Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a full moon tonight.

Enid Sinclair shouldn’t mind this. Most werewolves don’t. It’s a night of hunting, playing, and bonding with your packmates. It’s supposed to be fun and a chance to let your wolf side run free. Or, relatively free, if you’re spending the night in a cage.

But ever since the blood moon, Enid’s been feeling… strange. She’s felt stronger, more athletic, god, she thinks she’s even grown an inch or two since then. More than that, she’s been feeling these new instincts that seem to have awoken inside her.

She finds herself instinctually snapping at people if they get on her nerves and she’s clawed through more than a couple stuffed animals by accident. Her wolf is antsy and eager to protect her.

And apparently her friends, too. She literally growled when some douchebag tried to make a move on Yoko at a party. It shocked all three of them.

Worst of all, her appetite has increased tenfold. It’s been a bit embarrassing to explain to the cafeteria staff when she comes back for fourths.

Enid doesn’t even want to acknowledge what turning has done to her libido.

‘Sorry! It' s a werewolf thing’ has become a standard response for many things in Enid’s life.

After talking to some of the furs on campus, they told her this is probably a sign that her wolf is particularly powerful. Some of them even seemed intimidated by her and recommended that she talk to the werewolf professor in charge of the lupine cages before the next full moon. That scared her, a little.

So, she did. Instead of getting any comforting reassurance, she'd been told she was probably an alpha. High-risk, extremely rare, and very powerful. Extra special treatment on full moons, just for her.

“It’s going to be awful.” Enid puts her head in her hands. She’s currently sitting with her legs crossed on her bed, finishing a rant to Thing.

Thing pats her knee comfortingly. He signs, “[Won't be terrible. Other wolves there too.]”

Enid shakes her head. “Sure, but I don’t even get to see them! I’ll be locked up all on my own. I wish I could just stay here.” She looks like she might cry. She feels like she definitely will.

Thing looks around and grabs a vial of sparkly purple nail polish, holding it up to Enid. She nods sullenly and splays her hands out in front of her. Thing starts to paint her nails. It does help, somewhat.

Enid sniffs pathetically. She wants to just curl into a ball and turn here, in her bedroom with Thing and Wednesday.

But the school’s dorm policies don’t allow that. Plus, there’s a small part of Enid that’s scared of her own wolf. She glances at her pile of stuffed animals guiltily, then at the small collection of claw scratches that litter her bedframe. There’s a particularly deep collection in the headboard from when she nearly cracked the thing in half. She slumps a little more.

Thing pauses his movements. “[Still time until full moon. Try not to worry. Makes your skin bad.]”

Enid sighs and tries to relax. She can feel the wolf coiling up inside of her, preparing to be let free. She has about half an hour until she’s due at the cages for the night, but she feels like she could burst into fur and teeth and any moment.

Wednesday creaks open the door to the bedroom and spares a glance at Thing and Enid before stepping over to her desk. She sits down and starts fiddling her bag.

Since the blood moon, Enid’s also been feeling weird around Wednesday. She broke up with Ajax a few weeks ago, but couldn’t really give him a reason why. She feels her wolf coil even tighter in her chest as she stares at Wednesday’s back.

After a moment of unpacking her backpack and beginning to set up her writing tools, Wednesday speaks without turning around.

“Thing is being oddly attentive. Usually he’s only preening himself at this hour.”

Thing flips Wednesday off and Enid nods. “Yeah, it's just… I have to go into the lupine cages for tonight.”

Wednesday stills for a moment before resuming her fiddling with her typewriter.

“It’s kind of like a daycare for werewolves during the full moon. If the daycare was surrounded by gates and bars and had the vibes of a prison. Complete with chains and harnesses and muzzles for problematic wolves.”

The word “muzzles” comes out with a bite Wednesday didn’t know Enid had in her. Wednesday turns and slightly raises an eyebrow. “Sounds wonderful.”

She’s probing. Enid whines. “But it’s not, Wednesday! Being caged like an animal feels weird. The other furs don’t seem to mind it,” Enid swallows hard and feels that roiling feeling inside of her bubble up, “but my wolf absolutely hates it for some reason. They even said I might be an alpha.” She whispers the last part, still in disbelief.

“You hardly seemed like an alpha when you stopped and made those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes at me with Tyler behind you.” Wednesday’s voice is sharp and clipped.

Enid almost laughs, but the tears come back so she just lets out an aborted scoff. Thing finishes painting Enid’s nails and turns to Wednesday. “[Be nice. Not everyone enjoys solitary confinement.]”

Wednesday stares for a long moment, eyes moving between Enid and Thing. Enid looks up at her after she’s finished blinking away the tears threatening to fall. She almost looks like she feels bad. “I’m certainly not afraid of you, or what you might do. I find the stench of blood soaked fur quite pleasant.” Wednesday blinks.

Enid feels her face heat up despite the tears. “Thanks, Wednesday.” She breaks away from Wednesday’s piercing gaze. “Um, I wish the school felt that way.”

Thing taps the watch on Enid’s wrist. “[Almost time. Give it a chance. You will be fine. If not…]” He points at Wednesday.

“I’ve broken my Uncle out of plenty of prisons, a small time jail break like this would be nothing.”

Enid stands out of bed and grabs a cute sweater, before immediately putting it back. Better to wear something she’s fine messing up. She grabs a plain pastel pullover instead. She turns to Thing. “I’m probably just nervous because I’ve never been there before. Walk me down?”

Thing crawls up onto Enid’s shoulder and pats her comfortingly.

Enid tries to ignore the pleased rumble inside of her as she notices that Wednesday is also stalking behind her.

— 𓃦 —

The cages are already a cacophony of howling, rattling, and chatter when they arrive.

It looks similar to the entrance of a traditional movie theater, with a couple booths where people would buy tickets instead acting as bag check and check-in. There’s a large turnstile to the side where furs seem to be funneling inside and a hallway that leads elsewhere.

Unlike every other wolf on campus, this is Enid’s first time here. The way all the furs slide through the check-in and barely pay any mind to the variety of security systems at the front entrance is a bit overwhelming.

There’s a woman manning a booth who’s eyeing Enid curiously. Enid approaches and hopes she doesn’t look like a lost puppy. “Hi! Um, it’s my first time here. I’m Enid Sinclair?”

Her eyes widen. “Sinclair? You’re the… Uh, one second.” She leans back into her booth and grabs a walkie-talkie off a hook. She mutters something into it and nods at Enid.

Thing squeezes Enid’s shoulder comfortingly. Enid glances back at Wednesday who seems to be glaring daggers at the person at the booth. She glances at Enid with softer eyes.

“[Breathe. Your claws.]” Thing points down at Enid’s hands, which have indeed sprung into claws. She moves them behind her back and tries not to look terrified. She sniffles.

After a minute, a group of people wearing excessive protective gear come out of an adjacent door. They look like they’re ready to engage with a rabid dog. They’re looking around for someone.

Enid is about to greet them when—suddenly—Wednesday pulls Enid behind a nearby pillar.

“Wha- Um?!” Enid makes a strangled noise as Wednesday maneuvers her. Her wolf roils under her skin in a different way. She’s very aware of the way Wednesday is pinning her against the stone.

Wednesday looks pointedly at Enid. “Do you want to be here?”

Enid gawks. She shivers and strains to look around the pillar. There are heavy, booted footsteps echoing in the hall.

Wednesday snaps and Enid turns back. “Enid. Do you want to be here?”

After a moment of hesitation, Enid shakes her head. She feels pathetic and suddenly teary eyed. Wednesday glares. “Thing. Go.”

Thing scrambles off of Enid’s shoulder and immediately makes a mad dash down the hall. The boots follow in that direction.

“Follow me.” Wednesday makes an immediate 180 degree turn and begins to walk shockingly fast towards the exit.

Enid knows she should just turn around and go into the cages. She shouldn’t go after Wednesday. She should be a good werewolf and check herself in.

But Enid isn’t feeling super rational right now. Her wolf urges her to chase and she doesn't resist.

“What? Wednesday! I-” Enid whines to herself as she follows after Wednesday.

As Enid gains on her, Wednesday starts to speed up, running faster and faster. What the hell is she doing?

Their footsteps start to echo through the cavernous halls and empty corridors. Wednesday starts to run.

“Wednesday!” Enid can feel her wolf surging. Her hunting instincts are bristling just on the edges of her consciousness.

Soon, the two of them are sprinting through the halls of Nevermore.

Enid stifles an incredulous laugh as she hears Wednesday begin to pant.

Wednesday only manages to stay ahead of Enid because Enid is afraid to let herself run at full speed.

Enid gasps and nearly chokes on her spit. She can feel herself beginning to change. Her ankles start to hurt, prepared to make the switch to quadrupedal.

“Wednesday?! Um! I don’t- I- I have to go back! I’m-” Her claws are out, swinging around as she falters behind Wednesday. She swears she can feel fur bristling out under her clothes.

Wednesday looks back, just once, as she turns the corner to Ophelia Hall.

She’s smiling.

It’s subtle. Anyone else would probably just think she looked smug, maybe judgemental. But Enid can tell. She can see the dimple, the relaxed eyebrows. The slightly flushed cheeks. Wednesday is smiling. Is the idea of being chased by a werewolf really that exhilarating for her?

Enid feels breathless for more than one reason. Her wolf fades away and suddenly, she can’t feel it at all. She feels calm again. Still human. Barely. She starts to run again.

Wednesday makes it to their dorm door first and throws it open, running inside and skidding to a halt in the middle of the room. Enid makes it to the doorframe and stops.

“Wednesday, what the fuck?” Enid pants. Her claws are still out, but she no longer feels like she’s actively turning. Her wolf seems content to wait for a moment. Her hands curl around the doorframe, her claws carving thin shavings out of the wood.

Wednesday is far more out of breath than her, her lithe form unprepared for the exertion. She catches her breath before replying, “You said you didn’t want to be there,” as if that answers every question.

Enid can hear someone else coming down the hall. She steps inside and shuts the door behind her. “Wednesday, I can’t- This- It’s against the rules to stay in the dorms! I could be suspended!” Enid whisper-yells the last part.

“Good thing you’re with the most talented criminal mastermind in the county, then.”

Enid growls, caught between being angry at Wednesday, being angry at herself, and giving into the thrill of disobedience. The footsteps seem to be approaching their dorm door. She sniffs the air instinctively.

Enid yelps before slapping a hand over her mouth. “It’s Weems!” She whisper-yells again.

Wednesday snaps to attention and points immediately to their shared bathroom.

Enid follows her unspoken command instantly, rushing inside quietly and locking the door behind her. Enid steps into the bathtub and curls up. Her wolf has returned to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness with a fervor.

Enid breathes, focusing on her breathing and trying to not to make any noise. She can feel fur crawling down her arms again, her claws elongating further.

She covers her mouth as she feels her bones shifting and popping into their new places.

Enid whimpers. The wolf doesn’t seem to care.

She turns.

— 𓃦 —

Wednesday opens the door to Principal Weems, who miraculously looks both worried and irritated. “Wednesday Addams. Where’s your roommate?”

Wednesday’s response is calculated and immediate. “She’s visiting her family this weekend. Please take your inane questions elsewhere.”

Wednesday goes to close the door but Weems catches it, easily forcing it back open. “Not so fast. I know she talked to the cages already tonight. Do you have her in here? I’d rather not deal with the aftermath of an Addams and a werewolf spending a full moon together, thank you.”

Wednesday works her jaw. She hears something splinter in the bathroom. “She is… here.” The admission is wrenched out of her like bile. Despite her distaste with Weems, honesty seems to work better than lies. “She’s in severe emotional distress. I believe I can handle her better than the cages could.”

Weems barks a laugh. “You? Better at handling emotional distress? Let me escort her back. She’ll face no punishment if we go now. ” She begins to step inside.

Wednesday fumes and steps in front of her. “Weems. I know I have asked much of you over the course of my sentence. I am asking you now on behalf of Enid. Let her stay with me, here.”

Weems raises an eyebrow and stares at Wednesday.

“My family has extensive experience with werewolves. My great-uncle was one. I am more than capable of keeping her under control”

Weems narrows her eyes.

“... Please.”

Weems scoffs. “Addams, this is highly unprecedented. We have werewolves stay in the cages for the safety of Jericho and the safety of our students.”

Wednesday just glares up at her. She’s begged in the only way she knows how. The next escalation would be to offer a limb as a sacrifice. Though she doubts Weems would appreciate that.

Weems sighs. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong, you tell me immediately. Have that hand of yours ready to call for the staff. And I’m only allowing this because the school owes you two a debt.”

Wednesday begins to close the door on Weems, but she stops it just before it shuts. Weems looks Wednesday in the eyes.

“That girl has been through too much. I’d hope you know what you’re doing.”

Wednesday stares at her. “I always know what I’m doing.”

Weems finally leaves and Wednesday closes the door behind her. Thing slides inside just before the door shuts.

“Oh, Thing. Good news, Weems-”

A loud distinctly porcelain crack echoes out from the bathroom.

After some fighting with the locked doorknob, Wednesday throws open the door to the bathroom.

Enid is a werewolf. Wednesday obviously knows this. She’s seen Enid in werewolf form once before.

Admittedly, it was very dark and she was still recovering from a stab wound, head trauma, a bruised rib, and a myriad of other injuries. But she did see her, technically.

However, Wednesday has not internalized that her roommate with the personality of a golden retriever can turn into a hulking humanoid wolf with the power to rend flesh.

Wednesday stands frozen in the doorframe.

The bathtub isn’t in pieces per say, but there is a large mess of cracks stretching from one end to the other. Enid’s claws are pierced straight through the porcelain on either side.

She looks anxious until Wednesday makes eye contact with her. Enid’s claws release and she shifts around in the tub and stands. The remnants of her sweater and leggings slide down and into a small pile of strips.

Her ears swivel around. She can probably still hear Weems stalking off. She makes a low, keening whine. Wednesday nods, gathering the question. Enid immediately calms and her ears pin forwards, facing Wednesday.

Enid’s long tail hits the porcelain as she wags it. The thumps echo around the room. She leans over the tub and sniffs towards Wednesday.

Wednesday takes a hesitant step backwards as Enid moves into her personal space. Enid stops instantly and moves back, her tail wagging even as she looks apologetic.

Thing clambers in a moment later and crawls up the side of the tub. Enid sniffs towards him and lowers her head so that he can climb up onto her shoulders. He does and immediately starts scratching the base of her neck.

Enid’s thumping grows louder. She looks like a pleased dog.

Wednesday looks up at her. Even leaned over, she dwarfs Wednesday in this form.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice comes out with an uncharacteristic rasp. Wednesday shifts from foot to foot and then turns to leave the bathroom.

Enid steps out of the tub as carefully as she can and follows.

— 𓃦 —

Enid isn’t gone.

She’s just not totally in control. Her instincts take priority.

She can smell Wednesday’s pleasingly earthy shampoo as she follows her. She can see their shared bedroom. She can feel Thing’s soft fingers in her fur. She knows where she is, who she’s with.

If she were fully Enid, she would probably lock herself in the bathroom and hide until she turned back for their safety.

But the wolf likes Wednesday too much to care.

“Enid. Are you alright?”

Wednesday's voice cuts through her foggy consciousness. Oh, right. Enid was scared. She’s not anymore. She’s not really sure why. Her wolf feels calm now that she’s far away from the cages and muzzles.

Enid moves her head in a motion she hopes comes across as affirmative.

She can feel Thing’s fingers scratching the sensitive skin near her ears. She leans into it and flops down on the floor, showing Wednesday her lighter stomach fur.

Thing pats her on the head and then skitters off, moving towards Enid’s bed.

Wednesday shifts awkwardly in front of her. Enid has a hard time reading her roommate on a good day, she feels helpless now. Enid sniffs the air and flips back over, trying to get a read on Wednesday.

Wednesday’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Is there anything you require? My past experiences with werewolves have not been so… abrupt. Usually we lay out a plan beforehand.”

Enid scooches forwards on the wood. She wants to smell Wednesday’s shampoo again.

This time, miraculously, Wednesday allows Enid to move into her space. Enid sniffs her hands and slowly comes to stand as she sniffs a trail up Wednesday’s braids.

The earthy scent Enid caught before becomes clearer. She smells like rich soil and wet wood.

She’s careful to ghost over Wednesday, not actually letting her dark nose touch the girl. Even her wolf brain wants to respect that much.

Enid assumes this shampoo is supposed to smell like something dour, like a freshly unearthed coffin, but to her it just smells like a rich and inviting forest.

Wednesday lets out an exasperated sigh and glances away from Enid as she smells her. “Canines.” She grumbles.

There’s undertones of something else, though. Something floral?

Enid rises to her full height as she sniffs the top of Wednesday’s head. She stands a bit like a chimpanzee, hunched and uneven. Her wolf physicality isn’t quite made for bipedal movement.

There’s the faintest hint of sweet honey. Enid’s not sure it’s even from her shampoo. Too much time in the beehives, maybe. Enid’s tail wags unabashedly.

Wednesday looks up at Enid curiously. No, curious isn’t right. She looks intrigued, maybe? Enid’s head hurts a bit as she struggles to find the right word. It’s a face Enid has seen before, when Wednesday successfully follows the first lead on a new case.

Enid huffs and shakes her neck fur out a bit. Wednesday squints at the puff of air as it hits her.

“I can’t imagine why they felt the need to chain you up. You’re as docile as a common lap dog.”

Enid shouldn’t like being compared to a dog, but her tail continues to wag lazily behind her anyway.

Enid is fighting the urge to lick Wednesday’s face and tackle her onto the floor. Her wolf’s natural social instincts are strong and probably overwhelming for any human to receive, but especially for someone like Wednesday.

Enid sobers a bit at that and steps back, landing on all fours and moving around Wednesday. She’s still about as tall as Wednesday is when she’s quadrupedal.

If she didn’t know better, Enid might say Wednesday looked a bit embarrassed. She circles around Wednesday and sniffs again, smelling her back and then moving lower. Wednesday is stiff as a board but, miraculously, hasn’t stepped away yet.

Enid catches herself just short of sniffing Wednesday’s ass. Her wolf’s instincts are also, maybe, a bit inappropriate when mapped onto a human.

Thing loudly opens a drawer on Enid’s side of the room and Enid jumps out of her fur, swinging around to face the noise. She’d almost forgotten he was here.

He pulls out a hairbrush and waves it around. “[Your fur is messy.]”

Enid slinks over towards her bed where Thing waits. She lowers her tail slightly between her legs and keeps her head low, as an apology for forgetting about him.

Wednesday remains fixed in place for a few minutes before idling over to her desk and beginning to write something. Blessedly, she’s handwriting whatever it is. Enid’s not sure if the typewriter would be tolerable with her heightened senses.

Enid lets Thing pamper her and he brushes her fur out. As he does, she gets a good sniff. He smells nice, but the smell doesn’t linger in her the same way Wednesday’s did.

Enid relaxes, her wolf reveling in the grooming behavior. She’s never felt so calm.

She dozes off. Her wolf’s energy has calmed to a docile heartbeat, content and at rest.

— 𓃦 —

Enid wakes up as she starts to transform back. Dull pain arcs up her back and her hips. She makes a deep, growly, grumbly whine that resolves into a more human sounding groan.

Thing seems to be passed out beside her. Her fur lightens and fades and she stretches out her jaw as the muzzle recedes.

Transforming doesn’t feel good, but it’s not tortuous. It’s like a middling migraine combined with bad period symptoms.

Enid stretches out on the soft blankets of her bed as all her bones finally slot back into place.

“Okay…” She mumbles. She takes stock of herself. She’s laying face down on the bed, head buried partially under a pillow. No blood, Enid’s or otherwise. Seems like things went fine? No one died (hopefully) and she isn’t being lectured for ditching the cages.

Enid’s memory of her actions as a wolf are hazy. Scents and tastes usually carry over easiest. Pain, too. She remembers a pleasant, natural smell. Did she go into the forest?

“Wednesday?” Enid croaks out. Her voice is scratchy and still getting used to having human vocal chords.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s familiar voice is like a soothing balm to her overstimulated ears. “You slept for so long I was starting to think I might have the room to myself for the rest of the year.”

Enid nods into the pillows. There’s a deep soreness seeping into her bones that she’s trying very hard to ignore. “I feel like I got hit by a car. Um, did you let me go outside?”

“Of course not. Why would I let you go on a murderous spree if I wasn’t going to be there to watch?”

Enid hums. She trusts that Wednesday wouldn’t lie, but that smell still lingers in her nose. “Well thank you, Wednesday. Really.”

When Wednesday doesn’t reply, Enid drifts back to sleep. Despite the aches, she feels more comfortable and safe than she ever has before.

Chapter Text

The pair individually decide they don’t really want to bring that night up afterwards.

Enid’s memories of the events are hazy. She just appreciates that Wednesday was there for her and kept her safe.

The strange warmth she’s been feeling from her wolf around Wednesday hasn’t gone away, though, and she’s really trying to avoid reading into it too much. So, just easier not to bring up her wolf to Wednesday at all.

Wednesday, however, remembers every detail. Enid’s rippling muscles, razor sharp claws, massive incisors, and piercing canine eyes are burned into her mind.

She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. The overpowering strength that Enid holds, contrasted with her unerring obedience to Wednesday. It sends an embarrassing shiver of heat down her spine, like electric pulses causing a dead body to twitch.

Without consulting Enid, she begins to put a plan in motion.

Wednesday enters Weems’ office without knocking. The older woman doesn’t even look up from the folder she’s currently reading through. “Ms. Addams. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“To whom. I’m here about Enid.”

Weems closes the folder and drums her fingers against her oversized desk. “That stunt you pulled on the full moon was unacceptable. And don’t think I didn’t notice your maintenance request about the bathtub.”

“Enid will be in our dorm for every full moon from now on.”

She sighs. “Oh, wonderful. Why don’t I give you full reign of the school while we’re at it? I’m sure you could find a way to spruce up the halls with that dour style of yours.”

Wednesday just raises her eyebrows.

Weems makes an ugly expression, like she’s fighting with herself. “One condition. Chains, a muzzle, and a bar on your door. You need to ensure she can’t get out. And that she can’t break anything else.”

Wednesday tries to interject. “Don’t be—”

Weems raises a hand. “Addams, it’s that or we lock you in the cages too. I trust you’d prefer one wolf to a whole pack. She’s an alpha, we can’t take any chances. I’ll tell the staff at the lupine cages to give you the restraints.”

Wednesday grumbles, “You underestimate my collection of torture equipment,” and storms off.

— 𓃦 —

Enid steps up their shared dorm door with the dazed exhaustion of a student who had to take two midterms back-to-back on far too little sleep. Feeling her body prepare for the full moon tonight definitely doesn’t help.

Last night, she desperately wanted to get her beauty rest, but she just couldn’t calm her heart.

She kept getting flashes of different scenes her wolf had conjured up.

Enid, cuddled up beside Wednesday, tail wagging—

Enid, breathless and panting partly from exertion and partly from—

Enid, completely helpless to W—

Enid shook her head, trying to rattle the thoughts out of her head. In any case, her wolf is acting a bit excitable and it’s making it hard to keep a clear head. She’s starting to think maybe it’s worth it to go to the cages just to avoid anything awkward happening with Wednesday around.

Even stranger, that natural smell from the last moon still lingers in her nose. It brings her a rush of pleasantly calm heat whenever she smells it, but she still can’t place it.

She finally finishes unlocking the door and stares blearily at the sight before her.

Wednesday is on Enid’s side of the room. She’s holding a hammer and admiring something on the underside of Enid’s bed. Multiple somethings?

“Wednesday? What are you…”

Wednesday turns and rises to show Enid a thick chain connected to a leather cuff. Which is seemingly now attached to the floor under Enid’s bedframe.

Suddenly much more awake, a shiver runs down Enid’s spine. Her wolf burns in her chest. “W-what the hell is that? Did you hammer nails into my floor?!”

“I talked to Weems. You have permission to stay in our dorm for your transformations, but you need to be locked up.”

“Oh!” There goes her convenient escape from the object her wolf is fascinated with. “Great!”

Wednesday clears her throat before stepping away from Enid’s side of the room and retrieving something from one of her desk drawers. “There is also this.”

A black leather muzzle, with what looks like hard plastic or painted metal making up the cage-esque front portion. Wednesday is looking down at it reverentially.

“As much joy as it brings me to see someone properly and excessively restrained, I understand you likely feel no such affection. However, this was included as part of the deal.”

Enid really isn’t looking forward to this, but if she’s going to have to be chained up she’d rather do it here with Wednesday. Strangely, her wolf doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she’s just too exhausted for it to care.

“Okay… so how does this work? Did Weems give a curfew for when I need to be locked up by?”

“Once you start to feel the urge to snap my typewriter in half, let me know.”

Deciding not to comment on the fact that she feels like that most of the time, Enid takes a deep breath.

Trying to get in touch with her wolf, she taps on the edge of her consciousness where it’s been growing in influence all day. It eagerly and instantly springs up to respond, but she takes another shuddery breath and manages to soothe it again. For now.

“I can already feel the moon’s effects.” Enid mumbles, knowing that means she should probably do this sooner rather than later. “You’re going to help me, right?”

Wednesday has that weird, fascinated expression again. “Naturally.”

— 𓃦 —

Wednesday, unlike Enid, has no real excuse for the oddly obsessive thoughts she’s been having about her roommate. It’s not uncommon for her to fantasize about murder, torture, or even a touch of cannibalism. But lately, she’s been fixated on one person in particular.

It's weakness, really. Giving into the passions of the flesh. Wednesday knows this and despises the part of herself that finds this anything other than intellectually fascinating. It doesn’t stop the quiet thrill that rushes through her as she finishes tightening the first of the leather cuffs around Enid’s ankle.

“There’s four cuffs and a muzzle.” Wednesday says, sounding far less invested in the situation than she actually is. She pats the cuff she just put on.

Enid is sitting up on her own bed, slightly sprawled and leaning back on her hands while Wednesday fidgets with her ankles. The plush duvet has been removed, leaving just the white sheets and a few plain pillows. Enid is wearing an old, plain camisole and pair of shorts.

“God, why do I have to be some kind of freak mega werewolf…” She whimpers a bit. “Y’know, the other furs do get permission to be in their dorms for a full moon sometimes, they don’t have to do anything like this!”

She tests out the restraint by attempting to lift her leg. It gets an inch or so off the bed before the thick chain is pulled taught.

“Well technically that’s only because they’re in heat, but still…” Enid mumbles.

Wednesday busies herself with moving to the other side of her bed and beginning to affix the next cuff. “Not a fan of lying to get yourself out of the cages?”

Enid makes a guarded expression. “Wednesday, you have taken Intro to Werewolf Bio?”

She stills a bit. It’s horrific to be caught with a blindspot in her knowledge, even more so by someone like Enid. “I found Werewolf Biology far less practical than Necromantic Forensics.”

“Oh, that’s just like you, I should’ve known. Well, anyway, Weems would never believe that I was in heat.” Enid chuckles a little awkwardly and Wednesday finishes tightening the second ankle cuff.

“Lie back.” Wednesday commands.

Enid obeys practically before she can even process it. Her wolf seems over-eager in a way that scares her a bit.

“Hands above your head.” She’s standing by the headboard now, slightly out of Enid’s sight unless she strains to look at her.

“What?”

Wednesday just grasps one of the handcuffs now dangling from her headboard as a response. She decides not to tell Enid that the proper procedure for restraining a werewolf for a full moon is to chain them to a wall, or inside a cage. Certainly the procedure does not involve being chained to a bed.

Enid gulps and hesitantly brings her hands up above her head. Wednesday grabs her wrists firmly and brings them to the cuffs, quickly restraining them. As she tightens the leather, Enid winces.

“Um! That's a bit tight. I’m going to get bigger when I transform, remember?”

The way Wednesday is looking at Enid sends a cold shiver down her back. She’s suddenly extremely aware of just how vulnerable she is right now.

Wednesday does silently loosen the handcuffs, but only slightly. Enid, now with her hands and ankles both bound, chews on her lip anxiously.

Enid squeaks out, “I’m a little freaked out, can we slow down?” She’s hesitant to interrupt Wednesday’s machinations for reasons she can’t quite place. Her wolf is brimming just under her skin, yet feels at the same time too far away.

Instead of replying or slowing down, Wednesday opts to bring the muzzle that had been sitting by her side up to Enid’s face.

“Wednesday?”

With a painful tug on her hair from Wednesday, her head is moved to an angle that gives Wednesday access to finish affixing the muzzle. Given that the muzzle is built for a canine head, it mostly serves as an overwhelming, heavy extension from her face currently. The sensation of Wednesday tightening the straps around her head even tighter, combined with what the muzzle represents, nearly sends Enid into a spiral.

She sputters, “Wednesday!”

Enid is trembling and looking at Wednesday from her position on the bed with teary eyes and a red lower lip obscured beneath the muzzle. Her claws are out and she has a scared look in her eye. There’s something else there, too, though.

As much as Wednesday enjoys the sight, she sobers up and steps back. “It’s finished.”

Enid sniffles and tries to take a deep breath. Her wolf is heated—she can feel it pacing inside her—but it’s not primed to burst out and protect Enid. What is going on?

Wednesday sits on the edge of the bed by Enid’s feet, facing away from her. “I may have been acting a bit selfish. It won’t happen again.”

The statement catches Enid off guard. She’d been focusing on trying to relax in the restraints and summon an emotion other than pathetic fear. “Huh?”

It’s then that Enid notices a strangely pink looking tinge to the tips of Wednesday’s ears. She sniffs the air instinctually, her wolf trying to get a read on her.

A familiar scent suddenly swirls into her nose. Wet wood, dirt, and a hint of honey. She pulls against the handcuffs in an attempt to sit up more.

“The… forest…” Enid mumbles, flushing. She relaxes her head and squirms a bit in the restraints. A liquid heat starts to pool in her gut despite the situation.

“What?” Wednesday turns. “Has the wolf finally eaten the half of your brain that can form coherent sentences?”

“No! No. It’s just—that smell…” She hesitantly smells the air again, still getting used to the feel of the muzzle. How did she not smell it before? “It’s you.”

Enid is looking at Wednesday with amazed, dewy eyes. In an instant, she snaps out of it and looks mortified and shrinks into herself.

“Oh, frick, this is so embarrassing. It’s just the moon, I—Sorry, oh god, just kill me.”

She’s trying very hard to bend her knees or twist her body or do something in a futile effort to hide the growing bulge between her legs. Her shorts do little to help and Wednesday can’t help but watch as she writhes.

Enid gives up and slumps into the bed and lays there bound, beet red with her eyes screwed shut. Her wolf, now, decides to make itself more known. “I was worried this would happen.” She groans. “Just look away—leave me alone, I don’t know.”

Her wolf is getting increasingly antsy. It’s coiling like a spool of hot wire in her chest and beginning to spread a familiar itch across her skin. Enid’s breathing speeds up as she feels her joints ache and bones begin to grind against each other. She tenses and pulls against the chains instinctually as her body begins to change.

Wednesday isn’t sure what to do with this development. She definitely doesn’t look away. A disgusting surge of heat drips down into her belly at the sight of Enid’s arousal and transformation.

“Why now?” She half-heartedly groans through clenched teeth, before letting out a held breath and beginning to pant through the pain.

Within moments, where once laid Enid, now lays a beast.

— 𓃦 —

Except, it’s still Enid underneath the fur. Even more intriguing to Wednesday, she’s even still aroused. Much more visibly, now that her clothes have torn and fallen away in the face of the muscular form that grew from within. Her wolf form is positioned awkwardly, not able to comfortably lay in the same way as she was before, and she whimpers for attention.

Very reminiscent of a dog, Enid is staring at Wednesday and panting with her mouth open—or, as open as it can be with the muzzle on. A string of drool drops out of her mouth, hitting the muzzle on the way down to pool in her chest fur.

This is indecent. It’s really very inappropriate. Fascinated as she is, Wednesday is intentionally trying to avoid looking at the now very exposed genitalia in front of her in an attempt to maintain some amount of control over her mind. Seeing Enid bound in both human and now wolf form is enough to make her head spin like she’s suffering from near-fatal levels of blood loss.

Far too flustered to function, she grabs one of Enid’s blankets from a pile on the floor and tosses the thing over Enid’s crotch. It succeeds in obscuring her about as well as a layer of snow succeeds in obscuring a mountain.

Enid glances between Wednesday, now standing a few feet away, and the blanket on her lap. The wolf whines pathetically into the muzzle.

Wednesday can’t tell if she’s trying to communicate that she’s embarrassed or if she’s begging for attention. The tail wagging on the bed indicates she’s acting submissive, which Wednesday is forcing herself to interpret entirely as wolf behavior and nothing else.

“Enid, I’m not sure what to do in this situation. I understand you’re experiencing… bodily functions.” Enid responds with another long whine and makes a futile attempt to grind her hips into the blanket. Wednesday lets the words die on her tongue and releases a breathy, amazed exhale.

Enid is positively ravenous. Wednesday is, too, though she’d never acknowledge it.

“I can release one of your hands, so you may take care of yourself.” She’s being selfish again, really. Those claws are so powerful, it’s a tragedy to leave them entirely tucked away. Seeing them shatter porcelain last month was enough to set her stomach on fire.

As she steps towards the headboard and begins to unlatch one of the cuffs, Enid just watches her. Still panting, her eyes shine with an animalistic glow.

“There.” One of Enid’s massive paws is released from the restraint and she slowly lowers it towards the bed.

Enid continues panting and another string of drool drips down out of the muzzle. The growing wet spot on her chest fur makes Wednesday feel sick with desire to see Enid’s fur drenched in something more sanguine.

“I’ll excuse myself, of course—”

Before Wednesday can really begin to step backwards, Enid’s free hand whips out and grabs her wrist. Hard. The claws dig in, creating a snare around her comparatively tiny limb that threatens to pierce her radial artery.

Enid’s breathing slows dramatically, her grip tightening further and dragging down her arm. Wednesday is pulled a step closer towards the bed as pain shoots through her. Deep red blood blooms out from underneath Enid’s claws and eagerly begins to flow together and drip down onto the bedsheets.

Despite the blood loss, Wednesday can still feel blood rushing to her face, and elsewhere. Enid draws her hand—and Wednesday—closer to her mouth, seemingly trying to get a taste. In the process, the blood begins to smear into her fur.

Enid’s eyes glint dangerously and she begins to rub the muzzle against the wounds on Wednesday’s wrist. Blood smears into her face, turning her blonde fur red. She tries her best to lap it up, mostly failing to get her mouth wide enough.

Wednesday is left helpless as her wounds are deepened, irritated, and slobbered over. Glancing back towards the blanket poorly covering Enid, she notices the wolf attempting to rut against the blanket while continuing to work at her arm. Wednesday groans under her breath.

At the noise, Enid seems to come back to herself a bit. Releasing Wednesday’s hand—earning another groan as the claws pull out of the wound and a new bout of blood follows—Enid pulls her hand towards her chest. She looks apologetic, but simultaneously unsatisfied.

Wednesday brings her free hand up to clutch at the collection of gashes on her forearm and steps back. Blood seeps out and drips down onto the hardwood even as she tries to apply pressure.

“I—I’ll leave you.” She gasps out, feeling like her knees might give way beneath her for reasons unrelated to the exsanguination.

Enid whines as Wednesday turns on her heel and walks quickly to their bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

She leans back against the door and sinks down, panting and overwhelmed. The feeling of Enid’s claws digging into her, seeing the pure animal nature peek out at her: it’s all too much. It’s left her drenched in sweat, blood, and if she’s honest with herself, her own arousal.

Wednesday flexes the hand on the injured arm and revels in the pleasurable burn. Finding it impossible to resist further, she reaches her other hand down into her pants and begins to work at herself.

It doesn’t take much before she’s clenching around nothing and a broken moan forces its way through her teeth. Fresh blood spurts out of her wound as her heart pulses in her ears.

“This—” Still slouched on the floor of the bathroom and bleeding out, Wednesday gasps a few more times before finishing, “—is a problem.”

— 𓃦 —

Enid is so horny she can barely think. She stopped being able to differentiate between hunger and arousal a while ago. The blood drying into her fur and dripping from her claws calls to her like ambrosia.

She hurt Wednesday, though. She wants nothing more than to follow the bloody trail to the bathroom and comfort her, licking at the wounds and baring her stomach as an apology. At the same time, the thought of licking the wounds sends a jolt of heat to her loins.

The restraints hold fast as Enid tenses all the muscles in her body. Her free hand isn’t dexterous enough to release the cuffs, not to mention that she hardly understood how to do it as a human.

She whines and strains to open her mouth. If Wednesday smelled like a forest, her blood tastes like the product of a thriving hive within it. It clings to the inside of her mouth like honey.

Feeling her self restraint fall even further out of reach, she uses her bloody claws to rip the blanket off her crotch and grip herself desperately. The blood serves as a lubricant as her hand pumps up and down.

Using her enhanced hearing and smell, she can tell Wednesday is doing something similar in the bathroom. But really, the taste of iron overshadows all else.

Her knot pulses, desperate for flesh to bury itself in. Sweltering heat feels stuck in her stomach, growing by the second.

Growling and pressing up into her own hand, Enid finishes. Cum drips down in thick ropes and mixes with the blood now covering much of her chest and groin. It leaves her fur a sticky and matted mess.

Left bound and seemingly abandoned by Wednesday, she has no choice but to sit and whine as the juices cake into her fur.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the entire affair overshadows the remaining arousal and discomfort.

Enid falls asleep with the sweet taste of Wednesday's blood on her tongue.

Chapter Text

Wednesday doesn’t leave the bathroom for a long time. She hardly breathes, seated and leaning against the door stiffly. The wetness cooling uncomfortably between her legs combined with the blood now drying onto her skin paints an odd picture.

She imagines being found in this position post-mortem, like some kind of morbid artist's magnum opus. Consequences of petulant overindulgence, 2025. Bodily fluids on flesh. Her tattered forearm aches.

Wednesday moves to take a cold shower only once Enid begins to snore.

As soon as the water hits her, the chill seeps into every extremity and clings to her skin like frost. Far more comforting than the heat that refused to leave her, the cold now serves as a pleasant absence of sensation. She glowers at the red stained water circling the drain as her wound continues weeping for attention.

She feels empty. There’s nothing Wednesday hates more than losing her grip on her emotions. It’s a defeat she will never allow, not since her weakness was exploited as a child.

The pleasing burn of early onset hypothermia washes over her as her fingers and toes start to go numb.

Now that she’s taken a step back, her behavior tonight was—in a word—mortifying. A complete and utter submission to her most pitiful and indulgent desires. And for what? The fleeting thrill of forcing control over her best friend? She weighs that in her head until her teeth start chattering.

Unhappily, she turns the water off. Nude and freezing, Wednesday towels off and redresses herself in the same clothes (she didn't grab a clean pair in her haste). Then, she moves to start patching up her wounds.

Enid actually did a number on her left arm. The claws pierced her in five places on her forearm, deepest where Enid’s thumb dug in, and then ripped shreds down a few inches towards her wrist. Practically her entire arm is swollen and sensitive, further irritated by the attention the area was receiving.

With a simmering amazement, Wednesday recognizes that the wolf could have done permanent nerve damage had she been any more invested in doing so. She immediately cuts off that line of thinking and lets the cold still clinging to her form ground her.

Pulling out a needle and thread, Wednesday meticulously cleans and stitches up her own wounds with minimal trouble. They’ll take some time to heal and will probably leave scars. Small, thin ones, but scars nonetheless. She’s not sure how to feel about that.

Once she finishes, she finds herself in an odd position. Hesitant to go back into the main room where Enid remains, she just stands in the restroom.

Her self restraint has proved insufficient and unreliable. More importantly, Enid will have objections to what happened. Wednesday has used her selfishly before, but never without good reason. Setting that aside, Enid will be mortified that she caused Wednesday harm—the fact that both of them seemed to enjoy it is an erroneous element she’s ignoring for now. A consequence of the full moon, surely.

She presses her ear against the door, straining to listen to Enid’s sleepy muttering. The now familiar snoring rhythm greets her ears. Wednesday considers staging some kind of great escape to remove her from this situation entirely and be gone from Nevermore by morning, then considers the possibility of Enid waking up alone. Or worse, found by someone else.

She gently touches the still sensitive incisions. With a sigh, Wednesday sits down on the floor and curls her knees to her chest.

— 𓃦 —

Enid dreams.

It happens often enough, usually random ideas with their own self contained logic. Sometimes she’ll dream she’s a streamer or an architect or even the sensual right hand to a mafia boss. She’ll dream about being a wolf pretty regularly, too.

This time, though, the dream is nothing like her others. For one, she’s naked. For two, her hands are bound in fluffy pink handcuffs. For three, Wednesday Addams is straddling her hips, fully clothed.

But, well, if she’s really honest, it’s not that different from her other dreams.

Dream Wednesday has a hand on Enid’s neck and leans her weight onto it. Enid hears herself choke out a moan. A burning heat fills the space and the details outside of their entangled bodies are vague.

Enid grinds up against Dream Wednesday, chasing the small amount of friction that her thick skirt provides.

She blinks and the scene changes.

In the same position, they’re both coated in fresh blood. Enid is greedily gulping down a large chunk of something meaty and rich. Dream Wednesday, clutching at the bloody stump where her hand used to be, looks at Enid with nothing but adoration in her eyes.

When Enid’s stomach twists, it’s not revulsion. It’s—

Enid wakes from her sleep like she’s been shot. She’d bolt upright if she wasn’t still bound in three places to her bed. Her head is pounding and her limbs are sore from being in restraints for so long.

She’s soaked to the bone with sweat and… other fluids? She raises her free hand and stares, wide eyed, at the blood coating the entirety of her palm. Horrified, her eyes move down to her crotch and the red-brown-white mess that is her pubic hair and junk. She’s covered in blood and in cum.

“Wha—?!” Enid yelps a confused, embarrassed noise. Distantly, she’s relieved she’s not hard, but the rest of the situation is so shocking she can’t really appreciate that fact. The muzzle, previously secured around her head, now dangles loose around her neck. Looking closer at it, the thing also has blood caked into it. She can feel her head spinning. Was her dream just a dream? Had something happened when she transformed?

She squirms desperately in the binds. The cuffs are looser than when she turned, but still tight enough she can't easily get out. “Wednesday? Wednesday!?”

Enid can feel bile rising in her throat and she worries she’s going to throw up on herself. Before she can spin herself into a deeper panic, Wednesday throws open the bathroom door.

The sight of her roommate, hand intact, is like a cold drink in a heat wave. She looks frazzled, like she just woke from a restless sleep. “Enid?” Her voice is rough.

Enid takes a snapshot of the sight. Her wolf wishes they could fully appreciate how attractive the girl looks right now. Wait, what?

As Wednesday approaches, Enid notices fresh gauze peeking out from under the sleeve of her sweater. There’s blood soaking through the fabric in a few places and she’s holding it stiffly. She is injured.

Enid only has time to lean over the bed—at least, as much as she can—before her dinner forces its way up her throat.

— 𓃦 —

Spitting the last of the barf out, Enid is in the bathroom hunched on the floor beside the toilet. She’s still nude, but Wednesday draped one of her oversized hoodies over her shoulders. It smells just enough of Wednesday—a smell she’s so thankful to finally have a source for—to be comforting.

“Ughhh…” She groans. Her voice echoes into the bowl. When Enid threw up, Wednesday made quick work of the bindings and escorted her to the toilet. She made herself scarce while Enid fumbled around and finished emptying her stomach, presumably to clean up the mess she left on the floor.

So, Enid is alone in the bathroom. Her mind is flipping back and forth from the scenes she can remember from last night and the scenes from her dreams. She can’t piece together a timeline. Wednesday tied her to the bed, she got hard (Enid puts her face in her hands to hide her blush from the non-existent audience), and then her memories get all hazy.

She loathes her memory as a wolf. Last time, it was a pretty innocuous night she seemed to have forgotten, but now? She glances down at the blood and cum still coating most of her crotch and torso.

Maybe she does deserve to be muzzled like a dog if she can’t help but try and eat her roommate. Her wolf snaps back at her and she tries to ignore it.

Enid pushes herself up on shaky legs and steps into the bathtub. She knows that last time she wolfed out, she accidentally shattered the thing. Wednesday didn’t tell her until a week or two ago, when Enid finally noticed that the tub had been quietly replaced. She runs a hand across the smooth porcelain. The bill for this couldn’t have been cheap, but Wednesday just handled it for her without a word.

The girl is sweet to her. She knows it. She thinks everyone at Nevermore knows it, really—everyone except Wednesday herself. She’d never admit in a million years that she has a soft spot, let alone a perfectly Enid-shaped one.

But now, Enid has become a risk to her safety. She worries at the zipper on Wednesday’s hoodie. Taking a final inhale to savor the smell, Enid sets the hoodie on the floor outside the tub and turns the water on.

The warm water filling the tub quickly turns a nasty crimson hue as she washes away the blood and she has to scramble to grab a bath bomb before her nausea comes back with a passion. She throws a green one in (To cancel out the red! That’s how colour theory works, right?) and ends up sitting in what looks like brownish green swamp water. The bath bomb spits out a few random leaves and moss clumps to really bring the vibe together.

She sinks down into the muck and blows a few bubbles. It smells nice, kind of like eucalyptus, but it’s an uninspired thing compared to Wednesday.

Enid hears familiar stomping approaching the door, which stop just shy of entering. An uncharacteristically timid void speaks up. “Enid? May I come in?”

Had Enid not just been rescued from the most revealing position of all time, she might be slightly more embarrassed to welcome Wednesday in. The swamp water does, at least, obscure her body under the surface.

“Yea—” Enid clears her throat, which still seems to have phlegm from earlier stuck in it. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m in the bath.”

The door creaks open and Wednesday steps inside. She changed clothes in the time away, now wearing shorts and a black vest over a large white button up. A comfort outfit, save for the black rubber gloves she’s also wearing that look only slightly too large for her. She removes them and stores them under the sink tidily.

Now just standing in the far corner, Wednesday seems to be having trouble knowing how to proceed. She’s looking anywhere but at Enid and has one hand smoothing out the sleeve overtop the spot where the bandages are.

It’s a little cute, seeing her nervous. It’s rare, and usually only happens when she wants to do something nice and doesn’t know how to mask it behind her stony exterior. Or when she’s had her feelings hurt. Anxiety whirls in her stomach at the fact they’re going to have to talk about it. She sits up a little more.

“Hey.” Enid says. Her voice comes out soft.

Wednesday finally looks at her, but the eye contact doesn’t seem to help either of their nerves. She doesn’t seem afraid, which is good? Enid chews her lip.

“I must apologize—” Wednesday says. “—I’m sorry!” Enid blurts out, simultaneously.

The pair stare at each other, both confused.

“Wait, what? Why are you sorry?” Enid asks, cocking her head.

Wednesday blinks, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights. “I… took advantage of your vulnerable state and behaved with intemperance and indignity.”

Enid is just even more confused. “I hurt you, Wednesday! If anyone should be sorry, it’s definitely me.”

Wednesday swallows and glances away.

“Look, I think we should talk to Weems again and just put me in the lupin cages. I’m clearly a danger and I don’t ever want to hurt you again. I can’t be trusted and I even broke out of the freaking chains somehow, I don’t even know,” Enid is rambling on and she knows it, “I guess I am as dangerous as they say! My wolf is crazy, it’s always trying to get me to do things it wants, sometimes when the moon isn’t even full, which is a little terrifying, and it’s also like, really embarrassing that you had to deal with me apparently being horny as a wolf and I am so so so sorry.”

She buries her face in her hands to hide the flush creeping up her back. There’s an awful mix of shame, guilt, and regret filling her chest. She’s so stuck in her own head she almost doesn’t hear Wednesday say, “You didn’t break out.”

“Huh?”

“The restraints. You didn’t break out. I… released you.” It looks like it hurts Wednesday to admit that and her ears turn slightly pink.

“What? Why?! Wednesday, the whole point of them was to keep you safe!” Enid grips the edges of the tub and sits up further. Anger joins the mix.

“As I said, I must apologize.” She chews on her words for a while, “I am selfish. You know this. I noticed you were… excited and felt you would prefer to relieve yourself alone. I released you and in my attempt to step away, you grabbed me. Once you released me, I left you to your own devices.”

Enid’s face burns and the anger fizzles almost instantly. She mumbles, “that’s still, uh, my own fault. I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that for me.”

Wednesday doesn’t respond, just shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“Will you show me?” Wednesday gives her an odd look and Enid hastily clarifies, “Uh, the wound.”

She seems surprised. “Are you sure? It’s been dressed and cleaned, but it’s still fresh.”

Enid nods. She needs to see it. If her wolf can fight off hydes and put freaky dreams in her head, she can stand to see her own handiwork.

Wednesday steps closer and kneels beside the tub. Pulling up her sleeve, the extent of the damage is immediately apparent. The bandages wrap fully around Wednesday’s forearm and there’s blood visible staining the fabric in a few places. Enid whines.

She begins to peel back the dressings but Enid reaches out to still her hand. “Can I?” It feels important to her, somehow, that she’s the one in control here.

Wednesday blinks and her ears turn even more pink. Cute. “It’s may. May you.” Despite the quiet retort, she offers her arm to Enid.

Enid leans over the side of the bathtub and gently cradles her small wrist. “Well, may I?”

“Yes.”

With fingers only slightly trembling, she finds the edge of the gauze and peels back the adhesive tape holding it down. Carefully, like Wednesday is made of glass, she unwraps the gauze. Each layer that falls away reveals more blood and more sensitive, pink flesh.

Finally, she passes the gauze roll around for the last time and Wednesday is laid bare before her.

In a way, it’s beautiful. Wednesday’s stitches are all perfectly ordered, just like everything else about her. The thin red lines are jagged in places where her claws must have caught on unseen anatomy. There’s a bit of blood seeping out near the bottom, by her wrist. The skin is flushed red and swollen around the wounds, but not grotesquely so.

Enid tenderly places her hand over them, tracing the long scratches with her fingers in a tender approximation of the violent act. It’s now that she notices Wednesday seems a little breathless. It must still hurt.

“Sorry.” Enid says, half whispered. She doesn’t feel any of the usual signs that she might pass out or throw up, but there’s an odd tension in the air now. Her heart squeezes in her chest with sadness, and with love.

“It’s alright.” The words are earnest and Enid realizes Wednesday really means it.

— 𓃦 —

Wednesday is looking at Enid with a hooded, affectionate expression. Still nude—a fact Wednesday is trying very hard to ignore—Enid’s hands gently caress her wounds in a way that leaves a tender burn following her fingertips.

She can’t decide if she should explain the full extent of her predatory behavior. Enid’s guilt is misplaced, the only one who truly lost control was Wednesday and she has no convenient astral body to blame it on. The guilt looms over her like a cloud. Would revealing it bring relief, or just a different kind of pain?

“What’s wrong?” Enid asks, ever observant and far too good at reading her. She retracts her hands and submerges them into the oddly tinged bathwater.

If she does tell Enid, what would that offer Enid other than further discomfort and reasons to be afraid? She may want to switch rooms, or even drop out. She could attempt to file charges against Wednesday, if she were so inclined. These, too, are selfish reasons not to tell her, Wednesday knows. If Enid was faced with the full extent of Wednesday’s perversions, how would she react? To be odd on the surface level is excusable, but to her core? Enid has handled much of Wednesday’s oddities, but this may be too far.

Enid waits patiently as Wednesday thinks. Wednesday begins absent-mindedly redressing the wound.

If she doesn’t tell Enid, Wednesday alone must shoulder the crushing weight of the secret. Furthermore, if Enid were one day to find out about her impropriety from another source, it would only worsen the blow. The thought of this coming to a head as violently as her parent’s long kept secrets is worrying. Honesty is always the righteous path, however painful, or insulting, or excruciatingly embarrassing.

“There’s something I need to confess.” Wednesday finally says. She sets the gauze down beside her and pulls the sleeve back over the forearm.

Enid’s voice is soft and gentle, like she can tell how important this is to Wednesday. “Okay.”

“I convinced you to do something with me under false pretenses. The method in which I restrained you was not appropriate and that should have been communicated to you properly.”

“What do you mean?” Enid is genuinely confused, but still not upset.

Wednesday works her jaw anxiously. “I believe the methods I used are more commonly applied to… intimate situations between two consenting individuals. They proved sufficient enough, but the standard way for restraining a werewolf is just a cage.”

Enid brings her hands to clasp over her mouth, a sickening red spreading all the way from her exposed shoulders up her neck and to her forehead. Wednesday knows she must be similarly flushed.

“I coerced you into engaging in this with me and proceeded to overstep your boundaries even farther when I released you. Even if I had reason for doing so, it was a gross violation of your right to autonomy. I can’t apologize enough.”

“Y’know, I did think it was a little odd that, um, you chained me up like that but, I didn’t think…” Enid's voice is high pitched and the flush just intensifies as she trails off.

Wednesday steels her resolve. She’s already started, so now it might as well all come out. “And beyond that, I pleasured myself to the thought of yo—”

“WHAT?!” Enid yelps with an incredulous nervous laugh, cutting Wednesday off. “What? What?! What is happening? This is a dream, isn’t it?”

Enid slaps her hands over her cheeks, stiffens upright, and stares at the far wall.

“Wednesday Addams did not just admit to tying me up for weird sex reasons and then… and then…”

Enid turns back to look at Wednesday. She’s stiff, leaned over slightly, with her hands clasped in her lap. She’s preparing for the ultimate rejection and has closed her eyes in anticipation. Enid deserved to know, just as Wednesday deserves to be thrown to the street like trash.

Enid gulps and leans forwards, out of the tub, towards Wednesday. Wednesday feels a hand caress her cheek and her eyes open to find Enid’s own no more than a few inches away from her.

“I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you did that to me…”

She looks down at Wednesday’s lips in a way that makes heat erupt across Wednesday’s body.

“… or the fact that I kind of liked it?”

Enid tugs gently on Wednesday’s face and their lips meet. It’s a tender and heartfelt kiss and Enid pulls back not long after. Wednesday chases her lips for another kiss, then breaks away. Enid is breathless and somehow looks more surprised than Wednesday feels.

Wednesday’s eyes wander nervously and land on Enid’s now exposed chest. Enid’s gaze follows and she makes an embarrassed squeak, quickly bringing both hands to cover herself and sink back into the obscuring waters.

Wednesday’s mouth flaps a few times, words failing her, before she finally mutters “I… did not expect that. I need a moment.”

Enid makes a squeaky noise of agreement and Wednesday quickly exits the bathroom. Her knees feel a little wobbly and she sits heavily down onto her bed and brings a hand to feel the heat beaming off her face.

So, it seems there were actually pros of telling Enid the truth that Wednesday had failed to consider. Noted.

Chapter Text

Wednesday once again finds herself trapped between a rock and a stuffed unicorn. She calls herself brave, yet has run twice now from Enid. Her heart beats in her throat and a thrumming heat shoots through her like an excited parasite. She’s seated on the edge of her bed, foot tapping anxiously as she can hear Enid finishing up in the bathroom.

She ghosts a hand over her lips. Enid had kissed her. Somehow, that was only the second most shocking thing to happen in the last twenty four hours. The most was her own instinctual reciprocation.

Wednesday thought she was an anomaly—is an anomaly. A generation skipped by the horrific love plague that runs through her family. Her loins get hotter at the thought of a murder scene than a naked person. Intimacy has never been something she wanted nor needed, only something she pursued with clinical curiosity. Wednesday Addams is a pariah. This is something she has accepted.

But, undeniably when it comes to Enid, there’s a thrill that feels marginally more like the things her peers have been gossiping about for years. An infatuation. Something she’s never felt before. It scares her. She bites her cheek until she tastes iron.

Enid cracks open the bathroom door and looks out. Making eye contact with Wednesday, she smiles sheepishly and then steps out. Clad in nothing but one of Wednesday’s black towels pulled up to her chest, she patters across the hardwood floor towards her side of the room.

Wednesday can’t help but watch her as she does, appreciating the fluff of her freshly washed hair and the unshaven state of her arms and legs.

When Enid bends down to reach into a drawer, the towel hikes up to reveal more of her thighs. Wednesday averts her eyes politely. Looking instead at the back of Enid’s head, she notices that a pink flush is creeping up her shoulders and upper back.

“Enid.” Wednesday says. It startles her and Enid swings around to look at Wednesday. “We should have a more thorough conversation about our…”

The words die in Wednesday’s mouth as she notices the way Enid’s eyes rake over her form. Even from across the room, Enid’s attraction to her is suddenly impossible to ignore. Had Enid always looked at her this way?

She clears her throat. “Our relationship going forwards.”

Enid looks a little bit surprised, but nods. “Oh, uh, yes! That’s probably a good idea. Let me get dressed.” She grabs an armful of clothes and pads back to the bathroom.

Emerging a moment later and wearing a not-too-egregiously pink hoodie combined with egregiously neon green shorts, Enid walks over and sits on her bed. While Enid was heaving, Wednesday took the opportunity to clean up her roommate's bed and replace her bed sheets—in addition to cleaning the puke itself. There should be no blood, or other fluids, left. The chains have also been hidden away underneath and the muzzle returned to her own desk drawer.

Enid smooths out the fresh pink bedding and then looks up at Wednesday with a charmed, affectionate expression. “Thanks, Wednesday,” Enid says.

Wednesday just nods in acknowledgement. Unsure how to start the conversation, Wednesday starts tapping her foot again. Without a full night of thinking and drafting, she finds herself at a loss for words. This scenario is so far beyond anything she had allowed herself to imagine.

“So…” Enid says, starting it for her. “I kissed you.” Her face flushes a little.

Wednesday nods again. Luckily, it seems Enid has a bit more experience with navigating romance and relationships than her.

“And you kissed me back?” She prods, looking hopeful.

“It seems so. Admittedly, it’s not something I thought I wanted.”

Enid’s face falters. “Oh. Sorry, I— With the stuff you were saying I thought— Do you not want—”

Wednesday puts a hand up to calm her ramblings. “I did not dislike it. It’s just… not something I often think about. Romance and sex are low on my priority list, if they’re there at all.”

Enid thinks for a moment. “Like, you’re aroace?”

The term is unfamiliar to Wednesday and stirs up immense shame in her chest. To think there’s a term for her flavor of brokenness is uncomfortable. She’d rather exist alone and in the dark than surrounded by others who can only understand her on the surface.

“Well, that’s okay. It’s normal.” She kicks her feet, cheeks flushing a little. “You said you were… pleasuring yourself, though?”

A hot knife cuts through Wednesday’s composure and she feels her face heat up. She looks up at Enid, who’s leaning back on her hands in a pose far too reminiscent of a previous engagement, and quickly averts her eyes. “Y-yes. It’s… I am odd, I feel, in the way I engage in activities in this sphere.”

Enid’s voice comes out a little quieter, a bit more vulnerable. “That’s okay, too. I think I’m odd, too.”

Wednesday sighs. “I mean to say, I’m not sure how this—” she gestures to the two of them— ”works.”

Enid hums a contemplative noise. “How did it work with you and Tyler?”

The answer is it didn’t. Ignoring the idiot’s betrayal, their relationship was only ever surface level. Tyler liked her because he felt he could open her up, make her bloom like a flower. When it became clear she wasn’t going to—that this is all she is—he lost interest. She mumbles, “He didn’t try to understand me.”

“Oh, Wednesday. I’m sorry.” Enid says in a tone that would feel pitying from anyone else. Instead, the words squirm under her armor and nestle right beside her heart.

It's a small thing, but it makes Wednesday steel herself against the prick of tears. Wednesday would never cry over something so simple as a word of comfort. This particular topic, this side of herself she wants to reject and sort away like everything else, is more of a sore spot than she realized. She sniffs and bows her head slightly, letting it hang.

Enid is emanating kindness in a way Wednesday can practically taste. It’s another new feeling, to be cared about in this way. She is a stone monument with a poor foundation—too fragile to support herself, but too unyielding to let anyone help her.

“I worry I would drive you away by baring my desires. Or the lack thereof.” Wednesday admits.

Enid is staring at her with so much emotion Wednesday doesn’t even try to pick them apart. It makes something small and tired in her chest relax.

Enid pushes up off her bed and steps up to the halfway point of their room before stopping. She looks to Wednesday like she’s a stray cat and Enid is listening for a hiss. When she hears no protest, she approaches Wednesday’s own bed and sits down beside her. Their shoulders brush as Enid adjusts.

“I’ll always try to understand you,” Enid says. She adds, “Besides, I don’t think you could get rid of me if you tried.”

— 𓃦 —

Enid doesn’t hear a response from Wednesday for a while, but she knows that’s not a bad thing. She’s had to really get in tune with Wednesday’s many odd ways of communicating. Silence, in her way, tells Enid just as much as a word would.

While Enid might not personally understand the things Wednesday is trying to voice—the idea of being uninterested in romance or sex is not something she has experience with—Enid knows it's important to her. If they have any hope of being together, this is a conversation they should have. Her heart flip-flops in her chest at the thought they could be together at all.

She's playing with her hands in her lap when Wednesday scoots closer and leans into her side, letting her head rest on Enid’s shoulder. She really does remind Enid of a cat.

Enid’s wolf encourages her to rub her scent glands into Wednesday and she, ignoring that, remembers another thing they need to talk about. She really doesn't want to break the comfortable silence, but the way Wednesday is sitting also means Enid keeps getting lungfuls of that pleasing honey scent and it's getting to her head a bit.

“So, what do you know about werewolf biology, Wednesday?”

Wednesday sits up, but she remains close enough that their shoulders stay in contact. “I know that you have enhanced hearing and smell. You can see in the dark. Increased muscle definition, razor sharp claws and fangs, scent glands.”

She’s listing things that are pretty basic. Enid nods. “That's right. Um, what about… reproductive stuff?”

“I understand there are heats and ruts. You made it out like it was unimaginable that you could ever be in heat. Why?”

Enid feels herself both heat up and freeze at the same time. “So, for the record, werewolf mating cycles are way blown out of proportion by normies. It’s not like we become a slobbering animal that can’t do anything other than think about having sex. Most werewolves function basically the same as humans. They’re called betas. We undergo heats or ruts based on whatever hormone is dominant in our system, but it’s nothing crazy.”

She swallows back a bitter laugh. It’s not just embarrassingly intimate, it also makes that familiar dysphoric wound in her chest pulse. Perfect that her body had to betray her in every way possible. Her wolf tries to calm her in a hypocritical approximation of comfort.

“Er.. they undergo heats or ruts like that. Sometimes werewolves present as omegas. Or as alphas, like me. Even though I’ve been on estrogen for a few years now… um, because I’m an alpha, I’ll never have a heat.”

Wednesday is looking at her in a way that makes her feel like a frog on a dissection table.

“On top of being prone to violent transformations, and really strong, and really rare… I’m also…” Enid shakes her head, looking away.

On some level, Enid knows that she shouldn’t feel this way. She knows it’s fine that she’s an alpha and a woman. Cis women can be alphas, anyway. But it still makes her stomach twist. She wanted more than anything to be a normal werewolf and for a brief, wonderful moment she was, after she wolfed out for the first time.

Then she presented and it felt like the weight of all the expectations came crashing back down onto her. She swung from being not enough to far too much in an instant. She mumbles, “I guess I’ll have really intense ruts, and I’m really sensitive to smells, and my wolf is constantly trying to get me to act like a possessive weirdo. I just wanted you to know what you’re getting into.”

Finally looking back at Wednesday, she finds dark eyes peering into her without judgement. “Does your wolf desire me, Enid?”

The blunt question makes her jaw go slack. As is Wednesday’s way, though, it’s still a sidestep—the wolf and Enid are not so different that they should desire opposite things. Her wolf beats in her chest anyway, ecstatic to be acknowledged so directly by another person. “Y-yes.”

“Even knowing I may not be able to reciprocate in quite the same way?”

Enid turns towards Wednesday on the bed, bringing one leg up onto the mattress to let her face the girl entirely. She tentatively brings one hand to rest on Wednesday’s thigh. “Do you want me, Wednesday?”

Practically being side-straddled by Enid, Wednesday ears darken. She leans just a bit further towards Enid, eyes darting to her lips. “In my way, I do.”

“All of me?” It comes out a lot more genuine and desperate than she means it to be. She wants Wednesday to want her—to need her—and to cradle the parts of herself she’s ashamed of. Enid just wants. She’s so tired of being cast aside or treated as half a person.

Wednesday brings her uninjured hand up to the collar of Enid’s hoodie and grabs a fistful of the fabric. She pulls Enid towards her and presses their noses together. Enid can feel Wednesday’s breath on her face as she says, “Enid. I need you in ways I have never needed another person. I need you as a coffin needs a corpse. You’ve opened a box in my chest I fear will never be closed.”

Enid audibly gulps down the saliva pooling on her tongue.

“It will not be the same as with someone more… traditional. But I would have you, however you’ll let me.”

There are tears in her eyes now, but she doesn’t care. “You have me. You have me.”

Enid presses forwards and their lips meet. It’s a desperate thing: Enid is trying to deepen the kiss while Wednesday stoically refuses to let her. When Enid starts to lick at Wednesday’s lips, she pushes Enid back with a firm hand against her collar.

Enid repeats, whispered and beseeching, “You have me.” She knows she's crying now, but she can’t help it. Wednesday is not much more than a blurry blob in her vision as she blinks away tears. For once, her wolf’s strength over her feels like something she can handle—if Wednesday is there, grounding her, she can handle anything.

“You look beautiful when you cry.” Wednesday brings her hand up, releasing Enid’s hoodie, and reverentially holds the soft skin of Enid’s upper neck. Her fingers are tantalisingly close to her scent glands, which are tucked just behind the angle of her jaw. She wonders if Wednesday even realizes what she’s doing to her.

Enid just cries harder. She’s not even sad, but the emotional roller coaster she’s been sent on needs to be externalized somehow. The tears fall heavy and she can feel them dripping down onto her bare legs.

When Wednesday leans in again, her lips instead begin to kiss the cold trails left by her tears. Enid can only clutch at the fabric of Wednesday’s long shorts.

“Wednesday…” Enid whimpers. Her wolf is still coming off the high of being addressed and croons with its unspoken, erotic needs.

In an instant, Wednesday’s hold on her tightens like a steel trap. The pressure on the sensitive skin around her glands goes straight to her gut, making a tingling heat grow below her naval. Her claws spring out against her will, piercing small holes into Wednesday’s shorts.

Enid’s breathing quickens. She’s a wild animal caught in a snare. Wednesday is a hunter staring down at her, rifle cocked. She could easily break away if she wanted to. She doesn’t.

“I want to hurt you. And I want you to hurt me.” Wednesday says. Her steely tone is a stark contrast to Enid’s hiccuping breaths and yearning looks. “Does that scare you?”

The grip on her throat tightens. Her hand isn’t positioned in a way that could cut off airflow, but the pressure is intense and she can feel her own heartbeat pounding where Wednesday’s fingers press in on her veins. “I feel like it should… b-but it doesn’t.”

Why doesn’t it? It’s a question that Enid hasn’t been able to find an answer to. Last night, the bindings weren’t as scary as she thought they would be. She got overwhelmed, sure, but as soon as Wednesday’s smell hit her, all of those worries went away. More than away. Then, her dream. And Wednesday’s confessions. There’s a realization brimming under the surface she’s really been trying to avoid reaching.

Her wolf practically growls into her ear: She wants to submit. Submit to her violent and debaucherous impulses, submit to her wolf, and—more than anything—submit to Wednesday. It’s exhausting to keep herself tidy and boxed up like she’s always been told to.

It doesn’t scare her because Wednesday could never really scare her. It doesn’t scare her because it’s a comfort to know she isn’t the only one who dreams about eating her roommate.

“And… I think I want that too.” Enid says, quietly.

Wednesday’s hand releases and she pulls entirely back, standing from the bed. Enid’s hand—which is still clasped on Wednesday’s shorts—raises with her, preventing her from getting too far away.

She looks up at Wednesday, pleading for something. The heat in her stomach is growing, bringing a pleasant soft warmth to every part of her body. Enid wants more; she tugs on Wednesday in an attempt to bring her closer.

“Release me.” Wednesday says, leaving no room for protest. She does, bringing both hands into her lap to hopefully inconspicuously cover her bulge.

Enid slumps a bit. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize.” Wednesday re-situates herself, sitting back on the bed, this time leaning against the foot board. She’s farther than Enid would prefer her to be and her wolf begs her to crawl towards her. Wednesday says, “I want a biology lesson.”

“Uh?”

“You told me some about werewolf reproduction. I’m a visual learner.” That’s such a lie Enid almost calls her on it, but she isn’t going to pass up this opportunity. Opportunity for what, exactly? She’s not sure, but it’s something.

Enid pulls both her feet onto the bed—Wednesdays bed! She’ll never get over that—and sits cross legged facing Wednesday. Her hands remain clasped in her lap. “O-okay. I’m not, uh, in rut right now. I’ve actually not had my first yet… So I can’t show you that.”

Wednesday just stares at her. “Move your hands, Enid.”

Her face burns, but she obeys. With her crotch now unhidden, the stiff line formed by her junk is painfully obvious.

“Take off your shorts.” Wednesday says, sounding completely too unaffected for how insane that command is.

Enid’s brain almost stops working and she laughs nervously. “Y-you can’t be serious.”

One look at Wednesday’s face says she very much is. She twitches her eyebrows before adding, “Underwear too.”

Without letting herself hesitate any longer, Enid stands up slowly. Feeling incredibly exposed, she reaches to grab the waistband of her shorts and pulls them down a few inches. As she does, Enid notices that the dark brown ring of Wednesday’s eyes is swallowed by the black of her pupil.

She finishes pulling the garments down together and is left in just a hoodie and socks. She shivers from the cold, and the attention. Enid shakes her foot so that the shorts and underwear fall off, pooling on the floor.

“Can I sit back down?”

Wednesday’s eyes shoot up to Enid’s face from where they were lingering and she nods. The lack of correction on her grammar tells her Wednesday must be farther gone than she seems.

A little breathless and still feeling a pleasurable tingle in her thighs, Enid sits down across from Wednesday. This time, she leans back on her hands and spreads her legs wide, anticipating what Wednesday will ask for next.

“It’s different.” Wednesday says. She’s talking about Enid’s junk, which is obvious because the girl’s eyes are practically glued to it.

Enid twitches under the focused gaze—Wednesday lets out a held breath at the sight—and feels the heat becoming increasingly hard to ignore. “Y-yeah. A bit. Werewolf thing. Humans have a slightly different… configuration, I guess.”

“I mean, it’s different from how it looks when you’re transformed.” Wednesday clarifies.

Wednesday saw her crotch when she was transformed and remembers it well enough to know it’s different now? The realization sends a splotchy flush all down her upper thighs and she bites her lip. She really wants Wednesday to touch her. She squeaks out, “Yep.”

Wednesday continues staring for a while longer before looking Enid in the eyes. “How do you refer to it?”

Self-consciousness rears its head in Enid’s chest. She closes her legs just a bit and mumbles, “Uh, I mean it’s still a penis. So… It's just called a penis. It doesn't look that different… Does it?”

“No. No.” Wednesday twists her face up. “How do you refer to it?”

It clicks. Wednesday is asking how she should refer to Enid, the terms that make her comfortable. Even though they’ve just voiced desires to hurt each other, Wednesday is still kind in the ways that matter. She relaxes again. “Oh. I just call it my junk. Or my crotch? I don’t know.”

Mercifully, Wednesday finally decides that it’s time to close the distance. She slowly moves forwards on the bed until she’s kneeling between Enid’s spread legs, close enough that Enid can smell her, but not actually touching yet. They’re about eye level like this.

Distantly, she’s glad Wednesday isn’t a werewolf—she’s sure the horny pheromones that she’s producing would be suffocatingly thick. Enid gulps and bows her head submissively.

“May I touch your junk, Enid?”

The word “junk” falls out of her mouth clumsily, like she’s never said it before. It’s so charming that Enid almost wants to laugh, despite the intimacy. She makes an amused huff—

Wednesday, not actually interested in Enid’s answer, suddenly reaches out and cups Enid. It knocks the wind out of her lungs and she has to tense every muscle in her body to stop a pathetic moan from escaping. The heat that had been simmering flares and her breathing stutters.

“F-fuck…” The touch is gentle, not where she needs it most, and isn’t particularly exciting on its own, but it’s still enough to have her ruined in an instant. It’s then that Enid notices that the hand cupping her is Wednesday’s injured one. She has to snap her mouth shut to avoid drooling.

“Fascinating.” Wednesday mutters, manipulating her in a way that feels clinical. She’s leaning down slightly to inspect Enid. “You have a bulbus glandis, even now?”

Enid is hardly there enough to register that what Wednesday just said is English. She just makes an affirmative, “Mhm,” noise and watches the hand with eyes half lidded.

Apparently not a good enough reply, Wednesday brings her other hand to grip Enid’s thigh. The nails quickly dig in and she whimpers, feeling the pain shoot right to her crotch. “Answer me,” she commands.

“Yes! Yes, we have a bub——bulb—” Her mouth is not cooperating enough for this level of enunciation. “A knot, we just call it a knot. It’s bigger when we wolf out, but all furs have them.”

Wednesday rakes her nails down Enid’s thigh, leaving white lines that quickly turn pink, then red.

“Nnh—S-sorry! I mean, not all furs, duh, just people with dicks. Betas and alphas.” She shakes her head and tries to press herself further into Wednesday’s feather-light touch.

The nails stop digging in, but remain resting on her leg. “Take off your hoodie.”

Enid flushes. Fumbling for a moment—jostling Wednesday’s hold on Enid’s crotch in a delicious, teasing motion—the hoodie comes off and Enid is left totally shirtless. No shirt, no bra. She was really antsy to talk to Wednesday and just didn’t feel like putting anything on underneath, okay. Wednesday looks pleased, at least.

Enid’s breasts rise and fall with her panting breaths. “There’s only two,” Wednesday notes.

“Yeah.” Enid has to catch her breath before answering further. She can feel desire building in her and Wednesday’s hand is still so tantalizingly close to giving her what she needs. “I think it's because we don’t have litters? No need for more if we aren’t having more young.”

Wednesday nods in understanding, then retracts her hand from Enid’s groin, earning a pout. “Where are your scent glands? I understand on canines they’re located around the anus.”

When Enid takes a moment too long to answer, Wednesday starts to try and investigate further towards Enid’s ass on her own. Quickly, Enid yelps, “They’re on my throat! Er- my jaw! My jawline?”

Maybe too eagerly, Enid leans forwards and ducks her head further, angling it so that the sensitive patch of skin is exposed to Wednesday. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, just an ever so slightly raised, oblong patch of skin near when her jaw meets her ear.

“There’s one on each si—” Wednesday traces a finger over it and Enid bites her lip so hard she can taste blood. A moan still squeaks it’s way out of her mouth—she can’t help it, it feels fucking incredible. The scent gland is sensitive when aroused, part of werewolf mating rituals, or something. The logistics of it all seem irrelevant right now.

The calloused pad of Wednesday’s thumb brushes back over the skin and Enid can feel herself getting embarrassingly demolished, just from the light touch. The tingling feeling has spread through her entire chest and liquid heat is pooling just above her crotch. She sends Wednesday a mean look when she removes her hand again.

Enid’s wolf is starting to get irritated. The teasing is fun, it’s more action than Enid’s gotten in months, but she needs something and being led around in circles isn’t enough. She licks her teeth and a low growl rises in her throat.

Wednesday whispers, “There you are.”

Enid snarls, “Wednesday, please. I need…”

Wednesday’s hands come out and gently clasp her face. “I know.” It puts Enid’s nose very close to the bandages still soaked with blood and sends a heady whiff of iron towards her. She noses into the fabric and presses her face further towards the smell. Her mind feels foggy with thirst.

Without thinking, Enid reaches and grasps for Wednesday’s back, pulling them both into an embrace. She sticks her face into the crook of Wednesday’s shoulder and starts scenting.

“What are you doing?” Wednesday asks.

Enid doesn’t have enough brain cells left to reply. She just presses a growly kiss at the spot behind Wednesday’s jaw—where her scent glands would be, if she were a werewolf—before resuming.

Wednesday huffs affectionately and finally, mercifully, touches her. Enid can’t do anything but claw at the girl’s back and whimper. She can feel herself throbbing in Wednesday’s grasp and makes tiny rutting motions to encourage her.

The pleasing warmth quickly turns into a sear, pressure building in her crotch. Her claws dig into Wednesday’s back, she can feel hot blood soaking over her fingers.

When she hears Wednesday muffle a groan in her ear, she crests over in an electrifying, delicious surge of relief. Her heartbeat echoes in every vein, every part of her being unified in the experience of being tugged over the edge by Wednesday’s hand.

Every other orgasm Enid has ever had is dwarfed by this, and it’s not even close. All the muscles in her body go limp and she crumples into Wednesday. Her claws pull out as she relaxes.

Wednesday helps lay her down on the bed, somehow, and sits beside her head. Enid is exhausted and Wednesday is bleeding from new slashes on her back. The fabric of her button up is turning a pretty shade of red as it bleeds through. She seems okay, though.

Enid looks up at her blearily. She finds nothing but adoration in Wednesday’s eyes. And a bit of lingering curiosity. Enid smiles, “Go ahead. Ask whatever werewolf question you have.”

Wednesday says, “How long does it take for your knot to deflate?”

Leaning up on her forearms, Enid looks down at herself. Indeed, the knot at the base of her junk is swollen. It’s mostly hidden by her bush from this perspective, but she can feel it. She’s still pulsing from the aftershocks and has to put her head back down. “Not too long. Like fifteen minutes, I guess.”

She can’t tell if that answer makes Wednesday happy or sad. She opts to satisfy another curiosity, “You didn’t ejaculate.”

She chuckles. Enid is always caught off guard by Wednesday’s clinical vocabulary applied to such salacious topics. “Oh, that’s a me thing, not a werewolf thing.”

Wednesday nods and shifts awkwardly. The blood is starting to seep down onto the bed sheets.

“Do you want help dressing those?” Enid asks timidly. She’d hate to leave her roommate—Partner? Girlfriend? Situationship?—in pain alone, but she’s halfway counting on Wednesday saying Oh no, Enid, I’ve got this, let me handle it to spare her the sight of the fresh wound.

Wednesday turns to look at her with a small smile creeping onto her face. “I’ll fetch the smelling salts.”