Chapter Text
“Lurch? Be a dear, and go fetch the sasquatch carcass from outside. I’m sure the elements have tenderized the meat by now.”
Morticia stands in the center of the room, directing traffic in a floor length ball gown that accentuates every curve she has. She has a serene smile painted on a red mouth, the kind of smile that often accompanies hosting family dinners like this. Though some family members are more participatory than others. Pugsley dutifully sets the chargers and plates, while Enid follows up with flatware. Gomez sets the mood with lighting and whispered nonsweet nothings of ill-intent into her ear.
And then there’s Wednesday.
She stands with her arms folded several feet away but in Morticia’s line of eye sight just so she can get a view of her unhelpfulness.
With everything shaping up before her very eyes, Morticia finally turns her attention to her eldest. She glides across the floor until she stands before her. “Wednesday,” she says around that same smile. “Why don’t you get ready?”
Dressed in a baggy black tshirt of Enid's and black cargo pants, Wednesday stares up at her with clear contempt on her face at having failed to rattle Morticia this round. Enid tunes into their conversation but doesn’t look up from her task.
“Fine.” Her footsteps sound a little louder than usual as she crosses the dining room and foyer to ascend the staircase. She ventures into her childhood bedroom where the outfits she's chosen for the evening hang on a rotating rack. Wednesday eyes the dress for a long moment, before opting for loose fitting slacks and a grey button up shirt. She stands at the threshold of her closet, debating on a black bowtie, when her head snaps back. Wednesday's entire body stiffens and falls back as a vision takes her over.
When she comes to, she feels arms encircle her waist and quickly tug her into an embrace. Though Wednesday remains admirably stoic, Enid feels muscles beneath her skin jump and tense in surprise. “Howdy, Wednesday. See something you like?”
Wednesday's breaths are big bursts from her lungs in surprise. She ignores the question. "When did you get here?"
“Told you I’m a predator,” she teases.
She's present enough to roll her eyes and say, “You’re a puppy.”
Enid growls playfully and gently bites Wednesday’s neck.
With unerring accuracy, she agitates the mating bite she gave Wednesday a couple of years ago now, and feels her slacken a little in her arms. “Enid,” Wednesday mumbles. “Don’t start with me.”
Enid smiles against her skin as Wednesday slowly cranes her neck to the side. “Who’s starting?” She drags her tongue up the slope of Wednesday’s throat and over the bite.
Warmth extends in tendrils that flushes Wednesday’s face, down her chest, pools behind her navel and reaches as far as between her legs within the span of seconds. Her breath quickens. “It isn’t fair you can reduce me to this, and I can’t—” Her fingers clench and unclench in unspent energy at her side before her hands rise into Enid’s hair.
“So unfair, baby,” Enid coos in appeasement against her throat. “Quickie?”
“Yes,” Wednesday moans when Enid bites her again.
“Bed?”
“No.” She reaches forward to grab the doorframe for leverage then just says, “Here.”
Enid’s arm tightens around her waist as her off hand darts into her pants and slides past her waistband while keeping Wednesday pinned between her teeth. She cards through her until she feels soft wet flesh in her hand. She takes a moment to touch Wednesday everywhere, and feels her squirm. Enid’s arm constricts around her harder, and she moans at the applied pressure. With nowhere to go now that Enid has closed in around her, Wednesday leans her head back and succumbs.
“I had to have you,” Enid admits as she circles her opening and dips inside once to hear the gasp between Wednesday’s labored breaths. Enid drags her wet fingers across Wednesday’s clit and feels her entire body respond. “You’re so hot when you’re problematic.” She sets a quick pace from the beginning, and Wednesday thrusts forward to meet her. She bites her a little harder and growls at the sound of Wednesday's whine when sharpened canines sting more than usual.
"And you're—Enid," she moans when Enid dips lower and thrusts inside her without warning. "You're clearly near your rut."
After years of learning her body, she builds her up quicker than Wednesday would ever care to admit. Enid releases her hold across her waist and reaches across her sternum to paw at her breast. She undoes the clasp directly in front of her bra and reaches in behind the fabric to cup her in her hand. Wednesday bows toward the touch and groans in agony when Enid pinches her nipple just right. She becomes a funnel, a storm of whirling sensations that nearly make her knees buckle. Wednesday bites her lip as she nears, then says, “Deny me.”
Enid’s rhythm falters slightly in surprise. “You sure, baby? It feels like you really need it.”
Her sweetness only drives Wednesday closer. She grits her teeth against the rising tide. “I’m sure.” It’s whimpered out less firmly than she intends.
Enid's touch falls away, and Wednesday’s tense body vibrates and contracts with a ghost of an orgasm then she falls limp against the doorframe, panting. Her brow remains knitted in the aftershocks of something that never was. It satisfies in its own way that Enid will never understand as she leans onto Wednesday’s back, just as distraught. “Fuck,” she says in a drawn out breath. “Edging you edges me, Wednes.” She frowns. “I don’t like that.”
Wednesday smiles at the disgruntlement of her voice, but it carries the warmth of affection. Her pleasure truly is Enid’s and vice versa. “Of course you don’t. You like instant gratification.”
“Who doesn’t? Besides you, of course.” She nudges Wednesday’s shoulder until she turns around and levels her with an aware gaze in clear blue skies of her eyes. “Play nice this evening?”
It's a look of utter devotion and patience that makes arcs of rainbows alight in the furthest depths of Wednesday that she consistently struggles to minimize. “Enid," she says softly. She clears her throat then says, much more firmly, "I didn’t have you figuratively place me on edge—”
“Literally is what I would’ve said.”
Wednesday’s expression turns deadpan. “—It’s how your generation speaks.”
“We’re literally the same age.”
“Regardless, I don’t play nice.” Wednesday looks away in thought then meets Enid’s gaze again. “I don’t play at all. Unless it’s a game of Russian Roulette. Now let’s get ready.”
Wednesday steps deeper into the closet as Enid follows. “Not true! You played strip poker with me that one time.”
It takes longer than necessary, and an orgasm for Enid, before they’re finally decent enough to descend the staircase to the dining room. Enid’s put her hair up in two side by side knots kept in place by two pink hair ties that match her skirt and tights. Wednesday's opted for the bowtie that tops her form-fitting gray dress shirt tucked into black slacks.
“Nice of you to join us finally,” Morticia says while looking pointedly at Wednesday. She sits at one end of the table, anchored at the other end by Ophelia, rather than Gomez, who instead sits to Morticia’s right. Fester hungrily eyes the sasquatch from where he sits at her left, followed by Thing and Pugsley. Enid pulls up a chair beside Gomez and the one beside that for Wednesday to sit. After serving everyone a plate of food—to include sasquatch steaks and eyeball pasta with literal eyes that Enid can sense the fear in when she accidentally looks in their direction—Lurch plops down into the seat between Wednesday and Ophelia.
“Aunt Ophelia,” Wednesday acknowledges.
Ophelia grabs her knife and looks up from her plate. “Wednesday,” is all she says.
It’s as good as a greeting, to Enid’s understanding. They eat in relative silence, broken only by Pugsley's sigh of contentment once his plate is clear. He sits back in his seat. “Great meal as always mom, Lurch.” He reaches for Thing’s plate and his hand is slapped. “Well, how are you gonna eat it?” he asks.
“How dare you?” Wednesday says and Thing signs at once.
Something gruesome and unlike anything Enid’s ever seen before rises from beneath the table in a blur of green and snags the strip of meat dangling from Fester’s hand with an audible snap of its jaw. He giggles then claps his hands. “What a good it you are.”
Wednesday looks to Morticia. “Cousin Itt is here?”
Morticia’s and Gomez’s faces elongate in sadness for a moment. “Not this time,” he says.
Wednesday doesn’t appear as moved. “I’m surprised.” Her eyebrow rises. “Considering you cast a wide net for this family dinner and caught a piranha.”
Morticia Addams' Family Dinner nearly comes to a screeching halt.
Enid grabs Wednesday's hand beneath the table. "Baby," she stage-whispers.
"Wednesday," Morticia warns out of respect for dinner rather than her sister.
A clattering resounds in the room as Ophelia drops her utensils on her charger. "If you have something to say, niece, I suggest you say it."
Wednesday's head whips around to face her. "I don't think you belong here, as someone who made an attempt on my life."
Ophelia shrugs. "Do you not have a bomb strapped beneath Pugsley's chair right now?"
Pugsley's jaw drops and Enid's eyes shift nervously. "Like, right now right now?" she asks.
He moves to stand. "I wouldn't," Wednesday cautions without even looking in his direction. "Motion detection." She smiles a little smugly at Ophelia. "That's obviously different. He's my brother."
"Morticia's my sister."
"And we've long since agreed that any attempts on anyone's lives Ophelia wishes to make moving forward will be mine, not yours." Morticia's smile sharpens. "Now, let's finish our meal."
"Have no fear, mother," Wednesday says as she looks Ophelia in the eyes. "She has the fear factor of a toothless rat."
"Watch it," Ophelia says. Her cavalier attitude vanishes, replaced with a sense of foreboding doom.
Enid squeezes her hand, eyes wide with worry. "Wednesday."
Wednesday adopts a smarmy countenance, spurred by everyone's unease. "Worse than that. An earthworm that's been halved, stomped on, and left in the sun."
"That's it!" Ophelia's hand slams down on the table, and Thing and Pugsley jump. "I will not tolerate insult any longer, little girl." She grabs a stone from her pocket and it begins to shimmer as she rubs it with her thumb. "This is for you and your girlfriend."
Enid points to herself. "What did I do?"
"You think inhabiting each others' bodies was difficult, wait to see what I do to you." She stands and raises her hand high with the jewel in her fist, then throws it to the floor where it splinters into pieces that glitter across the marble.
Enid's eyes squeeze shut as she prepares for the worst. Even Wednesday's frown creases with concern. Morticia, long since abandoned hopes of a successful dinner, leans forward in anticipation along with Gomez, Fester, Pugsley, and Thing.
Nothing happens. Wednesday's grin only widens. "As I thought," she says. "No bark, and no bite."
Everyone looks from Wednesday to Ophelia when nothing happens. Ophelia gathers her bag and cardigan with a private smile of her own. Lurch stands and she holds a hand out. "Don't trouble yourself. I know my way out." She looks to Morticia. "Sister."
Morticia tilts her head in acknowledgement, and Ophelia exits.
In her absence, Morticia stands from the table. She glares at Wednesday. "Must you always poke?"
Wednesday stands and says, "She tried to kill me," in bemusement that this is up for discussion. "I do not owe her cordiality."
"Then how about me?"
"How am I responsible for—" She stops when Enid discreetly squeezes the back of her thigh. They make eye contact in unspoken communication for a long moment before Wednesday sighs and looks away. "Fine." She takes a deep breath then looks to Morticia. "Mother, I apologize for the faux pas I caused at dinner."
Enid stands beside her. "I'm sorry for your dinner, Mrs. Addams."
As usual, Enid's charm melts anyone's exterior, including any member of the Addams family. Morticia's frown melts upward. "Enid, darling, there's no need for you to apologize."
Enid offers a tentative smile to drive the enchantment home. Lurch rises from his chair with a low grunt that shakes the floors as he begins to clean the table. Wednesday gathers their items.
"Uh, can I get up now?" Pugsley asks through a voice that cracks under the weight of nerves.
No one answers.
Enid draws close to Gomez to further smooth things over.
"We know our little landmine, Enid," Gomez says. He pats her shoulder. "Don't feel like you have to excuse her behaviors. You'll spend your whole life doing it," he says with a hearty laugh. When Wednesday approaches, he kisses her cheek, and laughs anew when she recoils with a scowl. "Did you deactivate that bomb?" he asks. Before Wednesday can respond, he says, "Wait, don't tell me. I like to be surprised." Gomez grins maniacally. "Have a hellish night, you two. Do everything I would and more."
Enid pulls Wednesday onto the couch with her once they arrive home. She tucks Wednesday into her side and puts an arm around her as she zones out by scrolling through her phone. Wednesday flips the pages of the hundredth novel she's read this year. It's average slop that she could have written better herself, and Enid pats her on the head when she says as much. By the end of the latest page she's on, she feels a popping sensation in her ears. Wednesday blinks as ringing resounds in her head. It subsides slowly, but in its wake is the sound of everything, amplified. The A/C whirs loudly. The sound of the page turning is a paper cut to her ear drums. She even hears the faint tapping of Enid's thumb connecting with her phone screen as she scrolls. Wednesday shuts her eyes as each sound stacks on top of each other to create a discordant symphony.
She sits up abruptly.
"Going to bed?" Enid asks as Wednesday stands from the couch.
She nods with a thoughtful frown. "I'm wondering if something I ate at dinner didn't agree with me. I feel...odd."
Enid pouts in sympathy. "I hope you feel better. Let me know if you need anything?" She remains on her phone once left alone and smiles down at videos and memes on her screen.
Just as she stands from the couch, her head rods back and her entire body stiffens. Enid falls back into the couch as her vision blacks out. The next thing she sees is a hazy image that quickly becomes clear.
Wednesday rises from under the mound of blankets and pillows quicker than Enid can even comprehend, then globs onto her. One hand curls around Enid’s waist and the other cups the side of her face as Wednesday rests her forehead against her temple. Enid stiffens in surprise and uncertainty. “Wednesday…?”
“How have I not noticed all evening how divine your scent is?” She leans lower to bury her nose into Enid’s neck. Her hand soothes down Enid’s face until Wednesday hooks her thumb on the other side of her jaw for enough leverage to wrench Enid’s head to the side.
Enid grunts a little at the force. “So,” she drawls as Wednesday appears to bathe her entire face in her scent. “About what I was saying earlier about your aunt Ophelia—”
“Are you wearing a different perfume?”
She smiles a little. “No.” She shrugs Wednesday off and pulls away. Enid cups her face and just looks at her. Her skin is warm to the touch, almost scalding, and even as Enid stares into her eyes, she can see Wednesday losing focus.
Enid comes to in a gasp. She looks around the room to find herself alone and in a very different scenario than the one that took over her vision just a few seconds ago. She literally saw it with her own eyes, envisioned it. She ignores the heat creeping up her neck at the contents of her vision and what all of it implies. Enid gulps a breath then another as she stands, more cautiously than last time.
“Wednesday?” she calls out in a shaky voice as she enters the hallway.
“I’m right here.”
The voice comes from the bedroom, but it sounds...wrong. Audible, but much more muffled than Enid’s used to. So, too, are the general whirring sounds of the apartment. The continuous buzz of the A/C and fridge now sounds manageable, negligible. She walks in to find Wednesday on the bed under the blankets and a mound of pillows, even the multi-hued decorative ones Enid likes.
“I have a headache,” Wednesday mutters. “Everything is...too loud. Smells are too sharp. I think it’s a migraine.”
Enid shakes her head as she sits down beside her prone form. “No, Wednes, I think it’s something else. Look, about Ophelia’s spell—we—”
“I do not wish to discuss that hack a moment further,” Wednesday says firmly from under a mound of pillows. Enid catches every other word. “She attempted to scare us with hokey tricks, and it’s beneath me to speak about this any longer.”
“I wouldn’t say hokey,” Enid says. “Wednesday, you have to hear this—”
“Enid.” Her voice sounds a little pleading this time. “I do not wish to discuss this.”
Enid stares down at her. Gently, she pulls each pillow away until she sees Wednesday fully dressed in bed, which is already an odd sight. Her skin is clammy to the touch and her hair sticks to her forehead. “You’re really warm,” Enid observes quietly with a concerned frown.
“I told you it’s a migraine.”
“Not usually accompanied by a fever. At least, not yours.” She rubs her forehead and Wednesday sighs. She reaches for Enid’s wrist, and Enid gasps a little at how quickly she moves. Wednesday nuzzles closer.
“Is this...helping?” she asks in confusion, because maybe she’s imagining things. Maybe Ophelia’s a hack. Though not in general, and not entirely. Enid still refuses to turn her back on her in any given situation or room. But maybe she was only trying to scare Wednesday and, as usual, Enid’s the one who ends up an anxious wreck, perhaps mistaking a vivid fantasy as an actual vision.
Predictable.
Gullible.
Except…
Wednesday rises from under the mound of blankets and pillows quicker than Enid can even comprehend, then globs onto her. One arm curls around Enid’s waist and the other cups the side of her face as Wednesday rests her forehead against her temple. Enid stiffens in surprise and uncertainty. “Wednesday…?”
“How have I not noticed all evening how divine your scent is?” She leans lower to bury her nose into Enid’s neck. Her hand smooths down Enid’s face until Wednesday hooks her thumb on the other side of her jaw for enough leverage to wrench her head to the side.
Enid grunts a little at the force. “So,” she drawls as Wednesday appears to bathe her entire face in her scent. “About what I was saying earlier about your aunt Ophelia—”
“Are you wearing a different perfume?”
She smiles a little. “No.” She shrugs Wednesday off and pulls away. Enid cups her face and just looks at her. Her skin is warm to the touch, almost scalding, and even as Enid stares into her eyes, she can see Wednesday losing focus. “Oh, baby,” she tsks in a mixture of concern, sympathy, and amusement that can’t be helped.
Wednesday’s gaze sharpens a little and she frowns. “What?”
A second later, it feels as if someone’s taken an invisible sword fresh off the furnace to stab her through her core. She screams abruptly and curls inward in pain. Piercing pain singed at the edges with fire spread out in flames throughout her entire body. Wednesday screams again and has no idea if she screams any more when a ringing sound blots out her hearing. Her vision whites out and the only sensation Wednesday feels is excruciating pain.
Enid scoops her into her arms instantly. “I know, baby,” she whispers as she rubs Wednesday’s back. A dreaded sense of helplessness befalls her as all she can do is watch Wednesday writhe and rock in pain. It’s an eternity before Wednesday can hear her, before her face unclenches enough for her eyes to open. She gasps Enid’s name.
“This was my vision,” Enid says sagely.
Wednesday can barely keep her eyes open against the onslaught of pain, but she peers up at Enid and manages to imbue incredulity into her voice as she says, “Your...vision?”
Despite the situation at hand, Enid shrugs unhelpfully. “Tried to tell you,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Ophelia wasn’t all talk. Our abilities have swapped. I had a vision of this very moment when I was on the couch.”
Wednesday finally feels control enough of her once seized limbs to unfurl and roll onto her back. She groans through gritted teeth but it ends on a helpless whimper that calls to Enid. “And what is this very moment?” she grounds out.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Enid glances down to the strain beneath the zipper of Wednesday’s pants. “You’re in rut, Wednesday.”