#Jonathan Byers x y/n

[wroteclassicaly]

Don’t know why I just had a random visual of being fucked hard on top of a counter by Jonathan Byers.

You two are closing down Surfer Boy Pizza. Fingers wrapped around shelves for leverage, supplies falling all over the floor. His jeans are around his ass, face in your neck, grunting and focussed. One of your hands hold onto the empty rack behind you, the other wound in his hair, legs locked around his waist.

[ddejavvu]

jonathan anon again lol!!! I love him so much. how about him introducing shy!you to his mom <3 ur super nervous she won’t like you but she totally adores you

Jonathan's stepped up to slot his keys in the door, and you consider using the time he's not paying attention to you to make your escape. You could do it, beeline back to his car, hotwire it, drive off into the distance with no planned return. But then he might have to walk to school, and you don't want him to have to do that. Before you can decide to sprint anywhere, the lock clicks, and the door swings open at his push.

"Mom," He calls into the house, rather unceremoniously, which makes you nervous, "I'm home, and I brought Y/N!"

"Oh!" A voice comes from the kitchen, honey-sweet but slightly flustered, "Oh, I'll- I'll be right there!"

"Jon-!" You swat at Jonathan's shoulder, hissing at him in a panic, "You said she knew I was coming!"

"No, I said she said you could come over anytime," He corrects you, dropping his backpack on the couch, "So I brought you over today."

This is a disaster. You're now an unexpected, barely-invited guest in the Byers household, and only your boyfriend really wants you there. You've met Will a handful of times, during pick-up or drop-off or just out and about, and he seems to like you, but you're sure he doesn't want you popping up in his living room unannounced. You'd been invited for dinner by your boyfriend, but you're not sure his mother has made enough, so you're not only intruding on their life, but you're putting the extra stress of another mouth to feed on her plate, and she's going to hate you for the burden you're causing, and-

"Will you stop burning holes in the wall? That's a picture of me, you know," Jonathan scoffs, tramping over to where you'd been zoning out to panic and pulling the frame off of the wall, "You're supposed to think I'm cute."

"That's- That is cute," You wanted to respond with a lot more fire than that, due to the nature of your boyfriend's planning abilities, but admittedly, the baby photo of him in nothing but a diaper is adorable. You can see the chubby rolls of his arms and legs, and his stomach pudges out in a round shape you're sure his mother kissed a thousand times.

"-but this is not fair to your mom! She probably didn't make enough, and now I look rude for showing up unannounced, and-"

"She always makes more than enough," He assures you, setting the picture frame down on the table and taking your hands in his. He has a way of looking at you while he speaks that calms the frantic beating of your panicked heart, and you let yourself get lost in his comforting aura for a moment. "She makes one giant meal on Monday nights, then we eat the leftovers until Sunday. Your one portion will not destroy the fabric of the household, Y/N."

"But it'll be one less portion for someone else," You fret, and you know his resulting glare is meant kindly.

"Will has a bad habit of sneaking into the kitchen for midnight meals. You'll just be preventing me from waking up to hear the microwave at one in the morning, babe. You're doing everyone a favor, here. Plus, my mom really wants to meet you. She bugs me every day about bringing you here, just because you're unexpected doesn't mean you're unwanted. Okay?"

You hear frantic footsteps from the kitchen, and nod before she has a chance to catch you in a freak-out, "Okay, Jon, okay."

"Okay." He grins at you, turning in sync with you just in time to see Joyce round the corner out from the kitchen, stuffing an apron onto the counter that she's clearly just taken off.

Her face lights up when she sees you, especially when she notices that Jonathan still has one of your hands in his own. She rushes for a hug, gushing "Hello!", and you're happy to let her engulf you in her embrace.

"Hi," You return just as enthusiastically, if not a little nervous, "Hi, I- I hope I'm not intruding."

You ignore the way Jonathan huffs out a sigh at your near-apology.

"No! No," Joyce pulls back from the hug, keeping her hands on your shoulders and shaking her head, a deep frown over her features, "No honey, not at all! I mean," She brightens, eyes wide, "I was really starting to think he'd made you up, or something! I mean I've been asking for ages, I- I was starting to worry." She concludes, a little drearily. Jonathan had admitted that he was nervous to bring you over in case you were expecting something better, something nicer, something newer, but a newer house with newer contents wouldn't hold the memories you see so plainly here, and you look around to admire the photos displayed.

"It's wonderful here," You promise, feeling Joyce's hands drop to your own and squeeze, "I've never seen baby pictures of Jonathan."

"Oh, I have a bunch." She grins, and Jonathan pales beside you.

"She's seen one!" He attempts to diffuse her excitement, "The- the one on the wall, mom. She's seen me in a diaper, isn't that enough?"

"No, she needs to see you in your Donald Duck Halloween costume," She insists, "After dinner- we're having spaghetti, honey, I hope that's okay." She cuts herself off to peer worriedly at you, and you nod vigorously.

"Oh, great! Okay, after dinner, I'll get the photo albums down, alright? And we can make fun of him," She looks far too eager to tease her son, "Does that sound good?"

"That sounds great," You laugh, at the same time Jonathan groans the opposite.

"Oh, stop," She swats at his chest, "You get to see her all the time, now let me take over."

"Not if you're gonna embarrass me!" Jonathan gripes, turning to you, "Y/N, don't hold my preschool drawings against me. I've gotten better with time, I swear."

"He hasn't," Joyce stage-whispers to you, then gushes to Jonathan, "Of course you have, sweetheart."

She's tugging you off to the dinner table without another word, and you glance back with a grin at Jonathan who looks half-mortified and half-fond.

"Now, sit," She pulls a chair out at the table for you, "And talk, I wanna know everything about you!"

[luveline]

I always see people writing for a very shy/subby Jonathan, but I’d love to see shy!reader staying over at his for the first time (doesn’t have to be sexual!) & our girl being reassured by him & all of the cuddles

thank you for your request! jonathan x shy!fem!reader arriving for your first sleepover ♡

You think you might have lucked out. Your first boyfriend being Jonathan feels like a storybook tenderness you don't deserve, he's just… so lovely. It terrifies you even though he never could, because you're desperate not to fuck it up. You call him your sweetheart, internally, and not solely for pet names sake — he has a sweet heart. He's unbelievably kind, adorable, funny and smart and level-headed. It doesn't hurt that he's your favourite kind of handsome. 

He's waiting for you as you park your car, standing in front of the closed door with a smile already in place. You know he'd made sure he was the first person you saw to alleviate your nerves. If you knocked the door and his mom answered, you probably would've tripped over every word, giving a terrible first impression in the process. 

"Hey," he says happily. How lovely is that? He's happy to see you the second you're in view. "Is that all your stuff?" 

"Is this not enough?" you ask, looking down at your jansport, suddenly worried. 

He finds this super funny and starts laughing his awful golden laugh. He reaches for your bag, fingers brushing yours as he takes it, and leans down to close the small gap for a kiss. You're not used to kisses, and you don't turn your head up right away. He uses his free hand to encourage you. He doesn't make you feel stupid for it. Just murmurs, "There," and kisses you again. 

He smiles against your lips and pulls back. "It's only two days, so you'll be fine. And I'm not holding you hostage. You can leave if you need something." His hand rubs down your arm. He squeezes your fingers. "But you won't need anything." 

He opens the door and you follow him inside, stiff as a board expecting his mom and his brother, Will. 

It's totally silent. Your lips part in confusion. 

"They went to the store. My mom wanted to make sure there were 'ladies things' in the bathroom." 

"She didn't have to do that." 

"I know. She doesn't mind, she wants you to feel welcome. That's what I want, too." His knuckle bumps yours. "Can't murder you if you never let your guard down." 

He starts down the hall toward what you assume to be his room. Your laugh comes out in a gross little snort that he adores, you can see it in the way his shoulders roll and the smile he shoots you confirms it. 

"Jon, you can't joke about stuff like that," you chide, catching up. 

He pushes open his bedroom door. "I'm not gonna murder you," he assures you. "You know how long it took to clean in here?" 

He puts your jansport on the bottom of the bed and looks at you in the doorway. His cheeky smile turns genuine, and his eyes go soft. 

You're expecting it but still squeal in shock as he rushes you and hugs you so hard your feet lift off the ground. He bends under your weight, digging his nose in your neck. 

"You look so pretty today," he says, like he's mad about it. 

"Jon," you laugh, glad when your feet touch the ground again. "Don't, please, I don't wanna be all sweaty when your mom comes home, she'll think we were doing gross stuff." 

"You don't wanna do gross stuff?" he jokes, before amending, "She won't think that. I've already told her you get flustered at everything." 

"You… talk about me to your mom?" 

His turn to clam up. Jonathan widens the gap between you and avoids your eyes, a nervous, endearing smile on his lips as he says, "Whaaat?" 

He's not very convincing. 

You watch him until he meets your eyes again, your smile soft as warm toffee. 

"I talk about you all the time," he says finally. He breathes out, his shoulders rising and falling. "C'mere." 

He raises his arms. You take the half step required to be back in his embrace, hugging him automatically. He settles his arms over your shoulders, a more casual embrace, and looks down at you. He's quiet. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Sorry. Just… like seeing you here. And I have something to say to you, because I know you'll worry about it, but– it's–" His arm curves up and hooks you in. He fights off his own shyness to accommodate your own, and you hope he knows how valuable that is to you. "Okay, my mom, I'll spare you a rehash of most awkward conversation of my life, but she doesn't expect us to, uh, sleep with the door open." 

You go rigid. "Oh, my god," you say, lips barely moving. 

"I'm sorry, but I just wanted you to know now, I don't expect anything from you, okay? And we could leave the door open if that was what you wanted–" 

"What?" you ask, shocked. 

"Not like that!" He looks like he's midway between laughing and crying, his face a fuzzy shade of pink. "I want you here because I want you close, not because I want– well, I do want– I want what you want," he says, promptly shutting his mouth. 

You take a nice, deep breath, squeezing your arms from between your touching chests to cup his face carefully. You thumb his jaw. 

"You're worse than me, sometimes," you sympathise.

"Yeah," he says. "I am." 

You wrap your arms around his neck with a pleased smile, forcing him to grasp at your shoulders. You aren't expecting to do anything you aren't ready for tonight, but the fact that he'd know you were worried about it, that he would brave such an awkward stepping stone so you didn't have to, means the world. He squeezes you. 

"Shit," he mumbles. "I'm sweating. She's definitely gonna think we were doing gross stuff." 

It's funny until you hear the front door open.

[strangerthings-80s]

Kindness Over Cruel: Part 2

---

Weeks had passed since that first conversation, and things between Y/N and Jonathan had changed in ways she never expected. What started as a simple “hello” had turned into something more—a quiet friendship built on shared moments between classes, late-night phone calls about movies and music, and even a few secret photography sessions after school. Jonathan had opened up to her in a way that made her feel special, like she was one of the few who truly understood him.

And what Y/N didn’t know was that, during those moments, Jonathan had developed feelings for her—feelings he wasn’t quite sure how to express. So he did what he knew best: he wrote. Quietly, over the course of several days, he penned notes to her, pouring out his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if she would feel the same way, but he hoped she’d understand.

One afternoon, he slipped a note into her locker:

“I know we’re just friends, but I can’t help feeling like you’re more than that to me. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I had to tell you... you mean a lot to me.”

Jonathan had hoped it would stay between the two of them, but unfortunately, someone else found out—someone who wasn’t too happy about it.

Dan, Y/N ex-boyfriend, had noticed Jonathan lingering around her more often. He’d seen the way she smiled at Jonathan, and it bothered him. He and Y/N had broken up months ago, but in his mind, no one else should be close to her. So when he discovered one of Jonathan’s love notes, anger flared up inside him.

One day after school, Dan cornered Jonathan by his locker. “So, you think you can send Y/N notes, huh?” Dan’s voice was low, mocking. Jonathan stiffened, already sensing the confrontation coming.

“Leave it alone, Dan,” Jonathan muttered, trying to brush past him.

But Dan wasn’t done. He shoved the note into Jonathan’s chest. “You think Y/N gonna fall for this? For you? You’re out of your mind, Byers. She’s way out of your league. She’s popular. You’re... well, you’re nobody.”

Jonathan clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the strap of his backpack. He wasn’t the type to fight, but Dan’s words stung. He had always felt like an outsider, and now his insecurities were being thrown back in his face.

“She’s not like that,” Jonathan finally said, though his voice wavered slightly.

“Oh, trust me,” Dan smirked, leaning closer. “She’ll never go out with you. You’re just a phase. Someone for her to pass the time with. She’ll come back to someone like me eventually.”

Jonathan’s heart sank, but he kept his expression stoic. He wouldn’t give Dan the satisfaction of knowing how much those words hurt. As Dan walked away, Jonathan stood there for a moment, the crumpled note still clutched in his hand. Doubt gnawed at him, and for the first time, he wondered if Dan might be right.

But deep down, Jonathan knew he had to trust what he and Y/N had built. It wasn’t about popularity or being in the same league. It was about how they understood each other.

[spicysix]

fake it 'till you make it | jonathan byers X reader

“It was all Nancy Wheeler's fault. I mean, literally. Quite from the beginning. Because it was all about Nancy Wheeler, wasn't it? It was all because of Nancy Wheeler, it was all for Nancy Wheeler.” or: you and Jonathan create a plan to make Nancy jealous

warnings: fake relationship, in between S1 and S2, gn! reader (no pronouns, no gendered terms, no y/n used). mostly fluff, a pinch of crack taken seriously at the beginning just because i love it, right before all the fucking feels hit in. and my already known absurd use of italics.

word count: 9.1k

a/n: based on this request, thank you so much anon. your request drove me completely insane, i had a few out of body experiences and ended up with 9k words of love and devotion to Jonathan Byers. don't worry, no Nancy hate in here, it's almost as much of a love letter to her as it is to Jonathan tbh, Reader just doesn't know better in the first paragraphs. hope y'all like it! don't forget to reblog if you do, and comments are always treasured and kept in a little golden box in my nightstand for me to delight in them on lonely nights ♡

↳ ao3

It was all Nancy Wheeler's fault.

I mean, literally. Quite from the beginning. Because it was all about Nancy Wheeler, wasn't it? It was all because of Nancy Wheeler, it was all for Nancy Wheeler.

Okay, let’s start from the top.

Jonathan has always kind of been there. He didn't say much, he didn't present himself much, he didn't get quite noticed. But he has always been there. And you had a thing for those who weren't actually seen, but that had always been there anyway.

Your interest was purely out of curiosity, though, of course. Because you wanted to understand the whole thing. Sure, you had the bigger picture — abusive, absent father, overprotective mom, young brother, and the whole heavy weight of teen parentalization on top of Johnny-boy's scrawny shoulders.

Multiply that for, like, a billion, and we get what we got after November 6th: missing young brother, over-overprotective mom, asshole opportunistic father, and the whole heavy weight of guilt on top of Johnny-boy's scrawny shoulders.

And, in the middle of all that, enters Nancy Wheeler.

Okay, wait, from the top again.

It was mid-May, and Jonathan was just there, as usual. Revealing some photos, the bigger and the smaller pictures you were so deeply curious to see. A precisely requested assignment for a History project — you really loved History, you'd put all your effort into it — and, oh wow! You were also there!

Both of you revealing your pictures, Johnathan had used that shiny new camera he showed up with after Christmas break — after Nancy Wheeler's boyfriend, Steve Harrington, broke the previous one (I mean, if the rumors were true, Johnny-boy was being kind of a creep. But apparently he apologized or whatever, because after Steve's purple eye and Will Byers' death and resuscitation thing, you've seen Johnathan, Steve, and Nancy Wheeler having lunch all together. As crazy as it all sounded).

That’s a digression, back from the top again.

You and Jonathan were sharing the silence only a red room and its buzzing little red lamp lights could provide, minding your own business. Well, he was minding his own business, you were kind of curious about the bigger and the smaller pictures. Minding his business as well.

Shoulder to shoulder as you worked on your photos, you hanging your own as Jonathan took his down from where they've been drying.

It was literally a bigger and a smaller picture, okay, I kid you not.

Jonathan seemed to get lost in his thoughts as he analyzed the bigger one, the one you've seen already — what seemed to be a reunion of sorts between the Byers and the Wheelers, parents and children, and those other two little gremlins that Will and Mike (was it Mike? Nancy’s younger brother, Will’s best friend) were inseparable friends with.

The younger ones were sitting on the floor, those huge smiles on their baby faces, happiness exhaling from, well, probably finding out that their friend that had gone missing for a week wasn't actually dead.

The parents, Joyce Byers, and Karen and What's-His-Face Wheeler were sitting on the couch behind the kids, pride and joy in the mothers' faces and boredom on the father's face — it was his permanent state, you were aware of it by now from seeing him from time to time on the streets.

Pretty, preppy, prissy Nancy was standing behind the couch, just behind her daddy, younger baby sister in her arms as she smiled that tiny little pouty smile of hers. No pretty, preppy, poshy Steve in sight, you wondered where he was, as Jonathan was standing beside Nancy and the baby, hands in his pants pockets, that perpetual blank stare in his eyes of someone being constantly haunted.

You found it cute, somehow.

Cute in, like, a curious kind of way. Wanted to find out what was haunting him so badly.

And then. In the present, real, out-of-picture time or whatever, Jonathan snapped out of his thoughts as he went to get the other picture — the smaller one — from where it was hanging. His hand stopped a single inch before touching it, and you saw from the corner of your eye that he was looking at you from the corner of his eye. Combine the peripheral vision situation with his hesitancy to grab the smaller picture, your life-long curiosity and an impulsive strike, and before you even thought about what you were doing, you were suddenly grabbing the fucking picture before Jonathan could.

You grabbed it, and he let out what sounded like a gasp and a whimper at the same time, and you walked backward until your back met the wall behind you. And Jonathan was all over you in a second, trying to grab your arms as you put them behind your back, hiding the picture — you didn't even get to see it, had no idea what he was so mortified about. He was saying, or screaming maybe, something at you that you couldn’t distinguish because his head was too close to yours. Distress all over his cute scrawny face, and you barely had the time to register the guilt bubbling in your stomach — because, fuck, why did you do that? It was a personal thing, you weren't even friends, you had talked to him like five times tops if you didn't count the whole trimester where you were basically best friends because of that Science project in freshman year.

You missed freshman year.

Anyway, there was no time to think about freshman year.

Over from the top, for real this time!

In the middle of all that, enters Nancy Wheeler.

Literally, physically enters the red room while you and Jonathan are pressed together against the wall, your arms behind your back, his arms on your arms and waist or maybe hips — you were unfocused, to be honest, by the fact that he was basically manhandling you with all his scrawny kid strength.

Well, Jonathan did win a fight over Steve Harrington, handed the School King's ass to him on a golden plate, so you shouldn't be that much surprised.

Alas, Nancy stopped at the door, her huge doe eyes getting even huger, sharp jaw going slack, long pointy fingers wrapped so tightly around the door handle that her knuckles were white.

"Oh! I- Jesus, I'm sorry! Jonathan, I-" Jonathan hadn't said a word since she entered, his whole body had gone frozen, and you were afraid he had stopped breathing altogether. "I'll come back later? I- Or, you'll come find me? I- Oh, god, I'm sorry!"

She ran off after her eloquent speech, not waiting for an answer and slamming the door behind her. Jonathan walked away from you and started murmuring something under his breath while walking in circles within the tiny space in the red room, forgetting about you and your stupid kidnapping of his picture, and finding out a new something to stress about.

You brought your arm to your front, finally looking at it and seeing what he really didn’t want you to see in the picture.

Guess who?

Nancy Fucking Wheeler.

It was on the same day as the other photo if Nancy’s clothes were to say, and she was away from the camera, her profile showing. Holding a single flower — you had no idea which one, you didn’t understand much about flowers. You knew it wasn’t a rose — in between her thin fingers, nose close to the petals, a delicate smile on her lips. She was in front of a window, the light from the outside encompassing her in a kind of godly aura, specks of dust around her, and yet she was the main focus of the whole frame.

As far as a picture could talk, this one was screaming ‘love’ so loudly it was deafening.

Something stirred in your belly, something raw and annoying and mean, but you ignored it and approached Jonathan carefully — as he was still kind of shaking, palms pressed tightly against his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, already stretching your arm to give him back his Nancy Wheeler love portrait. “Curiosity killed the cat and whatnot,” you muttered as he looked at you with anger and snatched the photo from your fingers.

“Yeah, and it’s gonna get you killed too.” His voice was restrained, his whole strength going into not yelling at you again even if his words were threatening enough. “You should go,” he commanded before remembering that his pictures were ready and yours weren’t. “I should go.”

He gathered his photos, his tools and his backpack, and you couldn’t will yourself to tear your eyes from every single movement he made, even if it was painful to watch because he was so clearly pissed at you — and rightfully so.

“If it’s any worth, she looked jealous,” you said, right before he left the red room.

Jonathan paused, door half open, his hand gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles were going white — a perfect mirror image of what Nancy looked like just a few minutes before. He didn’t turn to look at you or to answer your remark, just huffed, shook his head, and left, slamming the door behind him.

You rubbed your face, felt like tearing your hair off your head, took a few long, deep breaths before resuming your task of revealing the photos for your History Project. Buried every single feeling into your head and heart, they weren’t worthy to feel or talk about, and you had more pressing urges.

The History Project. Something about your local community, how a small town revolved around its few citizens, and you thanked every god you could come up with that Jonathan left before you revealed your last picture. Or, that you distracted Jonathan enough by prodding onto his secrets before the revealing liquid did its job and revealed the secrets you were hiding yourself.

You took the picture from the container with the revealing liquid and hung it alongside the other ones you had already put up to dry. You looked at your secret smaller picture.

Out of frame, you knew that Joyce Byers was at the cashier counter of Melvald’s, handing little Will some random candy as he looked excited at the gift. In the frame, in the picture, focused on, behind Will, was Jonathan. Also on his profile, almost the same angle as his own picture of Nancy. He was smiling softly at the sight of his family once again reunited in such an uneventful task such as grocery shopping. The natural daylight from outside the store made his skin glow, and the little crisp texture and reflexes of the not-so-clean window between you and him made the picture look somehow cozy — the opposite effect of distancing that you’d think it would give it. He was at the very center of the frame, soft brown jacket over his shoulders, hands holding plastic bags as he waited for his brother, his pink cheeks making your own face heat up — you remembered. You were infatuated with how relaxed he looked, some of that whole heavy weight finally off his scrawny shoulders; so relaxed that he didn’t even notice you from across the street, taking the picture like a fucking weirdo stalker.

And as far as a picture could talk, this one was screaming ‘love’ so loudly it was deafening.

Thankfully, your own ears were the only ones at range. And accustomed to the noise already.

-✧-

“I fucked up.”

Those were the first words you heard from Jonathan after the whole Nancy Wheeler love portrait fiasco in the red room. It was Friday already, and three whole days had passed - not that you were waiting for him to come talk to you sooner, because you never even talked before that, but something about the way you’d cross eyes in the hallways of the school made the air between you two weighted with something other than your crippling guilt.

“Come again?” you asked, setting down the Bukowski book you were pretending to read for your English class - ugh, Bukowski annoyed you.

Jonathan, for some reason, seemed annoyed at you.

‘Some reason’, okay, other than the obvious reason.

“I avoided Nancy after that day for as long as I could, but then she cornered me earlier today and I got too nervous and might have made the whole situation worst than it already was,” he answered, looking around him as if someone in the school parking lot was about to come out from behind a car and punch him in the face.

Hm, maybe Steve Harrington would.

“How did you manage that?” you asked again, crossing a leg under the other where you were sitting on the bench.

“I might have told her we, you and me, I mean, are… in a relationship.”

There was a ringing in your ear that kind of popped before the world went abruptly silent. You could see Jonathan in front of you, staring at you, waiting for your answer, but he was kind of blurry and the people walking behind him seemed to move in slow motion all of a sudden. It felt like years before you gathered just enough brain power to answer him.

“You. What.”

He groaned, and that made the world go back to normal inside your head, before he rubbed his eyes with the tip of his fingers.

“She came at me, asked who you were and if everything was okay that day, and all I could think of was you saying she had been jealous and, I don’t know, it felt like I blacked out or was possessed or something and then, out of nowhere, I was saying we were dating.”

“To make her more jealous?” you confirmed, and he shrugged violently.

“I guess!” he almost yelled, and then curled over himself in embarrassment. He hid his whole face behind the palms of his hands and you wanted to push them away, hold his cheeks yourself and-

Nope, block that thought out.

“Okay,” you said instead.

“Okay? ‘Okay’, what? Jesus, are you even more insane than I thought?”

You shrugged and pretended his words didn’t sting. “I’m saying we should go for it.” You saw his mouth opening, and spoke before whatever words were going to come out of him could hurt you further: “I can be your fake lover, you make Nancy jealous, she finds out she wants you and not Steve, dumps his ass and you and her will live happily ever after.”

Why were your impulsive thoughts making you so willingly throw yourself into a scenery that was only going to hurt you badly? You had no answer for that.

Jonathan frowned and actually seemed to consider, which was probably worse because you were pretty sure he was going to immediately deny your offer. It was a crazy fucking offer after all, who did you think you were? Molly Ringwald in a rom-com?

Well, apparently Jonathan thought he was Anthony Michael Hall, because the next thing he said was: “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Dude. You’re kidding me?” you asked, twisting your entire body to fully face him and he seemed confused. “I was being sarcastic!” You weren’t, not really, but he didn’t know that. “We can’t do that, it won’t work! Just grow out some balls and ask her out, or whatever.”

You got up and started gathering your stuff since your free period was coming to an end, but Jonathan held your wrist before you could leave, a wave of shock starting where your skins connected all the way up to your brain. You ignored it.

“I already embarrassed myself too much in front of her. Please?” he begged, those sweet eyes of his staring deeply into your soul, and you huffed.

Closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him, pulled your arm away so he wouldn’t touch you. He had too much power over you — and he had no idea.

“You owe me one, boyfriend,” you said just in time for the bell to ring, and then you were on your way to your English class, Bukowski ignored and forgotten, Jonathan’s pleading eyes the only thing on your mind.

“So, boyfriend, how did our love story begin?” Your question startled Jonathan, who hadn’t seen your approach.

He was sitting on the bench furthest from the entry of the park, looking at every direction around him just as he was in the school parking lot earlier that day. Still scared Steve Harrington would pop out of nowhere to beat his ass in revenge a few weeks late.

Jonathan had the luck of not sharing a single class with you over the rest of the school day, so he slipped a little note into your locker at some point, like a middle schooler trying to flirt. His note, however, did not read “WANNA GO GET MILKSHAKES WITH ME? [ ] YES [ ] NO - MARK WITH AN X”, but a simple “meet me @ train station park after school, gotta plan this right” instead.

Underwhelming.

You, however, were a pro at nothing else except committing to a bit, and it had been your stupid idea after all. So you went to the damn train station park to meet him and plan your damn love story, just so the two of you could make damned Nancy Wheeler jealous.

Jonathan was jumpy and kept as much distance in between you on the bench as he could, as if he was afraid you were going to attack him and devour his flesh like a monster coming from a sci-fi horror. You buried all your thoughts and feelings for him in the deepest of corners inside your mind (you’ve been doing that a lot, lately) and tried not to take any of his skittish reactions personally.

The two of you worked nicely, considering all the circumstances, and came up with some ideas that weren’t half bad. If you stopped to think why you were even doing all that in the first place, you’d have a hysterical laughing fit, so you just pretended like you were rehearsing a school play or something.

“You… need a ride?” Jonathan asked and you thought for half a minute before denying.

Surely it would be better if the two of you spent more time together since you were supposed to be dating. But Jonathan was still acting weird — more than usual — and you really didn’t want to impose or to feel worse than you already did from all his mistreatment.

“Uh, no, house’s not that far,” you lied, it was a good walk to your home, but Jonathan seemed relieved at your answer so you felt like you picked the right one.

You suppressed the need to huff, roll your eyes and push him in annoyance or do something else a middle schooler would do.

You also suppressed the will to smile politely at him as you said your goodbyes because, frankly, he wasn’t so deserving of it.

Phone numbers were exchanged in case of emergencies or needs to plan further, and you left before he could come up with something else. You were tired, drained really, from suppressing so much the whole day, and you couldn’t wait to sleep throughout the whole weekend if you could. Hoping no ‘Jonathan Byers loves Nancy Wheeler and would do anything for her’ emergencies would come up. Building up the courage to continue your own ‘You love Jonathan Byers and would do anything for him’ stupid plan.

-✧-

From all the worldviews you had to deconstruct as you grew older — you know, like, Santa isn't real, Reagan’s not a good president no matter what your grandpa said, vegetables are good for your health, and no, U2 wasn't actually that great of a band-

Well, the hardest and also easiest mental worldview deconstruction to be made was that Nancy Wheeler was actually a nice gal.

It was easy because it happened only after your first lunch with your brand new boyfriend Jonathan, and his great best friends Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler herself.  Because it took Nancy one single lunch to win you over with all that wit, brains, charm of hers. And it was hard because, let's be honest, you've been holding a grudge over her for absolutely nothing (let’s call it nothing, okay?) for… a couple of years, now.

It happened Monday, and Jonathan was waiting for you outside your classroom right before lunch break, ready to take you to meet his friends or whatever they were. You were caught by surprise, but you were also a great improviser, and so you tucked his hands into yours (ignored his astounded demeanor and the blush in his cheeks, and that electric wave that hit you again) and let him lead you down the hallways.

You tried not to pay attention to all the looks you received. If all that had happened before November, you wouldn’t even be noticed — neither you nor Jonathan noticeable enough to gather attention from your peers. After his… well, after everything that happened to him and around him after November 6th, though, Jonathan was a little more perceived around school grounds.

Your face burned and your palms sweat with all the eyes turned on you, but you mastered the art of looking blasé all the way to the cafeteria. All the way to the table where Steve and Nancy were sitting side by side, his arm over her shoulder as they talked quietly.

“Hey,” Jonathan greeted as you reached the table, and the couple looked up at you. Steve raised an eyebrow and Nancy’s face contorted in some way before settling into a smile. Jonathan introduced you by name. “we’re dating,” he said, mostly to Steve who didn’t seem to know the news.

“Oh, wow. Cool, man. And nice to meet you,” Steve nodded at you with his million-dollar smile.

“Same,” you answered before letting go of Jonathan’s hand, sitting down and getting your sandwich from your backpack.

Jonathan sat down beside you and you could feel how stiff he was moving. You’d normally reach out and try and reassure him through physical contact if he was a friend of yours. But even though you were dating, you didn’t know if he would react nicely to that. So you kept to yourself.

“It’s nice to finally meet you properly,” Nancy called out, reaching across the table to rest her hand against your arm. Her skin was warm. “I’m sorry about… the other day.”

Steve turned to her clearly confused, and you answered before he could ask questions.

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, we have Math together, don’t we?” you asked instead, and Nancy nodded before going on a rampage about the Math teacher who was an absolute asshole.

She didn’t seem like a huge talker, but that was just one of your misconceptions about her that she went off on proving you wrong about. She seemed cold and distant, but she was actually really attentive and asked questions about you all lunch. She seemed uptight and annoying, but she was actually really funny and amusing. She seemed arrogant and presumptuous, but she was actually really down to earth and offered to help you with some English assignments in exchange for you to help her with some Math assignments.

She talked quietly and smoothly, and had witty remarks to every single comment her boyfriend made — not all of them were dumb, and not all of Nancy’s answers bordered on mean, but some of them certainly did. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though. He looked at her as if she hung the Sun all the way up in the sky. It was funny to see them side by side. They had a lot in common, physically. Top line, casual-chic clothing, elegant fabric softener smell, ironed to no faults. Sharp-edged jaws and expressive eyes, silk-smooth tongues and winning smiles, charisma all over.

That’s as far as it went, though.

Her nerdy comments went in through Steve’s left ear and out through his right. Jonathan laughed at them. Her journalistic eye caught onto little details that went unnoticed by her boyfriend. Jonathan noticed them with her. Steve smiled politely at Jonathan’s dry jokes, not always understanding them, but Nancy hid her laughs behind her wrist.

As if god was trying to show you that opposites attract, and if the devil was trying to give him a counterpoint of: no, actually, similars attract. All happening right in front of your skeptical eyes in the middle of school lunch, in between Science and PE.

Jonathan walked you to your next class after it was all over, and you were overwhelmed with how much you enjoyed Nancy Wheeler’s company. Which made it all extra difficult, since now you understood Jonathan’s infatuation with her.

“See you later,” he said his goodbye at the gym entrance.

A group of people walked past the two of you and Jonathan thought it was a good idea to land a kiss on your cheek. Your breath hitched and you didn’t have the time to say goodbye back before Jonathan was walking to the main building, to his own class.

Your cheek burned the whole day, and so did the hand you used to hold his through the hallways, and your heart ached with the thoughts on your mind of how much Jonathan and Nancy seemed meant to be, and how much you wish they weren’t.

-✧-

It was two whole weeks of that. Two whole weeks walking hand-in-hand with Jonathan and sitting with him, Nancy, and Steve at lunch. And sitting beside Nancy at the Math classes you shared, because she invited you to and you couldn’t say no.

And there was something about the three of them, something weird that they seemed to have in common. When they’d reminisce over something that happened around the time Will went missing, and they would stop and look at you mid-sentence sometimes, and one of them would suddenly change the subject.

You were curious, of course, it was part of your nature to be exceedingly curious at all times.

But they all seemed to hate to talk about it, even if they brought it up from time to time, and you seemed to recognize that constantly haunted look of Jonathan in his friends’ faces as well, and the look wasn’t as cute anymore.

So you didn’t pry.

Somewhere between the end of May and the beginning of June, Nancy and Steve asked you and Jonathan to go out with them on a double date, as if reading your mind for what could possibly be your worst nightmare, but again you couldn’t say no.

You might have picked your best outfit, and you might have done your hair more carefully than you usually did, and you might have put on an extra ring or necklace. And your parents might have noticed, and you might have lied and said you were going to a colleague’s birthday party and not on a double date to the movies and a restaurant with your weird fake boyfriend and his weird preppy friends.

Jonathan picked you up at seven sharp in his old Ford and he didn’t seem much different than usual outfit-wise, but he was definitely using cologne.

“You look nice,” he said as you entered the car and you tried not to swoon at the crumbs of his attention.

“You smell nice,” you answered, and it pleased you enough to see that blush of his creeping up his neck and cheeks.

Steve and Nancy were already there waiting under the marquee. Jonathan parked and the two of you left the car and went on your way to meet the other couple. Nancy greeted you with a tight hug. You wanted to throw yourself into oncoming traffic just as much as you wanted to stay in the unusual embrace for a long time.

“This is where your boyfriend gave me a taste of his amazing right hook,” Steve said to you, pointing at the little alley by the theater.

“Steve!” Nancy reprimanded, but it seemed like she was holding back a smile.

“What was all that about, anyway?” you asked, giving into your curiosity, eager for the whole story now that you could finally have it.

You forgot that dating Jonathan should probably mean that you’d know what it was all about already. He would’ve told the person he was dating, right? Thankfully no one seemed to notice your little slip.

“Jonathan was a bit of a creep, I was a huge of an asshole and Nancy sadly got caught in between us,” Steve answered honestly. “We’re all good now, though, aren’t we? All in the past.” He smiled at the other two, who nodded along and smiled back.

Jonathan and Nancy’s smiles didn’t seem as sincere as Steve’s. And that didn’t feel like the actual whole story, but again you didn’t pry because they were getting that weird haunted look.

Steve threw his arm over Nancy’s shoulder. “Let’s get some popcorn, my treat,” he said and started walking into the theater. Jonathan touched your lower back, guiding you, and you held back a sigh.

You were in for a long evening.

Indiana Jones conquered the Temple Of Doom, or whatever. You didn’t pay much attention, it was hard to with Jonathan’s arm draped over your shoulder the whole time and the whispered little comments he would make with Nancy — instead of you — through the film.

You went to a restaurant after, Nancy’s choice, not too far from the theater so you all walked there. Hand in hand again. Nancy and Steve behind you, talking about the movie. Jonathan tried to rile up a conversation about it with you — finally — but, as you hadn’t paid much attention, you didn’t have a lot to say.

Food was good and thankfully the topic of conversation wasn’t the movie, because you couldn’t pretend to have paid attention to it in front of the three of them at the same time. Instead, you talked about your summer plans. Well, mostly Steve’s summer plans, he was going on vacation with his parents, somewhere on the East Coast, maybe Hawaii? Nancy was just going to see her grandma for a couple of weeks up in Chicago. Your parents weren’t fans of travels, and Jonathan was… well, the guy was poor. So Steve’s plans were the most thrilling ones.

“Too bad your parents won’t wanna travel, you could have the house to yourselves,” Steve said with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You laughed loudly — mostly nervously — and Jonathan blushed. It was your usual responses at this point.

“Sure, yeah,” you said, if only not to leave a weird silence up, before looking at your wristwatch. “They’re very strict anyway, and look at that! I gotta be home soon,” you continued, and Jonathan coughed to hide a laugh.

“We should ask for the check,” he said and raised his hand to get the waiter’s attention.

That weird conversation was over, finally, and you paid for the dinner individually. By the grace of gods Steve didn’t comment on Jonathan not paying for you, since he paid for his own girlfriend, but he sure eyed you curiously as you handed your money.

“This was so nice, we should do it more often!” Nancy commented on your way back to the cars, her arm intertwined with yours as Steve and Jonathan steered behind. “It feels nice to have a normal friend after-” she stopped herself and her eyes widened, and she gulped loudly and didn’t finish her sentence.

You remembered Barb Holland, and her great English essays and her amazing grades in History, and her suspicious disappearance near Will’s back in November. How she supposedly ran away from home. How she didn’t seem at all like the type to do that.

Nancy was looking guilty and haunted, that look the three of them shared, and your curiosity was turning into apprehension of knowing what had happened. She let go of your arm, and she never finished her sentence. The boys also went quiet behind you. There was a weighted tension on top of the four of you.

You reached Steve’s bimmer and he touched Nancy’s arm to lead her to the passenger side, and she was still in a kind of haze as she waved goodbye from the window. Steve seemed worried, and so did Jonathan, but none of them said anything. And neither did you.

Jonathan took you home, one of his hipster band’s tape on the sound system, the stars out brightly and the most awkward of silences between the two of you.

There was no one out in your street to see you as he parked in your driveway, but he kissed your cheek goodbye all the same. And you held him tightly in a hug, wanting to comfort him even though you had no idea what haunted him. Crippling curiosity equal to a crippling fear, wishing for the truth and wishing to never having to find out the truth.

-✧-

You had two final weeks of school before Summer and the great excuse of having to finish your essays and projects to hide in the library and not have to talk to the trio that confused you more and more every day.

But still, sometimes Nancy would stop by and study with you. Always helpful, and kind, and nice. You never talked about that night. Sometimes she’d bring Steve with her, and she’d tutor him and they didn’t bother you, and it felt good to have the company.

Sometimes Jonathan would stop by. He’d bring you lunch, he’d bring you books, he’d bring you comfort. The warmth of his presence was addictive, reminding you of late freshman year and the Science project you built together. And you dreaded the day this would all end, he’d forget about you with Nancy Wheeler in his arms, and you’d be nothing but an embarrassing and funny story to maybe tell their grandkids.

You were able to escape them one single day, to retake your final picture for that History collage, the one you used to replace Jonathan’s love portrait. As the class to present the projects came up, you shared a knowing look with him when you noticed he also replaced Nancy’s love portrait on his own collage. A secret between you, him, and little red lamp lights. A secret neither of you talked about. Those were starting to grow.

“How cute that you two have so much in common, you even chose the same format for your projects! I love collages,” one of your colleagues said to you after class was over.

Jonathan was waiting beside your table for you to gather your stuff, and you felt your knees weaken at the way he smiled from the compliment, none of that blush anymore, a pinch of almost confidence. You couldn’t know if you loved it or hated it.

“Mine doesn’t look as good, though,” he answered, pointing at your pictures as if he wasn’t the professional photographer, and you weren’t just someone with a hobby.

“You’re both adorable,” the colleague said before leaving, Jonathan thanked her all nonchalant as if used to it by now.

And you couldn’t come up with any words throughout the whole conversation, your throat constricted with the need to tell her to shut up and tell Jonathan how you felt for him, beg him to let you go. It wasn’t fun anymore.

He didn’t let you scurry away to the library, no more excuses to do so since the History project was the last one, and he held your hand through the hallways, and he held your bag for you, and he sat so close to you at the table bench, while Nancy ranted on about her Spanish essay, that you could feel the heat of his thigh pressed against yours, but his eyes never left Nancy’s as she spoke.

It felt as if there was an elephant at each of your shoulders, and you couldn’t stop staring at him, and he didn’t spare a single glance your way even as his arm was almost glued to yours with the heat and the sweat and the stickiness of early Summer. Your heart tight in your chest, beating fast and loud and strong against your ribcage, as if begging to be let out, to go rest on Jonathan’s hands where it belonged.

-✧-

Summer came, and you stayed home. Not many friends to go out with, not many party invitations in your mailbox, no one else to see on a day-to-day basis except your parents. They asked about Jonathan once, because they saw him picking you up and bringing you back on that double date you had with Nancy and Steve. You said he was probably traveling, that you weren’t so close, you didn’t know, and they knew better not to ask again.

It was August already, a whole long month of Summer break where you’d missed him every day, missed his sweet smile, the way his blush would start by his neck and go up until it reached his cheeks, missed his calm and soothing tone of voice, missed the way he’d smell of pancakes and mint shampoo in the mornings.

Didn’t miss the way he would look at her.

But you missed her too, though. You missed Nancy’s company, and her sweet smile and her calm and soothing tone of voice. You even missed Steve and the way he’d compare everything to a basketball game, and how he high-fived you when Nancy quizzed him on the library and he’d get an answer right. In the weirdest turn of events, they became your friends. And you missed your friends.

Your body seemed to know how your brain thought and your heart ached, because when your father asked you to get groceries, your feet automatically walked further than needed and took you to Melvald’s on Main instead of the market near your house.

And of course he was there.

You knew he’d be there. He told you (and Nancy, and Steve, during that double date) he’d be taking a summer job with his mom, was dreading the tasks already but he could use the money.

He was stocking, standing in the cereal aisle seeming a little confused about where to put the Honeycomb and the Fruit Loops. And that same natural daylight from the outside reached him and made his skin glow, and there were no dirty windows between you two as you reached him without even noticing you had been walking towards him.

“Hey,” you called out, and he turned to you and smiled weirdly wide.

“Hi. Long time no see. How’s your summer?” he asked, putting down the cereal boxes.

You shrugged. “Nothing exciting. How’s Melvald’s treating you?”

“It’s not so hard. Not a big place,” he shrugged as well, and he was still smiling and he was taller than you so the sunlight behind you was hitting his eyes just right and your heart thumped.

“You’ve seen Nancy?” you asked because you liked to suffer, you’ve come to know. “She’s back from Chicago already?”

“Oh, I think she is. Will went to Mike’s yesterday, but I haven’t seen her, no.”

“Don’t you want to?” you pressed, because you weren’t suffering enough, apparently. He shot you a comically puzzled look before shrugging and smiling again.

“I guess? No more than I wanted to see you, though. Or, like, Steve, for that matter,” he answered and you huffed.

“Sure. Anyway, where’s the pasta sauce in here?” you changed the subject and he pointed towards a specific place.

You started walking without saying anything further and, to your surprise, he followed you.

“What, you didn’t miss me back?” he was teasing you, and it would’ve thrilled you just a few months ago how close you got to each other, and you would’ve reveled in any kind of attention he’d paid to you, but you just wanted to scream because it wasn’t fun anymore. It was painful.

You didn’t answer, because you wanted to tell him the truth, and tell him that yeah, you’ve missed him so much it ached, you’ve missed him so much you cried yourself to sleep once, you missed him so much and you couldn’t have him, he wasn’t yours, but you were his even if he didn’t know. Even if his eyes were never focused on you as yours were focused on him.

“C’mon, don’t go breaking my heart,” he teased again and you stopped abruptly right in front of the tomato sauce stand.

“Jonathan, please don’t do this,” you asked, voice wavering, and his smile dropped instantly at the sound of it.

“I’m sorry. What is it?” he asked earnestly, really had no idea, and you didn’t have it in you to be patient enough to spell it out for him.

“How long do we have to keep this up for?” you pleaded, turning to look at him. Your heart ached, your eyes burned, how could he not see it? How could he not see you? “We can just call it off now, yeah? We haven’t seen them yet, don’t even know if Steve’s back already, we can just say it happened over summer when they weren’t here.”

“What are you talking about?” he pushed the knife in deeper, your hands were shaking, you were almost begging for him to look at you, to see right through you so you wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

“Really, dude?” you asked loudly, saw his mom looking up from a magazine at the cashier counter to look at the two of you. “Our fake relationship thing? That amazing fucking plan of ours? It’s clearly not heading anywhere, Nancy and Steve are still together and she’s actually become my friend so it sucks to be in this position.” You gestured around you as if your mentioned friends would pop out of nowhere to your surprise. You were still loud, and you didn’t care. “Just do as I said that day, grow out some balls, and tell her the truth.”

Rich advice, coming from you.

Do as you say, don’t do as you do, or whatever.

You didn’t wait for an answer and forgot about the fucking sauce, and just started walking towards the store entrance so you could let all of this go and never have to deal with the ‘Jonathan Byers loves Nancy Wheeler and would do anything for her’ fiasco.

Joyce — Jonathan’s fucking mom, for Christ’s sake — called out to you as you stormed out of Melvald’s, you didn’t even know she knew your name, but you didn’t stop anyway. Not until there was a warm hand holding your arm, and you knew that hand by now, all its softness and its calluses, bends and curves and dents, and your heart was already broken but it somehow hurt and bled even more.

“Dude, please!” you begged again, and he was looking at you, searching for something in your eyes and yet he still couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see you.

“I’m sorry, what did I do? What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, I think, just leave me alone,” you answered, and he let go of you and he seemed hurt by your words.

You walked back to your house and apologized to your dad for not bringing back his groceries, and he didn’t ask why when he saw your wet eyes. He made you tea, patted you on the head and you cried yourself to sleep again.

-✧-

“A friend of yours is here,” your mom said as you left the shower, three whole days after your (fight? Was it a fight?) encounter with Jonathan. “Waiting in your room,” she said.

It should have confused you, made you wonder. But it didn’t. You knew it was him. Who else would it be?

It was Nancy Wheeler.

Sitting on your bed, and her hair was shorter and her cheeks were a darker shade of pink than they were when you last saw her on the last day of school before Summer break.

“Hi?” you said or asked, and she smiled when she saw you were there.

Got up and walked towards you and hugged you tightly, you missed that hug, and her freshly cut hair smelled of something floral.

She pulled you by your hand until you two were sitting in your bed, side by side.

“I broke up with Steve. Jonathan told me everything,” she said, and your tiny broken heart still had some strength in it to break even further, shockingly.

“Uh, good for you, I guess?” You shrugged, not sure what she wanted you to say. “When’s the wedding?” you clouded your pain with humor because, when didn’t you?

“I just said I broke up with Steve, what wedding?”

“Yours and Jonathan’s?” Why were they so difficult? Oblivious. Why did they enjoy torturing you?

“No, listen,” she called your name as if you weren’t paying attention. “Jonathan told me everything. The whole deal, the whole plan, the whole picture, everything.”

It was a funny déjà-vu. There was a ringing in your ear that kind of popped before the world went abruptly silent. You could see Nancy in front of you, staring at you with a weird misplaced smile, waiting for your answer — what did she want you to answer, honestly? — but she was kind of blurry. It felt like years before you gathered just enough brain power to answer her.

“He. What.”

She giggled, and that made the world go back to normal inside your head, before she rolled her eyes with amusement.

“You two are so dense,” she said, still smiling. “I had to spell it out for him, and I kinda saw it coming, but not from you.”

“Nancy, for the love of all things holy, what are you talking about?” You held her hands in yours, and she looked at your hands held together for a second before looking into your eyes again to talk.

“You’re in love with him,” she answered, and you weren’t surprised that she knew.

“Fucking duh, he’s the only one who can’t see it.” She laughed, and her eyes twinkled.

“And he’s in love with you,” she completed, and it wasn’t funny anymore.

“No, he’s not.”

“You’re the only one who can’t see it,” she threw back at you and you rolled your eyes at her wit — you loved it so much.

“Nancy, he likes you. Literally how we got here in the first place.” You gestured around you as if she could see how miserable you’ve been lately without him, and without your study sessions and your lunches together as a group. “If not to get with him, why did you break up with Steve?” you asked.

“There is… a lot that held us together. Not just Steve and me, but us and Jonathan as well. And I was just using Steve as a crutch, trying to pretend everything was fine and normal, but it isn’t, and it isn’t fair to either of us. And I noticed all that thanks to you being my friend.”

You remembered the date — again — and the way Nancy recoiled to herself at the end of it, and your friends’ collective haunted guilty look, and Will Byers and how he came back, and Barb Holland and how she did not.

“Jonathan came to my house to talk, we got a little lost in the middle of it all but he knocked some sense into me, and I like to think I’ve knocked some sense into him back,” she said, and she was still so calm and collected, but she felt lighter somehow, and she never stopped smiling sweetly at you. “You should go check.”

It was all Nancy Wheeler's fault.

I mean, literally. Quite from the beginning. Because it was all about Nancy Wheeler, wasn't it? It was all because of Nancy Wheeler, it was all for Nancy Wheeler.

She convinced you to go talk to Jonathan, and at this point you trusted her so freely that you did just that. She convinced you to give him a chance, and you convinced yourself you were doing it because she asked you to, you were doing it for her and not for yourself or Jonathan. She was a very persuasive little lady, you’ve come to find out.

The street where the Byers lived was weird as fuck, and the forest surrounding it gave you the worst chills ever, but you kept your calm as you rode your bike all the way to the Byers’ front yard.

You knocked, and Jonathan answered. He seemed surprised to see you, and that blush of his creeped up from his neck to his cheeks and you fell for him again just then.

“Hi,” he said, still staring.

“Hi. Can we talk?” He shook his head, came back to himself, and opened the door to let you in. “Where’s your family?”

“Mom’s still at Melvald’s, Will’s at Mike’s,” he answered, and started going down the hallway, so you followed him.

His room looked, felt and smelled like him and it was both comforting and distressing to be surrounded by Jonathan in all senses. You were still scared of how this conversation would go.

He went digging through some stuff in his desk, and when he found it he walked closer to you where you were still standing awkwardly by the door. He handed you something, a picture.

“You called it ‘Nancy Wheeler love portrait’, that day at the train station park,” he said while you observed again Nancy’s profile in the photo. You had it memorized at this point, burned to the back of your eyelids. “It really was,” he continued and you shot him a puzzled look. “It was a love portrait, it was love I guess.”

He shrugged, and only then you noticed he was holding something behind his back. He moved his hand, brought it forward and you saw that it was another picture but you couldn’t see what it was about. He smiled down adoringly at it before handing it to you.

It was you.

A photo taken of your profile. You were sitting at a desk at the school library, in front of a window, the light from the outside encompassing you in a kind of godly aura, specks of dust flying around you and a big smile on your lips as you looked down at your hands resting on top of the table.

It was so similar. It was the same angle, the same lightning, the same pose. And yet it was so different from the Nancy Wheeler love portrait.

“Your own love portrait,” Jonathan said, voice almost a whisper, and you wanted to look at him and check if he was blushing the way his voice made it seem like he was, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the photo. “Steve and Nancy are out of frame, you were laughing at something he just said, so relaxed and happy around our friends you didn’t even notice me taking the picture like a weirdo.”

He softly touched your hand that was holding the picture, just the tips of his fingers, and they were enough to ignite a spark that made your whole body burn. You stared at that contact of your skins for the very few seconds they lasted before Jonathan pulled his arm back and continued talking.

“I got a little lost in the middle of it all, I think. Forgot there was a plan. Forgot why it all began. Forgot about Nancy, and all I could think about was you. How I wanted to see you again day after day, and hold your hand through the hallways on our way to lunch, and sit beside you at the cafeteria table. And take you on dates without Steve’s stupid comments, just you and me, and you’d laugh at my jokes ‘cause you always do. And to take more pictures of you. Take pictures with you. Just, do stuff together. All the time.

And I was so scared that you’d notice that change in me, notice how far gone for you I was. I didn’t want to spend time apart but I also couldn’t even look at you without wanting to kiss you so bad. I’d be glued to you at all times, hurt from wanting you so much, and yet I couldn’t let you go. Didn’t want to ask you to let me go.”

You finally looked at him and, yes, he was blushing. But he was so determined, so confident. You decided you loved it.

“Me and Nancy, we… got a past. Not even romantic, but, we’ve been through a lot and I’ll tell you all about it, but. I think you’ve always been there, ever since that Science project freshman year, you’ve been there on the sidelines, and when we started talking again because of our stupid plan, I realized how much I’ve missed you. And I didn’t care about the plan anymore, and I didn’t want it to end because I just wanted it to be real.”

It was unbelievable how much you recognized those words, as if you were saying them yourself. You couldn’t help but smile, and Jonathan smiled back at you, and you wanted to kiss his smile senseless.

So you did just that.

You held the pictures far from your bodies, because you didn’t want to damage them, and you threw your other arm around his neck. He hugged your waist close to him and you kissed his smile, and he kissed your smile back. He tasted of pancakes and maple syrup and coffee with cream no sugar, and you feasted on that meal as if it was your last. You let your fingers wander through his hair, and it was soft and it smelled of mint shampoo, and your senses were overwhelmed, surrounded by Jonathan in all senses and it felt like dying and going to heaven.

You kissed for a long time before your lungs ran out of air, and your lips separated but your foreheads were still touching. You handed the pictures back to Jonathan, and he took them with a confused expression. You fished something out of your back pocket, your wallet, and you fished something out of your wallet, a picture. You handed that to him too.

“Jonathan Byers love portrait,” you both said at the same time and laughed together.

You kept your picture of him and he kept your picture of you, and you held onto his face that was still blushing and warm and soft, and he kissed you for a long time. And the plan didn’t work out, not really, but it kinda did, and it was all Nancy Wheeler’s fault.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬

(jonathan byers x fem!reader)

Summary: Your boyfriend seeks you out in his time of need. You hold onto him for as long as you can.

Warnings: Angst, a little bit of fluff and comfort, implied Jancy.

a/n: My dumbass lost the ask about this request. I had an original character x steve harrington plot, once upon a time, my first ever OC for a fandom and it started off a lot like this, so writing this was very nostalgic. Hurt like hell, though. Anyways, hope the jonathan lovers (other than me) and anyone else who gives this a read likes it. I know he's not one of the more popular ST romantic interests, but he should be.

You hummed along to the song crooning low from your battered radio—the poor thing having taken one too many tumbles from its resting place on your dresser.

  Sometimes you got a little too into it, and lacked special awareness, dance moves too much for your secondhand furniture. 

  The main ceiling light was off, your safe space only lit by a few candles and the lamp on your desk, providing you enough light to complete the essay you were working on. 

  It was peaceful, almost. Ideally, you’d rather be in bed reading a book or watching some movie, maybe catching up on Dynasty but you needed to clear your head—or rather, distract yourself.

  You’d been plagued with a sense of foreboding for the last couple of weeks, and anxiety. It had only intensified in the last couple of days, still, you were determined to push through it. You were being stupid, silly.

  You let out a sigh, dropping your pencil in favor of running a hand over your face. You’d gone right back to thinking about the cause of your silent anguish. Danggit.

  You let yourself stew in silence for a few moments before you forced yourself to pick up your pencil again, ready to move onto your next paragraph when you heard the unmistakable sound of knuckles rapping against the glass of your window.

  Glancing up and over, you found your boyfriend’s face peering down at you. He smiled, sheepish, as he waved.

  You abandoned your homework (it wasn’t due until Friday anyways), hurrying over to the wall to unlock it for him. Your bedroom was in the basement, the house was only a two bedroom, so you’d shared a room with your younger sister until just a few months ago, when your father had finally cleaned it out and done it up for you just before his sudden passing. 

  Jonathan had no problem climbing down through the small, rectangular window, he’d done it a couple of times already—though your mother had no problem allowing him in, not when he made you so happy after the loss.

  “You could just use the front door, you know.” You reminded him, lips pulling into a smile as his nose scrunched up in distaste.

  “Didn’t want to ring the doorbell, I know your mom’s probably exhausted from all the flying.” He shrugged off his jacket, resting it over the washer (hey—it might have been a spacious room but it was still the basement).

  Your heart warmed, pleased with the fact he’d remembered your brief mentioning of her return home that morning while he’d walked you to your algebra class. She was a flight attendant, taking on more flights to support you and your sister now that your dad was gone. You rarely saw her anymore.

  “She’s got her earplugs in.” 

  “Did she have to pay twenty dollars for those or does she get them for free?”

  You laughed, shoving at his shoulder. Jonathan chuckled, giving you a playful push before he dragged you back to him, holding you against him as he swayed you and pressed his lips to your crown.

  Your eyes fluttered shut, soaking up his affection like a peace lily deprived of the sun.

  Then he let himself fall back onto your bed, taking him with you as you squealed. 

  “Jonathan!”

  He shushed you, hand on the back of your head to press your face into his chest, “Your mom is asleep, Moody!”

  You groaned at the use of the nickname you’d never be able to escape. You’d swallowed a mood ring on a dare in elementary school and threw it up, along with your breakfast, during recess when you’d grown anxious, believing a doctor would have to cut your stomach open to fish it out. 

  The mean kids had used the name to taunt you, but when a shy little boy with shaggy hair used it to call you over and ask if you wanted to take turns pushing each other on the swing, you’d decided it wasn’t all that bad. Not even a little. He also never took a turn on the swings, pushing you the entire time.

  That hadn’t been the beginning of your love story, while you’d play with Jonathan—always running to him whenever he called and even when he didn’t—your crush on him prevented you from developing a real friendship with him, too shy whenever he’d acknowledge your existence. It was a Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown kind of thing until high school.

  You’d always been pretty, always been likable and nice—to those who deserved it—and your popularity in high school was a result of those traits. You’d been pursued by boys since middle school, but you were too focused on your pursuit of one boy in particular to pay them any mind.

  Your love story finally started just after freshman year had ended. Jonathan was going around, taking photos of the messy hallways filled with celebration. You’d clocked the moment his camera was on you and gave the lens, and the boy behind it, a brilliant grin.

  The picture was clipped to the visor in his car with a copy resting, framed, on his bedside table

  You let out a small puff of breath, eyes closing once more as the anxiety faded from you. Jonathan was your flame, always driving away the cold.

  The two of you laid there on your bed in comfortable silence, his hand stroking over your hair. You’d almost been lulled to sleep until you registered the change in the silence. It was anxious again, but it wasn’t you.

  You moved your head to stare up at him, chin resting on his chest.

  He wasn’t looking at you, gaze focused on your ceiling with an emotionless expression. You knew what he was thinking about.

  “We should hang up more flyers,” You commented, mind filling with thoughts and memories of the little boy who often accompanied you on dates with your boyfriend and for whom you often babysat before you were even able to call Jonathan yours. Despite his young age, you considered Will a friend (felt a little wrong to call him your little brother seeing as how you were sleeping with his older brother). You loved him and you missed him, having been plagued with worry since his disappearance. 

  You’d searched the woods with Joyce, Jonathan and your sister day after day until your group finally had to admit Will wasn’t in the woods. You’d also helped plaster his missing posters all over town, putting them back up when some asshole tore them down (you hadn’t told Jonathan about that).

  Jonathan hummed, unblinking and you wiggled further up his body, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as you pressed a few gentle kisses there. You could feel the tension leaving him.

  “Do you think he’s still alive?” He finally asked, voice a whisper even for your soft spoken boyfriend and laced with fear.

  You moved onto your forearm, shifting your weight to your side as you used your free hand to grasp his chin, turning his head to look at you. 

  There was a wet shine to his pretty brown eyes, one you knew he rarely allowed himself to show.

  You thought of your sister upstairs, older than Will but still  younger than you. If anything happened to her, you wouldn’t know how to go on with that missing space in your life. You could barely do it with the space your dad had previously occupied being empty.

  You knew Will, though. Maybe not as well as his brother, but you had a special bond with him, your friendship pure and full of trust. He’d comforted you on the nights you were babysitting him and your feelings for Jonathan became too much for you, always reassuring you that his brother was the greatest but severely stupid if he couldn’t see how much you cared about him and ask you out. You’d laugh, make him popcorn and let him watch a scary movie to apologize for being a teenage girl around him.

  He told you his secrets, too.

  Yeah, your bond with Will Byers was strong, unbreakable even. And you knew he was alive. You didn’t know how, you just knew.

  “Without a doubt. Will is gonna come home. He is, and we’ll all cry and hug and never let him out of our sights again, but he’s coming home.”

  You watched his face give in, crumbling as the tears finally trailed down the sides of his face, disappearing into his sideburns.

  It was your turn to hold him. You pulled him to you and he went willingly, burying his face in your chest as he quietly sobbed, shoulders shaking. 

  You carded your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, willing away your own hurt so you could help him through his.

  “He might not be here right now, but Will isn’t gone. You haven’t lost him, Shutterbug.” You promised, squeezing him so he didn’t feel like he was falling apart.

  All your previous worries were gone, fear of Jonathan’s seemingly growing friendship and secret rendezvous—he hasn’t told you about but you know of—with Nancy Wheeler forgotten, trivial compared to the matter at hand. He’s in your bed, came to you for comfort and you got to hold him. She’s got a boyfriend, one who isn’t yours. The foreboding can take a seat in the back of your mind because you wouldn’t pay it anymore attention.

  You were right, Will did come home. You didn’t know the whole story, not buying the one fed to you but you didn’t push it, happy and relieved your little friend was back home safe.

  And you were right about the other thing, the foreboding. By the next fall, you weren’t able to hold Jonathan anymore. 

  And he stopped being yours.

[clawsmiic]

>Rules of Requesting<

Eddie Munson 🎸

Season 4

Showing love in unconventional means

Older

Jonathan Byers 📸

Season 1

Season 2

Season 3

Season 4

Older

Robin Buckley 🎺

Season 3

Season 4

Older

Steve Harrington ✨

Season 1

Season 2

Fake dating your enemies enemy (Billy mention)

Season 3

Trying to ask out the smoothie girl

Season 4

Sneaking into your room 🔥

Giving you a ride home

Older

All content on this page is fictional and I do not condone the acts I enjoy in a fictional sense. I don't consent to my work being reposted or translated.

[yellowroseswrites]

i almost cried from happiness when I found you

Jonathan Byers with a reader with ADHD and anxiety

But not the crying kind

Nerves are always fried, just stressed

knee bounces

Hands are always doing something, tracing patterns, playing with rings,

Doesn't mind crowds but some people give her random anxiety

Isn't to worried about school, but is worried about Jonathan, anxiety for loved ones

I need him not trying to fix her. Trying to appreciate her for who she is

Here you go :)

"Your string of lights is still bright to me"

Jonathan Byers x Adhd!Anxious!Fem Reader [she/her pronouns used]

{TW/CW}- Talks of adhd, fidgeting, food is mentioned, reader doesn’t eat breakfast bc of executive dysfunction, but jon does have her eat, but the actual action of eating isnt discussed, sweet jonathan byers, I love him your honor, mentions him trying to ‘help’ her but it's not fixing her, reader has issues with body temperature, like she gets hot flashes bc of overthinking and stuff, jon calls reader honey once

{Authors note}- Tbh, i kinda hate this fic, but I love jon and this reader. so please, if you have any specific scenarios or prompts you want to see with them, send me an ask with it. i want to write for them more! GIF creds to the owner, title creds to taylor swift

{Word count}- 1,101. It's a short one today babes

There was no one in this world that you loved more than Jonathan Byers. He meant everything to you. He accepted you for who you were, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

You can remember clearly how it felt when he realized there was something off about you. You can remember how you were certain he would leave you. You remember telling him about your ADHD and being scared that he would think differently of you. You remember describing what it was like to live the way you live, with feeling nervous and fidgety for no apparent reason. You thought you were too much for him, you had too many things wrong with you.

And you can remember the indescribable peace you felt when he held your hands and told you he loved you. Even with your faults, though he would never see them as such. It was all you. He promised himself that he would never let you think less of yourself for things you couldn’t control. 

That’s not to say it was easy, because it wasn’t. It still isn’t. But Jonathan’s effort to help will always have you falling for him all over again. He spends his time watching and noticing, picking up on ways he can help you.

Sometimes it’s small things, one’s that you don’t even pick up on. He’ll buy you new rings and bracelets, ones with beads and charms that you can fidget with. He’ll place rubber pieces to the ends of your pencils for you to chew on to keep your pretty little nails intact. He rubs his hand along your back when bouncing your knee, keeping you calm but never making you stay still. He lets you run your fingers through his hair when you need to do something with your hands. He keeps the temperature cooler when he knows you’re coming over, afraid you’ll overthink and overheat. 

Sometimes it’s bigger things, things that make you feel like a burden. He’ll stay over at your place when you can’t fall asleep, or drive you around until your eyes flutter closed. He’ll leave with you if you get overwhelmed, anytime and anywhere. He always asks you before inviting someone else to hang out with yall, you’re always his first priority. He would shut someone up immediately if they said anything bad about you or the way you were acting.

You had only told a few of your friends. You tended to avoid the subject, you didn’t like the way people would view you differently or the way they would treat you. You didn’t want to hear about how you should ‘take a deep breath’ or ‘just sit still’. Many people just didn’t understand, but Jonathan did.

Today was a particularly bad day. You woke up and the temperature was too hot in your room. When you wake up warm, your day is wrong, that’s how it works. You don’t know why and you always try to get past it, but your bad day usually continues to persist.

You didn’t want to brush your teeth. You weren’t too tired, or too lazy, you just felt like you couldn’t. You saw the toothbrush, and you saw the toothpaste, and you couldn’t. So, you went to your kitchen to grab something for breakfast, maybe something to kickstart your day, but nothing seemed appealing.

Finally, you simply settled in your bed. You laid down and stared at your ceiling while you let your thoughts run freely. You heard the phone ring but you couldn’t get up to get it. You couldn’t do anything but stare and think and run your hands along your blankets. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed before you heard a small knock at your door.

“Come in”

The door creaked slightly and you heard a familiar set of footsteps approach you.

“Bad day sweetheart?” Jonathan asked as he sat down on your bed, weighing down the left side and causing you to roll a little bit.

You laughed as you sat up and motioned for Jonathan to lie down. He laid back against your lap, your hands soon finding their way to his hair. 

“I’m fine.”

Even with his face being upside down for you, you could tell he didn’t believe you. He hummed before he responded,

“You sure? You didn’t answer my call and you didn’t eat breakfast.”

“How do you even know that?”

“When you eat breakfast, you have a snack right after, or chew gum. You have to keep chewing.” He replied casually, as though he didn’t just call out a specific detail a normal person would never take notice of.

It scared you a bit, and yet it didn’t surprise you at all. He always noticed things that you thought people would try to ignore. He never once judged you or tried to ‘save’ you, he only asked how he could help, and sometimes he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You were quiet while you thought, though your hands were still brushing through the boy's hair. You sighed before you spoke, “Don’t you ever get tired of me?”

Jonathan sat up at that and turned to face you, “Why would you think that?” His hands found yours before you could bring your nails to your mouth.

“I just, I don’t know, I’m a very tiring person I guess. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you ever thought I was too much.” It most certainly would hurt your feelings, but you wouldn’t say that.

He took in a breath, you could see in his eyes he was a little hurt.

Of course, you thought, he is tired of me. I gave him an out and he’s going to take it.

“Oh honey,” here it is, “I could never get tired of you.”

Oh

“Nothing you do is ‘too much’. You mean everything to me, I could never think of you like that.”

It’s moments like this that make you wonder how you were so lucky as to have Jonathan in your life. You don’t say anything back, you just allow his words to fill your mind. You take a moment to believe them. Even if you don’t feel that way about yourself, you know he wouldn’t lie to you. 

Jonathan seems to know that that’s all you needed to hear. He also knows he’ll have to tell you again, and again, and again, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll tell you forever if you needed him to.

He stands up and holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go get something to eat mkay?”

[biggestsimponhere]

Dating jonathan byers headcannons

Loves to take pictures of you

loves when you model for him

cooks with you

when you stress bake he helps you give them to your friends

pulls you into his lap when your hanging out with your friends

holds your hand a lot

forehead kisses!!! for both him and you

Sings to you and only you

brings you around joyce and will, they love you too

keeps a photo of you in his wallet and his car and by his bed, basically just everywhere

invites you over for christmas

let’s you borrow his sweaters

you tell him he looks cute in sweaters so he buys more

takes you to the lovers lake to walk but ends up taking photos of you

Loves movie nights with you

definitely big spoon but does love being held

gives you massages when you’re upset

if you’re scared of thunderstorms he’ll have you stay at his house

Joyce doesn’t mind at all cause she loves you

loves that you and his family get along

brings you to pick up will

you talk to will about anything he wants to talk about as jonathan watches fondly

[littlesadsailor]

Dating Jonathan Byers <3

I figured out how to remove the border thing so expect more mood boards 😈

[wroteclassicaly]

Could you write some fluffy summer fun with Jonathan? 👀

Jonathan taking you to a flower field to photograph you on a summers’ day.

~*~

You wore the dress for him specifically. And it seems to be a hit everywhere that you go today (the grocery to get picnic supplies, a bouquet for your apartment, Nancy and Robin’s home, and Joyce when she answered the cabin door). It was a simple yellow sundress with straps, frills around the hemming and bodice, and it pulled you in at all of the right places. You wore light makeup, a cute pair of thrifted sandals, and the pendant Jonathan got for you on your last birthday — the charm, engraved with your favorite flower. Feeling like a million bucks, Joyce informed you he was still getting ready, but that you could finally enter the newly separate entrance to the add-on (beside the cabin) that they built for him to have his privacy. He’d been watching out the window, distracted by his delicious excitement that never fails to happen when he knows he’s getting to see you.

Before you could rasp your knuckles to the door, it was open and he was engulfing you into his arms, taking your hand to spin you around in a twirl — yellow fabric swirling past your vision as your dress spread out. You’re both laughing by the time he’s got you close, hands joined together.

“Someone’s excited.”

“Can’t help it if I missed you, can I?”

You smile softly, your pinkies linking, his other hand sliding to cup your cheek as you lean in for a soft kiss. He smells like fresh laundry, Irish Spring, and that musky cologne he bought last summer in Indianapolis at the mall. It’s a simple baby blue t-shirt that he wears, black converse, and blue jeans. He breaks away reluctantly, a few more simple pecks. “Let me go grab my camera bag, baby.”

He’s in and out before you can even finish getting the picnic basket from your car. You know that you’ll be in his room by nightfall, so you don’t follow this time. He takes your hand and begins to walk with you through the lush, re-grown greenery. You both remember, wilted flowers and ashy death not so long ago. But everything is right, it’s green, and as you come into sight of the flower field and its various colors - you squeeze his hand extra tight.

He snaps the peaceful overlook of a now normal Hawkins. You kick off your sandals and let the sun warmed grass caress your toes. Briefly breaking from him, he watches you take it all in, fingertips tickling across overgrown blades of grass, petting wildflowers as you pass them by. He starts snapping immediately, a mist filtering across his sclera. You turn back to him the moment the wind catches your dress and a baby blue sky flickers behind as a backdrop.

Jonathan swallows harshly, nostrils flaring, exhaling languidly. He flips the lid on his bag to find another lens, eyes mulling over the small, olive green box stashed in the corner pocket. He runs his fingers across it, popping the lid to check in on the ring, before closing his bag and standing to approach you.

[cosmal]

spacey jane — send me a lyric and a character and i’ll write a blurb.

lyric: ‘bedsheets, no clothes. touch me like nobody else does’ — ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

character: jonathan byers!! something like waking up next to each other would be so cute I feel. or even like, the morning after their first time or something <3

nobody else does

jonathan byers x reader

summary the morning, after you're first time with jon, doesn't go how you'd expected. it's better.

warnings/tags fem!afab!reader, she/her, references to smut, 18+

There’s something really calming about watching Jon sleep. The part in his lips where his face is smooshed into his pillow, the tousled hair that covers it. The sun that shatters through the blinds and lights up the expanse of his back. The freckles that litter it. How you can see his breathing stutter when his moving back jumps every once in a while.

It’s so calming you almost fall back asleep again. You don’t have enough time when you watch Jonathan wake up. Blinking into consciousness. He’s frowning and then smiling when he remembers where he is.

“Hey,” he says. So quiet you almost miss it. You would’ve if you weren’t tracing the pattern of his soft lips like they might disappear one day. Like you’ll never get to kiss him again.

The past week that’s all it’s felt like. Like you’ll never get to kiss him how you want to. Then last night happened. He’d kissed you because he wanted. Kissed you until he couldn’t breathe — you’re sure you weren’t at one point. And the things he’d said, how he touched you like you were glass.

Y/N, stop. Look at me. Need to see you’re face — yeah there we are, gorgeous.

You smile into your pillow at the thought of it. Giddiness with a mixture of bewilderment. Had you dreamt the entire thing?

“Morning,” he says again because you’re in your head.

You shake back your thoughts before they consume you. If he keeps looking at you like that you might cry.

“Morning, Jon,” you say, hand coming up to his face.

He lets you brush his hair from his face before he says, “How you feeling?”

You remember you’re naked. How your legs ache in a good way. How heavy your stomach feels. “M’okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks. Jon is usually very soft. Though to see him like this is something different. Gentle and delicate in the early morning hours.

“I’m a little sore,” you say shyly, face heating more than the sun has allowed you to. “But I’m okay.”

Jonathan lets the arm between you both come down to sit on your belly, over the thin sheet that covers you, rubbing and massaging the flesh there hard enough to soothe you. It does. Though the thought of him wanting to touch you outside of last night's happenings makes you feel warm. And the almost overwhelming need to cry.

After last night, after all the encouragements and praises he had doted you with, he’d made sure you were comfortable. Made sure you had water and enough pillows. Opened the window so you weren’t hot. He’d stroked your hair until you’d fallen asleep.

You don’t think you've ever spent the night after sleeping with someone, let alone being treated the way Jon had been with you. You almost expected to be kicked out afterwards, despite how lovely he'd been, it’d be nothing different.

Boys can have a way of making you feel like you’re special, deserving of everything they give you just to earn something from you in return. Then throwing you out once they get it. You feel guilty for ever thinking he was like that in the first place.

You don’t even know you’re crying until Jonathan does. He lets his hand roam up to your face to catch your first tear with his thumb, wiping it from the bridge of your nose.

“Hey,” he coos, “you okay?”

You know what’s wrong but you also don’t. Well, you do really know, though the reaction you’ve given startles you. You blink back your tears, smiling.

“Yeah,” you mumble wetly, letting your hand fall on top of his where it’s pressed firmly into your cheek.

“I don’t wanna be annoying,” he almost laughs. It’s more of a animated huff, “but you are crying, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart sits in your chest and has your eyes welling up again. “Sweetheart,” you echo kindly.

“Yeah.” He sounds like he agrees. Like it’s second nature to him. You’ve called him worse. Like baby or lovely.

“M’sorry,” you giggle into his hand, kissing the curve of his palm gently. “Just really happy.”

“Happy?”

You nod and bring a hand up around his shoulder to tug him closer. You bring him in until your chest is touching his, a rumple of sheets between you. Your face in his neck, your shoulder under his arm when he hugs you back.

“You’re really nice, Jon.” It’s not what you want to say. You mean it but the words aren’t right. “Just, um,” You feel silly. “thank you for being so lovely.”

Jonathan has a suspicion he knows what you mean. He feels the exact same way. You’d treated him how he hadn’t expected and he hopes he’d shown how grateful he was for it. Still, he thinks he might continue his appreciation.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing into your hair. It smells like the conditioner that you use when you're here. His conditioner. He smiles when he remembers when you’d spent the night. You’d used his shower and slept in his bed with him.

He rubs your back. Your shoulders and the space between them. Lines and patterns that have you both shivering.

You’re still crying. Because he’s touching you and it’s different. It’s soft and kind and he’s not doing it because he wants something else. You think he wants to stay here and do nothing but this as much as you do. Maybe even more.

You press your stuffy nose into his neck and sniffle. Jon holds you closer on instinct. You kiss his bare skin and feel his heavy pulse over your lips. “Thanks, Jon.”

“It’s okay, pretty,” he says.

You spend the rest of the day in bed because he wants to. He wants to hold you and he wants to kiss you just as much as you do. Maybe more. You don’t complain.

[luveline]

omg i was in such a sad mood last night and I cried myself sick for no reason and I was wondering if I could make a request for some comfort from maybe Jonathan. Please only write this if you want to or have time ❤️ love you Jadey <33

I hope you're feeling better my love ♥ thank you for ur request, I hope this is OK!

"It's alright," Jonathan insists, looking at you with a mixture of surety and worry. Steadying you, but worried at the same time. "Take a breather."

You try to do what he asks but nothing feels right, lately, or maybe it does but the breathlessness taking up all the space in your chest wants you to think otherwise. He can see it on your face, the thought process, the dawning panic. 

"Hey," he says gently, your joined hands between you, standing in the middle of his room. 

Of all the places you could've broken down, neither of you were expecting it to be in amongst his socks and books. 

"Hey, hey," he says, softer each time. "It's okay. I'm right here." 

"I think it all might be really bad," you say. You laugh but the laugh doesn't last, it cracks down the middle. 

"It's not all bad," he reassures you.

You hang your head. You hate crying in front of him, especially this sort of sobbing, the helpless kind like a little kid poking at their scraped knees. You can't stop thinking about the things that are upsetting you. 

Luckily, Jonathan isn't easily dissuaded. He had to grow up fast, you know that. He's looked after everyone who needed it for years, and he's adept at calming people down. 

"It's okay," he says. 

Jonathan ducks his head, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He's handsome in an understated way, what with his dark eyes, his pert nose. Hair you'd convinced him to let you trim in the name of keeping cool in California curls sweetly under his ears. "Tell me what's wrong?" 

"I just don't feel very well." It's a white lie. You're crying is making you feel sick. It's starting to feel worse than what upset you in the first place. 

"You're not gonna throw up. I know you won't. Here," he walks you backward into his desk chair, "sit down." 

You sit and Jonathan pushes the chair toward his window. He opens it as wide as the hinges will allow to let the breeze kiss your warm cheeks, cooling tears in tacky trails down the slopes of your face and the ridge of your jaw. Jonathan strokes your hair so gently it barely feels like he's touching you at all.

"Sorry," you say. 

Jonathan wipes your cheeks with the side of his hand. He doesn't lift it from your face: careful, he rests the back of it flat to your skin, the short nail of his index finger smoothing against your puffy undereye. You focus on that small sensation, eyes scrunched closed and a pounding misery at your temple. 

"There," he says, taking your face into his palm. "Good job, honey. You really wound yourself up. You scared me." He abandons your damp cheeks in favour of your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the sides of your neck. 

"Jon, you have to stop touching me for a second," you say regretfully. 

He holds up his hands. 

You suck in a big breath and hold it, wiping your face and your snotty nose with your sleeves, brushing baby hairs displaced by sweat back into place. For a few seconds, you sit and try to look less like you're one strong gust of wind from falling over. Jonathan watches anxiously.

You rub your eyes. "Will you hug me now?" you ask.

He kneels at your feet. "I would have hugged you before."

"Didn't want to get snot in your hair," you say, groaning as he wraps his arms behind your back. 

"Ew," he murmurs, the cadence of his voice lilting, like he might sing under his breath. His lips brush the shell of your ear. "I'd let you."

You shiver in his arms, completely collapsed, face digging deeper and deeper into his neck. He doesn't complain, only readjusts his hold to make you more comfortable. 

"It's okay if something's getting to you. You can tell me." 

"What if… I'm upset for no reason?" you ask tentatively. 

Jonathan gives your shoulders a little squeeze and a bigger shake. "That's okay too, duh. Just tell me what to do to make you feel better instead." 

"This is fine," you say, lips pressed greedily to the slip of skin just above his collar. "This is good." 

Jonathan stays there for ages, so long his knees must burn from the position, but he doesn't say a word. He hugs you for as long as you need him to, and then a little bit after that.

[harringtons-cupid]

Let me baby you- Jonathan Byers x Female Reader

Written because @2-manyfandoms21 has not been treated how she deserves <3

You had been having a troublesome few days, everything had begun to pile on top of you. Lying tucked into bed felt the safest place for you, Jonathan’s clothed were draped across your body and you dampened the pillow with your tears.

Jonathan had not heard from you since everything became too much, he had begun to get worried. After assembling the last few pieces of things together, he drove over to your house. The hum of his car made you stir but you didn’t dare open your bedroom windows.

His footsteps echoed into the carpeted stairs as he pushed open your bedroom door. Sighing and tutting with grief at the sight of you, clutching tightly onto a wooden basket and another bag. He placed them down in front of you and rushed over, his arms squeezed you tightly.

His lips kissed your forehead, your neck and any exposed skin. His fingers wiped away the tears that were falling and he perched his bum next to you, rubbing in circular motions on your clothes.

Soothing you with soft noises in your ear as your body began to shake, his voice slowly began to calm you. After a while you regained some energy to sit up out of your bed, his smile made you tingle as he emptied the contents of his bags/baskets onto the bed.

His voice was quick and excited as he showed you things, informing you that he had made a picnic for you both.

“Come on let me baby you” he smiled at you, the glint in his eyes getting bigger

Folding the blanket that was neatly tucked at the bottom of the basket, he flattened it onto the floor and arranged the food and drink neatly onto the floor. He channelled your television to play something soothing in the background as he watched you slowly make your way to him.

The bed duvet draped around your shoulders as you sat on the soft quilt, the food looked incredible. Alcohol free wine was poured into two plastic glasses, he passed one to you with a smile.

“Cheers to this sad day” his voice was crisp and soft, grinning from ear to ear.

You softly smiled at him, your heart melting at his attempt to make your day okay.

Tucking into the buffet arrangement in front of you, you slowly began to feel a bit better. He mocked the music playing off your television making you giggle softly.

The duvet finally slipped off onto the floor from the vibrations of your laughter, the fizzy wine bubbles in your stomach.

As you helped him tidy up the plates of food, you collapsed onto the floor with Jonathan next to you. He pulled you onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you stared up at your ceiling. It had grown dark and the glowing stars that Jonathan had bought you last year were mesmerising.

You finally noticed that Jonathan had rented your favourite film and it was replaying into the room. Smiling to yourself, you lifted your head up and softly kissed him. His lips were rough against your soft wet lips, the taste of weed and coffee touched your tongue.

His hands made circular motions on your skin as you angled yourself to watch the film together, you sighed with slightly happiness as you watched him get into the film.

“Thank you Jonathan” you whispered into his ear.

“You’re very welcome baby” he kissed your cheek hard before returning to look at the television where your eyes fell too.

[strangerthings-80s]

Kindness Over Cruel- Part One

Jonathan Byers x Y/N imagine

---

The classroom buzzed with the usual chatter as the teacher droned on about something Y/N wasn’t really paying attention to. Her focus, as usual, was a few rows ahead of her—on Jonathan Byers. The quiet kid in class. He sat quietly, his head bent over his notebook, scribbling something she couldn’t quite see. She didn’t know why she was drawn to him, but there was something about his quiet, thoughtful presence that caught her attention. He was different from the other boys in school. Maybe that’s what intrigued her.

She glanced at him every now and then, careful not to stare for too long. The idea of actually talking to him sent butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. She’d imagined it so many times—walking up to him, saying something casual, maybe even making him smile. But she never had the courage to make it happen.

Her friends, sitting beside and behind her, nudged her arm. “Hey, why do you keep looking at Byers?” one of them whispered, a teasing grin spreading across her face.

“Yeah, you’re obsessed,” another chimed in. “Why don’t you go say hi to him?”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “No, I don’t—” she started, but they cut her off.

“We dare you. Just go up to him and say hi. C’mon, it’ll be funny. You know how awkward he is.”

Her heart raced, not with excitement, but with embarrassment. She wasn’t like them. She didn’t want to make fun of Jonathan. But they were watching her, expecting her to follow through with their dare. They thought it would be some sort of joke—a quick laugh at Jonathan’s expense.

For a moment, she hesitated, feeling trapped between her friends’ teasing and her own feelings. But then something shifted. Instead of going along with their cruel plan, she made a decision. If she was going to talk to Jonathan, it wouldn’t be to mock him. She wasn’t like that. She wanted to be kind.

After class, she gathered her courage. Her friends snickered behind her, waiting to see what would happen, but she tuned them out. She walked up to Jonathan, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hi, Jonathan,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.

Jonathan looked up, clearly surprised. He blinked, as if unsure whether she was talking to him or someone else.

“Hi,” he replied, a little uncertain but polite.

She smiled, feeling her nerves settle. “I just wanted to say… I like your photography. The pictures you take for the school paper? They’re really good.”

For a moment, Jonathan didn’t say anything. Then, a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quiet but appreciative.

It wasn’t much, just a small exchange of words, but it meant everything. She’d made the choice to be kind, to see Jonathan for who he really was. And in that moment, she was glad she had.

Part 2 will be up ❤️

[ddejavvu]

m.list - jonathan byers

blurbs:

you meet jonathan's mom