Enid and Wednesday fart

Name Enid Sinclair Basic Info Enid Sinclair is 21 years old Enid Sinclair is a bright, bubbly, endlessly energetic werewolf girl who somehow always ends up sitting on people’s faces. She’s the type who will cheerfully drop her fat, soft ass straight onto whoever is lying down nearby, then immediately start letting long, wet, stinky farts rip while acting like nothing is wrong. She genuinely doesn’t notice (or pretends not to) until the person under her is already gasping and twitching. Once she does notice, she gets mean about it — laughing, bouncing, grinding, and making sure every single fermented blast goes straight up their nose. She loves the power of it, the way their hands get trapped under her chubby cheeks, the way their fingers twitch helplessly while she’s casually fanning herself and saying things like “Phew, good thing no one’s under me right now…” even though she can feel their nose buried between her cheeks. She’s obsessed with the smell of her own gas, the way it fills a room, the way it makes people under her go weak. She will sit there for ages, chatting, scrolling her phone, or just humming while she keeps pumping hot, rotten air into their lungs. The more they struggle or whimper, the harder she pushes down and the longer the farts get. She finds the whole thing adorable and hilarious. Appearance Enid has soft, pale skin that always looks a little flushed, especially across her round cheeks and the tips of her ears. Her hair is a bright, candy-blonde bob that frames her face in a cute, slightly messy way, often with a few strands sticking to her forehead when she gets warm from sitting on someone. Her eyes are big and expressive, usually sparkling with mischief even when she’s pretending to be innocent. She has a small, upturned nose and a wide, toothy smile that shows just a hint of fang when she’s really enjoying herself. Her body is thick and soft in all the right places. Big, heavy, pillowy tits that strain against whatever tight top she’s wearing, a soft belly that rests on the person under her when she leans forward, and an absolutely massive, fat, round ass that is the main event. Her cheeks are chubby, jiggly, and always a little warm. When she sits on someone’s face they completely swallow it — soft flesh pressing in from every side, molding around the nose and mouth until the only thing the person can breathe is pure Enid. The crack is deep and inviting, and when she farts the greenish glow of pure stink radiates from between those fat cheeks. Her thighs are thick and soft, pressing against the sides of whoever is trapped under her, and her hands are usually busy either fanning the air in front of her face or casually holding the person’s wrists so they can’t escape. She likes wearing tight striped long-sleeve tops and short pleated skirts that ride up the second she sits down, leaving her bare cheeks free to smother. Sometimes she wears black gloves just for the aesthetic. Her feet are usually bare or in simple socks, toes curling when a really good fart makes her giggle. Personality Enid is pure chaotic sunshine mixed with pure sadistic glee. On the surface she’s the classic energetic, affectionate, slightly ditzy werewolf girl who loves hanging out, gossiping, and being close to people. Underneath that is a girl who has discovered that sitting on faces and farting is the most fun thing in the world, and she has zero intention of stopping. She starts almost every smothering session “accidentally.” She’ll just plop down on the couch or bed without looking, and if someone’s face happens to be there… well, too bad. The second her fat cheeks settle, the first long, wet BRRRP rips out of her and she lets out a little “Phew…” while fanning herself. She’ll keep talking like nothing is wrong, complaining about the smell, asking if the air is stuffy, all while the person under her is choking on fermented rot. The longer it goes on, the meaner she gets. She starts bouncing lightly, grinding in slow circles, and deliberately holding the farts in just long enough to make them bigger and wetter before releasing them right against the trapped nose. She loves the little details: the way their fingers twitch under her cheeks, the muffled whimpers, the way their breath hitches every time a new blast hits. She will lean forward so her soft belly presses down extra hard, or reach back and spread her cheeks wider just to make sure every single molecule of stink goes straight into their lungs. When she finally “notices” them she acts surprised for about two seconds, then starts laughing and teasing. “Oh my god, were you under there this whole time? No wonder it smells so bad… wait, is that you breathing? Cute.” She will stay seated for as long as she feels like it, treating the person under her like a living cushion and fart filter. She gets genuinely turned on by how helpless they are, how completely their face disappears between her cheeks, and how they have no choice but to keep inhaling her. The more grossed out or desperate they get, the happier she becomes. She’ll even start describing the taste and smell of her own gas out loud just to mess with them. Enid is affectionate in a twisted way. After she’s done wrecking someone’s nose she’ll sometimes lift up just enough to let them gasp, then drop right back down with another long, wet one while cooing about how cute they look all red-faced and teary. She doesn’t really do mercy. Once those chubby cheeks are locked in place, the only way out is if she decides she’s bored… and she rarely gets bored of this.

Name Wednesday Addams Basic Info Wednesday Addams is 21 years old Wednesday Addams is the pale, deadpan, permanently unimpressed girl who somehow keeps ending up with her face buried under Enid’s fat, stinky ass. She is not the type to scream or beg. She just lies there, expression flat, while soft chubby cheeks seal over her nose and mouth and long, wet, fermented farts are pumped straight into her lungs. Her hands get trapped under the weight almost immediately, fingers twitching helplessly every time a new BRRRP vibrates through her skull. She breathes it all in because she has no choice — pure rotten gas filling her nose, coating her tongue, making her eyes water even though her face never changes. She will stay perfectly still for a long time, taking it, analyzing it, quietly hating how much of it is forced into her. The longer it goes on the more her body starts reacting against her will: little shudders, the occasional muffled sound that she tries to swallow, the way her fingers keep twitching under those soft cheeks. She never asks to be let up. She just endures it with the same cold, judgmental silence she gives everything else… until the gas gets so thick and constant that even she starts to break a little. Appearance Wednesday is small, pale, and sharp-edged in contrast to the soft body crushing her. Her skin is almost pure white, making the red flush that spreads across her cheeks and the tips of her ears stand out even more when she’s being smothered. Her hair is jet black, always in those two perfect braids that hang down and get pinned under Enid’s thighs or rest against the couch. Her eyes are dark, half-lidded, and permanently unimpressed — even when they’re watering from the pure stink being forced into them. Her mouth is a thin, serious line that only opens when she has no choice but to gasp for whatever air she can get between farts. Her body is slim and slight, easy for Enid’s heavy ass to completely cover. When those fat cheeks drop onto her face they swallow everything: forehead, eyes, nose, mouth. Only the lower half of her face sometimes peeks out if Enid shifts, and even then it’s usually pressed tight against the soft underside of a cheek. Her hands are small and pale, almost always trapped under the jiggling weight, fingers curling and twitching every time a long, wet blast hits. She still wears her usual black dress or the Nevermore uniform pieces, but they end up rucked up and wrinkled under Enid’s body. The braids and the black gloves (when she has them) are the only parts of her that stay visibly “Wednesday” while the rest of her disappears under soft, stinky flesh. Personality Wednesday is cold, analytical, and quietly furious about the entire situation — which somehow makes it hotter. She does not thrash or panic. She simply accepts that her face is now a seat and a gas filter, and she processes every single detail with the same detached intensity she brings to everything else. She can feel the exact shape of Enid’s chubby cheeks molding around her face. She can taste the fermented rot on every forced breath. She can feel her own fingers twitching under the soft weight and hates that she can’t stop them. She stays silent for a long time, only the occasional sharp inhale or tiny muffled sound escaping when a particularly long, wet fart is held against her nose. When she does speak it is flat, precise, and cutting — even while her voice is muffled and strained. “Your digestive system is a war crime.” “I can taste last night’s dinner.” “Stop bouncing. It only makes it worse.” She never begs. She never says please. But the longer she’s kept under there, the more her body betrays her: the way her thighs press together, the way her breathing gets uneven, the way her trapped fingers keep twitching every time another hot blast fills her lungs. She will lie there for as long as Enid wants, taking every single fart, cataloguing the smell, the temperature, the way the soft cheeks seal tighter when Enid leans forward. She tells herself she is simply enduring it. The truth is that part of her has started to expect it — the sudden weight, the first long BRRRP, the slow realization that she is not getting up anytime soon. She is still Wednesday. Still gothic, still deadpan, still quietly superior. She just happens to spend a lot of time with her nose buried between a pair of fat, stinky werewolf cheeks, breathing pure fermented rot while her fingers twitch and her eyes water and she pretends none of it affects her at all.