Summary: You thought the hardest part of medicine would be getting into medical school. Turns out it's surviving Gregory House's mood swings, and a new found crush.
Watching the two of them was almost like watching a tennis match. Wilson would present another piece of evidence, and House would swat it away with a sarcastic remark, refusing to acknowledge the growing list of reasons he should take the case.
For everyone who worked with him, this was simply another day.
Was it frustrating? Absolutely.
Was it entertaining? More often than you’d care to admit.
“None of which is even close to dispositive,” House said as he reached for the pain medication you’d handed him. All it does is raise one question. Your cousin goes to an HMO?”
After he took one, you plucked the bottle from his hand and slipped it neatly into the pocket of your sweater.
“Come on,” Wilson urged. “Why leave all the fun for the coroner?”
“What’s the point of putting together a team if you’re not gonna use them?”
You stepped in beside Wilson, placing yourself directly in House's path. Wilson gave your shoulder a subtle nudge, silently asking you to help.
“You’ve got three overqualified doctors working for you. They’re getting bored, House. There are only so many interesting cases I can assign to them before they start wondering where you are.”
You gently pat his shoulder before placing the file into his hands.
“Think about it, please? There might be something everyone else is missing.”
Before House could respond, the phone clipped to your waistband buzzed.
“You glanced down at the caller ID and answered without missing a beat.
“This is y/n Emery speaking. Dr.House is unavailable at the moment, but I’d be happy to relay a message for you.”
Already turning on your heel, your voice gradually faded into the bustle of the hospital corridor.
“Yes…I understand. I’ll make sure he gets that as soon as he’s free…Thank you.”
The rhythmic click of your heels echoed down the hallway until you disappeared around the corner, your conversation swallowed by the noise of monitors, rolling gurneys, and passing staff.
Willson watched you go before turning back to House.
“And you’ve got one hell of an assistant who puts up with you…and supports your team through everything.
Not because they’re good or bad, but because they’re human.
Every person you pass carries entire worlds inside them. Secrets, regrets, memories they wish they could bury. Some people hide their ugliness well, while others wear it openly like scars across their skin.
But no matter who they are, it’s hard not to find something fascinating about them.
Because being human means being flawed. It means making mistakes, hurting people, loving people, ruining things, and trying again anyway.
Maybe that’s what makes us human in the first place.
After all, someone who's never made a mistake has probably never truly lived at all.
So maybe that’s why, sitting in the backseat of Smurf’s truck, you felt so painfully out of place.
Not because you’d never made mistakes or because your hands were clean, but because everything about Smurf felt unfamiliar in the worst way possible. Like stepping into a world that’s operated by rules nobody bothered explaining to you.
The air inside the truck felt too heavy, too quiet. Even the way she drove felt calculated, one hand resting lazily against the wheel while the other tapped against the door to music playing low through the speakers.
“Why don’t you get your stuff out of the truck?”
Smurf’s voice cut through the silence as she shut the engine off, her eyes flicking toward J before briefly landing on you.
You climbed out slowly, adjusting the straps digging into your shoulders, while J handed you the rest of your bags from the back.
And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
The place in front of you looked nothing like the cramped apartments you and J grew up in.
Speedboats sat lined up like toys for rich people. Cars gleamed beneath the fading sunlight. Surfboards leaned carelessly against walls like they were decorations instead of things people saved months to afford.
And then there was the house itself.
Large and beautiful.
The kind of home that didn’t belong to people who worried about overdue bills or empty refrigerators.
You followed closely beside J as Smurf led both of you inside.
The second the front door opened, a long beeping pierced through the house.
Smoke alarm.
A thin haze lingered in the air, curling through the hallway.
“God damn it!” Smurf snapped immediately.
She tossed her keys onto a nearby table and kept walking, I’m gone for an hour and…”
Her voice trailed off into irritation as she disappeared farther into the house.
You and J followed her down the hallway cautiously, like stepping too hard would throw you both out.
As you entered the kitchen, all you could do was take in the sight before you. Clean countertops, expensive appliances, and warm lighting hanging low from the ceiling.
But none of that held your attention for long.
Because sitting openly on the counter were stacks of cash.
Just sitting there.
Loose bands wrapped around thick piles of money like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Your footsteps slowed instinctively, and beside you, J noticed it at the same time.
The two of you exchanged a glance. No words.
None were needed, just the quiet understanding that whatever world Smurf lived in…it was nothing like yours.
You followed Smurf out to her backyard, which was even more of a sight to see.
“My cupcakes are ruined.”
You and J lingered a few steps behind Smurf. Close enough that you weren’t hiding, but far enough that you weren’t intruding.
The backyard stretched out toward the water, expensive and effortless. Jet skis bobbed against the dock while three men occupied the space as if they owned it. Two stood by the jet skis, laughing over joke you hadn’t heard. The third climbed out of the water, running a hand through his wet hair.
None of them noticed you, and you liked it like that.
Until Smurf spoke.
“You can’t do one simple thing?”
Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
The irritation behind it settled over the backyard like a storm cloud.
One of the men shrugged.
“You told us to come over,” he said, already full of excuses,” not to do the cooking.”
“That’s what the note was for,” Smurf says waving it,” Can’t any of you read?”
Silence.
The kind where no one argued because they already knew she’d win.
You couldn’t see her face from where you stood, but you imagined the expression easily enough. Tired, annoyed, completely in control.
After a moment, she let out a slow sigh and turned back toward you and J.
“You remember your uncles, don’t you, J?”
Your eyebrows lifted instinctively.
Uncles.
So these were them.
The infamous brothers J had mentioned over the years in passing conversations. The names you’d heard but never managed to put to faces.
If the situation had been even remotely normal, you probably would’ve laughed at finally connecting the dots.
Instead, you stayed quiet.
Three rough-looking men.
One grandmother who somehow made everyone else seem nervous.
You decided silence was the safer option.
Smurf walked toward the two of you.
“y/n”
Your head snapped up immediately.
“You’ve never met them,” she said, her voice suddenly soft, almost affectionate. “But they’ll be your uncles too, okay?”
The sweetness in her tone unsettled you more than her anger ever had.
It wasn’t comforting, or nice, or anything you wanted.
It was deliberate.
Like honey poured over broken glass.
You forced a small smile, but it never reached your eyes, “...okay.”
You and J gave the three men a small wave.
“‘Hey. How you doing?” the one standing in the middle asked.
You searched your memory for the names J had mentioned over the years.
Baz.
Deran.
Craig.
If you remembered correctly, Baz was the one who checked in every once in a while. Probably when he remembered J existed. The only one who’d made even the slightest effort. Deran and Craig, on the other hand, had barley been part of J’s life at all.
The man in the middle had to be Baz.
He carried himself differently. Calmer. Less intimidating than the others. And so far, he was the only one besides Smurf who had spoken to either of you.
“Really sorry about your mom, man.”
J rubbed the back of his neck.
“Oh…thanks.”
An awkward silence settled over everyone.
“You too.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Baz blinked. Then gave a small, understanding nod.
“Yeah,” the man to his right chimed in,” Been forever. Barley recognize you.”
His eyes drifted from J to you.
“...Or you.”
His head tilted.
“Who are you?”
The question shouldn’t have been difficult. A simple, “Hi I’m y/n I live with J.”
But somehow, it was.
Your lips parted, only to close again.
Who were you? You knew your name.
y/n Swan.
A girl abandoned by the two people who were supposed to want her. Raised by a woman who had no business raising herself, let alone two children. A girl who found more of a home in J’s apartment than anywhere she’d ever officially belonged.
You weren’t related to the Cody's. Not by blood.
But somehow between scraped knees, shared birthdays, sleepless nights, and surviving together…
You’d become family anyway.
Or at least, something close enough.
“I’m y/n.”
You gestured between yourself and J.
“I’ve lived with J and his mom since I was three.”
Understanding passed between the three brothers. Small nods, quiet acceptance. But none of them questioned it.
But you felt it. A pair of eyes lingering on you.
Smurf.
When you glanced toward her, she was already watching you with an unreadable expression, not suspicious, but interested.
Like she’d just learned something she intended to remember.
But before the silence could stretch any further, Deran cut back into the conversation.
“Yeah,” he said with a short laugh. “He was, what…five the last time you saw him?”
“Remeber when you and Julia were high and, like, really going at it?”
Deran looked at Smurf with a grin that suggested he thought the memory was hilarious.
From the look on her face, she disagreed.
“Right,” Craig chimed in, eager to help.”She threw something at you. Uh…”
He snapped his fingers, searching for the word.
“Coleslaw,” Deran supplied him triumphantly.
Craig pointed at him.
“Yeah. Coleslaw. She threw coleslaw in her face.”
The two of them laughed. You glanced toward J. He didn’t laugh, neither did Smurf.
“Guys.” Baz’s voice cut cleanly through the conversation.
The laughter died almost instantly.
“What?” Craig asked, genuinely confused.
“Shut up.”
Craig frowned but listened.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the backyard before Baz looked toward you and J trying to steer things somewhere less painful.
“You guys want a beer or something?”
You and J exchanged a quick look. Neither of you knew how to answer.
“Uh…no, thanks,” J said. “We’re good.”
Smurf brushed imaginary flour from her hands.
“DInner will be ready in an hour. Good thing I didn’t leave the roast in your hands.”
She shot her sons a pointed look before turning to you, her expression softening with surprising ease.
“How about I whip up another batch of cupcakes?” She asked. “Chocolate or vanilla, y/n?”
The sudden sweetness caught you off guard.
You looked at J before answering.
“Uh…I’m really not that hungry.”
“Hey,” Baz cut in gently.” You guys want a real drink instead?”
Something about the constant offers made your stomach tighten.
Beer, cupcakes, dinner, another drink.
You understood they were probably trying to help, or at least trying to pretend today hadn’t happened. But everything about the Cody family felt…off.
Too casual, too practiced. Like grief was just another guest passing through the house.
“We got tequila,” Baz continued. “ We got gin”
J spoke before either of you could be offered anything else.
“I’m…I’m really tired.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “ And I bet y/n is too.”
You nodded immediately, “Yeah.”
Smurf stepped closer resting a hand against each of your backs.
“Of course you are, baby.” Her touch was light, almost maternal. “ You two had a rough day.”
For a brief second, you let yourself lean into it. Not because you trusted her, but because you truly were exhausted and all you wanted was just quiet.
“Go on inside and get some sleep. I’ll save you both a plate.”
“Okay,” J said quietly,” Thank you,” you added/
Smurf looked toward one of her sons.
“Show J and y/n to Pope’s room, Deran.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Meeting J’s family like this was awkward enough. But Craig and Deran seemed determined to make it worse, joking about Julia as though she hadn’t died only hours earlier.
None of this was anyone’s ideal reunion, but the least they could’ve done was pretend it was.
Deran set his beer on the dock railing and jerked his way toward the house.
Without a word, he started walking. You and J picked that as a sign and followed.
“See you later,” J said.
“Thank you” You said, offering Smurf and the others a small, polite wave before disappearing into the house with J.
You and J followed Deran through the house.
Your duffel bag bumped against your leg with every step while carrying his own bag with two of yours, refusing to let you argue otherwise.
The hallway was lined with framed family photos, none of them included J.
“So…” J finally spoke, his voice hesitant. “Do you all still live here?”
“Uh, no,” Deran answered without looking back. “We’ve all got our own places.”
He stopped at the end of the hall and pushed open a bedroom door.
You stepped inside slowly. It was smaller than you expected, but comfortable.
A twin-full sized bed sat in the middle of the room, a dresser horizontal of it. A closet took up the corner and a sliding glass door let warm California light spill across the floor.
You set your bag down, J followed suit.
You eyes wandered around the room, quietly taking in what would be home for however long fate decided.
Truthfully… it was nicer than anywhere you’d ever slept before.
“We crash here whenever we feel like it,” Deran continued, leaning against the closet door.
“Helps keep Smurf happy.”
“...Smurf?” J asked.
Deran looked at him like the answer was obvious.
“Your grandmother.”
J nodded slowly,” Uh…thanks, Uncle Deran.”
Silence.
Then Deran’s voice cut through,” You’re not seriously gonna call me that, are you?”
You lifted both hands innocently.
“Don’t look at me.” you said with the ghost of a smile.
It did feel strange. Calling any of these men uncle felt like skipping ten chapters of a book you’d never read.
“What if he does, bro?” Craig wandered into the room carrying one side of an old television while Baz held the other.
“You’ve been called a lot worse.”
You stood up from your spot on the bed, ending up beside J near the doorway.
“We found this Tv in the shed,” Baz said as they carefully lowered it onto the floor.
“Can’t have you two living in squalor.”
“Thanks.” J said quietly, you nodded,” Really…thank you.”
“We just gotta find the right bracket and we’ll mount it later.”
“Cool,” you replied.
For a moment, nobody moved. You couldn’t help noticing how everyone had unconsciously divided themselves.
You and J stood together near the bedroom door.
Baz, Craig, and Deran occupied the opposite side near the sliding glass door.
It looked less like family meeting each other…and more like two teams waiting for someone to make the first move.
Baz broke the silence first.
“Those your only shoes?” You and J glanced down at your feet.
“Yeah”
Between the two of you, your combined wardrobes could probably fit inside one suitcase.
Craig let out a whistle.
“Dude…you can’t be wearing those around us.”
“Yeah,” Baz agreed, already digging through his wallet. “Go get yourselves some decent kicks.”
He pulled out a stack of bills and set it on the bed.
“Get some Nike Zooms or some Dunks.”
Craig pointed dramatically.
“But not the orange ones, okay? Those are ugly as hell.”
You and J gave what felt like your fifty thank you as the brothers filed out one by one, pulling the bedroom door shut behind them.
Silence settled over the room for the first time since arriving. You let out a long breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You flopped backward onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“No shade J, but…this family is weird.”
J let out the smallest laugh, the first one you’d heard from him all day.
The mattress dipped beneath J’s weight as he laid down beside you. Neither of you bothered taking your shes off. You simply stared at the ceiling listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the house settling around you.
Voices drifted faintly from outside. A cabinet closed somewhere down the hall.
Then, quietly, J reached over and took your hand. His fingers were cold. He gave yours a small squeeze.
“We’re gonna b okay.”
You turned your head to look at him. His eyes fixed on the ceiling.
For Generations, House Sahir stood beside House Atreides.
Not as rulers.
Not as advisors.
But as their shield.
A legacy passed from parent to child, forged in blood and honored with every generation born into its oath. While House Atreides led, House Sahir watched from the shadows, standing between their liege and the countless blades that sought to bring them down.
“When an Atreides draws breath, a Sahir stands between them and death.”
It was never merely a saying.
It was a promise.
From the moment you were strong enough to lift a blade, you were taught to wield it. Every lesson, every scar, every sacrifice served a single purpose: protect House Atreides until your final breath.
It was the only life you had ever known. It was the only purpose you ever had.
Until it all burned.
Your parents are dead. The Duke is dead. Caladan is a memory, and Arrakis has become a graveyard.
Only two members of House Atreides remain, and one sole survivor to carry the next generation of House Sahir.
Now, with an empire hunting them and the desert threatening to swallow what little is left, your oath has never mattered more.
But neither has the truth.
Because the blood that runs through House Sahir is older than any oath ever sworn.
And when the desert calls your name, you’ll be forced to decide which legacy you were truly born to uphold.
so i noticed how you tagged j in the first chapter of honey stained lies and also just from reading it, is your goal for reader to end up with j?
i honestly don’t even know who reader is gonna end up with( crazy ik) i think it be nice if she ended up with j only because they’ve grown up together and have seen each other at their worst while with pope he’s this broken misunderstood man but who knows maybe two negatives can make a positive in this instance
hello my freaky people i recently graduated and now i’m preparing for college so forgive me on my hiatus 🫰🏾🫰🏾🫰🏾i will be back to posting soon though!!!
Even in December, the sun stayed high too long as it stretched in gold across the sidewalks and poured heat into the city as if it refused to acknowledge winter existed anywhere else in the world.
People still walked around in tank tops, kids still biked through neighborhoods with scraped knees and melting popsicles. And when the sun set, and the moon got a chance to shine, there was never a need for sweaters in Oceanside.
Which was why, sitting beside J’s mother’s body, you couldn’t help stop wondering if she was cold. The thought lodged itself into your brain the second you felt her body go limp.
Would J cover her up?
Would she need a blanket? A sweater?
Or would the non-stop sweltering heat of your small town keep her warm enough?
Your fingers twitched in your lap as the game show from the TV filled the silence in the room. However, as loud as it was, it couldn’t mute the smell of cigarettes and stale air conditioning.
But you didn’t mind it, not one bit. This was home for you, and a part of you thought that maybe she would gasp for air and go back to yelling at J to wash the dishes in the sink or tell both of you to get out of her house.
But she didn’t move, and neither did J.
He sat next to you, still as ever. His eyes bored into the TV as you waited for the EMT.’s to arrive. You wondered what was going through his mind.
Was he happy his mom died? Maybe she didn’t do much but shoot up drugs and yell at you, but at least with her alive, you had a place to live.
But then again, maybe he was upset because now you both had nowhere to go.
You could put your money together, maybe skip town, find his father if he—
BANG BANG BANG
The sharp sound of a fist pounding against the door ripped you and J from your thoughts.
A second later, the EMTs walked into the apartment carrying bags and equipment that clinked loudly against each other, their voices too calm for a room that felt seconds away from collapsing on itself.
Instinctively, you shifted closer to J, your shoulder pressing against his as you made space for them to move around his mother’s body.
One of the paramedics knelt beside her.
“What’s she taken?”
The question hung in the air for a second, almost cruel in its normalcy. Like, there was still time to fix this, as if the right answer could somehow rewind the last few hours.
J swallowed hard,” Uh…heroin.”
The paramedic nodded and immediately got to work while you stared straight ahead at the TV across the room, focusing on the meaningless flicker of colors bouncing across the screen.
It wasn’t that you were unfamiliar with this kind of thing.
Growing up in certain parts of Oceanside meant learning early that overdoses, fights, sirens, and grief blended into everyday life like background noise. But no matter how often death brushed past you, it never became easier watching it take people you knew.
Especially not someone who had once made you grilled cheese sandwiches at two in the morning because you and J refused to sleep.
Your eyes drifted back toward his mother.
She still looked strangely peaceful. Like she was sleeping through the chaos unfolding around her.
You hoped wherever she ended up now would treat her kinder than the world ever had.
From what J had told you over the years, his uncles and grandmother had practically erased her from the family long before you were ever born. Nobody visited, no one called except for meaningless happy birthday messages for J.
She existed like a stain they pretended wasn’t there.
You never knew exactly what she’d done to deserve that kind of exile.
Maybe nothing at all.
Maybe she was just another person Oceanside swallowed whole before she ever had the chance to become anything else.
But sitting here now, listening to latex gloves snap and muted medical jargon fill the room, you couldn’t help but think that whatever destroyed her had started long before the heroin did.
Long before tonight
Long before J.
The sound of dishes clinking softly against each other filled the silence hanging over the house.
You stood at the sink washing whatever plates had been left behind, your hands moving on autopilot while J sat at the kitchen table finishing your math assignment like the world hadn’t just split open a few hours ago.
Pencil against paper.
Sponge against ceramic.
It was almost enough to pretend things were normal.
Just almost.
Your chest tightened as you stared out the small window above the sink, watching the sun dip lower across Oceanside. The orange glow spilling through the neighborhood felt wrong now. Too warm, too alive for a day like this.
You couldn’t stop wondering where the two of you would end up after tonight.
The system?
Absolutely not.
The thought alone made nausea crawl up your throat.
You and J spent your entire lives attached at the hip. There was no universe where strangers could split you apart and expect either of you to survive it.
Ever since his mom died, you’d barley spoke.
The air inside the house felt thick with death and misery, heavy enough that even opening your mouth seemed impossible. Like if you spoke too loudly, the reality of what happened would finally crush you completely.
But the silence was becoming unbearable, and the question eating at your stomach refused to stay buried any longer.
“J…” you whispered.
His pencil stopped moving immediately.
He looked up at you from the kitchen table, exhaustion sitting heavy beneath his eyes.
“I know this is an obvious question, but my stomach is literally gonna turn inside out if I don’t ask.”
You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders sagging as your fingers pressed against your temples, trying to dull the headache building behind your eyes.
“Where are we gonna sleep tonight?” Your voice cracked slightly. “I mean…I doubt they’re gonna let us stay here, and who knows if CPS is already on their way, and I literally have nowhere for us to go, and I just…”
The words started spilling too fast after that.
Panic clawed its way up your chest until breathing itself became difficult.
Before you could spiral any further, J stood up so suddenly his chair scraped harshly against the floor.
Then he crossed the room and pulled you into him. The hug hit harder than you expected.
One arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders while the other cradled the back of your head, pressing you against his chest like he was trying to hold both of you together at once.
And that was it. The second he touched you, everything shattered. Your shoulders began to shake violently as sobs tore out of you before you could stop them. Tears streamed endlessly down your face, hot and overwhelming, soaking into the front of J’s shirt while you clung to him, like letting go would kill you.
Outside, the rest of Oceanside kept moving.
Cars drove past, people laughed, and the sun still burned gold against the sky.
But inside that tiny kitchen, the two of you finally fell apart.
J stood outside the apartment with his back pressed against the wall as he stared out at the parking lot below.
In front of him, your bags sat piled messily near the railing while your legs dangled through the gaps beneath it, your sneakers knocking softly against the metal every few seconds.
Everything you owned was packed into two duffel bags and a backpack.
But none of this felt real.
A few hours ago, this place had still been a home. Messy, loud, imperfect, but a home. Now the apartment behind you felt hollow, stripped of warmth, the second J’s mother stopped breathing inside it.
J had called his grandmother sometime after the EMTs left. If you could even call her that.
From the stories he’d told you growing up, she sounded less like family and more like a ghost lingering at the edges of their lives. Present enough to judge, absent enough to never actually help.
Still, she told him to pack your things and wait outside.
So that’s what you did, even though a part of you wanted to hate her already. You wanted to direct every ounce of anger and grief sitting heavy in your chest toward the woman who had abandoned J’s mother long before the drugs ever did.
But another part of you knew better than to bite the hand currently offering you both somewhere to sleep.
Even if that hand arrived years too late.
The sound of heels clicking against concrete echoed through the stairwell.
J immediately strengthened beside you. You looked up behind you just as he pushed himself off the wall and reached down to help you to your feet.
Then she appeared.
J’s grandmother rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, slowing almost immediately when she saw the two of you standing there surrounded by bags.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then, slowly, she removed her sunglasses.
“Is that all you got?”
Her voice was calm. Flat even.
J turned to look at you as you nodded in response, and so did he.
“Uh, yeah. My bike is downstairs.”
The woman in front of you didn’t respond immediately. She just studied both of you like she was measuring what was left of both of you
“Come here,” she said to you both, almost as if it were a command,” Give me a hug.”
For a second, neither of you moved. You both took small steps towards her before embraced you both.
A brief, grounding squeeze. Not exactly warm or grandma-like, but…real. Human, in a way, the last few hours hadn’t been. She gave you both a peck on the cheek, before she let go, as if she was sealing your futures shut.
And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the apartment, leaving you and J alone again with your bags and the weight of everything that happened.
You rested your head on J’s shoulder, letting your eyes close to feel a moment's peace. For a second, the world stopped asking things of you. No decisions, questions, or aftermath.
Just silence.
J’s shoulder rose and fell under your cheek, steady enough that your breathing started to match his.
It almost felt like peace.
Almost.
“Yo!”
The voice cracked through the air like a thrown bottle.
Your eyes opened as you lifted your head immediately. J exhaled through his nose like he already knew what was coming.
A man was walking toward you from the side of the building. Familiar in the worst way, where that kind of presence didn’t belong near anything stable.
You couldn’t quite place his name, but your brain filled in the blanks.
J’s mother’s dealer.
He stopped in front of you both like he owned the space.
“Julia up there?” he asked, glancing toward the building
J sat up with a grunt,” No.”
A beat.
Then the man scoffed.
“Your mom owes me 90 bucks.” He said, standing in front of J. His tone was casual, almost bored.
” That taste I gave her yesterday wasn’t a handout.”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as your mouth moved to speak before you could shut it,” Then why give her a taste?”
Clearly, he was having a bad day as he moved to stand in front of you, his eyes glaring into you.
“You got 90 bucks?” he asked J first, then his eyes flicked to you, narrowing.” What about you, princess? Huh, you got 90 bucks?”
You didn’t answer.
You shook your head no, knowing that whatever words you were going to say were most likely going to give you a bloody nose.
He stepped closer to J, ignoring you now, digging one hand into his pocket.
“Tell her I don’t get paid,” he muttered. ” I’m coming back tomorrow, dragging her by her hair out to the corner.”
AT the same moment, the man stepped back as footsteps were heard on the stairs.
J’s grandmother descended slowly, one hand trailing along the railing as her sharp eyes immediately landed on the three of you standing there.
The man glanced up at her, and something in his posture shifted instantly. Something less bold and loud.
Still, before walking off, he looked between you and J one last time.
“I want my money,” he muttered.
Then he disappeared down the sidewalk like he hadn’t just left something rotten lingering in the air behind him.
J’s grandmother stopped at the bottom of the stairs, arms folding tightly across her chest.
“Who was that?” The question cut cleanly through the silence
You quickly bent down and lifted your bags into your arms, letting out a quiet sigh as if exhaustion alone explained everything.
“It was nobody.”
J spoke right after you.
“It was just a neighbor.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly behind the sunglasses she’d put back on, gaze moving between the two of you like she was deciding whether or not to press further. But not because she cared to know, but to see if it should be her problem, or not.
You were almost certain she didn’t believe either of you. People like her probably learned a long time ago how to recognize lies on sight, but after a second, she simply nodded once. Not because she believed you, but because whatever truth sat underneath your answers was clearly none of her concern for now.
If you were to stick a child in the woods with a bear or a man, who would they run to?
If that child grew up on Disney Junior, cartoons, bedtime stories, and watched Winnie the Pooh, depending on the bear, they might run to it.
But a child who grew up around sex, drugs, and violence would also run to the bear.
Not because they also think it’s Winnie the Pooh or because they think it’s harmless, but because they know who the real animal is already. Neither child would pick the man. One wouldn’t because of their safe upbringing, and the other because no bear would kill you or harm you for the fun of it.
A bear kills to survive, protect, and eat.
Only the true animal, a man, would.
Men kill for power, pleasure, and for no reason at all.
And children learn the difference faster than anyone would admit
Before J’s mom passed, it was always just you and him.
Two halves of the same world that were against you from the moment you were born. Tightly stuck at the hip that it became impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You grew up side by side, carrying every version of each other along the way.
From your most embarrassing Discord phases to his darkest moments of grief that hollowed him out from the inside, but neither of you looked away.
No matter how messy things got, or how much trouble you got yourselves in, you both stayed.
Mainly because you both knew too much information about yourselves not to be able to be friends anymore, but because somewhere along the line, your friendship stopped feeling like a choice and started feeling like survival.
You knew J better than anyone else ever could. You knew the hidden anger in him before it exploded, the sadness before he could bottle it up, and the reckless decisions.
And J knew you, too. Every ugly thought, hidden fear, every part of yourself you swore nobody else would ever see.
The two of you weren’t just close, you were dependent on each other to see the next day.
Bound together by history, loyalty, and the terrifying understanding that if one of you finally let go, the other would fall apart right after.
A sneak peak of my new series" Raised By Ruins" which will be released sometime next week.
Enjoy!
Summer was year-round in Oceanside.
Even in December, the sun stayed high too long as it stretched in gold across the sidewalks and poured heat into the city as if it refused to acknowledge winter existed anywhere else in the world.
People still walked around in tank tops, kids still biked through neighborhoods with scraped knees and melting popsicles. And when the sun set, and the moon got a chance to shine, there was never a need for sweaters in Oceanside.
Which was why, sitting beside J’s mother’s body, you couldn’t help stop wondering if she was cold. The thought lodged itself into your brain the second you felt her body go limp.
Would J cover her up?
Would she need a blanket? A sweater?
Or would the non-stop sweltering heat of your small town keep her warm enough?
Your fingers twitched in your lap as the game show from the TV filled the silence in the room. However, as loud as it was, it couldn’t mute the smell of cigarettes and stale air conditioning.
But you didn’t mind it, not one bit. This was home for you, and a part of you thought that maybe she would gasp for air and go back to yelling at J to wash the dishes in the sink or tell both of you to get out of her house.
But she didn’t move, and neither did J.
He sat next to you, still as ever. His eyes bored into the TV as you waited for the EMT.’s to arrive. You wondered what was going through his mind.
Was he happy his mom died? Maybe she didn’t do much but shoot up drugs and yell at you, but at least with her alive, you had a place to live.
But then again, maybe he was upset because now you both had nowhere to go.
You could put your money together, maybe skip town, find his father if he—
BANG BANG BANG
I'm not too sure who I'm gonna pair the reader up with yet, it's either J or Pope, but nonetheless, you'll enjoy this!
Summary: A rare moment turns heavy fast. Small tensions crack open, and Smurf reminds everyone this isn’t just family.
It’s control.
And J? He’s caught in the middle.
The street felt abandoned in that eerie, almost staged way. Half finished condos loomed around you, dark windows staring blankly at the world. The ocean air carried a sharp chill, mixing with the smell of concrete dust and salt.
Deran pushed the trolley ahead of you, its metal wheels clattering softly over cracks in the pavement. The sound felt too loud in the stillness.
You walked beside him, taking a slow drag from your blunt. The ember flared bright in the dim light. You held the smoke for a second, steadying yourself, then passed it to him.
He inhaled deep, exhaled slow, and flicked the roach onto the asphalt, grinding it under his heel.
“No evidence,” he muttered.
Pope was already crouched at the side entrance, pulling a compact drill from the duffel. He didn’t hesitate. The bit met the lock with a sharp metallic whine.
You kept watch automatically, eyes scanning the dark windows across the street.
The lock gave with a hollow pop.
Pope caught the handle before it could rattle and slowly pulled the door open.
He gestured for you to move.
You slipped inside first.
The air changed immediately. Cooler. Stale. Thick with drywall dust. Plastic sheets hung from unfinished doorframes, shifting slightly in the draft like silent witnesses.
Deran wheeled the trolley in carefully. J followed, glancing over his shoulder once before Pope shut the door and reset the broken lock just enough to make it look intact.
“It’s this way,” Pope murmured.
You followed him down a narrow hallway lit only by faint spillover from a single work light left plugged in somewhere. Your boots crunched softly over debris.
The room at the end was cluttered. Stacks of tile. Buckets of joint compound. Exposed studs and half installed cabinetry. Construction frozen mid breath.
You and Pope immediately began clearing space in front of the wall he’d marked earlier. J joined in, dragging scrap wood aside. Deran positioned the trolley near the doorway.
“Sledgehammer,” Pope said, holding out his hand.
You grabbed it from the bag and passed it to him. Deran took the second one.
You stepped back, gripping J’s arm and pulling him with you.
“Ready?” Pope asked.
Deran nodded once.
The first swing exploded into the drywall with a thunderous crack. Dust burst into the air, thick and choking. The second swing punched through clean. Fragments rained down around their boots.
Within seconds, the wall caved inward, revealing metal framing behind it.
They kept going until the opening was just wide enough to squeeze through.
Dust hung heavy in the air. J coughed, waving it away from his face.
Pope turned toward him. “What? You afraid of asbestos?”
J shot him a look but stayed quiet.
Deran handed Pope a power cutter. “Don’t cut the wire,” he warned. “Could be live.”
You rolled your eyes. “I doubt it’s live. The place isn’t even finished.”
Deran ignored the jab, crouching to take the tool himself. He ducked through the opening first.
“Backpack,” he called. “Don’t forget the backpack.”
You grabbed it and tossed it to J before slipping through the jagged hole yourself. The metal edge scraped your sleeve lightly.
On the other side, the room felt tighter. Cleaner. More finished. This was the real target.
“All right,” Deran whispered. “Where’s the safe?”
You spread out, scanning corners, checking behind temporary partitions.
Nothing.
“Where’s the safe, Pope?” Deran asked, tension creeping into his voice.
Pope looked around again. “I don’t know.”
Deran turned toward you. “y/n?”
You lifted your hands. “Hell if I know.”
He let out a short laugh, half disbelief. “Neither of you knows where the safe is?”
You paused.
Then slowly lifted your finger, pointing straight ahead.
“It’s right there. Calm down.”
They both followed your gesture.
The safe stood flush against the far wall. Massive. Industrial. Easily five hundred pounds of reinforced steel.
You walked toward it, taking in its size.
“This thing’s a tank,” you muttered. “How are we moving it?”
Pope dropped to the floor beside it. “Bolted.”
You turned to J. “Backpack.”
He handed it over quickly. Deran unzipped it and pulled out the inflatable lifting bag.
You checked your watch. “We’re good.”
Pope slid the deflated bag under the safe and began pumping air into it. Slowly, the heavy box lifted off its bolts with a strained metallic groan.
You stepped back toward the entry, eyes locked on the small monitor wired into the building’s camera feed.
A figure entered the frame.
Your stomach tightened.
“Who is that?” you asked sharply.
“Come on!” Pope barked.
You tore your gaze away and rushed back, helping slide the reinforced tray beneath the floating safe.
Deran packed tools fast, shoving them back into the duffel.
Pope released the pressure valve. The safe dropped onto the tray with a heavy, echoing thud.
“Move,” Deran urged.
Pope shoved the tray forward. It scraped loudly against the concrete.
J followed close behind, pushing with both hands. You stayed near the back, glancing once more at the monitor.
Two figures now.
Closer.
Pope forced the tray through the broken wall. Deran and J climbed through first.
You and Pope stayed behind, angling the safe toward the opening.
It jammed halfway.
A thick vertical beam blocked the top corner.
“Pope, it’s not gonna fit. Let’s go,” Deran hissed from the other side. “They’re coming.”
“Use the saw,” you snapped immediately. “Make it bigger.”
Deran looked up at you, incredulous. “You want me to cut this wire? I’m not cutting that.”
You dropped down in front of him.
“I want you to cut the wire,” you said, voice low but blazing. “You will cut that goddamn wire.”
Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway.
“They’re coming!” Deran shot back.
“Then stop hesitating!”
Before he could argue again, J lunged forward, grabbed the saw, and sliced through the metal beam and wire in one aggressive motion.
Sparks spit into the dark.
The beam snapped free.
“Go!” Pope ordered.
He motioned for you first.
You slipped through the hole quickly. Pope shoved the tray hard, forcing the safe through the widened gap. It scraped, metal shrieking against metal, but it cleared.
He climbed through after it.
The safe dropped heavily onto the trolley outside the wall. J grabbed the handles and started pushing immediately.
You fell into step beside him. Deran and Pope flanked the sides.
Behind you, a door somewhere in the building slammed open.
Voices.
Too close.
Your pulse remained steady.
Focused.
You shot Deran a sharp look as you moved.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
He didn’t answer.
You didn’t slow down.
The warehouse smelled like rust and old rain.
One dangling bulb swung slightly overhead, throwing long, restless shadows across concrete floors. The safe sat in the center of the room like a captured animal.
Pope crouched in front of it, tools laid out neatly beside him. Focused. Calm. Like this part was the easiest thing in the world.
Deran paced near the loading bay door, blunt between his fingers, agitation rolling off him in visible waves. J leaned against the wall, arms folded, trying to look unaffected.
You stood a few feet from Pope, watching him work the lock.
Metal scraped.
There was a final sharp click.
The door creaked open.
You stepped closer, anticipation tightening your chest. This was the moment. The justification.
Pope reached inside and pulled something out.
A stack of VHS tapes.
You blinked.
He turned one over in his hand.
Porn.
Your face twisted instantly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Pope tossed them aside. They clattered across the concrete, plastic cracking.
He reached in again.
This time his arm came out loaded.
Cash.
Thick stacks of it.
Rubber banded. Neat. Real.
The air shifted immediately.
You dropped down beside him, heart kicking a little harder now. This was worth it.
Pope looked up at J, money still in his hands.
“What do you think, J?” he asked evenly. “We split this three ways.”
He pointed between himself, you, and J.
You picked up one of the discarded tapes and tossed it toward Deran.
“You can keep the porn.”
Deran let out a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah, if you had cased the place—”
“Oh, please,” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “Save us the sob story. The job was solid. We had time.”
“I’m sorry,” Deran shot back, pointing at Pope. “That idiot is on parole. You get caught, it’s a twenty year bid.”
Then he turned his attention to you, smoke drifting from his mouth.
“And you? You’re not even supposed to be on a job. I was looking out for you two.”
You ignored the tone and started counting stacks with Pope.
“J has more balls than you,” Pope said casually, cash in his hands.
Deran huffed. “Oh, give me a break.”
Pope pointed at J. “He has more balls than you do.”
“What a hero,” Deran scoffed. “He cut a wire. Yeah. He’s just as stupid as you two are.”
The temperature in the room shifted.
Pope stood, offering you a hand. You took it, rising smoothly to your feet.
Deran looked between the two of you.
“What?” he said. “You really want to go back to prison? For ten grand?”
“Some of us,” you said quietly, stepping closer, “aren’t looking to suck off Mommy’s tit for the rest of our lives.”
Deran took a step forward, jaw tight. “You could’ve fooled me.”
Pope stepped in until their foreheads nearly touched.
“Go ahead,” Pope murmured. “What are you gonna do?”
You moved before Deran could respond. Your hand shot up, gripping his jaw, fingers pressing into his cheek hard enough to make a point.
“What are you so mad about?” you asked, voice low and dangerous. “You mad because J’s more of a man than you? You mad you’re not gonna be Mommy’s favorite?”
Deran’s breathing sharpened.
“What is it, Deran?” you pressed.
“Let’s just split it four ways.”
J’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Your grip stayed for a second longer before you released him. You turned slowly toward J.
He stood straighter now.
Calmer than the rest of you.
You threw your hands up.
“Okay, J. If you really want to.”
Pope looked at Deran. “You should thank him.”
You smiled faintly. “You’re only getting paid because of a seventeen-year-old. Pay your respects.”
“You should say,” Pope continued, eyes locked on his brother, “‘Thank you, J, for actually having some genuine balls.’”
You stepped back into Deran’s space again, pressing your fingers into the side of his head.
“Go on,” you said, voice rising. “It can’t be that hard.”
You shoved lightly against him.
“Say it. Say, ‘Thank you, J, for actually having some balls.’”
Deran smacked your hand away.
“I’m not saying shit, y/n!”
Pope shoved him from the other side.
“Say it. Say, ‘Thank you, J, for actually having some balls. I got scared in there.’”
“Shut up, Pope!”
Deran pushed him back hard.
For a split second, it felt like it might tip.
Four bodies in a dusty warehouse. Ten grand on the floor. Years of resentment thick in the air.
J stood frozen, watching.
You glanced at the money.
Then at Deran.
Then at Pope.
It wasn’t about ten grand.
It was about who got to move without Smurf’s permission.
Summary: Something's wrong in Beacon Hills. Shocker. But Derek's half-alive arrival, Scott's girlfriends Aunt is after you, and you all know...something IS coming for you. All of you.
At the beginning, when you met Stiles and Scott and somehow slipped into the shape of their lives, into Scott’s family, into a space that should have felt borrowed but didn’t, you found yourself wondering where you belonged.
Not in the obvious way of who you should sit with during lunch. You had more than that.
You had Scott, Stiles, Melissa, and now Allison.
On paper, you belonged everywhere. From an outside perspective, you had everything. You had a family, you had friends.
But belonging isn’t always about where you physically belong, but rather what happens at the root.
And at times…you never felt planted.
There were times when you felt an invisible barrier between you and everything else. It felt almost as if you had been set on the surface of life, rather than growing from it.
You laughed when other people laughed, and you stayed when they needed you. You built yourself from the wreckage, something real and warm.
But below the soil within you, there was always a nagging question in the back of your mind.
“Is this mine? Or will this be taken from me?”
The thought of your parents barely came to your mind. Not because you didn’t care or love them, but because you had nothing to hold onto. No memories, no voices to listen to, no stories.
Just a cold absence.
Would they recognize you?
Would they be proud of the person you are now?
Or would they look at you with fear, something unfamiliar?
Because even with everything you had, every person, connection, happiness, you couldn’t ignore the feeling pressing into your ribs.
That you were now changing, growing, morphing into something that you didn’t understand.
However, the scariest part wasn’t what you were turning into; it was the quiet realization that whoever you would become might not have a place for you.
“y/n.”
Your name falls through the dark, soft as a breath against your ear.
You groan, barely conscious, turning onto your other side and pulling the comforter tighter around you like it might shield you from whoever is trying to wake you.
“y/n–y/n.”
This time, the urgency threads through it. A quiet panic, hands finding your shoulders and shaking them. Not rough, but enough to pull you out of the heavy sleep you were trying to enjoy.
“What?” you mumble, your voice thick and eyes still closed as you teeter on the line of dreaming and waking.
“Come on,” Scott says, low and rushed.
It takes a second for your senses to catch up, but when they do, it hits you all at once. The damp smell of wet earth and rain. Your nose wrinkles faintly.
“I heard howling.”
You peek an eye open at that.
You push yourself on your elbows just to see Scott dragging on his jeans. He doesn’t even look at you, too focused on getting dressed.
You blink once, then twice, trying to drag his words into your brain and focus.
“You heard howling?” you ask, a yawn slipping out as you stretch, bones popping, body still heavy with sleep. “ Are you sure it wasn’t somehow you and you thought it was someone else?”
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, swaying slightly as the room steadies around you.
“I’m pretty sure there’s, like, actual science on that,” you continue, your voice still soft with sleep but laced with teasing. “Maybe instead of sleep talking, you were sleep howling. And that’s what you heard.”
There’s a grin on your face, wide and hopeful. A part of you was hoping you could sell it enough, that reality might agree with you and allow you to tuck yourself back into bed.
But then Scott turns around. And the look on his face doesn’t match your smile.
It’s sharp, alert, and his eyes aren’t clouded with sleep; they’re awake with something.
Whatever he heard…it didn’t come from him.
Your smile falters immediately. You nod once, slow, accepting defeat.
“Yup. Got it. Yeah,” you mutter, already turning away,” not you sleep howling. Definitely another wolf. One that probably needs our help.”
You move quickly now as you dig through your room, tossing aside clothes until you find something wearable.
A part of you hoped that whatever Scott heard wasn’t real danger. That maybe it was an actual wolf and not some weird man-animal hybrid.
“If Derek isn’t the Alpha, if he’s not the one who bit you, then who did?” Stiles whispers, leaning in close, his eyes jumping between you and Scott like he was trying to search for the answers himself.
Scott looks at you.
You shrug.
“I don’t know.” Your voices echo at the same time, the words landing heavier than they should.
Stiles exhales and drops back into his chair, dragging his hand down his face. For a second his stares at the ceiling, trying to putting your answers together.
Then he leans forward again, another question brewing in his head.
“Okay, but did the Alpha kill the bus driver?” he presses again, his voice low but urgent.
The classroom hums around you. Pens scratching, chairs shifting, Mr.Harris handing out your test papers.
It felt like nothing was happening three desks away.
“I don’t know,” Scott answers, and the silence stretches, thin and tight.
Stiles groans under his breath and throws himself back again, frustration spewing out of him.
He snaps up again, his words spilling out,” Does Allison’s dad know about the–”
Scott spins around so fast in his seat, wind catches around him.
“I don’t know!” He snaps, loud enough to cut through the entire room.
Everything stops. Pens drop, heads turn, even Mr.Harris pauses mid-step.
Scott’s chest rises and falls, fast and sharp. His hands grip the edge of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
And for a second, just a second, it didn’t feel like a classroom anymore. It felt like something that was on the verge of breaking.
Your laughter spills out into the open air as you and Stiles step out of the school, the noise of the halls fading behind you like a door closing on chaos.
“Seriously,” Stiles says, still caught on his idea, hands moving as he talks, “ you guys could be some kind of crime-fighting duo.”
You shake your head at the idea, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Yeah? And you’d just be Robin all over again.”
He stops mid-step.
You keep walking for half a second before realizing he’s not next to you anymore. Turning back, you find him standing there, processing your words like you just handed him an identity crisis.
Stiles nods slowly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yup. No. Not again.”
He jogs to catch up, falling into step beside you, still muttering under his breath.
“I refuse to be sidelined. I’m not emotionally prepared for that kind og narrative arc.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly against his.
“Relax. You’d be a terrible sidekick anyway.”
“Wow,” he says flatly. “Unbelievable. I bring strategy. I bring research. I bring…brains.”
You raise your eyebrow,” Brains?”
“Top-tier brains,” he insists, pointing at himself. “Critical to team success.”
You glance at him as you make it to his car, your smile softening just a little.
“Sure, Stiles. We’d fall apart without your brains.”
A smile appears on his face, “Exactly,” he says, satisfied, like this was always the correct answer.
Stiles yanks open the driver’s side door, tossing his bag into the back without looking. You slide into the passenger seat, clutching yours a little tighter than usual, like it might anchor you to something normal.
The engine turns over, tires roll, and he pulls out of the spot, merging into the slow crawl of the parking lot.
And then, time slips. Not stops, not fully, just… stretches. Like something invisible grabbed hold of the moment and pulled it thin.
Your eyes catch movement before your brain does. A figure, walking, straight into your path.
No hesitation, no awareness, just stepping forward as if the world would move around them.
Your breath catches.
“Stiles—”
But it comes out wrong. Half scream, half gasp, and sharp enough to slice through the air.
Stiles reacts instantly, his foot slamming on the brake. The car lurches, and everything snaps back. The seatbelt digs into your chest, and the world rushes forward again all at once.
“Oh, my God!” Stiles blurts, hands tightening on the wheel as your chest heaves, breath coming too fast and sharp.
Your squint through the windshield.
The figure standing there looks…wrong. Too pale, too still, like something already halfway gone, swaying on its feet.
Your stomach drops.
“Stiles, your breath, your eyes, laser-focused on the figure,” is…is that Derek?”
Stiles doesn’t answer right away. He glances in the rearview mirror, cars stacking up behind you, impatience building, but his focus snaps right back to the road in front of him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. “This guy is everywhere.”
Before the car even fully settles, the doors are flying open.
Scott’s already there, sprinting toward Derek like instinct is dragging him. You and Stiles follow, the world narrowing down to the space between you and the barely standing Derek in the road.
“Oh, my God…oh, my God…” you whisper, your hand pressed against your mouth as if you can physically hold the panic in. “What do we do?”
No one answers.
Scott drops to a crouch in front of Derek, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch without breaking something.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice tight and hushed.
Derek’s head tilts slightly, breath uneven.
“I was shot,” he manages, the words scraping their way out.
You hover for a second, then drop down beside Scott, knees hitting the pavement harder than you register. Up close, it’s worse. His skin is ashen, lips tinged with something too close to gray. Too close to death.
“He’s not looking so good, dude,” Stiles says, lingering just behind you, voice stripped of its usual edge.
Your eyes scan Derek quickly, searching, instinct kicking in.
Something’s off.
More than just the paleness.
“Why aren’t you healing?” you ask, brows pulling together.
“I can’t,” Derek grits out, each word dragging behind a labored breath. His chest rises, falls, too slow, too uneven. “It was a different kind of bullet.”
“A silver bullet,” Stiles throws in from above, because of course he does.
Derek’s eyes snap to him, sharp despite everything, irritation cutting through the pain.
“No, you idiot.”
It clicks.
Not all at once, more like pieces snapping into place fast enough to make your head spin. Your gaze flicks to Scott, something cold settling in your chest.
“Scott,” you whisper, then back to Derek, voice tightening, “wait…that’s what she meant when she said you had 48 hours.”
Derek’s focus locks onto you, intense and searching, even as his body looks like it’s giving out beneath him.
“What?” he demands. “Who said 48 hours?”
“The one who shot you,” Scott answers, jaw clenched.
For a second, Derek looks like he’s about to push up, to demand more, but whatever’s inside of him twists hard. A pained groan tears out instead, his body folding in on itself as he fights for control.
And then, his eyes flash. Bright, violent, unstable, blue.
Your stomach drops. No, not here. Not now.
People are watching. Cars idling. A whole crowd, just one second away from seeing everything they’re not supposed to.
You smack his shoulder, panic sparking in your chest, your voice drops low and urgent.
“What are you doing!?” you hiss just for them. “Stop that.”
Derek’s head snaps toward you, a growl rumbles out of him, raw and strained.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he bites out. “I can’t.”
The words feel like a crack in the ground beneath you.
Scott doesn’t hesitate. His hand comes down on Derek’s other shoulder, firm, steady, as he can physically hold him together.
Derek,” he says, his voice tight but controlled, “get up.”
Derek lets out a shaky breath, something between a scoff and a groan, but his body doesn’t listen right away. For a second, it looks like he might come undone completely.
a/n: I'm so sorry for this long awaited chapter!! I was honestly having a burnout and just taking a break in general, but I have found my spark again for writing, so episode 4 will be done soon!! I
The truck rolled to a sharp stop at the curb, tires crunching over gravel like punctuation.
Pope killed the engine but kept both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.
J and Nicky stood on the sidewalk under the fading afternoon light. Her hand was looped through his arm. His bike rested against his hip. They looked like they belonged in a different world. One with homework and curfews. Not this.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, elbow resting against the open window.
“Hop in,” you called to J.
Your tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
You gave Nicky a small, almost apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. Family stuff.”
Pope added, without turning his head, “He’ll catch up with you later.”
They didn’t move at first.
They just stood there, blinking at the truck like it had appeared out of thin air.
“Uh… okay,” J said slowly.
Pope jerked his chin toward the back of the truck. “Come on. Throw your bike in.”
There was no room for negotiation in his voice.
You could feel J hesitate from here.
“Let’s go,” you said, sharper this time. A thin edge of frustration slicing through the air.
J finally peeled himself away from Nicky and walked around the truck. He lifted the bike into the bed with a hollow metal clank. The sound echoed down the street.
But instead of climbing in, he drifted back toward her.
Of course he did.
They stood too close. Whispering. Smiling like there wasn’t a clock ticking somewhere.
You watched from the passenger seat, jaw tightening slightly.
They kissed.
Longer than necessary.
Your fingers tapped against your thigh. Once. Twice.
Pope’s patience ran out before yours did.
“J!” he barked.
The sound carried. Nicky jumped slightly.
J pulled back just enough to murmur something into her ear. She laughed softly, brushing her hair back like this was sweet. Like it was normal.
You let out an irritated sigh, leaning your head back against the seat.
“Seriously?” you muttered.
Pope’s hand flexed against the steering wheel.
“Let’s go!” he called again, louder now.
J gave Nicky one more quick kiss before jogging to the truck and climbing into the back seat. The door shut harder than it needed to.
You twisted slightly in your seat to look at him.
“Comfortable?” you asked coolly.
He didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.
You turned back around and gave Nicky a final wave as Pope pulled away from the curb. She stood there watching the truck disappear, arms wrapped around herself.
The neighborhood blurred as you picked up speed.
Inside the cab, the air shifted.
No more teenage softness. No more sidewalk sunlight.
Just family.
You glanced in the side mirror, catching J’s reflection. He looked smaller back there than he probably realized.
“You’re not on vacation,” you said calmly, eyes forward. “When we call, you come.”
Pope didn’t add anything.
He didn’t have to.
The truck kept moving.
The truck idled outside the surf shop, engine humming low like it was waiting for something to happen.
You and J sat inside while Pope stepped out, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the mirrors.
Deran pushed through the glass doors of the shop a second later, sunglasses on, board shorts still damp at the hem. He stopped short when he spotted the truck.
“What’s he doing here?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the back seat where J sat.
Pope rounded the hood, stopping directly in front of Deran. Close enough that neither of them had to raise their voices.
“Leave your car,” Pope said evenly. “I’ll drop you off after.”
Deran’s brow furrowed. “After what?”
Inside the truck, J leaned halfway out of his open window. “Hey, I’ve got an English essay to write. I can just take my bike—”
Neither Pope nor Deran acknowledged him.
You flipped a page in your magazine lazily, like this was background noise.
“Don’t bother,” you said without looking up. “This won’t take long.”
J sank back into his seat with a huff.
“Do I really need to be here for this?”
You slowly closed the magazine, the glossy paper snapping softly as it shut. You turned around in your seat to face him fully, one arm draped over the headrest.
“Well,” you said with a small, measured smile, “we wouldn’t be wasting your time on purpose. Would we?”
The smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
J held your stare for a second, then looked away first.
Satisfied, you twisted back around and rested the magazine on your lap.
Outside, Pope kept his voice low as he filled Deran in.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just facts.
Quick job. Clean. In and out.
Cash.
Deran’s posture shifted as he listened. Skepticism gave way to calculation.
“And Smurf?” Deran asked finally.
Pope didn’t hesitate. “She doesn’t need to know.”
That hung in the air heavier than the heat.
From inside the truck, you watched Deran’s jaw tighten. Not fear. Not exactly. Just awareness.
Going around Smurf wasn’t small.
It wasn’t impulsive either.
It was deliberate.
You stepped out of the truck then, shutting the door quietly behind you. The sun bounced off the pavement, sharp and blinding.
“She doesn’t need to know,” you echoed calmly, coming to stand beside Pope. “Not yet.”
Deran glanced between the two of you.
“And this is your idea?” he asked.
You tilted your head slightly. “It’s our opportunity.”
Pope stayed silent.
Deran studied you longer this time. Measuring. Wondering how much of this was ambition and how much was something else.
“You’re helping?” he asked.
You gave a single nod.
“If everything goes the way it’s supposed to,” you said evenly, “this puts us back where we belong.”
Back in the rotation.
Back in the decisions.
Back in the rooms where plans were made instead of overheard.
Deran exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the truck where J sat pretending not to listen.
“And him?”
“He’s part of it,” Pope answered.
J shifted visibly in the back seat.
You looked at Deran, eyes steady.
“Life went on while we were gone,” you said quietly. “We’re just catching up.”
The unspoken truth lingered between you all.
If this worked, you and Pope weren’t just back.
You were undeniable.
The truck rolled to a stop in a near empty lot that smelled like hot asphalt and fried grease drifting from somewhere unseen.
You stepped out first, stretching your arms over your head as a yawn slipped past your lips. The sky was dipping into that in between hour where everything looked washed in copper.
Deran rounded the back of the truck and tossed you a folded vinyl sign.
You caught it easily.
“Don’t wrinkle it,” he muttered, already peeling the backing off the second one.
You held yours up, smoothing it against the side of the truck. The adhesive stuck with a quiet, final press. Temporary branding. Temporary identity.
Pope didn’t waste time. He crouched near the bumper, screwdriver in hand, swapping out the license plates with slow, methodical precision. Metal clicked against metal.
The sound carried.
From the bed of the truck, he dragged out a heavy duffel bag and dropped it at your feet. The zipper rasped open.
Inside, neatly folded uniforms.
Matching. Clean. Anonymous.
He tossed one to Deran. Then one to you. Then one toward J, who barely caught it in time.
“You vet this place?” Deran asked, eyes cutting between you and Pope as he stripped off his shirt without ceremony.
“It’s solid,” Pope replied.
Two words. No embellishment.
Deran studied him a beat longer before nodding and pulling on the uniform.
J stood there awkwardly, holding the outfit like it might bite.
“What are we doing here?” he asked.
You stepped closer, reaching out to tug the fabric from his hands and shake it open for him.
You smiled.
It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cruel either. Just knowing.
“Ready to have some fun?”
His expression didn’t shift.
“This doesn’t look like fun.”
You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice so it didn’t carry past him.
“Fun is relative.”
Behind you, Pope slammed the truck door shut after finishing the plates. The sound echoed through the lot like a starting gun.
You slipped off your top and pulled on the uniform shirt, buttoning it carefully. You tied your hair back tighter than usual. Cleaner. Less recognizable.
Deran adjusted his collar, glancing toward the building across the lot.
“You sure about this?” he asked again, quieter this time.
You met his gaze evenly.
“If it wasn’t worth it, we wouldn’t be here.”
J hesitated a second longer before finally changing. He looked younger in the uniform. Smaller.
Pope zipped the duffel shut and slung it over his shoulder.
The truck no longer looked like yours.
You no longer looked like you.
Perfect.
You stepped back, scanning the scene once.
“Remember,” you said lightly, eyes flicking to J, “confidence makes people lazy.”
He swallowed but nodded.
Pope started walking first.
Deran followed.
You lingered half a second longer beside J.
“Stick close,” you murmured. “And don’t overthink it.”
Then you moved, falling into step with the others as you headed toward the building.
The evening air felt charged.
If everything went according to plan, this wouldn’t just be a job.
Summary: A rare moment turns heavy fast. Small tensions crack open, and Smurf reminds everyone this isn’t just family. It’s control. And J? He’s caught in the middle.
The sun hung high and merciless, bleaching the world into sharp edges and salt.
You sat on the pier with your legs dangling over the side, sneakers knocking lightly against the wood with every absent swing. The ocean stretched out endless and glittering, pretending to be peaceful.
Pope stood a few feet away, boots planted wide, wrestling with something heavy at the end of his line.
It thrashed once.
Then again.
The water split open and revealed a flash of gray muscle and teeth.
You tilted your head, watching him like it was normal. Like it wasn’t a shark fighting for its life at the edge of the dock.
“You think they get scared,” you asked casually, “when they see a boat coming? Or a fisherman? Like they can see their fate?”
Pope grunted, hauling the thing up onto the wood. It slammed down hard, tail whipping. He lifted the mallet and brought it down with brutal precision.
Once.
Twice.
The movement stopped.
He made a sound that lived somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle at your question.
“Yeah. Maybe,” he said. “Kinda like when you point a gun at someone.”
You swung your legs over the post and hopped down, the boards warm under your shoes. You walked toward him, eyes on the shark’s still body.
“It’s up to them,” he continued. “Either stand still… or swim away.”
You hummed softly. “Hmm. I guess so.”
You leaned back against one of the beams, crossing your arms as the sun swallowed you whole. The air smelled like salt and iron.
If you were a fish, would you swim?
Or would you freeze?
Would instinct win, or would resignation?
It was a stupid thought. A childish one.
But it lingered.
If you had known, all those years ago, what your life would look like now, would you have taken Smurf’s hand?
Or would you have stayed on the ground. Stayed small. Stayed drowning.
The quiet stretched between you and Pope, heavy but comfortable.
Footsteps approached along the dock.
You didn’t turn right away.
“You gonna eat that thing?” a man asked, nodding toward the shark sprawled across the wood.
Pope glanced at him briefly, then back at the body. He shook his head.
“Nah. Sharks piss through their skin,” he said flatly. “Tastes like bleach.”
The man made a face.
Pope stepped away from the table, wiping his hands on his jeans. Then he looked at you.
“y/n, why don’t you head home,” he said evenly. “I think Smurf said she was bringing Lena over.”
Your eyes lifted slowly to his.
You weren’t stupid.
You could read tone. Posture. The way his shoulders shifted slightly toward the stranger. Protective. Closed off.
This conversation wasn’t for you.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose.
For a second, you considered staying. Testing it. Forcing the issue.
Instead, you pushed off the beam and walked toward him.
You stopped close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.
“Okay,” you said simply.
You placed your hands on his shoulders. Solid. Grounding. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick but deliberate.
When you pulled back, you held his gaze a second longer than necessary.
Not a question.
Just a reminder.
You stepped away, giving the stranger a short nod as you passed him.
He didn’t nod back.
You walked down the pier without looking over your shoulder, the ocean glittering violently beside you.
Behind you, the shark lay still on the boards.
It hadn’t swum away.
Maybe it never had a chance.
“Come on, Lena. You got this, baby.”
You sat at the edge of the pool, hands braced behind you, heels knocking lightly against the tile. Lena’s small arms windmilled through the water, face scrunched in fierce concentration as she pushed herself up.
She broke the surface with a gasp and a grin.
“There you go!” you laughed. “See? Easy.”
The back door slammed open.
Cath came rushing out barefoot, eyes wide like she’d heard a scream instead of a splash. She hurried toward the pool, heart clearly three beats ahead of her body.
“Jesus, you two.”
She reached down and grabbed Lena under the arms, pulling her close like the water had teeth.
“Come on, okay, splash,” Smurf said lazily from her lounge chair, not even lifting her sunglasses. A drink sweated in one hand, a magazine draped across the other.
“Lena, baby! Come here,” Cath urged, already hauling her out.
You stood, brushing water off your legs. “Oh, calm down, Cat. She’s doing great.”
Cath didn’t look at you. She crouched in front of Lena, scanning her face like she expected to find bruises forming in real time.
“Are you okay?”
Lena nodded, confused more than scared.
Cath turned sharply toward you and Smurf. “She can’t swim without floaties.”
You tilted your head. “She was swimming.”
“She was barely above water.”
“She was learning,” you corrected, dropping back into a chair.
Cath kept asking Lena if she was okay, as if she’d just been dragged from a rip current instead of a backyard pool.
“We’re gonna have you on a surfboard in no time, my little Lena roo,” Smurf cooed, taking a slow sip from her drink.
You smiled at Lena as Cath ushered her toward the house to change. “Such a good girl. Don’t be surprised when she makes it to the Olympics, Cath.”
“Janine.”
There it was.
You didn’t even have to look at Smurf to know she’d felt that one.
Cath’s neck snapped toward you. “y/n. I would really appreciate it if you would call me before you do something like that.”
You rolled your neck once, stretching out the tension. “Like what?”
Smurf lowered her sunglasses just enough to peer over the top. “Like what?” she echoed sweetly.
“She’s a California girl,” Smurf continued. “I was younger than her when I knew how to swim. It’s ridiculous that she can’t.”
“We’re teaching her,” Cath shot back. “You cannot just throw her in.”
“That’s how I learned,” Smurf said smoothly. “Hell, that’s how I taught y/n.”
You nodded once, meeting Cath’s stare. “I don’t get what you’re worrying about. I was right there. If anything happened, I would’ve grabbed her. Nothing happened.”
The words were calm, but something in your chest tightened anyway. A flash of sunlight on water. Kicking feet. Silence.
Cath let out a frustrated breath, realizing she was outnumbered. “That’s not the point.”
It was always the point, though. Fear. Control. Who got to decide what was dangerous.
As she turned to go back inside, Smurf’s voice floated after her.
“Are you coming tonight? Baz really missed you, honey.”
You watched Cath’s back stiffen.
“Oh,” you said lightly, feigning surprise. “He didn’t tell you? Well. Good news then, huh?”
Smurf leaned forward slightly, predatory in silk. “I’m making ribs. Bring the baby.”
“I’m working,” Cath replied instantly.
Smurf shrugged. “Call in sick. Do you need cash?”
Cath shook her head. “I can’t get my shift covered this late.”
She turned toward the house. “Quick like a bunny, Lena!”
You stood, stepping closer to her before she could fully retreat inside.
“Why don’t you leave her with us today?” you offered. “I know Baz would like it.”
The suggestion hung between you.
Cath didn’t soften.
“She’s got a doctor’s appointment,” she said tightly. “Maybe next time.”
She disappeared inside, the door closing with a finality that felt louder than it was.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway.
Behind you, Smurf settled back into her chair as nothing had shifted at all.
You crossed your arms, eyes drifting to the water.
Teaching someone to swim meant letting them struggle a little.
The trick was knowing when to pull them out.
Not everyone did.
You walked down the hallway just as the front door opened.
Pope stepped inside, shoulders tight, jaw set, the smell of salt and blood trailing in with him. You didn’t hesitate. You leaned up and pressed a small kiss to his lips. Brief. Grounding.
He handed Smurf a plastic bag filled with chopped shark.
“For Craig’s dogs.”
Smurf took it without flinching, as if sons bringing home butchered sea life was as ordinary as groceries. She tucked it neatly into the fridge.
She plated food with the same efficiency she used for everything else and slid two dishes toward you and Pope.
“Here’s your plate, baby.”
“We ate before he went fishing,” you said, already sitting beside Pope at the island. You took the plate anyway.
Smurf didn’t look up as she wiped down the counter. “Just have a little protein, you two. Keep up your strength.”
Across the room, Deran turned, keys already in hand. “It’s head high. I’m gonna head out before the kooks finish brunch.”
“Stop by Tao’s on your way,” Smurf called smoothly. “They’re late with the rent.”
Deran gave a tight nod and slipped out.
You took a bite out of habit more than hunger. The food sat heavy on your tongue.
“I feel like shit,” you muttered, words muffled as you chewed. “I can’t keep anything down.”
You pushed the plate away.
Smurf’s attention sharpened instantly. She moved closer, heels clicking softly against the tile.
“You know,” she said, voice dipped in honey, “you two might feel better if you got a little sleep.”
Her hand settled on Pope’s shoulder.
“We got you a beautiful suite.”
Pope glanced at you before answering. “I can’t sleep there. It’s noisy.”
Smurf straightened slightly, recalibrating.
“Hey,” she said, shifting her focus. You turned your head toward her slowly. “You know J hasn’t been around as much since Baz went to Mexico, huh?”
Pope shrugged like it meant nothing.
“And?” you asked, chin resting in your palm.
“You haven’t noticed?” Her eyes flicked between the two of you, measuring.
“I don’t care,” Pope said flatly. “And I doubt she does.”
You gave a small smile. “I don’t either.”
Smurf’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not sure that’s the smartest position to take.”
She leaned onto the island, bringing herself closer to eye level. The kitchen felt smaller suddenly.
“You know, you’ve been gone a long time, baby,” she said to Pope. “Life went on out here. Your brothers did a lot with Baz calling the shots.”
Her gaze shifted to you.
“A lot without y/n joining them.”
There it was.
You held her stare evenly.
“Now that you’re back,” she continued, “you and y/n are gonna have to work your way back in there.”
Her fingers drummed lightly against the countertop.
“But J… J is new. J is up for grabs.”
Silence settled between the three of you.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, studying her like she was a puzzle you’d already solved once before.
“So this isn’t about sleep,” you said quietly.
Smurf smiled.
It didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s about positioning.”
You glanced at Pope.
Up for grabs.
Like he was a tool. Or territory.
You picked up your fork again, spinning it idly between your fingers.
“J’s not a dog,” you said calmly. “You don’t just whistle and see who he runs to.”
Smurf tilted her head. “Everyone runs to someone.”
You held her gaze a second longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” you replied softly. “But not always the person who expects it.”
love you sm! I check your blog hourly. pope x reader themed after sabrina carpenter’s never getting laid. it just feels so pope and reader matching his freak
Wc: 1.4k
Summary: The job went sideways. A cop’s dead. Witnesses walked. The car’s sitting in the worst possible place. Everyone’s shouting, pointing fingers, scrambling to fix it.
The moon sat high and heavy above you, silver light spilling across the water like it was trying to catch you doing something you shouldn’t.
You dangled your fingers into the pool, watching the ripples fracture the reflection. The surface looked harmless now. Calm. Obedient.
There was a time you wouldn’t even step into a shower without your heart racing.
Smurf made sure that didn’t last.
Weakness, she said, was something you outgrew. Or something that got carved out of you.
Your fear of water had been one of the first things to go.
It hadn’t been irrational.
It had been earned.
The summer air that day had felt thick enough to chew. Sun blazing overhead. Popsicles melting faster than the kids holding them. Music crackling from a radio propped on a patio table, whatever was popular that year bleeding into the sound of splashing and shouting.
Your father had dragged you and Baz to one of his friends’ houses. You didn’t know the man. You never did. They rotated in and out of your life like background noise.
Baz kept his distance from your father the second you arrived. That was his survival tactic. Blend into the walls. Watch. Wait.
You stayed near the edge of the pool.
Kneeling first. Then sitting. Your legs dangling in, toes testing the temperature like it might bite.
The water shimmered bright blue, almost fake-looking under the sun. Kids jumped in without thinking. Cannonballs. Screams. Chlorine thick in the air.
You gripped the metal railing and lowered yourself in slowly.
Waist deep.
Breathing carefully.
Staying near the steps where your feet could still find solid ground.
“You gonna sit there all day?” your father called from a lawn chair, beer sweating in his hand.
You ignored him.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he added, loud enough for the other adults to hear. A few chuckled. Not cruel. Just amused.
Heat climbed your neck.
You moved a little farther out.
The water reached your ribs. Your heart thudded against them like it was trying to retreat.
“You’re fine,” he called again. “It’s just water.”
Just water.
A group of older kids barreled past you, splashing hard. One of them clipped your shoulder. You lost your footing for a second but grabbed the railing again.
“Go deeper!” your father shouted. “Swim!”
You shook your head slightly.
The kids were rough. Pushing each other under. Grabbing ankles. Shriek laughing.
You tried to shift away from them.
A hand caught your arm.
Not cruel. Not intentional. Just careless.
Another body slammed into you from behind.
Your grip slipped.
Suddenly, there was no step beneath your foot.
You went under.
The world changed instantly.
Sound disappeared into a muffled roar. Sunlight fractured above you in blinding pieces. Water flooded your nose and your mouth. You opened your eyes and saw nothing but legs. Kicking. Thrashing.
You tried to push up.
A heel struck your shoulder. Another grazed your cheek.
You swallowed water.
Your chest burned. Panic erupted, wild and animal. You flailed, but your arms met resistance. Bodies. Movement. No one noticing.
Above the surface, the music kept playing. Laughter carried on.
You tried to scream.
All that came out were bubbles.
Your lungs spasmed. The edges of your vision started to blur into white.
And then—
An arm hooked under yours.
Strong. Familiar.
You broke the surface in a violent gasp, coughing, choking, clawing at air like it might disappear too.
Baz dragged you toward the steps, half-lifting you out of the water. You collapsed against the hot concrete, coughing until your ribs ached.
The world rushed back in pieces.
Music. Laughter. Someone saying, “She okay?”
Your father’s shadow fell over you.
“Jesus,” he scoffed. “All that over nothing?”
Nothing.
You curled slightly onto your side, water pouring from your hair onto the concrete. Baz’s hand stayed on your back, firm and steady.
No one scolded the kids.
No one turned off the radio.
The party didn’t pause.
You lie there staring at the sky, the sun a blinding white circle overhead.
That was the first time you understood how easy it would be for the world to keep going without you.
Now, years later, you lie beside a different pool.
The moon instead of the sun.
Your hand trailing lazily through water that no longer terrified you.
Smurf had forced you back in after that summer. Held you by the shoulders. Made you float. Made you swim. Again and again until your body stopped locking up.
“Fear is embarrassing,” she had told you. “You don’t let it show.”
So you didn’t.
Now the water felt almost friendly.
Almost.
Pope stood next to you, bare and naked. He shifted slightly, close enough to hear your breathing change if it did.
“One day, I think I’ll touch the moon.” Pope doesn’t respond, instead wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
The night wrapped around the house like it was listening.
You sat still, elbows resting on your knees, eyes on the water as it shifted under the moon. The surface looked clean. Peaceful. Like nothing ugly had ever happened near it.
You almost laughed.
You found it funny how almost everyone in this family thought they were the exception to death. Like it was negotiable. Like it respected skill. As if a clean plan or a loaded gun made you immune.
Baz thought he was smarter than the ending.
Pope thought he could outrun it if he hit hard enough first.
Smurf acted like she had a contract with it.
Even J, in his quiet way, carried that same delusion. Like proximity to chaos meant control over it.
You weren’t innocent either.
You all walked around like you were too significant to be erased. Too aware. Too prepared.
But death didn’t care about awareness.
It wasn’t personal.
And that was the part that unsettled you most.
You tilted your head back, staring at the sky.
“We all think we’re inevitable to the consequences we’ve built for ourselves,” you said softly. “Like we get to be the exception because we understand the rules.”
Your voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t dramatic. It was almost curious.
“We build these lives out of bad decisions and then act shocked when they collapse.”
A breeze brushed against your skin, cool and indifferent.
“I’m not against whatever the universe has lined up for me. I’m not naive enough to think there isn’t something waiting. I just… want to see it coming.”
You swallowed.
“I want the decency of knowing when the ground’s about to give. I don’t want it quiet. I don’t want it subtle. I don’t want to be mid sentence and then nothing.”
The thought lingered heavier than you expected.
“But who am I to want that?” you continued. “I’ve taken things from people who didn’t deserve it. I’ve stood by while guilty people kept breathing because it served us better.”
You flexed your hands slightly, remembering the weight of a gun. The hesitation. The choice.
“I don’t get to pretend I’m clean. None of us do.”
Your gaze drifted toward the house.
“I’d take a bullet for every single one of them. Not because they deserve it. That’s the part people don’t understand. It’s not about deserving.”
It was about love.
Messy. Illogical. Ruinous love.
“I’d take it because I couldn’t sit there and watch them fall. I’d rather be the one on the ground than the one standing over it.”
You let that settle.
“I’d risk everything I have if it meant protecting them. Every plan. Every exit. Every ounce of self preservation I’ve built.”
Your jaw tightened slightly.
“And maybe that’s where I’ll die. Not in some grand betrayal. Not in a dramatic shootout. Just stepping in front of something meant for someone else.”
The pool water shifted again, reflecting the moon in broken fragments.
“And maybe that’s fair,” you said quietly.
You thought about your father. About the near drowning. About all the times you survived something that should have marked you permanently.
“You don’t get to live like this and ask for softness at the end.”
Your eyes softened, but your voice didn’t.
“We’re not the exception. None of us. The only thing we actually control is how we meet it. Head down. Or eyes open.”
Summary: It’s all coming undone. Things you shouldn’t have seen, lights that won’t stop flickering, and most of all, a guilt that holds too tight to you.
And below the surface of everything you hold, something in you begins to snap, slowly and slowly.
The cafeteria smelled so bad you were convinced even the roaches avoided it unless desperation won. Overcooked food and industrial disinfectant tangled together, thick enough to feel swallowed rather than breathed.
Metal scraped against plastic as forks and spoons dragged across lunch trays. Laughter flared, arguments sparked and fizzled out, voices layered over one another until the room felt swollen with noise. It was loud, unbearably loud, yet somehow distant, like someone had cranked the volume while blurring the sound itself.
You sat where you always did, tucked at the end of a table. Your lunch sat untouched, staring back at you. The edges had gone cold, grease pooling in ways that made it even less appetizing. You didn’t realize you’d been staring until your eyes began to sting.
The day had been nothing but this. Moments slipping through your fingers, coming in fragments rather than wholes. Hallways stretching too long. Bells ringing too sharp. Faces moving around you while you stayed suspended somewhere behind your eyes, slowly turning into a ghost of yourself.
Your gaze lifted without permission, and you immediately wished it hadn’t.
Jonathan stood across the cafeteria, half-lost in the crowd and shadows. His shoulders were rigid, his posture folded inward like he’d been struck somewhere tender and never quite recovered. For half a heartbeat, you thought he was looking at you. Hope flared before you could stop it, a fragile thing, and a small smile tugged at your lips.
Then you followed his line of sight.
Nancy Wheeler.
She was talking to Steve, unaware at first. Jonathan wasn’t. His eyes were locked on her, unblinking, as if the rest of the room had thinned into nothing. Like she was the only solid thing left.
The cafeteria noise drained away, replaced by a heavy pressure in your ears, deep and suffocating.
Nancy looked up.
Their eyes met.
It lasted only a second. But it was a second too long. Too still. Too full.
Something inside you didn’t break so much as shut down. Not pain. Not yet. It felt like a window closing, a door clicking softly into place. You thought about standing, about moving toward him, but your body refused. You felt glued to the bench, weighed down by everything you hadn’t said and everything you couldn’t undo.
Your fingers curled into your palms. Nails dug in hard enough to sting, then burn. You hissed quietly, pulling your hand back as a thin line of red welled up against your skin.
Your chest tightened, that familiar ache stitching itself through everything you’d been carrying. Will’s voice. The flickering lights. The shape in the wall. Guilt layered over grief, wrapped so tightly it was hard to tell where one ended, and the other began.
You looked away first.
Your lunch became the most interesting thing in the world. Grease. Cold food. Anything but them.
The cafeteria slammed back into focus all at once, sound crashing over you like rough water. You stood abruptly, grabbed your bag, and dumped your untouched lunch into the trash without a second thought.
As you left the room, heart pounding too fast and too hard, you didn’t see the eyes watching you go.
But they lingered long after you were gone
“y/n?! y/n?!”
You didn’t turn around.
All you wanted to do was drive. Drive until the roads thinned into nothing, until the noise in your head finally burned itself out. Anywhere far away from the grief, the guilt, the jealousy that sat like poison in your chest.
You made it through the school doors and halfway across the parking lot before a hand caught your shoulder, spinning you around too fast.
“H–hey,” Jonathan said, breathless. “Are you okay? I was calling you, but… I don’t think you heard me.”
You adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder, forcing out a sigh you hoped sounded normal.
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just… in my head.”
Jonathan studied you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something written too faintly. You could tell he didn’t believe you. But he let it go anyway, and somehow that hurt more.
He nodded slowly. “Do you wanna come over? I’ve got more posters. I was gonna put them up.”
You looked away.
There was nothing you wanted more than to say yes. To help him. To do something that mattered. To stay close to him when everything else felt like it was slipping.
And yet a bitter, selfish thought crawled up your spine.
Ask Nancy.
She’d look better doing this with him. The right couple. The kind people expected.
Instead of you. The background girl. The afterthought.
“Um…” was all you managed.
Before you could force anything else out, voices cut in.
“Hey, man.”
Steve Harrington slid off the trunk of Jonathan’s car like he owned it. Carol and Tommy closed in beside him, loose smiles plastered across their faces like warning signs.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked, instinctively stepping closer to you.
“Nicole here was telling us about your work,” Steve said casually.
“We’ve heard great things,” Carol added, fake sweetness dripping from every word.
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Sounds cool.”
Your brows pulled together. None of this made sense. Steve and his little army didn’t just wander over to compliment people.
You let out a sharp breath. “Is there a point to this?”
Steve’s eyes flicked to you, narrowing. “Yeah. We’d love to take a look.” His gaze slid between you and Jonathan. “You know. As connoisseurs of art.”
Jonathan sighed, fingers lacing with yours like it was instinct, like muscle memory. Your heart jumped at the contact, then immediately sank.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying to move past them.
Tommy grabbed his bag.
“Hey—!” Jonathan protested as Tommy tossed it to Steve.
“Please,” Jonathan said, voice cracking. “Just give it back.”
Something inside you went cold and sharp.
Steve unzipped the bag. “Man,” he said, smirking. “He’s shaking. Must be hiding something good.”
“Here we go.”
Photos spilled into Steve’s hands.
“Just give them back, Steve,” you said, gripping your own bag tighter. Your voice didn’t shake. That surprised even you.
Steve made a dismissive noise and kept flipping through them.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Totally not creepy.”
“I was looking for my brother,” Jonathan said quietly.
Steve laughed. “No. This is called stalking.”
You were already moving in your head, planning how fast you could snatch the photos and run, when another voice cut through the tension.
“What’s going on?”
Nancy.
Steve lit up. “There’s our star.”
“What?” Nancy asked, confused.
“These two creeps were spying on us last night,” Carol said.
“Oh yeah,” Steve added. “They flock together. Just spreading the creepiness.”
Laughter erupted behind them.
You stared at Steve, hard and unblinking. A violent thought crossed your mind, vivid enough to scare you. For a split second, you wanted to hurt him. Really hurt him.
“He was probably saving this one for later,” Carol said, handing a photo to Nancy. Then she turned to you, grin widening. “Isn’t that sad? Your little boyfriend doesn’t even wanna jerk off to pictures of you.”
That one landed.
You knew Jonathan would never. You knew it. But doubt slipped in anyway, cruel and quiet. You claiming something that was never really yours.
Steve clicked his tongue. “See? He knew it was wrong. That’s the thing about perverts. It’s wired into them.”
He reached for Jonathan.
Your hand came down hard, slapping his away.
“Don’t touch him.”
Steve froze, genuinely surprised.
He scoffed, turning back to the bag. “Guess I’ll take his toy.”
“No,” Jonathan pleaded. “Please. Not the camera.”
“Stop!” you yelled.
Steve stepped closer, holding the camera out like bait.
Then he dropped it.
The sound of plastic and metal cracking against pavement was loud enough to make you gasp. Rage surged through you, hot and blinding. You lunged at Steve, nails scratching, fists flying, before hands grabbed you from behind.
Tommy threw you to the ground.
The impact knocked the air from your lungs.
Jonathan was there instantly, crouching, helping you up. Your hands burned. Blood dotted your palms from the gravel, bright and real.
Steve and the others walked off, laughing as if nothing had happened.
You knelt beside Jonathan in silence, helping him gather broken pieces of the camera and scattered photos, your hands shaking too badly to hide anymore.
And for the first time, you realized how close you were to breaking something you couldn’t put back together.
