Chapter Text
She was so beautiful.
But at a funeral, in her best elements of sorrow and melancholy in the drizzling rain and heavy clouds. She was bloody ethereal.
Wednesday Addams has haunted his nights since she had infiltrated his life, with such carelessness and bluntness it had him gripping at the fraying edges of sanity, she had him bewitched; although she would despise him for even thinking so he truly believed if the heavens ever had created someone for him it had to be her.
He would have worshipped her if she humoured him, on his knees wherever she wanted, to look up into those wide soulless eyes that glinted with something twisted that made the heat in the bottom of his gut liquid.
He watched as her eyes darted conspicuously, she studied each person with a maintained composure yet with how her eyebrows were raised. Her cherry lips were forcefully down turned he knew she held back her gorgeous grin. He wondered if this too was an Addams family tradition, where as a child she followed her parents to funerals and they basked in the misery of all those who surrounded them. He wouldn’t be too surprised.
Honestly, it filled him with envy - that lack of consciousness- the way the judgement of others didn’t even bother them much less held them back from continuing as they always had.
However, Wednesday herself had her own allure, he had met her parents and they were certainly noticeable in their own ways but it could not compare to the bewitching beauty she possessed.
Apparent in the rain with porcelain skin splayed with dusted freckles you could only see if you got close enough to see the bronze flecks in her eye ( she would flay him alive if she were to find out how he wanted to map them with his lips), she had sharp features a physical manifestation of her own wit he supposed, with ashy purple and blues tones that only made her dark eyes and full cupid bow lips, all the more arresting.
All very clearly framed with dark raven bangs and her twin pigtails which had become his favourite thing to play with while she ignored him on their Saturday morning meet-ups/ conspiracy club of 2 sessions ( he’d considered progress after no fork had been used to stab him this week).
Nonetheless, she seemed to be unravelling every single one of the clumsy stitches of his facade, he knew this image of her as a dealer of judgement soaked in the rain (trailing the way the water hazed her into a dream-like figure, untouchable to a mortal like him) would keep him up for nights, screaming into his pillow, or closing his eyes on the darker nights to imprint her on his eyelids, fuck he might even add a couple of nights to the countless nights he spent with a hand shoved down his sweats, gripping himself, her name slipping from him like a mantra.
For someone as observant as her, it was impossible how she had not denounced his depraved behaviour, he suspected she knew he was whipped like a puppy at her heels, ready and waiting in command for anything she could need.
He honestly had never regretted something as much as not meeting Wednesday first so she could be his master, she would be so good to him, for him.
And he would be so, so, good to her - for her.
An untouched part of him, that had excused himself since his formation with Hyde had come alive in her presence, under all the vows he uttered to her some part of the pretence had morphed solidifying into something real and raw he didn’t dare name.
He knew he was far deeper than he was even meant to think of her, the curiosity and misplaced hospitality to lure her that he had spun had turned into his own rope to hang; it had evolved into soft smiles, a genuine trust with wholehearted acceptance of who she was, she was someone who had turned him into her plaything.
He wondered if she would accept him the same way if she knew what lay in his shadow and the blood that he washed away, thoughts of her dulling the sharp stabs of conflict within him.
Telling his foolish heart to cease being foolish, when she rolled her eyes or seemed so utterly conflicted by the simplest concepts when she was one of the most intelligent beings he had ever met.
He could spend eternity, listening to the patronising lull of her voice, basking in the archive of her morbid knowledge and memorising the way her lips curled like a cat who had gained the cream when she napalmed her macabre facts, if she was a chapter of his life, he would annotate and mark her as he had yearned to do, there would be dog eared marks in a hurried fashion to learn all he could about her in his house of cards before it all fell apart, there would be pages he could recite in his sleep because he never wanted an existence without her ghoulish shadow in it.
Yet in the witching hours, the serpent slips into his mind, allowing temptation to consume him with a feverous hunger for Wednesday Addams.
He envisioned if she would ever be able to grasp the complex depths of what he felt for her (he didn’t dare to wonder himself how deep he was knowing it would only make things more difficult), he could also simplify his emotional morse code for her, into something more primal and forthright.
He would hold her like he wanted to, he would touch her like he wanted to, even kneeling in front of her in worship he would defile her as he had yearned to do.
Body, soul and heart - he would monopolise her mind.
He’d deceive her body first, taking her firsts and ruining it so that she wouldn’t even consider anyone else, he would map out expanses of treasured ivory skin, in turn creating his masterpiece of marks across it, he would serve her in ways she did not know how to comprehend till her fingers had made a bloody mess of his back and her spellbinding eyes rolling back, the raven locks which he had wanted to make a mess of, his hands pulling her closer to him, the taste of her beyond his imagination.
It was surreal, his church had told him devoted faith would grant your rewards, and even at his mother’s funeral, they had murmured among themselves that all was done with purpose but he had to maintain blind faith.
If there was a higher being he wished it was her with every reverent cell in his body, at her altar worshipping her would be reward enough, a selfish prayer, a blind faith which confined his heart within her hands.
He wanted to surrender himself to her, ripping her open and indulging in the warm, enticing red.
Crawling in to make space for himself, enclosed within her ribs, grasping at her heart and holding it close as he sewed her up, so they would be one and a part of her was marred with his filthy existence that she could not cleanse.
He would be kind, sweet, and helpful, moulding himself into the prison he had made, fitting his large, awkward, monstrous figure with tight edges; if that's what she had wanted, but he knew at the end when he had stripped away pretences and their pride they were one of the same and whilst the knowledge itself had granted him inexplicable ecstasy when she had seen his monstrous mask, splattered in blood and shredded skin.
But humans were greedy, with the misguided attention and affection she had given him had turned him desperate for more.
As she locked eyes with him across the funeral procession her attention hadn’t even lingered in suspicion, he wondered if she was aware of her unconscious dependency on him, and her silent attempts at adoration. Perhaps the web he had spun worked a little too well, in its chaotic yet inconspicuous approach that neither was aware of till it was far too late, with straying fingers that brushed past others, unlikely glances filled with fugitive feelings, on the tip of their tongues the words that should never escape into the wild.
But they would, all things had their tipping point and theirs would just be too fast, too much want, need, and possessiveness poured into a boiling pot of too many misdirections and well-versed lies.
But they would fly into the sun if only to bask in that slim moment of rightness where they were together.
He could fantasise about what would happen if he transformed right in front of her, skin ripping apart, his face disfigured, every single bone in his body being shattered apart. Someone like her would understand, he was sure of it but the slightest doubt held him back, cowardice a companion for far too long.
These days only the witching hour bought him to life, he mused about the day he could show Wednesday his full capabilities.
Chasing her deep in the night.
Primitive, instinctual, through the sinister forests, isolated for miles around where it would just be the 2 of them, where he could do whatever he wanted or perhaps let her do what she wanted to him.
His jaws ached just imagining it, well they would know soon…after all tonight would be his long-awaited date.