Chapter Text
Enid shifts uncomfortably where she's perched on the end of her chair. The hard plastic seat was molded into a vague human lap shape and it provided a slight triangular lip at the front where. Where you could... press into, if you will, to relieve an incessant craving. She knew this was bad, she knew she should of called off class and said she was sick. It was a bad idea to come to class, let alone be in public, while this was going on.
She knew it would come soon, the lack of interest in... that, had been apparent for a good couple months. She hadn't felt the need or the want to engage in such activities lately which she knew would eventually lead to this. She even considered just masturbating frequently anyway to somehow prepare and hopefully lessen this event. But, as per usual, she had gotten distracted and hadn't given it another thought.
She was reaping the consequences now.
Another telltale sign of this coming soon was the wanton stares she received from every other werewolf in any vicinity possible. The more prominent, possessive wolves tried to grab at her, corner her and force her into a state of submission. They could smell the sickly-sweet heat radiating from every fibre of her being and they are instinctually drawn to it. She knows it's not their fault, but it doesn't lessen the objectifying hurt that pangs in her chest every time she is advanced on.
Thankfully, either Wednesday is stalking her every move or just instinctually knows when Enid is in trouble and exactly where to find her. Because each time she is approached, Wednesday appears around the corner, holding a silver dagger and looking vindicative. However strong the scent of an unmated bitch in heat, the looming presence of silver overpowers it by tenfold. And each time without fail her adversary flees without so much as another look.
Enid is so lucky to have a friend like Wednesday, her never dying bloodlust and devotion to her friends and family really comes in handy, most of the time. Not when she's actively trying to court someone, but oh well, you can't have everything. Her brief recount of her experience these past few days has, in some way calmed her down. She no longer feels the instictual, compulsive need to rut against the dip in her chair. But every other feeling is still there. She lets herself relax a little bit, her shoulders sagging inward. She tries to calm her breathing but that really doesn't help.
Enid knew how she must look. Disheveled and flushed, she looks like she's just ran a marathon - or worse, but more accuarately, been sexually aroused. For the past half an hour she has been busying herself with the intention of burying her entire body into her pink and yellow sweater and never crawling out again until she feels something cold and light press into the small of her back.
She instinctively flinches away from the contact, her back bowing and a small pitiful gasp quietly leaving her lips. During heat, it's like the sensitivity in every part of your body is amplified to ten thousand. Even the smallest touches from the most unlikely of people is able to send you into overdrive. She knows it's Wednesday's hand, small and delicate but with a purposeful force only possessed by that of Wednesday Fucking Addams - her roommate, her best friend, probably a psycho-maniac but that's a conversation for another day. When Enid makes eye contact with her, peeking one eye out from beneath her pile of vibrant fabrics, Wednesday is looking at her with a cold and calculated stare and it feels like her eyes are piercing into her soul, diving deep and resurfacing with every deep hidden secret that's buried inside her. But she can't find this one out, she can't. Wednesday would be positively appalled by this absolute lack of self-control and display of sexual arousal. Wednesday forbids all such emotion and conversation about this subject.
"You are experiencing discomfort." She states with a dead-pan expression. "What's wrong" She asks but not like it's a question, more like a demand that must be met above all else. She suddenly feels small and helpless under Wednesday’s gaze, not as she usual does but more mortifyingly, in a submissive way.
No, no, no, no. No. This can't happen. Stop thinking about her. Stop. That is Wednesday, she doesn't want anything to do with your heat not even in helpful discussion. Do not. Even. Consider. That.
"Enid" Wednesday demands more incessantly this time, pushing her hand further up Enid's back. It's supposed to be comforting, she thinks about the countless times she's tried to teach Wednesday that - 'Physical touch is the no. 1 way to comfort people', she's never seen Wednesday actually take her advice seriously, but she picked one hell of a day to try it out.
Enid manages to gather her thoughts enough to respond. "Mmh’s fine Wednesday, I'm fine" She manages a fake smile and makes an effort to look happy and relaxed. She shifts on her chair in her effort and collides with the plastic lump in the chair. Enid winces and her eyes roll back into her head, she blessedly managed to cover her mouth before any unwanted obscene noises could tumble out of her mouth.
"You are not fine. What ails you, I shall personally see it cured, and if needed - gruesomely murdered" Wednesday proclaims.
I'd like to see you try, the unwanted thought of a fully naked Wednesday straddling her with one delectably boney hand wrapped around her throat springs to mind and renders her speechless. She doesn't really want that, does she? From the way the lewd picture sends sparks of lightning down deep into the base of her spine and her rationale thinking is clouded by undeniable want, I think she does. Enid just stares at her, blush creeping high up her cheek bones. She knows shes shaking and it's not helping her plead her case of "I'm fine". What's also really not helping is the way Wednesday brings her cold fingers up to grip her chin. Wednesday tilts her head left, then right and finally brings it closer to her own. She lowers her voice until it is a barely audible whisper and says -
"You're in heat aren't you".