Just like a folk song
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Just like a folk song

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⋆˚࿔ How he eats you out
pairings: steve harrington x reader; gator tillman x reader; kurt kunkle x reader; travis 'teacake' meacham x reader; keys mckey x reader, cole x reader, baron x reader, gabe x reader. all joe keery characters x reader tbh !!
Steve Harrington
Steve kisses your pussy like he kisses your mouth: slow, sensual and deep. Harrington likes to take his time, always going down on you like it's basic foreplay before he actually fucks you. He uses his fingers to prepare your cunt for him only when he's about to finish getting you off. But other than that, his thumb is rubbing against your clit, his mouth savoring how you taste until you come on his tongue. And honestly? There's nothing prettier than Steve Harrington looking up at you with a satisfied grin on his pussy swollen lips.
Gator Tillman 🐊˚࿔
Gator is abrasive, to say the least. He wasn't used to going down on women — hadn't had much experience on that matter and when he did manage to get into a girl's panties, it was more about his pleasure than anything else. But the first time he tried you on his tongue? He gets fucking addicted. The way you smell, so needy and wet for him, makes Gator get an ego boast and lose his mind at the same time. With him, it's all about eating you out like a hungry man, a wolf that found a pretty lamb with her belly up and begging to be devoured. But you don't mind, do you? And if you're trembling in the bed after you stain his lips with your orgasm, he's not complaining either.
⋆˚࿔ How you make him come in his pants
pairings: steve harrington x reader; gator tillman x reader; kurt kunkle x reader; travis 'teacake' meacham x reader; keys mckey x reader, cole x reader. all joe keery characters x reader tbh !!
Steve Harrington
Steve likes to make out. Now, don't get me wrong, sex has been one of his favorite activities since high school, and not only that, but he's damn good at it, too — never got any complaints, just requests for the next round. But when it's just you and him in the back of Family Video, or in the backseat of the radio station van, he relishes in making out with you; firstly slow and sensual, taking all the time in the world, until it becomes sloppy and a mess of hurried touches that end up with him grinding against your hips like a dog in heat. Yes, he loves making out, but he's just a touch-starved man who always bites off more than he can chew. Luckily, you're always willing to give him more and then some, which more often than not ends up with him coming in his pants like a horny teenager. And he went and ruined it.
Kurt Kunkle
Kurt has never been with anyone before you. He kissed a girl once at one of Bobby's parties, and it was for a "truth or dare" game. So anything you do with him gets him going. If your hand on his biceps lingers a second too long, he's already half-hard. That and his needy tendencies make him come with the simplest touches. If you do as much as brush your hand against his cock over his jeans, he will come. No doubt. He always blushes and gets shy after it, but you like the power trip it gives you when it comes to Kurt, and the dazed look on his face that no camera gets to see but you.
Gator Tillman 🐊
When it comes to Gator, I think it can happen two ways: he's either a minute man in general or just at times. I can see BOTH being true. At the beginning of your relationship, Tillman isn't the most experienced and talks big, but he comes undone whenever you give him a bit of attention. The first time you give him a blowjob? He bursts his jizz in your mouth as soon as you wrap your lips around his cock. Okay, but as for coming untouched: it's usually when you both are making out in his truck, and you get impatient and climb into his lap, start dry humping against his dick, and he will come like that. Don't worry; after you make fun of him for it, he will fuck you hard enough to make you shut up.
I need to change my whole life
TRAVIS "TEACAKE" MEACHAM // valentine's day
a collection of valentine's-themed headcanons for travis "teacake" meacham from cold storage.
valentine's day isn't an extravagant affair with him; it's all about the little things.

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I hate being sick I just want to write filthy uuuuugh
writing advice: get weird w it
i’ve gotta request my love gator! he and his girl are so toxic but they love each other so much, his daddy hates her and she’s always making gator jealous!
takes two to toxic (gator tillman x reader)
summary: you love gator, and you love to make him jealous. maybe it's toxic, but it doesn't matter when he's with you.
a/n: idk how I feel about this one, maybe I'll repost later but I really wanted to post today sooo. hope you like it!! and thank you for your request.
warnings: jealous!gator, sexism, toxic relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (not against the reader), baby trapping (by gator????), breeding kink, possessive behavior, I think that's all
gator tillman masterlist taglist request nav
GATOR TILLMAN doesn't know much about love.
he learned how to play hide-and-seek with his emotions since a very young age. nowadays he runs to the corner like he used to when dad got too angry, pushes his need under the bed, hides his fears in the closet, tells his dreams to whisper quietly, keeps his softness safe in a box. he stands behind the door clutching on his abuse, a sethering voice that says this is what love is, because what else would a father give? and it's never easy, but he gets used to it. it's never easy, but the sound of the smacks and his mothers muffled screams become a sick kind of lullaby. its all he has ever known.
later on, gator will be running around the ranch, his childhood home, and won't even notice that he's playing over his mother's grave, stepping where she was buried in a hurry while his younger self met with abandonment. but the land will know. and when he believes she left him behind, well, that just screams how much of a useless tool he is. because what mother would get away and put her son at the bay?
daddy stayed. roy was there everyday. sometimes hitting him, screaming to his face. but he stayed. this isn't love but it's close enough. this isn't love but its all gator has in his hands.
so when he meets you, who does it shock when he can't love you right?
tillman treats it like a sort of sick game. following you around like a lost puppy, keeping an eye on you, flashing his gun at your coworker who just told you good morning because he didn't like his tone.
and you relish in it.
it's wrong, you know it. yet, you can't help the thrill that licks down your spine whenever you catch the possessive glare in his eyes. it's not your fault that tillman gets worked up so easily, a selfish dog with a bone.
you want him to bite harder.
you want it to hurt.
soft things never came easy your way. when they did, you grew out of them quickly. petals were never as interesting as thorns, and gentle lovers dissipated with the sun.
you prefer it rough. calloused hands and marks that prove it's real. that he wants you as much as you want him. you don't care that gator can't love you normally, you don't need that.
you want to mesmerize him, to wrap yourself around his mind and get a hold on his soul. you need to maim him enough to leave a mark he won't be able to ignore.
who cares if it's messed up? gator still whimpered and begged for more.
and you'd provoke him, get a rise out of him at any given chance. that was the only way you felt safe, like it was some sort of confirmation that he was yours, he wouldn't leave.
on the other hand, tillman is improvising as he goes. he tries, God bless him (probably not, he's not the type of man for salvation, maybe redemption if he had someone other than you for a guiding light. you both are just enjoying the trip bellow). he tries in his fucked up little way, and it always comes our harsher than he wants.
gator needs to keep you under his radar, or you will slide through his fingers like his mom did. so he bites the bait, every damn time.
when he gets his buddy to beat up your boss because that meathead touched your arm for a little too long at the staff party.
when he goes out of his way and breaks your ex's leg after that fucker sends you a text.
when he fucks you so hard you can't walk for days because you winked at the bartender. and now you body is covered by his fingers, ears still ringing his words, you are mine, you fucking slut. don't you dare to look at other men. your pussy is mine. see how it's clenching around my cock? so damn needy for me. mine. say you are mine. say it.
when his lips peck your blue and purple love bites gently, then turns it into an open-mouthed kiss and sucking on your skin, because he can't be soft. he can't let himself vulnerable.
and when.. well, right now. when gator is sneaking you inside his house. honest to heaven, if it's even open for you anymore, the tillman residence gives you the chills. the surly men huddled in the yard with guns in hand. the dogs who don't look like pets and only bark and drool. you haven't spoken to his sisters, yet gator's stepmother reminds you of those dolls that only say the same couple of lines that the mechanism inside allows them to — every word sounding awfully like roy.
roy tillman.
the worst part of the deal. the man who rules the county, the city, the people, and anything else. violence is written on his face and marked by his hands. he is the dangerous type; roy doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but has enough men to do all the work for him. he talks big and shoots to kill. empathy means nothing but weakness, even his family is afraid of him.
you hate his guts.
he treats gator as a disposable toy. it makes no sense in your head: being a fucking sexist, isn't roy supposed to brag and clap that his first-born was a man? doesn't gator follow every damn order like a stupid soldier? what else does he have to do? it will never be enough, you know it. roy has hated his son since he was born. he didn't see himself in him.
it's a relief to you.
and it was a crux that gator had to carry for himself.
“he won't be home tonight, don't worry,” the deputy whisper against your lips, too needy to stop kissing you while he tries to open the door. “can't wait to fuck you in my bed.”
“it makes no difference.” you groan and rut your hips forward, the need for more friction clouding your irritation, “at least I can scream in my house.”
“yeah, make sure ya neighbors know my name.” gator smirks and the door finally cracks open, he presses his mouth to your neck and pulls you inside. “let my dad's men know it too. don't like the way mike looks at you.”
Dinosaur, Richard Siken

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“You’re like a sword, but girl”
- Best compliment I’ve ever been given, and in reference to me being aesthetically pleasing to look at lol.
Ever since I was a little girl I’ve loved information
This is so niche but imagine Nancy Wheeler x Travis Teacake Meacham (Joe's character in his new movie Cold Storage) fanfic.. or just a Stancy parallel universe uuuugh.
summary: how valentine's day would go with each character.
Steve Harrington:
Steve would be so excited (and nervous) for your first Valentine's Day together.
He'd ask Robin for advice.
Actually, he'd rattle about his ideas for the date and she'd have to sit through it all.
Steve went through a lot of plans in his head: dinner at Enzo's (too bland), movie date (too easy), cooking you dinner in his house (he already does that every week), buying you something nice (ok but it couldn't be only this).
Yet, none of the options seemed good enough.
Honestly, Steve just wants to get it right. Not because he's lonely, not because his friends mock his blink-of-an-eye relationships, but because it's you.
He wants to get it right for you.
“I can't believe you're gonna make me say the most cliche thing ever.” Robin sighs dramatically, “Just do something out of your heart, Dingus. You're the corniest person I know, you'll think of something.”
Steve rolls his eyes, “Jeez. Thanks, Robin.”
But, in the end, Buckley's advice was on point.
Not that Steve will admit it. She'd never let him live it down.
He ends up planning a picnic.
Harrington takes you to the Lovers Lake and you both eat by the water, laughing and stealing kisses all day long.
Laying inside the van, tangled on each other while whispering sweet nothings that mean everything.
When the night covers the sky with its darkness, you both watch the freckles of light on the stars.
It makes Steve think of you.
Gator Tillman:
He's not good with that "romantic shit", his words.
Therefore, Gator tries to act like he doesn't even know what day it is; be all nonchalant about it, act like a man in the lost distorted shade of the word because it's the only way he knows to.
“My wife has been bugging me about this damn day for a week, man,” Jorge, one of his dad's goons says in the breakroom. “You'd think she'd be busy after I put five babies in her, but no. She always finds time to piss me off. I'll just say I forgot about it and buy her some shitty jewelry.”
Another cop, John, chuckles loudly and pats Gator on the shoulder. “Careful, Jorge. You'll end up scaring off the kid.”
He scoffs, looking down at the youngest Tillman, “He has to learn how to handle a woman. I'm just giving him advice.”
“Am not a kid.” The deputy grunts and rolls his eyes, falling into a straight posture and shrugging Jorge's hand off. “And I know how to handle my woman.”
“That firecracker?” John arches a brow, and the way he smirks when talking about you makes Gator want to punch his face until he's spilling out his teeth. “Sure you do.”
He hisses: “Watch ya mouth.”

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hopeless for valentine's day (pining!steve harrington x reader)
pairing: Pining!Steve Harrington x reader
summary: steve is in love with you, he just isn't ready to say it out loud. so he sticks to the closest thing: ditching his date to spend valentine's day with you at the squawk.
a/n: happy valentine's day, lovelies!
disclaimer: pining!steve aka his natural state of being, jealous!steve (because I can't help myself), slightly angst, comfort. they're idiots in love, you honor.
story's mixtape steve's masterlist taglist request nav
Steve Harrington lets out a long sigh, plopping down on Robin's mandatory chair. He can't help but feel like a kid sitting in his dad's office for the first time, picking out random papers and pretending to be important— until Danny Harrington screams for him to get out and stop bothering him.
There's no shouting this time, no noise other than "When You're Alone" by Bruce Springsteen playing for Steve and whoever else is lonely enough to stick near a radio for the night. There's not an ounce of doubt that Buckley will kill him if she finds out he's putting on 'the blandest white man on Earth' (her words) during her Rockin' Robin segment but hey, Harrington is the only covering for her on Valentine's Day while she's out with on a date with Vickie.
A furtive grin spreads on his face; at least Robin is happy. Happier than he had ever seen her, to be honest. That's all he wants for her. Even if it means being alone at the station, bored and pathetically waiting for something that won't happen.
If it was a movie, they'd call Steve a hopelessly romantic and he'd get the girl before the credits started to roll. But in real life, it's just staying at work while the world ends, having your heart broken multiple times by hope and still clinging to it like a stupid dog who won't bark to another tree. Because that's his tree, alright? He likes his tree.
Okay, he's going crazy. Why aren't you here?
Steve groans, tapping his fingers against the wooden table to the song's rhythm. His mind wanders to what everybody else is doing: The Wheelers are throwing a thematic party for the whole family and the Byers. Nance had asked him to come over, but the last holiday they spent together was in 84’ when they were still dating, and Harrington isn't really thrilled about having to see her with Jonathan all night. So, the former athlete thanked her and refused the invite, promising he'd show up the next day to snitch away some of Karen's famous cookies.
The Hoppers were probably there too. Henderson was having a movie marathon and a whole lot of food with his mom; which Steve also had declined because Dustin didn't seem to want to be around him all that much lately. The Sinclairs were most likely to be at a fancy dinner with the church folks, Lucas surely would be visiting Max later (to remember she's still in a coma makes his heart clutch, so he shakes his head and focuses on his own misery for a bit). Robin had reservations for Enzo's and planned on taking it to the next level with Vickie; the ladies man tried to give out some advice about that, but Buckley threatened to cut his tongue off and kill herself in front of him all at once.
When he asked you about your plans, you shrugged it off and said you'd probably be at the station. No dates in sight. One hour after the shift started and you still hadn't showed up, it was clear that your plans had changed. That annoyed guy from the convenience store that always got a little too friendly with you (even when Steve was by your side, mind you) probably worked out the guts to ask you out. And apparently you had said yes, God knows why. Whatever. Maybe Harrington should've asked you before like he wanted to, maybe you'd have said yes. He was sure it would be better than whatever you had going on with that douchebag. The point is, everybody is up to something, everybody has someone.
And Steve..
Steve is alone. Isn't it how he always ends up, anyway?
That's the thing about being a jack-of-all-trades. He just shows up at the right time by luck or miracle or the lack of importance in any other aspect, gets the job done, and his friends cheer about it. But then everybody goes home and the handyman is put on the shelf until he's needed again.
He isn't complaining, alright? It's better than having no at all. Steve would've known; he had been through it with his parents.
They asked him to tag along once the ground cracked open like something rotten that stayed under for too long. His mom and dad asked Steve to come with them with a disinterested facade, the same you flash someone with when you offer them food out of education and silently hope they won't accept it.
When their only son said no, the Harringtons smiled bigger than he remembered they could; it didn't take more than two hours for the bags to get packed up. They left before dawn and hadn't looked back once.
His mom calls each two months to make sure Steve is alive, but that's about it. Eventually, his dad chimes in the conversation, throwing a casual hello and an occasional scolding. Truth to be told, it isn't all that different from the time they were in town. Less arguing, for sure.
And more Springsteen blasting out.
When you're alone you ain't nothing but alone, Bruce sings like a mockery.
It could've been worse, Steve thinks to himself.
But it could also be better, that same old voice in his head answers.
Steve shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the quietude. The song is coming close to an end, so he sighs and leans in, looking for another tape that's at least close to the lovely spirit. I'll be alright without you by Journey, Harrington snorts. As if.
He continues his searching, flipping through the options. Right Here Waiting by Richard Max? That had to be a joke. If people want to hear about doomed romance and miserable love lives, Steve can just start broadcasting his daily life. Another peak, Countin' On A Miracle.
He scoffs. “Wow, Springsteen. I thought we were buddies.”
Harrington settles down for 'Time After Time' and places his foot on the dashboard of the radio table. Robin would sweat his legs off if she was here, but she isn't.
Just him. Alone again.
Fucking sucks.
And it's all he's ever had. Come on, Harrington. You should be used to it by now. Who's a more loyal lover than loneliness for a guy like him?
Until he hears something.
Steve doesn't even turn around. It's too late for anyone to decide to check up on him between their lovey dovey errands, unless.. “Robin, I swear, if you stormed out in the middle of your date just because you don't think Bruce Springsteen makes good music—”
“Not Robin.” Your voice piques his interest immediately and the honorary DJ turns around to face you, who is leaning against the cabin's door with an arched brow and a pinkish box in your hands. “But she's right, Bruce Springsteen is bland, Steve.”
It's you.
Steve Harrington // Lucas Sinclair STRANGER THINGS