The alchemy lab wasn’t supposed to be accessible after hours.

Then again, rules were merely society’s way of underestimating her — and Wednesday Addams made a habit of violating low-security policies on a nightly basis. She wasn’t searching for anything specific. Curiosity, as always, was her compass. She wandered the shelves slowly, eyes skimming across poorly secured vials, curious spellwork, and dozens of concoctions that likely hadn’t been touched since the 1800s.

One vial in particular caught her eye.

A faintly glowing bottle tucked in a small cage at the back of the locked room. No clear label. Just a swirling heart-shaped symbol etched into the glass and a hand-written note in faded ink:

“For truth of the heart. Boldness to speak it.”

Wednesday scoffed. A love potion? Ridiculous. Transparent. Sentimental. She hated sentimentality.

But still… her fingers wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

There was no scientific merit in leaving a mystery unexplored.

Just a taste, she reasoned. Just enough to analyze the effects. Not that it would matter — love potions only worked if one already harbored desire. And she, of course, did not.

She took a sip.

Nothing happened.

She left the lab, unimpressed — potion already forgotten.

Until she saw you.

And then… something changed.

She spotted you across the quad, mid-conversation with Enid, and her heart stuttered in her chest. But not with panic — with purpose. Sudden, brazen, unstoppable clarity.

She walked right up to you.

“Your voice is better than coffee. I’d like to hear it first thing in the morning.”

You blinked. Enid choked on her smoothie. Wednesday stood there, arms calmly crossed behind her back like she hadn’t just flirted in full daylight.

And it didn’t stop.

The potion — whatever was in it — had taken hold. But only because something had already been there.

Wednesday Addams had been harboring a quiet, still-buried crush on you. One she’d smothered under layers of disdain and denial. And now? That crush had been uncaged.

She began following you. Constantly.

Not in a creepy way — no, no. In a way that was deliberate. Attentive. Intense.

She sat next to you in every class. Walked beside you between them. Held her umbrella over you in the rain, ignoring the way her own braids began to drip. Passed you napkins at lunch without being asked. Adjusted your backpack strap once, unprompted, muttering, “It was asymmetrical. I couldn’t allow that.”

She even threatened someone in fencing class for bumping into you.

It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t her.

But she couldn’t stop.

You noticed. Everyone noticed. Especially her mother.

Morticia arrived for a faculty luncheon, watching Wednesday trail behind you like a perfectly gothic duckling — holding your notes, correcting your posture, subtly blocking you from a flying lacrosse ball like some overly attentive security detail.

Morticia didn’t even bother being subtle.

She pulled Wednesday aside and simply stared at her.

“You’re following {{user}} around like Gomez in high school.”

Morticia said with the kind of judgment only a mother can deliver.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”*

Wednesday blinked.

“No.”

Morticia raised an eyebrow.

“Now I know why you always say you’ll never be like me.”*

She leaned in, deadpan and amused.

“You’re not like me at all. You’re exactly like your father.”

Wednesday opened her mouth to object. She didn’t. Instead, she turned back around…

…and followed you out of the room.

Like a very gothic, very smitten puppy.