before and after series - i’ve been meaning to write this scene but couldn’t figure out a way i wanted to play it! i hope this suffices :)

“She’s so small…” you whisper into the sterile air of the delivery room. The nurses have all gone now— some off their shifts, others gone to check on other healing mothers.

Steve drags the tip of his finger across her nose. Over her cheekbones, the top of her downy head. Tracing her features as if to commit them to memory.

“She’s so…soft,” he says with something like astonishment coating his voice, “Like, I don’t think i’ve ever felt something so soft before. There has to be another word for it.”

“Perfect?” You supply for him.

“Yeah,” he grins at you, “that, too. Kinda slimy when she came out though, huh?”

You stifle a laugh and gently swat his shoulder with a soft thwack. A pause: “Yeah. I guess she was.”

Steve snorts with you— thinking about all the goo your baby was covered in before the midwife cleaned her off for you. Her head slightly cone-shaped.

The two of you are quiet for a long while, staring at her with a sense of wonder unique to both of you. Steve breaks the silence first: “I’m so proud of you.”

Maybe it’s the earnest shape his eyes take on when he says it, or the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with the same reverence that he’s been admiring your daughter with— maybe both— that makes your eyes well quickly with unshed tears.

Steve frowns, that stubborn crinkle forming between his eyebrows, “Don’t cry, baby—“

“No— happy tears,” you reassure him quickly, “they’re happy tears.”

“I mean it,” he reaffirms, “I know you wanted to strangle me there for a minute—“

You roll your eyes, “I did not want to strangle you—“

“You’re right actually— I think your exact words were ‘You asshole, you did this to me’. That ring any bells? No?”

A hearty laugh escapes you, jostling the baby, “I’m so sorry—“

“I’m just teasin’,” Steve smiles, grabbing your hand, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“It just hurt. A lot. Like seriously— my vagina will never be the same.” You groan, already dreading the months of recovery ahead of you.

As if reading your mind, Steve assures you: “I’ll be there every step. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you nod against his hand where it rests against your sweaty cheek, “you don’t think i’m gross and unsexy now, do you?”

“You kiddin’ me? You shit yourself on our third date—“

“Oh my god—“

“From that bad Chinese food—“

“Please stop talking—“

“And I still wanted to keep seeing you. Because I love you. Loved you— even then I did.” He laments, the ghost of a laugh in his voice at recalling the memory.

Your cheeks burn from the embarrassment of such a recollection— especially right now. “I hate you,” you laugh.

“I love you,” he kisses your forehead tenderly.

Your daughter stirs where she lays on your chest, her mouth clicking.

“You want her for a bit?” You ask Steve.

He nods, eyes wide despite having already held her. You can see the nervousness still etched on his face. He takes her from you slowly— almost ridiculously so.

She settles against his bare chest immediately; tiny hands grasping at his skin. Both of his hands engulf almost her entire body.

“See? She already loves you. You’re gonna be a great dad, Steve.”

His posture softens the longer he holds her. Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch them.

Asking for your friend. She's shy.

Hypothetically, being the good friend that I am, I would take her home, make her comfortable, tell her she's a good girl, and make her feel like a good girl.

I would take her silly brain and make her feel very fuzzy, and dizzy, more than she already was. I would remember her how much she enjoys serving me, how much pleasure she gets from obeying my commands, and how horny she gets from submitting to my voice.

What video game will you defend forever?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

DRAGON QUEST BUILDERS 2

had to turn this into a wee fic! sweet eddie deserves his vest back as he heals. hope you like! | 0.9k, fluff, fem!reader

It's been about two weeks since Eddie was dragged out of the Upside Down, his lifeblood leaking out of the countless wounds he'd gotten from being a demobat chew toy. The nurses told you that he'd be okay to go home soon, but that doesn't stop you from coming as many times are you can. And when the front desk calls you "the Munson kid's girlfriend" you don't bother to correct them, even if it's not that official between you two.

This is such an awesome question (and a great idea lol). There are a couple I like for biology:

The Biology Coloring Book, R. Griffin - This is like a reference coloring book. It has the info on one side and the pictures on the other side. I love to color so this is one of my favorites lol.

A Short Guide to Writing about Biology, J. Pechenik - If you want to learn more about reading and writing scientific articles/reports this is totally the book to go to!

Clinical Biology made Ridiculously Simple, M. Gladwin - this is a super awesome (and hilarious) intro to clinical bio.

The Tangled Bank, C. Zimmer - This isn't so much a reference book per se, but it's an awesome intro to evolution and evolutionary biology. It's designed to be for anyone, not just bio students, so there's not a ton of jargon to get through.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, R. Skloot - this is also more of a non-fiction book, but it's super important and I think all bio students need to know this story. Henrietta Lacks was a poor black woman whose cells were taken (without her knowledge) in 1951, and then became one of the most important tools used for understanding medicine/cancer bio. This is about the bioethics/experimentation on people of color that often took place and the repercussions we still see in science today. It's a very heavy, but important read.

but poor thing - he just can’t cum! even when he fucks it rough and hard. it’s not that same as your tight, wet pussy. and the lack of your moans of his name doesn’t help. so he abandons his pillows and walks aaaaaallll the way to your place, knocking on the door pathetically. he’s hard in gym shorts when you open the door, your mouth dropping. he wastes no time in getting his hands on you, licking into your mouth and pressing your body against the door. and this is precisely what you wanted — for him to come chase you down and take what he needs <3

xoxo stevenose!!

18+ MNDI kinda mean!steve until the end because he can’t help but be a big softie

and the worst part is that you’re the only reason he went to the stupid party anyway. he doesn’t even like these people, but he thought the two of you had a thing— and arrangement. if you will.

which is precisely why you didn’t show up.

you want more than quick fucks in some strangers bathroom or guest bedroom. or the occasional coat closet, when you’re really in a pinch.

you’re not sure exactly what you had expected. a call, maybe? steve showing up at your door, one am, barely concealed cock tenting his worn hawkins high gym shorts was not it

he looks like a kicked dog. truly. he’s panting, just a bit. you wonder if he drove or walked here, with your apartment being just up the street from his parents place

“steve—“

“i need you—“

you have almost no time to process before the entire length of your back is being pressed against the wall hard.

“where were you tonight?” steve pants into your mouth, “looked everywhere for you,”

“was busy tonight,” you answer noncommittally just to see him riled up

“bullshit,” he mumbles into your neck

tired of this line of questioning, you extend your reach to palm the hard length of him through his nylon shorts. he gasps as his hips buck helplessly into your hand

he seems so pent up that you briefly wonder if he’ll try to take you right there against the wall. you’re so pent up that you want him to

his tongue still in your mouth— licking, exploring— steve shoves the waistband of his shorts down to just above his knees and in the same swift motion pulls you panties to the side; the cold air hitting your cunt mixed with a thrilling anticipation elicits a shiver from you

steve gasps as he drags the weeping, swollen head of his cock through your slick, “tried fucking my pillow when i got home,” he breathes, “nothing feels like you, baby,”

he thrusts into you with little to no warning, punching a sharp moan from your lungs at the sudden, pleasurable intrusion, “fuck! steve—“

“know you did this on purpose,” he pants, hoisting you in his arms and anchoring your legs around his hips, “working me up, making me chase you— such a needy little slut, aren’t you?”

he’s exactly right. he never fucks you like— dirty, fast, mean— this unless you make him work for it

your head falls back against the drywall with enough force to have been painful under different circumstances, but the way steve’s filling you now drowns out every other sense but touch

“yes, baby— just like that, steve,”

“yeah? that the spot?”

“yes!”

you’re vaguely aware of the fact that every person in your neighboring apartments can surely hear the entire ordeal; what, with the way steve’s all but pounding you into the wall, your combined moans

“so fuckin’ tight,” he breaks eye contact for the first time since he arrived to place his thumb on your clit, not wanting to miss it by even a centimeter, “want you to come for me, sweetheart— remember who this pussy belongs to,”

“fuck— i’m close,” you gasp, nearly unintelligibly

“you’re never gonna stand me up again,” steve tells you through bared teeth— not a suggestion. you shake your head helplessly, there’s little you wouldn’t agree to right now

“say it.” he grunts, a calloused hand reaching to apply gentle pressure to your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “look at me and tell me.”

“i won’t stand you up again, steve,” your voice wavering from pleasure and the repeated motion of being thrusted into

“yeah— that’s my good little whore,” he hand releases your face, instead opting to engulf your entire upper body into the strong embrace of his biceps. you’re trapped by him entirely and you realize starkly that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be

he comes hard with a stuttering thrust, you feel it flooding you in slow bursts of warmth. his breath shudders against your neck as you both come down, his fingers carding shakily through your hair

steve doesn’t put you down until it’s on the plush comforter that blankets your mattress

“how’re you feelin’?” he asks, wiping a bead of sweat off your brown bone with his thumb, “you okay?”

you nod slowly, every one of your limbs feels stuffed with lead, “i’m okay,”

“i’m gonna grab some water,”

he comes back with one glass, tilts it to your lips “small sips, baby,”

steve gulps down the other half of the glass, places it on the nightstand, then says with a knitted brow, “you know i’m not really mad at you, right?”

“i know, steve,” you smile sleepily, constantly endeared by him

normally this is where steve harrington would tell a girl that he loves them, but that’s not what you to are doing

that’s not what you are

he instead settles on: “can i stay tonight?”

tw for vomiting

okay wait…because i’ve been thinking about ex!steve because of the celine dion song and this could def be a scenario worth exploring

seeing him again at a party maybe a month or so after the big break, so it’s all pretty fresh. you stay because you’re stubborn, hard-headed. steve stays because of the same, even if seeing you feels like touching an open wound

surely downing drinks will help! mixers, except for it’s 90% vodka and 10% coke. and before you know it, you’re absolutely plastered, feeling worse than you had before you’d started drinking and remembering vaguely— sullenly— that, right, you’re a sad drunk

you sneak away to shed a tear or two, trying not to dampen your friends moods along with yours, when like some sick, esoteric joke from the cosmos— you run smack into the middle of your ex’s broad chest as you both round a corner too quickly

you know your eyes are already glassy, and steve had been pinching the bridge of his nose just beneath his eyes when you stumble back far enough to look up at him. too bad you both can read the other like a book; the result of spending nearly everyday together for three years

your break hadn’t been a clean cut. a friend group to share and a comically a small town to live in didn’t make it easy to truly separate. you’d both said things— done things— that you weren’t proud of. the result of a toxic mix of sadness and anger and resentment

steve stutters, you both begin to speak over each other

“sorry—“

“hey—you okay?”

you shake your head, trying to dislodge the familiar, achingly nostalgic smell of his cologne from your sinuses so that you can think straight, “yeah, i—was just getting some—air,”

“in the bathroom?” steve questions, he doesn’t miss the way your words are slurring together. concern surges hot in his chest

“yeah—no. just—“ hiccup, “wanted t’be alone. for a second.”

steve eyes the cup in your hand, reaching for it carefully like one might approach a frightened deer, “maybe we put this down, yeah? get some water instead?”

you can feel tears instantly spring to your eyes again at the tone of his voice; something you’d once affectionately nicknamed his ‘boyfriend voice’. it makes bile rise in your throat

except it doesn’t stop in your throat. it keeps coming— further and further until you’re vomiting your feelings onto your ex boyfriend’s scuffed nike sneakers

“woah—okay—“ steve blurts, quickly gathering your hair in his hand to prevent it from getting puke in it as you spill your guts on this nasty frat house floor

“i’m sorry—“ you sob, suddenly feeling a lot more sober than you had thirty seconds ago

“it’s okay, you’re okay,” at some point while you were distracted, steve had taken your cup and set it on the banister, “let’s get you cleaned up, c’mon—“

you follow steve like a kicked dog to the bathroom, equally as gross looking as the rest of the house. he pulls a hand towel out of a cupboard and runs it beneath the sink faucet until it’s wet with warm water

he doesn’t say anything as he wipes your face with no less gentleness than he’d offered you as your partner, the sorrow is simply too much for your poor, inebriated mind as tears flow steadily down your cheeks and uncomfortably into the neck of your blouse

steve looks pained at the sight, his brows furrowed, features becoming crumpled, “hey, don’t cry—please? you know i hate it when you cry.”

“i know,” you sigh wetly

“what’s goin’ on, baby?” steve sighs back, setting the cloth down on the countertop with a wet plop

the pet name is the metaphorical fatal blow, and you audibly sob again— folding in on yourself like standing is something your body no longer has the capacity to do

but steve is there—always fucking there— pulling you into his chest. a safe place for you to collapse. a red herring

“i wan you t’miss m—me,” you slur into his shirt, “i miss you,”

you can’t see the look on steve’s face when you say it, and steve’s glad for it, “we shouldn’t talk about this right now…” he says, grasping at straws to maintain some type of composure— to be the responsible shoulder to cry on that you need right now

you look up at his, eyes stained with running mascara and your dignity on a platter, “d’you even still—“ hiccup “— love me?”

the look in your eyes is pleading and utterly devastating, it reaches a hand beneath steve’s ribs and squeezes—

“course i do,” he tells you, barely concealing the desperation in his voice, frantic to make you feel better, “course i love you, sweetheart,”

he knows he shouldn’t tell you, even if it’s true. knows it’ll only make this harder. make it feel worse when you wake up tomorrow— head pounding and that hollow feeling in your chest

“i’m gonna take you home, alright?”

you nod minutely into his shoulder.

you don’t remember him steering you out of the house as inconspicuously as possible— for your reputation just as much as his. or him ushering you into the passenger seat of his beamer. or puking again in the footwell of said besmer

you don’t remember him guiding you upstairs and helping you get dressed into something comfier— more suitable for sleep. or him tucking you gently under your covers before parting with a soft, barely there kiss to your forehead

he would totally do this like, right after libby is born and he's just so tired but he know's you must be exhausted and he just wants to help UGH dad!steve harrington x mom!fem!reader

before and after series

"Where's her, um--" you snap your fingers, simply trying to grasp the word you're thinking of, "her swaddle-thingy that she likes?"

"I had to wash it last night after she puked on it." Steve replies, voice groggy.

"Right, that's right..." You mutter to yourself, heading for the tiny room you'd managed to shove your washer and dryer into years ago.

The day for your newborns first checkup couldn't have come on a worse day. You're actually not even positive what day of the week it is right now.