hollyjolly✰彡

ꨄholly, she/her I like to write, and i'm involved in many fandoms :) oh also im a ballet dancer !! 𖣘♫ミ★

[hollydancers]

Hey, i'm Holly! 𖣘✫彡

I'm very new to tumblr, as well as fandom spaces, so i apologize in advance if i do anything wrong or are idiotic at any time. that being said, pls be mindful, im still learning <3

I really love writing though, I've mainly only worked on original stuff, but i'm reallllyyyy into fanfic so why not give it a shot? That's what i'll be doing on here!

As of right now, i'm writing a reader x fic. I'm really excited about the concept and stuff of it, and ofc i'll explain that in its own post!!

i have requests on if anyone would like to see anything written - anything you'd like!! or even if you'd just like to ask anything, i'm all ears!!

i'm also a dancer, specifically ballet, but i do most other styles too. i like posting/reblogging about it sometimes.

꧁ That's all for now, I assume when I start posting actual finished fics i'll have more to say!!

[hollydancers]

!!!!! u know life really getting serious when you don't even have time to write self indulgent fanfic anymore

[hollydancers]

hi friends public service announcement: FUCK the leaving cert and FUCK the orals i'll be back in service after love u lots :))

also i have a request im rlly excited to write just wait guys

[fooledforlove]

they obviously never thought about it at all but in my head the connective tissue in Jonathan going from photography -> filmmaking at NYU is that photography is more solitary/can be practiced alone whereas filmmaking is another visual art form but inherently collaborative/a team effort and it's a reflection of how Jonathan has learned to let people in over the course of the show. if you use your imagination

[hollydancers]

⁀➴ ˗ˏˋ snow angel ︎۶ৎ

“Well — maybe, do you…” he starts, “wanna go to Winter Wonderland with.. me?”

“Winter Wonderland? You wanna go to a cheesy school dance? You, who hates everybody at school?” you laugh, endeared and shocked.

“Not… everyone. I like you.” he mutters.

°˖➴ jonathan byers/fem!reader ೀ

⤷ part 5/s1 epilogue to under pressure

contains: weird awkward yearny situationship. post s1, and everything that comes with that, but pre-s2. it's around jan-feb here, maybe? part of my under pressure series, but it's not necessary you read it to understand. jon and reader are childhood bestfriends, who very angstily fell out in highschool, with her falling in with Steve Harrington & co. he "hated" her for it. and they've been dancing around their heart-racing feelings for eachother since November 83. very suggestive themes at the end. i leave it up to the imagination, but like, yk. (definitely not just cause i suck at writing)

a/n: hi lovelies!! guess who's back?? i've had this sitting in my docs since february, but i'd taken a short break from writing after that. i'm not so confident with this, which is why i didn't put it out for a while. i'm currently writing s2 of this fic, but i'm going to write finish most parts before actually putting them out. i hope you enjoy this, i couldn't wait to get back into writing after my time away <3

“Who do you have a crush on?” you tease, conspiratorial, like you're Tiger Beat’s nosiest little minion.

“Molly Ringwald? Jodie Foster? Betcha you’ve watched Fast Times. Betcha it's Phoebe Cates.”

He scoffs. Attitude!

“It is, Phoebe Cates, isn't it? Mmm.” you josh him.

It's long after dark on a bleak midwinter night, ‘83. You pretend to smoke a cigarette, sighing to fog the icy air.

You and your Jonathan sit on the frosted bleachers — you lulling forward, resting your head on your pulled up knees, him awkwardly hunched to look at you, his… significantly-more-than-friend. 

His… girlfriend? 

You've spent your Friday night cheerleading, as Hawkins High abysmally lost to Bloomington Christian Boys. Shivering in your heel stretch, flashing that sweetheart smile, chanting “Lets hear it, let's hear it! Show your Tigers spirit!” 

But now it's so hushingly quiet, you'd swear you were the only two alive. 

A cold haze of snowflakes sprinkles down. Your color block winter jacket huddles around your cheer uniform, only your knee socks and your cherry-scented curls spilling over your legs to cover them. 

He looks at his cold-flushed girl who'd asked his crush, and thinks it's you. You you you. I kissed you senseless last month! What are you talking about?

“You kinda look like her.” he says. Your brows raise. “What about you? Word is you've seen six showings of Ferris Bueller.” Jonathan bumps your shoulder.

You tip your head, conspiratorial. He's not wrong, you're sure you'd give that chick Sloane a run for her money — but you wonder how red he'd turn if you replied Jonathan Byers. He gets so flustered around you he can't even look at you lately. 

Your LA Gear high top teases its way up his jean leg. He shivers, nonplussed. 

“Hmm…” You poke him. “You.” you grin, like you're 9 and terrified of catching cooties. Like nothing's changed since. …Like he doesn't already know.

He almost combusts. Laughs shyly, disbelieving, looking down and blushing terribly. 

Following Jonathan’s essential month's absence from school, after the horrors that happened to his family in November — he'd been forced to do extra credit. That being, yearbook pictures. Or front covers for the school paper you're on — in which you sign said extra credit off as above and beyond, even if he misses it. 

It's mostly the odd picture around school, which he would've done anyways, just now he doesn't get ridiculed for being a creep. Or more frequently, after his double shift he'll swing by to snap the game. And really exercise his right to freely photograph you. It's sorta.. the only time you get to be fully together, alone, after… everything. That and the fleeting exchange, where he gifts you a mixtape of his. He's made you one every week without fail since Will was found.

“I still can't believe Steve got you that camera. Like, Steve Harrington?” you mess with his camera strap, breaking the flustered silence.

“I know, Steve! Guess he's sorry for breaking my other one. And the fight. And that I got arrested. I.. should say sorry too.” he mutters. 

“You don't need to be sorry.” you say. It's a habit of his, always being too sorry.

“...I do. The.. monsters, and, y’know… those pictures…”

Oh, those pictures. 

Hm. Maybe you're into his slightly stalkerish observance. Maybe you wouldn't mind him creeping on you a little more sometime. 

“...I liked them.” you toy softly. 

You expect him to get all cute and blushy again. His face scrunches though, thinking something troubling.

“I-I'm sorry.” he blurts. 

“Jon, no—” you almost laugh. 

“I haven't been good to you.” he interrupts. 

“...What?”

“I asked you out. I… kissed you. Then I—” He stops, sighs shakily. “It's been a month. I haven't done anything I should've. Hell, not even the date I asked you on. Haven't even asked you to be my—”

…Girlfriend.

“I'm sorry. Mom works doubles, she's still shaken up. I look after Will every night, I can't leave him. And he's been so unwell since…” he trails. 

“I don't want you thinking I don't mean it. Like it was heat of the moment or anything. I've never… anything with a girl before. Let alone you. I don't know what I'm doing.” 

None of that even crossed your mind.

Jonathan’s your friend, before anything. Your only call for complaint is that you wish you'd been something more than merely pecked on the lips… more than once.

“Well — maybe, do you…” he starts, “wanna go to… Winter Wonderland with.. me?”

“Winter Wonderland? You wanna go to a cheesy school dance? You, who hates everybody at school?” you laugh, endeared and shocked. 

“Not… everyone. I like you.” he mutters. You beam.

“But so what? You love cheesy school dances. I'd like to take you. If.. you'd want that.” 

“Yeah! Yeah I do. With you, I mean. Not just the dance.” you answer awkwardly. 

Now it's your turn to blush. You swear it's just an acute case of hypothermia. 

~~~

~ Hawkins High. A falsely-frosted gymnasium ~

Paper mache snowflakes, fake cloudy snow dusting the floor, cotton wool icicles, half-jolted out twinkle lights and silky banners. Stone-aged teachers eye down their noses, catching out any hanky-panky or dancing without room for Jesus. 

When you've been friends with someone since you were an inquisitive second grader in a smock dress — and later a bubbly, teasing cheerleader friends with Tommy H. and Carol P., who that someone in question resented because of his fat crush — and even later, a monster-slasher drenched in blood… things get a little backwards. 

With that, your date's mom had insisted you be dropped off at the house beforehand, simply to see you.

Pictures of You by The Cure had played, as he very awkwardly practiced “So, you wanna dance?” over and over in his mirror, asking little Will if he's absolutely sure he doesn't look like a loser?

Oh, you looked so beautiful, grinning in front of his fireplace. Your dress is dreamy, pale and pearly, your hair piled up all high. Dusted with a few snowflakes from outside. Even your makeup is frosty. Something straight out of a snowglobe.

His camera shuttered. 

“Sorry, is that — that okay?” he'd blurted.

You'd tipped your head, just so. “Take another.” you whispered.

…Click. Click. Click.

He must've filled an entire roll of film. You're just enchanted, you feel like some fancy moviestar, musing her 

artsy-fartsy director into inspiration. 

“Can I see..?” you'd asked, near inaudible. He passed his camera, hesitant. You lifted, aimed.

“No, wait!” he huffed, already flustered, again, “I look—”

It shuttered, again.

“Gorgeous.” you grin, coy. “You're gorgeous.”

No one's ever done that to him. He doesn't even think his mom has any recent pictures of him. 

Now — something sweet and sixties sweeps the gym. Sure, some jocks had called him a pityfuck, but other than that it's not as bad as Jonathan thought. Even got a high-five, on account of the ass-kicking he gave King Steve.

Everyone's either paired off and swaying, chugging suspiciously inebriating punch or moping on the bleachers. It's all so cliché, like an old, grainy movie still. 

Jonathan's absolutely ecstatic to be your arm candy, and you're not shy to show him off. Would you just look at my date, Nicole? Yes, that Byers. He takes yearbook photos. Isn't he handsome? Nobody asked you? Sucks…

And Jonathan — he's actually talking to people. Just for them to make the correlation he's going out with you. He's currently stuck, inescapably, talking to… Eddie Munson? Probably trying to sell him dope or something. 

You gab on to Steve about how gorgeous Nancy is, practically threatening him to treat her right, all while she's standing right beside him. Steve keeps comparing the four of you to Scooby Doo after November. It's jarring.

Then they jingle those twinkly little chimes, the Snow Angels are going to be picked.

It's a sickly sweet, ancient tradition. They're a couple of absolute sweethearts voted in, four or so girls that get given a silky, overembellished sash and a tiara. And it's not like prom royalty, only the real gems get picked, the truly lovely ones. 

Some say it's patronizing, old-fashioned, nauseating. But everyone knows a Hawkins Snow Angel, is essential to a first water diamond. 

Jonathan already knows. Everybody knows. The heart-of-gold cheer flyer? Who better for an angel than you? 

Sweetheart is as sweetheart does. 

You wave, laughing brightly from the stage — at him. The freak, who's now left loserishly alone. You bashfully adjust your tipping tiara, drowning in your sash, like everyone's dreamgirl.

He’ll take another ten thousand pictures of you, until you break into fits of giggles and stop knowing what to do with your hands. 

Then, oh god.

Something real slow and stomach-churning starts playing, and people start pairing up. 

Shit.

See, unfortunately, Jonathan Byers was born with two-left-feet disease. Terminal, actually. And even more unfortunately — you've recently re-succumbed to crazy-about-your-best-friend fever. Sick as a dog. 

“So, you wanna dance?” he says robotically, just how he'd practiced. Facepalms.

You grin. Like the devil. 

You link his arm, leading to the dancefloor. “Just so you know, I'm pretty bad at this..” he says.

“That's okay.” you laugh sweetly, pulling him far enough away from the chaperones. “Here, hands” you put his hands on your waist.

The sensation of touching you shoots from his fingertips, to all up his arms. You put your hands round his neck, messing with his hair at the nape of his neck mindlessly. “Jonathan,” you say softly, swaying, aiming to loosen him up.

“Jonathan?” you repeat. 

The boy is tranced, absolutely staring at your lips. 

You click your fingers in front of his face, exhilarated. 

He shakes his head, turning his blushing face away. You tilt it back. His brows raise a hair. His heart jumps.

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him — your heart orders. And yet, your brain won't will you to just move. Nerves? You usually aren't nervous with boys. Whatever this is, it's paralyzing. 

“...I-I like this song.” he whispers, cracking the nervous silence. 

“No, you don't.” You inhale a laugh, as something awful and sappy plays. He nods, awkwardly grimacing.

Your brows pinch in. You even bob your head forward a little, like running up to leaning in. 

He stares longingly, pondering the same matters as you. Suddenly, your lips knock his. Awkwardly, just a peck.

He open-mouth beams at that. You screw your eyes closed, blushing. It practically gives him hearts for eyes, washing over his catastrophic nerves. He squeezes your waist tighter.

“You… wanna get out of here?” you ask.

~~~

Sub-zero, Hawkins reaches that night. Jonathan aimlessly drives down an icy backroad, heating his car. His tape deck won't start unless the car's in drive. One of the many mixtape's he's made you blares. 

“Deja-vu?” you nudge his thigh with your knee, as Atmosphere blasts. Same as that night in November, in your bed, your face just inches from his…

“Yeah. Yeah, deja-vu.” he sighs, eyes lit like a live wire. 

You laugh, leaning all the way back, your elbows on the windowledge. The “sparkly bit”, as you call the instrumentals, of Atmosphere chime. You throw your head back and squeal, letting snowflakes sprinkle your windswept hair. 

“Its snowing, Jonathan!” 

“It's been snowing the past month!” he laughs, shouting over the music. 

You make him feel alive. You make him feel everything.

“No — look!” you squeal, his car speeding through the snowstorm. The blizzard sparkles like a snowglobe, you scream and laugh, lulled backwards out his window. Flying, it feels like.

His hands are on you.

Pulling you, impulsively. Grabbing you, urgently, into a kiss. 

Oh, it feels so good to have your pretty lips, your tongue back on his, he almost moans at the sensation. A muffled gasp of surprise escapes you. He didn't think this through, it barely registers what he's done until—

SCREECH.

His car skids on the ice, to the side of the road, its driver distracted so, so badly. 

“Oh, shit!” he gasps, his impulsive stupidity coloring his face. “I'm sorry! Are you hurt? God, what are we gonna do—!”  

“Just — just c’mere.” You quiet him by kissing him, finally. You cup his cheeks, your free hand skimming the flushed back of his neck, his soft hair. 

He only ever seems to kiss you, like that, in times of crisis. Hurried, desperate, rushed, so that you hopefully wouldn't notice his struggle to kiss with tongue. And wouldn't be able to laugh in his face. Noticing, you slow down. Take your time. Kiss him lengthily, not like you're just trying to get your spin the bottle turn done, or fill up your 7 minutes in heaven. 

And not like you're luring in an interdimensional monster, and don't know if you'll live to kiss him again… like last time.

It's awkward positioning, and he's already horribly nervous — you can feel his clammy palms, to his embarrassment. So, impetuously, you slowly climb over onto his lap, straddling his thighs, lips never leaving his. “..Oh,” He sighs, jittery, into the kiss. 

“Mm.. missed you,” he whispers. “Lately. We were.. constantly together, when everything happened. I really liked it. I like you, I…” he rambles, raspy. 

You smile softly. “...keep talking,” you laugh, lashes fluttering.

Just like you do in those shameful dreams he has, the type they teach about in sex ed…

His brows crease in, his head shaking. “What’re you doing with me?”

Your head tilts. He tips his to follow. 

He breathes out, flustered and confused. “You.. you don't have to be with me. Like, you're my — my… girl.” 

That's the only term he can stupidly think to describe you, what you've always been to him. And now, 'girlfriend’ isn't official and he doesn't deem himself exactly boyfriend material, but ‘my best friend!’ seems flippant… now that you're making out in his car. And I mean, ‘my girl’ clicks right into place for someone who was essentially a pigtailed version of himself for a long time. Who's rode bikes and roamed fields and got in trouble with him. That feels a whole lot more ecstatic, even better than a Hawkins Snow Angel... you're his girl.

“And you always are. But.. but like…” his dazed eyes narrow, his self-deprecating thought train escaping him. Maybe you'll help him out.

“Jonathan?” you ask. He looks up, snapped from his trance. You tilt his chin up. “Where'd you learn how to kiss like that?” 

He hums something intelligible. Your smile widens. You tug him closer sweetly, putting his hands on your waist. You guide them to touch you… more. Your neck, back, hips, all over. 

He never thought he could be so grateful for a snow-in. For a snow-angel. Jesus, you could ask him what 2 + 2 was right now and he'd just shake his head….

:)

[sincerelystarry]

( ☆ ) . * even the boring bits ˎˊ-

f!will’s babysitter!reader x jonathan byers — jonathan byers masterlist

ask : “hii!! my sister and I LOVE your writing sm and she came up with a jonathan x reader like idea? she basically said like reader sometimes helped Jonathan out by staying over and cooking some breakfast for the Byers family in the morning on the nights Joyce has her night shifts and is working too late. she mentioned having like Jonathan admiring her. 

I’m so sorry this wasnt too clear, I’m trying to surprise her and asking her to clarify the idea will kind of ruin it 😭” — anon

summary : jonathan byers has been in love with you since you started babysitting will. except jonathan byers is a coward. he thought that once will got older, you’d be around less; out of sight, out of mind, right? unfortunately, he was wrong. but maybe you being around all the time wasn’t that bad after all. 

warnings : jonathan byers is bad at feelings, jonathan byers is a glass child, takes place between s3 and s4 so the byers family is abt to move to cali, uhhh they so cute idk

word count : 2.4k

Jonathan always knew that his small break from playing head of the household was just that: small. He knew that, even after Will was found, even after some semblance of order had been restored to Hawkins, something would eventually happen that would shove him into the leading role he never wanted. Will is too young and too fragile to do anything more than breathe, his mom always too overcome with whatever new grief that seemed to overtake her each year. 

First it was Will’s disappearance, then it was Bob, and now it’s Hopper. It’s not like he wants to complain—this is his family, this is all he has—but it doesn’t mean he isn’t tired of it. Now El’s been added to the mix, since Joyce has adopted her after Hopper’s death. He adores the girl, he knows he has her to thank for Will being alive, for any of them being alive, but it only means another mouth to feed, another person he has to care for because he knows his mom wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility. Not with both of them grieving Hopper.

He has school and work, he has his own life. A life that he has to set aside so that he can wake up early to make his family breakfast and go to bed late after a long day of laboring just for a few dollars at the end of the week. That’s been his routine since the “fire” at Starcourt Mall, since his mom has lost yet another boyfriend of hers. 

He’s about to enter the kitchen, weaving through half empty boxes, some labelled “Will’s Books” or “Goodwill” or or “El’s Clothes” (the last of which was primarily filled with Joyce’s old things from the 60s and both Will’s and Jonathan’s hand-me-downs), when he hears a clattering in the kitchen. It’s much too early for anyone in his family to be awake, even El, who hasn’t been sleeping much lately. 

That’s when he sees you, humming something soft to yourself—Fleetwood Mac, he thinks—as you move between scrambling eggs and frying bacon on the stove. Coffee’s brewing, the smell filling the kitchen, and there’s a waffle maker plugged in on the counter. The Byers don’t own a waffle maker. 

Various chopped fruit are in bowls on the dining table: strawberries, blueberries, bananas, and raspberries. A half-empty bottle of Aunt Jemima’s syrup is next to the fruit, along with a huge can of whipped cream and a whole stick of salted butter on an ornate china platter he’s certain does not belong to his family either. 

He’s stunned for a moment, not sure what to say, but you spot him first anyway and a bright smile blooms on your face as you greet him with a “Good morning!” He didn’t think it was possible for your smile to get bigger, honestly; you seemed quite happy traipsing around the kitchen, preparing breakfast for his family.

“Uh— morning?” he says, a bit stunned by your cheery demeanor. “What are you… doing?”

“I’m making breakfast,” you state. It is quite obvious that that’s what you’re doing.

“No, right, I can see that. I meant— why?”

“Well, because your mom is grieving right now. And you’ve adopted El into your family which means another mouth to feed which can’t be easy for any of you so I wanted to help out a bit. You know, like old times,” you explain, referring to when you’d stay over most nights to help take care of the Byers when Will went missing and Joyce went borderline insane. 

“Oh. That’s really nice of you, but you know you don’t have to, right?”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to. You gotta accept help at least once in your life, Jonathan. You know you don’t have to do everything yourself, right?”

He gives a bit of a nervous laugh, like you just caught him red-handed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you need help?”

You smile, pointing him towards the waffle mix. “That would be nice.”

After breakfast, where the rest of the family are gratefully surprised at the kind gesture, Joyce is off to work. She has another two weeks before she can stay home to focus on packing the rest of the family’s stuff for the move to California, but trusts that her kids can get a good amount done while she’s gone. Jonathan expects you to leave too, taking your waffle iron and syrups and such with you, but instead you stay. Will heads out with Lucas, who’s been trying to brainstorm a way to get through to a grieving Max, while El helps you clean up after the meal. 

“Do you know what California’s like?” she asks, wiping down the countertops.

You shake your head no. “I’ve never been. Have you asked Max? She’s from there, isn’t she?”

“She won’t answer. When I go to see her we just sit there quietly. She won’t talk,” El explains. 

“Well, she lost her brother, that must be hard. You lost Hopper, so you know what it’s like,” you say gently.

“But Billy was… mean. Hopper was nice,” she argues.

“Even though someone is mean doesn’t mean you can’t love them. Even if Billy was mean to Max, he was still her brother. Just try to spend time with her, even if that time is spent in silence,” you say. “I know it’ll make her happy that you’re still her friend after everything.”

El nods. “I’m going to try and call her,” she decides, finishing up her work and going to Joyce’s room to use the phone.

You smile as she departs, continuing to wash the dishes. As you do so, Jonathan approaches, taking a plate to help dry them. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he says.

“Do what?”

“Make breakfast, wash the dishes, clean the house. It’s not like you’re our maid.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” you say with a shrug. “Your family’s always going through shit so I want to make it easier for you, even if it’s in these little mundane ways. Besides, even though Will doesn’t need babysitting anymore, I still like coming over to see the two of you. You’re like a second family to me.”

“You really think that?”

“Mhm.” You nod, rinsing the suds off a bowl and handing it over for Jonathan to dry. “And I know plenty about Will since I basically watched him grow up, but I don’t know much about you. Which is weird because we quite literally go to school together.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks. “I’m not the most interesting person in the world.”

“Anything really,” you say. “What do you like doing for fun?”

“Well, uh, I like photography,” he says, though he shrugs like it’s not that cool.

“What do you take pictures of?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“My family, mostly, for albums,” he says. “Sometimes nature, like when I see a cool bird or something. It’s really not that interesting.”

“I think it is,” you argue. “And I’d love to see some of your photos sometime.”

“Oh— uh, really?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small laugh. “Really.”

You hang around the at Byers’ all day, helping Will with some packing. After lunch—which consisted of a large pizza that was depleted much sooner than it should’ve been, as Will decided to pop buy with his gang of hungry hungry boys for lunch—you pop out for a bit with El to get groceries for dinner. As you arrive back at the house, El tries to help you unload the stuff but you urge her to go relax instead, and Jonathan seems surprised when you start talking to him. He’s at the dining table, poking at the mushy dregs of some cereal around the bowl, caught entirely off guard when you ask “Will you help me with dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says, quickly finishing the last of the soggy cereal and putting his bowl in the sink. “What are we making?”

“Salmon. It’s kind of fancy-ish and I wanted to try and surprise your mom,” you explain, taking the package of fish from the brown paper bag. “I thought maybe we could also roast some potatoes and asparagus maybe? And El wanted to try sparkling cider for the first time so it’ll be a proper fancy-man dinner.”

“Do you… know how to cook salmon?” he asks apprehensively.

“Well, not exactly. But there’s a salmon recipe in my grandma’s old cookbook and I brought that so I’m sure we can figure it out!”

You end up burning the first piece of salmon. Luckily, you bought enough for six, so the burnt piece gets trashed while the other five are panfried perfectly, though Jonathan is the one that manages to succeed in that department. You end up putting El and Will in charge of washing, peeling, and chopping the veg while you season and cook it, rice cooking in a pot while the four of you work. The kids get their parts done as soon as possible so they can run off, leaving you and Jonathan alone in the kitchen for the majority of the time. 

While you cook together, you end up talking as you try to learn more about Jonathan. You’ve known Jonathan for ages, sure, and was there when his dad decided to show his face after Will’s disappearance. You know enough about his family life to understand why he’s closed off the way he is. Despite that, you still don’t really know him. You know he likes the Clash, but that’s about it when it comes to music. You know now that he likes photography, but he’s still a bit avoidant about it when you ask to see it after dinner. 

He’s avoidant to so many of your questions that you’re half convinced he doesn’t know the answer to them himself. You want to feel bad but you don’t want to show it, in case he gets upset or offended, but it’s clear he never had time to grow up. He never got the chance to find himself, not as a kid and definitely not now. 

Maybe you can find a chance to whisk him away, to take him to the movies or something and find out what he likes. But maybe that’s also just wishful thinking, and maybe he just doesn’t want you to know who he is. Maybe he just doesn’t like you all that much. 

Joyce is pleasantly surprised when she comes home to such a meal, and you can tell she’s trying to hold back tears when she hugs you in thanks. You stay for dinner of course, the five of you eating like it’s a special occasion even though it’s just a Tuesday. You offer to do the dishes again after dinner, much to Joyce’s protests, but she ultimately tells you to let Jonathan help if you’re going to insist. 

As he washes and you dry, an inverse of your routine from that morning, you blurt out “Why don’t you want to tell me about yourself?”

He pauses, accidentally ricocheting water off of a spoon and onto himself. “What?”

“I mean, you’re avoiding all of my questions! We’ve known each other for years and we’ve been through a bunch of traumatizing supernatural shit together but we still hardly know each other, and I want to get to know you more but you won’t let me,” you say, a frown etched deep into your face.

“I do want you to know me better,” he’s quick to say. “It’s just that— well, I’m not that interesting. I don’t want you to, I dunno, get bored of me or something.”

“Bored of you? Jonathan, why the hell do you think I come over so often? It’s not like Will needs a babysitter anymore. Come on man, are you seriously that dense?”

“Ow—”

“I want to get to know you. I want to learn everything about you, even the boring bits. I mean, I don’t think I have to spell it out for you, do I?”

He sighs, handing you the final plate to dry and turning the tap off. “No. No, I’m not that stupid. I just never thought… I mean you’re you and I’m just—”

“Just?”

“I’m boring,” he shrugs. 

“Didn’t I just say I want to know everything about you?” you say. “Even the boring bits. Even if it’s all boring.” Jonathan seems a bit stunned at this, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he’s unsure of what to say next. You huff a bit, but there’s still a small smile on your face. “I should head home.”

“Let me walk you home,” he’s quick to offer. “It’s dark out and it’s not safe for you to go alone.” His argument could be more valid if you lived any father than three houses down. Still, you’re not going to argue.

The walk to your house is quiet, but not awkward. Neither of you really walk in a straight line, always sidestepping a bit this way or that to bump into each other lightly in a way that elicits quiet laughter from both of you. At one point the wind picks up and you shove one of your hands into Jonathan’s pocket for warmth. He ends up holding it. 

When you make it to your front step, the two of you fumble a bit over goodbyes before he just plants a kiss on your lips. Surprised, but not upset, you laugh and kiss him back, but he’s quick to pull away, stumbling over an apology.

“Shit— sorry, I should’ve asked first— I didn’t mean to do that— well, I mean, I did. I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to just lay one on you like that— I— uh— goodnight!”

“Jonathan—” you start as he’s about to run off. 

He pauses, a few feet away. “…Yeah?” 

You laugh at the way he’s avoiding your eyes out of embarrassment, the light flush on his cheeks illuminated by the street lamps. “Do you want to go out?”

“Yes!” he’s quick to say. “Uh, I mean, yeah, sure, that would be… cool.”

“Cool,” you say, teasing him slightly. “Call me when you get home?”

He nods eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” You expect him to leave now, but he just stands there, staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“Goodnight,” you say, gently hinting at him to go home.

“Oh! Yeah— goodnight!” he says, running off again in that odd lopsided way he does. You watch for a bit as he nears his own house, and you’ve barely stepped foot into your entryway when you hear the phone ring.

a/n: guess who's back? back again?

taglist 🏷️ : @classclowns @liz140569 @challengers4ev @emdure @cupidsblonde @stevetheharringtonsfamousgf @cherishyunah @sunsetorangestars

[hollydancers]

this is so cute

[mikeandwillsweddingofficiant]

remember when this was like a show for adults

[hollydancers]

you ever be writing and then read what u just wrote and think oh my god does this guy ever shut up

[hollydancers]

Are you planning on doing more for Boys dont cry? 👀 i loved it, i love reader taking care of jon....

hi nonnie!!! i'm so so so so delighted you enjoyed my writing :) for that fic in particular, it was mostly a oneshot. however, i'll be doing more oneshots n stuff in future so if stuff like that is what you like ofc i can do more!! i did like the dynamic/duo in boys don't cry, maybe we might see them again. i definitely adore writing the likes of angst, hurt/comfort, etc so there'll def be more of that too <33

[hollydancers]

would anyone who's read my under pressure series like to read a version of other seasons (s2,3,4..) i could so do that if u would like :D

??

yes

no

Voting ended onFeb 15

[hollydancers]

boys don't cry

planning his baby brothers funeral. his mama's spiraling, talking to the lights. his asshole dads back. everyone thinks he's a creep. he just needs a hug. you're there.

pairing: jonathan byers/reader

warnings: very very angsty - especially to do with the byers fam. i rewatched s1 for the millionth time and i wrote this in a day. hurt/comfort. kinda character study. not a part of my under pressure series!! there might be a lil epilogue for that soon. im just maternal abt him sorry guys this was made in like 8 hrs.

wc: 3k

“S-Sweetheart, please. Please, it's your mom. Just — just give me a sign, sweetie. Please.” his mother calls, clutching a clump of christmas lights.

It's not for him though. 

He's never really been sweetheart, or sweetie. That was always more for his baby brother. Where he got ‘Aw, good morning, honey!’ Jonathan would get ‘Why didn't you wake Will for school on time?’

He's too old for that, anyways. Old enough to know better. Be better. He had to be. His mom wasn't… fragile, no. Just… rocky. Like a sailboat. One wrong push and she'd go under. Sink.

She'd stay in bed, staring at nothing. Like the sweet lady behind her eyes was a million miles away. Not even his dads screaming could reach her. And especially not her quiet little boy. 

Quiet always slips past her.

And Lonnie, he didn't help. He'd taunt her. Mock her. Sometimes it’d work, make her flinch so hard it broke the spell. 

Lonnie never bothered with Will that much, except for the name calling. Too soft. But Jonathan, he was strong — if he just listened, for crying out loud! 

Be a man, he'd yell. Point the gun. Shoot the rabbit, c’mon!

When Lonnie and Joyce would get physical, Jonathan would step in front of his mom. Shove back. Lonnie would look almost… approving. Smug. He'd been man enough to fight back, so Lonnie was proud. 

Jonathan was never his moms favorite. But if he wanted to… he could be Lonnie's. That made his skin crawl. Physically sick.

It was all okay, then. He learned to cook. Clean. Stand on a chair to reach the washer. Push Lonnie off his mom. He could take care of it — he can. 

But now, he doesn't have a clue. His baby brother is somewhere, alone and scared. Missing. And his mom, she might’ve fully sunk under. Shipwrecked. 

Mental illness ran in the family. His grandma had been… unstable. That's the word people used. He doesn't care what it's called. Just how it feels.

Like he's lost his mama, mentally. And it's his fault. 

“...Hey, mom.” He kneels in front of her, gentle. “Shh, it's okay. They're just lights, remember? Why don't you go lie down for a bit?” 

He's interrupted by a medley of shouted “He's here!” and “Will! He's talking to me!” and then “T-The walls, I heard—”

“Mom. Please. It's alright, I'm here.” he begs. “ I know I should be here more, I—”

“You should.” she deadpans.

“That shift you took… I just keep thinking..” she trails. “I mean, if it was you, missing out there, I wouldn't be so worried—”

“...Oh.” Jonathan whispers.

“She's right.” snarks his fathers slurred voice from the doorway.

“You should've listened to your mother, Jon. She did warn you. So when you think about it, this’s all your fault.” Lonnie shrugs. 

All your fault. 

Lonnie yanks him aside. Hand on his collar, like a stray dog. “You're makin’ her worse. Y’know that?”

“You like to feed into her.. sickness. Don't start — we both know she's been sick for years. And come to think, it actually only started after she had you…”

“Shut up.” Jonathan grits his teeth, face flushing up. 

Lonnie's face twists. “The fuck you say to me?!” he spits. He claws him closer by the collar, face to face. “You think you're something cause you hit that growth spurt? I'm still your dad — so don't fucking—”

“Yeah, some dad you are.” Jonathan huffs.

SLAM. Lonnie knocks him against the wall.

He shoves his boy. “Don't play that card. Why'd you think we're like this, huh?” He smacks Jonathan, repeatedly. 

“You were an accident, y’know that? You're the reason we got married. That's why your moms all smiles with your brother. That's why she goes nuts when he fucks off, not you.”

Jonathan feels his face heating up. His eyes sting, salty tears smearing his vision

He's always been an angry cryer. It's a personal, involuntary betrayal. How can he fly under the radar when he can't stop sniffling? 

“So when you can't even look after Will for one night — it's on you. You wanna help your mom? Get lost for a couple hours. Go on, get.” He pushes him to the door.

Lonnie scoffs. “And quit crying. I can't have two fairy boys—”

SMACK. 

Jonathan hits back. That's never really happened before.

~~~

Lovers Lake is usually somewhere you take a pretty girl out to, to… you know. Kiss.

Not Jonathan. That's something he thinks won't ever really happen to him. It's a pretty night, it's just about dusk and everything's blue and hazy. Rain smashes off his car’s windscreen. 

He'd take a picture — if he had a non-broken camera.

Even if he did, he feels too… dirty, creepy, to take photographs anymore. After what happened with Steve and his gang.

He squirms around in his front seat, irritably uncomfortable. You know how some parents wash their kids' mouths out with soap? Lonnie has his own methods of punishment. Instead of soap to mouth, it was gas stove to hand. 

Just to be petty, he'd taken a pack of Lonnie's smokes. To inconvenience him. 

He likes the smell of cigarettes, they remind him of his mama.

 What he wouldn't give to be little again, sick, being taken care of by his mom on the couch.

He only inhales three or four times. He doesn't like the buzz in his head. Or maybe he likes it too much, and it scares him. So he just lets it fog up his car.

He starts to wonder, if he just stayed here, would anyone notice? How long would it take?

A day? Hm, no. They'd probably think he was just working. 

A week? They'd probably think he ran off. Like father, like son, huh?

He's thought of this before. How long he could go without anyone speaking to him, if he stayed quiet. 

Three days. No one talked to him for three days.

Suddenly, he can't be alone another hour. It's almost desperate. Desperate for human contact.

He doesn't have.. really any guy friends. He'd tell you that he just despises the general teenage population, they're just shallow and superficial — if you asked. Not that simply no one likes him.

He could take a shift at work, just for the passing talks with Eric. Eric’s only really Jonathan's buddy when he needs something, though. 

Or, he could go to you.

Your mom is another one of Melvald’s struggling single mother employees. You've known Jonathan since you were little, both too small to be left alone and too old to be babysat. You'd play out back together. You were one of the only people who didn't mind sitting in silence with him. 

Or, talking your head off while he sat in silence. You're very eclectic.

You'd call him one of your good friends — you know the type you see maybe once a month, and you just adore it? Someone that just gets you, easy-breezy to be around. 

But he wouldn't call himself a close friend of yours. He’s way too… him for that. Too standoffish, loserish, freakish to be your friend. 

You've never seemed to see him like that, though.

You wait tables at a shitty diner, one of the only three in Hawkins. The sputtering lit sign outside reads "Pat & Deasy's", though both A's, the D, and the Y are missing. You don't know who Pat or Deasy is, but you guess they blew in during the Dust Bowl. The place hasn't been redecorated since.

It's a rainy twilight. You're exhaustedly running around, wracking in tips when he gets there. Putting on a fake southern accent, charming a table of hicks. Pretending to support a hockey players team. Handing the check to the baby — the lot. 

You always have the same perpetually tired look he has.

You're incredibly pretty, he's always thought. Not just girl-you-know pretty. The kind that should be in front of a camera. In New York, or Paris, or anywhere but here. 

Or, late at night, in his most embarrassing dreams, in front of his camera.

“Jonathan? Hi!” you call, absolutely beaming. You seem literally delighted to see him. Expecting him, almost.

You pull him in, fleetingly. By the time his heavy head hits your powdery yellow waitress dress, you're rushing away. 

It's then when he realizes, pathetically… he'd like a hug.

“You're all wet!” you ruffle his dripping hair, giggling. “Sit, sit anywhere! Just a minute!”

He sits where he always does, far off, close to the kitchen. He comes here often enough, just for ‘coffee’. And… to talk to you. He doesn't even really like coffee.

You return to ‘take his order’, slightly breathless. He catches your eye, properly this time. His shoulders are drawn up and stiff, his face blotchy like he was slapped around, babying a hand he hasn't taken his gloves off from. And he's definitely not sniffling a little bit. 

“...You okay?” you ask, quiet.

He shrugs, shamefully looking away.

He mumbles, almost angrily, “It's just… weird at my house. Bad day.”

You see right through him. “Aw, Jon.”

“Don't worry,” you sigh, dropping down beside him, finally off your feet. “Me too.”

Will’s missing poster suddenly comes into focus. 

You squeeze your friend's shoulder. “Hey.. we don't have to talk about it, okay? Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

You return a couple minutes later, even more shadowingly sleepy, with some sort of comped three course meal. Something overcooked from the kitchen, and chocolate ice cream.

“Um, the line cook burnt this.” Liar. You specifically told him to cook it longer. “And, well. You look tired…” Tired, meaning sad. He looks so, so sad. 

“...Ice cream makes everything better.” you smile. That's a rule you live by.

You sit with him. Quiet, as usual.

“They, uh. Still giving you the Cinderella treatment?” he tries, thinking maybe now's time to speak. His voice cracks.

“Yes, they are.” you sigh. “I'm the only girl here under forty. And the only one without jowls.” you grin. 

“So they kinda just shove me out front for tip-collecting like a pretty doll — on top of my actual work. I get perks though, I pick the music!” you nod to the radio playing Your Love by The Outfield.

“Very… progressive of them.” he almost laughs, quiet, alluding to the ancient interior. “I mean, they haven't exactly caught up to your Bon Jovi shrine of a room—”

“Hey!” you gasp at his mustered up joke. “Jon Bon Jovi deserves a shrine!”

Jonathan scoffs, laughing all shaky. He mouths a playful seriously?, delighted at his new grounds to joke and tease you, pulled out of his sorrows. 

“He has pretty hair!” you insist. 

“Is that all it takes to win you over?” a very relieved Jonathan asks.

“No… Shh, eat your ice cream.” you nudge him jokingly. “I'm cooped up in here all day, any guy who actually has hair is enough, mkay?”

He grins.

It's quiet a minute, then—

“M-My dad came back…” he mutters, abrupt.

“Oh?” you whisper, like looking at an open wound.

“Mm. He… He said he's ‘helping’. Which is just funny. And he keeps calling me son, like he didn't forget about me for four years.” Jonathan mumbles, almost ashamed to be talking. He's quiet and flushed and, nearly angry, and still so sad. 

A 'how's your mama?’ goes unsaid. It's just like telepathic communication at this point. 

“Mom’s… not well.” his voice shakes. He runs a hand down his face, then just about spills. “I think she's lost her mind, I don't know. I-It's scaring me. She's… talking to things. I don't wanna lose her, I..”

You make keep going eyes, just listening.

“I-It's my fault. She told me not to be out. It's all my fault — I didn't look after either of them, my mom or Will.” he mumbles. “She said if it was me missing — Lonnie said — I-It's my fault.”

“Will, he's little. He gets scared of the dark. He can't even sleep without the hall light on. I was supposed to be there. If I'd done my job, he'd be—”

He clamps his sore hand over his mouth, looking down, shaking his head. 

You take his other hand. Somewhere in his mumbling, you've sat beside him in the booth. You brush his bangs out of his eyes, letting your hand fall to rub his shoulders. 

“It's not your fault.” you state. “Look at me, Jonathan — it's not your fault.”

He doesn't say anything.

Not for the next ten minutes or so. He leans into your hands though, the only non-harmful touch he's received in a while. Maybe two months, three.

He glances out the fogged up, rained on window, to the pitch black night. 

“...When's your shift over?” he asks quietly, gently.

You smile softly. “My shift ended at 7:30.”

He blinks. “I.. got here at 7:15?”

You nod.

“It's…” he looks down at his watch “10:23 PM.”

You shrug, still smiling. “I like talking to you.” you tell him, sweetly. 

He shakes his head, like that's just a foreign concept. “Well.. do you — you want a ride home?”

“Do you want to go home? You don't have to.” you whisper.

“No, yeah. I.. do. I want to see my mom.”

You nod. 

“Um, here. It's cold, and.. rainy.” he drapes his worn jacket over you. Smells like Newports and laundry soap. It feels unfamiliar, in his hands, that they aren't shaking anymore.

~~~

How cliché could you get? 

You forgot to give Jonathan his jacket back, a couple nights ago. Sure.

And oh, you totally just had this mixtape containing every band he's mentioned in the last six months lying around. He's not a big talker, but you're an avid listener.

You definitely haven't just had unceasing nausea, and a constant verge-of-tears feeling since you heard the news about little Will at the quarry. You definitely don't just want to see Jonathan, make sure he's okay.

So now you're hesitating, in the heaviest rain Hawkins has seen in months, outside his window. Like some shitty John Hughes movie. 

You tap, very gently. You do it again.

“Jonathan? It's just me.” another tap—

He yanks his window open. 

His brows are furrowed tensely, his stature stiff and shaking, like he's bracing for a punch. His eyes are red, watering. There goes his frustrated, involuntary tears again. He curses himself silently.

“What are you doing?! You.. You scared me. I thought I was losing it!” He hisses, harsher than he means, his voice breaking as he snaps.

“...I'm sorry.” you whisper.

A beautiful girl outside his window, out of her coffee stained waitress dress for once — now fresh-faced, hair wet and curling into its natural state, in just jeans and t-shirt see through from rain, like a Calvin Klein model. It makes him wince, he's already full to the brim with emotion. He turns away, overwhelmed.

“I-I didn't mean to snap.” he says.

“That's okay, sorry for frightening you. I never gave you your jacket back the other day. And, well, I.. had this mixtape. It has some stuff you'll like. I dunno, I just…” you trail off.

He stares at you, not able to move. He'll break if he does. He runs a hand over his face, holding his mouth shut.

God, the day he's had. The funeral home for his baby brother, in which he'd thrown his guts up when Will’s tiny body was revealed. And then his mom, refusing to believe it actually was Will. And a screaming match with her, right in the middle of town. About how while she's talking to the lights, the rest of us are having a funeral for Will! 

And by rest of us, he meant him. Solely him.

He starts off on his frustrated, pent up mumbling again. You can't even really tell what he's saying, just that he looks 10 seconds from a full breakdown. 

He shakes his head, and can't look at you. He hiccups, muttering like he's choking. He whispers something about the assholes at school who never leave him alone, even now. And how he deals with that at school, and comes home to this. 

“It's.. fucked!” he chokes. And he doesn't usually swear, not at all.

“Jon.” you whisper, gentle. “In or out?”

“...What?” He wipes his eyes. You pretend you don't see.

“Do you want me to come in, or do you want to leave and come out?”

He looks at you like you're some type of alien.

“Um… well, you're — you're gonna get sick. You can come stay here.. if you want.” he hesitates, barely audible. 

So you do. You swing your leg over his window and stumble in. 

He's at tipping point. He can't even breathe funny, or he'll just crack.

You hold your arms out. “...C’mere.” you whisper.

His face crumples before he can stop it. You step forward, close the distance, and wrap your arms around his shaking frame. For a second, he freezes. Every muscle in him locks, like he’s waiting to be pushed away.

Like you'd ever. You hold him tight, rubbing up and down his back. He cries quietly at first, so quiet you wouldn't even know he was there. Then eventually, not quiet at all. Full on sobbing. 

He clutches at you, wrinkling your shirt's damp fabric.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your shoulder, over and over. “I’m sorry, this’s so pathetic. I’m sorry, I'm just tired. I’m sorry—”

“Shh, don't apologize. That's okay.” you tell him, rocking side to side slightly. “I know you're tired, you can tell. Sit down, Jon. You're exhausted.”

You guide him to his bed. You kneel in front of him on the mattress, almost between his crisscrossed legs, and hold him still. 

And you stay like that for a while. A long, long time. Until he falls slack on your shoulder. You ease his head down to his pillow, tug his comforter over his arms. You lie on top of the covers, beside him.

He's asleep. The lines of worry around his eyes seem vanished. People always get the best sleep after they've been crying, anyways. You smile, just listening to him and the pelting rain wash over the windows.

[hollydancers]

tell my why i was warming up in ballet and my flats literally started fucking shriveling up disintegrating on my feet

bloch u betrayed me

[tikitania]

Darina Moseeva has been promoted to Principal dancer at the Bolshoi.

That was FAST. WOW. 😳

[hollydancers]

HELLO

[hollydancers]

˗ˏˋ SLASHER .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ᥫ᭡ Part 4 of UNDER PRESSURE★彡

Jonathan Byers/Henderson!Reader

❝ A needy, unrelenting kiss. Burning an interdimensional monster to death. Which is more out of the blue? ❞

c.w: detailed descriptions of demogorgons, and being attacked by them. guns, rigged weapons. WALK EM DOWN WHEELER. grief and death (barb) parentified children. near death experience. jonathan being awkward :)

author note: i'm BACK!!! IM SO sorry guys, this literally took me like TWO WHOLE WEEKS to write. i literally DIED the ao3 curse got me and i had to get multiple blood transfusions and iv drips and i hate needles it was so gross. this is the second last part, and it's a little over 3k words! i hope you like this, since you guys had to wait so long - again, sorry!! pls lmk if u like this, i LOVE u guys comments. this part follows directly after part 3. enjoy!! <3

~ Hawkins Police Station. Whatever ‘just friends’ can still count as. ~

 What now? What happens after… that? 

 Do you put your arm around her? That's not really possible in handcuffs. …Ask her out? That's what a regular guy’d do. Can you ask out a girl you've directed 20 backyard superhero movies of? One you shut out for 3 years because you couldn't handle having a crush? In those shitty romance movies she likes, some banal love song plays and the scene just fizzes. No awkward silences. 

 Jonathan Byers’ head is spinning. It's no secret you've been asked out before, by a normal boy. Who says normal things, acts normal. Not a creep, weirdo, or freak. 

 “Jonathan! What… what happened? Why is he wearing handcuffs?! Take them off!” Joyce rushes in, continuously frantic. 

 “No can do, ma’am! Your boy assaulted an officer!” Policeman Callahan states. 

 “She said take ‘em off!” Chief Hopper demands. 

 “Listen, Chief. There's something you should see. From their car. And we think.. there might be an accomplice here.” Both officers cock their heads around at you. Then, to the box of stolen arsenal and downright cynical weapons.

 “You went through my car?!” Jonathan deflects. 

 “Is that really what you kids wanna be asking right now?! I'll see you in my office!” Hopper yells, intimidating. 

 “You won’t believe us!” you hiss, defensive. He glares daggers. A try me look. 

 Some parents have that 'I'm not mad, just disappointed’ look perfected. With a hint of 'Jesus, thank god you're okay’ laced under. Joyce is one of them — even while being presented with a grainy photograph of a flower-faced meat grinder, and, a tape filled with its heaves. 

 All she does is stare, I told you so, at Hopper. 

 Hawkins Police takes monster-hunting very seriously, apparently. You're split up, pacing hallways, when—

 “What is happening?! What have you done?! My little girl, oh!” Your mother wails, bawling, down the corridor. 

 “Mom!” you call, beelining to calm her.

 She shrieks. “What is going on with you?! You're an associate to a crime?! And you've got… guns? — guns! Then, on my way, I saw that billboard!” she falls against the wall like a damsel in distress.

 “Please don't cry! It's not—!” you stutter, deep frustration burning your skin.

 “First the drinking, then this! You're supposed to be the responsible one! I need you to be! What am I supposed to do if you're not?” she weeps erratically. “You're scaring me!”

 “I'm sorry! I-It's not what you think!”

 She cries out, seizing her pink pearls. “Is this because of.. your father? Is that why you're drinking, giving… favors to boys?”

 “No! I've never even — God, its's just assholes from school! Okay?!” 

 “...And, I can't find your brother! He's not at the Wheeler’s, then, you—!” she blubbers.

 “I'm sorry, Mama! I'll fix everything.” you finally say. You've always had to be more of a parent to mom, than she was to you. The bridge, between franticness and passiveness. You're sure it's terrifying for your hysterical mother to actively watch the bridge burning. 

 You've always been.. jealous of girls who were 'daddy's girls’ — a given — or, 'mommy's girls’. You've always been a little too much, too scary to mom for that. You've never really been anyone's girl. 

 You lock eyes with Jonathan, over Joyce's shoulder. Perfect understanding. An oldest child can be spotted ten miles away by one of their kind.

 Mom’s ushered out by Flo, and you're yanked back inside. Hopper’s landline rings until voicemail. 

 “Chief, we need all eyes! We're looking for Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and Dustin Henderson! They're on the run from something serious! We've got backup on the Wheeler’s. This is not a drill!”

 You almost fall backwards at your brother's name. He's connected to this. 

 You go to call out — only to be interrupted by Hopper. “We have to—!” you gasp.

 “I know. We are. Get in the damn car.”

 ~~~

 Helicopters. Police helicopters for your baby brother. 

 “Neither of you have any idea where they might be?! Seriously?!” Hopper groans. “No idea? Absolutely no goddamn idea?!”

 “Give me my bag.” you say. 

 He sighs, exasperated. “That flower.. embellished.. thing?”

 “Yes. Give me my bag.”

 You grab it and tear through it. Hopper huffs something indignant — can you believe this girl? You spill out everything from lipgloss to your theory notes on the monster, until finding your walkie-talkie. 

 05.04 MHz, is always Dustin's frequency. Mews’ birthday and Star Wars day? C’mon. 

 “Dustin, you there?” you force your terrified voice to sound overly sweet. “It's your big sister, you're not in trouble, I swear. I just need to know where you are.”

 Nothing. 

 “Anyone? I know you're all together. Mike? I won't tell Nancy, honest! Lucas? You guys there?”

 Nothing. Not-available-nothing or government-captured-nothing?

 Hopper snatches your walkie mid-coaxing. “Listen kid, it’s the Chief. If you're there, pick up!” he sighs. “We know you're in trouble and we know about the girl.”

 …Nothing.

 Until— 

 “Yeah. I copy. We're here.” from little Mike Wheeler. 

 Back at the Byers’, you don't know whether to smack the three little boys you've done your share babysitting for, or hug them so tight they turn purple.  

 It's that kind of deadly, unsettling quiet.

 They boys whisper about fleas and acrobats, and that place — the Upside Down. And gates. But not the kind in trees that you crawl through to save your friend — ultramagnetic ones, underneath Hawkins Lab. 

 The fascinating buzzcut girl, very quietly proposes to contact Will. 

 Very sheepishly, you pull a torn scrap of Jonathan's picture of Barb. 

 “And.. if it's alright, El. My friend Barbara too?” you talk sweetly, she's still a scared little kid, after all.

 She does… something, contact through a walkie talkie — only feeding your signal attraction theory more. The monster, signal, sound, enticement.

 Lights flicker. You could hear a pin drop.

 It doesn't work.

 A sensory deprivation tank, is what your little brother comes up with. Then—

 BANG. BANG. BANG. 

 Someone pounds angrily on the door.

 “Hello?! Anybody home?! It's Nancy Wheeler, I'm looking for Y/N, apparently she's here!” Nancy shouts furiously. “It's urgent—!”

 You essentially sprint to the door, peeking out barely. 

 “Nancy! You cannot be here.” Your eyes widen in terror. “There's shit going on, and—”

 “And there's downright wrong things happening around Hawkins? And kids are going missing left and right? And, you're getting to the bottom of it. Right!?” She slightly mocks. 

 “Start talking. Our Barb is gone, you've been off the goddamn rails, and I want answers!” she demands. “What are you doing?! You know something!”

 “Nance, I'm sorry! This is bigger than both of us—!”

 “I know.” she hisses, exhausted eyes flashing determination.

 “I’ve been calling hospitals,” she snaps. “Morgues. I went back to Steve’s. You think I didn't notice you freaked out? Obviously you saw something. I’ve been thinking, researching myself. You. know. something.”

 Nancy always knows. How could you forget that?!

 “You. know. Barb isn't just missing.” her voice breaks, between crying or choking you. “And whatever happened’s definitely related to Will Byers.” 

 She's hurt, she's so hurt. Course she is! You could sob with the emotion crashing through you. Terror, grief, guilt, pride — no one holds a candle to Nancy Wheeler. 

 “Something with radiation, or chemicals, from Hawkins Lab. Some poor, deformed animal experiment on the loose. That's what I've figured.”

 “...You're not wrong. There is.. a thing.” You whisper, shaking. 

 “Nancy. People are being hunted. By it. It got me. There's government involved. This is so much more.. supernatural than—”

 “Monster. It's a monster.” Mike finishes over your shoulder. 

 “Mike?!” she sputters, completely confused. You steer him out onto the Byers porch with you. Her suspicious gaze flicks between you. 

 “…Okay,” Nancy says finally. Quiet now, dangerous. “Explain. Properly. And don’t lie to me.”

 You inhale, shaky. “Okay. A monster. It’s real. It attacks.”

 Mike nods fast. “It took Will.”

 “And Barb,” you add.

 “It's not from… our world. I saw where it comes from. Me and Jonathan… were there. Remember the butterfly effect? How in a different universe something could be wildly different? Like that. It's Hawkins, but not. The.. different version.”

 “The Upside Down.” Mike says.

 “Sound travels between. The monster reacts to it. That’s how it found me. I think signal attracts it.” you continue.

 Mike jumps in. “There’s a girl, from Hawkins Lab. They were doing experiments on her. She can—” he hesitates, then blurts, “—move things with her mind. Superpowers.”

 “And she's wearing your dress.” you mutter. “And my jacket.”

 Nancy stares. “...Jesus.”

 Suddenly, everyone inside — comes all but barreling outside, cramming into cars. 

 “We're going, now!” someone screams.

 “Nance, you coming or what?!” you call. Finalizing her involvement.

 You're pushed into a car occupying way too many, a five seater holding seven. Poor Dustin gets smushed to the floor, while you're roughly knocked sideways onto Jonathan. 

 This happens a lot, summertimes in packed cars to the lake, shoved onto someone's lap. Never with Jonathan, though. God, you'd swear he was a live wire with how on fire you feel. His cheeks blush, deep. Hands hover, uselessly, terrified to touch the girl on his lap. 

 “Sorry!” you both huff, in tandem. He settles an awkward hand round your waist, his brown, earnest eyes freezing onto yours. You're more nervous about this than the monster. Maybe you did ruin it, after all.

 And Jonathan, can’t even be in proximity of you, without essentially turning to mush. 

 Everyone takes some sort of job at the school. Salt, pool, water. A ‘bath’, as El said. Nancy interrogates Mike more, you watch Lucas and Dustin, bickering like an old married couple. 

 The small little girl floats in a salt water kiddie pool, completely blindfolded. 

 Immediately — all the electricity goes out.

 She doesn't move at all, barely even to breathe. It's silent. Complete silence.

 So quiet, you can hear the ancient air vents whistling. It's nostalgic, they got broken during a Star Trek versus Star Wars fight in your time in 7th grade. There's a little Han Solo figure rattling around in there somewhere.

 “Barbara.” Eleven suddenly whispers. 

 Shit. “What's happening? Is Barb okay?!” Nancy asks, fearful.

 “Gone.” Eleven mumbles. “Gone. Gone.” her little voice breaks into screaming. “Gone! Gone!”

 Nancy grabs your hand, like instinct. So shaken, she couldn't form words if someone had a gun to her head. 

 “I'm sorry,” you tell her. It's your fault. “I-I'm so sorry.” 

 Eleven's still going. 

 “Will.” she says.

 “...Hurry.” an abrupt voice crackles the walkie talkie.

 Jesus Christ. Will! There's screaming, and crying — both from the walkie talkie and gym. Rushing and scrambling — then Joyce and Hopper are gone.

 Oh god. 

 Your eyes feel boiling, hot tears steaming up. You've always been an angry cryer, this isn't that. Barb, your Barb. Your poor girl’s gone. You'll never see her again. And you spent your last itty bitty moment with her, annoying her at a party you dragged her to, that she didn't wanna be at. That monster killed her. Attacked her. Ate her. And her body's… there, forever.

 Nancy stares into space, overlooking the kids. They all look so little, so young. Poor Nancy looks like some veteran soldier. You should talk to her — that's your girl, too. You've dragged all your friends under with you. Your fault. You can't help but think of last week, walking home from work — past Mirkwood. Why the fuck didn't you do anything? You heard it! 

 “S-Stay with the kids.. okay? Keep ‘em safe.” you whisper to Nancy, fright-frozen. She barely nods, tranced. You'll be damned if you let those kids see you this scared, and crying,

 You slide down a school-spirited hallway wall. What you wouldn't give for your only worry to be cheering your Friday game, bossing around Chrissy Cunningham and other freshman girls. You feel helpless. You need to do something.

 Hm.

 “Look at me. Hey…” someone’s soft voice interrupts your thoughts, draping a denim jacket over your shaking shoulders. “You're crying. You.. alright?”

 Jonathan, crouching infront of you. He looks worried, stressed, and sweet. Gentle hands grip your shaking shoulders, his face crumblingly concerned. You could just disintegrate in his hands. 

 “My mom and Hopper are gone.. in there. Finding him. Getting Will.” he sounds so hopeful.

 Hm. 

 “Will.. you do something with me?” you hesitate, wiping your eyes.

 “Of course, anything.” he whispers.

 “Come back to the station.”

 One eyebrow raises. “What?”

 “Get our stuff from the station. Your mom and the Chief are gone in.. they're just walking in like bait for the monster. We need to..”

 “Kill it? You wanna finish the job?”

 “Yes. But.. we gotta..” you hesitate. “We're luring it. I'm not sure at all, but you can attract it. Definitely.”

 His adam's apple bobs, as if he's physically swallowing the gruesome idea. A more certain hand tucks one side of your hair behind your ear. 

 He nods.

 ~~~

 ~ The Byers’ House. Finishing the job. ~ 

 Bear traps, ignition, and guns, oh my!

 You reconnect Joyce's Christmas lights Lonnie tore down. You figure the communication between here and the Upside Down — lights, radio connections, sound — connect directly to the monster's presence. Barb and the party music, Will and his walkie, you and your tape recorder — things like that, signal connection, electricity, and communication between worlds have connection to when the monster shows up.

 And so you play The Overload by The Talking Heads on Jonathan’s radio. 

 You grimace, hearing Jonathan hammering something, aggressively, outside.

 You absolutely drench the entire hallway in gasoline, pour an entire bottle of Joyce’s liquor in for good measure. That's where you'll trap it. Burn it. 

 You hear something slam. Jonathan appears startlingly — and if you didn't look like serial killers before, god, you do now. A baseball bat with nails through it. 

 He starts, shy. “Um.. I'll take this. I can swing—” 

 “I’ve seen.” you whisper.

 He smiles slightly. “And I've got this for you..” he hesitates.

 A shovel. With blades hammered through. Jesus.

 “You've got a good hit. Sucks I couldn't, y'know. Rig a spirit stick for you.” He tries to joke, awkwardly. 

 You nudge him gently, it's fleeting. 

 “...Will you help with the bear trap?” you ask.

 Jonathan stretches out the trap’s spring, straining as he forces its jaws apart. “Weight. Need weight on it.”

 You go to stand on the latch. He stops you, “Wait — Hands.” He lifts your hands to his shoulders, keeping you steady.

 Jonathan's observant. He's picked up on the way your hands do this little squirmy thing just as they touch him. The way you blush makes him feel less nervous. It's almost like he's pining for excuses to touch you.

 The latch clicks.

 He holds your hand, like you're made of glass, to help you off. Now'd usually be when you both gasp and huff “sorry!” simultaneously. 

 He looks like he's going to — you don't want that. “Jonathan…” you whisper, softly, stopping him.

 His brows furrow. He stares at you, like a deer in headlights. You could get lost, and never return, in the earnestry and frightenedness his eyes hold. And you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. 

 “..Jonathan?” you repeat, barely audible. 

 CREAK.

 Something shifts outside. Like it's literally stomping, angrily, on the front porch. 

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

 Outside. It's outside.

 “The music’s not—!?” you rush, grabbing your weapons. “Lights—! When the lights flicker — that's when it—!”

 He swings you his direction. He kisses you.

 Like a dying wish. Cause it might as well be. His hands grip your waist so wantingly your clothes wrinkle. You stumble, pinned against the wall. So close, you can feel his knees weakening. Oh, you never want this to stop. He's warm and slow, and he's sweet about it, and it's so obvious he's never kissed a girl before. But god, you're used to him being the shy one. He's all over you. 

 CRASH.

 The door is forced open. Shit. Shit!

 “Did you really think I'd sit back and babysit while you—?! Oh…” 

 Nancy. It's fucking Nancy.

 “Nancy! You idiot! We thought it was—!” 

 “The monster? The monster you're planning on killing? That you thought I'd sit back and relax about?” she grabs the gun.

 “No, but.. yes! So if you're gonna yell, do it fast! We have like — five minutes!” you snap.

 Then—

The doorbell?

 “Jonathan! Are you there, man? I just want to apologize!” Steve Harrington, of all people, calls. No way. 

 “You better know how to shoot that!” Jonathan points to Nancy before bolting to the door. He doesn't even let Steve peek in. 

 He speaks through gritted teeth. “I'm. serious. Get out. You need to leave. Please. You need to go—”

 “Henderson? Is that you? Hey — Is that my Nancy?!” Steve forces his way in. 

 Jonathan knocks him back outside aggressively. There's screaming and there's fighting — again. There's half a fistfight, pushing and shoving.

 Nancy grabs you.

 “Cut your hand.” She yanks through the Byers’ drawers. “You need to cut your hand if you want to lure that thing.” 

 “What?!” you say.

 “Blood. That's what it's attracted to. I don't know what theory you had, but that's what I've figured out.” 

 You get a famous 'I'll do it if you do it’ look from her — then you're holding a kitchen knife. 

 “Leave! You need to leave! I mean it!” Jonathan yells. “I smell gasoline! Is that a fucking baseball bat?! I'm not leaving until I know those girls are okay!” Steve screams back.

 She takes your hand, and the cold blade. 

 “Nancy, wait. Look, no more secrets, okay?” you whisper. 

 “No more secrets.” she smiles. “3, 2, 1…”

 Blood drips onto the Byers floor. Yours and Nancy's.

 Steve sees it, freezes. Nancy holds a gun to his head. “You either need to get out. Or grab something heavy.” 

 One light flickers. Two. Three. 

 Something by The Clash, The Cure, The Smiths, jolts out on the radio. Slows, then speeds.

 The Christmas lights begin to pulse. Then the living room is red, green, red, green.

 “W-What's happening? What is happening?! Why does she have a shovel?! And.. the wall. Look, guys — the wall!” Steve shouts, absolutely petrified. 

 The wall. Something writhes and stretches behind the wallpaper. Squirms, rips.

 A hand presses from the other side. It's fingers bend backwards, clawing through. 

 The wall splits.

 Plaster cracks, littering the gasoline-soaked floor. A claw punches through. Another. That flower-faced creature crashes to the floor, smashing house vases. 

 It’s here.

 Not a theory.

 Right here.

 It shrieks and screams. It's hungry. It's looking. It jumps at Jonathan. It heaves over him, drooling all over his face. He thrashes under it, but he's pinned down completely. 

 You swing that rigged shovel. Again. Again. The blades slash into the monster's meaty flesh. It's blood splatters all over you. Your face. Your clothes. 

 You get it off Jonathan. Then it turns to you. 

 It knows you. It's had you before. And — you're fucking covered in blood. 

 It snatches you with both its claws, once again. It slurps the spilling blood off your palm, it’s mouth watering. 

 Nancy shoots, aims perfectly — And empties out Lonnie’s gun. The bullets just bounce off its back. Tears prickle your eyes. You're gone. Dead—

 You fall?

 A horrified Steve whacks the nailbat at the monster, just enough for it to drop you. Then your being dragged, everyone rushing past the trap. “Jump!” Someone yells. “Go—Letsgo—Now!”

 Everyone hauls into Will’s room, gasping for air. The monster chases down the hall, smashing into walls and furniture. It trips, crashing across the floor. You hear metal jaws snap and screech closed. 

 “He’s in the trap!” Nancy calls. “Jonathan, now!” you scream. 

 He launches the lighter into the gasoline drenched trap. Flames burst. The smoke alarm screeches. All you can see is streaking, firey orange. 

 The monster howls. Flames climb its limbs, crawl up its spine. Its flesh splits, its skin blisters and blackens. It writhes and thrashes, burning to smithereens.

 What's left collapses fully into the trap's spikes. 

 Someone extinguishes the fire, smoke clouding the entire house. 

 “It has to be dead.” Jonathan says, almost pleading. “It has to be.” 

 ..Silence. There's a collective sigh.

 The lights flicker again. More.. gentle now. One by one, like a little guiding trail.

 You all follow the flicker. It's almost… calming.

 You hear a faint crackle. “...Jonathan?” you swear you hear Joyce whisper.

 Connection.

 The four of you creep outside. More flickering. Street lamps, car headlights, porch lights. Everywhere.

 “It can't be still here. It can’t.” Nancy shakes her head.

 “...I don't think that's the monster.” Jonathan says. 

 ~~~

 ~ Hawkins General. Outside a saved little boy’s hospital room. ~

 Hospitals are usually overbearing, sterile, and rash. Right now it feels… relieving, though. 

 Joyce appears from Will’s room’s door. Her face is blotchy, her eyes watery. She gestures you over. You're pulled into the tightest hug imaginable, and she whispers, “He's awake. He's okay. Wake the boys.” 

 You beam. “Oh, and sweetheart—” Joyce tips her head, making I know eyes. The type that say I've known you would never be ‘just friends’ since 5th grade. 

 You lightly shake Dustin and Lucas awake, while Mike has been pacing the entire time.

 “Byers!” They scream. You hear merciless chattering. “We had a funeral! Jennifer Hayes was crying!” and “Troy peed himself! Infront of the whole school!” then “We found a girl! She has superpowers! She flipped a van with her mind!” Their frantic little voices mesh together.

 You grin, leaning back happily—

 —“Ah!” you startle, bumping into Jonathan. 

 “...Sorry.” he huffs. He wipes his eyes hurriedly. Oh, they're teared up and red, the way when someone's been crying a long while.  

 “Do you wanna…?” he gestures to the hallway. “While they…?” he waves at your boys. 

 You nod, still smiling.

 You haven't talked about the kiss. How could you? There's been no time. The only time you have talked is as he lent you some clothes to wear, rather than your blood drenched ones.

 The hallway is hushed and quiet. “I-I.. made you a mixtape.” He says, rummaging through his jacket. Huh. With the little time, he'd have to have made it before this ordeal. 

 “And… I'd like to say.. something to you.” He stammers.

 “Oh?”

 “Yeah, I-I don’t know if this is stupid, but — Well I was thinking, when this is all…” He trips over his words, running hands through his hair.

 “Maybe we.. could, like, do something? If you want. Um, whatever you'd like. You don't have to—”

 “Are you asking me out?” you grin.

 “You don't have to! I'm sorry, just if you want. I've probably fucked this up, I'm so sorry, you really don't—”

 “I'd like that, Jon.”

 Oh.

 Really? Seriously? Me? he thinks, stunned speechless. His mouth opens, closes. Opens again, “..Cool.” he comes up with, sounding exactly the opposite. 

 You rise on your tiptoes. Kiss his cheek.

 “Cool.” you repeat, beaming like an idiot.

[hollydancers]

the ao3 curse got me guys

posted the latest two chapters of my reader fic went to ballet and COLLAPSED had to get AMBULANCE now i'm in the hospital and i need a whole ass BLOOD TRANSFUSION pls whats the science behind this

sorry to my slay queen princess diva fic readers i will give you an update when im not on my death bed i love you guys

also i'm playing aurora in my dance schools production of the sleeping beauty :)

[hollydancers]

update: i'm okay but im STILL in the hospital but they letting me out later on. all my stuff went okay :)) im SO sorry to everyone who's been waiting for new parts of under pressure, there's definitely going to be a new part within a matter of days!! it's halfway written so far, ive just been so unorganized lately. i'm sorry queennsssssssssss

[hollydancers]

the ao3 curse got me guys

posted the latest two chapters of my reader fic went to ballet and COLLAPSED had to get AMBULANCE now i'm in the hospital and i need a whole ass BLOOD TRANSFUSION pls whats the science behind this

sorry to my slay queen princess diva fic readers i will give you an update when im not on my death bed i love you guys

also i'm playing aurora in my dance schools production of the sleeping beauty :)

[jancys-blue-bayou]

Fanfiction masterpost

New masterpost of all my Jancy fics. Latest at the top.

The Place to Be - Read on Ao3 - Set post main story and going into the epilogue. Nancy and Jonathan talking on the phone all the time while she's at Emerson up until she drops out. Where does she go then...?

The Un-Break Up - Read on Ao3 - Fix it fic for the finale set right after the final battle. Nancy and Jonathan talking stuff out.

Commands - Read on Ao3 - Smut where Nancy and Jonathan are at Enzo's for a date and Jonathan gets turned on by Nancy yelling at the snooty waitress (a blast from the past).

Honesty - Read on Ao3 - Fix it fic of THAT scene in s5e6. Allowing Nancy and Jonathan to really talk and work stuff out. Canon divergence.

Growing Up - Read on Ao3 - Series of scenes following Jonathan growing up, navigating his home and social life, finding his hobbies and dreams. Angst and fluff.

The Princess and the Knight - Read on Ao3 - 12 year old Nancy and Jonathan playing DnD with the Party.

Turn Towards This Time - Read on Ao3 - Post s4 Argyle going back and salvaging things from the Byers house in Lenora – and getting Jonathan to be honest with Nancy and reconnect.

Safekeeping - Read on Ao3 - Drabble, Jonathan needs clothes post s4, fortunately Nancy stored all his sweaters in her closet.

It's Mine Now - Read on Ao3 - Nancy protecting the Byers family from Lonnie. Set between s2-s3.

This Is New - Read on Ao3 - Drabble, Karen POV on her finding out about Jancy's relationship, set post main s2 story.

Guardians - Read on Ao3 - S5 canon divergence. What if Karen and Ted didn’t survive the Demogorgon attack? Angst, hurt/comfort and family bonding.

Lines of Communication - Read on Ao3 - Set between s4 and s5. Nancy and Jonathan having the talk they need to have and then Nancy telling Steve off like he deserves.

The Weirdest Part – Read on Ao3 – Multichapter canon divergence starting from the end of s1 where Steve doesn’t have his sudden heel face turn so Nancy and Jonathan fight the Demogorgon themselves and then get together in a different way.

Sweaterhearts – Read on Ao3 – Nancy keeps stealing Jonathan’s sweaters for herself, leaving him with nothing. Fluff and smut.

One Night in New York – Read on Ao3 – Future fic, Will and Joyce coming to visit Nancy and Jonathan in New York during their college days. Mainly Nancy and Joyce bonding and Byers brothers. Fluff.

Robbing Uncle Sam - Read on Ao3 – Canon divergence post-s4. Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Lucas and Max rob the gun store to stock up for fighting Vecna.

Superglue and Twizzlers - Read on Ao3 - Childhood Nancy and Jonathan featuring Mike and Will. Fluff.

The Tapes - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan by accident turns Karen onto Bowie. Fluff.

Being There - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan comfort each other after nightmares and have an important talk about the future. Hurt/comfort.

Calm Before the Storm - Read on Ao3 - Standalone sequel to Together, picking up straight from the s4 epilogue as Nancy and Jonathan navigate the rest of the day, talk with everyone including hashing things out with Steve, before finally being alone together. Jancy + Jancy and whole team bonding.

Preparedness - Read on Ao3 - Post s4 canon divergence where Max isn’t in a coma. Nancy and Jonathan take Max and Lucas out for driving and shooting lessons. Jancy + Lumax bonding and fluff.

Together - Read on Ao3 - Fix it fic of sorts set during the s4 epilogue letting Jancy have the real talk they really need to have. Also Nancy and Cali crew catching up.

Breakfast Boy - Read on Ao3 - Drabble about Nancy noticing that Jonathan matches the kitchen. Short little fluff.

Graves - Read on Ao3 - Jancy with background Lumax post-s3. Nancy and Jonathan visits Barb’s and Bob’s graves, and finds Max at Billy’s. Bonding, emotional hurt/comfort, angt and a little fluff.

Two Photographs - Read on Ao3 - The story behind the photographs of Nancy and Jonathan that are shown in the Byers house in season 4. Jancy fluff feat. Joyce. Oneshot.

Eggs Over-Easy - Read on Ao3 - Will sneaks a boy into his room for the night. Byers family (including Nancy) fluff.

If You Fall - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan gets there just in time to bring Nancy out of Vecna’s trance when no one else can. Jancy with some Steve, Robin and everyone else pretty much. Oneshot.

Dreams and Obligations - Read on Ao3 - What if Nancy had flown to California in the beginning of s4? Nancy and Jonathan (and Joyce) having some important talks about the future, dreams and obligations.

Do you remember? - Read on Ao3 - Jancy reminisce about how long they’ve known each other, talking old memories through the years from kindergarten and up.

Being okay - Read on Ao3 - S3 missing scene fic picking up from right at the end of the hospital fight scene and following Nancy from that to when they and the kids are at Hopper’s cabin the next day. Hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst.

Opals and mixtapes - Read on Ao3 - Set around Valentine’s Day between s2 and s3. Joyce helping Jonathan with getting a gift for Nancy, and Nancy meanwhile turning to Will for help with her gift to Jonathan. Fluff.

Indecent thoughts - Read on Ao3 - Early relationship smut, Jonathan having trouble with how to handle all he feels when he’s around Nancy, and Nancy confessing she had ulterior motives with inviting him over for movie night. Fluff and smut.

Chemistry - Read on Ao3 - Smut outtakes from The Real Shit, detailing smut scenes that was left out of that fic for ratings reasons. Multichapter.

Bravest brothers - Read on Ao3 - Nancy, Jonathan and Will bonding over nightmares and a new revelation of Will’s bravery. Fluff, comfort and bonding.

The things you said, the words you used - Read on Ao3 - Collection of mini fics prompted on Tumblr, chapters varying between fluff/comfort/pining/smut. Feat. Jonathan and Nancy in all, and Will, Karen and Ted in parts.

I Saw Nancy Kissing Santa Claus - Read on Ao3 - Nancy asks Jonathan to dress up as Santa Claus for Holly, which he does after they’ve also spent Christmas together at his house with his family and El and Hopper, exchanging gifts and I love yous.

Fans of Thumper - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan and Nancy dress up as Thumper and Miss Bunny for Halloween, and help the Partywith their group costume chosen by El.

You are - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan comes home in a bad mood with low self-esteem due to a shitty professor at college belittling him. Nancy wants to make him feel better and tell him everything that makes him awesome. Smut and fluff, aka smuff.

Cheaper than therapy - Read on Ao3 - Nancy is worried about how Joyce is dealing with everything after season 2, so she goes over to the house with a gun and a plan to make her feel better. Nancy and Joyce bonding, Jancy fluff. Oneshot.

A real expert - Read on Ao3 - Will’s POV after the events of season 2, as he happily witnesses Jonathan and Nancy’s growing relationship and his friends being happy together. But gradually he notices a not so favorable personality change in Dustin caused by the toxic advice Steve’s dishes out in season 2. Finally fed up with how Dustin treats Max and other girls, Will asks a real expert on girls to talk to him: Nancy. Oneshot.

Sounds - Read on Ao3 - Smut. Jonathan reflects on the amazing sounds Nancy makes as she goes down on him and he returns the favor. Smutt and fluff, aka smuff. Oneshot.

Everything you could - Read on Ao3 - Lonnie drops by the Byers house when Will and Nancy are the only ones there. Nancy puts herself in danger to protect Will and Lonnie gets his ass kicked by them both and Jonathan. Angst and violence but much more hurt/comfort and fluff. Oneshot.

Not just when the world is ending - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan’s POV right after the cabin exorcism and gate closing as he tries to do everything for his family while at the same time falling even more in love with Nancy, who’s there by his side through it all. Also Chester the dog is alive in this. Early relationship fluff and comfort. Oneshot.

Shirt full of memories - Read on Ao3 - Future fic. Jonathan is giving away some old clothes and wants to get rid of his white thermal shirt he wore in 2x06. Nancy doesn’t want him to and wears it herself while thinking back to their first time together. Then Jonathan comes home. Smut and fluff aka smuff.

Thinking about you - Read on Ao3 - Nancy thinks about Jonathan in the shower. Then Jonathan goes down on her while fully clothed. Then more stuff happens. Smut.

Trust and honesty - Read on Ao3  - Jancy after their first time at Murray’s laying awake talking about them and their feelings.

Mercy - Read on Ao3 - Jancy steal a pair of Hopper’s handcuffs and use them in the bedroom. Smut and fluff (aka smuff) as well as Jonathan introspection, comedy, Byers-Hopper (+ Nancy) family fluff.

I love you - Read on Ao3 - Nancy loves Jonathan. All of him. And vice versa. Humorous smutty ficlet.

Looks and sensations - Read on Ao3 - Nancy goes down on Jonathan for the first time. Smut. Oneshot.

Graduation - Read on Ao3 - Smutty oneshot. Flirty Jancy celebrate high school graduation with a bang (sry).

Twenty Questions - Read on Ao3 - Oneshot with cute tipsy Jancy playing Twenty Questions.

Love you looking at me - Read on Ao3 - Smut and Nancy introspection on self-confidence and attraction.

Good study sessions - Read on Ao3 - Modern AU smutty oneshot. Jancy in college, distracting each other with sexting. And more.

A perfect match - Read on Ao3 - College oneshot centered around a medical emergency. Angst with a happy ending. Jancy bonding and Nancy bonding with Joyce and Will.

Curiosity - Read on Ao3 - Smut/fluff/introspection/humor. Nancy and Jonathan make a sex tape. Stuff ensues.

It’s not how you say it - Read on Ao3 - Slight AU where Jonathan has a stutter which infuriates him but Nancy doesn’t care and just supports him.

The Hallway Closet - Read on Ao3 - Nancy teases Jonathan under the dining table until they just have to peel away. But things do not go as planned…

Happy to see you - Read on Ao3 - Smut. Nancy helps Jonathan relax after a long day at work. + What happens the morning after…

Between the three of us we’ve got it covered - Read on Ao3 - Joyce can’t make Jonathan feel better, so she calls Nancy for help. Jancy fluffy angst comfort plus Nancy and Joyce bonding.

For the record, I had made plans to woo you - Read on Ao3 - For day 8 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Valentine’s Day. Jonathan’s plans are spoiled by an accident, so Nancy surprises him instead. Fluff and smut.

Lazy morning - Read on Ao3 - For day 7 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Fluff. Jonathan wants to make breakfast. Nancy wants to stay in bed, and for him to stay there too.

Patrol Duty - Read on Ao3 - For day 6 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Canon compliant. A suggestion for a possible opening scene of season 3.

It’s been a whirlwind - Read on Ao3 - For day 5 of Jancy Fanfic Week: AU fic. Vietnam war correspondents/60s journalists AU. Multichapter.

This kind of aggression - Read on Ao3 - For day 4 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Smut fic. Jonathan’s angry about Carol and Tommy harassing Nancy. Nancy takes him into the darkroom to blow off some steam.

The things he’s witnessed - Read on Ao3 - For day 3 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Comedy fic. Mike’s POV on Nancy and Jonathan being all over each other in their budding relationship.

Awkward people who like each other and black coffee - Read on Ao3 - For day 2 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Cliche romance trope. Coffee shop AU, feat. awkward Nancy and Jonathan, and a meddling Barb.

Rings, diplomas and eloquent speeches - Read on Ao3 - For day 1 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Anything goes. Jonathan proposing to Nancy on college graduation day.

Rings, diplomas and eloquent speeches - Read on Ao3 - For day 1 of Jancy Fanfic Week: Anything goes. Jonathan proposing to Nancy on college graduation day.

Movie night - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan’s movie date gets cancelled, fluffy movie night at home with Joyce, Will, El and Hopper ensues.

Normal is boring - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan deals with some insecurities on their first official date.

Do you think it’s over? - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan and their scars. Drabble, post-Mindflayer exorcism.

We’ll figure it out - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan having a baby. Multichapter.

I could go anywhere with you - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan take an impromptu road trip. Multichapter.

Photo booth - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan at the mall. Fluffy drabble.

A teacher’s perspective - Read on Ao3 - Mr. Clarke’s POV on The Snow Ball. Feat. Jancy and all the kids.

The red hue of the dark room - Read on Ao3 - Fluffy Nancy and Jonathan spending time in the darkroom.

Baking and spying - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan bakes while the party watches with mixed emotions.

Enter at your own risk - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan cares for Nancy during her period.

Chaperoning - Read on Ao3 - Jonathan POV on before and after chaperoning the Snow Ball with Nancy.

I’ll handle it - Read on Ao3 - Joyce, Jonathan and Nancy post Mindflayer in 2x09.

Late night groceries - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan in college doing some late night grocery shopping.

What a Pleasant Surprise - Read on Ao3 - Nancy and Jonathan have an awkward encounter with Karen.

Exposure - Read on Ao3 - Drabble about the morning the papers pick up Nancy and Jonathan’s story exposing Hawkins Lab.

The Real Shit - Read on Ao3 - Multichapter Jancy fic following Nancy and Jonathan through missing scenes in Stranger Things season 2 and beyond.

[hollydancers]

oh my jancy i love my babies