Chapter 1: Breaking the Stare
The storm cracked the sky open above Nevermore, and Enid Sinclair’s boot squelched in a puddle as she sprinted for the dorm entrance. Rain sheeted down, turning the campus into a gothic wash of blurred stone and screaming wind. Her multicolored hair was plastered to her skull, the pink streaks looking like wounds against the blonde.
“Wednesday, you better be home,” she muttered, fumbling with her keys at Ophelia Hall’s side door. “I am not doing this group project solo because you decided to commune with a graveyard in a thunderstorm.”
The common room was empty, lit only by erratic flashes of lightning. The air was thick with the smell of wet dog—probably from the werewolf dorms down the hall—and something else, something sharper. Metallic. Sweet. It prickled the hairs on Enid’s arms.
Their shared room was at the end of the corridor. A sliver of flickering fluorescent light bled from under the door. Enid rolled her eyes. “Of course she’s just sitting in the dark. Probably dissecting a bat or whatever.”
She pushed the door open without knocking. Wednesday never cared about privacy.
The sight that hit her wasn’t a dissection.
It was a defilement.
Wednesday Addams was on the floor, her pale skin slick and gleaming in the cold light. Not on her bed, not at her desk, but on the threadbare rug between their beds, limbs splayed like a broken marionette. She was utterly naked, her dark braids messy, one unraveling across the floorboards.
And she was impaled.
A grotesque thing was buried inside her, a dildo but wrong, glowing with a sickly internal violet light that pulsed in time with the thunder. It wasn’t held; it was rooted. Wednesday’s hips pistoned against it in a frantic, unending rhythm, a wet, slapping sound slicing through the rumble of the storm. Her head was thrown back, cords standing out in her throat, her mouth a slack oval dripping saliva. A low, continuous moan poured out of her, a sound Enid had never imagined her friend could make—gut-deep, mindless, needy.
“Holy fuck,” Enid breathed, the words leaving her in a stunned rush.
Wednesday’s eyes were open, but they saw nothing. Vacant, glossy pools reflecting the cursed toy’s glow. Her tongue lolled out, a thin thread of spit connecting it to her chin.
Enid’s horror was instant, a cold knife to the gut. This was a violation, a curse, something profoundly wrong. Wednesday was control incarnate, a fortress of stoicism. This writhing, mewling creature was her opposite.
Then the heat came. Unwanted, shameful, it coiled in Enid’s belly and lower. She’d imagined Wednesday before, in the secret dark of her own bed, fleeting fantasies she’d crush with guilt by morning. But this… this was those fantasies made obscenely, terrifyingly real. The sharp angle of Wednesday’s hipbone, the sheen of sweat between her small breasts, the desperate clench of her around that invading violet light—it was the most violently erotic thing Enid had ever witnessed.
She took a step forward, her boots sounding too loud. “Wednesday?”
The moaning didn’t stop. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of flesh meeting floor didn’t falter. Wednesday’s back arched, a sharp, beautiful curve, and a choked gasp broke from her lips. “M-more…”
“Wednesday, stop!” Enid lurched forward, dropping to her knees beside the squirming body. The sweet-metallic smell was overwhelming up close, mixed with the salty tang of sweat and the unmistakable musk of sex. She reached out, hands hovering, afraid to touch. “What did you do? What is that?”
Her gaze darted to the desk. Wednesday’s investigation notes were scattered, alongside a broken artifact box from the Nightshades library. A label in Wednesday’s precise script read: ‘Cursed object. Ligurian concubine’s ‘companion’. Neural override upon skin contact. Purpose: pleasure servitude.’
“Shit. Wednesday, you touched it?” Enid’s voice was a panicked whisper. She looked back at her friend’s face. A strand of drool slid down Wednesday’s cheek. Enid’s own breath hitched.
Tentatively, terrified, she placed a hand on Wednesday’s heaving abdomen. The skin was furnace-hot, muscles quivering under her touch. Wednesday’s head lolled toward her, those blank eyes trying to focus.
“E…Enid?” The word was a slurred moan, barely recognizable.
“Yeah, it’s me. We have to get this thing out of you.”
Wednesday’s hand shot up, shockingly strong, and clamped around Enid’s wrist. Her grip was vise-tight. “Don’t… stop…” she panted, her hips grinding harder, faster. “Feels… it feels… ah!”
The glowing toy pulsed brighter. Wednesday’s back arched off the floor again, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat. Enid watched, frozen, as Wednesday’s body clenched and shuddered, her internal muscles milking the cursed object in waves she could see rippling through her stomach. The climax was brutal, prolonged, and utterly inhuman.
As the tremors subsided, Wednesday’s grip loosened. Her vacant eyes found Enid’s. For a second, something flickered in them—a shard of pure, unadulterated shame. Then it was swallowed by the rising violet haze again. Her lips, swollen and wet, parted.
“Enid…” she whispered, her voice a husk of its usual monotone. “Touch me.”
“What?”
“Please.” It was a whimper. Wednesday’s free hand wandered clumsily down her own body, fingers sliding through the mess between her legs, glistening in the eerie light. She brought them to her mouth, sucking them clean with a lewd pop. “It’s not enough. I’m so empty. I need to be filled.”
The crude words, in Wednesday’s voice, detonated in Enid’s core. Her horror and arousal fused into a single, undeniable urge. This was still Wednesday. Trapped, begging.
“The curse… it’s talking, not you,” Enid said, trying to convince herself.
“I don’t care,” Wednesday moaned, her hand snaking out to fumble at the button of Enid’s soaked jeans. “Just fuck me. Use me. I’m yours.”
Enid’s resolve snapped.
With a growl that was more wolf than girl, she shoved Wednesday’s seeking hand away and grabbed the cursed dildo. It was warm, almost alive, vibrating fiercely in her grip. She didn’t pull it out. She twisted it.
Wednesday screamed, a sound of perfect, shattered bliss, her body bowing.
Enid leaned down, her mouth hovering over Wednesday’s. “You’re not yours right now,” she snarled, her own desire a black knot in her throat. “So who are you?”
Wednesday’s eyes rolled back. “Yours,” she sobbed, the word a prayer. “I’m yours, Enid. Just make me come again. Please. I’ll be such a good slut for you.”
Enid kissed her. It was nothing like she’d imagined. It was all teeth and desperate tongue and the taste of salt and corruption. She let go of the toy and ripped her own jeans open, shoving them down her thighs. She was dripping wet, her own need a painful throb.
She didn’t prepare Wednesday, didn’t tease. The cursed toy had done all the work. She positioned herself, the head of her strap-on nudging against Wednesday’s slick, stretched entrance, alongside the glowing violet intrusion.
Wednesday mewled, pushing down against her. “Yes, yes…”
Enid drove in.
Wednesday’s inner walls were a scalding, velvety vise, fluttering around the double penetration. She was impossibly tight, impossibly hot. Enid buried her face in Wednesday’s neck, biting down on the pale skin as she set a ruthless pace. The slapping sounds were louder now, wetter, mixed with the creak of the strap-on harness and the storm’s fury.
“Harder,” Wednesday babbled, her braids thrashing against the floor. “Deeper! Oh god, fuck!”
Enid obeyed, pistoning into the willing, wrecked body beneath her. This was wrong. This was a crime. And it was the most powerful she had ever felt. She owned this. She owned Wednesday. The Wednesday who sneered at everything, who never blinked, who was now a sobbing, begging mess on a dirty rug.
She felt the telltale tighten, the shudder that meant Wednesday was about to break again. She slammed in one last time, hilt-deep, and ground her hips.
Wednesday’s scream was silent this time, her mouth a wide ‘O’ of ecstatic agony. Her whole body locked, seizing around Enid in a series of brutal, rhythmic clenches. The violet light in the cursed dildo flashed blindingly bright.
As the convulsions faded, Enid pulled out, collapsing to the side, breathing in ragged gasps. The rational world came crashing back in with the sound of the rain.
Wednesday lay utterly still, the glow from the object inside her dimming to a dull ember. Her eyes were closed. Tears cut clean tracks through the sweat on her temples.
Enid touched her shoulder. “Wends?”
Wednesday’s eyes fluttered open. The vacancy was gone. The shame was back, crystalline and paralyzing. She looked at Enid, then at the mess between her legs, at the strap-on still harnessed to Enid’s hips.
She didn’t speak. She just curled onto her side, away from Enid, drawing her knees to her chest, a closed fist of utter humiliation.
The cursed dildo, now inert, slid out of her with a soft, wet sound and clattered onto the rug.
Enid stared at Wednesday’s trembling back, at the fresh bite mark purpling on her neck. The heat in her own body curdled into a deep, freezing dread. She had fucked her best friend while she was cursed, while she was mindless.
And the worst part, the part that coiled like a snake in her stomach, was the thrilling, electric certainty that she would do it again in a heartbeat.