#stonathan ficlet

[judasofsuburbia]

Jonathan Byers might be the stupidest person on the planet. Because why...WHY did he ask Steve Harrington to model for his photography final? Why did he think he would ever be able to focus enough to capture what he needs to? Why did he wait until the last week of the semester and now, there's no time to ask anyone else and he doesn't want to hurt Steve's feelings—

“Hey,” Steve says, interrupting Jonathan's thought spiral. “Is this where you want me?” 

Jonathan looks up from his clipboard and camera to see Steve standing on top of the stool. Jonathan had sent him away with a costume he borrowed from the drama department and hadn't heard him come back in.

Steve is dressed in a toga. The crossbody strap is smaller than it would be on anyone else across his broad, hairy chest. The end of the toga rests delicately on his upper thighs, an inch away from being too short. Steve has quaffed his beautiful hair up and a plastic, golden crown of leaves sits amongst the brunette locks.

All of the moisture in Jonathan's mouth evaporates as he takes in Steve in this, what should have been, almost ridiculous outfit. Instead, Steve is absolutely striking in it and Jonathan is going to lose his mind before he even gets the lights set up.

“Uh, yeah, just hold there,” Jonathan croaks so he clears his throat. “I still have some things to set up.”

“Cool,” Steve replies simply. He shifts from foot to foot, tied up in lacy sandals. He looks around the studio that Jonathan has set up and smiles.

“Excited to see you do your thing,” Steve says. Jonathan trips over a cable.

“What?”

Steve glances over his shoulder and his face is so genuine when he says, “I wanna see you in the zone, you know?”

Jonathan blinks and ducks his head. “In the zone,” he repeats lamely.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “I mean, I've seen you take pictures before but never all done up like this. And this concept is really cool, I hope I can do it justice.“

Jonathan's assignment was to take from an existing piece of art, something not photography related, and recreate it. He's always been fascinated by the coliseums and marble statues of Greece, all the Gods and warriors of that time. As he was researching, the only thing that came to his mind was “Steve, Steve, Steve” and before he could even think twice, he shot him a text asking for his help. 

“You will, man,” Jonathan barely speaks above a mumble. 

Steve hums a song Jonathan doesn't know in the silence that follows. Jonathan finishes setting up all the lights and drawing the curtains of the room. He tries to pull up the screen behind Steve but can't get it to sit on the designated pole.

Steve reaches over him, his stomach resting on Jonathan's shoulder, and hooks the screen into place. Jonathan glances up at Steve's towering figure and swallows dryly. His muscular arm is bulging, his head is cast in the light from behind them like an angel. 

Steve winks and says, “You can put me to work, Byers. I don't mind.”

Jonathan's not sure that the thing that tumbles out of his lips is a laugh, per se, more like a weak, nasally huff of air. But he can't focus on that right now because he needs to stop breathing in Steve's cologne. He escapes to the other side of the room.

“You're going to be doing plenty today, I promise,” Jonathan responds while he sets up a little table next to his camera for his notes. “Why don't we start with you sitting?”

Steve sits on the stool with his legs spread, not even realizing that he's near exposing himself through the skirt. Jonathan squeaks and Steve glances down. 

“Oh shit,” Steve says, crossing his ankles. “Not used to that happening.”

“It's fine, I didn't see anything,” Jonathan mumbles, writing down nothing on his clipboard of notes. 

“I didn't go full commando under here,” Steve clarifies with a small laugh. “I'm just glad I wore white boxers today--”

And yeah, Jonathan didn't need that image either. He starts adjusting his camera on the tripod and says, “Sorry, I should have been more clear about your costume.”

“Nah man, it's alright. I kinda dig it. If we shoot outside, I'm sure the breeze will feel so good.”

Outside? No, Jonathan can't see Steve basking in the sun like this. He wouldn't survive that.

“Gonna have to settle for the AC, I'm afraid,” Jonathan says with a fumbling laugh. “Okay, first shot. I'm thinking you tilt your legs to the side, almost like you're lounging on the stool. Then pop the shoulder closer to the wall up while keeping the other down. Look up at the ceiling.”

Steve follows his instructions but he tilts his whole head up instead of just his eyes. 

“Chin down a bit, look with the eyes.”

“Like this?” Steve asks, voice innocent though it runs hot through Jonathan's ears.

Jonathan looks through his viewfinder to see Steve absolutely glowing. His brown eyes holding so much casual emotion that it tugs at Jonathan's heart. 

“Mhm. Perfect,” Jonathan captures a few shots like that before directing him to the next shot. And the one after.

Steve nails it over and over again, looking exactly like the ethereal Gods and tragic heroes Jonathan read about. Jonathan keeps telling him he's doing amazing, that he looks amazing. He can see Steve try to fight off his smile for the sake of not ruining the shot. Jonathan wonders if he could shoot that smile someday just for the sake of letting him be happy.

“You're going to give me a big head,” Steve says when they take a break. 

“Please,” Jonathan scoffs. “You already have one.”

Steve pouts playfully when he's done sipping his water. “I'm better than I was.”

Jonathan shakes his head with a fond smile. He looks at Steve directly and says, “Yeah, you are.”

Steve's lips part in surprise but then he quickly tilts his head away, sipping more water. Steve tsks. “Compliment after compliment, Byers. I should be your model more often.”

Jonathan's cheeks burn hot. “Yeah, yeah, tell your friends. C'mon, let's get back to it.”

The new few shots require Steve to show off his muscles which had to have been an idea of a deliriously horny Jonathan Byers. He could kill that guy.

“Okay, hold your hands up and behind your head. Then, uh,” Jonathan stammers, “Flex your arms for me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but he does flex. It's not that Steve Harrington is absolutely shredded; rather, he has the toned muscles of a casual jock. He just cares about his body and his strength. It doesn't make it any less debilitating to witness. 

“G-good, that's good,” Jonathan mumbles.

“You good, Byers?” Steve asks. His smirk grows less subtle every fleeting second it takes for Jonathan to respond. “Wishing for someone more buff?”

“No,” Jonathan defends immediately. “No, uh, no, you're good. Great, even.” 

“What should I do with my face?” Steve asks.

“Keep it smug like that,” Jonathan says, a little bite to his words that comes from the roaring zoo currently in his stomach.

“Smug,” Steve scoffs, voice still teasing. “Just trying to figure you out.”

Jonathan ignores that, he does not need to be figured out today and especially not by Steve Harrington.

He takes the shot and instructs Steve to hold one arm up to the side while the other pretends to hold something. Steve stands awkwardly, clenching and unclenching the fist that's supposed to be acting right now. 

“Can you show me?” Steve asks. 

“Sure,” Jonathan says. He rounds the camera and is about to demonstrate making an “O” with his fist but Steve holds out his hand and Jonathan doesn't think before he takes it. He shapes Steve's fingers gently and places his arm outstretched to his side. Steve just watches him. 

“Should I actually hold something?” Steve asks.

“No, I'm gonna edit something in later,” Jonathan explains, awkwardly dropping Steve's hand because he realizes he's still holding it. 

“Like what?”

“I can't decide if it's going to be a sword or a lightning bolt. Armor, maybe,” Jonathan shrugs then looks up at Steve who is beaming at him.

“You can do that?” 

“Y-yeah. Photoshop and all.” 

“That's so fucking sick,” Steve exclaims. “You're gonna send these to me, right?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Jonathan says.

“Of course, I want,” Steve assures. ”Not only because you're making me into some Greek god but also because it's your art and it's fucking cool.“

“Thanks,” Jonathan breathes.

Steve reaches the posed hand up and pinches Jonathan's chin. Jonathan can feel every nerve vibrate as Steve's fingers fall away too soon. Steve gives him a curious look but returns his hand to the pose. Jonathan shuffles back behind the camera and continues shooting the pictures.

Steve showcases different smolders that make Jonathan's stomach tighten but he keeps pressing the button, keeps seeing how far Steve will go without his instruction. 

“What if I shot my arm back like I'm about to throw it?” Steve asks, demonstrating his point. 

Jonathan's eyes trail up his torso to the arm in question and he swallows. “Mhm. That looks really good.”

Steve's lips turn upward and he whispers, “So do you, Byers.”

Jonathan's whole body freezes. His finger trembles over the button but his mind is so blank that he can't tell it to push. Steve keeps glancing at him but Jonathan's not registering it. 

Steve coughs awkwardly and mumbles, “Just tell me to fuck off, man.”

That gets Jonathan's brain back online. “What?”

Steve jumps, not realizing that Jonathan was actually listening. He drops his stance and rolls his shoulders back, bones popping as he does. He sighs and says meekly, “If you don't like me flirting with you, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Flirting? Flirting. 

“You're flirting with me?” Jonathan asks, exasperated. 

“I was trying to,” Steve explains, a sheepish look on his face. “But it's obvious you're not into it so--”

“Wait…no, hold on, I honestly thought you were messing with me,” Jonathan admits, walking around the camera again. Steve steps down from the stool to be at eye level with him and Jonathan swoons a little in their new proximity. 

“I do love messing with you,” Steve confirms. “But no, Byers, I’ve been flustered all day having you stare at me and do your hot artist thing. That’s not a joke.”

“Really?” Jonathan whispers, his skin flushed. 

“Really,” Steve whispers back.

"I am into it," Jonathan responds quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Put you into a toga because I'm so into it--" Jonathan doesn't finish this sentence because Steve is kissing him and he would much rather be kissing Steve than talking.

With the curtains drawn and the studio booked for the rest of the afternoon, Jonathan finds himself in Steve's lap with Steve's tongue in his mouth. He decides about two seconds in that he's got enough pictures for the day.

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 13/2/24

prompt: accidental confession

pairing/character(s): stonathan

When Steve gets drunk, he gets chatty- like, chatty enough to keep up with Robin for a rambling competition.

Meanwhile Jonathan, as cute as he is, is not great at talking for long periods of time. And when he's a little drunk, he talks even less. His whole body seems to relax in a way it can't when he's sober, and his responses are mostly little 'hm's and 'cool's and head nods and shakes.

They mesh well together.

So, here Steve is, on one of his drunk rambles. He doesn't even know what he'd been talking about originally, he just knows he's sat right next to Jonathan Byers on his couch, knees tucked up to his chest so his head can rest on them with his hands resting on and fidgeting with the soft couch material, and he's talking about something while looking at Jonathan. He knows his words must be slurring a little, because Jonathan lips quirk up slightly every now and then when a word comes out slower than intended, or a little mixed up.

Whatever Steve is supposed to be talking about, though, he gets distracted. Staring directly at Jonathan as he takes little sips of his beer, it's an easy thing to do. The words just slip out, unbidden.

"Y'got pretty lips, Byers."

He doesn't even notice he's said them at first, just continues to stare at Jonathan's face, and fidget with the edge of the couch. It catches up to him when Jonathan freezes, his cheeks go a little pink, and he shuffles a little uncomfortably.

The realisation sobers Steve up, and he tilts his head down to rest his forehead on his knee instead. Fuck. Why did he say that?

He's about five seconds away from getting up and walking out without a word when he hears Jonathan clear his throat.

"You're, uh. Not bad yourself."

What?

Steve goes back to looking at Jonathan, more openly now. Just to check Jonathan's saying that the way Steve needs him to be saying it. And the even pinker cheeks, small smile, and the way Jonathan's leaning a little closer point him towards yes, he means it in the same way. Even if he seems nervous as hell about it.

Steve doesn't really know what to do next. How does one make a move on your ex's ex? Is there etiquette for that?

Luckily, Jonathan decides for him with a nervous handhold.

And, yeah, that'll do for tonight. Maybe when they're sober, and Steve has less words while Jonathan has more, they can talk about it more.

For now, the clammy handhold and drunken compliments will do.

[robinswise]

Leave your love and your longing behind

Stonathan ficlet

"Shit-" Jonathan cursed under his breath, using the palm of his left hand to wipe tears from his eyes.

There was a searing pain in his right hand, a pain he had felt a few times before, but never knew who was causing it until now.

The attention of everyone at the party was turned to him - or at least it felt like everyone.

"Jonathan?" Nancy stepped forward, letting go of Steves hand, causing the pain to subside "Jonathan are you alright?"

Jonathan looked up at Nancy through teary eyes, and simply nodded "yeah-" his voice was hoarse "yeah I'm ok"

He looked around, noticing the people staring, and readjusted his gaze to Nancy, who looked like she saw right through his lie.

"I uhm..." He looked down at his shoes "am just tired, I'm gonna head home" he spun around on his heel, and pushed his way through the people to the door, not stopping to hear Nancy respond.

When he got to his car, the pain came back, it felt like his hand was being burned. The tears began to flow down his face once again. He pulled the car door open, practically throwing himself inside.

It was probably around midnight when he got home, he couldn't care less though, his mom and brother weren't home anyways.

The pain was gone at that point, he sat on the couch and pulled his knees to his chest, he knew it would come back eventually.

He looked down at his right palm, a small mark right in the center.

Sometimes he wished to cut it off of his hand, maybe it would make the pain stop.

It didn't take long for the pain to return, somehow knowing who his soulmate was made it worse.

Jonathan didn't cry much, not even when the pain happened before, maybe it was because he was drunk, although he barely even drank one beer, or maybe it was because he didn't love his soulmate.

Really, he didn't want Nancy to be his soulmate, he wanted someone else, someone like Steve...no, just Steve really.

The pain receded, and after waiting for what felt like hours, he figured it had stopped for the night, and he fell asleep on the couch.

He woke up at around 8 in the morning, his phone buzzing lightly on the coffee table in front of him.

He picked it up and immediately saw a text from Nancy

'Hey Jonathan, I'm coming over'

Shit, he knew what this meant.

Nancy must've known. She must've known that they were soulmates.

Jonathan was hoping she wouldn't realize.

About an hour later, he heard a knock at the front door, Nancy, no doubt.

He debated pretending not to be home, but he knew she saw his car.

He pulled himself to the door, opening it slowly. Sure enough, it was Nancy.

Before he could even speak, she grabbed his hand, pushing their soulmate marks together, he furrowed his eyebrows "what are you doing?" He asked, pulling his hand away "I need to know" she responded. 'Need to know what?' He wanted to ask, but he figured he already knew.

"We're soulmates, right?" She asked, looking down at his hand, which now hung as his side.

"I think so" he breathed, his voice quiet.

"I thought Steve was my soulmate" she admitted.

'I wish he was mine' he wanted to say, but he knew he shouldn't

"What now?" He asked, crossing his arms. "I guess.." Her voice trailed off "I break up with Steve?"

-----

Nancy knocked on Steve's front door, and Jonathan stood awkwardly next to her.

Steve looked upset when he opened the door, not just upset, angry.

"Are you cheating on me?" Steve looked between Nancy and Jonathan "I felt it Nancy!" He sounded exasperated "It hurt like hell" he laughed humorously, tears pricking at his eyes.

Nancy looked confused "but...Jonathan is my soulmate" she grabbed Steves hand, pushing their palms together.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, the pain in his palm catching him off guard, why did Nancy do that?

Nancy let go of Steves hand, and nodded "I think we got this wrong"

She grabbed them both by the wrists and put their hands together, earning a small yelp from Jonathan.

"No pain" she whispered, mostly to herself.

Both of their eyes widened "Jonathan is my soulmate...?" Steves voice was quiet, Jonathan thought it sounded almost hopeful, but it was probably his imagination.

"I'm gonna walk home" Nancy smiled, a sad but genuine mix of emotions showing on her face, as she walked away. Steve and Jonathan were both to shocked to debate with her.

Jonathan was staring at Steve, their hands still pressed together, Steve smiled sheepishly "we should uh" he pulled his hand away "probably go inside"

Jonathan nodded, following Steve into his living room.

"I'm sorry" Steve sighed, sitting down on the couch. "For what?" Jonathan asked, sitting next to him. He thought he probably knew why, but he had forgiven him forever ago.

"For everything" he gestured at Jonathan vaguely. "For being an asshole, for that fight in the alleyway" Steve was listing things on his fingers as he spoke "for accusing you of stealing my girlfriend less then 5 minutes ago"

"Most teenage boys are assholes" Jonathan responded, wanting to defuse the situation "and I won the fight anyways"

This earned him a quiet laugh from Steve. His laugh was nice when it wasn't mocking people.

The situation really hit him then "you're my soulmate..." Jonathan stated, more to himself then to Steve. "I'm your soulmate" he confirmed, looking down at his palm.

"Listen man.." Steve sighed, leaning back so that his head rested against the back of the couch "I really don't know how to feel about this"

Jonathan hummed in response, adjusting his position to mirror Steve's.

"I just, I don't know" Steve ran a hand through his hair "I never really saw myself with a guy..."

"I get that" Jonathan nodded "I'm not sure how to feel either"

'That's a lie' he thought, but maybe it wasn't, liking someone doesn't mean you have to want a relationship right?

"Lets try to be friends" Steve smiled "Like, real friends"

Jonathan liked that idea.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Miscommunication that creates problems? Nah. Miscommunication that fixes problems. Imagine Steve, who's still with Nancy, but they've been hanging out with Jonathan, too. Steve knows that girls call their friends "girlfriend" and never got why guys couldn't do the same thing.

"Are we hanging out with our boyfriend?" Steve asked Nancy with a grin one evening.

"Are you calling Jonathan our boyfriend?" Nancy asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I mean, don't you think we should after everything?" Steve asked.

"Oh, yeah, absolutely!" Nancy grinned and then frowned. "Do you think we should ask him out together?"

Steve blinked and was about to correct her when he realized that Nancy wanted Jonathan to be their romantic boyfriend. It took Steve a minute, but he realized he wanted that, too.

"Okay, slight miscommunication, but I think it just gave us a solution to a problem we've been having," Steve said. "And yeah, no, we should absolutely do it together."

When they showed on the Byers doorsteps with flowers in their hands, Joyce and Jonathan were confused, to say the least. He managed to stutter out a yes, and before he knew it, they were dragging him out the door with promises to Joyce that they'd both be respectful.

[wisermoon]

another day of mourning the fact that stonathan isn’t steve’s most popular ship

[messrsbyler]

jonathan, being the older brother, has always had his clothes passed down to will. it's not an odd occasion for a handful of his clothes to go missing from his closet around the middle of the year, and jonathan really doesn't mind. it's even funny seeing how big his clothes fit's will more dainty frame, though lately he's been filling them out just fine.

then el came around and jonathan became her big brother too and, against the odds, his clothes also ended up being passed down to el. she's made some bold fashion choices with them and it's always nice to watch how his old shirts end up being part of an outfit that's combined with a dress on top.

jonathan is their older brother. his clothes are passed down to them. that's something jonathan hasn't had to deal with or experienced, using someone else's clothes... that's until steve harrington came around. it didn't happen until their rivalry turn into a friendship, and then their friendship turned into something achingly close to a relationship.

then one night of lights off and naked bodies under sheets and kisses down sensitive patches of skin, somehow, jonathan ended up wrapped in one of steve's sweatshirts.

it smelled like him, and was as soft as him, and had the ghost of his warmth. it was nothing compared to the real experience of having steve hugging him and pulling him closer in his sleep, but it fought back the cold and the loneliness when jonathan had to walk back to his house and pretend he wasn't falling for another man.

and so, jonathan kept finding ways to keep one or two of steve's sweatshirts. he would forget his jacket at home and of course he shouldn't go back only in a shirt or else he would get a cold.

of course, jonathan had to always be careful, keep steve's clothes deep in a drawer from his dresser, under a pile of underwear because that's the one drawer no one dares to look into, everyone knows that. he couldn't wear steve's clothes during the day and around the house. it would be too obvious those weren't his and it would raise questions that maybe he could find a plausible answer to, but honestly he simply didn't want to deal with it... didn't want to lie about steve and what they had more than he already had to.

no. steve's clothes were reserved for the night, when they couldn't spend them together. jonathan would wait until the rest of the house was asleep and then slip into one of steve's sweatshirts, feeling a little embarrassed and trying not to think on steve's stupid smug face if he knew what jonathan was up to, and then he would bury himself under the blankets and breathe in, soaking into the weak traces of steve's warmth and smell and-

ugh. maybe this wasn't just something achingly close to a relationship for jonathan anymore. maybe this wasn't for the thrill and the fun and the saying a big fuck you to everyone who thought what they were doing was wrong. maybe jonathan wanted something more now, the whole package that included more nights together, but also more days together, and definitely a lot more sweatshirts for jonathan to wear.

maybe jonathan was in love and also royally fucked.

[astrobei]

hooaoaaaagagahhahhhhhhhh. <- words of a mf who finally finished writing something

[nerdylovetastemaker]

oat milk

"What all these people are doing is not  aggressive;  they are inventing new possibilities of pleasure  with strange parts of their body - through  the eroticization of the body."  

Steve was kneeling in the bathtub, a towel under his knees and another under his hands, his head turned as he craned his neck to watch Tommy working. The younger boy swirled the spoon around in the over-large bowl before tapping it against the rim and laying it on the counter. "You know it'll cool down a little once I get it in the bag, but is that good?" Tommy bent over next to the tub so Steve could slowly dip two fingers into the bowl, nodding once.

"It's fine."

Tommy nodded again, reaching out to stroke Steve's hair before standing back up and returning to the sink, where all of the equipment was spread out. The hook was already hanging from the shower curtain so Tommy could hang the bag as soon as it was full. "Go ahead and take the plug out, baby." His voice was soft, gentle. "And start with your fingers."

It was the gentlest of their "darker" interludes. No name-calling or hair pulling or punishments for noises of pain. It hurt enough on it's own, was degrading enough on it's own, Tommy didn't need to add anything to that.

Tommy felt a small tremor run through his body as he heard the soft moan coming from the bathtub, knew the other boy had just extracted the plug. He glanced up at the mirror, watching the boy set the glass plug on the edge of the tub next to the bottle of lubricant. Steve picked up the bottle, desperate to fill himself as he opened it, dripping some of the lubricant onto his fingers and rubbing them. It was cold to the initial touch, but warmed up as his fingers moved.

"You're so fucking hot like that, baby," Tommy purred, from the sink where the bag was nearly half full. "Now, go ahead."

Steve flushed warm from the compliment, his wrist sliding down along his waist, hipbone, the curve of his ass. And then his fingers were poised, resting against his entrance before pressing in. He was already loose from the plug so it was an easy intrusion. He didn't even bother with more lubricant before pressing a third finger in, moaning outright at the stretch. He started as he heard the click from Tommy hanging the bag. "Already?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," the boy chided softly. "You can keep your fingers in for a second." He almost added a soft 'slut', but stopped himself. Tommy leaned down, reaching for the bottle of lubricant, letting himself hover over Steve for a moment, his breath tickling the back of the boy's neck. "Just think about everything I'll do after," he whispered before straightening back up and slicking lube across the tip of the nozzle and his own fingers. "Okay."

Steve whined, but slowly pulled his fingers out anyway. He wasn't empty for longer than a few seconds, Tommy's fingers immediately sliding over his opening before pressing in, then pulling out to press in the tip of the nozzle. "Breathe," he murmured, fingers running down the boy's spine. "I'm going to now, okay?"

"Wait," Steve choked out.

"I'm going to now," Tommy repeated, voice a little harder this time. "You're fine." He kept his fingers running along the boy's spine as he loosened the clamp.

Steve bit his bottom lip, moaning as he felt the first rush of the warm oat milk sliding into his body. The beginning of the enema was always like Tommy's fingers were now, smooth and soft almost. The cramps would come soon enough, but Tommy's fingers would still be the same.

When they started, one of Steve's hands flew up to his stomach and Tommy stopped the flow without a word, letting the other boy massage his abdomen to ease the pain. "Just tell me."

"Okay," Steve whispered, his hand still on his stomach. Tommy loosed the clamp again and Steve felt the warmth continuing to enter his body. He continued to try to massage away the dull ache of the cramps as he felt his stomach slowly begin to expand from the amount of liquid he'd taken. "Stop," he choked out again. He wasn't supposed to ask how much, but he was desperate to know. He'd felt like he'd taken half already, but he knew it was probably more like a quarter of the bag. "Bren?" he asked, voice close to cracking. "I-I . . . Tommy." His voice was weak.

"You're doing great, baby." The boy leaned down, letting soft kisses feather along Steve's lower back. "So good."

The tears were starting to build up. Steve could feel them in his chest, waiting there, another ache in his body. "I don't . . . I . . ." He let his head fall forward, trying to slow his breathing, trying to focus on Tommy's fingers instead of the liquid inside him. "Okay," he whispered,voice cracking as the first tears slid down his cheeks.

The flow continued and Tommy slowed the flow without a say so after five minutes or so. "You're taking it so well, Stevie," he cooed. "You've got half." He usually didn't tell Steve how much he'd taken, but it had been awhile since they'd done this and he didn't want the boy to break before he managed to get both quarts in.

"Half?" Steve asked, voice timid, as if he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disconcerted.

"Mhmmm." Tommy leaned forward, letting his lips kiss the back of Steve's neck, then between the boy's shoulder blades. "Are you ready for more?" When Steve hesitated, Tommy squeezed his hip. "You can take it, baby. You've done this before."

Steve's head nodded a fraction of an inch, his breathing already labored. He gave a small squeak as the oat milk started slipping into his body again. "Please, please, I can't." He shook his head, the tears coming out for real now. Tommy clamped the nozzle again. "I can't, Bren, please. I . . . I need to . . . please."

The younger boy reached his hand down to Steve's stomach, the curve of a belly that wasn't there usually. "I know you can take this," he said, voice low but not angry or disappointed. "I know you can, Stevie." He let their fingertips brush. "But I won't make you," he added. "It's up to you."

Steve hated that. It would have been so much easier to go along with it if Tommy hadn't give him the choice. Now it was up to him to decide if he wanted to be selfish and disappoint his boyfriend and not get rewarded or just go along with it and deal with the pain. "I'll try," he mumbled weakly, squeezing his eyes shit and biting his bottom lip between his teeth as he felt the flow again.

Tommy slipped his hand down Steve's stomach to wrap around his cock, gently stroking, trying to turn the whimpers that the older boy was now making into moans. "So good, baby," he kept whispering over and over. "You're taking it so good."

"H-Hurts," Steve choked out. "Break?"

Tommy locked the clamp again, letting Steve rub at his stomach and try to catch his breath. "It's almost all in," he said gently, still stroking the other boy's erection. "Just a little bit more. I know you can take it, Stevie."

"How much?"

The question hung heavy in the air for a moment. Steve wasn't supposed to ask and he knew it, but he also knew Tommy never spanked him or punished him during an enema, so the worst possibility was simply that the other boy wouldn't tell him.

"Probably four ounces," Tommy answered finally. "I'm going to start it again, okay? You can take this all in one go."

Steve nodded, gritting his teeth and counting silently in his head, hoping it wouldn't take longer than a minute to finish. He was only a few seconds over when the flow stop and Tommy planted a kiss to the small of Steve's back. "I'm going to switch it out for the plug, okay? Keep it in."

Steve tightened his muscles, his toes curling as he did so. It hurt, tensing up along with the dull ache in his abdomen. Even with all his tightening, a little bit of the oat milk/water mixture escaped, sliding down the inside of his thigh. Then the plug was in and he could relax his muscles, but only somewhat. Tommy picked up a washcloth and wiped at the liquid that had slid down Steve's skin.

It wouldn't be too long, Steve knew, but it always seemed an eternity. Five minutes or ten minutes could feel like hours. Tommy's fingers slid up Steve's back until they were twisted, gently, in his hair. "I can't wait to get you on the bed," he said thickly, voice low and gravely. "Gonna shove my tongue in you so deep, baby."

Steve moaned outright, despite the dull pain in his muscles and stomach. It was a low moan, soft, but a moan nonetheless, and Tommy smiled at the sound. "Is that what you want?" the younger boy continued in the same tone. "You want my tongue in you, want me fucking your ass with my mouth? You're going to taste so fucking good, baby." His fingers tightened slightly in Steve's hair. Not enough to cause any pain, just enough to make the boy gasp, then moan again. "Then I'll fuck you. So hard, baby, so God damn hard. So deep inside you. And then you'll take my come in your pretty mouth."

Steve was whimpering, his hips moving ever so slightly, squirming. "P-Please?" he choked out. "Please?" He was begging for release. He knew it hadn't been long enough, but if Tommy kept it up, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it in.

"I think you can hold it for another couple of minutes." But Tommy let go of Steve's hair and sat back slightly, just letting his hands run slowly up the boy's sides. The older boy was quiet, just a few whimpers leaving his mouth, but still squirming. Tommy let his hands slip lower until he was firmly squeezing Steve's ass in both hands. "Almost, baby. Almost."

There was another minute or so, Tommy's fingers skimming over the curve of Steve's cheeks and the older boy trying not to lose anything, trying to keep his muscles tensed just enough. "Okay." Tommy stood up, slowly, kissing Steve on the back of the neck before stepping out of the tub. "Slowly," he warned the boy. "Don't lose anything, okay?" He held his hands out, letting Steve take them as he stood and gingerly climbed out of the tub.

Tommy lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and helped Steve to sit. This was always when Steve started to cry again. He hated it, hated how Tommy was there for the release. So humiliating, worse than threats of letting Spencer watch or having Pete fuck him that one time while Tommy took Polaroids. "Please, just . . . I can," Steve said. "I'm fine. I can."

Tommy looked stern, frowning, shaking his head slightly. "Stop."

Steve cried harder, bringing his hands up to push at Tommy when the boy moved closer, but too submissive to actually to do it as the boy reached between his legs, fingers closing around the end of the plug. "Please," Steve whispered again. "Please, Bren."

The boy ignored him. "Don't let it go until I tell you to." He let Steve's face fall into his shoulder. The boy was shaking from his choked sobs as Tommy slowly pulled the plug out. He set it on the counter next to the bowl he had mixed the oat milk and water in. One arm came up around Steve. Despite his tears, the boy was still clenching, tighter than probably necessary. "Okay, go ahead."

Steve shook his head. "No." He cried harder when Tommy pressed his lips against the boy's temple. "Please."

"Steve. Now."

The boy was still crying, clinging desperately to Tommy as the first drops of the mixture began to slip out. And then, like always, he realized he really had no choice and just let go, sobbing harder as he heard the liquid falling into the toilet. For Tommy's part, he just held the boy, fingers running down his back, cooing soft sentiments to him. "Good boy, good job, Stevie."

Finally the noises slowed and Tommy took a step back, letting Steve wipe and flush the toilet. They both washed their hands in the sink and Steve blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he whispered, refusing to look at Tommy. "I . . . I didn't mean to . . . I know you won't hurt me."

Tommy's cool fingers, still slightly wet from the water, slid under Steve's chin, tilting the boy's face up to meet his eyes. "Thank you," he returned, leaning in and kissing him, soft at first, then harder, tongue slipping in. "Bed now," he added, unable to contain his smile as he felt Steve's lips curve upward against his.

They walked out to the hotel bedroom area and Tommy nodded silently, indicating Steve should assume the position on the bed. "Back or . . . or knees?"

"Knees if they're not too sore."

Steve would take a lot more than sore knees for a rimjob, as he'd clearly demonstrated, so Tommy nodded his approval as the boy got on all fours on the bed. Steve kept his head facing forward, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and watch Tommy. The younger boy loved that, how he didn't have to order the boy do it. Steve obeyed the unspoken command of his own accord.

The bed sunk down as Tommy knelt behind Steve, hands squeezing the boy's hips. Tommy leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Steve's entrance, smiling when he heard the moan. His mouth opened, tongue slipping out, licking in broad, even strokes, knowing it would do nothing but tease Steve, torturing him. And, truthfully, it was all Steve could do to keep from pressing his ass back on Tommy's face while begging 'more more more'.

Tommy sat up and leaned forward, pressing two fingers to Steve's lips. The boy sucked them into his mouth without a word, his tongue sliding around the digits, trying not to get overeager, trying not to just beg Tommy to fuck him and start grinding his hips into the bed. When Tommy pulled his fingers from the boy's mouth, he leaned in for the kiss, smiling as he swallowed the moan from the intrusion of his fingers entering Steve's hole while they were still kissing.

Then his mouth was gone and Steve's fingers twisted in the bed sheets knowing what was coming, the muscles in his body tensing in anticipation. Tommy's fingers pulled slowly, evenly, opening Steve up just enough to slip his tongue in, licking around the edge of Steve's entrance. He licked over his own fingers as he slowly added another digit from each hand, pulling Steve more open, exposing him more. His tongue slipped in deeper and Steve tried so hard not to push his ass back on Tommy's face.

The younger boy's tongue started dipping in and out, slow and first, then quicker. Steve was moaning, head thrown back, hips barely rocking. Tommy pulled his tongue out and his fingers, letting his lips press against the hole that was still open to the air. He began to suck and Steve let out a stream of expletives that Tommy had never heard before. He let up on the pressure, his tongue slipping back inside once more, teasing, pulling out to trace around the inside.

"Fuck me?" Steve asked, voice high-pitched and uncertain.

Tommy pulled off almost immediately, but didn't straighten up yet, pressing two fingers into Steve abruptly, smirking at the boy's gasp. He slowly twisted them. "You want me to fuck you?" he asked as if he hadn't heard, voice casual.

"Please, Tommy," the older boy returned desperately, pressing back against the fingers, his head falling into the pillows as he collapsed on his arms, support following to his elbows.

The fingers slipped out and Tommy helped turned Steve to his back, kissing him softly on the mouth, enjoying Steve's tongue probing his mouth curiously, searching for the taste. He pulled away after a moment and the older boy gave an airy sort of sigh. Then he was between Steve's legs, bending them at the knee and separating them, settling between the thighs before he pushed in, no lubricant and no warning.

Steve made a low noise in the back of his throat at the burn, the stretch. He'd been waiting for this. Tommy hadn't fucked him for a week, not properly. Toys and fingers and a fist, but not this. So simple, just them. Nothing artificial. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's neck, leaning up to kiss his neck. They looked like any other couple just then, he mused. No one would have been able to look at this scene and guess that Steve had just been given a two quart enema or that the other day he'd been made to stand in the corner for an hour after Tommy had spanked him fifty times with a hairbrush.

Tommy could tell Steve was thinking and he angled his hips, shoving in roughly. When Steve's eyes popped open even wider and he let out the tiny squeak, he knew he'd found the spot. All semblance of thought seemed to evaporate from Steve's features as he just gave in and starting rocking against Tommy's hips, moaning. He reached for his boyfriend's hand, pressing the palm against his throat. "Please," he whispered.

Tommy didn't need to be told twice, squeezing down on Steve's neck, releasing after a moment to let him gasp for breath. Then his hand tightened again and they repeated the pattern until his boyfriend started shaking his head, not wanting to use the safe word, but wanting Tommy to know he'd had enough. His hand fisted in Steve's hair then, squeezing tight enough to hurt, but not hard enough to pull the hair out. "Touch yourself," Tommy breathed.

Steve obeyed immediately, one of his hands falling from Tommy's neck to slip between them, wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking in a slow rhythm that contrasted with the thrusts. He didn't want to come yet, but he knew he didn't have a choice anyway. He'd come when Tommy told him. That was the rule.

"Faster," Tommy growled, shifting his weight so he could press in deeper. "I want you close, Stevie. Tell me when you're close."

The boy nodded, quickening the speed of wrist obediently, letting his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them back up. Tommy liked to watch him, said he could see Steve melt through his eyes when they were in bed. He felt the hand tighten in his hair slightly and he stopped moving. "Close," he choked out.

Tommy smiled, letting Steve wonder if he was going to have to hold it, have to wait, have to worry if he could. But it was late and they had to be up in six hours. "When you feel me come, you can," he said, nipping Steve's bottom lip between his teeth. The thrusts got impossibly harder after that, but only for a moment.

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling as he felt himself explode and then Steve's wrist was flying as he moaned, low and whorish. Tommy could feel Steve's come hit his stomach as the older boy started swearing, his ass clenching down on Tommy's cock as his orgasm tore through him, leaving him breathless and gasping for air.

Steve collapsed prematurely, still feeling his orgasm rocking through him, but unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think. And then he felt Tommy pull out, leaving him empty and loose. He whimpered at the loss, turning and pressing his face into the boy's chest as he laid down beside Steve in the bed.

Tommy's arms came up, feeling Steve's body trembling. "Baby, baby," he murmured. "Shhh. It's all right." He kissed the boy's temple, fingertips gently massaging feeling back into Steve's muscles. "We're going to sleep now, okay? Early morning."

Steve whimpered, nodding, wondering if he'd be able to walk properly the next day. "Brenny?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Ry." Tommy waited until he'd stopped shaking before he got up to turn out the lights and set the alarm on his phone. Then he crawled back into bed and held Stuntil he fall asleep before he got up to clean the bathroom and put the equipment back in their suitcase. He was only going to be running on two hours of sleep the next day, but it had been worth it.

ao3 link

[jaegerisim]

BYLER X HARRY POTTER AU

aka, El spreading the “not all Slytherins are bad and not a Gryffindors are good’’ agenda bc she is totally not biased. I am totally biased bc Slytherin is my house and I’m a Slytherin through and through

My goal is to make this sooo gay and popular that it reaches JK Rowling and burns her mind and eyes.

Each chapter (post) will represent a year, so there’ll be 7 posts

If this ooc, I’m sorry. 🥲 I’m bad at Mike POVs and Will is gonna be pretty “evil” during some chapters but you’ll see why

Mostly Mike POVs, might have one year that’s a Will POV

Headmaster: Martin Brenner

GRYFFINDORS:

Head of House: Jim Hopper (Defense Against The Dark Arts and Quidditch)

Head Boy and Prefect: Steve Harrington

Head Girl and Prefect: Nancy Wheeler

Students: Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair

SLYTHERINS:

Head of House: Henry Creel (Potions)

Head Boy and Prefect: Billy Hargrove

Head Girl and Prefect: Robin Buckley

Students: Will Byers and Max Mayfield

HUFFLEPUFFS:

Head of House: Joyce Byers (Transfigurations)

Head Boy and Prefect: Jonathan Byers

Head Girl and Prefect: Chrissy Cunningham

Students: El Hopper

RAVENCLAWS:

Head of House: Murray Bauman (Divination)

Head Boy and Prefect: Fred Benson

Head Girl and Prefect: Barb Holland

Students: Dustin Henderson

OTHER PROFFESORS:

Dmitri Antonov (Charms)

Argyle (Herbology)

Romantic Relationships:

Will Byers/Mike Wheeler

Max Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair

El Hopper/Dustin Henderson

Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers

Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler

Platonic Relationships:

Will Byers & Max Mayfield & Robin Buckley

Mike Wheeler & El Hopper

Mike Wheeler & Lucas Sinclair & Dustin Henderson

Mike Wheeler & Nancy Wheeler

El Hopper & Max Mayfield

1st Year

2nd Year

3rd year

4th Year

5th Year

6th Year

7th Year

[mayahawkins]

and if i said stonathan kiss before steve sacrifices himself for the party

[lucassinclaer-archive]

BREAK FROM THE PACK

Jonathan tries to escape from a party. He's not used to people noticing.

NOTE: a stonathan sunday ficlet inspired by the prompt "why do you care?"

you can also read this on ao3 here

“Hey, Byers!” Jonathan turns around reluctantly. He’s just managed to disentangle himself from the masses, so close to a successful escape. But no. That would’ve been too much to ask. 

This never used to be a problem. First, he never used to show up at any party full stop and tonight’s reminded him of all the reasons why. Second, when he does show, no one’s ever noticed him slipping away before. 

“Wait up,” Steve Harrington says now, squeezing through the crowd to catch up with Jonathan, completely unaware that he’s breaking all the rules. He never seems to notice. That it’s not supposed to be like this. 

Jonathan tries not to let it show, just watches as Steve closes the distance between them and throws an arm around his shoulder. He smells very Steve-like with an added pinch of sweat and liquor. His cheeks are flushed pink. Definitely on the drunker side of things. “Where are you going?” 

“Home.” 

“Why?”  

Jonathan wonders if alcohol can have the magical effect of Bambi-fying a person’s features. When his father gets drunk, his face only grows more sunken. Not Steve. He’s beaming at Jonathan in that weird way that makes his stomach twist and he could swear his eyes are bigger somehow. And soft. 

“Why do you care?” It comes out crabbier than Jonathan intentioned. He really wants to get out of here and the weight of Steve is distracting and threatening to change his mind.  

Steve leans in closer, bringing their heads together as if they’re sharing a secret. Jonathan hasn’t drunk anything, but in his chest there’s a low fluttering. “Because,” he says, slowly, like he’s contemplating the question very seriously, “I just do.” 

The breath escapes Jonathan. The hum in his chest doesn’t go away, but the tension in his shoulders does, built up in the weighty little pause Steve built into his sentence. 

“Okay,” he says. 

“No seriously,” Steve insists and puts a little more of himself onto Jonathan’s side. He’s not heavy, just warm and close, getting rid of the last spaces between them. “Did something happen? I saw you with Tommy and Carol. They just talk a lot of shit, you know? They’re idiots.” 

Then why are you friends with them? Jonathan thinks and realizes then that he isn’t really. Not anymore. It’s just this kind of party. Everybody comes and it doesn’t mean anything. He hates it. 

“They are,” he agrees. “Just isn’t my crowd, I guess.” 

Steve moves to the side and Jonathan isn’t expecting it. They sway together as one and stumble over their own feet, halfway into the hedge that borders the little stone path leading to the gate. 

“Mh. Okay.” He turns and looks directly at Jonathan who idiotically forgot to avert his gaze in time. Another pause. Jonathan can smell his breath. It’s not great, but he doesn’t mind so much when it’s paired with brown eyes flicking up and down, catching him in place. “Do you wanna go somewhere else, then?” 

It takes a second or two for Jonathan’s brain to process. “With you?” 

Steve grins. “Yeah.” He frowns briefly. Sways again. “But I don’t think I should drive.” 

“No.” Jonathan looks back to the house and then into the darkness where Steve wants to take him. Only him. “Come on, I’ll drive.” 

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

"Steve."

No reply.

"Steve," Jonathan tried again. He shook the other boy's arm in an attempt to wake him up. "Steve, it's really time to get up now. My mom will be back soon."

It was Tuesday, six hours after school ended. It was dark outside, and the two boys had fell asleep listening to music again. Steve had slept with his arm wrapped around his best friend's waist.

"Steve," Jonathan shook the other boy awake.

Steve opened his eyes and yawned. "Nathan," he whined, "you woke me up."

David Bowie sang in the background, and it took a lot of control for Jonathan to not break into song with his idol. "Just get up, sleepy head. I'll make you dinner."

Steve sat up quickly. "Pancakes!"

"But that's a breakfast food?"

"Breakfast for dinner!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes but smiled at Steve's excitement. He reached over and ruffled Steve's hair. "Pancakes it is," he said.

[ao3snowbutterfly]

Stonathan Sunday Ficlet

for @stonathanweek’s Stonathan Sunday Ficlet challenge (367 words)

Rated G, pure sweetness and fluff, lol

~~~~~

“Everyone’s staring at us,” Jonathan grumbles, resisting the urge to bury his face in Steve’s shoulder.

“Let them,” Steve says simply, still carrying his boyfriend in his arms. “I’m not having you move anymore than you need.” Jonathan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And since when did you care about what people think?”

“Since when do you not?” Jonathan says back.

“Since I got the best boyfriend in the world.”

A few days ago, Jonathan was a little too daring on his skate board while trying to show Max a few tricks, tumbling head over heel and tasting the pavement. He was mostly fine, but he twisted his ankle bad. And he needs an ankle brace and a crutch for a while. It’s annoying but manageable.

However, it doesn’t take long for the injury to become almost unbearably painful, especially with the amount of walking Jonathan tends to do in a day. And after seeing one too many winces of pain as Jonathan hobbles around, Steve took it into his own hands, scooping up the boy princess style.

“You’re insufferable,” Jonathan mutters, turning his increasingly red face into Steve’s shirt as yet another student points at them, whispering.

“I try my best,” Steve beams, the smile in his voice. He leans over, pressing a big, overdramatic kiss onto Jonathan’s head. Jonathan sighs to himself.

“And here we are!” Steve says after a moment, setting Jonathan down in front of his math class. “I’ll be back when you’re done.”

“Steve, you don’t have to.”

“I want to, babe. You know I hate seeing you in pain,” Steve says softly, hitting Jonathan with his pathetic, puppy-dog eyes. It only takes a moment for Jonathan to break.

“Well, thank you,” Jonathan says, grinning despite himself, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Steve coos, leaning forward and kissing Jonathan’s forehead than lips, making sure he’s steady on his crutch before shooing him away to sit down. He waves before he goes, blowing a quick kiss, which Jonathan tiredly catches out of the air. Several people are staring at him as he goes to his own class, uncaring if he’s late, but with how he feels lighter than air, he barely even notices.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: Some Stoncy fluff, set after season 2.

Jonathan leaned against the wall next to Will's bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. Nancy popped up next to him.

"What are you doing?" She asked in amusement.

"Nothing," he said casually.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me," she said.

"I just - I just want to know what Will needs to talk about with Steve that he can't talk about with me," Jonathan pouted.

"So, you're spying on your little brother and our boyfriend?" Nancy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. . .yeah, okay, so I am," he said.

"Did you ever think that he's trying to get to know Steve because he knows how much his brother, who he loves dearly, loves this guy?" Nancy asked.

"The thought has crossed my mind," Jonathan replied.

"Jon - ," Nancy started to say.

"Shh!" Jonathan said, and she glared at him.

Luckily, Joyce stepped in at that moment before Nancy could draw blood.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"Your eldest is spying on his little brother," Nancy said.

"Jonathan!" Joyce scolded.

Joyce was about to lecture Jonathan when Will mentioned her and she paused.

"I don't know, Steve, what if I hurt mom's feelings?" Will asked.

"I don't know, it seems like your mom is the kind of mom who'd be happy with whatever makes you happy," Steve said. "So, if you say you don't like her bowl cuts, she'll gladly let you do whatever you want with it. It's your hair. . .although, technically, she did help make it."

"Ew! Don't say that!" Will exclaimed and then laughed.

"What?! You have learned about that, haven't you?" Steve asked.

"Yes, Steve, but some people don't like to be reminded how they came into this world," Will said.

"Look, it's important to have your hair the way you want it because it's on top of your head, and that's where your personality is. You want it to tell a story that feels right to you," Steve said. "Once you start feeling that, you'll also feel a confidence that you never had before and then other people start noticing that."

"That - that makes sense," Will said.

"Your mom will love you no matter what even if you turn into a worm," Steve said.

"What?!" Will laughed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You never think about that? Like, would they still love me if I turned into a worm or a spider or a slug?" Steve asked.

"Mom doesn't like slugs," Will said.

"Well, she would definitely still love you if you were a slug," Steve said. "She would get rid of all the salt in the house."

"What about your mom?" Will asked.

"She doesn't like me now," Steve scoffed. "I mean, there's just some things specifically that she doesn't like about me."

"Oh. . .because of Jonathan?" Will asked.

"You're lucky. . .you can be honest with your mom about whatever you want, and she'll still love you," Steve said. "Anyway, come on, go through these magazines and see what hairstyle you like."

"Not that one!" Will exclaimed.

"Ew, yeah, definitely not," Steve said.

"Are we going to pretend like we're not being spied on, right now?" Will asked.

"Well, I was waiting for them to come on out on their own," Steve said and Will laughed.

Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce moved into the room, looking rather sheepish.

"We didn't intend to spy," Joyce said.

"Yeah, we know. We heard Jonathan being all pouty," Steve said, grinning.

"Sorry, mom," Will said.

"Oh, honey, Steve’s right. You shouldn't be afraid of being honest with me," Joyce said. "And thank you, Steve. . .you guys have a good one."

"We do," Nancy smiled.

Steve looked surprised when Joyce hugged him tightly before sitting down next to Will.

"What do you like so far?" Joyce asked Will as she picked up a magazine.

Nancy and Jonathan sat on either side of Steve, grabbing a magazine of their own.

"I'm torn between these two," Will said.

"You never said your parents had a problem with me," Jonathan said to Steve.

"Not with you specifically," Steve said.

"Because I'm a guy?" He asked.

"Yeah," Steve said, looking at the magazine in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said softly.

"They're idiots," he shrugged.

"Doesn't mean it still doesn't suck," Nancy said.

"I'm surrounded by better people," Steve grinned.

Jonathan and Nancy pressed their cheeks against his shoulder.

"Why do you have so many magazines about hair?" Jonathan asked.

"Something else I didn't tell you. . .I kind of want to be a hair stylist," Steve said, blushing.

"You would be good at that!" Will exclaimed. "This one!"

"Good choice," Joyce said.

"Mom, you don't mind if Steve cuts my hair, do you?" Will asked.

"Not at all," Joyce said and smiled at Steve.

Jonathan grinned and squeezed his boyfriend's arm. Yeah, it really needed to be Steve for this talk. Jonathan never really cared about his hair, but he knew it bothered his brother, and he loved that Steve could be there for him. He never had anything to worry about. He spent so much time 'hating' Steve, but he really did fit right into his life. He shared a look with Nancy. Their lives.

[wisermoon]

please give me what i waaaaaaant

[messrsbyler]

steve surprised by how good of a kisser jonathan byers is the first time they make out. i want it. give it to me.

like, steve knows about kissing. he’s kissed his fair amount of girls and he’s been told by a couple that he’s a good kisser. after all, being a good kisser comes with practice, right? trial and error. that’s an universal truth, and yet jonathan byers seems to be some sort of anomaly yet again because besides nancy, steve doesn’t know of anyone who’s had the honor of kissing jonathan byers. so, explain to him why the hell is jonathan so confidently grabbing him by the neck with firm hands and pushing his lips open with his tongue and making steve’s knees go weak ras if he’s done this dance before? of course has, but fuck. steve doesn’t think he’s been kissed like this before, with his skin breaking in goosebumps that keep him asking for more and his heart about to beat right through bone and flesh and out of his chest.

“shit, byers,” steve manages through ragged breath when jonathan pulls back for a second.

“shut up, steve.” and then he kisses him again.

jonathan byers is going to be the fucking death of him.