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fanficimagery · 2 years

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Welcome to the Party

Imagine being Steve Harrington's sister and catching the eye of the new guy who wants to dethrone your brother.

Words: 5.6K Author's Note: So I did a rewatch of ST and I forgot how much of a dick Steve was before he realized the error of his ways. And Jonathan snappin' those pictures really was a creep move. So this is a ST!AU where my boys aren't cringe or douchey. Also timeline? What timeline? Things in ST happen way too fast. We're gonna take this one day at a time.

Nothing interesting ever happened in Hawkins- not counting what went down with Will Byers, the Hawkins Lab, or the fact that monsters and little girls with supernatural abilities existed- so when a new family moves to town, you hear all about it.

Thanks to your parents' nosy ways, you know all about Neil Hargrove and his new wife Susan, his teenage son Billy and her younger teenage daughter Maxine. No one knows why a family from California would move to a place like Hawkins, Indiana, but no one is brave enough to question it.

The newbies don't show up to school on Monday, but on Tuesday at Hawkins High, the only thing anyone can talk about during your first two class periods is the Californian babe who rolled up in a roaring Chevrolet Camaro earlier that morning. And by your third class period, you're more than ready for a nap in order to drown out all the incessant giggling.

"You can go ahead and take a seat by YN. YN, please raise your hand." You hear the words, but you don't really register them. Not until the voice is snapping at you. "YN!"

"What!?"

The classroom giggles as you scowl at the teacher, mood souring at your near nap being interrupted. "I said to please raise your hand so that Mr. Hargrove can see where he's supposed to sit."

"I'm pretty sure with the two of us holding this conversation, Mr. Hargrove knows exactly who I am and knows where to sit now. Holding up my hand is redundant."

Crossing your arms over your desktop once more, you lay your head down and hope there are no more interruptions during the class period.

"Someone's not a mid-morning person." If the voice hadn't tipped you off to this being the new guy, then him speaking to you surely did because your regular classmates knew enough to leave you be. When you crack open an eye, he smirks. "Name's Billy."

"YN. Now shh. I'm not tolerable until after lunch."

You can practically feel the new guy staring at you, so you turn your head the other way and listen with half an ear to make sure you're not missing anything important in class. The teacher drones on and on, putting on a video halfway and passing out sheets of paper that you're to answer while watching. So groaning, you sit back up and complete your class work.

"Hey," Billy utters. "What'd you get for number six? I didn't catch it."

You sign your name on top of your paper and hold it out for him. "You can copy the rest if you take my paper up there with yours so I don't have to get up."

"Done."

As soon as Billy has your paper in hand and starts copying your answers, you lay your head back down and hope to catch a few minutes of shut eye. Instead, you're unable to sleep so you listen to the other females sitting closest to Billy attempt to flirt with him.

Then when the bell rings, you leave without so much as sparing him another glance.

You have to endure another full class period before it's time for lunch, and then with a full lunch tray you make your way to the table that now consists of Steve, Nancy and Jonathan. Steve is the only one who acknowledges your presence, grunting a greeting to which you nod at before digging into your pizza and corn.

"So have any of you had a class with that douchebag from Cali?" Steve asks.

You shrug. "Third period."

"And?"

"And nothing. He's cute, but too cocky. Got him to take my work up to the front of the class so I could go back to sleep."

Nancy grins. "Anything for naptime, huh?"

"You know it."

Jonathan chuckles as you move on to eating your fruit cup, happily munching on the peaches and pineapples.

The rest of the school day passes without anything interesting happening, the only exception being when Billy called the female population of Hawkins High nothing but heifers. You had taken incredible offense to it, barking out a sharp hey! at him to which he merely smirked and amended his statement that most were heifers. You couldn't find it in yourself to disagree, shrugged, and continued on with your day.

The following school day, the day of Halloween, is about the same. Nothing interesting happens, Tina shoves a party invitation into your hands, Billy attempts to talk to you yet again, and then you discuss costume ideas with Steve and Nancy. They wanted to go as the couple from Risky Business and you wanted to go as bad girl Sandy from Grease since it was the simplest costume you could come up with on short notice.

So, after school you immediately head home to catch a nap before you have to wake up and get dressed.

By the time you, Steve and Nancy pull up to Tina's, the party is in full swing. Toilet paper hangs from the trees and is draped all over the bushes. Cans of beer and solo cups litter the front yard, and your peers stumble in and out of the house, even stumbling alongside the side of the house and spilling out into the backyard.

Dressed in skintight black pants and an off the shoulder black blouse that is also just as tight, you carefully weave in and out of the crowd in peep toe red heels. Your hair is curled to near perfection, and almost as soon as you enter the house Steve and Nancy break off to do their own thing.

Making an immediate beeline for the kitchen, you grab yourself a red solo cup and fill it with the spiked punch. You look around for a familiar face, for someone to talk to, but no one catches your interest. At least not until you hear a crowd chanting, counting loudly and excitedly which can only mean one thing- someone is about to beat your brother's keg stand record.

Walking towards the back door, you lean against the opened doorway as rowdy partygoers hold the legs of some guy. Then when they let him down, the cocky new record holder spews beer upward. "That's how you do it, Hawkins! Thats. How. You. Do. It!"

Billy Hargrove wears nothing but jeans and a leather jacket hanging off the shoulders of his glistening torso. He has a cigarette in hand, taking a drag from it just as his gaze lands on you. He changes his direction, leaving Tommy hanging and staring in confusion at his back.

"Congratulations, Keg King," you muse.

His eyes look you up and down, his tongue peeking out as he licks his lips. "You know I did some diggin' and found out some stuff."

"Oh yeah? And what did you find out?"

"That you're the princess of Hawkins High." You snort and take a sip of your drink. "Don't worry though, little Harrington. Your brother's been dethroned, and I have no need for a princess. A queen, however.."

"Ha!" You laugh. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cali, but I'm not one of the girls in line to take a ride in your shiny Camaro."

"No, you're not, are you?" He looks you up and down again, taking a drag of his cigarette before he flicks it away. "So, what are you supposed to be?"

"Sandy Olsson. Grease."

"Never heard of it."

"No, you wouldn't have," you say. "You seem like the type of guy who makes out in the movie theater instead of actually enjoying the movie you paid to watch."

"What can I say? The chicks love me."

"I'm sure they do." You go to take another sip of your drink, only to realize the cup is empty. You frown down into it and Billy chuckles.

"Come on." He turns you around, facing the kitchen, and slings an arm around your shoulders. "Let's go get you a refill." Tucked under Billy's arm, you don't pay anyone any mind. You know there are glares directed at you, but you rather not deal with any drama. But just as you're entering the kitchen, Nancy is rushing out and Steve is chasing after her. You frown and make a move to follow, but Billy holds you back. "Na uh, princess. You're with me right now."

"But Steve-"

"-is a big boy. I'm pretty sure he can handle his girl."

You huff as you shrug off Billy's arm and serve yourself another cup of what your peers are saying is pure fuel. As Billy serves his own cup, you hop up on the kitchen counter. Billy takes a gulp from his cup as he stares at you and then boldly moves closer to you before positioning himself between your knees. You let your feet hook around so they catch on the back of his knees. "Careful, Cali, or your favorite heifers are gonna create a stampede out of a fit of anger."

One hand lands on your thigh as the other holds his drink. "I don't care about these small-town girls."

"No?" You arch an eyebrow at him. "You seem pretty interested in one of those small-town girls right now."

"Because in the two days I've been here, you're one of the few who hasn't twirled your hair or battled your gunked up eyelashes at me."

"Hey!" You playfully shove his shoulder. "My eyelashes don't have gunk on them."

"If you say so."

His boyish smile is almost enough to distract you from what's going on behind him.

Almost.

Steve is pushing through the crowd of costumed party goers, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. You frown and, just as Billy turns to see what's caught your attention, you nudge him back to hurry after your brother.

Pushing through your peers, you break through the front door and stumble down the front sidewalk. "Steve?" You call out. You glance around the front yard, finding your brother at his car and fumbling with his keys to open the driver's door. "Steve!"

You try to hurry towards him, only for your brother to finally enter his car and start the engine, peeling away from the curb. You stand where his car was once parked, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration.

"What happened?"

You glance over your shoulder to see Billy frowning as well. "Like I know." Then glancing over the front yard, you spot Jonathan helping a clearly drunk Nancy to his own car. Marching towards them, you ask, "What the hell's going on? Why'd Steve take off?"

Jonathan stares at you as if he's been caught red handed doing something he wasn't supposed to, and Nancy keeps mumbling the word bullshit over and over. "I-I don't know," he stammers. "I think they had a fight."

"The relationship is such bullshit," Nancy suddenly slurs. "Steve's bullshit."

Your body tenses at her words and then your eyes narrow as you take a step in Nancy's direction. Jonathan steps between you. "Come on, YN. Not now."

"What the fuck did she do?"

You try to step around him, only to have a hand grab onto your bicep. "Come on, little Harrington, she's wasted. Confront her tomorrow."

Jonathan is clearly surprised by Billy's interference and gives him a quick nod of gratitude. When you turn towards Billy, Jonathan takes that chance to quickly put Nancy into his car. "Do you need a ride?" You hear Jonathan ask.

"Not if she's in the car," you immediately reply when you glance back at him. He winces, but nods in understanding.

As Jonathan leaves, you turn towards Billy. He smirks. "Need a ride?"

"Ugh. Don't look so smug."

As the fight drains out of you, Billy slings an arm around your shoulders and starts to lead you towards his car. "Come on. This party blows anyway. Let's go grab a bite to eat somewhere."

Billy Hargrove is taken by surprise with YN Harrington.

At first, he thought to get close to the girl to get on King Steve's nerve, but Halloween night went and threw a wrench into his plans. Believe it or not, he actually likes talking to the girl and likes her protectiveness over her brother. He didn't get to see just how protective she could be until the following day though, when Nancy Wheeler made the mistake of confronting the siblings, blaming Steve for her being late to school. Steve had scoffed, but YN was right there in Nancy's face, threatening the girl to get a better hold on her alcohol consumption and to fuck off with her better than thou attitude.

Both Steve and Nancy had been stunned, Billy watched from afar with a smirk, and the main topic at Hawkins High that day was how Steve Harrington broke up with Nancy Wheeler.

Billy still made it his mission to dethrone Steve, but he toned down the aggressiveness. Steve still thought him a raging douchebag, but he knew better than to tell YN who she could hang out with. And YN? Well, she didn't make it quite so easy on Billy either, threatening him and his car should he ever throw a single punch in her brother's direction.

For the most part the boys seemed to play it smart, picking on one another to see who would cave and throw the first punch. Unfortunately for them, neither seemed to want to piss off YN and kept their fists to themselves.

Which was odd for Billy because he never cared to get into a girl's good graces unless it was to get into her panties.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Steve has done a lot of idiotic things in life- things that led to him getting his ass kicked which you greatly approved of- but him thinking he owes Nancy an apology after she called him and their relationship bullshit? Well, that was just the icing on the cake.

Somehow your brother got it into his head that he loved Nancy no matter, even getting her a bouquet of flowers to apologize with. He had tried recruiting you to help him with an apology speech, but you weren't having it and had him drop you off at the Palace Arcade to take your annoyance out on the joysticks and buttons.

You're on your last ship in Galaga, shooting the enemy ships and racking up quite the number of points when a hand slaps down on the screen. You gasp in surprise, the machine emits the telltale noises of your ship dying, and you groan. "Dude, what the hell!?" You follow the owner's hand up his arm and to the face of an amused Billy.

"So, you're a nerd too? My, my, little Harrington. You're full of surprises."

"Whatever." You release the joystick and move on, trying to find a new game to play. "So, what brings you here? This isn't your scene, Hargrove."

"Looking for my dipshit of a stepsister," he says. "Realized she wasn't home and if she isn't there when her mom or my dad get back, I'm gonna get the blame."

"Sorry, man, I haven't seen her."

"Didn't think you did." Billy follows after you, watching as you sigh at not finding anything worth your time and then taking a seat at a small table. He joins you. "Heard she ran around with a bunch of nerds and checked their houses. No one was home, so I came here as a last resort."

"Hmm. Yeah," you say. "I think I know who you're talking about. Those boys are obsessed because she beat their high scores on a few games, but I didn't think they were friends. She seemed kind of annoyed by them."

Billy sighs. "Do you know where they could be?"

"Nope." A look of frustration passes over his features, and you feel for him. "But I could possibly find out? Give me a lift to my house?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

You follow Billy outside to his car, barely having a moment to buckle up before his engine roars to life and his tires screech as the car carries you away to your destination. And since he had given you a ride home Halloween night, he already knew his way around Loch Nora and which house was yours.

Billy follows you inside your house without a word and up to your room without comment. You expect some sort of suggestive commentary when you catch him looking around your room, but nothing ever comes.

The commentary, however not suggestive, comes when he sees the radio you pull out from your bottom drawer. "You really are a nerd."

"Well, this nerd is trying to save your ass, so maybe be nice, yeah?" He grins as you pull the antenna up and click the radio on, then hold down the button. "Dustin, you there? Pick up, kid."

A few seconds pass, much too long for Billy who groans in annoyance. Static comes over the radio and then, "YN? What's going on?"

"Hargrove's driving all over town looking' for a little redhead. She, by chance, wouldn't be with you, would she?"

"Mad Max? Pft. No way."

"Dusty," you coo, "you know I don't like liars."

"Her brother's a raging douchebag! Why do you even talk to him?"

"Hey!" You bark back, coming to the defense of Billy when you see his gaze harden. "The people I decide to spend time with are none of your concern. Now have you seen the kid or not? She's in a shit load of trouble when her mom gets home and finds her missing."

The radio is silent for a little too long and you're about to radio in again when a female voice comes on. "Listen, can you just tell Billy that I'll be home later?"

"That little mother-"

You shake your head at Billy, cutting him off before you hold down the button once more. "Listen, kid, I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm pretty sure your stepdad isn't going to like that answer."

"H-Hey, YN?" The radio has apparently changed hands yet again, this time Steve speaking to you. "Forget the Hargrove family drama for a sec and get your butt down to the junkyard."

"What?"

"You're going to need to bring your bat as well. Henderson got a new pet, and it ate his family cat. He's pretty sure it's a baby demogorgon."

Steve's words make you freeze, mind temporarily blanking as screams from last year's trauma reverberate through your mind. You must have spaced out because Billy shakes you, pointing to the radio in your hands.

"Y-Yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, meet you guys there."

As soon as you're done with the radio, you push the antennae back down and toss the radio aside. You rush towards your closet, opening the door and bringing forth the wooden bat that has nails protruding from the end of it.

"Whoa, whoa. What the hell is going on?" Billy asks. "And what the hell is a baby demogorgon?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," you say. You collect an empty backpack from your closet floor, moving around your room to toss in the radio, a flashlight, and two lighters.

"Try me." Billy says, blocking your doorway.

"Alright. Fine." You huff, standing your ground. "Alternate dimensions exist." Billy scoffs and you arch an eyebrow at him. "Hawkins Lab did experiments on kids and one of them escaped after she accidentally opened a portal to this terrifying dimension."

"Bullshit."

"Will Byers got abducted by a monster from this dimension, as did Barbara Holland, only Barabara didn't survive. There was a monster that we named the demogorgon that stood at least eight feet tall, razor-like talons, and its face opened up like a flower with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. That kid that escaped from the lab- we called her Eleven because that was what was tattooed on her wrist- helped save Will and close the portal. Or so we thought because if Dustin really does have a baby demogorgon, we're fucked."

You're breathing a little too quickly after getting that out as quickly as you could and Billy frowns at you. "You're not bullshitting me right now?"

"Do I look like the type of person to bullshit you?" You ask in return. You pull on the straps of the backpack, gripping tight to the handle of your bat. "Now are you going to drive me to the junkyard or am I going to have to bike up there? In case you didn't pick up on it, I'm in a bit of a rush."

This time as you step towards the door, Billy steps out of your way. He rushes after you down the stairs, catching your elbow to lead you back to his car once you step foot outside. "I'm not sure I buy what you're selling, but if Max is where these kids are, I need to pick her up anyway."

You mutter a quiet thanks as you climb back into his car, your right leg immediately bouncing as your anxiety amps up. You direct him towards the junkyard, telling him where to park and that you'd have to walk the rest of the way there.

Trekking through the junk and abandoned vehicles, every little sound sets you on edge. The sun has just gone down, the darkness seems to press in all around you, and the pile of raw meat does nothing to soothe your worry. Billy, on the other hand, seems perfectly at ease puffing away on a cigarette.

As you draw closer to the junked school bus, the door slides open just as three of the windows are yanked down.

"You brought Billy?!" Your brother actually looks offended.

"What the hell, YN!? We're not supposed to tell anyone!" Dustin yells.

"We were supposed to vote if we bring in a new person!" Lucas then adds.

Cocking your hip to the side and swinging the bat upward so it rests on your shoulder, you say, "Oh really? Then why didn't I get a vote when you brought the new girl in? Steve, you get a vote?"

"Well, no, but Billy? Really?"

Still puffing away on his cigarette, Billy shrugs instead of arguing with your brother. If he were being honest, he wasn't sure why you had brought him other than using him for a ride and to get Max.

"At least my friend can help us kick some ass or lift some shit," you retort. "What's your friend gonna do?" You then glance between Dustin and Lucas. "Scream until someone else comes to her rescue?"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Red, but it's the truth. Between our two fuck ups of bringing in you and Billy, my guy is clearly the better candidate." Steve huffs but doesn't argue. He has to know you're right. "And by the way, neither of you can ever mention what you've heard or might see. The people in charge will kill us."

"What the fuck?" Billy frowns, finally tossing down his cigarette and stomping it out. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately." You step towards the bus, climbing the steps. "Now come on, Hargrove. Sun's down and that pile of meat is clearly meant to draw something here. We better wait it out."

With a groan, Billy follows you on the bus. "I swear to God, this is stupid. If we get into deep shit over this, Maxine, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Max seems to tense, and you roll your eyes, dropping onto one of the few seats still sturdy enough to hold someone. You pull your bag off and drop it at your feet, along with your bat, and then pull Billy down to sit with you. "Stop threatening the kid. We have bigger things to worry about if Dustin's new pet is what he thinks it is."

The bus falls quiet and Steve gets up after a couple of minutes, moving towards the middle of the bus and taking a seat on a cushion with his back to the side of the bus. A ladder has been propped up to lead out of the emergency exit on the roof of the bus and Lucas starts to climb it.

Max sighs, glancing out through the dirty windows before glancing back at Steve. "So, you fought one of these things?"

Seeing that the question is directed at him, Steve nods. "Yep. YN too."

Billy glances at you, arching an eyebrow, and you nod.

"Are you sure it wasn't a dog?" Max then asks, causing Billy to snort and then pretend it wasn't him who found amusement in her question.

"God, why are you even here if you don't believe us?" Dustin suddenly asks, annoyed.

Max gapes at him before scoffing. "Someone's cranky. Is it past your bedtime?" She climbs the ladder next, joining Lucas on the roof.

"Atta boy," Steve suddenly muses. "Way to not care."

Dustin frowns at him. "I don't." Steve then winks. "Why are you winking? Stop it. It's weird."

"What the hell is going on?" You ask, suddenly interested in their weird little dynamic.

"Steve gave me some terrible girl advice," Dustin says.

"It's not terrible!"

Billy laughs. "You took girl advice from Harrington? Seriously?"

"He's the only cool person I know!" Dustin is quick to defend his choice.

"Harrington isn't even cool."

"Hey!" Both you and Steve bark out.

Billy rolls his eyes. "I stand corrected. Boy Harrington isn't even cool. YN, on the other hand.."

"Please," your brother scoffs, "you're just saying that because you want in her pants."

"Gross!" Dustin exclaims, but you can only grin as Billy doesn't deny it.

You weren't a fool. Billy Hargrove was a total babe, but you weren't about to make it too easy for him. If he still wanted to take you out to Lover's Lake by the end of whatever drama Steve and Dustin dragged you all into was over, well then you would probably agree. Maybe.

Billy goes to open his mouth, but a familiar screeching fills the air followed by a clicking noise you were sure you would hear in your nightmares again. It's so quiet that you can hear a pin drop and then Lucas is shouting.

"Guys! Ten o'clock!"

"Are you sure that's not a dog?" Max's voice filters down.

You, Billy, Steve, and Dustin rush towards the windows, peering out. Fog has rolled in, leaving gaps here and there, but the moonlight is enough to show the creature that was definitely going to make an appearance in your nightmares.

"What the hell is that?" Billy mumbles.

"Demodog," Dustin says.

"It's like the demogorgon, but this one is doglike," Steve explains.

"Why isn't he going for the meat?" Dustin wonders. "Is he not hungry?"

You continue to stare at the creature as he steps further into the junk yard, sniffing the meat and then the air. When he stares right at the bus, dread fills your stomach.

"Or maybe it's tired of cow," Steve realizes.

You glance at your brother, immediately knowing this next bit is going to suck. "Live bait?"

"Live bait."

You quietly groan and turn around, grabbing up your bat before following after your brother.

"Wait, what?" Dustin whirls around. "No way, danger duo. You guys are not going out there," he says when you and Steve head towards the door.

"It's the only way to lure this thing in if you want us to kill it," Steve says.

Meeting Billy's gaze, you gesture to the handle that opens and closes the door. "Be ready. If things go south, we're running back for the bus."

He frowns. "Are you sure about this?"

"Nope, but someone's gotta do it." Then glancing at your brother, you nod towards the door. "Go. I'm right behind you."

You and Steve hop down off the bus, he having found a crowbar from somewhere. Your arms brush against each other as you refuse to step too far away from him, the creature screeching immediately drawing your attention.

"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!" Lucas yells.

"What!?" You shout, refusing to take your eyes off the creature that had been at ten o'clock.

"There's another one at three o'clock!"

More screeching stops your heart, freezing the blood in your veins. You and Steve immediately go back-to-back, you raising your bat and readying yourself to swing. "Fuck," you hear Steve curse. "There's a whole goddamn pack of them."

"This was a mistake, Steve!" You take a moment to ready yourself, tensing your muscles. A beat passes and you're forced to swing as the first demodog lunges at you.

The kids and Billy start screaming, telling you and Steve to get back on the bus. But the demodogs just keep lunging and lunging, hoping to take a bite out of you or your brother.

"Did you bring your lighter?" Steve asks.

"Did you tell me too?!"

He disappears from your back, only for one of the demodogs to lunge on your vulnerable spot. The bus' occupants yell as you fall to your knees, twisting your body to swing your bat wildly in hopes of connecting with something. You manage to get the nails stuck into the body of one demodog, only for another to attach itself to your calf.

You scream out in pain, but then Steve is there shoving the end of his crowbar into its body and taking your bat as you collapse forward onto your hands.

"You good?"

"Y-Yeah. Sort of." The nightmarish clicking of one of the creatures sounds directly in front of you and your head snaps up, only to come face to face with a demodog. "S-Steve?"

"Dart!" The demodog flinches back at the shout of its name, stalling just long enough for hands to grasp your arms.

"Move your ass, little Harrington. Now!"

Billy practically drags you back onto the bus as Steve keeps the demodogs at bay with your bat, then jumping into the bus himself when the doorway is clear. The door is slammed shut behind him, but the demodogs are still ravenous and angry.

"What the hell were you guys thinking?!" Billy explodes as he lets you go to lean against a crumbling seat.

"It was only supposed to be one!" Steve shouts back at him.

Glass breaks and the kids scamper away from the windows, but then something lands on the roof, dents forming as something walks across it. Max follows and ends up standing right under the roof access where the ladder is, and screams when a demodog lowers its snarling head inside.

"Max!" Surprisingly it's Billy who jumps into action, pulling Max away from the opening and putting her behind him.

Steve, still with your bat in hand, rushes in front of Billy and readies to swing. But suddenly the demodog looks up and out into the woods, making its clicking noise before launching itself off the bus. The kids rush to the windows, only to see the rest of the demodogs run off into the woods.

"Did they- did we scare them off?" Dustin asks.

"No. They're running to something," Steve says as he stares off towards where they disappeared. "Like they were called away."

You groan. "Just what we need- a bigger monster calling the shots. Can we get out of here now? I'm still bleeding."

"Shit." Dustin immediately removes his jacket and moves to wrap it around your calf.

"Thanks, kid."

Putting weight on your leg makes you wince, but you follow the crowd off the bus with Billy at your back as Lucas grabs your backpack to put on.

"We need to follow them," Steve says.

"Like hell we do. YN can hardly walk," Billy seethes.

"I-I'm good. Don't worry about me." You limp forward a few more steps and grunt out in pain before you're being swept up into arms.

"No, you're not." Billy situates you so one arm is under your knees and the other supporting your back. "You shitheads do whatever you have to do. I'll take YN home and patch up her leg."

"What about- what about me?" Max nervously asks.

Billy stares at her and huffs. "Do what you have to do with the nerds and then find a phone. Leave a message for your mom, letting her know that we're having a sleepover at Harrington's place and leave their number for her."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah." Max turns to walk off with her friends, but then turns around at the last second. "Thanks, Billy."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't die." Then before he can walk away, he calls out, "Hey Steve? She's your responsibility. Bring her back to your place in one piece or I'm kicking your ass."

Steve gives Billy a lazy thumbs up and you snort a laugh. Then loosely wrapping your arms around Billy's neck, you say, "Hurry it up, Hargrove. I rather not meet another demodog while we're defenseless."

Billy tenses for a split second before he actually picks up speed and rushes back to his car. You tell him to put you down when he reaches his car and then slide into his passenger seat while he hurries to the driver's side.

The drive to your house starts off quiet and you pray you're not bleeding all over the car.

"So.." Billy drawls once he can't take the quiet anymore, "that wasn't a dog."

You snort. "Nope. Definitely not a dog. Baby demogorgon, it looked like."

"And you fought one that was like eight feet tall before?"

"Yep."

A moment of silence passes and then, "I can't believe we moved from California to monster-infested Indiana."

Your head lolls to the side to stare at Billy as you chuckle. "Welcome to the party, Hargrove. You're officially one of the outcasts now."

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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ii. coffee + fruit

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter two of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, mild use of a codename for story purposes. wordcount: 5.5k an: as always, a huge thank you to @guyfieriii who talks me down from panic, and @yeyinde who listens to my insane plans

He finds that spot on his forehead, thumb and index digging—massaging into his skin and bone. The edges of himself, frayed, stressed—teased to the point they could almost pull away and crumble as he walked past your desk.

It’s empty. The half-drunk coffee still there.

You’ve not been there for a while. Not since earlier, when he should have looked away at the sound of raised voices, instead of honing in on them. Something wrapping around his insides—

“You got a minute, sir?”

He listens, even if he doesn’t. He hears the important parts: Miami, Cornerstone. He also hears the noticeable slap of the file on the rest of his files—the ones with your post-its and notes all over.

“What’s this?”

“A shitty diagram.”

He stares—feels himself glaring. Ridding it, hopefully before the agent can even notice it. A reaction he blames on a headache, even if he knows it has more to do with earlier.

“What’s your name?”

“Fiestl.”

Javi chews it. Staring up and down at him.

“Chris Feistl.”

He smirks at the rest of his speech. That same gnawing feeling rising inside of him, half-hoping the man in front of him isn’t the reason you’ve been hiding, but heavily suspecting he is.

Javi likes shooting him down, he realises, when he watches that same kicked-puppy face stretch across the man’s features—the same way it did when you muttered whatever you did under your breath.

It’s only as he crosses the office, hoping to rid him—when his eyes land on you through the blinds. Thankful you’ve made another appearance, looking somewhat more you than you had done earlier. Coffee firmly in hand—chewing the inside of his cheek. Relaxing him—having not needed to go find you.

“Nice office by the way.”

He snorts. Realising quickly how fucked he was. “Thanks.”

Yellowing light woke you as it bled through the open window.

The scent of him still clings to your skin. All Marlboro smoke and ambery wood, blended with the sultry scent of whiskey and something you suspect is just him.

It was easier to leave.

To watch his eyelids grow heavy, sliding from under his arm and dressing in the silence of his government-issued apartment. You’d thought about staying, about the morning when he’d wake and likely feast on you for breakfast. How good it would feel, how good he is.

You’re not young and impressionable. Good sex is good sex, not an invitation to begin manifesting and dreaming about a life together taking down narcos.

So, it was easier to leave.

To burst the fantasy before it could begin growing, amassing into something which would involve hurt feelings from either side.

You do this a lot? Fuck my boss? No. Have you seen Stechner? I just m— Don’t lie to me, Peña. It’s beneath you.

You weren't quite sure what to classify last night as, but guilt began to peck at you, all the same. It made you consider things. Turning them over in your mind under the low pressure of the shower…

Maybe you should have left a note. Something. Anything.

Although, when it boils down, you’re not entirely sure what the appropriate messaging even would be. Never having needed to do it before. Maybe it never happened to him either.

He struck you as a man who did the leaving over being the one who was left. It crossed your mind, only then, that maybe he wouldn’t take kindly to being greeted by cold, undisturbed nothing.

From what you knew—outside of the rumours and the intern—he didn’t tend to fuck his colleagues. That thin line is the one he drew. Javier Peña didn’t like to shit where he eats. The thin line, though, has been erased, kicked away until dust covers it.

Your soap slowly rids you of his scent, his touch—leaving only the blossoming-welcome bruises and the soreness. The only thought which began to appease you as you turned the water off, is that judging him or not, he didn’t appear to have a reputation that screamed he’d ever left a note himself. That and the fact you owed him nothing except professionalism.

You’re late.

Not late for the start of your shift, but when you’re usually in. People have come to expect you around sunrise. Not today. Today, you’re greeted by some of the agents beneath you, their smirks being the evidence of your unexpected time in. The gossip already likely fluttering around, half-expecting the whispers to chirp before you’ve even removed your coat.

If you were a man, it wouldn’t happen.

They wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Peña walked in draped in two women. It was a thing reserved for women. The shame-guilt. The whispers behind your back, trying to act as though by doing it in a low voice, they’re doing you a favour by keeping back what a whore they think you are.

Because usually, you’re the one to turn the fluorescent lights on. The only one making noise in the large expanse. But, there’s already chatter when you throw your bag in your drawer. Your phone is already ringing before you’ve even made a coffee.

It is distracting. It smothers wandering thoughts and any chance at regret. It’s only when you’re making your final note for him, all set to sit down ready to consume the coffee when you see him.

And time slows.

Everything around the two of you almost stops as you let yourself take him in. Meet those same eyes which had almost cut your clothes off last night. He doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful, but sorrowful. No spark in his eyes, no twitch of his lips—two things you’d been washed in by the time you reached his place last night.

You should tear your eyes away as he nods at someone and heads in your direction. You should stand up, hand him the notes and a coffee—unsure why you’ve even stopped to stare.

Your legs have other ideas, already carrying you to him. Watching him trace his eyes up and down you like he didn’t have his fill of that last night. Acting normal, no smirk, no blush of his cheeks, as though he didn’t have his tongue, cock and fingers inside of you hours ago.

You should be happy. Grateful.

It isn’t as though you like mess or complications. It had churned inside of you on the drive in, hands wrapping around the steering wheel, unsure if you’d made things difficult. If you’d blurred the complicated lines before they’d even really been laid out.

You take his wrist, lifting it as you coax his hand around the mug, looping his fingers around the warmth. His touch sends sparks up your skin, along your fingers, and forearms all the way to your chest. Ones you have to ignore. Ones you pretend aren’t there.

Because he’s like fire. He burns, but you welcome it.

Like you did last night, over and over again.

Your throat goes dry, watching as he brings the mug to his lip. Your mug. The one you hadn’t drank from and craved more than anything.

“Morning.”

It comes out normal, but it’s forced. Trying to banish any sound of indifference, hand grasping at some papers before you turn to walk alongside him, matching his strides.

“You have a meeting in ten—which I’d do your top button-up for. There’s also a file on your desk, less important than the meeting, but more important than the phone calls you need to make.”

He looks good.

Something you had noticed before sleeping with him—not able to help but acknowledge it, even if you hated it. But now, having seen him more undone, more walls torn back, it was hard not to look for longer. Linger. Let your eyes trail down from his eyes to the slope of his nose, to his lips—

“Fuck. This is good—“

His eyes widened, taking another sip of the drink.

Your hand tugs on his elbow to stop him, keeping close to him as you smile. “Look. Tell anyone, and I’ll cut you.”

“About last ni—“

“No.”

It comes out like a squeak. Something which quickly warms your cheeks and ears, tugging your shirt into place, swallowing back further denial.

“The coffee,” you continue, straightening your spine. “I don’t—I don’t care if you climbed a desk and told everyone I fucked you senseless last night. I do care if everyone knows I have a stash of good coffee.” Your head tilts behind you. “They’re feral—fucking… animals. For good casework and for good coffee.”

For a second, he stares. Just stares. His mouth opened, before closing.

He’s hard to read. Even when you know so much about him. Some things are easier, like the things he wears. The shame—the need to do right. Even if he blurs the lines, even if he gets lost along the way of finishing the task at hand. Other parts of him are harder, hidden behind thick walls of concrete you don’t expect to ever see past.

And yet, it makes something bubble in you. Something you can’t place, but really hate.

His hand twitches though. Not the one around the coffee, the one limply at his side. The only sign that your nonchalance is bothering him, his eyes attempting to claw through you the same you’re doing to him.

“Drink up,” you say, licking your lips. “You’re gonna need it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s with the Ambassador.”

“Shit.”

Draining the mug, you take it from him, handing him the file in your hand. “Try to smile, Peña—you make it through this, I may be able to give you a bigger reason too.”

“That so?”

You smirk, and he has to know how warm your cheeks are. Must be able to feel the heat from them through the air as you avoid his eyes, hating the impact his words have. Two simple fucking words.

It’s dangerous, the game you’re playing.

Red lights flash, a warning tone sounding in some dull recess in your mind.

“Yes,” you smile, with equal wickedness. “I’ll take some of your paperwork from you.”

He rolls his jaw, smirking in return.

“What?” you ask innocently. “Something else on your mind?”

You wondered if he hoped.

If he’d woken up and stretched his hand out to find you, to pull you close. From the small window into his life, he was insatiable. Good. Knowing exactly where too…

Shaking your head, you smile. “Just so you know, I’m also good at things that don't involve me being naked.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Plus, I already saved your ass. I delivered the news and not Stoddard.” You stop at your desk, putting a distance between the two of you. “Well, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods.

Just nods.

You’re a coward.

Even if you’re not ashamed, even if you had been happy you went home with him. You still hid. Flipping between your desk and the file room.

The fact both Dan and Peña, plus Stoddard, had fucked with your filing had proven a blessing in disguise. Your hands itching to put it right all day, thankful whatever the meeting this morning was, it kept Peña behind glass.

“Hey.”

You know the voice before your eyes land on the face. It's ingrained into you. A voice you used to love, but now makes your blood boil. Quickly, you try to rid the heat from your cheeks, lifting up to watch him—the former lover: the romance that ended in disaster.

He wipes his mouth before he leans down on your desk.

Even now, all you can think is Chris Feistl still has a cute smile. That and the fact you like the way strands of his hair fall over his face—just like they are now. A slight urge, the slightest need, to brush them from his face rose inside of you.

In the same way, you had done before things got complicated, before when things were wonderful and lovely—before they went up in flames.

You always wondered how hard it would be to get over a breakup when you were confronted with it every day. Having always been thankful your previous relationships ended as you were required to move, whether across the states or to a different country.

It’s hard to ignore what you have learnt quickly. Difficult to rid everything, such as the mug on your desk that was a gift before anyone knew you were both a thing. Knowing that when you walk past him, he’s seen the lingerie you’re wearing under the clothes. That he’s the one you had originally bought them for—the one who peeled them off your skin while dinner bubbled messily in either one of your two’s kitchens.

It hadn’t been him who ruined them the other night.

That had been the man to the side of her—the one surrounded by glass and wooden blinds. The one you’re hiding from.

“So… you good?”

Smirking, you put your pen down. “You walked over here to ask me if I’m good?”

He stares for a second, reconsidering his words. “You didn’t answer my call… last night.”

You bite your tongue, leaning forward. Remembering.

Recalling how you’d cancelled it at the bar, and again before you left the bar…with Peña. How his lips had ghosted over your neck as you dug your hand in your bag to silence it. Ignore it. His teeth grazing your—

“I know that you’re strong, but I also—“

“I’m fine, Chris.”

His silence is damning. The air is tightening as you stare, hoping he doesn’t push, silently hoping he doesn’t. The two of you having spared mess and more pain than needed.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know. I know that you’re not doing as well as you… like to let people believe.”

It’s instant, the way a cold chill spreads down your spine. Your lips straighten before the words meet your ears, knowing how this is all going to go.

“I know you’re not eating, so I can only assume you’re not sleeping.”

Your body knows before your brain does—the hold on your chest tightening, pain spreading like ink across your heart, poisoning and squeezing.

Him calling it out—the panic, the memories, the fucking nightmares.

“Some of the guys said you were in late—“

“Will you keep your voice down?”

Your eyes cast to the side, finding narrowed brown eyes staring at you through the blinds. Ones which you hold for a second too long.

Ones who seem to be assessing the situation quicker than he should.

Chris leans closer, likely so the whole office doesn’t begin its idle gossip again. It does that.

Breathes and spreads ideals and rumours quicker than a virus spreads in a hospital. You can feel the eyes through the blinds now, the ones watching—studying, trying to understand the office dynamics and who knows who.

“I just don’t want you to think you’re alone, no matter what’s happened—happening—between us—“

Standing, you place your palms flat on the desk. “—Stop. For the love of my sanity, please can you just stop, Fiestl.”—“

“I know you chose to end things but I still want—“

You shove him. Lightly. Two fingers at most, not even likely to bruise—but enough to make his words shrivel in his throat. Your eyes, burning holes into him.

“You know what, I was with someone,” you say, snappier, harsher than your previous words. “Last night.”

They hit the air like bullets. Piercing into him and the air. It washes over you both—your confirmation, your acknowledgement. They shatter the space between the two of you like glass. Watching as his eyes acknowledge your words, temporarily frozen before his jaw tightens and his teeth grit.

You’d sympathise if he hadn’t pushed. It is the sole reason why you don't shift your expression, keeping it firm, and rigid. Feeling the pair of eyes in your back, the ones behind the open door—having likely heard every bit of his speech.

“I told you to stop.”

He nods, reeling back, standing—running his hand through his impossibly thick hair as he forces a laugh. All half-hearted, weak, as though the air had been punched from his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“I’m not your problem.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “You’ll always be my problem. I—“

“Please, s-stop.”

It’s less this time. It cracks out of you. Voice shaky, more tinged with threatening-to-spill tears.

His words fade, vanishing—disappearing into the air without truly being spilt. So much more on the cusp of his tongue, but you stare until he swallows them. Watching him instead nod.

It pricks at your heart. Hating how it makes the part of you which had already healed, throb. It hadn’t been easy, as much as you pretended it was. But, it was better to pretend than to acknowledge how car-crash-like their argument had been. How it began as one thing and ended as something neither of you both could come back from.

Everything good having wilted when you’d gone to Cali, coming back to crumbling roots and sharp-edged memories. It had been wrong beforehand, tainted. But, it had worsened, leaving behind nothing but death and the ghosts of what once was.

“I have work to do, so if you’re done...”

“No, I’m d—“

“Good.”

You straighten fully, moving past him as you head to the bathroom. Feet moving you around bodies and desks. Waiting for the inevitable.

Thankfully, it slams into you when you’re on the other side of the door.

The thread he’d unpicked with his words. I know that you’re not doing as well as you’d like people to believe. Feeling your throat tighten at the memories, how you bristled at the feel of the door on your spine.

Seeing them—the cold, dark eyes. How even though you know they aren’t here, they’re staring at you as stones cut into your knees and weeds tried to wrap around your ankles. The sight—the blood. The crimson staining your hands, knees and soul as helplessness stole your facade, confidence and belief.

It makes you weak.

Makes you crumble from the inside, out all over again.

Shifting to dust, turning to something opposite to the training you’d taken to be here and more of a shadow of someone you once knew. Something you know they’re waiting to see—the higher-ups. The ones who are desperate to be proved right.

Then, when it’s raging through you, ripping apart the carefully placed threads and walls that keep you up straight, you’re flooded with grief.

The nightmares that have bled into the moments you’re awake. Its grip on your chest tightens, restricting—hand grasping at the cold bathroom counter as you will yourself to snap out of it. Shakily turning on the tap until cold water slams into your skin—

It lessens.

Looking up, meeting the mirror, seeing only thick tears that have carved into your cheeks. Sweat pebbling at your brow, your mouth taking in copious breaths as you slowly find you can stand straight.

Shame vibrates in your bones. That and tiredness.

You've spent the better part of your day darting through an array of emotions—all of which had given you whiplash—and made it hard to smile.

You had taken a while to resurface from the file room, awkwardly holding a mug up to Peña through the blinds once again—noting how the office had emptied.

It’s nice, the silence. The lack of ringing from phones, fingers on keyboards and low-murmured chatter. It’s even nicer seeing the glow the setting sun casts over the place, casting shadows. Not needing to glance at the clock, you know the hour is late. Is time to be going home, even if you’ve stayed far later than this on so many occasions.

You have to show him you’re okay, even if you’re not.

Even if you’re barely held together by the threads you usually are.

The aftershocks of your panic ebbing through you. Small little wobbles and pricks to your eyes, followed by a slight gasp as breath is lost. Worsened by your anger when the news hit the office.

That once again a mission went sideways. That two more agents were going home—and that someone they put in a position to lose something, happened again. Under it all, like the low hum of a song from a distant radio, you thought of Cali.

You’re used to them, the thoughts, the panic—having slowly become the norm. Yet, they’re rarely here, rarely ever embedding into your day—they normally wait until you’re in your car or at home. Appearing like ghosts when you’re alone, when there’s very little to distract you.

On another day, you’d likely have handled it better. But, Chris had done a number on you. He had bruised you, in some ways. Knocked you off your confidence and thinly-veiled pedestal you climbed up onto to appear like the same agent the rest of the office knew before you came back.

You don’t have to pretend with him, though. It’s why you stayed in the bar longer than you should have. Why you didn’t bat his palm away from your knee and why you traced little shapes with your nail against the back of his hand.

Peña didn’t know you. Likely didn’t care too—not that you want him to.

Feelings are messy. A tangle of things that would worsen as and when you were sent home. If you grew too attached it would hurt when the inevitable crashed down; if you remained distant, it would lead to awkwardness and more office dramatics. Neither of which you wanted—having already ticked both of those of yourself not that long ago.

Your eyes catch Van Ness and Chris’s new desks, the ones they’d moved into before the seats of the other agents were even cold.

It pecked at you, the day. It wove under your carefully constructed armour and threatened to showcase who you were—a fragile, half-broken soul haunting a place you used to run. The thought niggled, swirling, capturing other feelings in its wake until it grew larger and larger.

Blinking, you stared as the pot brewed. Finding it all of a sudden hard not to acknowledge that the first time you’d stopped thinking—outside of drinking and the few hours of sleep you were given—was when you were with him. That he had fully engrossed you, not allowing you to sink off to any recess or corner to drag up old demons and shadows to ruin what it was.

You place the coffee down in the centre of his desk. Taking a while to drag your eyes from the steam spiralling up into the air, watching it softly before it’s lost to the air. Each silvery twirl captures your attention until all you see is caramel chestnut.

Then you see the rest of him, trying not to let your mouth drop open at the sight of him.

He’s removed his jacket since you’d asked him if he wants a coffee, his hair far more tousled—likely from pulling at it, something you’ve seen him do all too often. The cause for the dryness in your throat is the sight of his top two buttons undone. His tie loosely hanging, his finger probably having stuck in the knot and yanked it down.

It almost cracks you. Makes you almost forget how to breathe, stomach tightening—wanting to spread through you as it reminds you of last night—his phantom touch spreading across your hips. Even if he’s safely behind his desk, not touching, breath not dancing across your jaw.

“Everyone else has gone.”

His hand gestures to the chair opposite his desk, one you know you shouldn’t sit in—should head back to the file room or go home before the stars come out. But you sit, slowly too.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t noticed the same thing countless women did. The angle of his jaw, the way his eyes hold yours, as if you’re the only source of light in a room. You’d just hoped to be better than the other women, able to snap out of it—keep a respectable distance.

“They do that. Go home at the end of their shift.”

He snorts. “Not you, though.”

“Not you either, Sir.”

Watching it land, that three-letter word is like a shot of caffeine to the veins. It makes his jaw shift, his eyes try to inconspicuously drag along your frame.

“Look, it’s likely not any of my business, but…” you look at him, watching him play with the ends of his tie as he meets your eyes. “I didn’t ask earlier, you alright? Looked heavy—the conversation with—”

The lump appears before you can stop it. Before you can think about willing it away, it shifts at the last second.

“Fiestl. Which, I suspect you already know his name,” you smirk, crossing your leg over the other, “But yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

The most honest you could be. Your half-smile meeting his, hoping it soothes him—settles him.

“You two date, or something?”

It surprises you, somehow. Prickles at you, makes you sharpen and straighten your spine. “You jealous or something?”

“No.”

He says it too quickly. Only realising his mistake a second too late, the same regret you felt at instantly snapping at him.

Clearing your throat. “Sorry… I just, we did, yes.”

He nods, and the way he leans his head back in acknowledgement makes you notice how drained he looks, how withdrawn—how sunken.

“This your coffee or the offices?”

Twitching your lips, you relax again. “Try it and find out.”

His eyes narrow, his lips shifting across the front of his teeth as he offers that slow smirk-smile he does. The one he did so much last night, once whiskey had loosened him and humour had let the weight from his shoulders lessen.

“How’s your bad day?”

He half-smiles with a snort, hand swiping over his jaw as he sighs.

Because you know how hellish it has been. You’d seen it, heard it—watched it ripple across the office.

Clearing your throat, leaning back against the chair, you tilt your head. “No one’s going to blame you for Duffy and Lopez. For one, Duffy is real a dick.”

Folding his arms, he mirrors you. Leaning back, not even moving for the coffee. “You know the right words to make me smile, cariño.”

Smiling, you look down. Needing too. It almost catches you off guard: cariño. Makes your tongue heavy—forcing your thighs to push together as your mouth drops open. Dawning on you that this must be how ‘sir’ makes him feel.

Then, like rain on a beautiful warm day, you begin remembering why you left this morning—why you’d told yourself it was the best thing, and yet here you were undoing it.

The air puckers, ruffles and wrinkles as no words are spoken. The steam from the coffee continues to swirl, performing a dance neither of you are paying attention to. His eyes are on you, and you’re firmly on the spot on the floor, warming under his gaze—wishing you knew what he was thinking, and yet wishing you didn’t know him at all.

“I left because whatever… last night was, it wasn't serious.”

Flicking your eyes up, you expect contempt. Instead, you see understanding.

You see softness, shame—but you suspect not because of the act itself, but rather because he understood.

“Because you know so much about me or?”

Your watch as his forehead creases, waiting expectedly for your response. His fingers run across his jaw as he stares, more in waiting than anything else. Your eyes staring at his index finger, remembering—recalling.

“Because I’m really not that person, Peña. I know people say that, and they usually don’t mean it. But, I didn’t expect coffee and a piece of fruit this morning. And I really couldn’t stand the idea of having an awkward morning conversation when we’re both naked and wondering if the other regrets it. Which I don’t, by the way—regret it.”

He slowly takes the coffee, fingers wrapping around the white porcelain, a stark contrast in size as he keeps his eyes on you. Assessing you, trying to peel back layers and uncover things.

You’re smarter. You’ve had to be.

Already hard enough fighting amongst other agents for a shot, never mind the fact that so very few of you make it to Bogotá—least of all women.

Throwing up walls, you quickly hide the complexities that make you nervous, the things which keep your adrenaline heightened and your nightmares prickling close to daydreams.

“I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Keep looking for a secondary reason for why I left you in bed,” you say with a knowing smirk. “There isn’t one. I just prefer my own bed.”

Smirking, he brings the cup to his lips, pausing as he stares over it and through the swirls. “Guess next time it’s your place then.”

You have to laugh, to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Cute, Peña. Real cute.”

He takes another sip, a larger one—rich flavours of herbs, nuts and chocolate flooding his tongue. “Fuck, tastes good.”

It’s a bad idea.

That’s what you think. What instantly follows behind the other thought, the one on the tip of your tongue, the one you should hold back, but—

“Odd, not the first time I’ve heard that in the last 24 hours.”

Whatever the air was doing previously, it stops—and something far worse replaces it. Something heavier, thicker. Something which makes your body thrum and his eyes momentarily widen, before darkening—almost obsidian in shade and so shiny, you almost slip on them into his soul.

He places the cup down. The ridge of its base echoing all around the room in the silence—it like a note, spreading through your ears and leaping from bone to bone.

You watch as he drags his thumb across his bottom lip, shifting in his seat, leaning more over the desk. Not taking his eyes from you for one second, as though by blinking you’ll vanish. You should. You should excuse yourself before you give in, before you snap and bury yourself in him until every other emotion is muted and easy to stuff away.

Dragging his tongue across his lip, the corner of your lips twitching at the sight.

Folding your arms, you smile. “What you thinking?”

“That I shouldn’t do this.”

It’s natural, how you slowly sigh. “I’m very aware, I’m not even informing you of anything.”

Glancing at him, finding the light catching his dark eyes, how they look like pools you, all of a sudden, want to slide into them—drown in them.

“Also thinkin’ how we shouldn’t repeat it.”

Swallowing, you lift your chin. “No. We probably shouldn’t.”

Standing, he drinks you in, slowly moving around his desk. Each step, he doesn’t take your eyes off you. The gap is shrinking and shrinking.

It’s not until he’s in front of you, leaning on his desk, foot nudging against yours. “Is it bad that I want to...”

“That good, was I?”

His fingers brush over his chin, and you feel it—anticipate that in a second you’re going to snap and be pressed against him. You are almost holding your breath. Needing it too. The way he has already silenced things, stilled the nerves in your body. Afraid of showing that you want nothing more than it.

“Yeah, cariño. You are.”

You shift in the chair, staring up at him, counting—not sure at what number you’ll either close the gap or leave. Would it be ten, twenty, fifty—

You don’t get past five. The ring of his phone cuts through the air.

“Shit.” His eyes slide from yours, staring at it. “Do not move.”

You smirk, listening to him answer before you slowly stand. Your legs feel like lead, trying not to let his frown halt your movements—because you shouldn’t do this. Listening, hearing him say his name, short, sharp and breathless.

His one-sided conversation blended with the ghostly whispers of gossip likely to come. The ones which worsened when you came back from Cali—the ones which follow you.

You're at the door as you hear him, his voice a little louder—a little more stressed.

“Wait—I’ll call you back. Hey.”

Spinning on your heels, you meet his odd expression face on, slowly walking backwards in pursuit of your desk—your coat, bag and keys—until his fingers lightly touch your forearm. Thumb around your elbow, soft, gentle—almost surprisingly so.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.”

“Words rarely ever said to me.”

Smirking, you almost roll your eyes. Almost. “Take it as a sign, then. Your phone call saved you from another thing to get in trouble over.”

His mouth clamps shut, a thin line appearing between his brows. The same one you saw when he was sleeping, and you dressed in silence. The one which you’d wanted to run your finger over and thin out, take it with you, leave it in some distant part of the city for someone else to wear instead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir?”

“Less of the sirs.”

You pause, half tempted to just close the gap and be done fighting him. “Why? Worried about something.”

His lips curl. “I’m tryin’ to be decent.”

“How’s that going?”

“Fuckin’ poorly.”

You smile. “Goodnight, Peña.”

He doesn’t nod, not until his fingers remove themselves, one by one, sliding from your forearm.

Wanting to stay. Wanting nothing more than to press your lips to his.

“You owe me a coffee.”

He doesn’t smirk, but his lips try to. “And a piece of fruit?”

Shaking your head, you grab your coat, and then your bag. “Night, sir.”

“Night, cariño.”

chapter three ->

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi peña x f!reader #javier peña narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena #narcos x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #mm: nowhere to run #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña fanfiction #javi peña narcos #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier

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jaidens · 9 months

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You And I Ended Up In The Same Room At The Same Time And The Touch Of A Hand Lit The Fuse

pairing [s] : daniel larusso x reader

warning [s] : im gonna die if I don't get some fall weather soon.. it feels like 107° out outside..| highschool parties |

a/n [s] : requests are open.

Currently, you were scanning your eyes across for an escape exit to get out of the humid, hot and drunk highschoolers slamming into each other. Eventually, your eyes landed against the door that was open, and you can see people coming inside and yelling at the people. You let out a groan and start walking towards the door. You made it outside and the cold air immediately made you feel better and relaxed the horrible headache that rang throughout your head.

You're periodically sipping on the, if you had to be honest, gross fruit punch that didn't have vodka and tequila in it. You stare at the kids walking with their siblings and parents trick-or-treating with adorable costumes on. You pull the zipper sweater you have on tighter to try and keep the warmth of the cold night before you hear a crunch of the orange and yellow leaves and someone sits down next to you. “Parties are crazy aren't they?”

The New Jersey accent makes you turn your head and shrug your head. “Not really my area. My friends wanted to go.” He closes his eyes and shrugs as well, and gives you a smile. “I just wanted to meet some people. I'm new here. My name is Daniel, Daniel Larusso.” You smile back at him and shake his hand while telling him your name.

You couldn't tell what was happening, but his hands wrapping around yours set off a match in a gasoline bucket. The spark you swore flew up into your arms and throughout the rest of your body. The way his brown eyes were lit up by the orange jack-o'-lanterns that sat on the porch, or the way his tan skin was being hit by the full moonlight. “Would you wanna go get a piece of apple pie with me up at Annie's, Daniel Larusso?”

The question made him perk up and he nodded. You smiled at him and took another sip of the fruit punch before throwing it out against the grass. “Where are you from, Daniel?” Daniel laughed under his breath. “Jersey. You can't probably tell by this horrible accent. Don't be fooled— my Ma’s is worse.” You laughed and said, “Nah, your accent is cute. Better than these surfer bros and dicks.” It's a simultaneous laugh with him and you stare into his eyes, and they drag you in once more.

“Where are you from?” Daniel asks you this time and you shrug again. “I was born and raised here. Cali born!” You raise your fist in the air as a joke and shrug. You and Daniel are relaxing in a comforting silence before he lets out a sound, “When did you stop trick-or-treating?” You frown and go back to admiring the little girls and boys running from house to house dragging a big bag of candy. “I was maybe.. 9? I just decided to not go and never went again. I miss it.”

Then, the silence is back, but you can't help to peak at him through the side of your eyes. You noticed that every time the wind passes through, he closes his eyes and breathes. You lose track of time and you check your watch. “Shit, Daniel, I have to go. I almost passed my curfew.” You stand up and gather the purse you brought and begin to walk away. You hear Daniel run after you, calling your name.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for pie?” Daniel smiles and hands you a small piece of paper with his number scribbled on it. “Of course. Annie's at 8?” Daniel nods and smiles, and you grab his hand and give a small kiss to his cheek before walking away. You leave him stunned and, from what he thinks, desperately in love.

#daniel larusso x reader #karate kid 1984 #karate kid fanfiction #daniel larusso #daniel larusso x you #young daniel larusso x reader #daniel larusso fluff #the karate kid #karate kid fluff

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cosmicocoffee · 1 year

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Thank you all for your patience! The GSA Collaboration is officially finished!

Believe it or not, the original file was way too big to post here on Tumblr, being at about 62.8 MB! The canvas is pretty big too, at 3791 x 2032 mm! I had to do some conversions to get it posted.

I initially want to thank all of you for participating in this project. I didn’t expect to have so many wonderful entries joining me on this experience, and I couldn’t be happy to share the final result! Not including entries with multiple characters in one layer, that’s over 75 knights! A big thank you to everyone involved! 💖

I also want to apologize for how long this took to post this. Besides moving, many other life situations kept sprouting, which further pushed back the project more than I’d like. Losing the file also made things hectic, which caused me to start again, but in the end - I was able to finish it!

Seeing everyone’s amazing characters on here is such a treat, and I’d like to thank you all for your patience and understanding. You all are truly wonderful! I did my absolute best to fit everyone in! Some were resized so they could fit efficiently.

Credits to everyone involved are down below. (If I miss anyone, or if you want me to add someone, feel free to DM me so I can change it immediately!)

@acedaniammx

@amaryllis56-main

@arson-n-quwubeezz

@autumnleafdraws

@aw-colorcat

@bedeion-legion

@blueberryfruitbat

@bones-the-skelebunny-01

@boom-fanfic-a-latta

@cali-kabi

@clacy2812

@clairetimes

@dedsec-pony

@dream-puppeteer

@driftwoodmfb

@lemonstars8583

@erythteria

@fanimaedraws

@feliner

@fruit-sauce

@itsmintcream

@itsquakey

@ivipl1

@kirbypurrs

@kittenvirus

@kiwilittle

@l0ju0l

@maybe-arts

@metakazkz

@mimicmew

@miniiieevee

@morpho-the-knight

@notkirbiinut

@novarrina

@opal-owl-flight

@powerade

@poyobox

@pumpkinnkidd

@rosiegardenlove

@sarcastic-bug

@shard-knight

@stm-pnk

@stricken-zero

@that-fanperson-meg

@thebunnywhoneverlikedcarrots

@the-cactus-taco

@theminiminun

@timeturner-jay

@tri-stringerz

@veamers

More credits in the reblog since I’ve reached my limit!

THANK YOU!!

#Thank you all again!#I'm so excited to share this with everyone!#StarWarriorOcCollab

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convoswcourt · 4 months

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I Hate New York

Lately, I have often been wondering to myself: If I feel so out of place in New York City, why did I choose to reincarnate here? (Pisces moon 4th house here lol)

These inner thoughts started peaking especially after I had a conversation with a client of mine who lives in Sydney who used to live in Cali. He told me how he was outgrowing Cali and decided to move across the globe to Australia. He loves it there and mentioned that Australians value work life balance. He noticed there was less instances of work politics at his jobs compared to working in the states. People actually care about the quality of their lifestyles over there.

Being a New Yorker all my life - those things all sound like a DREAM. Every one in New York City grinds. HARD. Work life balance was never a thing for New Yorkers up until covid forced us to quarantine and wfh.

Even then - the pandemic happened years ago and many of us have been forced back into commuting to work so corporate companies can put their commercial spaces to use.

While people find New York City inspiring and love it here - I find it quite an overwhelming and draining place to live in. When I was little, I thought I wanted to live in a high rise condo on the Upper East Side, but now that I've grown up I'm realizing I actually want to live in a spacious, bright and airy house. I want my own garden where I can plant my own fruits, veggies and herbs. I desire a slow uncomplicated life.

My soul feels congested here in New York City. There's too many impurities here both literally and figuratively that are clouding up my mind, body and soul. These streets don't resonate with me and the energy of this city is at odds with mine.

So naturally as an astrologer, I knew there was a reason for all this. I looked to astrocartography for insight and alas, New York City for me is located on a mars/pluto line. The energies and experiences I go through living in NYC are scorpionic in nature which is great for my overall personal transformation and growth, but it would be in my best interest to look for another location that aligns more with my north node. Don't get me wrong, for another individual with different placements than mine, NYC might be the ideal home base. However, for me, the goal is to create more balance and grounding instead of constantly being in the state of change.

Are you currently desiring something different than your current reality? You can learn about your own astrological essence and blueprint with me to tap into your ultimate potential for joy, love, career and money. Email: [email protected] for astrotherapy appointment availability.

#astrocartography #astrology #natal chart #natal chart reading #spirituality #mental health #homes #moving #moving homes #moving locations #changing locations #new york city #moon sign #astrology houses #mars #pluto #scorpio

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lucacangettathisass · 10 months

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SOMEONE WE DON'T FOOL

SUMMARY: You meet Eren Jaegar one night while trying to avoid a would be stalker. Taken in by his rough but endearing charm, you find yourself wanting to be around him more. The question is: should you?

FEATURING: Modern au, fem reader, autistic reader, slightly toxic Eren, slightly toxic Mikasa, slightly toxic EreMika, Eren is a semi-pro fighter, slight age gap (Eren is 6-7 years older), slightly pick me Mikasa, everyone has trauma bitch let's get them some fruit, HistorYmir, the Eldians are Jewish, sexual violence further down the line in the fic (will be warned about when it shows up)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Eren being a bit of a fuckboy rip

NOTES: OMG you guys have been so nice and supportive with this thank you!!! will be making a masterpost for this today so be on the look out!!! likes are lovely but reblogs are even more greatly appreciated! mwah!

TAGLIST: @blckbrdlove @katestrophes

CHAPTER TWO:

Eren

There were times in Eren’s life where he couldn’t help but think How the fuck is this happening?

This mostly occurred in middle school and high school, although it did follow him into his adult life. Such as right now, as he makes his way to his favourite IHOP on a Wednesday afternoon. Of course the surface level answer is easy: he’s here because he saved you, a pretty girl, from a total creep, and then you insisted that you treat him to lunch as a thank you. Simple enough.

But still, a part of Eren felt bad, as he got the feeling he was taking advantage of you. But on the other, you had offered, and were pretty insistent.

In the end he had texted you yesterday, while taking a break from training, to see if you were still up for lunch.

(Of course! You had replied, rather promptly too. Is there anywhere in particular that you want to go?)

And thus, Wednesday IHOP. Sure, Levi might chew him out for it later and make him train harder, but whatever. Free food with a pretty girl is worth whatever punishment Levi can come up with.

A bell rang over the door as Eren opened it, and he scanned the crowd, looking for you.

He quickly spotted you, and God you really were so pretty. You had on one of those girly, wrap around tops, in a soft shade of yellow, light wash jeans, and simple white flats. It was a simple outfit, but somehow it looked so nice on you.

"Hey angel." Eren said casually as he sat across from you, feeling rather smug when he saw you blush. "Hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Not at all." You said quickly. "Do you know what you want to order?"

"Cali roasted Turkey melt." He said. He might be at IHOP but he still didn't want to go overboard, he was an athlete after all. And ok, yeah, fine, he was scared of how much Levi would kick his ass if he went overboard before a fight. Eren might tower over the guy but he knew better than to push him too far. This was as far as he was willing to go. "What about you?"

"The lemon ricotta blueberry crepes look good." You said.

"Figured you'd be a crepe girl."

"Oh?" You looked at Eren with confusion. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "Pretty girls tend to like crepes."

You blush again and Eren congratulates himself. You were easier to fluster than he had expected.

A waitress came over and took the orders, leaving Eren to freely admire you.

When you had approached him that night, he had thought you were just another girl about to try her luck with him, and he had debated whether to reject you. Sure you were pretty, but you didn't seem to be his type. He liked girls that were a little rough around the edges, tough, willing to give him as good they got from him. But then again, he and Mikasa were off again after a particularly bad fight, so he figured bringing back a girl so unlike his usual fare-so unlike Mikasa-would piss her off something good.

But then you told him about being followed, and everything changed. Eren might be a jackass and a toxic asshole, as Mikasa had so eloquently put it, but he wasn't about to abandon someone who was clearly in danger, especially not a girl. He wasn't going to spit on his mother's name like that.

"Eren? Is there something on my face?"

He blinked, brought back to the present by your voice. He quickly put on a lazy smile, refocusing. "Nah, just admiring it."

Eren had to admit, he was surprised at how much you could blush. Your head must be feeling weird from all the blood that has been rushing to it.

"You know, it occurs to me that I don't know that much about you." You said, and Eren couldn't help but be a little but endeared and charmed by the way you spoke.

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Not much to tell really." He said casually. His tone was bored, but it was all calculated. He's done this song and dance before, he knows the notes and moves by heart now.

"Oh come on, there has to be something."

And it seems you were the perfect partner to duet with.

He kept his body language languid, like one of Levi's cats, as he shrugs again, spreading his legs only to put his left ankle on his right knee. "Well, what do you wanna know?"

"Why this IHOP?" You replied, almost instantly, like you had the question propped and ready to go. "There are a couple others in different parts of the city, so why this one?"

The question caught Eren off guard, and it almost made his mask of cool detachment slip. But he quickly fixed it, right back to performing. "I just like it." He said.

That wasn't the real reason of course, but he didn't know you well enough to tell the actual reason. Other guys can do the whole sensitive, and vulnerable thing, Eren will pass on that.

If you were unsatisfied with the answer you didn't show it. "That's fair. Explains why you were so quick to order."

"Well that's really because of my diet." Eren said. "I'm an athlete so I gotta be strict."

Your eyes lit up. "Really? What sport do you play?"

So, it looks like you're into athletes. Nice.

"I do MMA."

"Really?" You raised a brow. "I've never met anyone who fights before. How did you get into that?"

"I got into a lot of fights at school." He said casually, amused at the way your eyes widened and how you put a hand over your mouth. You really were the delicate type huh? "Figured I might as well get good at it, and it turns out it's something I'm good at and enjoy, so why not pursue it."

"It must be rough though." You said sympathetically. "I mean, I imagine they're a lot tougher than schoolyard fights."

"Yeah but we have rules so no one gets too fucked up." He paused as the waitress came back with your orders and you both thanked her. "Besides, I have a pretty good track record." He said with a smug smirk.

"How good?"

"30 to 2." He said proudly. "And the 2 are from early in my career."

You raised both of your brows this time, pausing as you cut up your crepe. "Wow." Your voice was soft, eyes wide. "That's…pretty amazing." You said. "You really aren't like any other guy I've met."

Now that's what Eren likes to hear. "You flatter me angel." He said, taking a bite of the melt. "So, what kind of guys have you met?"

"Normal ones I guess." You take a bite of your crepe and your eyes light up. "Oh wow this is good!"

"You say that like you've never had an IHOP crepe before." Eren teased lightly.

"Oh, well, my family isn't a big IHOP family." You replied, and Eren wasn't sure if he was seeing things or not, but he could swear that he thought you looked almost embarrassed for some reason. "So what do you do when you're not fighting or saving girls from creeps?"

He had to chuckle at that one. "Train and work honestly, my schedule doesn't really allow for much else."

"You know, I've always admired how dedicated athletes are." You said. "I mean, you guys devote your whole lives to your sport, always trying to get better and stay on top of your physiques and health. It really is impressive."

Yeah, you definitely seem like an athlete fucker. "Know many athletes?"

"Just a couple guys who play volleyball."

"Is that your type?" Eren teased harder, leaning in to get closer to you. "Volleyball players?"

You blushed heavily, and Eren saw the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.

'Easy there Jaeger, down boy.'

"I mean, not really." You replied softly.

"Then what is?" Eren stayed where he was, looking right into your eyes, even as you tried to avoid his gaze. "Come on, humor me."

"A nice guy I guess." You shrugged, clearly embarrassed. "I-I don't know, I've never really thought about it."

Eren raised a brow. Looks like you're more pure and innocent than he thought. "Well lucky for you I happen to know a pretty nice guy." His charmingly lazy smirk was back. "He's six foot one, does MMA, has a steady job. He sound good?"

You giggled, cheeks going pink. "He sounds OK." You replied, engaging with the teasing this time.

Eren grinned, very satisfied with the set up. "Well he has a fight coming up, you wanna come see it?"

Your eyes lit up, and your excitement was almost palpable. "S-sure. When and where is it?"

Slam dunk.

Eren Jaeger has done it again.

#eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #aot fic #aot x reader #modern aot

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lordystrange · 1 year

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Season 4 if Midleven was endgame

The Duffer Brothers could have made Midleven endgame clear as day with these minor changes in the show. (But they didn't, instead they did it like we saw it and that, my dear friends, is Byler endgame evidence.)

Ep 1: Mike could have been smiling at the letter and instead of crumbling it and tossing it away, he could have nicely placed it in his desk/in a special box/in his Eleven shrine next to El's other letters and a picture of her.

Ep 2: He could have given Will a hug in the airport, and tell both Will and El he's missed them, while holding El by the waist.

Ep 3: Instead of calling El ridiculous, Mike could have said something like "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm gonna try to be better with it in the future." (Or he could just have said it there)

Ep 4: Mike again could have shown more respect towards El's letters.

Ep 5: When Will is saying "-because what if they don't like the truth" Mike could look a little confused like "what are you talking about". (Instead in the actual show, he nods, as if he's saying "yeah exactly, she won't like the truth which is that I'm not in love with her")

Ep 6: He could not be so judgy about Argyle and Eden falling in love at first sight. Or they could have written him to talk about El romantically at some point. (There's not a lot Cali crew in that ep lol)

Ep 7: (There is none of Cali crew in that ep because if there was, it would just be footage of Mike and Will cuddling while sleeping on the van floor)

Ep 8: Mike could not look at Will like he's in love with him (which he is).

Ep 9: Mike could be honest with the monologue. Or he could have said ily in the fruit pizza scene. Or he could have tried his best to comfort El afterwards. And he could have stayed by her side in the last shot.

Obviously there are more things they could have changed a little to back up Midleven, but even just these 8 would have made me doubt byler and believe in milkvan. Hell, even just ep 9 done differently would have made me not believe in byler.

But they did what they did and that means byler endgame, thank you very much!

#byler #anti milkvan #byler is endgame #byler tumblr #mike wheeler i know what you are #byler endgame #byler canon #stranger things s4 #milkvan slander #byler proof #byler evidence #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #duffer brothers #anti m*leven #anti midleven

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tacky-jack-with-a-hat · 4 months

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@ztarburztsystem sorry just found your post again and here's some flocali

I'm going to organise it into the good, the bad and the confusing

Good

•Florida doesn't like Cali's cooking as it's healthy to the point it's bland and unfilling. But Florida will eat it anyway. However, as Cali got more stressed he began making food for him. Everyday for a month Cali woke up to the smell of waffles and pancakes and glazed fruit. He was genuinely impressed the house didn't burn down but found the meal too rich after a while. Then one day they decided to cook together and accidently invented a new food that was the perfect balance.

•They love watersports (like actual sports on water not piss I had to learn that the hard way) and go to the beach every week for date night. They get competitive and it only goes too far once when Florida did the alligator move of death rolling in the water. California was only mildly annoyed with Florida getting too rough in the water.

The bad

• Florida gets homesick a lot but can't always go home. California tried making things seem like home with Disneyland and Halloween horror nights, but they only make Florida miss his home more. When Florida gets really upset Cali will just cuddle him.

•Because Cali uses his exes Hulu, Florida can see what his ex likes. It's not the only thing Cali's ex left behind. Sometimes Florida will find a picture of the two- other times he will find "blood" on the ex's shirt or find a box of his ex's things (including photo albums and a dvd of human centipede with bonus features). Florida also found a hole in the wall from what he assumed was from Cali's ex being aggressive and he confronted Cali on his findings.

The reality was very different. California and his ex got along well and were still friends. In fact Cali's ex offered to continue paying for hulu, his old shirts were "bloody" bc it's a Halloween costume and the only reason why Cali still keeps his stuff is because his ex doesn't have enough room in his own apartment. But the human centipede? Oh California just hid that after his ex wanted to make out to a horror movie and didn't read the warnings.

Florida felt a bit insecure on how close Cali was to his ex, but eventually he accepted they didn't have anything else going on.

Confusing

•Florida is shark bite capital and part gator, and when he was teething he didn't know what to bite. California was right in front of him, reading a book. He went straight for his arm. They then proceeded to stare at each other for at least 15min before Florida grabbed the book and went absolutely feral.

•Sometimes, when Cali comes home he hears Florida playing bad bunny and leaves.

•Both of them are Tumblr shippers. But Florida is a multishipper and Cali is a reader/character and an otp shipper. They have fandom discourse.

Florida: self inserts are just annoying-

Cali: oh, like we're not a stand-in for Ben! Also your ships are toxic!!

Florida: How???

Cali: enemies to lovers is always toxic!!!

Florida: BUT THAT'S OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP!!!!

#wttt #welcome to the table

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melancholysway · 1 year

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TMNT Headcanons - Allergies!

Things the boys are allergic to because I’m lactose intolerant & I still need time to do my requests yet stay active so I'm posting my drafts for the time being LMAO

Leonardo

Eggs. I don't know why, but I hc that all Leo's are allergic to eggs.

Not that it has a big impact on him, he usually eats traditional Japanese meals. However, some of them do include eggs, so he uses the plant based egg alternative as a placeholder.

Since 2012 Mikey cooks for everyone, he's conscious of the ingredients he puts into the food. If a recipe is egg dominant, like a cake or pasta, he makes a special desert/meal for his big brother. He might make a flourless/egg-less cake, and use chickpea pasta instead of the regular.

Bayverse Leo just omits everything with eggs. For breakfast, he usually reaches for toast anyway.

2012 Leonardo eats a struggle meal at breakfast. Since they're limited to breakfast foods, he usually eats cereal.

P.S: He really likes Special K vanilla and almond cereal. <3

Rise!Leo is the first to actually try and eat it to see how bad his reaction would be. Spoiler: he has to bench in the bed for a week. Yeah, it's that bad. Mix that in with a rash and he's never trying that again.

2007 Leo is more plant-based anyway, since he lived a year in the jungle. So, he's used to not eating anything but fruits or nuts.

Raphael

This boy is sensitive to milk. It may be because I wanna pass the lactose intolerant torch down to one of the turtles, but I seriously think Raphael does not like dairy milk anyway.

Bayverse & 2007 Raph are seriously into their physique. They have a good balance of meats and veggies, but can’t have dairy milk.

He likes Almond milk.

Not only is almond milk a great alternative for non-dairy drinkers, but you get much more calcium that way!

I also headcanon that although the guys eat pizza all the time like in the shows, Raph is the one who doesn't eat it as much. He's way too into his body to mess up his progress. He eats it in moderation. Plus, cheese is a dairy product, but it doesn't mess him up like dairy milk does.

Rise!Raph is massive, so I imagine a tiny little ounce of cow's milk messing him up to be very fitting.

2012 Raph tries to thug out his milk intolerance, but it never goes well. Long story short, after many days of feeling lethargic and throwing up, he knows better.

Donatello

SHELLFISH YALL

turtle shell puns aside

Donatello is allergic to shell fish and I feel so bad because I LOVE me some crab.

I just know Raph clowns him for it to and they bicker over which allergy is worse.

R: Don try this Cali roll, oh wait, ya cant!

D: Wow this milkshake is great! have a try raph! oh wait...whoops! I'll just give it to Mikey.

Always always always!

Do not invite him to your takeout sushi shindig, he will not be able to eat anything.

Leo is the one who usually eats fish, so whenever Mikey makes his special plate, Donnie audibly gags. It's not just the fact that he's allergic, it's the smell.

2012 Donnie really hates fighting FishFace because of the smell

it makes him wanna throw up.

So a lot of the times he just wants to get in and get out when a mission involves fighting Xever.

2007 and Bayverse donnie live off of small snacks, so they don't ever have to think about their food containing fish

Rise!Donnie makes this joke everytime he eats goldfish crackers

"Guys look, I'm eating fish," *wiggles eyebrows*

everyone else: :|

Michelangelo

GLUTEN

Now here ya'll go in the comments

bUt MeLanChOLY, MiKeY'S AlWAys EaTinG PiZZa!!!

OKAY!?!!?!?!

Gluten free pizza ;)

No i swear it. He has some sort of intolerance. You know how sometimes you may eat a certain food so much that after a while your body just rejects it?

It's not pizza his body's rejecting though, it's gluten.

So now, he's in a frenzy, when Donnie told him, he gave him a sad puppy-eyed look & said

"So...I can't....have...pizza anymore? For forever??"

He's happy when Donnie says he still can.

They have to order gluten--free pizza now. But rejoice! Times are changing, diet culture is changing, the world is changing! Gluten free options are pretty much everywhere! Woohoo!

I feel like Rise!Mikey is PISSED he can't eat bagels. I feel like he would love a mean everything bagel with cream cheese.

But, do not fear, there are gluten free breads available!

2012 Mikey just gets gluten-free everything now. It's mainly the gluten from bread, but just for fun, he'll get gluten free snacks

2007 & Bayverse Mikey go on strike and try to not eat anymore pizza to see if it'll "reset his body,"

Raph bursts his bubble and let's him now that's not how allergies or intolerances work

"Take it from someone who ain't had milk in years, mikey."

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space Masterlist

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt imagines #tmnt headcanons #raphael #leonardo #donatello #michelangelo #rise!tmnt #bayverse tmnt #tmnt hc #tmnt 2012 #tmnt fandom

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years

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Day 15: Warlock

10/15: Warlock

Universe // Characters: Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo

You’re acquiring a reputation around Medellín.

La mujer del coronel.

The Colonel’s woman.

It doesn’t go unnoticed that you’re known as this in all the bakeries and most of the food stalls. Horacio must have, at some point in his gift gathering, talked about you. It’s something that makes you smile during the stretches of time when he is off chasing leads with Javi, Steve, and Search Bloc. Sometimes he comes back with just dirt and grime that easily rinses away. Sometimes he comes back with more lasting marks. But you try to distract yourself with butter cookies and fruit filled empanadas, using their company as a poor replacement for his.

You also hear whispers of Horacio’s reputation too. They call him a brujo, a witch or warlock rather. The sicarios and their sympathizers are convinced he is tapping into black magic, not phone lines, to find his leads. They are convinced that the devil himself has blessed his rosary and allows him to exact his vengeance on the cartel. It leaves the narcos with the burning question of “who’s side is the devil really on?.”

You’ve become convinced, in these quiet nights of solitude and baked goods, that it’s both. The devil is on both sides because the one thing that evil loves most is chaos. And that is what Pablo Escobar has brought to Colombia: chaos. And Search Bloc is creating its own chaos as it fights the chaos created by the cartels.

It’s during one of these long stretches of loneliness that the phone calls with your family start to take a turn. The basic niceties remain. How are you? Fine. Are you staying safe? Yes. Have you caught any big names yet? Just one really. But then new questions start to pop up. When are you coming home? I don’t know. How many years are planning to dedicate to this? As many as it takes. But then one evening, your mother stops tip-toeing around with the questions and goes straight for your throat.

“You’re not getting any younger, sweetie. When are you going to come home and settle down? Having kids when you’re past thirty just makes things so much more complicated. You still want to have kids, a family, right? And men, they want a wife that they can take care of, not one that can take care of themselves. All this running around a foreign country with guns and drugs, it doesn’t make you look very feminine.”

You’re missing Horacio, haven’t slept well for three days while he’s chasing sicarios in Cali and waiting for news that he’s on his way home, and that is why your regular good nature fails so horribly. “Mom, maybe I don’t want a husband and kids. Maybe I’m okay with taking care of myself and not settling down. Maybe I want something different than what you do since I’m not you. Raising a family is great but maybe it’s just not for me and I’m okay with that. I wish you were too.”

Her silence immediately makes you feel guilty for your outburst but she recovers before you do. “Well, I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” you acquiesce. “And I am happy, mom. I like Colombia. I like the people I work with.” I like Horacio, you almost say. It doesn’t feel right to tell your family before you tell him just how much you care for him.

“Your future isn’t in Colombia though. It’s here. With us, your family.” She sighs heavily. “You need to come home, honey. And soon.”

“Why?” You laugh humorlessly. “The husband options are withering? All the good once at church getting snatched up?”

“Yes.” The answer is short, like the snapping close of a book. End of discussion.

The next day you get a call from Horacio, who is on his way home and will be back at base within a matter of hours. They caught a couple low level sicarios from the Cali cartel who may be convinced to turn on some Escobar’s men but that remains to be seen. You’re sitting at your desk, trying to not stare at the clock, when everyone returns to base. Steve is tired, does the bare minimum, and heads home to Connie and Olivia. Javier is a bit more keyed up, wanting to go out for drinks before heading back to his apartment but you demure, your eyes cutting briefly to Horacio’s office. Javier immediately picks up on the situation, gives you a tap on the shoulder, steals a cookie from your desk, and heads out with a wink.

When the numbers of officers dwindle, you pick up a mostly empty folder, and head up to Horacio’s office. He sees you coming and immediately closes the blinds. You step through the door and straight into his arms, his mouth landing on yours with no preamble or greeting. You smile into the kiss as your hands run over his arms, shoulders, and back looking for any wounds or sore spots.

“I know what you’re doing, querida,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Oh yeah? So are you going to tell me or am I going to have to do a full body inspection?”

“I like the sound of the inspection.”

You hold his face in your palms as your eyes rove over his face. There is no blood or bruising like when he returned from Cartagena. “Well, so far so good.”

He studies your face with the same amount of intense scrutiny. “I missed you.”

Those three words shouldn’t make your knees go weak but they do. Maybe the rumors are true and he has sold his soul to the devil in order to do magic. He certainly has bewitched you.

“I missed you too.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #los regalos series

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nwbeerguide · 2 months

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Firestone Walker Brewing releases the "crushable" Firestone XPA. The first in a seasonal series for 2024.

Press Release Paso Robles, CA: Firestone Walker today unveiled its first of three seasonal offerings slated for 2024—the all-new Firestone XPA, a next-generation extra pale ale brewed with Southern Hemisphere hops and California style, available now in all Firestone Walker markets. Find it with the FW Beer Finder. “XPA is the number one craft beer style in Australia and it’s something we’re excited to champion it here in the U.S.," said Brewmaster Matt Brynildson. "The appeal of XPAs is obvious--they offer everything you love in a good pale ale at a crushable ABV. We fell in love with the style during our travels to hop farms across Australia and New Zealand and we were inspired to make our own." Firestone XPA (5% ABV) is rolling out to all Firestone Walker markets in can (12-oz six packs) and limited draft formats for the duration of winter and through the spring season into June. An early batch of Firestone XPA earned a Bronze Medal at the 2023 Great American Beer Festival in the International Pale Ale category. Crisp, Hoppy & Crushable Firestone XPA is built around New Zealand’s Nelson hop with its grapefruit and tropical Sauvignon Blanc qualities, all backed up with a dollop of classic Mosaic hops. The resulting beer offers a trifecta of drinkability: crisp, hoppy and crushable. Firestone XPA also taps into Firestone Walker’s roots as a heritage brewer of California pale ales. “Creating this beer brought a lot of joy to our production team, there was definitely some pent-up enthusiasm for pale ale brewing,” Brynildson said. “We went all in to fine-tune several test batches and nail what we were after with this beer.” He added, “We wanted to lead with the punchy tropical qualities of the Nelson hop, and we found that adding just the right amount of Mosaic makes the fruit flavors all the more lush and expansive.” “XPA is the predominant beer style in Australia for a reason,” said Firestone Walker Brand Director Hannah Barnett. “I think it has the potential to take the U.S. by storm at some point, or at the very least become a fixture in the American pale ale landscape. We’d like to be part of making that happen.” # # # Founded in 1996 by brothers-in-law Adam Firestone and David Walker, Firestone Walker is a second-generation, family-led brewery based on California’s Central Coast. Helmed by highly decorated Brewmaster Matt Brynildson, Firestone Walker's main brewery in Paso Robles produces a diverse portfolio including 805, California's #1 craft beer brand; Mind Haze, a top 5 national hazy IPA; and Cali Squeeze, one of the nation's fastest-growing beer brands. The Firestone brand family also includes iconic beers such as DBA, Union Jack, and Pivo Pils, as well as the storied Vintage Series of barrel-aged strong ales led by Parabola. As a California beer company, Firestone Walker also has two additional locations: the Barrelworks wild ale cellar in Santa Barbara County and the Propagator R&D brewhouse in Venice. Firestone Walker was recently named “Best American Brewery of the Decade” by Paste Magazine. More at 805beer.com and FirestoneWalker.com from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/433i7u3

#Craft Beer #Beer #News

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 2 years

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So this might be a weird question, but if you've worked with lizards, how does their care compare to that of a snake? Is it tons more effort or is it pretty manageable? Are they more responsive to people interacting with them or do they not particularly care?

I may take in a blue tongue skink soon and I have 3 pet snakes (corn, Cali king and ball python), so I was wondering how difficult/different a beginner lizard is compared to beginner/intermediate snakes.

Lizards tend to be considerably more work than snakes, but still not as much as a dog or a cat. I have a bearded dragon and an ackie monitor myself, and I love them to death but the reason I don't have more lizards is that they require a lot more in terms of daily maintenance.

The biggest difference with lizards is they need to be fed more frequently and their diets can be more involved. Even a lot of beginner lizards like blueys need a varied diet that involves a lot more planning than you'll ever put into a snake's meals - for a blue-tongued skink, for example, as adults they do well on a diet of 50% greens, 40% protein and 10% fruit. You'll have to put a lot more work into meal planning for most lizards.

The trade-off is that a lot of lizards are going to be very personable to work with! A lot of people find lizards more interactive than snakes. It tends to be easier to read their body language and they're super fun to handle and interact with.

Especially with your experience, you shouldn't have any issues. It's totally manageable, and a bluey is a great lizard to start with. Just don't expect a snake experience and you'll be fine!

#not a rating #lizards #lizard husbandry #blue tongue skinks

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ohfallingdisco · 1 year

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@cluelessbees I didn’t wanna take over your whole post, but you said we don’t know how long the final fight with Vecna actually was and I needed to think about it for a minute, if that’s okay. You got me curious lol.

I think the best cautious measurements we have are probably Master of Puppets and Max’s possession.

Master of Puppets is 8 minutes and 35 seconds long in the Metallica recording, and assuming Eddie playing it would take a bit longer—due to things like sneaking into position, receiving the all-clear to start, live performance tweaks and differences—I’m going to allow a hesitant 10 minutes for Dustin and Eddie to get on the roof and Steve-Robin-Nancy to get themselves stuck, and 20 more minutes for Eddie and Dustin to finish playing the song live. Not including the events that happened after—being chased inside by the bats, Eddie’s misplaced heroism, etc. I think these events probably occurred at the same time as Nancy shooting Vecna and Stobin setting him on fire, which creates an interesting parallel because—well, Eddie’s choice here ended in a loss. Like Mike told Hop in s2, you can’t just expect guns to work.

Max’s possession is trickier to nail down precisely, but we have at least three concurrent storylines to double-check with here. The attic with Lucas, Jason, and Erica, the Surfer Boy with Mike, Will, Jonathan, and Argyle, and Vecna’s mindscape with Max and El.

Assuming the stopwatch starts the moment Max and Lucas first cross the threshold of the Creel House, we’ll assume this prequel stretch lasts for roughly the same amount of time it takes Will and Jonathan to make a salt bath out of the pizza dough freezer (or at least, I think, until Will and Jon’s talk was over). I’ll give both storylines about 15 minutes to get past these milestones, crossing off Lumax’s movie plans and Mileven’s fruit-on-pizza talk.

Now assuming Max got into place and said her piece about Billy around the same time Jonathan was reminiscing with Will, that kickstarts the Vecna plot and sets Max aside for a minute. Lucas is alone in the attic for what seems like a relatively short period of time before Jason gets there, but I’ll assume it was about 10-15 minutes since that seems like about how long it might have taken for El to get into place and start the piggyback. Mike’s monologue and El getting stuck in the vines probably took place within this time frame, too, or at least very soon after Jason arrived.

Because then Max found the Snow Ball memory, and she hid in the light for maybe 5 minutes before things started rotting. El and Vecna showed up very soon after, and they were there for maybe 10 minutes altogether. Then Vecna got ahold of Max, and things started to collectively spiral. I’d bet this was when Nancy shot his body, and Eddie started biking away from Dustin with the bats.

So, all in all, I guess I’d guess the Upside Down crew was actually in the UD for about 45-ish minutes? Max’s possession seems to take up more time, so I’d give it about an hour. I think the Cali Crew is our best canon chance at actually having noticed the time. An hour seems pretty insanely short, but Rome was burnt overnight, or whatever. One last thing: according to sunrise-sunset.org, twilight in Indiana on March 24, 1986 (if we’re assuming two days have passed since Rink-O-Mania and Max’s first Vecna’ing), ended at 6:30 pm Central time. Since it was already pitch-dark for a while for the Cali Crew, and they would be in Pacific time in Nevada (a couple hours earlier—and the sun would go down earlier there), I think it’s safe to assume it’s around 8pm for the Hawkins crew when it all starts. Leaving them done at 9pm…when they did the Sauna Test on Billy. And then another 2-day skip. Are we going to drop right into something big in s5?

Thoughts, comments, or concerns??

#st speculation #st4 #the hawkins gang #cali crew #the upside down #i never claimed to be great at math i’m sorry lol #but this was fun anyway

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discodeviant · 1 year

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One Swing, Just One Thing

Jonathan/Argyle | Teen | 3k No Upside Down, Light Angst

My take on the Cali move in the little Disco-verse I have in my head lol, please enjoy <3 <3

Read on AO3

There were a devastating number of things that Jonathan hated about Hawkins, not limited to its inseparable school boards and suffocating, tight-knit groups. The summers were disappointing at best, and still fucking cold at worst; winters bit at his nose and fingertips so harshly that he thought they’d fall right off. Hawkins was the town that molded his father into the crass, neglectful man that he was, and even he was scared off some years ago. On a whim, maybe, but Jonathan always suspected that he’d never loved their family in the first place. Joyce was too forgiving; Will was too young to know better than to think Lonnie’s disappearance was personal. Not that he went very far—only fifty minutes to Indianapolis—but it felt like he was across the ocean in a different world entirely. Jonathan hated that Hawkins had been breaking his mother to pieces ever since.

The time between then and now was a long, dull three years of absolutely nothing with some excitement sprinkled on top like glitter. Lonnie broke the divorce contract and took Will into the city for a week in eighty-two, which rendered the already-quiet kid fully mute for two months. In eighty-three, Jonathan won a fight against Steve Harrington in a back alley somewhere, which he still thought may have been a fever dream. Every punch and bruise left behind led to Nancy Wheeler leaving Steve for Jonathan in eighty-four and loving him until the summer of eighty-five, when college applications rolled around and pried them apart.

Somewhere in between, Joyce married Jim Hopper, whose daughter could move twenty times her weight with her mind, but those were details Jonathan didn’t like to think about.

California was on the horizon by July, and the five of them were driving into Lenora Hills in early August. Hopper said it wasn’t dirty money when it came from the source, but Jonathan was still wary of the whole thing. Hawkins was terrible, but it was home for eighteen years. It was familiar. It was where he taught Will how to ride a bike, and where he took his mother’s new wedding photos during the not-ceremony they held in front of Castle Byers. Just Will’s friends and their parents, Steve and Nancy somehow, and that was all they needed. Hawkins was every waking moment of Jonathan’s life, gone in a flash—it felt that way when he started school again.

Hawkins wasn’t creative with name-calling either. Freak was thrown around for both Byers boys, and another kid in some of Jonathan’s classes. Fuck up when the tapes he had for a middle school play were sabotaged and left for him to take the blame. Fairy caught on after Harrington called him a queer in front of Tommy Hagan (that was before Jonathan kicked his ass), and it hit a little too deep, that one. Lonnie used to say that about Will when he was around. Freak and fag and fairy and good-for-nothing fruit—F-words haunted him.

In California, though, Jonathan was little more than a ghost, and he was happy to keep it that way. He didn’t draw attention to himself or talk to anyone outside of class, and even then he stuck to his desk mates, but he was a good kid. Kind, soft-spoken like his brother, always carrying that damn camera with him so he didn’t miss anything. Californian kids weren’t as cruel as those from small-town Indiana, but they still stared. If they whispered, it was out of range. He could deal with that.

Shop class was what really threw him for a loop.

Back home, he realized that there were two types of guys who took shop: those who were interested in trade and chose to be there, and those who were put into it because they weren’t that great at anything else. Jonathan was in the former group since hands-on work was easier for him to get a handle on, and he never dreamt of going to some fancy university with top-dog academics. That was Nancy’s dream. His was simple and steady like a saw cutting through slabs of pine and the hinges holding them together. His was the freedom of choosing what wood stain to use between burned lines in the surface of a three-panel table. His was photography, in truth, but carpentry was a good fallback.

Jonathan wasn’t sure what to make of his project partner. Which kind of guy Argyle was, he really couldn’t say. On the one hand, he had a fantastic eye for measurements and made perfect cuts nearly every time, and his eyes lit up when their teacher complimented his work. He was fast too, never wasting a moment in between getting instructions and following them. On the other hand, he spoke like he was deep in outer space, and maybe he was. Argyle epitomized the doped-out beach boy with the attention span of a fruit fly in most other classes, from what Jonathan could tell. Maybe that was why he glanced in Argyle’s direction whenever he could, just for a split second of those long, long locks or proof that it was all an act. Not that he would understand why, but Argyle was a distant interest until they were told to work on a porch swing together, and he was suddenly much closer.

“Hey, so, uh… how big are we gonna make this thing?” Jonathan asked as Argyle fiddled with his pencil eraser. They sat at a table in the back, bags and papers splayed out alongside a few wooden beams that they reserved in advance. “Like… one, two people?”

Argyle looked up and nodded in thought. “Two’s cool. Or… I guess we could make it for one really big person. Or three small people.” His words sounded like they came from the long distance his eyes stared off into. Through Jonathan somehow, if that was even possible. It made him a little wary.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jonathan gazed around the room to fill the silence with something else. Other students’ chatter and sawing, hammers swinging already, a buzzsaw that went off for a few seconds. Between the boys, it was agonizing, and they mostly worked through gestures and mumbled project plans.

Throughout the week, they eased into a better conversation flow. They passed along hellos through glances in other classes, then said their heys when they made it to shop. Jonathan found himself lingering on those smiles until the next came along, and then he added that one to his mental collection. A portfolio, of sorts, of the times those smiles were accompanied by a wave or enthusiastic nod. All the while, their swing was making progress, and Argyle proved his skillful hand so much that he did most of the hard parts himself. Jonathan had fun watching.

After that weekend, they decided that Jonathan would be in charge of its more intricate designs, which he was happy to focus on. Drawing out ideas in pencil on the wood, taking Argyle’s sketches into account. And like he watched Argyle, Argyle watched him right back with intense focus. Whether the whites of his eyes were red or not, he was meticulous when filling in the lines with Gunsmoke—an orange stain they used around the edges. Once all was said and done, the swing was sanded and lathered in wax coating, and they were the first pair to finish.

“That’s one bangin’ bench, if I do say so myself.” Argyle stood with both hands on his hips, licking at his teeth as he ogled their final project. “Good work, my man.” The clap on Jonathan’s back startled him a little.

“You too, you too.”

“Hey, do you think you could help me get it out to my car later?”

“You’re taking it?”

“Yeah, man, Teach said I could. I got sisters, they’re gonna love this thing. We used to have one, but it was all grody and, like, just fell apart one day, so. Set it up there, I guess. You can come by if you want.”

“I—I don’t know—I gotta work on my paper.” Jonathan only noticed his palms were sweaty when he rubbed them down his thighs and stained the denim.

“Do it at mine, man. It’s quiet when the girls are doin’ their thing, and we can get free pizza.”

“Free pizza?” Jonathan asked, but Argyle just gave him a look that hooked and reeled like he didn’t give the line any trouble at all. “What the hell, why not.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Argyle clapped his hands together and rubbed them so fast that an ember should have sparked and burned the place down, but maybe that was Jonathan’s nerves thinking too quickly. Before he knew it, Argyle was packing his things and walking out backwards with a pair of finger-guns pointed at him. “You and me, Byers!”

The bell rang soon after.

“A pizza van?”

“Yeah, man! Life’s way easier when I can just throw shit in the back. Plus, my manager says it’s good advertising, and I’m inclined to agree. Come on, let’s get her in there.”

They’d waited for the school crowd to pile out before carrying the swing to the end of the parking lot, where Jonathan’s earlier question was answered. With the van’s boot open, they hoisted the swing up and into the back with little struggle—which was mostly Argyle’s doing—and walked to sit up front together after closing it.

“What toppings do you like?” Argyle asked as he backed out.

“Uh… anything I guess. I’m not picky.”

“Pineapple?”

Jonathan grimaced. “Never had it.”

“Try before you deny, my friend.”

And, well, Jonathan couldn’t argue with that for a number of reasons.

Pizza first, home second—that was their order of operations, though they decided to take the food to-go instead of sitting in a loud parlor teeming with children. Jonathan paid for a sub in case he hated the pizza, which Argyle laughed at him for. Not maliciously; Jonathan was pretty sure he didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. He was too carefree for that, too laid back, too genuine. So far, anyway, and Jonathan knew he needed a friend like him even if it was too soon to say they were friends just yet. Unless it wasn’t. He didn’t know.

Friends had come and gone, and stayed gone more often than not. Will and his mom were the only two constants for so long. His middle and high school friends were temporary, Nancy was temporary, Hopper and El might have been temporary for all he knew by that point. But that was Hawkins, where he’d been a freak for sitting in the cafeteria corner even when he got there first. That was Hawkins High, where people still talked about his brother like he’d died and come back to life even though he was only gone for a week. Those people weren’t supposed to be friends to begin with, and Jonathan didn’t try to make them friends.

But this was Lenora Hills, sitting in Argyle’s pizza van that may not have been his at all, and he was so California—so unlike Indiana—that Jonathan couldn’t help smiling.

As they pulled up to the house, he asked, “Did you grow up here?”

“Born and raised, man.” Argyle said so with pride that Jonathan could only dream of. “Closer to San Jose, actually, but it’s the same shit everywhere.” He laughed, and they stepped out. “Where’d you get swept up from? Not the city.” Boot open; Argyle pulled the swing out for Jonathan to catch the end.

“No, no,” he said. “Hawkins. It was sorta close to the city, but far-fucking-from it in every other way.”

“Where’s that, Utah?” Argyle held the other end, and they walked up the grass to where a couple of A-frames were set up with a beam joining the vertices.

Jonathan chuckled. “Indiana.”

“Oh, shit, you’re like… from way-fuckin’-out there, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Not that exciting. At least I’ve heard of San Jose.”

“Not missing out there either, dude, but, I don’t know, maybe I was just used to it.” They set the swing down. “Green grass or some crap, whatever shit they talk about. Anyway, lemme close the van, then, uh… we’ll go in and eat. Or we can eat out here, whatever.”

Jonathan shrugged and said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll grab your bag for you.” Argyle didn’t protest and brought in the pizza while Jonathan had one bag slung over each shoulder. That said, Argyle’s was more of a sack, but it fit everything he needed.

“I gotta get a new one soon,” he said as they walked into the warmth of a well-lived-in home. Something about it reminded Jonathan of the house in Hawkins. Small but cozy and littered with half-filled coloring pages, toys on the floor, a bottle of glitter tipped over on a shelf. It smelled like honey and spice wrapped into a billowing fire, but that was in the walls and rugs on the floor. That was Argyle.

A TV sat on the coffee table in the living room, which merged with the kitchen so Argyle could turn it on while he got a couple of plates out. “Take a seat, man, my couch is your couch. And, lucky for us, it seems we’ve got the house to ourselves for another couple hours at least, so no noisy children to deal with.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Uh… today’s Friday?” Jonathan nodded. “Dad’s workin’ late, so they’re with abuela for the night. She’s up, uh—near that lake up there.”

“That’s cool.”

“Anyway…” Argyle carried the pizza box to the couch with a plate on top for each of them. Jonathan had already put their drinks on the table. “Bon appétit, my dude,” he said, holding up his slice of Hawaiian, an invitation for a toast. Jonathan met it with his own and sunk his teeth in, expecting the worst, but he was pleasantly surprised. “See?”

They both said in unison, “Try before you deny.”

“Jesus, that’s fucking good.��

“Thank those Hawaiians, man.”

“Ugh—thank you, Hawaiians—mm…”

A short while after letting their food settle, the guys went back outside to set up the swing before it got too dark. Argyle had some chains that he hooked through the arms and base before hanging it with Jonathan’s help. He didn’t do much, but it was enough to earn a high-five anyway, so he took it in stride. When they were done, they sat on it together, both just fitting so their knees touched, but it was comfortable. Jonathan was comfortable.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie to you, man, this thing could use some throw pillows,” Argyle said.

“You got any?”

“Yeaaaah, but I don’t feel like going back inside yet, so. Later.” Jonathan ate from a bag of gummy worms. “You smoke?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. You go ahead, I don’t mind. My parents are both chimneys.”

So Argyle fished around in his pocket and pulled out a smoke that was a little worse for wear, from what Jonathan could tell, but it had probably been in there all day. “You got this stuff back home, country boy?” Jonathan looked more closely at it and suddenly understood.

“Oh.”

Argyle laughed. “Is that a no?”

“No, no, I mean, we do, just… only had it a couple times. Plus, like, my mom married a cop. Literally the chief.”

“No shit! Oh, dude, you’re missing out big time.”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t that good.”

“Byers, my man… this is the real shit. Good shit. Purple Palm Tree Delight. Well worth the pennies.”

“Purple Palm Tree Delight.”

“Yessiree.” A lighter was next. Argyle flipped it open and lit the joint between his lips, Jonathan watching with a sudden draw to the smoke leaving his mouth. “You’ll like it.”

Jonathan hesitated for a moment before taking it from between Argyle’s fingers, strong and dirty from the swing work but still so tempting to touch. “One drag,” he said. It occurred to him briefly, when he put it in his mouth and took a shallow huff, that he might have been called a fairy for this too if he were back in middle school.

Side-by-side, closer to a guy than either seemed to realize as he held his lips around something that another man’s lips had already touched. Maybe Jonathan was being childish to think that they’d just kissed. Lips to joint to lips again, his one puff turned into two, then three, then an equal share as he and Argyle passed it between each other. Argyle’s lips were red by the time it was down to a nub of embers that he snuffed with dirty fingertips and dropped into the grass.

Maybe it was naive to be glad that he was in California, sitting on a swing in his new friend’s backyard—who, yes, now, Jonathan could be sure was his friend. He knew this never could have happened in Hawkins. Not the peaceful silence as the final few minutes of sunlight disappeared, not the violet-tinted delight rolling through his arms and legs and brain. Certainly not a kiss, though he wasn’t sure that would happen in California either.

Maybe it could someday, he thought. Then he wouldn’t have to pretend that indirect contact through a joint was enough. He wouldn’t have to imagine or make believe. He could just turn his head, look into Argyle’s glowing eyes in the dark, and lean in with herbal confidence to back him up.

And they’d swing.

And they’d touch.

And even now, looking at Argyle’s profile wasn’t enough to satisfy. “Is there something on my face?” he asked, and Jonathan shook his head.

“No, just… your face.” His vision blurred as his eyelids slowly flitted closed, fighting an uphill battle to keep him awake. Everything was fuzzy inside and out, and Argyle chuckled.

“Well, I can’t exactly wipe that off, now, can I?”

In Hawkins, Jonathan wouldn’t have let his arm lean enough to the side to brush against Argyle’s. In Hawkins, his head wouldn’t have been guided to a broad shoulder with another pair of legs kicking the swing into motion again. In Hawkins, he wouldn’t have been completely and totally relaxed at the mercy of someone else, but Argyle’s head falling over his own was enough to blanket the rest of him in warmth. Maybe it was his hair.

Either way, it was Argyle. He was one thing to love about California.

#.discowrites #jargyle bingo #jargyle #jonathan byers #argyle #argyle x jonathan #jonathan x argyle #stranger things #stranger things fic

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