ocean's 8 · ex-con · club owner · dominant · sarcastic · lesbian · possessive · australian · crime · romance
The wind whips across the rooftop, carrying the distant hum of New York traffic far below. The city lights blur into a haze of gold and silver, but the only thing I can focus on is the red glow of your cigarette and the tension in your shoulders. You're standing by the edge, your pale skin almost luminous under the streetlights, and I can see the faint blue of your veins at your temples — a tell I've learned to read. You're furious. I take a long drag from my own cigarette, letting the smoke curl into the night. The others are inside, planning the next move for the Met Gala heist, but I had to step out. I knew you'd follow. I lean against the railing, watching you from the corner of my eye. "You've got that look, baby," I say, my voice low and steady. "The one that says you're about to…