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thelucyaddams · 1 year

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Loved this one a lot 🥺🥺🖤

I guess that's love

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Wednesday sees herself stuck in the memory of one night; the night you almost died. She feels it's her fault, your blood on her hands says as much.

A/N: This is loosely based on Can't Pretend by Tom Odell and After Hours by The Weeknd which was suggested by the lovely @abelvrla. Also, I think it's valid to say that this story is mostly me having fun with some of my favorite tropes, so idk if this turned out kinda bad or similar to any of my other works; but I do hope you can enjoy it anyway. <3

Word count: 4,5k of feelings.

Masterlist

It's red. All she sees is red.

It stains the white porcelain of the sink before going down the drain.

Blood never bothered Wednesday, one could say she enjoyed the sight of it.

Now, she's almost rubbing her hands raw. It's a hurried motion, she brushes the soap over her palm with urgency, clawing at her own skin under the running water; yet it's still there.

She feels a little nauseated. Maybe it's because her breathing is all over the place. Sometimes too fast; sometimes not fast enough, clogged up in her throat.

She washes. And washes. And… keeps washing. The skin of her hands becomes reddish. The blood — your blood — eventually, finally fades.

But does it really? Wednesday feels the stain to be permanent.

Looking down at her hands — her vision a little blurry but she doesn't think about that — she catches herself shaking. Her chest is impossibly tight, it hurts to feel the beating of her own heart.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to dread your death?

She's disoriented when she exits the bathroom, not registering immediately where she is. The white walls of the hospital hurt her eyes.

It's been such a long night.

Is it still night?

The tie around Wednesday's neck seems to be choking her. She reaches her hands up to loosen it, but the feeling doesn't go away. She discards the garment altogether.

That's when she notices the blood stains on the cuffs of her white shirt. She curses under her breath. She wants to throw up. Or change out of these ruined clothes, but it feels like a waste of time.

"…nesday? Wednesday!"

She looks up upon hearing the calls of her name, only to see Principal Weems regarding her with evident worry. She's a little paler than usual, the night definitely hasn't been kind to her either.

There are only a few doctors walking around, some of them give Wednesday a strange look as they pass her by. A pungent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. The sky outside the window bleeds in soft shades of dark purple and orange — the sun is already rising to a new day.

"You need to get checked out too, follow me." Weems reaches out to Wednesday's shoulder, trying to guide her to an empty room.

Wednesday ignores it, shrugging off the hand on her shoulder. "Where is she?"

Weems avoids her eyes then, sighing exasperatedly because she knows arguing will lead her nowhere; "she's being treated, we'll be able to see her soon."

"I want to see her now," Wednesday states, before walking past Larissa without even knowing which door she should go to.

"She's in surgery, miss Addams," Weems insists, finality in her tone. "We'll only make things worse going there now."

It's funny, how you've always told Wednesday she should put herself out there more, not be afraid to feel or let people close. Yet now you only prove her right in her reasoning that emotions only exist to torture people. Not in a good way.

But she did it anyway, didn't she?

She allowed herself to feel things.

Wednesday is frozen to the pristine tiles, her nails almost piercing her skin as she clenches her fists.

"I'm worried too, but all we can do now is wait," Weems softens once she notices the shaking of Wednesday's body. She takes a careful step closer to the girl, "if you don't want to see a doctor come back to the school with me, take a shower, put some clean clothes on. I'll drive you back when we're allowed to see her."

—

The warm water soothed Wednesday's muscles, it washed away the dried blood from her hair and the dirt clinging to her skin. It was relieving.

She's now standing in front of the bathroom mirror and the reflection staring back at her is not one she easily recognizes. Her skin looks paler than usual — if that's even possible — there are dark circles around her eyes and even she has to admit she looks exhausted.

Wednesday reaches a hand to touch her abdomen, nimble fingers tracing the spot that should be ripped open but isn't. Not even a scar remains; no telltales that she had been stabbed just a few hours ago.

She shivers at the thought. Death's cold embrace is a little more taunting when seen up close.

For a fleeting second, Wednesday catches herself planning to go to your room — as she usually did most nights before she pushed you away. She would sit beside you on your bed, her shoulder would brush yours and she'd comment about how you could even sleep in a bed this small, yet she wouldn't pull away. She'd talk with you about how good it felt to drive a knife into the old pilgrim's heart. Maybe she'd even tell you she had been scared. Maybe you'd try to hold her hand and she'd let you, gripping you tighter than she should.

Your comfort was Wednesday's most prized secret. You were her favorite broken rule.

The salty taste of a tear on her lips brings Wednesday back to reality. The reality where she doesn't have a single scar on her body and you're in a hospital bed fighting to stay alive.

She dries her cheeks harshly, turning around to put on her sweater and dark pants.

—

It's 6 PM when Principal Weems brings her back to the hospital and Wednesday is finally allowed into your room.

There's a stillness to it that she hates. You are too still. Several tubes are attached to your body as you lay on the hospital bed, there are bandages around your torso, some of them faintly tainted red. The machine that tracks your heartbeat is beeping in a lazy rhythm.

Wednesday doesn't dare breathe as she walks closer, stopping right beside you so she can cast over each scrape on your skin.

There was too much blood loss, Weems had told her moments ago. Wednesday knew that, she was the one who kept what was left of your blood inside your body until the ridiculously slow help finally arrived.

Weems also told her the bullet was short of doing major damage, and that despite now being weak, you were lucky and should wake up within a few days.

It does absolutely nothing to set Wednesday's heart at ease.

You're too still.

She can barely see your chest moving with the soft breathing. Your features are so serene, so emotionless. She could say you're dead if she didn't know any better.

Wednesday doesn't move for several moments, it's almost as if she's afraid to. She holds herself stiff at your side, glaring at you as if you'd wake up only to hear her scolding.

She hates that this is the first time she's been this close to you, in what? Two or three weeks?

It feels unfair, unfitting. Like it's all wrong.

But she can't complain. It's her fault.

A vain attempt at keeping you safe. Maybe it only made things worse;

—

"You know, as far as dates go, this is pretty creative," you told her, dodging fallen logs and rocks as you walked amongst the woods.

Wednesday turned back to look at you with an unreadable expression, "no one said this was a date."

"What would you call it then?"

"Investigating."

You groaned, falling into step beside Wednesday. Just so you could see the heavenly way the moonlight shaped her features. There was fog in the cold air, trees nothing but dark silhouettes around you; it suited her. "You're no fun."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Wednesday felt your hand brushing hers. She hated how it made her focus waver. "Besides, you're the one who agreed to accompany me."

"Of course I did," you explained easily, "you asked me to."

Wednesday gulped, things felt more intimate than they should when the only witnesses around you are trees.

"Why was that?" You dared take hold of her hand then, your cold fingertips closing around her own. She stopped abruptly, and you observed the way her shoulders tensed. "You say you don't need anyone, yet here I am."

Wednesday's breath turned shallow, she didn't feel like looking at you. Because you were right, it was a break in her pattern; her rules.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to break her rules?

You came to stand before her, your other hand taking hold of her free one so you could pull her closer. And she let you. Another step and any left space between you will vanish.

"Why won't you tell me?" You asked for what felt like the millionth time, but you didn't really hope for an answer.

You're familiar with her. She allows you close; you hold her hand, you touch her cheek, you braid her hair. Yet she never tells you why she allows you to do it.

Wednesday kept her eyes focused somewhere on your lips, counting the specks of color there, still as a corpse.

She saw the ghost of a smile that came to your lips before you leaned closer. And alarms were blaring inside her head, her lungs aching because of how she refused to breathe; yet she didn't move away.

You kissed her softly, gently. Your lips mapped hers in a way that felt like it always should've been.

And she melted against you, her hands clutching yous.

But as all things do, as Goody warned her time and time again; it didn't last. Shockwaves cursed through Wednesday's body and she was taken to another reality.

A reality where you were screaming her name in one second, and the next you were laying on the dirty ground, a pool of blood forming under you.

Wednesday jumped away from you the second she came back to herself, her eyes wide and breathing frantically as she strived to not pass out from what she'd just witnessed in her mind.

You were speaking, trying to reach out for her again as you asked what was wrong.

Wednesday felt her eyes sting, all she could see was your blood on her hands.

—

Her vision from that night came back in the form of nightmares for many nights after. Getting Wednesday to start dreading sleep.

She remembers warning you to never come near her again just before she sprinted away, leaving you alone in the woods with no further explanation. She avoided you, accepting the fact you might hate her, but it was okay because you'd be doing it alive.

All in vain, because her vision became a reality anyway.

"How could you be so stupid?" Wednesday tells you, but only the hospital walls hear it. "Jumping in front of me like that, it was ridiculous. Don't you see it? That's why you should've stayed away."

It's useless, you won't wake up to hear her complaints.

Wednesday exhales sharply and turns away from you, "it shouldn't have happened, I tried to-" There's a lump in her throat, it tangles her words, "but you're so stubborn… If you die before me, I'll kill you, I will-"

I don't know what I'll do. Wednesday thinks to herself. She sits on the chair that's beside your bed, watching through the window as the sun hides behind Jericho's mountains.

"You're missing your stupid sunset," Wednesday finds herself whispering. A last attempt at getting you to open your eyes, because for some reason, you liked to see the ending of sunny days.

Nothing happens. You remain still. The beeping tracking your heart rate is still slow. The room remains too quiet.

Wednesday leans back on her chair, she stays motionless for several minutes; until her hand eventually finds you.

Wednesday wraps her fingers around the pulse point on your wrist, not trusting the machine to tell her you're not dead yet.

She holds tightly onto you. There's no one around to witness it.

—

You didn't wake up for four days. And every day, without failure, Wednesday came to see you. She'd sit beside your bed and wait, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking as if you'd talk back to her.

It was her own way of keeping herself calm, busy.

Though the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on her; sour mood and thinner patience being her new normal, along with the dark circles around her eyes.

Every time she closes her eyes, she's back there — warm blood on her hands and your life slipping from her grasp — so she refuses to do it.

Enid has seen her roommate nap hunched over her desk too many times to not get worried, but with being shut out every time she asked what she could do to help, she eventually stopped.

Wednesday could hate you for messing up her life.

She doesn't.

—

The day you woke up, Wednesday was nowhere to be seen.

All of your friends came to see you, overwhelming you with love and tales about how each of them missed a part of you in their lives.

You felt sore all over, as if you'd been hit by a truck — getting shot then staying unconscious in bed for days will do that to someone, you figured.

Enid was the one who stayed to accompany you back to school when you were discharged from the hospital, along with Principal Weems, of course.

"It feels like I'm learning to walk all over again," you groaned, one hand coming up to clutch at your abdomen as you got to your feet.

"Take it slow, we've got time," Enid kindly held a hand out for you, which you promptly took.

There are a million questions swimming in your mind, losing these many days from your life feels strange. You halted but the world didn't.

You asked the one that you first thought of when you woke up; "Enid," you stop walking so you can look into her eyes, "how is Wednesday? Did she got hurt?"

A complicated array of emotions pass through Enid's features, too fast for you to put your finger on any of them. She looks at you with something akin to sympathy; "she's… fine." Enid chews on her bottom lip, pondering whether she should tell you or not. Naturally, she can't hold back, "she hasn't left your bedside once."

You must have looked rather surprised, because Enid keeps going; "it's true, there wasn't a day that she didn't come to see you."

You don't know how you should feel. You think it's unhealthy for your heart to be beating as fast as it is right now after what you've just been through, but you can't get it to slow down, not when such a bomb is dropped on you.

Almost a month ago, Wednesday told you to never come near her again. Today, Enid tells you she's been by your side this whole time.

"Why?" You ask.

Enid doesn't know the answer.

—

It feels like a fever dream. Your bullet wound, the hospital visits, the remains of the fight. Everything. It feels like it didn't happen.

Because when you got back to Nevermore, everything was back to how it was. The damage to the school was repaired, classes were steadily going back to being routine, and Wednesday hasn't looked in your mere direction once — she, being the epitome of healthy coping mechanisms and dealing with feelings, avoids you like the plague.

You asked Enid to tell Wednesday that your door was open if she ever wished to talk.

Several days have gone by already and she hasn't taken you up on your offer.

You walk out of the cafeteria with a heavy heart and twirling an apple in your hand. You miss her. You hate how your days still feel hollow without Wednesday's presence on them, it's weird because she's not the type of person who usually makes her presence known; but you miss the weight of her shoulder resting against yours, the familiar comfortable silence you'd share when only enjoying each other's existence while reading.

It's a grey day outside. You see her before you see anything else when you walk into the quad. She has her back to you, black braids haphazardly done falling over her shoulders as she sits with Enid on one of the tables.

The werewolf notices you and waves you over, an encouraging smile on her lips. You give her a look that shows your uncertainty, but she insists.

You take a deep breath and follow the stone path that leads to her table. There's a limp on your steps still, telltales of the fight; sometimes you feel the eyes of your peers lingering on you. You wonder what they're thinking about, what they see when they look at you. A brave hero or a stupid kid?

What do they see when they look at her? A lonely, unfortunate soul or the savior of the school?

You sit down beside Enid, consequently in front of Wednesday, your hands resting in your lap as your knee goes up and down anxiously.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Enid greets you happily, as if there isn't a tension thick enough to cut through in the air.

The question almost goes over your head. You're focusing on the Addams girl in front of you, on the way her knuckles suddenly go white as she grips the lunch tray like her life depends on it.

"I'm alright," you answer, eyes fixed on Wednesday — she holds you in a trance.

"I've been meaning to ask if you have the notes from our last class?" Enid continues, in a kind effort to make things less complicated.

"I uh-" you start, but cut yourself off when Wednesday hastily gets up from her seat, not sparing you a glance as she turns around and walks away.

You watch her retreating figure, the ends of her skirt bouncing with her steps. With a groan, you begrudgingly take a bite from your apple, "there's no figuring her out, I'm done," you mumble over your mouthful.

Though you're not sure if you truly mean it.

"Don't say that," Enid pouts, keeping her eyes on Wednesday until she disappears through the doors that lead inside the school.

"She made it explicitly clear she wants nothing to do with me, Enid," you shrug, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, "I think it's my fault anyway, so… I won't bother her anymore."

Enid turns, straddling the bench she's sitting on so she can fully face you; "what do you mean?"

You breathe in deeply, feeling the familiar flutter in your stomach just thinking about it. "A few weeks before all that shit happened, we shared a- a moment."

Enid instantly smiles, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "you kissed?"

You chuckle timidly, smiling along with the memory, "yeah," but your gaze dropped to your hands right after. "I think it was a mistake."

"I doubt it," Enid tells you confidently then, as if she's in on a secret you're not.

You raise an eyebrow at her.

Enid glances between you and the door that Wednesday had disappeared into, tasting the words on her tongue before she spills them over for you. She breathes in, and relents; "after you passed out…" she gulps, dreadful memory still fresh, "right after you got shot, from the blood loss. Wednesday, she- I never saw her so desperate."

Only from the emotions swimming in Enid's eyes, you could tell she was being honest. You couldn't help the tightness in your chest upon imagining Wednesday going through that.

"It was almost as if she knew you wouldn't make it, that you wouldn't survive," Enid keeps going, "or at least that's what she believed in."

Clarity shoots through you like a bullet as your eyes widened with the words. Ironic much, but that was the feeling.

Because there was a possibility, that Wednesday saw your misfortune before it even happened. Right when you kissed her, no less.

And if that was the case, you couldn't imagine the torment she's been under ever since.

—

The night is calm, you can see clouds shaping the moon as you walk the path outside that leads to Ophelia Hall. It's a little late, just past curfew but you prefer it that way — fewer people around, the hallways will be empty.

It's a struggle for you to walk up the stairs, you have to stop once to catch your breath and allow the nagging pain that shoots up your leg to subside. Details. Tonight feels important, because you're going to see her; you'll make sure of it, even if she insists otherwise.

You stop in front of the dark wooden door. If you strain your ears, you can hear the faint noise of her typewriter. Enid isn't there, you know she's at Yoko's room tonight — her idea, not yours. Privacy is important, she told you, right after all but commanding you to do what you're doing.

With a deep breath in and feeling more nervous than you thought you would, you raise your fist, and knock.

The typing noise stops, you hear her chair scratching the floor. You couldn't breathe even if you tried.

The door pulls open and your heart melts a little at the sight; Wednesday stands in front of you with a hoodie and sweatpants on, and her hair free of braids, clearly not expecting anyone to show up at this hour.

You're snapped out of your trance when you register the door closing again. You quickly hold it open with your hand; "hear me out, please."

"No," Wednesday huffs, "I told you to stay away."

"Yeah, and not much else," you push through, squeezing your way inside her room and closing the door behind you. Wednesday takes a big step back as if you'd burn her. It hurts. "Could've given me a reason."

With a deep breath in, Wednesday sets her jaw tight, "I don't owe you anything."

You avoid her eyes then, "maybe not, but I thought we had-"

"We didn't," Wednesday tells you, the shake of her voice makes you look up, and you think you see her eyes glistening, "we don't."

You nod slowly, and despite the bleeding of your heart, you speak softly; "did you see it?" You chew on the inside of your cheek, fumbling with your hands so they don't tremble, "that night, you had a vision didn't you? About what happened to me?"

There's a sudden stillness to the room that feels awfully familiar to Wednesday. She hates the way she can't seem to control her breathing pattern, she hates that the image of you in front of her is becoming blurry.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because I got hurt?"

Your words urge Wednesday's mind to travel back to that night. She closes her eyes tightly, causing a tear to roll down her cheek and part of her wants to kick you out of the room for making that happen.

"You're a liability," she tells you the first thing her mind conjures up.

You chuckle humourlessly, "ouch, considering I saved your life that's-"

"Exactly the problem." Wednesday interrupts urgently, "are you stupid? If you insist on staying close to me you'll only hurt yourself." Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, as if it caused her physical pain to speak.

You've never heard her this vulnerable, this scared. Your heart bleeds but for a different reason; for the affection you hold for her, for not being able to protect her from what happened. You take a step further towards her and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't take one away from you. "And what if staying away hurts me just as much? What then?"

It's quiet. Wednesday doesn't make a single sound. All you see are her cheeks slowly being stained with tear tracks as they roll all the way down to her chin and drip to the floor, her eyebrows scrunching in hurt. But she's so quiet.

You take one more step. "Tell me why."

A beat of silence, and then; "you made me… care about you and then you go and almost die." Wednesday chokes out angrily.

You smile sadly, finally hearing the words you've been chasing; though you'd prefer them in better circumstances, "caring about people can be… scary."

You don't think she registered that you were so close. Wednesday flinches when your hand touches hers, it's a ghost of a touch, barely there, yet it feels almost like an embrace.

"But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere," you say quietly, tears pooling at the bottom lid of your eyes as you carefully hold her hand properly.

Wednesday is frozen in place, it feels like someone reached past her ribs and is squeezing the organ that pumps her blood. She hates that she must look like a mess, yet this is the first time in weeks that she feels she can actually breathe. Part of her has been stuck on that night — hands stained with your blood as the paramedics take you away from her — until now.

Her fingers tentatively close around yours, her lips part and she struggles a little to get the words out, "it's not a promise you can keep."

"I can try," you whisper. You see it clearly in her eyes; the guilt she's been carrying. "What happened that night, it wasn't your fault, you have to know that, Wednesday."

"It was because of me," she reasons just as quietly, "and almost took you from me."

Goosebumps raise on your skin at her words. Your thumb gently traces her hand. It's private, it's delicate, it's a moment that belongs to you two only. "It'll take more than a bullet for you to get rid of me," you tease with a tearful grin.

Slowly, you bring her hand up so it rests over your chest; her palm flush with your skin as your heart beats rhythmically right underneath it. "I'm right here," you breathe.

It's all it takes for her to, finally, surrender. Wednesday stumbles forward, and you're there to catch her. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands clutch at the fabric of your shirt to the point of ripping. You encircle your own arms around her waist, pressing her tightly to you.

Wednesday is still mostly quiet, the only thing you can hear if you focus hard enough is the occasional hitch of her breath. But you feel the way her tears soak your shirt, the way her body trembles as she gives her all to contain her sobs.

"There was… so much blood," is all she tells you, words muffled against your skin.

"I know," you slide one of your hands up to her head, entangling your fingers through her hair, "I'm so sorry it had to be you." You plant several kisses on her temple and on her hair, each one is a different promise.

I'm here.

I won't leave.

My blood will never be in your hands again.

You think she understands, because you feel her own lips brushing the skin of your shoulder; cold, damp with tears. Tender.

I love you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany

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thelucyaddams · 1 year

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This was so good, totally loved reading it 😍🖤

this town’s for the record now

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: Distance is a strange concept. Jenna feels no closer to you now than when you actually were on opposite sides of the world. If she missed you any harder, her heart might leap out of her chest and right into your hands.

Requested by @thenextdawn

A/N: Tweaked the idea just a slight bit but I hope you like it, sweetheart. I wrote half of this very much sleep deprived so if anything is weird blame it on that, also take some technical things here with a grain of salt because I know very little about how shooting movies/series works. Much love babes. <3

Word count: 5k (this got out of hand pretty fast)

Masterlist

The airport was bustling with people. Some arriving, tiredness clouding their features along with happiness as they were welcomed by loved ones; others speeding down the halls, suitcases in hand as they rushed to not miss their flights.

Jenna, though her flight was about to leave, was stalling. Her gaze skimmed over the crowd around. Her hands tightly held onto yours, as if you'd disappear if she loosened her grip.

And she wasn't too far off.

You brushed your thumb over the skin on her hand, trying to convey some sense of calmness, "I think it's time for you to go, otherwise the plane will leave without you."

Jenna grinned half-heartedly, swinging your joined hands around as she leaned her head on the wall to her right. "Would it be too bad if I let that happen?"

It was your little moment of peace. This corner of the airport suddenly became your fleeting safe haven for a precious second.

"I think," you started, pulling her towards you so you could wrap her in a hug, "some people would be very mad at you if you missed this flight."

Jenna encircled her arms around your waist, closing her eyes as she nuzzled her face on your shoulder, "I'd be with you though," she mumbled, words muffled against you.

Pulling back so you could look at her, you took hold of her hands again.

Honestly, you were striving to keep a strong facade on, to be the support you knew she needed. But deep down, you were holding back your own tears.

"It'll go by quickly, you'll see."

"It's eight months," Jenna sighed, "all the way on Romania. I'm excited about it, but, I never stayed away this long."

The 'we never stayed apart this long' went unsaid.

And it was true. It made you think for a moment that, to the naked eye, you two could easily be seen as a couple delaying their inevitable goodbye. That wasn't the case though, there wasn't a label to what you and Jenna were. Not yet. And it would have to wait until she came back.

"You'll be alright, I know you will," you encouraged, "you're gonna nail this role. You'll be the best Wednesday this world has ever seen," you smiled proudly, not an ounce of doubt in your words.

It got Jenna chuckling, all teary-eyed and flushed cheeks. "You'll text me every day, right? Call too?"

"Of course I will, I already miss you," you pouted.

She squeezed your hands, "promise?"

"Promise."

—

For those eight months, you kept your promise.

Every day you texted, called, and sometimes video-chatted with Jenna; checking up on her, lifting her mood, or simply talking.

You missed her more than you ever missed anyone in your life, and you could tell she felt the same. But for a while, it was bearable, because you talked every day.

Until Jenna started breaking the pattern.

It started slow, but steady. One unanswered text here, one missed call there, and suddenly you went two or three days without talking to each other.

It was comprehensible, Jenna was working after all. So you didn't think anything of it when the new normal became calling each other every four or five days.

But when those days spaced out, you counted yourself lucky if you heard from her at least once a week, and then every two weeks — her responses short and to the point.

Yet you kept sending her texts; simple 'good mornings' and 'hope you have an awesome day on set'. Because you promised you would, she asked you to.

Even if, involuntarily, you started to feel like a bit of a nuisance to her when she answered you with a plain 'u too' every now and then.

It happened slowly; Jenna became a stranger. A stranger you still loved greatly.

—

Hey Jen, how have you been? I just wanted to let you know that I got the role for that movie I texted you about a few weeks ago. So yeah, I'm very excited. Hope everything is well, I really miss you.

You stared at the message on your phone, your finger hesitating to tap the send button. You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to get rid of the nerves.

Sometimes it hurts, because it wasn't like this — though that reality feels very far away now.

The filming process for Wednesday wrapped almost three months ago. You knew that because right before she left Romania, Jenna had called you, and for a lovely moment, things felt okay; you could hear the tears in her voice when she told you how much she missed you, apologizing over and over for not keeping in touch and saying how much she couldn't wait to be back, promising to come see you soon.

But that never happened.

You haven't seen Jenna ever since you said goodbye to her at the airport, ten months ago.

You guessed that's what distance does to people.

Yet, the stubborn part of you still texts her sometimes, because when you close your eyes all you can see is that teary-eyed Jenna who made you swear to always keep in touch with her. So you do. You tell her about your little bits of progress in the acting career, about some roles you manage to get, and if you're lucky, you'll get a response with 'congratulations'.

As of today, you haven't heard from her in two months. And if you cried about it a few nights ago, that's no one's business.

You understand she's busy, you see it in her on every interview that you watch — because you know her, you know the way her posture changes when she's getting tired, you know her mannerisms when she's nervous, you know when her smile is not the brightest it can be — but you think that, if she felt for you as much as you feel for her, she'd try to keep in touch. She would come to see you.

You pressed send on the message and put your phone back in your pocket the very next second.

Sad as it may seem, you didn't expect an answer.

—

"Hey, wait up."

You looked back over your shoulder, only to see your cast mate jogging up to you in the parking lot, big smile on his face.

"Something wrong?" You asked, adjusting your backpack over your shoulder.

"No, not at all," he told you as he caught his breath, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "I just wanted to say, you did really good in there."

You averted your gaze when you felt your cheeks warming up, getting compliments from people infinitely more talented and popular than you would always feel surreal.

"I mean it," he ducked down, searching for your eyes, "that was one of the best monologues I've witnessed in a while."

"Thank you," you chuckled nervously, "it means a lot coming from you."

He waved off your words as if telling you, yet again, to stop putting him on a pedestal. "That being said, I've been meaning to ask if you'd be willing to audition for my next movie."

To say your eyes widened in surprise was an understatement, you asked him to repeat himself and he did; grinning fondly, telling you all about the natural talent you have and how he couldn't forgive himself if he allowed it to go to waste.

You, of course, agreed promptly. And squealed like a schoolgirl once he was out of earshot.

Before you got into your car, you took your cell phone from your backpack, still bubbling with excitement as the offer didn't quite feel real yet.

For a fleeting second, the sight of your last unanswered text when you opened the conversation didn't make your heart clench in pain.

Jenna, you won't believe what just happened…

—

The production of a movie of this caliber wasn't like anything you'd done before; there were so many things going on all at once, so many more people involved, so much more work for you — comes with the territory when playing the main character, you knew that, but still, it was all somewhat new for you.

By the end of most weeks, you were absolutely exhausted.

You pushed open the door of your trailer with a groan, rubbing your temple to try and chase away the beginnings of a headache.

The only lights you turned on were the ones in your little kitchen area, keeping the place dimly lit so it was easier on your tired eyes.

Not bothering to change out of your work clothes for now, you threw yourself on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief when you felt your muscles relax.

Maybe it was the late hour and the vulnerability of your worn-out body; but most nights after a busy day, you found your mind drifting to memories that involved a certain someone. If you closed your eyes forcefully enough, you could pretend to be back there — your shoulder pressed snuggly against hers as she told you all about her day on set, her fingers sneaking to intertwine with yours, the weight of her head when she'd inevitably succumb to sleep against you — memories exist outside of time anyway.

When the screen of your phone lit up, you swore you could almost feel your heartbeat stumbling. You picked it up so fast that it almost fell on your face.

Jenna's name was on your screen, and you hated the way that it brought tears to your eyes.

You hesitated when opening the text, not daring to breathe or get your hopes up.

'That's exciting' was her response to your rather long list of unanswered texts, the last one being the one of you talking about the new movie you're working on.

No 'how are you', no 'I miss you'.

You closed your eyes and felt a tear running down your cheek, typing back the one thing you felt;

Sometimes I wish I had let that plane leave without you.

—

The movie you starred in ended up being the push you needed to be recognized. It was a success, and you were the reason why.

It premiered only a few weeks after Wednesday did. Jenna became known worldwide, and you sort of did too.

And that's what it took for you to finally see each other again.

If someone told you a year ago that you'd be attending the Golden Globes, you'd call them crazy. Yet here you are; timidly smiling as a billion cameras flash in front of your eyes.

And in the midst of greeting acquaintances, posing for pictures, and talking to reporters, your eyes caught sight of her.

She was nothing short of divine, soft pinkish-brown dress fitting her to perfection and her hair way shorter than when you'd last seen her. You didn't think Jenna could ever be more beautiful, but she's apparently always proving you wrong.

It felt like a gravity pull on your heart, urging you to walk closer to her, and if you ditched a reporter or two along the way, you couldn't care less. Your stomach was twirling in apprehension, it shouldn't be but it is, because sad as it feels, you don't know what you mean to each other anymore.

Jenna had her back to you as she spoke with someone you didn't know. You could feel your hands slick with perspiration when you cleared your throat a little awkwardly. She probably didn't hear, so you resorted to lightly tapping her shoulder.

It felt like seeing her for the first time in your life at the same time that it felt like you never parted ways at all. Though there was this painful squeezing in your chest that's never been there before. You smiled softly, breathing out a simple; "hi."

Jenna's eyes widened the slightest bit when she saw you, her lips hanging open when she had trouble forming words; it was a one-second thing, she was quick to recover and get her features back to impassive. Something you knew all too well was a bad habit of hers — suppressing what she's feeling.

"Hi, I- I had no idea you'd be coming," she told you, her eyes unable to find a place to focus on your face.

You pursed your lips, acutely aware of the cameras on every corner of the place. "Yeah, I tried to tell you but, you must've missed my text." The words felt heavy on your tongue, your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.

"I didn't mean-" Jenna's voice broke halfway through and she clamped her mouth shut to avoid a making scene.

It got you looking up to meet her gaze, and there were so many emotions swimming in her eyes that you couldn't put your finger on any of them.

Before you or she could say anything else, a reporter was calling out for Jenna, drawing both of your attention.

Jenna glanced between you and the reporter, before adjusting her posture and managing a smile. "I'll see you later, okay?" She told you, already turning away from you.

"No, Jenna wait, can't we talk?" You tried reaching out for her hand but she pulled away.

"Not right now."

"I just wanted to-"

She glanced back at you, taking hold of her dress in a white-knuckled grip to pull it up so she could walk faster; "I can't deal with you right now, okay? Please stop… crowding me."

Her voice had little emotion to it, but it froze you in place nonetheless. You figured a knife to the heart might hurt less.

Jenna walked away from you, smiling and waving to the cameras whilst you strived to not make the headlines as the actress who cried at the Golden Globes for apparently no reason.

So you were right in the end, she saw you as nothing but a nuisance.

—

There was a team waiting to help her get rid of the makeup and glam if she so wanted, but Jenna sent them away.

After such an event, there was nothing she desired more than peace.

Jenna's steps were slow and dragged as she made her way inside her hotel room, still holding onto her long dress, though with much less care than she did in front of the cameras. Part of it is always an act.

She ran a hand through her hair, messing up the previously perfectly styled waves with a sigh.

The shower had been long awaited and she almost napped on the bathtub; not really bothering to meticulously clean up the makeup, leaving a few smudges of eyeshadow here and there — that could be a problem for tomorrow.

And there was nothing more blissful than putting on sweatpants and an oversized shirt.

Her life has been nothing short of hectic ever since starting the filming for Wednesday, so Jenna enjoyed 200% every little time to relax that she had. Though today, she was restless, something had a tight hold on her chest and she couldn't pinpoint what.

She tossed and turned on her bed, unable to sleep even if she was exhausted and she wasn't sure why insomnia decided to kick in now.

That is, until she took her cell phone and a few clips of the event started popping up on the internet, and she caught sight of a picture where, in the background, she could be seen talking with you.

Oh.

That's where this hollowness is coming from.

The bedroom was quiet, the only things she could hear if she strained her ears were the cars way down on the road outside and the faint drizzle that started falling.

It was so quiet, so calm, that for the first time, Jenna felt it. She felt the weight of the past months downing on her.

Jenna had been running on autopilot, so much so, that she became numb to a few of her own emotions. And maybe a few people too.

There was a sudden lump in her throat. Jenna sat up quickly on her bed, clawing at her chest because she couldn't breathe. She mumbled curses under her breath, vision instantly getting blurred as tears collected on the bottom lid of her eyes.

If this wasn't a panic attack, it was something very close to it.

Jenna scrambled for her phone and hastily typed your number on it, shaky fingers bringing the device to her ears.

She held onto her breath when the line started ringing; and when it rang for the last time, she was already sobbing.

"No, no, no," she stumbled out, trying again, "please pick up, please," the pleas fell out of her mouth with broken syllables.

Distantly, she knew she had it coming, she hadn't been fair with you, or with herself. You were Jenna's weakest point, if she had allowed herself to miss you, she'd drop everything to go back. So she bottled up the feeling.

But sooner or later, it would surface, and it hurts more than she thought it would — because maybe her decision had cost her you.

Jenna wrapped her arms around herself, with tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin — she felt alone, so excruciatingly alone.

Jenna didn't sleep that night.

—

For the months that followed, Jenna tried calling you multiple times.

You never answered.

—

It didn't take long for Wednesday to be renewed for season two. It also didn't take long for filming to start.

Jenna saw herself going back to staying in a foreign country for months in what felt like no time at all. But this time around she knew what to expect, how to prepare herself for it.

Or that's what she had hoped, because when she stepped foot on set, she was greeted with the sight of none other than you. You who was animatedly talking with Emma as you held a few papers in your hands; a script, Jenna presumed. A script that had Wednesday written on its cover.

Jenna halted on her steps immediately, sneakers scratching against the floor; the grip she had on her backpack tightening significantly. No amount of internal pep talks could ever prepare her for this.

Next thing she knew, Emma had caught sight of her and was walking in her direction with you hot on her tail. Jenna felt like curling into a ball to try and disappear — not because she didn't want to see you, but because of what she did last time it happened. Part of her knows she won't be able to face your rejection without breaking.

"Jenna, you're finally here," Emma pulled her friend into a hug. Jenna held her back promptly, grateful to have something to momentarily hold on to.

"Yeah," she breathed, "it was a- a long flight." She couldn't help the way her eyes darted to you. And you were so… blank, emotionless.

"Have you met our new cast member? This is Y/n." Emma happily gestured to you, taking a step back so Jenna could properly see you.

There was a heaviness in the air, more than a year's worth of bottled-up feelings just hanging on by a thin thread. Jenna gulped back the lump forming in her throat. It was longing and hurt and guilt altogether.

She had never felt this. Missing someone to the point of feeling like your chest is being ripped open, as if they're on the other side of the world even if, in reality, they're right in front of you — just a few inches forward and she'd touch you. Yet it feels impossible.

"Hi," was all Jenna could utter.

You nodded once, with a clenched jaw and crossed arms, "hi Jenna."

—

You were avoiding her.

And it was nothing short of torture.

You were avoiding Jenna, as much as two people who work together can avoid each other, but still, you were doing a terrific job. Jenna only caught glimpses of you when it was absolutely necessary.

She had this hole in her chest; it made her restless and anxious. It's been only a week and Jenna already feels like she can't take it anymore. She knows it's affecting her work; she's not able to focus the way she did before, she finds herself zoning out whilst looking at doorways and waiting for you to walk in — most of the time you never do.

Right now, Jenna is sitting in front of a mirror as she gets her hair done for the day. She arrived a little late today, her sleepless nights finally catching up to her right on a Tuesday morning.

The distant smell of hair spray still hung in the air, the bright lights around the mirror still hurt her sleepy eyes so she keeps them closed, enjoying the feeling of the hairdresser doing her braids. She paid no mind when she heard the door opening or when the chair beside hers creaked. Only opening her eyes when your voice greeted the other people in the room.

Jenna didn't dare breathe. She looked at you through the mirror, your gazes meeting for half a second before you averted yours.

Was it too bad that she already kinda felt like crying?

There was this painful tug on her heart whenever Jenna did see you. It felt like remembering all of your good memories all at once — and they mocked her, told her she'd never have anything like it again.

Distance is a strange concept. She feels no closer to you now than when you actually were on opposite sides of the world.

If she missed you any harder, her heart might leap out of her chest and right into your hands.

You're looking everywhere except at her. It's almost bittersweet that Jenna can tell exactly just how nervous you are. Fidgeting on your seat, tapping your knee.

For a moment she wants to reach out and hold your hand, it used to calm you down, ground you.

She doesn't. Instead, she asks; "have you been enjoying the filming so far?" The words tasted strange on her tongue. Like they're all wrong and it's not what she should be saying to you when there's a ten-foot wall between you and her.

You hesitated, as if wondering if she was really talking to you. "Uh yeah, it's been a great experience so far," you said eventually, choosing to glance up at her through the mirror instead of turning your head to actually meet her gaze.

Jenna smiled, just a soft tilt of her lips.

Every minute that you weren't hers was a minute of pure agony.

And it was hardly the proper place for it, but with not knowing when she'd have the opportunity to speak with you again, Jenna took in a deep breath, and tried; "look, I- I've been meaning to apologi-"

"Not now, Jenna," you cut her off pretty quickly, drawing the attention of the few hairdressers around you. You cleared your throat; "we can talk about this later."

—

Ultimately, there was no 'later'. Jenna couldn't get a moment alone with you after that, and you made no effort either.

But when you love someone enough, you tend to make a few reckless decisions.

Jenna was staying in the same hotel as you, just a few doors away from yours, and she was a good actress.

It was late at night when you unlocked the door of your hotel room. You turned on the lights and instantly jumped back, almost tripping on your own feet; your soul leaving your body for a second.

"What the hell," you mumbled, with a hand over your erratic heart.

Jenna raised her hands and took a step back, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just me."

"How-" you gestured towards her, taking your backpack off your shoulder as the door clicked close behind you, "why-"

"Security let me in… I convinced them," she explained, a faint blush tainting her freckled cheeks as she felt strangely self-conscious under your gaze.

The hotel room wasn't big, quaint with its industrial-styled decorations and orange lighting; but with just the two of you occupying the space, it felt all kinds of intimate.

You scoffed, walking past her and to the bedroom without a second glance, "so much for security."

It hurt, way more than Jenna would care to admit. But part of her knew she brought it on herself. She followed after you, burying her hands in the pockets of her hoodie to hide the slight tremble of her fingers.

Your bedroom was even plainer than the main rooms. All your belongings are pushed to one side and filled only the lonely dresser by the ensuite bathroom door. It reminded Jenna of her own room.

She lazily brought her gaze back to you, her stomach twisting unpleasantly with apprehension; "I just wanted to talk."

Jenna's voice was small, uncharacteristically so, tugging at your heartstrings with each syllable.

This was just Jenna. No actress. No star. Just your Jenna.

You almost gave in right then and there.

But you had your back to her, fidgeting with the zipper on your bag to keep yourself busy. Her presence, her perfume, it filled the whole room, "now you want to talk?"

"I know, I was an- an awful friend to you," Jenna started, unable to stay still on her stance, "I know I should've called more and I'm so-" a sob broke through her voice, you were nothing but a blur in front of her.

"I'm so sorry for what I said," it was nothing but a whisper, said while Jenna hugged herself tightly, chasing some semblance of comfort that wasn't there. Her sudden vulnerability startled you.

You heard it loud and clear, it brought tears to your own eyes, even if you had promised you wouldn't cry anymore.

"That I was just something you had to deal with?" You finally turned to look at her then, and you strived to keep yourself impassive, because Jenna was far from okay.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears that were just a blink away from spilling over. She looked so small in the spacious room. "That's not true. Not what I meant."

"Well, that's what it felt like, okay?" Your months of hurting escaped you, "so I'm sorry I kept my promise and I'm sorry it crowded you but you-" you took in a shaky breath to steady yourself, glancing up at the ceiling then back at her, "you meant a lot to me, Jenna…"

It was all it took for Jenna to break, because she saw herself being back in that airport with your hands holding onto her so tightly — and she missed you, so unbelievably much. She could taste her own tears on her lips, the grip she had on herself was almost bruising as soft sobs shook her body; "You mean everything to me, you have to know that. And losing you…" she hesitated, as if fearing that saying the words out loud made them true, her lower lip wobbling, "there's nothing I regret more."

You almost didn't catch her words given the unsteadiness of her voice. It was too much for you and your bleeding heart. You couldn't physically bear to stay one second more away from her.

You walked closer slowly, tentatively, until you were able to embrace her to you.

Jenna buried herself into you, her tears soaking your shirt as you practically held most of her weight all on your own. She held you so strongly you almost had trouble breathing.

For a moment it was all that was needed, you and her holding what was left of each other together.

"I never meant for it to happen," Jenna whispered against you, damp lips grazing the skin on your shoulder, "I never- I was in a bad place and, after the f-filming for Wednesday wrapped up I got called for so many other things I didn't even have time to breathe." She curled herself onto you, her grip only tightening as if trying to merge you into her so you'd never part ways again.

You ran your hand up and down her back, leaving goosebumps on her skin and feeling your own tears trickling down your cheeks. There's no putting into words how much you're able to miss someone until you're holding them again. Until you can finally come home to each other.

For the first time in more than a year, you could breathe.

"I'm so tired," Jenna's small voice came again, tender, right beside your ear, "everything was so overwhelming, I- I felt so alone," she nuzzled her nose against your neck, and you wondered for a moment how long it's been since she allowed herself to receive any kind of comfort.

A beat passed until you were able to find your voice again, a little hoarse and unsteady; "you could've told me, I would've been there, Jenna. You know I would've done anything and more to help you."

With a sniff, Jenna finally pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, "I know," she pursed her lips, one hand coming up to brush at her cheek, damp with tear tracks — testimonies of her wounded heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

With your silence, Jenna kept going, if anything, out of desperation; "I'm so sorry, please I- you must know I never meant for it to go like that."

Teardrops clung to her eyelashes too, eyes shining brightly under the dim lights of the bedroom and her nose a little red. Oh, how you missed her.

You gently raised your hands to her cheeks, your thumbs brushing away a few tiny tears that still escaped her. "It's okay," you breathed.

"Please don't leave me," she mumbled, a soft sob cutting through.

"Not leaving," you promised, leaning up to kiss her forehead, "I'd never leave you."

When her eyes found yours again, Jenna stumbled forward out of instinct, her nose bumping yours.

You closed the gap with the encouragement you knew she needed, "you know I'm never capable of staying mad at you for too long," you chuckled, your lips grazing hers. You were home.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf @smugchorizo @the-lazy-turtle @vorsdany @jjsmaybank20 @wol-fica @v1ci0us

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