Chapter Text
It had taken Wednesday Addams a considerable amount of time to get used to Nevermore Academy. From her bright and bubbly roomie Enid Sinclair to the constant din of vapid chatter, Nevermore had proven to be challenging in ways she’d never experienced. Even now, in her final year, she found new irritants in her day-to-day school life.
Especially at this time of year.
Enrollment time always brought a new wave of giggling, prattling children, usually with delusions of their own relevance in the world. And it ground on Wednesday’s nerves in a way few other things ever had.
Thankfully, even Enid found this period grating, so at least she had someone to gripe to about the inconvenience of it all.
Now, as she tries to block out the annoying near-screeching of the new students on campus while collecting her breakfast, she finds she’s more than enthusiastic to return to their usual table so that they can begin the morning complaints.
It’s in her desire to vent her frustrations that she finds herself in an unexpected situation.
As she turns to their table, ready to rejoin her friend, she finds a pair of students she’s never seen before—a pair of girls only slightly shorter than her.
Their faces don’t matter to her, nor their hair, or eye colour. They never have before. But given the combined looks of pure shock on their faces, she takes notice in a way she never had before.
They’re staring at her chest, not in a leery way, more in a way that Enid would describe as an “oh, fuck”, moment.
It’s this combined look of fear that draws Wednesday’s eyes down, past the tray of food in her hands, and up to her uniform, where a shimmering purple liquid was slowly dripping down her vest and onto the floor at her feet.
She feels herself blink as another droplet hits the floor, her brows furrowing as her head tilts almost imperceptibly to the right. She pulls her eyes from the luminescent fluid to return her attention to the two girls, still stock-still before her, catching a glimpse of a glass vial - an empty glass vial - unstoppered and tilted towards her. A shimmering purple liquid dripping from the open mouth.
She doesn’t see the girls again, at least not as anything more than a blur of Nevermore blue and shocked squeaking, as Enid pushes them aside, already checking Wednesday over for injury.
“Oh-em-gee, Wednesday, are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?” The quick-fire questions rush out as Wednesday’s view is invaded by blonde locks and stark blue eyes.
Taking stock, she realises that overall she feels…strange.
Stranger than anything considered normal for an Addams, at least.
“Something is wrong”, she mutters, and Enid wraps an arm around her waist before the sentence has fully left her lips.
“Okay, okay. Wrong for you is, like, super wrong. Infirmary time.” Enid says, leading her out of the cafeteria and down the hall.
“No! No. No infirmary.” Wednesday mutters as a strange feeling begins to bubble low in her belly. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, a sense of emptiness that she can’t quite explain.
“Okay, alright. No infirmary. Copy that. Let’s get back to the room.” Enid agrees quietly, though Wednesday can hear the concern in her tone.
“Whatever this potion is, I doubt the school’s nurses could perform an adequate analysis of the ingredients in time to provide any real solution. I will test it myself and formulate an antidote.” Wednesday grinds out, the swooping emptiness in her abdomen pulsating as sweat begins to bead in the small of her back.
Enid chuckles beside her, “Of course you will.”
It had seemed a simple plan, but by the time they stumbled through the door to their shared room, Wednesday was in a far worse state than she had been in the cafeteria.
Sweat now dripped from every pore of her body, and the throbbing in her belly had become so intense that it was almost painful. Thankful that only Enid could see her condition, she let tears prick her eyes as Enid helped her onto the monotone sheets of her bed, well aware that her roommate would never judge her for such a pathetic display of emotions.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt? What do you need?” the blonde asked quickly, her hands hovering in uncertainty.
“Hurts. Too hot. Everything tingles.” She explains haltingly, tensing and relaxing her muscles in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort in any way possible.
It’s during this act that she realises that squeezing her thighs together does something for the pain, though it feels very much like it’s not enough.
Enid continues to hover over her, fingers trembling as her eyes dart back and forth, trying to determine a course of action.
Wednesday vaguely thinks she looks like a predator on the hunt; stock still, eyes flickering as their intended prey remains unaware of their presence. The silence from her usually talkative roommate somewhat seals the deal for Wednesday, and a shudder wracks her frame as she realises: she’s the prey.
Her teeth gritted, hands clenching the sheets beneath her as if they might tether her to something rational. But it was getting harder to think. Harder to speak. Everything tingled. The empty ache in her stomach had spread like liquid fire in her veins, pulling tight beneath her skin, her muscles twitching with every breath.
“I need…” Wednesday began, but her voice cracked, an awful, humiliating sound that drew fresh tears to the corners of her eyes. “I need you to call my mother.”
Enid froze. Turned slowly, brows lifted in shock.
“Like, your mom? Morticia Addams?”
Wednesday could only nod, barely.
There was a beat of silence, then Enid seemed to snap into action. She dug Wednesday’s phone out of her jacket pocket, unlocked it, and hit the contact with practised ease. As the call rang, she began to pace; one step, two, sharp inhale. Her head jerked slightly. She shook it.
“Hey, uh, hi!” she said, chipper and tight. “Mrs. Addams? It’s Enid. Sorry to call out of nowhere, I—uh—something happened. Wednesday—she’s not doing well.”
Wednesday moaned softly, curling inward on herself, fingernails digging into her forearms.
“Someone hit her with a potion,” Enid continued. “It’s like, really bad. She’s burning up. She’s, like, sweating buckets. I think it was those new girls. They just dropped something on her, and—”
She paused, mid-step. Blinked rapidly. Shook her head again, harder this time. A hand rose to rub at her temple, then moved down to cover her mouth.
“I—I think…” Enid stumbled again, voice faltering. “I think it’s affecting me too.”
She inhaled sharply, eyes wide.
“I’ve gotta go,” she added, fast, and hung up before Morticia could respond.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and practically sprinted into the bathroom. The door slammed with a violence neither of them had expected, the walls vibrating with the force. The lock clicked. A second later, a low, ragged groan came from behind the door—long, guttural, strained.
Wednesday flinched.
She tried to sit up, instinct overriding logic. She had to check. Had to know Enid was okay. But her legs refused to hold her—sensation surged, her knees buckling under her weight, and she hit the floor with a soft cry, folding into herself like a child. Her limbs twitched. Her skin burned.
From the bathroom, the groans were getting louder.
And worse, they were starting to sound hungry.
It might’ve been minutes. It might’ve been an hour. Time had become something abstract—another thing slipping through Wednesday's trembling fingers. The room swam in soft pulses of light and scent and heat. Her cheek was pressed against the cold wooden floor, and even that sharp contrast wasn’t enough to soothe the wildfire in her skin.
She didn’t know if she had passed out. She only knew that when the door burst open with a dramatic flourish and the scent of myrrh and red wine filled the room, she sobbed with relief.
“Darling,” came the familiar, velvety voice.
Wednesday couldn’t lift her head, but she didn’t need to. The swish of skirts, the soft click of heels. Morticia dropped to her knees beside her with all the grace of a waltz, hands instantly cupping her daughter's face. Cool fingertips. Blessedly cool.
“My poor little death blossom…” Morticia cooed. “Who did this to you?”
Wednesday whimpered, hating the sound, hating the weakness in it. “Enid,” she managed, broken and raw.
Morticia’s brow arched elegantly. “Enid?” She turned to look toward the bathroom door, just as a thud echoed from within.
“I’ll check on her”, came Gomez’s voice from behind her, his usually buoyant tone now tense as he stepped towards the bathroom door, which rattled on its hinges with a continuous thud-thud-thud.
Gomez moved quickly, approaching the door with a practised calm. He knocked once, sharply. “Ms. Sinclair?”
Thud-thud-thud.
He unlatched the door, turning the handle slowly and opening the door just a crack. And Enid was right there.
Gomez couldn’t see much through the thin gap, but still managed to get a good picture of Enid’s condition. Blonde hair plastered back with sweat, fangs bared, and eyes glowing golden. Her claws, unsheathed and tearing at the wooden door jamb as she lunged for the exit.
Gomez slammed the door shut with a grunt, pressing his weight against it as Enid threw her body at the obstacle.
Morticia didn’t flinch. “She’s reacting to Wednesday,” she said matter-of-factly, eyes locked on the splintered frame. “Not us.”
“She’s half-shifted,” Gomez called, straining slightly. “Eyes gone, teeth out. Like she’s stuck between human and wolf.”
The door shook again as a growl reverberated from behind it.
A massive shadow filled the entryway just then. Lurch entered, face impassive as always, carrying an oversized black case in one hand like it weighed nothing.
“Thank you, Lurch,” Morticia said smoothly. “Gomez, darling, switch with him. We’ve work to do.”
The moment Lurch braced against the door—barely blinking as another impact echoed through it—Gomez was at his wife’s side, opening the case. Inside: gleaming flasks, labelled vials, a mini distiller, powdered herbs and syringes meticulously organised in velvet cutouts.
“I brought the travelling lab,” Morticia purred. “Not that I expect it to help. But it always pays to be prepared.”
“I admire your optimism,” Gomez said with a kiss to her temple.
Another growl—louder, sharper.
Lurch actually winced as the door’s hinges creaked ominously.
A firm knock at the entrance rang out between the thumping of the bathroom door, and a tall, severe woman with neatly cut salt-and-pepper hair and a tailored grey coat buttoned all the way up stood at the threshold. Principal Ruxford’s nose twitched, and she stopped cold as she gazed at Wednesday’s pathetic form writhing on the floor.
Morticia straightened. “Ah. The principal.”
“…I didn’t know Wednesday was a fur.”
“She’s not,” Morticia replied.
Principal Ruxford went pale.
“Oh… oh, no.” She backed up a step.
“Care to elaborate?” Gomez asked, sharing a glance with Morticia.
Ruxford ran a hand down her face. “I think I know what this is.”
Gomez and Morticia turned to stare at her expectantly, still crouched over Wednesday’s trembling body, Morticia’s fingers still lightly brushing against her cheek.
Ruxford huffed as she glanced at Wednesday sympathetically. “The potion is called Ignis Veneris. It’s been banned in the fur community for nearly a century due to the effects it has.”
Morticia tilted her head in askance as the principal paused.
“It induces a heat, which wouldn’t matter all that much, but it affects non-furs in the same fashion. It was abused badly back in the day, and the community as a whole determined it was dangerous. I couldn’t even tell you how someone found a recipe, they were all destroyed…”
“And what of Enid?” Gomez asks. “She seems affected by this, too.”
Lurch groans deeply as the door shakes behind him.
Ruxford hesitates. “It’s basic biology, really. When an omega is in heat, it will trigger compatible alphas nearby. But I’m an alpha myself, and Wednesday smells atrocious to me. No offence, Wednesday,” she smiles sympathetically as Wednesday curls further in on herself.
“So you are saying that Wednesday and Enid are compatible mates?” Morticia asks, glancing down as Wednesday groans again.
The principal nods. “I’d say very much so, given the possessive pheromones Enid’s pushing out,” she huffs. “Be glad you aren’t furs. It’s rather oppressive.”
Gomez’s chest seems to puff out in pride as Morticia smirks, and the principal, who has taken to shifting from foot to foot in discomfort.
Another thump against the bathroom door jostles Lurch violently.
“She’s reacting to me,” the principal explains. “Another alpha in the room. I need to leave before she gets through that door. I’ll get hold of the students responsible and ensure other furs stay well away from Ophelia Hall.” She turns on her heel to leave as Gomez scrambles to his feet to follow.
“Ms. Ruxford,” he calls when they’re just outside the door. “Would I be right in saying that the only cure is a… carnal approach?”
The principal sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, yes. This potion was brewed for the specific purpose of forcing omegas to be ready to mate. It can only be resolved by completing the act.”
“And the biting? You wolves complete that cycle with a mating bite, yes?” Gomez asks, pulling a cigar from his chest pocket and clipping the end.
Ruxford gives him a withering glare, staring him down until the cigar is tucked neatly away once more. “While the mating bite is the ultimate conclusion, there’s no evidence that it’s required to end the effects of the potion.” She sighs.
“Ignis Veneris was designed to…satiate a need. The kinds of alphas who used it weren’t often intending to be a long-term presence in the omega’s life.”
Gomez grumbles, a quiet rage behind his eyes as he considers the information. “What of the children responsible? Miss Sinclair mentioned some new girls?”
“I’ll deal with them, Mr. Addams. I assure you.” The woman growled, turning on her heel once more.
“Be gentle with them, Ms. Ruxford,” Gomez calls, and the woman turns to him with undisguised shock in her eyes. “They’re children. I’m sure they’ve no idea what they made today. Give them some grace.” Gomez implores quietly, earning a sharp nod from the greying woman.
The door clicked shut as Gomez returned to the room, kneeling by his daughter once more as Morticia tinkered with her portable lab.
“Let me guess,” Wednesday ground out through gritted teeth. “Only base physical interaction will solve this?”
Gomez grinned cheekily at Morticia as they hovered over their daughter’s quivering form. “If it helps any, from what I saw? She’s well-equipped to satisfy your requirements.” Wednesday made a strangled noise into the floorboards.
Morticia smiled, amused and serene. “Lucky girl.”
“I loathe both of you,” Wednesday groaned, unable to even lift her head from the floorboards. It felt like her bones had melted, like her skin was too tight, like every nerve in her body was screaming.
And this time, she wasn’t certain her pride was strong enough to withstand any further torture.
She heard Gomez quietly packing up Morticia’s equipment—glass clinking, metal latches snapping closed with gentle finality. Her mother’s perfume lingered—cool and heavy and grounding—and then Morticia was kneeling beside her again, a pale hand brushing the hair from Wednesday’s sticky forehead.
“I know,” Morticia said softly, voice like silk drawn over a dagger. “That this likely isn’t how you envisioned this experience.”
Wednesday let out a breath that could almost be called a laugh, except bitter and pained. “That’s an understatement.”
Morticia’s hand trailed gently along her cheek, the back of her knuckles cool against flushed skin. “Carnality may offend your sensibilities, but your pain offends me more,” she murmured. “And I fear, darling, that you’re nearing your limit.”
Wednesday didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
Morticia continued, calm and deliberate. “If Enid were not a good match… she would not be pushing even Lurch’s limits to reach you. Your body simply knows something your mind hasn’t accepted yet.”
Another thud at the bathroom door.
Wednesday swallowed hard, the discomfort twisting in her gut with something deeper—sharper.
“I implore you, my deadly nightshade,” her mother whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp hairline, “to be open to this experience. And maybe… even find pleasure in it.”
Wednesday groaned, long and low, dragging a hand over her face. “That was repulsive.”
Morticia only smiled. “But effective?”
There was a pause. And then, barely, Wednesday nodded.
Satisfied, Morticia stood, smoothing her skirts. “Gomez?”
“All set.” He clicked the final latch on the lab case, lifting it easily.
They stepped away from the door. Lurch tensed, awaiting the signal.
“Now,” Morticia said with a nod.
Lurch moved.
The moment he pulled back, the bathroom door exploded outward with a crack of splintering wood. Enid emerged in a blur of motion—hair wild, chest heaving, claws flexed, eyes glowing. Her gaze locked onto Wednesday, and she was there in a heartbeat, skidding to her knees beside her.
Wednesday didn’t flinch.
Because, despite everything, Enid reached out with trembling care. And the feel of her clawed fingers brushing damp hair away from Wednesday’s forehead was blissful. Like a salve on a third-degree burn, the cool pads of her fingertips seemed to send a wave of relief through Wednesday’s body, causing her to shudder.
“Wednesday,” Enid whispered, and her voice, guttural, strained, cracked on the name. “Are you—gods, are you okay? I can’t—” She pressed her forehead to Wednesday’s temple, breath ragged. “I can’t think when you smell like this.”
At the doorway, Morticia and Gomez shared a look, a mix of smirk and pride.
Lurch scooped up the lab case and followed them out. The door clicked shut with quiet finality behind him.
Silence fell.
Well, almost silence.
Wednesday shifted slightly on the floor, legs trembling, her whole body taut as a bowstring. “Enid,” she murmured, and the word tasted strange on her tongue. Sweet, but in the way licorice is considered candy. “You… I need you thinking clearly.”
Enid drew in another ragged breath. “Okay, okay. I can do that. What do you need?”
Wednesday’s fingers trembled as they reached out to weakly grasp at the hem of Enid’s fluffy, pink jumper. “The—the potion…it…I need…” she huffs, “touch”.
Enid’s head tilts just slightly against Wednesday’s skull, and she can feel the wolf’s brow furrow. “What does that mean?” the blonde grumbles.
“It was made for…mating. I need…I need touch”. Wednesday explains, turning her head just slightly, her nose brushing against Enid’s cheek.
Enid growls, low and resonant. There’s a twitch and the sound of claws scraping hardwood.
“Do you want this?” She asks, pulling back just enough to meet Wednesday’s eyes.
Wednesday stared up at her, skin flushed, pulse a rabbit’s thrum in her throat.
No one had ever looked at her the way Enid was now. Like she was wanted. Needed.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered. “Not like this. Not some… potion-induced, pheromone-fueled—heat.”
Enid nodded. “Okay.”
“But…” Wednesday’s fingers twitched. “I want you.”
Enid blinked. Her breath caught.
“I want this… to stop. I want to stop hurting. And I want you to be the one to make it stop.”
Enid let out a sound—half sob, half laugh.
“I’ll take care of you, Wednesday. I’ll make it stop.” Enid promises, confident and sure, as her fingers reach for Wednesday’s flushed cheeks. “If you want me to, Wednesday, I’ll do it. I want to do it. But if you wanna stop, you gotta let me know, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you”.
Something disturbingly warm and fuzzy settles in the cockles of Wednesday Addams’ heart “I like pain, Enid”, she sighs. “Though I understand and appreciate the sentiment.”
Enid chuckled as she leaned in, slow and trembling, brushing her lips against Wednesday’s temple. A kiss of reverence. Of permission.
They ghosted across her temple again, then lower over her flushed cheek, to the corner of her jaw. Each contact was featherlight, reverent, trembling with restraint. And yet Wednesday’s body shuddered beneath it, every nerve flaring like lightning under her skin.
“Too much?” Enid asked, her voice rasping against her throat.
Wednesday shook her head, jaw tight. “No. Just—don’t stop.”
That was all the permission Enid needed.
She moved fast—not rough, but hungry—pulling Wednesday into her lap, cradling her like something precious even as her arms trembled with the effort it took not to lose control. Her claws had retracted, fingers shaking as they slid under the hem of Wednesday’s ruined shirt, up the sweat-slick skin of her back.
“Tell me what you need,” Enid murmured, lips brushing the curve of her ear. “I can smell how bad it is. You’re burning.”
“I don’t know,” Wednesday admitted, voice cracking. “Everything aches. I feel like I’ll die if you don’t—”
Enid kissed her.
Not a soft kiss. Not a careful press of lips. A claim.
All tongue and desperation and moaned breath between them as their mouths crashed together, all teeth and heat and the dizzy taste of shared hunger begging to be satisfied.
Wednesday gripped at her shoulders, digging her nails into bare skin as Enid’s hands roamed with increasing urgency. She set to work on the buttons of her shirt like they’d personally offended her, tossing it somewhere behind them as it finally came loose.
“You smell like mine,” Enid growled against her throat. “Do you know what that’s doing to me?”
“I’m not a possession,” Wednesday managed, panting.
“You’re right,” Enid said, one hand moving to cup her cheek. “You’re not. But I am yours. Always have been.”
The words—unexpected and unguarded—sent a pulse straight through Wednesday’s core. She reached between them, yanked Enid’s shirt up and over her head, mouth immediately attaching to the curve of her throat. She sucked a mark into the skin there, a dark bloom of color just above her collarbone.
Enid moaned—deep, like it punched out of her lungs—and the growl that followed made something snap between them.
Clothing tore. Breath tangled.
Enid dragged them to the bed in a mess of limbs and groaning fabric, Wednesday clawing at Enid’s back as Enid shoved her thigh between Wednesday’s legs and ground in hard, slow circles.
Wednesday gasped. Her hips arched. “There—there, gods, that—”
“I’ve got you,” Enid promised, voice shaking with how hard she was holding herself back. “I’ve got you, Wednesday. Let me—please—”
And then her hand was between them, fingers slipping under the waistband of Wednesday’s underwear, and she found just how slick, how soaked, how ready she was.
“Fuck,” Enid breathed, stunned. “You’re—shit, Wens, you’re dripping.”
“Do something about it,” Wednesday snapped, even as her voice trembled. “Now.”
Enid did.
She slipped two fingers inside her without hesitation—hot, thick, slow—and Wednesday cried out, her whole body arching against the sheets. Enid kissed her again, swallowed every sound, every gasp, her hips rocking unconsciously into the mattress.
“You feel—” she moaned. “You feel perfect.”
Wednesday whimpered, her hands scrambling for purchase, her thighs trembling as Enid began to thrust deep, unrelenting, but still careful. Still watching her. Still reading every twitch of her brow, every flutter of lashes, every broken breath.
“I can’t—I’m close—” Wednesday gasped.
Enid shifted, pulled her leg tighter between them, pressed her palm hard against the aching bundle of nerves above. She growled, mouth by her ear. “Let go. I’m not going anywhere.”
Wednesday shattered.
Her whole body locked, spasming around Enid’s fingers as she let out a cry she’d never heard from herself before—raw and real and broken open. Her heat cracked like a fever breaking, her chest heaving with sobs that weren’t entirely pain anymore.
Enid held her through it, whispering nonsense and sweetness and promises she probably didn’t even know she was making.
And when Wednesday finally went limp in her arms, boneless and wet and trembling, Enid kissed her temple again.
“Okay?” she whispered.
“…Not yet,” Wednesday rasped.
She was still trembling, sweat clinging to her spine, hair damp where it stuck to her cheeks—but the fire inside her had only shifted. No longer blinding. No longer desperate. It was sharp now. Focused. Coiled behind her ribs and begging to be used.
She blinked slowly, letting herself come down just enough to move—and when she did, she climbed on top of Enid like a woman possessed.
Enid gasped, still half dazed beneath her. “Wens—wait, you should rest—”
“No.” Her voice was firm. Her eyes, molten. “I’ve declined carnal desire long enough. I’ve felt it now, understand it… and I want more.”
Wednesday slid her palms down Enid’s chest, over taut muscles and flushed skin, nails raking lightly over her ribs. She watched Enid react—every twitch, every gasp, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed hard beneath the attention.
“I want your hands on me,” Wednesday said, voice low and sharp. “I want your claws. I want to feel you grab me like I belong to you.”
“You do,” Enid whispered, reverent.
Wednesday’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, dark and indulgent. “Then prove it.”
That was all it took.
Enid surged upward, hands landing firmly on Wednesday’s hips—her grip strong, possessive, just on the edge of rough. Her claws hadn’t fully returned yet, but they flicked out slowly, curved and gleaming in the low light.
With Wednesday perched on her thighs, Enid let her guide the rhythm, but Enid gave it power—pressing up, hands spreading across the swell of her ass, pulling her down to grind along the thick ridge of flesh between them.
“Oh—fuck,” Wednesday gasped, her head tipping back as the friction lit her nerves on fire again. “I—I didn’t know you had…”
“I didn’t, before.” Enid huffed. “It’s an alpha thing. I didn’t know until it popped out,” she murmured through gritted teeth, still guiding Wednesday’s hips to grind against the turgid flesh between them.
She dragged her claws down the backs of Wednesday’s thighs, slow and deliberate—just deep enough to sting, just enough to leave faint red lines in their wake. Wednesday shuddered, every inch of her body responding to the drag of pain laced with pleasure.
“Again,” she hissed.
Enid obeyed without hesitation, claws scraping over her skin again, this time followed by a heated kiss to the swell of her breast. Her mouth left wet trails as she moved up, up, biting softly along the curve of Wednesday’s neck.
“You’re—” Enid gasped between kisses, “—the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. You’re fucking divine, Wednesday.”
Wednesday moaned, breath stuttering. She reached down, guiding Enid’s hand between them.
“Touch me,” she commanded. “Now.”
Enid’s fingers slid home again, this time with more confidence, more desperation. She curled them just right, thrusting up into Wednesday’s heat while keeping their rhythm in sync. Every grind of Wednesday’s hips against her thigh sent a fresh wave of slickness down her knuckles.
“Gods—gods, Enid—” Wednesday choked out, hands braced on Enid’s shoulder as she rode the edge.
“You’re perfect,” Enid breathed. “You’re mine, I’m yours. Let me worship you.”
Wednesday’s thighs trembled again, her back arching as her climax built for the second time. Her voice cracked when she moaned, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“I’ve got you,” Enid said, pushing her harder against her groin, fingers still fucking deep and steady. “I’ll always have you.”
Wednesday came again, harder this time—body spasming, slick pulsing around Enid’s fingers as she cried out, the sound high and sharp and unrestrained. Her nails dug crescent moons into Enid’s shoulders as her orgasm crested and crashed; she didn’t even try to hide it. Didn’t try to control the way she shook in Enid’s arms.
And Enid—beautiful, golden-eyed, half-feral—held her through every second of it. Her fingers retracted from Wednesday’s core as her hands gentled, smoothing up Wednesday’s spine. She kissed her shoulder. Her temple. The top of her head.
“You are… everything,” Enid whispered, voice hoarse.
Wednesday let herself collapse fully against her, trembling and spent, lips brushing the line of her jaw.
“I know,” she murmured. “But it is nice to hear.”
Draped across Enid’s chest, her own still heaving, body flushed and partially sated, she felt a twitch in Enid’s thigh. A flex of fingertips against shoulder blades, a shaky breath, and Wednesday realised what had the blonde so twitchy.
Enid’s rut had gone unsated so far. All of her attention had gone to Wednesday’s needs, forgoing her own to provide relief for Wednesday’s heat.
And Wednesday, an Addams to her very core, was very much invested in seeing what happened when her wolf was no longer holding back.
She pushed herself up and watched her closely for a few moments.
Enid’s pupils were blown. Her breath stuttered like she’d been holding it in for too long. Her hips rolled—mindless, instinctive—grinding up against Wednesday’s slick heat, like her body couldn’t stop searching for more contact.
“You’re holding back,” Wednesday said, voice low and silk-wrapped steel.
Enid groaned, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t—Wens, I want you. But… I’m scared I’ll break you.”
Wednesday leaned in, mouth brushing her ear. “You won’t. I’m not some delicate debutante.”
Enid whimpered, hands twitching at her sides.
Wednesday kissed her throat, slowly. And then, when she felt Enid’s breath catch, she bit. Sharp teeth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, not enough to bleed, but enough to leave a temporary mark.
Enid shuddered. Her claws unsheathed instinctively, digging into the mattress.
Wednesday pulled back, lips brushing the mark she’d left.
“Take me,” she whispered. “Take me, my wolf.”
The change was immediate.
A flicker in Enid’s golden wolf-eyes. A growl, low and feral, bubbling from her chest. The perky, bubbly girl cracked wide open, and what stepped through was something primal—something ancient and starving and devoted beyond reason.
Wednesday barely had time to register the shift before she was flipped onto her back, Enid’s hands pinning her down with a strength that thrilled more than terrified her. Their mouths crashed together again, and this time it wasn’t reverent. It was possessive. It was claiming.
Claws dragged down her sides, careful not to break skin, but leaving trails of heat behind. Enid pressed her down into the sheets, spreading her legs wide with her knees, slotting her hips perfectly between.
Then, Wednesday felt it. The thick, swollen heat of Enid’s cock—formed by the rut, slick and pulsing—rubbing against her soaked entrance.
Enid didn’t push in right away.
She waited, panting above her, eyes wild. “Say no, and I’ll stop.”
Wednesday locked eyes with her, defiant and aching and already wrecked. “If you don’t fuck me right now, you’re moving back into Yoko’s room.”
Enid snarled. And then she drove in.
The stretch was overwhelming—thick, slow, unrelenting. Wednesday cried out, back arching, head tipping back as Enid filled her in one long, impossible stroke. It felt impossibly huge, far more than Enid’s sure fingers, more than she thought she could viably take, and yet she never wanted it to end.
Enid pressed in deeper, hips flush, buried to the hilt. “So fucking tight—gods, Wednesday, you were made for me.”
Wednesday’s nails dug into her arms, legs wrapping around her waist to drag her closer. “Then prove it.”
Enid did.
She fucked her like the world was ending.
Rhythmic. Brutal. Worshipful. Every thrust hit deep, dragging the thick head of her cock over that perfect spot inside Wednesday that made her see stars. The sound of skin against skin was obscene, slick and wet and relentless, echoing off the walls of their dorm.
Enid pressed kisses to her collarbone, her jaw, her temple, all while slamming into her with growing desperation.
“I need—I’m close,” she gasped. “I can’t—hold it—”
Wednesday grabbed her face, forcing her to look. “Do it. Breed me.”
Enid roared.
Her rhythm stuttered, slowed, deepened. And then, with a final thrust, she buried herself as far as she could go, body locking up as something began to swell at the base of her cock.
Wednesday screamed as it stretched her wide, locking them together. She could feel every throb, every twitch, every pulse of thick, hot cum as Enid emptied herself inside her.
And it didn’t stop.
Pulse after pulse, Enid filled her, until Wednesday could feel it leaking, dripping out around the base of the knot, soaking her thighs, the sheets, everything.
Her body trembled, wracked with another orgasm as the overstimulation broke her open. Her hips jerked, grinding down even as her vision blurred.
Enid collapsed on top of her, mouth buried in her neck, growling softly as the aftershocks rocked them both.
They stayed like that—tangled, panting, claimed—as the knot held them together.
Eventually, Wednesday spoke, voice hoarse but still cutting. “If you pass out on me, I’ll pack your bags myself.”
Enid laughed—exhausted, euphoric, and utterly gone for her.
“Worth it.”
By the time Enid could form coherent thoughts again, the knot had begun to soften.
They lay in silence, limbs tangled, chests heaving in sync. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and something heavier.
Wednesday could feel it in her bones now. That pull. Like gravity had shifted, anchoring her to Enid.
She should’ve felt repulsed. Ashamed. But all she felt was right.
Enid shifted above her, gently tracing lines up and down Wednesday’s bare back with her claws now safely sheathed. “You okay?” she whispered.
Wednesday nodded, slow and exhausted, her voice a rasp. “I should hate this. I used to hate the idea of this.”
Enid went very still.
“But now…” Wednesday pushed her back, just enough to see her face. Her eyes locked with Enid’s—tired, gold-flecked, and impossibly soft. “I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”
Enid blinked, a slow, wolfish smile coming to her face.
“You mean—?”
“You are the only one I’ve ever wanted,” Wednesday said, tone flat but voice trembling at the edges. “And the only one I want to spend the rest of my unnatural life infuriated by.”
Enid stared. Her chest rose sharply. “Wens…”
Wednesday kissed her before she could say more—soft this time, unhurried, a sealing of something unspoken. She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Mark me.”
Enid’s eyes darkened. “Are you sure?”
Wednesday nodded once. “If you don’t, I will.”
That earned a hoarse laugh—but it was cut off when Wednesday rolled them again, pushing Enid onto her back and straddling her with aching slowness.
This time was different. Slower. Deeper. Like they were memorising each other.
Enid’s hands wandered every inch of her body, worshipful and trembling. She mouthed at Wednesday’s breasts, licked a line up the column of her throat, whispered praises between gasps. “So beautiful. You drive me insane. I’d burn the world for you.”
Wednesday rode her like it was a promise, eyes fluttering shut as Enid filled her again, every thrust reverent.
Then, when they were both close, teetering on the edge, Wednesday leaned down, lips brushing her mate’s neck. “Together.”
Enid knew what she meant.
She grabbed Wednesday’s hips, slammed up once—deep and desperate, and Wednesday came undone.
At the same moment, they bit.
Teeth sank into flesh. Blood bloomed. And something snapped into place.
The bond solidified like lightning through their veins. A heat that wasn’t painful. A pressure that wasn’t overwhelming. Just certainty. Just belonging.
Enid spilled inside her again with a wrecked moan, and Wednesday rode every wave of it, blood dripping down both their shoulders, their scents braided and locked.
When it was over, they collapsed again, sweaty and ruined and utterly claimed.
Enid cradled her close. Kissed her temple. Whispered, “Mine.”
Wednesday, already half-asleep, murmured, “Obviously.”
A pause.
“I love you,” Enid said into her hair.
Another pause.
“…If you ever tell anyone I let you hold me like this, I’ll stab you.”
Enid grinned into her skin. “Yes, ma’am.”
And with that, they drifted off—bonded, exhausted, utterly content.