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Cute Aggression

Summary:

Cute aggression: The compulsion to squeeze, squish, pinch, eat, crush and bite cute things, without any actual desire to inflict or cause harm.

Well, the last part was debatable.
At least for a weird as shit couple as Wednesday and Enid.

There was this feeling that, lately, would plague Enid to the point of exasperation.

It sat in her stomach like a coil spring winding tighter and tighter, ready to be released and pounce – or like an increasing amount of rubber bands wrapping around a watermelon until it was ready to burst into an explosion of red melon-y guts (an imagery that she was sure Wednesday would appreciate) like in those funny TikToks that were all the hype a few years ago.

It made her nervous, restless, and fidgety. Like she didn't know what to do with her hands that just... Just wanted to squeeze. So she kept them tightly clenched to her sides, hoping that one day she could unleash their fury on her object of desire.

It made her feel unruly, untamed, and feral. Like she couldn't hold herself back if she wanted to when her wolfish fangs elongated in her hungry mouth, nicking the tender skin on her lip, pinpricks of blood pooling out of the unwanted wounds and running down her chin as if she had gulped a glass of cranberry juice in thirsted desperation and spilled half of it not into her mouth but beside it.

Today, that feeling plagued her again with a new found force.

She quickly wiped the trickling trail of blood off of her chin with the back of her hand, only briefly stopping to consider letting Wednesday see it after all, but the embarrassment that this erratic state brought with it was something she didn't want to show so openly just yet. Wednesday was many things, and one of them was unpredictable. What she would do if she saw blood gushing out of Enid's mouth was a question that left Enid both excited and nervous.

Most importantly, she didn't think herself capable of reining back whatever primal urge was currently waging a war inside her and was worried about the implications of this war wanting to spread and conquer Wednesday as well. She knew Wednesday would be able to hold her own, but she also knew she would unwillingly put her girlfriend's life in danger if she let this burning and aching desire in her stomach take over her senses, attacking Wednesday like the feral beast whose inherited role she was forced to take on every once in a while.

Oh, Wednesday. Truly, the root of all her problems and untameable feelings.

It was hardly Wednesday's fault that Enid was feeling this way. She couldn't help it – unfortunately – that she was just so... unbearably cute sometimes.

If anything, Wednesday always tried her hardest to be anything but.

Enid was sure that if she told anyone else that she categorized any of Wednesday's antics as cute, they would just tell her to go to therapy and let herself get checked for a severe case of Stockholm syndrome. Maybe even Wednesday herself wouldn't shy away from such a suggestion, she mused.

But Enid wasn't suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Or at least she had convinced herself that she wasn't. She had just learned to accept Wednesday the way she was – weird, morbid, and occasionally disgusting hobbies included.

While two years ago she would have gagged at the sight of skinned animals laid aside on Wednesday's desk as she worked on her next taxidermy project, she now found Wednesday's appreciation for turning something dead and lifeless into something lively and fun again kind of endearing.

It was almost with a childlike wonder that you'd see on 'normal' kids while they played around with their dolls that Wednesday approached her hobby. The way she visibly pondered, even voicing her thoughts to Enid sometimes, over whether to use her next project as a way to display one of her favorite torture methods with the animals or simply assemble a monstrous creature with way too many limbs or heads reminded Enid of the way she would sometimes play with her dolls and make them do weird shit too.