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sweaterweatherever · 1 year

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Woah we need a pt 2 of bottom Wednesday and fem!reader🤭

Birthday girl (Wednesday Addams x Reader)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x AFAB Reader

A/N: This is a continuation of the blurb, but it can be read as a stand alone. I tried so hard to make this not OC. I hope I managed. I also hate when someone puts Spanish in writing and it feels cringy. Praying I didn’t become what I hate, although I have an unfair advantage.

Requested: Yes, so long ago. I'm the worst.

Warnings: Aged up characters. Smut. Oral sex. Jealousy. Badmouthing Tyler.

“All these chains, and all this blood… Bet it reminds you two of something.” Ajax smirked, leaning against the bar. You stared at him, tiredly. You hoped Enid made it back from the bathroom soon. The high school sweethearts had drifted apart with the years, but she still had a way of shutting him up that evaded you.

“What could it remind her off?” Wednesday asked, passing you a drink. It was a pink and white monstrosity, with many sprinkles. You took it gratefully, glad the social interaction was over. It got tiring, being the sociable one, sometimes. The birthday girl herself wasn’t much better, but it was so rare for her to willingly involve herself in a conversation that it took the pressure off you.

“Your sex life, maybe.” Tyler snorted, carrying his drink too, and passing one to Ajax. You frowned at the comment. His interest made your hackles raise, even if it had been years between him and Wednesday. Truth was, your sex life didn’t involve anything overly kinky. Not anything like the sadomasochistic decorations on the walls of the club you were sitting at. Had it been a hint, from Wednesday, picking this place for her birthday celebration? Did she want you to do something more…forceful? “Didn’t get Enid anything, the drinks are so fancy here, I thought she would want to pick her own.”

“The prices, too.” Ajax said, slipping him a ten dollar bill. “Too damn expensive for a beer.”

“Inflation and monopolies tend to have that effect on the market, yes.” Wednesday sipped at her whiskey, eyes cold. She had not taken Tyler’s comment in good sport, either. You shook your head and sipped your drink.

“Wens, what did you get me?” It was perfect, sweet but not enough to mask the taste of alcohol and get you drunk without you noticing. Cool, and refreshing too, something you would appreciate after dancing all night. Much like Wednesday herself. Sweetness and bitterness in the perfect dose.

“Sex on my birthday.” Wednesday said back to you, prompting a round of laughs from the boys.

“Well, Wednesday has always been a direct one.” Enid pressed a kiss to her cheek, much to Wednesday's disgust. “I’m so ready to get drunk, you have no idea.”

You looked around, worriedly. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your sex life, but it made you wonder, every so often. Wednesday was inclined in certain ways that you just weren’t. And you knew, you knew, that any sex she had with Tyler when all of you were younger probably had been way worse than what you two were having now. Teenage years did not make for good sex, usually it was awkward and fumbling. But the idea still nagged at you: What if she and Tyler did things, kinkier things, things they explored together and that Wednesday liked more? Did that make you a jealous person? Obsessing over your partner past sex life counted as jealousy, right?

It wasn’t like you were all vanilla. You sometimes enjoyed, taking or letting Wednesday take you apart, but it was always gentle. Think, feathers and soft kisses, not leather and chains, or whatever. But you remembered Tyler’s words and could not help but cringe. The way he had spoken, it had to mean he knew something you didn’t.

You danced, you laughed, and you drank all night. But the lingering doubt was still present in your mind. Was Wednesday really satisfied with the sex you were having? You snuck glances at her the whole night, so much, Ajax whistled your way every time he caught you.

When you finally caught a cab back to the apartment you shared, Wednesday was quieter than usual. She seemed to sense something was wrong because she wasn’t climbing on your lap, nor kissing you desperately. Wednesday wasn’t one for pointless displays of affection, as she called them. But she was one of purposeful ones. And there was nothing that got her more in the mood than dancing all night with you, sweaty bodies sliding together along the heavy bass in some club where no one recognized you. Normally, Wednesday would be all over you because while she could hold her liquor, she also got impossibly horny when she drank.

What really threw you off was when she grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Not like, passionately or anything, and not like your father-in-law did with your mother-in-law. Just a simple brush of her lips against your skin. You opened your mouth to say something, but quickly closed it when she glared at you.

“We are talking at home.” Wednesday said, firmly. Her hand pulled yours into her lap, and held it there, rubbing calming circles with her thumb over your naked wrist.

When you get out of the car, you are almost shivering in anticipation. Wednesday has you almost conditioned. You can’t get into a cab with her without wanting to jump her bones. But heat isn’t the only thing curling in your belly. There is also nervousness. You know Wednesday has picked up on your mood because she is that observant. You also know she has her theories about it, and since she sucks at feelings, they are probably funny ones. Wednesday will most likely get offended and harass you until you tell her how she can fix whatever is wrong. She is not much of a talker, really. This is not the kind of relationship where you get called adoring pet names and smothered in PDA. Wednesday shows she loves you every day, with her actions. You go to bed every night, safe in her arms and knowing you are loved.

“Do you like Tyler more than me?” She asks, leading you to the elevator. The thought makes you snort, but Wednesday is deadly serious. “You kept staring at him at the club, and he was staring back. Do you want him?” Wednesday presses a hand against your cheek, stroking softly. She has you crowded against the wall. It’s amusing, how right and wrong she is.

“No. I don’t want Tyler.” You answer her, kissing her lightly on the lips. Wednesday melts against you, lips parting open for yours as if it were only natural. She shakes out of it, quickly.

“But… why the glances? Did he hurt you? I could kill him for you, you know? He is nothing to me, not in the way you are.” The fact that Wednesday manages to evade your attempt at distraction and make it a full, serious statement is impressive. You have to give it to her, she looks serious about killing Tyler. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but they have a longer history than you and her, and ranking higher than him is gratifying. You aren’t too sure if she would carry on with the threat, so you fill the conversation away for later.

“Come on, help me undress.” You say instead, stepping out of the elevator and fumbling for the keys of your shared place. The hallway is dark, but the apartment is easy to find. This building is so expensive, there are only two in each floor. You can’t believe how expensive the rent is, and how Wednesday shoulders more of the expenses on her own. Generational wealth is really a funny thing. “I feel all gross. We danced too much, and I sweated like, half the cocktails we drank.”

Wednesday trails after you, pressing a kiss to your nape. She gathers your hair in a bun, pulling away the sweaty strands. You turn on the lights, watching fondly how the place looks like a perfect mix between the two of you. The furniture is dark and gothic, obvious signs Wednesday was the one who originally inhabited the place. But here and there, there are pop of colors. A throw pillow in a light-brown rests on the sofa. A vase full of your favorite flowers sits by the windowsill. A coat, haphazardly thrown in the hanger, in a color that’s not black.

You go to the bathroom, the silence between the two of you comfortable. You won’t force her to speak, nor will you ask her to feign to conform to societal rules. Wednesday loves you for that. The removal of makeup is done quickly and efficiently. Wednesday makeup routine hasn’t changed a lot since her teen years, so it’s only makeup and mascara for her.

“You are pouting.” Wednesday states, coming behind you on the mirror to help you unzip the dress. “Will you finally tell me why?”

“Is our sex life boring?” You asked, turning to look at her. You were unable to keep being quiet about it. It’s better this way, to have it all in the open, than to let your newfound insecurity fester and eat you alive. Wednesday will be honest, that you know. She never says anything she doesn’t mean. “Too vanilla for you?”

“Put that away.” Wednesday tapped at your lower lip, transfixed by the way the plump flesh gave away under her touch. She had a thing for your mouth, that you knew. “Or I will have to bite it.”

“Wens, I'm serious.” You turned, hands on your hips. “Am I too boring for you?”

“Amor.” Wednesday sighed, fingers tapping on your lower lip still. You parted them for her, letting her press her thumb inside you. She has a thing for your mouth. Your head tilts back, allowing her to do as she pleases. “I'm not the kind to suffer in silence.”

"Yeah, but you love me.” And it’s true, Wednesday is not the kind to keep quiet when something displeases her, but love has made her more tolerant. More soft. That, and the years. She is still blunt, but less than she used to be. It would be highly unusual for her to not say anything for so long, but the doubt is nagging at you, leaving you unable to think straight. “Maybe that makes the shitty sex worth it.”

“We haven't had shitty sex in years.” Wednesday presses a kiss to the curve of your throat, making a path towards your shoulder. Her fingers, nimble and slender, get rid of your dress. The fabric pools around your ankles, leaving you only on your underwear. Wednesday’s hands cup your breast, kneading softly. Your head pushes against her shoulder, neck thrown back in pleasure.

“Ah! So, the sex was shitty.” You exclaim, and she pinches your nipple, hard. It's a reprimand, more than an attempt to cause you pleasure. You whine, head lolling back.

“Yeah, but, first times always are. Besides, you take very well to instruction. It was not hard to train you at all.” Wednesday smiled. A terrifying sight, with too many teeth. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, hair loose out of her pigtails for sleep, she reminded you too much of a sort of perverted version of La Llorona, all black hair and dark eyes, ready to pounce on you. You shivered.

“But Tyler… You and him…" You start to say, but Wednesday's teeth close around one of your tendons, making you squeal. She soothes the skin with her tongue, kissing a map on your nape.

“Tyler and I… We are too alike to work. I need someone sweet. He needs to be taken down a peg or too, but refuses to admit it.” Then, lower, trailing kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck. “He doesn't take well to instruction, amor.”

That it what really gets you. Wednesday likes taking care of you, yeah. But you feel a little insecure, a little aroused, and you want to prove yourself.

“Let me take care of you tonight.” You say, turning to kiss her, fervently. You are desperate for her, for feeling her falling apart on your tongue, your fingers, the vibrator. Anything. Anything for her, to her. “You are the birthday girl, let me give you a present.”

Wednesday stares at you, eyes hard. Eerily beautiful, in a way it doesn’t feel real. Her sharp jaw catches the light when she turns her head, making her look like a painted Catrina. You had seen her with the makeup once, for Halloween. Día de Muertos, she had said, against your skin, black paint smearing as she trailed kisses down your back. Marking you as hers. It was a tradition to the Addams, they even held a competition. She had been robbed that year, when Pugsley had shown up in a costume inspired by Coco. It hadn’t even be hand sew as hers! She had protested, muttering something about gringos ruining everything, even if she was born in the States making her, well, one of them. You shook your head, trying to clear your head from the memory. Makeup or no makeup, her bone structure was perfect. You pressed a kiss to her brow.

“Fine.” You don’t need more encouragement. Wednesday gets undressed, slowly. Even if she is all long limbs, she looks tiny without her shoes. You kiss her neck until she is whimpering, begging for more. Only then, you make your way to her shoulders, mouthing your way to her chest, down her navel.

“Fuck.” Wednesday pants, grabbing your hair in a pull that is so hard it makes you whimper. Against the bathroom door, her body arches into yours, both only in your underwear. “Bed, now.” She orders, and you obey. You always do. You stumble towards the bedroom, underwear falling in disarray in the hallway. The next morning, when you have to pick it up, you will regret it. But not now. Not now, when she is warm and soft in the bed, against your hands, chest arching underneath yours. You gnaw at her ribs, nose bumping against them. You slide down her navel, lazy kisses against her belly buttons.

Wednesday mewls in a way you bet Tyler never heard. Something dark tugs at your chest. You know, you know, before you, she never knew gentle touches, thinking sex is always violent. How else would you be able to take her apart so easily? Fuck Tyler. He must want to be you so badly.

You go lower, spreading her thighs with gentle kisses. You bury your head there. She always smells so damn sweet, it drives you crazy. Her hand wraps on your hair, tugging. Wetness pools between your legs, you have never felt something so erotic as this. Controlled, fiery Wednesday falling apart under your hands.

“Don’t tease, amor. Por favor, por favor.” So, of course, you do just the opposite. You like the way Spanish sounds, how it spills freely from her lips, desperate. It’s a sensual language to you, not for the way it sounds, but because it only falls from her mouth when Wednesday really means the things she says. You are drunk on it, this power in gentleness. You are greedy. Craving more, you kiss her clit, light as a feather. Not enough to get her the relief she craves. “Don’t tease. No. No, ahora, ahora. Por favor, amor, ahora.”

There is no polite way to say this. You eat her out. You bury your head between her thighs and eat her like you are desperate for it, soaking in the way she smells, the salty taste, the way she sounds. How she makes a wild grasp for your hands, how her hips tilt just so, as if she wanted to ride your face. You lick, wide strips over her entrance, tongue lazy over her clit until she sobs, until she begs. Until she is too broken for any language that isn’t moans and grunts. Only then, you decide to set her free. You apply just the hint of teeth she enjoys so much, tiny bits of pain filtering through her pleasure. Wednesday screams her throat hoarse, pale thighs wrapping around your head, clenching, body convulsing like a woman possessed.

She lays there after, as you wash your face and clean her off. In a daze.

“Según yo, me mataste.” She mutters, hiding her face in the pillows, hair in total disarray. “¿De nuevo?”

You smirk. That is a word you do know. You open the drawer and pull out the vibrator.

“How many do you think I can pull from you?” Her face lifts from her hiding place, eyes on the vibrator.

“Más que Tyler, seguro.” She mutters, and you don’t get it at first. It takes you a beat and then you understand. Wednesday is too observant for her own good, and sure, she has noticed your jealousy.

“Doubt he knows where the clit is.” You snicker. She gives you a tired smile.

“Oh, trust me. He knows. But he thinks it's a button.”

Translations and cultural background for all the non Spanish speakers/ non Latinos:

Now, I’m not a translator, so these are rough, I wrote it thinking of what I would say and gave you the general meaning. Amor means love. Por favor is please. Ahora is now. Según yo me mataste is I think you killed me, but prettier. De nuevo, again. Más que Tyler, seguro is More than Tyler for sure.

I hope I didn’t miss anything. I referenced La Llorona because Wednesday has a thing at least for the story, and by the sweets Pugsley eats, I think they are Mexican. I also referenced Catrinas, because in some places they hold competitions, and it’s a big deal. Jenna Ortega’s Wednesday has a sharp enough jawline, the makeup would suit her very well. I hope with that, I don’t offend anyone, cause in Chile the tradition is non-existent.

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