#Eve Fletcher | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ariascoven · 5 months ago

Text

⟡ AFTER MIDNIGHT

PAIRING : eve fletcher x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : reader referred to as a girl. legal age gap. petnames (honey, baby, sweetheart & doll). public display of affection. public restroom. oral (eve receiving). fingering (reader receiving). little bit of praising. biting. mommy kink.

WORD COUNT : 3.1k

MY MASTERLIST

As soon as you step inside the bar, you immediately regret the entirety of your life choices. The smell of alcohol, the screaming, the music blaring — it was all too much for you. But you promised your friends from your literature class that you would come. With a deep regretful sigh, you make your way towards the bar, heels clicking against the floor rhythmically. “Hey, can I get a vodka, please?” You ask the bartender, the loudness forcing you to speak louder than you're used to and making you wince at the sound of your own voice. The guy nods, turning around to make your drink. You sigh once more, looking around and taking notice of the way everyone was having fun except you. You just hate going out. You look down at yourself, judging the outfit you picked for the night; a short, navy blue dress that was glued to your body, showcasing all of your curves — or the lack of, accompanied by a pair of black heels. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to hide from others’ prying gazes, even though you're sure no one was looking your way. That is, until you notice her, Eve Fletcher, the middle aged woman with whom you share your class with. She smiles, looking as beautiful as ever. She's sitting on a round table with the other students and the teacher, her hand waving around in a silent request for you to join them. You take your drink from the barista, muttering your thanks before slowly making your way to the table, dragging your feet across the bar and wishing you could go back home.

“Hey, honey!” Eve greets warmly, standing up to give you a quick hug. You smile, rubbing her back affectionately and muttering a quiet ‘hi’. “Here, sit with us. Wow, you look amazing in that dress!” The sound of her voice seems to calm your nerves down as you sit on the chair right beside hers, subtly moving it to get even closer. You greet the others, nervousness washing over you — they've never seen you like this, only wearing oversized clothing to class and putting your hair up if you were lucky enough. You hug yourself, using the excuse that the air was getting cold. “Oh, baby, you didn't bring a jacket with you? Here, take mine, I'm not cold.” Eve’s voice takes a motherly tone as she throws her jacket over your shoulders and rubs your arms before pulling back and taking a sip from her own drink. She then notices the glass in your hand, nodding towards it. “Vodka?” You nod. “Tequila.” She says, swirling her cup around. The others talk and laugh together, but all you can do is focus on the couples dancing together on the dance floor.

You've been feeling terribly lonely lately, the realization that you've never had a relationship before hitting you like a truck. You're 20, for God’s sake! Of course you know that you're still young, but watching everyone around you experiencing love while you're sitting on the bench, just waiting for your turn… it gets tiring at a certain point. You let out a small sigh that feels like the 100th one that night, resting your cheek on your hand. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even realize Curtis and Margo had left the table and joined the dance floor as well. Eve studies you intently, but before she can say anything, Julian snatches her to dance and you're left all alone, sadly sipping on your vodka. You smile, watching Eve dancing around happily. Julian is clearly flirting with her, does she know that? Maybe she does, maybe she's flirting back. You frown. Is she? The young man leans in to whisper something in her ear before disappearing in the crowd, probably going to the bathroom or to get a drink.

Then your heart takes a leap inside your chest when the older woman turns to look at you, eyes searching yours. She smiles, waving her hand and beckoning you closer. Awkwardly, you march through the crowded space. “Is something wrong, honey?” Her angelic voice fills your ears, giving you butterflies. You wave a dismissive hand, shaking your head. “Nah, nothing wrong. Just… you know. Life. Or, not-life.” Eve gives you an understanding smile, giggling. She steps closer to you, arms reaching out to wrap around your neck. Your tongue flicks out to wet your suddenly dry lips, hands instinctively gripping her waist. It felt like heaven, your bodies moving together in the rhythm of whatever song was playing in the crowded bar, whatever, you didn't recognize it. But Eve did. Her eyes are closed as she hums along, the dim lighting of the room making you wonder if she was actually real — you've met lots of beautiful women before, but Eve was just out of this world. A tentative hand reaches to touch her cheek, cupping it tenderly. Her eyes snap open in surprise at the touch, but she quickly melts and leans into it. Your last brain cells are arguing inside your head, one yelling at you to kiss her, the other yelling the exact opposite. But before you can make up your mind, she turns around, pressing her back against your chest. Your heart races at the sudden change, the hand previously on her cheek now awkwardly resting on her waist.

You quickly warm up to the position, your hands gripping her waist with more confidence, slowly sliding down to her hips. She seems to like that, head leaning back to rest on your shoulder while her hand moves to the back of your neck. Your cheeks brush against each other, your eyes closed as you sway together, hips moving together in a sensual dance. The scent of the older woman mixed with the intimacy of the moment is driving you mad with arousal. Your head dips down to nuzzle her neck, inhaling deeply before placing a tender kiss on the soft skin. She makes a noise that sounds a bit too much like a moan, a spark of hope igniting inside of you. You repeat the gesture, causing her head to tilt to the side, giving you further access. You grin against her, peppering the sensitive skin with kisses and small nips. Feeling emboldened by Eve’s quickening heartbeat, your tongue darts out to taste her. She groans lowly, her hand squeezing the back of your neck slightly. Nibbling on her earlobe, a sneaky hand slides up to grope her breast. She gasps, turning her head to look at you with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” She whispers with urgency, but doesn't make any effort to move away from you.

“Living a little. What are you doing?” You have no idea where that came from — the confidence. You're usually a really shy girl, in fact, you're barely able to talk to the middle aged woman during class, preferring to just sit back and admire her from afar. But as you feel her body pressing against yours, you wish you would've done it sooner. Her gaze sends a jolt straight to your throbbing core. She bites her lower lip and the sight is too much. You lean down, kissing her fiercely. She groans against your mouth, spinning around in your arms and pulling you closer, hands tangling in your hair. She bites your lower lip, the action eliciting a hiss from you. You break the kiss, both of you panting. “I always wanted to do that.” She confessed, her low voice turning your brain into mush.

Decidedly, you grab her hand and drag her to the female restroom in a hurry, as if the world is ending. Eve laughs and apologizes to the people you bump into, your mind too focused on getting to the destination to even realize. As you get inside, neither of you notice how filthy the place is as you hurriedly push Eve inside one of the stalls, locking the door and pushing her against it. She grins when you press your body against hers, a low chuckle escaping her lips. “Didn't know you were that bold, doll.” The endearment and the way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. Your lips move to silence her in a fiery kiss, your tongue slipping inside her mouth. Your leg finds its way between hers, pressing up against her. A smirk splatters across your face when you feel her hips grinding down against you, a needy whimper slipping past her red lipstick lips, now puffy from the intensity of your kisses.

You allow her to find her own pace, focusing on the sensitive skin of her neck as you lean down to lick and bite, your teeth grazing against her deliciously. You could stay like that for hours, the taste of her was like a drug, and you were addicted. Your hands knead the older woman’s breasts over her black dress, causing her to moan at the touch, eyes fluttering close while she throws her head back against the cold door. Her hips quicken their pace, grinding almost desperately. You feel your own pussy throbbing when she opens her eyes, looking at you with nothing but pure lust. “Get on your knees.” You could cum just from the demanding tone in her voice, sinking to your knees ridiculously fast and wincing at the bruise that will definitely appear. You have to push the thoughts of how disgusting that public bathroom floor is aside and focus on the woman staring down at you, a side grin that gives you goosebumps playing on her lips. Her hands grip the hem of her dress, hiking the fabric up around her hips. Your mouth waters at the sight, your own hands reaching to grip her thighs. You look up as if asking for permission and she nods, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Your eyes flutter and you lean closer, licking a thick stripe up the fabric of her damp underwear. The action elicits a deep groan from her, her hips bucking instinctively while she tugs at your hair, pulling harshly. A pathetic whine falls from your lips, trembling hands moving to slide her panties down her legs. She breathes out as the cold air hits her most intimate parts, rolling her hips against nothing. “Fuck.” She hisses when you finally touch her, licking her folds and kissing her clit gently, almost teaing. Your fingers leave red marks on her thighs, where you squeeze hard, kneading her flesh. She rides your face, body undulating as you explore every inch of her. You can feel the wetness dripping down your own thighs, face flushing at how embarrassingly needy you've gotten just from eating her out. Your tongue circles her clit slowly before taking it inside your mouth and sucking hard. You look up just in time to see her eyes rolling into the back of her head, hand moving to cover her own mouth and muffle the noises threatening to spill out. You fight the urge to pinch yourself, to make sure this is real life and not another wet dream. Eve seems to read your mind, pulling your head back to look up harshly, hurting your sensitive scalp. “Look at me while you eat my cunt.”

That's the best thing she could ever ask from you, you think. You feel small under her piercing and condescending gaze, eyes locked onto hers. You slow down, your tongue giving small kitten licks. You do it on purpose, knowing the older woman is growing impatient as she glares daggers down at you. Plunging your tongue inside her without a warning, you take her by surprise. And just like that, her resolve crumbles, eyes snapping shut and knees going weak as she holds herself up by gripping the walls. She lets out a loud, almost pornographic moan that only serves to make you wetter, your underwear clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You whimper around her, fucking her with your tongue as fast as you can, eyes never looking away from the blissful expression on her face. Her inner walls flutter and clench around you, encouraging you to move even faster. When her body starts trembling, you know she's close. You watch with lustful eyes as her moans become nothing but high pitched nonsense. Her words are slurred out, and the only thing you're able to make out is, “Keep going, baby, I'm so close.”

“Shit!” She cries out, cumming hard around your tongue. It makes you whine, your eyes rolling back at the sweetest taste you've ever felt in your mouth. You slow down your ministrations, but don't stop until Eve is panting and gasping, sweat covering her forehead and dripping down her face. “Jesus… fucking Christ.” She breathes out, looking down at you with a side smirk. You pull back, wiping the remains of her arousal off your face with the back of your hand and standing up, locking your lips together in a gentle kiss. She hums, arms wrapping around your neck lazily, the closeness between your bodies causing you to feel just how much she is shaking and her heart is racing. “Mmm, now we need to take care of you, don't you think, honey?” She speaks against your lips, raising a brow suggestively. You nod eagerly, squeezing her ass. She groans then chuckles, fixing her dress as you slide her panties back up. “Let's go to my place, doll.” She whispers against your ear, then nips your earlobe playfully.

Back at Eve’s house, your brain barely registers where you are when she pushes you down onto her bed, a yelp escaping from your lips. She crawls on top of you and buries her face in your neck, biting down harshly. “Please…” You cry out, body arching up against her, wide eyes pleading for her to take you. When her hands grip the hem of your dress, you expect her to hike it around your waist, but instead she pulls it over your head and gets rid of your underwear in the blink of an eye. Your brain stops working when she attaches her lips to your nipple while twisting the other between her long fingers, and you can't wait to have them inside of you. She looks up at you and the sinful sight drives you crazy with desire, barely able to form any coherent thoughts. You wanted this for so long, ever since she walked inside that small classroom looking like a goddess, but never did anything about it, being too shy and untrusting of your flirting skills — spoiler alert, you had none. After giving both of your breasts the exact same attention, leaving both of your peaks hardened under her touches, she kisses her way down your body.

All you can do is whine, knuckles turning white as your fingers grip the sheets as if your life depends on it. Her hands work to pull your legs apart, allowing her to bury her face between them. Your quiet whines turn into loud moans as she devours your pussy as if it's her last meal, groaning at the taste. Your hips buck upwards on their own accord, seeking her mouth. Wet noises and moans fill the otherwise quiet room and you thank God for the fact that Eve lives in a house and not in an apartment, that way you don't have to worry about neighbors hearing the noises of your pleasure. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to keep quiet; Eve’s tongue is too good. Without thinking, you mutter. “Mommy…” The word causes both of you to pause. Your body tenses, your eyes wide with pure horror. However, Eve grins wickedly. “What did you just call me, honey?” She purrs, her chin and nose drenched in your juices. When she notices you're too embarrassed to respond, she speaks up again. “Such a dirty girl, calling me mommy. I think I like that.” Relief washes over you at her words, moaning when her fingers slide down your slit and collecting your arousal. She sucks her own fingers, humming in approval. “All this for me. You've dreamed about this, haven't you?” She nagged, crawling up your body, her nose now brushing against yours. You nod in embarrassment, cheeks covered in a pink color.

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan when she cups your pussy, rubbing her palm against your clit lazily. “Wanna call me that again, sweetheart?” She coos, her voice honeyed. It makes you dizzy, all of it — the tone of her voice, the way she looks at you, her fingers caressing your soaked folds. “Mommy.” You utter quietly. She kisses you tenderly, finally slipping two digits inside your cunt and making you moan around her. Her fingers are easily welcomed into you due to how wet you are, curling to hit the spot that makes you see stars. “Mine.” She whispers in between wet, sloppy kisses. “My pretty girl, all mine.” Her voice takes a possessive tone as she pulls back to look down at you hungrily, biting her lower lip in the way that drives you insane. A third finger joins in, causing your eyes to roll back. She moves to your breasts, alternating between them as she licks your peaks.

One of your hands let go of the sheets to wipe your chin, realizing you're drooling from the intense pleasure. A chain of cuss words leave your lips as you feel your orgasm approaching, the familiar knot in your stomach as you ride her fingers. Your breath comes in small gasps and you bring a hand to your hair, brushing the wild strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. Her name comes out of your mouth in a loud, long moan as your body convulses beneath her. She moans, feeling your pussy clench desperately around her speedy fingers, who keeps fucking you until you're begging for her to stop. You close your eyes, mind still spinning. “What just happened?” You mutter breathlessly, eliciting a giggle from the older woman. You're panting like you just ran a marathon and her hand is covered in your cum. She forces your mouth open by squeezing your cheeks with her clean hand, the sudden act causing your eyes to snap open. Then, she shoves her fingers into your mouth. You don't complain, looking into her eyes as you suck them clean, tasting yourself. When you're done, she gently removes her fingers from your mouth and cups your face, giving you a quick kiss. “You seem tired, baby. Go to sleep, mommy will take care of you, alright?” These are the last words you hear before drifting off to the best post-fuck sleep you've ever had.

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#written for aria’s coven ♡#eve fletcher x reader #eve fletcher smut #eve fletcher #mrs. fletcher #kathryn hahn x reader #fxf smut #wlw fanfic

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lotsofmilfs · 9 days ago

Text

I’m Starving, Darling. Part 1

Pairing : Eve Fletcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count : 9,208

Warnings : None, maybe like extreme teasing ? idk if you find anything for me to add let me know !

Notes : I am fighting through writers block, this set is complete just needs to be edited ! I will update Shades Of Cool very very soon 🥺 thank you all for being so patient. Not entirely happy with this one.

Summary : You meet Eve when you’re called into the nursing home for a problem with your grandfather, what was a one off meeting turns into a weekly thing.

Sitting across from Eve, your nerves were jumbling. You’re grandfather stayed in the nursing home and he has recently been caught watching porn on full blast, while other women were in the room making bracelets. “God, I’m- I’m so-so sorry Mrs. Fletcher.” Your face has tuned scarlet, and your eyes are full of shame.

You were the only one in your family who could’ve answered the call, you’d been left to take care of your grandfather all alone. Simple as that. You just… Did not expect the woman on the other end of the line to look so… Pretty. How had you not seen her before today you would have remembered if you had.

Eve gives a bit of a smile but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, she’s too busy staring at the top of your sundress. “It’s fine…” She clears her throat and seems to realize what she’s doing because her eyes avert, “obviously if you can just let him know not to do that anymore, it would be extremely beneficial for us.”

“Of course, God I’m so sorry.”

Eve waves a hand dismissively, though her face still holds that tight, polite expression that suggests she’s used to dealing with uncomfortable situations. She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs.

“It’s not the first time we’ve had… incidents like this,” she admits, running a hand through her hair. “Though usually, it’s the men sneaking off to their rooms with an iPad on mute.” She gives a dry chuckle, then exhales, looking down at the folder in front of her like it holds the solution to all of this.

You nod rapidly, still burning with embarrassment. “Right, yeah, I—he’s, uh, he’s a little hard of hearing. And he’s lonely.” It feels like a stupid thing to say. It’s not like loneliness justifies blasting porn in a common area. You glance at Eve again, and she’s watching you—steadily, but softer now. Like she understands.

For a second, it throws you. You’d expected her to be exasperated, maybe even scold you, but instead, there’s something almost… knowing in her expression.

“I get that,” she says finally, pressing her lips together. Then she shakes her head like she’s shaking something off. “Look, I just need to mark down that I spoke to you, and as long as you have a conversation with him- maybe introduce him to, I don’t know, headphones?—then we can call this handled.”

You huff out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. You should probably stand up, thank her again, and go. But you don’t. Eve’s looking at you with that same expression like she’s debating saying something else, but stopping herself.

Finally, she clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “You look young to be dealing with all this.”

You shrug. “Not much of a choice.”

Eve nods slowly, tapping her fingers against the desk. “That’s hard,” she says, like she actually means it. Then, after another pause, she adds, “I was a lot older than you when I realized I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. So… you’re ahead of me in that regard.”

The comment is self-deprecating, but there’s a quiet warmth behind it, and you find yourself smiling in spite of your mortification.

“Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher.”

Something flickers across her face at that.“Eve,” she corrects.

You swallow. “Right. Eve.”

She watches you for a second longer, then exhales and glances away, reaching for her pen. “Okay. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

And just like that, the moment is over. You stand up, smoothing your dress down, still feeling her eyes on you as you make your way to the door.

And maybe it’s your imagination, but as you leave, you swear you hear her let out a breath—one that sounds a little heavier than it should.

You’re almost out the door when Eve’s voice stops you.

“Hey,” she says, her tone softer now, like she’s reconsidering something she was about to let slip.

You turn back, the handle still in your hand. “Yeah?”

Eve hesitates for a moment, chewing on her lip. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s like a crack in her usually composed demeanor. Finally, she meets your gaze again, her expression unreadable, before she clears her throat.

“Just… for what it’s worth, I know what it’s like, dealing with the people you love, the way you have to adjust. The sacrifices you make. It doesn’t get easier, but it’s… normal, I think,” she says, her voice low, as if she’s speaking to herself more than to you.

The words linger in the air, heavy with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. You hadn’t expected her to share something so personal, and the vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard. You want to ask her more—ask what she means, how she knows—but before you can find the words, she pulls her gaze away and adjusts her hair behind her ears.

“I should go,” you mumble, suddenly feeling like the weight of her words is too much to carry.

Eve’s eyes flick back up, that brief, searching look in them before they settle back into something a little more guarded. “Yeah, sure. Take care of your yourself. And, um…” She pauses, hesitating for just a moment. “Don’t be a stranger.”

It’s an odd request, considering the situation, but something about it makes you feel seen in a way that’s almost disorienting. You blink a few times, feeling the familiar flush creeping back into your cheeks.

“I won’t,” you promise.

As you leave the room, the door clicking softly behind you, you wonder if you’ve just stepped into something far more complicated than a simple meeting about your grandfather’s behaviour.

You leave the nursing home with a lot on your mind. As much as you try to shake it off, Eve’s words echo in your head, like she’s drawn some kind of invisible line between the two of you—one you’re not sure you’re ready to cross, but find yourself thinking about all the same.

Later that evening, when you’re back at your apartment, standing in front of your refrigerator with no real appetite, the thought of her lingers. You find yourself wondering if maybe—just maybe—there’s more to her than the carefully curated version of herself she showed in that meeting room.

You shake your head, pushing the thought away, but it clings to you.

The next week, you return to the nursing home, bringing a pair of headphones with you for your grandfather. You head straight to Eve’s office, feeling that same knot of tension building in your stomach. You knock lightly, waiting for her response, but instead of the usual “come in,” there’s only silence.

After a moment, you slowly push the door open.

Eve’s sitting at her desk, her back to the door, fingers pressed to her temples like she’s trying to ward off a headache. She doesn’t hear you enter at first. You clear your throat softly, stepping inside, but she doesn’t immediately react.

“Eve?” you say, your voice quieter this time.

She turns at the sound of your voice, her eyes flicking to you before she blinks, quickly trying to compose herself. That brief, almost embarrassed glance she shoots you—like she didn’t expect to be caught in such a vulnerable moment—makes your chest tighten.

“Sorry, I—didn’t mean to…uh, space out,” she says, reaching for her mug, then looking back at you. She doesn’t smile this time, but there’s a softer edge to her voice. “What can I do for you today?”

You hesitate, holding out the headphones.

“I brought these. For my grandfather,” you explain, unsure of what else to say.

Eve’s eyes flick to the headphones, then back to you. There’s a pause, a silent exchange between you both. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says, but her voice betrays a hint of something else—something like longing, maybe, but it disappears almost as soon as it appears.

You’re unsure of how to handle this. You wonder if she feels what you do—this strange, undeniable pull. It’s like you’re both standing on the edge of something, yet neither of you is brave enough to take the leap.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. It feels heavy.

Finally, Eve leans back in her chair, staring at the headphones for a long moment before meeting your eyes again.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice almost too soft. “I’m sure your grandfather will appreciate them.”

The way she says it like she’s talking to someone who understands, not just about a nursing home resident, but about the deeper thing you’re both avoiding acknowledging—makes your stomach flip.

You swallow, taking a step back. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to it,” you say, unsure of how to leave this strange, fragile moment between you intact.

Eve gives you a small nod, her gaze lingering on you just a second too long. “Take care of yourself,” she says, and you’re almost sure she means more than just the usual parting words.

You turn and leave, but this time, something has changed. The tension between you feels more real, and somehow, more dangerous.

III

The next few days pass in a blur. Your mind keeps returning to Eve, her voice, her gaze, and the way she seemed to almost open up when you’d caught her off guard in her office. It wasn’t a typical professional interaction—it felt… more. Like there was something else there, something beneath the surface. But you push it down.

Still, every time you return to the nursing home, which was going to be more often. You decided that last night, your hand sliding into your panties as you looked up at the ceiling.

It’s Wednesday when you find yourself walking out of the nursing home, you spot Eve standing by the front desk, speaking with a staff member. Her back is to you, but you can see the familiar way she holds herself, the slight curve of her posture, like she’s carrying more than just the weight of the conversation.

You approach slowly, trying not to feel like you’re intruding, but when she hears your footsteps, she turns and smiles, a soft, almost imperceptible curve of her lips.

“Hey,” she says, as if she’s relieved to see you. “How’s he doing?” The question is genuine, but there’s a quiet, almost personal quality to it that catches you off guard.

“He’s... good. He likes the headphones,” you say, offering a smile. “Thanks again for the suggestion.”

Eve’s eyes linger on you a little longer than necessary. Her expression shifts, like she’s weighing something in her mind, but she doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she lets out a breath, as if she’s trying to gather her thoughts. Then she looks down at her hands, fiddling with a pen in her fingers.

“You’re doing a good job with him,” she says finally, looking back up. “I can see how much you care.”

Her words make your chest tighten, and for a moment, you feel exposed—like she sees something inside you that no one else does. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just nod.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You stand there, unsure if you should stay or leave, but before you can decide, Eve shifts her weight slightly, her gaze flicking down the hallway.

“Have you had a chance to... take a break? You should, you know,” she says, her voice lower now, almost as if she’s speaking to herself. “You’re working so hard to juggle everything, and it can’t be easy.”

You blink at her, not entirely sure where this is going. “I... I don’t really have time for a break.”

Eve tilts her head, and there’s something in her expression soft, almost longing, maybe even need, but you can’t quite decipher. It makes you feel like there’s more she’s not saying “You deserve one,” she murmurs, her eyes flickering back to you. “You’ve got to look after yourself too.”

You find yourself standing a little too close now, the space between you feeling charged. It’s ridiculous, really—this is a professional setting, and yet, the tension between you is palpable, lingering in the air like an unspoken promise.

“Maybe you’re right,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t tell if you’re agreeing with her because you believe it, or because it’s the only thing you can think of to say.

Eve shifts her weight again, her fingers pressing a little too firmly against the pen in her hand. Her expression wavers, as if she’s on the verge of saying something more, but then she pulls back, offering you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They’re darker now.

“I’ll let you go then,” she says, and for the first time, there’s a hint of something warmer in her tone. “But if you ever need someone to talk to…” She trails off, then adds, almost too casually, “I’m here.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of the way your heart is beating faster, the way she’s looking at you. There’s a connection here—a tension that’s only grown over the past few weeks. You’re almost afraid to acknowledge it, to admit that maybe this isn’t just about your grandfather after all.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say finally, your voice steady, even though your thoughts are anything but.

Eve nods, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long. “Take care of yourself,” she says again, her voice soft, but with a layer of something else.

You leave, feeling that familiar buzz of energy in your chest, as if you’re both walking on the edge of something that could easily tip over into something far more complicated than either of you are prepared for.

Later that evening, when you're finally home, you replay the conversation in your mind. The way she’d looked at you, the subtle way her body language shifted when you stood so close, the way she’d offered her presence without fully acknowledging the tension between you.

But the thought of her her eyes, her voice, her perfume, the quiet way she sees right through you—sticks with you long after you should’ve been asleep.

IIII

The next time you see Eve, it’s late in the afternoon. The nursing home has emptied out somewhat, and the bustle of the day has settled into a quieter rhythm. You’re on your way to the recreation room to see your grandfather when you catch a glimpse of her down the hallway. She’s standing at the front desk again, this time flipping through a clipboard, but you can see she’s not really reading anything. Her gaze is distant, unfocused, like her mind is elsewhere.

You hesitate before walking over. You don’t want to disturb her, but then again, there’s something about the way she’s standing there, so still and almost lost in thought, that makes you want to go to her.

As you approach, she glances up. For a second, you almost swear you see something shift in her expression—like her eyes flicker over you in a way that’s different. There’s a hesitation before she forces a smile, but it’s a little tight at the edges.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft, as if she’s trying to pull herself out of whatever it was that had been occupying her thoughts. She sets the clipboard down, but her fingers linger on the paper a moment longer than they should. It’s almost like she’s holding on to something, some thread of a thought she doesn’t want to let go.

“Hi,” you reply, unsure of where this interaction will go, but something feels different today. The air between you feels thick, charged. Maybe it’s because of the last conversation, or maybe it’s because the space between you has been steadily shrinking. Either way, it feels like the slightest movement could tip things over.

Eve lets out a soft breath, her lips pressing together like she’s fighting a smile or a sigh. “How’s your grandfather today?” she asks, she hadn’t seen him yet, and her eyes are meeting yours in a way that feels deliberate. A little too long.

“He’s good,” you say quickly, trying to brush off the tension. “He’s adjusting better with the headphones.” You give her a small, awkward smile, but you can’t shake the feeling that her attention is somewhere else. Her gaze keeps flicking down to the papers, but she doesn’t seem to be reading them anymore. Her fingers tap against the clipboard, almost absentmindedly.

Eve’s eyes move to you again, and this time, there’s no mistaking it. There’s a deep focus in her gaze—like she’s cataloging every detail about you. The way you stand. The way you move. The subtle shift in your expression when you mention your grandfather. There’s a hunger behind her eyes that she tries to hide, but it’s there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You know, you really don’t have to keep coming here so often,” she says suddenly, as if the thought has just occurred to her. Her voice is too light, too casual, as though she’s trying to disguise the fact that the suggestion feels a little too personal. It’s like she’s trying to convince herself more than you.

“I—I know. It’s just… I don’t want to leave him alone too much,” you stammer, but then you stop yourself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t-.”

“No, it’s okay,” Eve says, her tone softer now. Her lips quirk again, but she bites them, like she’s holding something back. Her fingers slide over the papers slowly, tracing the edges with a quiet, absent motion. But you notice the way she’s holding herself, the tension in her posture, the way her gaze flickers to you again—just a second longer than it should.

It’s hard not to feel like she’s caught in some internal conflict, some war between the woman who knows she’s supposed to keep it professional and the part of her that’s longing for something else. The subtle shift in her gaze, the brief flashes of warmth when her eyes meet yours, the way her breathing becomes just a little deeper when she’s talking to you—these are things you notice, even if she tries to hide them.

You want to ask her what’s going on in her mind, but you can’t seem to form the words. Instead, you stand there, unsure of whether you should leave or stay, your thoughts tangled with hers in a way you’re not sure you can control anymore.

Finally, Eve exhales softly, her shoulders drooping a little, like she’s released some unspoken tension. Her eyes flicker to the hallway for a moment, then back to you, and for a split second, you catch a glimpse of something raw in her expression. A flicker of something unspoken.

“I should probably go,” she says, her voice low, almost to herself. “I have some things to take care of.”

There’s a heaviness in her words. You don’t think it’s just about the paperwork.

“Okay,” you reply, but you don’t move to leave right away. You want to stay, but it’s like you’re both waiting for something—waiting for the other to make a move.

But she doesn’t, not yet. Her gaze drops to the clipboard again, her fingers sliding over the paper in the same absent manner.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, Eve clears her throat softly, almost too softly, as if she’s trying to shake something from her thoughts. “You know,” she says, her eyes still not meeting yours. “Sometimes, it’s hard to remember who we are, when we’re always taking care of someone else.”

The words hang in the air, thick with something unspoken. You want to reach out, to say something, but all you can do is nod, the words stuck in your throat.

Eve shifts again, her fingers running through her hair. She doesn’t look at you, but you catch the way her breath catches, the way her chest rises and falls a little faster than normal.

When she finally looks up, there’s a quiet, lingering tension between you. It’s not just the situation—it’s everything. The way her gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips, and back again. The way her voice falters when she speaks.

Her smile is soft, but there’s something dangerous in it, something that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Be safe,” she says, and this time, it sounds like a command more than a suggestion.

You stand there for a moment, rooted to the spot, and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

But the tension lingers, vibrating between you both, pulling at something deep inside.

You’d almost forgotten about the outing. Your grandfather had insisted on coming, his enthusiasm outweighing his usual grumbling. It was a crisp Saturday morning, and the nursing home had arranged a group outing to a local café. A rare treat, and one that, for a moment, made you forget how much you were juggling. You decided to go along, just to make sure everything went smoothly.

The café was bustling, the scent of coffee mingling with the chatter of the other patrons. You managed to find a seat in the corner, helping your grandfather settle in with a cup of tea while you glanced around the room. It was a bit quieter than you’d expected—until you saw her.

Eve stood in the doorway, taking a quick look around the café before her gaze landed on you.

The moment your eyes met, something shifted in her expression. You saw it clearly now—how her breath seemed to catch, how her eyes changed just the slightest bit. A brief flicker of surprise, followed by a slow exhale. Her lips parted just slightly, like she hadn’t realized how much she was anticipating this moment.

For a split second, Eve looked… stunned. Like you’d just interrupted her thoughts. The way she paused, the way she blinked a few times as if trying to snap out of a trance, made your pulse spike. It was like she was seeing you for the first time again, but more… more than that.

You glance away, unsure of how to interpret it. You had no idea you were having this effect on her. You’d always thought of Eve as distant, professional—a woman whose thoughts never lingered long enough on anyone to make them uncomfortable. But now, watching the way she carefully composed herself, you realize just how wrong you’d been.

It was subtle, but when you turned back to her, she had found a smile—small, but genuine—and walked toward your table, as if the brief moment of vulnerability had never happened. “Hey there,” she says, her voice warm, but with a hint of something else behind it. Something unspoken.

“Hi, Eve,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. You glance down, catching a glimpse of her hands—she’s holding her coffee cup a little too tightly, as though the action grounds her.

She glances over at your grandfather, who’s happily chatting away, oblivious to the underlying current between you both.

“Looks like he’s doing well,” Eve observes, her eyes softening as she watches him. Then she turns her focus back to you. “I’m glad you could make it out today. How’s everything going?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck, tangled up in the way she’s looking at you. Something is different now. You feel the weight of her gaze, heavier than before. And though she’s still smiling, the air between you both seems thick with all the things that haven’t been said.

“I’m… doing okay,” you finally manage, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s a lot, but… today’s been good.”

She nods, but there’s something in the way she watches you now. It’s almost like she’s absorbing every detail—the way you speak, the slight nervousness in your eyes, the way you adjust in your seat. The way your lips part just a little too much as you speak.

And you’re almost certain that’s not just the coffee you’re smelling. Something’s changed in the space between you both—something that’s pulling at the edges of the conversation, like a slow unraveling. You wonder if she’s aware of it too.

Eve’s fingers curl around the coffee cup a little tighter, her knuckles whitening. She shifts her weight, but doesn’t look away from you, not completely. It’s a look that speaks volumes, one you hadn’t noticed before—the heat, the way she seems to be drinking you in. She’s trying to keep it hidden, to maintain that calm, professional demeanor, but the way she’s breathing… it betrays her.

For the first time, you feel the full force of it. She wants something. You can see it in the way her eyes move across your face, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on your lips before quickly pulling away. She’s been thinking about you, no question about it.

You can feel it now—the way her desire simmers just beneath the surface, tangled with the professional mask she tries to hold up. The way she breathes a little more shallowly when she’s near you, the way her lips press together like she’s trying to stop herself from saying something she doesn’t want to admit.

You swallow, trying to hold your own composure. This was too much. Too real. Too… dangerous.

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice suddenly low, a little too careful.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” she asks, her gaze finally dropping to her coffee cup for just a moment, like she’s trying to compose herself. But there’s still that edge to her tone, that unmistakable desperation.

“I’m... fine,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “Just a lot on my plate, you know?”

She nods slowly, but her eyes are still on you, like she’s trying to make sense of what’s happening between you two. Her lips part again, as though she’s about to say something else, but she stops herself at the last moment.

There’s a long pause.

Then, almost like she’s made up her mind, she says, “If you ever need someone to talk to... really talk, I mean... you know where to find me.”

It’s an invitation, but it’s not just an offer of help. There’s something more. A thread, so thin, but undeniable. She means it—all of it. Her eyes, her voice, the way she looks at you, like she’s offering more than just friendship.

You want to respond. You want to say something that matches the weight of her words. But the moment feels too fragile, like anything you say could shatter what’s between you. So, you just nod, the moment stretching between you both.

And that’s when you realize—this is real. Eve has been daydreaming about you. And now, in the quiet space between the two of you, the desire she’s been hiding is no longer something she can ignore.

The week drags on, and by the time you step into Eve’s office like she offered the week prior, you’re already feeling the weight of the day’s frustration build. Your head is spinning with work, family obligations, and everything in between. The last thing you need is to bottle it all up. You know you’re here to talk about your grandfather, but that feels like the last thing on your mind right now.

Eve is sitting behind her desk, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She glances up at you as you enter, offering a small smile, but you can tell her mind isn’t entirely present. You pace back and forth for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, but the irritation inside of you keeps bubbling up.

“I swear, this job is going to kill me one of these days,” you begin, your voice rising slightly, frustration seeping through. “I’m running around all the time, balancing so many things, and nobody gets it. Not even my boss. I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions and—” You cut yourself off for a moment, realizing you’re practically ranting, your breath coming in quick bursts.

You glance over at Eve, and that’s when it hits you. Her eyes are on you—intense, focused, but not on your words. No, she’s looking at you in a way that makes your stomach drop. It’s not the usual professional distance; it’s something far more personal, something that feels… invasive. Her gaze is fixed on you, and her lips are parted slightly, like she’s caught in a trance. She’s flushed, a faint pink creeping up her neck, and there’s a tension in her posture, her body almost leaning forward, as if she’s drawn to you.

You swallow thickly, your heart suddenly beating faster as the realization hits you: she’s not just listening—she’s fucking you.

You stand still for a moment, unsure how to proceed, but then, without thinking, you step forward, the space between you narrowing. You walk to the front of her desk, your mind racing. You sit down on the edge, the movement deliberate, bringing you much closer to her than you had anticipated.

Her gaze snaps up to meet yours immediately, but she doesn’t look away. She’s frozen for a second, like she’s trying to process what’s happening.

“Eve…” you say softly, but with a teasing edge in your voice. You raise an eyebrow, trying to make sense of what’s going on between you. “Are you even listening to me?”

Her breath hitches ever so slightly, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of guilt in her eyes—but it’s quickly replaced by something else. Something darker. She opens her mouth to respond, but her words falter, her eyes still locked on you.

You watch as she swallows, her gaze darting from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes. She doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she shifts in her chair, as if the proximity is unsettling her, but in a way that makes her more aware of you.

“I… I’m sorry,” Eve mutters, her voice tight. She clears her throat, but it doesn’t do much to break the tension between you two. She straightens up, trying to maintain her composure, but you can still see it. You can feel it. There’s something unspoken hanging in the air.

Her fingers twitch, like she’s fighting the urge to reach out, but she doesn’t. She presses them down into the desk, trying to keep herself grounded, but it’s clear she’s struggling.

“You’re frustrated,” Eve says, her voice strained. “I understand… but maybe... you’re letting it get to you too much.” She’s trying to sound professional again, but you can hear the slight catch in her voice, the way it betrays her.

You lean forward, just a little, closing the distance between you both even more. Your heart is pounding now, and you can feel the charge in the air—the almost electric connection that’s impossible to ignore.

“Eve…” you repeat, your voice quieter now, coaxing her to look at you. “I’m not talking about work anymore.”

She stiffens, her eyes widening just a fraction before they drop, her breath coming a little faster. She’s struggling to keep it together, but her hands are trembling just slightly at her sides. You can tell she’s fighting it—fighting the pull. Fighting her fantasies.

For a moment, there’s silence between you two. The only sound is your breathing, quick and shallow. Eve doesn’t look at you; she’s staring down at the desk, biting her lip, as though trying to hold onto the remnants of her composure.

You stay there, on the edge of her desk. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, each of you on the brink of something you might not be able to take back. She’s not pulling away, though. That’s what’s so strange—so intoxicating. Her breath hitches again, and you know she’s aware of how close you are, of how her body is reacting to you being this near. She can smell your perfume, can practically feel the warmth of your thigh.

“I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t…” Eve begins, but her voice trails off, like she’s struggling to find the right words. She looks at you, finally meeting your eyes, and for a moment, the world outside the two of you doesn’t exist. It’s just Eve, just the raw emotion simmering between you, thick and heavy.

She swallows hard, and then, in a voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it, she says:

“Can I kiss you?”

Your stomach twists. And your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that. It’s not the words themselves—it’s the way she says them, the way her voice shakes ever so slightly, like she already knows she shouldn’t be asking, like she’s been holding back for so long that it’s become unbearable.

Her fingers press into the desk, gripping the edge like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. She’s not even breathing properly now, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her lips parted just enough to tell you how badly she wants this. Wants you.

Your heartbeat is deafening in your ears.

Eve Fletcher—reserved, careful, composed Eve Fletcher—just asked you to kiss her.

You could. Right now, you could lean in, close the distance, press your lips to hers, and feel the exact thing she’s been fantasizing about—maybe for weeks. Maybe longer. You could let her have what she’s so clearly craving.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your head, watching her closely, taking in the way she’s practically unraveling in front of you. The way she’s waiting. “Eve,” you say softly, your voice deliberately measured, teasing. “Are you sure you want that?”

Her breath shudders, and she blinks rapidly, like she’s trying to collect herself, trying to think—but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? “I—” she starts, but she doesn’t finish. She just looks at you, her pupils blown wide, her hands gripping the desk so tightly her knuckles are white. She’s desperate. And she hates that she’s desperate. But that only makes it worse for her, doesn’t it?

You shift slightly on the desk, your knee brushing against her thigh, and the soft sound she makes—the barely-there hitch of breath—sends a pulse of something sharp and electric down your spine.

Eve inhales sharply, her fingers twitching like she wants to reach for you but can’t, like she knows if she does, she won’t be able to stop herself.

You lean in just enough so that you can feel the warmth of her breath against your lips, and her eyes flutter closed for a second, like she’s already imagining it, already feeling it before it even happens.

But then—then you pull back. Not much. Just enough. Just enough to leave her hanging.

Her eyes snap open, confusion flickering through them first. Then frustration. Then—something else. Something deeper. Something devastating. “You’re not gonna give it to me,” she realizes, her voice almost breaking. It’s not even a question.

You smile. Just a little. Just enough to let her know that you see her. That you know exactly what’s happening inside her head.

“Not yet,” you murmur.

Eve exhales shakily, her jaw tightening, her hands flexing like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She looks wrecked. Utterly wrecked. And you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Her gaze drops to your lips again, her breathing shallow, and she shifts in her seat like she’s trying to ground herself, like she’s trying to remember who she is and where she is and why she can’t just take what she wants. Like she’s trying to relieve the ache.

And now that she knows what it feels like to want something this badly and not get it—it’s going to drive her insane.

You can already see it happening.

Her fingers flex. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her entire body is tense with restraint, and you know—you know—she’s going to be thinking about this later. Thinking about you. Thinking about what she asked for. Thinking about how close she got. And how you didn’t give it to her.

Not yet.

You straighten up, letting the moment stretch just a little longer, letting the silence between you simmer until it’s thick enough to suffocate. Then, just when you know she can’t take much more, you lean down, your lips close to her ear, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe next time.”

And then you pull away completely, standing up from the desk, your body still thrumming with the heat of the moment, with the sheer power of leaving Eve Fletcher like this. She doesn’t move. She just sits there, her breath unsteady, her hands still gripping the desk like she’s afraid she might fall apart. She looks up at you—dazed, frustrated, aching—but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. You’ve already won. And she knows it.

VII

You shouldn’t be here. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself when you step into Eve’s office again, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. You don’t know why you came today—your grandfather is fine, you don’t really need to be here, but maybe that’s not the point anymore.

Maybe the point is her.

Eve looks up from her desk when you enter, and immediately, you know.

She’s different today. She’s tense in a way that has nothing to do with stress. Her hands, usually so composed, are clasped tightly in front of her, like she’s forcing herself to stay still. Her eyes flicker to you—just for a second—but that second is enough.

Enough for you to see how much she’s struggling.

Enough for you to know that she’s been thinking about it. About you. About the way you left her last time, breathless and wanting, with nothing but a whisper in her ear and an ache she couldn’t do anything about. And now?

Now, it’s worse. Because you’re here again. And she still wants.

You clear your throat, shifting your weight. You try to act normal, but the moment you open your mouth, you realize how impossible that is. “So, about last time—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Eve cuts you off so quickly, so desperately, that it makes you pause. She isn’t even looking at you anymore.

You take a slow breath, tilting your head, watching her carefully. “You don’t?”

Eve exhales sharply, pushing back from her desk like she needs the space, like if she stays too close, she might do something reckless. “No, I don’t,” she repeats, firmer this time, but there’s a waver in her voice that betrays her. She’s lying.

You know she’s lying. You take a step closer. “Eve.”

Her shoulders tense. Another step.

“Look at me.”

She hesitates—just for a second—but then she does. And fuck. She looks ruined. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing shallow, her fingers gripping the arm of her chair like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Like she’s about to break.

She’s been fighting it. For weeks, she’s been fighting it. But you can tell—she’s so, so close to losing. And you? You want her to lose.

You move even closer, so close that you can see the slight tremble in her hands, the way her lips part just slightly when she looks up at you. “You don’t want to talk about it,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, lower. “But that’s not the same as not thinking about it.”

Eve inhales sharply, her hands clenching.

You lean in, just slightly, just enough to see how she reacts—how she shudders at the proximity, how her breath catches in her throat.

She’s so close. So, so close to breaking. And then—You nearly do, too. Because she looks up at you, her expression raw, her body pleading for something she won’t let herself take, and suddenly, it’s you that’s fighting restraint.

Suddenly, it’s you that wants to snap. Your fingers twitch. Your jaw tightens. Because this is Eve Fletcher. She’s older than you, she’s supposed to be collected, she’s supposed to be in control—

And yet, here she is, unraveling for you. All because of you. You exhale, slow, steady. You can feel the heat between you, the electric pull that’s been there since the very first time she let her eyes linger too long.

You could kiss her right now. You could kiss her, and she would let you. Hell, she would melt for you. But, you don’t. You let the moment stretch, let the air thicken, let her feel how badly you could take her if you wanted to.

And then, at the last second—You pull away. Eve flinches. It’s barely noticeable, but you see it. The moment is gone. The tension doesn’t snap—it lingers, unfinished, unbearable. She swallows, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but at you.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair, trying to ground yourself. You almost lost the game you started. Almost.

Eve stands abruptly, her hands shaking slightly as she reaches for something—anything—to make it seem like she still has control over herself. “I think—” She clears her throat, voice hoarse. “I think you should go.”

You watch her for a long moment, taking in the way she’s avoiding your gaze now, how she’s holding herself so stiffly, like she doesn’t trust her own body. You smirk, not cruelly, but just enough. Just enough to let her know that you saw her. That you see her now.

You step back, moving toward the door. You reach for the handle, but before you leave, you pause—just for a second. Just long enough to say “I’ll see you next week, Eve.”

You don’t wait for her response. You don’t need one. Because when you glance back one last time, she’s standing there, frozen in place, staring at the empty space where you were just standing—Like she already knows she’s going to be thinking about the interaction in bed tonight.

VIII

Walking into Eves office the next Wednesday you freeze in the doorway. She knew you’d be here. She knew, and—fuck. Your breath catches in your throat the second you see her. The dress she’s wearing is new. You know it’s new, because Eve doesn’t dress like this. Not in front of you. Not in front of anyone. And there’s remnants of a tag on her side.

Today, she’s in something sleek, something black, something with a neckline that dips just low enough to feel deliberate. Something that hugs her in all the right places, something that makes it impossible to look anywhere but at her. She’s baiting you.

And she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Eve,” you say, breathless, gripping the folders you were holding tighter against your chest like they might shield you from whatever the fuck this is. “That’s not fair.”

Eve doesn’t smile, not exactly—but there’s something there, something in the way she tilts her head, in the way her lips part like she’s already won.

“What’s not fair?” she asks, all soft innocence, like she’s not standing there looking like this, like she’s not doing this for you.

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to move forward, forcing yourself to act normal, to sit in the chair across from her like you’re not feeling the weight of every single second you’ve spent not touching her.

Eve sits, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, and your eyes flicker downward before you can stop them. Her lips twitch. She saw that. Fuck.

You inhale deeply, setting your folders down, trying—trying—to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking slightly. “You look…” You hesitate, trying to find the right word, trying not to say what’s really on your mind.

Eve raises an eyebrow. Waiting.

You exhale sharply, looking away. “Different.”

“Different?” she echoes, her voice softer now, amused, with the undercurrent of need.

You shift in your seat, jaw tightening. “You know what you’re doing.”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, closing the distance between you just enough to make your stomach clench.

“Do I?” Her voice is quieter now, coaxing.

Your entire body is burning. “Yes,” you breathe, because if you don’t say it out loud, you might actually lose your mind.

Eve hums, tilting her head, studying you, and fuck—this is different.

This isn’t last week, when she was barely holding it together. This isn’t Eve caught off guard, flustered and desperate.

This is Eve deciding. This is Eve choosing to make you suffer. She thinks she has the upper hand. And that’s when you move. You stand abruptly, walking over to her desk in a slow, measured stride.

Eve blinks, startled, her confidence wavering for just a second as you set your folders down firmly on top of her paperwork—like nothing else in this office matters but you and her. Then, without a word, you reach for her wrist. And you pull her up.

Eve gasps softly as she stumbles to her feet, her body pressing against yours, her balance thrown by how quickly the moment has flipped.

You’re close now, so close you can feel the warmth of her body against yours. So close you can see the moment her resolve shatters. Your fingers reach up, slow, deliberate, clasping her chin, tilting her face toward yours.

Eve’s breath stutters. She doesn’t pull away. She won’t. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, and your noses brush, the slightest contact, just enough to feel how badly she wants more.

Your voice is a low, husky whisper when you speak. “If you ever tease me again,” you murmur, tilting her chin just a little higher, making sure she’s listening, “you’ll regret it.”

And then—before she can process what’s happening, you bite her bottom lip. Not hard. Just enough. Just enough to make her inhale sharply, to make her feel it, to make her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s aching to grab you.

And then you pull away. Completely. Like nothing just happened. Like she’s not standing there, stunned, ruined, her lips still parted in silent shock. You smooth the front of your shirt, and flash her the slightest smirk before stepping back.

“I’ll see you next week, Eve,” you say, voice steady, even, like this was just business.

And then you turn, walking toward the door without another glance back. You don’t need to look. You already know. Eve Fletcher is standing behind you, fingers pressed to her lips, eyes wide, body still reeling from what just happened.

And she’s going to fuck herself for hours tonight thinking about it.

VIIII

Eve is spiraling. You know she is. Because when you show up the next week, she can’t even look at you.

You step into her office like always, closing the door behind you, expecting another round of the same game—the tension, the teasing, the way she pushes only for you to pull harder. But today? Today, she’s different. She’s nervous. You can feel it the moment you walk in.

She’s seated at her desk, fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles are turning white. Her shoulders are stiff, her posture too rigid. She doesn’t greet you, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t even attempt to play coy.She’s completely avoiding your gaze.

You shut the door and take a slow step forward, tilting your head, watching the way her breath hitches at the sound. “You’re quiet today,” you murmur, setting your folders down on the desk, forcing her to acknowledge you.

Eve swallows, shifting slightly in her chair, her eyes flickering up to meet yours—just for a second—before darting away again. “I—” She stops herself, exhales slowly. “I thought maybe we should keep things… professional.”

You pause. Professional? That is adorable. Your lips twitch, and you round the desk without hesitation, just like you did last week. Just like before. And just like before, Eve’s body tenses at your proximity.But this time?This time, she doesn’t try to tease.

This time, she looks genuinely terrified of what you might do to her.

You place your hands on the edge of the desk, leaning down, forcing her to either meet your gaze or look away again.

She chooses to look. And fuck, she’s unraveling already. Her breathing is uneven, her pupils blown, her lips parting slightly like she’s begging for something she won’t say out loud.

“Professional?” you echo, your voice low, amused. “That’s what you want?”

Eve’s jaw tightens. “Yes.” It’s a lie.

You watch her for a long, agonizing moment, letting the silence stretch, letting her feel it.

She squirms slightly under your gaze, shifting in her chair, gripping her hands tighter in her lap.

You exhale slowly, your breath fanning against her cheek. “Then why,” you whisper, “are your thighs clenched so tightly right now?”

Eve inhales sharply. And there it is. The moment she completely falls apart.

Her face flushes deep red, her fingers twitch, and she finally—finally—looks away, squeezing her eyes shut like she can physically will herself out of this. Like she can pretend she isn’t completely wrecked by you.

You lean in closer, just enough to brush your lips against her ear, just enough to make her shiver. “Do you want me to stop?” you murmur.

Eve doesn’t respond at first. Because she can’t. She’s frozen. And then, barely above a whisper— “… No.”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. That’s all you needed to hear. You lean back, straighten up, and grab your folders like you didn’t just ruin her entire day. Like you didn’t just win once again.

Eve stays still, completely stiff, staring straight ahead like she’s too afraid to move, too afraid to let herself feel what’s happening.

You step back, toward the door, turning just before you leave.

“I’ll see you next week, Eve.”

Your voice is calm, controlled.

Hers is wrecked. “… Okay.”

This is it. The tension is thicker. More volatile. More aggressive, maybe even angry. She’s already unraveling. She’s already wrecked. You don’t even have to touch her. You just step inside, close the door, and look at her. And Eve Fletcher is done for.

She’s standing by her desk, not even pretending to work, not even pretending she has control anymore. Her hands are gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, like she’s physically holding herself back from you.

She looks exhausted. Ruined. Like she hasn’t slept all week. Like she’s been thinking about you every second of every day. And when she finally meets your gaze—

She shatters.

“You have to stop this,” she breathes, her voice low, desperate, pleading.

You tilt your head, stepping closer, watching the way she sways slightly, the way her breathing stutters the second you move.

“Stop what?” you ask, slow, deliberate.

Eve exhales shakily, looking at you like she’s seconds away from completely losing herself.

“This.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you, swallowing thickly. “I—I can’t—” She cuts herself off, her hands flexing against the desk, her body rigid, like she’s fighting something she knows she can’t win.

You take another step forward.

Eve flinches.

Not away. Towards you. Like her body is betraying her, like every part of her is screaming to just give in. And then, before you can say another word— She moves.

Fast. Desperate. Thoughtless.

She reaches for you, grips your shirt, pulls you in hard—

And kisses you. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s messy. Like she’s been starving for it. Like she couldn’t take it anymore.

Her lips crash against yours, her body pressing into you like she needs this to survive. Her hands are shaking where they clutch your clothes, like she’s terrified you’ll pull away, like she knows she’s made a mistake but can’t stop.

And for a second. Just one—You let her have it. You let her kiss you. You let her take what she wants. You let her drown in it.

And then—You take it away. You rip yourself from her grasp, breathing hard, leaving her gasping in the space between you. Eve’s eyes snap open, wide, terrified, lips still parted, still wet, still aching for more. She looks like she’s about to apologize.

Like she knows she’s just fucked up. But you don’t let her. Because you’re already grabbing her wrist, already spinning her around, already pressing her front against the desk with enough force to make her whimper.

Eve inhales sharply, her hands bracing against the wood, her body trembling under your touch.

You lean in close, dangerously close, your lips brushing her ear.

“You don’t get to take from me, Eve,” you murmur, voice dark, steady, controlled. Eve shudders.

“I—I didn’t—” She swallows hard, her breath ragged, completely wrecked.

You tighten your grip on her wrist, just enough to make her gasp. “Do you even know how long I’ve been waiting?” you whisper, your lips grazing her jaw, teasing, tormenting. “How long I’ve been playing this game for you? Letting you push me, letting you ruin yourself over me?”

Eve makes a soft, broken sound, her body sagging against the desk, her fingers flexing uselessly against the wood. She’s gone. Completely.

And you’re not finished.

“You think you get to just take what you want?” you continue, your voice sinking lower, slower, letting her feel every word. “After everything?”

Eve shakes her head frantically, her breathing erratic, her whole body thrumming under your control.

“N-no,” she whispers, her voice barely there. “I—I don’t.” You smirk. Finally. She gets it.

You loosen your grip slightly, letting your fingers drag up her wrist, her forearm, slowly—just enough to make her ache for more.

“You want me?” you murmur, letting your breath ghost over the back of her neck, just barely touching, just teasing.

Eve whimpers. A real, helpless sound. “Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”

You chuckle softly, dark, amused. “Then you’ll wait.”

And then—You step away. Completely.

Eve stumbles slightly, her body swaying, her hands gripping the desk so tightly it creaks under the pressure. She turns to look at you, devastated, desperate, pleading with her eyes.

But you just grab your things, adjusting them in your grip casually like this—like she—means nothing. Like she’s not completely ruined because of you. “I’ll see you next week, Eve.” Your voice is steady. Even.

Hers is wrecked. “… Please,” she whispers.

You let out a soft laugh before shaking your head. You walk away.

#eve fletcher #eve fletcher x reader #kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along

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