Discover Top Posts Tagged with #mrs fletcher

The Visit (1/2)

‘Writing Partners’ Universe Masterlist

Pairing: Eve Fletcher x fem!reader

Summary: When her son Brendan is set to come home from college for a week back at home, Eve is faced with telling him the changes that have happened while he’s been away… that change being that she is not in a relationship with you, a woman closer to his age than her own.

Word Count: 9.8K

Warnings: smut warning so as always MDNI! Xo

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, here is my first Eve fic! I’m thinking of turning this version of Eve into a series like I have with director!reader and Maya etc what do we think? Xo

Eve Fletcher has got her cellphone balanced against her shoulder, a half drained glass of wine in her hand, pacing the narrow stretch of living room between the couch and the window. Every few steps she stops, sighs, and gestures with the glass like Amanda can see her through the phone.

“I just…” she starts, then groans, dragging a hand through her hair. “The last few times he’s come home, I’ve… I’ve pretended nothing’s different. Like I’m still… god, like I’m still the same person who packs his care packages and makes sure he’s got socks in his drawer. And now?” She cuts herself off with a laugh that’s too sharp, too nervous. “Now I’m supposed to what? Casually introduce him to the gorgeous twenty five year old woman I’m sleeping with?”

Amanda snorts in her ear. “Sleeping with? Honey, you’re in love with her. You’re glowing every time you say her name. He’s gonna see it the second you open your mouth.”

“Which is exactly what terrifies me,” Eve mutters, collapsing onto the arm of the sofa.

She takes a gulp of wine, wincing at how fast she empties the glass. “He’s only ever seen me with his dad, Amanda. The boring married version of me. I’ve never… I’ve never introduced him to anyone else. And this isn’t just anyone. It’s… it’s her. She’s younger, she’s smart, she’s…”

Eve shakes her head, eyes darting to the front door like she expects you to appear right then. “She’s everything I didn’t know I wanted until it was too late to turn back.”

Amanda softens. “Eve. He’s your kid, not your jailer. He doesn’t get to decide if you deserve happiness. And you do. You really, really do.”

Eve presses her lips together, blinking fast. “But what if he looks at her and sees all the things I already know? That I’m too old, that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with a woman, that one day she’s gonna wake up and realize she could have someone her own age who doesn’t panic over introducing her to their college aged son-”

Amanda cuts her off, firm now. “What if he looks at her and sees how much she loves you? Because that’s what the rest of us see.”

Eve opens her mouth, but the sharp click of a key in the front lock makes her freeze. Your key. She bolts upright, nearly sloshing wine onto the rug, her voice suddenly tight with panic and thrill. “Shit she’s home. I have to go.”

Amanda laughs knowingly. “Go, Romeo. We’ll finish this pep talk later.”

Eve fumbles to hang up the phone, glass trembling in her hand, heart pounding harder than she’ll admit. She sets the wine down and tries to compose herself before the door opens.

The door swings open and you stumble in with your bag slipping off your shoulder, keys jangling, hair mussed from the rush of the commute. You’re halfway through muttering an apology for being late when Eve is suddenly there, her wineglass abandoned on the table, phone forgotten on the couch, hands flying to your face.

“Hi,” she breathes, almost desperate, before she’s kissing you hard, her body pressed to yours like she needs the reassurance that you’re real.

You blink, startled, then let out a soft laugh against her lips, sagging into her hold. The stress in your shoulders bleeds out as her arms lock tight around your waist. She smells like merlot and that warm floral perfume she only wears when she’s nervous and wants to feel good.

When she finally pulls back, she’s breathless, eyes shining too brightly.

“God, that’s a good greeting,” you murmur, grinning even as your pulse stutters from the intensity. “You should do that more often.”

Her laugh comes out shaky, needy, and she tucks her face against your neck for a second like she can hide there.

“Don’t tempt me,” she says, voice low, clinging to you like she can’t quite let go.

You cup her face, thumb brushing over the heat in her cheek. She leans into the touch instantly, eyes fluttering closed, and when you kiss her lips this time, it’s softer, steadier, coaxing rather than urgent.

When you pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. “You look stressed,” you murmur, searching her expression. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re still nervous about workshop night. You always kill it.”

Eve lets out a laugh that’s half groan, half sigh, her hands tightening on your waist. “God, remember when you used to sit across from me, scribbling in that leather notebook like you were auditioning for a part in Dead Poets Society? I thought I was the one staring too much until I realized you knew every word I read out loud.”

You smile, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Maybe I was just… invested.”

“Uh huh,” she says, voice catching on a fond laugh, before she exhales, shoulders sinking.

Her eyes flick away like she’s gathering courage. “It’s not class, babe. It’s Brendan. He’s coming home for reading week.”

You still, the warmth between you edged with new tension. Your stomach sinks before you can stop it.

“Okay,” you say carefully, trying to keep your voice even, though something hollow creeps in.

Last time Brendan had been home, she’d dropped everything, your dinners cancelled, calls unanswered, you left orbiting her life from a distance while she slipped back into mom mode. You’d told yourself you understood, but it had stung all the same.

Eve’s eyes widen when she catches the flicker in yours. She shakes her head quickly, squeezing your waist like she’s afraid you’ll pull back. “No, no, hey. It’s not like last time. I don’t want to pretend nothing’s different anymore. I want…” She swallows, and for once her voice falters. “I want to introduce you to him.”

You blink at her, heart stumbling, sure you must have misheard.

“Really?” The word slips out small, breathless, your eyes wide as you search her face for any trace of doubt.

Her laugh is shaky, a little self-conscious, but she nods anyway, both hands cradling your face like she needs you to believe her. “Really. You’re not… you’re not some secret I’m keeping in my bedroom. You’re my girlfriend. You’re the first person I’ve cared about since-” she cuts herself off, shaking her head again, lips trembling into a nervous smile. “Since everything. I don’t want to hide you.”

Your lips twitch into a smile, small at first, then blooming wider until it hits your whole face. Before Eve can blink, you surge forward and kiss her hard, all teeth and warmth and certainty. She lets out a startled sound against your mouth, then melts, clutching at your back like you’re the only solid thing in the room.

It should be enough, that reassurance, but the heat that rises in her chest is greedy. Because here she is, Eve Fletcher, forty something suburban divorcée, with her hands buried in the hair of a gorgeous, needy twenty five year old woman who can’t seem to get enough of her.

A year ago, her life was microwaving dinners for her son and falling asleep with the TV on. Now she’s got you gasping into her mouth, tugging her closer, and all she can think is mine.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to pant, eyes wide and dark, lips swollen from your mouth.

“Jesus, you have no idea what you do to me,” she whispers, voice rough with disbelief. “A year ago I didn’t even know I wanted this, and now…” her hands slip under your shirt, greedy for skin. “Now I can’t stop.”

The kiss deepens before either of you can think to stop it. Eve walks you backwards, her mouth hungry on yours, until the back of your knees hit the couch. You tumble down together, her hand splayed over your ribs, and suddenly you’re on her lap, knees bracketing her hips, both of you breathless.

You whimper when her tongue flicks against yours, the sound muffled into her mouth, and she groans like it goes straight through her. Her hands slide down to your hips, clutching tight as if she can’t believe you’re real, pulling you closer until you can feel the tremor in her chest.

“God, look at you,” she pants when she finally tears her mouth from yours, dragging her lips down to your throat. “Twenty five, beautiful, and you’re sitting here whimpering for me. You know a year ago the only thing in this house that touched me was the remote control?”

You laugh, shaky and breathless, grinding down against her just to feel the way her body reacts. “Guess you’ve upgraded.”

Her head falls back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth finds hers again. She’s dizzy with it, the weight of you straddling her, the need in your little sounds, the wild, impossible truth that you want her. Her hands shake as they slide up your back, but she holds on tighter, like she’s terrified you’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.

Eve’s kisses get frantic, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as her hands drag under your shirt. She palms your sides, hesitates when her fingers brush the edge of your bra, and you feel the shiver run through her. When she finally cups your breast, she freezes like she’s scared to do it wrong, her breathing ragged.

“Oh, god…” she whispers, thumb brushing over the thin fabric. Her wide eyes flick up to yours, flushed and almost panicked at how much she wants this.

The sheer awe on her face makes you giggle softly, though it comes out half-whimper. “Still nervous?” you tease, arching into her hand.

She shakes her head, laughing breathlessly, forehead knocking against yours. “Not nervous, just… holy shit. I’ll never get used to this.”

Her words make heat pool low in your belly. You kiss her hard, desperate, and guide her hand firmer against your breast while your own hand slips between her thighs. She gasps, thighs parting under your touch, and then she’s fumbling at the button of your jeans, too frantic to be smooth.

In the next rush of kissing and tugging fabric, you end up tangled together on the couch cushions, your hand down her panties, hers shoved inside yours. Your moans mix, sloppy and breathless, as you finger each other in rhythm, hips rocking into every thrust.

“Fuck!” Eve gasps, nails digging into your skin as your fingers curl inside her. She can’t stop kissing you between moans, lips dragging across your cheek, your throat, back to your mouth. “You’re gonna kill me, oh my god…”

The sound of the sheer desperation in her voice makes you whimper against her lips as her fingers press deeper inside you, knuckles brushing. She holds you tight, both of you trembling as you fuck each other, like neither of you can get close enough. Every time you thrust into her, she gasps into your mouth, her hips jerking up to meet you, nails biting crescents into your skin.

“Fuck, Eve,” you whimper, forehead pressed to hers, both of you slick with sweat. She’s flushed all the way down her throat, hair sticking to her temples, eyes glassy with need.

Her fingers curl deep inside you and you cry out, clamping down around her, your thighs shaking as you clutch her wrist to keep her there. “That’s it, that’s it,” she pants, watching your face like she’s memorizing it, her free hand sliding up your back to hold you against her.

You pump into her harder, crooking your fingers until she’s keening, biting your shoulder to muffle the sound. She ruts into your hand shamelessly, her breath breaking against your skin. “Jesus Christ, I can’t- god, fuck!” She gasps, voice high and cracked with disbelief.

You giggle through your own moans, the sound desperate and sweet all at once. “Still in awe?” you tease, though it dissolves into a sharp cry when she pushes deeper, grinding her palm against your clit.

“Always,” she groans, kissing you hard, messy, teeth clashing. Her fingers move faster, matching the pace of yours, and soon you’re both writhing together, fucking each other’s hands with no rhythm left, just need.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your bodies, the frantic slap of skin, the sharp little cries you drag out of each other. It’s clumsy, hungry, and perfect, two women clutching and gasping and spilling over the edge together, too desperate to stop.

You’re both still rutting into each other’s hands, even as your thighs quake and your lungs burn. Every thrust now is sloppy, uneven, but you can’t stop, can’t pull away from her heat. Eve’s lips are everywhere, your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again, frantic and wet.

“Don’t stop,” she begs, voice breaking against your lips. “Baby, please, I can’t- don’t stop!”

Her fingers twitch deep inside you, and you cry out, rocking down harder, chasing the drag of her palm against your clit. Your own hand is soaked, your wrist aching from the way she’s bucking into you, but the desperate sounds she’s making spur you on.

“Fuck, Eve!” Your voice cracks, head falling onto her shoulder as another shudder rips through you. Your whole body pulses around her fingers, your hips stuttering, but you keep pumping into her, needing her to fall with you.

She does, all at once, clenching hard around you, biting down on your shoulder to muffle the sob that bursts out of her. Her thighs snap tight around your wrist, her whole body jerking as she comes, and you cling to each other through it, nails digging, mouths colliding in frantic kisses.

You both collapse, still tangled on the couch, her hand trapped between your thighs, yours buried in hers. Neither of you moves to pull out, too raw, too shaky, too unwilling to let the connection break.

She’s panting into your mouth, hair sticking to her flushed face, voice rough and wrecked. And then she kisses you again, messy and needy, like she’s still not convinced you’re real.

Your fingers are still buried in her, slick and pulsing, and every little twitch of your hand makes her gasp, makes her hips buck weakly into you. She’s the same, knuckles pressed deep inside you, palm grinding slow and messy against your clit. Neither of you has the strength for rhythm anymore, but you keep moving anyway, desperate to hold onto it.

“Can’t stop,” she pants, her forehead slick against yours. “I can’t fucking stop touching you…”

You whimper, clinging tighter, rocking down hard even though your thighs are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself up. “Don’t. Don’t stop, Eve please…”

Her eyes flutter shut, her face crumpling like the force of it is too much. She thrusts her fingers deeper into you and you both cry out, the sound messy and desperate, filling the quiet house.

You’re both trembling, bodies stuck together with sweat, hands slipping, still rutting clumsily into each other’s palms even as your muscles spasm with aftershocks. It’s too much, too intense, but neither of you will let go.

The second orgasm tears through you harsher than the first, a raw cry ripped out of your chest as your body convulses around her hand. Eve feels it, gasps your name, and comes undone with you, bucking wildly into your hand, sobbing against your lips as she squirts messily across your fingers.

You’re both left shaking violently, still thrusting weakly into each other even though it’s unbearable, too much, almost painful. Eve’s sobbing laugh breaks into another needy kiss, her voice hoarse as she whispers, “Oh my god. Oh my god, baby, I can’t- fuck, I can’t believe I’ve missed this my whole life.”

Your thighs are quaking, your chest heaving, every nerve lit up raw. Eve’s still thrusting inside you, desperate, her own hips jerking against your hand. It’s too much, white hot, almost unbearable, and the cry rips out of you before you can stop it.

“Ahh baby, I can’t, I can’t-”

The moment the words leave your mouth, she freezes, pulling her fingers out at once, arms locking around you.

“Okay, okay, shhh, it’s okay,” she pants, kissing your face, your jaw, your lips in frantic succession. “You did so good for me, baby. So good.”

You sag against her, whimpering into her mouth, and she catches you, kissing you hard. It’s sloppy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, nothing but need and relief.

Her hand’s still trembling against your hip, slick and shaking, but she doesn’t try to touch you again. She just holds you, kissing you over and over, like if she keeps her mouth on yours she won’t lose you to the haze.

You whimper into her, clinging back just as tightly, tears and sweat mixing between you. The frantic rutting has melted into messy, endless kisses, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths, too wrecked to stop.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispers when she finally drags her lips off yours, forehead pressed to yours, her voice raw with awe. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

You giggle breathlessly, kissing her again. “Yeah, well… you’re stuck with me now.”

Her laugh breaks into another kiss, shaky and hungry, like she believes you but needs to taste it just to be sure.

You’re curled into each other, a tangle of limbs and sweat, her mouth still brushing lazy kisses against your temple when a sharp, acrid smell hits the air.

Eve stiffens, sniffs once, and then bolts upright. “Oh, shit- fuck, dinner!”

You blink, dazed, as she scrambles out from under you, fumbling to tug her jeans halfway up her hips as she dashes for the kitchen. You flop back against the couch cushions, laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath.

By the time you follow, she’s yanking open the oven door with a curse. A wave of burnt smoke billows out, making her cough as she pulls out a blackened tray of what was once chicken.

She sets it down with a dramatic groan, shoulders slumping. “Well. That was supposed to be romantic.”

You lean against the counter, still giggling, your cheeks aching from smiling. “Babe, you just made me come multiple times on the couch. I think we’re doing fine.”

Her laugh is half a groan, half a sigh, as she waves at the ruined pan. “So what, we just starve?”

You wrap your arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, still grinning. “Or, and hear me out, we order in.”

She turns her head, catches your lips in a quick, sloppy kiss, and groans again. “God, I love you. But I’m still never living this down.”

You end up sprawled back on the couch, Eve with her phone in hand scrolling through takeout options while you tuck yourself into her side, head on her shoulder. She smells faintly of smoke from the oven and the wine she abandoned, but mostly just like her, warm and soft and safe.

“So,” she says, kissing the top of your head before tilting the phone so you can see. “Thai or pizza? And before you answer, I should tell you I’m absolutely getting extra spring rolls no matter what.”

You laugh, nuzzling closer. “Then Thai it is!”

She grins, taps the order in, then tosses the phone aside. Her arms curl around you, pulling you fully into her lap this time, like she can’t stand even an inch of space.

“Tell me about work,” she murmurs, chin resting on your hair. “Any wild librarian drama today? Did someone finally try to steal the sexy historical fiction you just got in?”

You giggle, pinching her side. “If you want to read Tudor smut just tell me I’ll take one out.”

“Only if you roleplay my favourite scenes” Eve jokes.

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers. “My day was mostly just reshelving, and one kid who thought whispering meant yelling at half volume. I worked on my creative writing piece for next week in my spare time. Nothing wild.”

She hums, clearly pleased just to listen, her hand absently rubbing circles on your back.

For a few blissful minutes it’s only the sound of your breathing, her heartbeat under your ear, the faint hum of the oven fan still airing out the burnt dinner smell. Then you shift slightly, your voice quieter when you ask, “What about Brendan? How are you going to… you know. Introduce me?”

Her whole body goes still beneath you, arms tightening just a fraction like she’s bracing herself.

Eve lets out a rough little laugh, the kind that comes out more like a cough, and tips her head back against the couch.

“God, I don’t know,” she admits, rubbing a hand over her face. “How do you even… how do you even start that conversation? Like hey, Brendan, meet my girlfriend I met in my creative writing class, she’s gorgeous, twenty five, and actually likes me for some insane reason? That’ll go over great.”

You tilt your head up, watching her. “Eve…”

She drops her hand, looking at you with wide, nervous eyes. “He’s only ever seen me with his dad, you know? Like the boring married version of me who made meatloaf and PTA cupcakes and didn’t… didn’t even know this part of myself existed.” She gestures helplessly between you with both hands, voice going higher as the words tumble out. “And now what, he’s supposed to just accept that his mom…” she lowers her voice into a harsh whisper, “…likes women now? And that I’m with someone closer to his age than mine?”

Her voice cracks, and she lets out another shaky laugh, shaking her head. “He’s gonna think I’ve completely lost my mind.”

You slide your hand up to her cheek, stroking gently, but she’s still spiraling, chewing her lip. “I want him to meet you. God, I need him to meet you. But the idea of watching his face when he realizes who you are to me? That scares the hell out of me.”

You shift onto your knees in her lap, hands cupping her face to make her look at you. Her eyes are wide and frantic, her mouth still half open like she’s ready to keep unraveling, but you lean in and kiss her before she can.

It’s slow and steady, the opposite of the desperate mess on the couch earlier. Just your lips on hers, coaxing, reminding. You kiss her again, and again, until she exhales against your mouth, her shoulders loosening beneath your hands.

When you finally pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. “Eve. You’re overthinking it. He’s gonna have whatever reaction he has, but that doesn’t change this.” You kiss her softly, your thumb brushing over the damp heat of her cheek. “I love you.”

Her breath hitches. She stares at you like she’s trying to memorize your face, the words, everything. Then she laughs, a shaky, watery sound, and kisses you hard, like she can’t hold it in.

“You’re too good for me,” she whispers against your lips, clutching you tight. “God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but don’t you dare leave me, okay?”

You kiss her again, firmer, your smile brushing her mouth. “Not going anywhere.”

~

Eve is halfway through reviewing the week’s activity board at the senior center, a red marker uncapped in her hand, when her phone buzzes against the desk. She doesn’t expect much, usually just calendar reminders or Amanda texting her from down the hall, but when she sees your name, her chest tightens.

*Y/N: Can I come over after work? It’s been horrible. I just need to crawl into your bed and smell you.*

For a moment she just stares, lips tugging upward, cheeks going warm. For a woman who’s spent so many years feeling like an afterthought, it’s almost unbearable how much it means.

She types back quickly, her thumbs flying.

*Eve: Oh baby. Yes. Yes, of course. Come straight over. My bed’s your bed.*

*Eve: We’ll talk tonight, before Brendan gets home. I promise.*

She stares at the words for a moment, then presses send, her lips curving into a private, wistful smile. The red marker is still bleeding faintly onto the paper in her other hand, forgotten.

Eve’s still staring down at her phone, thumb hovering like she might type something else, when the office door creaks open.

“Well, somebody’s glowing,” Amanda drawls, leaning against the frame with her arms folded. “What’s got you smiling like you just won the lottery?”

Eve startles, fumbling to cap her red marker like she’s been caught doing something illicit. “Oh, nothing, I was just…” she tries to shove her phone under a file, but Amanda raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. ‘Nothing’ looks an awful lot like you sexting in the middle of bingo planning.”

“It was not sexting,” Eve hisses, cheeks blazing.

Amanda smirks. “Then what? Don’t tell me your little librarian girlfriend didn’t just send you something that made you all soft.”

Eve groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, can you not call her that? And it wasn’t… it was just…” She exhales, slumping back in her chair, the fight draining out of her. “She had a rough day. Wanted to come over. Crawl into bed, smell me, that kind of thing.”

Amanda’s smirk softens into something closer to a smile. “That’s… actually really sweet.”

“Yeah.” Eve’s voice cracks on the word, her hand tightening on the phone like it’s an anchor. “It is. And I want her there. But then Brendan’s coming home tonight and…”

Amanda steps inside, shuts the door with her foot. “So today’s the day.”

Eve’s head jerks up. “What?”

“You’re gonna introduce him. You’ve been putting it off long enough. Hiding her away when he visits? That’s not fair to either of you.”

“I know,” Eve mutters, voice small. She picks at the edge of the paper on her desk, chewing her lip. “I just… he’s only ever seen me with his dad. He has no idea. And she’s so young, Amanda. He’s going to take one look at us and think I’ve completely lost it.”

Amanda drops into the chair opposite Eve’s desk, crossing her legs. “He’s not gonna love it right away, sure. But he doesn’t get to dictate your happiness.” She smirks, then softens. “Besides, anyone with eyes can tell she’s crazy about you.”

Amanda leans forward, smirking. “And hey, if he’s a little prick about it, we can all go out drinking after he leaves. My treat.”

Eve hesitates, chewing her lip. “I don’t know about that…”

Amanda raises an eyebrow. “What, you suddenly too classy for tequila shots?”

Eve huffs out a laugh, but she’s wringing her hands in her lap. “It’s not that. It’s just…” she sighs, glances down at her phone where your name still lingers on the screen.

“She… doesn’t exactly love it when your name comes up,” Eve admits carefully. “It makes her uncomfortable, knowing we…” she waves vaguely between them, grimacing. “You know.”

Amanda blinks, then lets out a short laugh. “Ah. The infamous hookup.”

Eve winces. “I told her it was nothing, but…”

“It was nothing,” Amanda says quickly, her teasing tone slipping into something steadier. She leans back in the chair, arms crossing. “And look, I don’t blame her. If I were her age and dating you? I’d want to scratch the eyes out of anyone who ever touched you, even once.”

Eve laughs, a little helplessly. “God.”

Amanda shrugs, but her expression softens. “I’m not here to make her jealous or to get in the way, it’s not like I’m sitting here waiting to pounce if you slip. She’s the one you go home to. She’s the one you… smell, apparently.”

Eve groans, covering her face. “Oh my god.”

Amanda chuckles, then sobers. “Look. I get it. I’d… actually like to fix it, if she’ll let me.”

Eve peeks at her through her fingers, hopeful. “Really?”

“Really. She matters to you. That means she matters to me. So if she ever wants to hash it out, I’m here. Until then, I’ll try to keep my big flirty mouth shut.”

That draws a laugh out of Eve, shaky but real. “God, thank you.”

Eve watches Amanda rise from the chair, smoothing her skirt like she hasn’t just dismantled the knot sitting in Eve’s chest.

“Alright,” Amanda says, tone lighter again. “I’ll let you get back to your senior empire and burnt casseroles. Just… don’t let that kid shake you, okay? You’ve got something good. Hold on to it.”

Eve swallows, nodding, her throat too tight to answer properly.

Amanda gives her one last look, softer than usual, less teasing, and slips out of the office, leaving the door cracked behind her.

The silence closes in. The marker sits forgotten on the desk, her phone still glowing with your name and the text that made her heart ache in the best way. Eve leans back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing.

Amanda was right. About Brendan. About you. About everything, really.

But the truth still gnaws at her: you don’t like Amanda, and Eve doesn’t blame you. The thought of you feeling uncomfortable and jealous twists something deep in her gut. She doesn’t want anything to make you feel less safe in what you have together.

She picks up her phone again, fingers tracing your name on the screen, and murmurs to the empty room, “God, I hope I don’t screw this up.”

~

Meanwhile, the key slides into the lock of Eve’s home smoother than your own front door, like it’s been waiting for you. Eve gave it to you weeks ago, pressed it into your palm with a sheepish smile and a muttered, “You’re here more than you’re not, might as well.”

Now you use it without hesitation, shouldering the door open with a sigh that seems to empty all the fight out of you. The house is quiet, Eve’s still at the senior center, but her presence lingers everywhere: the throw blanket on the couch, the faint smell of her shampoo, the stack of paperbacks on the end table that she keeps swearing she’ll finish.

You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes, every step heavier than the last. It’s been a brutal day, and all you can think about is her bed. The sheets that smell like her. The dent in the pillow where she curls at night.

By the time you reach the bedroom, you’re already pulling your cardigan off, letting it fall on the chair. You crawl onto the mattress without even bothering to change, burying your face in her pillow, inhaling until your chest aches. The scent of her wraps around you like a balm.

It shouldn’t feel this easy, this natural. You’ve only been together for months, not years. And yet lying here in her bed, in her space, feels more like home than anywhere else you’ve been in years.

You squeeze your eyes shut, clutching the pillow tighter. Is it too soon to want this? Too soon to imagine just… staying?

You drift under quickly, face buried in Eve’s pillow, the rhythm of her house holding you steady. It’s stupid how much you love it here. How much you want to stay. Your last thought before sleep takes you is maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy to move in someday soon.

A couple of hours later a sound wakes you. A clatter, then the low thud of a fridge door closing. You blink groggily, rubbing your eyes, heart skipping. Eve. She must be home early.

Smiling sleepily, you slide off the bed and pad barefoot down the hall, the floor cool under your toes. “Eve?” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

You round the corner into the kitchen and freeze.

It’s not Eve.

It’s Brendan.

He’s half bent in front of the fridge, a soda can in his hand, earbuds dangling around his neck. When he looks up and sees you standing there in his mother’s pyjamas , hair mussed from her pillow, both of you stop dead.

The silence is suffocating. His eyes widen, narrowing almost instantly as his brain catches up. Your heart lurches into your throat, every sleepy trace of softness gone, replaced by the cold realization that he has no clue who the fuck you are.

You stand there, frozen in the kitchen doorway, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound between you.

“Who the fuck are you?”

His voice cuts the air like a knife. Brendan straightens from the fridge, soda forgotten in his hand, his eyes flicking over you, mussed hair, bare feet, wearing his mothers pyjamas. His expression curdles fast.

Your throat goes dry. Eve hasn’t told him yet. You weren’t supposed to meet him like this. You force your lips into something that might pass for a smile.

“I’m, uh… I’m Eve’s-” you stop yourself, pulse thundering in your ears. You tell yourself don’t say it, don’t say girlfriend. “I’m Y/N. We, um… we met at her writing class. At the community college?”

He squints, suspicion written all over his face. “Okay. And what are you doing in my house?”

You laugh nervously, scratching the back of your neck. “Oh just, uh, napping.”

His stare sharpens.

“My, um… my apartment flooded. So I’ve been staying with Eve for a little while.” The lie tumbles out before you can stop it, thin and flimsy, but it’s all your panic fried brain can come up with.

The silence stretches, heavy and hostile. Brendan’s eyes flick over you again, slow and pointed, and you feel heat crawl up your neck. You’ve never wanted Eve to walk through the door more badly in your life.

Brendan’s suspicion doesn’t fade, but it twists, sharp edges blunting into something worse: that cocky grin that you can already tell he thinks makes him look older than he is. He leans back against the counter, soda can dangling lazily from his fingers, his eyes raking over you in a way that makes every muscle in your body tighten.

“So…” he says slowly, drawing it out like he’s setting up a joke, “you’re one of my mom’s classmates, huh? Didn’t realize she was hanging out with people who looked like you.”

Your mouth goes dry. You force a small laugh, arms crossing tight over your chest, trying to hide in plain sight. “Uh. Yeah. Writing class.”

He pops the soda tab with a sharp crack, the hiss of carbonation filling the silence as he tips it back for a long swallow. His eyes never leave yours. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking. “She didn’t tell me she was bringing anyone home. Not that I’m complaining. Beats walking into casseroles and scented candles.”

You want to vomit. His gaze is openly appraising, his voice dipping into something he probably thinks is smooth but just makes your skin crawl. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing you’d stayed upstairs, wishing Eve were here to block his view.

He gestures vaguely toward you with the soda can. “So your place floods, and what? Mom brings you here?” His grin sharpens. “Kinda feels like fate, doesn’t it? You, me, under the same roof.”

You choke out a laugh that sounds all wrong, clutching the edge of the counter for balance. “It’s, um… it’s just temporary. Until things get sorted.”

“Mhm.” He sets the can down with a heavy thunk, then plants his palms on the counter behind him, leaning forward just enough that it feels deliberate. His eyes flick down your body, then back up, slow and unhurried. “Well, while it lasts, guess that makes you my roommate.”

The words hang between you, heavy and vile. Your pulse thuds in your ears. He’s smiling like he’s clever, like this is a game. You can feel sweat prickling at the back of your neck, every nerve screaming for the sound of the front door opening, for Eve’s voice to cut through this horrible charged silence.

Instead, Brendan grins wider, pushing it further. “So what do you write about, huh? Poetry?” He chuckles.

Your stomach lurches. He has no idea who I am. No idea who I’m with. You paste on the weakest smile of your life, praying you can get out of the kitchen before your legs give out.

“Mainly short stories,” you manage weakly.

Brendan’s grin stretches, cocky in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Bet it’s weird, huh? Crashing here, not knowing anyone our age. Good thing I showed up. Now you’ve got company.”

Your fingers tighten on the counter edge. He thinks he’s being charming, leaning back like he owns the place, eyebrows raised, his eyes lingering just a little too long where they shouldn’t. You swallow hard, paste on the politest smile you can muster. “So… how’s college? Settling in okay?”

He blinks at the shift, then smirks, like you’ve just served him a setup line. “College is fine. Classes, parties, whatever. Nothing as interesting as this, though.” His hand flicks vaguely in your direction, as though you’re an anecdote, not a person. “Way better welcome home than I expected.”

You force a laugh that sounds brittle, folding your arms tighter over your chest. “Well… glad to liven up your fridge raid, I guess.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, soda can dangling from his fingers. “You kidding? I walk in and there’s this hot girl in my kitchen. What am I supposed to do, not say anything? That’d be rude.”

Your skin prickles. “You did say something,” you murmur, trying to edge the conversation back onto safer ground. “Your mom must be happy you’re home for reading week. Bet she misses you.”

He rolls his eyes, taking a swig. “Yeah, yeah. Mom stuff. She’ll probably cry about how grown up I look or whatever.” He wipes his mouth.

Your stomach flips. You take half a step back, wishing you could melt into the wall. “So… what’s your major?” you blurt, too fast, too bright.

He smirks, clearly amused at your deflection. “Business. Boring, I know. But hey, pays better than poetry, right?” He chuckles at his own joke, utterly oblivious to the way your smile has frozen, your arms locked tight across your chest.

You nod quickly, pulse pounding, silently begging for the sound of the front door to open.

The sound of the front door had barely registered before Eve was there in the kitchen doorway, a paper grocery bag balanced on her hip. She froze when her eyes landed on the scene: Brendan leaning against the counter with a soda can in hand, you standing stiff in her pyjamas, arms crossed like a shield.

“Oh my god,” she blurted, setting the bag down with a thud that made a box of pasta rattle. “You- you’re here. Already. I thought- I thought you weren’t getting in until tonight.”

Brendan shrugged, casual, popping the tab of his soda again just to have something to do with his hands. “Yeah, I got a ride. Beat the traffic.” He said it like it was obvious, like she was ridiculous for being surprised.

“Right. Okay.” Eve’s laugh was too high, too fast. She brushed her hair out of her face, eyes darting between you both like she could rewind time if she blinked hard enough. “Well, god, you- you look… you look good. Uh, how’s college?”

He rolled his eyes, already bored. “It’s fine.”

“Fine,” she echoed, nodding too quickly. “Okay. Good. Fine is… fine is good.” She grabbed for a head of lettuce sticking out of the bag, set it on the counter like she needed to do something with her hands. “Classes going okay?”

“Yeah.” He sipped his soda, eyes sliding to his phone. His thumbs were already moving, screen lighting his face, his attention elsewhere. “Same as always.”

Eve pressed her lips together, the silence stretching. Her hand fluttered helplessly in the air before she pointed vaguely toward the stairs. “Why don’t you, um, take your bags up to your room? Get settled in a little?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pushed off the counter, still scrolling as he headed for the hallway. “Later.”

Eve stood frozen until his footsteps started up the stairs. Then she spun toward you, eyes wide, voice a rushed whisper. “What happened?”

Heat rushed to your face. “I- he asked who I was, and I panicked! I said I was your classmate from the writing group, and then when he asked what I was doing here I-I told him my apartment flooded.” The words tumbled out fast, clumsy, your stomach twisting. “It was all I could think of.”

Eve stares at you, stunned. “You…oh my god.” She drags her hands down her face, muffling a groan. “Okay. Okay, it’s fine. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. Jesus, I wanted to do this right.”

Your chest clenched, heat crawling up your face. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice thin. “I didn’t know what else to say. I just… I ruined it, didn’t I?”

Your eyes blurred, tears threatening, the weight of it pressing down like stones.

And that was all it took. Eve’s expression cracked instantly, panic dissolving into guilt. “No, no, hey- oh, baby, no.” She crossed the space in two strides, wrapping her arms tight around you, pulling you against her chest. “You didn’t ruin anything. This is on me, okay? I should’ve been here. I should’ve told him sooner.”

Eve kept rubbing your back, her voice rushing out in those nervous, jagged bursts. “I’ll figure this out, okay? I just- I need to rethink, reframe, maybe sit him down tonight…”

You shook your head, stepping back from her arms, wiping at your damp cheeks. “I shouldn’t be here right now.”

Her face fell. “What? No, don’t-”

“Just say I’m staying at a different friend’s tonight,” you blurted, already turning toward the stairs. “I’m gonna pack my bag, get out of your hair. You… you need time with him. Alone.”

“Y/N-”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, panic threading through every word. “I just- I can’t stay. Not after…” you stopped yourself, swallowing hard.

The memory of Brendan’s smirk, the way his eyes dragged over you, made your stomach twist. But you couldn’t say it. Couldn’t add that weight on her shoulders right now.

Eve’s hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, torn in two directions. “Baby, I don’t want you to feel like you have to go…”

“I do,” you whispered.

And for a long, aching moment, she just looked at you, all her need to hold you warring with the guilt in her eyes. Finally she nodded, her shoulders slumping. “Okay. If that’s what you need. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him understand.”

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to hold back more tears, then hurried upstairs. Eve stood rooted to the kitchen floor, listening to the faint sounds of you moving around her bedroom which was your bedroom, too, in so many ways, before the silence fell heavy again.

She pressed both hands to her face, whispering to the empty room, “Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing.”

You came down the stairs with your bag over your shoulder, shoes in hand, trying to move quietly. Eve was waiting in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, chewing her lip raw. When she saw you, her face crumpled.

“Baby…” she started, reaching out like she might catch your wrist, but you shook your head, blinking fast.

“I just… I need to get out of here.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t stay.”

Her hand hovered in the air, trembling before she pulled it back to her chest. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go,” she whispered, voice soft, frantic under the hush. “I hate this. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to be standing next to you when he met you.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you forced a smile that felt like splintering glass. “I ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“No, no…” she shook her head hard, stepping closer, lowering her voice like Brendan might hear from upstairs. “This isn’t you. This is me. I should’ve told him sooner. I should’ve been here.” Her hands fluttered helplessly before she finally cupped your face, kissed your forehead in a rush. “I love you. Please don’t forget that.”

You nodded, blinking back tears, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Good luck.”

The front door shut behind you with a quiet click.

Eve stood staring at it, heart aching, arms wrapped tight around herself like she could still hold the shape of you.

“Hey, Mom?” Brendan’s voice floated down from upstairs, casual. “When’s dinner?”

Eve startled, wiping at her face with the heel of her hand. She turned back toward the kitchen, her voice pitched too bright. “In a bit!”

She pulled the groceries onto the counter with shaking hands, every movement mechanical, her mind still half at the door where you’d just slipped away.

Eves makes something simple enough, setting the plates down on the table, the steam curling in the space between them. She smoothed her palms down her jeans like that would still her hands, then raised her voice toward the stairs.

“Brendan! Dinner!”

A beat later came the heavy thud of footsteps. He ambled in, phone in one hand, still typing as he dropped into his chair with barely a glance at her.

“Smells good,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.

Eve sat opposite him, forcing a smile that felt brittle. She watched him shovel a forkful of pasta into his mouth without looking up, her stomach knotting tighter. She opened her mouth twice before the words would come.

“Hey, uh… could you…” she gestured vaguely at his hand, her voice catching. “Could you maybe put your phone down for a minute?”

He didn’t look up. “I’m listening.”

“Brendan.” Her voice firmed just a little, the way it used to when he was small. “Please. Put it down.”

He sighed like it was the biggest ask in the world, but finally set the phone screen down beside his plate. “Okay. What’s up?”

Eve twisted her napkin in her lap, then forced her hands flat on the table, like she was bracing herself. “So… I wanted to talk to you about something. Something important.”

Brendan’s brows pulled together, wary but already impatient. “Okay…”

She took a shaky breath. “You’ve only ever seen me as your mom. Which, I mean, I am, obviously, but I’m also… I’m a person, too. And part of being a person is… sometimes you meet someone new. And it changes things.”

Brendan’s eyes narrowed. “Changes what things?”

Eve winced at her own phrasing, backpedaling fast. “Not- not us. Not you and me. Just… my life. My…” She swallowed, lips pressing together. “

Eve’s fingers twisted the napkin into a rope, her voice wobbling as she started again. “There’s, um… there’s someone I’ve been seeing. Someone important to me. And I want you to know.”

Brendan snorted, dropping his fork with a clatter. “Wait, what? You met a guy?” He leaned back in his chair. “Jesus, Mom, don’t tell me you’re gonna marry some rando. I do not want a stepdad.”

Eve blinked, thrown. “What? No, it’s not-” she hesitated, breath catching, then forced the word out. “It’s… not a man. It’s a woman.”

His eyes widened, his voice going sharp. “A her? The fuck? You’re- you’re with a woman?”

Eve flinched at his tone, but sat up straighter. “Yes.”

“But you’re not gay,” Brendan blurted, waving his hands like he could knock the idea out of the air. “You were married to Dad! You- you’re not gay!”

Eve’s throat worked. She let out a jagged laugh, shaky and defensive. “Well, apparently there’s… more to me than you realized.” She leaned forward, her palms flat against the table like she could keep herself steady. “This isn’t about labels, Brendan. It’s about the fact that I’ve met someone who makes me happy.”

Brendan stared at her, soda forgotten at his elbow. “Wait, so, you’re, what, dating a woman now?”

Eve’s fingers twisted the napkin tighter. “Yes. I am.”

He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, Mom. I don’t… I don’t wanna think about that. Just- can you not? Just be my mom, okay? You don’t have to… ” he waved vaguely, grimacing. “Go experimenting now.”

Eve’s chest tightened. “It’s not an experiment, Brendan. This is my life.”

“Yeah, but- who even is she? Some dyke from your writing class?” The word landed flat, ugly, like he didn’t even understand the weight of it.

Eve’s mouth fell open, her face crumpling. “Hey. You do not get to talk to me like that.” Her voice cracked, sharper than she meant it, but she pressed on. “And you do not get to talk about her like that either.”

Brendan looked away, jaw tight, picking up his fork again like he could stab his way out of the conversation. “I just don’t get it.”

Eve swallowed, blinking fast, her own voice softening. “I don’t expect you to get it right now. But I need you to respect it.”

Eve twisted her napkin, words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to bridge the gap. “Look, it’s not some stranger, okay? It’s not like I picked somebody off the street. It’s…” her throat worked, her voice wobbling. “It’s someone you’ve actually met.”

Brendan’s head snapped up, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “Who?”

Eve hesitated, then forced it out. “Y/N.”

For a second, he just blinked. Then he let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Her? No way. She’s not gay. She’s hot. I literally just hit on her in the kitchen.”

Eve’s chair screeched against the tile as she shot upright. “You what?!”

Brendan flinched at her volume, holding up his hands. “Relax, I didn’t know she was with you! You didn’t tell me anything!”

But Eve was already pacing, her hands in her hair, eyes wild. “Oh my god, Brendan! Are you serious? You- you thought it was okay to-” she broke off, groaning, pressing her palms into her face. “Jesus Christ.”

Brendan frowned, defensive. “How was I supposed to know? You said she was your friend from class. She didn’t exactly correct me.”

Eve dropped her hands, her voice shaking between fury and disbelief. “She was probably too uncomfortable to know what to say! God, Brendan, do you have any idea how that must’ve felt for her?”

Eve’s hands were still in her hair, pacing tight little circles in the kitchen. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Hitting on her? She’s-” her voice cracked. “She’s important to me, Brendan.”

He threw his fork down, metal clattering against the plate. “What about how I feel, huh? Did you think about that? I come home, and suddenly my mom’s shacking up with some twenty something chick!”

“Don’t you dare,” Eve cut in, her voice sharp, trembling.

“It’s gross!” he snapped, pushing back from the table. His chair scraped loud against the tile. “I don’t wanna picture you like that. I don’t wanna- it’s just fucking gross” he waved his hands, grimacing.

“I am your mother!” Eve shouted, her voice cracking. “That doesn’t stop because I want more for my life!”

“Then be my mom!” Brendan shot back, eyes blazing. “Not… this! Not whatever the fuck this is!”

The words hung in the air like a slap. Eve staggered back a step, her face crumpling, all the fight and fury trembling out of her. She opened her mouth once, twice, but nothing came out.

Brendan stood rigid, breathing hard, his phone buzzing faintly on the table. Neither of them moved.

Brendan’s face was flushed, his voice rising. “She’s my age, Mom. Practically my age! You don’t see how messed up that is? It’s gross. Just be a mom for fuck’s sake!”

Eve flinched like he’d hit her. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to keep herself steady. “That’s all I’ve been,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “For years, Brendan. That’s all I’ve done. Packed your lunches, kept the house together, showed up for everything. I’ve been your mom, every second of every day. And for once,” her throat caught, eyes glassy. “For once I feel like a person again. And you’re standing here telling me that’s disgusting?”

“I don’t wanna hear about you being a person. You’re my mom. That’s it. That’s who you’re supposed to be.”

The words landed like stones. Eve’s mouth trembled, her shoulders hunching, like he’d stripped her bare. She blinked fast, trying to swallow it down, but her voice cracked when she whispered, “I can’t go back to just being that. I can’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, brutal, broken only by the simmer of the sauce on the stove.

Brendan shoved back from the table, snatched his phone, and stormed toward the stairs. The slam of his bedroom door upstairs rattled the frame, the echo vibrating through the quiet house, leaving Eve clutching the back of a chair like it was the only thing holding her up.

Eve stood in the wreckage of dinner, two plates gone cold, sauce thickening in the pan, her hand still gripping the back of a chair. Her face crumpled, shoulders shaking as the tears came hot and unstoppable. She pressed both hands over her mouth, trying to swallow the sound, but it was useless.

The house felt unbearable, thick with the slam of his words. Gross. Just be a mom.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was across the street, half sobbing as she knocked on Jane’s door with the side of her fist.

The door opened, Jane blinking in surprise. “Eve?”

Eve tried to speak, but only a choked sound came out, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Jane’s expression softened instantly. “Oh, honey. Kids are pricks. Get in here.”

She tugged Eve inside, shutting the door firmly behind her, guiding her straight to the couch. Eve collapsed onto the cushions, face in her hands, still shaking.

Jane disappeared into the kitchen, came back with two glasses of wine, and shoved one gently into Eve’s hand. “Drink. Breathe. Then tell me everything.”

Eve sniffed, laughing wetly through her tears. “He hates me.”

Jane rolled her eyes, settling beside her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s a kid. He’s a self absorbed little shit. That’s not the same as hate.”

Eve wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffling hard. “He said it was gross. That I should just be his mom. Like- like that’s all I’m ever supposed to be. And I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. I gave him everything, and the second I do something for myself…” her voice breaks, her head shaking. “He makes me like shit for it.”

Jane let out a sharp snort, lifting her glass. “You’ve been his mom every damn day of his life. You’re allowed to be more than that.”

Eve looked at her, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “What if he never forgives me?”

Jane clinked her glass gently against Eve’s. “Then that’s his problem. Not yours.” Jane sipped her wine, eyes steady over the rim of her glass. “Teenage boys are professional assholes. You could be dating George Clooney and he’d still sulk because it’s not about him.”

Eve let out a broken laugh, swiping at her eyes. “I don’t even want George Clooney.”

Jane smirked, setting her glass down. “I like her, though. Y/N. She’s good for you. You’re lighter with her.”

Eve’s throat caught. “She’s… she’s incredible.”

Jane tilted her head, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Well, I read online that women who sleep with women have, like, way more orgasms than straight women. So good for you.”

Eve barked out a laugh through her tears, covering her face with her hands. “Jesus Christ, Jane.”

Jane grinned, nudging her shoulder. “What? I’m just saying. Silver linings.”

Eve peeked out from between her fingers, still giggling despite herself, the ache in her chest loosening just a little. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jane clinked her glass against Eve’s again. “And you’re finally living. Don’t let that kid make you feel guilty for it.”

Eve took another gulp of wine, her cheeks blotchy and damp. “And the worst part? He hit on her, Jane. My kid.” Her voice cracked on the word, shame flooding her face. “I walk in and they’re in the kitchen and he’s grinning like some cocky little frat boy and I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “He what?”

“He didn’t know,” Eve rushed, words tumbling over themselves. “He didn’t know about us. But still, Jesus Christ. I don’t even know if she’ll ever come back after that. He probably made her so uncomfortable. And now she’s gonna dump me because my stupid son couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” Her voice broke again, tears spilling fresh. “I finally found someone who makes me feel alive, and he’s already ruined it.”

Jane set her glass down with a decisive clink, her voice firm. “Okay, first of all, no. He hasn’t ruined anything. He’s just being a dumb, horny, clueless boy. Second, Y/N adores you. You think she’s gonna run off because Brendan’s a prick? Please.”

Eve sniffed, swiping her sleeve across her face. “You didn’t see her. She looked like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.”

Jane leaned in, eyes steady. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. Don’t carry his mess like it’s yours.”

Eve let out a weak laugh, half broken. “God, you’re bossy.”

Jane grinned, reaching for her glass again. “I’m right. And also, let me remind you again, women with women? Way more orgasms. It’s basically science.”

Eve barked out a laugh through her tears, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ, Jane.”

Jane smirked, clinking her glass against Eve’s again. “So don’t you dare let him scare you into giving that up.”