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Tyler gazed at the dress with a mixture of pride and anxiety churning in his stomach. He had done it. After all that effort, it was finally ready. The fruit of his meticulous and dark labor hung before him, a twisted symbol of his devotion. Every thread dyed in that deep crimson hue, every drop of his blood, every minute detail made him feel he had created something beyond the mundane, something... perfect.
It had taken him two long weeks to gather enough blood to carry out such an endeavor. During that time, Tyler learned more about his body and its limits than he had ever wished to know. He spent sleepless nights watching as droplets of his own essence slowly dripped away, as if they knew they were destined for a singular purpose. The needles piercing his skin caused a mild pain, but he was accustomed to that kind of suffering. It was nothing compared to what he had endured at Willow Hill, and besides, this sacrifice was for her, for Wednesday.
In parallel, he devoted countless hours scouring vintage clothing stores, searching for that dress he knew would be perfect for the occasion. He had envisioned it in his mind before finding it, a style reminiscent of Wednesday's—elegant and old-fashioned, yet with a bolder touch: a low neckline, something that would break the rigidity of her appearance without straying from her essence. When he finally found it, a wave of satisfaction washed over him. It was exactly what he had imagined, perhaps even better. Now, all that remained was to dye it with blood, his blood.
It took him another three exhausting weeks to achieve the perfect shade of red for the dress. A red that had to be neither too bright nor merely pink; it had to be a deep, violent red, as dark as the very ink flowing through his veins. This quest led him to experiment with various methods, finding the balance between the grotesque and the sublime, a kind of modern alchemy where the only indispensable ingredient was his own essence. Every day, his room in Nevermore was filled with the penetrating scent of blood, mingling with the chemicals he had secretly procured, far from his father's watchful eyes and the dormitory supervisor.
Securing those materials without arousing suspicion had been quite a challenge. Tyler felt like a thief in the night, each purchase meticulously planned to leave no trace of his actions. The acetic acid, which he obtained from an old hardware store on the outskirts; the coarse salt, latex gloves, and above all, the blood extraction needles, which had become an extension of himself during those long weeks. The chill of the extraction bags and the thermal container used to keep the blood fresh made him feel more like a mad scientist than a lovesick teenager.
When he finally achieved that perfect shade of red for the dress, the satisfaction was overwhelming. Tyler spent several minutes gazing at it, almost hypnotized by the fabric's muted shine, now seeming almost alive. It was a red that shouted, that drew attention, yet had an elegant darkness, a dangerous edge. He couldn't wait to see it on Wednesday. He imagined how the bloody red would contrast with the pallor of her skin, how her dark, penetrating eyes would stand out even more against a dress dyed with his own life.
The process of rinsing it was as delicate as its creation. Tyler had to ensure that the color would not fade, that his effort would not be in vain. He washed the dress with the gentleness of someone caressing a work of art, knowing that any mistake, any rough movement, could ruin everything. In the end, when he dried it with the utmost care, he allowed himself the luxury of adding a final touch. Black cherry perfume and a subtle forest scent. It was a contrast between sweet and wild, a blend that, along with the latent iron rust from his blood, achieved the perfect balance. The dress, now wrapped in opaque black paper, was ready to be the most peculiar and meaningful gift he would ever give to anyone.
Since the resolution of the chaos with Laurel Gates and her Hyde alter ego, Tyler's life had transformed in ways he could scarcely have imagined. He recalled with a mix of terror and relief his therapy sessions at Willow Hill. The place had broken him in ways he preferred not to revisit. "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy," he often thought, knowing he had glimpsed the darkest side of himself within those cold white walls. Yet, he also knew that all that suffering had ended thanks to the Addams. Wednesday had done more than save him; she had avenged him. She had brutally and methodically taken down his former teacher, leaving Tyler with a dark sense of admiration.
"What she did... no one else would have done it," he sometimes murmured to himself, recalling how the braided girl always found a way to prevail, to destroy what hurt her without looking back. Her family, the Addamses, had also helped him more than he had ever hoped. They had exposed the abuses that had occurred at Willow Hill, ensuring that those responsible were held accountable. Wednesday, in her cold and cutting manner, had been the precise hand that freed him from that hell. And her mother, Morticia Addams, now the headmistress of Nevermore, had been a key figure in allowing Tyler to return to school, free from the curse that once defined him. The ban on Hyde at Nevermore had been lifted, and although Tyler still felt wary glances from some, he knew that at least he was no longer seen as an automatic threat.
Despite everything, his relationship with Wednesday had been difficult at first. After all that had happened, she barely looked at him, and he didn’t blame her for it. He knew he had betrayed her trust in the past, but gradually, with time and the support of the Addams family, he managed to rebuild that fragile bond. "Friends," he thought, though sometimes he felt that word fell short of describing what he felt for her. Deep down, he knew his affection was far more profound, darker, a connection that couldn’t be easily severed.
And so he was here, with that dress stained with his blood, planning the perfect moment. The Prom was just around the corner, and although everyone expected Wednesday to show up in her typical black attire, he wanted to surprise her, to make his proposal as unique and peculiar as she was.
"It will be perfect," Tyler whispered with a crooked smile on his lips. "This dress... is just for her."
Tyler took a deep breath, feeling the anxiety swell inside him like a storm he couldn’t control. Every second seemed to stretch longer, and the dress in his hands, carefully wrapped in black paper, felt heavier than it really was. He was convinced that this was the perfect moment, the only chance he had to ask Wednesday to the Prom. He had considered every detail, every possible outcome, yet he couldn’t shake the knot in his stomach.
He knew he had to be careful, that he couldn’t make the same mistakes as Xavier, who had clumsily asked Wednesday to be his date in front of the whole school with a pathetic bouquet of red roses. He remembered perfectly how she had regarded those flowers as if they were trash, and then, without a second thought, had crushed them against his head. Tyler had witnessed the scene from afar, and although he felt a twinge of pity for Xavier, he had also laughed to himself. "How could he have been so foolish?" he thought. He knew Wednesday hated anything cliché or predictable, and that had been a clear misstep on Xavier’s part.
Tyler knew better. His proposal had to be private, personal, and yet, peculiar enough to capture Wednesday’s attention without falling into the sentimentality she so despised. He had analyzed every move, every potential reaction from her. Perhaps she would reject him with a coldness that would pierce his soul, or maybe, just maybe, she would accept with that dark and enigmatic allure that always surrounded her.
The meeting place could not have been more perfect. Since Wednesday had begun studying Hyde, they had met in the same spot every Friday at four in the afternoon. The forest, silent and mysterious, had become their shared space. There, under the shade of the trees and away from prying eyes, Wednesday studied his reflections, his abilities, not with the intent to dominate, but out of pure fascination. Tyler admired her for that, for her insatiable curiosity, for her cold and calculating intelligence. He knew she didn’t see him as a creature to be feared, but as a puzzle to be unraveled.
"Today is the day; it has to be today," Tyler thought as he waited in the clearing of the forest, his breath quickening. The dress was perfectly wrapped, but his mind couldn't stop imagining all the ways things might go wrong. What if Wednesday rejected him without a hint of mercy? What if she simply ignored him as she had so many times before? Tyler shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He couldn't afford to falter now.
In the distance, he saw her approaching. Her figure was unmistakable, with her black, fitted jeans and the white-and-black striped sweater that made her look even more enigmatic. Her braids fell to the sides of her face, moving slightly with the wind. Her face, as always, was a mask of impassivity, but Tyler knew better. He knew that beneath that facade lay feelings as complex as his own.
Wednesday stopped in front of him, offering no greeting. Tyler felt his heart pounding, but he had to be brave. This was his moment. "What’s the worst that could happen?" he wondered. Being rejected? He had been through worse. A rejection wouldn’t kill him.
"Tyler, today I have some tests prepared that will challenge your... endurance," Wednesday said, without preamble, her voice firm and devoid of apparent emotion.
Tyler barely heard what she said. He knew he had to interrupt her before she dragged him into another one of her twisted trials. "Wednesday, wait a moment. I have something I want to give you... and a question to ask," he began, noticing how his hands trembled slightly as he held out the gift bag. "You can refuse it, of course. If you don’t like it, we’ll never speak of this again, I promise. And if I make you uncomfortable, just tell me... I won’t be angry, I could never be angry with you."
Wednesday's eyes fixed on him, cold and penetrating. "Tyler, get to the point," she replied, visibly impatient. Her tone was sharp but not hurtful. She knew that unnecessary words only irritated her.
Tyler swallowed hard and handed her the bag. "This is for you. I hope you like it..." he murmured, unable to hide the nervousness coursing through his body.
Wednesday looked at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. With slow, deliberate movements, she opened the black package. Her eyes stopped on the contents: a red dress, but not just any red—it was a dark, deep red that evoked the color of blood. The top of the dress was a square corset with a neckline that, while discreet, revealed enough to be intriguing. The small, sheer tulle sleeves and layered skirt gave it an ethereal yet dangerous touch.
Wednesday brought the dress closer to her nose, inhaling deeply. Black cherry, forest... and something else. A metallic scent, familiar, almost rusty. She knew what it was but wasn't sure if she wanted to confirm it.
Her eyes widened slightly, a rare reaction for someone like her. "Tyler, what...?" she began, but he interrupted her before she could finish the question.
"It took me a few weeks to gather enough blood to dye it," Tyler confessed, blushing as he looked down. "It wasn’t easy, but... it was worth it. I wanted to do something special for you, something I know no one else would do."
Wednesday examined the dress without releasing it, her fingers grazing the fabric stained with Tyler’s blood. A gift like this wasn’t merely a dress; it was a declaration, a symbol of his devotion, of his obsession. Such a macabre detail couldn’t be ignored.
"And... I wanted to know if... if you would go to the Prom with me, as my date. I’ll understand if you don’t want to... you don’t have to answer right now," Tyler added, his voice trembling slightly. He knew he was putting himself in a vulnerable position, one that she could crush easily if she chose to.
Wednesday stared at him for a long moment. Her dark, night-like eyes locked onto Tyler’s, and without a word, she turned and began walking back down the path from which she had come.
Tyler stood there, paralyzed, his heart shattered. He had imagined so many possible reactions, from an immediate rejection to a silent acceptance, but he had never anticipated this: a complete withdrawal, without a single word.
"Wednesday..." he whispered, barely audible, as her silhouette disappeared into the distance.
Wednesday was in a state of confusion and excitement that she would never have admitted out loud. Her normally impassive face was now flushed with a color that rivaled the hue of the dress Tyler had given her. That dress... it was more than just a garment. It was a symbol. A gesture imbued with a profound meaning that she wasn't even sure he fully understood. Tyler, her monster, had given more than just his blood in that gift. He had offered his devotion, his fascination, his commitment.
Now, she had to reciprocate. It wasn’t merely a desire. It was a necessity. An impulse that drove her, as if some higher force compelled her to do something equally special. She had three weeks to plan it. Three weeks to find the perfect way to return his affection, to show him that she too was willing to cross boundaries for him. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.
Wednesday crossed the threshold of her shared room, her mind swirling with ideas as she tried to plan her next move. Upon entering, she found Enid, who looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly surprised to see her back so soon.
“Shouldn’t you be at your... 'research' with Tyler?” Enid asked with a mischievous grin, emphasizing the word "research" as if it were a code for something more. “And that dress... what is that?”
Wednesday, still lost in her thoughts, barely noticed her roommate’s curious gaze as she made her way to her monochrome side of the room. The dress hung from her fingers, light as a feather but heavy with the emotional weight it carried.
“Something came up that requires my immediate attention. Training can wait,” Wednesday replied automatically, her thoughts already tangled in how to reciprocate Tyler’s gesture.
Enid, however, seemed unwilling to let the matter slide so easily. She stepped closer, examining the dress with a mixture of fascination and repulsion. It was a deep red, duller than a ruby but more intense than any other shade. A blood-red, peculiar and... morbid, which made it perfect for Wednesday.
“And the dress?” Enid persisted, unable to tear her gaze away from the garment. Certainly not something she would wear, but there was something about it that captivated her attention.
“Tyler gave it to me. He dyed it with his own blood,” Wednesday replied casually, as if she were talking about the weather. But behind her voice, there was something that betrayed her. A subtle tremor that only someone close to her could notice.
Enid quickly let go of the dress, as if the knowledge of its dye’s origin made it even more sinister. The blonde tilted her head, her expression torn between awe and horror.
“He used his own blood?” she asked incredulously, though she knew that with Wednesday, nothing was entirely strange. “That’s... romantic, in the most morbid way possible.”
Wednesday shrugged, dismissing her friend's discomfort.
“Tyler also asked me to the Prom. I accepted. Now I need to reciprocate his affection, but I don’t know how,” she admitted, beginning to pace the room as her mind sought a solution to her dilemma.
Enid watched her, surprised. Not by Tyler’s invitation, which was entirely predictable, but by Wednesday’s reaction. The raven-haired girl, who had always kept her emotions tightly locked away, now displayed a palpable vulnerability. The fact that she cared so much about reciprocating Tyler’s gesture said more about Wednesday than she would ever admit.
“Wow… it seems like his gift affected you more than you thought, huh?” Enid teased with a playful smile. It was rare to see Wednesday in such a state, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the situation a bit.
The blush on Wednesday’s cheeks deepened, but, as always, she tried to hide it behind her usual mask of indifference. Enid, however, was not easily fooled.
“I want to return his… affections,” Wednesday corrected, placing a slight emphasis on the word as if measuring each syllable. “But I can’t think of anything that matches what he’s done.”
Enid looked at her with a mixture of understanding and amusement. She knew Wednesday was incapable of expressing her feelings in a traditional way, but she also knew the raven-haired girl was desperate to find a way to show Tyler how she felt.
“Feelings, affections… it’s the same thing, Wednesday,” Enid replied with a mischievous grin as she began to pace the room, mimicking her friend’s erratic movements.
Both of them immersed themselves in thought, searching for a solution. Enid suggested ideas, but most were immediately dismissed by Wednesday, who considered them too conventional or, worse, cheesy. However, Enid wasn’t giving up. Suddenly, something sparked in her mind, a flash of inspiration that quickly took shape.
“I’ve got it!” Enid exclaimed with a triumphant smile. “But before I tell you, you have to promise me one thing: you won’t do it here. Not in this room.”
Wednesday halted her pacing, her dark eyes locking onto Enid’s, trying to decipher her intentions. But in the end, she gave in. Her eagerness to find the perfect gift outweighed any hesitation.
“I promise. I swear on my ancestors I won’t do it here,” she said, slightly exasperated. “Now tell me.”
Enid took a breath, aware that her idea might disgust anyone else… except Wednesday.
“I know this will give me nightmares, but… if Tyler gave you a dress dyed with his blood, you could give him a garment dyed with yours. You’d have his essence, and he’d have yours. There’s no way he wouldn’t see what you feel,” she suggested, shivering slightly at the thought.
Wednesday’s eyes gleamed with a dark spark, pleased with what she had just heard. That idea, so macabre and personal, was exactly what she had been searching for.
“Affections, not feelings,” she corrected, though her tone indicated approval. “But you’re right. It’s an excellent idea.”
Enid shivered slightly, still stunned by the proposal she had just made. But as disturbing as it was, she couldn’t help but smile triumphantly. She had hit the mark. She had helped Wednesday in the most morbid way possible, and in the dark world of the Addams family, that was a true triumph. She knew that, however twisted the idea was, she had nailed exactly what Wednesday needed to express her… feelings, even though the raven-haired girl refused to call it that.
As soon as the idea settled in her mind, Wednesday began to execute the plan with the precision of a surgeon. She chose a white silk shirt, the perfect canvas for her dark gesture. After all, dyeing garments with blood was an almost ancestral tradition in her family. She knew exactly how to extract the right amount of her own blood, an art the Addams family had perfected over centuries. Within days, she had already collected the precious vital liquid and filtered out any impurities to ensure the dye was perfect.
The dyeing process, however, required patience. She immersed the shirt in the blood, adding salt and acetic acid, and let it sit for weeks, allowing the color to deeply penetrate every fiber. Two weeks and five days later, the garment finally achieved the desired shade—a dark, deep red, almost identical to the dress Tyler had given her. The final step, washing and drying the shirt, took just one day. And then came the big moment: the night of the Prom.
With almost surgical precision, Wednesday began preparing. The dress dyed with Tyler's blood fit her figure in a way she would never have admitted aloud. The corset accentuated her small yet defined curves, while the skirt flowed around her like a river of crimson. Her bust, enhanced by the dress’s design, looked more desirable than ever—a sight she even noted with a mix of pride and satisfaction. She carefully applied makeup, a subtle touch that enhanced her pale skin, and styled her hair into an intricate braid reminiscent of the one she had worn at the Rave'N. Finally, she adorned her neck with a simple black lace choker, adding an extra touch of gothic sensuality.
As Enid watched her prepare with such care, she couldn’t resist making one of her classic jokes.
“Are you going overboard for someone you’re just ‘returning affections’ to?” she laughed, throwing Wednesday a teasing glance.
Wednesday, as always, ignored her, focused on the reflection the mirror returned. She knew she looked good. More than good. Her pale skin contrasted beautifully with the blood-red color she wore. She was ready.
When Enid left, accompanied by Ajax, Wednesday was left alone, waiting for Tyler. At first, she thought he was just a few minutes late. But soon, the minutes turned into an hour. And anger began to simmer beneath her skin. How dare he? The thought that Tyler might have stood her up burned her insides. The feeling of having been a complete fool seeped into every thought. What if this had all been a cruel joke? What if the blood wasn’t even his?
However, she remembered they had never agreed on a specific meeting place. Maybe Tyler, knowing how little she liked patriarchal stereotypes, had assumed she would be the one to seek him out. Of course, that made more sense. He would never expect her to behave like some ordinary girl waiting to be picked up by her date. She would go to his room. Together, they would attend the Prom. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, they would even play decent music for dancing.
Determined, Wednesday took the gift she had prepared for Tyler and left Ophelia Hall, heading towards Eirene Hall. Whispers followed her all the way, like shadows clinging to her path.
“Is that really Wednesday Addams in a red dress?”
“Has she always looked this good, or did we just never notice?”
The comments passed by without affecting her, like harmless ghosts. Her only concern was Tyler. She needed to see him. She needed to give him her present.
Finally, she arrived at his room door. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden nervousness that had taken over her. She surprised herself by feeling her heart pound so strongly and her hands tremble. She mentally scolded herself, feeling ridiculous for adjusting the dress and fixing her hair so meticulously before knocking. “This is ridiculous,” she thought desperately. “It’s Tyler. I know him well.”
With trembling determination, Wednesday knocked on the door. The sound echoed in the night’s silence, and there was barely a pause before Tyler’s deep, surprised, and tired voice cut through the wood.
“I’m coming.”
When the door opened, Wednesday was met with an unexpected sight: Tyler appeared disheveled, as if he had just gotten out of bed. His hair was messy, and he wore only a simple pair of pajama pants with no shirt. The cool air brushed against his bare torso as he looked at her with a mix of astonishment and confusion. The image contrasted so starkly with Wednesday’s elegant dress that she felt completely out of place. A deep sense of awkwardness washed over her; here she was, standing at his door in the middle of the night, looking like an intruder in her own attempt at connection.
“Wednesday… what are you doing here?” Tyler’s voice came out as a choked whisper, as if he were gasping for air. His eyes, laden with confusion, stared at her, trying to make sense of the disruption to his quiet night.
Wednesday’s usual coldness crumbled upon seeing the expression on his face. Why was he looking at her like that? Hadn’t she made it clear? Hadn’t he invited her to the Prom? The atmosphere between them grew heavy, almost oppressive, and for the first time in a long while, a sense of insecurity and helplessness began to swell within her. The discomfort was so intense that she wished she could disappear.
“You invited me to the Prom,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but it wavered slightly. This feeling of vulnerability, so foreign to her usual nature, made her feel even more pathetic. “I waited for you, but when you didn’t show up… I realized we never agreed on how we would meet. So I came… but maybe I made a mistake.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, amplifying the tension and discomfort surrounding them. Wednesday felt like an intruder in her own attempt at closeness. Each second spent there, with Tyler looking at her in his disheveled state, made her feel even more out of place. Doubts and discomfort multiplied in her mind, making her want to turn and flee, but her feet seemed glued to the ground, trapped in a situation that now seemed to be crumbling around her. She turned on her heels, ready to escape before that feeling consumed her, but Tyler was faster, and his fingers closed firmly around her arm.
“Wait!” he shouted, no longer a whisper; his voice was charged with frustration and anger. “What the hell are you talking about? You rejected me, Wednesday! You’re the one who walked out without saying a word. What was I supposed to think?”
Wednesday stood frozen, feeling the anger begin to rise up her throat. Rejection. That word echoed in her head. For her, nothing had been clearer.
“I didn’t,” she retorted, her voice regaining its icy tone. “I accepted your gift, Tyler. That, in any minimally logical world, means accepting your invitation.”
Tyler let out a bitter, incredulous laugh. His eyes sparkled with a mix of anger and confusion. “What twisted logic is that? Accepting a gift is not the same as accepting an invitation! You turned around and left without saying anything. What was I supposed to think?”
The echo of his words resonated in the room, intensifying the tension. Wednesday’s heart raced, and anger began to replace doubt. For her, everything had been perfectly clear, but now, under the light of his words, she started to question the clarity of her own judgment.
“You gave me a gift,” she said, her voice low and sharp as a blade. “I accepted the gift. If I hadn’t wanted to go, I wouldn’t have taken it. It’s quite simple.”
Tyler's eyes met hers, and they stood still, enveloped in a tension that crackled around them. He appeared caught between disbelief and anger, while Wednesday clung to her logic with a fierce determination.
Finally, breaking the dense silence, she extended the black package she had been holding. Tyler took it awkwardly, not breaking eye contact with her, as if he was still trying to unravel something impossible to understand. He opened the package, and inside he found a silk shirt dyed a dark red, as deep as the dress she was wearing.
Wednesday, who had until then been an impenetrable fortress, let her defenses crumble. She looked down with an unusual delicacy, and when she spoke, her voice—which was normally as cold as marble—became soft, almost timid. “You gave me this dress,” she murmured, as if whispering those words was to admit something she had kept hidden for too long. “Dyeing it with your blood. And I thought… it would be fitting for you to wear something dyed with mine.”
The sweetness, that unexpected tenderness in her tone, hit Tyler like an unforeseen wave. The Hyde boy stared at her, completely bewildered. That vulnerability, that small glimmer of sweetness, was a side of Wednesday he had never seen before. The girl he had always known, full of darkness and sarcasm, now appeared fragile, though only slightly. Tyler looked at the shirt she was offering, slowly processing the intimate gesture of carrying a part of her with him. However, before he could utter a word, before his lips could articulate an appropriate response, he dropped the garment to the floor, caring about only one thing.
Suddenly, as if a dam had burst inside him, Tyler reached for her with a quick, decisive movement. His whole body was vibrating with desire and a primal need that had been buried for so long that he could no longer contain it. He pulled her into his arms, his hands gripping the delicate nape of her neck, drawing her closer, and their lips met in a kiss charged with electricity. It was as if everything they had repressed for days, weeks, months, exploded in that moment. It was a wild kiss, anything but delicate, filled with frustration, desire, and a passion that even he hadn’t known he could feel.
The shock of emotions made Wednesday freeze for just a second, surprised by the intensity of the contact. But then, something inside her also unleashed, and she responded with the same fierceness, letting her instincts take control. Her hands tangled in Tyler's hair, pulling with an urgency she couldn’t and didn’t want to stop. She deepened the kiss, and they both surrendered to the chaos of what they felt, a battle as much as a surrender.
A soft, yet desire-filled moan escaped Wednesday’s lips as Tyler’s tongue invaded her mouth, exploring every corner with a hunger he could no longer contain. She responded with equal intensity, her black nails scratching the skin of his neck, leaving small marks that darkened with contact. Everything that had been kept hidden, everything they had silenced, exploded in that physical intimacy neither of them knew how to control.
In a swift and fluid movement, Tyler lifted her, gripping her thighs tightly as he continued to kiss her. Without breaking contact, he carried her into his room, pushing the door open with his foot. With a mix of strength and devotion, he gently threw her onto the bed, climbing over her with a look that left no doubt about what they both wanted.
“You smell like me, like my blood,” Tyler murmured, his voice heavy with desire. Each word came out as a low, almost animalistic growl as his lips traveled down to Wednesday’s neck. His mouth barely brushed her pale skin, and then, with a trembling whisper, he added, “You’re delicious.”
The declaration, almost like a mantra, repeated over and over in his mind as his lips left a burning trail on her collarbone, his teeth teasing the flesh. He kissed the curve of her breasts, leaving small bite marks on her neck, tiny violet bruises he claimed as his own.
“You look beautiful in the color of my blood,” Tyler continued, whispering between kisses. “My blood, mine…”
Wednesday, usually so restrained, couldn’t help but let out a sharp moan, pleasure coursing through her in waves she could barely control. Her slender but strong legs wrapped around Tyler’s waist, drawing him even closer, while her sharp nails dug into the skin of his back, leaving red, almost bleeding marks. Pain and pleasure intertwined in every gesture, every caress, every word.
The physical contact between them wasn’t just passion; it was a non-verbal pact, a mutual obsession they both shared. There was no softness or gentleness in their movements, but there was an absolute devotion, an unbreakable desire to possess each other in a way that went far beyond the physical. Wednesday brought her hands to Tyler’s face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. What she saw in those dark eyes was not just desire; it was love, passion, and an obsession that perfectly mirrored her own. They were reflections of each other, in all their twisted and profound facets.
Unable to hold back any longer, Tyler made a gentle thrust, testing how their bodies fit together. The look of pleasure on Wednesday’s face was enough to drive him wild. She moaned, closing her eyes, surrendering completely to the moment. Tyler couldn’t tear his gaze away; her expression, the way her body responded to every touch, fascinated him more than he ever thought possible.
“Damn, you’re perfect,” Tyler murmured, his lips pressed to her neck. His mouth left a trail of small bites and hickeys that marked her skin with a dark violet hue, as if each gesture was a reminder that she belonged to him. His hands traveled down Wednesday’s legs, to her backside, caressing, exploring, possessing.
Wednesday’s breathing was ragged, her moans increasing in intensity as her hands clung to Tyler’s back. She tugged at his hair with a force that caused both pain and pleasure, each of her moans igniting something even deeper within him.
She tried to speak, but her words barely formed coherent phrases between her gasps and heavy breaths.
“Ty... ahh Tyler... the shirt can’t... ah... be ruined,” she gasped, her words broken by the pleasure coursing through her. “On the fl-floor... and... I want to go to the p-prom.”
Before she could finish her sentence, Tyler bit her neck, this time with enough force to break the skin and draw blood. The sensation pushed her to the edge of climax, and when she felt Tyler’s tongue licking the blood he had drawn, her whole body tensed, pleasure surging through her in uncontrollable waves.
“Definitely delicious,” Tyler whispered, his voice rough, intoxicated by both Wednesday’s blood and the deep desire she ignited in every fiber of his being. His lips brushed her ear, almost caressing it with each word that left his mouth. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll go to Prom. We’ll dance. And I’ll kiss you on that stupid dance floor, where everyone can see you. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
Wednesday’s eyes, filled with desire and something deeper, locked onto Tyler’s. Trapped in that distorted reality they shared, where chaos and devotion intertwined so naturally, she couldn’t do anything but return his gaze. It was a world just for them, where darkness and love manifested in such unique forms that they seemed to border on the impossible.
Time slowed for both of them. Amidst gasps and ragged breaths, their bodies continued to seek that longed-for end, that much-desired release. Wednesday, caught in the storm of emotions, made a decision that filled her with an unexpected hunger. She wanted more from him, she wanted it all. With fierce determination, she leaned in and bit Tyler’s neck, with the same intensity he had marked her before. Her teeth pierced his skin, and blood slowly flowed. Wednesday drank it, letting the warmth and metallic taste intoxicate her as much as the love she felt for him.
“You’re delicious too, amore” she murmured, flashing a sly smile, breathing heavily over Tyler’s lips. Their warm breaths mingled, their bodies resonating in tune, as he looked at her as if she were the only thing in the universe that mattered.
Tyler, still on top of her, pulled back enough to take in the sight. What he saw could have driven him wild again. Wednesday’s hair was completely disheveled, as if she’d been through a storm of passion. Her makeup, smudged from sweat and frenzy, only highlighted the raw beauty she radiated. Her neck, decorated with the marks of his bites, was a necklace of red and violet scars, and her dress... or what was left of it, barely covered her breasts, which bounced slightly with each ragged breath. The skirt was crumpled around her hips, and Wednesday’s black panties, soaked with her own fluids, drove him to the edge of madness.
“Shit,” Tyler grunted, looking away to regain some self-control. “I’d better take a shower, because if I keep looking at you like this, we’re not making it to the damn Prom.”
Tyler got off the bed, still unsteady, and leaned in to give her one last kiss on the neck, right where he had bitten her. Then, with swift movements, he gathered his scattered clothes from the floor, and with particular care, picked up the shirt stained with Wednesday’s blood, treating it like a sacred relic. Before heading to the bathroom, he searched his drawer for a clean pair of underwear for her. Although he wanted her to wear something of his for deeper reasons, a part of him couldn’t stand the thought of others smelling their pleasure.
He made his way to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. The sound of the shower filled the space, and Wednesday, hearing the water running, took it as a cue to try to compose herself. She approached the mirror, and what she saw surprised her. Her reflection was a hormonal mess incarnate. Her breasts barely covered by the dress, her broken choker, her neck adorned with Tyler’s marks... Each of those small traces, still filtering some fresh blood, was a reminder of what had just happened. Yet, instead of being bothered, she smiled. She loved how those marks made her feel.
Her hair, however, was a lost cause. Her curls were tangled, and there was no way to style it without redoing it completely. Frustrated, she decided on a simple updo, leaving a few strands loose to try to conceal the bites on her neck. Then she focused on her makeup. Her lips were stained with blood, both hers and Tyler’s, but her eyeliner might be salvageable with some effort. At least, that’s what she hoped.
As she fixed herself as best as she could, she noticed the damp panties on Tyler’s study desk. She hesitated for a moment but decided to leave them there. He had given her new underwear, and there was no reason to keep the dirty ones... although something in her mind considered the idea that maybe she’d like to leave them there as a little trophy of the night.
Just as she was finishing up, Tyler emerged from the bathroom. He looked incredibly handsome, with his hair still damp and the shirt she had given him fitting his body perfectly. That garment, stained with her blood, seemed to symbolize the bond they shared, a bond that went beyond words.
“Loose hair looks lovely on you, my love,” he murmured as he approached, hugging her from behind. His tone was playful, like a satisfied puppy after a long day of play. Though in his case, the play had been much more intense.
“It’s more to hide your marks and keep a bit of decency, amore,” Wednesday replied, carefully touching up her lipstick. She knew full well that this small tube of color could become a sharp weapon if needed. Her mother had always taught her that a woman could be lethal without ceasing to be feminine.
Suddenly, Tyler noticed the black panties on the desk. With a mischievous smile, he picked them up and, without hesitation, brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply their essence. Then, with a playful glance, he tucked them under his pillow. “These stay with me, darling.”
“Don’t I have a say in this? After all, they’re mine,” Wednesday commented, her voice laced with a mix of sensuality and challenge. She felt different, empowered in a way she never had before. Sexy, loved, and happier than she’d thought possible.
“Nope,” Tyler replied, with a childish yet confident tone. “They’re mine to do whatever I want with.” Wednesday smiled, imagining him as a puppy with wagging ears and a tail, brimming with pure happiness. “But we don’t have time to argue; we need to get to the Prom if we want time to dance and kiss in public.”
Hand in hand, they walked towards the dance, discussing what would come after graduation. Tyler had received a scholarship and, with the compensation for his wrongful imprisonment, could afford to attend Marginal University in Sleepy Hollow without debt. They also talked about their plans for the vacation. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Wednesday had invited him to spend part of it with her family, which was a significant step for her.
When they arrived at the hall, all eyes turned to them as if they had brought with them a gust of icy wind. The rumors that Wednesday Addams would wear a red dress had circulated insistently, but few had believed it. Wednesday in something so eye-catching? Incredible. Enid had confirmed it more than once, swearing it was a special dress, but few had paid attention, thinking it was just another of her attempts to highlight the "normal" side of her dark friend. However, seeing them enter together, every doubt evaporated. Tyler, with his serene yet determined demeanor, and Wednesday, in that deep red dress that seemed to absorb the light, made for an almost surreal image.
Xavier, still clinging to a wavering hope, watched them from a corner of the hall, unable to mask the bitterness forming on his face. He frowned, his fingers gripping the glass he held tightly. He had hoped until the last moment that Wednesday would show up alone, or better yet, on his arm. But there she was, with Tyler.
“What does Wednesday see in him?” Xavier muttered under his breath, casting a disapproving glance at the couple who had just stolen everyone’s attention.
Enid, unable to ignore the comment and fed up with Xavier’s self-pitying attitude, decided it was time to intervene. She turned to him with an expression that mixed disapproval and contempt.
“Seriously, Xavier?” she began, crossing her arms. “Tyler literally dyed that dress with his blood. He bled so she could wear it. It’s not just a dress; it’s a gesture that goes far beyond anything you’ve ever done for her.” The sharpness in her tone was unmistakable. Xavier looked at her in surprise, but Enid wasn’t finished. “And you? You gave her roses. You know what? Wednesday is allergic to roses, just like her dad. Tyler knows that because he actually knows her, because he pays attention to who she is. You… you’re just clinging to a distorted image of the girl you think you remember, the version of her you want her to be.”
Each of Enid’s words landed like a well-aimed blow, but the most stinging was the sharp smile she gave him, almost venomous. “So, instead of continuing to whine because she didn’t choose you, maybe you should work on yourself, Xavier. No one owes you anything, and we’re all tired of your whining. Next time, I won’t get in the way when Wednesday decides to satisfy her murderous instincts with you. Believe me, it’ll be a spectacle no one will want to miss.”
Xavier opened his mouth to retort, but was left speechless, unable to defend himself against the brutal sting of the truth. As Enid walked away with a look of contempt, he couldn’t help but feel small, almost pathetic, watching the couple he despised so much move through the hall, oblivious to his internal drama.
Xavier stood frozen, as if fear had paralyzed every muscle in his body. His face turned pale as he faced the harsh reality that Wednesday was not only capable of killing him if she wanted, but now even Enid, the sweet and always optimistic Enid, could make him tremble with a mere glance. The sweet wolf, in her princess dress and heart tiara, seemed to have become an unexpected threat. Feeling utterly alone, without any allies around him, he decided the most sensible thing was to withdraw. But not without passing by Wednesday and Tyler, giving them a disdainful shove on their shoulders.
They both chose to ignore him. That idiot didn’t deserve even a second of their time, especially now when the night belonged to them. They joined the group waiting for them out of courtesy, a quick greeting before turning their attention to what truly mattered. Wednesday had no interest in wasting time on idle chatter, but Tyler convinced her with a charming smile. “It’ll be quick, love. After this, it’ll be just you and me on the dance floor,” he whispered in her ear, with that voice that always managed to melt her resistance.
“Why did you take so long?” Enid complained, pouting dramatically. “I wanted to take photos with everyone.” Her face lit up when she saw them approach, but she immediately frowned when she noticed the disarray of her friend’s appearance. “What happened to your hair? And your makeup?”
Everyone present turned their attention to Wednesday, and it wasn’t hard for anyone to decipher what had happened. The gothic girl’s neck was covered in marks, unmistakable signs of a passion that had left visible scars.
“Nice hickeys, Addams,” Bianca commented with a smirking smile, offering a glass of punch. “Good job, Galpin. Now no one will doubt that you two are together.” Her tone was mocking, but there was also a hint of admiration. Wednesday declined the punch with a hand, but Tyler took it and sipped, his gaze never leaving his girlfriend.
“That shirt looks amazing on you, Tyler. Wednesday worked hard to get that perfect shade,” Enid exclaimed with a proud smile. She knew that Wednesday’s dress and Tyler’s shirt were no ordinary items.
“I know,” Tyler said with a triumphant air. “The color of my Roach’s blood… It looks fantastic, doesn’t it?” His laugh was carefree, but there was something deeply possessive in his voice. That word, "my," carried a weight that resonated between them. Tyler Galpin was not just the sweet guy everyone thought he was; he was hers. Completely, irrevocably hers.
Wednesday, though she tried to maintain her cool demeanor, couldn’t help rolling her eyes. She knew her boyfriend could be ridiculously silly sometimes, but so what? At the end of the day, he belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him.
Davina, who had been watching with some disbelief, raised an eyebrow before asking, “Wait, you dyed Wednesday’s dress with your blood? And she did the same with your shirt?”
“That’s right,” Tyler replied, smiling with pride. “It took time and about eight liters of blood, but it was worth it.” He began to detail, step by step, how he had dyed the dress, how each drop had been meticulously collected, and how that deep red was more than just a color; it was a statement. Everyone, except Yoko and Wednesday, looked at him with disgust.
“Well, you both certainly smell delicious,” Yoko commented, her gaze unabashedly flirtatious as her eyes moved from one to the other, clearly enjoying the discomfort she was causing.
Tyler and Wednesday’s eyes met briefly, and as if sharing a mutual thought, they both subtly moved away from the vampire. Sharing blood between them was one thing, but the very idea of another person, even a vampire, wanting to get involved in their dynamic… was repulsive. Yoko noticed but simply shrugged, with no trace of remorse on her face.
“I had to try,” the vampire added with a playful smile, clearly pleased with having disturbed the atmosphere. The others looked at her in confusion, but quickly decided to ignore her. Enid, as always, took control of the situation, determined to change the subject.
“I talked to the DJ!” she announced enthusiastically. “I asked him to play a couple of songs especially for you.” The excitement in her voice was contagious, and just as she finished speaking, the first notes of “You Got Good Taste” by The Cramps began to play through the hall’s speakers.
Without wasting a second, Tyler turned to Wednesday and offered his hand. His gaze was soft but filled with a devotion rarely seen in him. “Will you grant me this dance, my love?” he asked with a theatrical bow, but the gleam in his eyes made it clear this was no mere jest.
Wednesday silently accepted the extended hand, her cold fingers intertwining with Tyler’s. No words were needed to convey what she felt at that moment. Everything was in the look they shared, in the contact of their bodies as they moved together to the rhythm of the music.
The dance floor was theirs, a small sanctuary amidst the chaos. They kissed unabashedly, completely ignoring those around them. Whispers, curious or envious glances, none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was him and her, moving together as if they were one.
Every time their lips met, Tyler felt the world disappear. The soft touch of her skin against his, the taste of her kisses mixed with a faint trace of blood, was intoxicating. She was everything he had wanted, everything he had wished for, and more. Hers. Totally hers.
“You will always be mine,” he murmured, bringing his lips close to Wednesday’s ear as he held her against his chest. “I’ll never let you go, you know that, don’t you?”
Instead of answering, Wednesday simply smiled against his neck, kissing it gently before biting it again, leaving a new mark to add to the others. Tyler shivered with pleasure, his body responding to every little gesture from his girlfriend.
“I know,” she finally replied, her voice barely a whisper laden with promises. “And you will be mine, forever.”
The night continued, and as the hours passed, nothing else mattered. They danced, laughed, lost themselves in each other, oblivious to the world. For in that moment, on that dance floor, there was no one else but them. Wednesday and Tyler. Tyler and Wednesday. Two souls that, in some dark and twisted way, had found each other and become inseparable.
The murmurs around them faded. Comments on the unusual nature of their relationship, nervous giggles at their intensity, all disappeared. The connection between them was stronger than anything external. And as the lights of the hall shone upon them, as the music played on, they knew it would always be this way.
Because he was hers. And she was his.