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aparticularbandit · 4 months

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Proposal

Summary: The five times Claire proposes, and the one time Eve proposes back.

Part of The Valentines Collection.

Eve Fletcher/Claire Debella

Rating: T.

AO3

The first time he proposes, they are barely eighteen years old.

There’s nothing special or extraordinary about the day. They’ve spent it like most days that summer: morning volunteering at the senior center, break for lunch, and then afternoon doing whatever they want. The summer heat is thick, but not nearly as thick as it will become later, and after a lunch of deli meat, tomato, and lettuce on hard rye bread, they climb up one of the bluffs outside the city, winding through the trail before splitting off from it and exploring. Or not exploring, simply going out of their way to find a hidden lake they’d found a couple of weeks before, but more prepared for it this time.

Christopher stops her just once before they get there, brushes a thumb along a corner of her lips, and then smiles gently. Tomato juice. He takes his thumb between his lips, grins around it. It’s sweeter. But when Eve leans up the rock to kiss him, he scampers away, further up the trail, further up the bluff.

The lake water freezes to the touch. Christopher breaks through it smooth as anything, barely making a ripple, but Eve chases after him, kicking up droplets left and right. He splashes her when she gets too close. They fight – they play – and it makes the final kiss and the warmth of his body pressed against her all the more comforting when it comes.

Afterward, spread out on the shore, curled up against him with his arm wrapped around her, holding her closer, he says it in the barest, smallest of breaths, I could spend the rest of my life like this. With you.

You could, Eve murmurs, tired and not really sure of the conversation. I wouldn’t mind.

Christopher shifts beneath her, hoisting himself onto his elbows. We should get married. You and me.

Everything comes into sharp focus. Eve stares up at him, searches his eyes, tries to read his expression. You want to get married? To me? Her voice squeaks. Right now?

No. Christopher chuckles, and he cups her face with one hand. Not right now. But maybe someday. He searches her eyes the same way she searches his and offers her a gentle smile. Would you mind that too terribly?

Eve blushes. Her gaze drops. S-s-sure.

When Christopher lifts her chin, he has the biggest smile on his face, and when he kisses her, Eve has never felt so at peace.

Nearly five years pass before he asks her again.

Five years. Graduation. College. Christopher breaks up with her. A tentative new relationship with someone who seemed sweet. Not Christopher, but sweet.

And now here, alone, in her apartment, sobbing over the pregnancy she never meant to have and the sweet-seeming child who’d run as soon as she’d told him about it.

She hasn’t spoken to Christopher in months. He’d broken up with her, sure, but they were passingly gentle with each other in public when they came across each other. It doesn’t happen at all during the school year, but every now and again, over the holiday break, over the summer, sometimes they run into each other. It’s fortunate for her that he’d stopped volunteering at the senior center during the past few years; in those early days, she wouldn’t have been able to see him while she was there – it was hard enough without him; she would never have survived with him. Now, the wound has scabbed over. Not quite scarred, it will open and bleed all too easily if she picks at it, but it’s healing. It was healing.

But it isn’t her fault if in her most desperate hour no one else will answer their phone. It’s that desperation that leads her to call Christopher in the first place, her oldest and best friend, even if he’s not…even if he’s not hers anymore. She’s certain he won’t answer either; she wouldn’t answer, if he called.

(That’s a lie. An absolute lie. One that she tells to herself but never believes.)

Christopher barely makes it into the apartment before Eve collapses, sobbing, against his chest. When she hesitates, he brushes a hand soothingly through her hair, just the same way he had when her grandmother died, just the same way he had when one of the cheerleaders tore her apart for—

Funny, how she doesn’t remember what for, only remembers, barely, that it happened.

I’m here now, Christopher murmurs, soothing, gentle. You’ll be okay.

Eve knows better than to believe him, knows that doing so will only rip open that scab in her heart again, knows that he’ll just leave again, that even if he’s here right now, there’s no reason to believe he will stay. Friend he may be, but that’s all he is now. All he’ll ever be.

She relaxes into him anyway.

It’s after everything’s been said and explained, after the far too long time it takes to accomplish that because Eve can’t always speak, and when she does, it’s broken with fresh sobs and gasps, and maybe she doesn’t say or explain everything, but Christopher understands enough, his eyes darkening the more he understands, and that look scares her, although she can’t say why.

Don’t. Eve meets his eyes, or tries to; it’s hard to focus enough through tears to see anything that exactly. Leave Ted alone. He doesn’t mean anything by it.

Christopher’s jaw tightens, his teeth gritting together. At first, he doesn’t say anything, and he never does on that point, never promises that he won’t go after the child who knocked her up, never suggests, in the future, that he didn’t. Instead, he settles and says, You should marry me.

Eve blinks twice, still curled against him. What?

You should marry me, he repeats, clearer this time. I’ll take care of you.

This time, it’s Eve who chuckles, the first note of laughter – albeit bitter – since Ted walked out on her. No. She’s firm, more firm than she feels she’s ever been. No. She shakes her head and buries herself in Christopher’s chest, crippled with nervous laughter. No, no, no, no, no.

It’s a thought that reverberates in her mind No while secretly, underneath everything going on, she thinks, I wish you meant it.

The third time, he has a ring.

It’s a small thing, dainty, thin and gold. A small diamond rests in the center. It sparkles in the light.

Christopher doesn’t make a big deal out of it. This is no big gesture, although a part of Eve longs for one, longs for some stronger indicator of a love towards her that she still doesn’t quite believe anymore. No, he merely holds it out to her, so small in the palm of his open hand, and looks up at her. Will you marry me?

Eve runs a hand over her baby bump. She bites her lower lip. There’s such hope in Christopher’s eyes, but she still doesn’t believe it. Believe him. There’s no reason for him to still be here. After she called him so many months ago, he should have left. He should have been done with her. Just like he was before. Just like he had been until she called.

It’s only some misplaced sense of duty and honor that’s keeping him here. Eve knows that, and she believes it wholeheartedly.

No, she says again, and she feels it even more sure within her than she did before. No, Christopher. I can’t marry you.

It wouldn’t be fair, she thinks, ignoring the disappointment he wears, eyes focused completely on the child still growing within her as he puts the ring away. I won’t make you stay because I made a mistake. You wanted to be free of me.

So be free.

Eve finds the ring in Christopher’s coat pocket once. She wasn’t trying to find anything; she’d only picked his coat up with the intent to hang it on the rack near the door. Normally, she isn’t this neat, but her mother’s away for the weekend again, and something within her wants to be…something. She can’t put her finger on exactly what it is she wants to be.

The first time Eve invited Christopher to stay while her mother was away for the weekend was years ago, between the first proposal and the second, when she’d known full well that he loved her more than the moon and the stars and the sun all put together, when she’d been a child as much as her sperm donor was, when she’d wanted, desperately, to be filled with the man she planned to one day marry, who she’d thought, at the time, would one day marry her. She’d wanted to play at what that looked like – to play at husband and wife – and Christopher hadn’t denied that longing, as much as she’d thought he would.

She’d love him then the same way she loves him now, and she wants him just the same.

Eve hangs the coat up but doesn’t put the ring back in his pocket. Instead, she carries it with her into the bedroom where she’d left him and holds it out between her thumb and forefinger. You still have this? You weren’t planning to—

No. Christopher sits on the edge of her bed, shoes tucked beneath it, and glances up, his eyes lighting with the brief glimmer from the diamond atop the ring. Not unless it felt right. One corner of his lips curves up with amusement. Are you asking me?

Eve shoots him a look.

Fine, fine. Christopher holds his hands up towards her, palms out, in a defensive position. He chuckles, that amused curl spreading into a half-grin. His head tilts ever so slightly, that unkempt dark hair nearly brushing his shoulders. Then the smile sobers. Will you? he asks, gentle. Will you marry me?

We’ve already— Eve feels the frustration bubble up within her. She doesn’t even have the words, so she shakes her head, closes her hand over the ring, and walks it back to his coat and hides it deep within his breast pocket.

I love you, Christopher says the last time. He whispers it, so soft Eve thinks the words can break beneath her fingertips.

It isn’t as though the proposals have ramped up in the weeks leading to her due date. They haven’t. Sure, there have been moments here and there where he’s snuck it into conversation casually, and Eve has always, just as casually refused. It’s almost a joke between them now, how often he proposes and how often she refuses, and it makes all of it seem significantly less serious. She hadn’t been sure he meant it before; she’s even less sure he means it whenever he brings it up now.

There had been a spectacular moment around the holidays where she’d been absolutely sure Christopher meant to propose, but he hadn’t done anything at all. Instead, he’d given her a knowing look and a little smile, and she understood it then: I wouldn’t do this in front of your family. I wouldn’t put you on the spot like that. And that’s true. He wouldn’t. Nothing to do with how often she’d refused him at all, nothing to do with any foolishness or embarrassment they might feel if—

In that moment, Eve thought she might say yes. In the next, she was glad he didn’t say anything at all. She was sure she would have regretted it.

But right now, with a stomach stretched far larger than she ever thought it could, with the accompanying pain that her doctors said she would just have to live with until the baby arrived, and with a baby who seemed to adamantly refuse leaving her at all, Christopher’s words sound like a prayer.

I love you, Christopher says, and Eve wants more than just about anything to believe him.

Eve shakes her head. You left me. The words lay dagger sharp between them. You left me, and you wouldn’t tell me why.

Christopher doesn’t argue with that. He doesn’t say, But I chose you now, because in the grand scheme of things, what does the now matter? He only looks at her with eyes full of what she once believed was love, with an expression carved with regret.

Eve, Christopher asks her once, when they’re curled up in bed together, when she’s just getting rest after a day of not knowing what to do with Brendan and having to learn as she goes, I could spend the rest of my life like this.

She’d thought he’d forgotten. So could I.

Christopher props himself up on one elbow, so much like he had the first time, and searches her face, her expression, for something neither of them can name. Is that what you want?

Yes, Eve thinks, and Yes, Eve says, and she rests her head against him as she whispers so softly, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Before he can say the words, though, she continues, But don’t ask. Her hand curls against his chest. Please don’t ask me again.

You’ll say no.

Eve nods against his skin, hides her face against his chest, and tries not to cry.

It’s months later, nearly a half year after Brendan is born, nearly nine months since she’d moved in with Christopher in the first place (in part to avoid how often her mother kept asking when she was going to marry him – a question which has lowered in frequency but not in intensity, even though Eve has tried so hard to insist that she doesn’t want to marry Christopher and that her mother’s constant prodding isn’t going to make that any better), over a year since that fateful phone call that Eve never should have made.

Three weeks after Christopher finally explains why he left.

(In part. Eve feels like there is something missing there, something he’s left unsaid. She hasn’t felt the need to press into it further, but it sits there in the center of her chest, nagging at her. She ignores it, as always.)

There’s nothing special about the day, nothing extraordinary about it. It’s the same as their days typically are – Eve carries Brendan with her to the senior center, not to volunteer, but to spend time with everyone, with her old – literally – friends; Christopher goes into his job at city hall, making friends and connections, networking in a subtle way with the same charm that won her over in the first place, though he hadn’t been trying; and returning to their shared apartment at the end of the day for dinner and comfort and a space that feels like home. Christopher plays with Brendan the way he always does, and when Brendan grows so tired he starts dozing on the floor, Christopher picks him up with the gentlest knowing smile at Eve and takes him back to his crib. Brendan whines and cries the way he always does when he’s put into his crib, but Christopher soothes him just the same easy way he soothes Eve’s tears.

I’m here now. You’ll be okay.

Something inside Eve clicks into place. Or maybe it’s always been in place, she’s just only now realizing it.

Eve follows Christopher a little behind and stands in the doorframe as he takes care of their son, and she says it without even thinking, Marry me, breathes it out so softly that her husband and her boy don’t even hear it. When Christopher returns to her, she places a hand on his shoulder again and says it a little louder, but not much, meeting his eyes as she does, Marry me.

Christopher’s eyes widen. Right now? He leans forward. I have connections.

Something in her heart hesitates, but Eve pushes past it. Do you have the ring?

Always. Christopher reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls it out. The diamond glimmers in the light the same as it always has. I always have it on me, just in case—

Eve stops him with a kiss.

Eve’s mother keeps an eye on Brendan while they are gone. Eve says it’s an emergency, and for once in her life, her mother doesn’t press, not even when they get back with their cheeks glowing and bright. Christopher’s contact is quick and efficient, which is good for this sort of thing, and more importantly than anything, he is quiet and tight-lipped.

A few months later, Christopher makes a huge production of asking Eve to marry him, and a few months later than that, on Valentine’s Day, they get married to great applause and celebration.

They never tell anyone about their greatest secret, and Eve isn’t sure she could tell Christopher either – they may have gotten married in a courthouse on a day that only a select few of them know, but in truth? They were married long before that, regardless of proposals, regardless of answers. She couldn’t say just when it happened, but it did.

The ceremonies just made it look good for everyone else.

(The first just made it look good for him.)

#bandit fic #december banditnanza 2023 fic #eve fletcher #mrs. fletcher #claire debella #glass onion #the valentines #the valentines collection #this is basically five times kissed but instead it's five times proposed don't judge me #no one prompted this it's just a valentines kind of day

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marril96 · 11 months

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bi bi bi

#mrs fletcher #mrs. fletcher #eve fletcher #julian spitzer #amanda olney #kathryn hahn #owen teague #katie kershaw #fieryfrankie #tusergabs #tvedit #hboedit #kathrynhahnedit #kathrynhahnedits #bisexual #bisexuality #bi #my gifs #edit

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imdoingsortagay · 1 year

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Me at work writing this bomb ass smut

#if you know you know #liz thoughts 💭#eve fletcher #hehehehe #nobody tell my boss

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ultimatemilvesbracket · 1 year

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TESTIMONIALS

"She may not be a mother, but she’s a second grade teacher, so she’s got loads of kids! They’re all “hers” for the school year, and she loves them. She’s got a tough, no-nonsense South Philly attitude, but she’s also capable of profound tenderness and is very nurturing of young minds. And she’s a Philly 11!"

"Two reasons: 1) the French subtitle of the book is literally "The Tribulations of a MILF" and 2) the book/series revolves around Eve's relation to that word (how she gets called that, how she gets into seeing MILF porn as a result, how this leads to her fantasizing about exploring her sexuality (and a greater appreciation for women in general), immediately after she (a single mom) becomes an empty nester and does not know what to do with her life)."

#ultimate milves bracket #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #eve fletcher #mrs fletcher #tumblr bracket #tumblr tournament #tumblr polls

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rosalie-starfall · 28 days

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OMG YES MRS. FLETCHER

Y'all! I've got too many fixations and I'm easily distracted...

Putting all this Eve business in my head... What are you trying to get new gifs or something?

Okay fine l'll make something. Please hold as I boot up my computer...

#mrs. fletcher #eve fletcher #kathryn Hahn #easily distracted #new gifs coming shortly #please hold

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our-blood-is-our-ink · 1 year

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Thinking about soft!mistress!Eve today

#eve fletcher #c: eve

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fakeagatha · 1 year

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Mrs Fletcher | Prof!Eve Fletcher x Fem!Reader

A/N: I've finally completed it! I deeply apologize for the delay. Please let me know if you spot any grammatical errors or typos!

Words: 1166

SFW, Implied NSFW

Chapter Two

You woke up to your alarm buzzing, not even remembering when you had fallen asleep in the first place. You do, however, remember that dream you had with Eve. You felt disgraceful to have even let your brain imagine such things without reason.

You groaned, rolling out of bed as you did NOT feel like getting up today. It's still only the middle of the week!

You lazily washed up in the bathroom, before throwing on something from your closet and grabbing your bag. You were hoping today would go smoothly, and you wouldn't have to deal with any general bullshit from entitled professors.

Not even five minutes since you got in, you were dealing with bullshit from entitled professors. Her name was Miss Evanora, and it was like a tradition to find something to complain about on students' papers, simply because she enjoyed causing them problems.

"Miss L/N, why did you put your name on the right? As I've specified thousands of times, I want your name on the left, and the date on the right! She complained, after stopping you in the hallway and shoving the paper in your face.

You tried not to roll your eyes, "I apologize." You took out a pen, scribbling on the paper in front of you and switching the name and date around. She would also complain about scribbles being on the paper, but you went your own way before she had the chance to say anything.

Eve glanced up from her coffee cup as she was standing in the hallway, just so happening to overhear the conversation. She spoke up when she saw you walking past. "Don't pay too much attention to her," she said, making you jump.

You looked up at her, "She does similar things in the office, too." She added.

You blinked, why she talking about her co-workers to a student?

"I'll keep that in mind, professor." You chuckled and nodded before walking away.

OH GOD.

'She's so mesmerizing! I could honestly listen to her talk and look into her eyes forever!' You thought, how cheesy.

You spent the rest of the day in your classes daydreaming, about the way your teacher looks at you when she talks to you, or the way she grins when listening to you.

Little did you know, Eve also felt the same way about you. It wasn't a crush, of course, that would be despicable, but she always smiled to herself when she would see you doing simple things, such as smiling at your phone or being plain stupid with your friends.

But being who she is with her internet porn addiction, she let's her curiosity take over her and looks up some videos featuring fake teachers and students when she got home later that day.

So that's how she found herself, laying on her bed, the covers up to her waist and her laptop on her thighs, as she scrolled through the Teacher-Student category online. She wasn't really thinking anything dirty at the moment, like always she was just curious, finally letting herself go and explore as she thought she wasn't allowed for so long.

You on the other hand, sat in your dorm room looking at the photo taken of you and Eve yesterday, with the facial expression of a complete idiot.

'So embarrassing...' You thought, 'How many people saw us?! But holy shit that was so sweet of her...'

You smiled like a lovesick teenager, but the difference was you didn't like her, you just... admired her, would be the right word.

You continued scrolling through your phone, when your door knocked.

"Yeah?" You asked, approaching the handle.

"It's me," You heard a voice,

"Who's me?" You asked again.

"You don't know your best friends voice by now?"

You opened the door for him, and he grinned at you, opening his bag and showing two bottles of wine.

You sighed, "come on then Steve." Moving aside to let him in.

He skipped over to your bed and threw the bag on, surprisingly not smashing anything, as he sat down and immediately cracked one open.

"Uhm, what's the occasion?" You watched him as he drank straight from the bottle.

He shrugged, "I figured we could take a break, from everything... Uni can be stressful." He said before chucking over the other bottle to you.

"Christ, be careful!" You gasped, catching the bottle in your hands. "If I hadn't caught that, you'd be cleaning the mess up."

Steve scoffed, "Come on, I threw it across the bed! Even if it fell, it would just fall onto the sheets!"

You popped open your bottle, and started sipping on it, watching your friend drink it a lot faster. "Slow down, I don't want you getting drunk already!"

He simply laughed at you "I won't, don't worry!" He grinned.

Meanwhile, Eve had gotten bored, and had decided to call up her coworker, Amanda, for a drink.

Amanda worked part time at the same university as Eve, since the Senior Home she works full time at was starting to pay less, due to the fact that they were loosing business.

The past between the two of them was mostly forgotten, said past being a few hookups. Despite everything, they had decided to just remain friends, and go their own ways with romance.

"So, anything fancy going on in your life?" Amanda asked Eve, sipping on her wine.

"Well, you know, the usual, breaking up fights in the hallways, grading papers, nothing new. Your life at the Senior Home is probably more interesting than mine." She replied.

Amanda scoffed, "You break up fights, I clean up old people shit. What's better?" She laughed.

Eve smiled before speaking up. "Have you ever felt... Weird about one of your clients or coworkers?" She asked her friend hesitantly.

Amanda thought for a moment, "Apart from what was going on between us, I don't think anything else has really happened. Why do you ask?" She smirked.

"You know... Favoring my students..." Eve mumbled, while Amanda almost choked on her drink.

"You have a crush on your student?!" She exclaimed.

Eve gasped, "No, no! She's just, different from the others in my classes. I can't be attracted to a student, that's not allowed!"

Amanda cleared her throat, "Status wise, it may be illegal, age wise, it's not. Everyone in that school is at least nineteen by now."

Eve shrugged, looking away thoughtfully. "I think she's in her early twenties... Either way, I don't like like her, she's just a very capable student."

Amanda looked at her before nodding, "Well alright then."

In the meantime, you were feeling quite tipsy with Steve, laughing at really stupid things, and blurting out weird remarks.

"You know, I think I have a crush on my teacher!" You laughed.

"I know! Took you long enough to realize!" Steve replied, swaying as he smacked your shoulder.

You cackled, "I finally said it!" You cheered.

Maybe you regretted taking that wine.

#agatha harkness #wandavision #agnes wandavision #eve fletcher #mrs fletcher #kathryn hahn #agatha x reader

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agathasangel · 1 year

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I Love Everything You Do- Part 1 (Eve Fletcher X Fem!Reader)

Warnings:Soft!Eve, Power Bottom!Eve, Sub!Top!Reader, Virgin!Reader,Obviously smut. Legal age gap (reader is early 20s Eve is mid 40s), Mommy kink ofc

Summary: After many nights spent partying together, Eve finally takes you home and shows you what you’ve been missing out on.

You’ve been to this bar so many times before just hoping to meet someone. To make friends. You’ve always been content being alone, but you still wanted to find your people. Every time you came out here you would usually hang out and drink with a group of older women. The one that was always there and who you could never get out of your head was named Eve.

The two of you would talk about your lives. She was divorced and had a son in college who wasn’t much younger than you.

“It’s still so hard. I mean it- it’s lonely. I miss them all the time. Even Ted- he cheated on me, I know, I should hate him, but-“

“No, I understand. You loved him, one thing doesn’t immediately take that away.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No, not really. I’m pretty lonely too. I guess I’m just shy. You must think I’m pathetic, I’m out of college and have never had a boyfriend or girlfriend or anything-“

“No. No no no,” Eve put her and on your shoulder and looked at you straight in the eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

Eve was so beautiful, so kind, so comforting.

Another night, Eve told you all about her son’s first semester of college.

“I was all alone, and I just- oh my god this is so embarrassing- I just started watching porn, like, all the time.”

“That’s not embarrassing, Eve.”

“Then- then you met Amanda- I kissed her, and I had a threesome with her and this guy who was- he was nineteen. And then my son- my son walked in on us. It wasn’t great and I- I haven’t had sex since then.”

“Wow. Holy Shit.”

“And the kid knew my son, too. The hated each other.”

“Oh my god. Was he proud or embarrassed?”

“I don’t know. Probably both. We never talked about it again.”

“I wish I could tell you a story like that but I’ve got nothing. I’ve never even had sex before.”

“That was the last time I did it.”

“I get why that guy had a crush on you.”

“I don’t. Why would he want me over someone his own age?”

“Because older women are beautiful and smart. And because you’re you, Eve. You’re an amazing woman no mater how old you are.”

“You’re the sweetest. You’re so… pretty, too. I didn’t realize I until my son left that I’m bi. Like, that I’m into women I mean. Wow, I’ve never said that out loud before.”

“I mean you did have sex with Amanda.”

“Yeah, but- I don’t know. I’ve never talked about it before, or talked about how many other women I’ve been attracted to or said that I’m bisexual. You’re just so easy to talk to.”

“Wow, Eve. Thank You. You know, I’ve never been a big party girl but I go out every weekend now just so I can see you. It’s embarrassing, I know, but I really like you.”

“I like you too.”

“I know you fantasize about women. Have you ever had fantasies about me?” You were terrified to ask. You were scared that Eve would say no and you would be humiliated.

“Oh, all the time, honey.”

“What do you think about?”

“I think about undressing you, being the first woman to touch you.. My favorite thing to think about is teaching you exactly how to please me. I lay back and spread my legs and you just do as I tell you to do. What your Mommy tells you to do. And I’ll tell you how much I love it, and what a good little girl you are. Would you like that? Because I’m not working tomorrow or anything, I could call an Uber and take the both of us back to my place right now if you felt like it.’

“I want that so badly Eve,” you said, your breathing still heavy, “but I’m scared I won’t do a good enough job.”

“Oh honey, trust me. You’ll be amazing just because you’re you”

You listened to Eve and went home with her.

“You’re such a pretty thing, look at you. So cute and innocent. Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. I just wanna do a good job for you, Mommy,” you said, trying out the title Eve had called herself earlier.

“It’s okay. Don’t be scared little one, Mommy’s gonna show you exactly how to please her.”

“I- I can do that Mommy. I can be good and obedient for you Mommy.”

Eve cupped your cheek in her hand, “I know, baby. Let me give you a kiss first.”

And Eve kissed you hard, the first time you kissed anyone in a very long time. Her hands moved all over your body, groping your breasts, your butt, and your thighs. Eve slowly pulled away from you and you quietly whimpered at the loss of contact. But she quickly made up for it by taking off all her clothes. Her body was incredible, just a beautiful work of art. Eve lay down on the bed and spread her legs, beckoning you closer to her. You sat in between her legs, looking at her pussy. You had never seen another woman’s up close before and you weren’t quite sure what to do.

“What should I do first Mommy?”

“First, you’re gonna rub my clit like this,: and she demonstrated, taking two fingers and rubbing them in a circular motion around her clit. You did as Eve said and she let out a soft, shaky breath.

“Yes little one, just like that, that feels so nice…”

After a few minutes, Eve instructed you to insert a finger into her, then another, then another.

“That feels so good, baby! You’re doing such a good job. Good girl, good…”

Eve laid the praise on heavy, and you loved it. You leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and she giggled.

“You’re so cute, little one. Now, Mommy has a very special toy she wants you to fuck her with. Wait here.”

Eve went into the closet and pulled out a dildo and harness.

“I’ve never used these before, babe. But I keep collecting toys hoping to find someone. I wanna try them finally.”

Eve helped you into the harness and led you back to the bed, kissing you. She lay down on her back and held onto your hips as she guided you into her. Eve was so wet, so excited.

“Yes, that’s it baby, fuck Mommy, make her feel good. Just like that…” said Eve as you started nervously thrusting into her.

“Harder, little one, that’s it. You’re so cute when you do that.”

You went harder with Eve’s help, her hands gripping your hips.

“Is this good, Mommy? Am I making you feel good?” You asked as you used your hands to play with Eve’s breasts. You could hear her moans getting louder and more excited as you went harder.

“Yes baby, yes, keep doing that. Keep playing with Mommy’s breasts, just like that. You’re such a good girl! Keep going.”

You could feel yourself getting wet too, and you went faster with your Mommy’s encouragement.

“I’m getting so close baby. I’m so close! You’re fucking Mommy so good baby, yes!”

Eve came and you kissed her. The both of you just stayed there for a while, with you on top of and inside of her, and her hands groping you.

“That was great. How do you feel, baby?”

“I’m so wet, Mommy.”

“I can take care of that after you rest up, beautiful girl.”

#eve fletcher #eve fletcher x reader #eve fletcher imagine #wlw smut #Kathryn Hahn #mrs fletcher #kathryn hahn imagine

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fruityhahn · 1 year

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eve edit for y'all! enjoy 😊

#kathryn hahn #fruityhahnfancams #mrs. fletcher #eve fletcher #kathryn hahn supremacy #all my eve edits seem to become eve x amanda but i'm not mad about it haha

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aparticularbandit · 5 months

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Shade

Summary: Something happens between Eve and Claire after homecoming, and Eve has to deal with the potential fallout.

Part of The Valentines Collection.

Rating: M for an intense scene. TW: Intense scene could be read as sexual assault or attempted rape.

AO3

“You’re so cold.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Christopher sits half-hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. His head hangs low, unkempt hair falling in front of his normally piercing blue eyes, barely glancing at Eve’s hand where it rests on his. He takes a breath in and lets it out as a sigh.

“You still need to breathe?”

“No.” Christopher gives a gentle shake of his head. There’s another heartbeat between them – Eve’s, not his – before he speaks again, “You don’t…you don’t have to stay here with me. I understand if you want to leave.”

Eve’s hand tightens over his, and she tries not to think about how his skin feels like a tombstone in midwinter, covered with snow. “You did this for me. I’m not….” Her heart beats faster, and she tries to ignore the way he shudders as it does. She forces herself to swallow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Nearly a week ago….

“It’s okay, really.” Eve rings hair around her tiniest finger, gaze dropping as a scarlet flush brushes across her cheeks. “You don’t have to. Um.” She bites her lower lip, and her gaze flicks to the path. “I’ve walked this way home hundreds of times. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to go with me.”

The path is nothing but dirt and dust and branches and rock. Well, not much rock. But it’s certainly no sidewalk, no smooth path, though the golden and orange leaves near to covering it give the illusion of that. Trees, dark and foreboding, spring up on either side of the path, casting shadows over it. The wind rustles their branches, and they give a soft sh, sh, sh sound. Even the moonlight doesn’t seem to cut much through the trees, the way they’re layered over each other, even with the brush of leaves that have fallen from them.

Out here, the streetlamps cast a near constant golden glow along the sidewalk. The parking lot is a little different – half shadow and half not, each of the little halos cast by the light only going so far. They’re the opposite of venn diagrams; they don’t even remotely overlap, and there are strips of deep darkness between them, illumined only by the glint and glare of light from the cars still scattered here and there in the lot.

Homecoming is over. It should have been over earlier, and maybe it was, but it certainly took this long for the chaperones to finally kick all of the students out. Christopher, Eve’s boyfriend, isn’t the president of the student council, but he’s one of the higher members. He stayed late to help clean everything up, as was his duty, and Eve had stayed late with him, less out of duty’s sake and more because, in cleaning everything up, she could sometimes steal him away for another kiss in another secret area. She likes this, and he likes humoring her nearly as much as he likes the kisses.

(Also, now they have more places to hide during the school day from prying eyes.)

There are plenty of students who think they shouldn’t be together, plenty who are jealous on both sides: those who think that Christopher deserves someone who is as much school royalty as he is, given his place on the student council, his leadership of the swimming team, his various other athletic hobbies (he calls them hobbies, others less so); those who think that Eve, a homespun girl next door type, does nothing for him or his image, that she could have been anybody and so could have been anybody else; those who think, on the other hand, that Eve deserves better than just another jock bro, who should be with a more sensitive type than Christopher Valentine (although if anyone knew anything about Christopher, they would know he is nothing like your stereotypical jock and is far more sensitive than anyone would suspect him to be); those who see Eve’s sensitivity and vulnerability and want nothing more than to wrap her in a warm blanket and shield her from the world, just the way Christopher sometimes wants, although these people include Christopher in the sorts that would, of course, harm her when they never would.

But Christopher and Eve have never been the sort to pay attention to those sorts of things, except when they want to steal away and find that they just. keep. getting. interrupted. New places to hide are more than welcome, and Eve is just as good at finding them as she is at helping clean – and soothing chaperones’ fears that they aren’t really cleaning at all.

But it is after homecoming, and the other students have left, and most of the chaperones have left, and sure, there are still a handful of cars around the parking lot, but Christopher and Eve aren’t really at the school anymore, are they?

Christopher intended to walk Eve home. It isn’t too terribly cold outside, although there’s a hint of a frigid breeze in the air that comes through and would make him pull his letter jacket tighter about himself if he hasn’t already given it to Eve, who does exactly what he would like to do, pulling the jacket closer to her. They’ve made it over halfway, and now all that’s left is that path through the darkness.

“We could go around.”

“No, honestly, Christopher, it’s fine.” Eve leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be safe. Don’t worry about me. Honest.”

Christopher glances down the path again. “You’re absolutely sure?” He turns back and searches Eve’s eyes. “You’re not just the slightest bit scared?”

“No.” Eve pauses, considers, and then walks her fingers up Christopher’s tie before gripping it and tugging him down to her. She kisses him a little more properly – a little more improperly – and then lets him go. “Thank you for caring, but—” She reaches up and boops his nose with each word. “—I’ll. be. fine.” Her lips curve into a fond smile. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Christopher returns her smile with a sheepish one of his own. He pushes a hand through his scraggly, long dark hair, cheeks flushing but not from the chill. “Okay.” Then he reaches over and tugs his jacket tighter around Eve’s smaller frame. “You take…you take care of yourself, Eve, and I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eve steps closer. “Sure, you will.”

Something tears Christopher’s gaze back to the path and the woods around it, and he searches briefly. Then he returns to his girl, brushes her wavy hair back from her face, and kisses her again, tasting her lips warm on his. He searches her eyes one more time. If he doesn’t go now, he won’t.

It’ll be fine. She said it’ll be fine.

Christopher steps back, gives Eve’s hand one final squeeze, and then steps back, letting her fingers fall from his grip. It feels wrong to turn away from her. He could walk the path with her. He could, and then he could walk the longer, well-lit way back around to the house he shares with his aunt and the cousin he calls a sister.

But he is afraid of the forest, afraid of something that doesn’t seem to frighten Eve at all, and so he turns away.

He’s only halfway across the parking lot when he hears her scream.

Yesterday morning….

“Where is he?”

Bridget James – Birdie, to her friends and most of the popular crowd, but always forcefully Bridget to Eve (and, as a result, always Bridget to Christopher as well) - doesn’t shove Eve against the abandoned wall of lockers because she has her underlings around to do it for her. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t sneer down on Eve as it happens, doesn’t near grin with a menacing sort of ecstasy as Eve’s head hits the vents in the metal just wrong, as Eve winces in pain. Her grin disappears as she remembers what she’s about, and she stalks on high heels – clack clack clack – towards her.

“Christopher has been gone since homecoming, Eve,” Bridget whines. She leans up against the lockers next to Eve, lip curling in disgust. “You did something to him, you little bitch. Where are you hiding him?”

Eve stares straight ahead, past Bridget’s underlings and out the windows directly behind them. She looks across the parking lot, down the street that leads away from the school, to a path hidden behind other buildings and framed by trees dying for winter. “Nothing,” she says, feeling the weight of the lie within her breast. “I didn’t do anything to him, and I don’t know where he’s—”

Bridget claps her hands, and someone slams a fist into one of the lockers right next to Eve’s head. It crumples. Eve flinches. Bridget yawns. “It’s so boring when you lie, Evie.” She pushes herself off of the lockers. “I’m starting to think he’s dead or something.” Then she gazes around at her entourage. “I’m tired. Let’s do something else.”

They walk away.

Eve pulls out her cellphone again, furiously flipping it open, hoping for any indication of anything from—

Nope. No new messages. Nothing from Christopher for days.

She feels sick. She feels sick. She feels—

Three days ago….

Eve knocks on Christopher’s front door. She should probably ring the doorbell – she knows she should ring the doorbell – but she’s not sure she wants to be heard. It would be easier, maybe, if Christopher lived by himself instead of with his aunt Evanora and her daughter Agatha, because in truth, she doesn’t want to talk to Evanora, who intimidates her, and she’s worried about trying to talk with Agatha, who’s just barely in middle school and is Christopher’s biggest fan – Eve herself included. She’s actually gone a fairly long time without talking to either of them, at Christopher’s request, but....

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

No one answers. Probably because no one actually hears her knocking.

Eve tucks her hair back behind her ear and glances around. Evanora’s flowers are starting to wilt; it’s colder today than it was after homecoming, a front coming through just as the weather officially makes its turn from the overbearing warmth of summer into the frigid cold of winter. Some years, it’s a much smoother shift, every once in a while, but most years – most years – it’s a snap of a moment, usually after a storm. Between the darkening clouds overhead and the shockingly colder air, that moment must be coming, after which all of Evanora’s flowers will be dead until next year’s spring.

There’s a flicker of movement behind the curtains, and Eve is certain she sees dark hair through the window before its lacy curtains fall back into place.

Eve licks her lips and forces herself to knock on the door again. If there’s someone there, they should hear her. They will hear her.

(She doesn’t want to be heard.)

((She needs to be heard.))

This time, Eve knocks a little louder, knocks a little harder, knocks as though she wants someone to notice her. But again, there’s nothing, a long stretch of nothing. She licks her lips and presses them together, glances over to the window again with its now unmoving curtains, and reaches forward as though to ring the doorbell.

Before her finger can even brush the bell, the door creaks open.

“You can’t come in.”

It isn’t even Evanora who answers the door; it’s Agatha with her wild, bushy dark hair, Agatha who should be in school for another hour at least but isn’t. She glares up at Eve with flashing blue eyes, a blue that is so much brighter and piercing than the comforting depths of Christopher’s. “You need to go—”

“Is Christopher there?”

Agatha isn’t even a teenager yet. She won’t be twelve for another couple of months. But her gaze hardens at the mention of Christopher. “Go away,” she hisses, and somehow that’s worse than Evanora answering the door and saying nothing at all.

Eve bites her lip. “I need to see him,” she tries again anyway. “Would you please let me—”

Agatha slams the door in her face.

If Eve were a little more sneaky, she would have stuck her foot in the door. Sure, it would have hurt, but she would at least still be looking at Agatha, still be able to glance through the crack in the door, instead of standing here staring at it closed and at nothing through it. The curtains move again, and it looks like they’re being slammed shut as much as they can, except that you can’t really slam curtains, they just flutter and mesh and—

For an instant, just an instant, Eve catches a glimpse of something around the fluttering curtains. She thinks – she thinks – that she sees Christopher, ashen and gray and with hair whiter than bone, looking up at her with exhaustion. Their eyes meet, briefly, and then the curtains fall back into place, obscuring him from view.

Eve wants to pound on the door and demand Agatha let her in. She wants to throw a rock through the window and clamber inside. She wants to claw through the paneling until her fingertips bleed, but she will be through and in the house and with him.

But she does none of that.

Instead, Eve not-so-calmly walks back to the sidewalk. She takes one last glance at Christopher’s house. But no. Nothing. Nothing.

(Nothing but piercing blue irises in a deep, deep sea of thick, inky black.)

Nearly a week ago….

Christopher rushes into the darkness.

This isn’t a time before cell phones, but it is a time before it becomes second nature to pull them out as a source of light. Christopher doesn’t even think about his phone; it’s new, one he just bought as a result of his weekend job, after months of saving up over the summer, and it’s one of those pay-as-you-go phones because he doesn’t have the consistent sort of funds to maintain a contract phone. Not that any of this benefits him because he doesn’t think about it, he just races down the path after Eve’s scream and sees…nothing.

Eve screams again, bloodcurdling and terrified, and Christopher turns to her and runs from the path into the woods.

One of his many athletic pursuits is cross-country, so Christopher doesn’t have much trouble running over broken branches or tree trunks. He recovers easily when he steps into a mound of fallen leaves that cover a hole in the ground. Even more importantly, he doesn’t trip. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, but he sees….

Nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. He sees trees and leaves and branches, just like he would expect in a forest, but he doesn’t see Eve, and he doesn’t see why she would be screaming. That’s the worst thing – knowing, knowing that he ran in the right direction but getting absolutely nowhere.

“Eve?” he calls out into the darkness.

Only silence answers him. Silence and that breeze growing ever colder as it shifts through the fallen leaves, through the branches overhead – no longer that soft and safe sh sh sh as it was when they were outside of the forest, now ch ch ch, branches rumbling and rumbling.

And under all of that—

Christopher closes his eyes.

—a whimper.

A whimper and the crunch of leaves. Just—

There.

“Eve.” Christopher breathes her name out, but he hears the answering whimper, as long as he only focuses on that, as long as he doesn’t pay any attention to anything else around him, just her. If he listens hard enough, he can almost – almost – hear breathing. It’s hard, but it’s…it’s different than the sound of the wind through the leaves. “If you can hear me,” he continues, focusing on the breathing (she has to be close, she has to be close, there’s no way he would hear breathing if she wasn’t close), “I’m right here. And I’ll find you.”

The breathing stops.

The whimpering stops.

Everything stops.

Everything—

Six days ago….

“Evanora!” Eve pounds on their front door. She coughs twice, covering her mouth with her elbow, and then tries again, pounding on it just as loud as she can. “Evanora!” She isn’t sure why no one is answering. It’s impossible to imagine that they can’t hear her, and she can tell by the car in the driveway that they’re here. Maybe if she tries the doorbell—

Eve’s phone rings – a little ditty that comes with the phone itself, but something completely different than any of her other ringtones: Christopher’s ringtone. She pulls her phone out, flips it open, and holds it to her ear, turning away from the door as she does so, as though that will make things more private. “Christopher?” Her eyes widen. “You’re awake?”

Coughing – just like her own, as though it’s been recorded and is playing back to her – and then rasping, groaning, barely a voice. “Eve. I’m okay. You need to—”

“Can I come see you?” Eve turns back to the house. The curtains flutter. She doesn’t see anything behind them. “The nurse said Evanora took you home. I’m right outside, so if you just open the door—”

“I need….” Christopher coughs again, harder this time, and his voice grows deeper, deeper than she’s ever heard it before. “I need to rest.”

Eve just nods. He can’t see that. They’re on the phone. Maybe whoever’s on the other side of the door can see it. “I’ll come back later then. Tomorrow. I’m not going to just—”

“I’ll call you,” Christopher interrupts her again. “When you can see me, I’ll call you. But right now, I need to rest.”

It sounds like him, but it…but it doesn’t even sound like him. Eve chalks it up to the recovery, to the fact that he shouldn’t be awake but somehow is. He must be exhausted. She’s exhausted, and she wasn’t—

Nearly a week ago….

“Christopher!”

Six days ago….

Eve winces and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to remember that. (It doesn’t matter what she wants. The images aren’t going anywhere.) “You’ll call me soon, won’t you?” she says instead, assuming that the answer will be yes.

There is no answer, only the eventual tone of a call that’s been dropped – or ended – and still left open on one side.

Yesterday….

It’s been almost a week.

Eve pulls her phone out between classes, even when she knows she hasn’t gotten any messages, just to look through, just to check, because maybe she missed something, maybe she didn’t notice. But that’s impossible – despite everything that says she shouldn’t, she has her phone’s volume up as high as it can go. Sure, there are fancy ringtones that have a high enough pitch that her older teachers can’t hear them anymore (something, something, your hearing changes as you get older; something, something losing the ability to hear higher pitches – her psychology teacher played the note as proof, and it was like a dog whistle, causing all of them to wince while her teacher grinned, unaffected), but Eve doesn’t have one of those, doesn’t have a new enough phone to get it even if she wanted.

Normally, Eve wouldn’t even have her phone on at all. Her mom calls the front desk if she wants Eve to know anything (her mom never calls, never has anything that urgent to tell her), and the only other person who gets in contact with her regularly is Christopher. He’s normally there with her at school, and while he often glances back and gives her winks or smiles every now and again, he’s just as particular about phone use during the school day as she is. Most of their messages are from times when they aren’t together, before school, after volunteering at the senior center, while he’s at one of his many practices (although he won’t see those until later). Not during school.

But Christopher isn’t here, and he hasn’t been here all week, and she hasn’t heard from him since the day after homecoming, and he is supposed to call her when she can see him, and…and…and—

He won’t call during school. He won’t.

Eve remembers shockingly white hair and eyes dark as the void of death (she won’t think it, she won’t think it, she won’t remember that) with a ring of the purest, deepest blue shining like light within them.

She…honestly can’t be sure that Christopher won’t be different.

(She leaves her phone on. He does not call.)

Four days ago….

Eve sits on the edge of her bed, phone in her hand. She stares at it, willing it to ring. To vibrate. To something other than just sit in her hand silent as the grave.

A knock at her door, and Eve jumps, nearly drops her phone but catches it just in time. “Christopher?”

“No, just your good old mom.”

Eve sighs and shoves her phone into her pocket. “Is something wrong?”

Her bedroom door creaks open, and her mom pokes her head in. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time in your room. That isn’t like you.”

If they had a pet, any pet, Eve is quite sure the animal would thread itself through her mom’s legs and into her room. A cat would meow at her for attention; a dog would curl up next to her just to comfort her, just to be there with her. Some cats would be like that, too, but it’s so much less of a sure thing.

Then again, if they had a pet, Eve probably would have had it in her room to begin with. It would be a comforting distraction in a way that her homework, which feels like so much busy work, does not.

Eve doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what her mom wants to hear; she has a general idea, but she doesn’t know how to let the words out. Her neck still aches, and there are still marks along her skin, but she can’t tell her about any of that. She can’t.

“Is it about Christopher?” her mom asks, coming into her room and sitting on the mattress next to her.

Eve doesn’t say anything. Obviously, it is about Christopher, but it’s not really about him, it’s so much more than that, and it’s not something she can tell her mom. Not something she wants to tell her mom. She just lets her head hang, lets her gaze rest on her hands, clasped together in her lap. She can’t even look up at her.

Her mom places a hand over Eve’s. “You know,” she says, “if he’s pressuring to do anything you don’t want to do—”

“No, no, it’s not about that at all.” Eve speaks as calmly as she can, but she can’t stop the disgust that immediately leaps into her throat. She shudders. (There’s no way to tell her mom that if anyone is pressuring anyone for anything, then she’s the one pressuring Christopher. That’s not a conversation she can have with her mom. It’s not even a conversation she can have with Christopher. He’s just taking things slow. Or…he was taking things slow. This is something else entirely.)

“You can talk to me about anything—”

“It’s not that,” Eve repeats even more insistently.

“Mmmm.” Her mom pats her hands. “But it is about him, isn’t it?”

Eve bites her lower lip. Tears spring to her eyes – not for the first time over the past several days, but they’re there all the same. She shakes her head.

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

Eve shakes her head again.

“Okay. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Her mom wraps her hand around Eve’s shoulders – Eve tenses, because her shoulders still ache, because there are cuts there her mom can’t see and can’t know about – and then pulls Eve against her chest. Eve doesn’t even hesitate; she crumples against her mom. Just because she’s not talking doesn’t mean she can’t be comforted.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” her mom asks, running her hand along Eve’s hair. “Anything at all.”

Eve nods against her mom’s chest. It’s a lie. She can’t talk to her mom about anything because she wouldn’t understand. Eve doesn’t even understand. And being told she can…it just makes things worse.

She wants to talk about it.

She just can’t.

Earlier….

Phones don’t like him anymore.

It’s not just phones – the lights overhead flicker like radio static whenever he enters the room, the television turns itself on and off and back on again, the toaster pops bread back out as soon as he pushes it in. There’s real effort in forcing electronics to ignore him, so sitting here, in the dark, is easier. Lights get used to him after a while, but the rapid fire flickering hurts his head. Not as much as forcing them to stop immediately, which is a much sharper spike followed by a longer, throbbing ache that eases over time.

It doesn’t take as long now as it did right after—

In the dark, in the deep dark, with everything else turned off, Christopher reaches for his phone.

Five days ago….

Christopher isn’t at church.

Eve honestly isn’t surprised. She didn’t think he would be. All of those injuries, they’ll take a while to heal over, so he’s probably in bed, resting. That’s what he said he needed, isn’t it? Rest?

Evanora and Agatha aren’t here either. But that’s normal, too. They’re never in church.

Still, Eve can’t stop herself from scanning the room for them, as though they’d show up today, as though maybe they felt they might need something they normally don’t. (She pretends that she doesn’t know why she thinks that. Christopher is fine. She talked to him yesterday! And they wouldn’t have taken him from the hospital if he wasn’t okay.) More, too, every time someone comes in the back door, she can’t help but looking to see if maybe it’s him.

It’s never him.

Fortunately for her, no one asks.

Two days ago….

Eve doesn’t pray very often. She did a lot more when she was younger, praying that her dad would come back, that her mom would be happy, that they could be one full family, that she wouldn’t be so alone all the time. She made friends, sure, so she wasn’t as alone, but the rest went unanswered. (No, the rest seem to have been answered, No, which almost hurts more. She’d rather think they were unanswered, when she thinks about them at all.)

No, Eve doesn’t pray much, other than the occasional thank you. Sometimes she’ll say something when her mom’s sick – or when she’s sick, although she’s much less likely to think about that – but on the whole, it’s not a big part of her life.

But there’s no one else she can talk to about all of this. Her mom wouldn’t understand – she doesn’t understand – and whatever Evanora and Agatha might (or might not) know, they don’t seem willing to share or to include her. Christopher hasn’t spoken to her in days, and he’s the one person who was there who might be able to—

She can’t make him talk to her. She can’t make any of them talk to her. And she’s scared.

And she’s desperate.

“God?”

Eve doesn’t know where to look. When she was a kid, they taught her to fold her hands together and close her eyes and bow her head, but she’s not sure if that’s really necessary. When she makes her little thank yous, she doesn’t really think about all of that. Maybe because she’s not as concerned whether someone is listening or not.

Right now, she wants someone to listen.

“I’m not sure if I’m doing this right, but, um.” Her lips curl together. This feels weird, speaking into the emptiness, into the silence like this. But she continues anyway. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I could use some help, and….” She gives a shake of her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t be asking for help. Maybe I….” She raises a hand, pushes her hair back behind one ear.

Ask.

It’s okay to ask.

Eve bites her lower lip and looks up. “I need to talk to Christopher. I need to know that he’s okay. I…need You to make sure that he’s okay. Because I can’t. Because they won’t let me see him. Because I’m scared that I ruined—”

She isn’t thinking about that.

“I just. I. I need help. So. Um. Help? Please?”

Before she can even finish the last word, her phone rings. Christopher’s ringtone. Her eyes widen, and she glances up briefly, saying, “Thank You!” before she answers her phone.

There’s nothing but static on the other end, and eventually, Eve hangs up, collapses against her bed, pulls her pillow against her chest, and cries.

Nearly a week ago….

Christopher’s heart beats so loud that it’s all that he can hear. He takes a deep breath to try and calm himself, to still. No breathing, no whimpering, that means Eve is—

He isn’t like his aunt. He isn’t like his sister. He isn’t a witch.

His mother didn’t train him before her death because she’d hidden it from his father, hidden it from him, hidden it from everyone who knew her. Evanora picked up where his mother never left off, but she hasn’t been able to teach him much at all. Just a few things here and there. Even Agatha is better than he is, simply because she has more experience with everything.

The thing is – there aren’t just witches in the world. There are all sorts of magic. And when Christopher digs his fingers into the air around him, something materializes enough for him to grab it, and when he does, everything is louder, everything is sharper, and with his eyes closed—

There.

Whatever Christopher grips fades as he whirls and runs and—

Christopher isn’t a witch. He isn’t even a wizard, not really; the little bit of magic he’s learned isn’t enough to hurt much of anyone. Evanora hadn’t wanted him learning anything to attack yet. He’s too new, and he’s more likely to hurt himself than to anyone else. So all he has is his fists, his legs, his body. Maybe his car keys, but he’s not thinking about them right now.

He’s thinking about Eve.

Choking.

Spluttering.

And he goes.

Nearly a week ago….

One hand thick over her mouth.

One arm thick around her waist.

Can’t speak.

Can’t breathe.

Fingernails digging into her skin.

A second set of hands—

Eve isn’t thinking about what they’re doing, what they’re trying to do.

She knows that she’s crying, but she cries so easily.

Someone – something? – has its nose in her hair, sniffing at her, deep breaths in, hot breath out.

At least Christopher’s voice stifled the sounds.

Not nails.

Claws in her skin, small, thin, raking, tearing, ripping, shredding.

Blood, blood, blood—

Out of nowhere, something slamming into her back – the thing holding her slamming into her back because something else has slammed into it – and they all fall together.

Eve takes a breath in and doesn’t think. She hasn’t been thinking. She can’t, she won’t think about any of this, but she’s breathing, and there’s blood seeping through her shirt, and she’s away from the thing, and she doesn’t want to turn to look, she wants to RUN, but something slammed into it, something freed her, Christopher was out here—

She turns and Christopher is wrestling with something her mind can’t grasp. Something with claws and hands and bones and skin and teeth. She doesn’t know what to do, how to react.

Christopher looks up at her, blue eyes wide and afraid – not for himself, but for her. “Run, Eve!” he yells out at her, a low guttural groan of a sound, desperate. “Run!”

She can’t leave him.

She won’t.

Earlier….

Eve won’t go through the woods anymore. Not even in the daylight. She looks down the path and all she sees is the dark and hands coming out of the trees that were always once her friends and being pinned down, mouth covered, unable to make any sounds but the whimpering of how clearly she does not want—

She doesn’t think about this.

She isn’t thinking about this.

Eve suppresses a shudder.

Then she goes the long way around.

(This does not save her.)

Nearly a week ago….

“No!”

Christopher can’t stop Eve from joining the fight, can’t stop her from attacking what he knows to be a monster, one of the ones in his aunt’s book, one whose name he doesn’t quite remember. He only knows what the monster is usually summoned here to do and how to make it go away.

There are two ways. One is to defeat the witch who summoned it. The other—

“Eve, you have to run!”

“I’m not going anywhere!”

But Christopher sees it before Eve does, the claws that twist, that turn, that aim directly for the very center of her chest.

He pushes her out of the way.

Earlier….

The monster looks different in the daylight, but that doesn’t mean Eve doesn’t recognize it.

Nearly a week ago….

“No. No no no no no no no. No.”

Eve cradles Christopher in her arms. There’s a hole through his chest. She thinks maybe his heart is gone. He certainly isn’t breathing.

Whatever they were fighting disappeared. Literally disappeared. As if, somehow, they’d both been hallucinating the entire thing. It was just gone.

And Christopher was here.

And she was here.

And he was—

Earlier….

Eve runs. She knows, now, to run.

It doesn’t matter.

The monster runs faster.

Nearly a week ago….

Eve can’t stop crying, and where her tears hit Christopher’s skin, he begins to glow.

The hole in his chest heals.

None of this makes any sense.

Earlier….

The creature grabs Eve’s wrist. She opens her mouth to scream.

Christopher, from nowhere, snarling, eyes dark as the void with only his irises anything other than black, fingers shaped into claws.

Nearly a week ago….

The only other way to defeat the monster is to let it kill something…or someone.

(Christopher does not know how long he is dead. He only knows that he should not have come back to life.)

Now:

The lights flicker overhead. They’ve been flickering ever since Eve brought Christopher home with her, grateful that her mother is gone on a weekend business trip. The longer he’s been here, the less they’ve flickered; washing all the blood from his now quite porcelain skin had taken a good long while, and during that time, the lights seem to have settled.

Mostly.

“How did you find me?” Eve asks, voice soft. “I haven’t…you disappeared on me, Christopher. I wouldn’t have – I don’t think any less of you.” She glances up, trying to meet his darkened eyes. “You know that, right?”

Christopher nods, but he doesn’t look up. “I’m not…I’m not human anymore, Eve. I’m just a Shade. We come when we’re called. When we’re…when we’re needed.” He glances up and meets her eyes. “You needed me, and I….” A small smile plays about the corner of his lips. “I came.”

(He didn’t have a choice. Ignoring it hurt more than dying had. He doesn’t say that, though.)

Eve squeezes his hand gently. “You saved me. Again.”

“I’m not sure I’d say—”

“You saved me.” Eve pushes a hand through his unkempt white hair, and where she touches, streaks of black stream through. Then her lips press together. “Don’t leave me again. All of that silence, I was just…I was scared, Christopher, and I needed you, and I couldn’t…. I kept trying to visit you, and your aunt and cousin—”

“Sister—”

“Right.” Eve runs a thumb along his cheek. “I couldn’t see you. They wouldn’t let me see you. And you said you needed rest, and I was just waiting.” Her brow furrows. “Don’t…don’t do that to me again.”

Christopher chuckles. “I don’t know if I could if I tried.” He leans across and brushes his nose against hers. “Do you want me to stay?”

His nose is cold. When he speaks, there’s no puff of breath, no warmth against her lips. And when Eve kisses him, his lips feel different. Not softer. Not harder. Just…different. And just as cold as the rest of him.

But….

“Please?” Eve asks, hand curling against his chest. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

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