Heyyy Bug! I saw your requests were open and I wanted to see if you’d write some fluffy, high, smutty something with Argyle? Childhood best friend!fem!reader and Argyle get high, they fuck, it’s fluffy as shit, something that’d make me giggle, he’s the cutest ever, reader can be a soft!dom? I’d be so honored if you took this request, you’re kinda famous to me lol 😂❤️🖤
Much like Eddie Munson, flattery works with me. Also, welcome to the Argyle fan club 👋🏼
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, van sex, friends-to-lovers, weed smoking, softdom!female!Reader, subby!Argyle (but also kinda switch!Argyle)
WC: 2.1k
“Wanna play Never Have I Ever?”
You looked up, blinking through the smoky haze that filled the back of the Surfer Boy van. “What?”
Argyle laughed and took another hit from his joint before passing it to you. “The game, y’know, where you say something you haven’t done and then the other person takes a shot if they’ve done it—”
“I know how to play the game.” You savored each second of the inhale before breathing out. A weightless tingle buzzed at your fingertips as you began to relax. “But we already know everything about each other. And we don’t have anything to drink.”
He scratched at the light patch of stubble dusting his cheek, pondering the problem for a moment. “We could take a hit, then.” His lazy grin widened. “I’ll start: Never have I ever…used a tampon.”
You rolled your eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” you grumbled, but obliged him anyway. It wasn’t as though you didn’t want to get high. “Fine. If that’s how you wanna play: Never have I ever gotten a boner.”
Raucous belly-laughter erupted from your best friend. He was well on his way to being stoned, if he wasn’t already there.
“Okay, okay.” Argyle took a long hit. “No more playing dirty. It’s gotta be legit, alright?”
Your stomach flip-flopped as he pensively bit his lower lip. All at once, your mind was flooded with thoughts of his perfectly kissable mouth. You stifled a shiver as you imagined those plush lips on your neck, your collarbone, your chest—
“Yo.” Argyle snapped his fingers in front of your face, yanking you from your fantasies and plunking you down in the back of his van. “You good?”
“Mhm. Yeah.” You cleared your throat and prayed that he didn’t notice your embarrassment. “Just kinda spaced out.”
Argyle cocked one eyebrow but refrained from further questioning. “Okay. Lemme know if you need water or something.”
His eyes cautiously flicked over your body. He’s just making sure you’re not gonna pass out on him, you told yourself. That’s all.
“What was the prompt?”
“Never have I ever…had a sex dream about someone I shouldn’t.”
Without thinking, you took a long, exasperated hit from the joint. The realization only dawned on you when you exhaled.
“Wait, you’ve never had a sex dream about someone you shouldn’t?”
His eyes widened, dark brown irises starkly contrasted against the pink-tinged sclera, as he burst into a fresh round of laughs.
“Oh, shit!” Argyle cackled. “I forgot that part. Here, gimme.”
You placed the burning joint between his fingers. His nail beds had been bitten down, a nervous habit he’d had since you two were kids.
“Who was your dream about?” Curiosity got the best of you, even though you weren’t quite sure you wanted to know the answer.
Argyle ran a hand over his face. “Oh, God. Um, no judgment, alright?”
“I make no promises.”
“Fine.” He barreled on ahead. “Remember our tenth-grade history teacher? Mrs. Flemming?”
If you had to list potential subjects for his dirty dream, your eighty-year-old history teacher wouldn’t have even cracked your top ten guesses.
“You’re kidding.” A giggle slipped past your lips when he ducked his head in shame. “Args, she probably knew so much about ancient history because she was there!”
Argyle scoffed. “Hey, she had a very comforting presence! And an…ample bosom! You can’t blame a guy’s unconscious mind for wandering. Besides,” he took another hit, this time out of necessity rather than obligation, “her class was so boring. I was bound to fall asleep at some point.”
“You had the dirty dream during her class?!”
“Enough!” He snuffed out the flame in the novelty ashtray you’d bought him. He had a million ashtrays, but you couldn’t pass up buying him one in the shape of a pizza slice. “Since you wanna be nosey, why don’t you tell me who your dream was about?”
You choked on nothing. “Pass.”
“C’mon. I won’t tell anyone. You’re basically my only friend. Well, besides Byers—wait.” Argyle paused. “Was your sexy dream about Byers? Do you have a thing for him? Because Nancy is small, but she’s scrappy. Trust me, I—”
“No.” You shook your head. “No, it wasn't about Byers.”
Please stop asking. Just shut up. For once in your life, just shut up, Argyle.
“Then who? You gotta tell me. It’s only fair.”
He stretched his arms above his head, knuckles grazing on the van’s ceiling. His shirt crept upward, exposing the strip of skin where his happy trail disappeared into his boxers.
You set your jaw, determined to avoid answering his question at all costs. You’d stumble out of the van, baked like a cake, and walk home if it meant keeping your secret.
“Wait, was it about me?”
And there it was. All you could do now was deny. There was only one problem: Argyle was like a bloodhound when it came to lies. He could sniff out a half-truth from a mile away.
Your non-answer was enough to confirm his suspicions. “Holy shit.” A dopey grin replaced his confusion. “Now you gotta tell me everything.”
“What do you mean? I fell asleep, had the dream, woke up—”
“Nah, nah, nah.” Argyle put a hand up to stop you; it took all of your restraint not to smack it away. “I needa hear all the dirty details.”
Fear crept up your throat, a burning urge that nearly sent you breaking down the van door and bolting down the tree-lined street.
But there was something in Argyle’s eyes—behind the mischief; beyond teasing—that kept you rooted in place. It was a timidness, a desperation, to know exactly what happened in your dream.
You toyed with a frayed string dangling from the hem of your denim miniskirt. “We were making out—”
“Where?”
“In my dream.”
“No,” he shook his head, “I meant, where in the dream were we making out?”
Right. “Um, here. In your van.” Why were you so flustered over a stupid dream?
“My van.” Argyle took a deep breath, reaching for the joint and re-lighting it. The earthy scent wafted throughout the tiny space. “Were we laying down, or…?”
“You were laying down. I was, y’know, on top.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you’d been straddling him; it was difficult enough to tell him the position. “And you were, um, shirtless.”
Without hesitation, Argyle pulled his Surfer Boy t-shirt over his head and tossed it into the front seat. He laid back, resting his weight on his elbows. “So I was like this?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “And I was like this.” Clumsily, you swung one leg on the other side of his, hovering your center over his. You could feel the heat radiating off of him.
“And we were makin’ out?” His lips twitched in a nervous smirk.
You nodded again, laser-focused on the gentle curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the weed talking, but you could no longer fight the urge to taste his tongue with your own. “Yeah,” you repeated, clearing your throat. “Like this.”
You leaned down, capturing Argyle’s mouth in a gentle kiss. His hands gripped the back of your thighs like they were magnetized, pulling you closer to him.
There was no fanfare in your concession to the aching need in your core. A moan echoed through the van as your hips met his and you melted into his frantic embrace. You savored the drag of your panties against his cotton pants with each movement.
“Fuck yes.” Argyle’s words came out in a breath, his tone tinged with relief. “K-Keep talking. Please.”
His unfiltered desperation awoke something within you. Your own desire stirred, and you had no intention of quelling it.
“Your hands were…here.” You slid his palms down to your ass. He held it like it might burn him, his fingers barely grazing the lace of your panties. “Tighter, Args. Like you mean it.”
Argyle’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, but he listened. His fingertips bit into your skin, drawing another moan from your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut as you sifted through your jumbled thoughts in search of the memory of that dream.
Concentrating was easier said than done, especially with his rigid cock nudging against your clit. Your palms splayed over his bare chest, thumbs brushing over the hair that dusted his pecs.
“You kept moaning my n-name—oh, shit.” Your breath caught in your throat as Argyle bucked his hips. “And you were begging me to…to…”
“To what?” He couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice.
“To ride you.”
Your words were a burst of cold air that brought his movements to a sudden halt. He brushed a few rogue strands of raven hair from his eyes, as though he’d clear his vision and find that he’d hallucinated the entire encounter.
“I can…I can do that.” He swallowed thickly. His dark brown eyes bore into you as your name flowed from his lips like a sacred prayer. The grip he held on your ass was just short of lethal, almost certain to leave behind some bruising, but it was easy to ignore when grinding on him felt so good. “Oh, fuck. You–we gotta stop.”
You tried to hide your disappointment, but it clung to your words. “What’s wrong?”
“Gonna need to change my drawers if we don’t stop.” Argyle offered you a sheepish grin. “And I, uh, don’t really keep any spares in here, so…”
You hooked a finger into the waistband of his boxers. “What if you came…not in your drawers?”
His eyebrows flew towards his hairline. “Y-Yeah. I mean, if it’s cool with you. No, like, pressure–”
With as much bravado as you could muster, you brought your lips to his ear. “Then beg me.”
“Ride me. Please. God, I fucking need you to ride me, please.” One hand slipped into yours. “I’m gonna come so fast, I know it.”
“S’okay.” As carefully as you could, you tugged his boxers down his thighs. Pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock; only the knowledge that he would finish before he was ready kept you from licking it away.
Argyle sucked in a harsh breath the moment you took him in your hand. “Please, please, please…please ride me. Please ride me. Need you to–holy…fuckin’...God…”
He filled you completely, so much so that you took an extra moment to adjust to the newfound fullness before moving your hips again. “If you’re gonna come fast, you’d better get me off first.”
“Yeah, no, absolutely, yeah.” His thumb found your clit, moving in languid circles until you ordered him to go faster. “This good?”
“Mhm.” It was better than ‘good,’ but you’d have to tell him that when you could find a word to accurately describe it. “I’m gonna come, oh my God, Argyle!”
You threw your head back as your orgasm roared through you, more intense than anything you’d felt from anyone else’s fingers. Including your own.
Argyle’s biceps flexed under your grasp. His hips snapped up to meet yours, a slew of curses chasing his movements. “Can I come? Please? I gotta come so bad, baby, please–”
“Come,” you said definitively. With his kiss-swollen pout and his big eyes, you doubted you’d be able to deny him even if you wanted to. “Made me feel so good; now it’s your turn.”
He didn’t waste a second, spilling into you with another cry of your name. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, a giggle interrupting his ragged panting.
“Holy shit, dude. I didn’t even know I was into that begging stuff.” He wiped the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “In my dreams, you’re always the one begging for me.”
“Really? Wait,” you furrowed your brows, “I thought you said your embarrassing sex dream was about Mrs. Flemming. You didn’t mention anything about me.”
Argyle braced himself on his elbows. “Well, yeah. Why would I be embarrassed to have a sex dream about you? You’re hot.”
Despite the fact that he was the one laying underneath you, completely naked except for the boxers that now rested below his knees, a surge of vulnerability heated you from within. “You’re hot, too,” you said with a laugh. “Ridiculously hot. And…now I really wanna act out your dream.”
“Oh, hell yeah. Gimme ten minutes.” Argyle’s mischievous smile quickened your heartbeat. “Maybe five, if you take off your shirt.”
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