❀summary: when the sudden peaceful flower turns into a wild flower during chaos
❀info: reader is gender neutral, which means you can see them as a girl or a guy. Reader isn’t a hero, more like a person who reveals their own power during a crisis when they felt a “little” bit underestimated. Sorry if this is lowkey ass I think I made this out of boredom and wasn’t thinking straight.
❀ genre: short story or wtv
❀ wc: 533
Oh the sweet Y/n, the medic in the field. Not a hero, not a villain. Or a sidekick. A medic. A simple nurse for the GDA.
Such a simple nurse.
A weak one?
No.
Cause the nurse is certainly in the battlefield due to someone who always gets himself in trouble.
“Y/n!! Go find somewhere safe to be!” Mark yells at you who is jumping across simple debris around the scene of these puppets causing mayhem.
“No! This city needs me, you dipshit!” You yelled back as you dodged a puppet who tried to claw you.
You moved back as it kept trying to slash you, and when it almost got you—Mark swooshed over and punched the puppet away. Leaving nothing but wooden shatters.
“See?! It’s dangerous out here for a medic like you!”
‘A medic like you’, those words irritated. Badly. Especially since Rex kept teasing you about being some kinda “cute” and “helpless” nurse.
“Hey! This medic helps you and takes care of you, asshole!!” You yelled as you swiftly dodged another strike from a puppet who fell to the ground. You lifted your foot and stepped on the head of the puppet hard. Making it shatter like a smushed pie.
Being underestimated. Everyday. Every single moment causes you don’t wanna show what you can really do.
Well, guess today is the day that it’s over with.
You took off your doctor’s coat, watching how Mark's jaw dropped seeing your old scars from battles of your own was impressive since you had a sleeveless shirt. You rushed into the scene where a puppet was about to tear someone’s face off.
Immediately you swept the puppet up, like some kinda wrestler as you threw them over your head.
“Whoa.” Mark mumbles under his breath, Rex came by with Eve also on the other side of the half Vilturmite. “They’re so badass.” The redhead said with a smirk as she crossed her arms.
Back to you, you started to punch through effortlessly in a raid of puppets. Each is going down and dying into wood chips. Your fists weren’t even bruised.
They were weapons.
Each punch was like a slice to the head.
Nice and professional.
Turns out being in the battle ended the whole puppet raid in the top 20 minutes.
Without, destroying any buildings as Rex was hit with a wooden puppet’s head to the face.
“OW COCKSUCKIN' BI—”
“SHANNAROOO!!!”
A wild scream erupts into the air as you grab a whole light pole and swing it towards the last group of puppets like Babe Ruth.
Rex, still holding his nose as Eve and Mark are impressed at this monstrous strength watched how you just dusted your hands off like nothing and walked back to the trio.
“Remind me to never mess with you,” Mark says with a smile as he looks at you slightly in worry but admiringly. Eve nods as she wraps an arm around you. Rex, of course still holding his nose, nods.
“Yeah yeah and me three. Now can you fix my nose?” Rex points to his broken nose that’s starting to bleed as you sigh.
rex sloan ⸝⸝ eve wilkins ⸝⸝ mark grayson ⸝⸝ oliver grayson
content : attempting to rage bait your lover via text ,, texting smau ,, swearing ,, comedy ,, no pronouns used for reader ,, rex makes a joke involving mark in his ,, established relationship for all ,, sfw ,, may be ooc .
n/ns mentioned : baby , eve is called pretty girl by reader in hers
ARLA YAP : i redid oliver’s twice just to stick with the first one. 🤦🏻♀️ THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS — i wasn’t meant to post this today but im very grateful.
— 𝓡𝐞𝐱 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐧 ,
— 𝓔𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 ,
— 𝓜𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ,
— 𝓞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ,
ִ › ⦂ masterlist here — requests are still open
thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated.
popular!eve wilkins and loser lesbian!reader get paired up for a architecture project! ╱ 5k words, some religious trauma, reader has a huge crush on eve, fingering (+18) ˚.✦
You haven't met anyone in university that didn't know Eve Wilkins. She was a literal dream come true; long, silky ginger hair, gorgeous body, big green eyes and that natural beauty that makes everyone sigh.
And on top of that, she was incredibly nice and friendly with everyone. When you were lucky enough to talk to her, she never breaks eye contact, she smiles at you and she listens.
Again, a dream girl.
Your dream girl, to be fair. Because you, with all the other boys, were crushing on her. How could you not? It felt like someone cast a spell on you to like Eve Wilkins.
The only problem is that you were a girl. And Eve Wilkins was the archetype of a nice straight girl.
You and Eve have three classes together, all dedicated to architecture. She would always sit in the middle of the class, slightly close to the window. You would choose a seat a few rows back so you can stare at her without looking weird.
Was that a little creepy? Maybe. Probably. But again, her silky hair and how she runs a hand through it every once in a while. Her perfect manicured fingers, nails painted in a light pink shade, threading in the hair. It was such a pretty sight.
Most of the time you aren't listening to the teacher. You're either looking at Eve or at the window. So you totally miss the moment where she announced a project and the moment she started saying the pairs for it.
You freeze when she drops into the chair next to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her perfume hits first, something warm and expensive that smells like vanilla and cherry. Then her hair brushes your shoulder for half a second as she leans in to set her sketchbook down, and your brain short-circuits.
“Those rings are insane,” she says, voice soft but genuinely delighted.
She reaches out without asking, fingertips barely grazing the silver band on your index finger, the one with the tiny crescent moon soldered into it.
"Ah, thank you." You are still processing everything. Was she touching your hand at this moment? Fuck, she was.
She smiles and turns her whole body toward you like you’re the only person in the room. “They’re beautiful. You have really good taste.”
Your mouth opens. What comes out is a strangled, high-pitched version of:
“I, um... you don’t have to do this. With me. If you want to switch or I can just do my half alone, it’s fine, I don’t want to drag you down or—”
Eve’s hand lands lightly on your forearm.
Not hard. Not pitying. Just… there.
“Woah,” she says, and her voice drops to something quieter, more serious. “Stop.”
You stop breathing.
“I want to do this project with you,” she says. “I literally asked Professor Lang to pair us.”
You blink. Several times. “You… you what?”
She laughs under her breath, a little embarrassed, and tucks a strand of that impossible ginger hair behind her ear.
“I saw your models last semester. The way you layer materials; the brass mesh over the resin, the way you let light bend through it instead of just bouncing off. It’s… different. In a good way. I’ve been wanting to work with you since the mid-term review.”
Your heart is doing something violent against your ribs. “But you could’ve picked anyone. Literally anyone.”
Eve tilts her head, studying you like you just said something adorable and ridiculous at the same time.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I could’ve. I picked you.”
The silence stretches. Her green eyes haven’t left yours once.
You swallow. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she leans in a fraction closer, until you can count the faint freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.
“Because,” she murmurs, “You look really cool. And I looove cool people.”
Your pulse roars in your ears.
She smiles again, smaller this time, almost private—and taps the edge of your sketchbook with one perfect fingernail.
“So. Brutalist library with a public garden roof. You want to start with the structural grid or the light studies?”
You stare at her for another stupid second, brain still lagging several frames behind.
Then you turn your sketchbook toward her.
“Light studies,” you manage. Your voice only shakes a little. “I’ve been thinking about how the pergola slats could fracture sunlight across the reading tables. Like… stained glass but brutal.”
Eve’s whole face lights up.
“Fuck yes,” she breathes. “Show me.”
And just like that, she scoots her chair closer until your knees are almost touching under the table, opens her own sketchbook, and waits for you to start talking.
For the first time in three semesters of architecture school, someone is waiting to hear what you have to say.
And it’s her.
She gave you her phone number after the class. Insisting to meet in your dorm because her home is always a mess. You really didn't ask any questions. But still you tided your room up before she knocked so she has a good impression of you.
"Hiii," she waves at you when you opened the door for her.
The first thing you notice is her hair in the loose braid and the pink tank top with low waisted jeans. Did she always wear something pink or what?
"Hey," you say simply. "Uh, come in! I got some ideas written, if you want to hear them."
"Woah, is that a But I'm a Cheerleader poster?"
Eve’s eyes are wide and sparkling as she steps fully inside, backpack still slung over one shoulder, head tilted like she’s just discovered buried treasure on your wall.
You close the door behind her, heart doing that stupid triple-step it always does when she’s within ten feet. “Yeah. I, uh… found it at this weird thrift shop off campus last year.”
She spins to face you, braid swinging, grin so bright it should come with a warning label. “I’ve watched that movie like… minimum five times. Probably more. I made my roommate in first year watch it with me and she pretended to hate it but I caught her crying at the end.”
You blink. “You cried?”
“Ugly cried,” she says without hesitation, dropping her bag on your desk chair and flopping cross-legged onto the edge of your bed like she’s been here a hundred times. “The whole ‘you don’t have to be fixed’ thing just… wrecked me. My parents are very religious, and I spent so long thinking something was wrong with me because I didn’t feel the way the pastor said girls were supposed to feel. Then I saw Megan and Graham and it was like… oh. Oh. Someone made a whole movie about this exact feeling.”
She stops, suddenly self-conscious, and rubs the back of her neck. “Sorry. I just infodumped all over your room.”
“No, no, keep going,” you say way too fast. You sit on the desk chair across from her, knees pulled up, trying to look casual and probably failing. “I mean… same. I watched it the summer before senior year of high school and it felt like someone finally explained why I’d been walking around feeling like I was defective. Like, the scene where they’re in conversion therapy doing those stupid exercises? I’d lived versions of that in my head for years.”
Eve nods slowly, eyes locked on yours again in that unnerving, beautiful way she has. “Exactly. And then the ending when they just… choose each other anyway. I think about that ending a lot.”
You swallow. “Me too.”
A beat of quiet. Not awkward, exactly. More like the air got heavier in a good way.
She leans forward a little, elbows on her knees. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”
Your stomach drops through the floor. “Sure.”
“Are you…?” She hesitates, then just goes for it. “Are you a lesbian?”
You feel your face heat instantly. There’s no point in lying. She’s looking right at you, and you’re pretty sure your pupils are doing cartoon-heart things.
“Yeah,” you say. “I am.”
Eve studies you for half a second longer.
Then she smiles and says:
“Cute.”
One word.
That’s it.
Cute.
Your brain flatlines.
Cute?
CUTE?
You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you. The way her tank top dips just enough to show the delicate gold chain resting against her collarbone. The faint flush on her cheeks that might be from the walk over or might be from this conversation. The way her fingers are playing absently with the frayed hem of her jeans like she’s nervous too.
You want to die. You also want to frame the word “cute” and hang it on your wall next to the poster.
She doesn’t seem to notice the internal combustion you’re experiencing. She just keeps talking, like she didn’t just detonate your entire nervous system with a single syllable.
“Anyway,” she says, reaching for her sketchbook like nothing happened, “I was thinking about the idea you mentioned last class. What if we made the slats adjustable? Like… louvers. So the light changes with the time of day, but also the users could control how much privacy or openness they want in each reading nook. Does that sound stupid?”
You blink hard. Force your mouth to form words. “No. That’s… that’s actually genius. We could tie it to the brutalist thing too. Raw concrete channels for the mechanisms so it feels industrial but still human.”
Her face lights up again. “Yes. Yes. And maybe small water features under some of the benches? Not a full fountain, just a trickle so you hear it while you read. White noise but alive.”
You’re nodding before she even finishes. “I’ve got some reference photos of the Salk Institute courtyard—that hard geometry with the water channel. We could steal that feeling but soften it with the garden.”
She scoots closer on the bed until her knee bumps yours. Doesn’t move it away.
“Show me,” she says, voice dropping into that excited hush she gets when she’s really into an idea.
You grab your laptop, pull up the folder labeled “LIGHT & SHADOW” (because of course you have a folder labeled LIGHT & SHADOW), and angle the screen so she can see. Your shoulders are almost touching now. Her braid brushes your arm when she leans in.
“God,” she murmurs, scrolling slowly through the images. “You take really beautiful reference shots. These are yours, right? Not just pulled off Pinterest?”
“Yeah,” you mumble. “I walk around with my camera a lot. Especially early morning when the light’s stupidly good.”
She glances sideways at you. “You should shoot the model once we build it. Like… documentary style. Before, during, after. I’d watch that.”
You laugh. “You’d watch me take bad Canon pictures of foam core?”
“I’d watch you do literally anything,” she says.
Casual.
Like it’s nothing.
Your heart stops, restarts, then immediately redlines.
She doesn’t look away. Just keeps that soft, open expression, like she’s waiting for you to catch up.
You clear your throat. “We, uh… should probably sketch the grid first. Before we get too far into aesthetics.”
She nods, but she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she just did to you.
“Okay,” she says sweetly. “But only if you promise to tell me more about why you love that movie so much. I want the full director’s cut commentary.”
You stare at her.
She bumps your knee with hers again.
“Deal?” she asks.
Your voice comes out hoarse. “Deal.”
She grins, grabs one of your pencils, and starts doodling little adjustable slats in the margin of your sketchbook.
And you sit there thinking:
Cute.
She called you cute.
And now she’s drawing in your sketchbook and her knee is still touching yours and you’re pretty sure you’re never going to recover from this afternoon.
The project wraps up around 2 a.m. on a Thursday night that technically bleeds into Friday. You’re both sprawled on your tiny dorm bed because the desk chair became unbearable hours ago, sketch models and half-finished render prints scattered across the comforter like battlefield casualties. The brutalist library with its adjustable-louver roof and whispering water channels is finally done and submitted at 1:47 a.m. via the class portal with thirty seconds to spare.
Eve lets out this long, dramatic exhale and flops backward so her head lands on your pillow, ginger braid half-unraveled now, strands fanning out like spilled sunset.
“We did it. We actually fucking did it. I’m never looking at concrete the same way again.”
You’re sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, laptop still open on your thighs even though the screen’s gone dark. “Yeah. It’s… good. Really good. Your section perspectives saved it. The way you drew the light hitting the water, Professor Lang is gonna lose his mind.”
She props herself up on her elbows, grinning. “You wrote the entire materiality report in, what, forty-five minutes? While I was panicking about font choice? You’re secretly a machine.”
“I’m secretly terrified of failing,” you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie sleeve. “Different thing.”
Eve laughs, the kind of laugh that makes other people in the dorm hallway pause and wonder what’s so funny. “You’re so dramatic. You’re literally one of the best in the class and you act like you’re about to get deported back to high school.”
You shrug, cheeks warm. “I just… don’t want to mess it up. Especially not with you.”
She tilts her head, smile softening. “You didn’t mess anything up. We make a stupidly good team. I’m already dreading next semester when I have to do projects without you.”
Your stomach flips so hard you almost drop the laptop.
She doesn’t let the silence settle. She never does. Instead she rolls onto her side, facing you fully, cheek squished against your pillow.
“What are you doing after this? Like, right now. Are you gonna crash or are you one of those freaks who pulls an all-nighter and then goes to a 9 a.m. lecture like it’s nothing?”
“I was… probably gonna stare at the ceiling until my eyes hurt and then panic about whether we forgot to label the drainage details.”
“Predictable.” She reaches out and flicks your knee lightly with her finger. “Wrong answer. We’re celebrating. You have snacks, right? Everyone has emergency snacks.”
You blink. “Uh… there’s some stale Goldfish in the bottom drawer and half a pack of Sour Patch Kids that might be from last semester.”
“Elite. Hand them over.”
You lean over, fish them out, pass the bag. She rips it open, pops a gummy in her mouth, then holds one out to you between her fingers.
“Open.”
You freeze.
She raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Don’t make me feed you like a baby bird. Open.”
You part your lips. She places the gummy on your tongue with exaggerated care, fingertips brushing the corner of your mouth for half a second. Your brain briefly ceases to function.
She grins like she knows exactly what she just did. “See? Celebration achieved.”
You chew slowly, trying to remember how words work. “You’re… really good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making everything feel easy. Fun. I’m usually alone in my room spiraling and you just show up and it’s like… party mode.”
Eve’s expression shifts. “I like being around you. You’re quiet, but not in a boring way. In a… thinking way. And when you do talk, it’s always something interesting. I never feel like I have to perform around you.”
You swallow. “I feel like I have to perform around everyone. Especially you.”
“Why especially me?”
Because you’re you, you want to say. Because you’re beautiful and kind and everyone wants you and I’m just… me.
Instead you mumble, “You’re popular. And nice. And I’m… not those things.”
She snorts. “Popular? I’m just loud and I know a lot of people’s names. That’s not the same. And you’re nice. You’re so nice it’s actually painful sometimes. You spent twenty minutes explaining shadow studies to that freshman who didn't even know your name.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, don't remind me.”
“See? You’re memorable. In the best way.” She shifts closer while she talks, like gravity just decided to help her out. Her knee presses against your thigh now. She doesn’t move it.
You’re suddenly very aware of how small your bed is. How close her face is. How her tank top slipped off one shoulder sometime in the last hour and you can see the faint freckle constellation there.
She keeps talking, voice dropping softer. “You know what I like most about hanging out with you?”
You shake your head, barely breathing.
“You don’t try to impress me. You just exist. And it’s nice. I spend so much time around people who want something and with you I can just be. No agenda.”
Your throat is tight. “I do want something.”
She stills. Eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. “Yeah?”
“I want more of this.” You gesture vaguely between you. “The talking. Being around you. I just… don’t know how to ask for it without sounding like a loser.”
Eve’s lips curve. “You’re not a loser. You’re cute when you’re nervous, though. It’s my favorite version of you.”
There it is again. Cute.
Your heart slams so hard you’re sure she can hear it.
She moves again, deliberate this time. Scoots up until she’s sitting right beside you, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Then she turns her whole body toward you, one hand coming up to rest lightly on the mattress near your knee. The other reaches out and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger there, tracing the shell of your ear so softly it’s almost not there.
You stop breathing entirely.
She’s so close now you can see the different shades of green in her eyes: pine and emerald and something almost gold in the lamplight. Her breath smells faintly of Sour Patch Kids and vanilla lip balm.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?” she whispers.
"Uh... no. Not really." You're trembling right now, you can't believe this is happening to you at this moment.
"Have you ever kissed anyone?" she asks again, blinking slowly.
"No..."
Eve lowers her gaze to your bodies, eyes filled with desire and excitement.
"Would you let me your first kiss?"
"Yes!" you say it almost instantly. "Yes, please."
Her smile is instantaneous, bright and relieved. She leans in the last few inches, forehead resting against yours first, like she’s giving you one final chance to bolt.
You don’t.
So she closes the distance.
The kiss is slow. Careful. Like she’s memorizing you. Her lips are soft and warm. One hand cups your jaw; the other slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair.
You kiss her back, tentative at first, then braver when she makes this pleased sound against your mouth.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are glassy and her cheeks are flushed.
“Hi,” she says, breathless, grinning like an idiot.
“Hi,” you manage. Your voice cracks on the single syllable.
She laughs quietly, presses another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re shaking.”
“Am not.”
“You are.” She takes your hand, laces your fingers together, squeezes. “It’s cute.”
“Stop saying that word.”
“Nuh uh.”
She kisses you again—deeper this time, braver. You melt into it. Her hands find your waist, hesitant, then firmer when she sighs into your mouth like she’s been waiting for this forever. She pulls you closer to her until you are practically straddling her legs.
Her whole body is warm, the mix of heat, taste and sounds making you total mess. At some point, with her hands touching your back, waist and hips, you can't help but let out a needy whimper.
You feel your cheeks burn, and Eve breaks the kiss to just stare at you with a smirk. Her lips are shiny, even more when she licks them to collect all the saliva you left there.
Eve’s smirk softens into something warmer, almost tender, as she watches the flush crawl down your neck. She doesn’t laugh at the whimper, she just studies you like you’re the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
“Hey,” she murmurs, thumb brushing slow circles over the apple of your cheek. “That sound you just made? Fucking gorgeous. Don’t hide it.”
You duck your head anyway. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“Ah-ah-ah.” She catches your chin gently, lifts your face back up so you have to meet her eyes. “I want to hear more of them. A lot more.”
Your breath hitches. You’re still in her lap, thighs bracketing hers, her hands resting loose and warm on your hips like she’s giving you permission to bolt at any second. But you don’t want to bolt. You want to disappear into her. You just have no idea what comes next.
Eve seems to read it on your face. She leans in, presses the softest kiss to the corner of your jaw, then another just below your ear.
“Talk to me,” she whispers against your skin. “Tell me what feels good so far. And what doesn’t. No wrong answers.”
You swallow hard. “Everything… everything feels good. Too good. I’m just nervous. Really nervous.”
“Yeah?” She pulls back enough to look at you properly, green eyes steady and patient. “That’s okay. We can go as slow as you need. Or stop. Or just kiss like this for the rest of the night. Whatever you want.”
You shake your head quickly. “I don’t want to stop.”
“That's good. Me neither.” She strokes your sides lightly, thumbs brushing the hem of your hoodie. “Can I take this off? Or is that too fast?”
Your heart jackhammers. “You can. I mean, if you want.”
“I want,” she says simply. “But only if you do.”
You nod, lifting your arms like you’re a kid being undressed for bed. She laughs under her breath and peels the hoodie over your head. Cool air hits your skin and you instinctively hunch your shoulders, suddenly hyper-aware of the thin tank top underneath, the way your nipples are already peaked against the fabric from nerves and arousal and the fact that Eve fucking Wilkins is looking at you like this.
She doesn’t stare like it’s a performance. She just looks. Appreciative. Hungry, but careful.
“God,” she breathes. “You’re so pretty.”
You make a small, disbelieving noise.
“I’m serious.” She traces one finger down the center of your chest, between your breasts, slow enough that you feel every millimeter. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Imagining what you’d look like under all those oversized hoodies.”
“Weeks?” Your voice cracks.
“Mhm.” She leans in, kisses the hollow of your throat. “Since the first time you explained your light studies in class and I couldn’t stop staring at your mouth while you talked.”
You whimper again—quieter this time, but she still hears it. Her teeth graze your pulse point, just enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
“There it is,” she murmurs, pleased. “You like when I use my teeth a little?”
“I—yeah. I think so.”
“Noted.” She does it again, softer, then soothes the spot with her tongue. “What else? You can say anything. Or nothing. I can just keep guessing if you want.”
You bury your face in her shoulder for a second, gathering courage. “I like… when you talk. Like this. Telling me what you’re doing. Or what you want.”
Eve hums approval against your neck. “You like being talked through it?”
Heat floods your face. “Yeah.”
“Fuck, that’s hot.” She pulls back so she can see you again. “Okay. Then I’ll keep talking. And you tell me if anything feels off. Promise?”
“Promise.”
She kisses you again, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your thighs clench around her hips. When she breaks it, she’s breathing harder.
“Hands up,” she says quietly.
You obey instantly. She slips your tank top off in one smooth motion, tosses it somewhere behind her. Then she just looks, taking in the way your chest rises and falls too fast, the faint goosebumps everywhere, the way you’re already arching toward her without meaning to.
“Can I touch you here?” Her palm hovers over one breast, not quite making contact.
“Please.”
She cups you gently at first, thumb brushing over your nipple in a slow circle. You gasp. She does it again, firmer, and your head tips back.
“Sensitive,” she notes, voice rough. She leans down, replaces her thumb with her mouth, tongue flicking once, twice, then sucking lightly.
Your hips buck hard. A broken sound spills out of you before you can stop it.
Eve pulls off with a soft pop, looks up at you through her lashes. “Too much?”
“No—no, keep—keep going.”
She smiles against your skin. “Tell me what you want next.”
You hesitate, then whisper, “Your hand… lower.”
She doesn’t tease you for it. Just kisses a slow path down your sternum, your stomach, while her fingers trace the waistband of your sweats.
“These okay to come off?”
You nod frantically.
She hooks her fingers under the elastic, drags them down your thighs along with your underwear in one careful motion. You lift your hips to help, trembling the whole time.
When you’re bare in front of her, she pauses letting her eyes roam.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “You’re beautiful.”
You start to protest out of habit, but she silences you with a look.
“I mean it.” She settles between your legs again, hands sliding up the insides of your thighs, spreading you gently. “And I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay? Just breathe for me.”
You try. It’s hard when she’s looking at you like that.
She drags one finger through your folds and groans low in her throat when she feels how wet you already are.
“Fuck, baby. All this for me?”
You can’t speak. Just nod, hips twitching toward her hand.
She circles your clit once and you jolt like you’ve been shocked.
“Too much?” she checks immediately.
“No! Just sensitive. Really sensitive.”
“Okay. Easy.” She kisses your neck again. “I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want more, or less, or different. Anything.”
You manage a shaky, “More. Please.”
She smiles against your skin, then presses two fingers inside you, letting you adjust. You both moan at the same time.
“Good?” she whispers.
“So good.”
She curls them slightly, searching, and when she finds that spot your whole body arches.
“There?” she asks, already knowing.
You can only whimper.
She keeps that rhythm while her thumb brushes your clit in lazy circles. Her other hand strokes your hip, grounding you.
“Look at me,” she says softly.
You force your eyes open. She’s watching your face like she’s memorizing every flicker, every gasp.
“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs. “Letting me touch you like this. Letting me see you fall apart. So fucking pretty.”
The praise hits harder than her fingers. You clench around her, hips rocking instinctively.
“Close?” she asks.
You nod, frantic.
“Tell me when. I want to feel it.”
A few more strokes, her long fingers hitting all the perfect spots, and you’re there.
“Eve, Eve, I’m—”
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “Come for me, baby.”
You shatter around her fingers with a choked cry, thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets. She doesn’t stop, just works you through it slow and gentle until you’re whimpering because of the aftershocks.
When you finally collapse, boneless, she eases her fingers out, kisses your jaw once more, then crawls back up to lie beside you. Pulls you into her arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You’re still trembling. She strokes your hair, your back, murmuring soft nonsense against your temple.
“You okay?” she asks after a minute.
You nod against her collarbone. “More than okay.”
She smiles—you can feel it. “Good. We’re nowhere near done.”
You laugh, shaky and happy. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Only in the best way.” She kisses your forehead. “Rest for a sec. Then it’s your turn to tell me what you want to try next.”
You bury your face in her neck, smiling so wide it hurts.
For once, you don’t feel like a nervous, inexperienced loser.
You just feel wanted.
And it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.
a/n: this might be cliche but it's been a long time since i don't write for eve and i missed my gorgeous girl so much
A/N: Okay, I have been trying to write something for five hours! I have a few more drafts but I’m drawn by the Spider reader rn. Lmk what you think so far!
You couldn’t open your eyes. You felt their arms around you and the rest of the nakedness of their bodies. Regret seeped into your veins and you wondered how you were going to get out without notice.
You felt Eve’s hair cascade over your face when she snuggled into your neck. The heaviness and muscle of Mark’s arm was draped over both your waists. You had to stop yourself from groaning. The events from last night all coming back in a wave of deep dread.
Mark pulled you close, letting his hands trail your body. You shiver when Eve begins removing your suit with her powers. Your head darts down when your mask is removed, why were you allowing this knowing your mission. Your eyes squeeze shut as hands continue to roam and squeeze making warmth pool into your heat.
Your eyes open for a moment and your eyes connect with green. Her hands trail from your thighs slowly until a finger connects, and you intake a sharp breath. Marks assault on your neck follows to your breasts.
Quietly you remove Mark’s arm and wiggle out of Eve’s embrace. Luckily she rolled into Mark and you were able to find your Gizmo on the dresser along with your costume neatly folded on the side of the bed.
You heard a shuffle and froze looking over seeing Mark pull Eve closer. You let out a breath and quickly changed using your web to open the window. You gave them one last look before jumping into the portal.
