Chapter Text
Wednesday had decided to attend her classes the day after.
She and Enid had barely talked after the night prior—neither of them wanted to strike up a conversation with the other, as it was just far too... awkward. They couldn't even maintain eye contact, and for Wednesday? It was a brutal 180 from her usually perfect eye contact.
She felt a small yet deep pleasure, though, when she realized that Enid had dumped Bruno.
What a good dog, Wednesday thought. She felt impure at the way her internal voice had said it, though.
She wondered how it'd feel to leave Bruno tied up to a fence outside like how abusive pet owners would do—Wednesday enjoyed that idea only when paired with a revolting mutt like Bruno, just not with an actual dog.
The more Wednesday thought about Bruno, though, the more she wanted to kill him. Oh, but she wouldn't—she couldn't do that, not now.
Probably not ever, she thought, since it'd hurt Enid's feelings.
Since when did Wednesday care so much about a dog like Enid's feelings? Sex didn't mean that much to Wednesday, did it? I'd be no better than the women enslaved by their biological clocks, she thought—the thought disintegrated like a corpse in acid.
I suppose I could find a way to fix it.
She never did figure something out, though, because any idea that entered her mind ended in one result: Leaving Enid or hurting her.
Wednesday, maybe a year ago, would've loved the idea of being as far away from Enid as physically possible—hurting her would just be a fun bonus that Wednesday could sip coffee to, maybe add to her novel.
She could've done it then.
Not now.
She was disgruntled by the force of the "NO" that boomed in her head when she thought of the next idea—just tell her no. For some reason, the disgust bubbled up in Wednesday's gut, and she couldn't hold herself together at the hate that ate away at her.
Telling her no? Wednesday thought. I could never do that. I won't.
Wednesday had never felt so emotionally unregulated, and it annoyed her greatly.
She was... discombobulated.
She felt like a guillotine that had safety on it.
She wanted the safety off again, so she did as any respectable Addams would; she sharpened the blade instead.
She watched documentaries on killing werewolves, read on how to emotionally distance yourself—a book written by a "professional" narcissist, of course—and a book on how to safety dissociate from romance.
None of it seemed to help, because every thought in her head was something along the lines of "I could do this to Bruno," when she'd see a way to kill a werewolf. When she'd see a method of killing female werewolves, she'd just clench her jaw, think something disgusting along the lines of: "I want to protect Enid Sinclair from that."
"For the rest of my life."
It felt hopeless—nothing she was trying was doing anything to dilute her new feelings for Enid.
She really was no better than the women enslaved by their biological clocks. Was she, too, a slave to her biology?
Absolutely not. She'd refuse it, beat it, hang it by a noose and throw it into a volcano if she had to. Wednesday Addams bowed before nobody, and she'd make it a point.
When Enid returned to their dorm, Wednesday did as she had done all day—avoid eye contact.
Too blue, it'd probably kill her.
It was like the old proverb; feed a Chupacabra and it comes running back for more human flesh. Or, a dog, she guessed. Dogs worked too.
It wasn't as pleasing when Wednesday had accidentally fed a Skinwalker, and it'd come running back. Fester had to deal with that one—Wednesday was reaching when she'd tried to tame it.
Werewolves weren't as subservient though.
Enid was wild, free, and brutal. Brutal in the way a monster could just look at you and tear you apart, limb from limb, ripping all of the flesh right off the bone. The thought was... quite enjoyable.
What?
Wednesday had enough of this.
"You know, Enid," she began, narrowing her eyes and shooting a glare towards the blonde. "You are giving the impression that you regret our unity and wish to cease all contact."
"What?!" Enid blurted, head shooting up from the pillow in which her face was buried. "Oh, no no no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I'm now aware that that can get your attention," Wednesday mused, sitting at her typewriter. She was stunned when Enid came crawling to her, placing her head in her lap. Wednesday didn't have the heart to tell Enid that having her head between her legs was... inappropriate.
Then again, how much more inappropriate could it have gotten between them? After all, they'd fucked the night prior—they'd slept with Enid inside of Wednesday. How could they go back to normal after that?
"That's mean, Willa," Enid murmured, burying her face right in Wednesday's crotch. It was strange—Wednesday wasn't as turned on by it as she expected to be. Maybe she was just affected by Enid's scent the night prior, nothing more?
If she was a werewolf now like Enid so boldly claimed she would be, then it made a good amount of sense. Werewolves were very affected by individual scents, after all.
"Cruelty is novelty, Enid," Wednesday replied, not looking away from her typewriter for even a second. "Without novelty, I go from a classic to a disappointing modern version of myself."
"...What?" Enid asked, confused.
"I see eloquence isn't comprehensible for you, so I'll give you pause."
"Wednesday," Enid complained, brows pinching to her eyelids. "Look at me, please?"
"No," Wednesday replied flatly. "It is my writing time."
"Fine," Enid growled, lunging up and grasping Wednesday by the collar of her shirt. "If you wanna play like that."
"I'm not 'playing' at all, Enid. This is my writing time, and has been for years. Have you forgotten?"
Enid's teeth bared, and she scoffed, scooting forward until she was in Wednesday's lap. She snorted, practically sucking on Wednesday's skin. "I don't forget," Enid muttered, nosing her way into the crook of Wednesday's neck. "I forget nothing, never."
"So you never forget nothing—which means you always forget," Wednesday mused.
She should've expected it when Enid bit down, since it was the new Enid—not the old, easy-to-demand Enid.
Wednesday sighed heavily, scooting the chair forward more so that she could type while Enid's teeth were embedded in her neck. She was slightly annoyed at the wet sensation, though. Just like a dog, Wednesday thought. Slobbering all over me.
"When can I expect this to end?"
"Neffer," Enid growled, voice muffled.
Wednesday closed her eyes, fighting some of the more... cruel things she could say to Enid. "Fine, then," she relented. "You may remain latched to me for the time being."
"Goof'd."
"...Yes, Enid. "Goof'd.""
She felt the corner of her mouth twitch when Enid snarled at her, and the vibration erupted through her neck.
She liked that.
An aggressive Enid seemed to be an attractive Enid, after all.