(Art by me, I put maybe too much effort into this damn fic)
Fandom: Wednesday (TV 2022)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Larissa Weems/Original Female Character(s), Larissa Weems/Reader, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair, Larissa Weems & Reader, Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates & Reader, Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates & Larissa Weems
Characters: Larissa Weems, Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates, Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair, Xavier Thorpe, Rowan Laslow, Tyler Galpin, Francoise Sylvanne Galpin, Donovan Galpin, Noble Walker, Lucas Walker (Wednesday), Vlad (Wednesday), Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams, Pugsley Addams, Thing (Addams Family), Fester Addams, Bianca Barclay, Divina (Wednesday), Yoko Tanaka, Eugene Ottinger, Annita Bevington (OC/Reader), Gale Filander (OC), Helen Hillard (OC)
Additional Tags: Character Death, Minor Character Death, Blood and Gore, Mutilation, Nevermore Academy (Wednesday), Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Teacher Reader, History Jokes, Poisoning, Poison, Wolfsbane Poisoning, Banter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Investigations, Murder, Attempted Murder, Grave Robbers, milf OC/reader, doesn't have kids, but in their forties, history professor, Botany, Fun Teacher, POV Third Person, chronically allergic to first person pov, had a friend beta read, Updating the tags as I go, TikTok, sorry but it had to happen, philomena cunk - Freeform, because she's fucking hilarious, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, pop culture references, there might be an occasional song cameo, Addams Family References, we bully historic figures here
Summary: Annita Bevington joined the Nevermore staff two years ago. It had been a peaceful and refreshing change of pace, working with outcasts. Every experienced teacher will tell you that the first year in a new school is the hardest. That rule clearly doesn't apply to Nevermore. Third time's the charm! If you could call chaos and a generous amount of bloodshed charming.
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like real people do
in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy
fluff (18+ for nudity)
warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit
a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!
It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change.
Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.
A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it.
“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy.
“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him.
“You’re home.”
“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”
He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear.
“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”
“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering.
“Are you sure?”
“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”
“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”
He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle.
“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”
Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is.
“Can I come?”
“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”
“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”
“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”
He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.
“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”
“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good.
“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”
“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. “I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”
“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.
“Your lack of faith in me hurts."
Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made.
“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”
Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object.
“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”
“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed.
“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”
“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible.
“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty.
“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”
“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”
“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”
And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave.
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