Work Text:
Tap. Tap.
“Yo—Blondie,”
Skrrrreee!
Rosalie grits her teeth at the errant flick of graphite she accidentally scrawls onto her notebook paper.
“Do me a favor, Addams. Drop dead, yeah?” She uses the pads of her fingers to hold the sheet down as she erases the imperfection. Then she flicks her pinky and ring finger against the parchment in a swift motion—swiping away the shredded pieces of flaked rubber.
“This is the part where I would say ‘You first’, but I’m afraid you’ve already beaten me to the punch.” The long, curly haired raven retorts.
“Bite me.” The vampire spits back.
Wednesday smirks from the table behind her, chewing the tip of her eraser.
“You returning the favor?”
Still facing forward, Rosalie grins. All shiny, glittery, white, porcelain teeth.
“I will rip your spine out, and feed it to you.”
Wednesday whistles lowly, thrumming her free hand in an offbeat tempo on the desk..
“Just what my wet dreams are made of.”
Molten golden eyes roll into the back of Rosalie’s head, ignoring the quip. But a non-answer is the wrong answer, apparently.
“You coming over later? Thing misses your face.” Wednesday tilts her head in question from behind her, rolling the gum in her mouth under her tongue then back between her molars. She drops her other hand to lightly tap the eraser on the tabletop, in time with her thrumming fingers.
Rosalie scoffs.
“Thing is nothing more than a Frankenstein appendage that doesn’t even have ey—“
“Yeah, yeah—blah blah blah—you love Thing so cut the shit or I’m telling him you said that.” Wednesday shoves one of the legs of Rosalie’s chair forward an inch with her toe. Pointing the graphite end of the pencil towards the blonde in warning—a warning that she can’t even see, mind you.
Rosalie’s mouth snaps shut.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She seethes.
“Try me.”
Speaking of… things.. Well, this is their thing.
The fighting..
The fucking..
The fighting, and the fucking? Yes, probably both.
What they don’t do is — the feelings.
Rosalie’s body shudders at the thought of verbalizing their, normally, strictly, physically expressed, affections.
If the vampire is deemed the ice, then Wednesday is the fire in their dynamic.
Black flames, to be exact.
Black flames with a sapphire blue core. Full of Rosalie’s piercing ice, right in the middle.
And no amount of encouragement from their parents (Esme’s ooo’ing of ‘young love’ and Morticia’s ‘ahhhh’ing in questionably rhyming romantic riddles), and the conniving meddling from the other half of the ‘Psychic Wonder Twin’s is going to change that.
It’s their.. Thing.
Alice doesn’t think so.
Alice seems to think there’s a whole lot more.. well, fluff.. to be discovered underneath their little chaotically unstable chemical equation.
As if Rose Addams would ever yield Sunshines and fucking Rainbows.
A, laughably, incorrect, downright unnatural kind of insinuation. It’s like telling someone the sky is green. Or that Freddy Krueger is nothing more than a misunderstood, middle aged white guy with a costume and knife play kink.
It’s weird. Really..
(Well, actually. Not quite.)
Because Rosalie’s been head over heels for the broody, dark cloud covered teen since the moment she laid eyes on her.
Clink... Clink.. ClinkClinkClink.
“Aw, come on Newton. Let’s try that again, shall we?”
Tiny discs of silver, copper, and nickel roll across concrete, bouncing down the steps. The pained teen in question lets out a strangled cry. His face scrunched in anguish, keeled over the railing.
“Fuck! — Arrrrggghhhh!”
Wednesday tisks.
She tightens the hold her left hand has over his wrist, pushing it further up his back. Twisting the fabric of the waistband in her right hand in two, full, circles before gripping it tighter, pulling it to herself and then up.
A (borderline girlish) squawk rings across the parking lot in front of the school’s entrance steps, as Mike Newton’s jewels start to resemble something a little closer to pancakes. His vision begins to prickle at the edges. Like static on a tv made in the 80s, right before you bang the top of it with your fist to bring it back into focus. The skin of his forehead turns purple at its position against the middle of the railing, slowly losing the battle of adequate blood flow vs. gravity.
Wednesday rolls her eyes and mutters,
“Stop whining like a little bitch.” She finally releases him from his super wedgie. Then she grabs the back of his collar with her right hand and yanks him upright, before gripping the back of his neck and forcing him to look down and to their left. “Now—” In a low, threatening, monotone voice she demands, “Speak.”
His breath is quick and ragged as he struggles to orient himself through the pain in his shoulder, he peers down into amber eyes with (forced) tears of regret threatening to spill from his own,
“I — Ow! — I’m sorry, Rosalie!” He rushes out in a raised, high pitched voice. A thick vein protruding from his forehead.
Snap.
The tendon in his shoulder pulls—unraveling like a gift’s bow on Christmas.
“And?” The raven haired teen behind him urges with another twist as he wails on.
“And I will never touch you again — Fuck! — I’ll never even look at you again,” He strains his head desperately against the pressure against his neck, “—Just let me go Addams, please, I swear!” He pinches his eyes shut in suffering, hot tears painting his cheeks now.
Rosalie can tell the teen doesn’t look convinced. She’s eyeing the back of Mike’s skull in bored annoyance, before lazily dragging her midnight orbs down to meet the vampire’s own for confirmation.
She quirks a thin black brow. Her long, equally black, tresses framing the sharp edges of her jawline.
Was that good enough for you?
It takes the blonde a few, eternal, seconds to right her newly spinning world, the thundering of her still heart, and quiet the internal screams of possession — Mine, mine, mine — drowning out the shocked, appalled, gawking, chattering teens dispersed around them. Her stomach suddenly turns into knots.
Whatever that feeling is — she doesn’t like it, she decides. Not one bit.
She swoons a little, regardless, before nodding once. Quickly.
Wednesday eyes round back to the injured boy. She leans forward, “Next time, somebody’s gonna have to reattach this for you.” A quiet promise, muttered with unwavering conviction—right into his left ear.
“Now get the fuck outta here.” She shoves him forward, hard enough to almost send him toppling over the rail. His arm hangs limply as he attempts to cradle his lame limb, scrambling to push his way back through the sea of students crowding the double doors, with a whine bubbling up his throat—beelining straight to the nurse’s office.
She watches him go, eyes fixed like a hawk until he’s out of sight.
The tension in her shoulders deflate a little, imperceptible to the human eye, but the vampire sees the subtle shift all the same.
The teen puffs a breath up through her jagged dark bangs, and turns to skip her way down the steps—feet clad in black, high top Chuck Taylor’s. The metal ring pants chain attached to her belt loops tinkers as she goes, and the blonde can’t help how much her eyes wander over her beautiful, slim form. The girl doesn’t even look Rosalie’s way, or any other wide eyed student for that matter, just sidesteps and breezes right past her.
The vampire is thrown completely for a loop.
“Hey – wait,” She whips around, with confusion pinching her brows.
“Don’t mention it, blondie,” The raven haired girl swivels on her feet to face her, but keeps walking backwards. “The only one that’ll be ‘tapping that ass’ anytime soon is me.” She smirks slightly, throwing Rosalie a wink before pushing her earbuds in and waltzing across the lot.
The vampire just gapes after her. Equal parts grateful for her protection from the disgusting teenage boy copping a feel without consent, enraged at her, equally, lewd audacity, and a little (lotta) turned on at both of the two.
No.
Rosalie doesn’t like this weird feeling.
Not one bit.
Spoiler alert:
Wednesday taps that ass.
Rosalie (unadmittedly) loves it (and Thing).