#argyle oneshot

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Steddie is coming up next, and I know which story to oost because I'm almost done with it, then it's Robin and I only have one and then it's Argyle's turn so which would you like first?

summaries below 😊

Take A Chance On Me

You have been in love with your best friend since you can remember, but you’ve never had the courage to tell him, fearing he might not feel the same. However, when you confide in Jonathan, he convinces you to finally take the leap. 

A Kind Of Magic

Bullies are something you’ve had to deal with your whole life. You try to ignore it and not let it bother you. But the moment your boyfriend sees how people made fun of you, he immediately intervenes and stands up for you. (Warning: reader gets bullied for having a learning disability) 

Perfecta 

When you go over to your best friend’s house after breaking up with your boyfriend, you get more than you were expecting. 

Buttercup

[Byers!Reader] You make a special cake for Argyle's birthday and he confesses his feelings for you. (Sequel to Build Me Up)

[kennahjune]

Jealous?

Thanks so much to the amazing @rogueddie for letting me write this!!!! Hope it lives to standards :)

.

Eddie had a problem.

A Steve Harrington sized problem.

Said problem was standing behind the counter at Family Video while the woman in front of him blatantly flirted with him.

It wasn’t the woman Eddie was worried about— she had at least five years of age on Steve, so maybe there was cause for concern— but Steve wasn’t paying her the time of day.

Instead, he was glancing over the woman’s shoulder at Eddie, who lurked in the aisles, and kept making faces and blabbling his mouth mockingly whenever she wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie was desperately holding back snickers and snorts. He couldn’t help but let a giggle escape when Steve moved his hand in a “blabbing” motion when she said something about her ex-husband (HUSBAND) again. The woman whipped around and glared at Eddie. Eddie gave her a finger waggle wave he realized belatedly was the same one Steve does.

Steve himself was almost beet red in the face with his effort to hold in his laugh. Eddie was amazed at how long he’d lasted.

The moment the door closed behind her Steve put his face in his arms on the counter and full on cackled. Eddie was quick to join.

They were still laughing when Robin came back from the bathroom.

“Is she gone?” she asked, looking oddly between the two of them.

Steve nodded, not having enough breath to get words out. Robin sighed a dramatic breath of relief.

“Oh thank God. Cause she looked one second away from bringing up some stupid shit like her failed marriage—“

That sent Steve and Eddie into another spiral of laughs.

“There’s no way she actually did.” Robin deadpanned.

Eddie nodded vigorously. “She fucking did!”

“Four times! As if bringing up how she was newly-single would make me want her. Did she look in a mirror before leaving? She’s closer to my dads age.”

Eddie snorted, trying to get his laughter under control enough to say “Even man-whore Richard Harrington wouldn’t go within a 20 foot radius of her.”

Steve didn’t waste a second before racking on: “Doesn’t need to get too close with how far back that hairline stretches.”

Robin and Eddie laughed themselves to tears.

And that was how it went.

A woman would come into the video store, shoot their shot with Steve, and Steve would laugh about it with Robin and Eddie later.

And it was fun. Eddie found it fun. Cause he knew Steve would always shoot the girls down, however nice or rudely he has to be about it.

Until—

Until.

It was a Friday, and as per usual on Fridays, Eddie was at Steve’s. Of course, it wasn’t just him— Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle were there as well.

They’d been hanging out whenever they all could before Nancy and Jonathan went to college and Argyle back to Cali. Hence the Friday night hang outs.

Tonight was no different, except for one thing.

“So explain to me once again why we have to drive all the way out to Indy for this?” Jonathan complained.

Nancy sighed and leant into him. “Cause there aren’t any good bars in Hawkins. And everywhere in Hawkins knows that almost none of us are of legal age.”

Jonathan grumbled but conceded, Wheeler had a point.

“Besides,” added Robin. “It’d be nice to finally get the hell out and see some new people.”

“Amen.” Agreed Eddie and Argyle at the same time. They both chuckled.

“Yeah well, I’d like to go soon before my social battery drains itself dead.” Remarked Jonathan, throwing an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“We’d have left already if SOMEBODY DIDN’T HAVE TO SPEND HALF AN HOUR PRIMPING HIMSELF!” Yelled Robin towards the stairs.

Steve had been MIA since Eddie got there at least 20 minutes ago. According to Robin he was still getting ready.

“PUT A LID ON IT BIRD-FOR-BRAINS, IM COMING!” Was the reply she got from the top of the stairs, where Steve was now coming from.

Nancy and Argyle snorted at the insult, but Eddie’s mind was rather taken up by the cut-off jean shorts Steve wore that showed more of his thighs than Eddie thought necessary for anyone’s functioning brain. He was also wearing what looked like the softest sweater he owned; a dark purple one that seriously brought out the green in his eyes.

Nancy whistled, Robin clapped. Argyle grinned at Steve and said

“Hey man! That’s the sweater I got you!”

Steve grinned right back and nodded. “Uh huh! Dude it’s like— SO fucking comfy you don’t even understand.”

The sweater was a little big on Steve, hanging over his thumbs a bit in the sleeves and landing just below the waistline of his shorts. If Eddie wasn’t so focused on the many moles on his thighs that were on display, the fact that Argyle had gotten Steve a sweater may have rubbed him the wrong way.

As it stood, Steve looked good.

He looked stunning, actually, in his glasses and his hair slightly ruffled in a delicate manner and his eyes wide and bright and—

“Eddie!”

He blinked and Steve was standing in front of him, no one else in the room.

“Huh?”

Steve grinned giddily and laughed at him. “C’mon dude, you’re my ride up, remember?”

Oh yeah. They’d split everyone between his and Argyles vans.

“Isn’t Buckley with us?” Eddie asked as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

“Yeah, but I think she’s sticking with Jon and them on the way up.”

Eddie nodded and averted his gaze once more. There was a reason he’d skipped gym and avoided the mall.

That reason was glaring at him with all of its dotted moles and freckles and faint scars.

Jesus Christ he needed a cigarette.

The ride up was uneventful, peaceful even. Eddie let Steve have control over the radio, something Steve thought was normal but was downright foreign to anyone else. Eddie usually fought tooth and nail for control over the music but the sight of Steve singing and drumming his legs (holy shit his thighs jiggled—) and jamming out with a bright smile to whatever Tears for Fears or ABBA song he put on was worth it.

He followed behind Argyle and reluctantly sang under his breath with Steve to Head Over Heels.

The club they ended up going to was a little deeper into the city than they’d initially thought, and was slightly crowded when they got in.

Eddie was immediately hit with the smell of sweat and booze but not in an entirely bad way. In a way that told him that people here had fun.

It was bright and loud and the air tasted like fries (though Eddie might just be hungry). They took an empty table booth in a corner in the back.

After dropping their jackets off and everyone picking a seat, Steve got up to get everyone drinks.

“You want me to come with?” Eddie asked worriedly. It was Steve’s first time in Indy in a while and his first time out of Hawkins since the fall of Vecna. Sue Eddie for being cautious.

But Steve smiled sweetly at him and shook his head. “I’ll be alright, Eds. Be right back.” He knocked his knuckles on Eddie’s head affectionately and walked off. Eddie may have spent a second ogling before snapping his gaze to the table.

“So?”

Eddie looked at Nancy with a raised eyebrow. She raised one right back.

“Soooo…?”

She sighed. “Oh you’re hopeless.”

Jonathan snickered.

“Wha—“

“Are you gonna make a move tonight?” Argyle elaborated.

Eddie shot up real fast. “Make a move? On who, Steve?”

“Yea, on Steve, doofus!” Robin reprimanded.

“There’s no board to make a move on.” Eddie pushed stubbornly. Because it was true. There was nothing there.

Robin groaned and dropped her head to the table.

“Dude, relax your knee. It’s shaking the whole table.” Jonathan tapped Eddie’s leg under the booth.

“Sorry, sorry. He’s been gone a while, right?” Eddie craned his head to look around the bodies of people dancing.

Robin huffed. “Yeah, kinda. But there are six of us, maybe he’s having trouble carrying all the drinks.”

Nancy suddenly kicked his leg under the table, a lot harder than her boyfriend had earlier. Eddie winced.

“Go help him.” Nancy all but demanded.

Eddie was up and away in a second, happy to have an excuse. He faintly heard Nancy and Robin high five behind him.

He weaved through the dancing crowd, bodies jostling him and pushing him forward until he got to the bar and finally spotted Steve and—

And?

Something bubbled low in Eddie’s gut at the man standing in front of Steve. He was taller than both Steve and Eddie, well-built and had a bit of a beard going. He was leaning on the bar next to Steve, sort of caging him in. The scene made Eddie mad for reasons he didn’t give himself time to think about before he inserting himself.

“Steve!”

Both Steve and the asshole’s heads turned to Eddie. Steve’s eyes lit up in recognition and relief while the man’s narrowed in anger at being interrupted.

“You know him, doll?”

Eddie wanted to make the man spit his own teeth out. Nobody else got to call Steve pet names. Just Eddie. It was an Eddie Thing, not an Everybody Thing. Fuck this guy.

“Yeah—“ Steve started.

“Yeah, he does. And yet I don’t think he knows you.”

Eddie stood shoulder to shoulder with Steve, glaring daggers at the douche.

The man scoffed and huffed, walking away and muttering under his breath. Eddie scowled until he could see the guy and his stupid beard. He finally turned to Steve.

Who was absolutely red in the face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asked worriedly. “He wasn’t bothering you right? He seemed like a dick, looked like one even before I got up close.”

Steve stared at Eddie wide-eyed with his pretty lips parted. He blinked and spluttered a response.

“U—um, yeah! Yeah, no, I’m— I’m good. I’m alright. I’m great! Yep, great! Uh—“

“Are you sure?” Eddie was concerned, never having heard Steve stumble over a simple sentence so much.

Steve nodded vigorously before turning to the bar snappily. Eddie could still see the red painting his ears.

“Yep! Perfect! Could you help with the drinks? I don’t think I can carry them all, thanks!” And he was off back to the table.

Eddie stared after him for a moment before slowly grabbing the other three drinks and following back through the sea of bodies.

Steve was sat by the time Eddie got back to the booth, whispering heatedly with Robin, Eddie only managing to hear Steve hiss to her “that wouldn’t work!” before noticing his presence and shutting up all together.

Eddie raised an eyebrow but let it slide while he gave Nancy and Jon their drinks. He slid into the booth next to Steve who sat between him and Robin and across from Jonathan.

For the next 10 minutes, they all talked. They talked and laughed and joked and drank. But Steve seemed more in his head than usual.

Eddie was just working up the courage to ask him what was wrong when a guy came up to their table, eyeing Steve. Eddie immediately tensed.

“Hi.”

All six heads turned to the dude who just showed up. But that didn’t deter him much.

“I was just wondering if pretty boy here wanted to dance?” He smirked at Steve, who Eddie felt tense up beside him.

“Um—“ Steve’s voice was kind of shaky, barely. But it was enough (mixed with the anger already brewing in his gut at the NERVE of this guy) for Eddie to finally step in.

“He’s alright.”

Six heads suddenly turned on him.

“Excuse me?” The asshole asked.

“You’re excused.” Eddie waved his hand in a shooing motion.

“Well I hadn’t exactly—“

“And I hadn’t exactly /asked/, now have I? Goodbye.” Eddie didn’t even bother offering a smile to hide the aggression in his tone. His message was clear: Get Lost.

The douche walked away grumbling and conversation soon resumed at the table.

“What was that!?” Jonathan asked incredulously.

Nancy and Argyle were both openly staring at Eddie in bewilderment.

Eddie shifted, but was more focused on the fact that Steve seemed to relax again.

“The dude was being an asshole. Just told him to get lost, not a big deal.”

“He was just asking Steve to dance? I don’t see the problem there.” Robin cut in.

It gave Eddie pause for thinking. She was right; there really was no problem there, so why had he been so upset about the dude asking Steve to dance. God just the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“It’s fine, Rob. I was just gonna tell him no anyway.”

Eddie looked at Steve then, who was a whole new shade of red.

“Are you alright? You’re all red again.” Eddie worried. Jonathan snorted into his drink and then winced when Steve kicked him under the table. Steve looked at Eddie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed in the tight space I think. You wanna— uh— you wanna go dance?”

Eddie didn’t waste a second with his answer. “Sure.”

Eddie watched Steve and Robin have a silent conversation with their eyes and expressions before Robin grinned in victory and waved at them eagerly.

“Buh-bye! Have fun!” She sing-songed. Steve shot her a glare.

Eddie led Steve to the dance floor somewhere towards the edge of the crowd where there was less people. They really just stood there talking and sipping on their drinks while everyone around them danced.

“Hey, uh— thanks for telling him to back off. I’ve, I’ve never actually… been flirted with? By a guy, I mean— this is like— a brand new thing. But he and the other dude seemed just really creepy so— uh, thanks.” Steve stumbled through.

Eddie stared at his wide, earnest eyes and wondered how no guy had ever flirted with Steve before tonight. Even if the idea of it ever happening made him want to hurt somebody.

(Even though Eddie knows that guys have flirted with Steve before. Knows that he didn’t just make up those looks Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove gave him.)

So Eddie smiled and shook his head. “You’re all good, sweetheart. Just don’t want you running into the wrong guys.”

That pretty blush was back again, making Steve look even more breathtaking under the florescent lights and making his smile twice as bright.

Then they were rudely interrupted.

“Hey, babyboy.” Came an obnoxious call from behind Eddie. The guy was, again, taller that Steve, but this time he was barely taller than Eddie (a/n lemme live in slightly shorter Steve fantasy ok—). Eddie immediately hated him and his entire existence. Who just called people that? Babyboy? Was he serious or delusional?

Eddie watched Steve’s shoulders tense awkwardly while the guy spoke. His anger only grew and grew.

“Alright that’s enough dude, he’s not interested.”

The guy didn’t say anything to Eddie but kept talking to Steve which only served to irk Eddie further.

“I said he’s not interested ass face.” Eddie grabbed the guy’s shoulder. He finally looked at Eddie, seeming bored.

“He hasn’t said anything? Why not let the babydoll decide, huh?” He smirked at Steve. Eddie wanted to puke and scream at the same time. He felt like he was chewing on nails listening to this guy. Babydoll? First babyboy and now BABYDOLL??? Who the fuck was this dude? And more importantly would the possible assault charges be worth it?

“Um— yeah, I’m sorry. I’m not really interested in looking for anybody tonight.” Steve confirmed.

“Oh c’mon, doll face, don’t be like that.”

Oh the assault charges would so be worth it.

“He just said he wasn’t interested so fuck off.” Eddie shoved his shoulder. The dude finally turned to look at Eddie, leveling him with a glare that Eddie happily returned tenfold. If looks could kill the guy would have been fucking obliterated on sight.

“If he wasn’t interested then why’s he dressed like that, huh?”

Jail was looking mighty fine to Eddie.

“I’m right fucking here, asshat.” Steve spoke up. “And Im dressed like this because I look good and I know it. Not for fucks like you who have to beg for scraps to get by. I said I wasn’t interested and you’re just causing more of a headache if anything.”

Eddie grinned at Steve. It was so hot when he got all bitchy.

The asshole scoffed. “Oh so baby’s got a mouth on him.”

Eddie finally snapped, those assault charges no where in mind when he punched the guy in the face.

“Eddie!” Steve yelled, absolutely flabbergasted at the sudden violence.

The guy left after that with a threat of harassment charges. Steve took Eddie outside to the alleyway on the side of the club to get away from the crowd and to better examine his freshly bruised knuckles.

“You didn’t have to punch him.”

“He fucking had it coming.” Eddie spat through clenched teeth. He was still seething. And Steve was prodding at the bruises but that was neither here nor there.

Steve looked at Eddie, still holding his bruised hand. His eyes were wide as always and his cheeks flushed once more. His eyes seemed to search Eddie for something.

“Was it cause he was an ass?”

Eddie scoffed. “Of course! He was an ass and made you uncomfortable and—“

And I wanted to be the one to call you baby.

“And?” Steve prompted.

“And… and I hated how he talked to you.”

Steve looked down at Eddie hand, the blush rising to ears again. Eddie hooked a finger under Steve’s chin with the hand that wasn’t bruised and being held.

“Hey, you alright? You’re getting all quiet again.”

Steve’s eyes flitted back and forth between Eddie’s own before he sighed.

“Eddie.. I can’t— I don’t understand.”

Eddie pouted, confused. “Don’t understand what? There’s not much to it, honey.”

Steve cheeks pinkened again with the endearment. “Not— not that. I get that he was a dick— a massive dick attitude to make up for what he was surely lacking—“

That startled a laugh out of Eddie.

“—but I guess I don’t understand the other times? You were never like this before when anyone else flirted, so what changed tonight?”

And wasn’t that a thought.

What changed?

Well for starters, he wanted to kiss Steve. He wanted to kiss Steve senseless, shove him up against a wall and stick his tongue down his throat until he was breathless an begging for it.

So that’s changed.

But he also wanted to hug Steve and hold him right and call him things like Sweetheart and Honey and Love and Baby (which he already does anyway for the most part). He wanted to take Steve places and show him things. Wanted to give Steve every pretty rock he found and show him every cool leaf he saw.

What changed was that he wanted Steve in every which way Steve would let him have him.

But of course, Eddie didn’t express these aloud.

“Eddie…” Steve stared wide-eyed with his mouth opened in shock, his face a violent shade of red.

Or maybe he did express them aloud.

He’d drank more than he thought.

And then Steve was kissing him. Steve was pulling him in by the hand he was holding and pressing their lips together in a kiss that Eddie would never forget, not matter how much he’d drank that night.

They let go of each others hands, Eddie immediately grabbing Steve’s waist and Steve tangling his hands in Eddie hair.

By the time they’d pulled away to breathe Eddie bad fulfilled his wish of shoving Steve against a wall and sticking his tongue down his throat.

“So you were jealous?” Steve teased, playing with Eddie hair where his arms were still wrapped around his neck.

Eddie grumbled under his breath and kissed Steve to shut him up. Steve hummed and smiled into the kiss.

“Kissing me into going to make me drop it, Munson. You were totally jealous of those guys in there.”

Eddie huffed and stooped lower to kiss at Steve neck, gaining an immediate reaction with Steve’s stuttered breath and sudden silence. Eddie chuckled.

“Oh? I thought kissing you wasn’t going to make you drop it.”

Steve hit his shoulder weakly. “Shut it, asshole— mm!” Eddie bit down lightly on the side of his neck.

Then the door to the alley was opening and Robin was telling them to get their horny asses home before thy got arrested for public indecency.

So they agreed to pick up at home. And the whole ride there was filled with relentless teasing about Eddie’s apparent jealousy towards any guy who so much as looked at Steve oddly.

.

It’s rushed I know but it’s like 2am on a school night 😭 and I’m not upset with the results. Could it be better? Yeah. Could it be worse? Absolutely. It’s not my finest work but oh well 🤷

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Til Death Do Us Part

A Steddie oneshot

Eddie was sitting in Steve's house. . .well, actually lying in Steve's house. He was still pretty banged up, and considering the town still thought he was a murderer, he needed to hide out for a while, and Steve Harrington's was the perfect place. It still felt weird to think that Steve was a good guy, but it was much too evident, and it made Eddie realize that he jumped to conclusions as quickly as others did about him. It's weird how connected they are now. First through Dustin, then through trauma, and now through bat bites. These scars were going to be more permanent than a marriage certificate. Who would have thought that he would be married with a kid by age 20. . .with Steve Harrington of all people? The thought made him laugh.

"What are you laughing about in here?" Steve asked as he popped into the room.

"I was thinking that these bat bites of ours are pretty permanent," Eddie smirked. "We're practically married."

"We are not married," Steve scoffed.

"Are you telling me we're getting divorced?" Eddie asked with a gasp. "So soon. . .oh, sweetheart, tell me what I did so I can make it up to you! Think of the kids, Steve!"

"Well, you didn't listen to me when I told you not to be a hero, so there's that," Steve said. "Not to mention the fact that you made Lucas feel bad about playing basketball, and you divided him and his friends as well as his sister. So, there's that as well."

"Shit, yeah, I do deserve the divorce," Eddie said, wincing and looking remorseful. "I'm not much better than my father, am I?"

"Hey, that not - I didn't mean it like that, Eddie. I'm sorry. Yeah, it's too soon to joke about it," Steve said softly. "Did you apologize to the kids? I mean, you did. I was there."

"Well, yeah," Eddie muttered.

"Was your dad actually sorry for anything he ever did? Would he have done what you did and tried to buy us more time? Would he have found a place for lost sheep to go to?" Steve asked.

"Well, no," Eddie admitted.

"Than you're a better man than your father ever will be," Steve shrugged. "Hold on."

Steve left the room, and a moment later, he returned with his pillow. He placed it on the bed next to him.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked.

"Sleeping with my husband," Steve said.

"So, no divorce then?" Eddie asked with a grin.

"Are you kidding me? No way, I'm raising these hellions without a partner," Steve said. "You said it, we're married. Til death do us part, asshole."

"Goodnight, Mr. Munson," Eddie grinned.

He laughed as he sank down onto the bed beside Steve, who leaned over to turn off the light. He was thankful that Steve left the light on. Eddie watched as his husband closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. A deep wave of affection came over him as he studied Steve’s features. Oh, shit, what was that? Was he developing feelings for his husband? He liked girls. . .right? No, it was just indigestion. Eddie sighed with relief and closed his eyes.

"Steven, why are you sleeping with a man?" Robin's voice floated into Eddie's ears.

Eddie's eyes slowly opened, and he groaned quietly against the morning light streaming through the window. Steve was on his back, his eyes closed. Robin was standing over him, her hands on her hips.

"Oh my God, Robin, you can't just ask why two men are sleeping together this early in the morning," Steve groaned, his eyes remaining closed.

"Is there something you want to tell me, buddy?" Robin asked.

"Ugh, can't a guy sleep with his husband without any third degree?" Steve asked.

Neither one of them had noticed that Eddie was awake, much to Eddie's amusement.

"His what?!" Robin exclaimed and Eddie nearly laughed.

"Eddie said last night that the bat bites made us practically married," Steve said and groaned. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Robin. We're platonically married."

"Okay, I'll just let the kids know that their Daddies won't come downstairs because they're too busy platonically sleeping together," Robin said dryly. "It doesn't look platonic to me."

"Robin, stop, he doesn't like me that way," Steve sighed. "I doubt he likes men and women the way that I do or the way that I like him. I'll get up. They're probably going to want breakfast."

"Steve, he was clearly flirting with you! No one calls people "big boy" like that and means it platonically!" Robin exclaimed.

Eddie held in a breath until Robin and Steve left the room. He let it out with a loud gasp.

"Holy shit!" Eddie exclaimed. "I was flirting with Steve?!"

Eddie's eyes widened as he thought about all of his interactions with men. Yes, now that he's thinking about it, there was a definite attraction to certain jocks. Sure, he actually hated some of them, but Steve, he was pretty sure he hated for no reason back then. He did nothing to him or his friends, and he had always kept Hagan, as well as the other basketball players, on a tight lease. Well, he really tried to. Whenever he watched Steve play while in the gym, he always got irrationally angry at the sight of him. Maybe it wasn't hate. . .no, it definitely wasn't hate because he always wanted to bite him. It was so often that Eddie had, honest to God, thought that he was turning into a cannibal.

"Oh, fuck! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, shit! Goddamnit!" Eddie exclaimed.

As the days passed by, Eddie really tried to push his feelings for Steve aside. He wanted Steve to remain in his life and the one really romantic relationship he had he totally fucked up. No, he wasn't good at that shit and it would only ruin what he had with Steve now. It didn't help that Steve was basically taking care of him. Luckily, he was able to move around, and with the help of Robin, he was able to move downstairs. Unfortunately, she decided that she needed to talk her best friend up.

"I already know how great Steve is, Robin," Eddie mumbled. "I married him, didn't I?"

"No, you got married by a couple of interdimensional bats," Robin said. "You did not make the conscious decision at the time to marry my best friend."

"Why are you trying to sell me on Steve? I don't like him like that. I don't like men either," Eddie said as he lied out of his ass.

"You don't?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I wasn't necessarily trying to convince you to do anything. I was just talking about how great Steve is."

"Well, if you think he's so great, why don't you date him?" Eddie asked.

"Well, I would, but he's got the hots for someone else. We're also strictly platonic. Let's see what else? . . . Oh! There's also the fact that I'm a lesbian," Robin said.

"Shit, seriously?" Eddie asked and stared at her for a while, not saying anything. "Goddamnit! Okay! Okay! I'm also. . .not exactly straight. I like men, I like women, and I am head over heels for Steve Harrington. Happy?"

"Well, yes and no. You know, I wasn't trying to pressure you into outing yourself, right?" Robin asked.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "I was pressuring myself."

"Thank you for telling me," Robin said.

"Thank you for telling me," Eddie grinned.

"Are you going to tell Steve?" Robin asked.

"Nope. Never," Eddie said.

"Why?" Robin asked.

"I tend to mess up in that area, so why risk what I have with Steve now?" Eddie asked.

"Because these scars you carry are proof that every day could be your last, and I don't think telling Steve is going to scare him off," Robin said softly. "He might surprise you."

"I know he likes me, which I don't understand why," Eddie said. "My husband can do so much better."

"How do you know?" Robin asked.

"You guys weren't exactly quiet the other day. It made me realize that I like both, that I've been flirting with Steve," Eddie said.

"So, you're running away, being a chicken shit, because you've already decided that you're going to hurt him?" She asked with narrowed eyes.

"I would never purposely hurt him," Eddie said.

"Well, leading him on and thinking it's going to go somewhere is hurting him. So, whether you decide to go forward with your relationship or not, you're going to have to talk to him because you're going to hurt him either way. But you want to know what a good way of not hurting him is? . . . DECIDING TO FUCKING BE WITH HIM, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!" Robin shrieked. "Get your head out your ass. You both deserve to be with each other. We're all scared of telling people how we feel, but you know what I did after we averted the apocalypse?. . .I mean, eventually, I told Vickie how I felt. So, buck up. You're hurting yourself unnecessarily and Steve, especially since you're the one who knows that you like him and he likes you. Meanwhile, he's left in the dark about how you feel. I will not see Steve hurt. Got it?!"

Robin hit him over the head with a couch pillow. Eddie shrieked.

"Alright! Alright, I'll talk to him! Can I heal first?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, that's fine, take your time," Robin said calmly, lowering the pillow. "So, do you want to be with him?"

"Of course I want to be with him. . .I'm just scared," Eddie said. "All of this is new."

"Well, I did say you could take your time," Robin said. "And if you tell Steve how scared you are of messing this up, he'll understand completely, and I'm sure you can both work through it together. . . You know, if you decide to be with him"

"This is fucking crazy. . .Steve Harrington likes me. I can't believe it. Nope! No way," Eddie said shaking his head.

"Yeah, I can't believe it either," Robin laughed.

"Fuck off," Eddie rolled his eyes.

Steve strolled through the door with a sigh as he walked into the living.

"Okay, the kids are all at home. Now we can have some time to ourselves. Well, us and Robin," Steve grinned.

He sat down on Eddie's other and kissed Eddie's temple as he wrapped his arm around him. It had quickly become a thing with them. . .to always be touching. Apparently, they were kissing each other on the head now.

"Hi, honey, did the kids give you a hard time?" Eddie asked as he squeezed his knee.

He could feel his eyes lighting up at Steve as he launched into details about the car ride. God, this was so fucking domestic and he loved it. More days passed, and he was able to move around on his own, but he was still in a lot of pain. Apparently, Steve was, too, but he had neglected to say anything until Eddie was cuddling up to him in bed and his arm wrapped around his stomach. Steve involuntarily winced. Yeah, the bat bites were no joke. Neither was their venom, which, according to the doctors were never going to go away. Luckily, Argyle and Jonathan offered a solution, but they arrived just as Steve was driving Robin to Vickie's.

"Uh, are we waiting for Steve?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, turns out he's in pain too," Eddie said as Argyle guided him to the couch. "He's just hasn't said anything. He prefers to suffer in silence, I guess."

"Bat bites are a bitch, huh?" Argyle asked.

"Yeah, the only good thing that's come from it is the permanent marriage between me and Steve," Eddie said with a grin.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"It's a running joke," Eddie shrugged.

"With the whole kids thing, yeah, that makes sense," Argyle said.

"So, is Steve a good husband?" Jonathan smirked.

"Hell yeah!" Eddie exclaimed, slapping his knee. "Couldn't ask for a better baby daddy."

"Seriously?" Jonathan scoffed.

"You've got something against my husband, Byers?" Eddie smirked.

"It's just hard to imagine Steve being mature enough to handle being married," Jonathan said. "Let alone to a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked, the smirk dropping from his lips.

"Just that he's a notorious ladies man, Eddie. I wouldn't get your hopes, man. He's not exactly comfortable with. . .," Jonathan said, trailing off.

"With people like me," Eddie said, looking at him with hard eyes. "Did you just make an assumption about my sexuality, Byers?"

"Oh, man," Argyle said nervously. "I think Jonathan was trying to look out for you, man."

"I'm not his little brother, I'm a grown man," Eddie sighed.

"That's a fair point," Argyle said.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to do that, but I just trying to warn you about what kind of guy Steve is," Jonathan said. "I shouldn't have made an assumption about you."

"What kind of guy do you think that Steve is? Are you calling him homophobic in his own home?" Eddie asked.

"I think he's upset you're insulting his husband, Jonathan," Argyle said.

"I just want to know why you think that about Steve," Eddie said. "That's all."

Eddie was really trying not to show Jonathan how angry he is but the guy was making it difficult.

"He called me queer once," Jonathan said.

"That's it? He called you queer and that automatically makes him homophobic? I've used that word, and I'm about as straight as a cooked noodle," Eddie said defensively. "So, when, pray tell, did he call you this?"

"It was a few years ago," he muttered.

Eddie could tell that Jonathan was starting to realize how ridiculous it was.

"Look, man, I get where you're coming from, I do because I was pretty sure I hated Steve for a long time, and because of that, I held onto my prejudiced views about jocks for a long time. My reasoning behind that is clearly not the same as yours. . .at least, I hope not. After everything that Steve has done, how can you still think anything negative about the man?" Eddie asked.

"You can do great things and still have hateful thoughts," Jonathan said.

"He's not homophobic, you fucking idiot! You would know that if you had bothered to try and get to know him in the last few years," Eddie rolled his eyes. "He shouldn't have to keep apologizing for shit he's already apologized for."

"How do you know that?" Jonathan asked. "You haven't known him that long."

"It's all about quality, not about quantity, and I clearly know him better than you do, Byers," Eddie spat. "Your own brother feels safe around him. The kids look up to him. Nancy trusts him. Your mother and Hopper love him. Jesus, what is this really about?"

"Will won't shut up about him!" Jonathan snapped. "Every time they hang out or Steve drops him off, Will comes home gushing about him and I'm just worried. . ."

"What? That he's going to think that Steve’s the better older brother?" Eddie asked, and then he laughed. "That's stupid. That's even stupider than you holding onto a dumb grudge. You know what Will does when he's over here with his friends and Steve. . . He talks about you. It's non-stop, actually. The kid loves you, and no one is ever going to replace you. So, get that out of your thick skull. Trust me when I say this: Steve Harrington is not homophobic."

"Yeah, okay," Jonathan said softly.

"You need to talk to Steve about this and Will," Eddie said. "And Byers?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever insult my husband again, I'll punch your lights out," Eddie said.

"Noted. I'm sorry. . . Are you in love with him?" He asked curiously.

"Head over heels, man," Eddie said.

"So, are we good?" Argyle asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Eddie said in amusement as he shook Jonathan's hand.

"Oh, thank God, I thought that was going to get really awkward there for a minute," Argyle said, and they laughed.

Later that night, Eddie was lying in bed with Steve, cradling him from behind. His hand was up Steve’s shirt, carassing his stomach right above his bat bites. He didn't want to let this go, but he was also ready to risk it all for Steve Harrington.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you," Eddie said softly.

Steve turned around in his arms so he was looking at him. His hazel eyes were big and round, looking at him hopefully. The light from the lamp beside his side of the bed was revealing all of the colors in Steve's eyes. The green and the brown intermingled beautifully, but the light also made his eyes look a little bit golden. Eddie sighed. God, he was beautiful.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'm in love with you too," Steve whispered.

"I know."

"Did you just fucking Han Solo - mmpf!"

Eddie crashed his lips to Steve’s, kissing him harshly. Steve smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Eddie gently as he threw his leg over Eddie's. Steve’s eagerly kissed him back, his fingers cupping the back of Eddie's head, tugging on his hair. Eddie moaned into his mouth. Steve gasped for breath as he broke the kiss.

"Is this really happening?" Steve asked.

"Til death do us part, asshole."

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Argyle (Discord Drabble) My first time writing Stragyle really got away from me...

Robin rounds the corner into the Harrington's kitchen, wondering where the hell her best friend got to. Steve went to get more beers and just never returned to the TV room, leaving her to suffer through a bickering match between Nancy and Eddie about...

Well, she doesn't exactly know what. Only that between Steve disappearing, Jonathan falling asleep on the rug and Argyle setting about making pizzas for dinner, Robin feels utterly abandoned.

She rolls her eyes at the sight awaiting her in the kitchen.

Argyle is kneading pizza dough with the utmost expertise, psychedelic print sleeves rolled up as he dons one of Mrs Harrington's frilly aprons. He's humming a tune in time with his movements, swaying along too.

And across the counter sits Steve, planted firmly in place and not fetching more beers as he stares – nay, gawks at their new friend.

She has to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

It's not that Steve is wracking up yet another tally on her mental 'You Suck' Board, his look of awe is endearing, if maybe just a teeny tiny bit pathetic as he leans forward like he is about to say something, likely giving Argyle a line that isn't all that smooth but will make him laugh anyway.

But then Steve shuts his gaping mouth with a click as Argyle looks up and notices Robin's lingering.

"Steve-o and I got a little carried away here," he apologises, lifting his hands so the dough stretches out and makes all these gross holes and stringy bits.

Robin shudders and looks at her best friend, who appears caught off guard. He hums, floundering a little more.

"You were supposed to be getting us beer," Robin offers and at that, Steve slips off his stool in one fluid motion.

He runs a hand through his hair and Robin swears Mr Casanova himself is blushing.

"Yeah..." he sighs with a lop-sided smile, "Sorry."

He shoots her a look – that look Steve has been giving her ever since he confessed to having a crush on Argyle about a month ago. A crush that he seems to not do anything about. Instead doing this. Lingering and gawking like a pea-brained goldfish.

It will happen.

At some point...

She thinks.

God, she hopes...

"Please hurry," she says, nodding in understanding before returning to a snarky schtick of glaring, "Nance and Eddie are gonna break the television."

"Give them this," Argyle says, grinning and tilting his head as he reaches into his layered shirt pocket for a joint.

His fingers are doughy and sticky, but Robin takes it anyway.

"Get the beer," she commands, giving her best friend a playful shove in what she thinks is the direction of the garage that might contain the beer fridge.

-🍕🍕🍕-

Steve forgets what he came out to the second garage for by the time the interior door to the house slams shut behind him.

He'd walked down the hall, past the laundry and into the main garage with Argyle on his mind, his name racing through his pea-brain like a goddamn slot machine.

Argyle with his cooking skills. His hands kneading and rolling –

Steve yelps as the broken lock clicks, sealing his fate.

"Shit!" he curses, clamping his hand over the doorknob on instinct.

He shakes it and bumps at the door with his left shoulder for good measure.

But it's no use.

He screws his eyes shut. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time he has locked himself in the garage in search of extra alcoholic beverages.

Only this time a lifeline is nearby, closer than pressing the automatic door open and rounding the whole house to the front door where he doubts he'll be heard over Eddie's lively commentary of god knows what movie the group are up to now.

He's sure he had been in the kitchen with Argyle for at least the remaining runtime of that dumb sci-fi movie that was a selection of Jonathan's.

He releases the doorknob and scrubs a hand over his face.

Jesus, how long had he been speechless and staring at Argyle kneading that dough. His hands working expertly as he hummed a tune and swayed.

Steve smiles.

Argyle, who isn't too far away with his perfect hair and his perfect hands and his perfect smile and...

He swore to himself he was going to say something this time. Make a move – something.

It should be simple enough. They've talked. They're friends. He has workshopped countless game plans with Robin – who seems to be growing increasingly annoyed with his inaction.

Steve rolls off his shoulder and slumps against the door, allowing his socks to gradually slide along the concrete slab flooring and gently lower him down to the ground.

-🍕🍕🍕-

Argyle frowns at the closed door in front of him and takes a step back.

He's sure this is the hallway Steve turned down. But then again, the guy's house is like a maze. Luckily he doesn't do anything like sleepwalking, or else he'd be in trouble when everyone finally crashes for the night.

As he reaches for the handle, Argyle wonders if Steve sleepwalks. He knows he talks in his sleep – has nightmares too.

They talked about once, after a night like tonight where they found themselves sleepless and sitting out on the back patio under the stars. Chatting quietly while everyone else slept soundly.

He stops himself at the door.

Maybe He's probably at the wrong garage. Hell, even if this is the right door, Steve still could have moved back inside.

Argyle can just imagine him walking back into the TV room, beers in hand and smiling as he offers them to his friends. He'd need to wipe the condensation off his hands onto his jeans – those tight jeans.

Argyle gulps and looks down at his flour-dusted sneakers.

Then again, Steve doesn't need someone to hold his hand to fetch some cold ones out of the garage. Maybe he wants to be alone.

Maybe their talks are just friends talking, Argyle thinks as he begins to turn to walk back down the hall into the kitchen.

If he turns the right way, that is.

But a hearty sigh comes from behind the door, followed by someone thudding against it.

"Steve?" he asks, raising his hand to tap the backs of his fingers ever-so-softly on the door.

He notices a flour smudge and flicks it away before wiping his hands on the apron he is still wearing.

"Shit."

"Wait," he says, flitting his eye over the door, "Are you stuck in there, man?"

"... Yes."

Argyle tries for the doorknob but, even after a harsh twist, turn and tug, it doesn't open.

"It won't work," Steve grumbles, "You'll need the key. I have a spare on my keychain."

"Oh, cool man," Argyle shrugs, thumbing over his shoulder, "I'll just go grab – "

"– Argyle," Steve interjects, pausing almost instantly and Argyle finds his heart skipping a beat, "Can I just tell you something first?"

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Jonathan/Argyle | Rated M | 6.6k | AO3

CW: Weed, memory loss

Jonathan doesn’t remember most of it. Halloween sticks to Christmas sticks to new years in a syrupy haze. The palm trees here are evergreen and fall never truly tips into winter. Pumpkins rotted in the heat, melting to the porch until the maggots turned to flies and his mom got rid of them. A Santa hat with a wine stained rim. Thanksgiving was somewhere in there too. He doesn’t remember any of that at all. He turns to his side, facing Argyle next to him on the bed. On top of the sheets instead of under. “What happened to Thanksgiving?” he mumbles and smoke slips from his mouth. Right. He hands the joint to Argyle, brushing fingertips. “Huh?” “Thanksgiving!” he says a little louder. “Why didn’t we do shit for Thanksgiving?” “I was there, man.” Argyle takes a long drag and aims toward the ceiling when he exhales. “Your mom made that awesome cornbread?” Jonathan smacks his lips together. His mouth is dry, but he immediately forgets about that too. “You don’t remember?”

Should he? He does like cornbread, actually. His mom used to make that every year when him and Will were kids. She only stopped when- Jonathan swallows. Dry mouth. Sore throat. Month long cough. “Of course I remember,” he says. “Just messing with you man.” “You didn’t miss much,” Argyle says anyway, ignoring him completely. “Your sister ate the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl. Like with a spoon and everything.” “My what?” “Your sister?” Argyle frowns, but he plays it like a joke. “The girl at the dinner table? Looks just like your mom?” “Oh.” He blinks a few times fast. Yeah. Obviously. His sister. Lose a brother, lose your mother. Get him back. Get the girl, lose the town. Gain a sister and somewhere in the middle, lose your mind. Gain a friend. He looks at Argyle, next to him on the bed with their knees bumped together. About third of his hair has been loosely braided, Jonathan’s favorite stoner hobby, but he never tied the bottom so the strands have already begun to slip away. His eyes are red and glossy, but his stare never budges. He’s got those eyes. Nice ones. Good ones. Honest or some shit. “Dude you’ve had enough.” Argyle crawls a little closer. He braces himself with a hand against Jonathan’s rib cage and reaches over him to put the blunt on the ash tray on the nightstand. Argyle’s sleeve brushes against his cheek, feather light and ticklish. Like a curtain rustling in the wind, blocking out the sunlight, but letting in the fresh air. “You’re like a curtain,” he says as sincerely as possible. “Sure, babe.” Argyle runs a soft fingertip over Jonathan’s forehead as he moves to lie back down. “And you’re the sun.” He stays close. Hand still on his ribs, chin tucked against his shoulder. Jonathan shifts his knees to slip one leg flush against Argyle’s thigh. They’re like that. Argyle is like that. He’s California casual. A Sunday morning to Jonathan’s midnight. He’s all hands and all skin. Generous with almost everything. It’s a California kindness. Jonathan never had a lot of friends. Argyle said once that he didn’t either, but he was lying. Playing sweet because he didn’t want to be rude. Everyone likes Argyle. They all know him at school and at the grocery store. People know his first name and not just his last. But Argyle is his friend now. A California kindness. “Don’t wanna be the sun,” he mumbles, feels very strongly about it all of a sudden. “That’s wrong.” Argyle smiles and Jonathan can’t look at his mouth without going cross eyed, but he does it anyway. Just the glint of teeth. He hasn’t shaved in a few weeks, is trying for a mustache even though it’s slow work. “Then what do you wanna be?” Argyle’s hand shifts from his rib cage down towards his waist. Finds the sliver of skin right above the waistband of his sweats and scratches a soft fingernail across his stomach. Back and forth. Back and forth. Real and sharp. Jonathan lets his eyes slip shut and waits for the loose words in his head to connect into something that makes sense. Waits for a while. Argyle walks slow fingers across his stomach, finds a soft spot and pinches. Playful and pointed. It stings, but just a little. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, just exists in the small stretch where fingers dig into his skin. It’s like a language. Like a whole separate conversation. “I don’t remember.” Doesn’t remember what he wants to be. Barely remembers the question. Or his name or his week or all the things that happened to him before he crawled into this bed. Argyle’s breath huffs against his neck like a tiny cloud of smoke. Warm and slow. “That’s okay.” Soft lips against his collar bone, he thinks. He’s pretty sure. “You should get some sleep, love.” Yeah. Love. Can he be that?

Read the rest on AO3!

[spicysix]

anywhere u go

Argyle had no idea the living nightmare he was getting himself into when he first decided to follow Jonathan Byers. Well, he'd do it again in a heartbeat anyway.

rating: T

warnings: this fic includes weed, the teeniest hint of ptsd, questionable informations about the united states' AND the canadian's geography from a brazilian writer (so, probably, mistakes. look past them pls), also questionable english by a brazilian writer not beta-read, weather as a metaphor, and subtle pining.

word count: 5.6k

author's note: title from the song of the same name by Tove Lo. written for Lex's Spicy Six Summer Fanwork Challenge, for the dialogue prompt “I’m really glad we did this”. thanks for hosting this amazing event @thefreakandthehair ♡

↳ read on ao3

If someone asked him, Argyle wasn’t sure he’d be able to retell the whole thing.

And, sure, maybe you could blame the weed a little bit. He might have partaken in it a few times here or there during the whole thing. It was right there in the van! How could he say no? Not at any of the big moments, though, of course not. He’s a stoner, not an idiot. He only smoked twice on the road when Jonathan was the one driving, that hotbox he did with Eden, beautiful goth goddess of his dreams, and once to prepare the pizza during the whole freezer piggyback thing (he likes being high when working in the kitchen okay, don’t go away judging). When they got to Hawkins, he only collected mushrooms, didn’t do them. He didn’t even have the time.

It wasn’t any kind of substance that made the next few weeks go by hazily.

It was just too much.

Chaos was installed when they arrived in Hawkins. Earthquakes had ripped open wounds into the soil of the small town — living, squeamish, bleeding wounds. Argyle learned later they were portals to the dimension under their own, where all the problems surrounding his friend’s family came from in the first place.

People were missing and hurt, some even died with the way the gates tore through houses and buildings, and the mood around Hawkins as they drove through it was rightfully sour.

Jonathan drove to his girlfriend’s house, some other people were already there and it was a beautiful reunion, it really was, but Argyle felt out of place. They parted ways after, and the ones that had been there already headed to the High School to drop some donations — except for Nancy, who went inside the van and into the passenger seat as if she owned it.

It had been Argyle’s.

But it was okay, he stayed in the back with the kiddos.

They went to the hospital, one of them — the one Supergirl had mentally piggybacked on — was hurt and in a coma. Argyle waited in the van as the rest of them went in to see her — he didn’t know her, didn’t want to invade their space.

After the visit they headed to an old cabin in the woods, abandoned, destroyed, pieces of its ceiling missing. Jonathan said Supergirl used to live there with her dad, the dead cop, and while they all reconnected and cleaned up the place, Argyle found those mushrooms that he didn’t use.

Didn’t even have the time to, because suddenly it was snowing ashes and he found his friend and his friend’s family — including his mom and a tall skinny bald guy, where did they come from? — looking over the city from the hill and the open field, and the flowers were dead and there was smoke coming from the place where all the portals met downtown.

Too much happening at the same time, and suddenly Jonathan was grabbing Argyle’s wrist and pulling him back to the van, “let’s go get the others, oh and by the way the tall skinny bald guy is the dead cop, oh and by the way my mom went to the Soviet Union to rescue him, oh and by the way the world is ending.”

So they went back to the hospital, to warn the siblings that were keeping watch over the comatose redhead, but they didn’t wanna join them back. Told Jonathan to reach through the walkies if he needed them.

So they went to the school, found the pretty guy and the cute girl that looked and acted like siblings plus the small curly one, pretty guy told them all they could go to his house cause it was big and clean and empty and they could use it as headquarters. Nancy shivered at the suggestion, her jaw tensed and Jonathan looked at her with caution, but they all agreed anyway.

So they went to pretty guy’s house, it really was big and clean and empty — all sadly so. The ones coming from California took their much needed showers, un-dead cop called a friend of his and told him to come meet them, the kids reached out to the siblings in the hospital to let them know where they all were.

It was too much.

Argyle set the water of his shower to the coldest temperature he could bare to try and shock some sense into himself. Looked at his reflection in the mirror and if it wasn’t him, he wouldn’t know all the shit that guy went through that last week. Government agents dying in his work van that he ended up stealing, a superpowered girl he helped rescue, an evil dimension with an evil wizard, people in comas and people coming back from the dead, gates to the underworld burning through a small town — and how he got roped into all of that by following a friend across the country.

He’d say he was a pretty good friend at that point.

He waited in the living room with the others as everyone went through rotations of showers, and cute girl made him a sandwich and it was nice of her, Little Byers sat by his side cause he was one of the only people who knew Argyle, and it was nice of him. When Jonathan arrived all cleaned up and smelling soapy, he sat by Argyle’s other side and Argyle felt himself relax if only a little.

They waited until un-dead cop’s friend showed up, and for some reason he showed up with two other Russian guys and a government lady and oh boy was Argyle even more confused.

Everyone took their turns retelling their own stories and gluing all the pieces together, and it was a somber story, it was bad as a horror movie and Argyle kind of wanted to throw himself out the window and get in the first bus back to California but he had no one there and in here he at least had the Byers. They were a good family, the closest to one Argyle had. So he stuck around through the puzzle.

Once in a while they referenced something that had happened in the years before and Argyle didn’t get the references because he hadn’t been there but he was sure Jonathan could fill him in later. Or he wouldn’t, and Argyle wouldn’t mind that either because it would at least save him from nightmares.

There had been losses, some friend of theirs in Hawkins — small curly one seemed to be the most affected by it, and Supergirl’s boyfriend was also really upset when he learned the news. Besides him, other three teenagers were victims of the evil wizard, plus their friend who survived but was in a coma.

On their side, a doctor dead and a doctor missing — apparently captured by the side of the government that was trying to kill Supergirl, that government lady said. Not her side trying to kill Supergirl. Another side. But apparently the doctors could help and it was relevant to know about their situation. The parents didn’t seem to agree a lot, and neither did Supergirl.

Un-dead cop’s friend made a joke about how at least on their side only bad commies had died, but the joke didn’t land. They weren’t in a nice mood for jokes.

It was too much, everyone talking about terrible things happening and talking over each other and Argyle’s head was about to explode in pain so at some point when they were all going through the timeline for the third time, he escaped and headed outside through the front door.

Jonathan found him after a couple of minutes.

“Is this too much?” he asked, and Argyle nodded. “I’m sorry. Wish we could smoke right now,” he said.

Argyle hummed, “It’s gonna look real unprofessional of us if we do, though, right?”

“It really will.” Jonathan chuckled, but it was dry and humorless.

They just stood there in silence for a few minutes, and Argyle’s fingers were trembling a little and maybe it was abstinence, probably was, but the clouds were fucking red and the smoke still made ashes rain down and it was terrifying.

“We should go inside,” Jonathan said after a while.

Argyle sighed and followed him in.

Over the next week they all hung out almost exclusively in pretty boy’s house (pretty boy’s name was Steve, Argyle learned. He dated Nancy before Jonathan did. They had a weird thing going on) and planned for the next step they’d take into, hopefully for the last time, saving the world. Well, it was Argyle’s first, but it still counted right. The kids called their parents and they all seemed to trust the old teens to be good babysitters even during the apocalypse, plus Ms. Byers and the un-dead cop were of course to be trusted.

Argyle was mostly tuned out of everything, but that was okay, firstly because he was the last one to join the mess and didn’t know the details as well as the rest of them, and it wasn’t a good use of their time to explain it to Argyle time and time again when they could be plotting strategies. So Argyle took over pretty boy Steve’s kitchen and kept his battalion fed and strong for battle.

The other reason he kept tuned out was, of course, so he wouldn’t freak the fuck out.

Keeping himself entertained with cooking — and, not going to lie, a little weed here and there when they found it — was the only thing still keeping him from that original plan of throwing himself out the window and catching the first bus back to California.

Sometimes the rest of the Party — as they called themselves, what a weird bunch — would help or at least keep him company. Un-dead cop’s friend (un-dead cop was Hopper, friend was Murray) was a great cook as Argyle already knew from that risotto, but he was also really weird and gave Argyle the creeps. Ms. Byers kept telling him to call her Joyce, tried her best in the kitchen and her food wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t good. He liked talking to her, though. Cute girl — pretty boy Steve’s platonic soulmate, Robin — was real funny and a delight to talk to, but a fire hazard personified and not allowed near the stove. Steve could bake some mean breakfast and he was also really cool, Argyle didn’t know why Jonathan was so adamant about keeping a grudge.

“You’d like Eddie, he was a dealer,” Steve said one night as they sat in the backyard staring at the pool and smoking what was left of Argyle’s purple palm tree delight. “And he for sure would like you, and this.” Steve waved the joint around before handing it back to Argyle. Steve’s smile was sad, and Argyle hadn’t known the guy so he didn’t know how to feel or what to say. So they just kept smoking.

Nancy was how Argyle found out about the whole story between her, Jonathan and Steve — and Argyle understood partly why Jonathan held a grudge. Steve was a nice guy now though, Nancy said and Argyle knew it was true because they talked and smoked a lot late at nights, but it wasn’t his place to tell Jonathan how to feel about his girlfriend’s ex who called him slurs, physically fought him and then saved his life more than once. It was a tough spot, alright.

The kids were something else. He barely saw the siblings — Lucas Erica, the ones at comatose redhead’s, Max, bedside. They were, all three of them, constantly brought up, though, and it almost made it seem like they were there all the time. The small curly one, Dustin, seemed to think he was touched by god’s wisdom at all times, and it could be funny but it could also be a little annoying. He was pretty Steve’s favorite, though. That was interesting. Little Byers (Will) and Mike — Supergirl’s now ex-boyfriend — had something going on but Argyle wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what. Jonathan went grumpy anytime they were together, and his older brother protective act was amusing.

Supergirl — Jane, El — was Argyle’s favorite though, and there was no competition there. She was weird and tiny and badass and adorable and a huge menace, not only in the way that she could literally blow things up with her mind, but because she could be a little troublemaker kid in the best way a kid should be a troublemaker in. She was sweet and delicate and just so fucking little, and her shoulders were too tiny to hold all the weight they carried, so Argyle did his best to bake her the frozen waffles she loved, told her funny exaggerated stories so she’d laugh, gave her tight hugs whenever she needed them. It was sad that she needed them a lot. But she always thanked him and told him his hugs were the best hugs ever, so he’d hug her once again before letting her go. He liked that she smiled a lot near him. The world owed her more smiles, and he was glad to take that task.

Jonathan did his best to make Argyle feel like he was part of it all. Argyle wasn’t so sure if he even wanted to be a part of it all in the first place, but since he was dragged to it without any other option, he was glad he at least had Jonathan by his side. He chose to pair up with Argyle when they were assigned guest bedrooms in Steve’s big house so Argyle wouldn’t be alone, even if he could be with Nancy. He never scolded Argyle for smoking because he knew Argyle did it to cope, to calm down, to get less stressed and anxious — and he knew the situation was stressing and anxiety-inducing as hell. He never complained if Argyle didn’t participate in their planning sessions because he knew Argyle’s lack of previous knowledge would probably just slow them down, and once during the night he said he’d do anything to leave Argyle as out of it as he could, that he felt guilty for bringing Argyle into all of it in the first place.

Argyle blamed him, it really was kind of Jonathan’s fault, but he also forgave him.

He forgave him the second after it all happened.

He would probably follow Jonathan anyway even if he knew beforehand where he was headed to.

He followed Jonathan into the final battle against that slimy, evil, twisted, disgusting son of a bitch. He followed Jonathan with homemade armor and homemade weapons, and a courage he didn’t really have. He followed Jonathan, El, Will, and Joyce — and all the rest of their weird, codependent, brought together by disasters, wrecked and beautiful found family. He was stuck with them now forever, he knew it. He wasn’t complaining. They were his family now, too.

But that specific day, that was the one that was the most blurred out. Maybe it was a coping mechanism that his fucked up brain came up with to give him a rest, or maybe it was his brain too fucked up from all the weed usage, but he was glad either way. If someone asked him, Argyle was sure he wouldn’t be able to retell the whole thing.

It was way too much. He was glad he didn’t remember.

They were all alive and sore and bruised and hurt after it, and they all still stayed in Steve’s big house — to make sure they were all together if it wasn’t really over, and because they healed better as a pack. The government lady had found her lost doctor sometime in the middle of it all, and the whole Party got some good deals out of everything. Argyle wasn’t even going to be sued by Surfer Boy Pizza for stealing a company van. He actually got to keep it, and he took out the surfboard from the roof, took out all the company stickers, cleaned it up real good and it ended up looking like a regular beautiful yellow van where no man had ever died inside.

El seemed to have lost her powers for good this time, but she was relieved. Will was never haunted by the creepy chills in the back of his neck again. Max woke up, and she was blind and would probably never walk again, but she was so grateful. Argyle cooked her favorite food — information provided by El — when she was released from the hospital, and of course she was led straight to Steve’s house. She didn’t know Argyle before the apocalypse almost took her away, but she thanked him with a beautiful crooked smile of a girl who defeated death, and everyone surrounded her with love and warmth and everything was almost perfect. They were acting like the kids they were. They were allowed to, now. The only thing they’d have to worry about from now on was school and homework, the occasional regular teenage problems. No more evil scientists, no more evil wizards, no more evil dimensions. Just, a bad grade in Latin, or having an unrequited crush, a pimple in the middle of their foreheads. Argyle was so happy for them.

Jonathan and the rest of the older ones also got to go back to normal. Steve and Robin’s only worry was finding a new job. Nancy and Jonathan finally talked it out and resolved their issues — by breaking up. Nancy would go to Emerson, Boston, as she wished, and Jonathan didn’t want to and it was fine. They had grown too much, apart from each other in the few months they were away. They didn’t need to be each other’s grounding points anymore, because they could find other people and find themselves and worry about regular young adult stuff like a bad grade in Journalism 101 or the fact they were out of weed or photographic film.

Jonathan wanted to go to New York.

Argyle could get on the first bus back to California, but he had no one there and that was okay, because here he had Jonathan. Jonathan, who Argyle crossed the country for, who Argyle walked into Hell for, who Argyle would probably follow anywhere.

So Jonathan decided to go to New York, and Argyle decided to follow him.

They took the renewed regular yellow van where no man had ever died, belts buckled in for the first time ever because they valued their lives a whole lot now. They took an atlas from Robin’s collection, a few pre-rolled joints Steve bought from god knows who, a bunch of snacks the kids gathered for them, clothes they borrowed because they ran away from California with no bags, and a tight hug from each and every one of their weird, codependent, brought together by disasters, wrecked and beautiful found family.

They took the I-69 to Indy, the I-70 to Pittsburgh, the I-76 to Philadelphia, and the I-95 to New York. Twenty hours on the road was nothing considering it took them three days to get from middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere (Nevada) to middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere (Indiana). They took turns driving, stopped for gas and lunch and dinner and a smoke session, slept in the back of the van in a parking lot until they weren’t high anymore, arrived in New York as the sky was pouring down on the city.

“The rain is nice,” Jonathan commented as he looked through the window in the passenger seat.

It hadn’t rained in Hawkins ever since the world almost ended. No matter how many times they showered, bathed, scrubbed all the grime and dirt and blood away, sometimes it still felt like they weren’t clean. The town was definitely still dirty.

“The rain is nice,” Argyle agreed.

They kept driving around, they got trapped in traffic, they got screamed and horned at, they laughed back because it felt nonsensical to be mad about cars in streets. They stopped at a diner, ate a bunch of eggs sunny side up, to counter the weather, watched the regulars and the waitresses and the cook in their routines, and they smiled at each other because it was so nice to see normal things for once. People living their normal lives. Not a single one of them aware that the two weird kids in the corner booth almost died so they could be spilling coffee on the counter and getting their mouths dirty with grease.

They asked for a cheap recommendation on a place they could rest, drove a little more, got a little more trapped in traffic, got a little more yelled and horned at, until they found the shitty motel that the waitress promised was decently cleaned no matter how fucked up it looked on the outside. But their expectations bar wasn’t high, anyway. They had two beds, separated by a tiny nightstand table, and they fell asleep turned to face each other, curtains open and bathroom lights on because the darkness couldn’t be trusted.

Next day emerged with the clouds all gone, the weirdest of contrasts, and a chilly wind kept throwing Argyle’s hair to all sides and Jonathan kept looking at him with a soft smile whenever it whipped his pale skin. They left the van in the motel and walked and walked and walked until their feet hurt, had no idea where they were going and no exact place to go to, a joint shared and their fingers touched and their mouths wrapped around the same paper. It was nothing, and it was everything.

They watched people passing by, everyone in such a hurry, people scowling and people smiling and people somehow with their expressions completely neutral. People living their normal lives, not a single one of them aware that the two weird kids walking shoulder to shoulder almost died so they could be running to catch the subway or signing for a cab to stop.

They managed to get back to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed and still felt unclean, collapsed on their separate beds again, turned to face each other, curtains open, bathroom lights left on.

Jonathan wanted to go to NYU.

Ever since he was six years old, he told Argyle. The Tisch Photography program was a big one, his dream ever since he had a bowl cut worst than Will’s, when his father was still home and his mom wasn’t overprotective because none of them knew monsters existed just under their feet.

Jonathan’s eyes gleamed as he spoke about the university, so Argyle offered and Jonathan agreed, and the next day Jonathan hopped on a subway train and Argyle followed him.

The subway was too much, Argyle noticed. He shared a look with Jonathan over someone else’s shoulder and knew they were thinking the same.

They went south south south to Greenwich Village with its pretty brownstones and its artsy students roaming around, so many of them, and Jonathan stopped across the street looking at the Tisch building for a long time, inconveniently in the middle of the sidewalk, his fellow hipsters having to walk around him. Argyle looked at Jonathan the whole time, saw it firsthand as his gears turned, as the gleam in his eyes faded, as the wrinkle in his forehead deepened.

“Too much?” he asked.

Jonathan nodded. “For now, at least.”

Argyle just started walking and Jonathan followed, and they just walked across Greenwich Village until they were at the pier and they looked at New Jersey from afar, all the ferries crossing the Hudson, people still in a hurry all the goddamn time and Argyle’s fingers tapped against the railing that was there to stop him from falling into the water. He kinda wanted to do it just to see what it would feel like. He lost track of time staring at the water, and the boats, and the people on the boats living their normal lives, not a single one of them aware of the two weird kids on the pier that almost died so they could cross the river on a daily basis; and he felt Jonathan staring at him and maybe it should’ve been the other way around.

“Wanna try again?” he asked after, maybe, hours, and Jonathan nodded.

They walked back, Jonathan stopped inconveniently in the middle of the sidewalk across the street, stared at the Tisch building for what wasn’t longer than a minute and a half.

“Too much,” he decided.

They took the subway back north north north to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed and still felt unclean, collapsed on their separate beds again, curtains open, bathroom lights left on. Jonathan turned away and slept looking at the wall. Argyle slept looking at Jonathan’s back.

Sun was still out bright the next day.

They went out silently for breakfast at a café a few blocks down, heard the weirdest fucking story told by the people sitting at the table next to them. One look at each other and they were back at the motel, into the van, across the bridge, east east east into Long Island and clouds started to appear the more further east they went.

Montauk sure had that creepy energy hanging in the air, as if everyone was constantly waiting for the shoe to drop, but it somehow didn’t feel as world-ending as Hawkins did. Jonathan whispered that if Will was there, he’d probably be scratching his neck by now.  They kept heading east, into the State Park, to the lookout, out of the van. Stared at the ocean. All that amount of water, the vast nothingness of the view and the wide greatness it contained, and it should’ve been too much but Argyle let out a long sigh and breathed in deeply, a single drop of rain touched his forehead and it felt good.

They went back to the van, back to Manhattan, back to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed a little less, collapsed on their separate beds, curtains closed, bathroom lights left on, turned to face each other again. They said nothing. There was a constant hum from somewhere outside the motel, in the neighborhood, that lulled them to sleep. Argyle thought he heard Jonathan call for him but when he opened his eyes again Jonathan was snoring lightly. Argyle smiled at the view and fell back to unconsciousness.

Clouds were back the next day.

They checked out of the motel, Jonathan took the seat behind the wheel, headed back to I-95 again and hit the pedal hard. They drove for about half the time as they did from Hawkins to New York, never leaving the I-95, looking through the windows as they drove past New Haven, Providence, Boston, plus some stupidly small and completely forgettable towns in Maine.

They only left the I-95 when they passed the border, when the Highway didn’t exist anymore.

“Will they know we have weed?” Argyle asked as they were growing closer to the customs. They only had a single joint left, but it was worrying anyway.

“Don’t think they’ll check,” Jonathan answered, and he didn’t seem bothered at all.

Argyle doubted they would be able to cross, he didn’t even have a passport, but Jonathan was thankfully right. The guard asked for their drivers’ licenses only, where they were headed and what they were doing —  Jonathan said they were on a roadtrip. When the guard asked how long they were planning on staying, Jonathan said “enough days to see a bit of the three east provinces”, and that’s when Argyle was sure the guard would tell them to turn around and get the fuck out, back to bumfuck-nowhere, Indiana. But he just nodded as he inspected the photos on their documents, and when he handed them back along with a pocket-sized canadian atlas he said: “Have fun.”

And that was it.

Argyle’s shoulders dropped from where they had situated above his ears as Jonathan waited until the customs couldn’t be seen from the windows anymore so he could hit the pedal hard again, this time on what they called the Trans-Canada Highway (information provided by the pocket-size atlas gifted to them by a random and kind government employee).

Jonathan drove for about an hour and a half after they crossed, and Argyle’s sudden drop of adrenaline made him doze off for a while before he woke up as Jonathan was parking at a motel. He looked around, saw some signs, picked up the pocket-size atlas from where it had fallen off to the floor of the van.

“You wanna stay in…” he checked the atlas, ��Fredericton, New Brunswick? This was your destination all along?” he asked with a grin.

Jonathan chuckled. “I’m just tired for today. But I wanna keep going, actually. If that’s okay?” his eyes were suddenly filled with doubt, and oh no, Argyle couldn’t have that.

“Absolutely, my man. Point where and I’m headed right behind ‘ya,” he was smiling, and his tone was light-hearted, but he was being the most honest he ever was.

Jonathan seemed to get it, because he was looking back at him with that reserved soft smile of his and Argyle’s brain went a little fuzzy, but it was probably from the nap he took.

They went inside the motel, finally, got their bedroom with two beds, separated by nothing but a few inches, and Argyle’s first instinct was to actually bring them together so they’d be just one big bed, but he restrained. They took showers, didn’t really scrub a lot, collapsed on their barely separate beds, curtains closed, bathroom light left off, turned to face each other. Argyle fell asleep with a smile on his face, and if he didn’t dream it, Jonathan had one of his own on his lips.

Next day was more than cloudy, it was pouring rain again.

Jonathan sat behind the steering wheel once more, hit the pedal and they headed east east east, so far east that Argyle feared for a second that they were going to reach the border of the world or something. They crossed New Brunswick and almost reached Nova Scotia, but then Jonathan took a sharp turn north.

“An island, man?” Argyle asked as they crossed the bridge to Prince Edward. Jonathan just shrugged, but he was smiling wider than Argyle had ever seen him smile before. Not bothered at all. It was a good sight to see.

The capital city was on the southeast, but Jonathan kept going north again. It seemed like they were almost at the end of the island before he finally stopped, at some stupidly small and completely forgettable town.

“This place has probably half of the citizens of Hawkins,” Argyle noted.

“I need a phone,” Jonathan said.

His smile didn’t falter.

They found the single Bed & Breakfast the town had to offer, asked for a bedroom — it only had one bed, they didn’t mind and neither did the young lady in charge —, they asked to use their phone, “How much is a phone call to Indiana, you think?” Jonathan asked Argyle, smile turning into a wicked grin and Argyle had definitely never seen that, so the only answer he could come up with was a loud laugh.

Jonathan dialed.

Argyle saw the lady had a bong on her table, so he lit up their final joint.

They waited for the phone to be answered.

Jonathan’s eyes never left Argyle’s, and their wide smiles were like mirrors of each other. Argyle had no idea what Jonathan was up to, clearly no good, but Argyle was down to it anyway. He’d follow Jonathan in whatever disturbed plan he had, to whatever edge of the world he wanted to go to.

And, finally:

“Hop, hey, it’s Jon. I’m in Canada. Yeah, you heard it right, Canada. Do you think Owens’ FBI friends can do us a final favor?”

⟿

Argyle looks out the window.

In the reflex, he sees Jonathan, his head on Argyle’s shoulder, and he’s also looking out the window. It’s been like this for a few months now, just the two of them, in tandem, doing the same things. Synchronized. It feels good, the best he ever felt. Jonathan’s skin is warm against Argyle where their arms touch, and he smiles without even thinking about it. It’s been like this for a few months now, smiling around just at the thought or sight of Jonathan. It feels good. The best he ever felt about someone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” Jonathan mumbles against Argyle’s shoulder.

This: a trip along the coast to a different country? This: bribing the government for a new beginning in a town so small and forgettable that no monster, human or not, could find them again? This: getting a house of their own, a fucking boat and a fishing license, a truck they could drive down to Charlottetown on good days?

This: falling in love in the process?

Argyle’s not sure what Jonathan is referring to. He’s really glad too, either way.

Argyle looks at their small world out the window.

It’s Sunday morning, commerce is all closed, streets are empty. The sun is covered by clouds, a summer thunderstorm approaching, and he can see the sea from here. There’s no one at the beach. The waves look nice. All that amount of water, the vast nothingness of the view and the wide greatness it contains.

It’s not too much. It’s nothing at all, actually, and it’s everything.

And it’s perfect that way.

[steddierecs]

Naked Attraction by MixAddams

Word count: 6,748 (complete) / 1/1 Rating: M

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, Jonathan Byers, Argyle (Stranger Things), Henry Creel | One | Vecna

Tags: Modern AU, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, no upside down, Gameshow AU, Crack Treated Seriously, marked mature because that show isn't for kids, just for fun, Fluff, Getting Together

Summary:

The dating show that starts where some good dates end - Naked.

[lovebugism]

could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw

✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !

summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you." pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 3.8k warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3 a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth. 

He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.

It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.

Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him. 

“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.

You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”

Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.

When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.

Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.

Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.

“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”

Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.

You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”

The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness. 

“…I’m gonna try.”

He was pretty much a goner after that.

The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.

Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.

And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.

He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.

That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.

The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).

And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.

If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.

But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.

So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.

Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.

Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.

Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.

Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.

You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”

The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.

He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.

“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”

Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”

“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”

With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.

“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.

He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.

And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.

Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.

Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess. 

“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eds—”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”

“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.

“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”

Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”

You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”

He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”

“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”

“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.

It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”

“Eddie!” you scold.

“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod

Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.

“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”

“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”

He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”

“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”

With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step. 

You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.

Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.

“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”

You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.

“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”

A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.

Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.

You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.

“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”

You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.

“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.

“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”

You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side. 

You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.

It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.

Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.

You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace. 

You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.

Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.

You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.

“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”

“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell. 

You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.

But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.

Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.

You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch. 

He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe. 

You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.

The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?

Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.

Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.

His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.

He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.

As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.

“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”

“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”

You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.

But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.

“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.

“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”

“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.

The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.

He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.

You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.

“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.

“…What?”

“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”

You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different. 

“Better?” you tease.

Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.

You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.

“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.

Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose. 

You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.

You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

[heartbreak-sandwich]

✨ Master List ✨

18+, MINORS DNI ~ Ageless or underage blogs will be blocked; this content is for adults only. Thank you for understanding 💕

{❤️‍🔥} smut {✨} fluff {🔥} angst {🕊️} contains trigger warnings {📖} series {💭} headcanons {🦄} oneshots {👽} au

🔥 REQUESTS ARE CONSIDERED 🔥 📖 Currently writing for: (Stranger Things) Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley; (Fargo) Gator Tillman *If you have any requests outside of the scope, just send me a message, and we can talk about it! ✨

*Thank you so much to those who have enjoyed my work! Feedback, comments, and reblogs are amazing forms of support and always so appreciated!*

HOHOHOE WEEK 2023 HOLIDAY MINI SERIES Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC (JJ Feron) BLUE CHRISTMAS {❤️‍🔥📖} CANDY CANE LANE {❤️‍🔥📖} WARM ME UP {❤️‍🔥📖}

YOU MADE A FOOL OF DEATH WITH YOUR BEAUTY (finished) Jennifer's Body AU Billy Hargrove x Tommy Hagan; Billy Hargrove x Jason Carver {❤️‍🔥👽🦄🕊️} [Read on Ao3]

RED LETTERS TO NOWHERE (WIP) Stepbro!Billy Hargrove x Mayfield!Reader {📖✨🔥👽❤️‍🔥} [Read on Ao3] 💕 CHAPTER ONE: Move-In Day CHAPTER TWO: Certain Type of People

SNEAK PEEK PART ONE SNEAK PEEK PART TWO

ANIMAL MAGNETISM (finished) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {📖🔥❤️‍🔥} [Read on Ao3] 💕 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

ECHOES OF REDEMPTION: LOVE AND SHADOWS IN HAWKINS A Tale of Growing Up, Rock 'n' Roll, and the Battle Against an Unseen World (WIP) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {📖👽} [Read on Ao3] 💕 CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR

HE'S THE BAD GUY (finished) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥✨🦄}

CUTE SECRET DATE TURNED RELATIONSHIP (requested) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader {✨}

NSFW HEADCANONS {💭} Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

YOU JUST WANT TO FEEL FULL OF HIM {❤️‍🔥} Billy Hargrove x afab!Reader (gn pronouns)

IN THE SHOWER {❤️‍🔥} Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

ON THE HOOD OF BILLY'S CAMARO {❤️‍🔥} Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

BILLY HARGROVE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭} Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

BILLY APOLOGIZES {✨} Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

JEALOUS BILLY COMFORTS YOU {✨🦄}

SIDES OF BILLY ONLY YOU SEE {💭✨}

WAKING UP NEXT TO BILLY {✨🦄}

🐊 Gator Tillman🐊

69 IN A 60 (finished) Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥}

GOOD COP/BAD COP (finished) Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥}

KISSING HEADCANONS {💭}

STEVE HARRINGTON IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭} Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

THE CUMPETITION (finished) Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler {❤️‍🔥🦄👽}

EDDIE MUNSON IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭} Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

FULL CIRCLE WARNINGS (finished) {🔥🦄👽}

PLEASURE DOM EDDIE BLURB Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader {❤️‍🔥}

💕 Argyle 💕

ARGYLE IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭} Argyle x Fem!Reader

💕 Jonathan Byers 💕

JONATHAN BYERS IS YOUR BOYFRIEND {💭} Jonathan Byers x Fem!Reader

💕 Other 💕

ST BOYS UNEXPECTED TALENTS {💭✨}

METALHAMSANDWICH DOMESTIC CUTENESS {💭✨}

MUNGROVE MEETING {✨🦄}

RONANCE BLURB - NANCY REALIZES HER FEELINGS {✨🦄}

ST GIRLS DURING BAD BREAKUPS {💭🔥}

ST BOYS AS FATHERS {💭✨}

This list is updated regularly! ✨ Please feel free to send me an ask or message with any requests or questions, and thank you so much for visiting 🥰

[curiositydooropened]

Steve Harrington Masterlist

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

Series

Hell Hound - Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Ranged - After Hell brought Horror to the Heartland, America’s dirt roads and open woods began to fall to rot and ruin. To prevent further inter dimensional slips, the government dispatched several workers, such as yourselves, to travel the country saving small communities. 

Wildfire - When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Late Checkout - The cursor blinked. A writing retreat at an exclusive 5-star ski resort. A New Years Eve party in the moody lodge bar. A handsome heir. A bratty bad boy. A snowstorm blocking every guest from the outside world.

Oneshots

Chamomile - A look at two semesters spent meeting, knowing, and pining after Steve Harrington. Slowburn, college parties, dorm rooms, a bit of unrequited Ronance, and unforgettable memories with friends.

• Lemonade - A look at your week in Hawkins, soaking up the summer sun with your newfound friends. A follow-up to Chamomile.

Domesticity - After the final Battle of Hawkins, Steve Harrington has been recruited to find all of Brenner's "experiments" that didn't perish under Henry Creel's hand. Undercover in Suburbia, with you under his arm playing the role of dutiful wife, Steve uncovers more truths about himself than he bargained for.

Group Therapy - Steve’s friends encouraged him to attend group therapy, to push past the nightmares and insomnia. In such a small community of sufferers, he didn’t expect to meet you.

Better Off - Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.

[once-upon-an-imagine]

I just re-read this and I know I have been missing for a long time and I have a billion WIP but... should I make a pt2? I just feel like we, as a people, need more Argyle in this world and I just needed this comfort today because it has been a few rough weeks so... idk

I'll let you decide, yes? no? send ideas/suggestions/anything? 😁

Just look at this pretty face...

Build Me Up, Buttercup

A/N: so, I started writing this before I got Argyle requests because I wasn’t sure I would get any (I did, a lot and really good) so, I needed to finish it and post it even if nobody really asked for it xD so, I still hope you like it! 

Warnings: reader deals with PTSD and nightmares; mentions of Billy Hargrove hurting the reader; mentions of being high; and this isn’t proofread so I’m not even sure how this turned out xD I think that’s pretty much it but let me know if I missed anything, please! (also a side of Steddie because WHY NOT?! who is it hurting?) also this is SUPER LONG

Disclaimer: I don’t own Stranger Things :D gif isn’t mine :)

Your name: submit What is this?

**********************************************

Build Me Up, Buttercup

I need you more than anyone, darling You know that I have from the start So build me up, Buttercup, don’t break my heart

Four months. You had been living in California for four months. After what happened last summer in Hawkins, your mom decided it was best for you. You couldn’t really argue with her since Hawkins was actually haunted. The things you and your brothers had lived through were more than you ever thought you could handle. Let alone Eleven. And now, Hopper was gone. You could only imagine what she was going through. You couldn’t really say you understood since your father was an asshole on different levels and was still alive. And Hopper was the closest thing Eleven had to a father. On top of that, your mom had taken on a new job, Jonathan was freaking out on a daily basis about Nancy and college and you were 100% certain he was high about 90% of the time. And Will. Your little brother had gone through more than any of you. You had always tried to protect him from anything in the world and you had always blamed yourself for the night he went missing even if he kept telling you it wasn’t your fault.

“Hey” you jumped a little when you heard a voice, snapping you out of your thoughts and you saw Eleven opening the door. “Mom says breakfast is ready” she smiled at you and you smiled back.

You were really happy that Eleven felt comfortable enough with all of you. To be completely honest, you had always wanted a little sister since Jonathan and Will tended to gang up on you sometimes, so you were glad she was here.

“Thanks, El, I’ll be right out” you replied quietly.

“Are you okay?” she asked, walking inside your shared room and sitting on her bed.

“Yes, of course” you smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I heard you talking in your sleep again” she said quietly.

“Oh” you said, feeling nervous. “W-what did I say?”

“I couldn’t tell” she said. “You were mumbling a lot but… you seemed pretty scared” she said, worriedly.

“Oh, maybe I was just having a nightmare” you shrugged it off lightly.

“What was it about? It sounded really scary” she asked.

“Well, to be completely honest with you, I don’t remember” you told her. That was a lie. Of course, you remember. It’s always the same nightmare. “So it couldn’t have been that scary” you insisted, knowing she was worried about you. “I’m sorry if I woke you up” you told her.

“Okay” she replied, still a bit unconvinced.

She was the only one that knew you had been having nightmares for a long time since you were now sharing a bedroom. You had asked her to keep the secret and, even if she insisted that ‘Friends don’t lie’ you insisted that it wasn’t a lie. You just didn’t want to worry anyone when so many things were going on and she shouldn’t worry either. You were somehow able to convince her, but you knew she was bound to tell someone if it kept going.

“Come on, let’s go get breakfast” you said, grabbing your grey oversized cardigan and putting it over your all-black outfit and the two of you went over to the dining room.

“Good morning, sweetheart” Joyce greeted you.

“Morning, mom” you smiled.

“You must be burning up in that sweater, it’s like 100° outside” Will laughed a little.

“I’m fine” you insisted, messing his hair and taking the seat next to him.

“Guys! Hurry up, our ride’s gonna be here in like fifteen minutes” Jonathan said, walking in and sitting next to you.

“Did your car break down again?” you asked him and he nodded as he chugged down a glass of juice.

“I got it covered though. Argyle’s coming to pick us up” he told you.

Keep reading

[colorfullyminded]

New reader!! I just want to ask if you could give us a sneak peak on ur next work hehe~ ^^ (If you dont want to spoil us its super fine! I just saw u do it for valentines day and I figured we could ask that >//>) Luv ur work so far !

Sure of course. Maybe I can give a little sneak peek into chapter 7 of KTC: ---

Dipper’s guide is quite popular.

With both hands, he gestures to his side where Wirt stands just so out of frame, waiting for his cue. “And we have a guest for that, actually.”

They talked about it for a while, about what Wirt would be okay with on camera, if he wanted to actually appear in the episode or if Dipper should just give his name as “the librarian told me”, his involvement in the episode, all those things. And with all of it settled, Dipper scooped out the best backdrop for his intro and settled the camera down on a few books before starting.

“A new client”, Dipper says as Wirt steps forward into frame. “The new owner of our library here has found some things.”

Wirt looks about as librarian as you can be. He’s wearing dark jeans, cuffed. A white button up, with a brown argyle v-neck sweater vest pulled over it. On top of that is a tweed blazer. And to complete his little ensemble is a black bow tie around his neck. The only thing that could make him more librarian would be a pair of thick rimmed glasses, but Wirt would feel silly wearing glasses with no prescription lenses.

TheManWithNoName: Nerd! Mysterlover6778: Awww, he looks so cute! Hiya Mr. Librarian, welcome on the show.

Dipper’s_Girl1001: Not a Cute as Dipper though. Dipper’s_Boy1002: Agreed @Dipper’s_Girl1001, Dipper Pines Supremacy!!!

Dipper’s_Girl1001: Ewww, shut up! @Dipper’s_Boy1002! Dipper’s mine! I already told you!

Book_Wurm: Awww he seems nervous. I promise we don’t bite

I’m_in_Your_Walls: …Much XD

----

This chapter has to do with the guide, because hey Dipper definitely would still be doing it all these years later. I have a bunch of other wip oneshots that have been chilling for awhile that I need to keep working on too. If you want one of those just let me know-- and tell me if you want fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, cause I got a little of everything in my docs XD

[steddieficfind]

I’m looking for a fic that was definitely on ao3,,

Dustin was Steve’s brother in this fic, and he was trying to convince him to come to this little town thing he lived in, but Steve kept brushing it off because it seemed culty

Eventually he goes, Eddie, Wayne, and Chrissy run the place and he stays for a bit, Wayne breaks his arm and they have to go to the hospital, but they REFUSE to treat him, until Steve gets on their asses.

Theres like a bondfire type thing, where Argyle comes around offering drugs? Idk

At the end Steve leaves, and Dustin and Eddie are talking and Eddie’s like ‘we’ll get him to join one day’

I think it might be a oneshot, but I’m not absolutely sure

Request 1037! Send us an ask if you recognize this fic!

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Jargyle | Rated M | 6.6K | AO3

CW: Weed

Argyle is always first to call a tolerance break. Says it’s good for the spirit. Says shit hits even better afterwards. It might have something to do with his insomnia too. There’s seems to be a pattern to it, but Jonathan hasn’t quite figured out the repetition. Argyle’s the person who gets their weed so he calls the shots anyway. Jonathan agrees for show and they spend a week complaining about how all the movies make sense and the homework doesn’t. His skin itches and he pretends it’s fine. Food tastes kinda weird. All his memories pile up the way they’re supposed to. With crisp edges and all in order. He has to carry them with him all week, all speaking over each other in his head. Everything all at once, like that’s just who he is. He’s all the things that ever happened to him and it’s exhausting. He used to live like that, every single day. Just a collection of awful moments dressed in a sweater pretending to be a boy. No wonder he was always so god damn tired. He talks to Nancy on the phone, unsure if there’s always this many silences or if he’s just noticing them now that he’s sober. A thousand miles away, she talks about the school paper and her college applications and Jonathan nods because he keeps forgetting she can’t see him. “I think I need to break up with her,” he whispers to Argyle in the back row of the movie theater. Argyle chews his popcorn slowly, unimpressed. “You said that last time, too.” Did he? He’s been thinking about it for a while, but he can’t remember saying it out loud. It feels like a little epiphany on his tongue. A dark and sticky thing he’s not meant to admit to anyone. “No, I mean it this time.” Argyle doesn’t speak right away. The bright lights of a car chase reflect in his eyes and cast his face in a sickly green glow. Like his skin is made of asphalt. “Sure, dude.” He’s stiff. A person pressed to pause. Or maybe he’s always like this and Jonathan’s just never sober enough to notice. He sucks on a single kernel of popcorn until it dissolves in his mouth. Something explodes right in front of him, all orange and yellow, and they both flinch. Argyle ends their tolerance break right there on the stoop in front of the cinema. Reveals the little Altoids tin that has been in his pocket this entire time and it’s so bright. The sky and the sidewalk and the whites of Argyle's eyes. His teeth. It should be dark out by now, but the sun stands so tall she doesn’t even cast a shadow. And everything is so fucking bright.

Read the rest on AO3!

[spicysix]

now i don't hate California after all

“They arrived at the beginning of fall, and yet California was sunny, hot, and colorful. Jonathan saw it all gray. He hated the sun, the heat, the dryness. Hated how he was always sweating, bothered about the weather, about the place, about the people. Everyone was so nice, and cheerful, and happy. He hated it. He was miserable. Argyle was nice and cheerful and happy. He was sunny and warm and colorful. Jonathan hated him at first.”

rating: T

warnings/tags: it's a Jargyle fic, friends - there's weed. jonathan's POV, bisexual king johnny-boy byers, black cat VS golden retriever energy. he's just a lil grumpy guy :)

word count: 4k

author's note: HAPPY JARGYLE JURSDAY! and happy pride! 💛🏳️‍🌈 this is the first of a few fics i have planned to write and post this month, all with queer relationships. absolutely random note: I based Lenora Hills off of Barstow-California, based losely on the location shown on Murray's computer and the overview of the town. fic based on a song of the same name by my queen of queens, Carly Rae Jepsen. hope y'all like this, and hope i made justice by my dearly beloved stoners! 💛

↳ ao3

Jonathan hated it at first.

Of course he hated it. How could he not? It was his whole world changed from night to day. Seventeen years of his life packed in a single morning into a few boxes into a truck across the whole country. Away from the few friends he had, away from the girlfriend he loved, away from all of the only things he ever really knew.

Jonathan feared it at first.

Of course he feared it. How could he not? His mother was alone, no husband, no boyfriend, no friends. His sister was alone, no boyfriend, no friends, no father. His brother was alone. He was alone. All they had was each other. What if it wasn’t enough? What if they were alone forever, thousands of miles away, and each others’ companies didn’t suffice?

But he also understood. How could he not? It was safer. A fresh new start, away from the dangers that haunted them, the ones that found them and the ones still lurking. Far away enough, hidden enough that they wouldn’t be found again. His mom would figure it out, Joyce always did. They could adapt, they could find new friends, they could still call and send letters to the old ones. They could go back for spring break, or for summer, or the ones left behind could come visit. It could work.

Doesn’t mean Jonathan liked it. Jonathan hated it, actually.

They arrived at the beginning of fall, and yet California was sunny, hot, and colorful.

Jonathan saw it all gray.

He hated the sun, the heat, the dryness. Hated how he was always sweating, bothered about the weather, about the place, about the people. Everyone was so nice, and cheerful, and happy. He hated it. He was miserable.

Argyle was nice and cheerful and happy. He was sunny and warm and colorful.

Jonathan hated him at first.

Saw that guy, first day of school, wearing a ridiculous shirt with more colors than the human eye can capture. The baggiest shorts Jonathan had ever seen, and they had a different psychedelic print on each leg. Fucking rainbow socks with hideous square-print Vans. He attracted all the attention around and yet, somehow, people didn’t seem to care about him one bit.

He was everywhere, too. Not just at Jonathan’s Math, Science, English and History classes, but at his woodworking elective as well. He shopped at the same grocery store that sold the snacks El loved, at the same farmers’ market Joyce got the best fruits, at the same craft store with Will’s favorite items, he worked at the best pizza place in town. Jonathan couldn’t escape him if he tried.

It took them a while to share their first words. Woodwork elective, Argyle needed someone to help him with a big project he had — it didn’t work, at the end, and he cut the huge wood plank into smaller pieces and made smaller things. For some reason, he saw Jonathan with a scowl on his face, pure disdain of how colorful and cheerful Argyle was, and decided to ask for his help.

Jonathan might’ve hated the guy, but he was raised well and polite. There was no actual reason for him to hate the guy too, so he helped. And hoped to never have to talk to Argyle again after that.

Of course that didn’t go as he hoped.

Argyle, who was once just a dude in the background of every scenario Jonathan walked into, was now purposefully centering himself in front of Jonathan’s lenses (his metaphorical lenses, because his actual cameras were kept in his bedroom. He couldn’t find it in himself the desire to take pictures of Lenora, its dry hot deserts and cheerful colorful people). Argyle talked to him, constantly, sat by Jonathan’s side at every Math, Science, English and History class, chose Jonathan as his woodworking partner from then on. Was Jonathan’s shopping buddy at the grocery, called out to Jonathan at the farmers’ market, gave Jonathan tips on what to buy for Will, delivered the Byers’ pizzas personally every time they ordered.

As they reached the end of the year, the weather cooled down a little — nothing compared to what they had back home in Hawkins, of course. But it was easier for Jonathan. It rained a little too, which helped with the dryness. People went for neutral tones and colors, and the sun didn’t bother his skin as much.

Argyle was still just as colorful, warm and sunny. Jonathan hated him. No one else seemed to notice him.

Will and El still didn’t seemed to have find friends too, which didn’t help with Jonathan’s anxiety and hatred. He was worried all of the time. About himself, about his siblings. His mom was doing fine at least, it’s been a while since Jonathan had to worry about her, thankfully.

“My man, you gotta chill a little,” Argyle said one day as they were leaving their woodwork elective, somehow noticing Jonathan’s tension.

Jonathan didn’t talk a lot, Argyle did most of the talking. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Have you ever tried smoking?” he asked.

“How would nicotine help besides getting me an addiction?” Jonathan countered.

Argyle clicked his tongue, “Not regular smokes, man. Nature’s goodies,”

“The devil’s lettuce?” Jonathan asked, and Argyle cackled loudly. Jonathan had never seen him laugh so hard. It wasn’t even that funny. Jonathan smiled just a little at the sound anyway.

“That’s right, man! Have you?” Jonathan only shook his head. “You wanna try? I bet it’ll do you some good, you look so pent up all the time, man.”

Jonathan didn’t know how Argyle knew that. Not like he had seen Jonathan in any other state if not pent up to know the difference. Jonathan’s small, rare joyful moments always happened at home. When Will was excited about something at school, when El was excited about a letter from Mike, when his mom was excited about a sell. When he was excited about a letter from Nancy. Those have been scarce.

Jonathan shrugged as an answer to Argyle’s offer.

“Well, if you ever feel like it, I can set you up.” Jonathan liked that Argyle didn’t pressured him.

They parted ways at the parking lot. Argyle was always driving the Surfer Boy pizza van. Jonathan’s car was dying a slow agonizing death, and he had been fearing the day the car would stop working.

That day had arrived.

Jonathan tried to ignite the car while waiting for his siblings to show up from wherever they were. But it wasn’t working, the car wasn’t starting and Jonathan hit his head on the steering wheel a few times with all that pent up anger inside him.

“Jonathan, you’re gonna get a hole on your forehead,” Will spoke as he knocked at Jonathan’s window.

“The car won’t start,” Jonathan complained, leaving the vehicle and checking his wristwatch. “Mom might be able to come pick us in between calls, maybe. This piece of shit.” He turned around and kicked the front tire. El giggled behind Will, Jonathan didn’t think it was funny.

“Hey man, I can get you and the younglings back home. I know where you live,” Argyle showed up from somewhere, Jonathan hadn’t noticed he was still in the parking lot.

“You know that sounds creepy, right?” Will asked. “Who the hell are you?”

Jonathan almost laughed, “He’s the pizza delivery guy, and he’s also in my year. Argyle, these are Will and Jane, my younger siblings.”

“You don’t look like a surfer boy,” El commented, noticing Argyle’s Surfer Boy visor. He’d probably head to work after school.

“And I am not one, little friend. Couldn’t hold myself standing up on a board, not even for a miracle. Maybe sitting down, on a pool, not on the ocean with the waves. But then it wouldn’t be surfing, now, would it?” Argyle said, that cheerful happy huge smile of his. Jonathan huffed, El seemed amused by the answer. “Shall we?” he asked, already heading for the pizza van.

“I should get the car towed first. I’ll call from the public phone over there,” Jonathan said and did as he said.

Argyle entertained Will and El as Jonathan called and waited for the towing, and as he talked to the towing guy when he arrived. He asked for the car to be taken to his house instead of the garage, because Jonathan didn’t have the money to pay for a fix. He’d have to save up, or try and do the fixing himself.

 He sat at the front with Argyle in the Surfer Boy’s van, Will and El went in the back and asked Argyle all of the possible questions to ask someone who works at a pizza place. He didn’t seem to mind answering them all. They also asked a lot about his hair, and Argyle told El he’d give her tips to grow her hair long and pretty like his. She looked radiant at the promise.

Jonathan kept it to himself all of the way back, but all of the rambling from his siblings and his colleague didn’t annoy him. They seemed to like Argyle, and that made the dude ease his way a little further into Jonathan’s own heart. That’s how it worked, isn’t it? The way into Jonathan’s heart was always going through his family first.

When Argyle stopped in front of the Byers’ house, Jonathan’s old Ford was already there, and he paid the towing people as Will and El entered the house.

“I can come pick you guys up tomorrow if you want,” Argyle offered when Jonathan went back to the passenger window to thank him for the ride.

“I don’t wanna bother,” he said.

“Nah, man, don’t worry, it’s all good. I’ll be here tomorrow then. See ya, dude,” he said and just took off.

Jonathan stayed there a little while longer, staring at the street where the van had rode by, confusion all over his face. That guy was the weirdest guy he had ever met. But he wasn’t so bad after all.

And then began their new routine. Argyle would always pick them up — most days on the brink of being late — and they would have all their classes together, and Argyle would drop them off after school. He kept easing his way in, and at some point Jonathan started easing his way out of the cave he had dug for himself, and Argyle wasn’t the one talking all of the time anymore. He didn’t seem to mind listening.

Jonathan talked about Nancy, and how she wasn’t sending letters that much anymore. Their plans to go to college together, and how Jonathan wasn’t feeling it as of lately.

Jonathan talked about his dad, and how he was an asshole.

Jonathan talked about his mom, and how she was working all the time, and how he had to be a responsible figure for his siblings.

“They’re twins, are they?” Argyle asked once.

“No, Jane’s my… well, sort of half sister. Her dad was a close family friend, and my mom adopted her when he passed, it’s… a long story.”

Jonathan didn’t talk about the Upside Down.

“They kinda look like twins, though. Wonder twins.” Argyle said, smiling. He didn’t ask. Jonathan was thankful for it.

Jonathan took Argyle’s offer for some weed one day, and after that it was… well, conservatives would call it ‘downhill from there’, but Jonathan finally felt at ease. He liked getting high, liked how his mind wandered away, how his fingers felt a little numb, how the bright colors didn’t bother him for once. How he started seeing some beauty in them.

Argyle’s clothes were still just as colorful, and he was just as warm and sunny. They smoked together, they laughed together, he talked to Jonathan and most important, he listened to him.

The worst of it all?

Jonathan didn’t hate him anymore.

Well, maybe not the worst. Maybe it was for the best.

Nancy and Jonathan broke up through the phone late November.

They didn’t call each other a lot. There were a bunch of reasons. Joyce worked on the phone, so it was busy most of the time. When it was free, either El or Will wanted to talk to Mike, and they could go on for hours. Bills could get expensive. And Nancy preferred the letters anyway. Jonathan thought the letters suited her well.

But they broke up through the phone. Maybe it was for the best. Not to taint the beauty of their past love letters.

Jonathan could hear the frown in her voice, and the tears. She could probably hear it just the same in his voice. He loved her, he did. But long distance was hard. And she wanted to go to Emerson, and Jonathan didn’t. His dream has always been NYU, and that dream might be all the way across the country very far away from him, but he could still dream about it. And Lenora Community wasn’t that bad, and Argyle would be there, and so would Joyce and Will and El. And god knows Jonathan couldn’t leave them, his family. Not even for the girl he loved. Not even for his dreams, much less for hers.

Argyle took him to an old junkyard and they smoked more weed that they ever had and they played ‘golf’, aiming the tiny balls into the old cars’ windows and whoever shattered more glass would win. Jonathan had a feeling Argyle let him win on purpose.

Argyle took him to Surfer Boy’s and baked a pie just for him and paid for it with his employee discount and sat across Jonathan on the table and told him insane stories about the kitchen staff and Jonathan had to hold his laughter or he would choke around a slice of pepperoni.

Argyle took him home in the van — Jonathan hadn’t fixed the car, because he didn’t have the money and because he didn’t have to, because Argyle picked them up and dropped them off and the kids liked him and Jonathan didn’t hate him either. As Argyle parked by the Byers’ house, he placed his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, looked him straight in the eye and said:

“Plenty of other midwestern fish in the midwestern sea, man.”

Jonathan wasn’t so sure what to answer to that, so he just chuckled, left the van and went inside the house. Peered through the window as the Surfer Boy’s van took off, some weird dancy reggae loud coming from the stereo. He smiled to himself.

Christmas came, no colorful lights hung up on the Byers’ house.

Argyle gave him a coupon for a month’s worth of Surfer Boy’s pizza. Jonathan didn’t think they’d exchange gifts, but he ran as soon as he could to the little shop he knew Argyle got all his weed items from and brought him a new bong. Argyle loved it and they debuted it together on the back of the van, looking down on the town from the desert.

Some pine trees were decorated and the colorful lights on them weren’t as scary as they would be at Jonathan’s house. He didn’t hate them as much there. Argyle’s shoulder was pressed to his as they shared the bong, and his skin was warm and Jonathan tried not to think too much about how his lips were touching the same place as Argyle’s lips did when pulling in the smoke.

New Years Eve came, and Joyce wasn’t too mad about Jonathan not spending it with the family, not once he told her his plans. Him and Argyle traveled to Santa Barbara, to a New Years Eve Luau, of all things. Argyle had a bunch of friends there — Jonathan was his only friend back at Lenora. He wasn’t bothered by that. He could use some other friends too — Argyle was his only friend back at Lenora.

They smoked, of course, and they listened to music and Argyle even danced with a few other guys. He wasn’t too terrible. He tried to make Jonathan dance too, of course that didn’t happen, but Jonathan was content to just watch. It took him by surprise, that realization: he was content. The moon was in her full glory, it was weirdly cold for a night in California, the sound of the waves were soothing, Argyle’s dark brown hair flew around him and his dark brown eyes twinkled by the fire, and Jonathan was content to just watch him.

Some friend of Argyle lived there and he and Jonathan crashed at the dude’s living room pull-out, heater on blast and Argyle’s back pressed to Jonathan’s back helped too, because the guy was always so damn warm.

Argyle let Jonathan put on some of his cassettes on the ride back to Lenora, and Jonathan sang out loud along with The Clash and the Sex Pistols, and Argyle bobbed his head to the rhythm even though he didn’t seem to like that genre of music, and he said: “These dudes are kinda pissed at stuff, man. They suit you, and all that pent up anger of yours.”

Jonathan reassured him: he wasn’t as pent up, or as angry anymore. Argyle smiled wide at that.

School started again and even their woodworking teacher noticed Jonathan’s change of demeanor and came to tell him how happy he was that Jonathan was finally adapted to the move. The teacher kinda hated Argyle — well he was a menace in class, and his projects were always terrible ideas — and Jonathan wanted to tell the teacher he should thank Argyle for that. He kept his quiet, though, but Argyle seemed to understand the funny look Jonathan threw his way after the pep talk.

Jonathan took his camera — that same one Nancy had given to him on Christmas of ‘83 — out of its box for the first time mid January. Some biology project, and he decided to take pictures to illustrate his work about the local low desert shrubs. Lenora High also had a photography room, and it was better funded than the one in Hawkins High, and once Jonathan revealed his photos and showed them to Argyle, he looked incredibly admired, and asked Jonathan to take some pictures of his mushrooms — of course his project was about mushrooms. He payed Jonathan back in pizzas, of course. Jonathan didn’t mind.

Apparently Argyle gushed about Jonathan’s photos at work because later that month he had a gig with Surfer Boy Pizza’s marketing team. He was also booked for the opening of that roller skate rink downtown. And some early-thinking students hired him to take graduation pictures for them when the time came. Word ran through school and he joined the Yearbook staff, and oh god the school paid well. He could even fix his car if he wanted to — but he didn’t. He liked the van.

He used the money to buy more film, and he used the film to take pictures for himself like he used to. His passion was back, and suddenly he saw so much beauty in the California sun, deserts, colors. He saw beauty in the junkyard, broken, abandoned cars with windows crashed. He saw beauty downtown, the colorful storefronts and the busy colorful people passing by. He saw beauty in the suburbs, kids with their bikes reminding him of home but in a nostalgic way instead of the heartbreaking way he used to miss Hawkins when they had just arrived in Lenora.

Argyle, who was once just a dude in the background of every scenario Jonathan walked into, was now purposefully centered in front of Jonathan’s lenses — his actual camera lenses, and Jonathan was the one centering him there.

He saw beauty in the way Argyle chose his ice cream flavors by which one looked more colorful that day. He saw beauty in the way Argyle’s body would twist when he made a powerful throw with the gold club, strong enough to hit the furthest car in the junkyard. He saw beauty in the way the sun would hit Argyle’s long hair as El braided it for him when they went on a picnic for Joyce’s birthday. He saw beauty in Argyle’s wide laugh when Will said something snarky about a teacher, and he saw beauty in Argyle's soft smile when he noticed Jonathan was taking a picture of him.

“Gonna want to see that one, man,” he said and Jonathan only nodded. Argyle didn’t seem bothered to be his muse, and Jonathan somehow didn’t feel embarrassed to be caught on the act.

He did show Argyle the picture later when he reveled it. He showed all of them, and Argyle looked at them with fondness and looked at Jonathan with even more softness and something warm was happening inside Jonathan’s body that he could name if he wanted to — but he didn’t. He just let himself feel it.

Jonathan took couples' pictures on Valentine’s day, and with the money he and Argyle went to Santa Barbara again on the weekend, and Jonathan took pictures of Argyle sitting in the sand, of Argyle with only his feet dipped in the ice cold sea, of Argyle pointing at something beyond the horizon line from the pier, of Argyle lit and glowing by another luau’s fire.

They slept on the beach that time, because that other dude’s pull-out was booked already, but someone lent them a tent and theirs was just one of many, like a big beach sleepover, and Jonathan never felt hippier, and he never felt happier. He laid on his side and faced Argyle’s profile as he snored softly laying on his back, and Jonathan wanted his eyes to be a camera so he could picture Argyle’s face as he slept peacefully. And Jonathan never felt sappier, and he never felt happier.

As Jonathan woke up the next day he was the one being stared at.

“I’ve seen you taking pictures of me, man, but I have none of you,” Argyle said before even bidding good morning.

“I’m more of a behind the cameras kind of guy.”

“Well that has to change at least for once, because if you’re gonna keep a loving portrait of me in your wallet I want the same honor.” Argyle was smirking, which wasn’t common, and Jonathan laughed loudly, which wasn’t common. He felt high, and he hadn’t smoked since yesterday afternoon.

“I don’t keep a loving portrait of you in my wallet, Argyle.”

“Now I’m just offended. You gotta.” They both laughed again before settling.

The sun was high in the sky already, its light peering through the tent fabric and illuminating the inside, but it was like a refrigerator lamp because it was still too damn cold. Argyle’s body heat was comfortable, though. Jonathan was content.

“I’m not reading wrong into this, am I, man?” Argyle asked after a while.

Jonathan could lie or pretend not to understand the question if he wanted to — but he didn’t.

“You’re not,” he answered. “I’ll let you take a picture of me when I look more presentable.”

“You look pretty enough,” Argyle said, and that warm feeling inside Jonathan’s body creeped up to blush his cheeks, but he was still smiling. “You’ll let me keep it in my wallet?”

Jonathan could answer with actual words if he wanted to — but he didn’t. He just reached forward, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against Argyle’s.

He was warm, and sunny, and even his pajamas were colorful, and all that color bled into Jonathan’s life and painted his gray off. Jonathan hated it at first. Of course he hated it. How could he not? Pack all his belongings into a few boxes in just a few hours, take him out of his comfort zone, change his entire view of the world.

But as Argyle’s hand cupped Jonathan’s face, he was warm. He made Jonathan warm, from the outside and from the inside. Jonathan didn’t see it all gray anymore, no, he had an explosion of colors and he didn’t hate them.

Jonathan loved it. Of course he loved it. How could he not?