Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

Bianca Barclay is obnoxiously perfect.

Wednesday watches her glide through the quad like a blade slicing through silk. Students part for her presence—not out of fear, but admiration. It makes Wednesday’s lip twitch. Not quite a frown. More... distaste. Or perhaps intrigue. She hasn’t decided yet.

Bianca smirks at her from across the courtyard, her eyes bright with something that looks a lot like challenge. “Lose your shadow, Addams?”

Wednesday doesn’t bother responding. She simply tilts her head, gaze unwavering, as if dissecting a particularly talkative corpse.

“You know,” Bianca continues, walking closer with predatory grace, “some of us enjoy Nevermore. You don’t have to act like it’s a crypt.”

“I happen to find crypts comforting,” Wednesday replies flatly. “Unlike sanctimonious mermaids who mistake popularity for substance.”

The smirk widens. “Ouch.”

Their eyes lock. A moment stretches between them—tight, charged, unspoken.

Bianca leans in, just enough to unsettle. “Careful, Wednesday. You keep talking to me like that, and people might think you like the attention.”

Wednesday’s pulse stutters. A curious reaction. Not unpleasant.

“I dislike many things,” she says coolly. “You merely rank high on the list.”

“And yet,” Bianca muses, circling her slowly now, “you always seem to end up near me.”

A flicker of heat slithers down Wednesday’s spine. Not from anger. Not entirely.

She doesn’t respond. Silence, after all, is her sharpest weapon.

Bianca walks away, hips swaying deliberately. Wednesday watches her until she disappears into Ophelia Hall, then opens her journal.

Bianca Barclay.

Suspected siren. Irritating. Alluring. Dangerous.

She underlines the last word. Twice.

She does not examine why her hand trembles as she sets down the pen.

Chapter Text

Bianca’s POV

Wednesday Addams is an itch Bianca can’t scratch.

She’s not sure when it started. Maybe the first time that unnervingly pale girl looked at her like she was something to dissect. A creature to study. Not feared, not admired. Just... analyzed. It pissed Bianca off. And fascinated her.

Bianca walks through the quad, perfectly poised as always, but she feels the weight of Wednesday’s stare like a pressure between her shoulder blades. She plays it cool. Always has. But there’s something about that girl—so sharp, so cold—that makes Bianca want to crack the surface just to see if she bleeds.

She tosses the jab out casually—“Lose your shadow, Addams?”—like it’s nothing. Like her heart doesn’t jump a little every time those dark eyes land on her.

Wednesday, unsurprisingly, doesn’t flinch. “I happen to find crypts comforting,” she says, in that deadpan tone that makes Bianca's skin tighten in a way she refuses to name.

Bianca steps closer. She can’t help it. There’s a thrill in getting a reaction, however small, from someone so emotionless. And that stillness—it’s not emptiness. It’s control. Unshakable. She wants to shake it.

“Careful, Addams,” she purrs. “You keep talking to me like that, and people might think you like the attention.”

There it is. The flicker. Small, subtle—but real. Wednesday feels this too, even if she’d rather die than say it.

“I dislike many things,” she says, low and even. “You merely rank high on the list.”

Bianca circles her, deliberately slow. “And yet, you always seem to end up near me.”

It’s a risk. A dare. But she knows what she sees—Wednesday may hide it well, but her body doesn’t lie. The tension in her shoulders. The deliberate stillness, like if she moves too quickly something will break.

Bianca leaves then. She doesn’t let herself look back.

But later, in the quiet of her room, she touches her lip with her fingers—absentminded, thoughtful.

She dreams of Wednesday that night. Not a nightmare. Not quite a fantasy.

Something darker.

Something dangerous.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

Wednesday Addams does not get framed.

She commits her crimes with precision, pride, and, when necessary, plausible deniability. So when Principal Weems informs her she’s under suspicion for rigging the Raven statue to vomit black sludge onto the fencing team, Wednesday’s first instinct is not guilt—but curiosity.

That is, until she hears who else has been accused.

Bianca Barclay stands beside her in Weems' office, arms crossed, jaw tight with barely concealed rage. Her wet uniform still drips onto the carpet.

“You think I had something to do with this?” The siren snaps. “I was the one covered in—whatever that was.”

“Suffering doesn’t exclude guilt,” Wednesday replies evenly. “In fact, it often hides it well.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

Principal Weems slams a folder on the desk.

“Enough,” she says, her voice sharp as frost. “You’re both smart. Capable. And you’ve both made enemies at this school. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was someone else’s doing entirely.”

Wednesday lifts an eyebrow. “You believe we were framed?”

“I believe neither of you are foolish enough to do something so public and messy.”

Bianca mutters, “Finally, something we agree on.”

Weems fixes them both with that unreadable gaze. “Regardless, the council wants consequences. You’ll clear your names by proving you can be... cooperative.”

Wednesday’s stomach drops with a slow, dreadful twist.

“Define cooperative,” she says, already regretting it.

Weems smiles.

“You’ll be working together on the Nightshade Archive Project. Cataloging cursed objects, documenting them, organizing their history. It's delicate. Dangerous. It requires coordination. And trust.”

Wednesday’s face is a mask.

Bianca huffs. “You want us to play nice in the haunted dungeon?”

“Exactly,” Weems replies. “You have two weeks. Impress me, and I’ll clear your records.”

Outside the office, Bianca spins on her heel.

“This is a nightmare.”

Wednesday’s voice is calm, but laced with venom. “Then I hope you scream in your sleep.”

Bianca steps closer, crowding into Wednesday’s space. “I will win this. And when I do, I hope you choke on your pride.”

Something tightens between them. A wire stretched too thin. Too close.

Wednesday doesn’t blink. “I don’t choke.”

Bianca’s smirk returns. “No, I bet you like the control too much.”

And just like that, she turns and walks away—again.

Wednesday remains frozen in place. Not out of fear. Not even anger.

She simply hasn’t decided whether she wants to push Bianca into a vat of cursed ink...

...or pull her closer just to see what would happen.

Chapter Text

Bianca’s POV

The Nightshade Archive is colder than she expected.

Not temperature-wise. Spiritually. The air feels wrong. Old magic clings to the walls, thick and resentful. Every cabinet hums with dark history.

Bianca has seen plenty of cursed objects before. Her mother trafficked in half of them. But this place? It feels like a warning.

And of course, Wednesday is in her element. She glides between relics like a crow in a bone garden, pale fingers trailing the glass of ancient jars, eyes gleaming with delight only she would find in preserved misery.

“Do you always look like you’re flirting with death?” Bianca asks, opening their logbook.

Wednesday doesn’t glance up. “Only with things that flirt back.”

Bianca curses her heart for skipping.

They’ve barely spoken since Weems dumped this punishment on them. But now, in this quiet, half-lit crypt of knowledge, the silence is louder than ever. Every sound—the turn of a page, the scratch of a pen, the echo of a breath—feels amplified.

They start with Box 73, which contains a broken mirror said to show not reflections, but regrets. Wednesday picks it up like it’s an old friend.

“You’re not even curious what you’d see?” Bianca asks.

“I already live with my regrets,” Wednesday says softly. “I don’t need a mirror to remind me.”

For once, Bianca doesn’t have a comeback. She just writes it down—Emotionally repressed. Self-aware. Concerning.

They go on like this for an hour. Cataloging. Bickering. Circling each other like wary predators.

At one point, they both reach for the same item—an obsidian pendant—and their fingers brush. Just skin against skin. Harmless.

But it feels like a jolt.

The siren freezes.

The seer doesn’t flinch, but her pupils darken. Just a fraction.

“You’re warm,” Wednesday murmurs. “I expected cold-blooded.”

Bianca snorts. “Says the girl who probably sleeps in a coffin.”

“I’ve considered it. Efficient.”

Their hands stay close. Too close.

Bianca pulls away first. Not because she wants to. Because she needs to. Wednesday Addams is dangerous in a way Bianca isn’t used to.

Not like sirens. Not seductive or sweet.

She’s razor-wire. All sharp edges and dark glances.

But Bianca is starting to suspect she likes the sting.

They work in silence again. But the space between them has changed. Warmer. Tighter. Waiting.

As they pack up, Wednesday speaks without looking at her.

“You didn’t do it, did you?” she asks. “The statue prank.”

Bianca pauses. “No. And neither did you.”

Wednesday finally looks at her. “Then we have a common enemy.”

Bianca smiles—slow, sly. “Careful. Sounds like the beginning of a partnership.”

Wednesday’s expression is unreadable. But something flickers in her eyes. Something almost... intrigued.

“Let’s not insult each other,” she says.

And yet, they walk out of the archives side by side.

Chapter Text

Bianca’s POV

Bianca doesn’t mean to talk about Wednesday.

Not at dinner, not at all. She’s just trying to enjoy an evening without cursed objects or being locked in an ancient dungeon with her least favorite—most fascinating—person alive.

But as soon as Yoko raises an eyebrow and says, “So how’s your nightly gothic torture session going?” Bianca snaps.

“She is so exhausting!” Bianca exclaims, stabbing a forkful of rice like it insulted her. “Always lurking in the shadows, muttering some cryptic nonsense, wearing those funeral clothes like it’s a fashion statement.”

Divina smirks. “That bad, huh?”

“She’s like if a migraine and a black cat had a baby,” Bianca continues. “But somehow... worse.”

Yoko sips her blood bag mocktail. “Is she actually doing any work? Or just staring at the cursed stuff like it’s foreplay?”

“She is doing the work,” Bianca mutters, then groans. “That’s the problem. She’s methodical. Organized. Freakishly precise. The whole logbook is already coded by spectral category and historical origin.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay,” Divina says slowly, “so what I’m hearing is: she’s good at this.”

Bianca scowls. “She’s too good. Smug about it. Like she knows everything and just lets you catch up.”

Yoko leans forward, grinning. “Wow. You’re kind of obsessed.”

“I’m not—!” Bianca starts, then catches herself.

Divina grins at Yoko. “How long do we give it before she kisses her?”

“Two more archive nights,” Yoko says casually. “Three tops.”

Bianca glares. “You two are impossible.”

“You just called Wednesday Addams methodical, precise, and—what was it? Freakishly competent?” Divina says, folding her arms. “For someone you hate, that sounded a lot like praise.”

Bianca feels the heat rise up her neck.

“She’s still the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” she mutters.

“But you like that she challenges you,” Yoko says, smiling knowingly. “You’ve never liked easy.”

Bianca goes quiet. She picks at her food.

Divina nudges her gently. “Hey. Be careful with this one. I think she could actually matter.”

Bianca doesn’t answer.

But later that night, when she’s back in the archives with Wednesday—shoulder to shoulder, voices low as they flip through a grimoire—she thinks about what Divina said.

And the worst part?

She doesn’t disagree.

Enid's POV

The quad, late afternoon. Enid flops down beside Yoko and Divina on a stone bench, dramatically annoyed.

“I swear, something is off with her,” Enid says, ripping open a bag of pastel gummy worms like they personally offended her.

“Define off,” Yoko says, adjusting her sunglasses. “Isn’t Wednesday always... Wednesday?”

“No, no—this is different!” Enid insists. “She’s extra quiet lately. And she’s been spending every night in the Nightshade Archive with Bianca Barclay.”

Divina raises a brow. “And you think that’s not just punishment?”

“It’s not just that,” Enid groans. “She forgets things. She didn’t comment on the mold in the bathroom yesterday. She missed fencing club. She didn’t even threaten the barista when they spelled her name wrong.”

Yoko leans in. “Wow. That is concerning.”

“She’s distracted. She’ll be mid-sentence and just... stop. Like her brain short-circuits. Or she’s thinking about something she doesn’t want to admit.”

Divina shares a glance with Yoko. “Or someone?”

Enid gasps. “No. No-no-no. There’s no way Wednesday Addams has a crush. She doesn’t do feelings. She barely does breathing.”

Yoko grins. “You sure about that? Bianca’s been slipping, too.”

Enid squints. “Wait. Are you saying—”

Divina nods. “We think your roomie and our drama queen are about two weeks away from a full-blown emotional crisis.”

“They’re going to make it everyone’s problem, aren’t they?” Enid groans.

Yoko laughs. “Obviously.”

Enid chews on a gummy worm and sighs. “I hope they kill each other. Or kiss. Whichever shuts them up first.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

Wednesday doesn’t need partners.

She’s solved cases on her own. Puzzled out murder plots, stalked killers, untangled blood-soaked legacies. But today, she has a partner. Not by choice.

Bianca Barclay walks beside her, boots clicking against the stone corridor in perfect rhythm with her own. That part, oddly, is not unwelcome.

Their first suspect is a psychic named Devon Pierce. Too clever, too bitter, and far too overlooked—Wednesday recognized his sullen ambition weeks ago. He has motive, proximity, and a well-documented grudge against both her and Bianca.

The interrogation room—an old classroom with peeling walls and a flickering sconce—feels like a confessional booth for sinners.

Devon slouches in his seat. “Seriously? I’m not stupid enough to mess with both of you.”

Wednesday moves without sound, standing behind Devon like a wraith. “You’re not stupid, Pierce. But you are petty.”

Bianca leans on the desk across from him, arms crossed, eyes glittering. “And desperate to prove you’re more than a background character.”

He scoffs. “You think everyone’s obsessed with you.”

“No,” Bianca says, her voice dipping lower. “Just the ones who keep looking at us like they want to scream or confess something.”

Devon shifts in his seat.

Wednesday circles him like a hawk. “We found remnants of spectral ink near the statue. You used it in your illusion spells last semester. Sloppy.”

“Coincidence.”

Wednesday leans in, her lips near his ear. “So confess and get it over with. Or I’ll give Bianca permission to get creative.”

Devon pales. “You’re bluffing.”

Wednesday steps back. “She isn’t.”

Bianca smiles. “You know, siren suggestion doesn’t have to be obvious. It can feel like a whisper. Or a chill down your spine.”

Devon bolts upright. “Okay, okay! I didn’t do it alone. It was Sam, from shapeshifting. And that tech gremlin from Wraith House—Miles. They wanted to humiliate you both.”

Bianca and Wednesday share a look. Brief. Electric.

Wednesday nods slowly. “Thank you for your honesty. Now get out.”

Devon stumbles out.

Bianca closes the door behind him, then turns. “That wasn’t bad.”

“You threatened him.”

“You liked it.”

Wednesday glances down at her gloves. Her voice is quiet. “You were... impressive.”

Bianca freezes for a beat. “Was that a compliment, Addams?”

“Merely an observation.”

Bianca steps closer. Too close. “You know, you could just say you like having me around.”

Wednesday meets her gaze evenly. “I like arsenic. That doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”

Bianca smiles, slow and dangerous. “Then why do you keep drinking it?”

The air between them crackles. Neither moves. Neither dares to.

And then, Wednesday turns away, just slightly. “We have two more names.”

Bianca’s voice is a murmur behind her. “One of these days, Addams... you won’t turn away.”

Wednesday doesn’t respond.

But her hands are trembling—just slightly—inside her gloves.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

She should’ve known the moment she walked into the old Nightshade vault with Bianca Barclay at her side that the day would end in either violence or disaster. Possibly both.

The object in question is an ornate, gilded hourglass sealed in a glass case, pulsing with necrotic energy. Weems wanted it catalogued. Yoko wanted to poke it. Enid just wanted to help. Divina was filming everything.

Wednesday warned them all, of course.

“Touch nothing. The curse is proximity-based. It activates when two opposing forces—magically or emotionally—enter its radius.”

Which is exactly the moment Bianca rolls her eyes and mutters, “What, like us?”

And Enid—Enid who should never be left unsupervised—grins and says, “You two are basically the definition of emotional warfare.”

The hourglass shatters.

And suddenly, everything shifts.

There’s a flare of blinding light, a roar of magic, and then—

Silence.

Wednesday opens her eyes.

And finds herself chest-to-chest with Bianca Barclay, pinned between a wall of books and the siren’s very tense, very warm body.

She doesn’t move.

Neither does Bianca.

“…Don’t say a word,” Bianca growls, her breath hot against Wednesday’s jaw.

“You’re on top of me,” Wednesday says, perfectly flat.

“You pulled me down when it exploded!”

“I was saving your life.”

Bianca glares. “By grabbing my waist and dragging me into you?”

“I’m thorough.”

The hourglass pieces glow faintly on the floor. Yoko is shouting something in the background. Enid is panicking. Divina sounds way too amused.

But all of that fades under the weight of one truth:

Bianca’s hand is on Wednesday’s hip.

And Wednesday isn’t pulling away.

She can feel Bianca’s heartbeat—fast, erratic, alive—and her own responds like a drumbeat from the grave.

“You’re shaking,” Bianca whispers.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

A pause. Then—

“Are you scared of me, Addams?”

Wednesday’s voice is low. Dangerous. “I don’t fear you. I—”

She stops.

Bianca leans in. Her voice is softer now, a thread of curiosity woven with heat. “Then why aren’t you moving?”

Wednesday’s lips part slightly. “I’m... recalibrating.”

Bianca’s breath catches. “Try faster.”

But neither of them moves.

Because in this locked moment of magic and shadow and breathless stillness—neither of them wants to.

Finally, the curse fades. The magic snaps like a stretched wire. Light floods back into the vault.

But Wednesday doesn't let go.

And Bianca doesn’t step back.

Their friends fall silent.

And the truth lingers in the air—heavier than any curse.

Chapter Text

Third-Person POV

They made an unspoken agreement.

Don’t talk about it.

Not the curse. Not the way Bianca’s fingers had curled around Wednesday’s waist. Not the way Wednesday’s breath had caught—not in fear, but something more dangerous.

Not the way neither of them had moved.

It was mutual silence. A detente forged in stubbornness and self-preservation.

So they did what rivals do best: ignored it.

Except now, there’s a problem.

A transfer student.

Golden-haired. Half-vampire. Tall. Charming. Ridiculously skilled with a foil.

His name is Killian Reyes, and his very first mistake is walking into fencing practice, spinning a blade with practiced ease, and grinning far too wide at Bianca Barclay.

“Oh, I didn’t know Nevermore had sirens,” Killian says, teeth flashing. “Explains the distraction.”

Bianca arches a brow, intrigued. “And you are?”

“Your newest teammate.”

Then he winks.

Wednesday, standing at the far end of the gym with her blade angled perfectly, does not react. Not outwardly.

But her grip on her sword tightens.

Enid, watching from the bleachers, elbows Yoko. “Okay, is it just me or is Wednesday vibrating?”

Yoko nods slowly. “It’s like... murder with a hint of jealousy.”

Divina adds, “Brooding. Ten bucks says she cuts Killian's luscious gold locks off by next week.”

The new boy becomes a fixture. He’s loud, charming, magnetic in a way that grates against Wednesday’s nerves. Bianca laughs more at practice now. Killian is always too close, too casual, too quick to spar.

And Bianca lets him.

Worse—she encourages it.

Wednesday hates how it makes her stomach twist.

She hates how her eyes follow them without meaning to.

How her pulse stutters every time Killian places a hand on Bianca’s arm or brushes hair from her face mid-match.

She pretends not to care.

Bianca notices.

She pretends not to notice that, too.

Until one afternoon, when Killian leans in after a match and whispers something low in Bianca’s ear. Bianca laughs. A real one. Careless. Bright.

Wednesday drops her blade.

It clatters to the floor.

The room quiets.

Bianca turns to look at her.

Something flickers behind her eyes. A memory, maybe.

The way Wednesday had held her. The way their silence had meant something.

But Wednesday just bends down, retrieves her sword, and walks off without a word.

Bianca doesn’t chase her.

But she thinks about it.

Hard.

That night, alone in her room, she stares at her ceiling and whispers, “You’re going to have to fight for me, Addams.”

She doesn’t mean it as a challenge.

But Wednesday’s already heard it, even if no one said it aloud.

And something dark and determined curls in her chest.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

She doesn’t care.

She repeats this to herself every time Bianca laughs at something Killian Reyes says.

She doesn’t care when he brings Bianca coffee after fencing.

She doesn’t care when he offers to “help her stretch” before duels.

She especially doesn’t care when Bianca lets him.

She is fine.

…Except her journal now contains three pages of increasingly violent Latin hexes designed specifically for targeting someone’s knees.

Coincidence..

Wednesday stares down at her black-inked scrawl, jaw tight, eyes colder than a corpse.

Across the quad, Bianca is talking to Killian again—sweat dripping, a sleek blade on her hip, and a smirk on her lips.

She’s glowing.

Unacceptable.

Wednesday closes her journal.

And walks straight toward them.

Bianca’s POV

She feels the shift before she sees her.

The air grows dense. Quiet. Like the sky before lightning strikes.

Bianca doesn’t have to turn around to know Wednesday’s watching her. She can feel it, sharp as a needle against her spine.

Good.

Let her watch.

Let her burn.

She leans just a bit closer to Killian, murmuring something low and amused. He grins, clearly interested.

Then: “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Bianca doesn’t flinch. “Wasn’t aware I needed to be.”

Wednesday stands behind her now, voice low and clipped. “You’re being reckless.”

“With my training?” Bianca arches a brow. “I thought you respected competence.”

“I don’t trust Reyes.”

“Because he’s new, or because he isn’t you?”

Wednesday says nothing.

Her silence is louder than shouting.

Bianca steps closer. “What’s the matter, Addams? Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not jealous,” Wednesday snaps, too fast.

Bianca leans in. “Prove it.”

The space between them shrinks.

Killian is forgotten. The quad fades. The tension sharpens to a wire’s edge, humming between two bodies that refuse to touch—refuse to admit anything—but can’t seem to pull away.

“You said nothing happened,” Wednesday says, eyes dark.

“It didn’t,” Bianca says. “But you keep acting like it did.”

“You’re baiting me.”

“You’re brooding.”

“I’m watching you.”

“Then look closer.”

There’s a beat of silence.

A pulse of something dangerous.

Then Wednesday’s voice, low and measured: “Be careful, Bianca. If you keep pushing, I might push back.”

Bianca’s smirk is all teeth. “Maybe I want you to.”

Wednesday doesn’t respond.

She just turns and walks away—again.

But this time, Bianca’s heart is racing.

Because the Addams girl is cracking.

And when she breaks, Bianca plans to be there to watch every beautiful, messy second of it.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

It’s almost midnight.

She doesn’t remember why she left the Academy. Only that something pulled her toward the lake in Jericho—something instinctive, silent, inevitable.

She tells herself it was a craving for solitude.

She lies beautifully.

The moon sits low, pearled and full, casting silver onto the water’s glassy surface. Windless. Quiet.

She almost turns back.

Almost.

Then the lake ripples.

And she sees her.

Bianca Barclay.

But not the version she shows the school. Not the composed fencing captain or the confident flirt. This is her real form. Siren form. The water-dark scales glistening along her shoulders, gills faintly fluttering at her neck, eyes glowing faintly with bioluminescent blue.

And she is singing.

Not aloud. Not with words.

But Wednesday hears her anyway.

It isn’t seductive. It isn’t luring.

It’s mournful. Deep. Ancient.

A melody that cracks something old and cold inside Wednesday and makes it ache.

She steps closer, boots sinking into soft mud.

Bianca doesn’t see her yet. She floats near the center, arms spread like wings in the water, hair trailing behind her like ink. Moonlight touches her like it chooses her.

Wednesday forgets to breathe.

The song fades.

Bianca dives—and when she resurfaces, she sees her.

Stillness.

Then—Bianca stiffens, eyes wide, shimmering. Her guard rises in an instant.

“You followed me.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Bianca begins to retreat toward the shore, scales fading back into skin, her otherworldly beauty smoothing into something human.

“You weren’t meant to see that.”

“I’m glad I did.”

Bianca pauses.

“I didn’t think you could be glad.”

“I’m capable of many things,” Wednesday replies, stepping closer. “Most of which I don’t admit.”

Bianca stays half-submerged, vulnerable in a way that terrifies them both.

Wednesday crouches at the edge of the water, black dress trailing along the reeds. Her voice is low. Careful.

“You’re more beautiful like this.”

Bianca blinks. “You’re trying to soften me.”

“No. I’m telling you I’ve stopped trying to fight you.”

The air shifts.

“I wanted to hate you,” Wednesday confesses, the words stiff and painful. “I tried. But you are inevitable, Bianca Barclay. And I am so, so tired of pretending you aren’t.”

Bianca swims closer. Just enough for her fingers to brush the bank.

“I’ll pull you in,” she warns.

“I hope you do,” Wednesday says.

And that’s all it takes.

Bianca grabs her wrist—gentle, firm—and pulls.

The water is cold. The shock jolts Wednesday’s heart. But then she’s in Bianca’s arms, held just above the lake floor, her black clothes clinging to her like shadow.

They’re both breathless.

But neither of them runs.

The kiss, when it happens, is slow and uncertain and perfectly real.

No magic.

No curses.

Just a girl born of night and ink, and a siren forged from ocean and storm, finally colliding in the one place they can be honest:

The in-between.

Chapter Text

Enid’s POV

Something is definitely up.

It starts small.

Wednesday, who never shares food, lets Bianca steal a fry from her tray in the quad.

No death glare. No passive-aggressive threat of arsenic. Just a twitch of her lips that might—might—be a smile.

Then there’s fencing.

Bianca and Killian are suddenly not sparring anymore. Killian now lingers near the lockers with a confused expression, and Bianca? She’s not laughing. Not even faking it. She keeps glancing toward the entrance—where Wednesday stands, arms folded, brooding in her usual black... and watching her.

Enid grabs Yoko and Divina by the arms one day and hisses, “They’re flirting.”

Yoko looks up from her matcha. “Wednesday doesn’t flirt. She threatens people into fondness.”

“I don’t care what you call it,” Enid says, wild-eyed. “She let Bianca touch her arm. And she didn’t flinch.”

Divina blinks. “That’s basically third base for Wednesday.”

Yoko’s POV

She starts keeping a mental list. Just for fun. Totally not spying.

• Wednesday and Bianca show up to class together. They don’t speak, but they walk in sync.

• Wednesday now glares at anyone who stands too close to Bianca.

• Bianca defends Wednesday in fencing club. (“If one more person calls her creepy, I’m personally going to drown you in the lake.”)

• A sketch falls out of Wednesday’s notebook: a portrait of Bianca in profile, half-siren, half-human.

Yoko nearly chokes on her blood smoothie.

Divina’s POV

She catches them in the greenhouse.

They don’t see her.

Bianca’s sitting on the bench. Wednesday is standing, her fingers brushing over Bianca’s wrist in that slow, careful way she touches books and knives and things she doesn’t want to break.

Bianca says something—soft, low—and Wednesday laughs. Not cruel. Not sharp.

Warm.

Divina ducks behind a wall of orchids with her mouth hanging open. She texts Enid and Yoko one word:

"Confirmed."

Later That Night – Enid, Yoko & Divina in the Dorm

“I knew it,” Enid says, grinning so hard her fangs peek through.

“I called this back when they almost killed each other during that potion lab last semester,” Yoko says smugly.

“Enemies-to-lovers,” Divina sighs, dreamy. “I love when it’s mutual emotional damage with a side of unresolved tension.”

“I give it a week before they snap and make out in public,” Enid declares.

“Two,” Yoko counters. “Wednesday likes pretending she’s above human urges.”

Divina smirks. “Or maybe she already did. And they’re just hiding it.”

The three girls scream quietly into their pillows.

Chapter Text

Enid’s POV

It had been weeks.

Weeks since she, Yoko, and Divina had squealed and theorized and charted Wednesday and Bianca’s definitely-something-happening moments. But then… nothing. Nada. Zilch. The tension fizzled out, the glares returned, and the duo became invisible to all suspicion.

So Enid let it go. Or tried to.

Tonight, her mind was not on the mystery ex-rivals.

It was on Ajax.

Specifically, how he’d just bailed on their date night for the third time this month with a casual, “Rain makes my snakes weird.”

She stands outside her dorm building, jaw tight, texting him furiously. No reply.

“I was gonna wear my cute boots,” she mutters, trudging up the stairs. “And he said we’d try the pizza place this time. Again. Liar.”

Enid is halfway through composing a dramatic breakup text in her head when she throws open her dorm door.

And freezes.

Because Bianca Barclay is straddling Wednesday Addams.

On the floor.

Shirt slightly rumpled.

Lipstick smeared.

Wednesday’s eyes are blown wide with shock, but her hands are firmly on Bianca’s waist.

The siren’s hair is wild. Her thigh is exposed. Her mouth is parted like she was mid-sentence—or something else.

They all just… stare.

Time dies.

Enid’s phone slips from her hand and hits the floor with a thunk.

Bianca scrambles off, breathless and flushed. “I—I thought you locked the door!”

“I did,” Wednesday snaps, adjusting her collar like that will somehow erase the past ten seconds.

Enid, blinking rapidly, holds up her hands like she’s talking to a wild animal. “Okay. Okay. I didn’t see anything. Except for, um, everything. But, like, emotionally? I’m blind.”

Wednesday’s glare sharpens. “Say a word about this and I will replace your shampoo with arsenic.”

“Too late,” Enid whispers, backing out the door. “The betrayal is in my soul.”

She shuts the door slowly.

Then sprints down the hallway screaming.

The Common Room – Five Minutes Later

Divina and Yoko look up from their card game just in time to see Enid burst in like a storm front.

“I was right, then wrong, then right again!” Enid shouts.

Yoko blinks. “Oh my god, who died?”

“My innocence! I walked in on them! Like on each other!”

Divina drops her cards. “Who?!”

Enid whirls on her. “Them! The emotional support ice cube and the beauty queen shark!”

Yoko gasps. “Wednesday and Bianca?”

“Wednesday and Bianca!” Enid shrieks.

They all scream.

Together.

United.

Chapter Text

The news spreads faster than fire in a crypt.

By breakfast, Bianca and Wednesday’s “situation” is no longer rumor—it’s canon. Their names buzz through Nevermore’s halls like incantations: Wednesday and Bianca, said with disbelief, awe, and something close to fear.

She’d hoped silence might contain it.

But Enid’s voice carries. And Yoko and Divina are walking billboards of giddy betrayal.

By lunch, even Principal Weems raises a brow at them during fencing.

Bianca leans into it with the same ease she wields a blade. She drapes an arm over Wednesday’s chair. Steals grapes off her tray. Smirks with that siren’s swagger that used to infuriate Wednesday—and now coils low in her spine.

Wednesday simply endures. With dignity. And twitching fingers.

Later, when the whispers grow teeth and Killian asks, “So… you two were never rivals?”—Bianca smiles sweetly and replies, “We still are. We just argue closer now.”

Bianca’s POV

The truth settles strangely.

Not heavy. Not light. But real.

They walk across the quad like it's always been this way—shoulders brushing, fingers grazing, not quite holding hands, not quite hiding.

Wednesday doesn’t talk much. But when she does, it’s deliberate. Undeniable.

“I used to want to defeat you,” she murmurs one night in the greenhouse.

Bianca raises a brow. “Used to?”

Wednesday glances up. “Now I want to know every way you could destroy me.”

Bianca leans in, lips close enough to steal the words from her mouth. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

Wednesday smiles. Barely.

And doesn’t answer.

Enid, Yoko & Divina – Epilogue

They watch it all unfold with a mix of horror, victory, and endless popcorn.

Wednesday and Bianca at the edge of the lake. Sitting in silence, shoulder to shoulder.

Wednesday bringing Bianca an ancient poetry book with dog-eared pages and a handwritten note tucked inside.

And then—

One day, in front of everyone, Wednesday kisses Bianca in the quad. Slow. Bare. A statement.

The whole school stops.

Enid screams.

Yoko faints.

Divina fans her with a sketchpad titled "Dramatic Enemies Kissing Under Gothic Moonlight."

Wednesday’s POV

People still stare.

Still whisper.

Still try to define what they see.

Rivalry. Lust. Obsession. Love.

Let them guess.

She and Bianca? They know.

Because when war meets worship—when cold burns and flame freezes—

It’s not the end.

It’s the beginning.

And Wednesday Addams has never feared the dark.

Not when her beautiful siren lives there too.