Imagines with Jenna Ortega

Stalkers at Nevermore 5

The rain had started outside, faint taps against the glass, when Y/N finally broke the silence.

“Alright,” she said, voice low but steady. “We’ll check the archives. But it has to stay between us. At least for now.”

Celeste’s lips curved into a small, victorious smile. “Your secret’s safe. I don’t exactly want another thunderstorm standoff with Wednesday anyway.”

Y/N shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “She’d lose her mind if she knew I was doing this with you. She already suspects you.”

“Then we don’t tell her,” Celeste replied smoothly, leaning back against her headboard like she had already solved the problem. “Tonight. After lights out. I know the way in.”

Y/N studied her closely. Despite her mischievous smirk, there was something earnest in her storm-gray eyes. She really did want to help.

“Fine,” Y/N said finally. “But we’re not stealing anything. We’re just looking.”

Celeste chuckled under her breath. “Sure, tall girl. Just looking.”

Y/N gave her a look, but it softened into the ghost of a smile. She stretched her arms, her tall frame making the bed creak beneath her weight. “Alright. We’ll do this. Tonight.”

As Celeste reached over to turn off the lamp, a faint roll of thunder echoed far above Nevermore, like the storm itself had heard their plan.

And down the hall, two rooms away, Wednesday sat at her desk, black eyes fixed on her own papers. She paused suddenly, pen frozen mid-sentence, a sharp chill pricking the back of her neck.

She didn’t know why yet. But something told her Y/N was already slipping away.

~~•~~

The library was silent, the kind of silence that felt alive, pressing against Y/N’s ears as she moved between the shelves. Celeste trailed beside her, every few steps letting her fingertips spark faintly to light their way, a miniature storm in the dark.

Y/N crouched near a locked drawer where the archived petitions were stored, whispering, “You’re sure it’s here?”

Celeste smirked, kneeling next to her. “Positive. These drawers hold the petitions and written complaints going back decades. If the handwriting matches—”

A faint creak broke through the air.

Y/N stiffened, towering over Celeste instinctively, scanning the shadows. “Did you hear that?”

Celeste raised her hand, ready to summon lightning—but before either of them could move, a figure stepped from behind the shelf.

Deadpan face. Black outfit. Eyes sharp as blades.

Wednesday.

Y/N nearly jumped back. “Wednesday?! What—what are you doing here?”

Wednesday didn’t answer right away. She simply stood there, the dim light making her pale skin look ghostly, her arms crossed like she had been waiting all along. “I know about this,” she said flatly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Her gaze shifted, sharp and lingering, to Celeste. “And I know who convinced you it was a good idea.”

Celeste smirked faintly, unbothered. “Nice to see you too, Addams.”

But Wednesday wasn’t smirking. Her black eyes flicked back to Y/N, and for the first time, Y/N could see something in her that wasn’t suspicion—it was disappointment.

“You invited her,” Wednesday said coldly, every syllable precise. “Instead of me.”

Y/N opened her mouth, struggling for words. “I just… she had information, Wednesday. She thought she could help.”