summary: youre an ER night shift senior resident when a mass casualty incident happened. after gruelling hours, you managed to get through it. fewer patients come in and the hospital opened again. a new case was assigned to you, but it made you lose your footing. you're not entirely sure if it was the adrenaline crash or if it was just a breaking point. what's worse, dr. walsh came down to look at the case, witnessing the mess you made.
tags: emery walsh/reader, established relationship, mild h/c, no use of y/n for reader insert, make up sex, eating you out, fingering, slight size kink, head pusher dom walsh, overstim.
a/n: more nerd notes on my wip post. idk how people found it already, i was still editing it an hour ago, lol.
Emery’s wife had always been a fucking biter. It wasn’t something she advertised, and for the most part she tried to control it, keeping it to soft nips on shoulders or playful little marks when Emery teased her too much. But Emery made it difficult to behave. Especially moments like this—Em didn’t even bother taking her wife’s shorts off, just pushed the fabric to the side, and spread her open with her fingers. Her face is pressed against her wife’s stomach as she shifts lower, sliding a finger inside of her when her wife starts complaining. Emery grins and nips along her stomach, groaning unabashedly when she finally gets her mouth on her wife’s cunt.
Her wife comes biting down against her own hand to stay quiet and Emery smirks up at her. She sits up and slumps back against the couch and it’s then that her wife notices the bulge in Em’s pants. “Really?” Her wife laughs. Emery shrugs and says, “You always get really horny when you drink red wine.” Her wife pretends to scowl but she can’t argue against it. She shifts over and winces at how her shorts cling to her. She slips her hand past Emery’s pants and wraps her fingers around her cock.
She keeps moving her hand up and down the length, watching Emery stare at the movement of her hand, and pressing it back against her. “Can you come like this?” Her wife asks, even though she already knows the answer. “I want to come when I’m inside of you,” Emery groans. “So can you please just-”
Her wife stands up to take her shorts off and Emery watches her carefully. She jacks herself off lazily until her wife straddles her lap and loops her arms around her neck.
“I love you,” her wife murmurs. She can feel how wet she still is and she shifts forward and lets Emery line herself up “Love you too,” Emery echoes, when her wife is too far gone to hear her. She grinds down against Em and presses her mouth into her neck, trying to stay quiet. There’s really no reason to be quiet in their house, but her wife always seems to need to occupy her mouth somehow—like if she doesn’t, she might do something else with it. Her teeth brush just barely against Emery’s neck, a restrained little graze before she pulls back and buries her face there again, breathing her in instead, holding herself together even though the urge to bite is right there waiting.
And then she sees it—Emery’s neck vein, pulsing and standing out just enough to make her own pulse spike. It always does this when Emery exerts herself, or when she’s frustrated, or both, when she comes home from a particularly hard shift and needs to fuck the frustration out, and right now it’s all of it at once. Her wife swallows, hips shifting instinctively to feel Emery deeper, fingers clutching the back of the couch as she leans in, moaning into her neck, and the sight of that vein under the skin makes it impossible to resist. Every time Emery groans, every time she digs her fingertips into her wife’s hips, it calls to her, that sharp little ache building in her jaw, and she finally gives in. Her teeth sink down just enough, a hot, sudden bite, and she feels Emery shudder beneath her.
Em’s body reacts before her brain can catch up, muscles tense, fingers clutching at her wife’s hips, nails digging in without realizing it. Thrusting up into her as fast as she can. Em groans low and rough—she was already close but something about this makes her wild, reckless in the best way, and she can’t help it—she loves it, loves her wife.
Emery’s wife had always been a fucking biter. It wasn’t something she advertised, and for the most part she tried to control it, keeping it to soft nips on shoulders or playful little marks when Emery teased her too much. But Emery made it difficult to behave. Especially moments like this—Em didn’t even bother taking her wife’s shorts off, just pushed the fabric to the side, and spread her open with her fingers. Her face is pressed against her wife’s stomach as she shifts lower, sliding a finger inside of her when her wife starts complaining. Emery grins and nips along her stomach, groaning unabashedly when she finally gets her mouth on her wife’s cunt.
Her wife comes biting down against her own hand to stay quiet and Emery smirks up at her. She sits up and slumps back against the couch and it’s then that her wife notices the bulge in Em’s pants. “Really?” Her wife laughs. Emery shrugs and says, “You always get really horny when you drink red wine.” Her wife pretends to scowl but she can’t argue against it. She shifts over and winces at how her shorts cling to her. She slips her hand past Emery’s pants and wraps her fingers around her cock.
She keeps moving her hand up and down the length, watching Emery stare at the movement of her hand, and pressing it back against her. “Can you come like this?” Her wife asks, even though she already knows the answer. “I want to come when I’m inside of you,” Emery groans. “So can you please just-”
Her wife stands up to take her shorts off and Emery watches her carefully. She jacks herself off lazily until her wife straddles her lap and loops her arms around her neck.
“I love you,” her wife murmurs. She can feel how wet she still is and she shifts forward and lets Emery line herself up “Love you too,” Emery echoes, when her wife is too far gone to hear her. She grinds down against Em and presses her mouth into her neck, trying to stay quiet. There’s really no reason to be quiet in their house, but her wife always seems to need to occupy her mouth somehow—like if she doesn’t, she might do something else with it. Her teeth brush just barely against Emery’s neck, a restrained little graze before she pulls back and buries her face there again, breathing her in instead, holding herself together even though the urge to bite is right there waiting.
And then she sees it—Emery’s neck vein, pulsing and standing out just enough to make her own pulse spike. It always does this when Emery exerts herself, or when she’s frustrated, or both, when she comes home from a particularly hard shift and needs to fuck the frustration out, and right now it’s all of it at once. Her wife swallows, hips shifting instinctively to feel Emery deeper, fingers clutching the back of the couch as she leans in, moaning into her neck, and the sight of that vein under the skin makes it impossible to resist. Every time Emery groans, every time she digs her fingertips into her wife’s hips, it calls to her, that sharp little ache building in her jaw, and she finally gives in. Her teeth sink down just enough, a hot, sudden bite, and she feels Emery shudder beneath her.
Em’s body reacts before her brain can catch up, muscles tense, fingers clutching at her wife’s hips, nails digging in without realizing it. Thrusting up into her as fast as she can. Em groans low and rough—she was already close but something about this makes her wild, reckless in the best way, and she can’t help it—she loves it, loves her wife.
pairing: baran al-hashimi x gn!reader x lottie matthews
genre: fluff
wc: 912
Light filters through the blinds and warms up your face as you slowly blink your eyes open, the sensation of two pairs of soft lips dragging against your cheeks waking you from sleep. You turn your head slightly to the left, where Baran's face comes into view. She's still a bit blurry from the sleep in your eyes, but you think she looks so pretty. You can see a hint of a smile on her face.
"Good morning, sweetie," Lottie's voice whispers from the opposite side of you. Turning your head, you spot your second pretty wife, who's got a lazy smile on her face as she cups your cheek. She's leaning against her arm, thin sheet draped across her waist. She's still got that afterglow on her body. Lottie leans in and pecks your lips, sighing softly when Baran's hand tangles in her hair.
After Lottie pulls away, Baran leans in for her kiss.
Sometimes you can't believe how lucky you are.
"What time is it?" you mumble.
"Early," Baran whispers, kissing your cheek before sitting up and slipping the sheet off her body. You stare at her naked back as she stretches. She turns her head toward you, hand fluffing up her curly hair. "Around five."
Shit. You're barely awake when she leaves for work, and that's at 6:30. Lottie's usually up shortly after, getting ready for her duties at the compound.
But last night went on for hours, so it's not really a surprise that you're up this early. At least you can spend time with them before Baran leaves.
Lottie gets out of bed, picking up her nightgown from off the floor and slipping it on. "Breakfast anyone?"
You and Baran nod, and your stomach's already rumbling at the thought of eating the deliciousness Lottie's about to make. Lottie kisses you and Baran before leaving to the kitchen, humming a tune to herself.
You sigh softly and wrap your arms around Baran's waist. "Do you really have to leave? Can't you just take the day off?"
Baran chuckles and pets the top of your head. "I really have to leave. I'll be back before you know it."
You groan, pouting up at her. "You've been coming home late. I swear, if you're not here at 6 pm on the dot, I'm going down there myself and dragging you home."
Baran hums. "You and Lott should visit sometime. I think you'd really like meeting everyone. Maybe today you two can bring me lunch, stop by after the farmers market? You know I love that honey."
You nod, feeling yourself get tired again. Baran's warm skin is making you feel so relaxed. A few minutes of silence go by. Baran's hand is rubbing your back soothingly, which doesn't help you stay awake. You're seconds away from slipping into sleep again when she gets off the bed, bending down to pick up her clothes from last night.
Your stomach drops as you lose her touch. You groan quietly as you shove your face into the mattress.
"I think breakfast is almost done," Baran says, slipping into her panties. "Come on."
Pushing yourself up, you get out of bed and throw on your clothes, following your wife to the kitchen. Lottie's putting the food on the plates, a little extra on yours. Baran and her always spoil you. Whether it be with clothes or food, they always make sure you're well taken care of.
"It smells delicious," Baran comments, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She grabs her plate and kisses Lottie on the lips. "I was just telling them that you two should visit today. Maybe after the farmers market."
Baran licks syrup off her thumb, looking to you with her brown doe-eyes.
"She just wants the honey. She's gonna push us out the second we give it to her," you joke, making Lottie snort.
"I do want the honey, but I also want you two to meet the people I work with. I think it could be a lot of fun." Baran has often fantasized about being able to show you two off at work. But Lottie's busy with the compound, and you've got college, so the timing has just never worked out. But both of you are free today. And she really wants you two to come.
"We'll go," Lottie hums. "I've always wanted to see you in your element. You turn into a different person when that Lulu jacket is on."
"True," you say, pointing your fork in the air. "You always look super hot in those selfies you send us."
After breakfast, Lottie and Baran head into the shower together, leaving you to wash the dishes and finish some homework that's due tonight while you wait for your lonely turn. Would've been too cramped to mess around anyway….
Once everyone's showered and dressed, Lottie suggests heading down to the reflection pond to get some sun before Baran has to leave. Walking hand in hand with both of them, you make your way across Lottie's compound. Baran and Lottie both make sure to greet Lottie's acolyte who roam outside, and you feel yourself grow fond of your two lovely wives.
You all sit on the wooden benches by the lake, enjoying the sun hitting your face, watching the ducks swim in the water. Time is still for a few moments. Everything feels okay. You feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be, between Lottie and Baran.
warnings: 18+, for a fem!reader, includes dubcon (reader is under the influence of alcohol). dom!victoria + degradation and praise mix !! (many variations of slut and cunt are used, the term ‘toy’ is used) reader receives slaps (thighs, pussy, and ass). reader gets bitten (neck and thighs), mentions of v’s nose getting in some fun too !!, overstimulation (reader cries because of said overstimulation) aftercare is included.
extra notes ( 🗒️ ): interactions are greatly appreciated as well as any feedback you may have concerning my writing :) i want to improve as i know this isn’t the greatest lol. just shoot me a dm, comment, or a anon ask if you feel like something needs to be improved !! — divider credits to @/cursed-carmine via this post !!
𓊆 🩸 𓊇 — it’s been a busy week, and you desperately need a drink. victoria, as the worker she is, stays a bit later at the office. you two meet back home. with the way the week has gone, you two have barely had anytime for one another. she has an idea to remove the thoughts from your head and to make the stressors of the work week disappear. you just have lean back and trust her.
you groaned in annoyance as you tried to stick your house key into the keyhole again, but failed. you pushed the key into to no avail. in your inebriated state, you wanted to start sobbing while calling victoria to leave the office to let you in. you examined the key as close as you could under the light on the porch, only to realize your mistake. you were putting in the key wrong. a ghost of a laugh left your chest, as you fixed your mistake and finally headed inside your home.
the buzz of the the drinks you consumed was increasing in intensity as you slowly walked through the house and carefully up the stairs to your shared room. you admittedly got a little sidetracked once you sat down on your bed half-naked. scrolling on your phone in nothing but your underwear, tired from the work week in need of a distraction. the drinks were almost enough. enough to keep you sane with your thoughts away from work until the dreaded time of a sunday night came around.
the next hour seemed like nothing, as you aimlessly scrolled through your social media feeds. it seemed to be a seemless back and forth between your instagram reels and twitter feed. the thing that snapped you out of your trance was the door of the bedroom opening. you sat up, slightly startled. you lifted your gaze from your screen to see your wife, victoria entering the room. “oh, um… hi.” she greeted with a small bite of her bottom lip upon seeing your basically naked. “is this a little surprise for me, sweetheart?” victoria’s soothing voice questioned as she placed her phone over onto her nightstand.
in victoria’s eyes you looked so pretty. so pretty that it hurt a little. so pretty that she wanted to fuck you stupid. she wanted to fuck you so hard until you cried genuine tears of pleasure. the answer you gave vicky didn’t register after the moment of silence after her question, allowing your spouse to let her thoughts drift.
“i was getting changed, got a little distracted. just been so stressed.” you replied. there was no response from vicky, just silence as she looked you over, her eyes slow. they were taking their time, drinking you in, wanting every part of you right then and there.
a small huff left the other woman’s lips, a small pout forming for you. “i’m sorry to hear that honey.” victoria took off her coat, tossing it to the side before slipping next to you in your shared bed. “what do you need from me?” she asked softly, full of care and concern. “mm… i don’t know.” you slurred out slightly, your mind going to what some would consider an interesting way to relieve stress.
you had that look in your eye, and victoria noticed. almost a little too quick. “i know what you need.” she replied with a cunning smile. “you need your brain turned off.” the woman implied suggestively. vicky’s hands started at your cheeks, bringing her face closer to yours to capture your lips in a quick peck to the lips. teasing. nothing close to enough of what you wanted. of what you needed. victoria knew that, but her lips moved to your neck anyway.
she left you breathless with ease, the small pecks leaving desire and desperation for more contact in their wake. victoria was enjoying your reactions, your small whines with every small peck down your chest, only leaving lingering sucks on your nipples. the woman chuckled at the sound, sighing. “don’t worry baby, just trust me. let me take care of you.” god, being teased mercilessly didn’t sound so bad when she said it like that.
you nodded eagerly, relaxing a little more under her touch. victoria continued to kiss her way down your body her hands pausing at your underwear. "you look so fucking pretty like this. so perfect. and you're all mine. only mine." your wife whispered, kissing at your inner thighs. she bit the sensitive skin, just to hear you whimper again. a small growl left the older woman’s lips at your noise of pleasure, leaving another bite on each of your inner thighs. she soon returned to biting, which let to whimper and try to arch off the bed. “vicky, please.” you started. “please, please, please.” you continued, desperate for her tounge inside you.
“please, what?” victoria questioned, slapping lightly at the lips of your pussy. “please what, my desperate slut? hm?” with her question, the slaps got increasingly harder, causing your legs to try and close at the sting on your sensitive skin. the older woman spread your legs for you again, continuing to bite at you thighs. “gotta be more specific when you ask, baby.” she murmured. “i get mixed signals, so i’ll keep biting you and slapping at your nasty little cunt.” another slap, hard and aiming at your clit. you jumped and gasped, victoria leaving soft kisses in the wake of the bites she had left recently.
“try again, honey. please what?” your drunk mind swims so lightly on the feeling of slight pleasure, you almost forgot to answer your own wife. “please eat me out, i need your tongue n’ fingers in me.” you slurred out, some of the words in your important question being dampened by the alcohol in your system. victoria grins wickedly at your words, leaving one more bite to your thighs. the woman then lifted your legs, your asshole feeling more of the cool air of your bedroom.
it naturally clenched as victoria started to lick at your slit, a long lick from your clit to your asshole. the tip of her nose followed suite, allowing extra stimulation to commence after her tongue. vicky rubbed the tip of her nose back and forth along your opening. “fucking delicious. cunt is so slick and i haven’t even done anything. you’re such a slut for me.” your wife commented, completely pulling back from the wet mess that was your pussy. it earned a whimper from you, victoria using her palm to spank at your right thigh. “my desperate slut. sluts don’t complain when i tease. sluts take what i give them.” the woman teased. “yes ma’am.” you whimpered through the stinging aftermath of her harsh spank. “that’s right, ‘yes ma’am’ is exactly right, my good toy. such good manners.”
victoria could sense your eagerness to be touched, your hips lifting slightly upwards to where her mouth once was. as delicious it would be to keep teasing you, it would be even more satisfying for her to have you cum all over her tongue and fingers. her mouth didn’t hesitate this time, pressing hard against your opening. victoria’s tongue dove into your desperate pussy, earning a loud moan in return. the woman chuckled at the noise, sending vibrations to your core through her tongue, causing you to shiver.
the pleasure coursing through you was growing in intensity as the minutes passed, making it hard stay still. your hands found victoria’s hair. you tugged at her soft locks as she continued to lick and eat at your messy pussy. the woman pushed her tongue deeper inside you, a yelp leaving your lips as your hips flinched upward. “a…ah! vicky, please! it’s too much, fuck. fuck…!” “mm nm. take it.” victoria mumbled into your pussy, almost making your legs shake. “be a good toy and take it.” she mumbled again, pulling back slightly to suck at your opening.
without much asking, your wife entered her middle and ring fingers inside you at a slow place, even as she continued to suck at your clit. you gripped at her hair, rough at the pleasure she brought. “fuckkkk…” you groaned out, your head tilted back, fully relaxed onto the bed. vicky let go of your clit with a small ‘pop’ from her mouth, humming in slight amusement. “yeah, toy? that brain finally shutting off for me?” she questioned, spanking your left thigh. you didn’t respond to her question, her voice fading in and out due your intoxication.
“mm, good.” victoria responded at your non-existent answer, her fingers picking up the the pace. she felt your pussy flutter around her digits. she moved up your body, pressing wet, sloppy kisses amongst your skin. she revisited your neck, biting hard at the skin. you yelped, only egging victoria on to keep going while her fingers worked you to your peak. you were close, you were so fucking close. right on that edge, ready to completely let go. you fluttered around your wife’s fingers once more, clenching. trying to hold it in.
“‘m so close vicky, please.” you begged her, your legs starting to twitch, your body starting to tremble. “no, slut, not yet.” she responded with another harsh bite your neck and a slap to your thigh. you whined at the pain and the denial of your orgasm, almost crying. “you cum when i say. not before.” the woman warned, letting up on your neck but quickening her fingers to a punishingly fast pace. you squirmed and moaned and almost started screaming at the sensations and pace of it all. “fuck, fuck! please, vicky, please! i just wanna cum. so, so, bad. please, please, please!” you babbled out, your own voice sounding slightly louder than it actually was.
all you received in response was more thighs slaps, each one harder than the previous. victoria gave you five hard slaps on each thigh, your screams filling the shared bedroom. tears started to flow from your eyes, your skin feeling like it had been set ablaze. “beg me to let your cunt cum, toy.” victoria commanded with almost a growl, giving your ass a few slaps, five on both cheeks. “fucking beg me. show me how obedient you can be. how good and desperate you are to cum all over your miss.” through your tears, it was hard to form words. the overstimulation of pleasure and pain, along with the drinks still in your system.
“mm… please, please, please!” you started, your throat already feel hoarse from tears as you squirmed, victoria’s fingers barely letting up their pace inside you. “please, please, miss. i’ve been so good.” you continued, some of yours slurring together. “i haven’t cum without permission and held it so good.” you sniffed and moaned, since victoria had paused her spanking. “you sounded so good for miss, when you cry. i should let you cum, yeah?” your wife questioned, the question barely being able to fully leave her lips before you eagerly nodded at her. “yes, miss. fuck yes. please, please just let me cum.” you begged, earning yourself another spank on the ass.
you flinced and whimpered at the pain. a hum from vicky, you couldn’t quite tell if it was in approval or yet, nor did you really care. what you cared about was her permission. the permission she held that would allow you to release. “i… think my pretty girl has gone through enough.” your wife coos gently, her fingers slowing down in speed but building in pressure. “cum, sweet girl. cum for your miss.” victoria’s words of permission hit you like a brick wall before you finally let go and cum all over her fingers. you let out a desperate cry, almost shuddering your back off of the bed. your tears are still present but no longer flowing. your toes curl and your fingers are still gripping at victoria’s hair which is now messy, compared to what it was like this morning.
your high feels phenomenal, soon met with the floating, cloudy feeling you often had after an intense orgasm. aftershocks rippled through you in waves, victoria gently moved you, before gathering some water for you, ointment, and warm washcloth. your wife repositioned you so you two were lying down chest to chest, your backside to the open.
“shh, shh, shh…. i’ve got you.” victoria softly spoke, gently rubbing at the places she spanked, kissing at your temple. “i know that was intense, sweetheart. you’re on such a high right now, such a good girl. just drift for me.” she cooed gently, continuing to gently rub at your sore skin. “can i get some water, miss?” you questioned barely above a whisper, eyeing the bottle of cold water she had on the nightstand for you. “of course, baby. sit up a little.” you sat up as prompted, in which victoria let you sip away at your water, her other hand stroking at your hair.
even when you settled back down against her body, the stroking of your hair continued, gentle and caring. she then made sure to wipe the parts of you that would be sore tomorrow, mainly your thighs and your ass. “all of your marks are gorgeous, my sweet girl. from your neck…. to your thighs… to your ass…” she admired, a kiss to your temple after every place was mentioned. “you just rest, my love. you deserve it.” victoria whispered against your flushed skin, lying back into the pillows as she noticed you melting into her arms.
“you did so good for me, baby. just drift off. i’ve got you.” the woman continued, rubbing small circles into the skin of your back. “‘m so glad you trusted me. to take all your thoughts away and surrender to me. thank you.” another soft kiss to your temple. she let the comfortable silence rest in the air, letting you drift off in her arms. as you eventually closed your eyes and your body prepared to fully rest, you felt another soft kiss to your forehead, warm and comforting. “sleep well, baby. you’ve earned it.”
your hangover was going to hit hard, but in the moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care. because you were in victoria’s arms. and right now, that’s what you needed and where you truly belonged.
Here me out: A fic based on Elizabeth Olsen's new movie Eternity but with WandaNat x Reader where Reader has to choose who to spend eternity with... (does she just choose the both of them in the end, though??? 👀)
Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)
Warnings: None
The bottle slows… slows… stops.
Lottie.
Everyone turns to her, tipsy and too curious for their own good. The music dips as the group leans in like a pack of wolves. Someone smirks. “Truth or dare?”
Lottie takes a sip of her drink and rests it against her knee. “Truth.”
The air tenses, everyone knows the party's been buzzing with tension and unsaid things. Randy raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Be honest. Have you ever hooked up with someone on the team?”
Gasps. Groans. Mari fake-shoves him. Van goes, “Jesus, Randy.”
But the question sticks.
Lottie blinks, stunned for a second, like her body couldn’t quite catch up to her brain. Her eyes flick around the room, Jackie slumped on the couch, Shauna gone, you nowhere in sight.
If she tells the truth. They’ll pressure her into a dare. A dare no doubt will lead to getting locked in a closet with some asshole. But if she makes something up. It’ll be done, and she can find Y/N.
She clears her throat. A small shrug.
Then the lie:
“…Yeah.”
That’s it. No name. No detail. Just a spark. And like that, the fire catches. The room goes still for a beat. Then erupts.
“Wait—who?”
“Oh my god, it’s Jackie, isn’t it?”
“Or Natalie??”
“Yo, is that why Y/N has been weird lately—?”
The guessing game is immediate and unstoppable. Lottie’s smile is thin, barely there. She shrugs again and takes another sip, as if saying nothing is somehow better than saying the truth.
It’s not. But it’s safer. And there’s not harm done. Even if it won’t feel that way in the morning. But that doesn’t stop, the whispers from going. The curious glances caught. And then the facts to get stretched.
Lottie gliding through the party, disappearing from time to time. In the haze of drunken minds, and unfocused eyes. The story spins into something else than just the lie. The lie has created a life of its own.
The school hallways hum a little too loud the morning after Jackie’s party. You’re barely through the doors, your earbuds in but silent, when Mari flounces up beside you, her voice already halfway to a shout.
"Did you hear about Lottie?" she says, not even a hello. "Apparently, she hooked up with someone at the party last night. Wouldn’t say who, but everyone’s betting it was someone random. Like, a total curveball."
You don’t stop walking. Don’t react. You just exhales a small breath through your nose, like it might cool the heat crawling up your neck. Mari giggles like they’re in on something. “Kinda wild, right? Girl’s always so put together. Didn’t think she had it in her.”
You slide your locker open and drown the rest of Mari’s voice with the clang of metal. Your chest feels tight in that specific, unnameable way that doesn’t belong to anger, or sadness, or jealousy. Just… exhaustion. The ache of always being the last to know something that mattered.
The reality that you never actually mattering at all to someone. Or anyone…I guess.
By the time the warning bell rings, you've already mentally rehearsed every excuse to skip homeroom when you hear the familiar sound of hurried steps behind you. Lottie. Of course.
“Y/N—wait,” Lottie says, breathless. “Hey. Are you okay?”
You don’t answer, just fish your books out like they’ve personally wronged you.
“I just—did you make it home alright? Last night you disappeared, and I—”
“Did you hook up with someone?” You cut in, your voice sharper than intended. Your eyes finally meet Lottie’s, and it’s the first time since the kiss—that kiss—that you’ve let yourself look at Lottie. Looking at her hurt, in a way you never expected looking at her would.
Lottie blinks, startled. “What?”
“At the party. Spin the bottle.” Your voice drops. “Mari said you didn’t deny it. That you said it happened but wouldn’t say who. That you hooked up with that person agai-.”
Lottie’s brows furrow. “I—no. I lied. It was stupid. I just wanted to get out of the game, and it was easier than taking another dare.”
You let the words hit and bounce off. “So it’s not true.”
“No,” Lottie says quietly. “It’s not.”
Something about that. Lottie, your sweet Lottie just lying to lie. Caught up in a web of rumors, just a few hours after Jackie lied. It makes something snap in you. You slam your locker shut. “Cool. Just another lie, then.”
Lottie steps closer, her hand reaching like she might touch your arm but doesn’t. “Y/N…”
“I don’t get it,” you say, quieter now but brittle. “Why is it so easy for everyone to lie? To spin things? To just say whatever the hell works in the moment and pretend it doesn’t land on someone like a goddamn weight?”
Lottie flinches, just a little. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” you say. “That’s the problem. No one ever means to.”
And before Lottie can say anything else, you walk away. You don’t have the energy to hear more. You don’t want another half-truth handed to you like it’s a gift. You just wants someone fucking anyone to say something and mean it.
You don’t go to French.
Instead, you walk straight past the foreign language wing and down to the guidance office, dodging the secretary’s halfhearted “do you have a pass?” with a mumbled “yeah, I just saw him.” You don’t knock. You never knock.
Mr. Weaver looks up from his desk, glasses halfway down his nose, a cup of very questionable coffee steaming by his elbow.
“Well, well. Miss Y/L/N. To what do I owe the honor? Aren’t you supposed to be conjugating verbs en français right about now?”
You drop into the seat across from him and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath since Saturday night.
“I want to drop French.”
Weaver blinks. Tilts his head slightly. “Okay. And the earth spins backward, gravity reverses, dogs recite poetry. Got it. Why?”
“I just—” You shift. “It’s not working.”
“You’ve got an A-minus.”
“I don’t care.”
He folds his hands over a manila folder labeled with her name in blocky, impatient letters. “Interesting. You begged me to get into that class, Y/N. You said—and I quote—‘If I take Spanish, I will think of my dead mom and have a full-blown panic attack.’ Did you lie to me, or… has French murdered someone in your family too?”
You stare at the framed poster behind him, something about growth mindset and sunflowers. “It’s complicated.”
Weaver sighs, but it’s not unkind. “Everything with you is complicated.”
Silence builds like fog.
You cross your arms, jaw tight. “I’d rather be sad in Spanish than lose my mind in French.”
His eyes narrow. “That sounds poetic and self-destructive. A real Y/N special.”
You don’t smile, but there’s something in your posture that softens, barely. “French just… it doesn’t click. And it’s not just the language. It’s the way I feel in that room. The quiet. The pressure. I don’t know. Everything feels loud in my head when I’m in there.”
“And Spanish won’t?”
You shrug. “It’ll feel like a different kind of sad. A manageable one.”
He leans back, considers you like a chessboard.
“This about school? Or is this about… something that happened over the weekend? Or maybe something to do with a certain tall, slightly rich girl who’s been asking about your schedule all semester?”
You glare. “Are you allowed to say stuff like that?”
“Technically, no,” Weaver says. “But you’re not the type who opens up when I ask ‘how are you feeling’ with a clipboard and fake concern. I’m trying a new method. What was it you told me Sister Lauren’s said…’Lucifer influenced’ psychology.”
You finally smile, just barely. But it fades fast.
“I keep thinking… maybe I should just call it. Call my grandparents and say it’s not working. That I gave it my best, and I’d rather be miserable in North Carolina than invisible here.”
Weaver is quiet for a moment. Then a sigh, “You know what’s worse than being invisible, Y/L/N?”
You waits.
“Being known for the wrong thing.”
You swallow hard.
“I’ll see what I can do about the schedule,” he says, softer now. “But no guarantees. Spanish is full. You might have to do something radical like stick it out.”
You nod slowly. “Okay.” But you don’t mean it. You just need the idea of change. Even if it’s just moving sadness into a different language.
You don’t go to lunch.
You don’t even fake it today. No slow walk past the vending machines or loitering near the breezeway that connects the old wing to the science hall. Instead, you slip into the library, tray balanced awkwardly in your hands, cardboard pizza slice, chocolate milk carton sweating in your palm, an untouched apple rolling every time you turn too sharply.
The library smells like old paper and floor polish. The hum of a far-off CRT monitor glows from behind the front desk where Mr. Atwood’s nose is buried in a worn National Geographic. You move past him without a word.
You sit in the far corner, near the tall windows that look out over the track field, but your back is to the glass. You don’t want to watch anyone run laps in gym class. Don’t want to watch anyone at all. You peel the cheese off your pizza and eat it in tiny bites.
“Called it.”
You look up to find Shauna Shipman standing there with a Snapple in one hand and a plastic bag of Bugles in the other. Her walkman’s headphones are draped around her neck, tinny echoes of The Cranberries bleeding through.
Shauna slides into the seat across from you like she belongs there. “You disappeared after first period. Thought maybe you were hiding in the photo lab, but something told me library.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That something being…?”
“You looked like someone who needed to disappear.” Shauna rips open the Bugles. “Library’s where I used to go after shit went sideways at home. It’s where the weirdos hang out. So no one really in my circle would be here.”
You let out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “And you just… followed me?”
Shauna shrugs. “It was either this or listen to Mari talk about Empire Records again and how she’s ‘basically Liv Tyler with better hair.’ So, yeah. I chose you.”
You stare at your tray. Picking at the crust of your pizza. You’re not mad Shauna’s here. You just doesn’t know what to do with it.
Shauna leans forward. “Want to hear something weird?”
“No, but I feel like you’re gonna say it anyway.”
“When I was ten, I shoved my cousin’s TLC cassette into the microwave.”
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”
“Ooooooohhh... On the TLC Tip. Just fried it.” Shauna munches a Bugle. “She told everyone I still slept with a nightlight, so I killed Lisa Lopes. No regrets.”
You snort. It escapes before you can stop it. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” Shauna grins. “Point is, girls are mean. Sometimes survival means being a little bit meaner back.”
You go quiet. Your chocolate milk’s gone warm. The apple stares back at you, untouched.
“I didn’t ask for this,” you say finally, voice low. “Any of it. The Jackie thing. The Lottie thing. The weird ass rumor and this fucking drama. I didn’t try to make it messy.”
Shauna nods. “Mess just finds some people.”
“And sticks.”
“You’re not sticky,” Shauna says. “They are. You’re just… caught.”
You pick up the apple. You still don’t eat it.
You both sit like that for a while, shoulders angled toward each other but not too close. Two girls who didn’t ask for the front row seat to other people’s disasters, but got handed the tickets anyway.
And that’s how it begins, this weird, unspoken friendship. A comfort they don’t name. No promises. No declarations. Just Shauna sliding her Snapple across the table and saying, “You can have the rest. It’s peach. I know it’s not grape, but—close enough, right?”
And you nod, soft and slow. Just enough to mean thank you.
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