you didn’t disregard my note about the black suit.” Her entire gaze swept over him in a way that did not at all feel chaste, but he chided himself: there was no double intent, he was sure, he was just letting his damn crotch think for his brain again. Then, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “That was a smart move. I don’t appreciate being disregarded.”

He laughed and said, “I marginally treasure my life, so I decided against that fatal move.” Then, he was finally able to take full stock of her: her usual twin braids had been piled on the top of her head, and her dress? Well, it was black, that was for sure, she had prepped him for that at least. But the rest of it, there was no way he could have been prepared for that. The entire thing was made of a sequined material, tight against her body, forked low, almost to mid-sternum, and for some reason all Tyler could think was she’s actually Viper tonight . She was also wearing the same spider-webbed tights, tight against her legs and he could see even more of them now without her Prose & Cons apron covering her to mid-thigh

“Wow,” he offered before he could stop himself, “You look…”

“Unrecognizable? Ridiculous? A classic example of female objectification for the male gaze?” 

“... amazing,” he finished, chuckling over her outburst. “I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but you look beautiful, Wednesday.” 

She was silent for a long moment, wide-eyed gaze on him before she plucked a flute of champagne from a tray that a passing-by server was walking with. Then she clicked her glass against his own and said, “It’s best to have two to three of these before they start the fundraiser presentation. It’s a special kind of torture, and again… not the kind I appreciate.”  

Tyler took a sip, looking at her over the rim of the glass. “I thought we talked about your peer-pressure tactics when it comes to alcohol.” 

“You cannot convince the willing, Tyler,” Wednesday quipped back, swilling a rather large sip. 

He snorted, was about to ask her about when she would play exactly, but then Ajax and Enid entered in a fluster of the high energy that followed them everywhere. Ajax had his arm around Enid’s shoulder and they both had the flustered blush of a couple that had just finished some kind of sexual exploit. Somehow they both had shimmied on somewhat formal attire, Enid wearing a bubblegum pink minidress and Ajax in a button-up that was undone almost to midchest.  

“So weird that our power went out tonight, my dude,” Ajax offered, clapping his hand on Tyler’s shoulders.

“And what time did it go out?” Tyler asked, giving them both a look that a preschool teacher might give a misbehaving toddler. 

Shrugging, Ajax said, “I really don’t remember. Enid, what time did we rendezvous to the supply closet?”

Enid flicked Ajax on the end of his nose. “Tyler does not need to know that kind of info.” 

Uh, actually, he did. Tyler internally groaned, praying to the gods of Jericho that Laurel got zero news of her night crew’s nightly endeavors in the supply closet. 

He shook his head and said drolly and with zero seriousness, “You’re both fired.”

“Sure, man, sure,” Ajax drawled and then turned to Wednesday, giving her a huge platonic kiss on her forehead, which she endured but glared at. 

They chatted for a brief moment, the four of them, Tyler thankful that Yoko and Kent had wandered towards a different group. All the while, he knew his eyes were being completely inappropriate on Wednesday’s frame, but it was like he didn’t really know how else to behave. When she caught him once, he recovered in a stupid move: he tipped back the champagne flute in one quick drink and the next thing he knew, he was being handed another one. 

After only a couple minutes, they heard Dean Weems sound check at the event’s main mic and Wednesday leaned in and said to him, “That means I’m being summoned.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “You can be summoned?”

She gave him a strange look and said cryptically, “If you ask in the right way, yes, that’s a possibility.” And then with one last loaded glance, she walked away from him. Tyler found himself watching how her hips moved under the shimmery sequined dress but then shook his head forcefully.

He needed to get a fucking grip. Already, he had been reminded of how thinking with his hormones instead of his brain cells could lead to awkwardness (just ask Yoko and Kent). 

Ajax, Enid, and himself found some seats that were inconspicuously not near the front but also not near the back. 

“Wednesday’s going to be playing to the side, over there,” Enid chirped in a clipped whisper, pointing to where a small podium had been erected. “Wednesday insisted that they separate her from the main stage as much as possible.” 

“She fucking hates these things,” Ajax laughed, too loud, enough that several tuxedoed and evening-dressed individuals turned around and gave him an appraising look. Whether he noticed or whether he cared was debatable, since the next thing that Tyler knew, he was making out with Enid, neither of them seeming to care exactly that they were very much in public.

“Jesus,” Tyler muttered, burying himself behind a show pamphlet that had been resting on his chair. It was one of their regular fundraisers, ones where they applauded themselves for offering such an exclusive education that somehow wasn’t fully funded by the astronomical tuition that students had to pay. He read through the names doing presentations tonight, some he recognized: Dean Weems, Wednesday Addams (of course), a couple of other people who were Prose & Cons regulars. And then one name caught his attention and he froze. 

Fuck. Fuck .

Because there, right there, printed in bold letters on the show’s bulletin, was the main presenter of the evening: Dr. Hugo Sylvanne. 

His grandfather. His mother’s father, the one who had always thought that his daughter had married rather below her station, coupling up with some townie cop. His cool indifference had only increased over the years, especially after his mother’s death. And when Tyler had refused to take his money and leverage the family’s influence to go to Nevermore, the communication had pretty much stopped altogether. 

And now he was stuck in a room where there was no way that his grandfather wasn’t going to see him. 

Tyler felt his palms begin to sweat and he thought briefly about just excusing himself to go the bathroom and never coming back. But there was something about that felt so incredibly childish that he simply swallowed thickly and instead focused on his breathing.

Kinbott had told him a million times that he had to stop believing he owed people things when he didn’t. He didn’t owe his grandfather shit, he knew this, he knew this, but when he looked into the older gentlemen’s eyes - the same honey shade as his own, the same as his mother’s - his insides roiled in some kind of guilt that he couldn’t control.

Guilt that he was a disappointment to his mother’s legacy, his brilliant mother who had been the gem of Nevermore, who had been brilliant and popular. She was everything that Tyler thought he was decidedly not, and every conversation with his grandfather only furthered his perception that he was an utter failure. 

But he was here for his friends, and his grandfather didn’t get to dictate where and when he got to hang out with them, Sylvanne legacy be damned. 

The program started with a preamble from Dean Weems, who wore a sheath dress of sparkly white, a sequined fascinator fastened primly to her blonde coifed hair, not a strand out of place. It was the usual diatribe, about how Nevermore was the bastion of free and creative thought, how they were dedicating their entire energy to the formulation of tomorrow’s leaders, etc, etc. Never mind that they were positioned in a building that stood like a castle on a hill, towering down over a small, working-class town that was owned by the clutches of the Gates family oligarchy. Nothing about that felt specifically free or creative to Tyler, but the rest of the audience seemed to soak it up (well, except for Enid and Ajax, who couldn’t keep their damn hands off each other long enough to listen to a single word). 

A couple of students came up and gave their testimony about how Nevermore had “changed their lives,” including Kat Parks, who offered him a small grin when their eyes met for a brief second. Was there some kind of meeting before this event of the few people he’d ever hooked up with where they all decided to descend upon him on the same night? 

And then, finally, Dean Weems got up, smiled warmly, and said, “It is with great pleasure that I get the chance to introduce tonight’s main speaker. As you all know, we are proud of all our alumni. Our speaker tonight has truly done incredible work in the field of attosecond physics, his research being used extensively by teams who have been awarded honors such as the Nobel Prize, Copley Medal, and Wolf Prize. His contributions to Nevermore provided us with a new science laboratory to provide Nevermore’s students the chance to be on the cutting edge of scientific research. Please help me welcome tonight’s keynote speaker, Dr. Hugo Sylvanne.” 

There was a clatter of applause, although nothing uproarious to say the least. Tyler slid down further in his seat, hoping that he would disappear into the crowd, although he knew it was a fruitless endeavor. The audience wasn’t so small that he could just blend as another face amongst hundreds of others; there were maybe a hundred people total, and the room wasn’t so large that he could be swallowed simply by the space. 

His grandfather took the stage, a spry man in his early 70s, tall and lithe like his mother had been. He was handsome in that sort of traditional way, with a firm jawline and a head of silvery hair that he had slicked back. He approached the podium, shook Dean Weems's hand, having to look up at her in the eyes with her imposing height. And then he donned a pair of sleek reading spectacles and removed a piece of paper from his suit’s inner pocket.

He cleared his throat and said into the mic, his voice tinged charmingly with a slight Québécois accent,  “You’ll have to forgive an old man: I wrote some notes down on a piece of paper with a pen - an anachronistic technology that you young kids wouldn’t know about.” It was a joke that was met with kind laughter, and Tyler knew that he had them. He could be deceptively warm when needed, using his honey eyes as a weapon when Tyler’s mother only ever used them as genuine reflections of her intentions. 

Tyler never met his eyes long enough in the mirror to know how he used his own. 

The rest of his grandfather’s speech was typical at best. Lots of stereotypical placating that the youth is the future. Some mention of how his contributions would help Nevermore gain the spotlight in the world of both quantum and atomic physics. 

It was almost a miracle, Tyler was sure that his grandfather hadn’t seen him. But then, at the last second, the man shifted his gaze directly to meet Tyler’s eyes.

Shit. He’d been caught. Tyler wanted to drop his eyes downward, but he ground his teeth, forced himself to glare back without fear. 

He owed him nothing . So why did it feel like his mother was looking down at him now, so disappointed? 

“I know now that Nevermore’s student body will bring about the new leaders of tomorrow,” Dr. Sylvanne said, his eyes never leaving Tyler’s. The emphasis on the specific school he was referencing was apparent in every syllable, meant to carve a blow into the person who had locked eyes with.

Tyler knew those words were for him , the grandson who had refused to be a pawn in the game that spanned two generations and between the two men who were the constant bane of his existence: his father and his grandfather.

When he exited the stage, the crowd gave his grandfather sincere applause, although, again, it was far from a standing ovation. For his part, Tyler just clutched the bulletin in his fist until it was a wadded mess. 

Thankfully, Enid and Ajax caught nothing of the entire speech. It was like they were radio stations finally breaking through the static, their pawing at each other stopping almost immediately as Dean Weems announced a thanks for everyone attending for the evening and then proclaimed there would be one “last performance” from one of Nevermore’s “finest talents, Wednesday Addams.”

Tyler smirked; he somehow knew that Wednesday would hate that introduction. 

And he would bet a million dollars he was right based on the murderous gaze on her face as she stomped up to her own little platform off to the side of the main stage. Her cello had already been set up, and she merely plunked down in her seat in a way that did not bear usual testament to her light-footed stature. 

She breathed deeply, he could see the way her chest rose and fell against the neckline of her dress. His swallow was thick as he watched as she straddled the cello, and then began.

He’d always appreciated the cello resonance: a mournful, low-keening sound. When his mother was still alive, she would dress him in a clip-on tie and drive him a half-hour to Burlington to listen to the orchestra there. He’d watch his mother’s eyes, watch as they grew watery during the string overture. It was like these particular instruments had reached into her soul and found something there to reverberate with. 

But as Wednesday played, Tyler couldn’t help but watch her, transfixed. 

It was a dumb little ditty, one he’d heard at football and basketball games when Nevermore and Jericho Community College did their silly “town spirit” games each year. Each team would try to outdo each other in volume with their fight songs. Usually, someone in the crowd would issue a giant “Fuck you and your mom!” and there would be an actual fight, but that was beside the point. The point wasn’t that it was the Nevermore song, it was that it was Wednesday playing the song, and he could see every inch of her passion for the instrument as she played. 

Her usual nonchalant expression even dissolved a bit, and when she hit a more complex section of the song, her head tipped back, her eyes closed. And then she opened them and looked directly at him, almost startling him right out of his seat. Her dark eyes flittered over him for only a second before they became distant, going into a liminal space where he knew that she had escaped into the work, even if it was just a pedantic number.

A thrill ran through him wondering what her face might look like if she was playing something she liked . 

When she finished, the usual smattering of applause arose, except for Ajax and Enid, who whooped and hollered, Ajax issuing a “That’s our fucking girl! ” amongst a group of rather stuffy-looking donors, completely ignoring their off-put glares.

Tyler knew he liked Ajax for a reason. 

The lights rose back up, Wednesday seemingly disappeared without Tyler really knowing how , and Dean Weems thanked everyone for coming and asked them to stay for a “small reception” which was code for “shmoozing and drinking copious amounts of champagne in order to encourage donors to be looser with their wallets.” 

He was hoping that he could simply tell Wednesday she did amazing before imparting to everyone he was still tired from the night before and then sneak out the back before having to say a single word to his grandfather. He was hoping, praying , that he could just get that lucky for once in his life. 

Tyler did not get lucky.

He had literally hardly exited the row of seats before his grandfather had swooped in. Tyler didn’t even have the luxury of Enid and Ajax to temper the interaction; the two of them had flittered off toward the free champagne immediately, leaving him with only his grandfather's discerning gaze peering down at him.

“Tyler,” he said in greeting, nothing exceptionally warm about this voice. 

Tyler sucked in a thin stream of air. “Pépère,” he noted back, echoing the same level of warmth. “Vous allez bien?”

His grandfather seemed surprised to hear the French phrase from Tyler, even though it was practically a second language in his house growing up, his mother swapping back and forth constantly, her calls back to Canada always completely in it. But then, his grandfather simply frowned and said, in English, “Your accent leaves a lot to be desired, son.”

Ah, yes, of course, the reception he expected. Tyler suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, deciding that it would be best to keep things civil, and simply said, “I hope that you’re doing well, Pépère.” No, he didn’t hope that. He didn’t really care if he was being honest. But being rude or cold back to his grandfather wasn’t getting him out of there any sooner.

His grandfather evaluated him for a long moment and said, “I would be doing better if I knew that my grandson wasn’t wasting his time at some… community college getting his degree in what? English Literature ?”

Jesus. So much for keeping things light. Tyler felt his jaw work but he simply mumbled, “Sorry that my life choices are causing such stress. Maybe not talking to me for another three or four years again would help?”

His grandfather took the jab in stride and simply quirked an eyebrow. “ That is entirely your own doing. My lines of communication are always open.”

“Oh, so I can get upbraided for literally everything in both English and French?” Tyler took a rather hearty swig of his champagne. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” 

Here, his grandfather huffed. Good, so he’d finally ruffled a feather or two of the old man’s unflappable visage. “I see you still share your father’s pigheadedness,” his grandfather remarked, and before Tyler could offer a retort about how he didn’t share a damn thing with his father, his grandfather leveled at him an appraising once-over and said, “Although I must say that you do clean up well, son. You almost look like a Nevermore student in that suit.”

Tyler felt his eyes flash. “Well, I’m not one, so you can erase that illusion from your mind.” 

“There’s still time,” his grandfather hedged. “You’re still only in Junior year? You could finish at Nevermore.”

The sardonic laugh that left his lips was completely unbidden. Tyler shook his head disbelievingly and simply said with finality, “I’m not going to Nevermore, Pépère. Not now, not ever.” He polished off the rest of his champagne in one gulp. “I’m not going to another one of the Sylvanne legacies that you get to put on your mantle like a shiny trophy.” 

Well, shit. He had just come out and said it; Tyler had wanted to say just that for so long that it had been essentially clawing inside his brain to get out. That was practically cathartic. 

And as much as it felt scathing to leave his mouth, his grandfather seemed unperturbed, although he gave a rather appraising expression to Tyler’s empty champagne flute. And then he said, his voice cool again, “If you’re so opposed to this institution, why are you even here, Tyler?” 

“I required a date. Tyler obliged.” Wednesday’s voice was right next to him, almost causing him to jump in surprise. How she managed to just appear out of the ether was baffling. And it was possibly going to cause him to have chronic heart arrhythmia. 

He looked down at her: she was next to her rather imposing cello case, which dwarfed her small frame. Her dark eyes were practically glowering up at his grandfather, unblinking. She was holding two flutes of champagne and offered one to Tyler without looking at him, her gaze still locked on his grandfather. He took it tentatively, not really sure how to respond to this sudden plot twist. Because, first off, he did not remember the part of him being Wednesday’s date, and second, he wasn’t sure at all how this interaction would go down: a conversation between two of the more unflappable people he’d ever met, his grandfather and Wednesday Addams. 

His grandfather simply blinked down at her and then swiveled his eyes between the two of them. His voice was almost warm when he said, “I enjoyed your playing, young lady.”

“My name is Wednesday, not young lady.” Her voice was not tinged with any maliciousness or offense, just pure matter-of-factness. Tyler practically choked on his own air and waited in wide-eyed anticipation for his grandfather’s response.

There was only the smallest quirk of his grandfather’s lips that showed his distaste, but he covered it up quickly with a good-natured smile. “Ah, of course. My mistake. It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Wednesday.” Then, he paused, took full stock of Wednesday, and said, “Did I hear that your last name was Addams? As in, Gomez Addams’s daughter?” 

Uh-oh. He didn’t like the sound of his grandfather’s voice. Something was needling there, too prying, like he was quite pleased to make Wednesday’s acquaintance beyond her cello playing. Like there was something advantageous for him in knowing an Addams . And that kind of shit was why Tyler couldn’t go to Nevermore, this kind of nepotistic bullshit, where everyone was trying to get ahead simply by knowing and cavorting and fucking just the right person to get themselves into the next social stratosphere. 

“I am his progeny, yes,” Wednesday replied and then took a small sip of her champagne. “Although I’m sure you would have been peers with my abuelo, Pancho Addams.” 

“I was, indeed,” his grandfather said, something slimy crossing his face. “It is nice to see you returning as a legacy student, Wednesday.” Here, his gaze slid to Tyler just to make sure the jab had found its mark.

Tyler could have sworn he saw Wednesday’s eyes flash with something dangerous before it was replaced with cool apathy. “Rest assured, I’m at Nevermore only because it was one of the few schools that would accept a student with a juvenile criminal record such as mine,” she said, not at all changing her voice from the unaffected intonation that she seemed to impart everything. 

To Tyler’s delight, this did in fact cause his grandfather to start. For once in his life, he saw him stumble for words as Wednesday kept her rather venomous gaze locked on his face.

Tyler wished he could have taken a picture and hung it up on the wall in order to immortalize this very rare and incredible moment in history: Dr. Hugo Sylvanne, physics pioneer and patriarch of the Sylvanne family, undone by a five-foot-nothing sliver of a woman.

Luckily for his grandfather, the entire conversation was interrupted by the uproarious voice of Ajax, Enid in tow. 

“Yo, Wednesday!” Ajax practically shouted, completely unself-conscious of the stares he garnered from such an outburst. “There you are!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and placed a brotherly kiss on the crown of her head. Wednesday merely glared up at Ajax, but she seemingly tolerated this interaction that Tyler was sure might put other people in the hospital. “That was fucking incredible! I swear to God, it was so good that I was hard the entire performance.” 

Tyler almost spit out the champagne he had in his mouth. He cast a glance up at his grandfather, who was looking at the lot of them in haughty horror. 

Enid gave a playful slap to Ajax’s chest and then turned to Wednesday with a beaming grin on her face. “I have to admit, I was equally turned on, Wednesday. That was amazing!” 

Wednesday, in turn, looked unaffected. She merely raised an eyebrow before deadpanning, “Hyperbole is hardly needed. It was practically torturous to play such a subpar song.” She sipped delicately at her drink. “And not the kind of torture that I enjoy.” 

Ajax laughed and then suddenly seemed to see Tyler’s grandfather standing there, a completely bewildered expression on his face. “Oh, Dr. Sylvanne, completely dope speech. I just read your paper on neural response and repair using spectroscopy, totally fascinating, my dude.” 

Ah, so there it was. Tyler had wondered how Ajax fit into the overall Nevermore picture, and here was his answer: Ajax was that kid who habitually showed up ten minutes late to class, high as hell and still a little drunk from the night before while simultaneously having the highest GPA of everyone. 

Ajax, the secret genius… that checked out, Tyler thought, thoroughly enjoying watching the emotional journey his grandfather was going through in order to process this odd bunch of young adults in front of him. 

Ajax prattled with his grandfather for a couple of minutes on whatever the hell it was that his grandfather even did (it was still a mystery to Tyler all these years later), before Dean Weems strode their way, smiling brightly. When she caught sight of Tyler, her smile grew, although suspiciously. 

“Oh, Mr. Galpin, I’m so glad you were able to join,” she said as she approached them. “When I didn’t receive your RSVP I assumed you might be… busy.” 

RSVP? He hadn’t known a damn thing about his grandfather being there, although he doubted that any invitation had made it to the derelict house he occupied with his monstrous roommates. And then it struck him: they had sent an invite to his childhood home. He could envision his father opening the mail, seeing the Nevermore sigil on the piece of mail, and tossing it immediately in the trash. 

“Yeah, super fortunate that I was able to attend after all,” Tyler said behind a tense grin, eying his grandfather with a glance that hoped imparted that maybe a phone call would have been nice? Not that he was certain that would have changed his view on attendance, but the fact of the matter was that his grandfather knew he’d be in town and he hadn’t even bothered to rattle off a quick email. 

Dean Weems caught every ounce of the tension and merely cleared her throat apologetically before saying, “I apologize for breaking up a family reunion, but may I borrow your grandfather for a few minutes? I’d like to introduce him to our new head of the science department.” 

His grandfather peered down at him inquisitively in a way that confused him: was he asking his permission to talk with someone? Blinking he said, “Uh, of course. I actually probably need to get back home anyway.” He nodded at his grandfather and said, “Good to see you, Pépère.” 

For a second his grandfather hesitated and then nodded. Regarding the rather eclectic group of people surrounding Tyler, he said, “It was good to meet all of you.” 

Liar, Tyler thought. Strange to meet you all might be the right wording, but his grandfather was ever the diplomat. 

Before he walked away, his grandfather made special note: “And I’m very glad that Tyler has finally found a nice girl to go out with, Wednesday.” 

Tyler froze. Oh great, so that’s the narrative that his grandfather had come up with in a matter of a couple sentences that were exchanged?

Opening his mouth to clarify, Wednesday offered coolly instead, “When I meet this nice girl Tyler is seeing, I’ll be sure to let her know that you send your regards.” 

Tyler had to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep a smug expression from erupting on his face. His grandfather seemed to stare at her in bemusement for a long moment before volleying back a pedantic smile, saying, “And she’s witty!” And then he issued a very odd wink at Tyler, which he stared back at with befuddlement. His grandfather was not really the winking type of person, so he had no idea how to parse all of that out. 

When his grandfather wasn’t in earshot, Ajax turned to Tyler and said, “Holy shit, bro. Why didn’t you ever tell us that your grandfather was Dr. Sylvanne?” 

“Um, because you all didn’t strike me as purveyors of quantum physics,” Tyler replied before offering Ajax a crooked grin. “Although I guess I’m eating crow, because apparently that’s a passion of yours, Ajax?”

Ajax shrugged and said, “I dabble I guess.” And then he tossed back an entire flute of champagne before adding, “Although, he kind of seems like a dick, Tyler. Brilliant, but a dick.” 

“Agreed,” Wednesday said and then eyed Tyler in an evaluating way. “Sorry. Do you have affection for him?” 

Tyler laughed and then shook his head. “I guess he’s my grandfather at the end of the day. But I wouldn’t call our relationship affectionate in the slightest.” 

Wednesday continued to give him that appraising look, but Ajax interjected, “Still fucking blows my mind that you never mentioned that, my dude.”

“The next time I’m related to a famous physicist, I’ll be sure you’re the first to know,” Tyler replied with a chuckle. And then, he stared shyly into his champagne and turned to Wednesday and said, “I thought your performance was…” 

“... asinine, derivative, ridiculous?” She offered, not in a display of self-deprecation, but a true reflection of how she felt about that silly little song she was coerced into playing. 

He grinned. “Inspiring,” he offered. “Your performance was phenomenal.” Her gaze didn’t leave his face, like she was trying to deduce if was, indeed, being a hyperbolic idiot. So, in concession, he added, “Although, agreed the fight song for Nevermore is all the things you listed.” 

Wednesday huffed, “As if there was any fight in Nevermore worth composing music around.” And here, she offered him a rare grin, one that felt conspiratorial, like she felt very similar to him about Nevermore University on the whole. 

“Okay! Enough eye-fucking, you two,” Ajax said, and Tyler felt himself groan internally. Of course, Ajax couldn’t keep his theories about Tyler’s secret pining to himself. Wednesday, however, seemed completely unfettered, merely shifted her gaze to Ajax with her champagne glass held aloft. “So, where’s the after-party?” 

Tyler was just about to say that he really needed to head home, finish up the edits for his paper (which he was, fortunately, able to hammer out in the hours between work and now), maybe note that not everyone can be a genius who studied photons on their free time like Ajax Petropolus.  But suddenly he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Frowning, Tyler took it out and immediately screwed his eyes shut upon seeing the message that was responsible for the haptic alert. 

Of course, they would. Of course. The one night he wanted to just go home and be somewhat sober and read a good book and not think about Wednesday Addams and go the fuck to bed at an hour that didn’t end in AM, his roommates had to throw what seemed like a raging kegger. 

He scanned over the texts quickly again, just to make sure he hadn’t read something wrong. Nope. It was exactly like he had thought: 

The first text, from Jonah: Hey loser, where the fuck you at? 

Second text, from Carter: This party is the tits my dude. Get your ass here!

Third text, succinct and from Lucas: Fuck you Galpin

And the last one, from Jonah: Dude we bought like four kegs with your goth girlfriends tip money and we are getting messed up get over here and you can even bring your dumbass nevermore friends

This all implied that each text was revealing a more inebriated version of each of his roommates, meaning that the party was not only in full swing, but was launching itself into another stratosphere. 

Tyler clenched his teeth. Why couldn’t he know a single moment of peace? Tomorrow was Sunday, the one day that Prose & Cons wasn’t open and he had fully allotted tonight as the reset day where he could get caught up on not only school work but also just decompress. But, then again, it did mean that tomorrow he could abandon himself to sleeping in until the afternoon. 

And Ajax did want an after-party. 

Clearing his throat, Tyler said, “So, apparently, Wednesday’s exceedingly generous tip to my roommate at the bar last night has funded a complete scene of debasement and debauchery at my house. There’s evidently copious amounts of alcohol and if I know anything about my roommates, they are all playing strip ping-pong right now.” 

“Oh, babe!” Enid said, polishing off her champagne and looking at Ajax. “That’s our favorite sport.” 

Ajax agreed heartily and soon the four of them decided they were heading to Tyler’s house for a ridiculous display of baccalaureate depravity.

As they exited the Ophelia building, Tyler leaned over and said to Wednesday, trying very hard not to stare at the way her dress shimmered in the dim lighting, “I’m blaming you if this night goes sideways. Please never tip my roommates beyond thirty percent unless you want to see chaos ensue.” 

The grin she issued him was practically devilish. “I am rather a fan of chaos.” 

Tyler returned her grin and thought, I bet you are, I bet you are . 

Chapter Text

Their house was never going to recover from this. Tyler surveyed the truly insane party happening at the place he, unfortunately, called home and thought, tonight this house might get razed to the ground . 

The house itself, fortunately for them in terms of the cops not getting called on them often, was a bit far back from the road, on top of a smallish hill. But tonight, Tyler was almost a thousand percent certain that he would see his dad eventually slither up their drive, the siren and lights on, tell them all to keep it the hell down, and his disappointed frown when he said, “You really want to pay to live with these clowns when you could be at home?” 

Because the party was out of control: music was blaring from a pair of speakers that Tyler had no idea where the hell they came from, there were probably at least seventy-five people milling about in the yard alone and on the front porch (with whom knew how many might be inside), and the beer pong table was not only in full swing but set up on the roof that overhung their front porch. 

“I’m absolutely getting evicted tonight,” Tyler grumbled, looking up at the complete dystopian scene playing out in front of him. 

Behind him, Ajax clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Yep, definitely seems like it. But I plan on making it worth the eviction, bro.” And with that, he removed from his coat pocket a small plastic baggie full of heart-shaped gummies. “Want something to take the edge off of being homeless?”

Surveying the situation in front of him, he sighed. He was sure that Jonah, Carter, and Lucas had officially overstepped the line probably about two hours ago, and there was no reeling it back in, especially not now. He was going to have to move back in with his dad. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Tyler merely proffered his palm up towards Ajax. “Yeah, give me two of those.”

Ajax guffawed. “ Noice ,” he said and tipped two sugar-coated gummies into Tyler’s palm, which he instantly chewed, swallowed. “And, just for the record, my couch is always open if you need a place to crash.” He quirked an eyebrow at Tyler appraisingly and said, “And I mean, maybe my bed if you and my girlfriend would be into it.”

Tyler almost choked on the gummies halfway down his throat.

“I’m not ,” Enid interjected and then shook her rainbow-colored hair, but she was rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Is everyone trying to sleep with everything that moves except me?” 

Ajax popped his own gummy into his mouth, shrugged. “Babe, whatever you want is the first priority to me. But you know… I’m up for the whole human experience whenever it presents itself to me and you’re cool with it.” 

Enid practically beamed up at her boyfriend and said, “I know. I do love that about you.” She placed an open-mouthed kiss on Ajax’s lips before she essentially howled, “Now how about the two of us go kick some beer-pong ass?!” 

Ajax issued his own yelp before scooping Enid up in an almost bridal-type of carry, both of them dying in laughter as they trudged up toward the house that Tyler was sure he would soon no longer be a resident of. 

“Fuck,” he sighed to himself. “Where the hell am I going to find a place that will fit all my books?” 

“You did promise to show me your book collection,” came Wednesday’s deadpanned voice next to him. They had all Uber-ed here together, although she had insisted that they stop at the liquor store just down the block to get a bottle of her favorite absinthe. It felt a little high-touch, but Wednesday had promised that it was a party gift, meaning she was insisting on leaving her hundred-dollar bottle of liquor at his house. In case I come over again she had said, her wide eyes on him as she left the Uber to quickly run inside to the liquor store. Tyler had gulped, not sure why he kept rearranging her words and phrases into ways that involved him being entirely inappropriate with her.  

Turning to look at her, he took only a half-second to give her a completely selfish once-over. In the moonlight, her skin glowed in a way that made his mouth dry. Even though it was a chilly night, her shoulders were bare and he could see the dots of gooseflesh on her arms. 

“Are you cold?” He asked and then started to shrug off his suit jacket. 

She stopped him with a quick, “I’m not. Or I mean, I don’t mind.” 

He chuckled darkly and continued to take off the jacket, “I’m sure that’s true. But humor me and take this.” 

And she didn’t object, although her lips were set in a firm line as he draped the jacket around her shoulders. The tips of his fingers grazed the soft skin of her arms for only a brief second and suddenly he had a flashback of earlier this morning when his entire palm was pressed against the tattoo covering her ribcage. 

He needed to get a grip. Although whatever the hell Ajax had given him was already started to make his thoughts a little woozy. 

Maybe he could just pass out and Wednesday Addams would just be only a nice dream he could have tonight, rather than have to deal with the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his brain? Tyler both prayed for that to happen and also prayed it wouldn’t, because he genuinely wanted to hang out with her now, especially now that she was draped in his suit jacket, her petite frame almost swallowed in the damn thing. 

Then, clearing his throat, he said, “Well, if you want to see it, tonight’s the night, since I’m a thousand percent sure my landlord is serving our eviction papers in the morning.” 

Wednesday surveyed the scene coolly. “I’m sure several dozen lease annulments are happening just on the front porch.”

She wasn’t wrong: Tyler was pretty sure that someone had set up an impromptu tattoo station, a girl was threatening that she was going to take her top off, and Jonah and Carter were screaming down at him to get the fuck up here, asshole! loud enough that Tyler was sure that Jericho’s police department wouldn’t need a noise complaint to know there was a ruckus here; they would simply hear it right down at the station. 

Sighing, he said, “No promises that my room hasn’t been taken over by either a keg or some people having weird, wild sex.” 

“Does that happen often in your room?” 

He laughed. “Never, but there’s always a first time for anything.” 

Oh, crap. He hadn’t meant to make that sound dirty, but he was quite sure that he had walked right into that one. 

Wednesday, however, seemed anything but offended. In fact, she merely cocked an eyebrow and said, “Indeed. There is always a first time for everything.” 

Tyler was not at all sure what to make of that, but he told himself not to overthink it. 

As they made the way up the hill towards the house, he offered a hand at the small of her back and then withdrew, feeling his face heat, “Uh, sorry, just didn’t want you to slip. I’ve heard that you’re not a fan of a lot of physical contact.”

“Certain kinds of physical contact, yes,” she said, her voice even. “Other kinds I’m quite amenable to.”

Tyler blinked. Okay, he needed to get a fucking grip, because his mind was spinning up eight million iterations of how to take that comment, none of which were at all puritanical. He needed a grip, or he needed alcohol stat, one of the two. 

“Think you could crack open that absinthe sooner rather than later?” He asked and then quickly added, “I think having a drink in hand will make us immune to being swindled into a beer pong competition.” 

Wednesday cast her eyes up at the rooftop, where Enid and Ajax had already, beyond all logic, crawled up in order to be deep in competition with several townies that Tyler recognized as people he had graduated high school with. “Although I do believe that Enid and Ajax will have that section of the party quite reserved for the rest of the night, you are probably right.” Then, with a deft flick of her fingernail, she peeled away the absinthe bottle’s wrapping. With her teeth, she grabbed the cork seal and yanked, opening it up with a satisfying plop. Then, the cork still in her teeth, she offered the bottle to him. 

He raised an eyebrow at her but took the bottle gingerly. “Feels weird to drink this hundred-dollar bottle of absinthe the same way as a Boone’s Farm wine cooler.” 

Wednesday spit out the cork into her palm and said coolly, “A hundred and twenty dollar bottle, actually. But, when in Rome…” and here she waved her hand over the scene in front of them, which included Enid volleying a beer pong shot even while sitting piggyback on Ajax’s back.

This elicited a true laugh from him, even as he tipped back a small sip of the liquor. The alien-green drink slid down his throat easily, a type of smooth fire. Then, he gave it back to her; she took a long pull herself and when she drew back, she kept eye contact as her tongue ran across her lips. 

Quickly averting his eyes, he willed himself to breathe steadily. The edges of the music were getting dulled nicely. He could feel whatever the hell was in Ajax’s gummies smooth out the night, like someone had put a mute button on the anxiety that had been coursing through his veins ever since he’d stepped foot onto the Nevermore campus just a few hours prior. 

Wednesday’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Tyler realized he had been spacing out for longer than he probably thought he had. “I’m not… known for my skills in empathy. But did I?” He looked over at her, feeling the crease of confusion in between his brows. Wednesday looked completely at a loss for words, and he wondered if this might be one of the few times where that had happened to her. Frankly, she looked pretty adorable, but Tyler squashed that thought, although those thoughts were getting tough to tackle as the whatever-the-hell drugs began kicking in. Finally, she continued, “I noticed that you were uncomfortable with your grandfather. I hope I didn’t make things more unacceptable by providing a false narrative that you might be romantically attached to me.” 

Here, he snorted before chuckling darkly. Wednesday only offered him a rather bewildered glare. Quickly, he offered, “Sorry, totally not laughing at you. At all. If anything, there’s literally nothing that you could do to make our relationship more unacceptable .” He reached out, took the bottle from her in order to get another swig. “Actually, he seemed pleased as fucking punch that he was under false pretense that you were my date.” Tyler offered a once-over, one that he tried not to make salacious, purely evaluating, even if he couldn’t keep himself from eying the pale slope of her neck in the moonlight, the way his jacket had slid far enough down her arm to expose the tiny peak of her shoulder bone. “I know you’re already Romanian royalty, but I guess you’re also something of the Princess of Nevermore as well?”

Her face turned stony. Tyler did not like that. “What is it to you?”

“To me ?” Tyler chuckled. “Absolutely nothing .” At her still icy stare, he felt like he had to backpedal. “Trust me when I say you will not find another person on the entire planet who could care less about who’s who at Nevermore than me.”

“But your grandfather…?”

“My grandfather doesn’t give a single shit about anything but making sure his precious legacy gets preserved like a fossil in amber,” he said before wincing. This had to be the drugs talking, the champagne and absinthe pressing against his tongue and making him spill his own familial dramas to someone who probably hadn’t realized the absolute shitstorm she had walked into when she asked about the history of his grandfather, Dr. Hugo Sylvanne. 

He needed to calm down. Tyler ran a hand through his hair, pulling lightly at the curls there, and then said, “Listen, I’m really sorry if my grandfather made you feel uncomfortable. He excels at that.”

Wednesday eyed him, her expression melting from her previous iciness to something more familiar, the wide evaluating expression that she typically leveled at him. “I’m not exactly averse to uncomfortable situations.” 

“Sure you aren’t,” he chuckled and then said. “How about we get out of this madness and kick out the couple currently using my room as their private opium den?”

Wednesday shrugged. “Seems rather spoilsport of us, but if it will allow us some privacy, I suppose it’s a necessary evil.” 

Well, he shouldn’t think any more of that. However, his brain couldn’t help thinking of how much he’d love to really get her in private. But that was just a drunk and inappropriate version of himself thinking that, the one that needed to stop being such a creep and just invite a fellow human being into a normal conversation about his favorite books. 

Except this fellow human being was wearing a dress that was covering a tattoo that was invading every part of his neural pathways. 

In both a fortunate and unfortunate moment in Tyler Galpin’s life, the person who interrupted his entirely indecent thought was none other than Jonah. His roommate bellowed from his leaning frame on the front stoop, “Yo, Galpin! You gonna bring that goth girlfriend of yours up here so that we can kiss her full on the mouth for this party or what?” 

Tyler screwed his eyes shut. “Did I mention that I live with Neanderthals?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“If they value their lives, they will keep their mouths a full ten feet from my own,” Wednesday said, but when he peered over at her, she had a wisp of a smile on her face. 

They made their way up the front lawn, listening to the hollers of both Jonah and Carter. As he got closer, Jonah whooped at him, “So nice of you all to dress up. I guess you got the memo that there’s a dress code here.” His roommate then swept his hand over the sweatshirt he was currently donning. It was one that some of the dumb gift shops in town sold: it resembled an official Nevermore school sweatshirt, but they had altered it to make it look like someone had vandalized it. The letters making up Nevermore were being pecked by a Raven (which roosted on an askew “N”) and a spraypainted “Fuck” sat directly above so that the whole message of Fuck Nevermore was on full display. It was meant to be worn at the sporting events where Nevermore and Jericho Community College competed, existing for no other reason than to be an irritant. Much like it was right now, especially as Jonah waggled his eyebrows at the both of them in what seemed like a challenge.

“You always had the gift for subtlety, Jonah,” Tyler deadpanned. “And also the unique ability to read the room.” Here, he nodded over to Wednesday. 

“I rather like it. Reflects my sentiments quite succinctly,” Wednesday said and then took a prim sip of her absinthe. Tyler offered her a raised eyebrow, but her face was unreadable.

Jonah only eyed her skeptically. “Your girlfriend is fucking weird, dude,” he finally said and then asked, “So, you doing a keg stands with us or what?” 

“We’ve been over this a million times, Jonah: I have never nor will ever do keg stands with you,” Tyler said, but couldn’t veil a small grin on his face, almost laughing at his roommate’s unflagging ability to be a complete terror; it would be almost charming if it wasn’t super fucking annoying. “Also, I know it’s impossible to get through your pea-sized brain that women and men can be just friends, but I’m sure Wednesday would appreciate you not shouting she is anyone’s girlfriend amongst a crowd of three hundred gossipy coeds.” And then, in what felt like a fit of middle-school ridiculousness, he added lamely, “Meaning she is not my girlfriend.” 

“Is that why she’s wearing your fucking clothes?” Jonah’s face wore an entirely smug expression; Tyler had the almost irrepressible urge to punch it clean off. 

But instead of resorting to a drunken brawl, Tyler merely rolled his eyes and said, “As much fun as this conversation is, I promised Wednesday that I’d show her up with my book collection. So, you’ll have to excuse us…” And with that, he gingerly put his palm against Wednesday’s elbow, guiding her into the equally frothing scene inside. 

But Jonah, because he was a sonuvabitch, couldn’t help but yell at their retreating figures. “Oh, sure , Galpin, show her your book collection? That just happens to be in your fucking room? Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit!”

Tyler turned, offered Jonah an acidic smile and a middle-finger salute.

To which Jonah only guffawed before offering one last parting shout of: “Didn’t realize book collection was code for showing her your massive dong! Maybe she’ll be your girlfriend after showing her that !” 

He was going to absolutely murder him. Tyler paused long enough to close his eyes, trying to breathe past a sudden urge to turn around and level a fist right at Jonah’s jaw. Because now he was sure that half of the people outside and inside were staring directly at him and Wednesday, and the implication wasn’t good at all . 

Wednesday's hand rested on his forearm, and he opened her eyes to look down at her. “He’s hardly worth going to jail over,” she said, her voice level. It appeared she hadn’t been offended in the slightest by Jonah’s completely lewd behavior. She took another sip of absinthe and said coolly, “And if an unfortunate accident were to befall him tonight, then you could hardly be to blame.” 

Here, he chuckled darkly. “I’m not sure this is the most conducive environment for a piranha attack, but I appreciate the support.”

“I have more tricks up my sleeve than piranhas and potatoes.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Tyler said, grinning, and then sighed. “I’d go punch him in the face just for being a dick to you, but you don’t really strike me as a woman who is interested in someone defending her honor.” 

“A solid deduction,” Wednesday noted, giving him an evaluating once-over. “But if the offer still stands, I would like to see it.” 

His brain short-circuited for a terrifying, brief moment, as if he couldn’t deduce what it was exactly that she was referencing. Jonah’s entirely inappropriate interjection swirled through his brain, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to jolt his thoughts off the fact that she was not referencing a certain part of his anatomy.

And then, as if she could read his mind, she said, “Your book collection?” There was a ghost of a smile on her face, like she was very aware of the way his mind had been spiraling. 

The fact that the earth hadn’t swallowed him up for the number of times he had pleaded for it to do just that must be some kind of cosmic irony. Tyler inhaled thinly, shaking his head, and said, “Yeah, of course. Sorry, sort of spacey with these gummies that Ajax gave me.” He could totally blame the drugs, right? Not that he was being kind of a total perv. 

He led her upstairs, both of them having to navigate around loitering couples feeling each other up and around another cluster of coeds that Tyler did not know in the slightest who were vaping something that smelled cloyingly like strawberries.

His bedroom was the last one at the end of the hallway, so when he saw the door closed, he had a small iota of hope that it had been blissfully left undisturbed. 

“The moment of truth,” Tyler said, reaching the door. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I think? It might actually be free of hijinks.” 

“But not for long,” Wednesday said, and when he offered her a raised eyebrow, she asked, her voice flat but almost teasing. “What? You don’t think I’m capable of hijinks?”

“I think it would be a terrible mistake to doubt any of your capabilities,” Tyler chuckled down at her, very much liking that this earned him a fuller smile from Wednesday. “Fair warning: you’re about to get your mind blown with how fucking nerdy I am. I’m not being hyperbolic, I seriously have a lot of books.” Suddenly, a feeling of sheepishness fell over him, realizing that his room really was a cacophony of book stacks, most of which were completely unshelved. Thankfully, he had the chance earlier today to clean the space, since it had been covered in dust and dirty clothes and a litany of other unkemptness. 

Here, she rolled her eyes. “You’re greatly underestimating my threshold for being impress…” but her words dissolved as the door swung open and Tyler flicked on the light. Her mouth was still open with an unsaid word before she clamped her lips together in a purse. Wednesday strode into his room with zero hesitation, immediately examining the stack of books and bookshelves that littered his room.

If Tyler were to estimate how much of his room was made up of the various hardcovers, paperbacks, and anthologies he owned, he’d be not wrong to guess it constituted at least seventy percent. He realized that it verged on an addiction, one that had probably kept him at Prose & Cons longer than he should’ve worked there; the steep employee discount came in handy, especially for the newly released hardcovers. 

But he never had any reason for visitors, so very few people had bore witness to the madness of his collection. And then, there was nobody in his room for any romantic purposes, so that had only inspired the continued descent into said madness.

Enid had once asked to borrow a Ursula K. Le Guin book, so she had caught sight of his collection as he had grabbed the novel for her. He remembered her taking in the scene wide-eyed and chirping “Geez, Tyler, this is like a Disney princess’s dream!” He had laughed at her and argued that his mismatched bookshelves and stacks on the floor hardly resembled a castle’s formal library.

Tyler also thought that if he called Wednesday Addams a Disney princess, it might be the last thing he ever did in this mortal coil. So, instead, he nervously approached her, slightly closing the door, but keeping it enough ajar. It felt weird to close it all the way, like he might be giving the impression that they needed privacy. And they didn’t, not really, this was just him allowing a new friend and fellow book nerd to browse his collection. However, Tyler conceded, if she would even consider him a friend-of-sorts was totally open for debate.

He slid his hands into his pockets and walked close enough to her that he could see her holding one novel while she sorted through a stack of others. 

“Borderline psychotic, huh?” He asked, not sure how to break through the silence. 

She stopped, turned to look at him before saying, “No. It’s fully psychotic.” A ghost of a smile quirked on her lips. “I like it.” 

He chuckled, taking the odd compliment in stride. If he had learned anything about Wednesday Addams, this might be the kindest thing she would ever say to him ever again. 

“There’s an organization to all this,” she said, not a question. How she had deduced this, Tyler was a little dumbfounded by. Every other person who had witnessed this seeming chaos had assumed that he had madly thrown each book in a stack, probably laughing maniacally. “But I can’t figure it out,” she said, and her voice almost sounded slightly… pouty. Tyler would have admitted it was pretty adorable if he was letting himself admit such things.

He was pretty sure he was grinning like an idiot when he asked, mock-teasing, “Oh, you don’t organize your books by genre and the subsequent subgenres under said genres and then based on your favorite books within those subgenres?”

Wednesday paused as if checking out the logic based on the stack in front of her. “So, Octavia Butler is your favorite dystopian science fiction author?” 

“Damn,” he breathed, impressed. “You got that a little too quick.”

“Takes a psychopath to know a psychopath,” she replied, her voice even, as if she thought this more as a compliment than the insult it would usually be to the average person. But average didn’t feel like a good description for Wednesday Addams, so Tyler took it for the second compliment of the evening. He was on a roll, honestly. 

He noticed that Wednesday had placed the absinthe on his desk, so he reached over and took a small swig of it, leaning against the desk’s edge, watching her peruse at her leisure. It was interesting to see someone like Wednesday Addams take stock of the books; he was so used to his father’s critical and somewhat annoyed eye rolls and his roommate’s comments that this was serial killer-level obsession (they might not be wrong, Tyler had to admit). Plus, none of those people were actually readers. It had been one of the small reprieves of working at Prose & Cons: although it was still really just a regular retail store and coffee shop, there were still conversations around books, about reading, about being inspired by the stories found within the pages. Of course, he got that at school in his literature classes, but it was nice to have it at work as well since, once he left those spaces, he was back to the judgmental stares of the people who orbited his life. It’s why he typically holed himself up in his room, devouring usually a book a night, especially when his insomnia had him in a chokehold until the early morning hours. 

“Have you read all of these?” Wednesday finally asked. She had gathered a small stack of books, ones that he assumed she was going to take the liberty of borrowing. 

He winced. “How lame would it be if I said yes ?” 

She only blinked, confused. “Why would that be lame?” 

He chuckled dryly and said, “I think I have a… problem? I read a book a day, almost,” Tyler said in a self-deprecating tone, although he tried to plaster on a wry grin.  “Doesn’t really leave much time for much else, between that and work and school.” He took another sip from the absinthe and then added sarcastically, “Hard to believe that I don’t have a girlfriend, huh?” 

Well, that had sounded incredibly dumb, but it had just kind of slipped out. The drugs were making him feel looser, like someone had told his muscles to take a deep breath and they had listened. Tyler shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but his brain felt like someone had put a heated blanket over it, cozy but sluggish. 

He opened his mouth to backtrack or apologize or something, but Wednesday replied drolly, “I do find that hard to believe. Why is that?” Her question was all dry interest, nothing mocking in her tone. 

He almost choked on the sip of absinthe in his throat. “Really? Well, reason number one is surrounding us right now. Most people do not find… this…” here, Tyler waved broadly to his room, “...attractive in the slightest.”

Wednesday sniffed. “ I do.” 

Um, okay, he had no idea what to do with that statement. So, instead, he chuckled and gave her a thin grin. “Well, you might be the only one in the entire world, Wednesday.” It was supposed to be a joke, a silly tease, but for some reason, that statement seemed to hang heavy in the air, and she wasn’t dropping his gaze. A thought that he needed to diffuse the situation popped into his brain, so he continued on a shy rant, “I would also say that probably the whole living in a shithole with three assholes and the being a juvenile delinquent that half the town knows almost killed someone and majoring in English Literature - or as my grandfather calls it, a waste of precious time - isn’t exactly earning me brownie points in the whole dating scene…”

“Please stop that,” Wednesday snapped, and he immediately shut his mouth, staring wide-eyed at her in surprise. She was frowning at him, clutching the small stack of books, almost white-knuckled. “You do that, you know? You do that self-deprecating thing, and you’re by far one of the more interesting people I’ve ever met, Tyler.” Her eyes narrowed at him, almost as if it would help her deduce him easier, a puzzle she needed to figure out. “You’re… unexpected. You don’t fit a clean, little mold, and you don’t seem to care a bit about societal expectations for you. Or maybe you just like to piss off your grandfather. Which is equally interesting, especially considering he is an uptight Nevermore nepotistic prick.” Her eyes swept him, head to toe, and something strange tingled all through him at the gesture. “I rather appreciate your oddities, Tyler Galpin. You should appreciate them as well.” 

Well, damn. He hadn’t expected to be entirely upbraided in the most flattering fashion. And there was no way to respond to that. The fact of the matter was that Tyler hadn’t ever considered for one second that he was being… unappreciative of himself. If anything, he was sure that he was probably a bigger piece of shit than he even knew. But Wednesday? She apparently didn’t see it that way. And she didn’t really seem like the most placating individual, so it must be genuine. As if to doubt Wednesday Addams’s honesty was even an option. 

Wednesday must have taken his silence as his acceptance of her entire lecture, because she turned, strode to one of the bigger bookshelves; that one had been gifted begrudgingly by his father when he had moved out of the house. Her eyes shifted restlessly over the books and she asked flatly, “Why are some books shelved and some aren’t?” 

Her question broke him back into the present. Clearing his throat, he lifted from his leaning position on the desk and walked over next to her. “So, these are, of course, my favorites.” 

Her eyes swiveled to his. “Oh. Of course,” she deadpanned, indicating that she recognized that this was not entirely obvious.

Chuckling lowly, a thought struck him suddenly. Tyler ran his forefinger over the spines, searching. Then, stopping, he plucked down a volume from the shelf and turned the cover over to face Wednesday. 

“Embarrassing to be caught red handed as a fanboy, but the Viper De La Muerte series is definitely a part of my shelved books,” Tyler said, offering her wide grin. Dare he say that Wednesday Addams looked slightly taken aback? Maybe even… bashful? He probably shouldn’t dare, that might be the end of his very life. So, instead, he said, “And I’d be totally missing an opportunity if I didn’t ask the esteemed W.A. Shelley to sign at least one of these.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes at him, hedged, “I don’t sign my books…”

“But does W.A. Shelley?” Tyler laughed at her skeptical expression before shaking his head. “It’s totally fine, of course, you don’t have to. But I didn’t want to be the idiot that didn’t have the guts to ask.” 

He went to slot the book back on the shelf but felt her cool fingers grip his wrist. “I’ll do it,” she said, not looking at him. “But if you tell anyone who I am or that you have a signed copy, I will exact a revenge similar to Viper in book three.”

Tyler gulped. He was very aware of the revenge scene in that book, and it involved someone getting impaled on a sawed-off street sign. He would definitely prefer not to meet his end that way, so he merely said, “Noted and reference understood.” 

Wednesday peered up at her with that coal-black stare for a long moment, and he tried to parse out what she was thinking. There seemed to always be something going on in there that was entirely too cryptic, something he’d like to untangle from her brain if she’d let him. Also, the drugs were really starting to work into his bloodstream now. An entirely too-calm warmth had spread through his entire body and it was harder for him to think past his normal intrusive thoughts. Like, had he just talked W.A. Shelley AKA Wednesday Addams to sign his edition of Viper De La Muerte? The idea that he might have the only signed edition in the entire world was fairly overwhelming and also flattering as hell. Also, the fact that she was in his room at all was kind of a weird sort of fever dream, adding to the overall surrealness of the situation.

Walking over to his desk, he selected one of his better black pens, held it aloft towards her. “Don’t have a quill and ink handy, which I would assume would be W.A. Shelley’s preferred device of choice to sign books. You know… if she signed books. Which she doesn’t, or that’s the official story I’ll go the grave with.” Tyler flicked the pen open, “So, will a gel pen be acceptable this one time?”

She was still staring at him with those eyes that indicated she was seriously mulling something over. But damned if he could figure it out, his brain was too foggy and he was entirely too distracted by her in general, from the way her dress glittered dimly in the room’s light to her weighty and unreadable expression.

There was a loud shout downstairs, something that seemed like it might be cheers from a successful keg stand. To this, Wednesday gently put down the stack of books in her hand, walked smoothly over to the door, and shut it fully. She paused for just a second, her hands against the door. And then, she did something kind of odd: she locked the door. 

Uh oh. He’d pushed his limits by asking her to sign his book and now she really was going to go Viper on him. He was about to meet his death in a cruel but probably fully deserved way. 

“Um, you totally don’t have to do this,” he stammered, feeling his heart race despite the drugs and alcohol rolling through his body. “Like, seriously zero pressure.”

When she turned to glance back at him, he felt a knot in his throat. There was definitely a threat there, but not the one that he had originally planned: this one didn’t promise violence, but it definitely promised something . Something that made a certain anatomical part in his pants involuntarily twitch.

Fuck. Fuck . Why did he think the drugs were a good idea? The sluggishness of his brain was not helping him guard himself from these entirely ridiculous thoughts. Wednesday Addams was not staring at him like that. And what would he even know about that anyway? He hadn’t gotten laid in so long, he wouldn’t know how to decipher that kind of desire in someone’s eyes anyway. 

But she was drawing closer now, and her eyes didn’t leave his and the whole situation in the lower part of his body wasn’t getting any better. If he was being honest, it was getting way worse, and he had to squirm, hoping that this adjustment would hide his half-turned-on state of being. 

When she was only a few inches in front of him, she paused, her eyes still locked on his own. He hoped when he swallowed thickly, she couldn’t actually hear him do it. 

Then, she reached over, took the pen from his grip and the book from his other hand. She was close enough that he could feel the heat radiate off her body, could smell the clean, crisp scent of her shampoo. It was almost a sensory overload and when her knee bent slightly so that it grazed his inner thigh, it practically sent him into a different stratosphere. 

“You know, you’re getting a fairly priceless edition of this book,” she said, and her voice was level but he could swear that there was almost a tone of huskiness there. She signed her name with a flourish and then shut it with a snap. She met his eyes again. “I feel like I’m entitled to some form of compensation.” 

He really didn’t need that last statement to have his mind spiral out of control. But there it went, his entire feeling like he had been dunked in an internal fire. She was standing far too close and all his normal common sense was shot to hell. Tyler was pretty sure the inside of his cheek was bleeding with how much he was chewing it in order to get a grip on himself. 

What he wanted to say was something witty, something that would make her frown or give him one of her barely-there wry grins, diffuse the explosive situation happening in his brain. But instead, he found himself saying, “That only seems fair.” He swallowed again thickly. “Name your price.”

Wednesday put the book and pen down on the desk next to him, leaning across the space to do so. Her whole body pressed against his own with the effort, and Tyler felt his skin practically burn off in all the spots where hers met his. He felt like he might fall over some type of cliff; it was a sensation like standing on the precipice, looking down at a very long and dangerous plunge. 

But never in a million years would he have predicted what Wednesday said next, her demands for compensation. Her eyes didn’t meet his own as she drew up from placing the book on the desk. Instead, she stared pointedly at his mouth. 

“Kiss me,” she said, and it had her normal bossiness in it but it was tinged with a breathiness that shot right to the center of him.

He must have heard wrong, though. His mind was playing tricks on him, completely fucking him over amongst the sea of hazy thoughts. But there she was, her face so close to his own, her eyes half-lidded and focused entirely on his lips. 

And before he could ask her to repeat herself, because surely he heard her wrong, her mouth was firmly against his own. She barely sucked in his bottom lip, before offering a slightly opened kiss against his whole mouth. Her palms came up to press against his chest and she leaned against him and oh god he was a fucking goner.

It was like his brain jumped ship and something else, something primal, took over. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed his palm against the small of her back, pulling her even closer, practically crushing her against him. In response, she hummed deliciously against his mouth, her tongue slipping past his lips easily. 

Cupping her jaw, his thumb trailed down her neck, pressing lightly against her trachea. When she felt the pressure there, she issued a small gasp, one that did the trick in throwing him over the edge of being fully erect. He chased that little intake of air she had just given him, desperate for more, and when his thumb pressed down harder, Wednesday’s groan against his tongue sent him into a state that felt downright feral. 

The hand on the nook of her back reached down, cupped her by the hips and thighs and ass, and spun her so that she was seated up on his desk, giving him a better angle for his to lick up into her mouth. 

And, not helping his delirium, Wednesday’s legs separated so that she could wrap them around his waist, her ankles lacing behind his back. His jacket slid down her shoulders, catching at the crook of her elbow. Her fingers were clutched against his shirt, pulling him down to her, the now-pebbled skin of her shoulder glowing in the room’s soft glow. 

Was this actually happening? Tyler was half-convinced this was just Ajax’s drugs that had drawn up a very appealing and very real-feeling hallucination in his brain. Because this couldn’t really be happening, right? Why would Wednesday Addams want to kiss him?   

But when Wednesday rolled her hips against the length of him, reality shot down into his bones. Uh, yeah , this was very much real, he could feel the warmth from in between her legs even though the spider-webbed tights wrapped from her hips to her toes. 

She pulled back from him long enough to ask, her voice heavy with something that was only winding up the coil that he could feel in his stomach.  “Would you like to see the rest of my tattoo?”

At first, his head couldn’t comprehend what she was talking about. All he could think was: Wednesday Addams is kissing me, kissing me , Tyler Galpin. It had to be a joke - one that he didn’t mind being the punchline of, honestly, as long as she kept pulling him down into her, her tongue against his own, the taste of her forever burned into his memories, something like absinthe and something indescribably smoky and something distinctly just her, just Wednesday. 

But then he knew exactly what she was talking about, her inky-black tattoo flooding into his mind’s eye. The way it bloomed around her rib bones, clutched the top of her hips. The way it disappeared at the waistline of her pants, the way he knew that it pressed against her sternum, some part of it clutched like an oath and a threat against where her heart beat perfectly in her chest. 

She took his stunned silence as confirmation, because she said, “You’ll need to unzip me.” 

He did it without thinking, finding the pull easily to unzipper the dress all the way down. It pooled against the table, but she did some impossible shimmy that had it on the ground in a perfect, sparkly mess. 

What Tyler hadn’t expected was that Wednesday Addams wasn’t wearing much of anything underneath that dress. No bra. No underwear. Just skin and her tights.

And those damn sexy-as-hell tights: they went all the way to the curve of her waist, just above her belly button, where he could see the tattoo blossom on her skin.

The tattoo… holy shit, it was beautiful. The raven’s head was now visible, arched up against her sternum, its beak holding an ebony-black heart, blood dripping from its ventricles.

Reaching out, he gripped right against the crest of her breast, his thumb pressed firmly against the bleeding heart. He hadn’t expected the breathy intake of air from Wednesday, hadn’t expected her to arch into his touch that exposed the length of the glowy skin of her neck. He had the urge to run his mouth down the curve of her throat, her collarbone, and then further down, take one of her nipples in between his teeth to see if that would earn him another one of her intoxicating gasps.

But, he was honestly too enraptured by the ink against her skin, and the raven seemed to fly towards him when she shifted so that she could meet his eyes. “Do you like it?” Her voice was serious as always, but there might have been a hint of teasing there. 

Did he even know how to talk anymore? Tyler wasn’t sure, but he tried, and his voice was just a husky whisper, “Like is too small a word.”

She shifted again, her hips rolling against him and the hiss that went past his lips was unbidden; his reaction seemed to garner a coy smile from Wednesday. “I presumed you would since you seemed… intrigued back at work.” 

And then it was like someone poured ice water right over his brain. Work. Their work. Together. The one where he was supposed to be her supervisor and this ? This was beyond inappropriate for a supervisor to do. He thought of the way Laurel pawed at him, shamelessly… was he any better? Although he had the vague impression that Wednesday was the one who kissed him first, there was another part of him that said that he’d been the one who had brought her up to the room, had made demands about signing her book. And now they were here, with him pinning her against a desk and taking off her dress, her practically naked underneath him.

Tyler clenched his eyes together before withdrawing his hand away from where he had pressed it against her sternum. It was almost painful, like his entire body hated him for it. Resting his palms on the edge of the desk, his fingers barely ghosted her tight-clad hips. Through gritted teeth, he growled, “Wednesday… I really think I should keep this hands-off. You know?” 

She was quiet for a very long moment, unnervingly so. When he dared open his eyes to stare up into her face, she was looking at him with an entirely perplexed expression. And then, she cocked her head at him, “An interesting proposition.” And then a devious glint flicked into her gaze, one that made him think uh no, you’re in fucking trouble, Tyler Galpin . 

“I’m assuming you would like me to be the one who does the hands-on work, then?” Her voice was gravelly, eyes peering up at him through half-fallen lids. 

He had zero idea what she was up to, but he didn’t like the sound of that. “Wednesday…” he tried warningly, but then what she did next made his brain short-circuit for what felt like the millionth time in one day. Whatever actions he was going to do to stop her from her mischievous course of action halted immediately when her hand slid down her sternum, pressing only quickly against the raven’s head before it descended lower. When she reached the band of her tights, her fingers slithered underneath it, a thin intake of air concaving her stomach for a second, her ribs expanding, making the tattoo glisten, seemingly moving. Her fingers kept traveling down and when she reached her destination, her thumb and forefinger a dark shadow through the tights, she pressed down and rotated against her core. Her dark eyes didn’t leave his own even when a perfect, keening sound left her mouth. 

He was pretty sure he was broken now, every part of him. His brain was just hot static, watching her, not breathing. Both his hands were clenched, white-knuckled, on either side of her, and their faces were so close, he could hear every one of her hitched breaths. 

Her motions continued, perfectly versed in what it was that she was chasing. Her hips ground up into it, but she didn’t break eye contact, even when she bit her bottom lip to stop another delicious groan from leaving her throat. 

“Tyler,” she panted up at him, and his eyes snapped from her mouth to her eyes. “Is this okay?” 

He had no idea how to answer that. Honestly, maybe he had no idea how to answer any question ever again. Okay? Okay felt like a stupid little word, one that didn’t even come close to how he felt right now. Okay? He felt like his molecules were unraveling, he felt like he had died and ascended to another plane of existence, he felt he had dissolved into just this moment forever and ever. 

But, instead of saying all that insanity, he merely worked his jaw and nodded. 

“I need words, Tyler,” she said, her voice just that tinge of bratty that he found that he adored, that set his cock twitching against the zipper of his pants. “I need to hear you say this is okay.” 

“ Fuck, Wednesday ,” he breathed, his eyes dropping to her fingers as they continued her motions, the way she rotated her body to meet her own ministrations. “This is more than okay.” 

“Good,” she replied flatly, her usual deadpan, and for some reason it made him even more hard, this everyday version of her merging with the writhing, ethereal woman beneath him. And then, in a move that was going to ruin his entire life, he watched as she slipped one finger inside herself, her small gasp coming from her throat that might have well been a death blow. 

When he had said he should be hands-off, this is decidedly not what he had meant. But Tyler was having trouble finding a single atom in his being that was upset that this is how Wednesday had taken his statement. Because after slipping in her forefinger, she pulled it out and then added her middle finger, peering darkly into his face and when she issued a tiny unbidden curse of fuck , he thought that might be the end of him. 

Slowly, she pivoted her hips to meet her fingers, her breaths coming a little more erratically. Her thumb was still against her core, pushed down and grinding up against and he could practically feel the heat of her orgasm against his body. 

“Could you…” she licked her lips, swallowing some involuntary gasp. “... would you touch yourself, Tyler?” And when she said, uncharacteristically pleadingly, “I need to see you touch yourself, please, Tyler, please ,” who was he to deny her that, it was merely something that had to be done, he didn’t even really have a choice he was sure. 

Unbuckling and unzipping himself so quickly he was sure it almost looked premeditated, his cock practically snapped out. He was so turned on, that he was sure his erection looked almost furious, his tip already slick with pre-cum. He gripped himself quickly, fisting and holding himself aloft, trying to give himself a moment to process what he was even doing. 

What he hadn’t expected was that Wednesday’s reaction would be so overt, the sound from her practically a choke. His eyes flashed up from his erection up to her. Her wide eyes were locked on him, looking at his fist around his cock, her gaze giving him pause. 

Because Jonah hadn’t been joking about his apparently highly-rumored-about member, much to Tyler’s chagrin. He was very aware that he was… much larger than his peers. And although the typical narrative and lore was that this was some secret accolade that he got to congratulate himself on regularly, it was actually almost always the opposite. The teasing in high school had been relentless, none of his clothes ever fit the right way, and in the bedroom? Partners, initially intrigued, were eventually kind of weirded out by it. Sex could sometimes be uncomfortable. Being abnormal was still abnormal, even if it was on the supposedly right end of the spectrum. 

“I can put this away if… it’s killing the mood,” Tyler breathed, ready to have her confirm that yes, she would prefer to continue without this as part of the equation. 

But Wednesday only looked up at him with some kind of lusty confusion and she said, “It’s not. Not at all.” And then, she pulled out her fingers, only to add another one. “Go ahead, let me see you make yourself feel good, Tyler.” It was a command of sorts, one issued with her typical imperialism, leaving no room for debate. 

He was slow about it, trying to match her rhythm. Wednesday noticed, a small little smirk on her mouth as she watched him. “Do you want me to go faster?” She whispered up at him and when he said back, “I want whatever you want, Wednesday” she snorted in a way that only she could make adorable. 

“I want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t breathe,” she said flatly, holding back a whimper as her finger touched something inside her which made her entire body shudder. “But we’re doing something different tonight. And I appreciate the creativity.”

God, where had Wednesday Addams been his entire life? Tyler was no virgin, but it kind of felt like he was standing here in front of her, her practically naked body gleaming underneath her, every part of it in stark contrast against the mundaneness of his room: her perked nipples, the way the tattoo took flight against her ribcage, the lusty way her lips were swollen from her own teeth taking them in a licentious clench. 

“I told you what I want,” Wednesday breathed, her hips jerking upwards. They were so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her core. “Now, you should tell me what you want, Tyler.”

What did he want? God, where could he even start? But, he knew that Wednesday didn’t want a mostly incoherent ramble about how he couldn’t pinpoint all things he might want from him. 

She wanted something filthy to come out of his mouth, he could tell by the devious glint in her eyes. 

His mind reeled, but he said with very little hesitation, “I heard that noise you made when I grabbed your neck,” he growled at her, increasing his pace against himself as she did her own. “I bet you would look so pretty with my hands squeezing your throat when I was inside you.” 

Christ. He didn’t know where he had gotten that one from, but it had flowed so easily he was almost shocked himself. He hadn’t really done any dirty talk in his past, but it had felt so easy to say that with her, so he added, “I want to see you thinking of that, Wednesday.” 

And for a second he wondered if that was too far, that he’d maybe been a little specific in his request. But the way her coal-black eyes flashed only told him that she was almost delirious in his request. When her eyes darkened slightly, he knew she was doing just what he had asked, imagining him buried inside her and his fingers clasped deliciously around her neck. God, it was enough to almost make him come right there and then.

One of her stocking feet reached out and touched the top of his thigh. “Is this okay?” She asked and then added, “Does no hands mean no feet as well?” 

He could barely eke out a, “You have seemed to have found a loophole,” to which she gave him a devilish quirk of her lips. For a few seconds, she only used her foot as leverage against her bucking hips that were chasing her climax. But then, she drew up her other foot and pressed it against his pelvis, her two feet coming together and clenching against his hilt. She waited, seemingly impatiently, for his fisted fingers to come down to the base and then she moved with him, both her stockinged feet triangled over his entire length, moving back and forth to match his rhythm. When she reached the head, she squeezed her feet together, and the feeling of the warmness of her skin and the smoothness of damned tights he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of all day was just about enough to send over the edge. 

His words were long, drawn-out, “ Fucking hell , Wednesday.” He sounded completely fucked out and he didn’t know if there was a damn thing he could do about it. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” 

He could tell that his voice was probably far away and tinny in her ears. She was close, and a part of him wanted to say fuck it indeed to this no-hands thing they had established. Tyler wanted so badly to rip off those tights and grip her hips almost violently, plunge himself so deep in her that there’d be no way he wouldn't be able to feel her coming undone around him. 

But then, Wednesday moaned, “I’m so close,” she panted, her fingers pumping themselves inside of her. Her legs trembled as her feet continued to match his fevered rhythm against the entire length of him. And, if he had any doubt about whether Wednesday Addams enjoyed dirty talk, she said confidently, “I need you to come inside my mouth, Tyler.” Her thighs tightened as if to punctuate her declaration.  

Again, his brain was just warm liquid, nothing else. Of course, he needed to give her what she wanted, it wasn’t even in him to doubt it, to stop himself that maybe they were crossing yet another line. If Wednesday wanted it, then he was going to give it to her.

Propping a knee up on the desk, Tyler was able to leverage himself above her. Gripping his base, he guided himself into her mouth, gently at first. But he should’ve known better because Wednesday Addams was not a gentle creature. Her dark eyes glared up at him, begging without words to slide himself further into her. Tyler did and felt her mouth pucker around him, sucking him fully, her tongue rolling around his entire circumference.

He cursed and he swore as she moaned at his cry of pleasure. He was a man possessed; matching her gaze, he found himself rotating his hips so that he was moving inside her mouth. When her stare was all pleading and round-eyed, he dared to thrust himself further so that he knew he was basically touching her throat. Her trachea bobbed instinctively and her eyes watered. But the way she hummed against the head of his cock was enough to know that this motion had gone start to her core. Tyler moved a couple more times, but he couldn’t do it any further. He could feel his own unraveling heaving itself up, like a giant wave, a force of nature that couldn’t be stopped. 

And then Wednesday shuddered against him, her mouth sucking in deep as she came, almost violently. Her legs locked around his back, pulling him against her so that he could feel her pulsing as she came. The way she keened against him while he was deep in her mouth was possibly the most erotic feeling he’d ever experienced.

It was too much, the feeling of her core fluttering against him, the sensation of himself against her tongue, just the very idea of this woman beneath him. Tyler unraveled, his orgasm so powerful that he could swear it almost doubled him over. He tried to control the jerkiness as he felt himself empty inside her mouth. 

Wednesday only looked entirely pleased, almost cocky, as her cheeks hollowed out, her throat bobbing hypnotically as she swallowed without an ounce of anything but satisfaction. 

Fuck. He was a goner, once again, wasn’t he? He gulped air down, staring into her face as he unsheathed himself from her mouth. Both his hands rested on either side of her body, only the sides of his pinky fingers touching her body. 

“Wednesday,” he wheezed, “I… that was…”

“Inspiring,” she interrupted him, catching him off-guard. His eyes snapped to her own, and when he caught her gaze, she was looking at him half-lidded. Her hips were still moving against her fingers, lazily. But then she withdrew her hand from the encapsulation of her tights, and she leveled an entirely imperial glare at him. “I need you to open your mouth, Tyler.” 

Okay, I guess they were not doing the hands-off anymore, but of course, he was going to do anything she wanted. His jaw became slack, just enough that when she reached up and slid her forefinger into his mouth, it went in easily. The taste of the inside of her was sharp and perfect in his mouth, and he swore that if his body would allow him to do all this again mere seconds after the last release, he would’ve. When he had licked her finger clean, she withdrew, her mouth not quite smiling but her eyes glittering with mirth. 

And then, he couldn’t help himself, he knew better, but he reached down and snaked his arm around her back, arching Wednesday up and into his body, the warm and wetness of her core against him, pressing with enough sensation that it was almost too much stimulation, his brain almost exploding. His mouth licked up into her own, and he realized he was tasting himself mixed with her own body when his tongue met her own. 

But she didn’t seem to mind, responding rather enthusiastically to his obvious violation of their established rules. Her fingers knotted against his shirt, and then she was working on the buttons there. 

“Take this off,” she growled up into his mouth. “I need to feel you against me.” 

He was pretty sure he might have broken the damn shirt taking it off because it was discarded easily on the ground and his chest was against hers, and she had been right: he had needed to feel her against him, his skin humming against her own. 

He was pushing her so far back on his desk that the various items lying there were getting in the way. Wednesday, without abandon, pushed them out of her way so that she could pull him down on top of her as she laid flat against his desk. 

“You just shoved my very valuable signed Viper De La Muerte copy to the ground,” he said teasingly, nuzzling her nose so that her lips slotted perfectly into his. His hand reached up to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and the sound that she made was working to get every part of him buzzing again. “So you might owe me, Wednesday.” 

Her voice was dangerous when she said, “Careful what you ask for, Tyler.” And then, she bit rather hard against his bottom lip before crushing it against her mouth. “You might get more than what you bargained for.”

“Too late for that,” he teased back, and he let himself trail his mouth against her jaw, down her neck, against her collarbone, down until he found her nipple, taking it in with a licentious suck. The noise she made was enough that he was ready to quit everything and just chase that sound for the rest of his life.

“You have an odd way of getting revenge,” Wednesday grunted flatly at him, her hips arching into his own.

“Just you wait,” he growled at her, unhooking from her nipple, and then moving further down her body, licking up against the tattoo, following it down the length of her ribcage, against the curve of her waist. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” And then he chased it across her hip bone until it disappeared under her tights. He pursued the shadow of her tattoo, pressing his mouth against the nyloned fabric. Wednesday hitched up against him, her breath catching and it was enough to practically make him feral; he gripped furiously against her thighs, spreading them so that his mouth could dip against her core, his tongue pressing against the soaked fabric covering her. 

Her fingers knotted up in his hair, jerking him towards her. The groan she issued was insane, going right to the center of him and he was actually thinking he might get hard again. Because this was too much, the sensations, her scent against him, the taste of her pressing on his tongue, her body as she writhed against his face. 

“I’ll remember to provoke your need for revenge more often,” she croaked and he chuckled lowly; the vibrations from his laugh must have done something to her because she moaned lewdly, her hips pivoting into him. 

“Wednesday, do you want me to keep these on?” His voice was muffled and then he licked a stripe up her center, catching a hint of her taste but everything was dulled by the fabric covering her. “I really want to have you against me, but if you want to keep these…”

She hitched her hips up so quickly that she almost knocked him in the face. Grabbing the waistband of her tights, she pulled them down viciously, kicking them off with an enthusiasm that was almost laughable. “I’d thought you’d never ask,” she mumbled at him and looked at him with a half-lidded expression, propping herself up with her elbows. 

Tyler paused, taking all of her in for a second, and again wondering what in the actual fuck was happening. He wasn’t complaining, not in the slightest, but never in a million years would he have thought this is how his night would have evolved, with Wednesday Addams naked underneath him, her taste on his tongue, her looking at him like that . 

Her head tilted to the side, her eyes suddenly widening at his lack of action. “Do you… want to stop?”

Instead of giving a verbal response, he grabbed her ankles, pulling her down across the desk and into his mouth, the fullness of her heat against him now. He plunged his tongue into the center of her, licking up until he found her core and then he sucked deeply. Her depraved groan and the fullness of her taste were enough to send him over the edge, feeling himself become fully hard once again. God, it was like he was fourteen again, horny out of his mind, how was she having this effect on him? 

Wednesday Addams was going to be a problem for him, that was fucking certain. 

He was ready to slide one of his fingers inside her, desperate to feel her clamp down around him, but then there was a sudden and violent shuddering of his bedroom door, the doorknob jostling loudly. 

His head whipped over, glaring in the direction. 

“Ignore it,” Wednesday groaned at him. “If you value your life, don’t you dare fucking stop now, Tyler.” 

He was about to take her threat very seriously and go back to taking her fully in his mouth, but then it happened again, this time with Jonah’s voice ringing out and a cacophony of knocking. “Tyler, what the fuck?! Open up! Your dad is outside and he’s pissed . Apparently, we’ve got enough noise complaints called on us that he’s threatening to send all of us to jail.”

Of fucking course. Tyler had known this was going to happen, had sensed it as soon as he saw the party taking place around the house. 

What he hadn’t planned on happening was Wednesday Addams being naked and unraveling around his tongue, all in the same night. 

So, jail be damned. That seemed like a reasonable price to pay if he got the chance to get Wednesday Addams off with his tongue, if he got to feel her clench around his fingers. 

“Tell my dad to fuck off,” he called back to the door, and he heard Wednesday huff a small, satisfied laugh beside him. 

Jonah wasn’t having it though. “Dude, you know I’m not fucking doing that.” The door knob jiggled again and Tyler had the sudden urge to rip the door off its hinges and smack Jonah with it. “Come on, man. Get your dick out of your girlfriend for a moment and just go talk to him. He might be able to get us out of some serious shit. Including getting evicted.” 

He wanted to shout back at his roommate that he should have thought of that before deciding to throw a raging kegger and inserting their ping-pong table on top of the roof. But he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to think. 

“Tell him I’ll be down in ten minutes,” he shouted at the door, not daring to meet Wednesday’s dangerous glare. He knew she would be pissed that their time was limited; she didn’t seem like a creature who enjoyed being told when she would need to begin and end something. 

“And what the fuck am I supposed to have him do for ten minutes, Tyler?” 

“I don’t give a fuck, Jonah,” he leveled back and then added, “Have him do a keg stand since that seems to be what you’re good at.” 

He could hear Jonah curse at him on the other side, grumbling loudly. And then he said, “Ten minutes, bro. That’s it . And she better be super fucking worth it if I gotta get into a confrontation with your dad.” 

Tyler heard him stomp away and he turned back to Wednesday, hoping the apology on his face was incredibly apparent. 

But she looked completely unfettered. “Would you like me to go have a word with your father?” She asked, her voice level, deadly. 

He swallowed a laugh. “As much as he’s the bane of my existence right now, he probably doesn’t deserve to die at the hands of Wednesday Addams.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Agree to disagree.” 

Shaking his head, Tyler felt his gaze turn dark again, focus on her outspread legs, and he said lowly, “We’ve got ten minutes. I think we should make the most of them.” 

Her eyes glinted absolutely dangerously and when his mouth found her core again, her head tilted back, eyes turning white as they rolled into her head. 

He allowed his tongue inside her once, reveling at how insanely wet she was. There was a part of him that wanted to spread her wide, push his hips against her, and bury himself in her, but that wasn’t how the trajectory of how this was going. And even though she was definitely something fierce, Tyler couldn’t get past the fact she was so small, every part of her. And he was cursed with the gift of not being small at all; he didn’t want to hurt her and he wasn’t sure there wasn’t any way that he could stretch into her without making it at least somewhat uncomfortable. 

Also, because he never had the thought he would actually get laid, he didn’t have a damn condom anywhere. 

She must have seen him pause, staring at her, his thumb lazily rotating against her core, because she said, her voice almost urgent, “I’m on the pill. Just got tested a couple of months ago, I’m clean.” And then, grumpily she said, “And since you know about my dry spell, you will know that there has been zero intercourse since then.” 

What was she saying? He couldn’t possibly figure it out, staring at her, a knot between his eyebrows. 

“And in the spirit of transparency, have you?” She breathed, “Have… have you been tested recently?”

Tested? His mind reeled back, trying to make sense of everything. “Uh, I did like a year and a half ago. Because well. There hasn’t been a reason to test since then.” And then he stared down at her dumbly. Was that what she was asking? Were they just discussing their past safe sex practices for some reason he could not ascertain?

After a long, drawn-out moment, Wednesday leveled a heavy stare at him. “For hells’ sake, Tyler, if you can, you should fuck me,” she spat, her voice that tinge of bratty that only served to make him even harder. “We only have nine minutes now, and you have no idea how much I want you inside me.” And then she arched against him, confirming that he was erect again, and the look she issued him was insanely delicious. 

He literally gulped, feeling the slickness of her folds against him and he realized that he was going to actually do this, he felt like he had won the damn lottery, been presented with a miracle, who was he to deny it? 

“I… I don’t want to hurt you,” he said sheepishly down to her, fisting himself so that he could guide himself to her entrance. “You’ll stop me if it hurts?” 

“I’m tougher than you think,” she leveled back at him, her hips heaving up towards his own, impatience in every movement. 

“Well, I think you’re pretty tough,” he said playfully and he swore he got awarded a small, genuine grin. He let that grin warm over him for just a second before he angled himself to piston himself once, twice against her folds, his tip hitting her in the exact right spot to make her mewl underneath him. And then, he found her entrance again, gently pushed in, just a small amount. Wednesday gasped, a sound that sent a coil of hot lava right to the center of him. When she met his eyes, something in them was dark and lusty and hazy. He settled there for only a second before asking, “Is this okay? I’m not…”

“You’re not hurting me,” she gasped, her voice husky. “But, fucking hell, you are big, Tyler.” 

A part of him felt slightly feral at this comment and then another part felt almost guilty, like he was asking too much of her, this woman who he was completely bewitched by. 

He hesitated and then hedged, “I’ll go slow?” When she bit her lip and nodded he pushed slightly in further and he couldn’t help himself by letting out a moan of, “Fuck, you’re so wet, Wednesday.” 

And he swore if Wednesday Addams blushed, she might have blushed right then. But, possibly to cover up her reaction, she simply set her mouth in a stubborn line, and demanded, “Give me more. I need you all the way inside me.” 

And who was he not to give her what she wanted? He did it so slowly, but he sheathed himself all the way inside her, feeling her walls stretch deliciously against him. Wednesday sucked in a thin stream of breath and then issued a long keening sound, one so loud that he was sure that someone downstairs at the party must have heard it. 

That was it, he needed her mouth against his own, so he wrapped his arm around her back, brought her to a seating position against the end of the desk, capturing her mouth in his own. Her hands went to his back, her nails piercing against his shoulder blades. He felt himself shift in this position so that he was even deeper inside her and she moaned loudly again, this time into his mouth. 

“For being the silent-yet-deadly type, you sure are a noisy one when getting fucked,” he teased down against her face and instantly thought maybe that was too much, even for dirty-talking Wednesday Addams. Tyler accepted quickly that what he just mumbled might get him both murdered and or glared at. However, he received neither punishment. 

“Just you,” she growled, and when he rotated his hips so that when he moved inside her, she hissed a loud, satisfied curse. “I’m never noisy, I swear.” She buried her face in his shoulder and added breathily, “It’s just you, Tyler. That’s made me this way.”

Christ. That was enough to make him lose his damn mind, he swore. He grabbed her jaw with his hand, thrilling how he could capture her entire face with just the palm of his hand. She looked at him, her already dark eyes becoming even darker as he thrust up into her. Again, she moaned, loudly, and he felt that noise go all the way through his entire body, a type of heat that could practically curl his toes. 

“Don’t stop doing that,” he breathed down to her and then thrust into her again and she issued the same noise, throaty and lusty and god , he was going to really, truly lose every ounce of his sanity, he was sure.

He felt his pace increase and she panted loudly against him. “Is that okay?” He asked her, his voice practically rattling in his chest. “I’m not hurting you?”

“Hurting? No . I feel like I can't breathe, but it is the opposite of hurt .” 

That didn’t exactly sound positive to him, so he paused and said, “We can take a break.”

The glare she sent his way was entirely ominous. Her tone was serious when she said, “If you stop, I promise I will burn this place to the ground so that an eviction notice will be the least of your worries.”

He chuckled at her, shaking his head disbelievingly. Only Wednesday Addams could make threats of arson sexy as hell. “A good house fire would probably be a large improvement for this place.”

“Fuck me first,” she gasped at him and now she was the one doing the motions, her hips working so that his cock was moving in and out of her. “Then we can talk about committing light felonies.”

God, the way she was taking all of him so well made him want to explode. He watched her for a few glorious seconds, just taking it all in, and then he matched her rhythms, thrusting himself up as her back arched. He must have ground up perfectly against that spot inside her because something inside her squeezed him and Tyler felt like he basically sobbed in response. And Wednesday? She pretty much howled . 

Well, there was no way at least somebody didn’t know what they were doing up here now. Or maybe they thought he was murdering her, one of the two. 

But, he didn’t care if the whole damn world knew because Wednesday was now clutching against him, her hips moving to find the same spot he had just hit. And he felt himself do it with her again. And again. And again. Each time, her walls clenched tight around him and fuck it was like she was milking every ounce of dignity out of him. 

“You’re going to make a madman out of me, Wednesday,” he managed to stammer down to her. When she looked up at him, her eyes were gleaming and he was sure she was one blink away from tears. 

She saw him catch sight of the water in her eyes. She must have seen the way his eyebrows knotted up in concern because she shook her head ferociously, and said, “I’m fine . Don’t you dare stop. It’s just… more intense… than what I’m used to.”

What she was used to? This was like landing on another planet for him, like he had ascended to another plane of existence. Tyler could count the number of people he’d slept with on one hand and still have some fingers left over, so he felt like he was completely out of his depth here. But god, if he drowned and died in this depth, he’d die a happy man at the very least. 

Wednesday wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, his body grinding against her core, making her issue something like a wail as their rhythm continued. His own climax was coming, he could feel it swelling inside him, an electric wave, but he wanted to feel her first, feel her close down on him, maybe give him one more of those insane, breathy moans that he was sure he could easily become addicted to. 

A thought came to him and he wrapped a hand around her neck, squeezing gently. Her eyes flew up to his own, and they looked dark and wanton and perfect. When he applied more pressure, Wednesday groaned so loud that he could feel the vibrations against his chest. 

“I was right,” he mumbled down at her, pressing his lips against hers for only a second before saying, “You look so pretty with my fingers around your neck.” 

The way she looked up at him when he said that practically undid him right then, all wide eyes and parted, swollen mouth and something else behind her gaze that was really too much, he felt it go through him like an arrow, an ache in his chest.  

“Are you going to come for me, Wednesday?” He whispered down to her, feeling his rhythm increase involuntarily, chasing after both of their orgasms. “I want you looking at me when you come. Can you do that?”  

Her eyes searched his face, that unfathomable glint to her eyes that he couldn’t quite interpret. Her breaths were hitched, catching in her throat; he could feel them against his fingers that were still grasping her neck. 

“Tyler, I’m…” she breathed up at him and there was something in her voice that was so uncharacteristically tender for her that the ache in his chest expanded. “I can’t…”

He understood her delirium, he felt it himself, a tumbling of thoughts and feelings and sensations surging through her veins. He was too close to the edge, about to tip over, but he needed her to do it first. But the words that Wednesday were uttering cut through the fire in his brain, worrying him a bit. 

“You okay?” He asked, halting for a second even though his body hated him for it. Using the pad of his thumb to tip her head back, he peered into her face. “We can stop if you want. Am… am I doing something wrong?”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she panted again and clutched her legs tighter around his back, bringing him deeper into her. “And you’re doing everything so fucking right.” 

Christ, he didn’t need any more encouragement than that, his thoughts exploding into a million confetti-ed pieces. She ground up into him and he hissed, the movement bringing his own feverish chase to the forefront of his mind. He started moving again, eliciting a mewl from her lips and she said, “I think… when I come, it’s going to be intense.” An aching sound left her throat, “And, gods, I’m going to come soon, Tyler, please don’t fucking stop…”

And then she did, her eyes on him, half-lidded, his name leaving her lips like a cry. She clenched around him, hard , and she wasn’t wrong, it was so intense that it was almost painful in the pleasure. 

Tyler swore he saw stars, felt like he had been grabbed by something boiling in the best sort of way, he could feel it about to spill right off him in a wave of his own climax. Wednesday was still clenching around him, her legs locked behind his back and all he could manage was a whisper of, “Wednesday, I’m going to come.” 

Her eyes were on him when she said, shakily yet confidently, “Then, come.” And as if to end all debate about whether she wanted him to pull out to finish, her thighs only tightened their grip around his waist, keeping him anchored against and in her body. 

He didn’t have time to ask her one more time if she was sure, if this was okay, because he was unspooling, shuddering against her, inside her. He found her name on his lips and he couldn’t help but capture her mouth in a heated kiss to stop himself from making a stuttering mess of himself.

The fact of the matter was this was the first time he’d ever done this, fully inside someone when he came, feeling every inch of them, skin to skin. This felt intimate, this felt like he was going a million miles an hour, this felt like maybe he should be terrified. But he didn’t feel that way, not at all.

Should he? Should he be maybe slightly freaked out with how quickly he had become obsessed with this person whose face was cupped in his hand, her lips on his own? He couldn’t find a single reason for that right now, but the question pressed against the back of his mind like a shadow, small but definite. 

Finally, after a long moment, and after her body stopped fluttering around him, he broke the kiss and Wednesday practically whined. 

He smiled warmly down in her face and then asked teasingly, “So, I’m guessing you liked my book collection?” 

“I am sufficiently… impressed,” she replied smoothly and the little conspiratorial grin she offered back at him hit him like a dart right in the chest.

Kissing her again, he mumbled against her mouth. “I think I might have really pushed my limits with the ten minutes I promised my dad.” He pulled back and said, “Would you want to take a shower and I’ll hopefully be right back?”

“Or,” she said with a cool lift of her eyebrow. “ Or you could truly tell your father to go fuck himself and join me in the shower instead.”

This woman was going to ruin his life. Tyler merely shook his head, a type of goofy grin plastered on his face. “You have no idea how much I wish I could do just that. But I think that our shower might be rudely interrupted by my landlord throwing me in jail.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Wednesday growled, clearly a threat directly to the landlord she had never met but seemingly already had made herself a mortal enemy of. And then she arched her mouth towards his own, grabbed his bottom lip in her teeth, and pulled him back to crash her mouth against his own. “And I’ll bail you out of jail,” she breathed finally; he could practically feel the teasing grin on her face.

He chuckled against her face. “But Your Honor, the very sexy Wednesday Addams insisted that I take a shower versus trying to break up a party that has become a very public nuisance.”

“As someone in pre-law, this feels like an iron-clad defense.” 

Oh. Yeah, he hadn’t known that, had he? Again, a small thought bloomed in his brain, this thought that maybe he should be slightly alarmed that this person, Wednesday Addams, was making his chest ache like this and he had just met her yesterday. 

He pushed that thought down, merely kissing her one last time before going in search of his clothes, all of which had been haphazardly thrown in the haste of their activities. He looked up at her apologetically, “I’ll hopefully be back soon. Do you need help getting the shower started?” 

She had drawn her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. Her toes were pointed primly down on the ground, and the “v” shape of her naked body was enough to almost make him reconsider everything and just go to jail so that he really could join her in the shower. 

“I think I’m capable of figuring out a shower, Tyler,” She said, her voice her usual nonchalance, but there was an edge of teasing there. “Go save your roommates from eviction. Although they deserve to be thrown out in the streets.” 

He chuckled. “Can’t disagree there.” While he buttoned up his shirt sloppily and quickly, he hedged sheepishly, “I… um, I really don’t want to leave, you know that?” 

She tipped her head at him. “I’m aware. Although you should kiss me before you leave.”

“I should, should I?” He said, issuing her a goofy grin but then complying immediately. 

That same goofy grin was on his face as he marched downstairs, down towards his father.  

The grin dissolved pretty quickly, though. The party was positively roiling at this part. Fucking fantastic. Tyler gritted his teeth together. Even the Sheriff showing up on their front steps didn’t inspire Jonah, Carter, or Lucas to try to get a foothold on everything. Above him, he could hear the yelps and clunks of a currently active beer pong game happening on the roof. 

Rolling his eyes, he began taking drinks out of people’s hands, not giving a shit if it was rude as well. He uttered a mildly apologetic but firm “Sorry, the cops are coming, you better get out of here” to each offended partygoer, and suddenly people were clearing out like a bomb had gone off. If there was anything that anyone from Jericho Community College didn’t want to fuck with, it was the local police force. They were the students who couldn’t afford a public intoxication charge, and the cops were a little more loose with issuing those to the poor kids from Jericho Community College versus the privileged student body of Nevermore University.

He finally found his father out on the front lawn. His squad car was flashing its blue lights, but it looked like zero people cared whether he was there; the rooftop beer pong game was still at full tilt, and he realized that he definitely recognized the shouts from the participants: it had to be Enid and Ajax, and now they seemed drunk . Like three-sheets-to-the-wind kind of drunk. 

Tyler approached his Dad with what he hoped looked like a completely chagrined expression. His father seemed beyond placation. In fact, he looked absolutely livid. 

So, it was going to be like that. Tyler felt his jaw work. “Hey, Dad,” he greeted grimly. “Something tells me that you didn’t come for that game of catch you’ve been promising me the last twenty years.” 

“Don’t be a smartass,” his father snapped, not missing a beat. The sheriff nodded up stiffly to the house and said, “Can you tell me which one of your hair-brained roommates is responsible for this idiocracy?” 

Tyler sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “One of them. All of them? Who knows, does it really matter? All I know is that when I came back from Nevermore, it was already at a point of no return.” 

His father’s eyebrows furrowed. “Nevermore? What the hell were you there for?” 

Tyler felt a small bubble of fury grow in his stomach, but he managed to merely grit out, “I went there for some friends. Real awkward to go there and realize my grandfather was the featured speaker at the event.” He leveled an accusatory glare at his father, “Know anything about that, Dad?”

To his credit, the Sheriff looked entirely surprised, blinking a couple of times bemusedly. And then, realization dawned on his face and he actually seemed sheepish. “Ah hell, kid. I… uh… yeah, I guess Hugh did reach out a couple months ago saying he’d be in town.”

The fury rose again and Tyler had to tell himself to breathe . His voice was dangerously low when he said, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was going to!” His dad said, now looking irritated, like he didn’t appreciate one bit having to go on the defensive. “You’re just gone all the damn time with all the… whatever the hell you’re up to! Like these damn parties.”

“Excellent subject change,” Tyler grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

His dad gave him a once-over and then said, “Look at you, huh? I mean, I’m real pissed about all… this .” Here, he indicated the complete insanity around them. “But good for you, looks like you finally got laid again.”

Well, that was not expected, not one iota. He froze, took stock of himself. Was it that obvious? Did he looked that fucked out? His hair was probably askew and his lips were probably swollen as hell. But he was clothed, right? 

“You didn’t even button your shirt up straight, son,” his dad said, and was that a teasing smile on his dad’s face? Tyler looked down, and yep, apparently he’d missed one or two shirt buttons and the entire thing was askew. His dad continued, “What’s it this time? Girlfriend or boyfriend? I can’t ever keep track nowadays.” 

“Dad…” Tyler grumbled but was interrupted so unexpectedly that he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“She prefers to just go by Wednesday .” 

Tyler turned, eyes wide, seeing that Wednesday had apparently already taken a shower, dressed, and was currently braiding her hair into a single braid over her shoulder. Jesus, how was she that quick? Also, why was all that he could look at was the way the skin of her shoulder was still speckled with droplets from the shower?

His dad, however, seemed far less bewitched with Wednesday. “ Her? Christ on a cracker, Tyler, I told you…”

“Watch it, Dad,” Tyler cut in, his voice so suddenly low and dangerous that he almost scared himself. He felt that same fury turn into a hot, solid, scorching knot in his stomach. 

Wednesday, however, seemed a thousand percent unruffled. She finished her braid, tied it with a hair tie, and threw it over her shoulder. “Apparently there is a slippery slope from sleeping together to becoming Jericho’s own Bonnie and Clyde.” She met his father’s seething gaze evenly. “Tell me, Sheriff, how many times does Tyler have to fuck me for us to descend into true criminal behavior?”

Holy shit. Tyler felt like all the words that were in his brain had jumped ship and all he could hear was the sarcastic comment that Wednesday had just leveled at his dad. 

And his dad? Absolutely speechless, just staring at her like he couldn’t believe that some wisp of a woman would talk about fucking his son to his face and for also carelessly mocking his apparent suspicion that she was trouble.

And she was trouble, this Tyler knew, but not in the same way his dad thought. 

The sheriff gaped for words for a second before he sighed, wearily, and said, with a tired expression, “At least tell me you wore a rubber, son.”

Shit. His dad had caught him unaware with that one. Wednesday wasn’t helping, just staring her dark, impassionate gaze at his father, a confirmation that they had not at least done that. His dad practically balked at their silence before throwing his hands in the air and saying, “Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the hell you want, you’re grown people. Ridiculous grown people, in my opinion.” 

“Unfortunately for you, I am not especially interested in other people’s opinions,” Wednesday said coolly and then turned to Tyler. “Would you mind zipping me up the rest of the way?”

He blinked, trying to process her request, and also the fact that he was slightly turned on again by her complete disregard for his father’s absolute grouchiness. And then, finally understanding what she was asking, he reached and delicately pulled her dress’s zipper up the rest of the way, his hand resting on the small of her back after he was finished. 

The sheriff watched the both of them skeptically, shook his head, and then said, “Listen, I didn’t come here to give two horny young adults a lecture. I came here to get this fucking party dissolved in the next ten minutes or else I’m coming down with the entire squad and making arrests.”

That got Tyler’s attention. “Ten minutes?! Dad, there are more than a hundred people here. We’ll never get this sorted out in ten minutes.” 

“I was going to give you twenty minutes,” his dad said, voice low. “But somebody had to use ten of those minutes for… whatever the hell it was that you were doing.” 

When Wednesday’s mouth began to open to offer what Tyler thought was probably a too-revealing response to exactly what the hell they were doing, Tyler quickly interrupted with a, “Okay, yeah, sure. Ten minutes. Thanks for the heads up, Dad,” the last word came out kind of like an accusation. 

His father just sighed, turned back to his cop car, and started to walk towards it. “And… I’m sorry about your grandfather, son. We can, uh, talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

Tyler only nodded pertly before his dad climbed into his car, killed the lights, and started making his way down the drive. 

They watched him go for only a second before Wednesday said, “Do you want me to begin threatening life and limb to everyone if they don’t leave?” 

He snorted. “Honestly, maybe?” Then he looked down at her, gave her once-over once again in her glimmering dress, the low cut of it making his throat feel dry. 

She caught his gaze, raised an eyebrow. “You could just let your roommates get arrested and come back to my apartment.” 

Uh, yeah, he’d like nothing more than that, but something inside of him couldn’t allow himself to quite throw his friends completely under the bus. His dad wasn’t joking: there was going to be a whole squad of cop cars up here soon.

Plus, as Enid’s wolf-like party howl pierced through the air, both of them winced and Wednesday said, “I suppose I should rescue my roommate from certain incarceration.” 

They glanced up at the roof, and there, both of them striking a pose of victory, Ajax and Enid were still playing beer pong. Apparently, it had turned into strip beer pong at some point, because Ajax was wearing only an undershirt and a pair of boxers while Enid had been stripped down just to her underclothes. 

Shouting up to the two of them, somehow they convinced them to come down under the pretense that they were, in fact, the indisputable strip beer pong champs. The two stumbled down, Wednesday trying to find Enid’s dress, which had been discarded haphazardly into the yard at some point. Ajax insisted that he didn’t need his pants or shirt or suit jacket. 

“Just bring it into work on Monday,” Ajax said, clapping Tyler on the back. “I’m not gonna have a use for it on our day off.”

And that’s when that little thought at the back of his mind bloomed fully, the one that had been tickling at him. 

Work. At work. He would be seeing Wednesday Addams at work on Monday. As her boss . 

Gulping, he watched her sling Enid's arm around her shoulder to keep her roommate upright. She caught his gaze and merely regarded him with her large, coal-black eyes, that strange glint in them once again. 

He sighed. He had just made things very, very complicated.

Chapter Text

Wednesday had been awake for four hours, meditated, practiced her knife throwing, consumed two quads, and written almost twenty pages of the latest Viper De La Muerte manuscript by the time Enid and Ajax stumbled into the apartment, disheveled and smelling of sex and booze but tittering out a set of completely smitten giggles between the two of them. 

This had become a usual occurrence over the past couple of weeks: Enid gone for long stretches of time, sometimes reappearing a whole day later and asking Wednesday if she got her text messages about staying at Ajax’s? Wednesday would reply that she would have better luck communicating with her via carrier pigeon than attempting to connect via her cell phone, which usually sat off and cold in her desk drawer. She pulled it out once a week to check for messages from Pugsley before promptly calling him, much to her younger brother’s chagrin, who whined that only old people talked on the phone.

And she knew what this meant, she wasn’t a fool: Enid and Ajax were starting the slow dance of deciding whether it even made any sense for them to live apart. She had even seen the text messages when Enid left her phone unattended for a moment, and Wednesday would fully admit she was a thousand percent a snoop, so she’d see the question of Ajax typing out: Sam’s moving out in three weeks… you talk to Wednesday?

And now, as Enid and Ajax tromped — still drunk from the night before — into the apartment, Wednesday had the very sinking feeling she would be down a roommate soon.

Not that it mattered in the fiscal sense. She paid the rent fully, giving Enid the responsibility of food and utilities, although she was fully aware this was not an even split. If she had to pick up those bills, this would hardly be a burden. Her latest royalty check had just hit her bank account, and the first advance for her new book would be delivered once she sent off the first draft. Which was now seemingly less daunting after last night. 

Last night. Thank all the entities for last night. Finally, after months of a completely uninspiring dry spell, a breakthrough. 

Not that Wednesday was entirely ready to fully dissect the full picture of what last night had been. Because not only was she able to finally able to find a suitable sexual partner, but the sex? Had been really, mind-blowingly good . 

But good in what way? This was the nagging thought in the back of her mind because while she no-doubtedly came multiple times last night, she couldn’t quite put her finger down on what exactly had been what made it probably the best sex of her life. And Wednesday Addams wasn’t a stranger to good sex. 

Yes, there had been the whole “no hands” suggestion, which was definitely something new and interesting and erotic. This had made its way into her newest pages in the Viper De La Muerte manuscript. And there had been that certain anatomical parts were much larger than she had ever experienced before, although that used to never be of any concern to Wednesday Addams. She had always been of the opinion that if someone didn’t know how to brandish their weapon, then the size of it was of little concern to her. But the way that Tyler Galpin had entered her, so carefully, stretching her with almost a sort of hallowed slowness… she feared it had done something to her neurons. It felt like her brain had been rewired somehow, the way he had watched her face every second he moved inside her. Wednesday Addams wasn’t used to her sexual partners looking at her like that, although she was not entirely sure at all what that was. In fact, most of the time they hadn’t looked at her at all, too busy chasing their own orgasms, eyes clenched as they pursued their pleasure. Which, to be fair, was what she would do in each and every past tryst she’d had. There had always been an understanding of what she and the other person had signed up for: a handshake agreement to reach a climax and then cordially part ways, no hard feelings. And more importantly, no feelings at all.

Nothing had been like that with Tyler last night, not in the way his mouth had been so tender on her own, the way his name left her throat as she unspooled around him, his eyes a honeyed fire while they never left her face, almost searching for some unknown answer that she felt was inside her, unbloomed but waiting. 

Frankly, Wednesday Addams didn’t know how to dissect last night in her usual black-and-white list of pros and cons, and it was starting to chip away at her highly guarded nonchalant exterior.

However, it had certainly proven inspiring enough to flesh out one of her smutty scenes in the manuscript. It was one of several that her editor had asked her to insert into the overall outline, which she had submitted months ago. And then the dry spell had fallen on her. 

But just a few days Tyler Galpin walked into Prose & Cons dark break room and had unknowingly, to the both of them, most likely become her new muse. 

Another remnant of the other night? The still-drunk visage of her bubblingly happy best friend, who, upon seeing Wednesday seated at her desk, typing rapidly away at her draft of her manuscript, squealed and then practically sprung a vise-like hug around Wednesday’s shoulders. 

“We lived to see the next day!” Enid said, her voice victorious. “And I didn’t even get arrested! Thanks to you roomie, of course.”

“What, being the most supreme beer pong champion of the world doesn’t make you impervious to jail?” Wednesday asked dryly, continuing to type even whilst her arms were being squeezed to oblivion. “Shocking, Enid.” 

“ Strip beer pong champion, thank you very much,” Ajax interjected before walking over to the apartment’s espresso machine. With the certain je ne sais quoi of a barista, he began to assemble himself a drink. His curly hair was askew, frizzy and wild, untamed from a night of unashamed debauchery. Upon catching Wednesday’s glance, he waggled his eyebrows and hedged, “But it seems like Enid and I weren’t the only victorious ones last night?” 

Wednesday stopped typing, raised a cool eyebrow back at Ajax. “That may be accurate,” she said, keeping her tone unaffected. 

Enid reared back from her hug, stared at her with wide, happy eyes. “Wednesday Addams! Tell me immediately . You disappeared with Tyler Galpin for so long, there has to be a story there.” 

“Indeed,” Wednesday said, still trying to keep her voice even. “That’s the story I’m working on right now as we speak.” 

The paper inside her typewriter was snatched up so quickly that Wednesday couldn’t even begin to object. She set her lips in a thin line and said seethingly, “I was almost done with that scene, Enid.” 

Enid shushed her emphatically like Wednesday was the one being entirely the nuisance. Her roommate’s eyes roamed across the page rapidly, widening as she continued to read. And then, she gasped, clutched the paper in a way that made Wednesday grind her teeth; it would be especially difficult to re-spool it into the typewriter now.

“What… what does this mean?” Enid stammered, glaring at the paper. “How… how would you know about…” Here, Enid drew closer to Wednesday and said in a hushed hissed whisper, as if Ajax absolutely couldn’t hear them, “... how large certain body parts are?” 

Wednesday tipped the paper in Enid’s hands, scanned through it, and then said, “Oh, yes, you’re referring to the penis size.” She looked up into her roommate’s face and furrowed her brow. “Enid, why didn’t you ever mention that Tyler Galpin had a rather large penis?”

Enid’s mouth dropped. Ajax had just taken a sip of the cappuccino he’d made, but promptly did a full spit-take, the drink spraying from his lips. And then, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he sputtered, his tone dripping with amusement, “And how would you know about that, Wednesday?” 

She shrugged, delicately plucked the piece of paper from Enid’s hands which had been frozen in stunned amazement. “Because last night I asked him to put it in my mouth, and he obliged.”  She smoothed out the paper on the edge of her desk, trying to flatten out the wrinkles. “And then he fucked me so much that I couldn’t breathe.” She paused, considered, “Although that might have been the light choke play that we engaged in…”

Enid slapped her palms over her ears, interjecting with a squeal of, “Nope! Nope, I can’t hear this kind of thing! Not about Tyler Galpin!”

Ajax, however, looked incredibly amused. He sipped hard on his drink and said, “I could stand to hear some more.” Enid issued him a glare, and he volleyed her one of his charming crooked grins. 

Swiveling around in her desk chair, Wednesday grabbed the stack of already-typed papers and handed them to Ajax, “Excellent. I need some initial feedback on this, anyway.” She stood and offered it to him, the stack of papers slapped against his chest. “Tell me what you think.” 

Ajax blinked and then took it greedily before Enid had a chance to snatch it from his hands, although she promptly tried to grab it with a protest, “Babe! We can’t! This is Tyler we’re talking about.” 

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “It’s a fictionalized version, Enid.” She strolled to the espresso machine, began making Enid’s regular latte. “Although, I will say I was able to transfer most of the dialogue and visceral experiences fairly acutely in this one. Of course, for legal reasons, all names, identities, and similarities are purely coincidental.” 

Together, Ajax and Enid poured over the pages, Enid grasping her throat like there was a strand of pearls there for her to clutch. They both issued little gasps of surprise every once in a while, and Wednesday studied their reactions, seeing if they seemed interested in the text overall. She had felt that the scene seemed steamy enough to be engaging, but she was never sure if she had pushed it enough to make it truly page-turning. 

At one point, Ajax literally choked, an amazed smile cracking his face and he shook his head and said, “Wednesday, you are out of control.” He took a long sip of his drink, raked a hand through his chaos of coiled hair. “This shit is hot as hell.”  

Enid simply stared wide-eyed at the paper, grabbed it to bring it closer like she couldn’t believe it, and then stared in complete bewilderment. “ Tyler said this to you? My sweet, innocent Tyler said this to you?” She asked finally, her voice squeaky. 

Wednesday added the foamed milk to the top of Enid’s drink, brought it over to her, peered onto the spot she was pointing with vigor. “Yes. That was the choke play I was referring to,” she deadpanned and then shook the latte at Enid. “You should drink this, Enid. You still smell like cheap kegerator beer, so I know you need it.” 

Her friend took it, gingerly, but still peered at the paper before gasping one more time. Then, grabbing the manuscript from Ajax’s grip, she turned to Wednesday and said, “You can’t publish this, Wednesday.” 

She raised an amused eyebrow. “I can’t, can I?” 

It was a teasing challenge, a rhetorical question, but Enid responded entirely genuinely, “No! You can’t!” She shook the paper at her, “I’ve read your other stuff, Wednesday, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Well, that was a surprise. Wednesday had thought that Enid, although the quintessential cheerleader for every person she loved in her life, wasn’t really the typical Viper De La Muerte reader, with her sunny disposition and ever-changing colored hair. She had always assumed that while there was mutual respect for each other's interests, there wasn’t any chance that Enid was actually going to read her books, these strange little novels with a cutthroat detective that had the emotional obtuseness of a scalene triangle. 

Enid continued, her voice turning high-pitched. “This? This is different from the other… scenes you write.” 

Wednesday froze, glaring up at her roommate. An odd leaden feeling sunk in her gut. “I’m quite sure that I don’t know what you mean,” she quipped, hoping to end the conversation with the finality of her tone.

“I’m quite sure you do,” Enid retorted and then flipped through them with an abandon that made Wednesday’s jaw work; now she was going to re-sort everything with the way Enid was ruffling everything up. “And I quote…” here, she cleared her throat, “... ‘A veil of dark lustiness fell across his eyes as he peered into her face, his voice a husky, emotive hiss as he practically pleaded, Look at me when you come, Viper . Viper, for once in her cold little life, felt a strange leap in the deep darkness of her heart.’” Then, in a motion that only Enid Sinclair could get away with, she whacked the pages over Wednesday’s head. 

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “You are being rather blasé about your mortality this morning, Enid Sinclair.”

Enid looked not an ounce unruffled by the death threat. “And you’re being rather blasé about the fact that Tyler is not at all like the other people you sleep with.” At Wednesday’s blank stare, Enid sulked angrily. “Come on, Wednesday, that boy has an insane crush on you. You have to know that, right?” 

She scoffed. That felt like a completely unmitigated charge, mostly because people simply did not have crushes on Wednesday Addams. That was not something she ever had to worry about: most people found her as tolerable as sleeping on a bed of nails. And she preferred it that way, with her handful of acceptable confidants and her typewriter. So never had she considered once any feelings that might be involved in her writing investigations. 

And it was quite frankly a ridiculous charge. Tyler Galpin felt nothing of the sort. Although he did seem very amenable to sexual intercourse, which was excellent for her looming deadline.

But then, even Ajax bit in, delicately removing the manuscript from Enid’s hand to begin reading again, “I mean, the dude put on a damn suit to come watch you play cello for like… only five minutes, Wednesday.” 

Frowning, she parried, “May I remind you that you did too, Ajax.”

He shrugged, eyebrows furrowed as he continued to read. “Yeah, but I knew there’d be free booze. Plus, you’re practically my sister-in-law at this point, so it felt like familial duty.” 

Oh. Wednesday eyed both Enid and Ajax rapidly, but neither seemed thrown off by what Ajax had just implied. She had known that they were both going to San Francisco during the holiday break to meet Enid’s family, but now it all came into focus: this ridiculously effervescent couple was planning on exchanging nuptials, their trip a way of engaging in, what Wednesday thought, the ridiculous puritanical tradition of getting a family’s blessing. Wednesday did not at all know how to broach this subject and something odd panged in her heart realizing that for one, Enid had not divulged this to her yet, and second, it was a rapidly approaching reality. 

But blinking out of her reverie, Wednesday mumbled, “These are all baseless charges. I had to practically corner him to get him to even kiss me.”

“But then he immediately did feet stuff?” Ajax interjected, pointing to a spot in the manuscript, and Enid smacked him across the chest in admonishment. He paid this no mind and merely shook his head with something that seemed like admiration. “My man had a freak flag this entire time and kept it under wraps. If I wasn’t so proud of him, I’d be kind of pissed that he didn’t ever tell me.” 

Enid, however, wasn’t going to let this go. She raised an eyebrow at Wednesday and asked, “What did Tyler have to say when you told him that you were writing about the two of you all… doing whatever this was?” Here, she waved wildly to the stack of peppers, which Ajax was still greatly invested in consuming word-for-word. 

In the past, Wednesday had never given a second thought to jaunting down her escapades without even a second conversation between herself and her one-night paramour. And, truly, there was no need for it: real-life experiences were free real estate in a fictionalized setting, and while some of the situations would be eerie to read for some of her past trysts, the rest of the story was so widely different than the reality of what happened that she didn’t even remotely see what good it would do to get feedback from the other person, let alone get permission . 

But this scene that she had hammered out this morning? It did really hit a little too close to home, although the overall sexual tension arch involved Viper sleeping with the enemy that she would later find she must destroy. She was hoping, for Tyler’s sake, that he wouldn’t meet such a nasty end. He was far too aesthetically pleasing to waste on excessive violence.

Her silence made Enid’s eyes widen. “You did talk to him today, didn’t you?” 

Bristling, Wednesday practically stomped to the espresso machine to make herself the third quad of the day. She needed something buzzing in her system to drown out this pesky feeling that was tickling the back of her brain that maybe this time, something was different, something was off kilter. 

“I was going to see him tomorrow at Prose & Cons, anyway,” she spat finally, trying to convince herself that she was confident about this approach. “And I have no other way to communicate with him other than to stalk his place of residence. Which I am not above, but I have been busier this morning than trying to sleep off a hangover.” Here, she glared at the two of them accusingly. 

Ajax shrugged. “To be fair, we also tried to fuck away the hangover as well.”

Enid squealed in indignation, but Wednesday merely raised an eyebrow and asked, “Did it work?”

“No.” Ajax then wrapped a devious arm around Enid’s waist, “But it was worth a shot, huh, babe?” 

Enid, however, was not a woman easily distracted, even as Ajax took a playful bite at the nook of her neck and shoulder. “Stop trying to change the subject, Wednesday Addams! I know you’re good at it, and I’m not allowing it.” Then, she continued, “You didn’t get his phone number?” 

Wednesday pulled out her ice tray of sphere ice cubes from the freezer, popped one in a tumbler, and then poured her espresso shots over them. She frowned at Enid over the rim of her glass. “You know I would rather be stretched on a torture rack than begin a… text conversation.” Here, Wednesday suppressed a shudder at the thought of having to engage on that level of inane communication. Talking with most other people was annoying enough, let alone having to interpret their intentions and meanings through abbreviated words and hieroglyphic pictures. 

Tipping her head, Enid narrowed her eyes at Wednesday. “You would probably like to be stretched out on a rack, Wednesday, so the message is unclear.” 

Wednesday huffed. “Fair enough. But you know I refuse to be a slave to technology.” 

“Being a slave to your phone and texting the boy who really, really likes you are two different things,” Enid exclaimed, and Wednesday startled not only at her words but the way that her best friend’s face was starting to get flushed with a hint of pink, like she was truly starting to get emotional about this.  

“I’d be happy to text him,” Ajax said, pulling out his cell phone out of his back pocket. Enid, however, quickly swatted it away from his grasp, the phone flying from his hands and skittering across the floor. 

“Don’t you dare, Ajax Petropolus,” Enid said, and Ajax whistled lowly at her using his full name, although there was a small grin on his face, like he found her increasing annoyance kind of adorable. 

“Not even just an eggplant emoji?” He asked, his voice forcibly innocuous.

Enid sputtered, “Especially not an eggplant emoji, Ajax! Tyler is very sensitive about that whole… large… thing.” And here, Enid swallowed her lips, like she had something that she hadn’t planned on sharing. 

Wednesday and Ajax raised their eyebrows and then exchanged an entirely meaningful look. 

“Babe,” Ajax started, a coy grin on his face before continuing, “How do you know about Tyler Galpin’s gods-given talent?” He cocked his head. “No judgment, but did you two…?”

Here, Enid literally dry-heaved and held out her hand for him to stop. “Please, stop, or else I’m going to lose what’s left of everything I consumed last night.” She breathed deeply through her nose and then slowly said, “Don’t ever imply that ever again, or else I’ll have to bust my eardrums in hopes that will strike those words from my brain. Because, no and never . Tyler is like the sweetest brother ever, and I would never . Ugh.” Here, she swallowed thickly and then added, “But, it’s kind of a thing… people talk about, you know?” 

Wednesday did know, remembered the way Tyler’s eyes clenched tightly shut when Jonah shouted it to literally everyone in the party. The sheepish expression on his face when she had reacted to seeing him take himself in his fist for the first time. There was something oddly compelling about him, the fact that there wasn’t an ounce of ego on him, even though he had every right to be that way: he was smart, handsome, clever, interesting, and yet his self-deprecation wasn’t meant to just add a dose of humor to situations, it was coming from somewhere deeply seated. It was something that Wednesday wanted to unwrap carefully, peel back to reveal the source of its origination. 

Then, slowly breathing, Enid was about to go onward, but both of hers and Ajax’s phones pinged, each buzzing with haptic feedback at the exact same time. The two looked at each other before scrambling to read the text message just sent to them. 

Ajax scooped his phone up from where it had been tossed on the floor, flicked it to unlock the screen and he chortled. “Well, well, well… speak of the devil and he shall appear,” he mumbled and then offered Wednesday an amused expression, “Guess Galpin’s ears must have been burning. Were yours as well, Wednesday?”

She merely glared at him blankly, not at all feeling like indulging his smug taciturnity. 

Enid solved this mystery quickly, her voice an excited squeal, “Oh my god, I told you! Tyler Galpin texted us with the sole purpose of getting your number.” 

Wednesday would rather take a bullet in her liver than admit the way her stomach clenched not unpleasantly in reaction, a warm nervous flip somewhere in her chest. To cover up the way her face lit up, Wednesday rolled her eyes and said, “He would be better served by learning smoke signals than utilizing that phone number.”

“Wednesday. Addams,” Enid snapped, typing furiously back to Tyler. This got her an Oh shit, you got double-named, too from Ajax. “You will text him back or else I will have to get very inventive and very colorful about our apartment’s decor.”

Wednesday leveled her a lethal glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“We both know I’ve kept a rainbow disco ball in storage since we moved here,” Enid said, sending the text and then meeting Wednesday’s eyes without fear. “And I’m not afraid to unpack it and install it. Immediately.”

Wednesday was about to tell Enid where exactly she would put said disco ball if she were to make good on her threats, but then Ajax and Enid’s phones pinged again. 

They both scrambled to open their phones first. Ajax was first, and he guffawed before issuing a low shiiiiiittt.

Enid just gasped before looking up at Ajax. “Can they do that? Just for a party?”

Using his fingers to zoom into the phone, Ajax studied his phone for a second and then said, “Not an expert on property management bylaws, but yeah this looks pretty official.” 

Wednesday felt like her eyes were ping-ponging between the two of them, a growing pit of anxiety growing in her stomach. Finally, she blurted out,  “As much as you know I love being tortured by suspense, could you two please abandon the vague statements and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

“You’d know if you had given Tyler Galpin your phone number,” Enid said coyly and when she only received Wednesday’s murderous gaze in reply, she sighed, turned her phone around for Wednesday to examine it. 

Taking a step forward, she squinted to see what was displayed: it was a picture, taken hastily, of the front door of Tyler’s house, and a piece of paper that had been stapled with vigor to the center of it. It was hard to make out some of the text, but it was clear enough to see the angry red letters emblazoned at the top of it: Notice of Eviction . 

Her heart sank. So this is why Tyler wanted to talk to her: to discuss her guilt in making him homeless in a very near future. It had been her hyperbolic Pilgrim’s Pint tip that had inspired the party in the first place, funding the free-flowing booze. And she had been rather persuasive in distracting him from attending to dampening the party the previous evening.  So, yes, that had to be it, why Tyler Galpin was suddenly interested in connecting with her after last night’s… activities.

She squinted, read the text on the photo to the best she could. Fourteen days, only two weeks; That’s all they were giving him and his roommates to find another place of residence. An impossible task in a college town where everyone was settled until the end of the semester, which was still two months away from ending. Wednesday felt the guilt coil in her stomach, practically pulling at something in her chest. 

Although Wednesday Addams didn’t apologize for anything, she felt uncharacteristically compelled to apologize to Tyler Galpin. 

And then, something came to her, a thought that sparked like a match suddenly in her brain. Glancing up at Enid and Ajax, she surveyed them for a long moment.

“Uh oh,” Ajax said teasingly. “I know that look: Wednesday Addams has a machination. It’s brewing in that dark little brain of yours right now.” 

“It better be brewing that she’s going to call Tyler Galpin,” Enid replied promptly, still fully utilizing her Mother Hen voice that Wednesday sometimes found amusing, sometimes wanted to throttle her for. 

Right now, though, she merely nodded at Enid’s quip and said, “Yes, I think I will.” Enid beamed, although surprise was clear on her face that she had won this battle so quickly (and without violence). “But first…” Wednesday crossed her arms and took stock of the two people in front of her, “... I think it’s time we talk about the fact that you two haven’t told me that you’re planning on engaging in matrimony.”

She could practically hear both Enid and Ajax gulp in reaction.

-

His run that morning had been extra vigorous. Not necessarily on purpose, but because his mind was churning over everything that happened last night so exhaustively that he found himself a couple of miles further away from where he usually ran without even thinking about it. 

Also, he found the stamina for it because last night, after he had kicked everyone out so that no one amazingly got arrested, and removed the ping pong table from their roof (single-handedly, by the way, those reptiles that he called roommates passed out in their living room before he could ask them to help), Tyler had got some of the best sleep of his life. It was like he had received a new lease on life: the regular insomnia that had plagued him for weeks had seemingly evaporated. Last night had felt like he got buried in layers of glorious unconsciousness that was filled only with images of her . 

And it was literally all his brain could think of this morning. Her dark eyes, the taste of her on his lips, the way she moaned his name. It seemed almost impossible that he could think of anything but her.

Tyler halted in his run, realizing that he was far outside of Jericho’s town limits now, having reached the literal physical place where the sidewalk ended and it turned only into a twisty mountain road. He had been just thinking of her this entire time, not paying an ounce of attention to where he was going. 

Well, fuck. Now he had another probably two miles to go to get back to his usual stopping point. Shaking his head to rearrange his sweaty curls out of his face, he started heading jogging back, trying to will himself to think of anything but Wednesday Addams. 

He had exams coming up, a paper due next week (that he hadn’t even thought about, let alone actually worked on), he still needed to finish inventory at the store, and his roommates seemed to be on the singular mission to get him arrested. But none of that mattered, because holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what had happened last night? 

Wednesday Addams had kissed him. Wednesday Addams had allowed him to unzip her dress, let him touch her tattoo, had let him touch her everywhere , let him taste her mouth and the rest of her body and oh god, he was so, so fucked. 

And tomorrow morning, he would have to walk into Prose & Cons and act like it wasn’t weird that he was her boss and they hadn’t done what they had done.

But, no, fuck that, he couldn’t just approach it like that. Tyler wanted to talk to her now , wanted to see her face again, apologize for making everything weird, and not in the kind of weird that he deeply appreciated about Wednesday. 

He stopped jogging, finding himself close to downtown, and took his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his list of contacts. And then it hit him: he didn’t have her number. In fact, he had never even asked for her number. He clenched his eyes closed, feeling very much like a fucking scumbag. What kind of guy does what he did with Wednesday and then not even have the decency to ask for her number? Apparently, he was that guy, and he felt a flare of panic in his chest that she had been seething all morning that he hadn’t tried to reach out to her and at least say something . 

Rapidly, he punched out a text to Enid and Ajax, basically pleading with them to send Wednesday’s number to him. This was pathetic, he realized, but he didn’t care because all he could think about was how Wednesday must think he was a real creep when in actuality he had just been a clueless idiot. And, to be fair, last night was a whirlwind of activities and in the midst of all of them, it hadn’t dawned on him that he had no way to talk to Wednesday Addams unless he just physically stalked up to her apartment like an even bigger creep than he always was.

Not that he didn’t entertain the thought for a second, standing panting on the sidewalk, mentally charting how far it would be to get to her apartment. But he was a mess, physically and mentally, so we struck out that idea quickly. He needed a shower, real food, and hopefully Ajax and Enid wouldn’t needle him as to why exactly he was looking for Wednesday Addams’s phone number on the one day that Prose & Cons was not open.

It didn’t take him long to find himself at the end of the drive to his house. The house was still, quiet. No doubt Jonah, Carter, and Lucas were snoring off their hangovers in the living room. They’d be at it until mid-afternoon, he was pretty sure, so hopefully he’d have a couple of hours to himself before they got up and started bitching about their giant headaches and about how his dad, Sheriff Galpin, was “a major buzzkill.” He was certain he wouldn’t get an ounce of thanks that they all didn’t just get outright arrested last night. 

And the one thing he didn’t want to hear was something that Jonah hinted at while he begrudgingly helped Tyler clear out the partygoers at the house last night.

“Did you only invite the noisiest motherfuckers in Jericho, Jonah?” Tyler had asked, dumping out another drink onto the lawn. 

To which Jonah parried him a wolfish grin before saying  “ You’re the one who invited the noisiest. Your girl was howling so loud that everyone knows what you two were up to.” 

He had frozen, staring wide-eyed at Jonah, who had merely barked a mocking laugh. But then they had to dive back into the task at hand, too busy with having everyone haul ass out of there to think about it too much. But now, he realized that possibly everyone knew what he and Wednesday had been doing, or at least some hint about it. 

There was still plenty of evidence of the previous night’s endeavors on the lawn: it was littered with plastic cups, beer cans, and even a pair of panties and a button-down shirt. But it was a vast improvement from when they had all called it quits, after his father had come up the second time, told them to make sure they kept it down now that everyone had gone. Miracle of miracles, no one went to jail. It was like they had dodged a proverbial bullet.

But as Tyler drew closer to the house, he realized that the bullet had somehow dodged them then turned around mid-air and came back for a second strike. Because nailed angrily on their front door was a piece of paper, fluttering slightly in the early morning breeze. 

Feeling his mouth go dry, Tyler approached the door, hoping that he was wrong and that the words he saw from a distance would magically rearrange themselves when he was closer. He had no such luck; there, in bold red letters, was “Notice of Eviction.” 

Honestly, he couldn’t muster up even an iota of surprise. They had already pushed their limits of their landlord’s patience several times. Hell, they had even been warned that the next time would be the last time . Several times. The second chances they’d gotten were honestly ridiculous and too generous.

He leaned his head against the door, still panting from his run, mind reeling with what the fuck he was going to do. Jonah, Carter, and Lucas would all be fine, he was sure: they moved out just because they wanted to throw raging parties, but their families were cordial enough, would probably click their tongues at their sons and then bake them a damn pie as a welcome home gift or something. 

His dad would let him move back, he was pretty sure (although honestly, Tyler wasn’t entirely certain). But every second of every day was going to be like boot camp again, his every move monitored and regulated, every decision he made chastised and micromanaged. And now that he had gotten himself kicked out of the very first place he was ever responsible for as an adult, his dad would be fucking insufferable .

And then there was the question of his books. His dad was not going to just let him take over another room in the house with his collection. His childhood room was a tiny, cramped place that was already full of books that he had kept there. 

His head was already pounding, but he figured that he might as well share the news with the two other people who were there the night before. He snapped a photo quickly of the eviction notice with three skull emojis and sent it off to Enid and Ajax. Then, sighing, he plodded inside, wincing immediately at the smell of pot and cigarettes and booze that still lingered in the air.

Yeah, it totally made sense they were getting evicted. It still sucked, but he felt like he could hardly be mad about it. 

Peeking into the living room, he spied his three roommates completely unconscious forms. Let them sleep, even though they didn’t deserve one more second of peace in their entire lives. Tyler frowned; as much as a pain it had been to live with this gaggle of idiots, he found a small sadness crawl into him that this was the end of the line for them. To be fair, they had toed and then completely fucked past that line, but it had been a good run.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. A call. The only people who called him were spammers and his dad, and if he had a guess as to which of the two it would be, he would put a million dollars on it was his father calling to gloat, calling to see how much Tyler would beg and plead to be allowed to move back home. Well, fuck that. He was not in the mood, he was covered in sweat from his too-long run, and he really needed to get his head off the idea that he was getting evicted and also had undoubtedly lost his conviction to not be obsessed with Wednesday Addams. 

He was heading upstairs to his room when his phone rang again. He stopped, sighed, feeling annoyance bubble in his throat. Of course, his dad wouldn’t take a hint. He’d probably keep calling him every five minutes until he answered, so Tyler pinched his lips together, grabbed the phone, answered it without even glancing at the screen, and practically growled, “Dad, spare me the lecture. I’m really not in the mood to deal with your I told you so’s right now.”

There was a silence for a long moment, and he thought maybe he had actually stunned his father into speechlessness. Which, honestly, would be the first time in any version of his memories. 

But then, he heard a deadpan voice, one that he knew instantly, could recognize in his dreams, “Is that your standard greeting, Tyler, or do you enjoy immediately picking fights with everyone who calls you?” 

His heart stuttered, his breath caught in his throat. “Wednesday?!” He stumbled for the words and then offered lamely, “I thought you were my dad?”

“I hope that the similarities between myself and your father begin and end with us both having access to a cellular device.”

His pulse was still hammering away, but he managed a small chuckle. “Well, I guess you also share the dubious honor of being the only people who call to actually talk on the phone.” 

He heard her sigh. “Yes, I have been told that I am generationally out of place for my preference for actual conversation versus inane text messages.” She paused. “That said, I would prefer that we not continue this conversation on the phone.”

Oh, well, shit. His heart sank a bit. Did she accidentally call him or something and now she wanted to back out of it? “Uh, yeah, sure, I’m guessing you’re busy.” 

“Always,” she replied breezily, but then continued, “Would you prefer to come to my place or should I come to your house?” 

His mind reeled, trying to figure out the question that had just been posed to him. All that came out was a super lame, “Um. What?” 

She paused and then seemed to hedge, “I find phone conversations tedious and impossible to interpret. We have… things to discuss after last night. We should do it in person.”

Tyler swallowed thickly. They did indeed have things to discuss, and he was unsure whether Wednesday wanting to initiate the conversation was a good or bad thing.

“Tyler, are you there? Did this stupid device disconnect?”

He wanted to laugh a little at her oddly Luddite behavior, but realized that he had been delaying a response for long enough so he just said, “I currently have three sleeping cavemen sprawled across my living room floor, so I can be at your place in thirty minutes?”

She considered, said, “Acceptable. I will see you here then.”

The stupid grin on his face was irrepressible, so he bit down on his bottom lip before saying, “It’s a date.” And then he clenched his eyes shut, realizing that the turn of phrase was probably completely ridiculous considering Wednesday Addams was going to tell him that last night was a huge mistake. 

It was quiet for so long that Tyler assumed she had hung up, but then she said, almost spooking him, “And Tyler?” Something about her voice turned a little dark when she continued, “I believe I left my tights at your house last night.”

His brain buzzed, flashes of her writhing underneath him in those tights, her stockinged feet running down the length of him. His tongue felt heavy when he said, “Uh, I can bring them over later today?”

“No,” she said, and now her tone was all typical nonchalantness. “I would prefer that you keep them. If you want to, at least.”

And then she hung up, leaving him in a confused state of being suddenly and unexpectedly turned on.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Was he just overthinking this per usual? Was it merely someone noting a lost article of clothing and he was making it into something it definitely was not? 

Wednesday Addams had done something irreversible to his brain, and it was ruining everything in a way that he couldn’t help but love. 

Shaking his head, Tyler stalked up the stairs, determined to find her tights and then take a meaningful hot shower.

Chapter Text

He did find her tights and he was definitely feeling a little abashed at the thoughts he had indulged in the shower about Wednesday Addams as he walked briskly to her apartment. The day had turned into something resembling winter, with a gray sky and a lonely snowflake floating lazily in the air. It only served to remind him that the world was sliding further into the new season, and the holidays were just around the corner. This meant if he didn’t get the inventory really tied up for the store, they were about to be in big trouble. Maybe he could stop by on the way back from Wednesday’s, get ahead of it? He was pretty sure this would be a quick and terse conversation about how they needed to reverse what they had done last night, that it had been a slip in judgment on her part. Again Tyler told himself: girls like Wednesday weren’t really supposed to run in the same circles as he did, and he knew that it was entirely and most likely possible that he was going to get only one night with her. And that was fine, he would live and die knowing he got that . He just hoped she would still want to be his friend. The thought he wouldn’t ever again get to laugh at her odd turns of phrases and her dry wit made his chest ache.

He took the outside staired-entrance to her apartment two at a time, his stomach literally turning in knots. Even though he was dreading the conversation, he was also annoyingly giddy at the thought of getting to see her again. 

Tyler smoothed his hair down, still damp from his shower. Raising his hand to knock, his fist didn’t even get a chance to make contact with the wood before the door flew open, Wednesday’s petite but intimidating frame staring up at him dispassionately. 

Jumping back, he swallowed a little yelp and said, “This hobby of yours is really going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

She gave him a once-over, a long one that he didn’t know how at all to interpret, before saying, “You’re late.” 

Uh, well, she wasn’t wrong, he was late. Maybe if he hadn’t been fantasizing about Wednesday Addams in sleek black tights in the shower he wouldn’t have been ten minutes past the designated thirty minutes they had agreed to. But he didn’t feel like sharing that in this moment where he was pretty sure he was going to be admonished for being a creep. 

“Sorry about that,” he said, offering her a crooked grin. “I’ll make sure to set a timer the next time I am summoned by Wednesday Addams.” 

“A smart move,” she said drolly before turning sideways, indicating that he should enter the apartment. 

Tyler stepped inside and then said, “A peace offering? For my tardiness?” He extended to her a stack of books he had been holding, the same one that she had placed on his floor last night before she went and locked the door and then pressed her body against his, and oh shit, he needed to get his train of thought back on the present moment or else he was going to be in a place that would be uncomfortable for the both of them. Clearing his throat in an attempt to reposition his brain, he added, “I figured you were collecting them last night with kleptomania in mind.”  

She eyed the stack of books for a long moment before she took them delicately from him. “Collecting, yes. Kleptomania… debatable.” Her dark eyes were on his when she added, “I’m sure I could have found a way to pay you back for them.” 

Well, he had no idea what to think about that. Or he did have thoughts on that, but not any productive ones, so he merely gulped before saying laughingly, “No payment needed. I’m going to need to offload some of my books anyway now.” 

Here, she nodded and replied swiftly, “I’ve heard. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

He blinked. This was a bit of a plot twist. Which, he supposed, he should have expected from Wednesday Addams, but it still sent his mind spiraling for a reply. “Oh. So, Enid and Ajax snitched?” 

“You should know better than to share something with them that you wouldn’t want the entirety of Jericho to know about in twenty-four hours,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

He chuckled at that; she wasn’t wrong. Ajax and Enid would chat to a brick wall about anything, but they always preferred to offer some local juicy gossip if possible. 

“Well, considering our Eviction Notice is literally stapled to our damn door, I’m sure it will hardly be a secret to anyone soon,” he said and then added, after a pause, “Except for maybe my horde of roommates. They’ll probably be shocked when the cops drag them out by their earlobes in two weeks.” 

When she offered him a small quirk of her lips in reply, he felt something in his stomach turn electrically. Tyler bit the inside of his cheek from offering her a goofy grin back. Then, striding towards her side of the apartment (donned in an on-brand color palette of black, gray, and white), she set the books on a side table and then turned to him and asked, “Would you like a drink?” 

“If it’s the coffee variety, then hell yes, please .” He then added, “But if there’s any booze in it, I think my liver will literally implode after the past several nights with you heathens.”

“Livers are hard to come by, even for heathens,” she said in a way that indicated she had once tried to hunt one out and it was not to be had. “So, coffee it is. Americano?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, briefly stunned. “How did you know that’s my poison of choice?”

Wednesday shrugged, walked to the apartment’s small kitchen, and started humming up the espresso maker that took up a good third of their counter space. “It was what you were drinking during my interview process.” 

“Yeah, but I could have been drinking a mocha for all you knew,” he said, placing a little emphasis on the word mocha just to see if she would react.

She did, glaring at him. “You’re not quite that much of a villain, Tyler Galpin.” He chuckled at that, and then she added, “And I already told you that I have a hobby of knowing my espresso drinks. I try to excel in all my hobbies.” 

“Oh, I’m aware. The scare-the-shit-out-of-Tyler-Galpin hobby is going to put me in an early grave.” 

She merely rewarded him with another tiny smile before continuing to make his drink. 

While she was busy with the drink, Tyler indulged himself in scoping out the apartment, viewing it for the first time during daylight hours. The giant space that Wednesday and Enid called home was pretty amazing if he was being honest. He wasn’t quite sure how they afforded such a place; he was well aware of the rental market in Jericho and knew that something this large and this close to downtown was probably twice what his entire house cost. Given his house was an absolute shithole and it was also not going to be his house in t-minus fourteen days. 

Gray sunshine poured in from the giant lead glass window on the back wall, revealing the apartment’s details: coffee table books, one that was about cats in hats and another about Jack the Ripper (no mystery as to which book belonged to which roommate); Wednesday’s black cello propped up against a far wall; the bookshelves that almost ran floor to ceiling in Wednesday's side of the apartment. The way the entire place smelled like espresso and vanilla and something distinctly heady that Tyler could only recognize as Wednesday’s scent, something clean but almost spicy, something that belonged only to her.

He strolled over to her bookshelves, feeling slightly like a snoop, but felt like it was a fair exchange considering she had perused his collection the previous night. Sucking in a large breath of air, he willed himself not to let his mind stray back to thoughts of last night once again, although this seemed like an impossibility; it was playing in the background of his mind at all times, a relentless stream of images and thoughts and sensations. 

Her collection was slightly different from his own, heavier on the classics and nonfiction. Some of them seemed very, very, very old, and he avoided even pressing his finger against the spines of those volumes. She had sorted her collection seemingly by author’s alphabetical order, and it was meticulously done, not a single author slotted in the wrong spot. Tyler almost wanted to snort in appreciation; of course, Wednesday Addams would anal-retentively sort all of her books this way. The way he organized everything probably made her break out in hives. 

“Are you feeling the allure of kleptomania as well?” Her voice cut through his thoughts, and he jumped again, not at all having heard her creep up cat-like behind him. 

Trying to steady his breathing, Tyler raised an eyebrow at her. “I feel like if I tried to steal something from Wednesday Addams, it would be the last thing I did in this mortal coil.” 

“Astute observation,” she replied, not missing a beat. Then she held out a hefty ceramic mug, almost shyly, her eyes not meeting his when she said, “I’m aware that I… owe you an apology.” 

Tyler practically choked on his sip, staring down at her in confusion. He racked his brain for a single clue as to why she would be offering this up to him. Was she looking for one in return? Should he stumble out, quickly, and penitently, Oh, no, it’s totally my fault that we went too far last night . But instead of doing any of that, he merely breathed, “Uh. What for?” 

Christ. He really must have dropkicked any sense of eloquence out the window this morning because that was about smooth as a gravel road.

Wednesday blinked at him for a second, like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. His blank expression must have expressed that he was genuinely confused because she tipped her head and said, “I’m largely to blame for your current eviction status.”

His mind reeled and eloquence did not all come back to him when he said, “Huh? Wednesday, you literally had nothing to do with it.”

“I did,” she said, not her jaw getting set now in a stubborn repose. “If I hadn’t carelessly given your roommate monetary ammunition, the party wouldn’t have been so…”

“Like the bowels of Hades arose from the Earth and consumed our house?” Tyler offered, grinning, and then shook his head vehemently. “Come on, Wednesday, you know that my roommates are absolute brutes. This was all their doing.  And it was going to happen eventually. It was more a when than an if .”

She sniffed. “Well, it doesn’t seem fair that you have to pay for their indiscretions.” 

“I’ve had my fair share of indiscretions, too,” he joked and then realized how it might have sounded, like he might be alluding to the rest of last night, past the raucous party and the police lights that flashed in the front yard. Like he might be alluding to what they had done, the door shut and locked and every part of their bodies touching each other.

And Wednesday’s face got dark, but in a way that seemed almost… lusty? Whatever it was, it made his whole body tingle voraciously. He needed to get a grip, or else he was going to probably do something he was going to regret and get chastised for it immediately by Wednesday Addams. 

Then, slowly, she said, “There was also the fact that I was rather… insistent on you attending to other activities versus trying to dispel the party.” 

Other activities. That was absolutely a Wednesday Addams way of phrasing what they had done last night. He guessed that they were going to talk about what had happened last night, although he didn’t possibly know how to segue into that conversation, and his sudden track record of sounding like a complete idiot was strong, so he went ahead and just said it: “And I guess I’m the one who should apologize now.” 

An eyebrow was cocked at him. It was her turn to ask, “And what for?”

Well, she had to know, right? He felt his face flush, his stomach turning into a knot. He ran a hand over his face and said, “I… know that what happened last night? Between the two of us? Just know I’m under no delusions that it will be something that will be repeated.”

“Why not?” Her voice was so point-blank that his eyes snapped at her, unsure. Her dark eyes were, as usual, unfathomable, but there was a true hint of curiosity there. Her lips were set in a firm line when she inquired, “You didn’t enjoy it?” 

He wanted to balk at her. Enjoy? No, he didn’t enjoy it; that was too ridiculous of a word to describe how he felt about last night. It had practically rewired his entire damn brain, it had changed his body chemistry, it felt like a dichotomous moment, his entire life divided cleanly on the before last night and the after last night.

But instead of telling her all that, he merely stumbled and said, “Enjoy is too small of a word, Wednesday.” Her eyes flashed at him, and he knew he had to keep going, “I feel like… listen, I get it. First I’m very aware of who I am and who you are.”

Now, Wednesday looked transparently confused. And maybe a little pissed. Her voice was stiff when she said, “And who exactly do you think you are and who I am?”

Shit, he didn’t mean to sound like a mansplaining know-it-all, and that’s not at all how he meant it. So quickly, he tried to backpedal, landing entirely on self-derision, “I’m just a small-town nobody. I get it.”

“You know that I don’t appreciate when you do that,” she said, her voice so stern that he snapped his mouth shut. “We’ve already been over that I don’t think your self-deprecation is appropriate. And if I have to listen to that kind of thing when you’re my roommate, I will have to take extreme measures.”

Tyler’s brain stopped. He must have heard wrong because she threw it out there so casually, his ears must be playing tricks on him. He merely stared at her for a long moment and finally hedged, “When I’m your… what ?”

For some reason, Wednesday was the one who looked annoyed. “It seems simple to me: you are about to be without a place of residence in fourteen days. I have a roommate who wishes to cohabit with her future partner before their upcoming nuptials. We are both in various rental conundrums, so common sense would dictate that you could move here.” Then she added, almost shyly, “If you are amenable to it.” 

His heart felt like it was beating so hard that he was afraid she could hear it. Because too much had just been thrown at him. To cover for his completely stunned reaction, he took a sip of coffee and then made himself at home by almost collapsing on her bed, which was adjacent to the bookshelves. Tyler caught himself, realizing where he had just landed, and glanced up sheepishly at her. Wednesday, however, seemed nonplussed by his current location, so he continued, “Wait, did I hear this right? So Enid and Ajax? Are getting married ?”

She shrugged. “It is on the roadmap.” 

“I’m guessing roadmap wasn’t the phrase that Enid used,” he said, his voice teasing. Leave it to Wednesday to make it sound like one of the more romantic endeavors an individual could go through was as simple as constructing an Ikea bookshelf.

“Frankly, I am insulted that she didn’t mention it to me at all. Not until I flat-out confronted her about it,” Wednesday practically spat. But then, she huffed and joined him by sitting on her bed, curling her legs so that her chin rested on her knees. “But I suppose she was waiting until they visited her family during the holidays. Although why she feels the need to ask permission like a child to enter into marriage is beyond me.” 

Enid, okay, Tyler saw it. But the fact that Ajax Petropolus, probably one of the most free spirits he’d ever met, would care about the admittedly odd tradition of asking for a family’s blessing before getting married was kind of blowing his mind. Actually, all of this was blowing his mind. He had assumed he would have walked in, Wednesday would have told him that they had made a giant mistake last night, he would agree (even if he totally didn’t agree, but he wasn’t going to go down that road), and then he would have bid her goodbye. They’d see each other at Prose & Cons and be cordial and maybe, eventually, they could be something of friends again. 

Nothing of the sort had happened, and now she was proposing… what exactly? That he move in with her? 

“I haven’t heard you object,” she said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. He looked over at her, and she was sitting close enough that he swore he could smell her soap and the distinct scent of her body. She was gnawing attractively on her bottom lip and he had to take a stiff drink of his Americano to distract himself from focusing on it too much. She clarified, “Haven’t objected to my housing proposal.” 

“Honestly? I don’t even know where to start Wednesday.” He said and she only stared up at him with wide eyes, so he continued, “First, no, I don’t object. But maybe you should?” 

“If I objected, I wouldn’t have proposed it in the first place,” she said stubbornly, a glint in her eyes. 

He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, “Okay, okay, fair enough. But, Wednesday… you’ve seen the shithole I live in. And I can hardly afford that . There’s no way I could come close to splitting rent with you on this place.” 

Her body seemed to bristle and he realized that talking about finances was uncomfortable for her. Well, too bad, there was just no way he could come close to being able to make this apartment work. It had to be at least three times more than his current living situation, and he probably had maybe thirty-five dollars sitting in his bank account currently until he got paid at the end of this week. 

“Enid and I have an arrangement that I am fine with continuing,” she said, voice stiff. “I pay the rent, she takes care of the groceries, water, and electric.” And then she added, “She also cooks for us occasionally, a hobby that I have no shame in professing that I have never fully… acquired.” 

“What? Something that Wednesday Addams isn’t good at? Someone alert the presses,” He teased and when she merely glared up into his face, he chuckled. “Okay, so, if you want less self-deprecation from me, I will say that I’m a halfway decent cook. I think it’s why the three stooges up at my soon-to-be-evicted house even let me move in initially. They’d probably starve without me.” 

“Good riddance,” she mumbled, but then added, “So, it’s settled? Enid is moving out by the end of the week, so we can start moving your things this weekend. Enid and Ajax said they can help…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tyler interjected, making a time-out gesture quickly with his hands. He felt like his brain might almost explode. Was this actually happening? A part of him was screaming at him to not be a fucking idiot, take Wednesday up on this immediately. A pretty girl was offering to pay his rent in exchange for him to make them dinner? A pretty girl who had been the center of his entire thought process for 72 hours straight, nonetheless.

But there was the problem: he was obsessed with Wednesday Addams and becoming her roommate was not going to help that one iota.

“I don’t know… if I can?” He finally hedged and he watched as her face dissolved into something that he couldn’t interpret. “Trust me: I definitely want to. This place is incredible.”

“There’s more than enough room for your books, in case that’s the issue.”

Shaking his head, he said, “That is a huge plus, but Wednesday… I don’t know if I would be a good roommate.” He stared deeply into his drink for a long second and then looked at her shyly through his eyelashes, “I mean, you don’t have to do this just because you have some ill-placed guilt that I happened to get evicted because of last night. That - and I swear it to you - had nothing to do with you. Don’t you have other friends who’d you rather room with?” 

Here, she snorted. “Do you know who was my last roommate before Enid?” 

He merely lifted an eyebrow. “Regale me.”

“Bianca Barclay,” Wednesday said plainly before adding swiftly, “We were placed together in those horrid freshmen dorms. And she told me that she’d rather take a bath with a toaster than live with me for another day.” 

Here, he couldn’t stifle the laugh that burst past his lips. 

She merely offered him a nonchalant sigh and said, “When I told her that I’d be happy to oblige her in that endeavor, she requested a transfer, and that’s how I found Enid, who managed to see past my… eccentricities.” 

So, that was the official Wednesday, Enid, and Bianca lore. He’d wondered where the tension lay between the three of them. He tried to imagine Wednesday and Bianca cohabiting and it was deliciously awful. 

“So, if anyone should be terrified in this certain situation, it should be you, Tyler Galpin.” 

He found her gaze on him, and there was something dangerous glinting there. “Honestly? The terror is part of the appeal,” he said and was given a small coy grin. But then, inhaling deeply he said, “But this doesn’t change anything at work, okay? You fuck up, I’ll fire you. You got that?” 

Wednesday hardly batted an eyelash before she said, “That seems improbable. I’m a model employee.”

He literally guffawed before shaking his head. “Tell that to our drip coffee customers. We need to work on that glare of yours. A little more unaffected, a little less death threat.” 

When she issued him the same glare that she had an unsuspecting customer the other day, he said, “Yeah, we’ll keep working on it.” He ignored her small (and pretty adorable) huff before continuing, “Speaking of work, I hope what… we did last night… doesn’t make everything super uncomfortable at Prose & Cons.”

Here, she blinked, completely bemused. “And why would it?” 

He felt his face blanch, and he said, “Well, I guess it’s kind of an open secret that my boss likes to get a little… handsy now and then with me. And I don’t appreciate it. So, I guess I’m just hoping you know that you don’t have to worry about that. With me.”

Something passed across her face quickly, something dark and dangerous and somehow very much promising violence. “Laurel? Laurel touches you?”

Well, shit, maybe she didn’t know that. He had thought Enid might have uploaded Wednesday on all the Prose & Cons gossip, but maybe she hadn’t. There was also the possibility that she had told Wednesday all this in her typical bubbly yet rambly way and she had tuned her out just as much as Tyler was apt to do some days in the store. 

“I mean, totally PG-rated kind of stuff,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. 

But Wednesday wasn’t having anything of his apathy towards the situation on the whole. Her eyes narrowed. “I will see to it that she doesn’t have hands to be handsy with.”

“Okay, down, girl,” he said, now not being able to help a small laugh from coming out of his throat. “Remember, we’re both on court-ordered therapy sessions. We’re not really in a place to be entertaining violence in our workplace.”

“I am not entertaining. I am threatening,” she practically growled, and so when he blurted out, “Okay, if I promise to be your roommate, will you promise to not murder Laurel Gates until after I can finally quit Prose & Cons?” 

Okay, well. He guessed he had actually done it, because there was a small light in Wednesday’s eyes, but it was gone quickly when she said, her voice even as always, “I guess those are acceptable terms.” 

His heart still thudded against his ribcage. Holy shit, had he actually just agreed to be Wednesday Addams’s roommate? A part of him was deliriously happy: the idea that he would get to not only get out from the testosterone-flooded hellscape that was his current living situation (okay, he kinda liked his roommates, but god, he was so, so exhausted) but also? He was going to get to see her every day. And honestly, that was enough. It should be enough, he should go ahead and put a limit to this right now. 

“I think… I think if we’re going to really do this,” he started, and took a shaky breath, not at all thrilled about the next words coming out of his mouth, “I think we should talk about last night.” 

Here, her back straightened. “Yes, I think we should.” And then she stood up, walked out of the partitioned area that was her bedroom area, leaving him sitting there, merely blinking bemusedly. That hadn’t gone at all like he thought it might, but honestly? Why did he assume anything was going to go an expected way with her? After all, did he think just an hour ago that he would be moving in with her? His mind spun, trying to figure out where in time and space he even was. It was like spiraling into a surreal dream world. 

She returned just as breezily as she left, mere seconds later. Gripped tightly against her chest was a stack of papers, which she held out to him, nothing about the offer indicating he could refuse to immediately take them. 

As he took in gingerly, she said, “We have discussed before my current dry spell for inspiration for certain… scenes within my latest Viper De La Muerte manuscript.” 

Um, yes, they had. He wouldn’t be able to forget that night either, the night when she had discussed her need for a more method approach to writing the more popular scenes in her books, the ones where Viper and a partner chased some orgasmic experience. But, he couldn’t connect that conversation with the one at hand, and so he just stared blankly at her and then back at the paper. 

She frowned at his lack of realization and said, “Last night certainly ended the dry spell.”

Oh. 

Oh . 

So that’s what that had been all about. He felt something sink traitorously inside his chest, but now it made infinitely more sense. Wednesday Addams had kissed him, had sunk her fingers into herself while her dark eyes were trained on him, had let him bury himself in her and let him come unspooled within her. 

It had all been for her writing. It had been for Viper. 

Honestly, this made a lot more sense. He had been trying to figure out exactly why she would want to do anything she did with him, but now the puzzle pieces fit together. 

There was an ache so deep in his chest that he had to swallow hard to stop it. He offered up supplication to whatever gods of self-consciousness existed that he didn’t look ridiculous, but he didn’t have to worry because Wednesday piped in, “I haven’t been that inspired in. Well. Ever.” 

Well, that got his attention. “My book collection was that impressive, huh?” He said teasingly, although he still couldn’t chase the little hint of disappointment that edged his voice. 

If she heard it, she didn’t indicate it when she replied, almost huskily, “Indeed.” And then, pausing, she tipped her head towards the papers. “It seems prudent to let you read what exactly was produced from said collection.” And then she continued, “And I need four more similar scenes for my impending end-of-year deadline. I was hoping that you would assist me with those as well.” 

His brain exploded. His eyes snapped up towards hers. He was pretty sure she could hear his pupils dilate.

At his reaction, she seemed to think he was possibly horrified. So quickly, she stumbled with, “Of course, you do not have to agree to such an arrangement. And, of course, we will need to be fastidious about compartmentalizing this. I’m fully aware we are coworkers and future roommates and I do consider you rather… a friend. We should be careful that each aspect of our relationships does not bleed over into the other.” 

Coming from the woman who just two days ago told me that she didn’t have friends, he couldn’t help but feel his heart clench joyfully over that statement. 

“I think it can be effectively done.” Wednesday sounded a little unsure now. “And, of course, I’m not hinging the roommate offer on whether you want to do this or not. That offer stands no matter your choice. I’m a villain, but not the Laurel Gates type.” 

Tyler chuckled but suddenly looked down in his lap, eyebrows furrowed. He heard her walk a couple of steps closer, take a seat next to him on the bed again. He couldn’t repress the thought that she was so very close that it would be so easy for him to reach out and place his entire hand on her thigh, rub his thumb along the soft inner part of her leg. 

She was waiting for an answer, he was aware. But he had to take a stuttering breath, think for just a second, give his heart a chance to catch up, and not just let his absolutely idiotic hormones win. Because that part of him, the horny mess that had not helped with his recent obsession, wanted to scream at him that yes, yes he should take this offer this very damn minute . The thought that he’d get not just one more time with Wednesday Addams, but four? Hell, it felt like a gift he could never deserve. 

However, something inside him was telling him softly, if you do this, you’ll never recover, everything for the rest of your life will just be Wednesday Addams, forever and ever, and she’ll move on, live her sparkling life, and you’ll just be stuck, waiting for her.

But, you know what? Fuck it. Every part of him was one fire with the thoughts that he might get to press his mouth to hers again, that she might let him stretch inside her, would give her more of those feral noises that escaped her throat last night. 

So, let the horny side win. 

“I did say I would do anything for my girl Viper,” he said coyly and when he finally glanced up at Wednesday, there was an even larger smile on her face than he had ever seen. 

Oh shit. Nope, maybe he had made a mistake because the feeling ripping through his chest at her smile was doing something insane inside him. 

“As a Viper De La Muerte reader, I would greatly appreciate your feedback on the current scene,” she said, indicating the papers in his hands.

He blinked, realizing that he was still holding them, clutching them a little too tight. “Oh wow, yeah, definitely. Would love to.” And then, as she stared at him expectedly, he asked, “You mean… like, now?” 

“No, in ten years after their publication,” she said, her usual drollness back in her voice. “Yes, of course now , Tyler.” 

He huffed a breath of laughter and was about to go immediately to the task at hand, realizing he probably had no other choice. 

His phone buzzed once, twice, thrice. Great, someone was calling him, and one of the two people who actually called to talk to him was sitting so close to him that he was intensely aware of the way her chest rose and fell while breathing. 

Sighing, he pulled out his phone from his back pocket and turned to her, said, “It’s my dad, and trust me when I say he will geo-track my cell phone signal and storm through your front door if I don’t answer his call.” 

“A battle I would welcome,” she deadpanned and he rolled his eyes affectionately. 

“If you go to jail, I’m back to being homeless,” he replied and added, “Hold on, just a second, I promise that this will take just a second. He’s calling to do his I told you sos that he’s been dying to do ever since I moved in with all those idiots.” 

Punching the answer button he began the call with something he knew would prove to be incendiary, but he did it anyway, “Yeah, yeah, I get it, Dad. You were right, I was wrong. Does that end this conversation?” 

His Dad was only silent for a mere second. “You do realize that I don’t always call to gloat, right?” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” He ground his teeth.

Sheriff Galpin sighed, a weary kind of sigh that felt a bit hyperbolic. After all, he wasn’t the one that was getting evicted in t-minus two weeks. “You gonna be moving back home, kid?” 

There was something gentle about this Dad’s voice that caught him off-guard, but he pushed away the surprise at his tone and cleared his throat hesitantly. He eyed Wednesday briefly, who was staring at him like she could hear both sides of the conversation crystal-clear. “I’ve actually… um, found another place?”

This time, it was his dad’s turn to be surprised. “Already?! Christ, kid, you just got evicted a couple of hours ago. I didn’t think you were that popular.”

“Your usual vote of confidence is shocking, Dad,” he grumbled and he heard his Dad sigh, both of them clearly annoyed that their regular tête-à-tête was commencing. 

His father cleared his throat and then said, “Well, I guess it’s not all bad. Those guys you were living with are absolute shitheads, you know that, right?” 

Here, he actually chuckled. “Yeah. But lovable shitheads.”

“A shithead’s a shithead,” his dad answered gruffly. “Listen, I wasn’t actually calling just about the eviction. Your grandfather called me last night.” 

Tyler’s spine straightened. This was not at all the way he thought this conversation was going to go. His father and grandfather were not at all on phone call conversation terms, so something must have happened.

“Did someone die?” Tyler asked, assuming this would be the only time that there would be a proverbial olive branch extended between the two.

His father sighed again. “You know, I’m capable of having an adult conversation with other adults without someone kicking the bucket, Tyler?”

Doubtable, but he issued his own long sigh and said, “What did he want, Dad? Trying to get you to convince me to go to Nevermore again?” 

There was a long silence and his dad said, “Well, yeah. He’s always on that bullshit. But he also wanted to have dinner with us tonight. He’s leaving in the morning.”

Well, hell no. Or at least that was his first thought. But, then he paused, trying to not let his more baser, petty instincts kick in. Although his grandfather was a prick through and through, he was still his grandfather. There had been a span of almost three years since he saw him last. His high school graduation, the memory burned in his brain and he took him aside and braided him up and down for not accepting enrollment into Nevermore. Especially after everything that happened a couple years ago, his grandfather had said sternly, a subtle nod to the moment he had turned from a sixteen-year-old boy to a pure murderous monster. 

It had only inspired him to never, ever consider Nevermore as a possible university option, no matter that his SAT scores had punched through even his own personal expectations and they were more than willing to give a legacy kid with the grades and high standardized test scores a second chance. He’d never belong at a place like that, a place where men like his grandfather were the norm. 

“You there, kid?” His dad asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Tyler cleared his throat, clenching his eyes tight, and said, “Yeah. I… I guess that would be fine. Yeah, I’ll go.” And then a thought: “You’re coming, too?”

Now, the gruffness returned to his voice, “Yeah, he was rather insistent. I guess I know where your Mom got her stubbornness from.” He paused, the both of them silent, thinking about her, that ghost that still haunted both their lives. Then, with something that sounded like a grunt, his father added, “Your grandfather was also pretty insistent that you bring your new girlfriend with you as well.” 

“Girlfriend?” Tyler asked, confused, and then suddenly felt incredibly sheepish, realizing exactly who his grandfather was talking about. She was sitting right next to him, her wide, dark eyes on the side of his face. “Uh, yeah, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Sure, whatever,” his dad said, sounding exasperated. “Whatever you kids call each other nowadays. Bring your partner or whatever.” 

Tyler rolled his eyes so much he was sure they disappeared in the back of his head. “I mean that it isn’t like that, Dad.” 

“Listen, whatever the hell it is like , just ask her if she wants to go so we don’t have to listen to your grandfather bitch about it for the entire meal.” And before he had a chance to object, his dad said, “Seven PM, L'Auberge.” His father’s French grated across the word, pronouncing it like lew bears . This was going to be fucking fun, having his grandfather snicker every time his father tried to pronounce something on the menu. 

And then his father hung up. Sighing, he grumbled, “Nice talking to you too, Dad.” Then, shoving the phone back into his back pocket, he grinned tiredly back up at her. “Sorry about that. Now, I guess I should just dive into this? Anything I should know before I start this?” 

Wednesday said snappily, “The man she’s sleeping with ends up being the murderer. She will carve his heart with an industrial-strength pumpkin carver at the end.” 

He blinked. “Well, I guess spoiler alert is unnecessary now.” And then, offering her a wary grin, he asked, his face reddening a bit, “Also, anything I should be worried about, Wednesday? Considering I just agreed to help with… inspiration?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “I don’t own an industrial-strength pumpkin carver.” Then, her eyes flickered across him. “Yet, at least.”

“Oh. That’s super reassuring,” he said, but couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He was about to dive into the pages, all the while a small thought of what the hell he had just gotten himself into tickling the back of his mind, but then she interrupted, “I’ll go.”

Halting reading, he looked up at her, “I mean, I don’t mind if you watch me read, although I’ll admit it’s a little unnerving…”

“I’ll go tonight,” she interrupted. “That’s what your father was talking about, correct? He wants me to show up somewhere?” 

Well, shit, had it been that obvious? He thought he’d been vague enough, but there wasn’t seemingly a way to get something past Wednesday Addams. So, slowly he said, “It’s not so much him. It’s my grandfather. He thinks well… I guess in his ridiculous Nevermore-obsessed brain that because you were standing two feet from me we’re dating or something?” Sighing, he said, “You seriously do not have to go. It will probably be the most awkward night of my life. My dad and my grandfather? Using the term mortal enemies might be too far off.” 

“Sounds honestly delightful,” Wednesday said, not a hint of irony in her voice. Of course, she would think witnessing two grown men battle it out all night would be interesting. He couldn’t help but breathe a small laugh. “Plus, I think I might have found a new hobby.”

Tyler lifted an eyebrow. “Which is?” 

“Infuriating your father.” She paused, considered. “And possibly your grandfather. Maybe especially your grandfather.” 

He felt his lips curl into an unbidden grin, and he thought to himself how she truly might be the death of him, this dark, strong wisp of a woman.

Chapter Text

He had tried to warn her. 

“It’s not exactly… a car,” he’d told her, holding a measuring tape aloft as she pulled the other end. She had insisted that they start the process of measuring the space that would be his side of the room so that he would know where to configure his furniture. 

When he had said sheepishly, “I’m pretty sure my old-as-hell twin bed is going to fit just fine in here,” she had merely offered him a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, if not, you could always just sleep in mine.” It was said so breezily that he literally stood there blinking at her like a true idiot as she went about measuring the room like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal bomb amongst the two of them. Was she just trying to throw him off balance now? It was beginning to feel to be another one of her hobbies that might end up with him unceremoniously lowered into an early grave. 

But, honestly? It was a grave he’d probably go to happily if it meant she got to keep torturing him, whether intentionally or not. 

“Do you plan on picking me up bareback?” She asked, and well. That didn’t help his mind from spiraling once again. When he merely gave her what he figured was the dumbest mouth-agape stare, her lips curled only slightly when she qualified, “On a horse, I mean. Since you don’t have a car?” 

Oh, right. He needed to get his mind screwed on right or else he might as well just unhinge his jaw to be perpetually open for the next while that he was her roommate. 

The fact that she had just pitched that she was in need of him to provide “inspiration” for the latest Viper installment was helping, though. And he had agreed. Oh god, he had done that, right? 

And now he was going to be her roommate. 

All of it felt so surreal that Tyler was completely unsure if he was even touching the ground. It felt a little floaty, like he might wake up in a fit in his bed back at the house, still evicted but now just horny and disappointed that everything that had just happened over the past hour had been all a dream.

Agreed to be Wednesday Addams’s roommate? Check. Told her that he would help “inspire” the more spicy scenes of her book? (Oh God) Check. And had she just agreed to be his date for the night? Yeah, check, he was kind of sure, although she probably did not at all think of it that way. 

He needed to snap out of it, and quickly, or else Wednesday might just come to her senses and take back everything she had just proposed. And as much as he knew that he was probably throwing himself to his doom, he really, really, really didn’t want her to renege on her offers.

So, clearing his throat, he said, “Let’s just say that you should dress warm. It can get a bit windy.” 

Her head tilted at him like she was genuinely intrigued. “I enjoy the cold.”

“Sure, sure, I remember,” he chuckled, watching as she marked lightly against the wall. What she was measuring for, he wasn’t quite sure but figured he shouldn’t question Wednesday Addams when she was focused on a task. “But my grandfather would never forgive me if you died of hypothermia because I drove you to dinner.” He gave her a sly grin. “He would be greatly grieved to lose such a Nevermore legacy student. You are an Addams after all.” 

Her gaze flicked up to his, an ember of ire there. “If you level the Addams accusation at me ever again, I will die theatrically in front of your grandfather just to spite you.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at this, laugh at her. The thought that he’d get to indulge in her incredibly dry (and perhaps slightly macabre) sense of humor every day was enough to send a little spiral of giddy warmth in his chest. But he had to squash it down, reminding himself that this was all temporary. Wednesday Addams would tolerate him for a bit longer and then be off to conquer the world, being an Addams, whether she liked it or not.

When she made another mark, he had asked, “Should I even ask what you are scheming with all these random marks?” 

She let go of the measuring tape, causing it to snap back into the case that he was holding. He swallowed a yelp but he still hissed as the end of the tape smacked against his knuckles. 

“You have your transportation secret,” she said flatly, raising what he dared to assume was a teasing eyebrow. “Now I have my own secret as well.”

So, they had left it at that. Because the fact of the matter was that he was entirely sure that Wednesday Addams would not, upon threat of life and limb, tell him what she was up to, and he rather liked her life and limbs anyway. 

They had also left his secret alone, which had led him to removing his helmet gingerly, pretty sure that Wednesday Addams would offer him a completely derisive eyebrow lift at his current mode of transportation. 

The restaurant that his grandfather had ostentatiously chosen, L'Auberge, was on the outskirts of town, tucked into a cozy, historical, tavern-like building. They could walk, but it would probably take the better part of an hour. 

And, oh . She was definitely not going to be able to walk an hour in what she was wearing. 

And he should probably just go ahead and surrender now to the thought that this night was going to be pure torture with her just existing in said outfit. 

Wednesday had been waiting for him in front of her apartment’s building. They had parted earlier that afternoon, agreeing upon him picking her up just a bit before seven. Of course, she wasn’t a second late. In fact, it seemed like she had been standing ramrod straight on the sidewalk for several minutes already, every part of her clothing perfectly pressed, not a thread out of place. 

Fuck. The outfit. Actually, all of her. He felt like he was going to be a stumbling, awkward mess all night because Wednesday was? Ridiculously stunning. 

It wasn’t like there was anything particularly provocative about it. Obviously, it was black, with a wrap sweater for the top and a leather skirt that hit her mid-thigh. But she had the damn tights back on and these were even more distracting than the ones from last night. And those had been hellishly distracting as is. These tights were the same color as her glowy skin, almost transparent, except for a single black line that ran the length of her leg. Just below the hem of her skirt, there was a small skull that interrupted the line’s length before it continued up and disappeared under her skirt. 

Okay, so he had to stop his thoughts there. He was going down some dangerous territory letting his imagination run wild with how far up exactly that line ran up her body. Him gawking at her like a true pervert all night wouldn’t be exactly the best start to their new living arrangements as roommates. 

Her hair was also different, the braid completely gone tonight. It had been swept up into a loose bun, a couple of tendrils of it falling into her unblinking gaze. 

Her gaze. Right. So, she was going to narrow her eyes soon and glare at him? Because being carted off to a dinner in a motorcycle that was barely large enough to be considered street legal was probably not at all what women like Wednesday Addams envisioned as their ideal mode of transportation. 

She merely stood there, however, her eyes sweeping over the bike, her silence completely disconcerting. 

He usually didn’t need the damn thing, this bike. Jericho was fairly walkable, with Prose & Cons, school, and his (now-evicted) house all within a breezy twenty minutes. But when he did need to leave that twenty-minute sphere, this was the best solution: cheap to maintain, only needing to fill the gas tank once every eon or so. Perfect for a poorly-paid townie who was kind of stuck in a two-mile radius. 

“Not exactly a horse-drawn carriage,” he offered, having to lift his voice a bit over the bike’s chugging engine. 

Wednesday’s eyes snapped up to his, and they didn’t at least seem infuriated. “No,” she quipped and then took a couple of steps closer, inspecting it with an intense stare. “It’s much better.” 

Oh, well. He blinked at that. Was she messing with him? Because he had mostly expected her to say that she had changed her mind and would not be joining him on this incredibly awkward dinner that she had volunteered herself for, despite the sadistic enjoyment she might derive from seeing his father and grandfather squirm in their booth-ed seats.  

“I probably should have told you to wear pants,” he said, nodding over to her skirt before forcing his eyeballs to move upward to her face. “Sorry about that.” 

“Stop apologizing,” she replied, quickly, like she wasn’t going to invite debate. Her dark eyes slid to his and she said, “It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be straddling you anyway, correct?” 

As if his mind wasn’t already spiraling , that statement did not help a single iota. Grinding his molars together so as to keep his mouth shut, he swallowed thickly and said, “Uh, well… yeah, that is kind of how the configuration ends up working out.” When she only stared at the bike, pressing her palm into the thin seat cushion, he shook his head and said, “But if you’re totally not comfortable, we can call an Uber…”

“I am not uncomfortable,” she interrupted and then arched an eyebrow in his direction. “And discomfort isn’t something I’m exactly opposed to, anyway.” 

A flash of his hand squeezing her neck, and not entirely delicately, jolted through his brain. Fuck. He was a mess. He should just call an Uber and then launch the entire bike into the nearest river because the thought alone of the inside of Wednesday Addams’s thigh pressing against his hips felt like it had the very real possibility of ending his life. 

But instead of doing all of that immediately, he said, “Preference for discomfort or not, you’re wearing this ,” he reached around the back of the bike, grabbing the extra helmet and proffering it to her with an apologetic grin, “and you’re definitely taking this, too.” He slid off his jacket, a beat-to-hell leather jacket that he’d gotten second-hand years ago. 

She took the helmet but glared at the jacket. He winced; maybe she thought it was too disgusting to put on her body? The piece of clothing had seen better days, he’d admit…

Her clipped voice interrupted his thoughts. “First your suit jacket. Now this. Your insistence on chivalry is an odd hill to die on, Tyler Galpin.” 

Oh, so that’s what she thought? He swallowed back a small, relieved laugh. “Consider it insurance: it wouldn’t look good if I got my new roommate’s skin sloshed off her body if we take a tumble in the bike.” He gently took the helmet from her and gingerly placed it over her head, settling it into place. Then he added, flicking the helmet at her temple and grinning teasingly down into her face, “That will protect your very dark and scarily smart brain.” And then he opened the jacket, indicating she should put it on. Her face was all angry pout, but she slid one of her arms into a sleeve after a long moment. “And this will protect you from losing 90% of your dermis if we skid off-road.” 

“And you?” She asked, putting another arm into the jacket. “You are acting rather blaise about your own cutaneous layer.” 

He laughed. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been accused of that.” 

Wednesday merely offered him another glare. 

He swallowed another gust of laughter, letting his smile be all crooked. “You have a far prettier cutaneous layer than my own. It makes sense to prioritize it.” 

Her glare dissolved for a mere second, and he could have sworn he saw a flash of something like… surprise there. But no, girls like Wednesday Addams knew how attractive they were, and rightfully so. He decided that must have totally misinterpreted it, because honestly? He had to keep reminding himself that he’d only known her for less than a week now. Even Enid had declared that Wednesday Addams was a bit of a mystery to her, so of course he was wrong. 

“I think you have a dermis that is perfectly worth preserving,” Wednesday finally huffed, and then slammed down the visor over her eyes so that he could definitely not gauge her expression when she dropped, “And I saw plenty of it the other night, so I can speak with authority.” 

Literally, he choked. He wheezed, flummoxed at the way she just casually dropped their tryst from the previous evening. Okay, she was trying to rattle him on purpose now, this he was sure. And you know what? She was doing a helluva job at it, he’d give her that. 

The best he could do to recover was merely to loudly clear his throat and ask, “Ready to go clear up my grandfather’s wild misconception that you’re my girlfriend?” 

“Why would I do that?” Wednesday asked, her wide eyes still shielded behind the helmet’s dark visor. “It’s far more fun to make him think that his grandson is dating the devil incarnate herself.” 

Oh. Well. He hadn’t expected that, so he merely took a beat, blinked. And then, yeah, she might have a point: the best revenge on his grandfather wouldn’t be that he wasn’t dating Wednesday Addams. It would be watching his carefully crafted facade crumble as Wednesday chipped away at the man’s almost-eternal patient exterior. Tyler could almost taste the delicious disappointment on the man’s face as he realized that although she was an Addams , she wasn’t at all the type of polite company that he was sure his grandfather had predestined for him. 

“That’s… kind of brilliant,” he breathed after a long moment, offering her a devious and conspiratorial grin. “See? I told you that we need to protect that maniacally genius brain of yours.” 

He couldn’t see it, but he swore he could hear her roll her eyes when she said, “You are only using my brain for additional Viper de la Muerte books and to exact revenge on your family.” 

He couldn’t help but let out a quick burst of laughter before saying, “Sure, sure, but let’s not forget your impressive passive-aggressive latte art skills.” 

This earned him the slight quirk of her lips, an almost smile before she literally bit it back, teeth clenching her bottom lip. Then, she said, “There’s nothing passive about me, Tyler.” 

When he smiled at her warmly and said, “Yeah. I know. It’s actually my favorite part about you.” It just sort of slipped out, this too-personal confession. Shit. It was too much, he was sure, because the small twinge of her smile faded, turning into something slack. Quickly, stumbling, he recovered by saying, “Other than your impeccable ability to scare the soul of my body every morning, of course.” 

Her mouth twinged for a second and she shrugged and said, “It’s a gift. Now, should we go see how deeply terrified I can make your grandfather tonight?” 

His smile was irrepressible. “Honestly? I couldn’t want anything more than to see his face the second you tell him that you sicced piranhas on a pool full of prep school assholes.” 

Again, a pull at the corner of her mouth before she said, “Then what are you waiting for? Let me go ahead and straddle you so that we can get this bloodbath started.”

His mouth went dry at her words. Oh, right. The motorcycle. Straddle on the bike. Because that’s how people rode on bikes, not because she was implying anything. 

Pull it together, Galpin.Then, trying to not look like she had done something equivalent to landing a jab against his lungs, had just nodded towards the bike, swung a leg around the seat before extending his hand. 

“It can sometimes be a little tricky finding your…” he had started to say, but Wednesday disregarded his extended hand thoroughly, merely swung her leg around the bike, settling herself easily in the space behind his back. 

Right. Of course, Wednesday Addams would get the hang of this immediately. “Not your first barely street-legal motorcycle rodeo, huh?” He asked back at her, offering her a sheepish grin. 

“No, this is the first time riding one that is street-legal,” she said flatly and then scooted her body closer to his own, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist, not a moment of hesitation. “But I have ridden in many illegal versions.” 

“Sure you have,” he responded with a chuckle, trying to cover up the way that he was sure he viscerally reacted to having the entirety of her chest pressed up against her back. Also? Her legs squeezed in what felt like a completely cruel move. So, with a thin intake of breath, he slammed his helmet on top of his head, turned to her, and said, “I’d tell you to hold on, but looks like you’ve figured that one out.” 

“Again, I’m far from a virgin,” she said, and when he offered her the blankest stare. Her lips quirked tightly when she added,  “Motorcycle virgin, Tyler. Amongst other things. As you are aware.”

Well, okay, that was enough of that or else he was pretty sure his brain might explode. He needed to start driving immediately if he wanted to escape with a single ounce of his dignity. Punching the kickstand with his foot, he pulled the choke and throttled the bike a couple of times before projecting back at her, “Alright, let’s go torture my grandfather?” 

“Sounds like a miserable evening.” She practically had to level a shout at him for this, but then her lips pulled up deviously as she added, “I cannot wait.”

-

It wasn’t a long ride, maybe ten minutes, but the entire time he was acutely aware of the press of her body against his own, the way if the wind shifted just so, he could smell traces of her spicy shampoo. Her stockinged legs against his own. Her hands, cool, against the space between his hip and waist. He desperately needed to get a grip. He was, after all, driving a motor vehicle that had a tendency to throw its occupants off their seats if one wasn’t being careful. 

Just think about the entirely loving conversation you’re about to have with your grandfather, Tyler slammed through his brain, and that worked pretty well as a distraction. Because the conversation that he was about to endure would be teeth-grinding at best, infuriating to the point of storming out of the restaurant at worst. The last time that he and his grandfather had sat down to have a conversation of this length had been following his graduation, a terse conversation where he had to almost shout at his grandfather that he could take his very old money and shove it up certain orifices that he didn’t feel like imagining that his grandfather possessed. 

It had been about his going to Nevermore. He had countered with the acidic question of where exactly he was getting the money to go to this ridiculous school. When his grandfather had said, “Let me worry about the money” he had seen red, furious at the implication that suddenly, magically his grandfather was going to take care of a single, damn thing in his life. 

But it was only because of his own selfish reasons, that he had known. Hugh Sylvanne had a legacy to uphold. His only grandchild not attending Nevermore University? The scandalized whispers that followed him at the Académie de Golf Royal Québec whilst he got his Old Fashioned before hitting the links as the true man of leisure that he was? The embarrassment had probably curled itself into his grandfather’s chest, festering there like an infected wound. 

Good. Tyler could still hear the cutting words that had sliced through his childhood between his grandfather and father, the two so angry in the wake of his mother’s death, lashing out at each other. 

His grandfather’s rumbly voice, dark and threatening that you didn’t get her the right kind of help, Don… she should’ve come home .

She was home, his father had bellowed back, not opting for the low and dangerous tone his grandfather had adopted. And if you ever insinuate I didn’t do everything in my power to help my wife ever again, Hugh, je vais vous bottter le cul all the way back to Quebec. 

His grandfather had balked at his father’s use of French, clearly unaware that his no-good son-in-law would ever glean any French, despite being with Francoise Sylvanne for almost twenty years. 

That had been it, probably the last conversation that hadn’t extended past a tense Uh, yeah, hey, Hugh. Yeah, Tyler’s here . And then he’d hand off the house’s landline phone to Tyler who would have a terse couple of words that felt entirely like his grandfather was hedging to see if he would finally give in and just go to Nevermore University. 

But that wasn’t happening. Not now. Not ever. 

He wouldn’t be pushed around the chessboard of his grandfather’s legacy. Like his mother had, deteriorating her already precarious mental health. 

Tyler’s mind was whirling by the time he parked the bike in the gravelly lot next to L'Auberge. He slid the motorcycle into an inconspicuous spot, killed the engine. 

Dismounting, he turned quickly, pulling off his helmet and asking down at her with a teasing grin, “Was riding a legal version as fun as the illegal one?” 

She pressed her palms at the end of the helmet and shoved it off, her hair falling askew. Her lips were pale and suddenly he realized that she was probably freezing. Fuck. He was about to quickly hurry her inside to warm her up, but then she did something devastating. 

She kissed him. 

Like, grabbed his face and kissed him, her tongue rolling across his bottom lip. 

So, maybe he was greedy, but who was he to look a gift horse in the face? He found himself opening his mouth for her, immediately compliant. Wednesday wasted no time, her tongue licking up into his mouth, her heady taste hitting the palette of his mouth. 

He hardly had time to grab her chin with his palm, tipping her face more fully against his own when she pulled back. She looked at him with a half-lidded expression when she hummed up at him, “Your grandfather is looking at us right now.” 

Oh. Something in his stomach sunk, but yeah, that made entirely too much sense. This was all part of the ploy, this game of torture she was having more than enough fun engaging in. 

He offered her a small smile, trying super hard to mask any twinge of disappointment behind it. “Is he visibly drooling right now?” He tilted his head at her. “Can you see a baby name book open in front of his face so that he can properly select his great-grandchildren’s names?” 

Her eyes found his, a dark flash. Oh, well, maybe that had been a step too far? It was all torture and games to Wednesday Addams, but teasing about progeny, with someone like him, townie Tyler Galpin? Was he pushing it? He was pushing it.

“He will have a battle there,” Wednesday said breezily, interrupting his inner turmoil, and then added, “The Addams family has a very specific set of names that they chose for their offspring.” She reached over, straightening his shirt that must have gotten ruffled on the very windy drive. “I will look forward to my father and him duking it out when we do decide to create several devious children.”

Wait. What?

What, what, what?

He must have misheard her. Or maybe his grandfather was within earshot? But all he could do was look at her, dumbfounded, because the way she had phrased it had left little debate as to if it would happen, but a matter of when.

Wednesday, however, looked nonplussed. And then she did something that continued to throw him completely off his axis: she unpinned her hair, letting it cascade down her shoulders, a dark, shiny mass. 

He must have been staring like she had just taken off all her clothes because she ran a hand through her hair before freezing. “Does… does it look unacceptable? My hair?”

Unacceptable? Um, maybe in the way it felt like his heart was being ripped in two because she was so horrifically beautiful that he thought it might be best to just call it a good life and heave himself into traffic. Unacceptable? The only thing unacceptable was the fact that he was definitely going to be gawking at her the entire night like a beached goldfish. 

“It uh. No, it is perfectly acceptable ,” he finally managed, his voice thin. 

She nodded, although there was something hesitant in her gaze, almost unsure.

“All right, you two… if you can take a break from making eyes at each other, we can actually make your grandfather’s reservation.”

Tyler turned in the direction of the voice, frowning immediately. His father was standing just several paces away, his truck’s keys jingling in his hands. He had actually managed to find another piece of clothing that wasn’t his Sheriff’s uniform, although he hadn’t strayed much from it: a dark green button-down, a pair of black denim pants. It was the kind of outfit that his grandfather would scoff at since he was sure that the man was probably decked out in a full suit and tie, a deftly folded pocket square sitting aloft in his jacket’s breast pocket. 

As if his grandfather could read his mind, there was a tap at the window adjacent to them. Wednesday merely arched an eyebrow in the noise’s direction, but he had to turn around to peer into the wide lead-glass window behind him. Inside, in a candle-lit dining room, his grandfather sat primly at a table, settled firmly in a plush wine-colored booth. 

His grandfather looked like a Cheshire cat, smugly satisfied. His gaze roamed over both him and Wednesday and Tyler had to stop himself from rolling his eyes so thoroughly that his irises would disappear into the back of his head. Well, he had been joking about the whole baby names thing, but the way his grandfather’s amber eyes glinted indicated that the joke would land smack on its face in the glaring reality that, indeed, his grandfather was completely scheming something that was none of his damn business. 

And yep. There perched against his chest was a navy blue pocket square, secured with a simple gold lapel pin. 

Gritting his teeth, he said, “As if my love life wasn’t dying a spectacular death already, my family intends to hammer the final nail in the coffin.” 

“Oh, quit your bellyaching,” his father quipped. “Looks like you’re doing just fine, son.” 

Tyler gave his father a heated glare. “It would be nice if you didn’t compel Wednesday to call a cab before this dinner has even begun,” he offered in his father’s direction. 

Sheriff Galpin merely rolled his eyes. “A cab? In Jericho? Good luck with that one. I don’t think Gary works Sundays.” 

He wasn’t wrong. The town had a single cab company, one that you had to call days ahead of time to take you to the airport in Burlington if you were so inclined. There were Ubers, sure, but Wednesday didn’t have a phone on her. Or he suspected that at least, since he’d never, not once, seen her ever use it.

He tilted his head back at her. “Say the word and I’ll be more than happy to evacuate to safer ground.” He nodded over at his bike, indicating the escape plan. 

She reached up, flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes, and oh. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected how much he would like that gesture. It felt oddly… intimate, like something a partner would do, even a close friend. 

It dawned on him: he’d never had either of those things. Not even close, really. Being an almost-orphan and a social pariah didn’t lead to allowing people to get that close, not move-hair-out-of-your-eyes sort of close. 

And then Wednesday decided to further destroy something inside of him, because she reached over, knitted her fingers with his, and said, “And miss out on the scintillating company this evening?” Here, she turned towards the Sheriff and offered him a flinty stare. “Especially since we are all looking forward to seeing each other?” 

His father rolled his eyes, and said, “You can drop the theatrics, Addams. I’m well aware you want to be here as much as you’d like to have your molars removed.”

“That is untrue,” Wednesday quipped before pulling Tyler towards the restaurant’s front door. “I’d much rather have my molars extracted.” 

He had to bite back a laugh at the way his father’s mouth gaped before he slammed it shut, jaw working in exasperation. Okay, he’d changed his mind. This might just actually be fun seeing his father and grandfather writhe under the biting remarks of Wednesday Addams. 

He’d been to L'Auberge a couple of times before; when his mother was alive, they would go for her birthday every year, her prattling off with the servers in French, smiling genuinely for a couple hours. It wouldn’t always be long-lived, her happiness. However, for those precious few hours, they were whole, they were safe, they had each other, an untouched place where his mom could finally be free of all her struggles. He knew now, maybe always knew, that it was always with her, a battle she was always facing. But there were moments where he hoped even she got to pretend that it didn’t weigh so heavy on her. 

The inside was lush, dimly lit. Each table was draped with white tablecloths starched so perfectly that it was almost like wrinkles were an impossibility. The clink of wine glasses and the soft hum of a stringed instrument permeated the space. 

It felt cozily expensive. The type of place that his grandfather would deem worthy of his presence. A thought crossed Tyler’s mind that he should try inviting them all to Pilgrim’s Pint for after-dinner drinks just to see his grandfather’s face pull into something between horror and disgust. But, then again, Wednesday might send him scrambling back to Quebec so quickly that he wouldn’t have the chance to even extend the invitation. 

His grandfather waved them over in a somewhat pedantic manner, just his forefinger crooking them in his direction. Next to him, he heard his father heave a dramatic sigh. 

“Maybe you’d rather have your molars removed as well, Dad?” Tyler mumbled to his father, who merely flexed his jaw. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” his father responded and for once, Tyler couldn’t agree with his dad more. 

As they approached the table, his grandfather took out a pocket watch, checked it with furrowed brow, and scolded, “You may wish to reset your clocks, seeing as you all are precisely five minutes late.” 

Well, they were off to a spectacular start already. Tyler pursed his lips, ready for a retort, but Wednesday beat him to the punch, “I’ve always heard that punctuality is next to godliness.” She sat herself primly in the booth opposite his grandfather before adding, “And I’ve never been a fan of godliness.” 

So she wasn’t going to ease into it. Tyler felt a frisson of thrilled amusement run through him as he surveyed the journey his grandfather’s face went out: first, bewilderment before it dissolved into something akin to confusion. But then, smoothly, he transitioned to a neutral if not slightly mollifying expression. 

“Ah, so you’re not a woman of the cloth,” his grandfather said, reaching over to grab the wine bottle. Pouring a hefty amount in Wednesday’s awaiting glass, he said, “Smart girl. The Sylvannes have always been people of science, not superstition.” 

“Oh, there’s plenty of need to be superstitious,” Wednesday offered, her tone all unaffected. “It’s why I have my familiar tattooed onto my ribcage.” She lifted the wine glass to her lips, took a prim sip. “But you can ask Tyler about that… he’s seen it on numerous occasions.” 

Well, okay. They were launching into the implications right away, huh? He felt himself choke on his own air before staring wide-eyed at Wednesday. She didn’t look in his direction, but the way she was glaring at her grandfather over the rim of her wine glass was entirely a challenge. 

His grandfather had been pouring a glass for Tyler but froze upon her last statement. He must have been caught so off guard by her last statement that the wine began overflowing in Tyler’s glass, spilling unceremoniously onto that perfectly pressed white tablecloth. 

“Christ, Hugh,” his father said, chuckling, awkwardly settling himself into the seat next to his grandfather. “The kid’s an adult now. You don’t think he’s seen his girlfriend naked before?” 

Oh God, this was already a damn train wreck. The other tables were mumbling, staring at all of them with stunned expressions. Whipping out the napkin holding his silverware, he let the knife and fork clatter noisily on the table and started dabbing at the shadow of wine crawling damply across the tablecloth. 

“She’s not… uh… Wednesday’s not…” he started, his tongue heavy inside his mouth. Why had he thought they would ease into the absolute chaos that this evening would be? And now he was going to have to immediately qualify that statement his dad had just loudly pronounced since, honestly, he was sure that Wednesday did not want the entirety of Jericho thinking that he, resident townie, was romantically connected to him. This was supposed to be a ploy, an inside joke. Not something to spurn on Enid Sinclair’s not-so-sneaky gossipy TikTok account.

But before he could continue, he felt a slight pressure on his thigh. A cool grip, one that tightened around the space right above his knee. His eyes flitted to Wednesday and she merely gave him a small flicker of her gaze before saying, “It’s true: I’m not Tyler’s girlfriend.” She shrugged and added, “We don’t use terms like that.”

His grandfather had retracted the wine bottle quickly, sloshing a few drops on the tablecloth in its retreat. But this? This statement from Wednesday had gotten his attention immediately. The gleam in his eyes confirmed that he might have as well been drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, I’m thrilled that you might use terms at all,” his grandfather said, leaning back in his chair, thoroughly ignoring his recent sloppy mistake of spilling what Tyler supposed was a several hundred dollar bottle of wine across the bleached top of their table. Steepling his fingers, he asked, “Perhaps you could convince him to finish out next semester’s term at Nevermore?” 

“Crisse, Pépère,” he breathed, shaking his head, delicately lifting the wine glass and inhaling the liquid before it splashed down onto his shirt.

His grandfather’s eyes snapped to his own, saying in English, ignoring the French olive branch, “I thought we’d discussed how you are far too old to use that term, Tyler.” 

They had. But it infuriated his grandfather’s sensibilities, this colloquial term Pépère . It was truly meant only an affectionate term for children to use, so his mother had insisted it be what he had called him during his youth, something warm and familial that didn’t at all allude to the cool and estranged attitude that tethered her and Tyler and his father to the entire Sylvanne clan. 

“Perhaps if I’d had a real conversation with you since I was about six years old, then maybe we could have decided on a different moniker for you,” he offered finally, and when his grandfather stiffened, hands falling slowly from their steepled position, he realized that he had won? 

Funny, he didn’t feel victorious. Instead, the insult lobbed against his grandfather ached, like a misplaced wound, one that had boomeranged right back at him. 

Blinking bemusedly, his father said, “Well, we’re doing an excellent job at convincing Addams here to run for the hills.” 

Wednesday merely squeezed Tyler’s knee and said, “Oh, the Addamses are not especially ones to shirk from a fight.” Another prim sip of wine. “But you’d know all about that, Sheriff.” 

He couldn’t help himself; he raised an eyebrow at Wednesday. Because what did that mean? 

She didn’t respond how he thought she might. He thought maybe she’d lean back from him, annoyed at his investigative expression. Instead, her hand resting against his knee slid up his leg, slowly, leisurely, until it rested mid-thigh. 

His father, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be half as out of the loop as he was. Snorting, he said, “I do. And maybe that’s why I wasn’t so happy to hear last night that you two were being careless idiots.” His father vigorously grabbed a menu and snapped it open before pointing an index finger and wagging it between the two of them. “An Addams-and-Sylvanne baby would ruin this entire goddamn world.” 

Okay, what was this evening even turning out to be? Tyler gritted his teeth, glaring at his father. “Did you all want to raise a toast and announce that to the entire restaurant?”

His father’s eyes rolled so thoroughly he swore he only saw the whites. “Oh, like everyone in the lower downtown of Jericho didn’t already hear you two last night.” His father held out a hand like he knew that Tyler’s eyes flashed. “And before you both get your undies in a twist, I’m not shaming you two. Just don’t go acting like it’s some big secret that I spilled the beans on. You spilled your own damn beans.” 

“Eloquent as always, Don,” his grandfather said, drolly. He watched as his father’s knuckles tightened around the menu. “And I would say we could absolutely do a toast to the young lovers, but it looks like I might have ruined your glass.” A silvery eyebrow lifted sardonically in his father’s direction. “Should I get you your own bottle?” 

He hated his grandfather’s tone, hated the implication behind it. Because Hugo Sylvanne knew that his father had gone back and forth with being the drunk of the family, the one with airplane bottles of booze tucked under his hat, would sometimes answer the phone at night with slurred speech while the voice on the other end sighed and said in his grandfather’s pedantic voice, it’s only 7 pm, Don, is this level of intoxication already necessary?

But his rage was short-lived. “Uh, no, that’s fine,” his father said, his voice now suddenly sheepish, the usual grumpy edge gone. “I’m actually trying to quit completely.” 

Oh. Woah. Tyler blinked. “Since when, Dad?”

His dad shrugged, looking even more abashed, like they’d caught him in a criminal lie and not that he’d admitted to giving sobriety a go. “I don’t know,” he grumbled grumpily into his menu. “Maybe like two weeks ago? Lou-Anne is doing it with me. The program, I mean.”

Lou-Anne. Lou-Anne Walker, Lucas’s mom. He’d known they had gone on a couple dates in the past, much to the horrified chagrin of Lucas. There hadn’t been any further conversation about it in general about his father’s dating life since then, but then again… there hadn’t been that much conversation in general between the two of them beyond the curt phone calls that were generally about ensuring both of them were still alive. 

But now? His dad was trying to quit drinking and he was doing it with what? His girlfriend? 

“Are you and Lou-Ann, um… together?” He hedged, eyes locked on his father’s tight-lipped expression. 

“I don’t… it doesn’t matter.” He thumbed the menu with vigor and then turned it around to study the back, even though it was completely blank. Smooth, Dad. “Let’s stop talking about it, okay?”

Well, there it was, classic Donovan Galpin. No wonder they never talked about the fact that he was planning on getting sober and he had been dating one of his oldest friend’s widowed mom: the conversation would have ended exactly like this, with his father clamming up and taking unnecessary jabs. 

“This is why I go to therapy,” he grumbled, sighing and then turning to Wednesday and mumbling, “We haven’t ordered yet. There’s still time to make a break for it.”

She sniffed. “Just when we’ve started having fun?” Her eyes glinted up to his. “I wouldn’t dare to miss a second.” 

So, her hand was still on his thigh. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to think about anything else but that, let alone have a contentious conversation with both his father and grandfather, who were sitting next to each other with the body language of two alpha wolves ready to tear at each other’s throats. 

Fortunately, the server finally made it to their table, bringing a basket full of bread. Tyler recognized him, a guy who he had graduated with at Jericho High. When his grandfather started prattling off French at him, the guy only issued them all a deer-in-the-headlights expression. Tyler cleared his throat and offered, voice a little acidic, “He speaks English. He just assumes that everyone should accommodate his language choice whenever he deems it appropriate.” 

Wednesday’s hand squeezed his thigh tighter, went higher up his leg. 

Swallowing thickly, he added thinly, “Uh, what my grandfather was trying to say was that he wanted Pâtes aux Cêpes for the table. And he said he wanted another bottle of wine, but I think we’re doing just fine.” Here, he indicated his practically overflowing wine glass. 

The server looked eternally grateful, merely heaving a sigh and grumbling, “Hey, thanks, man,” before scrambling away, muttering something under his breath that sounded like I should have just gotten that job at Target. 

“He’ll never learn French if you don’t try to talk to him in it,” his grandfather said, his voice reproachful.

It took everything in him not to roll his eyes that he was sure he might have twinged his brain. “Oh really?” He offered and took another sip of wine. Then switching to French, he said, “I speak French. But you have no interest in speaking it with me.”

For a long second his grandfather evaluated him. And then, in French, he countered, “You speak it just fine. Your accent could use some work, though.” 

Well, if that wasn’t the back-handed compliment he was not at all expecting. Tyler blinked, searching for an answer, but merely answered, again keeping up the French, “I don’t have anyone else to speak it with.” 

It was a slight jab, this insinuation that his grandfather was never there, there were few and far in-between phone calls, even after his mother’s death. 

The implication didn’t evade his grandfather, who merely twirled his wine glass stem, the dark red liquid whirling inside. His eyebrows were drawn when he answered, “I’ve heard that Nevermore has an excellent French language program.” 

“Esti de câlice de tabarnak,” Tyler offered and ignored his grandfather’s Let’s watch that language, son . Again, in French, he snapped, “Is literally every solution to every problem that I attend Nevermore?” 

In therapy, Kinbott had him do a visualization exercise, one where you would try to envision your patience and your anger like actual tactile things. A string, elastic but still possible to break. And right now? That string was pretty damn close to breaking. Because why, why, why were the only people in his life the ones that were always so disappointed in him that nothing could assuage their dismay at the person he’d become? His father, side-eying the kid who couldn’t keep himself out of trouble, had just gotten himself evicted. His grandfather, a no-one townie who was going to graduate from a public university. The rage inside of him was bubbling, he could feel it, the same kind that made his fingers curl into fists.

But then Wednesday’s hand was over his own clenched one, her cool fingers wrapping around his. 

His eyes snapped over to her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her dark eyes were fiery and directed entirely in her grandfather’s direction. There was something about the way she had drawn her features that seemed to say to him that she was thoroughly irritated, that something had earned her ire. And that something seemed to be… his grandfather. 

Her fingers pressed tighter against his own, a pressure that seemed to have a mission. Then, tersely, she said waspishly, “For someone so invested in Nevermore University, it’s a wonder that you have not moved closer to it.”

Her tone wasn’t missed by Hugo Sylvanne. The man leaned back in his chair, eyeing Wednesday before saying, “I was under the impression that my presence in the local residence was not… welcome.” Here, his gaze flicked only once towards the Sheriff, a clear implication that the welcome mat was especially not going to get rolled out by him in particular.

Underneath the table, he could feel Wednesday’s hand move his own. First, it slid up his leg, hers over top of his. And then, slowly, she dragged it across the width of his thigh, and then… oh . 

His hand was now settled firmly in her lap, palm flat against the stockinged skin of her own. It was just mid-thigh, but he could feel the brush of the hem of her skirt against the outside of his hand. 

Okay, now he was officially disoriented. Like need-a-cold-shower kind of disoriented. 

Wednesday, however, didn’t seem to even blink at their hands’ arrangement, unseen to the other two people at their table. She merely took a long forefinger and ran it over the rim of her wine glass, a high-pitched minor chord trilling through the restaurant. Then, she said, “Given I would never be accused of being an enthusiastic conversationalist, but have you considered asking whether you would be welcome or not?” 

His grandfather offered her a patronizing smile. Then, chuckling lightly, he answered, “Some things are not needed to be asked, my dear.” He extended his wine glass at her, a type of gentle indication of her general direction. “For example, there’s no need to know that you being quite a beautiful young lady is a reason my grandson here is so enraptured with you.” 

Oh, Christ. Leave it to his family to be as subtle as a brick through a window. A little panicked, he looked over a Wednesday to see if she looked thoroughly irritated, annoyed at the implication that her looks were the only thing that would warrant value. And, sure, she looked annoyed, but not any more than she had beforehand. And her hand was still firmly planted over his own, pressing his grip against her thigh. 

Also, was it just his imagination, or was she moving it infinitesimally higher up her leg? 

Mouth feeling dry, he took another small swig of wine before saying, “Uh, yeah, that goes without saying.” Here, Wednesday’s eyes shifted to his own, looking both confused and surprised. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that expression, so he offered just a crooked grin and said, “But it’s more like I’m terrified of her than anything else.” 

The Sheriff snorted at this. “Like father, like son. Us Galpin men must be attracted to women who intimidate the hell out of us.” 

If he wasn’t currently being distracted a thousand percent by the fact that yep, Wednesday was definitely moving his hand further up her leg, he would have pursued that line of conversation. His father didn’t talk much (if at all) about meeting Francoise Sylvanne. But the fact of the matter was that Wednesday was still moving his hand, and now it was most definitely climbing up her leg, slipping underneath the warmed leather of her skirt. 

“How long has Wednesday been terrifying you, Tyler?” His grandfather said, now looking slightly amused. 

He was way past the hem of her skirt now and suddenly he realized that the tights weren’t really tights. They were truly stockings, held up with a pair of thin, taut garter straps. His finger accidentally slipped underneath it, rubbing on her exposed thigh, and oh god . Was he actually supposed to be paying attention to a single word that anyone was saying to him while his thumb was dangerously slipping lower into the “v” of her inner thigh?

“Son?” 

“Er, what?” He asked and then realized that a whole, entire question had been directed his way. 

It was Wednesday who finally answered. “Long enough that we’ve decided to move in together.”

His father had been sipping lightly on a glass of water but choked in response. His grandfather’s eyes shot up, all delight across his expression. 

“ This is who you’re moving in with?” The tone of his father’s voice was all shocked-irritation. “Christ, kid, you really failed to mention that small detail when you told me you’d found another roommate.”

Usually, his dad’s escalating exasperation would have pulled that thread of ire again, drawing it taut, but instead, all he could focus on was that Wednesday’s hand had his fingers right at the seam of her panties now. And fucking hell, were they some kind of lace-and-satin combo? 

He was going to get arrested in this swanky French restaurant for being a horny mess. 

His grandfather looked like he was going to say something entirely smarmy, but, from across the restaurant, someone hollered, “Hugo? Hugo Sylvanne?” 

A tall man with stringy long hair that had been slicked back against his scalp was looking at their table, looking surprised and thrilled to see Hugo Sylvanne in the same space as him. Tyler knew that face, immediately, could see it in the Romanesque nose, in the hooded eyes. 

It was Vincent Thorpe, Xavier’s father, all a thousand percent of smarmy nepotism that followed his son like a type of self-important haze. The man waved, a gesture indicating that he was beckoning his grandfather over to his table. 

And if Wednesday Addams hadn’t, at that moment, pressed his fingers against her warm core, he would have rolled his eyes at the incestuous vibe everyone that followed his grandfather everywhere in Jericho. But, now? Now all he could focus on was the fact that Wednesday Addams had taken in a quick inhale of air as her hand rotated his own against that electric part of her. And Christ , she was already wet, he could feel it even through the smooth silk of her underwear. 

This might just be the end of him, and all he could do to face his inevitable end was clench his jaw and try very hard not to curse under his breath as he rotated his thumb against her. He felt her thighs clench tightly around his hand. There was no escape now, not that he wanted any. He’d be very happy to die right here, his fingers pressed against her, hopefully only him noticing how her intake of air was turning into something panting, subtly gasping as he took total liberty to press intentionally against her. He felt her back arch, so slightly that he was sure that no one could tell, even when she basically slapped her palms on the table, her fingers curling lightly into the tablecloth. 

His grandfather must have been entirely distracted by Vincent Thorpe’s interruption because he dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, sighed wearily, and then said, “If you would excuse me. I should entertain this… acquaintance, at least briefly.”

If he was in another state of mind, he might have paid a second longer to observe that his grandfather seemed genuinely annoyed that this task had been loaded onto his plate. But his fingers were now pushing Wednesday Addams’s underwear away from her folds, slipping them subtly to the side so that he could rotate his entire hand more thoroughly against her. 

He was going to lose his mind, fully, completely. A tiny voice in the back of his mind said, you should stop, this is truly unhinged. Wednesday's eyes were turning hooded, fingers hooking into the tablecloth’s starched fabric, and it was enough to send him into some kind of nervous breakdown, the way she was sucking in her bottom lip, her eyes becoming hazy. The fact that he was causing that kind of reaction from her? He’d like nothing more than to die in this moment, knowing that she looked so blissed out that her eyes might soon roll into the back of her skull. 

It was enough to make his head spin, his heart thundering in his chest. A part of him thought if he blinked it would all dissolve in front of him, too good to be true, too surreal to be honest. 

His grandfather stood, delicately placing his napkin on the table. He nodded once before making his way over to the other table. Briefly, he caught the sanguine smile on his face, one that didn’t quite wrinkle the corner of his eyes, but he was brought back to the fact that Wednesday just-so-slightly arched against his palm. 

“Well, since your grandfather is busy schmoozing, I’m going to hit the restroom,” his father said, snapping the menu back on the table. Then, standing, he pointed a semi-accusatory finger at the both of them “You two try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone. Or you know… get married or something. With the pace you two are at, literally, nothing you do could surprise me now.”  

In another time, the mortification of his father’s words would have landed like a leaden balloon. But now, all he could think was that the heel of his palm was grinding up against her clit as his father walked away, his figure becoming smaller until it disappeared around a corner. 

And as soon as it did disappear, it was like his brain went fully feral. It was like some other creature took hold of him. He whipped around in the booth, turned so that his chest was against her shoulder, pressing hard. His other hand, the one that had been gripping with pinching fortitude around the stem of his wine goblet, reached out, grabbing her by the jaw and chin. 

The voice that came out of him did not at all sound normal. It was all guttural, harsh, almost a growl. “The point was to torture my grandfather and dad. Not me, Wednesday.” His nose was pressed tightly against the hollow of her temple, his eyes glaring down into her face. 

Her hands, plastered on the table, quickly reached down, her one hand hooking on his forearm that was rotating against her center, causing her to subtly writhe underneath him. 

“I’m not the one who decided to start speaking French,” she purred up to him, and then she grasped his wrist, the one holding her chin in place. “This is all your fault, Tyler.” 

He blinked at her. He hadn’t expected that, not in the least. Her dark eyes found him, all liquid wantonness and he couldn’t help himself; one of his fingers found her entrance and pressed in. Her hiss of breath and the biting of her lip was the only tell, but honestly? He didn’t give a single fuck if the entire restaurant heard them in that moment. 

“Est-ce que tu aimes que je parle français?” He asked, tipping her chin so that he could survey her expression fully as his finger curled inside her and moved against the swell of that spot he knew would cause her to cry out. Before she could, though, he guided his thumb into her mouth, saying bite throatily into her ruined face. 

She did, her teeth a perfect and painful pressure about the pad of his thumb. 

It was already too much. This night had turned into a fun exercise from seeing if he could make his family squirm and become something close to an explosion in his entire body, in his ether. Now, once again, he’d gotten the privilege to not only be in Wednesday Addams’s space, but he got to see her perfect face turn into something wonderfully and flawlessly unraveled. It didn’t seem fair, like the universe had accidentally missed in dishing him out a full serving of his usual bad luck. 

But, goddammit, he was going to run with this streak of good luck as long as he could. 

“Can I see you come, Wednesday?” He rasped into her face, his grip on her jaw pressing needily into the hollow of her throat. “We’ll need to hurry. My grandfather can only keep these Nevermore leeches entertained for so long.” 

He could feel her breathing turn sharp, her one hand going to his knee, nails digging in with some sort of desperation. “Speak French to me,” she gasped into his face, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment and her body arched subtly into his gasp. “And another.” 

Her request came into him like a shove, a force of nature. He added another finger, pushing languidly in her, and fucking hell, all of her was warm and perfect, and how the fuck was all of him inside of her just the other night? 

Her nails dug deliciously into his leg, her gasp captured by her teeth against his thumb.

“Seulement toi, toi, tu me rends fou,” he murmured down against her face, letting his fingers slide deeper, seeing if he could stretch her. And then he slowly pulled his hand down before slowly, almost torturously, pushing them back in, hooking them back again to meet that spot that almost made her leap out of her seat. 

His thumb found her clit again, rolling over it with intention. This time she didn’t just bite onto his thumb but sucked it completely in, his knuckle pressing on the soft palate of her mouth. One of her hums vibrated against his skin, her mouth warm and perfect and…

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck . He was going to lose it, he was going to truly have the last of his sanity eked away from him like it was being vacuumed violently out of his soul. 

But, no. He had to keep it together, or else he wasn’t going to get the chance to see her dissolve fully in front of him. So, swallowing hard, he said lowly, “Je pourrais mourir heureux en te regardant.” Then, with vigor, he moved his fingers in and out of her before adding a third finger. 

That made her mouth pop open and she gasped in a whispered plea, “It’s too much.” But her hips moved against his fingers, his palm, contradicting her words.

“It’s not,” he countered. His voice felt raw, husky like it had been grated into fine pieces. “You can take it, brave girl.” 

Her climax was climbing, he could feel it in the way her thighs were trembling, in the way her breathing was turning shallow. Inside her, her walls were clenching insanely against his fingers. 

“Come for me,” he uttered before gasping out, “And look at me, Wednesday. Please.” 

She did, her eyes snapping fiercely towards his own. Even in the dim lighting of the restaurant, they were fiery even in the haze of her climbing orgasm. 

“Thumb,” she commanded imperiously, although there was something in her tone that felt brittle, almost broken. But he understood that she needed something to keen over, so he offered his thumb again. She took it in her teeth, lightly at first, but then. Oh god, then her orgasm rocked against the both of them. The groan she issued rattled against his chest, hummed against the pad of his thumb. Inside her body, her walls crashed against him, almost impossibly tight, and he felt himself breathing out his own cursed and raspy exclamation. 

Once again, he called into question the reality of all this. How was he, Tyler Galpin, a person of little consequence, getting the opportunity to watch Wednesday Addams come undone like this? It felt like there was a cosmic punchline awaiting to arise somewhere and he would be the butt of a very epic joke. Or maybe this was all a bit of a game, one that he was destined to lose at? 

Fine, either way. He’d gladly be the laughingstock of all the jokes. He’d gladly lose at each and every game. If he got a chance, and maybe this would be his last and only chance, to see her look at him like this, all blown-out pupils and trembling thighs, then yeah… he’d throw everything to the wind just to have this small moment be in his memories forever.

The last flutterings of her climax pulsed against him and finally, she released his thumb, gasping lightly for air. 

The high flush on her cheeks was doing something delightful to something close to his sternum, but all he could manage was a crooked grin. 

“You okay?” He asked into her face, his voice quiet. 

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Okay? No, I am most definitely not okay,” she said hoarsely and a sudden panic welled inside him because oh shit, oh shit, had he hurt her somehow and not even noticed? But then Wednesday continued, “I am wonderfully not okay. I feel like I’m not going to be able to walk out of here. You have effectively turned my legs into something gelatinous.” 

Oh, well, he wasn’t quite sure how to apologize for that. Should he apologize for that?

One of her eyes opened, staring at him, and said, “Thank you for ruining me thoroughly.” Licking her lips, she added bossily, “You should probably kiss me now.” 

He blinked only for a second before his grin turned a little too joyous, he was sure almost pathetically so. Then, gently, he pressed his lips to hers, tentative at first. 

Then, it dawned on him: oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, he had just used one of the four times he was going to get with her. 

Of course, no regrets, but an alarm ran through him. If he kept up this momentum, she’d be done with him in a matter of a week. If he was smart, he’d pace himself, allow himself to stretch these moments over the course of the next several months. Give himself at least until the winter break when he was sure she’d escape to whatever Romanian castle that her family holiday-ed at during the interims between semesters, leaving him to his normal and completely different life in Jericho, Vermont. 

He pulled back, tried to mask the sadness in his smile when he asked, “So, was that inspiring enough to make the cut?” 

Her eyebrows furrowed in some kind of emotion. Oh crap, had he been too nosy? It seemed like she had been willingly transparent with him about her writing process, but maybe that question was an overstep? 

But before she could answer, someone behind them cleared their throat, sounding entirely sheepish. 

“So sorry, but I, uh, have your pâte.” It was their server and when Tyler craned his neck up at him, he realized that his fingers were still inside Wednesday.

Well, fuck. As subtly as possible, he slid his fingers outside of her, trying not to let his brain explode at hearing her whine almost silently as his fingers slipped out. He couldn’t make himself remove himself completely from her body. So, in a completely self-indulgent move, he left the flat of his palm against the curve of her upper thigh.  

He thanked the server, indicating that he could put it in the center of the table. The server then scrambled away, clearly aware that he’d barged into something intimate, and every part of his body language screamed well, I’m as uncomfortable as fuck. 

“As if we hadn’t tortured that poor guy enough as is,” he said softly, casting her a playful side-eye. 

She merely returned his mischievous stare and shrugged, apparently nonplussed by the entire endeavor. “Maybe he enjoys being tortured just as much as you do,” she offered, leaning back in the booth. A thin sheen of sweat glowed against her collarbone and it was distracting as hell. 

He snorted at this, because yeah… she was right. He had enjoyed that thoroughly. More than enjoyed. It was like he finally breathed again since last night. 

It was like the only time he’d ever got a lungful of air was when he was around her. And that? That was truly and honestly terrifying in a way that only Wednesday Addams could be. 

To clear the panic from his face, he tried what he hoped looked like a conspiratorial grin at her still panting face. Then, lightly, he plucked the garter strap against her soft thigh, said, “Speaking of torture, were you going to tell me you had these on underneath?” 

“Of course,” she said, gulping at her wine glass now like it might quench some kind of internal fire in her throat. “But I was also planning on letting you know that you’d get a better view of them when we go back to our apartment tonight.” 

His brain effectively short-circuited. Was his mouth agape? Yep, he was pretty sure it was, but he couldn't do a single thing about it. Because could he even begin to unpack that statement? Yeah, of course, there was the whole promise that he’d get a much better view of her and that should have been enough. It was enough. 

But, more than that, was the term our. Our apartment.  

Because this was really happening, he was actually moving in with this wonderfully villainous woman. He hadn’t just made it up in his head, she’d said it herself, and his hand was still brick-warm against the delicate skin of the inside of her thighs, and his whole brain felt like it was on fire. 

“Alright, I don’t see the entire town burning down, so I guess you two behaved yourself well enough.” Donovan Galpin’s voice interrupted his entirely uproarious thoughts. When his gaze snapped up to his father, he only received a calculating stare. “I’m not even going to ask why you’re both being suspiciously quiet.”

He went to say something, anything, but Wednesday beat him to it, saying flatly, like she was giving someone driving directions, “We were merely discussing how we should break into our new apartment.” 

His father’s face fell, clearly skeptical. “I’m going to adopt a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy with you two.” 

“Well, that’s a real change of pace for you, Dad,” He said, trying to keep his voice playful and not entirely venomous. “You’re usually so chatty.”

Groaning, Donovan Galpin settled down into his seat, grumbling, “Just eat your damn pâte, kid.” Then, he grabbed a slab of toasted baguette and smothered it with the pâte, shoveling it into his mouth to probably further discourage conversation. 

And, for once, his father’s gruff attitude didn’t even remotely sting, not with Wednesday's cool fingers lowering on top of his, intertwining just enough to surprise him. For a second, he thought she was doing it so that she could remove his grip from her thigh, now that the moment had passed, now that she had gotten enough inspiration for another chapter of her book. 

But she didn’t remove her hand, only laced her fingers with his slightly more, holding him in place, even when his grandfather came back to the table, all overwrought apologies for interrupting their dinner. 

And she kept her hand there. For the entire dinner. 

Again, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but his mind spun with why? It had to be for another piece of inspiration for the latest Viper installment. But this? This felt far too… cozy for the Viper he knew from the novels, all blazing ruthlessness, cool calculation. What kind of inspiration would she need from this kind of interaction? It was messing with him, and he could hardly keep up with the tête-à-tête happening at the table, one of which included his grandfather hedging for more details on Wednesday’s rather aristocratic roots in Romania. 

“If I remember correctly, from my last visit to Bucharest, the Frumps still have a substantial foothold in the Maramures region.” His grandfather had ordered the table digestifs and they were sipping the acerbic drinks while his father dug into his crème brûlée like he couldn’t wait to finish it and storm out of the restaurant. 

Wednesday stiffened, her fingers curling tighter against his own. “You would have to consult my brother on that issue. He stands to inherit any and all of said… foothold.” She spat the last word like it was even more bitter than the amaro 

Tilting his head, his grandfather eyed her, both slightly perplexed but mostly fascinated. “Forgive me, but your brother is younger? Surely the laws of primogeniture aren’t so very sexist as to exclude you because…”

“It has nothing to do with my gender and everything to do with the fact that I’m insufferable,” she huffed before drowning her entire drink in one single swill. “They found my lack of reverence for the Frump legacy to be entirely undesirable. And while my brother would much rather prefer to pursue his passion for metallurgy, he is far more accommodating to their demands.”

Leaning back, his grandfather said, “And you find the legacy of your family too demanding?” 

“I find it incompatible with my own pursuits,” she replied snappishly. 

A sliver of eyebrow lifted. “And those would be?” 

Well, he didn’t like the tone of that question. It felt almost pedantic, like his grandfather couldn’t conceptualize a single reason why someone would not want to be literally swaddled in familial responsibility. 

So he stepped in with a tight, “Wednesday’s a writer.” His lips pursed in a way that felt defensive. “And a damn good one at that.”

Next to him, Wednesday tensed. Oh, shit, was he not supposed to say that? She did write under a pseudonym after all and he’d rather unceremoniously offered that information after all. 

But then when she said, her voice almost unsure, “I wouldn’t wax too poetic about whether my writing is good or bad.”

His eyebrow furrowed, peering down at her. “I would,” he said, hoping his tone was firm enough that it would discourage any disbelief on the topic. “And I have read a couple books in my life, so I think I know a good book when I read it.” 

His father snorted. “A couple? I think geographers could call your pile of books a new mountain range.” 

At this, Wednesday’s lips curled in what seemed like a conspiratorial way, like she agreed entirely with his dad and thought the joke had actually landed. Oh, great. Not the two of them were ganging up on him. “Tyler’s book collection is completely psychopathic, true.” She took his drink from his fingers and sipped languidly. Well, I guess that was hers now, which was perfectly fine with him. Of course, she would enjoy seconds on a bitter-as-hell beverage. “I rather find that level of insanity admirable.” 

A warmness crawled over his nervous system at her praise. It was a compliment he hadn’t seen coming and he found himself having to bite back a rather bashful smile. 

But she didn't stop there because of course she wouldn’t. “In fact, Tyler’s been a rather helpful… consultant while writing my new book.” 

If he had been still sipping on the amaro, he wouldn’t have spit it out in a shocked spray. Instead, he merely choked on his own air, coughing roughly around his surprise. 

“Is that right?” His grandfather said, ignoring Tyler’s sputtering expression. “You two make quite a team, then?” 

Christ, the man just didn’t quit. “We’re not… uh…” he tried again, not sure if the jig was up, that now they had to come clean: Wednesday Addams was just here for a fun game, to see how far she could antagonize the patriarchy, to get inspiration from her “consultant” for the missing pages of her impending bestselling novel. Surely, his grandfather didn’t really believe that someone like Wednesday Addams would be interested in being anything like a “team” with him? 

But her hand gave his a tiny squeeze, almost so small that he could have missed it (but how could he? He didn’t miss a single motion by her). Then, she said, “Yes, we do. A terrifying team, but a good one nonetheless.” Her dark eyes met his, glinting, suggesting he should agree. 

His mouth turned dry very quickly. Because yes, he knew she was continuing to pull the wool over his grandfather’s eyes, this he was sure, but he wasn’t going to argue with that twinkle in her eyes. 

“God help us all,” his father finally cut in before rubbing his mouth vigorously with a napkin. His spoon clinked almost rudely into his empty crème brûlée ramiken. “Like my job isn’t tough enough as it is, with Ansel Gates breathing down my neck about putting up police detail for his goddamn holiday shindig, now I’ve got to worry about you two troublemakers causing havoc wherever you turn.” It was said gruffly, in his father’s usual tone, but there was a teasing edge to it, like he was actually slightly amused. 

Also, police detail for the holiday shindig? What was that all about? 

“I doubt you enjoy being bored, Sheriff,” Wednesday said breezily, breaking through his thoughts. Then she polished off the rest of the cherry red digestif in one easy swig, her pale neck bobbing in an almost hypnotic way as she swallowed.

“Well, I guess I’ll never know, huh?” His father countered, arching an eyebrow in her direction. And yeah, he was definitely amused by Wednesday Addams now and it was entirely disarming, seeing his father’s usual stern expression melt into something warmer, something bordering on pleased irritation. 

Before he could make a single comment on this, however, Wednesday stood up, her hand finally leaving his own. “I assure you, I am only visiting the restroom,” Wednesday said, still holding his father’s eyes. “How much trouble can I get into there?” 

His father’s eyes swiveled to his. “Tyler? You think I should send an escort with her for public safety?” 

A small grin sprung up at the corner of his mouth. “Naw,” he said and then caught Wednesday’s gaze. “Would be a waste of time. I think Wednesday would thwart any and all attempts they would make to get her troublemaking under control.” 

She paused before nodding at him and said, lowly, “You could join me. For said troublemaking.” 

He stared at her for a long moment, brow lacing with confusion. Was she? Offering what he thought she was? No, surely not. She was probably just trying to offer him an out rather than being stuck with both his grandfather and father and the inevitable grilling conversation that was awaiting him as soon as she left the booth. 

Shaking his head, he offered up, “I think I’ll survive a couple minutes by myself.” Then, teasingly, he added, “Plus, we should spread the troublemaking around. Infect this entire restaurant with our delinquent ways.” 

He’d hoped… what? She might give him another tiny pull of her mouth, the one that said she was amused by him? Instead, her eyes flashed and then narrowed, only so slightly. But then, she said quietly very well before retreating to the bathroom. 

He watched her go, barely catching a trace of her pale thigh peeking out from the edge of her skirt before she used one of her palms to shimmy the piece of clothing further down her leg. 

“If you could pause your drooling for a second, son,” his grandfather bit in, his voice smug and knowing, “I’d like you to indulge an old man in giving you some advice.” 

He barely had time to slide his gaze back to his grandfather, ready to battle before his father cut in, “I swear to God, Hugh, if you pressure the kid one more time into going to Nevermore, I will arrest you right here and now for being a public nuisance.” His father pressed a fist on top of the table, clenching his fingers. “Tyler said he doesn’t want to go. Listen to him for Christ’s sake.” 

Blinking, Tyler stared long and hard at his father. He looked tired, face drawn, but that wasn’t new. What was new was the entire defensive tone in Donovan Galpin’s words. This wasn’t him just picking a fight with his grandfather, which was par for the course. No, this was his dad truly and honestly… sticking up for him? 

Continuing the surprise? His grandfather sighed, held up his palms in a surrendering gesture. “No arrests will be necessary, because I was not going to broach that subject.” He raised a silvery eyebrow at Tyler. “Unless Tyler would like to?” 

He ground his teeth. “Tyler would not.”

“As you wish,” his grandfather sighed and then lowered his hands, tilted his head at him. A beat, and then pointing at where Wednesday’s retreating form had been, he said shortly, “If you know what’s good for you, you should marry that girl.” 

His mouth fell open. Cutting his gaze to his father’s, he had expected Donovan Galpin’s expression to mirror his own: shocked at Hugo Sylvanne’s bald-face boldness. Instead, he merely rolled his eyes and spoke up, “Funny how you didn’t have that same kind of energy when I expressed interest in marrying your daughter.” 

Hugo frowned. “We’re not talking about you now, Don.” But there was a shadow that passed over his face, something that almost looked like pinched guilt. And then it was gone when he cleared his throat and angled his stare back at Tyler. “You’re not going to find a woman like that every day, trust me, son.” 

To be fair, he was entirely aware of that. He had never (and he was completely sure that he would never again) find another person as singular as Wednesday Addams. 

But this was madness. So he told his grandfather with a furrowed eyebrow, “Girls like Wednesday Addams are not interested in guys like me. Not like that at least.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Donovan Galpin’s voice punched through, shocking him with the lilt of teasing there. “Is that why she had your hand up her skirt earlier tonight?” 

He literally felt his eyes widen. When his grandfather merely raised an eyebrow that indicated that he had the same question as his father, well. Fucking hell. He and Wednesday must have been as subtle as a hailstorm on a tin roof.

“Um,” he managed, and god, this was pathetic. He could speak. He could definitely do this. Sitting up straighter, he wiped his palms over the wine-stained tablecloth as if erasing a chalkboard. “I know this looks a certain way. But she’s interesting and scarily intelligent, she holds her liquor well, and um? She’s stunning.” When he was met with the blank expressions of both Hugo Sylvanne and Donovan Galpin, he sighed and said, “Wednesday is in a different stratosphere than someone like me.” 

“And what stratosphere is that exactly, son?” His grandfather interrupted, sitting forward to fold his hands on top of the table. 

He snorted. “She’s practically royalty.” Then he nodded out the window in the parking lot. “I drive a dirt bike.” 

There was a long pause where his grandfather eyed him for a long moment and said, “And all that is entirely your own doing, Tyler.” 

The thread pulled taut again, so tight that he could feel the metaphysical cords splintering. Because of course his grandfather would blame him for being the low-life townie that he was, would point the finger back accusingly just to rub it in his face…

“For whatever reason, and in a way that I find both eternally vexing and entirely admirable, you refuse to acknowledge that the silver spoon could be in your mouth,” his grandfather said, voice even, his head tilting to examine him from across the table. “You do know that Chateau Hébert will be completely yours upon my death? And a sizable inheritance that would let you buy enough dirt bikes to bury this entire town?” 

The thickness in his throat was hard to work around. Swallowing with difficulty, he merely stared at his grandfather. 

Yes, he knew. He had always known, this wasn’t a secret. It was always something that hung over his head, a storm cloud that threatened to break so that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Someday, the tendril of electric storm would reach for him and he’d have to face it.

At some point, the Sylvanne legacy would be his to deal with, legally, whether he wanted it or not. He was tempted to burn it all to the ground, but that was his mother’s voice in his head, telling him that all of that? All that Sylvanne legacy and privilege was a burden. It could make you into a monster if you let it. 

So, finally, he said quietly, “I don’t want the money, Pépère. I never wanted it.” He couldn’t help but stare at his dad when he added, “Mom never wanted it either. She just wanted… she just wanted us to all have each other in our lives.” 

He hadn’t expected his grandfather’s reaction. A steely eye. A chagrined lip purse. Those were the sorts of things he thought maybe he’d have lobbed back at him. 

Instead, Hugo Sylvanne’s eyes turned warm and hot, a liquid steaming at the corner of his gaze. He clenched his eyelids tightly together, sniffed, and then said while pinching the bridge of his nose, “Money or not, you’re plenty in her stratosphere. You’re smart – even if you refuse to listen to any of your grandpère’s good sense – and you got your mother’s good looks.” Here, his father smiled, fully acknowledging the jab but not disputing his grandfather’s declaration. “And you’re a bit of a singular person yourself, whether you’ll acknowledge it or not.” Sighing, his grandfather shook his head and finished up the last of his digestif before adding like a punctuation note, “Wednesday would be joining a long line of Sylvanne women who are rather – and I say this with all affection –  kooky.” 

“She prefers spooky ,” he said but was interrupted by her voice echoing, “I prefer spooky.” He jumped out of his seat, a garble of whoa, hey on his lips before he could stop his racing heart. 

Wednesday stood at the foot of the table, her face almost unreadable other than the way her eyes flashed in almost amusement down at the people sitting there. 

Even his grandfather was clutching his chest in what looked like a sign of surprise. His father jolted back, glared up at her, and said, “Where the hell did you even come from, Addams?” 

She arched an eyebrow in his direction, “I thought you were very aware of how children are produced, Sheriff.” Her head tilted. “I believe that's why you were particularly upset last night when you found that Tyler and I…”

“Okay! Well! It’s getting kind of late, and both Wednesday and I have the morning shift tomorrow,” he stammered before clambering to his feet, practically tripping over the table leg to exit the booth and stand next to Wednesday. He gingerly put a hand on the small of her back, hesitant at first. She might flinch away from his touch? But she didn’t, simply shifted her gaze up to his own, her mouth unsmiling; however, there was a twinkle in her eyes that indicated she was very aware that she had just taken everything up several degrees in terms of discomfort. 

Maybe it was something he needed to work on in therapy, but he found himself not wanting to discuss his sex life with both his grandfather and father. So, with a little shaky breath, he asked her with a crooked grin, “Am I driving or are you this time, Ms. Not-Street-Legal?” 

The corner of her mouth twitched and she said flatly, not like she was most likely purposefully messing with all of his brain function, “I prefer to straddle you, so I shall let you drive tonight.” 

For the millionth time tonight, he choked. 

Then nodding at his grandfather and father, she said, “By the way, I took the liberty of paying the bill.”

Out of everything, the entire evening, through all the verbal jabs, the blatant double entendres, this was what finally irked his grandfather. His eyebrows drew together, knitting, and he said sternly, “That was unnecessary, Ms. Addams.” 

“I’m aware,” Wednesday replied swiftly before shrugging. “But I got your grandson evicted from his house last night. I am slightly in your family’s debt.” 

“He got himself evicted last night,” his father cut in, looking as equally perturbed as his father-in-law. “Well, it’s more like the hellions he lives with got him evicted. But still, that’s kind of Tyler’s bed that he decided to lie in.” 

Okay, so, fair , even if his dad’s comments were cutting as usual. Tyler frowned at both his family members’ reactions before feeling a little stab of pride for Wednesday: she’d done it, finally, got under their skins: she’d tried the spooky route and only been met with amused acceptance from his family. Their main objection? That she’d bested them in beating them to pay the check. It was almost laughable if it wasn’t so delicious to see their miffed faces. 

Speaking of the check, from the side of his vision, he could see the semi-traumatized waiter shyly weave his way through the restaurant toward them. Then, standing a good several feet away from Wednesday, he proffered the ticket holder towards her, stumbled over, “Uh? Ma’am? I think you might have accidentally put an extra zero on the tip line and I just…”

“I didn’t,” she replied, pushing the check back at the bewildered server. “What I wrote is correct.”

Oh, no. Biting back a grin, he leveled down at her, “Are you aiding and abetting another eviction-worthy party, Wednesday Addams?” 

Her eyes turned, glinting mischievously. “I’m simply ensuring that your father is not bored.” 

“So terribly kind of you,” he grumbled, although his grin was now splitting his face. 

“Terrible? Yes. Kind?” Here, she shrugged and then leaned back into his touch on her lower back. “Maybe you should take me back to our apartment before I cause any more trouble?”

There it was again: our apartment. A warmth grew in his chest, one full of panic that he was overthinking this and the other part of him not stopping the irrational thoughts from permeating his consciousness, ones that felt decidedly like they were something, even if it was only for a few mere months, even if it were for a small period in time, even if it were only in this moment with her dark eyes on him and the entirety of his palm placed firmly and possessively against the curve of her spine.

Chapter Text

It would be under threat of a rather lackluster death that Wednesday Addams would admit that her mother, for once in her pestilent life, had been right. 

“It is our gift, our curse,” Her mother had said, voice lilting in the languorous way that drove Wednesday crazy. “A Frump always knows.” 

“Knows what exactly, Mother?” She had hedged, bored already with the conversation. “That you are a victim to a surge of endorphins and dopamine? How very biological of you.” 

Her mother had titled her head at her, considering. Then, sighing, she had examined her nails leisurely and said, “I suppose love is a bit of all that as well. But this is deeper, my little storm cloud. This is the gift we’ve been handed down.”

She shouldn’t have indulged her, but honestly? She had, at the moment, just wanted her mother to stop talking. “And that gift would be?” The word gift curled out of her throat like bile, biting and acrid. 

Her mother blinked, looked at her with a knitted-brow expression. “Weren’t you paying any attention to what I had just said?”

She hadn’t. Frowning, she had glared expectedly at her mother.

Sighing dramatically, her mother simply lay a cool hand on her shoulder, ignoring Wednesday’s flinch at the touch. “When I met your father, I knew immediately. It was like a force of nature, undeniable.” 

She had pulled angrily on her braids at the time. She had asked her mother explicitly to read her manuscript about her last book and to give her input. Why she had done this, she was now dubious about. It was certainly not a mistake she would make again, especially since her mother was insistent that it contained more romance with the sexual trysts.

“You knew immediately that a handsome billionaire should be your husband?” She had asked, letting the irritation lace through her voice, sarcasm rolling through every syllable. “You’re practically a psychic, Mother.” 

Morticia Addams had merely frowned at her daughter’s reaction, shrugging and sighing. Then, patting her shoulder as if calming a tantruming small child, she said, her voice annoyingly knowing, “Some day, my little viper. Some day you will meet that person and you’ll know.” 

She had scoffed. There would be no some day because her destiny was to pass her days blissfully without connections, a powerful island of a person. And then she met Enid and some of that belief crumbled because this ridiculous rainbow-ed human sunshine had woven herself into the fiber of her life. A friend? She’s never had one outside of her various menagerie of pets: Nero the scorpion, Ally the alligator. The more coldblooded, the better. 

And then, it happened. 

Rusty blade to her throat, she wouldn’t say it out loud. But it had happened, the click in her brain. The Frump legacy, coming for her, all in the quietest moment when Tyler Galpin gingerly took the loose papers of her manuscript and started to read it. 

Yes, she had agreed to be his roommate. Yes, she had agreed to be his conspiratorial date for the evening. Sure, okay, fine, she’d fully admit that maybe she had an uncharacteristic… affection for this certain individual. The sex had been stratospherically incredible. She also didn’t mind one bit looking at him. She also didn’t despise stringing more than three or four sentences together with him, which was rare. Most everyone’s company she found tedious beyond the initial greetings. 

But it happened, in the smallest little moment as he settled into her bed and began reading the manuscript, that signature knot in between his brows. 

An amorphous feeling at first, pushing in her sternum. It was a shove sort of sensation. Or like she was a fish being violently and suddenly tugged by a hook and line. When did the hook pierce itself into her? She didn’t know, but it was there, this sudden and very real feeling. 

And, damn all seven layers of hell, her mother was right, she was completely and ruinously right. 

Because she knew with a clarity so pure that it was a type of sparkling transparency that was impossible not to see it…

She was going to marry Tyler Galpin.

It was horrifying in the overwhelming certainty she felt, a wash of this knowledge flowing through her. It had to be impossible, for a multitude of reasons, one being her own past aversion to attaching herself in any way similar to her parent’s marital bond: all sickening hyperbole. It wasn’t rare for her to wander through their house to find her parents in some sort of passionate embrace at any given moment (if not copulating). 

The biggest reason, however? It was that Tyler Galpin could not, and probably would never, feel the same. 

To be fair, no one would, Wednesday was aware. She was not a creature meant to be loved. Yes, she’d gotten lucky with Enid Sinclair, but she suspected that Enid could love a cardboard box if someone drew a cute enough face on it. Of course, her family, even her brother liked her despite him calling her, “The scariest person I know” (a compliment, truly). 

But that was the entire list of people who she could possibly assume would declare any sort of love for her. It was a short list, but honestly, she was shocked daily that there was a list at all. 

And fine, he’d tolerated her brusque remarks and odd lines of questioning, but there were a lot of conditions to his tolerance. Her buying him drinks, her being halfway decent at her job (although she was beginning to suspect he did not appreciate her numerous break-ins), and then, of course, the sex. 

The mind-frying, incredible sex. 

She wobbled off his bike when they got back to the apartment, her legs still feeling a little shaky from her climax less than an hour ago. Her mind was still swirling about how intense that had felt. It had been like her whole body was aflame and melting, her ether turning into hot wax. His voice warm and purring against the crest of her cheekbone. His fingers, hot inside of her, and he had done it so right, none of the way that some had ground their fingers and palms against her like they were trying to tap something out in morse code. Tyler had done it with deep and intentional strokes, but still finding that spot inside her perfectly and without fail with each thrust of his hand. 

And then he had got just a little demanding. She had liked that immensely, much to her surprise. She was not the one who liked to receive inflexible commands; it was almost lethal to threaten her to do something that she was not earnest in doing herself. Authority figures were, after all, why she had to visit Dr. Valerie Kinbott once a week so that she could glare at the woman’s insufferable mug for an hour. 

But Tyler commanding her to take his thumb in her mouth, the way she had talked to her through taking more of his fingers, the stretch so overwhelming in that moment she almost backed down, all of that? Was only stoking the fire inside of her. 

She wanted more, so much more. 

There was another part of her that said, very practically, that Tyler Galpin might enjoy the sex, maybe enjoy a little thrill at taking apart a stony-faced, prissy Nevermore girl, but there was no way that whatever they were doing could or would evolve into anything remotely like what she now knew she wanted. 

Wednesday Addams had never been a quitter, though. Definitely not one to admit defeat. So, when they arrived at the apartment and Tyler helped her get off the bike, she arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Are you going to leave that running?” 

He paused, regarded her, and said, “Uh, well, I’ve figured that might be helpful so I can drive it back home.” His smile was as crooked and confused and she hated so, so, so much that she found it as endearing as she did. 

“You’re not going home,” she said, hoping her tone did not invite argument. “Not now, at least.”

He took off his helmet, blinking at her bemusedly. “You have my attention. Where exactly am I going instead?” 

She tapped her foot, impatiently. “If you turn that thing off, then I can divulge that information.” 

He chuckled, flipped the kill switch, and then turned to her, eying her with twinkling amusement. “Okay, give it to me straight: how illegal is this thing you have in mind instead of going home?” 

The way her mouth curled up in response was completely involuntary. Why he was able to get that reaction out of her was lightly infuriating. “Nothing illegal. Not tonight at least.” He tilted his head at her, intrigued, and then she said imperiously, “You owe me a nightcap. After last night’s rather unceremonious parting post-coital.”  

His mouth fell open, surprise and something like panic laced through all his features. “I… oh shit, I’m so sorry.” Running a hand through his curls, he looked tousled in a way that sent a little frisson of something foreign through her body. “I’ve been meaning to say that I’m not. I don’t usually do things like…” He leaned back, surveyed her, before sighing and asking, “I should probably just stop talking and come inside, right?” 

“A smart deduction,” she replied, eyeing him and then turning on her heel, marching towards the apartment’s stairs. She looked over her shoulder, seeing him still sitting bemusedly on his bike. “Sometime this evening would be preferable, Tyler.” 

He seemed to snap out of something because he practically scrambled after her. Slamming his helmet on the handlebars, he quickly locked the bike before jogging to catch up with her. “For all five-foot-nothing of you, you’re surprisingly fast.” 

Raising an eyebrow in his direction, she said, “Reference my five-foot-nothing again and I’ll show you a more painful way that I’m fast.” 

His teeth captured his bottom lip as if to repress a shit-eating grin before he said, “Didn’t catch that… it’s hard to hear you all the way down there…” 

It wasn’t her normal way of interrupting a line of conversation, she supposed. A quick jab to the solar plexus would have been far more in line with her character. But, instead, she reached over, grabbed him a little roughly by the shirt, pulling his mouth to her own. In all fairness, it was just as effective at silencing someone as something of the more violent flavor. And perhaps it was even more satisfying than leveling pain on the offending party; a line of electricity trilled down her spine as his heady taste hit her tongue. 

When she pulled back, she asked, valiantly attempting to level her question flatly and not all with the shaky breath she could feel rattling in her chest. “Lesson learned?” 

His eyes had been closed but fluttered open, hooded a bit. “That’s a different kind of pain than I was expecting.” His hand reached up and closed around her chin, tilting it and peering into her face. “Lesson learned, but, uh, not sure it’s the lesson you were planning on teaching.” 

She frowned up into his face, not sure what to think of that. He was studying her features like he was trying to put a puzzle together, like he was entirely sure of her altogether. And fine, she supposed that she was a bit of a… complicated type of person. Wednesday Addams would never be accused of being the most transparent of human beings. 

But Tyler Galpin was his own mystery, and so she narrowed her eyes at him and finally said, “I’ve always said the means are worth the ends.” 

His lips curled into a crooked grin. “How Machiavellian of you.” 

“First, chivalry. Now, flattery?” Her eyes narrowed further. “What is your agenda, Tyler Galpin?” 

He laughed, dropped her chin, and said, an edge to his voice that sounded almost a little sad, “People like me don’t get to have agendas.” 

Her head tilted, evaluating. This man in front of her was so transparently humble that it was disconcerting at times. The student population at Nevermore, while not always snobby, was almost always not self-deprecating. She had also found that when people were like this they were often fishing for something, a hook searching through the dark waters to latch onto the one person who would feed them what they needed. She was not one to be tricked so easily, but that didn’t feel like what Tyler was lobbing at her right now, here in the chilly evening with his warm palm against the hollow of her throat. 

So, she merely rocked up on the tips of her toes, bit him playfully at the end of his nose, and said, “That’s exactly what someone with an agenda would say.” Then, with a sort of violent gentleness, she curled a grip into his shirt and started dragging him up the stairs to their apartment. 

Behind her, he huffed a chuckle, said a little breathlessly, “Am I being invited inside or am I being kidnapped?” 

Shrugging, she snapped, “In my family, those two things are not so very different.”

She could have sworn he mumbled a small Yeah, that checks out, but she was busy pulling out a hairpin so that she could pick the lock with one hand, the other still clutching almost white-knuckled to his shirt.

“Uh, are you breaking into your own apartment?” 

Knitting her eyebrows in concentration, she responded to his question and said, “No. I’m breaking into our apartment.” 

He was silent at this, almost too much so. Frowning, she debated on turning to survey his face, because she’d lobbed this statement to him a couple of times tonight with the express purpose to gauge his reaction. And once again, all a riddle of emotions on his face, not exactly chagrined, but something on the verge of dubious, skeptical. 

Skeptical of her, she was sure. Because yes, she was entirely aware that she wouldn’t be most people’s first choice for a roommate. Bianca Barclay had said she would rather taste the bitter bile of death than room a second longer with her. Even Enid Sinclair, the one person who had taken quite the risk with her, had only lasted a year and a half before needing to retreat to rooming with a paramour. 

If anything, she was stunningly aware that Tyler Galpin might tuck tail and run as fast as possible, leaving her with the cool solitude of her apartment once again. That might be why, as soon as she heard the click of the lock coming undone, she swiveled her body to press herself flush against his body. Lifting herself up by placing the arch of her feet against the booted toe of his shoes, she covered her mouth with his. 

For only a second, he seemed to be frozen in a small amount of shock or surprise. She hoped it wasn’t because he was displeased, although a tiny ping of self-doubt rang in her brain before she could squash it away. 

That doubt melted away fairly quickly as Tyler quickly recovered from whatever pause that had short-circuited his thoughts, because he grabbed her by the curve of her lower back, pressing her closer and higher, curving her closer to his body.

Moving them both backward, he reached out to push the door open. It must have been with enough gusto that the door hit the wall behind it with a smack-crack that had him jump a little against her mouth.

“If you stop because you think you hurt the door’s feelings, you’ll be the one who is hurting,” she mumbled against his mouth and she could feel the curve of his lips against her own. 

He practically lifted her into the apartment, hooking his heel around the edge of the door so that it was slammed closed behind. Then, with gusto, he pressed her with vigor against the closed door, almost making the air whoosh from her lungs. 

He broke away, looking mildly amused. “Well, if I didn’t offend your door beforehand, I’m pretty sure I just did.” 

“Let it be offended,” she growled, arching her body into his own, his reactionary hiss hitting the side of her face. “Better it than me.” 

“Truer words,” he offered down, looking at her face. And then, he blinked, as if he was snapping out of some sort of daze and he said gingerly, “Do you treat all your guests and kidnapping victims like this?” 

She frowned. “Only the ones that feel the need to make commentary on my stature.” 

His one arm was pressed against the door, his palm flat so that he could loom over her, peer down into her face. Essentially, she was caged in, her body almost completely flush with his own. 

In response, however, he merely tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and said, “Is that so? If that’s the kind of reception I can expect to receive, then maybe I should come up short with the pleasantries and…” 

Leaning forward, she grabbed his bottom lip in her incisors, pulling back so that she could slide her tongue up against the back of his teeth. Then, just as quickly as she had executed that move, she broke the kiss, slithering down and under his arm, and said, “That was your warning. Next time, I’ll draw blood.” Looking coyly over her shoulder, she asked, “What kind of poison would you like as your nightcap?”

Tyler was standing in the same position, his body a slanted line against the door. He was gawking a bit in amusement. Then, he inhaled sharply, shaking his head, and then parried back at her, his tone indicating that he was only half-joking, “Dare I ask if this is actual poison you’re talking about?” 

Shrugging, she moved to the kitchen on the adjacent wall. “At a certain level, caffeine and alcohol are toxic.”  Leaning back against the counter, she said, “Rest assured: if I really wanted to poison you, I would respect you more than to settle for something boring like caffeine or alcohol.” 

He snorted a brief laugh before grumbling, “I think I’m flattered? Scared, but flattered.” 

The small twitch at the corner of her mouth was completely unbidden, so she turned her head so that the growing grin wasn’t obnoxiously transparent on her face. She reached up to grab a bottle off a shelf and then asked behind her, “Is absinthe acceptable?” 

He was silent for a second, so she turned, lifting a curious eyebrow. He was still near the door, eyeing her, but his gaze had most definitely slipped to her legs, staring unashamedly. Taking a small peek down, she realized her skirt had ridden up while she had reached upwards for the absinthe bottle, revealing the twin stripes of her garter straps. 

“I did say you’d get to see them more clearly at our apartment,” she noted, attempting to keep her voice droll. 

Blinking rapidly, he seemed to snap out of whatever reverie was coursing through his brain, because he sucked in a lungful of air, and said, “Uh, sorry. Totally didn’t mean to make things weird” 

“You should know that I am not offended by anything weird,” she noted, pulling slowly up on the cork and then throwing a look in his direction. “We could make things even more weird if you would like.” 

Tyler had started to walk closer to her but paused, eying her again with that same skepticism she saw etched his gaze in the past. “I’m too terrified to ask what that could possibly mean.”

“I could show you,” she responded breezily, the cork of the absinthe bottle opening with a loud pop.  

“That’s even more terrifying,” he replied and then leaned against the kitchen island counter, giving her an amused half-grin. “Maybe let’s do the absinthe first and then we can see how… weird things get?” 

Wednesday regarded him for a brief moment, trying to decipher his body language. It was a skill that she would begrudgingly admit that she was woefully poorly under-skilled: people’s opinions and feelings were usually of little consequence to her and only came in handy for writing Viper de la Muerte. The way that Enid tucked her hair behind her left ear when she was nervous. Ajax’s propensity to raise his eyebrows right before he was about to say something truly ridiculous. One of Tyler’s eyelids sometimes shut before the other, especially when he was grinning to himself when he thought other people weren’t looking (she was always looking, unashamedly, at him). All those little details were helpful while constructing her narratives, but trying to dissect every piece of human body language sometimes was excruciating to her, like trying to catch vapor out of the air with a bare hand.

This look, this one like he was trying to calculate something complicated and knotted up in his brain, she wasn’t sure at all what it meant. 

Fortunately, he spoke before she could tie her thoughts up into an analytical knot. Straightening up like he had just received an electrical shock, he stumbled with, “Oh, shoot. Maybe I’m overextending my welcome? Won’t Enid be back soon?”

“She’s already started moving,” she said, going to one of the drawers to reveal the absinthe spoon before opening an overhead cabinet to pluck down two rectangles of sugar. “And she’s spending the night at her new apartment. Not that it’s much of a change. I could count on a single hand how many times she’s resided her for the entire evening in the past two months.” 

Only silence met her and when she glanced up at him, his eyes were soft. The expression was jarring, completely unexpected. Tilting her head, she blurted out, almost with exasperation, “What are you thinking at any given moment, Tyler Galpin?”

He straightened, apparently caught off guard by her tone. And then, he said, “Sorry! It’s just! Does it… get lonely?” When she only blinked at him, he stammered out, “Not to say you’re lonely or anything! It’s just sometimes. Well. I guess I know that feeling. Not loneliness per se. But that lonely… feeling? When you’re in a space it feels achingly empty and you’re just trying to fill it but know you never can?” He rubbed the back of his neck vigorously and then breathed out a long sigh. “When my mom died, my dad sort of buried himself in his work. It’s easy to do, for a cop. Especially in a college town. There’s always some miscreant with a criminal record who is hellbent on making things weird.” Here, his pointed stare was all teasing and a tinge of admiration and she felt herself preen a bit under his gaze. 

“Again, I can tell that Sheriff Galpin prefers to not be bored,” she said, positioning the sugar cube strategically on the spoon. “He should really be thanking me.” 

Chuckling, Tyler said, “It’s true. He hates being bored. He hates talking about feelings even more.” 

She was pouring the water over the sugar cube but paused at this, shifting her eyes so that she was peering at him underneath her lashes. Then, slowly, she said, “I can relate to both those sentiments.”

His grin turned crooked, warm, and almost conspiratorial. “I know. I think that’s why he likes you, whether he’ll admit it or not.” 

The surprise hit her unexpectedly. Wednesday Addams wasn’t really a likable person, this she had accepted about herself. The compliment thrown her direction had set her askew and so she said in a hope that her voice sounded even, “For someone who likes me, he has little faith that I’m not entirely dead set on burning this town to the ground.”   

“And you’re not?” 

Her eyes flashed to his own. Tyler’s face dissolved into a wide, shit-eating grin and she merely narrowed her eyes and replied coolly, “The night is still young.” Lifting the glasses from the counter, she closed the distance between the two of them and handed him a glass. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her gingerly. Then, toasting her rim against his, she lifted the drink to her lips, sipped it pertly, and said, “Maybe a little arson is the right kind of weird we should get into after we polish our nightcaps off.” 

A huff of laughter left him before he shrugged. “That would save us from the early shift tomorrow morning.” 

“Excellent. We’re merely problem-solving,” she parried, and she was rewarded with another laugh, him shaking his head in amusement. 

His crooked grin was half covered by glass as he lifted it to his lips. And then, almost so quiet that it was almost imperceptible, he mumbled, “You’re going to be the death of me, Wednesday Addams.”

Was that a compliment? A resigned complaint? She was quite sure at all, so after a long second she merely clipped, “Well, I should sure hope so. I've already been laying the groundwork with my morning break-ins to Prose & Cons.” 

He was mid-sip, but it must have struck him as funny, because he had to suck in his bottom lip in order to keep the absinthe from spewing from his lips. After a beat and a thick swallow, he said, a little choked still, “I knew that you had murderous intentions.”

“I am the author of Viper de la Muerte after all,” she noted. “I owe it to my readers to find new, creative ways for Viper to make the final strike.” Tipping her body back, she was able to stare further into his face, study the hazel flecks in his eyes.

Meeting her stare, he nodded in a mock-serious way and then added, “Well, just make sure on my tombstone it says, He gave it all for an incredible woman.” 

The ambiguity of his last statement floated in her brain. What woman? Surely, he meant Viper, this fictitious amalgamation of the person she wanted to be: tough as nails (Viper never felt the tears prickle the edge of her eyes when she missed her brother so acutely her chest ached); ruthless and smart; sexy and cold-hearted, all at the same time. Viper was supposed to be unlovable, and perfectly fine with her insolence. 

And yet? Tyler hadn’t thought that way about Viper. He had said that he’d do anything for his girl, Viper. It had done something to her chest when he had confessed as much to her, a warmth and a pressure. And then it dawned on her: hells she had known then, hadn’t she? This stupid familial curse, that moment when he had vowed his allegiance to her alter-ego. Or maybe even earlier? Maybe from the very second he had flipped on the switch to those horrid break room lights, the shocked yelp from his left his lips delicious in their fright and sincerity. 

She’d known for days now, ever since the moment she’d met Tyler Galpin that this was it, there wasn’t going to be another person for her, the insolent viper Wednesday Addams. 

A light must have flickered around her eyes, because suddenly Tyler’s face was drawn, that knot beginning to form in between his eyes. “And here I thought talking about tombstones would put you in a good mood,” he hedged, teasingly. 

Sucking in a thin stream of air, she shook her head to clear it. Having an existential crisis whilst she was trying to seduce Tyler Galpin wouldn’t do. 

“I do tend to get a faraway look whilst discussing burial arrangements,” she conceded, hoping to divert the conversation away from her previously panicked expression. “Although, my preferred topics of conversation seemed to do very little to fluster your grandfather and father.” She took a brisk sip of her drink. “It was quite infuriating.” 

The way she had shifted next to him had positioned her so that she was almost tucked neatly between his body and the kitchen counter. His glinting eyes peered down at her as he extended an arm to press it against the counter, allowing him to lean over her, his chest almost flush with her own. 

“Yeah, well, they had plenty of practice with my mom,” he offered, shrugging. “She was definitely her… own person.” 

Tilting her head to study him, she noticed the way his mouth was pulled up at the corners in an almost hesitant way, as if he didn’t trust his own smile. “What was she like? Your mother?” She asked and when he blinked at her in surprise, she quickly back paddled, “Unless you would prefer not to talk about her. With me, especially.” 

He shook his head as if to silence her. “No, I… I don’t mind at all. It’s just that people usually don’t like to talk to me about her.” 

“Why?” Her head tilted further, trying to dissect every piece of his expression. 

Tyler shrugged, sighed, took a small sip of his drink. “Well, my dad doesn’t like to talk about anything that might pry him out of his rather grumpy exterior. My grandfather can’t discuss her without pointing fingers. And everyone else? I don’t know. I guess talking about someone’s dead mom makes people uncomfortable.” 

Snorting at this, she said, “People are so odd. Why would it be uncomfortable talking about people just because they’re dead?” 

“Oh? Other people are the odd ones?” He asked, his voice shifting from bemused to amused. Then, taking a beat to let himself chuckle at her fiery stare. “Believe it or not, most people don’t discuss the dead with as much candor as you do.” 

Considering for a moment, she shrugged. “That seems like entirely their loss. There are plenty of fascinating dead people one can discuss.” 

Her response must have amused him because he snorted a small chuckle. It was his turn to tilt his head at her, examining her once again in that honey-warm gaze. His voice was small, tender, when he said, “She liked Halloween. And reading. She always had a dog-eared paperback stuffed in her purse. Her favorite type of music was, oddly enough, both bluegrass and classical music. She claimed she was a vegetarian but would always find so many excuses for us to go get cheeseburgers for my sake that it was a pointless claim.” His smile grew a little, his eyes dropping into his glass, seeming to study the liquid inside. “Not that anyone would dare to argue with her about it because she was stubborn as they come. My dad and her would sometimes fight a bit, nothing too serious, and she would be so mad. Like, furious. And then the next thing I knew, I would be walking into something that no eight-year-old wants to walk into. If you know what I mean.” 

“I do,” she said, pursing her lips. “My parents have copulated in every square inch of my house.” 

His eyes snapped up to hers and a disbelieving chuckle left his lips. “You talk to Kinbott about that, too?” 

She arched an eyebrow. “No. There’s nothing wrong with sex, Tyler, even if it’s your parents.” 

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” he said, chuckling more, holding up a hand in both a surrendering and halting gesture. “But maybe let’s move on because the eight-year-old version of me wants to crawl into a hole and disappear still.” 

“Well, then, I suppose we got revenge tonight?” 

His gaze snapped to hers, his look entirely quizzical. 

Sighing, she issued him an impatient look before saying, nonplussed, “You do know that your father absolutely saw you making me come undone with your fingers, right?” 

The way his face blanched for a second before he seemed to suck on his teeth. Then, his small grin curved on his mouth again and he said, “Yeah. He kind of hinted at that.” He took a full gulp of the vividly green drink before adding, “But, you know, Mom would have probably thought that was pretty funny. She… was never shy about that kind about that kind of thing. Sat me down to give me the birds-and-bees discussion at the ripe old age of eight.” 

“Is that not normal?” She asked. Her own parents had an extensive conversation with her around age six after she found them arched against one of the study’s bookshelves, the both of them still tangled in the embrace of their tryst. 

Tyler snorted, shook his head no. “If it had been up to my dad, he’d have plopped a library book in my lap, turned on National Geographic, and wished me the best of luck in figuring it all out.” 

“That seems unnecessary considering you caught them engaging in intercourse on a regular basis…”

“Okay!” He huffed an exasperated laugh, although from what she could tell, he was merely entertained by her repeated attempts to bring us his parents’ sex life. “Okay, yep! Totally get it, my parents had sex, I should be an actual adult and not be weirded out about it. But, I’ll work on that at an undisclosed future date.” His eyes slipped from peering at her face to her neck. He pushed off the counter, his one hand reaching for the space between her chin and collarbone. 

Her breath shouldn’t have caught the way that it did when his impossibly-warm fingers gingerly brushed the hollow of her throat as he scooped up her necklace, gently turning it, examining it with a genuine interest that sent a small lightning bolt of frisson through her sinew.

“My mother gave it to me,” she offered, hating how breathy her voice sounded, how brittle, like a struggling gasp. “It’s supposed to be a powerful talisman. But I think she just liked that it was dark and shiny, like her.” The necklace was simple, the pendant dangling from it a monogrammed “W” surrounded by a ring of finely cut and polished onyx stones. 

He rubbed the pendant between his thumb and forefinger before saying, “My mom had this necklace that you would have liked. Actually, I still have it. But it was a little macabre, especially for Jericho.” 

He had taken a step closer to examine the necklace and she was suddenly and acutely aware that the top of his thigh was pressing against the crest of her hip. 

Licking her lips, she asked, “Was it a vial of blood?” When he didn’t so much as flinch at her question, she felt her spine straighten in appreciation for his almost-appreciation of her more morbid tendencies. “Because Enid seems to think my blood vial necklace is odd for some reason. I told her it was just menstrual blood.” 

His finger crooked around the spot where the chain and pendant met, a gentle pull. Then, he merely gave her a small smile like he thought she was very odd and also that this oddness was entirely endearing. “No, that one is uniquely yours, although that’s a plot twist I think we all saw coming.” 

His grip pulled tighter on the necklace, causing her to arch her neck just the tiniest fractional amount. It was a small move but something burned in her chest from it, the unspoken demand of come closer behind the movement. 

Then, his voice was quiet, reflective but also hinged with something destructively tender. “My mother’s necklace was a crow’s ear bone that she had put in this small glass bauble. People thought it was a little… grim. And she liked it because of that a bit, I think. But she also said that it reminded her that even the smallest things are sometimes the most important.” 

The way his eyes roamed across her neck, her pulse points, gaze tracing the edge of her jaw, it was doing something to her insides, something feral in its building intensity. Was she sure she liked it? Yes , yes, she did. But that didn’t mean it didn’t also terrify her, this sudden realization that she was being seen by another human. She’d gotten so used to people disengaging with her almost immediately, was used to all her trysts being transactional in nature. The way Tyler Galpin just looked at her was enough to undo her, dissolve her like the sugar in her glass. 

Swallowing was difficult, but she managed to take a small sip of her drink before setting it down on the counter; she wouldn't be able to drink another ounce of it until Tyler Galpin either left her alone and panting or until he decided to take her up on her very unsubtle hints that he should peel off all of her clothes and fuck her until she couldn’t even remember her name. 

Her voice was no doubt breathy, strained now when she asked, “Why a crow?” 

His eyes trailed from her jaw to her cheekbone before finally meeting her gaze. It felt like a little piece of her just unraveled from that alone, his unflinching eye contact. Finally, he answered and was his own voice weighty with some unveiled emotion. “She always liked smart, little black birds. I do, too.” The finger crooked around the necklace, curving her neck further while bringing her closer. Her chest was now flush with his own, her heaving lungs rolling up against his sternum. The chain of her necklace dug deliciously against her vertebrae, ground into the tender flesh of the nape of her neck. 

She should say something right now, this she knew. They were on a precipice here, but he’d caught her off-guard, all this high praise, all this unabashed appreciation for her spookiness. 

But it was Tyler who finally broke the short stint of silence, “I just realized that I didn’t tell you how devastatingly beautiful you look tonight, Wednesday.” 

Her heart did an odd sort of stumble. She tried to sound like her normal obstinate self when she said, “Devastating is what I do tend to aim for.” 

When his eyes dropped to her lips, it was too much, the space in between them. It felt like she was essentially crawling up the front of his body so that she could crush her mouth against his own. All at once, it was open and heated and she felt the lick of flame that had been simmering in the back of her brain turn into something untamed, a wildfire burning down even into her marrow. 

His teeth grabbed her tongue, pulling her even deeper into the kiss. The moan that left her throat was something unholy, almost unseemly in its timbre. His hand dropped her necklace so that it could snake around her neck, twirling a knuckleful of hair in his grip and pulling so that her mouth arched into his more fully. 

Wednesday Addams had kissed people before, although she had never entirely prioritized it when she had gathered up her sexual inspiration for Viper de la Muerte. She was no virgin either, hadn’t been since the age of sixteen when she was forced to attend an insipid summer camp. There had been a boy, odd and fragile, Joel Glicker, who had seemed skittish about messing around in general. But one evening when they had both stolen their camp counselor’s stash of airport bottles of vodkas, she had kissed him more out of curiosity than anything and then thought well, let’s just get this over with in terms of ridding herself of her pesky virginity. To Joel’s credit, he had lasted longer and been better at sex than Xavier Thorpe, even as a sixteen-year-old virgin who was allergic to latex. It had been fine, that first time. Unfortunately, it hadn’t hurt, not even a little bit, which she had been looking forward to with some anticipation. And each time after it had been fine, sometimes even pleasant.

If she was anything but new to all of this, then why did it feel like she was doing it all for the very first time with Tyler Galpin, like her skin was prickly and needy? Why was she almost whimpering when he reached down to grab her hips and lift her onto the kitchen counter so that could lean over her more fully? And why, in all the seven hells, was she trembling, legs shaking as she wrapped them around his waist, drawing him even more impossibly closer? 

Being with Tyler was so stratospherically different than every other time that, in a blissed-out moment as she rolled her hips against his own, she had a thought that maybe she hadn’t experienced anything really before. Maybe all those past times didn’t count because they had never felt like this. Not even close, not with her entire body humming just from the way his palm was cradling the crook of her back, the way her hands shook against his body.

Her fingers looped into the band of his pants, pulling him flush against her body before stumbling to find the belt’s buckle. She almost cursed at the way her hands quivered a bit as she went to unfasten him, pulling weakly at the strap underneath the buckle’s warmed metal. 

But before she could hardly even begin, his fingers were wrapped around her wrist, halting her. His lips curled against his mouth as he breathed at her, “Do you have a deadline you’re not telling me about?” 

She blinked, thoughts completely thrown askew. Leaning back, she frowned into his face, only allowing herself a single second to admire the way his hooded eyes seemed slightly glazed in a lusty haze. Then, without trying to conceal her confusion, she asked, “Deadline?” 

He nodded down at where her fingers were still pressed against his belt. “The four scenes you need to write,” he offered as if he was entirely skeptical that she wasn’t just messing with him. “We’ve already got one of them covered tonight, right?” 

The realization of what he was talking about hit her, brick-hard. Her lungs deflated slightly, and she found herself pursing her lips tight to keep in what she felt like a totally uncharacteristic sob. 

It made sense. The only reason he was doing any of this with her was because he had agreed to help her with her book. When he had said his girl, Viper, he had meant that literally. It didn’t extend to her, Wednesday Addams, to her cold little heart and her blunt gothic sentimentalities. 

Inhaling thinly, her mind reeled, unsure of how to proceed. She wasn’t a quitter, that was for sure, but she also was fully aware now where they stood: he was doing her a favor and it was a favor he was going to extend three more times. 

But, hells, her skin was on fire and the ache between her legs was enough to drive her mad. So she tilted her face back and said imperiously, “Perhaps we should… go over tonight’s inspiration again? To make sure I render the scene correctly?” 

The way his eyes dilated, turned dark, did something inside her chest.

Then, attempting to keep her voice flat and not at all revealing the desperation she felt, she added, “This, of course, wouldn’t count as another scene, so I will still need your assistance with the three others.” 

The words hardly left her mouth before his lips were crushing hers, his teeth nipping lightly on her bottom lip before his tongue slid in to meet her own. There was something wild about him now, the way his hands were almost gripping her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers. His palm slid up the length of her side, hip to ribcage, fingers hooking onto the band of her bra, thumb ghosting the swell of her breast. Her breath caught, she cursed his name, and he pulled back to stare at her, all blown-pupil and panting. 

“I didn’t know there were loopholes in this whole inspiration… arrangement,” he said, lips quirked in a teasing grin. 

She tried to shrug, but her body was trembling again, a trill of nervous energy coursing through her veins. “It makes sense to be thorough in our pursuit of inspiration.” 

“Absolutely,” he practically growled before grabbing her hips and pulling so that her body was leaning decidedly against the length of him. The very hard length of him.

She didn’t mean to pant when she said, “You could use this instead of your fingers this time?” When she rotated her hips against his, he hissed in what sounded like an almost pained exclamation. 

Giving her a heavy stare, he drew his lips into a hard line. “You’re trying to trick me out of this loophole, aren’t you?” And then, to punctuate the weight of his expression, his thumb slipped in between their bodies, finding her clit easily, perfectly, turning and pressing with searing intention. 

The gasp that left her was irrepressible. Her body turned a little too pliant, too soft, and she found herself falling back on her elbows, trying to swallow more air but it felt almost impossible. Were her lungs actually on fire? It seemed entirely possible with every inhale turning into something like lava in her chest. 

His thumb started up a rhythm, one entirely too slow, and she was sure he was aware of how deliciously torturous it was. Her voice was all reedy and choked when she said, “Or we could try the hands-off approach again?” 

Eyes flashing, he reached out and grabbed her by the neck, pulling her flush to his body again. The way the glow of hazel turned smoky, dangerous, almost undid her there and then, her throat keening against his palm. 

Shaking her with the grip of her neck, he growled into her face, “Stop being so wicked and have a little patience.” Then, without further preamble, he pushed her skirt up to her hips and slipped two fingers inside her. The exclamation of fucking hell, Tyler that left her was unbidden, a surprise to even her, and he paused, searching her face before he said, “You can take it, wicked girl.” 

She nodded, emphatically, immediately. “Another,” she rasped. “For research purposes, of course.” 

The grin that lifted on his face was all smug and conspiratorial. “Fair enough,” he mumbled, voice turning soft and then he withdrew his fingers; she tried not to shudder as they left her, involuntary disappointment humming through her bones. But then, just as soon as it left her, his fingers were back inside her, now three of them, a replication of what had happened back at the restaurant. 

He was slow at first, his fingers pushing in unhurriedly and confidently. His grip on her neck was firm, keeping her aloft as she clutched his chest with her nails. All her muscles felt rubbery, unsure of themselves suddenly, and oh god, it didn’t help at all when his fingers crooked just so slightly to press against the spot inside that shot pricks of electricity behind her eyes. 

“How do you…” she had to swallow thickly to finish, “...no one else finds it that quickly. If at all.” 

He paused, peering at her face, something almost softening in his gaze. Then, he looked smug and steely again, the same quality in his tone when he said, “Then don’t have anyone else do it.” When her eyes flashed to his own, he was all seriousness when he said, “Now that I know that I can do this in the name of inspiration, you just tell me whenever you need me to touch you like this, Wednesday.” His hand closed a little tighter on her throat as if to add punctuation to his statement. “I’ll be more than happy to inspire you every day for the rest of your life if you’ll let me.” 

His words were melting in her brain, a waxy sort of thing that was slipping away from her comprehension even though she tried to grasp it desperately. His last statement? What did that mean, what could it ever mean? It was all just words right now, right, the way his French words had rattled inside her brain? She wasn’t sure if he knew she understood them, had caught every phrase. But surely, he knew. Or maybe he didn’t, had just picked some French phrases from the ether, recycling ones that past lovers had shivered under, entranced and trembling just like she had been. Like she was right now, turning her into a complete mess, her mind turning into a boiling liquid cacophony. 

“No one’s touched me like you.” The confession left her mouth before she could stop it, halt it from taking life. A type of panic fluttered in her gut immediately and she snapped, “It’s infuriating because I’m not sure I’ll be able to ever let anyone else touch me knowing you could be touching me like this?” Was her stare accusatory? It only felt pleading when she added, “You’ve ruined me, Tyler Galpin.” 

It was his turn to curse, pressing his forehead to her own. “I know you’re only saying this for the sake of the book, Wednesday,” he breathed, something brittle in his voice. “But keep saying it for now, okay?” And then, inside her, he rolled his fingertips against her so perfectly that she could only clutch desperately onto his shirt, trying to keep herself steady. There was a small, satisfied smirk that grew on his face as he saw her strung-out expression. “Go on, Wednesday. Tell me that no one fucks you like I do.” 

The air she tried to gulp wasn’t enough, she was short-circuiting. He was being purposefully torturous with his movements now, his thumb lazy against her clit, the way he was pushing his fingers into her purposefully not enough to throw her off the cliff; she could almost see the edge where she could tip over and then he’d withdraw, leaving a sparkling haze growling in between her legs. 

He paused, eyeing her, his fingers frozen. “Say it, wicked girl. Or we can stop now.” 

The fire in her brain almost turned explosive and there was no way to disguise the dissolving control in her voice now when she stammered out, a little too loud, “No one!” 

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “No one what?”

“No one touches me, fucks me likes you do,” she heard herself say, trying to arch herself against him, frantic for the friction of his fingers and hand once again. But upon trying the action she found him clasp her throat tighter before shaking her once again. 

A swirl of lack of oxygen hit her brain, blissful in the way it was pushing a lightheaded pleasure through her bloodstream. 

“Patience,” he hissed gently down at her, an almost monstrous smile on his face. The edge of deviousness in his gaze did something to her, causing her to clamped tightly around his fingers. He sucked in a stream of air in reaction, eyes clenching shut as if he was trying to focus his thoughts or whatever thoughts that might be possible in a moment like this; she was entirely sure her thoughts were all flossy sugary things, ready to dissolve easily into a climax she was desperate for.  Then finally, cursing lightly, he said, “Okay, Christ, give me a second or I’m going to come before you, Wednesday.” 

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen in her brain, but the words out of her mouth were half-pleading, half-bossy, “Come with me, Tyler. Inside. I want you to come inside me. With me.” 

His eyes flew open, and suddenly it was his chest heaving. Then, he shook his head, said, “I… we’re supposed to be working on that one scene…” 

“We’re improving the scene,” she clipped, grabbing him by his shirt collar and somehow, in an impassioned twist of her hips and thighs, reversed their positions so that his back was against the ledge of the counter, her feet thwacking on the floor for only a second. Then with the heels of her palms, she pushed him so that he fell back against the counter, only catching himself with his elbows and a small breath of whoa, hey.

He was surprised, this she was sure, but there was a gleam in his gaze, a delighted surprise. 

The pleased expression dissolved into something close to blanched wantonness when she pushed herself up, crawling over him. Then, tugging on the buttoned seam of his shirt, she tugged him further along the length countertop so that she could lock her thighs snugly against the shelf of his hips. 

“I told you that I would prefer to straddle you,” she said, able to fake a calmness now that she saw his amused panic as he gawked up at her. “And I promised you’d get a better look at these.” Here, she lifted a garter strap before letting it snap with vigor against her thigh, the sting thrilling her a bit. She arched an eyebrow at him, “You liked them, correct?”

His gaze slipped to them and this time it was his turn to almost audibly gulp. “Like? I’m not sure if something that might ruin my life is exactly something I would say I like .” He reached out to touch one, holding himself aloft with a crooked elbow, but she caught his wrist, clicking her tongue.

“I said you could look ,” she commanded down at him. “Not touch. Not yet.”

Again, he swallowed what seemed like a lump in his throat, only nodding, watching with wide-eyed wonderment as she unbuckled him finally and slipped her hands past the waistband of both his pants and briefs. Without any sheepishness, she gripped him firmly in her palm, her thumb rolling around the tip, already slick with a layer of precum, before she rotated her wrist down the length of him. The gust of fuck, Wednesday that left his mouth was mixed with a low, rumbly groan and she felt a zing shoot in her own body at the sound. 

She hitched her core against him next, pressing his cock against the damp fabric so that she could roll against it. “Look at the mess you’ve made of me already,” she directed at him, showing him the stain of her arousal against the dark satin of her underwear. Another hitch of her hips and he bucked underneath her, the knot in between his eyes reappearing. “I told you that no one touches me like you, but there’s your proof.”

The curse that left his lips was pleasured agony, and he rasped up at her, “Say it again, Wednesday. Please.” 

Pushing the gusset of her underwear, she rotated her hand one last time before positioning herself over the head of his cock. She waited an antagonizing moment before sinking herself down on top of him, almost choking on the feeling of the stretch. 

His hands were gripping her thigh, fingertips digging little divots against her skin. “Are you… are you okay? You did that a little too fast.” It was his turn to sound bossy, “You really aren’t into being patient, are you?” 

“I have been patient,” she parried at him. “I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me all night.” But, oh hells, yes, he wasn’t entirely wrong. He was definitely the largest person she’d ever been with, but there was something so delicious about the pinch of her body shifting around him, accommodating every inch to him and she ground herself on top of him.  It was so effortless, that way that he fit inside her, the way that if she shifted just so that he slid against her walls in a way that was electrifying. It was entirely like… 

“You’re taking me beautifully,” he rumbled up at her, his hazel eyes shining in a glow of some emotion or thought that she couldn’t name. “Better than anyone else. Wednesday.” Her brain misfired at the statement, her keening note hitting the air first before she pressed her palms against his chest, using it as leverage to allow herself to raise and lower herself on top of him once again, all of him, down to the hilt. 

The sparks lit in the back of her vision. She was pretty sure her eyes rolled so far back in her head that Tyler could only see the whites of them. 

Cursing his name first, she couldn’t stop herself from groaning, “It’s infuriating how much it feels like you were meant to be inside me.” It was an absurd statement, one that was unguarded and entirely too much, but it was there, out in the ether. 

He should balk, this she assumed, although Wednesday was completely too far gone, she realized, to think her usual seven steps into the future. If he pushed her off him for being so bold, she supposed she’d have to deal with that later. Because right now all she could do was clutch her fingers tight to his shirt like he was a lifeline, like if she grasped tight enough that all her too-bold declarations would be forgiven. 

Instead of everything she had thought would happen, however, Tyler merely reached up, grabbed the garter straps, pulling in earnest, thrusting the two of them together. 

“You know why? Why it feels that way?” His voice was strained but still deep. Pulling tighter, his knuckles almost white, he ran a thumb still over the length of her thigh. His eyes shifted from where their bodies were joining up to her face, catching her unaware with his sudden piercing gaze. 

She wanted to reply in a way that felt rational, logical, her normal deadpan expression all flat and matter-of-factual. But the fact of the matter was that her climax was swelling inside her, a powerful wave, one that threatened to flow over her, drowning her in something that she wasn’t quite sure she’d survive. All she could manage was a breathy, “You should tell me before I come.” Pivoting against him, she added, “I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to hear for a while after, oh hells …” 

He had grabbed her neck again, suddenly and pushed himself up to a seating position. The movement had shifted him inside of her, causing her to grab a fistful of his hair. His hands were still on the straps of her garter, pulling her so tightly she swore the garment night snap neatly in half. 

Pressing his forehead against her, he was able to nip one kiss from her top lip before saying, “The reason why is because you’re mine, Wednesday Addams.”

It was a lightning bolt, a flash of something white hot and searing crawling down her spine. Pooling at the small of her back, it spread like liquid fire, pulsing until swelling inside her stomach, in between her legs. It was like she was being tattooed again, but this time only on the inside, invisible to everyone except her, to the very DNA that made up all of her person.

She was sure she came so hard that it was almost painful to both of them. Pain for her, of course, was always welcome, the perfect accompaniment to the jolt of pleasure. For a moment, she worried about Tyler, her walls bearing down on him with a vise-like strength that could be too much, all agony. 

But he barely breathed her name, tender now, the edge of something dangerous fizzled and apparent only in the hoarseness of his voice as he said, “Are you sure? That you want me…”

She understood the question, pushed her knees tighter against his hips, and asked, “And what do you want, Tyler?” 

The way his eyebrows were knotting together was pressed against the thin skin of her forehead, and she could merely kiss him again and say, “You know what I want. Tell me what you want.”

His answer was succinct, quick: “I want to hear you say it.” 

Wednesday knew. She knew what he wanted to hear, but the words fluttered in her throat, burning. Because there was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that when it left her mouth that it wouldn’t just be for the rising climax he was clawing towards. Her own orgasm was still stretching on and on, but it was turning into a type of intoxicating purr, leveling out from its initial dizzying heights. 

The problem was when she said it, she feared she might actually mean it. 

Her own brows drew together, him continuing to pivot inside her, pushing her orgasm to continue shivering through her. “I…” she tried and then licked her lips before she hedged, “I’m disastrously yours, Tyler.” 

The groan that left him felt primal. His fingers twisted in her garter straps, pulling enough that she was sure it was going to snap this time. Gruffly but also with a sort of imploring entreaty, he said, “Again. Say it again.” 

The grip she had in his curls turned desperate, pulling him back, her eyes all fire into his face, “I’m yours. It’s like I could never choose otherwise. Or like I wouldn’t ever want to choose anything different.” His eyes met hers, all fevered intensity, brows still knitted, mouth slightly loose in the throes of something she couldn't parse out. 

Other than his hammering heart and heaving chest, there was a beat of silence. A fear clutched her, a thought: you’ve gone too far. He’d seen through the thin veil and pretense of this being all facade, that she was merely doing some very hands-on research for a novel. 

But Tyler merely said, one of his hands leaving the passionate grip on her garter strap to cup her face, tilt her chin to his mouth. Quietly, almost silently, “Me too, wicked girl. How could I choose anything else?” He didn’t let her answer, licking into her mouth for a second before imploring, “Tell me to pull out…”

“Don't. Please.” The desperation in her voice was all awful, she knew, but his words were sinking into her like the coolest shadow, a relief even if she knew it wasn’t actually real. For a moment, while her orgasm simmered to a pleasant buzz, she’d let herself indulge in something entirely too decorous for her usual liking. But she couldn’t help it, could feel her heart clenching around the last of her declarations, “Go on: make me yours, Tyler.” 

It was almost instantaneous, like he had been waiting for her to say the words. He breathed her name so carefully like it might break in his throat. His thumb and forefinger gripped her chin, pulling her down into another kiss, bruising in its intensity. She could feel him unravel against her, but his eyes stayed trained on her after their kiss broke. He peered into her face, thumb trailing along her jawline. 

The heights of both of their orgasms shuddered between the two of them. Her ears were, indeed, ringing. His hips hitched one last time against hers and she pulled him down for another press of her mouth. 

Then, slowly, she said, “I told you that you shouldn’t leave your bike running.” 

The noise that left him was a genuine huff of laughter. Leaning his forehead against hers once again, he said, “Honestly? I would have let someone steal the damn thing if I knew this is what you meant by nightcap.”

She pulled back, peering up at him. “This was very much a nightcap. We merely capped the night off with an orgasm that I think has rewired my DNA.” 

This got her a small smile, but mostly it caused his face to draw into something contemplative. “Ah, so you planned this all along?” 

There was something conspiratorial there, like he understood the rationale behind her decisions, behind the entire series of events between them. 

Frowning, she quipped, “I am a fan of extensively laid plans, yes. They feel adjacent to machinations. But I didn’t expect this… certain location.” She stared down, noting that they were, in fact, still perched in a rather disheveled fashion atop the kitchen island counter.

Tyler huffed a chuckle, shook his head in agreement. “Got to say that I didn’t expect to break in the new apartment this way.” His eyes flashed for only a second before he added, “But this works. Although we should probably devote extensive cleaning time to this particular space.” 

Her head tilted. “Why? We’ve already put our mouths on almost every part of each other’s bodies…” 

He gripped her chin, interrupting her with a kiss, and this time it felt entirely too tender, affectionate. She had to break away to say, “If you would prefer a less hard surface, my bed provides more… give.” Her eyes felt a little hooded when she said this and she had to blink it away. Was she being greedy? She only had three more times, and that was if he was willing to accept that this time had merely been a remix of their previous encounter in L’Auberge. 

For a long moment, he considered her before he said, “I should probably go? Now that the inspiration is fresh in your mind, you’ll probably want to write without me hanging around.” 

She sniffed. “You’re going to be living here in less than a week, Tyler. You might as well get used to my writing sessions. And I should get used to you hanging around.”  She issued him a small smirk before adding, “You are aware that I’ve lived with people before? Admittedly, one of them would have rather vacated their mortal coil than live a second longer with me, but nevertheless, I’m not completely without practice.” 

His thumb was still rubbing the skin of her thigh, completely distracting her, but she forced herself to focus while he replied, “If anything, I’m probably the one with the worse track record: an absentee father and an eviction isn’t exactly the most stellar rap sheet.” 

“So, it’s settled then. You’ll stay,” she said firmly, forcing herself to slide off his body and out of his grip. The chill left where his hands had been and the fact that he was no longer inside her sent a rather unpleasant shiver through her body. 

She didn’t expect him to stare like he did as she attempted to rearrange in front of him, but she caught his eyes and she almost blushed. And Wednesday Addams did not, under any circumstances, blush. But the darkness in his eyes as she straightened her skirt back around her hips and smoothed down her tangled strands of hair caught her unaware. The fact that his eyes were trailing down to her legs where she knew both of their releases were trailing down the inside of her thighs felt so incredibly wanton that she had to duck her head to keep the flush from showing up on her cheeks. 

“Ajax has a menagerie of clothes here,” she said, shimmying her skirt down just a bit more and then marching to the other side of the room where Enid’s belongings sat cold, almost dusty. How long had it been since her friend had spent the night here? Weeks? She supposed more of her clothes were at Ajax’s at this point than her own apartment. 

Removing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she tucked them under her arm and headed back to where Tyler was now leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to straighten himself as well. Offering the bundle of clothes to him, she said, “I think his clothes should fit? And I’m sure he will not mind. He hasn’t even spent the night here in months.” 

Gingerly taking the clothes from her, he nodded, said with a small smile, “If I know anything about Ajax, it’s that he’s perfectly fine with his clothes being scattered across this entire town. I still haven’t found his pants that he wore to the party from last night.” Then, shaking out the shirt, he surveyed it, snorted a laugh, and then flipped the shirt so that the shirt’s screen-printed text was facing her. “I don’t know why I expected anything less, but this is truly peak Ajax.” 

The black shirt simply displayed, in bold Helvetica lettering: Neurodivergent And Ready to Fuck. Rolling her eyes, she said, “I swear he curates his wardrobe in an attempt to only cause chaos wherever he goes.” 

This earned her a laugh, and he nodded before suddenly looking up sheepishly. “Uh, this is awkward, but just realizing that there’s really nowhere for me to change other than the bathroom. And I’m guessing you’ll want a shower?” 

It was all indulgent, but she allowed herself one long lookover of his body before saying, “You may have forgotten, but we were both entirely naked the other evening.”

He seemed to choke on his own air in response but then shook his head vigorously. “I definitely did not forget that. I just…” he cocked his head at her almost shyly, “...didn’t know what the ground rules were for us. Now that we’re going to be roommates.” 

It was a good point. She considered, said, “We should discuss that soon. Ajax and Enid want to go out tomorrow night to celebrate you getting evicted.”

Another laugh. “Yeah, of course they’d want to celebrate that.

Her lips quirked in agreeance at the absurdity of it. “We can discuss then? Any and all ground rules?” 

He nodded and then began unbuttoning his shirt. Involuntarily, her breath caught a little, allowing herself one last look as his golden skin emerged underneath each button. They hadn’t even bothered with undressing, the only skin exposed truly the ones needed for intercourse, but she suddenly had the urge to rip his shirt off of him so that she could run the flat of her palms from his chest to waist. 

Tyler must have caught her staring because he paused, looked at her quizzically. “You’re still okay with me ad hoc disrobing in here, right?” 

Blinking rapidly, she pushed away her reverie and then simply said, “Okay? Yes. Very okay.” Then without further explanation of how very okay she was with it, she added and lifted a brow in his direction, “I’m going to take a shower. You may join me if you would like?” 

His fingers froze mid-unbuttoning, his eyes flitting up to her. And then, slowly, he answered, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

Her eyebrow lifted higher. “We’ve already established that we’ve seen each other naked. I fail to see how being naked in the shower is any different.” 

“We weren’t necessarily bathing the last time we were naked,” he responded, a soft and knowing smile on his face. “And considering we’ve already been really pushing the limits of what counts as a repeat of each inspiration, I think we should probably call it a night for further inspiration.” 

Her lips pursed tightly, something leaden settling in her stomach. She had prepared herself for this, for the postcoital discussion that would lurch her back to the reality of their situation. He’d been doing an excellent job of providing her material for Viper, nothing more, nothing less. His declarations of her being his were all a very good performance, and he’d been transparent about that from the beginning. 

Yes, she’d know it was coming. She’d thought she had been prepared. But the sting of disappointment still rattled her, a cut that she felt so deeply that she knew she needed to push it down, try to squash it before it invaded all her thoughts. 

“Very well,” she mumbled. Then, quickly so as not to meet his eyes, she plodded quickly towards the bathroom, slamming the shower on with vigor towards the hottest setting, hoping that the burn of heat would distract her. It didn’t, her mind only replaying the evening’s events like a broken record inside her mind’s eye. His voice, rumbly and low against her cheekbone at the restaurant. The way his jacket smelled like him as he wrapped it around her, refusing to allow her to reject it. And then, of course, the phrase You’re mine, Wednesday Addams. 

She’d admit it: It was good material for the book. She imagined the soccer moms who took the dust jackets off her books to hide what they were reading would eat it up. Honestly, she should be thankful to him for providing it to her, for giving her exactly what she needed.

The problem was what she actually needed was entirely unclear now that Tyler Galpin had unceremoniously wandered into her life and rather ruined everything. 

The bathroom was a steamy mess after she emerged from her searing shower. Scrubbing her face vigorously, she cleared her makeup off and combed briefly through her wet hair. Vaguely, she was aware that many women would not be so bold as to go clean-faced to bed with their… whatever she and Tyler were on their first date. But she had just scrubbed both of their bodily fluids from her body, so she supposed the need to be shy about her appearance was essentially over. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, she found him strewn across her couch, resting casually on his side. In his hands, he was holding a book, reading it with that signature knot between his brows. When she strode into the room, however, he sat up quickly, nodding down at the book, and said, “Hope you don’t mind. I was totally snooping and saw this. It’s one of my favorites.” 

She arched a brow in his direction. “The kleptomaniac urge finally took hold?” 

Chuckling, he bit his lip, looking sheepish. “I have no plans for this to leave the apartment, but yeah, I guess helping myself to your books is probably something that we should consider discussing tomorrow ni…” and then his words died in his throat, eyes going wide, dilated. 

She had removed her towel so that she could dress, very aware that this would render her completely naked for at least a couple of seconds while she slid on her nightdress. Upon seeing his flummoxed gaze, she paused, evaluating, “I thought we had agreed that we were comfortable changing in the apartment?”

The way his throat bobbed indicated an almost audible gulp. And then, blinking rapidly, he dropped his gaze and stammered out, “Oh! Yeah! We did. Sorry. I’m sorry, I totally didn’t mean to um, gawk?” 

“I’m fine with gawking,” she replied blithely, slipping the silk nightdress over her head and letting it settle over her body. “As long as you are fine with the fact that I don’t sleep with underwear on.” The way his eyes snapped up to hers, flinty in something that made her stomach flip, emboldened her to add, “And that’s if I wear anything at all.”  

Another gulp. His eyes roamed over her for a brief second before he blinked again and he said, “It’s supposed to be pretty chilly tonight, so probably would be best to keep the clothes on?” 

“I’ve already told you that I prefer the cold,” she replied, relishing the blanched and bewildered expression on his face. Then, inhaling, she said, “Were you planning on coming to bed?” 

Tyler’s face twisted in confusion. “I think I am in bed?” With a sweep of his hand, the one holding the book, he indicated his current perch on the couch. 

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t be ridiculous. My bed is plenty big enough for the both of us.” She ran a hand through her hair, walking towards her section of the apartment before looking over her shoulder and saying, “Are you coming or do I need to use my garter straps to drag you there?”

He eyed her for a long second before breathing out a small chuckle. “Not sure if being dragged by those is necessarily the threat you think it is.” 

She bit back a small grin. “You did seem to like those.” 

“I did.” His reply was instantaneous and firm, offering little room for doubt. Then, he bit his lip, stood up, and strode over to where she stood, right at the space where her bookshelves almost met the wall, her bed tucked neatly behind it. Stopping in front of her, he peered into her face and said, “You sure? I’ve never really… slept with another person before. For all I know I could be a blanket hog. Or a snorer.” 

Shrugging, she quipped, “Those are simple obstacles to overcome. I’ll just plug your nose so that you wake from lack of oxygen.” 

His lips twitched in a teasing grin. “Ah, yes, a simple solution: me almost dying.” 

“ Almost being the operative word.” When he barked a small laugh, she couldn’t help but let the tiniest smile pull at the corner of her mouth. Why making Tyler Galpin laugh had that effect on her, she didn’t know, but it was going to become something like an addiction, she could feel it in her bones.

Her bed was full-sized and absurdly normal. At home, her parents had insisted that her furniture be ornate, all carved mahogany wood, a canopy of black fabric hung over it. It was too much, too fussy for her sentiments, and so when she had vacated to Nevermore, she had insisted on a normal-sized mattress that sat on a simple black metal frame. She did have some difficulty finding sheets in the shade of black she desired (dark, no patterns, and breathable microfiber versus the satin that her parents insisted upon at home). It was hers though, entirely hers, and she had relished it although the insomnia that had persistently haunted her back at home followed her to Nevermore, slithering into her normal bed and keeping her awake, eyes narrowed in frustration at the ceiling. 

But last night, after Tyler brought her to shaking, insanity heights of a climax, she had crawled into bed and practically became unconscious immediately upon her head being placed on the pillow. And tonight, again, she felt the lovely heaviness of sleep press against her chest. When she felt the weight of him settle in next to her, a yawn left her, unbidden, indecorous.

“I echo that,” Tyler said, voice soft. “Hanging out with my grandfather and father is enough to tire out the toughest of us, I guess.” 

She peered up at him from her repose on the pillow.  He was eyeing her in that way again, like she was some kind of complicated knot that he was entirely unsure how to undo. Offering him a small shrug, she said, “True, but imagine how exhausted they are after having to deal with us.”

Again, a breath of laughter, and he nodded. The hazel of his eyes continued to perceive her in a way that made her want to do many things at the same time: demand to know what he was thinking, demand to keep all that to himself, demand him to take off her nightdress and cover her body with his own.

But instead of doing any of that, she tipped her chin at the book he was holding and asked, “What book caught your thieving attention?” 

He stared down at it, flicked through the pages with his thumb before saying quietly, “Mary Oliver. I didn’t really pin you as a Mary Oliver kind of reader.”

She shifted, her leg extending so that she could feel the heat of his body next to her shin. Not touching, she didn’t dare for some reason, but so, so close. Then, with a small breath, she recited, “When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks? And should we not thank the knife also? We do not live in a simple world.”

“At the River Clarion . I love that one: If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck. He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke. Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.” His voice was soft, head cocking in what seemed like a curious examination. She blinked, surprised at how quickly he had clocked the quote so readily, so easily. His affinity for reading and books and his quick wit and intelligence made all her veins feel staticy warm. 

Watching his face, she reached out, tapping the book in his hands. “What poem of hers are you reading right now?” 

Clearing his throat, he peered down at her for a split second before turning back to the book. Propping himself up on his elbow, his voice was rumbly, soothing in its timbre when he started, “This one is called Moments . I’ve read it before, but I don’t know if I’ve…” he stopped, a knot again in his brows, and then continued, “... have you ever had something you’ve read mean something different to you at different times in your life?” 

She wasn’t a creature who usually enjoyed warmth, but the bed with both of them was lulling in its level of heat, the same temperature as gently thrumming blood. Her heart rate was slowing and she issued another yawn before saying, “Always. Often. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve really ever experienced something at all when I reread it.” 

His eyes traveled across every part of her face before he replied, “Me too. And this poem? I don’t know. It’s like I’ve heard it as noise in the past, but now it’s music?” He offered a shy grin. “How ridiculous does that sound?” 

“Not at all,” she replied swiftly, feeling her eyelids getting heavy. The top of her foot barely curved into the skin of his ankle. There was no flinch away and her heart did one single shudder before resuming its normal pace. “Read it to me. The poem.” 

He did, his voice gravelly. “There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.” He paused, and the next part was soft, almost whisper-quiet. “Like telling someone you love them. Or giving your money away, all of it.” His hand reached out and pushed a single strand of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

Her breathing felt tight and yet relaxed, deepening in some sort of unflappable sleepiness. Her eyes closed, the weight of her eyelids practically unbearable. 

It was his voice that was the last thing she heard as her body melted slowly in the bed, the poem flowing through her brain like a stiff drink. “Your heart is beating, isn’t it? You’re not in chains, are you?” 

And right before she tipped into the blissful darkness of a deep sleep, she heard him distantly finish the poem, “There is nothing more pathetic than caution when headlong might save a life, even, possibly, your own.”

If asked if she could trust that she heard him mumble right before she plunged into unconsciousness, “You’re going to ruin my life, aren’t you, Wednesday Addams?” she wouldn’t really know what to say. She couldn’t be sure because the next thing she knew, she was pitched into dreams of golden skin and shy smiles and the reverberation of You’re mine, Wednesday Addams.