[stemelwithme]

intro to coding social media/texting/etc on ao3

in addition to embedding images in fic, brilliant people have shared codes to imitate a number of social media sites/other online phenomena. some examples from my recent fic:

i (clearly) think this is super fun, and i really enjoy doing it. while it can be frustrating and finicky to figure out, it is much easier than you might have thought, mostly because (as mentioned) people are so kind and brilliant and share code to do this! in this post, i'm going to link some of the code that i've used/consulted and show some examples ~under the hood~ of how the above things look in practice. hopefully it'll help you feel like you, too, can try!!

code/tutorial links for ones i personally have used as base code, most of which have very clear explanations of how to use them that make the rest of this post truly unnecessary:

texting (incl blue messages, green messages, group chat)

google search

gmail (sent email)

instagram

phone lockscreen notifications

generic email/draft email (with scrollbar!)

there are collections on ao3 full of these codes, incl discord, twitter, other social media sites!

that is more than enough to get started, but i love to over-explain things, so just to be super clear, there are 3 steps in how i do this:

Writing, planning images, uploading images if needed (aka the parts with no coding)

Adding the CSS to the work skin

Adding the HTML to the actual text/story/chapter - usually the most annoying part :-)

in more (unnecessary) detail:

writing/planning images/uploading images i always write out what i want to have without code because i like making sure the actual content/story is front and center! i also want to make sure that i know when the exchange happens for any timestamps. for the above examples, it looks like this in my gdoc:

i also make sure that i have any images that i'm going to include at this point, because it can be super annoying to be almost done coding and realize you want/need to go back to figure a pfp or something out. ao3 does not host images, so you need to either have a link you trust won't die or upload images yourself somewhere else that you can link. i've been uploading to my drafts on tumblr, but that does decrease the quality a little. (personally i'm fine with that but just want to give that disclaimer) i would recommend downloading any photos you know you want to include as soon as you find them so you don't lose track and spend a bunch of time trying to track something down (definitely speaking from personal experience rip)

the only image note i'd add is that i always recommend previewing how the fic looks before posting (duh) and checking specifically if the dimensions look weird. on the gmail code for example it'll make pfps 40px x 40px even if it wasn't originally a square, which can make it look weird and stretched out, so i cropped all the pictures i used as gmail pfps to be square (not 40px x 40px, just square in general).

work skin css all of the above guides will explain this, but you'll add some base code to a work skin that you apply to your fic. i use the same skin for all my fic as i go, but if you adopt that approach, make sure you don't ever accidentally have attributes with the same names! just to show what this looks like/where to find it on ao3:

combining html/story all of the above guides will include the html you use in your actual story, and i HIGHLY encourage you to integrate it in your non-ao3 editor and transfer it over from there instead of workshopping it just in ao3 and risking losing it if something goes awry!! (again speaking from experience rip) pay close attention to which parts you're supposed to change from the source code and which you won't change (eg gmail icons). examples cont:

this step is usually the most annoying and finicky and requires the most patience to troubleshoot things. css/html can be very particular and there are some things that would require additions to the base css that you might expect to just work (eg links - adding links to things makes them sooo angry). i usually transfer the html parts into the chapter and troubleshoot before adding the main text because it can be annoying to scroll through all the text for editing it. there will be something that is slightly off from how you wanted it to look, and you will have to call it a day at some point! i often end up posting something when i feel like it's good enough and then going back and fixing it later. consider this permission to do the same :)

that is how i like to do this but i'm sure other people have other ways they prefer! i can imagine doing the coding as you write might be nice for some people but i like to go back and do that when i'm feeling a little stuck or want to work on fic but need a brain break.

i hope this helps people who are interested but not sure where to start!! i am happy to help if you're running into issues but i should note that css is a complete mystery to me and i self-taught myself html to make pages for my neopets so my skillset is...limited...

happy coding!!

[blatherin-blatherskite]

If you want a poorly written fanfic don’t ask ai ask me I’ll do it

[ambrosialmuse]

| via @poonehghana on instagram

djo + pre-show ritual

[wafflewarrior111]

So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.

I'm going to try it.

[missroserose]

I love the lawyer metaphor, because whenever I see “John knew that...” in prose writing I immediately think “how?  How does he know it?”  Interrogate your witnesses.  Cross-examine them.  Make them explain their reasoning.  It pays dividends.

[heck-in-a-handbasket]

All of this, but also feels/felt. My editor has forbidden me from using those and it’s forced me to stretch my skills.

[ineedthesons]

This is your "show not tell" advice explained!

[tarysande]

Editor here.

First, let me preface this with something very important: you can treat all of this advice as SECOND-DRAFT ADVICE. It is so much easier to rewrite this kind of stuff once you have words on the page. Telling yourself the first draft is totally appropriate and acceptable.

What we’re talking about here are FILTER WORDS (and to some degree verbs of being). Yes, “thought” words are included. But so are “heard, saw, looked, tasted, smelled” etc.—most words having to do with the senses.

This isn’t black and white advice; sometimes you’ll use these words and that’s okay. They’re not WRONG. They’re just weaker. And they’re weaker because they create distance between the reader and the experience of the character.*

If you want your reader to feel like they’re experiencing the story right alongside the character, you want to cut down on filter words.

*This is particularly important with first person and close third POVs. The reader always knows whose eyes they’re seeing through and thoughts they’re privy to. So you don’t need to tell them “I saw X.” Or “I heard X.” Or “I thought Y.” You can just jump into the action/observation as it’s happening.

This is also where you want to pay attention to verbs of being.

“It was rainy.” Versus: “The rain pounded against the roof.” Or “The rain howled like an injured animal.” Or “The rain tapped against the window like an anxious lover.” All of these are inviting the reader deeper into the experience of the story by using stronger verbs and similes. And, at the same time, they stir feelings (instead of TELLING feelings). And feelings keep your reader engaged. Engaged readers keep turning pages; engaged readers become FANS.

[the-haiku-bot]

This is also where

you want to pay attention

to verbs of being.

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[defilerwyrm]

The most valuable advice that Author Ex gave me through the years that we wrote together was this: the problem with all these filter words is that they create distance in the POV.

That means that when you read a line like

John saw that the curtains were open.

It immediately takes you OUT of the character's perspective and instead tells you what they experience as a secondhand observation.

You don't have to get fancy or purple with how you rephrase things like this. Not everything needs a ton of breathing room.

You wanna know what's perfectly impactful while keeping a tight POV?

The curtains were open.

Simple as that.

[julesjuliiet]

hear me out… camboy kurt……

someone PLEASE make this a smut fic omg

[djosnoopy]

thinking about going to the indy 500 in the early 90’s with steve…. a group of you tailgating and you’re sat in the bed of his truck watching him joke around with eddie about something as he sips a beer. he’s all sun-kissed and a little sweaty and all you can do is stare at the way his hands wrap around the beer can and the way his happy trail is on full display from his crop top and shorts….

[sadleslnk]

DJO

at an album signing event in tower records shibuya store, japan (may 5th, 2026)

[st4rfckerz]

OFF DUTY

⋆˚࿔ steve gets a little more worked up than he anticipated while sharing embarrassing stories

word count: 2.3k

cw: mdni, mutual masturbation, finger sucking, cum eating, switch!steve (more sub leaning in this one)

Most of the lights in the rec room are off, just a single lamp in the corner casting a dim glow over the worn couch and scattered magazines. The window’s cracked open, letting in the sound of crickets and humid air.

Everyone else turned in a while ago, cabins going dark one by one until it’s just the two of you still awake.

Steve’s stretched out across the worn couch, one arm thrown over the back, looking way more relaxed than he ever did back in high school. It’s weird, seeing him like this — no crowd, no facade. Just him.

The conversation flows easily from old teachers and classmates to the movie stars you used to have crushes on back then.

“Phoebe Cates,” he says with a boyish smile plastered across his face.

You glance at him, unimpressed. “Of course.”

He scoffs a little, his face now serious. “No, listen,” He shifts, sitting forward now, elbows on his knees, getting a little more animated.

“When I watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High for the first time, I just kept rewinding that pool scene over and over,” he admits, shaking his head at himself. “I swear I didn’t even care about the rest of the movie,”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you tease.

“Okay what about you?” he asks, eyeing you. “Since you’ve got so much to say,” Steve leans back into the couch, stretching his arms along the top, his fingertips almost reaching your shoulder.

“Tom Selleck.” you say, picking at the seam of the couch cushion.

There’s a pause. Then he leans forward a little, a small grin forming. “Tom Selleck?”

You nod, completely serious. “Yeah.”

“Okay, c’mon at least be original,”

“What?” you shoot back, sitting up a little. “He’s charming.”

“Charming,” he repeats, nudging your leg with his foot. “That’s what we’re going with?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Whatever.”

There’s a beat before you speak again, almost sheepishly, “George Michael too.”

That one gets his full attention. His brows lift, and he leans back against the couch, clearly entertained. “Alright, yeah, that one I get.”

You go quiet for a second, wincing at a stupid memory. “I used to think my first boyfriend looked like George Michael,” You scoff, dropping your face into your palm.

“I cannot believe he’s the one that took my virginity,” you mutter, shaking your head, more embarrassed the longer you think about it.

Steve goes quiet for a second, his gaze fixed on a scuff mark on the floorboards. You could see the gears turning,as he debated whether or not to add to your embarrassing confession.

“If it makes you feel any better, my first time wasn’t so great either,” he mumbles. “Tried to put on a cassette and the player ate the tape right at the bridge.” He let out a long, pained exhale, leaning his head back against the cushion.

“It was the longest ten minutes of my life, I think about it every time I hear a synthesizer now.” He turned his head to look at you, a lopsided, vulnerable little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There’s just enough silence for it to land before you let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh beside him.

The air between you suddenly felt much smaller. Now that the embarrassing stories were out of the way, there was nothing left to buffer the fact that you were sitting inches apart on a cramped couch in the middle of the night.

Steve’s gaze lingers on yours for a beat too long before he abruptly looks away. He clears his throat, his eyes darting around the dim room as if searching for a distraction.

Oh no.

“Well, anyway,” he squeaks, shifting his weight. “Long day tomorrow. Hikes, lake front, the whole deal. You probably want to get some sleep soon,”

He was staring intensely at his hands, his jaw set so tight you could see a small muscle twitching in his cheek.

“Are you okay?” you tilt your head to catch his eye. “Is something wrong?”

“No! No I’m fine,” he clipped out, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “just you know, busy day we got,”

You furrow your brows and let your gaze drop, trying to figure out why he was sitting so rigidly, and that’s when you see it.

A lumpy, faded throw pillow hugged tightly against his lap. He was clutching it like a shield, his knuckles white as he pressed it firmly into his thighs, using it to create a very deliberate (and very suspicious) barrier between the two of you.

Your eyes widen, and a tiny, knowing ‘oh’ escapes your lips before you can stop it. You couldn't help the small, breathless huff of a laugh bubbling up in your throat.

Steve let out a pained, muffled groan, burying his face into his hands. He looked like he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice vibrating against his palms as he tries to hide from you. “It's not— I didn't mean to, alright? It’s just you’re sitting right there, and we’re talking about sex so,”

You stay silent, quietly observing his now embarrassed demeanor; his eyes darting around the room but never landing on you, his fingers frantically moving the hair (that he’s now overly aware of) from his face. It was cute.

Steve lets out a jagged breath. “Okay, well I’ve obviously made a fool out of myself and you’re probably super uncomfortable so I should…..go,”

He moves to stand, but your hand finds his wrist, fingers curling around the warm skin, and you give a firm, gentle tug.

“Stay,” you say, keeping your voice low and steady, though your pulse is racing.

He hesitates for a long, agonizing second, but your grip doesn't falter. With a heavy sigh that sounds like a surrender, he slowly sinks back down onto the couch.

He doesn't let go of the pillow, though. He pulls it tighter against him, his shoulders hunched, staring at you with that guarded, vulnerable look in his eyes.

You lean in, closing the distance he’s so desperately trying to maintain. Your fingers ghosting over his knuckles as you pull the pillow away from his lap and toss it to some hidden corner.

“Take care of it,” you murmur, your voice barely a breath. “Right here, I wanna see,”

He doesn't move at first, just stares at you as if he can’t quite believe you’re being this bold. The silence in the cabin is deafening, filled only by the sound of his ragged, uneven breathing.

Steve settles back against the cushions, the denim of his jeans is pulled tight, making the evidence of how much he wants you impossible to ignore. His eyes remain wide and searching, looking for any sign that you’re joking, but you just lean back, giving him the space and the permission he clearly needs.

“You're serious?” he breathes, more of a statement than a question. You only nod.

His fingers fumbled with the button of his fly. He avoids your gaze for a second, a frenzied sort of heat blooming across his chest as he shoves his jeans down past his hips.

He kicks the heavy denim away, leaving him in just his boxers from the waist down. Even through the thin fabric, the silhouette of him is prominent and heavy, it makes your mouth water.

Steve’s hand finally makes contact, his fingers curling around himself through the cotton of his boxers. He lets out a shaky, broken exhale and tilts his head lolls forward, his eyes fluttering shut. The sight is a far cry from the confident guy who usually has a comeback for everything; he looks completely undone, his palm moving in a slow, rhythmic stroke that makes his breath hitch.

You don't take your eyes off him as you reach down, your own fingers finding the hem of your shorts. You slide them off, kicking them to the floor to join his jeans, leaving you in just your underwear. You lean back, mirroring his relaxed posture, and slowly drag your fingertips along the front of your panties.

The soft sound of fabric rustling is enough to make Steve’s eyes snap open. His hand falters for a split second as he watches your fingers trace the line of your own arousal. His pupils are so blown out they almost swallow the hazel of his eyes, and the pace of his breathing turns sharp and shallow.

You let your touch get a little heavier, watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard. You hold his gaze, your fingers still tracing the line of your hip, and give a slow nod.

Steve doesn't hesitate this time. His fingers hook into the elastic waistband of his boxers, hips lifting off the couch just enough to slide the fabric down, kicking them away until he’s completely bare.

When you peel your panties down your legs, and drag your fingers along your wet folds, the last bit of ‘cool counselor Steve’ completely evaporates. His head thumps back against the cushion, his mouth falling open as he takes you in

“You’re really killing me,” he rasps, his voice thick and rough.

He reaches down, his hand wrapping firmly around the length of himself. Now that there’s no fabric between his palm and his skin, his movements are more fluid, more desperate. He starts a slow, agonizingly steady glide, his thumb tracing the bulging vein that shoots up the side of his cock as he watches your fingers move between your own thighs.

Every time you find a sensitive spot and your breath hitches, his hand hitches too, his rhythm completely tethered to yours. His hips involuntary twitching upward with every stroke.

“How does it feel?” you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of his ragged breathing.

Steve lets out a sharp, choked-off groan. His chest is heaving, a fine sheen of sweat starting to glisten on his skin under the dim lamp light.

“Good, feels good,” He picks up his pace, his hand sliding with a wet, rhythmic schlick-ing sound that fills the small room.

“You know,” you murmur, watching the way his muscles tense with every stroke. “Anyone could walk in right now. One of the other counselors, or the director, they’d see everything.”

“Don’t care,” Steve whines, “Just need you,” He lets out a sharp, almost pained hiss as he glides his thumb across the slit on his tip.

“I wanna see you cum first,” he pleads, his voice cracking as he watches your fingers move against yourself.

His gaze is heavy and unwavering, acting like a tether as you increase your own pace. The pressure builds until it’s all you can feel, and as you finally hit that peak, your head falls back and a soft, broken sound escapes your lips. Steve doesn't look away for even a second; he watches every tremor, his jaw tight as he continues to stroke himself, feeding off your reaction.

As your orgasm starts to settle, you lean forward, your eyes dark and hooded. You hold your hand up, your fingers glistening and slick, and Steve’s eyes track them with a hunger that’s almost animalistic. Before he can say a word, you press your wet fingers against his lips.

He doesn't wait. He opens his mouth, taking your digits in, his tongue swirling around them as he tastes you.

You lean in, capturing his lips in a deep, bruising kiss, your tongues tangling as the sound of your shared breaths fills the cabin.

Steve loses it. With his mouth pressed against yours, he lets out a muffled, guttural groan as he cums. His body jerks, still gripping himself tight and continuing to stroke himself through the peak and long after — determined to feel everything until there’s absolutely nothing left to give.

Steve stays slumped against the couch for a moment, his chest heaving as he tries to find his breath.

You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “You did good,” you whisper, a small, genuine smile playing on your lips. Steve rolls his eyes even though a warm pull settles in his chest at your praise.

He helps you back into your clothes along with his own, his fingers grazing your warm skin. After a quiet moment of shared, tired smiles, he grabs a flashlight and leads you out into the cool night air.

The walk to your cabin is quiet, filled only by the crunch of leaves and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

At the door of your cabin, Steve pulls you into the shadow of the porch, away from the faint glow of the path lights. He shifts and leans back into your space, chasing your lips before you can even move away. His kiss is softer now but no less urgent.

“See you at breakfast,” he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper. He gives you one last, lingering peck on the corner of your mouth before finally stepping back into the dark, watching until you’re safely behind the door.

As the latch clicks into place, you lean your back against the heavy wood of the door, staring into the dark room. All you can see is the ghost of Steve’s lopsided grin and the way his eyes looked in the dim light. A smile stretches across your face, making your cheeks ache.

You find yourself glancing at your watch, already doing the frantic math in your head; six hours until the wake-up bell, six and a half until the mess hall opens.

For the rest of the night, your brain counts down the seconds until you can step back out into the morning light and find those big eyes waiting for you all over again.

[d3ad-eye-andy]

Why did my ass randomly lock in for this

[keeryhours]

the last supper - gator tillman

Gator Tillman x female reader

Masterlist Tag Lists

Summary:

After five months of dating (and putting it off for as long as possible), Gator is bringing you to Sunday dinner at the ranch to meet his father. It goes about as well as expected.

Warnings:

angst/fluff, roy tillman being roy tillman, misogyny, roy being a creep, objectification of reader (not by gator), toxic religion, toxic family dynamics, implied domestic abuse. soft protective in love gator, sweet schoolteacher reader

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N:

took a little break from frat steve to spend the entire night locked in writing this whole thing 💀 gator is always on the brain, he demands my attention and who am i to deny him? #1 soft gator enthusiast. thank you my beloved @punkrockmlchael for my banner as always ily! dividers by strangergraphics

“Do I look good?”

You came down the bottom of the stairs wearing a little black floral sundress, flattering but not short enough to be ‘inappropriate’. This was Sunday dinner, after all.

Gator looked up from his phone, vape in his mouth. His eyes went wide as he breathed out the strawberry scented vapor. “‘Do I look good?’” He mocked, scoffing as he looped an arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. “Babe. You look hot as fuck.” He leaned down and kissed your neck. “An’ I think you know it, too.”

“We don’t have time to do anything,” you reminded him regretfully, knowing where he was headed, his lips already brushing across your jaw. You gently pushed his chest, ignoring the heat already building within you. “Your dad’s expecting us at 5…”

He groaned, knowing you were right. He let go of you and peered into the hall mirror. He smoothed a hand over his gelled hair, making sure it was all in place. He was dressed in khaki pants with a black button up and his usual boots. He looked fine as hell, you thought.

This would be your first time meeting his father, and you were both nervous. Terrified, even. He had told you only a few stories about his father, and he didn’t sound like the nicest, most open minded guy.

“Guess we should get goin’ then,” Gator said. He took your hand in his larger one, a smile spreading across his lips. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Not really,” you admitted. You were about to meet Roy Tillman—could you ever truly be ready? “He’s gonna hate me, isn’t he?”

“He’s not gonna hate you,” Gator said, but the look on his face didn’t make you feel the most confident. “…Whether or not he’ll be a total asshole is somethin’ else.”

Gator led you out of the house with his hand on your lower back, guiding you to his truck. He opened the passenger side door for you, gripping onto your waist and helping you climb up. His hand brushed over your ass as he did—as if he thought you wouldn’t notice. You shot him a playful glare as you sat in the leather seat, but he just grinned before shutting the door.

You watched the scenery pass you by as Gator drove to Tillman Ranch. The atmosphere in the vehicle was heavy, weighing on you both the closer you got to Gator’s family home.

You’d heard a lot about Roy, even before you started seeing Gator. Everyone knew Roy Tillman. He was the Sheriff, either loved or hated by everyone in Stark County (and even beyond). Feared, even. Some would say he’s what this country needs, while others would say he’s a power hungry cheat using the state’s money for his own gain. You weren’t 100% sure where you landed on the scale of opinion on the man himself just yet. Gator had never been too forthcoming with information about him.

When Gator turned onto the long dirt road leading to the ranch, your stomach tied in knots. Were the armed guards by the entrance necessary? You turned to your boyfriend to ask, but he looked as casual as ever. You guessed that was normal.

You kept your gaze out the window, taking in the property. The horses and cows, all the ranch hands tending to things. The ranch was bigger than you expected.

“That was my job as a kid,” Gator said, nodding towards a young man caring for the horses. He dragged on his vape, blowing out a cloud of vapor. “Liked it well enough. Better’n the cattle.”

“I didn’t know you worked on the ranch,” you said, smiling over at him.

Gator raised his eyebrows at you. “Are you kiddin’? We all work here. Dad hates laziness. Says we gotta earn our keep, even as kids.” He smirked. “A perk of movin’ outta here an’ in with you.”

“That’s the motivation, huh?” you giggled. Even as you joked with him, that anxiety settled back in. What if his father really did hate you? What if he disapproved of you so strongly, he pushed Gator to end things?

Gator glanced over at you. “I see you thinkin’ too hard again,” he said, breathing out another sickeningly sweet exhale. “Don’t stress, darlin’. Even if he acts like an ass, don’t pay him no mind. Not much impresses him.” He turned to look at you seriously as he spoke again. “And you’re everythin’ to me. That ain’t changin’.”

His words softened you immediately, and they eased your anxieties at least a little. He placed his hand palm-up on the center console, and you took it, interlacing your fingers together. “I’ve already been spending all my time with one Tillman for five months, I should probably be used to the asshole-ry,” you teased.

He shot you a look. “Now you know damn well I spoil the hell outta ya.”

You giggled, because it was true. Gator had a reputation around town, and it wasn’t a good one. But you’d never seen that side of him, not since the first day he’d met you at that bar your friends had dragged you to. He’d come up to you with that cocky attitude he was known for, but the second you met eyes properly, he was a goner. You weren’t a quick, meaningless hookup. He looked at you and he saw forever.

Not that he’d want anyone else to know how completely wrapped around your finger he was. The way he spent almost every night at your house already, coming over right after his shift and wanting nothing more than to get in bed with you—and not just for sex. The way he’d bring you dinner, rub your feet without being asked even if his own were killing him, wash your hair for you in the shower together. And he definitely didn’t want anyone to know how his favorite thing in the world was to cuddle with you, especially to lay his head in your lap while you played with his hair. He’d never known peace like he did in those quiet moments with you.

The ranch house appeared, pulling you from your comforting thoughts and bringing you back to the present. The house was lovely. Dark painted siding, two stories with a wraparound porch. Gator pulled up near the front and killed the engine.

The soft ticking of the cooling engine was the only sound in the otherwise silent truck cab. Neither of you made a move for a solid minute. Gator hit his vape again—it was habitual, the device practically glued to his hand every time he was stressed. If you were at home you’d gently take it from his hand and tell him to go get undressed and meet you in your bedroom, but that wasn’t an option now.

“We don’t have’ta do this if you don’t want,” he said finally, an elbow resting at the bottom of the window. He looked ahead as he spoke, at the house, like he was keeping an eye on it. “We can leave, turn around, go back t’yours and order in some of those noodles you like—“

“Gator,” you said softly, cutting him off. He finally drew his attention from the house to meet your eyes instead. “We kinda do have to do this. We’ve already been putting this off for months. You’re planning to move in. You can’t hide me from your dad forever.”

He sighed, the weight of it all seeming to visibly settle on his shoulders. “I know. You’re right.”

“As usual.”

“As usual.” He grinned. “I just…” he paused, looking away from you and back out the windshield. “I don’t want him to scare ya off. He’s ruined a lotta good things for me. Things that don’t…fit in his plan.”

You put a hand on his arm. “He’s not gonna scare me off, Gator. I don’t care how bad it is. You’re not your dad.”

The last of your words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. He let out a sharp exhale, looking at you with a soft smile and a deep fondness in his hazel eyes. “Goddamn. I love you, ya know that? More’n anything. Scares the hell outta me how much.”

Your eyes stung with emotion you tried to hold back, at least for now. “I love you, too. More than I can say.”

Gator turned away and sniffed once, wiping at his own eyes, trying to look more like he was just scratching an itch. “Alright. Enough’a that. Let’s get goin’ before he comes out here lookin’ for us.”

He walked around the truck to open your door for you. You took the hand he offered, his other coming to rest on your back and help you down. It remained there even as he closed the door and led you up the porch stairs. He paused at the front door, like he was steeling himself, before finally opening it.

The smell of dinner greeted you the second you walked into the entryway. It smelled amazing, like a perfectly cooked roast. You could hear voices from the left, Gator rubbing your back softly before leading you to that doorway.

The voices stopped right before you entered, no doubt hearing the heavy thuds of Gator’s boots and the softer clicks of your heels against the floor. The quaint kitchen was on the right, cabinets painted white with a stove against the wall and a fridge decorated with some photos and children’s artwork held by magnets. To the left sat a dining table with seating for six, already set, the main course you’d recognized sitting in the middle surrounded by mashed potatoes, green beans, and freshly baked rolls. The wallpaper was patterned with images of chickens.

Two identical young girls sat at the table already, eyeing you the moment you walked in. You gave them a soft smile before looking at the other two figures, who also weren’t shy about the way they were sizing you up.

The woman stood back near the stove, her thin frame standing taller in an attempt to display more confidence than she seemed to actually feel. She wore a nice deep purple blouse with dark blue jeans, her short brown hair neat above her shoulders. You knew her to be Gator’s step mother, Karen, but she looked younger than you’d expected.

It was the man standing slightly in front that drew your attention immediately. He was close to Gator’s height, but broader. His grey hair was perfectly styled, thick and full, clear where Gator had inherited the good genes. He wore a deep red button up tucked into his jeans and nice dark brown leather cowboy boots. The man was handsome, but held an air of authority that made you feel intimidated under the heavy gaze of his green eyes.

Roy Tillman, of course.

“So, this is her,” Roy said to Gator, as if you weren’t even standing there even as he looked right at you.

Gator’s hand slid from your lower back to wrap completely around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. “Yeah,” he said. “Uh, Dad, Karen, this is my girlfriend.” He introduced you by name, his hand lightly squeezing your hip.

You smiled warmly. “Hi. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“The schoolteacher,” Roy stated, and you wondered briefly if Gator had given that information or if Roy had looked into you. Maybe both. His eyes dragged up and down your body, not quite leering but definitely uncomfortable. “That’s an…interesting choice of attire, sweetheart. I hope you don’t wear short little skirts like that at school. That’s a lotta leg.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you could feel Gator’s whole body tense beside you. The skirt of your sundress was above your knees, but you’d looked in the mirror a million times as you got ready, making sure it didn’t cross any lines. “Um…no. I don’t.”

“Dad,” Gator muttered.

“Why don’t we sit down before dinner gets cold?” Karen said quickly, and you were grateful for the diversion. She grabbed some napkins and moved to the table. “Go wash up, girls, quickly.”

The two little girls—Gator’s half sisters, Jessica and Maude—ran off. Gator pulled out your chair, and you smiled up at him as you took the seat. He looked back with equal adoration before taking the seat next to you. The kids were back by the time everyone was seated.

Roy sat at the head of the table. He took Karen’s hand in his right and held out the left on the table for Gator. Gator placed his hand in his father’s, his left holding yours. It took you a second to understand what was happening, but once you realized, you took the waiting hand of the little girl next to you. Everyone bowed their heads, and you followed suit.

“Heavenly father,” Roy began. “We thank you for providing this delicious bounty of food that Karen has prepared for us. We thank you for the blessings you’ve bestowed upon us, and the gift of enjoying a meal together as a family with our…guest. May our family continue to prosper and serve you. Amen.”

A quiet chorus of amens sounded from around the table, and everyone began moving to serve themselves from the dishes in the center. Before you could reach for the serving fork, Gator moved first, lifting your plate.

“I got ya,” he said softly, stabbing a slice of roast and transferring it to your plate. He piled on a healthy serving of green beans and potatoes, too. You felt a little shy about it, but let him. Gator liked to show you how much he loved you in any way possible.

You could feel both Roy and Karen staring, watching the interaction. “A man serving his woman?” Roy said. “Bit backwards, don’t you think? City girls don’t take care of their men?” When you didn’t respond, he continued. “Ephesians 5:22-23 says, ‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church; and he is the savior of the body.’”

Your whole body heated with embarrassment. The silence that settled over the whole room made the moment even more awkward and uncomfortable, the only sound for several long seconds the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall.

“We’re not married,” Gator mumbled, starting to fill his own plate. He stabbed the roast with a little more force than necessary. “Don’t usually do that anyway. Was just tryin’ to be nice.”

“But you intend to be married some day soon, right?” Roy asked as everyone finally began serving themselves, too. “If you’re bringin’ her into my home?”

Gator’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t what it’s about.”

“Then what’s it about?” Roy pressed.

He paused. “It’s about…introducin’ you to someone important to me,” he said quietly, his words more vulnerable than he usually allowed. A warmth spread through your chest, a deep affection more powerful than any uncomfortable family dinner.

Everyone moved on, eating with some quiet, casual conversation. Roy quieted, simply listening as Karen made small talk. She asked about your experiences teaching kindergarten, how you liked the school, if you knew Mrs. Reed, who taught the girls. How you’d liked living in Lehigh for the past year, what you did for fun.

It was too good to last, of course it was. Roy had spent the entire conversation watching as he ate. He was calculating, looking at you like you were something to be studied, a test you knew you were taking despite not knowing the answers.

“So, Gator, any reason you’ve been hidin’ her from us?” Roy finally asked. The comfortable environment that had developed vanished instantly, that same hostile, overwhelming heaviness returning with a cold chill.

Gator tensed again, staring down at his plate. “I ain’t hidin’ her—“

“Just because I told you it was time we met her,” Roy said. “I’m not stupid, boy. I know you’ve been seein’ her for a while. Half a year, almost, ain’t that right? This town talks.”

Gator’s knuckles went white around his fork. “Just wanted to get to know ‘er. Make sure it was serious before…”

“And is it?” Roy questioned directly, looking right at Gator. “Serious?”

To your surprise, Gator lifted his head, meeting his father’s eyes head-on. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

Your breath hitched. The Tillman men held each other’s stares, some kind of unspoken battle between them. You, Karen, and even the girls watched, the tension thick and suffocating in the small dining room.

Roy looked away first, but only to look at you instead. “You intend to marry my son?”

“Dad!” Gator exclaimed, frustrated, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter. “Jesus, what’s with the interrogation?”

“Just wanted to know her intentions,” Roy answered, eating another bite from his plate casually. He was the only person at the table who seemed fully at ease. “The Tillmans are a respectable family. Always have been. Can’t have just anyone comin’ in.”

You swallowed. “Gator…means a lot to me,” you said softly. “I’ve loved getting to know him. I love him. Wherever things go…I’m serious about him, too.” The truth was, if Gator asked you to marry him tomorrow, you would say yes. You knew that deep inside, even though you didn’t say it aloud.

Gator looked at you with an expression so tender and loving it nearly took your breath away. The smile that crossed his lips was gentle, one of those rare looks reserved only for you.

Roy only grunted in response.

Dinner moved on once again. Plates were cleared, bellies full. The dinner had been delicious—Karen was an excellent cook. You told her so, thanking her for the meal. When Karen stood, starting to gather the dishes, you stood as well.

“Let me help you,” you said quietly. She sent you a grateful smile from across the table.

“Now that’s more like it,” Roy said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin, one that reminded you of the Gator you’d seen across the bar before you’d properly met. “Maybe she won’t be hopeless as a wife after all.”

You froze. The comment had been a low blow. You knew exactly how much you took care of Gator—cooking for him (because lord knows he couldn’t cook), washing any clothes he left at your place, massaging the tense muscles in his back, happily helping him work out all those frustrations when he had a particularly stressful day. But Gator took care of you, too. It was give and take, effort given on both sides, and you both liked it that way. You showed your love for each other in your own ways.

“She takes good care of me,” Gator defended.

“She takes care of you, huh?” Roy chuckled. “Yeah, I bet. You always did like a pretty little thing.” His eyes dragged over your body again, and this time, it did feel predatory. It made your skin crawl. “And she is real pretty. No wonder you’ve gone so soft.”

Karen bowed her head, hurrying to the sink with the dishes she’d gathered. You stood there for just a moment longer, stunned. Gator was coiled tight, looking like he was seconds from exploding. A man who’d never talked back to his father, who tried his whole life to make him proud, looked nearly ready to throw a punch.

You finally made your feet move, walking into the kitchen. Your hands trembled as you placed the dirty dishes into the hot soapy water Karen was running. You didn’t know what Roy was like behind closed doors, but if this was him in front of company, you fully understood the fear you could feel radiating off of Karen.

“Gator,” Roy said, standing up from the table. “Let’s go have a talk in my office while the women tidy up.”

Gator didn’t respond, but you heard the creaking of his chair as he stood, too. You glanced over just in time to see the apologetic look he sent your way as he followed his father out of the kitchen.

Karen didn’t speak as she washed the dishes. You stood wordlessly next to her, drying them as she handed them off to you. Jessica and Maude, who seemed alarmingly used to all this, scurried off to their bedroom upstairs.

The kitchen was spotless by the time you saw the miraculous sight of Gator returning, Roy nowhere to be seen. He was frowning, his hands in his pockets. “You ready to get outta here, darlin’?” he asked, gentle, as if he were worried he’d scare you like a frightened animal.

“Yeah,” you said immediately, trying not to sound as relieved as you were. “Yes, I…need to get ready for work in the morning.”

His eyes softened with that same apology. You said goodbye to Karen, who thanked you for coming with a timid politeness, the confidence she’d attempted to show when you arrived now long gone.

It didn’t feel like you could breathe properly until you were out of the house entirely, taking in the clean North Dakota air. It was a little chilly now that the sun had gone down. Gator wrapped an arm around you as he walked you to the truck, opening the door and helping you in like he always did.

He didn’t pause this time, starting the engine as soon as he climbed in and driving the truck down that long driveway. You eyed the armed guards again as you passed them, the tension finally leaving your body as Gator pulled onto the road. He was puffing on his vape immediately, those nervous, constant hits.

“Jesus,” you breathed finally, the words leaving your lips in a rush of air. “That was—“

“I’m sorry,” Gator interrupted. “Fuck, ‘m so sorry. I knew he’d be bad, but—shit. I ain’t brought a girl home in…well, since prom. So, y’know, he knew you had’ta mean a lot t’me, and I told ya he likes to ruin shit for me, I couldn’t even blame ya if you never wanted to talk t’me again—“

“Gator,” you said, cutting off his nervous rambling much like you had before the dinner. “Baby. That was not your fault.”

“But I brought you there,” he said. You could hear the self loathing in his voice, and it broke your heart. “I know how he can be, and I…I brought you there.”

You placed your hand palm-up on the center console, the same way he’d done earlier. He glanced down at it, and didn’t hesitate to put the vape down and place his hand in yours, driving with his left.

“It had to be done,” you reminded him, interlocking your fingers. “If we’re gonna be serious about each other…it had to be done.”

He sighed. “I know. Fuck. But…I dunno. I feel like I could’ve…should’ve done somethin’.”

“You stood up for me,” you reminded him softly.

The words struck him. You didn’t know enough about Gator’s relationship with his father to know how monumental, how unheard of, that was—but Gator knew. He hadn’t even realized what he’d done until you said the words. Well, maybe he’d realized a little when his dad was chewing him out in his office for the disrespect, but hearing it said that way…it made him feel good. He was surprised at the pride that swelled in his chest, right along with the overwhelming amount of love he felt for the woman next to him. Nothing like anything he’d ever felt in his life.

Your cozy little house with the yellow light glowing on the porch was a welcome sight. Gator followed you up the porch steps, staying close behind as you unlocked the door.

Inside, after you hung the keys on the hook and locked the front door behind you, he pulled you into his arms. He held you close to his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of you, the smell of your shampoo that had become so familiar.

“I love you,” he muttered softly against your hair.

Your heart beat fast, thundering through your own chest and against his own. “I love you too, Gator.”

He just held you there, your bodies molded together. He rubbed your back softly, your breathing evening out, the sound of his heartbeat against your ear relaxing you.

“I’m ready to move out now.”

You paused. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “What?”

“I’m ready to move outta there,” he said. One hand remained on your waist while the other came up to rest against the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m ready to get out of there for good…an’ move in here. With you.”

“Gator…” you whispered, eyes scanning his face for any sign of doubt. You found none. “Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure’ve anythin’ in my life,” he said. “Like I told you…you’re everythin’ to me. I want to start our lives together. Here. Away from…all that.”

You blinked, that stinging behind your eyes returning. “I want that too. So badly.”

He smiled, soft but genuine with pure, raw joy. “Then it’s settled. I’ll pack my shit tomorrow, I mean it. This is my home now.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. “You’re my home now.”

And of every pretty thing Gator Tillman had said to you so far, that was probably the most beautiful.

as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated!

tag list

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[djoemygod]

Summer Sleepovers

cross posted on AO3

It is totally normal for best friends to share a bed when one of them has a nightmare right?

Tags: sharing a bed, childhood friends, denial of feelings, pre-stranger things 3

word count: 1.6K

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Steve and you had not always been friends. While you are currently friends and coworkers at Scoops Ahoy, there was a time when you did not speak to each other.

Your mothers were best friends in high school, and they lived out their dream of raising children together. Well, “raising” was a bit of a stretch. Growing up as neighbors allowed Steve and you to become best friends quickly.

Unfortunately for their children, both parents thought that because you had someone to play with, you did not need supervision. Absent parents are something that you both understand deeply.

For the longest time, you both only had each other. Two peas in a pod, determined to not be like your parents.

Things changed when you entered middle school. More expectations were put on you to be the perfect daughter. To learn how to be a woman and a wife, even though you were only 11.

Steve had the opposite. He was given more freedom and subsequently was left alone more than ever.

Your pea pod began to split. The responsibility to uphold the family’s reputation and portray the idea of a perfect family were placed on you.

While you tried to follow every rule to appease your parents, Steve took a different approach. He learned that he could get his parents’ and other adults’ attention by acting out.

The death of your friendship was when he became friends with Tommy and Carol in 7th grade. The pair were “not the kind of people we want you to associate with” according to your parents.

‘King Steve’ was someone you despised. And in high school you both held the assumption that they thought they were better than the others.

It is now the summer of ’85, and you two are friends again. The pea pod has been reformed after dealing with Demogorgons, Demodogs, and The Upside Down.

Unable to please either of your parents, you are both now stuck working at Starcourt Mall. It opened right at the end of your senior year, and you both needed jobs. Despite scooping ice cream all day, you both enjoyed working together.

Steve drives you to and from work on the days you have scheduled together. Time seems to pass more quickly when you share a shift.

And best of all, you made a new friend who was not charmed by the ‘King Steve’ persona that had originally driven you away from him.

Robin is a year younger than you and Steve, but that does not stop her from making fun of him endlessly. To his credit, Steve takes it like a champ, but he often complains to you about how ruthless she is during their shifts together.

You had been informed about the important data Robin is collecting about his failed attempts at wooing women. The satisfaction you feel when you see an additional line on the ‘you suck’ side of the whiteboard is always pushed down.

Unfortunately, you are not immune from Robin’s observant and teasing nature. She often makes you question things about your friendship with Steve, pointing out things that normal friends do not do for each other.

You do a good job at keeping yourself in denial about most things. Things are special between you and Steve, childhood friends who have bonded about the traumas of fighting monsters to keep kids safe.

You are just glad Robin has not figured out that you slip into the other’s window late at night when either one of you can not sleep.

It happens to be one of those nights. Steve called you this time. It is a little past 1 am when he slips into your room through the window, managing to trip over the windowsill. He catches himself before he tumbles to the floor.

“My parents aren’t home this week. You could have come through the front door,” you tell him as you pull the covers back for him.

Once his shoes are off, he practically falls into your bed. His unofficial side of the bed welcomes him as Steve makes himself comfortable. The sheets rustle as his arms reach out to wrap around you. Pulling you into his chest. The lack of words from him is slightly concerning.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your voice is soft as your arms move to wrap around him. He is wearing one of his old gym shirts from high school, the fabric soft from age.

He lets out a sigh and burrows his face into your hair. Steve’s voice is quiet and he mumbles against your head, “We were back in the tunnels, after we got the kids out, you know?” His arms tighten around you. “The dogs didn’t run past us though…” his voice fades out.

This is a common nightmare that Steve and you share. The terror that you felt when the Demodogs rushed towards Steve and you, is not something that is easily forgotten. Sometimes you are the one who has it, but it seems tonight is his turn.

Keeping your voice warm you comfort Steve in the same way that he does for you, “I’m here.” He nuzzles his nose deeper into your hair.

“But you weren’t. You were pulled from my arms,” his voice is quieter than before. Shifting your head so that you can look up at him, you see that his eyes are red. Before you even realize it, your hand moves to caress the side of his face.

Steve leans into your touch. Your thumb runs gently along his cheekbone, “I’m here now. I am here and in your arms.” His breath hitches, and you continue, “I promised you I will always be here. I’m not ever gonna leave you.”

It was a pinky promise made a long time ago, when you were both still young kids. After Steve’s parents had left alone for the first time. He was distraught. He felt forgotten and unwanted. Steve did not understand why his parents were going on vacation without him. You promised that you would never do that to him. He made you pinky swear.

Steve stares at your face, memorizing your features. His gaze shifts all around your face as he soaks in your promise. He nods his head, “I know. Never gonna leave you either.”

The T-shirt you’ve worn to bed crumples as his hands fist the back of it, unwilling to let you go. “Good,” a smile creeps onto your face.

The hand on his cheek moves down to his chest, where you can feel the steady thump of his heart. If it picks up slightly, you do not mention it. Your eyes flick down to his chest before going back up to his exhausted expression.

His hazel eyes stay locked on your face. To avoid his gaze, you move to be under his chin again. Your hand rests on one side of his chest while your head rests on the other.

Both of your breaths even out as you settle against one another. Silence stretches between you, only being filled by the AC clicking on. Before long, you find your eyes drooping as the sound of Steve’s heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

“Don’t know what I would do without you,” he mumbles so quietly you almost miss it. Steve must have thought you had fallen asleep. You let his words comfort you as you fall asleep against him.

The morning light wakes you. It spills from your window and past your curtains that you and Steve forgot to close after he came in.

It is not uncommon to wake up hot during summer in Indiana, but you quickly realize that it is not just the season that is causing your warmth.

You are still wrapped in Steve’s arms like you were last night, but it seems that you have become even more tangled than you originally were. Your face is now tucked against his neck, lips nearly brushing his skin.

His palms have slipped under your shirt and rest on your lower back and between your shoulder blades.

Both of your legs are intertwined, and his thigh rests solidly between your legs.

Before you can really react, Steve shifts. His arms tighten, pulling you even more flush against him. Sleep made his voice gravelly, “Good morning.”

As he stretches, he easily peels himself from you. You finally manage to voice your own grumbling, “morning,” to him. Did he not realize how close you had been? Or was he not affected by it in the same way you desperately pretend you are not.

Heat is present on your cheeks as he continues to lazily stretch. At least he seems more rested than he was last night.

Steve moves further away from you as he sits up in your bed. The hair on his head sticks in all directions, a sight very few are privy to.

He scrubs the sleep from his face before attempting to tame his hair. “I’m gonna go shower. Then I’ll come back over to pick you up for work, okay?” he does not really ask, but he still lilts his words in a way that makes you feel like you have a choice.

Unable to give him a verbal response, your head nods in conformation. The smile on his face practically blinds you when he turns towards you. As if it is his mission to completely stun you this morning, he leans down and presses a kiss on your temple. Steve sits back up to stand from bed.

“Don’t take too long getting ready, might just leave you,” a smirk dominates his expression. He would not actually leave you. He has always waited for you.

You just nod your head again, as you are still incapable of speech. The scent of Steve makes your brain feel fuzzy. Your body already misses the warmth that he was providing.

Steve shoots you a wink before he climbs out of your window, seemingly having forgotten that he could go through the front door. You ignore the way your heart is pounding.

You guys are just friends… right?

[o528s]

thank you guys all for ur sweet msgs in my inbox i will get to all the reqs soon keep em coming!!

stevie making you squirt within seconds <33 (hehe can u tell i love writing high!steve smut)

steve’s room reeks of the skunky smell of the joint you shared earlier, the cherry still glowing faintly in the ashtray on the nightstand. you’re both way too gone, limbs heavy, giggles turning into slow, filthy moans the second steve pushed inside you. missionary, lazy and deep, his hips rolling in that unhurried rhythm that always makes your brain melt when you’re this high. every slide in feels like it lasts forever, every drag out makes you clench around him like you’re scared he’ll leave.

you’re already loud, way louder than you mean to be. little whimpers turning into full-on moans, breathy and wrecked, echoing off the walls of his quiet house. “st-ahh-st-steeeve! fuck-stevie, right there, don’t stop-”

he’s grinning down at you, eyes half-lidded and red-rimmed, hair a sweaty mess falling into his face. “yeah? right there?” his voice is low, “god, you sound so fuckin’ pretty baby”

his cock is stretching you, the drag against your front wall, the way his pelvis grinds right over your clit with every slow thrust. your moans get louder, sharper, turning into desperate little cries that bounce around the room.

“steve-ohhh my god stevie fuck”

he chuckles under his breath, still rocking into you nice and steady, completely oblivious to how close you already are. “shhh, honey, you’re gonna-fuuck, you’re so loud tonight.”

but you can’t stop. the next one rips out of you, high pitched and way too fucking loud, and that’s when his hand finally moves. big palm clamping over your mouth, firm but careful, fingers splayed across your cheek. his eyes flick to yours, brows lifting just a fraction like he’s only now realizing how ruined you sound.

“easy baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of your eye where tears of pleasure are starting to gather. “gonna have the neighbors calling the cops if you keep screaming like that. just breathe through it for me, yeah? i got you.”

he doesn’t slow down. doesn’t even falter. just keeps fucking you with those same long, deep strokes, hand sealed over your mouth so every sound gets trapped against his skin, muffled, wet, desperate. your eyes roll back, thighs shaking around his waist, and you can feel it building stupidly fast. too fast. the weed, the angle, his voice, his hand pinning your noises down, him, him, and just him, it all crashes together.

your whole body locks up. back arching hard, muffled scream vibrating into his palm as the pressure snaps. you cum so suddenly it shocks even you, gushing hot and wet around his cock, soaking him, soaking the sheets, a slick rush that makes everything slippery. your hips jerk uncontrollably, thighs clamping tight, toes curling so hard they cramp.

steve freezes mid-thrust.

his eyes go wide, pupils blowing even further if that’s possible. he looks down between you, feels the way you’re pulsing and drenching him, the wet sound of every shallow rock of his hips now.

“holy shit,” he breathes, voice cracking on the words. “holy-fuck, baby, did you just-?”

you’re trembling, whimpering into his hand, nodding frantically because words aren’t happening right now.

he lets out this stunned, almost reverent laugh, hips stuttering as he processes it. “jesus christ. you just squirted all over me. two minutes in and you’re fucking soaking the bed.” his free hand slides down, cups your hip like he needs to ground himself. “that’s-fuck, that’s so hot. you’re so goddamn hot.”

he starts moving again, slower now, savoring it, eyes locked on where you’re still fluttering and dripping around him. his hand stays over your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek, “makin’ such a pretty mess f’me.” he whispers.

you whine against his palm, oversensitive and still clenching, tears slipping down your temples.

steve leans down, lips brushing your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, voice dropping to that soft, filthy tone that always undoes you. “you’re okay, sweetheart. i’ve got you. breathe. we’re gonna ride this out nice and slow, and then y’gonna do it again yeah?”

he rolls his hips once, deliberate, making you gasp into his hand.

“gonna keep my hand right here so you can scream all you want,” he promises, kissing the corner of your mouth where his fingers don’t quite cover.

[kill3ill]

slow hands | steve harrington

cw. french kissing, established relationship, cuddling, reader and steve are both nervous, hand action (m receiving), lots of cum.

synopsis. it's early days of your relationship with steve and things heat up during a makeout session. you're both nervous, but you're so shy you can't even look at his dick when you stroke it - so you kiss him instead clumsily.

your lips move sloppily over steve's as you lay tangled up with him in his bed.

you'd only intended to come over to see your new boyfriend for a lazy friday night of movie-watching and maybe some chaste, respectful kisses, but now you're wrapped around him in possibly the tiniest shorts in your whole wardrobe and a tank top that's thin enough for him to feel your nipples prodding into his chest.

"oh my gosh, baby-" he moans softly.

it comes out against your mouth, half-swallowed when you chase it by tilting your head to catch his lips again before he can pull too far away. you don't give him much room to think. your hand slides up into his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck and holding him in place as your mouths meet again.

it's a little messy, too much tongue, clumsy and unpracticed in a way new relationships are. his tongue goes a little too deep into your mouth before you both adjust, noses brushing as you shift. steve exhales sharply through his nose, and you feel it fan warm across your cheek before he angles his head, finding a better fit.

there.

your lips soften and mold into his slower this time. he makes a low sound of pleasure and it vibrates right through you. his hand, which had been resting uncertainly at your waist, tightens, fingers pressing into the bare skin right above your shorts to drag you closer.

you lean into him further, chest to chest, and the motion of your hips as you scoot forward draws another loud sound from him. he muffles it by pressing his lips firmer to yours, not breaking away even for a moment. when the two of you need to catch your breaths, your mouths part just enough for you to exhale into each other, before you dive in for more hungrily.

steve’s hands take purchase on the back of your neck and your ass, one holding you in place while the other just wants to fondle the fat globes greedily. he groans when you shift again to give him more room to feel you up.

“fuck me…” he murmurs, barely pulling back, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

your mouths chase each other as the pace starts to pick up. another kiss, and another; shorter now, quicker, your lips barely separating between them. your breathing is getting uneven and because you’re breathing so hard, your chest is rising and falling hard against his. every time you shift, he reacts like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

then he stills a bit, clinging to you a bit tighter and smushing his lips to yours without moving. you barely notice how stiff he’s gone at first because you’re too caught up in the way his mouth lingers on yours. but then steve lets out a sharp breath and lays his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes. “fuck-“ he breathes, pink spreading along his cheeks. of course five minutes into making out with his new girlfriend he’s popping a boner.

you’re definitely going to think he’s so lame. having such a cool ladies man rep doesn’t exactly go hand in hand with getting a boner and a leak from some kissing.

steve’s hands are still on you, but they’ve gone tense, because he’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything. of how close you are, how you’re draped over him, how your legs are tangled together.

he lets out a quiet, frustrated huff of a laugh, shaking his head slightly. he can’t believe himself.

he pulls back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. “um, sorry babe.” he says, voice rough and a little breathless. “i just- give me a second.”

you at him, still hovering close by his face. “what’s wrong? your voice comes out a little breathless, and you frown when your boyfriend doesn’t answer straight away.

instead, he clenches his jaw and moves his gaze somewhere over your shoulder, because he physically can’t look at you right now. one of his hands slips from your body and drags down to his crotch, adjusting at the waistband of his pajama bottoms with a quiet, strained grunt.

you pull back just a fraction more, searching his face and loosening your grip on him a little. “steve, did i do something? we can stop if you want.”

“no, no,” he cuts in quickly a little more desperate than he means to. then he exhales hard, trying to rein himself in before speaking. his large hand comes up briefly, hovering. he wants to touch you again but thinks better of it. “everything’s fine. just… just give me a second, okay?” he still won’t look at you.

your brows knit together as confusion settles in. you keep trying to catch his eyes but he’s either closing them and sucking in a breath or looking behind/around you. you clearly must’ve done something wrong, because he’s gone all avoidant when just a second ago he wasn’t far from sliding his tongue into your mouth. maybe you bit him? or maybe you’re a bad kisser and he’s trying to figure out how to tell you “a second for what?” you ask, insecurities starting to take over.

he runs his hands down his extremely warm face. “just stop talking for two seconds, please.” he begs, your soft, melodic voice already making his boner worse. he’s honestly astounded you haven’t felt it by now.

him telling you to be quiet only makes you frown more.

your gaze drops, following the line of his body without really thinking, and you adjust your hips up off his body for one second-

-and then you see it.

your eyes widen just slightly, realization clicking into place all at once as you take in the obvious tension straining against the soft fabric of his pants, the way he’s still subtly trying to adjust like he can somehow hide it despite how big it is.

“oh.” you exhale softly, feeling all your anxiousness washing away. he didnt think you were a bad kisser. on the contrary, he’d enjoyed kissing you so much that it got his dick hard and… is that a damp patch?

steve nudges your chin up to stop you from looking at it too long. “yeah, oh.” he says, clearly embarrassed. “could you uh, get off me for one sec? so i can… you know. take care of it. you can watch the movie while you’re waiting for me.”

you don’t move from on top of him, grabbing his jaw so he has to look at you. he swallows thickly and accepts the eye contact, even if it causes his cock to give a dull throb in his now uncomfortably tight pants and boxers. he grunts and puts his hands on your hips, intending to move you off him. “baby i gotta go jerk off, alright? you gonna get off or not?”

“if i did it i wanna be the one to take care of it.”

steve freezes, hands stilling on you once more as you make your bold demand. he takes a second to actually process what you said and how firmly you said it. you’re serious about this, for sure. not making a fool of him. you wanna get him off. he swallows, then stares at you. “uh, you sure? you don’t have to just cause you got me worked up. i don’t expect that of you.”

you nod firmly, knowing that you want tonight to be the night where you and steve elevate your relationship. “yeah. it’s just my hand for tonight, you know?” you say, trying to sound confident when you’re actually really nervous. you really like steve and you don’t want to screw anything up with him. but at the same time, you really want to go to the next level sexually.

he exhales. “sure, you can use your hand.”

you nod quickly and press your lips back to his. for some reason, you can’t actually initiate this because your shyness got the better of you. you lace your fingers around steve’s, hoping he’ll get the hint that you need guidance. his heart melts, and he immediately understands, continuing to kiss you while gently laying you onto your side so you can have a better angle for what he’s about to do.

your joint hands slowly move - controlled by steve - down to his tented pants, where he wraps your smaller fingers around his clothed dick and makes you feel him pulse and throb in your palm.

he gasps into your mouth and closes your hand around it through his pants, hips rutting into your hand as he guides it up and down his swollen dick through his pj bottoms.

all talk, that’s what you were. wanting to take care of your boyfriend and then getting so shy when he actually allowed you to. maybe it’s because his dick is so much bigger than you anticipated. you gasp when your hand wraps around the girth and he tugs it up to his flared head. he. guides the heel of your hand right onto his tip, putting pressure on the sensitive slit and smearing his slick around his pants.

he moans loudly into your mouth and kisses you a little harder, mumbling “yeah… yeah, right there, honey. keep doin’ that…” against your mouth.

as you repeat the motion, his hand slips up into your shirt to fondle you while his spare hand tugs his sweatpants and boxers down in his fist. and one second you’re touching him through clothes, the next, your hand is making direct contact with the firm,warm, and wet flesh of his cock.

your eyes fly open, but you’re still too scared to look at his dick. your fear of it increased tenfold when you feel it raw, your hand making direct contact with it. steve's face is contorted in bliss, his mouth moving against yours while he helps you stroke his cock.

the feel of his big hand massaging your breasts has you accidentally squeezing his cock and mimicking his motions, and he sucks in a breath, pleased by the increased amount of pressure, your hand squeezing at the base of his dick and dragging up to the tip, hand tight enough around him to practically milk more precum out of him. steve moans and slides his tongue into your mouth with no warning, hips starting to rock up, thrusting into your touch, seeking more friction.

you can tell he's close by how frantic he's getting, his tongue now dominating yours, tasting every inch of your mouth while you stroke his cock, collecting slick off his tip and smearing it along the shaft, making his cock gooey and easier to pump around your fist. the sounds he's making - from his cock and his mouth - are sinful at this point.

moving your hand a little faster, you twist and squeeze his dick each time your hand moves, while he's moved his kisses down to your jaw, finding a sweet spot and focusing his attention on it, kissing and sucking until it bruises. you moan, his mouth on you and his hand kneading your breast and rolling, pinching your puffy nipple has you dripping and more eager to make him cum. "yeah baby, just like that." he pants into your neck, shoving his head into your neck and moaning when your hand brushes over a sensitive ridge. "just like that, im gonna... fuck, im so close."

he ruts his hips into your hand like a man possessed, and with a few more firm strokes of your soft hand around him, you feel thick cream with a heady scent cover your hand, hot and wet and adding to the mess around his cock as you keep stroking, wanting to milk him dry. he moans and shivers, tugging you closer and putting his mouth to your ear. "look at it." he whispers to you, having noticed you shying away from it the whole time. he wants you to see it so you know what you're really dealing with, but he won't force you if you're too scared. he finds it cute that you're so shy.

finally, you open your eyes as you're wringing out the last couple ropes of cum out of him, seeing how thick and long he is. the sheer size of him would have you backing away if you hadn't already got him off, and you just stare in awe while he watches you, trying to gauge your reaction. his eyes are half lidded and he groans as you leave your hand wrapped around him.

"you like it?"

you look back up at him and nod shyly, to which he responds with a little kiss to your swollen lips. his hand removes yours from around his dick, a soft hiss leaving his lips as he begins to soften. he's oversensitive already. "good, cause you can do whatever to it anytime you want." he jokes lightly, then gets embarassed when he sees the mess all over your hand and on your tummy too, which had been pressed against him. he slips his hand out of your shirt and sits up. "im gonna go get some tissues and a drink for you." he mumbles, looking down at your face. "and if you want i can... return the favor, if you know what i mean." he suggests. he's only half joking.

see more in my stranger things masterlist

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[kassy-djomunson]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KURT!!!!

[sadleslnk]

DJO

perfoming at the Tecate Pa'l Norte festival in Monterrey, Mexico (March 29th, 2026)

[ms-mountebank]

Feeling far to feral right now for a Monday morning 🥵

[sexyvixen7]

(Source: alma.hdez.photo on Instagram)

Photos of Djo from Alma Part 3