Wenclair One-Shots

The Color of the Moon

Summary:

A soft whine slipped out between Enid's lips, and Wednesday paused in her writing preparations.

"Why are you making that sound," she deadpanned, not turning to look at Enid as she began checking the typewriter for the proper amount of ink.

Enid wasn't sure if she could talk. The desire for closeness was growing larger by the minute, and another whimper fell from her desperate lips.

"Enid," Wednesday warned, and her voice was enough to draw Enid's voice back out.

"Need you," she whined, gripping her sheets tighter.

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Enid felt 100%, absolutely pathetic.

She whined deep in her throat and she buried her nose in her pillow, trying to stave off the need growing in her chest.

Tonight was the first blood moon in several years. The last time this had occurred, she had been too young to truly feel the force behind it. She also didn't have anyone to direct her feelings towards.

Her mother and father had spent the whole of the last blood moon cuddling on the couch, their faces close together, barely noticing Enid. They were too wrapped up in the burning love inside them for their mate.

But this time, Enid was so oversensitive to the world she thought she might explode. She could hear everything, sense the air pressure, smell every single item in the shared dorm room. And she desperately wanted someone to share herself with. She wanted to curl up next to someone and be praised for what a good mate she was.

It wasn't sexual. Enid barely had the wherewithal to feel turned on - no, she just desired warmth and company and love so deeply her heart seemed to tremble.

In the mix of scents and smells swirling around the room, Enid couldn't help but scent Wednesday. Her roommate's scent was like old books and cold places, and she whimpered at how desperately she wanted to be claimed by that scent.

The day was close to over, the sun casting crimson across the skies, and Enid fidgeted as the blood moon began to rise. But Wednesday would be home soon.

Wednesday would know what to do. Wednesday would help her. Wednesday would touch her, love her, praise her...

Enid felt tears prick at her eyes, but she didn't have to wait long. The telltale stomp of her friend's boots could be heard coming up the stairs, and Enid launched herself to the edge of her bed, staring at the door with round, longing eyes.

The door swung open and Enid hissed at the sudden scent of Wednesday surrounding her, burning her in the most delightful way. The macabre girl in question hadn't seemed to notice Enid yet, closing the door and crossing the room to her desk in a methodical fashion.

Enid twisted her fingers in her blankets, curling her fists closed.

Pay attention to me... please, please, please...

A soft whine slipped out between Enid's lips, and Wednesday paused in her writing preparations.

"Why are you making that sound," she deadpanned, not turning to look at Enid as she began checking the typewriter for the proper amount of ink.

Enid wasn't sure if she could talk. The desire for closeness was growing larger by the minute, and another whimper fell from her desperate lips.

"Enid," Wednesday warned, and her voice was enough to draw Enid's voice back out.