Its A Mechanical Bull - Sk1nofthelamb (2024)

Chapter 1: An Apple A Day

Chapter Text

The first time was on a whim. As the most insidious situations begin.

Because she lets her pride get the best of her. With her status its a given, however biologically its been its her undoing.

Is it so ludicrous, though, to know what one wants, when in her circ*mstance? Young as she is, not even 25 and in charge of more money and assets than most see in their life time. Responsibility thrown upon her the second she exited the womb.

Monikers that assign themselves the older she grows. Be it the tan of her skin, or the accursed dynamics of the world.

Aside from power in capital, she comes from a family of oddities—outcasts. Those with ‘gifts’ that came with no receipt for the general public who cared only for complacency.

Hence, the open market that some Addams (dating far, far back with many a portrait on her family alter in memoriam) a century or so ago had found stake.

Rather, a pretty patent that came to be Addams & Co.

And so she walks these steps as her father did and his before. Nowadays, theres a far more convenient elevator and even more to her solitude and delight came her own office.

She’s unsure why she decided to agree on an outdoor restaurant meeting, vs the sanctity of their company building. Some sniveling man that wanted funding for his fairy dust recipe. A ‘family secret’ that had been of vague intrigue…up until he tried to blow it in her face.

She’s still grumbling about it by the time she’s back at the office. She decided to accept a post meeting exchange with one of her employees, after this particularly grueling pitch day. There was only more to come, with it barely being noon.

Products that needed her say so, from suits all but on their knees to kiss her ass. The only goal was her pockets to invest into their cause. At least they didn’t send another human this time, with ‘good’ intentions and ignorant wording.

Its her assistant that wants to speak with her now, however. She normally doesn’t bid him much other than her second coffee order, or mumbled greeting this time of day.

He had his hair tied in a bun, navy suit jacket unbuttoned and looking at her dopily. A wave with fluttering, ring covered fingers, because he’s feeling cheeky and knows it won’t be reciprocated.

Wednesday only kept him because he was good at talking. Had saved her the loss of multiple stockholders that were otherwise off put by her lack of manners and bored monotone.

She had no need or desire to schmooze—she was inheriting an empire, not building one.

“You need to relax, boss.” Kent, her doting assistant and unfortunately charming siren boy. He had eery blue eyes that would look quite handsome as a broach, especially if he said the wrong thing. “Come out with us tonight. Drinks on me!”

They sit across from each other in her office. Surrounded by deep, dark old wood and taxidermy. Not many people entered and lived to tell the tale—thats what the designated meeting rooms were for. Her office was personal.

She only just returned, so she wanted to compare notes. Kent typically paid more attention—she paid him to.

Strictly business.

Naive, perhaps…to think this could stay professional with a born wordsmith. Even if she knew he’d never use his song against her if he wanted to live a full life.

So she snorts, making a display of the way she grabs her handle and empty glass. Plops an ice cube in before settling at her desk with the half emptied bottle. Kent places his hands on his hips as she pours, before settling proper in her leather seat.

“I’m no more interested than the last time you propositioned me.” She had her own drink now, anyhow. A glass of dark rum, the same as her father kept at the desk when he was CEO.

Kent was not one to be deterred. In fact he somehow always had an answer no matter how asinine. Perhaps thats why she’s assed to agree for once. If not his keen eye and higher senses.

”Early meeting tomorrow?” He prompts, to which she looks unimpressed.

”Funny…” She drawls, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I thought you were paid to know my schedule already.”

He waves her off, then cups his chin to inspect further. The cogs and wheels of his meager brain looked to be working double time.

”Then…what other excuse could you—“

He squints at her for a moment, before his eyes widen. He looks at her in conspiracy, checking around as if they aren’t the only ones in the office. He even clumsily trips up to the door to make sure its locked. Then, he sits carefully across from her to lean over.

Her eye is twitching in annoyance before he begins to say something idiotic.

“Is it…your cycle?” He whispers the word and holds up his hands with a sheepish laugh before she can bite his head off. “Hey! Its no judgement here—we’re both omegas…like omeg-bros!”

Another reason she hired him, albeit it makes her cringe in the worst way in this moment. The casual mention of both their status, along with the downright foolish nickname.

A freshly cleaned dagger lodged itself directly in front of the siren boy. He yelps, but sheepishly meets her glaring eye.

“Never mention anything of the sort in front of me ever again.” She clips out, leaning back in her office chair. Its leather, vintage and with imprint of her father before her.

The desk had been his too. Large and crafted by hand, like a median between her peace and sanity.

It still didn’t feel like enough space between them.

“C’mon, I didn’t mean anything by it…” Kent whines, even pouting his pitiful, guppy lips. She doesn’t snap at him so he keeps talking, “Mines coming up too, you know? We’re synced cause we spend so much time together.”

She takes a languid gulp from her glass, before she even entertains this conversation.

“I know better than to be ruled by nonsensical whims.” She replied evenly, albeit she had started to drum her fingers on the desk. “I deal with it alone and will continue to.”

Kent looks shocked, to which she rolls her eyes and prepares for some diluted version of what her mother had told her. Her omega mother that swore she knew whats ‘best.’ That she had hindsight, foresight—

“My dear, I’ve seen it all…you will learn to accept yourself…someday.” With that cryptic way she crooned, ever since she was a little girl.

Wednesday didn’t want to be anything an omega should be.

Didn’t want to be anything like her mother.

She took supplements and learned to dull her scent through sheer willpower. Though, her solitude didn’t make her issue much of an actual problem before.

She didn’t fall at her feet the second some knot-headed alpha decided to try her hand. She would sooner plug her nose and turn her head. The simpering, subservient thing in her skull was but an obstacle to work around.

No matter how much she’s told otherwise. No matter what she’s witnessed. She felt above those hormone ridden urges.

Had never been the type to push out her own scent to get what she wants, either. She had too many memories of her mother doing so, playing her love struck father like a fiddle.

Gomez Addams, Alpha and CEO, retired early with his wife Morticia and their children…

Wednesday, their first born, to pick up the pieces of their post nest bliss. Ugh.

Even her siblings became useless, with Pugsley having found himself a ‘mate’ before he’d graduated high school. Decided he didn’t want to follow the family business. Shacked up with an Omega girl and already awaiting their wedding date. Of which she’s yet to RSVP out of spite.

And Pubert, the youngest was far too much so to run things properly and finish his education. He hadn’t even presented past the subtle beta smell that lingers until second puberty.

And so that left her—apparently the only one in the family with a backbone.

Though, her parents quite liked Kent too, come to think of it. Her father had approved and recommended him in the first place, having worked with others in his coven. The siren being more of the diplomatic omega stereotype that she avoided.

She’d never shame anyone for how they live their life…she simply chose to do different.

Her solitary life had been upheld and sacred. Never bothered, nor did she feel any need to stray her well beaten path.

“Like…alone-alone?” Kent’s gawking brings her back to present. Back to the subject that felt like a poorly healed wound under the thin gauze of her suit. “As in you never…?”

He makes an up-down motion with his hands, jerking obscenely, before making a face indicating he’d grossed himself out as well.

Wednesday narrows her eyes in a dangerous way.

“I do believe this line of questioning is far above your pay grade, so I would tread lightly.” She holds her hands in front of her, cupped atop her writing area. Kent shrinks just a bit as she bites, “Lest I decide I need siren scales to decorate the sheath of my newest hatchet.”

He doesn’t look afraid of her. No, he never has been, not really. He took her insults like water to oil—they never earnestly struck him personally. Because, unfortunately he knows her so.

He just looks at her like she’s something to analyze and understand, that shifts into a sigh and smoothing out the hair on his head.

“Its not a weakness to have urges, dude, its like…” He frowns, struggling to find words. He almost sounds offended, to her intrigue, “scratching an itch? Relieving the pain—heat cramps suck ass, even with suppressors.”

Its the fairest point he’s made. Bringing up that word…weak.

She was not weak. And her urges didn’t make her feel weak, necessarily. The whiney parasite in her minds eye that she’d been long warned of was but a nuisance.

A necessary evil, like a red light or filing taxes.

Wednesday never cared to dig deep enough into mindless things like arousal to find a better analogy. It was all mundane to her. She’s always found lust in metaphorical sense—

Like that of blood or violence…depends on the occasion.

When she was young, her father had many a hobby.

He was a fine chef, when he had the time. Plenty of it was spent in the kitchen, tending to her and her mother, eventually her siblings as well. Her father with his butcher’s knife and glint in his eye as it struck flesh.

He’d always had an eye for game and sense of direction for tracking. He used to take her hunting, spending hours bait and switching until the perfect buck came under barrel of his rifle.

You never forget your first kill.

She doesn’t know if any pleasure could compare. Her accolades and capital aside, as she’s always been taken care of.

No illusion in that. She’s been spoiled rotten. Littered in mold that had made patches around her heart.

Perhaps thats why it doesn’t immediately take her. Why she’s letting Kent squirm before returning his pity.

“What do you suppose I do?” She asks eventually. Levels the siren with her stare and dares him to test her, “Say I humor your insistent prodding in my personal life…you obviously have a pitch. Well, lets hear it then.”

This was a domain she could find comfort.

At her desk, with a subordinate attempting to earn her favor. Alpha and omega clientele alike tried to do business, or buy share with the most successful outcast run company this side of the Atlantic. And she gave them all the same equal treatment in eye of her apathy.

Kent gives a determined nod, fishing in his pocket for his wallet. He flips through it for a moment, before he finds a slightly bent up card.

He slides it over

“Figured your geriatric eyes would prefer a physical card.” He quips, grinning at her in self satisfaction. “They offer complete confidentiality.”

Wednesday plucks the card up with a careful flick of her fingers. She eyes the ornate script—the calling card for a escort business.

/////////////////////////////

☾ Nevermore’s Nest ☾

~

Never be lonely again

///////////////////////////

It strikes another nerve she apparently has.

“Tell me…your gold fish memory didn’t cause you to forget who you’re propositioning, hmm?” She throws a good insult in after scanning the card for a few more moments. She’d be amused if not for the reason she’s holding it in the first place.

They offered confidentiality alright, along with fantasy and safe, sane, consensual activity.

Kent scoffs his offense once more.

“What? I’ve done it before—its no strings attached, they use fake names, encrypted payments—“

“Its sex work.” Wednesday interrupts, speaking very matter of factly. She raised a brow at the lack of argument, “I have nothing against it, however I prefer not to attach certain things to our already unfavorable reputation.”

Amongst the dumpster fire of nepotism and inheriting a company with admirers and multiple forms of capital…it brought enemies. Along with her father’s previously more cut throat business methods leaving a particular taste in the general media’s mouth.

Mostly conservatives and old money feuds, along with the gripes about her age from her own shareholders. Neither outcasts or non-white individuals were necessarily favorable, even with money.

Not many people knew her status as an omega for a reason.

“Mr. Gomez been on you about your attitude again, huh?” Kent jokes and Wednesday only sighs to herself. “Even on vacation he just can’t stay away from business…must be where you get it.”

Business and tall Omega women…Wednesday only related to the first bit, fortunately.

Her parents were a state or so away, likely a country by now. Their…fiftieth honeymoon or something of the sort. It made her skin crawl.

Her heat falling so close was more insulting than anything else. A cruel joke of the universe.

She’s more likely to spend her heat in a heightened state of anger and irritability vs desire. Thats what she’s always preferred at least. What she firmly stated to her parents whenever they questioned her personal life.

She blows air through her nose, but keeps the card in her white knuckled hand.

“Yes, and I’m sure they would prefer to spend it in ignorant bliss…you wouldn’t want to interrupt with your transgressions,” Wednesday starts with a raised brow, taking in the way Kent gulps. “…Do you?”

Just as quickly as he’d planted himself down, Kent’s hopping to his feet. He shuffles with his tie and checks for imaginary lint on his pants as he looks for an excuse.

“Say, I think finance needed me to come look at…s-something?” He mumbles the end bit, like an incomplete thought.

Wednesday doesn’t budge, watching him eerily up until his hand reached her door handle.

“Oh, Kent?” She calls, lip curling just slightly when his shoulders lock up. He doesn’t face her and she doesn’t wait for him to either, “Do refrain from soliciting any other of my employees with…such.”

She twirls the card between her fingers the same way she knows he’s seen her play with her knife. He laughs, albeit followed by awkward clearing of his throat.

“Right, boss.” He leaves with a nod and final smile that she doesn’t return, but she never does.

And even when he’s gone she doesn’t relax. She can’t—hasn’t been.

Its been happening…again. Getting worse. The card stock only seemed to mock her, the material like molten metal on her fingertips. Brought more attention to the flush that threatened to stretch up past her chest.

As if the insolent siren had known she’d been struggling. No, not struggling—she doesn’t struggle. She’s simply learning to best it.

Still…

She keeps the card despite herself.

/

“Its not weird, I’ve done it.” Bianca, the other meddling siren in her life, says with a shrug.

They’re at brunch, because thats something the mermaid girl enjoys. Likes the process and feel of it all, along with snapping pictures of every drink before she takes a sip.

She liked getting ‘dolled up,’ doing her makeup and morning routine. Her dress was a fine blue silk, along with the golden jewelry insisted upon…though she’s likely going to complain later when she gets food on her ring.

Wednesday could care less for either meals, let alone a culmination of two. Eating was often a hassle for someone to remind her of later. And she never wore much other than a suit, aside from when she laid to rest.

But, Bianca was a childhood friend.

Rather, a person she’d known in high school who hadn’t dropped her number and ignored her glares when she wanted to be alone. These sirens seemed to acclimate around her like a disease spreading.

Though, they would probably call it charm.

“So I’ve been told,” Wednesday sips at the mimosa she’s been roped into. Its not the worst—it loosened her up to the conversation.

The ‘business’ card that was now in Bianca’s manicured fingers. The main subject.

She’s playing with it now. Had already had her fill of ribbing Wednesday for even owning it. Laughed her way through a drink and finally to the part of her game that held the brutal honesty.

“Its honestly easier than trying to date around the public,” Bianca continues, with a far more logical backing to her experience. “Would you rather some club hook up tell the tabloids your favorite position? Or a lil one and done at a fair price?”

A much more logical and fair point.

Wednesday takes a larger gulp from her drink, foregoing the straw. Places the cup back down with a harsh clink, before looking at the siren.

“This normally isn’t a problem I have to tend to.” She says after a while, in a brief show of vulnerability. With her monotone and blank eyes—most of the turmoil was going on in her brain. “Its been…difficult, recently.”

She hates to call it anything. Hates the heat under her skin and the increasingly timid nature of her own biology.

The last time her cycle had barreled through her body, like a steel drum. Had knocked her off her feet and into a pool of dense, murky water that she couldn’t navigate. Couldn’t swim to the top no matter how much her l useless, desperate hands work against the currents. Left soaked and choking on the consequence in her lungs.

Why now? In her 23 years, why now?

“I mean no ones forcing you to get dicked down and mated—and I know I’m one to talk, or whatever.” Bianca refers to her unspoken title as an Alpha between the two of them. The only Alpha she really spoke to, if not only for their complete lack of attraction.

On both ends. Trust, both their parents had unfortunately barked up that tree to no avail. She thinks Bianca would be better castrated.

But, she didn’t worry about herself in this situation. Most other alphas tended to think with only one thing. Bianca was similar to her in the way she carried herself, regal and above it all. Though, far more sexual prowess.

Always a new Omega or Beta of the week. She’s only met a few victims, watching her old friend toot them about like arm candy. Though, never did it reflect on her. She was an Alpha, of course.

An eligible bachelor to her mother’s fortune. As so it goes. Wednesday didn’t have it in her to feel bitter about it anymore. She’d prove nature wrong, regardless.

She twirls her glass a bit, decorative umbrella lolling with her straw and ice chattering.

“Ultimately my only goal is control.” Wednesday says to the surprise of no one listening. “Perhaps I’ve had more choice with this than I’ve led myself to believe.”

/

She fiddled with the ‘Macbook’ with grunts of frustration and a half finished glass of dark liquor on her side table. One of about 3 she’d wolfed down so far, to find the nerve to even dig the white box out that held the equipment.

She acquired assistance from her ‘roommate’ of sorts. The faithful hand that stayed with her after her father’s departure from head of the company. He had been doing most of the actual set up after finally unpacking everything and setting it on the life source—or, charger as Thing called it.

An Addams family secret—Thing knew the ins and outs of the building and company history. Had been with her father and his father before him.

Yet still more technologically inclined, with his combined decades (centuries?).

Thing had chuckled best he could as but a limb. Because, it’s absolutely hysterical that she doesn’t know how to use the technology that she did bother to own.

“It was a gift,” Wednesday deadpans, unimpressed with the fact that she’s being bested by a machine. A delicately thin piece of machinery at that.

She was offered many freebies and discarded tech, but she usually just gave it to her brothers or whoever working that day had use for it. It was a brand new model with extremely sensitive buttons and temperamental monitor.

Thing had helped her set up an account—a heinous amount of work just to turn the darned thing on.

“Why on Earth is it called a Safari?” She asks of the browser icon. She’s not completely inept as to not know how to use Google, but the methods to get to one place were quickly becoming egregious.

The names simply made it difficult for sport.

‘You should be good from here. I have an appointment booked for my cuticle repair, just use the messages and type something if you need me!’

He points out a few applications, including the iMessage box. She squints at it for a long time, before nodding.

She’s grateful he’s not asking why she suddenly unboxed the Apple products that had been sitting in her broom closet. He only leapt into action, thankfully assuming it had something to do with business. She supposed it was technically serious.

Though, not at all dire…she was browsing the internet for mere pleasure.

Ugh.

Another layer of security with a sign in and questions to allow her access.

A majority was taken care of with Kent’s access, though she hesitates when her state issued ID is required. The screen tells her it would be a few business days to verify, but she would be free to browse the services.

Wednesday doesn’t know if she has the gall to purchase quite yet.

Its decidedly non offending website management. She’s not much on the subject of web design of course. She thinks the purple is probably fitting—royal and plush like fabric. Something to run your hand across.

She guesses. Its not tacky or tasteless as her internal bias may believe.

And Its not like she has a terrible, stereotypical view of sex workers. Never narrow minded, albeit narrow sighted when it came to most things.

She respected the hustle of good business—sex was just something she herself wasn’t aligned with. Had never really been one for it. She got her rocks off watching the way that people who underestimated her stature crumble and fail.

She’s only really attempted masturbation in moments of lowly urge. It only left her frustrated, unsatisfied and further steered away from the subject.

Even the thought sits uneasy in her stomach.

A handful of heats (all of which had been within the last miserable year) she couldn’t simply sleep off, triggered by stress or whatever else ailed her spirit. Its easier to keep thinking of it like drowning.

Sinking far below to depths she’s not only ignorant, but woefully blind.

It made her head hurt to analyze.

She closes her heavy eyes for a rare moment of meditation. Way back when, she’d attended therapy—her Dr. had called it a ‘grounding technique.’ She was hard pressed to ever admit it genuinely helped when she’s overwhelmed.

Soon enough she’s able to loosen her collar. Run a hand over back of her neck and exhale.

Realizes she’d been so out of it, rushing to get the computer set up; she was still in her full suit. She sheds her blazer, hanging it near the door and then rolls up her sleeves to cuff. Her socked feet against the cold wood floors lead her to the bar.

Another glass on the rocks. She liked cold and rationalized this short of an ice bath. She’s obviously beginning to show. Theres no other reason for the sweat on her brow. Or her feeling so affected over something so asinine.

She sits back at the computer with her liquor, newly determined. This was means to an end.

To regain—to keep control.

Scrolling through different avenues, she realizes that the services were not only catered to heavy wallets, but outcasts that owned them. The option to pick by species, along with ratings and offered services. A fun fact about each one, as cheesy tag line.

More than one had to do with a favorite ‘position.’

Her jaw is tight and teeth clenched to hell, but she knows her face is blood red with mortification.

She’s never spent her heat with another person. Isn’t sure of all the intricacies, because she refused to let her mother taint her judgement. Blissfully ignorant as her parents often spent their cycles in their other properties.

Though—…she’d rather not think of them. It helps even less.

Makes her feel uncomfortable, as she’s already clicking through scantily clad women. Making an account for an escort service’s website. She feels prudish, like the conservative men that plot her business’s downfall.

Theres too many options to the point she almost gives up. She blushed every last bit of blood in her body on the page about boundaries and limits of different employees. Types of play and kink offered that hadn’t ever crossed her mind when looking at rope or handcuffs.

Upon returning to the base page, she happens to note a section advertised in rotation.

Take the Compatibility Quiz *here*
(Great for beginners!)

The option to list her needs, her attributes, etc. and allow the machine to decide for her.

She holds her breath at the form as it loads. Its simple enough to start, only asking her name, age and status. Clicking Omega opens a pit in her stomach. Next her experience levels and if she’s done this before.

Obviously not. She nearly snorts.

It varies from mundane to questions that light the tip of her ears an even brighter red, but she gets her answer. After watching the swirling icon twirl and pop up with an animation of ravens uncovering a body.

A well rated girl, with blonde hair and impish grin.

She had terribly colorful highlights to the ends of her hair, but the photo held more pressing matters.

It was a nearly full shot, showcasing her white bra and boy shorts that did little to hide much of anything. A staged backdrop to add…something.

She couldn’t really focus on things like lighting, right now. She scoffs at herself, at the way she’s not even met this girl in person and she’s feeling her own nerves.

Not nervous—far from it. In fact theres this latent thing, almost like excitement. It has her taking a heaving gulp of drink and adjusting her pant leg; the color white had never looked so enticing. She’s never looked at another person like this, either.

Can’t decide how it makes her feel other than hot for lack of anything else. She can barely peel her eyes away for much other than to glance at her description.

Ophelia. Her name was Ophelia.

She was an Alpha. Same age as her and same city.

She stares at her results for a long time. Thanks god that she doesn’t have to decide anything yet—technically she couldn’t. Background checks and verification of income still pending. The covertness of it being the only thing reassuring to her tensed body.

She takes a long sip from her glass until its gone completely.

Chapter 2: Pardon Me, I Don’t Mean To Take Up Too Much Of Your Time

Chapter Text

She’s thankful that morning when she key fabs in to see the front desk occupied. It had been ‘out of order’ indefinitely, because she didn’t trust just anyone with the security of her business. One may think her mad to take the measures she has.

Loyalty couldn’t be bought, nor substituted however.

“Hey Wednesday!” Is the chipper greeting, accompanied with the push back of a chair and computer typing paused. A gangly boy with curly hair, having only recently begun to truly settle in to his unfortunate growth spurt.

He had to look down at her glare now. A far cry from looking up to her in school, though to this day he still looks at her like she holds some grand secret to life.

She nods at him, one hand going to the strap of her messenger bag. She purses her lips, noting subtle differences in his appearance—his skin had darkened a tad and his hair was nearly hanging over his glasses.

“Eugene, welcome back from your holiday.” Wedneaday greets after her brief scrutiny. “I take it you and your mothers had a satisfactory time?”

She had all but forced some extra money on his check to ensure they did. Pulled a bordering on criminal amount of strings, so they wouldn’t bother over any kind of repayment. Eugene had felt bad about ‘bailing’ on her, but she enjoyed the excuse to not have extra people entering.

He smiles even wider at mention of his mothers. The two spry women that took care of him and their farm animals.

“They were so happy about it, you have no idea!” He beams, hyped up off his trip out of state. “They’ve never been to such a big convention before, plus they got to sell our honey to some out of state-ers and made some awesome connections…we can never thank you enough, brother!”

Wednesday reigns in her reflex to show disgust at the nickname, especially when he pats her arm good naturedly. She’s got a fondness poking at her blackened heart strings.

Eugene had been in Pugsley’s grade and every bit of bullying-bait as her biological brother. Both too kind hearted for their own good, choosing to lead with their hearts that took up more space than she could ever fathom.

Suffice to say, Wednesday was banned from school sporting events for a very good (albeit annoying) reason. In seeking pay back for laying a hand on either of the boys.

Which, may or may not be why she holds a few spare therapy techniques in her pocket. Court mandates were tricky, even with the Addams family bank account.

She decided to practice humility next, holding up a hand.

“No need, your services have bid my family well for far more than I could ever repay,” She shrugs her shoulders up. “Besides, mother would throw a fit if you tried to give her more honey comb without allowing another donation to the farm.”

Eugene’s mothers also ran a small business out of pick up orders on their produce.

Addams & Co. often allocated funds to their joint endeavor, but the women didn’t want to mass produce their products. They liked farmers markets, organic stores and sustainability—respectable practices. Always refused to take more money than they needed.

Though, they could easily dominate the market and brand themselves to be set for the rest of their lives. Wednesday didn’t necessarily dock them for not wanting to deal with running a business the high rolling way.

And her family was more than delighted to help their cause, in solidarity of the minority. In being outcasts atop of prejudice from their identities. Of course the gifts of honey from their hives and fresh produce was a bonus, no matter how much she refused the sentiments or offered to pay.

Eugene was practically kin. The only reason she trusted him to let people in and out while she handles bigger headaches. Had he been a bit older and not in school, he likely would’ve been her assistant instead.

“How are they, by the way?” The boy asks, referring to her own parents. They, of course, loved Eugene just as much as they would any of their children. The boy pushed up his glasses, grinning at her, “Heard they were on the way to haunt some cave in Germany?”

Eugene still stayed with his parents more often than not, driving into the city for his shifts as needed. Which, meant he was privy to gossip she otherwise cared to ignore. The mention of her parents has her preemptively crossing her arms in defense.

“They’ll be gone for a few weeks, though I trust they’ll start phoning the crystal ball in a few days time to pester me with sentiments.” She frowns in anticipation of the ‘Oh, our little storm cloud we miss you so!’ accompanied with her father’s blubbering.

Her entire first year in her father’s position saw one of them calling around the same time every day, to check on her. Even going so far as to shake down Thing when she got tired of answering.

Eugene finds it funny, leaning back against the front desk.

“Aww, they just miss you!” He coos, but knows better than to go any further with his teasing. That and he likely catches the death stare, changing the subject with a sheepish shift of his feet. “So…Pugs said you didn’t come see them off?”

Outwardly, she’s able to keep her expression stilted. Doesn’t budge, aside from a tired sigh that held weight, of which she wanted Eugene to stay ignorant.

“I had business to attend.” Not a full lie, because she decided to have Kent book her full of meetings instead. She didn’t want to—couldn’t deal with seeing them. Especially her mother.

Her invasive and rose tinted ‘premonitions’ especially. The ‘well meaning’ pushes and sly anecdotes to insinuate the particular issue she’s looking to deal with. Wednesday held psychic abilities of her own, but found hers to be less than pleasant. Never loving or romantic.

The card for Nevermore still sat in her wallet. Like dead weight.

Eugene doesn’t understand, his relationship with his mothers being much different. His life in general much different, having the luxury of simply being a Beta.

“But, its their honeymoon!” He exclaimed like he’s shocked she would pull something like this. He knows she’s been extra sour around the elder Addams, but she didn’t exactly feel comfortable talking about…status with Eugene.

The boy only knew she was an Omega by proximity.

“I’m sure I’ll catch one of the next hundred.” Wednesday tossed out, eager for the train of conversation to end.

She’s prepared to disappear to the elevator when she’s rudely reminded of what she’d been trying to keep discreet.

“Oh, also I noticed your schedule was looking pretty dry today?” Eugene questions genuinely curious. He looks at her funny, “As in you’re actually going to be done before sundown for once.”

A heavy beat of silence hangs in the air.

“I have another engagement I’m attending to out of office.” Is her second short, vague non-answer. The receptionist doesn’t stop staring at her, forcing her hand. “Spit it out.”

She’s not often mean to Eugene, often cut and dry, but never malicious. The bite in her own tone had to be actively reigned back, as if she can’t keep her own reactions in check.

Its no big deal—everyone’s been telling her its no big deal.

Yet, she feels the edge, something like guilt or self conscious induced nausea, as if the boy could see right through her. Muscles locked up taut as if she’s wearing a shirt that reads ‘I’m having dinner with someone I solicited to possibly be my heat partner.’

“Nothing! Nothing,” Eugene holds up his hands in surrender and she lets up on her glare. Her breath is held, up until he’s scratching back of his head and smiling kindly, “Just…good to see you taking it easy. Its ok to have fun every once and while—even you.”

Wednesday lets herself exhale.

“Perhaps…” Is all she mumbles, before she’s turning on her heel. Never been one to let cracks in her mask of viewing pleasure. She bids him with an, “I’ll see you before I’m off.”

She doesn’t fully relax until the elevator doors shut.

/

She’s antsy just sitting in her office for a whole block of time. She’s yet to decide (as she’s quite a few things to rifle through) if its in her favor. On one end, Kent was not present and had suddenly needed to use his PTO to tend to his sibling, who had an unfortunate run in with a sting ray.

The siren had called her out of breath, obviously distressed for his family. Still, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Taking her kindness for folly.

On the other hand that fed; her subtle eagerness to allow him the day off, atop of growing desperation to get him off the line. None of these things were even necessarily odd—Kent was just a thorn in her side.

“Before I let you go, I just wanted to say thanks for using my code boss! I got a month free of my subscription.” Kent tossed out over the line, like an afterthought. She can see his wide, grinning mug over the phone.

“You’ll need all the the savings you can get,” She works hard to keep her tone level, to keep what remains of her pride. “You may find your salary soon reflecting it.”

She hangs up on him promptly after, knowing she’s bluffing, but wanting the last word.

Simultaneously, she thinks she’d been dreading the process of getting home to the point of becoming irritable. The transit was mundane and she often listened to the news to pass the time.

It was being home—not for another night spent sipping her drink and nose deep in a novel, but preparing to head out for the night. Thats what swirls about her brain, clogging her thoughts to the point barely anything retains from her shift.

She doesn’t make it to her vehicle until after her final headache inducing call of the day. Feels like she blacks out on the drive home, appearing in her parking spot like spell work. She decided against using any family magic for this sort of meeting, however.

She takes a deep breath as she enters her apartment, going to grab a stick of incense to light. The smell of musk and herbs to plug her nostrils as a comfort.

They’re meeting for dinner first. Something quaint, but public. Wednesday had picked the place out the night before.

The ability to turn around…have an out.

Their emails were like blinking. Far too natural for her to note, though she never bothered to do so unless necessary. Her email account consisted mainly of spam that Thing had sent in his own online browsing.

They exchanged exactly two.

An introduction that looked automated, along with another attached pin up of the girl—Ophelia. The same run down of name, age and affiliation. The second was setting up a face to face that would proceed any ‘fun stuff.’

Or so the girl had typed. Wednesday felt like backing out due to the tacky signature covered in hearts alone. Atop all the ‘huns’, smiley faces and cutesy cadence of their interactions.

She supposed, logically and with benefit of the doubt—perhaps other people may be into that sort of thing. That she has other clients that want more of the fantasy.

Thinks of omegas like Kent, the ones who like to embody that ‘helpless damsel’ type of allure. Bait and trapped—another thing she’s unfortunately bared witness with her own family.

She’s not one to shame (how could she? In being the one soliciting an escort) in fact it helps her rationalize it all. Its just transactional, just business—at least for one of them.

She thinks the pet names just leave a bad taste in her mouth in context. Too close to the crooning affections she grew up around.

She’s not been invited ‘out’ successfully in a while.

Approximately since when Bianca’s birthday was last, because the Alpha had to rent out an entire section with bottle service and music so loud she had to leave to buy plugs and come back. The siren had teased her for coming in a dress shirt/sweater combo, claiming that its a club-club, not a book club.

She ended up being rather rudely correct, when she had to send her cashmere to be dry cleaned, following the Alpha’s subsequent vomiting in the car ride back.

Unfortunately, its still some of her only reliable experience with this kind of thing. Her only source, short of being destitute enough to google ‘how to behave over dinner with…’ whatever she’s to label this.

She initially plans to go as herself, pinstripe trousers and white button up shirt. Forgoes the suit jacket, but still has a crisp tie and clip on her person. Formal, but not as stiff as she looked before Bianca got a hold of her.

Wednesday had only told her originally, because she had to. She didn’t trust Kent not to gossip, the two sirens tending to trade pertinent information over laps in the pool.

She’d been sitting stiffly on her couch when Bianca finally makes it.

The siren had barreled into her apartment, giving her a once over and immediately taking off her vest and blazer, patting her down for weapons and begged her not to drink too much.

“And you don’t have to smile, but try not to look like you want to kill her, yeah?” Bianca had chimed with a condescending pat to her shoulder.

It was far from reassuring. She already hadn’t been seeking it in the first place.

She has her long time chauffeur drive her, a tall ghastly man thats been around since she was a baby. He’d been the one to pilot the hearse that took her parents from the alter after their first wedding.

Lurch was a man of few grunts and good direction. Made her drives quaint, smooth and most importantly quiet. Confidential as well, especially with Thing out of the apartment. She doesn’t need to tell Lurch much, aside from motioning he drive around til she’s finished.

Though, for good measure…

“If Thing requests me, tell him I have an after hours engagement,” She tags on, before tapping hood of the vehicle. Best she have all her bases covered.

She arrived at the restaurant first. Purposeful and how she carried through all of her other meetings. It gave her time to convene, mark her exits and plan for action.

She stuffed hands in her trousers and checked in with her last name. Quickly, she decides the bar to be the best point of contact.

She doesn’t drink a lot, but a glass of wine (or two) goes down without a hitch.

Then, she’s keen to people watch. Peak at the other heavy pockets proceeding through what looked to be more professional meetings, along with a couple or two that seemed to be more intimate. Almost allows herself to forget why she’s not enjoying her drink at home.

Its more manageable when she lets her mind drift away from reality. She often does it in meetings, or in her less riveting classes back in university.

Another sip of her drink…

A tap to her tense shoulder, fingers skirting around back of her neck and collar. She doesn’t flinch, but can’t stop the heat curdling up her spine.

Or the glare and down curl of her lip as she goes to retort—

“Sorry,” A giggle and smile thats all teeth until a hand goes to cover it. Manicured and heinously colorful nails and a few rings on fingers through which the stranger continues, “I didn’t mean to spook you.”

She meets sparkling blue eyes head on that held entirely more mischief than the photo alone could show.

Wednesday certainly felt under imminent threat, still incredibly aware of where she’d been touched. Travels down her spine to the nerves in her fingertips that soothe against her glass.

Bianca had begged, but the seer couldn’t stop herself from glaring. Regretfully, her retort dries in her parched throat. Somehow, despite her drink; in correlation with noting lips that were a pale pink and glossy that soon puckered in Wednesday’s silence.

The entirety of her own walking nightmare was pink. A pale baby pink dress, specifically.

An otherwise (begrudgingly) flattering number and appropriate for a place like this. With the cheapest thing on the menu still being in the double digits. She doesn’t care regardless, but the swankier the establishment, the less people talk. Better security for the fat pockets.

A glittering, thin chain sat between cleavage that catches her sharp eye. When the blonde plops beside her.

Silver. With a crescent moon charm solid against her chest.

“Howdy…you must be Mr. Addams, then?” The blonde greets, leaning next to where Wednesday had sat herself by the fancy bar. The seat gave her a bit of height.

Hearing her name, even formally from this stranger has her clearing her throat. Its suddenly much too stuffy.

“That would be correct.” She replies quaintly. The girl looks satisfied, settling herself next to Wednesday in the seat.

She leans her head on her hand, watching her. Its unnerving honestly and for the first time she understands why other people shrink under her gaze. The blonde smiles playfully, laughing a bit.

“Names Ophelia by the way…nice to see you in person, sir.” She introduced herself, to which Wednesday makes a noise of gruff acknowledgment.

Notes how the title makes her chest stutter painfully. Her eye twitching and grip curling around the spine of her glass. Because this stranger had audacity to address her so.

And now Wednesday’s verging on looking flustered, because she should’ve probably been the one to ask. To assert herself first like she’d intended.

She blames it on her suffering social skills.

A drum of short nails against the top of the bar, catches her strangled nerves next, followed by a coy—

“That is the title you wanted me to use, yeah?”

Yes. Wednesday wants to snark through her teeth, that would be what the website required her to type her preference on, before she could proceed to the next section.

She doesn’t know why it vexes her so. Why she feels the need to react at all, beyond apathy. She’s supposed to view this as the transaction it is.

Just business.

“Order whatever you’d like. I have a tab,” Wednesday offers, trying to get ahead of the conversation. As if this has become a battlefield, rather than a casual lounge meet up. A smug prideful part of her liked the gesture of placing her debit card above an alpha’s.

As if she’s fooling the other patrons, who have no idea that she’s compromising every single one of her morals.

“I’ll have what you’re having, sir.” Ophelia honest to god winks in her direction and it doesn’t make her outright scowl.

She doesn’t smile or anything crazy either, however the stirring in her chest was becoming suffocatingly uncomfortable. She feels her eye twitching again as she adjusts her tie, before she flags down the bar tend.

Does good not to blush at the giggle from her side.

~

Its like a pin dropping in form of the droplets of a glass. When the girl in front of her swivels wine, licking her lips before having a taste. She meets Wednesday’s eye when she wipes a bit from corner of her mouth with her thumb.

“So…come here often?” Ophelia queries with a grin so wide she’d think it was fake if not for the fact that it seemed to be a mainstay. A drawl to her voice, like she’s trying to be playful.

It has her primly adjusting a shirt cuff.

“I’ve been to this establishment enough times to have good faith they wouldn’t betray our outstanding relationship.” Wednesday replies very matter of factly, one hand still firmly on stem of her glass on the bar.

Ophelia doesn’t blink, though her smile turns a little off kilter.

“You’re in the food industry too?” She asks with a fascinated tilt of her head. Wednesday would snort at the way the blonde hung on her word like an eager puppy, if not for the circ*mstance.

“Not necessarily,” The CEO corrects. “I’m simply vigilant of those I solicit for personal and business reasons. I’m sure you understand the practice of being discreet.”

“Way to call without saying it,” Ophelia says it like a quip. Sips her drink as she speaks it under her breath.

“And what exactly am I saying?” Wednesday queries, not particularly liking said tone. Ophelia just keeps up her grin at her expense.

“Its just very obvious you’re new at this. Are you…nervous? Your file said you’d never been with someone like me before…” She asks, hand sliding across the bar like a snake poised to constrict around her exposed hand. Wednesday snatched it away on reflex, making the blonde’s eyes widen in clear amusem*nt, “Not the PDA type, then…got it.”

“Nerve isn’t something I can afford to lack,” The seer retorts, a bit tossed at any implication of fear. “I adhere to the same business practices with all of my affairs. No exceptions or bias.”

She would be daft to think something as minuscule as a date would compel her to be ‘nervous.’ Or that she’s some sheltered nun, ready to crucify over sanctity of her ‘sinful’ actions.

Wednesday simply lacked necessary experience due to having better, more pertinent things to handle. No matter what some girl she’s technically interviewing may assume.

Never mind the fact that the escort looks indifferent, humming to herself and drinking casually. Looking far more comfortable—she’s realizing very quickly this may be field where the grounds sit uneven. That perhaps she’ll have to put effort into planning her next move.

It has Wednesday’s brow raising, to which the blonde finally decides to meet her eyes once more, grinning all the same.

“So, Mr. Addams…what do you do for ‘fun’, then?”

Her smile squints her eyes a bit, in what sounds like genuine teasing. Leans her head on her fist as she studies her. Wednesday doesn’t know why it makes her clothes feel tight against her skin.

It should be no different than when Bianca tries her patience.

“…You know, besides hot blondes for hire?” Ophelia adds at her tight lipped silence. A twinkle in her eye like they’re playing a game that Wednesday’s unwillingly in on.

Thankfully her glass wasn’t up to her lips and her face was naturally steeled still. Because she’s not about to let some smug Alpha that she’s paying see her sweat before her heat’s even properly peaked.

“I’ve got a flourishing collection of blades, swords, rapiers that I make use of in my leisure…really, I could show you if you’re truly dying to know.” Probably not the best route of conversation to the person she’s supposed to be meeting with to talk about death in the metaphorical sense.

Le petit mort—Wednesday much preferred demise to be bloody and grandiose.

But, then…Ophelia has audacity to snort. Like her threats were but words.

“Now, I thought this was only our first meeting…” Ophelia pouts, but theres no real fuel behind her faux whining. “But…we can talk about knife play now if you want?”

Wednesday gives an audible tsk, not particularly liking the way it tempts her lips to quirk up in amusem*nt. Quick witted and now smug; the gall of this girl, swinging her legs in the chair and twirling her straw between her teeth.

“Are you this accommodating with all of your suitors?” Wednesday asks rhetoric and even toned, sliding her glass a inch away to flex her hand. Creates a show of apathy, that Ophelia thinks is just as amusing as everything else.

“Just the stuffy, uptight ones that need a little help loosening up…” Ophelia replies with a shrug that somehow makes Wednesday even more unwillingly bothered. Then more contemplative, “Besides, you’re my only client for the time being. Assuming its still something you’re interested in?”

The teasing had dulled to something else, the escort looking at her more seriously.

Seems as if she can be professional, Wednesday thinks to herself, even more so, capable of fronting even in face of her unrelenting glare. Not a feat many can accomplish.

Nor did she appear off put by her refusal to submit to her Alpha ‘charm.’ Granted, not much effort had been put forth thus far. Wednesday hasn’t picked up anything indicating otherwise—she can barely even smell the fact that she was talking to an Alpha.

“I could easily ask you the same.” Wednesday answers with another question, because she’s not about to voice it first. “I’m told my approach can be rather…domineering.”

She’s well aware that she sounds in no way apologetic of this fact. It always brings a quirk to her lips, thinking of her feats.

“Really?” Ophelia rivals her with her dead pan, “Never would’ve guessed.”

But, with that cheeky undertone and Wednesday finds herself looking at that craning neck. Unblemished pale skin and the necklace that lay flat.

“Surely you aren’t intimidated by sharp objects?” Wednesday prompts indirectly, to interest of the escort. “Considering your nature. Unless…you’re all bark?”

Like a verbal chess piece played, she follows it with a sip. Keeps her indifference outwardly, even when Ophelia placed her hand close. Slides it across the bar with glowering eyes.

Holds her breath and avoids choking on her liquor, when those grossly colorful nails extend to sharp talons. They scratch against the surface of the bar like fresh churned butter.

“Whaddya think, Mr. Addams?” Ophelia smirks and Wednesday catches the way her fangs just barely peak.

And perhaps…

Perhaps,in this setting she’s not the predator. With her heart beginning to pound in her chest, for the first time in a while.

Chapter 3: As My Wingtips Pace The Floor

Chapter Text

Rainbow esque beams of light, like stained glass bleeding.

Its all she can see when she falls to sleep…vexing her behind her own eyelids.

Bianca didn’t wait up for her that night. After her time with Ophelia. The siren had been instructed to be on standby, but…Wednesday found she didn’t need it.

Found herself making it home well into the night, still smelling sweet from the bar and her tie looser than when she’d left. Musical strings from the piano at the lounge, lulled her ride back and kept ringing up until she entered her silent apartment.

Her home felt foreign, viewing it in night tint. She wipes her eyes as they adjust, but it still doesn’t quite feel right. She’s normally fast asleep about now, lest she’s adhering to business.

Actual business. Or writing/reading something particularly riveting.

Instead she’s buzzing in the temples her head, still with wine staining back of her tongue. Like a reminder of every word spoken, between sips of liquid nerve. She certainly could not afford to lack, as she stated at the bar.

Before she had every bit of her expectations shattered. Malleable like molten heat to her normally steeled features. Like those claws had made imprint in her skin, rather than the top of the bar.

When she lays her head against her black silk pillow case, writhing through the night instead of counting sheep. Her head is still miles away.

Its been a solid hour since she’d exited the restaurant, leaving a generous tip and brushing shoulders with the escort as she walked her to her Uber. Shared light banter that riled up the CEO like a closing a deal.

Wednesday was in fact trained in sword play.

A fierce competitor, she prided herself on reading people for weakness. Tracing a body for pulse points. A winning strike the second things move in her inevitable favor. Had trophies back at her parents’ to commemorate her fencing ability.

Ophelia was like bringing a gun to a knife fight. co*cked barrel pointed directly at her forehead.

At such close range, though…does one even feel it? Aside from clicks and cogs of the handle and trigger?

She didn’t notice the open wound, her brains and innards bared before she’d striped herself for bed. She’s bleeding directly on the dark linen of her bed sheets. Damp along with the rest of her body.

She relives her last moments of breath in her dreams. Spends a fair amount of time deciding when exactly she stopped breathing. When her life was taken. When the heady crimson poured down her chest, leaking past her naval…

Funny. She remembered the blood cooling with time. Kill being cold by the time her father was finished with them. This blood still feels fresh.

Boiling and bubbling against her skin.

Sneakily slipping past the band of her panties, as if guided. She’s too exhausted to check, bangs sticking to her forehead as the inferno begins to suffocate her. She can’t speak, aside from meager grunts when she feebly attempts to shift.

The blood is between her thighs now. Her eyes are shut tight, as if she can force her own REM cycle. Strangely she somehow feels already somewhere inbetween. When she allows her lids to flutter open—

She has to be dreaming. Despite herself, she must be dreaming.

She’s in a bed that doesn’t feel like her own. Against pillows that feel stiff and scratchy against the back of her neck. Light entirely too bright for this time of night.

“Maybe you should be calling me sir,” Like a bucket of ice to quell the burning. The lulled voice was bordering on cruel amusem*nt. Wednesday didn’t understand why she wasn’t angry.

Why she’s not alone suddenly…why her solitude had failed her.

Why this figure now exists above her—atop of her.

As if possessed, body and mind in a haze she finds her hands in golden fluff, pushing down, down…she hears a sharp inhale, followed by a chilling growl—

“You’ve been holding out on me…hiding this…” All Wednesday remembers is blue.

Her faithful metaphor of water and vast oceans. Depths even the sirens she keeps around can’t fathom. She’s gasping as waves crash like arms around her thighs pulling her under—

Glimmering eyes like doubloons tarnished by moisture and sin into cerulean.

“Tell me the word. A-And I won’t stop until you—f*ck…until you—“

*

Her eyes snap open again and she finds herself in bed; Unblinking and taking in her ceiling.

Her blankets unruly and neck bent uncomfortably as her heartbeat pounds in her ears. She’s out of breath, sitting up in alarm with uncharacteristically wide eyes.

That dream…

That vision—

No…it was a dream. It had to just be a dream.

Born of latent hormones she’s yet to reign in. (Even though her last heat was weeks ago.)

She blames sneaky alpha pheromones, working to muddle up her senses. (Even though she doesn’t recall smelling much of anything at all.)

Curses her own birthright for good measure, simply because she hates putting forth more effort than normal.

Her hands clench uncomfortably around her blankets, eyes looking around the room as if an answer exists on her walls. Swallows harshly, letting her clothes continue to stick to her skin far beyond comfort.

She’s still dreadfully overheated. And while she enjoyed the feeling of steam so hot it burns her skin red—this left her feeling far from cleansed. She felt like she needed a shower.

It starts an impromptu morning target practice.

She’s always had a dart board in her room—its her place to decompress after her days of mental toil. Its not often she’s yet to even start said dreadful day, before she’s throwing knives with trigger happy wrist.

Luckily (or not), she hears the tell tale sound of the makeshift doggy door.

Insulting probably, but she’s not in the mood to be accommodating to her housemate’s feelings. Especially if he insists on these morning calls. Without knocking first.

Thing patters across her floor and rug easily, climbing her bed post to settle himself at her height.

He’s suspiciously quiet, considering him obviously wanting her to hear him enter. She doesn’t greet him good morning, or give him much aside from a glance.

She’s still trying to catch her breath in all honesty. On top of the fact that the bullseye purposely eludes her as she decorates each ring with a blunt tip.

‘You made quite a ruckus in your sleep last night.’

She’s not looking at him, but hears the morse code against her mattress. Its hard to indicate tone, rather she’s finding it difficult to discern if theres one to begin with.

“What did you hear?” She asks nonchalantly, easily tossing another blade. She looks to him blankly after it lands, as if it polished her steel.

‘Aside from you returning very late? Lots of moaning and groaning…reminded me of the time Fester caused an earthquake and shook up the graves back at the manor.’

She bites her own tongue hard enough to draw some blood. The sting clashes with the visceral indignation she was at threat to show.

Because showing meant telling and Thing was loyal, but respected the elders more than not. She’s not entirely sure he’d go running to tell her parents, but doesn’t trust him not to let it slip either.

She rolls her shoulders, going back to her dart board. pushes up the sleeves of her fresh pajamas, not particularly needing the extra fabric on her skin.

“I had a late night…” She trails as she steadies her aim to toss another. She should get them sharpened soon. Maybe she’ll pull out the wet stone and do it herself.

Act of repetition as another form of self soothing meditation. Center herself for whats to come.

Thing gestures her attention again, claiming something important. She hums in lieu of a reply.

‘Your Dr. called for you as well.’ The hand signs, to both her intrigue and trepidation. ‘Said it was very important and about some…results you requested?’

Thing is nosey, but knows better than to truly prod directly to her face. Especially not with so many weapons about. Wednesday relaxes just a bit with that, mentally scolding herself for being so off.

She is the one in control here.

She manages a multimillion dollar company for Lucifer’s sake.

“Maybe you should be calling me sir…”

Wednesday decides to pause her knives, taking in the pertinent information. The fact that her family doctor had phoned. Just as she had anticipated, in tandem with her current affair.

Her current night terror. And not the good kind.

Referred to as a ‘witch doctor’ by most, the old bat had more than proved her worth as a talented healer. Slight of hand or not. Wednesday had sent a signal by crystal ball, already anticipating this.

Her age was as much a mystery as the remainder of Thing’s body. Nevertheless, she was the only person Wednesday trusted with her blood as she had her fair share of Addams family patients over the years. Status notwithstanding.

She wasn’t one to toe into foreign lands gung-ho. Admittedly a control freak, she’s been taking as many measures possible to ensure her venture into Nevermore’s site doesn’t interfere with her personal equilibrium.

The first being her medication. The capsules stuffed with whatever the family witch had crafted into her recipe. It had suited her well enough throughout her years since first presenting.

Not including the recent few heat cycles—of which she’d yet to ask for any increase in dosage or modification. Kent’s meddling had usurped that idea. And her enlightening meeting with Ophelia had cemented her decision.

To allow her scent to permeate the air.

To cease the stifling of her Omega’s nature. She’s a planner first and foremost and knew her mind would be made after concluding her initial ‘appointment.’

And then with her peskydream…

She had been going about this entirely wrong. Lidding a pot with water boiling and bubbling over, when she’s only making messy work of wetting her sleeves. Burning her skin.

She had to play this game in order to win—toe the line of defense to gauge its strength. Place a lock and key over any lingering ‘dreams’ or intrusive thoughts.

Even if it meant succumbing to her own hormones for sake of exposure. Knowing thy enemy.

Better yet, learning to master them…smug, werewolf escorts and know-it-all, psychic mothers a non factor.

She’d been taking her current dosage ever since she took over for her father. Her teenage years only saw her using a base dose to silence her brain enough to graduate early. Only a few particularlybrainless Alphas (other than Bianca) dared try her patience, their acrid scents giving her a headache, rather than exciting her.

In school her reputation was that of a picky, stuck up Omega. Someone to be shaken down, as if she’s just so desperate for the right knot headed brute to sweep her off her feet. Like a prize to be won.

Tsk. Exactly why as soon as she was able, she dulled her pheromones and nature entirely.

Still, she finds herself grabbing the pill holder by her bedside table. She’d only meant to glance it and briefly muse over the years of purposeful dampening of her status. The suppression that was apparently not doing its job any longer.

Seems as if with most things, she would be taking this into her own hands.

“Hmph…the source of my stolen nightmares,” Wednesday mumbled to herself, as she notes the most recent un-swallowed pill. Semi-purposefully so, her head spinning and tipsy before falling asleep.

It lay mocking her and her flustered dreamscape. A bitter thing shoots up her arm that makes her want to flush them entirely.

Her battle for control was gearing up to be one of endurance.

/

“—And so today gentlemen and, uh—ladies,” Comes the shakey pitch, called from a head of the long table.

The other end sat a cross armed Wednesday and a few other investors she’s familiar with. They’d met in this room on many occasion, with much more appealing pitches. Even Kent could barely contain himself at her side. While he was much nicer to these types, he couldn’t help himself with someone so…how does she put it…

Frail? Spineless? Vapid?

“Get on with it.” She impatiently pushes, watching the man blanch and readjust his bowtie.

He’s apparently pitched something to them before. A fellow psychic, wanting to apparently ‘ease the burden’ of said abilities. Burdened with his family’s business the same way she was—albeit with much to be desired.

With his prototype ‘patch’ that sticks to skin to distribute its properties. To quell ones supernatural abilities…likely why they’re squabbling to Addams & Co. for funding.

“Its my mother’s work really…b-but I’ve perfected it!” The man continues, “You can use them as early as the toddler stage—“

That has even Kent making a face, exchanging looks with her.

“Er, look…Rowan, was it?” Kent starts, softly like the shorter boy was a child and not a lanky young man. The siren moves his hands absently, before cupping them together as her finds the words. “We don’t really make a habit out of telling kids to…‘turn it off’ you know?”

He uses air quotes and keeps his voice low. Wednesday leans back a bit, watching Rowan begin to deflate.

“Its not telling them to ‘turn it off’—I’m-I’m literally an outcast myself!” He stands from his seat with this, making show of the way the chair pushes back without his hand even moving. Wednesday eyes the minimal force with a keen eye.

Kent cringes again, lowering his hands and looking to Wednesday for assistance. Seems he lacked the gumption to tell someone ‘no.’

Oh, well…

“Its a marketing nightmare. The public trusts us to highlight our outcast abilities…these are just another thing to make normies feel accommodated.” Wednesday recites, not once blinking. She would be far more insane than her reputation upheld, to throw away their policies for a product barely off the ground.

To endorse something that had far more appeal to those who wished to alienate the supernatural altogether.

“This will make normies take us seriously!” Rowan’s volume raises, fists pounding on the table in his desperation. “Do you know how many children wish they could blend in—just…just for a little bit?”

His voice softens and his eyes glimmer like he holds deep pain for whatever he speaks. And Wednesday knew it to be no tale—thats why her family got into this business. To open doors for people like them.

Exactly why she wants nothing to do with this.

She decides to take a stand herself, making the others in the room including Kent turn in surprise. She pulls her bag onto the table and slides her paperwork and notebook in.

“Those children should know it is no fault of their own…the cruelty of the rest of the world.” Wednesday closes her bag in punctuation, before sliding it over her shoulder, “Meeting adjourned.”

She doesn’t turn to look back as she waltzes out of the meeting room, glass door opening and closing softly with its weight. She’s followed halfway down the hall by a slightly out of breath Kent, who’s eyeing her warily inspite of his smile.

“Brutal ending as always, boss.” He murmured with a slight elbow connecting with her sleeve. Wednesday’s unamused as ever, hand going to readjust her bag.

“Cut the flattery,” She side eyes him. “I’m assuming you’re still following me foot to foot for a reason?”

Considering the abrupt end, there were no notes to go over. Nor did she particularly want to rehash the last half hour or so, of time wasted. Luckily her office isn’t a far walk back by any means.

Kent’s still hot on her heels, even as she nearly shuts the door on him.

“Just…following up?” He briefly hesitated from the doorway, letting her give her non answer before closing it. “Bianca wouldn’t give me details—not that I asked a lot!—but she wouldn’t even tell me where you guys went.”

He speaks as he locks the door, then follows her to her desk. Wednesday makes quick work of unpacking, along with snarking the siren as she settles into her seat.

“Once upon a time I recall Bianca saying something along the lines of swimming being a relaxing hobby. Meditative even…” She folds her hands in her lap, “I’ve always wondered where exactly the gossip fits into that.”

“A little chisme to unwind never exactly hurt anyone…” Kent grins, leaning on the chair across from her, rather than sitting in it. Then clearing his throat, “But, I mainly wanted to know how you felt about stuff.”

She could play coy until even the janitors left for the night, but there was no disguising her after work outing. Nor was she planning on doing so, if she’s to mold this to her favor. Its like new sand in the ring, learning to stance herself for a verbal spar.

“If you must know, we had drinks and discussed basics.” She’s still less than enthused by how satisfied Kent looks in learning that information, “And…I’ve set up a following appointment for later this week.”

“Oh hell yeah!” He forgets who he’s talking to for a moment. He must have, because he places his hand up as if he thinks Wednesday would legitimately high five him. At her overt refusal in lack of action alone, he lowers his hand sheepishly, but still with audacity to joke. “Would you ever wanna double date?”

Any other time she would’ve likely said something teetering on a major human resource violation. However, she actually needs the siren’s unfortunate prowess and dumb charm. And not for business reasons.

“Bad joke, eh?” He murmurs, drumming against the chair when she doesn’t rib him, or make any moves aside from breathing.

And she does so heavily, a sigh escaping her quickly drying lips.

“Tell me, Kent—though, I’m sure to regret asking…” She quips. “How would you rate your experience with Nevermore thus far?”

He gets a funny look, even laughing a bit. Shifts in place, like he’s deciding something.

“Kinda late for that, isn’t it? I should be asking you.” Kent starts, lifting a hand to gesture in her direction, “I mean…it must’ve been something if you’re already planning to meet again so soon?”

Perhaps she should’ve grabbed her rum before sitting down.

“I believe these exchanges come first with equal offering.” Wednesday replies tiredly, instead of supplying anything on her end. The point was gaining information. She tilts her chin up, “And I asked first.”

Kent puffs out another laugh, deciding to finally sit himself properly in the seat.

“Well—how do any of these things go, really…” He trails, straightening out his blazer now that he’s sitting. “Truth be told I got a recommendation myself. It was from one of the guys, you know—the ones that brought in the knotting dild*s, remember?”

He snaps his fingers as he recalls it. Meanwhile, she has to fight the urge to grill him about whatever post meeting conversations he’s been having without telling her.

“Unfortunately.” She drawls darkly, reigning it in. None the wiser, Kent looks off in the distance as his grin grows wide in what must be memory.

“Yeah, so we spent a while shooting the sh*t after and then one thing led to another and he hands me this thick ass card stock. Don’t worry I got you a fresh one,” He reassures, as if that’s what her gripe with the story thus far would be. “The sign up had me blushing like crazy, plus Divina was staying with me and the twin telepathy goes crazy when I’m trying to keep secrets! Like that time I was trying to sneak into—“

“I think we’re beginning to lose the relevant point here.” Wednesday cuts him off, gaze weighted with her dead eyed exasperation. Kent bites his lips shut sheepishly.

“Right, sorry—you know how I go home with Div for the solstice or eclipses every blue moon, or so?” He begins anew and Wednesday gives a slow nod. Aside from holidays or business the siren needed time off to head to the ocean. Kent’s voice softens, shoulders shrugging, “Its way easier with a buddy and Bianca was with that really possessive girl she met from work, so that was a no go. I happened to have one sync up with my heat and needed an escort…literally.”

Ah. That would certainly make sense. With implications that make Wednesday’s skin crawl. When she thinks of the way unmated Omegas were often treated—especially in an atmosphere as such. She’s versed enough in siren politics to know.

Coven meetings were a chance to flex. Pheromones and egos run high as families meet. Also very traditional, in the sense of not wanting to mate outside of their kind. Isolated by the sea in a way, lest ‘lured by their song.’ They were territorial creatures if nothing else.

Ironic, considering the stereotype of their more open sexual nature. Though of course this varied by family or coven.

“No adjacent families catch your eye?” Wednesday questions, curious. Kent was better with people than both her and Bianca.

“More like I’m not into any of them and my parents would kill me if they knew I mated outside.” He snorts, like the idea was a joke. “I know you may not get the vibe, but…I’m kind of a catch. Like its a problem when I’m by myself and I know Div gets it even worse being a chick and all…”

Wednesday knows all too well—would probably know even more so if not for her preventative measures and privilege. She’s not faced as much public harassment since finishing school.

Kent had been embodiment of the former, for as long as she’d known him.

“And thats all you’ve propositioned for?” Wednesday prompts, not wanting her own bitterness to cloud her goal. If she thinks about the world too much she’ll want to call it all off entirely.

Want to go back to solitude and pills to keep her incognito.

Kent luckily understands, but unfortunately begins to waggle his brows. He smirks as he meets her eyes, testing the waters because they don’t normally talk this way.

“Oh,” He says, looking a bit self satisfied. He cracks his knuckles, “You wanna know about the dirty deets?”

She should expect the mirth and humor found in her situation. Honestly she should—still doesn’t stop her nails from digging into her chair. Her eyes even close as she sighs, pinching bridge of her nose with her free hand.

“I’ve yet to engage in any…intimacy with my…” It gives her even more of a headache if she tries to define it. For some reason she can’t will her tongue to give her the syllables to voice it. Like she’s flustered, or something equally out of character.

Kent shows her little mercy, cooing at her distress.

“Saving it for the big day?” He jokes, prompting Wednesday’s pride. A glare and grumbled threat have him finishing his story, “Honestly it just kinda happened my first time. It was never off the table, just not the priority exactly? I honestly meant it to just be some ‘thank you’ head because no one bothered me or Div that whole conference, but sh*t escalated.”

He speaks so blase about it, vulgarity be damned. Wednesday by now has her head in her hands, mouth and face covered. She blinks exactly once the entire time.

“I see.” She deadpans, then clears her throat. “And you still meet with them?”

“I don’t really have a regular per say…” Kent trails, then makes a face when Wednesday involuntarily snorts. “Hey, no slu*t shaming! I just like people, or whatever.”

She almost wants to correct him. She’s not shaming anyone, in fact she’s currently orchestrating the conversation for information on sexuality she lacked. She just…couldn’t exactly make that overt.

But then Kent has audacity to look at her with something akin to pity.

“Its ok to be nervous dude,” His tone so soft it almost makes her angry. “But, trust they’re all very good at their jobs. And the lady that owns it runs a tight ship from what I’ve heard.”

She still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know how to without incriminating herself. She’s quickly beginning to regret not throwing herself into the depths of the internet instead.

Stubbornly, she turns her chair just so, so that she’s facing her typewriter instead.

”That will be all for today, Kent your efforts have been noted. Its been absolutely miserable speaking with you.”

/

They would be meeting again. Her and Ophelia.

Just once more, as her cycle was consistent enough that she knows her weeks are numbered. Barely a month ago, following her most recent (most gut wrenching, visceral) heat and subsequent foray into Kent’s recommended site.

A heat visceral enough to tempt her to sign up. By the time her mind was back from its biological haze, she had found herself seat to seat with her personified hell. Scorching her down and building her back up into something wrathful.

She’s never seen sex as much other than a weapon. Everyone had a blade—a blunt tip that catches their eye.

Sex had been something to curl her lips up at, lift her head and find better to do.

Unpleasant thoughts of her parents and their PDA, memories of how shamelessly they’d scent each other in public. How possessive and Alpha her father could be, while her mother remained pliant and stereotypically Omega.

How even their shareholders, men and women who brushed shoulders with her unknowingly made comments. The Alphas with pockets feeling far more bold and entitled.

Wednesday had always hated her heats, the insufferable cramps and cloudy thoughts. She often couldn’t even write out her frustrations.

She feels the tell tale tautness in her belly, before she’s properly left her house. The precursor of whats to come, her insides gearing to cry out for the life she didn’t ask for.

Its a weekend, her ritual of coffee and newspaper interrupted by the promise of lunch. Of useless biological response like ovulation.

As if her body knew she was betraying herself already. The flush to her cheeks and tremble up her spine as she gets ready to leave. Clammy hands grab for her cursed phone to tell the escort she’s in route.

Tsk. The affects of not taking her medication seem to be not only inopportune in expression, but timing. She had been mostly fine throughout the week, barely noticing anything different until that morning. She has the AC up in the car and has to tell Lurch to turn down the music.

She feels on edge for some strange reason.

~

By the second meeting, the more the line begins to blur. Between what apparently, she had only thought she knew vs. reality and glaring fact.

What she witnessed from her parents, or even her family balls that included pairs of all types.

Omegas with Betas, like her grandmama and deceased grandfather. Or her favorite uncle, Fester who defied all and existed as nothing. He’d never presented and Wednesday envied him for it. Her family created many an oddity, yet cursed her to battle stereotypes.

She was constantly challenging the ideal of what it meant to be an Omega. Alphas loved to try and ‘help’ her find her ‘place.’ Its why she chose to reside in solitude with no distractions or dim to her gloom.

But, Ophelia was…

Well—she was certainly an Alpha.

In title, sure. Otherwise it felt like a cellophane-esque film between them. She was tall, but not hulking. Muscular, but not jock-ish and brute. Blonde, but not at all dumb, in fact Wednesday thinks she’s quite calculating somewhere in there.

Beneath the impish grin and closet full of what seemed to be exclusively pink clothing.

They take a small stroll after meeting for lunch, another drink and brief conversation that consisted of thinly veiled teasing. Verbal sparring that she’d only really found in Bianca, but with Ophelia it had her awaiting every quip.

Where Bianca was sharp, the other Alpha used her words more subtly. Back handed sarcasm with a grin that made Wednesday’s blood pump.

“You wanna take me on a walk?” Ophelia had asked, hand to her chest in mock offense. “That could be considered rude to my kind, you know?”

Lacking any kind of shame or decorum, a few eyes looking in their direction that make Wednesday scowl. Ophelia finishes off her co*cktail non the wiser…more than likely she didn’t care.

“Be happy I didn’t bring a leash and muzzle,” Wednesday mumbled to herself, but Ophelia gasps in exaggeration.

“Mr. Addams! Keep being so forward and we won’t make it to the town car.” And another one of those juvenile winks that make her stomach feel strange.

Still, the banter made her more comfortable if nothing else, so for that she was grateful. A bit of normalcy to the anomaly of their situation. She could handle verbal quips and mind games. Though the escort was playing one in particular that she had little experience.

Has her subtly wiping a bit of sweat from her brow. As if sitting and talking equaled physical exertion

And unfortunately date of her heat loomed like a meteor in orbit. Had already played part in her decision to wear linen trousers with her button up. She hadn’t even looked at her ties.

So, she decides it best to get some fresh air.

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but catches the adjustment of the chain around the blonde’s neck. The way the charm settles back in center of her clavicle—best she flag down the waiter.

She’s obviously just overheating.

The girl was a ray of unrelenting sunshine to boot. She skipped when she walked and squeaked over a dog they passed on their stroll past the park. It was doing less to psych her out, however it was beginning to make her question their compatibility.

Her saving grace being the way in which she has to actively remind herself that Ophelia is an Alpha.

The girl didn’t look to have a dominant bone in her body. She wasn’t loud, more so shrill. She wasn’t miffed by Wednesday’s need to lead—granted Bianca held herself differently too, but her aura was unmistakable. The siren screamed her status with how she stood.

Especially when she was tried, or angered. More disgustingly so, when the siren wanted something (or someone). Tropical breeze, like the salt water from ocean; ranging to something more fruity, coconut rinds invading her nostrils in an unpleasant way.

Mainly when her old friend had a new Omega, or Beta to toy with. Wednesday preferred not to be around for that, though.

Ophelia didn’t have much scent to her at all. Aside from the vanilla based note of perfume, one would think she called in a Beta.

She had opted for a mask as she walks outside. She needed to cool down, but preferred to not be bothered. Wonders if perhaps thats what dulled the smell, but she didn’t recall smelling it the last time either.

She finds nerve to ask in the town car. After their walk around a couple of blocks, she had Lurch pick them up. Ophelia had slid in sitting across from her, looking around the amenities with ‘oos’ and chewing on a co*cktail olive.

“Why?” Wednesday starts, garnering the blonde’s attention and curious eyes. The CEO narrows her eyes, “Why don’t I smell you?”

Ophelia swallows her snack with a hum of understanding, sucking her finger and nodding.

“Scent blockers!” She announced, before looking to the ceiling for a moment in thought. “I don’t always use them, but I figured it would be the best bet for easing you into things.”

It both makes her grateful and somehow more frustrated internally. Scent was such an egregious thing, pheromones connected to emotions. Ability to guide and manipulate as seen fit. Wednesday hadn’t allowed herself to be affected outside of childhood discipline; when her father would be extra stern at her stubborn disobedience.

She didn’t necessarily want to smell Ophelia’s Alpha stench, however the fact that she can’t…

It fills her with unease. Conflicting unease, be it because she wonders if the Alpha thinks her weak minded; An Omega with no inhibitions that wouldn’t be able to properly conduct herself under thrall of her scent during her cycle. Or…

The fact that she’s terribly curious.

Morbidly so, to detriment of her own will and sanity. She loathes to, but feels no other choice but to keep blaming the date, the timing—biology and science itself.

“Plus, you very obviously have a thing against Alphas.” Ophelia adds on easily, looking at Wednesday as if it was unspoken fact. Then cheekily, with another olive between her fingers, “Can I take some of these home?”

For some reason she almost reacts in offense. Almost tells the blonde that she aught to quit analyzing her, period.

“Obviously?” Wednesday questions, though she knows its not necessarily untrue. However, she doesn’t hate them—she doesn’t hate anyone. Not really.

Hate implied care, which is something she would be hard pressed to admit. She prefers distaste, or better yet stubborn apathy.

“Your omega scent is faint as hell…like its not even there. And I didn’t wanna be a creep and just start inhaling you.” Ophelia shrugs at her tone, innocently brushing hair behind her ear. “Also, its not hard to assume, is it? I did technically read your application before agreeing to take you on.”

Again, not at all exaggerated or false. However she still feels bothered—the need to be guarded.

“I simply refuse to be boiled down to my status, when the subject is clearly business.” She replies in defense, though she knows its not a baseless accusation.

Calling ones intended by their rank, like they’re in medieval times, it was a thing of endearment to those traditionally inclined. The same with marking your things, your territory…it made Wednesday’s skin crawl.

The scent did in fact go both ways.

Somehow it always brought her little comfort. The way her mother would push fragrance of frankincense down the grand staircase when father would return from the office. A sickeningly tantalizing display to stoke flames of an Alpha’s need to dominate.

She would never stoop so low. Her own merit and hand would lead her to the top—and has.

Still, Ophelia only smiles at her. It has her chest cinching in frustration, because she doesn’t think the girl believes her. Or, perhaps the mischievous uptick of lips was just common place with her.

Its more concerning that she even cares.

Chapter 4: Hang Up Your Coat and Take Your Shoes Off at The Door

Chapter Text

She was sixteen the first time. A common age for second puberty, but still early enough that it shakes her.

Not too many years ago—feels like a lifetime ago now, enough to rub her wrists. Like stroking phantom shackles that technically didn’t exist back then either. At least not physically.

She had awoken in a cold sweat that faithful day.

Confused and flustered, she had run to her bathroom and flattened her trembling, clammy hands over her face.

Her cheeks were pink.

She’s never pink. The only pigment she could stand was red.

Her mother noticed first, because of course she does. A bitter part of her always wondered if she’d seen it all along. Maybe even planned her own daughter’s demise. Wednesday’s often convinced the woman actively plots her downfall.

With that careful way she saunterd, voice soft as a fine silk that somehow felt itchy on back of her neck. Pricked her ears harshly, with the question she likely already knew the answer.

“My dear, you look absolutely feverish!” With a hand to her chest, having found her Wednesday bent over the sink. They meet eyes through the glass.

Wednesday feels her emotions flying so high…she thinks she almost feels something akin to hate. Resentment settles too bitter, too hot when she’s already sweating through her pajamas.

And her mother…its that look in her eyes. Just as dark as hers, but far more fond.

She feels ill.

Hates the way her skin feels so sensitive—the way everything feels so sensitive.

“Its ok dear…it happens to the best of us.” She can’t recall when her mother gets directly behind her. A stroke of her hair, an inch away from the surface as if she respected her daughter’s boundaries.

If she truly did, she would let her suffer in peace.

“It…It can’t be.” Its all she could utter, when angry tears start to sting her eyelids.

Because this wasn’t at all in her plans. She never wanted this. Never wanted to be like her mother.

“Shh my little viper…I’ll keep this between us for now. We’ll tell your father whenever you’re ready.” She’s sure her mother thinks its comforting. In a begrudging way it gives her a bit of autonomy she felt she lacked.

That she feared she’d never get back.

If it was hot then…its inferno now.

Its a steam wand shooting her point blank in the head. Whirring hot air and pressure about her skull. Only it doesn’t give her, her miserable end. It only starts her up.

She shoots up in bed with a gasp and hand clutching her rumbling chest.

She feels like her body must be deceiving her. It has to, because this doesn’t make sense.

Maybe its simply the precursor to more cramps. She’d already been dealing with small nuisances, like minor back pain and soreness in her chest.

The subtle, sour smell of coffee in the mornings, before she’s even ground her favorite beans. Her scent had always been easy enough to disguise, however. She liked her drink as bitter as she could smell. Its why her annoyance during meetings could often be accredited to her lifted lid as she downs her drink.

Things that she could manage with a dry swallowed advil or a few sips of rum to numb her. Though, she fears alcohol would suit her worse, with the situation at hand. With the brew waking her, as if she had the real thing to boot.

Espresso beans, dark and nutty…

Its too early.

Days entirely too early.

The middle of the week and she’s practically sweat through her sheets.

“Hijo de puta…” Its far more easy to be angry in this state. She thinks thats the biggest confirmation of all, with her temper beginning to flare at her thwarted plans. “Lucifer…”

Its with choked breaths she angrily sends her fists into the mattress below her. This is more familiar—the way the hormones make her emotions heighten. The few she allowed herself became all the more amplified.

She rolls out of bed, the wood floors feeling good against the burning soles of her feet. The only thing hotter was shooting around her neck, making her collar itchy. She grabs her phone like an after thought, with her teeth gritted before she stomps to the bathroom.

She’s not one to request anything.

To beg another? Surely not would you find Wednesday Addams on her knees…

Except she’s quite literally becoming ill. She’s no choice but to lean against the toilet, dry heaving as the cramps in her belly push petty acid and bile about. The more she tries to hold it in, the more it hurts.

Her own nature working against her, as if she were made to suffer.

She’s thankful to anyone listening, when she dials a number and gets an answer. And the fact that she can’t be seen through the speaker.

“Mr. Addams?” Comes the enthusiastically surprise on the other end. She hates the way it send tingles down her spine, tickling her ears. “I’m honored you’d jump into the ‘mindless pit’ of technology for me. But, our appointment was this weekend I thought?”

Its cheeky and teasing like she’s known the blonde to be. However the last thing she needs at the moment is fluff.

“Correct,” She grits, white knuckling her phone. Because its catching up to her that she’s meant to say something now. That she’s the one that called. “I…I have a regretfully urgent request of you. I loathe to even—“

She stops to grip bridge of her nose and grunt both her frustration and searing headache. A wave of nausea the more she denies what vexes her.

“Are you—“

“I’m fine, I simply…” Wednesday interrupted what sounded too much like concern. Yet, she still had to force the gall to request, “I require assistance earlier than I anticipated.”

Ophelia’s silent and then, “Are you sure you’re ok? You sound like you just ran a marathon.”

Wednesday finds her impulse control waning, urge to throw the phone against the wall becoming prominent. Because of course the escort needs her to spell it out.

(Nevermind the fact that Wednesday’s being vague herself.)

“Heat…” She admits, back against the bathroom sink and head in her free hand. “My-my heat came early.”

She wished to drown herself in the toilet, stuttering over her words like that. Its much easier to be frustrated at the nearest thing—that happened to be herself.

“Poor bb…” Ophelia coos over the phone, using that cutesy voice that makes her skin prickle. She grunts, getting a laugh on the other end, “Sorry, forgot you’re no fun and hate the pet names. I…can maybe make it up to you, though? I may just be able to fit you in my schedule today.”

If not for the fact that she was close to stripping off her pajamas, body flushed and molten. Or the way her hormones had her teetering back and forth between anger, depression and something else she’s yet to face; perhaps she could muster up a ‘thank you.’

She blames her heat riddled mind, along with the way the escort plays so damn coy. Sings her offer like she knows it riles Wednesday up.

(As if she hadn’t made that clear.)

She sinks further to the ground.

“I’ll tell you an address and have cash on hand.” She rattles off, eyes looking to the white of the ceiling to clear her thoughts. She doesn’t immediately hear an answer, but she’s not necessarily expecting it so soon—she needs to get it out. “Tell me if it’s satisfactory…after you decide I’ll be in route to fetch you as soon as this first…”

She sucks in the nauseous feeling, when she clenches her legs together to hug to her chest.

“…Wave dies down.” She exhales the last part in pain, her belly aching. Her thighs shove together pitifully—she feels pitiful at the vague relief.

At what she’s soon to confront.

Ophelia makes a noise of confirmation, an enthusiastic hum and sound of tapping.

“Totally, yeah no rush…but you can just text the addy to me grandpa,” Ophelia teased, to which she clicks her teeth. “Can’t wait to see you, Mr. Addams.”

Wednesday gives another grunt, hanging up her phone. Gives a look at the time, before she shoots off a quick text to Kent next, letting him know she’ll be absent. He asks entirely too many questions, as she should expect. But her head hurts.

She just lets her phone clink loudly on the bathroom tile, sighing and placing her palms over her eyes .

/

The hotel she chose was on opposite end of the city.

Her feet feel heavy and her voice is gruff as she grabs the key card. Hates the way the front desk person looks between the two of them—

Two people renting a room out for the weekend.

Alpha and Omega standing hand in hand.

Ophelia having grabbed it the second they exited the vehicle. It had been a gesture of politeness to help her exit, but the bubbly alpha hadn’t let go. And she’d be quick to snatch it away, if not for the unfortunate mix of calm it brings.

Along with the way she notes those around her leave her unbothered. A bitter reminder of the respect that naturally came with the escort’s status.

Wednesday had took suppressors and retained mental control all her life, but her heat pheromones were becoming tricky. Her nerves on end likely smelled like distress. Hell, anyone with a working nose could tell what was going on with her if they got close enough.

Her discretions felt grossly on display. Her own status printed on back of her blazer.

Though, the receptionist doesn’t look to mean much harm, looking at Ophelia’s saccharine display with a hesitant smile.

“Thanks so much, have a great day!” Ophelia pipes over her shoulder, like she can sense the daggers Wednesday shoots at her. More than likely she could smell it.

The girl had been rather handsy this evening, more than she lets most get away with. Blame the hormones or anomaly of the situation. Say its not the worst feeling against her sensitive prickling skin.

Ophelia had cooed over her in back of the town car, asking if she’s ok, or nervous. Hands going to check her temperature in spite of her low growls. Giggling when Wednesday assured once again that she’s not only fine, but never afraid. Then had audacity to whisper—

“Your scent is wonderful today, sir.”

“Having a good time so far, Mr. Grumpy Pants?” Ophelia asks in the present as they await the elevator. Cuts her eye over with a grin that she doesn’t return, but regards with a hum.

“As much fun as one can have dealing with baseless urge.” Wednesday mumbles, acutely aware of the escort’s hand in hers.

“I wouldn’t say baseless, I mean it’s biology. It’s scientific,” Ophelia justifies with a shrug as they step on. The door shuts after, along with any remaining filter the escort apparently had. “So…you’ve never taken a knot before?”

She feels proper suited for a good spit take after that.

Luckily (or not) her mouth is empty and her stomach is buzzing with nothing but white wine they shared on the ride over. She locks up, lips taut together and brows knitting together her frustration. She can’t even think of a retort—

“Sorry, I like to lighten the mood,” Ophelia giggles, hands behind her back and bouncing in place. Says it easily like a joke to brush past, “Your file was hella bare, so I gotta ask. You don’t give much away for free, do you?”

“I’m not paying you to get to know me.” She replied quaintly, likely sounding irritable. Its the way the blonde beside her is so blase.

On top of how the heat begins to itch again—like crawling beneath her skin and chafing against flesh and fabric.

“Doesn’t hurt, considering how…personal we might get in a little bit, eh?” Ophelia mentions next, elevator dinging to its stop. Wednesday power walks out first, hearing Ophelia’s pouty request to ‘slow up.’

The room was more grandiose than it likely needed to be, however she wasn’t quite sure when booking it. She had done it quickly, with not much thought other than wanting it to be presentable.

Whatever that meant in this circ*mstance.

“You sure know how to impress a girl, Mr. Addams.” Ophelia comments, immediately going over to the mini bar. She picks out a tiny wine bottle, waving its size about, “So cute!”

And this was, again, the Alpha she’d been recommended.

“I would prefer we get down to business.” Wednesday states, firm as if standing in front of a board of investors. Even when Enid turns to look at her with wide eyes.

They quickly flash, like turning on a back light beneath her irises. Brilliantly blue and calling to her nature that Wednesday had earnestly and naively almost forgotten.

Aside from the dangling metal on her neck.

“Business, huh?” Ophelia moves at a speed, to which she merely blinks and the Alpha is before her. Toe to toe and eyeing her down, to which she defiantly looks up through her bangs.

“Yes, that would be the reason I paid.” She condescends, delighting in the worst way when the girlish giggles fade to animalistic.

A glint of teeth that begin to elongate with their brief stand off. Wednesday stands tall, but a keen nose—a canine sense—would be able to sift through her bravado. The pull low in her belly that she ignores in favor of her own ego.

Because the thrill of her own life between those teeth…

(The thrill of those teeth against her skin.)

But…Ophelia’s careful.

Like in spite of this game, may haps a bit of professionalism remained somehow. Her boundaries being willfully respected without even having to bite.

“And trust you’ll get your money’s worth, but…” She leans in so close, Wednesday holds her breath. Its barely noticeable, but the way those eyes flash lets her know her own apathy was futile. Ophelia grins, wide and full of her familiar mirth, “You’ll have to relax a little first.”

As if she imagined the primal way in which she was stalked, her back against the door (which…huh, when did that occur?). Ophelia’s backing away and skipping back towards the mini bar.

“Besides…you’re way too tense right now to take me properly.” She mentions, picking up a new mini wine bottle. She eyes through a few, before slyly turning to face Wednesday from where she’s bent over. “Do you prefer white wine?”

Wednesday refuses to be caught off guard, or for anyone—Alpha or not, to feel as though they can make her yield.

Never mind the humid burn in her cheeks, or barely evening breaths. She clicks her teeth, before she squares her shoulders and walks to the couch with her her hands stuffed in her trousers.

She crossed her arms and eyed the bucket of ice that sat just as close as she sits.

“I’d prefer something harder,” Wednesday countered. Only to curse her unintentional use of words, rueing the way Ophelia’s brow raised as if she’d said something much bolder. The seer steels her eyes all the more, “On the rocks.”

Ophelia hummed, snickering to herself and she finds herself thankful for the confidentiality clause.

Though, the blonde had done nothing thus far to imply she would betray her trust. She simply loathes the way in which she must be vulnerable at all. How Ophelia takes it all in stride, far more experienced as much as it pains her to admit.

The bubbly girl bouncing with each step and remaining more than kind in spite of Wednesday’s less than natural demeanor. Though maybe she’s not even the least polite. Perhaps the escort had to make the best of someone even worse.

It swims unpleasantly in her midriff if she thinks of the after.

When this is all done and she’s meant to hold her head high in public. She feels woefully on guard, despite the way she’s done not much other than have her hand held.

Its not often hard for her to find logic in her own actions. They were always calculated, down to the final second, before she either had another meeting or simply no longer wished to hear corporate droning for a solid break. The same as hunting or any other skills worth having in her eyes.

The subject of sex—

It had her attempting uselessly to find foresight.

The few times she’d been in contact with the blonde hadn’t given any latent premonition. She was damned if she fiddled about with the idea of focusing in on that smug grin in her minds eye to possibly see something with her powers. Not that Ophelia had hidden much of anything.

The girl was unfiltered and transparent with every single one of her inquiries.

They had spent a solid hour talking at the bar, that first meeting nearly running over if not for the alarm set on the escort’s phone. Wednesday had expected to barely speak for 60 seconds, let alone minutes.

She had quite literally asked for this.

Yet, the blonde seemed to enjoy the back and forth, their banter. Skilled in her own way, in gift of gab and ability to make Wednesday glance at a singular person more than once.

Like the abominable pink skirt wasn’t riding up as the blonde rifled suspiciously long for a handle to pour. The way hips swayed as if she knew her one track minded pupils were brazenly gaping in her direction. Having not asked for anything special, the flair certainly wasn’t necessary.

Still, she’s good at keeping Wednesday’s eyes. Quite fetching at it, actually.

“For you, sir.” Ophelia sits the glass on the coffee table, shooting her a wink. She stays on her feet and sips at rose that had caught her eye.

Wednesday traced the plane of a bobbing throat, the glinting chain of her necklace moving just slightly with it. The pendant that rested between strong shoulders that lay bare—ugh she feels like a mindless sack with the heat clouded vision. As if she lacked etiquette.

Has to (regretfully) force her eyes back up to gleaming blues.

She busied her mouth with her own drink, after murmuring something like ‘gracias’ as if it would kill her to say it in a language they both understand. Not that its the hardest Spanish phrase, nor does she apologize for her blood or skin—she simply feels off.

It’s understandable, with heat eerily creeping up the back of her neck. She couldn’t cool down. Just keeps murmuring in her preferred tongue.

Wished she could consult her family’s alter, but simultaneously mortified at the thought of making any of this known out loud. Let alone if its in this plane or the next.

“I’m not going to do anything unless you ask, sir.” Ophelia speaks suddenly, looking at her disheveled state. The deep breaths she’s been taking and the iron grip around her glass. The blonde takes another drink, “We honestly don’t have to do anything at all, you know? Its all about you.”

Its saccharine, yet laced in that cheerfully drawled delivery. She thinks its meant to be encouraging, or something equally as disgusting. It has her face scrunching uncomfortably.

Ophelia chuckles at her expense, but plops herself carelessly on the couch next to her.

And she waits for it to give her a terrible ick, but instead she wished for more. Whatever that was—could even be when she’s already over heated. It felt scalding on top of her fuzzy thoughts, like the beginnings of another migraine.

Somehow the Alpha’s proximity felt like it could…like it could do something.

“Its…hot.” Wednesday eloquently states, head lolling back against the couch. Can’t stop herself from attempting to swipe the cool glass of her drink across her forehead. The partially melted ice was but a brief salve.

Still, she greedily drags it down to her cheek, water dripping down her neck. But, then Ophelia’s hand comes atop hers, innocently as before.

“Can I…?” She asked, having scooted as close as she could without touching. She practically breathed it into her ear. Wednesday lets out a grunt she blames on the pain of her fever.

A swallow and nod follow, along with the sound of Ophelia’s deep inhale.

The exhale sounded sinful, the escort’s mouth open unabashedly and breathing out what Wednesday caught out to be ‘Gosh…’ puffed against her sensitive neck. She chokes as if it had been her hands wrapping around it.

It had the seer closing her eyes as those slightly larger hands replace hers against the cup. Curling against the glass before she’s fully taken her own fingers off. Ophelia’s sturdy hand so close to her face, she unconsciously holds her breath.

The scent glands inside her inner wrist feel like a threat, even though the pressure of the cold glass feels terribly soothing.

She feels better, yes, but its—its not enough.

“I need to lay down.”

It doesn’t sound like herself.

These sickly, tensed vocal chords that were impossibly dry considering the drink she gulped down. She feebly recollects the cup from Ophelia, who looks briefly startled. She finds herself greedily drinking the melted ice contents left in the glass, before hobbling to her feet again.

“You sleep in a suit, Mr. Addams?” Ophelia quips with her grin, though when she goes to glare at the escort there’s no mirth. She looks concerned now if nothing else, standing with her and allowing the CEO to rest some of her weight. “C’mon, lets try to get you cooled down…”

Its dead weight she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Until she has no choice but to lean against the escort to balance her wobbly legs.

They walk to the room in silence, aside from Wednesday’s heaving, closed mouth breaths.

Its internal torture, battling with instinct and logic. What she wants vs what she needs. Whatever that may be.

Whether such indulgent contact was a necessity was to be decided, though it feels like a living hyperbole. How Ophelia exists so close to her, like a walking furnace but soothing her blazing skin all the while in spots where they touch. Even over the fabric of clothing.

She mindlessly tugs off her tie, shrugging off the lingering touch from the blonde at her beck and call. The escort is keen to simply watch with hands behind her back, but still near to catch her treacherously trembling body. Wednesday only takes pause when it comes to exposing skin.

Its like a pin dropping when she slides her belt from the loops. She’s unsure if she should undress any further, but its so hellishly hot.

“Do you mind if I take my skirt off?” Ophelia asks as she sits with her pants undone on the bed in a daze. Wednesday barely registers a word, just the coy tug at the hem. A new grin, with hooded eyes and a lower tone, “Unless you like how it looks, sir?”

Wednesday clenched her teeth in a vice grip, snatching pearls clanking with her forced repression. Her midriff cramps pitifully, the strain of holding it all in and upkeep to her indifferent demeanor. She falls back against the pillows that only briefly quell the heat.

“Whatever you typically wear to bed is acceptable.” She mumbles, when Ophelia doesn’t move. With her bangs mused to her head and dress shirt coming untucked. She had unconsciously yanked a few buttons undone in process of removing her tie.

Its so eerily quiet, she can hear the fabric hit the floor in front of her, even with her arm thrown over her face.

“What if I said wolves slept in the nude?” Ophelia attempts to joke, but it pricks her ears and piques her imagination something fierce.

The mere mention of the girl’s other descriptor that had once caught her eye, along with the Alpha moniker.

Ophelia was a werewolf, that much was clear. Even with the glittering silver charm around her neck that kept her of no real ‘threat,’ though that was more formality. Some wolves feared losing control of themselves, ironically.

A liability situation, to which Wednesday found grave excitement. Thought of a feral, hybrid beast losing its remaining humanity to tear her apart was more enticing than all else. Even if Ophelia seemed a far cry from horror stories in the news or hearsay.

Blames it on why she keeps looking at those lips, or craving touch from her hand. She just needs something sharp to ground her. A metaphorical threat to her life to spark her.

Thats it.

“I’m gonna lay with you, ok?” Ophelia whispered, soothing her heated ears with her soft breath. If she visibly shakes with her body’s shiver, then she blames her own design.

These useless hormones swimming up her back, as the escort settles beside her. Fresh coffee smell surrounding the room, though it only makes her sink deeper into the bed. She’s still breathing ragged, sweat collecting on her forehead and silence ringing uncomfortably in her head. She prays for void like this.

Yet, it thunders around the room as if she’s subjected herself to something rowdy and grand like a banquet thrown by her parents.

“Too quiet, is—is there…is there a radio, or something?” Wednesday desperately tries to sound coherent, amongst her own delirium. The room starts to spin the longer she simply stares at the light fixture on the ceiling.

Then an unpleasant throb as the blonde beside her lets go a guffaw. Something deeply amused and immediately covered by her mouth, when Wednesday turns to glare. Every bit of angst from her bodily malfunction filled her eyes.

Ophelia shakes her head, waving her off.

“Nothing, sorry—just…” She bites her lip, before she leans over Wednesday’s body to grab at something on the side table. Ironically, the weight and heat of the wolf both sooth and overwhelm. Especially the self satisfied smirk at the remote in her hand once she sits back, “How about the news instead, grandpa?”

Wednesday has enough consciousness to scoff. Because she’s never been fond of technology aside from necessity, nor does she care for much aside from the audio aspect. Makes her think of fumbling with keys as she searched Nevermore’s site.

When she saw Ophelia on screen, scantily clad and awaiting proposition.

She had proposed this…hadn’t she?

The blonde at her side, flicks on something that sounds like a midday update. A female voice describing some fair held in a more suburban area of the state. An interview with the people organizing that drowns into meaningless chatter.

Time passes, excruciatingly so. Her temperature rises languidly, like her own body was taunting her. She looks to her bed mate, seeing her otherwise unaffected. Eyes absentmindedly watching the tv, between subtle peaks over at her heat ridden body.

After the nth time catching her increasingly worried blue eyes, the seer licks her lips. They’re dried and she has to make active effort not to allow her lip to tremble.

“How does this typically go…for you?” Wednesday asks, sounding as strange as she feels. Because Ophelia is dead silent for the first time since they’ve met. She rolls her eyes and uses her hand to make a convoluted gesture, “These…encounters.”

Ophelia hums her affirmation, as if thats all she needed to understand. The blonde leans on her arm, pursing her lips.

“Depends on the person, honestly,” Then she shrugs, looking at Wednesday again. “And like I said, we don’t have to fool around. Its whatever you want while you’re in cycle.”

Wednesday tsks, head pressing back against the pillow. Its plush as her wallet could afford, but did nothing to help cool her down. She grips her hands into twin fists.

“What I want doesn’t necessarily translate to what I unfortunately need.” She licks her dry lips again and swallows down nothing. Still struggles to breathe in and out at a steady pace. She’s sweating all the while, “I regret to ask it of you, in fact I detest every waking moment of this—“

A painful cramp works its way up her abdomen, making her grunt and cinch her eyes shut. Its never felt this bad. Uncomfortable and nauseous maybe, but this excruciating pain was new. And not even enjoyably so.

Ophelia acts the second she tries to shift, her arm going to weigh her body back down. It responds, to Wednesday’s annoyance.

“Take it easy, yeah?” The blonde murmurs,
making no attempt to move the arm around her. It idles, as the seer’s body reluctantly begins to relax under the touch. Ophelia leans, slowly at first like a blanket draped across her back.

She’s scalding to touch. Wolves tended to run hot, but her body full on shivers.

Tingles shoot up her back…up her arms. Ophelia strokes her hand on her sensitive skin, whats bared of her forearm and then atop the sleeve.

“It feels better when I touch you…doesn’t it?” The blonde whispers, bringing attention to just how close she really was.

And how much she didn’t mind. Her body unconsciously molding to the wolf’s, cramps dissipating the second that arm slung itself around her. But even worse, in its wake…

The tingles travel. They become rouge, invading not only her nerves above, but down below. An uncomfortable buzz that settles where the pain once was and she’s unsure of which was less torturous.

Desperate, she wipes more sweat from her face.

“An unfortunate side effect.” Is the cut and dry reply, because she’s beginning to lose ability to pin down what was and wasn’t. Only one thing was unfortunately clear—Ophelia may have been on to something. “Not a word. Just hold me, wolf.”

Its as far as it must go, if it’ll stop the cramps. This strange, taut, curling something that stirred in her trousers was novel, but more bearable. Its more begrudging, the way her pride mourns itself.

In bed with an Alpha…being held…its ludicrous.

A year ago one would be too fear stricken to even insinuate Wednesday wanted anyone in the first place. Let alone addressing her status, or assigning her the need for such a thing—a person. She’s never needed anyone.

Even now she’s hard pressed to say she needs this. Its a salve, like perfume to block her scent. She didn’t need it. She would best it.

As soon as her body allows.

Right now its simply…uncooperative. Yes. She would regain control shortly.

…

She feels Enid’s grip tighten just a bit, a sigh of cold breath against the back of her sweaty neck. It makes her shiver (an unfortunate effect of the temperature, of course) her body pushing back into the blonde.

Its…well, she’s certainly not going to call it relaxing. Her body going slack was only due to the strenuous day thus far is all.

…

…Maybe she’s having a bit of difficulty keeping her eyes open.

…

If she pays attention to the TV, the fires burning in California almost help ground her. The tales of destruction begin to…lull her, actually…

…

…

Chapter 5: Now The Tip of My Cane Bares The Stain of Your Lipstick

Chapter Text

Inferno.

Thats all she can think of—hell fire.

Pure sin.

The crashing waves in which she had been drowning begin to boil to sauna-esque pools. Like a geyser that laid dormant for so long it had become a forgotten spring. Still reactive, with the right amount of prod and pressure.

She awakes with a choked breath, but finds her body somehow found anchor in the abyss. Weighed down pleasantly, though nothing to quell her insides. Like an iron bar around her belly to lock her prisoner.

She’s so hot…her hands grip the sheets that lay against her palms. Her body uselessly shifts, eyes squeezed shut even as she becomes more lucid.

The heat around her waist grows a bit more taut behind her.

“Mr. Addams?” Is murmured almost directly in her overheated ear. An involuntary gasp leaves her lips, to her own mortification. The body behind lets go a breathy laugh, “You finally awake?”

Her cheeks begin to ache a bit, with how heated they’ve become. The strain of keeping up her apathy. She swallows at nothing, mouth just as dry and desert as the rest of her.

At least…tsk.

She notes the pressure between her legs with a frown. Subtly squeezing her thighs, and nearly wincing at the way the friction feels. If she thinks too hard about it…

“Un…fortunately,” She breathes, still trapped in the wolf’s arms. Oddly enough she’s made no effort to tell her to get off. Instead she mumbles, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

She can’t even guess what time it may be. With the curtains drawn and encompassed in dim lighting and TV flash. She just barely recognizes a jingle for a cleaning brand she’s familiar.

Ophelia hums, moving a bit.

“S’ok…” She murmured back and Wednesday can’t help the furrow of her brows.

The escort sounded…different. Not all there.

Her breaths were new too. Her lips parted, because she can feel it on back of her sweaty neck. As if she’s barely getting enough in for the next word.

Like the bravado and tease from earlier had gone. Replaced by this husky tone, with short answers. Tensed arms that she feels press against her stomach and…

Wednesday holds in a noise. A regretful noise, because she makes the decision to lean her upper body forward. A feeble attempt at creating space, that has her rubbing her lower back against the escort up until her hands move to grip her hips.

The lips next to her ear drop open—she can hear and feel those breaths. Heavy and thundering against the side of her face.

She hears Ophelia swallow.

“I’m going to need you to keep still.” Its spoken like a warning, a brief chastisem*nt…soft, but firm. Along with…well, Ophelia was an Alpha after all.

And the room absolutely reeks.

It shouldn’t. She doesn’t think it should…but is it?

She may be delirious with her growing fever, but she smells—bread.

The whiff of fresh pastry, like opening the door to her favorite cafe in search of her quad shot. She can’t help but chase it out of strange familiarity—to fuel addiction.

A scone dipped into her brew, forcing sustenance and swallowing the sticky sweet with harsh drip that catches her bottom lip.

But when she closes her eyes…when she acknowledges the hunger from lips below—

“Oh...” Wednesday inhales again, exhale quivering and beyond her control. Because there’s something else—beyond her own scent. She shifts her body as if physically chasing it, pushing backwards into the escort.

“S-sh*t…” Ophelia curses, jerking her hips away. But Wednesday had felt it.

A pin drops.

She knows she’s not mistaking it. Beneath her own Omega scent, flowing mercilessly and acting as an aphrodisiac; there was something sweet. Her bitter coffee served by the bakery case.

“You’re aroused,” Wednesday says point blankly. Strangely calm in lieu of smelling the Alpha—in smelling any Alpha. Almost surprised at her own ability to be as neutral as she’s remained thus far.

(Though that was the point…wasn’t it? Control?)

Ophelia laughs, still all breathy but backed with her strain. She’s been breathing through her mouth this whole time come to think of it.

“Ha…no wonder you own a business,” Ophelia mumbles around her giggles. “Your observation skills slay.”

If not for the mood, the slang likely would’ve made her lip curl up. She’s too focused on the confirmation. A throat clears behind her.

“But yeah, uh you were…kinda rubbing against me in your sleep. My bad,” Ophelia shifts a bit, still holding her in a vice grip but keeping distance with their lower halves. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything, though. Not every session has to include—that.”

Another lull of quiet.

And again, it shouldn’t but…

It irks her. For some reason, it coils deep in her belly. Irritation that swells if she thinks about the way the escort keeps moving her hips further away. Like she thinks Wednesday needs to be treated delicately.

Like she can’t make that decision for herself. As if she’s some desperate Omega, lost to her own urge and unable to control herself.

How is she expected best this without it? As much as it pains her…

“Does…how does it feel?” Wednesday starts talking before she’s formulated a complete thought. Tries not to sound like she needs an answer, licking her lips and turning her head. She glimpses messy blonde hair and pupils nearly as black as her trousers. Wednesday continues, “For you….What does it feel like?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with,” A grin, far too co*cky for Wednesday’s tastes, crawls on her face. Ophelia shurgs, “I’m still a professional at the end if the day.”

Isn’t this what she wanted?

That wry smile has her second guessing.

Despite herself—despite everything—she exhales with a huff. Eyes wide shut, she focuses on it for the first time. The beckoning below, the crashing waves that left her thighs damp inbetween.

“What if…” Wednesday doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t know how to begin to describe it…so she shows. She grabs Ophelia’s hand, coaxing them to relax around her stomach until one was freed entirely. Her breathing uneven, she pressed it down flat.

They both gasp, just at the open palm hot and heavy against belly. Even with her thin dress shirt, the sweat had it clinging to her skin anyway.

“What are you doing?” Is murmured darkly in her ear, a tone she’d yet to hear from the playful girl. Wednesday takes it as a challenge, pushing their hands further…past her bellybutton…at the waistline of her pants. “Mr. Add—“

They lay against the button. And she hates herself, because she whimpers like but a touch had the power too. As if anyone had power too. Even more so when her hips push forward, the hand sliding firmly between her legs.

She chokes on whatever else threatened to burst from her lips.

A gulp sounds behind her.

Wednesday’s lips nearly quirk up, if not only for the fact that she’s finally left the escort speechless. Had bested her at her own game. No longer the only one flustered.

“Mr. Addams.” Ophelia warns, but something tells her at this point its purely out of formality. “You’re in a lot of pain…yeah?”

Not what she’s expecting to be asked, by any means. It nearly throws her off, her pride wanting desperately to react first. She swallows her snark down her parched throat and lets her mouth hang open.

“You could say so, yes…” She replies instead, being purposely vague. A tad frustrated at the subject change—

“Do you ever touch yourself?” Ophelia queries next. Another question she’s not expecting, nearly making her lose her bravado.

Because,damn her for finding another plane in which she’s uneven footing. As if she could tell with her actions just how inexperienced she was.

The ache between her legs had never been properly quelled.

She often didn’t think it could be. Had heard many a tale on just how ‘relieving’ it should be, but she often turned her nose up at the comment. Even now it leaves her tight lipped for almost a moment too long.

“What do you mean?” She plays dumb instead, not wanting to go through the motions of her frustrated hands. Fruitless pressing or strokes that don’t quite align.

She would not be made a fool of.

Until presently—as Ophelia cups her sex through her slacks—she’s not gotten much further than this. She doesn’t even think Thing has seen her in less than a tie since she was a baby.

And Its not real pressure, not anything that should move her, but she shudders.

(Its more than anything she’s tried with her own hand and…she doesn’t quite know how to—)

“I think you do…” Ophelia practically sings into her over heated ear. Wednesday has to fight the way her hips urge to press forward out of spite. Ophelia only hums, lips boldly pressing against the shell of her ear. Her palm digs directly into her, “You really are a control freak, huh?”

Wednesday’s mouth unconsciously drops open, but thankfully no sound follows.

“Just—“ Wednesday’s eyes try to close rather than her lips, as the hand begins its slow stroking. Lazy drags through the fabric, Ophelia’s middle finger leading with pressure on her cl*t.

Then crudely groping her through the pants to squeeze.

She clamps her mouth shut, breathing harshly through her nose. Her heat ridden body does poor job at playing the long game, her hips jumping every other stroke. To add insult, those lips keep against her ear.

A mischievous tongue plays with the lobe. Hand around her body no longer securing her, being frisky around her clothed chest and groping. Flicking her nipples with her thumb.

Wednesday nearly growls as if she’s the wolf here.

“Just get on with it.” She finally remembers her right mind, the shiver that traveled up her spine is like a shock to her brain. Wednesday tries to turn in her arms, but feels the one not playing between her legs go back to grasping her tight.

It only fuels the lava-esque stream being played in. Wednesday grunts her frustration, placing a hand on the one rubbing against her center.

Its not enough.

The seer tries to lead the hand back up to her waist band, to slip under her trousers. The wolf snatched back.

“No.” Ophelia states firm in her ear. And she’ll never claim it, even if tortured—but she whines. Like a petulant brat, she can’t stop the cursed noise from escaping. Even worse, Ophelia coos, “Shh, its ok…I’m not going to stop unless you tell me. I just wanna warm you up a bit.”

Too mortified and heat sick to argue, Wednesday tensely keeps her death grip on the sheets. Watches as Ophelia switches positions, leaving the seer on her back.

Her head is spinning, her greedy eyes only able to focus on the body in front of her, as if seeing the blonde anew. The thin crop and briefs that left even less to the imagination than the skirt that had been tossed. If she addressed what remains of her pride she could say she’s plotting.

Eyeing the bulging front of her panties and hungry…for blood.

Learning the enemy to plan for attack.

“You’ll never be able to take me like this. You’re way too tense,” Ophelia mumbles, hands going to her legs. She rubs up and down through Wednesday’s slacks, leaving arousal in its wake.

She doesn’t remember when the aches stopped being purely pain. Those hands both soothe and mar her skin as they move up.

Pink nails find her pant button. Finally.

“May I, sir?” Ophelia looks up with doe eyes, inquiring so sweetly it has her mouth watering. Wednesday wished she could return this torture back ten fold. She just knows the escort is smiling, even as she refuses to look down.

To see anyone at knee level with her be smug.

“Make it count,coqueta,” Wednesday snarks back. She finally meets those eyes that look closer to indigo if she tries to pick out blue from the black.

“Just checking,” Is the cheery reply that feels out of place with the way her pants are peeled down and off her legs. With the tongue that licks once glossy lips. The peak of a fang—an animal longing to be let loose.

Normally she’d have an earful seeing her expensive dress pants being tossed on the floor. She’s too busy trying to figure out why it does nothing to cool her down. Ophelia’s hands on her calves do even less.

Manicured nails press. A curious nose twitches.

“I’m gonna take my sweet time with you, Mr. Addams…” Like she’s prowling through trees and on her hind paws. She climbs back up Wednesday’s body, covering it with her weight. Her lips quirked up in a smile full of mischief.

The heat lids Wednesday’s unblinking eyes.

She feels like she’s hallucinating. That the pheromones are just making her act out. Just when had she ended up below?

A claw extends on a pale finger. It traces down her cheek, making her breaths quicken. Traces down her neck, added pressure just breaking skin.

Lucifer.

“Your file was so freaking empty…but I noticed for pain play you put a ‘maybe.’” Ophelia winks, hands going to swiftly undo the buttons of her shirt next. Wednesday had opted out of a bra considering the circ*mstance.

That and the thought of the material against her inflamed skin was a no.

The blonde hums her approval, not even bothering to help her out of the shirt. She takes a full hand of claws, dragging it down her clavicle…down her naval…stopping just so at her panties.

Wednesday’s fingers burn with her grip against the sheets. The sting catches the air deliciously, like those nails had dug into and rearranged her nerves. Lightly raised skin in its wake, along with her quivering limbs. Chest heaving, Ophelia looks absolutely taken.

She doesn’t say anything before those lips meet her chest. They plant flat, before a long tongue laps its way to the left in search of her nipple. A lolling tongue, tracing circles around the bud until its stiff only then flattening to press it back down.

The grip on the bedding turns into tufts and strands, soft in spite of the grip. Blonde with colored streaks between her fingers, holding the head down—clinging to the remainder of her control. She has to bite her tongue raw when those pointed teeth decide to join the assault to her breasts.

Harsh sucks that increase the more her own body betrays her. She’s half of mind to tell her to watch it, to not leave any marks at all. No reminders of this tryst.

But her breath stutters as the bites paint her chest, making a path to the other breast to do the same. Ophelia soothes the stray noises that peak from her throat with those sharp nails holding her to Earth.

Like pins pricking her skin to remind her she’s still alive.

“S-Still hot…” She barely registers the words spilling from her lips. Finds one of her hands had abandoned the blonde head to lay against her damp forehead. Her cheeks burned, her back sweaty and legs quivering.

Ophelia looks up at her with glowing eyes. If not for her nature she’d think she was making it up. The growl low in the wolf’s throat cements it—she moans in response.

A werewolf between her legs, growling threateningly and Wednesday’s the most turned on she’s been in her life. The most out of control she’s felt since the day she signed on to take her father’s place.

“You like danger too…of course you do.” Ophelia smirks, cheeky as ever and taking time to cross her arms over Wednesday’s belly. She lays her head down cutely, framed by the bites that covered the seer’s heaving chest. The escort bites her lip and giggles, going to pinch her sensitive nipple, “Not so tough without your fancy suit, hmm?”

She twists, to which Wednesday hisses as the pain goes straight to her panties. Like nerves connected them directly, playing with her body for sport. It only made her more frustrated.

More indignant. How dare she imply…

“E-Eager dog—“ Wednesday tries to bite, but Ophelia apparently grows bored of toying with her top half. When she sits up and yanks her thighs forward, placing her bare legs around her shoulders.

Her legs lock around a strong, craning neck instinctively. Even as she scowls in the escort’s face.

“We both know I’m not the needy one here,” Ophelia mumbles, looking down at her with unblinking eyes. Glowering pupils and blue sea no longer visible.

Dilated and ready for prey—her metaphors of oceans and waves mean nothing.

Ophelia inhales again, eyes nearly closing as she takes in the pheromones she’s been unconsciously pumping out. Her coffee sweetened and greedily gulped down—long, dripping tongue lolling from the wolf’s mouth.

Theres a quip somewhere, in her right mind where she can condescendingly call the blonde a drooling dog. Tell her that she’s the needy one, panting with her head between Wednesday’s thighs.

But then it licks.

Long and wetly across the crotch of her panties; she doesn’t touch anything particular, in fact it barely even touches her aching cl*t. Its animal, its primal—her first time being handled this way…

“Sheesh…” Ophelia breathes, then she has audacity to laugh. It doesn’t sound humored, though. She looks down at Wednesday intensely. “Who’dve thunk your smell would be so…sweet.”

The CEO scoffs, having only been likened to bitter brew. Fertilizer to her dreary graveyard florals.

Most were off put by her scent, like the pushy Alphas from her academy days. They’d curl their lip in disgust and label her ‘difficult’ or simply ‘playing hard to get.’ Still, she had chosen to dull it entirely. Until now, at least.

Ophelia looks to be in a trance. Mesmerized by the fumes like a display of smoke and mirrors. Not to entirely kill her mood, but a part of her feels woefully of her maternal genes. Though she refused to pump out anything tempting on purpose.

With how she was receiving a mouthful of pastry every gasp, she could guess Ophelia was no less affected.

And though she’s no less flustered, her remaining pride goads the wolf.

“Too much for you?” Wednesday taunts, expecting the girl to have gotten drunk on her pheromones. Perhaps she inhaled the sour stench of her fermented hormones and had become delirious, or off put.

But then the escort has nerve to grin. Has nerve to giggle, before dragging that mouth down the path it had left off. Harsh sucks on her abdomen, down to the band of her panties.

Those eyes have nerve too—enough to meet hers as she trails that tongue down first. The tip jumps to her clothed entrance, and then flattens against her slit. Wednesday gasps, teeth immediately clamping down on her tongue to draw blood.

Ophelia smugly kicks her feet, next sucking the wetness on her underwear. Tugs it from her c*nt with her teeth to lick up the fabric. The escort moans, and hums as she suckles and then pulls the panties down her regretfully pliant legs.

And Wednesday would be damned if she admitted to envy over a pair of undergarments.

Even as she aches over the gaudy display and following grin and wink. Black cotton between fangs, before she tossed them with her trousers. Wednesday’s chest beat over the inevitable after this long, treacherous chase.

When the wolf has her thighs back around her head.

“Hm…maybe you should be calling me sir…”

Wednesday feels her heart stop at the familiar words.

(What promised to come if the script continued.)

Her eyes widen in what likely looks like indignation. Even in her haze, with her puss* clenching desperately on air and Alpha stench lulling her further into arousal.

Ophelia doesn’t look any less smug.

It infuriates her.

“Make. Me. Mutt.” She bites, eyes boring into the wolf’s defiantly.

Ophelia’s grip tightens around her thighs, likely hard enough to mark. She can only grit her teeth in their stand off of eye contact, watching those glowing blues peak from dilated pupils. Shimmering like gem stones after being prodded by hammer and sickle—revealing their true form.

A guttural sounding growl leaves those pretty pink lips. They lift to show fully grown canines.

And she thinks…well, Wednesday believes she may have struck a nerve.

Ophelia’s body rumbles as the Alpha pheromones begin to clog her nose so bad it makes her dizzy. A warning growl when she dared tried to cover her face, or reach down to soothe the burning. Ophelia brings her head down to bury into the plush insides of her thighs.

Wednesday feels it go straight to her c*nt, a button nose pressed harshly into the scent glands there.

Ah—having gone so long repressing…she had forgotten the ammo in Ophelia’s palms. Why those hands held such a steady grip in one spot, other than stabilizing her hips.

The wolf no longer grins, it bites.

Not enough to truly mark her (and Lucifer strike down the Omega urge, the simpering thing that craves one) but enough to send pheromones spilling from the wound. Wolfish huffing and puffing soon followed, leaving her aching.

puss* still untouched…but she’s gone even longer without. Why now does it vex her so?

Burning so harshly she can no longer ignore it.

“You’ve been holding out on me…hiding all this…” Ophelia’s voice is much clearer than it had been. She’s beginning to settle into the fact that her dream had been an ill placed premonition. Though its almost blasphemous.

She hasn’t had a vision that vivid in her sleep since she was a teenager.

Hadn’t felt so much since that first heat.

Ophelia makes good on her promise, canines and fingers leaving bruises on both thighs. She’s no longer able to stop the pitiful sounding whine, that only ceases when the wolf loses patience.

Like a chew toy having outlived its fun, that mouth moves to the next shiny new thing—her slit, glazed in arousal. Its wet enough that she feels it dripping down to her ass, regretfully having been teased and coaxed into it. On top of the heat, the Omega inside that urged cries out in satisfaction.

(She craves so much more. She doesn’t know how to describe—needs that tongue or-or something to…)

“A-Ay Dios…” As if Wednesday believed in any higher power. Far as she’d ever been concerned, the cool skin of an Addams acclimated best placed below.

But her skin was smoldering and she’s unfortunately still breathing…barely. More like gasping, like a pathetic thing, while Ophelia wraps arms around her thighs and laps at her cl*t like a meal. Perhaps her last supper, in tandem with taking an Addams so high above.

Her long tongue soon stretches into a pad of muscle.

Her hands, strong and digging nails into her hips—she drags Wednesday into a steady rhythm. She’s undulating, rutting like she’s the eager dog. Her face flushed and eyes uselessly looking towards the window as if she can escape it. As if the pleasure wasn’t clouding her vision.

As if…

“Ah! Joder—“ Wednesday grabs the blankets but it doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t ground her, the fancy silk too slippery when that mouth—that tongue—won’t cease, her hips twitching forwards like she’s been possessed.

She feels of no control. It makes her feel panic, the way her heart stops. The way those waves have finally drowned her. She can’t breathe, she can’t—

“So good… Like, you have no idea...” Its accompanied with a wistful sigh and airy laugh, after Ophelia had had her fill. Her ears are still ringing otherwise.

And Wednesday hates how smug it sounds, making the mistake of looking down. Her mouth only hangs open, half lidded like her eyes.

Ophelia had risen with her mouth and chin shiny, having emerged from the waves unscathed. Had those glimmering eyes still locked onto her weeping c*nt; licking her lips as Wednesday struggles to catch her breath.

Those glowing blues only look up out of courtesy.

Because they come across absolutely feral. The glittering chain around her neck may as well be tossed entirely. As all wolves dawned a minor amount of silver to assist in keeping their human form.

The blonde climbs up her abdomen like an animal chasing, in spite of the way Wednesday feels stuck to the sheets. The way she still feels delirious and hot.

“Tell me the word…and I won’t stop until you tell me.” She croons, hands going to pin Wednesday’s above her head. The seer lay panting, eyes scanning the wolf’s features. The subtle difference in dialogue took her by brief surprise.

Wednesday chokes on any consent she could give, instead steeling her eyes. Manages a menacing glare, the most deadly she possibly can.

“The first one was a fluke,” Wednesday denies, her cheeks red and words clipped. “P-Pure luck.”

“So you didn’t just come on my tongue in less than a minute?” She had forgotten how openly vulgar the escort could be. The ability to speak their sin into the open sent a welcome chill up her back. Ophelia gets down close to whisper, “I should make you beg for the next one.”

Wednesday would rather poke the bear again. It garnered bloody results.

“Good luck, mutt.” Again that word seems to strike like a match. If nothing, she’s adept at finding weakness—Ophelia’s Alpha ego being the first.

The wolf takes the bait, or at least appears to. Those eyes flash a brilliant sapphire once more, but this time its a bit softer. Hazy, like the wolf became briefly mesmerized at the sight of her stubborn glare.

Then she grinds down.

Has Wednesday’s eyes rolling backwards at the pressure and steady stroke the blonde takes. As if they’d practiced this dance a million times before—her clothed erection catches her cl*t with every slow drag.

“Mm, does that mean you’re not wet enough for me, then?” Ophelia asks, as if she can’t feel the chill and slick beginning to dampen the front of her briefs. Wednesday makes a choked sounding noise, getting a satisfied giggle in return, “I can’t give you a knot with no slick, can I?”

Ophelia continues to drag her hardness, holding the seers hands above her head.

Wednesday’s no rookie when it comes to a besting a filibuster. She knew how to see through fluff and filler from a mile away. She had to, in order to make profitable deals for the company. She wasn’t one to toss grants out willy nilly.

Never one to beg. People came to her to ask favors.

But the heat.

Her Omega had no shame, only wanting one thing. She was quickly losing the power to keep denying it.

“P-Por…” Wednesday can’t even look at her. Can’t be assed to admit what she needs in English, as if she thinks it gives her a semblance of power back. “Por favor…”

She mumbled it low in her throat, the last syllable correlating with a particularly rough thrust. Ophelia hums, reaching a hand down to crudely tug her dick out of her underwear and tap it bare against her c*nt.

“What was that, Mr. Addams?” She asks innocently and Wednesday groans, not even caring if she sounded impatient. Ophelia gives an exaggerated tsk, clicking her teeth and tapping her co*ck head against her center on beat. Like punctuating her faux chiding, “Well, that didn’t sound very nice…didn’t that fancy upbringing teach you any manners?”

Wednesday tries to throw her freed arm over her eyes but Ophelia grabs it away, instead rutting the full length of her dick between her folds. She leans down to nibble at her ear, whispering hotly.

“Tell me the word…I’ll breed that heat out of you.”

Something in her…its like the crackle of thunder after lightning’s already struck its poor target to death. The candid promise and subsequent moan that she’d never, ever admit to.

If it meant her life, so be it.

“Please! Plea—ah, por favor, por—“ She’s babbling, no longer feeling her shame. Her body has reached infernos that no embarrassment could compare. Her pride no longer meant anything.

She needed the heat to be put out.

“S’ok, sir…” The escort soothes, finally moving her stiff co*ck’s tip to her entrance to stay. Wednesday whines impatiently, legs uselessly trying to wrap around the wolf to bring her closer. The blonde retains her torturously slow pace, deciding to enter her with a finger first.

Her puss* clenched around it as if were nothing at all—still aching, still empty.

“N-Need more…” Wednesday mumbles, hips jumping regardless to take more of what she’s been given. Ophelia looks down at her in concentration, ignoring her calls but adding another finger. It makes the seer nudge her side with her foot to force her eyes back up. “More.”

Ophelia snorts, making a show of scissoring her fingers inside her needy walls. Drags the tips upward to curl into a particular spot that has her gasping every other breath.

“Anyone ever told you how spoiled you are? You’re so used to people breaking their neck to please you, aren’t you?” The escort questioned, pulling her fingers out to suck. Wednesday’s legs long to close, to get some kind of pressure back, but they remain locked around.

She wants to give some snide remark in return, regain her footing; its as if the heat welded her lips shut.

Ophelia takes her fingers out of her mouth, cleaned off by a tongue curling around the tips. Her eyes are still glowing and she looks down at Wednesday in a daze, “Let me know if you need to tap out. You smell…really good, right now.”

As if she were a mere toy, Ophelia handles her rough as she sits back on her knees. She yanks her by the legs until her center is flushed with her hard dick. The appendage sits twitching atop her slit, the escort covering it with the slick she’d long been dripping. If she’s smug about successfully leaving the seer soaked, she doesn’t mention it.

If she satisfied at reducing Wednesday to this begging Omega...she doesn’t mention that either. She’d prefer not to acknowledge it.

Ophelia drags those claws down her front, from clavicle to pelvis. All the while the free hand guides the head of her dick to her clenching hole. It prods soft—too soft. She whines and tries to buck her hips forward, but the claws harshly push her down by the gut.

“Trust me when I say I wanna split you open,” Ophelia flirts and if her face wasn’t already red… The escort winks, “But I also want you to leave in one piece. Better for business, you know?”

But Wednesday can’t even recall the name of any of her current board members. Couldn’t name a single product she’s given funding to in the last month.

For once she doesn’t care to.

When Ophelia’s co*ck pushed further in, she doesn’t know where the heat pain ends and the penetration began. Pliant as her walls felt, she’d never been stretched this way. Begrudgingly, she’s thankful for the fingers and mind numbing teasing from before.

“God…I knew you were uptight, but dang…” Ophelia grunts, easing more of herself inside. Wednesday feels every inch, chancing a glance down to witness. The escort was hardly half way in, the girth of it looking obscene against her slick c*nt. A trimmed patch of hair above an throbbing shaft.

It makes her ache even more, the escort slipping further inside from the wetness it makes her gush.

They both make noises of exertion. The escort’s head lols back, hands more firmly on Wednesday’s ass gripping so tightly its likely to leave bruises and pin pricks. She wants this torture to be done with, whining for more of the member to fill her entirely.

Regardless of the burn, or how much it hurt—nothing compared to the cramps.

“H-Hurts…need it…” Wednesday husks, surprised at how stuffy she sounds. Her throat clogged with arousal, she nearly cries when Ophelia begins circling around her cl*t.

A torturous circle, before the digits dip to where they’re connected to steal slick from her hole. She slathers it with her fingers back up to touch her directly, making soft, wet circles with her finger tips. As if pressing a button to loosen her walls and—finally.

Finally, with a harsh drag in and out the wolf growls as she starts to bottom out.

Wednesday moans out a breathy thing, hearing words distantly leave her lips. Its like she’s witnessing herself from above, the air knocked from her lungs. Her feet no longer on the ground, toes flexing against air.

She covers her mouth, as if she could possibly stop herself from mewling like the heat riddled animal she felt like. With the Alpha above her huffing and actively growling at her—its hard not to feel that way.

She dares try to grab hold of the wolf, to shift up, only to hear a warning. Guttural and teeth dangerously close to her ear.

“Don’t move.”

And she’s never been one to follow orders.

Her foggy mind on auto pilot and a threat in her ear were far too enticing. Her hips jump and even so, she clenched greedily around Ophelia the second she bared her fangs. The Alpha makes another low noise, before backing her hips away.

She nearly rips the wolf a new one, but the escort takes some sort of pity on her—damn her all the same.

“Impatient. Brat.” Each word punctuated with an experimental thrust of hips. Just barely back inside, sliding half in then nearly all the way out.

Wednesday’s often been called a brat. At one time of her life it miffed her and nowadays she barely lifted her chin in acknowledgment. She has a reputation for it, anyways.

Ophelia has a way with words. Another vexing talent from that dexterous tongue. Anytime she opened her mouth, the seer ironically never knew what to expect.

Every time she moved, temperamental as the weather or perhaps the moon. She goes in phases.

These waning strokes as she rumbles and growls. Her body weight on top and strong arms pinning her down. Those teeth bared by her sweaty neck…

“H-How’s that feel, Mr. Addams?” Its not condescending, but she had that way of speaking. A tease, she stops thrusting all the while. “Hmm?”

Wednesday would tear her hair out, if not for the fact that she’s had a nagging thought. Her braids tied to constriction gave her a sense of security. For some reason she wants wants the wolf to tear that to shreds too.

“Is-Is that all you can do, Alpha?” She doesn’t think she’s ever said that title in a way that implied respect.

Not that the wolf needs it. She likely didn’t expect it from Wednesday at this point either.

In response of her own, Ophelia’s hips curve like a crescent, a reflection of the moon on her neck. Shaft pulled and then pushed, dragging much more harshly against her insides.

The weight atop of her shifts, Ophelia lifting herself up on her palms. She looks down at Wednesday with eyes glowing so dangerously, she wishes for those flecks of gems in her irises to pierce her. And she is penetrated—in multiple ways.

Her hips relentless, in harsh sharp thrusts that jam torturously into that spot the escort had found earlier with her fingers. Her co*ckhead never ceases to catch it as soon as Ophelia noticed the way her thighs quiver.

And its pressure building, but she can’t be bothered to say anything. A bit of her pride still remained, as she teeters towards the edge of the waterfall again. Taking the plunge into rapids she can’t peak her head above. Pushing her face into the pillow to suffocate herself before the waves do, but its no use.

She knew she couldn’t swim before she decided to jump.

“Another one,” Ophelia demands, eyes still blazing. She sits back again on her knees, still locked at their centers and thick inside of her. Throbbing as she pulls her closer with sharp nails. Wednesday can barely think, but the wolf prowls, “I can still f*cking smell you…”

Wednesday moves her face just so from its borough of cotton. Her head still swimming and vision of black specs. And Ophelia never stops moving.

Never gives her a break—she refuses to ask for one.

“You’re so lucky I can’t get you pregnant,” Ophelia says like an aside. Wednesday has a horrifying moment she attributes to her position, where she mourns it. “I’d give you a whole litter of pups…”

At this point, the clenching in her center that wrecked and quaked through her body was a slippery slope to balance with her own composure. Her right mind long lost in the throes of her heat.

Of Ophelia filling her.

The thrusts animal, but rhythmic, claws digging into her thighs as their skin begins to audibly slap.

Why she can’t cool down.

She needs Ophelia to join her. To have satisfaction of watching her drown. Splashing, flailing—soaking them both wet.

“C-Cum,” Her voice, this raspy tone that she’s come to recognize must be her, barely gets out. She swallows, hardly able to do much other than take each pounding against her center. She aches…”Cum in…me.”

As if she’d been waiting for the command all along, the wolf hastened her thrusts just so. A slight stutter, the first one thus far almost gives her footing to say more.

“God—ready for your first knot, sir?”

Ample chance to reply, to quip and regain a bit of her dignity.

But she feels it.

Shoved into her a much needed cork. The escort’s dick plugging her deliciously—spurts of cum painting her insides. Incomparable to trips to museum to brood amongst her favorite brutalist pieces. The ridges of her co*ck being imprinted into, inside her was its own medium.

If only she could truly see herself. Turn her c*nt inside out and see the mess they’ve made…

The beast above her howls.

/

She’s been…defiled.

Debauched.

She truly doesn’t feel like herself…

Wednesday Addams, CEO to Addams & Co. leading investor in outcast endeavors and multi millionaire. So many assets she often falls to Kent or Thing as a reminder—hell, thats why she pays them.

Her title demanded such. A place of authority.

And yet…

She’s still on her back. She’s on her back for a lot of the night actually. Making no attempt to get up, either.

Legs up to God (whatever lives above) and hands buried in blankets and pillows. She’s still sweating, but the inferno has finally put out.

Hours upon hours spent with Ophelia, she feels herself begin to lose count. Lose track of the amount of times she’s toed life and death. The wolf held her taut, guiding her through it.

Talking her through it with filthy words and gruff promises.

Her body sore and still being pounded—being bred.

So full…

“Keep your legs open for me,” Is harshly panted above. Her leg opened into a half split, Ophelia holding it up while she sat on her knees and rested weight on one hand. She feels it even deeper if thats possible.

And a part of Wednesday’s remaining consciousness remembers. With her face pressed down into a pillow and teeth close to ripping open—she’s in control.

When the dragging against her insides starts to black her vision, in the cracks she remembers:

“Tell me the word…and I’ll—“

“S-Stop!” She husks, voice cracking from lack of use aside from squeaks of pleasure. She whimpers as the thrusts begin to slow, her core burning, “Stop…too much—“

And it does.

In a blink, the escort is moving, softly but hastily removing her co*ck from her. She feels woefully empty, but she can’t.

Ophelia coos above her, helping her limp body settle better on the pillow. She grumbles all the while, eyes adjusting to light and those eyes having dimmed. They look eerily familiar, no longer gleaming in threat of the wolf.

But not playful and teasing Ophelia either. The girl looked contemplative, scanning her body and rubbing her legs in an attempt to soothe. Its not the worst thing.

She hates being comforted. She’d sooner dip her wounds in lemon or lime, than cope with a healing touch.

Ophelia’s hands were firm. Strong and tipped in blade like claws. Maybe thats why she can stand it.

Her eyes don’t pity, either. She looks down at her sweaty face with a co*ck of her head.

Nothing but breaths between them. Frustrating enough, the wolf doesn’t look to be even a little bit tired. A stark contrast to her heavy eyes and cloudy brain. The satiated heat finally allowed her to feel the rest of her body.

“Let me help clean you up since I sort of…made a mess,” Ophelia trailed as she slowly crept back down her body. Wednesday can only look on blank as ever, far too taken (in so many ways, but so little words) to stop her.

Ophelia licks. Wednesday’s head digs back into the pillow. Her hands and much more manageable nails go to grab wavy blonde hair like handle bars. Her hips restlessly twitch, after shocks and new life being breathed into her puss*.

The wolf sucks, digs in her tongue and laps up all she has left to give.

“Ahh,” Ophelia sighs, sitting back up with her lips and chin glimmering. She winks at Wednesday, “Best tasting client by far.”

A crude phrasing that she should expect from the cheeky blonde by now. Wednesday can only manage a scoff and roll of her eyes.

What does she even say to that? How does she remain so blase?

She’s prided herself on her apathy and even temperament no matter if the place is burning or not. Her cheeks certainly are—likely a harsher shade of red than the pigment of pink in the escort’s hair.

“Let me grab a towel real quick,” Ophelia murmurs, hopping on her feet as if they’d just done nothing but finish watching the news. She grins at Wednesday, “Your slick is bomb, but you probably feel all sticky, yeah?”

All the while, Wednesday can’t be assed to even reply, throat dry and body stiff. She just blows air through her nose.

She runs a tired hand through her mused up bangs, watching through lidded eyes as the escort saunters into the bathroom. The light flicks on and the blonde hums as she grabs what she needs.

She skips (genuinely skips, but it should no longer shock her) back to the bed immediately tending to the seer’s limp body. Wednesday can’t protest. Can’t say much of anything.

Doesn’t feel entirely there.

She’s not cold by any means, but the blankets feel good. They smell divine, but she’s not the time or will to analyze it. To fight with herself, with so little energy. It would somehow feel even more humiliating.

She nearly forgets her bedfellow, standing off to the side and looking down at her. Ophelia’s still naked, hands on her hips and looking down at her warily. As if now Wednesday’s stare was beginning to unsettle her.

“I can, uh…chill on the couch if you need a min—“ The escort starts, nodding her head towards the door.

And after so much physical touch…one would think Wednesday Addams would need a month of solitude. However, the thought of the wolf taking any more steps away has her feeling something prickly up her back.

Something to analyze…just…not now.

“Ophelia?” Wednesday asks sharply, annoyed by the fact of the matter. She glares when the blonde looks at her in surprise.

“Y-Yes, sir?”

Begrudgingly and with a heavy roll of her eyes—Wednesday lifts the blanket open to make room in her make shift nest.

“Lay down and please be quiet.”

Chapter 6: A Passing Fancy

Chapter Text

She couldn’t shower there. Not really.

The heat wouldn’t allow her to be clean.

To be wet with anything other than her own slick. Be bathed in saliva, as that long tongue licked her clean again, as water poured down the side of her neck. A practical part of her curses how long it’ll take to scrub the smell off. The other unhinged half—the Omega—mourns the thought.

It had woefully taken over. The needful thing, it only craved more.

She couldn’t even reach the soap. Didn’t need it. Didn’t need anything else…

Why had she even tried?

“Ah—“ Her eyes open, surrounded by steam and sprits of condensation. Why had she even attempted to leave the nest?

She tried to go alone, but found those frisky hands unwilling to allow. That nose twitching and eyes wandering below. Wednesday weakly tried to argue that they’d be better off going one by one.

(If arguing included quiet scoffing and making no attempt to close the door behind her.)

She blames her inner Omega, having been allowed too much leeway already, for not batting those eager paws away. That eager, wolfish grin.

She should’ve known she would end up like this, when they met eyes in the bathroom mirror. Ophelia’s had been locked on her breasts then, still covered in bite marks and scratches.

And now…

She’s in a position of faux power. The wolf at her knee level, but face buried in her center. Framed in dark, dampened dubic hair as she licks and suckles the way she’d mastered soon after the first time.

Two fingers buried inside, curving against that spot Ophelia found the first time too.

She liked to work her up, to the point where these pitiful sounding cries begin to build. Slowing her strokes when Wednesday begins to twitch too much—when she’s about to drown. She just needs the wolf to get on with it.

Wednesday’s wet hands slide through damp blonde locks, hips undulating forward and claws digging into her ass. Ophelia between her legs, finally sending her over the edge again—

“P-Puta madrea…merde—“ She claws her nails, much shorter in comparison into the escort’s scalp as she c*ms.

Finally, pressure wracking her body like nothing short of the antique electric chair her family owned. Like fresh endorphins to her brain and jarring her muscles. After being teased so long she felt her skin prune.

The carnal, animalistic way the wolf shot up to her feet after. Barely letting Wednesday breath, she hoisted her up against the bathroom tile to slip half way inside of her roughly.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to being so full. The stretch like scratching an internal itch.

Ophelia leans her damp forehead against Wednesday’s, panting roughly and eyes glowing. They don’t kiss—hadn’t kissed on the mouth at all.

Thats not what this is.

“Gonna…knot you a-again,” Ophelia grunts, hips picking up speed as she rolls her hips into her and shower water begins to prune her skin. She can’t think of any moisture that isn’t far below. Her c*nt dripping, likely coating the Alpha in her arousal.

Merde.

She looks down, eyes dazed and cloudy, but her heat ridden brain needing it. She needs to see it. See the knot grow at the base and split her apart again. The way that toned abdomen flexes with each motion.

See the white slick cover Ophelia’s co*ck and make the most obscene noise that battles the shower water hitting the ground.

“Maybe next time I’ll breed you in front of a mirror,” Ophelia growls, yanking her eyes back up by her hair. Wednesday gasps, hissing in how good it feels to be handled this way. Ophelia starts assaulting her chest and breasts again, “Since you like to watch.”

Next time…

Does she want this again? Rather, would she ever allow herself this again?

(Make it a habit)

“You’re so freaking tight…even after taking my knot all night.” Another bite to her collar, taking any retort away from her.

And Wednesday can’t argue any of it, nor can she can catch her breath long enough to. Especially when her puss* clenches desperately around the knot expanding inside of her again. As she milks the escort for every drop of her cum, again.

Why on Earth she thought it was a good idea, with the insatiable Alpha at her heels. Smacking her ass crudely before she stepped inside…

Because, she’d gotten a tad bit sticky.

They both did. That was the excuse to follow her in originally…wasn’t it?

~

Earlier that morning…she thinks its morning at least. Had lost track of time, after falling asleep on top of the escort. She feels mercy in the fact that her body temperature continues to excuse how red her face is. The hormones and smell to explain the frilly feelings.

The urge.

Naively, after waking from a half sleep state, she thought she hungered for something with sustenance or protein. Felt satiated enough to feel a part of her body other than her needy center.

Thought Ophelia’s teasing lips could use a pancake or two to stuff her quiet too.

“You fell asleep on me again,” The escort grinned, eyes telling of exactly what she had fallen asleep on. She had worked up quite a sweat, even in her stubborn need to attempt to top.

If she thinks too hard about it—riding the wolf with no inhibition, hips and thighs burning from not being able to help herself—she’ll never eat. She has to will the debauched thoughts away.

(Even if she can still feel the cum between her legs when she shifts. Hmph, Perhaps the toilet first.)

She decided to order room service to make actual use of her brain.

The wolf had followed her to ‘answer the door’—it was her fault, the voracious mutt she was.

Really, she had offered and Wedsnesday had always been one to close in on a good deal. Could usually spot hogwash before stepping into a meeting.

The wolf dawned sheep’s clothing, however.

Had tied on a robe and grabbed their room service to set on the counter of the small kitchen in their room. Wednesday would never admit to having any difficulties leaving the bed, either. The blankets feeling sinful against her skin, in the best way.

Why she longs to go back to the ‘nest.’

Or, even the way her legs wobble—she could simply run her hands subtly against the wall or door frame. Appreciate the craftsmanship, as the escort lays everything out for them. Some on the tiny island and some against the wall by the mini fridge.

Wednesday peaks at a serving of eggs, feeling her stomach rumble as she forks a few bites. She hadn’t realized how hungry she really was. Didn’t know how long its been since she last ate in all honesty. Still, she paces herself as to not make herself queasy.

Meanwhile, Ophelia very flatteringly wolfs down a stack of pancakes like water.

Its strange, the silence in which they revel. Sounds of clinking silverware and chewing—her ears sensitive and entire body still humming.

Still hot.

She regards the wolf with silent judgement. Hates the way she’s the only one at ease, while Wednesday can barely get through a piece of fruit.

“Worked up an appetite, then?” The seer taunts, eyebrow raising when the escort sheepishly grins and chews. She licks her finger tip, sucking syrup off with the same tongue that had been…perhaps thats not the best train of thought to follow.

She absently scratches at her arm, where skin had raised from claw marks the night before. They burned in the best way—she’s never had a partner in pain. A partner in anything not related to finances.

She’s still so hot she barely feels the ground below her feet. Barely feels the lack of clothing, her heat having lulled but not put put out. She felt of right mind enough to feel her other functions. Feel the ache in her legs from being handled so roughly.

Feel the bruising and scratches that lay in more places than one.

Ophelia hums, leaning back against the small island. Her eyes look over Wednesday’s otherwise nude body hungrily as if she’s not surrounded by a buffet. She looks at where the seer’s hand covers one of her injuries.

“You could say that...” Ophelia starts, sounding something close to coy. She picks at a strip of bacon from the tray behind, eyes raking over her body again. “I don’t normally…sorry about the claws. Sometimes a girl doesn’t know her own strength.”

She genuinely sounds apologetic. Eyes far softer than the wolf nearly devouring her whole not even half an hour ago. It nearly makes her take pause. Wednesday disguised it well enough with a sip of water.

Control. The wolf was admitting to losing control.

Was it so easy to admit? Wednesday didn’t know how one could cope without it. Her eyes graze over the silver chain on that disarmingly delicate neck once again.

She hadn’t even noticed how much the wolf had bitten, technically. Too busy taking every blunt tip of each individual claw—an obscene image of herself hits her like a steel drum. A bladed tip to her tongue, perhaps…

How far down her throat it could reach before she drew blood?

“I thought you were a ‘professional.’” She asks instead, wondering if perhaps she’s being set up. If the wolf knew her impure mind would cast images of those very same hands she claimed to be sorry for.

Her brain was often full of vile, tormented things. Knew how to maim and torture, having picked up hunting very easily from her father.

Again…death in the literal sense.

Still, as if she wasn’t mulling over murder, the wolf half laughs, half snorts at her.

“I made you cum, didn’t I?” The blonde asks in what Wednesday takes as rhetorical, because she’s certainly not replying to that. A head co*cks, “Multiple times, actually...”

Wednesday’s hand tightens hard around her coffee. Thats more of what she’s used to. Confident Ophelia that riles her up just enough. She thinks she could strangle that smile out of her, like putting a broken fawn out of its misery.

For some reason, however, she thinks it’d be a loss to see the light leave those feral eyes.

“Irrelevant.”

But the wolf doesn’t take her bait, popping a grape in her mouth. Then another that she curls her elongated tongue around just so, as if just to remind the CEO that she can.

“Maybe you just bring something out in me, Mr. Addams…” Ophelia teases her, her poor excuse for pillow talk only serving to make her retreat into herself more. When the wolf dares swing her leg over to trace her calf.

Impish dog she is.

She doesn’t like talking, let alone about that. She kept her private life private for a reason. Had taken her everything not to rip Kent’s tongue out for daring mention her having any type of urges.

Ophelia seemed to bask in it. Quick on her feet in tandem with her complete lack of shame in the subject. Her chipper smile just an infuriatingly, saccharine cherry on top.

Wednesday hated the flame that ignited with that loose tongue toying with the knob. Words like gasoline, as if she’s not red with her shame and everything else.

A stark contrast to how Ophelia lounges with her fruit, talking about her and her body like it’s something on the menu.

…Perhaps at one point it was, but she had far more tact.

“I love fresh maple.” Ophelia remarks next, digging into the stack of pancakes. She grins, dragging her finger across the plate the second she knows Wednesday’s decided to humor her. It comes back slow dripping in clear amber, lapped by a long curling tongue that sucks the digit hungrily into that mouth. As if it was her first bite, “Ah, so freaking good! But…I actually think I’d prefer your slick, Mr. Addams.”

Wednesday steels her expression against the fluttering lashes in front of her. Stubbornly places the first thing in arms length between her lips, a cup of espresso shots. It burns just as she hoped it would.

Enough to distract and catch her breath from the burning below.

“How vulgar. I don’t suppose I’m meant to be flattered?” Wednesday rolls her eyes, arm crossing over her chest and cup held with the other.

Ophelia grins, going to dip her finger into the syrup again. Lets it linger on the tip, because the impish dog had caught her watching. Has it drip on her tongue, before sucking the digit clean.

Coqueta, indeed.

“Actually…I think you’re jealous,” Ophelia whispers the last word in clear jest. Still it ruffles her feathers enough to pinch her features.

Jealous? Envy?

“You’d be mistaken,” Wednesday clips back, eyes hard. “Jealousy implies I otherwise care.”

Ophelia hums dismissively, grabbing her small cup of unused syrup. They’d be given jam and butter as well, but the small metal cup held the wolf’s attention. She dips another finger in to suck, all while sauntering closer to the irritated seer.

It boils her to magma, feet welded to the floor as she’s stalked. The peak of fang under twitching lips. A predator surrounded by food.

Yet, drawn to the only other thing with a beating pulse. Though, she’s never known wolves to play with their kill.

“I think you want a taste…” Ophelia accuses, taking the saturated finger and placing it to her lips. The syrup smell sweet under her nose, she can’t help but turn her head and scoff. Ophelia just smiles and shrugs at her, “Suit yourself then.”

A beat.

Then she feels something eerily cold on her front, nearly making her gasp. The shock of it stills her, as do the intensely focused eyes.

Amber syrup running down her chest in a thick line.

“These strawberries look so good,” Ophelia gushes, procuring one from behind her. She ceremoniously runs it through the syrup on her chest, sopping up a fair bit of it and popping the tip in her mouth. Exaggerates the way she bites and sucks the fruit to the stem. “Mmm!”

Because theres no way its that good. Wednesday had had a few, herself.

“Y-You incorrigible dog—“ Wednesday insults, hands gripping the counter behind like a life line. Nevermind her red cheeks, or the heat sent straight to her core.

Or the wolf going to lap its treat from the source. That long tongue licking down the same path the syrup had taken. Snatching her indignation between those fangs.

“Not hungry for pancakes anymore…are you?”

Those eyes were glowing hotter than the core they lingered in front of. Pupils going to the mess of slick, then back up to her own blown out eyes.

Ophelia had devoured her then too.

Had traded syrup for slick, lapping it up like her body produced something sweet. Grounds that sprout ample harvest, rather than dead grass and branches.

Something appetizing from an Addams—

“Mm…much better than syrup.” The escort crooned, crouched onto her knees only to spring back up. They trade breaths (rather Wednesday pants in her face, in lieu of the curses that get lost in her mouth) for a moment, the blonde snaking a hand behind her to grab another strawberry.

She holds her breath and wills herself not to shiver, when Ophelia rubs the fruit against her scent gland. Up her thigh, the thin seeded berry collects wetness…Wednesday watched with her mouth clamped shut.

Ophelia takes a bite, but not without letting her see herself all over. The shimmering slick on tip of the strawberry.

“How is it, then?” Wednesday asks, voice sounding laden in her own arousal, gruff and a bit amused. Bemused at someone putting on such a display.

Perhaps its all an act. Perhaps she says things like that about everyone’s taste. Creating a faux sense that you’re a special kind of client.

But, Ophelia offers her the berry, eyes feral. And she finds her mind going blank.

“Incomparable, sir. Have a taste for yourself.” Its not a question and not necessarily a command either, but a purr that pricks her ears and Wednesday’s mouth drops open. Even as she glares, like she blames the Alpha for being so decidedly good at her job.

A master thus far, after practicing long and hard in the ways of making Wednesday Addams break.

The wolf licks its chops as she takes a bite of the fruit and tastes herself. An added twang to remind her of what she’s eating.

What she’s swallowing.

Her throat bobs and Wednesday thinks Ophelia can see it somehow. Like an x ray with how hard she’s staring. She leans in close, foreheads nearly touching.

”Tell me how good it tastes.” The escort whispers, not blinking along with her. Wednesday clenched her teeth tight, breaths slow but heavy. It lingers for so long and core burns as her face lights in embarrassment.

Ophelia’s lips curl up, revealing those teeth. Like she’s amused at her stubborn refusal. It just makes her ache even more.

“Good, but its missing something…don’t you think?” She questioned, taking the bitten half of fruit and running it over her nipples. Wednesday barely conceals a hiss through her teeth. Ophelia coos at her, “Sensitive, hm?”

“Its cold you imbecile,” Is her angry retort, full of her bitter-ing scent and sharp tone. Ophelia just hums, as if uninterested in an answer at all.

Coincidently, her mouth finds her sensitive nipple next. Her long tongue swirling saliva around the stiff peak, managing to make her breath stutter. Hungry moans from Ophelia’s mouth as those lips wrap around.

Like a gun shot signaling a race, she finds herself lifted atop the counter. Her panties ripped off and that mouth on her c*nt. Hands buried in already tangled, wavy hair.

She blinks and that dick is at her entrance, collecting slick with rough strokes that nudge her cl*t. She holds her breath until she’s entered; the release like relief at length inside her. Like this is what she’d been hungry for along.

Then she’s full of her again, the force of Ophelia’s strokes making the counter dig into her back. Legs locking around a strong waist while her nipples are sucked on.

High pitched mewls that must be her, because its no one else. With the other mouth in the room occupied.

Those claws grab her by the neck, a hand moving her roughly and then dragging her by the chin to make her face those wolfish eyes. Teeth bared over wet lips.

Ophelia could absolutely tear her apart if she wanted…

She comes again with her hands around Ophelia’s, wishing the beast would squeeze. Perhaps even choke.

A macarbe, far too tempting thought, but she would never ask.

Something in her bitterly knew the escort would figure it out soon enough.

~

Why she thought they could clean up, or disguise their act is beyond her. The shower afterwards going much the same. She needn’t rehash the way her back slides against the wet shower wall.

The way her will’s been broken.

She barely remembers leaving the shower. Vaguely registers Ophelia helping her dry off, still tied by the knot inside her. Mainly, batting hands away that try to wipe her face. Weak protests of being ‘fine.’ even though Ophelia could easily call her bluff and ask her to try to stand on her own.

Instead she just gives the heiress a look. A tad playful, which she expects and on the other end in challenge. Her pride picks the least demeaning path.

“I suppose the least you could do is clean the mess you’ve made.” She turns her head, rolling her eyes when Ophelia grins and goes to dab at her hair.

She’d taken it up, tying her braids into a knot on her head before getting in the shower. The women in her family saw it as a sacred thing, like a step from blood. Hair was ritualistic, kept for spells or mementos on their home alter.

A pesky, uncouth thing in her head, likely the Omega within, still craves for that pull.

“You look exhausted, Mr. Addams,” Ophelia muses, doting the tip of her nose with end of the towel. Her glare piercing through the fabric, the escort simply smiles at her.

“I’ve stayed up for a week straight before. This is light work,” She insisted. Ophelia hums in reply, shifting her hips and making the knot drag against her insides.

“Well its a good thing we have the room until Sunday, hm?”

Ophelia grins so wide it crinkles her eyes nearly shut. Its maniacal in a sense, makes a shiver run up her spine as she’s suddenly being carried. She absently notes the fact that the knot has deflated almost entirely, but the escort remained erect.

A casualty, she supposed, of the pheromones she can no longer repress. Repression that she had decided to cease, foolishly believing she could grab the reins on this beast.

Not that she’s giving up—she just needed to survive. Make it back to her office in one piece.

Regroup when she’s in her right mind again. Like analyzing where she went wrong in battle. When she’s alone with the claw marks down her back.

Ophelia begins her own ‘light work.’ tongue and teeth mouthing at her shoulder blade as she’s brought back into the bedroom of the hotel.

Being thrown back into the nest and knotted into another daze.

Eyes drooping as she’s being pounded into the mattress, body on top of hers and growling. Teeth sunken in her shoulder and body quaking. The rhythm of the bed beginning to hit the wall behind.

/

Ophelia leaves first.

“I think my job here…is done.” The wolf chimed, patting her belly over the blanket and then hopping out of what was the ‘nest.’

She stretches her limbs, cracking in a way that sounds pleasant along with apparently feeling that way as well. Naked as the day she was born, not a care in the world to prying eyes.

Not that she was looking. Well, she’s not leering certainly.

Wednesday simply watches her dress, still under the veil of the ‘nest.’ Still in a daze as she fades back into her proper mind—her right mind. Arms crossed instinctively, because its certainly not for comfort. This was a lapse in sanity.

A passing fancy.

“I had a lot fun with you, Mr. Addams…” Ophelia says off handedly from the bathroom. The door wide open and adjusting her hair in the mirror. She peaks at Wednesday with a smirk, “I know, I know—you don’t do the cushy, cutesy stuff. But I really did…”

She clips the light off, hands behind her back as she regards the CEO. Wednesday keeps her jaw taut, eye contact unwavering. The escort had dressed in what she came in, the pink dress hugging her all the same.

A stray pang of emotion vexes her chest, sparks her to the core…

(Just aftershocks. The last bit of paste in the tube.)

She sits up instead of answering, blankets sliding down and legs suddenly restless. She doesn’t feel hot, or anywhere near inferno but the blankets no longer feel right.

Her words taste strange. Maybe she just needs to brush her teeth.

Ophelia doesn’t seem to care about her lips.

Her eyes were scanning her exposed chest. Likely at the long scratch across her clavicle, after Wednesday had last referred to her as a ‘mutt.’

Those nails raking down…

“Sorry again about the…” The wolf sniffs, nodding minutely and leaning on the door frame. The way she’s eyeing her, Wednesday wonders if its more out of courtesy.

“Its fine…I recall myself requesting it.” Wednesday replies finally, having to clear her throat from lack of use. Rather lack of practical use.

Ophelia’s disposition flicks back to playful, biting her lip as she grins.

Wednesday showers in dull silence.

Observes her ratty hair and quickly redoes her braids, before she even eyes the change of clothes. Another pair of slacks, these ones pure black, with a dress shirt patterned in barbed wire.

She exits the bathroom with her hands adjusting her tie, the silk like a puzzle piece she’d been missing. She feels more herself this way.

More in control. In this room reeking of cafe.

She tries to use her pockets, offering a ride or the service of her spare town car if the hearse was too much. The escort waved her off, smiling kindly like they’d had a tender interaction in a shop. Still transactional but far more polite.

“I have other chores today,” Ophelia coyly trailed from the front door. Eyes Wednesday up and down, carefully smoothing hands over her new crisp tie. Tugs the end and lets it fall again, “But, you know how to reach me if you change your mind.”

Wednesday grunts, noncommittal and glowering at the hand on her person. She primly straightens her tie, sneering at the escort’s grabby paws.

“Right.” The CEO replies curtly, “Do be safe traveling home, then.”

A mistake apparently, to wish her well, because the wolf grins so irritatingly wide. Wednesday’s eyes roll preemptively.

“Aw, Mr. Addams…you care about my safety?” Ophelia coos at her again. A hand pats her cheek in a way that feels condescending, but the wolf likely thinks she’s being funny or even worse—flirty. “So fun to tease…”

Wednesday just noncommittally blows air from her nose, even when that pesky hand goes back behind the cheeky escort. Then on the metal door knob, like she’s lingering.

And she doesn’t tell her to leave. Doesn’t rush her out with a retort. Hadn’t begun to think about the amount of work she’s behind on, having taken a sudden leave of absence. Not that she didn’t have enough money to never go in office again.

This room had become somewhat of a bunker. This was still business and nothing more, but…casual.

Mixed with pleasure.

She gets lost staring into those sparkling eyes. No longer glowing neon or moonlighting as sapphires. No looming threat behind those eyelids.

Its much easier to think clearly. See her properly.

“Well…have a good rest of your morning, sir.”

“And a dreadful day to you as well.”

A click of the door.

Clack of heels down the hall in time with her heart rate returning to normal.

Wednesday’s hand lingers on the door even after she’d likely entered the elevator. Can’t be bothered to check her phone, or slip her oxfords back on. Can’t bring herself to move for longer than she’d ever tell a soul.

Until she holds her breath, because the room still smells like fresh, flaky pastries.

Chapter 7: A Cigar Butt Still Burning On The Ground

Chapter Text

Billowing smoke, from pouted lips.

Pairs nice with her dark liquor, feels good in her chilly hands.

Her balcony was empty of much other than the plants she’d been burdened. Gifts from her mother, insistent on how keeping nature close in such a big city would keep her grounded.

Wednesday despised it when anything her mother said had any sort of merit or truth.

It’d been like salve, tending to her greenery these past few days. Coming home and realizing how much she’d neglected them, after quickly realizing she wouldn’t fall asleep or get any absent work accomplished.

It allowed her time to reset, having the weekend after…

(To heal the ill placed bruising, quell the aches in her back from repeated pounding on hard surfaces. The soreness in her groin that didn't hurt as much as it made her—)

No matter.

She would be back in the office tomorrow. Or later this morning, rather with the clock having long struck past the A.M. A Monday morning’s dawn spent lamenting with her smoke wasn’t exactly novel. This was a ritual she practiced after particularly grueling weeks, or days where she feels so socially drained she can no longer think.

She often writes in absence of thought, but none of the words belonged on something traceable like paper. Every rhyme or reason, somehow placing her in maw of some predator. Metaphorically of course.

Another drag in, til it burns back of her throat. Til she feels a bit light headed, concentrating nicotine to her brain instead of sifting through the feelings. Gas them out like the crawling pests they were behaving—making her stomach flip and chest tingle.

It was a gift she’d been smoking on. Her father brought it from his last trip down South, below the border. Hand rolled and promised, apparently someone owed them a favor. Her father was good at that. The feelings and the talking—

Empathy.

“Mi pequeño diabla…” cooed at her since she was a baby. A pinch to her cheek so long as her hands were occupied. Touches and hugs that he insisted upon even when she declared herself far too old for such sentiment.

Even now, her shoulders shake off his imaginary hand. With a scowl, before she puts out her cigar altogether.

She feels better anyhow. Not quite where she’d prefer, but…better.

Her healing expedited by their family’s medicinal history. Her Grandmama’s recipe far more potent than Tylenol. More fast acting, though sometimes mournfully so. Only because sometimes she craved the reminder.

The last time she bared a fall, stubbornly repairing her own light fixture in office that wouldn’t stop blinking. A gnarly purple bruise on her side and ache in her shoulder that felt nice to press when Kent’s drawl got irksome.

It practically disappeared over night. Almost as if…nothing happened at all.

She walks back into her apartment with an arm wrapped around herself and her remaining liquor and cigar in her spare hand. Feels the dip of her hips, where finger shaped marks had been…

Meeting above the swell of her backside where claws had pierced her skin.

Tsk, even her neck looked spotless, as if she’d gotten a chemical peel. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, a feeling like mourning creeping up her spine if her mind goes any lower. She slams the glass of alcohol on her kitchen counter.

Aside from initial…soreness when she sat in her home office chair—she had been otherwise fine.

She had taken a good look at herself after returning. After clambering into her own bathroom for her elixir, lucky and grateful that it was too early for Thing to risk his ‘beauty rest.’

Because a hand apparently—nevermind that train of thought. She had decided she’d rather get it over with and not look this gift horse in the mouth.

Peeled away at her layers of clothes like unwrapping a well preserved body. She ran ointment over her wounds, after preparing the herbs for an anti inflammatory tea. Each cut, or bruise had held a memory.

An act.

“Sorry again about…” Those glinting eyes and twinkling fangs that looked keen to sink back into her flesh. The promise of more to come—

She curls her lip up in distaste at her own depravity. She needs to prepare for today, for work.

Like theres nothing better to think about, while she places her unfinished cigar back in its case. Slides her desk drawer back shut and smooths a hand down her silk dress shirt. She needn’t pack her briefcase, having done so in her insomniac state twice over.

A knock to her open office door next, Wednesday already knowing who from how low to the ground the sound came. She just leans on her desk, watching the limb approach.

Comically, with a iPhone in hand, as Wednesday raised a brow.

‘Going off all night! You need to text back so I can finish my beauty rest!’ The hand looks rather annoyed, to which she blows air from her nose in near amusem*nt.

Any actual humor was lost the second she eyes the string of missed messages and calls from one person specifically.

Bianca Barclay.

“Answer her yourself if its so bothersome…” She nearly throws in a personal quip, but remembered who she was talking to. She narrows her eyes, “Aren’t you supposed to be vetting through my voicemail in preparation for my return to the office tomorrow?”

The hand looks rightfully caught, fingers flexing in offense.

‘I did so before I went to bed! Why are you up so early, anyhow?’ Thing questions next, suspicious as he’s been growing.

Disappearing for three days and suddenly taking her weekend to genuinely recover. The fact that this had been reoccurring nocturnal behavior, catching her up and contemplating to herself afterward.

She can’t really fault him for wondering.

Though the meddling siren wasn’t helping in the slightest. So much so, Wednesday was more eager to point fingers in her direction.

“If Bianca is that desperate to speak to me, she’ll book an appointment time like everyone else.” She concluded, content to brush past him and maybe brew herself some shots. Chase the liquor as the clock ticked closer to four.

Not like she’d risk going back to bed. Not with the current content of her ‘nightmares.’

‘Kent would like to carpool in the morning. Wishes to catch up in person,’ Thing mentions next.

“Oh, Im sure…” Wednesday rolls her eyes preemptively. “He’s probably been itching his scales off to pry about my business.”

Even though, begrudgingly he may hold answers to her sleepless night. She didn’t entirely want to watch him grin like a bandit making off with her venting.

Thing looks wary however, like he knows details that he can’t otherwise disclose. Something far more serious than she came to expect. Or maybe its best she hear it from the source.

‘He said it was important.’ Is the slow to come reply, cementing her choice. Her eyes narrow all the while.

“Tell him to be ready within the hour,” Wednesday decides, nodding to the phone. “I’ll be by with Lurch to fetch him so we can discuss.”

/

Its still fairly dark outside, even a quarter past five. Street lights illuminate half her face as her foot taps steady to the beat of some mid century radio song—something she’d seen her parents twirl around to. It was to Lurch’s liking as well, she assumes.

Its chilly enough to garner her leather trench and matching gloves. She didn’t really get cold enough to cause harm, but she reveled in the chance to have an excuse to glove up and avoid initial pleasantries upon entering.

Layers to peel off while she gathers her bearings. A scarf thrown over her shoulders to boot.

She lifts it from her face once the car door pops open and her assistant slides in noisily. A sigh of cold breath, his nose already tipped red and shivering from the waist up.

“Jesus, I hate how dark it is in the morning right now.” He shuffles better into the seat, sitting across from her and hiking up his collar. Only to grin dopily at her lack of response, “Good morning by the way, boss. Long time no freakin’ see, eh? Had a good time I’m assuming?”

Was it too close to an inappropriate time to have another drink?

“My weekend was satisfactory,” She answers quaintly, ignoring the snort of disbelief from Kent. “Have you been keeping my business in order? I’m told you had important matters to discuss regarding my absence.”

Kent’s expression sours a bit, losing his mirth as he rubs his own gloved hands together.

“Just an…unhappy past prospect,” He starts off vaguely. “Its like people know when you’re gone. And that I’m too nice to tell them to f*ck off—even through email.”

Wednesday listens quietly, body only moving if the hearse hit a pot hole. Kent goes over relevant proposals, appointments she’d missed and meetings rescheduled for the day.

He’d done a fair enough job, honestly. She shouldn’t sound shocked considering this is who she trusts so much of her livelihood, but she quite literally never missed work. That hotel had been like a thick cloud cloaking her sense of responsibility and work ethic.

Alpha stench making her light headed…thats all it was.

“Thing said you had something important,” Wednesday pressed, keen to focus on something else. “The recap is noted, but I brought you here for confidentiality.”

Kent’s mouth clamped shut as she spoke, looking curiously anxious. She watched him carefully, having run out of verbal distractions. He smooths down the hair on his head.

“—Oh! Y-Yeah like I was saying… we might have a bit of a problem,” Kent starts hesitating, then finds his words again. “Remember that dude with the telekinesis and pills that came in last month? He’s been blowing up our phones and email with threats after what you said to him. My experience with him wasn’t any better.”

Kent looks annoyed, something rare for the happy go lucky siren. Meanwhile, Wednesday tries to rack her brain for the last month or so of time. Doing good to skip over her past week and will her brain to remember anything else.

Anyone else.

“Any other important monikers? As if I don’t meet my fair share of self proclaimed ‘geniuses’ unhappy with how our meeting concludes.” Wednesday rolls her eyes, then leans back in her seat. “Besides, pharmaceuticals aren’t my forte, regardless of how kindly I worded my decline.”

Kent makes a noise of agreement, not particularly enjoying his own experiences as not only an outcast, but Omega. As far as Wednesday knows, the boy refused repressors altogether. Had never taken them a day in his life, because it wasn’t as common amongst sirens.

Likely what brought him to that fateful website, instead.

“If you feel comfortable, boss, you can always do your thing,” Kent offers next. He takes his glove off preemptively, clenching and unclenching his fist in the fresh air.

Wednesday raises a brow, not particularly bothered by the proposition itself. She’s used her gift on Kent before, for sake of weeding out certain rats in the vicinity. The Omega boy was an easy person to unload on, smiling and offering his shoulder.

Unfortunately it often made him prey to those who only saw him as an Omega at the end of the day. Secondary. A push over.

Irrelevant to begin with.

“Permission granted,” Wednesday slips the glove from her hand smoothly, fueled with budding anger. Kent just barely hesitated before touching her—not necessarily unwelcome, but she knew he was nervous for other reasons.

She sees white before the red.

~

She stands by Kent, standing over his own desk. He’s disgruntled and speaking in a calming way, like taming an animal. His hands visibly flexing in submission, a powerful voice on the other end of the line.

“You’ll make time! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

Kent squints his eyes, bites his lip and seems uncertain.

“Look, Mr. Laslow, I understand you’re, erm—dissatisfied with my boss’s decision, but Mr. Addams isn’t one to go back on—“

“Just give me one more chance,” The voice pleads, almost humble for the first time. “I’ll pay for lunch and your commute.”

Wednesday would tell him to dally away from her employee, who’s meant to be taking care of her livelihood. Kent however is far too soft, keening to the softer voice over the line. Perhaps it tugged at his heart or ever so golden morals.

“Ah…I’m really not supposed to be doing this. But—“ he pulls the phone from his ear, covering the mic to sigh and look up to the sky. Then, “Ok…ok, I’ll meet you.”

She watches him hang up, then smooth his bun back on his head. He clicks his teeth and mumbles to himself with a sigh.

”Wednesday’s gonna so pissed…”

Another flash of white.

She’s at a private table. She thinks she’s been here before, or perhaps its mistaken familiarity. Sometimes its easy to mix her own observations with the person she’s touching’s feelings.

She can feel physically feel Kent’s trepidation.

She stands by a waiter pouring wine into twin glasses as two suits sit across from each other. Kent with his hair tied back and Rowan with his slicked.

His glasses are pushed up as he leans forward. Wednesday immediately goes to cover her nose, smell of musk like over saturated cologne.

Just as she’d suspected. Rowan was an Alpha.

“Now, excuse my asking, but you seem more receptive to my courtesy as opposed to your boss,” Rowan goes on haughty. A far cry from the scrawny boy who she’d thrown out. Wednesday narrows her eyes as her irritation grows. Rowan chuckles, “Much more…pliant.”

Wednesday doesn’t bother holding back her scoff. In fact she wished he could hear it.

“Uh…yeah, sure, but Wednesday’s just really particular about where the money’s going,” Kent tries to defend, squirming a but in his seat. “She takes it really seriously…its why she’s the boss in the first place.”

The psychic doesn’t look convinced, nor does it look like he cares. Blankly listening until Kent stopped speaking.

Rowan presses, “Its not so out of line to put your money in something like this…is it?”

Wednesday fights urge to lunge with the knife she kept in her suit jacket. Tailored to hold and conceal sharp objects, but they meant not much of anything in memory. What could’ve or should’ve been.

“What exactly are you implying about Mr. Addams and me?” Kent asks slowly, eyes twinkling dangerously.

Rowan chuckles in a way that she couldn’t take as anything other than condescending.

“We both have working noses, do we not?” He smirks, seemingly oblivious to the way Kent’s gripping the table. Rowan scoffs, “Quite the hypocrite to tell me my practices are unethical, I think—“

Kent slams a hand down on the table. Shakes the silver wear and glasses, garnering a look of surprise from the boy in front of him.

“I’ve never taken suppressors a day in my life and I refuse to. I’m proud to be an Omega,” Kent declares. He stands from his seat in unbridled anger, only to be shoved back down. “What the hell—“

His eyes glow, though he can no longer reach his amulet to help channel his powers. His hands glued to the seat suddenly and head shoved down by imaginary force.

Wednesday feels trapped, chest heaving and fists clenching as her jaw works uselessly.

Rowan looks smug, still in his seat with his hand poised. Holding Kent steady like a sail, pushed by flick of his smarmy wrist.

And the smell. Alpha pheromones—dominating musk like carbon monoxide stifling her lungs. So potent, she can only imagine what Kent felt. In confines of the private dining area, away from prying eyes.

Money afforded many luxuries, however…

She fears Kent had walked straight into a trap.

Rowan laughs to himself, head lolling forward and then sitting back to adjust his glasses. Looks at Kent like a toy, like the puppet he’d been rendered. He wipes his hands of it—literally with the white cloth given with their silverware.

Its not often she’s had a vision like this, one to infuriate her to her core. Deep disgust as the pheromones continue to fill the space like a screen to the outside.

The psychic Alpha stands proudly after, seemingly ignoring the way Kent’s begun to tremble. Just politely looks about, ensure no prying eyes.

Wednesday wished she could wrap her hands around his neck. Show him how it feels to lose access to your lungs.

Rowan paces slow, before he leans down to whisper in Kent’s ear.

“Trust…I could show you unethical.”

~

Wednesday comes back to with a growl, eyes full of fury.

sospechoso, puta madre serpiente…

Her thoughts full of hatred and bitter insults she couldn’t speak. Holding her tongue and shutting her eyes with a heaved breath. The man across from her looks weary, unable to find mirth in something for once.

“Assuming you saw my lunch date, then?” Kent asks sheepish, but somber as Wednesday harshly pulls her glove back on. The siren boy tensed his jaw, “Sorry for—“

“He’ll never get a dime from my family’s hard earned name,” Wednesday concluded before he could feel sorry for himself. She waves him off, “Its no fault of yours…entitled Alphas like him will find out what happens when you cross me.”

She felt her knife up her sleeve like an awful itch. The way she felt the general population of Alphas behaved shouldn’t continue to shock her. The way some people regarded their status shouldn’t still effect her this much.

Taking scent for consent, if not throwing their own around. Egos fueled by making Omegas fold.

The kind of men that didn’t understand why she was in her father’s place.

“He’d been talking like he knows something, too. I don’t have all the deets cause you haven’t been here,” He doesn’t push her absence further, oddly enough. It hangs there for a moment, “…But, in one of his long ass voicemails he’d mentioned something about his mom and Mr. Gomez.”

This was going to be a long, torturous Monday, wasn’t it?

Wednesday breathes through her nose with an unamused hum at mention of her father. If that is whom he was looking for he was naught to find it at Addams & Co.

Her name came first now.

“I figured I’d wait til you got back before I did anything else, plus…that whole lunch thing did kinda freak me out.” Kent shrugs, hand on his shoulder in self soothing. “It took me the rest of the whole rest of the day before I felt in control of myself again. He just left me there…”

Wednesday has to dig nails in her palms to stop herself from requesting they pay the Alpha a visit. Show him how rude she could really be.

”Eugene couldn’t crack your dad’s crazy online security to access his old files either, before you ask,” Kent explains more, catching her intrigue through the fugue of rage. “But, I can’t imagine what he could have…”

He trails and Wednesday hums, knowing this could also very easily be solved with a simple intervention from the man himself. She’s not contacted her parents recent enough to even know if their honeymoon had concluded.

Nor does her own pride wish to consult her father, when he’s left her in charge.

“I would’ve asked myself but I didn’t wanna bother him on vacation…plus I wasn’t sure if you’d been…you know…” Kent twiddled his fingers in his lap, looking at her carefully.

By now they’d parked in front of their building. Not the work one, but a diner that she knew would be not only open but discreet. Her father had investment in outcast run establishments like this. Taking hands to shake and crossing over to join his suppliers with demanders.

That and her father was a self proclaimed ‘foodie’ or some nonsense he’d labeled himself with his hobby. She often wonders why not simply be a chef, if so many of their stakes were in restaurants and bars. Businesses that were catered to their kind in lieu of blatant prejudice.

Before she lets herself get too resentful, full of rage again—her train of thought had destination. Her courtesy was in visiting her father’s haunts.

In knowing she’s being watched. Probably.

Her father always likened her to a snake, or poison dagger with such a loving drawl she often forgets the implication.

Lurch keeps the car humming and heat on while they sat idle. Wednesday unclicked her seatbelt silently.

“That may have been the smartest decision you’ve made this month,” She quips.

“Figured if you weren’t talking to me, or B—you definitely weren’t talking to your family, either.” Kent mentioned pointedly, apparently being the person Barclay went to, to complain about her lack of response.

The diner chimes and its just as empty as it ever is when she’s found herself on this part of the city.

In spite of the classic rounded glass windows, the open space felt more void than full. Checkered floor complimenting her chosen black leather loafers. Her socks as black as her trousers and overcoat, she slides easily into the booth.

She acknowledges the counter with a nod, giving two snaps of her finger in indication of her intentions: privacy and the open signed flipped around.

Kent not far behind, after waving and yelling his greeting to whoever stood at the counter. He knows what she gets by heart, along with his ever present enthusiasm she often lacked. Exactly why she keeps him around. The servers know not to speak to her unless she asks—she detested false pleasantries to no end. She’d make sure they’re paid well regardless.

A requirement in partnership being a proper salary. She’s never gone back on it, especially not in this climate. When Kent’s bouncing his leg with unmoving eyes on the menu when she’s taken him here a multitude of times before. When he’d already ordered for both of them.

“I don’t know why that Laslow kid’s giving me such a weird feeling…” He mumbles after a while. “People threaten us all the time after you tear them a new one. And he’s definitely not the first Alpha to try to shove their scent up my nose.”

Wednesday sees image of him again, head down and musk like rotting fruit plugging Kent’s throat. His siren song useless under the cruelty of an Alpha scorned.

Vile, arrogant man.

Kent was hers alone to boss around. And she’d do so of her own merit—built off of loyalty.

“You already know how I feel about his kind,” Wednesday stated bitterly. “Entitled Alpha who cannot comprehend the word ‘no.’ Exactly why I did so.”

Exactly why she doesn’t often deal with them to begin with.

“Still, I don’t want you to feel like they’re all bad…that Laslow is a freak, but that’s not gonna stop me from hooking up with this new Nevermore girl.” Kent comments, obviously trying to lighten the mood. A welcome change in subject for him alone, however. He leans forward, “How was that for you, by the way?”

Innocently asked, almost in passing if not for the eager tilt of head. The expectant grin at the way she feels warmth travel up her collar. She thanks Lucifer for her natural ghastliness.

“My feelings haven’t shifted one way or the other as you can see,” Wednesday replies evenly. Gives a vague glance over to the waitress dropping their spoils.

A full plate of eggs, bacon and potatoes for Kent. Side of ketchup that makes her wrinkle her nose at the smell, especially when he pours it on his eggs. She had a humble cup of espresso for herself and a slice of toast, nearly burnt.

She almost gets away with this silence of a fork clanking, her cup to her lips and lull in conversation. But, those blue eyes still eagerly await her.

“C’mon, you’re no fun,” Kent pouts. “I let you all up in my brain earlier!”

Wednesday huffs noncommittal, placing her cup down with a firm clank that sends some liquid sloshing, but not spilling. She has a dangerous thought, one where she allowed the nosey siren a glimpse into her own memory…

“It was satisfactory in terms of the individual I paid doing their designated job.” She’s vague as she feels she can get away with, all things considered.

As if he doesn’t know what she did. As if he didn’t introduce her in the first place. As if he hadn’t experienced it himself.

“Must’ve been good to make you miss work,” He pushes a fried potato around his plate, before popping it in his mouth. “I mean you didn’t even call out when you had that bad fencing accident last year!”

She makes a face at the way he talks between chewing.

“It was a minor procedure, nothing to worry the board over,” She brushes off, taking another sip of coffee. A first blood challenge that ended far too soon for her taste.

She hadn’t even really began bleeding til the saber’s tip was removed from her shoulder.

“You’re also up hella early…” Kent presses. He continues at her silence and stillness, “I know your schedule is serial killer precise, but I’ve never gotten a call this at this hour with no emergency.”

He’s correct in that. She’s not a stranger to sleepless nights, but her rest and time alone was sacred regardless. She’s always been one to suffer alone.

Until lately, it seems.

“Sleep has been evading me, but it could very easily be an after effect of Grandmama’s elixir.” She offers a bit of truth, not expecting the siren to take it in any one way. Tags on unnecessarily, “She tends not to measure.”

She has her hands folded in her lap, glaring down at her mug. Kent’s awestruck look was unnerving.

She’d never admit to needing any aid, let alone being…devoured. Debauched and split open—exposed. Those strong hands pinning her body down to Earth while the rest of her floated high above.

Suddenly she can’t really look at her assistant at all.

“Oh!” Kent sounds surprised briefly, blinking a few times and furrowing his brow. Then he blurts, “Is that like…the Addams family version of plan b, or…?”

If Wednesday was asked, the only thing she’d admit to being red was the ketchup bottle on the table. Certainly not her blazing neck and face.

“No you dolt, it was—“ Wednesday places an exasperated hand to her head, collecting herself for a moment. Before she says something she may regret, “Nevermind what it was for. Just… know my absence is no longer.”

Kent looks irksomely smug at that, having a bite of potato.

“Good to have you back either way, boss,” He points his fork in her direction. Then, he bites his lip, “But like metaphorically speaking…I’d be a God parent, yeah?”

“Perhaps I should adjourn this meeting so you have time to browse Indeed in lieu of your pending termination.”

She muses, like continuing casual conversation. Meanwhile, Kent lets out a petulant whine.

“Sorry, sorry! You know I don’t mean it—we’re Omeg-bros, remember?” He useless tries to bump her hand sitting on the table with his fist but she lifts it with a warning glare. Still, he grins good natured, “You don’t have to tell me details, but if anything wasn’t too your liking so to speak I can always—“

Wednesday holds up a hand, not liking where he was going. Its not of her existing moral code to throw her name about when needn’t be.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” She shoots down sharply. “Hardly a service that deserves anymore scrutiny.”

Kent doesn’t push it thankfully, shrugging his shoulders.

“My first time was kind of awkward, probs cause I had no idea how to even talk to a…sex worker. Or whatever,“ He hesitated on the word a tad longer than she liked. While she didn’t see herself partaking again, she felt something like offense in talking about them like toys.

The experience was purchased yes, but they had autonomy. Very much so, as her cursed dreamscape served to continuously remind her.

“She was…adequate,” Wednesday treads carefully around her time with the Alpha werewolf. Then scoffs at herself in trying to make sense of why, or what she had to lose. Her dignity long gone, “Begrudgingly fine company and surprisingly respectful. It was what I needed in the moment.”

Emphasis on begrudgingly.

“You thinking of hitting her up again?” Kent inquires innocently. The same way he’d propositioned it in the first place, “Or would you wanna try someone else out? I had the same girl a couple of times, before I switched it up.”

Wednesday makes a face unconsciously at his wording. So open with that side of himself; she doesn’t know how to even picture anyone else in that act. Even in knowing her heat must come and go every other month.

“Must you be so crass,” She chides, because trying to think about it just makes her feel nauseous. A strange curdling in her gut if she thinks of finding another stranger to sate her.

Kent, none the wiser, just holds his hands up defensively.

“She’s the one that gave me the recommendation, damn!”

Wednesday only hums, finishing off her toast.

/

Is it overreacting, to send her assistant across the country? Overkill, perhaps but she’s never been one to mind a little blood. This was meant to be far more pleasant, though.

A conference in California to save face and keep up relations with her West coast connects. Far easier to send Kent, because the thought of leaving the city makes her skin feel funny.

She’d never minded travel in and of itself, in fact she usually liked the chance to get away. Maybe her social battery just felt particularly emptied after the past few weeks she’s had. Stacked meetings the first one back in office, following her time away.

It was a good excuse if nothing else. To push away any pesky thoughts regarding the things that don’t pay her in return.

Like the crystal ball on her desk that had sat untouched despite the influx of communication she’d been ignoring. Only personal calls channeled through Addams family magic.

The elder Addams of course were amongst the many messages in her inbox. The crystal ball allowed for visual voicemails of just how much she’s allegedly ‘missed.’ Amongst thinly veiled affections that often became disgusting sooner than not. Must she be subjected to their saccharine nothings in multiple languages she’s fluent?

And the her eldest brother with another timid reminder to let him know about showing up to his wedding. Something about reservations needing to be made.

Only thing she needed to prepare was a few Dramamine to stave off her nausea at such a loving display.

She watched that one about half way, nearly shoving the glass off her desk entirely. The sentimental fool requesting knowledge of any ‘plus one’, practically taunting her. As if she didn’t get enough from her relentless, ‘well meaning, all seeing’ mother.

Some of us have business to attend, she wants to send back. With empty eyes and sharp tone, some of us don’t care about rudimentary customs or partnerships outside of the boardroom.

Wednesday packs her bags in otherwise bored plops of folders and stacks of paper clipped notes. Doesn’t even take the time to look out her window and brood that day, cause it never felt like the proper time. And her moods been soured now, thinking about her weak minded brother.

Her first few weeks back at the office had been otherwise lack luster.

Back to the same grind and mundanity of her life. Its what she typically prefers. It leaves no room for question, or headaches. Limited to her fax machine and the annual check of her emails after making it clear she prefers paper to virtual.

If nothing else it gave her time to do her own snooping. Dig through the Addams personal archives, with the only other key in existence to open the room full of file cabinets. Her father was more inclined to technology, while she preferred to flip through her rolodex of back logs.

Old magazine covers, news paper articles, receipts from stores that no longer exist. Financial reports that could honestly see the shredder as far she’s concerned.

Nothing pertaining to anyone with the surname Laslow. Nor any budding contracts or shown interest in the Pharmaceutical industry.

Wednesday seals her bag with a huff.

Still, theres plenty of room for meddling. Perhaps it was too good to be true, the radio silence and seemingly made up past partnerships. Far too good to be true.

No one (other than Kent, unfortunately) even blinked an eye at her return, but most of the people in this building couldn’t look her in the eye. Her return to the conference room after leaving the diner with Kent was seamless.

Her notifications sated and duties quickly caught up on. In an ironic way, and as Kent had attempted to ‘joke’—its almost like she could afford to take even more time off. Only her vision begged to differ.

Aside from a rather annoying frequency produced by the siren variety.

Bianca had been blowing her phone up for well over a week now, but she’d been dodging the girl like terribly aimed bullets. Which, even she knew would connect after a matter of time, given the Alpha’s aptitude. The subtle competition that stood between them since they were in academy still.

Bianca, (already irritating enough on her own) wasn’t as afraid of her threats as Kent—rather, the boy realized very quickly she wasn’t joking.

Going into her third week back and second week searching for information she’s not even sure actually exists; she certainly wasn’t in the mood.

More on edge as the days go by. Like an elastic band being pulled taut. Perhaps its just hormones. Her doctor had warned her about withdrawals when she quit her medication a month prior. It shouldn’t be a problem at all.

She’d indulged herself one time. Not like she suddenly needs anything.

Though, even her dart board couldn’t satisfy the tension in her body. Sharpening her weapons on her downtime just made irritable. Liquor just made her mind more free to wander. Drinking to find peace of mind had never done her wrong before.

Granted she’s never dealt with this.

Ever since she’s been back, she’d pushed all else to the back of her mind—especially frivolous, juvenile things Not that she’s thinking about it. Never actively thinking about it…

She’s just…no longer sleeping at all apparently.

Nightmares evading her.

No—her dreams have still been full of capricious bombardments that reflect it. All (to some unfortunate extent) including a certain smug dog. Sometimes in pink and…

Mierda.

Sometimes nothing at all…sometimes neither of them have anything. Just skin between them.

Inside her.

Su puta madre. She wakes up in cold sweats and aching for things she prefers to ignore. That she will continue to ignore. It makes her throb—her head throb to recall.

And the migraines have been so frequent she’s popping Advil like candy. Not wanting to raise suspicion in asking Grandmama for a refill so soon. She’s massaging her temples, after uselessly attempting to rub her eyes. Rub the image of the puppy that caught the toy, tail wagging and looking up between her legs.

Wednesday has half a mind to throw another bone. The other half held a metaphorical knife to the lobe. She left that hotel as she’d entered and had no use in returning. She had other ways to boost her dopamine intake, if it’ll quell her head.

Her amygdala being threatened, short of simply lobotomizing herself…perhaps its for the best she’s cut down on her in-office drinking. Yes, that should fix it.

Her desk’s phone burrs suddenly, her cheeks hot from her unfortunate train of thought. As if she’d been caught and had to convince someone of…something..

Anyhow—

“This better be important,” She answers curtly. “I’m on my way out for the day.”

She’s lingered too long in her office without leaving apparently.

She knows its Eugene’s extension on the other end. Otherwise she likely wouldve let it go to her voicemail. The boy had tendency to be sweet talked into checking if she’s willing to do walk ins, or make spontaneous appointments unfortunately.

It’d take quite the pretty penny to get her to sit for anything but a book and Brandy right about now.

“Sorry—uh, you have a visitor…a very persistent one.” He sounds shaken, voice shaking and brief shuffling on the line. She takes the phone from her ear at the sound of slight feedback. She almost says something—

“Addams, long time no effing see!” Comes the disarmingly chipper greeting. Wednesday nearly hangs up, jaw clenching as she recognizes that tone. That voice, “No worries though…yeah, I figured since you’re not answering me I would just come by for a little visit!”

Bianca’s words carry double entendres.

“I’m busy,” Wednesday’s words carry her disdain. Over how everyone in her life is so keen to stick their nose in her business.

Bianca just hums along, as if she’s being genuine. Wednesday recalls the own girl’s business prowess, albeit too little too late.

She almost forgets, through barrier of elevator and phone—the fish had swam to her side of the pond for answers.

“Thats funny, I could’ve sworn you just told Eugene you were on your way out…” A faux tone of being disappointed, as if Bianca of all people ever extended such sympathy.

She was good at being disarming if nothing else. Far more people skills than Wednesday would ever have, but just as cut throat. Talking with her was often a game of verbal chess, but Wednesday was ill prepared to compete. Had decidedly retired for the season.

Preferably forever.

“Hmm, not hearing much working on the other end,” Bianca condescended. Wednesday doesn’t answer, already feeling trapped by the persistent Alpha. “And don’t you typically use that dinosaur? That old keyboard thats loud as hell—“

“My typewriter.” Her irked correction, because at least one thing of hers will remain sacred.

“Yeah, well I’m sure not hearing it.”

A thorn in her side, honestly. All of them. Sirens who think they talk their way into gold and Alphas who think they’re worth their weight in it.

Entitled Alphas who can’t take no for an answer.

“I prefer to work silently. Surely you’ve been in acquaintance with me long enough to retain that much,” She quips back, beginning to feel all the more miffed. Already ruffled, her day not following its carefully prepared itinerary.

“It has been quite a few years now, hasn’t it?” Bianca muses, voice trailing a bit. “Say, don’t you usually leave early on Tuesdays,to go to the bank? Or have you been making more ‘sudden changes’ to your schedule?”

Bianca had a well practiced way of wording things with her. Trapping her in a corner with nothing but her pride and ego at edge point of that sharp tongue. Wednesday didn’t feel this fight to be fair, nor worth it.

Not this time.

Its too heavy an innuendo to hold onto, that was well worth its weight in gold. A pretty penny, undoubtedly.

So, she relents albeit with a deep sigh and hand down the palm of her face.

“Wait in the lobby and don’t talk to anyone but Eugene.”

She hears a satisfied hum on the other end. Puta.

“Wonderful! See you soon, Mr. Addams.”

Wednesday shoves the phone on the hook with a grunt. Seems she lamented her boredom far too soon.

Chapter 8: A Craving, A Taste For Something Sweet

Chapter Text

A manicured hand takes the time to pick off a corner of sour dough. The only one taking from the appetizer in center of the table. It was complimentary—the whole meal was, because her father made a lot of these connections for her.

Wednesday’s not one to pretend otherwise. She knows that she’s terrible with people. Didn’t want the average person to see her as anything close to pleasant.

She’s always been the anti-social type, bordering (very vicariously on a tight, thinning rope) psychotic. Never quite met the full diagnosis, technically, but she chose to call it inconclusive.

If not for the silver spoon in her mouth, perhaps her place at the top would be a bit more lonely. Maybe she’d be starved for more trivial things.

Outside of the necessities of her work…she didn’t typically feel like she needed anyone. Friends didn’t find her well, nor easy. Even her running rivalry, turned business associate relationship with a certain siren, was born of ambition.

Bianca is the only person she still spoke to from boarding school. Though, she’d argue that its more of the siren’s accord.

“Mm, they said the bread was local….now why does it low key just taste like Whole Foods?” The siren across from her asks and Wednesday doesn’t do much other than exhale.

She really hated dinner dates with Bianca.

She always does, but this time she can barely keep her lips from quirking downward. Or the salt of her words, that likely came across more breviloquent than usual. Does her best to keep up the meaningless small talk, ranging from her shift to a few questions about her parents. Mundanity that felt so suspicious, but…

Wednesday holds in a scowl.

“Send it back if its truly that undesirable,” She mutters, hands stiffly in her lap and willing her brow not to twitch.

“Oh no, its still good. I was just saying…like, what am I—a Karen?” Bianca says the last word low. Her eery eyes scan to the left where their waiter had gone. “Plus it was free…I have manners, Addams.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Its murmured behind her glass of liquor. She ordered it before the server could ask how their evening was going.

Without it, she’s sure she’d sink a knife into Bianca’s side of the table. A little threat to jar her a little.

“Something to add to the conversation, chief?” Bianca asks, nudging her head forward as if to hear better. Then a smirk, “Not that I don’t enjoy the sound of my own voice…perks of being a siren and all that.”

“Shame I can’t sympathize. Its been quite grating on my end,” Wednesday banally swirls melted ice and aureate liquor around her glass. Cuts her eyes briefly at her dinner guest, “And not in a good way.”

Bianca just chuckles lowly, biting her lip. Rears her head and sits up, because she’s not one to simply give the last word.

“Speaking of your end and whatnot…” She coyly begins, tearing off a bit of crust from her toast. “I talked to Pugsley recently.”

Its left to hang there, goading her. Wednesday just finds herself growing further irritated, watching the siren chew and swallow like this is casual.

Perhaps she’s expecting her brows to twitch in recognition. Maybe even more fantastically—an anecdote about how much she missed testing out his fire proof skin as children. It makes her stomach churn. She’d rather set herself aflame.

“What exactly does that have to do with me?” Wednesday replies evenly, not keen to dip her toes into this pool of conversation. Even if Bianca’s face cracks, a scoff escaping that she covers with her hand primly.

“He’s getting married,” Bianca reiterates, to which Wednesday stares back, because she’s well aware. The Alpha girl shakes her head and breathes out an unamused laugh. “And he’s your literal flesh and blood brother, weirdo.”

She doesn’t desire to have this conversation. Especially not today, right now and absolutely not at all with Bianca.

“The only thing I find ‘odd’ is the current fixation on my sibling, if you’re supposedly so concerned about my dwellings.” Wednesday answers with an included slight.

That apparently ends up being the incorrect thing to do. An opening left to a nonpareil’s sabre. Naively, because the calculating prawn wasn’t swimming upstream with no destination.

“Oh, so you’re offering then? Well, if you want to talk about what you’ve been up to, the floor is yours.” Bianca perks up, right around the time the server makes their untimely return. Placing Bianca’s meal and a bread refill, with a shy smile; the ‘friendly’ tension being palpable.

“Anything else for you two? A refill, Mr. Addams?” The lanky boy asks with hands behind hid back and shirt white and pressed.

Wednesday barely takes her eyes from Bianca’s teasing blues.

“Make the next one stronger and I’ll tip well worth your yearly salary.”

“O-Of course!”

The boy fast walked away with the empty glass, leaving Bianca smirking into her bite of food. Wednesday’s brow twitched in contrast.

“Something amusing about your pesto wrap?” The seer prompts, while her own plate laid nearly bare. She’d only the appetite for her drink, bile rising up her throat the entire ride.

Waiting for the inevitable.

Part of her just wants her to get it over with. Acknowledge what she’d rather not, so she can roll her eyes and attempt to conceal her remaining shame. Deal with Bianca’s grinning and whatever ideas or ill based notions are in her skull.

“Not at all…I’ve had better, honestly,” Bianca replies after swallowing. Nonchalant and back to playing small talk. She sips her water and goes, “Sure you’re not hungry after such a long, allegedly busy day?”

The sarcasm is not at all lost on her.

“I had a lot I’ve been catching up on, due to my recent absence.” Wednesday offers, vague as its been whenever anyone’s brought it up.

Its all her current dinner guest needs, however.

“Mm, and I heard that Kent’s all the way across the country…” Bianca pops a stray piece of chicken breast in her mouth. Chews and co*cks her head at the way Wednesday grabs her new drink from the approaching server without letting him take pause. She snorts, “Were the flights cheap, or…?”

Wednesday scowls at her, but gives quick thanks to the staff. Takes her time pulling her wallet from her suit jacket and handing a stack of bills to the nervous boy.

Its not necessarily intended to be a power play, as she promised the tip. It definitely added fuel to her fire if nothing else, eyeing Bianca condescendingly as the boy fast walks off with a million ‘thank you so much!’s’ following.

“Does it look like that matters to me?” Wednesday prompts, but Bianca comes from similar enough background she should figure it wouldn’t do much. She could easily flash her black card or last name.

Wednesday feels somewhat slimely doing it herself. Even in making a point. She rolls her eyes at herself.

“He had an incident earlier this month, due to someone wanting petty retaliation over my lack of funding.” Wednesday lets go that information far easier. Much easier to be angry than regretful.

”Kent told me about that creep,” Bianca makes a face of disgust. “Us Alphas with common sense don’t claim him.

Wednesday scoffs from over the rim of her glass.

“If only public castration were legal,” The seer comments, wishing nothing more than to handle it by her hands. “I should’ve been more strict in my instructions, but my absence wasn’t planned. I felt…responsible. So, I decided to be generous. I’m told the beaches are rather inclusive towards your kind. Call it generosity.”

If Bianca hears the underlying sneer in reference to her species it must not bother her. How unfortunate—she seems to grow bolder. Her smile curling up wider.

“Generous? And taking surprise days off—hell, taking any days off? Oh…you must really be turning over a new leaf,” She lists in faux awe, leaning back in her seat and barely holding in her amusem*nt. Bianca observes her cheekily, lifting her nose, “You even smell different.”

Wednesday’s eye visibly twitches.

“You Alphas and your entitlement,” She grumbled to herself, folding and dropping her napkin on the table. Wednesday makes a face of disgust when she notices her friend’s nose flaring. “You must forget I’m not one of your Omega conquests. Not every scent is yours to decipher.”

She subconsciously pulls her blazer closer. As if she could stop the Alpha dynamic and unspoken politic. Bianca’s very overtly trying to get a read on her experience with Nevermore. Snuffing out whatever the other ‘dominating’ scent was that mingled with her own.

Its been a some weeks since she’d left that hotel room. The smell tends not to linger too long with the proper remedies in their modern times. Bianca had known her far too long to disguise anything.

The nosey Alpha probably thinks she’s being protective. Disgusting.

“I actually wanted to proposition you,” Bianca begins and then rolls her eyes when Wednesday makes a show of gagging. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, I prefer Omegas that don’t bite—well, not as hard you probably do.”

The innuendo makes an unpleasant round of bile coil in her belly. Her and Kent’s lack of any kind of decorum.

“Why on Earth would I assist you in your knot brained scheming?” Wednesday questions with a brow raised.

“For not asking for more details about your little bed fellow, for one.” Bianca plays her hand seamlessly. It’s enough to keep the seer’s mouth shut, “Not mentioning what I do know to the family you’re ignoring for another. Also…did I, or did I not wait up for you while while you played footsie with Ms. Legally Blonde all evening? You owe me, Addams.”

A royal flush at that.

Bianca held almost as much pride as she; suffice to say she had been working on this pitch for a while. Under guise of ‘doing her a favor.’ Hmph. She should’ve know better, honestly.

“Your bribery is undermining and disarming as per usual,” Wednesday relents after glaring at her empty plate for a good minute. Tries to ignore the fact that her face is burning, “What exactly do you need from me?”

Bianca looks eerily satisfied, reveling in the point she likely feels she won. Wednesday, (un)fortunately knew how to choose her battles. Wait patiently for the siren to tire herself from self inflating digs. The seer hasn’t folded from this game quite yet

Had a few spare chips to raise so to speak.

“I have two requests, Mr. Grouch,” Bianca starts wiggling her two fingers. Then from her bag she pulls a royal blue notebook, full of sticky notes and page markers.

It makes Wednesday huff her impatience preemptively.

“Save the theatrics, if you’ve managed to curate a list. I’d hate to be here much longer than it takes you to digest,” She complains, not wanting to have come in the first place. Nor does she feel like hearing her presidential speech on it, either.

“Make that three requests,” Bianca quips back. “Firstly, I need you need you to show up for my charity event in a little bit.”

Bianca flips the notebook in her direction to allow Wednesday to see the circled date. A ‘little bit’ being just barely a week and a half from today.

“Thats hardly enough time to clear space in my schedule,” Wednesday answers with barely a beat in between.

“Damn, if only I had tried telling you weeks ago…oh, wait.” Bianca deadpanned, looking unamused back at the annoyed seer. “As I was saying and as you’re well aware, things with Morning Song have still been a sh*t show. My mother left no bridge unburned, apparently. Don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore in all honesty.”

Ah yes, the Barclay fortune, once one of the most wealthy outcast and non-white families this side of the Atlantic. Until her mother had a terrible mental break and got involved in money laundering and became a cult leader.

The death of her husband and Bianca’s father in direct correlation. Some people don’t cope the best with things like loss.

Wednesday had been told tales of an Omega forcefully or abruptly separated from their Alpha. Falling ill or losing their right mind. Depends on the length of time together, exposure to each other’s scents to the point of intertwining. Some people take that kinda thing to heart.

Tragedy and all that. She didn’t think she’d ever personally understand. She’d always thought it to be hogwash, parroted about other young Omegas in search of a life partner.

Long story short…Bianca was left a list of enemies and a company to build back up from the ground. Bankruptcy not even the tip of the iceberg.

Suffice to say, its not the first favor that Bianca would be cashing in from the young Addams. Certainly not from her family, as they were the only allies left in the end. Their parents had done business and brushed shoulders for many years before the Barclay’s corruption.

The manor had let her in with open arms while her mother was on trial. Media and legal circus is a more accurate description, though.

As an adult, Bianca had been doing a fair job rebuilding their reputation. Once she became of age and the remaining inheritance came in, its all she’s been obsessing over; her business style more akin to her late father.

Wednesday couldn’t relate, fortunately.

“Need my last name pull some strings, then?” Wednesday pretends to muse over it, using what little she can in the hand she’s dealt. Though, Bianca doesn’t look to be playing anymore.

“More or less,” The siren mumbles with a shrug. “Plus, I know you secretly get a kick out of it. And, of course, we all know you love having one over on an Alpha and especially me.”

Well, she certainly knew how to peak her interest. Wednesday visibly paused to give Bianca a good bout of eye contact. Like trying to call a bluff.

“Who are you schmoozing up to this time?”

Bianca only smirks, closing her notebook back with a clip.

“Its a blood drive. Fill in the blanks—who else has a whole entire hospital named after them?” Bianca condescends, rather than give a genuine answer. Wednesday unfortunately didn’t need one, her face immediately curling into disgust, followed by a gagging sound. Bianca sighs tiredly, “Oh God, don’t tell me you did something to one of them? Did you?”

Vampires.

A coven of them, dating back farther than even Thing could recollect. They were far more terrifying on film and in the exaggerated stories her uncle would tell her.

She’s only had the displeasure of meeting one of the Tanakas thus far. A family that ancient and powerful doesn’t go long without crossing her own family. Her personal experience leaving much to be desired.

A fellow board member on a cross over project for young Outcasts going to the children’s hospital in city. A banquet where she brushed shoulders with more Alphas trying to get her waning attention than not.

Wednesday sneers, taking another hefty swallow of her drink.

“As with most of your status I can only stand to be around them a short time. Tanaka’s current heir likes to talk,” The seer replies vaguely. She’d prefer to not think about the ill placed attempt at small talk.

Those particular fangs weren’t nearly as exciting as the vampire thought. Nor does find the party trick of guessing her blood type to be the slightest bit charming.

“You know what else talks?” Bianca starts off with faux enthusiasm. “Money. And I need some if I’m gonna meet our goal for the month.”

Wednesday didn’t need Bianca to remind her of the power a dollar held. Or the way it tended to travel amidst the same select few, lest you find yourself accosted like she had been. The whole spectacle made her curse her wealth period.

But, Bianca was…a friend. An ally that had proved her use over the years. How nauseating.

“I’m also assuming she’s not the only prospect?” Wednesday queried, heaving a defeated sigh.

“Not at all. The guest list is ever expanding,” Bianca gestured with her fluttering fingers, ignoring the way she glares. “I just need to lock in Tanaka’s support specifically.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but its a far cry from what Morning Song was known for. The string of resorts and hotels that had been seized by the bank upon its upheaval. She supposed, incidentally, there wouldn’t be much in terms of employees to maintain it.

And Bianca always did complain about hating tourists and forcing hospitality.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Wednesday replies and finishes her second drink off. Feels her head throb a little less as her finger tips tingle.

Warmth in her belly far easier to swallow than the evening of ass kissing she’s preparing for now. Lucifer knows who in her little black book she’ll be siphoned into giving away next.

“Why don’t you bring a buddy or something, since you act like socializing will melt your skin. Won’t Kent be back by then?” Bianca suggests gesturing with her hand, “He loves talking to people for you.”

Of course she’d think its that simple.

“I pay him to do that anyways,” Wednesday crosses her arms. “I don’t particularly like the idea of bringing my unmated assistant to an event where I’m already anticipating having my boundaries tested.”

Bianca makes a noise of amusem*nt at mention of the other siren. It transitions to a brief look of what Wednesday would rather choke than admit looks a lot like understanding. Empathizing, even—ugh.

“No one would be dumb enough to try anything at one of my events. I’m not that desperate for investors,” Bianca assures, rather than be ignorant enough to blatantly make a display of dominance. Treat her like a damsel, in need of a strong knight to keep the big bad Alphas at bay.

She’d never degrade herself in such a way.

Her drink just sits in her belly bitter and acidic in spite of how much she paid for quality.

/

Bianca’s updates about the progress of her event are met with the like react more often than not. A fine advancement in technology to be quite frank, as she didn’t even have to read the damned thing.

Other than attending and passing onto Thing any requests regarding her internet presence (run entirely by the hand himself), she had no interest in the planning process.

Not to be so frank, but she had people on call and payroll to take care of things like that. Bianca liked a more hands on approach, however Wednesday just thought her to be a control freak.

And she’s not naive to how that’s pot calling the kettle black.

She had been otherwise busying herself with a more promising deal. A neighborhood market in an otherwise food desert applying for extra funding with the city’s rising rent. The banks and internal processing making the process more difficult than not.

She’s close to nearly handing the owner cash from her pocket. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d moved funds that large under the IRS’s nose. But that was…neither here nor there.

You don’t get this kind of wealth playing fair.

Regardless, she finds her time ticking away before she can blink. Not that she does much of that anyway. Once the owner of the small store left her office, she found herself embalmed in silence. She…doesn’t quite know if its to her pleasure.

“Knock, knock boss,” Kent enters her office soon after she finishes recounting her concealed weapons around the room. She’s done so a few times over already.

“You need something? Or, perhaps you’ve come to end my misery?” Wednesday prompts, not giving him a glance. She has her eyes on the machete behind her tall plant in the corner.

”I could feel your eyes lasering me through the wall,” He answers, hands on his hips. He co*cks his head to look at her, “Why are you still here? Didn’t your last appointment end like an hour ago?”

Wednesday finally turns her glare towards him proper.

”I am always present til the building locks for the night,” Even when she had prior engagements. Wednesday would find herself still touching down in her leather seat. Kent pouts at her, of all things, prompting her irritated, “I despise when you do this stalling nonsense. You obviously have something you wish to say?”

”I just thought—well, since things went so smoothly after…after your…” Kent stutters, hand going to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. She does not much other than watch with her hands folded over the desk. He sighs, “I thought you’d be more willing to let me have more stuff to do. You know, since I held it down so good when you were gone. I’m not even that beat up about the sh*t that happened with Rowan.”

It leaves another bout of silence between them. Wednesday can’t really decide what to say. Kent wanted more work?

”Theres been no need, as my absence was a mere medical anomaly,” Wednesday answered stiffly. “I can up your pay if that would suffice—“

The last time she had indulged herself, it left her uselessly sifting through her father’s archives. While Kent may be over it, the psychic Alpha that had attacked him had been in back of her mind.

”You ever think maybe the time off was good for you?” Kent starts off and cuts her off with a hand before she can protest. “I’m not telling you to hit up the person you saw again, or whatever. Just like go home, have a drink, take a bath…me and Eugene got it tonight.”

Its not an unappealing sequence of events. Not even a breach of boundaries, necessarily because Kent had deep empathy for her in a lot of ways. More feelings than fill the ocean he beckons for.

“I got it, boss,” Kent had rolled his eyes before she could give him the third degree.

Bad enough Kent of all people was shooing her from her desk, because apparently her brooding eyes were suddenly bothering him.

She’s home early due to her own aptitude. How droll.

This is her first real night ‘off’ since she’s returned. She finds her head lolling back against stark black ceramic of her claw foot tub. The water had begun to cool a while ago now. She’s just been thinking. Brooding.

Kent begged her for it. Claimed it would be ‘good’ for her as he walked her to the elevator.

Gone home to do the same thing. Has it always been this mundane?

Finished her drink, an empty glass on the tile floor. She basks in near silence, other than sound of soft strings. Her music running as she soaked, because she figured she may as well practice tonight too. Assure the strings of her own instrument are still tuned.

She hasn’t played for her own pleasure in a while. Been occupied with other things. Felt like she needed to search for something new to learn, maybe garner a bit of excitement for the cello again.

She felt so…dulled. And not in the pleasant way that numbed her to the bones.

She tended to her plants, sharpened her knives, changed the ink in her typewriter. Asinine chores to the point she almost grabbed the duster from Thing’s fingers earlier, to do it herself.

She feels herself waning. Her limbs heavy and brain foggy. Its strange—like she’s missing something. Lucifer knows what that could possibly be. She’d been extra militant with her schedule this month. Like making up for those fateful days off ten fold.

And now to brave another avenue she dreads in but a few days time: social interaction. Mingling and chatting amongst those that consider her acquaintance.

A knock on the bathroom door sounds next.

She rises from the tub with a start, almost shocking herself with her own quick movements.

“I’ll be out shortly,” She calls, wrapping her towel slowly around herself. Thing taps back something in affirmation.

Wednesday finds herself avoiding the mirror. Sometimes its…difficult to not let her own ill advised reverie to take over. Looking at her unblemished skin.

Unmarked. You’d never guess it ever was.

She dresses in a bathrobe and slides on a pair of house shoes. Takes her time meeting Thing in the kitchen, where she heard him scampering off towards. With her arms crossed and braids still tied up on her head.

Her city apartment was compact, because she didn’t need grand. If she wanted a mansion she wouldn’t have moved out of her parents house. She was only one person and a disembodied hand after all.

Thing idles dutifully atop her kitchen island, gesturing good evening. Wednesday’s eyes narrow, because he’s not alone. Aside from some fruit in a bowl, sat a glass of dried and dead flowers.

And a tell tale stark black envelope with her initials.

“You interrupted me,” Wednesday asks coyly. “Should I have faith its for a good and valid reason, or prepare your consequences?”

She’s keen to linger around her kitchen knives, docked and freshly sharpened. Something she does weekly as well as ritualistic. Thing is unbothered as ever, annoyingly, having grown up with her spite. He never let her have any fun, anyhow.

‘Master Gomez and Morticia sent word from their trip,’ He lightly tugs the envelope closer.

Her black counter top was hard to cut—
solid, but the envelope had sat delicately in the center. Like an omen, it sat heavy and foreboding in her palms the second she snatches it away. Her mother’s doing no doubt; perhaps she’s tried some petty charm attachment.

Certainly she’s not nervous or something of the sort.

“They’re back in the country, then? Done gallivanting around like twitter-pated children?” She sneers, clicking her teeth in distaste. Not that such sentiments were synonymous with childhood—she never felt such a distasteful emotion as a child.

Love…meant nothing. Blood meant everything.

Loyalty counted. Those things weren’t exclusive. Her family specifically is bound in blood, which she believed to be different than the average clan, coven or pack. Its why she puts up with Thing for instance.

Why she’s running things for her father now.

‘Not quite, but they had this sent over in anticipation of their arrival,’ He explains. ‘Master said to give him a call after about some business deal. Should interest you, perhaps.”

She raised a disbelieving brow, before deciding to pull her smallest knife from her back pocket. Easy enough to slice open the top.

The parchment was heavy, but not quite card stock. The hand writing gives itself away; she can tell her mother had sat to write, script dancing in an exact line. Even without any guides.

—————————

Our devil spawn,

Your father and I were meant to be back by now, he got a tad excited at the apothecary we visited on our last day in Europe. Instead, we will be boarding in a few days time from when you receive this in the mail.

Its been torturous being away from our darling fly traps (the garden too, of course).

Hope your time has been just as miserable, dear.

~ Mom and Papa

————————-

Not the most nauseating wording of their affections. Not by a long shot, considering she typically saw her father cry in what he calls ‘pride’ during her birthdays.

Thats not what disgusts her the most.

Wednesday curls her lips downwards, shoulders tensing at the signature. She hasn’t used such titles for her parents since she was a child. Didn’t feel the need after a certain age.

After her body began to change against her will.

“What is the meaning of this,” She questioned darkly, looking at Thing from the top of the stationery. “This—This pleasantry.”

Thing shrugs best he can and she glares at him long enough to believe perhaps he’s genuinely ignorant. His silence even more telling, looking at her like a kettle about to pop. Not nervous, but cautious.

‘Don’t shoot the messenger! They didn’t even send me a souvenir…’ Thing replies.

She huffs in response, scrunching the paper in her fists.

Wednesday’s on a mission, tightening her robe and marching into her bedroom to get dressed. Its late, but her pajamas are pushed aside for a fresh shirt and trousers. She’s a feeling its going to be a late night.

Her father had a proposal for her and she knew the man to be rather…trigger happy.

Her home office door flung open soon after, steps light but slow paced against the wood of her floors. She needed the few moments of quiet to collect herself, to not give a reaction off the bat. Her mother liked to rile her up—Wednesday genuinely believed so. The old witch wanted her dead. She had to.

Morticia Addams may be a dove, but her surname was anything but.

Perhaps her mother saw that she was at equilibrium on this very eve. An older much more conniving seer than even she; her genes had to come from somewhere. Her father was an open book, albeit strategic in his charm.

Wednesday sits in her chair and breathes in and out before she summons her crystal ball. Eyes the glass for imperfections that didn’t exist, before she frowns at way it comes to life all too quickly.

“My little viper, what a surprise to see you so late! Isn’t it past midnight for you?” Her father is the one to answer, eyes wide in excitement, even as her eyes narrow. “Oh, just the sight of your spite makes me wish I could teleport home this very instant! If only it didn’t make me so queasy…I’m already feeling rather under the weather.”

He cups his belly with both hands, making a sheepish face.

“Unpleasant as ever to face my own insomnia and have to share it with my sire,” Wednesday deadpans. “I received mother’s gift…what is your angle?”

Her father takes moment to gasp, rather dramatically as her fingers begin to tap their irritation.

“You don’t trust your own flesh and blood to have no ulterior motive? How well we raised you, mi todo!” Her father fawns over her, hand to his chest and lip quivering as her eyes roll in back of her head. Before she can complain about the acid rising in her stomach he clears his throat, “But alas…I have made a deal I cannot close—at least not physically. I am afraid we won’t be home in time to make the meeting I set up.”

He looks to her with intention, eyes prompting her. She lets her shoulders relax just a tad, knowing that it was just a business call. However, something about the way her father was skirting about it kept her guard up.

“Must be quite the asset if you’re so concerned about it when you’re not even in the country…” Wednesday drawls to keep it casual. “And so suddenly. I thought you were retired?“

“Retired doesn’t mean I have to stop having fun!”

“I thought that was the purpose of your ‘vacation’ with mother?” Wednesday pressed, unsatisfied at the way her father’s face does not falter.

She had every right to question it. A random business venture in tandem with a note and flowers from her mother; coincidental in a way she could almost commend. If not only because it genuinely made her uneasy.

“And you didn’t think to consult me, as the head of business?” She thinks that might be the biggest blip on her radar for these things. Her parents having some grand plan she’s both annoyed and ignorant on.

“And you’ve been doing a woefullyfinejob in my place, my eldest and pride and joy!” He praises her, but it just makes her feel squeamish.

He’s never had much negative to say necessarily. No, he never says it—he meddles. He drops hints with these cryptic messages and the way he keeps these unspoken tabs on her.

“But, I was told of a deal far too good to pass up! Your mother saw something I’ve had my eye on for quite a while and you know how I’ve always said: ‘closed mouths don’t get fed!’” He smirks at her, something on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh?” She prompts, knowing he didn’t need much when he’s on about something. Wednesday was anticipating an earful.

“I’ve arranged for you to pick up a few samples and take notes on the lay out for me,” He continues enthusiastically. “Get a feel for the place and make a terrible impression with the staff. I will not have them thinking the Addams clan is any less than horrid!”

Its odd to say the least.

It has her hair follicles standing on alert, because they hadn’t shared this kind of dynamic in years. When she was still in school, interning for the company while her mother was still pregnant with Pubert.

Its how she learned the craft. It’s not that she believes it beneath her, rather she sees little point or incentive. Especially if he wants her to socialize.

“So, I’m only meant to pick up…‘samples’,” Wednesday asks slowly. “You know I don’t do small talk, or first impressions. Why exactly shouldn’t I send Kent in my place?”

Or better yet, Thing for all that.

Gomez gets this far off look in his eye, as he tended to do when he had a story. A memory or retched sentiment that would have his eyes watering like an infant.

“I’ve always wanted to own a panadería, you know this,” Her father says very seriously, not caring if she actually does or not (she doesn’t). He’s far too gone, over joyed at how he’s chosen to spend his money. “I told them my darling bear trap would be by in my absence. Its run by a family too and you know I have a soft spot for a family business.”

Not bad for business at all. Gomez had reputation for loaning his funding to small ventures. He did have a soft spot for outcasts and minority owners, but families turned him weak. Others would say he had an eye for potential.

And how coincidental, the fact it would work perfectly with her schedule. Considering her unintentional lack of work load. Wednesday doesn’t blink or let her father know she’s suspicious otherwise, though.

No, she had a feeling she’d find out soon enough. Whether she wants to or not.

“I’m thinking of helping to mold a partnership with them and Eugene’s mothers as well,” Her father continues to lay on. She blows air through her nose, not feeling in the mood to be buttered up.

“No need to grovel…it makes me ill. Send me the details.”

/

She slips on a pair of black boots, designer with a small heel and pointed toe. A gift, one of the only ones she allows. She’s picky, but every blue moon she’ll accept a token. She believes these were from Bianca.

The siren loved her designer brands.

They pair well with the flair of her trousers, black as the vest atop her ironed and white dress shirt. Her tie tucked in under that, she adds the blazer and then her leather trench. Its still been colder than even she cared to brave.

Plus, she was going out in broad day light. She hated getting fresh sunlight. She’d need a collar or hood to keep herself from burning. And block herself from anyone dumb enough to bid her good morning.

Facing a cafe during peak morning hours with the other individuals battling sleep from their eyes. She’d done a quick google review (Thing had searched on her phone and then relayed to her) and knew that the establishment served coffee as well.

She’d brave an espresso for their troubles, having likely woken up early to get her order together. Or whatever it was that her father had requested.

Some childhood fantasy more like it. Thinking about the light in his eyes as he talked about his new venture. She’s seen pictures of him at her age, a few existed of him even younger. The one he kept by the fireplace to this day, with her abuela, Dementia Addams.

Her abuela had died before Pugsley had even been born. Her father still spoke about her, like she lived beyond the alter. In her family, however…sometimes they do.

He always told her he got his business prowess from the old bat. And Wednesday from he. That was about all she got from him, short of his blood lust.

She likes to look presentable, but not necessarily approachable. Unlike her father, who could befriend a wall if it dared indulge him. Wednesday had always had a place in her bowels for conversation and physical touch.

When she was even younger she found that people had an unfortunate penchant for attempting to encroach on her space due to her height alone. She liked to create a personal bubble.

The bakery was far enough to garner a call to Lurch. The towering man was parked out front before she could shrug her coat on. She had directions and email correspondence read off by Thing before her leave.

Sifting through her father’s blabbering for actual information not as much of a challenge, thank Lucifer. Likely why unscrambling his security had still come up short on Eugene’s end. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask about the Rowan incident over the phone. She would not admit defeat so easily.

Especially not when she’s running errands for her father now too, apparently.

She’s got her hands in both pockets once she exits the hearse, eyes ahead in spite of strange looks from patrons and street walkers. They were a non factor. She only had one person to make any meaningful sort of contact with today.

The door opens with a chime and a smell that hits her so hard she visibly stutters her steps. She doesn’t trip—Wednesday is never unsteady on her feet. She simply scuffs the toe of her shoe.

Because of that pungent smell.

That scent. Backed with undertones of sugar and yeast.

Fresh f*cking bread.

Her father wanted a panadería on their roster. Of all things.

De pan. Yes, this…this is normal.

Dark eyes dart in quick succession from the girl behind the counter restocking the bakery case, to an unsuspecting boy on his laptop. The back of two other girls heads as they laugh over a phone screen. Radio music humming over kitchen noise.

It only vaguely processes, like tunnel vision as she’s anticipating something else with this smell.

(Frantic for a head of blonde hair or piercing blue eyes)

Just business. This is just meant to be…business.

“Uh…you in line?” Wednesday sharply turns her head and glares manically at what winds up being some man in jogging gear.

He bristles in turn, but she only shakes her head in a jerk. Falls out of step and allows him to walk ahead. She feels like an idiot, standing there looking jostled over what was said, enough that she simply falls in awkward line with him.

She keeps her hands in her pockets.

She’s being…foolish. Maybe even paranoid—that sounds much better. Driven to madness is a far more appealing method of demise.

The girl at the counter stands at about her height. Dark hair tied up atop a visor hat and similar complexion to her father. She wipes her hands and beams at Wednesday as she did the customer before.

Thankfully ignorant to her minor blunder at the door.

“I’m here for by my father’s request. Order for Addams,” She rattles off, back to her stoicism as the girl preemptively grabs for a coffee cup.

Dark eyes widen and the girl nods rapid in understanding.

“Ah, buenos dias you must be Mrs. Addams! I’m so excited to—“ She begins to greet with a polite smile and more professional greeting. A common mistake, albeit one she’s usually less keen to let fly.

“Mr. Addams will suffice,” Wednesday interrupted shortly. She watched in blank faced satisfaction as the girl blinks a few times, seemingly apologetic.

“Apologies, I don’t mean to assume ma’am—er…sir?” She hesitates, but Wednesday nods her along. She gains her bravado back soon enough, sheepishly smiling once more, “I’m Vada—my mom told me you’d be early, but some of our customers are not so punctual, you know?”

Casual conversation she can handle, watching the girl begin to tap at the screen.

“And definitely no one like your family,” Vada speaks over her shoulder and at her as she collects the order she’s meant to be picking up. “Plenty of outcasts and all types of people since we stay open pretty late.”

Wednesday could deal with these kinds of interactions best. When she’s able to simply nod and hum along.

Vada grabs two black cake boxes, grunting a bit with the weight. Wednesday raises a brow, wondering how exactly her father managed such a feat of gluttony without even being near the actual bakery case. Eyes bigger than her stomach, for one.

“Surely this isn’t all for free?” Wednesday asks in a way that sounds chiding, Vada briefly taken aback. She only slides the pastries closer with a shy smile.

“My mom’s a big feeder, trust me when I tell you its no problem,” Vada gestures with her hands. “We appreciate the business in all honesty. The man that she talked to—Senor Gomez, he offered us free promo and everything. This is the busiest day we’ve had since the holidays!”

“At least allow me to add gratuity for the service,” Wednesday murmurs as she takes her wallet out. Slips out a few bills blindly to put into the tip jar by the counter.

“You should try one before you go,” Vada mentioned, taking the top box down from the stack. “They’re freshest from the counter.”

Another grin and Wednesday eyes her minutely before she flips the cardboard open. A few rows of buns—all of them black. Like charcoal glazed bollio.

“Senor Gomez requested the color,” Vada explains. “It was a fun challenge, I think. Now go have a bite, sit, sit—would you like a coffee too?”

Wednesday feels oddly suspicious of the way she’s being pushed to find seating, when this was meant to be a pick up. But, she supposed it would give her a minute to collect herself. If nothing else, the smell was really starting to get to her.

It was devine, don’t get her wrong—however she’s smelled it before. Like sweet rolls filled with honey, wafting from the oven.

Tasted it before…

She’s stiff when she walks from the counter with her pastries, finding herself in a packed cafe full of mind numbing chatter. Hands gripping the boxes like a life line, but face steel as the beams on the walls.

This was beginning to become cause for concern. Agreeing to aid in her father’s pipe dream for one and participating for another. Now she’s suddenly to polite to tell someone no or walk away.

She could sneak out, perhaps. She’d already eyed all the cameras and made note of the exits before arrival. She decides to give the back of the cafe a chance, partitioned booths covering her sight up until—

No, that would be absurd. Absolutely absurd.

She swears for a moment, she glimpses the candy pink tips of a head of blonde hair.

But…that could be anyone, considering she lived in a rather liberal city. Then, theres the matter of the fact that she keeps moving forward; it reveals more of what must be a vision.

An especially cruel one.

“OMG,” She hasn’t heard that voice in nearly a month. And had gone even longer without, yet it gives her pause.

That mouth—so loud and clear, more vivid than even her most invasive visions. Those gem like eyes widen as her lips do, up into a smile.

Wednesday nearly drops the boxes altogether. Almost turns and runs out of the building, because she apparently can’t even leave her apartment without being bombarded with these thoughts.

Its making her hallucinate, for Lucifer’s sake.

Except, then she feels real pressure on her arm. A hand on her coat, enough force to tug her back and force her to make eye contact. With the same gem like stones she’d watched set.

“Ophelia…”

Her name sounds funny in this context. Wednesday could certainly think of a few choice individuals that would find utter amusem*nt in this. And she herself was not one of them.

She swallows, eyes widening and jaw tight as she finds humor in Ophelia’s eyes. The blonde’s grip on her arm turning into a hand smoothing up and around her shoulders.

“Long time no see, sir,” A cheeky little wink thrown her way has clicking her teeth.

And Wednesday prefers that title, but the way it sounded coming from the smug Alpha never sounded anywhere near respectful. A twinkle in her eye as she puts emphasis on the word.

How dare she—

“Wanna come sit with me instead of standing and watching like a serial killer, maybe?” Though its not like she’s much of a choice. Gawking in the middle of a cafe, she supposed it looked rather incriminating. Though, Ophelia ignores her glare, tugging her along to the table she was apparently occupying. “That coat is slay by the way—I’ve never been a leather girly, but it looks really good on you.”

Its purred as she’s finally let go, if only so the blonde can get back in her seat. Gives her a minor flashback, like the last time she’d been under the wolf’s claws had been mere hours ago.

Ophelia slides swiftly in the booth til her back hits the window. Gestures to the empty side with a grin and wave of her hand. Wednesday’s eyes narrow as she sits the pastry boxes on the table.

It looked like the wolf had been there a moment. A laptop closed and jacket strewn on her side of the table. A mug of something still steaming. The girl herself was dressed cozy, in her pink turtle neck and baggy jeans. Entirely less formal than what Wednesday had met.

Though…she had been working at the time.

Wednesday feels like she’s the one intruding, somehow, even under the weight of those mirthful eyes. Even with the invitation.

She didn’t plan on wandering into the wolves den. Far from it and yet…

She sits slowly, taking time to adjust her coat tail under her rear. Doesn’t remove it or her gloves, in fact she lifts her collar all the more. A method of comfort, or maybe unconsciously trying to shield her nose. That scent…it was even more distracting up close.

“Would you rather I pretend we’re strangers?” Comes from across. Ophelia looks at her in challenge, but doesn’t necessarily look offended. She rolls her eyes, “Its not the first time I’ve run into someone I’ve worked with in the wild. City’s a lot smaller than you think…never seen you around here before, though?”

Except its not that at all. Its not what Ophelia does—she had no room to judge where she lay her body. Its what she is.

She doesn’t have to explain herself at all. It just leaves a strange feeling in her chest, to come off like she’s bothered.

“I have no gripes about our past encounter, if that’s what you’re attempting to imply,” Wednesday huffs, displeased in the way it makes her cheeks burn. And the way Ophelia’s lip twitches. She clears her throat, “I’m here on business.”

“Thought you weren’t in the food industry?” Ophelia teases behind a drink from her mug. Her interest quickly taken by her box of pastries. “Those boxes look pretty full…and I would know. I’m practically a regular.”

Wednesday spends a little too long lingering on that grin. The way those lips leave the ceramic, before wiping hot chocolate from the bottom one with her thumb. Perhaps she’s just over stimulated from the volume in here.

Yes…over stimulated and not in her right mind.

“Its not my business,” Wednesday’s sure to emphasize. “I’m only here on a favor for someone who couldn’t be physically present. I have no real interest pastries or sweets.”

Anything of the sort. She’s tactical with her words, lest the wolf get any ideas.

“So, you totally don’t mind sharing, then?” Ophelia questions, not necessarily in the way she was expecting. That nose twitches towards her box of pastries like a blood hound to its bowl of kibble.

Wednesday bemusedly waves her hand ahead. Its not like she would get through all of it, anyhow. The blonde excitedly tears into it, grabbing one a concha, black as night.

“Ah—the conchas here are so freakin good with the hot chocolate,” Ophelia moans in delight at the taste.

“You come here often?” Wednesday finds herself asking. Its innocent enough, considering she’s meant to be gaining information.

“Since the day they opened,” Ophelia answers, hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. “Like love at first bite.”

Wednesday thinks its must be purposeful, the way she lets her tongue curl around her thumb. Powdered sugar sucked away and nearly every question she has finds itself getting away from her.

“And you said you’re familiar with the girl at the counter?” The seer queries, rather than sacrifice anymore of her dignity and entertain these frivolous thoughts.

“Yeah, she’s really cool…it’s usually either her, or her brother greeting customers,” Ophelia explains, seemingly none the wiser. Ever the conversationalist, unbothered where Wednesday finds herself battling internally.

Its just the smell clouding her mind. Its stuffy inside and she hadn’t bothered to remove her coat, is all.

Like a genie’s wish, anything else Ophelia had to offer was cut short by way of Wednesday’s device going off. She’d otherwise silence it, but finds herself preferring an out—not that she’d ever call it that. Especially when she realizes who it is.

Bianca Barclay: Just added someone to the guest list that might interest you…
*jpeg attachment*

Wednesday’s eyes widen a fraction wider at the picture: A confirmation from a certain surname of Laslow. Another text incoming shortly after.

Bianca Barclay: Wanna meet in my office this time?
Bianca Barclay: Actually u don’t have a choice cause Kents already in route 🫡

Well, that was one way to get her attention. She must be silent for a tad too long, as Ophelia had stopped talking and finished her sweets. She looks at her curiously from where she’s oddly taken by her phone.

“Beef at the water cooler?” The wolf quips, the thing holding her attention being unspoken. Wednesday clicks her phone screen black.

“I’m afraid my time here may be cut short,” The seer declares, to which the blonde merely nods. Wednesday makes not much move to leave at all, considering she’s being picked up apparently. And she’d rather not wait outside, “However that time is still pending.”

“Its s’ok, I gotta leave soon too.” Ophelia shrugs, taking her laptop to slip into her bag. “You aren’t the only one with a workload.”

“You’re in school?” Wednesday draws her own conclusions, even as the macbook is stuck in a tote bag rather than a backpack. And because the wolf isn’t much older than she.

Her nature often made her seem younger in all honesty. Ophelia still smiling, albeit she looked to be holding back. She almost thinks it strange.

“Or something,” Ophelia replies, looking at her funny. “We both signed a confidentiality agreement. I don’t exactly go around telling my clients where I go to bed.”

Its said like a joke, but Wednesday doesn’t find much humor in that. Even as the wolf packs her bag, otherwise unbothered.

“I suppose its not my business…” The CEO murmurs. “I apologize if I over stepped in asking, I was only curious about your studies.”

Curious is one word for it. Wanting to know what captivates that blonde head of hers. What drives her to do what she does—her passion. It’s something she feels she can level with. Understand…

Is she meant to? Curiosity did kill the cat.

(Her time of satisfactionbegrudgingly brought her back.)

Ophelia gives her another odd look, as if studying her and her intentions. Wednesday wasn’t one to present anything other than what laid in her hands. Whether or not she showed enthusiasm? Not much of any, but she was far from evil.

Often called cruel or callous, but never unmotivated. No, she quite liked revenge.

Ophelia’s laugh…she’s not sure what she’s done to deserve it. Breathy and disbelieving.

“You’re…something else, Mr. Addams,” The wolf grins at her, enough so that she can see those fangs peaking. “So professional, so…respectful.”

Wednesday nearly flinches, when she feels it.

The toe of Ophelia’s sneaker creeping up her leather shoes to caress the thin socks on her ankles. All the while, she maintains that eye contact; Wednesday would argue it more eerie than her own, when the escort has nerve to smile as well.

“As opposed to what?” Wednesday chokes out, but manages to sound firm. No stutter, she sits still as that foot travels up her calf. Pushes her pant leg up to tease, rubber against her prickling skin. The seer breathes through her mouth subtle as she can.

A depraved part of her wants it to keep going. Wants that foot to go higher and test her composure even more. But then—

Her phone buzzes between them. Kent must be outside, or close to it.

Ophelia removes her foot so quick, you’d never know otherwise. Except maybe the way her pant leg looked askew. And the regretful way Wednesday pulse had gone off the rails, like a horse fighting its reins.

“I missed teasing you…so cute,” The wolf mentioned between giggling at her expense. Slips her tote over her shoulder and looks at her expectantly. “You wanna walk me out, sir?”

Wednesday’s jaw is tense as she does nothing other than dip her head.

“The last person to refer to me as anything other than horrid is currently in a mental institution,” She retorts, irritably. Ophelia stands from the booth as if she’d nothing at all.

“Is it a crime to admire a powerful woman?” Is the cheeky reply, to which Wednesday stiffly adjusted her coat tighter around her body.

The walk to the front entrance feels like miles. Side by side, its almost as if they came together, somehow. Even in how they contrast, a denim jacket on shoulders of the blonde at her side. Tote on her shoulder and hair half tied up.

Wednesday in her cloak, glowering at anyone that stares. Ophelia waltzed along, phone in one hand and glued to her screen while chattering about nothing. She doesn’t really register it, chest feeling oddly taut the closer they get to leaving.

“Have a nice day, y’all!” Is called from behind them, before they can leave. Wednesday recognizes the voice from as the girl who served them, but doesn’t turn.

Part of her feels antsy. The need to squirm as the Alpha next to her pressed into her side even more as she turns to yell back.

“You too, thanks again!” With a wave and toothy grin. Wednesday just barely lifts her hand in greeting, going to open the door for the escort.

Cold air hits her harshly, but the smell is still caked along her nostrils like an oil. Ophelia makes a noise of surprise, actively shivering where she stands.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a wolf?” Wednesday asks, taking a bit of satisfaction in the way Ophelia falters just so.

Dark eyes gloss over a covered neck, remembering the silver that laid beneath.

“Not exactly covered in fur at the moment, though,” The wolf replies, just as quickly regaining her step. She smiles as seems to be her insufferable default, “Guess I’ll see you around? Since you kinda own my favorite coffee shop now, I think that cancels out that part of the NDA.”

Is she asking to see her again? What does it mean if she is?

“I don’t plan on coming here often,” Or at all, Wednesday leaves unsaid. “You have a right to your privacy.”

But, Ophelia doesn’t look like she buys it, however. A strange thought crosses her mind, where she wonders if perhaps the wolf looks disappointed. The way she looks warily at her, a flicker of something. Wednesday sticks her hands in her pockets, suddenly not knowing what to do with them.

Its time to leave now…isn’t it?

She can recognize Kent’s car, just off from the street corner. It’s parked with tinted windows and Wednesday feels her face burn, because she knows she’s just barely in eye sight. He could possibly see her, but…

“Are you busy this week?” Wednesday asks, out of body and shocking them both. Ophelia looks more suspicious than surprised.

“Depends…are you proposing something, Mr. Addams?” The escort prompts with a blonde brow quirking. Hand on her tote and the other in her coat pocket.

Thats a good question. What exactly is she propositioning?

“I’ve been requested to attend an event in the next few days, for a partner of mine,” She explains quickly, eyes darting to Kent’s car and then back to glimmering blues. “I can take care of transportation and send funds if you need to purchase new garments. Of course, I would also compensate you for your time on such short notice.”

Ophelia breathes out a laugh, to which Wednesday frowns. The escort shakes her head, looking amused at something the seer can’t see.

“You really know how to tempt a girl,” The wolf prowls, taking her hand from her bag strap move her braid to the front of her shoulder. “Ok…I’ll do it.”

“Thats…satisfactory to hear,” Wednesday concludes with a nod, cheeks redden even more at the giggle she gets in return. The CEO rolls her eyes, “I don’t suppose you changed your point of contact.”

“Nope,” The blonde pops the ‘p’ playfully. “Almost thought you lost my number altogether…”

Its trailed, but not accusatory. It feels like a thinly concealed trap, like most things the escort teased her with.

“But, yeah…You can always just text me, grandpa,” Ophelia ribs her with another laugh, beginning to create distance between them. Takes a few coy steps back, “Have a good day, Mr. Addams!”

With a flutter of fingers, the wolf is skipping around the corner.

Wednesday exhales with the space, but still finds her nose searching. Clinging to the remnants of perfume, if not the waft of pastry when the cafe’s door opens near where she stood.

She probably stands too long, before she finally gets in Kent’s passenger seat.

Chapter 9: I Bid You, Dreaded Thing

Chapter Text

“Don’t say a word.”

Its said with a pointed stare, as she slips into Kent’s BMW. A flashy thing, at least the color blue he chose was a darker shade. Wednesday liked tooling about in the hearse just fine. In all honesty she’d much prefer Lurch’s minimal grunts and music choice.

Lurch didn’t ask questions. Aside from her destination.

“I wasn’t gonna…don’t think I need to say anything at all, actually…” Kent cheeses. Tries to contain his laughter with his palm, pulling off into traffic.

Wednesday had no issue threatening him in a moving vehicle either. However, she didn’t want this subject to go any further than the sidewalk.

At least until she’s alone. Then she can think. Process the fact that she just invited the sex worker she’d been ignoring in spite of her woeful attraction, to an event with Bianca.

She’s going to need a drink…

“I’m assuming you had the same correspondence with Bianca?” Wednesday mentions instead, in blatant subject change.

Much more important than worrying over whom she’s having breakfast with. Even if Wednesday had not a bite to eat, spending her time watching those canines rip through dough. Regardless of the way she can’t help but linger.

Really, she’s lucky its not Bianca herself that picks her up.

Kent’s unusually tight lipped, not mentioning what he pulled up to. Doesn’t ask any questions on why she lingered, or even worse—who the girl she was with was. No, he taps at the wheel and drives smooth. Even begins to whistle.

Wednesday’s simultaneously grateful and disbelieving. Doesn’t quite know if this gift horse is for her. Seems she’d been thrown quite a few bones, she thinks, mind so easily going back to the wolf.

To Ophelia.

“Anyhow,” Wednesday continues on, not wanting to look bothered. “Father’s little endeavor proved worth my time after all. Business is…promising.”

She glances to her left to see Kent attentively listening. Bobs his head with a small grin.

“Yeah?” He prompts.

“Its in an area of town I tend to avoid due to heavy populous. Incidentally, it works in their favor, I suppose,” Wednesday amends. “They’ve a dedicated group of regulars as well. Good for brand loyalty as the residents here seem to stick to routine.”

“The people know what they like,” Kent comments, but the way his brows raise up and down makes her own furrow. Is she supposed to get something?

“Yes…well, I have an inclination that the current traffic is only rising,” She leaves off at that, not liking the way Kent hums and chuckles to himself.

She thinks he mumbles something (she just knows she saw those guppy lips flapping) but chooses to keep her peace. She’s…not having a particularly irksome day for once. She’d like to keep it that way.

Her morning had started rather early. The light—the colors that had assaulted her eyes these past few hours, were bright. Like she’s more transparent than she likes to believe. To some, acting as a unlikely prism.

Reflecting rainbows that used to give her pause for much different reason.

/

Bianca and Kent lived in the same building. There was a colony of sirens, along with a rather large pool that was maintained though out the year. Wednesday was something like a regular, unfortunately for whoever met her glare at the door.

Some of the staff was used to it, simply letting her in with awkward greeting. She delighted in meeting new hires, especially on a night shift. The blatant fear at her unyielding presence and refusal to state her name.

Ah…nothing quite compared.

Kent led the way this time, spoiling any fun she could’ve had.

He’s all snapping fingers and charming greetings. Wednesday used to wonder if he ever ‘turned it off’ but in such close proximity she’s learned thats all he is. At his core, its what he does best. Its why she has to ask, when they’re alone in the elevator—

“I hope you know the guest list was none of my doing,” Wednesday tosses, grabbing Kent’s attention. “I told Bianca I’d prefer not to subject you to the sharks…leave it to her to then invite a slimy eel.”

She makes a face, lips moving in displeasure. Arms crossed and leaned against the railing. The siren at her side rubs back of his neck.

“I mean…we talked about it first,” He shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I know you like care about me and get protective in your own psychotic way—“

“Debatable,” Wednesday shuts down, before he dare compliment her. “Most days you’re simply the most tolerable in the room.”

Even worse, her assistant’s smile grows ten sizes. Ugh. She’s allowed too much leeway of this ‘friendship’ nonsense.

“And thats saying a lot considering how small your non-sh*t list is,” Kent winks at her, getting a blank stare in return. “Point is, I’d rather be in it for the long game. And I know when you figure out what makes that asswipe tick…that’ll be enough for me.”

He does encourage her wicked ways. Sometimes.

When its ultimately necessary, when her viperine tongue is provoked; he tended to get this look of glee while he stood over her shoulder. He’d never really been one to make her dilute her acrid nature—he worked with it.

He earns his keep, so to speak. And she’ll delight in compensating her employee as such. Much more than even he.

Its with urge of violence in her head, like a song stuck on repeat, that she enters Bianca’s illustrious apartment. Its opulent—thats her generous wording. Bianca decorated in lieu of the wealth she hadn’t to flaunt for so long. Not that Wednesday herself isn’t a child of privilege.

That stint in the ‘lower class’ was up until the trust her father left her cleared the bank when she turned eighteen. Wednesday still thought the giant fish tank this high up and in personal lodging was quite tacky. She had joked about it being big enough to fit the siren’s head along with her fins.

Blue and gold finishes, the couch the siren girl lays upon being a royal blue mass. She’s sitting off center, holding a glass of probably chai from looks of the foaming milk on top. She glances at Wednesday’s abrupt entrance with amusem*nt.

“Damn, would it kill you to knock? This is private residence you know,” Bianca fake scolds, a smirk creeping on side of her face. Wednesday looks dead as ever, if not backed with a tad bit of vigor due to the topic at hand.

Kent smoothly makes his way in behind her, softly closing the front door and walking with hands in his pockets.

“Hey B,” He greets. Stands by Wednesday’s side, calm as the soft sound of the fish tank’s filter.

“Good morning, Kent,” Bianca replies, leaning to place her drink on a side table. Looks to angry seer at his right with a raised brow, “Nice to see some folks out there still have decorum.”

“Decorum means nothing in hell, fortunately,” Wednesday shoots back, without a beat. Narrows her eyes when Bianca only snorts back. “And moreover, I certainly didn’t voluntarily enter your home without invitation. I was busy with a prior engagement when you so humbly asked for my presence.”

Bianca’s mouth widens in a comical ‘O’ shape—at least Wednesday’s assuming she thinks herself funny. She had a flair for the theatrics.

“Too busy for your oldest friend?” She asks in mock offense.

“Wait—is that who that girl was?” Kent asks, looking momentarily confused, until he sees the death Wednesday’s wishing upon him with her eyes. She stomps on his foot, making the siren boy wince, “Sorry, boss!”

But of course its too late. Bianca’s interest is already peaked.

“A girl? Do tell!” She questions, mirth in her tone. Wednesday’s steel is not one easily cut, however.

“It was just the owner’s daughter,” Wednesday lied easily, rolling her eyes and meeting Bianca’s inquisitive stare head on. “Its a family business. And you know how tender hearted my father is with any kind of sentiment based venture. I’m only lucky it wasn’t some sniffling teenager.”

Bianca lets out a snort, but otherwise looks to believe whatever she’s spun. Settles into her little web of lies easily, hands folding in her lap.

“Classic Gomez…that man loves a passion project,” Bianca jokes. She herself had technically been one of said projects, that period of time the Addams had taken her in.

“An unfortunate character trait,” Wednesday murmured, before segueing into a much more desirable topic. “I’m much more interested in going over your ‘ever expanding’ guest list.”

“Ah, yes I don’t know why I expected you to do small talk before the logistics. You’re such a stick in the mud, Addams,” Bianca teased, pretending to chide. Of course she says nothing, Kent taking a seat on Bianca’s couch and placing an arm around the back in amusem*nt.

“She’s just looking out for me,” Kent defends her. “But, I told her that I’m fine with the whole keeping your enemies close approach if it means tanking that creep later.”

“Though I would prefer my usual approach of studying up on my opponent…my research has come up regretfully short. Father’s security is as impeccable as it is annoying,” Wednesday grumbles. She always liked the silent approach.

Luring her prey only to strike the second they think her defenseless. As an Omega it was usually quite vindicating. Especially in knowing Rowan thought her nothing more than her status.

“He’s been trying to get back into trademarking pharmaceuticals—or so I’ve heard amongst some other disgraced heirs.” Bianca reveals. “His mother owned the facility responsible for production of an defunct vaccine with some nasty side effects back in the day. The gossip is, he’s hell bent on reclaiming his mother’s spot.”

Wednesday scoffs, taking each bit of new information with a grain of salt and bitter lime rubbed in the wound.

“And so you invite him to an event where he’s sure to have his smarmy face front and center?” Wednesday asks incredulously. “Free to schmooze and make a connection with someone like Tanaka who could make his dream a reality?”

Bianca lets her harsh words wash over her like high tide. It almost genuinely bothers her and her rapidly shrinking temper. Almost.

“I thought you were like supposed to be the queen of revenge or whatever?” Bianca retorts, “I want him to make an ass of himself in public. And from what Kent and you have told me, it shouldn’t be very hard. No one in their right mind would invest in his weirdo medication without a cosign…and it’s definitely not going to be me. Not that he realizes that yet.”

Bianca chuckles darkly as she explains the last bit, Wednesday’s jaw working as she lets it sink in. While not the same level of acclaim as her parents, the younger Barclay was good with business. A natural strategist, with a keen eye and shark in the water approach that Wednesday could appreciate.

She takes a beat to let it roll about her head.

“I see.” Wednesday murmured, crossing her arms and allowing her rage to taper off.

“Its all good, I told you B had a plan,” Kent tries to soothe her. Bianca next to him on the couch, only waves off the praise like she’s ever been humble.

“Please, men are easy—especially Alphas, even though I’m one to talk…” Bianca chuckles at her own expense, if not only because she’s not one of said males. “Some of my fellow Alphas leave me wishing more Betas had the aptitude to run things.”

That makes Wednesday audibly scoff, distastefully shaking her head at the slight. Whether or not Bianca knew she was being offensive irrelevant.

“You think they wouldn’t, if not for rhetoric like that?” Wednesday fires back, “You Alphas tend to take over a room whether or not anyone else has a say.”

Kent sits chewing his lip, eyes flitting between the two. Favoring Wednesday, but lacking gall to say anything himself. The seer didn’t care how Bianca meant it, however.

“Touché…” The siren replied, though she definitely looks more apologetic than not. She works her jaw a moment before voicing it, “Sorry—didn’t mean to reinforce the stereotype that Alphas can’t let others lead.”

”Stereotype?” Wednesday deadpans, under her breath to which Kent can’t help but snort. The Alpha siren can’t help but shake her head with a grin roll of her eyes.

Theres a reason Bianca’s been the only Alpha she does business with. She didrespect Wednesday’s opinion ultimately. Didn’t often treat her as an Omega at all, really, enjoying the competitive nature of their relationship at times.

Still—Wednesday doesn’t expect the internalized social biases to disappear due to proximity, either.

“Now, lets talk the ‘boring’ details,” Bianca announced next, taking out her phone.

Kent gives an audible groan at that, flicking through his own phone with sudden determination and probably also wanting a subject change.

“Can we at least order food or something first?” He asks, likely already having pulled up one of those take out apps he frequented. Wednesday never used them, but she tended to place her two cents if offered if not only for convenience.

She stiffly places herself in one of Bianca’s arm chairs, not particularly wanting to sit next to the other two sirens. Really, Kent’s meant to be recording most of this in his notes for her—the time of arrival, what to expect, who’s ass to kiss and who to guard her own from.

The venue was one she’s familiar. A popular spot located in one of many sky scrapers, owned currently by normies. At least public property as such weren’t as hard on renting out to their kind. A lot of places treated outcasts like uncontrollable savages, fearing damages should a shifter lose his temper or worse.

Most adult individuals have more self control than that, however. Still, Bianca mumbles displeasure in having to pay extra to book due to ‘insurance reasons.’ Hard enough being a woman and a black one at that—her Alpha status be damned.

“But, we have the place for the night. We’re even gonna have a little area at the entrance to have a carpet and do pictures for the press. And the Instagram obvi,” Bianca rattles off with her phone in hand. “Just waiting for the Ottingers to confirm they’re still willing to supply ingredients to my catering team so they can begin preparations tonight.”

“Your welcome for sparing you the embarrassment of groveling by the way,” Wednesday reminds the siren of her place on rung of priorities when it came to the exclusive women.

They didn’t allow anyone else as high rolling as Wednesday access to their farm, nor their brand. They genuinely liked being local and sustainable. It was on rare occasions they did big events like this—strictly only ever for the Addamses.

“Yeah, yeah I’d say we’re just about even at the moment,” Bianca emphasized the fact that that was subject to change.

Kent otherwise had his mouth buried with a ball of sticky rice.

“How about we agree that you’re both badass girl bosses and call this meeting adjourned?” Kent quips, grinning at the disdain his boss shows at the title used for her.

Bianca promptly throws a couch pillow at his head.

“Hey! You’re gonna make me spill my Thai iced tea…”

/

She should’ve been expecting the dreams to come back. Really, they hadn’t stopped. She just got better at bearing it.

She thinks her own mind was greedy. Far more so than the wolf.

Bianca’s event was in but a day’s time. She had a fitting the evening before and everything. Still had to plan her date’sas well, having found her tongue frozen solid when she attempted to look her tailor in the eye and ask.

She was eager to retreat in her apartment. A false sense of security, apparently. After drinking herself to bed, it was like the spot Ophelia’s left her muddling over had leaked out onto her pillow case. The alcohol, her apathy like a thin patch being ripped off the seams.

She saw her again. Ophelia in her dreams.

Like a sleep paralysis demon. Only instead of lurking in the shadows, the escort was on full display. Standing in moonlight.

Now, Wednesday finds herself on her balcony having a smoke. It had beenso vivid—

A clawed hand pinning her to the mattress. Soft weight pressing her down. The pressure of Ophelia’s hard length against her lower belly, the sheer heat and weight of it twitching atop her skin.

Wednesday had been panting. Thirsting.

And Ophelia looked at her so cruelly kind. Blue eyes glimmering down at her, spare hand cupping her cheeks with sharp nails. A desperate whimper leaves the seer’s lips.

”Open…” Ophelia whispers. “Be a good boy for me…stick out your tongue.”

Wednesday doesn’t know when the wolf prowled up her body to straddle her chest. She doesn’t know where their clothes went. She can’t think of anything outside of the wet tipped co*ck in front of her. So hard it angles up, a slight curve to it that she remembers digging out her insides deliciously rough.

She thinks her mouth would’ve opened in clear awe even without directions.

Like she needs to please this Alpha. She wants to please this Alpha.

That hand of claws carelessly grabs her by the head. The one not manhandling her, gripping her length proudly.

“Eyes up,” Ophelia husks and Wednesday can’t do much other than obey. To see the gold flecks in those feral eyes. “So obedient…”

The wolf giggles, petting her hair before yanking it again. By now Wednesday’s more than throbbing. She barely feels the sticky mess between her own legs. She feels hypnotized.

Eyes and mouth desperately trying to chase the co*ck being denied to her willing lips and tongue. She’s forced to watch Ophelia jerk herself off, occasionally allowing her member to slap her blushing cheeks.

Now, Wednesday’s not new to the concept of degradation. Not at all.

Just…she often found herself on the giving end. Would never let herself be talked down to, as she worked too hard for that.

And yet she’s no fight in her. Pliant and needy—she didn’t want to…

”Beg me.”

—

She goes outside for fresh cold air. wrapping a robe around her body and slipping on her house loafers.

She needed desperately to cool down and collect her thoughts. To help ignore the pulse incessant between her legs. Still damp even after the wind from outside chills her face.

It was only a dream.

Only a dream.

(But could it be a premonition?)

She’s…not quite sure what to do. With these thoughts on loop and haunting her like she really did die. The metaphorical ‘little death’—its become abig problem.

Ophelia intrigued her. Terribly so, like nothing else before.

Her interests included: structure, classical music, general anatomy, philosophy, occultism, and various oddities. Never people in anything but an academic sense. She’s never even craved touched.

But itsallshe can think about. Like a dam she had unknowingly sealed tight and under thousands of pounds of pressure finally bursting.

No other Alpha had ever made her feel this way—it makes her want to gag herself blue. Her pride had her hard pressed to voice it a loud. Had her tongue tied in thinking of how to move forward.

‘Greetings. I know I intended our arrangement to be a one time occurrence, however I find myself terribly starved, aroused beyond belief simply at the idea of you forcing me onto my knees.’

Wednesday rolls her eyes at herself. She may as well sign it off with her signature. Ophelia would probably tease her for it. The thought of the blonde grinning at her, coy and playing with her tie—it makes her unsteady on her feet.

Dios,she’s stood in front of a room where she’s the only Omega in the room and felt more sure of herself.

Maybe, within boundaries, she could ask how classes went. She had left her most recent text with the escort at scheduling for a dress fitting. Its what was professional,though she no longer knew what defined appropriate.

Ophelia had seen her in heat. Had seen her weak.

No, she didn’t need someone here all the time. But…perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have the option?

”This is useless,” She murmured to herself, putting out her cigarette and trudging back into her apartment. She slides the door shut with a sigh, feeling cooler in temperature alone.

Its not like she’s asking for marriage. She just wants—

Just one more time. One more time to get it out of her system.

/

Wednesday’s thankful to have such a multi faceted assistant. Most of the time, of course.

She tells him that, in not so complimentary words every blue moon. Especially when he comes through in ways that benefit her long term—like introducing her to his sibling. She hates meeting people, but for a cause she can at least shake a hand with her gloves on.

Divina was a craftsman, more than a seamstress.

Wednesday knew the girl to be an artist, but her hobby of sewing garments had been a blessing. Her dexterity for one, attention to detail another—she was incredibly picky about fabrics and fit of her suits and shirts. Nearly every event she’d been to had seen the twin siren’s fashionable hands.

While twins in birth and mildly in looks, mainly those clear blue eyes—Divina had her own personality. She was far more tactful than Kent, much more clever and gave conversation that even Wednesday could stomach more often than not. It helped during fittings, certainly.

She was less talkative, but she often didn’t need to speak. She did so with those eery eyes, though, thankfully Wednesday didn’t have to face them. A simple text would do.

Wednesday Addams: I need a favor

Divina Tailor Phone: Is this about me experimenting with the lapels on the blazer for tomo?

Wednesday: No, that was an adequate touch. The detail in the raven decal is flawless as always.
Wednesday: I need a matching gown to be fitted for a guest of mine. She can be in whenever you have time today and you can send me a monetary request.

Wednesday watches with fingers tapping against her desk as Divina types then stops. Then again and again, enough times that she nearly sends a third text.

Divina: Ur kinda lucky I have nothing planned today but cleaning/chores

Wednesday sighs her relief, up until she gets a second reply.

Divina:…And that Im not asking who this mystery guest is. 😏

Wednesday: Just send me a time and a receipt. Regards.

Wednesday isn’t often so short with the siren, but she also isn’t normally so inquisitive. It has her face burning, when she’s meant to be sending a quick text between meetings that day. She tells herself it’ll be easier to rip it off like a bandaid.

Set up Ophelia’s fitting and quickly inform the girl. Line her own day up with meetings and paper work to keep her eager eyes away from the phone afterwards. At least…

That had been the plan.

She goes into their quarterly budget meeting mainly to listen. She sits in, because she likes to have an active role in most of the departments. At least in knowing what’s going on—she’s never been a micro manager. Its why she has employees.

As CEO she often gets called in for feedback as well, but she insists she wouldn’t hire anyone incompetent.

The head of finance gives his pitch, heading the conference table with refreshments off to the side. A projector shows a high light of their recent spending, mostly to compare with previous years. Its mainly for the couple of new hires in financial to get a feel for how they budget.

Wednesday feels her phone vibrating, enough to ignore it and roll her eyes at her forgetfulness. Then, again a few more times in succession that has her peaking under the table. She gives eyes to Kent, who looks at her from corner of his eye in curiosity. She’s never been one to play on her phone during meetings. Or ever, technically.

She shows as such with her tired eyes, lip curling down even as she reads the contact name.

Ophelia Nevermore: Good afternoon sir ☀️☺️
Ophelia: Or should I say dreadful evening lolol 🧛🏽
Ophelia: Getting ready to head over to ur tailor. U busy rn?

Wednesday breathes subtly, an amused puff of air. Ever since she’d resumed correspondence with the escort the other day they’d been messaging quite a bit. For valid reasons, of course, like assuring the money wired to the correct accounts and the date and time of the gala.

Nothing more…yet.

She may be procrastinating on propositioning the escort to restart their more ‘intimate’ encounters.

Wednesday Addams: Good evening to you as well. Divina will be expecting you on time, need I remind you.
Wednesday Addams: And to answer your inquiry, I am currently in a meeting. However, I am mainly here to observe. Do you need something from me? I can have a driver sent to a neutral address as well.

Wednesday finds herself tapping the screen alive each time it goes dim. Under the table, held in her lap and away from the side Kent was on. She’d rather no one catch her genuinely awaiting a text message.

Ophelia: I’m perfectly punctual 😙 but thx for the offer tho! Lurch deserves the time off 😉

Wednesday rolls her eyes to herself. Of course she took time to learn her recurrent driver’s name. Another text pops up—in fact a few do.

Ophelia: Also, was just checking cause I wanted to ask ur opinion on somethin
Ophelia: Can anyone see ur screen?

The seer quirks a brow, reading the message twice.

Wednesday: I never let anyone touch my device. Why?

Other than Thing, but he rarely came into the office nowadays. Claims he’s also ‘retired’ or whatever the singular hand equivalent to that would be.

She can’t ponder it too long, before she’s sent an image, multiple of them. Its blurred, sparkling and the silhouette looked to be that of Ophelia. Wednesday squints at it in confusion, until she gets an accompanying message.

Ophelia: Sent w invisible ink just to be safe 🤭
Ophelia: Which pair do you like better, sir? *jpeg attachment(s)*

Wednesday takes her thumb against the first picture and finds herself choking. She almost drops her phone, knee harshly cracking against the table mid head of finance speaking over another slide.

“Are…you ok, Mr. Addams?” Someone asks, eyes darting in her direction. Some concerned, some in genuinely surprised and likely curious. Its not often she has such…public displays.

Wednesday clears her throat, adjusting her tie and eyes darting to a confused and worried looking Kent.

“You good?” He mouths and she levels him with pleading eyes, before looking back to her colleagues. She stands with a start.

“I need to use the facilities. I will return shortly,” She excuses herself as swift as she can in the moment. She thinks she hears something about a ‘break’ being called for as she rushes.

Her trousers feel like they’re clinging to her legs, arms ringing and face hot as the door clicks open and shut. The hall feels like a tunnel, as does her own vision. There’s only one thing she can see on her way to the bathroom.

Ophelia. In her lingerie. Bent over.

Dark, like dried blood or a purple grape wine. Lace, with delicate breasts held and nipples thinly veiled in the sheer fabric. The panties that barely covered the curve of her ass, doing even less so to contain a pair of full balls.

It wasn’t even outlining the escort’s erection. No, it was bursting out of the fabric like it wasn’t meant to be contained at all.

Wednesday finds it harder to swallow, finds her hands fiddling to loosen her tie. When she thinks about Ophelia’s co*ck tip sticking out from the top of her waistband. It looked…sturdy. Thick.

(Had that really been inside her?)

Ophelia was erect—she was meant to be meeting Divina soon.

Wednesday can’t think clearly until she makes it into the single stall. Locks the door and runs a hand through her fringe and her suddenly sweaty forehead. She leans against the door when she opens her phone, messing up the passcode a few times (too many times) before pulling up the images again.

Another of Ophelia from the side, wearing the same set and hand on her hip and back arched. Then two more in another set, this one all black against pale skin. Wednesday swallows. Hard.

Pink areoles peak from the stark onyx fabric, Wednesday’s eyes greedily taking in every inch. Porcelain skin clashing with her signature color so torturously divine.

The dick flush to a toned abdomen, the tip below her belly button and looking delectable. For lack of a better word. She could barely decipher logic from rawr urge.

Wednesday catches herself licking her dry lips. Her dream from the night before bouncing around her head. Like it was close to being reality.

She didn’t…she hadn’t serviced Ophelia in that way. Hasn’t with anyone before.

Hadn’t thought to ask when that mouth was extracting all rational thought from her center. Nor when she was being splayed on her back and ravaged for hours on end. Glimpses and memories that felt like fever dreams.

Ophelia was thick. Not impossibly large, though she’s certainly one to ask for comparisons. She hadn’t had much time to ponder much other than her desire the last time she was face to face with the escort.

Eye level to her waistline, more accurately.

She remembers the feeling of the hard member in her hands, impatient and heat sick before impaling herself. Only the briefest urge to take into her mouth. Watching it throb and twitch in her palms; She’d never done so before. Even now, it flusters her to high heavens she’s never been familiar.

She’d been brazen and far more bold in that hotel than in this moment. She couldn’t do much of anything useful now, gawking alone in the work bathroom.

Heart pounding in her ears and sweat on her brow like some pervert.

This would be the time to ask. To say something—anything.Yet, she feels stuck to the back of the door. Her hands glued to her phone like anchors.

The only thing to tear her eyes away from the images were more incoming messages. Her palms warm, hot against plastic casing instead of—tsk.

Ophelia: I thought u were good at making decisions?
Ophelia: ur gonna make me late, mr addams 😙

Wednesday had almost forgotten she was meant to be doing something with these. Something that was of any use, aside from panting against the door. She huffs, feeling that way Ophelia was hell bent on making her feel—inexperienced.

Like she knows what the seer wants so badly but can’t bring herself to ask for.

She’s not sure if its always purposeful, but sometimes she can tell. With the cadence of her words or the way she wound up leading their encounters no matter Wednesday’s approach. And this was no different in her eyes. Ophelia was teasing her.

Wednesday doesn’t blink as she shakily types her reply. Pulls herself together with a harsh swallow against her dried throat. Leans her head back against the door as she tries not to pant. Vehemently ignores the way that every time her eyes catch sight of the escort’s member makes her ache down below.

Wednesday: Your gown is being picked and then tailored to match my outfit for the evening. So, I believe the black would be most fetching.

It takes her far longer to type without mistakes than she’ll ever admit. She also decides to spare details of their outfits—the theme was technically red. It was a blood drive after all, just…

Ophelia left her breathless in black.

Ophelia: So formal… ur no fun 🙄

Wednesday: This isn’t meant to be a ‘fun’ event

Ophelia: If u say so, mr. grump 😉 thx for the help btw
Ophelia: About to head out—have a good day at work, sir ❤️

Wednesday clicks her teeth, sufficiently feeling more irritated than aroused. Though, the frustrated feelings that ache felt awfully intertwined.

She needs to go back into her meeting, anyhow.

She sighs to herself, slipping her phone in her pocket as she remembers what she was doing. Before she ran to the bathroom with her tail between her legs.

She takes a good handful of minutes in the mirror first, adjusting her trousers for comfort. Her briefs felt tight to the flustered heat of her skin.

The awkward throb in her center. She swallows it down with a promise to herself to make co*cktail after hours. Something to hopefully numb her body from feeling anything she can’t control.

She supposed she was rather ‘grumpy’ when she finally shuffled back into the tail end of the meeting. The lights back on and someone mid answering a question. She lowers herself easily back into her seat, Kent giving her a strange look.

He sniffs, furrows his brows and pursed his lips then sniffs again.

“You…you good boss?” He asks, leaning closer to her and getting another subtle whiff that had her jerking her body away.

“I’m fine.” She glares at him, eyes hard and teeth clenched. Kent levels with her, holding eye contact for brief moment before he shakes her head and digs into his suit jacket.

“Just…you might wanna—you know,” Kent slides her some roll on cologne. Wednesday’s jaw locks when her brain catches up with why. The label very clearly staring—

*Guaranteed to mask unwanted pheromones for over 8hours!*

She hadn’t been taking her suppressants any longer. Which, was otherwise fine since the conclusion of her heat. She didn’t usually deal with any other symptoms and her scent wasn’t particularly strong to begin with.

At least, it used to not be. But ever since…

“Ah—it happens,” Kent shrugs sheepishly. He thankfully keeps his voice low, smiling good natured, “Guess the numbers this quarter were looking better than we thought, eh?”

He chuckles to himself, up until Wednesday ‘accidentally’ pushes him out of his seat.

/

Suffice to say, when she leaves her office that evening she’s more than a tad bit worked up. Never one to be disheveled, at least not publicly, she waits to get in the back of the hearse before she addresses the phone going off in her jacket pocket. She expects it to be the miffed shareholder she canceled her last meeting of the day with.

The building was beginning to feel too small. The walls were closing in heat, making her own office feel like a sweltering sauna.

”What is it?” Wednesday doesn’t bother to hold back her irritation at being called at the end of the day. She doesn’t notice the contact name.

Ophelia’s voice so soon after those choice images, was sending her brain back into short circuiting. At least she could blame her brain fog on her long day and not her burgeoning hormones.

”My condolences on whoever it was for, then,” Ophelia laughs on the other end. She hums coyly, “So…you did like my pictures?”

Yes, I did She urged to retort,In fact I’d like to meet up again to discuss.

Wednesday clicks her teeth, knowing all too well where this was heading. This cat and mouse—rather the smug wolf hunting the raven flying too close to the ground.

“I acknowledged them,” The seer replies stiffly. Another giggle on the other end of the phone has her brow twitching.

“But how do you feel about them?” Ophelia asks, coy and twirling her words around like a physical phone chord. Her tone low and pacing slow, “You know…some people have to pay extra for pictures like that.”

Wednesday wants to bury her head in her hands, having opportunity tossed at her on a silver platter. She can’t really think of much else—crossing her legs to create pressure between her legs and hopefully give her will to think for a moment.

She feels even more eager to return to her apartment. To get out of these sticky clothes and change the panties she’s probably ruined.

”I’d more than compensate you if that’s what you’re looking for,” Wednesday offers back stubbornly. “I had to step out on company time to address your little gift.”

Its laced with every bit of frustration she feels in having the object of her undoing so far away. Yet, tantalizing her with what could be proximity.

”Are you saying I’m a liable distraction, Mr. Addams?” Ophelia prompts, a lift to her voice like she’s exactly where the wolf wants her.

”No—“ Wednesday awkwardly adjusted her collar, thankful she can’t be seen currently. “I was simply…that had nothing to do with—“

Except Ophelia blows out amused air, laughing on the other end at her expense. Like she knew what she was doing. She likely was enjoying it.

”I’m only teasing—just wanted to let you know the fitting went well is all…” The wolf explained innocently. “Your tailor was really nice. More chatty than I would expect from someone you employ.”

”An unfortunate, but manageable sacrifice for a job well done,” Wednesday deadpanned. “Thank you for the update.”

”I should be thanking you,” Ophelia corrects her. “Its been a long time since I’ve had such a fancy night out. A majority of our clients are Alphas so they don’t usually ask people like me out to stuff like this.”

“I would never submit another Omega to a room full of not only Alphas, but ones that believe themselves to be important.” Wednesday rolls her eyes at no one. Hell, she didn’t even want to physically be in attendance.

”Still, I appreciate the job…you know I almost thought maybe I scared you off,” Ophelia casually begins. She sounds oddly shy, laughing sheepishly, “I forget this kitty’s got claws sometimes…teehee.”

Wednesday swallows, feeling caught off guard by the change of pace. The wolf sounding coy, when it had taken a large dose of her Grandmama’s potion to take care of her wounds after her heat. Her body had been scratched, bruised and aching.

It was absolute bliss.

”I told you there was no need to apologize. I asked for every second of it.” Wednesday assured, looking out the window at traffic. She clears her throat, “It wasn’t anything you did that ceased our correspondence—I…I’ve been busy. Hence you catching me in the middle of a job.”

A little white lie. It can’t hurt anymore than her pride, currently. Ophelia hums on the other end, as if mulling it over. All the while, Wednesday chews her lip, debating on spilling her guts. She blames her over filled head space after her long day.

”I can make it up to you. If you’d like,” Wednesday only thanks her own poker face for allowing her not to stutter.

”Make it up to me, mm?” Ophelia croons, voice like a pleasant purr vibrating in her ear. “I’m doing you a really big favor too…better make it worth my while, Mr. CEO.”

Wednesday licks her dry lips, feeling her words caught in her throat for once. Ironically, considering how she craved to use her lips—her mouth.

“I believe I can return said favor…,”Wednesday replies with her pulse racing. It’s unnerving, considering she often forgets the organ is even there. She lets the silence settle before she plays her hand, “I have a surprise for you after the event tomorrow. Assuming you’re not starved for time afterwards, I’d like you to accompany me elsewhere.”

Wednesday feels an all too pleasant shiver up her spine at that particular visual.

“With interest,”The CEO promises.

Chapter 10: Fetch the Valet

Chapter Text

The very next day—right before she’s meant to attend this little rendezvous of Bianca’s. After another grueling day full of mainly meetings as more of her father’s duties roll off onto her. She’s popping Aspirin like Mentos once she crashes into seat of the hearse.

A scowl prominent on her features the second she’s let into her destination for the evening. Leaving one massive headache for another.

She’s at her tailor’s ‘office’ of sorts, where she had sent Ophelia prior. She knew the layout by heart. It wasn’t just Divina that used the space, it was more of a rented out studio. A salon of some sort—Wednesday hadn’t cared post the owner asking to touch her hair. Tuh.

Still, she’s got it memorized—all the exits and windows. She’s prone to escaping.

Currently, however, she finds herself looking into a twin pair of blue eyes. A familiar pair, but not the ones that vex her. Twin in the literal sense.

Divina had a playfulness about her too though. Liked to rib her, often when around the other two sirens—especially Bianca. Lucifer don’t get her started…

Somehow more mischievous than her sibling; though she didn’t think Kent had a mean bone in his body. Conflict usually saw Divina fighting battles for her younger (by a few minutes) brother.

Divina was simply more calculating. Like she actually thinks before she acts and speaks. Wednesday appreciates her wit almost as much as her attention to detail.

With the way she brought a bit of flair to Wednesday’s typically plain suits; the siren liked to take from her roots when dressing her. As a raven and Addams, including her insignia or details of the dark bird in patterns that her eyes can stomach. Even approve of, most always.

Divina had tried to sneak pops of color into her wardrobe for a fruitless two red carpet events she’d been invited to at the beginning of their working relationship. Quickly, she realized that the seer was not budging on that particular boundary.

Her fabric allergy only really included certain blends, but she chose to blame color as well.

The most Wednesday allowed her to get away with was red. And low and behold it happened to be the theme for today’s ‘festivities.’ She technically hadn’t tried tonight’s ensemble on, but she’s no more eager than normal when she enters Divina’s space.

The siren looks to her in clear understanding at sight of her scowl and knitted brows.

“Kent told me the board meeting was a drag,” The siren mentioned, taking her suit jacket wordlessly as the CEO shrugs it off. She walks it to a hanger and rack, Wednesday following close behind with a scowl.

“An understatement.” Wednesday grumbled, “One would think after this long I wouldn’t be forced to prove competence to run my own damn company.”

“Notice how they never pull out, though? They just complain cause they’re all old and probably half senile,” Divina tried to level with her. And honestly Wednesday doesn’t blame her lack of fight. It gets tiring.

She’s certainly exhausted.

“And I’m forced to deal with their ignorant asides in the meantime. Simply because I’m not my father,” Not an Alpha, she chooses not to say. Part of her feels like they respect her as a woman even less sometimes.

She sits herself stiffly in the arm chair that sat in the changing area. A few garments lay on the rack, separated by hangers that Divina sifts through with ease. She pulls out the shirt first, smoothing it down with her hands.

“And they’ll eat their words like they always do,” Divina assures with confidence, grabbing her trousers next. She squints and picks lint away before she approaches where Wednesday is sat. “And you’re gonna look hot tonight with a sexy Alpha on your arm so no one can say sh*t about that, either.”

Divina giggles to herself and Wednesday grunts, taking the garments a bit rougher than she needs to. The siren full on laughs when she marches wordlessly into the changing rooms.

“Oh, c’mon! I literally helped tape her boobs down yesterday, the least I can do is ask what the deal is.” Divina pressed, “And I love doing you favors and all, don’t get me wrong, but like…”

The siren trailed, leaning against the wall by the stall door. Wednesday had gotten as far as shrugging on her new shirt, black and silky material that fit snug to her body. It contrasted with the straight legged trousers, freshly creased at the front.

It fit the theme rather nicely thus far. Divina had good taste and she often didn’t feel the need to interject much anymore when it came to tailoring her wardrobe. Like her twin, she was far more than adequate at her job.

And also, like her twin, she found herself swimming upstream and straight into her business.

“She’s escorting me for the night. She’s simply doing me a favor,” Wednesday replies as she buttons her top. Theres a mirror on the back wall of the changing room that she eyes her flushed face in. She sighs at Divina’s intrigued hum from the other side of the door.

“So, if she’s not your Alpha…are you saying she’s available?”

Wednesday’s certainly not expecting that. Nor the visceral need to say no.

“You and Kent are definitely twins, undoubtedly,” She barely managed to keep her indifference. Adjusting her cuffs rather roughly, she has to stop her eye from twitching. “Worried about the wrong things.”

She feels…irritable, suddenly.

She exits the changing room and the siren looks at her funny. Wednesday’s glare only hardens, disliking the scrutiny.

“I’m kidding…kinda sorta,” Divina snorts. Deciding to be professional finally and begin adjusting her clothes. “Not too many Alphas that aren’t ego maniac assholes you know? She was actually polite and asked how I was doing instead of if I’m ‘kept’ pfft…and did I mention she’s really cute?”

Wednesday gets image in her head of a very respectful and damningly charming Ophelia. In that set of lingerie that she had sent her, peeling away layers to reveal it to Divina’s receptive eyes. Innocently, the escort probably didn’t think anything of it.

And why should she?

Its her job to be tantalizing.

Perhaps she gave Divina one of those stupid winks, or traded banter with no pressure of follow through.

Unless you’re willing. Which, the siren definitely seemed to be. Go figure.

“Unfortunately,” Is what Wednesday leaves it at, stiffly and just barely moving her arms as her shirt is fixed. She doesn’t like the way she feels so snippy.

Sour…like she’s been drinking vinegar. Been made green.

Thankfully, Divina looks far more occupied with tending to whatever alterations she feels the need to make. Adjusting her tuck at the waistline, before grabbing her accessories of a branded belt and tie.

“But yeah, just saying…I would lock her down before someone else tries it,” The siren has audacity to wink at her in the mirror.

And if that wasn’t motivation to act on what she’s been craving, then she’s not sure what will.

The seer stands in front of the taller mirror Divina had set up, the siren going between her cellphone and her reflection. Wednesday just chewed her tongue, willing the minutes to tick by.

As if the universe is further taunting her own cowardice.

“Your date is here,” Divina sings soon after handing off her tie. She has a grin on her face, phone in hand and typing as she skips out of view.

Wednesday fumbled with her tie, hands unsteady in knowing how real this was becoming. It makes her scowl even harder at herself in the mirror, displeased with her own lack of resolve. Its not like she hasn’t seen the werewolf recently. Or like they haven’t been communicating daily since reconnecting.

Why does she feel so unsure of herself, suddenly?

Thankfully she’s not much time to be in her head.

She sees those dastardly blue eyes in reflection of the mirror first. Softly lined with a neutral shadow that accentuated the brightness of them. As Wednesday finished buckling her belt she catches sight of her hair, blonde and purposefully tussled. Her lips red and make up done to match the deep tones of tonight’s palette.

“Hey there handsome,” Ophelia comes waltzing in behind, grinning with her pink puffer jacket and flared jeans. Her bag and attached charms jingling with the bounce of her steps. “Anyone ever told you, you look good in a suit?”

She giggles to herself, playing with Wednesday’s newly tied tie. She lets it slip through her fingers, delighting in Wednesday’s chest slowly rising and falling.

Knowing by now how to wind her up and so obviously enjoying every second of it.

She only wished the wolfish girl had decency not to do so in company. It reminded her—she needed to have a word about etiquette for the night. Bianca was likely to ask too many questions, alone.

Divina looks amused between the two of them, locking eyes with Ophelia and nodding her head towards the newly open changing room.

“You next, blondie!” Divina yanks a dress off the rack. Its covered in a dry cleaning bag, blocking her inquistive eyes from seeing any details.

“Brb,” Opehlia whispers to her, booping Wednesday on the nose with her pointer finger.

The seer frowns even deeper, Divina unable to hold in her laugh as the escort skips into the changing room. Wednesday shoves her hands in her red trousers, not the slightest bit amused at either party.

“Your coat and jewelry are in the bathroom,” Divina lets her know, the CEO nodding and sparing a single glance to the occupied stall before she goes to finish getting dressed for the evening.

/

Growing up—not to rehash it, more so coming to terms with it—things were more black and white.

Black and white. Night and day. Alpha and Omega. The way her parents had described it to her, in lieu of her curling lip of disgust at their affections. The way her father was so possessive, so passionate no matter the circ*mstances.

Alphas could be shameless creatures. Even under her father’s arm, she’s memory of Gomez’s rapier.

Fighting tooth and nail for her mother’s hand.

“Mi corazon, mi todos…hasta mi último respiro.” With blood on his hands from another unsuccessful interloper.

Coming from a wealthy family like the Frumps; her mother was quite the catch. The only Omega born amongst her Beta and Alpha siblings. Her father wasn’t her only possible suitor by any means.

And such a good, proper Omega Morticia was—how she held herself. Always smiling with thinly veiled mirth at her Alpha ‘defending her honor’ and scaring away a common flirt. Gomez was every bit that classic Hollywood-ized idea of a gentleman, a strong protective Alpha with an Omega that in return followed him near blindly.

While Wednesday found the display in and of itself rather comical in her own right (and the blood a nice touch)—the after was nauseating. The handkerchief to wipe her father’s brow as her parents embrace with a kiss. An ego bruised Alpha sulking off with its tail between its legs.

Her mother always seemed to preen under the extra attention. Wednesday thought the whole thing to be egregious. She was no damsel. She didn’t need anyone trying to win her hand.

She’s always been taught that Alphas were the aggressors—the jealous/possessive types.

So, why does Wednesday feel so?

Normally, she can pride herself on doing the opposite of what’s expected of her. Taking the lead on these things…normally Alphas chose their Omegas.

Alphas were meant to fight each other over a well suited Omega. Battle for their womb and bragging rights, like society had always taught. And she didn’t want that by any means, but her own instincts were screaming at her to do something.

She didn’t want to dig too deep into her own psyche to deal with what might be. Wednesday digs her nails into the arm of the seat below her unconsciously instead.

The couches in Divina’s shop were soft, silken, blue leather; two of them, and an accompanying arm chair. She was tracing it with her eyes as she waited. Sitting center, legs crossed and foot fighting urge to tap its impatience.

How long does it take to put on a dress that’s already been fitted and tailored? She had paid rather handsomely for timeliness.

She pulls her suit jacket a little closer, looking down at her black platform loafers. If Divina could be trusted with anything, an outfit was it. The detail in each seam, down to the personalized requests the siren obliged.

Her jacket was red like her trousers, the muted tone much more easy to stomach. The lapels had twin handsome ravens perched, hand stitched on like patches. Her wallet was attached to pocket chain that hung low. She wasn’t the biggest fan of jewelry, but she did keep her family ring on her thumb.

It used to belong to the founder of Addams & Co. The only other thing she wore wasn’t visible to the public eye, partially on purpose. Her mother had given her a necklace to help with her seer abilities back in her academy days. She kept it tucked under her shirt, feeling the need to be cautious just in case Rowan tried anything.

“OMG, he did not—stop!” Followed by laughs come from around the corner. Its unmistakably Ophelia and undoubtedly amused more than hurt.

What was cause for concern was how miffed Wednesday feels at whatever Divina said, or did to garner such a reaction.

Just what was so damn funny?

Probably some asinine quip or small talk, the seer tries to rationalize. Divina was a twin after all. Its the same thing Kent would do.

(Kent also hadn’t admitted to being attracted to the escort Wednesday was planning on making further arrangements with.)

Still, Wednesday blew air through her nose, huffing and eyeing her watch to check the time. It was…barely past six. Seems they had plenty. Well then.

Not that that was of any consolation, with the way her skin felt so prickly.

She felt antsy.

She’s leaned forward on her knees with her chin in her folded hands.

Her brow twitches on its own accord when the two women finally round the corner to where she’s sitting in the waiting area. Wednesday thinks she would’ve chewed her tongue off if she had waited in the changing room. She was already grinding teeth watching the way Ophelia smiled a little too wide at the compliments Divina was tossing her way.

Such a polite Alpha she was…

“You look sofreaking c*nt, it’s actually some of my best work so far,” The siren mentioned with a smirk. Her wandering hand traced the thin strap of the gown innocently, eliciting bashful giggles from the werewolf girl. Divina meets Wednesday’s eyes that were intensely staring back, “Wouldn’t you agree, Wednesday?”

Its genuine, the tone the siren uses. Its not meant to be threatening or any way negative. And yet…

The CEO sat up in her seat slowly, taking in the entirety of the garment that Ophelia wore. The deep diluted red complimentary to her own suit, an ornate corset sat at her midriff. It was decorated with flowing lace and she had a sheer shawl draped over her delicate shoulders.

Wednesday knew them to be far stronger than they appeared. And that she didn’t like the way Divina’s hands were lingering.

Merde, she feels like a child.

Like watching her brother play with her favorite toy. Only Ophelia was a person—she’s free to touch or be touched by whomever she wants. Wednesday shouldn’t be a factor.

What they have currently is transactional. Just business.

Even if the escort agrees to seeing her again, and if their interactions since have been any indication, she likely did; it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Ophelia had every right to see other people.

Wednesday could buy her time, her attention and body…but not her life.

“Have I left you speechless, Mr. Addams?” Ophelia teased, bringing Wednesday from her internal battle and back to reality. She stares into curious blues, the escort raising both brows and then twirling in place.

She looked absolutely vexing. Walking sin that tempted her every nerve.

“You look…sharp,” She settles on, stiff and with an awkward clearing of her throat. Even Divina snorts out a laugh, Ophelia plopping down on the couch next to her as she giggles. Wednesday grumbled, crossing her arms as the couch dipped with the added weight. “Never mind then. Don’t fish for compliments if you’re not prepared for what you might reel in.”

The werewolf girl snorts, the playfully leaning a bit of her weight into her stiffened form.

“Hey, I mean…it’s definitely a new one. Better than the cheesy lines that I get when I go to bars. You’re respectful,” Ophelia patted her leg with a grin.

Respectful. She’s used that word to describe Wednesday quite a few times.

“So obedient…”

It makes her feel silly. Makes her cheeks redden in embarrassment and memory. Her dream tantalizing and so close, yet so far removed from her current reality.

And the way Ophelia looks at her, like she can tell that Wednesday needs it. Needs her something fierce, the smell of pastry wrapping around her. Not forced down her throat, because—by proxy, the wolf knew what she needed.

She didn’t give Divina that kind of treatment.

She didn’t have Divina on her back and taking her knot, either she can’t help but think. Even worse, the thought genuinely quells her. The Omega in her feels deeply satisfied at the thought, a pleased purr beginning to coil in her gut; she swallows it down harshly.

Wednesday just feels woefully conflicted. These two sides of herself bouncing around her belly like food poisoning, only she can’t force herself to empty her gut and flush it away.

“Alright, let me get a picture of you two real fast for my socials,” Divina has her phone in hand again. She has them both stand, gesturing them closer together and then adjusting their clothes.

She spends a little too long messing with the straps of Ophelia’s gown in Wednesday’s humble opinion. Considering she didn’t spend nearly as much time adjusting Wednesday’s collar. Nor did they trade teasing giggles with each other, either.

Then the siren makes the mistake of dropping to her knees.

Its under the guise of adjusting the hem of Ophelia’s gown, but the garment was short enough that she had no real need. The seer narrows her eyes, clearing her throat at first, but going ignored.

Divina was too busy making eyes at Ophelia.

“Not to interrupt,” Wednesday states, loud enough to get the attention of both girls. “We have an itinerary for the evening and I’d like to stick to it.”

Divina only raised a brow, raising to her feet. She backs away from the Alpha, snorting as she grabs her phone from her pocket again.

“Ok…” Divina trailed, then more so under her breath she mumbles, “As if Bianca’s events don’t notoriously start late every time.”

Wednesday only glares in response, not sparing Ophelia a single glance. She didn’t have an answer for her behavior. Didn’t toss an excuse out.

She wasn’t going to torture herself (for once) in trying to figure one out at the moment, either.

Taking pictures next to the escort felt like an eternity, with her own thoughts battling her latent instincts. Because, again, why does it matter if Divina or anyone else touched Ophelia? When she herself has yet to voice any kind of offer?

It doesn’t.

(It shouldn’t.)

“Can you air drop me those?” Ophelia asks, wiping at her bottom lip with her thumb. She’s un-encumbered, seeming to not notice her personal conundrum. Which, for her pride’s sake, was for the best.

Because it made no sense to feel this way.

Unreasonably bothered like she’s some exclusivity in their arrangement. As if Wednesday hadn’t been the one who avoided the escort for a month and probably longer had fate not been against her.

Wednesday had been the one to deny anything more. It was easier to call it a one off, or mentally categorize her with the other Alphas.

Ophelia was never what she expected, however.

She doesn’t quite want to voice that thought. Doesn’t know how to voice this petulant emotion that she’d never felt before this inopportune moment. Just sinks back into her seat while Ophelia speaks.

And Ophelia—ever attentive and somehow every to read her every move—she keeps this proximity as if cementing her place.

Wednesday’s date for the night. It keeps rolling around uneasily in her belly, leaving her frustrated and flustered. Ophelia doesn’t move her hand from the seer’s thigh after patting it. She even gently squeezes periodically while she keeps conversation with Divina.

Wednesday’s stiff as ever, quiet in a way that’s not unusual. Of course, the escort slides her these curious looks every so often up until they make their leave. She’s likely not expecting Wednesday to spill her guts, but she definitely knows something is up.

Wednesday’s goodbye to Divina was quaint, to which even the siren can’t help but co*ck her head.

Wednesday’s only lucky she doesn’t say anything about it. She probably just thought the CEO wasn’t in a particularly social mood as she often wasn’t.

The way she slides herself into the car with her own arms around her body and barely a word to the escort. Its subtle, because she’s not a particularly talkative person anyway.

But, Ophelia had spent a bit of time in her space.

(In her head…inside her…)

“Something on your mind, Mr. Broody,” Ophelia asks easily enough. Giving her a funny look after her attempts at footsie fail soon after enactment. She co*cks her head, “You’re quieter than normal…am I that bad a date?”

Wednesday’s only happy for the bottle of liquor that she kept on ice in back of the large vehicle. She swirls ice around the glass with a noncommittal hum. Because she doesn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would mean there was something that needed to be addressed between them.

As if she’s not already breaking every single rule she set for herself before going into this.

“Im simply biding my time before the circus,” She says, keen to talk about the event they’re in route to. It was far more safe a subject, ironically. “As you know, these things tend to have quite a few stakes. Lots of heavy pockets and egos in the same room.”

“Mmm, my favorite,” Ophelia deadpans, grinning at the look she gets in return. “Low key wondering if I’ll see some familiar wallets on the guest list, then.”

It has Wednesday’s grip tightening around her glass. As if she’s never heard the escort talk about other people. As if it’s not a given.

She thinks what bothers her is the inflection. Ophelia mentioning her other ventures like she’s waiting for a reaction. Wednesday would hard pressed to give her one. She’s too much pride.

“You know…I always quite liked the circus myself as a little one. I liked the danger of it,” Wednesday comments. She pours herself another glass as she drawls, “I always hoped to be in attendance during an accident. See the ring master be consumed by the lion kept in captivity.”

All the while Ophelia only looks at her funny, smiling albeit uneasy. Wednesday not a stranger to that kind of reaction. In a way it satisfies her to draw it. To take reins of the conversation.

“Well, that’s…morbid,” Ophelia blinks, rolling the word around her mouth before humming. “On brand though. Plus, its cute to picture you even smaller than you are now. I can only imagine you in booster seat.”

The escort replies cheekily, laughter framing the end, to which Wednesday is momentarily thrown.

“Im perfectly average height considering my gene pool,” The CEO corrects with a frown, huffing when Ophelia only covers her giggles with her hand. “Perhaps I should rescind the surprise I had so carefully planned for tonight?”

She’s bluffing—the ‘surprise’ was just as much to her own benefit.

Ophelia looks like she can tell, even with her tone. The blonde biting her lips closed and pretending to zip her lips.

“I’ll be good!”

“As I was saying…” Wednesday continued, before she lost her nerve. This isn’t something she’s used to—at all. “I took such an interest my parents, the permissive saps they are, offered to take me any time they were in town. It evolved into lessons eventually.”

“You are pretty flexible…or so I noticed,” Ophelia interjects, winking at her when Wednesday frowns at being interrupted again. Even worse, now she’s thinking about how the escort knows how flexible she is.

When she’d been rag-dolling her about the bedroom, splitting her legs open as far as they could go. Testing her limits to ensure her knot took.

Ahem.

“Yes…I did in fact take gymnastics for quite a while. I still find a lot of the disciplinary elements and stretching to be of use to this day,” Wednesday’s filling space with fluff now. Treating it too much like a meeting with the board, instead of what it was. She clears her throat, “I particularly found myself taken by the woman I saw swallowing a sword.”

Ophelia hums her interest, poking out her lips as she listens. Wednesday finds herself unable to look for long. Unable to feel the chill of the night, or the usual temperature she kept in the hearse.

She messes with her tie like a nervous tick—something she’s never had. Ophelia just has this way of uprooting her everything. She has more of her drink to salve herself.

“Sir?” Ophelia prompts with a mix of concern and amusem*nt. Likely at how she looked so out of place simply sharing a random anecdote about her academy days.

“I became…adept at it. Exceptional even—at sword swallowing,” Wednesday finishes, wanting to crack herself over the head with her glass. What on Earth is this bout of dither?

Her mother always made these things look so juvenile. Tempting her father with a flick of a wrist.

But, Ophelia just co*cks her head, like an adorably lost puppy. Of course. She even grins at her.

“Woah, that’s actually really cool—does that mean you can like chug stuff really fast then?” The blonde asked in earnest curiosity. Wednesday, tries to use it to segue.

“My gag reflex isn’t much of a factor, no,” She manages to meet and hold those unsuspecting eyes. She’s not much in terms of knowledge on how to seduce. Just a way in which she lowers her tone, trying to sound suggestive. “I could probably swallow more than just weaponry. Perhaps you’d like to…bear witness?”

She poses the question coy, trying to emulate some of the way in which the escort like to tease. Not nearly as enthusiastic of course, but she thinks she’s laid it on rather thick. Short of pumping her scent out, like she’s going into heat again early.

Ophelia hums again, as if extremely intrigued. Wednesday feels her heart pounding at the way the escort suddenly climbs to the other side of the hearse where she’s sitting. Nevermind the moving vehicle, as she’s straddled.

Before she hold onto the seat or anything else, those manicured nails are wrapping around her tie, gripping it enough to choke; not nearly as hard as she’d like but it sent a message.

Her eyes lid and her mouth falls open as Ophelia looks down at her with a small smile.

“You told me you don’t get on your knees for Alphas…” Ophelia mentions, as if she needed a reminder of that right now. It only makes her face redder, the escort cooing, and free hand holding flustered cheeks, “What changed?”

Wednesday fights to swallow, throat struggling as she fends urge to cough. Her pulse is hammering on the side of her neck, as the fabric presses deliciously. As Ophelia treats her something to play with…like a chew toy.

Her prey.

“E-Everything…” Wednesday hates the way she stammers, but really she’s lucky she gets anything comprehensive out. Its hard enough to think with the throbbing in her trousers.

Ophelia inhales, two quick sniffs at the air that serve to make her lips quirk up in amusem*nt. The mix of bitter coffee, sweetened with a fresh morning bun.

It reduced her back into a simpering fool.

“And yet you can’t even say it, can you?”Ophelia teased, enjoying overtly how she only growls her dissatisfaction at being denied. The escort lets go of her tie, smoothing it back down with smoldering eyes, “Like I said before—I won’t do anything unless you tell me. So, until you can ask for what you want…oh, look! I think we’ve made it.”

Wednesday feels herself reeling, suddenly having the weight and furnace like heat ripped from her body. The wolf is off her lap and bouncing in the seat next to her like an eager child. As if she hadn’t left Wednesday to pick up the pieces of her own demise.

She bites her lip as she watches the way the CEO has to adjust herself. Fixing her trousers, because they feel too tight and the thighs were wrinkled. Ophelia bites her lip, mischievous like she planned it this way all along.

Well then…it wasn’t a no—it wasn’t a clear yes either.

She’s going to have to ask directly if she wants to be sure. Tell Ophelia exactly what she wants, without filler. The escort wanted to be sure that she was.

Wednesday hadn’t been able to say it any way that wasn’t metaphorical. Suggestive, like a well thought riddle; it was more her style. She’s blunt, cruel and honest, but never vulgar.

She’s not some prudish thing. She grew up in a hell house where the walls practically breathed in tune with her. Not many things scared her whatsoever…but the thought of submitting.

Full submission.

Is that what she’s getting herself into?

It certainly felt like a gateway. She’s already craving, like a fiend at the thought of the Alpha denying what’s been screaming at her for weeks. Her head spinning as they exit the hearse, Lurch giving but a singular grunt once he opens the door to allow them to. There’s more people than she feared.

Bianca had gone all out in terms of planning an event. The public had even begun to gather around this nonsense of camera flash and red carpet. The siren wanted press for the Barclay comeback event, it would seem.

“Ooo, I bet the hors d'oeuvres are gonna go off! These types of events never skimp on the food,” Ophelia murmurs it like she’s giving insider knowledge. If she didn’t know already, she’d think the wolf had simply met Bianca before as the description was not far off.

“I’m only praying we don’t have to stay too long,” Wednesday rolls her eyes as they begin to walk towards the masses. Of course, some people recognize her, unfortunately.

“Mr. Addams! Mr. Addams!”

Chants that bang against her ear drums and make her more eager to get inside and find the champagne chutes. Better yet, shake down the weakest looking waiter to get something stronger.

She doesn’t go out often, so when she does gather amongst her peers it was hard to avoid them. Everyone wants a piece when you’ve so much to give.

The extra attention simply due to her reputation of being a hermit. Even now she doesn’t pause on the carpet, stuffing hands in her pocket and marching along without stopping. Any poor attendant trying to tell her where to go only got a blank stare in return.

“Sorry about her, she’s a little bit car sick—makes her extra grumpy,” Ophelia defends her. Variations of that along with a stellar smile and charm from doing these types of crowds before.

She knew the girl was experienced, but it was fascinating watching her work. Different than the girl at the cafe and more akin to the one she met that first night at the lounge. It worked in her favor, finding herself not having to do much of the talking for once.

Instead of simply glaring or subtle tells to leave her the hell alone, Ophelia was good at segueing. She was terribly polite, even making the man at the door checking names in blush.

“A-Addams party of…two?” Hes a big man, pumping protective pheromones up until Ophelia starts grinning at him. Wednesday just sighs, already tired of the night.

She just wanted to have the escort alone.

“Thanks sweetie,” She twiddles her fingers, even with her arm curled into Wednesday’s. It just makes the seer roll her eyes for the nth time—if only they knew what lay beneath. The idiot probably thought Ophelia was a Beta.

“You never cease to impress me with the venue, Mr. Addams,” Ophelia whispers as they walk inside. Its a grand area of columns, staircase in the center. A gorgeous balcony view outside overlooking the city, chandelier twinkling against the glass.

The blue accents alone a clear sign of the culprit. Well, at least she had a vision. Wednesday can’t say she’s surprised considering how long she’s known Bianca.

“My colleague practically breathes in opulent excess,” Wednesday shrugs. And like a buoy in arm’s length while drowning, she reaches for two chutes of champagne that happen to be passing by on a tray. She hands one to the escort, “Be lucky there’s no live birds inside this time.”

The wolf bumps their shoulders, laughing like she had told a good joke.

“But like…they were in a cage though, right?” Enid asks with a chuckle that fades at Wednesday’s unchanging expression.

“Suffice to say, the excrement from multiple passerine and a black tie event did not mix amicably.” Wednesday concludes, having to stop her lip from quirking its amusem*nt as she remembers one of the Alphas that had been bothering her that night, being a victim. Right on his entitled forehead.

“So, you know a lot of the people here, then?” Ophelia questions, but Wednesday only looks at her. She thought they had already gone over this?

“I know the Barclays, the one in charge of this mess, yes. I’m only briefly acquainted with the guests of interest—the Tanakas as I’m sure you already knew of,” Wednesday tags on. Anyone living here had likely seen the hospital.

“Just curious…” Ophelia trails, taking a healthy sip from her chute. “Lots of eyes on us already. No way you haven’t noticed?”

Wednesday hums, of course she had. She’s always vigilant in these spaces. And in knowing the guest list she’s extra so. She didn’t tell Ophelia about everyone here tonight for a reason. She purposefully chooses not to mention Rowan, not wanting to involve her.

And the less in the know, the better. Bianca was planning on introducing him to Tanaka, post securing their partnership. Not that Tanaka would then agree. No, Bianca was looking to humiliate him. Humble the Alpha as he’s denied at one of her parties.

Wednesday didn’t want to give him the time of day, let alone allow him the sense of ease he’s likely feeling. The rat probably thought he was only a few holes away from the cheese. Probably has his pitch rehearsed and smug smirk across his lips as he walks the carpet outside.

It didn’t matter to her—after what happened with Kent she wanted his head.

Wednesday’s relieved not to see him, her eyes had scanned the crowd like a hawk. And Ophelia’s correct; she finds more than a few people already staring back, quickly averting their eyes when caught. She only snorts, feeling the escort’s hold on her shifting as she’s suddenly being jostled.

“Ooo, I see the snack table!” Ophelia’s hound nose had sniffed out the spread Bianca had, had made. There were servers and everything, like a buffet line.

Wednesday huffs with mirth.

“Don’t let me slow you down,” She deadpans. Ophelia giggles, dragging her along regardless.

She doesn’t mind holding the plate while the blonde points at every meat available. There was some sort of charcuterie situation that had the wolf’s nostrils flaring. She only stares in blank faced amusem*nt at the growing pile and way in which the servers look at her strangely.

Its after, when Ophelia’s plucking a piece of wagyu beef off a tooth pick that they spot the guest of honor. More accurately, Tanaka’s current heir makes her way around the room, shaking hands and hiding behind sunglasses even in cloak of night.

Wednesday narrows her eyes, wondering where Bianca was off schmoozing. It felt too good to be true that the siren hadn’t made her grand entrance.

“I’m going to get another drink,” She tells the escort, handing off the plate. The blonde nods absently, almost like she’s distracted. Wednesday reminds her, “Don’t get into anything while I’m gone.”

Ophelia looks in mock offense, chewing and swallowing dramatically.

“What could I possibly do in the time it takes you to get back from the bar?” The escort questions, but can’t stop herself from smiling. Wednesday just squints at her before she turns on her heel.

She’s not necessarily surprised to not see Bianca at all. The girl tended to disappear during her own parties, loving the attention and basking in each opportunity for conversation. She’s just lucky to not be obligated to participate.

Just nodding at whatever suit and gown she had personal correspondence with. A lot of her own contacts were in attendance, due to her name being used in tandem. She didn’t really care so long as the bartender finally catches her eye.

Whiskey neat. Its strong, but expensively smooth; it goes down the pipe it needs.

She carries it with her as she wanders. Mainly because she doesn’t see the escort at first glance.

She’s not worried about Ophelia—she fears the girl could make friends with a tree stump. And her petty feelings over Divina’s burgeoning attraction had since dulled. If the situation in the hearse on the way here meant anything…

Wednesday hums, her legs working on autopilot. She finds herself walking back towards where she had left the wolf, but of course the blonde is no where to be found. She squints her eyes, glass in hand as she scans for those multicolored locks. Theres no way she could’ve gone far.

And not far at all is where she’s found.

Its not until she gets close to the open door of the balcony that she hears it—that laugh. The one where the wolf throws her head back, before trying to cover it with her mouth. Wednesday narrows her eyes at the sound, almost expecting a repeat of the Divina debacle. However she finds Ophelia talking to another Alpha.

Tanaka’s heir, in fact.

“But yeah, you haven’t missed much…lot of the same sh*t, honestly,” The vampire concludes whatever anecdote with a sip of her own glass. Ophelia leaning on the railing next to her, grinning like old friends.

“I figured…things don’t really change with these types, do they?” The blonde questions with a shrug. Then, as if sniffing her out she takes note of Wednesday standing just off. She gestures her with an even wider smile, “Mr. Addams! There you are, did you get your demon co*cktail?”

The wolf ribs her, eyeing the tawny colored straight liquor in her glass. Wednesday only rolls her eyes.

“I ordered my adult beverage, yes,” She quips back then meets the curious stare of the vampire beside the wolf. She couldn’t look her directly in the eyes, but she could see the red irises behind the shades. “Tanaka. Good to see you’re still kicking, I suppose.”

The vampire smiles smugly, sitting her empty glass on ledge of the balcony.

“Was almost afraid you’d forgotten me,” Tanaka says in mock offense. “It’d been a long time since I had someone threaten to stake me and dead ass try.”

Wednesday feels her lip quirk up in remembrance, but she subdues it. She had almost forgotten the make shift dagger she’d made from kicking the leg off a chair. It’s the vampire’s own fault for trying to get her scent, leaning close and waggling her brows.

Leech.

“You’ve met before, then?” Ophelia asks, looking between the two of them strangely. She’s smiling, but her eyes say otherwise,
lingering on a still grinning Tanaka.

But, thats not the strange thing here.

“I should be asking you the same,” Wednesday retorts, crossing her arms. “I believe I interrupted your reunion, actually.”

She keeps calculating eyes on the wolf, as if she can read her mind if she stares hard enough. Its not entirely out of the realm of possibility considering her occupation, but the escort hadn’t mentioned a thing in the hearse. Or at all.

And they looked terribly friendly at that.

“Previous client,” Ophelia replies easily. The vampire snorts, as if she finds the answer to be funny. Probably because Wednesday’s expression is likely one for the books.

“I wasn’t the client, obvi,” Tanaka clarified. Ophelia pulls a face of disgust after a moment of rapid blinking confusion.

“Oh, gross Yoko—not even being anti Alpha on Alpha, just…not with you. No offense,” Ophelia knocks shoulders with the vampire who only laughs at her rambled response.

“A sentiment we can share then,” Wednesday says in reference to her own experience with the dark haired Alpha. Tanaka pursed her lips, hands in her pockets as she levels her back.

“Well, since we’re asking…” Yoko starts anew, “How do you two know each other? I thought you didn’t keep the company of Alphas such as myself.”

Wednesday doesn’t budge, unamused as she recalls her own words. The vampire probably thinks herself clever for even bringing it up. She shrugs her shoulders, mustering up as much indifference as she can.

“Correct. And she’s very obviously not the Alpha you are,” Wednesday confirmed and Ophelia relinks their arms.

“Thats because some of us have game and some us don’t,” Ophelia says very pointedly to the vampire rather than her. Wednesday wants to snort at the haughtiness of it.

It doesn’t come off nearly as nauseating when Ophelia’s showing off. Didn’t leave a bad taste in her mouth. She finds herself fading into the night, leaned back against the railing as the two old friends talk. Wednesday growing increasingly suspicious the longer it goes on.

She doesn’t think the escort is entirely lying about where they know each other. However, something about their body language feels more cemented than merely meeting through a past job. Or, perhaps that was only tip of the iceberg.

“Barclay sure drives a hard bargain, eh?” Yoko gets her attention suddenly. Gestures with her glass with a grin, “This party is insane—and I lived through the 80s.”

“It’s nothing I’m not used to, unfortunately,” Wednesday rolls her eyes. “Bianca lives to impress…I think it desperately overkill, but I know her to believe very heavily in the cause.”

She bites her tongue of any insult or real critique towards the siren in lieu of her job tonight. She’s technically meant to be enticing Tanaka to buy into whatever new venture she planned on taking the Barclay name into.

“She may have mentioned something about event planning…I dunno, I was only half listening to her pitch for real.” Yoko recalls sheepishly, “I’ll probably take up her up on it, though. If she can plan my thousandth birthday for me, she’s pretty much hired.”

Wednesday listens warily, nearly incredulous at the blase attitude. Considering how much pressure Bianca had put on tonight atop of the fact that she’s been made to even be here. Ophelia just giggles, like its to be expected.

“Priorities…” She murmurs to Wedneaday teasingly. The entirety of the time they’d been talking outside, she’d been wedged close to the girl.

Its chilly outside and the wolf ran at furnace like temperatures. Along with the cloak of not being bothered for once at one of these events. She realizes how being in vicinity of the two Alphas probably kept others away. Normally she’d a bit more bitter about it.

Something about Ophelia makes her feel…light.

Relaxed, even when normally these kinds of parties see her hiding and staving off a headache. Normally she’d be tempted past only a drink or two—hell, normally she would’ve slunk away entirely by now.

Instead, she feels damn near comfortable, leaning against the wolf like an anchor. The words drown out under smell of flakey croissants wafting through night’s breeze. A strong bare arm wrapped around her own; Wednesday could almost pretend they were alone.

Almost.

Yoko was painfully (and not in a goof way) obvious. Yet, blissfully unaware of the tension coiling. Ignorant to the question laden on Wednesday’s tongue that sounded an awful lot like begging for what she wanted.

Because Ophelia asked her to.

She feels…

“I’m going to find the bathroom,” She says shocking even herself at how abruptly it comes out. She feels almost too hot suddenly.

“Ok! We’ll be out here still, probably,” Ophelia assures, turning her full body to face her. It’s unnerving in a way, the attention she naturally gives, “If not I’m sure I can sniff you out.”

Wednesday clicks her teeth but doesn’t tell her not to. The wolf’s gotten enough of a
whiff to pick her out of a line up, she’s sure.

“Try not to fall in, short stuff!” Tanaka calls after her, waving obnoxiously. The seer only gives a very eloquent and subtle middle finger on her way back inside, best behavior be damned.

Bianca would understand if it came up…surely.

She fights against a chill up her bones, something strange when she’s back inside. Its odd, considering she’s entering a heated, insulated room. Maybe Ophelia had simply spoiled her with natural heat.

Wednesday stuffs hands in her trouser pockets as she slinks through the crowd.

She’ll empty her bladder, grab another drink and find the gall to ask the escort to leave with her early; it wouldn’t be strange behavior from her. Most people were probably surprised she showed up at all. And Tanaka was all but sending Bianca an invoice to work together. Her good deed had been done.

Lurch was still in the vicinity. She could invite the escort with her to a hotel…finally tell her what she really wants.

Take the plunge.

Her loafers pace quickly, probably bordering on eager. Not like anyone would think she needed anything other than the toilet. She’d never been one to have visible crisis. To let anyone, let alone a room full of her peers see her sweat.

She’s moving so fast it doesn’t strike her how empty it is in the bathroom. How quiet the stall is felt like luck.

You could probably hear a pin drop. If not for the music outside. Bianca had hired a band, because of course she did. At least it was classical, strings of a piece she thinks she’s read before. Its with a distasteful down curl of her lips that she recalls the time the siren had booked a cover band of all things.

She still remembers the guitarist getting entirely too drunk before they were due to perform.

She spares the window by the sinks a glance. Its small, but enough to see the sky and remember how high up they are.

Well…Bianca truly outdid herself. Maybe she’s genuinely too distracted to nose into Wednesday’s personal life for once. She may actually make it out without the siren even seeing what Ophelia’s wearing.

When Wednesday goes to wash her hands she pulls off her gloves first.

She had almost forgotten she was still wearing them; it was often reflexive considering her aversion to touch. They were red leather, tight to her hands and she places them under her arm as she grabs the sink handle—

She sees the door locked, her hands frantically trying to pick the lock as a metal stall door comes at her head—

(What…on…Earth?)

She keeps her breaths steady, even as her pulse begins to pick up. Her visions…they weren’t always so abrupt. Not since she was still a teenager, during her academy days.

She had better control over her foresight, yes. However, sometimes they were no less unreliable. She didn’t see a face or sign of her would be attacker, however a part of her knows she won’t have to look very far.

“Game on, then.” She murmurs to herself, eyeing the stall doors in the mirror before addressing them head on.

Her steps are slow, calculated and light as she looks to the other closed stalls. No feet peak from under the partition, but she knows better than that.

One by one she kicks each bathroom stall open. She gets as far as the third, before pushed back against her foot, sending her sliding backwards as the door shatters the bathroom mirror.

Shattered glass rains, her arm going to up to shield her face as she looks up at her attacker.

As if she can’t already tell from that familiar acrid smell from her vision with Kent.

“Well, this is a lot messier than I planned…” Out steps Rowan from the stall. Standing atop the toilet seat, hopping down and waltzing towards her form. “Oh well. Hows it hanging down there, ‘Mega?”

Wednesday spits at his feet the second the title rolls off his tongue like a slur. It only goads him, causing him to try and lift her by the shirt collar with his gravitational pull. She feels her adrenaline going, leg kicking out to catch the man in the gut. And another to his face, though she almost misses him with the way she’s being held.

“Bitch!” He curses as he adjusts his glasses and wipes at his nose.

He falters, but doesn’t drop her. No, instead he tosses her across the cold tile making her back collide with the bottom of the sink. She grunts at the pain but doesn’t stay down for long, trying her damndest to get back to her feet.

She knows she has a knife somewhere, hidden in her bra—

“The plan was to make this look like an accident. But, of course you Addams have to come and ruin a good thing, huh?” Rowan rants, picking her up from the ground with force of his powers, before she can catch her footing. He has her pressed against the wall, a manic look in his eye. “You think I didn’t know you’d be here? Everyone knows Barclay is under your thumb.”

He sneers, lip curled in disgust as he talks.

“Its shameful—she’s an Alpha forGod’s sake, I mean….What could she possibly get out of working with you? Unless…” Rowan co*cks his head and gives a cruel sounding chuckle. “Are you f*cking her? I knew I was right to assume you’d be here once I saw you at the bar, but your scent…it changed.”

That definitely strikes a nerve. Wednesday growls, pumping her own bitter coffee smell in an attempt to drown out the scent clogging her nostrils. It makes her choke, harshly coughing and spitting before she can manage to get a word out.

“If you’re so sure I’m hers…why lay a finger on me?” Her voice is hoarse, but she’s not above bargaining at the moment. Calling his bluff, because she knows their time has to be waning.

People would notice sooner than later.

“Were you not paying attention? I’m going to make your last breath look like accident,” His smirk grows wider and he slams her back into the wall. “Its gonna be quite the scandal…a gathering full of outcasts already looks like a liability, doesn’t it? Add a casualty…who wouldn’t want to invest in my cure?”

Wednesday listens on incredulously. Not only was his plan absolutely insanely unhinged (enough so that she might even be fascinated in another context), but going against his own kind. Rowan was just as much of an outcast as everyone else in the building.

“I almost wish there was a version of your plan that includes my life,” Wednesday replies. “If not only so I could live to see it crash and burn. Just like your mother’s.”

She’s probably playing with her own life, poking at the psychic so. But, she knew Alphas to be emotional. And with said emotion—they become sloppy.

Especially when their pride is prodded. Its worth it, getting slammed into the wall once more and force so tight around her neck that she begins to choke. Rowan gets in her face, breath hot and Alpha stench all encompassing.

“Never speak of her! You have no right to even mention her name!”

She feels the wind knocked from her lungs, but she also knows its only a matter of time. She lunges with the knife hidden up her sleeve, managing a singular swipe to his cheek before its ripped from her hands and shanked into the wall.

Rowan wipes at his face with the hand not holding her steady. He looks at the blood with a shake of his head and fire burning behind his eyes.

“You think you’re clever, do you Omega? You think its funny to disobey?” He has gall to grab her face, twisting her neck harshly as he mocks her. “You need to be put in your place you f*cking—“

She loathes it, but she feels genuine relief when she hears the bathroom door jostling. It clicks stubbornly against the lock and Rowan clicks his teeth.

“Dammit,” He drops her like a sack. He’s frantic, pushing his glasses up as he runs at it. He tries his best to hold the door shut, both hands raised in attempt to hold it back,but its no match for the force on the other side.

From her spot, breathing ragged against the wall, she sees Ophelia. Her arms bulging and furry, claws extended on both hands. Her scent like burning toast, the threat of ash imminent with the yellow glow of her eyes.

“Get the hell away from her you creep!” The Alpha growls, showing her fangs. On her heel, curiously is Tanaka’s heir.

“E, watch out!” The vampire warns as the psychic begins his defense.

Rowan tries to fight back, throwing different items: a soap dispenser, another stall door, shards of glass. All cut through like butter with those powerful claws. A howl sounds through room, reverberating off the tile walls as the wolf tires of being thwarted.

And the smarmy Alpha finds himself backed quickly into the wall. He creates a forcefield around himself, grunting with exertion as Ophelia’s fists rain down on it. The force dents it considerably, but Wednesday quickly sees its nothing more than a distraction.

The glass from the window she had once been admiring was broken. Rowan kept looking over his shoulder like he was contemplating something.

“He’s escaping!” Wednesday yells, voice scratchy and broken. It makes Ophelia growl, her hits backed with more vitriol.

“This isn’t over!” Rowan promises it, pointing in Wednesday’s direction. The seer had wobbled onto her feet, leaning forward because her back felt like hell. Hand on the wall for support, she holds his crazed eyes.

Ophelia tries to lunge for him.

Rowan jumps through the broken window. It’s tiny, but enough for him to fly out. His lanky body slinks through as he narrowly avoided the angry wolf. Instead her claws slash into the tile on the wall, growling menacingly. Tanaka’s heir still on her tail, she grabs the wolf’s shoulder.

“Not worth it, pup,” The vampire reminds her. Then, she turns her head, meeting eyes with Wednesday briefly and tilting her head. She whispers something else that she doesn’t hear, but thats not of concern in this moment.

She begins to hack and cough again, something serious. Hands on her knees, she struggles to keep her balance.

Wednesday’s legs nearly buckle, but she finds herself held by strong pale arms. Ophelia’s scent surrounding her again, like laughing gas to assuage her stress.

“You holding on there sir?” The wolf murmurs into her ear. Wednesday could sense her worry, even through the calming pheromones she could tell the wolf was unconsciously letting out.

“Still with the living…unfortunately.”

Chapter 11: Beckoned By Your Hand

Chapter Text

Wednesday sits stiff and uncooperative like a pet being examined at the vet. Trying to stop herself from batting hands away from the medic that was conveniently on sight considering the blood drive. Ophelia had given her a stern look for trying to deny the inspection of her injuries.

Had been overseeing her, ever since they exited the building. Her canine nose had prodded at her neck, the top of her head and torso back in the bathroom.

It was frantic, feral even.

Tanaka’s hands had been moving a mile a minute on her device as she was carried like an irate toddler down multiple steps by an equally impatient Ophelia.

“I didn’t injure my legs you presumptuous dog!” Wednesday had stubbornly hissed in the escort’s ear.

“This isn’t the time.” Ophelia’s harsh tone is one she hadn’t been expecting nor had she ever heard from the bubbly Alpha.

And the look she had gotten in return…the yellow still in those eyes…

Wednesday just grumbles to herself in the present, sitting in back of an ambulance with a thin blanket around her body.

Nothing’s broken. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. Just a heavily bruised neck and back, along with a gnarly scar on side of her forehead. Apparently, some glass had sliced her during the scuffle and she hadn’t noticed the blood dripping down her cheek.

She had wiped her face with a blank look, not quite registering anything wrong until Ophelia growled low like a warning. Picked her up with no room for protest.

The wolf was standing like a guardian next to her. Leaned against the ambulance and watching as Tanaka talked with someone in law enforcement some feet away. Wednesday didn’t want to bother. She hated dealing with cops.

She hisses as a bandage is placed on her forehead cut. She hates being touched by strangers, even for a cause.

Ophelia tensed next to her, getting close like she thinks the medic is going to harm her. Its low, but she hears a growl bubbling in the blonde’s belly. The man blinks, slowly removing his hand from the bandaged wound and Wednesday rolls her eyes.

“Shush,” She scolds the blonde, frowning in distaste at the covering of her battle scar. “The sooner I deal with the examination the sooner we can leave.”

But of course, the best laid plans and all that…

“Not so fast, Addams!” Comes the voice of one Bianca Barclay. She’s fast walking in red bottom heels, jewelry swaying and lifting hem of her gown to move easier. She has a determined fire blazing in her eyes that has the seer preemptively sighing. “Just what the hell is going on here? What happened?”

Wednesday coughs as she gets closer, the smell of her anger a bit overwhelming with state of her throat. She knew it was likely unconscious, the siren a mix of concerned, confused and aghast. Ophelia has an arm on her shoulder like reflex the second she begins to hack.

“It was nothing,” Wednesday clears her throat harshly. “I’m still alive as you can see. And Tanaka is on board.”

But Bianca looks like thats the last thing she wants to hear. Like she doesn’t even know why Wednesday brought it up.

“I don’t give a f*ck about Tanaka right now Wednesday! You could’ve died!” Bianca snaps through gritted teeth. She gets closer to the seer, inspecting her injuries with a click of her teeth, “The damage in the bathroom didn’t lie I see. You look like sh*t, Addams.”

“Swimming observation as always,” Wednesday grumbles, smacking at the hand that tries to further scrutinize her injury.

It was reflexive, but the eerily quiet wolf at her side takes it for something more. She has nerve to grab Bianca’s wrist, shoving it away from the seer.

“I think you need to take a few steps back,” Ophelia says with hard eyes. She places herself a step forward, scent still subtle but standing so close—Wednesday feels light headed all over again. “She doesn’t like being touched.”

And Bianca scoffs, nostrils twitching and eyes alighting like she put something together.

“Oh, oh!” Bianca laughs humorlessly, obviously not enjoying the other Alpha making any kind of request. She crosses her arms and looks at Ophelia very condescendingly, “I don’t know who you think are, darling…but this isn’t your friend of ten plus years,or your event that got ruined.”

“Why was such a dangerous Alpha that doesn’t respect your Omega guests invited to your ‘precious’ event, then?” Ophelia claps back, making the siren narrow her eyes in irritation. “I’m assuming you have access to your own guest list?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Bianca scoffed in offense. “In fact, you should be lucky you were even allowed in!”

“If I hadn’t been here, your ‘bestie’ wouldn’t be here right now!”

“Oh, thats f*cking—“

“Bianca.” Wednesday’s voice is still hoarse, but the command sharp enough to get both their attention. Her hand going to her injured throat, it still hurts to swallow. Ophelia immediately is back at her side, almost falling to her knee to make sure she’s ok.

Wednesday shakes her head, feeling a bit embarrassed at the devotion from the werewolf girl. She hadn’t left her side since she found her in the bathroom.

“Sir?” She mumbles quietly, enough that Bianca can’t hear properly. The siren looks at them both strangely, Wednesday catching her eye before pressing her lips together.

She looks towards where Yoko’s still talking with hands in her pockets.

“Go assist Tanaka. I’m sure they’ll want a statement from you too.” Wednesday tries to push her into leaving for a moment. She wants to talk to Bianca alone. She tries to emphasize with her eyes, with the way she hesitantly pats the wolf’s hand on arm. “It won’t take too long. And I’d prefer not to speak with them, myself.”

At that Ophelia nods, albeit it takes her moment to get to her feet again. She hesitates, sharing a stare down with a smug looking Bianca before she finally walks stiffly over to Yoko.

Then, the siren looks down at her with squinting eyes.

“New bodyguard?” She asks, but not in a way that told of how serious she was being. Wednesday shrugs a shoulder.

“Just for tonight…I don’t plan on making this a habit.” Needing people, she means. Its bad enough that she can barely stop her eyes from fleeting over to the blonde and where she’s standing now.

Bianca lets out a loud ‘tuh’ in being humored by noticing. Wednesday feels herself regretfully flushing.

“Well, no sh*t. I would hope not,” Bianca tries to quip. She sits next to Wednesday on edge of the ambulance. They sit in silence for a moment before the Alpha sighs, “Almost f*cking had him, too. Had I not been running my mouth…”

Wednesday can’t help but snort.

“I can’t help but say ‘I told you so’ about the guest list,” She says it neutrally. Not like she’s rubbing anything in, because she knows Bianca wouldn’t have her taken out like this. Not purposefully.

But, the siren doesn’t take it that way. She looks to the blonde wolf, that just so happens to be looking back at them like she’s checking for something. Bianca laughs, cackles even but it doesn’t sound like she thinks anything is particularly funny.

“You don’t seriously believe her, do you? You think I planned to f*ck up my event and almost get you killed?” Bianca asks incredulously. “You know I would never do this on purpose. If I had known that f*cking snake would—“

Wednesday holds up a hand.

“Ophelia hasn’t done anything to sway my opinion of you, if thats what you’re implying.” The seer corrects before the assumption can even set. “She’s only doing her job as my appointed escort for the night.”

Wednesday puts a subtle emphasis on the word; tries to justify the protective nature of the wolf. She’d been paid, technically, with one of the purposes being to help her get through the night with minimal interaction.

So…it makes sense that Ophelia had been so ready to defend her. Doesn’t make a difference if Bianca’s looking at her in search of some hidden meaning, or something omitted.

“Must be paying her weight in gold,” Bianca mentioned cheekily. “Or, is it the benefits she finds so appealing?”

“Don’t.” Wednesday warns, groaning at the way Bianca laughs more genuinely this time.

“Thought she looked a bit familiar, but I only got a tiny glance at her pfp,” Bianca mentions casually. She had been over that faithful night, when Wednesday met with the escort for the first time. “Never thought I’d see the day…”

Bianca sighs wistfully, leaning her head on her fist. Wednesday wished her body didn’t hurt so much. She’d have long walked away.

“Keep poking at her and you may very well not.”

“So…you’re keeping her around? How sweet of you—adopting a stray,” Bianca pretends to coo. Wednesday rolls her eyes pulling the blanket closer.

“I plan on offering an arrangement of sorts. Something mutually beneficial,” Wednesday reveals hesitantly. Waits for Bianca to hum in interest before continuing. “She’s proven to be…compatible. With my lifestyle and whatnot.”

Bianca does a proper double take at that. Wednesday doesn’t want to know if she’s being serious, or simply teasing with the way her expressions shift.

“Compatible? With an Alpha?” The siren asks with a laugh.

“Is that such a novel concept to you?” Wednesday replies back, defensive and annoyed at the way the siren keeps grinning. Like she knows something. It makes her huff, “Not all of us have a new partner every day of the week.”

Bianca lets it roll off her shoulders, too high off of her perception of being right.

“You could too,” The mermaid girl shrugs, haughty. “…But, I’m afraid your dog would bite off the head of anyone who tries.”

Before she can further strain her back in trying to strangle Bianca, they both notice the approaching feet coming towards them.

“Welp!” Yoko comes to interject, clapping her hands together and breaking the moment she was sharing with her unlikeliest and oldest friend. “That was a two pack of ass…”

Ophelia looks between the both of them with rapid eyes, but makes no comment on their closeness. Just idles next to Tanaka, but close enough that Wednesday could reach out to her.

Not that she was planning on it. Just an observation.

“Man I hate talking to old white dudes, he was such a prick about it,” Yoko complains with a dirty look thrown at the officer she was conversing with. “Plus he’s a normie so he half way thinks I’m lying.”

“And he kept looking at our fangs, I could tell he was low key scared,” Ophelia tags on with a roll of her own eyes.

Wednesday hums in agreement, definitely understanding the feeling. Its why she has Eugene watching her door instead of some officer or security.

“Well thankfully I know a good lawyer or two,” Bianca sighs, looking like a headache was oncoming. “Just great…I already had to pull crazy strings to get them to let me host a space with that many outcasts. If the cops don’t get him? I’m gonna skin that idiot Laslow myself.”

“Not if I don’t get to him first,” Ophelia adds, with a dramatic cracking of her knuckles. Her eyes still containing flecks like gold strips.

Wednesday can’t help but linger on her arms; flexing hidden muscle with minimal effort.

“Cute, but you’re not the one out several thousand dollars, blondie.” Bianca replies, still not looking particularly fond of the wolf.

She’s tempted to intervene with whatever high horse Bianca’s decided to mount; Ophelia doesn’t look bothered, though. She just gets this grin, like the siren had started waving a stick.

“We can rock paper scissors for it?” The wolf quips and Bianca pursed her lips in displeasure, muttering under her breath.

“Maybe I’ll let you have the scraps if I’m generous…”

“If you’re done herding up the pigs,” Wednesday changes subject. “Does that mean I’m free to leave? The sooner we get out of here the sooner—“

She tries to get up for the first time since Ophelia sat her there. She immediately feels her back seize in pain, her hand going to support it like someone’s geriatric abuela. She glares at Bianca for trying to reach out to steady her and the siren’s hands go up in defense.

Ophelia doesn’t get the warning.

“Oh, no you don’t,” The wolf halts her, hand on her chest and stabilizing her back. “Doctor said to take it easy. We can leave when she’s back with the heating pad.”

The seer grumbles, mumbling curses and how useless this all was in a language only she could understand. And Bianca from proximity, if the way she snickers were any indication.

One thing was for certain—Rowan was gone. For the moment, at least.

He wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity, nor did Ophelia still smell him. There were dogs brought to the scene later, along with another werewolf on the force, but to no avail. They were in route to check his residence, but if the psychic had half a mind left thats the last place he’d go.

On top of the fact that they’d likely need a warrant to do a full search. Useless, the lot of them.

Wednesday just wanted to get back to her apartment. Wanted to raid her medicine cabinet for the rest of her Grandmama’s healing potion so she could be in the office first thing to start trying to track him herself. Make him pay for trying her life and having nerve to attack Ophelia too.

The escort had other plans, however.

“Assuming my surprise is on hold?” The wolf asks, when they find themselves alone again. While Yoko’s conversing with her other family members in attendance and Bianca’s on the phone with yet another one of her contacts.

They’re waiting around for Lurch to finally pull up amidst the bustle of a make shift crime scene.

Her mind had been elsewhere. She had been taken in her reverie of vengeance. Felt something rotten like guilt at the fact that Ophelia had even been involved. And even more confusing stirrings at the way the Alpha took care of it. Had defended her, standing ten toes down.

The howl of the beast that quaked her bones.

Not quite the same as the woman who now looked at her with twinkling eyes. Wednesday feels awkward, holding her blazer around herself like a blanket while Ophelia holds her steady. Holds the heating pad in place against her sore back. It felt an awful lot like Wednesday’s the one who needed assistance in this situation.

How…not at all what she had expected.

“Apologies…though I do believe I owe you far more than what you were anticipating,” Wednesday admits eyes down to the sidewalk. “You went above and beyond your pay. In fact, I’m inclined to offer you more than double what I initially did for the night.”

A ‘pshhh’ sounds from the escort, blonde hair nearly catching in her mouth from how quick she turns her head.

“You think I’d let you die because I’m not being paid enough?” Ophelia asks, brow raised with a small smile. As if that were a silly concept, she shook her head, “I liked tonight. It was fun hanging out with you again—no, honestly!”

The escort laughs at the way she groans at any endearment towards herself. Especially when she’s made herself a liability.

“Despite the fact that I’ve managed to impair myself to the point of ‘requiring’ assistance?” Wednesday questioned, making an expression of distaste at her current state. She felt like a child admitting to needing help to any capacity.

“Well, I’m not saying no to being spoiled a bit more if you’re offering…” Ophelia croons with a giggle. Taking these things in stride and being so eerily in tuned to her needs it leaves her flustered and huffing.

If asked, she’d blame her bruised windpipe. Whether or not it made sense.

The escort had even started massaging her sore muscles where they stand. She’d slipped behind Wednesday before she realized; thumbs deft against her shoulders, making her grunt.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Wednesday husks. Her throat still raw and her body beginning to heat up and melt at the tender touch. “I would’ve been fine waiting by the ambulance until Lurch arrived. I’m sure you also wish to continue your reconnecting with Tanaka, so perhaps—“

Her words are cut off by the wolf’s manicured red pointer finger being placed atop her lips from behind. Ophelia leaning down, but not pressing weight as to agitate her back. She breathes her amusem*nt into Wednesday’s hot, reddening ears.

“Hey—I’m the professional escort here,” The wolf assures. “So its my job to escort you back home safely.”

And Wednesday would be pressed to admit she fights tooth and nail a shiver. One that threatened to answer for her.

“Making house calls now then?” Wednesday prompts, not wanting to over step. It slips from her lips in all honesty, as easy and natural as every one of their movements have felt. This was a clear step forward in their development that she had simultaneously wanted, but been absent on how to achieve.

Ophelia in her apartment…alone with her again.

(In bed with her again.)

“I do,” The escort answers after a while. Moves her finger across a flushed cheek and then softly over her bruised neck. “I have…”

Wednesday hums, reflecting on that; the illustrious homes the blonde had likely inhabited before. It’d be no different with her.

It won’t be.

Lurch pulls up like clockwork. Pops the doors unlocked and stiffly stomps over to open the back door for them.

“You may accompany me in the hearse ride back,” Wednesday relents, hearing a pleased sounding noise from behind. It makes her tense, “But know you may leave at any time. You mustn’t feel pressured to come inside, either. I did not intend to insinuate anything you may be adverse to.”

It sounds too good to be true, Ophelia in her home. Simultaneously, it frightens her; they’ve only met on location. Private lounges, restaurants…a hotel.

Her apartment was much less formal.

“Yeah, yeah grandpa, let’s focus on getting you in the car without throwing your back out.” Ophelia teased her instead of showing any indication that her anxiety is warranted. The brunette clicks her teeth, wishing for the nth time that hour that she didn’t hurt so much.

She’d shrugged out of the hold and placed herself in the hearse. Her pride didn’t bode well being dotted over. Even if it felt rather nice having the wolf continue to massage her aching back. Forcing the CEO to lay back against her on the way to her apartment.

She wants to lock up at the touch instinctively, up until those fingers work against the sore spots. It makes her gasp initially as digits dig directly where it hurts. Then she whimpers, of all things to come from her lips—it’s involuntary, but still. She can’t help her tiny noises of relief.

“I took some massage classes to help be better with tending to clients. I used to keep someone company going through physical therapy,” Ophelia explains after a while. When Wednesday finally relaxes enough to not dig her nails into her leg. She moves lower with her tender hands to the middle, “Comes in handy, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t trust herself to reply at the moment.

A lot of people feared her. Wednesday enjoyed being an intimidating force. It kept people away; for so long she dreaded touch as the very thought made her cringe and lock up taut. The disgust wracked through her bones, especially prolonged and from those not in her bloodline.

More glaringly—she’s an Omega.

Recently off suppressants, but otherwise unmated. A lot of people had opinions about that, ones that she’s sure would make wrath seethe through her already aching bones. The weight of the world and its expectations on her battered back.

Ophelia, she…well, she was doing the unholy—the unfathomable job in helping her carry a bit of that.

Her mind lingers on the pendant resting against her neck. The normally pale skin had been irritated from partially shifting with it on. Wednesday gets this urge, so visceral it passes from her lips in a wistful sigh. To turn in the wolf’s hold and press her lips against the marred flesh.

The symbol of the wolf’s willingness to defend her.

Of all people.

/

She has to be an Addams.

Now, she’s no shame in her name. In the way she is. Its just safer to be vigilant of those who do not understand and won’t ever. Not many do.

She doesn’t invite people home. There are less people than she can count on a singular hand that have seen her living room and even less have seen her bedroom.

Not to mention the matter of Thing, Lucifer help her.

“Sorry, am I hurting you?” Ophelia checks on her again. Currently, the escort was carrying her—cradling her body like a fragile bird.

She’s been called a raven before, but never had it ever made her bashful. A cold sweat or face red with the image of impending doom, but never bashful.

“I’m fine,” Wednesday stubbornly husks. Her arms are crossed in irritation at her circ*mstances. At her inability to say ‘no’ when Ophelia scooped her up and told her she was taking her upstairs. “Though I would be adequately so if I was to have walked myself.”

“And have you hobbling like an old man?” The blonde jokes as they stand on the elevator.

Wednesday had only been happy that it’s too late for anyone to be sitting at the front desk in the lobby. No one to see the wolf carry her in, after fishing her key fab from her suit jacket. The ding at the very top marked how soon that would change. She huffs to herself, because of the teasing on top of the fact that Thing would be waiting at the door.

He tended to know when things had gone amiss. Like a sixth sense to compensate loss of whatever else he’s missing. Wednesday’s still not entirely sure how he sees anything at all.

“Your keys, sir?” Ophelia requests once more, but this time she’s far more hesitant.

“I’ve a feeling I don’t need them…” She sighs. “I have a…’roommate’ situation.”

Thats one way to put it, certainly. The wolf stops in place, pursing her lips.

“A situation?” Ophelia repeats, slower and with a strange smile like she thinks she’s joking.

“Of sorts, yes,” Wednesday confirms. “If you would place me down first I can perhaps better explain.”

She did not want Thing to see her like this. Its one thing to show up with bruises, that was not only easily explainable but expected from someone like Wednesday. But, being carried by anything other than an undertaker?

And alive at that?

She would never live it down. And she would have to properly threaten him to not breathe a word to her meddling parents.

Ophelia’s hesitant, but gentle as she places Wednesday back on the ground. The seer stretches, feeling her back pop but it feels a bit better already from the hands massaging her. She spares a glance back at the curious looking wolf, not wanting her to enter until she’s handled the hand.

“Be careful, yeah? I can wait out here,”
Ophelia speaks in correct assumption. “I need to text Yoko that we made it back anyway.”

Wednesday nods, still curious and somewhat suspicious of the previous connection with the vampire. Something in her gut told her to wait on it. Strike when she’s not injured.

“I’ll only be a second,” Wednesday assures, before she stiffly walks to her apartment door. She clicks it open, just as she was expecting to. She steels her expression, working her jaw into neutrality.

She shoves her door open, knowing that it’d hit the snooping palm that rested against it. She sees Thing roll with the force of it, quickly but softly shutting it to block view and (hopefully some) sound from the wolf outside. Wednesday points at the hand menacingly, like he’d already done what she’s about to tell him not to do.

“You will not breath a word of this to father and especially not mother,” She sneers. “Nor Pugsley or Pubert…yes, Lurch is well aware but no you may not ask.”

‘You told Lurch before me?’ The hand makes a dramatic show of offense that has her making a noise of incredulity.

“Nevermind who knew first, the point is that you shall be the last for the foreseeable future!” Wednesday’s not loud but she’s firm. “Now make yourself scarce.”

‘But I want to meet her too!’

“You got enough through the peephole, chismoso cabron,” Wednesday goes to take a step forward but forgets her injured back. She hisses, hand going to the small of it. Thing immediately goes to her feet, flailing and worried.

‘I knew something was up! What happened tonight? No ones been texting me back.’

Wednesday exhales, willing her back to stop seizing up. Which of course Thing notices, flexing himself to look behind her, as if it would hold some sort of clue.

“Laslow. The family I’ve been trying to look into,” Wednesday explains with narrowed eyes as she recalls the boy’s timely escape. “Seems he found me first. And you know how I feel about anyone believing they can best me.”

‘I can always try sneaking into the social security office if you want to continue to avoid master Gomez.’

“Eugene’s already hit that dead end. Rowan’s record is irksomely clean and he doesn’t have any siblings,” Wednesday replies, frowning to herself. “He’s still working on digging up next of kin…perhaps he’d like some company, actually. He lives alone nowadays.”

She not so subtly implies with harsh eyes that the hand should leave for the time being.

‘Yeah, yeah I get it…can I at least say hi?”

Wednesday doesn’t blink or make any facial shift but she does make sure he sees the knife up her sleeve. He blanches.

‘Hey! I’m only being courteous!’

“Courtesy killed the cat,” Wednesday incorrectly states the saying. Thats what it should be, anyhow.

The hand sneaks between her legs, using her injury to her advantage and going to pull the door back open. Wednesday grits her teeth as Thing waves down the hall, running tired hands down her face before she leans her own body out. With pink probably dusting her cheeks, she looks over at a perplexed Ophelia.

“Is that a—…?” The wolf squints at Thing who only twiddles his fingers in a wave. Wednesday sighs.

“You may come in now…if you’d like.”

/

Wednesday’s never been so happy to be in her bathroom.

Even more so to be in vicinity of her medicine chest. Kent and Bianca were in agreement that it looked like a pirate’s chest, wooden and creaking but no less sturdy than if it had been steel. She’s no real opinion, other than it having belonged to the old bat herself. It had a charm on it that only allowed it to be recognized by her touch.

It extended to Thing—she believes that to be a side effect of using her blood in the spell. She just wanted to ensure it was for her eyes only.

Many an Addams family medicinal wonder. Her Grandmama was a talented sorceress when it came to these things. Modern medicine would scoff at her cauldron, but Wednesday knew this would suit her better than the ER.

She sifts for a vial, already mostly empty due to its use. It was the same concoction she took after being with Ophelia in that hotel room. She needed a large dose to get rid of the scratches and bruising quickly before returning to the office. With the potency of it she should be set by morning.

Thankfully, the main thing was the way her neck had formed a dark purple ring around her throat. Like a choker made out of the force against her windpipe. In a way it was fascinating, considering it came from thin air.

Rowan never laid a finger on her.

Wednesday looks herself over in the mirror after she takes the rest of the medicine like a shot. She screws her face up in disgust, the spice of herbs never fails to catch in her throat. And she was technically still very tender in that area. She didn’t want to cough.

“Bleh…” She grunts to herself, wiping her mouth and then looking at her head. The bandage that peaked from under her bang. Her shirt tussled and bloodstained on one side. She shrugs it off gingerly as she can, leaving her in a plain black tank top.

While relieved however, she finds herself stuck in trying to remove anything else. She desperately needed a shower, though.

She looks at herself again, imagining the escort behind her. A flashback to her heat.

Strong hands tearing the robe string from its belt loop. Peeling the silken fabric off like she was sweet enough to be a treat to this wolf; maw opening to sink teeth into her exposed shoulder.

Her co*ck head sliding between her folds and purposefully missing her cl*t.

The wet noises that weren’t coming from the shower. They had yet to even turn it on.

Wednesday finds herself pressing her balled up fists into the counter top.

Even worse she can hear the escort giggling from all the way in here. She glares at her own reflection, before growling to herself and finding the source.

When she re enters her living room, its with a heavy sigh as she sees Thing has done the opposite of what she’s asked. He was on the kitchen island, Ophelia leaning over it with her phone.

“Oh, I see you now! I love your icon,” Ophelia gushes as they no doubt scroll through some asinine app. Probably one with photos if the enthusiastic pointing means anything. “Wait, tell me why we have moots already?”

Thing gestures his humor, then types something on the blonde’s phone that Wednesday can’t see.

“Oh, tea that does make sense doesn’t it…” Ophelia rolls eyes at herself, pretending to hit herself on the head. In the theatrics of it all she does notice the CEO’s presence has returned. “Hey, Mr. Addams! You took your medicine like a big boy?”

All the while she skips over to look her over like she’s been asked. As if its her responsibility to come grab Wednesday by the chin and check the cut near her temple.

“Obviously,” She grumbles, jerking her head away from the hand. Ophelia pouts, but doesn’t back away. “I see you’ve made a new friend?”

She looks at Thing as if crosshairs exist in her pupils. A heat seeking missile yearning to fire.

‘Ok! I’m leaving, I’m gone!’ The hand scurries under her gaze. She doesn’t stop glaring even after the front door shuts and locks.

“Aw, he was fun! Why’d you make him go?” Ophelia continues to pout.

“He’s important business to attend on my behalf regarding tonight’s would be assassin.” She explains easily, not the slightest bit apologetic.

The wolf’s eyes flash gold at the mention of Rowan. Wednesday almost expects her to be upset, but its gone just as quick as it appears.

“As long as you don’t plan on hunting him down tonight…” Ophelia trails, not leaving room for anything more. Wednesday doesn’t have the energy to be stubborn and push it.

Instead they stand alone for the first time in…a while.

“Now that I’m back in my apartment and I’ve taken medication for my ailments…you’re free to leave if you must. I’m aware you may have other obligations like your education and…whatnot.” Wednesday finishes lamely, but not feeling uncomfortable enough to tell her to leave.

She also didn’t have the audacity to blatantly tell her to stay. To act on her personally selfish desires after everything the escort had already done.

She detested feeling or worse coming off as—needy.

“I don’t have class tomorrow…or anything other than chores around the house,” Ophelia replies, a lift to her tone filled with implications she fears she may be making up. “So, you’re not like, keeping me from anything. I’m all yours til morning.”

“You mustn’t feel pressured due to my remaining—“

“Hey.” Ophelia cuts her off, cupping her face again. Wednesday bites her lips closed, the escort leveling her with that patented grin. Easy going and so light it leaves her nauseous in the best way, “If I wanted to leave, I definitely would’ve by now. You’re in no state to make me do anything…plus, we both know I’m way stronger than you.”

The wolf giggles at her expense and the way Wednesday’s brows knit and her lips curl down into a new frown.

“Only momentarily,” Wednesday corrects with click of her teeth. “Once my medication digests I’ll be fit to fight again by morning.”

The wolf makes a face, one of brief displeasure but its blanketed with her small smile.

“Lets get you a decent nights sleep first, maybe?” Ophelia suggests, dropping hands from her face.

“I’d prefer to shower first,” Wednesday admits finally. She places a hand on her arm, preemptively dreading the question she had managed to stall on. “I was going to request your assistance and perhaps offer you the same.”

The wolf looks fiendishly delighted at that, humming and eyes lidding.

“Assistance in the shower? How forward, Mr. Addams,” Ophelia teased. She took her finger, extending the claw and tracing it down front of her tank top.

Wednesday feels her already fried brain further short circuiting.

“I—that’s not what I—…” Wednesday stops talking to groan at her own awkwardness. How she crumbled like dominoes with not even a touch. She slowly grabs the bottom hem of her tanktop, tugging it with her thumb and pointer, “I can’t get this off.”

Ophelia co*cks her head at it, but the lack of answer just makes Wednesday defensive.

“I can call Thing back if not.” She tags on, but Ophelia doesn’t give her another second to doubt.

“You know I’m only teasing,” More of the unwarranted but not unwelcome touching. Moving fringe out of her face.

Its soft. She doesn’t quite know how to take it.

In context, once they’re in such a familiar playing field. It gets even blurrier, these lines drawn. No clear line or tape to cross.

She probably has already.

The last time she’d been in the bathroom alone with Ophelia she’d left tied her knot.

The memories flood her with blood and arousal once more, clear on her face as the shirt is finally lifted from her head. Gingerly, with even more pillowy cooing and strokes of finger tips up her side.

She shivers. Ophelia doesn’t say anything, though.

She doesn’t have to. Wednesday can see her nose twitching, catching whiffs of what she can’t help but brew.

The soured compost scent having shifted back to her smell of coffee beans.

Her bathroom smells like a bakery, like fresh vanilla leaf. The shower running and steam billowing, like buns urging to reach their peak. Arousal bubbled in her like yeast with heat of the air and every touch. Those fingers flit like air over her waist, claiming her belt first. Slides it through the loops like butter.

Wednesday holds her breath until its off, and even then she hesitates; waits for the escort to hold it up to wrap like a snake around her hand. She rolls it up and places it on the sink.

The seer can’t help but mourn the sight of it in her palms. Her back hurt like hell, but she thinks she could bare a few more strikes—

She exhales finally. Thats it…she’s just light headed. Ophelia just happens to be in perfect position to catch it.

She’s on her knees now, like crouching for a pass. Only her hands cup her hips; it hurts to look down, to crane her neck or back, but she can see herself in the mirror. The bruising around her throat, abdomen contracting as she notes the familiar position. Her hand had gone atop a muscular shoulder to keep her balance.

She could almost pretend Rowan didn’t exist. That the only Alpha to mark her was already in the room. Like Ophelia had been the one to hurt her and this was the aftercare. It excites her so viscerally, it’s embarrassing.

She’s always liked pain, but…

Ophelia hesitates on the button of her trousers. Dips her thumbs down past the hem like an afterthought. Wednesday tries not to quiver.

“I’m gonna take these off next…ok?” Ophelia’s soft voice speaks volumes in the otherwise quiet room. Aside from shower water, its the only thing reverberating against the walls.

Wednesday only nods once and in a quick jerk. Licks her dry lips as the escort proceeds, undoing the button and allowing the trousers to fall to her ankles. Ophelia rubs her legs, keeping her limbs warm along with everything else below the waist.

She can see herself in her briefs in the mirror. Ophelia at eye level, but sadly she can only see the back of that blonde head. The dress half fastened in the back and silver chain on her neck. She feels the heavy exhale and subsequent inhale at her center.

“f*ck…” Its whispered so softly, she knows she’s not meant to hear it. It probably wasn’t meant to escape at all.

Wednesday pushes her nails just a bit into the skin she held onto. For the first time in her life, consciously, she pushes her scent forward; the wolf so close to the glands on her thighs and where she needed her most.

Those blue eyes snap up so quickly—

“Aid me…?” Wednesday whispers, propositioning and dripping suggestion. Ophelia looks like she’s holding her breath. Wednesday swallows, breathing in the sweet smelling shared arousal. “And allow me to perhaps…return the favor?”

Its said with a clumsy hand making its way to the top of that blonde head. Tracing the scar on her cheek and watching those clear blue eyes flit about in confusion and fluster. Like she’s fighting with herself to accept Wednesday’s clear signal of consent.

Ophelia stands suddenly; she wants to whine, petulant and impatient, because she thinks the escort is just going to tease her.

“You’re hurt,” The escort tries to emphasize instead of giving into their urges. Fingers straining against her hips, lightly touching waistband of her briefs, “I could smell how much you were bleeding.”

Then surely, she has to smell…

“I’m safe now,” Wednesday reminds her, stubborn and frowning. “You saved me…I believe you’ve earned a reward?”

Her hand moves on its own accord, down the front of the corseted dress. To the waist and just shy of daring to blatantly grope the escort’s member. She wonders if it feels the same for her. If she’s aching and hard in the same way she can feel slick form in her panties at the anticipation.

She’s not going to touch unless she’s asked. She’s still enough decorum, but she can’t get the image out of her head from before.

Of Ophelia finally allowing her to showcase the sword swallowing she so eloquently brought up before. She didn’t care about her bruised throat—she only wished the wolf had less inhibition. Then she could ignore the purple marks and wrap her hand around her too.

“You fully healed and able to spoil me without throwing your back out will be plenty reward for me, sir.” The escort grabs Wednesday’s curious hand. Holds it in place but doesn’t move it.

“Join me in the shower, then?” Wednesday tries to bargain, hand flexing in its grip.

“Depends,” Ophelia whispers back. “Can you behave yourself?”

Wednesday scoffs, almost offended.

“I’ve gone years dealing with my heats alone and you think I can’t handle myself?” She rolls her eyes and pulls the curtain back, “Unless you’re the one who can’t trust herself…what kind of Alpha are you, again?”

Is it a low blow? Bordering on manipulative to get what she wants? Perhaps.

Ophelia’s eyes flash gold again and her hand wordlessly goes to the back of her dress. Within seconds its pooling at her feet. And all of Wednesday’s bravado goes along with it. Because she’d forgotten, in the scuffle and hustle of preparing and arriving to such a grand event. The fitting itself had placed a film over her memory.

Ophelia was in the very same lingerie she had so painstakingly picked out. The very same, as if she’d crawled through Wednesday’s phone.

The same black lace that contrasted with alabaster skin and colorful tipped nails and hair. Her breasts snug and lifted to show off the curve of her small cups and pink nipples. The panties just as flimsy, though the camera lost a lot of intricacies in the lace.

She had to focus on the delicate placement of each flower pattern; otherwise her dark, greedy eyes would just be blatantly staring at her half hard dick. The way it rests proudly, barely concealed by the flimsy fabric. She blinks, exactly once and hears her Omega urges loud and clear.

(Inside. Doesn’t matter how, she just needs—)

“You know…I really don’t get the stereotype that rich people are supposed to be more ‘proper’ or whatever,” Ophelia begins to quip. Hands on lithe hips, she looks to have regained her composure in lieu of how Wednesday had begun to lose complete grip on her own. “Its rude to stare, isn’t it?”

She grips the waist band of her panties first. Tugs at the them like a tease, knowing Wednesday’s eyes were watching her dick move. The CEO keeps her lips in a thin line, looking away stubbornly when the fabric is tugged off along with the bra.

“Just wondering what’s taking so long,” Wednesday fires back, gravelly. She makes quick work of her own bra, biting back the pain of reaching behind so she can slide it over her shoulders. Revealing her own bare breasts, smaller but just as distracting apparently.

Ophelia’s not at all subtle with her leering, but she never is. She watches her, every bit of the predator that laid dormant inside; pupils tracing her body and stalking forward like she’ll run away if not. She wasn’t in any position to, considering, but she wouldn’t even if she was fully healed.

“Still need help with these…?” Ophelia quiered, snapping the elastic deliciously against her skin. It makes her huff, wishing for something more.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” She replies as steady as she can. She’s practically sweating now with how long the shower’s been running.

How hot and humid the room has become.

“Nope! Not at all,” Ophelia drops to her knees once more, much more confident as she drags the underwear down her legs. She does so quickly, not exhaling until she’s on her feet again. “Ready to go?”

Wednesday just raised a brow, disappointed but not deterred. If the only thing stopping the escort from having her way with her was an injury? She’d be horrified to know what she’s powered through in the past. Kent hadn’t been exaggerating about her lack of medical leave.

Though, the hot water against her tense back reminds her just how bad she had it. Its already becoming easier to move again, albeit the crick in her bones will probably stick around for another day. Luckily nothing was broken. Even if Ophelia was treating her like thin patched together glass in an earthquake.

She’s not said a word out of place as they bathe. Eyes dilated still with what they both want, but refusing to touch her. In her much more logical mind knew it was more wise to play the game. The Omega in her, however, newly freed and having had a taste…

(Wants her to say something. Be petty. Be an Addams.)

“So, what did you think about Divina?” Wednesday asks, entirely out of left field. Its said so casually, purposefully neutral to garner the escort’s attention.

That adorably confused face, proof of having thrown Ophelia off her game for a change of pace. She hears the girl turn around, her wet steps padding on the black tiled shower.

“I’m sorry?” The wolf questions behind her, thinking she misheard.

Wednesday washes her arm composed as she can be with the impatient thing in her brain. She finds it a bit easier and infinitely convenient to turn her head now.

“Wash my back?” She requests handing Ophelia and her perplexed stare the washcloth she’d been using. The blonde takes it wordlessly, up until Wednesday’s facing forward again.

“Surprised you’re not being more of a brat and letting me help you.” Ophelia quips as she starts at the top of her shoulders. Wednesday narrows her eyes at the shower wall.

She’d show her bratty.

“That reminds me,” Wednesday waits for the blonde to hum in confirmation. “You never answered my question.”

Ophelia makes another noise of understanding. Then, she snorts, moving further down her back with the cloth.

“About your tailor?” So she did hear the first time. “She was nice! And she gave me some good tea when we were talking.”

“How droll,” Wednesday murmurs, taking advantage of the fact that her expression can’t be seen at the moment. Ophelia gives a certain care to the dip of her back, her soapy hands practically kneading.

“Why do you ask? You’re not thinking of firing her or something are you?” The blonde questions with a chuckle, hands still courteous and above her waist.

“Just curious…” Wednesday wouldn’t let herself get distracted. Nor was she going to drop it, “She seemed to be quite taken by you.”

Her scent hits an unlikely sour note at the thought of the siren on her knees. Its harder to rein in these petty thoughts and insecurities. Theres so much steam its more than a little blurry.

“Good for her?” Ophelia sounds like she thinks its funny. Silly even, cradling her hips but keeping her hips away. She leans her blonde head over Wednesday’s shoulder to further distract her, “I’m with you right now, sir. What does it matter?”

Wednesday holds her breath, steeling her nerves before she does it; pressing her ass back purposefully. Ophelia doesn’t stop her, probably not expecting such a bold move from someone once so adamant that this wouldn’t happen again. And it wasn’t supposed to, no…

But now—with her center wet with shower water and slick, throbbing in anticipation of the stiffening member between her asscheeks—its all she can think about.

“Act like it, then.”

Its a challenge. Issued to her opponent, backed directly into their foiled tip so to speak.

Her sword metaphor taking on new legs, as the wolf behind her exhales darkly. A beast now pants behind her, minutely rocking hips forward into her. Not enough to satisfy, but to know her advances had been well reciprocated.

Fingers still gripping her hips so roughly she may earn her newest bruise of the night. And ones she craves never fade, despite potion loosening the strain of her other ailments.

“You are…something else, Mr. Addams. Truly,” Ophelia husks in her ear. And she’s heard it from the escort before, but its not something she tires of.

She never wanted to be what everyone else expected of her. Of an Omega.

“You referred to me as a brat more than once,” She replies in defiance. This time she’s not in heat, nor does she plan on letting the escort take reins so easily. She tries to match the rhythm of the strokes just barely touching her cl*t. “Figured I’d give you a reason.”

Ophelia huffs out a laugh behind her. Its more of a pant, really.

“Because you are—you’re so f*cking spoiled,” A sharper thrust, one that touches her cl*t the way she needed. She cries out, choked and vindicated, even as the escort’s grasp and pace are near painful. “Such a spoiled f*cking brat…”

It wouldn’t be her first time cumming before Ophelia’s even inside her all the way. This time she wouldn’t even have her heat ridden hormones to blame.

“A-Ah,” Another deliciously harsh grind. Wednesday tips her head back, ready to play her final hand. “Enough to punish m-me?”

At the mention of punishment, the ministrations against her cease.

Aside from the death grip on her hips, she finds herself trying to keen backwards. Something close to a whimper even escapes her mouth, annoyingly enough.

“Your back—“

“Will be healed by morning. I took the medication as I said I would,” She sounds snippy. Quick and concise because she wants more than another conversation. She grunts, dangerous thoughts swimming around her clouded mind. “I wouldn’t be opposed to replacing these marks with yours…”

Ophelia doesn’t allow her to move, maddening considering her stiff co*ck lay directly against her center. Sandwiched between her folds while the escort’s lips above linger tortuously by her ear.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Ophelia murmured. She places a soft kiss on her over heated ear. “If I was a different kind of Alpha…I could really hurt you, Wednesday.”

She swallows, jaw tensing at her name passing freely. Not ‘sir’ or ‘Mr’.

But, Wednesday can’t even begin to think of another Alpha right now. Anyone other than this one made her stomach churn.

“If you were any other Alpha…I fear you wouldn’t be here.”

(I trust you…)

The shower is turned off.

Droplets tap against the tile. The steam hangs like an omen.

Their breaths the only thing giving indication that they’re both still here. Ophelia’s still here. Still holding her.

Until she isn’t. Wednesday whines, soft and against her herself when those hands slip wetly from her waist.

“Not here,” Ophelia soothes with her whispering cadence. “I want you on the bed. On your knees. Don’t wanna to hurt you more…”

Fingers tremble and trail down her spine. A palm against the small of her back.

“What if I want you to make it hurt?”

(To hurt me.)

“If you want me to touch you, you’re going to have to listen to me.” Ophelia’s hand wanders, caressing her rear with the same care as the cheeks on her face.

She almost can’t stand it. Tender touch, it just…

“And if I don’t?” Wednesday’s defiant, in spite of what the simpering Omega in her brain wants. Submission would not come—

A smack sounds against her ass.

Not a full palm (not yet) but the length of lithe fingers bouncing against flesh.

Not playful, nor light—she gasps at the sharp sting. She’s thankful thats all that escapes, as she’d look even more depraved had she moaned. Its probably already crossing some line, the way it makes her throb.

Makes her wetter.

“If you want to cum, you will.”

/

She’s never been good at following. Orders, people, direction, rules—you’d be daft to ever think Wednesday Addams would listen.

“Well, well, well…” Its crooned, backed with a fit of delight. It makes her shiver, her c*nt aching far more than her bruised throat.

And she hasn’t even been touched yet.

Ophelia made her wait. Had dried her off while avoiding every spot that called out for her touch. The raise of her nipples, quiver of her belly or the twitching of her hips. The escort paid it no mind.

“Go wait for me on the bed,” Had been whispered hotly in her ear. “On your knees. Hands on the bed. But, try not to hurt yourself, sir…you asked me to.”

She kept it together enough to not blatantly tremble like a waif caught in a breeze. Even with excuse of her tender muscles, she didn’t want to look like she needed any more help than she’d already allowed.

She doesn’t know why Ophelia lingers in the bathroom. Perhaps to catch a glimpse of her squirming. Her Grandmama’s potion had taken the brunt of the pressure off her back already. But that had nothing to do with what lay between her thighs.

The way they rub together like a pendulum sounding to the rhythm of foot steps. A cadence she’s unfamiliar, but as a virtuoso she could follow well enough. Its easy when she compares it to anything other than what it was.

Pretending she’s not in her apartment, ass up to the God she already hates. Squeezing wet thighs together and biting her lips shut, lest she do something she can’t come back from—like begging.

Asking more than once.

“Look at you!” Ophelia giggles, finally pausing on one side of the bed. At the foot of it, Wednesday can see her standing if she looks between her legs. With her arms behind her back, inspecting her captured prey. Grinning with teeth, “You can be good…who knew?”

Creaks from the wooden bed frame taking on new weight. Her canopy framing her body thats trying its damndest not to tremble. Bad enough she’s this wet already. Even worse that the wolf’s mirth in her situation just makes her arousal increase.

Moreover…the wolf had noticed.

“You smell delish,” Ophelia compliments. “So sweet…is that all for me?”

Prowling behind her body and humming to herself some tune Wednesday’s never heard. She feels her skin prickling in anticipation of that first touch. The beginning of the end of this torturous game. She still hadn’t said a word.

Her stuttering breaths didn’t heed much trust in herself. Her throat being the driest part of her body. Her linen duvet felt like stifling flannel; did little to cool her flushed cheeks. She buries her sweaty face into her arm to conceal her simpering noises.

Ophelia finally touches her.

A practiced hand brings delicate fingers down her spine. Such care that should have no place here, when that same palm becomes firm against her ass. Bare and unconsciously raising, keening towards Ophelia’s hand.

“So eager…you look so cute like this, sir.” A squeeze, with nails digging into supple flesh. She makes a regrettable sound, one that has the escort giggling.

“Not cute…” Wednesday weakly husks, embarrassment burning up her lungs.

“You don’t think so?” Ophelia doesn’t sound like she really cares. It sounds so sweetly condescending it only serves to make her face hotter.

“N-No,” She stubbornly replies. Her face peaking from the shelter of her arm and her own sheets. “Not at all.”

She doesn’t need to look to know the escort is smiling at her answer. She can sense the wolf’s delight as her ass is caressed. And groped accordingly, making her feel like a piece of meat. Food being played with.

It shouldn’t make her ache so deliciously.

“You were being such a brat in the shower,”Ophelia begins, listing her offenses and setting the scene. Wednesday licks at her tacky dry lips, biting her tongue at every word until she can no longer “Agitating your back and talking back even though it’s literally doctor’s orders—“

“I wasn’t—“

“Pushing your ass up against me like you’re in heat again…but no. You’re just spoiled rotten,” Ophelia’s tone sharpened dangerously. Claws pricking her ass again in warning, “I know you can be good for me, though. You followed directions so well…”

Wednesday hadn’t ever followed directions a day in her life. Her professors used to dread seeing her name on the attendance sheet. But, she also never found them nearly as riveting.

Hands so soft, so gentle as they caress her sides and then her quivering thighs. It demands her attention in ways she never knew.

“You waited here for me like such a good boy…” A firm squeeze of her butt, further toying with her like a doll. She’s far from delicate, however, if the extended claws catching her skin meant anything. Ophelia hums, “Do you want to keep being good for me?”

She can’t think of anything else she could possibly be in that moment.

“Please…” She’s not even the gall to murmur in her mother tongue. To stall for what was practically at finger’s tip.

Ophelia hums a laugh, satisfied—finally.

“I’m going to give you ten. You’re going to count. If you want to stop say ‘Nevermore’…ok?” A noise of unbridled desire, as she nods her head into the pillow. Her bangs likely askew, but the escort gets the gist. She traces her nail down her spine, “Good boy…”

Its laughable, giving such a moniker to an Addams—Wednesday Friday of this generation specifically.

Perhaps thats why it makes her body contort and contract; she can’t get enough friction between her legs. Her pathetic sounding noises that she can only claim in privacy of her own bedroom. Where no one else could see or hear.

Only Ophelia.

Only she could get away with crawling over her writhing body, a dark chuckle bubbling in her throat. Yet, somehow so saccharine in delivery it makes her teeth grind together. Those lips teasing her lobe, then puffing hot breaths.

“I wanna hear you say it first,” Ophelia demands, hand still stroking her lower back. “Say Nevermore.”

She’s never spoken the name out loud.

The sordid website that she met the escort through. By taking a quiz of all things, as inorganic as can be. It may as well have been manufactured on an assembly line running on sex, power, politics and drugs.

For once, however, she’s sober. Hadn’t had a single drink since leaving the bar—early at that.

“Nevermore…” She murmurs it quiet as can be into the pillow.

“Mm?” Ophelia questioned, biting at her ear with her teasing canines. “What was that, Mr. Addams?”

Wednesday let’s out a frustrated huff, lifting more of her blushing red face from her wrinkled pillowcase.

“Nevermore.”

Ophelia makes a noise of approval, gently rising back onto her knees. Her hands never leave her ass, still groping and caressing as if transfixed. She almost thinks, perhaps her leaking Omega pheromones had distracted the wolf enough to forget where they were—

“Oh!” Wednesday squeaks, beside herself when that gentle palm gives a firm smack and squeeze of her left ass cheek.

“Get ready to count.”

A pitiful noise escapes her lips, thankfully muffled into the pillow. Her hands white knuckling against her blanket grip. Her body tensing and relaxing at every breath, every shift she detects from behind.

It’s maddening, its—

“Joder…” She mouths into the cotton pillow as the hand connects. Its a sharp smack that sounds harsher than it feels.

She could take more. She would be.

“Hm?” Ophelia prompts her again, giving her another chance to count.

To be good. But only enough to coax her to keep going.

“O-One—unh,” Her count dies on her tongue as another smack catches her other cheek. “Two…”

A cruel hand massaged the newly blushing skin.

By the fifth she’s sure that, somehow someway, she’s even wetter than she had been during her heat.

By the seventh she’s accepted that the pitiful whimpers and moans were coming from her own lips.

The ninth has her skin stinging, concentrated blows in the same area beginning to leave their mark.

(She doesn’t want it to end.)

The final smack between both cheeks, leaving her hissing in pleasure. She’s long felt slick begin to trail down her thighs; around the fifth is when she felt it begin to dribble from her hole that contracted feebly around nothing.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard ya,” With more careless groping of her tender flesh. Much less forgiving then the way the wolf had handled her body back at the event.

Granted now she’s no longer bleeding. She feels like she may have reopened the cut on her head with how she’s been squishing her face into the pillow. Its not in her to really care either way. She barely felt her back any more. Anything other than the frisky hands on her ass.

“Ten…merde,” She curses, a shivering breath before she collapses onto her bed. She’s far from exhausted, her body was still vibrating with arousal. But the intensity of the act had her catching her breath.

As if she’s any dignity left to retain.

“Perhaps…” She admits, sniffing. The question has her scowling on reflex. “It was adequate.”

Ophelia’s grin just grows to the point she’s biting her lips shut.

“Hm…smells like it was more than just ‘adequate’, but ok.” She moves back again, creating unwelcome distance. “Guess you wanna take care of yourself on your own then?”

The very thought has her writhing, a whine falling from her mouth that she’d never claim. Because its far more desperate than she’d ever admit.

“Must you continue to tease?” She sounds so horrendously needy. Ophelia eats up every moment of it. Stroking her red backside and nuzzling against it.

“Sorry, you’re just so cute when you’re like this.” What this was would remain unsaid. Wednesday would never admit what it meant to still be on her knees. Ophelia places a kiss on her sore butt. “Wanna taste you.”

The kisses to her tender skin become sloppy, quickly. She even nibbles the sore skin, making Wednesday’s fingers curl into the blanket below her. She writhes as she pushes further into that hungry mouth, feeling a dangerous tongue begin to graze her slit.

”W-Wait,” Wednesday weakly tries to protest. The wolf pays her not much mind, arms enveloping her legs as she settles in for her meal. The seer bites her lip, using every bit of willpower to—“Nevermore.”

“I want to,” Wednesday replies fast and with panting breaths. At the perplexed look she receives in return, her face burns impossibly hotter.

”I…” Wednesday clenched her jaw, hands still fisting sheets. Until she huffs at herself, lifting onto her knees.

Ophelia only watches, curious and uncharacteristically quiet.

She lets Wednesday show her; lets the CEO take her shakey hands and wrap them around her hard length. A sharp breath passes those pretty lips and Wednesday gets entranced by it, as it bleeds into a sigh.

Her mouth falls open before she can even ask to take it between her lips.

“I want to taste you first.”

Chapter 12: Click Your Heels, You’re Already Home

Chapter Text

Her mother is a powerful woman.

As much as she held disdain, as much as she resented the elder Addams—she would never claim to come from a nobody. Or just any old barren womb. Just as she didn’t always feel things so complicated and soured when she thinks of her mother. When she was a tot it was different.

When she wasn’t anything it was easier.

It stopped being so endearing that she didn’t care for being an Omega. It wasn’t simply a phase, or something she’d ‘get used to.’

“Its not nearly as bad as you think dear,” her mother had tried to reassure. After another conversation come to a head as they sat in the den. The fire place flickered hot in time with her heart beat.

Not rapid in nerves, but her stifled anger. Adrenaline.

“Tell me then,” Wednesday gritted through barred teeth. Hands in fists as she stood over her mother’s lounging form. “Am I just to accept and deal with those who believe I exist as a trophy to be conquered? That think I should do no more than submit?”

It had been a deplorable week. Her next heat impending, even having Bianca around her wasn’t enough sometimes. Nor did she want to continually ask the Alpha to accompany her—it made her feel weak. Add her fluctuating hormones and she found herself seething.

At every fruitless attempt at her ‘heart’ or offers from presumptuous Alphas.

Her mother can only give her the most sympathetic smile. It irritated her all the more.

“My dear…you’ve far more power in your position than you realize.”

In palm of her hands.

The heated flesh of another.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing…her touch is as light as her swirling head.

“You can tighten your grip,” Ophelia murmurs. Then clears her throat, hearing the lust backing her timbre. Wednesday squeezed, experimental with her fingers closer than not to the tip. The wolf’s thighs tense with a stuttered breath, “sh*t, let me—give me a second.”

The escort adjusts herself, switching their places as she scoots back against the pillow. In a way, its silly; the blonde girl settling with her legs open and patting the spot next to her on the bed with a supportive smile. Its not how she expected this intimate scenario to go, but she should know better when it comes to Ophelia.

“C’mere,” The escort shimmies over a bit to make more space. “It’ll be easier on your back if you lean next to me.”

Such a display of care had no place here.

“I don’t need the handicap,” Wednesday insisted. Her back meant nothing with her core throbbing and the escort very obviously just as worked up.

Her eyes can’t help but follow her dick every time it twitches with her movement. She feels she has something to prove. A craving to fill.

And so she huffs, intending to crawl up the wolf’s body akin to the way she’d been on receiving end of. Slinking up legs longer than her own, like the viper she’s often likened to. She’d give new meaning to viperine tongue.

“So freakin’ stubborn,” Ophelia laughs as she finds herself with a lap full of Wednesday. A position she’d certainly laugh at too, had she been talking to herself a year ago. Even a few months ago.

Between an Alpha’s legs, laid on her belly with hands on muscular thighs. They inch closer and closer to the dick that rested proudly against a pale stomach. She swallows reflexively at sight of such a weapon.

What she would be sheathing down her throat; just as she’d spent all those years practicing. Never did she ever think it would be for such fornication. Her hands grip the shaft like a sword, feeling the weight in her palm. The skin much warmer than a leather hilt; Ophelia was very much alive. Blood was pumping through this vessel.

“Its ok…if its too much,” Wednesday’s eyes snap up, aghast at the giggling tone from the escort. She sees those blue eyes twinkling back, “You don’t have to feel pressured to keep going.”

The seer glares, clicking her teeth. She’s used to being underestimated; something about the subject of intimacy, of sex, it was a sorer subject. She’s not insecure—she’d never call it that. Even if Ophelia hasn’t said it, yet.

That wry grin and the way she just laid there. As if Wednesday’s hands weren’t wrapped around her dick. When in tandem she herself had been so embarrassingly pliant, wanton and eager. There’s a backing of this buried frustration, when she eyes the tip again. She pumps her hands instinctively, unsheating the head, pink and mushrooming.

It weeps, wet and slick just as she’s been ever since the escort stepped foot in her bathroom.She doesn’t speak, opting to instead flatten her tongue on the tip.

A gasp falls from that co*cky mouth and her own dark eyes look up at her intensely. She wants to watch for any more critique of her routine, so to speak. She switches to only one hand on the shaft, bracing herself on a tensing thigh before she sinks her head down.

She takes Ophelia to the hilt with easy work. She had taken a claymore down her gullet with far more length.

“God—holy sh*t, h-hold on—“ Ophelia’s words come out in quick succession, almost frantic. Wednesday’s both surprised and unsatisfied at the way she’s pulled off of the escort’s co*ck. Her hand was still wrapped around the base, but a much stronger one held her by the chin.

Unsteady breathing followed, a thumb wiping spit from her mouth.

“Jesus…warn a girl first, eh?” Ophelia teases, but Wednesday can see the cracks. The wolf had weak spots after all—everyone does. Vices that can’t be denied or resisted for long. Wednesday was keen to find more.

“Perhaps it is you who cannot handle it,” The CEO counters. She finds power in the way Ophelia’s smile tightens, as her lingering hand starts stroking. Where her mouth could no longer reach, up until those hands tighten grip in her hair.

”Just—slower this time…ok?” Ophelia whispers, moving hair from her eyes and fixing her grip on her hair.

Her fingers tighten, pulling silent gasps from the pressure on her scalp, but they don’t stop her. Wednesday tests the waters, deducing very quickly that the point of interest was the tip; like any good sword, its blunt tip could be the difference between life and death. In this case, Wednesday intended to test her sharpness—her sanity. And she’s far from shy when it comes to maintaining and polishing said sword.

Ophelia hisses when her lips come back into contact. When she gives kitten licks to the head, before dragging her tongue down. Like metal to wet stone, her mouth works the length even harder. And that hand grips her hair, tugging at the roots harsher.

It gives her more bravado, a carved path on where to go in spite of her ignorance. Through lines of the escort’s abs, through valley of heaving breasts and into blown pupils. Not to mention the canines that had lengthened to chew on a bottom lip.

Its the least she’s heard the wolf talk in the entire time she’d know her.

Nothing but sharp breaths and grunts that sound thrillingly close to growls. Primal responses that fuel her to once again take her dick between her lips proper. Ophelia whines this time, hips moving in an uncoordinated jerk. She can tell the wolf was holding back.

Still treating her like she needed care that she didn’t ask for.

Her mouth releases the head softly, leaving the damp co*ck to twitch against Ophelia’s stomach. Wednesday huffs, looking at the escort intently. She can tell, even now the blonde wants to ask if she’s ‘ok’ or needs to stop—it just makes her more irritated.

“Don’t interrupt me this time, unless you want me to choke…” Wednesday warns, but detects an emotion far from concern in the blonde’s scent. Along with the way a pale throat bobs and the dick in her hand pulses along with her words. She breathes out in amusem*nt, “dare I prod for your preference?”

She’s sure to keep up her strokes in absence of her tongue. Gaining confidence the more the escort grunts approval. If not only because its nice to not hear the teasing and cheeky quips the wolf liked to toss out. Its a welcome change of pace, the power she feels with Ophelia quite literally in palm of her hand.

Wednesday thinks—in watching the way she bares teeth and appeared to be teetering on giving into her urges—she can understand it.

How an Omega can find power in this position.

“f*ck, sir…” Its all she needs the escort to say right now. Short of empty praise, when she already knows how skilled she is. Its like muscle memory, the way her mouth opens. Ophelia’s does too, as if in awe at the way her tongue sticks out tracing down the underside as it goes all the way down.

All the way inside. Behind her tonsils and destroying any illusion of a mere circus trick.

She’s not impossibly large, like some smut novel about a domineering Alpha with a gratuitous shaft. She’s something Wednesday can hold in one hand, but still thick enough to leave the memory of how she felt inside. Long enough to give pause to an untrained throat, but she was determined. Practiced and well disciplined, despite the escort’s heated declaration that she’s a brat.

Not that she’s not deeply aroused at the title she’s earned.

She steadies her breaths as the blonde below her continues to lose hers. The iron clad grip on her hair becoming something like a lever. She pushed her head down, until her nose is buried into soft blonde pubes. She smells impossibly sweat, under the blatant musk of lustful pheromones. Like a roll topped with spiced amber honey.

She savors the pressure in her throat, like its her very first taste.

“Your lips, sir—that-that mouth,” Ophelia’s voice has dropped a few octaves. She shoves her face further into her crotch, grunting at the way she takes it in stride. “You want me to keep being rough…don’t you? You want me to treat you like a sex toy…”

She nods as best she can, the words going straight to her core. Wednesday’s black coffee like scent closer to sweet, chocolate. Like beans dark as her irises, swallowed by the arousal that dilated her pupils. She hums, satisfying in the way those strong thighs shift and quiver.

To her surprise, her head is lifted away from the shaft once again. She chases the tip, not particularly liking being denied twice. Ophelia grabs her co*ck by the base, holding it close to her lips but not allowing her to suck.

Wednesday’s intention to glare soon turns into intrigue at the wolf’s crumbling resolve.

“You want me use your mouth, huh?” Ophelia questions again, voice teetering on something more feral. It sends a terribly delightful shiver up her back. Makes her c*nt squeeze around nothing in anticipation. The escort looks down at her fiercely, “Stick out your tongue for me.”

Wednesday huffs, but obeys if not only as means to an end. And the part of her that finds arousal in such a powerful beast thinking she’s at her mercy. Ophelia bares her fangs, breathing harshly through her nose as she taps her dick on her tongue. Heavy slaps that make Wednesday’s body flush with how she imagines she must look.

With memories of her lust filled dreams where her co*ck is the thing that slaps her cheeks blushing red. As if reading her mind, the escort has audacity to let it lay flat on her face, the tip touching her nose before sliding down and back between her lips. Those feral eyes watch every move, like ensuring her prey doesn’t move an inch. Wednesday wouldn’t dream of it—wouldn’t dare be anywhere else.

“Pinch me if its too much,” Its the last thing she’s forewarned before Ophelia’s dick is bottoming out in her throat again. “F-Fu…”

A breathless curse, followed by slow experimental thrusts. She feels the length of it sliding against her tongue and the blunt head attempting to test her limits as it enters.

Again.

And again…and again…and again and again and again—

Wednesday feels her personal restraint waning. Swallowing weaponry was a bit more on the nose. More predictable, ironically, than the frantic hips of a rutting wolf. Though, the thought of Ophelia being in an actual rut and using her like this was more appealing than not.

Now, however, her resolve was being tested. The growls of the beast and grip on her hair was enough to egg her on. Her own pride another incentive to refuse to tap out. Even as her eyes threaten to water at the ends each time the head squished in back of her throat. The wet noises of her throat forcefully expanding a likely factor in how the wolf above her looked mesmerized.

She looked down at Wednesday with primal urge and animal lust. Still, her brows were furrowed, pinched together like the girl was still battling the instinct of the wolf. Its with a deep groan that she’s pulled off of the escort’s dick again.

Wednesday takes a moment to catch her breath, still finding time to glare up at the blonde for stopping her again.

“Don’t wanna cum yet,” Ophelia answers her unasked question. The grip on her hair loosening into a softer stroke of her mused fringe. Checks the bandage on her temple, then runs a thumb down her flushed cheek. “You weren’t lying about that gag reflex...”

Wednesday wants to scoff, in fact she does. The wolf’s tactless comments never cease to surprise her.

“Should’ve let me finish the job then,” She counters. Ophelia only grins at her, before hoisting her up by her hips like a doll. She’s soon straddling the escort, with her dick nestled between.

It’s reflexive, the way she cants her hips to trap her stiffness, to relieve the pressure throbbing along with her pulse. Ophelia holds her steady, clicking her tongue scoldingly. Strong enough to only need one hand to grip her, the other takes to her face, squishing her cheeks.

“Good boys ask permission first,” The wolf taunts, forcing her lips to pucker. Wednesday’s hands weakly on her wrist, not making any attempt to break free. “And you like being my good boy…right?”

A petulant sounding whine falls from her mouth. And Ophelia bobs her head up and down like a doll. Not that she needed aid in agreeing—it just makes her feel more like a toy being played with.

“Shh, shh…you know what to say if you want this to stop,” Ophelia coos. She releases her hold on the seer’s face to place her fingers to her lips. She doesn’t have to ask for Wednesday to take her middle finger just as easy as her co*ck. She sucks her cheeks in, curls her tongue and keeps her eyes. Ophelia just shakes her head, “Brat.”

Wednesday hums, grunting in dissatisfaction when the finger is taken away. Its quickly placed between her legs, rubbing at her entrance and prodding. It collects wetness to smear over her swollen cl*t—just enough to hear her pitiful cries and then back down to her slick hole.

“You haven’t f*cked yourself since your heat…have you?” Its sudden, heated and almost cruel in her ear. Because she sounds so sure, like she doesn’t care if Wednesday answers or not. “You’re so tight sir…were you waiting for me? Sitting in your little meetings, rubbing your legs together and thinking about what we did?”

Her hips are lifted where she wants them. A deft finger sinks inside with embarrassing ease. Wednesday’s hands anchor on strong shoulders. Her nails dig in.

“Soaking wet too…just from sucking me off,” Ophelia giggles at her expense. Her finger dragging in and out, but not enough. “You can take another finger, can’t you?”

Her walls flutter at the thought of being stretched more. In spite of the resistance, she remembers—Lucifer, she remembered how good it feels once she’s been made to take it. Because she’s never been one to do things easy.

“Yes…” Wednesday sighs, muffling her shame into the Alpha’s neck. It backfires the second her buttery, sweet scent starts making her salivate.

Drooling and needy, as she’s entered with Ophelia’s middle and ring fingers. They curl inside of her like digging a new home; shaping her thoroughly, so the escort could fit her dick in. So she could enter and use Wednesday with no obstruction.

“So greedy. Like you don’t ever want me to take my fingers out,” The wolf whispers. “The way you look taking me…. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Ophelia had such a way with words. Like orchestrating her every whim and fingering—conducting her into a soprano note that cracks and staccatos. Relentless against one spot, the same tactics she’d used all that time ago that had her scratching at her shoulders. Wednesday feels her walls contracting and a thumb eerily close to her cl*t.

Its almost enough…if she would just—

Wednesday glares harshly at the fingers taken out of her before her peak can be reached. And the pitiful whine that she was forced into.

“What do you think you’re doing, mutt—“

She barely gets her thought out, before those strong hands have her above ground. She’s lifted off the bed and right in front of her mirror. Its metal with twisted edges, crafted and old—it came with her from the manor.

Now she saw herself; bare ass and legs around a pale waist.

Ophelia’s hard dick nestled between them. The way the escort lines her up, lifting her facile over her tip. The way her eyes were swirling golden flecks, the beast inside keening beneath her muscles. She didn’t dare glance at her own face; the blush that painted her cheeks along with her desperate eyes.

She’d remain ignorant on that for as long as she can.

“I didn’t even have to tell you what to do. You want it so bad…you can’t look away, can you?” Ophelia loved these rhetorical questions, when her brain can’t think past the pressure against her entrance. “You’re going to watch me go inside…I want you to see how good you are—how f*cking good you look.”

Her voice sounds more and more guttural, the growl of a predator bubbling in her chest. The wolf was just as excited as this girl was—this Alpha, to split her apart. Wednesday pants, swallowing mouthfuls of rich vanilla bean. Not suffocating like other Alphas, but languid, spoon fed to her lips with time to swallow. She licks her lips.

“Show me then,” Wednesday breathes into Ophelia’s ear. “Show me what a good Omega looks like…make me behave, make me—oh…”

She knows that the wolf won’t drop her, but she needs to hold on. Needs to plant her finger tips to something as she feels herself being penetrated so suddenly. And much like the first time, the burn from being filled is drowned out by the slow circles on her swollen cl*t.

“So, so tight, sir…you can take me. I know you can,” Its cooed as those canine teeth start to nip around her jaw. Hand working between them while she slides her down her co*ck to the hilt. Wednesday lets it stay there, firm and filling inside her c*nt. “There you go…good boy.”

Wednesday whines, the strokes against her cl*t inclining her to begin moving her hips on her own accord. Trying to let gravity do its duty as she rose and fell.

“Look at yourself. Look at how much of a mess you’re making on me,” Ophelia stops stroking her cl*t to grab her face. She points it at her ornate mirror and Wednesday moans at the obscenity of it.

Of the way she looks, writhing against Ophelia; her nipples hard and new marks being made on her chest by a hungry wolf. The way Ophelia’s dick looks half way submerged inside of her, white slick collecting at the base like a trail of her own debauchery.

And then the escort starts really f*cking her. Without warning, growling against her clavicle and using both hands to properly bounce her against her dick like a sex toy.

“sh*t—take it…” The strokes are slow but powerful enough to knock the wind from her. To have her whimpering every time she’s speared on the inside. Ophelia’s filthy words her new mantra. Her new hymn compelling her to gasp up high to the ceiling above.

And Lucifer the noises they make…the frantic slap of skin in tandem with with her own keening mewls of pleasure. Ophelia’s hot breath against her chest as her nipples are bitten and sucked.

Like a hungry dog with a bone.

She’s peaked already. Like finding oasis in a desert, her lips had cried out in pleasure. Ophelia had taken it in stride, in undulating hips while her co*ck was milked by her greedy puss*. The wolf gives a satisfied sigh at the feeling, in spite of not reaching her own climax.

“You came already?” She can hear the humor in Ophelia’s gruff voice. It just makes her hide her face into the wolf’s pale neck. “Think you can give me another one, sir? Wanna be a good boy and take my cum?”

She can’t speak, opting to nod her head while she’s still held in those arms like a porcelain doll. Her legs like jelly as they hang uselessly at Ophelia’s hips. The escort gives another bout of mercy.

Carrying her back to the bed, she gives firm instruction.

“Don’t wanna hurt your back…gonna f*ck you from behind,” The words send a terrible shiver up her back. Ophelia’s soft as can be, taking her wet co*ck from her so she can lay Wednesday on her belly. Ass up and presenting, “Don’t move.”

Its an awfully…vicarious situation she’s found herself in now.

An Omega being taken on all fours, the way they mate in textbooks. The stereotype of a heat ridden body, reduced to nothing but a breeding hole—she’s far from being claimed however.

This was lust, not matrimony.

Its not like she’s taking a knot. She’s not even in cycle.

So, she doesn’t think of much other than her own pleasure when those hands grab her tender ass. When she’s entered again, split open from a new angle that has her seeing stars and her fingers curling into her sheets. Fruitlessly grabbing a silk black pillow case that finds itself between her teeth, muffling her moans.

Mierda, mierda…chingarme dios mio—

Ophelia’s panting, leaning over her back but placing no pressure. She nibbles her unmarked shoulder blades, hands gripping her hips so hard she was sure to have new bruising.

“Fu…sh*t—Gods, Wednesday—“ Said girl barely registers what’s happening. Her own one track mind being f*cked into oblivion and ignorant to just how much Ophelia’s stretching her.

Or how pained she sounds from behind.

Those claws plant so sharply and abrupt into her hips, it makes her hiss in pain. The way in which the wolf pulls out of her without warning, groaning as if she’s suddenly in pain.

Wednesday blinks exactly once, in both confusion and initial exasperation at her pleasure being thwarted for the nth time that night. But, it wasn’t teasing this time—Ophelia looked…

“f*ck!” The wolf snarls, wrapping her hand around her dick. She can only watch in flustered confusion; her brain still trying to figure out why she’s not still being bent over the mattress.

“Are you…?” Wednesday sits on her knees, wobbly but preparing to stand on her own two feet.

The wolf takes another step away from the bed, member throbbing between her legs as one hand grips and the other shoos Wednesday away. The seer stays planted to the bed, wave of Alpha pheromones having her more inclined to not disobey.

“No,” Comes the snarled command. All the while she tends to the erection she took away. Her canines bite at her lips as she struggles to speak, “Stay back—right there…”

The CEO can only watch as Ophelia growls, taking her co*ck in her hand and stroking it so fast it looked painful. It was still slick with her cum, hand moving furiously and Wednesday’s about to ready to drop to her knees again.

But, then her eyes widen as she realizes a knot had been forming at the base. Ophelia had been less than minute away from breeding her outside of her heat. The Alpha scent pouring off from the girl had Wednesday stuck to the bed as she watched ropes of cum coat her chest.

Internally, she mourns the fact that it wasn’t inside; the Omega that sat at the forefront of her mind was all too happy to feel the warmth of a satisfied Alpha. And Wednesday’s never cared about the fulfillment of an Alpha. Of being someone that could do so.

But the way Ophelia looks at her…looks at where her cum lazily drips down her clavicle—

Wednesday takes her fingertips, pointer and middle. She gathers a bit of the cum on her sternum, letting the wolf’s beady eyes follow it like a treat. In a way it was, as the seer is sure to take her time sucking it from her fingers. Its heady, the act doing much more than the flavor; taking digits down to the knuckle as she holds those golden eyes.

While they both idle there, panting and staring at each other’s bodies. Eyes going from a heaving chest, a firm abdomen and a wet center. And Wednesday does much of the same, watching the knot deflate around nothing, having not properly tied.

Its so quiet suddenly. She releases her fingers, leaving them wet with nothing more but saliva.

“I suppose I’m flattered,” Wednesday speaks first. Wanting the upper hand and a good reason why Ophelia didn’t finish her off.

“Ah, yeah—“ The escort looks out of breath, eyes still shifting but mostly clear blue again. With flecks like gem nuggets found washed up on the coast. Raging waters behind those eyes, “My wolf must still be worked up from the whole…you know. You almost dying and stuff.”

A breathless laugh, sounding more like space filler than not. Wednesday doesn’t entirely understand how werewolves work in that way enough to challenge it otherwise. How Alpha cycles move even less so.

Besides, its not like she hasn’t bared witness to said wolf being ‘worked up.’

The memory of her defending against Rowan and the sheer strength of the Lycan only fanning her arousal.

“Death would, at least be a far more satisfying finish,” She counters, looking to her own sex and then back at the wolf. Those pupils dilate anew and Wednesday returns the lustful stand off. “Although by your hand, this torture has been far more…appealing.”

Ophelia looks to contemplate this. For far longer than she prefers.

“Tsk. You would find almost dying tonight hot, but—“ But, with the parting of her thighs its not hard to get the wolf’s attention. To get that nose twitching in search of the sweet brew the wolf had been neglecting all night.

Wednesday splits her labia open with her fingers, exposing her puss* to untamed eyes. Alpha’s truly were simple creatures, weren’t they?

“How does the saying go…” She pretends to ponder this, while swiping her wetness around her swollen cl*t. It feels far better than it ever has by her own hand when she’s alone. She grunts, “An eye for an eye? Quid pro quo, mayhaps?”

Still, she’d much rather cash in on the org*sm she’d previously declined. And the wolf seems to understand this wordlessly, slowly prowling back to her pliantly spread body. Once again, though, she finds herself being lifted.

Adjusted, more like it, so the escort lay under. And her center drags up her chest torturously, leaving a trail of her anticipation.

“Get up here…” Ophelia’s gruff voice commands and she’s quick to finish the job. Planting herself with hands on her head board.

Theres no time wasted in that snake like tongue dipping inside to taste her brew from the source. Satisfied noises like its the first thing she’s drank in days. The flattened pad of her tongue giving attention to her neglected cl*t. She puts her hand over her own mouth to retain s bit of dignity. Those muscular arms hold her thighs down, not allowing her escape—not that Wednesday’s other hand wasn’t glued to her headboard. Making the wood creak with the force of it, along with her rocking hips.

Ophelia enters her with fingers again, humming contentedly at the way the seer cries out around her hand. She fists the hand on her mouth, biting into it with her teeth. The escort had been sparing in the cruelest way possible—entering her with three fingers and ramming against that spot.

She c*ms so fast it sneaks up on her. Has her thighs quivering and a mortifying squeak coming from her mouth. Her upper body falling forward, forehead pressing against cool wood. Soothing her comedown as those relentless fingers keep stroking her through her high.

She ends the night (in moonlight only, as its well into the AM) on her stomach.

After collapsing when Ophelia has mercy on her, letting go of her rag dolling body. The escort lays on her side, her own breaths steadying, albeit irksomely more put together. She even looked contemplative, licking her chops clean and then sucking on her fingers.

She faces Wednesday eventually, just watching her. Pupils darting about her form; her legs like jelly, head laying on her crossed arms and breaths labored.

“Assuming you’re still not one for pillow talk?” Ophelia’s the first one to speak. Wednesday holds in a scoff. Because no she certainly does not. Then, she’s grabbed by the chin and she’s honestly a little disappointed to not be punished for her refusal to reply. Instead, the escort’s checking her over: the bandage on her forehead, the bruising on her neck from the event and the new marks from the wolf.

“I’m fine,” Wednesday scowls at the attention. “I don’t feel much other than a bit of stiffness in my back—truly, I’m ok.”

Ophelia lets it roll off her shoulders, even rolling her eyes.

“Are you always gonna bite my head off for trying to give you basic aftercare?” The escort counters. Then sheepishly, almost guilty sounding, “I mean…I almost knotted you without even like asking permission or-or checking in with you.”

She looks as bothered by this as her tone. Careful, like she’s expecting a reaction that can’t find herself privy. She’s heard that taking an Alpha’s knot without aid of one’s heat is more intense. Admittedly, she can’t say she would necessarily mind a bit more pain with their encounter.

And Ophelia’s information had been very upfront and medically cleared in her contraceptive regimen. It leads her to question—

“Are you going into a rut soon?” Wednesday asks, not versed enough to know. She’s not dumb when it comes to Alpha’s just…ignorant on some aspects of their anatomy. Ophelia’s eyes widen in surprise.

“I would’ve told you about that ahead of time, thats protocol. I just meant like…the wolf,” Ophelia chooses her words differently. Wednesday notes her playing with the chain around her neck. “I know you like pain and all, Mr. Addams, but you’re still human. And it’d be sh*tty of me to send a client to the ER.”

Her client, nothing more. Which was fine—its what she pays for. She’s only looking to keep up with her debts. Quell an urge.

“Right,” Wednesday breathes of her nose soft. Mulls over the way to do this without it sounding like more than she means it. “Not to stray too far from the topic, but…”

Wednesday hates the way it weighs so heavy. It’s just a business offer. And Ophelia was just a potential prospect. No matter the way the escort’s look of concern at her hesitation makes her stomach twist.

“You…you mentioned having longer term clients before, correct?”

She regrets looking at the escort, because what was once worry, then surprise had cycled back into that grin. She blinks, the beginnings of it tickling her lips, pleasantly surprised in the turn of conversation.

“I have…correct,” Ophelia teases, parroting her phrasing.

“Perhaps I should retract…” Wednesday retorts, frowning at the way the blonde giggles.

“No!” Ophelia whines playfully, “I wanted to hear your pitch. My client list and schedule are free right now also bt dubs.”

The blonde tags on with waggling brows in suggestion. Wednesday huffs her amusem*nt.

“Interesting…as I’ve been wondering if you’d be open to furthering our arrangement,” The words taste different than she’d been expecting. It flows much more easy, in line of those twinkling eyes and smile, “You would be compensated accordingly. I’ve already drafted a contractual agreement if you need time to look it over and consider.”

She covered a lot of bases, because she can’t dare let a thing slip past the cracks of her fingers or anything else. This was already a slippery slope, a tight rope of boundaries she’d laid so firm in the ground for so many years.

And Ophelia, she smiles so wide—Wednesday feels the balance she’s been struggling with falter just a bit more.

“I’ll give it a look see,” The escort winks.

/

Wednesday finds herself cognizant once again sometime later. The sun up and bright, she must have forgotten to close her blinds. Its not the sun that wakes her, though. Its the banging on her bedroom door. She tries to palm for the knife on her nightstand, but can’t quite reach due to her admittedly odd position.

She grumbles, turning over but feeling herself obstructed from doing so. She feels a heavy limb on her, jogging her memory of the night before. Of the fact that she’s not alone in her bed and not because of Thing for once.

Speak of the devil—

*knock knock knock* more of them sound, in perfect morse code. Something about her parents and it being urgent.

“Mierda,” She curses to herself, before slipping out of the hold. Easier said than done with the wolf’s strength on top of sleeping like a log. Naked and barely covering her body with the duvet, likely having kicked it off due to her natural heat. She only turns to the side with a snore, replacing her body with a black pillow while Wednesday watches and shakes her head.

Like a slumbering puppy.

She quickly grabs her robe and swallows down her emotions before opening her bedroom door. She knows its Thing by the sound and angle of the knocking. She had foresight to keep him out at least, lest he walk in on their post coital spread.

“Good morning, maggot,” Wednesday greets. Thing of course fixating on the elephant in the room.

‘She’s still here?’ He gestures incredulously. It looks to be more intrigued, genuinely so and she can’t blame him all things considered.

She didn’t invite people over let alone have them stay the night. Wednesday hated having people in her space, touching her things. Thing knew this best of all—had known her all her life. So, theres no use in lying.

Instead she deflects, walking past him and further away from the door to the living room.

“The question is why are you?” She counters with a glare and arms crossed. He flicks at her in exasperation.

‘Been trying to reach you all morning!’ He taps indignantly. ‘Family is very worried after yesterday.’

That has her sighing and wishing to bash her head on the door frame. She hadn’t even the time to have her espresso yet.

“Bianca blabbed to mother…didn’t she?” She asks with fingers pressing forehead in annoyance. The siren had a familial esque bond with everyone in her immediate family. Her mother especially had gotten along with the gab and chatter of the siren.

And she wasn’t breaking her back (anymore than she already had) to tell her parents what happened. Its not like the incident happened at the Addams & Co. building.

‘Didn’t have to, it was on the news last night!’ Thing reveals, watching her then rub her temples in further irritation at the media attention. ‘But, never mind that—you need to make yourself decent.’

“I beg your pardon?” Wednesday snaps and Thing wags his finger.

‘Master told me to book him a room in the city,’ He warns. ‘That means him and the Mistress are on their way to check how you’re doing.’

Wednesday’s eyes widen.

“When exactly did he tell you that?” She questioned threateningly, before taking note of how bright it is outside again.

‘Late last night…but its already after noon,’ Thing tells her, tapping the floor like a watch. Wednesday breathes harshly through her nose, head darting to the grandfather clock in corner of her living room.

Its almost 1pm. She never sleeps this late.

To add to her stress and blood pressure, she had accidentally ignored sound of her bedroom door opening. Until Ophelia comes waltzing in, dressed in her blanket and seemingly nothing else. Her bed head wild and untamed atop her head as she yawns so wide her canines show.

She doesn’t seem to mind the way Wednesday and Thing both stare in her direction in varying levels of interest/concern.

“Good morning!” The blonde beams, “You got any coffee or tea around here?”

The bubbly attitude this early—or rather, so soon after waking considering they slept clean through the morning—was not uncharacteristic. Still, it along with the news of her parents being close enough to stumble upon this scene was making her head spin.

This could fall apart, this house of cards already so thin that it teetered every time they spoke.

“Actually,” Wednesday clears her throat. She shares a look with Thing, “I’m afraid I have…unexpected business to attend to this evening.”

It shouldn’t sound like such a fabrication. Because she’s not lying, she’s just…

(Sweeping things under the rug? No, she’s simply tucking her shirt into her trousers. Same as she always does every day.)

“Right, right—totally didn’t mean to assume,” Ophelia replies, not looking like she thinks anything of it. She doesn’t look offended, more so sheepish; after bobbing her head and then looking her robe clad body over. Eyes lingering on her exposed collar, “And sorry…didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

Wednesday swallows, feeling conscious of not only herself but the way Thing had fallen silent. The limb keen to let her dig her own grave and write her will, because she’d never tell him otherwise.

She holds herself a bit more taut.

“As I made clear the last time,” She feels her face burning and she just keeps her eyes on Ophelia to ignore the rest of the world for as long as she can. To bask in the ease of their banter. “You did nothing I didn’t already desire.”

With much interest; introducing her to new heights, even. And the wolf grins, easy and wry as she wets her lips to speak.

“I figured,” The escort winks, giggling at the way she nearly chokes where she stands. Then, more serious but just as flirty with the way she trails, “Just being courteous…”

“Allow me to loan you something to wear,” Wednesday’s already walking the wolf back towards her room and away from Thing before she finishes her sentence. The hand of course tries to trail behind sneakily, but she stops him with her foot and a piercing glare. “I do believe four hands are more than enough for the task.”

“We can talk later,” Ophelia reassures against Wednesday’s harsher tone. “You can get my number from Wednesday.”

The seer rolls her eyes, groaning at the camaraderie that had happened so soon under her nose. She just walks ahead to her room while Ophelia trails behind with a satisfied smile. Its not entirely all lost, though.

Part of her enjoys the stall, because she has ulterior motive in getting the escort alone again. After handing off some neutral colored pull over and sweatpants that were baggy enough to not make the wolf look like she’s prepping for a flood. This was but a first step.

The girl in her clothes. Taken care of, while Wednesday’s black card digs a hole in her wallet and her thoughts into her skull.

She goes to her type writer to grab the stack of papers. The contract she drafted without notifying a soul. She tries to compare it to onboarding new hires at the office.

Ophelia is an employee.

Just one that she pays well over and showers with lavish gifts in return for her secrecy; acts of intimacy not expected, but open for discussion. A person to accompany and, well, escort her as seen fit. While she’d never felt the need to have an Alpha on her arm for protection, she can’t genuinely tell herself that Ophelia’s presence wasn’t helpful.

Life saving, even.

Its with that thought that she presents it. Before the escort can leave her bedroom, the stapled parchment is handed off wordlessly with intense eyes and her face burning.

Ophelia blinks, looking at her funny before she takes it. Delicate fingers that had molded her insides hold the stack as the spare goes into the pocket of her hoodie. Wednesday’s hoodie, that looked even better on Ophelia than it ever could herself.

“Whats this…?” She asks as her bright eyes scan the first page. Then they widen in understanding, meeting her own again. “Seriously?”

“I was being honest when we spoke last night,” Not completely, but truthful nonetheless. “I would like to continue meeting with you. I just want to ensure it is mutually beneficial and that there are no lines crossed.”

No more than had been already. She’s lost count.

And Ophelia, she—she laughs.

“Is—“ Wednesday’s brows furrow, feeling funny on the inside. She pulls her robe up her shoulder defensively, “Is it not…satisfactory?”

Had she changed her mind? Had Wednesday been foolish?

“OMG no, not at all!” Ophelia shakes her head and holds up a hand to quell her. She stops laughing, but not grinning. “Sorry, just…I forget you’re weird with the internet and stuff. Like, this could’ve just been an email?”

She uses the packet to playfully swat at the CEO’s arm, to which the smaller girl frowns. Mainly because she feels silly in letting herself do something like worry. Its not like she’s entitled to the escort replying positively.

Or at all.

“I see,” Wednesday murmurs. “I prefer tangible documents for important things.”

She feels the tips of her ears burning, once again ruing the way the escort knew how to fluster her so easy. The wolf that manages to get the raven so close to her cheeky maw every time.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Ophelia assures. “I think it’s endearing that you refuse to download Gmail on your phone.”

Wednesday gives her a blank look, but doesn’t press. Her contract more at the forefront of her mind.

“You may read it at your leisure, regardless,” She concludes. Runs her tongue over her teeth inside her mouth, “I will not be offended if you decide to decline.”

Ophelia holds the packet close to her chest, looking scandalized. Mouth opening comically wide, Wednesday almost believes her up until then.

“And miss the chance to go to another open bar and buffet event?” The escort looks offended she would even imply. But, Wednesday still felt she had every right to—didn’t feel right controlling people with a dollar.

“You have complete freedom to end it at any time—I won’t rescind the pay,” She assures very earnestly. “I do not wish to come off as if I want to own you. You have proven to be someone I wish to have further correspondence…and you have your own personal whims, university and whatever else takes you.”

Wednesday feels this woman could do many things, if she possessed such ability to bring even her to pause. To have her talking too much, having a hard time meeting eyes and anticipating an answer. She notes several shifts in expression from the escort while she speaks. It ends on something soft, something that does even less to quell the burning.

“Hell of a way to ask to be my sugar daddy,” The escort laughs at the end, mirth growing where her expression turns to confusion. “Of course you don’t know what that is—doesn’t matter. Point is, unless you have something really wild in here…I don’t see why not.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Wednesday nods, not sure where to go with things now. With her offer accepted so easily. “You may…text me with your thoughts on the contract once you’ve gone over it. Or we can discuss in person.”

“Is it too early to request in person?” The escort flirts, making her click her teeth.

“I’d prefer you actually read what you’re agreeing to,” Wednesday pressed. As easy going as the wolf was so naturally, this subject had her own stomach in knots. Like webs weaves taut enough, that Ophelia could spring off.

“I am,” The escort defended, albeit she doesn’t try very hard. “Does this mean you’re gonna give me extra cash to get home?”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, as if offended herself.

“I was going to offer Lurch’s services, but you’d know that if you took time to read the contract.”

More laughs, until the very last second. When she feels in her bones that her kinfolk are near. She already knew they must be in the city by now.

Its quiet when Ophelia’s gone.

After the escort sauntered out with her contract and toothy grin. Thing tossing quip and subsequently being kicked out of the way.

A promise to be in contact again.

At least one more time, if for whatever reason Ophelia reads a sentence out of place. A paragraph too large. She’s nitpicking commas and semi colons because she can’t begin to fathom the content of the contract she’s written. The request to be at her beck and call.

Still…its not exclusive. It would never be anything outside of arranged meetings and monetary favors. Thats all it could be.

She inhales it, nicotine buzzing in her brain and filling her lungs.

She lets it linger, along with a cigarette burning out in her hand as she stands out on her balcony.

Now to deal with her parents.

Chapter 13: It’s Common Courtesy

Chapter Text

She detested family gatherings.

Another asinine form of pleasantry; merely repackaged with a side of guilt and obligation due to kinfolk and blood.

Even more so when they insisted on parading such sentimentality in public. Even if it is in one of her father’s restaurants, in a dark corner table with candle flickering. The ambiance she could appreciate if not the inevitable subject at hand. Her father currently gabbing with the owner about drinks for the table, while she sits with elbows purposefully on the table. Folds her hands and covers her mouth with her fists.

She forgot her manners, or something. She doesn’t really care to address it. Her mother won’t stop giving her that look.

Its been brimming on tip of her tongue, she knows it is. Morticia didn’t do many things for ‘no reason’, just as she herself didn’t as her only daughter. Her father none the wiser, at least he’s doing a better job at acting like it.

The boisterous Alpha had to physically restrain himself from squeezing her. His eyes were already watering with worried tears before she could tell him once again that she’s fine. She had inspected herself in the mirror before their arrival to make sure. Three times over.

The bruise around her neck was gone and after some more stretching her back would be more than ok. The only blemishes to her person being the marks left in the AM, after the potion had done its magic. As if it was fated, to button her collar high and dawn a tie for a casual lunch.

“So formal?” Her mother had commented, innocently and gesturing to her near full suit. She herself in a more comfortable dress, but it sounded far more inquisitive than curious.

Wednesday just tightened her tie, (as she had been mid fixing it) rolling her shoulders.

“Its to my preference. Anyhow, I’m to assume the vacation was to yours?” Was her segue, momentarily relaxing as the woman went on about their time over seas.

And it was fine, up until they’re all seated for dinner.

Rather, her and her mother alone while father runs his mouth. Thats about where she is currently—damn near tempted to begin nibbling on the complimentary fruit plate in center of the table. Her mother nibbles at some of it, a grape to her lips as she observes her every move. It’s something Morticia tended to do, especially if they’ve gone long enough without being in physical contact.

Like she’s admiring her daughter. As if Wednesday was anything she wanted her to be.

“I still can’t believe it sometimes, you know?” She’s not waiting for an answer, she knows her daughter well enough to expect no less than a dismissive hum. Still, her mother smiles so fond and wide that it crinkles the corners of her eyes, “How old you are…how much you’ve grown! I swear…I remember just yesterday I was putting you to sleep by humming Ave Maria like it would be the last time you opened your little eyes. Now you’re running the business!”

Another hum of disinterest and vague contempt. She hated this spiel and knew it was simply leading up to something more inevitable. The prologue what was about to soon become more arbitrary meddling in her life. Even if she’s not a scratch on her person, aside from—

*cough cough*

Well…she’s entitled to some secrets kept. Especially considering the amount she’s sure they’re guarding.

“Speaking of the past,” She begins ominously. Her mother only hums with a smile, sipping their complimentary water. Wednesday pulls a stack of papers from her coat and places them on the table.

Morticia eyes them briefly, her glass to coaster and her smile fading to something more neutral.

“You’ve always been one for business over pleasantries, haven’t you…” Her mother replies as she slides the stack closer to properly look.

“I’m aware there is a time and place,” She corrects. Like she needed to quell the older woman, it just has Morticia smiling anew. Up until she’s scanned through the first page of what she’s been handed.

Her smile doesn’t drop this time, but its far from amused.

“This will be better to discuss with your father present,” Morticia concludes, after flipping through a few pages.

“Funny how I’m made to wait when its not my discretions,” Wednesday comments. Morticia’s eyes flash, dangerous but not angry. That look she gets when her daughter talks back, but she’s not in the mood to banter. Treating her like a child. Silent chiding, because for once things aren’t in their control.

Can’t cover the spot with starch white feathers and make it pretty.

Morticia purses her lips, eyes looking further away than merely the table top. “Laslow…I haven’t seen this name in many years. Since Pugsley was still in diapers.”

The downside to being such a jovial, pure ivory tinted dove. You miss the more morbid bits of the reality down below.

And Wednesday lived in it. Basked in it, almost haughty at the turn of hands. Like a lowly gambler, bluffing their cards up until they can no longer; her opponent with not enough foresight to fold, but monumentally bust. Though, she will admit her earnings had left much to be desired. Phantom hands around her neck was far from good news.

The only solace being that this is no fault of hers. She just shares a name with the culprit.

“The irony in keeping such a tight leash it rendered me unable to escape,” Wednesday drawls, taking in the wary eyes of her mother. “And yet…baffled when your karma bleeds onto me instead.”

“Wednesday. You know these things are not so simple—“

“Started without me!” Gomez booms, standing at the head of the booth with a grin. He laughs, but his expression shifts as he notices his wife’s strained expression. “I only jest of course, mi amora…”

He trails, his meaty ring covered fingers going to move wispy dark locks from his wife’s face. And as if the mere touch of her locks sends him into his own premonition, he pauses. His eyes squint, whispering something quick and so low Wednesday’s probably not meant to hear it. She’s more fascinated in the way he comes to the same conclusion. And not just due to the stressed scent of burning rosemary her mother was spewing.

Her father was a smart man. Emotional, so much so, she was currently paying for it with no end or debt relief in sight other than death itself. Even then, she believed her father’s blubbering tears could reach her reaping soul. His gold tooth shimmering at her wake, teeth clenched in agony and grief. She’s not dead at the given moment, though.

The fact of the matter was that she was almost.

“What happened that quickly? I was only talking to Angel for a few moments,” He questioned, then looking back and forth between the two dark haired women.

“A certain…alumni has been trying to rebrand,” Morticia speaks coyly, perhaps embarrassed but more likely not wanting to cause a scene. Wednesday keeps quiet, lets her mother slide the papers over to her sire. Lets his eyes rake the pages before he gets a rare look of displeasure.

“Where did you find this?”

“You didn’t make it easy, certainly,” Wednesday replies just as blasé. “Nor can I take credit in my discovery of Addams and Co’s apparent list of disgruntled, wannabe prospects. More accurately—your demons found me.”

A pin could drop in center of the table. No one would notice even if it was a bomb. Gomez chews tip of his thumb and looks as if he’s seen a ghost. And considering how Rowan did his business, perhaps he had. His mother could’ve been even worse.

“I never should have fully retired,” Her father eventually says, regretful. Wednesday huffs, near petulantly.

“Implying I can’t handle the business when I’ve done nothing wrong here is laughable.”

“That is not what I’m implying at all, my darling poison dagger,” He had a way with words, always trying to charm and flash his gold tooth. “You have done well as CEO.”

“Then why are you speaking about my position like its up for debate,” Wednesday retorts. She vehemently ignores her mother’s chiding expression, fighting urge to simply leave the restaurant entirely.

“I am simply considering the options for your safety, mija—“

“Don’t try and butter it up,” She interrupts with a scoff. Gomez only sighs, which makes her somehow even more irritated. “I am not stepping down due to your mistakes.”

“Wednesday,” Morticia interjects softly. Yet, her posture leaves not much room to argue—though she’d certainly try. The elder seer tries to level with her, “Our intention was never to demote you or take you away from the business. We only want you to be safe—for all of you to be taken care of. Your brothers included.”

“Your mother is right, mi niñita,” He coos to her and it just sits unpleasantly in her gut. Even in this ‘reassurance’ they have to baby her. Gomez twists the ring on his finger as he speaks, “I’ve no intentions of taking you off. I simply wish to discuss how to move forward.”

She gives a humorless laugh at that notion.

“Considering I quite literally spawned from the both of you, I’m not naive in believing I’ll be leaving without losing even more of my freedom.”

“Don’t be so dramatic now, dear. You won’t notice a thing out of place.” Morticia corrects her, likely reaching a place of frustration herself with the situation. Wednesday once again fights the want to call for Lurch to take her home.

Or perhaps a better bar.

/

Her office was a bunker. A place to bask in the fallout, not to hide away but merely reset. Her blinds drawn, incense lit and liquor glass resting by her typewriter. The cigar box she kept in the drawer for days like these, which were becoming far more recurrent—permanent. Stress relievers in the one place she’s meant to be able to have a smidgen of peace. All because of mistakes of the past and consequence of actions that hadn’t been by her hand, but unfortunately by her kin.

“Its not going to be permanent, my little dagger. Only until we’ve located his whereabouts.” Gomez trusted the police to locate and handle him even less than she did.

Her father had made clear there was no room for any negotiation. He had wanted to tap her phone as well, to which she agreed but only because she now had two. One of which she used to contact the escort she still plans on seeing.

She would be ‘shadowed’ to some extent throughout her day. Not exactly a bodyguard, as she didn’t want any that close to her throughout the day other than Kent (and that was pushing it.) Her father knew people in shadey places and he played dirty if needed to. Just enough to assuage the anxiety and probable (the most likely culprit) guilt over the situation. Even with the bruising and phantom feeling of pure force constricting her breaths far behind her.

The memories from that night quickly faded into something she would sooner take to her grave. As far as her parents knew she went home and not the hospital to rest.

Ignorant to the debauchery she’d gotten up to…the Alpha she’s been funding.

Which, with a heavy sigh she works her mouth as she remembers said Alpha was currently using said funding. Rather, what she was using it on was enough to make her eyes find back of her head. Analyzing her own brain and trying to figure out how she’s doing not one, but multiple things she would’ve scoffed and spat at not even a full year ago.

Being with an Alpha. Not exclusive, but Ophelia was on her payroll now. Wednesday had been adamant about compensation being not only livable, but well worth the escort’s while. An allowance delved out, but not limited as the seer couldn’t help but urge to spoil the werewolf girl.

After everything it felt like the least she could do.

Ophelia had instructed her in creating a ‘cash app’ which was very straight forward and on the nose in name alone. Money for frivolous things like coffee and last weekend when she was galavanting with Tanaka for drinks. It made her grumble, but the increasingly…heated images she would receive in return made it worth her while.

Though, thats not the only reason she indulged. There was also the feeling of aiding this girl that satisfied something within her. It satisfies the simpering, submissive pest in her head.

The need to…please.

It made her arms ring and heart palpitate strangely—likely in getting used to having to make space in her life for something so new. And not only novel, but unconventional even in eye of an Addams. While her father was a rather free thinking man, she doesn’t believe he’s ever had eyes for a single thing thats not Morticia Addams (formerly Frump) other than a train car. The fact that her mother could sit pretty in business class a bonus.

Its been a torturous amount of weeks since she met with Ophelia to attend Bianca’s event. After finally setting a time to meet to discuss the contract. The copy she kept for herself sitting on her desk currently and burning the wood top black as her pounding heart.

It was hard enough to do so, her father’s tail on her and Thing’s wavering loyalty (f*ck seniority when she was the damn CEO) factoring into her scheduling. She was forced to create a loophole to throw any suspicion in seeing Ophelia in person. Normally she doesn’t have much deviation in her schedule of work, meetings and then eating/sleeping when necessary. With Ophelia, she had seen herself taking off early.

Days of leisure. Time of rest and recovery, even.

Her father none the wiser and her mother too distracted by the current predicament to mention if she has seen anything. She knows the old witch keeps up with her children through visions; she had admitted to peaking at Pugsley’s wedding long before he even met his current partner. And had always been adamant that ‘someday’ her daughter’s feelings about her status would change.

Wednesday would’ve rather choked and died at hands of Rowan than admit that there was any truth in that. Because, Ophelia was simply different.

Like an employee. Thats why the escort would be meeting her here. At her office, formally and professionally to discuss the ongoing progress of their…continued business venture. Or what have you.

Fridays were always dead around the office, as no one wanted to work in person past the hour of 1pm other than herself. She allowed it, preferring the silence and conveniently emptying the space of prying eyes. Kent had left for the day about a half hour before, offering her lunch on him but only rolling his eyes when she said she still had work to do that day.

“Figures you’ve never gotten the memo about casual Fridays,” He’d snorted. She only stared at him, taking in his much more relaxed outfit: he still had a button up shirt but it was patterned and he had nice jeans on.

She didn’t show up in anything other than her full suit; except in summer when she often forewent the vest.

Even now, though she has her suit jacket hung to the side, she was in pinstripe black slacks and white dress shirt. Her tie was looser than normal, because she’s not only alone but bordering on stressed. While she knows her father isn’t doing much other than checking the perimeter and the focus was on finding connection to Rowan—Ophelia was somehow a more sensitive subject.

Her father could never know the truth.

Her phone goes off, as she holds that uncharacteristically anxious thought. She presses the button rougher than she needs to, wetting her lips before she addresses the call.

“Yes?”

“Hey,” Comes Eugene’s curiously shrill tone. He sounded oddly flustered, “You’re, um—I think…do you know a Miss, er—“

Wednesday squints, “Is something going on down there? Shall I bring my rapier?” The boy was a collegiate prodigy and incredibly personable normally. Then theres a girlish sounding squeak that has her lifting the phone from her ear until she hears a more feminine voice. Though, she’s more than a little suspicious that the shrill sound came from Eugene.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Addams! Ready for our meeting, or is now a bad time?” The tone is so polite it’s damn near like nails on a chalkboard. It reminds her vaguely of the first time—in a lounge and exchanging formalities.

Voice sweet, like sticky honey to trap her limbs incased in golden blonde tresses. Wednesday huffs air over the line, hand unconsciously fiddling with her tie; its nowhere near tight around her neck, but it may as well be choking her.

(Perhaps Ophelia can adjust it for her—)

“You’re early,” Wednesday replies.

“Had a few complaints about my timeliness,” The escort drawled, teasing something they only know. “Figured I’d try to make a good impression.”

Wednesday’s fingers tap against the wood of her desk. Her eyes flit to the window outside, the chair in front of her and the door to her office.

“Top floor, last door on the left,” Is all she leaves the woman with. She hangs up the call, leaning back in her seat with a heavy breath.

Lets her hands sweep down her face, chair creaking with the weight of her emotions. She steels herself to do some vague tidying; her space was clean, but in a way the blonde would probably consider sterile. She fiddles with the blinds, puts on a bit of background music (a crooning, stringed score, like a mobster’s theme) and then idling by her mini fridge and bar.

Ophelia didn’t particularly like straight liquor and she didn’t keep anything sweet in her possession. She finds a can of soda buried in the corner with Kent’s initials that has her snorting before she pops the tab. She’d include a twelve pack with his next deposit if it was truly an issue.

A knock sounds on the door as she’s moving a drink tray to her desk. She dusts off her slacks and smooths nonexistent creases and places a new incense stick in the holder before she paces to the door. One last adjustment of her tie and she works her jaw as she swings the door ajar. Ophelia standing in something that throws her game entirely.

“Ready to discuss our merger,” The escort purs, posing with her arm up. Its campy, considering the all pink ensemble she’s wearing.

A pink plaid blazer and matching short pencil skirt. A pair of gaudy blush tinted heels rounded off the outfit, if not the jewelry dangling from her wrists. Wednesday exhales, as the thought of taking the girl shopping for something less of an eyesore raced through her mind. Only, Ophelia takes it as something more than it is, her smile turning unceremoniously into a pout.

“You don’t like?” She questions, running her hands over the costume. It hardly constituted business or formality, “Yoko called it my Elle Woods special.”

Its said as she crosses the threshold, looking around her office with hands behind her back and curious, twinkling eyes. A wolf’s nostril’s flaring, making her happy she had lit something to drown out the cigar she enjoyed earlier.

“Whomever that is…” Wednesday murmured in distaste. Her hands in her pockets as she watched the escort explore her office. “You should cease consulting in them for fashion in the near future. And certainly never Tanaka.”

Ophelia snorts, paused in front of a custom sabre she had been gifted. It hung in direct eyesight of her desk like an omen.

“Would you prefer I use Divina’s number?” It’s teased lightly, but the emphasis on the other Omega is heavy with innuendo. So much so she blames it for her lids falling, narrowing.

“I can contact her for you if you need any adjustments. Her schedule tends to be hectic as I’m not her only client.” All the while the escort looks at the neighboring plant shelf. She prods at a cactus as if she weren’t even listening.

Wednesday has to rein in a very sour scent.

“Oh no, thats ok…she gave me her personal cell just in case,” Ophelia whips her head around to wink at her. The audacity of it—the implications that shouldn’t bother her.

And it doesn’t bother her. She’s told Ophelia a dozen times that she’s free to do whatever she wants. Whoever she wants. And she’s perfectly content with that.

(And she’ll reiterate that as many times as the needy Omega in back of her head needs to hear it.)

Wednesday clicks her teeth, nodding her head towards the desk.

“Why don’t we segue to the contract, then?” The seer insisted, walking to sit and subtly grabbing the drink she’d made.

“Starting early, eh?” Ophelia nods to the alcohol.

“Theres one for you too,” Wednesday deadpans, scooting a seperate glass of whiskey and co*ke across the way. “I even added a mixer.”

“You say like its normal to drink straight liquor before 5pm.”

Its not judgmental by any means, but not something she feels like delving into. The need to cloak her nerves with drink not even the tip of her vices. Makes it much easier, ironically, to focus on keeping it professional. Or at least pretend for sake of her weakened ego.

“If you would prefer to discuss use of my assets. Do you find my other offers as acceptable?” She ends with herself at the desk; her hand gestures to the copy of the contract she’d made. Her eyes drilling aggravated holes in that cheeky blonde head. All she garners is a hum for her troubles, Ophelia sauntering over but not following the script.

“More than acceptable—normally these types of things don’t even really have me in mind at all. They’ll think I’m just some dumb slu*t and they can low ball me,” She explains, slowly approaching her with manicured pink nails scraping across the wood of her desk. She scoffs, eyes rolling at whomever dared cross her in the past. Wednesday swallows, finding her eyes stealing a greedy glance towards the partial claws.

“Like a prenuptial for something so self serving already?” The CEO finds herself clearing her throat, far too bothered by this turn of events. When Ophelia doesn’t sit across from her to discuss their business.

No, she waltzes right next to where Wednesday is sitting. She towers over her, teasing and coy before hopping to sit on top of her desk.

“Gotta do whats best for business…I can’t say I blame them,” Ophelia explains. She doesn’t give the seer any chance to protest, heeled foot crossing very pointedly over her knee. She smirks as Wednesday gets a good view of white panties, “Not everyone I’ve ‘worked’ with likes pain. And I know how to make your pockets hurt.”

She shrugs nonchalantly and leans back on her hands. Her legs even swing just slightly, to the cadence of her pulse. Wednesday’s teeth grind, jaw working and hands planted to the arms of her chair.

“If you’d like to take an actual seat we may begin,” Her tone is clipped. Ophelia finds it amusing, co*cking her head and decidedly not moving off of her desk.

“I thought we already started?” With faux confusion backed with her mirthful tease. Wednesday huffs through her nose, face burning in what she’s choosing to call irritation.

“I had also believed so,” She retorts, but the escort still pressed her luck. Leaning over and catching the tail end of her tie to playfully allow to slide between her fingers, letting go when Wednesday makes a noise of protest.

“You’re always so darn anal,” Ophelia rolls her eyes, hopping down from her perch. “S’no fun…”

“How many times must we go over the fact business and ‘play’ are not exclusive…” She grumbles, fixing her fringe and feeling some of the heat leave as the escort does. Rounding the table to saucily lower her rear into the chair.

“Its not like we’re actually discussing a merger, or whatever junk you talk about all day. I’m way more entertaining,” Ophelia points out, crossing her legs anew and folding hands in her lap. Then, a blonde brow lifts, “Unless…do you…not like playing with me, sir?”

Wednesday all the while had begun drumming out her feelings on the arm of the chair. Gritting her teeth through it and trying to pretend that perhaps she’s even bored of this. She knows that they both know that that’s decidedly not the case whatsoever. The wolf decides to have mercy out of a rare show of formality.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. You’re so cute when you’re mad,” Ophelia flirts. Wednesday does good to ignore the way the words make her both even angrier and simultaneously aroused internally. Then more seriously, that being as serious as she could manage, “I have a few questions, though.”

“The floor is yours. It was a bit of a headache, but I allotted the rest of the evening to allow enough time to discuss.” Wednesday complains but she’s thankful for the deviation.

“It’s nice your parents care so much,” Ophelia comments, in a tone that she’s not much time to place. Her mind fixates on the way her parents make her feel—like a bird chained to their trainer’s wrist.

She just scoffs, like the very idea was incredulous. To her it often felt that way.

“Just another thing to add to the confidentiality section. You’ve been far more help in regards to Laslow than they,” Wednesday snarks. “Not that I believe you’d have issue with keeping this arrangement hush.”

“Not what I was gonna ask about, but aww,” Ophelia coos making her momentarily confused. The escort bites her lip, teasing her, “You trust me, huh?”

“In order for us to have a working arrangement of this caliber there is a level of mutual understanding that must be made here.” Wednesday replies, keeping it very cut and dry; she has to look at Ophelia like every other person trying to cut a deal with her in the board room. “Thus I’m open and willing to hear any suggestions to ensure this…agreement can be reached.”

“Ok, then how about you put your money where your mouth is, sir,” Ophelia has something mischievous backing her words. She tilts her chin up, challenging, “I want the first payment up front. Cash only of course…its a personal policy. I’m sure you understand?”

Wednesday looks at her for long time, in some ways feeling impressed at the the opening counter. And she’s not opposed to it all—it was incredibly smart to receive a down payment or proof of income. It makes her feel a lot of something, having the escort talk her like a client. Even though that’s technically all she is.

All this is.

(As if she’s not doing the same.)

“So long as you don’t refer to me as geriatric for carrying cash in the first place,” Wednesday mumbles before she takes her wallet out and eyes the werewolf curiously. “How much?”

Ophelia’s grin quirks up just a bit more.

“How much you got?” She nods at the leather wallet with her arms crossed. Rather than give the girl further satisfaction, she opts to flip open her wallet. She’d collected some cash from one of her father’s establishments earlier that day, laying the stack of hundreds on the table.

“Hardly spending money, but the bank isn’t a hike,” Wednesday quips, brow raised in retort. Ophelia eyes the money and then her again, sliding it over to count with a hum of satisfaction. “Now, if I may chose the next point of discussion, I’d like to cover your schedule in regards to accompanying and appearing with me.”

“You keep saying that part of it like it’s torture,” Opehlia jokes but Wednesday’s expression doesn’t reflect it.

“Going to networking events is torture,” She counters with a frown. “Regardless, no one will think you’re doing much other than acting as an Alpha for a targeted Omega. It will also explain your addition to my payroll without any irksome tax hang ups. And it’ll be something to add to your resume with a bit less…weight.”

Putting it lightly, of course. Ophelia watches her, in a rare show of genuine interest in her business spiel. Wednesday’s just trying to dress up what she preferred not to push or address. The way she wants to use her every influence to see that the Alpha is taken care of. After saving her life, its been more and more of an urge she can’t quite shake.

A voice in back of her head, likely the Omega she otherwise chooses to stifle.

“I’m almost surprised you’d be willing to use your name for me,” Ophelia mentions after mulling over her words. “Considering we probably have more mutual connections than you think.”

She shrugs a shoulder, “As I said before, I’ve no interest in keeping you hostage. You’re welcome to have a life outside of me…on top of the fact that you saved mine. Consider it an even exchange for my livelihood.”

Its quiet for a long time—long for Ophelia’s standards. In all the time she’s known this girl she’s never been so still, observing her face for some kind of tell. Its almost sad, the fact that she expects someone like Wednesday to pull wool over her eyes.

“And here I thought there’d be more of a discussion,” the escort sounds almost surprised.

“I tend to keep my meetings as short as possible,” Wednesday replies. “Lest I start to feel the need to expedite due to my dwindling patience or, more often than not—my interest.”

“And I’m meant to be a mutual connection through Yoko?” Ophelia queries with a smirk as she tenses. “You sure you wanna owe her a favor?”

“The leech owes me multiple,” Wednesday retorts with distaste at the thought of being indebted to that particular Alpha. She’s honestly not sure if she prefers her or Bianca any less. “I’d much rather move onto the next point.”

A mistake, for the moment she’s done speaking those legs coyly uncross and then cross once more. Another shot of those panties, enough that she’s sure that she could draw the lace pattern from memory if she closed her eyes. It burned in her minds eye like a cyanotype print.

“Now this is where I don’t mind taking over the conversation—if you don’t mind of course, sir?” The drawl of her words and fangs peaking to tease the side of pink lips; the CEO just nods stiffly, face becoming hot when Ophelia giggles at her. “Is it presumptuous of me to assume you want to continue our—hmm…why don’t we just keep calling it ‘play.’“

The blatant emphasis on the word, the humiliation of the fact that she can barely handle the innuendo of it, let alone the act itself. As if she’s not written it in the damn contract, albeit in the privacy of her home office and far more alcohol in her system. Ophelia directly in front of her—she doesn’t think it possible to truly prepare.

“Its…Its not a requirement by any means,” Is how she hesitantly begins, clearing her throat. “However I’m not going to be dishonest and say that its not something I would be otherwise interested in…continuing. Only if you are also willing, of course.”

She could lie and say she’s never used her money to manipulate people. She could lie to herself as well and say that there’s no monetary reasons to entice the escort to agree. That she’s truly that selfless of a business owner.

They both know either to be laden in fiction. It would never be truly equal footing. Ophelia has every reason to choose her autonomy.

“Oh, I’m very willing, sir…” Ophelia leans over on the desk, giving a peak of cleavage. A grin, wry and suggestive, “You’ve been such a good boy for me so far. Thats not so easy to come by, you know? The boys that usually hire me always want it too bad—not that I don’t think its fun every blue moon or so.”

Ophelia winks at her and she’s sure her face twitches just so, definitely her brow if nothing else.

“I’m not a man,” She states very plainly. “I’m an Addams.”

“Don’t I know it?” The escort flirts back easily, crossing her arms as she continues to lean her weight on the table. “The girls that I’ve had through Nevermore have been more than you’d think, but less than I’d like. Meh. Even before that—the jobs were always these big wig dudes that knew exactly what they wanted.”

She tilts her head, blonde locks falling in her face. Wednesday narrows her eyes.

“Are you insinuating that I do not?”

Ophelia’s fangs become even more visible in her smile.

“No, I think you do…but getting you to admit it is half the fun.”

Wednesday barely veils her equal feelings of frustration and flustered embarrassment at the sheer confidence of that statement. The assuredness and classification of herself as someone who folds.

Who willbend over.

“A business agreement is hardly grounds for a confession,” Wednesday tries to dismiss the implication. Even scoffing when the blonde raised a brow. “I’ve laid out very plainly what I’m comfortable with.”

“Were you…comfortable over my knee, then Mr. Addams? Sorry—you were so eager you never made it that far, did ya?” Ophelia teases, but her expression gives nothing awry. Casual, like she’s asking directions to the market and not testing her very resolve.

“I-I highlighted ways in which I’d consent to certain activities of ours to be duplicated,” A lot of words to give her time to catch her breath. Filler to get the escort to stop talking.

“Oh yeah! My next tiny, little critique of this thing—I feel like we should maybe revisit the kink and limits list Nevermore gave you.” Ophelia mentioned very point blank. “Instead of just clicking ‘skip’ for everything this time. Except for the pain play of course.”

For that, the escort never lets her forget that her tipsy brain had allowed her to click ‘maybe.’

“That is…acceptable. Yes—I would not be opposed,” She doesn’t stutter and she barely manages to not trip over her thoughts. Her methods of control being dismembered before her very eyes. Even with her home court advantage. Another useless clearing of her throat, “I admit to being suspicious of Nevermore’s infamous confidentiality prior to engaging. But, anyone with a brain in my position would be vigilant—even if it was something less ‘controversial.’ I don’t spend my money just anywhere.”

Its not her being posh or uppity—she’s just very aware of her paper trail: Receipts, her cursed chip being scanned, her pin being punched in. Someone like her, considering she was a notorious recluse and extremely private to boot, their transactions becoming public would be dire. Anyone would have a field day knowing of her…tastes.

A taste that she herself hadn’t even realized she liked so damn much until very recently. A flavor that she feared would sell out if greedy, interloping eyes knew.

“And again, I’m so flattered you’re choosing to do so on little ol’ me…you can’t even make it a tax write off.” Ophelia jokes, because this has never been that serious for her. This part of it came easy as every other bit of banter between them. Though, she must not show it, “Thats what I get for trying to lighten the mood—how do you expect to do business, if you can’t even talk about your own sex contract.”

Wednesday only blows useless air from her nose. She’s grown so hot beneath the Alpha’s stare, she’s tempted to take her empty glass and place it to her forehead like when she was in heat.

“I expected there to be more discussion about the pay,” Is all she leaves it at. Better than admitting that she’s trying desperately to pretend this isn’t an agreement being made with a sex worker at the end of the day.

Ophelia sees right through it.

The werewolf prowls upon her, necklace glittering in window light, like a warning. She let this wolf inside her sanctuary. A wild, untamed animal that thirsted for not only blood but the meat off her bones. To bite, chew and devour—she’s more than familiar with that mouth; that drooling tongue.

Hidden beneath a tight pink suit, under guise of something genuinely professional. A meeting set, even checking in with Eugene at the reception desk. How foolish she must be, to think she could simply paint it gold. That she could tint it rose, block out her eyes and pretend.

Ophelia’s in her lap before she can blink. Her chair pushed back by a heeled foot and her legs spread by the same one shoving itself there. A toothy smile and head co*cked to look down at her. This Alpha above her, while she sits with eyes down; not in submission, but defiance. She still refused to claim that part of her Omega. If nothing else, she would remain stubborn.

Keep her eyes hard set, like the concrete floors she’s intently studying.

“Look at me.”

Wednesday’s defiant in not doing so. She’s adamant on not obeying—in having some kind of leg up here. They’re in her office for Lucifer’s sake.

“I said—“ Ophelia’s more firm this time, hand curling around her tie and pulling. Wednesday’s dark eyes blown, her breath and bravado stolen along with her resolve. She has no choice but to face the wolf properly. “Eyes up and look at me when we’re negotiating. Do you treat your little suit-and-tie board members like this?”

Her heart’s pounding in her ears. She’s half out of her seat, being held up by the knot she’d tied (ritualistic, mechanical and otherwise mundane) before leaving for work that morning. It was perfect, the fabric pushing just right against her throat; enough to seal her lungs off, but not crush her windpipe.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk anyways, then what’s the issue?” The escort questions rhetorically, almost in jest. Certainly at her expense. She tugs, nose twitching, “You smell so…you know, we could’ve done this a lot sooner if you were a good boy and told me what you really want.”

Those eyes look down at her, mocking and preying. Watching the way the seer’s mouth parts just so, before she stubbornly grits her teeth shut. Her hand goes over a paler and much stronger one; grips the wrist as she tries to swallow.

“You could go harder,” Wednesday retorts. Holds those twinkling, light eyes that are briefly taken aback. “Aren’t you a werewolf?”

It’s satisfying, up until Ophelia’s expression shifts to further amusem*nt.

“Oh, I could definitely guess how rough you want it, sir, but where’s the fun in that?” Carelessly, but enough so that she’s certain it was planned—Ophelia released her. She falls back with a heaving breath, hand going to uselessly adjust the tie around her neck. The escort merely paces away from the desk, still on her feet but treating her actions like an afterthought. “Besides…if we’re gonna make this work then there needs to be open path for communication, too. It can get messy real quick without it—trust.”

Ophelia warns, pretending to eye a taxidermy squirrel sitting on her bookshelf. Its not entirely unserious, however, with a backing of the experience the escort likely had. Still, Wednesday scoffs, more than a bit flustered by the display

“Is that not what this is meant to be? I’d say we’ve been being far more than ‘open’ with each other…” She argues, more on her own part. No one got this much out of her.

Ophelia turns on her heel, eyeing her fiercely.

“You flashed your cash at me—hell of an ice breaker, but it doesn’t just stop there. Do you think its that easy? Do you think I’m easy?” Those eyes flash brilliant, bright and Wednesday swallows hard.

“Never for a second.” She admits it with baited breath. Then, even softer, “I…I enjoy what we’ve done so far. And you may not be misled in assuming I urge for more.”

Once again, the escort’s standing over her. Hand on the desk, leaning over and legs poised. Wednesday pondered if they were strong enough to crush her head between.

“More, eh…like what?” The werewolf prods, breaking her embarrassing reverie. “I need more details, Mr. Addams.”

She doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Impact play,” She states, to both of their shock. Her cheeks are burning and she’s struggling to keep proper eye contact.

“Surprised you even know what that means,” Ophelia jokes. She lessens up with her more domineering questions, “But ok. I can work with that…how about the choking? Sorry for not clearing that with you first bt dubs, but I have feeling you didn’t mind it too much…”

A finger traces down her cheek, after moving fringe from her eyes. Wednesday frowns, but doesn’t argue.

“You would be correct,” The seer agreed tersely. “I’m not adverse to a bit of pain…I used to study methods of torture for leisure when I was still in school.”

It was another thing that set her apart from the other children, outcast or not. When her parents had made the mistake of sending her to a normie private school as a girl. It took her a long time to find a school that stuck. Aside from meeting Bianca, many simply found her off putting. Add to her threatening to castrate every Alpha in her grade.

But, Ophelia takes it for folly, merely chuckling. She looks down at her fondly, like she expects this from Wednesday. Which, she should, but…

“Maybe you can teach me a thing or two, then?” Ophelia flirts, winking. Her fingers trail across the desk to play with her pen. “Did all that studying include any kind of limits, or after care?”

“Not much after care that comes with a guillotine or spinal press.” Wednesday dismissed her need to bother over safety anymore than everyone already was.

“Good thing we aren’t in medieval times then, huh?” Is the counter, more firm as once again that foot finds itself planted between her legs. The toe so close to her center she’s half a mind to scoot forward.

But this wasn’t meant for her pleasure. Not when the escort was looking down at her like that.

“It arouses me when you take control,” Wednesday eventually admits. Not that its much of an admission at this point. Arms crossing, she shrugs noncommittal, “Perhaps I’ve tired of making decisions. Its a welcome change of pace to not have to think.”

When Ophelia’s telling her exactly who she is. Exactly what to do, with a keen ear for what she likes (the noises she makes.)

“You must be so exhausted after today then…” She leans over to rest on her propped knee. Close enough to Wednesday’s face that she can smell the ghost of mint gum on her breath. “What time do you close?”

“Whenever I decide to leave for the evening. But as I said—I cleared the rest of mine for this,” She nods to the strong calf muscle she was in view of. Accidentally lets her eyes peak under that tight skirt again.

The way the head of Ophelia’s dick was threatening to spill out of her panties. The escort was just as worked up as she was apparently. The knowledge does little to quell or settle her mind. In fact, now she’s dodging flashbacks of herself so willingly on her knees. Truthfully, she’s only cloaking her own desire to do it again.

“Interesting…so…have you touched yourself since last time?” The escort drawls, scooting her foot closer to her crotch. A pink heel pressing lightly into her contrasting black pinstriped trousers.

The question itself doesn’t necessarily jar her—its not the first time she’s been asked that by any means.

“You always ask the same overtly vulgar question.” She frowns, feeling a stray bit of shame creeping up her spine. Because they both know the answer already, however Wednesday knows best of all why.

She never felt urge like this before. It never feels as good on her own.

(Alone.)

“Its cause I wanna know how tight you are,” Ophelia leans in close to whisper in her ear. Places hands on the arm of the chair and boxing her in, “I think we should make our deal official, hmm? Like a handshake…but way more fun.”

As she speaks of said ‘fun’, the escort slowly slinks away from her to bounce back on her heels. The couple of buttons on her blazer go undone; the garment slinks off her shoulders and pale legs with socks up to the knee saunter to her coat rack. She hangs it on the other side of Wednesday’s darker one—deliberately, as it balances out the weight.

The only equilibrium in the room. And likely between them, other than lust.

“I may be intrigued,” Wednesday exhales shakily. Her eyes locked to the way Ophelia just knows how to walk, how to draw attention. Those legs…

Those fangs. The new smile that curls up dangerously, the wolf unbuttoning her shirt low to bait. And she, but a bird—the chain that lay above pale, freckled breasts urging her greedy talons.

“I’ve had a long week and my one professor literally wants me to kill myself—long story short, I was up for forever last night finishing my essay and all the readings.” By the time she’s standing in front of Wednesday again, her shirt is open, hanging off her elbows, pale pink and framing her bralette. Stark white with intricate lace that she could spend hours finding new shapes in, just to have an excuse to keep staring.

Ophelia doesn’t falter in her game, her own fugue of lust garnering the CEO like a stringless puppet. Sitting dumbly, with only her eyes lolling about with the gravity of a growing bulge beneath the skirt.

“I haven’t had time to get off either,” Ophelia admits it like a dirty secret. As if that was the most scandalous thing about all this. Once again, her hands are all over Wednesday; smoothing down wrinkles in her shirt and stroking down her tie. She breathes hard, stock still like they tell you to do when a wild animal gets close. “And you look so handsome today, sir its driving me crazy…feel?”

Its all she really needs, her eager hand reaching before Ophelia can lead her. The wolf catches her wrist, after her palm lands on her thigh, mumbling something like ‘eager, huh?’ Wednesday breathes in and out slowly as she’s lead up her skirt…hot skin and erotic scent of buttery arousal wafting from beneath. The softness, ironically, of the fabric that stretched taught over the base of her erection.

Wednesday grips it tentatively, the head poking out of the waistband and the tip wet against her thumb. The escort grunts, cursing softly.

“Yes this…this is quite an inconvenience I’ve aided in,” Wednesday absently mumbles. She’s not even looking at what she’s doing, merely watching the fabric rise and fall under the garish pink fabric of the skirt. Somehow its even more mesmerizing under the layers.

Her strokes experimental, like its the first time. Ophelia’s breathing hard, fingers digging into her shoulder and obviously wanting more.

“Well, are you gonna do something about it?”

Wednesday glares in return, the condescending nature of it not lost on her. Aroused as she may be, she decides to tease in return in how slow she helps peel the scanty white panties down muscular legs.

“Are you going to allow me this time? Or pull away like a coward.” A challenge, something to get what she wants without asking. She’s slowly but surely learning the wolf’s tells as well.

How to goad the beast. Wave the red flag to get the bull to strike her; only to use the pain for show. For her benefit, the wolf bares her teeth and grabs her roughly by the top of her head. Hopping up on her wooden desk once more, the contract is shoved (who cares where) and her face is covered in plaid pink. Under that atrocious skirt, she smells the Alpha fully.

Trapped between the scent glands in her thighs. The subtle musk of her dick, cloaked by a sweet smelling body wash and the Alpha’s scent of bread. Buttery, heavy, with cream dotting the tip of a full erection.

“I’m not gonna punish you again until we talk more about it, butthere’s another quick way to make up for being so grumpy today.” Wednesday rolls her eyes from under the skirt at the wording. Ophelia hums pushing her face more into her crotch, her nose smushing against the length of her. “I can feel you rolling your eyes down there. Be a good boy for me and take it all the way this time.”

Wednesday makes a noise signaling her body and mind fighting between ego and the slick collecting in her briefs. The way Ophelia talked to her sometimes making her face red for a multitude of reasons. She’s purposeful in the way she picks up from the last time.

She remembers how weak the Alpha looked with just the tip between her lips.

Foregoing her hands, leaving them stable on milky thighs, she leans forward to catch the twitching co*ck head in her mouth. It serves as the element of surprise, along with the veil of the thick fabric of the skirt. While the outline of her head bobbing, however lightly as she suckles, was mesmerizing it hardly substituted the real thing. And part of her gets off on that alone.

”F-Fu…” A breath sigh, like great relief had overtaken the werewolf. “There you go. Good f*cking boy…”

That Ophelia can’t see how much she’s enjoying herself. While Wednesday gets to hear just how good she’s doing. That clawed hand starts pawing at her head again, as she feels emboldened and starts taking her down her throat fully.

“My moon,” Ophelia gasps, the grip on her head somehow tightening even more. Claws prick at her scalp and she hums her pleasure. “Thatmouth, Gods—you look so good down there. So obedient for me.”

She’s half out of her seat, sort of crouched over and leaning weight on Ophelia’s legs. Her head buried under her skirt, she probably looks more than a biteager to be in said position. With those hips rutting forward and gaining a rhythm, she settles herself even closer with her fingers stroking those quivering thighs in a grounding way. For whom, she’s no longer sure, as she’s trying to distract herself from the dick testing her gag reflex.

Along with the way its quickly becoming rather stifling being under the heavy fabric of the skirt. Her air supply felt limited—her face damn near feverish and her vision a non factor all things considered. There’s sweat on her brow and she’s barely doing anything at the moment aside from taking it. Far from a sword, indeed.

Swords didn’t pulse, with soft skin encasing blood; or carry the weight of full balls against her chin. The hilt being much different in her hands. Both (somehow) just as life threatening in this moment, the little air she can get through her nose hot like summer wind. Alpha pheromones mixed in had her feeling dizzy, her jaw slacking ears ringing with the sound of the grunting wolf growing closer to her peak.

”I wanna…ah—I-I wanna see you,” Ophelia growls. She yanks up her skirt, revealing the mess of what she must look like: sweating and red faced, breathing hard through her nose and drool beginning to tread down her chin.

Lucifer, she probably looks…

Ophelia growls, like a genuine blood curdling sound.

“I wanna see you swallow.”

So she does. She holds those glowing eyes and even licks her lips clean. Ophelia watches and doesn’t look to breathe the entire time. She tries to suck on her fingers too, but the escort pulls away with a smile.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to end ourplayshort for today, sir.” She coos it, with this tone of faux sadness. Slow in the way she raises to leave Wednesday high and dry. As if she’s not probably delighting at the state she’s in.

Her core throbbing. Her mind full of things so wanton and stupidlyneedy.

“You have somewhere else to be?” She watches incredulously as the escort grabs her panties from the ground. All the while Ophelia looks to be practically glowing after their little ‘merger.’

“My phone kept going off while you were—“ The escort bites her lip, giggling at the unamused look she gets in return. “Yoko told me she would call when she was ready to go eat.”

Wednesday does her best to hold in a scoff or something more petulant. Something that would surely get her called bratty, but entirely too close to sounding dependent.

Like sheneedsrelease too. She doesn’tneedanything…

”You’re ‘punishing’ me by leaving to go spend extended time with Yoko Tanaka? I’d say I admire the conniving way in which your mind works, if not for it being at my own expense.” Wednesday grumbles, settling back into her seat and recapturing her resolve. Doesn’t help that the pulse she’s counting is throbbing in time with her cl*t.

She’s uncomfortably wet and part of her had been prepared for her ‘punishment’ to have a proper end. For the wolf to have its wicked way with her, carnally tearing through her tailored pants to take what she wants. Instead, she’s grabbing her blazer from the rack and chuckling at her phone.

And Wednesday’s certainly not going to beg.

“I do hope Tanaka keeps you far more engaged than my experience with the leech.” She snarks, making the escort give her a look. Playful still, but she likely didn’t like the insults thrown at her friend.

”Speaking of…” Ophelia drawls next, before slipping her phone in her blazer pocket. “Don’t ask me how cause its not my fault, but Yokomighthave your number.”

Well, that puts a damper on any pleasant feelings flowing through her body.

”Its ‘not your fault?’” Wednesday questions, disbelieving.

”She tried getting it from me, but some of usknow how to hold water.” Ophelia corrects, crossing her arms and saying rather condescendingly, “Ironic, cause I thought your Alpha friend was a siren.”

Wednesday groans, eyes rolling back and cursing Bianca Barclay for the nth time since she’d had the displeasure of being assigned seat mates back in school.

”I’ve half a mind to disconnect the damned thing.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to send you the rest of your ‘punishment’,” Ophelia teased. A promise on tip of her tongue, she leans against the office door suggestively. “Margaritas make me feel…generous.”

Wednesday only swallows, throat alarmingly dry despite the amount she drank before. Rather than subject herself to more of this particular torture, she fixes her shirt and gives one final adjustment to her tie.

”I suppose you’ll need money for the tab?” She questions smoothly, casual. They’re both ignoring her smell of brew, like grinding coffee with notes of chocolate. A strangely sweet smell to be coming from someone like Wednesday.

Ophelia only acknowledges her offer.

”If you wouldn’t mind?”

”I’ll send it before I leave for the day.”

With a final smile, satisfied like a cat more so than a wolf; the escort is slinking out of her door again.