#cairo x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spiderb00bs · 4 months ago

Text

- YOU'RE MINE

Cairo Sweet x (g!p) reader (request)

“You were Cairo's new obsession, and even if you didn't know it, you were already hers”

Genre – smut Warnings – daddy kink, reader is three years older than cairo MDI

Now playing – MUSTANG BABY, by Nessa Barrett Ft. ARTEMAS

part 1 | part 2

You were never very attached to material things, the moments you kept in your mind being much more important than any material possession you might own. That said, it wasn't too difficult for you to get rid of most of your things in order to move to a quieter place.

Moving from New York to the suburbs of Tennessee was a rather drastic change for you, but after your grandmother passed away, you thought it was the best decision you could make right now. You never had cousins, your mother was an only child and you had no siblings, and as much as your mother was out there somewhere on the globe, it still came as a surprise when you received a call saying that your grandmother had left her old house to you in her will.

Your family had always been cold, never showing much love, and you knew that part of it was because they were such a stingy family, and all they cared about was money. But with your grandmother, things were always different. Your grandma was the only person in that family who made you feel loved, and even though you grew up a bit away from her, you always seemed to be connected, and you loved that feeling.

Getting out of your truck, you looked around, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't a housing estate either. At one point it was quiet, but if you looked a little closer it seemed almost weird. You could see a house right in front of your grandmother's old house, but it was the only one. You wondered if anyone lived there, your grandmother had never complained about neighbors, so you hoped you wouldn't have a problem with that either.

The barking of Robin, your dog, brought you back to the real world, you smiled at him, stroking his ears, before taking one of the boxes out of the back of your truck. You used to have a room to yourself in your grandmother's house, and you knew it was still intact, and since this move wasn't final, you thought the usual small room might be more than enough for you.

Holding the box with your left arm, you took the door keys out of your pocket, hearing Robin's bark echoing through the trees. Looking back, you saw him chasing a butterfly. Laughing, you shook your hair slightly, hoping that the neighbors next door wouldn't mind your dog's antics.

Your grandmother's old television was still working fine, and the sofa was very comfortable for the amount of time it was supposed to be used, but everything worked very well. You wouldn't say you were adapted to everything, but you certainly weren't uncomfortable with the idea of spending a few months here. The night had fallen nicely, the breeze was a bit chilly, but the heaters did a good job of warming you up, everything there had a lot of potential. You knew you'd have a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow, but you were happy to put a bit of manual work on your agenda and renovate your grandmother's old house.

With a sigh, you got up from the sofa, snapping your back and picking up the empty beer bottle from the coffee table. The moment you stood up, Robin's ears mirrored your movement, the dog paying close attention to your next move, and if you said the right words, he'd get up in a hurry.

“All right buddy, do you want to go outside for a bit before you go to bed?” Bingo.

Rising in a leap, the dog hurried to the front door, waiting for you to open it so he could relieve himself before getting a very good night's sleep.

“All right, don't go too far.” You said, causing the dog to lunge when you opened the door.

Leaning against the doorframe, you took a closer look at your surroundings, the night painting the trees a darker shade, and you've watched enough horror movies to know that it shouldn't be 100% safe. It could just be your head playing tricks on you, but you could swear you felt eyes watching your every move. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, you leaned a little further out of the house, ready to send Robin in.

“ROBIN, COME ON BOY!” You shouted, expecting him to come to you as he always did.

Your answer was only the swaying of the trees, and as much as you knew that your dog was always distracted by sticks, you also knew that he never neglected your call.

“ROBIN, HERE!” You shouted again, still without an answer.

Ready to go after the dog, you grabbed your house keys, closing the door and preparing to go down the stairs in front of the small porch, but something in the darkness made you freeze for a minute. A small being moved among the bushes and trees, and you could only wonder who was walking through the forest so late at night.

The relief you felt when you saw Robin next to the shadow was fleeting, you were happy to see the dog, but who the hell was that creature?

“Can I help you?” You asked, discreetly signaling to Robin, causing the dog to come running to your side.

“You must be the new neighbor...”

Coming out of the shadows, the figure you demonized so much was actually a girl, not a child, more like a teenager? Maybe a young woman? She looked small, certainly much shorter and a little younger than you. Her hair was beautiful and cascaded over her shoulders, and even though she wasn't that close to you, you could still notice the mesmerizing eyes she had. What was she doing alone in the middle of the woods?

“I'm Cairo, Cairo Sweet.” The woman said, coming closer and positioning herself comfortably on the railing of the porch steps, just four steps from where you were standing. “I live here in front.”

Sighing, you felt all the tension disappear from your shoulders, she was just your neighbor, she wasn't going to hurt you.

“Sorry, it's just that you scared me a bit.” You said, laughing slightly, making Cairo mirror your actions. “I'm Yn.”

“It's nice to meet you, Yn. I saw a new car arriving yesterday and I was curious.” Cairo said, the way she looked at you made you feel strange, it was almost as if she wanted to see through you. “And then I saw this little guy while I was out here and I connected the dots.”

“It was a last-minute decision, my grandmother lived here.” You said, trying not to give away too many details about this teenager you'd just met.

“I saw her on the porch sometimes, but she was very private. I'm sorry about what happened.” Cairo said, climbing a step closer to you, her right hand slowly climbing the railing, her head tilted to the left. All you wanted to know was why she was looking at you like that?

“It's okay, I have good memories of her.” You said, discreetly swaying your body as you tried to regain that same distance between you and Cairo.

“So, you're in high school?” Her eyes could really hypnotize someone, they were the most beautiful shade of brown you'd ever seen.

“College.”

“You look like a mathematician.”

“Music.”

“I should know, you musicians are all beautiful.” Cairo said with a smile on her face, which I'm sure she tried to hide by turning her head away.

Looking towards her house, Cairo descended the step she had climbed, taking one last look at you.

“Good night, music girl.”

Unable to say a word, you just waved, making Cairo laugh - probably at your weirdness - and turn around again before disappearing into the mansion where she lived.

“Why the hell did I talk so much?” You asked, looking at Robin.

I mean, you didn't want to talk about your college, you didn't even want her to come up the steps of your house. She was beautiful, her eyes were beautiful, she asked if you were at school? How old is that girl? You certainly said more than you should have.

The sun seemed to be hotter than ever, making a layer of sweat cover your body, it was almost as if the water you drank had no effect on cooling you down. Putting the hammer down and picking up the saw, you cut out the piece of wood you would use to replace the old furniture, taking care not to get the measurements wrong.

“I didn't know musicians also took carpentry classes at college.”

The startle of a new voice in the quiet surroundings made you jump, sending a shiver through your body hair as you almost let the saw slip through your fingers. Turning around, you saw Cairo standing in front of the stairs, sunglasses covering her pretty eyes, the girl was wearing a denim jacket with a white blouse underneath, her skirt went down to her mid-thighs, while a pair of socks hugged the rest of her legs.

“Do you always walk in quietly?” You asked, examining your hand to make sure everything was in place.

Laughing at your question, Cairo repeated the movement she made last night, climbing a step and tilting her head to look at what you were doing. You couldn't see the look on her face, but if you could see through the glasses, you might be uncomfortable.

At first, Cairo even looked at all the tools lying around, but that led her to look at your hands, which were dirty and had some veins protruding from them. The veins ran up your arms, which were bare, as you were wearing a white T-shirt. Cairo continued to look up, checking out your muscles, seeing how your biceps showed when you made the slightest effort, and how your shoulders were tense, perhaps still from the fright.

“It's a very good skill.” Cairo said, smiling at you. That smile made it seem as if you didn't know many things, as if you were a layman, as if she knew something that you would never, not in a million years.

“So, you were in the woods again?” You asked, hoping Cairo wouldn't notice the sarcastic tone you used.

“Actually, I have to go to class.”

“College?” You asked, taking the hammer from the toolbox.

“Senior year of high school.” Cairo said, putting his right foot on the second step.

“Holy shit! How old are you? Seventeen?” You asked, a playful tone in your speech. If you had been more attentive, you would have seen Cairo take her foot off the second step.

“Eighteen.”

Cairo's serious tone caught your attention, making you turn your body completely towards her.

“Got it.”

“How old are you?” Cairo crossed her arms as she climbed - now with both feet - onto the second step, it was almost as if she was daring you to say your age.

“Twenty-one.”

Giving you a smile, Cairo looked at you over her glasses, giving you a glimpse of that look that had stuck in your mind.

“Bye, Yn.”

Watching the girl disappear into the forest, you became more intrigued. Why was this girl so enigmatic to you? What did she mean by all those questions? With all her cool-girl looks? She's just a teenager, maybe a young woman?

Why was she able to get into your head so much?

It had been almost a week since you and Cairo had last spoken, your schedules didn't seem to match up and you were always too busy renovating the house. You hadn't seen Cairo since that day, but Cairo couldn't say the same about you.

Sitting at the window, the brown-haired girl watched you, she had just seen you arrive with new things in the back of your truck, T-shirt and jeans dirty from the heavy work you did alone. Cairo already knew that your next steps would be straight to the bathroom. It was as if she already knew your whole routine, it was as if she was slowly getting into your routine, but still too far away to share her knowledge with you.

The Sweet girl's body warmed up, watching you take your shirt off, unbuckle your old belt and pull down your pants in one swift movement. The muscles in the right places, your breasts trapped in the bra, the way your boxer shorts fit perfectly to your body, the way she could see the outline of your cock, your round ass held up by the fabric, your thick legs, everything made Cairo want to jump out of the window and fall on top of you.

Desire and libido surged through the girl's body faster than the speed of light, sending heat to the middle of the Sweet girl's legs, who watched your every move as you rubbed your thighs together. Unfortunately for Cairo, you went into the bathroom before taking off all your clothes, but that didn't stop the girl from imagining whatever she wanted with you.

“Baby, are you coming to join me?” Your voice echoed off the walls of her mind, the noise of the shower loud in her ears, and Cairo could swear she could smell the soap.

“I was waiting for you to ask me.”

Walking to the bathroom, Cairo leaned against the doorframe, admiring your silhouette through the blurry shower. Taking off her clothes piece by piece without wasting any time, the brunette approached the glass, opening the door and finding herself facing your back.

Moving closer to you, Cairo began distributing kisses under your shoulder blades, her hands running from your breasts down your abdomen and reaching what she so desperately wanted. You moaned as Cairo's hands reached your cock, the sensation of her movements making you slightly dizzy.

Cairo's eyes watched you, her head tilted slightly to the right, allowing her to see a little of your side profile. Accelerating the movement of her hand, Cairo saw you throw your head forward, resting it against the bathroom tiles. The moan you let out sent a shiver through Cairo's body, she loved that you had that reaction to her touch, that only she could make you feel that way, that only she had you in her hands, that only she had you.

Cairo had learned all about your behavior, how your body reacted to everything, and she could tell with conviction how close to cumming you were. You kept one hand on the wall in front of you, while the other rested comfortably around Cairo's wrist. Your moans echoed off the bathroom walls, the brunette behind you could feel your cock throbbing in her hand.

The sound of your car driving off made Cairo open her eyes, quickly removing her hand from between her legs and looking out of the window at your car, which was now driving off down the dirt road.

Sighing, Cairo got up from her window seat and walked over to the bed before throwing herself down. It wasn't the first time Cairo had had such thoughts about you, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. But she was even more certain that the “waking dream” she had been having would come true. You were hers, and even if you couldn't see it, she would make you see it.

The doorbell rang throughout the large house. Outside, Cairo waited patiently for you to answer it. The girl had two cups of coffee with her and she was hoping to spend some time with you, ready to put her plan into action by moving up another stage with you.

Unfortunately for Cairo, she didn't recognize who opened the door. She certainly didn't recognize the blonde hair, or the delicate hands that gripped the handle, or the blue eyes, or the short stature. Who was that woman?

“Hi, what can I do for you?” Her hair was slightly messy, she looked like she'd just woken up and she was wearing a shirt that was clearly too big for her.

Cairo could count, and she definitely knew that 2 + 2 = 4.

“Is Yn here?”

“She's kind of busy right now...”

“I bet she is...” Cairo said, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the air as she analyzed the woman in front of her.

“Do you want me to say something to her?” The blonde asked. Her voice made Cairo want to vomit.

“No.”

Descending the steps, Cairo disappeared into the woods, leaving the slightly confused woman at the door. Cairo didn't care, she didn't even look back, whatever this woman was doing to you had to end now. Immediately!

Sitting on the front steps, you sipped your beer while watching the sunset. With no plans for today, you had decided to just relax while you let Robin run wild. Things had been quiet since you'd moved in, it was almost a month and if you'd known how quiet the small town was, you would have moved in sooner.

Hearing footsteps in the silence, you saw Cairo approaching, the girl coming out of the vast woods, as always, walking slowly along the strange paths she made a point of following. It had been a while since you'd seen the girl, you'd never met, unlike before when she'd practically come to your door. It was almost as if she was avoiding you, but why would she do that?

“Do you always choose the strangest paths?” You asked, looking at the girl before taking another sip of your beer.

“I like walking through the woods, it's exciting.” Cairo replied, approaching you with a slight smile on her face. She seemed happy to see you, or maybe she was just having a good day.

“You've been kind of missing, haven't you?” Cairo approached the steps.

“Why? Did you miss me?” A teasing smile appeared on her face as she climbed the first step.

“I just thought it was strange that you'd disappeared. Anne had told me that a girl knocked on the door the other day, and I knew it was you.” You said, your head tilting slightly upwards to look into Cairo's eyes.

“Anne? So that's her name?” Cairo asked, climbing the second step and taking the small backpack she was carrying off her back.

“Annlynn. I met her at the market, she's a nice girl.” You said, taking another sip of your beer while trying to hide your smile as you spoke of the blonde girl. “Very bossy at times, but nice.”

“Are you two dating?” Cairo asked, climbing the third step as she grabbed the beer from your hand and took a long sip.

“Hey! You can't drink.” You said, trying to take your beer from her hand, only to receive a slap on the hand and a giggle from Cairo.

“Don't be a party pooper. I bet you drank when you were a teenager.” Cairo said, finally reaching the fourth step and sitting down next to you.

“No, I didn't.” You said, looking at Cairo who was staring at you as if he doubted what you had just said.

You stared back at her, trying to be as serious as possible while the girl tried to get the truth out of you with her eyes. Those beautiful eyes.

Faced with that situation, you found yourself laughing, making Cairo join you. It was obvious that it was a lie, but there was something about sharing it with Cairo that made you feel lighter, something you couldn't quite identify.

“Okay, fine, maybe I drank once or twice when I was a teenager.” Laughing, Cairo bumped you with her elbow.

“I knew it, I know you're not a saint.”

Smiling at her, you nodded, looking towards the trees as you thought about how troubled your adolescence had been. “No one is a saint. And anyone who says they are is certainly lying.”

Feeling Cairo look deeply at your profile, you turned your head towards the girl. Her eyes looked at you as if they could see into your soul, deep and questioning, it was as if she wanted to know everything you were thinking.

“You have a beautiful head.” The silence of the night began to echo louder, as the sun gave way to the moon, which grew larger and larger.

“No one has ever said that to me.” You answered jokingly, but Cairo's eyes quickly told her you were serious.

“You don't have to do that all the time. It was a real compliment, I like how your mind works.”

You were never very good at receiving compliments, your family was never very good at giving compliments. But you tried to cover it up most of the time. But with Cairo, it didn't work, she seemed to know you more than you knew yourself, she seemed to have the power to read your mind. Maybe she had opened your brain while you were asleep and sewn it back together before you woke up, because that was the only explanation for her being able to get so far into your head.

“You're a smart girl, Cairo.” You say, making the girl come closer to you, your thighs touching, and as sudden as the closeness was, you didn't want to move away, you didn't move away.

“Is that how you see me? As a girl?” Looking straight into your eyes, Cairo hypnotized you. She had managed to leave you speechless with a simple question. And as much as you thought the answer was also simple, your mind was screaming questions and the different meanings that question could have.

“How should I see you?” Your faces were close together, Cairo's eyes seemed to scrutinize every feature of your face, while you did the same with hers. The silence was no longer so reassuring, in fact, now the silence reminded you that it was just you and Cairo there, no one else was around and that gave you a strange feeling in your chest.

“You'll find out.” With a smile, Cairo took another sip of your beer, handing the empty bottle back to you as she got up and started walking to her house.

With a sigh, you looked at the empty bottle, succumbing to the urge to put your lips to the bottleneck just to seal what Cairo had already sealed. “Good night.”

Without looking back, Cairo continued walking. And as much as you didn't want to, all you could do was notice how her ass looked in that black dress. “Dream with me, Cowboy.”

“Cowboy?” you questioned.

Looking back for the first time, Cairo smiled. You hated that irritatingly beautiful smile, it was as if she knew something you didn't yet know, but that she was dying to tell you.

“Like I said, you'll find out.”

Things seemed to be going well for you, you and Anne were still trying to do something – which neither of you classified as a relationship – legal, the house was getting more beautiful every day, and your friendship with Cairo seemed to blossom a little more every day.

Cairo intrigued you, how smart she was, how she could make you open up effortlessly, how she had much more emotional intelligence than many adults you've ever met. Sometimes you would even joke, asking her if she had ever managed to manipulate a bearded adult, she never answered, only casting a look that pierced your soul.

The nights went by faster now, and the days were nicer. With all your routine, you still found time to talk to Cairo about random things, and even though she was almost always quite cryptic, you enjoyed the time you spent together. You'd never admit it out loud, but at times you found yourself genuinely attracted to Cairo, fooled by all the beautiful and mysterious words that came out of her mouth.

Every night was surprising, and it was never different. Just like every other night, you heard the doorbell ringing through the walls of the large, newly refurbished house. Getting up from the armchair in the living room, you shouted that you were coming, opening the door immediately only to see Cairo standing there in a white dress.

“I didn't see Robin running through the trees, so I decided to check if everything was all right.” Cairo said as soon as the door opened. You still didn't know what it was, but there was certainly something different about the look in her eyes.

Scratching the back of your neck, you looked into the house, making Cairo follow your gaze, only for her to see the dog lying on the carpet near the stairs leading upstairs. “I took him into town today, he's pretty tired.”

“So that means you're not going out either?” Cairo asked, her gaze almost begging you to give her some of your attention.

You and Cairo used to talk casually in front of the door, sitting on the fourth step from the front of the house. You had never invited Cairo in, but Cairo had invited you to her house, which you refused because you always had something to do.

“No, I'm sorry.” Ready to convince you, Cairo didn't have time to open her mouth, your voice spoke over it. “But you can come in if you want.”

Cairo's eyes sparkled, almost as if she were a child in a candy store. Unable to contain the smile that escaped, Cairo nodded positively, making you step aside, giving her the space to enter.

Your house was beautiful, cozy, Cairo looked at every detail as if she were in love. She didn't know what your grandmother's house had looked like before, but she knew you had done a good job. The large bookcase in the living room was definitely what caught the Sweet girl's eye, and in that minute she thought about what it would be like if she lived there with you.

Waking up every morning next to you, wrapped up in you, the sheets falling to her hips, exposing her naked body from the previous night's activities. Her waking up to your kisses on her neck and your hands massaging her breasts, making her moan sleepily. Your mouth between her legs would be your breakfast, and then after she'd finished, she'd go to the kitchen to prepare coffee for you so you could fuck her while she tried not to burn the pancakes.

She imagines herself complaining to you about the noise you're making putting together the crib for your baby while she's trying to write the sequel to the book she'd released before she got pregnant. It was perfect.

“Cairo!” You called out, rousing the girl from the trance she had fallen into. “ Is everything all right in there? I've been calling you for a few minutes.” You said, walking into the kitchen, Cairo sitting on the sofa.

“Yes, I'm just admiring the books, sorry.” Cairo said, seeing you come back with two glasses of wine in your hands.

“Oh, that's fine. Some of them were my grandmother's, others I brought with me.” You said, sitting down next to her and handing the glass of wine to the brunette.

Taking a sip of the wine, Cairo groaned at the taste, having never tasted anything so good. “Wow, this is good.”

“Really? I don't know much about wine. Anne gave me the bottle last time she was here.”

Despite not wanting to hear Anne's name, Cairo took your comment in stride, at least it was her you were drinking that expensive wine with, and not that dumb blonde.

“Does she still come here?” Cairo knew the answer, she saw you and Anne through the window constantly, having to put up with every moan the blonde let out just so she could watch you fuck her.

“Sometimes, I mean, she's nice.” You reply, taking a sip of your wine.

“I bet she is.” Cairo says, using a sarcastic tone that passes you by. “I bet you have some very interesting conversations with her.” Bringing the glass up to her lips, Cairo looks at you over the glass object.

“Talking isn't on the list of things we do...” You say embarrassedly, Cairo could tell how embarrassed you were to talk about the blonde. “I try, but she never wants to spend more time than necessary, if you know what I mean.”

Looking at you, Cairo tilts her head to the left, making you look into her eyes. You didn't understand how, but every time she did this you got a little lost, her eyes were a window that pulled you out of your zone, every time.

“Maybe she's not the right girl for you.” Cairo says, her eyes were mesmerizing, and still conveyed that same enigmatic sparkle as when she first appeared on your doorstep. “Maybe you're looking in the wrong place.”

But there was something else, her eyes shone in a bigger way today, almost as if her pupils were all her eyes had. Leaving the cup on the table, Cairo moved closer to you on the sofa, taking your hand in hers.

“Don't you think someone else might be waiting for you, Yn?”

You couldn't answer, completely mesmerized by the way Cairo spoke, how she moved, how the tone of her voice danced in your ears. Was it the beer? The wine you're drinking, why did Cairo's mouth look so beautiful from your view?

It was always like that with Cairo, everything was an enigma, a mystery, the way she spoke, the way she walked, her touch, and the way your mouth was simply stuck to hers now, everything was a mystery.

Cairo was a witch, that's what your mind was screaming, because that was the only explanation why your mouth was now on the Sweet girl's. Your lips were moving in sync with hers, her hands were tangled in your hair, her perfume was making you dizzy, and it felt like you were falling off an abyss. And as soon as you landed on the ground, you pulled away.

“Cairo, I... I'm sorry-”

Cut off by Cairo's lips, you quickly let yourself go. The Sweet girl climbed on top of you, her thighs on either side of your body, pinning you to the sofa, while your hands timidly ran around her waist. Taking your hands in hers, Cairo guided them to her ass, your brain sending information to the rest of your body.

Your hands squeezed Cairo's ass, the younger girl moaning and rolling her hips on top of you. Your cock starting to show signs of life, making you remember to think a little with your head up.

“Cairo... we can't...” You tried to speak between gasps, as Cairo's mouth continued to do a great job on your neck. “You're too young.”

Cairo's kisses went down to your neck, and you tried to push the girl off you only to hear a sneer come out of her mouth “Don't be stupid Yn. I'm old enough to say what I want and don't want to do. And I want you!”

Kissing your neck, Cairo slipped her hands under the fabric of your shirt, grabbing the hem and pulling the garment off your body. With a smile, Cairo observed your muscles, getting even happier when she realized you weren't wearing a bra.

“God, it was almost as if you were prepared for this.” Cairo said, attacking your lips without even giving you a chance to say anything.

Your mind was screaming no, but your body was screaming yes. You were lost, you were three years older than Cairo, and for a moment it didn't seem right. But when you remembered all the deep conversations, the looks you exchanged, the smiles, the legs touching, all the intimacy, you couldn't resist.

“I've been waiting for this for so long...” Cairo said, trailing kisses down your collarbone and down to your breasts.

“You have?” The sensation of her kisses around your nipple was wonderful, almost as if you were in heaven.

Letting out a moan when Cairo put your nipple in her mouth, you threw your head back, holding onto the brunette's hair so she could get on with the job.

“Ever since I first saw you, Yn. I want you, no matter how old you are, it's only three years.” Cairo said, looking at you before starting to unbutton the buttons of your pants. “Nobody's a saint, right?!”

Shaking your head negatively, you moaned as Cairo's hand began to make light movements on your cock over the fabric of your boxers. “Then let me make you feel good, daddy.”

Your pupils dilated, Cairo's words piercing your eardrums like a heavy rock song. Your hands quickly reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it off her body in one swift movement. Cairo's breasts were free of any bra, just as she had found yours, and her warm skin in your hands made you feel that it was all right.

“God, you're so hot.” You said, running your hands over Cairo's breasts before putting the right nipple in your mouth.

Feeling the hairs on her body stand on end, Cairo pushed your head closer to her body, moaning loudly and rolling on top of you. “Let me ride you, baby.” Nodding your head, you gently placed Cairo on the sofa, reaching up and pulling your pants and boxers off your body.

Cairo looked at you with hunger in her eyes, calling you with her finger, the girl made you kneel in front of her, grabbing your head and combing through your strands of hair. “Take it off for me, daddy.”

With unregulated breathing, you pulled Cairo's panties down her legs, kissing the girl's thighs as she smiled at you. Now that smile made sense to you, now everything she hid beneath that smile was brought to light. You could finally look at Cairo more intimately, in every sense of the word.

Taking your chin in her hand, Cairo pulled you into a lustful kiss, full of intentions and directions of where this night would end up. “Let me ride you, Cowboy.”

Winking at you, Cairo smiled, tilting her head and motioning for you to sit on the sofa again. You obeyed her as if Cairo's word was a law that couldn't be broken.

“Wait, I have to get a condom.” You said, trying to get up, only to be pushed by Cairo back to where you were.

“I trust you, daddy.” Cairo said, as she put one leg on either side of your body. “In fact, it's not like you're going to want anyone else after this.”

Guiding your cock into her pussy, Cairo relaxed her body onto you. You both moaned as your bodies fit together, feeling as if you were made for it. You had never felt so good with any other girl, and Cairo didn't even think about past experiences, she knew you were made for each other.

Starting to move up and down quickly, Cairo grabbed your hair, making you look into the same mesmerizing eyes you've been looking into since you moved in. The way her hips rock on top of you is taking you to a completely new state, the sensation is completely magnificent, and you swear you've never felt like this before.

“Do you like fucking your little girl, daddy?” Cairo asked, stopping her movements on top of you when you didn't answer. “Admit it, daddy...”

Your head was screaming danger, maybe this was her way of getting what she'd always wanted, you, completely for herself. “I love fucking you, babygirl.”

Fuck it.

Giving you a genuine smile, Cairo resumed her hip thrusts, increasing the speed as she began to feel close to cumming. “Fuck, daddy. Are you feeling it too?” Shaking your head, you agreed with Cairo, your hands going down to her ass and impaling her even more on your cock.

“Keep going, baby. Please.” Listening to your begging, Cairo continued rolling and bouncing on your lap, the orgasms of the two of you getting closer.

Your hands fit perfectly on Cairo's curves, but now they were shaking, announcing how close you were to getting your jollies. Cairo was trapped in her own world, not even listening when you announced that you were close.

With her eyes closed, the girl continued to roll her hips wonderfully on top of you. Her moans were getting louder and louder, just like yours, and you could feel exactly when she finally came. Her inner walls tightening around your cock, making you unable to hold back any longer.

“Cairo, I'm going to...” Even though you tried, you couldn't get the girl off you. Feeling the jets of your hot seed gushing inside her was like heaven for Cairo, it was as if she had finally won the prize she had been chasing for so long. Happiness hung over her face, and the smile on her face would stay there for days to come.

“Have I been a good girl to you, daddy?” Kissing your lips, Cairo looked into your eyes, the mischievous glint now transformed into pride.

“You didn't let me leave, Cairo.” Your tone was weary, accepting that you had lost the war, the battle, everything. You were hers.

“It's all right, my love. It just proves how much you're mine.”

OMG, this took forever to be ready, but I did it!

you guys saw what I did with Anne, Annlynn... Sabrina Annlynn Carpenter... Anyway, I just wanted to make a reference to my girl cause I'm so proud of her.

The Grammys? The hug she and Olivia exchanged??? Oh, I've been blessed for the rest of my life.

Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed the fic, stay safe, drink water

xoxo, spider.

#gxg imagine #request #g!p reader #jenna ortega x reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader

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thedemoninme141 · 3 months ago

Text

Insecurities (an anon request)

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader. Wordcount: 10k-ish.

Summary: Wednesday's frustration made her say something irreversible.

Theme: Angst! Heavy Angst! Like idk heartbreaking heavy angst?

Warnings: Body dysmorphic disorder.

Wednesday’s patience had never been infinite, but today, it was being tested beyond measure. She should have simply put her foot down, denied you both, and spent the afternoon in solitude as she had originally planned. Instead, she was here, in this infernal store, surrounded by the nauseating scent of perfume, the artificial warmth of overhead lights, and the endless cycle of you and Enid dragging her from one corner of the boutique to another.

“This one’s so me!” Enid exclaimed, holding up a shimmering gold dress that looked more like a disco ball than formalwear.

“You’ll blind everyone,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Exactly!” Enid beamed, twirling with the dress before skipping off to try it on.

Meanwhile, you pulled out a black dress with lace detailing, holding it up tentatively. “What about this one?”

Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked over the garment. “It’s acceptable.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly. Acceptable. Not exactly a glowing endorsement.

Still, you tried it on, stepping out of the changing room to model it for Wednesday. Enid, still deliberating over shoes, didn’t even notice.

“Well?” you asked nervously, smoothing the fabric.

“It fits,” Wednesday replied, her tone flat.

Your lips pressed together. You turned back into the dressing room, emerging moments later with another option—a deep red gown with a flowing skirt.

This time, Wednesday didn’t even bother with a full glance. “You’re wasting time.”

You hesitated but said nothing, retreating once again.

It had been hours.

Enid had already found her dress—a shimmering, ice-blue monstrosity that she twirled in with boundless excitement. Enid had never needed her approval. You, however, were another matter entirely.

You were taking far too long.

You had asked Wednesday to come under the pretense that you needed her opinion, that it mattered to you whether she liked what you wore to the dance. Wednesday had seen no reason to deny you.

But she hadn't anticipated this.

Try on a dress. Step out. Spin. Ask her what she thought.

“It’s fine,” she would say.

Then you would disappear again, unsatisfied, only to repeat the process moments later.

She was growing tired of saying it. It was fine. They were all fine. What more did you want from her?

Enid was equally enraptured, offering her own thoughts, exclaiming how each one suited you, or how it brought out your eyes, or how it matched your personality. It was nauseating. Wednesday could barely suppress the irritation clawing up her throat.

And yet, you weren’t buying anything.

Now you were in the dressing room again as Wednesday stood stiffly outside, arms folded, her fingers pressing into her own arms in an effort to restrain herself from storming out entirely. Enid stood beside her, checking her reflection in a nearby mirror.

Wednesday exhaled sharply, “This is insufferable,” she muttered.

Enid gave her a sideways glance before rolling her eyes. “Come on, Wednesday. It’s yours and Y/N’s first Raven as a couple. It’s special for her.”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched. “That does not mean she needs to try on the entire inventory of the store.”

Enid shot her a look, pursing her lips. “She just wants to look good for you.”

“She already looks fine,” Wednesday snapped.

“Then tell her that instead of acting like she’s wasting your time.”

Wednesday didn't reply. She just pressed her lips into a thin line, forcing herself to remain still as her irritation simmered beneath her skin.

It wasn’t just the wasted time, or the absurdity of all of this. Why did it matter what you wore? You were already hers. The dress would not change that.

She had never been one for compliments, nor did she see the point in them. You had asked for her opinion, and she had given it. She saw no use in anything beyond that.

You had been talking about this dance for weeks now, making sure everything was perfect. As if it mattered. Wednesday had agreed to go, hadn’t she? That alone should have been enough to make you happy.

But no, you needed a perfect dress. A dress that you would wear for a single night. A dress that would be forgotten about the second the Raven ended.

Wednesday sighed, staring at the dressing room door you had disappeared behind.

This was taking too long.

And yet, she didn’t leave.

Then, finally, you emerged again.

This time, something was different.

You hesitated just outside the curtain, fingers gripping the fabric nervously before stepping into the light.

And Wednesday...

She stared.

Dark purple. The color was rich, deep, a shade that clung to your form in a way that actually—suited you. Perfectly.

Your shoulders were bare, the dress hugging your figure before flowing down to the floor in an elegant sweep. You looked...

Wednesday swallowed.

You looked beautiful.

And that realization—how much she cared about something as trivial as a dress—sent a wave of irritation curling through her.

How ridiculous.

It was just fabric. Just thread and silk. And yet, you were looking at it—at yourself—like this was the most important moment in the world.

"Well?" You asked, voice uncertain, eyes searching hers desperately for approval.

Wednesday hated that. Hated the way you seemed to need her validation for something so insignificant.

Something twisted inside her.

She hated that dress.

Hated the way you were looking at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric as if it held the key to your happiness.

She folded her arms. "You’ve been trying on dresses for hours, and now you want me to shower this one with praise?"

Your smile faltered. "I just... I thought this one was better than the others."

It was.

But Wednesday didn’t say that.

Instead, her own irritation twisted her words into something sharp, something cruel before she even realized it.

“It makes you look bigger, if that’s what you were going for, then congratulations.”

The words fell from her lips like a blade, sharp and final.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Your face froze, your expression unreadable as silence stretched between you.

Enid inhaled sharply. "Wednesday!"

But you... you didn’t argue.

You didn’t scoff or roll your eyes or throw some sarcastic remark back at her like you usually would.

You just blinked once. Then, slowly, a small, forced smile curled at your lips.

"Oh... okay."

And then you turned and disappeared back into the dressing room.

Wednesday watched as the curtain closed behind you, an unfamiliar tightness settling in her chest.

She didn’t understand it.

Why did it suddenly feel like she had done something wrong?

Wednesday frowned. "I told the truth."

Enid looked like she wanted to strangle her. “What is wrong with you?”

Wednesday exhaled slowly, keeping her expression impassive. “It was an honest observation.”

“No, it was you being a total jackass,” Enid snapped. “Do you even realize how hard this is for her? She already struggles with this stuff, and you—” She groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Why would you say that?”

Because she had been frustrated. Because she had been irritated. Because something about the way you cared so much about that stupid dress had made her feel…

Jealous.

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to understand it.

But that didn’t change the fact that she had said it.

And you had believed her.

The dressing room was quiet. Too quiet.

She could imagine you inside, standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in that dress, picking apart every little flaw.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it, suddenly unsure of what she was supposed to say.

The curtain rustled, and then you stepped out again—back in your usual clothes. Your face was carefully neutral, but your eyes...

Your eyes looked dull.

"I’m not feeling great," you said softly, voice almost too quiet. "I think I’ll head back to the dorm."

"Y/N—" Enid started, but you shook your head, forcing another smile.

"It’s fine," you said. "I’ll come back and get the dress later. Alone."

And then, without another word, you turned and walked away.

Wednesday watched you go, her fingers twitching at her sides, that strange, unfamiliar feeling pressing against her ribs again.

She had gotten what she wanted. The endless dress shopping had finally come to an end.

Wednesday didn’t have to look to know that Enid was furious with her. The werewolf hadn’t said a single word since they left the store, not even when Wednesday had slowed her pace slightly, allowing Enid to walk beside her.

It wasn’t as if Wednesday wasn’t used to people being mad at her. It happened often. She knew she had a sharp tongue and an even sharper indifference to how others reacted to her words.

And yet, there was an unpleasant weight in her chest now, something she didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore.

She was supposed to be relieved that the torturous shopping trip was over, but she wasn’t. It didn’t feel like a victory. If anything, it felt like she had lost something without even realizing it. The moment she had seen you walk away, that cold weight had settled deep inside her, and no matter how much she tried to shake it, it wouldn’t leave.

They were halfway back to their dorm when Enid finally snapped. "Are you just gonna pretend like nothing happened?"

Wednesday didn’t slow her pace. "That would be preferable."

Enid let out a frustrated noise as she turned to face Wednesday fully, forcing her to stop. "God, you are unbelievable! Do you even care that you hurt her?"

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. "It was not my intention to—"

"Oh, don’t give me that crap, Wednesday. You knew exactly what you were saying." Enid’s eyes were blazing, her normally bright and warm demeanor replaced with pure frustration. "She was so happy in that dress. Did you even see the way she looked at you? She just wanted you to like it. And what did you do? You insulted her. You made her feel like shit. You—"

"I am aware," Wednesday cut in, her voice quieter but no less firm.

Enid shook her head, exhaling harshly. "Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?"

Wednesday didn’t have an answer to that. Not one that made sense. Because the truth was, she didn’t know what to do. She had spent years—her entire life—keeping people at arm’s length, avoiding emotional entanglements with a precision most would consider cruel. And yet, she had let you in. Not entirely, not in the way you probably wanted, but enough that your absence felt… noticeable. Unsettling.

It irritated her. The power you had over her. The way one misplaced word from her could send you walking away, head down, shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear. She hated that image. It had been playing in her mind on a loop, and it was making her stomach churn.

Enid was still staring at her, waiting. Expecting.

"I…" Wednesday started, then frowned. "I will… rectify the situation."

"How?" Enid challenged.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "I will apologize."

Enid’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really? You, Wednesday Addams, are gonna apologize? I’d love to see that."

Wednesday crossed her arms. "I am capable of admitting when I have made an error."

Enid scoffed. "Oh yeah? When’s the last time you apologized to anyone?"

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Enid sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, Wednesday, I know you don’t do the whole emotions thing, but this isn’t just about being wrong. It’s about her. She’s already insecure about this kind of stuff, and you just confirmed every single bad thought she’s ever had about herself."

Wednesday’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. That was the part she couldn’t stop thinking about. She knew what insecurities could do to a person. She knew how words could burrow into someone’s mind and fester. And she knew you. Knew the way you already hesitated before speaking sometimes, as if bracing for rejection.

She had never considered her words carefully before. She never needed to. But this time, she wished she had.

"You need to fix this," Enid said, softer now, her anger tempered by concern. "Like… actually fix it. Because if you don’t, I don’t think she’s just gonna forgive you and pretend it never happened."

Wednesday hated that Enid was right. Without another word, she turned on her heel and started walking.

"Where are you going?" Enid called after her.

"To fix it," Wednesday said simply.

She didn’t look back.

She had meant it when she told Enid she would fix it, but even as she approached your dorm, she wasn’t entirely sure how. Apologies were foreign to her. She had never needed to offer them before.

But the thought of leaving this unspoken, of letting you sit alone in your room, stewing in whatever thoughts she had planted in your mind, made something unbearable twist inside her.

She wasn’t the kind of person who hesitated, who second-guessed herself. And yet, there was something uneasy settling beneath her skin, something that made her movements feel unnatural.

It was you.

Or rather, it was the memory of you. The way you had stood in front of her in that dress, nervous, hopeful, looking at her like she had the power to decide if it was enough. As if her opinion was the final verdict on whether you looked beautiful or not. Wednesday hated that. She hated that you gave her that kind of power, because she had never known what to do with it. And she had wasted it. She had crushed it beneath her heel without thinking.

She knew how her words could cut. She had always known, and she had wielded them like a weapon before—against people who deserved it, against people who irritated her, against people who bored her. But she had never thought of you as someone she needed to use them against. Because that was never how it had been between you.

It had been impulse, irritation spilling over before she could filter it into something sharp but playful. She was used to throwing her sharp words at you, a quip here, a remark there. You never took her harsh words seriously. You always rolled your eyes, shoved her shoulder, smirked at her like you knew her better than she knew herself. She would say something cold, and you would call her out on it, grinning like it was all some sort of game. It frustrated her to no end, but she never minded the way you pushed back. The way you challenged her in ways others never dared.

But this time, you hadn’t pushed back. You hadn’t laughed, hadn’t rolled your eyes or playfully shoved her away. You had just… shut down. You had retreated.

Wednesday sighed, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. She hated this feeling. This gnawing, uncomfortable thing pressing against her ribs. Guilt. It was almost laughable. The Wednesday Addams, feeling guilt over a single comment? It was ridiculous. But then why did it feel so unbearable?

And worse, why had she even said it?

Because she had been irritated. Because the shopping trip had dragged on for too long. Because you and Enid had been laughing and chattering, taking turns trying things on, wasting time on something as insignificant as clothing. She had wanted to leave.

But that wasn’t the full truth.

The truth was something uglier. Something she didn’t want to name.

When you had walked out in that dress, looking at her with expectation in your eyes, waiting—hoping—for her approval, she had felt something she wasn’t used to. Something tight, clawing at her throat, making her stomach churn.

She almost scoffed at herself. How absurd. Envious of a piece of fabric. But that’s what it had been, hadn’t it? That stupid dress had held your attention, had made you light up in a way that she never had. And for a brief, infuriating moment, she had resented it.

She had wanted to remind you that it was nothing more than fabric, that she was the one standing there, she was the one who mattered, not some lifeless garment.

But she hadn’t done that. Instead, she had said something cruel.

And she had watched as all that light, all that excitement, drained from your face.

Wednesday let out a slow breath, flexing her fingers at her sides. She was nearing your dorm now, the familiar door just ahead. She had walked this path countless times, had stood before that door before. But tonight, there was a hesitation in her step.

You had looked so uncertain when you asked her to the Raven, as if you expected her to say no. She hadn’t. She had said yes, because there was no logical reason to say no. If she had to endure a night of forced socialization and dreadful music, she would rather suffer through it with you than with anyone else.

And yet, when it came to something as simple as saying I did not mean it like that, she found herself hesitating.

Apologies were not in her nature. She did not like them, did not give them, did not see their purpose. But this wasn’t just about words.

This was about you.

She sighed.

Then, finally, she reached your door.

And she lifted her hand to knock.

The sound of her knuckles against your door was softer than she intended, but still firm. Final. There was no turning back now. Not that she would have turned back even if she could.

Perhaps you would refuse to open the door. Perhaps you would open it only to slam it in her face. Perhaps you would demand to know why she was here, why she even cared enough to show up.

She had prepared for that. She had prepared for your anger.

What she had not prepared for was the sound of the door creaking open, slow and hesitant, revealing you on the other side.

You looked surprised to see her.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out, your eyes scanning her face as if trying to make sense of her presence. She could see the exhaustion in you, the heaviness in your posture, the way your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the door, like you needed something to hold onto.

You looked… small. Smaller than she had ever seen you before. And she hated it.

Wednesday forced herself to speak, keeping her voice steady, neutral. "May I come in?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, stepping aside to let her pass.

She entered without a word, her gaze flickering over the room as you closed the door behind her. It was dimly lit, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows along the walls. A half-empty glass of water sat on your desk, untouched. Your bed was unmade, the covers slightly rumpled as if you had been lying there only moments before she knocked.

Wednesday turned to face you.

You were watching her carefully, as if bracing yourself for whatever she was about to say.

She exhaled slowly, clasping her hands behind her back as she met your gaze. "I…" She hesitated, forcing herself to ignore the way her throat tightened. "I have come to apologize."

You blinked, clearly caught off guard.

"I should not have said what I did," she continued, voice controlled, measured. "It was cruel. And inaccurate." She paused, searching your face for any sign of a reaction, but you gave her none. "It was not my intent to—"

"It's okay," you murmured.

Something about the way you said it made her uneasy.

The words were quiet, soft, but they stopped her mid-sentence.

You offered a small shrug, looking away. "You just told me the truth."

Wednesday's stomach twisted.

"I wasn’t really paying attention to my weight for the last few weeks," you continued, tone eerily neutral, as if you were discussing the weather. "I must’ve gained some."

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

She hadn’t known what kind of response to expect from you, but it had not been this. Not this quiet acceptance. Not this casual confirmation of something that wasn’t even true.

"I know it might look bad for your reputation," you said, the ghost of a smile appearing on your lips, but it was empty. "But I promise I’ll lose the extra pounds."

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Her reputation? That was what you thought this was about?

Her breathing hitched, sharp and unexpected, like something had reached into her chest and squeezed. You had said it so simply, so casually, as if it were a fact. As if you truly believed it.

As if you believed she believed it.

“Stop.” The word came out harsher than intended, cutting through the air like a blade.

You blinked, looking back at her with faint confusion.

Wednesday took a step closer, fingers twitching at her sides. “Do not say that.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Say what?”

“That I care about that,” she hissed, voice sharper now, edged with something she didn’t fully understand. “That my concern is my reputation. That you—” She inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the words to slow, to steady. “You are not—”

She stopped, frustration building in her chest, strangling the words before she could force them out properly.

You frowned, shifting on your feet, clearly not understanding. “Wednesday, it’s fine—”

“It is not fine.”

The sharpness of her voice startled you a bit, "Then why—"

"I do not know," Wednesday admitted, frustration creeping into her tone. It was the truth, and she hated it. "I was… irritated. It was taking too long. Enid was unbearable. And then you—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "It was never about you. It was the dress. It was the fact that you were treating it as if it mattered more than—"

She stopped herself before she could finish that sentence.

More than me.

You stared at her, your confusion evident. "The dress?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw. "Yes. The dress."

A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, but there was no real amusement behind it. "So, you were mad at the dress."

Wednesday said nothing.

You shook your head, looking down. "It doesn’t matter, Wednesday. I get it. I just—I won’t embarrass you. I promise."

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. "You are not an embarrassment."

You let out a quiet sigh, rubbing your temples. "I appreciate you coming here to say this, but it’s fine. Really. You don’t have to—"

"I do," Wednesday cut in, voice suddenly urgent. "You do not believe me."

You hesitated.

Because you really didn’t.

She could see it in you, could see the way her words had already settled into your mind like an undeniable truth. You had already convinced yourself that she meant it, that she had only come here out of guilt, not because she hadn’t wanted to hurt you in the first place.

And that realization—that was what made panic curl around her lungs like a vice.

She had thought she could fix this with words. She had thought that if she came here, if she admitted her mistake, if she corrected what she had said, then you would understand. That you would believe her.

But you didn’t.

You wouldn’t.

And Wednesday didn’t know how to undo that.

How had this happened? How had she allowed this to happen? She had meant to insult the dress, not you. And yet, somehow, her words had twisted into something worse. Something irreversible.

She took another step forward, " You do not need to lose anything. You—" She inhaled sharply, hating the way her voice almost wavered. "I never meant it. I— "

“I think I just need to sleep,” you said, voice soft.

A dismissal.

It sent another unwanted pang through her chest.

Your eyes met hers, something unreadable lingering in them. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It was a question, not a certainty. And that was the part that bothered her the most.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it. For a moment, she thought about what to say, she wanted to fight more, tell you that whatever you are thinking isn't true.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice colder than she intended. She hated how distant it sounded, but she didn’t know how else to be. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

The word felt bitter on her tongue.

You gave her another small, tired smile before stepping back, waiting for her to leave.

She hesitated for just a moment longer, searching your face for something—anything—that would tell her that you didn’t believe what you had just said, that you weren’t truly convinced of those ridiculous, wrong thoughts about yourself.

But there was nothing. Just quiet acceptance.

Wednesday felt helpless.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the weight of her own mistake pressing down on her shoulders like a curse.

Wednesday’s gaze never left you.

You sat directly across from her at breakfast, your usual spot beside Enid, as though nothing had changed. As though last night’s conversation had not cracked something in the foundation of whatever this was between you. But Wednesday saw everything. She always did. And what she saw now made the pit in her stomach twist, tighten, coil into something unpleasant.

Your plate was barely touched.

A few bites of fruit. Two nibbles of toast. Nothing else.

You pushed the eggs around with your fork absently, as if by simply moving them you could trick everyone into believing you had eaten them. But Wednesday was not so easily deceived.

Her fingers curled around the handle of her coffee cup. She didn’t drink. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

She knew you. Knew the way you usually ate, the small patterns of your habits, the way you would sometimes offer her the parts of your meal you didn’t want, knew that you were never one to finish quickly, but never like this.

“You’re not eating.” She finally said.

Your hand stilled for a fraction of a second before you picked up your toast, taking a deliberately small bite. “I am eating.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “That is an insultingly weak attempt at deception.”

Enid’s gaze flickered between the two of you, sensing the tension, but she didn’t interject. Not yet.

You sighed, setting the toast back down. “I’m just not that hungry.”

Wednesday didn’t believe you.

“You ate nothing but a few scraps.”

“I had a late snack last night after you left.” you added, waving your hand dismissively. “Guess I’m just full from that.”

Wednesday could see the way your fingers twitched slightly when you set your fork down, could hear the way your voice was just a little too casual, too light. You were lying, and you were bad at it.

But before she could say anything more, you abruptly pushed back your chair, “I should head to class early,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I need to talk to the professor about something.”

Another lie.

Wednesday clenched her jaw.

Normally, you and she would have walked to class together. Normally, you would have waited, loitering by the table as she finished her coffee, teasing her about how her caffeine addiction was going to kill her one day. Normally, she would have rolled her eyes, insulted you for your lack of intelligence, and you would have laughed.

But today, you left without her.

The realization sat heavy in her chest.

A sigh came from beside her. “That went well,” Enid muttered, pushing the last bit of her pancake into her mouth before setting her fork down.

Wednesday turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at the werewolf. Enid was watching her now, arms crossed, lips pursed.

“You did apologize, right?”

“Yes.”

Enid raised an eyebrow. “Really? Cause I see no effect from that.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw. “Because she dismissed it.”

Enid’s face twisted slightly. “Dismissed it?”

“She said it was fine.” Wednesday forced herself to swallow the distaste in her throat. “That it wasn’t a big deal.”

Enid let out a sharp breath, leaning back against her chair. “Well, that was a lie.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. Instead, she reached for her coffee, taking a slow sip, trying to ground herself in the bitter taste. But it didn’t help. Not when her mind was still filled with the image of you walking away from her.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Wednesday saw you in class, but you avoided her gaze. When the lesson ended, you were out the door before she even had the chance to speak. It happened again in the next period, and the next. You weren’t ignoring her outright, but you weren’t engaging, either. It was subtle. Quiet.

But Wednesday noticed everything.

By the time lunch arrived, the weight in her chest had only grown heavier.

She entered the cafeteria, eyes immediately searching for you. You were already at a table, sitting in the same seat as before, but your tray—

Wednesday’s fingers twitched.

There was even less food than this morning.

A small cup of soup. A glass of water. Nothing else.

Her teeth clenched, irritation and frustration mixing with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. She watched as you lifted the spoon, took a single sip of the broth, and then set it back down.

Not eating. Again.

Her feet carried her forward before she could stop them.

“Seriously?”

The words came from Enid, not Wednesday.

You looked up, blinking as the blonde dropped her tray onto the table before sitting down beside you.

Enid gestured toward your barely-touched meal. “That’s it? That’s all you’re eating?”

You frowned slightly. “I’m not that hungry.”

Wednesday felt something snap.

“This is the second meal you have barely touched today,” she said, voice edged with frustration. “You are lying.”

You sighed, setting your spoon down. “Guys, I don’t need you both hovering over my food. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Enid argued. “You love the chocolate mousse they have today. It’s literally your favorite, and you didn’t even grab one.”

Your jaw tightened. “I just don’t feel like eating dessert.”

Enid stared at you for a moment before glancing at Wednesday.

Wednesday met her gaze, already knowing exactly what she was thinking.

This was not normal.

You barely hesitated before shaking your head, too quickly, too dismissively. “No. It’s fine, Wednesday. Really.”

It was the same thing you had said last night. And just like last night, she didn’t believe you.

She wanted to push, to force you to say the truth, to make you understand how wrong you were for thinking the way you did. But Enid shot her a look that said- Let her eat at least this or she will leave unfinished again, and for once, Wednesday held her tongue.

The rest of lunch was quiet.

You barely ate.

And then, just like breakfast, you left early.

“This is ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered.

Enid scoffed. “Yeah? Well, welcome to feelings, Wednesday.”

“I have to fix this,” Wednesday said, more to herself than to Enid.

Enid studied her for a moment, then sighed. “Well, you’d better hurry. Because if she keeps going like this…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Neither did Wednesday.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I will fix it.”

The first time she tried to fix it, it was simple. Direct. She waited until the two of you were alone after class, cornering you before you could make your usual excuse to leave.

“You need to eat.”

You barely blinked at her, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I do eat.”

“Not enough.”

A flicker of something passed through your expression—annoyance, maybe, or discomfort—but it was gone before she could decipher it. You sighed.

“Wednesday, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”

She stared at you, unblinking. “No, you’re not.”

A small, dry laugh escaped you, and you shook your head. “You’re being dramatic. I told you, I’ve just been feeling off lately.”

“I don’t care what excuse you come up with. You’re not eating, and I know exactly why." Wednesday snapped.

For a moment, something flickered in your gaze—hesitation, uncertainty. Then, your lips pressed into a thin line, and you took a step back. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

And just like that, you were gone.

The second time, she came prepared. If words alone wouldn’t reach you, she would try something else.

She didn’t need Enid’s help to know what your favorite foods were. She had memorized them over time, despite never meaning to, despite never understanding why she remembered insignificant details about you so easily. But now, she put that knowledge to use.

She found them, each one, and placed them in front of you at lunch, setting them down with deliberate precision. You blinked at the sight, your brows furrowing as you looked at her.

“What’s this?”

“You’ve been avoiding food. If you refuse to eat the meals given to you, then I will find ones that you cannot resist.”

For a second, just a second, she thought she had succeeded. Your fingers brushed against the edge of the plate, your expression unreadable. But then, your hand withdrew, and you gave her a small, forced smile.

“That’s sweet of you, Wednesday, but I just had an apple and I’m not that hungry right now.”

The irritation inside her flared. “You’re never hungry anymore.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I told you, I—”

“Are you truly incapable of coming up with a better excuse?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “Every time, it’s the same thing. ‘I’m not hungry,’ ‘I’m just feeling off,’ ‘I’ll eat later.�� It’s all meaningless. You are wasting away in front of me, and you expect me to do nothing?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your fingers twisted together in your lap, your eyes darting away, and for the first time, Wednesday saw it—guilt.

But it wasn’t guilt toward yourself. It wasn’t guilt for what you were doing to your own body. It was guilt toward her.

Like you believed that you were an inconvenience.

The realization hit her like a knife to the ribs.

You weren’t punishing yourself because you wanted to. You were punishing yourself because of her.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” you said softly, eyes still cast downward. “But I’m okay. Really.”

And then you stood up, tray untouched, leaving her there with nothing but her own frustration and a meal that you would never eat.

It was the fifth day now, and your avoidance had only gotten worse. Every meal was an excuse, every moment together felt like walking on glass. Even Enid had started pressing you more, but it didn’t matter—nothing seemed to reach you.

Wednesday found you in the courtyard, sitting on one of the stone benches, your gaze distant as you absentmindedly flipped through a book in your lap. She didn’t bother with a greeting. She simply sat down beside you, close enough that you couldn’t ignore her presence.

You sighed before even looking up. “Wednesday.”

“How long do you intend to keep this up?” She asked straight up.

You frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She clenched her fists. “Yes, you do.”

For a moment, there was silence. You stared at your book, but your eyes weren’t moving across the pages. Then, finally, you exhaled and looked at her.

“Why do you care so much?”

The words shouldn’t have hurt. But they did.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare. Then, her fingers twitched, her voice tightening. “Because you are—”

She stopped herself before the words could slip out.

Because you are important to me.

Because you are mine.

Because the thought of you hurting yourself because of me is unbearable.

Because I lo—

She swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Because I don’t like seeing you like this.”

You looked at her for a long time, studying her, as if searching for something in her expression. Then, your lips curled into another weak smile, and you shook your head.

“I’ll be fine, Wednesday.”

You said it so gently, so kindly, as if you were trying to comfort her.

And then you left.

Again.

Wednesday sat there, alone. She had lost count of how many times she had watched you walk away now.

And she had no idea how to make you stay.

Wednesday had never been one for hope. It was a fragile, useless thing, prone to shattering at the slightest misstep. But as she walked beside you toward breakfast, she allowed herself the smallest sliver of it, the thinnest thread of belief that today would be different.

Today, she would fix this.

Her plan was simple—ruthlessly so. She would sit beside you, not across. She would place your plate in front of you and refuse to let you leave until you finished everything on it.

If you so much as tried to make an excuse, she would shut it down before the words could even leave your mouth. It was harsh, perhaps. But so was the alternative. So was standing by and watching you slip further away from her, your body weakening, your presence growing more distant by the day.

She refused to let that happen.

She glanced at you, noticing how you walked a bit slower... to slow. “Are you alright?”

Your lips parted at the question, like you were thinking of an answer. Then, after a second too long, you nodded. “Yeah. Just tired—”

Wednesday barely had time to process the shift before your body suddenly gave out.

She caught you before you could hit the ground.

Her arms wrapped around your body instinctively as she lowered you to the ground. For a heartbeat, she thought—hoped—that you were just dizzy, that you would blink up at her, disoriented but awake, that you would make some flippant joke about losing your balance.

But you didn’t.

Your body was limp against her own, your breathing shallow, your skin cold.

You weren’t waking up.

Something inside Wednesday snapped.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She just moved.

Her grip tightened around you as she pulled you closer, her heart hammering violently against her ribs, her pulse a brutal, erratic drumbeat in her ears. The usual sharp, methodical clarity she carried in dire situations was gone, replaced instead with something raw and all-consuming.

Fear.

She had never felt fear like this before.

Never—not in the face of monsters, not when staring death in the eye, not even in the moments where her own life had been at stake. But this? This was different. This was something she couldn’t fight, couldn’t outthink, couldn’t control.

This was you.

She barely registered the way the students around her froze in shock, barely heard Enid’s sharp gasp as she ran forward, her voice high and panicked. Everything blurred at the edges, her focus narrowing to the unconscious weight in her arms.

She had failed.

She had failed, and now you were—

No. No, you were still breathing. Faint, but there. You were still here.

She had to move.

She didn’t say a word as she hoisted you up, as she carried you with a grip that was both impossibly firm and terrifyingly desperate. Enid scrambled beside her, speaking—yelling—something, but Wednesday couldn’t hear her. The blood rushing in her ears was too loud.

All she could do was walk. Move forward.

She didn’t stop. Not until she reached the infirmary. Not until she had laid you down. Not until the nurse had taken you from her arms, pushing her back, ushering her out.

And then—she was waiting.

Sitting outside the infirmary doors. Hands curled into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.She stared at the floor, her jaw clenched so hard it ached, but she didn’t care. She barely felt it. All she felt was the weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating, inescapable.

Her fault.

Every second stretched unbearably, the minutes dragging into something endless, torturous. She had never been patient, had never liked the sensation of waiting. But this wasn’t just waiting.

This was punishment.

A well-earned one.

Then—the door opened.

Wednesday shot to her feet immediately, her body moving before her mind could catch up. The nurse barely had time to look at her before Wednesday demanded, “What happened?”

The words were sharper than intended, edged with something she didn’t want to name. The nurse exhaled, crossing her arms.

“She collapsed due to malnutrition. Her glucose levels had dropped to a dangerously low level—hence, the loss of consciousness. I started her on an IV to stabilize her, but she’s severely lacking in proper nutrients. This didn’t happen overnight.”

Wednesday knew that. Of course she knew that.

“She’ll be okay,” the nurse added after a pause, her tone softening slightly. “But this isn’t just a passing issue. If this continues, it could become significantly more serious.”

She didn’t need to hear if this continues because of you. She didn’t need to. The words echoed loud enough inside Wednesday’s own skull.

She barely nodded. The nurse lingered for a moment, as if contemplating saying something else, but then she sighed and stepped away, leaving Wednesday alone once again.

No.

Not alone.

Enid was there now.

The blonde had been quiet until now, watching, waiting. But as soon as the nurse disappeared, she moved forward, her expression unreadable.

“You’re blaming yourself.”

It wasn’t a question.

Wednesday didn’t answer.

Enid sighed, “Wednesday…”

“I am to blame,” she said simply, her voice flat, empty. “There is no need to sugarcoat the truth. This started because of me.”

Enid frowned. “I’m not saying what you said didn’t have an impact. But you didn’t make her stop eating. You didn’t force her to do this.”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched at her sides. “I didn’t have to. My words were enough.”

Enid sighed again, quieter this time. She hesitated, then carefully sat beside her. She didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch her, and Wednesday was grateful for that. She wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Enid murmured, voice softer than before.

Wednesday swallowed, staring straight ahead. “She shouldn’t have to be okay. She shouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.”

Enid exhaled, shaking her head. “You love making yourself the villain, huh?”

Wednesday’s jaw tensed. “I don’t—”

“Look, I get it. You feel like you caused this. And maybe, yeah, what you said did affect her. But, Wednesday, this is not just on you. That’s something in her mind that we need to help her with. You don’t fix this by beating yourself up.”

Wednesday didn’t respond.

Because she didn’t believe that.

Because she knew the truth.

This was her fault.

And she had no idea how to make it right.

Wednesday hadn’t moved from her spot.

She sat there, her spine straight as ever, hands folded rigidly in her lap, her eyes fixed on your face. She had watched every slight movement—every twitch of your fingers, every shallow rise and fall of your chest, every slow inhale that never seemed quite deep enough.

She didn’t move, but inside, she was crumbling.

She didn’t allow herself to blink as your eyelids fluttered. She didn’t exhale as your breathing shifted, as your fingers curled slightly against the thin sheet draped over you. Then, finally, finally, your lashes lifted, and the moment your gaze met hers, something in her cracked.

Relief hit her first. A sharp, overwhelming thing that seized her chest, nearly stole her breath. She had prepared herself for worse—prepared for another stretch of waiting, for something deeper than sleep. But you were awake.

You were still here.

But the relief barely had time to settle before guilt surged up to choke it out.

You looked exhausted. The shadows under your eyes were more pronounced than ever, and your skin, normally warm with life, still held a pallor that made her stomach twist.

“…What happened?” Your voice was hoarse, quieter than usual.

Wednesday’s fingers twitched. “You collapsed.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at her words, as if you hadn’t quite processed them.

“Oh.” Your voice was quiet. Distant. “I didn’t think it would be that bad…”

Something inside Wednesday snapped.

She had spent the last week watching you waste away in front of her, agonizing over every missed meal, every bite you left untouched. She had spent every waking moment searching for ways to fix it, to reverse the damage, to bring you back before you slipped too far.

And now, here you were—lying in a hospital bed, looking as fragile as she had ever seen you—and you had the audacity to act like this wasn’t serious.

She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scold you, to demand how you could let this happen to yourself, how you could do something so reckless and still dismiss it as if it were nothing.

But how could she, when she was the one who had pushed you over the edge in the first place?

Her fingers twitched in her lap. The words burned in her throat, sharp and bitter.

And then you exhaled, turning your gaze downward. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble…”

Wednesday inhaled sharply through her nose.

“No.” The word left her lips before she could stop it, firm and unwavering. “No, you do not get to apologize for this.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but before you could protest, she continued.

“You collapsed,” she said, her voice steady, controlled—but underneath, there was something else. Something fragile. “You were starving yourself. And you still think you should be apologizing to me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Wednesday leaned forward ever so slightly. “You are not a burden to me.” Her voice didn’t waver, but she felt something tighten in her chest. “Nothing I said was ever meant to make you doubt that.”

Your eyes flickered to hers. There was something unreadable in them, something distant.

She swallowed.

“I never meant it.” Her voice softened, but there was an urgency beneath it, a desperation she couldn’t quite mask. “Not once. Not in a million lifetimes.”

You didn’t say anything.

She had spent so long trying to find the right words, and now that she had them, she didn’t know if they were enough.

She just wanted you to believe her.

She just wanted you to be okay.

“…I’ll try to balance things a bit more.”

It was barely a whisper, a quiet, reluctant offering, but it struck Wednesday like a blow to the chest.

You weren’t supposed to balance things. You weren’t supposed to change. You weren’t supposed to let her words sink their claws into you so deeply that you felt the need to shrink yourself into something smaller, something less.

But before she could argue, before she could say anything, you turned your face away. You turned your head away from her, your face shifting out of her view.

“I’m feeling sleepy.” Your voice was soft. Detached. “I think I’ll rest for a bit.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Wednesday sat there, staring at you. She wanted to keep talking. Wanted to shake you awake, keep you with her just a little longer, find the right words to make you understand.

But she didn’t.

And this time, as you drifted away, she knew—this wasn’t just sleep.

This was something deeper. Something worse.

Wednesday watched, That was all she could do now—watch, observe, analyze every shift in your expression, every movement, every breath, hoping, praying, that she was wrong.

She wasn’t.

The day you left the infirmary, you sat at the breakfast table with your tray in front of you, and for a brief moment, Wednesday felt something almost like relief. There was food on your plate. Not enough, but more than there had been before. A single bite of toast, a small portion of fruit. She waited, staring, barely touching her own food as she watched to see if you would eat.

You did. A small bite. Then another.

But it wasn’t the same.

The way you chewed was hesitant, methodical, like you were forcing yourself. There was no absentminded conversation, no playful remarks, no soft laughter as you nudged Enid when she told a ridiculous story.

It was quiet. Stiff. Empty.

Enid tried to make up for it, talking twice as much to fill the silence, but it was all wrong. Because this silence—it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural.

It was a void, stretching further and further, swallowing you whole.

Wednesday’s stomach churned as she watched you pick up a spoon and push your food around your plate.

You thought she didn’t notice when you stopped after three bites. When you placed your utensils down too early and excused yourself.

But she did.

She noticed everything.

And still, she said nothing.

What could she say? She had already broken you. If she pushed too hard, you would only retreat further. But if she didn’t push at all…

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

And now, Wednesday sat at her desk,staring at the blank pages of her notebook, her mind spiraling.

You weren’t getting better. You were only pretending to. For her.

And that was worse.

She could feel it, the weight of it, pressing in on her lungs. You had already decided. You believed, wholeheartedly, that you had to change. That she wanted you to change.

She had never intended for her words to hurt you. She never thought—never even imagined—that you would take them so deeply, let them fester inside of you until they ate you alive.

But you had.

Because she had let them.

Because she had been the one to plant them in the first place.

You were fading.

The way you moved, slower than before, as if some invisible force was dragging you down. The way you laughed, short and muted, never quite reaching your eyes. The way you smiled at her—not the way you used to, not the soft, effortless warmth that had once made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t understand, but something practiced. Forced.

She knew that you thought you were a burden to her. She saw it in the way you spoke to her now, careful and measured, as if testing the weight of every word before you allowed it to leave your mouth. She saw it in the way you responded to her attempts to fix things—never annoyed, never upset, only guilty.

And worst of all, she saw it in your eyes.

You had always looked at her. Always.

She had never acknowledged how much she had relied on it until it was gone.

Before, you had looked at her like she was something more than just Wednesday Addams. Not an untouchable force, not a figure to be feared, but simply her. You had looked at her with fondness, with exasperation, with an affection that she hadn’t fully known what to do with.

Now, you barely met her gaze. And when you did, all she saw was uncertainty.

You had once been so full of life. So sweet. You had come into her world with laughter and warmth, with a stubbornness that rivaled her own, and an unwavering certainty that you wanted her, that you had chosen her.

And she had ruined you.

Wednesday sat at the foot of her bed that evening, hands curled into fists against her knees, staring at the wall as the realization settled deep into her bones, cold and unshakable.

She had ruined you.

She had taken the light in your eyes and twisted it into something fragile, something easily broken.

She had done this.

She should have known better.

Wednesday prided herself on being meticulous, on never making mistakes, on calculating every possible outcome before making a move.

But with you? She had let herself act on impulse, let herself give in to the worst parts of herself, and now she had to watch as the consequences slowly unraveled right in front of her.

And she couldn’t let it continue.

Wednesday inhaled slowly, , forcing herself to think, forcing herself to act.

You would never stop punishing yourself for her as long as she was here. As long as she was standing at your side, you would keep believing that you had to change for her, that you had to mold yourself into something smaller, something less.

So she had to leave first.

You needed to be mad at her. Mad enough to stop punishing yourself for her. And if that was the only thing she could do to fix this, then she would do it. Even if it destroyed her. Even if it meant you hating her.

Because at least then, you would be okay.

You would move on.

And Wednesday?

She would live with it.

Her footsteps felt heavier than ever as she made her way toward your room, each step slower than the last, as if her body was resisting what she was about to do. Her stomach churned, her breath uneven, her mind screaming at her to stop.

She hesitated in front of your door, her fingers hovering over the handle.

This was it.

Her final mistake.

But one that would save you.

"Wends?" you murmured, and the name was a blade to her throat.

She felt it—felt the way you said it, the love behind it, the warmth, the trust. She didn’t deserve any of it.

Wednesday forced herself to take you in one last time. She memorized every detail, every delicate curve of your face, the way your eyes softened just for her, the way your lips parted as if to say more. She knew this was the last time she would be able to look at you like this, the last time you would ever look at her this way—without fear, without doubt, without the weight of betrayal hanging between you.

Her chest ached with something unbearable, something foreign, something she wanted to cut out of herself before it ruined her resolve.

But this had to be done.

She swallowed the hesitation, the pain, forced it all down into the pit of her stomach, where it twisted and festered but could not touch the surface. She willed herself to become stone, to become something cold and untouchable, something that could not be reached, could not be reasoned with.

And then, she killed the thing she loved most.

"I am ending our relationship."

The words fell like an executioner’s axe. Cold. Final.

She watched the way your body froze, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly, the way your hands tensed where they rested against your lap. Your lips parted, then closed again, confusion clouding your eyes.

At first, you just blinked at her, as if trying to process the sentence, as if your brain refused to put the words together in a way that made sense. "What?" you finally breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

Wednesday did not move. Did not flinch. She forced herself to remain perfectly still, like a statue, like a corpse.

She had to make you believe this.

She had to make you hate her.

"I’m not feeling anything anymore," she said, the lie thick on her tongue, thick in her throat. Her voice was flat. Detached. Something dead and distant.

You recoiled like you had been slapped.

And then—just like that—the dam broke.

"What—what are you talking about?" Your voice was raw, uneven. You stood up, stepping toward her, reaching, desperate to close the distance, desperate to fix whatever this was. "Wednesday, what are you saying?"

She should have stepped back. She should have let the distance grow, should have put more space between you so that you couldn’t reach her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t make this harder than it already was.

But she didn’t move. She let you get close—close enough that she could feel the heat of your body, close enough that she could see the unshed tears shining in your eyes.

"I don’t love you anymore," she said, forcing every word to sound empty, forcing herself to become the monster you needed her to be.

And there it was.

The breaking point.

“Wednesday, what are you talking about?” Your voice wavered, tears coming out of your eyes. “You don’t—this isn’t—just talk to me—”

Wednesday kept herself still, perfectly composed, even as her entire world was falling apart right in front of her.

“Talk to you?” she repeated, her voice as cold as she could make it. “What is there to talk about? It’s simple. I don’t want this anymore.”

"Tell me the truth," you begged, desperate now, searching her eyes for something—anything—that would tell you this wasn’t real. "Tell me what’s really going on, because this—this doesn’t make any sense."

She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, the only thing keeping herself grounded, the only thing keeping herself from breaking.

"I don’t owe you an explanation," she said, and she hated herself for the way your face crumpled, the way your breathing grew uneven, the way you looked at her like she was a stranger, like you didn’t recognize her anymore.

"Was it all a lie?"

The question came so softly that, for a moment, she almost believed she had imagined it.

But then she met your gaze, and she saw the devastation there, saw the way you were holding onto the last thread of hope with trembling fingers.

And she had to cut it.

She nodded.

Another blade through your heart.

She turned away. She could not let you see. Could not let you catch the crack in her mask, could not let you see the way her own vision had started to blur, how her own hands had started to shake.

She moved toward the door, her steps measured, steady, controlled.

But before she could leave, before she could escape this nightmare she had willingly walked into, you spoke again.

"I would have done anything for you," you whispered, and it was not a plea, not a desperate attempt to make her stay. It was just a fact. Just the truth.

And that—that—was what destroyed her.

She gripped the door handle so tightly her knuckles went white.

And then she walked out.

She did not let herself turn back.

She did not let herself hesitate.

She left.

And she did not stop walking. Not when her breath started coming out uneven, not when her throat felt tight, not when her own nails bit into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

She walked and walked, until she was no longer sure where she was going, until she found herself outside her own dorm, until she found herself stepping onto the small balcony, alone beneath the night sky.

She thought about all the things she had stolen from you.

And she thought about how you would be better off without her.

She clenched her jaw.

This was for the best.

You would heal. You would move on. You would live.

That was all that mattered.

The door behind her slammed open, and Wednesday didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

“Why Wednesday!” Enid demanded, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Wednesday exhaled slowly.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Because it was carved into her heart.

It would always be carved into her heart.

You deserved better.

[Author's note: To all my readers who think they aren't perfect, "Perfect" isn’t about how you look—it’s about the way the right eyes find something irreplaceable in you. Beauty isn’t measured by numbers or mirrors chief, it’s in laughter, in kindness, in the way you exist just as you are. You don’t have to shrink yourself to be loved. You are already enough, exactly as you are.]

And so, yeah, that's it... The Angst! I was actually planning on writing this as an origin story for my "You deserved better." one-shot...

BUT I might not do that and maybe idk write a part 2 depending on what you guys want in the comments.

Taglist:@rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr @jinxslapdog @just-zy @gray-cheese @hellenheaven @blue-because-no-yellow @thyhooligans @britishblueberrybiscuits

615 notes · View notes

halfmoonaria · 5 months ago

Text

her own undoing

pairing: cairo sweet & female reader

summary: for the first time, one of cairo's actions doesn't go as planned; backfires and leaves her to face the consequences.

word count: 8.0k

author’s note: tell me if smth is confusing

You and Cairo had been inseparable for as long as you could remember.

The kind of friendship where one person's name always followed the other, like an inevitable pairing.

Cairo and you. You and Cairo. It was a constant, a certainty, even when everything else felt like it was shifting.

You'd been there through it all: the days when Cairo's sharp wit earned her more enemies than friends, the times her wild schemes left you both in trouble, and the moments when she leaned too far into chaos, dragging you along for the ride.

People called her trouble, said she was too much, too intense, too unpredictable.

But where they saw a storm, you'd always seen something else—an unrelenting force of nature, sure, but also someone who could light up a room when she wasn't burning it down.

It wasn't always easy, being her best friend. Cairo had a way of taking up all the space in the room, leaving little for anyone else. But you didn't mind—not really. You liked the way her presence made everything feel bigger, brighter, more alive. And when her edges got too sharp, cutting into anyone who dared get too close, you stayed. You always stayed.

That loyalty had been tested before, but never like this.

Lately, Cairo had been different.

Sharper, somehow. Restless in a way that felt dangerous, even for her. It started with the way she spoke about Mr. Miller, the high school English teacher who barely acknowledged Cairo's sharp intellect and sharper tongue. She claimed he was condescending, always brushing her off when she tried to speak up in class. But there was something else behind the way she lingered on his name—something more personal.

When she finally told you her plan, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath you.

She was going to seduce him. That was her big idea. She'd said it with that confident smirk of hers, like it was all a joke, daring you to challenge her.

She claimed it was for her college admissions essay, said she had nothing interesting to write about and needed something that would "stand out." But you knew better. Cairo wasn't interested in crafting the perfect essay. No, she was still hung up on the fact that she was a virgin.

You'd tried to talk her out of it, to reason with her, but Cairo wasn't someone you could reason with once her mind was made up. And when her plan backfired—when Mr. Miller brushed her off and scolded her for being inappropriate—it sent her into a spiral.

Cairo never got scolded. Never got told no.

Her parents were always gone, too preoccupied with their own lives to bother enforcing rules or boundaries. So when Mr. Miller did what no one else ever dared to do, she couldn't take it. It wasn't just rejection. It was humiliation. And Cairo wasn't built to handle that.

The bitterness festered, twisting her anger into something sharper, uglier. She started talking about him like he was an enemy, plotting ways to "teach him a lesson" or "knock him off his pedestal."

At first, you'd tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just another one of her phases. But tonight, as you stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her scribble furiously on a crumpled piece of paper, you realized this was different.

Cairo thought her plan was flawless.

Perfect, even. She'd spent hours rehearsing every angle, every word, until she could see it unfolding as clearly as a scene in one of those old noir films she loved.

Her testimony would be bold, damning, unforgettable. She'd finally show everyone—him—what happened when someone underestimated her. The satisfaction of it burned low in her chest, warm and steady, as if victory were already hers.

She sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, her pen moving across the page in sharp, deliberate strokes. The smoke from her cigarette curled lazily above her head, the faint scent of tobacco mixing with her perfume.

Satisfaction flickered across her face, subtle but unmistakable, as though she'd already won a game nobody was even playing.

The room was quiet except for the scratch of her pen, a rhythm she found oddly soothing amidst her growing anger.

The sound of your voice broke through the stillness like a slap.

"Cairo, what are you doing?"

Cairo's pen stilled mid-word. For a moment, she didn't move, her hand hovering above the page as she weighed her options.

Pretend not to hear you? Act like nothing was out of the ordinary? The anger in your tone suggested neither would work, and something sour twisted in her stomach. Slowly, she placed the pen down, flicking ash from her cigarette with a casualness she didn't feel.

"I'm completing my admissions essay," she said, her voice smooth and detached, rehearsed to sound nonchalant.

Her words were clipped, her tone dismissive, as if your presence were a minor inconvenience—just another interruption in her meticulously crafted plan. But even as she spoke, Cairo could feel the fragile edges of her control fraying.

Then she heard it: your footsteps.

Each step closer made her chest tighten, a quiet panic rising beneath her practiced exterior. She focused on the cigarette between her fingers, watching the smoke curl upward in lazy tendrils, as though ignoring the tension in the room might make it disappear.

You stepped further into the room, your movements deliberate, each step purposeful and calculated. Your gaze swept over the bed—the scattered papers, the chaotic but purposeful arrangement of her notes. Everything about it felt off, and your expression told Cairo that you knew it.

"Cairo, don't bullshit me."

The directness of your words made her freeze, the cigarette trembling slightly between her fingers. You'd never spoken to her like that before, not with that sharpness. It threw her off balance in a way she wasn't used to.

You were the constant. The one who stayed when everyone else called her too much, too strange. The one who always agreed, who always supported her.

The one who wasn't supposed to look at her like that.

"What's going on?"

She fought to keep her expression neutral, forcing a smirk that felt far less convincing than usual. "What's it look like?"

It was a weak defense, and she knew it. So did you.

Your jaw tightened, and there was something in your eyes she couldn't quite place—concern, maybe, but also something sharper, like betrayal. You stepped closer, and Cairo's heart began to race—not with fear, but frustration.

Why couldn't you just let it go? Why did you have to question her, of all people?

"It looks like you're planning something," you said, your tone measured but edged with something bitter. Your gaze moved over the bed again, taking in the crumpled pages, the sharp handwriting, the chaos she'd created in pursuit of perfection.

"Something that's going to blow up in your face."

The accusation stung, sharper than she expected. For a split second, her smirk faltered, the confidence she wore like armor slipping just enough to reveal the unease beneath it.

She quickly forced it back into place. "I'm testifying against him," she said, the words deliberate, carefully chosen, like she was reciting lines from a script.

But your reaction shattered her attempt at calm.

The flicker of disbelief in your expression sparked a strange, hollow satisfaction in her chest. Let you be shocked. Let you struggle to process it. Maybe then you'd understand.

"Testifying?"

She nodded, the motion sharp and deliberate, as though solidifying her decision. Standing, she began to pace, her thoughts spiraling in tandem with each step. Her movements were restless, her anger—a low, simmering thing—flared brighter when she caught the way your concern clouded your face.

"In front of the school board," she clarified, her tone detached, as if she weren't actively dismantling someone's life. She flicked ash from her cigarette, her gestures deliberately careless.

You blinked, the weight of her words settling in as you tried to reconcile what you were hearing with the person you thought you knew. "Are you serious?" you asked, your voice softening, though tension still underpinned your words. "Do you know what that'll do to him?"

There it was—your care, your empathy, spilling out in the way it always did. Cairo's chest tightened, her stomach twisting with a volatile mix of resentment and shame. She didn't need you to care about him. She needed you to see her. To understand why this mattered.

"He underestimated me," she said, her voice dropping lower, her pacing slowing. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the floor, her fingers curling tighter around the cigarette. "I overestimated him."

Your silence hit her harder than she expected, the weight of it unbearable. She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, the way your lips pressed into a thin line, your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

The disappointment lingering in your eyes was louder than anything you could've said, and it cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

"So, what?" you said finally, your voice firmer now. "This is revenge? Because he didn't fall for your game?"

The words landed like a blow, a direct hit to a nerve she hadn't realized was exposed. Her smirk tightened into a thin, rigid line, and her hand trembled slightly as she stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk.

"It's justice," she said, forcing the word out, as if saying it enough times could make it true.

"Justice?" Your disbelief carried a sharper edge now, and you took a step closer, your voice rising with frustration. "Cairo, this isn't some movie. You're playing with someone's life."

Her nails dug into her palm as your words sank in. Flames of anger licked at her chest, fueled by a suffocating mix of guilt and defiance. You were supposed to understand. You were supposed to agree, like you always had.

That was your role. That was what made everything work.

"You don't get it," she said, her tone softening, though it was laced with something almost pitying. "You never have."

"No," you shot back, your voice steady and unwavering. "I don't. Because this isn't you. At least, I didn't think it was."

The remark sliced through her defenses, sharp and unrelenting, leaving her raw in a way she hadn't felt in years. For a long moment, she could only stare at you, her heart pounding against her ribs. Anger swirled with shame, tangling into something unrecognizable, and for the first time, she felt the edges of control slipping from her grasp.

"You've always had such a sweet way of looking at the world," she said finally, her voice turning mocking to hide the crack in it. "It must be exhausting."

"And you've always been too proud to admit when you're wrong," you countered, your tone colder now, the words landing with precision. "But this? This is cruel, Cairo. Even for you."

Her mask cracked at that, the smirk falling away as the anger simmering beneath the surface began to boil over. But she refused to let it show. Instead, she turned her back on you, pacing toward the bed as her fists clenched at her sides.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," she said, her voice colder now, mechanical in its delivery.

But the weight of her own words hit her almost immediately, settling heavily in her chest, suffocating her in a way she couldn't escape. The truth was, you knew her better than anyone. You always had. And that was the part that scared her the most.

Cairo's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, burning hotter with every second that passed. You weren't supposed to talk to her like this. Not you. Everyone else could think she was too much, could roll their eyes and call her dramatic, but not you.

You were supposed to get it. To get her. That had always been the unspoken rule between you. You didn't argue with her schemes, didn't question her decisions—no matter how reckless or wild they seemed. You were the steady one, the loyal one, the one who always stuck by her side when no one else would.

She'd always relied on that. Counted on it, even. But now, standing in her room with your arms crossed and that look on your face—the one that said you thought she was wrong—it felt like the ground was shifting under her feet.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice quieter now but still firm, still pushing.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. The words themselves weren't what set her off; it was the tone. Like you thought you knew better. Like you thought she was being ridiculous.

"You don't understand," Cairo snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She turned away from you, pacing to the other side of the room as if putting distance between you would help her think.

The truth was, she didn't know how to explain it. She'd never had to before—not to you. You'd always just gone along with whatever she said, even when it didn't make sense. It was part of why she needed you, part of why she'd kept you so close all these years.

But now, you were standing there with that stubborn look on your face, and it was like every time someone had told her "no" or "you can't" was flooding back all at once.

Like when her parents had laughed off her dreams of going to college out of state, saying she'd never survive without them. Or when that teacher in middle school had told her she'd amount to nothing if she didn't learn to sit still and follow the rules.

But this was worse. Because it was you.

"You're supposed to have my back," she said finally, her voice lower now but no less angry. She turned to face you, her eyes blazing. "That's what you've always done."

You didn't flinch, didn't even blink. "Not if it means watching you ruin someone's life," you said, your tone calm but unwavering.

Cairo felt something snap. Her vision blurred at the edges, her thoughts coming so fast she couldn't hold onto any of them.

"Why do you care so much about him?" she almost shouted, her voice breaking slightly. She hated the way it sounded, raw and desperate, but she couldn't stop herself. "He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone!"

"And that's supposed to make this okay?" you shot back, your own voice rising now. "Because he didn't care for your attempt of seduction, it's fine to ruin him? That's not justice, Cairo—that's you being a bully."

The word hit her like a slap. A bully. She'd been called a lot of things in her life—manipulative, selfish, too intense—but bully wasn't one of them. She stared at you, her chest heaving, her nails biting into her palms so hard she thought they might break the skin.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. She couldn't.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her face a storm of emotions she couldn't contain.

She wanted to scream, to drag you into her world and force you to see things her way; like you always had. But all you did was stand there, your arms crossed, your expression hard and unrelenting.

The silence stretched too long, filled with the sharp scent of cigarette smoke and the suffocating weight of her frustration. She could feel her fury boiling over, pushing against the edges of her control.

"I can't believe you're acting like this," she said finally, her voice trembling, half with rage and half with disbelief. "After everything I've done for you."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Everything you've done for me?" The disbelief in your voice cut deep, sharper than she expected. "You mean dragging me into your messes? Covering for you every time you screw something up? Cairo, that's not loyalty—that's enabling."

Her face twisted, a mix of anger and something dangerously close to hurt. "You're seriously turning this on me?"

You shook your head, stepping back toward the door. "I'm not turning anything on you. I'm just—" You stopped, exhaling sharply, like you didn't know how to say what you needed to. "I'm just done with this, Cairo. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She'd heard them before, from teachers, from her parents, from so-called friends who didn't stick around. But hearing them from you? It felt like the world was tilting off its axis.

She watched as you reached for the doorknob, her stomach twisting into knots. "So that's it?" she said, her voice low, deadly. "You're just going to walk away?"

You hesitated, your hand resting on the knob, but you didn't turn back. "Yeah," you said finally. "I am."

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound echoed in the vast emptiness of the room. Cairo stood there, frozen, staring at the space you'd just occupied. For a moment, she felt nothing at all, just the numbness that came with realizing she was truly, utterly alone.

The mansion around her seemed to close in, its dark corners and cold walls pressing against her like a physical weight. No parents. No friends. No one but herself and the stale, ever-present scent of cigarette smoke.

And that was when it hit her—the rage.

Her hand slammed against the edge of the desk, sending a stack of papers tumbling to the floor. You were supposed to get her. You were supposed to agree. That was how this worked. You were the one who told her it was all fine, the one who stood by her side no matter how crazy things got.

But you didn't. You didn't tell her it was a great idea. You didn't tell her she was right. And that betrayal—it burned hotter than anything she'd felt before.

If she couldn't ruin Mr. Miller, she'd ruin you instead.

The thought was so clear, so sharp, it was like a switch flipped in her brain. You thought you could walk away from her, leave her to stew in this? Fine. But she wasn't going to let you come out of this unscathed.

Cairo knelt down, her hands shaking as she gathered the scattered papers from the floor. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if each page she picked up solidified her resolve. By the time she stood, the fire in her chest had consumed every shred of doubt.

You would regret this. She would make sure of it.

___

It wouldn't be hard. Cairo knew that much.

In a school like yours—like hers—people believed anything as long as it was juicy enough to distract from their own boring lives. A small-town high school in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, didn't offer much in the way of excitement. So when there was even the faintest whiff of scandal, people ran with it.

She thought of how last year, someone started a rumor that Sarah Bishop was pregnant. By third period, half the school had already decided the father was her ex-boyfriend, and by lunch, they'd pinned it on a senior she'd never even spoken to. The truth didn't matter. Sarah's denial didn't matter. The story was too good to let go of, and Cairo had watched, half-amused, as it unraveled Sarah's life for weeks.

Or the time someone claimed Mr. Thompson had been fired for sleeping with a student. He hadn't even been fired—just transferred to another district—but that didn't stop the whispers, the snickering in the hallways. It didn't stop people from glancing at random students, wondering who the lucky—or unlucky—one was.

People were starving for something to talk about. It didn't even have to be plausible. It just had to stick. And if there was one thing Cairo Sweet was good at, it was making things stick.

Her mind whirled with possibilities, her anger sharpening every detail into focus. The pieces were already there, waiting for her to assemble them into the perfect story. The kind that wouldn't just ruin your reputation but would linger, infecting every interaction you had at that school.

Cairo sat back on the edge of her bed, the cigarette still clutched in her fingers, her lips curving into a slow, bitter smile. She'd light the match and watch it burn.

And you? You'd have no idea what hit you.

So the next morning, Cairo walked to school with purpose, the cold air biting at her cheeks as her plan solidified in her mind.

She hadn't slept, her thoughts running wild, feeding on her anger until it consumed her entirely. By the time she reached the gates, her smile was sharp and satisfied, her rage buried deep beneath the cool detachment she wore like armor.

Winnie was waiting near the courtyard, leaning against a bench and scrolling through her phone. Cairo approached her casually, though the fire in her chest burned hotter with every step. Winnie wasn't just any friend—she was the one with the loudest mouth, the one who lived for drama, thrived on it. If anyone could spread a rumor faster than wildfire, it was her.

It hadn't taken much for Cairo to spin the story, just enough details to make it believable but tantalizing enough to keep people guessing. She'd started with a nonchalant mention of Mr. Miller's sudden absence, dropping hints that she'd heard "something big." Winnie's interest was immediate, her phone slipping into her pocket as she turned her full attention to Cairo.

And then Cairo had delivered the blow, the rumor she'd carefully constructed in the sleepless hours of the night. You and Mr. Miller. A secret relationship. A scandal so twisted it explained everything—why he wasn't at school anymore, why he'd been fired.

She'd painted the picture vividly, her words dripping with calculated disgust: the late meetings, the whispers behind closed doors, the final confrontation that led to his downfall.

Cairo had been deliberate, choosing every word to strike at the heart of what would horrify and captivate the school's gossipy, bored population. Sleeping with a teacher wasn't just scandalous—it was unforgivable. And it fit perfectly into the narrative she wanted to create. It was your fault he was gone. You'd ruined him. You'd dragged everyone into your mess.

Winnie's eyes had widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock before she'd quickly recovered, leaning closer to hear more. Cairo had fed her just enough to make it irresistible, dropping hints about where you'd supposedly met him and how it had all unraveled.

The beauty of it was that it didn't need to be true. It only needed to sound like it could be.

By the time Cairo walked away, she didn't even have to look back to know the wheels were already in motion. Winnie would tell someone else, who would tell someone else, and by lunch, the whole school would be buzzing with whispers and sideways glances.

It was the perfect plan, Cairo thought, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets as she made her way to class. A masterpiece of manipulation, tailored to destroy you in the same way you'd tried to dismantle her.

She didn't need to say another word. The damage was already done.

She didn't feel doubt either. Normal people might've cringed or hesitated when they heard whispers echoing through the halls—heard your name paired with Mr. Miller's in hushed, scandalized tones.

Normal people might've felt a pang of guilt at the sight of you walking into school, oblivious to the tidal wave of rumors about to crash over you. But Cairo wasn't normal. She never had been, and she knew it.

Her parents used to tell her as much, back when they still tried to parent her. "You've always been different, Cairo," her mother would say, her voice careful, measured, like she was trying not to provoke something. And her father? He didn't say much at all, but his absence spoke louder than any words could. They were always gone, always "working," always finding new reasons not to be around.

She wasn't stupid. She'd started to wonder if work was just an excuse. Maybe they didn't know what to do with her. Maybe they couldn't stand to be around her.

But that was fine. Cairo didn't need them. She didn't need anyone.

She convinced herself of that now as she strolled through the hallway, catching snippets of conversation, fleeting glances at the chaos she'd created.

"Did you hear—?"

"...Mr. Miller?"

"I always thought she was kind of weird..."

It should've stung, hearing them talk about you like that. But it didn't.

Because this was how things had to be.

In Cairo's world, there were no compromises, no apologies, no middle ground. There was only winning or losing. And if you weren't with her, you were against her.

She thought about the way you'd stood there yesterday, daring to question her, to challenge her. You were supposed to agree with her. That's what friends did, wasn't it? That's what YOU were supposed to do. You were supposed to see her plan for what it was—brilliant, unstoppable—and back her up without hesitation.

But you didn't.i

And now, you saw what happened when you didn't.

For Cairo, this wasn't revenge—it was balance. It was restoring the natural order of things. You'd crossed her, so she had to ruin you. That was the only way she knew how to handle betrayal. She didn't understand how to argue it out or let it go. She only knew how to burn it to the ground.

She'd done it before. She could still remember the look on Taylor Myers' face when Cairo had spread that rumor about her stealing from the drama club fundraiser.

Taylor had cried in the bathroom for weeks. She'd eventually left school altogether. But Cairo hadn't felt bad then, either. Taylor had deserved it.

She'd said something snide to Cairo in class, and Cairo had responded the only way she knew how: with fire.

This wasn't any different. If anything, it was worse. You hadn't just made a snide comment—you'd betrayed her. You'd questioned her.

So she would ruin you, just like she ruined everyone else who dared to cross her.

And maybe, in the quiet moments, when she thought too hard about why she was like this, she felt a flicker of unease. But she buried it deep, under layers of pride and rage.

Because what else could she do? This was who she was.

Now, Cairo was leaning against her locker, one hand gripping the metal door while the other fidgeted with the zipper of her jacket. The hallway was loud with overlapping conversations, but her focus was elsewhere. She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings—not really. She was waiting. For you.

And then she saw you.

You walked through the corridor, your head held a little lower than usual, your gaze flitting uncertainly between the clusters of students you passed. You didn't look at Cairo. Not even once. But everyone else? You couldn't avoid them.

The whispers were pointed now, no longer concealed behind cupped hands or turned backs. Someone standing by the water fountain said something loud enough for you to hear, their voice laced with mockery.

A group of girls by the lockers looked you up and down, their expressions curled into sneers.

One of them muttered something—just a single word—but it was enough to send a ripple of laughter through their group.

And you? You just kept walking, your lips pressed tightly together, your face betraying what you were trying so hard to hide. Confusion. Hurt.

Cairo's stomach twisted.

She didn't want to feel it, but she did—a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable, cutting through the armor she'd built around herself. For a moment, her mask nearly slipped. For a moment, she remembered exactly who she had done this to.

It wasn't just anyone. It wasn't some random classmate who'd made an offhand comment she didn't like. It wasn't an enemy or a stranger.

It was you.

Her best friend.

And for the briefest of moments, the fire in her chest faltered, replaced by something she couldn't quite name. Regret? Doubt? She didn't know.

All she knew was that the look on your face—the way you blinked back whatever emotions were welling up, the way you kept moving even as the whispers grew louder—made her stomach churn.

But then she reminded herself why she'd done this.

You had tried to scold her. You hadn't supported her like you were supposed to. You hadn't told her it was a great idea. You hadn't agreed with her.

That was your mistake.

So no, her mask didn't fully slip. The flicker of guilt was smothered before it could grow. She gripped the edge of her locker tighter, her knuckles turning white, and forced herself to hold onto the anger. Because that was easier. That was familiar.

By the time you disappeared into your next class, the churning in her stomach had faded. All that remained was the satisfaction of knowing she'd taught you what happened when you didn't side with her.

And maybe, just maybe, that satisfaction wasn't as comforting as it should've been.

But as Cairo slammed her locker shut, the faint echo of your face lingered in her mind—confused, hurt, and vulnerable. It was only a matter of time, she thought.

She could already picture it: you standing in front of her, eyes wide with regret, voice trembling as you apologized.

You'd tell her you were sorry. That you should've supported her. That you hadn't meant to go against her.

The thought soothed the last trace of unease in her chest, replacing it with a cruel sort of satisfaction.

Because you'd come crawling back. You always did.

___

By the time next day arrived, Cairo had barely slept. She had laid on her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as the hours stretched on endlessly. Every time her eyelids grew heavy, her mind would jolt her awake again, replaying fragments of the day she wished she could forget.

She had tried to blame the restlessness on the scratch in her throat, the raspy cough brought on by the cigarettes she'd burned through in a desperate attempt to calm herself down. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the smoke.

It was the silence.

An entire day had passed without speaking to you—a record. She hadn't spoken to you during lunch, in the hallways, or even through text. She had told herself it didn't matter, but the silence had gnawed at her insides until she felt hollow.

What had unsettled her most, though, was the memory of you in the corridor. She could still see the look on your face, clear as day—the confusion, the flicker of hurt, as people stared at you, whispering openly. They hadn't even tried to hide it, glaring or laughing as you'd walked by. And you?

You had looked around at everyone but her, clearly searching for answers, completely unaware of the storm Cairo had unleashed.

That was what had kept her up all night. You didn't know.

She had rolled over onto her side, burying her face in her pillow as if that could smother the thoughts clawing at her. She had tried to remind herself why she'd done it.

You hadn't agreed with her. You had scolded her, told her she was wrong, tried to stop her. You were supposed to understand her, supposed to stand by her, but instead, you'd turned against her.

Still, it hadn't gone away. By the time she'd finally fallen asleep, it had been far too late, and the restless hours she'd managed hadn't done much to help. When she'd woken up, the unease had clung to her chest, heavy and unrelenting, like it was a part of her.

It was a feeling she couldn't describe, though that wasn't new. She had lived with that kind of nameless heaviness since she was seven. But this? This was different.

When she had walked into the corridor where your lockers were, it had only gotten worse.

Students were clustered in groups, leaning against walls, whispering and giggling behind their hands. Some pointed toward a single locker, their laughter spilling out in bursts. Others simply walked past, sparing a glance and then smirking as they moved on.

Cairo hadn't thought much of it—until she had gotten close enough to see what they were laughing at.

It was your locker.

A single piece of paper had been taped across the front, its letters bold and jagged.

SKANK.

Cairo's breath had caught for a moment, but she had quickly swallowed it down. She had felt something twist in her stomach, but she had forced her expression to remain blank as she passed by.

Students were still pointing and snickering, some snapping pictures on their phones, others nudging each other and whispering even louder when they saw you walking in.

Cairo quickly walked to her locker, which was further down the corridor. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she yanked the door open and pretended to sift through her things. She didn't want you to think she was the one who had done it.

Of course, technically, she was—the rumor she had planted had led to this, even if she hadn't physically taped that paper to your locker. Still, she couldn't stand the idea of you connecting her to it, of you knowing.

She kept her back turned, keeping her movements deliberate and unhurried, but the noise behind her—the laughter, the whispers—was impossible to tune out. She was itching to look, to see what you were doing. And eventually, she did.

Turning just slightly, she let her eyes find you again.

You were still standing in front of your locker, frozen, staring at the word scrawled across the paper as if trying to understand how it had gotten there.

Your brows were furrowed, your lips pressed tightly together, and your shoulders trembled just enough to be noticeable. It was the way your chin tilted ever so slightly upward, like you were trying to hold yourself together, that hit Cairo the hardest.

Your eyes were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears that you refused to let fall. The confusion on your face was heartbreaking—because it was clear you didn't know why this had happened. You didn't know who had done it, or why.

It broke something in Cairo, watching you like that.

Her mask—the cool, detached exterior she had perfected over the years—almost shattered completely.

She tried to remind herself of why she'd done this. You hadn't agreed with her. You had scolded her. You had stood in her way, when you were supposed to stand with her. And this—this was what happened to people who didn't.

But none of it felt like enough anymore.

You turned your head, scanning the hallway for any signs of who might have done it. But everyone avoided your gaze. Some were glaring or whispering behind their hands, others laughing outright, and the rest simply turned away the moment you looked in their direction.

And then your eyes landed on her.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

Cairo could feel her chest tighten as she held your gaze. She could see the question there, unspoken but loud enough to hear in her head: Was it you?

And for a split second, Cairo thought about stepping forward. About saying something, anything, that might erase the look on your face, the crack in your voice that would inevitably follow if you spoke.

But she didn't.

Instead, she forced her façade to stay in place, locking down the guilt threatening to spill over. Her jaw tightened as she turned back to her locker, shoving a book inside with more force than necessary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw you finally move. You ripped the paper from your locker, crumpling it in your fist. Your movements were quick and sharp, but not angry—just desperate, like you were trying to erase it before anyone else could see.

And then you yanked open your locker, shoving the crumpled paper inside before slamming it shut. The clang of the metal door echoed down the hallway, cutting through the noise like a knife.

Cairo didn't look at you again. She couldn't.

By the time lunch rolled around, the rumor Cairo had started had taken on a life of its own. The cafeteria buzzed with hushed voices, none of them low enough to be discreet. Cairo could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating—a storm she had set loose but couldn't control.

Sliding into her usual seat, she kept her head low, poking at the sandwich on her tray as the conversations around her hit her like punches to the gut. None of it sounded like what she had told Winnie. Not even close.

"I heard she's pregnant with his kid," a girl at the next table whispered, her tone a mix of disgust and disbelief. "That's why he left. He's, like, running from the responsibility."

"Pregnant?" another voice chimed in. "No way. I heard she was doing it for better grades, but it got out of hand, and he had to leave because it was a whole thing with the administration."

"She's probably slept with all the male teachers," someone muttered nearby, barely hiding their laughter. "Wouldn't be surprised if that's how she got through high school in the first place."

Cairo's stomach churned.

Every new twist, every new grotesque fabrication, felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. None of this was what she had said. She had been deliberate, precise, sticking to just enough to make it believable. She had wanted to hurt you, yes, but she hadn't expected it to spiral this far, this quickly.

And now? Now it was everywhere.

She clenched her fists under the table, her knuckles whitening as she stared down at her untouched lunch. Cairo never panicked. She didn't know how. Chaos was her playground; she was the one who thrived in it, the one who created it. But now, for the first time, she felt like the chaos was swallowing her whole.

This wasn't what she'd wanted. She didn't want people to think you were pregnant, or that you'd been sleeping with other teachers, or any of the other twisted lies that were spreading like wildfire.

Her breath hitched when she overheard another snippet of conversation from the table behind her.

"She probably blackmailed him," a boy said, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. "That's why he left so fast. She's got dirt on all of them, I bet."

Cairo's pulse was racing, her chest tight with something she couldn't name. Guilt? Fear? She didn't know, and she didn't want to. All she knew was that she'd started something she couldn't stop, and now it was spiraling out of control.

Her hands trembled as she picked up her sandwich, forcing herself to take a bite. The dry bread caught in her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to let anyone see her crack. She was Cairo Sweet, after all. She didn't panic. She didn't feel bad.

But then she thought about you. About the look on your face that morning. About how you had stared at her, confused and hurt, like you were searching for answers in her eyes.

And suddenly, she wasn't so sure about any of it anymore.

She sat frozen at her table, staring blankly at her tray. She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there when she noticed you enter.

You held a tray of food against your hip, walking with a calmness that almost seemed defiant. Your expression was blank, almost disinterested, as though the entire day hadn't been spent tearing you apart in the cruelest ways imaginable.

Cairo's chest tightened at the sight, her eyes glued to you as you scanned the room. She could see what you were looking for—somewhere, anywhere you could sit by yourself.

And for a moment, it seemed like you'd found it. Your gaze lingered on a bench in the far corner, away from the noise, the eyes, the whispers.

But before you could take another step toward the corner bench you'd spotted, someone's voice sliced through the air, louder than the rest.

"That Y/N slut slept with Mr. Miller," the voice sneered, dripping with mockery. "Heard she's pregnant, too. Maybe that's why she's always looking so bloated."

The words hung there, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, and Cairo's heart stopped.

Your head turned sharply toward the source, and Cairo saw the way your shoulders stiffened, your tray trembling in your hands. They didn't see you—too wrapped up in their laughter, too oblivious to the pain they were causing—but Cairo saw everything.

And then, your gaze shifted. You turned your head, scanning the crowd, and Cairo's stomach dropped.

You were looking for her.

When your eyes finally found hers, it was like a punch to the chest. Cairo froze, every muscle in her body locking up as if she'd been caught in a spotlight.

She didn't dare look away, even though she wanted to. Even though she couldn't stand the way you were staring at her.

Your eyes were glassy, tears brimming just enough to make the cafeteria lights reflect in them. But they didn't fall. Your jaw was clenched tight, your lips pressed into a trembling line as if holding back the urge to scream.

And the look you gave her—it was like a knife twisting in her gut.

You knew.

Cairo's breath hitched as she felt your gaze bore into her, relentless and unyielding. It was the same look you'd given her when you were kids, the time she'd blamed you for stealing cookies from the jar in front of her parents. Back then, it was a childish betrayal, the kind that faded by the next day.

This wasn't.

This was anger and hurt, disbelief and something that felt far worse: recognition. You looked at her as if she had been the one to put the note on your locker. And in a way, you weren't wrong.

Cairo's lips trembled, and she quickly bit the inside of her cheek to steady herself. It was ridiculous. Cairo Sweet didn't panic. She didn't regret. She didn't crack.

But now, under your gaze, she felt like she was crumbling.

You didn't say a word. You didn't need to. The way you stared at her, as if she were a stranger, said more than words ever could.

And then, without breaking eye contact, you turned on your heel.

Cairo's breath caught as she watched you stride to the nearest trash can. Your movements were sharp, deliberate, each step like a hammer driving a nail into her chest. When you reached it, you dumped your entire tray of food into the bin with a force that made it clang loudly, drawing the attention of half the room.

You didn't hesitate. You didn't pause. You just walked out, your head held high despite the tears threatening to spill.

Cairo sat frozen, her lungs struggling for air as the cafeteria noise gradually swelled back around her. People whispered and laughed again, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.

Her mind was spinning, replaying everything in an endless loop. She had wanted to hurt you, to punish you for standing in her way, for not agreeing with her plan.

But now, watching you walk out of the cafeteria—broken but still carrying yourself with a dignity she'd tried so hard to strip away—she realized something she couldn't ignore.

Cairo sat frozen, her lungs still fighting for air as the cafeteria roared back to life around her. The noise felt distant, muffled, like she was underwater. People were still laughing, still whispering, still twisting the knife deeper into the wound she had created. But Cairo didn't hear them. Not really.

Her mind spun in endless circles, replaying the way you'd looked at her—the tears in your eyes, the sharpness of your jaw, the weight of your silence. It was unbearable. It was suffocating.

And it was entirely her fault.

She had wanted to hurt you. She could admit that now, if only to herself. She had wanted to knock you down a peg, to remind you that you weren't perfect, that you didn't always get to be the one who was right. You'd stood in her way, called her out, refused to see things her way. And for that, she had wanted you to feel what it was like to lose.

But this?

This wasn't what she had expected.

Cairo had told herself it would be harmless. A rumor, a few whispers—something petty and fleeting that would blow over in a week. She had convinced herself it was just words, just noise, nothing that would stick. You'd get mad, maybe confront her, and she'd roll her eyes and shrug it off. You'd forgive her eventually. You always did.

But instead, she had lit a fire she couldn't control.

The rumor had spread like poison, twisting into something grotesque and unrecognizable. It wasn't just about Mr. Miller anymore. It was about everything they could find to tear you down. They'd taken her words and turned them into weapons, each one sharper than the last.

And you were the one left bleeding.

Cairo's chest tightened as guilt clawed at her throat. She had wanted you to feel small, to feel the sting of being wrong. But now, she realized what she had actually done. She hadn't just hurt you. She had handed you over to the wolves and stood back while they tore you apart.

And for what?

Why had she done it?

Because she was angry? Because she wanted to be right? Because it was easier to blame you than to admit that maybe, just maybe, she was the one in the wrong?

The truth hit her like a punch to the gut. She hadn't done it for any grand reason. She'd done it because she was selfish. Because she was scared. Because when you'd looked at her that day, challenging her, standing your ground, she'd felt small. And she hated feeling small.

But now, sitting there in the chaos she had created, Cairo felt smaller than ever.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. She wanted to fix it. She wanted to take it all back, to rewind the clock to that day in the hallway, to the moment she'd let her anger get the better of her. But it was too late.

The damage was done.

Cairo's stomach churned as she thought of the look in your eyes, the way you had walked out of the cafeteria with your head held high, even as everything around you crumbled. You were stronger than she'd ever given you credit for. Stronger than her.

And yet, she had broken something between you that could never be repaired.

She had expected to feel triumphant, to feel vindicated. Instead, all she felt was hollow.

The laughter around her grew louder, grating against her skin, and she wanted to scream, to tell them all to shut up, to stop talking about you like you were some kind of joke. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Because this was her fault.

Cairo clenched her jaw, her nails biting into her palms as the guilt twisted deeper. She had pushed you too far, dragged you into something you hadn't deserved, all because she couldn't control herself. She had ruined you, and in doing so, she had ruined herself.

This wasn't what she had wanted.

And as she sat there, drowning in the weight of her own actions, Cairo realized something that terrified her more than anything else.

She didn't know how to stop it.

#cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #millers girl #jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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pimpnchips · 6 months ago

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Daddy’s Girl

Lorraine Day x G!p Reader

Daddy’s Girl Series

PS: The concept is from my old wattpad stories so I'm restarting the series

Warnings: Oral sex, blowjobs, language

A heavy silence enveloped the truck as you exhaled deeply, the sound echoing in the stillness.

Lorraine crossed her arms and looked out the truck window; her expression was unreadable.

You started to apologize, but Lorraine saw your reflection in the window. “Save it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as you smacked your teeth.

Raine was upset with your behavior toward her father. You never got along with him, so you tried to provoke him whenever he was around.

Unexpectedly, Lorraine’s mom invited you to dinner. You greeted everyone with a warm welcome, stopping to scowl at Mr. Day in disgust.

“Mr. Day” you said, in a forced smile.

He curled his lip in a snarl and whispered, "Butch."

“Oh, come on you two, hug one another. Let’s start a new leaf, shall we?” Mrs. Day smiled. The nice lady always tried her best to encourage the two of you to get along.

You couldn’t help but smirk at her father, reaching your arms around him to give him a hug.

“This butch is fucking your daughter so never forget that.” you whispered, making sure your girlfriend or her mother didn’t hear.

“What a nice hug, old man, yeah?” You laughed and patted his back, then walked away shaking your head.

‘Old fuck’ you laughed.

You spent an hour chatting and laughing with your girlfriend and her mother, despite her father's disapproving glares. "Don’t you have a home to get to?" he asked, directing his gaze at you. You shrugged it off and refocused on your girlfriend.

It was a lovely dinner, and your priority was to keep Lorraine happy, so you did your best to behave. She looked at you with a smile of approval. Leaning closer, you whispered seductively, “After this, I can take you back to my house.”

Loraine felt shivers go down her spine as anticipation filled her stomach. She bit down on your earlobe when her parents were distracted, “I don’t think I can wait, baby. Meet me outside, would you?”

With a deep breath, you rose from your chair and declared, "Alright, ladies, I’m stepping out for a quick smoke. Need a moment to clear my head."

A hand grabs your sleeve. “I’m going with her; we’ll be back,” Lorraine rushes, scooting back in her chair to leave the table.

Lorraine walked out with you, rubbing her hands down your pants as she looked up at you and bit her lip. “I miss you daddy” she whimpered. Her eyes pleaded for you. She grabbed your buckle to pull you closer.

“Are you feeling impatient?” you whisper softly in her ear.

Lorraine rolls her eyes and bites her bottom lip. “I’m feeling something, and if you don’t help me, I might find someone else to suck off,” she muttered. She looked up at you with doe eyes, kneeling down on her knees to unbuckle your pants.

The rattling sound of your buckle heightened your anticipation. You loved her when she was this needy and wanting you. It was beautiful and enticing to you.

“You look so beautiful like this,” you whispered. “Always taking my cock like a good gir-” you cut off with a soft groan. Throwing your head back as she pressed her warm lips to the tip, squeezing your balls as she licked down a long strip of your shaft. “Fuck”

Lorraine bobbed her head up and down. Watching her cheeks suck in as she took your cock in her mouth caused you to shudder, her eyes lidded and seductive.

She took in as much as she could until the tip of your cock hit the back of throat, making her moan in surprise, sending wave of vibrations in you. “Just like that sweet girl,” you breathed, voice quivering.

She simply hummed in response, vibrations running down your shaft and making you twitch, eyes innocent and wide-eyed.

You can't stop yourself from coming down her throat, the warm white liquid filling her mouth as your hips stuttering as you empty into her.

The sound of the front porch creaking caught Lorraine's attention as she noticed a pair of scruffy black boots. She tapped your thigh, signaling for you to let her go, but you were too engrossed in your orgasm to notice her pleas.

Lorraine's dad stormed to the front door, his heart racing as he caught sight of the chaos unfolding. “Lorraine Day! What in the world are you doing, for crying out loud?”

You quickly snapped out of your orgasm as you heard Lorraine's father’s stern voice. “Get up, baby,” you smirked, putting your pants back on as you stared at her father with a foolish expression.

Lorraine’s dad glared at you while you were instructing his daughter. He firmly grasped Lorraine’s arm as she stood up and said in a low voice, “Go in the house.” His anger was noticeable as he locked eyes with you, making it clear that he was not pleased.

You laughed, “She’s not going anywhere. Get in the car, Lorraine,” as you started to walk off towards the truck.

“Dad, I’ll come back tomorrow,” Lorraine mutters awkwardly, hugging him as she walks behind you.

Lorraine jumped as you slammed the car door.

You started the car as your girlfriend jumped in, backing out of the driveway and onto the road. A silence hung in the air until she cleared her throat to get your attention.

“I know you heard him before I saw him," she said, her voice tinged with irritation as she crossed her arms, clearly showing her frustration. You shook your head and laughed, "I don't know what you mean, sweet pea.”

She turned to you firmly. “That’s ridiculous. Your ego is getting in the way, and it’s going to make him see me in a different way!” her accent coming out stronger than before.

“Grow the fuck up, Lorraine, you don’t need Daddy’s approval to give a fucking blowjob!” you spat, speeding up the car to piss her off.

Lorraine rolled her eyes and shot a defiant glare. "Seriously, Y/n, let me out of here!"

“What? No way,” you stated, disbelief lacing your voice.

Lorraine pushed the side of your face, causing you to look back at her with disapproval. "I’m fucking driving!"

“Stop the car!” she shouted, her urgency noticeable as she seized the wheel. The vehicle swerved dangerously, tires screeching against the sidewalk, forcing you to slam on the brakes.

You watched your girlfriend open the door and slam it before walking along the side of the road toward her father’s house. You rolled down the window and said, "Baby, come on, get in the car. I'm sorry."

Lorraine ignored your demands as she crossed her arms.

"I shouldn't have done that; it was a reckless move and I apologize," you shouted out of the window, with half of your body hanging out of the car. The wind blew your hair back as she paused and started walking toward the car.

As she settled into the car, you started to apologize. However, Lorraine saw your reflection in the window and muttered, “Save it,” rolling her eyes as you clicked your teeth.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x reader #cairo sweet x reader #scream #scream x reader #scream x you #lorraine day #Loraine day x reader #x #jenna marie ortega

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wesstars · 1 year ago

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crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

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“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.”

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus.

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind.

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened.

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out.

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo.

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch?

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air.

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry.

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted.

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back.

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled.

“Cairo, isn’t it?”

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed.

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

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classypauli · 8 months ago

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𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

MASTERLIST

tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary: Finally, the group project comes to an end, and you won’t have to deal with Tara’s attitude anymore. Only if you knew what was coming, maybe then you would rather pick that crazy Carpenter...

tags: enemies to lovers, they are on it again, y/n got a new admirer, tara almost died, cozy, fluff

word count: 1.5k

You were currently sitting in a cafeteria. Wereses you had some free time before the last class so you agreed to meet there with Tara and continue with your project.

It has been a few weeks since you have been working on it and moved succesfully foward. Both of you were happy it finally moved to it´s end, this was something that was annoying your lives for these last days. Or more like you were annoying to one another.

„Do you think it can be like this?“ You turned your notebook into Tara´s direction. She red the notes and noded her head. „Great, so we just need to make the conclusion.“

You were sitting opposite of each other in one of the back tables. Behind your back was a big window with a sigh to a whole campus.

„Yeah, I think it´s perfect.“ You looked at the girl in front of you. Her bangs got longer, you wonder if she wants to cut it again or let it grow. She was wearing a dress to her knees with a flowers on it. The weather today was pretty good despite the grey clouds above your heads. It looked like it would start raining anytime soon.

Your eyes scanned the room. There wasn´t a lot of people today, everybody was probably studying at home for exams or taking class. You caught eyes of the girl on the other side. She was sitting alone with just book in her hands and caffee by her side. Your eyes met and she smiled at you, which you return.

It was almost time for the exam so you both agreed to do it later in your apartment. As soon as you both stepped outside you could feel the drops of water falling onto your skin. With fast steps you came inside the campus but still with your clothes wet. You looked at Tara and saw how her strands of her were stuck on her forehead from the rain.

You burst out laughing. The girl turned to you with angry eyes. „Stop laughing!“ She pushed you into your chest and you stumbled a little. Tara was holding her phone with the front camera trying to brush her wet hair and clean the mascara that was now on her eyelids.

„I´ve seen you looking worse.“ You said as you adjust the strap on your shoulder.

„You look worse all the time.“

Your mouth hung down as you kept looking at her back as she kept walking away from you into the hallways of the campus. No, you won´t leave it just like this, she will eat it with a winch.

You were standing in a aisle of a small shop by the corner of the neighbourhood were you lived. One of your hands was holding a small shopping basket and the other one was holding milk as you were reading the back of it.

The notification of your phone cut you from it as you put the milk back and took your phone to check the text from Ethan. Last time you shared the class you talked about the video games and how you enjoy playing them. After that he asked you if you wanted to play with him some time, which of course you couldn´t decline.

„Are you intolerant?“ Your whole body twinched at the sudden voice you heard behind you. You almost dropped your phone as you were trying to put in back in your pocket. With a quick motion you turned around.

„Oh, I´m sorry I didn´t want to scare you.“ The girls eyes widen with apologizing look in her eyes.

„It´s fine, you just caught me off guard.“ You said to her. She was familiar to you but you couldn´t really remember when did you see her.

She laughed at your words and looked behind you again. „Yeah, I saw that you were deep in the reading the back of the milk.“ The girl teased you a little. „You were trying to find lactose-free milk or something?“

„Uhm yeah.“ No, you didn´t have a reason to read it you just wanted to and it would look dumb if you said that you just wanted to read it. What the fuck would she think?

„Oh then I think you are looking the wrong way, the lactose-free is over there.“ She pointed at the direction of the other side of the shelf.

„Ah! My bad, looks like you know it better than me.“ You rubbed the back of your neck with a nervous smile.

The girl bit the side of her cheek gently looking at the ground and then up to you. „No problem, if you need anything else just tell me, I´ll be glad to help.“ She smiled.

By that smile you already knew who it was, the girl from the cafeteria. Damnit, she really needed to see you now? In your homeless fit for no one’s eyes to see. You were sure nobody would see you so you grabbed whatever was under your touch. Fucking embarassing.

You laughed nervously and thanked her making your way to the direction she was pointing earlier.

You need to buy this milk now you stupid imbecile.

„I recommed you this one.“ She grabbed the milk from the shelf. „It´s probably my favourite.“ This girl can´t rest, can she?

„You seem like you know what you are talking about.“ You said.

„Oh yes! I only drink these types of milks.“

You softly grabbed the milk from her hands and put that in your basket with a embarassing smile on your face.

„Uhm thanks for advice I guess... uhm see you next time?“ You turned around and walked away from the girl. The vibe felt pretty embarassing so you felt urge to just walk away with her eyes still following you.

Tara was now again in your room finishing the project. Every time you spend time with the girl you needed to hold yourself on a leash but these past weeks when you were together, just you and her alone you felt like you were doing some kind of patience class.

How many times you held yourself from jumping on her because of the anger or holding the tongue behind your teeths because of some offending shit she said. That little brat didn´t know how to act but you couldn´t change that. Well, not like you tried.

You hummed to her as you brought her glass of water she asked earlier. The girl noded with her head taking the drink from the desk slowly learning back her back against your gaming chair. You sat back on your bed as always continueing with your work.

„I´m so glad we are finally at the end.“ She said with her eyes closed and her head tilt back.

„Yup.“

She looked at your way. „You know, I´m pretty surprised.“ You rised your eyebrows at her. „I mean the first day I was sitting on the floor and look at me now.“ She spin herself around on your chair. „I´m sitting in your spot.“

„So?“

Tara stopped and looked back at you. „I calmed down your agressive ass.“

„Mine agressive ass?“ you asked in disbelive with a high voice. „Last time I check you were like that. I don´t even know how that much of evil can fit into your small ass body.“

„See! I wouldn´t be like that if you weren´t! I was saying something nice and you are you again!“

„Me?! You- Argh!“ this is exactly what she wants from you Y/N... Don´t let her get into your head.

You breathed out the air from you chest and calmed your nerves. Tara smirked at you, in her eyes she won, like every time.

After that both of you were quiet once again and focused on the work. After finishing you went through the whole thing, scanning it and trying to correct the flaws that were left. Your strong focus was cut by Tara´s deep breathing. At first you thought she was just getting frustrated at something she found in her phone but as the seconds were passing by it was worse.

Of course.

You slowly stood up and left your room. You made your way into her bag that was left in the hallway of the apartment. She must have it here. Your hand went into her bag and was trying to find her inhaler. There wasn´t anyway she wouldn´t have it in her bag right? At the end of the day, her health was depent on that little thing.

When you finally found it you brough it to her. Her hand was already on her chest and her eyes were closed, trying to calm herself.

„Here.“ You took her hand that was resting on your chair and put the inhaler into her palm. She looked at the object you handed her and then up at you with her big brown eyes. You huffed and took her hand up to her mouth to use the inhaler.

Finally after when Tara´s breathing was calmed you stepped back and sat on your bed still looking at the brunette.

„Better?“ she noded at your words giving you a small thank you. She looked somehow ashamed of herself, looking into her hands that were resting in her lap. Suddenly her head shot back at you with wide eyes.

„You were digging in my purse?!“

„I just saved your life!“

„I swear to God-“

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paxtito · 7 months ago

Text

forbidden

pairings: cairo x fem!reader

word count: 2120

warnings: smut 18+, swearing, cunilingus, strap-on

summary: you've gotten yourself tangled in a love affair with your father's top student

a/n: this is a filler so don’t mind the length- also credits to whoever requested that one cairo bot!

MASTERLIST | BOT

The dorm room is quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the campus settling down for the night. You fumble with your keys, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as you push open the door. It’s been a long day—one full of stolen glances, hushed conversations, and the constant weight of secrecy pressing on your shoulders.

You flick on the light, and your heart skips a beat.

There she is.

Cairo Sweet, perched on the edge of your bed, her legs crossed casually, her hands resting on the quilt your mother sent last semester. She’s still in her uniform from earlier, though the loosened tie and unbuttoned top collar give her an air of reckless confidence. That signature cheeky grin of hers—equal parts playful and infuriating—greets you as if she has every right to be here.

“Miss me?” she teases, tilting her head just so, the dim light catching the mischief in her eyes.

You close the door behind you, leaning back against it for a moment. “Cairo,” you say, your voice a mix of surprise and exasperation. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, feigning innocence as she leans back on her hands, her posture lazy but intentional. “Thought I’d pay my favorite person a visit. Is that a crime?”

“It is when you sneak into my dorm,” you retort, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Cairo’s grin widens, and she pushes herself to her feet with a slow, deliberate grace. “Relax,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “No one saw me. Besides,” her voice drops slightly, low and teasing, “don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the way your heart is racing. “Cairo, we’ve talked about this,” you begin, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes playfully. “We shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. Your dad’s my teacher. Believe me, I’ve got the speech memorized.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

She steps closer still, and now you can smell the faint traces of her perfume, something warm and sweet that lingers in the air between you. “Here I am,” she agrees, her voice soft but still teasing. “Because I can’t stay away.”

Your resolve wavers under the weight of her gaze, and she knows it. Cairo always knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin in ways no one else ever has.

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whisper, though the words feel weak even as you say them.

Cairo's eyes sparkle with mischief as she takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "So what if we do?" she murmurs, her voice a low purr. "Live a little, Y/N. Life's too short to play by all the rules."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Cairo always has this effect on you—making you question everything you thought you knew, making you want things you know you shouldn't.

"I... I don't know," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not that simple."

Cairo's hand comes up to cup your cheek, her touch gentle but electric. "It is that simple," she breathes, her face inches from yours. "It's just you and me, Y/N. The rest of the world can fall away."

You lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. God, it would be so easy to give in, to let her sweep you away on this tide of forbidden desire. But...

You lean into Cairo's touch, letting out a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

Your resolve crumbles under the intensity of her gaze.

"Cairo..." you murmur, your voice heavy with want.

A triumphant smirk curves her lips before she closes the remaining distance, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing along your bottom lip.

You melt into her, your hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her flush against you. The heat of her body seeps through the thin fabric of her uniform, igniting a fire deep in your core.

Cairo's hands roam over your body with a new urgency, her nails digging lightly into your skin through your shirt. She breaks the kiss, panting softly, her eyes dark with desire.

"Touch me," she breathes, her voice low and needy. "I want to feel your hands on me, Y/N."

You comply eagerly, your fingers slipping beneath her shirt to explore the smooth expanse of her back. Cairo arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Just like that," she pants, her hips grinding against yours. "Don't hold back, baby. I can take it."

You lose yourself in the sensation of her, in the taste of her, in the way she makes you feel alive in a way no one else ever has. Cairo is a force of nature, wild and unpredictable, and being with her feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, dizzying and exhilarating all at once.

As your hands roam lower, skimming over the curve of her ass, Cairo lets out a low groan. "Mmm, yes," she hisses, her hips bucking forward. "You know just how to touch me, don't you?"

The knowledge that you make her feel this good, that you can unhinge her so completely, sends a rush of power straight to your head. You nip at her bottom lip, relishing the way she whimpers in response.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cairo gasps, her fingers fisting in your hair. "I need you. Right now."

You don't hesitate, sweeping her up into your arms and carrying her the short distance to your bed. You lay her down gently, taking a moment to admire the sight of her spread out before you, her chest heaving, her skin flushed with desire.

Cairo watches you with hooded eyes as you slowly undress her, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Each piece of clothing you remove reveals more of her smooth, tanned skin, and you can't help but trail your fingers along her newly exposed flesh, mapping out every curve and dip.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice thick with need. "Please, I want to feel you."

You obey, your hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her body as you work your way down. Cairo arches into your touch, her fingers tangled in your hair, urging you on.

By the time you reach her hips, she's practically shaking with anticipation. You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties, drawing them down slowly, teasingly.

"Fuck, baby," Cairo groans, spreading her legs wider, inviting you in. "I need you so bad."

You don't make her wait any longer, diving in eagerly, your tongue hot and wet and perfect against her most sensitive parts. Cairo cries out, her back arching off the bed, her fingers tightening in your hair almost painfully.

"Yes, fuck yes," she pants, her hips bucking against your face. "Just like that, don't stop."

You double down your efforts, licking and sucking and teasing until Cairo is a writhing, incoherent mess beneath you, her thighs trembling and her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come," she warns, her voice strangled. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You redouble your efforts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a scream of your name, she comes undone, her body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You work her through it, gentling your touch as the aftershocks fade, until finally, she collapses back onto the bed, spent and sated.

You crawl up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Was that good for you, baby?" you murmur, nipping at her bottom lip.

Cairo hums contentedly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "Mmm, that was incredible," she purrs, her voice low and sultry. "But don't think we're done yet. I'm far from satisfied."

You reach for your nightstand with trembling hands, fumbling for your trusty strap-on. In your haste, you knock over a lamp, sending it clattering to the floor.

"Whoops!" you exclaim, stifling a laugh. "Graceful as always."

Cairo watches with hooded eyes as you fumble with the strap-on harness, your fingers clumsy in your haste. She bites her lip, trying to hold back a laugh at your determined expression.

"Eager, are we?" she teases, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Shut up," you mutter, finally getting the harness secured around your hips. You turn to face her, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I'm going to rock your world, Sweet."

Cairo rolls her eyes, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Big words for someone who can't even put on a strap-on without help."

You narrow your eyes, stalking towards the bed. "Oh, I'll show you big, alright."

Cairo's laughter dissolves into a moan as you descend upon her, your hands and mouth mapping the contours of her body. You take your time, savoring every inch of her, until she's writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

"Please," she gasps, her hips lifting off the bed. "I need you inside me."

You smirk, reaching for the lube. "Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait."

Cairo groans, burying her face in the pillow. "You're such a tease."

You just chuckle, coating the strap-on liberally. "And you love it."

Her only response is a muffled moan of agreement. You line yourself up, pushing forward slowly, sinking into her welcoming heat inch by delicious inch.

"Fuck," Cairo whimpers, her hands fisting in the sheets. "You feel so good."

You set a steady rhythm, losing yourself in the slide of your bodies, in the slick sounds of your lovemaking. Cairo meets you thrust for thrust, her nails raking down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The strap-on rubs deliciously against your own sensitive parts with each deep thrust, the pressure building steadily. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to let go, determined to make this last for Cairo.

"That's it, baby," you growl, angling your hips just so. "Take it all."

Cairo keens, her head thrashing on the pillow, her body trembling beneath you. "Harder," she demands, her voice ragged. "Fuck me harder, Y/N."

You oblige, snapping your hips forward, driving into her with renewed vigor. The bed creaks in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall, but you're too lost in the heat of the moment to care.

Cairo's moans grow louder, more desperate, her body clenching around the strap-on like a vice. "I'm close," she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. "So fucking close."

You can feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. "Me too," you pant, your rhythm starting to falter. "Come with me, Cairo. Now."

With a final, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, grinding against her sweet spot. Cairo screams, her body convulsing around you as she comes apart, milking the strap-on for all it's worth.

The sensation is too much, pushing you over the edge with her. You throw your head back, a guttural moan tearing from your throat as you find your own release, your hips jerking erratically.

For a long moment, you both remain locked in each other's embrace, panting harshly, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. Slowly, you come back to yourself, the post-orgasmic haze receding.

You pull out carefully, collapsing beside Cairo on the bed. She immediately curls into your side, her head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

"That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice soft and sated.

You reach down, fumbling with the straps of the harness with clumsy fingers. It takes a few tries, but finally, you manage to unbuckle the straps, the harness falling away from your hips.

Cairo lifts her head, watching you with a lazy smile. "Need some help there, sexy?" she teases, reaching out to trail a finger along your hip.

You shoot her a half-hearted glare, even as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "I've got it," you mutter, tossing the harness aside carelessly.

Cairo just chuckles, settling back down on the pillows. "Alright, alright, I won't mock your struggle-bus hands."

You roll your eyes, flopping down beside her with a huff. "You're a brat."

"And you love it," she retorts, nuzzling into your neck.

You can't argue with that, your arms coming up to wrap around her waist, holding her close. For a moment, you just bask in the afterglow, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the soft whisper of her breath against your skin.

#cairo sweet #jenna ortega #cairo sweet x reader #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #cairo sweet x y/n #cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x you #jenna ortega x you #cairo sweet fanfiction #cairo sweet smut #jenna ortega smut

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 5 months ago

Text

Can’t Break Tradition

cairo sweet x female reader

summary: You and Cairo are rivals in the workplace. What’s with all the tension at your holiday party?

word count: 3k

a/n: office life au. Merry Christmas!

————

“So I hear you’re still gunning for that promotion huh?”

You shrug, “Mhmm yeah” you say uninterested as your eyes dart around the lavish ballroom your company rented for the holiday party. The massive chandeliers, fancy ice sculptures, and bustling crowd do little to distract from your real focus tonight.

The rando from the IT department that you managed to find yourself in a conversation with responds. “Is that why you and Cairo have this whole thing going on?”

That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Whole thing?”

“You know what I mean,” he laughs waving his arm off like you said a joke. “Everyone knows," he says leaning in like he's about to share some juicy gossip. "I heard from Iris, who heard from Janice, who heard Winnie talking to Glenn, that apparently Cairo sabotaged your presentation last week so she could take over your clients." He finished cautiously.

Of course you knew what he meant by whole thing. Everyone in your department—Writing and Communications, knew that you and Cairo Sweet were both sworn enemies. Joining the company at the same time, in the same position, had practically set the stage for it—like fate had decided you were destined to clash.

What surprised you is that the tale of you and her had reached other departments. And considering the fact that this was the third person tonight to bring up Cairo to you, it was clear your dislike for each other hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone in the company.

As the IT guy rambled on about something, your eyes finally found what you were looking for. There she was: Cairo Sweet, standing at the top of the grand staircase. Draped in a perfectly tailored red dress that hugged her figure just right, she descended the steps with an effortless grace, completely aware to the sea of male coworkers now openly gawking at her.

You tugged at your red tie, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight against your collar, and scoffed under your breath. “Someone clearly mistook ‘holiday party’ for the Met Gala. Totally unprofessional,” you muttered, the sneer in your voice unmistakable.

“I think she looks incredible,” the IT guy said, glancing at you with a grin.

You shot him a sharp side-eye and rolled your eyes for good measure before scanning the room again. Cairo had disappeared from view, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation as you tried to pinpoint where she’d gone.

Knowing where she was meant knowing where to avoid.

“Seriously, though,” the IT guy continued, oblivious to your distraction. “You two really know how to keep everyone entertained. I mean, the banter, the glares—it’s like you’re living in a rom-com, only without the romance part.”

You snorted, finally tearing your gaze away from the crowd. “You sure are right about that. There’s nothing romantic about Sweet. She’s all ego and sabotage wrapped in a designer dress.”

The IT guy just shrugged, clearly amused. “If you say so. Anyways, good luck with that promotion. Looks like she’s already working the room.” He pointed toward the bar, where Cairo was now standing, chatting animatedly with a group of senior managers.

You clenched your jaw, the sight of her effortless charm setting you on edge. Of course, she was already playing the game. Cairo Sweet didn’t just show up—she made sure everyone noticed her.

Determined not to let her get under your skin, you grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and made your way across the room. You weren’t about to let her win tonight.

But just as you reached the edge of the bar, Cairo turned, her sharp gaze locking onto yours like a heat-seeking missile. Her lips curved into a smirk, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

“Y/n,” she greeted smoothly, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoying the party?”

“Trying to,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Though it’s hard to relax when certain people keep making everything about them.”

Her smirk widened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, you know.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, your colleague and best friend Glenn’s voice cut in.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, you two,” he said, stepping between you with a grin. “Can’t you at least pretend to get along for one night? It’s the holidays.”

“Tell that to her,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Cairo.

“Please,” Cairo scoffed, crossing her arms. “If anyone needs a lesson in playing nice, it’s you.”

Glenn laughed, clearly unfazed by the tension. “Classic you two. Anyway, don’t let me interrupt. Just thought I’d enjoy the show while it lasts.”

As Glenn stepped away, Cairo leaned in again, her eyes glinting with something you’ve seen countless times. “Careful, Y/n. Keep glaring at me like that, and people might think you actually care.”

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, your champagne untouched and your pulse racing.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure spend a lot of time looking for her,” Glenn says turning around and rejoining the conversation, holding a drink in one hand and his trademark grin on full display.

You groaned internally. Of course, Glenn had to watch that interaction. Your best friend always had a knack for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “Don’t start,” you muttered, shooting him a warning look.

“What? I’m just saying,” He teased, leaning casually against the nearby bar. “First thing you do when you walk into a room is look for her. It’s like clockwork.”

“I wasn’t looking for her,” you lied, adjusting your tie again.

Glenn barked out a laugh. “Right. And I’m next in line for CEO. Come on, admit it—you love the drama. You and Cairo going at it is like some kind of soap opera for this office. My sister says even her team takes bets on who’s gonna snap first.”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach twisted at the mention of Winnie. Of course, Glenn’s sister would be involved— Cairo and Winnie were practically inseparable. And if Winnie was anything—she was observant. If Winnie was running her mouth about you and Cairo, then there was no telling what kind of nonsense the office was spinning.

“Winnie doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” you said firmly.

Glenn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure she doesn’t. Look, I get it. Cairo can be... intense. But you’ve gotta admit, she keeps you on your toes. Maybe that’s why you’re so obsessed with hating her.”

“Obsessed?” you repeated, incredulous. “I’m not obsessed. She’s just—”

“Here we go,” Glenn interrupted with a grin, gesturing for you to continue. “Let me guess. She’s arrogant, competitive, impossible to work with—did I miss anything?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. “She’s all of that and more. Trust me, if I could avoid her, I would.”

Your friend smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Uh-huh. Sure. But you’d be bored out of your mind without her around. Admit it, she makes things interesting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat as your eyes found Cairo again. She was across the room now, laughing at something Winnie said, her smile lighting up the space around her.

Glenn followed your gaze and let out a low whistle. “Man, if that’s what hatred looks like, then sign me up.”

You tore your eyes away, glaring at him. “Shut up, G.”

He just laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, buddy. But if there's something else going on,” he winks, "Then feel free to confide in me."

You shook your head, as he walked off looking to network with someone that could probably make him the next CEO. You gave up on the champagne and flag the bartender down to make you something stronger.

The bartender, a sharp-eyed woman with a no-nonsense air, approached with a towel slung over her shoulder. She tilted her head, her lips quirking in an amused smile as she set a tumbler in front of you. "Let me guess—bad night already?"

You sighed, resting your elbows on the bar. "You have no idea."

As she mixed your drink, she glanced at you, her brow lifting. "You’re Y/n, right?"

You froze. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

She leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. "I’ve heard the whispers. You and Sweet." Her lips pulled into a smirk. "You guys really hate each other that much, or is it just for show?"

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. "Seriously? Even the bartender knows?"

She laughed, sliding your drink across the bar. "Hey, I’ve got ears. And let me tell you, office gossip is way more entertaining than the soap operas my grandma used to watch. People are saying it’s like the ultimate rivalry. You know, ‘will they or won’t they.’"

"It’s a ‘won’t they,’" you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. "Definitely a ‘won’t they.’"

The bartender shrugged, unconvinced. "If you say so. But honestly, you two sound like you’re either gonna kill each other or..." She trailed off, her smirk widening.

"Don’t even finish that sentence," you warned, pointing at her with your glass, looking around you for prying ears.

She chuckled, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

As you took another sip, you glanced down the bar and froze. There she was—Cairo—leaning casually against the counter, her red dress shimmering under the dim lights. Beside her, some overly confident guy was clearly trying his luck, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Cairo’s smile didn’t falter, but you could tell from the way her body angled slightly away from him that she wasn’t interested.

Your grip on the glass tightened.

The bartender, noticing your shift in attention, followed your gaze. "Ah, there she is. The infamous Cairo. Gotta admit, she’s got style."

The bartender then noticed her pushy company. "Looks like someone’s got her hands full."

You rolled your eyes, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. "Yeah, well, she can handle it."

"Sure she can," the bartender said with a smirk. "But you’re still watching, aren’t you?"

You ignored the comment, setting the empty glass on the counter. "Thanks for the drink," you said curtly before standing and adjusting your tie.

Your focus already zeroed in on the scene unfolding at the other end of the bar. You knew more than anything that Cairo could handle this situation herself, but your legs had a mind of their own.

By the time you reached her, just as you’d predicted, the guy was already retreating, his shoulders slumping with dejection. Cairo’s sharp gaze followed him for a second before shifting to you. Her expression softened, ever so slightly, but her voice remained crisp.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Y/l/n?" she asked, tilting her head.

You slid into the space the guy had just vacated, leaning casually against the bar. "Just doing my civic duty. Looked like you were stuck with a walking HR complaint."

Cairo smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "And here I thought you were avoiding me tonight. How uncharacteristic of you."

You shrugged, signaling to the bartender for another drink. "Not everything’s about you, Sweet. I was thirsty."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint hidden beneath her usual sharpness. "Right. And yet, here you are, conveniently stationed right next to me."

The bartender slides you another drink.

You met her gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. "If you want to believe the universe keeps throwing us together, who am I to argue?"

"Well," she said, her voice quieter but no less cutting, "the universe must have a cruel sense of humor."

You smirked, setting your glass down. "Or it just knows how much fun we have hating each other."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have no idea."

Before you could respond, someone from your team called her name from across the room. Cairo straightened, her professional mask sliding back into place with ease.

"Looks like I’m needed," she said, her tone light but her eyes lingering on yours for just a moment too long.

"Don’t let me keep you," you said, stepping aside.

As she walked away, you couldn’t help but watch her go, the familiar mix of emotions churning in your chest.

————

The evening progressed with a blur of polite conversation and forced laughs as you navigated the crowd. Glenn eventually found you again, dragging you toward a smaller room just off the main ballroom where some of the younger employees, including Winnie, had apparently decided to congregate.

“Come on, Y/n, this is where the real party’s happening,” Glenn said, grinning as he pulled you along.

The room was cozier than the grand ballroom, with dim lighting and a more relaxed vibe. People were sprawled on couches, perched on armrests, or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting over drinks. The hum of conversation was punctuated by bursts of laughter as someone commanded the group with an animated story.

You scanned the room, and your stomach flipped when you spotted Cairo sitting comfortably on the armrest of a couch, a drink in hand and a look of mild amusement on her face as she listened to whatever Winnie was telling. Great. Of course she was here.

“Y/n!” Winnie called out, spotting you and immediately waving you over. “Come join us. We were just talking about your legendary showdown with Cairo last month.”

You rolled your eyes as Glenn shoved you toward the group. “Can we not?” you muttered, but it was too late.

Cairo’s gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable, but you swore there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The evening wore on, and the atmosphere grew increasingly relaxed as more drinks flowed. Someone turned on music, and a few people started dancing in the center of the room. Glenn, ever the life of the party, was in his element, cracking jokes and keeping everyone entertained.

Then, out of nowhere, someone shouted, “Mistletoe!”

The room fell silent as heads turned, eyes scanning for the culprits. You froze, your gaze darting up instinctively. There it was—dangling innocently from the ceiling above you. And of course when you turn to see who had occupied the space behind you—Cairo.

“Oh, this is too good,” Glenn said, his grin so wide it practically split his face. “Y/n and Cairo, under the mistletoe? This is golden.”

Winnie’s laughter rang out, and someone else whistled. “Rules are rules, you two!”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as the room erupted into cheers and chants of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Cairo, ever composed, arched an eyebrow at you, her lips quirking into a half-smile that only you could see.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as every eye in the room bore into you. There was no escape, no snarky comment that could deflect this situation.

“Oh, come on, guys. I’m not trying to deal with HR on Monday,” you said with a dry laugh, taking a small step back from Cairo and the mistletoe.

From the crowd, Glenn’s voice rang out, loud and clear, “Boo! Loser! HR’s not invited to this party!”

The room erupted into laughter and cheers, with someone else shouting, “Yeah, live a little, Y/n!”

Before you could respond, Cairo rolls her eyes, and sighs dramatically like what she's about to do will take the life out of her. "I guess we can't break tradition."

And then her lips brushed yours in a soft, little more than corporate friendly, fleeting, yet enough to send a spark through your entire body kiss. The room erupted into cheers and whoops as she pulled back, her expression unreadable.

You immediately wiped your lips as Cairo turned on her heel and walked away into the crowd, leaving you standing there, dazed and entirely unsure of what the hell just happened.

You blinked, still rooted to the spot, before your feet carried you instinctively toward Glenn and Winnie. Glenn’s face lit up the moment he saw you, his mouth opening to unleash whatever snarky comment was brewing.

“Don’t,” you snapped sharply, holding up a hand, your voice laced with a warning edge that made him laugh even harder.

Winnie raised her glass in mock salute, biting back a grin. “What? No post-mistletoe debrief?”

You groaned, rubbing a hand down your face. “I hate both of you.”

Glenn smirked. “Sure you do, buddy. Sure you do.”

————

Moments later in a dimly lit private room in the venue, the faint thrum of the music from the party outside is barely audible through the thick walls. Cairo’s hands are tangled in your hair, her touch possessive and demanding as her back presses against the edge of a table. Her lips are on yours, urgent and searing, leaving no space for hesitation.

You gasp softly, breaking away just long enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Cairo’s dark eyes lock onto yours, her flushed face illuminated by the faint glow of fairy lights strung along the walls.

“You didn’t have to look that disgusted when you kissed me,” she breathes, her voice low but edged with challenge.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you tease, lips quirking into a smirk. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Her expression hardens playfully, and before you can react, she grabs your red tie—the one you deliberately wore to match with her dress. She tightens it just enough around her fist to make you stumble closer—and pulls you into a kiss that obliterates any thought of teasing. It’s heated, raw, and dripping with hours of pent-up tension. Her nails rake lightly against the back of your neck as her other hand fists the fabric of your shirt, holding you close like she can’t bear to let go.

Your hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silky fabric of her dress as you kiss her back with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of your secret into the moment. The world outside could have been burning to the ground, and neither of you would have noticed.

When you finally pull away for air, your forehead rests against hers, both of you panting. A grin spreads across your face as you take in her disheveled hair and swollen lips. “Think anyone suspects us after that kiss under the mistletoe?”

Cairo shakes her head slightly, her lips barely an inch from yours. “Not a chance,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “They’re too busy thinking we hate each other.”

“Good,” you reply, your grin turning sly as you capture her lips again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less passionate, a promise that this secret, this fire between you, is yours alone.

For now.

Taglist: @cobaltperun @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88 @101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x female reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x y/n #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #cairo sweet x y/n #cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x you #cairo sweet imagine #miller’s girl #wlw #cairo x you

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woewriting · 1 year ago

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amae (ii)

pairing: cairo sweet | reader summary: cairo's actions continue to frustrate you, but when unspoken words are finally said out loud, you understand her. word count: 4619 warnings: mdni, +18 only! jumpscare: mr. miller, sexual tension, a bit of angst, jealous cairo, small reader x winnie situation, scisorring, face riding (reader receiving), language, smut in general, brief softness.

part 1 . part 2 | masterlist

Apparently, college parties were a bit different in Tennessee, which was a sweet surprise to you. Different from the ones you were used to back in your hometown, this one was hosted at the English professor’s house — you noticed as soon as you opened the front door, a picture of him with his wife near the entrance.

You raised your eyebrows when you bumped into your professor, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I didn't see you there, I'm sorry.” He touched your arm in a weak squeeze before placing his hand back in his pocket, the other holding a red mug.

“It's okay, Mr. Miller. I didn't know you would be here.”

“I always host this reading before the actual party. My wife and I will go on a weekend trip and Winnie asked if she could host a ‘small’ gathering; apparently, the house they usually go to for the party is unavailable. Beatrice left after noon. Smart decision of hers.” You laughed at his expression, knowing damn well it would be anything but small. You could tell by the faces around you that you never saw in any of his classes or readings before. They didn’t exactly fit the ‘tortured-poet’ profile “Are you joining us for the reading? It started a few minutes ago, I just came to the kitchen to get some more coffee. Cairo should start at any moment.”

At the mention of her name, you felt a bitter taste in your mouth and you took a deep breath.

A week had passed since the girl sat on your lap, kissed you, allowed you to touch her and then started acting as if nothing happened. During classes, you could feel her eyes on you, that uncomfortable feeling of being watched taking over your senses every five minutes, as if she was waiting for you to turn around and smile at her.

But you didn't. You avoided her like the plague. As soon as the class ended, you gathered your materials, plugged in your earphones and left without looking back.

Winnie complained a few times about your sudden avoidance of her and Cairo, asking non stop what had happened, if she did something that got you upset, but all you could do was apologize and say you had a lot on your mind with finals and assignments with a short deadline. It wasn't a full lie, but the girl could see the change in your expressions.

And now, all that hard work to avoid the brunette would go downhill as she was waiting a couple steps away from where you were standing, waiting for Mr. Miller's returnal so she could read what she had prepared for tonight.

“Cairo and I aren't in the best place right now, if I'm being honest. I didn't know she would be here.”

“Oh…” The man scratched his chin. “I didn't know that, I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate in asking. I know Cairo, she can be… stubborn.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks at the statement. During your first days in Mr. Miller's class, Winnie kept you updated on the strange relationship Cairo had with your now professor; on how starstruck the young writer was at being close to someone she admires and looks up to. It was uncomfortable seeing how close he would be to her, making your stomach twist inside you with anxiety, yet there was nothing you could do as she seemed happy to be noticed by him.

When you asked about this whole situation to Cairo, trying to disguise your reactions, she told you: “he is someone I admire and I know he can help me with my writing. I look forward to our meetings as I have his attention all to myself.” You gave her a small smile that nearly made your eyes shake. Just like now.

You blinked a few times, pursing your lips together.

“We'll be fine.” You decided to answer, not truly believing in that. “But I appreciate the offering, Mr. Miller.”

“Anytime.”

“Does your wife know that soon her house will have drunk people stumbling against the walls?” You asked in an attempt to ease the sudden awkward silence.

“God, no.” He laughed.

“I’ll try to keep the glass decoration in one piece.” Once again his hand rested on your arm for a few seconds in a silent ‘thank you’ before he checked the silvery watch on his wrist.

“The reading is almost finished. Walk with me?”

Unable to deny the request, you simply nodded, walking in front of the professor as he motioned to you.

The second you arrived in the living room, your eyes landed on her like a magnet. It might be because she was standing in the improvised stage by the window, or because of the deadly stare she locked on you when you walked in with Mr. Miller by your side. If she had a laser in her eyes, you'd be a sieve by now with thick blood covering the dark wood floor.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to the corner. Winnie smiled at you, saying she saved you a seat by her side on the couch even though she wasn’t sure you'd be here for the reading. The childish side of yours screamed for you to answer her with: “if I knew she would be here, I wouldn't have come” in a very annoying voice, but you only smiled at her, squirming in the leather couch.

The room was in complete silence, waiting for the girl staring at you to start her reading. Cairo took a deep breath, licking her dry lips to start. The sun was starting to descend on the window behind her, transforming that whole scene into a beautiful portrait that your mind would keep for as long as you could remember.

“And as I witness her most intense intentions through dark eyes, with hands marking mine own peachy skin in a bruising grasp, I fall asunder above her. My body; weak, begging, pleading for her merciless touch as I watch her slam the door shut. The smell of something burning fills the walls, yet it's not the smoke that leaves my lungs, it's the fog that fills as I turn, fated to fall and fated to fail, and wish for her gaze, my resolute resistance scrawled in sand, tumbling through her open hands just as through the neck of our hourglass.

From the high, the grayness takes form; thick, lascivious, dangerous. The unsureness of faith buries words that one day I aim to say. Miserable thing, watching with tearful eyes as she leaves. The tree branches knock on the window, witnessing the whole pitiful scene engraved in my memory.”

You paid attention to every word she enunciated with a strong, determined voice, it felt like she was trying to open your skull and carve each one onto your brain matter. You felt dizzy at them, heart beating fast against your ribcage. While everyone applauded the young writer, you clenched your jaw, swallowing nothing that would help your sudden dry mouth.

Cairo smiled, the type of smile that would make anyone drop to their knees and pray for her. Winnie was excited by your side, the subtle scent of alcohol you smelled on her made you laugh. The girl was loud and, at the moment, when all eyes turned to you two, you regretted sitting by her side. From across the living room, your eyes met hers again, now sat beside Mr. Miller while he whispered something in her ear to which she smiled wide, turning to him.

As another student took over the stage, you couldn’t absorb any words that were said, disappearing into thin air. All you could focus on was Cairo’s hand occasionally touching his forearm when she leaned to say something in his ear, earning a quiet laugh from the professor, the urge to stand up and drag her away from that bothering situation, instead you walked to the kitchen in hopes to find a single drop of alcohol that would make that tension vanish from your body. Soon, Winnie joined you.

“This is so boring, my God!” She whined, sitting up on the kitchen island while eyeing you up and down in the bright light for the first time. “You’re overdressed as usual, I see.”

“Your underwear as usual, I see.” Winnie spread her legs as long as the short leather skirt allowed her to, giving you the high quality view of a lacy underwear as she takes the vodka bottle from your hands, taking a long sip, feeling the burning spreading over her chest with a satisfied hum.

“You like?”

You let out a huff, looking away. “You wish.”

“I will kiss you one day.” She said more to herself than to you, like a secret promise that escaped due to the lack of inhibition — not that she had any, even in her sober moments that word didn't exist in her vocabulary.

Shaking your head at her statement, you pulled the sleeves of your sweater, taking the half empty bottle from her hands and getting ready to prepare yourself a drink that didn’t taste like a slow death.

The reading kept on until the sun was completely set in the horizon, turning the living room into a dark scenario, lit only by the yellowish color from the table lamps. Slowly, the students started leaving while others arrived, walking in the house with bottles and bottles of alcohol, storing them in the kitchen’s fridge.

While you paid attention to the cup in your hands, wondering how long it would take for you to detach from the reality that was drowning you, you felt a bump on your shoulder.

“What is it?”

Winnie signalized with her head, making you look over your shoulder, witnessing Cairo and Mr. Miller talking near the stairwell that would lead to the second floor of the house.

“I think he wants to take her upstairs.”

“She can do whatever she wants, Winnie.” You mumbled, trying not to squeeze the cup in your hand when taking a sip. The bitterness making you frown. “Cairo is a big girl.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” Turning back to her, your eyebrows sewn together in confusion.

“Because she won’t stop looking at us.” You shrugged, finishing your drink in one long sip. You felt your stomach complain at the big wave of alcohol.

“She can disappear with him for all I care.”

Winnie tilted her head, still looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Oh, so I shouldn’t say they’re going upstairs and she seems pretty excited about it?”

“Yup, not a single thought about it is on my mind right now.” Grabbing the bottle again from her hands, less subtle and emptier than the first time, you poured yourself a very generous sip on your cup, drowsy smiling to Winnie when you handed over the, now completely empty, bottle.

As the minutes went by and the alcohol went in, your control over your senses were slowly losing its grip and you started to worry about Cairo against your will. Controlling the impulse to run upstairs as you weren’t drunk enough to blame on the booze, you shook your head, leaning your body against Winnie’s while the girl talked excitedly to a random boy from the football team, your mind too caught up analyzing the things the young writer said earlier to pay attention to any conversation around you.

The music wasn't loud enough as the professor still hadn't left, but you could feel every beat of it synchronized with the beat of your heart.

Your fingers found the skin of Winnie's thigh, starting to draw random lines out of boredom. Other than the girl, and Cairo, you weren't familiar with the faces that kept on surging from the front door every five minutes.

“If you keep doing that, I'll drag you upstairs too.” Black whispered, making you tilt your chin up at her.

“Maybe you should.”

Winnie was beautiful, you couldn't deny that. From the hazel eyes to the plump lips that looked so attractive at that moment, getting closer and closer, making a tingling feeling crawl over your legs like a spider. You wanted to kiss her, and you would have, if it weren't for the footsteps coming from behind you, making Black pull away. You knew it was Mr. Miller, the strong perfume making your nose burn.

The older man stood in front of you, looking at Winnie who was still seated on the marble island, an innocent glow in her eyes that almost made you laugh, but a hand wrapping around your wrist pulled you away from that situation. All you could hear as you were being dragged to the — now empty — living room was Mr. Miller asking the girl to behave and to not destroy his house or he would fail her. You laughed to yourself.

“Did you seriously allowed Mr. Miller to take me upstairs?” Cairo asked, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater like a spoiled kid when you refused to look at her, waving at the professor when he turned around to leave, leaving the house and a bunch of teenagers and new-adults unsupervised.

Your eyes were dark and your body a little soft when you stared at her, yet you still were in control of your actions, the drinks just diminished the worry of doing or saying something wrong. At that point, you didn't care about what left your mouth. You wanted to curse the young writer.

“He's our English teacher, not a serial killer.”

“He could've forced me to do something!”

“You seemed pretty excited to go with him. Now, excuse me, I'm gonna find Winnie so we can finish what we were about to start.” Before you could walk past a furious Cairo, her hand, once again, glued to your chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You blew me off, Cairo. What did you expect? That I would run after you and beg for your attention?"

"Yes!"

You let out a breathy sigh, the corner of your lips up in disbelief. "You really are so self-centered, you don't care about anyone other than yourself. You're a fucking bitch!"

"And you're dying to fuck this self-centered bitch."

"Not after Mr. Miller, thank you." You scolf sarcastically.

"He didn't fuck me, you idiot.” The hand in your chest grabbed the fabric of your sweater, pulling you down to her so she could whisper with lips nearly pressing on yours. “He wasn't you."

Her eyes softened as well as the fist that held you in place, moving it to the back of your head.

Staring at her eyes, you didn't know what to find. You didn't even know what you wanted to find. Maybe a sincere answer.

“Cairo…” You started, sighing against her lips, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather cohesive words to form a sentence. You blamed the alcohol for this pathetic lack of senses. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to care. I want you to show how desperate you are to have me, how you crave my body in your hands.” You swallowed hard, carefully listening to the whispery confession, the soft motion of her lips grabbing your attention. Once again, you wanted to steal that small freckle from her upper lip. “I want you to burn my skin with your fingers and bruise me with your mouth. And if you really wanted me to be yours, you would've turned around, thrown me on that fucking bed and taken me.” The strong pronunciation of that last part got your body heating up, the urge in your chest spreading in your veins and mixing with the existing alcohol.

“You’re not very clear in your intentions, Cairo. You’re good at saying everything and nothing.”

Taking your hand, the writer pressed it against her chest. She took a deep breath, goosebumps covering her body at the warm feeling of having your hand touching her again.

“Can you feel that?” You nodded, letting your forehead gently fall against hers. “Do you understand now or do I have to draw it for you?”

Suddenly, your brain became fogged and you were getting lost again. You saw dark brown eyes. You felt a strong bumping in your hands. You smelled woody cologne and cinnamon. Yet, you didn't know where to go.

“I want you to draw for me.” You said, desperately trying to find the right path.

Cairo nodded her head, pulling you with her once again, but this time, with her fingers intertwined on yours and more gentle than the first time. You trailed behind, careful to not trip on the stairs as she led the both of you somewhere you didn't know, the lights were off on the second floor, making impossible for you to see anything that wasn't right in front of you.

You heard the sound of a door opening and being locked once closed. The moonlight was invading the room through the open curtains. Blinking a few times to adjust the blurred vision, you felt your body being pushed against a soft mattress and a lightweight on top of you.

“I'll draw it for you.” Cairo whispered, pressing her lips on yours in a chaste kiss. “Do you have any idea of what you do to me?” She asked while kissing down your neck, your hands squeezing her waist over the cotton fabric. You shook your head, licking your dry lips, still tasting her lip balm on them. “Here, let me show it to you.”

Cairo sat on your hips, guiding one of your hands under the white dress, in between her legs. Flashbacks returned and your heart stopped beating for a second while she moved herself on your fingertips, eyes locked on yours, a smirk surging in the darkness. When you moaned at the warmth that embraced your fingers, she did the same.

You breathed out the air that was stuck in your lungs, affected by the scene that unwrapped in front of your eyes. It was a erotic, alluring view, slowly burning itself into your brain like a polaroid. A flash of smile drew on Cairo’s face, satisfied with the reactions coming from you, with the way your eyes stared at her with a dark, flame of desire, lips parted as you struggled to breath.

The cold touch of her rings sent shivers down your spine when her hand wrapped itself around your neck, pressing the sides of it, feeling the pulsating vein under her fingertips. A sob escaping her throat when your fingers easily slipped into her, burying themselves in the warmth of her velvety walls, clenching around you, while the heel of your hand pressed against her swollen clit.

A vile glow shining in the dark brown eyes when she leaned down, squeezing the sides of neck harder as she felt the knot inside her getting tighter. That feeling of desperation growing impatient in her chest.

“Have I lost myself, or have I gained you?” You asked in a soft voice, following a steady pace with your fingers as she moved herself on you. Even when you were the one carrying her in your hands, it was hers that controlled the air in your lungs.

You’ve always seen Cairo as a spoiled girl that grew up in a big house, having all her wishes wrapped in a pretty paper waiting for her on her bed when she came home from school. But now, as she falls apart in your hands, saying your name like a sacred mantra, you saw beyond words and actions, you saw the urge to be held and cared for, like a little girl that didn’t get a hug after they wake up.

Staring at her in awe, you felt tears coming to the brim of your eyes, the squeeze cutting every small space for the air to bring you life, but you didn't care, not when you saw the vision of what heaven must be like; the curly brown hair falling over her right shoulder, the soft strands tickling the skin of your neck as she fell over you, hiding on your chest.

Coming down from her high, Cairo carried a sly smile when she looked at you. Her kiss tasted like ashes, bitter, against your tongue.

“You taste sweet.” The writer whispered in between kisses, sucking your tongue into her mouth over and over, sighing in pleasure at the fingers that slid off of her. Carefully bringing your coated fingers to your mouth, you wrapped your lips around them, being watched with full blown eyes every movement of yours.

“And you taste divine.”

It only took a millisecond for her lips to meet yours once again, the softness of the act long forgotten as she bit your lower lip, tasting the iron in her tongue with a sadistic smile at the painful cry you let out, squeezing her ass in your hands; burning the peachy skin with your fingertips. The words of her writing echoing inside your brain, spreading it on your blood flow.

“I like this sweater, you look charming in dark blue.” Her hand found the collar of it, tip of her fingers tracing the skin underneath, making the fabric itch around your neck. “Take it off.” Despite the sweet tone in her voice, you obeyed the breathy order, pulling it over your head and tossing it somewhere in the unknown bedroom. Cairo stood up, removing the brown leather boots and her own dress, the white lacey set that remained on her body making you gulp.

The writer stood in between your legs, her hands on your hair while yours held her by her waist, goosebumps all over her body as you kissed the toned abs, softly biting the skin.

Cairo looked down at you with curious eyes, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, admiring the small galaxies your mouth left all over her like she was an empty canvas that needed some color. And you were doing the perfect job, painting an universe on her skin as you knelt down, bringing her underwear along with it. The writer kicked the useless cloth, putting her leg over your shoulder and hooking it behind your head; you salivated at the view of her cunt glistening in front of you.

One of her hands caressed your face with gentleness, her thumb sliding over your bottom lip before she made you open your mouth, pushing her hips closer to your lips. She was dripping on your tongue, the taste of her filling your mouth as you hummed in pleasure, licking what escaped your agape mouth.

The big brown eyes stared at you in flames, burning your skin into a bright scarlet crimson. You nudge your nose closer to her, inhaling the intoxicating smell; everything about Cairo was sweet, from her last name, to her voice that could recite the most beautiful poem by core, to the honey flavor slick that dripped from her aching hole, running down her thighs at the view of you ready to worship her, and when your tongue slid in between her folds in a long, slow lick, her head fell back and a shiver went down her spine.

Pressing your tongue flat over her hardened nub, you closed your eyes, the grip on your hair pulling you impossibly closer. You circled her clit with the tip of your tongue, drawing random patterns with precision on the sensitive nerve, earning yourself a praise that came with a smile when she looked down on you.

Moving your hands up her thigh, you squeezed the muscle, making her ride on your tongue, aggressively and delicious. The sounds escaping your open mouth reverberated all over her sensitive flesh.

Cairo was an exhibitionist, she adored having eyes on her all the time, paying attention to every admirable detail that was attached to her. And having you on your knees praying against her cunt was filthy, enticing and agonizing, that heat wave scorching her insides and melting on your tongue, and you made sure to swallow it with a gratifying smile.

You could suffocate in between her legs and it would be a heavenly death.

Kissing your way up, you brought her body closer, circling her waist as she hooked both legs around you, sliding her tongue over your shiny lips before you dropped her on the bed. Cairo was about to complain at the lack of care, but she soon shut her mouth, watching you kick your converse to the side and unbuttoning the tailored pants that hugged your curves in the right places.

Taking a deep breath, you slid the fabric down, taking your underwear with you, the shyness taking over you once you were free from any cloth covering your body; all this being watched with lustful eyes.

The young writer’s eyes pierced your soul, engraving in her brain every mole you had around your shoulders, silently choosing her favorite one to add to the list of small details of your body she loved and kept fresh in her memories, always making sure to add ‘em in her writing. It amazes her how you never noticed the importance you had in her work, you were her muse.

“Come to me.”

She didn’t have to ask twice, at the sound of her sweet voice your feet led your body closer to hers, moving according to her words, your knees sinking in the mattress only to find balance on top of her. Her hands on your back brought you closer and you fell, once again, into that piquant feeling where it felt like you were about to drown, but her lips on your neck got you breathing in fervor.

It was easy for the brunette to take control, reversing positions and sitting atop your abdomen, gripping one of your legs and casting one of hers in between them, fitting herself against you.

“Fuck, Cairo.” You mewl, closing your eyes at the aggressive way she pressed herself down, easily gliding on you. One of your hands found her thigh, squeezing the flesh until it blemished under your fingertips, moving your hips according to the pace she set. It was cruel, desperate, the dark brown eyes fluttering closed.

The bed slammed against the wall, the old wood-frame fated to snap at any moment; you didn’t care, it was impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t the girl in between your legs, rubbing herself on you with an inner desire to split you in half. You dazed at her, the angelical aura surrounding her like an armor, preventing the sins from escaping the walls of the still unknown bedroom like the squelching noises were, the lewd sounds from the both of you echoing around the hallway for anyone that dared to come closer and press their ears against the locked door.

When the impetuous climax hit you like a jolt of electricity spreading in your veins, Cairo fell on top of you, exhaustion taking over her senses as well as the tired muscles complaining from all the spasms.

The writer looked at you, tearful eyes as you soothed her bare back with an equally pleasured expression. Your bodies were weak, relying on each other at such a delicate and overwhelming moment, marked in black and blue by your hands and mouth, a greedy memory that will last. And if it ever vanishes, like the galaxies made out of bruises, all you needed to do is knock on her window.

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dollarbils · 7 months ago

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i’ll trade you | c.sweet

cairo sweet x fem!reader

context. you ask a pretty girl for a cigarette, she asks for something in return.

warnings. smoking, tobacco usage, flirting.

masterlist

you debated going up to her, tapping her on the shoulder to ask for a cigarette. that was before she turned around, a cloud of smoke escaping her slightly reddened lips. she was fucking gorgeous. and it rendered her extremely intimidating. the craving however, wasn’t even slightly bearable when the familiar scent drifted to where you were standing.

“i genuinely hate to ask, but could i get a cigarette?” your heart was beating impossibly fast, as you planted your feet in front of the brunette. her eyebrows raised slightly before she scanned your body, and returned to stare you in the eyes.

“i’ll trade you.” she said simply, before bringing the cigarette back up to her lips. she didn’t bother elaborating, she wanted you to ask.

“what do you want?” you were hesitant in asking the question, not quite sure which way it would go.

“your number.” her lips pulled up to the side as she took another hit from her cigarette, the cool winter air accentuating the amount of smoke she exhaled.

“my phone number?” you were slightly taken aback. not only was she interested in girls, she was interested in you.

“no, i want your social security number in exchange for a cigarette.” she replied sarcastically, choked laughter as she spoke.

“sorry it just wasn’t expected, i thought you’d just say no and tell me to fuck off.” her smile widened as she reached for her bag, presumably to pull out her pack of cigarettes.

“i’m sorry, did you want me to?” she teased, now holding the pack in her hands as your eyes drifted towards it.

“no? of course not.” she raised an eyebrow as you made no move to give her your number.

“well? what’s it gonna be?” her finger tapped the pack in her hand as she took the last drag of her own cigarette before putting it out.

“wait you’re serious?” she chuckled at the question.

“dead serious. i saw you looking at me from your spot underneath the tree, so what are you waiting for?” she’d clocked you before you’d even come over.

“yeah i’ll put it into your phone.” you put your palm out in front of her as she placed her unlocked phone in your hand.

“great.” she opened her pack and pulled out a cigarette before closing it and returning it to her bag.

“thanks a ton.” she bit her lip before handing it to you. then she watched you walk away in search for your lighter before you stopped and realised you’d have to back and ask her for one.

“fuck i’m sorry, could i borrow a lighter?” she grinned before shuffling her hands inside her jacket pocket before they went still and she was grasping her lighted.

“i’ll trade you.” she repeated.

“this time it’s my social security number you want?” you joked and she laughed softly.

“guarantee that you’ll go out with me.” there was a hint of arrogance in her voice that you failed to miss, but nevertheless you found yourself agreeing.

“okay, i’ll go out with you..”

“cairo.” she finished for you.

“cairo, i’ll go out with you cairo.” you cupped your hands around the cigarette as she lit it for you.

“perfect, i’ll look forward to it.” she shoved the lighter in her pocket and walked away.

#jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #cairo #cairo sweet #millers girl #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet x y/n #cairo sweet x female reader #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna x reader #jenna x fem reader #jenna x y/n

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spiderb00bs · 3 months ago

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- YOU'RE MINE #2

Cairo Sweet x (g!p) reader

“Cairo had to learn that you weren't just her puppy”

Genre – smut +18 Warnings – daddy kink, A bit of degradation

(request) part 1 | part 2

Now playing – Shameless, by The Weeknd

"you want me to fix you but it's never enough"

You knew from the start that it was all too good to be true. The calm during the weeks, the quiet, almost domestic atmosphere that you and Cairo had built up was like a farce, like a smokescreen, distracting you from the elephant in the room.

Things were going well between you and Cairo. Since the fateful day when you finally got together, you haven't been apart. You'd go on little dates together, share deeper thoughts about your individual futures - and sometimes even a future together - but you'd never put a label on it, you wanted to take things slowly, no matter how much you were in love with the Sweet girl.

And then today was the day. Apparently, today was the day chosen for all those hidden cards to be put on the table, displayed so that the two of you could see what you'd been avoiding all along. To say that you were surprised when the deputy from the small town called you was an understatement, but nothing could have surprised you more when he mentioned Cairo's name. Then, as if by magic, you were in your car, driving to the police station like a maniac, fortunately, Robin was by your side, which reminded you to drive safely.

When you got out of the truck, your boots kicked up some dust, making Robin - who had already jumped out of the passenger seat - sneeze.

“Sorry, buddy.” You said, making the dog bark. Sighing, you put your hands on your waist, looking at the dog before finally facing whatever awaited you inside. “Come on!”

The heavy doors of the police station felt like paper in your hand, and you didn't know if the hard work was making you stronger or if your worry got the best of you. The town was small, and you got to know some of the men and women who worked there, being greeted with smiles and friendly nods, until one of the officers led you to the deputy's office.

As you opened the door, you let Robin pass between your legs, the dog quickly settling into one of the chairs in front of the deputy's desk. “Colonel Robin.” The deputy said playfully, causing you to let out a sarcastic snort.

“What happened?” you asked immediately, sitting down next to Robin.

Leaning back in his chair, the deputy took a good look at you before starting. “It happened that your girl was out picking fights around town!”

“My what?”

“Not just Miss Sweet, but Miss Carter too.” Damn!

You'd broken things off with Anne two days after having sex with Cairo, and we can't say things were very friendly. You preferred everything to be said in person, which only earned you several objects thrown at you, while the blonde screamed about what an asshole and insensitive person you were.

“Now, I understand that you're young, Yn. And it's okay to want to make multiple women happy...” You groaned, covering your ears as if you were listening to a lecture from your parents. “But you can't make it entertainment for the whole town.”

“All right, Sir! I'm sorry, I don't know what came over Cairo to make a scene. But it won't happen again.” You explained, hoping that it wouldn't take much to get Cairo out from behind bars.

“Yes, I hope so.” The deputy said, laughing slightly when he saw the embarrassment in your eyes. “God, your grandmother would be desperate if she knew the situation you were in.”

Nodding your head, you tried to disguise a smile, watching as the deputy called one of the police officers to free Cairo.

“In my defense, I broke up with her, with Anne.” Your voice was low, dripping in embarrassment.

“Oh, I know. She made that clear to the whole town.” The deputy laughed, going to open the door - not before stroking Robin's fur - when he heard a knock. “You two are lucky Miss Carter won't be pressing charges.” The deputy said, emphasizing the word “complaint” as he looked at Cairo, who just rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Come on, Yn.” That was the first thing the brunette said, as if she was the boss of you. As if what she'd done wasn't enough, she still had to act all thick.

Without saying anything, you stand up, giving the deputy a friendly nod. Your head spins with a million thoughts, all about Cairo. How she always has to be bossing you around with that tone, making you look condescending. How she never seems to take anything you say seriously, from the most serious things, like when you told her to take the morning-after pill, to the pizza you were going to order that night. Everything made it seem like Cairo was in charge, and not you.

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn't even notice Robin diverting the car's path to the short blonde in front of the police station.

“Robin, come!” It was only with these words that you woke up from your own trance, seeing Robin wagging his tail as he received a pat from the woman you used to be close to. “Yn! Do something!”

For the first time, Cairo's voice sounded irritating to your ears, and you knew you had to put an end to her shitty attitude once and for all!

“Robin, come here boy.” Seeing you crouch down, the dog ran up to you. Giving him a kiss on the head, you opened the car door, and Robin quickly snuggled into the seat.

“You know, you don't have to be afraid Cairo, it's not like I'm going to steal the dog.” Anne said, her tone of voice making you sigh, desperately wanting to avoid another mess.

“Shut up, you cunt.” It was the only response Cairo gave before heading towards the car.

“Of course, I'm the cunt. I'm the one who's hooking up with committed women out there...”

You saw the exact moment when Cairo slammed the door of your car hard, moving quickly towards the blonde woman, making you quickly grab her waist.

“SAY THAT AGAIN, BITCH, I DARE YOU!” Doing your best to calm Cairo down, you opened the car door, ushering the woman inside before closing and locking the door, and walking over to Anne.

“Listen. I don't want you anywhere near me or Cairo. Do you understand?! What we had is over, so please stay away from me!”

You really didn't want to talk to her like that, you didn't want any more trouble. But she offended Cairo, and although the Sweet girl wasn't at all right, she also offended you.

Anne didn't answer, just watching you walk furiously to the car, slam the door shut and drive off, leaving a cloud of dust on the road.

The drive home was silent. Cairo never tried to talk to you, as if you had done something wrong, as if you had put her name on the rise in the city. When you finally stopped the car in front of your house, you put your head down on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath as you opened your door, letting Robin out of the car and into your house through the doggy door.

Cairo tried to open the door, quickly becoming frustrated when she saw how her door was still locked. “Open that shit.”

Looking at her, you observed her angry features. You're not the wrong one!

“Have you gone fucking crazy? Fighting in the street?” Hearing you start to speak, Cairo rolled her eyes, not wanting to be lectured now.

“What? You're going to defend that bitch now? You should be happy that I defended my girlfriend!” You looked at Cairo as if she had two heads.

“When did we start dating?” Cairo frowned, clearly angry about how you didn't agree with her.

“AS SOON AS I SAY SO!” Her scream made your head throb, it was almost as if she was testing how far you would break. No one can be a saint, right?!

“Things don't work like that, Cairo.” You tried to say, patiently.

“Oh, no?” You watched her face contract into a sarcastic expression as she came closer and closer to you. The smile she put on her face made you want to throw yourself off the bridge. “So why do you do everything I say like a puppy? You must really be Robin's best friend.”

Cairo's mouth was millimeters from yours, and the smile she had on her face was a victorious one, as if she knew you'd give in, that you'd kiss her and forgive all the shit she'd been doing. Sighing, you grabbed the brunette's cheeks, not hard enough to hurt her, but with a firm enough grip to let her know you meant business.

“You know what? I'm sick of your attitude, Cairo.” The look on the woman's face said she wasn't convinced, she didn't think you could override her orders.

“What are you going to do about it, puppy?”

The smile on Cairo's face quickly faded as you opened the car door, got out and walked hastily to the side of the passenger seat. Opening the door quickly, you pulled Cairo out, making the girl lean over the hood of the truck. You've never been a fan of doing this in the middle of nowhere, you've never even considered the possibility. But you knew no one would be around, you and Cairo didn't exactly live in the city center. So maybe it could work, just for today.

“You like an audience, don't you?! Let's see if we're lucky.” Pulling Cairo's skirt up, you slapped her hard on the ass. The slap echoed in the trees as did Cairo's moan.

“You can't make a fool of me and think everything's fine!” Slapping the brunette's ass once more, you smiled as a wet spot began to appear on Cairo's panties. “You're a slut, aren't you? You just wanted attention all this time.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The name almost made you cum right there, but you had to keep focusing on why Cairo was in this position in the first place.

“Good. Because I was very good to you. But you had to be a little slut.” You said, stroking the woman's battered skin beneath you. “I'll fuck that attitude out of you, and you'll wish you'd been a good girl all along.”

Unbuckling your belt and unzipping your pants, you let your cock jump free. Holding Cairo's waist, you pushed her panties aside, letting your cock slip through her folds.

“You know why you're being punished, don't you babygirl?” You asked, just a gentle way of asking Cairo if she was comfortable with it all.

“Yes, daddy. I'm sorry.” The woman's voice was low, a huge contrast to the shouting she was doing a few minutes ago.

“It's okay, babygirl.” You said, before finally guiding your cock into the brunette's hole, making her moan softly. “I just want you to know that you can't just act like I'm nothing.”

A nod was all Cairo could manage as you began to thrust into her. Your cock filled her in a way she'd never experienced, she was speechless every time.

“You can't just decide that we're dating...” You continued, your thrusts firm and slow, just to get her used to your size. “If you really want this, you should have told me.”

“I'm sorry, daddy.” It was the first thing you heard from Cairo, only for her to interrupt herself with a series of loud moans as you began to thrust faster.

“I love you, Cairo.” You said.

Leaving no room for the surprise and the feeling of happiness that was growing inside the Sweet girl, you wrapped your biceps around her neck, pulling her until her back was against your front. Her small hands tried to grip your biceps, only for her to leave a trail of scratches in their wake.

“Fuck! I love you too, baby.” The brunette replied, her body trembling in your arms as you placed your free hand on her clit, starting to make rapid movements there.

Cairo's loud moans echoed through the trees, only giving you more strength to go faster and deeper inside her. Her body felt like it was about to explode, sweaty and trembling in your arms, and it wasn't long before she crumbled in your hands like dry sand, making you go right after her.

The heavy breathing of the two of you mingled, and you let her settle completely into you as you pulled out of her, making sure that you really hadn't been seen by anyone. Lowering her skirt, you kissed Cairo on the forehead, making her smile at you lazily.

“So we really are girlfriends now?”

“Whatever you want, Sweet.”

hi guys, what's up?

well, I hope this didn't turn out to be a mess. I usually don't like to do second parts to my stories coz I always think the first one is better, but you asked for it, so here I am.

stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

#gxg imagine #g!p reader #gxg smut #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #cairo sweet x reader #wlw imagine #wlw smut #spiderb00bs

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thedemoninme141 · 5 months ago

Text

The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3- Part 4--Part 5

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.��

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

Part 2

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

513 notes · View notes

yamysunmoon · 2 months ago

Note

Cairo Sweet x Fem!Reader

(I always request masc!reader, hope that's okay!)

Cairo has a habit of sitting on R’s lap when she’s working or distracted, running her fingers through R's hair and teasingly murmuring, “You’re mine, you know.” R just leans back and smiles, letting Cairo take control of the moment.

I know these are really short prompts (?), ideas, but I hope you can add something more into them, to make a complete story! Love your writing!!

-🥧

MINE

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x fem!reader

Summary: basically what anon said + reader and Cairo are in a committed relationship, reader is 1-2 years older than Cairo (she's about 22 by now), they're spending the spring break together in Cairo's mansion (they basically live together). Reader has an online meeting and Cairo is not willing to be unattended.

Words count: 3476

Warnings: smut +18, dry humping, teasing, possessive Cairo, reader calling Cairo "little ghost"

a/n: about the "i always ask for masc!reader" note, this lovely person sent the request before I posted my rules. Now yall know :)

Also first anon nickname! :) tysm for the request and your kind comment, 🥧 ig "punchline" was also requested by you so truly thanks for your incredible ideas. Hope this one reaches u

MASTERLIST

Cairo has a way to get into you. Since you first met, she's always known how to see through you, how to make you feel loved and seen.

She's very watchful; not a single detail about you has ever slipped away. That's something that made you fall instantly for her.

She always knows what you need, even before you do.

Lazy Saturdays like this one were all you needed to recharge for the next week. Just casually having lunch with Cairo in her huge, not anymore lonely mansion that she had inherited after her parents left the town for good.

After months deliberating, you had accepted her proposal of living together, following two years of relationship.

"Have a little more" she presses, her usual confident demeanor about what you need fills her tone as she serves you more food.

She isn't that good at the kitchen, but your favourite dish has become one of her main in her already concise repertoire.

"Wow, not that much. I have a meeting in two hours, I don't wanna be overcame by drowsiness afterwards."

Your lips curl up sideways as you watch her serve you carefully, listening to your request.

She glances at you narrowing her eyes, a soft pout on her lips.

"Ugh, I had forgotten your damned online meeting..."

While Cairo is enjoying her spring break, resting from college, you're a bit older than her and have already finished your studies.

That's why you have the luck to count on an stable job that allows you to work from home. Although this aspect of your job lets you spend more time with Cairo during her break, she doesn't seem to be content.

"Why do they need a meeting so badly on a Saturday?" she huffs dramatically, "The insatiable jaws of capitalism got you trapped again."

She leans back against her chair and crosses her legs, staring at you with a glint of playful haughtiness in her eye.

There's a slowness in her every move, a strategic seduction in her deliberated gestures.

She's wearing a creamy sweater combined with a denim jacket and a skirt with vertical stripes. Her legs are divine, covered by black stockings up to her upper thighs.

You shrug, mirroring her placid posture, but without crossing your legs. Instead, you spread them ever so slightly, your hands placed on your thighs.

"I just follow orders, ma'am" you shoot back, smirking.

Her gaze drifts briefly to your inviting legs and big hands before snapping up back at your eyes. One corner of her lips curls up a little, reveiling a hidden sly smile.

She exhales through her nostrils in a mocking huff, clearly enjoying the banter.

"Oh, I figured." She quips. "You've always been quite a... Docile girl, aren't you?"

She gives you a smug smile, wiggling her eyebrows. You grin, eyelids suddenly feeling heavy as your gaze drops to her body offered to you.

You wonder if your boss really needs you to attend to that meeting, because you could use yourtime for some much more appealing activities.

She can barely contain her relish at your obvious mesmerized state. She uncrosses her legs, your eyes dragging along her slender thighs, following her every move.

Her skirt is ragged up slightly, she doesn't do anything to prevent it. Instead, she scoots her hips back, sitting straight on the chair. The fabric slides up further, revealing more delicious inches of her creamy skin.

Her calves are crammed into fitted black stockings, but you can still appreciate the details of her legs- slender and delicate, you can almost feel the smooth texture brushing against your finger pads from the thousand million times you've had her all to yourself.

She leands forward, resting her forearms on her upper thighs.

"Are you seriously relinquishing to the suffocating cuffs a job that deprives you of spending your afternoon with me?"

Her voice is soft and feminine, glinting with seducement. Her eyes sparkle with naughtiness and something deeper, more subtle, something you can't quite decipher just yet.

You interwine your fingers on your lap, your body language telling her she's not going to convince you. "You're a quite dramatic, my little ghost. It's an hour-long meeting. I'm sure you'll survive."

She narrows her eyes, maintaining your sardonic eye contact as she fully smirks, not hiding anymore how much this banter is entertaining her.

She finally shrugs, "I had to try" she murmurs, finally breaking eye contact as she stands up to clean the table.

You help her and the kitchen delves into a comfortable silence. You share faint feather-light grazes, your hands gently holding her by her waist as she scrubs a plate, then letting go of her just when she was laying back against you.

She looks at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowing again, her nose scrunching, she shakes her head a little in pretended annoyance.

You squint at her, a tiny smile on your lips as you put away a dish after drying it. Her gaze remains on you, and so you finally turn around a little and plant a kiss on the top of her head.

"I'm not trying to tease you, sorry baby" you mutter, meek.

The playful glint in her eyes endures, eyelids fluttering briefly at your sweet gesture.

She would never admit it, but you always manage to melt her seemingly unfathomable cold heart.

"Oh, sure... I'm convinced you're not trying to play with me, sweetheart" she coos, suspicious.

You shake your head and roll your eyes slightly, smirking.

You truly weren't planning on tantalizing her, but her ethereal way of carrying herself always attracts you, like a helpless insect falling for the seducing flame.

You spend the next hours on the couch, she drapes her legs over your lap, keeping you warm and cozy as you massage her thighs mindlessly, both of you silent while listening to the news.

You've always enjoyed the quietness of her mansion. The distorted sound of her vintage TV, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air, the high walls and worn-emerald paper walls covering them.

Cairo is reading a book, per usual, sprawled, and her feet fidget on your lap, rubbing subtly against your pants.

Your attention drifts between the TV and her endearing behavior. You feel like a prey being seduced by a good-looking predator, who pretends being oblivious to her own alluring game.

Her toes graze your groin, the suggestive fabric of her stockings sending a pleasant shiver through your spine.

You turn your head, finding her sweet stare peeking above the spine of her book. She wiggles her eyebrows twice, and you both giggle quietly.

Your giggle turns into a soft hiss when her touch turns a little more present, her foot sliding between your thighs. You look down.

She moves her ankle in slow circles, the sole of her foot pressing against your inner thigh as her heel grinds dangerously close to your clothed center.

You squirm, scooting back. "Cairo..." you murmur in a husky warning, glancing at her.

You find her playful stare on you, head tilted calmly, book carelessly dropped on her chest.

You gazes lock, and for a significant second you seriously consider to miss that damn call.

She notices your hesitation, her breath hitches in her throat, plump parted lips showing you her perfect teeth as she pants quietly, releasing air she didn't know she was holding.

Your fingers clutch her legs, her foot still perilously close to your crotch. You inhale deeply, gathering the courage to reject her ignoring your deepest desires, when your phone makes a notification sound.

You finally break eye contact, her gaze flying to the table where your phone is buzzling.

You glance at it, it's a Google Calendar notification. The meeting is about to start.

"I gotta go, baby" you say softly as you gently push her legs away. "I'll be in the studio."

You stand up, stretching your arms and torso. She sits up and glances at your phone, its screen is still lit up.

"Oh" her eyebrows raise, "she's gonna be there."

Her tone has a hint of annoyance and something underneath, something that's poking.

"Who?" You look down. "Oh, Lizzie. Yeah, the whole team is there."

"You call her Lizzie now?"

She looks up at you, her gaze glistening with her usual mysterious aura.

You can't quite understand the meaning behind her tone; you've never conceived Cairo as a possessive partner.

"Uhm... Yeah? She's just an acquaintance from the office."

Cairo's stare remains on you, calculated. She's scans your expression, her eyebrow arching at your specific choice of words.

She gets what you mean; Elizabeth is just a colleague from work, someone meaningless in your life. Her face lets you know she trusts you.

She just happen to despise her, and is not willing to hide it.

"Hmm... Does Elizabeth know she's just an acquintance from the office?" She purrs mockingly.

You reach down patting the top of her head in a mix of playfullness and true tenderness.

"Well, I talk about you non stop, so she should know."

She pauses, sighing in contentment at your touch and reassurance.

"Then she should stop reminding you about the meeting as an excuse to text you" she retorts.

Is in that moment when you grab the phone and see Elizabeth's message.

She has left you a rather sweet message with a couple of cute emojis, reminding you of the incoming reunion.

You glance at Cairo, your gaze earnest yet soft, in firm reassurance.

"I'll be clear with her, little ghost." You promise, then leave a kiss on her forehead and leave the living room.

"No if I let her know first, love" she mutters once you're gone.

------------------------------------------------

You're in the studio already, your boss talking as the rest of the team has the camera on and microphones muted.

You're noting down very important point she makes; pencil sliding gracefully as your messy handwriting fills the page.

The warm lighting of the spring day bathes the spacious room, and you get distracted from time to time by staring at the beautiful lighting it provides you with.

Half in the meeting, Cairo steps in the office.

"Sorry, left my cigarettes here" she whispers as she approaches. The box of cigarettes is on the table beside your laptop.

You glance at her, "It's okay, I'm muted" you whisper playfully. Your boss is still talking but now you're distracted, obviously.

She smirks and her body gets in frame as she reaches for the box. You turn off your camera.

"Babe! I could've given it to you" you scold weakly, secretly enjoying the faint pressure of her thighs against your leg and her arm brushing your face.

She glances at the screen. "They are all really here, huh? Truly perplexing" she comments, casually sitting on your lap.

You lean back, holding your hands up in mock surrender. She has this habit of sitting on your lap whenever you're busy working on your computer, but she has never done it during a meeting of this sort. "What do you think you're doing?"

She shrugs indifferently. "Getting comfortable" she claims, her voice muffled as she holds a ciggarette between her lips, "now that you've turned off the camera."

You look back at the screen, your boss has stopped talking and now your co-workers are sharing their concerns, doubts and points of view.

Before you can retort, your boss adresses you. She calls you by your surname, then asks "why have you turned off your camera? Is everything okay? I was hoping on having your input as well."

Your eyes widen and you blush slightly, Cairo is admiring your flushing state with a thin smirk, lips stretched keeping the cigarette between her lips.

You turn on the mic. "Yeah, everthing's fine... It just turned off randomly. I can't turn it on, something's off"

You blush further and shake your head slightly, uncomfortable because of telling a lie and because of using your words so poorly in front of your boss.

You can see her frown in confusion and suspicion through the screen, she seems to hesitate; everyone saw that mysterious figure before your camera went off, and many in your office know about Cairo.

However, she blinks and shakes her head slightly, becoming desinterested.

"Okay, whatever... Any suggestions on your behalf?"

You gulp, and Cairo shifts, shamelessly straddling your thigh. Her thighs press deliciously against the sides of your leg, holding you in a warm grip.

You look at her, alarmed. She just shrugs and reaches for a match.

"Yeah, actually, I have a couple of notes..." you mumble, but your eyes are on her.

Your gaze follows her every move, the crispy sound of the match lighting and the warm light of the fire lighting up her features take your breath away.

"Well?"

The hint of impatience in your boss's voice brings you back to reality. You blink and turn your head abruptly, causing Cairo's smirk to grow wider.

"Yes, sorry, I was looking for them precisely" you excuse yourself miserably, the blush in your cheeks burning your skin.

For a excruciating minute, you try to explain your thoughts on your boss's proposition as Cairo smokes quietly next to your face, ocassionally shifting her hips back and forth ever so slightly.

You can feel her warmth against your leg under that tiny skirt that's travelling higher with every swift move of hers.

You have to catch your breath several times, and eventhough your colleagues can't see you, you can defenitely witness their confused expressions as they hear your obviously awkward tone.

Nevertheless. your words are eloquent, even if rashly, and Cairo listens to you with a mix of pride and amusement in her expression.

She has always had a thing for gorgeous girls who speak their minds. It's even more impressive given the situation.

When your done, your boss nods and thanks you for your 'interesting approach, which will be most definitely taken into account', as she says.

You let out a deep sigh of relief the moment you turn off your mic and your boss's attention and everyone else's drifts to another co-worker.

"Cairo, that was unnecess-" you can't even finish your sentence before a sharp hiss interrupts your train of thoughts, her core firmly pressing against your thigh.

"Oh, you're so effortlessly teased, my love" she purrs, nuzzling her noise into your neck.

The faint smell of smoke and the heat of her breath fans your neck. Yyour eyelids flutter in bliss, much to your dismay.

You inhale profoundly, your chest rising and falling as you try to keep some composure. The voices of your colleagues are far forgotten by now.

"You're such a tease, little ghost" you groan, your hands enveloping her waist, encouraging her to keep going.

She grins, one hand holding her cigar while the other wraps around your neck. "Am I? I swear, I just saw you here, so lonely, and I was like... Yeah, that's my seat..."

You chuckle dumbly, slightly gay panicking as you stare at her mesmerized in pure veneration.

"Oh yeah? It's that so? Your seat?"

She trails off to give you a smug smile and nods slowly.

Cairo hums seductively in affirmation, "hmm-hmm, definitely." She leans in and kisses your jawline, tracing it with her soft lips.

"You're all mine."

Her voice is laced with a beguiling certainty, she sounds husky and sure of what she's saying, knowing damn well you won't disagree with her.

Cairo looks sideways at the screen, spoting Elizabeth as you squirm miserably beneath her. She darts out her tongue and drags it along your jaw, her eyes fixed on that woman before they slowly turn to you.

"See that bitch? She wished she had you, but you're mine. All mine."

You stifle a quiet whimper. The way she rocks against your thigh makes your body bounce, following her rhythm. You look briefly at your co-worker before looking away, at her, your cheeks painted with a pale pink, embarrassment remaining.

"Don't worry about her, she's—"

"Who do you belong to?

She interrupts you in that quiet dominant harsh voice of hers, the one she grants you with when she's convinced about what she's saying. Her hand around your neck slides up to grab your hair, making you lift your chin.

Her elbow is resting on her right thigh, her hand holding the cigarette. It's burning, the white smoke surrounds her face giving her some sort of fascinating aura.

She is staring at you intently, clearly expecting an answer.

You babble, your hands fidgeting restless on her sides. She smiles mischievously, and resumes with her grinding.

"Uh...You..." you mutter sheepishly.

The corners of her lips curl up slightly, pleased but still not satisfied.

"What did you say, again? I can't hear you when you speak so faintly, sweetheart" she purrs mockingly.

You whimper, a silent complain dying in your throat. The muffled voices of your teammates saying their goodbyes are a distant echo that makes the scene even more enclosed.

She glances, expectant. A layer of burnt out cigarette falls down to your pants, she wipes it away but still leaves a mark. You look down, silently hoping it'll stay.

You peek up at her, the subtly motion of your head emphasizing her grip in your hair.

"Yours. I'm yours"

You voice is breathy, but this time is firm. You hold her gaze, defiant.

Cairo tilts her head slowly, looking at you with curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She batts her eyelashes feidging innocence, and her hips roll deliciously against your thigh.

She brings the cigar to her mouth and inhales deeply, then deliberately exhales on your face, making you flinch and blink.

She chuckles darkly, "Hmm, damn right" she finally adresses your words in a pleased tone. "That's my girl."

She leaves the spent cigarette somewhere safe and turns back to you, her hand sliding to a side of your neck.

"You are in deed my beautiful girl, aren't you?" She coos, rocking her hips steadily as she nestles in your neck, inhaling deeply, then dragging her canines along your skin.

"See how well you talked, how eloquently, as I was rubbing my cunt against you? See how perfect you are, keeping your shit together when in reality all you long is to fuck me here, on this very chair?"

Her voice is like a sexy spell getting whispered in your ear, her teeth sinking into your flesh only provoke you further; your whimpers turning into whines as your hands grip her sides.

Cairo smiles against your skin, she nuzzles your jawline, you can feel her delicate nose tracing your features.

You throw your head back slightly, your fingertips curl around her curves whilst you feel her motion, you feel her warmth against your thigh through your pants.

Cairo tilts her head up slowly, she mapes your right cheekbone with her dangerous mouth.

"You're right, sweetheart. You are mine" she repeats again, an erotic mantra slipping out of her lips.

Her hand holding the side of your neck snakes up and her fingers slide into your hair, playing with it as her other hand keeps a firm grip above your nape.

Your lips are parted letting go soft pants, and she goes on whispering sweet nothings, reminding you who you belong to, who owns you; while her skillful hands handle you so tenderly and her eager hips swing, as she uses you for her pleasure.

Your hands drift to the small of her back, pulling her down harder, and she stifles a little moan when she presses herself more purposefully against you.

Her hips are bucking and her breath is ragged, hot breaths fanning your ear as she whispers,

"Neither Elizabeth nor anyone else— are going to have you. Ah— you're mine, pretty girl."

Her possessive speech is interrupted by her own stifled moans and quiet whines, and she dry humps you so firmly it makes you grab her in a way to anchor yourself.

You look over her shoulder, the screen of your laptop black, showing how you're the only one left in the online room.

The darkness allows you to admire her reflection, the way her body is moving, riding your leg.

You throw your head forward, resting your forehead on her shoulder as she keeps rubbing against you, relentless, insatisble, demanding.

"You're mine... Mine... Mine..."

The way she's cradling your hair is softer now, but her hips are jerking insistently, a sharp contrast to her also smoother voice, laced with affection and deep desire.

You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer, pulling her down too.

She grinds fiercely, panting heavily in your ear, messy kisses all over your neck.

And a lucid thought comes across your foggy mind, an epiphany keeping you grounded to this moment.

You're hers.

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