Wenclair One-Shots

your lips on mine is everything i didn't know i needed

Summary:

Losing her inhibitions to alcohol and kissing Wednesday are the last two things Enid had in mind when Wednesday finally agrees to visit her in San Francisco.

(Does she regret it, though? No. Not now, not ever.)

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There are beer cans strewn across the floor, and Enid's feeling warm all over, with Wednesday somehow ending up underneath her; Enid's knees bracketing her hips, her arms pinned down to her side by Enid's hands.

"Enid," Wednesday croaks out, her name slurring a little as it leaves her mouth. "What the hell is happening?"

"I don't know," Enid admits through shallow pants, blinking down at her, eyes raking over her flushed face from the beer they'd snuck into her room and have been drinking, even though Wednesday was wholly against the idea at first. (She ended up drinking half a can more than Enid.) "But you..." She swallows, noisily. "You look really pretty like this — red looks good on you."

Her brain's been short-circuiting a lot tonight, so she's not too sure how they ended up in this position — she does vaguely remember Wednesday trying to tickle her for whatever reason (drunk Wednesday's a lot more different from sober Wednesday — it's like she's two different people), and Enid, in an attempt to defend herself, tried fending her off through huffy laughs and now here they are, in this fairly compromising position.

Wednesday's cheeks become even redder, and Enid is given exactly three seconds to wonder how that's possible when Wednesday breaks free from her loosened grip, reaching a hand out to touch her cheek.

"And you look pretty even with those scars," she says, her eyes drifting; Enid could feel the pad of her thumb brushing over the healing gash on the right of her forehead, trailing down to the smaller ones on her cheek.

A spark of a shiver runs down her spine, and she swallows heavily, mouth drying up by the second. (She blames it solely on the alcohol, and not because Wednesday's touching her so freely.)

"W-Wednesday," she chokes out, the gentle touch of her finger against her cheek, running along her scars, driving her halfway up the wall.

"Hm?" Wednesday hums, and Enid's about to lose her mind as Wednesday's eyes flicker up to meet hers, an unfocused gaze with the way she looks up at her. She glances down at her lips, slightly parted and redder than usual, and her breath hitches in her throat on the inhale, her staring becoming blatant and shameless; thoughts a wild mess.

"I... I kinda wanna..." Enid mumbles, trailing off.

"Wanna what?" Wednesday repeats, a rare gem of a smile curling the corners of her lips upward.

And, well, that sort of, really messes with Enid's head and impairs her usual sense of judgement (which is already bad enough to begin with), because she finds herself ducking her head down before she could stop herself, then she's tentatively pressing her lips against Wednesday's.

Her lips are as soft as they look; as Enid had imagined during the nights she couldn't sleep.

When Wednesday doesn't respond, she sobers up enough to pull away, eyes wide and frantic, her heart which was one in her throat now dropping into the pits of her stomach, face hovering inches above hers. Wednesday stares up at her, impassive, and while that's just how she usually looks, it stings to have her look at her like that after whatever that was.

She tries to hide her embarrassment by clearing her throat, making to clamber off the bed. "Oh God, Wednesday, I— I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Wednesday doesn't let her finish her sentence, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck and dragging her down towards her. "Relax. It's okay — this is okay," she reassures, softly, before covering her lips with her own.

For a split second, Enid stays frozen on top of her, unable to move an inch, claws springing up out of sheer nervousness and surprise — and then she's kissing back, less tentative than the first time she impulsively pressed her lips against hers; a little more confident this time around, because it's not like she hasn't done this before.

Her hands trail down, gripping at the sides of her waist, careful to not dig her nails into her flesh, while Wednesday's warm, warm fingers press into the nape of her neck, other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer, tilting her head a little for easier access.

(She feels so soft against her, unlike the boys she's kissed in the past. It's different. A nice kind of different.)

The soft noise slipping out of Wednesday's mouth when Enid licks her way into her mouth stirs something deep within the pits of her stomach; something primal, almost, and it spurs Enid onto trailing her hands further down south to her hips, pinning them down to the mattress rather roughly, eliciting a more prominent whine from the girl underneath her, trapped between her legs and her grip. Enid actually growls against her lips at one point, the noise deep in her throat and rumbling in her chest, and she has to pull away before she completely loses herself to her quickly fading inhibitions, trying to catch her breath as she stares down at Wednesday who's gazing up at her with half-lidded eyes, chest heaving. Her cheeks are red, but her lips are even redder, and Enid suspects it's the byproduct of whatever just happened.

"Wednesday..."

"Enid," Wednesday murmurs, shifting around a little to find a more comfortable position. "Why'd you stop? I was enjoying myself."

For someone who's drunk, she sounds kind of sober, and Enid can feel her cheeks reddening even more at the casual remark made. "You— you were?" she questions, unable to keep the slight slurring from her own words.

"Yes," Wednesday says. "My first kiss was with a boy who gave me unpleasant visions... Only natural for me to enjoy this proportionately more."

"You're impossible," Enid mumbles, shaking her head.

"Nothing's impossible," Wednesday says, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and simultaneously pulling her closer. "Kiss me again?" she adds, a woozy smile on her lips; it's a soft request Enid can't imagine denying, even if she was in her right mind.

Enid finds this version of her so endearing (and may or may not already have plans formed in the back of her head to get her drunk again, if only to see her let loose and smile more), happily obliging as she leans down again to kiss her.

She'll deal with the consequences of a hungover and a possibly even grumpier Wednesday once they wake up.

For now, though, she'll take what she can get.

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Author - ricepurity90

https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricepurity90/pseuds/ricepurity90