Bloody Hearts Bingo Fills

[wolfish_willow]

Going to post my fills for Bloody Hearts Bingo in this post unless they get big enough to post as their own fic. And maybe even then, honestly. Don't want to have to figure out titles and tags and summaries on AO3 for fics I don't even need anyone to read haha! But of course, anyone who finds them here is welcome to check them out <3

Fill 1

Uri's Card: Green Heart, Hot Stuff
Cardholder's choice: Whump
Prompt chosen: Spending heat/rut alone as a method of self-harm
Word Count: 271

The build up never got any easier. His hands, usually capable and steady, became clumsy and uncoordinated. He dropped everything he held at least once, often giving up and leaving the last thing on the ground to be picked up when it was over. It was like he lost all concept of his own body with the way he knocked into door frames or the corners of tables that hadn't moved an inch his entire life.

Sometimes, Steve thought about what it would be like to have someone around to help while he was like this; a person who would insist that he stay in bed while his heat built up and up and up, making him distracted and clumsy. A person who would get him something to drink when he was thirsty and help him hold the cup to keep from dropping it like he had so many others. A person who would ease the burning ache that eventually became so painful he lost all ability to think about anything at all beyond it.

But then he remembered Nancy's angry face— like we're in love— staring up at him in the bathroom— you're bullshit— and knew he wasn't going to put anyone through the burden of taking care of him when he could manage just fine on his own.

And when his heat built up so bad he could do nothing but lie naked in his bed, alone, there was the smallest bit of comfort before all thought faded entirely that at least Nancy had gotten out before she'd had to deal with this bullshit, too.

Fill 2

KingxLink's Card: Yellow Ooh La La, Bloody Bonus
Prompt chosen: Unable to experience arousal or get off without hurting someone
Word Count: 351

The spree awakens something in Kurt; something he'd always felt lurking under the surface but was now unavoidable. He remembers how it had felt, using Bobby Base Camp's shower, washing off the blood while being watched by hundreds/thousands of people. People who didn't stop watching even when they started to realize the murder hadn't been a joke, a way to get clicks-- or at least not on Bobby Bud Lee's side.

In the shower, under the hot water and watched by thousands of people, he'd been harder than he ever has before. He'd joked about showing everyone his boner, had very nearly gone through with it before pulling away at the last second. But, oh, how he'd gotten himself off when it was all over and Jesse was dead, too.

Only now, now he realizes he can't seem to get off without it. The kill. Feeling bloody begin to dry on his hands. Kurt closes his eyes every night, remembers how it felt to drive a drill straight into the blonde woman's head, the screams of her friends while they were eaten by ravenous dogs, the look on Bobby's face when Kurt drove the knife into his stomach, and it's almost enough.

Almost.

He doesn't get off again until he finally snaps. His dad shows up after he calls-- hours after because the man is nothing if not inconsiderate of Kurt's time-- and it feels so good doing to him what he'd done to his mother, but slower, really letting himself feel the blood coat his skin and relish the pain and confusion on the man's face as the life drains from his annoying, squinted eyes.

And there it is; his dick is so hard he could cut straight through his jeans and fuck does it feel good to finally satisfy himself again after far too long. He hopes the memory of this moment will last long enough to get him through until he can find another victim; he'd hate to have to go days without this again. It might actually kill him.

Guess he'll have to kill them instead.

Fill 3

Aspen | lackwood4stucky's Card: Orange Hot Stuff, Bloody Bonus
Prompts chosen: Knotting is painful for one or both parties involved & Being unable to resist someone that is in heat/rut
Word Count: 4,717

The chill that hung in the air in early November has officially given way to the cold of winter in the weeks since the Gate closed. In the woods, the leaves are covered in a gentle dusting of snow that crunches under Steve's shoes. He shoves his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders drawn up to his ears to stave against the biting breeze coming through the trees.

"You could turn around," Hopper says after glancing over his shoulder. One of his eyebrows raises higher than the other, his lips stretching into an amused half-smile that Steve doesn't feel one way or the other about having directed at him. "Head back home where it's warm."

Where it's lonely, more like. Sitting around in his house might be physically warmer than tromping through the woods in the snow, but it was cold in its own way. Without Nancy there to thaw the chill left behind by his dad's constant attitude, he found he was even less capable of tolerating the whims of his parents' attention than he was before they started dating. With them home right now, the last place he wanted to be was where they could see him and acknowledge-- or not-- his existence.

"And let you go alone? When El knows I'm your backup tonight? Not a chance, old man."

"Old man," Hopper says, muttering something else too low for Steve to catch. He does catch the fact that the man didn't lose his smile before facing forward again.

Since Eleven closed the Gate-- and nearly drained herself dry doing it-- they've been keeping an eye on the town. Mostly around the tunnels where the Upside Down had started to bleed over into their side. For a month, they haven't seen anything to hint that there will be more trouble, but Steve is reluctant to let himself get too comfortable. Two years of monsters and mayhem might not be a pattern exactly, but it's enough for him not to trust that something won't happen again.

"How'd that test of yours go?"

Hopper shortens his strides, slowing his pace until he's walking beside Steve rather than in front of him. It's nearly as distracting as the question itself; he barely remembers mentioning he had a test coming up and when he did, it was said in passing to El. He hadn't realized Hopper was even paying attention. Steve would have put money on it that Hopper had been too engrossed in watching whatever show he'd had playing that day.

"Passed, barely," Steve says, focusing on the ground in front of him. Wouldn't want to do something stupid like trip on a snow covered branch. There are plenty of them out here and the last thing Steve needs is another scrape when his face has finally gone back to normal.

His sudden focus on being careful certainly doesn't have anything to do with Hopper's attention or the way he doesn't quite know how to react to someone remembering something so inconsequential.

"Barely passing is still passing." Hopper's hand lands heavily on Steve's shoulder. It's broad and warm, even through Steve's jacket, and he feels his neck heat up in response. "Hell, barely passing is how I graduated high school."

"Really?" Steve ignores the instinctual urge he feels to keep very still in order to encourage Hopper not to move his hand. Instead, he keeps pace with him, even turning to look at his profile. It's hard to imagine Hopper his age, in school or getting out of school. It's especially hard to imagine him being the same level of student that Steve is now.

"Oh yeah, school and I weren't exactly what you would call simpatico," Hopper meets his eyes for a second before facing forward again. "Enlisted first chance I— wait a second—"

Hopper lets go of Steve's shoulder only to throw his arm in front of his chest instead. When Steve looks ahead, he immediately knows what caught Hopper's attention. There, lying in the snow mere feet away, is one of the tunnel's entrances. They've investigated it before in their perimeter checks and found nothing out of ordinary.

Tonight, though, there's a new plant growing along the edge of it. Steve's throat goes tight; he's known the whole time that they hadn't seen the last of that place or its creatures, but he really hates being proven right.

"What should we—"

He hasn't gotten the full question out before the flower unfurls, spitting something into the air. With an air of dread, Steve grips Hopper's sleeve and tries to pull him out of the path of its spores. Steve isn't fast enough, though, he knows it. There's a heaviness in his lungs when he takes his next breath that's painfully familiar. It's a sensation he remembers all too well. Dustin had been hit with a flower just like it and while he was thankfully young enough-- or that's one of Steve's theories, at least, for why he seemed to be unscathed afterwards (the other being that the kid's a budding Alpha and the plant skips right over them, but he know he's grasping at straws there)-- not to feel the thing's effects, Steve hadn't been so lucky.

Hopper stumbles back, dragging Steve with him. Once they've put some distance between them and the flower-- which looks withered and dead now that it's fulfilled its purpose-- Hopper coughs and Steve's stomach drops.

"You okay?" Hopper asks, a hand on each of Steve's shoulders while he looks him over.

"Yeah," Steve says right away. And it's not a lie; he feels fine now. It's what's going to happen later that he's worried about.

"You're sure?"

He nods, dismayed when Hopper doesn't look nearly as convinced as he needs him to. The longer Hopper thinks he needs to be watched, to make sure he's fine, the less likely Steve will be able to hide away before the flower's effects hit him like a brick.

Thankfully, Hopper lets him go after a deliberate look from his head to his feet and back again. Less thankfully, he moves towards the plant rather than far, far away from it.

"What are you doing?" Steve hisses, hands curling into fists at his sides.

Kicking the plant with the toe of his heavy boot, Hopper shakes his head. "Nothing else around here like it. Could be a one-off, but just in case…" he looks over his shoulder to meet Steve's eyes again, "we gotta see if there are any more of them."

And even though he knows it's a terrible idea, Steve finds himself nodding without hesitation. He should make some kind of excuse to leave; he came in his own car and he knows the way back to it. But he wasn't kidding about not wanting to leave Hopper alone; El knows Steve is the one watching her pseudo-dad's back. It's bad enough he let that thing touch them at all. Like hell is he going to let Hopper go looking for more by himself.

When it happened before, the effects didn't hit Steve until hours later. Between his suppressants and the adrenaline of the night, his body had been able to stave off the plant-induced heat until he was back home and able to get through it alone. It shouldn't be any different this time.

---

He knows he's wrong when on the walk back to their cards after a fruitless search for any other burgeoning Upside Down fauna, he can't stop sweating. Despite the bitter cold of winter, Steve is sweltering in his coat when on the walk up he'd been on the verge of freezing. When a gust of icy wind slices over them, he welcomes it, tilting his head back to feel it against the burning skin of his throat.

Relief floods through him when they reach their cars. Keys in hand, Steve nods to Hopper before heading for the driver's side door. Just a quick drive home and he can lock himself in his room for the foreseeable future. Sure, his parents are home this time, but it's not like it'll be the first heat he's had with them around; he's used to the disappointment-- the disgust-- that hangs in the air for days after it's done.

"Not so fast," Hopper says, stopping Steve by planting his hand fully against Steve's chest. It takes everything he has not to make a sound even while his whole body lights up at the touch. He wants to lean forward and rest his weight against that hand; see just how capable Hopper is of holding him up… Steve shakes the thought out of his head and forces himself to lean away instead.

"What?" he asks, unable to come up with anything else when he can't trust himself not to blurt out something he won't be able to take back.

Hopper blinks at him, unimpressed. The look cuts him like a knife and Steve knows, he knows it's the heat building up intensifying his reaction, but that doesn't help ease the sting of an Alpha being disappointed in him in the moment.

"We can get your car later," Hopper says, dropping his hand from Steve's chest but keeping hold of the top of his arm while he steers them towards his truck. He opens his mouth to argue, but Hopper cuts him off before he can even start. "No way I'm letting you drive when something is clearly…"

He trails off, but the pointed way his eyes meet Steve's say it all. Hopper hasn't missed that Steve's been acting weird since the flower, even if he doesn't know why yet.

Once they're both sitting in Hopper's truck, confined to the small space with no more wind blowing their scents away from each other, there's no hiding exactly what the "something" that's wrong with Steve is. He sees the moment Hopper catches on, the Alpha's nostrils flaring as Steve's scent hits him.

"Just get me home and I'll be fine," Steve says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He holds himself tight as he turns to stare out of the windshield instead of at Hopper's face.

"You're not surprised this is happening," Hopper says, voice low and distant like he's talking to himself more than to Steve. "But you were fine… before that plant--"

"I'll be fine now, I just need--"

"I know what you need," Hopper's voice has gone rough like gravel and the sound of it shoots straight down Steve's spine. His eyes are dark when Steve meets them for a painfully long moment before he gives his head a small shake. "You sure you'll be--"

"--handled it just fine last time," Steve interrupts, swallowing hard at the way Hopper narrows his eyes. Instead of saying anything, though, Hopper reaches a steady hand to turn the keys and start the engine.

Something like disappointment sweeps through Steve when Hopper starts driving. Some small, deep part of him thought the sound of the man's voice might mean… But it's better, he tells himself, that it didn't mean anything at all. Even if his body is begging him to entice the Alpha in closer, needing what only an Alpha can give it, Steve doesn't know what he'd do if that actually happened.

But then Hopper lets go of the wheel with one hand to rest it on top of Steve's thigh and suddenly he does know what he'd do if he got what he wanted. He widens the gap between his legs, giving Hopper more room to touch, and hopefully closer to where he needs that touch most. It's not until he rests his hand on top of Hopper's that the man seems to realize what he'd been doing. His head snaps to look at first their hands, then Steve's face, then their hands again before finally looking back at the road again.

He doesn't take his hand back.

It takes every ounce of control Steve has not to unbuckle his seat belt and plaster himself to Hopper's side. He's pretty sure the only thing keeping him from doing it is ironically Hopper's hand on his thigh. If he moves, there's the risk the man might come to his senses and stop touching Steve at all. He might die if that happens.

The drive feels like it lasts for hours. Long, agonizing hours of Steve's heat building up into a fire beneath his skin. Sweat beads along his forehead and drips down the sides of his face. He's sure he's going to die until he sees the trailer up ahead. There's somehow still enough rational thought in his mind to realize that of course Hopper wouldn't be taking him to the cabin where El would have no choice but to see, hear, and smell everything they're about to get up to if they were there. The cabin only has a couple rooms and it's so small there would be no hiding what they're doing.

Steve's grateful Hopper was able to think ahead on that better than he was. Although, if Steve had gotten his way, he would have tried jumping Hopper in the truck itself. Probably also a good thing that didn't happen; there's definitely going to be a knot in his future if Steve has anything to say about it. Spending that time locked together in the small, confined space of the truck's seats would be terrible after a few minutes. Steve's had sex in cars enough times to know it can suck even when there's no knotting involved at all.

They haven't even come to a full stop before Steve starts fumbling to undo his seat belt. Hopper gets there first, sliding his hand back to hit the button. His eyes are dark when he looks at Steve, full of the same desire Steve's had building up in him this whole time and it shoots straight through him to be desired like that. Even Nancy had never… and she could get pretty wild when she was in the mood.

He expects Hopper to rush out of the car once he undoes his own seat belt so they can finally, finally get somewhere beyond a touch on his thigh. Instead, Hopper turns and practically lunges for Steve, pressing him back against the door. His hand is big on Steve's face, his lips are dry but warm and the hairs of his beard scratch against Steve in a way that he wants to feel all over his skin; everywhere Hopper can reach. He opens his mouth, lets Hopper kiss him fully and deeply and take his damn breath away.

By the time Hopper pulls away, Steve's lips feel swollen and his chest heaves with his panting. He swallows at the satisfied look on Hopper's face. That's something else he would like to see more of; Hopper looking pleased with the state he's left Steve in. It can only mean he'll be left satisfied himself at the end of it.

"I'm going to ruin you," Hopper says and Steve hopes like hell he's right.

Hopper reaches behind Steve and pops the door open, keeping hold of him so he doesn't go tumbling out without the support at his back. Then he crawls out after Steve steps out of the truck on wobbly legs, and Steve is more turned on than he's ever been in his life; even in his other heats.

A warm, heavy hand cups the back of Steve's neck on the walk from the truth to the trailer and fuck, he knew his neck was a sensitive spot for himself, but the goosebumps that trailed across his arms and over the back of his neck at the touch-- of just his hand-- were usually reserved for someone giving it more special attention than that. He touches Hopper, as well, unable and unwilling to keep his hands to himself now that he knew they were doing this. He slipped his hand under Hopper's jacket and groped for the hem of his shirt; he didn't stop until he felt skin beneath his palm. Hopper breathed in, sharp and quick and Steve was relieved to know he could affect the Alpha just as much as Hopper was affecting him.

Hopper had to let him go to find the right key, but the second it was open and they were inside, Hopper was back in his space. He pressed Steve back against the door, both hands cupping Steve's jaw and kissing like he was running out of air and Steve had the oxygen he desperately needed. Steve reached out, undoing Hopper's belt with surprising ease considering how clumsy he'd felt since his heat started to take effect. Guess his body knows enough to work when it means getting the knot he needs so bad.

"Fuck, kid," Hopper huffs against his mouth when Steve gets his hand in his pants and around his dick. Steve swallows, his heart beat picking up at the feel of it in his hand; it's hot and hard and huge.

They're too close for Steve to see more than an unfocused blur where Hopper's face is, but he relishes the way the man presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes while he lets Steve touch him.

"I need this inside me like yesterday," Steve says, grinning at the huff of laughter it gets out of Hopper. He could listen to that all day and he knows it would make him smile every time.

Hopper grabs his wrist, gently, pulling Steve's hand out of his pants. Steve doesn't have time to worry whether he's changed his mind before Hopper's hands are on his ass, lifting him up and off his feet. He wraps his legs around Hopper's waist and his arms around Hopper's neck, pulling him into a kiss and somehow Hopper gets him to the bedroom without even grazing anything else.

Once they're at the bed, Steve braces himself to be dropped down onto it, but Hopper sets him down far gentler than expected. Steve melts into the mattress, tilting his head back to let Hopper kiss and nip at his throat while he shoves his hands under Steve's shirt. Getting their clothes off happens in a blur of motion Steve's lost the ability to keep track of when faced with Hopper so close and smelling and feeling so damn good. He wants Hopper to always be on top of him, pressing him down with his full weight, keeping him in place.

He opens his legs to him, ready to finally feel Hopper's dick inside of him-- he's so wet that he thinks he could go unprepared if Hopper wasn't so fucking big, but he wants it enough he doesn't care how it happens.

"Fuck me," Steve demands, pulling at Hopper's hips and trying to draw him closer. Hopper shakes his head, reaching for… something, Steve can't focus on anything but how it opens up a spot on Hopper's throat for him to attach his mouth to.

Far too soon, Hopper leans too far back for Steve to reach. The thing that halts the whine that wants to escape is realizing exactly what Hopper was reaching for. Steve watches with rapt attention as he slides a condom on and is so turned on he thinks he could come just from watching this. It's further proof that Hopper isn't backing out; no way he goes to all the trouble of getting a condom on if he's not going to follow through. And while part of Steve wishes he could feel Hopper without anything between them at all, the smaller, rational part of his mind still there is grateful.

One less thing to worry about when the heat clears.

When he's done getting it on, Hopper leans back over Steve. He kisses him once, all soft and sweet and too much, and asks, "You done this before?"

Steve's nodding before Hopper has even finished the question and keeps nodding after to show he understood. It's not exactly the truth; Steve's helped himself during his heats with the aid of some heat toys that he'd bought with his own money when it became clear his parents wanted to pretend he hadn't presented at all, but especially not as an Omega. Sleeping with Nancy was different; she hasn't presented yet even now and even though he knows she'll be an Alpha, it would have been a whole different kind of knotting if she'd stuck around long enough to knot him during his heats.

But Steve doesn't want to risk Hopper stopping just because he hasn't done this with another person. Yeah, Hopper's bigger than he expected, but Steve's an Omega. His body is literally made to take cock, he'll be fine.

And still, even after the assurance that Steve can handle it, Hopper takes some time to stretch him that little bit more open-- Steve comes at the first touch of Hopper's fingers inside of him but that only leads to that same satisfied look on the Alpha's face that he'd wanted to see more of so Steve can't bring himself to feel embarrassed over it at all.

When Hopper is done, Steve is a mess, begging for more and clawing at the man's back to try and pull him closer. An eternity later, Hopper guides himself inside, careful to take it slow even though Steve tries to push for him to move faster because if he doesn't feel Hopper all the way inside him soon, he's going to die, he just knows it.

Hopper draws it out way too long, but eventually, finally, he's so deep inside of Steve that he's sure he'll always feel him there, even after this is over. He hopes he will. Steve wants to carry a reminder of this for as long as possible. There's no way in hell it'll happen again when the only reason it's happening now is that damn flower jump starting Steve's heat in front of an Alpha. He's only grateful it happened in front of this Alpha, that he gets to find out what Hopper feels like on top of him, inside of him, fucking him-- slowly at first, careful, like he's afraid of breaking Steve, before speeding up and up and really giving Steve everything he's begging for.

Steve's hard again by the time Hopper's thrusts change pace, losing their rhythm as he gets closer and closer to coming. And fuck, that's so hot, too, knowing that he's the one bringing Hopper to the edge of orgasm and then tipping him over the other side. Hopper bites his neck when he comes, not hard enough for a mating bite-- and Steve's going to ignore the flicker of disappointment he feels over that-- but enough to send him over the edge, too. Twice now, Hopper's gotten him to come without touching his dick at all, and Steve would have said that wasn't possible before tonight.

He hopes Hopper does touch him at least once before his heat is done, though. He wants as much of the man's scent mixing with his own as he can.

When he's back to himself, Steve feels the pressure of Hopper's knot expanding inside of him. He bites his lip, his dick twitching in a valiant effort to get hard again despite having just come a second time. But he can't help it; Hopper is knotting him. He's never felt a real knot before and it's everything he imagined and more during his lonely heats with nothing but toys and his imagination to get him through.

Only… it reaches the point of making Steve comfortably full and then continues to grow. His chest tightens up in a mild panic that he does his best not to let show; the minute he felt then saw how big Hopper was, he should have realized his knot would be above average as well. The last thing Steve wants to do, though, is let on when it goes from full and good to too full and even tipping over the threshold into painful.

He grips Hopper's arms tight, shuts his eyes just as tightly, and presses his head back into the pillow while he tries to breathe through it. Hopper lifts his head from Steve's neck, kissing up his jaw and that helps, gives him something to focus on while he breathes.

"You okay?" Hopper asks and after a second, Steve blinks his eyes open, forcing what he hopes is a blissed out smile rather than something strained.

Hopper pets one of his hands down Steve's side, his brows crinkling when Steve lets out a shaky sigh at the feeling. When Hopper shifts, seemingly to get a better look at Steve's face, Steve feels it where they're joined and this time he can't stifle the wince or the sound that comes out of his throat.

Sighing, Hopper settles back down against him, no longer pulling at his knot or Steve's insides, and presses more soft kisses to the edge of Steve's jaw.

"First time, huh?" he asks and Steve swallows hard. If he had the blood left for it, his face would be pink from embarrassment. He nods and waits for Hopper to scold him for lying or worse, for forcing him into this in the first place, but he doesn't.

Instead, Hopper continues to kiss his throat, his jaw, then finally his mouth, drawing him into a slow slide of lips that helps ease some of the still-present panic in Steve's chest. Hopper's hand slips between their bodies and shushes Steve gently when the move causes pulls at the knot again. Soon, that's the last thing on his mind, because Hopper wraps his hand around Steve's dick. Even through the awkward angle, he jerks Steve off like it's easy, like he's done it all the time. He kisses Steve again, swallowing each new sound he draws out of him and despite having come twice already, it isn't long before he's coming a third time.

After the haze clears from his mind, Steve realizes he's feeling loose and calm, the panic now completely gone. He blinks at Hopper wide-eyed and grateful, surging up to kiss him when he can't find the words.

"Shoulda just told me," Hopper says, tone lighter than Steve expects. Light enough that he doesn't feel a rush of shame like he might have otherwise. He pets over every part of Steve that he can reach and somehow Steve's body can still respond to it, even after everything they done already. "I would have taken my time with you, loosened you up so good you couldn't think after."

"Fuck," Steve gasps, clenching around Hopper's knot in want.

"A little late now," Hopper says, grinding down against Steve and drawing another gasp out of him. "Next time, though."

Steve nods frantically, gripping at Hopper's shoulders while the Alpha fucks him just as good all over again with the promise of even more to come in the future.

Fill 4

HiItsMe's Card: Orange Kiss Me
Prompt chosen: Sharing a kiss after going down on someone

Richelle's Card: Orange Wink Wink
Prompt chosen: Accidentally pulling their hair and getting a positive reaction

SeraphicRadiance's Card: White Kisses
Prompt chosen: Kissing the insides of their thighs

aspen | blackwood4stucky's Card: Green Soulmate
Cardholder's/Writer's choice: NSFW
Prompt chosen: Soulmates experience every time their partner has sex

Word Count: 5,260

The day Richie found out he had a soulmate was not a happy one. He supposed they never were, for those whose soulmates have sex with someone else. Someone who is most definitely not their soulmate because if they were, he would not have felt the ghost of a touch along his skin, the lips of someone else despite being nowhere close enough to anyone to be kissing them, the hardening of his cock while his soulmate fucked someone else.

The only bright side to the entire situation was that it had happened while he was at home, alone in his room. Too overcome with the sensation of his soulmate having sex, Richie pressed his ear against his door and locked it when he was sure he couldn't hear the sounds of either of his parents walking in the hallway. He tore his clothes off one piece at a time and left them scattered across his floor while he made his way to the bed.

His anime pillows were soft and cool to the touch and Richie grabbed one of them, curling his arm around her while pumping lotion into his free hand and wrapping it around his cock. He thrust in time with his soulmate, keeping the same rhythm, imagining that whoever it was, was fucking him instead. Phantom lips pressed against his and they were soft, supple, and absolutely not the lips he wished he was feeling.

No one in all their health classes had ever explained how miserable it was to feel one's soulmate having sex with another person and only feeling what they felt rather than their soulmate themselves.

Miserable or not, Richie felt his orgasm building in time with his soulmate's. It wasn't long before he was spilling over his hand. It hit especially hard, feeling not only his own but that of his soulmate's. He lay there after it was over, panting. His skin prickled as the phantom touches disappeared now that the sex was done. He was left cold and uncomfortable and wishing he'd had the presence of mind to grab a sock before masturbating on his bed, yet still unable to bring himself to move despite how much he hated the feeling of come drying on his skin.

When he finally forced himself up and into a shameful midday shower, Richie could only hope this wouldn't be a regular occurrence.

---

It was unfortunately a very, very regular occurrence.

So regular, in fact, that Richie was almost used to the feeling of hands against him despite there being no one there. He was used to the ghost of lips against his own, the feeling of someone tight and hot wrapped around his cock.

It was the worst when it happened at school. He wondered, those days, just who his soulmate was that he could fuck while Richie was stuck trying not to cause a hazardous chemical reaction in his Chemistry class or humiliate himself in gym.

Richie often wore a look of disgust on his face; it came naturally to him when so much of the world disgusted him. It also happened to come in handy in hiding just how affected he was in those moments. People saw the grimace on his face and assumed he was annoyed with existence as a whole. They saw the sweat beading along his hairline and down his neck and believed it was his overactive sweat glands living up to their name. And all the while, Richie felt his soulmate fucking some girl, maybe even somewhere in the very same school, and had to go about his day as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was torture.

If only, he thought as he was overcome by yet another wave of arousal that wasn't his own, he could figure out who his soulmate was. Then it could finally be himself that was being fucked, when he had time and wasn't in class trying to learn about things that would be a huge part of his grade and—

"May I be excused?" he asked, hand raised high in the air.

And he could deal with all of that after he found an empty bathroom to get off while his soulmate did so he could finally think again.

When he figured out who the guy was, he owed Richie so many cram sessions.

So many.

---

Max Jägerman was the literal worst person in Hatchetfield High School. Maybe in all of Hatchetfield. Hell, he might have been the worst person in the world. He certainly sent enough students, and even some teachers, running in fear when he showed up in the halls.

And yet, somehow, after what was meant to be the prank to end all pranks— and to end the bully's reign as King of Hatchetfield High— suddenly Max Jägerman was almost nice. He seemed to think they had set the whole thing up to rid him of his fear of ghosts and "skele'uns", or at least that was what Richie assumed when he told them it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

It was all caught on tape and in watching the video back to try and figure out exactly where things went sideways, Richie actually listened to the things Max said to himself in the face of the ghosts and ghouls he thought he was being confronted with and suddenly, inadvertently, Richie felt himself soften towards the jock.

Just a smidge. Barely any at all. Only enough that when he looked at him in school after that— because suddenly the nerds were allowed to look at Max Jägerman without fearing any reprisals— Richie remembered the things Max said about his dad and felt sorry for him.

Just a little bit.

And maybe his stomach also fluttered when Max beamed that same smile he'd worn after they revealed their prank, but Richie wasn't willing to think about just why that was so he ignored it entirely. He was used to ignoring things.

---

Being friends with Max Jägerman meant being invited to parties. A lot of parties. Parties with alcohol and music and noise. Things Richie hated in abundance.

And yet, when faced with Max's grin and the heat of his hand seeping through Richie's shirt and into his skin when he invited him with a friendly shake of his shoulder, Richie couldn't say no.

Because he was scared, of course, of what would happen if he refused. There was always the chance that Max would slip down the slippery slope back to treating them like little more than the dirt under his shoe if they reminded him that, actually, they were losers. It certainly wasn't because Richie was… curious what a high school party was like and wanted to join in.

Surprisingly, it wasn't even bad. Peter and Stephanie were dancing awkwardly in the middle of the living room— well, Peter was the awkward one, swaying in a jerky sort of way, his hands outstretched even where they were resting against Stephanie's waist as though he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch even though they'd been dating for weeks. Ruth was flitting around the house, a red cup in hand and watching everyone with a hawk-eyed stare. Richie was pretty sure she was looking for someone just tipsy enough to consider touching one of her boobs or something, but he was trying not to think about it. Ruth was, perhaps, the last person he wanted to think about having sex— mostly because she was the most vocal about exactly how badly she wanted it, how often, and with whom.

Richie spent the beginning of the party with his own red cup of amber liquid, poured from a can himself because he knew enough to know not to let anyone else get him a beverage at a high school party. Even if he did think it was overkill; it wasn't as though anyone were lining up to have a shot at him. But it had been ingrained in him somehow and who was he to fight an instinct meant to protect?

He wandered through the house, surprised and pleased in equal measure every time one of the players on the football team nodded or waved at him, or even greeted him with actual, kind words like they were happy to see him. Being seen and not hated by more than just two of his friends was a novel experience. One he found he wanted to be allowed to get used to.

It was nice, being a person to other people. Who would have thought?

"Hey Shit-lips!" Max bounded over, that once-hated nickname now said in a happy, lighthearted tone that helped soften the memories of the years of abuse that often followed it. "Having a good time?"

"Yes?" Richie sounded unsure, mostly because he didn't know how to handle the fact that he was having a good time. Max didn't seem phased at all.

He kept smiling, squeezed Richie's shoulder while pulling him into some sort of half bro-hug before he caught sight of a pretty girl. She wasn't Grace Chastity— even Max's sudden change of heart wasn't enough to convince Grace to chill out and have fun— but it wasn't as though Max had ever been one to deny himself while he was pining for someone else.

In another surprise turn, Max didn't just ditch Richie right away after catching the girl's eye. He checked again that Richie was fine, reminded him that there was more beer where the cup in his hand had come from, and told him to let himself unwind because, "even nerds are allowed to have a good time, ya know?" before patting Richie on the chest and practically prowling away and towards his prey for the night.

Richie watched Max move in, standing in the girl's space, leaning over her with one arm against the wall. His eyes didn't leave hers for a second while he talked her up. It was barely any time at all before the two of them were walking through the crowd and up the stairs, presumably to find a room. Richie didn't stop watching them until they were out of sight, then shook his head to clear it when they were gone.

Another drink sounded like exactly what he needed. He made his way back to the kitchen, chugging the last of his beer on the way to make room in his cup for more. The last swallow nearly drowned him when he suddenly felt that familiar tingling all over that meant his soulmate was about to fuck. He barely managed not to cough his drink all over the people in front of him and only the knowledge that it would end his budding social status that enabled him to keep from making a complete ass of himself.

It wasn't long before the phantom brush of hands against his shoulders and chest started up. He cringed, wishing he could shake the feeling away. Dodge out from under hands he couldn't see, but felt as though she were right in front of him. Unfortunately, Richie knew there was nothing he could do except wait it out. There was no way he was going to sneak away during the party to get off while his soulmate fucked some… girl.

Like the girl Max Jägerman just…

Richie shook his head, face twisting as the sensation of lips pressed against his own took over. Pushing through it, he continued his aborted walk to the kitchen. Grabbing one of the beers in the cooler on the counter, he cracked it open and chugged straight from the can. He might not have been able to get away from the all too familiar feeling of his soulmate having sex, but maybe he had the perfect solution to drowning it out.

Alcohol dulled other senses, so why not this one? It was worth a shot, anyway. Anything to keep his mind from putting the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle together.

That way lies madness.

---

Despite never wanting to think about it again, it happened at the next party Richie went to with his friends. And the one after that. The one after that one, too.

Max Jägerman would find a pretty girl, hit on her, sneak away to another room for some privacy. Then moments later, Richie felt the tell-tale sign that his soulmate was having sex with someone else. Once was a chance, twice was coincidence, but three times was a pattern and this was a pattern Richie could no longer ignore.

No wonder he had been feeling this shit since he was a freshman. Even in their first year of high school, Max Jägerman had been destined to rule the halls. Of course he'd been having sex since then. Hell, he'd gone so far as to seduce other guy's girls just to prove that he could. If anything, now that Richie knew just who his soulmate was, he was surprised he hadn't felt it even more often. Everyone knew how much of a ladies' man the guy was.

And yet, somehow Richie was almost definitely his soulmate.

Unless it was one-sided. Could he have a broken bond? They were rare; so rare that the health classes they took only discussed them for a line or two before moving on because it basically never happened. But how else could Richie Lipschitz be paired with Max Jägerman? It made no sense! They had nothing in common!

So what if Max's smile made his stomach do backflips. So what if, now that they were something like friends, Max's eyes didn't glaze over when Richie started ranting about power levels and plot holes and how clearly the main character should have chosen the other love interest, the endgame relationship makes no sense and, and…

Sometimes, Max even had opinions of his own. About anime! Apparently, the nerdy stuff Richie liked was okay if someone cool got into it, too, and, well. He didn't know how to react to finding out Max was into anime except that, like nearly everything else related to Max or soulmates, he tried not to think too hard about it at all.

And so what if Richie worked even harder to pump the team up during their games, cheering Max on and tripping over his own two feet whenever Max looked at him instead of the cheerleaders and smiled?

None of that meant he was willing to take the chance and suggest to Max's face that they were soulmates. Not without solid proof. And maybe a small part of him wanted to get a little bit of payback for all the years of being forced to feel his soulmate fucking other people without a thought at all to the fact that there was another person out there who would feel every single moment of it.

---

At the next party they were all invited to, Richie allowed himself to chug down one cup of beer to calm his nerves. Then he set out on his mission.

It wasn't exactly well thought out. Richie had never exactly… hit on someone before. Or wanted to, for that matter. The whole ritual of it looked so easy when he watched Max do it, but Richie found that his mouth went dry and his throat seemed to close up when he tried to talk to girls with this particular goal in mind.

In the end, Richie did what he realized he should have done from the start. He went to Ruth. If there was anyone in the whole school who was a sure thing, that person was her.

He let Max check in on him like he did at every party, but before Max could leave to hit on another girl, Richie did the leaving. Keeping his eyes on Ruth, he couldn't be sure whether Max had noticed at all. It wasn't as though he would care even if he had. Richie's love life wasn't something he agonized over the same way Richie had been doing for far too long now over his. Still, even without looking, he imagined Max's eyes burning holes in the back of his head while he awkwardly touched Ruth's shoulder, then thought better of it, and went for her waist instead.

Just like he anticipated, she moaned way too loud for how many people they were surrounded by. Richie didn't even have to say anything before she was grabbing his hand and practically dragging him towards the bedrooms at the back of the house.

Kissing Ruth was… well, it wasn't easy. Mostly due to the headgear, but also because it turned out Richie didn't really want to follow through. He was an asshole and didn't care who knew it, but it occurred to him a little too late that he should have clued her into what he was doing and why. Ruth didn't have feelings for him like she did for Peter, or even Stephanie, but it was still shitty of him to do this without talking to her about it first; something he was going to do right now— better late than never, right?— only she wouldn't stop kissing him long enough to let him get the words out.

For someone so tiny, she was a lot stronger than she looked and when she held his arm it was a little like being caught in a vise.

Well, at least he felt a little less bad about being a dick. He'd almost forgotten she could be one herself, too. Her hands slipped under his shirt and Richie was intensely more uncomfortable than he had been when faced with the phantom touches of a bunch of girls he didn't know. It had always been so intense, but now he realized just how much more it could be when the person was really in front of you, touching you with their hands.

He wasn't a fan.

"Ruth," he said, using his mostly nonexistent strength to push her away from him enough to actually meet her eyes. "This isn't—"

The door flung open and Ruth and Richie both jumped, letting go of each other entirely to face the intruder. Max Jägerman stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the space from frame to frame. He had a wild look in his eyes and Richie realized suddenly that his body hadn't gone tense in fear at the sight. Weeks ago, back when Max first started being friendly to them, he would have assumed he was about to go right back to being the lowest of the low; that Max was here to remind them both of their place on the social ladder.

Now, though, he saw the dark look in Max's eyes and recognized that it was the same look he got when he found the next person he planned to fuck, only somehow deeper. More intense. Richie swallowed, slowly shifting himself around in an attempt to hide how incredibly hard he'd gotten at being pinned under that particular gaze.

"Out," Max said with a jerk of his head.

Ruth jumped onto her feet. She reached out as if to pat Richie's shoulder and stopped with a high-pitched yelp when Max took a menacing step forward. The sound that came out of his mouth was closer to a growl than something a human might usually make.

"Sorry, Richie, you're on your own!" Ruth yelled as she practically ran out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her. Richie didn't take his eyes off Max as he stepped closer and closer until he was looming over him at the edge of the mattress. Gulping, Richie didn't know what he should do. His mind had gone entirely blank, focused entirely on the look in Max's eyes and the arousal running through him.

Max moved, quick as a cat, gripping Richie's head between his hands. There was a split second when Richie worried he was reading the entire moment wrong and Max was going to snap his neck, or worse. But he bent at the waist and leaned in while pulling Richie to meet him halfway in a kiss that sent sparks down from Richie's head to his toes.

This kiss was nothing like the one he had just shared with Ruth. Max knew what the hell he was doing, first of all. He slipped his tongue into Richie's mouth like it belonged there and honestly, Richie could believe that it did with how good it felt. He reached up, curling one of his hands around Max's wrist. The other stretched forward, blindly grabbing for something, he didn't know what. Then his hand brushed over Max's belt and he knew exactly what he was going for.

Richie held the belt tight and pulled, dragging Max closer. So close, Richie had to tilt his head back at an awkward angle to keep kissing him. It was worth it. If Richie had his way, he would never stop kissing Max.

He had never experienced this side of it. Only the lips of the other people Max was sleeping with. Never Max himself. Now that he knew what it felt like to be practically devoured by his soulmate, Richie knew nothing else could ever compare. He only hoped Max might feel a fraction of the same thing with him, even though he had no idea what he was doing.

Max pulled away, standing straight in between Richie's legs. He couldn't get far with Richie holding onto his belt for dear life, but he wasn't trying to, either. Richie's eyes trailed up to take in every inch of skin as it was revealed when Max took off his shirt. His throat went dry at the sight of his soulmate's bare stomach and chest so close it would take hardly anything at all to reach forward and taste under his tongue.

"Touch me," Max said, demanded, and Richie wasted no time in obeying.

Letting go of Max's belt, Richie slid his hand over Max's stomach, swallowing hard at how toned he was. His abs had abs and with his newfound permission to touch, Richie leaned forward and pressed his face against them, kissing anywhere he could reach.

"Fuck, Richie." Max twisted his fingers into Richie's hair. His grip went in cycles of tight, loose, tight, and every time it was tight enough to tug, Richie let out some kind of sound; a moan, a gasp, something unbidden and unstoppable when the action sent lightning down his spine and straight to his cock.

Richie fumbled clumsily with Max's belt, unwilling to stop kissing him long enough to get a good look at what he was doing. It didn't take long to loosen and snap it out of the jock's jeans. With it out of the way, it was easier to undo the button and get Max's jeans open, shoving them down to his thighs and freeing his cock.

Now he needed to get a good look. Pulling back, Richie did look and found his throat dry even as his mouth watered. He blinked up at Max, catching the momentary surprise on his face before it was wiped away. Pride thrummed through him; Max hadn't expected him to be so forward. He had no idea just how often Richie had thought about this before he even knew who he was imagining; and even after, when Richie tried and tried and tried not to think about it at all— and failed every time.

He still didn't know exactly what he was doing, but there were years worth of memories of his soulmate's partners going down on Max in the back of his mind. The muscle memory wasn't there because Richie hadn't done any of it himself, but that wasn't going to stop him. He wrapped a loose hand around Max's cock, gasping as though it was his own. It was hot and twitched under his touch and now that he was here and doing this, Richie was practically shaking.

The hand in his hair guided him forward and Richie moved with it, turning his head to be able to run the flat of his tongue over Max's cock. His eyes fluttered at the feel and taste; part of him had thought he might never have this chance. That he would never find his soulmate at all and once he had, that Max might not want the nerd he used to bully like it was his greatest passion in life. But here they were, Richie closing his lips around the tip and sucking like that was his greatest passion.

Max's grip tightened again and Richie moaned, relishing the sound that Max made in response. His soulmate groaned out his name again and Richie hadn't even been touched yet but he felt like if he let himself, he could come just from this. Max's hand in his hair, cock in his mouth, moaning Richie's name like he was something amazing. It was even better when he wrapped his hand around the shaft where his mouth couldn't reach, doing his best to keep a steady rhythm going as he bobbed his head.

Cupping Max's balls in his other hand got an even bigger reaction out of him. Richie wasn't surprised; in all the blowjobs he'd experienced through his soulmate's many sexcapades, these were almost always neglected. He had promised himself he would fix that if he ever had the chance and now he did.

Max reached down, his other big hand finding its way to one side of Richie's face and holding him still. His hips gave a tiny jerk, then another a little less tiny. Another and another until Max was officially fucking his mouth— gently, only once deep enough to make Richie choke and immediately easing up with a stuttered apology. Richie did his best to breathe through it and roll Max's balls in one hand while the other gripped his bare thigh.

His next thrust jerked a little more than the others, his rhythm suddenly thrown off. Richie moaned, goosebumps erupting down his arms and up his neck at the realization that Max was close. He was going to come. Because of Richie. And that was almost too hot to handle.

Richie curled both of his hands around Max's waist, letting him continue to fuck his mouth, trying to let him in deeper each time. He sucked when he could, moaned to really get some vibrations going, and soon Max's hips stuttered. His cock pulsed as he came in Richie's mouth.

Try as he might, Richie couldn't swallow all of it, but he also didn't choke. He was calling it a win, even if he could feel thin lines of Max's come dripping down his chin.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Max breathed. He was watching Richie with wide eyes.

Richie grinned. "Years of being sexually pent up thanks to a soulmate who loves to fuck."

He almost couldn't believe those words had just escaped his own mouth. But he also had Max's come in his gut and dripping down his face; any shame or fear he might have felt before really had no place here after what they'd just done.

"Holy shit," Max said before shoving Richie back onto the bed. He paused long enough to shove his pants the rest of the way off before joining him, sprawling over top of Richie without an ounce of shame of his own.

And he really had nothing to be ashamed of. Richie had seen his body. Max was hot.

He still couldn't believe his soulmate was this hot.

Max pressed one of his thighs between Richie's legs, brushing up against Richie's cock and looking pleased at the moan he got for it. His eyes flicked down to Richie's mouth and there was a second of hesitation; Richie wouldn't take it personally if Max didn't kiss him again. He did have come drying on his chin. But Max surprised him; after that brief pause, he surged forward and kissed Richie just as deeply as he had when he stormed into the room.

Richie didn't know what to do with his hands. He wanted to touch every inch of Max that he could and also wanted to hold on for dear life. Thankfully, Max seemed to sense his struggle— hell, maybe there was a part of him who could feel it, they were soulmates— and moved Richie's hand where he wanted them. And where he wanted them was on his ass. Richie was more than happy to oblige, using his grip to pull Max harder against him as he humped his thigh. It felt amazing even through his pants and it wasn't long before it was Richie's turn to come. He gasped, his mind going blank and head tilting back against the pillow under him.

Lips pressed at the newly bared skin of his throat. A tongue flicked out before Max started to suck what would eventually be a spectacular hickey onto his neck. It was almost enough to get him going even though he had literally just had the best orgasm of his eighteen years of life.

"If you think that's something," Max said, rubbing his thumb over the spot he'd just been kissing on Richie's neck before reach down to start tugging Richie's pants off of him, "just wait 'til I actually fuck you."

Hands slipped under his shirt, helping him out of it before Max's face found its way back between Richie's legs. Richie's brain shorted out at sucking kisses Max gave the insides of his thighs. He reached down, threading his fingers through Max's short hair and holding on for dear life as Max moved lower and lower, eventually flipping Richie over onto his stomach so it was easier to start stretching him open.

Richie held the pillow underneath him tight as Max worked him slowly open, eventually looking for some lube in the nightstand of whoever's bedroom they had found themselves in and adding that to the mix. His tongue, his fingers, then his cock all stretched Richie wide and he reached back, holding Max's head against his own while he was fucked within an inch of his life.

It was all so much better, so much more real, than anything he had felt through years of experiencing Max fucking other people. And he knew, whether through their bond or not, that it was better for Max than all those times had been, too.

When Richie came for a second time, he felt something inside of him snap into place; the bond that would tie them together, one that would take work to undo, if they ever wanted to.

Now that he felt Max inside and out, Richie knew he was going to do everything he could to make sure they never needed to put in that work. Max belonged to him now, and he belonged to Max and nothing was going to change that.

Fill 5

ainsalaco's & hollyandvice' Cards: Orange One & Only
Prompt chosen: Revealing that they're a virgin with the partner that thinks they slept around

Veloire's Card: Orange I'm Yours
Prompt: Letting someone mark them and leave hickeys during sex

cricketdust's Card: Orange Hey You
Prompt: Checking in on someone while they're having sex

Lua's Card: Orange U R Great
Prompt: Praising their partner's skills during/after sex

Word Count: 3,153

Nancy almost doesn't believe her ears. There's no way what Steve just told her is true. It can't be. She's heard the rumors about him for years. Ask anyone about Steve's track record with girls and they'd all say he's slept with dozens. But here he is, hands on her arms after she's taken off her shirt in front of him, looking at her like… like…

Like he's telling the truth.

She wonders if she's being stupid. If this is something guys do to make girls feel better? But Nancy had signaled pretty clearly that she's ready to let him see her like this, even ready for them to have sex. It wouldn't make any sense for him to suddenly pull something like this when— she crinkles her nose at the thought— she's a sure thing.

And on top of that, the color rising up his neck and leaving the skin of his cheeks and ears splotchy is a pretty good indication that he's embarrassed. She doesn't think he would feel it that strongly if he was just lying.

"You've really never—" he shakes his head and Nancy continues, "but what about Becky? Stacy?"

"Guess it doesn't look good for… for King Steve to be a…" he hesitates and Nancy reaches up to take one of his hands off her arm and hold it between both of hers. "Tommy and Carol keep the rumor mill going, the girls get to say they. I don't know, it got out of hand ages ago, but it hasn't really… mattered to me. Before now."

"Before me?" Nancy guesses, her chest growing warm. If he's telling the truth, and she really is inclined to believe he is, Nancy isn't surprised Tommy and Carol have their hands in it. She knows Steve must be close with them for a reason, but in the time they've spent around each other she hasn't been able to figure out what that reason could be.

Steve swallows, curling the hand she's holding into a fist. When he nods, Nancy lifts his hand to her mouth, pressing a gent;e kiss against his knuckles. He stares at her in wide-eyed surprise and she smiles into the backs of his fingers. In their whirlwind… whatever they have— relationship, she thinks in wonder— he's usually the one surprising her. It's nice to be on this side of it for a change.

She reaches out, sliding one of her hands against his side. His sweater is damp and cold, and the skin hiding beneath it isn't much warmer. He hisses quietly between his teeth at what must be the heat of her hand against it, but doesn't move to get away or ask her to stop.

"Do you want to?" she asks, feeling bold despite not saying the actual words.

He doesn't need them. Steve nods without hesitation. Grabbing the hem of his sweater in both hands, he practically rips it off. His hair stands wildly atop his head. Nancy can't help burying her hand in it. Her fingers curl into the strands when he bends down and kisses her. Somehow it's even deeper and more intense than every other time they've made out; and those have been enough to have her heart racing so fast she thought she might be dying.

Steve cups her face in his hands, groans into her mouth when she tugs gently at his hair, backs her up slowly until they reach his bed. They both pause once the backs of her knees hit the edge of it. Their chests move in sync, the both of them breathing hard and watching each other in wonder. When she came over tonight, Nancy knew the night might end with her in Steve Harrington's bed, naked. The bra and panties she has on were chosen solely on the chance that it might happen.

She thought she would be more nervous than she is. And she probably should be. When she came over tonight, it was under the impression that Steve has done this before. Many times. That he knows what she's doing and will guide her through the parts she doesn't know. But he's never done this before either. Nancy isn't sure whether he means anything or just the main event, but she doesn't really care, either.

Biting her lip, Nancy undoes the button on her pants. She looks up at Steve through her lashes as she slips them down her hips before sitting back on the bed. As she slides up the mattress, she continues pushing her pants down and off her legs. Steve isn't far behind, crawling onto the bed after her. His fingers are warm against the water-chilled skin of her thighs when he curls them around her pants to help get them off.

Nancy laughs when he reaches her knees. She covers her mouth too late, watching Steve's lips stretch into a delighted grin when he looks up at her.

"Is Nancy Wheeler ticklish?"

She shakes her head, no, but she couldn't be less convincing if she tried. Steve doesn't immediately do or say anything else but help her out of her jeans. Once they're gone, though, he looks at her and his eyes light up, with amusement or mischief or both.

"Steve," she says, warns, but her hands are still over her mouth and he pretends not to hear her as he bends down and brushes his lips feather-light against the side of her knee. His hand takes hold of her calf, keeping it in place when she jerks at the tickling touch.

"How about," Steve kisses there again, but this time it doesn't tickle. There's more pressure behind it this time and it sends lightning up Nancy's thighs and between her legs, "this?"

"Steve," she says again, hands moved from her face. Her voice is breathy and shaken and it feels like the air has gone thinner.

Steve kisses her there again. He moves up her leg, kissing the tops of her thighs before trailing down the sides of them until… until…

"Can I?" he asks, fingers toying with the hem of her panties. His face is so close to her, she can feel his warm breath and even though she hardly knows what he's doing, she knows she wants whatever he's planning.

"Yeah, yes, please." Nancy nods, lifting her hips when Steve grabs her underwear and pulls it off. It takes them a couple tries when they get caught around her knees and ankles on the way down. That isn't enough to douse the fire in Nancy's gut when Steve settles back between her legs and takes hold of her thighs.

He presses more kisses against her skin, never taking his eyes off her. Nancy lays back, relaxing as much as she can against his pillows. Her heart beats so hard and fast, she wouldn't be surprised if it popped straight out of her chest.

"I haven't," Steve mutters into her thigh, "done this before, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

He surges forward, licking against her folds and Nancy jerks in surprise. When he looks up at her with concern in his eyes, Nancy shakes her head.

"Surprised me, it's okay, keep… keep going."

And keep going he does. He starts off slow, spreading her folds between his fingers and running his tongue over her like he wants to taste all of her. And he says as much when he pauses long enough to speak, tells her how much he's thought about how she might taste, how good he knew it would be. The words are almost as good as his mouth. There was a power in knowing how much Steve thought about her.

It makes her feel better about how she hasn't been able to get him off of her mind, either.

When his mouth finds her clit, she jerks one of her hands down and grasps at his hair.

"There!" she gasps, clenching her fingers. She knows she's holding him tighter than she should, but can't stop herself. Steve moans and the vibration shoots straight through her, causing her to tighten her grip again and again he makes a sound and… It goes like that for a time, looping the pleasure over and over until Nancy can finally loosen her grip enough to let Steve move on.

She's never been so wet in her life. When Steve licks her open and slips a finger inside, it fits like it belongs there. Nothing like the handful of times that she's tried it herself and struggled every step of the way. Two plus his tongue feels like Heaven and Nancy feels something… the orgasm she's been building towards crashes over her and she comes with a gasp of Steve's name.

He rocks his fingers inside of her, fucking her through it until she squirms away.

"So," he says, crawling up and covering her body with his. "Not bad?"

Nancy blinks up at him for a second before pulling him down with a hand on the back of his neck. She can taste herself on his tongue when she kisses him, but she doesn't care. She thinks he might die if she doesn't kiss him after that.

She feels…

"Amazing, actually."

Steve stares at her in wonder, his eyes flicking to her lips, before he grins. Nancy thinks she could get used to surprising him.

He settles himself down on top of her, kissing her mouth, her jaw, drawing the lobe of her ear into his mouth. His teeth scrape lightly against it and Nancy gasps, tingling all over. She's never been able to come more than once by herself, but the way she's already starting to feel that familiar throbbing between her legs feels like a sign that won't be true when Steve is involved.

His hand slides up her side, cupping her breast through her bra. Her nipples pebble hard enough to be felt through the fabric. She can tell from how his thumb zeroes in on it, circling around the nub.

"Still okay?" he asks, leaning back enough to see her face. Nancy nods.

"I'd be better without these in the way," she says, reaching down and tugging at the tops of his pants. His eyebrows climb but a second later, he's flipped over so his back is to her chest while he drags them off.

Nancy watches him the whole time, her eyes taking in the back of his head, the tops of his shoulders, what of his chest and stomach and legs she can see, and she wants to see him like this again. Held between her legs. Maybe in a bath. She wonders if his bathtub here is big enough for something like that; if he'd be open to it.

Once his pants are off, Steve turns again.

"I like that look," he says and Nancy blinks, shaken from her thoughts.

"What look?"

"That soft one," he cups her cheek and kisses her, slow and soft. Nancy bends her knees, trapping him between her thighs.

His other hand slips behind her back. It takes him a couple of tries to get her bra off, mostly because he won't stop kissing her while he does it. When he does get it, though, he slides the straps off her shoulders, sending goosebumps down her arms.

He pulls away but doesn't immediately look down like she expects. His eyes are soft and warm as they take in her face. He doesn't stop looking into her eyes until she takes hold of his hand and places it on her chest herself. Her eyes flutter at the feeling; no one else has ever touched her there, either, and it feels so much different, so much better, when the hand touching her isn't her own.

Steve kisses her again. Then her jaw, her throat, trailing kisses down her chest and sucking lightly at her collarbones before finally reaching her breast. He keeps his touch feather light as he brushes his lips over her nipple, seeming to relish her gasp at the sensation.

"Good?" he asks, his breath hot against her chest and sending a whole new wave of arousal through her.

"Really good," Nancy says, nodding and clenching her hand against his side. "Don't stop."

His smile really is beautiful. Nancy is finding out how much she loves being the cause of it.

She closes her eyes when his lips touch her skin again. Each kiss he presses to her chest has her leaning up to feel more. Especially when he finds her nipple again, keeping his touch so light that she's caught between feeling turned on and being tickled. She tries pressing her legs together at the feeling, but Steve lying between them prevents her from relieving any of that pressure.

Then his hand is there, his thumb rubbing soft circles over her clit. The tips of his fingers tease at the slit of her folds. Nancy gasps again, hardly able to believe how badly she wants more, wants to feel all of him inside of her even after already coming once.

He doesn't stop kissing her, moving from one breast to the other. He nips at her skin, lightly sucking in places and no doubt leaving marks she'll be able to see and touch when this is all over. They're not even done and she already can't wait to run her hands over the reminder they'll leave.

"Steve, please," she says, not knowing how to ask for what she needs, but knowing she needs to say something.

He looks up at her and pulls off of her chest. When he lets go of her entirely, Nancy thinks she might lose her mind-- that's the last thing she wants!-- but he reaches into the drawer of his nightstand and suddenly she understands what he's doing and finds herself nodding. The last thing she wants from her first time is to end up pregnant on the other side of it.

She watches, fascinated, as Steve pinches the end of it and rolls the condom on. The look on his face when he looks back at her is no longer the same eager expression he's been wearing for most of the night. Nancy sits up and puts a hand on his arm.

"If you don't want to—"

"No, no, that's not, uh," Steve licks his lips and Nancy watches the motion, wanting to feel them on her again. Anywhere he wants to put them. She shakes her head to clear it, needing to know what's causing the sudden hesitation where there's been none before. "I'm really, uh," he moves his head in some kind of gesture he seems to hope she'll be able to follow but she doesn't know what it means.

He clears his throat. "I, uh, I want this to be good, for you and I might not. Last long."

If he had any blood left to color his neck and cheeks, Nancy is sure Steve would be bright red. As it is, all that blood is still south of his waist and as much as Nancy thinks she would like to see Steve blush again, she's grateful.

She scoots herself closer to him, cupping one of his cheeks in her hands.

"It's already good," she tells him before pulling him into a soft kiss.

Steve kisses her back. His hands spread out along her sides and back, and when he pushes her back, she follows until she's lying on his pillows again. He leans over her, continues kissing her even as he grabs hold of himself and guides his cock inside of her.

Nancy inhales sharply at the feeling and the knowledge that Steve Harrington is inside of her. They're having sex. Part of her always thought this might not happen until she was out of high school entirely, but here she was. In Steve's bed, under the weight of him, feeling him stretching her full and wide and never wanting that feeling to end.

He groans out her name, resting his forehead down against her shoulder as he shifts his hips, moving deeper and deeper inside of her. She clutches at his back and the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair. When he doesn't move for so long she starts to feel crazy and desperate, Nancy digs her heels into him and tells him to fuck her.

"I gotta," Steve sounds out of breath, more than he ever has, and she feels warm all over again. He's the most athletic person she knows and she has him out of breath. "Give me a second."

With the hand she has in his hair, she guides his head up and off her shoulder. "Kiss me."

And he does. He kisses her slow and deep, like she's his lifeline out here. Maybe she is. It feels like he's hers, too, in this whole new uncharted territory. She runs her hands up his neck and down his back, the movements getting hurried as his kiss picks up speed. His hips finally start to move, pressing deeper inside her and then out and back again and Nancy does everything she can to match his rhythm as he fucks her.

The thing is, he wasn't wrong about not lasting long. She's not nearly done before he comes into the condom dividing them. But she doesn't let him pull away in shame; she takes his face in her hands and kisses him again, over and over, until he melts against her. Only once the tension in his shoulders is gone does she let him go so he can slip out of her and throw the condom into the trash can he keeps by the bed.

"Don't," she says when he opens his mouth in what looks like might be an apology. He blinks, snapping his mouth shut. Nancy smiles, pulling him back over top of her. She kisses under his jaw, tries to copy what he does when he sucks at her throat, hoping to leave a mark or two of her own on him.

"We've got the rest of the night," she whispers into his skin, lips stretching wide for a second when she feels him twitch against her thigh. "Let's make the most of it."

"I think I might love you," Steve says and even though she knows it's too early to be thinking that way at all, Nancy can't deny how her heart skips a beat at the confession. She doesn't say it back, but she kisses him again and again and Steve smiles against her mouth enough that it's almost hard to keep going so she thinks he understands.

She might not love him yet, but she thinks she could, if she lets herself. And Nancy plans to try.

Fill 6

Cail_Jei's Card: Yellow LOL
Prompt chosen: Body swap that gives them the chance to see what the other side lives like (Kat)
Word Count: 427

The Byers family are freaks. Weirdos. Losers. That's what Steve Harrington has heard around town for all of his life. Hell, he used to be one of the people who felt that way. Jonathan Byers has always been so far beneath King Steve's notice that he barely even registered on his radar before taking those pictures of Nancy at his house the night Barb…

Steve's known better than that for over a year now. Ever since stumbling into a world of monsters and shady government cover ups and experiments on children, Steve's learned that the Byers are strong. They care about each other; are willing to go to the most extreme lengths to find their ways back to each other.

All of that is obvious from the outside looking in. Steve has rarely let himself think about what it might be like to be a part of that particular family. Nothing good can come of those kinds of fantasies; he may not have a loving family that would go to the ends of the earth for him, but Steve Harrington knows he's pretty damn lucky, all things considered. No point in wasting away, wishing he could have it all.

But it's a whole different ball game to be on the receiving end of Mrs. Byers' kind, if confused, smile when she looks at him. Steve got most of his freak out done quietly while in the Byers' bathroom, but he must not look right for Jonathan if she's already concerned about him. Her hand is warm, the pads of her fingers rougher than his mother's. But her touch is kind and Steve has to hold himself very still to resist the urge to curl his own hand around hers and never let it go.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asks and Steve forces himself to nod. Thinks, it might not even be a lie when Mrs. Byers cups his face to make doubly sure he doesn't have a fever before letting him go. There's breakfast on the table when they make it into the kitchen.

Will smiles at him, at Jonathan, not Steve, but it's tired and beaming all at once and Steve…

He knows he needs to figure out what's going on, how he ended up in Jonathan Byers' body when all the weird Upside Down stuff is supposed to be done, but…

But he thinks he wants to soak in a little bit of this feeling. Just for a few minutes. Maybe a little bit longer.

Maybe until Jonathan tries reaching out to him first.

Fill 7

nicoline1998enilocin's Card: Purple Hot Stuff
Prompt chosen: Supposedly barren Omega goes into an unexpected heat

Cammerel's Card: Purple Hug Me
Prompt chosen: All my agony fades away; When you hold me in your embrace
Word Count: 1,912

There's something… different about Dexter.

The thought makes Rita laugh to herself in the empty elevator. There's always something different about Dexter. He is unlike any other man she's ever been with. Unlike most other men that she knows, period. A little awkward, strange, but also kind. Patient.

She can't put her finger on what exactly is more different about him now than the usual. Whatever it is, though, has got her acting without thought more often than usual. Pulling him close in the mornings so they can make love before he makes breakfast. Surprising him at work and sneaking in a quickie— something she never thought she would do. Sticking close to him when they're together; even closer when they're together around other people.

The last time Rita remembers feeling so much like an Alpha, she had been protecting her kids and herself from Paul. Extracting him from their lives, as painful and scary as it was.

This is nothing like that. The feelings are exhilarating, even when she doesn't understand where they're coming from. But she recognizes that underlying thing, this instinct to stick close and mark her territory, for lack of a better phrase— particularly because that is exactly what she is doing when she and Dexter are around others—as often unused Alpha instincts breaking through the surface.

It isn't until she walks into Dexter's lab, a basket of food in her arms in preparation for a shared lunch, that she understands.

She doesn't understand at all, actually. Dexter has never— he's supposed to be— but the wave of wantdesireprotect is so strong, she can't mistake it for anything else.

Dexter is going into heat.

He spins in his chair to face her, wiping sweat from the edge of his hairline. The look on his face is distant, distracted, and Rita isn't surprised. In fact, she's more surprised that he's managed to make it through as much of the day as he has without needing to leave. She's even more surprised Miamo Metro hasn't sent him home for the day; for the rest of the week, in fact.

Now that she's thinking about it, Rita realizes she doesn't know what his job's policy is for Omegas going through their heat.

Well, policy or no policy, Dexter is going to be coming home with her. He's too good at what he does for this to affect his job and there's no way he'll be able to keep working for much longer before the heat fully kicks in. She can still hardly believe he's made it through this much of the day.

"Were we," Dexter starts to ask, blinking at her in confusion when he seems to remember that she's the reason he turned away from his work at all. "Did we have plans?"

"No plans," Rita tells him, stepping closer and feeling her pulse pick up when Dexter's gaze zeroes in on her. His nose twitches, then his eyebrows after that. Her scent must have finally reached him now that she's closer. "But it looks like we're going to be making some new ones."

"What do you mean?"

Rita glances around, carefully placing the basket on Dexter's desk. There isn't much space clear of papers, but she manages not to disturb any of his work. He's still watching her in confusion when she turns back to him. She can't blame him; he's never been through this before. And well, she loves him so much, but she's aware of his flaws.

Dexter hasn't ever really paid much attention to people's cycles enough to recognize the signs in himself. She loves that he doesn't care; doesn't look at a person, sense their presentation and judge them for it. But it does mean this is all going to be new to him.

She reaches out, brushing the backs of her fingers along his temple. His eyes fall shut and he presses into her touch. Her chest warms at the immediate response. He hasn't always been so comfortable being intimate. Rita still remembers how surprised he'd been after they slept together the first time. He'd seemed so sure she would look at him differently after that, and it still shows sometimes. Less so lately, especially during the unrecognized build up to this heat. But the memory of it still sits in the back of her mind sometimes, especially in the moments when he lets himself relax with her. Allows that intimacy that he so rarely initiates himself.

"You're going into heat," she says, getting straight to the point. Dexter scrunches his forehead but doesn't immediately open his eyes. She can almost see him turning the words over in his head, playing them on repeat as he assesses how he's been feeling.

"That's not possible." Dexter blinks his eyes open and Rita looks at him closely. "I'm not— I've never…"

"I don't understand it either," Rita admits, cupping his face in both of her hands. Wearing a soft smile that he so often brings out in her, she continues, "but I know what this kind of thing looks like, smells like, and Dexter, it's happening."

"It is." It doesn't sound like a question, but Rita nods anyway.

"I don't know this place's policy on heat-time, but we can figure that out later." Dropping her hands from his face, Rita takes a small step back. She can't bear to put much space between them, but he does need room to stand. "I'm surprised no one has mentioned sending you home yet already."

Dexter pauses after getting up on his feet. "...Huh."

"They did, didn't they?" she asks, concern and amusement warring for top spot in how she should be feeling. Amusement wins out, if only because she knows how much the people here care about Dexter. At the very least, Debra would have made sure he got out of here if Rita hadn't shown up.

"I thought it was a little… strange," Dexter says, looking around the otherwise empty lab, "when more than one person told me it was okay to take some time off."

"They're absolutely right. Now," Rita curls one of her arms around one of Dexter's. The basket hangs off her other as she walks with him towards the door, "we should let someone know you're leaving and won't be back for a week."

"A week? I don't—"

"Trust me, Dexter." Rita smiles up at him. "This long without a heat? We'll be lucky if you don't end up needing more, but we'll feel it out. See what happens."

Then she leads him out of his lab, more than ready to get him out of here.

---

The car ride back home is… not tense, exactly. Charged might be the word she's looking for. Sitting together in a confined space makes it all the more obvious that Dexter is going into heat. Rita runs the air conditioning and cracks both windows open to ensure she won't get so distracted that she gets them into an accident. As it is, she has to fight to keep her hands on the wheel and not reach over and touch any part of Dexter that she can reach.

He's quiet through the ride and on the walk up to and inside of the house. The edge of his hairline is damp with more sweat, more even than warranted by the Florida heat after the cooler drive home. Rita leads him inside and to the bedroom, then stands with him. She places her hands on his chest, looking up at him and doing her very best to stay focused on what she needs to say.

"I know this is all very sudden," she tells him, waiting for his nod before continuing, "and if you want to handle it by yourself, I'll understand."

He shakes his head before she can say any more and she smiles, relieved. "If you change your mind—"

"I won't," he says and she smiles again.

"But if you do, you can tell me and we'll figure something out."

Some of the tension in his shoulders melts away. Good. She wants this to be a good thing for him; something he can look back on and not think about with regret or shame. It's hard enough going into heat for the first time; to have it happen this late in life? When he's always thought it wasn't possible? Rita can't imagine how that must feel.

Hands still on his chest, Rita rises up on her toes and kisses him. Soft at first, giving him time to change his mind if he wants. He kisses her back, one of his big hands cupping the side of her face and the other spreading wide over her back. With a sharp inhale through his nose, he shifts, lifting her up. Rita squeaks a laugh, wrapping her arms around the back of Dexter's neck and legs around his waist.

"This is different," she says as he walks them toward the bed. When Dexter pulls away, she smiles. "I like it."

"Me, too," he says right before gently lowering her onto the bed. Rita watches him pull his shirt off. Admiring all his newly revealed skin never gets old. It feels especially amazing now with his scent so intoxicatingly full and surrounding her. It clings to her skin and she lets herself sink into it.

His hands are hot against her thighs and stomach as he slides her dress up and off of her. His lips are even hotter when he kisses every inch of skin as it's revealed. Rita sinks even deeper in the rush of his heat. Once her dress is gone, she turns the tables, pressing her hands against Dexter's chest and flipping them around. He moans when she sits down, his cock brushing between her folds.

Now this. This is amazing. The only thing that could make it better is feeling him inside of her. She thinks he agrees, the way he holds her by the hips. Rita doesn't want to make either of them wait any longer; Dexter's heat is bringing out the need in her like she hasn't felt in a long time, even with him. There's something freeing in it and she was right before; it's only better once he's inside of her, filling her up, meeting her thrust for thrust with his feet flat on the bed for leverage. His hands slide across her stomach and sides, cup her breasts, slip between her legs to rub over her clit and leave her gasping in response.

"Dexter," she says, gasps, yells as he fucks her. He says her name, too, holds her tighter than he ever has, lets her have control unlike he ever has. His heat has him wanton and pliable beneath her, desperate to touch her any and everywhere he can reach and Rita can't get enough.

He only gets more desperate the closer he is to coming. Rita is right there with him. She feels her muscles contract, tightening around his cock more and more until he comes and then tighter still, locking them together for the first time. Rita drops onto his chest, catching her breath. She curls her fingers into his hair and buries her face in his neck, holding him close. He brushes his nose over her temple, breathing her in and moaning when they shift and he pulls against her knot.

"That was…"

"Yeah," she sighs, smiling against him. "And it's only going to get better."

Fill 8

SeraphicRadiance's Card: Green Heart, Ooh La La
Cardholder's choice: Romance
Prompt chosen: Touch me and I come alive; I can feel you on my lips; I can feel you deep inside
Word Count: 584

Hopper's hands drag up Steve's sides, taking his shirt with them. Goosebumps trail in their wake and Steve groans at the feeling that shoots down his gut and to his dick. He tilts his head back against the wall. When Hopper's mouth finds its way to the hollow of his throat, Steve reaches up, curling one of his hands behind Hopper's neck and holding him in place. He feels Hopper's grin against his skin and his heart skips a beat.

Or it could be the thumb he feels circling one of his nipples that gives him that jolt. Either, both, have him spreading his legs wider to give Hopper more space. Get him closer. Steve's skin sings under the attention. His mind clears of any and everything except how Hopper's beard scratches marks into his throat just as surely as the hickey he's leaving behind. How he grinds into Steve now that there's room. How hot his hands are as they undo Steve's belt and jeans and wrap around his dick like they were made for it.

Steve feels alive like this; the dullness of his day to day at school, at home, all of it washed away in the light Hopper brings with him. He feels even better when he comes gasping Hopper's name and spilling over Hopper's hand. His neck is prickling from the man's beard and mouth; Steve can't wait to see what it looks like in the mirror later. But for now, after he's caught his breath, he toys with Hopper's belt next, keeping eye contact while happily dropping to his knees before him.

Hopper braces himself with one hand against the wall at Steve's back and the other in Steve's hair and this, this is the best part of all. When he gets to wrap his lips around Hopper's leaking cock, taste it on his tongue. Feel fingers tighten in his hair and pet it in apology before doing it all over again. Steve comes alive under the attention, the silent and not so silent praise as Hopper gets closer and closer to the edge. His own dick twitches, nearly ready for a second round even though he knows it'll take Hopper a while to be ready for one of his own.

But that only makes it better; knowing they'll have time before Hopper really fucks him. Time spent, sated and relaxed, something Steve only ever feels in these stolen moments with a man old enough to be his father.

Steve couldn't care less about any of that, though. He only cares about how Hopper makes him feel, and that's better than anyone else ever has. What they have might be fleeting, a secret the man means to keep to his grave for all Steve knows, but none of that matters when it all feels so goddamn right in the moment.

Hopper gives him a warning before he comes and Steve doesn't move except to take him in deeper, swallowing everything he can. Big, warm hands grab hold of his shoulders and help him to his feet. Steve, loose and languid, is happy to let Hopper maneuver him around. He moans when Hopper helps him slide his shirt off, then again when he removes his own, revealing more skin that Steve wants to feel under his own hands and mouth.

Soon.

For now, he lets Hopper move him where he wants him— sprawled out on the bed— and lets this feeling wash over him for a little while longer.

Fill 9

KingxLink's Card: Orange Hey You
Prompt chosen: Frequent sex is required to keep a resurrected person alive
Word Count: 469

She tries to fight it at first. Dexter wishes she wouldn't. There is no worse fate to him than losing his sister again; it broke him so thoroughly the first time that he broke several natural laws to bring her back. Having her die like a martyr for something he is more than content to provide her would be beyond the pale.

But she wouldn't be Debra if she didn't push back. He still remembers her confession, before. That she was in love with him. And part of her, most of her, thinks this is too good to be true. Alive again, with the caveat of needing to have frequent sex with the person who brought life back to her body. The person who happens to be someone she's been in love with for years; longer than he would ever have guessed had she not told him herself.

Dexter doesn't know how to convince her that it's okay; she can have this. So long as she's alive, he'll happily do anything. Sleeping with her isn't a hardship. His body responds to her touches just as readily as it ever had with Rita. His heart beats too fast, his skin prickles with goosebumps, his dick gets hard. And more than that, he sees the look on her face; love in her eyes hidden behind remorse for him being "forced" into this. She looks at him and sees someone worth loving, worth dying not to force into something she thinks he doesn't want.

But Dexter does want this. He dove head first into this, eyes wide open. There was always going to be a price for bringing Debra back. Always. Dexter doesn't like to remember what he had prepared himself to do, in order to make the magic work. He would have killed anyone short of Harrison in his pursuit to get his sister back at his side.

Discovering that all it would take was this? Sex with the only person left in the world he trusts? The only one who has ever known the real him and loved him anyway?

Dexter holds her face in his hands, kisses her softly, deeply, tries to prove every time that this is not a burden. She could never be a burden. And, as she always does, she opens to him. Presses her body close, slips a thigh between his legs to feel how she affects him and she folds. Lets him take her to their shared bedroom, lets him kiss her again and again, lets him fuck her into the mattress. Breathe life into her over and over again.

And someday, someday she'll look at him and realize that he loves her, too.

He doesn't know when that day will be, but Dexter can be patient about just this one thing, for her.

Fill 10

Revel's Card: Orange Kiss Me, Purple Honey (color only)
Prompts chosen: Sharing a kiss after going down on someone | I want you stuffed into my mouth; hold you down and tear you open
Other cards/hearts filled: Art/Orange Miss You (color only), Lua/Pink Hot Stuff, Cap Steph/Orange All Mine, HiItsMe/Purple Yum Yum (category only), Cammerel/Orange Soulmate (color only), a dark forest witch/Orange Dare Ya (color only), lillyrosenight/Orange Smile (color only)
Word Count: 1,980

Steve realizes pretty quickly after Nancy breaks up with him that he can't get back in the groove of dating. Not only because he loves her— he does, is sure he'll never stop loving her even now that the ache has faded into something dull and distant— but because she knows. She knows about monsters. About the scrapes and bruises on Steve's face that take weeks to heal. About the reason he's afraid to sleep with the lights off or without his bat within arm's reach of his bed.

Nobody else understands… any of it and it only takes a couple of unsuccessful tries for Steve to figure out it's not going to work.

And it really fucking sucks for a while.

It's been years since Steve has gone this long without sex. Even when Nancy was pulling away from him and towards Jonathan, they still found moments to sneak away together. And before Nancy, there had been a string of girls Steve dated. Now, he's got no one but his hand and it's beyond depressing. It's frustrating as hell.

Then, when the frustration reaches a boiling point, Steve breaks into his dad's liquor cabinet. He grabs one of the fuller bottles in the back without a care about what kind it is or the hell he's gonna get for it when his dad realizes it's gone. All he cares about is that it'll get him drunk.

The roads are empty when he drives along them. His skin crawls at the shadows his headlights cast along the trees in the woods. Steve wouldn't be out here at all except that his parents are due to be home the next day and sometimes that actually means they'll be home the night before. The last thing he needs right now is another fucking lecture about responsibility. He already knows he's a fuck up; no need to keep rubbing it in.

His skin is still crawling when he finds an empty patch of dirt to pull into. Steve ignores the feeling— he's good at that— and climbs out of the car. Bottle dangling from his fingertips, he closes the door. Leaves crunch under his feet and the cold seeps in even through his jacket. Winter is well and truly underway. He won't be surprised if it starts snowing while he's out here, but it still beats being at home.

And once he's drunk, he won't even notice the cold anyway.

The hood of the car is warm, almost too warm when he climbs up to sit on top of it. Knees bent, feet on the license plate / bumper, Steve runs the flat of his hand against the bottle's cap and spins it open. There's no one here to impress, but hell, it's fun. Steve thinks he deserves a little fun in his life. Even if it's getting the cap open in one quick spin.

His throat burns with the first swallow. It's a familiar burn; one that already has his limbs losing some of their tension. It's too early for the alcohol to have hit him yet, but his body knows what's coming. Steve takes another swig and leans back to stare up at the tops of the trees and the starry sky and try not to think for a while.

---

When Hopper shows up, Steve isn't quite halfway through the bottle. His arms and legs are warm and loose and even before he recognizes which cop is walking towards him, Steve is relaxed enough not to care.

Hopper comes to a slow stop in front of the hood. Hands on his waist, he stares at Steve and the bottle in Steve's hand for a second that stretches into multiple seconds before he sighs.

"Kid, what the hell are you doing?"

Steve sits forward, arms on his thighs and shrugs. He lifts the bottle to his lips to take another sip, Hopper or no Hopper. "Having a drink… or seven. Why? What's it look like I'm doing?"

Maybe he shouldn't push his luck; they may have worked together while they were trying to fight off demo-dogs and close the Gate, but that doesn't mean Hopper won't give him shit for underage drinking. Still, with the alcohol coursing through him, giving him a buzz, Steve doesn't have the best control of his mouth.

Hopper doesn't say anything, though. He raises one of his eyebrows and pins Steve with a look that almost, almost makes him feel a smidge guilty for being caught. Almost. It's Steve's turn to sigh as he says, "Look, I can't get that fucking place or those monsters out of my head, my girlfriend cheated on me, and the only person trying to be my friend right now is a thirteen year old. Don't get me wrong, Dustin's growing on me, but I'm not stupid, just pathetic. I think I deserve to drink, okay?"

There's a beat of silence before Hopper tilts his head. "Okay."

Steve furrows his brow as he stares at him. "Really? That's it? Just… okay?"

Shoulders rising in a short shrug, Hopper turns to lean back against the hood of Steve's car. He's close enough that his jacket sleeve tickles Steve's skin through his pants. "Hell, I could use a drink or seven myself these days."

Steve holds up the bottle, tapping it against Hopper's arm. "Help yourself."

And to his surprise, Hopper does. He makes a face after his first mouthful, but not the kind of face Steve is used to seeing from someone after they drink. Usually, people scrunch their eyebrows down and twist their mouths. Maybe shake their head while still getting used to the burning down their throats. Hopper doesn't do any of that. He raises his eyebrows and checks the bottle, gives a small soft grunt of surprise at what he sees there, and brings it back up to his mouth for another pull.

When he hands it back to Steve, he says, "Top shelf stuff. It's good."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "I'll pass the compliment along to my dad."

For the third surprise of the night— the first being not getting told to go back home or getting arrested and the second Hopper joining him at all— Hopper plants his hands down on the hood and carefully pulls himself back to sit up next to Steve. He leans back on one hand, looking bizarrely comfortable on the hood of Steve's BMW.

"How much shit'll you be in for swiping that?"

Steve shrugs. "Not sure his opinion of me can get much lower at this point. What's one more strike?"

Tilting his head in acknowledgement, Hopper doesn't say anything else. There was an understanding in the gesture that Steve doesn't usually get from people when he talks about his parents; his dad in particular. Nancy used to get a sad look on her face or try to tell him it probably wasn't as bad as he thought it was. This feels… better.

They sit there for a while, passing the bottle back and forth between them until Steve starts to feel normal again. The worry that always sits in the back of his mind these days is gone. He enjoys the heat seeping from Hopper's side into his. Presses closer to feel even more of it. Between the alcohol and Hopper, Steve doesn't feel how cold it must be getting around them.

Later, Steve will blame what he does next on the alcohol. And maybe the loneliness and frustration that had led him to drinking in the first place. It doesn't hurt that Hopper doesn't feel quite so scary after a while spent drinking together. He's warm and even a little bit soft and Steve is horny as hell and more than a little curious about what will happen if he just—

He slides down off the hood of the car and turns to face Hopper, who watches him through heavy lidded eyes. He keeps watching as Steve reaches for his belt and undoes it. The whole time, Steve is braced for Hopper to stop him— as braced as he can be when it takes all of his focus to keep his feet under him while he gets Hopper's belt and pants open.

Hopper does sit up as Steve drops to his knees between his legs, but he doesn't stop him. He curls his fingers in Steve's hair with a soft groan when Steve wraps his lips around his dick. It's a strange feeling, having someone else's dick in his mouth when he's only ever gone down on girls before. Steve takes his time with it; feels the weight of it on his tongue, tests how far he can take it in before it's too much, wraps his hand around what he can't fit inside. And the whole time, Hopper pets his hands through Steve's hair, down his neck, over his shoulders.

It doesn't take long for Steve to decide he likes this just as much as he's always liked going down on his girlfriends. Maybe even likes it better; enjoys the roughness of Hopper's fingers against the side of his face and how big the palm of his hand feels against the back of Steve's neck. It's even better when Hopper jerks his hips with a curse before holding himself still again.

He might not be able to take as much of Hopper's dick in his mouth as he'd like right now, but Steve hopes he might get the chance for some practice later. Letting Hopper fuck his mouth sounds so hot his own dick twitches and he has to grind his palm against it. Still, he doesn't stop what he's doing, not until he hears Hopper's breathing start to change, and even then not until Hopper comes in his mouth and he takes as much of that as he can, too.

Steve pulls back, wiping the mess off of his face with his jacket sleeve. When he looks up, Hopper is blinking down at him, a languid smile stretching across his face.

"You are somethin' else," Hopper says as he pulls Steve up onto his feet.

His hands are hot against the skin of Steve's stomach and waist while he shoves Steve's pants down. Steve thought how they felt when they held his head was amazing; they're even better wrapped around his dick.

Holding onto Hopper's arms, Steve fucks his hand. It's a surprise when Hopper kisses him, deep and dirty, but like hell is Steve going to back off when Hopper is the one who initiated it. He kisses Hopper back until Hopper pulls away then tilts his head back to bare his throat to the man's wandering mouth. The beard scratching against his skin is as unfamiliar to him as having a dick in his mouth, but Steve likes it nearly as much. So much that he hopes it leaves a burn he can look at, feel, when this is over.

It isn't long before the orgasm building up finally spills out of him, leaving Steve gasping Hopper's name into the night air. His mind goes blank for a minute; no thoughts in his head except how much better someone else's hand feels jerking him off than his own.

Hopper kisses him again, softer this time, before bending to get Steve's pants back up. Steve helps him with his next before they both lean back against the BMW again.

"Wanna finish off the bottle?" Steve asks after picking it up off the ground.

Hopper stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. "Why the hell not?"

Grinning, Steve hands the bottle over.

This isn't how he expected his night to go, and for the first time in a while, he's happy to be taken by surprise. He only hopes neither of them regret it when the buzz of alcohol fades away in the morning.

Fill 11

Katapults' Card: Purple LOL
Marcspectrr's Card: Pink LOL (category only)
Prompt chosen: Swapping bodies and realizing just how hurt the other is (Kat)
Word Count: 458

The pillow underneath Nancy's head is already wet with tears when she wakes up. She doesn't understand why— or, she does understand. Everything hurts. Her stomach throbs, her chest is on fire, her face and eyes feel swollen. What she doesn't understand is why.

While getting ready for bed, her body was sore but nothing like this. Even the cuts she'd gotten in the fight at the hospital had mostly become a background kind of pain. Something she barely noticed as she sank into her mattress and fell quickly to sleep after a long, trying couple of days.

This is…

She sits up, sucking air through her teeth in pain and freezes. Something about it didn't sound right. Her vision is hazy with pain and sleep and tears and it takes some painful blinks for the room around her to become clear. The walls and curtains are familiar— she would know that black and white plaid anywhere— but they aren't hers.

"What—"

Nancy freezes again as her hand— not her hand, Steve's hand— snaps up to grasp at her throat. That wasn't her voice. This isn't… her body.

In her surprise, she tries to stand up off the bed but falls back onto the mattress with a cry. Everything still hurts. How had Steve managed to drive himself home feeling like this? Adrenaline might have gotten him through the fighting, but this is terrible. She had seen him walking around the parking lot; he'd come to check on her and Jonathan in the ambulance and smiled like his face wasn't on fire, but it is.

She doesn't know how long she stays there, catching her breath. When she moves this time, she's careful. Deliberate. Testing out a movement before she follows through. Getting up is a slow, painstaking process and walking is worse, especially when she reaches the top of the stairs and realizes she's going to have to go down them to get to Steve's phone.

Nancy doesn't know how she ended up in Steve's body. She really doesn't know how she's going to get them changed back. But the one thing she does know is that she's never going to trust him when she tells her he's "okay" until she gets him checked out herself ever again. Steve Harrington clearly cannot be trusted to tell her, or anyone apparently, the truth when he's more worried about making sure that everyone else is okay.

They may not be together anymore, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still care about him. And she knows him well enough to know that it won't be an easy process, getting him to realize that he should prioritize himself when he's hurting like this. But Nancy Wheeler is nothing if not determined.

Fill 12

Nicky Gabriel's Card: Purple True Love, Pink Crazy 4 U
Prompts chosen: Staying with someone because they love them even though it hurts (Kat) | Their partner has crossed a line, but they're still willing to forgive them
Word Count: 535

Some things change, the night that Cole doesn't try to burn Bee's book. When he tells her, "Okay," and they corroborate each other's story of what happened. The police come a second time and this time none of them die. Instead, they look at the chaos— blood, smoke, brain matter— and immediately call in more people.

Bee stays by Cole's side the entire time. After the ambulance comes and they've been checked over by the EMTs, Bee sits close enough to share her blanket with him. His face heats, heart beating faster with her so close. It makes sense to be scared; she'd spent most of the night trying to kill him, and letting her friends do the same.

It probably means there's something wrong with him that his heart didn't speed up due to fear. Even after everything that happened, he isn't afraid of her. Cole thinks he's still in love with her. Maybe even more than he was before. And that's stupid, he's stupid, she used him once already. There's no way she isn't using him now. It's not exactly a secret, how he feels about her. Bee isn't stupid.

But Cole loves her and love means forgiving someone, right? She could have let [cheerleader] kill him. The brain matter and blood caked into Cole's hair proves that, even if she is using him to keep from having to go on the run or something, she does care about him. Enough that when push came to shove, she chose him over her other friends.

That… that means something. It has to mean something.

When his parents get home, they pull Cole close and Bee stays with him. His mom fusses over them both, touching their faces, running her hands through their hair like they haven't already been checked for injuries by the professionals. His dad asks question after question, looking around in bewilderment at the scene.

This is something that doesn't change; his parents worry. They worry so bad that, after the police have taken their statements and their clothes for evidence, they invite Bee to stay with them— at the hotel while their house is cordoned off as a crime scene. Bee does them all one better, though. She invites the three of them to come and stay with her.

Cole has never seen where Bee lives before.

His parents jump at the offer. They pack up what little the police will let them take from their dresser, usher Cole and Bee into the back seat of the car, and enter the address into their GPS.

Sometime during the drive, Cole's hand ends up in the middle seat. Bee's joins it there, covering the back of it with her own, warming him up. Goosebumps shoot up his arm and his heart goes dry when he takes a chance, flipping his hand around to curl around hers. She looks him in the eye and smiles while she threads her fingers through his.

And even though Cole knows better than to think this will all end well, even though his heart aches and soars in equal measure over Bee's casual touches, he tells himself he made the right decision in not burning that book.

Fill 13

Vesper's Card: Purple My Love
Prompt chosen: Resorting to violence when their love interest is threatened
Word Count: 451

Nancy will never forget the moment she walked back into the Byers' house, Jonathan at her back, and saw Steve on the couch. He looked half-dead— he looked full dead, actually. Her heart lodged itself in her throat so thoroughly she could only let out a distressed sound at the sight. It didn't get any better even after he blinked his eyes open and winced. Nancy had trouble catching her breath afterward and, as much as she loved Jonathan, she realized in that moment— that horrible, world-ending moment when she thought Steve was dead— she loved him, too.

The three of them are still figuring out how to make their strange new relationship work, and that's on her mind a lot. Jonathan isn't comfortable around Steve, mostly, she thinks, because Steve handled her cheating with him so gracefully this time around and he doesn't know how to take it. Nancy is struggling with the same thing herself.

Steve is tentative with her, too, and she's already working on how to convince him she didn't mean all the nasty things she'd told him on Halloween.

But what occupies her thoughts even more than their developing relationship every time she looks at Steve and sees the bruises and cuts on his face, is how he got them. Who he got them from.

And she gets angry.

Steve tells her that it's fine. Billy Hargrove's stepsister got between them and convinced him to back off. And so far, that seems to be holding true. But she sees how Billy's eyes follow her boyfriend. Steve might be content to let it go; as far as he sees it, he only needs to make it to graduation and then, even though he plans to stick around Hawkins until she's done with school, he at least won't be forced to share a building with Billy Hargrove for hours, five days a week.

But that's not good enough for Nancy. Not when she can tell that the bully is only biding his time. Waiting for the moment of maximum surprise. She doesn't plan to let that happen.

She takes her gun with her; an extra safety measure because Billy is dangerous. And she's glad she did, because there was no way he would take her seriously without it. But in the end, she— thankfully— doesn't have to shoot him.

And when, the Monday after their talk, he walks into the school with some injuries of his own but without meeting Steve's or her eyes— without looking at them at all? Nancy grants herself permission to gloat, at least in her head.

Steve doesn't know what she did, and it's probably better for him if he never finds out.

Fill 14

mightstill's Card: Green Love Me / NSFW, Pink Don't Tell
Prompts chosen: Accidental love admission during sex | Can't put the words back into my mouth; already said it, it's too late to turn back now

bonnie's Card: Purple U R Great, Pink You Rock
Prompts chosen: You calm me down; there's something 'bout the sound of your voice | Would you like to blow my mind and move too fast and plan our perfect lives together? (Mira)

cricketdust's Card: Purple Marry Me? (category only)
Prompt chosen: Marriage proposal after a mind-blowing orgasm

AlpakaAlex's Card: Green U R Great (category only)
Prompt chosen: You calm me down; there's something 'bout the sound of your voice

Cap Steph's Card: Orange Love Me
Prompt chosen: Accidental love admission during sex
Word Count: 1,400

Steve can't believe his luck— and there has to be some element of luck involved because there's no other way he can explain having Chrissy Cunningham sitting on his bed, leaning back on her hands and watching him with a smile on her face. He almost pinches himself, that's how too good it feels to be true. He must be dreaming.

But there she is, all dressed up in her cheerleader uniform and everything. Her hair is different, though. Where she normally wears it in a high ponytail, held together with a scrunchie in one of Hawkins High's colors, today it's down. It sits, pooled at her shoulders in waves that he feels almost as hypnotized by as the smile on her face. Any other day, he might join her up there. Have her lay with her head in his lap so he can brush his fingers through it. Maybe even actually brush her hair, because he knows how much she loves having someone else do it for her.

But this isn't that kind of day.

Falling back onto her elbows, Chrissy bites her lip. Color rises to her cheeks and Steve is transfixed by the sight until she shifts and pulls his attention lower. She uncrosses her legs, sliding them open in invitation.

Steve's mouth waters.

He's on his knees before he knows it, kneeling at the end of the bed. His heart swells at the sound of her giggling over his enthusiasm. The sound of her laughter might be the best sound he's ever heard and it's so much better when he's the cause of it. His dick already strains against his jeans and he hasn't even touched her yet, let alone tasted her.

This is what she does to him.

Her skin is warm and soft under his hands. He runs them along her thighs, shifting her skirt up a little at a time. No one is home, and no one is expecting Chrissy to be home for hours yet. Steve wants to take his time; he leans in, trailing kisses everywhere as he slowly moves up her thighs. He relishes each sound he draws from her; every gasp and quiet moan. If the sound of her laughter is one of the best sounds he's ever heard, these might be the best.

He wants to hear more. Wants to draw any and every sound she has out of her. Wants her screaming by the end of it, too caught up in how good it feels to be able to hold it all in.

Chrissy's legs fall open wider as he continues to kiss his way up her thighs, leaving little nips and sucking marks no one but the two of them will ever know are there. She fills the room with more of those gorgeous, breathy sounds that he can't get enough of. Steve breathes her in the closer he gets, satisfaction practically leaking out of his pores when he feels how wet her panties are before he helps her slip them off.

Goosebumps erupt down the back of his head and neck when her hand finds its way into his hair. She doesn't tug at it, not yet. Steve hopes that she will soon. There's nothing quite like that little touch to get him going. He moans at the gentle caress of fingertips against his scalp, muffling the noise in between her legs.

This isn't about him. Not right now. Right now, Steve wants to make Chrissy feel as amazing as he does when she so much as looks at him. He licks her, tasting her on his tongue and wanting more. She gasps again and he nearly has trouble keeping focused when all he wants to do is smile at the sound. More than once, he's ruined their kisses by being unable to stop smiling; the last thing he wants to do now is ruin this.

Steve wraps his hands around her thighs, holding them even wider apart. Pinning them in place to give her the freedom to try and move all while not letting up for a second.

"Steve," she gasps when he circles her clit, the moans when he sucks it gently between his lips.

Now her fingers curl, tightening their grip on his hair. It's Steve's turn to moan as lightning shoots down his spine and straight to his dick. He swears he might come from this alone. But he tries to hold off; there will be plenty of time for him to get off later. Right now, he has Chrissy under his hands, and under his mouth, and that's all that matters.

He doesn't let up, only pausing to let them catch their breath when he needs to— and that's not very often. Thank God for all that time spent as a volunteer lifeguard.

As Chrissy gets closer, she tilts her hips, trying to grind against his mouth. He lets her, slipping a couple of fingers inside of her to give her something to fuck herself on. She holds his head in both of her hands, her thighs shake, her cries become louder and louder and then he hears it.

"Oh I love you," Chrissy gasps, says, screams. "I love you, Steve, I love you."

And even though he knows she caught up in the moment— so caught up in it that she doesn't realize what she's saying at all— Steve nearly comes in his pants right there and then.

It's the first time she's told him she loves him.

That spurs him on more, has him doing everything he can to get her to come harder than she ever has in her life. Given how loudly she screams as her orgasms rushes over her, he's pretty damn confident he succeeded. He licks and rubs her through it until she pulls him up by his hair and presses their mouths together.

Steve lifts himself up off of the ground and pushes her higher up the bed. Blanketing her with his body, he decides he never wants to move again. Not if moving means being away from her. He loves her.

"I know we're too young," he says, pulling back far enough her face is no longer a blurry mass. Steve wants to really see her, "and it's way too soon to say this…"

Her nose crinkles under the force of her smile and he's transfixed yet again by her. She's beautiful and perfect and seriously, he loves her so much he feels like he might burst with it. The urge to go shouting it from the rooftops is building up inside, but that would mean moving and he would stay right here for the rest of time if that were even slightly possible.

"Say what?" she asks softly, cupping his face in one of her hands.

Steve covers that hand with his own, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to her palm. Her fingers curl, brushing over his cheek and he leans into the feeling. These moments are just as perfect to him as getting to show her how much he loves her. The soft, tender, casual touches that aren't going to lead to anything else; just because they want to feel the other.

She's biting her lip again when he meets her eyes.

"I'm going to ask you to marry me someday."

Her eyes go wide, but her smile never falters and so even though it's crazy, Steve doesn't second guess himself for a second over saying it out loud. She deserves to know how much he loves her; that when he pictures his future, she's there with him through all of it. It might be crazy when she still might not even realize she told him she loves him only moments ago. They haven't been together long enough to be thinking this way. But he can't help it; he's too full of love for her to keep the words inside.

"When you do," she says, glancing at his mouth while the tips of her fingers trace a line down his throat and along the top of his chest, "I think I'm going to say yes."

Steve's face aches with the force of his smile. It would be almost too hard to believe if he hadn't heard and watched her say the words himself. But she did and he wouldn't trade this feeling for anything in the world.

Fill 15

Twilightdreams' Card: Purple Ooh La La
Prompt chosen: Making sexual advances towards the person trying to kill them

KingxLink's Card: Purple Marry Me? - color only

Tomo's Card: Orange You Rock
Prompt chosen: The aftermath/regret of sleeping with the enemy

AlpakaAlex's Card: Yellow Only You - category only
Prompt chosen: I will have you, yes, I will have you; I will find a way and I will have you; like a butterfly, a wild butterfly; I will collect you and capture you
Word Count: 1,025

"I'm not too weak!"

Blood rushes through Richie's ears. His heartbeat drums so loudly, he can hardly hear the words coming out of his own mouth. But they must, because the impossibly alive Max Jägerman cuts off midway through his song.

"What did you say?" Max advances, one of his arms pulled back, bent at the elbow. Gearing up to grab Richie by the collar, maybe, like he's done so many times in the past. Only this won't end in a flick it ticket or being shoved into a locker. It will end in Richie's death.

That is something he wants to avoid more than anything.

"I'm— I'm not a nerdy prude," Richie says, voice thin and brittle, breaking like Peter's so often does. He tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry. So dry he's surprised he could get the words out at all. But this is a literal matter of life and death. Only, he doesn't think it will end with a climactic deus ex [whatever] like it might in [specific anime]. "And I'm not… too weak…"

"Too weak for what, Shit-lips?" Max reaches down, curling his fingers into the shoulder of Richie's shirt.

Richie swallows again, this time swallowing down what little shame he has. "To— to be enslaved."

Max's eyebrows raise so high they nearly disappear under his newly wild, untamed hair. Taking his chances, Richie plants a hand down on the ground and pushes himself up onto his knees. "You can do anything, whatever you want, just please— please don't kill me."

A pause. It can't be silent; Richie's chest is moving up and down in a rush as he gasps for breath, but he can't hear any of it. The ambient noise in his head is quiet as all of his attention hones in on Max. He sits on his heels and waits, so terrified of what Max's reaction will be that he's gone numb. Nothing could be worse than death, right? That's what he tells himself as Max stands completely still except for his eyes; darker and more dangerous than they've ever been, trailing him from his head to his knees.

"Anything."

It's not a question. Richie nods anyway. He doesn't want to die. Not only because it's scary— it is. But he knows Max will make him feel it before it's over. There's no doubt in his mind he'll be wishing for death before it's done and he hopes like hell that it won't end the same way now that he's offered himself up like this.

Richie flinches when Max moves. His hand grips Richie by the chin. Shock runs through him at the touch; he expected Max to be cold. He's dead, after all. Undead, technically, maybe. Richie doesn't know for sure. But he expected Max to be cold. Max is the opposite. His touch burns against Richie's skin and he finds himself trying to curl away from it before he remembers himself well enough to sit still again.

When his thumb presses hard against Richie's mouth, Richie parts his lips. Max's thumb sits against his tongue and doesn't move while his eyes bore into Richie's. Heart still pounding in his ears, Richie keeps still and waits and waits and waits.

"Suck."

Richie doesn't hesitate. Part of him worries that this humiliation is just a prelude to being killed in a terrible way. That doesn't stop him from doing any and everything he can to show that he wasn't lying; he'll do anything not to die.

Even suck an undead Max Jägerman's cock when he orders that next. Richie's hands shake as he undoes the button on Max's jeans. His cock is as hot as the rest of him. Turns out, all of his bragging has never been an exaggeration. But if he wants even a chance to live, there's no backing out now.

Richie has only just found out how great living can be. He doesn't want to lose that now.

So he does what Max says. He licks and sucks and gags more than once when Max fucks too deep into his mouth. But he doesn't throw up and only cries a little bit and Max holds onto his hair and comes down his throat so he must not have been too terrible.

He just hopes he was good enough that he isn't going to be killed now that it's over.

Max doesn't let him move, even after he's done. Richie kneels in front of him, Max's softening cock between his lips, while Max stares down at him. He's never seen the jock look so contemplative before and he doesn't think he likes it. It makes him look even scarier than he ever has and that's hard to top when he's some kind of undead powerful being now.

"Guess you could be worth keeping around," Max finally says.

Richie's relief leaves him dizzy, but he doesn't get to experience it for long before he realizes something is wrong. Max pushes him back, a wicked smile on his face as he rips Richie's shirt open and plants a big, heavy, hot hand right above Richie's heart. His hand grows hotter and hotter, scorching the skin underneath it and the only reason Richie doesn't scream bloody murder is the other, less hot hand Max covers his mouth with.

When it's over, Richie's face is covered in tears and there's a Max-shaped hand print burned into his chest. Max smirks and uses that same strange power he'd used earlier to lift Richie to his feet.

"You're mine now, bitch," he says, running the tip of his thumb around the edge of the too-sensitive brand he'd left on Richie's skin. "Now come with me. We've got some real nerdy prudes to kill."

And even though Richie means to freeze in place, to beg Max not to go after his friends, he finds his body following after its new master without his permission. Heart in his throat, Richie shoves down the words that refuse to leave his throat and resigns himself to this new life and hopes he isn't wishing for death by the time Max is done.

Fill 16

Uri's Card: Pink Me & You
Prompt chosen: Running away with their love interest to escape their lives
Word Count: 222

This is crazy. And after the last few years, Nancy knows what crazy looks like.

She's seen it in the eyes of so many people. Mad scientists who don't care about who they hurt with their experiments. Bullies who relish in hurting those who are smaller and weaker than them. Her own in the mirror while she tries to hold herself together after another brush with death.

But leaving everything they've ever known? Packing up whatever they can fit in the back of Steve's car and just… taking off? That might be the craziest thing she's ever heard. And still, knowing that her suitcase is sitting, all packed and ready to go in her bedroom, only waiting for the dead of night after everyone is asleep helps calm the chaos that's been bouncing around in her mind ever since Vecna.

Nancy watches her family closely. Pays each of them more attention than she might on a normal night because she doesn't know when she's going to see them again. But through it all, she only feels relief that soon, this town, this whole place will be behind her. She'll have Steve and she'll have Jonathan and she doesn't know where they're going to end up, but she does know that when the three of them work together, there's nothing they can't do.

Fill 17

Uri's Card: Yellow Cool
Prompt chosen: Hiding eyes/emotions behind a pair of sunglasses
Word Count: 287

The Monday after they stop the world from ending, Steve walks, alone, into Hawkins High School. It might be even harder to do than fighting off that pack of demodogs in the junkyard. Everywhere he walks, he hears whispers start up. Between the bruises and scrapes and the fact that Nancy Wheeler showed up with Jonathan Byers even earlier than him, he knows a decent amount are actually about him.

Even without Tommy and Carol around, Steve's pretty popular. He's got looks, he's got money, he's got a car. All the things people in high school care about— and out of high school, too, if his dad is anything to go by. This isn't his first ride through the rumor mill. Steve doesn't plan to give any of these jackals more ammunition than they've already got from the scant facts they know.

At least Hargrove steers clear of him, looking more than a little worse for wear himself even days later. Steve doesn't think anyone has put together that the wounds on his own face are from Hargrove; from what he can hear, most of them seem to think he got into another fight with Jonathan over Nancy and got his ass handed to him for a second time.

Steve doesn't really care what they think. But he still keeps his sunglasses on his face while he walks through the halls and eats lunch and heads out of the school at the end of the day. They help let him feel normal, let him look normal, when without them he knows everyone would see how often his eyes find their way to Nancy and how painful it feels to see her always with Jonathan at her side.