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swiftiekisses · 6 days

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the last days of judas iscariot — luke castellan + reader : betrayal hurts the saints the most.

tags : mdni, dark!luke, angry kissing, religious imagery & symbolism, body worship, angst and smut, love confessions, p in v sex, corruption kinks, implied blood kink, hints of cannibalism

there was something off about luke castellan.

he used to be caring, sweet and selfless— he did everything for the people around them, offered them smiles even if it was difficult on his lips, did anything to ease their pain, built himself up into a saint. but eventually, saints will fall, whether it be their own doing, or a martyrdom.

this was no martyrdom, he was not crucified, strung up on an olive tree, nor stoned.

this was a conscious decision that nobody else, besides his own self, would understand. it was so, so unlike him, luke was never one to betray the people around him, well, at least he didn’t portray himself that way. if you really knew luke, you’d know how much he hated the gods, he felt as though he was a despicable creation of theirs, and he’ll return the same despising looks.

but the story starts days before that, luke was as he always was. he offered you a smile from across the training field, and you returned it full - heartedly, waving at him. he moves to approach you, ignoring his sparring partner, “hey, do you need a partner?”

you glance around for a second, “don’t you already have one?”

his lips curve to a smirk, “i’d rather be with you.”

luke castellan had a thing for flirting with you, even if he was just being a tease, and didn’t entirely mean what he said— sometimes you thought he didn’t, or he never did, but in all honesty, he meant everything.

he admired you beyond proper comprehension, and you did the same with him. having been friends for years, it was no shock when your gazes would linger on each other for longer than they should, when he would do anything to make you smile even if it costs him his reputation.

on the first day, luke was as he always was, confident, grinning and sweet.

then the second day came, and luke’s smiles began to fade faster, he looked more tired, there was a certain mournful air that clung to his skin and radiated off of him. you picked up on it immediately, frowning at him and pulling him off to the side even when he was busy, “are you okay?”

“what?” his saliva feels thick in his mouth, like globs of nectar that feel poisonous underneath their sweet skin.

“i said— luke, what’s going on?“ you can’t deny how he seems to be out of order on everything, he was even fighting angrier, too, with a revengeful glint in his eye.

“i really, really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“yes, you do.”

and it only got weirder from there, on the third day, he looked straight up exhausted, like he hadn’t slept the past two nights, and now he was being told to take a break from sword fighting because of how rough he was being. smiles were common from him now but cut off quick, and laughs became rare. he wasn’t trying to make anyone else around him smile or laugh, and he always just looked angry, guilty angry.

when you waved at him, he didn’t wave back, nor approach you.

he didn’t want to speak to anyone, so he just didn’t talk.

he’s suffering from something, you just don’t know what, and whenever you asked him, he shrugged it off with, “i’m just tired.”

“i know, you look really tired, luke, do you need melatonin?”

his teeth grit together, and the taste of nectar in his mouth had disappeared, now it was all just bitter poison, “i need to be left alone.”

“luke—“

“please leave me be.”

if anyone were to ask you now, they’d know you regret leaving that night, not forcing him to speak about it with you. the next night, another camper told you about what luke had done, and you hate the way you don’t feel entirely shocked, not even a little bit, not even at all.

luke castellan had a fig tree branching out in front of him, so many possibilities, so many stories to be told, and yet his fingers wrapped around the only rotten fruit on the whole ripe tree. two thousand years ago, there was a man exactly like luke, one who went by the name judas, and in luke’s complete distaste of the bible and anything to do with it— he found himself undeniably following the same path of the man who betrayed jesus.

“ i desire the things

that will destroy me

in the end ”

— sylvia plath.

it was a bad idea to seek out luke that night, you knew it well, and luke knew it too when he frowned at you almost immediately after seeing you. he was still in the woods, only alone now, closer to the shore, closer to the riper fig that called his name— the one labeled captain.

“why are you here?“ his tone is sharper, harsher, but you don’t shy away.

“why’d you do it?” you watch him visibly swallow at the question, as if he doesn’t want to answer it, even when it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason it would hurt to say out loud.

he bites the bullet, “you know— the gods, they’re awful, don’t you think they deserve this?“

“is that where your heart lies?” the question seems to scorch his skin more than the last, because it’s just a continuous waking to what he’s truly done, how the prophecy haunts him even in his desperate attempts to evade it.

“i’ve suffered enough, because of them, because of him— so yes, that is where it lies.”

“you think your suffering is just a one way street?” you pester, anger bubbling in your veins— this was selfish, entirely selfish, he was never the selfless man you once knew, this wasn’t the luke you knew, “it’s not, it wasn’t— you had the chance, luke, to deprive yourself from it.”

“are you just here to lecture me?” luke’s jaw locks.

“why are you being like this?”

luke’s eyebrow twitches, as if he’s mentally debating saying it out loud, but albeit all odds, his lips part, “why don’t you ask that guy you’ve been hanging out with?”

“what?” it’s hard to realize certain things when you’ve been so focused on one person, you were so caught up on your fears for luke you didn’t even realize that the whole time you were thinking of him, you were blatantly speaking with another man in front of his eyes.

to the trained eye, they’d know you never had any real feelings for the man you spoke with, but luke was too blinded by his own guilt and resentment that he didn’t realize it himself. it was a wild string of miscommunications formed into a single spider’s web, exactly like judas’ betrayal of jesus.

INTERLUDE : JUDAS ISCARIOT ( A STUDY )

judas iscariot is often portrayed as the traitor in the story, fueled by greed and his resentment that jesus has something he never will. in the original story, judas is put in the narrative as satan’s pawn, judas’ fate is already written down, and he has no way of pushing it back. satan selects him from a group as he is weak, easily moved, and satan had possessed him body and soul and lived out his personal purpose through the vessel.

the son of perdition : the one doomed to destruction.

god personally protected all of his other saints from satan, so why not judas? why was judas never enough? was he never righteous enough to be saved? jesus loved him, jesus held his face in his holy hands, and yet he never shielded him.

judas is a pawn, a thief, a coward, and a denier of the lord.

judas, in all fairness, is the spitting image of luke castellan.

“is it ever anybody else, luke?”

as if arrow met skin, luke’s brows furrow together like you’ve hit him.

there’s a pause, a deafening silence.

“i miss you,” you speak again.

luke’s nose crinkles, “uh-huh.”

“i miss you, luke.”

luke castellan is going to hell tonight, he’s going to be scorched in the underworld, so he bites his tongue and he moves in. the kiss is angry, teeth clashing, tongues twisting, lips bruising, but luke wouldn’t want it any other way. he wonders that if, in this kiss, do you forgive him? having been someone praised by the gods, the favored one, did you forgive the one who seemingly betrayed them to most?

the kiss says how could you? and i’m sorry at the exact same time.

his hands are quick to grip on your skin like you were his lifeline, tugging you in closer, and smiling against your lips when you melt into his touch so easily. you knew how cruel of a man he was, all the things he did wrong, all the people he had hurt— and yet you’re easing against him like he’s a saint.

his teeth show his hunger well, nipping at your lip until you hiss and pull away with blood bubbling from a fresh wound. at first, he wants to smile, but he finds some mercy, moving his hand to hold your chin, thumb smudging the blood, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to, swear.”

you knew he was lying, you knew he wanted to see you bleed, he liked the way your skin trembled under his touch, the way that even when shock dilates your pupils— you don’t want to pull away from him. in fact, something about it is oddly attractive to you, how sick is that.

his other hand grips your waist, fingers curling cruelly, “could i..”

undress you? touch you? luke isn’t sure of the proper words, they sit on the tip of his tongue, but something has him too afraid to say it so bluntly. that’s ironic, considering he didn’t hesitate to steal and lie. luke was still the loser he’s always been, deep down, he’s never known how to actually speak to women.

you knew this well, it was something you always made fun of him for, but now you only smile sweetly at him. “of course, luke.”

luke’s hands are desperate when they move to take off your clothes, quick and ruthless, but still so caring at the same time. it was confusing with luke, everything he did had two different sides that would merge together in an unlikely unison. harsh and gentle, bitter and sweet, mean and kind.

his brows furrow when he dips in, pressing his lips to the skin of your neck, pushing you back into the scratching bark of the tree behind you. adam and eve, right after the bites of the apple offered to them. luke wants to sink his teeth into you, to bite until he draws blood, to devour you whole and call you his.

that’s… normal, right?

he doesn’t care, he’s only focused on the shallow breaths that pass by your lips with every scrape of his teeth on the skin being pulled between his lips. his fingers lead themselves further, dipping below the waistband of your underwear and further until you’re gasping and gripping at his wrist.

“luke.. luke,” you plead, whimpering out for his fingers to have some mercy on your clit— luke ignores you, focused on the pleasure that’s coursing underneath your skin. he memorizes the thump of your pulse against his lips on your neck, the way it speeds up when his fingers dare to graze your entrance. you want it so bad, and it’s taking everything in luke to not be a cocky asshole about it.

he eventually pulls away from your neck to admire his work, “have you always wanted me to touch you like this?”

there’s something so poetic about someone who has betrayed the gods you love the most, ruining you. you truly could be awarded for how much you worshiped them, so unlike to everyone around you. they thought their parents were like anybody else, albeit just a little cooler, but you— you felt like a prophet.

maybe you were, maybe luke was.

maybe when the oracle whispered the prophecy she mentioned the fall of a saint, and the way he tugged another down with him.

you look at him fondly, lips parted and puffy from biting, “always.. please.”

please ; a simple plea, but it makes luke grin like a devil. his eyes follow your hands when you move to undo his belt, tugging at his jeans as if his fingers aren’t making your knees buckle. luke licks his lips, and finally allows you some mercy when his fingers leave your underwear, although you frown from the loss of friction. “i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

luke’s boxers and jeans are falling to the floor in seconds, he stifles a chuckle at your shocked expression to his size, only growing cockier and cockier with each second of this ordeal. it reaches it’s peak when he’s pushing into you, hand on your thigh holding up your leg with ease.

his nose brushes against your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in between faint grunts with each thrust. you’re so pretty, always dreamed of this, better pray the gods aren’t watching. the last comment should piss you off, but it doesn’t, not at all— in fact, it only makes you wetter, the idea that the people you have given everything for are watching you being fucked by someone who despises them.

his free hand moves up to your neck, wrapping around the bruised skin there, and gripping it enough to barely constrict your air flow.

due to the choking, and the force of his thrusts, along with all his taunting words, it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his dick— and he doesn’t last long either.

he finds himself panting against you, slowly pushing out.

“you really should pray for forgiveness.”

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan blurb #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan oneshot #pjo luke #luke castellan #luke castellan come home to me pls #charlie bushnell x you #charlie bushnell imagine #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell

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psyduckappears · 1 year

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Homesickness for stoncy? PLS ik you've written the last two prompts for it, so im sorry if you get sick of writing stoncy 😭😭

read it on ao3

no but honestly i don't think that getting sick of these three idiots is even possible!!! this was such a blast and also this got away from me again so BADLY ..... hope you like it :)

It's a twist-of-fate kind of coincidence, how it all comes together.

After Vecna, after another brush with death, and world-death, and all-encompassing devastation, Hawkins goes back to normal.

Small-town people are a species beyond comprehension – a tight-knit family that will stab each other in the back at the first opportunity but hold your hand through the next crisis as though nothing happened, a steaming casserole or a rich, sweet pie ready to end all your worries – a community of shared knowledge and shared identity that doesn’t welcome difference but values togetherness over honesty; it’s alright to be different as long as we don’t acknowledge it – a microcosm of shared-experience who will help each other through their trauma as long as nobody calls it trauma.

Hawkins goes back to town-festivals in the summer and caring too much about high school basketball games and exchanging gossip on Main Street when you’ve just run into your neighbor after checking off the last of your grocery list.

The kids go back to school. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan graduate high school and, only a blink of an eye later, move away for college. Joyce finds a new job, one that pays marginally better than the one at Melvald’s, when one of the school’s secretaries retires. She has more than enough experience making phone calls thanks to that awful telemarketing gig, and nobody doubts that she’ll be able to manage any parent that might try to cause trouble just fine. Even Hopper goes back to his small-town Chief job, now sharing households with Joyce, and together neither of them need to pull as many hours as they did before.

Steve is … well, Steve is Steve. Does he spend too much of his time off work alone at home, watching on the news as the world at large goes to ruins around him that from this rural exile stay distant silhouettes on the horizon? Absolutely. Does he feel a little left behind, here in Hawkins, while the others have left him for the wide, wide world, where life happens every day, right before your eyes? Sure. Sure, he does, but it’s more than that.

He misses Robin, who moved to Boston with Nancy. They promised each other he’d follow her there as soon as he has some money saved and an eye on a job, but so far, it’s all felt a little hopeless. Besides, he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to leave Hawkins, yet, despite everything. After everything over the past couple of years, he probably should be running without a single look over his shoulder, but the thought of leaving still makes him uneasy, invokes this violent urge to radio Dustin, or El, or any of the kids just to see that everything is still looking calm. It’s hard to trust the peace.

Robin, the absolute saint that she is, understands. He thinks they all do, to some extent, even the ones of them who’ve left and sworn up and down they wouldn’t miss the place in the least.

He misses Nancy, too, who he’d just started getting closer to again after Vecna, and Jonathan, who he’d just started to really get to know before they moved away, leaving him behind, too.

So yeah, again, he does feel left behind, and he wants to be out there, but sometimes he thinks in the privacy of his own mind that he feels homesick, and it’s more like … he misses the home Hawkins used to be, before. When they were all still here, and when another apocalypse wasn’t fresh behind them all, and even (though he’d never say it to anyone) those moments facing down hell, where at least it felt like his lacking prospects for a meaningful future wouldn’t matter for much longer. Who cares if you ever got into college when you’re already dead?

He misses, most of all, a time where he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder, not always checking if all his ducks are still in a row, are still alive. He misses sleep without dreams where people he loves die like it means nothing, alive one second, gone the next. He misses a town where every shadow doesn’t feel like a warning, and he longs for a place where everything isn’t predictable, even the crises. Maybe, he thinks, he just misses somewhere he’s never been.

Nancy fills her time between classes with extracurriculars until she doesn’t have time to miss anyone, or at least that’s what she tells herself even while she’s already realizing that it doesn’t work. She joins the campus paper, a group of girls who run together twice a week, and a progressive feminist student organization that Robin invites her along to, but she still feels her fingers itch for her car keys all the time, ready to drive to New York, to Hawkins. It helps to know that Jonathan is the same way.

They schedule phone calls whenever neither of them has class or anything else – mostly when Robin does have class or something else, not because they desperately need the privacy but because she spends most of her time and the money she doesn’t need for rent to call Steve.

Sometimes, when Nancy comes home during one of those calls, Robin will grin and greet her and force the phone into her hand. Nancy kind of loves her for it, if she’s honest, and Robin’s expression says that she knows it even without her saying it.

Calls with Steve always make her smile too wide, and more often than not, she holds him up for way too long, trading news from college and stories about Robin for anything going on back in Hawkins, the more mundane the better. He always has something good about her brother and his friends, at the very least, something light that will make her laugh and that Mike would never tell her himself.

She also learns, this way, that he and Jonathan talk on the phone sometimes, too. It’s usually when Jonathan gets anxious about being so far from home, and he doesn’t really trust Will or his mom to tell him if anything was up because they know he’d be right on his way back home. Nancy can’t say she blames him, and she’s grateful, really, that Steve can do that for Jonathan, now. Be a link back home to take off the edge. Be a friend at all, after all their history. It’s just that it makes her miss them both so much more.

They go home for Christmas, but it’s just a few days before they have to head back to study for some upcoming exams, and they spend the holidays with their families. Only Robin begs off most of the time before and after Christmas dinner to spend with Steve, and then they’re gone again, after just barely a glimpse of the other two.

Calls and calls and calls pass between the three of them, and suddenly it’s a Friday night in early spring, just about 10pm, and Nancy can’t stand it anymore. She calls Jonathan.

“If I leave now, I can pick you up in about four hours,” is what she opens with. She’s met with a few seconds of silence.

“My roommates are out,” Jonathan finally replies. “You can ring the doorbell. I’ll sleep until then and take over.”

Smiling to herself, she starts a pot of coffee. He always knows exactly what she’s thinking. “Power nap halfway there.”

“One or two hours. Maybe near Pittsburgh.”

“We’ll be in Hawkins by afternoon. You have class on Monday?”

“Nothing I can’t skip this one time. I feel like we won’t want to haul ass back to campus after just one night.”

Jonathan is already awake again when Nancy rings the bell, an overnight bag, leftover pasta, and a thermos of coffee ready to go. At 2am, even the city that never sleeps has that eerie quality to it, though it isn’t really silent. Especially not on a Friday night. Still … even though he thinks it’s comforting, in a way, the thought of Nancy standing out in front of his door in the middle of the night, entirely unprotected, has him rushing down the stairs. He doesn’t exactly live in a nice part of town, and judging from past experience, even that can’t save you, sometimes.

“Hi.” Nancy grins when he bursts out the door, the momentum from the stairs still in him as he pushes against the door a little more forcefully than necessary.

Nancy looks tired but happy, messy but beautiful. She looks like she was already halfway to bed when she called him and barely took the time to get dressed before hopping into her car; hair tied up hazardously, sweatpants that he’s pretty sure are his tied fastened with a tight knot so they won’t slip from her waist and looking oddly discordant with her street shoes, and a sweater that is frayed at the sleeves from where she worries them while studying.

He kisses her hello, met with something hi, there you are, and I missed you, too, and then she barely leaves him the time to catch his breath before she’s dragging him back to the car.

There’s a laugh on his lips when he takes the keys from her and slips into the driver’s seat.

“Alright, Jitterbug, how much coffee have you had on your way here?” he asks as they start down the street. They should always leave in the middle of the night, he thinks; the traffic is way less awful at this time.

“Oh my god,” Nancy says, already digging through his backpack for one of the tapes he – predictably, apparently – brought. “Did you just make a Wham! reference?”

He gasps, only half-pretending to be offended. “You know exactly that I wasn’t –“

“I need to tell Steve.” She’s giggling, now, which is definitely a sign that she should probably get those few hours of sleep in, soon. Drunk Nancy has never been a fun time, but sleepy Nancy? She’s a blast. She loves everyone, and she thinks everything is hilarious, and Jonathan loves her, but he really needs to focus on getting them out of the city and onto the right interstate. “I swear, Jonathan, the first thing I will tell him when we see Steve is that you, Jonathan Byers, made a Wham! reference after being all high and mighty when you found out he listened to them.”

“You know they – you know they didn’t invent the word ‘jitterbug’, right?”

Nancy just keeps laughing at him until he knocks her over a little at the shoulder, which has her grin over at him tiredly. He feels unfathomably fond, but he just gives her a roll of his eyes, gluing his eyes back to the road in front of him.

“Take a nap,” he tells her. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to take a break.”

“You mean you’ll wake me up before you go-go,” she grins, but she dodges his swatting hand and closes her eyes, resting her head against the window.

The drive isn’t half bad, even though the sentimental part of him wishes they were driving east so he could watch the sun come up. This way, the further they get into the morning hours, his gaze keeps slipping to the rearview mirror, not wanting to miss it.

He drives, drives, stops for gas, stretches his legs, and keeps driving. Before he knows it, Nancy wakes on her own, and they’re well past Pittsburgh. In fact, they’re almost at Zanesville, and it’s nearing ten in the morning.

When Nancy realizes this, she gasps and smacks his shoulder several times. “Jonathan!”

“What?”

“You’ve been driving almost eight hours.”

“I wasn’t tired,” he defends, even though he knows it’s still not exactly reasonable. He’s had, what, three and a half hours of sleep? She gives him a look, like god, why do I love this idiot, and it makes him grin sheepishly in a way that makes them both think of Steve, somehow.

Which makes sense because he swears, Steve makes him a little bit stupid.

He will not examine this fact right now, though.

“At the next stop, we’re switching,” she tells him, glaring a little. He can tell she’s reluctantly well-rested, though, and they both know she is much happier about it than she will ever admit when she says, “I guess at least now we can skip that power nap, get there a little earlier. I need to … walk around a bit first, though. My bones feel like I’ve been stuffed into a moving box for two days.”

Rather than agreeing, Jonathan just cracks his stiff neck, laughing when the sound makes her crinkle her nose in disgust. He needs a stretch, too, he really does; his gas foot feels like he’s been flexing it for hours, and he’s pretty sure his ass has fallen asleep. He can’t feel the right half, anymore, and it’s decidedly not a pleasant experience.

“Also, we’re getting breakfast. Gas station food sucks, but I am starving.”

“There’s a box of pasta salad in my backpack,” he offers, even though pasta salad is really just a fancy way of referring to yesterday’s cold lunch. “Knock yourself out. I had some before we left, so I’ll probably just get a donut, or something.”

“You ate pasta salad at two in the morning?” Nancy asks, scandalized as if they haven’t done the same thing with leftover pizza after sharing his last bit of pot or staying up too long studying and … studying. He raises his eyebrow at her, and her judgmental expression melts into a knowing quirk of her lip, an admission of complicity. She starts looking for the box, then, and calls him an idiot for forgetting to bring a fork.

She eats it with her free hand instead of waiting to see if they’d have any at the rest stop, and he falls a little bit more in love with her when she drops a bit of pasta, it falls right into her hoodie, and she begins laughing so hard that she almost chokes.

Robin starts calling at seven and manages to shake Steve out of bed by eight, when he stumbles to the phone with a big yawn and a world of annoyance.

“’lo?” he mutters into the phone, the absolute most anyone could expect of him at this ungodly hour on a Saturday.

“Steve! God, finally –“

“Robin, what the fuck?” He keeps the phone by his ear and drags the chord to the kitchen, where he turns on the coffee maker. “Why are you calling me at –“

“It’s Nancy,” she interrupts him, and only then does he recognize that tone in her voice. It isn’t angry Robin, or excited Robin, even though both sound just as frantic as she does now. It’s terrified Robin. And she’s scared because of Nancy.

He stills.

“What? What do you mean –“

“She’s – not here! I was out late last night, I don’t know if she was still here then because I figured she was in bed, and you know she always has to park super far away from the building, but this morning I realized her keys were gone, and so were her shoes, and she doesn’t have class or any of her other stuff today because she has this big paper due next Thursday, and she cancelled all her clubs and shit for that.”

“I – Robin,” he interrupts, trying to be calm, even though it feels counterintuitive. “Don’t you think she could have just … gone out? To … to the library, or to go shopping, or …?”

“She never takes the car for that. She only uses it when she’s leaving the city.”

“So maybe she went to see Jonathan.”

“I tried calling him. His roommate says he hasn’t seen him, but he ‘took all the food’, which is probably an overstatement, knowing that guy, but – anyway, Jonathan is also gone. I just – I don’t have a good feeling about this, Steve.”

The truth is, neither does Steve. Steve is, in fact, freaking the hell out as he’s standing there in his kitchen, not at all tired, anymore. He tries grasping for logic, that they might have just … gotten together to have a picnic, or something, but …

But suddenly it occurs to him that while he’s been hesitating to leave Hawkins unprotected, he’s been doing the exact same thing to them.

“She didn’t leave a note? Anything to say where she’s going?” Robin’s silence speaks volumes, and Steve feels the dread growing like a shadow in him, looming and dark, always behind him.

Nancy wouldn’t just disappear without telling anyone. Neither would Jonathan. Not after everything that’s happened. He takes the little bit of coffee the machine has produced from the pot and mentally starts looking for his car keys. “I’m coming over there.”

He makes decent progress, despite the little bit of morning traffic that actually affects Hawkins, but breaking every speed limit he can get away with costs gas, and he has to stop a little over half an hour outside of Columbus to fill up the tank. He uses the payphone outside to call Robin to see if there have been any news, but now she isn’t answering, and he feels himself panic even more.

Maybe she’s just in the bathroom, or something, he tells himself. He should call again in a few minutes, maybe get something to eat in the meantime. He hasn’t eaten at all since last night.

His mind switching between Boston and New York, he walks back inside, finding a couple of things he normally enjoys in the snack aisle. He doesn’t feel particularly hungry, but he still goes through the motions of picking them out, swiping his card at the register, and lodging them under his arm to carry back to the car.

When he turns away from the cashier, he bumps into the guy behind him and drops all of it.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, already crouching down to pick up his good. He feels like he should get a pass for being clumsy under the circumstances, but it’s not like this guy knows that, and –

“Steve?” the guy says, having joined him on the ground to help him out, and when Steve’s head snaps up, yeah, sure thing, that’s Jonathan Byers right there in front of him. Steve almost thinks he’s hallucinating, but he doesn’t think he’s imaginative enough to come up with such an accurate image of that perplexed expression.

He drops everything he’s picked up right back down again and squishes Jonathan into a hug that probably surprises Steve himself just as much as it does Jonathan.

“Uh, hi?” Jonathan’s voice is muffled against the fabric of Steve’s sweater, but he’s slowly reciprocating the hug, so it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s Jonathan. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I – oh god, is Nancy with you? Please tell me she’s –“

“Yeah, yeah, she’s outside,” Jonathan says, and then he’s pulling away, aiming a worried frown at Steve. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing here?” Steve exclaims, then, jumping up from the ground and realizing they’re still right in front of the register, right in the middle of that gas station. At least it’s not a popular one; their only audience is the guy who just rang Steve up a minute ago, and he looks like his job has long bored him to death, and he is now just a corpse with a mysteriously acquired ability to stand more or less upright.

“We’re – we wanted to see you.” The way it comes out is an almost indignant kind of stammer, but clearly embarrassed. Jonathan is looking at Steve but only kind of, and Steve can’t remember when he stood up, even less so when he crossed his arms over his chest so defensively.

Steve would tease him about it if he wasn’t so busy staring at him, open-mouthed, confused, and a little bit angry in the wake of the whole scare. And then there’s that other feeling, the one he’s gotten so incredibly good at ignoring.

Steve seems to be taking too long to reply because eventually, Jonathan goes back to stammering. Which is weird because Jonathan has never, ever been bad at silences.

“It’s just – Nancy called last night, and it was kind of insane because I was just hanging out at the apartment and being kind of miserable about how much I missed her and how … long it’d been since I’d seen you, and then she called and said we should drive back to Hawkins because apparently she was the same way, so …“

“So you just … took off in the middle of the night to – visit me?”

If Steve thought Jonathan looked embarrassed before, he doesn’t know what to call this. He only knows he’s never seen him this red in the face.

“I guess…”

It’s then that they’re interrupted, again not by a new customer but by Nancy, this time. She’s got her wallet out, is looking for something in it, and speaking as she walks into the gas station.

“Are you having trouble with your card again?” she asks, probably because she’s been wondering why on earth Jonathan has been taking so long to pay for their gas. “I keep telling you, you need to call the bank to get you a new one, this is getting – Steve?”

And, okay, so Steve already knew that she was fine, Jonathan already told him, more or less, what’s going on, but he swears, Nancy is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire life right then. He barely knows what to say, and then Nancy helps him out.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and only then does it occur to him that he never answered Jonathan when he asked him this a minute ago.

Priorities need to be set, though. Rather than answer her question, he does the same thing he did with Jonathan and pulls her into a big, extended hug. She goes a lot more willingly than Jonathan, even though she still seems beyond confused, and even when she pulls back, she leaves her arms around him.

“I – Robin called me,” he finally says, and he can watch every muscle in her face transform from pleasant surprise into some kind of horror.

“Shit,” she says. “Oh god, I – I didn’t leave a note!”

He snorts at that. “Yeah, no shit. You know how scared we’ve been?” He looks over his shoulder at Jonathan, who’s wearing a similar expression. “How is it both of you just decided to disappear without telling a single soul where on earth you’re going?”

“Shit, she didn’t call my mom, did she?”

Steve shakes his head, even though that’s really not what he wants to talk about, right now. “I radioed Will to check if he knew anything and told him not to tell her until I called. But he’s definitely going to be pissed when he finds out about this. Actually, so am I – what were you thinking? What if something had happened to you, and nobody would have known where to even start looking?”

Nancy’s hands around him land on his shoulders, then, squeezing reassuringly just like she used to do, eons ago. He wants to keep catastrophizing, but she stops his last resolve with a small smile. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to worry anyone, really. We just … really wanted to see you.”

And really, who could expect Steve to be mad about that? When they keep saying it like that? Part of him wants to resent the easy way Nancy’s echo of Jonathan’s words melts him into something warm and far more relaxed than he’s felt since he woke up this morning, but even that he can’t really hold onto.

“Well, it’s still stupid,” he mutters petulantly, but he pulls her back into another quick hug and lets go feeling a lot less wound up. “I’m gonna go back outside and call Robin.”

Jonathan finds him outside a minute later with Steve’s forgotten snack haul piled up in his arms, leaning against the wall as Steve talks to Robin.

“I know, they’re idiots,” he says, pointedly, which gets him one of those funny little Jonathan-smiles that make him feel all mushy and stupid. Considering the fact that they just nearly caused some sort of national search because they wanted to see him, he lets himself feel the mush for once and grins back. “But they’re really, really sorry and will totally make it up to us.”

“Did they say that or is it just wishful thinking?” Robin asks, but she sounds a hundred times better than when they last spoke, so it’s alright.

“They may not have said it in words, but it’s not like this doesn’t give us a lot of leverage. Anyway, apparently, I’m so incredibly awesome that they both just hadto up and –”

“Oh, hi, Robin,” Jonathan cuts in, snatching the phone from Steve. “Yeah, we’re really sorry about all this. It was pretty late, and it was kind of, uh, an impulsive thing. So we weren’t thinking straight. We didn’t mean to worry anyone, really.”

Steve watches him talk, even though he can’t hear Robin’s replies anymore. He can fill in her parts in his head, more or less accurately, but he doesn’t know what she says to make Jonathan go all pink in the face again.

Finally, Nancy joins them and demands her turn, by which time Steve has to put the third quarter into the phone’s coin slot. She talks to Robin for a little while, apologizing yet again for the scare and promising she’ll bring her back a truck’s load of those knock-off Heath bars she insists are so much better than the real deal, and Steve opens a bag of cookies while they wait for her to finish, offering one to Jonathan.

When Nancy hangs up the phone, all three of them stand silently by the phone for a minute, hovering around the inevitable what now.

“So…” Steve eventually breaks into the quiet.

“So?” Nancy echoes, something amused but not fully self-assured in her smile. Jonathan, beside her, suddenly looks even more nervous, so Steve gives both of them what he hopes is a somewhat reassuring grin.

“You two have any plans tonight?”

They end up at Steve’s place, on account of Nancy and Jonathan both being worried that if their families know they’re in town, they’ll ‘monopolize all of their time again’.

Steve has to stop himself from smiling when Nancy says that. She still blushes a little.

“I mean, I love them! And I miss them, and all that, but – we didn’t really get to see you when we were here for the holidays.”

“You know, Robin said you had some big paper due,” Steve says, looking between the two people on his couch. “Cleared your schedule for it and all. Not that I’m complaining, but – you know. You’re you.”

Miraculously, this makes her blush even more. After some prodding, she admits that she finished it all up yesterday in a productive streak, and that she might have wildly overestimated the amount of work it would be, which honestly sounds about right. He always knew she would continue overkilling it in college the same way she did in high school.

“Oh, so you only came here because you didn’t have anything better to do,” he sniffs, anyways, and she swats at him but still has to smile at the overstated pout that his laughter really wants to break through. “No, no, I see how it is.”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughs. Jonathan, pressed against her other side, watches the scene with something like fond exasperation until Nancy turns on him, her face suddenly taken over with a grin like she’s only now remembering he’s here, and she snaps her head back to Steve in excitement. “Oh my god, I almost forgot. You won’t believe what Jonathan did last night!”

“What did he –“

“Nothing, don’t believe anything she says!”

“No, no, this is gold because – when I picked up Jonathan last night –“

“Libel!” Jonathan squeaks, wrapping an arm around Nancy’s waist and pressing the other down on her mouth as she keeps laughing. She tries licking his hand, wriggling in his arms, but she isn’t really fighting him. He isn’t holding onto her nearly strong enough to keep her in place if she was really trying. “Lies, slander, I - Steve, Nancy is trying to defame me, and I want you to know that you cannot believe anything that comes out of her mouth. She’s – she’s turned over to the yellow press, she’s –”

But Steve doesn’t respond. When Jonathan looks over at him, he’s watching them with a grin, like he isn’t even aware of it, and Nancy seems to notice it too because she stops squirming and stares back at Steve as well.

“What?” Jonathan eventually asks, suddenly self-conscious again. He isn’t usually like this in front of anyone but Nancy.

Steve’s eyes snap to his, but the smile doesn’t dim at all.

“Nothing,” he says, though his tone of voice suggests otherwise. “Just ... it's good to see you two.”

In his arms, Jonathan can feel Nancy soften, leaning back until her back is flush against his chest, his hands now both loose around her middle. There's been this understanding between them for a while. This understanding that means that Nancy knows exactly that he, too, is looking at Steve, and that he knows with just as much certainty that Nancy feels a similar warmth stirring in her at Steve’s words.

And maybe it's obvious. By all means, it really should be, if not from their calling at any given opportunity just to hear his voice, then from today, from the way they drove for hours and hours just because they couldn't stand missing him anymore.

But Steve was there too, several hours out of Hawkins, ready to cross state lines after they went missing for just a few hours. Worried out of his mind, embracing them with an inevitability like he's a compass and they’re north, and really, can there be an explanation for them finding each other like this that is any less significant than the earth's magnetic field?

Steve looks at them like that, now, like it’s a law of nature. Like he knows he can’t turn away, and he doesn’t mind at all. Jonathan thinks that the space that this look is taking up under his sternum might kill him, and he’d let it.

It’s Nancy who eventually braves the silence between them, reaching her hand out for his wrist and tugging him closer. She smiles, and Steve looks so openly hopeful that Jonathan frees one of his own hands to put on top of Nancy’s.

“It’s good to see you, too, Steve.”

The tension isn’t uncomfortable, but something has shifted, and it stays. Still, they spend the rest of the afternoon catching up, and it feels easy, just talking like that. Nancy talks about the adventures of living with Robin, the things they’re finding they have in common the more time they spend with each other. Jonathan talks about this impossibly pretentious guy in one of his classes and lets Steve tease him about it like, see, now you know how we feel.

Steve, for his part, gives them the weekly highlights of town gossip (Mrs. Baker left her bastard husband, good for her; the new mayor proposed another attempt at a mall and was unanimously shut down; a senior from Hawkins High was caught selling weed behind the school, only for Hopper to let him off with a warning because fuck Reagan, and I’m not ruining some idiot kid’s future over some fucking weed, Harrington, who do you take me for?). They ask him how he knows all that, which is how he realizes he hasn’t told them about his new job.

“Shit, that’s right! You know Flo? From the police station?” The question earns him two equally confused glances, which he willfully ignores because he knows they know her, and they’ll get why he’s talking about her in a minute, either way. “Anyway, she got sick a few weeks back, and I guess they never realized how much she was actually doing because once she wasn’t there anymore, everything kind of erupted into chaos. Hop knew I was looking to make some extra money, so he asked me if I wanted to be her stand in.”

“That’s … cool,” Jonathan says, like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to think it’s cool. It makes Steve laugh, which makes Jonathan blush, which makes Steve’s cheeks hurt.

“It’s alright. Turns out I’m pretty alright at talking –“ Nancy gives him a no shit kind of look for that. “– and the hours aren’t bad. Besides, now that Flo’s back, it’s nowhere near as stressful.”

“They kept you on?” Nancy asks, surprised. “Even though she’s back?”

Steve shoots her a wry grin, like, see, I can keep a job. “Bunch of apocalypses are bound to make people paranoid, so there are a lot of calls to take. We got, like, several lines now. All the paperwork on top of that …”

“Sounds like you’re having a good time.”

The weird thing is, he really is. And he’s still saving money, and he's still planning to up and follow Robin into that wide, wide world, but for the first time in a very long time, he’s letting himself feel like it’s some idea of where he’s going.

Not that he wants to spend the rest of his life behind a desk. God, no. It's all the people that call, that come and go every day, looking for help. On some rare occasions, Steve is the one who gets to help them, in some small way, and he's realized that that's kind of the one thing he's really good at.

“You know that kid?” he says, by the way of nothing at all. Nancy cocks her head, that curious expression in her wide-as-the-sea eyes, and Jonathan frowns at him softly, nothing like the way he used to. “Ryan White, some middle schooler from up in Kokomo. Non-Hawkins news weren’t really top priority for a while with everything that was ... going on, last year, but Robin told me about it, and then I started following it … You’ve heard of him, right?”

There’s a short silence, and for that moment, Steve gets weirdly nervous. He tries to focus on Jonathan’s teeth pulling at the skin of his lower lip, but it only makes him nervous for a different reason, until he nods, slowly. “He’s the one who got sick, right?”

Steve hums, yes, that’s one way of putting it. “The one they wouldn’t let back into school. Someone shot through their living room window, did you know that? Just put a bullet through it.”

“God,” Nancy whispers.

“Nobody was home. They’re moving to Cicero, now that he’s finished with middle school. But I swear, the kid is what – fifteen? And he’s dying, and he has to deal with all of this bullshit on top of it all. And … it all makes me so mad when I think about it, which I do too much because I have way too much free time – ‘cause it’s not fair, right? And what else is not fair is that probably tons of other people are having the exact same issues but get none of the help or the – national fucking attention, whatever, none of that support and nobody cares. It makes me so angry, I could –“

Maybe they’re staring again. Maybe Steve has talked himself into half a rampage and gotten off-track from where he was originally going with this. Nancy is staring, and Jonathan is staring, both with those soft frowns that should be infuriating, should feel infuriating because they should be screaming of dear god, look at Steve, he really has been cooped up in here for too long. He’s turning into some Murray Baumann of obsessing over civil rights.

But it isn’t. They’re both looking at him like that, but it doesn’t feel condescending or pitying or even like they don’t understand. Which makes sense because – who is he talking to? There are two of the most empathetic and socially aware people he knows, even if he wouldn’t even have been able to identify them as that until Robin taught him what on earth that means.

“Yeah,” Jonathan finally mutters. “Yeah, no, I know what you mean. It’s – well, New York is bad. People out here are still pretending it isn’t happening, mostly, but back there, you can’t. … Sometimes you walk past an apartment building in a certain part of town, and you see a whole – a whole life in the dumpster behind it. Just thrown out because there was nobody who would or could claim it.”

The soft, warm tone of his voice has Steve deflating a little from the rigid stance he’s worked himself into. Nancy reaches out her right foot to nudge him with her socked toes. He sighs.

“I just – I want to do something. To help people, to – ” Steve manages. It’s the first time he says it out loud; he hasn’t even talked this over with Robin, not that there’s much to talk about, not that she isn’t the one who got him here in the first place, in a way. “I mean, I want to do something where I can help people like that, you know? People who don’t have anyone to back them up. I just … don’t know how.”

“Have you thought about …” Nancy begins. “I mean, maybe Hopper could help you –“

“Oh, no, no,” Steve cuts in. Maybe, maybe he’s gotten up by now, pacing back and forth in front of the couch like they can solve the whole question of his future right here, right now. “No offence to Hopper, the guy is a saint, but – well, for one thing, everything in the past couple years hasn’t really got me jumping up and down to work for the government in like, any way or form. And then – everything that Hopper’s done that makes him a great guy is also what kind of makes him a shitty police man? I mean, the police don’t exactly protect people, do they? They protect – I don’t know, the law? And the law doesn’t usually protect the people who really need it, so I just don’t –“

A hand on his wrist cuts him off, and he’s a little surprised that it’s attached to Jonathan, this time. In his endless mental list of maybes, Steve finds himself wondering if he’s staring at Jonathan, now, if turning to face him has left them just the slightest bit too close to one another.

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m saying this in the kindest possible way – because you going all anti-establishment is weirdly, unfairly hot – and don’t you dare tell her I said this, but meeting Robin really is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“She knows,” Steve replies, almost automatically, then clamps his mouth shut and abruptly lets it drop open again. “Wait, did you –“

Jonathan snatches his hand away like he's burned himself, so maybe he himself didn't realize what just came out of his mouth. He really does blush so drastically. It’s a little bit addictive to look at. There are a few seconds where both of them just sort of ... gape at each other, lost for words in this inane situation.

Nancy, fortunately, has always been rather impatient with them and cuts through their silence with an exasperated groan.

“For God's sake,” she says, with both of the others now staring at her instead, like waiting for her to tell them what happens next. “Will you just –“

She doesn't get to finish. She doesn't need to finish, really, because apparently her and Jonathan still share that strange psychic connection between them, so that Jonathan gets the message just fine.

They're kissing, and Steve never even saw it coming.

It somehow just happens like this. One moment, Steve is rambling about the … evils of the world, and the next, Jonathan Byers is kissing him like he doesn't know if it's allowed, and he'll give it his all just in case it's all that he's going to get. Maybe, Steve is kissing back the way he is for the same reason, or maybe it's just to prove that Jonathan is wrong. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling apart, breathless like marathon runners, but more from the shock than from exertion. More like the adrenaline of having slain the monster and lived rather than the endurance it took to get there.

Nancy doesn't give him the chance to catch his breath before she takes over from where Jonathan left off, and yes, he thinks dizzily, maybe this is that homesick feeling he's been having. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Well, he doesn't have to miss them tonight, or even tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe he is finally ready to come with them, find a place somewhere that can be a home they can all come back to, eventually. Hawkins has Hopper, Joyce, El, and the other kids there to look after it, look after each other. From the way the two of them keep looking at him after they part, he gets the feeling that he might be needed elsewhere.

#stranger things fic #stranger things #stoncy #prompt fill #jonathan x steve x nancy

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 1 year

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7th December >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saint Ambrose, Bishop, Doctor

Wednesday, Second Week of Advent.

Wednesday, Second Week of Advent

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Wednesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Isaiah 40:25-31

The Lord strengthens the powerless.

‘To whom could you liken me and who could be my equal?’ says the Holy One. Lift your eyes and look. Who made these stars if not he who drills them like an army, calling each one by name? So mighty is his power, so great his strength, that not one fails to answer.

How can you say, Jacob, how can you insist, Israel, ‘My destiny is hidden from the Lord, my rights are ignored by my God’? Did you not know? Had you not heard?

The Lord is an everlasting God, he created the boundaries of the earth. He does not grow tired or weary, his understanding is beyond fathoming. He gives strength to the wearied, he strengthens the powerless. Young men may grow tired and weary, youths may stumble, but those who hope in the Lord renew their strength, they put out wings like eagles. They run and do not grow weary, walk and never tire.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 102(103):1-4,8,10

R/ My soul, give thanks to the Lord.

My soul, give thanks to the Lord all my being, bless his holy name. My soul, give thanks to the Lord and never forget all his blessings.

R/ My soul, give thanks to the Lord.

It is he who forgives all your guilt, who heals every one of your ills, who redeems your life from the grave, who crowns you with love and compassion.

R/ My soul, give thanks to the Lord.

The Lord is compassion and love, slow to anger and rich in mercy. He does not treat us according to our sins nor repay us according to our faults.

R/ My soul, give thanks to the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Alleluia, alleluia! Behold, our Lord will come with power and will enlighten the eyes of his servants. Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia! Look, the Lord will come to save his people. Blessed those who are ready to meet him. Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 11:28-30

My yoke is easy and my burden light.

Jesus said, ‘Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest. Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

---------------------------------

Saint Ambrose, Bishop, Doctor

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Ephesians 3:8-12

I, who am less than the least of all saints, have been entrusted with this special grace.

I, Paul, who am less than the least of all the saints, have been entrusted with this special grace, not only of proclaiming to the pagans the infinite treasure of Christ but also of explaining how the mystery is to be dispensed. Through all the ages, this has been kept hidden in God, the creator of everything. Why? So that the Sovereignties and Powers should learn only now, through the Church, how comprehensive God’s wisdom really is, exactly according to the plan which he had had from all eternity in Christ Jesus our Lord. This is why we are bold enough to approach God in complete confidence, through our faith in him.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 88(89):2-5,21-22,25,27