pairing | jonathan byers x Henderson!reader
summary | Jonathan honestly doesnât like you â but one night, you get drunk at a party, and god⌠he would never leave you alone.
warnings | enemies to lovers, fluff & angst, slow burn, overprotective jonathan byers, season 2 jonathan, reader is dustin hendersonâs sibling, found family, family issues, mentions of smoking, mentions of drug use, emotional hurt/comfort, protective behavior, quiet jealousy, mutual pining, it takes forever and it hurts
note: English isnât my first language (final boss tbh). Iâm trying to get back into an old habit I lost, so I decided to write this and see where it goes. There will definitely be more chapters. Hope you enjoy it â comments and requests are always welcome! đ¤
The icy air made Jonathan shove his hands into the pockets of his dirty denim jacket. The heavy sigh that left his lungs turned into smoke, dissolving into the cold of Tinaâs balcony. The loud music tortured every corner of his mind â he shouldnât have come. He knew that. He regretted it the second his feet touched the ground of that place.
âWant a cigarette?â the female voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
His eyes landed first on the black skirt, short enough to freeze anyone with a normal body temperature. But of course, basic biology didnât seem to apply to her.
His gaze traveled upward, meeting the familiar face of the girl. She smiled, sarcastic. Dilated pupils, restless feet â drunk, he thought. Still, Jonathan limited himself to letting out a short, almost cold nasal laugh.
âIâm pretty sure it wasnât Nancy who invited you here,â he replied flatly. âAnd youâre clearly drunk.â
âThe Wheeler? Oh, no.â You put the cigarette out with the tip of your fingers. âI definitely wouldnât go that far just to annoy you.â
You were Dustinâs older sister. Half-sister, more precisely. Same father. You had moved to Hawkins three years ago and, when you arrived, you quickly caught everyoneâs attention â including Jonathanâs, as much as he hated to admit it. But after a few arguments at the school newspaper, you had apparently become nothing more than irritating to him. Especially because you always had a sarcastic answer for everything. Apparently, the feeling was mutual.
Even after you fought irrational creatures that literally wanted to eat you alive to help save Will, Jonathan didnât budge: you were still [Y/N] Henderson, and that was an unforgivable crime in his book.
Jonathan crossed his arms, shrugging. His eyes drifted past you to Nancy dancing with Steve â you caught the sad sigh that escaped him. You frowned, murmuring almost inaudibly:
âYou should move on,â you said, shrugging.
Jonathanâs eyes snapped back to you. He raised an eyebrow as he watched you stumble slightly beside him.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â he replied, scoffing, uncrossing his arms with a hint of irritation in his voice. âYou should stop drinking, Henderson. Alcohol makes you talkative, and thatâs basically a crime against humanity.â
A genuine laugh spilled from your lips. You were the bravest person in the world when it came to the competition of irritating Jonathan Byers â but he was impressively creative with his insults.
Before you could fire back one of your usual witty comments, your stomach churned for the second time that night. Instinctively, you leaned over the balcony, hoping you wouldnât throw up on someoneâs head.
Jonathan instinctively placed a hand on your back, gathering your hair into a ponytail so automatically that he immediately felt embarrassed â fighting every mental thought telling him he should just leave you there and laugh about it on Monday. But for some reason, he stayed, holding your hair while gently rubbing your back.
âYou overdid it again,â Jonathan huffed, irritated. âYou come to these parties alone and get drunk? You do know teenagers are probably more dangerous than actual criminals, right?â
âIâm not the only talkative person here tonight,â you replied, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Jonathan rolled his eyes, an indecipherable expression crossing his face.
âAnd I came with Robin, whoâŚâ you scanned the party, unsuccessfully trying to spot her. ââŚmustâve disappeared somewhere,â you muttered.
Jonathan rolled his eyes again, looking you over. Your state was somewhere between funny and concerning. He questioned every god that might exist and silently asked forgiveness from five generations of Byers before slipping an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the house while already imagining how much youâd complain about him later for having to deal with a problem you brought to him. But leaving you there â alone and drunk â was simply not an option for him. Even if it was you.
You walked with your arm draped over Jonathanâs shoulders, your steps unsteady, while he held you by the waist in the least romantic way possible. An icy wind cut through Hawkinsâ night, reminding you both that winter had arrived. Jonathan felt every hair on your body rise, your teeth chattering from the cold. He sighed, defeated, stepping away only long enough to pull his jacket off and drape it over your shoulders.
He opened his car door, placing a hand over your head so you wouldnât hit it, helping you into the passenger seat. He buckled your seatbelt, close enough that the sweet scent of vanilla made him slightly dizzy for a few seconds.
âYouâre impossible, Henderson,â he murmured as he drove.
âMy dad canât see me like this,â you said, your words slurred somewhere between alcohol and desperation. âHeâll send me back to California.â
âWhat?â Jonathan asked, sounding more curious than worried.
You finally looked at him.
âI donât want to go back to California, Jonathan,â you said, teary eyes spilling into desperate tears. You had managed to escape your mother and her husband once â you couldnât even imagine returning to that place again.
Jonathan, completely at a loss, didnât know what to say. All he managed was a small, comforting smile as he turned the car toward his house. He knew heâd regret this tomorrow.
When he finally parked in front of the Byersâ house, he hoped Joyce was already asleep â otherwise, heâd have a lot to explain. Jonathan sat you down on the living room couch, took off your shoes, and carried you to his bedroom, where you were already half-asleep. He laid you on his bed, sighing. He watched you for a few seconds: the dark hair, the tired expression, the dark circles under your eyes that somehow made you even more beautiful.
âYou smell like wood and mint,â you murmured, words loose and almost disconnected. âThat day in the red room, I noticed. And every time you walk past me in the hallway, almost running. Wood and mint. Unmistakable.â
Your eyes fluttered shut, sleep almost claiming you â only the cold in the room keeping you awake.
Jonathanâs eyes widened in surprise at your small confession. Looking at you was difficult; it was almost like staring at an inverted mirror of himself â your painful courage, your innate ability to get what you wanted. And, damn it, you had such a beautiful face, and he knew you did. Because with just a few blinks, he found himself watching you as you fell into a deep sleep.
Jonathan sighed, covering you with a blanket and arranging a small nest of blankets on the floor for himself.
Before falling asleep, he hoped the bed would be empty when he woke up â and that you would turn out to be nothing more than a hallucination.
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