summary: Eva calls you over to her office because, just like her cigarettes, she must have her fix of you to decompress.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader
word count: 1.7k
rating: +18 this is pure filth mdni
warnings: there's absolute no plot at all, just p0rn. slapping, spitting, fingering, oral sex, hair pulling, HR violations lol, semi-public sex, people can hear you guys btw, fuck-and-go type of relationship. mentions of smoking, condescending eva but it's hot so it's okay
notes: i had the worst writers block and writing straight up filth was the only thing that got me out of it lol enjoy
She starts a 20-minute timer as soon as you step into her office.
Eva had a long fucking day, full of papers to fill out, science to make sense of, and trying to possibly save the world. When, at exactly 8 p.m., she sits on her favorite chair for the first time and lets out the biggest exhale a human could possibly muster, and finally has some peace and fucking quiet, she shuts her eyes for five seconds, and then sends for you.
That's not the usual routine; her day is never over at 8 p.m., and today certainly isn't an exception. Her assistant makes sure to remind her of it when she sees you walking over to her office. Eva knows it, there's not a single second she's blissfully ignorant or procrastinating about the fact that, well, humanity's fate weighs heavy on her shoulders, but just as much as she needs to gulp down two cups of coffee at 6a.m for five minutes, a few ten minutes smoke breaks throughout the day and a fifteen minute session of buying stupid shit before bed in order to function, she also needs her daily fill of you with your legs spread open in front of her, just so she can live in society as a tolerable human.
So you enter, close the door, and she drops the weird analog timer she always carries to keep track of her bad habits-induced breaks, and before you blink, Eva is on you.
She moves with one hand behind your head; there's no time for 'hi' as she kisses you deeply, pressing you against the wall. Eva melts into the kiss momentarily, a deep hum echoing and a soft exhale coming shortly after, accompanied by her leg parting yours and staying in the middle of them, pressing against your core.
She eats up your surprised moan, biting your lip and moving her other hand to your body, quickly exploring your breasts with a hungry squeeze and lingering fingers, passing by your stomach, raking her nails underneath your sweater, and then to the buttons of your jeans, "Can I have you, dear?"
She looks at you with her head tilted down, cocked slightly to the side, swollen lips, and disheveled hair. You nod eagerly, unable to speak, and you start to move to the couch on the side of her office. She grabs you by the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you to her before you even take a step, "I'm asking you again; can I have you?"
You open your lips and breathe out a weak 'yeah', to which she smiles in the most condescending manner, both hands soothing your hips, traveling south to give your ass a squeeze before soothing your hair, "it's a three-letter word, dear, try again. The real word. Speak properly."
"Yes," you tilt your head to chase after her lips again, her beautiful blue eyes boring into your face more as she pulls back slowly.
"Go on, sit down," Eva orders, reminding you she is, indeed, your boss, and how ridiculous this ongoing scheme between you is. You don't complain, how can you complain about being a toy she plays with and gives the softest pats on your cheek after you cum so hard you almost black out? She doesn't ask for much, just exceed expectations on your role in the mission, and you'll be rewarded with wonderful payment, multiple orgasms, and a gorgeous woman fucking you out on her office whenever she deems necessary. In normal circumstances, this arrangement would be an HR nightmare, but oh, aren't you glad you work under extraordinary conditions?
You sit down, quickly working on your pants and discarding them close enough. She kneels down in front of you, her fingers finding your calves and bringing them to her lips, eyes glued on your face and looking for reactions, unconsciously looking for positive reinforcement.
Eva has a soft spot for you, of course, she does, and while it is just sex for both of you, neither of you would mind staying up and talking for hours about nothing. It would never happen, as it has to be strictly casual and she has no time for relationships, but neither of you would, hypothetically, mind.
She licks a streak from your calf to your inner thigh, hands clasping around your legs and positioning them on her shoulders, and then coming to your hips to yank you to the edge of the seat. "Touch me, pull my hair," she murmurs, voice serene and a touch of her subtle accent coming through strategic breaths. You do as you're told, because why the fuck wouldn't you?
You grab a fistful of her orange slash blonde slash whatever hair, you're not very concerned about what hair tone she asks for, not when she nudges your covered slit with her nose.
She applies light pressure, "you smell delicious," she moans with eyes shut as if you're some kind of candy, and you can feel her warm breath on your damp underwear working as a warning before she kisses your center.
With her open lips, she forces the cotton against your clit, lapping her tongue across the entirety of your clothed pussy, the wet muscle providing barely enough friction but teasing you enough that you start rutting against it.
You can't help but let out an incomprehensible noise, tilting your head back on the cushioned seat. She knows there's a whole audience outside her office, poor security guards, and maybe her assistant, and, being the ever considerate and kind boss she is, gives your thigh a light slap. It has the opposite effect, the sharp pain going straight to your core, a strangled whine fighting its way out from your throat. "All this for a slap?" she whispers with a suppressed smirk, mocking you in the calmest voice and taunting eyes.
"Do you like it?" She asks again, genuine curiosity behind her words as she turns her head around to see the timer. Five more minutes, she shrugs, it'll do.
You nod, looking down to see her with two fingers, setting aside your underwear, a deep groan rumbling in her chest.
She blows cool air before bringing a finger to collect slick from your opening and bringing it to your clit, so focused it makes you shy under her gaze.
Eva rubs tight circles on your bud, her lips parted as she occasionally licks them, and you can do nothing but watch. You move your hips on her fingers, adding to the stimulation, short whines falling from your mouth.
She looks at you before attaching her lips to your cunt, attacking your clit with suction and your entrance with a finger. She has no time for teasing; she's aware, but she can feel you tightening when she curls her singular finger, when she releases your clit and gives it kitten licks, so she's okay with enjoying it for a while.
You keep trying to close your legs around her head, sharp pleasure being offered at you whenever a particular movement from her tongue makes you bite down on your hand harshly. She delivers another slap, harsher this time and on your clit, forcing a moan out of you. "That's good," she whispers before latching onto your cunt again.
She flattens her tongue, slurping your slick and inserting another finger into you, and then another. She's satisfied with three fingers pumping in and out as she makes out with your throbbing pussy.
There's nothing else to do but to grind on her face, grabbing her hair to keep her from moving away as her lips work ferociously. With a particular harsh tug, she moans, and that's all you need to pull even harder. In delicious retaliation, she speeds up her fingers and tongue, staggered hums working for her as you feel the vibrations of her noises all over.
Eagerly rolling her tongue on your clit and tilting her fingers so the palm of her hand can also provide friction, you almost bite off your own hand trying to stay quiet, whimpers and desperate moans filling her office with the squelching sound of your pussy. You curl your toes with each eager and breathless, sloppy suck she gives, and how into it she seems, thrusting her tongue and licking all over, nose pressing the top of your clit.
You feel your orgasm creeping up as she presses her fingers against the top walls, flattening the tongue and letting you hump her face, her moans sounding like she's being sent over the edge as much as you, bright blue eyes big and her pupils blown wide as your mouth opens wide and no sound comes out, the warmth spreading all over your body as you cum, desperately grinding to prolong it.
She takes her fingers off you, tongue still out and used by you. With a final sob, you yank her head away from you, your walls clenching over nothing as two of your fingers gather her spit and your cum, placing them inside her mouth. She licks them clean, head bobbing and firm fingers grabbing your wrist, returning them to your own mouth.
She pulls you into a sloppy kiss, nasty and tastes like sex. Eva holds your chin as she stands up, and then bends down to spit on your mouth, a tilt of her head ordering you to swallow. She nods when you do, "there you go. Thank you, give me one more kiss."
You stand up, a sweeter kiss being offered to you as she fixes your underwear back into place. "You can go, now."
You nod, quickly dressing yourself and tidying up your hair. She's immediately back at her desk, writing something in complete immersion. You wave her goodbye, and she answers with a gentle voice.
Someone opens the door for you, but you're not confident enough to look into the eyes of someone who just heard you let out the most pathetic noises a minute before, so you just thank the hand with an awkward smile.
You're not even a step away when you hear the timer go off, and you can't help but giggle before going back to work, panties soaked and a smile on your face.
Eva shuts the timer off, way more relaxed than when she settles for the cigarette
Hi! I don't know how to describe this, as I don't mean to bombard you with requests, BUT! While thinking about AUs for Eva Stratt fics, I came up with one that would be perfect - one set in school or college (Grace would fit perfectly into the background as the best bro). A typical situation where two seemingly different people (Eva and Reader) are married and the students discover it and can't believe it.
nooo, please DO bombard me with requests! i love them so much <3 and i loved this idea sososo much. I’ve been watching a few of sandra hüller’s films so i’m becoming obsessed with her in every universe. maybe stratt would teach history since that’s her canon major? i’m leaning towards something like gender & history since there’s a whole conversation in the book about sexism in the scientific field. maybe reader teaches something science-related, and that’s how they first met (or maybe through ryland, a mutual friend)!! anyways thank you sooo much for your request (and for your lovely comments on each fic, I love reading them), I’ll definitely write it as soon as I can!
summary: AU! the sun isn't being eaten by astrophages, Stratt doesn't have the weight of the world on her shoulders, and the most worrying thing you two have to think about is how to end a dinner party soon so you can be alone with each other.
pairing: eva stratt x reader
word count: 2.4k
rating: +18 (not smut, but very suggestive and a lot of sex talk lol so please don't interact if you're a minor)
warnings: whoooole lot of cigarettes these people can and will smoke, alcohol, very touchy-feely, very flirty, and mentions of public sex. ryland grace is in this cause i needed a scapegoat (platonic!), very canon divergent obviously, it's an AU fic. also, eva and reader are married omg that's a first <3 reader wears makeup and skirts in this.
notes: this is based on this lovely ask (which is about this fic of mine, you don't need to read it to understand this one though lol but it is my favorite work of mine!)
Eva Stratt isn’t very fond of crowds, even though you two live in one of the world's most crowded cities, and big dinner parties are not her favorite thing, either, although she’s surprisingly good at them. With a cigarette or two (or three), she can watch you cook and help you light all the candles. It’s common for you to host them; that’s how you two met: a bring-a-friend-nobody-else-knows themed dinner. “I made my peace with them, I knew what I was signing up to,” she tells you over a glass of wine when you ask if she’s not tired of hosting, her hand supporting her chin on the kitchen counter as she watches you stir the pot that contains an unholy amount of vodka sauce.
You chuckle, adding a pinch of salt to another mixture, “We have a way too nice kitchen, baby. It would be terrible not to use it,” she hums, shifting on the chair when you offer her a spoonful of the tiramisu you just made. “Good?” You whisper, leaning over the counter to come closer to her. She nods with a purr, leaning over so she can capture your lips in a soft kiss. “Good?” She asks quietly, breaking from the kiss and focusing on your lips. “Mhm, I might need another taste.”
She taps your face softly, passing her glass for you to drink. She chose the wine, a northern Pinot Grigio, and swore it would pair well with the pasta. Eva, for someone who was once so anti-crowd-in-our-house, sure loves to subtly arrange everything, from the menu to the fresh flowers she so nonchalantly decorated the loft with and the vinyl album she got on the record player because she thought the occasion asked for it.
“You taste better,” You shrug jokingly, walking around the counter, grabbing another glass and the bottle, and bringing it to her. “I’m kidding, it’s great. Thank you for getting it.”
“I bought two. Come here, we can have this one before they arrive.” She drawls, extending one hand to rest on your waist.
“Are you trying to get us drunk?” You hum with a smile, pouring her the wine, then standing between her legs.
“I think we can afford to get a little tipsy. We have an hour.” She sips into her wine and traces soft patterns on the exposed skin of your side, “You still have to get ready.”
“I can do it in less than twenty minutes,” you kiss the corner of her mouth, earning a smirk from her, “you look amazing.”
Eva murmurs a ‘thank you’, settling her empty glass on the counter next to you two, hooking her fingers on the hem of your shirt, and skimming it up until your middle is exposed to her, planting soft kisses and leaving lipstick-red marks behind. You giggle, nursing your wine as you observe her stunning, borderline mischievous blue eyes watching you. “I have to finish cooking.”
“That’s another fifteen minutes, so now I only have twenty-five minutes of tipsy you to myself.” She mutters into your skin.
“I can do twenty minutes.” You chuckle, smoothing her hair and guiding her head up so you can kiss her.
“You can’t.” She says, her words swallowed by the kiss.
You exchange a lazy kiss that tastes like tiramisu, wine, the cigarette you shared earlier while shopping, and her lipstick, and feel her fingertips ghosting over your skin, your warm hands tangled in her hair. “I promise I can.”
She looks at the clock on the wall, “Eight minutes are gone.”
“I can do ten.” You argue back with a smile, massaging her scalp as she looks at you with stern eyes and a barely contained smile.
“You really can’t.”
“No faith in me at all.” You sigh jokingly, bringing your lips to hers again, and suppress the fascinating chuckle bubbling up from her chest.
You begrudgingly break the kiss, ready to go back to the other side of the counter and give the dinner its finishing touches, but then you feel her lips kissing up your torso and find yourself wanting to delay it a little bit more. “You’re making it very difficult for me to go back to the kitchen, baby.”
“Finish the wine.” She muffles her voice by kissing your ribs over your shirt. Your very white lace shirt, now stained by a shade so unique you call it Eva-Stratt-red.
You scoff lightly, a smile never leaving your face, as you savor the drink. “Yes, ma’am.”
She chides you teasingly with a look, smudged lips tracing the curve of your clothed breasts, and twisting up slightly when she hears you hissing. “What do you think of it?”
“The wine?” “Of course.” “It’s delicious. Fresh. It makes me think of the beach.”
Eva confirms with a coo, satisfied with your reply. She has her arms wrapped around your hips; one holding them and the other gathering the fabric from your silk skirt upwards, then going down to stroke your outer thigh. “I can’t do five,” you joke, turning putty into her hands, forcing your knees to hold you standing up.
“I can.” She turns her kisses into nibbles, gathering more fabric in between her teeth than skin, but still enough for you to feel it and goosebumps to rise.
“Four?”
“I can do even one.” She whispers, her chin pressed against your sternum, fingernails raking over until they reach your inner thigh, “You know I can.”
“Your focus amazes me.” You say in jest, leaning down and planting a final kiss on her lips before untangling yourself from her gentle touch and heading back.
She lights up a cigarette as she watches you scattering around to finish cooking in record time. You hum to the tune on the record player as she falls into comfortable silence. She wouldn’t mind if this very minute lasted forever, if guests never arrived, and neither of you ever had to go to work, ever.
She has never been a clingy person. Eva is happy having alone time; in fact, she needs it, she thrives off it, but ever since you married, a concept that has also never appealed to her before meeting you, she feels like the moments she feels most herself are when she’s alone with you. Even better, you make her feel like she does when she’s alone.
When you’re done cooking, you come back to her, her wine, and cigarettes. “These don’t pair well,” you mumble, taking a drag off her cigarette and sitting on her lap, her hand instinctively moving to hold your waist. She snuggles her head in the crook of your neck, watching your fingers flick the ashes into the ashtray. “All done?” She asks, breathing in your perfume with a nudge of her nose into your neck.
“Yeah. Gotta get ready now.” You turn your head to her, brushing your lips on hers and blowing out a cloud of smoke, to which she inhales.
“Wash your face, it has lipstick all over it.” Her eyes scan your face, her thumb strokes your face, doing little to nothing to help with the mess.
“Whose fault is it?”
Eva shrugs with a half smile, “It takes two.”
You roll your eyes fondly, abandoning her lap to go and get ready. She walks to the balcony and sits in silence as she watches the neon lights and rain puddles on the city, perfectly content to stay still until you’re ready, to not move a limb or take a deep breath until you collect her and ask her to. It’s nice to just be, to just breathe, contrary to how she does at her work, where everything seems urgent but nothing actually is.
It feels nice until the first guest arrives earlier than expected and you’re still getting ready. You so dearly ask her to entertain them until the others arrive. She’s not an entertainer; she mopes mentally as she opens the door, only to be surprised by Dr. Grace, to whose presence she responds with a ‘thank god’.
He’s a professor at the same university as you, a lovely and very sunny professor who, when he was able to, offered to teach middle schoolers about biology. He has become a staple at your dinner parties, at first because you were desperately trying to get him to go out with one of your friends, but now simply because he has become one of the people that you and Eva both adore. He’s a talkative one, for sure, with a limited swear-word vocabulary and a tendency to bring his own terrible beer to your carefully curated dinners, but you don’t mind.
When you finish getting ready, you come say hi, and before you even see them, you hear them. You hear him, and hear her trying to be an active listener. You greet them with a chuckle as you take in the contrast between them, first noticed by his flailing arms and the circling smoke coming from her cigarette.
You stand by her side, her hand on the side of your waist, as soon as you approach her. “You look great.” She whispers discreetly in your ear as he picks up his story. Eva, in normal conditions, is not too public with her displays of affection, limiting herself to walking closely with you or, at most, her hand on the small of your back, but she’s a little tipsy, and Ryland Grace, of all people, is the most PDA-resistant person you have ever seen.
In return for her compliment, you press your lips faintly on her cheek. “I borrowed your lipstick,” you tease quietly, to which she turns her head to you, knowing she’ll be walking around with a faded Eva-Stratt-red stain for now on. She wouldn’t dare to clean it; it’s discreet and a reminder beyond the ring on the right hand, worn that way following a German tradition you picked up because of her.
People start to arrive, and the atmosphere is almost immediately filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and increasing chuckles, which turn into full-blown laughter as the night progresses. By the time you’re all set on the dining table and the food is served, Eva’s hand is glued to yours under the table and over your lap, your thumb softly stroking the back of her hand. It’s a treat to feel her warmth and see her being amused by the most ridiculous stories from your single friends, even if her comments mostly consist of some variation of “block them”.
She ends up, deservingly, being the center of attention multiple times during the dinner. Her sense of humor is dry, and she only tells a story when she knows for sure it will land, never one to bore people with stupid jokes or slapstick humor, or even fake laughter. You take each of these times as an opportunity to laugh and touch her arm, her leg, anywhere you can to be acceptably closer to her, in your best efforts to not seem desperate to send everyone home and be alone with her.
It’s something about this side of her that always makes you end the night all over her, how she makes you feel like you belong, like you have a community. How welcoming she is to your friends, how quickly she wins them over, even if she thinks of herself as being a little ‘difficult’, even if she is reserved and way too honest; how her friends love you and have memorized some of your preferences even before they met you. It’s nice to belong, you said to her one day, muffled by a kiss on her shoulder.
She notices it, of course. In the moment people start complimenting your tiramisu, she excuses herself to the balcony for a smoke break. It’s not like she needed to go outside to smoke; the room already seemed foggy from all the cigarettes, cigars, and everything in between, but no one seemed to care, nor did they care when you followed close behind.
Your balcony is neither private nor public, with large glass doors connecting the loft’s exterior and the interior, and almost brutalist in appearance, decorated with large plants and a few chairs. Its architecture was not meant for two runaway lovers, but destiny took care of it, and somehow the balcony is hidden from the warm glow from inside and the neon city’s lights.
“I think they’re all ready to leave.” You approach her from behind, hugging her waist and sheltering yourself from the cold wind, puckering your lips, asking her for a cigarette or a kiss when she turns her head to look at you. She gives you a kiss first, noticing your faded lipstick, consumed by all the chatter, food, and napkins. Only then does she place it on your lips, lighting it up with hers.
“Your nose is cold,” Eva grumbles, letting her head fall behind and rest on you, her cheek pressed close to yours.
“It’s a cold night,” you blow the smoke, soaking into her presence, “enjoying yourself?”
“I think they’re ready to leave,” she closes her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips deliciously.
“Mhm, do you think they would all deliberately leave if we started having loud sex out here?”
She huffs out a laugh, “I wouldn’t trust their judgment.”
“They better, ‘cause I want to have very loud, noisy, boisterous sex with my wife.” You laugh, kissing her cheek.
“I believe it will have to wait for at least an hour or two. Grace is in the middle of telling an odyssey, it seems.”
“What a terrible man.”
You two fall into silence, enjoying the warmth from each other and the sharp cold from the changing weather.
“Do you think there’s an alternative timeline out there where we’re not married?”
“No.” “No?” “I don’t really think about it,” she deadpans, lightheartedly.
You scoff, a soft ‘ugh’ leaving your lips. “I hope you’re not my boss in one of them.”
“I may be.”
“That would be a nightmare. I would be sent straight to HR for wanting to bang my boss.”
She chuckles calmly, exhaling in complete peace. It’s not until the glass from the balcony makes a sharp sound that you two move, questioning what, or who, dared to burst the bubble.
It’s, unsurprisingly, Ryland, accompanied by another one of your friends, “we were sent here to see if you two were making out,” he says, a little drunker than he probably thinks he is, in the most juvenile fashion.
“I came too ‘cause he was too scared to come alone.” Your friend adds, as drunk as he is.
“Would you guys leave if we were?” You turn around to face them, one hand still holding Eva.
“I don’t know what everyone’s thought process was, honestly.” He looks puzzled, looking at the full table and then back at you.
You snicker, sending them back inside, promising you two would follow soon.
“There are people waiting for us,” she whispers in your ear, holding your hips.
“I hate them,” you grin, capturing her lips into a quick kiss, “no public sex could tear them apart from the tiramisu.”
“It was a great tiramisu,” she states, taking your hand and guiding you inside.
As you walk back into the fervor of feeling part of something, hand in hand with the one you vow to love in every lifetime, you wonder what life could have been if one single thing had changed before you two met. You are, however, extremely pleased to never have to figure it out.
I am on my hands and knees thanking you for that last stratt fic you posted. Besides the amazing smut I am so enamored with the plot and the writing and everything UGH
stop you're so sweet 💞💞 i'm so grateful for all the love my fics have been receiving, i really love writing about eva and queer romance/intimacy so it fills me with joy to read this 🤍 tysm
summary: eva stratt manages to break out of prison and goes on to live on a boat, waiting for the beetles and to save humanity. common knowledge. she, however, stops on your doorstep before crack of dawn in the middle of all this.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader
rating: +18 (pls dni if you're a minor)
word count: 6.8k
warnings: probably a little canon divergent (this is based on the whole stratt breaking out of prison thing so), it's a little angsty. mentions of guns (i'm extremely anti gun pls </3). thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, mentions of religion (like one, but it's a romantic setting), overstimulation, implied situationship between them lol mentions of masturbation, eva in jail and touch starvation.
You wake up hearing the knocking.
You don’t know what time it is; there are no clocks in your house, but you look out your window and see the nearby lake glittering with the colors of that moment after the moon hides and the sun isn't quite ready to come out. You understand more about nature now than you did all these years ago, when you worked on developing the Hail Mary mission’s ship.
Ever since then, you have moved to a secluded area. There are no cities within at least eight miles, only a beautiful lake and a few animals you take care of.
When it ended, as soon as the ship launched, they told you to leave quietly and lead an inconspicuous life. All due to the nature of your relationship with the leader of the mission, and how they could make you either an accomplice to her, a scapegoat, or use you as blackmail. She told you this a day before they took her.
She packed your bags, told them to pick you up from her bedroom at the crack of dawn, kissed you goodnight, and, in the middle of the night as you slept, slipped away from the bed and never looked back. You never expected her to.
You have a rifle in your house; she taught you how to work that thing back then, even though you protested and gave her the silent treatment for a week. "I know you hate guns," she held your arms in the right position as your hands trembled, her face next to yours, adjusting your aim, "but I will be more at ease knowing you know how to shoot." You remember how confused you were at her statement, right before your thoughts were deafened by the gunshot.
You never used the rifle; it sits there as a souvenir. But, as you drag your feet across the wooden floor, moving as quietly as you could so the person on the other side of the door couldn't hear you, you grab it. Not with the intention of shooting, but as a twisted, fucked up version of a safe blanket, as if her hands still held the handguard for you.
You can't freeze; there is not a single living soul to come and rescue you if you do, and no phones, you were told to get rid of those, too. So you just go on.
The floor creaks when you arrive at the door and twist the doorknob. In slow motion, you open a smidge, just enough for the rifle to fit. You don't dare to see who's outside, but you can hear the grass ruffling with steps.
Your heart is either nearly stopping or beating at a hummingbird's heart rate; you can't feel it anymore, just the dizziness of it all. You hear what seems to be a humorless chuckle. You open the door fully now. It's one thing to try to invade your house in the middle of the night, but to laugh at you? Fuck them.
It takes some time for your brain to understand what you're seeing. You keep the rifle in your hand, on guard. It's not that you can't see it, her, you can and very clearly now. You simply weren't expecting it; you never did. You never thought she would look back.
Eva's hair is longer now. She always had long hair, you loved it. Loved twirling it when she was trying so hard to sleep, before she started telling you off for it. It tickled every time you held her, and it got in the way when you two kissed. She looks almost the same under the mist. There's not a hint of a smile on her face, only that slightly tilted head gesture she usually does when waiting for you to step aside and let her in.
The silence extends for whole minutes, you don't know exactly how many. Enough for the cow in the barn to moo. Probably swearing at her.
"Nice gun," she nods, her voice husky and dry. She must not have talked for the whole trip to your house.
You put it down, your lips opening and closing like a fish, gasping at the surface. Your brain is full of oxygen, and you feel like you might pass out. "I'm coming in," she informs you.
"The whole house is a mess." You step aside, despite your protest. Great first words, you think.
"That's expected. Your room always was."
She comes inside. You take a look at the sky for a minute before following her. It's cloudy and freezing. You wonder if the Hail Mary ship is somewhere up there, if Stratt's last sacrifice was successful, and if her return meant things were going to be okay.
You turn around and see her amidst the darkness of your cramped living room. Books scattered everywhere on the floor and coffee table, a used-up leather couch, a bunch of abandoned projects you grew tired of, and an acoustic guitar. And there she was. Inspecting everything as she did back when she was your boss and ventured into your lab, or when she was yours and entered your room. You suppose she was yours. You hope.
You close the door and turn on the lampshade, soft yellow light shining on her face and yours. You just stand there, looking at each other for a bit. Now you can see the tattoo on her neck and a few frown lines that weren't there before. There are too many questions to ask, many of which she won't answer.
"Okay," you inhale, putting the rifle aside and turning the heater up. "Hello." You sit down, facing her, hugging your knees.
"Hello."
"Should I ask if you were taking a stroll out in the neighborhood and ended up here?"
She stands next to the window, fiddling with the sheer, white mesh curtains. You feel weird. It's not like you could jump into her arms and kiss the shit out of her; that's not who you two are, whatever 'you two' means or meant, or if it even existed, but it's so ridiculous to not know how to conduct this conversation.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“I think you do.”
She presses her lips together, nodding and looking around at your living room, “They sent you to live like a hermit?”
“I chose it.”
“You?” she says in disbelief, almost humorously. You always joked about what your lives would look like after the mission ended. You said you wanted to go back to a big city, teach at a university, live in a loft, and throw dinner parties for your friends. You visualized Eva there but never told her that. She would hate the dinner parties and go out on the balcony to smoke, and you would follow her. You would wake up late, brew coffee for you two, then go back to bed and sleep with your head nestled on her chest. She never told you how she saw herself after it all ended, nor whether you would be in her version of the future. You used to grumble about it, but now you see why.
“I like quiet now. I have a farm—” “That’s not a farm.” “—and a nice lake to swim.”
Eva looks out the window now, pushing the curtains away. “It’s on the other side,” you inform her. “You can see it from my bed.”
“The cow smells like shit.”
“Well, that’s how they smell.”
She looks down, then at you. “You have— I want you to move in with me.”
You look at her and try to conceal the bewildered look that creeps into your expression, your head shaking slightly as you mutter a small ‘what the fuck’.
“Eva, sit down.” You say, almost annoyed. Not at her, never at her.
She doesn’t oblige. Of course she doesn’t. So you stand up and go to the kitchen, and brew the coffee you promised yourself you would brew for you both, years ago. It’s almost morning, anyway.
She stands still until you’re back, taking the mug from your hands. Unsweetened, black, and no milk for her, two teaspoons of sugar and a lot of creamer for you. “Please.” You gesture to the couch.
It’s been a while since you two last sat down to have a proper talk. The last months of the project were frantic; you only saw her once, maybe twice a week, and most of these times you wouldn’t talk. There was no need to when your lips were locked on her skin, trying your best to relieve her tension, even if most times she would get up and continue working as soon as she was done.
“We need you for the next step of the Project. It’s almost time we receive the beetles.”
“Why would you need me? I’m an engineer.” She doesn’t respond and takes a sip of her coffee instead. “Eva, what happened? Why are you here?” You exhale, placing your mug on the coffee table.
She looks at you, tight-lipped again, a slight shrug, and the smallest eyebrow scrunch. “I escaped prison. Well, that’s obvious.” Another sip of coffee as she eyes the ring on your finger, “Are you married?”
“No.” That’s also obvious. There’s only one pair of boots, one coat hanging, one plate on the sink. She just needed to get the ring out of the way. You don’t know why you wear the ring. Maybe it’s because of her. A rifle, a ring you hoped she would give you someday, and constant dreams are all that are left from your hopeful days.
She nods, another sip. “I have a team. They helped me to get out of there, and they helped me get here.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “When did you escape?”
“Two weeks ago. You’re difficult to locate.”
“Do you want me to believe you started looking for me as soon as you broke out?”
“No, they are different sentences. I broke out two weeks ago, and you were difficult to locate.” You chuckle at that. “I started looking for you three days ago.”
“Where are you living?”
“Nowhere, for now. On a boat as soon as possible. And if you come with me—”
“Do you want me to come, or do they need me to?”
It’s been at least eight years, and you still won’t let her finish a sentence, she thinks.
“I can’t spend my life worrying about you. It’s easier if you come.”
“It’s easier?”
She shrugs and looks at you, and then at her hands. You two stay in silence for a minute. “We can have a nice life there.”
You really look at her. There’s something in her demeanor, or her voice, that indicates she’s not the same. She’s been imprisoned, persecuted, hunted down. You weren’t there; you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you; she would never let you. Eva is not the most powerful person in the world now, she’s on the run and, deep down, she’s hopeful. Hopeful that the mission will work, that the beetles will arrive, that you’ll accept her request, that she won’t bear the weight of the world on her shoulders in a few years, and that she will be able to just be. And she has no choice but to be hopeful.
Besides that, she’s still her. Still Eva. She made peace with it all, past and present.
You don’t dare to ask how things were in prison, how the trials happened, how she feels now. “They never let me testify.”
“I know.” She tells you quietly with a gentle smile, gentler than you have seen before. You can’t help but blame yourself for the way things turned out, even though it was inevitable. There’s a type of resentment beneath your voice, and it refuses to let you look her in the eyes: resentment towards yourself for not fighting for her, and towards her for not letting you beat yourself up for that.
You two sit in silence for a while. The sun is not as shy now, but it is still partially hidden by the thick mist. She seems to enjoy the peaceful view outside your windows, and you wonder how many days she has spent without having the choice of appreciating the rising sun or the awakening of the animals. “I missed you.” You murmur in the quietest voice you can muster, trying not to bother her.
She looks back at you, breaking a small smile as she touches your hand. It’s the first touch you've felt for a long time. Eva murmurs something similar to ‘I know’.
You take her hand, hesitant to entwine your fingers together, but you do it anyway. Her hands were always cold and clammy, ‘You feel like a frog, ’ you laughed about it one day, and she grinned, shaking her head. It feels the same now as you tug it for her to come closer, but you don’t joke about it this time. You would take her hand even if it were made of ammonia.
She does come closer to you. Not a lot, just enough so you can feel the warmth radiating off her, so you can understand she’s really there. “Where do we stand, Eva?” You start, quietly, one hand still in hers and the other supporting your head over the couch’s back.
“That’s not the time to ask this.”
“You ask me to move with you—”
“I break out of prison, and I come looking for you. Isn’t it enough?” She says as a matter of fact, a small frown is present, not from anger, but from feeling misunderstood. You always needed her words, the steadiness, the land. To Eva, the facts were enough, so was shooting in the dark, and the fluctuation of waves.
“I need more.” You mirror her frown, reaching for her face, brushing away a strand of hair. There she is.
“I can’t give you more.”
“Why?”
She answers with a reluctant smile and a deep breath. “There’s no future.” And you don’t know if she’s talking about you two, her, or Earth. You bring her hand to your lips, kissing it softly for a moment. She looks at you, “But I would enjoy spending my present and my freedom on you.”
“Eva.” You whisper, closing your eyes for a moment.
You have the same feeling you had when you agreed to work for her, or when you chose which university to attend, when you fell in love for the first time, when you woke up for the last day of middle school. It’s a never-be-the-same feeling, the softest punch in the gut, the perception of life happening and never slowing down. You were never easily convinced by anyone, which was mainly why Eva first gravitated towards you. She, however, is one of those moments personified. After she came into your life, you’re in a constant state of change. It’s uncomfortable.
‘What is love if not changing yourself?’, Ilyukhina said once, when you were both tipsy, and you decided to open up to your friend about your very, very secret relationship. Eva wasn’t happy about it, for numerous reasons. You always wanted to declare your love by shouting from rooftops. You guessed this had to change, too. It was only when Eva first took your hand in hers during a casual hangout with other people that you noticed she, too, had changed.
You nod only once. She won’t beg for more. You can’t physically offer more.
Eva knows it’s a lot to ask, and it’s borderline egotistical to ask you to leave your life and follow her. She already did it once, but to save humanity. This time, it’s purely to herself. For once, she’s doing it for herself.
You two exchange a look; there’s much more to do than that, but you pause to look at each other. You notice that’s your fucked up version of a romantic proposal. The woman you once had an undefined relationship with breaks out of jail, appears on your doorstep, asks you to run away with her, and live in the middle of the ocean for god knows how long. You might die there, you might not. ‘Til death do us part, in a way. Very The Notebook, if you may ask. You chuckle at the thought.
“Are you laughing at me?” She seems amused that’s your reaction to accepting her terrible, almost catastrophic deal.
“No.” She takes your hand again, and it’s her turn to tug you closer. You scoot with your knees, nearing the proximity of those older days. “I’m repeating myself here, but where do we stand, Eva?”
“That’s your question? Not when we are leaving, or if there are rooms on the boat?”
“Logistics were always your thing.”
“Okay.” A deep breath again. When she exhales, it faintly touches your face. How good it feels to be affected by her presence again. “You— I stand where we left off. About us, that is.”
“Well, I left off being dragged away from your room, so I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“If it comes to this, it will. If that’s what it takes to keep you away from the consequences I earned.”
“I am, also, a consequence you earned.”
There’s a silence, and she looks at your hands resting on your lap, then back at you. “The best of them.”
“I would hope so.” She blows air out of her nose as a laugh, and there’s silence again.
She engulfs every detail of you; how your hair looks now compared to then, how you seem more tired, how your fingernails have no nail polish even though you loved to paint them. She takes in the soft skin of your neck and your arms, and how your lips still look so soft, even though the climate is colder and drier than it was eight years ago.
“What are you looking at?” You ask. If it were anyone else, you would squirm under that intense gaze. When it comes to her, you want her to stare, and you notice yourself desiring her gaze even more than you did back then, when you were younger and more insecure.
“You. Can you blame me?”
And there is a shift in the atmosphere. “You still want me?”
“I thought it was implied.”
“I don’t work with hints, you know this.”
She gives you a low chuckle.
“Come here, dear.”
And so you do. Scooting over to close the last remaining centimeters of distance between you, you begin to wonder if eight years were enough to make it awkward. Funnily enough, you don’t get the same feeling of utter jitteriness you did when you first kissed her. You do, however, get a feeling of coming home after a long, annoying trip, and, at the same time, peacefully drowning.
You don’t kiss instantly, instead taking some time to breathe each other in. She holds each side of your face, and you hold her forearms. So close, you can see the darker spots of blue near her pupil and the stray eyebrow hairs. It’s, surprisingly, Eva who falters first, slightly tilting her head to touch your lips, uncharacteristically hesitant.
You close the distance for her. A small peck, two, three, and then you notice how much softer and pliant she seems on your hand than she did back then. On the fourth, she reaches for your neck, one hand buried in your hair.
There’s no fifth; you part your mouth, and she slides her tongue. Eva hums, releasing a soft sigh into the kiss, she furrows her eyebrows. You both slow down, savoring the taste of each other’s lips, languid strokes, and careful pauses just to bring the other impossibly closer. Your pulse is hard beneath your skin, thundering in your ears as she stops the kiss only to glide her hand to your legs, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips, broken only by a hitch of your breath when her grip turns featherlike on your naked leg, she fiddles with the hem of the cotton nightgown you wear, which was so easily hiked up by your movements.
You move to place one of your legs across her lap, knocking down the mug you set earlier on the coffee table. You murmur a soft “fuck” and feel a grin stretching open on her lips before she tilts her head and kisses you bruisingly, her hands slipping to hold your waist. You melt when you feel her shift her body to cage yours, driving you to recline on the couch, your legs on each side of her body.
She gasps when you suck her tongue and nibble on her bottom lip with your teeth, “Are we leaving today?”
“A little kissing made you excited to exile yourself with me?” Eva nudges your jawline with her nose, lazily leaving open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. Her body weight provides just enough pressure and not enough friction for you to feel your core pulsing.
“Yeah. Can I have you all over me every day?” You rasp as you reach between your bodies to slide your hand on her abdomen, nails raking and leaving a red path. “Don’t know how I spent all these years away from you.”
She kisses the corner of your mouth, her hips moving as you lower your hand, back arching on you. It’s unconscious, but you spread your legs wider to accommodate her. “I still have to work.”
You undo the buttons of her denim pants. “I don’t care. There’s a lot of shit I learned during all these years, and I have to try them out with you.”
Eva never expected you to stay celibate after she went to prison. ‘I want you to find someone and marry them’ is something she would never say, but she knew you should do it. She wouldn’t blame you. “Someone has been riding your pretty face?” She teases, half seriously and with the calmest tone, grasping your face with her free hand while the other bunches up your nightgown around your waist.
“Wanna ride it too?” You sit up slightly to take off her black turtleneck, brushing her smooth skin with your lips before kissing it. You look up to see her eyes closed, eyebrows knitted together, and mouth parted, so inviting, warm, and erotic that you can’t help but breathlessly trail kisses and licks on her sternum, pushing her bra out of the way, and mutter, “kiss me, please.”
She does, looking down to properly see you and pulling you into a devouring kiss, pressing herself against you, and moving her legs to straddle your lap. You hold her hair out of the way, just in case. Eva is hungry for it, for you, and you reciprocate every groan, whine, and pant. Even the smallest ‘humph’ she let seep into the kiss is so mouthwatering to you, it causes muscle memory to kick in and your hips to grind up on hers.
Eva doesn’t pause to breathe, indulging as she rarely does on the mess of a kiss, and it’s all urgent whimpers, saliva, and teeth clashing. She grinds down on you, too, grabbing a fistful of your hair to command you to keep the rhythm up. You feel lightheaded, so needy and desperate, and clinging to you, not only physically. You feel her movements and touch on your heart; her presence floods your lungs and sends shivers down your spine. For a moment, it’s all her, and she’s everywhere, as if it has continuously been.
“Take this shit off.” You clumsily tug down her pants, your breath ghosting over her swollen lips.
“I missed you.” She confesses so quietly you almost can’t hear, and you wonder if you’re supposed to hear it or if she hasn’t noticed she said it out loud. You brush your lips against her neck as you lay her down to discard her pants and your nightgown, and as soon as they’re both gone, she pulls your head back to the kiss, her other hand alternating between massaging your breasts and pinching your nipples.
She’s half reclined, her head on the armrest of the couch, and you find the opportunity to fit one leg in between her legs when she instinctively opens them to welcome you. “Did you ever think of me?” You exhale, creating marks on her collarbones, each one darker than the previous as her grip on your legs tightens. “I thought of you all the time. Thought about you fucking me dumb whenever I wanted to cum.”
She grinds on your leg, her underwear with an obvious wet patch, just as obvious as yours, and you notice it when she forces your hips down to grind on her thigh. “Mhm. Look at you. All wet on my thigh.” Eva’s words ghost on your lips as she keeps your face mere centimeters away from hers, blue eyes unfocused and half-lidded.
You two move at the pace she establishes, her hand guiding your hips at the same rhythm her hips roll. She flexes her thigh under you and taps you softly so you do the same. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for another kiss, needing more of her touch desperately. You press your chests together and curse her bra for creating a barrier between you.
She keeps one hand planted firmly on your hip and the other on your cheek, her nails graze the skin, creating a path, a faint sting reminding you of her burning touch. You brace yourself over her with one arm, the other takes off the annoying piece of undergarment from her, before you press yourself flush to her again, recommitting to her speed.
You exhale directly on her mouth, both of your breathing uneven as moans bubble up your throats. She quickens the pace, rutting her hips harshly on your thigh whenever she feels your legs trying to close, whimpers fall off your lips, and she drinks them, drowning them with her choked-up groans.
The friction between your bodies feels delicious on your sensitive nipples, heightening your need for her, so you try to kiss her, and she harshly tugs your hair, “I need to see you when you cum.” Eva whispers, a pained, whiny voice betraying her restrained order.
“Ride my face.” You plead, fluttering eyelashes begging for her and diving, contrary to her orders, to kiss her jawline. She pulls a fistful of your hair only to feel the faltering of your hips on her soaked thigh, “Please, ride my face, baby.” You suck her skin more fervently, murmuring against it, “Please, please. I want you to ride it.”
“Do you want me to soak your pretty face?” She says in a shaky exhale, “Look at me. You’re so close, dear.”
You look at her glazed eyes and glistening lips, her pupils blown wide and her staggering breath denounces she’s also so, so close. You flex your thigh, feeling the soft material of her panties and the sloppy sliding sound of both of your slick. She arches her back, hand gripping strongly on your hair, and knees going weak as your hand grips the flesh of her hip to guide you as feverishly as she did.
She feels it coming at almost the same time you do, and as much as you want to close your eyes, you simply can’t. Eva tightens the grip on your hair as she cums, wavering moans breaking the panting sounds, and the sting on your scalp feels so good accompanied by her furrowed brows, open lips letting escape the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard, blue eyes trying so hard not to roll back. Her eyes don’t shy away from yours as your orgasm comes, your nails dig deep into her flesh, and high-pitched cries echo from your lips.
It’s the most beautiful sight to see her fall apart and her body go limp as you ride out your orgasms. You notice it’s morning now when her hands travel down to your breasts, caressing them before helping you out of your panties. “We have the whole day ahead.” She mutters against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses.
“That’s a first.”
“Don’t get used to it.” You’re bare now, and end up discarding hers too. You dive into a slow kiss, lazy tongue movements against hers.
You’re lying sideways next to her now on the cramped couch, the memories of a rushed time, where simply kissing and being at each other’s mercy would never be possible, come like waves. She takes her time, reexploring your body with soft fingertips, discovering new freckles and reminding herself of the velvety touch of you against her. You stroke her cheek with your thumb as the lingering kiss extends itself for what seems both a lifetime and never enough, cleaning any fugitive spit from your lips.
Her hand guides yours to her torso, hers traveling to your lower abdomen, spiraling downwards. “How things worked around here before I came back, mhm?” A sly question comes laced in with her tender tone.
“I have two hands. And a few toys.” You joke, and she gives you a disbelieving look. “I’m not telling you about other women when I have my hand on your breast, Eva.”
“I’m asking you to.”
You lower your face to toy with her nipple with your tongue, sucking it and releasing with a pop from you and a hiss from her. You scrape your teeth down the skin before sucking a mark while looking at her, and then taking it into your hand. You press a quick kiss into her parted mouth, “I tried a few things. Never long-term, though. I tried a lot of people, some from the town.”
She hums in acknowledgment, hand parting your thighs and tracing your slit with her middle finger. She wants to ask you if you have fallen in love. She won’t. You hitch your breath at her teasing strokes. “They won’t be happy when I whisk you away from here.”
“It’s for a greater good.” Your eyes flutter closed, hands searching for her face.
She chuckles, lips closed. She never had laughter easily falling from her lips, nor was she one to effortlessly smile, but it was never easier to breathe than when she was with you. In prison, she remembered how you would turn her, even for a fraction of a moment, carefree. How much easier it was to feel the breeze in your presence, or to notice the ground beneath her feet. Eva notices the sun shining and the shimmering on the curtains, the sounds of nothing outside of you two. “Which would be?”
“Having you sit on my face, every morning, forever.”
She closes her eyes to conceal her amusement, hiding it in an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work; you know her too well. “Unless you wake up at 5am, then it won’t happen in the morning.”
“I can sacrifice an hour or two of sleep.” The last word goes away with a sound almost like a purr when she enters you with a finger.
“Feels good?” She asks, a mocking lilt in her voice, but with a serious expression.
You nod, rocking your hips on her hand as she inserts another finger, her palm brushing against your clit. “Go on.” She brushes a strand of hair away from your face with her other hand, reaching over to place a kiss on your lips.
You adjust your position so it’s easier for you to ride her hand. You hide your face in the crook of her neck, and this time she doesn’t complain about not looking at you, merely because you’re sending out the sweetest noises straight into her ear and your lips are glued to her neck.
You breathe in the scent of her skin and swear it makes you dizzy as she presses more of her palm to your clit. Your skin glistens with sweat as she watches your up and down movements, and she swears she could eat you up. You look delicious like this, and she feels ravenous feeling your head dipping further into the safety of her.
“Will you ride my face, baby?” You ask again. She would, and she could so easily, tease you more and more about it, drawing out your begging, but you sound so pretty, so titillating. “Will you let me eat you out? Please? Will you use my face?”
“Sure”, she murmurs into your hair, so nonchalant you can almost think she’s bored. Eva is not. She would do anything you asked her to in this state, sounding so much like a personal pornstar for her, but especially this. Especially riding your face, the thing that many days, alone in the cell, she had caught herself daydreaming about.
It’s almost as if you’re just waiting for her confirmation to cum. And so you do, cumming with a high-pitched, drawn-out moan, squeezing your eyes shut and brushing your core on her palm, your legs shaking, and no other thought on your head other than the overwhelming pleasure and need to kiss her. “There you go. You want more of this?” She indulges you, taking her fingers off of you and circling them on your oversensitive clit.
You hiss, dropping your head on her chest as you stifle whimpers caused by the overstimulation. “Enough, enough.” You murmur into her skin.
She retreats her hand and unhurriedly caresses your scalp, “Will you clean me up, dear?”
You nod fervently, pressing a searing kiss to her lips and whispering ‘thank you’s. She gets on her knees, waiting for you to adjust your position and lie down comfortably, before lowering herself into your face.
You grip her thighs, nodding, mouth open and tongue out, waiting for her. Her hand soothes your hair as she starts rocking her hips to your tongue. She looks at you the whole time, and oh, she looks gorgeous.
The sun hits her skin and her eyes in such a unique way, her slightly messy hair cascades, and Eva looks so soft, so vulnerable, and it’s all for you, and just for you. As she moans and grinds on your mouth, you’re so grateful to be spending possibly the rest of your days locked up on a boat with her. You realize you sound insane, but again, Ilyukhina, in her immense wisdom, once said ‘whatever rocks your boat’, and refused to be corrected.
Your hands hold her waist, cradling the soft skin and begging for this moment to never end. Your unremitting tongue makes her exhale, and you flatten it, suckle on her clit, lick her folds, and do whatever you did eight years ago that was enough to make her come back to you today. “That’s it,” she says hoarsely, a tainted and weepy sound coming from her, and you feel her trembling. “That’s it,” Eva repeats over and over breathlessly, restraining herself, looking up and tangling her fingers deeper into your strands.
Eva looks at you, and you notice she’s coming. That’s all she has to do. She bites her lip and indulges in a long whimper, her thighs closing around your head, feeling your hot cheeks and panting your name, your surname, anything she has ever called you. She’s too sensitive, she’s always been, so you stop and wait for her to lie back down.
She kisses you first, your face glistening with her slick, and your eyes shining with adoration. She always thought she could handle love and compliments, but she never thought she would be the target of the amount you offer her. So she doesn’t handle the utter devotion, choosing to close her eyes and kiss you deeply. You taste like her, and you smell like her. She smells like you and tastes like a religion.
When she lies back down, you bury your head in the crook of her neck again, sleepily kissing the marks you left. Then, there’s silence, and you hear the birds outside, the leaves on the ground being crunched by the steps of the dogs, and a few water sounds, possibly the cow drinking water. You know you can’t dream, your life won’t allow you to, but if you could give yourself the luxury of choosing how to live, you would choose this.
You wouldn’t choose the dinner parties, teaching, or smoking on the balcony. You would keep the coffee and Eva. And this, the quiet, the sun. She doesn’t ask you what you’re thinking about; she doesn’t need to, she’s seen the same look in your face over and over the years, had nightmares about it, and the sweetest dreams, too. She knows this is the same expression she saw when she changed your life, in one way or another. How ridiculous it is to ask for someone to blindly follow you, your ideals, and your hopes. How absurd it is for you to agree, even without a single word from her, without a future and all the things you deserve. She’s fully aware of it, but she kept you safe, she redeemed herself, and, when the whole Hail Mary mission is over, she will redeem herself again. And only then will you two have a life like this moment again.
“That’s an awfully quiet place.” She says, enamoured by the beautiful sky seen through the window and the sight of the sun hitting the wooden floors.
“I have to sell the cow.”
Eva looks at you. You do have to sell the cow.
“I won’t take the shit-smelling cow to the boat.”
You pout to yourself. Your house feels like paradise now that she’s here. You’ll miss your life, the quiet and undetectable life, but you had given up on it once; you could do it a second time, now that you know she’ll be there. You wonder if this is how it feels to have a soulmate, like an eternal post-sex pre-coffee morning.
“Are you too different from who you were?”
“What do you think?” She asks you with nothing but curiosity.
“I think I’ll have to find out.”
She nods. She doesn’t think she’s profoundly changed by anything that happened to her over the past years. There’s shared guilt, isolation, and paranoia, so much of it. She always knew it was coming her way, but she hoped the people she had abandoned, sacrificed, or hid forgave her, or at least understood her now.
“When are we leaving?”
“Whenever you want.”
“It’s up to me?” You sound surprised. She shrugs.
“Partially.” It always is, she thinks. When it comes to both of you, she always hopes she has some say, but it is always up to you, even when she takes control. To her, it’s up to your safety, your needs, and then your wants. This time, the first two are granted for now. “But I am on the most wanted list. So they would probably swarm the whole place before you even hear them coming.” She deadpans.
You look at her, and she looks back. “I have to sell the cow.”
“Are you aware it’s an animal surrounded by food?”
“She won’t be loved, though.”
She stifles a laugh with a scoffed ‘oh my god’. You don’t stifle yours, getting up from the couch. “Where are you going?” Eva speaks up, feeling the chill breeze when you crack the window open.
“Getting you some coffee.” You warn her as you enter the kitchen.
She eyes the animal outside as she retrieves her panties and turtleneck, putting them on again. Eva makes a mental note to get her team to give your house to a biologist or a veterinarian who can take care of it. “Put one sugar on it.” She requests, walking over to the kitchen, to you, just like past, present, and future.
I would lowkey kill to see that whole ‘City Living, Dinner Party’ scenario w Eva, your last fix was sooo goood
no bc I had so much fun thinking about it aldkskldls it's such a cute scenario to explore!! maybe i'll write something about it 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ and thank you sososo much for reading it!! 🤍
Please oh please keep the Eva stratt fics coming they’re keeping me alive 🫶🫶
😔😔😔stop i'm so happy you like them!! i'll try and post a few shorter ones bc i know i'm a yapper and that's not everyone's cup of tea lol so they're definitely coming!!! a few non smutty ones too <3 tysm for your support!!
summary: eva stratt manages to break out of prison and goes on to live on a boat, waiting for the beetles and to save humanity. common knowledge. she, however, stops on your doorstep before crack of dawn in the middle of all this.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader
rating: +18 (pls dni if you're a minor)
word count: 6.8k
warnings: probably a little canon divergent (this is based on the whole stratt breaking out of prison thing so), it's a little angsty. mentions of guns (i'm extremely anti gun pls </3). thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, mentions of religion (like one, but it's a romantic setting), overstimulation, implied situationship between them lol mentions of masturbation, eva in jail and touch starvation.
You wake up hearing the knocking.
You don’t know what time it is; there are no clocks in your house, but you look out your window and see the nearby lake glittering with the colors of that moment after the moon hides and the sun isn't quite ready to come out. You understand more about nature now than you did all these years ago, when you worked on developing the Hail Mary mission’s ship.
Ever since then, you have moved to a secluded area. There are no cities within at least eight miles, only a beautiful lake and a few animals you take care of.
When it ended, as soon as the ship launched, they told you to leave quietly and lead an inconspicuous life. All due to the nature of your relationship with the leader of the mission, and how they could make you either an accomplice to her, a scapegoat, or use you as blackmail. She told you this a day before they took her.
She packed your bags, told them to pick you up from her bedroom at the crack of dawn, kissed you goodnight, and, in the middle of the night as you slept, slipped away from the bed and never looked back. You never expected her to.
You have a rifle in your house; she taught you how to work that thing back then, even though you protested and gave her the silent treatment for a week. "I know you hate guns," she held your arms in the right position as your hands trembled, her face next to yours, adjusting your aim, "but I will be more at ease knowing you know how to shoot." You remember how confused you were at her statement, right before your thoughts were deafened by the gunshot.
You never used the rifle; it sits there as a souvenir. But, as you drag your feet across the wooden floor, moving as quietly as you could so the person on the other side of the door couldn't hear you, you grab it. Not with the intention of shooting, but as a twisted, fucked up version of a safe blanket, as if her hands still held the handguard for you.
You can't freeze; there is not a single living soul to come and rescue you if you do, and no phones, you were told to get rid of those, too. So you just go on.
The floor creaks when you arrive at the door and twist the doorknob. In slow motion, you open a smidge, just enough for the rifle to fit. You don't dare to see who's outside, but you can hear the grass ruffling with steps.
Your heart is either nearly stopping or beating at a hummingbird's heart rate; you can't feel it anymore, just the dizziness of it all. You hear what seems to be a humorless chuckle. You open the door fully now. It's one thing to try to invade your house in the middle of the night, but to laugh at you? Fuck them.
It takes some time for your brain to understand what you're seeing. You keep the rifle in your hand, on guard. It's not that you can't see it, her, you can and very clearly now. You simply weren't expecting it; you never did. You never thought she would look back.
Eva's hair is longer now. She always had long hair, you loved it. Loved twirling it when she was trying so hard to sleep, before she started telling you off for it. It tickled every time you held her, and it got in the way when you two kissed. She looks almost the same under the mist. There's not a hint of a smile on her face, only that slightly tilted head gesture she usually does when waiting for you to step aside and let her in.
The silence extends for whole minutes, you don't know exactly how many. Enough for the cow in the barn to moo. Probably swearing at her.
"Nice gun," she nods, her voice husky and dry. She must not have talked for the whole trip to your house.
You put it down, your lips opening and closing like a fish, gasping at the surface. Your brain is full of oxygen, and you feel like you might pass out. "I'm coming in," she informs you.
"The whole house is a mess." You step aside, despite your protest. Great first words, you think.
"That's expected. Your room always was."
She comes inside. You take a look at the sky for a minute before following her. It's cloudy and freezing. You wonder if the Hail Mary ship is somewhere up there, if Stratt's last sacrifice was successful, and if her return meant things were going to be okay.
You turn around and see her amidst the darkness of your cramped living room. Books scattered everywhere on the floor and coffee table, a used-up leather couch, a bunch of abandoned projects you grew tired of, and an acoustic guitar. And there she was. Inspecting everything as she did back when she was your boss and ventured into your lab, or when she was yours and entered your room. You suppose she was yours. You hope.
You close the door and turn on the lampshade, soft yellow light shining on her face and yours. You just stand there, looking at each other for a bit. Now you can see the tattoo on her neck and a few frown lines that weren't there before. There are too many questions to ask, many of which she won't answer.
"Okay," you inhale, putting the rifle aside and turning the heater up. "Hello." You sit down, facing her, hugging your knees.
"Hello."
"Should I ask if you were taking a stroll out in the neighborhood and ended up here?"
She stands next to the window, fiddling with the sheer, white mesh curtains. You feel weird. It's not like you could jump into her arms and kiss the shit out of her; that's not who you two are, whatever 'you two' means or meant, or if it even existed, but it's so ridiculous to not know how to conduct this conversation.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“I think you do.”
She presses her lips together, nodding and looking around at your living room, “They sent you to live like a hermit?”
“I chose it.”
“You?” she says in disbelief, almost humorously. You always joked about what your lives would look like after the mission ended. You said you wanted to go back to a big city, teach at a university, live in a loft, and throw dinner parties for your friends. You visualized Eva there but never told her that. She would hate the dinner parties and go out on the balcony to smoke, and you would follow her. You would wake up late, brew coffee for you two, then go back to bed and sleep with your head nestled on her chest. She never told you how she saw herself after it all ended, nor whether you would be in her version of the future. You used to grumble about it, but now you see why.
“I like quiet now. I have a farm—” “That’s not a farm.” “—and a nice lake to swim.”
Eva looks out the window now, pushing the curtains away. “It’s on the other side,” you inform her. “You can see it from my bed.”
“The cow smells like shit.”
“Well, that’s how they smell.”
She looks down, then at you. “You have— I want you to move in with me.”
You look at her and try to conceal the bewildered look that creeps into your expression, your head shaking slightly as you mutter a small ‘what the fuck’.
“Eva, sit down.” You say, almost annoyed. Not at her, never at her.
She doesn’t oblige. Of course she doesn’t. So you stand up and go to the kitchen, and brew the coffee you promised yourself you would brew for you both, years ago. It’s almost morning, anyway.
She stands still until you’re back, taking the mug from your hands. Unsweetened, black, and no milk for her, two teaspoons of sugar and a lot of creamer for you. “Please.” You gesture to the couch.
It’s been a while since you two last sat down to have a proper talk. The last months of the project were frantic; you only saw her once, maybe twice a week, and most of these times you wouldn’t talk. There was no need to when your lips were locked on her skin, trying your best to relieve her tension, even if most times she would get up and continue working as soon as she was done.
“We need you for the next step of the Project. It’s almost time we receive the beetles.”
“Why would you need me? I’m an engineer.” She doesn’t respond and takes a sip of her coffee instead. “Eva, what happened? Why are you here?” You exhale, placing your mug on the coffee table.
She looks at you, tight-lipped again, a slight shrug, and the smallest eyebrow scrunch. “I escaped prison. Well, that’s obvious.” Another sip of coffee as she eyes the ring on your finger, “Are you married?”
“No.” That’s also obvious. There’s only one pair of boots, one coat hanging, one plate on the sink. She just needed to get the ring out of the way. You don’t know why you wear the ring. Maybe it’s because of her. A rifle, a ring you hoped she would give you someday, and constant dreams are all that are left from your hopeful days.
She nods, another sip. “I have a team. They helped me to get out of there, and they helped me get here.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “When did you escape?”
“Two weeks ago. You’re difficult to locate.”
“Do you want me to believe you started looking for me as soon as you broke out?”
“No, they are different sentences. I broke out two weeks ago, and you were difficult to locate.” You chuckle at that. “I started looking for you three days ago.”
“Where are you living?”
“Nowhere, for now. On a boat as soon as possible. And if you come with me—”
“Do you want me to come, or do they need me to?”
It’s been at least eight years, and you still won’t let her finish a sentence, she thinks.
“I can’t spend my life worrying about you. It’s easier if you come.”
“It’s easier?”
She shrugs and looks at you, and then at her hands. You two stay in silence for a minute. “We can have a nice life there.”
You really look at her. There’s something in her demeanor, or her voice, that indicates she’s not the same. She’s been imprisoned, persecuted, hunted down. You weren’t there; you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you; she would never let you. Eva is not the most powerful person in the world now, she’s on the run and, deep down, she’s hopeful. Hopeful that the mission will work, that the beetles will arrive, that you’ll accept her request, that she won’t bear the weight of the world on her shoulders in a few years, and that she will be able to just be. And she has no choice but to be hopeful.
Besides that, she’s still her. Still Eva. She made peace with it all, past and present.
You don’t dare to ask how things were in prison, how the trials happened, how she feels now. “They never let me testify.”
“I know.” She tells you quietly with a gentle smile, gentler than you have seen before. You can’t help but blame yourself for the way things turned out, even though it was inevitable. There’s a type of resentment beneath your voice, and it refuses to let you look her in the eyes: resentment towards yourself for not fighting for her, and towards her for not letting you beat yourself up for that.
You two sit in silence for a while. The sun is not as shy now, but it is still partially hidden by the thick mist. She seems to enjoy the peaceful view outside your windows, and you wonder how many days she has spent without having the choice of appreciating the rising sun or the awakening of the animals. “I missed you.” You murmur in the quietest voice you can muster, trying not to bother her.
She looks back at you, breaking a small smile as she touches your hand. It’s the first touch you've felt for a long time. Eva murmurs something similar to ‘I know’.
You take her hand, hesitant to entwine your fingers together, but you do it anyway. Her hands were always cold and clammy, ‘You feel like a frog, ’ you laughed about it one day, and she grinned, shaking her head. It feels the same now as you tug it for her to come closer, but you don’t joke about it this time. You would take her hand even if it were made of ammonia.
She does come closer to you. Not a lot, just enough so you can feel the warmth radiating off her, so you can understand she’s really there. “Where do we stand, Eva?” You start, quietly, one hand still in hers and the other supporting your head over the couch’s back.
“That’s not the time to ask this.”
“You ask me to move with you—”
“I break out of prison, and I come looking for you. Isn’t it enough?” She says as a matter of fact, a small frown is present, not from anger, but from feeling misunderstood. You always needed her words, the steadiness, the land. To Eva, the facts were enough, so was shooting in the dark, and the fluctuation of waves.
“I need more.” You mirror her frown, reaching for her face, brushing away a strand of hair. There she is.
“I can’t give you more.”
“Why?”
She answers with a reluctant smile and a deep breath. “There’s no future.” And you don’t know if she’s talking about you two, her, or Earth. You bring her hand to your lips, kissing it softly for a moment. She looks at you, “But I would enjoy spending my present and my freedom on you.”
“Eva.” You whisper, closing your eyes for a moment.
You have the same feeling you had when you agreed to work for her, or when you chose which university to attend, when you fell in love for the first time, when you woke up for the last day of middle school. It’s a never-be-the-same feeling, the softest punch in the gut, the perception of life happening and never slowing down. You were never easily convinced by anyone, which was mainly why Eva first gravitated towards you. She, however, is one of those moments personified. After she came into your life, you’re in a constant state of change. It’s uncomfortable.
‘What is love if not changing yourself?’, Ilyukhina said once, when you were both tipsy, and you decided to open up to your friend about your very, very secret relationship. Eva wasn’t happy about it, for numerous reasons. You always wanted to declare your love by shouting from rooftops. You guessed this had to change, too. It was only when Eva first took your hand in hers during a casual hangout with other people that you noticed she, too, had changed.
You nod only once. She won’t beg for more. You can’t physically offer more.
Eva knows it’s a lot to ask, and it’s borderline egotistical to ask you to leave your life and follow her. She already did it once, but to save humanity. This time, it’s purely to herself. For once, she’s doing it for herself.
You two exchange a look; there’s much more to do than that, but you pause to look at each other. You notice that’s your fucked up version of a romantic proposal. The woman you once had an undefined relationship with breaks out of jail, appears on your doorstep, asks you to run away with her, and live in the middle of the ocean for god knows how long. You might die there, you might not. ‘Til death do us part, in a way. Very The Notebook, if you may ask. You chuckle at the thought.
“Are you laughing at me?” She seems amused that’s your reaction to accepting her terrible, almost catastrophic deal.
“No.” She takes your hand again, and it’s her turn to tug you closer. You scoot with your knees, nearing the proximity of those older days. “I’m repeating myself here, but where do we stand, Eva?”
“That’s your question? Not when we are leaving, or if there are rooms on the boat?”
“Logistics were always your thing.”
“Okay.” A deep breath again. When she exhales, it faintly touches your face. How good it feels to be affected by her presence again. “You— I stand where we left off. About us, that is.”
“Well, I left off being dragged away from your room, so I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“If it comes to this, it will. If that’s what it takes to keep you away from the consequences I earned.”
“I am, also, a consequence you earned.”
There’s a silence, and she looks at your hands resting on your lap, then back at you. “The best of them.”
“I would hope so.” She blows air out of her nose as a laugh, and there’s silence again.
She engulfs every detail of you; how your hair looks now compared to then, how you seem more tired, how your fingernails have no nail polish even though you loved to paint them. She takes in the soft skin of your neck and your arms, and how your lips still look so soft, even though the climate is colder and drier than it was eight years ago.
“What are you looking at?” You ask. If it were anyone else, you would squirm under that intense gaze. When it comes to her, you want her to stare, and you notice yourself desiring her gaze even more than you did back then, when you were younger and more insecure.
“You. Can you blame me?”
And there is a shift in the atmosphere. “You still want me?”
“I thought it was implied.”
“I don’t work with hints, you know this.”
She gives you a low chuckle.
“Come here, dear.”
And so you do. Scooting over to close the last remaining centimeters of distance between you, you begin to wonder if eight years were enough to make it awkward. Funnily enough, you don’t get the same feeling of utter jitteriness you did when you first kissed her. You do, however, get a feeling of coming home after a long, annoying trip, and, at the same time, peacefully drowning.
You don’t kiss instantly, instead taking some time to breathe each other in. She holds each side of your face, and you hold her forearms. So close, you can see the darker spots of blue near her pupil and the stray eyebrow hairs. It’s, surprisingly, Eva who falters first, slightly tilting her head to touch your lips, uncharacteristically hesitant.
You close the distance for her. A small peck, two, three, and then you notice how much softer and pliant she seems on your hand than she did back then. On the fourth, she reaches for your neck, one hand buried in your hair.
There’s no fifth; you part your mouth, and she slides her tongue. Eva hums, releasing a soft sigh into the kiss, she furrows her eyebrows. You both slow down, savoring the taste of each other’s lips, languid strokes, and careful pauses just to bring the other impossibly closer. Your pulse is hard beneath your skin, thundering in your ears as she stops the kiss only to glide her hand to your legs, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips, broken only by a hitch of your breath when her grip turns featherlike on your naked leg, she fiddles with the hem of the cotton nightgown you wear, which was so easily hiked up by your movements.
You move to place one of your legs across her lap, knocking down the mug you set earlier on the coffee table. You murmur a soft “fuck” and feel a grin stretching open on her lips before she tilts her head and kisses you bruisingly, her hands slipping to hold your waist. You melt when you feel her shift her body to cage yours, driving you to recline on the couch, your legs on each side of her body.
She gasps when you suck her tongue and nibble on her bottom lip with your teeth, “Are we leaving today?”
“A little kissing made you excited to exile yourself with me?” Eva nudges your jawline with her nose, lazily leaving open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. Her body weight provides just enough pressure and not enough friction for you to feel your core pulsing.
“Yeah. Can I have you all over me every day?” You rasp as you reach between your bodies to slide your hand on her abdomen, nails raking and leaving a red path. “Don’t know how I spent all these years away from you.”
She kisses the corner of your mouth, her hips moving as you lower your hand, back arching on you. It’s unconscious, but you spread your legs wider to accommodate her. “I still have to work.”
You undo the buttons of her denim pants. “I don’t care. There’s a lot of shit I learned during all these years, and I have to try them out with you.”
Eva never expected you to stay celibate after she went to prison. ‘I want you to find someone and marry them’ is something she would never say, but she knew you should do it. She wouldn’t blame you. “Someone has been riding your pretty face?” She teases, half seriously and with the calmest tone, grasping your face with her free hand while the other bunches up your nightgown around your waist.
“Wanna ride it too?” You sit up slightly to take off her black turtleneck, brushing her smooth skin with your lips before kissing it. You look up to see her eyes closed, eyebrows knitted together, and mouth parted, so inviting, warm, and erotic that you can’t help but breathlessly trail kisses and licks on her sternum, pushing her bra out of the way, and mutter, “kiss me, please.”
She does, looking down to properly see you and pulling you into a devouring kiss, pressing herself against you, and moving her legs to straddle your lap. You hold her hair out of the way, just in case. Eva is hungry for it, for you, and you reciprocate every groan, whine, and pant. Even the smallest ‘humph’ she let seep into the kiss is so mouthwatering to you, it causes muscle memory to kick in and your hips to grind up on hers.
Eva doesn’t pause to breathe, indulging as she rarely does on the mess of a kiss, and it’s all urgent whimpers, saliva, and teeth clashing. She grinds down on you, too, grabbing a fistful of your hair to command you to keep the rhythm up. You feel lightheaded, so needy and desperate, and clinging to you, not only physically. You feel her movements and touch on your heart; her presence floods your lungs and sends shivers down your spine. For a moment, it’s all her, and she’s everywhere, as if it has continuously been.
“Take this shit off.” You clumsily tug down her pants, your breath ghosting over her swollen lips.
“I missed you.” She confesses so quietly you almost can’t hear, and you wonder if you’re supposed to hear it or if she hasn’t noticed she said it out loud. You brush your lips against her neck as you lay her down to discard her pants and your nightgown, and as soon as they’re both gone, she pulls your head back to the kiss, her other hand alternating between massaging your breasts and pinching your nipples.
She’s half reclined, her head on the armrest of the couch, and you find the opportunity to fit one leg in between her legs when she instinctively opens them to welcome you. “Did you ever think of me?” You exhale, creating marks on her collarbones, each one darker than the previous as her grip on your legs tightens. “I thought of you all the time. Thought about you fucking me dumb whenever I wanted to cum.”
She grinds on your leg, her underwear with an obvious wet patch, just as obvious as yours, and you notice it when she forces your hips down to grind on her thigh. “Mhm. Look at you. All wet on my thigh.” Eva’s words ghost on your lips as she keeps your face mere centimeters away from hers, blue eyes unfocused and half-lidded.
You two move at the pace she establishes, her hand guiding your hips at the same rhythm her hips roll. She flexes her thigh under you and taps you softly so you do the same. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for another kiss, needing more of her touch desperately. You press your chests together and curse her bra for creating a barrier between you.
She keeps one hand planted firmly on your hip and the other on your cheek, her nails graze the skin, creating a path, a faint sting reminding you of her burning touch. You brace yourself over her with one arm, the other takes off the annoying piece of undergarment from her, before you press yourself flush to her again, recommitting to her speed.
You exhale directly on her mouth, both of your breathing uneven as moans bubble up your throats. She quickens the pace, rutting her hips harshly on your thigh whenever she feels your legs trying to close, whimpers fall off your lips, and she drinks them, drowning them with her choked-up groans.
The friction between your bodies feels delicious on your sensitive nipples, heightening your need for her, so you try to kiss her, and she harshly tugs your hair, “I need to see you when you cum.” Eva whispers, a pained, whiny voice betraying her restrained order.
“Ride my face.” You plead, fluttering eyelashes begging for her and diving, contrary to her orders, to kiss her jawline. She pulls a fistful of your hair only to feel the faltering of your hips on her soaked thigh, “Please, ride my face, baby.” You suck her skin more fervently, murmuring against it, “Please, please. I want you to ride it.”
“Do you want me to soak your pretty face?” She says in a shaky exhale, “Look at me. You’re so close, dear.”
You look at her glazed eyes and glistening lips, her pupils blown wide and her staggering breath denounces she’s also so, so close. You flex your thigh, feeling the soft material of her panties and the sloppy sliding sound of both of your slick. She arches her back, hand gripping strongly on your hair, and knees going weak as your hand grips the flesh of her hip to guide you as feverishly as she did.
She feels it coming at almost the same time you do, and as much as you want to close your eyes, you simply can’t. Eva tightens the grip on your hair as she cums, wavering moans breaking the panting sounds, and the sting on your scalp feels so good accompanied by her furrowed brows, open lips letting escape the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard, blue eyes trying so hard not to roll back. Her eyes don’t shy away from yours as your orgasm comes, your nails dig deep into her flesh, and high-pitched cries echo from your lips.
It’s the most beautiful sight to see her fall apart and her body go limp as you ride out your orgasms. You notice it’s morning now when her hands travel down to your breasts, caressing them before helping you out of your panties. “We have the whole day ahead.” She mutters against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses.
“That’s a first.”
“Don’t get used to it.” You’re bare now, and end up discarding hers too. You dive into a slow kiss, lazy tongue movements against hers.
You’re lying sideways next to her now on the cramped couch, the memories of a rushed time, where simply kissing and being at each other’s mercy would never be possible, come like waves. She takes her time, reexploring your body with soft fingertips, discovering new freckles and reminding herself of the velvety touch of you against her. You stroke her cheek with your thumb as the lingering kiss extends itself for what seems both a lifetime and never enough, cleaning any fugitive spit from your lips.
Her hand guides yours to her torso, hers traveling to your lower abdomen, spiraling downwards. “How things worked around here before I came back, mhm?” A sly question comes laced in with her tender tone.
“I have two hands. And a few toys.” You joke, and she gives you a disbelieving look. “I’m not telling you about other women when I have my hand on your breast, Eva.”
“I’m asking you to.”
You lower your face to toy with her nipple with your tongue, sucking it and releasing with a pop from you and a hiss from her. You scrape your teeth down the skin before sucking a mark while looking at her, and then taking it into your hand. You press a quick kiss into her parted mouth, “I tried a few things. Never long-term, though. I tried a lot of people, some from the town.”
She hums in acknowledgment, hand parting your thighs and tracing your slit with her middle finger. She wants to ask you if you have fallen in love. She won’t. You hitch your breath at her teasing strokes. “They won’t be happy when I whisk you away from here.”
“It’s for a greater good.” Your eyes flutter closed, hands searching for her face.
She chuckles, lips closed. She never had laughter easily falling from her lips, nor was she one to effortlessly smile, but it was never easier to breathe than when she was with you. In prison, she remembered how you would turn her, even for a fraction of a moment, carefree. How much easier it was to feel the breeze in your presence, or to notice the ground beneath her feet. Eva notices the sun shining and the shimmering on the curtains, the sounds of nothing outside of you two. “Which would be?”
“Having you sit on my face, every morning, forever.”
She closes her eyes to conceal her amusement, hiding it in an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work; you know her too well. “Unless you wake up at 5am, then it won’t happen in the morning.”
“I can sacrifice an hour or two of sleep.” The last word goes away with a sound almost like a purr when she enters you with a finger.
“Feels good?” She asks, a mocking lilt in her voice, but with a serious expression.
You nod, rocking your hips on her hand as she inserts another finger, her palm brushing against your clit. “Go on.” She brushes a strand of hair away from your face with her other hand, reaching over to place a kiss on your lips.
You adjust your position so it’s easier for you to ride her hand. You hide your face in the crook of her neck, and this time she doesn’t complain about not looking at you, merely because you’re sending out the sweetest noises straight into her ear and your lips are glued to her neck.
You breathe in the scent of her skin and swear it makes you dizzy as she presses more of her palm to your clit. Your skin glistens with sweat as she watches your up and down movements, and she swears she could eat you up. You look delicious like this, and she feels ravenous feeling your head dipping further into the safety of her.
“Will you ride my face, baby?” You ask again. She would, and she could so easily, tease you more and more about it, drawing out your begging, but you sound so pretty, so titillating. “Will you let me eat you out? Please? Will you use my face?”
“Sure”, she murmurs into your hair, so nonchalant you can almost think she’s bored. Eva is not. She would do anything you asked her to in this state, sounding so much like a personal pornstar for her, but especially this. Especially riding your face, the thing that many days, alone in the cell, she had caught herself daydreaming about.
It’s almost as if you’re just waiting for her confirmation to cum. And so you do, cumming with a high-pitched, drawn-out moan, squeezing your eyes shut and brushing your core on her palm, your legs shaking, and no other thought on your head other than the overwhelming pleasure and need to kiss her. “There you go. You want more of this?” She indulges you, taking her fingers off of you and circling them on your oversensitive clit.
You hiss, dropping your head on her chest as you stifle whimpers caused by the overstimulation. “Enough, enough.” You murmur into her skin.
She retreats her hand and unhurriedly caresses your scalp, “Will you clean me up, dear?”
You nod fervently, pressing a searing kiss to her lips and whispering ‘thank you’s. She gets on her knees, waiting for you to adjust your position and lie down comfortably, before lowering herself into your face.
You grip her thighs, nodding, mouth open and tongue out, waiting for her. Her hand soothes your hair as she starts rocking her hips to your tongue. She looks at you the whole time, and oh, she looks gorgeous.
The sun hits her skin and her eyes in such a unique way, her slightly messy hair cascades, and Eva looks so soft, so vulnerable, and it’s all for you, and just for you. As she moans and grinds on your mouth, you’re so grateful to be spending possibly the rest of your days locked up on a boat with her. You realize you sound insane, but again, Ilyukhina, in her immense wisdom, once said ‘whatever rocks your boat’, and refused to be corrected.
Your hands hold her waist, cradling the soft skin and begging for this moment to never end. Your unremitting tongue makes her exhale, and you flatten it, suckle on her clit, lick her folds, and do whatever you did eight years ago that was enough to make her come back to you today. “That’s it,” she says hoarsely, a tainted and weepy sound coming from her, and you feel her trembling. “That’s it,” Eva repeats over and over breathlessly, restraining herself, looking up and tangling her fingers deeper into your strands.
Eva looks at you, and you notice she’s coming. That’s all she has to do. She bites her lip and indulges in a long whimper, her thighs closing around your head, feeling your hot cheeks and panting your name, your surname, anything she has ever called you. She’s too sensitive, she’s always been, so you stop and wait for her to lie back down.
She kisses you first, your face glistening with her slick, and your eyes shining with adoration. She always thought she could handle love and compliments, but she never thought she would be the target of the amount you offer her. So she doesn’t handle the utter devotion, choosing to close her eyes and kiss you deeply. You taste like her, and you smell like her. She smells like you and tastes like a religion.
When she lies back down, you bury your head in the crook of her neck again, sleepily kissing the marks you left. Then, there’s silence, and you hear the birds outside, the leaves on the ground being crunched by the steps of the dogs, and a few water sounds, possibly the cow drinking water. You know you can’t dream, your life won’t allow you to, but if you could give yourself the luxury of choosing how to live, you would choose this.
You wouldn’t choose the dinner parties, teaching, or smoking on the balcony. You would keep the coffee and Eva. And this, the quiet, the sun. She doesn’t ask you what you’re thinking about; she doesn’t need to, she’s seen the same look in your face over and over the years, had nightmares about it, and the sweetest dreams, too. She knows this is the same expression she saw when she changed your life, in one way or another. How ridiculous it is to ask for someone to blindly follow you, your ideals, and your hopes. How absurd it is for you to agree, even without a single word from her, without a future and all the things you deserve. She’s fully aware of it, but she kept you safe, she redeemed herself, and, when the whole Hail Mary mission is over, she will redeem herself again. And only then will you two have a life like this moment again.
“That’s an awfully quiet place.” She says, enamoured by the beautiful sky seen through the window and the sight of the sun hitting the wooden floors.
“I have to sell the cow.”
Eva looks at you. You do have to sell the cow.
“I won’t take the shit-smelling cow to the boat.”
You pout to yourself. Your house feels like paradise now that she’s here. You’ll miss your life, the quiet and undetectable life, but you had given up on it once; you could do it a second time, now that you know she’ll be there. You wonder if this is how it feels to have a soulmate, like an eternal post-sex pre-coffee morning.
“Are you too different from who you were?”
“What do you think?” She asks you with nothing but curiosity.
“I think I’ll have to find out.”
She nods. She doesn’t think she’s profoundly changed by anything that happened to her over the past years. There’s shared guilt, isolation, and paranoia, so much of it. She always knew it was coming her way, but she hoped the people she had abandoned, sacrificed, or hid forgave her, or at least understood her now.
“When are we leaving?”
“Whenever you want.”
“It’s up to me?” You sound surprised. She shrugs.
“Partially.” It always is, she thinks. When it comes to both of you, she always hopes she has some say, but it is always up to you, even when she takes control. To her, it’s up to your safety, your needs, and then your wants. This time, the first two are granted for now. “But I am on the most wanted list. So they would probably swarm the whole place before you even hear them coming.” She deadpans.
You look at her, and she looks back. “I have to sell the cow.”
“Are you aware it’s an animal surrounded by food?”
“She won’t be loved, though.”
She stifles a laugh with a scoffed ‘oh my god’. You don’t stifle yours, getting up from the couch. “Where are you going?” Eva speaks up, feeling the chill breeze when you crack the window open.
“Getting you some coffee.” You warn her as you enter the kitchen.
She eyes the animal outside as she retrieves her panties and turtleneck, putting them on again. Eva makes a mental note to get her team to give your house to a biologist or a veterinarian who can take care of it. “Put one sugar on it.” She requests, walking over to the kitchen, to you, just like past, present, and future.
summary: eva stratt manages to break out of prison and goes on to live on a boat, waiting for the beetles and to save humanity. common knowledge. she, however, stops on your doorstep before crack of dawn in the middle of all this.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader
rating: +18 (pls dni if you're a minor)
word count: 6.8k
warnings: probably a little canon divergent (this is based on the whole stratt breaking out of prison thing so), it's a little angsty. mentions of guns (i'm extremely anti gun pls </3). thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, mentions of religion (like one, but it's a romantic setting), overstimulation, implied situationship between them lol mentions of masturbation, eva in jail and touch starvation.
You wake up hearing the knocking.
You don’t know what time it is; there are no clocks in your house, but you look out your window and see the nearby lake glittering with the colors of that moment after the moon hides and the sun isn't quite ready to come out. You understand more about nature now than you did all these years ago, when you worked on developing the Hail Mary mission’s ship.
Ever since then, you have moved to a secluded area. There are no cities within at least eight miles, only a beautiful lake and a few animals you take care of.
When it ended, as soon as the ship launched, they told you to leave quietly and lead an inconspicuous life. All due to the nature of your relationship with the leader of the mission, and how they could make you either an accomplice to her, a scapegoat, or use you as blackmail. She told you this a day before they took her.
She packed your bags, told them to pick you up from her bedroom at the crack of dawn, kissed you goodnight, and, in the middle of the night as you slept, slipped away from the bed and never looked back. You never expected her to.
You have a rifle in your house; she taught you how to work that thing back then, even though you protested and gave her the silent treatment for a week. "I know you hate guns," she held your arms in the right position as your hands trembled, her face next to yours, adjusting your aim, "but I will be more at ease knowing you know how to shoot." You remember how confused you were at her statement, right before your thoughts were deafened by the gunshot.
You never used the rifle; it sits there as a souvenir. But, as you drag your feet across the wooden floor, moving as quietly as you could so the person on the other side of the door couldn't hear you, you grab it. Not with the intention of shooting, but as a twisted, fucked up version of a safe blanket, as if her hands still held the handguard for you.
You can't freeze; there is not a single living soul to come and rescue you if you do, and no phones, you were told to get rid of those, too. So you just go on.
The floor creaks when you arrive at the door and twist the doorknob. In slow motion, you open a smidge, just enough for the rifle to fit. You don't dare to see who's outside, but you can hear the grass ruffling with steps.
Your heart is either nearly stopping or beating at a hummingbird's heart rate; you can't feel it anymore, just the dizziness of it all. You hear what seems to be a humorless chuckle. You open the door fully now. It's one thing to try to invade your house in the middle of the night, but to laugh at you? Fuck them.
It takes some time for your brain to understand what you're seeing. You keep the rifle in your hand, on guard. It's not that you can't see it, her, you can and very clearly now. You simply weren't expecting it; you never did. You never thought she would look back.
Eva's hair is longer now. She always had long hair, you loved it. Loved twirling it when she was trying so hard to sleep, before she started telling you off for it. It tickled every time you held her, and it got in the way when you two kissed. She looks almost the same under the mist. There's not a hint of a smile on her face, only that slightly tilted head gesture she usually does when waiting for you to step aside and let her in.
The silence extends for whole minutes, you don't know exactly how many. Enough for the cow in the barn to moo. Probably swearing at her.
"Nice gun," she nods, her voice husky and dry. She must not have talked for the whole trip to your house.
You put it down, your lips opening and closing like a fish, gasping at the surface. Your brain is full of oxygen, and you feel like you might pass out. "I'm coming in," she informs you.
"The whole house is a mess." You step aside, despite your protest. Great first words, you think.
"That's expected. Your room always was."
She comes inside. You take a look at the sky for a minute before following her. It's cloudy and freezing. You wonder if the Hail Mary ship is somewhere up there, if Stratt's last sacrifice was successful, and if her return meant things were going to be okay.
You turn around and see her amidst the darkness of your cramped living room. Books scattered everywhere on the floor and coffee table, a used-up leather couch, a bunch of abandoned projects you grew tired of, and an acoustic guitar. And there she was. Inspecting everything as she did back when she was your boss and ventured into your lab, or when she was yours and entered your room. You suppose she was yours. You hope.
You close the door and turn on the lampshade, soft yellow light shining on her face and yours. You just stand there, looking at each other for a bit. Now you can see the tattoo on her neck and a few frown lines that weren't there before. There are too many questions to ask, many of which she won't answer.
"Okay," you inhale, putting the rifle aside and turning the heater up. "Hello." You sit down, facing her, hugging your knees.
"Hello."
"Should I ask if you were taking a stroll out in the neighborhood and ended up here?"
She stands next to the window, fiddling with the sheer, white mesh curtains. You feel weird. It's not like you could jump into her arms and kiss the shit out of her; that's not who you two are, whatever 'you two' means or meant, or if it even existed, but it's so ridiculous to not know how to conduct this conversation.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“I think you do.”
She presses her lips together, nodding and looking around at your living room, “They sent you to live like a hermit?”
“I chose it.”
“You?” she says in disbelief, almost humorously. You always joked about what your lives would look like after the mission ended. You said you wanted to go back to a big city, teach at a university, live in a loft, and throw dinner parties for your friends. You visualized Eva there but never told her that. She would hate the dinner parties and go out on the balcony to smoke, and you would follow her. You would wake up late, brew coffee for you two, then go back to bed and sleep with your head nestled on her chest. She never told you how she saw herself after it all ended, nor whether you would be in her version of the future. You used to grumble about it, but now you see why.
“I like quiet now. I have a farm—” “That’s not a farm.” “—and a nice lake to swim.”
Eva looks out the window now, pushing the curtains away. “It’s on the other side,” you inform her. “You can see it from my bed.”
“The cow smells like shit.”
“Well, that’s how they smell.”
She looks down, then at you. “You have— I want you to move in with me.”
You look at her and try to conceal the bewildered look that creeps into your expression, your head shaking slightly as you mutter a small ‘what the fuck’.
“Eva, sit down.” You say, almost annoyed. Not at her, never at her.
She doesn’t oblige. Of course she doesn’t. So you stand up and go to the kitchen, and brew the coffee you promised yourself you would brew for you both, years ago. It’s almost morning, anyway.
She stands still until you’re back, taking the mug from your hands. Unsweetened, black, and no milk for her, two teaspoons of sugar and a lot of creamer for you. “Please.” You gesture to the couch.
It’s been a while since you two last sat down to have a proper talk. The last months of the project were frantic; you only saw her once, maybe twice a week, and most of these times you wouldn’t talk. There was no need to when your lips were locked on her skin, trying your best to relieve her tension, even if most times she would get up and continue working as soon as she was done.
“We need you for the next step of the Project. It’s almost time we receive the beetles.”
“Why would you need me? I’m an engineer.” She doesn’t respond and takes a sip of her coffee instead. “Eva, what happened? Why are you here?” You exhale, placing your mug on the coffee table.
She looks at you, tight-lipped again, a slight shrug, and the smallest eyebrow scrunch. “I escaped prison. Well, that’s obvious.” Another sip of coffee as she eyes the ring on your finger, “Are you married?”
“No.” That’s also obvious. There’s only one pair of boots, one coat hanging, one plate on the sink. She just needed to get the ring out of the way. You don’t know why you wear the ring. Maybe it’s because of her. A rifle, a ring you hoped she would give you someday, and constant dreams are all that are left from your hopeful days.
She nods, another sip. “I have a team. They helped me to get out of there, and they helped me get here.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “When did you escape?”
“Two weeks ago. You’re difficult to locate.”
“Do you want me to believe you started looking for me as soon as you broke out?”
“No, they are different sentences. I broke out two weeks ago, and you were difficult to locate.” You chuckle at that. “I started looking for you three days ago.”
“Where are you living?”
“Nowhere, for now. On a boat as soon as possible. And if you come with me—”
“Do you want me to come, or do they need me to?”
It’s been at least eight years, and you still won’t let her finish a sentence, she thinks.
“I can’t spend my life worrying about you. It’s easier if you come.”
“It’s easier?”
She shrugs and looks at you, and then at her hands. You two stay in silence for a minute. “We can have a nice life there.”
You really look at her. There’s something in her demeanor, or her voice, that indicates she’s not the same. She’s been imprisoned, persecuted, hunted down. You weren’t there; you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you; she would never let you. Eva is not the most powerful person in the world now, she’s on the run and, deep down, she’s hopeful. Hopeful that the mission will work, that the beetles will arrive, that you’ll accept her request, that she won’t bear the weight of the world on her shoulders in a few years, and that she will be able to just be. And she has no choice but to be hopeful.
Besides that, she’s still her. Still Eva. She made peace with it all, past and present.
You don’t dare to ask how things were in prison, how the trials happened, how she feels now. “They never let me testify.”
“I know.” She tells you quietly with a gentle smile, gentler than you have seen before. You can’t help but blame yourself for the way things turned out, even though it was inevitable. There’s a type of resentment beneath your voice, and it refuses to let you look her in the eyes: resentment towards yourself for not fighting for her, and towards her for not letting you beat yourself up for that.
You two sit in silence for a while. The sun is not as shy now, but it is still partially hidden by the thick mist. She seems to enjoy the peaceful view outside your windows, and you wonder how many days she has spent without having the choice of appreciating the rising sun or the awakening of the animals. “I missed you.” You murmur in the quietest voice you can muster, trying not to bother her.
She looks back at you, breaking a small smile as she touches your hand. It’s the first touch you've felt for a long time. Eva murmurs something similar to ‘I know’.
You take her hand, hesitant to entwine your fingers together, but you do it anyway. Her hands were always cold and clammy, ‘You feel like a frog, ’ you laughed about it one day, and she grinned, shaking her head. It feels the same now as you tug it for her to come closer, but you don’t joke about it this time. You would take her hand even if it were made of ammonia.
She does come closer to you. Not a lot, just enough so you can feel the warmth radiating off her, so you can understand she’s really there. “Where do we stand, Eva?” You start, quietly, one hand still in hers and the other supporting your head over the couch’s back.
“That’s not the time to ask this.”
“You ask me to move with you—”
“I break out of prison, and I come looking for you. Isn’t it enough?” She says as a matter of fact, a small frown is present, not from anger, but from feeling misunderstood. You always needed her words, the steadiness, the land. To Eva, the facts were enough, so was shooting in the dark, and the fluctuation of waves.
“I need more.” You mirror her frown, reaching for her face, brushing away a strand of hair. There she is.
“I can’t give you more.”
“Why?”
She answers with a reluctant smile and a deep breath. “There’s no future.” And you don’t know if she’s talking about you two, her, or Earth. You bring her hand to your lips, kissing it softly for a moment. She looks at you, “But I would enjoy spending my present and my freedom on you.”
“Eva.” You whisper, closing your eyes for a moment.
You have the same feeling you had when you agreed to work for her, or when you chose which university to attend, when you fell in love for the first time, when you woke up for the last day of middle school. It’s a never-be-the-same feeling, the softest punch in the gut, the perception of life happening and never slowing down. You were never easily convinced by anyone, which was mainly why Eva first gravitated towards you. She, however, is one of those moments personified. After she came into your life, you’re in a constant state of change. It’s uncomfortable.
‘What is love if not changing yourself?’, Ilyukhina said once, when you were both tipsy, and you decided to open up to your friend about your very, very secret relationship. Eva wasn’t happy about it, for numerous reasons. You always wanted to declare your love by shouting from rooftops. You guessed this had to change, too. It was only when Eva first took your hand in hers during a casual hangout with other people that you noticed she, too, had changed.
You nod only once. She won’t beg for more. You can’t physically offer more.
Eva knows it’s a lot to ask, and it’s borderline egotistical to ask you to leave your life and follow her. She already did it once, but to save humanity. This time, it’s purely to herself. For once, she’s doing it for herself.
You two exchange a look; there’s much more to do than that, but you pause to look at each other. You notice that’s your fucked up version of a romantic proposal. The woman you once had an undefined relationship with breaks out of jail, appears on your doorstep, asks you to run away with her, and live in the middle of the ocean for god knows how long. You might die there, you might not. ‘Til death do us part, in a way. Very The Notebook, if you may ask. You chuckle at the thought.
“Are you laughing at me?” She seems amused that’s your reaction to accepting her terrible, almost catastrophic deal.
“No.” She takes your hand again, and it’s her turn to tug you closer. You scoot with your knees, nearing the proximity of those older days. “I’m repeating myself here, but where do we stand, Eva?”
“That’s your question? Not when we are leaving, or if there are rooms on the boat?”
“Logistics were always your thing.”
“Okay.” A deep breath again. When she exhales, it faintly touches your face. How good it feels to be affected by her presence again. “You— I stand where we left off. About us, that is.”
“Well, I left off being dragged away from your room, so I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“If it comes to this, it will. If that’s what it takes to keep you away from the consequences I earned.”
“I am, also, a consequence you earned.”
There’s a silence, and she looks at your hands resting on your lap, then back at you. “The best of them.”
“I would hope so.” She blows air out of her nose as a laugh, and there’s silence again.
She engulfs every detail of you; how your hair looks now compared to then, how you seem more tired, how your fingernails have no nail polish even though you loved to paint them. She takes in the soft skin of your neck and your arms, and how your lips still look so soft, even though the climate is colder and drier than it was eight years ago.
“What are you looking at?” You ask. If it were anyone else, you would squirm under that intense gaze. When it comes to her, you want her to stare, and you notice yourself desiring her gaze even more than you did back then, when you were younger and more insecure.
“You. Can you blame me?”
And there is a shift in the atmosphere. “You still want me?”
“I thought it was implied.”
“I don’t work with hints, you know this.”
She gives you a low chuckle.
“Come here, dear.”
And so you do. Scooting over to close the last remaining centimeters of distance between you, you begin to wonder if eight years were enough to make it awkward. Funnily enough, you don’t get the same feeling of utter jitteriness you did when you first kissed her. You do, however, get a feeling of coming home after a long, annoying trip, and, at the same time, peacefully drowning.
You don’t kiss instantly, instead taking some time to breathe each other in. She holds each side of your face, and you hold her forearms. So close, you can see the darker spots of blue near her pupil and the stray eyebrow hairs. It’s, surprisingly, Eva who falters first, slightly tilting her head to touch your lips, uncharacteristically hesitant.
You close the distance for her. A small peck, two, three, and then you notice how much softer and pliant she seems on your hand than she did back then. On the fourth, she reaches for your neck, one hand buried in your hair.
There’s no fifth; you part your mouth, and she slides her tongue. Eva hums, releasing a soft sigh into the kiss, she furrows her eyebrows. You both slow down, savoring the taste of each other’s lips, languid strokes, and careful pauses just to bring the other impossibly closer. Your pulse is hard beneath your skin, thundering in your ears as she stops the kiss only to glide her hand to your legs, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips, broken only by a hitch of your breath when her grip turns featherlike on your naked leg, she fiddles with the hem of the cotton nightgown you wear, which was so easily hiked up by your movements.
You move to place one of your legs across her lap, knocking down the mug you set earlier on the coffee table. You murmur a soft “fuck” and feel a grin stretching open on her lips before she tilts her head and kisses you bruisingly, her hands slipping to hold your waist. You melt when you feel her shift her body to cage yours, driving you to recline on the couch, your legs on each side of her body.
She gasps when you suck her tongue and nibble on her bottom lip with your teeth, “Are we leaving today?”
“A little kissing made you excited to exile yourself with me?” Eva nudges your jawline with her nose, lazily leaving open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. Her body weight provides just enough pressure and not enough friction for you to feel your core pulsing.
“Yeah. Can I have you all over me every day?” You rasp as you reach between your bodies to slide your hand on her abdomen, nails raking and leaving a red path. “Don’t know how I spent all these years away from you.”
She kisses the corner of your mouth, her hips moving as you lower your hand, back arching on you. It’s unconscious, but you spread your legs wider to accommodate her. “I still have to work.”
You undo the buttons of her denim pants. “I don’t care. There’s a lot of shit I learned during all these years, and I have to try them out with you.”
Eva never expected you to stay celibate after she went to prison. ‘I want you to find someone and marry them’ is something she would never say, but she knew you should do it. She wouldn’t blame you. “Someone has been riding your pretty face?” She teases, half seriously and with the calmest tone, grasping your face with her free hand while the other bunches up your nightgown around your waist.
“Wanna ride it too?” You sit up slightly to take off her black turtleneck, brushing her smooth skin with your lips before kissing it. You look up to see her eyes closed, eyebrows knitted together, and mouth parted, so inviting, warm, and erotic that you can’t help but breathlessly trail kisses and licks on her sternum, pushing her bra out of the way, and mutter, “kiss me, please.”
She does, looking down to properly see you and pulling you into a devouring kiss, pressing herself against you, and moving her legs to straddle your lap. You hold her hair out of the way, just in case. Eva is hungry for it, for you, and you reciprocate every groan, whine, and pant. Even the smallest ‘humph’ she let seep into the kiss is so mouthwatering to you, it causes muscle memory to kick in and your hips to grind up on hers.
Eva doesn’t pause to breathe, indulging as she rarely does on the mess of a kiss, and it’s all urgent whimpers, saliva, and teeth clashing. She grinds down on you, too, grabbing a fistful of your hair to command you to keep the rhythm up. You feel lightheaded, so needy and desperate, and clinging to you, not only physically. You feel her movements and touch on your heart; her presence floods your lungs and sends shivers down your spine. For a moment, it’s all her, and she’s everywhere, as if it has continuously been.
“Take this shit off.” You clumsily tug down her pants, your breath ghosting over her swollen lips.
“I missed you.” She confesses so quietly you almost can’t hear, and you wonder if you’re supposed to hear it or if she hasn’t noticed she said it out loud. You brush your lips against her neck as you lay her down to discard her pants and your nightgown, and as soon as they’re both gone, she pulls your head back to the kiss, her other hand alternating between massaging your breasts and pinching your nipples.
She’s half reclined, her head on the armrest of the couch, and you find the opportunity to fit one leg in between her legs when she instinctively opens them to welcome you. “Did you ever think of me?” You exhale, creating marks on her collarbones, each one darker than the previous as her grip on your legs tightens. “I thought of you all the time. Thought about you fucking me dumb whenever I wanted to cum.”
She grinds on your leg, her underwear with an obvious wet patch, just as obvious as yours, and you notice it when she forces your hips down to grind on her thigh. “Mhm. Look at you. All wet on my thigh.” Eva’s words ghost on your lips as she keeps your face mere centimeters away from hers, blue eyes unfocused and half-lidded.
You two move at the pace she establishes, her hand guiding your hips at the same rhythm her hips roll. She flexes her thigh under you and taps you softly so you do the same. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for another kiss, needing more of her touch desperately. You press your chests together and curse her bra for creating a barrier between you.
She keeps one hand planted firmly on your hip and the other on your cheek, her nails graze the skin, creating a path, a faint sting reminding you of her burning touch. You brace yourself over her with one arm, the other takes off the annoying piece of undergarment from her, before you press yourself flush to her again, recommitting to her speed.
You exhale directly on her mouth, both of your breathing uneven as moans bubble up your throats. She quickens the pace, rutting her hips harshly on your thigh whenever she feels your legs trying to close, whimpers fall off your lips, and she drinks them, drowning them with her choked-up groans.
The friction between your bodies feels delicious on your sensitive nipples, heightening your need for her, so you try to kiss her, and she harshly tugs your hair, “I need to see you when you cum.” Eva whispers, a pained, whiny voice betraying her restrained order.
“Ride my face.” You plead, fluttering eyelashes begging for her and diving, contrary to her orders, to kiss her jawline. She pulls a fistful of your hair only to feel the faltering of your hips on her soaked thigh, “Please, ride my face, baby.” You suck her skin more fervently, murmuring against it, “Please, please. I want you to ride it.”
“Do you want me to soak your pretty face?” She says in a shaky exhale, “Look at me. You’re so close, dear.”
You look at her glazed eyes and glistening lips, her pupils blown wide and her staggering breath denounces she’s also so, so close. You flex your thigh, feeling the soft material of her panties and the sloppy sliding sound of both of your slick. She arches her back, hand gripping strongly on your hair, and knees going weak as your hand grips the flesh of her hip to guide you as feverishly as she did.
She feels it coming at almost the same time you do, and as much as you want to close your eyes, you simply can’t. Eva tightens the grip on your hair as she cums, wavering moans breaking the panting sounds, and the sting on your scalp feels so good accompanied by her furrowed brows, open lips letting escape the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard, blue eyes trying so hard not to roll back. Her eyes don’t shy away from yours as your orgasm comes, your nails dig deep into her flesh, and high-pitched cries echo from your lips.
It’s the most beautiful sight to see her fall apart and her body go limp as you ride out your orgasms. You notice it’s morning now when her hands travel down to your breasts, caressing them before helping you out of your panties. “We have the whole day ahead.” She mutters against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses.
“That’s a first.”
“Don’t get used to it.” You’re bare now, and end up discarding hers too. You dive into a slow kiss, lazy tongue movements against hers.
You’re lying sideways next to her now on the cramped couch, the memories of a rushed time, where simply kissing and being at each other’s mercy would never be possible, come like waves. She takes her time, reexploring your body with soft fingertips, discovering new freckles and reminding herself of the velvety touch of you against her. You stroke her cheek with your thumb as the lingering kiss extends itself for what seems both a lifetime and never enough, cleaning any fugitive spit from your lips.
Her hand guides yours to her torso, hers traveling to your lower abdomen, spiraling downwards. “How things worked around here before I came back, mhm?” A sly question comes laced in with her tender tone.
“I have two hands. And a few toys.” You joke, and she gives you a disbelieving look. “I’m not telling you about other women when I have my hand on your breast, Eva.”
“I’m asking you to.”
You lower your face to toy with her nipple with your tongue, sucking it and releasing with a pop from you and a hiss from her. You scrape your teeth down the skin before sucking a mark while looking at her, and then taking it into your hand. You press a quick kiss into her parted mouth, “I tried a few things. Never long-term, though. I tried a lot of people, some from the town.”
She hums in acknowledgment, hand parting your thighs and tracing your slit with her middle finger. She wants to ask you if you have fallen in love. She won’t. You hitch your breath at her teasing strokes. “They won’t be happy when I whisk you away from here.”
“It’s for a greater good.” Your eyes flutter closed, hands searching for her face.
She chuckles, lips closed. She never had laughter easily falling from her lips, nor was she one to effortlessly smile, but it was never easier to breathe than when she was with you. In prison, she remembered how you would turn her, even for a fraction of a moment, carefree. How much easier it was to feel the breeze in your presence, or to notice the ground beneath her feet. Eva notices the sun shining and the shimmering on the curtains, the sounds of nothing outside of you two. “Which would be?”
“Having you sit on my face, every morning, forever.”
She closes her eyes to conceal her amusement, hiding it in an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work; you know her too well. “Unless you wake up at 5am, then it won’t happen in the morning.”
“I can sacrifice an hour or two of sleep.” The last word goes away with a sound almost like a purr when she enters you with a finger.
“Feels good?” She asks, a mocking lilt in her voice, but with a serious expression.
You nod, rocking your hips on her hand as she inserts another finger, her palm brushing against your clit. “Go on.” She brushes a strand of hair away from your face with her other hand, reaching over to place a kiss on your lips.
You adjust your position so it’s easier for you to ride her hand. You hide your face in the crook of her neck, and this time she doesn’t complain about not looking at you, merely because you’re sending out the sweetest noises straight into her ear and your lips are glued to her neck.
You breathe in the scent of her skin and swear it makes you dizzy as she presses more of her palm to your clit. Your skin glistens with sweat as she watches your up and down movements, and she swears she could eat you up. You look delicious like this, and she feels ravenous feeling your head dipping further into the safety of her.
“Will you ride my face, baby?” You ask again. She would, and she could so easily, tease you more and more about it, drawing out your begging, but you sound so pretty, so titillating. “Will you let me eat you out? Please? Will you use my face?”
“Sure”, she murmurs into your hair, so nonchalant you can almost think she’s bored. Eva is not. She would do anything you asked her to in this state, sounding so much like a personal pornstar for her, but especially this. Especially riding your face, the thing that many days, alone in the cell, she had caught herself daydreaming about.
It’s almost as if you’re just waiting for her confirmation to cum. And so you do, cumming with a high-pitched, drawn-out moan, squeezing your eyes shut and brushing your core on her palm, your legs shaking, and no other thought on your head other than the overwhelming pleasure and need to kiss her. “There you go. You want more of this?” She indulges you, taking her fingers off of you and circling them on your oversensitive clit.
You hiss, dropping your head on her chest as you stifle whimpers caused by the overstimulation. “Enough, enough.” You murmur into her skin.
She retreats her hand and unhurriedly caresses your scalp, “Will you clean me up, dear?”
You nod fervently, pressing a searing kiss to her lips and whispering ‘thank you’s. She gets on her knees, waiting for you to adjust your position and lie down comfortably, before lowering herself into your face.
You grip her thighs, nodding, mouth open and tongue out, waiting for her. Her hand soothes your hair as she starts rocking her hips to your tongue. She looks at you the whole time, and oh, she looks gorgeous.
The sun hits her skin and her eyes in such a unique way, her slightly messy hair cascades, and Eva looks so soft, so vulnerable, and it’s all for you, and just for you. As she moans and grinds on your mouth, you’re so grateful to be spending possibly the rest of your days locked up on a boat with her. You realize you sound insane, but again, Ilyukhina, in her immense wisdom, once said ‘whatever rocks your boat’, and refused to be corrected.
Your hands hold her waist, cradling the soft skin and begging for this moment to never end. Your unremitting tongue makes her exhale, and you flatten it, suckle on her clit, lick her folds, and do whatever you did eight years ago that was enough to make her come back to you today. “That’s it,” she says hoarsely, a tainted and weepy sound coming from her, and you feel her trembling. “That’s it,” Eva repeats over and over breathlessly, restraining herself, looking up and tangling her fingers deeper into your strands.
Eva looks at you, and you notice she’s coming. That’s all she has to do. She bites her lip and indulges in a long whimper, her thighs closing around your head, feeling your hot cheeks and panting your name, your surname, anything she has ever called you. She’s too sensitive, she’s always been, so you stop and wait for her to lie back down.
She kisses you first, your face glistening with her slick, and your eyes shining with adoration. She always thought she could handle love and compliments, but she never thought she would be the target of the amount you offer her. So she doesn’t handle the utter devotion, choosing to close her eyes and kiss you deeply. You taste like her, and you smell like her. She smells like you and tastes like a religion.
When she lies back down, you bury your head in the crook of her neck again, sleepily kissing the marks you left. Then, there’s silence, and you hear the birds outside, the leaves on the ground being crunched by the steps of the dogs, and a few water sounds, possibly the cow drinking water. You know you can’t dream, your life won’t allow you to, but if you could give yourself the luxury of choosing how to live, you would choose this.
You wouldn’t choose the dinner parties, teaching, or smoking on the balcony. You would keep the coffee and Eva. And this, the quiet, the sun. She doesn’t ask you what you’re thinking about; she doesn’t need to, she’s seen the same look in your face over and over the years, had nightmares about it, and the sweetest dreams, too. She knows this is the same expression she saw when she changed your life, in one way or another. How ridiculous it is to ask for someone to blindly follow you, your ideals, and your hopes. How absurd it is for you to agree, even without a single word from her, without a future and all the things you deserve. She’s fully aware of it, but she kept you safe, she redeemed herself, and, when the whole Hail Mary mission is over, she will redeem herself again. And only then will you two have a life like this moment again.
“That’s an awfully quiet place.” She says, enamoured by the beautiful sky seen through the window and the sight of the sun hitting the wooden floors.
“I have to sell the cow.”
Eva looks at you. You do have to sell the cow.
“I won’t take the shit-smelling cow to the boat.”
You pout to yourself. Your house feels like paradise now that she’s here. You’ll miss your life, the quiet and undetectable life, but you had given up on it once; you could do it a second time, now that you know she’ll be there. You wonder if this is how it feels to have a soulmate, like an eternal post-sex pre-coffee morning.
“Are you too different from who you were?”
“What do you think?” She asks you with nothing but curiosity.
“I think I’ll have to find out.”
She nods. She doesn’t think she’s profoundly changed by anything that happened to her over the past years. There’s shared guilt, isolation, and paranoia, so much of it. She always knew it was coming her way, but she hoped the people she had abandoned, sacrificed, or hid forgave her, or at least understood her now.
“When are we leaving?”
“Whenever you want.”
“It’s up to me?” You sound surprised. She shrugs.
“Partially.” It always is, she thinks. When it comes to both of you, she always hopes she has some say, but it is always up to you, even when she takes control. To her, it’s up to your safety, your needs, and then your wants. This time, the first two are granted for now. “But I am on the most wanted list. So they would probably swarm the whole place before you even hear them coming.” She deadpans.
You look at her, and she looks back. “I have to sell the cow.”
“Are you aware it’s an animal surrounded by food?”
“She won’t be loved, though.”
She stifles a laugh with a scoffed ‘oh my god’. You don’t stifle yours, getting up from the couch. “Where are you going?” Eva speaks up, feeling the chill breeze when you crack the window open.
“Getting you some coffee.” You warn her as you enter the kitchen.
She eyes the animal outside as she retrieves her panties and turtleneck, putting them on again. Eva makes a mental note to get her team to give your house to a biologist or a veterinarian who can take care of it. “Put one sugar on it.” She requests, walking over to the kitchen, to you, just like past, present, and future.
summary: you have the situationship of all time with eva stratt, a lot of questions and a lot of thoughts about ryland grace.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader (explicit), eva stratt x ryland grace (implied), ryland grace x afab!reader (implied). this is challengers but pervy.
rating: +18 (pls dni if you're a minor)
word count: 4.1k
warnings: unclear relationship, third person not present, oral sex, fingering, masturbation (m! implied), fantasizing about third person, overstimulation, tongue fucking, weird ass reader, weird stratt, ryland is the most normal i like my women crazy sorry. whole house bisexual weird and horny. riding other body parts <3 they're all a little pervy please note this.
notes: this is based on @suspiriuums strattlandreader work! all credits to them, their work is insanely good, really! it was supposed to be a full blown threesome but I got carried away lol second part maybe who knows. english is not my first language so please if you notice any weird sentences tell me! <3
You remember the day you met Ryland Grace.
You were sitting next to Eva Stratt in the conference room, with dozens of scientists around you. Papers being shuffled, pens clicking, feet tapping on the ground, the cold and harsh white ceiling light shining above you all. The crisp air, almost oppressive to breathe in, and how it was robbed of you as soon as you looked at her, and she watched him.
He was a scientist, of course. A molecular biologist. Doctor Grace, a school teacher. Unnecessarily good-looking. He looked like the sun, golden hair and tanned skin, such stark contrast to Stratt's pale complexion and gelid demeanor. You wondered if he was as warm to the touch as he seemed to be, or surprisingly cold, just like her hands.
Now, you watch him very closely in the lab you two share. You are a neurologist, brought by Stratt to minimize and study the effects of the coma on the astronauts' sacrificial brains.
It didn't take much for you to accept the job offer. Helping her to save the universe, that's great, very noble and dignified. The underlying reason, one that you could not even understand, is that you would comply with every strange call of this strange woman. You'd be happy to work for twenty hours and sneak into her room for the remaining four hours, if she asked you to.
She did, very often. And as often you would find yourself sleep deprived, naked, freezing, and with your legs spread open as you sat on her lap, with your back against her chest, the soft wool of her sweater doing little to warm you up as her tongue leaves a trail of saliva on your neck and two of her fingers enter you with ease.
You can't say you love Eva, but you can't say you don't. You think you do when you cum, lips parted and breathing heavily on her neck, her thumb stroking your cheek as she presses a kiss on your forehead. "You should get some sleep," she whispers, voice muffled in your hair as she buries her face in it, "you have to work in a few hours."
"What if I get a day off and we do it again?" You smile, climbing off and settling just behind her, massaging her muscles and kissing her shoulders, "I mean, you are my boss." She doesn't humor you, "that's not how it works." Eva turns her face to you, offering you a small, rare smile. "Go to sleep." And you comply, not only because it's a direct order from your superior, but because she allows you to hold her.
Then again, it's hard to say you do love her, especially when you're reminded that she would kill you if needed. Begrudgingly, of course, but she would always choose her mission. She made it clear when she tested you for the coma resistance gene, stayed in silence for the whole time, and, when the positive results came out, let out a small, shaky sigh and a handshake that lingered for longer than usual.
She tells you she's doing it all for you. You talk about it on one particular slow day, as you lie on opposite sides of her bed and she caresses your calves. "I would rather for you to die peacefully up there". Stratt seemed a little softer than usual in that light, the sunset peeking out from the tiny window of the boat and kissing her skin. You wonder if you'd have a choice at all, if you were asked to do it. For her, though, you'd do it. Not for Earth, or your boss Stratt, but for your woman, for Eva.
You're reminded of how soft her eyes looked at that moment when you see her talking to Dr. Grace during your shift. She smiles softly at him before you avert your eyes to the microscope next to you. What you feel is not quite jealousy; you can't afford to be jealous of her. She's probably the most powerful person on Earth, you can't throw fits and storm out of rooms every time you think someone has caught her attention. That was strictly forbidden for whoever filled the role of Eva Stratt's Something Way More Intimate Than A Friend But Not As Dear As A Companion. It seems, however, Ryland Grace has become as dear as possible to her. And again, it's not jealousy, you could picture them together in bed, and all you would feel is, well, horny. You do picture it when he readjusts his glasses, and she licks her lips. You can clearly see how it would work, how she would be on top of him, hair all wild and hands splayed on his chest, chasing her high as he looks at her over his glasses and hands on her thighs. You wonder if she would tell you about it at night, as her fingers speed up on your clit, your hand clawing her forearm from overstimulation, or if she would like it if you watched. You also wonder what his skin tastes like when he's sweaty, what his hands would feel like yanking your hair, or forcing your head down as you take him in your mouth, if he talks dirty, and if he does, is it dirtier than Eva?
Your breath hitches slightly as you divert your gaze from them again, noticing you've been staring. She knows you are staring; she seems to, magically, always know what you're doing. Does she know what Ryland is doing at all times, too? They look close, as if they know what runs through each other's minds. It's almost like they're different sides of the same coin, extensions of the other. You feel the need to know him as well as she does, to understand deeply what constitutes him, to figure her out through him. You need to pick him apart, pick her, and them.
He asks you something, and you have to clear your throat before letting out a ‘huh’ sound and then just agreeing to whatever he says. He’s all quick words, nervous hands, stubble, kind eyes, and big, delicious arms. That night, when Eva calls you to her room, you have the funniest thought of riding his biceps, and you chuckle as she opens her door. “What?” she asks, lips curling upwards in surprise.
“Had a funny thought,” you look around the corridor before entering. Standard procedure. She hums, closing the door and giving you some space as you begin to unbutton your jacket. Eva comes from behind, swatting away your hands from the buttons and resuming the task herself, nibbling your jawline, “What was it?”
“Nothing worth your time.” She grumbles, leaving your jacket fall to the ground, “If it’s a thought of yours, then it’s worth my time.”
She motions for you to lift your arms, freeing you from your shirt, too. It’s when her cold hands touch your back, and she rakes her fingernails all the way down to your pants’ waistband, her lips pressing kisses on your spine, and her long hair tickles the naked skin that you hesitate to talk about Ryland. Would it be weird to confess you’ve been thinking about what he would do if he were in front of you both right now? Or what he would look like on his knees, her long fingers gripping his golden hair and teaching him how to please you? How would she look watching you both? Would she touch herself, or just order you both around?
You don’t notice she has taken off your bra until you feel her hands softly tracing the underside of your breasts, her feather-like touch raising goosebumps, and her wet kisses on your neck leaving you with no choice other than whimpering for her. “What are you imagining right now?” she whispers, voice low and soft like honey. You turn your face slightly to watch her, and she kisses you deeply, her left hand holding your face in place and her right travelling softly to under your pants. It’s a slow kiss, her tongue deliberate and her presence so engulfing. She possesses all of your senses, at all times and especially now. It’s all her, so it’s not surprising how the truth simply begs to be told when her lips leave yours for a millisecond, staying just a breath away, within your reach, and imploring to be followed, “tell me”, she murmurs.
Eva’s hands undo your pants, but she still looks at you. For a moment, you see a smirk, as if she could read all your thoughts. “Are you thinking of him?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” One of her hands grips your face softly, the other traces your slit over your panties, “I saw you staring at him earlier. You don’t have to lie to me. Do you want him?”
“I want you.”
“Not what I asked.” Calmly, she presses her thumb on your lower lip, “Do you want him? I can make it happen.”
You give her thumb a gentle bite, “Have you two slept together?”
“Not yet. And you are not answering my questions.”
“I do.”
Stratt smiles, satisfied. “I know. He knows, too. It’s reciprocal.”
There isn’t time for you to respond before she leads you to her bed with a simple head gesture. You lie down, and she adjusts the pillows beneath your head. She towers over you, settled between your open legs, her hand caressing your hair, your face. Eva takes her time, finding in your open lips the opportunity to slip two fingers inside your warm, wet mouth. “You’re not very discreet, dear.” She watches your lips intently as your tongue moves, circling her digits when she pushes them deeper, “Were you wet? When you watched us earlier, in the lab.” She releases herself from your mouth, tapping softly on your cheeks with the same drenched fingers. They travel down to the column of your throat, opening in a V shape to outline the skin there, “did you imagine him bending you over on the counter? Or was it me?”
Eva’s fingers dance around your collarbones in the slowest descent, “When you think about us three, where are you?” Her eyes never once leave yours, her voice so like silk when it reverberates in your skin, “Do you watch? Who do you look at?”
She dips her head to latch her lips on your nipple, hand resting on your abdomen, delineating spirals. Her tongue circles your right nipple before giving it the smallest nibble and bringing her other hand to pinch it softly. “You are not answering my questions.”
“You’re not giving me time to answer them.”
“I should stop, then.” She licks from the valley of your breasts to your belly button, letting her lips ghost the trace of saliva, eyes fixated on your face, eyebrows furrowed, and the most beautiful flush adorning her face. Eva Stratt is one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen, the most alluring sight under the sky and over the sea. You absentmindedly twirl a strand of her hair on your fingers, and ask yourself if, if you tried very hard, you could frame in your mind how she looked at you when she forgot who she was, who you were, and where you two were, even if only for a fraction of time. You shake your head faintly, sitting straight to place a faint kiss on her lips. “Go on.”
She smiles, the same smile she offered Ryland Grace earlier, and then kisses your hip bone, hands holding you in place. “Answering your question, I was.” You let your head fall down on the pillow again as you feel her tugging on the elastic of your panties with her teeth, “I never really looked at him before today. Never knew he had those arms.” She chuckles on your skin, lowering the last piece of undergarment you have, discarding it somewhere, and hooking her hands under your knees, setting your legs over her shoulders.
“I thought of him during work today—”
“That’s counterproductive.” She raises her head, cocking it to the side.
“—only for a few minutes.” You nudge her with your foot, signaling for her to go back down. “I thought of you two. Would you ride him?”
She looks at you as she kisses your inner thighs so unhurriedly, as if you two could spend years in this position, “I think so, yes.”
“You thought about it before?”
You let out a mewl as she bites your skin, licking it immediately and kissing the area around it softly, “I thought of you both.”
“Well, someone has to do the fucking, baby.” You shrug, talking so casually she can’t help but laugh. “You’re gorgeous,” you think out loud.
“Would you like to—”
“I would love to.” You answer enthusiastically, letting out a surprised moan as she spits in your pussy. “I thought of it, too. Before I came here, I thought of him. I pictured him fucking me as you watch.”
She spreads her spit and your slick all over your pussy, hands cold as ever, in the most agonizingly slow pace as you wiggle your hips trying to get some friction. “Tell me about it.”
Eva positions two fingers on your entrance, applying some pressure but not quite entering you, while offering kitten licks to your clit. You almost purr at that, she’s waiting for you to start talking.
“You would sit in front of us.” Immediately, she applies more pressure on your clit with her tongue, staying for a bit longer. She watches you intently, her blue eyes open and glossy, almost begging for you to tell her all about your fantasies. She doesn’t beg; she doesn’t have to, ever. The way she looks at you is enough for you to accept participating in her suicide mission without a single complaint. “I like his eyes. I think he would look— I think he would look pretty looking up at me. Just like you’re doing now.” You stammer a bit as she sucks on your clit, teasing your entrance with one finger. Her other hand is on your thigh, holding it open and creating indents where she holds. It will bruise, you think. You hope it does, you hope every part of your skin becomes hers, or a memory of her hold.
“But I would like to ride him, to begin with. He would lie down and…” You whine as two of her fingers enter you, curling upwards and filling you so good. “…and maybe hold me by my hips, control my speed. Yeah. I would like him to use me for a little bit. Fuck.”
“He would like it, too.”
You don’t ask her how she knows it. Not when she replaces her fingers with her tongue, dragging her nose on your clit, and definitely not when she places your hand on her hair, tilting her head just enough so you understand she wants you to fuck her face. Maybe she and Ryland are two sides of the same coin; maybe she knows he would like to use you because she would like you to use her. “And then he would take me from behind. Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so good. So pretty like this.”
You lose yourself a little, closing your eyes and arching your back, pulling her hair with one hand and biting the other so you won’t be too noisy, you doubt Eva’s security team, as they wandered outside on their night shift, would want to hear it.
She completely stops, slapping your pussy and coming up to peck you on the lips. You notice her lips taste like you. “Don’t stop talking, keep your eyes on me,” she murmurs into the kiss, and then settles back in between your legs, slurping all your slick and sucking on your clit, three fingers enter you, and she watches every flutter of your eyelids, every breath you let out.
“He would take me… he would take me from behind. His fingers on me.” You position your hand on her hair again, soothing it before pulling, controlling her pace. He would like this. You know she does. “He’s so cute… Isn’t he? He’s so— oh my God. Yes.” She speeds her fingers up, still hitting so deeply as she eats you erratically. She moans as you rut your hips on her face. A drawn-out, deep moan, so unlike her usual small groans, pretty noises. You wonder if that’s how he sounds, and if she has heard it before.
“He will look so nice on top of me. He has that golden hair…” You have to contain yourself as the most raggedy, dirtiest moan comes out of your throat, “the golden hair… Fuck, his face— his face when he cums. I want to see it. His arms… Baby, I’m so close.” You try to pull her head away from you by her hair, not wanting it to end yet. It feels so good, it looks so good. The way she uses her whole face to please you, how dirty she sounds, the noises you both let out, and how desperate you two are for each other, and for him. It’s almost insane to feel him next to you, but you do. You feel his hands and his smell. Every other part, however, is Eva. Everything is her, every thought, every moan, and feeling. Every breath is hers, and as you pull her away from you, her hand covers yours and enlaces her fingers on yours, and takes each breath away from you.
You arch your back, “I want Ryland to cum inside,” you hiss every word, your movements growing in desperation as you feel your orgasm near, “I want Ryland to—” you repeat. At the mention of his name, she groans, eyebrows scrunching, and you can feel her diving even deeper, her fingers curling for one last time before she enters you with her tongue again. Her thumb furiously rubs circles on your swollen clit, and your past efforts of pushing her away are all forgotten as you roughly pull her hair and thrust your hips into her face. You try to speak again, but only his name comes out. She whines, her hips faltering on the bed. You repeat his name over and over, breathless as you try to close your thighs, helpless moans fall out of your lips, your grip on her tightens, and the last thing you see before rolling your eyes back are her eyes watching you nonstop, the hungriest, nastiest expression on those beautiful eyes, and you feel like you’re on fire. Your orgasm comes from head to toe, you thrash around and disregard any decency or discretion, moaning her name, his, and a junction of every swear word deeply ingrained in your brain.
There’s no time for you to recover; she doesn’t stop. “Baby,” you repeat in a choked-up voice, desperate to stop the stimulation but begging for her to never stop. She removes her fingers from you, both hands pinning down your hips as she focuses on swirling your clit with her tongue, small hums leaving her beautiful lips that reverberate throughout your whole body. You can’t speak or look at her; every time you try to, all you can manage is a string of whimpers, so you shut tight your eyes and bite the back of your hand. It comes to you all at once, this time. It’s incoherent, but you say her name over and over again; it’s the only thing in the back of your mind. Her lips, the way her hair tickles your skin, the noises she lets out, her burning touch, how it starts at the pit of your stomach and takes over your entire body. Your loud, incoherent blabber and oversensitive pain-pleasure is soothed by her. ‘Shh’, she softly pronounces, looking straight into your half-lidded eyes as she kisses your legs and your knees.
She leaves her favorite spot just to kiss your lips, then your forehead. Eva keeps one of her legs between yours, sending jolts of energy whenever she moves too much. “Okay?” She murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek, the sweetest voice, and the quietest too, leaving her. You nod, “Yes, are you?” and she repeats the same word of confirmation. There are no baths on the boat; it’s too luxurious, only the world’s tiniest, daintiest, and coldest showers, and you have no intentions of leaving her bed to adventure yourself into one of those right now.
You reach out to her, you almost never do, so she’s attentive, gentle, more than usual. “Let me touch you,” you whisper as she turns your back to her chest, embracing you from behind, one hand supporting her head and the other on your waist, “taste you.”
“We don’t have time.” She states, looking at the clock. 3:54. She will be up for work in about an hour. Back to Ryland Grace.
“One day we will have all the time in the world,” you turn your head to her, offering a hopeful smile.
You suspect she knows something you don’t when her eyes divert for a second. She returns your smile, tight-lipped and quiet. “Where’d you go, just now?”
“Nowhere worth your time. Don’t answer.” She repeats your words from earlier and senses you’re about to give her the same answer she did. It makes you giggle. “What about his arms?” you look at her, confused, your whole body now facing her, “before you came. You talked about his arms, but trailed off. What about them?”
“How do you know he would like to join us?”
“Answer my question,” she smirks, containing a chuckle. You don’t know why she keeps the amazing sound of her laughing to herself; you’d pay millions of dollars to hear it every day.
“I like them. It’s just this stupid fantasy,” you feel your face heat up, and cover it with your hands. She barely touches them, and you know she wants you to stop hiding. You put them down, and she kisses your forehead. “You ever notice how big they are? It barely fits the sleeves of those dumb science puns shirts he has. Thought he would maybe— I don’t know. Maybe hewouldletmeridethem.”
She laughs now, a full, beautiful laugh. You would make a fool of yourself a hundred times a day for the rest of your life if that meant you would be allowed to hear it. Eva plays with a strand of your hair, as she chuckles some more, “I believe he would do anything you asked him to.”
“Or anything you asked him to.”
She tilts her head, shrugging, looking up, “Maybe a bit of both.”
“Now, my question, answer it.”
“We never slept together, no. Not the whole deal.” She inhales before smiling, tracing the skin of your arm, “I did, however, end up in his room and the subject kind of came up.”
You nod, “handjob?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you pout.
“So he does know about the two of us.”
“Since the first day.”
“What exactly does he know about us?”
She exhales, shaking her head. “Do you really want him to join us? He was very enthusiastic about the idea back when I asked him.”
“Yeah. Yes.” You feel the discomfort of trying to define your relationship with her, the air slightly heavier than before.
There’s a silence, and her usual indecipherable face is way too transparent now. “He likes you. Likes your legs, your face. Loves your ass. He admitted it to me as he came.” You huff a laugh, that’s not what you were expecting.
“Were you out there making him masturbate thinking of me?”
“No comment.”
She smiles, it’s meek and subtle, but she does. “It turns you on, doesn’t it? Watching the two of us.”
“I know you two. I can almost read your minds.”
“You seem to know him a lot,” you hiss at your choice of words, way more jealous than you expected. Maybe you were jealous, not of the physicality of it all, but of how his brain connected to hers.
Eva sports a side smile and says absolutely nothing other than “I know you.”
“Do I know you?”
“In a different way than he does.” She rasps, voice tired and face finally showing signs of exhaustion. Eva makes no effort to continue the conversation. “Go take a shower. I have to be up in a couple of hours.”
“Can I sleep here?”
She’s already tucked in, eyes closed. She motions to the empty side of the bed, containing a pillow and the other half of her blanket.
You sit up, kissing her forehead before heading to the bathroom. You don’t know if you love Eva Stratt, if you know who she is, or anything related to Dr. Ryland Grace. You know, however, you’re not not in love with her, and, if God, or Eva Stratt, is willing, you’ll ride Dr. Ryland Grace before the Sun runs cold.
lola, i’m speechless. this was so beautifully written. i’m obsessed with your characterization of eva. you managed to soften her up while still maintaining that strictness about her. i can so clearly hear her voice in my head saying the words you’ve written. the smut is also beautifully written, satisfyingly paced, and, of course, hot as hell. when reader begins to rattle on about her fantasies with ryland, OHHH that was really hot. i love when reader is written to be a weirdo horn-dog. let readers be weird! LET READERS BE WEIRD.
i can’t sing enough praises. again, incredible job. i was looking forward to this ever since you brought this idea up with me in the dm’s. i look forward to seeing more from you.
i'm sosososo happy you liked it!! i'm obsessed with your work and I have been lurking on your blog for a longgggg time before sending an ask lol i'm so glad i did! thank you so much for sharing your ideas with me and sharing the whole concept <3 THE PEOPLE YEARN FOR HORNY STRATTLANDREADER ☝️☝️☝️☝️ tysm, really!!
summary: you have the situationship of all time with eva stratt, a lot of questions and a lot of thoughts about ryland grace.
pairing: eva stratt x afab!reader (explicit), eva stratt x ryland grace (implied), ryland grace x afab!reader (implied). this is challengers but pervy.
rating: +18 (pls dni if you're a minor)
word count: 4.1k
warnings: unclear relationship, third person not present, oral sex, fingering, masturbation (m! implied), fantasizing about third person, overstimulation, tongue fucking, weird ass reader, weird stratt, ryland is the most normal i like my women crazy sorry. whole house bisexual weird and horny. riding other body parts <3 they're all a little pervy please note this.
notes: this is based on @suspiriuums strattlandreader work! all credits to them, their work is insanely good, really! it was supposed to be a full blown threesome but I got carried away lol second part maybe who knows. english is not my first language so please if you notice any weird sentences tell me! <3
You remember the day you met Ryland Grace.
You were sitting next to Eva Stratt in the conference room, with dozens of scientists around you. Papers being shuffled, pens clicking, feet tapping on the ground, the cold and harsh white ceiling light shining above you all. The crisp air, almost oppressive to breathe in, and how it was robbed of you as soon as you looked at her, and she watched him.
He was a scientist, of course. A molecular biologist. Doctor Grace, a school teacher. Unnecessarily good-looking. He looked like the sun, golden hair and tanned skin, such stark contrast to Stratt's pale complexion and gelid demeanor. You wondered if he was as warm to the touch as he seemed to be, or surprisingly cold, just like her hands.
Now, you watch him very closely in the lab you two share. You are a neurologist, brought by Stratt to minimize and study the effects of the coma on the astronauts' sacrificial brains.
It didn't take much for you to accept the job offer. Helping her to save the universe, that's great, very noble and dignified. The underlying reason, one that you could not even understand, is that you would comply with every strange call of this strange woman. You'd be happy to work for twenty hours and sneak into her room for the remaining four hours, if she asked you to.
She did, very often. And as often you would find yourself sleep deprived, naked, freezing, and with your legs spread open as you sat on her lap, with your back against her chest, the soft wool of her sweater doing little to warm you up as her tongue leaves a trail of saliva on your neck and two of her fingers enter you with ease.
You can't say you love Eva, but you can't say you don't. You think you do when you cum, lips parted and breathing heavily on her neck, her thumb stroking your cheek as she presses a kiss on your forehead. "You should get some sleep," she whispers, voice muffled in your hair as she buries her face in it, "you have to work in a few hours."
"What if I get a day off and we do it again?" You smile, climbing off and settling just behind her, massaging her muscles and kissing her shoulders, "I mean, you are my boss." She doesn't humor you, "that's not how it works." Eva turns her face to you, offering you a small, rare smile. "Go to sleep." And you comply, not only because it's a direct order from your superior, but because she allows you to hold her.
Then again, it's hard to say you do love her, especially when you're reminded that she would kill you if needed. Begrudgingly, of course, but she would always choose her mission. She made it clear when she tested you for the coma resistance gene, stayed in silence for the whole time, and, when the positive results came out, let out a small, shaky sigh and a handshake that lingered for longer than usual.
She tells you she's doing it all for you. You talk about it on one particular slow day, as you lie on opposite sides of her bed and she caresses your calves. "I would rather for you to die peacefully up there". Stratt seemed a little softer than usual in that light, the sunset peeking out from the tiny window of the boat and kissing her skin. You wonder if you'd have a choice at all, if you were asked to do it. For her, though, you'd do it. Not for Earth, or your boss Stratt, but for your woman, for Eva.
You're reminded of how soft her eyes looked at that moment when you see her talking to Dr. Grace during your shift. She smiles softly at him before you avert your eyes to the microscope next to you. What you feel is not quite jealousy; you can't afford to be jealous of her. She's probably the most powerful person on Earth, you can't throw fits and storm out of rooms every time you think someone has caught her attention. That was strictly forbidden for whoever filled the role of Eva Stratt's Something Way More Intimate Than A Friend But Not As Dear As A Companion. It seems, however, Ryland Grace has become as dear as possible to her. And again, it's not jealousy, you could picture them together in bed, and all you would feel is, well, horny. You do picture it when he readjusts his glasses, and she licks her lips. You can clearly see how it would work, how she would be on top of him, hair all wild and hands splayed on his chest, chasing her high as he looks at her over his glasses and hands on her thighs. You wonder if she would tell you about it at night, as her fingers speed up on your clit, your hand clawing her forearm from overstimulation, or if she would like it if you watched. You also wonder what his skin tastes like when he's sweaty, what his hands would feel like yanking your hair, or forcing your head down as you take him in your mouth, if he talks dirty, and if he does, is it dirtier than Eva?
Your breath hitches slightly as you divert your gaze from them again, noticing you've been staring. She knows you are staring; she seems to, magically, always know what you're doing. Does she know what Ryland is doing at all times, too? They look close, as if they know what runs through each other's minds. It's almost like they're different sides of the same coin, extensions of the other. You feel the need to know him as well as she does, to understand deeply what constitutes him, to figure her out through him. You need to pick him apart, pick her, and them.
He asks you something, and you have to clear your throat before letting out a ‘huh’ sound and then just agreeing to whatever he says. He’s all quick words, nervous hands, stubble, kind eyes, and big, delicious arms. That night, when Eva calls you to her room, you have the funniest thought of riding his biceps, and you chuckle as she opens her door. “What?” she asks, lips curling upwards in surprise.
“Had a funny thought,” you look around the corridor before entering. Standard procedure. She hums, closing the door and giving you some space as you begin to unbutton your jacket. Eva comes from behind, swatting away your hands from the buttons and resuming the task herself, nibbling your jawline, “What was it?”
“Nothing worth your time.” She grumbles, leaving your jacket fall to the ground, “If it’s a thought of yours, then it’s worth my time.”
She motions for you to lift your arms, freeing you from your shirt, too. It’s when her cold hands touch your back, and she rakes her fingernails all the way down to your pants’ waistband, her lips pressing kisses on your spine, and her long hair tickles the naked skin that you hesitate to talk about Ryland. Would it be weird to confess you’ve been thinking about what he would do if he were in front of you both right now? Or what he would look like on his knees, her long fingers gripping his golden hair and teaching him how to please you? How would she look watching you both? Would she touch herself, or just order you both around?
You don’t notice she has taken off your bra until you feel her hands softly tracing the underside of your breasts, her feather-like touch raising goosebumps, and her wet kisses on your neck leaving you with no choice other than whimpering for her. “What are you imagining right now?” she whispers, voice low and soft like honey. You turn your face slightly to watch her, and she kisses you deeply, her left hand holding your face in place and her right travelling softly to under your pants. It’s a slow kiss, her tongue deliberate and her presence so engulfing. She possesses all of your senses, at all times and especially now. It’s all her, so it’s not surprising how the truth simply begs to be told when her lips leave yours for a millisecond, staying just a breath away, within your reach, and imploring to be followed, “tell me”, she murmurs.
Eva’s hands undo your pants, but she still looks at you. For a moment, you see a smirk, as if she could read all your thoughts. “Are you thinking of him?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” One of her hands grips your face softly, the other traces your slit over your panties, “I saw you staring at him earlier. You don’t have to lie to me. Do you want him?”
“I want you.”
“Not what I asked.” Calmly, she presses her thumb on your lower lip, “Do you want him? I can make it happen.”
You give her thumb a gentle bite, “Have you two slept together?”
“Not yet. And you are not answering my questions.”
“I do.”
Stratt smiles, satisfied. “I know. He knows, too. It’s reciprocal.”
There isn’t time for you to respond before she leads you to her bed with a simple head gesture. You lie down, and she adjusts the pillows beneath your head. She towers over you, settled between your open legs, her hand caressing your hair, your face. Eva takes her time, finding in your open lips the opportunity to slip two fingers inside your warm, wet mouth. “You’re not very discreet, dear.” She watches your lips intently as your tongue moves, circling her digits when she pushes them deeper, “Were you wet? When you watched us earlier, in the lab.” She releases herself from your mouth, tapping softly on your cheeks with the same drenched fingers. They travel down to the column of your throat, opening in a V shape to outline the skin there, “did you imagine him bending you over on the counter? Or was it me?”
Eva’s fingers dance around your collarbones in the slowest descent, “When you think about us three, where are you?” Her eyes never once leave yours, her voice so like silk when it reverberates in your skin, “Do you watch? Who do you look at?”
She dips her head to latch her lips on your nipple, hand resting on your abdomen, delineating spirals. Her tongue circles your right nipple before giving it the smallest nibble and bringing her other hand to pinch it softly. “You are not answering my questions.”
“You’re not giving me time to answer them.”
“I should stop, then.” She licks from the valley of your breasts to your belly button, letting her lips ghost the trace of saliva, eyes fixated on your face, eyebrows furrowed, and the most beautiful flush adorning her face. Eva Stratt is one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen, the most alluring sight under the sky and over the sea. You absentmindedly twirl a strand of her hair on your fingers, and ask yourself if, if you tried very hard, you could frame in your mind how she looked at you when she forgot who she was, who you were, and where you two were, even if only for a fraction of time. You shake your head faintly, sitting straight to place a faint kiss on her lips. “Go on.”
She smiles, the same smile she offered Ryland Grace earlier, and then kisses your hip bone, hands holding you in place. “Answering your question, I was.” You let your head fall down on the pillow again as you feel her tugging on the elastic of your panties with her teeth, “I never really looked at him before today. Never knew he had those arms.” She chuckles on your skin, lowering the last piece of undergarment you have, discarding it somewhere, and hooking her hands under your knees, setting your legs over her shoulders.
“I thought of him during work today—”
“That’s counterproductive.” She raises her head, cocking it to the side.
“—only for a few minutes.” You nudge her with your foot, signaling for her to go back down. “I thought of you two. Would you ride him?”
She looks at you as she kisses your inner thighs so unhurriedly, as if you two could spend years in this position, “I think so, yes.”
“You thought about it before?”
You let out a mewl as she bites your skin, licking it immediately and kissing the area around it softly, “I thought of you both.”
“Well, someone has to do the fucking, baby.” You shrug, talking so casually she can’t help but laugh. “You’re gorgeous,” you think out loud.
“Would you like to—”
“I would love to.” You answer enthusiastically, letting out a surprised moan as she spits in your pussy. “I thought of it, too. Before I came here, I thought of him. I pictured him fucking me as you watch.”
She spreads her spit and your slick all over your pussy, hands cold as ever, in the most agonizingly slow pace as you wiggle your hips trying to get some friction. “Tell me about it.”
Eva positions two fingers on your entrance, applying some pressure but not quite entering you, while offering kitten licks to your clit. You almost purr at that, she’s waiting for you to start talking.
“You would sit in front of us.” Immediately, she applies more pressure on your clit with her tongue, staying for a bit longer. She watches you intently, her blue eyes open and glossy, almost begging for you to tell her all about your fantasies. She doesn’t beg; she doesn’t have to, ever. The way she looks at you is enough for you to accept participating in her suicide mission without a single complaint. “I like his eyes. I think he would look— I think he would look pretty looking up at me. Just like you’re doing now.” You stammer a bit as she sucks on your clit, teasing your entrance with one finger. Her other hand is on your thigh, holding it open and creating indents where she holds. It will bruise, you think. You hope it does, you hope every part of your skin becomes hers, or a memory of her hold.
“But I would like to ride him, to begin with. He would lie down and…” You whine as two of her fingers enter you, curling upwards and filling you so good. “…and maybe hold me by my hips, control my speed. Yeah. I would like him to use me for a little bit. Fuck.”
“He would like it, too.”
You don’t ask her how she knows it. Not when she replaces her fingers with her tongue, dragging her nose on your clit, and definitely not when she places your hand on her hair, tilting her head just enough so you understand she wants you to fuck her face. Maybe she and Ryland are two sides of the same coin; maybe she knows he would like to use you because she would like you to use her. “And then he would take me from behind. Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so good. So pretty like this.”
You lose yourself a little, closing your eyes and arching your back, pulling her hair with one hand and biting the other so you won’t be too noisy, you doubt Eva’s security team, as they wandered outside on their night shift, would want to hear it.
She completely stops, slapping your pussy and coming up to peck you on the lips. You notice her lips taste like you. “Don’t stop talking, keep your eyes on me,” she murmurs into the kiss, and then settles back in between your legs, slurping all your slick and sucking on your clit, three fingers enter you, and she watches every flutter of your eyelids, every breath you let out.
“He would take me… he would take me from behind. His fingers on me.” You position your hand on her hair again, soothing it before pulling, controlling her pace. He would like this. You know she does. “He’s so cute… Isn’t he? He’s so— oh my God. Yes.” She speeds her fingers up, still hitting so deeply as she eats you erratically. She moans as you rut your hips on her face. A drawn-out, deep moan, so unlike her usual small groans, pretty noises. You wonder if that’s how he sounds, and if she has heard it before.
“He will look so nice on top of me. He has that golden hair…” You have to contain yourself as the most raggedy, dirtiest moan comes out of your throat, “the golden hair… Fuck, his face— his face when he cums. I want to see it. His arms… Baby, I’m so close.” You try to pull her head away from you by her hair, not wanting it to end yet. It feels so good, it looks so good. The way she uses her whole face to please you, how dirty she sounds, the noises you both let out, and how desperate you two are for each other, and for him. It’s almost insane to feel him next to you, but you do. You feel his hands and his smell. Every other part, however, is Eva. Everything is her, every thought, every moan, and feeling. Every breath is hers, and as you pull her away from you, her hand covers yours and enlaces her fingers on yours, and takes each breath away from you.
You arch your back, “I want Ryland to cum inside,” you hiss every word, your movements growing in desperation as you feel your orgasm near, “I want Ryland to—” you repeat. At the mention of his name, she groans, eyebrows scrunching, and you can feel her diving even deeper, her fingers curling for one last time before she enters you with her tongue again. Her thumb furiously rubs circles on your swollen clit, and your past efforts of pushing her away are all forgotten as you roughly pull her hair and thrust your hips into her face. You try to speak again, but only his name comes out. She whines, her hips faltering on the bed. You repeat his name over and over, breathless as you try to close your thighs, helpless moans fall out of your lips, your grip on her tightens, and the last thing you see before rolling your eyes back are her eyes watching you nonstop, the hungriest, nastiest expression on those beautiful eyes, and you feel like you’re on fire. Your orgasm comes from head to toe, you thrash around and disregard any decency or discretion, moaning her name, his, and a junction of every swear word deeply ingrained in your brain.
There’s no time for you to recover; she doesn’t stop. “Baby,” you repeat in a choked-up voice, desperate to stop the stimulation but begging for her to never stop. She removes her fingers from you, both hands pinning down your hips as she focuses on swirling your clit with her tongue, small hums leaving her beautiful lips that reverberate throughout your whole body. You can’t speak or look at her; every time you try to, all you can manage is a string of whimpers, so you shut tight your eyes and bite the back of your hand. It comes to you all at once, this time. It’s incoherent, but you say her name over and over again; it’s the only thing in the back of your mind. Her lips, the way her hair tickles your skin, the noises she lets out, her burning touch, how it starts at the pit of your stomach and takes over your entire body. Your loud, incoherent blabber and oversensitive pain-pleasure is soothed by her. ‘Shh’, she softly pronounces, looking straight into your half-lidded eyes as she kisses your legs and your knees.
She leaves her favorite spot just to kiss your lips, then your forehead. Eva keeps one of her legs between yours, sending jolts of energy whenever she moves too much. “Okay?” She murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek, the sweetest voice, and the quietest too, leaving her. You nod, “Yes, are you?” and she repeats the same word of confirmation. There are no baths on the boat; it’s too luxurious, only the world’s tiniest, daintiest, and coldest showers, and you have no intentions of leaving her bed to adventure yourself into one of those right now.
You reach out to her, you almost never do, so she’s attentive, gentle, more than usual. “Let me touch you,” you whisper as she turns your back to her chest, embracing you from behind, one hand supporting her head and the other on your waist, “taste you.”
“We don’t have time.” She states, looking at the clock. 3:54. She will be up for work in about an hour. Back to Ryland Grace.
“One day we will have all the time in the world,” you turn your head to her, offering a hopeful smile.
You suspect she knows something you don’t when her eyes divert for a second. She returns your smile, tight-lipped and quiet. “Where’d you go, just now?”
“Nowhere worth your time. Don’t answer.” She repeats your words from earlier and senses you’re about to give her the same answer she did. It makes you giggle. “What about his arms?” you look at her, confused, your whole body now facing her, “before you came. You talked about his arms, but trailed off. What about them?”
“How do you know he would like to join us?”
“Answer my question,” she smirks, containing a chuckle. You don’t know why she keeps the amazing sound of her laughing to herself; you’d pay millions of dollars to hear it every day.
“I like them. It’s just this stupid fantasy,” you feel your face heat up, and cover it with your hands. She barely touches them, and you know she wants you to stop hiding. You put them down, and she kisses your forehead. “You ever notice how big they are? It barely fits the sleeves of those dumb science puns shirts he has. Thought he would maybe— I don’t know. Maybe hewouldletmeridethem.”
She laughs now, a full, beautiful laugh. You would make a fool of yourself a hundred times a day for the rest of your life if that meant you would be allowed to hear it. Eva plays with a strand of your hair, as she chuckles some more, “I believe he would do anything you asked him to.”
“Or anything you asked him to.”
She tilts her head, shrugging, looking up, “Maybe a bit of both.”
“Now, my question, answer it.”
“We never slept together, no. Not the whole deal.” She inhales before smiling, tracing the skin of your arm, “I did, however, end up in his room and the subject kind of came up.”
You nod, “handjob?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you pout.
“So he does know about the two of us.”
“Since the first day.”
“What exactly does he know about us?”
She exhales, shaking her head. “Do you really want him to join us? He was very enthusiastic about the idea back when I asked him.”
“Yeah. Yes.” You feel the discomfort of trying to define your relationship with her, the air slightly heavier than before.
There’s a silence, and her usual indecipherable face is way too transparent now. “He likes you. Likes your legs, your face. Loves your ass. He admitted it to me as he came.” You huff a laugh, that’s not what you were expecting.
“Were you out there making him masturbate thinking of me?”
“No comment.”
She smiles, it’s meek and subtle, but she does. “It turns you on, doesn’t it? Watching the two of us.”
“I know you two. I can almost read your minds.”
“You seem to know him a lot,” you hiss at your choice of words, way more jealous than you expected. Maybe you were jealous, not of the physicality of it all, but of how his brain connected to hers.
Eva sports a side smile and says absolutely nothing other than “I know you.”
“Do I know you?”
“In a different way than he does.” She rasps, voice tired and face finally showing signs of exhaustion. Eva makes no effort to continue the conversation. “Go take a shower. I have to be up in a couple of hours.”
“Can I sleep here?”
She’s already tucked in, eyes closed. She motions to the empty side of the bed, containing a pillow and the other half of her blanket.
You sit up, kissing her forehead before heading to the bathroom. You don’t know if you love Eva Stratt, if you know who she is, or anything related to Dr. Ryland Grace. You know, however, you’re not not in love with her, and, if God, or Eva Stratt, is willing, you’ll ride Dr. Ryland Grace before the Sun runs cold.
Prompt: You are in charge of acquisitions for Project Hail Mary, working directly under Eva Stratt and beside Dr. Ryland Grace. Both you and Eva are mutually pining for each other, until one of you finally break.
(A/N: I’ve scoured the net and found exactly one (1) Eva Stratt fic. This must be rectified. Stat.)
(Warnings: Smut, minors dni)
Eva had found you far before she'd found Ryland Grace. You'd worked as a covert agent for the government for years, most of your time in acquisition. If world leaders needed something, without the public being alerted, you were the woman for them.
It was far too easy to transition to working for Eva Stratt. She was methodical, unapologetic, and wholly focused on her mission of saving Earth. Her needs were precise. Metals, elements, ships, scientists. You were the one who set her on Ryland's trail. He fit the bill perfectly and he had something to prove. Bingo.
He was on board within a week.
That was months ago, now. You'd since acquired a nuclear weapon and organized the pavement of the Sahara Desert. A year ago, you would've been at least a bit shocked at the requests, but now they were your bread and butter.
Far more surprising was your growing attraction to Eva Stratt. It started slowly. Late nights turned into early mornings. Fingers brushed going through papers. Eyes caught each other in crowded rooms.
If Ryland Grace was her right-hand man, then you were here left. She didn't go anywhere without you at this point. She'd moved you into her room weeks ago, arguing that she needed you within reach at all points.
This morning you sat at a table of three astronauts that would be sent into space to die in a few months. You'd found them, too. All positive for the coma-resistance gene. All willing to die for the cause.
“Please give us your preferred method of suicide by the end of the day,” Eva chimed, leaving without any further preamble. They weren't shocked by the request. Actually, they were prepared for it.
You reported their choices back to her, seated inches from where she leaned against the front of her desk. “You can make it happen, right?”
You nod quickly. “Of course.”
“And what would yours be? If you had to choose?” She leans forward slightly, pulling a piece of your hair between her fingers.
Your stomach flips, both from her proximity and the uneasy question. “The heroin overdose sounds the best out of the three to me. As long as someone was there to make sure it worked.”
She considers this, mentally cataloguing it into the ‘things she knew about you’ section of her brain. “I’d choose the gun.”
“It’d be over quickly, I guess.”
She hums. “Far quicker than I’m sure mine will be.”
That took you back. “What do you mean?”
“When all of this is over, I will be tried and prosecuted for my crimes against humanity. I am the sacrifice the world needed for this to go smoothly.”
What the fuck?
“What are you talking about?” You stand now, still a few inches shorter than her.
“The day that ship goes in the air is the last I will see as a free woman. And I will go gladly, knowing I gave the planet a chance.”
Tears spring to your eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
“What about your family?”
“I have none.”
You stomp your foot. “What about me?”
“You and the rest of my team will not be implicated.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You know. You have to know, Eva.” Your voice was softer now, broken.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have me. I care about you. Not as a boss, or even as a friend. I-"
“Stop it,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare say another word.”
“Or what?” you return back, voice heated. “You’ll send me into space?”
“I will have you removed from this ship and you will never see me or Dr. Grace again.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you seethe. You start for the door, but turn back around. “No, fuck this. I know you care about me, too. I see it in the way you look at me, Eva. I feel it in the way you touch me. You never touch Ryland like that. Ever.”
“None of that matters. My feelings for you,” she said, accentuating the word, “do not matter."
And that was that. For a week, she avoided you. You weren't sure if it was more for her sake or yours. Which one of you wanted her to break more.
When the lab exploded, her first call was to you. Ryland was beside of her when it happened, so you were the variable she cared about most. And she hated herself for it. For being relieved that you were okay when both scientists had died in the explosion. For being glad it wasn't you.
She couldn’t think. Her brain was putty, thinking only of you. It couldn’t accept that you were okay, that you hadn’t been harmed in the blast. She skirted around questioning as she ran to your shared room. She needed to see you.
You almost didn’t believe it when she walked in. You didn’t expect to see her for hours, if at all. “What are you doing?” you ask, crossing the room to her.
“I just- I thought you were in there,” she gasps, pulling you to her chest. “You were supposed to be in there.”
“I wasn’t,” you shook your head. “I finished up earlier and was going to take a nap.”
“Just,” she started, voice still a gasp. She was shaking. “Fuck.” Her voice cracked on the word, like it physically hurt her to say it.
“I’m okay. I swear, I’m okay, Eva.” Your hands rub up and down her arms, trying your best to comfort her. Every bit of stoicism had dripped off of her, leaving her shaking and broken before you.
“This is wrong,” she cries out. “I’m sending them to die. I don’t get to have this.”
“It’s their choice, Eva. They knew what would be asked of them when they signed up.”
She knows this. She’d never felt bad about it before. But that was when she was giving everything. But now, you stood before her offering to give her something that was just hers. Something that might jeopardize her willpower.
“Just please,” you beg. “Let yourself have this.”
“What are you doing to me?” she whispers, cradling your head within her hands.
“I love you, Eva. Please.”
She finally breaks, backing you into the door as her lips crashed on yours. Her hands are on your face, holding you right where she wants you. She devours you, marking your mouth and collarbones and neck with her lips and teeth and tongue. Every moan that leaves your lips is noted and inventoried. She goes back to your most sensitive swaths of skin repeatedly, intensifying her touch.
You’re the one who leads her to your bed, pushing her back to straddle her hips. This position gives her even more purchase over you. Her fingers trail your ribs, your hips, your thighs. Yours stay in her hair.
“Fuck, Eva. I need more of you,” you beg.
“I know, pet. Let me take care of you.”
She sits back against the headboard, pulling you between her thighs. She’s still fully dressed while you’re wearing shockingly little - only one of Ryland’s old t-shirts he’d passed down to you and a pair of skimpy underwear. She took advantage of this immediately, using one hand to hold you against her by your sternum and the other to rub your thigh.
You whimper at her touch. It had been so long since someone had touched you, years at this point. “It’s okay. I have you.”
“I know. I trust you.” You lean back further into her touch, which allows her to kiss your neck, teeth sinking delicately into your shoulder. She kisses the spot when she releases it. “Going to touch you now,” she purrs.
Her fingers drift to the edge of your underwear, sinking underneath them in one single shift. You shudder at the feeling. “Easy,” she whispers into your ear.
At first, she circles your slit. Whether to tease you or warm you up, you can’t be sure. Her fingers feel simultaneously overwhelmingly good and not nearly enough. You’re about to start squirming when she sinks past your folds, rubbing two fingers over your swollen clit.
“Fuck,” you groan, bucking your hips against her hand.
“Good girl,” she breathes into your neck. Her movements are steady, an even pace for you to relax into. “Doing so good for me.”
Her pace is slow at first, building tension in your core as she finds what makes you tick. Your body is already electrified, warm and sated from her touch. She doesn't warn you before her fingers enter you. She knows you're ready. She can feel how much you need it. You groan, arching your back to allow her deeper. She alternates between your clit and entrance, pulling you right to the edge.
“I can feel you getting close.” Her movements don’t stop, but she uses her free hand to pull you closer to her. “Here, baby,” she purrs, slipping her thumb into your mouth, other fingers digging into your jaw. Her other arm is able to hold you perfectly in place. It’s hard to form words now. It’s hard to think with her fingers in you. The only thing you can focus on is her. You’re full of her. She coats every inch of your skin.
"Let go, baby. I've got you." Warmth spreads over you as every nerve is set off. "That's it, good girl." Your orgasm is slow and strung out, Eva fucking you through it. She doesn't stop until you're a boneless lump on top of her.
Your eyes glaze over as she sinks her glistening fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue over your arousal. She moans in satisfaction, fully aware of what her actions were doing to you.
You're pawing at her shirt, desperate to undress her. She only shakes her head. "Not now, pet. I just wanted you." You try not to look disappointed, but she catches it, anyway. “I have to go,” she whispers. “There’s a lot to figure out now.”
You nod, turning away from her. Tears are welling in your eyes and you refuse to let her see. You refuse to be another problem she needs to solve. They fall as soon as the door shuts behind her. Ugly, broken sounds fall from your lips, refusing to quiet.
A knock at your door finally brings you back to earth. You know it’s not Eva, so you don’t spend long putting yourself together before throwing open the door.
Ryland stands on the other side, red eyes matching yours. “Come here,” he says, pulling you into a hug. You let out another sob into his chest, body apparently not yet purged of tears. “It’s awful. I’m really glad you’re okay.”
You sniffle. “You’re the second person to say that to me today.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen her so freaked out. I didn’t think she was capable of feeling fear.”
You finally pull your body away from him, wiping your tears. He glances at your unmade bed. “She come here?” he asks softly.
“Maybe.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Might I ask-“
“She kissed me.” He nodded, almost in disbelief. “And slept with me.”
He could sense the hesitation on your voice, the fear that he’d be upset with you. Even though he was shocked that Eva Stratt was capable of being with someone in that way, he pushed through. "Listen," Ryland says softly. “You didn't do anything wrong. We've been at this for over a year. It makes sense feelings developed."
"I know. It’s just becoming real," you sniffle. "And she's still talking about them arresting her when Mary goes up."
"That won't happen. We'll show them," he comforts you. "We'll show them everything she did. She's the reason we have a chance."
"You'll help?"
"Of course I will. I promise I will."
The panic that'd been held in your chest for weeks finally dampened, just a bit. "Thank you, Ryland."
"Yeah, of course," he smiled. “You guys are my best friends. I’d do anything for you.”
He didn’t leave until he was sure you were fine. As fine as you were going to get, anyways. Eva settled into your bed a little past four in the morning. “You should be asleep,” she murmurs against your hair, taking a deep inhale of it.
“I tried. What did you decide about the scientists?”
“We’re going to ask Dr. Grace.”
You smile softly. “And he’s going to say ‘no’. What’s Plan B?”
“I’d rather not speak of it right now.”
Your eyebrows knit together. “Why not?”
Her eyes softened. She chewed on her lip. “Because you will not like it.”
“Just tell me. Please.”
“Dr. Grace is our only plan. If he refuses to go by choice, then he will go by force. He will be drugged to enter a coma and forget these past few months.”
“You wouldn’t do that to him.” Your voice catches in your throat. “They have a choice, everyone has a choice. That’s the whole point.”
“The point was saving the planet,” she says evenly. “You know that.”
“You’re sacrificing him.”
“For the entire human race. Yes, I am.”
You sit up on your bed, facing her. “He’s your friend, Eva.”
“And I will never forgive myself. But it’s what must be done.”
“I, um,” you stand, limbs heavy. “I need to get some air.”
When your hand twists the doorknob it doesn’t budge. You rattle it for good measure, but it’s locked. “What did you do?” you ask under your breath.
“We couldn’t risk you telling him. We’d have to put him under without giving him a chance to decide on his own.”
“So you locked me in a cage?”
“Your cage.”
You laughed in disbelief. “Fuck you, Eva.” You bang on the metal door with closed fists, calling out for Ryland, for anyone.
“Soundproof.”
You yelled out in exasperation, sliding down the door with your head held in your hands.
She just looked down at you, hands nestled in her jacket pockets. “You know why I did this. Deep down you do.”
“I hate you,” you spit.
“Probably for the better,” her voice broke, retreating to her own bed.
You didn’t move until the time came for his decision. Your last chance to see Ryland Grace alive.
You wish she didn’t let you in. Didn’t make you look into the eyes of the man she had resigned to death. That you'd resigned to death a year ago when you recruited him. You wish you didn’t watch the moment he realized that’s what she’d done.
“I know this seems like me betraying you, but it is really me believing in you.”
“It seems an awful lot like you betraying me,” he states, voice shaking.
“Don’t make this harder, please,” she says, voice soft.
“Eva, please,” he begs. “You can’t do this.”
“You know I would do anything for this mission, Dr. Grace. Even if it hurts.”
“Would you? Would you send her?” Ryland asks, hitting a fist against her desk. You jump slightly, tears beginning to well in your eyes.
She didn’t glance at you; she barely even paused. “Yes.”
The answer was… expected. But that didn’t stop it from burning in your chest.
He laughs. “That makes sense actually. No wonder you’re so cruel. You’re a psychopath.”
“Not true,” she retorts easily. “I’ve been checked.”
“Do it, then,” he says, calling her non-existent bluff. “Send her, too.” His betrayal stacked on to yours as you both stared at each other.
“She doesn’t have the coma-resistant gene. She would die.”
“I’m going to die!” he yells, slamming his hands against his chest. “You are sending me up there to die!”
“For a purpose. And if her purpose was to die up there, then I’d send her, too. My feelings hold no match to the end of the human race.”
“Go fuck yourself,” he seethes, crossing the room to her. You step in front of her, blocking him. His expression was torn as he looking at you with both pity and rage. “How are you protecting her? After what she said? After what she’s willing to do?”
“Because I knew she’d say it. When it comes down to me or the world she’s always going to choose the world. Every time.”
Her hand slips under the back of your sweater, cold against the heat of your skin.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Grace, but this really is the only way.” She motions for the men to come in and they immediately corner him. He grew panicky, like a wild animal trying to evade capture. “Just sit down and we do it differently,” she begs, her voice breaking.
He didn’t, of course. He tried to throw a chair at her and was immediately tackled to the ground. You couldn’t look as he pleaded with her, begged for his life. You never would’ve sent him. That’s why you respected Eva. Why you loved her.
Why you hated her.
Ryland was unconscious when she finally pulled you from the room, leading you through the vast corridors of the base.
You knew almost immediately that she was leading you back to your shared bedroom. Your cage. “Pack your things,” she instructed as soon as the door shut behind you.
“Are you serious?” you scof at her.
“You serve no further purpose to the task force at this time. You are hereby released from your duties.”
You moved frantically, angrily, around your room, doing as she’d asked. Still following her orders.
“If you think anyone else could’ve saved us then you are a fool. You selected him. You knew what he was capable of.”
“I do. I also know that we just sent a good man to the stars to die.”
“And that is far better than him dying from starvation here. Or from the war that will eventually start over resources. Or from a new disease civilization will be too weak to fight off. Believe it or not, his death will likely be a mercy compared to ours.”
“I wanted to fight those things! Together! You assembled the greatest gathering of minds this planet has ever seen and you’re disposing of them! The scientists are shipped to space to die or back home to die! The leaders are imprisoned! I’m thrown away!”
She shook her head. “You’re not being thrown away. You’re being given a second chance. Some other operation will be thrown together in a decade and they’ll need someone like you. You need to be there.”
“You don’t get to boss me around from prison, Eva.”
“I am your boss no matter where I am, pet. I am everyone’s boss.”
All the anger, the rage, the fury, melts out of you, leaving you hurt and scared. She wraps you up in her arms first, catching the exact moment you crack. Sobs rip through your lungs and out of your body. She shushes them, raking her fingers through your hair. “I wanted to fight it together. The three of us.”
“I know.”
“I need you.”
“I know.”
Your firsts slam into her shoulders, but she holds them there, pressing a kiss into your folded fingers. “Why did you wait so long? Why would you give me this just to leave me all alone?”
“I never meant for this to happen. I knew how much you wanted me, how much it would hurt you to lose me. And then the lab exploded and I realized how much I needed you, too.”
“It hurts so fucking bad,” you cry out, sinking deeper into her. You’ve experienced grief before. It didn’t compare to this. The pain was burnt and jagged and rotted and ached in your chest. You felt the need to claw it out, to rid yourself of it.
She held you as you cried and allowed you to muffle your screams into her chest. She was solid underneath you, never flinching or backing away.
“You need to go now,” she whispered when you’d finally quieted.
“I’m not.”
“Everyone non-essential is being evacuated tonight. All records of them are being purged.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going.”
“I will have you removed if you do not go.”
This time, you were able to call her bluff. “No you won’t. I’m not risking the mission here. It would be selfish to divert resources to me now.”
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind your head. “Then maybe I will be selfish. Just this once.”
Your lip quivers, but you stand strong. “I am the Head of Acquisitions for the Hail Mary and Dr. Ryland Grace’s best friend. I deserve to be there when it launches.”
“You are a pest.”
“I am also yours. And I refuse to say goodbye a moment before I’m forced to.”
She smiles. “Like I said, a pest.”
