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Some things in Wednesday’s life are constant.
- Anytime Uncle Fester reaches out of his own accord, it’s because he needs something. Bail, a getaway driver, a safe house or a second fiddle to a particular scam. Given that he will rarely turn Wednesday down when she needs something, their relationship works extremely well on a mutual basis and she doesn’t mind this in the slightest.
- A glazier needs to be on call for the weeks after her father takes her mother out to see the opera. On one memorable occasion, her father had streaked blood and water all through the house after one ambitious shower aria had shattered the glass panels of the stall. He’d been terrifyingly chipper for days.
- Enid Sinclair will be unnervingly and unerringly excited for any and all social occasions that involve dressing up and no death. There are no exceptions.
She is reminded of this in the drive up to Nevermore on the evening of the ten year class reunion.
Enid has been chatting her ear off for the past half hour of the drive, her observations and predictions and questions reaching a fever pitch. When Wednesday proved to not be up to scratch in joining in, she’d made a valiant effort to chat to Lurch, which went about as well as Wednesday could have expected.
Wednesday won’t say she’s not excited, to some degree. She hasn’t seen Eugene in far too long, and some of the less insipid members of her class make for acceptable company. The last time she’d seen Bianca in person had been four or so years ago; Bianca had needed someone to help make sense of and collate all the damning evidence she’d collected against her mother’s cult. Wednesday had liked Bianca long before that, but it had cemented the respect she held for her.
Mostly, she’s excited to see Larissa.
The reunion itself has been postponed six months after their actual graduation date. After Wednesday had concluded her investigation into the botany mystery, it had been revealed that a disgruntled former student and ecology prodigy (gifted with supernatural control over plants) had intended on wreaking havoc over the school. The plan was to stimulate growth of the plant itself until it could lay waste to the student population; a plan truncated by Wednesday liberating the Exitalis Acidum and bringing the errant alum to the school to face whatever justice Larissa saw fit.
Not before the student had, in a fit of anger, grown the ivy covering one of the walls of the campus and used it to collapse an entire section of an outer wall.
It was understandable that Larissa had postponed the gathering.
But they’re here now, passing through the gaudily decorated gates proclaiming the event.
Enid’s commentary has somehow sped up even more, with Wednesday very appreciative that it requires no input from her. Enid’s smoothing her hands over the dress she finally decided on, starting roughly three hours before they left from her house. Wednesday had arrived the night before, enduring a girls’ night that Enid had made thankfully bearable. Well used to Enid’s antics now, she’d had to physically dodge the brightly coloured makeup brush Enid brandished in her direction.
Lurch grumbles, swinging into a park before getting out to open the doors for them.
“Ready or not, here we go!” Enid singsongs, prancing up the drive with her arm through Wednesday’s. Here we go, indeed.
-
It could be worse, when all is said and done. The gymnasium is rather gauchely decorated in a way all too reminiscent of one of their high school dances, and Wednesday has been cheerily greeted by far too many people that she summarily hated, but Bianca sought her and Enid out as soon as they arrived. Swanning up to the three of them with three glasses of vile looking liquid, she gushed over Enid’s outfit and told Wednesday that she looked like a corpse just this side of decomposition, so compliments all round.
Eugene hasn’t arrived, but he’d assured Wednesday via email (she’s still managed to avoid any more phone use than strictly necessary) that he’d be there.
“Omg, look!” Enid points, Wednesday craning her head around fellow classmates that managed a slightly more impressive growth spurt than her.
Larissa stands near the stage, making conversation with a teacher and ex-student, in all her resplendent glory.
Clad in a dark blue suit, the perfectly tailored construction of her blazer accentuating her shoulders and the skirt of it hugging her legs, she swivels as if called and makes eye contact with their group.
If Wednesday indulged in something so pedestrian as “getting nervous” her palms would be sweating.
“Do you think she saw me point? Oh god, she’s coming over.” Enid starts wringing her hands, and Wednesday has to pry them apart.
“Enid, you haven’t been a student here in ten years, you’re not about to get your Jericho privileges revoked. Relax.”
Larissa reaches them, turning first to Enid.
“Ah, Miss Sinclair,” she grasps Enid’s hands, “a pleasure to see you here, so glad you could make it. And Miss Barclay! I hadn’t realised the two of you had kept in contact after high school, but seeing the article Enid published exposing MorningSong, I knew the anonymous source must have been you.”
Larissa’s expression turns serious, and she clasps Bianca’s hand between her own two. “Though I may not have been privy to all the machinations of that cult, or what they did to you, I am aware of how you struggled and fought to get out from under their thumb, even in high school. It is with great pride that I’ve followed your journey, both your journeys,” she nods her head at Enid, “and no small amount of satisfaction at the way you so thoroughly tore them down and salted the earth.”
Enid blushes all the way from her hairline to, Wednesday presumes, her toes. Bianca takes the praise with much more grace, giving Larissa a small smile and nod, squeezing the hands still enveloping her own.
Bianca smiles, all self-effacing. “Thank you, Ms Weems. To be honest, I couldn’t have done it without Wednesday. She was a godsend in making sense of it all.”
“Yes, well,” Larissa turns to Wednesday then, a half-smile playing on her lips, “She’s always been rather relentless in pursuing things, and getting in over her head.”
“Just one of the many traits nurtured within these hallowed walls.” Wednesday proffers her hand, delighted when Larissa shakes it coolly. So it’s that game they’re playing, is it? Out of view of the other two, she allows her thumb to trace the backs of Larissa’s knuckles, revelling in the slight quirk of the eyebrow it brings her. Her eyes drop further, alighting on the black dahlia brooch at Larissa’s lapel.
“Indeed. And we were so lucky to see it flourish here.” Larissa drops her hand, looking over their heads and waving. “Pardon me, I must see to the other guests. But it was ever so delightful seeing you all, we must catch up later on!”
“What was all that about?” Bianca asks once Larissa has sauntered off, turning to Wednesday and crossing her arms.
“What do you mean?”
“Wednesday, she was so cold to you! That was so weird, no way would she be holding a ten year grudge after you saved her life!” Enid says, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern.
“Yeah, she was acting really weird.” Bianca’s tone is calculating, assessing, and Wednesday turns away from her.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Let’s go catch up with everyone else, surely there’s someone else we can talk to here without me wanting to perform radical cornea surgery with a cocktail olive stick.”
-
Wednesday has made a grave tactical error.
Enid, though a lot more conscious of Wednesday’s inability to keep up with her conversation-wise, has been in top form all night.
Wednesday, though a lot better at handling Enid’s constant stream of consciousness, has been getting slowly and slowly more worn down by it.
So here she is, taking a moment to breathe under the guise of refilling drinks, when she gets accosted by the punchbowl. Honestly, the worst part is probably the cliche of it all.
“So, Wednesday Addams,” Xavier Thorpe drawls, leaning on the refreshment table with, what Wednesday can only assume, he thinks is a cool, unaffected air. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Personally, I could’ve gone for another ten years.” She replies, ladling punch out into their glasses.
“There’s that bite. God, I missed that. So how’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know. Near death experiences, gardening, close encounters of the monstrous kind, taxes. The usual.”
“Yep, me too. Mainly the,” he gestures vaguely, “taxes. Some monsters.”
“Your loss.” Wednesday turns, glasses balanced in her hands, but Xavier stops her with a hand on her arm. It’s all she can do to not use one of the glasses as a makeshift but effective shank (if the stem is broken off and solid enough, one can do a great deal of damage. Wednesday confirmed this during the first and last bar crawl she’d ever attended). Instead, she freezes, her eyes slowly travelling up Xavier’s arms to his face, the warning clear as day on her own.
“I would suggest removing that arm, unless you want it done forcibly. I cannot promise it will stay attached to the socket.”
Xavier unhands her with an apologetic look. “Hey, I’m sorry. Forgot the whole touching thing. But I do really want to catch up, I’m sure you’ve got lots of adventures to tell me about.”
“Adventures, perhaps. Telling you? Would rather not. Now, I need to go get these to my friends.”
Wednesday fixes Xavier with a glare, only turning once he’s sufficiently cowed. Upon turning, she freezes for an entirely different reason.
Larissa, across the room, pins her with a look that’s difficult to parse, but is loaded with something. It’s an immediate electric current, holding her stock still in place as Larissa’s eyes roam over her.
Wednesday’s never been the best at deciphering non-verbal communication, but she knows Larissa has seen the interaction she just had. She can also tell that Larissa is not happy about it. There’s something like protectiveness in her eyes, something also like wanting.
She’s pretty sure she can do something about it.
And so, gliding across the floor to Enid and Bianca, she takes the risk and throws a wink Larissa’s way. Unloading the drinks and leaving once more under the guise of ducking to the bathroom, she seeks Larissa’s gaze once again, a smirk playing on her lips as she exits the hall.
She saunters down corridors, taking a twisting, windy route, listening for the telltale click of pumps behind her. She turns a corner, standing and waiting, and Larissa almost walks right into her.
“Why hello, Principal Weems. What are you doing so far from the party?” Wednesday asks, tilting her head and putting on a wide-eyed expression of innocence.
“Dear God, anything but Principal Weems.” Larissa rolls her eyes, and Wednesday takes stock of her now, finally able to just look at her.
Her fists are clenched by her sides, and her jaw is taut with tension that Wednesday wants to sooth, the power that always emanates from her holding Wednesday captive. Wednesday remains silent, eyes roving over Larissa, until Larissa continues.
“I noticed you talking to Mr. Thorpe, earlier.”
“Did you? I would never have guessed.”
Larissa finally cracks a smile then, her eyes rolling in a more affectionate manner than before.
“Why must you insist on playing these games with me? They’ll get you nowhere, I promise.”
At that, Wednesday steps fully into Larissa’s space, savouring the quiet intake of breath and the way Larissa leans towards her. She reaches up, fiddling with the brooch on Larissa’s chest, smoothing her hands down her lapels before she rests her gaze on Larissa’s face.
“I’d say they’ve gotten me pretty far, wouldn’t you?” The last part is said in barely more than a whisper as her hands tighten on Larissa’s collar, pulling her down into a ghost of a kiss.
“If you’re trying to distract me, Miss Addams, it’s not working.” Larissa murmurs against her lips.
“Distract you from what, your inane line of questioning about Xavier?”
The way Larissa averts her gaze is answer enough.
“You know what, perhaps I was too harsh with him. You know how I’ve always carried a torch for the tall, stoic types.”
“Is not everyone you meet in day to day life tall, compared to you?”
Wednesday glares at Larissa, her own hands falling to her sides.
“That was a low blow.”
“You’d be used to low blows, considering you can’t reach any higher.”
“That’s it. I’m going back to the party, I’m sure Xavier would appreciate my company enough to not ruin it with cracks at my height.”
As she turns to leave, however, Larissa’s hand darts out and loosely encircles her wrist. It’s a far cry from the way Xavier held her; she knows she could slip out at any time, but the way Larissa’s thumb traces the bones in her wrist makes her sink into the contact.
“If that’s what you would rather do, feel free.”
“Oh, Larissa,” Wednesday purrs, her hands falling to rest on the curve of Larissa’s hips, “there are so many things I’d rather be doing.”
“Don’t start things you can’t finish, Wednesday.” Larissa says, a warning tone in her voice.
Once again, Wednesday steps into Larissa’s space and looks at her, her eyes wide and mouth quirked.
“Who says I can’t finish this?”
She grasps the hand still around her wrist, and walks backwards through the corridor, pulling Larissa with her and opening the door of the first classroom she finds.
“Wednesday, you can’t possibly be-“
“Oh, please. It’s not like you’ve historically taken a hardline stance against fucking me at your place of work.”
Wednesday looks carefully then, sees the thrill that runs down Larissa’s spine at Wednesday’s careful, pointed, intentional profanity. So carefully poised, so constantly elegant and in control, Larissa is a difficult one to read. Wednesday has learned, through their numerous encounters, that the only way to get her to break is if Wednesday takes the first step.
And so she waits, backing further into the classroom and leaning casually against the desk at the front of the room.
“You know, that mouth is going to get you in trouble some day soon.”
“And here was me, thinking you loved the things my mouth does.”
“Crude euphemisms will get you nowhere.”
Wednesday looks, then, assessing the tension in Larissa’s posture and the way her eyes dart to the door.
“If you don’t want this, that’s fine. We can both go back to the party, and everyone will be none the wiser.” Larissa has reached Wednesday by now, each of them pulled into the other’s gravitational pull. “But I haven’t seen you in months, and I don’t particularly feel like waiting until everyone’s left and you’ve coordinated the clean-up efforts to get my hands on you. So if you want to take advantage of this dark, empty, out of the way classroom for, say, fifteen minutes, I’m sure everyone will manage without you.”
“Fifteen minutes? That’s all you’re allotting?” Larissa asks, bemused, even as one of her hands starts toying with Wednesday’s hair.
“Play your cards right, and that’s all you’ll need.”
Wednesday didn’t really have a plan, pulling Larissa into this classroom. She just knew she needed something, anything from her. Ever since their first night together, being in the other woman’s presence had unlocked something insatiable within her; their bodies were never close enough, their time together was always too short.
She goes out on a limb to test the waters, reaching out and grasping Larissa’s hip to pull her flush to herself.
Wednesday arches her back, pressing herself against Larissa, when she notices a bulge pressed against her front. She leans away, eyes darting downwards to confirm it’s not just her rich imagination, eyeing the tent in the front of Larissa’s skirt.
“Really? Playing hard to get when you were planning this the whole time?” Wednesday asks, but it’s difficult to keep her voice even when it feels like all the blood in her body has gone southward.
“Not the whole time, no. But since you’ve so graciously only allowed us fifteen minutes, it seemed efficient.”
“Mmm, and you know how I love it when you’re efficient.” Wednesday purrs, finally pulling Larissa down for a proper kiss.
She can’t help but moan when their lips meet; all the loaded glances and weighted touches of the night culminating in Wednesday licking messily into Larissa’s mouth as Larissa clutches at Wednesday’s hips, her waist, her ass.
It’s not the first time they’ve exploited Larissa’s talents in this way.
It had happened one day when a case took Wednesday to Maine (unfortunately). She’d spent a gruelling few days chasing down dead end leads, grinding her teeth down to nubs dealing with difficult sources.
She’d needed some kind of catharsis.
She went to Nevermore.
It was late, definitely past curfew, so Wednesday felt confident in breezing through the halls and to Larissa’s office - equally confident that Larissa was up and working, and needing a distraction.
She’d pushed through the doors, strode straight up to the desk, closed Larissa’s laptop and threw herself onto her lap before kissing her with all the frustration and anger in her.
Larissa had asked her, in the few breaks for oxygen Wednesday had allowed, what was wrong. Wednesday, in a rare fit of neediness and petulance, had refused to open up until she’d come at least three times.
The issue arose then.
Wednesday needed touch, needed stimulation, but refused to allow Larissa the chance to touch her in any way that meant her hands left Wednesday’s hair, waist, chest, or throat.
“Wednesday, darling, I want to give you what you need but this seems most impractical.” Larissa had said, breaking away for a moment. Wednesday had taken the opportunity to drag her tongue along Larissa’s clavicle, effectively halting that conversation for the next few minutes.
“I want to try that thing we talked about.” Wednesday mumbled against Larissa’s ear.
“Are you- are you sure?”
“Anything that means you’re inside me but I still have both your hands on me.”
And Larissa had her like that, quick and rough and dirty against the wall of her office. Their clothes were still on, neither having the wherewithal or the time to remove anything more than was absolutely necessary.
In all honesty, what Wednesday was seeking was completely selfish. Obviously, touching and tasting Larissa was one of the greatest privileges in Wednesday’s life. However, that night all she’d wanted, in the fugue state she was in, was to be filled and fucked by her.
It took them pleasantly by surprise to find that it worked for Larissa too.
At least, until a hesitant knock sounded at the Principal’s door.
Within seconds, Larissa had bundled Wednesday under her desk, shapeshifted her hair and makeup back into something resembling acceptable, and gathered herself enough to sit at her desk.
“Enter.”
Wednesday couldn’t see, obviously, but a teacher had entered and immediately started chattering at a mile a minute about catching a student out of their dorm past curfew.
She’d stopped listening then.
Blinded by her own need, denied the release she so desperately craved, she’d started running her hands up and down Larissa’s calves, then her thighs. Upon reaching their apex, she’d made the delightful discovery that Larissa hadn’t been entirely thorough in shapeshifting herself decent. Not exactly how she’d been wanting to be filled, but in a pinch…
Larissa had immediately fisted a hand in her hair the second she felt the heat of Wednesday’s breath against her length; Wednesday had frozen, waiting, until the tension had eased somewhat. She’d tentatively moved forward, the vice grip not pulling her away but instead gently guiding before Larissa took her hands away to grasp the edges of her skirt in a white knuckled grip.
Whatever conversation Larissa had miraculously been maintaining was getting shorter and terser on Larissa’s side (in sync with Wednesday getting more enthusiastic) until Larissa snapped.
“Just- handle it! ”
With that, the teacher had hastily left, presumably with her tail between her legs. The second the door had closed behind her, a hand had pulled Wednesday unceremoniously out from under the desk and slammed her down on top of it.
That was it. That was what she’d needed.
And so Wednesday had gotten exactly what she’d wanted, pinned in a vice grip, entirely at Larissa’s mercy.
She wishes she could be in Larissa’s office right now, or even somewhere with an actual bed where they could take full advantage of Larissa’s talents.
She can’t deny, though, that in lieu of being able to have Larissa stretched out on top of her in a more comfortable setting, she’ll have her any way she possibly can.
She smiles a Cheshire smile at Larissa, snaking a hand down her front to undo the buttons on her skirt.
“We can’t- this is a teacher’s desk, Wednesday.”
“And? They’ll never know.”
Larissa inhales sharply when Wednesday’s hand closes lightly around her length, her fist pumping along the shaft slowly and gently.
“Is this what you were imagining? My hand around you like this?” Wednesday asks. “This is what you wanted from the moment you saw me leave the hall, wasn’t it? Acting so coy and collected, putting on a front, just waiting for me to unravel you.”
Larissa can’t do much but groan, her hands clutching the edge of the desk Wednesday is perched on.
“Not- not what I wanted.”
“No?” The movement of Wednesday’s hand pauses, and Larissa twitches against her. Wednesday’s smirk sharpens then, sharklike, and she gently pulls Larissa’s hand off the edges of the desk, finger by finger.
“Was this what you wanted?” Barely more than a breath of a whisper, she laces her fingers with Larissa’s and guides them up the hem of her own skirt.
Larissa’s unleashed, then, her other hand coming up to fist in Wednesday’s hair as she leans in and towers over her.
And oh, how Wednesday loves getting what she wants.
Larissa comes in for a bruising kiss, Wednesday putty in her hands. The hot, wet glide of their tongues against each other kills any willpower remaining in Wednesday to have the upper hand; Larissa has the reins now, and Wednesday is all too happy to hand over control.
The hand under her skirt hasn’t stilled, rucking the hem up to Wednesday’s waist and pulling her underwear down past her knees. There’s no preamble, but there doesn’t need to be; Wednesday’s been ready since she shook Larissa’s hand.
The hand in question is making its way back up Wednesday’s thigh, Wednesday shifting where she sits to try and expedite its journey. Finally, finally it reaches the apex of her thighs, Larissa wasting no time before she strokes the heated flesh under her fingers. Wednesday keens at the touch, clutching onto Larissa’s form as she nearly doubles over.
Larissa’s not in a mood to tease (and good for her. Wednesday is not above homicide, even now) and traces small, tight circles around Wednesday’s clit. With the way Larissa’s mouth is making its way across her jaw, her heated breath stringing her out further and further, Wednesday is sure she could come just like this.
That is not how the night is going to go.
Larissa shifts her hand, circling lower until the tips of two fingers just dip inside her. Wednesday is willing to let Larissa have control, but there are some limits to her patience. She reaches down, her hand cupping Larissa’s once again, and she pushes those fingers inside her fully as she rocks her hips up into the touch.
Stars burst behind her eyes at the stretch, Larissa humming approvingly in her ear as she lightly bites at the shell of it.
“In a rush, are we dear?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not getting impatient yourself.” Wednesday replies, even as she grinds into Larissa’s hand.
“If this is what you want to do, I’m very happy to oblige. Is this all you want, though?” Larissa asks, and in Wednesday’s current state it takes her a few dazed seconds to understand what Larissa is suggesting.
“God, no.”
The loss of Larissa’s fingers is almost unbearable, and if Wednesday were more of a slave to her desires she’d throw Larissa’s satisfaction to the wayside and fuck herself on Larissa’s hand until release.
Delayed gratification does have its charms, though.
Her hands almost shaking with need, she frees Larissa’s shaft from her skirt again, lacking all her previous finesse and control.
They don’t have the time to make this a production, don’t have time for slow candlelit kisses and caresses.
This needs to be quick, and dirty, and quiet.
Wednesday spreads her legs further, shifting forward to the edge of the desk, and guides Larissa inside her.
They moan together in harmony, their lips meeting again as Larissa sinks further inside Wednesday, inch by careful inch.
That’s the beauty of having a shapeshifting… companion. It could never be too much for Wednesday to take, and it will always be enough to satisfy her.
Finally, Larissa sheaths herself to the hilt, their bodies pressed together. Wednesday drops her head to Larissa’s shoulder, one hand resting on Larissa’s and the other wrapped around her shoulders. Larissa is cradling Wednesday like she’s something precious, the hand that’s not splayed bracingly across her lower back is brushing her hair back from her face.
“How is this feeling?”
Wednesday can’t respond for a moment, her body adjusting to the stretch, initial discomfort fading and being eclipsed by pure need.
Larissa takes her silence for something else, and Wednesday can feel her body tense in worry.
She hums gently before Larissa moves, clutching on tighter.
“It feels perfect.”
Larissa sighs, turning her face to press kisses to whatever part of Wednesday’s face, shoulder and neck she can reach.
“What do you want, darling?”
And honestly, damn Larissa for using pet names on her right now. Wednesday shifts back, her arms encircling Larissa’s neck.
“I want you to move.”
Though Larissa would argue against it, she can be obedient. Only with Wednesday, only ever with Wednesday. It’s not a gift she takes lightly, cherishing Larissa’s acquiescence for the precious thing it is.
She pulls back carefully, her thrusts slow and measured, face searching Wednesday’s in the dark for any sign of discomfort.
Not that she’d find any. Wednesday can just barely keep her eyes open, her fingers clenching and unclenching on the nape of Larissa’s neck, tangling in the hair there at the sensation of Larissa’s length inside her. Still, she watches Larissa’s expression, eyes dark and simmering with what Wednesday knows is restraint.
She’s got a wild, muscle bound predator leashed to her, and she knows it.
Larissa slowly increases the speed and strength of her thrusts, always so careful with her, and Wednesday takes it all, quiet moans and whimpers falling from her mouth despite her best endeavours.
When Larissa shifts and the angle changes, Wednesday can’t help but twitch as the head of Larissa’s cock brushes something, something that makes her feel like she’s brushed up against a power line. A loud gasp escapes her, and she nearly cries when Larissa stops moving and places her hands on her cheeks in concern.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Ever obedient, Larissa picks up the pace once more, hitting that spot on every stroke, and Wednesday grinds against her with abandon. Wanton moans accompany every thrust, Wednesday’s hands gripping ever tighter as Larissa herself is reduced to short, harsh pants.
Wednesday can’t help writhing in Larissa’s grip, every movement of hers encouraging Larissa to fuck her harder and harder every time, until the sound of wood groaning and grinding makes Larissa stop short.
“What- why-“ the fog in Wednesday’s head doesn’t even start to dissipate, her grief over the fact that Larissa is not currently inside her too all-consuming.
In lieu of an answer, Larissa grips the backs of Wednesday’s thighs and lifts her bodily off the desk. Wednesday stifles an undignified little yelp, her legs instinctively wrapping around Larissa’s waist as she’s placed (none too gently) on the floor.
If Wednesday had her way, every filthy thing she and Larissa ever did would be while Larissa is displaying some of her massive strength, pinning her down or holding her up. The way the other woman can throw her around drives her wild, and though she grates against being manhandled there’s more than a little part of her that dissolves into a puddle over it.
She’s getting her wish currently though, her back scraping against the hard floorboards as Larissa drags her bodily towards her, arranging her like she weighs nothing. Though it takes barely a second, Wednesday is about to lose her mind over the emptiness she feels before Larissa lines herself up and pushes back in in one stroke.
She moans in earnest then, her own hand immediately coming up to press against her own mouth as Larissa looks at her with a warning in her eyes.
“Darling, if I had my way and it were anywhere else I’d want to hear you scream for me, you know that?” She asks, her pace increasing.
Wednesday can barely choke out her assent, focusing everything on being quiet even as every fibre in her body sparks.
Larissa takes such good care of her; even as she pounds into her, turning Wednesday’s brain to liquid, the hand not holding herself up is stroking Wednesday’s hair out of her face. And Wednesday loves it when Larissa’s tender with her, and would adore the care she shows her nine times out of ten. But on a night like tonight when they have no time and Wednesday hasn’t seen her in months, it’s not what she needs.
“ Larissa.” She sighs out, head falling to the side.
“Yes, darling?” Larissa replies, her voice strained. It’s a blessing that this feels as good (or almost as good. Wednesday can’t imagine anything feels as good as this) for Larissa, that they can share this together.
“I need-“ Wednesday is cut off as Larissa presses kisses to her exposed throat, and she’d let this exquisite torture continue if she didn’t need Larissa to fuck her into the floor.
She turns her head to face Larissa, bringing her hands up to cup her face, brushing a stray blonde lock behind her ear.
“Make me yours, Larissa.”
The change is immediate, Wednesday’s eyes adjusted to the low light enough to see Larissa’s expression harden in a way that pools heat in her stomach and a quiver roll through her.
One hand of Larissa’s grasps both of Wednesday’s, pressing them into the floor above Wednesday's head. Wednesday takes the advantage of the position.
She doesn’t think Larissa needs the encouragement, but with her hands extended above her head, she arches her back to press herself bodily and unashamedly against Larissa.
The hand on her wrists tightens just to the point of pain, and Larissa grinds slowly against her before pulling all the way out and thrusting back in savagely.
“ Larissa- “
Larissa doesn’t give her a chance to acclimatise, her new brutal pace filling her up in a way that renders Wednesday incapable of speech, incapable of thought, incapable of doing anything other than taking her to the hilt and loving it.
“Is this what you wanted?” Larissa repeats Wednesday’s own question at her, the sardonic lilt to her voice apparent. Wednesday loves when Larissa gets like this, just this side of cruel, all the gentle consideration Larissa normally treats her with out the window. It shows in the way she touches her, bruising and rough, and something about being used by Larissa like this ruins her.
“You wanted me to fuck you like this? All that teasing and performative innocence, riling me up so I’d fuck you into the floor like this?”
Wednesday lets loose a helpless moan, Larissa releasing her hands to clasp a palm over her mouth.
“My sweet, you need to be quiet for me,” Larissa croons, the term of endearment juxtaposed with the harsh thrusts, “I know it’s so hard, but you’re taking this so well. Can you do that? Can you be quiet for me?”
Wednesday would do anything she asked at this point. She can feel herself dripping down her thighs, probably coating Larissa too, and Larissa could ask anything of her at this point. She’d do it, if only to keep her exactly where she is. She looks at Larissa, eyes wide and frantic and beseeching, and nods.
“That’s my girl. So perfect for me, so wet and hot around me. You feel so good.” She says, her voice gravelly and harsh.
She releases Wednesday’s mouth, and Wednesday surges up to capture Larissa’s mouth with her own in a bruising kiss. Her legs wrapped tight around Larissa’s midsection, hips tilted so that Larissa keeps hitting that spot inside her that drives her wild.
Larissa’s pace falters just for a moment before returning with a vengeance, untiring hips twitching just for a moment, and Wednesday can tell that she’s close but holding back for Wednesday’s sake.
Wednesday grasps her face again, gathering the loose tatters of her self-control to pull her lips away and turn Larissa’s face so she can whisper in her ear.
“Let go.” Is all she manages, voice cracking.
Larissa shakes her head for a moment, huffing out a chuckle.
Typical. Larissa will very rarely allow herself to come before Wednesday, her infuriating selflessness always present in their rendezvouses.
Wednesday, for her part, is seconds away from her own release. The heat and tension within her since she met Larissa’s eyes from across the room has only been pulling tauter and tauter under her touch.
She scrambles for Larissa’s free hand, pushing it down to where their bodies join, her movements desperate and disjointed. Larissa gets the hint, her fingers starting a fast and rough rhythm against Wednesday’s clit.
It sends her even higher, head swimming as she clings to all the will left in her to hold back the scream the sensation nearly pulls from her.
All it takes is a few rough circles before Wednesday tenses, her stomach pitching, grinding against Larissa’s hand and clenching around her length in a last bid attempt to shred the last of Larissa’s self control.
It works.
Wednesday comes, hard , wrapping her arms around Larissa as she sinks inside in one last harsh thrust, Wednesday unable to hold back a gasp at the feeling. Larissa collapses on top of her, twitching inside her and sinking her teeth into the top of Wednesday’s shoulder to stifle her moan.
Still spasming around Larissa, Wednesday clutches her tight and pulls her into a desperate embrace. Larissa stays, one arm cradling Wednesday’s head with her fingers weaved gently through her hair, indulging, just for a moment.
With a regretful sigh, Larissa raises herself up on her arms and pulls out of Wednesday, Wednesday herself just stifling a gasp at the sudden emptiness, the bereft feeling she always experiences at the loss of Larissa inside of her.
It’s mitigated, somewhat, by the gentle hand that brushes a few flyaway hairs out of her face.
“How are you feeling?” Larissa asks, her face an interesting mixture of smugness and concern. Wednesday would laugh, if it wasn’t unfortunately sweet.
“The only thing bringing me down currently is the knowledge that we have to leave. Aside from that,” Wednesday reaches out and pats Larissa on the cheek, “objective achieved. I won’t bother to inflate your ego any further.”
Larissa grants her a wry smile, getting up off the floor and reaching out a hand. Wednesday takes it, Larissa gently and chivalrously taking her weight as she rights herself.
“We should rejoin the party straight away, shouldn’t we.” Wednesday allows a tinge of regret to colour her voice, humouring Larissa as she reaches out and straightens the collar of her dress.
“I'm afraid we must. You can stay as long as you like, but I'm on a rather shorter leash than you are.”
Once Larissa is done fussing over Wednesday’s blouse and hair, she straightens her posture and shapeshifts.
It’s always fascinating to watch the process as it happens, the faint traces of sweat disappearing and Larissa’s hair moving of its own accord to tuck all flyaways back into her severe bun. Next, her clothing rearranges and straightens itself, and the smudged lipstick on her face disappears before her lips stain themselves the same colour once again.
It should be unnerving (and probably would be to anyone else), but Wednesday is entranced by the sometimes subtle, sometimes overt changes to Larissa’s appearance. The only time she’s ever witnessed an entire shift was during the confrontation with Laurel, and the memory of that is rather overshadowed by the image of Larissa choking and foaming at the mouth from nightshade poisoning.
She’s been staring, and caught doing so if the quirked smile and raised eyebrow on Larissa’s newly primped face.
“Very well,” she waves her hand at Larissa, “off you go, Headmistress. We’ll stagger our reentries.”
Larissa rolls her eyes affectionately before pressing a gentle kiss to Wednesday’s forehead. Wednesday watches her go with what anyone else (anyone with a death wish) would call fondness.
-
Wednesday slips back into the hall, sneaking up behind Enid and Bianca, who seem to have collected Davina and Yoko in Wednesday’s absence.
“Wednesday! Where have you been?” Enid asks immediately, making an aborted movement into Wednesday’s space before thinking better of it and stepping back.
Wednesday (for whatever reason) is feeling rather relaxed and amenable, so she walks to Enid’s side and rests her head on her shoulder, Enid’s arm coming up around her to grasp at her waist briefly before she lets go.
“I was remiss in my vigilance, and got cornered by Xavier. I made a daring escape, but decided to do some reminiscing and wander for a while to ensure he’d lost the scent.”
Bianca snorts, an undignified sound, her hand reaching out to clutch Wednesday’s shoulder and squeezing for a brief moment before dropping back to her side.
Not that Wednesday ever really bothers pretending to be someone she’s not, but she is grateful for the fact that Bianca engages in less and less pretence as time goes on.
“Don’t worry. We can run interference if he tries his luck again.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I think he's been deterred.” Wednesday says, a grim but amused set to her mouth.
Bianca chuckles darkly at that, resuming her conversation with Davina and Yoko.
Enid, however, tilts her head and looks searchingly at Wednesday. Wednesday can’t help but make the comparison between her old roommate and a curious puppy.
Her eyes scan Wednesday, and while she’s not normally one to shrink under scrutiny she can’t help but begin to wonder what might be found. She obviously made a detour to the bathroom, tidying her hair as best she could and straightening her clothing, but she can’t help but think that Enid’s found something amiss.
As Enid’s eyes settle on the collar of her dress and widen, the lights dim.
“Alumni of Nevermore Academy, we are ever so thrilled to have you here, gracing our halls once again!” Larissa announces, having strode across the stage. A polite applause accompanies her words, a shrill taxi-cab whistle from Enid.
“It was certainly unfortunate that our much-anticipated ten year reunion had to be postponed, but it is incredible to have such a large number of this graduating class attend. What a privilege it has been to be able to keep abreast of all that you’re doing!”
The tiny portion of Wednesday’s brain that isn’t consumed by Larissa on stage, radiating elegance and poise even with her clearly fake and sanguine smile, is focused on the sudden itch of her neck.
She’s not sure what Enid saw, what caused the laser focus, but she can feel Enid’s eyes boring holes in her even as Wednesday keeps her own eyes pointedly directed towards the stage.
“It is with great pride that I’ve followed the exploits of each and every one of you. If you would, please, give a round of applause for everything each and every one of you have achieved!”
The room gives a polite applause, some hoots and hollers from the corner where most of the werewolves have been getting reacquainted.
If it were anyone else, Wednesday would be rolling her eyes with her arms crossed. As it is, she still considers the whole display to be cheesy and gratuitous, but it gives her a reason to stare unabashedly at the woman on stage.
As Larissa strides across with her commanding gait, the light catches on her stockings, and Wednesday sees a tiny ladder up the side of them.
Not something anyone else would ever care to notice.
But Wednesday is well aware of the cause.
She’s not sure when it happened, her own senses far too overtaken with the feeling of Larissa between her thighs and her weight on top of her to have cognition to spare on anything so pedestrian as tights ripping.
She very nearly blushes at the memory, her hands tightening into fists at her sides, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Enid stiffen.
Wednesday turns her head and sees a look of absolute disbelief on her friend’s face; Enid’s eyes whipping backwards and forwards between Wednesday’s face, her collar, the heat rising up Wednesday’s neck, and Larissa on stage.
Enid gasps, sharply, those closest to them turning around in bewilderment as Wednesday does her level best to sink into the floor. She turns to her best friend, pleading written on her face as she tries to sub-verbally communicate to Enid to keep quiet if she values her life.
“Sorry... Hiccup?” Enid says, sounding as confused as everyone else looks.
Wednesday mentally draws a list of all the things she’s willing to put herself through for Enid right now - she’ll subject herself to a pastel eyeshadow makeover, she thinks, but hair colour is a hard limit for her.
It’s the construction of this mental list in addition to her hyperawareness of Enid’s scrutinising gaze (along with the near-audible sound of the cogs turning in her head) that means she doesn’t take in any of the rest of Larissa’s speech; before she knows it, Larissa is spouting bland platitudes and telling everyone to enjoy the evening before stepping offstage and through a side door.
Wednesday braces herself then, prepared for the onslaught of questioning she’s about to endure. She only hopes Enid has the presence of mind to keep her voice down and wait until Bianca’s out of earshot to start the waterboarding.
Sure enough, Enid turns to her, reaching for Wednesday’s arm, before Bianca all but scruffs Enid by the neck and hauls her away.
“Incoming, Sinclair. Time to hustle.”
Wednesday spies a grey beanie in the crowd, making a beeline for the spot Enid just vacated. Honestly, she could believe it’s the same one from high school.
“Uh, hey, Wednesday. Was Enid here?” Ajax asks her, hands in his pockets as he cranes his neck to peer around.
“Uh, hey, Ajax.” Wednesday’s not mocking him. She’s far too evolved and mature for that. However. “You just missed her. I wouldn’t count on seeing her tonight, to be perfectly honest. She’s got a pretty packed schedule at the moment, and so many people that want to talk to her! I’m sure you’ve heard she’s in high demand after her most recent exposé.”
It’s a petty, vindictive thing to do, but when Wednesday looks at him all she sees is the Enid from years ago. The one who was torn between her love for Ajax and her need to make something of herself, who drove herself to distraction trying to encourage him to pursue any of his interests beyond smoking weed and playing video games.
Wednesday wouldn’t care if he was just some lazy, layabout stoner.
Wednesday does care that he promised time and time again to change, to pull his weight, only to fall back into the same habits that made him a neglectful leech. She does care that a year after they broke up, Enid having had let go of the residual guilt and idea that she could’ve tried harder, he called her out of the blue and convinced her to get back together with him. At least that time, Enid hadn’t given him a myriad more chances.
She breezes past a shell-shocked Ajax.
Bianca’s led Enid somewhere out of sight, which means Wednesday can’t follow. Not that she’s particularly interested in whatever the dynamic will be between her and Enid right now, but aside from the two of them, there’s only one person at this event whose company doesn’t make her want to claw her eyes out.
In the end, her choice is easy.
She pushes through the throng, ignoring anyone trying to make conversation or catch up, until she’s walking through empty halls and pushing through the door that leads to the same secluded outdoor spot she’s certain she’ll find Larissa in.
She sees her haloed by the dim outdoor lights, glancing gold off her platinum hair and sharpening her cheekbones.
The second thing she sees is the lit cigarette between her lips.
Clicking her tongue is mock disapproval, she stalks towards Larissa.
“Really, headmistress? On school grounds? Shame on you.”
Larissa works her jaw for a moment before granting Wednesday a wry smile, dropping the cigarette to the ground and grinding it beneath her heel.
“Yes, it’s a rather do as I say not as I do attitude I embody, isn’t it?”
“Has it really been that gruelling of a day? You haven’t managed to find any other method of stress relief? Such a shame to see you fall into bad habits like this.”
She’s reached Larissa, her hands tracing that familiar path up the sharp lines of her lapels, Larissa’s hands instinctively falling to Wednesday’s waist and pulling her closer.
“As of late, it’s hardly my worst habit.” Larissa speaks in barely more than a whisper, her eyes never leaving Wednesday’s lips as she leans down. The trace of cigarette smoke on Larissa’s lips doesn’t repulse her as it might if it were anyone else, merely adding another dimension to all of the things about Larissa that entrance her.
“Wednesday? You here? We-”
Larissa’s hands drop from Wednesday’s waist as if she’s been burnt, Enid reduced to stutters from where she stands in the doorway, frozen like a deer in headlights.
Wednesday sighs, not stepping away from Larissa.
“We were just- Bianca was- we’re going home, do you-”
With one last pat to Larissa’s lapel, Wednesday turns to Enid and nods her head in the direction of the car park where Lurch will be waiting for them. She can’t put off the interrogation any longer, and there’s no chance she’ll manage to get another second of alone time with Larissa. All she can hope to do is keep her head on and maybe get the upper hand, if she can throw Enid off-kilter well enough.
She pauses after passing Enid, realising she’s not being followed, and turns back to see Enid and Larissa standing in the exact positions she left them in, eyes locked.
She rolls her eyes, marching back to grab Enid’s arm and give a cheery, if sarcastic, wave to Larissa.
“Um. Bye, Principal Weems?” Enid squeaks out, allowing herself to be manhandled along.
Wednesday counts in her head, reaching a surprising and commendable fourteen seconds before Enid breaks her stunned silence.
“Wednesday, what the
fuck?
”