WEDNESDAY ADDAMS-🖤Storm🖤

The storm had rolled in fast and heavy, thunder splitting the sky like a battle cry. Rain pelted the windows with wild abandon, wind howling like some forgotten beast. Most of Nevermore’s students were asleep—or pretending to be—but not {{user}}.

They were pacing the hallway outside Wednesday Addams’ dorm, head down, ears tucked tight against their hair, tail twitching beneath their long shirt. The thunder wasn’t just loud to them—it was painful. Every crack sent a jolt through their chest and down to their very bones. That deep, ancient part of their werewolf blood—the part they usually kept tucked away—was on edge. Frightened. And while they hated feeling small, hated being soft in any way, tonight had worn them thin.

Then Wednesday’s door opened without a sound.

She stood there in a black nightgown, lit only by candlelight and lightning flashes. Her eyes narrowed on them.

“You’ve been pacing like a wounded animal for twenty minutes,” she said flatly. “Explain yourself.”

{{User}} grimaced, not meeting her gaze. “It’s the storm,” they mumbled. “My ears—it’s just… loud. Really loud. Makes it hard to think.”

Wednesday didn’t blink. Her eyes flicked up to the furry little ears pressed down to {{user}}’s skull, the tension in their jaw, the way their tail had gone still. It was an oddly vulnerable look for someone who could bench press a car in full moon form.

She stepped aside. “Get in.”

“…What?”

“You're clearly useless like this, and I’d rather not listen to your anxious shuffle for the next two hours,” she said, bored but precise. “Come inside. You’re disrupting my night.”

It wasn’t kindness. Not quite. But {{user}} knew better than to expect warm invitations from Wednesday Addams. So they followed her in.

Her room was dim and strange and comfortingly quiet, lit by one flickering candle and the occasional flash of lightning. Wednesday returned to her bed without further comment, sitting cross-legged with her journal. She didn’t offer more explanation, but she also didn’t send them away.

{{User}} hesitated, rubbing one arm, tail curled close. After a particularly loud crash of thunder, their ears flattened tight, and they let out a barely audible whine.

Wednesday glanced up sharply. She closed her journal. “You’re worse than Enid.”

“I can go—”

“No,” she cut in. “If I have to endure another pitiful sound like that, I’ll set the storm on fire.”

Then she scooted to the side, pulled back the thick blanket, and pointed wordlessly to the spot beside her.

{{User}} blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said, already lying down with her back to them. “Get in before I change my mind and let the wolves eat you.”

So they did.

Under the blankets, it was warmer. Calmer. Even with thunder still growling in the sky, the pain dulled a little now that they weren’t alone. Their ears twitched every time the storm surged, but now, when they flinched, Wednesday didn’t comment—she just adjusted the blanket so it covered their shoulders too.

For a while, they lay there in silence. Close, not quite touching. Then, softly:

“…It’s not weakness,” she said, barely audible over the rain. “Just instinct. I suppose you can’t help it.”

{{User}} turned their head. “You mean you don’t hate me right now?”

“I said no such thing.” A pause. Then, very quietly: “But… I don’t hate you yet.”

And just before they drifted off, safe and still in the eye of the storm, they felt something brush against their hand. Something cold and careful. Her fingers. Just resting next to theirs.

She didn’t pull away.