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Enid hisses from the pain when they finally tumble in the room and they both get swallowed by its darkness. It’s quiet. It’s empty. Finally.
They don’t talk much. They both go deeper into the room, not even bothering to turn on the light. Thing crawles somewhere on the floor and they can hear his clattering for a few seconds before he dissapeares under someones bed.
Enid falls on her bad with a tired sigh. She doesn’t care about the blood or the dirt or whatever else she is covered in. She tries to calm down her breathing; every rise of her chest is painful, every rise is dull and has her wanting to suffocate in this pain to not feel it at all. She wants to pass out under her heavy duvet. She wants to forget the day alltogether as if it was just a bad dream. As if there were no Hyde, no turning into a wolf, no scrapes on her skin.
She does want to remember one thing.
The ten seconds after when she got to hug Wednesday and forget all her worries and fears. Yeah, that would’ve been nice to remember.
The light turns on.
It’s just a lantern, really. It hovers somewhere deep in the far corner of their room, picked up by Wednesday’s hands. The werewolf doesn’t even bother to open her eyes to look at her. She just winces and turns her head away from the light source.
She hears silent steps going through the room, the door of the bathroom being opened and closed. She thinks that she will be alone for half an hour or so. Maybe she’ll think about the battle and the victory. Maybe she’ll think of nothing at all.
The door of the bathroom opens again not even five minutes later. Two at best. Maybe it’s the darkness’s fault, but Enid hears quiet movement just beside her bed.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
A minute passes. Maybe it’s just her imagination.
A creak.
The bed gives in under someone’s weight and Enid opens her eyes and turns her head a bit too fast wincing from the pain once again.
The lanterns is on her nightstand. It’s the only source of the light in the room. It’s warm and yellow, it’s offbeat for Nevermore and entirely too strange for the girl in its spotlight. Wednesday looks almost uncanny in its soft glim.
“Do not move,” she asks in a hushed tone.
She has first-aid kit in her lap, Enid finally notices. She’s too tired to really look what’s in there, but she gets the message and does the opposite of what she was asked to do. She sits up on her arms slowly. Then she tries to smile - and it’s more of a grimace, really. Enid gives up and turns her gaze away, waiting.
“You have to shower before going to bed, if you do not wish to turn your bed into a scrapyard.”
Enid rolls her eyes.
She feels slight burning a moment later. The touch on her cheek is cold and wet; she quickly realizes it’s just a towel. Maybe it’s the day’s fault, but Enid just sighs. If something like this happened yesterday, she would’ve been ecstatic about the fact that Wednesday Addams herself is sitting beside her, tending to her wounds with such care and concern.
A few minutes go by before emotionless voice cuts through the silence:
“Come with me.”
Enid doesn’t wanna go. Anywhere. At all.
She gets up anyway.
In a moment she sits down on the edge of the bathtub. The bathroom is too bright, the lantern was abonded on the nightstand. Enid keeps squinting her eyes, not even trying to get her eyes to get used to the brightness. She can hear the water running behind her - Wednesday probably started the bath just before coming for Enid. Now Wednesday seems to be deep in her thought, looking right through Enid like she’s not even there.
Enid tries to take off her shirt - in the brightness and whiteness of the bathroom she feels like a patch of dirt and blood, brooding the room with her presence alone. She fails to undress, the wound below her colarbone reminds her of its existence when she moves sharply. Enid hisses in pain.
Wednesday snaps out of her trance and without any words relocates herself to help. One hand. Then the other one. The head. The shirt comes off and now Enid sits there in her underwear. Wednesday is calm as still waters when she reaches her hand to unclasp Enid’s bra. The werewolf almost too late to react - she stumbles back, nearly falls into the bath.
“What are you doing?” she hisses out.
“I am not interested in your body, if that what concerns you, Enid. But we must cleanse you of this filth.”
Enid turns her head away closing her eyes and gives up. She doesn’t even know why it’s so easy to relax before Wednesday, but she does just that. Her underwear comes off her beaten up body, and she slowly steps into the bathtub. Wednesday doesn’t touch her, but she keeps her hands just under Enid’s. If she’d fallen, then Addams could catch her in time. But Enid doesn’t. She sinks in the water and hugs her knees to her chest. She hides her face, sighing when she can finally relax. Her breathing calms down.
This time it’s Wednesday sitting on the edge. She rolls up her sleeves with the same calmness and picks up a sponge. Soothing hands rub all unsaid worries off her body; they are careful around the cuts and bruises. Addams’s hands don’t even brush against Enid’s skin, too cautious to not scare the she-wolf away. Enid lets it all happen because she already knows: things like that don’t come to Wednesday easily, and it’s probably the first and the last time the raven would come this close to her. It’s a discount for one night - the night that she saved Wednesday’s life and earned being taken care of by her. Once upon a time kind of thing.
She sleeps without any dreams this night.
“You can’t leave our room.”
Enid frowns and the frown is tired and angry, not the one Wednesday is familiar with.
“Thing will take care of you.”
And she does enjoy his company, but Enid doesn’t want to be alone in the dorms when everyone is out having fun.
It’s some sort of celebrating for which Wednesday really doesn’t care. It’s been a month and a half since her vision of Enid’s death, the time was ticking away and her she was going crazy, not knowing what to do with herself and the vision. She still doesn’t know how to escape it.
It. The death.
Enid doesn’t get her.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she hisses through her teeth. Her attention is taken for a moment by notification on her phone; it’s Bruno asking sweetly when will Enid meet him today.
“Your capability is unquestionable,” Wednesday says. “There will be too many people. Strangers, too.”
Enid is getting tired of this conversation. It’s been going at least for 15 minutes already, and Wednesday seems to not understand that Enid is not a dog to sit down at request. She doesn’t need her protestion. She’s a powerful werewolf, with claws of steel and instincts of a predator.
Wednesday loses her nerves, really.
More than usual.
Thoughts are tangled in a mess, her fingers are shaking, she hasn’t slept for a few nights now looking for solution every moment of her time, and every time it’s just banging her head againt a wall. Usual resistence is swapped with anxiety and fear; her actions became unreasonable, never truly making sense even to herself. If someone asked what’s happening she probably wouldn’t be able to make up even two coherent thoughts. And now she’s supposed to explain her behavior to Enid?
“You can’t force me to.”
The stubborness in Enid’s voice is too much for Wednesday.
She might be having a mental breakdown.
“Why don’t you unterstand!”
She exclaims - and it’s not her voice. The eyes are shifting - and they are not hers. Her hands are swinging - and they are not hers. The fear burning in one’s eyes - is not hers.
It’s all a lie.
Enid stops in her tracks.
Wednesday is disheveled, she gesticulates too much, her words don’t make any sense; they are about some danger, inevitability of something. She looks at Enid like a scared animal - and the animal is not a raven, it’s a fawn before the hunter. It’s frightened, it’s alarmed and it’s flouncing away.
Enid can’t puzzle out even a word behind all her jittering, but she realizes one thing clearly: the Addams don’t behave like this normally. An Addams wouldn’t show such things, and if someone heard about it, they simply wouldn’t believe it.
A “please” falls off her lips among other words that don’t make sense. Enid sees pleading in raven’s eyes as if she’s before a holy spirit, like she’s begging for mercy, like her life is on the line, like nothing else matters anymore.
The Addams do not beg.
Enid can argue with that.
She hears a crash in the room.
Wednesday falls on her knees in despair. She hugs herself feeling weak and like she already lost the whole argument. She lost to Enid, she lost to her vision; everywhere she could. The scene is uncanny for Enid. There’re no words left. Just a little black figure in the center of their room shaking and afraid.
Enid stays.
Stays just beside the figure of black and nerves and anxiety.
Wednesday is a daughter of her parents. It’s stupid to deny facts. And she’s not stupid.
A chip off the old executioner’s block.
Wednesday off her father.
She takes after him a lot. She doesn’t particulary like it.
It’s a lie once again.
‘Enid’s smile’s worth it,’ she thinks when she does things she woudn’t even dare to think about doing. She lets Enid babble about whatever thong she’s interested at the moment. Wednesday lets her shake her by the shoulders, touch her however she’d like. She shares her personal space with her, shares her oxygen; she gifts her a chance to feel an Addams-like coldness just below her fingertips. Enid is loud. Wednesday isn’t annoyed with it. The math as simple as two times two.
Enid finds out the reason why Wednesday is named after a day of the week by accident. Before that it was almost obvious to her that Wednesday was born on a Wednesday.
“It was Friday, actually.”
Enid frowns in confusion.
“A children’s song. Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Suits me better as you can see.”
Enid does know abouth the song’s existance, even remmebers some of it; but she fails to understand why Wednesday. The questions sits there for a few moments, and the raven-girl could laugh at it if she’d want to.
“My full name is Wednesday Friday Addams.”
That makes more sense. The conversation goes another route but the phrase doesn’t leave Enid’s head till it’s bed time. Under the nights darkness sheis still going back to the dialogue. She hugs the corner of her comforter and thinks, and thinks, and thinks… Searching for a meaning Wednesday didn’t mention.
Friday’s child is loving and giving.
Invisible light bulb goes off in her head. ‘Wednesday does resemble her name,’ Enid thinks almost laughing about it.
Most outcasts don’t see it for some reason but Wednesday cares about things a lot. She was worried when Eugene had gotten hurt. She cares about Thing like he’s her brother. She even cares for Enid, though the reason goes completely over her head.
Wednesday isn’t emotionless; she’s reserved. Enid knows it. She doesn’t know though why others don’t get it. It’s always noticable in her glances, in her actions and words. Maybe the reason behind it is the fact that they don’t live with her in the same dormroom. It’s really hard to not notice something so obvious. And Enid sees her.
Wednesday is warm.
Have Enid gone crazy?
Maybe the impending full moon is at fault for that. Maybe Enid can’t keep her hands to herself.
Maybe it’s not her at all.
“I’m like, so touch-starved,” the she-wolf complains. She laying on her bed like a starfiss, looking at the ceiling as if it can give her answers. Their room is silent.
“Your problem is easy to solve,” answers Wednesday. Enid feels just a tad of hopefullnes until the Addams talks again. “You have enough friends for such needs.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Enid whines.
The sound attracts raven’s attention. Finally, she turns her head and watches her roommate for a moment, squinting her eyes almost unnoticable.
“And what would be desirable for you then?”
Wednesday rarely takes interest in other people’s wishes, and Enid tries to read between the lines. With Addams’s it’s always like this - subtlety after subtlety, and you never what the next thing out of her mouth will mean. The most outrageous threats could mean unconditional love. Uncertain half-truth could mean something delicate and deep.
Enid remembers that time Wednesday told her Thing had missed her. Both of them knew for a fact it was never about Thing.
They sit in complete silence for a minute. Enid rolls the word on her tongue before spitting it out in a hushed tone, so she could brush it off if something goes wrong.
“You.”
When Wednesday sharply breathes in Enid thinks that she’s hearing things. She closes her eyes and feels bitter aftertaste of her confession. Does she really think that the coldest creature on Earth would happily give her attention she needs? Laughable.
Sometimes Wednesday talks aboput her parents: about tender caresses, about silly nicknames, about sweet-and-hungry gazes. All the words come out of her with a bit of disgust and dislike that’s approriate only for a person with a burning loathing for romance. She takes every chance to remind her parents (and Enid) of it. To have such a utopian devotion is to put yourself in a vulnerable position, which Wednesday will never take at her own desire.
Though her parents exchange meaningfull glances. The Addams blood is surprising and you’ll never know when it’s your turn to go crazy. It’s a family curse for Wednesday and the sweetest fruit for her parents. She denies being similar to them. And she denies being similar to her mother.
But a chip off the block is still a chip off the block.
Enid lays on her side and closes her eyes. The pictures flood her imagination. It’s them hugging, holding hands, entwining their fingers. Maybe, just maybe, even kissing? Wednesday would never let her go this far. Not in this lifetime.
“I’d submit myself to you only if my hands were tied up.”
Of cource, the sarcasm is expected. Enid sighs almost too sad about it anyway. Truly wolfish nature would make her behave different. It’d make her prove herself, take what she wants, dominate fully. But Enid isn’t like other wolves, so she bites her lip and closes her eyes. It is foolish to hope that Wednesday would allow her more affection than she already does.
She thinks about all the times she bumped into raven’s shoulder. Wednesday didn’t mind those. She never says it, but Enid notices the sloght up-turn of the corner of her lip and it’s more than enough for her.
There’s not a sound behind her, almost if her roommate disappeared. Perhaps she’s already asleep or she left the room alltogether just so she wouldn’t have to hear Enid’s whining again. Enid thinks that she’d probably be willing to give up one of her limbs for a simple hug from Wednesday.
She flinches at the creack of the floor beside her bed.
Wednesday Addams is standing in front of it, with her neatly braided hair and agonizing stare. She wears the black sweater she only wears in the comfort of their shared room. The girl looks at her expectantly, taking in every inch of her body. She looks at her like she’s plotting something the she-wolf afraid to even ask about. Wednesday waits. Like Enid is supposed to read between the lines again, like it’s obvious there shouldn’t be any words said aloud. But her patience doesn’t live up to that.
“I hope you won’t dissapoint me with your knots.”
Innocent blue eyes are wide-open in either horror or pure awe when she finally understands why Wednesday stands there ominously with two pieces of rope in her hands.
Enid can’t stop herself from blushing. She already knew that Wednesday was no ordinary creature, but every time she does something like that Enid’s taken aback. And now she have to pick up whatever left of her dignity and think of an answer?
“You want me to-”
“No. You want me to comply. I am simply giving you a chance. And advantage. For how you use it is only dependable of you.”
Enid doesn’t waste a second of her time. She switches their places and now it’s Wednesday lying on her bed. Enid straddles her abdomen in a bliss from newfound power. Her hands are literally flying in attempts of tying somewhat decent knots. She ties Wednesday’s hands, separating them from one another, so it would be more difficult for Wednesday to escape.
It doesn’t take her more than a minute, thanks to werewolf’s speed and upcoming full moon. Enid sits back, admiring her work; Wednesday resembles a splash of black paint on her pinks sheets. The splash looks back at her with unreadable expression, ready to escape any moment.
Enid looks around sheepishly, finds an abondant scarf and ties Wednesday’s eyes with it.
“Smart,” she comments calmly.
Enid’s hands are trembling.
Her whole body is, she realizes. Fucking Wednesday Addams is in her fucking pink bed tied up to the headboard.
“What am I allowed to do?”
The question is almost too quiet: it bounces off the walls, it explodes in her ears and becomes suddenly too real.
“Whatever you deem desirable,” the raven answers. “See it as an exercise for me. You may do whatever you wish to do untill I am untied. You shall hurry, it won’t take me long.”
Enid remembers the talks about Wednesday untying herself when she was captured by the Beladonna club. Not to belive her would be a great mistake, but she really hopes that separating Addams’s hands will give her some time.
She doesn’t even know what to start with. Her heart is racing, the “whatever” Wednesday allows her is on repeat in her head. She gulps heavily, looking at her friend again.
The start is careful and slow. She touches her face. Her claws come out on their own, disobeying her will. Enid grows bold though and presses her thumb on Wednesday’s lower lip, drawing blood. Enid almost doesn’t notice the little smirk Addams does before going back in her usual nonchalant mode. Maybe it’s her imagination playing tricks on her.
Her hands find their way down raven’s throat, barely scratching it with claws. The pads of her fingers are gentle when they graze the colarbones under Wednesday’s sweater. Enid’s scared of going further. She skips body parts, she hurries, she can’t get enough, she’s drunk on those careful touches. Everything inside her is jittering with want and need, when her hands are finally on her friend’s waist under the black sweater, and Wednesday shivers of the before unknown heat.
This is unfair.
Enid’s almost lying on Wednesday at this point; one knee between her thighs, one to the side. Her hands are gently squeezing her friend’s waist. Her forehead is pressed against Wednesday’s shoulder, and it’s barely any support for her whole body; she can’t breath, taking in the girl under her.
Wednesday doesn’t breath at all, it seems, but Enid hears it. Enid feels the raven’s laborous breathing on her skin. It’s barely there, but Enid notices.
The she-wolf carefully wraps her hands around Wednesday, hugging her, keeping her as close as she can. She glances up at the seemingly impertubable face. The keyword is ‘seemingly’, because Enid’s breathing is catched up in her throat when she sees Wednesday.
Her chin is slightly up, her lips aren’t sealed in a straight line, and her brows are tense.
Enid cuddles Wednesday closer as if she’s desparately trying to become one with her.
Enid kisses her friend’s colarbone in a soft gesture.
Wednesday holds back the shiver.
The kisses don’t stop there; if anything, they grow bolder. The tender trail goes up the path from the raven’s colarbones to her cheeckbone; in small steps, her lips brush against every inch of her pale skin. Enid kisses Wednesday just behind the ear and exhales loudly, as if the action was all she ever dreamed of.
She doesn’t know where to look.
She’s allowed whatever she desires, right? She wants to take it all.
Leaving Wednesday’s waist, her hands find their way beside the raven’s head, holding Enid above her. Enid’s face to face with Wednesday now and she leans lower, hypnotized. She can’t avert her gaze now.
Enid’s been dreaming of kissing Wednesday. Even impliying it sounds crazy and the fact that she’s allowed to is beyond absurd.
She leans closer. She wants to savor it. Relish in her taste.
There’s barely an inch between their mouthes. The tiniest movement - and she’ll devour her lips, and she won’t be able to come back from that. The desire is unbearable; the desire is for more, for longer, the desire is so sweet and painful…
Wednesday pushes her away, resting her hands on Enid’s shoulders.
“Enough.”
Enid almost sobs.
“You are unskilled with ropes,” Wednesday says. The blindfold comes off and she turns to look away from the blonde’s face. “It’s a valuable skill. I’d recommend exploring it more.”
Enid pulls away from Wednesday, sitting up beside her hands on her knees resembeling an obedient dog waiting for its owner’s command.
“Did I satisfy your needs?” the Addams asks.
Enid nods quickly. She’s feeling hot and she’s probably blushing from her toes to her ears. Her body is trembling in disbelief of what just happened. But she nods. Even if she wishes to prolong their little game.
Wednesday gets up from her bed and moves to her own with measured steps. Enid’s thirsty gaze follows her. She could almost taste it on her tongue.
She curses the Addams.
Something has changed.
And Enid can’t guess what.
They don’t talk about what happened. They don’t talk about that evening. They don’t talk about heated caresses and quiet breathes. Almost like there is nothing to discuss at all, like it didn’t happen, and at fault was Enid’s colorful imagination. She’d think she imagined it, too, if the small cut from her claw wasn’t present on Wednesday’s lip the day after.
Life goes on; Enid, with her color-bleeding sunshine aesthethic, and Wednesday, always looking ready to hold a funeral.
Enid finds her gaze upon raven’s lips more often than not. More often than she needs it. Far more often than she wants.
She wishes to touch them, not just look at.
But she’s not allowed to. The fact is as clear as the order of the days of the week. It’s Monday after Sunday, Tuesday after Monday, and Enid’s not allowed Wednesday’s lips.
But then she sits just a bit closer at their classes, bumps into her shoulder constantly, stays behind the invisible tape line in their room a few seconds longer. Enid watches her closely. And it’s not enough. Not for her. But the she-wolf can tolerate it; if she couldn’t, Wednesday wouldn’t let her this close at all.
The desire for pale hands on her shoulder is mad and unbearable; she wishes she could keep going, could kiss her senseless despite the protests; she wishes to feel the familiar coldness under her fingertips.
Enid dreams of it every time her gaze lingers on her friend for too long. And when she catches Wednesday’s questioning eyes, she realizes she’s been staring all this time.
Bruno is somewhat helpful. He has tan skin, dark hair and he’s thoughtful. He’s not awkward like Ajax was; he moves with a purpose and his eyes are always smiling. He is good for her.
She kinda likes him - she loves the tan skin, the dark eyes and hair.
Not in his appearance, though.
Enid chooses to ignore it. Later she chooses to ignore the burning feeling inside when Thing tells her that Wednesday broke up with him on her behalf.
Wednesday cares for her. She cares whether Enid will be heart-broken or not. She cares whether she dies or lives.
The forest is cold and unforgiving.
The grass is wet, the floor is soft under her paws and tree crowns look down on her, terrifying in their shadow-like glory. Enid doesn’t like it.
She doesn’t have a choice.
The beast circles itself, trying to get comfortable amongst trees and bushes. Branches scratch her, they don’t break wolfish skin, just hurting the wounds she already has from fighting other wolves. She winces from the pain and tries to calm her wild breathing, soothe herself to rest.
She’s tired of running, tired of hunters and even more tired of other werewolves. She doesn’t want to kill. She refuses to even hurt someone, but in the last two month she’s seen far more blood than she ever wished.
Fuck her lycan biology.
Loud thoughts queit down. She closes her eyes and sighs slowly, barely falling into some sort of sleep untill she’s hunted again.
She dreams of Nevermore. Of her room and her warm bed, of classes with Yoko and Divina. She even dreams of that too-sweet-to-be-coffee drink. Sometimes she even dreams about her roommate, though that one doesn’t linger in her haze of a dream. Enid wishes she did.
Something rustle nearby and she’s wide awake in seconds. She snifs the air around. It’s humans. Two of them. Their scent is metal, burned cords and dirt. Her ears perk up, listening closely, and her head is turned in the direction of the noise.
She needs to run.
“I can smell a wolf, my little protege,” she hears in the distance; words are followed by a short laugh.
Enid scowls.
She can scent something else. It’s soft and pleasant.
Familiar.
Following the voices, she lunges forward almost too eagerly.
“Enid.”
She-wolf whines when she sees her black-haired friend. She doesn’t believe her own eyes, she stops in her tracks, watching the girl.It’s the same dark eyes, drowned in untold emotions; it’s the same pale lips pressed in a tight line; it’s the same tan skin she couldn’t get out of her head when she looked at Bruno in school.
There’s a man in a heavy coat at her side, smiling proudly, his eyes blistening in a crazed mannerinnate only for an Addams.
They found her.
Enid drops in front of Wednesday, puts her head on her paws, obedient and looking up miserably, like she’s apologizing for her wolfish appearance.
Wednesday almost copies her: she kneels in front of the werewolf who’s head was easily five times bigger than hers. Raven’s hands reach for the creature’s muzzle, eyes focused on the old scar to the right side of her head. Wednesday carefully removes some grass and dirt off the beast’s maw.
Wednesday says something to the older Addams; Enid doesn’t hear it. Blue orbs are focused on brown ones, reading behind them an intimate thought. I promised you, they said.
The hideout Fester finds for them is damp and cold, but Enid doesn’t complain - she wouldn’t even if she could. She’s just happy to be there and not to be alone.
The night is restless. Fester is somewhere in the woods, making sure no one could find their lttle shelter, and Wednesday seems to be to busy with some animal’s corpse. Enid’s not interested in it, so she curls up in the corner of the kitchen. She can’t shake off the thought that she’s comically large for the room she’s in.
It’s first time she can sleep in two whole month. A familiar hand behind her ear distracts her from her slumber. Wednesday crouches beside her, examining colorful bits of fur on the werewolf. Cold fingers find their way just to the right spot behind the beast’s ear, and Enidpresses into the hand, whimpering softly.
“Come with me.”
The wolf gets up with a whine and sniffs the air. She smells roasted meat and her mouth waters instantly. There’s a question in the next sound she does, but Wednesday pushes her to go to the other room. Enid obeys her, and once she’s there, the younger Addams follows her with a literal basin of roasted meat.
Wednesday puts it in front of the wolf and doesn’t say anything. Enid takes a sniff again, inspecting the meal.
“For a beast of your size you are extremely depleted,” the raven says in her usual manner, and the said beast listens attentively, as if she’s singing a lullaby. “Eat up, mutt.”
Enid’s immediately at it. What wolf would deny such a request?
Wednesday leaves her to it, though she doesn’t leave Enid entirely. The dark-haired girl sits on the mettress in the corner of the room and busies herself with studying of some journal that looks way older than both of them together. The soft gazes flicks up to the werewolf from time to time; Enid’s presence feels comforting in an unusual sense.
Enid finishes her meal in record time; she licks her maw clean, demonstrating her massive canines. She whines like a happy puppy and moves to the mattress Wednesday has occupied. Wagging her tail heppily, she kneels in front of the girl. She tries to show gratitude, and when Wednesday finally looks at her, she’s hit with puppy eyes basically begging for attention.
The werewolf inches closer. It feels like a game. Her tongue is out and she acts playful; Wednesday reaches her hand for the beast and Enid gladly put her whole muzzle in the girl’s lap. Blue eyes are carefree and bright when she looks up at Wednesday.
“You are testing my patience, Enid,” she says. The words are light-hearted and there’s not an ounce of displeasure in her voice. So the wolf stays.
A cool hand lays on the creature’s head, admitting the victory, and Enid closes her eyes and dozes off, safe and sound in raven’s embrace.
The ritual takes place the day after.
Fester and Wednesday are busy with its preparing in the kitchen while the wolf lies in the other room, wrapped in familiar scent and hewfound safety.
Wednesday gently wakes the wof up. The creature’s nostrils sense the food almost imediately. Fester is nowhere to be seen, so it’s them alone once again.
Wednesday asks Enid to open her maw and she follow the request instantly. She chews on something vaguely resembling stale bread with a touch of bitterness of wolfsbane. Her next growl is displeased and short, cut off suddenly by the soothing voice, “it’s all going to end soon,” and a hand behind her ear.
There’s no asking this time: Addams strokes her jaw gently, scratches under it, and Enid opens her mouth again, understanding her friend without any words.
“Close your eyes.”
And once again Enid obeys her without hesitation, trusting the girl beside with her whole life. She hears shuffling and then there’re three hot drops of some liquid on her tongue. She almost stumbles back when the realization hits her.
Her eyes dart in fear at the sight of the knife on the floor and blood on the hand that caressed her fur not long ago.
She gets up, presses her muzzle to Wednesday’s neck in panic, as if asking what she thinks she’s doing, hurting herself like that.
But Wednesday keeps quiet. She wraps her arms around the beasts neck, strokes the soft fur with her bleeding hand, and something inside of Enid is breaking and screaming.
And then she blacks out.
Enid is quieter now.
Like, a lot.
Wednesday is unacustomed to it. Her rommate doesn’t really talk anymore, smiles faintly, something lost deep in her eyes; something Wednesday couldn’t catch if she tried. Everything around her seems to be dim.
Enid has turned the same day they held the ritual. Wednesday wrapped her in a blanket then, asked her to rest and left to tend to her own cut.
The girl with pink and blue hair comes back to school as someone else completely. Addams watches her every spare moment, searching for clues on bringing back the happy she-wolf she once knew. Enid attends her classes, she meets up with her friends, she talks to Agnes, and yet the death stare does not leave her; it haunts her, finds her even through the halls full of outcasts.
It’s not the only thing that has changed. The other thing is the one Agnes notices:
“You’re always right behind her. Like she’s the only thing that matters to you,” she says, ready do dissapear the moment Wednesday angrily glares at her.
But instead the raven just glances at her, instantly returning her attention to the she-wolf smiling and talking to someone from her pack on the other side of the quad. An Addams wouldn’t explain their action to someone, but Wednesday rewards Agnes with an answer.
“I owe her my life.”
And the little red-head doesn’t need to know what hides behind those words. She doesn’t need to know about the reverance Wednesday feels when she looks at the golden werewolf. Agnes will never know about the care with which the raven prepared special meals for her wolf after she found her. Agnes will never know of gentle treating for the cuts and wounds, of tender combing of the colorful fur, despite one’s color allergy. Agnes simply doesn’t need to know that for an Addams to offer their life - to give away one’s humanity - is the purest form of affection.
That’s why brown eyes are haunting blue ones. That’s why bouquets of flowers (red and white dianthuses, specifically) start randomly appearing on Enid’s table. That’s why she’s allowed some things no one will ever be. Even if she doesn’t get it.
Wednesday is quick to realize that Enid becomes afraid of storms. One of Enid’s first days in the Addams manor they encounter bad weather, and the girl would flinch every time there’s a thunder rolls. She’s panicky; it’s easier to sneak up on someone when there’s a loud sound to hide any other noise. It’s a habit from the time she was lost in the forest.
‘Enid doesn’t deserve to suffer like this,’ Wednesday thinks. She faced her fear of being alone and lived with it close by for two month.
Wednesday takes Enid’s hand in hers every time there’s thundering. She entwines their fingers together and reminds her that she’s not alone anymore. The words are a waste of time as actions show much more than silly letters bound in words ever could. An Addams is always all about actions, and Wednesday cathes herself thinking her surname would suit Enid well.
That’s, of cource, is for the dead to know of.
Wednesday really tries to give Enid her spark back by any means necessary. She agree on everythng asked of her, gives in to her fully, permits her whatever she wishes for. A month go by, then another one, - and Enid’s smile comes out more frequently, she banters for longer; Wednesday is pleased.
Enid is nervous most of the time. She turns into wolf and Wednesday is always somewhere nearby. She combs her finger through the golden fur, refers to her as querida in a soft voice, always keeps an eye on her.
Enid is more comfortable in her wolfish form, it seems. She’s not trapped in it and she can turn back anytime.
They stroll in the woods near the Nevermore - Enid, with her tow-colored coat of fur and a wagging tail, and Wednesday with a usual death stare and furrowed brows. It’s more of a dog walk in a way, though the seer doesn’t mind it. She gets to see her friend happy, so it worth every minute.
Enid circles around her, shoves her gently with her muzzle to walk faster, as playful as she can get. Wednesday allows it. Wednesday pats her maw lightly, scolds her unseriously for shoving, and then scratches the wolf behind its ear.
Enid stops at some point of their walk and stands in front of the raven, seemingly smilimg in a scowl.
“What’s the matter, mutt?”
Turning her head, Wednesday asks and scans the beast’s happy scowling. Enid growls something and presses her wet nose against the seer’s neck. She shoves her a bit harder. Not expecting the push, the girl falls on the ground and looks up with a question in her eyes, unsure of what to expect next.
The werewolf pushes her again in the shoulder, pinning the raven to the ground with a heavy paw.
Wednesday holds her breath.
Werewolves are are powerful creatures; they are strong and fast. Enid, as an Alpha, is much more vigorous than any wolf could ever be. And being pinned down by a glorious beast as her would mean immediate death for eny other.
But the blue eyes staring down at Wednesday were warm and trustworthy. Enid taps her nose against the seer’s cheeckbone, making her gasp softly. The wolf seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and she licks her friend’s face with a wide grin on her face.
Wednesday tries to escape it weakly, mumbling something under her breath, and in a second there appears a blonde girl instead of a wolf, laughing at her loudly. Enid has almost too much fun watching Wednesday’s attempts to clean her face of saliva.
“Obnoxious animal is what you are,” she cusses, and her roommate in her wolf form once again, jumping around and having the time of her life. Maybe the mess was worth it.
On the first week of being in the Addams manor Enid is restless. Resembling a child, she turns around in her bed, trying to get comfortable on cool sheets. The wind is howling behind the window and Enid really wishes not to be a victim of her own thoughts in a dark room. So she does the only right thing - she gets up, barefoot, goes straight to Wednesday’s room which thankfully is across the corridor. She knocks on the door gently, shifting from one foot to another.
She isn’t surprised to find that Wednesday isn’t asleep. Enid smiles sheepishly while explaining why she can’t sleep.
Of course, the raven lets her in. She looks thoughtfully at the werewolf, who at the moment is examining the octopus carved into the side of Wednesday’s bed. She touches it for a second and then jumps onto the bed. She smiles at her friend. Her lips are qievering , trying to remember how to smile normally; the smile comes out with bared fangs and resembles an animalistic scowl. Wednesday lets it go unnoticed.
“Are you having nightmares?” she asks. Any other outcast would think her tone is indifferent, but Enid isn’t anyone, as Wednesday doesn’t treat her as if she’s someone else.
“No,” the she-wolf answers. “But it feels weird to sleep in an empty space.”
Enid ducks her head to the side, remembering something. Addams guesses the thought behind her eyes in sevonds: her impressive collection of plushes is hard to forget. Wednesday didn’t think of bringing any of her stuffies to the manor and now she regrets it. Obviously, Enid would be much more comfortable sleeping with a toy.
Wednesday furrowd her brows, then suddenly steps to her old chest and searches it for something.
Not even a minute later she presents Enid a doll.
The doll is not that big; it has a black dress and reminds her of Wednesday herself. It looks a bit old and worn; there’s also a strange mark on her neck, as if the doll was beheaded numerous times. With a gentle motion the monochrome doll appears in Enid’s hands. She examines it for a few seconds at loss of words. She looks at her friend, and then at the doll, and then back at her friend. Both times the look in her eyes is affectionate in a way she can’t describe. Corners of Wednesday’s lips are slightly up-turned - the same way they did when she gifted Enid that one doll with real person’s hair. She almost looks smitten when she finally explains:
“I slept with it when I was little. Her name is Marie-Antoinette.”
Enid gently strokes the doll’s face with a thumb. She traces the little mark on its neck and decides to try her luck at asking something.
“Why was her head cut off?”
Wednesday frowns as if the answer is really obvious.
“It’s Marie-Antoinette.”
Enid bites her lower lip and nods, pretending to understand the explanation. She will use her phone later to find out what the name means. What matters now is that her roommate is offering her her shildhood doll for comfort. And that doll doesn’t actually scare Enid as the other one did.
“You feel more comfortable when you sleep with your toys. You can sleep with my doll today.” For whatever reasom overexplaines Wednesday.
Enid wants to cry. It’s a silly offer; and it’s awkward and personal in its own way. Who would offer their favorite childhood doll to a monstrocity Enid is in her wolf form? Unconsciously, she rubs the doll in a careful manner. She wipes the one tear that managed to escape.
Then she asks quietly, “Can you stay with me untill I fall asleep?”
Wednesday just nods before grabbing Ophelia’s journal from her table. Together, they walk to the guest room where Enid is supposed to sleep. Enid climbes under the covers, hugs the doll tightly to her chest as if holding on a lifeline. A beloved hand. A chance to be important and loved.
Wednesday sits at the writing table beside the bed and turns on a lantern there. She looks at Enid, checking if the light source would disturb her rest. Enid nods at her and Wednesday turns her attention towards the journal in front of her.
Heavy breathing calms and turns into queit snuffling. She turns on her side, never letting go of the doll; the crease between her brows is finally gone, leaving no trace of her worries behind. Wednesday is nearby. Her scent reminds her of freshly cut wood, gravestone and blood - last one mainly because of the healing cut on her palm. The scent envelops the werewolf. Wednesday won’t ever know about it, but she finally falls asleep in the comfort of familiar scent beside.
Short-story, Wednesday catches every difference about Enid. She catches every smile that a bit wider than the one before, every little laugh and every soft glance at the flowers on her nightstand. Wednesday catches each of her unwary steps; she sees every shudder. She watches closely as if Enid is learning how to walk again. Enid learns how to feel joy again, how to talk about everything and nothing at all. Short-story is hundred- thousand-pages book that Wednesday could write about Enid becoming herself again. The book would be about her authentic self that is loved by everyone around her; about a girl both loud and curious, the careful and thoughtful one.
Wednesday would fill out even more pages with tales of the girl’s blossoming into the creature she is. She’s confident in herself and so charming that she could send one trembling from hers beauty. Her wolf is powerful and majestic, mesmerizing in her full glory with sharp claws and determined nature.
Somewhere deep into the shelf behind every book would be hidden a small diary in which Wednesday would write about Enid’s tender eyes and even more tender touches. There would be words about delicate and non-irritating caresses, ballads about her joyfull laugh that doesn’t make her ears bleed. The up-turn of the lips that makes her soul melt.
No words would be on paper on the terrifying feeling that eats Wednesday alive when her black heart is being teared apart by every emotion she feels towards the girl. It’s hot and too much, and she won’t allow the ink under her hands to be a witness of such pathetic thing.
Nonetheless, she will show it silently with her deeds. Addams’ style.
She pays close attention towards the steps behind her to make sure Enid is right behind her. Close enough she could protect her. Wednesday glances at their friends from behind Enid’s shoulder but doesn’t say anything, only remarking in her head that she can’t trust any of them. Enid - in sorrow and in joy, dancing to blackpink song, tired or skipping around, - is only for Wednesday; everyone else can choke on the crumbs that Wednesday couldn’t keep fo herself.
Thing would slap his face if he had one.
Wednesday is drowning in the thing whe sworn off of. She listens to Enid. She looks only at Enid. She saves Enid. She notices only Enid. There’s no one else around for her and she doesn’t need anyone. ANd maybe Enid doesn’t even understand what she has done to Wednesday.
Wednesday is devoted to her as a dog to its owner, and the comparison is laughable. She owes her her life and she values her family’s traditions - and she counts Enid as her family now, too.
She’s her pack. She’s her family. What’s the difference anyway?
Her life was at the stakes and she was ready to give it away for Wednesday to live.
“You’re spoiling me,” Enid giggles when Wednesday agrees to watch a movie with her without the usual fight.
It is as simple as that: Enid watches the movie and Wednesday watches Enid. Wednesday doesn’t care for the things going on on the screen of the laptop when her friend’s content smile (and the bite of the lip when there’s something romantic in the movie) is right there.
They sit together shoulder to shoulder on the black bedding. Enid inclines her head towards Wednesday’s shoulder and she sits up a bit to let the wolf lean comfortably on her. The newfound permissiveness that the wolf wouldn’t even dream about before.
Wednesday almost shivers when she feels the blonde turn her head a bit. There’s a breath on her neck and she catches bright blue eyes looking up in curiously. She would love to ignore the puppy eyes Enid gives her but she knows she can’t withstand it. The only option fo her is to give in.
“I wanna cuddle you,” Enid whispers.
“You’re clingy. It’s disgusting,” Wednesday answers flatly.
Enid knows that if she says ‘but you’re allowing it’ her body will be found dissected in a ditch the next day. That’s why she does the only thing she know how to.
She puts the laptop away. The bed squeaks unde the weight when the werewolf returns only to hover over Wednesday with a silly smile on her face. The raven-haired girl rests her palms on her friend’s shoulders - she slightly pushing her away with the base of her palms as if she’s scared to seem careless in her touch. She takes a moment to look at Enid’s face, at her lovely colorful bangs and a charming smile. Then without a second thought she pulls her close and Enid gives in with a soft gasp, plummeting into her neck and the soft pillow behind.
Uneven breathing calms down when Wednesday circles her arms around Enid’s waist. Enid leans closer, getting burned by the cold skin bur doesn’t back off. They find a strange comfort to it - Wednesday with her repulsion towards contact and Enid who is as warm as a blanket.
They didn’t just jump into it. Enid earned the trust by stepping close and waiting for the other girl to allow it. If she’d try the same thing a few months ago she’d have her hands cut off.
(Or, Wednesday would give her the rope without any words)
“I love holding you,” the wolf admits mindlessly, tickling the girl’s neck with her breath.
Wednesday is queit. She can’t really say anything because whatever would come out of her mouth would be a lie. She doesn’t hate contact when it’s Enid, but she loathes the act outside of the term where it’s Enid hugging her. The only truth she can tell her for sure is that she wants to be as close to her as it is physically possible, but the words don’t come out. So she doesn’t.
“Do you remember when-”
Enid cuts herself off as if she doesn’t know how to end the thought she wanted to say. Her brows are knit together, deep in thought.
“Do I remember what, Enid?” The name rolls off her tongue easily, she wants to say it again, but instead she blurts out something different: “Did TikTok fry your braincells so bad you are incapable of finishing a thought?”
“Do you remember when I tied you up?”
Wednesday feels the warmth under her chin from Enid’s face blushing in embarrassment. She tries to nuzzle closer to cover it up.
It’s a stupid question. That’s the answer Wednesday wants to go with. Instead, her breath stops somewhere in her throat. That is not how she’s supposed to react. She must collect herself, give a jibe for an answer and make Enid forget about her moment of weakness. Maybe she should threaten her so she’d know to never talk about it again.
A minute goes by while her brain reboots but she’s still confused with her thoughts. They dance among dark corners of her mind without a chance to calm down. It’s a dumb question. WHy would anyone in their right mind even ask that?
Of cource, she remembers.
How can she forget the warm touch of her loved one? How can one forget the moments when the claws that could easily tear her apart were used for tender caresses instead of their purpose? How can she forget the little nick on her lip and breathless wolf on top of her? How can one forget the moment she tried to supress how much whe wanted to keep going, to ask for more kisses, but made an effort to stop instead, leaving the wolf panting and wanting because she was too afraid to drown under the weight of her unresolved feelings?
“Yes.”
Enid doesn’t think for another second.
“I would do it again.”
It’s a confession in the silence of their room; the words lose themselves, shut down to not give too much sense to the words said. The truth behind a stupid game is afloat, it climbs and flounders and tries to swim up while Wednesday is really wants it to drown.
But Enid is her curse which she can not withstand.
She thinks of her oh-so-happily-married parents when she gets up to find the rope. She remembers her father and his readiness to fulfill any request her mother woud have, be it a crime or feeding off the knife.
She holds out the rope for Enid to take and her mind can’t stop fantasize of them doing the same things her parents do. Wednesday could overcome her stubborness and feed Enid from the spoon and do all the things she would be asked of. Maybe she’d even watch Barbie for her.
Maybe the last one is too much.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Enid smiles sheepishly but takes the rope anyway.
Wednesday just nods and sits on the bed beside the puppy that Enid is.
“You want this,” she manages to say. “And I do not despise the idea. Proceed, before I find another way to use this rope.”
Enid is really cuious what Wednesday is implying, but she decides not to ask. Instead, she straddles her friend and reaches for the headboard.
Wednesday is watching her almost too closely, disassembling every emotion on Enid’s face. Her lip is trembling and she’s glancing down every five second. She tries to consentrate and to tie the rope tightly (having werewolf strength really helps). But then she doesn’t want to hurt the raven so she unties it, tries again and again, drowning in doubt.
“Don’t be nervous,” reassures Wednesday when she catches her eyes for the fifth time.
Enid is unaware that the difference this time is that Wednesday doesn’t want to stop her. The game is unfare from the start, and she already knows the outcome, so the obly she desires right now- for a flimsy knot to be done so Enid could finally give her the attention she’s waiting for.
“What am I allowed to do?” Enid tests the knot, doesn’t meet Wednesday’s eyes.
“The rules haven’t changed.” A simple answer follows. “You have the freedom of choosing. Once I’m out, the freedom ends.”
Enid nods and finally looks her in the eye. They are different now and Enid dreams of drowning in the unexplored emotion.
She goes lower, taking in the scene before her. Wednesday isn’t a splash on the pink bedding and she doesn’t look irritated. She seems calm. Anticipating, even.
Enid doesn’t know where to start.
Her claws rest on Wednesday’s waist, they lay on thin clothes, fingertips grazing carefully as if remembering what it feels like to have Wednesday all for herself.
“Friday’s child is loving and giving,” Wednesday suddenly opens her eyes hearing Enid’s quiet voice.
She mindlessly traces figures along her friend’s sides and stomach. She doesn’t even looks up, thinking about the words that just rolled off her tongue. She’s not explaining it, but she finally moves to lean forward, supporting herself with an arm just beside Wednesday’s head. Soft lips land on her forehead in a reverent kiss.
“What’s that for?” Addams asks.
She feels one more kiss somewhere near the previous one and her mind starts begging to end it all right now. Her heart asks for more kisses, contracts with unusual pain, almost comes to a stop and then beats rapidly, not knowing what rhythm to hold onto. The skin below the tender lips is prickling.
She’s loosing herself and she realizes it almost too late. Delicate kisses don’t stop there; and instead of hot desire Enid showers her in never before seen tenderness. Wednesday feels it in every single one of her caresses - be it a brushing against the shoulder, waist or a kiss on her forehead. Enid carefully put her hand on Wednesday’s jaw and tilts her head to the side, patting her cheek with her thumb in gratitude for the raven’s compliance. The kiss on her cheek feels as a reward.
“It’s good that no one knows about your middle name,” Enid whispers againd while downing a peck behind Wednesday’s ear; her skin burns under it. “I like to be the only one to know how delicate and sensitive you’re.”
“Nonsense,” the raven protests but her voice is a weak whisper. She hates how easy it is to surrender to Enid’s loving hands.
“Agnes’s been asking why you are always following me around.” A soft kiss to her jaw, then one under the ear.
“And the correlation is?”
Enid smiles widely. Her smile is not threatening nor hungry. The smile is simple and bright and all the sunny things that Enid stands for. Her next kiss is to the crown of Wednesday’s head, and then she trails a ticklish kissing path from the raven’s shoulders up to her wrists.
“Yoko is curious about the date we started dating,” There’s a kiss on her pulse and then on the inside of her palm. Enid tightens the knot while she’s there and kisses her way back down. “I’m curious too: when did we?”
“Our bond and its aspects must not concern her. If she wants to keep her fangs, that is.”
Enid blushes at the second word. She falters and the kiss intended for the jaw land to Wednesday’s neck, Enid’s lips staying there a second too long. Her werewolf hearing catches the sharp inhale of the girl under her. Enids decides against commenting.
“And what that bond is, exactly?”
Wednesday is not the type to run away from her problems but she would love to do so in that moment. It is foolish of her to think that her bright and smart wolf wouldn’t notice the change of behavior. And flowers with their meaning.
Enid keeps kissing her along the neck in a ridiculous attempt to not admit that she hears how fast Wednesday’s usually calm heart beats.
Enid’s hands are begging for proximity and she presses herself closer in an effort to quiet her desires. Her hand slips under the black shirt, holding the other girl’s body like a fragile piece of glass. There’s bumps under her fingertips and she sits up on her shins.
Wednesday’s shirt has ridden up and now there’s a cluster of scars on her stomach. The most obvious one is to the side, a healed wound from the dagger. The cut was healed with magic but the scar is still there. Enid brushes her knuckles against it and the girl jerk away from the touch.
The movement is easy to miss but Enid doesn’t. She sees Wednesday. She notices her in every way possible. She isn’t wrong about sensitivity or delicacy or about the way Addams tries so hard to not be perceived by others. She tries to seem cold and fails miserably in front of Enid.
Enid bends down and kisses the scar, lips so tender they feel like a feather on skin.
“Enid…”
The contact is still there when she looks up at Wednesday. Eyes of the werewolf are bright and pure and filled to the brim with all the love she wants to give. The Addms’ eyes are almost the same except her gaze is darker and much deeper. She can’t force herself to look away. Their stared intewine like every other aspect of their relationship. It rainbow and monochrome, happiness and misery, loudness and serenity, simplicity and complexity.
Enid is a graceful wolf when she looms over her friend, counting her freckles and looking at her puppy-eyed.
The only sound there is an embarrassed whimper from Wednesday.
The werewolf kisses her again. One to her temple, one to the side of it, one to her ear and then to the jawline.
A soft peck falls on the tip of her nose and then their foreheads are against eachothers’. Enid is panting and all those kisses are still not enough. Enid leans in but stops herself just an inch away from Wednesday. The raven’s patience is running out already; this torture has dragged for too long, and soon…
Enid look up at her wrists.
“You got out.”
She glances down at the seer’s lips and never looks away.
And she pulls away.
Wednesday jerks up at the same time.
Her hands come up to hold onto the werewolf’s shoulders, not leeting her get anymore distance between them. Enid looks at her almost in fear. Wednesday rolls her eyes and pulls Enid in.
The kiss is almost painful from the force she’s been dragged down with. Someone’s teeth are in the way and the kiss tastes like blood and desire.
Wednesday kisses her in a way she does everything else. She doesn’t let her control slip away, analizes her movement along the way and guides. Enid is not fighting back; defeat is accepted in the way she lays them both back down, her hands finding their way to Wednesday’s waist. The bruises from the seer’s hands start to form on the werewolf’s skin.
The undesire to be apart is mutual so Enid takes a moment to breath before they are kissing again. Her hands come up to hold the cold face between them in a tender manner like a long-awaited prize.
Enid’s arms are a loving most desired trap and Wednesday is the victim. Enid pulls away from her lips only to shower her face with kisses, forgetting all the rules they’ve had before. Like she would after a long run, she slows down and starts breathing normal again. A wide smile is on her face meant for Addams’ eyes only. She stares down at Wednesday’s face covered in her lipstick.
“You unsufferable animal,” Wednesday says, looking her right in the eye. “Do it again.”
Enid squeals and kisses her more.
The Addams has fallen a victim of her affections. Her parents were right. The ardourance will consume her whole. Not that she’s against it.