#jargyle fics

[judasofsuburbia]

could be something as simple as this || argyle week day two: favorite tropes

rating: teen and up || pairing: argyle/jonathan || word count: 1951 || read on ao3 here

day two of @argyledaily 's argyle week: favorite tropes (friends to lovers)

“That’s gonna be us one day,” Argyle whispers in Jonathan’s ear.

Jonathan chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“That,” Argyle gestures to Hopper and Joyce holding hands as they read their vows. 

Jonathan stares at him with a look so incredulous while a smile tugs at the edge of his lips.

“It’s not legal,” Jonathan points out, still keeping his voice down enough to not disturb the ceremony.

Argyle glances his way and smirks, “Sorry, are we law-abiding citizens now?”

“We’re not dating,” Jonathan counters with a whisper. 

“I like how that was your second thought,” Argyle responds, his smirk growing wider. 

“I‒” Jonathan stutters and shakes his head. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” Argyle says simply. 

“What makes you think we’re getting married?” Jonathan asks. Not in a cruel or mean way, based on the blush lighting up his whole face.

Argyle shrugs, “I just know.”

Jonathan watches him with that same questioning look for the rest of the ceremony and into the reception but doesn’t refuse when Argyle offers his hand for a dance. Jonathan thinks for a moment that they’ll do some kind of exaggerated, stupid dance to offset all the couples on the floor but instead, Argyle pulls him in close, clasps their hands together, and holds his lower back firm and steady. Slowly twirls him around the floor in smooth movements. Jonathan laughs for a little while but soon, he’s in deep. Allowing himself to be held and maybe romanced for the first time in a long time.

It’s not like anyone’s staring at them, they’re around all their closest friends and family. 

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Jonathan asks, a little breathless.

“My parents,” Argyle says. “They loved dancing around the living room when they would come home from date nights. My sister and I would watch from the banister when we were supposed to be in bed.”

“Did you ever get caught?”

Argyle smiles fondly, “Almost every time but it was worth it.”

The song cascades into another slow song and Argyle hasn’t let go so Jonathan won’t either. It’s really nice if he’s being honest.

“You’re good on your feet.”

“I know, dude,” Argyle says with a righteous huff. “It’s what will make me a good husband… amongst other things.”

Jonathan ducks his head and laughs but doesn’t quip back. He knows he hasn’t had enough champagne to make everything feel so floaty around him. He chalks it up to it being a long day of celebrating but the fluttering of his stomach when Argyle tightens his hold on his back would beg to differ.

The next wedding they attend is for one of Argyle’s uncles. Jonathan is a little surprised to be asked to tag along as his plus one but he doesn’t protest. He loves Argyle’s family and they love him.

Again during the ceremony, Argyle whispers, “That’s going to be us one day.”

They hadn’t brought up Joyce and Hopper’s wedding since it happened: The way they danced that entire reception, Argyle's simple declaration, nothing. Everything felt as it had been.

Although, they had become roommates in the interim. They shared meals. They shared a bathroom. They shared laughter and heartache. They shared blunts on a couch that was picked up from the side of the road. They shared their independence from adolescence.

But they were still just best friends.

Jonathan peeks around to make sure no one’s paying attention to them.

“You don’t think we’ll find anyone else?” Jonathan whispers.

Argyle tilts his head from side to side. “I don’t really want to. Do you?”

Jonathan blinks at him, opens his mouth a few times to say something, but ultimately doesn’t. They return their attention to the ceremony.

They don’t slow dance together at this reception and Jonathan tries to swallow his disappointment with a few fingers of bourbon. Not that he doesn’t have a good time letting loose with Argyle’s family and celebrating but there’s this tug in his chest the entire night. He's not sure where it came from.

He wonders if Argyle feels it too. 

They’re in the elevator on the way back to their shared hotel room when Jonathan blurts out, “You think we’re getting married?”

Argyle gives him a lazy grin. “ I do , man.”

They both start giggling at the double entendre and the elevator door opens to their floor. They stumble sleepily to the door and get inside. Argyle starts to get ready for bed until Jonathan tugs on his arm.

Argyle raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“You’re gonna marry me someday but you’ve never kissed me.” Jonathan meant this more as a question than a statement but he does his best to stand tall and not back away from his feelings. Whatever his feelings might be right now, he's not entirely sure. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Argyle mumbles.

Jonathan hasn’t really thought this far but finds himself nodding before he can think otherwise.

Argyle takes a step closer, shaking Jonathan’s grip on his arm to hold his hand instead.

Jonathan intertwines their fingers, inhales and all he smells is Argyle, Argyle, Argyle .

“Are you going to remember me kissing you?” Argyle whispers, his breath hitting Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan checks in with himself. He’s not as crossfaded as he is just exhausted from the day. He can’t think of how he wouldn’t remember something like this.

Jonathan nods.

Argyle kisses him so tenderly and sweet that it makes his heart burst behind his ribs. Still, Jonathan kisses back and soon they’re up against the door. Jonathan’s free hand reaches up to hold the side of Argyle’s throat while Argyle’s free hand holds Jonathan’s waist. 

Argyle finds he likes the way their slight stubbles rub against each other. He likes the way Jonathan smiles into kisses like he’s just happy to be included. He likes the way Jonathan presses up against him like he can’t wait to get closer. 

They eventually stop kissing a little after subtle tongue and teeth have been involved. Argyle kisses either cheek and steps back. He observes the hazy look in Jonathan's eyes when they open, huffs an amused sound through his nose and walks off to the bathroom. 

“Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?” Argyle calls out.

Jonathan is frozen against the door, holding a shaky hand to his lips. “Uh,” Jonathan calls out. “Good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Argyle says with his head popped out the door. He closes the door and Jonathan hears the shower running. 

Jonathan slowly changes into his pajamas, still shaky and mushy from that damn good kiss. He eyes the bed he was supposed to sleep in with disdain and decides that he’s going to crawl under Argyle’s sheets instead. 

Jonathan’s out like a light within minutes. Argyle exits the bathroom in just some boxers and crawls in beside him. He kisses the top of Jonathan’s head and wraps his arms around him. Jonathan snuggles into his warm, freshly cleaned body, tucking his head into his neck. 

Jonathan does remember the kiss the next day and wants more. Argyle is happy to give them to him. 

A few years later, Max and Lucas are getting married. Argyle and Jonathan have been dating since the last wedding so Jonathan’s not caught as off-guard when, like clockwork, Argyle leans in to whisper, “That’s gonna be us one day.”

Jonathan squeezes the hand that’s resting on his shoulder, tangling their fingers together. 

“Do you want a big ceremony like this?” Jonathan asks. 

“Hmm,” Argyle hums. “Maybe something more lowkey.”

“Courthouse?”

Argyle’s face scrunches up. “I don’t like government buildings.”

“Church?”

“Do you believe in God?” Argyle asks with a disbelieving look. 

Jonathan chuckles under his breath. “Sure don’t.”

“We’ll find somewhere just for us,” Argyle promises. 

Jonathan smiles and kisses the square of his jaw. “We will.”

At this wedding, Jonathan and Argyle can dance the entire time. They can dip and kiss and be wrapped up in each other’s arms. Argyle even lets Jonathan lead a few of their dances, though he’s garbage at it. They can allow themselves to feel the gushy romantic feelings when people give their speeches and when they see the way Lucas and Max look at each other. 

Towards the end of the night while people are calling cabs and giving long, midwestern goodbyes, Argyle and Jonathan are seated at their table, messing with the ice in their empty drinks. Argyle holds out his hand and Jonathan places his hand in his.

“I don’t think I can do another dance,” Jonathan says with a yawn. “Plus I think the DJ is packing up for the night.”

Argyle quietly turns Jonathan’s hand so his ring finger is out. Argyle ties the paper from his straw around the finger in a little knot and kisses it gently. Jonathan’s breath is taken away.

“A placeholder,” Argyle explains with a soft smile.

“If you say so.”

“I’ve been saying so,” Argyle teases.

Jonathan picks up his straw wrapper and does the same to Argyle’s ring finger. Kisses it gently and everything. Whispers, “Then I’m saying so too.”

The promise is made at every wedding for the next few years. The whispered dialogue during the ceremony, the paper rings, the closeness during slow dances. Sealing it and sealing it over and over.

It’s not a Surfer Boy Pizza van anymore, but rather the lookalike van Argyle bought himself after he quit working there. The hunk of junk that holds his entire heart. Jonathan and him drive it all over the country, fluff it up with pillows and a camping mattress, and sleep under the stars. They’re currently in Mexico on a beach, watching the sun start to set behind the miles of the bluest ocean water you’ve ever seen. Jonathan is busy unwrapping their food from the restaurant down the street when Argyle clears his throat. 

Jonathan looks up and sees Argyle holding a ring box. He lamely sets the cardboard tins of food behind him and gives Argyle his full attention. 

“Jonathan Byers,” Argyle starts, “The most radical dude in the entire universe. Will you do me the honors of being my husband?”

Argyle opens the ring box and it’s stunning.

“When did you‒?” Jonathan asks.

“While you got dinner. Found this adorable little jewelry vendor when we were walking around yesterday and told her to hold onto this for me. I got myself one too but…” Argyle looks at him pointedly, his dark eyes vulnerable and pleading for an answer. 

“Yes, dude, yes, of course,” Jonathan laughs, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. 

Argyle slides the ring onto his finger and kisses the knuckle. Jonathan slides the other ring onto Argyle’s finger and another laugh bubbles out of him.

“All those years ago, at Joyce and Hopper’s wedding, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That we were gonna get married.”

“I didn’t,” Argyle admits. “I just wanted it to happen.”

“But you were so confident,” Jonathan admires. “So sure I’d say yes.”

“I was never sure of that,” Argyle explains. “I just thought if I said it enough, maybe one day, you’d feel the same way. I never really expected you to. I was just a hopeful man.”

“I mean, you threw me for a loop but then, you did start to make some sense. I was starting to think maybe I didn’t want anyone else. Then you kissed me and it was all over,” Jonathan admits bashfully, leaning his head on Argyle’s shoulder. 

“So my plan worked,” Argyle states with a confident smile.

“It did, you relentless bastard,” Jonathan sighs as Argyle hugs him close and peppers his face with wet, smacking, ridiculous kisses.

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

“What’s the deal with you and Harrington?”

Robin Buckley glanced up toward the question asker, her brows slightly furrowed as she cast an inquisitive look toward Eddie Munson. He’s leant up on one of his elbows, chin cradled in the palm of his hand. His eyes are on her, large and curious, instead of the usual half-lidded expression he wears during the “adult” hangouts.

They’d all started hanging out ever since Vecna was destroyed, taking time away from the younger members of The Party to spend time all together. Herself, Eddie, Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle. Sometimes, every once in a while, it led them all to feel normal. As if they hadn’t all been dealing with more Upside Down crap just a few months prior.

“What do you mean?” Robin instead asked, her eyes moving from Eddie’s to dart out toward the Harrington’s pool. Steve is sitting on the edge of it with Jonathan, the two boys heads bent together as Argyle watched on- a dopey almost lovesick expression curled on his mouth. A spliff dangled from Jonathan’s fingertips, rolled by Eddie but the weed supplied by Jonathan.

“You’re… not together.” Eddie’s voice is soft, and barely spoken above a murmur. Robin nodded slowly, and turned her head towards him to try and indicate him to continue. “Nancy and the kids all repeat platonic with a capital P, but I just… how did you and Harrington even happen?”

“Scoops A’hoy,” Robin grinned wide, barely able to stifle the laugh that’s on the backend of her words. She was able to catch the widened look that Eddie threw her way, before his eyes darted out to look towards Steve, before his eyes moved back to her own. “He and I worked there back when the mall was open.”

“And… what? You instantly became best friends?”

“No, actually.” Robin shook her head with another soft laugh, before she paused so she could rub her palms together. She allowed herself to twist one of her rings around her finger, brows pinched for a moment. “I actually thought he was like the worst, y’know?” Robin scoffed to herself, before she sent Eddie a look. She knew what she must look like, her eyes wet with tears and her gaze all permanently soft.

“You know how he was in school, King Steve and all that.” Robin continued on, and she flicked her tongue out of her mouth to wet the corner of her lips for a second. “And when my manager told me that I’d be working with a Steve, well… there was only one Steve in Hawkins I could think of.”

“So how did your opinion of him change then, Buckley?” Eddie cocked his head again, one of his hands coming up to twirl a strand of hair around his pointer finger. His brows were furrowed taut, creating a worry line in between them. “The kids told me about the Russians-”

“It was sort of before then,” Robin admitted with a small shrug, and she twisted the corner of her lip into a shy smile. “He raved to me, y’know? About uh, these kids. These five kids he’d babysit and shit, and it was so… soft?” Robin watched as Eddie mouthed out names to himself as he ticked his fingers, before he cast a look to her. “But he always talked about this one, Ellie, who he’d call his little sister.”

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide as Robin let out a soft hum.

“Yeah, and I don’t know if you submitted yourself to Harrington family lore-” Robin gestured behind her toward the Harrington house with a flick of her hand, before she continued. “But I knew that Dick and Helen Harrington didn’t have more than one kid.”

“Supergirl?” Eddie asked softly, and Robin let out a soft confirming hum as she watched Eddie’s eyes dart toward Steve. Steve was still talking to Jonathan, though Argyle had shifted forward so he was able to join in the conversation.

“And then imagine my surprise when one day our stupid sailor ice cream shop is visited by none other than the Chief.” Robin shook her head with a small laugh, before she continued on. “And he was so excited to see Steve, Eddie. Like genuinely excited to see him, ordered a couple tubs of ice cream togo and then said he’d see him at home.”

“Fuck.” Eddie breathed out, and Robin let out another sigh of a laugh.

“And I asked Steve why the Chief of the Hawkins police force was visiting him at work, and Steve just…” Robin shrugged slowly, shaking her head to clear her thoughts before she continued. “He just gave me this look, like… like he didn’t actually know either.”

“Then later, he told me why he watched all of the kids. He told me that he would’ve given anything for someone to just… to just care about him when he was their age. That all he wanted was for just a person to give a shit about his wellbeing.” Robin shook her head again, before she carded a hand through her still chlorine sticky hair. “And after that my opinion just… it just changed about him.”

“Then the Russians?” Eddie asked softly, and Robin hummed as she dipped her chin in a curt nod.

“Then the Russians, and he didn’t… he didn’t even hesitate to take the attention onto himself when they started questioning us.” Robin shook her head again, sniffling. “And after I asked him why he would do that, and he told me it was because he knew I had a family waiting on me to come back home.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, and then afterwards when we were getting seen by the EMTs? He didn’t have anyone to call Eddie. Because Hopper? Hopper was just… just presumed dead.” Robin let out a soft bitter laugh, and she twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. “My parents decided to take us both home after, and he stayed with us for a couple of days- until his concussion was okay enough for him to sleep through the night.”

“And that’s when you became best friends?”

“That’s when I decided that, Steve? He deserved way more from people than he seemed to ever fucking get.” Robin shrugged, before she cast a soft smile toward Eddie. Eddie’s eyes were glassy, wet with tears and Robin just patted her hand soft against his forearm. “That’s when I decided that he was my best friend.”

“Platonic with a capital P?”

Robin cast a look toward Steve, where the older teen already had his eyes on her. He had a hand extended, fingers wiggling toward her in a small way to beckon her toward his side. Robin stood without responding to Eddie, and she left her towel on the lounge chair she’d commandeered as her own. She took a moment though, cast a softer look toward Eddie- even as the corner of her lip twitched into a nervous smile.

“He’s not exactly my type, y’know?” Robin kept her admission soft, even when Eddie’s eyes were quick to flood with confusion. She instead cast a look toward the sunbathing Nancy Wheeler, who had one of her arms strewn over her face across the backyard where she laid in the grass.

When Robin let her eyes move to meet Eddie’s again, he has a look of pure understanding on his face.

“I think I get what you mean.” Eddie murmured and Robin simply flashed Eddie Munson a shy smile.

Eddie Munson watched as Robin Buckley walked away from him, quick to tuck herself into Steve’s side once she reached him. Steve threw his arm around Robin’s shoulders, tucking her further into his grasp- though the flow of conversation that he was having with Argyle and Jonathan didn’t even pause.

It’s in that moment when Eddie Munson realizes something extraordinarily fucking crucial.

He’s in love with Steve fucking Harrington.

---

this is gonna become a multipart fic i think btw! it will probably be on here / ao3, haven’t fully decided yet but hope you enjoyed nonetheless!

now with a part two! click here

[mikhardwheat]

This universal experience of not being able to find a weirdly specific scenario you have in your head after scrolling through ao3 for days, but for some reason stubbornly refusing to write it yourself.

[eddies-artofsuffering]

Part I: Sweet Tooth

(Part II)

Eddie stares down at his wristwatch. One minute to noon. Just one more minute.

“Want us to clear the path?” Argyle claps him on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s almost time.”

“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe you guys could stand behind the kitchen doors? You can see through the windows, right?” Eddie scrunches his nose.

He can feel it, he’s been conditioned to it by now, the familiar pit of anticipation. Other people may call it butterflies. Eddie thinks it’s more like pterodactyls breathing fire inside his stomach. He desperately needs someone to hold his fucking hand during this hardship.

But he also really, really doesn’t want anyone up close to witness him making a fool of himself in front of Hot Steve - a new regular customer at their cafe. An incredibly attractive guy who works at the bookstore next door.

Eddie can NOT fuck this up. It only happens once a day, for a maximum of three minutes.

“Maybe today’s the day you ask him out,” Jonathan smiles. Dude never smiles with his eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.

“Absolutely not, have you seen Hot Steve?” Eddie groans. “There’s no way he plays for my team. He’s –“

The doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. Hot Steve is walking towards him, holy shit. It’s go time. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter.

This is always the way he greets Hot Steve. It’s his signature move. Although, it hasn’t really worked yet. If it worked, Eddie would’ve won Hot Steve’s attention by now. But this is the best he got at the moment, damn it.

“Hi, Eds, how are you doing?” Hot Steve is wearing a baby-blue button-down today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag pin on the left side of his chest glints.

Eddie loves that Steve came up with that nickname on his own, despite only having seen him here at Cafe Byers for, like, two weeks now.

“Better now that you’re here.” Eddie gives him a cheeky smile, If Argyle and Jonathan were here, they might’ve been impressed with how smooth it sounded; they always comment on the way he flirts, the things he says. If you ever said shit like that to me, I’d be hella blushing, brochacho. You know you got game, right?

What they don’t know is that these lines are rehearsed in his head, so many times. It’s all Eddie ever does: practice pickup lines for Hot Steve.

“Right out of the gate, huh? You're makin' me blush,” Hot Steve smiles, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing at all. Or if he’s even flustered. Hot Steve's always so confident. “I’ll get a latte. With oat milk, please?”

“Oh?” Oat milk? That’s new. Steve didn’t care last time what milk he was getting. Interesting. Or is it? Eddie decides to file that information away for later. “Yea, coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Another thing about Hot Steve that really does something to Eddie’s overworked pterodactyls, is that he never has a phone with him. Or on him. If it is, it's never visible.

Which is odd, because the entire café is littered with folks who cannot tear their eyes away from their little gadgets and devices, especially their phones; most people can’t even wait for their drinks without looking at them, checking something constantly, emails or texts or whatever. 

And, well, Hot Steve never does any of that. He always waits at the end of the counter, patiently watching Eddie making drinks. It always makes him feel so self-conscious. Eddie’s burnt his hands under hot steam a couple of times, actually.

But these two, maybe three minutes of Eddie making a fresh beverage for Hot Steve – this is the only time he gets to make small talk with him. Each time, he learns something new about him, or confirms something that Eddie’s already inferred. The grand question of the day is: “So, who’s the drink for?”

Hot Steve blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh – what?”

“Whose drink is this?” Eddie says, tamping the coffee grounds. “I’m assuming it’s not yours.”

“How… did you know it’s not mine?” he narrows his eyes.

God. It’s really telling, isn’t it, that Eddie’s noticed these things? “First time for you to ask for oat milk, so. I don’t know, I figured,” he shrugs.

Hot Steve opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he doesn’t. In the corner of Eddie’s eyes, he sees him nodding with pursed lips, with a hint of a smirk. It’s so distracting that Eddie almost heats up regular milk despite this whole conversation being around someone’s (not Steve’s, apparently) preference for plant-based milk. Oops.

He finishes making the latte and walks over to the cash register, handing over the drink. Steve receives it with a small thanks. 

But Eddie knows Steve's not quite done here today. Because, when you have a tiny (massive) crush on a near-stranger, you just, kind of look for patterns. That’s just how human minds work; Eddie has been carefully collecting all the little information about Hot Steve, just based on the few minutes that he spends at the café at noon.

Which is how that Eddie’s almost certain (almost, because there’s always room for anomalies) what Hot Steve’s about to do when he asks, “Is that it for today?”

“Oh – um,” Hot Steve scans the glass case of assorted desserts and baked goods, subconsciously wetting his lips. “Actually, yea. Can I have the blueberry crumble, please?”

This is one of the very few predictable things about him. Eddie doesn’t know why Hot Steve even looks at the shelves of sweets each time as if he’s ever going to make a different choice, because it’s always the same, the only constant pattern besides his entrance that he’s ever shown Eddie: the house blueberry crumble, the ones that Eddie bakes himself.

And every time Hot Steve asks for it, Eddie has to turn around and flex his arms, letting out a silent scream of victory, because Hot Steve is fucking hooked on those things. It’s truly incredible to know that he wants it. Eddie pours his heart and soul into those.

“Of course, babe,” he swoops down, takes a small square piece out with tongs, wraps it in a pocket of parchment paper. “D’you know I bake these every morning?”

“You – it’s you?” Hot Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Wow. I thought they were, like, shipped over from a bakery or something.”

“We do have an oven,” Eddie points behind the kitchen with his thumb and looks back, makes a mistake of drawing attention to the door, only remembering then that Argyle and Jonathan are probably watching this whole thing. Really hoping that they’re being discreet. 

“That’s amazing. I – I love them,” he says, not at all looking behind, thank God. “Guess you’re good with your hands.”

Eddie could practically hear the angelic chorus from the sky. Holy shit. Hot Steve loves his crumbles. Fuck. He could cry. 

But, you know. Everything always comes to an end, and that’s usually how far their conversation goes. Nothing more than just small talk, and then Hot Steve would pay for the stuff, go back to the next-door bookstore where he works. And until the next day, it’s as if he doesn’t even exist. A mythical creature that only appears during those three minutes in time and space, then vanishes afterwards. 

So he tries, just one last time before he leaves. “Steve?”

“Yea?” Hot Steve looks up, batting his lashes. They’re – so – pretty. So long, delicate. Such a fucking contrast to his muscular arms and chest that his thin blue shirt does nothing to hide, sleeves and buttons ready to pop. It’s sinful.

Fuck, and time’s ticking, yet there are so many things Eddie wants to ask. What is your drink, then? ‘Cause you never get the same drink twice.

Why is it always at noon? Is that your break?

Where are you from? When does your shift end? You do work at the bookstore, right?

When are you free?

All of these are more or less reasonable, if not a tiny bit creepy questions. But any of these would’ve been so much better than what Eddie actually blurts out, so out of the left field that he surprises even himself: “So, uh, how much do you bench?��

Oh, fuck. Where the hell did that come from? Eddie cringes hard inside, unsure how those words, that kind of vernacular even came out of his mouth, please, he wants to rewind time - 

But it's spilled oat milk. Guh. He crinkles his nose to prepare himself to apologize. Sorry. That was so – I’m not a gym bro. I’m not! Look at me! He's about to say, but:

“You wanna know?”

Hot Steve has a shit-eating grin on. That’s a first. There might even be a faint blush on his cheeks. Holy shit. Hot Steve took the fucking bait. Not that it was bait – it was just Eddie being a fucking disaster – but he nods all the same, stupidly. Of course he wants to know. He’s committed, now.

“Let’s see.” Hot Steve’s now circling around the counter to take a closer look at Eddie, eyes travelling up and down. It feels like Hot Steve is undressing him with his eyes. It’s kind of insane that they’re doing this in public.

Hmm. 140, 145 at the most – Hot Steve mutters under his breath. “Oh yea. Easy,” he says, still smiling wickedly.

“What do you mean, easy?” Eddie croaks.

His breath hitches when Hot Steve leans over the counter, inches away from Eddie’s face. “Probably could do twenty reps of you,” he whispers, winking.

Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares open-mouthed at Hot Steve, unable to move until he exits the café with the drink and a brown bag, fading away from view. Gone for the rest of the day, rest of the evening. Rest of the next morning. Only to return the next day at noon, like a fucking reverse-Cinderella.

“Why were you guys whispering?” Jonathan appears from behind, nudging him on the arm. “What did he say? Did you finally ask him out?”

“I’m about to ask him out myself if you don’t,” Argyle says lazily, earning a sharp smack from Jonathan. “Just joking, man, you know you’re my main dude,” he squeezes a squirming Jonathan on the side.

“He… “ Eddie gulps, closing his eyes, and pictures Hot Steve’s tantalizing smile. “He winked.”

Continue reading on Ao3

Read the sequel: Savour

[nebulaoz]

the beating of our hearts is the only sound.

steve, eddie, robin, nancy, johnathon and argyle are all packed in steve's beemer. johnathon and argyle in the empty trunk (besides the nail bat) and nancy and robin in the back. eddie is in the passenger and steve driving.

the group is chattering about what juice is the best, steve personally thinks orange juice or apple but grape is good too, until the beat and snare of the iconic "I Think Were Alone Now" by Tiffany sneaks in on the beemer's radio.

steve chortles and giggles, "ohohohoohh!!"

"oh no.." nancy murmurs and robin groans along with johnathon and argyle's mellow chuckling.

eddie is confused, very confused. "what? whats happening?"

before anyone can answer steve drums loudly on the steering wheel and belts out, "'children behave!!!' thats what they saaayyy when we're togethaaaaah!!!" in perfect, masculine song.

eddies eyebrows are in the sky at this point. he, (1, did not know steve could sing (especially this well) and (2, sing Tiffany of all singers.

"'and watch how you plaaay!!' they dont understand and so we're running just as fast as we caaan! holdin onto one anothers hand!!"

steve turns to him right when the stop goes to yellow.

"tryna' get away into the night and then you put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say, 'i think were alone now."

the light turns green and steve continues singing.

eddies eyes are full of stars and he doesnt even care about how everyone is definitely not looking at him as steve performs like a professional singer.

robin whispers to him in his ear and goes, "this is dingus' favorite song. remember to breath, by the way. " she smirks and pushes eddies jaw back up with a little 'clack' of his teeth.

steves moles are moving with his jaw, singing loudly. his adams-apple keeps bobbing up and down and eddie swallows the urge to sink his teeth in it. he'll do that when they get to steve's house.

steve's eyes glimmer with the passion of Tiffany's warm vocals that he so-perfectly matches.

after the song is finished he's panting, sweating a little after his performance like a dog.

the next song that plays on the god-foresaken beemer radio is "I Was Made For Lovin' You" by none other than KISS.

if eddie was falling before, he's completely gone as steve starts to belt out this song too.

"sorry for interrupting your awesome vocals there but i think your friend is gonna explode." argyle points out melodically.

steve pants and stops to look at eddie with concerning espresso and caramel dripping eyes. god he could and will get lost in his eyes. their practically so sweet he could lick them, he can just taste the syrup on them.

steves voice snaps him out of his daze.

"eddie? you alright?" theyve finally reached steves house and eddie fucking pounces on him, giving him the sloppiest kiss known to man. guilt drips through him but quickly fades away as steve presses back, curling his fingers in eddies hair.

the rest of the group groan and chuckle as they all exit, giving them some well-deserved privacy.

--

songs mentioned: I Think We're Alone Now" by Tiffany - "I Was Made For Loving You" by KISS

[fastcardotmp3]

thinkin bout jonathan byers who hates having his picture taken, who puts himself behind the lens because that's where he's most comfortable, who loves to frame up the world into little digestible images all perfectly balanced and composed and right in ways the real world isn't.

thinkin bout how he gets wound up and overwhelmed and needs an outlet, needs a way to make the big stuff smaller, needs an excuse to focus on the details and take his time through the developing process and slow down.

thinkin bout argyle seeing those pictures, the folders and binders of them that get printed and left around like they're not exquisite insights into how jonathan sees everything and everyone around him, as if argyle can't see the love the guy has for his people in candid snapshots from Will's most recent birthday party.

thinkin bout argyle seeing this, seeing jonathan by way of seeing through his eyes and, without hesitation, making a plan to fill in the glaring gaps in this photographic collection.

it's easy to steal jon's camera when he's high, floaty and relaxed for once in his too-tense life, but it's a little trickier to catch the guy on film without him going full deer in the headlights at his own reflection in the lens.

still though, argyle does it, because it feels like it matters, for jonathan to see himself the way he sees everyone else. with care taken and burned into film.

when argyle finally shows him the prints, it's like waiting for a diver to resurface from the water, with the knowledge that they'll make it back but the understanding that the in-between is a dangerous thing.

jonathan byers looks at these snapshots of himself, sees himself in a brand new light, and maybe argyle got a little too personal with it, maybe jonathan can see him in return for how he's framed this man in argyle's own vision.

but hey, it earns him a heart-stopping hell of a first kiss, so he probably did something right.

[thefreakandthehair]

Hi friends! It's that time again! I'm so excited to host this Summer Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge! The past couple seasonal challenges have been such a blast, and I can't wait to see what people come up with this time around!

Here are the rules: 

Must include at least one member of the Spicy Six. Don't feel pressured to include everyone, of course. You can focus on just Steddie, just Ronance, just Jargyle, really any combo OR no pairings at all. Chrissy is also included! (I know that makes seven– I just don't want to change the title, honestly.)

There are two links below, one for dialogue prompts and one for more general prompts. Please either DM me at thefreakandthehair or comment which prompt you’d like! 

More than one person can claim the same prompt if it’s for a different pairing/character/grouping or if it’s for a different medium (i.e.: a prompt can be claimed for a fic by one person, and the same prompt can be claimed for a fanart by someone else).

Claiming more than one prompt is allowed, so long as they are for different fics/artworks and you’re confident that you’ll finish more than one!

No word count minimum or maximum for fics. 

Posting will run throughout the entire month of August, so anytime between August 1, 2023 - August 31, 2023. Additional posting details here!

When you post, please use the tag LexsSummerFanworksChallenge and tag me so I can see and reblog it!

Please feel free to reblog to spread and signal boost.

Dialogue Prompts Here

Inspiration Prompts Here

tagging those who've been along for the ride before or who expressed interest/writing/art pals! @starrystevie @stargyles @hexiewrites @stevecarrington @stevethehairington @steveshairychest @withacapitalp @stevesbipanic @fruityfour @fruityfourgalore @sharpbutsoft @judasofsuburbia @sparklyslug @toburnup @strawberryspence @fragilecapric0rnn @sparkle-fiend @unclewaynemunson @undreaming-fanfiction @riality-check @legitcookie @sidekick-hero @cheatghost @kkpwnall @aidaronan @flowercrowngods @gothbat99 @pizzaqueen @hammity-hammer @bmodiwrites @patheticgirlsteve @misspanicdead @capriciouslyterminal @aringofsalt @barbienheimer @steddieasitgoes @horsegirleddiemunson @maxinemaxmayfield @daysarestranger @henderdads @eddieunbanished @nostalgicbones @delta-piscium @scoops-stevie @steves-strapcollection @scarcrossdlvrs @inairbinad @patchworkgargoyle @ahhrenata @dazedandinked

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

perfectly un-ordinary

words: 4,979

ao3

Nancy’s soulmark is perfectly ordinary.

Just a simple bird on a branch. Birdie is written underneath it in loopy, neat handwriting. It fits neatly over two of her ribs, which is a perfectly normal place for it. Nothing extraordinary about it. Just a simple design that represents the nickname given to her soulmate by the most important person in her soulmate’s life. Typically, it’s the nickname that soulmates end up giving to each other, but the handwriting…isn’t Nancy’s.

The handwriting is Steve Harrington’s.

Whoever her soulmate is, Steve Harrington, at some point, will end up calling them Birdie.

Whoever her soulmate is, Steve Harrington will be the most important person in their life.

She stares down at the note in her locker, the all-too-familiar handwriting that makes the spot on her ribs burn, the sweet and surprisingly kind words from the most popular boy in school, who’s asking her out. Nancy can’t imagine her soulmate being someone like Tommy Hagan or Carol Perkins, because they’re awful, and she doesn’t even understand why Steve hangs out with them. But those are Steve’s closest friends.

Nancy goes out with him anyway, because he’s the most popular boy in school, and he’s gorgeous, and she figures she’s got time before he ends up calling someone else Birdie, which means she’ll eventually have to break up with him. But he’s good to her, and while she knows it’s doomed, it’s fun and new. It’s something easy, and they both know they might not last forever, because Steve makes a remark about how her handwriting is so tiny, says some cheesy line about how it must be hard to read her own soulmark, and she lets herself giggle along.

She doesn’t see Steve’s soulmark, not even when they’re both naked and tangled in his sheets; she figures it must be somewhere unique, somewhere out of the ordinary. But she’s careful, keeps hers covered. It’s not hard to, in the dark, if she keeps her upper arm by her side. She buys soulmark patches the next morning, because there’s that weird guilt in her gut, and she can’t make eye contact with herself in the mirror as she adheres the patch to her two ribs.

After the demogorgon, after Barb, after the lights and the gun and the nailbat, Nancy briefly entertains the idea that maybe Steve considers himself the most important person in his life, venomously thinks that, sitting with him at the Hollands’ dinner table, it wouldn’t be out of character for him to be that self-absorbed. She feels guilty almost immediately for thinking that, of course, but…it’s hard.

And when she learns on November first that she’d thrown the fact that they could never work in his face, that she knew they’d been doomed from the start and told him as much, told him he was bullshit, she gets defensive. Brushes him off.

He’s not really her soulmate anyway, so what does it matter?

She can’t imagine her soulmate is Jonathan, either, even with his lips on hers, her body under his, because he and Steve hate each other, but he’s sweet, he’s soft, he wants justice, justice the same way she does. He holds her like she’s something special, even though she can see the surfboard on his collarbone, the word Dude underneath it in Jonathan’s own handwriting. He’s like her, then, open to whatever gender his soulmate might be, boy or girl, and he isn’t afraid to show her things like that. He isn’t closed-off. Not like Steve was.

Steve.

God, Nancy still can’t believe he’d just given her a sad smile and told her to go with Jonathan. It bodes well for staying in his social circle, for perhaps eventually meeting the ever-elusive Birdie, though Nancy’s hope dwindles with every passing day Steve remains at a steady zero friends outside of their ragtag, world-saving group.

She hates that her soulmate is contingent on Steve staying in her life. She hates that he’ll probably have a hand in introducing them to her. She hates the way she still hasn’t apologized. Hates the way Mike says Steve’s name with a sneer every time he’s brought up in conversation, because her little brother is nothing if not loyal, and it hadn’t even been Steve’s fault, not really. Though Steve hadn’t exactly been the best boyfriend, he hadn’t deserved that.

If he’s the most important person in Nancy’s soulmate’s life, Nancy’s eventually going to have to swallow her pride and make amends.

But for now, she has Jonathan. She only has to worry about Jonathan. And she loves him, she thinks, in a way she hadn’t loved Steve. Maybe she hadn’t let herself, because she knew that it couldn’t be him, but she might not be letting herself love Jonathan the way he deserves, either. Maybe she’s not trying hard enough to understand his side of things when they get into an argument the summer before senior year, but she thinks of Dude and their surfboard, and she thinks he might not be letting himself love her the way she deserves, either.

She stops bothering with the soulmark patches that night. Nancy figures that it’s not worth the hassle anymore, if Jonathan’s just gonna keep being his same bullheaded self. So she sets her jaw and keeps investigating, because that’s what she’s good at, and it gets her into a whole heaping helping of trouble. By the end of it, though, after the flesh monster and Russians under the mall, she and Jonathan have more than made up.

And he’s good to her. He’s good to her like no one else has been, he’s safe. He’s familiar enough that it gives her the comfort to get through the rest of the summer. They even make plans to apply to the same colleges—hopefully Emerson, Nancy’s got her fingers crossed that they’ll both be early acceptance—but Jonathan’s moving away. It’ll be harder, the long distance, but Nancy thinks it’ll be worth it to try.

They’ve been through too much together not to try, right? Screw Steve and his Birdie, Nancy will find a way to bend those letters until they read Jon in Will’s handwriting, until the bird on the branch becomes a camera, she’ll do it out of spite, she’ll find a way. Who cares if their relationship isn’t universe-approved? They’re good. They’re familiar. They’re comfortable.

Jonathan calls her in December, after the Byers’ move. Tells her that he found someone whose soulmark is a camera. J-Man to match his Dude. Nancy grits her teeth and tells him she’s happy for him. He whispers that he still loves her, but. But. She wishes him luck with his soulmate and hangs up, spending the rest of the break holed up in her room.

It’s not until the day after New Years that Mike finally snaps.

“You’re a hermit,” he snaps at her when she slips out of her room to get a glass of water, which means he’s worried about her. She scowls at him, though, because she doesn’t want his worry, his pity. Mike rolls his jaw. “You’re—I get that you’re sad about Jonathan dumping you, but you can’t just—”

“He found his soulmate,” Nancy cuts in hollowly.

Mike blinks, shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t know,” he mutters, all embarrassed, and Nancy just nods. She’s tired. She’s long since gone back to using the soulmark patches. She doesn’t need to see Steve Harrington’s handwriting mocking her in the mirror. Mike nudges at her ankle with his socked foot. “That sucks.”

She knows Mike doesn’t know how it feels, because he doesn’t have his soulmark yet. He’ll get it next year, sure—and he’s really cocky about guessing that it’s El—but he doesn’t get it yet. He’s been a real asshole, lately, more so than usual, and he smells gross most of the time, doesn’t bother with deodorant if he’s staying at home for the day, and he’s been hanging out with that guy that stands on the cafeteria tables too much, because he’s been dramatic as hell.

But he’s being kind to her now, even if his kindness is a little awkwardly stilted.

“My soulmark handwriting isn’t mine,” she confesses. She doesn’t know why she’s telling him. Their mom doesn’t even know. She’s never shown her own mother her soulmark. “It’s…the most important person in their life isn’t me. I thought I might eventually be Jonathan’s, that we could’ve—it’s stupid. Fucking…forget it.”

“No,” Mike says, all furrowed brows and determination. “It’s important.”

Nancy’s eyes start to well with tears, embarrassingly enough. “I wished it would change,” she whispers. “After Starcourt, I wished it would change. I wanted it to be a camera. I wanted to have different handwriting on my skin. I wanted to change it through…sheer will or some shit? I don’t know.”

Mike nods, like he gets it, even if he doesn’t. “What is it?” he asks, because he has no manners, in spite of their parents’ best efforts. At the hesitation that must show on Nancy’s face, Mike winces, backtracks. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But…does anybody else know what it is?”

Shaking her head, Nancy sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “No. I used soulmark patches ’til Starcourt, but…Jonathan didn’t see it after, either,” she says.

Mike makes a face. “Oh, is it on, like, a gross part of your body? ’Cuz if that’s the case, I do not wanna see it—”

“Shut up, Mike,” Nancy laughs, “it’s on my ribs.”

Humming, Mike nods. “Suits you,” he says, and he doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t know what he means by that. But it’s nice nonetheless. She’s never heard it before. Mike tilts his head. “You wanna show me?”

Nancy bites her bottom lip. “Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, yanking the side of her shirt up just enough to show her bottom two ribs, and she picks at the soulmark patch that covers Birdie and the branch. “Just don’t, like, be an asshole about it, okay?”

Uncharacteristically serious, Mike nods again and keeps his eyes on her ribs as she peels the patch off. “Do you know whose handwriting it is?” he asks, and Nancy swallows.

“No,” she lies, and he lets her.

“It’s cool,” Mike decides, and Nancy lets her shirt fall. There’s a long moment where neither of them say anything, and Nancy takes the time the silence occupies to fill that glass of water she’d wanted. As she sips on it, Mike rocks on his heels and avoids her eye. “For what it’s worth, El’s probably gonna have your handwriting calling me a dick or something.”

Nancy’s heart seizes. “Oh,” she chokes. “Then, I—I think Birdie probably has yours.”

“Gross. I don’t like it when you’re sappy,” Mike groans, but there’s the hint of a smile on his face.

“You started it,” she scoffs.

Mike wrinkles his nose up at her. “Did not.”

She grins. “Did too.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Whatever. Loser.”

Nancy goes into the New Year with a little less weight on her shoulders.

Then, because apparently she’s not allowed to relax for extended periods of time anymore, her spring break goes to hell. There’s a dead cheerleader, then a dead friend subordinate, and then she’s taking Robin to go investigate a shot-in-the-dark lead. Robin, Steve’s not-girlfriend, ends up finding something really worthwhile, and something new and exciting turns in Nancy’s gut when Robin goes on a tirade in the director’s office. She’s interested, intrigued, even, and she chocks it up to journalistic instinct for now, because she has more important things to worry about.

And Steve does his stupid heroics, diving into Lover’s Lake, and Robin and Eddie are too busy panicking, so Nancy jumps in first.

It’s only because no one else is going to.

It isn’t because of Birdie.

It isn’t because of Birdie, who she’s never met. It isn’t because if Steve dies, Birdie loses the most important person in their life. It isn’t because she cares whether Steve’s handwriting under the bird and the branch changes to someone else’s. It isn’t because of Robin’s voice cracking as she screams Steve’s name in panic. Nancy isn’t that selfless.

So it’s only because she’s got to be the leader.

That same reasoning is also why she wraps Steve’s wounds. If he bleeds out in the Upside Down because he decided to play the hero, she’s going to kill him. His death would be a major inconvenience, that’s all. That’s all it is.

Nancy stays with Robin, because Steve seems to be having a crisis that Eddie is not helping, and maybe it’s a little vindictive to leave a stressed-out Steve with the guy that refuses to respect his personal space, but Nancy is stressed out, too, and can’t bring herself to feel guilty about it. And Robin is funny, makes a joke about Nancy needing to hire a maid in the Upside Down version of her house. Nancy’s glad she’d decided to keep Robin company rather than either of the two boys.

Not that she has anything against Eddie, save for his theatrics. And her grudge against Steve is almost entirely baseless at this point. Whatever. Emotions take too much effort to parse through, and Nancy has to save that effort for sawing the end off a shotgun.

Which is not-so-technically a felony.

Steve tells her that his dream, with the six kids that Nancy doesn’t want and the white picket fence that makes Nancy nauseous, was about her.

“You’re not my soulmate,” she tells him, grim and annoyed. They have more important things to handle than his desperate, end-of-the-world delirium driven by blood loss and his crippling fear of dying alone.

“Right, yeah, I know that,” he says, ears tinged red with embarrassment. “Sorry to—”

“I don’t want an apology,” she snaps. “I want to kill Vecna.”

Steve nods, gestures for her to move ahead. “Let’s—so let’s go, then,” he says, and he sounds so horribly distraught. “Robin’s, um—she’s probably waiting on us to catch up.”

Nancy moves ahead wordlessly. She doesn’t want Steve’s advances, isn’t interested in rekindling things. She has no idea why he’s trying to fan flames that are nonexistent on her end, why he seems so confused at his own actions, and she doesn’t really care to find out. Not when they have to kill Henry Creel, not when there’s so much on the line.

And they do.

Kill Henry Creel, that is.

Not without consequence. Not without Steve carrying a barely-alive Eddie out of the Upside Down, and not without Max breaking three of her four limbs. But they’re both still alive, albeit in the hospital, Hawkins is still intact, and Nancy will count it as a win. Hopefully, it’s the final win. She can’t imagine having to go through something like this again.

The Byers family comes back into town, Mike, El, Murray, and Hopper in tow, the last of which is incredibly surprising, though through a long explanation about a Russian prison and an escape helicopter, Nancy supposes it makes sense. Things are tense and awkward between her and Jonathan, and between Jonathan and Mike, for whatever reason, and Nancy’s too focused on putting together a cover story with Owens that’ll clear Eddie’s name to bother with all that.

Birdie remains uninvestigated on her ribs, at least for a while.

She gets closer with Robin and Eddie, and getting closer with Robin means patching things up with Steve, because the two are virtually inseparable. It’s a painful and drawn-out conversation, full of begrudging apologies,  painful stitches over a wound that’s gone untended for too long. It sucks, but it’s necessary. Nancy knows it’s necessary, and not just for the sake of her friendship with Robin, not just for Birdie’s sake, but for her own, as well.

And for Steve’s. She’d hurt him, after all, and he’d been owed an apology for a long time.

They’re smoking in Eddie’s new government-gifted trailer—something Nancy had never thought she’d ever be doing—the first time the topic of soulmates-slash-soulmarks is brought up in their new little friend group.

“Have any of you guys met your soulmate?” Eddie asks, taking a long drag from the joint, and Robin shifts uncomfortably.

“I think I have,” she murmurs, “but I don’t know. I feel like…like my soulmate would’ve said, you know? But it’s a pretty common nickname for a pretty common name, so…”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Plus, it sucks when your soulmark’s handwriting isn’t your own, because then you have to rely on other people’s nicknames for your soulmate,” he groans, and Nancy sits up straighter. Eddie passes the joint to Steve. “And, like, then you have to ask people what their handwriting looks like, which makes them give you the saddest looks you’ve ever seen.”

“No one’s seen my soulmark but Mike,” Nancy says quietly. “So…at least I get what the first part’s like.”

“Your soulmark has someone else’s handwriting?” Steve asks her around a mouthful of smoke, and he sounds curious with just a hint of hurt, like he can’t believe she hasn’t told them. “D’you know whose it is?”

Nancy just shrugs.

“My soulmark has someone else’s handwriting, too,” Robin says. “I don’t know whose handwriting it is, either.”

There’s a little bit of guilt Nancy feels at that, because Robin and Eddie clearly think she’s able to commiserate with them about not being the most important person in their soulmates’ lives and not knowing who that other person is, but she can’t, because she knows exactly who that person is, and he’s in the room with them. Nancy takes the joint when Steve passes it to her and takes a quick pull, coughing slightly.

Eddie grins wolfishly at the sound. She flips him off. “Look, all I know is that when I meet my soulmate, we’re gonna have some words,” Eddie jokes, and Nancy laughs along with Steve and Robin. Eddie nods at the rest of them. “What do your marks look like? You don’t have to show it if you don’t want to, I’m just curious.”

Neither Robin nor Steve make any move to show theirs.

“It’s a bird,” Nancy says. “I, um—it’s a weird nickname. I don’t even know if—”

She cuts herself off. She can’t come out and say that she doesn’t know whether Steve’s even met Birdie yet. Mercifully, no one presses further.

“Mine’s a chart,” Eddie offers. “There’s, like, two categories, and whoever wrote them has the same handwriting as the, uh…the nickname.”

“A chart?” Robin asks, brows furrowed. “What kinda chart?”

“It’s just on, like, a piece of paper or something, I don’t know,” Eddie huffs with a frustrated shrug, and Steve lays back until his head’s on Robin’s lap.

“I know who mine is,” he says quietly.

That’s news to all of them, it would seem.

Immediately, Eddie and Robin jump into hounding him about who it is, and Nancy is content to sit back and let it happen until Steve’s face screws up into an expression she only remembers from hazy, drunken memories. “Both of you, shut up!” she says, and they do, because even outside of the Upside Down, her voice carries some authority.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs.

Nancy nods.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you figured it out,” Robin tuts, and Steve reaches up to tap her nose with his pointer finger.

“You’ve seen his soulmark?” Eddie asks her, and Robin nods, a glint in her eye Nancy recognizes as the same glint she’d had there during her speech in the director’s office.

It makes Nancy’s face go hot.

It’s clear that Steve doesn’t want to keep talking about it, so Nancy pushes the conversation towards a debate on what movie they’ll be watching that night. As Robin and Eddie bicker, she locks eyes with Steve, who gives her a small, grateful smile. It feels good, feels like the real beginning of a genuine friendship.

And Nancy isn’t used to having this many friends. Sure, she’s surrounded by people at the school newspaper, but now she’s got people to walk through the halls with at school, people to sit next to in the cafeteria, and she hasn’t had that since…well, since Barb. It’s been years since she’s had a sleepover with friends, and she’s been having them almost every other day. It’s warm, and it’s good, and Nancy feels like she has a community to fall back on, people her age who really get her. It’s wonderful and nerve-wracking all at once.

“Whose handwriting is on your soulmark?” Steve asks her on a warm spring evening in April, while Robin and Eddie are bustling away in the kitchen in Steve’s big house.

For some reason, Nancy finds herself feeling comfortable enough to tell the truth. “Yours,” she says, a quiet confession, and he blinks in surprise.

“I’m the most important person in someone’s life? Someone other than my soulmate?” he asks, barely above a whisper, and she can’t help herself—she hugs him.

It’s not long after that before Eddie approaches her in a frenzied hurricane of hair, gangly limbs, and just a touch of panic.

“I think I need to show you my soulmark,” he tells her, and before she can get a word in edgewise, because he has just burst rather unceremoniously into her bedroom, Eddie starts to pace. “Because, I—well, it’s complicated, because I think I figured out who it is, and if I’m right, then it means things might be awkward between you and me, but I also don’t think they will…? I mean, he says he’s over—and you say you’re over—”

“Eddie,” Nancy says, “slow down.”

Eddie unbuckles his pants. Nancy whirls her head away.

“No, it’s not—! Look!” Eddie tells her, and Nancy puts her hands over her eyes, peeking through her fingers at him.

There’s a big square on his hip with two columns—the chart, she realizes as she puts her hands down—and the titles on each column read You Rule and You Suck with some tallies under the second column, but none under the first. In the same handwriting, Dingus is scrawled underneath it. Nancy’s seen that handwriting before. It’s the same handwriting from the notes she’d borrowed from Robin the other day because she’d skipped out on first period to chase a scoop.

“Your soulmate is Steve,” she realizes.

Eddie lets out a pained sort of noise. “And it’s—and you—! But you guys aren’t, so I figured it’d be fine, but—!” he cuts himself off with another pained half-scream, redoing his pants.

“Steve and Robin are the most important people in each other’s lives,” Nancy breathes.

Birdie.

“I know! And I’m not—I don’t want to disrespect that, I’m just—Nancy, I’m freaking out!” Eddie says through clenched teeth.

“Steve is the most important person in Robin’s life,” Nancy whimpers.

Birdie. Bird on a branch. Steve’s handwriting.

Robin. A robin on a branch.

Birdie.

“Okay, I feel like our crises are branching a little here,” Eddie says, hands steepled over his mouth, and Nancy whips her shirt off. Eddie mimics her earlier actions, turning on his heel in the other direction immediately. “Woah, Wheeler, I do not need to see—”

“My soulmark—my soulmate—Eddie, look,” she tells him.

Eddie winces as he turns around, and Nancy jabs a finger pointedly at her ribs. “Birdie,” Eddie reads aloud. His eyes go wide. “Oh, holy shit.”

“Steve’s soulmark is the only one of ours that isn’t different handwriting,” she reminds him. “Are you…okay with not being the most important—”

“Wheeler, I’m not stupid enough to hope to come close to Robin,” Eddie tells her. “Are…you okay with it? I mean, it’s different for you, someone’s apparently more important to you, too.”

Nancy’s mind flashes back to that conversation in the kitchen after New Years. “I’m okay with it,” she says, because she is. “Is—do either of them—”

“Steve knows,” Eddie says. “He knows and he didn’t tell me—”

“That’s not because you’re you, it’s because he’s self-sabotaging,” Nancy says. “But Robin said she thought she might know—”

“None of that from you, either,” Eddie snaps. “This isn’t a goddamn pity party.”

Nancy balks. “Then what the hell is it?”

Eddie waves his hands out manically. “I don’t know!”

Nancy throws her shirt back on, flops back against her bed. “Shit,” she grits out, “we should tell them. We have to.”

The mattress dips beside her. “Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “We do.”

“Does soulmark handwriting ever change?” Nancy wonders. “Not that I’m—like you said, I’d never hope for it, I’m just curious.”

“It’s ridiculously rare, but my uncle’s soulmate’s did,” Eddie whispers. “It changed from his soulmate’s to mine the day I was sent to live with him.”

Nancy can’t help but smile at that. It’s sweet. “If that’s the case, I think Mike’s future soulmate might have to cycle through, like, five different handwritings depending on who’s pissed him off the least that day,” she jokes, and Eddie laughs.

Silence washes over them. It’s comfortable, even if it’s unlike Eddie to be so silent.

He threads his fingers through hers. “Fuck it. Maybe we’ll eventually be each other’s most important people,” Eddie muses. “Y’know, since our soulmates are attached at the hip, we’ll probably end up like that, too.”

Nancy thinks she wouldn’t mind that all too much.

She ends up taking a page out of Steve’s book, surprisingly enough, and making her way to Robin’s second-story bedroom window that very same night. When she taps on the glass, Robin falls out of her chair and ends up scrambling over on all fours to open the window up. It’s so unbelievably charming. Robin helps her in, and the feel of her skin against Nancy’s makes her shudder, so thrilling that Nancy’s grin probably makes her seem like a crazy person.

“Jesus Christ, Nance, what are you doing here?” Robin hisses. “You probably could have come in the front door, I don’t think my parents really care—”

“I needed to talk to you. Didn’t have time for pleasantries,” Nancy says, breathless. “You’re—I need to tell you something. Something important.”

Robin goes a little pale. “Oh, shit, is this, like, a Code Red situation? Are we—did it come back?” she whispers, and Nancy shakes her head.

“No, it’s good, I—at least, I hope you think it’s good,” Nancy says, and Robin quirks a confused smile at her. Nancy pulls the side of her shirt up carefully. “I…have reason to think this nickname belongs to you.”

Robin’s hand is trembling as she reaches out to brush her fingers against the lettering, tracing the shape of the bird on the branch. The robin on the branch. Warmth spreads from the spot on the mark Robin had touched. “I—it’s you? I get to have you as my soulmate?” Robin asks, and she makes it sound like a profound honor, like it’s too good to be true, like Nancy is worth that much love.

“If you’ll have me,” Nancy whispers. “I’m stubborn and judgemental and I’ve hurt people, I’m too single-minded sometimes and it makes me withdraw into myself. I’m not good at loving other people and I make bad decisions and—”

“You’re everything,” Robin tells her.

It’s too much.

“I’ve been self-destructing about my soulmate since I got my mark,” Nancy tells her. “I thought—I dated Steve, knowing it was his handwriting, a-and then I dated Jonathan, knowing it couldn’t be him, and I’m so glad it wasn’t either of them, because you’re—Robin, you’re smart and you’re driven and you’re so, so kind to me. You’re beautiful.”

Robin’s breath hitches. “Nancy—”

“I don’t want to self-destruct with you,” Nancy says. “And I won’t. I don’t think you’d let me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Robin agrees. “I like you too much for that.”

“Let me see yours?” Nancy asks, and Robin nods, face flushed as she rolls up her pyjama pant leg to reveal her upper thigh.

There’s a spiral of memo pad pages surrounding a gorgeous fountain pen, and Nance is scrawled down the side of Robin’s thigh in Mike’s handwriting. Nancy traces the lines of the pages with her fingers, slides her palm over the pen. It’s beautiful. Intricate. As detailed as her own, and that makes something warm blossom in Nancy’s chest.

To her surprise, Robin’s mark fills with color, and the two of them watch in awe as ink splotches start to appear on the pages. Robin gasps. “Nancy, the bird—”

Nancy looks down, at where she’s still keeping her shirt raised, and sure enough, it’s the colors of an actual robin. “Holy shit,” Nancy breathes, more excited than she thinks she’s ever been in her entire life. Her eyes lock with Robin’s. “Can I…can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Robin says, voice hoarse, and Nancy surges forward, letting go of her shirt so she can keep one hand on Robin’s thigh, on Robin’s soulmark, while cupping her face with the other.

Their lips meet, and it’s wonderful. Nancy hums contentedly as Robin’s mouth moves against hers, slow and gentle. Her hands flit up to link around the back of Nancy’s neck, and her cheek grows warmer under Nancy’s touch. Robin’s clearly not a very experienced kisser, but Nancy doesn’t mind at all, perfectly content to nip at Robin’s bottom lip and draw pretty little noises from her throat. Robin pulls back after a moment to catch her breath, and Nancy smiles at her.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she murmurs.

Robin beams at her. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

And just like that, Nancy doesn’t think her soulmark is very ordinary at all anymore.

[morganski-19]

My Friend's AU fic

Just some quick info about the au and how it works.

Takes place in New York, like the friends show does. There is also a coffee shop/bar that they all hang out in.

Nancy is a journalist and lives in her grandmother's rent controlled apartment. She knew Eddie in highschool, met the rest while in college. She and Steve dated freshman year of college but then broke up, and then she dated Jonathan for a little bit as well. But it's all cool with no weird love triangles (because I hate those) She is also bisexual.

Eddie is a freelance artist and a tattoo artist. He moved to New York to live with his now ex, and ended up reconnecting with Nancy and now they live together. He has been out as gay since highschool.

Steve lives across the hall from Nancy with Robin. He is a first grade teacher at the local school. He is also notorious for his many hookups (because he's the Joey character) and bisexual.

Robin met Steve in college and has been joined at the hip since. She is a translator at a law firm and takes up some side work tutoring people in the languages she speaks. She has also been out as a lesbian since highschool.

Jonathan and Argyle were randomized roommates in college, and just never stopped being roommates. They live in the building across the street, but end up spending most of their time in Nancy's apartment. He is a freelance photographer that has a pretty decent following and does a lot of events.

Argyle works at a weed dispensary and part time at the local pizza place. He doesn't label his sexuality because he doesn't really like labels.

The fic itself it told like a sitcom would be shown, so not a lot of inner thoughts. Just pure schinanegans. There will also be a tag list, so let me know if you want to be added/taken off as always.

You can also throw a prompt that you think would be funny in my asks and if it inspires me, I'll write it.

There is no order to this, and all of the parts can be found under the following hastag, but otherwise will not be linked to anything. #morgan's friends au

[laundrybiscuits]

(continued from this snippet)

“You could—” Jonathan moves his hands through the air like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra.

“I don’t know what that means,” Eddie tells him. They’ve been smoking all afternoon, so Jonathan’s even more of a space case than usual.

“He means you could pretend, dude,” says Argyle, who is putting little braids into Eddie’s hair. It’s very soothing. “Like, fake it ‘til you make it.”

“I mean. It would be good for Will to see, like…happily ever after. But gay. You know?” Jonathan tips the last of the Dorito crumbs into his mouth and contemplates the empty bag with devastatingly sorrowful eyes.

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” says Eddie. “Congrats, by the way, because I’ve heard a lot of bad ideas in my time, and I thought I knew all the major contestants. But lo and behold, dark horse Byers swoops in to steal the crown! The crowd goes wild.” He makes a raspy aaaaaah sound and wiggles his fingers to symbolize a packed stadium at the Bad Idea Olympic Games.

“That’s my boy,” says Argyle, reaching over to ruffle Jonathan’s hair. “Great job, brochacho.”

Eddie’s never totally sure whether Argyle’s doing an extended bit or not, and it’s the fucking best.

“So, you’ll do it?” Jonathan asks hopefully. He’s like a puppy dog, the way he perks up.

“Fuck no,” says Eddie. “Absolutely not under any circumstances. Fuck off.”

“Dude, I totally respect that,” says Argyle, starting on another braid. “Gotta honor your truth, Ed-head. Can’t shine a hella dope light from a flashlight powered by lie-batteries.”

“Every day I thank a god I don’t believe in for your presence in my life,” Eddie informs him.

———

Annoyingly, Jonathan doesn’t give up on the idea. What’s worse, he tries to be sneaky about it.

Eddie rolls up late to the next movie night, because he’s not always great with things like having a basic understanding of time and space. When he walks into the Byers-Hopper living room, Jonathan calls out, “Eddie, hey! There’s—you can sit here on the couch if you want. By Steve.”

Eddie gives him an unimpressed look. Jonathan doesn’t even have the decency to be phased by Eddie’s scorn, just shifts over to make room on the couch between him and Steve.

“Aww,” coos Eddie. “Did you miss me that much, Johnny-boy?” He drops right into Jonathan’s lap, slinging an arm around his neck.

“Why are you so heavy,” says Jonathan. “You look like if a stick figure had a baby with a mop.”

Eddie cackles. “It’s all the heavy metal. Weighs down my soul with whips and chains and demonic energy.”

“Jeez, you two, get a room.” Steve rolls his eyes.

The look of pure panic that crosses Jonathan’s face is pretty hilarious, all things considered.

“I’m not gay!” Jonathan blurts out. “Not that there would be—anything wrong with it. If I were. Because, um, gay people deserve love too. Because they’re just like us. I mean, people who aren’t gay. Which is me. I’m not. But it would be okay if I was.”

Will looks like he wants a rift to swallow him up where he sits, but Eddie thinks he looks a little bit pleased, too. It’s nice that Jonathan is trying so hard, even if Eddie has one or two notes on the execution.

“Okay, big guy,” says Eddie, patting Jonathan on the cheek. “Don’t have to throw a parade about it or anything.”

The movie’s okay, Eddie guesses. It’s Nancy’s pick, which means it’s a fast-talking political thriller that nobody but Robin can ever really follow. Afterwards, Steve leans over to him and says, “Hey, are you still out of Coke? I can pick some up on my way over after I drop Dustin off.”

Will gives Eddie a look, which is totally unjustified because this is a completely normal friend thing. Steve’s parents are in town, so he’s been spending a few nights camping out at Eddie’s, because everyone else has parents who’d probably object. It’s perfectly logical and completely normal. It’s not like he can bunk with Robin. Also, Robin kicks like a horse in her sleep.

But even though Eddie knows it’s a completely normal friend thing, he can also kind of see why Will might’ve gotten the wrong idea.

“Um,” he says. “Actually, maybe—not tonight? I just, Wayne’s been wanting to spend some more, like, uncle-nephew quality bonding time. You know he’s still kind of…” Eddie shrugs, grimacing. It’s true; Wayne’s been making a real effort to know what Eddie’s up to these days. Even though he hasn’t said anything, Eddie knows he’s traded some shifts to make their schedules line up a little better. So, everything Eddie’s saying is absolutely true and above-board, and there’s no reason for a weird squirmy guilty feeling to take up residence in his gut.

“Oh,” says Steve. “Sure, yeah, no problem.”

(ETA: yeah okay it's technically a series now)

[surferboypizza-argylespeaking]

Thinking about Argyle being distracted by the way the sunlight hits the lighter streaks in Jonathan’s hair so he wipes out on his board. Which he hardly ever does anymore so he is surprised by the familiar sting of his elbow scraping against the pavement. Before he can get up and dust off Jonathan is on him looking him over and asking if he is alright. When Argyle looks up Jonathan has skewed the sun from view. Light filtering around his hair like a halo. Argyles hip and elbow throb with pain but he still smiles. He mumbles out a yeah man. A very very small part of him annoyed that he wiped out for the first time in years. A much larger part thrilled to see those tired eyes looking at him with concern and a quiet fondness.

[judasofsuburbia]

for good || argyle week day one: missing scenes

rating: teen and up || pairing: argyle and jonathan || word count: 1113

day one of @argyledaily 's argyle week: missing scenes

"Has anyone seen Argyle?" Jonathan asks. They're still coming down from El going into Vecna's mindfuck palace via the Surfer Boy pizza dough freezer. Mike and Will are holding El on the floor and the general chaos has died down but everyone is still a little shaken. 

“He's in the van smoking I think,” Mike responds with the indifference that Jonathan has become accustomed to. Even amongst the draining atmosphere that was the last few hours of their lives, Mike can still find a way to be a little shit. 

Jonathan rolls his eyes and pushes open the front door of the Surfer Boy Pizza. Sure enough, the van doors are propped open. But Jonathan doesn't see any smoke.

Jonathan calls out for Argyle and hears a muttered, “In here.”

When Jonathan appears on the other side of the open van doors, Argyle is curled into himself. His chin is resting on his knees, his long hair making a curtain of sorts around his face, and his eyes are streaming with tears. He looks up at Jonathan, absolutely defeated, and Jonathan’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Dude,” Jonathan breathes, coming to sit next to Argyle. His arms hover for a minute before deciding that yes, they should be put around Argyle at this moment, and he does just that.

Jonathan holds him for a few silent minutes, the only noise being Argyle’s sniffles. He’s never held Argyle like this, not seriously. Argyle will throw an arm around him sometimes, leading him to whatever shenanigans they have going on. It’s always playful and is dropped a minute later. This is much, much different.

Argyle’s knees drop down and Jonathan goes to move his arms off but then Argyle is tucking his head into Jonathan’s shoulder and oh, okay, comforting is still going. Argyle's had a few freak outs the last few days, rightfully so, but usually a blunt brought him down to a more mellow place, for better or for worse.

That's not what he needs right now though.

Jonathan starts to rub his arms up and down Argyle’s and Argyle’s breathing starts to become steady again so it must be helping. 

“She does that a lot?” Argyle croaks.

“El?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh,” Jonathan inhales to buy himself some time. “Not since we moved, no.”

Argyle hums and whispers, “Scary.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees softly.

“Is that why you moved?” Argyle asks.

Jonathan could spin this. Openly lie like the NDAs would tell him to do. But god damn it, the last few days have already rendered those documents useless. Argyle’s seen it. Not all of it, but a damn lot of it. Too much of it. Literally just helped them get El in between worlds like that. 

Jonathan’s never been a great liar anyway.

“Yeah,” Jonathan answers. “Hawkins, where we were, kinda the cesspool of all those bad things. We thought we’d get away…maybe it would die down. Go away for good.”

Argyle moves his head so it’s off of Jonathan’s shoulder and looks at him seriously. Jonathan once again feels the need to let go but Argyle’s hand stops him. His strong fingers wrap around Jonathan's.

“Why is it her? She’s so…small. Young. Will, too. Fuck, they all are. Hell, we are! They’re so small, why are they fighting this? Why are you fighting this…thing?” Argyle bursts out in a frantic ramble, his voice desperate and strained. Jonathan flinches and Argyle’s shoulders drop. “Sorry, just…that’s fucked.”

“You’re right,” Jonathan says with a shaky exhale. “It is totally fucked. No one in Hawkins would listen to us. El, she…she came from the people responsible. Or at least, the people that knew about it and interacted with it. They…trained her for it. Knew she was special and exploited her. She escaped then Will got caught up in it a few years back. The…thing. It kidnapped him. El saved him. And kept saving everything over and over again‒”

Argyle’s eyes look so, so sorrowful that Jonathan stops talking. He’s never had to explain this to anyone else before. All the people in his life know about this. Witnessed it firsthand. He knows that it’s fucked but he’s never had to drag someone else into it. 

But Argyle's witnessed a lot in the last few days. Way more than he ever should have had to. Jonathan opens his mouth to apologize but then--

“You’re so brave, my man,” Argyle breathes.

Jonathan freezes. His body feels too warm, his skin itching to get off of his bones. The moment feels too intimate. Yet, he fights his instincts to pull away. Something in his brain tells him this moment is too important.

“I‒” Jonathan’s tongue feels too big for his mouth, “I mean‒you. You-- you're brave. You like... helped us. You could’ve kicked us to the curb days ago.”

“Nah man,” Argyle interrupts, a little stern. “You needed help. I’ll always help you.”

Jonathan sighs with a soft smile and Argyle’s fingernails trace circles into his palm. It sends a shiver up Jonathan’s arm. He doesn’t fight it.

“Is that where your mom is? Down where El‒”

“No,” Jonathan cuts him off to help shake the mental image that started to form. “I don’t where she is. I don’t think it’s Alaska,” Jonathan’s laugh is pitiful. 

“Why would she just leave?” Argyle asks.

Jonathan shrugs and his eyes sting with tears. “I don’t…I don’t know. I wish she hadn’t.”

Argyle wraps his arms around Jonathan’s torso and pulls him in for a hug. Jonathan starts to cry into his hair. Argyle cries again too. Jonathan's never cried in front of him before.

It feels so good to be held while they’re crying. Neither of them can remember the last time someone just held them like this. Let them release everything that was bottled up inside into reckless, ugly sobs. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever truly hugged. This also feels good. 

They must cry into each other for at least five minutes, maybe ten. It’s Argyle who pulls away first and wipes his tears and snot with the sleeve of his shirt. Jonathan lets out a little laugh and pulls his collar up to do the same. They’re still holding each other. Argyle is rubbing circles into the middle of his back.

“How do we end this thing?” Argyle whispers. “For good.”

Jonathan turns his head to look back at the front of the van. He looks back at Argyle, his best friend, really his only friend, whose look of determination sets something alight in him. 

“Are you down for a longer road trip?”

Argyle nods with his lips pursed, the vulnerability of the last few moments slipping into a newly found, almost easy sense of purpose. A look that says, "For you, dude? Anything."

This makes Jonathan smile. 

“Let’s get that motherfucker," Argyle declares.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

The porch light has come on, pooling on the cement along with the light shining through the sliding glass door. The chairs have inched closer and closer to the house in the absence of the sun, and the pool has long-since emptied of people.

Billy leans back on one of his hands, sitting sideways in a lounge chair with his legs spread out, the warm bottom of a bottle of beer resting against his bare thigh.

There’s still heat in his skin from earlier that afternoon. Sweat-slick and sticky from sunscreen that will take two shower’s-worth of scrubbing to fully remove. No tan lines whatsoever. Gentle bite marks and bruises left in tender areas that will surely ache to touch tomorrow.

For now, he’s looking forward to stepping under a stream of water in the master bathroom upstairs.

The water always stays hot longer at the Harrington castle.

He decided a few hours ago that once he’s finished his last beer, he’ll leave.

He’ll leave and he won’t come back.

Naturally, he’s been sipping at it for what feels like hours now. Swirling the bottle to check how much time he has left, letting dread pool hot and heavy in the pit of his belly at the thought of putting the neck to his lips for the last time.

The conversation goes on around him as usual.

Eddie talks about his latest gig. Jonathan and Tommy both bring up their girlfriends respectively. Jason laments about classes, Argyle suggests that he take a semester or two off, and Steve offers to get another round of drinks.

He pats a hand against Billy’s knee when he doesn’t respond, and the blond takes a moment to actually look up at where he stands over the lounger.

Everyone is looking at him. Which means that Steve must have tried a few times to get his attention.

Eddie lolls his head against Billy’s naked thigh from where he’s sat on the floor, fixing him with big, brown, bloodshot eyes.

“Y’okay, big red?” he hums. His hair is cold and damp where it splays over Billy’s steaming skin. He eyes a mark left near Billy’s hip, red and deeply indented by a set of teeth, and smiles. “Lost your buzz?”

Billy shakes his head. Swirls the bottle in his hand and chews his lip.

He’s getting choked up. He can feel the lump building in his throat, matching the subtle sting in his eyes and the thrumming in his head.

This is exactly why he needs to leave.

“I don’t—“ he says, and his voice comes out with a shake. It has any remaining smiles vanishing from the sea of people around him. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

For a while now, these little hangouts were just what he needed. To come and be held by doting hands, kissed by loving mouths, and cherished like he’s something special. Brought up to the edge over and over until his eyes run out of tears, and afterwards feel the warm press of other aching bodies against his own to help ground him. Bring him back.

He must not be alone in feeling this way, because when he lifts his gaze from the wet floor, he’s met with various looks of confusion and sadness.

More sadness than he was expecting.

Steve crouches beside the lounger and sets a careful hand on his bicep, thumb smoothing comfortingly back and forth.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he coos. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

A shaky breath escapes Billy, and suddenly all of the guys go rigid. Eddie shoots upright, sitting straight and looking up with his brows furrowed, and splays a hand over Billy’s inner thigh just above his knee.

“Don’t cry, sweetness, just breathe.”

Billy looks away and closes his eyes when the tears finally spill over.

“Was I too rough?” Jason asks.

“Did something make you uncomfortable?” Tommy adds.

Quickly, they’re speaking over each other, not one question intelligible from the next, and Steve shushes them sternly.

When he turns his attention back to Billy, his expression is soft and understanding.

“Talk to us, baby,” he pleads. “Take a second to breathe, alright? There’s no rush.”

The palms resting against his skin are comforting. He breathes softly, shakily, and sheds a few more tears before he relaxes enough to exhale a tension-filled sigh.

If his skin was hot before, it’s blistering now. He wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm and sniffles.

“I’m okay,” he says, and there’s a slight air of relief around him afterward. “I just… I can’t keep doing this, y’know? I keep saying it’ll be the last time, and then I keep fucking coming back.”

Billy stares down at the last sip of his beer. Thinks about slender hands combing over his torso, grabbing his hips. Tangling in his hair and pulling.

He thinks of kisses pressed to his neck and fingers tucking under the band of his swim shorts, slipping them off to be lost near the tree line. He thinks of the heated pool water and how cool it felt against his skin. How cool it felt in contrast to the hot mouths finding purchase anywhere they could.

“How come?” Eddie asks.

He looks almost hurt, and when Billy glances around, he has to look away again because the expression is on every damn face he sees.

So, he takes a deep breath, and tightens his fist around the neck of the bottle.

“It’s nothing anyone’s done,” he prefaces. “I’m just starting to want… more? Getting passed around like a bong at a smoke sesh used to do it for me, but it’s not anymore, and it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid—“

“I don’t feel like this,” Billy rasps. He swallows thickly as his eyes well up again. “I don’t like feeling like this. Needy and pathetic and like I can’t just have sex.”

He’s not looking, but he can feel the boys move closer. He can hear the movement, just barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“You aren’t pathetic, Bill,” Steve reassures.

“It’s perfectly normal to want more than just sex,” Jonathan adds, much, much closer now. “You’re normal for wanting that.”

Billy shakes his head and exhales a shaky breath. Another hand smooths over his forearm, squeezing reassuringly. It helps even out his breath again.

“I’m not normal for wanting what I want.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

After a beat, Billy cracks his eyes open. Huffs a laugh to himself at how crowded the space beside the lounger has become, and fixes the brunet with a look.

Steve, sharp as he is, immediately raises his brows in understanding.

“Oh, Billy,” he croons. “I’m sure we could—“

“Sure we could what? Half of you fucks have girlfriends, and it would never work out anyway. Seven is a crowd.” The realization seeps through each thick skull in a matter of seconds, it seems. Billy fights the urge to scoff. “See? It’s stupid.”

Out of all of them, Tommy is the only one to laugh. He snickers and leans his elbow onto Jason’s shoulder, which earns a confused and hurt look from Billy.

“Of course you’d want more boyfriends than you can count on one hand,” he sighs fondly. “Mister blue-eyed princess needs extra love and attention? Who could’ve guessed?”

What he says earns a few chuckles. Even Steve spreads a smile and squeezes Billy’s arm where his hand still rests.

“You do need a lot of constant spoiling,” Steve adds amusedly.

“So high maintenance that you’re crying and freaking us all out ‘cause you like us,” Jason chuckles.

The laughter proceeds and Billy pouts. Eddie picks himself up and sits beside him on the lounger, tucking a curl behind his ear and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I think it’s safe to say you have these boys wrapped around your little finger,” he hums. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I heard Hagan alone drop about a hundred L-words today. He doesn’t even say that shit to Carol.”

“I do too,” Tommy huffs.

“Yeah? When?”

“On… Valentine’s Day? Y’know, special occasions.”

He flushes red and looks away when Billy smiles at him, crossing his arms. Jason pats a hand on his back.

“Well, now I actually feel kinda stupid,” Billy huffs.

“So you’re a little blond and a little boy-crazy? We already knew that,” Argyle says.

There’s another wave of chuckles, and now Billy’s really smiling.

When he looks around, he doesn’t feel like everything is so out of reach anymore. Literally.

He exhales a relieved sigh, shifting in his seat and grimacing at the grimy feeling of his skin now that he’s had more time to dry off.

“Gonna run me a shower, Harrington?” he lilts.

Steve chuckles and stands up, holding his hand out.

“Promise there won’t be any more crying?”

The blond takes his hand and stands up as well, snorting when Steve sets his free hand on his waist and pulls them hip-to-hip.

“I promise.”

“Good.”

They share a kiss, parting not a moment later when Eddie pushes himself up and runs to the back door.

“I call first round of shower sex!” he yells.

Billy simply quirks an eyebrow, then tilts his head to the side in consideration. The other guys are all quickly scrambling inside. Jason’s hands fit around Eddie’s waist when they’re about halfway through the living room, and the brunet struggles momentarily until his back is pulled flush with Jason’s chest.

“We all know you don’t shower otherwise, Munson,” Jason teases.

He licks a stripe up the curve of Eddie’s neck, and it takes less than a second for them to topple over onto the couch, hands roaming all over each other as Eddie fails to sass back.

Argyle and Jonathan make off towards the guest bathroom, stripping down in the hall along their way, and Tommy is left standing in the doorway, leaning his arm against the frame.

“I’ll go get it warmed up,” he says with a wink.

Then it’s just Billy and Steve outside.

It’s quiet now, save for the chirping of crickets. They’re still pressed together. Steve rubs his thumbs against Billy’s hips mindlessly. Leans forward and just barely brushes his lips against his ear.

“We’ll figure it out,” he coos. “But for now, let’s go get clean, yeah?”

Billy glances down at his free hand briefly. Swirls the contents of the bottle before setting it on the side table beside him and breathing in deep. Like the oppressive weight is gone from his body.

He feels like he’s damn near floating when he meets Steve’s gaze again. They both spread goofy grins not a moment later.

“Yeah, Stevie. Let’s go.”

[bigboysteveharrington]

Jonathan Byers thinks that he and Argyle are just best friends that do everything together and tell each other everything and sometimes fall asleep in each other’s beds and that what they have is just what having a best friend is like since he’s never had friends, let alone a best friend before

But then one night they’re lying outside high and watching the stars and talking about dumb shit and then Argyle oh so casually rolls toward him and kisses him and Jonathan kisses him back automatically but it still takes him a moment to totally realize what’s happening and that he’s participating in it and enjoying it so when Argyle rolls back to where he was and goes back to pointing out his made up constellations with a slice of pizza, Jonathan’s just lying there on his back processing but Argyle just keeps talking away

It isn’t until Jonathan hasn’t pointed out any stars or made any comments for a few minutes that Argyle turns his head to look at Jonathan who is still staring up at the sky and asks, “You alright, man? You went all quiet on me” And Jonathan tells him “I’m fine. Just thinking”

Argyle points at the sky and asks “About how much the stars over there look like a bong?” and Jonathan laughs

Argyle leaves it at that for a minute, then asks “Are you freaked out? Because it’s totally my bad if I read into things the wrong way” And Jonathan tells him “You didn’t”

Because now that Argyle did kiss him and Jonathan enjoyed it and had his mind opened up to the possibility of there being something more going on with their dynamic, Jonathan’s realizing things haven’t really been as strictly platonic as he’d been thinking they were and that they’ve basically been dating without the kissing for a while so that was kind of a long time coming and Jonathan’s just glad Argyle was capable of reading into things enough to do anything about it

And in retrospect maybe the fact that his main example of what best friends are like is the Will and Mike situation where Will’s clearly in love with Mike and Mike’s seemingly oblivious to it didn’t help Jonathan with the whole not realizing that his feelings and the stuff they’d been up to wasn’t strictly platonic

Argyle asks, “So then what are you thinking about, dude?” And Jonathan says, “I was thinking I should go tell Will.”

Because Jonathan’s first thoughts were wait, am I dating Argyle? (which he’s still not 100% sure about but he’s thinking he basically is without the label) and then immediately after that thought came I should tell Will

Because he didn’t realize that he was interested in any guys at all until a few minutes ago, but he wants Will to know he’s not alone in it. And because he wants Will to know that even though it’s a lot harder for Will to find someone than it is for guys who like girls, there are still guys out there that like guys too and it’s still possible to find a guy that’ll be interested in you and willing to take a risk to show you

Jonathan tells Argyle that he was thinking about telling Will because it was what he was thinking about and so Argyle knows he’s going to say something and can stop him if he wants to. But he also tells him because he knows that Argyle picked up on the same things about Will and his feelings toward Mike that Jonathan did back when Mike visited. It’s not something they discussed at all, but he knows Argyle knows from the ways he reacted

And Argyle tells him “Go for it, bro”

When Will finds out he’s shocked at the news that Jonathan’s apparently into guys and girls and he’s relieved not to be alone and the family freak and he’s glad that they decided to tell him but he’s also bitter that Jonathan has known that he’s queer for like five minutes and he’s already with a guy (and to add extra salt in the wound, that guy is Jonathan’s best friends) while Will’s known that he was gay for practically his whole life but he still has no experience with any guys and no chance at ever having anything happen with his best friend

[lavenderstobins]

When six teens are trapped on a remote mountain retreat and things quickly turn sinister, they start to suspect they aren't alone.

STRANGER THINGS x UNTIL DAWN

stay tuned for the fic i’m working on. eventually. it’s in the backlog i promise

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Cat Distribution System

Week #13 Prompt: Cat or Farmer's Market | Word Count: 587 | Rating: T | POV: Argyle | Characters: Argyle, Jonathan | CW: Language, Recreational Weed Use | Tags: Modern AU, Silly Fluff, Argyle Goes To Get One Kind of Brownie, Comes Home With Another

"You bought a cat? At the farmer's market?" Jonathan asks.

No, no, no. 

Is he goofy? Has Jonathan already been smoking the ol' sticky icky icky without him? That won't do. He was supposed to wait on Argyle to go get the good brownies at the farmer's market. You know, the good ones. If you can follow that drift. 

But buy a cat? Of course not. You can't buy cats at the farmer's market. Cats are just at the farmer's market sometimes, and then you just…take one home. If you want. If you're chosen. If the cat distribution system is smiling down upon you and yours.

Then, and only then, you get a cat. And it gets to not be homeless anymore. Win-win for everyone. But his buddy Jonathan looks concerned. There's no room for concern here. Only happiness at their good fortune at winning today's cat lottery.

So, yeah. Argyle wanted. He definitely wanted. A cat? Who wouldn't want a cat? What a fun brochacho to add to the house. Cats have the best energy. Having a cat will be way better than hiring someone expensive to Feng Shui the place. 

"Argyle? Are you listening to me?" Jonathan says, more snappish this time. What bee is in his bonnet? 

The cat is wiggling and squirming, and Argyle puts him down. He immediately darts away.

"Little, dude. Wait! You gotta meet Jonathan. He's your other dad. I told you about him!"

"Argyle," Jonathan says, and he looks exasperated. But he always looks like that, so Argyle isn't concerned. "I don't think I'm meant to be a cat dad. I'm allergic."

"Not anymore, dude," Argyle is happy to inform him. He knows this. His uncle's cousin on Margy's side has a friend who knows a guy from work who was able to, like, stop being allergic. To his own cat. Not to other cats. But to his own. 

Through love.

Or exposure.

Something.

Either way. It happened. And BAM! No more allergy to Mr. Snaggletooth. Or Fred. Argyle doesn't know what that cat's name is, but it's probably something real good.

"My cat allergy doesn't exist?" Jonathan asks, and immediately wipes at his eyes that do look a little watery and red.

But it's psychosomatic. Or the weed. Argyle's sure of it.

Or, maybe the cat exposure therapy takes longer than five minutes. Maybe it'll take a day. But once you've claimed your cat as your cat, then you won't be allergic. Because the cat is family now, and you can't be allergic to your family. It's against the universe or some shit. For sure. Argyle's absolutely certain.

"Say he's your cat," Argyle demands.

"Argyle."

"Declare it."

"Argyle."

Well, he doesn't have to say it out loud. He just needs to think it. And surely he's thinking it. 

"You won't be allergic tomorrow," Argyle informs Jonathan, and then hands over the sack of special brownies that he bought from behind the curtain, before he found Brownie the cat. 

He should probably formally introduce Jonathan.

"His name is Brownie," Argyle states.

"He's not brown?" Jonathan questions, but takes the tray of brownies out of the sack, inspecting them.

"No, but he was near the brownies. And we have brownies. And now we have him. It's a Brownie day. All around."

Jonathan doesn't look excited about Brownie the cat, but he does look happy about the brownies, as he takes a big bite.

Argyle smiles. That's it. One or two of those, and Jonathan will love Brownie.

He'll love everything.

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