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shieldofiron · 4 months

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Nuevo Paraíso

For @discodeviant Happy Valentine's Day My Dude! Here's a RDR Au that's mostly an excuse for Cowboys Kissing.

Billy sat down in the dirt with a hard groan.

“Rough riding, friend?” Harrington asked, raising his dented flask.

“Don’t I know it,” Billy rubbed his lower back, “That stallion’s a nasty piece of work. Any chance you want to trade.”

“Not on your life,” Harrington shook his head, heels dragging slightly in the dirt as he looked over at Billy. That pretty head of hair had never looked so messy, nor so beautiful. “But don’t you worry. Maybe next town over you can find a horse to trade. Or one to steal.”

“Love hearin’ you tell me to steal in that fancy accent, Pretty Boy,” Billy nudged Harrington with his elbow. “Say another.”

“Boston isn’t fancy,” Harrington rolled his eyes, tucking his flask away without ever even offering Billy any. Selfish.

Billy didn’t know where they’d turned up this guy. He sure didn’t seem like an outlaw, with his graceful movements and pretty golden tongue. Pretty everything, actually. Not that Billy would let on. Even the rough scar that marred Harrington’s brow didn’t detract from his pretty face, only added to it.

“Fancier than Lenora Hills,” Billy shrugged, pushing away the thoughts. Harrington was too fine, too pretty to be real. He’d seen Harrington flirt with the birds of paradise, flashing those bambi brown eyes, pumping them for information and more. Harrington had made his choice and showed it plainly, so Billy wouldn’t try to kid himself.

Of course it happened sometimes. Don’t think Billy didn’t notice the glances between Marston and Morgan. He’d seen more than one cowboy ride in the saddle with another, though people might pretend it was just for lack of women. But Billy knew, there was always a choice. And Harrington was straighter than an arrow.

“Is that where you’re from?”

Harrington’s eyes sparkled with genuine interest, setting off a battle of the butterflies in Billy’s stomach.

Billy turned his head and spit, “Yep. California. Ain’t north or south or nothing, just dead in the center.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to California,” Harrington rested back on his elbows, his dusty blue jacket pulling taut across his biceps. Billy just looked away, leaning back to match Harrington but keeping his eyes trained on the fire.

“Used to dream of riding out there with a wagon and a wife…” Harrington continued, “Drive out hard and make my way to the golden shore.”

Billy snorted, “I assume that’s not the way you came out west. Unless your wife is a real forgiving type.”

It took so long for Harrington to answer, Billy was forced to look his way. Harrington was looking up at the stars, his long neck bared, pretty eyes aglow. His expression flickered between happiness and sadness.

“No,” Harrington smiled ruefully. “No. It wasn’t like that.”

Billy blinked at the smoke blowing their way, but said nothing, just seeing how long he could get away with looking before Harrington called him on it.

“There was this girl. Nancy. She was in trouble, needed help. So I just… kind of… ignored the law,” Harrington hedged, as if he was being interrogated. “By the time we got back, there were lawmen on my trail, and Nancy… Nancy’d gotten engaged.”

“After you-”

“He’s a nice fellow. I can’t say a bad thing about either of them,” Harrington shrugged, and turned the full focus of his piercing gaze on Billy. “Wish I could, sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy. Plenty of tail to chase out here,” Billy’s voice wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t. “Lotsa fillies would kill for a ride with you.”

Harrington didn’t answer, just looked at Billy like he was a bug under a glass, and then slid down, resting his head on his bedroll.

“The west does have something on Boston,” Harrington laughed, “Well. Many things.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“All these stars,” Harrington’s pretty mouth turned up into a smile, and he finally released Billy from his thrall, sweeping his gaze over the night sky. “It's difficult to see the big dipper through the city smog.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Billy glanced back at the camp. The other men were huddled around a larger fire, eyes mostly on their business though Billy could see Marston and Morgan talking heatedly out by the horses. They were just two silhouettes, close enough to kill. Or kiss.

Harrington laughed, the deep rich sound echoing through the night, drawing Billy’s attention back to him.

“You don’t like the stars?” Harrington asked.

“I’m a little more concerned with what’s happening here on earth,” Billy smirked.

“Indulge me, Hargrove,” Harrington’s knee fell a little, nudging Billy’s. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Billy looked away, pulling a hand rolled cigarette from his pocket and a packet of matches, that he struck off his beard with shaky hands, before he could bring himself to answer.

“And what do you think is worth my while, Harrington?” Billy said roughly.

“Me,” There was no tease to his voice, just bold honesty.

Billy sucked on the cigarette, not sure how to play it. This could just be a trick, a way to make Billy admit that he was… that he sometimes…

“Very funny, Harrington,” Billy said dryly.

“Who’s laughing, Billy?” Harrington’s smile was easy. Soft. “Lay down with me.”

Billy just stared down at him.

“For the stars. At least, for now.”

It was just stargazing. Like they were a couple of moon eyed school girls instead of hardened outlaws. It should mean nothing. Probably did mean nothing. Maybe Harrington didn’t know he sounded like a Mary, didn’t know that Billy would even imagine it that way.

Still, Billy kept his trigger hand ready as he lay back in the dirt, tugging Harrington’s camp roll from under his pretty little head. Harrington only laughed, propping himself up on his arm.

“I used to know them all,” Harrington’s voice was soft, almost boyish as he looked up at the stars. “But down there, almost at the horizon there, that’s ursa major. And ursa minor, above it, the little cup.”

“Big bear and little bear,” Billy shrugged, his shoulders making an embarrassing scraping sound in the dirt.

Harrington chuckled, “And you call me fancy. You know Latin?”

“Just from church stuff,” Billy huffed.

Harrington paused, and then shifted in the dirt, every noise making Billy’s overactive nerves prickle with fear. He settled down closer to Billy, brushing their pinkies together in the dirt.

“You big into… church, Hargrove?”

Billy wasn’t sure what he was being asked, especially not when Harrington was twisting his fingers into Billy’s stiff palm.

“Not really, Billy said gruffly.

“Me either,” Harrington said. “I prefer other forms of worship.”

Billy cleared his throat, “You know any more? Constellations, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harrington’s hand feels cool and dry, callouses rasping against Billy’s palm, “Above and to… kinda the left. That’s Hercules.”

“Strong man,” Billy said softly.

“Yes,” Harrington scooted closer in the dirt. Warm breath danced across Billy’s cheek. Harrington wasn’t looking at the stars at all.

Billy felt like he’d wandered into a trap. He could still feel his father’s voice in the back of his soul, telling him it wasn’t right, that Billy wasn’t right. Somehow, a long time ago he’d misunderstood something, and he was still trying to go back and get it right.

“Did I read you wrong?” Harrington said lightly. “I thought…”

Billy sat up quickly, jerking his hand back, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s okay,” Harrington sat up, “Hey, Hargrove, it’s-”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Harrington.”

“Keep your fucking voice down,” Harrington leaned forward and laid a finger over Billy’s lips, taking in Billy’s flinch with wide eyes. “I just… like you. I thought if I made some kind of overture you would finally get out of your head about the whole thing.”

“What?” Billy’s voice just came out as a cracked whisper.

“I’ve been hinting,” Harrington raised one scarred brow. “You thought I asked to share the watch with you for what? My health?”

Billy let out a shuddery breath.

“I like you, Hargrove. Thought we could watch the stars until these jackasses go to sleep, and then…” Harrington grinned, the glow of the firelight making him look almost devilish, “At least give me a kiss. Unless you really don’t want to, Sugar. But I think you do…”

It was the same tone as he used on the pretty fillies in town and by God, was it working on Billy.

“Sugar? Ain’t nothing sweet about me, Harrington,” Billy stalled.

Harrington had the nerve to glow, his pretty face lighting up as he licked his lips, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Billy glanced back at the rest of the camp.

“We’re just lookin’ at the stars right now, Sugar. Nothing to see,” Harrington teased. “Come sit down for a while with me.”

He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Actually might be the worst idea he’d ever had.

But there’s never been so fine a thing as Harrington in his grasp. Not with those mooney eyes, that pretty face. His fine way of talking and his cool hand.

He could always sneak off before Harrington had a chance to tell anyone. He spoke Spanish better than any of them, so they’d be stuck holding their dicks while he made his way up North.

So he sat down in the dirt again, and let Harrington take his hand.

Harrington’s eyes were like a cattle brand on the side of his face, but he kept his eyes on the stars.

“My mama used to tell me that the stars were always the same, somethin’ constant. She knew all the names for ‘em,” Billy said, his voice gravel rough. “But… I don’t know.”

“You like constant things, Hargrove.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“So do I.”

Billy stared up until he felt like his eyes were blurring. Or maybe it was just the smoke from the fire.

“My father’s a powerful man,” Harrington said slowly, “Houses in Boston, Philadelphia, and he’s got a big parcel of land up near Bozeman, just waiting on a big old house to be built.”

“Huh.”

“He had designs on retiring, moving out west. Don’t know why, he’s about the most lily-livered man in all of Massachusetts,” Harrington’s voice wavered, “But he told me when I left, I ruined that because he can’t retire now. Not with no son to inherit.”

Billy frowned, blinking up at the sky, “Where are you going with this, Harrington?”

Harrington sighed, “I’m just sayin’. There’s a big parcel of land in the name of Steven Yancey Harrington, Senior, up in Montana. I just gotta get the money to head up there. Build myself a little place. Something constant in this fucked up world.”

Billy’s eyes prickled.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything but fish all day. Maybe get a chicken or two, sell eggs in the city. Hell, if I got enough money I’d say the hell with my father and build wherever I can find. Head out to the golden shores of California.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It’s gonna be. But it would be nicer with someone there. Maybe someone who knows a little latin, for when I’m a little slow on the uptake,” Harrington laughed.

“You’re not slow,” He searched the skies, wishing they could say what Harrington meant, because he wasn’t sure if he knew. “I feel slow. I hardly know what you’re talking about half the time, Harrington.”

“I’m talking about you and me finding a little slice of constant with each other, Hargrove,” Harrington’s hand tightened a little.

Billy turned towards him at last and Harrington quickly glanced up at the rest of the camp before resting his hand on Billy’s cheek. “I hear there’s an awful lot of stars out in Montana. Man could get lost in a sky so blue. Among other things.”

Billy’s breath stilled in his lungs.

“I like you, Billy.”

“I like you too, Harrington.” It was more air than sound, half carried away by smoke.

Harrington’s breath brushed Billy’s lips, “See, I told you. You’re so sweet. Sweet on me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington.”

“Make me, Sugar.”

It was a cool night out in the plains, just north of Nuevo Paraíso. Their boots made scraping noises in the dirt when they knocked together, hands grasping, tongues tangling. Billy didn’t lose his head but it was a close thing.

Billy never really knew much about the stars. He only cared about what was on earth, what he could hold and grasp. Constant things, like Harrington’s heartbeat under his palm, his sweet taste on Billy’s tongue.

But when he finally pulled back, trying to get his head on right… Harrington had stars in those big brown eyes.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #cowboy au #valentines day fic exchange

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friendly-neighbourhood-spiderm4n · 2 years

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What about Big! Scary! Himbo werewolf reader x Will, but he HATES Mike, like constantly tries to beat him up.

>The first time you met Mike, immediately knew he was ass. Whether it was ability to read people really well, or just the ‘werewolf instinct’, but he in general did not sit right with you.

>When you saw how he acted with Will, you began to think of him as threat. Not the ‘he’s going to steal my baby’, but ‘he acts so distant to my baby, I must stay wary.’

>When you learned how he had treated Will before. “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls’, you nearly ripped his jugular out.

>After that, Will had to keep a very close eye on you when Mike was around. He is kind of the only person who gets you to calm down enough to not murder someone.

>Though he couldn’t stop your threats and terrifying death stares.

>Mike is always so confused, cause from he has heard about you, from literally anyone, your super nice and actually really chill.

>He is honestly terrified of you. He thinks everyone lied just to mess with him and that the way you actually are with him is how you are with everyone else.

>Even more confused when he sees how nice you are to Max or Dustin. Kinda takes Nancy telling him that you’re only like that with him.

>Will has given up on trying to convince you Mike isn’t as bad as you have heard. Using the excuse that Mike is really dumb and oblivious.

>Then it changes from you wanting to physically harm him (which you do still try occasionally), but making fun of him worse that Angela or Jason.

>Not like calling him a freak or pathetic. Just insulting his intelligence and his clothes.

>”What made you think wearing sandals and socks was a good fashion choice? Idiot.”

>”It was cold.”

>Basically Robin and Steve but more aggressive and way less friendly.

>You have successfully beaten his ass before.

>Hanging out at Wills house, making out and Mike barged in, without knocking, and interrupt.

>You got angry and chased him, and since your enhanced abilities make you faster, you easily caught him and just punched the living shit out of him.

>Took Will a good minute to get you off of him, mainly cause he had to find you.

>Then had to walk you both back to his house cause you chased Mike to the Junkyard, again.

>He had a black eye, a busted lip and several bruises. Also a broken arm.

>Another reason why you try to beat Mikes ass a lot is cause he has a habit of touching your ears and tail.

>You’ve only ever let Will and your little sister touch your tail and ears so him doing so without permission pisses you off.

>The first time he did, got a very threatening warning. You thought that would be enough, but it’s Mike Wheeler and he had a horrible habit of proving people wrong.

>Mike is dumb. You hate dumb Mike. Will is the only reason you haven’t gotten close enough to killing the Wheeler boy.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #will Byers #will Byers x reader #will Byers x male reader #Mike wheeler #I don’t hate Mike #he just annoying #Hawkins Indiana #Hawkins #Hawkins stranger things #Lenora hills #Lenora hills California #California #California stranger things #I’m just tagging random things at this point

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quixoticall · 7 months

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This Could Get Ugly 5. Recording Studio 3B

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w., r.b x n.w.

warnings: Brief mention of pregnancy, Steve in his King!Steve era briefly, again with the misogyny

A/N: Happy Stranger Things Day! I want to say thank you to everyone who's reading this old and new readers alike! Every notification makes me so excited and I'm just happy to be here, ya know?Listen, I know we're really Steve-centric right now but you got to trust me on this, we are laying a FOUNDATION here right? Remember we're covering six years' worth of drama and we are just getting started, trust me!

wc: 4.8k

MASTERLIST🎸

Previous Chapter 🎹🎺

***

STEVE: Yeah, I know I had fucked up. Like, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I don’t know why I did it, I think I felt threatened or something. Listen, I think about what happened all the time and there isn’t one singular moment that we can pinpoint where everything went south, really, we all made mistakes, a lot of them. But sometimes, I can’t help thinking to myself that if I had just handled that day at the restaurant better, our whole lives would’ve been different. Or… who knows? Maybe not, maybe we were always meant to end as bad as we did.

***

June 7th, 1983–Los Angeles, California

A few days after your lunch with the Downsides, you see your own face peaking at you from the cover of a Subrosa magazine on a grocery store newsstand.

You glance around before surreptitiously crouching down for a closer look.

It was a grainy picture of you and Steve, sitting across from one another at lunch, clearly in conversation. The picture had been taken from outside the restaurant and framed in such a way that it looked like it was only the two of you dining together. You can tell by the looks on your faces that it was before everything had blown up—the two of you looked like you were enjoying yourselves.

Sultry Songstress Sees Upside with the Downsides’ Flirty Frontman reads across the top of the page, and you gag. They sure do love their alliteration over at the Sub.

You briefly wonder to yourself what Steve and the others will think of this once they see it. Shrugging that thought off, you toss the magazine into your cart.

***

You actually find out pretty quickly what Steve and the others think about the cover later that evening when you receive a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, it’s Robin,” you hear from the other line as soon as you pick up.

“Hi Ro—”

“Robin Buckley, from the Downsides? I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at lunch the other day when my friend made a huge ass of himself and— ow, Steve that hurt, God.”

Sounds of some sort of physical struggle echo through the telephone line until you decide to interrupt.

“Hi Robin, of course I remember you and your ass of a friend, what can I do for the two of you? Also, how did you get my number?”

You’re more curious than bothered when you ask the latter question.

“Four.”

“Pardon?”

“Four. There are four of us. See, you asked what you could do for the two of us but it’s not just me and Steve. Nancy and Argyle are here too—” At this point, you hear a faint ‘hello’ and ‘what’s up’ from the background—"For the sake of full disclosure I felt that I should mention that. Jonathan is visiting his family in Lenora Hills, otherwise, I’m sure he’d be here too. Oh, and to answer your question I got your number from Murray.”

“Uh-huh.”

You glance at your wristwatch; there’s a party in the Hills that you were planning on going to and you were going to have to leave soon if you didn’t want to be stuck in traffic all night.

As if she had read your mind, you hear some shuffling on the line before Nancy decidedly takes over the conversation with a much more serious tone.

“Hi, sorry to bother you this late but we wanted to ask if perhaps you had seen the latest issue of Subrosa? It seems like you and Steve are on the cover.”

Exhaling a laugh, you answer, “Yes, actually, saw it at the grocery store today, sorry you guys didn’t make the front page, I’m sure you’ll get them next time.”

“What? No, I mean, have you read the article? They’re printing lies about you both,” Nancy stutters out, indignantly.

“They’re saying that you and Steve had a private lunch and that he’s been seen sneaking out of the Hotel Mormont for weeks and that you might be pregnant? They’re even alluding to a fight breaking out between him and Jason Carver of all people.”

This causes you to fully chortle.

“I wish, that guy deserves a few punches to the face. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though, everything they say about me is a lie.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they supposed to have some journalistic integrity? Don’t they get in trouble for printing lies like this? Have you tried to contact their editors about this?”

The confusion you feel about this conversation is outweighed by how weirdly touched you feel that these girls who had only met you once seem so offended on your behalf.

“No, I mean, it’s a gossip rag, not like The New York Times or anything,” you placate, “and after all the terrible things they’ve said about in the past, I’m kinda just glad they got a half-decent picture of me. I appreciate you all calling about it though.”

And then, after a beat, you address the band’s lead singer, who has been oddly quiet throughout the whole exchange.

“I hope being pictured with me didn’t sully your reputation, Flirty Frontman.”

Really, you didn’t care if Steve was bothered by the whole thing, you just hoped that he wasn’t making his bandmates call you on his behalf. You didn’t know what to make of the guy quite yet. On one hand, he was completely sweet to you most of the lunch, he spent the meal asking you questions about yourself and refilling your drink without you having to ask. But the tantrum he had thrown reminded you a little too much of the dangerously self-absorbed musicians that had grown sick of these last few years.

“Me? No, I’m fine. Did you see how great my hair looked?”

You laugh silently at his answer. His hair did look great in the photo, but you were not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear that from you.

He continues, “Plus, they never really said anything terrible about me. They’re like, totally after you which is why Nance and Rob have been so worried, I guess. Are you good?”

His question comes out more hushed than everything else he’s said, and you are once again reminded of the earnest smiles you exchanged across the table a few days ago.

“I’m fine, Harrington, this is a regular Tuesday for me.”

With that, you bid goodbye to the band, citing your lateness, but not before expressing a very sincere thanks for their naïve concern.

The unexpected phone call makes you hit traffic, as you had predicted. You spend nearly an hour and a half in the back of a cab, the whole time, you can’t stop replaying the conversation you just had in your head.

Maybe there was more to the Downsides than met the eye?

***

This theory is proven, in part, after Hopper sends you a demo recording of some of their songs the following week.

The Downsides, you quickly find out, are good, like very good. Their music is like nothing you’d ever heard before: experimental and fun but polished and very technically sound. Steve’s vocals are annoyingly impressive—his growly timbre grounding the lighter sound and keeping it from sounding too saccharine. You can see them dominating the charts and blowing The Letterman’s and every other one-trick band out of the water.

The track they wanted you to jump on was part of the demos Hopper had sent out. It was called “Feel It”, a romantic song, tinged with melancholy but paired with an upbeat synth sound.

You had been sent a copy of the lyrics that included a cue for you to come in.

You practiced your part for days, agonizing over how you wanted to deliver the lyrics, and eventually, you came up with exactly what you wanted to do after making some minor adjustments.

You were actually excited to record the song until you remembered that you would have to come face-to-face with the band’s two asshole guitarists again.

On the day of the recording, you tried your best to be early, but you had been up tossing all night which caused you to oversleep then you lost your keys, and you were moving at the time, so your things were all over the place. You also had to turn around and come back when you realized you had forgotten the gift basket of cookies you were planning on bringing for the band—something left over from a package Charles Riva's team sent you as an apology for him blowing you off. All in all, you were about thirty minutes late.

You pulled into the Starcourt parking lot a harried mess and as you rounded the corner into the studio, you could hear the booming voice of Eddie Munson.

“She’s probably stuck circling the parking lot trying to find some working-class sucker to park her car. Harrington, why don’t you go check out there? Maybe you’ll get papped again and get another 5 minutes of fame.”

You hear Steve respond and while you can’t make out the words, you can tell he’s annoyed, embarrassed, or possibly both.

You can see the faces of every other band member fall like dominos as they each caught sight of you rounding the corner to stand directly behind Eddie.

Eddie though doesn’t seem to pick up on what’s clearly written on all their faces and persists through his tirade, “She’s only coming for the photo opp anyway—she doesn’t care about any of this.”

It’s Argyle who finds his voice first, “Eddie, man, isn’t that her?”

Eddie whips around and with comically wide eyes, looks down at you, grimacing.

You consider telling the guy off but decide against it.

If there is one thing you have learned these years it’s that while the male artists can throw fits, yell, scream, and even damage equipment without anyone as much as blinking an eye, one emotional misstep from you and you would be branded a diva. They would say you were difficult, rude, and find any excuse to toss you aside like they had so many women before you and you refused to let them have that satisfaction.

So, instead, you smile at the band, eyes lingering on Eddie for just a moment longer than on anybody else, to let him know that you had heard him, and then say brightly, “Sorry I’m late everybody. I brought some cookies.”

***

EDDIE: Yeah, it was a dick thing to say, and I regretted it immediately and not just because she brought us cookies.

I wasn’t—that wasn’t me.

I was just so angry about everything that I had lost, and I didn’t know where to put it all and then she shows up: this rich, spoiled girl who just seemed to float through life without a single fucking care or struggle, and suddenly I had an easy target.

I felt bad about it until she changed my fucking lyrics.

***

Unlike their guitarists, most of the band seemed pleased to see you and you spent a few minutes greeting everyone and handing around cookies while Eddie and Steve kept their respective distances—Eddie, sulking in a corner and Steve doing a poor job at pretending to tune his guitar.

“Okay kids let’s give the voices some space to do their thing,” Hopper says waving them through the door sounding more like a disgruntled parent than a manager.

In the end, it’s just you, Steve, Murray, and the sound booth tech. The latter two are busy prepping the sound and mic, leaving you and Steve standing in the back.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize about what I said the other day at lunch,” he leans in close to your ear, his eyes transfixed on his shoes.

“I didn’t mean it—not really. I guess I was just lashing out because, well, they keep changing things about the band without even talking to us. First, they made us go pop, then they made me give up lead guitar to Eddie because his previous band didn’t want him anymore, and then it seemed like they wanted to replace me with you and like, it’s not that I wouldn’t want you it’s just that—well they never even asked what we wanted, you know? I was frustrated about that, and I took it out on you and I’m sorry about that.”

You watch him as he digs the toe of his sneaker into the carpet, eyes downcast, clearly waiting for you to respond. You’re too busy contemplating his words, however, because an apology was the last thing you were expecting from him, much less such a sincere one.

Out of all the difficult men you had dealt with in your life—producers, musicians, lawyers, managers, former flings, hell, even your own father—you had never received an apology from any of them regardless of how poorly they’d treated you.

Steve’s eyes finally trail up to meet yours, searching your face for signs that he didn’t say the wrong thing yet again.

Seeing no trace of dishonesty on Steve’s face, you decide to trust the apology for what it is and nod in acceptance.

“I get it,” you say, and truly, you did, “I’ve had most of my career decisions made for me, and a lot of times, they weren’t really what I wanted. It makes the whole thing feel kind of…empty, doesn’t it?”

His face floods with relief as he nods along in understanding.

“Yeah, like does success matter if we can’t do things our way? Me and Rob, we’ve been best friends since we were little and this has always been our dream and now that it may be coming true, it doesn’t feel like we imagined. I guess that’s kinda stupid though, expecting things to be like you imagined them as a kid,” he laughs at himself nervously.

“No, it’s not,” you counter, “that’s not stupid at all.”

You understand Steve’s disillusionment completely because it mirrors your own.

“Listen, I get how you feel, trust me, but you got to keep going. You guys are good, and I think you could all be big one day and then it’ll be you who’s calling the shots and then you can kick me and Eddie to the curb,” you clearly say the last part in jest but that doesn’t stop the shame that rolls across Steve’s face.

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re really talented and we’re lucky that you’re doing us this favor. We’d be even luckier if we could get you to stick around. Munson I could give or take, though.”

His joke makes you laugh so loud that Murray turns around and glares.

***

Steve was sent into the booth first to record his final vocals for the song, leaving you to observe.

As they set Steve up, your eyes kept bouncing over to the newly appeared Eddie, trying to figure out what exactly he was doing there.

“I wrote the song,” Eddie explains, after catching your eye.

“Oh,” you say, not bothering enough to hide your surprise, “well, congratulations, it’s a good song.”

You catch him eyeing the plate of cookies at your side. You open your mouth to offer him a cookie, but the echo of his words rings fresh in your mind, so instead, you reach for one and make a big show of savoring it.

Steve records his part of the vocals in five takes. He appears a bit nervous at first but eases into his groove rather quickly.

As the audio engineer is setting up the booth for you, you feel your own nerves rise. You wanted this to go well. You wanted to impress Steve and Hopper and even Eddie.

They signal you into the booth and the first two times, you record the song exactly how it’s written. Then, on the third one, you switch up the final chorus.

The original lyrics were: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your hope bare next to mine/ and even if the world caves in, we’ll be fine

You changed the lyrics to: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your flaws bare next to mine/ because when the world caves in, I’ll leave you cryin’

The change was slight, you thought, but meaningful.

The original version—Eddie’s version—was too hopeful. It was a boring portrayal of lovers staying with each other through thick and thin.

Your change added some conflict and dimension to the narrative. You made it better.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie pushed past Murray to yell into the mic that fed into the booth.

You roll your eyes at him dramatically interrupting your take, “I was just trying something out.”

Hopper pulled Eddie back by the shoulder while Murray wrestled the mic from him.

“Woah, sweetheart, pump the breaks. That was good. Better than the original. Can we run that one more time but with your lyrics instead? Harrington, we’ll re-record some of your parts too.”

Hopper has to all but carry Eddie out the door after he hears that.

***

EDDIE: The thing that pissed me off the most was that her version of the song was better. I just didn’t want to admit it because I wrote that song about Chrissy, about how even though I was so scared I was going to fuck up our relationship, she understood that and was willing to work through that with me. Her version was much closer to what actually happened and that hit a little too close to home.

***

“Woah, what did you two do to Eddie?” Robin demands as soon as you and Steve are dismissed into the hallway. “Hopper pretty much had to drag him out in tears!”

You worry at your bottom lip, caught in the wondering eyes of the group. At the time, you felt like you were doing the right thing, but now you wonder if you had forgone the common courtesy of at least letting him know you had changed the song. You didn’t want to come across as unprofessional as he accused you of being.

“I should probably go talk to him,” you say in response.

“Geez, Robin. Was the third degree really necessary there? This is just like last week’s DMV visit all over again,” Steve chastises as they all watch you walk away.

***

You find Eddie in the smoking area, cigarette in hand. “Hey, listen can we talk—"

Eddie turns dangerously to face you, cutting you off.

“You know what your fucking problem is? No one’s ever said no to you so you think you can do whatever the hell you want and that everyone else just rolls over and gives it to you because you’re so pretty and charming and rich.

“Well, you may have the rest of those assholes fooled but I see right through you, okay?”

Your eyes narrowed in response before you snap back.

"First of all, you don't know anything about me, so stop pretending that you do. I have worked hard to be here, just like the rest of you, and as far as this song goes, my name is going to be attached to it too, so I have just as much of a right to give input as you or Steve. It was wrong that I didn't say anything to you beforehand, sure, and I apologize for that, but let's not pretend that you've been the epitome of professionalism here either because you've been an ass to me since we've met, and I don't know why but I won't stand for it again. Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you spit out before turning on your heel and stomping away.

***

EDDIE: That was hot, not gonna lie.

***

“Are you really going to let some mangy metalhead from Bumfuck, Nowhere keep you from finally doing what you want?” Murray asks exasperatedly when you call him to complain about the exchange later that night.

“Listen, I’ve recorded a lot of songs in that studio, some of them great, most of them mediocre, but today blew all of them out of the water. The band’s never sounded better and neither have you, frankly. If you gave up the chance to finally write your own songs and sound this good while doing it, that would be flat-out idiotic. You know that, right?”

The line goes still.

“Yes,” you finally say.

“Great, now that that’s settled, why don’t you get some rest, huh? Ruining Muson’s day must have tired you right out.”

You exhale a laugh before saying goodbye.

Although you would never say it to his face, you were grateful for Murray. It was nice having someone looking out for you.

***

MURRAY: Brenner loved the track. After that, we had a very short time to make a lot of big things happen. The Downside’s debut album was already 70% recorded, but now that we had a whole other person on vocals, we had to scrap a good portion of the work they had already done and rerecord with our new vocalist. We couldn’t even celebrate our victory because we were just getting started.

Those poor kids had no clue what was coming.

***

When your phone rings a few mornings later, you suspect it’s Murray again with an update on the song, and while you’re right about the message, you’re wrong about the messenger.

“Hi, it’s Steve, uh, Harrington. Obviously,” you hear a familiar voice crackle over the line.

“Oh? And to what do I owe the honor Mr. Obviously?” you respond.

“Oh, very funny. Listen, I wanted to call and let you know that we just heard from Hopper that Brenner and his guys liked our song, and they want us to continue, you know… recording together and stuff. So, yeah, would that be something you’re interested in… being a part of, you know, the band?” his voice wavers a bit as he asks.

“Is that even a choice?” you fire back, “I was under the impression that once Brenner gave the go-ahead, it was pretty much a done deal.”

He clears his throat in response, “I think you deserve to have a choice. I talked to the rest of the band, and they agree and if you don’t want in, we’ll back you… even if that means breaking our Starcourt contract.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate the gravity of what Steve has just said. The Downsides would be willing to put their own career at risk just to assure you the luxury of choice.

The answer was easy after that.

“I’m in,” you say after a few moments of terse silence. “I want to be a part of the band.”

You can all but see Steve pumping his fist on the other side of the line.

“That’s great! That’s great news. I’m glad my asshole tendencies didn’t put you off,” he laughs, relieved.

“I mean, it was a tough sell,” you tease back, “but I think we can be good together. The band, I mean.”

You wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing when his joyous peals of laughter stop suddenly at your words.

“Actually, um, about that,” he begins, once again nervously, “I’m really grateful that you’re giving us—the band—a chance and that you were nice enough to record the single with us in the first place. And, I mean, I know I’m already pushing my luck with the universe and you but maybe—uh, maybe today it’s my turn to be the luckiest guy in the world? Who knows?”

You have absolutely no clue what he’s getting at, and you let him know as much.

“Right, hm, I was wondering if I could take you out, on a date, to celebrate us becoming a band but also like, you know, a date. I know I made a total ass of myself, but I really like you, and I think you're gorgeous and talented and smart. I know I may not deserve another shot, but I would love it if you gave me one.”

You’re at a loss for words. First, you’re not even sure if you want to trust Steve fully, not quite yet. Sure, he apologized, but a part of you wonders if he only did it to get on your good side once he had seen how your pre-established infamy could serve him after that Subrosa article ran. Murray mentioned how radio runtime for the few EP songs The Downsides had in the rotation tripled since the publication. It definitely wouldn’t have been the first time you were being used like this.

Even if you could find it in yourself to look past that (and who knows, maybe you could?) there was still the matter of what Murray and Hopper had so delicately mentioned that day at lunch.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I don’t think that would be very professional. Especially on account of our… front-facing, romantic narrative.”

“Our what?”

***

MURRAY: I thought that Hopper had gotten his team on the same page about the more personal aspects of the band’s arrangement, but apparently, I was wrong. None of them had any clue what was going on and the thing about running a ruse is that people that are in on it kind of have to know that they’re in on it.

A few days before we began re-recording, the girl called me all in a tizzy because she accidentally spilled the beans, not knowing that Harrington had no clue at all about the plan.

I then call Hopper; it turns into this whole thing. We had to arrange an emergency meeting with the two of them and the entire legal team.

A bit slow on the uptake, that Harrington kid, but he got there. Eventually.

He was harder to convince than the girl, though. At least she didn’t have a problem with lying to the public. But Harrington was all about that Midwestern “integrity” and “letting the music speak for itself”. Hop eventually had to spell it out real simple for him: either they do this, or the entire band was cooked.

STEVE: I guess after like 15 years the ruse is finally up, huh? Yeah, the relationship was fake. Or, at least, it started out that way. Listen, it was complicated and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

But, if you’re asking about what I was thinking when they finally told me their plan, well, I wasn’t happy or on board at all. It felt like we had already given up so much of ourselves for this—like, where do you draw the line, you know?

But then Hopper reminded me that it wasn’t all about me: Nancy had dropped out of college to be in the band, Jonathan…he had his sick little brother to take care of, and even Munson was going to be in trouble if he didn’t fulfill his contract with Starcourt.

It was selfish to say no, in my opinion. And really, what was I losing? I got to make music for a living and parade around, pretending to date a total hottie while doing it. I mean, the only way it could’ve gotten better was if the relationship had been real.

***

After what feels like days—but is most likely hours—with the Starcourt legal team, you and Steve are finally released with a very long grocery list of instructions that include a minimum number of required public appearances; a very specific list of acceptable PDA; and interestingly, enough, a sample NDA in case either of you wanted to “be involved” with anyone on the side.

“Nothing says romance like NDA, right?” you weakly joke in an attempt to break the ice.

“How are you so okay with this?” Steve shoots back, seemingly stunned.

“Well, it’s not like this is my first rodeo, or my fourth, or my sixth.”

And before he can question further, you tell him everything, starting with Jason fucking Carver.

***

STEVE: I couldn’t believe it. They had been forcing her to pretend to be involved with all these guys for years. It was super fucked up, but she stuck with it. That’s how much she wanted it. How could I possibly let her down after that? Especially with my own selfish, dumb feelings? She was right, we needed to keep it professional, no matter how hard that was going to be for me.

NEXT CHAPTER 🎤

Taglist: @rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter

#steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #robin buckley #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #band!au

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artiststarme · 1 year

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What if Steve died instead of Chrissy?

Here's just a short thing that came to mind. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

After the events of Starcourt, the whole Party fractured. They all dealt with the trauma of the Mindflayer and the Russians differently. With Hopper gone, El had no choice but to leave Hawkins with the Byers. Joyce had no interest in staying in the place that had taken so much from her and her boys. As soon as they were finished packing their things, she bustled them all to Lenora Hills in California, the furthest place from Hawkins she could think of. Without Jonathan there to ground her, Nancy threw herself into journalism and school work. After all, she needed to have control over something in her life.

Max pulled away from everyone, she didn’t have time for the childish games she once enjoyed. Not when she was taking care of her alcoholic mother and moving into a new trailer after Billy died and Neil left. And she had no interest in grieving her brother that no one liked, with the company of anyone in the Party. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike placed all of their attention into joining the DnD club at school. They didn’t want to experience any reminders of the Upside Down or the events of the summer so they focused on fantasy instead. Robin was coddled by her parents and grounded for weeks after Starcourt burnt down. They wouldn’t let her leave their sight for weeks out of fear of losing here.

All of that meant Steve was alone.

For months, Steve stayed in his room grieving the loss of the guy that had become his father figure. He mourned the loss of his fun times at Scoops Ahoy and the innocence he had before being tortured by Russians. He could never be the guy that he was before being tortured mercilessly and stumbling the line so close to death. Some of the Party reached out to him but trying to talk to him grew too challenging eventually and they gave up. Robin and Dustin, despite being his best friends, couldn’t deal with his problems on top of their own.

Steve’s nights were filled with nightmares and his days were full of sadness. He was in a pitiful cycle that he couldn’t break. Usually, he would go to Hopper when things got really bad. Hop would manhandle him back to the cabin for movies, games, and Eggos with El, and he would keep him there until Steve could pull himself back. But, he didn’t have that option anymore.

What did Steve have? He didn’t have parents that cared, friends that noticed his months-long absence, or a father figure that wasn’t dead. All he had was himself, his depression, and a cold, empty house.

It was only a matter of time before he started looking for new ways to cope. He drank all of his father’s alcohol, he drove to bars in Indy to pick up partners, he even sat on the edge of the quarry in an effort to feel something, but nothing seemed to work. Eventually, he saw Eddie Munson walking home from school one day and something sparked in his mind.

Eddie dealt drugs! Drugs would definitely get him out of his head, right?

Steve was desperate at that point. His nightmares kept getting more vivid and the terrors seemed to follow him into the daytime. His head ached all of the time and his nose was bleeding from the pressure inside his head. He needed something to deal with it all.

So he met Eddie at his usual spot behind the school one day and tried to make a deal. Unfortunately, Eddie only carried weed with him but Steve made arrangements to go to his trailer after the championship game to get something harder. He was so excited to finally get rid of the headaches and the grief that plagued him that he didn’t mind going to the trailer to get it.

But when Eddie tried to sell him the ketamine that night, he had to watch the golden boy Steve Harrington levitate in his trailer. He had to watch as the bones of his high school crush cracked and splintered. He had to see Steve’s eyes get sucked through his skull by an unseen force.

And later he had to watch the world move on from the inside of a jail cell when he was charged for the murder he never in a million years would have committed.

Eddie shot up from his bed in a daze. He was still on his stained mattress at the trailer, surrounded by his clutter. It was just a dream. He was sure that Steve Harrington was still safe and sound up in his castle and whatever the fuck nightmare his brain had conjured up was just that... a nightmare. Stuff like that didn't happen in real life, he was fine. And Steve probably was too. It was fine.

Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @anzelsilver @jestyzesty @gregre369 @mysticcrownshipper @disasterlia @lillys-weird-world @messrs-weasley @gay-stranger-things @pnk-lemonades

#stranger things #angst #fanfic #light steddie-very light #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #eleven hopper #robin buckley #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers #joyce byers #chief hopper

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stranger-chichka · 1 year

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Another familial connection between Mike & El: Nancy, cousin Joanna, cousin Eleanor & Jane from Lenora Hills

Nancy (whose name means “favor" or "grace”) has a cousin named Joanna (meaning “God is gracious”). Another form of the name Joanna is ... Jane (it has the same meaning).

Jane is Eleven's real name, but Mike doesn't know it, so he calls her El (meaning "God"). El is a nickname for Eleanor and, well, a few episodes later he calls her his cousin Eleanor (meaning “merciful” -- from ancient Greek “éleos/ἔλεος” = compassion/mercy -- and “God is my light”).

In s4 Jane lives in Lenora Hills, California. Lenora is a variant of the name Eleonor.

And Mike, again, is referred to as her brother: "We're her brothers, and we're family."

Let's go back to Nancy. Her name is originally a diminutive form of Anne or Ann, and the names Hannah, Anna, Anne, Ann are etymologically related to Joanna: they are derived from Hebrew חַנָּה Ḥannāh "grace" from the same verbal root meaning "to be gracious."

Oh, as I was checking the meaning of the name Nancy the first thing that google gives is this:

And the Duffers gave us THAT scene: Steve calls Mike "Nancy" while having a rainbow Band-Aid on his face. HOW CRAZY IS THAT??? But wait....

Mike's first word after his first kiss with El is "Nancy."

Also, in s2 Mike & El are saying their goodbyes (the scene starts with Nancy looking at them) at the same spot he reunited with Nancy in 1 while EL was wearing her clothes.

Even Hopper's car is at the same damn place!

Not to mention their Snow Ball dance paralleling Dustin & Nancy's (credit to @heroesbyler).

#familial parallels #anti milkvan #byler #<- target audience #stranger things #stranger things analysis #el hopper #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler

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fireflywitch · 1 year

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california show your teeth - fireflywitch (me! hi hello)

T/142K - complete

Fourteen months after a rash of unexplained disappearances tore an Indiana town apart, a new chief of police and his very normal, nothing-to-see-here family moves to Hawkins from Lenora Hills, California.

The Weirdos from Poplar Street

MADMIKE

Argyle, Do You Copy?

Zany, Jane-y

The Body Behind the Dumpster

Dear Billy Pilgrim

The Upside Down is in Indiana

Dig Dustin

Hide and Seek, Freak

The Vanishing of Michael Wheeler

The Real Monster

XOXO, The Mind Flayer

Will the Weary

The Flea Goes Back

The Spies

Close the Motherfucking Gate

E Pluribus Unum Et Undecim

The Monster and My Brother

Epilogue: California Rest in Peace

#ten months later and ITS HERE!!!#a true labor of love #i'm so excited #st fic #willel #byler #california show your teeth

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skittlesfics · 2 years

Note

hii i wanted to request a argyle x byers!reader where he’s like obsessed with her and he’s all nervous when she’s around and she’s shy but she also likes him

so will, jonathan and eleven try to get them together and its all fluff (sorry for my bad english btw)

i love your writing!!!

Thanks for the request, and patience! I was writing this as a drabble/series of drabbles but this one really got away from me. Hope you enjoy! name: bewitched pairing: Argyle x Byers!Reader word count: 2951 content/warnings: she pronouns. silliness. fluff. some egregious pov switching near the end -

“No way, man. I can’t drive her alone. She’ll cast a hex on me or something.” Argyle said, throwing both hands up defensively. Jonathan raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“A hex.” He challenged. He knew that Argyle hit the bong a bit hard sometimes, but this was by far the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard from the other boy’s mouth, especially considering he didn’t even know about El’s powers.

“Yeah, man, another one! Your sister has some witchy shit going on.” Argyle wiggled his fingers to demonstrate his meaning, waving them around for emphasis. Jonathan watched him with pursed lips, still skeptical.

“Dude. Argyle. What are you talking about? Another hex? Witchy shit? She’s my sister, and she needs a ride to work later.” Jonathan wasn’t normally the type to get pushy when asking for a favor, but his best friend was truly not making any sense this time. Sure, you sometimes wore your eyeliner a little on the thick side, but that didn’t make you witchy.

“No, man, I’m serious. Like, dead serious. She did something to me last time I drove her alone. She like… whispered something right as she was getting around the van and BOOM!” He clapped his hands together for emphasis, the sudden noise making Jonathan jump, “I can’t stop thinking about her! At first I thought it was just because the van still smelled like her perfume, but nope. Someone ordered her favorite pizza toppings and I caught myself arranging them the way she likes them before I remembered it wasn’t for her.”

When Jonathan didn’t say anything, he continued, “Then I saw her favorite flowers in this neighborhood I was delivering to, and I started slowing down to pick them! I see her everywhere dude, in everything. I’m telling you, she cursed me.”

Jonathan stared as his friend, slack-jawed as he tried to deflect his painfully obvious curse into some sort of magical phenomenon. If Argyle wasn’t staring at him so earnestly, he would have laughed. He wanted to laugh anyway, but in a disbelieving sort of way. In a, am I really going to convince you that you’re in love with my baby sister kind of way.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a curse, Argyle.”

“Dude, are you listening? I can’t even talk around her anymore, man. I get all tongue tied, like, I just don’t know what to say. Or I know what I want to say but it never comes out right and she just gets this sweet look on her face and laughs. Doesn’t say anything, just laughs.”

Oh, he had it bad. Of course, Jonathan and the rest of the population of Lenora Hills, California already knew that Argyle had a crush on the Byers sister, but Jonathan had just laughed it off until now because it was Argyle and you were you and it was nothing serious. This was sounding serious.

“What if Jane rides with you?” Jonathan offered, glancing back at the house. He couldn’t miss his scheduled phone call with Nancy again, and his car had been giving him too many problems to reliably get you to work anyway.

Argyle hummed, considering.

“Come on, dude, please? She wouldn’t dare do anything in front of Jane, you know. She’s way too protective.” Jonathan knew he shouldn’t feed into it, but he needed this favor.

Argyle sighed but acquiesced, finally.

“Fine, but only if Jane rides with us. And no witchy shit!”

You drummed your fingers nervously on your lap as Argyle drove, something inoffensive playing quietly over the radio. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and you weren’t sure if you had done or said something to upset him. Under normal circumstances, you probably wouldn’t have asked, and with El being oddly insistent on riding with the two of you today, you certainly had nothing to say.

“Your hair looks good today; did you do something different?” El called from the back, surprisingly chipper. You turned your head to raise an eyebrow at her, but she just smiled at you, “Don’t you think it looks good, Argyle?”

You turned to look at Argyle, and caught his gaze when he glanced over at you. You offered him a confused smile, but he quickly turned his eyes back to the road.

“Uhhh, yeah, dude. It looks good. Looks great. Pretty.” He offered, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel as he rambled, “Pretty… hairy?” You giggled; you couldn’t help it. Argyle was always so adorable when he was tripping over words. Somehow, it made whatever he settled on even sweeter. Pretty. Hairy. You shook your head fondly.

“Thanks, but it’s really nothing different. Just showered.” You shrugged, teeth immediately finding your bottom lip. Listening to Argyle was easy, but talking to him was something else entirely. He was always just so calm, so self-assured. You were so in your head about everything that you worried it would scare him away if he caught onto that.

You could feel his eyes on you, briefly, but neither of you said anything else. You thought you heard a quiet sigh from the back seat, but when you looked back, El was just staring out the window. You weren’t sure why she had wanted to come along anyway.

The drive to your job was nothing special, just flat desert for miles. Sometimes you would be daring and try to pull a rant out of Argyle, but with El as an audience, you didn’t dare. You would usually quietly remark on something innocuous and he would latch on, turning it into a full on rant or story that would leave you in stitches. Without that, this was just… awkward.

Your salvation came in the form of the small diner you had been waitressing at appearing on the horizon. The drive to work had never felt so long.

Argyle pulled into the ‘No Parking’ zone and you gathered your belongings quickly, flashing a smile as you hurried to exit the van.

“Thanks for the ride, drive safe!” You waved your goodbye and hurried inside, glad to be free of the lingering awkwardness.

You found yourself thinking of Argyle for the entire first half of your shift. The way he said pretty before amending his statement. The brief eye contact you had made, his pretty brown eyes meeting yours. The way he hummed softly along with whatever was on the radio, even when he clearly didn’t know the song. You were glad that you could at least be friends with someone like him, since you'd never been able to work up the nerve to say something that might change that into something more.

Back at the Byers house, Will swung his legs as he sat on the edge of his bed, listening intently to El and Jonathan as they each filled him in on their side of the story. Internally, his brain was whirring. If only Dustin and Mike were here, this would be easy. They were good at meddling. Even Lucas would’ve known how to drop the right hints in the right places. Without those three, though, they would need a friend. But first, Will needed answers.

“Let me get this straight. You want to hook your best friend up with our sister?”

That was exactly what Jonathan wanted, it turns out.

You knew from the very beginning that your siblings were planning something.

Will had always been terrible at lying to you, and Jonathan always got this weird look on his face when he was planning something he didn’t want you to ask him about. Still, it was El that provided the final nail in the coffin. When she suddenly became very interested in what you were wearing to the drive-in that evening, you knew for sure.

“El, it’s just the drive-in. No one will even see me!” You protested, putting away the miniskirt your mother had bought for you during one of her rare “you’re young, go be young! Take advantage of it!” phases. You had never managed to convince yourself to wear it out of the house, not wanting the extra attention it would bring.

El snatched the skirt back from the top of the drawer and dropped it back onto your bed.

“Exactly, wear it.” She insisted stubbornly.

The two of you glared at each other over the clothes. You thought to call her out, the words ‘Friends don’t lie’ just at the tip of your tongue, but you simply huffed and gathered the clothes instead.

First Jonathan had announced a last-minute plan to take you to movie, and then Will was suddenly super excited about a movie he had never mentioned before, as if Will was even capable of being excited about something without talking your ear off about it. Now, El was being weird about your clothes, and of course your mother was all for whatever would get the lot of you out of the house, so long as Jonathan was there to keep a keen eye on everyone. If the four of them had aligned against you, you had never had a chance in the first place.

“Fine, I’ll wear the skirt, just let me get dressed.”

El flashed you a smile on her way out of your room that did nothing to make you feel reassured.

They were clearly planning something, but what? It wasn’t their style to embarrass you in public, despite the way you felt as you tugged on the miniskirt. (The top, thankfully, was full length.) There wasn’t much they could even do at a drive-in. Certainly nothing that involved you. It didn’t make any sense.

At least, it didn’t make any sense until you walked downstairs to see Argyle standing next to Jonathan at the door, talking animatedly about something that had happened on the last stop of his pizza delivery route.

“…And that was it. I told her that Surfer Boy Pizza only accepts cash payments and she slammed the door. Didn’t even come back for her pizza, so I figured we could add a fresh pie to our snacks instead of letting it go to waste. It was your sister's favorite toppings, too. ”

You couldn’t help but to smile at the sound of his voice even as you tugged at the bottom of your skirt, struggling to force it to cover any more skin.

“Oh, you’re coming, Argyle?” You asked, finally swiping your purse off a chair to hold in front of your legs.

You missed the look Argyle gave you, eyes wide, mouth half open, scanning the length of your bare legs. No one else missed it, though, and they shared a knowing look before Jonathan broke the silence.

“We figured both cars would be more comfortable. I’m taking these two, so I figured you could ride with Argyle.”

It was so heavy handed that you couldn’t even think of a legitimate reason to protest. You couldn’t say that you didn’t want to spend time alone with Argyle. Not when it wasn’t true, anyway, and certainly not when Argyle was still trying his best not to look at you all mystified. You could already see their plan playing out before their eyes, so you just smiled and went along with it, pretending not to notice the looks they shared over your shoulder.

What you didn’t expect was for the three of them not to show up at all. The two of you had found a good spot at the drive-in and laid out all the snacks, but the movie was starting and Jonathan’s car still hadn’t pulled up. Sure, he had car troubles sometimes, but this felt too convenient. Too intentional.

Being alone with Argyle wasn’t anything new to you, but the tension tonight was. He had always been a little nervous around you. He would talk a little too fast, laugh a little too loud, stare a little too long, but this was different.

He idly spun the spark wheel on his lighter back and forth, eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance despite the movie playing on the screen up ahead. You tried your best to focus on From Beyond instead of the boy sitting across from you, but the repetitive rrrrrrrrrt sound drew you out of the movie enough times that you gave up, your eyes falling instead to an imaginary loose thread on your skirt. Anything to stop yourself from staring.

You wondered if he knew this was a setup. And if he did know, what did he think about it? Was he embarrassed, angry, uncomfortable? You supposed it would be too much for the boy you had been crushing on to feel the same way, especially when he was your big brother’s best friend. Especially when most interactions with him involved him doing favors for said big brother. The insecurity bloomed in your chest and you grit your teeth to keep it at bay. Maybe your siblings had read the whole situation wrong, maybe you had read the situation wrong.

“I’m not sure they’re coming.” You said quietly, picking at the hem of your skirt in a way that drew Argyle’s eyes back to your legs again.

He forced his gaze away, lighting his lighter proper to watch the flame dance in his hand before extinguishing it. When he didn’t respond, you frowned.

“Argyle, are you upset with me?” You asked, instead.

That got his attention. He looked up urgently from the lighter, eyes meeting yours across the spread of snacks in the van. He had the audacity to look like he was the one hurt, eyebrows high with concern.

“What? Dude, no!”

You frowned, unconvinced. He hadn’t even bothered to light the joint tucked behind his ear, and if that didn’t mean something, nothing did. His eyes lingered on the curve of your lips and you scooted forward, pushing the pizza further into the van so that you could get closer to him. He tensed, not quite freezing, but not relaxing either. You chewed your bottom lip, unsure of how to proceed now that you were next to him. How could you confront him when he was looking at you like that?

“It just, like, worked too well. You can stop now.” Argyle said after a moment. Your gaze snapped to him, but he was looking off again, still fidgeting with his lighter.

“It worked?” You asked, voice soft, unsure. He shook his head, long hair spilling messily around his shoulders.

“Dude, the curse. The hex. You know what I mean! You can stop it now, I already liked you before. You barely say anything, but all I can think about is you. Some guy ordered your pizza toppings and I started spreading them out the way you like. I see your favorite flowers and I want to pick them. I don’t know what you did to me, but…”

He sighed, trailing off as he realized you were staring, a smile playing across your plush lips. He didn’t explain the rest, you should be aware of your own curse. Still, your face was flushed a pretty pink and he had to force himself to look away. To fight the urge to reach out and touch you – to kiss you. He had never felt this way, and certainly wouldn’t without you doing whatever it was that you had done to him, right?

For weeks, his thoughts had been nothing but you and now that you were sitting all pretty in front of him with rosy cheeks and that impossible skirt on, he was confronted with the full force of whatever it was that he was feeling, had been feeling for a while. Maybe even before the curse.

“Argyle…” When you said his name this time, it was like music, and he could feel himself sinking further under your spell. You could have asked him anything, could have asked him to do anything, and when he opened his eyes and found you beaming at him he felt something clench in his chest and knew that he was lost. Everything he had done to avoid this had failed. He was utterly and completely at your whim.

He didn’t realize that he was leaning in until you were already kissing him. It was the slightest brush of lips, but it sent electricity down his spine and Argyle knew that he could never go back. You started to pull away, an excuse already falling, stuttered, from your lips, but he pulled you back in, lips seeking yours eagerly.

His lips were chapped, and he tasted vaguely of burnt weed and pineapples, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind when your hand was bunching up the bottom of his shirt, finally getting what you had wanted but had never dared to ask for. All the car rides spent yearning, all the diary entries with his name scribbled over, all the things that you had been too shy to say out loud; crystallized right now before you in the form of the boy with his lips on yours, smiling into your kiss, holding you close even when you had to pull away for air.

"If you're under a spell, what's my excuse?"

And then he was laughing, everything that he had been bottling up for the past few weeks bubbling out as he crushed you to his chest, words failing him as you took the chance to press kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his forehead.

He still wasn't convinced that you hadn't done something, changed something, but he couldn't find it in himself to care when you were this close, fighting a smile as you leaned in to kiss him once again. A guy could get used to being bewitched.

#Argyle x Reader #Argyle Reader Insert #Argyle Imagine #Argyle Fluff #Stranger Things Reader Insert #Stranger Things Imagine #Fluff #2500 - 3000 #she/her pronouns #fem reader

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