compulsion

gator tillman s e r i e s • “𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖” masterpost carriage house masterpost measured in threes part 1: sixteen “You stay away from that boy.” That had been your parents’ mantra since you came to the Tillman ranch almost 16 years ago. part 2: twenty-two Six years after you left the Tillman ranch, you found a way back.

precarious part 1: sheriff's gambit ••• part 2: safe zone you’re the special investigator that the FBI sends down, not to investigate a crime per se; you’re there to investigate roy.

swg 3+1 3 times you sexted with gator, 1 time you didn't

late late shift sometimes working overnight has its benefits

mirror image gator finds a more entertaining show than a sheriff's department dinner

valentine's day nothing says romance like sexting with gator tillman! imperative gator? no, dog. && o n e s h o t s • cotton candy dream girl You were a cotton candy-wrapped dream in pink cowboy boots, sweet to look at and even sweeter to talk to, everything he could want.

rearview Gator lets you off with a warning. power play Below we see the Alligator tillmanensis (common name: Gator Tillman) in his natural habitat, experiencing the 5 stages of grief.

nasty spit kink with gator!

game over • #stepgator for asks/drabbles what's a little taboo between stepsibs friends?

bite You put Gator in his place.

free show Gator brings you to a family barbecue, sans panties.

wanna hear you say Just a friendly competition is all it is.

steve harrington s e r i e s • 1995 chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 Steve was cute, and he'd been a decent lay when you were both 17 and inexperienced, but you'd grown up a lot since high school. You could still see him in your mind: Athletic, thin build, mile-high hair, that absent yet pointed expression he always wore. Cute, but something you'd left in the past. You were a woman now. Interested in bigger, better men. It's 1995 and you're back in Hawkins High's gym, staring down Steve Harrington like he's your next goddamn meal. Because he is most certainly a bigger, better man.

the tipping point You didn't start out friends with Steve Harrington, that was for sure, but you reached a tipping point. ch1: bruises let's show them we are better; joint fic with @sheisjoeschateau masterpost here • all chapters linked in masterpost. my blog tag is here && o n e s h o t s • best girl You wouldn’t say you hated Steve Harrington, not back then, anyway—that would mean you had to feel anything for him at all, which you totally didn’t. sweater stays on no one was immune to that sex sweater, yourself included. lesson one steve teaches you how to swim. among other things.

one more? 34+35 (thank you for 69 followers) reprise steve just likes being inside you live fast, die young you win a drag race and steve gives you a trophy (that is innuendo)

it could be after a breakup, steve makes you feel better. a lot better.

until tomorrow morning stuck in hawkins after the earthquake, steve changes your mind and your heart.

something new spit kink with steve!

short straw drawing the short straw gets you a trip to the upside down with steve, where things take a turn. a big one.

steve-morial day weekend!

teacake meacham loquacious teacake puts his mouth to better use than just yapping

reciprocal BEST friends (with benefits).

more spit kink with teacake!

mirror image

the couple that jerks it together, works out forever.

be quiet (no, don’t)

teacake literally cannot stop talking.

“we’ll just order somethin’,” he says and takes your hand in his, tugging you behind him to your bedroom, because he has one surefire way to make you feel better and it’s you coming on his face

he hops onto the bed, reclining still fully clothed in one of those stupid black t-shirts he wears that’re a size too small, his ridiculous camo pants, and legitimately folds his hands behind his head, propping his chin up a little

“c’mon, take a seat,” he drawls, and you don’t want to, but he smirks at you and your thoughts shift from why bother? to why not? and you just unbutton your slacks and shimmy out of them and your underwear, climbing onto the bed, perpendicular to gator

he grins up at you, slipping one of his hands out from beneath his head, and beckons you to him with two fingers, the smirk even more pronounced

you swing a leg over him—but not the one he expects. you’re facing away from him, and you lower your pussy to his face as you reach down to tug at the zipper of his pants, slipping the button as well with a practiced hand as you hold yourself up the other, fingertips pressing points into the bed

his tongue slips through your folds and you sigh heavily, eyes fluttering closed as you trail your hand through the line of hair leading straight down from his bellybutton right into his boxer briefs, pushing the elastic waistband down and pulling his cock out

“fuckin’ love you,” gator murmurs against your cunt, and you just smirk to yourself as you bow your back to take him into your mouth as well, tongue circling the head

he groans against you, sucking your lips into his mouth, tongue lolling against you, searching through your folds until he finds your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. you do the same to him—you flick yours against his slit, humming quietly as you taste the little pop of precome he gives you in response

you feel his hands come to land on your ass, slapping into both sides at the same time, and you moan onto his dick as he holds you apart, pulling back just to take in the sight of you, wet and spread open for him. his fingers dig divots into your ass cheeks as he leans back in, spitting right into your pussy, watching the little glob of saliva roll down until it reached your clit, and then he’s back on you, sucking your clit harshly into his mouth

his cock slips deeper into your mouth, your own drool dripping down his length as you bob on him, focusing on him, on this, on the way he’s making you feel, the way you feel on him. you feel the tension of your day melting away, feel it replaced with a different kind of tightness, the better kind, the delicious kind, the addictive kind that has you coiling up, ready to snap, as he mouths at your clit, moaning and licking and slurping at your slit, the lewdness only turning you on even more

“wanna come on my face?” you ask, pulling off of him, and he groans into your thigh, pressing his face into it to compose himself—if he can—before responding.

“shit, yer gonna come on mine, right? fair’s fair”

you laugh but suckle at his tip again, jerking him off with your free hand, your palm slick and swift on his shaft, working over him as you draw just the head into your mouth, sucking a little harder, hollowing your cheeks. you feel his cock twitch against the roof of your mouth, your tongue, and you pull off, settling yourself a little more on his chin, and he holds you down, wanting you there, wanting your weight on him, wanting to drown between your thighs if he has to to make you feel better

and you do—you lick the tip of your tongue over his tip, cleaning him of each little bead of precome until it starts to turn pearly, a little more opaque…

he digs his face against you, burying his face into your pussy, tongue in your slit, stratching your tight little twat around him before he moves down, your arousal dripping out of you all over him, wetting his nose and his lips, his chin and cheeks, your own thighs as it spreads from his fave to your legs. he laves his tongue against your clit, feels it kick against him, and doubles down—he catches it between his tongue and his upper lip, sucking it wetly, long, deep pulls against you and it has you bucking down against him, has him bucking up into your hand, and your thighs tighten around his head as you come, pushing yourself down around him, riding his face as you moan out his name, telling, asking, begging him not to stop—

he comes too, wrapped up in you, thick ropes of his release landing on your face, your eyebrows and nose and—lucky you—some even on your lips and tongue. you swallow what you caught in your mouth and then engulf him again, sucking him clean before pulling off and moving to sit beside him on your knees. both your faces are marked with the other’s come, and when he sits up, he pulls you closer to him, tasting himself on your tongue, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

the kiss is heated, your hand finding its way to his cock again, and he just tugs his shirt up, not off since you refuse to break the kiss at first—but finally, you relent and let him wipe your face clean even as you lazily stroke his cock.

“ain’t you hungry?” he asks.