summary．enid finds something surprisingly pleasant to do on an otherwise dreary evening at nevermore.
warnings/themes．fluff, spin the bottle, making out, ooc wednesday,,
words．1.8k
There's absolutely nothing to do on campus.
At least not that interests you, anyway...
Staring at the ceiling, bored and trying to think of something you could do.
Maybe you should try sleeping? No, too early. You're not tired. You're restless. You could do something else. But what? Maybe read a book? You're not in the mood for a book—
“Hey, you two,” Enid chirps from the other side, her gaze darting between you and Wednesday.
Your head lifts, attention turning to your roommate, while Wednesday barely looks up from her desk, the typewriter keys clicking beneath her fingers.
The blonde werewolf has an idea.
Holding a clear bottle, a smirk tugs at her mouth. “How about a game of spin the bottle?”
Wednesday, unsurprisingly, shows no interest, giving a sharp, terse, “No,” followed by her not even pausing her writing.
Though the raven seems uninterested, you perk up at the idea, finding more interest than her. There's nothing else to do. Might as well... “Alright, I'm in,” you announce, sitting up, “but, uh—” You cast a glance at Wednesday. “I don't think we can play with just two people.”
Enid grins wider. Her gaze immediately flicks to Wednesday.
Wednesday feels that look, eyes narrowing. Her jaw tenses. Fingers pausing their rapid typing. “I'm busy.”
Enid pouts, whining out, “Aw, c'mon, just one game. For the fun of it. Then you can go back to your writing. We won't bother you after that.”
She's about to reject her once again when you, clearly in support of Enid, chime in with, “Just one game won't hurt, will it, Wednesday? It'll be fun.”
She turns a sharp glare on you. It falters when she sees you staring at her with pleading eyes. Wednesday huffs, looking quite displeased, then, with a disgruntled sigh, she reluctantly pushes her typewriter aside before standing up, the chair scraping across the ground.
Both you and Enid exchange victorious looks.
You clear the room to make room for the game. Pushing away your desks, chairs, and anything else that may get in the way. Once the floor is clear, you sit, with Wednesday doing the same, though she crosses her legs, looking bored. Enid takes the bottle and sits in front of both of you.
“Alright! The rules are pretty easy. Each of us takes a turn spinning the bottle and whoever the bottle points to when it stops has to kiss the other. It could be on the cheek or on the mouth.” Enid adds quickly, “Just a friendly kiss...” She pauses, gaze drifting to you, and quickly averts elsewhere, “for now, at least.”
For now?
That caught your attention. You frown, squinting your eyes at Enid, only to have her innocently look away, giving the bottle an excited but quick shake, and then set it onto the floor between all three of you.
“Ready? I'll go first since I suggested the game. We'll do it clockwise, so then you'll go after me, then Wednesday. And the game's over once all three of us have spun it once. Does that sound fair?”
She receives a nod from you and another huff from the ravenette.
Enid beams before spinning the bottle, sending it in a whirling spiral across the ground. The bottle goes round...and round... and round...and finally, it comes to a stop...pointing at...
“Aw, Wednesday!”
You grin, glancing between Enid and Wednesday. The former giggles with excitement. The latter just stares down at the pointed neck of the bottle with a blank expression, though you notice a slight twitch in her jaw.
The ravenette seems to sense your excitement. Her eyes flicker over, meeting yours before drifting back to the blonde werewolf. “Do I have to?”
“Rules are rules,” Enid replies.
Wednesday sighs, resigned to the fact that yes, she does have to.
She heaves herself up, crawling over to Enid and giving her a kiss on the cheek. It barely lasts two seconds, you'd think that it never even happened. She sits back just as quickly, straightening her back, looking at you.
“Your turn.”
You look at Enid, seeing the clear disappointment. Was she hoping for something more intimate between them? Like...
Shaking your head quickly, you reach for the bottle in an attempt to clear the sudden thoughts. Grabbing ahold of it, you give it a firm, quick twist.
The bottle sputters and spins around on the floor, slowing...and slowing...and it comes to a stop...pointing at none other than...
Enid.
The blonde's face immediately brightens, the disappointment from earlier forgotten almost instantly.
You glance at Wednesday, expecting her to look disinterested, but instead, you find her already staring at you, and your gaze is drawn to her parted lips, her rigid shoulders, the slight twitch in her fingers—
You push those thoughts away. You're just imagining things.
Wednesday is just in a bad mood because she was forced to play along. She probably still hates it as much as she did at first.
Gulping nervously, you turn to Enid, crawling forward until you're in front of her.
The grin on her face grows bigger. And you're only just noticing the pink flushing her cheeks. You feel your heart quicken a little. Why, you have no idea. Nerves.
Leaning in, you're about to kiss her cheek when suddenly, she grabs your jaw and pulls you in, lips crashing against yours. Your hand instinctively reaches out to brace yourself, only to have your palm land on her thigh.
Enid, clearly not concerned about keeping things PG, eagerly kisses you, and though surprised, you find yourself returning the kiss, warmth searing through your body. You'd think she wanted this all along. She threads her hand through your hair and boldly runs her tongue along your lower lip, but before you get the chance to open your mouth—
A sharp cough snaps you out of the heated kiss. Reminding you that there's another person sitting right behind you.
You quickly pull back from Enid, who looks rather content. She releases her grip, letting your hair slip through her fingers, then sits back, licking her slightly swollen lips. “Okay, Wends, your turn.”
Wednesday doesn't say anything as you sit back to your previous spot, watching while she grabs the bottle and spins it. The three of you watch it twirl and spin across the floor, whirling around and around, until it finally, slowly, comes to a stop...pointing towards...
...
You.
Shit.
Is she going to kiss you the same way Enid did...? No. Probably just a quick kiss on the cheek.
But...what if...
What if—
Wednesday lifts her dark eyes to meet yours, staring you down for a good five seconds, as though contemplating something. She then pushes herself up on her knees, slowly crawling over, stopping just before you, eyes flicking briefly to yours before dropping down to your lips.
“Wednesday...” you murmur, shuddering as her cold fingers grip the back of your neck to pull you closer.
No witty comment or smartass remark leaves her lips. The only sound that comes from her is a low hum, and—
She presses her soft lips against yours, and unlike the kiss with Enid, Wednesday kisses you fiercely, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth, gently biting to make you gasp into her mouth and slip her tongue inside.
Hands grasping her waist, clutching it tightly, wanting her closer, while hers drift down, coming to rest on your shoulders. Her tongue swipes against your own before wrapping around it, dominating your mouth, and she tilts her head, angling you better.
Wednesday moans quietly as your nails rake across her back, nearly causing her to lean forward. She manages to catch herself, using your shoulders for support, and pulls back, panting. Her gaze falls to your swollen lips, glistening with saliva, the corners rising up slightly in an almost smirk.
You've never seen Wednesday look at you so...predatory. The heat in your face spreads to your stomach at the almost animalistic look in her eyes.
“Oh.”
Remembering the other girl sitting beside you, you turn your head to find Enid, who doesn't look all that happy with being cockblocked.
“That was way more than a simple kiss on the cheek and not fair at all. Not when I only got a quick one. I didn't even get the chance to try and slip my tongue into her mouth. Not fair, not fair at all—”
“Come here, then,” you interrupt, gesturing to the spot next to you.
She immediately perks up, wasting no time in slipping over to sit beside you. Like an overeager puppy. “Really...?” she asks, eyes flitting between you and Wednesday.
You nod.
And that's all it takes for Enid to pounce on you, capturing your lips with her own. She wastes no time pushing her tongue into your mouth, delving in to meet yours instantly. Fuck, she's even more eager than before. Moans slip out between your lips as her tongue explores the warm cavern of your mouth, her hand slowly sliding beneath your shirt.
Enid finally pulls back, panting with her mouth partly open, and before you can even catch your breath, Wednesday hooks her fingers beneath your jaw, roughly turning your head to her, and instantly seals her lips against yours.
She nips and sucks on your bottom lip, tongue slipping in as she takes control, forcing your tongue to move against hers.
The werewolf takes the opportunity to latch onto your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your burning skin. Enid's clearly determined to leave her mark. Mark on your neck and mark on the girl who just kissed you the way she wanted to.
Wednesday doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, too focused on keeping your attention. She takes your mouth like she owns it. Lungs burning from the need for air, and yet you can't bring yourself to pull away, grasping her shirt and kissing her back with the same hunger.
Never in a million years did you ever think you would be kissed and claimed by both girls at the same time. One pair of sharp canines grazing and nibbling on your neck; the other set of cold, firm, and demanding lips devouring yours with an overwhelming thirst. Fingers in your hair, on your neck, on your shoulders, your waist, your thi—
THUD.
The sudden sound forces everyone to freeze. Both sets of lips reluctantly leave your skin. All three of you turn to look at the cause of the noise and find...a book.
...and a very disgruntled-looking Thing.
That damned hand.
Wednesday abruptly stands up, brushing herself off as if nothing ever happened. “This game is over,” she says, ignoring Thing. “I shall return to my writing.”
“Y-yeah, uh, me too,” Enid quickly chimes in, pushing herself up. “I'm going to get back to my project.”
Damn.
That leaves you staring after them as they make their escape. Leaving you sitting there, confused and dazed, until your thoughts snap back to the actual cause of the interruption.
Thing.
The severed hand then has the audacity to raise its middle finger at you.
Summary: No one knows how the two of yall are dating. You guys are really opposites. Fem! reader
It was a mystery to everyone at Nevermore. To everyone outside Nevermore. To faculty, friends, and even enemies. How the hell are you and Wednesday Addams a thing? You, with your painfully bright sweaters, sparkly accessories, and the way you smiled at people in the hallways like they were all your best friends. And her, with her perpetually blank expression, deadpan stare, and a wardrobe so dark it could cause solar eclipses.
“You’re dating her?” Enid asked for the third time that week, eyes wide as saucers, glitter highlighter catching the sun like disco lights.
“Yes,” Wednesday said flatly, not bothering to look up from her typewriter.
“She’s just so…” Enid flailed her hands, trying to shape the idea with gestures. “Happy. Like, terminally happy.” Wednesday’s fingers paused for half a second.
“Sunshine is known to be lethal in large doses.”
Enid blinked. “So… you’re… dying?” Wednesday’s lips twitched. That was the closest thing to a smile anyone had seen from her since… well, ever.
You, meanwhile, were in the quad, giving little flower gifts to Bianca after she jokingly said you’d never be able to "brighten her" and then you did. Bianca rolled her eyes, but let you continue. From a distance, Wednesday watched. The tips of her fingers curled around the edge of her book. She didn’t look jealous. No, Wednesday didn’t get jealous.
She got possessive. Later, when you came skipping over to her with two iced teas, one for you and one for her (black, unsweetened, and horrifyingly bitter- just how she liked it), she just blinked at you and said, “You’ve touched six people today.”
You grinned. “You counted?”
“I’m compiling a list.”
“For… what?”
“In case they mysteriously disappear.” You laughed and leaned your head on her shoulder. She stiffened, as she always did at first, then melted a fraction, like frost reluctantly yielding to sunlight.
People watched the two of you walk together and whispered behind hands and locker doors. “She literally wears pink, like actual baby pink. I saw her give a teacher a sticker for being nice.”
“Wednesday threatened a guy for making her cry last week.”
“I heard she sewed her a plushie afterward though??”
“I heard Wednesday bit it.” No one understood it. Not when you twirled around her in the hallway with glitter on your cheeks, and she just blinked in black-and-white judgment. Not when you passed her notes in class with hearts and smiley faces, and she’d respond with, “You are absurd. Never change.”
Not when she showed up to your art show and stared at your pastel-covered canvas with such intensity someone asked if she was plotting its murder and definitely not when you beamed and kissed her cheek in front of everyone and she just… let you.
One day, Xavier leaned over to whisper to Enid, watching the two of you sitting together under a tree. you with your head in Wednesday’s lap, babbling about your favorite cloud shapes, while she methodically braided a small noose out of grass. “How did that happen?”
Enid shrugged. “I think she tried to kill her at first. But like, emotionally?”
“...That sounds accurate.”
Alone, you once asked her the same question. "Why me?" You were sitting cross-legged in her dorm, surrounded by books and blades and taxidermy, a place no one would normally associate with cuddles.
She looked up from her writing, slow and deliberate. “Because you don’t flinch when I talk about blood.”
You giggled. “Is that all?”
“No,” she said, stoping her typing on her typewriter. She stayed still, “Because you are terrifying in your own way.”
You tilted your head, genuinely puzzled. “Me?”
“You love people so much,” she murmured. “You see the good in everyone. You let them in. That kind of hope is reckless. Dangerous.”
You blinked, unsure if that was a compliment or—“I’m keeping you safe from them,” she added, voice lower now. “Even if I have to keep you in my shadow to do it.” Your smile softened.
“Okay,” you whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “But I’m still putting little flower stickers on your violin case.”
She sighed like she’d been personally insulted by God. “Make sure they’re black and white at least, Cara Mia.”
But the next day, You can still see the brightly colored and mix on monochrome flowers. She’d never peeled them off.
To everyone else, it was a mystery. To Wednesday, it was simple- You were light and she'd never known how much she craved warmth until you gave it to her freely. She would burn the whole world to keep it.
Dark Male! Wednesday Addams X Reader X Dark Male! Enid Sinclair
The moon cast eerie shadows across Nevermore Academy's gothic architecture as you hurried toward your dorm, arms wrapped tightly around your textbooks
Being new hadn't been easy, especially for someone as naturally withdrawn as you.
You couldn't see were the two pairs of eyes tracking your every move from an upper window.
"Her heartbeat must be rabbit-quick," Wednesday observed, his voice monotone yet somehow predatory.
"I wonder how fast it would beat if I held a scalpel to her throat."
Enid shifted beside him, his bright sweater a splash of color against the gloom.
"Wednesday! That's not how you make friends, I was thinking we could bring her cookies tomorrow, maybe with little edible glitter?"
"We are not making friends, Sinclair. We are claiming territory." Wednesday turned from the window, his dark eyes piercing.
"Remember our agreement. No territorial displays. She belongs to both of us."
Enid nodded vigorously.
"Totally! Sharing is caring! But maybe we ease her into it? Like, with the cookies first?"
─── ⋆⋅☽◯☾⋅⋆ ───
Hours later, you had just slipped into your pajamas when a soft knock sounded at your door, assuming it was your roommate, you opened it without hesitation.
Your breath caught. Wednesday and Enid stood in the hallway, an unsettling combination of darkness and cheerfulness.
"May we enter?" Wednesday asked, though it sounded more like a command.
You stepped back, heart pounding as they closed the door behind you.
"We have observed your difficulties adjusting," Wednesday stated, moving closer until you could smell the faint scent of formaldehyde that always clung to him.
"New prey often struggles in unfamiliar hunting grounds."
Enid quickly stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Wednesday.
"What he means is, we know it's tough being new! We want to help you feel welcome!"
Wednesday's lip curled slightly.
"I meant precisely what I said, you're prey in a den of predators. Fortunately for you, we have decided to claim you before someone less... delicate does."
Before you could respond, they guided you to your bed, sitting on either side of you, effectively trapping you.
"We have come to an arrangement regarding you," Wednesday began, his fingers tracing patterns on your blanket that looked suspiciously like nooses.
"Enid and I will be sharing you, much like one shares a favorite specimen between two collections."
Enid laughed nervously, before explaining.
"He's being metaphorical! We both really like you and thought instead of competing, we could both be your friends! Super close friends!"
Wednesday tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on you.
"Friends is such an inadequate word, you're ours now. We will protect you from the others who would surely tear you apart, I have already begun collecting potential souvenirs from those who have looked at you too long."
Your eyes widened. "S-souvenirs?"
"Wednesday's joking!" Enid interjected, his voice slightly too high.
"He means like, watching out for you! Making sure nobody bothers you!"
"I never joke," Wednesday corrected, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I have a lovely jar waiting for the first person who makes you cry their eyes would make a charming addition to my collection."
Enid grabbed your hand, his grip tight despite his cheerful tone.
"We just want to take care of you! Be your special protectors!"
Wednesday's cold fingers brushed against your neck.
"If anyone tries to harm what's ours, I have several methods of disposal that would make even Thing uncomfortable. The screams would be music to my ears."
"Wednesday!" Enid's smile faltered for a moment before returning, brighter than before.
"I swear he likes to be dramatic! We would never hurt anyone! Probably! Unless they really deserved it!"
You were going to object but...
They both slid into your bed, positioning you between them.
Wednesday's presence was like a block of ice, while Enid felt like a furnace threatening to burn you.
"Sleep now," Wednesday orders, his breath cold against your ear.
"I have been studying your sleep patterns. Did you know you talk in your sleep? I have recorded every word. Your subconscious is fascinatingly vulnerable."
Now those creepy words are more then enough to make you want to run away from them.
But you only freeze in your place from the fear.
Enid's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.
"We care about you! A lot! We will be right here when you wake up. And every morning after. And probably watch you sleep sometimes. For safety!"
"How?" you ask.
"You will move to our dorm, silly!" Enid replies as if it was obvious.
Wednesday's hand found yours under the covers, his grip unyielding.
"No one will ever touch you without our permission. And if they try, well, I have always wondered what human skin looks like stretched over a canvas."
You realized you were trapped between two obsessive freaks, one who openly displayed his disturbing nature, and another who tried desperately to hide his own behind a mask of cheerfulness.
You can't imagine what will happen to you if you say 'no'
You're getting ready to sleep out the storm when a broken window leads Enid and Wednesday to seek refuge in your dorm.
Hi! Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ Unfortunatly, for me, I may not be able to watch the second half of the second season for a few days, so I can't read fics right now ˊᴖˋ
I’m taking requests for any Wenclair x OC/Reader pairing combination and maybe others. I want to have more writting practice.
The strom had rolled in like the heavens had some long held grudge against Nevermore. The rain hammered loudly against the stone walls and the thunder rattled the windows.
You’d just settled yourself in your comfortable nest of soft blankets when a pounding sounded at your door nearly making you jump out of your own bones.
You reluctantly left the safe warmth of your bed, but before you could open the door Enid shoved it open and bounced inside with a perkiness that did not match both the late hour and the weather.
“Emergency! Our dorm window is completely busted, the wind is like, totally howling straight through the room. It's way too cold.”
Wednesday followed shortly after her. Much more composed and easier to understand. “The draft is unbearable, and not in a pleasant way. Your room is much more suitable.”
You blinked at them, your eyes moving from them to the only bed in the room. Yours. “My room is a single.”
Enid grinned up at you as she plopped herself down on your bed, messing up the carefully arranged blankets. “Guess we’ll be warm and cozy.” You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at her for disturbing the comfy spot you’d made..
“I’ll take the floor.” Wednesday chimed in, moving one of the blankets from your bed onto the floor.
“Nuh-huh, we all take the bed.” There was a look shared between them, a conversation you weren’t privy to but had been wishing to be for weeks. Enid seemed to have won whatever discourse they were having and Wednesday picked the blanket back up and replaced it on the bed. She did however swap out your yellow pillow with the black one she had brought,
That is how you ended up pretty much sacked between a very jittery werewolf and a very corpse like Addams on your slightly larger than the school issued, but still more narrow than it should be to comfortably fit three people, mattress whilst the storm still raged outside.
Both you and Wednesday lay on your backs whilst Enid curled herself against your arm. You’d lost the battle on who would be squished in the middle in your own bed. Not that you fought very hard. You barely fought at all, one glare from the Raven and a pout from the Wolf had you climbing into the middle like a well behaving pup. And you weren’t even the werewolf in the room.
“Seriously, that lightning was way too close. What if the entire roof caves in?”
Wednesday’s response was steady, she almost sounded bored. Then again, she almost always sounded bored. “That could be a very swift end. Or we could end up trapped for days only to die of either starvation or dehydration. Perhaps suffocation.”
“Wednesday!” Enid groaned, reaching over you to lightly smack at her shoulder. “Don’t make it worse.”
You laughed, you couldn’t help it, their interactions were always one of your favorite things to witness. Both of them went quiet when you did, all their attention focused on you. Enid’s eyes were bright and warm, Wednesday’s dark and intense.
Your heart jumped. “What?” You mumbled now feeling a bit self-conscious.
“Nothing. It’s just…” Enid stopped, hesitating.
“It’s either nothing, or it’s just something. Can’t be both.” You teased her.
“Your laugh is cute is all.” She mutters lowly.
Wednesday was still focused on you and neither of them missed it when your cheeks warmed up. “Enid is not… incorrect.”
The room fell into a thick silence. Compliments from Enid, as common as they were, still make your heart race, but one from Wednesday? That was incredibly rare and left you speechless.
Enid took advantage of the silence, and leaned in and kissed you. It was soft, quick and incredibly sweet. Exactly what you had expected but somehow even better than you had let yourself imagine in the quiet, lonely hours of the night.
Before you could recover and consider the consequences of what had just happened. Being kissed by your friend in front of your other friend who happened to be her touch homicidal jealous girlfriend who you'd seen punish others for lesser infractions. Said girlfriend’s cooler hand found your jaw and turned you to her.
“I don’t often act on impulse, you know?” She said with a quiet intensity. “But I will not waste this moment.”
Her kiss was firmer and certain, and left you just as breathless. By the time she pulled back Enid was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.
“That was hot,” she said.
“Go to bed.” Wednesday replied, positioning herself to go to sleep with her arms crossed across her chest. Enid stuck her tongue out at her and settled herself against your arm again, making herself comfortable and sighing.
“Well, goodnight? I guess?” There is a low chuckle from Enid and a hum from Wednesday.
By the time morning came around you insisted on accompanying them to their room, wanting to help with any potential clean up. However when you made your way into the room the notorious round split window stood there, perfectly intact and as you got closer to it you couldn’t even spot a single crack.
You shook your head in exasperation, smiling despite yourself. “Wow, this is the worst case of a broken window I’ve ever seen. However, shall we fix it?”
Enid chimed in from behind you. “Whoops! Um, it must have fixed itself overnight!
“Lying is a skill she clearly excels at.” Wednesday said as she moved towards her desk.
You laughed again, the sound bringing a smile to Enid’s face, and if anyone asked whilst you were grinning all morning. Well the lovely weather the previous night was as good an excuse as possible.
Warnings — PUKING!!! Nothing like suuuper explicit but Wednesday has a stomach bug. Ooc!Wednesday , #downbad reader
A/N — This is for froggy !! i hope u feel better soon :( @gyneve
Song — Love, Love, Love by The Mountain Goats
NOT PROOFREAD
It’s not often that Wednesday Addams gets sick. Growing up she would cough once, take a concoction her mom had in a bottle, and would be right as rain within a few minutes. So the state she’s in now is completely foreign to her.
She’s been puking once an hour for about four hours now, with you tending to her each and every time. The first time, she barely made it to the bathroom, not understanding what was happening to her or why until it happened. She genuinely thought she might be dying.
The noise from the bathroom woke Enid up, and in a panic from seeing her usually very put-together roommate in such a state of disarray, she ran to your dorm and woke you up from your deep slumber. You didn’t mind though, Wednesday was far more important to you than sleep.
You helped Wednesday get back into bed after wiping her face off with a wet rag, sitting behind her and letting her sit against you as you braided her hair to keep it out of her face in case she threw up again.
She wouldn’t admit it, obviously, but she was immensely grateful. Just your mere presence helped calm her, and it wasn’t long before she was asleep in your arms. You let yourself nod off too, but it didn’t last long, as she continued to yak every single hour since.
It’s four in the morning now, and you’ve officially secured your role as girlfriend of the year, with your acquisition of saltines and sprite, you’ve gotten Wednesday to eat and keep things down. For now, anyway.
“Are you feeling okay, love?” You ask as she lays back down beside you, her frame shaking slightly.
“I’m freezing.” She replies, her voice just as cold as she seemingly is as she scoots closer to you. You accepted the fact that you were probably going to get whatever stomach bug she had long ago, so you paid no mind to where her breath was directed, and wrapped your arms around her to pull her closer. When your hand brushes her unclothed arm, you almost jump at just how hot she is. You’re so used to her being as cold as a dead body.
“You’re burning up.” You frown, bringing your hand up to her forehead. “I should take you to the infirmary.” You tell her, she shakes her head once.
“No. I’m fine here.”
“Love, you’ve got a fever. I can’t stay with you tomorrow, I have classes.” She opens her eyes just to glare at you.
“You’d leave while I’m on my deathbed? And you call yourself my lover.” She mumbles, shutting her eyes once again. You huff a laugh.
“Weds, I have to go to class. You’d rather me be at your beck and call all day?”
“Yes. I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about that.” You roll your eyes.
“I’m so sorry, my love. I guess I can skip one day.” She nods wordlessly, and a soft smile appears on your face as you look at the girl in your arms. She looks so content, you know she’s probably feeling awful, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from just looking at her. No, Wednesday somehow looks beautiful even now, flushed more than usual, her brows furrowed just slightly, and her lips forming the smallest frown.
Before tonight, you genuinely didn’t think you could ever fall more in love with her. Boy were you wrong.
Summary: Constance is going to ruin your life. Not that you're sure you want to keep living it anyway.
Word Count: 4.7k
Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of scars, mentions of past trauma
Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (Enid x Reader focused this chapter)
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)
“So that’s your new family?”
Dishes clinked and scratched against each other in the sink. Your hands stung and ached, blistered by the scalding water that you couldn’t bother allowing to cool. It didn’t hurt, but you could recognise the fact that it should have. An unusual sensation. It was better than the strange, slightly itchy feeling crawling over your skin.
“Close friends.”
Constance hummed, the sound drowned out by the liquid in her mug. It had only been a few weeks, but her eyes had regained their dull glow. Her pallid skin had returned to appearing warm and inviting. Some would consider it her best quality; unaware of the danger hidden behind her appealing, humanoid appearance. You were no fool.
And apparently, neither was Wednesday nor Enid.
“They seem nice.” Your eyes were focused on the small fibers left behind from the drying towel. “The children appear a little wild, but nice.”
“We don’t have to be friends, ‘Nance,” you said, turning around and resting against the sink counter.
She froze, dark eyes glued to yours.
“You can stay as long as you need, but we don’t need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This,” you gestured around to the empty apartment where, by some unusual choice, Constance was sitting as close to you as possible. “We don’t need to make small talk, or reminisce, or say nice things about the people I associate with.”
“We’re siblings, cher,” Constance said softly. “I just want to catch up on the things I’ve missed.”
No. No, you didn’t need her to catch up on things. If it had been up to you, you never would’ve let her stay in the first place. Wednesday’s unusually warm heart had softened you up to the idea at your apartment, and now you couldn’t go back on it. That didn’t mean you were going to let Constance know every bit of your life. Quite frankly, it was none of her business.
“They’re family,” you conceded quietly.
Constance smiled. “But not like us, right?” Her shoulders raised in a shrug. “Ain’t nothin’ stronger than blood.”
The breath exhaled through your nose like a nearly-silent jet stream. The small saying brought visions of the past, of running through the parish alongside Constance and Bas, looking for trouble wherever it found you. No one in the whole wide world gave you a second glance, and you were happy that way because it meant no one could tear your family apart. The three of you against the world.
"Ain’t nothin’ stronger,” you repeated.
Living with Constance again was something you hadn’t ever planned on doing. You had taken your separate paths, happy to diverge from the trail in a direction that had nothing to do with the other. You weren’t similar. As you got older, you hadn’t even really liked each other. She was too reckless, you acted far too superior. Or so she claimed.
The living room and kitchen remained spotless, but the guest room had turned into a rightful vampire den. Blood-stained bottles and kitchenware lay scattered around the room, littering every inch of furniture and floor. If the old hostel hadn’t been enough to scare you away, the mess of your guest room certainly had.
“Are the Addamses coming over anytime soon?” Constance asked.
“No,” you said far too quickly, turning around to take a sip of your tea before continuing the dishes.
“Really?”
“Why do you care?”
“I wanted to get to know them,” she said. “I need to know the one who gave you those scars.”
Hm. That was exactly the reason you wouldn’t invite the Addamses over. It was bad enough that Bas knew about Enid, but Constance? She was a loose canon even under the best of circumstances, you couldn’t imagine if she found out who had (in her mind) tried to kill her big sibling. Constance was feral when sober, but you couldn’t guarantee her sobriety forever.
She wouldn’t lay a finger on Enid.
Getting used to living with Constance again wasn’t the worst situation in the world. She was a phenomenal cook, and it was rather nice having actual food to take in for lunch. Janice eased up on her teasing when you had real lunch. You never admitted it was due to your unwelcome guest.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Constance asked a few hours later.
She leaned against the doorway to your office, looking like some lost puppy. You didn’t have time for her antics. If she wanted to watch a movie, she could do it on her own. There were three cases you were preparing for, and none of them could afford slacking off. It was your livelihood on the line, you couldn’t just abandon it because your sister wanted to watch a movie.
“Start it without me,” you mumbled. The words on the desktop screen jumbled together. You couldn’t stop.
“You work this hard when your little wolf is here?”
The cold blood boiled in your veins. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Oooh, so sensitive,” she huffed, “Bas didn’t tell me you were so possessive.”
“Constance.” Your fingers paused on the keys. “That’s enough.”
“He did say you got grumpy.”
“Why are you talking about me behind my back?”
“Well it ain’t like we can do it in front of your face, cher, you’re never home.”
You exhaled harshly through your nose. Argumentative as always. You were the lawyer, but even you knew it was a losing fight. Bas would play nice and could convince someone to do anything. All he had to do was smile. You had your quirks, and you couldn’t win every time, but you could get your way if you wanted.
But Constance, oh, she could argue until you gave in simply to shut her up.
The logical part of your brain told you to keep your mouth shut. She couldn’t argue if you didn’t feed into her behaviour. That wasn’t how you stamped a bad habit, you had to starve it. But the other part of your brain, the much louder part, nagged you to keep arguing. She couldn’t win, she didn’t deserve to win.
“Someone’s at your door,” Constance said, and both parts of your brain fell silent.
A gentle knock quickly followed her words. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, slowly morphing into a large, Cheshire cat smile. A lethal look that pulled countless men into her grasp. She inched backward, eyes locked with yours in a wordless battle of self-control.
Her hand grasped your wrist as you pushed past her in the doorway. Frozen fingers brushed against the sensitive scars. Jolts of electricity raced through your dry veins, growls echoing in your mind. You raced Constance to the door. You didn’t hear the sounds through the door; didn’t hear the hushed whispers on the other side of the wood until you opened the door and the silence enveloped your apartment.
The men in burgundy always smelled sickeningly sweet, like hot honey slowly dripped over rotten meat. Impeccably dressed as always, their long black hair was slicked back, each individual hair held in place by its own overabundance of grease. Suit jackets were suspicious as best, but on the men-in-black wannabes, they looked like nothing more than children wearing their father’s clothing.
Terror seized your every muscle.
“Can I help you?” You asked, your voice staying calm and neutral, betraying every ounce of fear underneath your skin.
“Fine evening to you,” the shorter man on the left said with dead eyes and a monotone voice. “We happen to be looking for a friend of ours,” he said with a tilt of his head, “would you be able to help us find her?”
"I’m not sure who you’re looking for,” you said.
“My apologies. She goes by the name Constance.”
All movement behind you halted. Constance exhaled; loudly to your ears, but inaudible to the Hunters’. You hoped she could feel the resentment spewing from your pores. Not once had you ever been on a Hunter’s list, and now they were knocking on your door? Peering into your apartment, trying to catch you in a lie?
“I’m not really one to give information without a subpoena.”
“A subpoena?” The taller one asked in a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “We’re hardly of any authority to issue those.”
“Then you’re hardly of any authority to expect an answer,” you said with finality. “I wish you luck in your search.
You pushed the front door closed, eager to be rid of the haunting omens. The door bounced off a well-polished shoe sticking in your doorway. Your eyes glued themselves to the shoe. Just three centimeters into your apartment. Too much. They hadn’t asked permission to enter.
“I trust,” the one in the doorway started in a low tone, “that you know not to get in our way.”
“You’ve evaded our list thus far,” the other continued, looking deep into your eyes. They wrapped around your chest with greasy fingers and squeezed. “It would be wise to remain that way.”
Chills ran down your spine. You had remained off their list your entire life; a personal goal you had made it a point to maintain. A sense of pride, even, to know you were one of the few to remain on the Hunters’ good side. The fact they were knocking on your door in the first place had your hands shaking where they rested.
“Have a good evening, Counselor,” one of them said. Quickly, the foot in your doorway disappeared, and you held eye contact until the door closed.
Soft footsteps thumped against the carpet outside your apartment, heading away from your door. You could barely discern the stairway door opening and slowly clicking shut, blocking out the sound of steps down the concrete stairs. A few seconds passed, and you finally heard two car doors shut, the engine turn over, and the foreign car drive down the street.
“That was close,” Constance whispered. “I thought we were goners.”
We?
Your fingers curled around the car keys and you slammed the door behind you, following in the footsteps of the Hunters.
———
Walking when the weather was just starting to warm up was a welcome distraction. No Constance, no Hunters, nothing to cause unnecessary stress within the delicate ecosystem that was your nervous system. It was best with the moon high in the sky. A half moon so as not to burn your unshielded eyes.
The city was silent as you traversed the well-known streets. You briefly wondered if Constance was safe; if the Hunters had come back to the house. But the immediate kink in your stomach concluded you didn’t care. She was the reason these situations were arising in the first place.
The bells tolled at the old chapel down the street. A quaint little church with no more than 20 congregates, your feet always attempted to pull you nearer and nearer, desperate to walk amongst the hallowed halls bathed in aged stained glass. Most nights you rejected the idea, refusing to accept the ache that settled deep within your bones.
Tonight was worthy of the sacrifice.
Father was rarely in on a Thursday night which was perfect. He couldn’t sit beside you and ask you to bare your soulless sins. The pews were nearly empty, the candles at the altar were lit, and you could hear the faintest rumblings of the bells as they eased back into their relaxed state.
As someone’s whispered prayers were uttered to the empty halls, you sat yourself down in the middle of the rows. Not too close to the front where you felt naked and vulnerable to the world, but not the back where you felt the call of outside pulling at your spine. The direct middle left you content, almost exhausted.
There were occasions you had sat in the pew until the sun shone through the glass, leaving coloured pictures painting the floor. Images of angels worshiping on their knees, praying to a God that would never hear them. They suffered so beautifully and received nothing but suffering in return. Those angels loved and worshiped and sacrificed for something they could never have again.
Endless suffering looks beautiful on them.
“I didn’t know you went to church.”
Your hands remained clasped, held together by the nails that anchored themselves in your skin. No words left your lips; no prayers, no pleas for repentance or forgiveness. The large wooden cross at the front of the church loomed over you, covering your body in a shadow surrounded by moonlight.
Familiar footsteps echoed through the empty room, getting closer and closer to your position. The invisible pull toward the cross shifted, instead pulling you to your right, urging you to move and greet whoever was coming to your side. Your dead heart filled with pressure until you felt your chest would explode, leaving yourself bare in front of God.
“Aspen said they saw you here,” the voice continued softly. “And mentioned something about a hunter.”
Even if you hadn’t recognised the voice, felt the pull of her words, you would have known her. Warmth radiated from her from halfway across the chapel. When she knelt beside you and her shoulder brushed against yours, your skin seared like a burn from the sun. If you remained still for too long, you swore the flesh would have peeled in thin, translucent layers.
“Did they see Constance?” The words seared up your throat, leaving it raw and parched.
“I don’t know,” she said, and you could practically hear the way she shook her head. “They didn’t say.”
Your nails untethered themselves from your skin, leaving small red crescents between each knuckle and at the base of each thumb. The wounds were perfectly pierced, they would barely leave a scar. Your eyes were tired, but they couldn’t resist opening and looking upon her face in awe.
Enid.
“Wednesday would have come too,” she gave a tired chuckle, “but you know how she is with churches.”
“I’m sure she would have combusted,” you teased.
The glow of the moon illuminated both of your scars. Matching imperfections to connect you for life. Enid was truly beautiful. Her hair was currently a dark blonde that accentuated the features of her face. Your knuckles ached to caress her skin, to feel her warmth on your cold fingertips.
“You’re getting harder to contact,” Enid said softly. She smiled and shook her head. “Wednesday said you didn’t want to be found but I think that’s ridiculous.”
Enid’s optimism could have made you sick. Tugging tightly at the knot in your stomach, squeezing your lungs until no air was left. And yet the sickness wracking your soul wasn’t enough to refute her claim.
She was right. You had been ignoring their calls, desperate to be left alone. No part of you would allow them to include themselves with Constance around. She brought Hunters, and Hunters brought death. You wouldn’t dare risk their lives so carelessly. So you evaded their attempts, deleting each missed call in a piss poor attempt to hide your shame.
“You wouldn’t leave us again, right?”
You would. You would leave them again in a heartbeat if it kept them safe. Your very presence was dangerous enough, but a Hunter would kill them. They would kill them for pure enjoyment, and you couldn’t stand by and let it happen. So you would keep them to their own lives, blissfully unaware of the dangers that creeped in their periphery.
“How has it been?”
Your head tilted.
“Living with Constance.”
Oh. That.
“Not as horrible as one would believe,” you admitted purely out of desperation to end the topic as quickly as possible. The last thing you wanted to talk about was Constance. She was the whole reason you had left the apartment in the first place.
“Wednesday said she seemed genuine,” Enid continued. “That’s a big compliment.”
“Wednesday saw her after a drug-induced binge.” Enid flinched. “Genuinely insane might have been the better observation.”
“She didn’t tell me that part,” she admitted.
Of course she wouldn’t. The look on Wednesday’s face had been enough to tell you everything. To throw her back that night, blood coating every inch of the apartment and everything all of you owned. What had she envisioned when Constance was invited into the apartment? Had she pictured you with tired eyes and blood falling from your lips?
You had.
“She’s your family,” Enid said softly. “We don’t want to shun her.”
“Constance is a plague,” you said quickly. “All of you will stay far away from her.” Enid locked eyes with you. “Do you understand?”
Footsteps softly bounced off the stone walls. You sat there looking into Enid’s eyes, waiting patiently for the sound to fade into the background. The doors to the church clicked shut, and the last remaining patron disappeared to leave you both alone in front of God.
Enid’s hands rested on top of yours. She twisted your hands around, exposing the small, jagged scars crossing your skin. Each one melding into the next in an eternal cycle of pain and remembrance. Regret. All the things you kept locked in your head every time you saw your loves, aching to tell them but your tongue was unable to do so.
Her thumb rubbed gently over one of the more prominent stretches of pallid skin.
“Aspen said we match,” she said. Her sleeves were pulled high, showcasing her own familiar, painful looking scars.
They were different. Your Little Bane said they matched because they didn’t know any better. But you did. Where yours crossed over your thumb as she swiped you away, hers circled her wrist, a perfect set of teeth marks. Yours were thick from her claws, hers were thin from your nails. It was nowhere similar, and you wished yours had been worse.
“I’m sure Wednesday told you this already,” Enid mumbled, “but you’re too hard on yourself.”
“I won’t talk of this again, Enid,” you said quickly, attempting to pull your hands back into your lap.
Her grip tightened, holding you in place. A slight sting lazily climbed its way up your arm to settle in your elbow. The sting turned into a prick as her claws crept out, slowly digging into the single space of untouched flesh on your wrists. Another scar in the making. Another reminder of your inadequacies.
“You never talk about it,” Enid said, “but I’m tired of acting like it didn’t happen just so you stay put.”
“I will not willingly relive that night-“
“-Wednesday and I relive it every moment of every day.”
Her claws dug deeper into your wrists, piercing the skin between the tendons. Enid’s eyes refused to leave yours, anchoring you to the spot. A heavy weight pushed down on your chest, the breath struggling to leave your lungs. The cross at the front of the chapel left a distorted shadow over your pew.
“You run away every time.” The claws dug so deep they were stopped by Enid’s bare fingers against your skin. “You’re not running this time.”
The thought crossed your mind to pull your arms away, letting the embedded claws rip through flesh and bone. To leave Enid there, alone and safe. Perhaps you could run away again, never to see them again and to finally allow them some closure to continue their lives. To live without the constant hope that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they used to be.
But you didn’t want to leave. Not again. You didn’t think your soul could take it.
“Wednesday and I have talked about it extensively.” Enid’s grip remained strong. Your strong girl. “We’ve accepted what happened. It’s time you did too.”
The words caught in your throat, but still you persevered.
“I cannot live with the guilt,” you confessed in front of Enid and God. “I accept it until I see your faces.” The scars on Enid’s jaw were faint at best, but you saw them like neon lights. “I cannot live with myself and the irreparable damage I have caused.”
“Damage can be fixed,” she huffed. “It can be healed.”
“Can it?” You asked. Her head tilted like a dog. “I can smell your fear when I lift a hand toward you.” Her cheeks flushed. “Wednesday flinches when I get near.” Eyes finally abandoned yours. “How can my actions be forgotten when neither of you can comfortably stand to be near my presence?”
You could hear her heart race now. Fear laced her blood; it always smelled pungent, like burnt meat. She had smelled the same on that night. Of fear and anger and desperation. An intoxicating smell to most of your kind, they craved the concoction that turned the blood sweet and thick. Constance would have gone insane over it.
It made you sick to your stomach.
“I wish for nothing more than simple repentance,” you said. “I wish to fix what I broke.” Her scars burned themselves into your mind’s eye. “But I can’t live with the damage I’ve caused.”
”That’s selfish,” Enid said simply. You looked up to study her face. “You want to run away because of your guilt?” She almost looked angry. “How do you think we feel?”
”I don’t-“
”-No you don’t, you don’t know how we feel.”
Enid wasn’t the angry type. Or, at least, she never used to be. But this Enid was grown, and had gone through more than your typical wolf. She had faced grief and loss and pain. So much pain. She was damaged, and angry.
”Wednesday could have gotten you killed,” Enid said quietly. “I could have killed you. And we would have had to live with that.” A beat. “We do have to live with that.”
You… hadn’t thought of that. They had survived together, and as far as you were aware, that was all that mattered. They had survived with their scars and trauma and without the threat of you looming over them. It hadn’t occurred to you that they might also have regrets of that night.
”Why did you give up on us so easily?” Enid asked in a shaky, whispered voice.
What could you say to that? What would be suitable to answer that wouldn’t break her heart? You had given up on them. You had given up on the chance to live with them, to love them, to even be around them. No part of you had wanted to put them at risk, and on a deeper level, you hadn’t wanted the temptation. The chance that you would go after Wednesday again and be forced into submission by Enid.
Nothing you could ever say would make it sound any better than it was, and you both knew it.
”We match,” she said, pulling your arms closer to her again. Her claws gently slipped themselves out of your skin, leaving a bloody well in their place.
You both looked down to see what she saw. No, it didn’t match in the sense of “identical.” The wounds were different in every sense of the word. But they carried the same hurt, the same regret, the same desperation for what once had carried comfort and peace.
The scars were different, but you matched.
”Wednesday would tell you the same thing and you know it,” Enid continued. “We’ll, maybe not quite the same, but it would have the same intention.”
Your eyes were stuck on the holes in your wrists. You were reminded of where you were and the holy son himself staring down at you, showing you an understanding you hadn’t seen in decades. He pitied you; you matched.
“I can give you space if you want it.” She didn’t sound convincing. “Although if it were up to me, I’d stay.”
Enid’s eyes were a beautiful shiny red. Tears welled up on her eyelids, threatening to spill over. Nothing pressed on your chest like Enid crying. She was always far more emotional than either you or Wednesday, but not overly so. Always for a good cause, she claimed. You believed her to be right, but it didn’t make the sight any easier to behold.
Something wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing until you couldn’t breathe. That was your Enid. She was there, really there, telling you she wanted to be with you. Wanted to be around you even after everything. After watching you drain half the life of her love. After scarring her perfect skin for life in such a way she would never fully recover.
It would be stupid and reckless and would only lead to disaster. You did it anyway.
Your nails sank into Enid’s forearms as you pulled her forward, letting gravity guide her into your lap. She was heavier than one would think - a werewolf thing, you supposed - and you loved the grounding weight. Her hands instinctively rested on your hips and the look in her eyes was enough to drive you insane.
She leaned forward first, pressing her lips against yours harshly. Teeth clacked against each other and you didn’t care. As your nails extracted themselves from her arms, her claws extended, ripping through the cloth of your shirt to reach familiar skin.
Something flooded your veins; arousal, excitement, fear, anger, you couldn’t tell. The same thing flooded Enid’s, and you could smell it on her. But she was eager, and her lips were soft, and you kept your fangs at bay by the sharp sting in your hips.
You wanted to bite, to nip her lip just enough to taste her. She was no Wednesday, you could control yourself, you were sure of it. Just one little taste, that’s all it would be.
Her claws dug deeper when you couldn’t keep your fangs hidden.
Your hands wandered, sliding up underneath her shirt. The scars were more prominent there underneath her clothing. You wanted to see them. With as much restraint as you could manage, you pulled her shirt over her head, pulling away only for a fraction of a second to fully remove it before moving back, revelling in the feel of her lips on yours.
Rough fingers trailed gently over Enid’s hips, waist, sides, anything they could reach. Memorizing each scar so you could kiss them later. Each hitch in her breath left you feeling ravenous, desperate. You wanted her. You wanted your Enid. You kissed your way across her jaw and down her neck, inhaling deeply at her pulse. All it would take was one little nip. Just one.
”Wait.”
You huffed and pressed your forehead firmly into the crook of her neck. She couldn’t do that to you, not when she smelled so beautiful and enticing. You took one more breath and pulled back, looking deeply into her blown pupils.
”Not without Wednesday.”
A hiss snuck past your lips as you readjusted your jaw, slotting your fangs back into a position that would hurt the least. You flinched when Enid retracted her claws, pulling them from your hips and leaving a warm liquid in its place. It didn’t really hurt; not when her hands cupped your jaw and pulled you in.
”Come home with me and we’ll talk.”
You wanted to. You wanted to go home with her so horrifically badly. To go and spend time with her and Wednesday, genuine time that wouldn’t be marred by guilt or some desperate hope for repentance. It would be the best night you’ve had since college.
But some twisted, unwanted sense of duty pulled your heart in another direction.
”I can’t leave Constance,” you mumbled.
Enid sighed, devolving into a lone, humourless chuckle.
”Maybe when she leaves?” She offered.
”Not a moment later,” you said quickly.
Her nails scratched lightly against the back of your jaw as she pulled you in for a single lingering kiss.
”We’ll be waiting for it,” she said softly against your lips.
Perhaps it was the motivation you needed to get Constance back home and out of your apartment.
