Work Text:
Wednesday Addams woke before the sun had fully risen. The dorm room was bathed in a grey wash of early morning light; the faint creak of floorboards, the whisper of curtains shifting in a breeze, the muted tick of the distant clock tower—everything felt as it always did: orderly, predictable.
She stretched stiff limbs, swung her legs over the bed, and padded across the room, bare feet whispering against the floorboards. Enid Sinclair remained asleep, tangled in blankets and hair, utterly oblivious to the world—or to what Wednesday had yet to discover.
At the vanity, Wednesday froze.
A dark, regular stain marred the pale skin just beneath her jaw, brushing the curve where a high collar would normally begin. Deep at the centre, fading to bruised red at the edges, it was tender beneath her fingers. She traced it with precise attention, brow furrowing.
Her fingers lingered longer than she intended, pressing against the faint ache. The memory came unbidden—heat, teeth, the slide of Enid’s breath against her throat. A rush of warmth curled low in her stomach, unseemly, unwelcome. Wednesday inhaled sharply, forcing it back down where it belonged. Indulgence was weakness; she refused to be hostage to it.
And yet, the evidence on her skin argued otherwise.
Across the room, Enid slept on, warmth radiating, blissfully ignorant. Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. Of course. Enid. Always taking up more than her share of space—even in mistakes.
Deliberate, precise, Wednesday marched across the room to Enid’s bed. She leaned over, looming like a wraith. “Wake up,” she said, voice flat enough to make a grown adult flinch.
Enid groaned into her pillow. “Five more minutes.”
“Five more minutes will not undo what you have done,” Wednesday said. “Rise. Now, Enid.”
Enid stretched, muscles pleasantly sore and skin still tingling from last night’s… activities, a lazy smile tugging at her lips as fragments of memory flickered back—but the sight of Wednesday standing over her, impossibly grave, erased every thought.
Blinking up at her, Enid tried to sound casual, though her voice wobbled slightly. “Uh… morning? Everything okay? You, like… look serious.”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. The light caught the mark.
Enid’s eyes went wide. A soft, incredulous laugh slipped out. She pressed a hand to her mouth, partly to contain it. The bruise was unmistakable, and the thought of Wednesday’s flustered expression sent a thrill through her.
Wednesday’s gaze narrowed, crease appearing between her brows. Arms folded, voice surgical. “Explain.”
“I… didn’t think it would… be that obvious?” Enid mumbled, failing spectacularly to sound contrite.
“It is a mark of your… enthusiasm, left upon my person without consent. Do you comprehend the audacity?”
“I—” Enid bit back a laugh. “…I think I might? Sorry?”
Wednesday exhaled, deliberate. “Sorry is insufficient. This is… intolerable. And inconvenient. I have class soon. I cannot be seen like this.”
Enid perched on the edge of the bed, a small, sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Okay… hear me out. We could… cover it with makeup. Just a little concealer. Problem solved.”
Wednesday said nothing. Her stare sharpened, colder, the kind that made warmth leak from a person. Enid’s grin faltered.
“Fine. A scarf then. People won’t notice. Stylish,” she added, shrugging.
Still nothing. Wednesday didn’t blink. The stare cut through her, a shiver prickling the back of her neck.
Enid’s grin returned, bolder. “Or… a snood?” she teased, recalling the old gift Wednesday had loathed.
Wednesday sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. “…Enid.”
“…I’m sorry, okay? I got carried away. I know you’re, like, super uncomfy right now, but… I kinda like it,” Enid admitted, biting her lip sheepishly, mischief lingering.
Wednesday’s jaw clenched. The images she had tried to bury clawed to the surface—her own traitorous body betraying composure, arching into Enid’s mouth as though begging for more. It was intolerable. More intolerable still was the faint flicker of wanting it again.
Her gaze snapped back to Enid, cold enough to cauterize. “If you cannot control your wolf, Enid… leash it.”
Enid’s grin only widened. “Don’t worry, Weds. Next time I’ll make it lower. Heaps lower,” she teased, leaning forward, daring without malice.
Wednesday’s gaze pinned her. “Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.”
Enid blinked, smirk faltering as Wednesday scowled, then stalked to the closet, pyjamas rustling softly as she dressed.
Enid’s cheeks warmed as she remembered. Her lips had pressed hard against Wednesday’s neck, teeth grazing just enough. Wednesday had arched into her touch, pulling her closer, fingers tangling in Enid’s hair, silently begging for more even as her expression fought to stay composed. She had ground herself against Enid, soft, desperate sounds escaping with each deliberate suck, and Enid had laughed quietly against her skin, teasing her through every shiver and flinch. Even now, lying back in the quiet dorm, Enid could still feel Wednesday pressing into her, moaning and desperate, every inch alive beneath her hands.
The spell broke with the sharp click of footsteps. Wednesday returned, fully dressed, uniform immaculate, sleeves crisp, boots polished. Despite the effort, the bruise at the base of her neck peeked faintly from beneath her collar. She stopped a few feet away, hand outstretched, rigid and commanding.
Enid blinked, cheeks flushed, snapping out of her daydream. “…What?”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened. “The snood.”
Enid swallowed, still flustered. “The… what?”
“The snood, Enid. Now,” Wednesday said, clipped, impatient.
Enid scrambled through her drawer, fumbling slightly as she held the snood out with a teasing flourish. “Here… good luck…looking scary and stylish at the same time, Weds.”
Wednesday snatched it with surgical precision. “Your delight in this will be short-lived. Retribution is inevitable.”
Flopping onto the bed, Enid propped herself on one elbow, winked, and let her grin linger. “Mhm. Funny… I don’t remember you complaining then.”
With a sharp scowl, Wednesday pivoted and left the room. Enid flopped back, chest fluttering, a victorious grin plastered across her face.
⸻
Wednesday sat ramrod straight at her desk, snood wound high around her throat despite the heat making the classroom feel like a furnace.
Bianca leaned over from the side, eyebrow arched, smirk crawling across her face. “Really rocking the… throat scarf look today. Bold choice for, you know, summer.”
Wednesday’s pen froze mid-stroke. She didn’t reply. Her jaw tightened, fingers tapping the desk like a silent storm. A faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her irritation.
Bianca’s smirk only widened, clearly delighted at having rattled her.