#(please enjoy)

Your introduction to the Cody boys and their mother was when you were 16 years old.

Your own mom had finally let you go to their house with her for one of her frequent meetings with Smurf, who she did “business” with.

Your mother had worked her way up through the world of insider felon trading and underground jewelry auctions throughout the span of your childhood.

When you were 2, she started with pawning petty theft stolen items, selling them to any bidder who would bite. If you remember correctly, sometime after your 6th birthday, she was trusted in more dangerous criminals' inner circles, gaining access to the real expensive and hard to sell stuff.

During the year you were 9 she said 'why not' and experimented with credit card numbers. She had easily figured out the technology and it wasn't long until she had perfected her new trade. Your mother was good at everything, she always had been.

By the time you were 12, she had created her own unique way of transferring money to the thieves she pawned goods for.

She learned how to create entirely new credit card numbers- real ones. The kind that worked in a bank and were never detected for fraud when depositing an amount. She used these numbers as a way to skyrocket her climb through the California crime world. All while staying off of the police forces radar.

No one else could do what she did. And after a while, everyone came to her with their stolen treasures.

Of course, she charged a hefty price for each and would only do business with whoever had the most product flowing in, and also kept a large chunk of commission from every deal. But can you blame her? She was a single mother with a little girl to feed and teach you her ways after all.

Since your first breath, it had been you and your mother against the world. You never even met your father.

Your mom was the most straightforward person you were certain had ever lived, so when you asked her about him once at the small age of 4, she told you, “He skipped town on us. But don't worry, you're all me anyway, pea. Be glad you didn't get his low IQ and his laughable lying skills."

You couldn't argue with that since you were definitely your mothers daughter. You looked like her, talked like her, you even shared the same thoughts. You had spent so many years as a duo that you could have an entire conversation through a few seconds of shared eye contact.

You inherited her silky hair, puffy lips and pretty round eyes.

Although, those features only appeared on you long after they were supposed to.

Once when you were 15, you had found an old photo album of your moms in a shoe box under her bed. The writing on the bottom of the first polaroid you picked up read, 'Our Baby's Sweet 16'.

You had been in utter shock. You did not look like your mother did as a teenager, even though she told you you were her spitting image.

At the ripe age of 16, your mother could pass as a 20-something-year-old woman. She had perfect teeth that were framed by a perfect face that matched an even more perfect body.

During your teens, you had nothing similar.

To start, you had acne- bad acne. The kind that you couldn't hide under makeup because of the bumps and acute redness that dotted your face. You also possessed jagged teeth, which meant you needed braces. Not that there was anything wrong with braces, its just that your braces were rubber banded constantly for years, they were painfully in the way and made you drool when you held your mouth open for too long.

You were also flat... everywhere. No boobs or butt sat enticingly on your body like your mothers did at her age.

You had looked at the polaroid, then yourself, and realized that you had fallen victim to one of your mothers perfectly told lies.

You couldn't believe you hadn't caught it, you had learned everything from her including how to lie as if you were hooked up to a lie a detector test without it going off.

The puzzle pieces fell into place in your mind. Mentally, you had inherited 100% of your brains function from your birth giver, but some of your physical features were from your imaginative figment of a father.

You had clearly gotten his crooked teeth, his awful skin and his puberty timeline of being an— almost unbelievably— late bloomer.

It was a terrible thing to learn as a newly teenaged girl who was underdeveloped everywhere but her stupid bumpy face.

So, instead of cowering and hiding your flaws or spending your free time cursing whatever gods gave you your fathers genetics, you faked it. You decided to pretend that you looked exactly like your mother had at her age.

You began to confidently flick your not yet silky hair, you threw out lip gloss coated smiles through your metal covered teeth, and you acted as if the redness on your cheeks was a girly blush and not full blown acne rosacea.

Your mother loved every second of it. She was razor sharp herself, so she knew that you gave yourself a 15 minute pep talk every morning before high school staring at that polaroid from her 16th birthday. She was well aware that you willed yourself into that beautiful girl that stared back at you with a glass complexion and a picture perfect smile.

By the time you met the Cody family, your facade was flawless.

Your mother stood at your side on the back patio of Smurf Cody’s house.

Her sons stood in front of you next to her, she was dressed in a poorly placed silk pink robe that left little to the imagination.

Maybe at her old age she thought she needed to show off her body in order to attract attention, is your first thought.

Your second thought is, holy fuck— these are the hottest guys you’ve ever seen.

The guys were all different builds, heights and carried unique features. But man, they all look goooooood.

They seriously look like a crime family from a tv show where every felon is a ten out of ten in order to keep a female audience.

You will yourself to push through the wave of self consciousness that washes over you. These men that were probably so experienced and had beautiful women pining after them, are opposite a 16 year old girl with cystic acne and a silver wired mouth.

You tried to keep from salivating over them— which was honestly hard due to your braces— as your mom introduced you.

“… and this is my daughter—”

“I can’t tell which one is my favorite.” You interrupt your mother to say, somewhat hungrily, as you stare at the four boys in front of you.

She mutters your name in sort of a warning but it’s lighthearted, she knows by now to let you just get it all out of your system.

You tap your finger to your chin, you ignore the feeling of a new pimple there and push forward with your quip.

“You all look so… different,” you say with a sideways smile and a slow perusal of them all.

Smurfs full lips curve into a knowing grin, “I know my boys are gorgeous, but I think they’re a little too old for you, baby.”

She was right. They were all older than you, two of them not by much you don’t think. But the one with the shot curly hair, scowled face and his arms crossed was at least in his late 20’s.

The other one with spikey hair and an easy going smile looked around the same age. While the other two, the tall one with the man bun and the blonde with the beach waves, couldn’t be more than 5 years your senior.

Instead of responding to Smurf, your head whips towards your mom in feigned shock, “Did you not tell her I don’t have a dad?“

You glance back at Smurf and dryly explain, “No one is too old for me.” You shoot her a wink and a proud smile. “Daddy issues.”

Her head shakes with in laughter and you swear you see all four boys shift uncomfortably in their places.

“You’ll get along well with all of us then,” the spikey haired one says with that charming smile still on his chiseled face.

You nod and ever so slightly bite your sparkly gloss covered lip, feeling the metal squares on your teeth pierce the skin.

“Oh definitely,” they were all so hot it was making it hard to fake confidence like you usually do, but you persevere. “I guess we’ll have to see who ends up being my favorite.”

The one with the man bun scoffs, you see his eyes rover you in dismissal because obviously he’s not attracted to you— that’s why you have your iron clad personality.

“Don’t think any of us are dying to be that,” a smugness glittered in his eyes.

Yes— it hurt a little, but you had heard much worse over the years. You were the only girl in school with no boobs for Christ sake, this 21 year old guy wasn’t going to break you now.

From your peripheral, you see your mom go to open her mouth, probably to defend you in some way like she always tries to do.

But you can handle yourself, so you respond before she can even get a word out.

You cock your hip and cross your arms, letting the same look of dismissal take over your features, “I don’t think any guy with hair longer than me can be my favorite anything, actually. So you’re out of the running.”

The blonde chokes back laughter and spikey- hair’s grin grows two sizes. The curly haired man is standing so still you would not be surprised if they told you he was a wax figure.

“You know what-”

“Baby, enough. These lovely ladies are your guests,” Smurf cuts him off with her sickly sweet voice.

She turns back to you with a flick of her blonde hair, “Ignore Craig, he’s use to every girl bending over backwards for him-” she shot you a wink “- literally.”

You’re a little stunned by her sexual innuendo when taking about her son, but you can’t harp on it because she keeps speaking, gesturing to the rest of the boys.

“This is Deran, he’s my youngest, aren’t you baby boy?”

The blonde is completely unfazed by his mothers words, he just looks at you with absolutely no kind of perusal at all, not even a dismissive one. He just nods, “Hey.”

“This is Baz, he’s my honorary son.”

The easy going older guy shoots you a pretty smile, “We’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet Gigi’s spitting image.”

He doesn’t say it sarcastically, he genuinely sounds like he means it. However, Craig purses his lips in restrained laughter at the comment.

It makes you want to curl up and die a bit, but you just straighten your shoulders and picture the Polaroid of your mother at 16.

“And I’m sure you’re all the spitting image of whatever father abandoned you,” you say back playfully.

This gets a laugh out of every Cody except for the wax figure. Interesting.

Usually, you can take the reins of an introduction and navigate through it successfully enough to get a few laughs with your dry and direct humor, making everyone feel at ease around you immediately.

But he hasn’t budged.

Smurf approaches the statue of a son and wraps her nails around his neck in a… possessive way?

“And this is my first born Andrew,” she pecks a lingering kiss to his cheek and he doesn’t even flinch, but you think you see his fingers tighten around his big biceps.

“But he goes by Pope,” she pulls back from him, running her manicure over his shoulder before detaching.

“Okay got it,” you say and pretend to think really hard before pointing to each of them at random and rambling off some names, “Devon, Chris, Dez and Priest.”

All of their faces scrunch— besides Popes of course— as they laugh incredulously at your ease to joke with them so boldly right off the bat.

“If you can’t remember their names, how will you ever choose a favorite, pea?” Your mother finally speaks up, playing along with your witticism because she knows it’s all you think you have to offer. She places her hands on her hips, her jean skirt swishing with the movement.

You study her for a quick second before you come up with a smart response. She looks extra beautiful today. Damnit. Her long hair is beautifully curled and her dark makeup highlights her feature’s tantalizingly.

You want to take a few steps away from her so the boys don’t look at you as stark polar opposites side by side. You think to yourself that their point of view must look like a vogue model standing next to a 12 year old boy.

You bring your hand up and look at your blue painted nails in artificial nonchalance, “I guess they’ll have to fight for it.”

“You’re even more bold than your mom is,” Craig tosses the word out in a somewhat disbelieving way but you’d like to think that he’s in awe. He glances at your mom and looks her up and down with a wanting in his eyes that consumes every man when they see her.

A mischievous thought overtakes you while deciding what your relationship will be like with Craig for the rest of time. This guy clearly gets any girl he wants, maybe he needs someone in his life to humble him.

“Oh Carter,” you dial up the pity until it’s basically a billboard sign on your face “Never gonna happen. If I don’t want you, she definitely doesn’t.”

Deran double overs in laughter and Baz fakes a cough attack to hide his own. Craig reluctantly dawns a smirk because fine, that was maybe a little funny. Smurf shakes her head in pure delight and you think you see the slightest twitch of Popes lips.

Smurf bites her cheek while surveying you and the affect you've already had on her boys. She thinks something over for a second and then nods as if she’s decided something.

“I think we’ll keep you Baby. You are quite the hurricane.”

The next time that Pope saw you— really saw you— was five summers later.

Over the course of the years after your introduction, he never spent any time with you.

Since Pope was 12 years your senior and saw absolutely no reason to hangout with a teenage girl, you formed somewhat of a trio with Deran and Craig. You bonded not long after you first met the Cody’s.

You had charmed the two youngest brothers from the jump with your quick responses and sassy jabs, you managed to convince them that even though you’re a few years younger, you could keep up with them and their daring ways easily.

The time you spent with them was not at the house, however. You three were always surfing or swimming at the beach, drinking at a new dive bar or doing something really stupid as a bet from one another.

You had still come around a maybe few times each month, but only for brief visits in the beginning because your mother was still new to Smurf.

Each visit was Popes cue to avoid home— he had never cared about the logistics and business side of the family trade, he just liked breaking noses and robbing banks.

If he had managed to catch a glimpse of you, it was in passing, and he never really paid any attention because he was still desperately in love with his brothers girl.

By the time your mom had finally earned Smurfs full trust— yes, it took years— you were 21.

Your mother and Smurf had formed a sense of certainty in one another, developing a routine when working together. The Cody boys' mother had given your mom the nickname 'Gigi', a shortened version of 'Genie', which is what she used to call her when they first met, because your mom could sell and get anything for anyone.

They bonded as two powerful women in their male dominated line of work, immediately taking a liking to one another. This meant you were coming over more often, being involved in operations and helping your mom handle the family’s pawning and black market selling.

When Pope saw you again, you were not the same — using your own words that you used on Craig after he saw you post puberty— ‘pimple having, flat chested, brace face’ that he had remembered.

Just shy of 22 years old, your second puberty —that really did what your first was supposed to do— hit you hard at 20 years old.

You had finally grown into your features on your perfect, now clear-skinned and sultry face. Your body had been blessed with tits and an ass that were perky and round in all the right places. And you learned to wield your newfound sensuality and boldness wickedly on the men you tortured for fun.

All of this had been unknown information to Pope Cody.

The first time he noticed this about you was when your mom couldn’t make it on time to a meeting at Smurfs place. She was running late, caught up at one of her businesses, so you came alone.

Pope bit into his perfectly diagonal cut sandwich at his place in the kitchen.

He had cleaned the entire house all morning because Craig and Deran had thrown a party last night that— of course — he did not go to.

Parties were not his scene. Being around drunk people he didn't know? Terrible. Or even worse, small talk with those people? Pure torture.

Thankfully, he was pulled from the thought of discussing the weather with a coke-head in his backyard when he heard his mother pull the front door open.

“Hi baby,” Smurfs typical suggestive tone of voice floated through the hallway to where he sat on an island stool.

The rest of the conversation was a bit muffled, as he could only hear his mother’s voice speak to whoever was on the other side.

“She’s not here?… that’s fine baby… yea we can get to work… she’ll get here when she can…”

As he pieced together the conversation, he held back a groan of dread at yet another form of torture he was about to be subjected to.

Pope really hated being here when Smurf did business. It’s not that he didn’t like your mom or anything, it was truly nothing personal, just that the business and the secrets to trading and pawning were all so blah blah blah to him.

Baz wasn’t here so he knew that Smurf would try to rope him into listening in and learning a thing or two.

Smurf told him you and your mother would be coming over, he had just been dumb enough to forget when he rolled out of bed this morning.

He heard the footsteps in the hallway coming toward the kitchen and he took to long to decide if he should leave, so he’s trapped as his mother enters through the wood framed entryway.

Her eyes settle on him and she does a flick of her blonde hair, face brightening, “Morning baby, want me to make breakfast? You didn’t have to make something for yourself.”

Pope looks back down to his sandwich, it was pretty shitty, but Smurf making breakfast meant he was really trapped here, “I’m fine.”

When the second pair of heeled footsteps entered the room, his gaze flicked up and landed on you.

He would be lying if he said his mouth didn’t go dry.

You were standing across the kitchen island from him, looking like a fucking magazine cover he definitely hid under his bed as a teen.

Your long hair was down and flowing around your shoulders, silky and wavy. It framed your face that had glowy skin, big eyes and pouty pink lips that were... moving? Chewing gum- he thought. You had your lips sealed tight as your teeth worked the gum.

You wore a tight olive green tank top that hugged your chest and a dark blue jean skirt that was very… short- Andrew realized as his eyes couldn’t help but trail down to your bare thighs. They looked so soft and smooth and like they would spread all pretty. Then to your feet, which were in tan wedged heels that showed off your white panted toes.

By the time his eyes dragged back up your alluring silhouette, you held a knowing smirk. Pope blinked away his shock and spoke. To his mother, not to you.

“I thought Cay was coming,” he locked eyes with Smurf, avoiding glancing at the sexiest woman he’s ever seen standing a few feet from him.

Your incredulous scoff cuts through the air before Smurf can even open her mouth.

“Um Pope,” you raise a brow and gesture to yourself as he looks back to you, “It is me.”

“But…” he trails off, at a loss for words.

Had it really been that long since he looked at you for more than a few seconds. Was he that much of an asshole? Or actually, was he that hung up on Catherine?

He was so fucking confused. You were not what he remembered you looking like. What Cay looked like.

‘Cay’ was your nickname to the Cody’s and the Cody’s only.

Just like how it had happened with your mother, when the matriarch of the family had first met you, she saw how you kept attention on you, rapidly came up with retorts during conversations, and had the boldness of whipping winds in a deadly storm. Hence the nickname she gave you, ‘hurricane’.

Over the years the name became too much of a mouthful for the Cody’s. Just like how Andrew had been shortened to ‘Pope’ and Barry had been shorted to ‘Baz’, your nickname had been shortened from ‘hurricane’, to ‘cane’ to the simple and usable, ‘Cay’.

Craig had tried to call you ‘cainey girl’ once… you pushed him in the pool fully clothed. So Smurfs abbreviation stuck.

“It has been a while hasn’t it,” you state the obvious, with a hot pink manicured hand on your popped hip, clearly trying not to gloat in Popes face about the fact that he is captivated by you.

You blow your bubble gum outward into an obnoxiously sized air pocket and pop it with a loud, almost cartoonish sound.

Smurf squints her eyes at you at the noise and you simply shrug.

“Yeah, it has… I guess,” he manages to mutter, avoiding your eye contact.

He had to get out of here.

Not only because Smurf was about to make him stay and look at the prices of stolen jewelry, but because he was attracted to you. Just physically, of course, he still had never spoken more than a few sentences to you. He never needed to, you were his younger brothers best friend and the daughter of one of Smurfs connetctions.

But still, it was a new and uncomfortable feeling that he definitely never experienced before.

He had heard his brothers crack lewd jokes and talk about how ‘nicley’ you grew up over the past year. But he always simply assumed they were being creepy assholes who were making fun of you.

Now that he knew they were somehow under exaggerating… it was like a flip had switched in him.

Let’s just say he wished he had prepared himself. Because he looks like an idiot as he quickly throws out his half eaten sandwhich and mumbles a lame excuse to leave without giving you another glance, and books it out of the suddenly warm and stuffy kitchen.

A knock sounds at your door a few days after you saw Pope in the Cody’s kitchen.

Your fork drops onto your plate of pasta and you push off the black marble countertop, crossing your small kitchen and walking through the living room.

The open floor plan of your place means you can see every door in the space from the common area. Your bedroom door, the bathrooms door, and your balcony that you managed to fit a couch, lamp and coffee table on because why not? and you own so much unnecessary shit.

The main area of your apartment is a medium sized living room, that has its wood floors cut off by a sliver of silver leading to the dark checkered tile of the kitchen, about three-fourths of the way throughout it.

You didn’t bother crowding the space with a dining table, its just you living here, so you don't need one.

The colors of your living room jump out at you as reach the door, swinging it open to see Craig Cody overtaking the entire frame on the other side.

He dawns a lazy smile, faded jean shorts and a gray tank top. He brushes right past you, walking inside without an invite.

Obviously, you were going to give him one, he was your best friend for christ sake but come on, could he at least have some decorum?

“Got any blow?”

Okay, so that’s a resounding no to the decorum question.

You roll your eyes and shut the door, “If you left some here than maybe, but you know I don’t do that shit Craig.”

He sniffs a “Right, whatever” and slowly turns in a circle, surveying your apartment.

You place your hand on your hips, you know what’s coming.

“I always forget you change up your style every thirty seconds,” he drops down onto your white fur couch.

“Yes Craig,” you fight another eye roll as you relive the conversation you have with him every time he comes over. “I got new furniture, big whoop.”

He huffs a laugh at your annoyance and pats the couch for you to sit next to him. “No Cay-Cay, a ‘big whoop’”— he air quotes his big hands —“would be you keeping this place looking exactly like this for more than three months.”

The thought immediately makes your skin crawl as you plop down beside him on the plush cushioning.

Permanent furniture? Hell no. You like to switch it up, you tell yourself it’s so nothing can be around long enough to break or chip. But it’s actually because committing to a single decor or anything for the rest of your life makes you physically sick.

In fact, just today you swapped the old maroon rug with a brand new blue and yellow one with swirly designs. Last week, you replaced all the dark green plant pots for bright pink ones. And a month ago, you painted your kitchen cabinets all different fun colored designs. It had taken forever because you are not artistic in the slightest.

But you weren’t about to tell Craig any of that, he would make fun of you for at least another thirty more minutes.

Craig playfully nudges your shoulder with his, “I’m just fucking with you, I know you could never do that. Besides, I like coming here and not knowing what to expect. It’s even better when I’m coked out, cause then it’s trippy as shit.”

You scoff at his choice to bring his favorite drug back into the conversation flawlessly.

“I told you I don’t have any Craig,” you say knowingly.

His long, sprawled out legs in front of him stretch out as he groans in dismay.

You bring your knees onto your couch, tucking them under your flowy white skirt, and turn to face him, raising a brow in disbelief.

“Is that seriously what you came over here for?”

He lolls his sideways, his blue eyes meet yours and a few loose strands of brown hair brush over his forehead.

When he opens his mouth you assume he’ll say ‘of course not! I love spending time with you and I can never get enough of your tantalizing company!’

But alas, your best friend is still a man after all. All of whom have one track minds.

“Do you think Kimi would have some blow?”

You swat at his chest as incredulous laughter rumbles out of you, “You’re such an ass!”

“What? I'm just asking!” He defends himself as he swats back at you. An exchange of flailing hands ensues before you push off the couch.

You cross your arms over your navy tank top and look down at him, “If you want to know so badly, just call her yourself.”

Kimi is one of the blonde, banging bodied, down-for-a-good-time hair stylists that works in the salon that your apartment sits above.

The establishment you’re a 30 second descent from is owned by your mom, and the building that your apartment rests in is owned by Craig’s mom.

This collaboration also exists with all of the businesses your mother owns.

Being a beauty queen herself, once your mom had enough money from her pawn work, she bought a hair salon... and then a nail salon and then a spa and then a few of each.

It’s how she keeps her money flowing and how she stays legit for tax purposes. Its simply a bonus that your nails and hair are constantly done and you're always massaged and waxed at any given moment.

You’ve loved it all for your entire life— switching up your hair length, trying a different acrylic nail shape and testing a new scented body oil. Even when the cosmetics used to be the only pretty things about you, you were a girly girl through and through.

The first salon she ever owned happened to be in one of Smurfs unit complexes. They met when Smurf walked in for a bleach and tone and the rest is history.

The salon you currently live above, is the fourth… or maybe fifth one? Doesn't matter to you. As long as you have a place to stay and redecorate every few months.

“She’s kind of ignoring my calls right now,” Craig tells you in response, dragging you from your inner debate of whether it’s the fourth or fifth salon.

A Cheshire Cat sized smile engulfs your face at the fact that a girl is blowing off Craig and not the other way around. “That is amazing news actually.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, “Shut up. She’ll be back, just needs time to cool off.”

“Well what did you do?” You try and think of the last time you saw Craig and Kimi go home from a bar or club together, and you draw a blank.

“It's nothing, doesn’t even matter,” he brushes it off, which only makes your smile grow impossibly wider.

“Did she finally realize you’re a moron, or even better — she hates you?!” You’re fully laughing now, doubled over at your place opposite the couch.

“Would you shut up!” He hurls a yellow knitted throw pillow at you and you can’t even dodge it you’re laughing so hard. “Don’t you have a new job to get to or something? Anything better to do than laugh at my misfortunes Cay-Cay?”

You do have a new job to get to actually, you glance at your silver oval watch and see that you have to clock in for your first shift in two hours, but you cannot get over the fact that— “Did you just say misfortune? Where the hell did you learn that word?”

Craig stands up off the couch, fully done with your taunting, even though he’s biting back a smile, “Alright I’m leaving, screw you Cakes.”

You giggle at the fact that he was so flustered that he used the two nicknames only him Deran call you in the span of a minute.

Cay-Cay and Cakes— developed from Smurfs nickname of Cay. The type of nicknames that only two young guys— one 18 and the other 21 when they first met you— could come up with. Utterly juvenile and so entirely them.

Craig places a quick kiss to your temple before waking to the door, throwing a “Good luck today,” over his shoulder.

He grabs the black door handle, then pauses suddenly before swinging back to face you, his face lit up like he just remembered something.

“Shit, I can’t believe I forgot why I even came over here.”

You throw your hands up as your patience wears unbelievably thin, “I don’t have any fucking coke Craig!”

“No, not that,” he says in a ‘duh’ kind of tone which only makes you even more annoyed. “I wanted to know what the hell you did to Pope.”

You recoil in confusion, your face scrunched.

What could you have ‘done’ to Pope? You two haven’t interacted for more than a few minutes the entire time you’ve known the Codys. You’ve never even given him a second thought really besides— okay, yea— he’s got that sexy kind of mysterious thing going on.

But still. The fuck could you have done?

“Um what?”

He shrugs and awkwardly scratches at his neck, as if he’s uncomfortable, something you’ve never seen on him before. “Yeah uh- he um… asked about you yesterday. It was weird he was doing the whole, ‘since when has she looked like that’ thing. I asked him why he wanted to know and he got all fidgety.”

His use of ‘doing the whole’ would usually make you laugh. During the early years of your friendship, no one had ever asked about you. Then after your second wave of growing up hit you— a glow up, one could say— every single guy Craig knew asked him about you constantly.

But there was no humor found in your body at his words, just pure confusion and maybe a jolt of confidence at the fact that scary Pope Cody asked about you.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” you cross your arms in defense even though you want to gloat like a champ. “You know I don’t sleep with Cody boys Craig.”

A scoff jolts his tall frame and he nods in agreement, “I just had to ask because I don’t think he’s ever, like ever”— okay no need to rub it in—“talked about you before.”

He shakes his head in a bit of confusion himself as he continues his train of thought, “But you’ve looked like this for like— a year, so I have no clue how he has just now realized this.”

You shrug and feign innocence, “Maybe I’m just the kind of girl that sneaks up on you.”

He has to literally grab onto the wall to stop himself from toppling over with laughter. After what you think seriously might have been 5 minutes, he straightens and wipes tears from his eyes. Tears.

Could he be more annoying?

“Yeah right! I don’t think you could sneak up on a deaf and blind person.”

You pick up the yellow pillow thats still at your feet and chuck it at him, which he manages to expertly dodge. Show off.

“You’re the worst!” Your lips roll in checked amusement. You can’t let him see that you thought that was funny.

“Not the worst Cody brother though, remember that when Pope tries to stalk you,” he winks.

“He asked about me once in five years, he is not going to stalk me you asshole.”

You’re only a little put off by the tiny tingles you get at the thought of Pope Cody stalking you. Must go with the sexy weirdo thing, you guess.

“If you fuck him I will be so mad. Because I have been trying for an entire year, and he just now-”

“Oh my god Craig get out of here!” You shriek in disbelief. “I am not having sex with any Cody man ever!”

“That’s what they all say, Cakes!” He calls out before slamming the door behind him.

As if.

The day you let a Cody get between your legs, will be the day you decide to never buy another piece of furniture ever again.

authors note: HAI GUYS! Please enjoy first chapter to my new pope series.. I just loved writing about how reader is hot as hell and took control of her own confidence even when she wasn’t I hope you all know how hot you are :)

"Close your eyes," you sang the lyrics to your younger sister. Max was currently laying on the couch in the Wheeler's basement with her head in your lap. Her blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, burning a hole in the ceiling above.

Just hours ago, you were certain you'd lost her. She'd written letters to everyone she cared about, knowing she was marked for death. You'd thrown yours to the ground, refusing to accept her fate.

But even your sisterly devotion had its limits. When she rose into the air at the graveyard, you'd never been so scared in your life. You hadn't cried like that since the night Billy died. And when she narrowly escaped death? You'd told yourself you'd never let her go.

"Have no fear," the song continued. The basement was full of teenagers, all seemingly shook up by the events of the afternoon. Being the oldest, you and Steve had taken to trying to keep the most level heads about it all. You'd saved the world twice now, what's one last hurrah? After all, the third time's a charm.

You smiled at the sight of Dustin Henderson beginning to nod off in the corner. The boy hadn't slept properly in days, too worried about clearing Eddie's name. Lucas wasn't much better off, sat on the floor in front of the couch, his hand tightly clutching Max's. Even if he drifted to the alluring call of sleep, he wasn't letting her go. Not ever.

That was what you liked so much about him. He loved your sister almost as much as you did. Almost, because no one could love her quite like a sibling could. Still, he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. No one could make her laugh like he could. It was the kind of joy you'd only seen when she was little.

Still, your sister didn't have the sense that whatever higher power there was gave her. They were on and off again constantly, much to your astonishment.

You'd tried to talk some sense into Max on the scarce phone calls while you were away at college when she informed you she'd dumped Lucas for the 'nth time.

"He's such a dick! There's no coming back from this. I'm telling you, it's really over now. For good."

"What'd he do this time?"

"He joined the basketball team."

"...Maxine."

"Don't 'Maxine' me, you know that's bullshit! Since when is Lucas Sinclair a preppy asshole jock? He wears that stupid letterman jacket all the time now."

"You're right. That's a deal breaker. The horror!"

She'd laughed after you said that. It was the closest to happy you'd heard her since Billy died. When your laughter died down, it was quiet again.

"You should cut him some slack. It's his first year being a high schooler. He's finding his way, just like everyone else. Just like you," you said softly into the phone. "Mom told me you're seeing the therapist at school now. That's good. Ms. Kelly is great."

"What the hell do you know about Ms. Kelly?"

You paused. Right. You always did keep your therapy sessions in high school a secret from everyone, including your nosy sister.

"Nothing. I've just heard good things from other people," you lied smoothly. Lying to Max had never been easy, but it was doable when she wasn't staring you in the face.

"She's alright. I talk. She listens. I go about my day. A waste of time, if you ask me."

You hummed. It was quiet again. You couldn't help but feel like the longer you were away from Max, the more she seemed to... drift. You two were less birds of a feather, more passing acquaintances now. You hated the bitter taste it left in your mouth, the way it made your chest tighten in ways you hadn't felt since Billy died.

"Max..." you'd started, but your tone was too obvious. It was clear the conversation was going to get serious, and Max couldn't handle that. She never was good at talking to you about her feelings that she thought you cared way too much about.

"I have to go. Gotta wake Mom up so she doesn't miss her shift again."

And just like that, you were back to square one. You sighed on your end, staring at your dorm room ceiling.

"Okay. Love you. Call me when you two are back together."

Then, you heard the familiar dial tone of the call being disconnected.

You ran your hand over her hair now, brushing back a few stray strands that had escaped her braids. "The monster's gone, he's on the run, and your sissy's here," you lilted. Max finally smiled, even managing an unsteady laugh at the lyric change. You echoed her, your voice catching in your throat as your own tears caught up with you. You blinked them back as best as you could, determined not to let her see you cry. Otherwise, she'd never sleep.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful... beautiful girl."

When she finally let her eyes shut, you let out a breath of relief. You closed your own eyes for a moment, and when they opened, your gaze met a brown eyed stare from across the room.

"How's she holding up?" Steve asked, the concern evident in the way his gaze softened on you and the girl laying on your lap.

"She's fine, I think. As good as she can be when you're being hunted by a demon sorcerer, anyways," you exhaled, trying to make a joke of the increasingly abysmal situation you found yourself tangled in.

Why was it always your family? This monster had taken enough from you both already. Billy wasn't much. He was an asshole. He resented you and Max for having to move to Hawkins in the first place, and he made your life hell every chance he got. At the end of the day, though, he was still your brother. He didn't deserve what he got.

Max had always hoped that, one day, you could all be a real family. Real brother and sisters. You weren't so naive, not so optimistic that Billy would've ever changed, but you'd at least wanted him to have the chance to prove you wrong.

You'd never know, and that was what stung the most. The perpetual 'what-if' of it all. The constant questioning of what you could've done differently to save him, how you could've traded places with him. Anything to save Max from the hurt that she felt in his absence, from the words she'd said at his grave.

"You have a pretty voice, you know. I've never heard you sing."

Steve's words snapped you back to reality like a splash of cold water. You were spiraling again, something you had a tendency to do. You smiled, your brows raising in amusement.

"You never went to any of my shows?"

Steve scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes with a boyish grin.

"Please. I wouldn't have been caught dead at one of those musicals in high school. I had a reputation to protect," he responded, a defensive edge in his tone. He stilled a moment, then shook his head. "I was too much of an idiot to go back then."

"You weren't missing much. It wasn't exactly Broadway," you comforted. He had a nasty habit of talking down about his old self in recent days. Sure, he'd come a long way. You'd heard that he could be a royal douche in the years before you and your sister had moved to Hawkins.

But still, something about the way he seemed so disappointed in himself rubbed you the wrong way. He looked like a kicked puppy. Like a sinner who thought himself damned beyond saving.

"No, you're right," he said, "I bet it was better than Broadway if you were in it."

The words took you off guard, making your hand pause its ministrations in Max's hair. Steve seemed to surprise even himself, and a blush that looked entirely out of character on him covered his face.

"I just mean — well, you know. Just that you're not a bad singer. Probably better than anyone else in Hawkins, anyways," he stammered out. A feeble attempt to backtrack.

You giggled, now giving him your full attention.

"Well, the bar was pretty low. My stiffest competition was—"

"—Tammy Thompson," he finished your sentence, now chuckling right along with you. You tried to shush him between fits of quiet giggling, waving a hand at him.

"She really did give me a run for my money in auditions!"

"She sounds like a Muppet, Mayfield."

"A very talented Muppet."

"Can she even hold a tune?" Steve whispered in an exasperated tone, his eyes wide at the fact you were actually defending her. Hell, she was cute, but she wasn't Farrah Fawcett. Were you like Robin? Hopelessly in love with Tammy? That would be just his luck. He was a supporter, but he couldn't bear the blow to his ego again if you were also playing for the other team.

"Well, not really, actually—" you started, but were swiftly interrupted by a stampede of footsteps running downstairs.

"Guys, Eddie keeps on calling the radio for beer—" Robin started clumsily, stumbling down to the bottom step before stopping to stare at the state of you and Steve Harrington. She blinked, brows scrunching together in confusion.

"What's so funny?" She asked.

You exchanged a glance with Steve before bursting into hushed laugher once again.

Miraculously, Max slept soundly through your not-so-subtle laughter with Steve. You maneuvered your way carefully off the couch before gently sitting a nearby cushion under her head.

You gave a slight nudge with your foot to Dustin, waking him up.

"Hey kid," you said.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the light of the basement.

"I told you to stop calling me that. I'm barely younger than you," he huffed. "What is it?"

"Mhm," you hummed, a ghost of a grin on your lips, "I need you to watch Max. You know, make sure she doesn't start floating or some shit again."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Babysitter duty."

"That's the spirit, Henderson," Steve called from the staircase, smirking triumphantly from ear to ear. He was positively beaming to have someone take that burden from him for once.

You couldn't help the way you seemed to mirror his expression, a fondness in his eyes making you feel warm. He'd always been attractive in high school, but there was something about the way he seemed to care so much about you and your sister that beckoned you to him.

Neither one of you talked much, apart from your side quests saving the world. After all, he was still pining for Nancy, wasn't he? You both had so little in common it was laughable. Besides, it would never work. When this was all over, you'd go back to New York. Back to where you belonged.

Still though, it was nice to indulge your fantasies from time to time. Especially when he looked at you like he really thought you were something special. You didn't know much about Steve Harrington, but you knew that he was someone special. He'd be a good boyfriend to a nice girl who deserved it one day.

But now was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about any of that. You were on a mission: Save your sister, clear Eddie's name, save the world. In that order.

Steve nodded to the stairs, giving you a hand up. Your hand felt a jolt of electricity like you'd been shocked when it touched his, and it lingered for a moment before you both quickly pulled away and started up the stairs at the same time.

It was a narrow staircase, causing you both to bump into each other.

"Oh, sorry—"

"—no, it's my bad," Steve said. You both froze before letting out breathy laughter at the awkward situation, his body pressed close to yours. You stared up at him, your head tilting to the side before he motioned forward.

"Ladies first."

"Huh. I guess chivalry isn't dead," you mused with a coy grin, noticing the way he chuckled to himself before following you up.

Robin stood at the top of the staircase, giving Steve a pointed look when he reached the top. When he avoided her gaze, she glanced between you and him before breaking out into a smirk and began suggestively raising her brows.

"Not a word," he mumbled, nudging her with his elbow as they walked to the kitchen.

Eddie the Banished (a title of his fashioning) was crackling through the walkie talkie, insisting on an emergency food delivery. One that included an egregious amount of beer. Was it the brightest idea to get the fugitive drunk? Probably not, but then again, you weren't a wanted man.

"I can make the run to the store. It's just down the block from Max and I's house," you said. Just down the block from your plot of land, really. You didn't know if you could call the trailer a house.

Steve was shaking his head almost instantaneously.

"No, you need to stay here. With Max. In case she goes all Poltergeist again," he responded.

"I'm quick. I can take my car and drive back before Max is even awake."

"Yeah, well, the Beamer is faster. I'll go."

"You can't possibly expect to carry all that stuff back on your own," you quipped, letting out a huff of air.

"No, I can't. That's why Nancy and Robin will come with me."

"But Nancy and Robin need to debrief everyone on the information they figured out about that Victor Creel guy. I'm useless to Max right now. I don't know anything, and I can't just sit here doing nothing," you fired back, your brows furrowing. Why was he so hellbent on fighting you on this?

You looked to Robin and Nancy for support, but for once, they weren't backing you up. A tense silence filled the air.

"For once, I agree with Steve. You need to stay here... Just in case," Nancy said quietly. Robin wouldn't meet your eyes.

"In case of what?" You asked, staring at the three of them.

Until it clicked. You tensed where you stood, a chill running down your spine.

"You mean, in case she dies."

The guilty looks on their faces told you everything you needed to know. How little confidence they had in their ability to save the world this time. They looked ashamed for thinking it, but it was too late to take it back. Because now... you were thinking it too.

"In case that sick freak gets to her before we can save her. That's what you're saying, isn't it?" You whispered. The last thing you needed was Max hearing this, or seeing the way your face paled.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

"Mayfield—" Steve started, but you weren't having it.

"Fine, then. Go. I'm staying," you mumbled, shaking your head to try and freeze the tears where they brimmed in your eyes. The lump in your throat felt like it was growing larger by the second, and you darted downstairs before anyone could stop you.

Lucas and Max were still fast asleep, and Dustin had seemingly dozed off again. He'd make a terrible babysitter.

You sat down with a thud onto the couch opposite Max and Lucas, taking it upon yourself to assume watch duty. Seconds passed, then minutes, then what felt like hours. In that time, all you did was stare at Max. Your head was pounding, your thoughts only getting increasingly darker.

Steve wasn't here to pull you from your thoughts this time. Your chest was getting tight again, like all the air had been sucked from the room. Small gasps for breath left your lips, but nothing seemed to help. You stood and began to pace the room.

You couldn't do this. Not again. You couldn't lose another person, especially not Max. Not your baby sister.

But what could you do? You couldn't see this monster that was preying on her, you couldn't find it. It was in her mind. How could you stop something you weren't even sure existed? And if it did exist, how could you ever be powerful enough to stop it? You weren't a fighter like Nancy. You'd never shot a gun. You didn't have a wooden baseball bat studded with long nails like Steve. You most definitely didn't have psychic mind powers like Eleven. You were useless, and now you were going to lose yet another sibling because you failed to protect them.

The pounding in your head was excruciating, and the ringing in your ears was deafening now. You winced when you felt a liquid drip onto your lip. Your fingertips touched it, and you held your hand in front of you, only to be greeted by the sight of crimson blood.

"Y/N!"

Max's voice pulled you from your thoughts, her hand shaking you. The ringing was gone. The headache, too. You looked at her, then back at your hand. No blood. Where were her headphones? When had she woken up? You were just watching her—

"There you are. You were getting all spacey again," she huffed.

You managed a weak smile, nodding slowly.

"I can't sleep. I keep seeing him," Max admitted, the familiar fear in her eyes returning.

"Lay down. I'll sing your song again."

She settled back down on the couch, looking up at you expectantly.

"Close your eyes," you sang softly, hand brushing through her hair in that comforting way only you knew.

"Have no fear. The monster's gone, he's on the run, and your sissy's here."

You opened your mouth to continue, only Max beat you to it.

"But he's not gone, is he?"

Your brows scrunched together, and you looked down to meet her eyes.

"Who isn't gone, Max?"

"The monster," she answered simply. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's not gone at all. He never left. He's always here. Watching, listening, waiting..." she trailed off.

You froze. Words didn't come to you at first, listening to her talk like this. It was eerie how calm she was, talking about it like she was totally unbothered. The fear in her eyes from earlier was nowhere to be found. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, struggling to come up with a response, and that was when she sat up on the couch. Were her eyes that bloodshot before?

"Our friends are weak. They have no idea how to fight the monster. But I don't have to be scared anymore. Because you can save me."

Something was very, very wrong with Max.

You stood up, an action that she mirrored.

"I will save you. I promise you, Max. I won't fail you, not like..." you whispered, your voice beginning to choke up again like before as you trailed off. Your eyes were stinging with unshed tears, your heart racing and your palms starting to sweat.

She was smiling now. Her features looked more and more unnatural, her eyes becoming hazy and lifeless.

"Not like you failed Billy?" She asked, her voice now distorted and unnatural.

"You... I did everything I could to save him, Max, you know that," you tried weakly.

"But it wasn't enough, was it? You failed because you weren't strong enough. You're the weakest one here, and everyone knows it."

You let out a gasp, your eyes now widening as you stepped backwards. Your back hit the wall, and Max only walked closer and closer.

"But you can still fix things. You can still make things right and save me," she offered with a sinister smile. One that seemed far too freakish for her face.

But you were desperate.

"How?" you whispered.

She seemed pleased that you'd asked, a mischievous and malicious delight in her eyes.

"You can do what you should've done in Billy's place last year. In my place this year. You... can die."

An ominous and hellish strike of metal bars in what you believed to be the menacing chime of a clock resonated in the room around you. You couldn't breathe, now frantically looking around the room that was rapidly decomposing around you. The wallpaper peeled off the walls, the roof beginning to cave in. The couches around you were empty, with Dustin and Lucas nowhere to be seen.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled, hands now shaking by your sides. Red liquid oozed out of the walls, flooding into the room.

When you turned back around once more, your sister was gone. Instead, what stood in her place was a monster. The monster. You let gasp of shock, stumbling backwards away from him.

"Y/N," the monster called your name, his voice a low and raspy growl that paralyzed you.

You'd been running just about your entire life from everything. You ran from facing your trauma, your grief after losing your brother. You ran from Hawkins. You ran from Max. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were flying far away from Hawkins. But in your absence, life had gotten infinitely worse for your abandoned little sister. You weren't running. Not anymore.

"What do you want?" You asked it, your voice trembling. The monster only stared at you in response. This angered you, and that unbridled desperation to escape gnawed at you stronger than your fear.

"I said, what do you want from me?!" You screamed at the creature, your voice a broken cry. You hadn't realized you were crying now. The monster vanished now, and your eyes widened. Had you scared it off? Surely it couldn't be that easy.

"I want you to finally take your rightful place here, with me," a male's voice drawled behind you. Your body went rigid, because it was a voice you knew all too well. A voice you did not need to turn to recognize.

His blonde hair came into view first as Billy circled you like a shark, smiling menacingly.

"Come on, Y/N. I couldn't save her, and if you don't do this, you won't either. No one can save her but you," he whispered after stopping behind you and leaning close to your ear.

"Shut up," you whispered, but he was convincing. Billy always was persuasive. He'd gotten you to do his homework his whole life in exchange for being just a little less of a jackass when his dad wasn't around to keep him in check.

"He's offering you a way out. That's what you always wanted, right? To leave, and to save Max."

"Shut the hell up!"

"Take the deal. Let him in. Come home with me, so we can be a real family."

That was the final blow to any resistance you had. The monster was back, Billy was gone, and you found yourself at the bargaining table with the devil.

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" You muttered, voice hoarse from screaming as you looked up at the devilish figure with tear stained cheeks and reddened eyes.

"I only need one of you. Both of you suffice my needs."

You stared at the table, before giving him a slow nod. Bile rose in your throat when he smiled.

"I'll return in three days time to collect you."

And just like that, you were back in the Wheeler's basement. Your sister and her friends were fast asleep, and you sat with the knowledge of having just signed your life away.

"Mayfield, get up here! We're back with the stuff."

authors note: if you're reading this, ilysm! thank you for all the support, i feel really happy to know people enjoy my writing. let me know if you'd be interested in a part three!