Experiment

by McMikkie

Summary:

"And under much thorough research, hours in the night spent carefully contemplating, she reaches a morbid conclusion: Sinclair managed to arouse her."

Or, Wednesday documents how her roommate affects her after presenting as omega. It doesn't go well.

Notes:

'Wednesday is very fucking weird and unfortunately horny,' the fanfic.

Chapter 1: Observation

Ever since she bore capable of providing adequate thought has Wednesday grown fascinated with various genres of interests - be it the particular dietary habits of the ‘Dolomedes facetus’ brought in by Great Aunt Laborgia, the numerous stages of decay found in the human body’s natural rot, or the hellbent nature in perceiving any minuscule notion of flaw in Agatha Christie’s irrefutable logical consistently to solving the fictional case before its rightful conclusion.

Yet, despite this, never has Wednesday been proven so acutely and utterly fascinated with a mere individual by the strangest of circumstances.

This harrowing spiral begins on a quaint, mundane slice of a Friday afternoon; the perfect, unassuming backdrop for such tribulations. Ottinger calls their activities off on short notice due to his infatuation with yet another member of the wolf species, spouting filler about wooing with the ever-so-luxurious gift of honey and comb before dashing off, still clad in his clunky suit. Perfectly acceptable by her. The bees are far too docile for her liking today. Wednesday figures she’ll spend this sudden revelation of freshly available free time working on her manuscript while Sinclair’s off doing one of many after-class activities for reasoning inane - who willingly pledges themselves to fraudulent democracy in adolescent leadership positions? Certainly not her.

‘Ophelia Hall’ is content in a self-imposed silence as Wednesday stalks down drafty, groaning corridors to her sliver of living space. Abnormally quiet when found alone in her lonesome presence, Nevermore proves strict in an endless insistence on shackling extracurriculars to every student for… enrichment or what have you. Bothersome, though welcomed in this particular instance. But upon reaching the top floor does she notices something off. Faint, a whisper of hitched breath crawling out from underneath the door’s jagged crack to the attic. Wednesday’s alpha tunes to the situation at large and in a firm, mutual agreement she presses herself to the outer-most sections of wooden paneling to sneak forward.

Has someone infiltrated her living quarters? Planning on ridding her once and for all? The possibilities are endless in a facility riddled with those monstrous - perhaps her mulling of Thornhill’s supposed trustworthiness in the skin of ‘dorm mother’ is correct in its feeble allegation. Poetic.

Her thoughts are stalled when the flicker of noise… pitches, for lack of a better, fitting descriptor. Similar to an inhale of surprise from a spontaneous touch, or, well, she’ll be blunt, the occasional bouts of harmonious pleasure drifting out of the Addams’ master bedroom. And unless Wednesday’s parents prove freakish in their continuous copulation by using her bedspread inside, she assumes by all accounts it must be her roommate.

Proven factual when her ear grazes the door’s hard surface to double-check the nature of her claims and Sinclair positively moans. Goosebumps riddle her flesh, prickling points in quick response, the subtlest of instinctual shuffling to her stance as what appears to be her trousers growing ever slightly… tighter? Stiff around the crotch. Helped not by the curious scent of Hyacinth unfamiliar outside of the conservatory wafting in waves from the room itself. This is rather unexpected, unusual. Wednesday plays the role of a suitable creep continuing to stand around and listen in, inhaling an omega’s scent so sweet it burns her eyes. 

Surely she’d best be leaving Enid to herself and what that entails.

Not continuing to listen as her dead-ached heart thumps poorly along with her southbound blood rush. Tongue thickened and stuck to the roof of her mouth, sweating palms with every variation of sigh and whimper she thought not capable of birth - neither by Sinclair, certainly. She’s an omega, yes, this has been made clear since the last full moon, however…

The curious beast normally dormant inside the ribs’ caging perks both pointed ears to full attention, drooling bribes with an abstract delusion in marching inside and gaining a clear picture for curiosity’s ever-present sake. Nothing is lost with a single peek. A single nibble, surely. An omega is best satisfied with the matching alpha. And, strangely, Wednesday almost indulges in such nonsensical logic before the crescendo of a one-man’s muffled performance is followed promptly by complete silence.

Perfect timing. 

Glancing down to the uncharacteristic bulge tenting her dark slacks, aging floorboards with settling weight creaking inside the attic, Wednesday makes haste elsewhere.

Her alpha remains awake for the rest of the day.

 

---

 

For the following week, Wednesday steers clear of her roommate.

How delightful must she settle to every instructor’s pulse point when finding solace in maintaining attention to their rudimentary classes, studying grade-level material with a scraped-tooth comb - convenient distraction deserving her utmost does it not? And if that isn’t adequate then tormenting ‘Jericho’ children upon her distaste in stumbling about to the likings of grueling undead passes the time to some degree… until she’s banned from visiting the town after one of those same amblers supposedly has an ‘allergic reaction’ to the arachnid she placed in their bag. ‘That’s the best-case scenario,’ Wednesday explains to Principal Weems during their office trial but the beta claims not to follow. 

These pitiful efforts at distraction become mute returning to the attic, anyhow. Similar to tick-tocking clockwork Enid’s head snaps up from her cellular device and beams a nauseating welcome in thick Hyacinth (sour sweat in undertone) much to the creeping heat branding Wednesday’s lungs with a penitentiary's restriction. The absolute nerve! To dare exist? Potentially. However, she subdues her distaste by the wring of another week’s neck and realizes it’s not necessarily Sinclair’s fault in this humiliating torment… it’s the horror of her own body’s weakness, it’s betrayal.

Blood’s downward flow to the path of least resistance, copious perspiration slicking her flesh, the— the fact she burned in an electrical current with that akin to pleasure. Wednesday has never experienced such heat in her short lifetime. It almost has her alive. Sickening… intriguing?

She scratches down every symptom experienced during the initial encounter in her leatherbound journal as if to be her very own walking, breathing science experience. Pleasantly stimulating under differing criteria.

And under much thorough research, hours in the night spent carefully contemplating, she reaches a morbid conclusion:

Sinclair managed to arouse her.

 

---

 

To be positive in these grave finalities Wednesday mustn’t rely on a single variable, however. Another test needs conduction - that’s the pure basis of the scientific method, after all.

Thus, under the pitfall of hushed night, Wednesday lays deathly still in her bed. Arms crossed in the mockery of her soon-to-be burial from these startling revelations, she (im)patiently waits for Sinclair to repeat her perverse ministrations from weeks prior. Hours pass with nothing but a casualty in rapturous snoring effectively killing any means of sleep she might’ve craved, pitter-patter in rain flourishing across the weeping roof from the passing storm. It aids in the pursuit of deprivation, Wednesday supposes. Though, soon enough, a flurry of movement manages to catch her attention from the corner of her eye. The sheets ruffle from the other side of the room, exasperation in a drawn-out exhale, and—

She listens with bated breath.

Soft is the low drawl of arousal brought forth by an omega’s greed - as if teasing herself, drawing out the experience because it matters more than the finale, and the same thunderous rapture builds between Wednesday’s thighs once again. Slowly, she runs her itching hand down to the fabric of her underneath and squeezes the growing bulge presented in stark attention. Her trailing thumb presses to the tip, mimicking the tease, as roaring cracks of such haughty weather do naught to hide the slick repetitious, movements befitting her roommate’s exploring fingers.

Her feverish cries in whimpering mutt muffle when Wednesday thinks she’s likely biting down on her pillow as a makeshift suppression, echoed in the sentiment with the copper-tone taste of her inner cheek oozing onto her tongue. She almost gasped. There’s much to be said about the high tilt in Sinclair’s repertoire induced by self-serviced pleasure. How… explicit what could be mistaken as trembling pain, enticing in an infectious brain-rotting.

Fascinating, if worrisome.

A haziness clouds the breakneck pace of her turbulent trajectory, gnashing teeth chewing its bone cage when the alpha suggests she could easily pull a greater vigor from this desperate omega if she crawls over the taped territory line to replace Sinclair’s hand with her own. It’ll be easy, it reckons. The scent alone is practically begging for immediate aid. Finishing on her fingers and tugging on Wednesday’s shirt closer as her thighs spread, neck presented - a sullied hand over the mouth when she won’t be quiet and made to listen that, only those who ask politely can be filled to the brim. Bad dogs can rut against their mattress, instead.

…hm, note to the wise: arousal permits the production of pornographic depictions in slack-jawed desires.

Eventually, her roommate comes with the syllables of the gorgon’s name before murmuring back to an eventual, deep slumber. The snoring soon continues.

Wednesday hardly has to squeeze before her throbbing release sullies her garments.

A point in the right direction. Unfortunate.

 

---

 

Soon after the necessary test Wednesday opens communications between her and Enid much to the latter’s clear-cut pleasure, cheeks dimpling in delight. She plays the role of a fool to the accusation of purposeful avoidance, ignorance, and some form of slang thrown her direction she’ll likely have to ask Thing’s knowledge in. The excuse of an increased workload and tries at being allowed back to Jericho’s territory prove ample in placating Enid’s whining… and ability to remain watchful for further pursuits.

Because now she exudes part of a certified mad scientist, observing her roommate under a metaphorical (and occasionally literal) magnifying glass as she jots down her ever-expanding list of venereal characteristics. So far Wednesday’s noted the increase of libido by the appearance of a few specific areas - those being the thinness of Enid’s fingers, the sliver of collarbone that peeks whenever she wears oversized shirts to bed, the stretch of her lips into a familiar smile, and the ebb and flow of her canine’s ends depending on emotional state.

It’s not a crush, however. It’s— it’s a project, her hypothesis.

The scientific method.

And as her hypothesis states, if Enid keeps touching herself in Wednesday’s proximity then she’ll experience the effects of arousal. Or, something along those general guidelines. Admittingly, her hypothesis fails to consider the newfound discoveries of interest with specific areas of Enid’s body, and so she must tighten up the script.

So, perhaps… she’s merely documenting the causes and effects of an omega’s influence on the workings of an alpha. 

She’ll go with that for the time being.

 

---

 

One night Enid asks if Ajax can come over with the brandishing of a jester’s grin wobbly on its expression, mirroring the presentation to the king’s nature as Wednesday lounges comfortably in the midst of her bed, brows furrowed in palatable irritation.

“The gorgon?” Wednesday flips to another page of the textbook she borrowed from the health teacher’s possessions - a medical analysis on the workings of scent glands. Enid’s smell has been… encroaching sharply as of late, yet another ping for arousal. “Why?”

Enid dances on the heels of her feet, sheepish in all but horns. “Cause! I wanna, um, show him our room?”

Wednesday can detect the hissing of a serpent’s lie when she hears it.

She peers from the pages of her book, eyebrow raised. Enid gulps. “I doubt your hoard of disturbed, plush creatures will entice him, Enid.”

“Will you—!” Enid cuts herself off, cheeks tinged in the color of embarrassment. Amusing. “—okay, this is the part where you’re supposed to realize that I need the room. All to myself. For an hour. And you leave!”

Wednesday actually blinks. “You’re kicking me out.”

“No, no, no! I’m strongly suggesting you go away for the sake of my love life, you silly goose,” Enid coos like that of a mother tormenting their child, and Wednesday has to admit there’s something to be said about Enid’s behavior - demanding as her father might suggest. A cracking of one’s razor whip.

Normally, she’d give no attention to her roommate’s demands. She listens to the hum of her own mind’s demented desires and little else. But…

She sighs after a moment of thought and stands from her bed to properly face the omega.

“I suppose it’s been quite some time since I’ve read by the moonlight,” Wednesday says. “Alright, then.”

Enid visibly brightens at Wednesday’s acceptance, relieved, grateful even. Her cock throbs. Hm. That’s been occurring at an accelerated rate lately.

“Okay, seriously? Thank you. I owe you one, two!” Enid presses her palms together and bows to the fullest extent of gratitude. 

“You will be held to that,” is Wednesday’s simple reply, salivating as a flurry of rather questionable means of ‘giving back’ spring forth presented by her alpha before she beats them down to the hole they crawled out of. Idiotic beast. She needs favors from the school’s social butterfly more than her cock warmed… or whatever the hell that other idea is supposed to represent. “Be safe or I’ll gut him.”

Enid’s smile draws a shiver down the vertebrae of her spine. Damnit. 

“I know you will,” she sighs, perhaps fondly if Wednesday decides to try out delusion.

With a flourish of her coat and book, she sets off into the night. 

What, did you believe she’d stay and listen upon his arrival? Of course not. He’s an outlier to her research and would ruin the entire operation with his presence alone. Besides, she has no need to hear the out-of-shape huffing of a wheezing dog on its very last leg.

Not unless it’s the mutt about to ‘get it on’ if she were to borrow its own vernacular. 

And so she takes solace by the encroaching forest that creeps along near the jagged edges of the school, the click of her pocket watch signaling her frightful return as the strung moon engorges itself on the stars. Close to being full, lucky for Enid? And by the mention of her, how dire must it be to’ve kicked Wednesday out around the fall of night? However, there truly is not much availability during the weekdays with classes and such. Perhaps the weekend?

Maybe… Enid couldn’t wait.

Wednesday bites her lip.

Her roommate does appear to have a penchant, fondness, what have you for the act of self-exploration. Prior to these casualties of events had she no awareness of the fact it takes Enid a tad too long to finish up in the showers, that she confirms with Wednesday when her absence will be noted for particular times of the day, how she sometimes can’t help herself and does it while Wednesday’s still in the room, false asleep…

And what does it mean when she’s discovered recently that Enid’s supposed multiple ‘extracurriculars’ is a falsehood? To take refuge in the dorm instead?

She tastes metal and realizes her lip has begun to bleed.

…Hell.

Returning, she immediately notes Enid’s absence. The shower is running, steam curling out underneath the door frame, low hum to some obnoxious excuse of musical taste, but seemingly no presence of her wilted boyfriend. Good. She’s been finding the mere mention of him exhausting for some reason or another, and the urge to disinfect the premises draws uncommon agreement from her alpha.

Wednesday sets her belongings on her desk and quickly examines the room for anything unusual. It seems as it tends to normally look with nothing specific to suggest any lustful misdeeds. She’d been prepared to catch the lingering smell of arousal due to vigorous ‘activities,’ however, it’s in a usual moldy staleness. Hm. What did Enid need the room for then? Perhaps they merely 'hung out' as couples are known to do - her own head sitting neatly in the guillotine, apparently.

Until she finally spots something out of the ordinary. Enid, oddly enough, is rather clean despite appearances - albeit verging on the tether of a complete pack rat. Even so, her belongings don’t ever…?

It’s her clothing. Of course. Yes, she is in the shower currently and there’s no need for modesty when your roommate is nowhere near. She’s just about to look away and grab the bleach before her sights are set on a particular crop of garments.

Oh.

Her mouth dries at the unexpected appearance of Enid’s panties. They’re… surprisingly nice, lace in design and blood-soaked red - the least offensive color of the putrid rainbow. How bizarre a choice for someone molded in pastel. Wednesday glances around. Enid’s still in the shower, Thing took an impromptu vacation with Uncle Fester to Alcatraz to see if they could survive swimming to shore. She’s here. Alone. Looking.

Hesitantly she bends down and plucks them off the pile as one does to the tail of a dead rat. They’re a bit rough to the touch and Wednesday suppresses a long sigh of how they must complement their owner. Certainly putting out the proper stops - matching bra, too? My, Enid certainly had a vision for the events of tonight. She admires, applauds really, the care put into it. However curious about why nothing seems to have resulted from such procedures.

Does the gorgon have the strength of such self-control? Erectile dysfunction?

If she were presented with such a spectacle…

...she'd do nothing, obviously.

The bathroom door creaks ajar and Wednesday stands with the quickness of an electrical current, underwear still in hand, a jolt of panic rushing through her system.

“Wednesday, is that you?”

Swift is the move to hide it behind her back as Enid appears out of the shower, a wash of steam trailing in waves. Modest she stands in a plain towel, drying her hair with another. Wednesday is quite queer at the unfolding scene - figuratively and literally.

“Why’re you on my side of the room?” Enid asks, and it takes a disturbing amount of effort not to skim her gaze over her long, slender legs. Great, another characteristic to add to the list.

Wednesday scoffs into the forming front of a lie, replying, “Thing sent inquiries about the whereabouts of his nail polish. Something with matching the ‘aesthetic’ of a rusted prison.”

“Ugh, so typical of him to forget it.” Enid pouts and Wednesday glances at an intriguing mark on the wall. “We literally planned out the color before he left!”

“Yes, he hasn’t been the same since Barclay attempted a waterboard.” 

She clears her throat, willing herself to look back. “So… will I be disemboweling anyone tonight? My new set of scalpels arrived.”

Enid’s brows raise as if to lift off before the understanding of Wednesday’s probing clicks. “Let me rest on it and I’ll tell you first thing in the morning.” She sighs in pure dramatics. “I seriously don’t understand betas, or he’s the most confusing one ever.”

Interesting. It appears her initial judgments might not be so off the mark.

“How so?”

Enid continues to ruffle her hair with the towel as she heads over to sit on her bed, Wednesday cleanly twisting around to avoid a confrontation of the stolen possession. She bears no real excuses to dig out of that hole lest she expresses the desire to ask where she bought them from. Which, knowing Enid, would be a convoluted tale involving department stores with trite monikers like, 'Justice.'

“I dunno,” Enid says after a moment. She frowns with an unusual heaviness to her lips as she seems to mull over a rolling thought, quietly asking, “Am I… too much?”

“Yes,” is Wednesday’s easy reply.

Enid blinks. Once, twice. “Okay, then. Neve—”

“—however I believe it to be a positive trait in many circumstances,” Wednesday continues. “I’ve surmised from observing the lovestruck fools around campus that it’s a quality beneficial in the pursuit of a relationship. To be, I suppose, devoted.”

The omega is quiet as she basks in another round of contemplation, finally nodding in potential agreement. “Huh. I never expected such a defense from you, Wends.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Thank you,” Enid says in genuine sincerity. “You’ve been like, softer lately and it’s kinda nice…”

The rough grain of her roommate’s underwear rubs against her calloused fingers, reminding her that this supposed ‘kindness’ is tempted. How cruel. “I deny such an accusation.”

“Whatever you say, Ms. Cold-Hearted. I’ll keep it between us.”

Enid’s smile is sweet in its sliver of thinness, rounded cheeks. Wednesday’s eyes dip to see the tasteful plunge of collarbone not guarded by towel and her alpha growls in want.

“I’ll allow you to dress in comfort,” Wednesday mumbles, ever so slowly taking backward steps to the vague proximity of their shared bathroom.

“Oh, yeah. I guess it would be kinda weird for you to stay in here…” Enid laughs in a tone out of sorts, not able to be precisely placed. 

She watches Wednesday retreat until the door serves as a proper barrier between them - securely locked - and only then does Wednesday pull the garment from behind her back and stares dumbly. Why did she have her interest get the best of her? 

It’s not as if she has the inkling of guilt, no, she’s done far worse for less pay-off. Not the sudden appeal of morality that guides those in straight lines, deep trenches. What’s maddening is the control this has grown in tangled weeds to keep her in place. She must not sink and be trampled by these desires, there needs to be a way to cool the temptation and stop the spread. An infection can fester in an area of design and proceed no further with proper procedure.

Sleeping with Enid is out of the question much to her alpha’s gnashing disappointment. Because despite the information that could amount from partaking in such means, Enid is taken and appears as staunchly monogamous, possessive, if her behavior with the beta indicates anything. 

So… other methods must be entertained.

She runs her thumb over the elastic band of Enid’s panties, swallowing harshly. In the whirlwind of not getting caught, she failed to notice the lingering scent of the omega’s pheromones entwined within the fabric, sunshine and cereus. 

Her alpha murmurs in suggestion. A good suggestion. 

What if…

 

---

 

Much to Wednesday’s pleasure is Thornhill running late to her first class of the day. 

She needs the few extra minutes to converse with her lab partner, something she’s never found interest in partaking with in a long list of newfound desires. Xavier is in his usual chic of drooped posture and sunken face when she takes her seat to his side, wondering how exactly she’s supposed to go about this. 

Well, she’ll survive. Or not.

“May I squeeze your mind for a moment?” 

Xavier’s brows are furrowed as he turns his attention to her, lips thin. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“Your art,” she begins, and almost immediately does his constipation relaxes into dreadful appeasement. Lord. “What parameters does the subject take in terms of, say, behavior?”

His pencil taps tap taps remnants against the table. “Like, how they act? I mean, a spider is gonna act all spider-ish.”

“I’m aware,” she replies dryly. “I mean with a human.”

“Depends on the person, how I’ve seen them behave. The more I know them the stronger it is to approximation, usually.” 

“And does such effect require your immediate presence?” Wednesday asks. 

Xavier shakes his head. “Nope. Only the initial means of bringing it to life. Afterward, it’ll be stuck to the page ‘less I drag it out, and if anyone touches it then the thing returns to normal.” 

“I see.”

Wednesday sneaks a glance from the corner of her eye to where Enid slouches in ill-gained need for rest. For most of the night, she indulged in what can be described simply as the masquerade of popular tunes with terribly conceited lyrics of love and heartache. As such she isn’t the least bit surprised at her state, though admittingly finding it… charming, much in the way you’d find a drunken relative’s outburst of self-imposed black sheep delightful to watch.

“Why you askin', anyway?”

She turns her focus back to him, offering a meager shrug. “Curiosity.”

Xavier's disbelief in her claim is evident as he begins to doodle nonsense in his notebook. “You know… sometimes I’ve had a few people try and get me to like, draw their crush. Use it as a way to practice talking to them, stuff like that. You wouldn’t be—”

“—no,” she firmly denies. “What a childish thing to do.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his lip raises in amusement.

Great. He believes she has a crush on someone, how utterly ridiculous. “If I were to commission you Xavier it’d be for a far more dubious purpose.”

He looks from his page and their eyes meet in a stand-off. Her alpha’s hackles raise at the challenge of another, grimacing upon the ache of a growl building within her throat. 

Xavier is the first to break much to its (and her) delight.

“You’re sick,” he scoffs, yet even so a wavering smile remains.

Thornhill arrives soon after and Wednesday busies herself with appearing nondescript. She can’t claim that went as well as she wanted it to, as Xavier’s suspicions are remarkably close to the margin than she would’ve hoped. And for a brief, flickering window she wonders if there’s any truth when she finds herself on alert whenever Thornhill calls Enid to answer, scolding her for nodding off. 

No, it can’t be. This is pure biological instinct, nothing more. 

She can’t stand Enid, anyway. 

Her notice is drawn to the ripping of paper once class ends, eyebrow raised as Xavier slides over a starchy piece face-down.

“That’s all you’re getting,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “And make sure you use your manners talkin’ to her, yeah?”

Wednesday’s intestines twist into double knots as he walks off. Surely this isn’t what she thinks it is. Quickly does she gather her belongings and make haste to a private area of campus, the paper wedged between her fingers.

She turns it once the coast is clear, and out appears a finely-done sketch of Enid in sleepy demeanor. It - she, Wednesday amends - takes notice of her gaze and beams up at her in a familiar grin, crooked fangs.

…This will do.

 

---

 

If you’re to ask Wednesday if she finds what she’s doing breaching the realm of possibly creepy and unsettling behavior, she’ll say no in simple measure. Because to be weird and obsessive would involve, oh, standing by the side of her roommate’s bed during sleeping hours and getting off until completion. With this secure method she’s developed there’s no such inclusion of second involvement - in fact, she’s quite confident in her belief that it is what any rational mind would do given the situation and circumstances. She’s known for her logic, after all.

And as such, she sits in straight lace at her desk with the drawing done by Xavier posed neatly leaning against several textbooks stacked for support. The pair of underwear resides in a plastic baggie she found in the assurance of the scent being kept preserved ‘till the time of reckoning, having been placed far back under the sink where the cobwebs stirred. She carefully draws them out and ponders the events that lead up to this moment before realizing she doesn’t actually care. 

“What do you think?” she questions aloud, gaining the focus of Enid’s doppelganger. “Am I ever so wicked for indulging in this manner? Be truthful.”

Enid shrugs... and it’s about what she expected. Pencil doesn’t tend to leave room for verbal response, nor does Xavier appear to have much faith in her roommate’s intelligence.

“How disappointing. You lack any true personality of the real thing besides a penchant for smiles. I’d expect to be shamed and you give nothing.”

The drawing pouts at her sharp words and that forces a twitch of her lip.

“At least you’re capable of that.”

No matter. A visual representation is what’s most important.

Wednesday leisurely undoes the buckle of her belt, zipper pulled and button unclasped as False-Enid watches her in lightly shaded blue. She swears she spots a twinkle in its eye when she tugs her cock out and begins to stroke in pursuit of stiffness. Which, takes little much to a foreign flood of shame. Being watched by it, even if it’s not the real thing, is remarkably arousing, however.

And somehow it knows what she’s doing, teeth digging into the jut of its bottom lip as the blood flows and pulses beneath her touch. 

“And here I thought I was perverse,” Wednesday tuts, gliding her thumb over the tip and lowly hissing at the sensitivity. She isn’t quite used to self-care, pulling to a feather’s touch. “Aren’t you aware of your commitment? What would he say to such voyeurism?”

It keeps quiet, as previously documented, but tilts its head in a mutt’s complexion. Dirty girl. Silence is revealing, albeit justified. She’ll pretend for the sake of narrative it has rich meaning.

Wednesday takes the panties in a loose grip and slowly drags the material against herself, starting from the exposed flesh of her inner thigh to the base of her cock, moving up to then fall back down. It’s coarse, somewhat irritating, but knowing who they belong to is enough to have droplets of pre-cum dripping from her slit to soak into the fabric.

She groans as the pleasure turns dizzying rubbing it just underneath her cockhead. “To think someone like you infects me in such a manner. Unbelievable.”

Then again, it’s not as if her Uncle Fester didn’t present with similar issues of attraction, and that positioned him as the strangest of them all. Is she following in his wretched footsteps? For someone so, so blonde? 

It certainly doesn’t help that her imagination wanders on its own to the pretending of another’s hand, how Enid’s long fingers would wrap perfectly around - the brush of her claw’s fatal points dangerous and willing to cut if they pressed down. Mm, painful bliss. Wednesday continues to grind into the fabric but strokes herself with the other hand, wondering if the softness of the omega’s hands would be a nice contrast to the grain, if she would take her time to induce Wednesday’s prolonged suffering or take everything she’s got in fast movements.

The answer isn’t what’s important, though. It’s the mere association of Enid that has her panting.

Her gaze returns to match the drawing and she throbs at the concentration on its soft features, judgment it could extend - and such negativity would blossom a harder finale - but instead it simply admires the pace she sets and— fuck.

Wednesday jerks in messy strokes before coming on the fabric in a manner of pulsing throbs, sighing in long-needed relief. A few twitches dribble the remainder ‘till the material is effectively ruined, coated by her own disturbed ache for that so bizarre. The Enid of falsehood stares in lidded eyes, open mouth. If she didn’t know better, she’d be fit to believe the drawing is pleased with her… oh how unlikely. 

“Xavier certainly has an odd view of you,” Wednesday says after awhile. She’s tranquil in her aftermath, soothed by the knowledge that she explicitly told Enid not to come bothering her - used what was owed for confirmed free time. Any other would risk the possibility of discovery.

The door swings open on its creaky hinges.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Or not.

To describe the tension as palpable would be an understatement when Enid absolutely slams the door behind her, marching in the hysterics of a riddled soldier. Her claws extend and retract in equal measure, confused about their state of confinement as the sour smell of heat stroke floods the room to drown all that lurks.

“What is the cause for such festivity?” Wednesday asks, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer shock at this new shade of vice presented. She’s never witnessed such temper from the omega, to the point said hormonal beast ceases to realize the predicament Wednesday’s been actively indulging in.

Enid growls and rips her jacket off only to throw it into the army of stuffed animals now tormented by her reign of terror. Wednesday manages to scoot her chair forward upon Enid turning heel in her direction. 

“I just got fucking dumped!” she practically howls. Wednesday’s hand twitches into a firm grip and she suppresses the groan. “You know what he said? He said that we needed a ‘break’ to figure out if we’re good for each other - what the hell does that even mean!?”

“My… condolences?”

Wednesday can sense the pitch of an eye-roll right about here. “Uh, hello? You’re supposed to be suggesting that we cut his dick off right around here, keep up! Your offer’s still on the table right?!” 

“I don’t recall involvement with his genitals,” Wednesday replies, acutely aware of her own still in fist and becoming annoyingly hard. At what, the compromise of Enid’s fracturing mental health?  Good lord, this entire plan was supposed to be concluding such trivial bursts of heightened libido! And now she purrs by the growl of Enid’s demeanor? For shame. 

Though, perhaps she’ll extend herself a pass as Enid in dour disposition is both rare and delicious. 

“Yeah, well, your scalpel would be the perfect size for this!” 

Enid huffs, then shifts into the choked cry of weepy sniffles.

“I’m sorry, I know this was supposed to be your writing time…” She trails over, and it’s this flurry of movement that has Wednesday realizing she’s forgotten something rather important. “But, it’s like, you’re the first person I needed to see after and—”

Enid leans over Wednesday’s shoulder.

“—why do you have a drawing of me?”

Wednesday blanches, stiffening into the quality of a statue. “Xavier gave it to me after class.”

“Huh? That’s… weird. Um, did you request it…?” Her voice tilts high as the peak of a mountain, watching the sketch observe its source of inspiration. 

“Of course not,” she lies. Though is it deception if she technically never did? “Starving artists find muse in the mundane, Sinclair. Don’t believe yourself any higher.”

Enid sniffles, promptly ignoring Wednesday’s jab as her voice clears to only a few stormy clouds. “Why’d you even accept it? Are you like, secretly soft for me, roomie?”

“You’re displaying symptoms of delusion for asking such— do not touch the chair!”

The threat is disregarded as Enid playfully tilts the chair backward only to have it rocking back… a little too far. Her laughter burns into ash at the sight.

“Oh my, God.”

Despite the severity of the current situation, Wednesday makes note of her first true turn-off: She doesn’t enjoy the sting of embarrassment.

Chapter 2: Revelation

Summary:

Wednesday doesn't understand how her research is taken as an interest. Of course it isn't... right?

Enid seems to think differently. (And everyone else).

In theory, if Wednesday is to cast the shawl of blame on anything for her current predicament it’d be the first day she arrived at Nevermore, sequestered in Principal Weems’ office.

The stoke of fire bore warm in flickering shadows as she sat on executioner’s row - the guards her very own mother and father. How ever dreadful it was to be sent away not by the reputation of cold murder but mere attempted. She’d painstakingly planned the bitching of all who dwelled within the confines of juvenile correction only to be met with what - leniency? Her parents surely knew how to make the jagged wound sting.

“Oh, my.” Morticia smiled in a fresh-plum nostalgia upon Weems’ disclosure of her permanent resting, some archaic housing system that resembled tween dystopian.  She leaned forward to catch Wednesday’s attention. “You’ll be in the same dorm as I, dear. However, I recalled it solely for omegas, was it not?”

Weems nodded. “Yes, back then it was. With the furtherment of education and medical advances in regard to dynamics though, we’ve decided to opt for co-ed. A test run if you will.” 

“Co-ed?” Wednesday remarked, ever so slightly scooting away from the lurch of her mother’s gait to the other side of the chair. “Your faith in beasts is naive.”

There was a lightning flash of sore annoyance that molded into a firmer smile. “Is that to say you shouldn’t be trusted, Miss. Addams?”

Gomez laughed in a smoker’s rasp, his cigar spouting ash with every cough. “Our little scorpion is nothing but trustworthy! We didn’t even know her dynamic due to the fine control of her scent. Oh, how I go back to the day we found out. Wasn’t it marvelous, mi amor?”

“Yes, indeed.” Morticia's lips peeled to reveal the angst of predator. “Such anger—“

“—such putridness! That boy didn’t know what he had coming,” Gomez gleamed in a conspiratorial tilt.

They sighed fondly, matrimony in all.

If Weems had the professional capability to bludgeon her parents she’d do so, Wednesday thought. She wouldn’t hold it against her, just this once.

“Anyway.” Weems glanced at the open folder on her desk and perused over the contents. “You’ll be housed with… Sinclair, a beta if I recall correctly. I’m sure you’ll take a liking to her.”

“Certainly not.”

Beta was the keyword.

And what rush of a complex it must bring to be the woes of fate’s whimsy as roughly a month into her stay, the blood moon fat in its accessory, did Enid present as omega - or wolfed out as known within her particular species. Wednesday harbored no real sentiment for such findings besides the obvious call of Sinclair as quite a late bloomer indeed, much like everyone else. Though such developments take time and one could still easily mistake her roommate as a beta from the rather passive progression initially - very much so that Thornhill saw no explicit need to separate, the use of tape evidence in the use of proper boundaries and some blabber of ‘mutual respect.’ 

Yes, how ‘co-ed’ implied more to the tune of boxing alphas and omegas with betas, certainly not each other. Wednesday must give Weems some resemblance of credit for the roundabout portrayal of progressive values, it certainly proves amusing in retrospect. 

Months passed, however, and quick was the rise in Enid’s feverish libido similar to a forest fire, the adjustments for bearing fertility in this God-forsaken world taking effect as presumed. And as such biological transformations occur does the need for personal care begin taking place and— is the nature of her explanation beginning to foreshadow the point of all this, the rambling line of thought?

Now, how gracious would it be if such reasoning chipped Enid’s current frenzy at the state of the messy crime… it won’t. At most, it’s proving justification in some manner for herself, and to some that’s what matters the most - Wednesday included. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” she begins because certainly, it is not. Creepy? Perhaps. Indulgent? Indeed. Not some stroke of love, nothing in the realm.

Enid produces the choke of a sputtering laugh, sinks in it.

“That’s super cliche but okay.”

“It’s not.” Wednesday growls, unfamiliar in sharpness, covering herself to the best of her ability. Her fingers unwilling to listen, nor her ‘region’ despite the ping of humiliation running marathons within her nervous system. She inhales, spindly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“What, that you’re— you’re getting off to the thought of me? That you apparently like me…?” Enid trails off. There’s a softness to her tilt at odds with the present demeanor, like the roles have reversed and Wednesday is now the mutt between them, caught urinating on her bedspread. 

“I do not like you,” she affirms, what may become an unholy mantra. 

Enid grips the chair tighter much to the material’s displeasure. It groans and whines and the softness muddles back to familiar. “Then explain it to me, Wednesday. I just got dumped and I come back to you being a weirdo with— is that where they went!?”

She snatches the pair of panties… and proceeds to drop them back in Wednesday’s lap in an almost comical fashion - the prior use not exactly hidden. If this were to be a play, Wednesday imagines the genre somewhere within a tragicomedy, and she’d smile at the misfortune of the dolt caught in such misdeeds for their lack of cleverness in escaping such detection. But currently, she’s the jester, the laughing stock, glued in a metaphorical nature to this damn seat pressing stern to her back. She finds the natural ending for such characters to be falling off a cliff and their body swallowed by the sea, even exterminating whoever exposed their foolishness. 

Unfortunately, she lacks the upper hand in knocking the events out of Enid with where she sits.

“I thought he took them but it was you!?” Enid’s blown past the waterworks operated by a mediocre ex to arrive back at the crimson gates of outrage, the wood cracking from the strain of her hands. “You’re so lucky he’s a higher priority on my shit list,” she whispers, sensual in threat.

Wednesday shifts in her seat, pulsing under the warmth of her own palm. She’s starting to tire of herself. “Allow me to retain a semblance of my dignity if you’d please.”

The heavy wash of a glare that’d been pointedly directed on her lap lightens to dust, a rosy hue and fluttering of lashes as Enid pulls back to begin pacing on the other side of the tape, her territory. Wednesday tucks herself away and flicks the drawing of Enid into a still image. It retains a stretch of frozen impishness. There’s something to be said about the sketch inciting less vitriol than the garments, what’s the difference? Thievery, maybe.

“Now.” Wednesday stands with the firmness of her belt buckled securely, zipper pulled, hands taut behind in a military’s response. “I harbor no romantic sentiments for you.”

“You’ve established that,” Enid huffs. She dares not stare directly and continues pacing when Wednesday speaks once more.

“However, there is a common disconnect between the body’s biological structures and the emotional capacity of the brain. And as such while I may not have the proper chemical composition inside my mind to, in simple terms, crush on you, the hormonal beast residing within has taken heed of your ever-growing changes within the realm of omega.”

Enid stills in her forming ruts with a harsh intensity to her brow, glancing in a slackened jaw.

“What the fuck did any of that mean?”

Wednesday glares back. Such a straightforward explanation. “It means your pheromones are working as intended and even I have little sway over my alpha’s reaction.”

Her roommate mulls over the preschooler simplification for a while, floorboards creaking in whittling whines. Enid’s claws retract and draw out over and over before settling on a mid-point. 

“I don’t get it,” she finally says, mirroring Wednesday’s stillness. “You’ve been around plenty of other omegas around campus but you’ve never been like, a creep - that I’m aware of, anyway. For the first month everyone argued about your dynamic ‘cause you were so… composed. A blank page. Why me…?”

Wednesday’s lips part to reply, to have a suitable answer for an admittingly good question but she’s ultimately silent in her meaning. Truly, she’s stumped as well.

“I don’t know. I’ve yet to decipher it myself,” Wednesday admits, and similar it is to extracting a rotten tooth - to be clueless.

“So all that time you were being nicer to me, not so doom and gloom, it was just for your weird attraction?”

“More or less,” Wednesday says, shrugging somewhat. “I had to document data and avoidance would do me no favors.”

Enid’s mouth purses into the sliver of a line, running her hands through her hair and leaving it mussed, uncaring. “First, he needs a break because I’m too much after wolfing out and now you get all creepy borderline stalker by it? Talk about irony.”

Her head slumps forward to stare down at her shoes, scuffed and plain compared to her pastels. Wednesday looks at them for a moment, too. She finds no pleasure in Enid’s anguish, which is a first in a bittersweet type of way. Attraction certainly muddles with her usual delights.

Hesitantly, Wednesday steps closer to press her boots onto the tape.

“I find such reasoning for a break idiotic. You’re still you, are you not?”

Enid lightly kicks the tip of Wednesday’s shoe with a scoff. “As if you care, it’s all about you all the time. You can’t even be nice without some dumb, ulterior motive. How do you think that makes me feel, Wednesday?”

She looks up with watery blue eyes and Wednesday drowns meeting them.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

Wednesday blinks so hard it almost hurts. “What? An annoyance, sure, however—”

“—an annoyance?” Enid’s scent drops similar to a nuclear bomb and Wednesday’s alpha whines as if struck. “And you’re a complete asshole, but knowing you that’s a compliment.”

Enid leaves... not before storming back in for her jacket and then proceeding to slam the door behind her. 

If Wednesday continues to take this as a play, this would call for intermission.

 

---

 

‘You’re clinically insane,’ is the professional assessment given by Thing upon his return from a supposedly rather lackluster vacation with her uncle, the crowning achievement bloating of the skin and stinking of hazardous waste from trudging along the sea floor. He’d immediately taken notice of Enid’s absence on arrival and confronted Wednesday about her whereabouts, astute in his belief that she must’ve done something horrid to scare her away. What point was there in the truth’s suppression when her oh-so-wonderful roommate would definitely spill every gory detail without needing a formal prompt? 

So, she explained. And so, he reacted. Albeit, in the form of circling the drain rather than delving right into the pipes themselves, carefully chosen words and such. Unfortunately for her, he’s trained in reading between thinly-spliced lines from his years as an interrogator, and beating around the withered bush became a spread page in tilted confession.

It’s been a slow crawl of passing week since the initial confrontation - freedom in spread wings without an omegan smell permeating throughout no matter how many candles she sets aflame as the wax melts in clumps, the tugs of lust undoing its poisonous knot in her small intestine at the source taking hiatus. Although the absence uplifts much of the fever she’d been suffering in sweaty palms, high temperature, there’s a certain lack of… character without the intrusion of Enid’s presence, no wolfish ghost wailing and tearing the place asunder in its colorful haunting grounds.

She won’t claim to miss her, because she certainly hasn’t, but it is remarkably different in nature than the prior ruts sharing a room - and change hasn’t ever settled well within Wednesday when it isn’t her own bidding. 

However, oddly enough, she expected Enid’s status as resident gossip would result in condemnation and the labeling as a ‘stalker’ yet no such witchhunt occurred. She supposes in such sharing there’d be the entanglement of Enid herself into the narrative and unsightly that’d be, the absolute horror would it not?

The pit of her chest grumbles, ribs reverberating like percussion as she continues to jot down what’s become an examination of a lack in regards to omega than prior writings. Which is to say, terribly unexciting and nothing within the realm of groundbreaking. Thing perches on the crook of her knee in a spider’s sprawl, the mattress she sits atop creaking with her agitated shifting. 

‘You’re to wait until she’s in love for the reveal of such a diagnosis!’

The pen’s trail stops, brows pinched. “Do not speak of such devilry as love. I’m aware you’ve drowned a total of four times while away but it gives no excuse for what amounts as utter nonsense.” 

There’s a split-line of a pause before Wednesday jabs the sharp point of her pen at him and it nips the soggy skin, a trail of black ink left in the wake as he furiously skitters to stand guard elsewhere on the comforter - enough to keep distance. Good. His curiosity lacks boundaries, unlike hers. She could be continuing to follow her (ex?) roommate despite the distance but she chooses not to. Isn’t she fair?

With the manner that Thing stares at her, poised to escape and scuttle at another violent movement, perhaps not.

“She overreacted,” Wednesday claims in her own defense because he’s back to the flavor of judgment and such a look wears drab on him. “I was truthful with my reasonings, a gratitude saved to few, and she had the audacity to react in victimhood.”

Thing seems to mull over her justification, and she’s almost back to writing when he starts to tap tap tap. 

‘Allow us to partake in a thought experiment.’

“Oh?” Wednesday’s walls crumble at the familiar game they play, childhood memories of morality’s clause and whether it’s justifiable to save many for the stock of one. Her answer has remained unchanged since he first asked - herself is what matters.

‘Imagine the scenario that transpired but with the roles reversed,’ he explains. ‘You, the omega, fresh to this world in forming dynamic. She, the alpha, tame in her stability. What would your feelings be if, by a twinkling of unfounded luck, were to catch her inducing pleasure with the format of a photo, personal belongings?’

Whatever interest Wednesday held withers into ash. “I don’t like where this is going.”

‘Play with the idea for a while.’

Wednesday’s gaze drifts to the void of area where Enid once lay on the constant, stagnant and boxed. She imagines the constant stream of laughter from immature texts and the buzzing of music seeping from her headphones, bought upon lackluster comments of the grating noise. Rather… accommodating, she realizes. How the dead heart finds a purpose to beat once cold. Hindsight, really.

 If she were to walk in on Enid in her own position… 

…her initial assumption would be akin to, ‘She must find interest in the image of me.’

“With the framework you’ve presented in this hypothetical,” Wednesday says, unusually quiet in firmness. “I wouldn’t find the discovery to be… unsightly.”

Thing perks, taking a careful step forward.

‘Even if she liked you in more than the flesh?’

Wednesday stills.

“I see what you’re doing you limp wrist cretin.” 

He pulls back in a tremble by the force of which Wednesday sharply shuts her journal.

“No matter how convinced you are to my supposed ‘feelings,’ it’s untrue and never will be true.” She peels off the bed and stalks to gather her shoes. “And to prove my validity I’ll speak with Thornhill about a proper separation.”

Thing jumps onto the hardwood, furiously typing on hot coals.

‘Wednesday, why are you so aghast at the idea of more than a physical attraction?’

She has the urge to laugh at the ludicrousness of his inquiry. 

“I’m not of an ill mind as you suggest. Biological, that is the extent.” 

Wednesday tightens the laces to her boots ‘til they press the circulation, shrugging on her coat with a flourish. “And do not speak this to anyone or I will sever each and every of your nerve endings.”

Thing’s silence rubs wrong when she leaves.

 

---

 

Barricading in Yoko’s room for the past week is a breath of fresh air not contaminated with the constant stench of formaldehyde, methanol… and whatever other tongue-twisting names sum into embalming fluid. Yoko’s former roommate got scared off by the nightly rituals Yoko has to do in the spirit of her clan-family amalgamation so it was no issue at all for Enid to crash and decipher what exactly happened that night.

Though, she has to admit it’s been hard to actually like, focus on dealing with her on-again-off-again boyfriend and weirdo roommate when Yoko’s tendency to be really into her girlfriend doesn’t stop with Enid’s presence, despite the lack of an actual flow of blood. They try and have manners of course, and Enid certainly appreciates the effort being made, but the hearing of a wolf is far too keen to not get what the ruffling of sheets means in the dead of night. And, you know, from experience doing similar when she can’t help herself…

Yeah, maybe she can’t level a ton of blame on Wednesday for getting freakish if this is what she’s had to deal with, enjoy more like.

In her defense, it’s been a total learning curve after wolfing out. There was no sense of connection with the beast prior and so having to now share brain space with an all-encompassing omega constantly peering and watching from behind the weight of her eyes, groveling and huffing and commentating like a gossip magazine is, uh, interesting.

It isn’t helping that the beast has a lot to say about Wednesday, either.

Seriously, staying mad is pretty damn difficult when for some insane reason it seems to believe that the display of ick she caught Wednesday doing was the absolute peak of romance. As if. That's so far from love it’s literally light-years away. But it hounds and reasons the unexpected is what’s expected for Wednesday, and, well, Enid can’t disagree per se. 

Still. The principle remains, it was…

A heat builds between her thighs and she huffs, shifting in her bed - to ignore what’s happening across the room and the prickling desire.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Why does she get hot and bothered by last week but not the thought of her ex? Her omega weeps little in response to the madness of such want and she isn’t surprised. Not necessarily rude when it comes to her incessant, racing thoughts about him but not exactly interested all the same. Which isn’t supposed to be the way it works!

Ugh. For having an opinion on anything and everything you’d think it’d offer more on this but no, right? Life loves to be difficult, and her omega merely slithers into the back of her mind if she tries too hard on having it spill. So damn annoying.

“I need to take a walk,” Enid announces after another shuffle of sheets, climbing out of her unmade bed (and almost tumbling out) as she fumbles for a jacket and a pair of slippers.

Yoko’s wide grin pops up from the other side of the room, no glasses. Her eyes are so dark the light seems to be sucked within like twin black holes.

“Stay safe, wolfie. Else your roomie might skewer me with her rapier,” she says in a sing-song spirit, fangs glinting.

Enid rolls her eyes. “She wouldn’t care.”

“Be for real.” Divina scoffs much to Yoko’s laughter, peeking out from beneath the tangle of blankets in a narrowed gaze.

“I am!” Enid can’t help herself from pouting, crossing her arms. “Stop acting like she isn’t the most self-centered person you’ve ever met!”

Divina’s smirk reads irritating in a way it normally isn’t. “You’re riding Ajax’s dick way too hard if you haven’t noticed.”

‘More like the lack of it,’ Enid thinks.

“What? Noticed what?”

The couple glance at each other before falling into an infectious fit of giggles, Enid well aware she isn’t about to be getting any semblance of an answer when they’re in this type of mood. She bites her tongue and hisses at the snap sting of pain, her fangs sharpened without her knowledge. Jeez, it’s been way too hard controlling her anger after wolfing out.

Enid leaves the room for her own piece of mind (and Yoko’s safety), hardly managing not to slam the door behind her but pauses at the crinkle of paper underneath her feet. She glances down to see an envelope neatly placed - the stem of a flower adjacent.

“Ajax…?”

She bends down to pick the envelope up and her name is scrawled in a delicate prink, real marks of ink. A wax seal is pressed to the back. Her omega perks in attention and urges her to open, lest the suspense of what lurks inside absolutely kills them whole. Talk about dramatic… but same. 

Her claws extend as she reads.

 

---

 

Conversing with Thornhill isn’t exactly a priority she keeps as an iron rule. Inherently there’s nothing wrong with her botany teacher, at the least she’s well established in the foundations of what she teaches and isn’t prone to excessive drudgery about her personal life - the like of which Wednesday tunes out into hazed static lest she develops worms of the brain.

“Hiya, Wednesday!”

But she’s all the most vivacious and it’s enough to humor one in that attitude, let alone two.

…Or, she did humor another.

Wednesday steps foot into the conservatory, brushing by the gentle touch of open-palmed leaves as she stands near where Thornhill snip snip snips into the maw of a Venus Fly Trap. Barbaric, if grabbing attention. She treats her plants like unruly children when they refuse to cooperate, needing of shears. 

“What brings you here so late?” Thornhill asks, the illumination of an orange glow warming her expression further - hair to a lustrous copper. “Homework?”

“No, I wish to speak in regard to my rooming situation,” Wednesday replies.

Thornhill raises her brow. Hm. So Enid hasn’t spoken to her about what happened if the reaction proves merit, interesting. 

“Oh? Take a seat, then.”

She gestures to one of the numerous desks curved to her own with a waving of sticky shears glistening in the light. It almost has Wednesday’s minuscule capacity for empathy opening its rusty doors… until they promptly close wondering how to go about this. Slow is her gait taking a seat by Thornhill’s request, lethargic still as she prods, “So, what’s going on?”

“Why did you believe it safe for Enid and I to be roommates?” Wednesday goes with, well aware she’s side-stepping the meat of the issue, the exact purpose of this visit, but she’s compelled to stall somewhat - give her more time to digest expressing her eventual request. 

Thornhill blinks. 

“Well…” A tilting of her head, hair askew. “...given your general demeanor and the responsibility Enid presents, I saw no harm. It’s your final year, anyway.” She smiles in pinched cheeks. “Plus, you girls get along so charmingly that I’d felt it’d hamper your development.”

Wednesday stares blankly. “Development?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Thornhill’s laughter rings like bells, and a portion of the plant drops from her insistent cuts. “Besides the whole Jericho incident, which by the way Weems is still deliberating on your probation, you’ve been an exemplary student lately. Attentive in class, haven’t made a classmate cry in a few weeks now, and I would go so far as to say even making friends…? I noticed you and Mr. Thorpe speaking when I got to class today.”

Yes, if ‘making friends’ means to be endlessly teased by Xavier about how her late-night chat with his sketch went, she supposes she’s right. Probing to spill the messy details of what she and Enid are, if anything, is tiring, but such relationships generally are of annoyance from her numerous observations.

“I’m insulted.” 

“That’s your right, but still I think Enid is a good influence on you, and during this time of change for her - settling into her new dynamic and all - you’re a great shoulder for her to lean on. Though, that is my opinion, not necessarily the truth.”

“You hold no concern for the possibility of me doing anything?” A morbid, uneasy question, but one she believes suitable in having Thornhill grow paranoid over the decision.

Thornhill sets her clippers down and turns to face Wednesday, hand on hip. “If this were a normal school I’d likely hold some worries of potential vulnerability, I am from the ‘normie’ population after all. But there’s something you’re forgetting.”

“Do tell.”

Thornhill’s grin crinkles, her eyes dark and bearing deeply on Wednesday. “She’s a wolf, dear. If you’d even thought of trying anything she’d kill you!”

The omega makes a slicing motion over her throat and chuckles much to Wednesday’s wide eyes, out-of-place attraction. 

“Principal Weems said it was due to societal progression,” Wednesday dully replies.

Thornhill sighs, waving a hand in vague gesture. “That’s easier to say than the fact that sharp claws triumph dynamic." She perks, and it's somehow unsettling. "Anyhow, was that all you wanted to ask?”

Wednesday decides it’s best to leave it at that and nods, getting up from the desk.

“I believe my questions were... well explained.”

“That’s good. Tell Enid I said hi, and to return her late assignments already! She’s usually so prompt…”

Oh, she's sure to do so but alas her roommate has taken flee of the dorm they shared, which Wednesday wants with permanency. 

Time to mull over another excuse.

 

---

 

Enid’s been staring at her today.

Which is remarkably coincidental keeping in mind the talk she had with Thornhill the night prior, as if Enid somehow chanced upon such topic and is haunting her with a bold gaze. Though, again, coincidental. Eye contact has been strictly avoided until this morning, be it the tilting of direction while across during fencing practice and magnet seats stuck too close together. 

Now it’s so obvious the heat of such intensity burns like branding as Xavier splits his attention back and forth, a quirk to thin lips and a nauseating relaxation to his gait.

“So…” Xavier leans in close enough that Wednesday can smell the reek of his body spray. Repulsive. “...she seems to be digging you.”

Wednesday pointedly keeps her focused on the board. “I’m listening to the lecture.”

“Yeah, right. You haven’t written shit since you got here,” he scoffs.

The empty page speaks to his validity, and so Wednesday remains silent in this minuscule defeat.

“Think she’s wanting your attention,” he whispers and just barely manages to move away as Thornhill faces the class again.

Wednesday chances a look despite the risk and it’s immediately that she and Enid’s eyes meet, stagnating in an unknown battle.

And then, Enid… smiles?

What in the world?

Wednesday looks back to the board, ignoring the pleased purr of her alpha as if that’s supposed to be some sort of win. It’s not. It’s puzzling.

Even more so the prickling of her attention as the bell rings sometime later, listening to Thornhill’s reprimanding of Enid’s numerous late assignments and what be the problem she’s juggling.

Hm.

 

---

 

Wednesday heads straight to the dorms once her final class has adjourned, ignoring the pouting of disappointment Euguene will no doubt have at her skipping their beekeeping - she’s of a far too muddled mind and spirit to hear him gush factoids about honey’s properties. She’s alone in the room, as to be expected, and crosses the tape’s stretched vision only to note a single stem of plucked green resting on the top of Enid’s dresser, no petals. 

Odd. Ajax?

She shrugs it off, not her priority. Wednesday instead is compelled to find the missing assignments Thornhill took the mention of during the last of their meeting and earlier, as a means of lame apology? That’s to be defined. Her alpha is strong with the want however, and the oddity Enid presented today leaves her a tad… frazzled. 

Upon finding one of them stuffed deep within Enid’s desk she sees the sole occupants of a scribbled name and long-due date. Out of character, truly. The omega isn’t one to skip her work, even if half-assed. It’s quite obvious why she never got around to finishing it, either.

The day is marked a week ago.

Wednesday takes a pen from her own belongings and begins to fill in the missing answers, alert at the drawing of door just behind.

“What’s with you and snooping through my stuff?” is Enid’s greeting of exasperation, the door shut close to the company of double.

Wednesday continues her work. “I could ask the same for your unfortunate timing.”

Enid’s footsteps are a pitter-patter of familiarity as she reaches to snatch the paper right under Wednesday’s nose. Her eyes widen somewhat, softening to butter soon after.

“Oh, yeah. I kept spacing on this. You were… doing it for me?” Enid scans the document with a loosely charmed quirk to her smile. “Jeez, you didn’t even try imitating my handwriting.”

Wednesday scowls and steals the paper back to her own possession. “Be grateful I was doing it in the first place. Hand me a notebook so I can properly mimic your calligraphy.”

“Or I can do it now that I’m here?”

Enid’s lips purse as Wednesday makes no move to return it.

“Whatever, if you so insist.”

Though the tension is thick as a frosted winter’s snow, Enid’s relatively calm composure strikes Wednesday as either purposeful facade or true redemption. The lingering glances from earlier adds another layer of grime she can’t make head or tails of, and she has to wonder if Thing spoke to Enid despite the heavy list of warnings not to. 

Then again, nothing of merit would be gained that Enid hasn’t been aware of already.

Enid returns with one of several notebooks - this one pink and riddled with doodles of low-caliber compared to Xavier’s - as Wednesday flips to a random page. Some form of a benign essay on the media representation of wolves, specifically a motion picture referred to as ‘Twilight’ that Wednesday can’t place is written. She skims over the neat, curly letters before turning to another page.

Wednesday Addams.

The entirety of the page is filled with her name in crimson ink.

“Fancy my name?” Wednesday asks, handing the notebook back over to Enid.

Enid’s complexion resembles the very ink jotted. “More like I was determined not to keep spelling it wrong. Two D’s, Sinclair,” she quotes in a hideous impression of Wednesday’s tone. “I’m sure yours looks similar, roomie.”

“...Excuse me?”

Enid heads straight to her dresser drawers and pulls out Wednesday’s journal from the top one, the phantom orchestra of a crowd’s gasps stilling the alpha.

“As to be expected it was on the top of your bed in a way that screamed, ‘Please read me!’ Enid runs her hand over the leather cover, nails dragging. “You know, you’re really terrible at speaking but you do have a way with words. I see why you wanna be a writer.”

Her blood simmers to a boil at the turn of events, who else could’ve choreographed this but Thing himself? The impish bastard. He who meddles in another’s affairs is like the pulling of a mutt’s ears, and Enid’s have certainly been tugged.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to understand you,” Enid continues, pulling to a page in the journal. “You say one thing and deny, deny, deny , but…” 

She takes a deep breath.

“...this is the most romantic series of notes I’ve ever read.”

Wednesday pales to the point of corpse. “I fail to see any of my findings as ‘romantic.’”

Enid clears her throat, relaying, “It’s Thursday, approximately seven forty-two in the evening. Enid’s distracted with texting someone, more than likely Ajax, and she giggles upon receiving every reply. Her face lights up in a manner similar to a dawn’s break through thick clouds, perhaps after a fight of thunder. It seems I find pleasure in the break of her smile. I’ve failed numerous times in replicating the look for further analysis, however, these moments of communication between her and her boyfriend bring forth such joy. I must find means of inducing this state, or else be dependent on these intervals. My alpha grows bothered the longer we can’t see it - look further into such reasoning.”

“That was strictly professional,” Wednesday argues. Her hands ball into fists, flexing in twitches.

Instead of the huff and puff of the big bad wolf from a week prior, Enid merely seems… amused.

“Oh, yeah? We’d be here all night if I read every entry.” She closes the journal with a heavy thunk and shoves it against Wednesday’s chest. “And I’m pretty sure your fixation on the color of my eyes wasn’t scientific!”

Wednesday takes the journal and has the arsonist’s urge to burn it. “Indeed it was!”

“Wednesday…” Enid crosses her arms, lazy in delight. “...I’ve forgiven you.”

“What?”

“I realized what you were trying to tell me, and it made me have a total change of heart - you have a giant crush on me.”

“I do not—!”

“—you do!” Enid interrupts, and this shift in attitude, this assured nature holds Wednesday’s attention to an almost comical level. “I know it physically pains you to outright admit it but it’s fine, I got the picture now! And, honestly, I’m flattered. Like, I didn’t even think you were capable of it but knowing I’m your first?”

Enid rocks on her heels a bit. “It’s— I dunno, obviously I wish I hadn’t walked in on you but I guess it was kinda my fault for ruining your private time. And, I mean, I’m newly presented so obviously the scent would do something…”

Silence fills the room and Wednesday is at an utter loss on what to reply with, if anything. Frankly, she has no clue where Enid is gaining the impression of a crush from her writings, why she’s docile with the newfound information, but the hand that feeds will live to see another day without the tearing of its supple flesh.

In simple terms, roll with it.

“I see.”

Wednesday presses her thumbs to the journal’s leather wrap. 

“What does this revelation… entail for us?”

“Okay, first things first I’m not really in the market for a new relationship,” Enid begins. “Me and Ajax are technically on a break or whatever, and knowing you a label would make you lock me in a freezer.”

She continues on with her rambling speech and Wednesday huffs in an off-kilter fashion.

It’s a surprising relief to be back on stable footing.

 

---

 

Though such stability is returned to a rocky terrain when the evening rolls to a crawl, tapping of rain drops stained shapeless against the roof’s slope and fogged windows. Enid took back her homework and vowed to complete her missing work in the spirit of their returning friendship, relationship. Whatever exactly that may be. 

Apparently rooming with Yoko was an exercise in restraint as she and Divina were ‘literal beasts’ according to her returning roommate, and not the fun kind - annoying. Getting anything of importance done was basically impossible as a feat, and rooming together activates her productive side. Or, whatever drivel Enid was going on about.

“Now that we’ve worked out everything about us…”

Enid places the last of her work back into her bag with a satisfied sigh. 

“...I have a proposition.”

Wednesday impatiently taps on the keys of her typewriter. She almost forgot the annoyance brought forth by the constant interruption of writing. “Alright, spit it out.”

“Since I’m not with Ajax and you’re attracted to me... I was thinking of maybe helping each other out? Symbiosis and whatnot."

The tapping ceases, and Wednesday twists to face the omega directly, gesturing to continue. 

Enid swallows thickly and about chokes on it. “I wanna get each other off.”

“Oh.”

“Too far?” Enid stands from where the bag is and slowly backs to the edge of her bed. “I just figured that—”

“—all you’ve been doing thus far is assuming every intention and commanding the flow of activity,” Wednesday interrupts, rising from her chair. “However, such arrogance intrigues. It’s unlike the mouse I met once upon a time.”

'Before the second puberty,' remains unsaid.

“It suits you.”

Enid bites her lip. “Most people would see that as a bunch of flaws.”

“The mountain seems taller with many dips does it not?” Wednesday crosses the threshold to stand close, the gentle sting of Enid’s scent nostalgically enticing. “I accept the proposal.”

A moment’s pause before Enid falls back into bed, shirt rising to expose a sliver of tender skin. Wednesday’s mouth waters for a canine’s fur.

She may not harbor anything of a clear virtue, but… yes, she’ll indulge for the sake of experience. 

Want.

 

---

 

They end up situated on the flat of Enid’s bed after a shuffle of stumbling, loose-limbed and out of touch with such bizarre circumstances. Soft and bouncy compared to the harsh slab of Wednesday's stiff mattress - she settled bricks on the bottom to resemble a slab of an alter’s sacrificial marble - it’s able to handle them both. Though, a fragment of wind would easily have them in a touch’s constant. Wednesday settles somewhere midway while Enid leans back against her swarm of pillows.

Her alpha hums of flickering fluorescence, pleased for a change.

“You have a unique scent,” Enid says, dazed and dopey. “But I guess that’s pretty fitting, isn’t it?”

The tip of her tongue lacks comeback as Enid raises the fabric of her skirt to reveal plush thighs, a bit paler than the rest of her. She bunches it to her waist and Wednesday’s stare is revealing. Craving of animal and filth.

“Have you ever been with someone?” Enid asks.

Wednesday dares not turn her attention elsewhere. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Oh, 'cause if you hadn’t, I’d offer to give you a hands-on lesson but since you’ve seemed to…”

Wednesday grumbles at the thinness of her tease, not willing to beg for the honor as Enid clearly wants her to.

Enid falls into a fit of giggles. “You’re kinda cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Suuure.” Enid's disbelief is evident, though disregarded as soon as she hikes herself up to slowly roll her panties down the toned muscle of her legs. Pink, typical - but Wednesday notes the stain of wetness, and her cock pulses in time of realization. Quickly she tugs the zipper of her slacks.

She palms herself through the underwear’s material as Enid watches with a focal intentness, quietly gasping when the bulge grows, a straining. Wednesday runs a blunt nail through the fabric and hisses. The pain sends electrical heat in the rhythm of her heart.

Enid presses her thighs together. “Didn’t take you for flagellation.”

“Will you be offering commentary for the entirety of this?” Wednesday blandly asks.

“It’s better than complete sile—!”

She drowns the response upon Wednesday freeing herself from the material, her scent spiking.

“...Wow.”

Wednesday’s head tilts. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing! It’s just—”

She laughs in plastic.

“I’ve never seen one in person,” she whispers as if a conspiracy.

“You were in a relationship,” Wednesday points out.

“So? We never got far enough.” A flash of annoyance before Enid’s looking her up and down, appraising. “Show me, show me what you usually do… what you did when you were thinking of me…”

If anyone is to be taking commands like a dog it’s Enid, however, Wednesday relents for the sake of fleeting pleasure, the sentiment of, ‘Next time.’  She grips herself, a warming squeeze, running her thumb over the tip and dragging it directly across the slit. Her breath hitches and constricts within the throat’s confines - quiet, yet ever so loud for all to witness. Pre-cum dribbles in beads and she methodically slicks it down to cover more of herself. The process is quicker than usual, at the fact of being watched so intimately.

Sure, it could be more. Hot touches and labored breaths, submersion of two and jerking hips - but the chaining of control in keeping to oneself is sweet denial. Looking over the cliff’s edge and tempted, the potential splatter beautiful.

Enid whines and Wednesday spots the movement of her fingertips playing with her clit, rubbing the bud in a practiced motion as her other hand slowly starts to tease her entrance. Her fingers dip in to a quarter point before coming back out to rinse and repeat.

“This turns you on,” Wednesday says, factual. 

“It’s not my fault,” Enid groans, pressing down a little harder. Wednesday feels her own fingers twitch in needling. “I’m super pent up.”

“Poor girl,” Wednesday coos in the sincerity of mockery, unable to admit she’s been in a similar state without Enid’s presence. She squeezes hard and more of herself leaks, dripping onto her hand much to Enid’s gorging pleasure. 

A wet shlick trembles Wednesday’s arm as Enid slips in two fingers within herself. The alpha takes heed of the way they curl a bit upward, a specific angle, like prepping for a future exam. 

Surely, at some point, they’ll go farther — mere testing of the choppy waters this is, perhaps of Wednesday’s reliability in not jumping at the sight of omega appeal. Thornhill did say Enid could easily dispatch her if ever threatened, and so she never going to such measures… 

Enid gasps and Wednesday jerks a little faster at the plea, a blood rush from her stomping heart throbbing her temples and crushing her grip. 

“Oh, God, I’m already close,” Enid mumbles. 

Wednesday’s practically humping into her fist at the sorry state of her roommate flushed and sweaty, dripping in pheromones and bitching like mutt as she rubs circles around her swollen clit. She’s a disaster, a tornado in ruins, yet Wednesday thinks it’s the best she’s ever looked since they met. Perfectly ruined.

Her heart skips, feeling a sudden weight resting on the flat of her knee and glances down to see Enid’s hand. Glistening. Wednesday hesitates only for a second, two, placing her own over Enid’s and squeezes to force the punchline of her approach. 

She comes first, oozing and drenched as Enid’s head falls back with a thunk. Her body shudders and spasms, eyes screwed tight and chest raising with the necessity of air. 

For a moment does Wednesday think she hears her name spilled in a low confession under Enid’s breath. Gospel. 

Much like the perverse of her own worship, Wednesday takes Enid’s hand to her mouth and tastes the remnants of slick from her slender fingers, sour and unlike anything she’s ever had. 

“Jeez, and you call me an animal!” 

"I was curious," is Wednesday's simple reply.

Enid frowns but makes no move to retract herself, so Wednesday continues.

The renewal of their relationship is off to an amicable beginning, she thinks. The alpha agrees.

Perhaps pretending of this so-called' crush will do for the time being if the reward is as good as this.

Chapter 3: Development

Summary:

A party of all things shouldn't bring strange developments.

“I have a surprise for you, Wends!”

The temperance of autumn’s flourish has proven as an excellent reminder for Wednesday to bask in the sharp-cut breeze every once in a while outside, away from the mechanical clicking of her typewriter’s monologue and noxious aroma brought forth by chemical compounds. She’s sorely taken to eating lunch amongst the splotched reds and oranges of decaying leaves, picking and prodding at what’s considered acceptable nutrition by Nevermore standards. During the times of nourishment she admits to a wistful yearning for her Grandmama’s cooking back home… so lively.

And not so insistent on stealing her precious attention, raised heels and all.

Her eyes flick forward, Enid’s taking in copying Wednesday’s typical posing with her hands behind back, chipper, toothy grin ever more frequent as the beast takes heed and cosmetic discretion of its newfound body. Every day she appears a hair taller, as well - much to her own alpha’s whining annoyance. No need for shaming from another’s mouth when her very own dynamic finds mockery in the reminder of difference as if somehow done by her own doing, didn’t use the stretching rack enough during puberty.

If you were to ask Wednesday however, such contrast is remarkably… enlightening. That who stands tall crumbles hard under that they look down, some form of verbiage. 

“Why are you bothering me?”

Enid’s dog-dumb smile drops a quarter of an inch, flickering. “And here I thought you’d be ecstatic to see me. You’ve been enjoying my company lately, after all…”

Trails she does into raising brows, impish sprawl, and Wednesday’s fork digs harshly into the grilled chicken on her plate, sword to stone. Exasperation its been to have herself be the sole focus of Enid’s endless reign of teasing terror, especially as the omega’s endless supply of ammo from their newfound ‘relationship’ keeps her plenty supplied - a price to pay, one supposes. The wounds still irritate even so.

“That brings a sense of pleasure, this brings roundabout topics and endless filler,” Wednesday replies with a shove of her plate. Enid’s gaze briefly flickers to it, salivating. “You may have the rest if you’re so inclined.”

The blushing of red settles across Enid’s cheeks, a commonality Wednesday brings forth more and more as they interact as of late. Why? She can’t be certain. It’s a frequent visitor during their bouts of ‘stress relief’ as Enid dubs such thing and Wednesday can’t help adjusting in her seat as a slew of snapshot memories reveal in scattered fragments. Yes, while the mundane aspects of living together have been at most cautiously optimistic in a manner of say, the prognosis of a coma’s possible revival, restrictions of normality loosen a significant degree whenever Enid’s throat goes bone dry and asks Wednesday to, ‘Come over here.’  

They’ve yet to branch anything of true substance, much along the stream of variety presented during their initial test-run, though Wednesday’s arguably managed to control any cry of more while Enid appears at a constant of internal warfare, push and shove. Likely the omega, if Wednesday is to account for anything. Enid’s dropped hints about the overwhelming nature of the beast’s presence here and there, nothing detailed, merely enough to account for the swings in behavior. An oddity she herself has no true experience with, as the moment her alpha’s wings spread as moth she grappled it by the throat in sheer willpower.

Though, Wednesday has half a mind to believe the omega is the only reason for Enid’s actual forgiveness.

Moment’s passing it is before Enid dares to sit across from Wednesday on the creaking bench, bringing forth the discarded plate with one hand, the other still obscured behind her.

“Thanks. I’m kinda too embarrassed to eat so much around everyone,” Enid admits a tad quietly, stilted confession in an uneasy bow, using the fork to push away any remaining greens to the side.

Wednesday’s head quirks like feline. “I don’t see the reason for your embarrassment, as I usually do. However, you’re allowed to finish what I don’t if so willing. My distaste at such dining leaves most discarded.”

Whatever surprise Enid holds in secret is carefully pivoted to under the table’s surface, on her lap, a fluid motion hardly noticed as Wednesday spoke during the voyage. My, she may have to concede a flirting curiosity of the contents resembled in this gift, even if Enid’s track record is questionable in usability; that strange snood garment for example.

“You do that for all the omegas you like?” 

Enid’s return to her ever faithful teasing, bowed in devotion, long, batting eyelashes marking Wednesday’s own prickling numbness and gnawing stomach.

“Normally I send them threatening letters with accurate personal information,” Wednesday says, the whitest of half-truths. In reality, she’s sending them to Uncle Fester’s pursuing gold diggers - many abhor the concept of curtains… or locked doors.

“How positively dreadful of you.” Enid slices through the tender meat and pops a piece into her mouth, chewing. Wednesday’s gaze lingers a sum of one, or two before greeting Enid’s creased stare of pushing amusement. “You do that a lot, ya know.”

“Do what?”

“Stare like you wanna kiss me.”

Wednesday’s immediate frown at this purported libel propels Enid into a bout of giggling laughter, a world-class comedian in the making, foolish jester’s avoidance of the king’s twitchy fingers to finally announce their long-awaited public execution. The nerve.

“You’ve always done it, too,” Enid adds, twisting the knife a bit further and watching it stick. “I thought it was you wanting me to be quiet and I guess in a way it is, hm?”

Another slice, another bite.

“Your delusion never ceases to confound.” This serves as worthy contender as to why she refuses to sit with Enid and her frothing ilk during lunch, or in class, or in any situation not shackled by rooming and fleeting pleasure - nor can she bear to tolerate the forever reminders of her supposed crush. Which, she prays Enid not spread else the wolf will certainly be de-clawed. “Get on with your surprise so I can be rid of you.”

Enid mumbles nonsense around a finishing bite as she swallows something harsh, straightening out into presenting with the enactment of stock-standard televised bravado seen in numbing advertisements. 

“Ta-da!”

Enid holds out a slender rectangular object that reflects Wednesday’s pinched brow, questioning gaze before she recalls it as a cellular device. Smaller than the one Enid’s glued to on the constant, spider’s cracks flourishing on the corners of the screen.

“It’s my old phone!” Enid answers in lieu of Wednesday’s apparent bewilderment. “I figured maybe you could have it, since… I’m sorry it’s super weird you don’t own one.”

“And what exactly would I be using it for?” Wednesday asks, still hypnotized by her own confusion.

Enid steals her bewilderment. “Um, communication? It would’ve been helpful when we were like, having trouble with alone time in the dorm.”

…Wednesday is helpless in denying that. Truly, there are no sound means of communication between them and the last she’s attempted to rig letter to the bristling leg of an arachnid resulted in Weems screaming and stepping down - heel-point first. 

“C'mon, just accept it!” Enid practically vaults herself to the other side of the table just to shove herself against Wednesday’s side, pressing the phone into her hand. She swipes across the screen in a practiced fashion. “Here, I added my number already.”

Ignoring the radiating warmth from Enid’s all too-close presence, she watches the screen fill with white. Contacts. There’s a single one listed as, ‘Enid,’ with a red heart next to it.

“A heart?” 

Enid merely grins, fangs and all. “Duh! I better get a cute emoji giving you this!”

Wednesday stares for a moment longer, as if it’ll evaporate under the intensity but never manages to.

“...Alright.”

The bell rings in startled shrill before Wednesday can process the weight of this gift in her grip, nor the way Enid quickly leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, hot and lingering even when she pulls away.

“Shit, gotta go. Bradley’s on my ass about this group presentation today, I’ll show you more of it later!”

Wednesday stares dumbly as Enid walks off to her class, slowly running the tips of her fingers to her cheek and touching where Enid had. A shimmer of lip gloss stains.

 

---

 

Wednesday initially figures she’ll shove the device in the back of her drawers and be done with it, no need to be tempted into modern brain-washing via electronic waves and nulled attention span. However, Enid’s constant swarm of flooding texts stops her from such a plan as she’s positive these contraptions are purposeful in driving the user insane by the constant buzz and chipper of alerting notifications. She has no clue how to stop them and Enid seems refusing to help in that regard, if knowledgeable at all.

Perhaps it works out eventually either way as the night her record player takes a screeching halt of the dead’s kneel does Enid show her the means of listening to music without needing any physical selections; and while the experience is hardly similar in quality and enrichment by what’s standard, listening to that her parents played when she was child is bitterly nostalgic while on a forever loop.

“Never took you for being into this kinda music,” Enid says one evening, sprawled on Wednesday’s bed after she’d taken too long to cross over for the omega’s tastes. Her skirt is still hiked, chest rising and falling, as she turns to her side. “It’s not my thing but I’ll listen for you.”

Wednesday hardly offers a response to the stilted wink given, awkwardly tapping away at the screen. “No one forced you here, nor did I ask for your opinion.”

Enid pouts and it never ceases to leave Wednesday’s chest in a bondage’s restriction, knotted in a sailor’s fine hand. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you better! And music is the key to the soul… or something.” 

She scoots closer, far too much if another but the thinnest thread of acceptability due to their activities. “So, give me a lesson on German, roomie?”

“Currently he’s inferring to sticking barbed wire into another’s urethral track,” Wednesday replies with ease of translation.

“Hm, actually, I think this genre is super fitting for you.” Enid’s concern holds no surprise though a mutual dour pull of her smile. “But why? How?”

“If you can you should.” She finally eyes Enid and smirks at the fresh paleness of Enid’s distaste.

Enid shoves at her shoulder, playfully in concept though firmer in execution as she bites the inside of her cheek at the blossom of pain, potential bruising. Odd it is for an omega to exhibit suh strength but the blood of wolves ferments differently than any other brood, and for that Wednesday might be… grateful.

“I’ll kill you if you ever think of doing something weird like that to me,” Enid says, straddling that same fine line of too much and too little that leaves Wednesday twitching.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Sinclair.” 

“Is that so?”

Enid’s head tilts in mild thought, starry brightness to her eyes as her gaze ever so lowers. 

“Seems to be working on you,” she whispers, the briefest of hesitation before she drags a colored nail across the fabric of Wednesday’s pants, humming in visible interest. “And you just finished not too long ago.”

“Enid…”

Wednesday’s grip on the phone tightens as Enid continues to drag that same nail across, pressing down as the bulge grows hard under her touch, far too easy for Wednesday’s liking. Yes, biology can excuse the bulk of an explanation but will it convince Enid herself? She’s not charitable enough to say so, not with the likes of gloat and decree. 

“Can I?” 

Her fingertips graze the waistband and settle there impatiently, tapping a bit. Wednesday has the urge to tell her no, watch her pout, see how far she can take her in attempts of getting what her wandering hands want, but… 

“Go ahead.” 

…she’s far too curious to rage war right now.

Enid’s hand disappears beneath the waistband to bring her cock out, helping Wednesday shimmy the material of pants down enough where she’s fully exposed, the cool touch of Enid’s fingers pleasant and satisfying in a manner not able to be achieved by herself. Like the pleasantries of a knife’s tender cut from another’s pursuit than your own or the like. Though it’s made apparent Enid is… hesitant, holding it as if afraid she’ll shatter the thing if given any further pressure, loose and limp much to an ever-so-building frustration between Wednesday’s thighs.

This isn’t going to bode well if left to no instruction.

“I’m not porcelain. Firm your grip,” she instructs, a sharp inhale at the displacement of prior hesitation to a stronger hold. Enid’s hand is far bigger than hers, covers more - plush and soft despite the blood of dog. Ironic.

“Oh, wow. You’re throbbing…” 

Enid nibbles on her bottom lip, flexing her fingers.

“Am I working you up?”

“You’re adequate thus far.” Her teeth grind and clench when Enid squeezes— hard. A fraction of shaky breath escapes past her lips. “Getting there.”

The ridge of Enid’s knuckles rubs against the side, not so giving, perhaps not exactly the qualifications of teasing as it is exploring. She recalls Enid’s admittance of never having touched Ajax during their relationship, virgin in practice and fluidity. “This is way easier than what I gotta do.”

“How so?” 

“‘Cause you’re like, already close to coming,” is Enid’s explanation, smirking. “And here I thought an Addams would take an entire lifetime to unravel, but, hm, expectations are deceiving.”

Wednesday’s ready to argue about the nonsense such a statement holds before she’s throbbing, base taut, and muscles constricted and—

“Aw, thanks for proving my point.”

“Be wary of falling asleep tonight,” Wednesday says, realizing she’s still holding onto the phone, song long since finished playing. “Accidental smothering is far more common than you may think.”

Enid drags her nail across the slit, smearing.

“Duly noted.”

 

---

 

Oh, how she should’ve predicted that this exchange was going suspiciously well - too well, in fact. Father always said you’re never given a good deal lest they want pickings in return, to tug a heartstring or two at their supposed kindness of before. He then proceeded to be duped by every business partner after such advice but the principle remains the same, nothing is free, Enid is capable of weaponizing her sexuality… and her firm grip… and—

She‘s dragging a rut into the withered floorboard as she paces around, organizing this and that while Enid speaks absolute nonsense, drudgery, an— an invitation? 

“C’mon, Wednesday! It’ll be super fun, and it’s a chance for you to ditch campus after like, an eternity on probation,” Enid begs, hands clasped in a futile prayer for God’s newfound commandment on attendance. 

A party, she speaks. One thrown not by the Jericho high schoolers but another from a town over, so the likelihood of antagonism from prior entanglements depletes drastically as if that’s supposed to be a selling point. Some rite of passage, or the like - perhaps for the numb-brained and peaking close to graduation. 

Wednesday pulls out a box from under her bed, searching. “I seem to recall your utter distaste in interacting with the so-called, ‘normies.’ Why the change in consumption?”

The inquiry stalls Enid as she mulls for a proper response, all the while Wednesday continues to muss around for the proper equipment needed in repairing her record player. She’s no Pugsley in innovation regrettably (and not that she’d ever admit lest he’s taking a final breath), but she’s stubborn in forfeiting the nuisance of ads and capitalistic brainwashing.

“Okay, fine, maybe I have some ulterior motives.” She pulls up Wednesday’s chair of choice for writing and straddles the seat. “Word around is that a few of the gorgons are attending and Ajax never passes up an opportunity to leave Nevermore. And in my humble opinion, it’s perfect pickings for making him regret being a coward… you helping me make him jealous.”

The alpha grumbles, much like a roll of voracious thunder deep inside and Wednesday somewhat understands. She’s admittingly tired of hearing about this trivial pursuit of what clearly is avoiding Enid, the prey of snake not wishing to be wrung by the all-mighty wolf. It’s one thing to stalk from the shadows and slowly crumble their very foundation ‘till they’re back in wanting hands, it’s another to act as a complete, desperate moron.

“I still see no clarity in my participation. You could easily use any of your dim-witted friends for such schemes,” Wednesday says.

“They’re not dim-witted.” The chair rocks forward and claps back to the ground in her huffing irritation. “And think of it as payback for your weirdo tendencies. Besides, your giant crush on me will totally make him get all aggro.”

Wednesday pointedly ignores the false (and highly idiotic) claim as she’s done roughly for the hundredth time by this point, scoffing at the thought of Ajax becoming ‘aggro.’ To take a page from Enid’s picture book, as if.  

“I recall you forgiving me.”

“I did! But I’m still using it against you,” is all Enid replies, a dubious smile. My, and here Wednesday thought wolves didn’t hold grudges. The more you learn. She can’t help the sliver of respect peeling into her skin and sticking, something about her roommate’s… flaws satisfying an itch Wednesday gets here and there.

“Your boyfriend should be in awe at the lengths you’re going to for his wandering eye,” Wednesday says after a moment’s pause, shoving the box with a kick of her shoe back under the bed. “I’m not sure if I quite see the worth myself.”

Enid offers a shrug. “Your first tends to stick with you like that.”

Is that so? Will Enid’s image be branded into the crevices of her mind after all is said and done, graduation rung and dodged phone calls, attraction faded into dust once every delectable inch has been marked in sexual exploration? 

(Or, will she fade into obscurity as Wednesday finds the next shiny interest?)

“How about…” Enid raises from the chair and slinks to where Wednesday stands, salacious in the brimming possibilities of her suggestion. “...I give you a reward if you go with me?”

“I’m not weak-willed to crumble for your touch, Enid.” 

“Even if it’s the other way around?” 

Wednesday eyes her suspiciously. “Are you implying the allowance of my hands on you?”

“You’ll have to find out… by going to the party with me!” 

“No.”

 

---

 

So, they’re here.

In spite of her initial (and numerous) misgivings regarding her attendance to the likes of such an adolescent activity, Wednesday’s mood cools to a low simmer upon the introduction of the two-story, gnarled wooden infrastructure home to this event’s takings. A straggled forest surrounds the property, as well as the off-beat path needed to arrive and where she wondered how exactly students got away with simply walking off campus. Enid informed her that the faculty’s restraints wear a tad loose on the weekends… and it helps if their name isn’t, Wednesday Addams - known hellion. How droll.

The building obviously appears to be abandoned a lifetime ago, resuscitated with the thrumming beat of children’s intoxication and endless stupidity. Throbbing pulses of light filter from the lightning-cracked windows with a consistent blink, familiar faces sprouting here and there as the porch greets them in a creaking whine.

Those same familiar faces glance at them, expressions unreadable, as Enid takes her by the arm and curls herself around it in a slithering approximation of her desire. 

“We look so hot,” she whispers in glee, tugging Wednesday forward. A complete shift in attitude as she’d been accused of over-dressing to the point of pompous earlier in the dorm - the dress code being sneakers and shorts, not Oxford and leather. And yet Enid herself took roughly half the day to get ready for this herself, hypocritical… charming.

“I feel nauseated already,” Wednesday replies in a murmur, frowning at the realization of Enid’s touch being so casual to the point of doing so of her own volition, the blurriness causing Enid to forgo their prior boundaries, if they ever had any in the first place. Talk and action are two different variables.

They barely are passing through the absent frame of the front door before Wednesday smells the distinction of sea spray and heady arrogance, a static of grin and powder blue eyeing them in a mechanical fashion.

“Oh, look who we have here. The wolf’s managed to tame her majesty, hm?” Bianca greets with a gesture of her drink, a slow sweep of rising waters at their interlinked arms. “Are you two dating or something?”

Wednesday jerks herself out of Enid’s pouting grasp.

“No.”

“Nope!”

Bianca raises her brows in evident disbelief, turning her focus to Wednesday. “Huh, interesting. Anyway, keep your anti-social tendencies to a minimum, please. I’m tired of every place outside of Nevermore getting restricted because of you going psychotic on school children.”

“I’ll be sure to tamper with the keg stand,” Wednesday replies dryly. 

“Only tampering?” Bianca snorts. “You’re going soft, Addams.”

“Keep talking and the morgue will be your next rendezvous.”

The warmth of Enid’s presence returns back to her arm, insistently tugging. “Oh, you two are so funny! Okay, we’re going somewhere else now - bye, Bianca!”

Wednesday’s forced to submit to the unnatural strength of that who appears wafer-thin on a good day as Bianca merely huffs out a laugh, lingering in blue before they’re separated into another corner of the house. How typical of her luck to run into the supposed ‘queen bee’ no matter the venue, more a wasp’s mentality of seek and discover than the lounging delight of any monarch. Enid’s intervention might be a blessing in her tight dress disguise.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you two have sexual tension,” Enid teases, and the ounce of vague appreciation evaporates on the spot.

Wednesday scowls. “Hardly. I’ll mark the day I manage to bring her to her knees.”

“Hm, not helping your case.”

Enid says more but Wednesday tunes her out into the surrounding ambiance of generic top hits and overused body spray — a sea of scents foreign and infiltrating when crammed into tight quarters. She observes the loose gait of those dancing, some huddled into packs and shouted conversations, cans in sweaty holds and wandering gazes to the ripe flesh of what’s exposed. 

One such alpha peers at Enid’s questionably ‘tasteful’ display of cleavage from the corner and Wednesday wonders if the omega can tell, leaning further enough to settle her stupid beast’s rising complaint - to say no one should dare stare at what does not belong to Wednesday, anyway. Pitiful. 

“What exactly does one do at these events?” 

Enid laughs somewhat.  “You’ve seriously never been to one?”

“My family’s celebrations could be considered more along the lines of a ball,” is Wednesday’s reply, giving another once-over to the area around and finding such small accommodations not suited for large-scale dancing. Unless it’s some other kind? She wavers on the idea of asking Enid to teach her the ways of high school ‘rager’ - ultimately undecided. 

“Well, this is like a not-so-fancy form of that. Smaller-scale sorta thing,” Enid says.

“Ah.” She frowns upon finishing her look around. “Where’s the spinning wheel?”

“The what?”

“The spinning wheel. You strap someone onto it, spin it around, and whoever hits an eye keeps it and the dart.”

Enid stares for a good long while as she processes Wednesday’s claim of entertainment.

“Remind me to never accept an invitation to your house.”

Wednesday’s frown droops further. “Why not? I’m quite adept at the game.”

Enid merely sighs, forcing place a smile. “It’s weird how cute you look talking about insane shit like that. But the most you’re gonna find here is probably Beer Pong.”

“Oh?”

Enid’s smile twists genuine and she gently leads Wednesday through a few rooms ‘till they come across a crowd of people flocked around a flat table with plastic cups on either side, the participants throwing a small, white ball into them.

“I see, similar to that game you harass me to play via our messages.”

“And the one you keep beating me at you dick.” Enid sticks her tongue out at Wednesday’s smirk before gesturing to the table with a nod of her head. One of the participants fishes a ball out from the cup and drinks the contents. “Get the ball in and your opponent is forced to drink.”

“I wish to participate.”

“Oh, look at you getting into the mood! We’ll have to wait ‘till—“

Enid cuts herself off as Wednesday shoves one of the duos playing out of the way to make room for them to slither in, the crowd murmuring in confusion before the recognition of the alpha there starts to spread.

“Oh, shit, it’s Addams.”

“This is gonna be good,” another laughs behind the rim of their drink, shrinking of violets when Wednesday glares. 

Ah, yes, the pursuit of competition and raising the population’s fears sounds like an excellent means of spending her time.

 

---

 

Enid has to pat herself on the back because this plan might be her best yet… even if a majority might’ve been implanted by the whispers of her omega deep in the night. Mainly of Wednesday, because the beast still refuses to entertain her want of rekindling with Ajax no matter how long they argue - kept filling her mind with the idea of a not-so-uptight alpha who still writes religiously into that damn journal of hers after masturbation but something more… palatable. Fun, a different side if you will.

“Keep your attention present, Enid.”

It’s, um, yeah. 

Wednesday moves to undo a button or two of her silk shirt, rolling the sleeves up as the gathering of bodies shoved into the room increases and the heat increases tenfold. Enid gets great access to the canvas of Wednesday’s neck with her hair pulled up and clipped, the tendons flexing and twitching with her concentration, a flurry of smugness hardly controlled at another victory against some loud-mouthed Normies. Her omega purrs in appreciation at the display, and— okay, Enid can agree to finding the sight sorta, maybe, kinda hot, and wow she needs to have her roommate more competitive more often. 

Another round of opponents replaces the prior two, this time a step up in skill as the shorter of the pair manages to easily slip a ball into their cup. Enid’s about to take it before Wednesday lightly smacks her hand and takes it for herself, drinking in her stead. Enid watches the bobbing of her throat, a glisten of alcohol dripping down her chin - something so unserious and imperfect it fits strangely on the likes of Wednesday. 

She leans in to wipe it off and Wednesday says nothing, which is to say she exposes too much. 

The game progresses and despite Wednesday taking her fair share of drinks Enid’s the one starting to feel a little woozy, a little hazy in the mind when she thinks she’s aimed herself perfectly but completely drops the ball… like, literally. A few laughs, a tinge of embarrassment that’s easily washed away into suffocating heat when Wednesday presses the ball back into her hand and stands behind her. 

“Steady yourself.” 

Her stance is corrected, head tilted up with the back of Wednesday’s hand and if the drive to not disappoint the alpha wasn't drowning she’d probably slink entirely from the proximity, from— from the way Wednesday’s acting. Almost, suave? There’s a flutter to her stomach that isn’t anything like she’s had before, light and airy, and her omega’s insistence to indulge in the feeling is enough to have her wondering what it means, what it could be…

She takes aim and makes it. 

Wednesday’s breath tickles her ear. 

“Good dog.”

 

---

 

Enid has to wonder if Wednesday is the life of the party at her family’s get-togethers. A dumb thought, she’s aware, but one that persists the longer they play and the slush of soaked brain unchains any sense of rationality she seems to hardly have in the first place. It’s like, all these people are watching them— no, watching Wednesday. Sure, one or two in her direction, whatever, but the majority? The vast majority are trained on her alpha with every consecutive win and blasé comment brought forth by the devil’s lips… tongue… 

They’re super weird comments. They’re the comments that bothered Enid when they were first roomed together, that circulated rumors - serial killer, actual freak, lobotomy gone wrong. But, no, they’re enchanting and intriguing to wasted dynamics. Taken lightly when a frequent buzz blocks out your sobriety and drowns mundanity.

And if Enid really wants to push it she thinks after this some of their classmates might even come to appreciate Wednesday. 

Her stomach flip-flops at the notion. 

But, hey, she’s had a few to drink at this point. That’s all. That’s all… 

(She ignores the beast’s temptation of it meaning something more).

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end because right as Wednesday’s about to tell her something probably mundane but in a really sexy husk does she spot a familiar crop of blonde hair peeking through the crowd, pushing through before the nauseating scent of pure intoxicating musk has her mouth drying in disgust. 

For the love of God don’t have that be who she thinks she is.

Except it is, standing taller than anyone else in the room and freely unleashing his scent in the most non-subtle way of claiming, ‘Bow down to your new overlord, bitches!’ It’s disturbing if she’s gonna be honest - too many bitter memories of alpha aggression and snarling commands. Her brother is probably the worst example of the other dynamic she can think of and here he is to be a thorn in her side, a loose fang that won’t come out for anything. 

How can someone like him and Wednesday be of the same cloth?

“Ugh, what are you doing here?! You literally graduated!”

Owen rolls his eyes and it’s the most annoying thing she’s seen all fucking night. “Visiting friends, Eeny. Don’t get your panties in a damn twist.” His gaze flickers over to Wednesday who only stares back in her usual rigid mask, neutral - plucking the rolling ball off the table.  “Oh, man. What would Mom think seeing you with a normie mate?”

“I’m not her mate,” Wednesday replies so blandly it almost convinces Enid she hasn’t seen her cock like, ten times at this point. She catches the ball he throws at her and squeezes it. “Are you playing or not?”

He considers this for a long while, crowd tense.

“Yeah, but I want a new wager.”

This can’t be happening. Seriously? Why now of all times do her two different worlds have to collide!? Her omega’s attempts at soothing hardly make a dent at the breakneck pace of her heart, hammering. Please don’t accept, Wednesday.

“Oh?” The alpha gestures for him to continue.

“You guys win, and I’ll keep quiet ‘bout Enid shacking it with an outsider. I win…” There’s an eerie stillness at his all-too-dramatic pause, teeth bared. “...I give you a bitching mark.”

The crowd hums with some shock, some excitement, as Enid’s stomach is fit to fall out at any moment. A bitching mark? C’mon, now! That’s like, the worst type of disrespect someone can put another through in their clan - forcing the loser to walk around with the victor’s scent for the next week or two. Enid’s thankfully never had to experience it due to her late blooming, but Owen has done it so often to cousins they scamper at his arrival. 

Wednesday turns to look at Enid and something about her sickly expression must please her because there’s a twitch of a smile begging to appear, like she knows more than Enid does - which… no! She doesn’t! Not at fucking all!

“When I win, you’ll keep your mouth shut from Mommy Dearest and I mark you as a pathetic alpha. Deal? Deal.” 

“Wha—? You did not just agr—!”

“—I accept!” Owen interrupts, always bulldozing, always smothering her complaints. She wants to bite him so badly. “At least this one’s fun - I’ll give you that.” 

He grins with crooked teeth and Enid really wants to bite him. 

It’s a blur afterward, not out of being completely and utterly shit-faced as Owen tries to imply many, many times during this - not from him replacing the prior alcohol with his choice of liquor he and his pack brought with them, either - but from the manner of support Wednesday of all people offers during it. Sure, it’s probably so she doesn’t lose and is forced to smell like an asshole for the next couple of weeks or anything, and sure it could merely be from dumb alpha competitiveness but… 

Enid’s never felt so okay being around her brother, like she finally has a wall to lean on and not be crushed once the foundation starts to crumble. Owen’s good, she knew that coming in and knew telling Wednesday would do nothing to stop her stubborn stupidity, but it’s okay. It’s fine that he is, no matter how many drinks she has Wednesday’s still muttering her encouragements as if she actually like, cares.

She has a crush, Enid’s aware. It’s different, though, not that. Maybe self-brought delusion, to be honest. 

Wednesday’s comforting her and that’s all there is to it. 

Holding her hand once more and helping her to aim, ignoring the dribble of comments made about her status as alpha, mockery, used to it? She can’t tell - Enid has no clue what it was like for Wednesday before coming to Nevermore. She assumes people were just as afraid of her then as they are now but that’s all it is, an assumption.

“Hold it steady,” Wednesday whispers. Soft as a breeze, a breath of strange kindness from a mouth so normally foul. Enid concentrates to make her proud more than anything, than winning against her douchey older brother. He’ll always be the same, Wednesday’s good grace feels more fleeting and a notion she wants to catch while she can. 

So she tosses and somehow it plops right in. 

Owen looks surprised, too surprised, and she realizes a moment too late that she just won the game. Like, actually. And people are exchanging crumbled bills like this was an underground cock fight when it’s just a dumb, childish game of Beer Pong between abrasive siblings and their counterparts. 

Still… Wednesday’s scent turns briefly sweet so fast Enid nearly misses it. The comfort of hot chocolate near the fireplace during harsh winters, melting marshmallows. Then it’s gone, and Enid really starts to wonder if she’s losing it.

Owen sighs and rolls up the sleeve of his jacket to offer out his wrist. Wednesday shakes her head as she leisurely strolls to where he stands, defeated, pulling him down by the collar in a swift chokehold. Enid watches as Wednesday forcibly tilts his jaw to expose the flesh of his scent gland. She bites, the glint of fangs digging in and the wince of her older brother, Enid enamored by the sight more than she cares to admit. By the time Wednesday pulls back there are double punctures weeping bitterly.

“Take your loss as a big boy, Sinclair. No pussyfooting with the offering of a wrist.”

Grumbled displeasure trails Owen while his friends jeer at his loss, at the smell of Wednesday’s scent begins to infuse with her brother’s into something not stinking of oak and downpour, the signature of Wednesday’s rot. Everyone will be able to tell he either submitted to another alpha or got completely bitched by one for the next few days.

…Including their mother, once he heads back home.

Her wide-eyed, slack jaw catches Wednesday’s attention as she turns to face the omega once more, the intention so evident on the thin smile growing within Wednesday’s face, smiling, actually fucking smiling.

She has dimples, too.

(Enid kinda wants to devour her).

 

---

 

Enid ran off. 

Okay, before she’s labeled as a hardcore coward for leaving with her tail tucked between her legs — it’s actually due to the desperate need for any immediate bathroom… and because she was so close to bending over the ping-pong table it might be classified as slutty. Wednesday had opened her mouth as if to stop her, perhaps offer her company, but decided on a simple nod and wave of her hand without further question. A little disappointing, to be frank.

And a little distracting as she stumbles with the grace of total white girl wasted into the hallway and immediately crashes straight into someone’s chest, wheezing them. Her head about topples over from the impact and rings like a damn bell.

“Oh, shit. My bad, E,” Ajax apologizes, stabilizing her with the weight of his hands on her exposed shoulders, warm.

Wait, Ajax? 

Almost immediately her omega’s exuberance dims into a gradual exit of the immediate premises, which, um, not good?  

“Ajax.”

She swallows the urge to say, ‘I don’t want to talk right now.’

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

How the hell could she have lost sight of the real plan here? How is it she’s actually annoyed running into him when the whole point was to make him jealous, was to drag Wednesday here from the whine of a cello to be petty? How is it she had such a blast spending time with Wednesday all that swirls around is her? 

Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday.

“Uh, well, same for you.” He retracts his hands when the moment of touch lingers for a tad too long, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, pulled lip. “With Wednesday no less.”

She giggles and it’s so forced it sorta hurts, ignoring the hot throb between her thighs at the taste of her roommate’s name on his tongue. Bitter and sweet. 

“Yeah…”

Silence.

 

---

 

Enid’s inability with time management leaves Wednesday wandering aimlessly throughout the house in search of a suitable corner to dissolve in, refocus her drooling diagnosis of tipsy endeavors and collect what must not fall apart in what’s arguably the dumbest of places - how often is heard a party being the crime scene for seediness? While she has no real fear for herself as she’s grown immune to frequent spiking from self-prescribed drugging, she must admit that Enid’s… safety, or what have you bears some weight on her chest, like a comically large boulder hopefully aiming to squish. 

>Are you drinking out of the toilet right now?

She stares as the phone’s screen eventually dims, the message unanswered, the blooming of an itch to seek out what’s keeping Enid growing and expanding until she decides, fine. Not out of concern, but more so obligation. It’ll be impossible to continue her findings with a shredded girl. Well, impossible is a rather strong wo— 

“Hey, Wednesday!”

Under the harsh glare of nauseating light does a familiar face wave at her and interrupt that line of thought, stretched smile and awkward gait ambling over with a shag of wavy brown hair. Tyler Galpin, someone she frankly forgot existed after the recent string of events seduced her mind elsewhere. He’s strange in a sense she can’t quite put her finger on, though she supposes it’s the sole reason for ever talking to him during her numerous initial attempts at failed escape.

He stands tall, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Where’ve you been? I missed the way your presence scared paying customers away.”

“I’m technically on probation as of now,” she replies, glancing at her phone, seeing nothing, teeth grating together.

“Oh, yeah…” Tyler tilts his head in brief thought. “...it was that spider shtick, huh? I personally found it pretty funny.”

“My principal doesn’t share your humor.”

Tyler chuckles and mutters something along the lines of, ‘Guess not.’ under his breath - eventually surveying the lack of company around them. She’d settled on what was once a sitting room turned into a mess of littered solo cups and adolescent debauchery, some stragglers near the door-frame but that bore the extent of it.

“Did you come here with anyone…?” Tyler asks once the silence grows perturbing, very much to her liking and clearly not his.

Wednesday’s lips draw thin.

“Enid, supposedly.”

 

---

 

“Look, I’m glad we bumped into each other,” Ajax begins. “I wanted to… I wanted to apologize for what I said the last we spoke. I-I didn’t mean—“

“—you didn’t mean what?” Enid interrupts, surprised by her own outburst, at the hot coil of a knot beginning to undo itself. 

Ajax winces. “With the wolfing out. I wasn’t really, fuck— I just assumed it was how any omega presents, you know? Didn’t think, wasn’t thinking…” 

“You’ve been bothered by my wants even before I wolfed out,” Enid says, strangely quiet. 

“Enid…”

 

---

 

Tyler visibly perks. “Oh, your roommate! Yeah, saw her a little while ago with…” he trails off, seemingly deciding against finishing. “Anyway, uh, so you got abandoned, huh? Tough luck.”

With…? Perhaps Enid managed to find Ajax in the crowd while going to the restroom, or, even, that was her goal for leaving in the first place. Though, she could’ve simply told Wednesday, couldn’t she? Hm.

“If she’s busy then there’s no need for my presence,” Wednesday replies, finally pocketing her phone. “I had no true want for attending, anyway.”

“Hang with me, instead! I might not be a wolf or siren or whatever, but I like to think I can keep up pretty well.”

He’s giving his usual tight-lipped smile twitching to break out into something further with her acceptance, company - and, well, she doesn’t care enough to shatter another pitiful heart who dares ask too much. Not right now, she’s distracted. 

So she supposes there’s no harm in accepting once.

 

---

 

“‘Cause you move really fast!” Ajax stutters, a bit flustered. “And it wasn’t just with like… sex - it was everything! You literally told me when we were making out you wanted a—“

“—because I’m hormonal! And I told you it’s a little intense during the change, and I trusted you enough to feel comfortable being honest!”

Enid sighs as Ajax glances away to the wall, to anything that isn't her. Typical. He's not a bad person, he wasn't even that bad of a boyfriend if she stuffs her self-pity down for longer than a minute. Ajax is awkward and welcoming and lets her copy his notes during class if he's managed to actually take any, Xavier thinks highly of him and Bianca usually has little to snark on when they're around each other. He's normal. He's... safe. And maybe...

“...we’re just not that compatible.”

His eyes widen but for once tonight her mind feels perfectly clear. 

 

---

 

If Wednesday hadn’t played with the likes of Enid’s fur-brained older brother, she wouldn’t have agreed to Tyler’s mention of a dance. She’s certainly not wasted to the point of oblivion, no, she’s certain her family’s tolerance is too strong an iron to ever quite sink into the depths of a watery, alcoholic grave. However, the castle’s bridge is stretched across the moat for one measly night and she’s allowed to see the stars without stone walls touching their decrepit corpses hanging so far above. 

An unfamiliar experience, to be so… loose. Wednesday can’t tell if she enjoys it or not, though watching Tyler attempt to serenade with two left feet is enough to strike a resemblance of amusement not colored by the temptation of collarbone and freshly-painted nails. The selection of music is still not to her liking but she eventually indulges in following his stumbling path and, dare she say, dance with him?

“Impress me,” is his request, saturated in the hum of woodsy musk and wet soil, not typical of omega. Lacking in sweetness and tart. 

She replies not as he offers his hands and she takes them in acceptance, warm and sweaty despite hardly getting started. He easily gives her lead as she begins to trace the print of long-worn steps back in the walls of her family’s gatherings, the cold touch of Mother’s grip in her own during the celebration of her newfound presentation, cousins eager to make nonsensical small talk with heavy clunks of shoes. 

Some who stray in the peripheral call out to them over the heavy bass in teasing jest, slurred in delivery and inconsequential in memory. Tyler shouts back to them but Wednesday hears static and the heavy thump of her heart’s racing.

“We make quite a pair, huh?” he says, smiling. All smiles. Always smiling. “Little alpha, big omega. Pretty sure they make sitcoms with this premise.”

“I’m perfectly proportionate,” she argues back as if she seriously cares when she normally never does. Loose, she reminds herself.

His chest reverberates with laughter. “We’ll go with that.”

Wednesday glares before he’s raising his arm to twirl her, not entirely impressive as she missteps and crumbles into his chest with a huff of exasperation. Her alpha calls for a redo to save face and she’s pushing herself off him only to notice, hm, Enid is watching approximately a foot away. 

Frowning, at that.

"I’ve been looking everyyyywhere for you! And you’re— you and the normie!?”

“Whoa, she looks fucked up,” Tyler comments, placing a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder that immediately catches Enid’s attention for some reason or another, the frown twisting further. He isn’t wrong, however - she stands crookedly in wobbling heels and a slowness of blink. 

Wednesday shrugs his touch off, replying slowly as one might do with an agitated child. “Enid, I seem to recall you going off to your own devices.”

“Shut up, stop using logic!”

Enid takes a single step forward… and trips on what Wednesday will later recall as absolutely nothing. An instinctual urge propels her forward to open her arms and catch Enid’s body into her hold, heavy with the force of full weight. The smell of a sun’s shine is diluted by alcohol and a tinge of desperation, how fitting.

“I need to pee!” Enid whines in a child’s tantrum, apparently forgetting her prior and highly irrational anger now that she’s being held soundly, ready to be rocked to sleep and swaddled. 

“Go so we have a reason to leave this party, finally.”

Enid stares dumbly until the implication clicks.

“What? You ass, I’m not pissing in the middle of the living room! Find me a bathroom…” She nuzzles her face into the junction of Wednesday’s neck, right where the scent gland is located, and inhales deeply, sighing. 

Wednesday grounds her teeth for what feels like the tenth time since being separated. Unless Enid’s bladder proves to be that ineffective, she should’ve gone by now, which also proves the comment of Tyler’s about seeing her with someone - Ajax. And now here Wednesday is, dumped with the bratty remains.

Great. 

Tyler peeks through the growing disdain with apparent confusion. “There’s one down the hall, to the right. Uh, have fun?” 

“Oh, will do,” Wednesday grunts as she’s reduced to practically dragging Enid alongside her to where Tyler speaks of the facilities, difficult by merit of difference in height and weight. Enid is indeed a growing girl much to this situation’s lackluster.

Finally, after an eternity’s passing they break into the bathroom and Wednesday locks the door behind them with a quiet click. Enid either sobers up surprisingly quickly or was putting on the theatrics of a show back outside as she manages to reach the toilet in a semi-resemblance of ease unknown minutes prior. Still, Wednesday decides it’s better to be safe than sorry as she continues to watch.

“Oh my God, you’re seriously going to watch? Perv.” 

Enid drags her panties down like she’s done many before, the stain of a wet spot knotting Wednesday’s intestines to a painful rendition of sailor’s craftsmanship. Her time with Ajax must’ve gone swimmingly. No drowning, no flailing.

“It’s a biological function, how is it befitting of perversion?” Her tone cuts sharp, that of the knife into stubborn flesh unwilling to listen. 

Enid ignores the growing hostility, or doesn’t even realize it’s there in the first place. Lost in her own perfect world. “You haven’t watched much porn, have you? Aw, how naive!” 

“I wasn’t informed that my participation involved babysitting.” 

Enid finishes and stands on wooden legs, waving a hand in some vague gesture. “Oh, please. I’m giving you the girlfriend experience, Wends— you’ll have to do the same for your stupid wife someday,” she spits out in a snake’s venom. Wednesday isn’t sure of the implication as Enid proceeds to wash her hands, splattered water practically everywhere.

“Girlfriend experience? I find this 'experience' more of a precursor to the pursuit of abstinence,” Wednesday replies, watching the rise of Enid’s brow.

“Yeah? So you don’t want your cock in my mouth then?”

It’s at that Enid sinks to the floor and crawls over to Wednesday’s spot, mouthing over the bulge she didn’t realize prior. When did that happen?

“Ew, did he turn you on out there?” She whispers, pressing her teeth down much to Wednesday's sudden inhale. “Thought I was your crush.” 

“Your intoxication is making you behave out of sorts,” Wednesday says. “We need to leave.”

“No! You’re gonna—“ Enid nuzzles into her crotch. “—you’re gonna fuck me in this bathroom so that idiot will hear.”

“I assumed you reconciled with your boyfriend,” Wednesday mutters, too harshly, too much for something so little. 

Enid eyes her in a squint. “Ugh, what? Not— you’re not as smart as I thought you were…” 

Her jittering hands fumble with the zipper to Wednesday’s pants with no real success, and if that’s bringing her trouble Wednesday can’t imagine how’d she fair handling the belt she has on, either. Enid makes a noise of frustration at her inability to get what she wants and Wednesday is close to snickering.

“Finished?” 

“Stop being rude.” Enid stares blankly at her crotch for a while. “And I’m literally not even drunk, okay? I’m just— flustered. My brother used to coerce me into drinking that stupid shit all the time during summer vacay.”

Wednesday offers her a hand and Enid reluctantly takes it. “Could’ve fooled me, Sinclair.”

“As if you’re not buzzed being all weird and denying me!”

“I’m not,” Wednesday replies, deciding she’s done more than enough to cash in on her reward for dealing with this entire night - pulling Enid in by the hips much to the omega’s fleeting surprise, keen delight. “But I’ll take you as I see fit. Too long I’ve allowed you to rule what transpires.”

Enid huffs. “What’s wrong with my direction?”

“Nothing, so quit your pouting or else I’ll leave you begging for what won’t occur.” She tilts her head back, scent gland showing. “Go on. I saw your desperation for my scent earlier, show me how badly you crave anything further.”

Odd it is to witness Enid without a remark on the rise, leaning in to nuzzle herself against the gland and giving kitten licks as she deeply inhales. Wednesday has never heard of anyone ever describing her scent as anything remotely pleasing, a deterrent if anything, so Enid’s acute interest strikes Wednesday off-balance. Especially once she nibbles at the tender skin and electrical currents surge at the growing sensation - irritating and raw and everything that shouldn’t give an ache yet manages to, anyway. 

Enid rubs her knuckles against Wednesday’s bulge as the pressing of kisses turns from her neck to jaw, sucking and lascivious with the ever-growing eagerness of Enid misplacing her position and just barely managing to kiss the very edge of Wednesday’s lips before her head tilts. 

“No kissing.”

“Seriously? I’ve jerked you off and that’s your limit!?” 

Normally, Wednesday can describe Enid as a good girl. A good dog walked on collar by their peers around who never pisses on the sheets nor digs holes in your cherished garden. Does as she’s told, respects boundaries and society and everything Wednesday has no real praise nor admiration for - so imagine her glee as Enid takes her command and stomps on it, leaning in to lay a kiss where Wednesday said naught.

Every mutt has its off days.

“And here I thought I’d throw you a bone,” Wednesday sighs, feigning disappointment as she lightly shoves Enid off a few steps away. “Listen to everyone but me, I see. Suit yourself.”

Enid’s brow crinkles in confusion when Wednesday moves to stand behind her, gasping once bent over the sink with little to no resistance. Wanting, actually, as Enid presses herself against Wednesday’s crotch in an urge to have her grind. It’s ultimately futile, complete resistance despite the way it feels rather good. This isn’t about her, no, this is about something else completely - breaking Enid with her hands alone. 

She manages to gather up the dress’s material and palms Enid through her panties, heat seeping through. Enid coos her name in the temptation of getting what she wants, then complains once Wednesday continues to dawdle as she pleases.

“Shush… I’m simply taking the reward you promised,” Wednesday murmurs, pulling the underwear down to lightly slap just beneath where Enid’s clit swells and pleads for attention, not so fast, though. “I’d prefer the sanctuary of a bedroom but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, hm?” 

She runs her fingers through the folds and spreads the wetness, intrigued by the similarities presented between their genitalia. Also self-lubricating? Of course, she’d researched when the time presented itself, however, the scientific jargon of such is crumbs compared to the actuality of reality’s gifts. A shudder runs through the arch of Enid’s spine with Wednesday’s continued exploration, that same gesture of rut in meager attempts to force herself in, greedy little mutt, is she? 

“Wednesday… stop being such a fucking tease,” Enid whines and complains and is still warring to be filled as if she has a choice in the manner. 

That won’t do, so Wednesday reaches forward and takes her clit between two fingers to tweak it much to Enid’s pitiful noises. Not enough to hurt… too badly, Wednesday understands there are limits to this, must bid your options and dish out enough to have that crawling back for more. Thus far she's done the majority of the chasing, and a predator’s stalk is ever enjoyable, yes. However…

…there’s far more control in those who willingly present their neck. 

“And here I thought you’d be more of a challenge,” Wednesday laments, and, oh, she’s being a bit mean saying that, because Enid whimpers in disagreement yet chooses to do nothing to prove otherwise. “Your boyfriend must be quite the weak man to have trouble handling you, pup.”

That must strike a chord in Enid’s tangled strings as she growls in response. “He’s not my boyfriend! And you’re such an asshole for bringing him up right now!”

Wednesday pauses her selfish touch much to Enid’s disdain, processing the new information. Never before has Enid denied their status, even if separated. Tyler never indulged in the specifications of what Enid and Ajax were doing, either. Did they…?

No matter. It doesn’t concern her. 

“Am I?” She pulls her hand away, kneeling to a new god she never knew existed ‘till these past few weeks, wicked and consuming of mind and discipline in every facet. Her breath hits Enid’s cunt. “Perhaps I should be kinder, he’s the reason why I’m able to do what he can't.”

Whatever danced on Enid’s tongue burns into ash as Wednesday licks her ownership across her folds, over her weeping hole - gathers the slick and tastes what’s caused many to fall into debauchery as Eve’s first bite of the apple. Dramatic, surely, if not comparable to Enid’s fervent pleas to keep going, keep indulging. 

Indulge she does, mouthing over what’s available as the murmur of Enid’s plucked moans flutters within her chest, delicate and needy. She manages to strike a higher string lapping at her clit to the measure of Enid’s thighs threatening enclosure - easily avoided by forcing them open. 

“W-Wednesday—“ Enid clears her throat, hissing as Wednesday drags her nails down the omega’s calf. “—why aren’t you fucking me? You’ve gotta still be hard, c’mon, please…” 

“This is my reward, remember?”

Wednesday slowly stands on stiff legs, throbbing and painfully stiff in her erection. It would be easy to do as Enid says— she wants off even. 

“So reap what you sow.” 

But she’s realizing rather quickly how enticing it is to be dishing out the pleasure than receiving it, to hold the reins of Enid’s ability to come or not, better than anything given to her thus far — which isn't to say it’s been awful. More so, to come herself isn’t the end game, nor necessarily required. 

Watching Enid crumble from her touch is. 

She sinks two fingers inside without warning and it’s as much of a shock to Enid as it is Wednesday - the utter heat delicious. Enid clenches around them, and, briefly, the intrusive thought of how’d it feel around her cock sends a fit of throbbing between her thighs, shaking it out of her head right after. No, the alpha may demand sacrifice but Wednesday chooses the method delivered, not the other way around. 

Wednesday gestures them into a, ‘come hither’ motion and Enid starts to pant, stuck out on a hot summer’s day due to a neglectful owner. Ah, so her numerous observations prove their merit. Two for a stretch, never one - Enid enjoys feeling… full. Wolves tend to from what she’s learned, something along the lines of needing the firmness of a knot even outside periods of heat. Always more, never less. She thinks, just a stray inkling she’ll later deny to herself, that Enid might’ve been the perfect person to fall into the dominos of discovery and experiment.

Of course, she hardly even processes it.

Enid’s head droops down and that simply can’t do. Wednesday reaches forward and grabs a fistful of hair to pull her right back up, meeting the delirious gaze through the mirror and simmering in it - stony blue wet and mournful.

“Look at me,” Wednesday demands, husk in tone. “Know who’s inside, no delusion of that stuttering gorgon - me. Every strain of soreness will remind you of who caused this ache. Do you understand?”

The bobbing of a swallow, dry lips and dull tongue.

“Do you?”

“Yes, alpha!”

Wednesday takes in the means of respect and decides she can work with it. A wolf more than anyone would see such a title as something grand, so for Enid to say it…

“I wasn’t aware you held so much esteem for me.” Wednesday increases the slow movement of her pace to a harsher break. “Here I thought I was the freak you were stuck rooming with, your psychotic crush, huh? Maybe… you love this more than you let on.”

A twist of her fingers.

“You’re just afraid of what everyone else will think about me fucking your cunt, aren’t you?”

Enid whines, claws scraping against the porcelain of the sink. “T-That’s not true!”

“Oh, It’s not? So you’d be alright with everyone outside hearing you scream my name?” Wednesday presses the tips of her fingers against that one particular spot, the one she can easily imagine Enid twitching from on the silk sheets of her bed, and it delivers what she wanted - Enid’s unapologetic rapture.

The constriction of walls around her, tight and clenching with every following pulse as Enid crescendos, swiftly swooped into safety by Wednesday placing her hand directly over the omega’s mouth to obscure the cry of her name - Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday on loop. She groans at the sting of fangs digging deep into her palm to rid the tremor’s noises, flush of complexion at actually finishing from the sharp strokes of pain. 

Enid’s high is slow to calm. Pulse after pulse still keeping Wednesday in place, wet and hot and admittingly, better than she ever expected such an activity to be. She’ll mark it as her favorite upon return to the dorms.

“Ah.” 

Wednesday purses her lips as Enid seems to gingerly suck the droplets of blood that ruptured from her biting, complacent and dopey.

That is until Enid stiffens, and Wednesday narrowly misses the retch of vomit.

She forgets the wolf’s usual distaste for blood.

Chapter 4: Promise

Summary:

Tension lurks after the party, a promise is made, and Wednesday finds there's much more to a wolf's dynamic than initially realized.

Truly, Wednesday finds herself at an impasse.

And to think this stems from a simple request, lodged promise in the dead of night. She’d taken to escorting Enid after her ‘outburst’ of sorts in the bathroom, the likes of Barclay in tow because the running theory seemed to be Wednesday purposely ‘intoxicating’ Enid for some heinous, vague variety that would result in swelling morning regret - which is to imply she somehow cares enough to ever do so… she doesn’t.

Enid’s lust for bathroom escapades and afterword of an arm’s clinging is her own choice, not Wednesday’s. 

But this simply made no sense to the fish-brained. And so, spending the entirety of a walk back pecking at Wednesday’s supposed lack of morality while Enid was in no state of defense truly was the height of experience in such a situation, the final nail to confirm that yes, she will be taking Bianca Barclay to the morgue if left in a room together. She has no desire for the accusation of being advantageous when the shoe doesn’t fit, when she wasn’t purposeful in the crime. No whispered horror shouldn’t be without truth, and the truth is Wednesday need not wear the flesh of a monster when Enid easily opens for her palms. 

Alas, how can one explain when you don’t want the entirety of your transaction seen by the public? 

“I hope you’re not lying about what happened,” Bianca remarks into the night, the crunching of decayed forest floor underfoot that’s just a meager sense of impressive in heels. Enid’s only surviving the trek by wrapping herself around Wednesday as support. “Because I don’t see why she’d want help from you of all people.”

Wednesday bristles, shoving the alpha down. Not the time. “Enid’s a big girl who can make whatever choice she sees fit. You saw us come together, why would she choose differently?”

Bianca’s silence comes as a thrashing of waves rather than a peaceful drift. More cracking twigs, more grazes of Enid’s nails against the fabric of her shirt.

“You don’t get it, actually, why am I even surprised? You hardly understand any facet of modern society so maybe my expectations are way too high. But c’mon, Wednesday, do you really think it’s seen as normal for an alpha to be locked in a bathroom with a drunk girl - a newly-presented omega at that? That’s like, every fucking horror story we’ve been told since presenting.”

She wasn’t that drunk, she was acting, yes. Purposeful in her deceit - and it’s hardly Wednesday’s fault she doesn’t suffer the same extremes from alcohol. This is a tightrope she’s treading on, one very much easy to slip.

“Think of me however you wish to do, however, I’d never purposely cause any harm to Enid,” Wednesday says, and she likes to believe she’s being truthful. She sees no reason to hurt. “She’s chosen to continue rooming with me despite presenting, which I would think shows my ability to maintain boundaries.”

Even if said boundaries are a tad… thin. 

“And I find the implication of Enid being infantile in her choices to be rather laughable. A wolf can overcome any dynamic, any situation - and my belief is steady in Enid being no different,” Wednesday adds, a bit thick she’d later sigh over, though not of any embellishment. 

The smell of Bianca’s displeasure, decaying driftwood, ships lost out at sea fill the remainder of their walk though nothing more is exchanged, perhaps an unsteady stalemate with no moves to make. Wednesday can understand her reasonings, can happen to agree that an outsider’s perspective offers a strange glance, but she refuses to be made into a villain out of total ignorance, not purposeful hand. 

Though, she’ll admit it might be easier to simply spill the full truth and live with the annoyance of that, but… Enid isn’t exactly cognizant to be making that decision, either - sick of the mind and stomach from the supple taste of Wednesday’s blood. She’s far too weary to deal with an angry mutt if not the right decision. Not now, not later. 

“Know I will be checking up on her when she’s feeling better,” Bianca says once the looming fence beckons their return. She turns to eye Wednesday and seems searching for something, anything, to prove her doubts but compromises with a mere grimace. “She hardly constitutes a friend, but I don’t like the thought of anyone being taken advantage of.”

“By all means. Be aware she’ll leave the part of narrowly retching onto me out, I’m sure.”

Bianca scoffs, a split second in hesitation to leave.

“If what you said is true, about her blood keeping her safe, Addams… I hope she absolutely devours you.”

Unfortunately, a worse fate occurred. 

“I’m sorry.”

Wednesday pauses, a bit taken aback by Enid’s hoarse whisper. She’d manage to drag her into the dormitory and narrowly missed the thunk of Thornhill’s approaching boots from spotting the sorry state of themselves. Enid easily fell into her bed while grumbling nonsense under her breath - apparently awoken by the alpha’s tries at getting her heels off, about to head off to her own bed.

“For what?” Wednesday asks, trailing to Enid’s bedside and crouching. Too dark to make out more than the general shapes and slopes of weary demeanor. 

“For being boy crazy,” Enid whines. “Abandoning you at the party… getting sick and now having Bianca think you groped me in a dingy bathroom. I’m pathetic.”

“A little.”

Wednesday observes Enid's fruitless attempts at pulling the covers over her and eventually helps - not before enjoying her struggle.

“I don’t particularly care, however. I got what I wanted.”

Enid snuggles into her bunched blankets. “Ugh, more like people think you forced it. I’ll fix it… clear the air. I felt sick, you made sure I didn’t drown in the toilet. Easy.”

“That’s what I said,” is Wednesday’s reply. “She didn’t believe me.”

“Of course she didn’t, silly.”

Too dark still, yet Enid’s ragging is ever so clear. Wednesday doesn’t quite understand but also has no need to press any further. Enid’s good at what she does, for better or worse. 

“We…” Enid’s eyes begin to droop, tone low. Ticking minutes passed and they simply watched one another in pleasant tranquility. “...should go on a date. You and me, no one else.”

Wednesday blinks. A date? That’s not required for what they indulge in, nor does the sound of it invoke any true desire. Hm, perhaps it’ll serve as a cautionary tale of not to embark any farther than what she has now for future candidates to attraction’s whims.

“...Fine.”

“Uh-uh, promise me! I know how you are.”

“I… promise to the agreement of a date. Now be quiet and go to sleep.”

Enid listens. 

Wednesday watches her for a while afterward.

She’s considered breaking the promise, pretending to forget it was ever made and acting clueless if ever pressed on her lack of action. Though so far Enid hasn’t hounded her on a time and date, she hasn’t mentioned it at all in fact. Wednesday thinks it’s one of her tricks, games she plays - she’s come to realize that she hasn’t given enough credit to her roommate and thus can’t count out the minute she relaxes the claws will strike - the easy convincing of their bathroom rendezvous being nothing more than charity work to those concerned proves Enid's devilish charisma. She'd likely to dangle any further exploration in front of Wednesday and snatch it back just as fast for being a fool, forgetting. 

Compromises, a word she’s not fond of but must grow used to dealing with Enid, for the continuing of...

This begs the question: if she’s to accept the promise and fulfill it… how does one go about a date? Wednesday’s never indulged in such a trivial pursuit - she can’t recall ever being asked of anything genuine besides the few eager and dumb to impress their ilk during her times in other schools, poke the bear and watch its reaction. One of these instances was the day her parents found her dynamic, taken to the office and suppressing joy while the alpha that’d mistaken her for another bleated as sheep do. 

Hm. Her parents…

…no.

Xavier was in a relationship before she arrived at Nevermore, but if she takes to asking anything resembling that junction of thought his theory of her love for Enid will become even more of a nuisance, and she’s certainly not. Weaker of the mind would trick themselves into believing by this point and peer pressure, not her. No, never.

Tyler, perhaps? She isn’t aware of the extent of his dating record, however. And asking him feels like a certain leverage against her, same with Xavier, she simply can’t afford. 

Eugene hasn’t been successful in any pursuit, Thing is far too big of a loudmouth to think of asking, and Uncle Fester believes in the nonsensical concept of love at first sight… five times, in fact. 

She’s left with one option and one option only.

Mother and Father's advice has merit in certain instances, very specific and particular instances, anyway, but having to crawl on hands and knees for any kind of help is clearly a sign of weakness - and weakness deserves to be crushed and trampled until no longer recognizable. Admitting to help, to having little luck in what to do for something that must be simple as many do… she feels like an ant, useless and of no real value without the aid of others. Disgusting. 

She should let this idiotic promise die on the night it presented itself.

 

---

 

An exhale of dust punctuates the removal of cloth over her crystal ball. Her disdain mirrors through the glass exterior only used a total sum of once for Thing and Fester to communicate for Alactrez. Otherwise? Nada. Lately, Enid’s taken to coming back to the dorms earlier than usual, and so Wednesday knows it’s now or never to bite the bullet and swallow its impact. 

This… will certainly prove interesting.

She flicks the surface and watches the clear inside ripple in hazy waves, requesting for ‘Morticia and Gomez Addams' as the ball swirls into a mauve vortex. Eventually, the murky fumes clear into who else but the smiling amusement of her mother’s plum-lip surprise. Of course, if either were to answer it’d be her. Father’s likely fiddling with his trains during this hour, how could she forget?

“Ah, a most dreadful day it is to be summoned by my favorite daughter,” Mother greets, the darkness of quarters blending her garments into the shadow as a singular entity, a mere apparition of the head and none else.

“I’m your only daughter.”

“Mm, that you’re aware of.” Mother’s voice rasps of a tease that forces Wednesday into the twitch of a smile, involuntarily obviously. “How goes your schooling?”

A safe question, an easy explanation. Wednesday speaks freely for a few of minutes passing while she wrestles with the point of this impromptu line of communication. Her mother has never been in pursuit of gossip, or loose dribble, so she’d likely not question the meaning of Wednesday’s sudden curiosity about the subject. Docile, in that regard. 

Compromise, there’s that word again. Is she willing to give the seed of a fresh page in exchange for Mother’s knowledge? What to do, what to do…

“You look to have something on your mind,” Mother says once a curt silence blossoms between them. “I won’t bite… unfortunately.”

Wednesday’s hands fold together, squeezing. Lord, Enid better be damn appreciative of the efforts she’s going for this biting promise. “Theoretically speaking, for the purposes of a false scenario, what exactly is required for, say, a first date?”

Mother takes her in with the lightest tilt of her brow, as if chanced with the weight of answering tomorrow’s weather forecast. Airy in a calming breeze, as prim as her iridescent flowers. 

“My, an intriguing inquiry from my loveliest girl. I must admit that I may not be suited for this, you recall your father and I marrying upon our first introduction all those blissful years ago.” Her eyes seem to glimmer in their fated nostalgia. “But if I were to reminiscence on those outings after our vows and bonds, screams of the crowd as he drove through sidewalks and lights, I’d say passion, dear. I’ve been in many a precarious situation with Gomez and yet, all I can recall is the way he looked at me, the way he— smiled with his splitting lips and ruptured spleen.”

Wednesday is unable to stop her frown from creeping into the discussion. This isn’t what she wanted to hear, this isn’t anything useable. She expected a checklist to cross off in the presence of what crafts the perfect date, this tells her absolutely nothing - zilch. Passion? She has no passion! Not for the call of a whirlwind, harlequin, drivel that the common flock to, no. Can her (biological) attraction be reframed as this supposed requirement of this ‘passion?’ The channeled foc—?

“—your thoughts race, mi amor,” Mother interrupts, a knowing look of possible fondness. “In the world of romantic entanglement, it’s all about the heart; what makes it beat into an attack, the rushing of blood’s desire, ecstasy of excitement. You follow that… and you’ll never have to think of a single choice.”

Follow one’s heart…? Is Mother to mean you go solely off instinct, what feels right? A rather dangerous position to take, because to rely on instinct is to rely on the beast within - and Wednesday has never allowed it to take any form of lead unless by mutual agreement. Certainly a risk willing to blow up with the wrong step taken, and yet…

“What if the heart frenzies for nothing more than a passing fancy?” Wednesday asks, drying throat, cracking knuckles.

Mother’s teeth bare in delight. “Sometimes, a racing heart is enough no matter the intentions behind it. I trust that this theoretical entity won’t be breaking the defense of ribs during its continued stay?” 

A flash of many nights prior caresses the softness of Enid’s drooping eyes, a smile framed in eventual slumber before Wednesday allowed herself the reprieve of rest. 

“No promises.”

Laughter.

“You truly are an Addams, my dear. Engorge in the little delights of life’s nauseating splendor until you’re absolutely full. You deserve no less.”

Wednesday raises a palm to her sunken cheek and heat brands with the punctuation of Mother’s continuous ripples of amusement; the crystal ball eventually dims into the lost fog of an ended call, a single farewell soon after.

She leans back against her chair and mulls over the words of advice offered so easily. Rarely, if ever, has she walked on any path directed by the thump of her heart’s embrace, the alpha’s cravings and absurdist wants. The inhale in hesitation before she’s giving her hand to the lingering beast and it accepts with a quiet relish, squeezing. 

‘Continue with the date,’ it says. 

No reasoning, no logic behind it.

But just as Wednesday reads her Agatha Christie, sometimes she can learn to love a good mystery.

 

---

 

“—and that’s when I realized how important it is to keep an epi-pen with you! I mean, she could’ve died, actually seriously died! And like, I dunno if I’m hardcore enough to date a corpse…” Euguene’s trailing subjugation perks into a sunshine’s beam when he turns to face Wednesday. “Anyway, that’s what you’ve missed out on in the past couple of weeks.”

Wednesday hands him a metal canister. “I’m saddened to hear I missed someone’s brush with an excruciating death. Is she still in the infirmary?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna go visit her after this - maybe give her a jar to help cheer her up… but that might be seen as rubbing salt in the wound, wouldn’t it?”

“It’d be humorous,” Wednesday replies with a shrug.

“Only to you!” 

Eugene’s voice cracks with the effort of his chattering laughter as Wednesday smirks, continuing to idly organize the shed’s contents while Euguene’s in-charge of anything involving the need for an ounce of effort - smoking the bees, included. She’s there for the entertainment of company by this point in the extracurricular, easier than anything stimulating of the mind as the shed is slowly filled with the clouded gray of the smoker’s work. Rather coincidental for it be his general updates consisting of his love life, or rather, the lack of success in it. Normally she wouldn’t care, normally she’d nod along and count how many cracks form this ramshackle dwelling but the alpha persuades her to listen for once… and so she does.

For what? She’s not sure. All she’s learned thus far is to never yearn for someone who suffers from something as pitiful as allergies.

Eventually, bees sedated, the beta gets to harvesting while Wednesday observes in silence. She’s unconcerned with other’s dynamics more often than not and Euguene’s would be no exception, but she thinks back to a comment Enid made around when this entire convolution of a relationship began - something along the lines of not understanding them, betas. A passing frustration formed by discourse, yes she’s aware, though strange in hindsight. 

They were all beta prior to presenting. 

Three heavy knocks. “Wednesday, you in there?”

Speak of the devil and she answers.

“She is! C’mon in, the bees are drowsy enough for a visit,” Eugene answers in lieu of Wednesday’s parted mouth, smiling with a whimsy she’s not fond of as the door creaks open wide to reveal her roommate. 

Enid shuts it soundly behind before glancing between the pair, a little tilt of the head. “You’re not in a suit, Wends?”

“I prefer to take my chances,” she replies. “Though, wolves might need the additional layer of protection after the story he told me.”

A brief taking of offense before Enid seems to connect two dots in her head. “Oh my God, you mean Beck!? Eugene, you should’ve known wolves and bees do not mix!”

“Wait, really?” Euguene gingerly stops his collecting of honey to perhaps prevent another fated case of bloating. “I was just trying to share a passion of mine…”

“Maybe leave it to like, a marathon of the Bee Movie next time.”

“Why do you stand here if there’s an apparent war between the species?” Wednesday questions, catching the lazy chug of the aforementioned insect before it could draw close to Enid. It dawdles in her palm, complacent.

“Because— I, obviously, wanted to talk to you?” Enid chuckles but it comes off more as being choked. “And I know how much you love your beekeeping so I wasn’t gonna drag you away from it.”

What a liar. Wednesday can’t help to roll her eyes at yet another bout of supposed wit as Eugene grins his enjoyment.

“Aw, I knew you had a soft spot for it deep down, somewhere where the sun never ever shines.”

“You should hear the way she goes on and on before bed,” Enid adds, gasping the prequel to a scream when Wednesday pretends to toss the humming bee in her direction. “Asshole!”

She gently sets it on the table. “This conversation grows tiring. Eugene, I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever you say, Wends.”

If looks could kill he’d be skewered over a fire - medium rare, preferably -  Wednesday taking Enid by the hand and dragging her out into the unwelcome gaze of the sun, pockets of white sprinkled throughout - nowhere near her preferred temperament. 

“What did you wish to discuss?” 

“Wow, no, ‘how are you?’ Treat a girl nicely, Addams,” Enid pouts with a squeeze of her hand, Wednesday’s hand. Immediately she retracts herself from the touch. “I’ve hardly seen you lately, did the party take that much out of you?”

Wednesday shakes her head. “No, I’ve simply been distracted.”

“There’s something always keeping you busy, huh? It’s kinda cute.” Enid smiles of a genuine variety that Wednesday vastly prefers to her little impish quirk.

‘For you,’ Wednesday thinks, if it even matters. Hardly.

The omega reaches to fix Wednesday’s tie, crooked from wear, tugging almost like a leash. “What is it, hm? What’s keeping you away from me…?”

Almost does it feel she’s swallowed the entirety of her tongue, full in the throat and staring for far too long without the semblance of a response. She… isn’t sure why the comment tied her vocal cords to knots yet it did fittingly. 

“Jeez, you’re too easy.” Enid snorts, flicking the tie. “I must smell especially inviting for you to have that dopey expression.”

Wednesday’s mouth falls into a hard grimace. Having the alpha out to roam from its cage of ribbed squalor isn’t doing her any favors currently, nor has she gotten any closer to going about this benign date business. Her mother might’ve given her sour advice.

“I told you that I’m rather distracted, so please get on with what you wanted to share.”

Enid perks.

“Oh, about that…” She claps her hands together, the prior smile threatening to split her face in two. “...I got your probation lifted! It’s a long story but TLDR, I gushed about how accommodating you’ve been to Ms. Thornhill who then shared that with Principal Weems who then —”

“—you did that for me?” Wednesday interrupts, eyes widened ever so. “Truly?”

“Uh, of course! I mean, sneaking out for parties is one thing but I imagine you wanna go to town during the day every once in a while, you know? And I like to think you’re too distracted with me to keep scaring middle schoolers.” She winks with the implication.

Wednesday suppresses the urge to shut her up, sighing. 

“Enid… that is very kind of you, and I mean it with my fullest sincerity. I owe you.”

She’s waved off with a gesture of hand. “Mm, think of it as thanks for suffering through my sins of being petty and handsy that night. Also—” Enid tugs at the end of a loose strand of faded hair. Wednesday’s never seen her do that before. “—um, never mind actually. You deserve it, that’s all.” 

Was she going to mention the promised date? Wednesday has no real desire to bring it up now that Enid’s decided against it, driven by the newfound thought of it being something of a surprise. Omegas… enjoy surprises, yes? She believes so. If not. Wednesday will simply force her to enjoy it. And with the restriction of Jericho finally lifted, a vast array of possibilities to stroke her inner ‘passion,’ her alpha, are potential clues to a grander picture. She understands now, it is indeed much like a mystery. 

Footprints to follow, along those lines.

“I’ll be sure to use my returning freedom wisely,” Wednesday says, an idea already starting to formulate. Eugene saw no success due to the entirety being a gesture of his obsession, no indication of interest from the other party, and while Wednesday has no real care about any of Enid’s usual likes… there’s one she can tolerate for a single evening. 

“Good! I’d be annoyed if I talked you up only to see you chained to your typewriter,” Enid replies. 

“A real tragedy.”

They stare at one another quietly, nothing more to say.

“Okay, um, I’ll… see you at the dorms, then?”

“Potentially.”

Enid nods and moves to lean in— stopping herself from whatever she was about to do and quickly turns on heel to the opposite direction of where Wednesday stands.

Odd. More than she usually is, anyway.

 

---

 

Initially, Enid was more than pleased by Wednesday’s reaction. Appreciative isn’t a word commonly associated with her, and so to see the flicker of an idea lighting up her vacant eyes, a metaphorical lightbulb buzzing above was cause for her curiosity to peak - by the entire interaction, really. She’s not totally sure how to describe it but Wednesday hasn’t been so… robotic, lately. The hard outer shell starting to melt in the reveal of something like a warmth normally beaten by its master’s hand. Not super noticeable, sure, not appearing very often, and maybe it was a trick of the light, yet she got the sense Eugene was sensing it inside the shed, too.

Besides Wednesday almost throwing a fucking bee at her. 

Typical behavior, whatever. Not so typical was Enid literally almost kissing Wednesday before scurrying off as if that’s been a part of the program. Newsflash, it hasn’t! Thankfully Wednesday didn’t appear to notice so caught up in her head but the principle remains the same, too weird. Too— ugh, she doesn’t have the words for it. 

So maybe she isn’t surprised that the tension lingering since D-Day resurfaces and obscures what bridge of twigs and yarn got built in the briefness of their exchange. Because ever since the party they haven’t actually done anything much to Enid’s confusion, since like, half of the groundwork keeping their whole thing afloat rests on its survival - and if there’s no sex then there’s no real… them. 

They couldn’t be considered the best of friends beforehand, either - no matter how much Enid pretends they were and did her darndest to welcome Wednesday to Nevermore, cards weren’t in her favor, every attempt brushed off from slack shoulders. 

And, then…

She bites her inner cheek, raw. Her leadership club is dragging on and on and on lately to the point she’s having difficulties paying attention like she used to, like she doesn’t really care for it and maybe never did in the first place - wanted a multitude of branches to connect to as many people on campus, finger pressed to the aching pulse. Some philosophy of extending yourself more than less so you won’t have the regret tainting four years of the past. 

Talk about dramatic. Enid pretends to be deep in thought about some proposal made for a weird cultural exchange in the future while she wonders, ‘Did I fuck up what we had?’

Something shifted after that night.

Her omega grumbles in agreement, not good. Not good at all. Enid refuses to accept she might’ve been just a little more wasted than she let on because slivers of memories keep coming to her throughout the week and it’s kinda messing with her head, maybe explaining why Wednesday is becoming put off. Like, how weirdly upset she got seeing Wednesday with that dorky-looking omega, the way she managed to rope her into coming to the bathroom and how bothered she was. Sure, Enid can admit to being somewhat annoying, but… fuck, she didn’t have to come! 

She didn’t have to bend her over the sink. Wednesday wanted to, right?

…Enid can’t fully remember who started that, actually.

Who cares? It doesn’t matter, this is just no strings attached relief at the end of the day.

And, hey, maybe it’s good Wednesday is backing off a bit - surely her crush is fading away and they can go back to how they used to be. She was just filling the role of a rebound while Enid came to terms with her failed relationship, and now that the pile of rocks isn’t crushing her chest it's not so needed, you know? Pretty normal stuff, nothing lasts forever and it’s a good lesson to learn.

For some reason she goes to look for Wednesday, anyway.

Wednesday isn’t with Eugene, though. He hasn’t seen her and thought she skipped to go spend time with Enid. Yeah, no. She ignores his prying about their status and heads to their dorm to find no mechanical clicking of a typewriter ot a poor bird being dissected on her desk. Instead, she runs into Thing who’s stretching his aching joints on Wednesday’s bed and waves a finger at her arrival. At least one person seems happy to see her.

“Have you seen Wednesday? I wanted to…” 

She trails off, unsure of what she wants to do, ask, say - come together and hope the pieces magically fall back into place.

‘She went into town right after classes ended.’

“Oh.”

Enid won’t she say she’s disappointed because she’s definitely not and has no cause to be. Good on her roommate for getting out of this stuffy room of her own accord, not Enid’s endless pleas and sometimes blackmail. Good, good, good.  

And honestly why should she care since, again, they’re whatever. Nothing more than something, duh. Eugene and Yoko and Divina are clueless… and she pretends she doesn't hear her omega calling her the same, too.

Slowly, she heads to her side of the room and sits on the edge of her bed. “Awesome. Um, when do you think she’ll be back?”

Thing does what she thinks is his version of a shrug but it reminds her more of a spider getting ready to pounce. ‘It depends on how long she takes to speak with Tyler.’

Tyler. 

That— that tall omega from before with the weird shaggy hair, sheriff’s son. Yeah, it’s coming back to her. Total normie, was an asshole to Xavier a few years back and ruined the mural he did for the town. Works at the Weathervane, super sarcastic and squirmy whenever they briefly make small talk. The beast gnashes its teeth at the recollection, vitriol and present with absolute aggression at the newfound connection. Even her brother doesn’t manage to get this big of a squick from it and he’s literally Owen.  

She remembers how close he was to Wednesday when she walked in on them poorly dancing, hands clasped together - Wednesday able to accept his but pulls away from her touch. But…

…it’s really none of her business, right?

‘Resist your urge to fret, it appeared of a friendly nature before I thought best to give her some privacy,’ Thing comforts, skittering over to perch beside her and gently tapping his index against her thigh in his sympathies. Which, doesn’t comfort her at all because why does he think she needs to have a shoulder to cry on? It’s not like she’s about to start ripping her hair out or anything.

Yeah, it seems friendly but… Tyler isn’t. Enid might’ve not been an omega for long but she’s been around them her entire life, hormonal teenagers specifically at Nevermore, and she knows what the hell that scent he was giving off meant - the type that isn’t used to push away unwanted attention, no, to draw them in further. And it’s a little fucking concerning Wednesday didn’t even notice it because she should be smarter than that!

‘Yet she noticed yours.’

Enid blanches. Was she seriously ranting out loud? So embarrassing.

“Thing, I’m at an impasse right now. Is it considered whore behavior to sorta kinda be angry over someone who’s basically your situationship being with someone else?” she asks, cringing at how stupid this entire thing is… or how dumb she’s being. 

He taps thoughtfully.

‘Perhaps due to being in a relationship recently, yes.’

She gasps at the gall of his cattiness before trying to make a swipe at him claws extended, the pitter-patter of his twinkling steps reminiscent of laughter. ‘Forgive me, I couldn’t resist. But it’s the human condition to grow possessive over what you deem as yours, is it not?’

“I don’t— I don’t think of her as mine! I mean, seriously, it’s just…” She waves a hand absentmindedly as if it’s supposed to mean anything. “...physical stuff, so why am I getting mad?”

The snap of his fingers is like a tut on the mouth’s roof.

‘Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.’

Her omega purrs, lamenting him as a voice of reason Enid refuses to listen when it comes from the beast’s mouth. Enid can’t help sighing.

Fine, she’s jealous. What now?

She bites her lip upon the omega’s whispered suggestion.

 

---

 

“So… do you not have a license or something?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, low drawl of gaze to where Tyler sits comfortably, his tendons flexing over the taut leather of the wheel while trees wing by in a smearing blur. The rumbling of engine keeps her from sinking too deeply into the abyss of musing thought, the consistency of his meager tries at conversation second. 

“Why would I need one?” Wednesday asks, dry in her care.

His eyebrows furrow together ‘till bunched. “To… drive? Get behind the wheel?”

Wednesday pays no more heed to Tyler’s spiraling into self-imposed puzzlement as she looks back to the window’s green blur. “You don’t need a piece of plastic to drive, Galpin."

“So I’m assuming you can drive, maybe have a phobia of the DMV or something, yet choose to have me chauffeur you around, anyway? Am I getting this right?”

“More or less.” And here Wednesday thought she asked too many questions.

A prickle of sweetness in the stale air, she frowns. 

“Just making sure, it is a pretty nice day out so… good call.”

Wednesday must admit he has something of a point. Clouds have rolled in from the west unlike the haughty weather of yesterday, pleased she is to find a resemblance of raining outpour during this small outing. Tyler had shown a mildness of surprise upon her arrival at the Weathervane, cheerful with this or that when she informed him her allowance back into Jericho, and said—

“Didn’t think you missed the coffee this much.”

She’d reminded him she isn’t a fan of caffeine’s startling effects and that merely brightened him an inch further. Omegas are rather strange, though bias may be present.

Anyhow, he agreed to her excursion, one Wednesday would’ve preferred to do by her lonesome but figured it’ll take far less energy wasted in reliable transportation plus an individual familiar with the general landscape of Jericho. Admittingly, she did little in exploration prior to her drawn-out expulsion, metaphorical shackles, and frankly - she found the town’s picket fences a shade of white too nauseating and similar to hold much care. Stepford, if you will.

Besides, she must admit with gritted teeth that he’s been most excellent in sharing a variety of interesting landmarks around town, the type off the paved roads and failed to be mentioned on any map. They've been traveling together for roughly an hour and a half and already Wednesday has a vast variety of options for future location.

“We should be arriving in just a moment,” Tyler mutters, dragging out the just as he lowers the radio’s hum to silence after it begins to garble into static. “I’m sure someone of your tastes will appreciate it.”

“We’ll see.”

Minutes pass and Tyler eventually pulls into a clearing surrounded by the usual thick grove of oak and other, reaching enough that the sliver of sun managing to peek behind its dreary sheets can’t observe. Hm, a point in the right direction. Desolate to some absurdity, potential trouble arising where no one could hear you scream. 

She’ll allocate another point. 

He turns the engine off and presents with a wave of his hands. “This spot is considered like, a makeout area - you know, the kind in movies where they’ll go by the cliffside and watch over the town, get on top of the hood and all that. Except, we don’t have any cliffs here…”

“That sounds moronic. Why would anyone willingly go to a place so easily marked as hunting grounds for an opportunistic, budding killer?” 

“Because people don’t usually think like you,” he replies with a scoff, eyeing her as if determining the likelihood of doing such activities once night arrives. Wednesday will give it a chance of fifteen due to a busy schedule. “Besides, being in the mood makes you act kinda dumb.”

In the mood…? Ah, she sees. Perhaps it’s believable considering, well, everything.

“Speaking from experience?” She fails to gauge his reaction when her phone buzzes - forgetting she’d even brought it with her, becoming a second nature to do so, unfortunately. Curse Enid’s enforcement upon her. 

“I like to think I’m smarter than that…”

Wednesday makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as she fishes the device out of her pocket, expecting of a ludicrous notification that refuses to quiet down, intrigued by the message simply reading, ‘Enid.’  She hasn’t offered much in the way of texting, or response rather, so this might possibly hold a semblance of importance.

>hey have you done this portion of bradleys homework im confused

Or, not. Wednesday isn’t even in Bradley’s class—

Another message, this time an image.

In theory, Wednesday shouldn’t be affected by the contents of it; because thus far has she been certain of biological attraction in the creed of pheromone protection while in close proximity, tempestuous desire as a sledgehammer to any prior convictions, so to startle and inhale with the sharpness of a drawn knife’s cut is rather bewildering. 

She reminds herself, ever briefly, that the alpha is lodged in her throat and pivoting her spine more than normally allowed. Yet even so…

Enid’s poised and spread like one of those laminated girls in Uncle Fester’s stashed magazines, though with fewer chains and latex. Hair a purposeful mess in imperfect ease, blazer discarded to reveal the undone buttons of usual blouse with nothing beneath - unmarked flesh that’d have any animal salivating. She realizes a moment too late that the sheets indicate she’s on Wednesday’s bed, no skirt, no nothing than the flimsy attire of mandated wear.

Final message.

>omg didnt mean to send that!! sorry lol

Pardon? How can you accidentally send an explicit photograph? Why was that even on Enid’s mobile? What exactly is she planning on doing? Explain why Wednesday’s still staring as a complete and utter moron, lobotomized?

In reality, it’s only been mere seconds, because when she looks over to confirm this isn’t being spread to multiple eyes she’s face to face with Tyler.

Leaning in, lidded eyes.

 

---

 

So Wednesday definitely received her messages, fast at that as hardly a minute had passed before the tilt of being on read obscured any lingering sentiment of oh, second thoughts at actually going through with it. She’s taking selfies of a similar nature, sure, but has she actually ever gone through sending them to someone else - potential blackmail much? 

Yeah, no. Thanks, Wednesday for taking another first.

Hopefully, this is well worth it in the long run since Wednesday seriously doesn’t need to be around another omega like Tyler of all people, when, you know… Enid’s right here. Someone who is far more gracious and fitting to the weirdo nature of that who her omega yearns for. See, she’s even thinking like her now! 

No response so far, which is to be expected. Thing gave her some privacy when she vaguely detailed her call to action and so she squirms in anticipation twisting inside her gut of the possible outcome, be it good or bad. Good, she thinks, because Wednesday’s attention plays directly into her sexual cravings - those she vehemently denies exist yet bends the knee for if Enid’s skirt dares ride up. 

And isn’t that the whole point? The reason why she’s crushing? Wants her body?

Unless Wednesday prefers to have some boring normie. Fine, that’s ultimately her choice - even if Enid thinks it’s a stupid one, she’ll respect her wishes and get over it… eventually. Potentially. Because jealousy runs hot and branding so damnit Wednesday go be weird with anyone else but not with him!

‘No one else,’ her omega corrects, and, okay, she agrees.

Not unless she explicitly tells Enid to fuck off.

Even then… she’ll for sure leave her alone. Obviously.

 

---

 

“So… you’re like, dating?”

“No. It’s complicated.”

Isn’t that the word of the day? Complicated. Messy, perhaps. Too many strings tangled into a spider’s web of intricate design failing to be blown wayward by wind. Narrowly avoiding Tyler’s searching lips, another sliver of silk added to the web. Great. While annoying, surprising more like, she’s mainly bothered by her lack of knowledge of his apparent… interest.

She’ll be sure to thank Enid for her ample cleavage in disrupting anything further when he caught sight of obscenity, however.

“I guess so,” Tyler huffs in a not-so-thinly veiled frustration, He’s been looking anywhere but her direction as he drives back into town. “I mean, I kinda thought you asking me to take us ‘round the neighborhood was meant to be… uh, a date? Felt like we really connect whenever we’re able to talk.”

Do they? Wednesday hasn’t been aware of their supposed connection. Her thoughts about him extend to his usefulness for potential tasks and that’s it. 

“That wasn’t my intention, and to be frank I don’t know where you’ve gained the impression that I have an interest.”

“Most people would see the way you talk to me as meaning something,” he argues back, a tightness to his voice like restricted airflow. 

Wednesday stares off at the approaching crop of buildings. “Then they’re braindead.”

She can taste his grimace from where she sits, soured air.

“You sure have a way with words,” he mutters. “I’m just confused, I guess. Last I saw of your roommate she was making up with her boyfriend, now that?”

“According to her, they officially ended their relationship,” she replies.

Tyler drums his fingers against the wheel like percussion, nerves. “Did they? Their socials speak differently. Maybe she wanted to have her cake and eat it, too.”

Wednesday suppresses the urge to visibly frown. Enid, from what she’s collected on her, wouldn’t do that. She appears as strictly monogamous if the general dynamics of her last relationship mean anything to a commonality. Then again, she has no access to her ‘socials’ and is largely clueless about that facet of her inner world. What would she be gaining from having separate relations at the same time, anyhow?

A visible rendition of boyfriend and girlfriend from Ajax… and an off-the-record romp with herself…? If Enid wants the confines of an established partner yet needs someone more willing to give into her sexuality, Wednesday can see the general gist of reasoning. And, certainly, she’ll admit to being impressed if proven true. Backstabber, how quaint.

“Trust me, Wednesday. I’ve seen how the Nevermore wolves operate and they can’t ever be satisfied with just one person,” Tyler explains, bordering sympathies to this plight of hers he must imagine. “So if you were starting to develop feelings or something—”

“—I wasn’t. This ultimately does not concern you despite your expression of supposed pity.”

That manages to shut Tyler up for a few blissful minutes. Until it doesn’t.

“Maybe I got some wires mixed but I still think you’re a pretty cool person, Wednesday. Gotta be careful when you’re dealing with hormones, it’s a whole other battlefield they don’t teach you in your mortuary studies,” he says in some resemblance of a joking manner. The crushed windpipe has released to a lukewarm sentiment.

“Yes, the furthest they go is the causes of a broken heart.”

The car ride is mostly silent afterward.

 

---

 

Okay, if Enid thought it was really awkward before she somehow managed to make the entire situation way worse as once Wednesday returns from her dumb thing with Tyler she says nothing of the semi-nude, going directly to her cello outside to play the saddest fucking solo Enid’s ever heard in her entire life. She’s pretty sure Wednesday made the clouds cry harder from it.

Like, it wasn’t her best work but, damn, that bad?

Thing returns during the height of musical angst, drawn by the wailing of Wednesday’s instrument and Enid can only shrug her confusion when he asks what happened. Nude gone wrong, maybe. They listen in silence as Enid pretends to busy herself with homework while failing to write anything of importance, Thing squeezing her shoulder and tapping about how Wednesday tends to do this when she’s having an inner conflict. Er, about what? 

For all things sacred please don’t tell her Wednesday’s debating on who she wants. 

Ugh! 

Imagining them having sex is enough to send her into a fucking stroke. 

Eventually, the impromptu jam session ends and Enid figures she’ll need to wear the pants right now and initiate Wednesday’s favorite activity, communication.

‘I bid you good luck. You’ll surely need it.’ Thing helpfully says in farewell, skittering out of the room just as Wednesday steps back through the glass window and heads directly to her writing chair. Wow, cello and typewriter? She’s only seen this when forced to go to those mandated therapy sessions at the start of her enrollment… and in celebration when managing to have said therapist fire Wednesday as a client.

“Hey.” 

Wednesday ignores her. Alright, rude.

“I’m sorry,” Enid continues, stepping forward and putting her hands on Wednesday’s stiff shoulders. They don’t relax, even when she leans in. “I didn’t know a half-naked photo of me would traumatize you this much.”

Somehow Enid can feel the burn of an unblinking glare despite Wednesday staring directly at her keys. “What game are you trying to play?”

“Excuse me?”

Wednesday practically flies out of her seat, startling Enid’s steps backward. “I don’t believe you to be hard of hearing but allow me to repeat myself - what angle are you digging from? Because if it’s what I suspect I refuse to offer any further participation.”

“You need to back up like, ten steps ‘cause I have no clue what you’re talking about right now,” Enid says, a tad frightened at Wednesday’s typical dourness slugging off to reveal something of an attacking hawk.

“You and Ajax? Your tongue played as a serpent when you spoke of him no longer by your side?”

“I—” Enid’s mind refuses to wrap around what the hell is happening. Is Wednesday insinuating she lied about breaking things off for good? “—you’re being weird in the worst way possible. We really aren’t together anymore! And I’m clearly glad for it…”

Wednesday frowns, like really frowns, struggling with another inner conflict of sorts. An unusual expression on her delicate face, too much lurking underneath the surface that’s so… plastic, usually. A burning smell permeates and Enid realizes it’s coming from Wednesday, bad pheromones. What in the world is wrong with her lately? 

“Besides, even if I was with him, why would you care? Your crush clearly only extends to what you’re able to touch.” Enid crosses her arms, having her own inner warfare about wanting to press the wrinkles blemishing Wednesday’s face, maybe shake her out of this dumbassery, or give more distance.

Wednesday pinches the bridge of her nose, threatening to completely break it. Her eyes close with an exhausted upward tilt of head. “I’d prefer to be in the knowhow of you copying Judas, especially as I have unfortunately allowed you to request more than what befits the realm of pleasure. You understand I don’t wish to do the heavy lifting if your reptile is capable of such?”

Her head falls forward, empty black peering at the omega.

“And, besides… I don’t share, Enid.”

Enid’s rendered mute at the admission. Um, holy shit. Doesn’t want to share…? Did Wednesday actually say that? She digs a nail into her palm and ignores the quiet laughter of her omega at thinking she’s dreaming, as if knowing this would happen, which no! No way it did. 

Her response is filtered by slack jaw, three tries at forming words with little result. Forced to take a deep breath before, “I’m not… I’m not with him anymore, seriously. You’re forced to ‘indulge me’ or whatever ‘cause it’s just you, dummy. I don't— why do you even think that?”

Wednesday seems to falter slightly at the newfound softness of her tone, another round of deep thinking, burning scent fading into an obscurity.

“I had my reasons, albeit biased in nature now that my mind continues to clear. Remind me to never loosen my grasp on idiotic beasts.”

Oh. Oh. That would explain it, huh? Welcome to the club, Wednesday.

“If any of those reasons involve Tyler I’m literally gonna slap you,” Enid sighs, racing thoughts stuck to what Wednesday said. God, she’s so accidentally hot. “I don’t know why you decided to go hang out with him but he’s bad news. You really can’t tell how slimy he is?”

Wednesday’s shoulders raise. “Not particularly. I live with grime.”

“Okay, touche, but still! If he talked shit about me it’s probably from him being threatened, which, newsflash, is super weird ‘cause he doesn’t own you!” 

She says as she literally freaked out earlier about Wednesday and him but hey, water under the bridge. She’s justified by him being a total asshole.

“And does he have grounds for feeling threatened?” Wednesday asks, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. 

Enid would be lying if she said this wasn’t doing something for her, tempted to take Wednesday’s hand and move it under her skirt. “Well… I have missed you, lately. And you know how much I hate being ignored, especially for someone like him.”

She runs a fingertip across Wednesday’s jaw, sharp enough to cut. 

“Why’d you think I sent that picture…?”

If looks could kill, or rather devour, she’d be caught between Wednesday’s teeth. And for a moment it appears Wednesday’s about to make due on what Enid couldn’t the last they truly spoke, gaze lingering to her parted mouth - ready to shed the past dispute and make better use of their time. But then Wednesday’s moving away, the porcelain mask fit in place as Enid can’t help whimpering.

“I have planned something for tomorrow,” Wednesday says, weirdly off-topic but alright. “I require your presence for said event.”

Enid blinks, breaking out of her chokehold of lust. “Um, okay. Sounds… mysterious?”

“You’ll enjoy it,” Wednesday replies. “Or not. What matters is that it occurs.”

Enid has to wonder if she’s about to be sacrificed for some dark entity Wednesday secretly worships, but then that’d have to imply Wednesday actually sees anyone above herself. So, maybe not.

“You’re freaking me out not gonna lie.”

Wednesday gives her something of a look.

“Good.”

 

---

 

“Where exactly are you taking me?”

Wednesday soundly ignores the fifth plea of Enid’s numerous attempts to pry an answer of location from her, lead like dog through the scattered brush of foliage and twisting under path. This certainty isn’t quite as easy to find when the sun has taken a reprieve from its responsibilities but nevertheless she trucks on, determined to settle this promise once and for all. A hassle by pure definition, a reaping of mystery thus far it’s been… rather indulgent, truthfully.

“Wednesday.”

Enid stops her dead in her tracks with a simple grasp of the wrist, twisting ‘round to see her furrowed in expression.

“Yes?”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere and you’re being all hush-hush, can I at least get a hint?” Enid asks, pouting of the lip and big eyes. 

“Will you be quiet if obliged?” Enid nods, grinning as Wednesday softly sighs. “It’s somewhere located north of campus, roughly a mile away. Alright, moving on.”

“That didn’t tell me shit!”

Enid continues her complaints while Wednesday tunes her out once more, hesitantly allowing her alpha to take heed and guide their direction. Never again will she keep the damn thing out of its cage for so long lest she repeats the irrationality tasted in a hefty sampling. To think she’d trust the judgment of someone who expressed desire moments prior is simply preposterous, and yet it occurred. How the mighty fall. Her idols would be disappointed. 

Eventually, she starts to note familiar landmarks around the area, initials carved into a tree’s flesh, rusting trap far too archaic to work properly, the rotting carcass of deer that Enid mutters sickness over. Wednesday comments something along the lines of Enid’s brethren potentially being the culprit, though is then faced with a rant about how stereotypical that is… before admitting it probably was one of them.

Never change, Enid.

“We draw near. Close your eyes.”

“I’m so going to haunt you if this ends up being my final night alive,” Enid huffs, yet begrudgingly doing as instructed. She’s been linked to Wednesday’s wrist since the initial push-back and easy of a slip to take her hand and carefully guide her. Strangely warm through the brisk bite of hollowed wind and rain’s leftovers. 

Wednesday snaps the door and throws the key away to the dark abyss she’s stuffed her alpha back down in, no longer requiring its help and hopefully never again for its own sake than hers, as she makes out the mouth of a cave peeking from the earth. The crunching of twigs and decayed leaves settles into compact dirt beneath her boots, leveled ground.

“Open.”

Enid does and blinks a few times to adjust her sight back to the relative darkness, puzzlement written across her pinched expression surveying the scene laid out in front of her. 

“Uh, what is all this?” She lets go of Wednesday’s hand to closer inspect the sprawl of a crisp blanket neatly laid out and a locked antique chest dragged from the depths of the former’s closet. “This looks like a picnic.”

“Very astute,” Wednesday says.

“I— shut up, don’t act like it’s not shocking to see your secret ‘event’ be actually kinda normal. And, wait, I’m sorry, did you steal this blanket from the nurse’s office?” 

Wednesday takes a seat on said item and searches her pockets for the key. “Borrowed never to be returned, specifically.”

“So, stolen.” Enid sits next to her, a lingering confusion evident as she watches Wednesday undo the lock. Her eyes widen upon the sweet allure contained inside. “Don’t tell me you also robbed the bakery downtown— Wednesday!”

“I paid appropriately… with a heavy discount the longer we bartered,” Wednesday replies, handing Enid a container. “Those are your favorite, correct?”

Enid pauses her accusations to pry the lid off, taking a macaron and observing it in the moonlight. “Um, yeah, it is. Wends, what’s happening here? I’m starting to think Tyler gave you a concussion ‘cause this is really out-of-character for you.”

“Don’t play stupid, I’m fulfilling our promise.” 

Slowly does Enid lower the macaron back into the container and turns her full attention to Wednesday. She clearly racks her mind and comes up empty as she soon asks, “What promise?”

“To a date. You made me promise you we’d go on one,” Wednesday says evenly, what she believes is evenly, anyway. “And I don’t go back on my word.”

“Huh.”

Enid’s hands fiddle with a macaron, twisting and pulling it apart while staring blankly ahead, Wednesday suppressing the urge to bash her head in at the fact that Enid didn’t even remember the promise, so she’s been researching and planning for naught! She could’ve gotten away with doing absolutely nothing and saved her sanity in the process. Dear lord, misery is a girl named Sinclair draped in the dressings of supposed joy. 

But then Enid’s taking a chaste bite of what she holds, the bobbing of her throat drawing Wednesday’s glare as that sickly familiar wave of pleased pheromones hits and her temper cools as quick a wick is blown out. 

“This is the nicest thing someone’s ever done for me,” Enid admits once she finishes her macaron. “I had to be the one who did all the preparation for dates, always initiating, always my doing. And here you are, someone who doesn’t even give a shit about me outside of getting off, making due on promises I don’t remember and buying out a bakery.”

Her gaze drifts up. “Of course, you chose a night where the moon is almost full, too. Because let me guess, as a wolf I’d surely appreciate the view?”

“Yes. I singled this spot out of many due to that factor,” Wednesday says, a bit taken aback.

A sigh.

“You’re making it very hard right now.”

Enid doesn’t expand on what she means. 

And so Wednesday retrieves the rest of the pastries and explains what they are for some form of conversation to fill the attacking silence, not exactly sure what you’re expected to do during a date now that they’re here. Enid listens as quietly as the church mouse to what Wednesday knows is filler, rambling if you will. Their positions have been switched and Wednesday somehow yearns for Enid’s inability to shut up.

“I fail to understand your fondness for this variety of sustenance.” Wednesday picks at a flaky shell of what the baker referred to as an ‘apple fritter.’ “My teeth ache merely touching them.”

She’s positive Enid isn’t going to offer the grace of a response before she says, “Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t care for desserts prior to wolfing out? Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, I’m serious. It likes them, and having these push down the craving for…”

Again, Enid fails to explain herself.

Wednesday gives a good hard look at her and notices a bead of sweat falling down her temple, rosy complexion like a growing sunburn. Is she nervous? Wednesday remembers her experiencing a rush of anxiety while getting dressed for Ajax, but… hm. 

“Are you alright?” she finally asks, perhaps with mild concern. “I assure you that my scent has a history of warding off stray animals, so the likelihood of being mauled is rather low.”

That manages a poor rendition of Enid’s chiming laughter, void of a true spark. 

“I’m just… really, really happy.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Wednesday mutters. 

“I swear! I’m not lying.” Enid runs her tongue over her upper lip, a smudge of pastry licked away. “Might be a little sick, though.”

What’s with their excursions ending in ailments? Wednesday snatches the box of banana bread from Enid’s lap and figures it wasn’t the best idea to bring empty calories, stashing it back into the chest much to Enid’s betrayal. Then again, she didn’t think Enid would try her hand at breaking a world record. 

“Well, unless you’re prepared to vomit near me again I suppose we should head back to the dorms.”

“No.”

“I refuse to have a repeat of that party’s aftermath,” Wednesday scoffs, prickling annoyance bubbling as an itch in her throat, furrowed brow to glare at Enid and—

There’s something off. 

Enid’s jaw works furiously, crunching bone and snaps of the spine’s vertebrae as she tangles her hands into her hair to tug by the root. Wednesday stares dumbly in an objective state of aghast, to the moon she peers but it’s certainly by no means a true-to-form full bloat. A few days, at least.

Wednesday’s gaze flicks back to Enid and she’s no longer capable of tugging at her hair without the sharp point of her grown claws digging into her scalp, a scattering of what appears to be fur festering on assorted patches of exposed skin, some sort of infection. She catches a glimpse of her pupils, dilated.

“Apparently you don’t count as a stray.” 

She moves to get up on her feet, have some distance between them in hopes of observing this phenomena, however her ankle is secured against the ground before she can even do so. The sleeve of Enid’s sweater pulses like a heartbeat, thread undoing to reveal more tufts of fur protruding through tight muscle. If she weren’t so bewildered by what exactly was occurring she might describe herself as ever so vaguely aroused.

Werewolves did hold a certain… fascination in her adolescence.

“Don’t leave.” Enid’s request comes out in a husk, from the depths of a pit needing to be securely locked. Her eyes are murky, slushed water and melting snowcaps. “This date is far from over, unless you’re already tired of me?”

Her alpha whines and gnashes in a breath of warning and another of blatant desire, propelled into action by the heady scent lapping in crashing waves. Thick and potent. Wednesday beats it down with a stick and exhales slowly as one of Enid’s canines curves into a fang, other soon following suit.

“Aw, I’m just fucking with you,” she grins, blank-faced to charm in the blink of an eye. Her hand travels up the fabric of Wednesday’s pants to rest on her thigh, squeezing.

“You can’t possibly be wolfing out, Enid. What’s the meaning of this change?” 

Enid’s head tilts in a mockery of thought, refusing to break eye contact. “I mean… aren’t you the second coming of Nancy Drew? You tell me.”

Wednesday purses her lips as the tip of Enid’s nail drags across the stitching, creeping closer to between her thighs. She’s mesmerized by the movement, blood’s flow creeping downward as seconds tick by. 

Focus.

This isn’t similar to Enid’s growing of claws during times of distress, a step forward to the transformation of wolf, yet not completely. Human resemblance manages here. And with the moon, as shown earlier, isn’t full she has to guess this as along the lines of emotion. Being too… happy, as Enid framed it? Wednesday would likely become a man-eating monster if she was ever so disgustingly joyful, too.

This begs the question, hasn’t Enid suffered through bouts of extreme emotional change before? What’s the difference here? What variable is she failing to notice?

Wolf… beast…

…omega?

Wait a minute, she’s failed to consider the intrinsic copulation of a wolf’s beast and dynamic, those being one and the same unlike a human’s dynamic. Upon initially wolfing out she also presented, and so wouldn’t the presence of what’s shown here be from that? Enid had mentioned just earlier eating tended to keep the creature at bay, yet she started to feel sick, a burst of emotion someplace during, and…

“You’re the omega, aren’t you?” 

Enid’s mouth ripples into another grin, as if to congratulate. “I forgot how smart you are when it doesn’t involve icky, dumb feelings. So, yeah, you can consider me that.”

Fascinating, she has much to learn about a werewolf’s biology. Normally the alpha and omega come out during a heat and or rut, nothing else, as expected with their focus on mating and procreation. It does make sense for that to behave differently due to being connected with the side of wolf… and a potential for disaster depending.

“She truly was that happy it allowed you to take control?” Wednesday has to ask, far too curious about the genuineness of Enid’s prior claims. As far as Wednesday’s aware, this is rather tame for a date.

The omega nods. 

“Surprised? We never thought you were the type to go through with this.” Her nail runs flush across Wednesday’s belt buckle. “Well, she didn’t. I’m a bit more observant to your tells, considering you interest me far more than the last.”

“You’re quite well-spoken,” Wednesday replies, deciding to ignore what she, it, means about ‘tells.’ The capacity for her omega to be this formed is pleasantly astounding. 

“Talk to me during a full moon and see how you feel, then. Anyway, I’m glad I finally got my hands on you.” 

The truth of the situation returns when the omega palms Wednesday through her slacks, the final push needed for herself to get stiff, aching with every grope. Her hips involuntarily jerk into the touch. Humiliating. She blames the waft of pheromones threatening to drown.

“Honestly, I’m tired of her beating around the bush, so…”

The omega proceeds to rip her sweater in a smooth pull of snapping thread, Wednesday mentally noting to find a replacement if still alive due to the guaranteed wailing of a favorite garment being destroyed. Enid’s bra comes next, ruined rags hardly bestowing modesty amidst the patchy fur, too human to declare wolf even so. Wednesday’s reminded of children abandoned in forests, growing to arch their back and walk all-fours. 

Yes, this is certainly something else.

She knows better than to run, fight. Enid hasn’t quite won the honor of fulfilling her death wish thus far, so Wednesday must play it in the confines of potential interest… which is hardly difficult considering Enid - her omega, rather - is a sight to behold.

However, mutts should learn not to overstep their masters.

“Am I right to believe Enid has taken your usual place?” Wednesday asks, elbows propping her up as the omega moves to straddle her, heavy. Giving an estimate, the omega’s made Enid gain roughly three to four inches, ten pounds or so. Futile to try pushing her off.

“Don’t get it twisted.” The omega reaches for Wednesday’s hands and smiles somewhat at her easy cooperation, threading their fingers together. They’re cold. “We’re one and the same, I’m just her… wild side, free from ‘society’s restrictions’ or whatever new-age bullshit is getting pedaled on Facebook, nowadays. Shouldn’t you know this? You’re not a beta.”

Wednesday stays silent while the omega pulls her hands forward to cup over Enid’s stomach, taut muscle flexing under her touch. Up to her breasts, omega forcing her to squeeze and it whines, almost like a growl. Loosens its grip enough for her to run a thumb over a nipple and it hardens the more she does. Duly noted.

It’s not long until her hands are moved up, this time to cradle Enid’s face. The omega wears her eyes, nose, lips with sureness Enid tends to lack, confidence. Hardened. Enid needs more of that, for her own sake than anyone else’s. There’s a yin and yang to these two, making up for what the other hasn’t achieved. 

She’s captivated.

It must sense her wonder as it nuzzles into her palm, another low growl, this time reminding Wednesday of a feline’s purr. “Normally, I’d make you work for this. She’s been trying to, keeps telling me over and over how we can’t rush, can’t be too much.”

“But…?”

“I just really, really like you, Wednesday,” she whispers, parting her pretty lips when Wednesday’s thumb rests on the bottom, inviting her further. So she does, unwilling to hear any more of this want, feeling the edge of sharpened teeth lightly bite down to leave an indent on the skin.

Her cock twitches, further groomed by the rut of Enid’s hips pressing down on her own and rubbing friction. She might come from this alone due to how hard the omega goes at it, threatening to break her if the position changes ever so slightly. It’s not as if she and Enid have ever done this so, yes, she has no frame of reference, however Enid’s far more… light. A feather in flight lest her annoyance shines, impishness rises.

The omega may end up killing her from the sheer size of its want. Charming.

“How much?”

Teeth press further, inching towards a crunch of bone; so much so Wednesday has to think of the torturous summer locked in that cabin, forced to watch princesses frolicking with wildlife, to suppress herself from moaning.

She retracts her hand upon the omega letting go, not before it tastes the drooling blood weeping from the wound it caused.

“Mm…” It pushes her back by the shoulders, messy blonde hair framing Enid’s face. “...enough to have your children.” 

Hm, this isn’t going well.

“I’d prefer to be mauled if you’re taking suggestions,” Wednesday replies, ignoring the massive knot being formed with the use of intestines. Her alpha seems frightened by the idea yet absolutely enthralled - a rather worrying, conflicting combination.

It laughs, rocking against her. “You’re too cute, so… above it all, right? I’d be mated already if I was back home, chained to the kitchen, maybe. Four months with five kicking. Morning sickness and home alone. That’s why it would’ve been real bad if Owen told Mom about us. No longer pure, not worth as much.”

She leans in and her mouth ghosts Wednesday’s.

“Then again, you still haven’t actually taken me.”

Wednesday senses a chink in armor and knows what to do.

“Since you’re so insistent.” Wednesday reaches up cup Enid’s face once more, thumb an eyesore to be dealt with later, and pulls her in. No kissing, she said. A rule to be broken if given the right circumstances, and so it’s a downright sin to have the brush of chapped lips and hungering fangs - offering a pound of flesh on a stick that’s gladly accepted.

She’ll deny if ever asked but the omega might be a better kisser than Enid is, starving to a stretch of ribs and evaporating stomach - not from technique or accuracy, no, pure desperation. Someone who’d crawl through glass if Wednesday demanded it for a mere sample of the latter’s presence.

Pathetic… and gratifying to an inflated ego.

Enid seems to have the ability to make Wednesday enjoy what once elicited suffering, because her tongue is forcing itself into Wednesday’s mouth like a try at ownership - moaning and whimpering and playing a downright fool to anyone daring to stroll by. To the point her plan is waved away, just for a single moment, and that’s enough of a cue to move on.

“Tell me what you want,” Wednesday demands between the increasing fervor of kisses, soft bristles of fur tender on her fingertips. 

The omega manages to contain itself from further affection, a mere thread. 

“Inside."

“As you wish.”

There’s a glimmer of doubt in the murky blue, washed away when Wednesday begrudgingly brings Enid’s head down and presses a kiss to her forehead. She can sense an impending breakout of hives from doing that, too resembling fondness. It has the intended effect however and Wednesday murmurs for Enid, the omega, them, to get off so she can be where she needs.

“Oh, you don’t enjoy the thought of me doing all the work?” it teases, too reminiscent of Enid, Wednesday having some trouble viewing them as a single entity. She hardly considers her alpha part of herself more than an annoying parasite unwilling to drop dead from the digestion of poison. 

Wednesday shakes her head, the best she’s able to. “I prefer you beneath me, hands and knees like you were born to serve.”

There’s a flicker of amusement to be had when it practically jumps off of her and Wednesday’s able to gather her bearings momentarily. A blessing to be so far from campus lest she deal with a ridiculous omega near their gossiping peers. She’d never shake the allegations of their lust, then.

Though, that’s the least of her problems currently.

“Good girl.” Wednesday comes behind where the beast presents itself much on a platter, twitching of her cock while she idly palms herself. 

Enid is... attractive, isn't she?

Wednesday hooks an arm under Enid’s body to move her upper half straight.

“The proper breeding position,” she muses, chest flushed to Enid’s back. It presses itself to the bulge, Wednesday slowly undoing her zipper and the noise practically screams throughout the forest. Her hand snakes to the flat tone of lower stomach, outstretched. “And you’ll feel me right here, won’t you? Right in your womb.”

The omega pants and places her far larger hand over Wednesdays, oddly domestic with the circumstances. Disturbing.

“You know what else?”

Wednesday creeps her grasp onto Enid’s throat, vibrations humming along with the noises it makes. She digs one foot to the ground, hoping she’ll have enough time to follow through with this. If not… oh, well.

“It was an unfortunate pleasure meeting you.”

She draws her arm over the entirety of neck and begins to suffocate. Known as a rear-naked choke, more commonly a sleeper hold. Pressure on the carotid artery, specifically the carotid sinus, renders the person unconscious in a manner of seconds. Though, she’s eager to test the effectiveness of a quarter-formed wolf. Which is to say, she herself is nearly rendered paralyzed when the omega tips back and crushes her under the full extent of its weight, claws breaking through the material of her jacket and slicing into skin as a means to stop her - the rumblings of ‘Asshole!’ thrown between the first and last wheezing breath.

The wolf soon slackens and Wednesday loosens her hold, quickly checking and relieved to find the thump of a heartbeat. Oh, nothing like the first she’s had to use it on someone… good for Enid. 

Wednesday manages to roll her off with a considerable amount of strain, arm throbbing in the totality of blistering pain she ultimately sets aside. Right now she has to look over Enid and be certain her eventual drift back to consciousness isn’t marked with a second round of a very angry omega.

Thankfully, the shift to typical Enid comes with being choked out. 

Fur sheds onto the crumpled blanket, not retracting like Wednesday would expect as her claws give way to a fresh set of nails, no polish. Interesting. She even pulls back a lip to watch her fangs smooth out to a human’s consistency before carefully moving Enid onto her back.

She stares at her for a long while.

Then an unfamiliar feeling flutters in her stomach, traveling through her esophagus to the rest of her throat and she’s laughing. Cutting as a knife, warm of a fire’s influence, can’t recall the last she’s done this. Too long passed.

How absurd this night has been. 

Ever so dangerous, exploitation at a high, battling with the inner-being of Enid’s self, wanton and greedy… all on a first date. She thinks to herself, if it was this enjoyable on the first what could a second hold? Will she truly be gutted, then? The possibilities are endless.

Wednesday shrugs off her jacket and places it over Enid, figuring the cold is more of a threat when the entirety of your wardrobe has been altered to ribbons.

After a moment of hesitation, she lies by the sleeping girl and imitates what some might consider ‘cuddling,’ except in the middle of nowhere it’s far better suited for the term of ‘survival’. Enid murmurs in her sleep and by some instinct chases after the warmth Wednesday’s presence provides. 

Despite Wednesday’s enjoyment, Enid does need to learn to control her beast before it takes complete autonomy…

…Wednesday supposes she’ll have to train her.

Chapter 5: Aftermath

Summary:

The first act ends with the aftermath of last night. It's time for an intermission.

How Enid manages to sneak back to the dorms is literally anyone’s guess. 

Seriously, it’s giving trashy tabloids a run for their money when her very-much-highly-exposed tits are at an all-time vulnerability to the wind’s fervent blackmail in dishing out frostbite from what Wednesday’s stolen coat can’t cover. An exclusive sneak peek at what the walk of shame is but, like, somehow even worse - so embarrassing, so, so— humiliating.

It’s a Godsend Nevermore’s campus is eerily still when she finally makes it back in one piece, no panties included. Something about Wednesday and losing her underwear, she swears…

Enid’s heart totals a war drum’s beating rhythm slipping into the tattle-tailed attic and puzzling away at the roots of her tangled, frizzed hair. She pulls out a twig and frowns. Last night has to be some sorta awful dream. No, a walking nightmare; the grand sum to her girlhood delusion from countless Wattpad fanfics merging into a weird psychosis that’ll end in her being sold off in the foreseeable future. In that case, she’ll have to try her damnest to make a straightjacket look somewhat chic when she’s wheeled off to Jericho’s nuthouse.

Not like a hot - borderline scalding - shower does much to calm her nerves, either. There’s a real upsetting weight to her stomach like pure, molten lead dragging her to the ground itself. No longer so flighty and imaginative in her stupid fantasies for that picture-perfect ending with Prince Charming… not when said ‘prince’ saw something she shouldn’t. Something Enid didn’t think would happen. Could happen.

It came out. Or, more like, she let it out accidentally. Couldn’t control herself, snap the whip in time. Freed from the flimsy confines she calls ‘emotional regulation’ via social media influencers who claim to know better without so much as a fucking struggle. How pathetic is that? Don’t answer, she already knows. Her mom would be certified freaked if she ever caught wind of last night’s surprise (and surprising) date. Whoa, abnormally Normie Wednesday and a quarter-way wolf-out sesh? Ugh, someone shoot her.

Oh, and the damn thing decides to laugh when Enid screams her exasperation through the pitter-pattering of unfiltered water, nude fingernails that curl unnaturally inward as canines needing to desperately be redone scratching at the wall. Dirt isn’t a cute color scheme come to find out.

Enid presses her forehead to the marked-up tile, molded grout.

“What did I even do…?”

Wednesday’s cold corpse of a broken body tickles the whispy hairs on her neck wrong. Splattered in dried blood with a shredded beef of an arm was Enid’s casual morning greeting in typical Addams’ fashion, cold sweat on her own, unharmed skin. She was dressed in the reminders of a wardrobe screaming for replacement ASAP while molted fur served as bizarre garnish around herself. Enid almost thought Wednesday finally managed to kick the bucket from heart failure after enduring the world’s worst date attempt before she pressed her shaky fingers to the— whatever the dumb artery throbbing madly in the throat pulsed to her touch.

Then her own throat began grinding charcoal, causing Enid to cough and retch the contents of the dessert overload Wednesday forced on her before blacking out. So gross.

Her omega, what a welcome addition to her current spiral, hums thoughtfully in the back of her raw throat. It basks in the aftermath of such a pleasant, and super-normal, rendezvous. Oh, you know… could’ve gone a tiny bit further but that’s whatever - time smooths the difference! And, according to It, will smooth the difference soon enough. 

Another biting laughter tickles Enid’s ribs and for a split-second, she imagines reaching inside, pushing her clawed hand through the bruised bone, and strangling it ‘till the beast chokes and sputters. Unchain herself from moot privileges granted in the benign tolerance her fellow wolves pretend to offer but be free from… this. All of it. 

She almost wishes that the worst a girl like her could be was a boring beta.

Sticky guilt clogs her arteries when her mind drifts to Wednesday again. Enid can’t believe she actually left her behind in the metaphorical ditch, Jericho’s forest a burial ground. Talk about pathetic, talk about cowardly. Ran off with the tail between her legs but, oh, wait, she doesn’t even have that. Like, c’mon now. Who in their right mind does that to another person!? Apparently her, Enid Sinclair, most likely to make anyone with interest regret the attraction. 

God. Enid knows full well how her omega talks, too. Not pretty, ugliness and slobber, and… and it definitely decided to share string-tuggers to try and get Wednesday to offer comfort. Love me, choose me, cherish me!

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

(But if she decided to put real thought to it she’d conclude that Wednesday was honest-to-God cuddling with her in the middle of the woods while her arm wept bitterly all over them and she sacrificed her coat solely to keep Enid warm. Some might call that romantic. Enid, too. It’s also absurd. It’s also not befitting Wednesday Addams. Just like the date. It’s easier running away than to consider the implications, though. Right, Enid? Maybe her crush means something. Just kidding. You’re losing it).

Maybe sensing her fleeting sanity in this current moment, Enid’s omega finally keeps quiet for once in its short life and instead licks away at these metaphorical wounds gouged deep from whatever Wednesday did to beat it back into submission. Plotting and musing, and keeping hush-hush on the exact details just to annoy Enid more. What-the-fuck-ever. 

The steam leaves Enid majorly lightheaded when she stumbles outta the bathroom and to her side of the attic. She shoves Wednesday’s coat into a drawer as if ridding the evidence of an upcoming investigation - trying her damnest to look halfway presentable for the bed-rotting session that will soon occur. Except, her phone buzzes and chirps on the nightstand she left it on (‘No cellular devices,’ Wednesday sternly forbid before departing), and turning the screen on shows a flurry of missed calls and texts.

Yoko’s name highlights the majority.

>girl where are u?? Ik ur not blowing me and vina off rn

Shit. Shit. She forgot she made plans with Yoko and Divina a few days ago. Except that was when she was walking on water and manic and wanting to ignore Wednesday while also sending nudes to cockblock the guy trying to cockblock her and today is kinda a far cry from that energy! She can’t. She really can’t. She seriously can’t—

Enid takes a deep breath to calm herself.

It’s not that serious. Probably. It is, but it also isn’t.

Her throat bristles with Wednesday’s deep-rooted scent lingering in the room, caressing her spine with cold fingers. She’s going to die in here suffocated by a half-dead alpha’s scent and her guilt and why is she still not going back to do anything? 

Good thoughts only, Enid!

Wednesday will be fine. She always is! Enid’s not— scared or anything. Of her dead? No, no, Wednesday is made of material that is likely not legal in the States. Not that. And she’s not terrified of the possibility of, um, Wednesday growing actual, legit interest beyond sex. That’d be dumb. She’s being delusional again!

Because Enid doesn’t like…

She gets dressed quicker than she’s ever done before and carefully, with practiced precision, musters her biggest smile. The painting isn’t hung right.

Crooked and sad.

 

---

 

When Wednesday awakens, it’s by the inherent vulnerability found in an off-kilter solitude than true, methodical deliberation. In layman’s egregiously (un)simplified terms - a remarkable resemblance in her body portraying that of a poorly disposed corpse mauled and unsightly to those fortunate enough to stumble across the gory remains. She’s a mess in crusted blood and clothing scraps amidst the detritus; the nurses’ ‘borrowed’ blanket is torn strew alongside bird-picked delectables already swarmed with twitched flies and black beetles.

Her arm aches in an abnormal greeting, ribbon-raw slashes glistening when angled in brief observation, as Wednesday takes careful heed of her misty morning surroundings. Chirping creatures in their perpetual sing-along shriek from high above within the treeline contrasted with the cool-nipped hypothermia carving into her flesh mere feet below. Nowhere near home’s iced deathtrap, unfortunately. 

And yet, despite this, what remains the central focal point in her immediate attention is the distinct lack of a single variable: Enid.

Hmm… perhaps Wednesday’s former claim in warding off the roaming, predatory sort proves infactual with her roommate’s newfound disappearance. Another misfortune strikes. Her dark eyes drift naturally to the mud-heavy footsteps sunk into the soft terrain, off to where she can approximate the general directive, gist towards Nevermore. The vast majority of torn fabric belongs to Enid’s wardrobe at a second glance - it’s easy to suppose Enid ran off in her typical, girlish embarrassment when she realized her perceived, virginal purity was on the line if encountered by another.

My, dignity protected and coddled by an exclusivity in taking Wednesday’s coat, it seems. By all means, play into the delusion. In exchange, her molted claws, snaggled fangs, are securely pocketed for further analysis. Tit for tat. Equilivence. 

Drip-fed is the night’s prior events splashed into her waking mind following the stumbled trail left by her roommate. Similar to Serpentes she slowly slithers in singleminded pursuit of Enid’s lingering scent. Razor-sharp metal coats the back of her throat, heady and thick enough to choke on in an unusually sour rot. No longer the peeking sunlight filtering through their overblown central window she’s grown accustomed to associating with Enid but something forgotten, stuffed deep into the earth’s core. Shade brought forth by rolling, plump clouds.

Wednesday shivers despite the cold not bothering her.

Even the deliciously dull agitation brought forth by her injuries speaks naught to a peculiar, fluttering flame lit right below the juncture of her stomach. No similarity in a grating plea concerning the fulfillment induced by partial coitus with the she-wolf, either. Whatever this ‘feeling’ is, it’s with which she has a complete lack of experience. Fascinating.

Though, if Enid were to succumb to a hostile, parasitic takeover from the mere overdose of happiness, then…

…perhaps Wednesday is happy, too. 

How nauseatingly disgusting.

Electroshock therapy pales in comparison to the jolting pleasure induced by the prospect of furthering her research with these sudden developments. There’s much to gather in her coming preparation - notes to be jotted before the ink has any chance to settle comfortably, what books to extract within this crossover of monstrous anatomy and biological dynamic. Silver is a perfect introductory to forcing overgrown mutts to kneel but what more can Wednesday exploit with their impending house training?

It’s borderline maddening, infectious her absolute delight. Truly, the possibilities are endless. Infinite! Within her grasp and taunting in paradoxical enrichment. Jekyll and Hyde become added to her repertoire no more than Sinclair with every involuntary twitch threatening to split the muscle around her lips.

Dynamics have long never interested Wednesday; a byproduct of evolutionary stragglers similar to wisdom teeth and coccyx useful for her grandmama’s cauldron and little else. Societal expectations for what boils down to the perceived broodmare and stallion. 

Alpha, beta, or omega. Bland, bland, bland.

But the omega in bestial carnality is like nothing she’s ever seen, was even aware existed. Crude and demanding for what it saw as a God-given right. Arrogance. Drenched and bristled in every raised hair. If the moon were to be a quarter-way fuller, succumbing to its gluttony devouring the endless pitched sky, would Wednesday be a casualty to the desire dripping between heavy thighs? Dead? Used? Devoured?

It’s a quandary threatening to tear her initial hypothesis into pieces with such ravenous claws. Wednesday should’ve known tainted, tar blood would have Enid’s dynamic taste all the more vitriol when given a teasing foreshadowing to the moon’s soon-to-be-birth.

Three days.

And for the first time, since these hedonistic pursuits flourished, does Wednesday consider her bare-thread interest to extend further than sanding down incurable, biological requirements.

Gleefully, her alpha gnaws on the gnarled, metal bars of a forever enclosure. Ensnared and broken-boned yet ravenous in an easy agreement.

Their smiles mirror tainted, common ground.

 

---

 

So, update, Enid somehow manages to forget that Tyler ‘homewrecker’ Galpin (the omega’s nickname for him, not hers) works at the Weathervane during the midst of her chronic spiraling. Makes sense. And, obviously, this means she also forgot to give Yoko the lowdown on her ever-increasing disdain for the smarmy dick considering this just so happens to be the meeting place for this friendly girls’ outing. She’s on a roll today, isn’t she?

Their eyes meet in a pitiful stand-off when Enid rushes into the coffee shop with a cheery jingle above - her hair still a complete and utter disaster, remaining dirt stuck beneath her nails somehow despite picking away at them, and she’s pretty sure the shirt she’s wearing was meant for the hamper and not back on her body.

Tyler offers her his usual, tight smile and a practiced, ‘Welcome in!’

Enid wonders how many years she’d get if she ripped his face off in front of everyone. At least stitched his mouth shut to save her from headaches. Ugh, Wednesday’s rubbing off on her…

Yoko waves her bloodshed away with a smooth gesture near the back of the shop. Her dark glasses do little to hide the piercing, dead stare that used to have Enid shivering once upon a time in sophomore year. Kinda weird in retrospect but other wolves were unwilling to share space with a late-bloomer, uncracked nut, so Yoko took the omega, then beta, under her bat wing and claimed every bloodsucker needed their claws. Fur or not. And Enid has a penchant for anyone willing to give her the time of day so proceeded to follow Yoko around like a lost puppy ‘till Divina showed up in the picture and the rest was history.

(In the back of her mind, Enid recalls also wanting to tear Divina in half like she does Galpin). 

Anyway, Yoko’s gaze doesn’t do much besides leaving her weirdly exposed nowadays, like a perverted photographer forcing her to spread it between the glossy pages of a magazine. Two pages, Enid! Be grateful she cares! But, like, that’s probably from the whole vampire thing than anything else. Why else are they portrayed as heartthrobs in the media?

You’ll gladly offer your neck to them, silly. That’s why.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the dog bed,” Yoko greets with a hint of fang peeking behind her glossed lips. “Not to be a bitch or anything but you look like—”

“—shit,” Divina concludes for her lovable mate, their voices merging as one back-handed observation.

Enid slips into the seat across from them, sighing rather dramatically. “That’s putting it lightly. Real lightly. Sorry for, um, being late. I had a…” 

Bad night? Yeah, her appearance alone proves that excuse to be right on the mark.

“We would’ve offered to meet you in the crypt if you weren’t up for a public appearance,” Yoko replies in jestful ribbing.

Divina elbows her without breaking eye contact with Enid. Speaking of intense staring. “Ignore her, she’s being hella annoying today. Are you okay, girly?”

Enid swallows the word vomit threatening to spew all over the table as she picks away at the booth’s stitching. She can always lie, but playing her cards with a siren is just asking to be skewered when they literally taste emotion in the air itself through… energy waves or whatever. But, like, she doesn’t even know how to explain what’s been happening, either.

Let’s see: got broken up with, started messing around with Wednesday Addams for some reason, tried using said roommate to make her ex-boyfriend jealous at a Normie party, proceeded to have an orgasm in a dingy bathroom, and then got taken on an actual first date not by her own doing… current status is waking up to a borderline crime scene while spooning.

Yeah, her horoscope hadn’t exactly predicted any of this.

Enid hardly realizes she’s tearing up until Divina reaches over the table to offer her a crumpled napkin - blotted at the edges from spilled creamer - and a sympathetic wash of oceanic pity pulsates between their grazed fingertips. She dabs at the corner of her eyes and mutters a whiny ‘Thank you’ before blowing her nose obnoxiously. Cue the apologies.

Her friends giggle and it’s normal again. No gorgons. No Addams. No puberty.

Until she opens her big mouth. A leaky faucet won’t stop dripping just ‘cause you put a bowl underneath it, after all. Never change, Enid. 

“I didn’t even wanna talk about this but there’s… something I need to tell you guys. Promise to keep it between us, okay?”

Yoko and Divina immediately lean in for their weekly dose of gossip. This time, starring the resident gossip-monger. Feign shock.

…Right. So normal.

 

---

 

‘You look positively dour.’

Thing’s tip-tapped greeting isn’t what Wednesday had in mind upon her arrival back at the dorms, nose sawed off the grindstone in tracing Enid’s lingering scent and being met with yet another absence. She’s heard knot-brained alphas refer to this behavior as playing ‘hard to get,’ and while they spoke of it as a nuisance in their participation, Wednesday likens it to the resemblance of hunting… humans, this time around. Hm, there’s more to courtship than she originally gave credit for - you’re socially obligated to stalk until your satisfaction has been fulfilled.

Agatha Christie, and all her coffin-met influence, would conclude this a mystery. Wednesday agrees. What’s needed now is for her to dawn the role of detective and pin Enid as victim, suspect, and prize. She ignores Thing to note the rumpled towel strewn across Enid’s bed - moist, still - drawer pushed in half-way with the remnants of a shredded coat stuffed inside. Pulled out, their scents combined in the fabric, she feels the sudden and inexplicable urge to sniff it.

So she does. Sweat and blood and an omega’s distress. 

“Were you present when Enid returned last?”

‘Indeed. However, she appeared in desperate need for the company of herself exclusively. Thus, I kept hidden,’ Thing replies, towering on the backrest of her writing chair. His splintered index observes her in clear curiosity, though he bides his true interrogation with, ‘Why do you ask?’

There’s an unfamiliar sense of ego in him Wednesday can’t quite pinpoint. She decides it’s bothersome.

“If you expect me to say some nonsense of ‘I care about her’ then you’re sorely mistaken.” 

Thing taps rapidly. ‘I never implied such.’

The damn imp. Her alpha tugs a single heartstring to continue the search for Sinclair but another shuddering ache rushes and plucks the nerves of her arm. Wednesday sets her coat aside and undoes the buttons to her shirt one by one, the lightest contraction of her ribbed chest sucked in with the torn fabric sticking stubbornly to her gashes. Congealed, absolutely crusted. A welcome change to her morning routine.

By which she sits at her disk to commence sterilization has Thing retrieved a pair of rusted scissors Wednesday takes with a curt nod. He examines her wounds and must like what he sees since he pats her splintered thumb with his own in what she concludes is congratulations. 

‘This date of yours,’ Thing begins once she’s snipping away at the starch fabric. ‘I take it went better than initially expected?’

The cold metal rubs along her bruised skin. If only Nevermore hadn’t forced her hand on being administered a Tetanus shot. “Violent. Forceful. Every boundary ignored.”

He taps in surprise, though it’s rather reminiscent of sardonic glee.

‘An association not typically taken by Enid, no?’

“Not unless you involve a proper introduction to her hideous beast.”

The shirt’s snipped fabric pools to the floor. Wednesday rests her arm on the desk and examines the extent of injury to a so-so delight. Superficial for the vast majority, similar to paper cuts in the approximation of pain. Still… she can’t ignore her blood flow quickening at the marks left specifically by the omega - pompous mutt. A pity nothing sliced straight to the bone, excuses for self-cauterization. An entire limb ripped off and chewed by Jericho’s wildlife. Oh, well. 

Wednesday pulls out a few items from the desk and lays them neatly beside her.

Thing muses over this information. ‘You might recall that I spoke of leaving your diagnosis regarding insanity for her complete enthrallment. My sincerest apologies for not realizing you and her are quite well-matched.’

A bottle of carboxylic acid uncorked, Wednesday soaks a piece of the torn fabric in the substance before pressing it to her arm. Immediately, her skin burns. She wonders if she’ll finally succumb to poisoning, though likely not. She’s forced Pugsley into downing a bottle for nothing more than mild corrosion to his tongue. When the skin starts to numb she replies, “Cease your purple prose. This wasn’t due to Enid, this was due to her omega.”

“Even so, they’re the same are they not?’

…It did claim to merely be her ‘wild side’ or what have you. Instincts, Wednesday supposes. However, she can’t claim to feel any sense of kinship with the drooling alpha within her. An unwelcome visitor who set its home in her gut during a turbulent period and refuses to exile itself in any redeemable hope for dignity. If she’s to use the same logic in the application of herself, it’d be similar to saying the alpha is merely another aspect of herself. A shadow of sorts.

“In theory,” Wednesday relents after a moment, chemicals continuing to penetrate the barrier of her skin and disinfect. “But by all means it’s akin to Carl Jung’s theory of the ‘shadow’ which, does involve the individual, but is compartmentalized into hidden, unconscious desires and the repression of oneself. With the added benefit of an association with the wolf, it’s… in a completely separate category to what the average person is subject to. Animalistic, hungry.”

‘Nothing like what lingers within myself,’ remains unsaid.

Thing takes her claim in momentary stillness before, ‘I dare say you look the same.’

Saliva pools on the flat of her tongue. And it’s strange, stranger than what normality has permitted these past few weeks, but… she’s hard. Undeniably so. 

Some might say he speaks an unholy gospel.

 

---

 

“This is like… the situationship of the century,” Yoko so cutely concludes upon Enid’s word vomit having effectively covered the entire booth in her disgusting mess of total TMI. She’s pretty sure she hadn’t paused once in her incoherent rambling if Divina’s pinched brow speaks to being very much insufferable. Oops. “Carmilla might have her crown taken just yet.”

“Oh my— this is serious, damnit!”

In response, Yoko laughs at Enid’s annoying yapping. Dumb dog. Trying to scare what’s already dead? Good luck. Ugh! She forgets how easygoing Yoko is at the worst times possible - probably due to having more years under her belt than the entirety of their friend group combined for one, and for also being chained to a cubicle forced to learn Excel as a regiment to her vamp-family’s money laundering schemes. How that correlates to illegal activity Enid doesn’t know.

If Wednesday were here, she’d call Enid idiotic, incapable of human thought, before proceeding to take her worries seriously without making a stupid joke… wow, okay, Enid, shut up. Seriously, shut the fuck up. Don’t start acting like she actually ca—!

“I know, I know. But, jeez, Eeny. Color me damn surprised. Super surprised, even. I mean…” Yoko spares a too-obvious glance at her mate who is rather deep in thought about Enid’s disaster of a dating record. “...we sorta felt the weird tension since it’s only natural for us to ship you with those bottom of the barrel for shits and giggles; but, uh, never thought you’d actually be into the freaky-deeky.”

When Enid tries to process what she’s told there’s something similar to a computer error stalling any meaningful conclusion. She blinks dumbly. “What— what does that even mean?”

Divina decides to butt in around here with the helpful addition. “We never seriously thought Wednesday was your type. We were pulling your leg, ‘cause she’s kinda… the complete opposite of Ajax? Literally undateable? And considering Bianca was throwing around some crazy accusations after that Normie party we assumed you were being blackmailed or something.”

Enid’s head whirs. “Again, what—?”

“No judgment!” Divina continues quickly, Yoko nodding along in complete agreement. “Glad to know it’s all consensual, peace and love, whatever. We stan.”

With the confidence of a woman being presented with complete and utter bullshit, Enid takes a deep breath. Holds it within her throat for a moment, gulping. And, action!

“You guys seriously thought for the past however-fucking-long I’ve been blackmailed into what, being Wednesday’s sex slave, and you didn’t do anything about the fact!?”

Yoko’s lips purse in mild deliberation. “Well, when you word it like that…”

“We figured if it really was that serious you’d just maul her and get a Lifetime contract out of it,” Divina replies with a sheepish smile.

“And, honestly, less sex slave and more… actively abducted with a tracking device woven in her panties,” Yoko adds, as if that somehow explains their entire thought process in a bow-laced package.

Enid wrestles with the temptation to throttle the absolute shit out of her friends as fleeting emotions whip at her in incessant strikes. She might’ve just gotten brain damage. This whole time the entirety of Nevermore thought Wednesday has been taking advantage of her. Keeping her under lock and chain, literally and metaphorically. Putting actual tracking devices in her underwear!? She talked it over with Bianca after that whirlwind of a night, though! Practically made Wednesday out to be a lost saint smoothing over the turbulent accusations.

But, then again, it’s Wednesday Addams they’re talking about here. Like, maybe any other alpha could’ve walked away relatively unscathed (gained popularity, even) but not an Addams, no. Never an Addams. A reputation worse than the Black Plague - just the way Wednesday likes it. Goddamnit. Enid’s been so lost in her inner insanity she hasn’t been keeping up with the gossip scene like she once did, ignoring her frequent blog, losing interest in her too-many extracurriculars… jeez, no wonder people thought she got brainwashed. She might as well have a codeword to start acting like a whore starting with the letter ‘W’ and ending with a ‘Y.’

She can’t bring herself to care right now.

“Look… it’s not like that,” Enid begins, presenting her case with the firmness of an omega defending low-tier hookups. “I know she’s real weird, and kinda rude, and claims to be an expert in giving lobotomies whenever she’s threatening you, but she’s only been… decent to me. The most someone like her can be, which I like to think says a lot.”

Her mind drifts to the comforting warmth of Wednesday’s jacket thrown over her when she initially awoke this morning, a firm arm keeping her secure in Wednesday’s borderline (if not outright) cuddling. The blood shared between them. Sucking it out of her palm mid-orgasm. Defending her from Owen. Taking her out on a date - an actual date! Wednesday Addams decided to take her out on one because of a stupid fucking promise she made while half-asleep, drunk-numbed.

Her heart quickens and the omega licks into the possession itching into her bones, heady and ancient and inducing what might be a mild psychosis.

“And I almost took advantage of her last night.”

The clatter of the coffee shop’s happenings is a dull murmur in the heavy thud of her heart, ringing bells whining catastrophe amid her friends’ faces falling to the floor. Her omega purrs, satisfied. Conscience clear.

“What…?”

 

---

 

“Thing… I must study her omega; dissect every inch of its putrid form to learn what makes it tick, control what man should leave to nature’s instincts,” Wednesday whispers, silence in a breath’s singularity she can hardly bring to fruition. Her arm has numbed to the point of abstract ache. “I don’t believe her capable of wielding complete authority, thus the burden falls on me.”

What a delightful burden it is. Is this how those from millennia prior felt breaking down creatures as pastime? Tamed their instincts until all was left was Pavolian responses and submission to what designated it lesser? Weaker? Wednesday’s cock twitches. Her alpha cackles.

‘I dare say you’re enthralled by her.’

Wednesday scoffs. The fool. “Not her… It.”

Thing presses his finger against her wound, digging in and curling upward. She can hardly make out the cut of his nail pressing an indent. Loving reprimand. A passerby’s solemn judgment. 

‘Oh, Wednesday.’

 

---

 

Enid’s explanation of the night prior leaves a building pit in her stomach by the time she finishes - shame and guilt churning in acidic waves at how little she truly recalls. Mere snippets peeking through behind her bloodshot gaze, a parasitic feeling in watching something else wear her flesh and work her mouth to splatter Wednesday in spit-filled carnality. Her friends finally seem to be taking it seriously, too. Which, is good. Also, bad. It means it is a problem. She’s a problem. As per usual. 

Yoko leans back into her seat as Divina’s fingertip runs across the edge of her coffee cup.

“Welp, can’t say I’ve ever heard of a ‘date’ going south so quickly.” Yoko snorts though there’s no real mirth in her tone despite what’s spoken. So great. 

“And you don’t remember everything that happened?” Divina asks.

Enid shakes her head, shoulders completely slumped. “That’s the worst part; I don’t know how bad I screwed everything up, and the stupid beast isn’t exactly giving me any concrete deets, either. I’m terrified of the what-ifs.”

The blood shared in a dingy bathroom morphs into Wednesday’s bloodied body left behind like trash, like she doesn’t mean a single thing to this world. Coward. Sick.  

“I thought… she was dead, that it ending up losing control.”

Yoko sighs as she adjusts her glasses. Her head tilts with a little smile. “Knowing Addams - the same Addams that practically pops a boner when Bianca jabs her during fencing, might I add - that’s probably some grade-A courtship in her eyes. Maybe you’re just… I dunno, freaked out over spilled peanuts. I mean, you literally left her there in the aftermath, which, hilarious.”

“Not hilarious!” Enid huffs out, her fist shaking the table when it strikes down. She quickly forces it back in her lap. “I’m not just a borderline molester I’m also ghosting. No wonder Ajax didn’t wanna sleep with me!”

“Having the feeling the latter might be bothering you more than the former…” Yoko mutters.

“Yoko’s right.” Divina pauses. “About the overdramatic part, anyway. A little foreplay ending in gore probably isn’t enough to deter your fuckbuddy.”

“That’s not the point!”

Divina rolls her eyes. “Then what is the point?”

A question for the ages. So, Enid, why do we care?

“Because…” 

The answer should be obvious. Speak up. 

“I— I like her.”

So close.

“Like, like her.”

Almost there.

“More than I ever wanted Ajax,” Enid admits, a cork being popped, orgasmic released in her omega’s howl deep in the pile of guts sloshing around the enactment of birthed butterflies. Her teeth ache, salivating tongue. “And now… now any attempt at slowly worming my way in got ruined by this stupid omega! I’m the danger here, I’m the wild card who can’t control herself or it or anything which is absolutely insane considering the other person is fucking Wednesday!”

Her outburst, childish and cathartic, leaves Enid borderline mortified. Why is she admitting all this at the Weathervane? Her omega growls at her to be quiet, don’t ruin the moment.

And, eventually, Divina smiles. The corners of her eyes crease. Genuine.

“In conclusion, this is exactly why you need to chill the hell out. You’re right, it’s Wednesday. If she was so ‘horrified’ by you then I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale, right? And she’s not just gonna run away, either. Seriously? She’s not Ajax, she’s not you.”

Yoko snorts at the mild dig that Enid can’t even bother to deny by this point - glancing down at the table in shame. God, she’s a mess. And not the cute, aesthetic ones with beautifully tousled bedhead. A cool palm tilts her head back up and Enid meets Divina’s shimmering, drifting gaze. She smells of the beach, somewhere distant and undisturbed.

“If you want my input, omega to omega, I think you’re having some serious insecurity with your new dynamic. At the end of the day, it’s you. Nothing more, nothing less - and I’ve never known my girl Enid Sinclair to be scared of her little ‘ole self.”

Enid remembers wanting to devour Divina two years ago and her stomach churns. She smiles thinly.

“You’re a goddamn wolf. Act like it.”

Divina squeezes Enid’s jaw, reassurance in teasing, girlish delight, before settling back in her seat.

“Now that the sappy bullshit is outta the way…” Yoko grins mischievously, a casual arm around her mate’s shoulders. “...gossip time! Spill the deets on what a roll around the hay is like with an Addams. I’m thinking kinky. Yay or nay?”

Enid scoffs, unable to hide the rising blush and her omega’s laughter. “Seriously?”

“Seriously? Uh, yeah. C’mon, big or small? Maybe compensating with girth? Oh, maybe a cute little piercing—?”

Divina proceeds to shove Yoko away from her as Enid’s laughter rings in time with the omega’s, harmonious.

In the back of her mind, Divina’s words replay in a loop.

‘You’re a goddamn wolf.’

More like a goddamn liar.

 

---

 

Wednesday doesn’t dream… at least, never involving this.

The forest. Stretched shadows in spider’s silk looming ring around the bramble she’s lost within. No stars are out to offer guidance, only the whaled moon in an all-seeing, big brother resemblance stares back at her below - threatening to ‘pop!’ if she so dares exhale too deeply. Hippocrates once blamed the cause of insanity on the lunar’s influence. 

Consider this: humanity loves to pin its inherent madness to everything but itself.

Twigs hiss and snap as something draws near Wednesday. She’s no longer able to stand, hardly capable of feeling her numbed fingertips sanded to the nerve-twisted bone. And as her bloodshot weariness gazes beyond the hunched assortment her limbs have locked themselves in, an insect in withering death, there stands It.

Waiting. Wanting. Watching.

Her groin aches. It howls.

The scene shifts to artificial light mimicking the sunrise and corroded sterility. Wednesday’s steps echo in the quiet room she finds herself in, latex gloves snapped on tightly. Her head tilts at Enid looking right up back at her. But there’s movement behind the doll exterior, craning down to watch a lurking beast remain trapped within skin, muscle, bone. 

She places a hand on top of Enid’s chest and her ribs remain sturdy. Perhaps if she presses down hard enough it’ll be one less barrier to unleash such intoxication.

It laughs at her. Mocking. 

Try me.

Wednesday tests the weight of a nearby scalpel in her hand. It shines dully under the light. 

Enid’s thighs spread when Wednesday approaches. 

The alpha beckons to fall into worship. Wednesday tastes the scalpel’s edge against her fingertip and it easily glides through. 

The beast ponders, ‘Which way will you take me?’

A blade’s control or pleasure’s carnality?

“Why not both?”

 

---

 

Thing drapes a childhood blanket over Wednesday’s slumped form. Even those experienced in mind-numbing torture eventually fall susceptible to the body’s natural defenses. He finishes cleaning the wound, bandaging her arm with careful thoughtfulness in every precise movement. Upon finishing, he taps her twitching hand in a bid to, ‘Sleep well.’

May her dreams be repulsive… in sleep and the waking world. 

 

Chapter 6: Lie (Intermission)

Summary:

Familiar ruts, new justifications.

Somehow, by some inexplicable miracle, the day ticks away ‘til Enid realizes it’s time to face the music wrapped in barbed wire and tetanus. Her friends manage to distract her despite the constant probing if Wednesday bent her over at literally every location they ended up loitering around in - a resounding ‘God, no!’ despite sorta wishing she could say yes, yes, and yes. Really, she and Wednesday haven’t actually… done much truth be told; Yoko seems disappointed by the lack of true innovation she thought the alpha was capable of. Attempted murder and can’t even sling it properly. Enid tells her to stick with her outdated slang before she shows her age.

Yoko replies to fuck off, how about that for trespassing generational lines? Enid wonders if she can manage to goad Wednesday into more by sic'ing Yoko on her.

Her omega scoffs, as if. Whenever it’s getting to the good stuff someone wimps out and they’re back at square one. Enid’s fault, mostly. Which, yeah. She has to admit there’s a relief to be found by the slow buildup - at least somewhat combats her self-branding of bona fide whore. Then again, wanting to smother Wednesday with her tits and kiss every stupid beauty mark littering her dull face might classify her as a lovestruck slut. Keep it classy.

She likes Wednesday Addams. Isn’t that a funny, if painfully obvious, end?

Enid likes her so much, in fact, that it’s totally not causing her to drag her feet like cement blocks and a freezing river. The sun progressively gets dragged below the horizon and stars glitter their delight peering down at a child of the moon. So cool. She pointedly ignores the bloated rock, afraid to know what phase it’s in. Like she doesn’t already…

Alright, pep talk. Enid-to-Enid. 

The omega perks to attention, an unruly soldier at the ready. That’s not what she— okay, fine, whatever. It can join in, too. Despite sharing a room with the special someone you’ve been hooking up with and fell for and ghosting in the woods, which can be considered nerve-wracking, there’s no use in having it bring her down! She’s gonna have her head raised high and walk in like she has the right to be smuggling butterflies behind the wall of her ribs. Nothing bad is gonna happen. It’s not like Wednesday can read her mind (supposedly) and don’t the self-help gurus advocate for confidence, communication, and cherishment? 

She’ll be the first to admit it’s borderline comical how quickly that blows up in her face.

“This… feels like a bad time.” 

Wednesday regards Enid as she slips out of the remnants of rags that once claimed to be a shirt, her expression revealing absolutely nothing. Hair a bit of a mess, she has half a mind to believe the alpha only now just made it to the room moments before herself, but the bandaged arm and spilled chemicals speak a different tune. There’s the faintest reminiscence of sleep creasing Wednesday’s eyes, too. Which, whatever. A girl’s gotta sleep after being mauled, she gets it. No unnecessary ER trips. Not chic.

Off-topic, but is it bad this is the first she’s seen Wednesday without a shirt on? Considering the ratio of skin-to-cock reveals, probably. 

It’s not like she’s— okay, maybe she’s a littleeee toned; that effortless appeal from the holy grail of a generic lottery rigged in an Addams’ favor than any true effort, pale like of scars stretching and contracting with every even breath. Her breasts - which, like, she’s bordering on perverted boy status if she keeps going but here she goes! - are petite, almost cute. She doesn’t need a bra, not really, and the fact has Enid’s fingers itching, mouth twitching at the sight of Wednesday’s dark nipples…

Okay, calm the fuck down. Um, focus anywhere else. 

Her gaze drifts to the fabric strained over Wednesday’s crotch and she practically cries out at the irony of it all.

“Should I go? I think this is when I’m supposed to go. I’m gonna—”

“—stay,” Wednesday interrupts in clear command, her voice an awfully sexy husk from her time in the dirt. She glides over to her decrepit dresser to retrieve a shirt that’s the carbon copy of what she’d been wearing the night earlier, Enid’s eyes bouncing between the bandages needing a thorough rewrap and the way Wednesday’s stomach flexes like a blonde pinball. The omega, ever helpful, suggests the possibility of grinding their cunt against her muscles if they pin her to the floor much to Enid’s flushed-ear shame.

And it isn’t helping matters when Wednesday adds,” I’ve been awaiting your return.”

“I know…” Enid replies despite not actually knowing. The bitter sting of tears prick at the corners of her eyes when she, in sudden despair, cries out, “I’m— I’m so sorry for abandoning you in the middle of the woods to get eaten by wildlife!”

Wednesday’s fingers pause in buttoning up her shirt. She considers Enid briefly before, “That was your intent? I see… you do have your moments befitting courtship.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You granted me the opportunity to hunt, a rarity since my arrival.” Wednesday’s head tilts slightly. “Before my lackluster injury succumbed me to blood loss, anyhow. I haven’t slept worse in ages.”

Enid decides to ignore the majority of that statement. And when the copper builds on her tongue enough to start salivating, she blanches. “Wednesday, how are you acting so calm despite being a quarter-way flayed? Caused by me, let’s emphasize that.”

She’s whining, every syllable wobbling with her lackluster movements forward yet falling back. Wanting to be tugged closer and closer and closer.

Wednesday gives a quick once-over to her arm’s lackluster state under those poor bandages with the sincerity of checking for the time. “This is nowhere close to such an ancient art form. The skin has not been properly lifted for a complete, intact remov—”

“—please stop talking!”

Okay, this isn’t going well. Like, at all. First, Wednesday decides to torment her by looking so fucking irresistible despite her late night mauling and now there’s sticky guilt clogging her lungs and threatening to take her out. Which, maybe that’s the point? Psychological warfare or whatever? Enid Sinclair you are a complete and utter fool for what you did so take my tits as revenge. Erm, probably not. 

This entire situation is so stupid. She’s so stupid. Wednesday Addams acting like she hadn’t been personal witness to Enid being a literal freak is entirely, totally stupid. If, unfortunately, expected.

When Enid fails to deliver anything of substance besides the prologue to a neurological fuse short-circuiting Wednesday says, “Your sudden switch in demeanor is perplexing.”

“Um, same can be said about you!”

The battered tape reminds Enid of their initial argument only some weeks ago, a dividing line scuffed and curling from crossing over so often.

Wednesday raises her arm. “You react in typical hysterics to a weak-hearted wound, as if a branding of shame I must grit and bear. However, what I see…” For a moment, Enid swears she spots the flicker of a rare smile. She is losing it. “...is the proper conclusion to the callings of a so-called date. Ergo, quit your mindless fretting as I enjoy the carboxylic’s continuous burn.”

Somewhere around this point, Enid is reminded that this is the same exact person she begged and pleaded to suck off in a dingy bathroom. Maybe she’s the one feeling a shame branding, currently. Because, yeah, this is the person she’s decided has her heart skipping over chalk.

The omega asks why it wouldn’t be Wednesday? Enid sends the mental image of throwing it down a flight of stairs.

She fidgets with the fabric of her sweater. “I don’t… okay, look, why am I the only one freaking out about this? Last night was the definition of a Wednesday Addams boner-killer and don’t even try to act like that isn’t true!”

“Normally, I’d agree with such a banal conclusion.” A brief interlude of silence furrows Wednesday’s brow before, “However, my eyes have been opened to the various, disgusting possibilities presented with these adolescent activities I humored as pointless.” 

Wednesday takes a step closer. Her browline relaxed to reveal the outward pull of each eyelid from their usual slumping demeanor, mouth twitching again. “Last night has given me a breakthrough.”

“It… has?” Enid asks, her curiosity dancing to the thrum of her increasing heartbeat. This almost sounds like the start of a confession. On second thought, she isn’t going insane. This is a confession. It has to be.

Another step forward and Wednesday stands on the black tape that should’ve been removed long prior to this point. There’s a lightness to Wednesday’s scent not normally there, the remaining residue after a loved one’s cremation. Enid can’t help but perk up.

“Indeed,” she affirms, regarding her roommate carefully. Glass and paint. “Enid, I…”

Oh my God, she’s definitely in a fanfic right now because who the hell ever actually expected Wednesday Addams to confess to her roommate like this has to be some sort of dream after being roofied by Tyler for even daring to come to his shitty coffee shop—

“...formally extend an interest in training your beast to follow proper behavioral expectations; collared and muzzled as any canine should in the company of myself. It’s only natural that our symbiotic relations lead to my testing of it.”

—and on second thought, if this is involving Tyler in any capacity, then it should he considered a nightmare because… what?

There’s this hunger in the rattle of Wednesday’s low timber Enid’s never heard before, something other than dry monotony and tangled spider webs. The omega purrs deep in the root of her throat, rattling her ribs, egging Wednesday to try and catch it… which is giving Enid the distinct impression of being a third wheel. She probably should’ve expected this to be the outcome rather than some grand confession of undying love from the depths of Wednesday’s coal heart.

She clears her throat to unglue the omega (and her disappointment) from sticking to her voice. “And, uh, how exactly do you plan on doing that…?”

"The key to its surfacing has proven, with what data provided, your lack of emotional regulation. Thus, if I manage to achieve variables similar to the prior night's circumstances, I'll be granted yet another transformation, albeit partially. And, upon doing so..." Wednesday trails off, perhaps lost in thought, perhaps the implications need not be spoken aloud. There's a lot of assumptions to be made— too many, in Enid's opinion.

Her lips purse something fierce. While her omega preens at the shoutout given, almost parasocial - 'See, Enid, should've listened! I won the sweepstakes!' - she can't help but notice the pit settling (un)comfortably within her stomach.

Despite the omega's best efforts to see this as a net positive, Enid bristles.

"But, why? I mean, there's nothing special about that side— we're two sides of the same hormonal coin and you keep yours in perpetual chastity!" Enid's voice rises an octave, considering a theater audition. "Why can't we just, I dunno, put a collar on me and call it a fucking day!?"

Wednesday examines Enid as if she's grown a second head, shrill and squawking. Which, frankly, she might as well have. And when the alpha explains herself, Enid's reminded of being back in elementary school having the basics of division reexplained while she used the practice sheet as a tissue.

"There's nothing to gain from the presence of that inside myself. In truth, its dead weight to any meaningful analysis or true examination. Yours, however, is remarkably unique - unlike anything I've encountered. I knew not such existed until the forsaken date, a deep entwinement of presentation and wolfish blood."

Wednesday's dead eyes have a gleam to them, almost alive. It freaks Enid out.

"I wish to meet it again."

Enid's mouth opens, closes, mimics sirens beached on the shore. A single question dances on the tip of her tongue, 'And if I say no?'

Would it be the end of them if she refuses, Wednesday's first rejection? Funnily enough, the sex slave allegations might be proven if pushed, though that's more titillating than of any real concern. Which, setting aside for later. The omega growls and nips for her to accept the damn proposition - is she a complete idiot? Not its fault Wednesday wants to rut a litter into it, instead; some sickly cooed hum of, 'There, There.' for a truly lackluster performance. 

Lost the game you didn't even know you were playing. Aren't you supposed to be the social guru here, Enid?

"You'll still spend time with me, right?"

The omega laughs. No, you're really not.

Still, Wednesday takes a few meager steps forward, enough for Enid to sense the inexplicable warmth that radiates from those dead of heart, dead of skin.

“Of course,” she assures, and it’s a momentary relief before, “That was how I managed to bring it out in the first place.”

Oh. Right. She forgot. Silly Enid.

Alright, this is the perfect time and place to utilize a healthy sense of boundaries. 

'Actually, Wednesday, I'd prefer NOT to have only a fraction of me slutted out, please and thank you. I dunno if you know this but my self-esteem doesn't rely on you either way! Live, laugh, and especially love.'

"...okay!"

Her inner-omega side-eyes her. Goddamnit.

 

---

'Would you feel differently if I said I liked you?'

---

So, it's already weird.

She never understood the obsession people had with Edward watching Bella sleep circa 2008, but here she is living the fantasy with someone just as pale, awkward, and wanting her for something completely out of her control. The jokes write themselves, honestly. 

The entire night had consisted of her tossing and turning, hyper-vigilant under pulled eyelids with every dreamy outline of Wednesday sitting right by her side. No, not in bed with her - that's too far, clearly, but her writing chair pulled up as Dr. Addams, board-certified lunatic. She was scratching a new page whenever Enid briefly awoke, spilled ink in jagged strokes taking a swing at Xavier's specialty. Whatever Wednesday was noting Enid couldn't tell, hushed back to La-la land where nightmares spooned her the rest of the night.

Enid dreamt she was on the moon, obscured in shadows. Left to rot.

At least her subconscious has a sense of humor.

Come morning, however, Wednesday isn't in the damn chair for once in her life because she's standing by the foot of Enid's bed. An ornate, silver tray is gripped in her slender hands, balancing a week's worth of pancakes absolutely smothered in strawberry syrup. It's so outlandish Enid continues to stare where Wednesday had initially stood even as the alpha sets the tray down on her bedside table. And, with that introduction to the day's vibe factor, Wednesday proceeds to polish her collection of surgical tools.

"What's this?" Enid eventually asks, unclear whether the diabetes patiently awaiting her attention or the morning as a whole.

Wednesday admires the glint of a rusted scalpel under imagined sunlight, sluggish clouds behind stained glass. "Your breakfast. Do mind any heart failure in the next hour, I've put off my dalliances for too long."

Enid doesn't bother to ask about the relation of surgery to romance. Instead, she sits up in bed and carefully brings the tray onto her lap. The pancakes ooze when she taps them with a fork. Oh. Um...

"Thanks for that helpful clarification. Can I ask where my water dish is while I'm at it?"

"My, Enid, I wasn't aware we were moving on from the toilet bowl," Wednesday murmurs, dragging her blunt nail against the rust.

Enid smiles sweetly, fork continuing to gut her breakfast. "Mhm, next stop your mattress."

Wednesday can't even be bothered to give her a reaction. Ugh.

The next few hours continue on a similar, frustrating trajectory as Wednesday's intentions become abundantly clear real quick: make Enid happy. Code word for, 'Put out, already.' This might've been funny if one, Enid wasn't involved in the warfare, and two, Wednesday didn't have to be so fucking obvious. 

Because there's something to be said that it takes roughly a quarter of the day before Wednesday, having dragged Enid to the nurse's office with a feigned brain-eating parasite, turns to her and says, "You've been flat-lined since awakening."

Enid sits by the poor excuse of a bed Wednesday lies upon, a non-stolen variant of the rough nurse's blanket wrapped 'round her shoulders. Her arms are crossed, furrowed brow. "Why the hell are we even in here? You'd be rock hard if you were seriously going zombie."

"To summon the beast," is Wednesday's annoyingly curt response - daring to look a touch irked that her brazen displays of insincere flattery haven't gone anywhere. She gestures to the blanket Enid's huddled in. "I have not witnessed a single symptom in reference to such. So, I implore once more, why aren't you displaying joy?"

This would result in puncture wounds for literally anyone else. Unfortunately, Wednesday would love that.

Enid sighs, leaning back against her seat, burrowing further in the scratchy material. "You can't force someone to be happy, Wends. This isn't like the Chinese water torture your uncle subjugated you with during the holidays; it's kinda more complicated than that."

"I'm using more-or-less the exact parameters as the initial breakthrough." Wednesday's eye twitches, which Enid's gonna take as either a mild sense of frustration or an oncoming stroke.

"Okay?" Enid rolls her eyes. The blanket feels more like a noose than comfort the way this conversation is continuing. "Your weirdly out-of-character yet thoughtful date took me by total surprise. Manhandling me around campus, meanwhile, is bordering on a hostage situation."

Wednesday stills on the bed, launching into her mind space sealed shut by lock and key. Despite literally everything, Wednesday's complete cluelessness in the realm of like, actual social coherence is kinda adorable.

It's also kinda, painfully annoying.

Which is why Enid's tongue loosens into backwater ventures and panting for more muttering, "If you want it that bad then wait for the damn moon."

There has to be a better word for immediate, cringe-inducing regret upon Wednesday's reanimation at such a reminder.

"You're right," she agrees, which means the world is definitely ending sometime soon. "It's wasted squalor netting low-gain results while the full moon swears fealty - without fail."

Oh, God.

Wednesday's false diagnosis of a parasitic stage-five clinger is announced cured and ill-gotten when she abruptly removes herself from the medical bed, not bothering to spare Enid a singular glance to chew on for the clear departure.

"Adjustments must be made to our schedule. You're free until five."

And with that romantic segue, Enid's left alone in the nurse's office - only the passing scent of Wednesday's displeasure pressed into the cardboard sheets. Not that she sniffs them. Or cares to.

Either way, Enid frowns. It's not exactly fun when she can't tell who's the bigger dumbass between them. Then again, this might take the cake for frustratingly unserious alpha behavior.

But—! as the inner-omega so helpfully concludes, Enid is actually like, the biggest fucking idiot this side of Nevermore for biting the hand that's giving her such sweet attention. And Enid has to wonder, if she and the omega truly are two sides of the same grating coin, what the hell does it say about herself for ever accepting this treatment?

She doesn't wanna think about it.

 

---

  'Were you starting to feel something for me before it came and took your attention?'

---

“You seriously penciled out a blowjob?”

Five o’clock on the dot does Enid actually show up to their dorm for roll call, an obedient situation-not. Wednesday’s perfectly poised in her lame attempt at a throne, the ever-present writing chair (which has been suspiciously present in many of their sexual encounters now that Enid thinks about it). Her hands fold neatly in her lap. Enid pretends it’s to hide the growing bulge with her name tattooed on the side.

“The possibility of such matters,” Wednesday amends, too casually for Enid’s liking. “This exercise should prove straightforward if shame outweighs desire. Don’t move.”

She gestures for Enid to kneel with a tilt of a head held high without so much as a crown. Who the hell does she think she is?

…Yet, despite exasperation, Enid follows the alpha’s instructions. Shocker. Who would’ve thought? She kneels all pretty like, rough tape scratching against her blossoming skin.

With a hardly there exhale, Wednesday partakes in something Enid never would’ve expected from her in a million years: seduction.

She’s dressed a step higher than normal, though a step below her attire when Enid dragged her to that house party weeks prior. Wednesday’s thighs part, the stretch of pressed, dark fabric pulled between. Her fingers venture south to where the buckle of her belt shines dully, strangely teasing, which Enid can’t help finding borderline outlandish. 

Wednesday works her belt undone in typical, methodical diligence, removing it from the loops of her trousers to then place it on the desk behind her. And slowly, real fucking slowly… pops the button, a low hiss to her zipper pulled.

This isn't just seduction, this is purposeful seduction; seduction that’s actually, God forbid, working.

Enid shifts. The omega peers from behind her attentive gaze.
  
‘Don’t act stupid,’ she warns, met with the equivalent of a teenager turning their back to a parent. ‘You can’t control me!’

Slowly, must be a keyword today, Wednesday bunches her trousers and underwear down enough - oh, fuck, the underwear - in one fell swoop to expose the tip of her soft cock. Enid pouts at the unaroused state, licking the roof of her mouth as she imagines running her tongue along to excite the alpha into something less corpse…

Goddamnit. Her panties are already wet.

Wednesday tilts her head, “You give off the acute impression of pain, which proves rather queer when you’re not in my grasp.”

Enid’s cunt throbs, acting like she has a thousand butterflies shoved up her uterus. Fuck. No, bad dog! Bad… Enid? Whatever, she shoves the omega into a kennel as it drools hysterics over her thin-bare control. She schools her expression, whatever puppy look that made Wednesday appalled.

“Forced to kneel on a dusty, wooden floor isn’t exactly fun,” Enid deflects, shifting to prove her point. 

“Be grateful it isn’t stone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her thighs part to mimic Wednesday’s, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Does the great Addams sex dungeon also include long-winded foreplay?”

Wednesday scoffs, a glimmer of false amusement. “If an exchange less than a minute evokes the sentiment of ‘long-winded,’ we’ll have our work cut out for us, pup.”

Pup. Fucking, seriously? Enid’s hands brace the floor, keeping her upright, eager to crawl her way over and force Wednesday’s rapture. Clearly, she fell for some sort of ploy as the alpha tuts. 

“Did that evoke arousal? A simple, one-syllable term to express you’re far, far beneath me?” With no response, Wednesday sneers. “Pathetic.”

One minute, Enid’s perched and determined to prove herself not a complete whore and the next she’s dragged herself across the room to be head-on with Wednesday’s cock… no pun intended. She can’t tell if it was a part of Wednesday’s dastardly master plan to brand Enid as incompetent but she makes no comment, surprisingly. Sits there, still enough to be mistaken for rigor mortis. Take advantage of a dead girl and blow her before she’s completely rotted.

Jeez, she’s thinking like her now.

Enid brushes some of the stray hairs behind her ear ‘fore leaning in to give a kitten lick to the flushed tip. It twitches, slight enough to blame on poor vision. Not enough to prove anything. Wednesday’s still soft, much to mutual dissatisfaction, a casualty in biting it off if she’s not going to be appreciative of the sight in front of her.

She yanks the fabric down further to reveal more of Wednesday, with an involuntary smile at the notion that her roommate is more of a grower than a shower. Then again, it’d totally be on point for the Addams to praise the microscopic like old Greeks did. 

“Never took you the type to play coy,” Enid says, hot breath fanning over Wednesday’s flesh. Another twitch, desperate to have the congealed blood go south to be played and abused.

No response. Rude.

Fine, then. Enid decides, fuck it, just ‘cause Wednesday’s playing the silent treatment doesn’t mean she’s so much more in control than Enid. Deep down, where only sterile lights being split open on a gurney will see, there’s an aching creature just as desperate as Enid’s. She knows it.

And if Wednesday’s hellbent on dragging hers out, then… two can play at that game.

Without much fanfare, Enid leans in to take the head into her mouth, suckling. She presses her tongue to the slit and drags it across, wanting, craving, to taste Wednesday’s pre-cum. Wraps a hand around the shaft to squeeze the soft flesh, throbbing and hot as it begins to harden. Easy enough. No matter how much Wednesday acts like she’s so above fucking around with dumb girls like Enid, her dick proves a different story. 

“Enid…”

There we go, wasn’t too hard. Well, now it is. Wednesday’s always been good about keeping her tone cool and collected, and while now isn’t any different, her hips ever so press further to have Enid taking more between her lips. Not much - like, hardly noticeable. But Enid prides herself on the little things.

She works her with a firm hand, trying to squeeze the teases of a taste into something sustainable. It’s not exactly culinary, as if anyone expects such from Wednesday of all people - acidic as the type to burn your skin off greedily lapped as dogs do on hot summer days. Enid works a sloppy kiss to the tip, smearing her lip gloss in the process.

And, without thinking, Enid’s sharp fangs are out to play; she begins to nibble without a care in the world as Wednesday makes a strangled noise between the throes of a heart attack or attempted chloroform abduction. 

“Enid.”

Abruptly, Enid’s head is jerked away with a death grip. She whines, toddler and drool, some hint of worry she might’ve - quite, literally - bite off more than she could chew and nicked the alpha. Proven wrong immediately after as pre-cum drips and urges her to fight back for the right to indulge. Her omega agrees, fight against the hold, take back what so rightfully belongs to it. No, what rightfully belongs to them. 

If Wednesday didn’t threaten to completely scalp her from the clench of her grip, maybe Enid would’ve. She’s not sure if she can pull off bald.

A click of tongue. “My expectations were suitably low, yet you managed to go lower… impressive. Did you even attempt a fraction of self-control?”

“I—” Enid holds back another pathetic prologue to a temper tantrum. Craving, needing. “—I did try, okay!? I dunno what you expected from a wolf, Wends, but we’re not exactly known for self-control!”

The tiniest dent forms between Wednesday’s brows, perhaps scolding. Though something in her doll eyes betrays… mirth. Not the look whenever someone gets the answer wrong in class, or frightening Weems in revenge for the Jericho grounding - it’s more like a kindling of warmth. Maybe, like the embers before the fire completely goes out.

Enid’s left perturbed. 

“Wolf blood. Right, yes, to be expected of your species.”

Before she has a chance to analyze the ratio of passive aggressiveness in her roommate’s response, Enid is being forcibly maneuvered to the messy remnants of an unfinished game, smothered and wet in gloss and spit. 

“Continue your act of debauchery if directed by instinct,” Wednesday says. Permission granted.

More like command as Enid’s lips have barely parted when Wednesday’s guiding herself directly inside, brushing against still ridged teeth with a sharp, sharp inhale. It’s so fucking hot, every throb and twitch matching with Enid’s rabbit heart; Wednesday continues to push herself further and further until the tip grazes the back of Enid’s wanting throat.

It feels so right she forgets she’s supposed to be appalled, supposed to be choking.

Wednesday looks down on her, in more ways than one, from a shitty throne sat by many before her and many after with power given by an association taken and not earned. Delicately, Wednesday’s thumb runs across Enid’s hairline. A purebred on display.

“You were made for this,” Wednesday muses, fact without fictional. No need for the beat around bush of an I statement. “No sign of struggle, not a single contraction. A poor creature without an owner, desperate to sheath me. Nothing more.”

Enid moans.

Nail-split claws dig into Wednesday’s bunched slacks as her throat is used. There’s no way to describe it prettily, silk sheets and all. It isn’t fast, that’d be too easy, no, Wednesday takes her sweet time to suffocate Enid’s quarter-way virgin sensibilities; the long drag of her hips back out to then push it all in without pause. 

Objectifying, probably. Setting back rights if Twitter’s to be believed. 

Enid wonders if this is how the omega felt that night.

And it’s inevitable if this is how Wednesday would stretch her open, causing Enid to whine and beg and cry for more, more, more - fucking her into the mattress for hours on end. The imprint of her cock a constant reminder even when she isn’t inside. Drives her insane imagining it, no matter how hard she pleaded to yield the alpha wouldn’t. Use her like a fleshlight.

There’s a sudden, unexpected pressure against her cunt and Enid about sobs realizing it’s Wednesday’s leather shoe. She takes the invitation without complaint, rolling her hips forward with stuttered breath whenever it nudges her swollen clit. She’s so turned on it’s more than enough to rut her way into reaching the cliff’s edge promising orgasmic relief.

Enid’s eyes go lidded right around Wednesday’s blunt hold tightening, keeping her in place as the alpha goes right back to where they’d initially started. Her cockhead rubs Enid’s bottom lip, every small movement daring if she’ll cum on the flat of Enid’s tongue or all over her face. Enid can’t see Wednesday doing that, but months prior she never expected to be sucking her off either.

When Wednesday ultimately decides to break bread and allow Enid to swallow every last drop, she pulls her shoe back. Enid, maturely, bites down.

Wednesday, immaturely, pulls her cock out and ends up finishing on Enid’s face, anyway.

Neither says anything - despite the bite marks Enid left, despite her orgasm wholly and entirely ruined by Wednesday's asshole tendencies. Instead, the alpha leans forward and licks the tear that gathered underneath the curl of Enid's bottom eyelash. Then, gathers her cum with two fingers and has Enid suck. 

Enid can't tell who's actually needing the collar between them.

 

---

'Or does an Addams truly stand by their word?'

 

Notes:

Father returns with milk years later only to realize he forgot his cigarettes. My bad.

(Forgive me as I recall how the hell to write again).