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secretl1fe0fm3 · 4 months ago

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have you underneath all of my beliefs ~ eva x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself on a wellness retreat, where you meet eva, the presumed leader of the female empowerment group. as the days pass, her interest in you grows, and she’s determined to uncover every secret you keep, no matter what it takes.

warnings: smut (with plot), soft dom!eva, sub!reader, dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, aftercare if you squint

an: the long awaited eva fic is finally here!!!! i had so much fun writing this one, and i hope yall enjoy :,) she could manipulate me ANY DAY. (lmk if anyone is interested in a part 2, i have some ideas hehe)

18+ minors dni!!!

2k+ words

You hadn’t expected to stay this long.

The first day was filled with polite smiles, herbal teas, and long moments of uncomfortable silence as women from all walks of life tried to untangle themselves from the grasp of their inner demons. You kept your distance while still participating, not wanting to share much about your haunted past.

But Eva noticed you.

At first, it was subtle. A glance from across the communal fire. A brush of her hand against yours when she passed you a blanket or a cup of tea. But each day, her presence grew stronger. She didn’t speak often in group sessions, only doing so to lead them, but when she did, the others listened. Everything seemed to revolve around her, everyone looking up to her for guidance.

You’d catch her watching you during morning breathwork. Her eyes followed the way your chest rose and fell, studying every twitch in your expression. During meals, she always found a way to sit near you, never directly across, never too obvious, but always near. When you shared, which was a rarity, she listened with an intensity that felt almost invasive. Like she could see every unspoken truth inside you, waiting for you to bare more of yourself to her.

———

You returned to your room after the evening group fire, still feeling the weight of Eva’s gaze on you. She hadn’t said a word to you tonight, but she didn’t need to, she got her message across.

Your room was quiet when you stepped inside, the soft sounds of the woods humming outside your window. You moved to pull back your blanket, and that’s when you saw a folded piece of thick paper sat right in the middle of your pillow.

Your name was written on the front in soft, cursive handwriting. You picked it up and unfolded it with shaky fingers, reading the words over and over.

Come to the attic after dark. I want to talk. You’ve been holding something in. I want to help you let it out. -Eva

Your fingers stayed curled around the paper, gripping it tight, absentmindedly crinkling it a little.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at the note, but you already knew it wasn’t up for debate, you had to face your fears this time.

———

The house was dark, hushed in the way it only got after everyone had gone to bed. You moved carefully, bare feet brushing over the wood floors, trying not to make a sound.

The note was still tucked in your hand.

Upstairs, a light flickered from the attic doorway. You hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, then slowly made your way up. The steps creaked softly under your weight. When you reached the top, the door was already open.

Eva sat in a chair, legs crossed, one hand resting against her cheek, her other holding a mug that steamed gently. Her robe was loose, the floral pattern falling off one of her shoulders. She looked up at you as you stood in the doorway, uncertainty etched all over your face.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said softly, voice low. “But I hoped you would.”

You stepped inside, unsure whether or not to speak. The door shut behind you with a gentle click, and Eva set her mug down.

“You can sit,” she said, nodding toward the cushion across from her. “Or stand. Whichever feels more honest.”

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto a cushion, heart beating a little too fast. The stained-glass window emanated colored light across the room, casting strange shapes on the wooden floor.

Eva smiled, watching you.

“I like when people come in nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “It means there’s something worth digging into.”

You swallowed, fiddling with your fingers. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I did,” she nodded. “But only if you’re ready.”

Her tone was warm, inviting you to slowly open up, but you remained silent as your eyes studied her.

“I’ve been watching you,” Eva continued, leaning forward just a little. “You keep your distance during the group sessions. You give just enough to look open, but you’re not. Not really.”

You shifted slightly under her gaze. “That’s not true.”

“No?” Her eyes lit up, like you’d said exactly what she wanted. “Then tell me something real.”

You hesitated, lips parting, but nothing came out.

Eva’s smile deepened at your silence this time. She uncrossed her legs and stood, walking toward you with slow, measured steps. She knelt in front of you, not quite touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I can feel it on you,” she whispered. “Whatever it is you’re hiding. It weighs heavy.”

You looked away, and her fingers brushed under your chin, coaxing your gaze back to her.

“I want it,” Eva murmured. “All of it. I want you to give it to me. And I want you to want to give it to me.”

There was something in the way she said it, perfectly persuasive. Her thumb stroked along your jaw, like she was trying to coax a confession out of you.

“I know how to hold secrets,” she said. “I know how to take pain and turn it into something beautiful. But I need you to trust me.”

You blinked, your voice coming out quieter than you meant. “Why me?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours, flicking down to your lips before quickly returning to your stare.

“Because you haven’t let yourself open up yet,” she said simply. “And I want to be the one who does that for you.”

Her hand slipped lower, resting over your chest, pressing gently over your heart, feeling the steady beats under her palm.

“Can I?” she asked, voice a whisper now. “Will you let me?”

The room had gone still at her question, the only sounds were your breathing, and hers. A slow, steady rhythm, like she knew how this night would end long before you stepped through the door.

Eva’s hand still rested over your chest, her palm rising and falling with every breath you tried to keep steady. You were trembling slightly, her presence leaving a heavy weight in the air.

“I can feel how much you want to let go,” she said, voice soft but sure. “You’ve been holding it in for so long, haven’t you?”

Your eyes burned and you didn’t know why, but you nodded.

“Good girl,” Eva whispered. “That’s the first truth. Now let me take care of you.”

You didn’t answer as your body leaned into hers instinctively, and that was all the permission she needed.

Eva kissed you deep, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding down your side, tracing your curves. Her lips were warm and soft against yours as she kissed you like she was memorizing the way you taste, and the sounds you made.

Her hand slipped under your shirt, her fingers felt hot against your bare skin. She traced along your ribs, your stomach, until her touch reached the waistband of your pants. She paused there, pulling away momentarily, her eyes locked on yours

“I want you to let me in,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back with me.”

You gave her a small, shaky but eager nod. She smiled as her lips met yours again, the kiss deeper than the previous one. She eased her hand beneath the fabric, her touch featherlight, but deliberate. Eva pushed your panties aside before she stroked slowly along your wet folds, her fingers sliding through your slit with ease.

“You’re already trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and soft. “You’ve been needing this, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

Eva moved her fingers in slow, careful circles against your clit. Her lips stayed close to yours, placing soft kisses over your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw as you spread your legs a bit wider, wordlessly inviting her to go further.

She pushed two fingers inside you, deep and slow. The stretch made you gasp, and she held still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling.

“Just like that,” she whispered. “You’re doing so well.”

She began to move her fingers, thrusting in and out of your heat, her thumb gliding against your clit in a steady rhythm. Your hips bucked up towards the touch, chasing the pressure as desperate moans fell from your lips.

“Stay with me,” Eva murmured, pushing your hip down with her free hand. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Your muscles tightened, heat coiling deep inside you. Her thrusts sped up, but she didn’t rush you. She watched you slowly unravel, her voice anchoring you in quiet affirmations between kisses.

You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let it happen.

Your orgasm crashed over you without much warning, clenching down around her fingers as you threw your head back, a low but loud moan filling the quiet room. Eva held you through it, her fingers still moving just enough to help draw your climax out of you. You clung to her floral robe, your cheek against her shoulder, your body trembling in her lap.

But she didn’t stop.

Eva shifted you, gently laying you back against the cushions on the floor. She pressed soft kisses along your thighs, over your stomach, then met your gaze again as her fingers found your wet core once more.

“I know you can give me more,” she whispered. “But only if it feels good. Only if you want to.”

You were already nodding before you even realized, before your brain caught up to your body.

You didn’t have words anymore, just ache and need swirling low in your belly as she leaned over you. She gave you a quiet nod in return and leaned in, kissing your shoulder as her fingers pressed against your soaked cunt.

She easily slipped her two fingers inside of you again with a practiced curl that made your hips jerk. Your mouth opened in a sharp gasp.

“You can take it,” Eva whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You need this. Don’t fight it.”

Eva stroked your clit in a lazy, circular rhythm, never faltering. Your body tensed immediately, already so close it hurt. You grabbed at her wrist to ground yourself.

The pressure built fast, almost too fast. Your body was still overstimulated from the first orgasm, and every stroke of her fingers now felt overwhelming. Your thighs tried to close around her hand, and she used her free arm to gently pin one down.

“Shh,” Eva cooed, breath warm against your cheek. “It’s okay. Let it happen. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against your sensitive sweet spot with every thrust. Your muscles tensed as your breath started turning shallow and quick, tears welling up in your eyes from the pleasurable overstimulation.

Your body stiffened, back arching painfully as your mouth opened in a silent cry as your second orgasm tore through you. It was white hot and too much, crashing over you in thick waves, dragging every sound out of your throat.

Eva held you steady as you came undone again. Her fingers didn’t stop moving, not until your body started to twitch, thighs jerking from the intensity, breath coming in soft sobs.

“There you are,” she whispered. “That’s it. Give it to me. Just like that.”

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your hands gripping her arms as the aftershocks hit you hard. Your body was soaked and shivering as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your spent heat.

Eva gathered you into her arms, pulling you into her lap. Her touch gentle and soothing. She pulled a soft blanket over your body and held you close, rocking you slightly.

You felt weightless and empty in the best way, like something you didn’t know you were carrying had finally slipped free.

Eva brushed your hair back from your damp forehead and kissed you softly.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “You let go. I’m so proud of you.”

A small content smile formed on your lips as you tucked your face into her neck. You weren’t sure where to go from here, but you knew you didn’t want to leave.

my masterlist

#billie eilish #wlw #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish imagine #billie x reader #billie eilish x fem!reader #eva x reader #swarm

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ncsdlr · 1 month ago

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Willing (To Be Manipulated And To Manipulate)

Eva x Reader

Warnings: Dubious Consent & Manipulation

------------------

You grew up with Eva.

Before the sermons, before the followers with glassy eyes and matching linen dresses, before the voice that dripped like honey and stuck to everything it touched—there was just her. A girl who burned bright in every room. Who spoke like she’d swallowed poetry and made you believe in things you couldn’t name yet.

She was radiant. Even then.

You used to follow her everywhere. Down cracked sidewalks and into abandoned parking lots, flashlight in hand because she said she saw something “magical” in the dark. You believed her every time. You always did.

Eva made you feel like you could be something more. Not prettier. Not louder. Just sharper. Like the way she looked at you made you clearer.

You started writing because she told you that your words mattered. You tried harder in school because she said you were smart. You kept your voice steady, even when you were scared, because Eva never flinched—and you wanted to be like her.

She inspired you.

She shaped you.

And then she ruined herself.

You don’t know exactly when it changed—maybe after that first “gathering,” maybe after she shaved her head and started speaking in metaphors instead of full sentences. But at some point, the girl you loved became someone else entirely. Someone you didn’t recognize.

Someone who knew exactly how to make people fall in love with her, and did it anyway. Over and over. Just to prove she could.

She started calling herself a guide. A vessel. A mirror. She built something from nothing—pulled lonely people into her orbit like it was gravity. And the worst part? She looked good doing it. Barefoot. Angelic. Untouchable.

You stayed away at first. You told yourself you were done.

But something in you cracked when she texted you out of nowhere. “Come see what I’ve built.” Three years of silence, and that’s all it took.

Now you’re here. Living on the edge of her little commune, in a guest room with no locks, surrounded by people who whisper her name like it’s sacred.

You hate her for it.

You hate how easy it was for her to change. You hate how beautiful she still is when she talks to a room like she owns it. You hate that she remembers your favorite wine. You hate that you drink it with her.

You hate her.

God, you hate her.

****

Eva’s in the kitchen when you walk in, barefoot and bathed in golden light like she fucking planned it that way. She’s pouring coffee—slow, precise, theatrical. The steam curls around her like it worships her too.

For a second, you almost forget.

Then she speaks.

“You sleep okay?” she asks, not looking at you, like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

Like you didn’t grow up next to her heartbeat.

You open the fridge. It’s mostly wine and some sad, untouched fruit. Typical. You close it again with a soft thud.

“I made you a cup,” Eva offers, already holding out the mug she definitely poured for you.

“I’m not drinking your cult brew,” you mutter.

She chuckles. “You think I laced it or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Eva finally looks at you. Her eyes are so annoyingly soft it almost stings. “I missed you, you know.”

You ignore the weight of that. The way it slides under your skin.

“Still giving me the silent treatment?” she teases. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

You shoot her a look. “Dramatic says the woman who made twelve people quit their jobs and live in the woods for ‘spiritual alignment.’”

“They wanted something real.”

“They wanted therapy and maybe a hobby. Not a prophet in silk robes with a god complex.”

Eva smirks, leans against the counter like she owns the whole damn world—and maybe, in her mind, she does. “You’re jealous.”

“Of what?” You fold your arms. “Your aesthetic?”

“My attention,” she says, eyes flicking to yours. “And maybe the way I still get to you.”

Your pulse stutters.

You keep your voice even- just like how she taught you. “Get over yourself.”

“You used to like the way I talked.”

“That was before you turned every sentence into a sermon.”

Eva shrugs, unbothered. “Still hanging on every word, though.”

She moves closer. Two steps. No permission. No hesitation. Now she’s near enough to make your ribs tighten.

“You're impossible,” you say quietly.

She smiles like she knows. “And you’re still here.”

That lands heavier than it should. Your throat tightens, just for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you whisper.

Eva softens. Just slightly. “I’m not. I’m just… surprised you came back.”

You hold her gaze, and for a moment it feels like you’re sixteen again—sneaking out after curfew, laying side-by-side on the roof of her parents' house, trading secrets and daring the stars to fall.

And then you blink. And it’s now. And she’s not yours anymore.

Maybe she never was.

You step back. Put space between you.

“You’re not the person I grew up with.”

Eva’s smile fades into something else—sadness maybe, or understanding. Or just a really good performance.

“I could say the same about you,” she says softly.

You walk out before you let it sink in.

****

You try to stay away from her that night.

You tell yourself you’ll stay in your room, read something pointless, maybe pretend to journal even though your pen’s been dry for weeks. You hear the soft laughter of her followers outside by the firepit, the clink of bottles, the low hum of someone playing guitar like you’re all in a damn indie film.

But it’s the way the house feels that gets to you. Empty. Hollow in places. Like Eva took all the air with her when she left the room.

So you drift out to the living room eventually. Not to talk. Not to join. Just to sit on the edge of the couch with your legs pulled up and your arms crossed like armor.

You don’t even notice her watching you until she sits down.

Not next to you. Not right away.

But closer than she was before.

You sip slowly from your glass, eyes on the flickering candle in the center of the table. It smells like sage and eucalyptus. She probably made one of her followers hand-pour it.

“You always drink like it’s a punishment,” Eva says, voice soft and amused.

“I’m drinking because it’s the only way to survive your bullshit.”

She laughs gently, like that didn’t sting. “Still got that bite.”

“You still got that god complex?”

“Only when I’m around you.”

That earns her a look.

She’s already moved closer. Just enough that you can feel the heat of her thigh near yours. Not touching, but near enough that it makes you acutely aware of the space between you. And how fast it’s shrinking.

You down half your glass in one go.

“Slow down,” she murmurs, brushing a fingertip along the rim of her own. “No one’s chasing you.”

You glance at her. “You say that like you’re not the one doing the chasing.”

She tilts her head. “You think I’m chasing you?”

“I think you’re always chasing whoever gives you the best mirror.”

Her eyes flicker, just for a second. You hit a nerve.

But then she smiles, slow and deliberate. “You always did know how to read me. That’s what I missed most.”

“You didn’t miss me,” you say. “You missed how easy I used to be to control.”

That’s when she gets bold—shifts a little closer. Her leg brushes yours, and she doesn’t move it. Her voice drops, syrupy and low.

“I don’t need to control you,” Eva says. “You always came willingly.”

The heat that flushes your chest has nothing to do with the wine.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, looking away.

“And yet… here you are.”

You laugh bitterly. “Here I am. Wasting wine and oxygen.”

“Sharing space,” she corrects, smiling like she’s won something. “You could’ve stayed away. Could’ve gone home. Blocked my number. Burned your little yearbooks.”

You don’t respond.

She pours you more wine.

You let her with a flaming glare.

You’re not sure when the conversation fades.

Somewhere between the third glass and the fourth, the words start to feel too careful. Like she’s guiding them, steering the night like a slow river, pretending to drift while secretly pulling you toward the rocks.

She’s always been good at that.

Eva lounges beside you, glass loose in hand, eyes soft and calculating. She watches you like she already knows what you’ll do next. Like she’s already counted your moves.

“You always looked better like this,” she says gently. “Unwound. A little flushed.”

You glare, but your body betrays you—cheeks warm, breath just slightly uneven.

“I think it’s the wine,” she adds, tilting her head. “Or maybe it’s me.”

“You really can’t go five minutes without making it about you, can you?”

Eva smiles like she’s proud of the observation. “I only talk about what’s in front of me. And right now? You’re glowing.”

You roll your eyes, but your legs have stopped tensing. Your shoulders have dropped. Just a little. You don’t realize it yet.

She leans back, swirling her drink lazily. “I missed this. You, getting all riled up. Always so sure you were above me, but still sitting at my table.”

“I’m not sitting at your table,” you mutter.

“You’re here.” Her voice goes quiet. “You didn’t have to be.”

You say nothing. You know she wants you to fill the silence.

“You could’ve left a hundred times,” she continues. “But you didn’t. You stayed. You stayed with me. Why?”

You clench your jaw. “I wanted to see for myself what you’d turned into.”

Her smile softens. “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t lost.”

Your breath hitches.

“You wanted me to still be her.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“You lie to yourself more than you ever lied to me,” Eva says, and it doesn’t sound cruel—it sounds like a prayer. “That’s why I never hated you. You wanted goodness so bad it made you blind.”

“I wanted you to be good,” you whisper. “And you turned into this.”

“And yet you still drink with me,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “You still sit close. You still look at me like you did when we were seventeen.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Her voice drops. Low, coaxing. “Do you remember that summer? The one where we snuck out every night? You brought a blanket. I brought that old CD player.”

You blink. You do remember. You hate that you do.

“You said the stars made you feel small. I said that meant you were lucky—because I’d never felt small a day in my life.”

She leans in just a little, her hand resting beside yours on the couch.

“I think that’s when you started loving me.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Eva—”

“Shh,” she whispers. “You don’t have to say it.”

She’s too close. Her skin warm. Her breath impossibly steady. Her eyes locked on yours like a dare, like a promise, like a trap.

“You always liked it when I got close,” she says. “Didn’t matter what I said.”

You want to push her away. You want to pull her in.

You hate that you’re still here. You hate that she knows it.

“Eva…”

“Shh,” she murmurs again, and her fingers brush your cheek. “Don’t overthink it.”

And before you can—before your shame catches up to your pulse— She kisses you.

****

The kiss deepens before you can stop it—before your brain catches up to your body. Her lips move like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s trained for this. You hate how easily your mouth parts for her, how natural it feels to fall back into something you promised yourself you’d never touch again.

Her hand slides over your thigh, and somewhere in the haze you realize: you’re in her room. You didn’t mean to end up here. But you’re here.

Everything smells like her—jasmine, wine, something sweet and burning in the incense dish by the window. The lighting’s low and warm, amber from the salt lamp on the nightstand. The sheets are soft. Of course they are.

This whole room is a trap.

“Let me fix it,” she whispers against your skin. “I’ve been too distant with you.”

You’re still catching your breath when she pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, voice syrupy soft.

“Take this,” she says gently. “As an opportunity to take what you lost.”

And because the room is warm, and your chest aches, and the way she’s looking at you feels like a dare—you give in.

You move first.

You touch her like you’re owed something. Like reclaiming her body might heal what she stole. You kiss her throat, trail your fingers lower, drown her in pleasure until her back arches and her breath comes in choked sobs against the headboard.

The sheets twist under your knees. She clutches the pillows like she’s breaking.

You think you’re winning.

But the whole time, she watches you. Quiet. Sharp. Like a queen surveying her most loyal follower.

You don’t notice.

You just think—this is it. This is mine again.

"I've already made you cum so much, Eva...think you can still take this?" You grin as you speak because you think you're the one in control- that's how it feels.

Eva's wet velvet walls flutter around you as you curl your fingers just perfectly. The slow yet deep thrusts of your fingers are what takes Eva right over as you coax another orgasm out of her, her mind unsure of whether or not she can take more of this. She really underestimated how good at this you could be.

"F—fucking hell, Y/N! You're really—ah... you're really taking me, huh?"

The small, smug grin on Eva's lips makes you tick. It makes your finger curl inside her harder. Reach deeper. And it makes Eva cum one more time with a violent moan, one of her hands reaching for your forearm and holding onto it as if it would help her in anyway.

But it doesn't.

If anything, it only makes you fuck her more- claim her more. And with a suddenly quick pistoning of your fingers in and out of Eva's cunt, her orgasm gushes out of her, jetting around you finger and soaking everything within range.

The look of utter exhaustion on Eva's face makes you stop just to give her a minute to breathe, at least. You pull your fingers from her depths and cup her cunt gently. Almost as if you're afraid she'll blow away in the wind. Like now you want to cradle her after all you've taken back from her.

But like you didn't just give her transforming orgasms back to back, she flips you over. Like you've always belonged beneath her. Like she's been waiting to have you under her since forever.

The flip makes your breath catch, and the air feels a little too thick. You notice how soft the sheets feel now. Like you're more open and more vulnerable now than ever before.

And then it begins.

Eva's hands move like they remember you better than you remember yourself. Her mouth finds all the places you thought you buried. Her fingers slip inside like they belong there.

"Holy fuck." You moan into the air, the feeling of Eva's fingers deep inside you, feeling like a soothing balm.

You come too fast. Then again, "Shit, Eva!" Then again, gasping into her neck like you’ve forgotten who you are, "Oh, my god."

It’s effortless for her.

And that’s the worst part.

By the time your body stills and your chest stops shaking, you’re half-draped across her lap, legs limp, heart pounding in your throat. You can still hear your own voice echoing in the room. You hate how loud you got. You hate how smug she looks, all calm and golden in the afterglow.

She kisses your temple like she didn't just ruin you.

“See?” she murmurs. “You didn’t lose anything.”

But this bed doesn’t feel like sanctuary. It feels like a throne. And you—you’re not lying next to her.

You’re laid out in offering.

****

You wake up sore, warm, and furious.

The sun is barely up. Pale light spills across the room, lighting the sheets in gold, and you’re still in her bed, tangled in her sheets, still tasting the night before on your tongue like a crime you meant to commit.

She’s not beside you.

Of course she’s not.

You sit up, hair a mess, throat dry, heart hammering. The room smells like sex and incense and smug satisfaction. You find your clothes scattered near the foot of the bed—your shirt inside out, your underwear nearly under the nightstand.

You dress quickly, almost violently. Like every second you spend here makes it worse.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, Eva’s already there.

Barefoot again. Mug in hand. Wearing one of those thin white shirts that might as well be transparent. She doesn’t even flinch when she sees you.

“Morning,” she says casually, like she didn’t have you begging under her last night.

You don’t answer. You go straight for the sink and splash water on your face like it’ll burn the memory off your skin.

“I made coffee,” she offers.

You look at her. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

You blink at her like she’s insane. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

Eva shrugs, completely unfazed. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“You’re humming.”

She sips from her mug, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re grumpy in the mornings. I forgot how cute that was.”

You stare at her, jaw tight. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

She sits on the counter like it’s hers—legs dangling, eyes glinting. You hate how calm she is. How put-together. How she looks like last night only confirmed something she already knew.

“You’re not going to ask if I regret it?” you say bitterly.

Eva raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You pause.

And that pause—that one second too long—gives her all the confirmation she needs.

Her smile widens just slightly.

You glare at her, throat tight. “Don’t think this means anything.”

“I don’t.”

She sips her coffee again. “You do.”

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. You want to scream. You want to grab her and kiss her again. You want to leave.

Instead you mutter, “It was a mistake.”

Eva hums. “Maybe. But you make mistakes beautifully.”

Your heart skips.

She hops down from the counter, brushes past you on the way to the sink, and whispers as she passes:

“You looked so good falling apart.”

You don’t speak. You don’t move.

You just stand there. Burning. Remembering. Wanting.

And hating that you still do.

You stare at the back of her head as she hums and washes her mug, like last night wasn’t carved into both your bodies. You wonder if she’ll ever bring it up again. You hope she doesn’t. Because if she does—you’re not sure you’d be strong enough to lie.

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