#steddie adjacent

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Eddie eventually makes Steve his own battle vest, but with all of Steve's favorite bands.

The back panel is an old Queen concert t-shirt. Robin helped pick out cute buttons and pins, including an ice cream cone, a BMW logo, and a baseball bat (of course)

But Steve's favorite parts are where the kids wrote their names and little doodles in between the patches.

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating, Part Five

Part 4

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, dubcon, while being sickly sweet, mpreg, pregnant sex, mdni 🔞

They return to Rome with little fanfare, Geta focused on keeping Stepan safe from prying eyes until they are ready to announce their mating. And with his condition so readily apparent, Geta is even more vigilant, the couple entering the city at night and in disguise.

He has to bribe some palace servants and threaten others to make it to his rooms unnoticed, but it’s worth it to finally help his mate get comfortable in a proper bed, this mattress so much bigger and more luxurious than the one in his tent. Exhausted from their travels, especially the push this final day, Stepan struggles to remove his tunica. Geta steps in to help, and freezes with his hand pressed to his mate’s belly.

Stepan smiles, warm and sweet, covering Geta’s hand with his own. “You feel it?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Geta nods and sinks to his knees. “This must be a good sign, yes?” To feel his pup for the first time now he’s home seems auspicious, no matter how solid the pit in his stomach is at being within 100 miles of his brother again. The movement under his hand becomes his only care in the world, at least in this moment, and his minor jealousy that Stepan has felt the pup for nearly a month abates completely.

“I hope so.”

The kicks slow to a stop, their pup shifting into a new position. Geta presses a kiss to Stepan’s belly, and Stepan idly pets Geta’s hair. “I am sorry, my sweet, I know you are tired,” Geta murmurs, still holding his belly, needing to be close to his child.

“You can still hold us once we are in bed, Geta.”

He looks up to see Stepan smiling fondly down at him and his stomach swoops. “But I must let you go in order to get there, and I do not wish to.” Geta presses his face back into Stepan’s belly, breathing his concentrated scent and purring.

Stepan tugs hard at the hairs at the nape of his neck, forcing his gaze back up. “We need to sleep. So we are both ready for tomorrow.”

“You are right, mellitus. As always.” Geta forces himself to release his mate and get back on his feet. He helps Stepan from his tunica, then strips off his own, arranging pillows to make sure Stepan is comfortable and supported in their bed, before slotting in behind him.

Geta sleeps deep and dreamless, and wakes to golden sunlight entering through the windows. Stepan still sleeps peacefully in his arms, at least until the door bursts open.

His mother sweeps into the room, fixing Geta with a pointed glare, quickly taking in every aspect of the room. “Truly, Geta, you sneak home, no word to let me know you’ve arrived, but you have time to find a courtesan to warm your bed?”

He feels Stepan stiffen under his touch, and Geta leans forward to kiss over his bonding bite. “Sorry to surprise you, Mother, but I wanted to keep him to myself a little longer.” Another kiss to Stepan’s hair before he slips from the bed. Geta plucks up a robe, drapes it over his shoulders, but pushes it open enough to show off his bite. “Stephanos is my mate.”

“Is that supposed to be better? Choosing a mate without your father’s blessing! How do you know you were not summoned for a marriage? You could have ruined months of negotiations.”

Geta smiles, can tell his mother is not truly angry. “Because you would say so, Mother. And because Father is more worried with Caracalla and conquest.” He goes to her, takes her delicate hands in his, and flashes a conspiratorial wink. “Besides, my mate is a prince by birth, and more importantly, he is carrying your grandchild.”

“Then I am sure your father will be most pleased, just ensure he looks the part when you present him. We shall be eating together in an hour.” She cups his cheek, guides his face down so she may kiss his forehead. “Now introduce me to your omega.”

Geta fetches a robe for Stepan, keeps him covered as he crawls from the bed, and wraps him in the silk, keeping a hand over his bump as he presents him. “Mother, this is Stephanos. Mellitus, meet my mother, Empress Julia Domna.”

Julia’s dark eyes take Stepan in as she circles them. “He is quite lovely, Geta. And tall.” Her hands gently hold Stepan at the sides of his belly, silently gauging the progress of his pregnancy. She turns her full attention to Stepan and asks, “You have felt the quickening?”

“Nearly a month ago, your grace.”

“Good. We shall hire you a personal midwife, to make sure you and the pup are healthy.” Her hands move up his body, feeling his small breasts, along his neck and ears, pulling on his chin so she may look at his teeth. “And where are you from that you have such pretty Latin?”

“Scythia. We speak Latin for the sake of trade, and my father hired a native speaker to teach my siblings and me.”

Geta purrs, proud of his mate for being so well composed in front of his mother. Which, of course, draws her attention to him again. “I’ll leave you to dress; best you move quickly so you can beat your brother to your father’s dining room.” His mother pats his cheek, and turns to leave just as quickly as she’d arrived.

“Your mother is intense,” Stepan murmurs softly, fingers seeking Geta’s where they rest over his belly.

“She is clever. Like you, mellitus.” Geta turns him in his arms, delicately holds his chin, and kisses him lazy and sweet. “And she is right. You must look the part when you meet my father.”

He starts with jewelry—rings, bangles, armbands, and necklaces—all gold and set with pearls that practically glow against Stepan’s skin. Geta doesn’t know much, but he helps Stepan braid his hair, tying the plaits into a knot at the back of his head, making plans to find a skilled ornatrix for his omega. Finally, he fetches a tunica the color of the sea, made of the finest silk, so thin it clings to every curve. He removes one of the brooches from the neck, leaving it more open on the left side, the fabric draping beautifully to show off his left breast in imitation of Venus Genetrix.

To show what he is meant to be: The Mother of Rome.

🌙🏛️🌿

Stepan looks down at himself, confused. “This is how you want to present me to your father?” Among his people, baring a single breast would mark him as a warrior, and while he has been trained to fight, he does not see the logic in drawing attention to that.

“Yes. You have the beauty of Venus, and I want him to know exactly what you are to me.” Geta traces a finger around his mating bite, his other hand cradling the side of his belly. “And what you are to him. The continuation of his dynasty.”

Throat tight, Stepan merely nods, tucking his nose to Geta’s neck as his mate holds him close. Then he’s deposited on the bed to wait as Geta dresses himself in an imperial purple tunica, slipping golden cuffs on his wrists and studding his fingers with rings. But beside Stepan, he looks almost plain.

Hand in hand, they make their way to the triclinium, passing servants and slaves, arriving to an empty room. Geta makes himself comfortable, sprawling on one of the klinē, and has Stepan sit beside him, protective hand over his belly. “Everything will be alright, mellitus. You will charm my father, and then we may rest properly. Tomorrow, I thought we might go to the palace baths, and after that I will show you Rome.”

Stepan reaches to play with Geta’s hair, fingers sliding through his short waves. “What greater part of Rome could you show me than the palace?” he asks, only half teasing. The little bit of the city that he saw in the dark was more than he could rightly imagine before he passed through the gates.

“The Colosseum and the Circus Maximus. We’ll go to gladiatorial games, chariot races. The Forum and the Pantheon. There is so-”

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” a warm voice says from the doorway, drawing their eyes. Grey hair and a full beard show Stepan how his husband may look in a handful of decades, as Emperor Severus enters the room. He is handsome, obviously spry and strong as he crosses to stand before them. “My son may have gone behind my back to claim you, Stephanos, but I cannot blame him,” he says, taking Stepan’s hands in his. “We shall have to wed you properly here in Rome before my campaign in Caledonia.”

Stepan simply bows his head in agreement, caught off guard by Geta’s father already knowing his name. Looking up past his lashes, he sees Julia Domna in the doorway, cryptic smile on her face.

“Of course, Father,” Geta says, maneuvering himself off the back of the klinē while keeping a grounding hand on Stepan. “Are you certain you should be going so far north? Mother wrote-”

“Mother worries too much over my health!” He claps Geta on the shoulder, laugh booming. “It was a mere fever and I am fine now.”

“A fever that left you delirious for three days straight! That kept you abed for more than a month,” Julia counters fiercely, practically shaking with frustration as she enters the room.

Severus reaches for his empress, tugs her into his chest. “And I am fine now, mellita.” He kisses her brow, but she stares up at him with fire still in her eyes. “You do not worry so when I am on the battlefield, but a fever has you thinking I am a frail old man!” He laughs again and grabs her hips, all but ruts against her. “You know I am not frail.” More laughter as he relaxes his hold and turns out to face the room. “I do admit I am old.”

“Father!” Geta scolds. Stepan understands; he does not wish to think of his parents dying either.

“Even an emperor cannot live forever. Many hardly live at all.” Severus wets his lips and swallows hard. “It is good you have found a suitable mate, Geta. It strengthens my desire you raise you up, and will hopefully calm the senate.”

“What?” Geta breathes.

“I think it best both you and your brother rule with me now. Especially since there is a pup on the way.”

Another outburst from the doorway. “You cannot be serious, Father!” The opulence of his clothes may explain Caracalla’s lateness, taking far longer to dress in his elaborate toga, but the sneer on his face looks near-permanent. “Geta goes off, pups a foreign whore, and you want to name him Augustus!”

Geta growls. Stepan holds him in place, shifts his hand so his alpha can feel their pup moving within him. Anything to stop him from going feral and challenging his brother.

It is the empress who shouts first. “Antoninus! You are not to disrespect Stephanos! He has already done more for the future of the empire than your wife ever managed.”

“How long is it since you had Plautilla banished, Brother?” Geta asks, his tone falsely light. “Three years? Four? And still no replacement.”

Caracalla snarls and lunges.

Stepan flinches.

Severus growls, catches his eldest by the shoulder, and scruffs him. “Be grateful your brother has been fruitful. The pup in that omega’s belly shall be your heir as well.”

Caracalla whines, teeth still bared. Severus lets him go, snaps his fingers, and a slave enters with a tray of olives, grapes, and soft cheese. The tension in the room remains thick, but Severus smiles, confident in his control. He looks to Stepan and his smile turns apologetic. “I’m sure Geta already warned you about how he and his brother snipe at one another. Let’s not allow it to ruin our appetites; the pup must have you ravenous by now.”

Stepan smiles, nods, and forces himself to eat.

🌙🏛️🌿

Keeping his promise, after the mixed welcome from his family Geta takes Stepan back to their rooms, fully intending to let his mate rest until the evening meal.

His mother has other plans.

She swans into the room with a group of omega servants, chirping, “You cannot keep dressing your wife in your own clothing, Geta. He must have proper stolae and tunicae befitting his status.” She turns to Stepan. “Do you spin? Weave?”

“Yes, but I am not very skilled.”

“Then you shall practice. I shall have a loom set up for you next to mine in the atrium, but of course we do not expect you to create your own wardrobe.” She waves over an omega girl of about fifteen, has her gauge Stepan’s measurements. “We shall have to go to an artisan for something ready-made that is suitable for your wedding clothes.” She cups his cheek, tucks back a strand of hair that escaped his braid. “I’ve a girl who can see to your hair, I’ll send her to you later.” Her attention turns again to his pregnant belly, touch light as she holds him. “And I’ve sent for a midwife; she should be staying at the palace until after you deliver.”

In less than a day, she has secured everything Geta had planned to find for Stepan, when she hadn’t so much as known he’d existed last night. “Thank you, Mother,” Geta murmurs, stepping in to kiss her cheek before possessively wrapping his arms around his mate from behind. “We appreciate all you gave done and are doing, but Stephanos needs rest. The journey was hard and the pup disturbs his sleep.”

“I’m sure all you will do is rest,” Julia responds, knowing glint in her eyes.

“Mother!”

“There is no shame in an alpha wanting his omega, my son. And I’ve no doubt you are tending to his needs as well.”

Geta flushes hot and his mother laughs. “We will talk more at supper,” she finishes. Then with a wave and snap of her fingers, she leaves as quickly as she arrived.

Stepan turns in Geta’s arms to face him. “I quite like your mother,” he says, suppressing a giggle as he rests his head on Geta’s shoulder.

“I knew you would.” He’s desperate to kiss his pretty wife, equally desperate to keep him relaxed, and settles for nuzzling into his hair and pressing soft lips to his temple.

“And while I would like to have a nap, I was also hoping you would touch me sweetly, Husband.”

“You know I will do so gladly, mellitus.” Were he not worried about the pup, Geta would sweep Stepan into his arms and carry him to bed. But he is, so he carefully guides his mate back until he can sit at the foot of the bed, still looking like a goddess on earth. Geta can’t help himself then, moaning as he takes most of Stepan’s small, bared breast into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth on him. His goal is not to arouse, simply to connect, to be close to his mate and worship the place their pup will nurse.

Stepan sighs, fingers curling in Geta’s hair. “Harder, Geta. Please.”

His intentions shift, mouth suctioning around the stiff bud of Stepan’s nipple, hand coming up to grip his neck, to press his thumb into his mating gland. More little, mewling sighs follow. Geta pulls off with a gasp and groans, “Need to see you. All of you.” The clinging silk leaves next to nothing to the imagination, but Geta needs to gaze upon warm skin, to be as close as possible to his pup when his hands next cover Stepan’s belly.

Geta helps Stepan wriggle from his tunica, throwing the garment aside, hungry eyes roving over his naked body. He is still gilded, covered in gold up his arms and hanging from his neck, shining like the sun. “So lovely, my omega,” Geta murmurs, kissing him softly, bracketing his belly with warm hands. “Do you want my mouth on your perfect cunt? Or do you need to be filled? Should I seat you on my cock and suck your pretty tits?”

“Alpha…” Stepan whines, one hand clutching at Geta’s shoulder, the other fumbling for his cock under his tunica. “Fill me. Need to feel you inside.” He mouths wetly at Geta’s neck, kisses sloppily up to his ear and nips at the lobe.

Geta loves having his mate so desperate and needy, loves how good Stepan has become at asking for what he wants. Loves the feeling of Stepan tugging at his clothes, of a too-tight squeeze around his cock. Loves the slide of slick under his fingers as he teases Stepan’s already pulsing cunt. His tunica joins the silk on the floor, a regal mess of color ready to tangle together.

Reclining against the pillows, Geta gives his cock a few cursory tugs, and reaches for Stepan’s hand, helping him to his throne. No mater how many times he is engulfed by his mate’s sweet heat, Geta knows it will always overwhelm him to be taken into Venus’s embrace, to be taken into the cunt that was made for him.

Stepan sinks down with a moan, wordless yet Geta understands him perfectly. “I know, mellitus,” he croons, peppering kisses over his collarbones and kneading a soft breast. “Take what you need.”

He rides him slow, each languid shift of his hips just enough for them both to build towards a gentle crest, Stepan’s peak coming in waves as slick dribbles in a steady stream from his prick. Geta follows him, knot swelling, hands cradling their pup, little feet kicking under his palm. Tears fill his eyes, his body tingles as the intensity of his orgasm dissipates and his sweat cools on his skin.

Stepan’s hands cover his, holding their pup together. “Geta…” he whispers, collapsing forward to rest his forehead on his alpha’s shoulder.

“I know, amore. I know.”

[princessstevemunson]

I know that Eddie isn’t weak, but that being said post demobat attack Eddie will be weaker than he was before due to all that was taken from him, and the healing process. Where is the angst of that? The angst of having to rebuild what was lost, or accepting that he needs help with things he didn’t need help with prior to the week from hell.

[goodlittlerobot]

okay i gotta make a post thanking all of you who have read, liked or reblogged the steddie fic i posted.

thank you for the nice words, unhinged tags, hearts, comments and follows. it genuinely warms my ice cold cold, tiny little heart and i wanna send every one of yous one of those edible fruit bouquets i used to see commercials about.

thank you sm i hope to post more soon. if y’all ever have a prompt or request or even just a silly lil thought, my ask is always open.

[greywolfheirs]

I love being a fan but a canon hater. I've made a Star Wars post about this but I think I'm worse about Stranger Things. I took a Buzzfeed quiz and it asked what my favorite season was and I was like none of them??? Which one do I have the least amount of problems with you mean? And then there was a favorite relationship question and hoo boy Buzzfeed I cannot tell you how presumptuous you are asking me that

[fandomfourever]

I wanted to show off my Eddie model in motion, and since the motions I've been making for him are taking a while, I was really happy to have found this one. Plus you all get to see some of the other models I made, too, lol. Please enjoy!

[space-invading-pigeon]

Dustin being mad at Steve because he caught the guy kissing Eddie

Steve and Eddie being hurt that Dustin is a homophobe

Robin finding out that Dustin is actually mad because he didn't know Steve liked Eddie, because Dustin thought everyone found everyone attractive

Steve has to apologize to Dustin for not keeping him informed on his love life while Eddie guffaws in the background like an asthmatic horse

****

"I'm in a very loving and committed relationship with Suzie but if Lucas kissed me I would thank him."

"Dustin, I will climb out of this hospital bed and kick your ass right now."

"Max, you would cry if El kissed you so I don't want to hear it."

[wheneverfeasible]

A random plot idea that came to me suddenly. Please feel free to use this idea, just credit me if it inspires you and send a link with any story written!

-

I’ve read a few fics with the premise but it’s like a She’s All That AU where King Steve is bet to make The Freak, Eddie Munson, fall in love with him, or make him popular, or get him to prom so that they can Carrie him. And of course Steve goes along with it because he’s still trying to be what people want him to be or whatever and he doesn’t like it but he does it, only to end up catching feelings for Eddie.

And okay yeah. Cue that heartbreak angst when Eddie finds out. But…BUT…

Imagine that AU but Eddie knows about the bet. They don’t know he knows, but he discovers it quickly. He’s King Freak after all; the gossip gets back to him before the popular jocks even get to putting the plan in motion, or he overhears it himself, or whatever. But he knows.

He knows and he plays along. He lets Steve woo him, acts first like he’s wary and annoyed about the guy, makes him work for it, but he lets himself pretend to fold and accept the dates. Accepts the kissing. Accepts the more.

Because yeah, he knows it’s fake, knows Steve could never actually want him, but he still has King Steve’s mouth around his dick, and he honestly has to congratulate the guy for going so far for a bet. And hell, he’s not going to pass up the chance to see just how good the fabled King is with his dick either.

Eddie figures he’ll have some fantastic sex, eat good food and get some dope gifts like a new amp for his sweetheart all courtesy of Harrington money, and…yeah, okay, even if it’s fake, Steve’s actually pretty good company. And Eddie even makes friends with one of the cheerleaders and isn’t that fucking bizarre but she’s sweet even if her boyfriend is an ass.

And Steve is still friends with his ex and through that he knows some dweeb kids, and damn is Harrington actually kind of good with kids, kind of…nice? And he’s funny in a bitchy kind of way, and his family life actually kind of (a lot of) sucks. And he helps this band geek who was being bullied by one of his teammates, and…and maybe, in another life, Eddie might have thought King Steve was actually a good dude instead of the douchebag he knew he was.

Because this was fake. It’s all just a bet. And Eddie is going to laugh when, after all of this, he gets to pull the final prank on Harrington and all his court. Because he knows it’s fake. He knows Steve doesn’t actually like him. He knows that, even when he laughs in all their faces at the end because he got to fuck King Steve in the ass, he’s going to be leaving it all alone and…and without Steve.

And that’s fine. It’s fake. It’s fine. Steve could and would never actually like him. The King and The Freak. And it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

And the truth is revealed, and Eddie laughs at them because he’s known all along, and Eddie pretends his heart isn’t breaking while Steve does the same. And it’s okay and it’s fine.

Except it isn’t.

But it is fine, because Steve’s ex? That band geeked he helped? Eddie’s cheerleader friend?

By god they’re going to get these two idiots to realize what’s been right in front of their eyes this whole time.

And this is only the beginning of the royal love story of King Hair and King Freak and how they turned Hawkins High upside down.

I guess you could say they really are all that.

-

Tagged: @derythcorvinus

[strangersatellites]

so i’ve decided that eddie knows tarot.

one day post saving the world he and steve are just dicking around and steve asks him to do a soulmate reading for him.

eddie shuffles and pulls his cards and blue screens when they describe himself in vivid detail.

now he has to make something up on the fly. is talking some shit about the king of cups’ masculine energy actually referring to steve (it doesn’t- he’s represented by the influence and power of the magician) and lying out of his ass about the true meanings of the reversed knight of swords and the tower.

fast forward to robin who doesn’t fully know tarot but is adjacent enough to know that the cards steve is talking about are absolutely not representative of what he thinks they are. last time she checked, his reading would not have been about steve meeting a nice girl at the farmer’s market.

more like a loud, abrasive boy who thinks fast and talks faster and was nearly a victim of his own decisions in a time of chaos and destruction.

but that’s neither here nor there, and robin is keeping her mouth shut.

🔮🔮🔮

update: this got upgraded to a one shot here!

[corrodedcoughin]

just thinking about musician eddie who ends up doing country music under a pseudonym similar to Orville Peck. Eddie having his rock and metal band but the influence of Wayne and his upbringing doesn’t leave him. So he puts on a mask and picks up an acoustic to be this character. A character that’s closer to his real life than he lets on. A deep voiced cowboy singing about the difficulty of growing up gay but how comfortable he is with his identity.

He only ever does small gigs under this name and the audience isn’t huge. But there’s one regular that turns up to every show, he’s never stayed to talk to Eddie after and Eddie’s never been brave enough to go up to him. He knows he’d let all his secrets out under the attention of those hazel eyes and pretty boy smile.

Tonight though? Tonight he might just risk it all because the gif is over. Eddie is standing at the bar and he’s being handed a drink he definitely didn’t ask for by a man he definitely wants to know more about.

Or!!! Alternatively!!!!!

Steve as an Orville Peck style country singer. Going it to gigs and shows and getting a name for himself as the mysterious masked singer who is a proud queer cowboy. Creating a character to share his emotions and experiences. He doesn’t think it’ll come to much, just a way to let himself be heard.

Only he ends up gaining a strong following. His audiences are small but they are dedicated, understanding the idea steve has created and the importance of it. He loves this group he’s made for himself and how comfortable everyone feels at his shows. There’s often full conversations between him and the crowd, letting everyone be involved in his performances.

Steve has every intention of this being a small time thing that gets him through the long work week. What he doesn’t plan for is one of his tapes being found by corroded coffin front man eddie munson. Eddie Munson who loves a mystery, Eddie munson who might be in a big time metal band but has grown up listening to country and know Good Music when he hears it. Eddie Munson who might be Steve’s number one fan and is planning on finding out who is behind the mask

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

I don’t particularly post a lot of (monogamous) Steddie stuff but I just had this idea beamed into my brain that I don’t think I’ve personally seen anyone explore before?

By no means am I a furry, but I am a bit of a Clown Person™️, which means I totally understand the appeal of having a little themed persona/wanting to dress up just for fun or expression, and I just started thinking about Steddie and… fursonas… I guess.

I’m a fan of autistic!Steve more than I’m a fan of autistic!Eddie, because I guess I like to try and explore/learn about different types of neurodivergence and the related experiences? So I’m thinking about autistic!Steve and perhaps adhd!Eddie or even OCD!Eddie, and different ways both of them would regulate their emotions.

Specifically, I am thinking about Eddie having a fursuit and Steve finding it in the closet after they move in together somewhere down the line after becoming official, and he’s immediately like what the fuck is this.

There are a lot of weird things about Eddie, but a fucking… what even is that, a fox? A wolf? Turns out it’s a coyote, and after pressing the issue about a million times, Eddie reveals that his name is Yip-Yap. Based on the sounds that coyotes make in the night, of course.

The character was originally a D&D character, he explained, and that it became more important to him than that at some point, so it stuck around.

The suit is really just paw gloves, a clip-on tail, and the mask, which Eddie made himself, and aside from the obvious initial shock, Steve is impressed with the quality of it.

He knew Eddie could sew on account of his various patched clothing items, but he didn’t think he could sew.

Maybe after the reveal, Eddie becomes less anxious because he doesn’t feel the need to hide it anymore, and he starts suiting around the house again every now and then. When he’s practicing guitar, when he’s listening to one of his audio books, etc.

Maybe Steve gets curious and tries the mask on one day, and it’s weird… but he kind of gets it. It makes him feel silly, in a good way, and he starts thinking about what animal he would be if he had to choose.

Long story short, I think Steve would find his own comfort in it eventually. He gets to bond with Eddie while he teaches him how to sew, he gets to feel goofy and whimsical when he has his own suit, and maybe the two of them even go to cons together.

It’s just a thought, so I probably won’t expand on it in a fic or anything, but I like toying around with silly little concepts sometimes.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 3

Part 2

The comfort is here! This is just a morsel of the Nancy chapter, which means even MORE comfort with a pinch of angst.

~~~

It took a few weeks after Max and Lucas’s surprise visit for Eddie to work up enough courage to fly to Boston to knock on his sister's door-- technically sister from another mister, but he doesn't think that matters much.

Nancy's always believed in him, encouraged him to follow his passions no matter where it took him. Because even if you try and fail, Eddie, then at least you tried, and she’d always be there to catch him. In this case, maybe his passions took him a little too far.

It’s been almost eight months since they’ve talked, and he’s worried she won’t be there this time. Nancy is the fiercest person he knows, ready to stand up for what’s right regardless of the consequences. Hell, it’s what made her such a successful journalist. 

Which is why he’s worried he’ll buckle under the same scrutiny. This isn't a little mistake she can lecture away. Eddie has well and truly fucked up. If he could barely get through conversations with Robin and Max and Lucas, he has no idea how to navigate a conversation with Nancy Wheeler when she wants answers.

Before he can chicken out, the door’s ripped open by the woman herself. She’s different than he remembers. Her hair’s grown out, long and straight without her signature perm. The light pink pajama pants and matching pink slippers soften her edges. She looks good, aside from the bloodshot eyes.

This counts the fourth time Eddie’s ever seen Nancy cry: her freshman year when their cat died, a particularly nasty blow out between her and Mike before she moved for college, and two years ago when Jonathan finally proposed– happy tears, thankfully.

Now she’s standing here, staring at him through red-rimmed eyes and drowning in an oversized Corroded Coffin crewneck. He’s absolutely gutted at the sight. Only the fourth time she’s ever cried, and it’s his fault.

Another hard reminder of his many mistakes.

“Nance, please, can we talk?” He doesn’t know what to say that’ll fix it, but he has to try, she’s too important not to.

She suddenly throws herself at him, practically choking him with the grip of her arms around his neck, and for a moment he thinks she’s about to fight him. But her hand’s cradling the back of his head, and her other’s fisted in the back of his jacket. 

Nancy clings to him and shoves her nose into the crook of his neck. He wraps her up in a fierce hug in return, holding her as she shakes against him.

“Edward James Munson,” she says, forcing the words out around the tears, “I am so, so fucking mad at you.” Nancy lets go of his shirt just to emphasize her point by socking him in the shoulder. Only to grab at him again, like he’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I know, Nancy. I’m sorry.”

She coughs, and Eddie can feel where her tears have soaked his hair through, sticking it uncomfortably to his neck. “I missed you so much.”

He lets out a ragged sigh of relief. She still loves him, even after everything he’s done. Nancy Wheeler is too good for him– the whole world, really– but especially him. He doesn’t deserve someone like her, a sister like her, but he’s also selfish. So he holds onto her tighter, hoping that when he lets go she doesn’t change her mind

She leans out of his grasp to look him in the eye. He doesn’t know what she finds, but Nancy eyes are soft around the edges, filled with love, and she shoves his shoulder again. Not hard though, so she laughs when he dramatically falls backwards clutching his afflicted arm to his chest. He moans and groans, bottom lip jutted out in a firm pout as he bats his eyes at her, waiting for an apology.

“You’re such an asshole,” she says, but she’s smiling at him now and holding out her hand to help him up. He takes it, of course he does. Eddie relaxes, knowing that even though it's his fault she's cried, Nancy Wheeler will always be there to catch him whem he falls- metaphorically at least.

~~~

Part 4

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating, part 2

part 1

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, dubcon, we’re all in the same imperial rome/war prize gutter together, mdni 🔞

It takes nearly three quarters of an hour for Geta’s knot to go down, and he smiles smugly as his pretty little omega wriggles in place. The way he shifts just so, startling at his body’s reaction, the clench and pulse of being stretched open so perfectly for the first time.

Geta pets over Stepan’s flank, cups the firm cheeks of his round bottom, thinking about how nice it will feel to slam his hips against that plushness when he has his omega present and takes him from behind. How deep he will be able to delve into that sweet cunt to sow his seed. Deep enough it has to catch.

He refrains from slipping his fingers between those cheeks, no matter how much he wants to stroke over the tight furl of Stepan’s asshole. To make him shiver. To whisper, ‘All your holes will be mine, and soon enough you will beg for me to fuck you here.’ His barbarian prince has been through enough for the morning, Geta does not actually wish to terrorize him, especially not with all he has planned for the rest of the day.

Once he finally slips free, Geta plucks up Stepan’s cast aside loincloth, the linen roughspun, and uses it to wipe his cock clean. He smirks when he notices the pale streaks of red mixed with the slick and seed; their couplings will be easier now his maidenhead is broken.

Stepan has curled up on his side, legs squeezed tightly together, arms wrapped around his chest. Geta grips his knee, whispers, “I need to see, mellitus. Make sure the bleeding has stopped.”

He does not speak, simply allows Geta to lift his leg and bare his cunt. The lips are puffy, must be sore, and he’s careful as he gently feels around Stepan’s entrance, pleased to only find slick and seed when he pulls his fingers back. He sucks the shine from them, revels in the taste of them both mixed on his tongue, bitter and sweet and musky, and slowly lowers the omega’s leg. Draping the sheets back over Stepan, Geta stands, pulls on a robe, and goes to the entrance to the tent, ordering hot water and a wash basin be brought at once, along with food to break their fast after.

Sitting at his desk, Geta looks over the reports that will leave with the morning’s courier. He considers scribbling a note to his mother, to tell her of his plans, but quickly thinks better of it. There is little she can do for him from the capital, and surprise will be far more helpful to him when it comes to his brother.

When the water arrives, he tends to himself first, only really worrying about his groin as he washes away the last bits of drying cum. Then he returns to his bed, offering Stepan a hand, and helping him to his feet. Geta has the omega stand in the basin, and drags a warm, wet cloth over his body, washing away the dirt and sweat and slick. He’s nearly finished when Stepan stops his hand, trapping the cloth at his hip. “I can see to myself, Dominus.”

Geta preens at the word, how easily Stepan has begun using the title. My lord. Master. “And I care for what is mine.” Still, he passes the cloth to Stepan, watches as he wipes gingerly between his legs. It’s such a waste, washing all that beautiful slick away when Geta would happily lap it up and swallow it down. But there is not time for such indulgences.

Fetching a larger cloth, he wraps Stepan in it and squeezes his shoulders. “Dry well,” Geta orders, going to dig through a trunk and retrieving a tunica in deep, rich blue, tossing it casually onto the bed. He plucks a wooden comb from a side table, and returns to Stepan, careful as he pulls the fine teeth through his hair. He starts at the ends, working his way up to the roots, breaking up strands held together by sweat and oil, detangling a small knot at his nape. Once he’s satisfied with his work, Geta turns him towards the bed. “Dress. Quickly if you do not wish Caius to see your pretty ass when he brings our food.”

Geta does not take his own advice, robe open and showing off his soft cock, unbothered by his servants seeing him in any state of undress. His focus is again on compiling his reports, rolling up scrolls and slipping them in the courier’s case. He hands the case to Caius after he sets down the tray of roasted goat, bread, dates, and wine that is to be the morning meal.

Caius bows as he is dismissed, casting a furtive eye over to Stepan, the omega looking every inch a prince now he is so richly dressed. Geta suddenly desperately wants to gild him—gold at his throat and wrists, on his fingers, at his ankles and on his head, a chain dripping rubies and pearls around his waist…

Soon enough he will show off his prize, but first, he must stick to his plan.

Which first now means filling his stomach. He takes one chair next to the small table, nods to the other. “Sit. Eat.”

Stepan does as he’s told, his bites small. Even with his nerves quelling his appetite he must be hungrier than that. But Geta does not worry. He will ensure his omega feeds himself properly at the evening’s feast.

His own hunger sated, Geta retrieves a tunica for himself, this one in imperial purple, dressing to meet with an equal, even if Ricardius Spear-Handed is a lesser king of a small kingdom. He finishes with a gold circlet in his hair. He almost realizes too late that Stepan is barefoot, and fetches him a pair of leather sandals that tie in place at his ankle.

“Come, Stepan,” he whispers, offering his hand again, which the omega lightly grips, fingers loose. “A runner has already been sent ahead, and we had best be on our way. Your father will be expecting us.”

🌙🏛️🌿

The roman puts Stepan on a gentle mare, the horse following easily behind his own stallion. Silently, he takes in the familiar forest road, the verdant life and scents of his home in summer surrounding him. At least for the length of the journey he can pretend that this is any other day—that he will go home to sleep in his own nest when night falls, and this will all have been a strange dream.

But it’s not so. He will leave with the romans and almost certainly never return to his homeland. And he shall do so gladly if it will buy safety for his people. If it will keep his siblings from being sent into a losing battle.

His father’s hall comes into view and Stepan wants to leap from his horse and run inside. To fling himself into his mother’s arms and weep against her breast.

The dull ache between his legs is a potent reminder of why he cannot. His master has despoiled him, his value now locked to what this one alpha wants with him.

Fortunately, they do not need to wait long, his father’s personal guard coming out to meet them and escort the romans before their king. But Dominus is the one to offer Stepan his hand and help him from the mare’s back. “I have not chained you to my side, little prince,” he whispers in his ear. “You may go to your parents when we enter the hall. They are sure to be worried after your wellbeing.” He presses a soft kiss just below Stepan’s ear, like he can’t help himself from taking this small liberty. “Show them you are unharmed.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Stepan whispers back, dropping his hand and turning toward to doors.

Yakiv waits there, Master of the Guard, the man who taught Stepan how to hold a sword, to defend himself with a dagger. The one who carried him home when he fell from an apple tree at 8 years old and broke his arm, the one to hear Ravna’s shrieking when all he could do was lie on the ground and whimper in pain.

Stepan keeps his pace even as he crosses to meet him, Yakiv grabbing him by the shoulders as soon as he’s close enough. “Oh, pup, what did you do?”

“I was only… I know the woods so well! I only wanted to come back with information, but-” Stepan stops, swallows, lowers his voice back to just above a whisper. “I was angry. And I thought it would be more help than it was, and I got caught.”

“Yes. You did.” The disappointment in Yakiv’s scent burns in his nose. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“I know. But the romans knew of Father…”

“And your Latin is good.”

“Yes. And I’m an omega.”

The disappointment turns to concern, but Yakiv does not ask. He simply gathers Stepan to him in a bear hug, then ushers him into the hall.

His parents sit on their thrones, waiting, but as soon as he’s through the doors, his mother—stepmother, but the only mother he can remember—is on her feet, rushing to meet him. She kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around him. “Styopa, my heart, what happened? We’ve been sick with worry.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” He hides his face against her shoulder. “But I’m all right. Everything will be all right now.”

“Styopa…” His mother doesn’t say anything more, she simply strokes his hair, kisses his forehead, and leads him back to the dais. She takes her seat, and he stands behind her, at her left shoulder.

Even though it is normally beneath his duties, Yakiv announces the roman’s entrance, Dominus followed by his own guards and contingent of soldiers. “My king,” he calls, “Caesar Septimius Geta thanks you for your hospitality and for welcoming him so quickly.”

Stepan’s blood turns to ice as he finally understands.

He is Emperor Severus’s younger son. Brother to Emperor Caracalla. Heir to the whole of the Roman Empire until his brother finally has children of his own.

And he wants Stepan.

The room tilts on its axis, and Stepan only stays upright by clutching at the backrest of the queen’s throne. His father will surely reprimand him for the disrespect, and for showing weakness in front of a foreign ruler. If only his father knew how weak he has already been before Geta.

How little he has to hide.

“Well met, Caesar!” Rikhardt calls, smiling as the roman advances. “Your emissary claims you come with terms of peace. Terms far fairer than our neighbors have been granted.”

Geta smiles with too many teeth. “I do, Rikhardt Spear-Handed. Bend the knee to Rome, and retain all your rights and sovereignties as king here. You will have the protection of Rome without giving up any of your lands or powers.”

Stepan looks to his father, sees his skeptical smile, knows the offer sounds too good to be true.

“And what do you ask of me, Septimius Geta?”

“I, of course, require that you offer hospitality and safe passage to any roman citizen passing through your lands, that you give quarter to legionnaires on campaign, and…” Geta pauses, glances around the room, dark eyes locking with Stepan’s for a long moment before he turns his attention back to the king. “I ask for your eldest son’s neck. I wish to take Stepan as my mate.”

A mating is more than a marriage, especially amongst romantic nobles as far as Stepan has learned. A marriage is an arrangement between families, built on politics and trade rather than attraction or intimacy. Stepan had not thought he would even be offered marriage, just the comfort of being a pampered concubine, one who could be a spy because who cares what is said before an unlearned foreigner.

But a mating—

“Stepan, come,” Rikhardt says, motioning with two fingers, and Stepan rushes to comply, certain he’s missed some of the conversation as he circles around to stand beside him.

“Yes, Father?”

Rikhardt takes Stepan by the hand, looks up into the eyes that match his own, and asks, “Do you accept this alpha’s offer for your neck?”

Stepan does not hesitate in his answer. There is no other choice. “I do.”

“Good. Then it is what shall be!” Rikhardt stands, puts an arm around Stepan’s shoulder, and turns his gaze back onto Geta and his wolfish grin. “We shall prepare the wedding feast, for tonight you will marry him before our gods, and then his neck will be yours.”

Part 3

[pizzaqueen]

A little thing about Steve and Eddie’s scars

Pre-slash / rated T / about 840-50 words / warnings for talking about their scars I guess!

“Does it feel weird when someone touches your scars?” Steve glances at Eddie sitting beside him. He’s wanted to ask for a while. The doctors all said it’s normal, but it feels wrong. And he doesn’t know if anyone else understands and what if it’s just him and—

“Hm?”

“Like, when you’re with a girl…” Steve raises his brows. “Even now they’re healed, if she touches them, does it feel weird?” He lets out a long breath, muttering, “The ones who aren’t freaked out, anyway.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He slowly shakes his head. “No one’s touched them.”

“Oh.” Steve hadn’t considered that. Eddie’s never talked about dates, or anything, but Steve just assumed he had them. Steve crosses his arms over his stomach. “Doesn’t matter.”

Eddie looks at him a long moment then says, “Here,” pulling his shirt up, “we can do an experiment.”

“What?”

“Touch them.” Eddie shrugs, but his voice is a little strange, and he looks…nervous, maybe. “So I can see how it feels."

Steve reaches out, hesitating. But if Eddie wants him to… He gently runs his fingers along the scarred skin, so similar to his own. His thumb traces the edges, touch still light, and his heart is beating oddly fast. “Well?”

“That feels…weird.” Eddie pulls his shirt down and Steve realizes he was still touching him, so he snatches his hand away. “Like, I can feel it but…I can’t feel it.”

“Yeah.”

“That what it feels like for you?”

Steve nods. “It’s not like when your arm is numb or whatever, though. It’s…” His hand goes to his own side, resting it there for a moment over his shirt. Then he shakes his head and lets his hand fall to his lap. “I can’t describe it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Steve looks up at Eddie, their gazes locking; warmth flows through him and he feels… A little less alone. Or something. “Is it bad-weird, or…”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “Just weird? I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Steve presses his lips together. “I don’t… I think it’s more bad-weird for me.” It makes him feel like they’re touching someone else, not him. He doesn’t tell Eddie that because he doesn’t think he could take it if Eddie didn’t get it.

They sit there a moment and then Steve says, “So, wait, does that mean you haven’t even touched yourself?” He pauses at his choice of words, biting his lip against laughter.

But then Eddie snickers, and so does Steve. It eases a little of the tension, the weirdness.

“Yeah, I have touched them,” Eddie says, finally answering Steve, “but I thought it might be different with someone else.”

“Okay.”

“What about…” Eddie extends his hand, finger pointing at Steve’s neck. When Steve gives a slight incline of his head, Eddie runs his finger along the faint scar ringing Steve’s neck.

Little sparks and tingles rush under his skin and Steve’s breath catches. “Just feels like normal,” he says, voice not normal at all.

“Okay.” The tip of Eddie’s finger is still pressed to Steve’s skin; he moves it, but not away. He slides it until his full palm is cupping Steve’s neck, thumb swiping his jaw. And then he looks suddenly uncertain.

So, Steve covers Eddie’s hand with his own, holds them there. “Eddie.”

“I don’t really know…”

“It’s cool,” Steve says, shifting forward. He moves Eddie’s hand from his neck to his arm, and Eddie looks confused a moment, until Steve adds, “The experiment,” and Eddie’s face clears. He slips his hand under Steve’s shirt, fingers curling around his bicep, running along the back of his arm, up to his shoulder and back down. The scars there are so faint—not as faded as the one on his neck—and it feels mostly normal. So, Steve says, “Feels the same.”

And then Eddie’s hand trails down to Steve’s elbow, along his forearm, until it rests over Steve’s own. Steve doesn’t think, he just turns his hand and laces their fingers together. He looks at their hands, clasped together, resting where their knees touch.

They stay like that a moment until Steve slips his hand away, walks his fingers up Eddie’s arm, traces over the scar on Eddie’s bicep.

Eddie’s nose wrinkles up and he shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Sorry,” Steve says.

“It’s okay.”

Steve lets his hand rest back over Eddie’s open palm. “Do you like them?” He glances up at Eddie. “Or…”

“I don’t know. Better than being dead, but…” Eddie trails off, lifting a shoulder. “Still feels like I’m looking at someone else’s body, some days. I forget, I guess. Stupid, huh?”

“No. I forget too.”

Eddie’s lip quirks. He leans sideways, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. Steve does the same. And they stay like that, holding hands, looking at each other and looking at each other.

“Thanks,” Steve says.

“What for?”

“I—” Steve draws in a breath. “I really don’t know. Just…thanks.”

“Well,” Eddie says, smiling softly, “any time.”

Steve smiles back, Eddie’s hand warm in his. Eddie gets it, he understands, and everything feels okay.

[kickassfu]

Help! I'm not in the stranger things fandom (I only watched the first season couldn't get into it) but a while back a really cool fanart series came across my dash. It was about if Robin got pregnant at a gay club and her and Steve co-parent the kid (there were hints of steddie but I can't remember if they were dating yet or not) I can't remember what I tagged it as and didn't follow the author 😭

ok i'd love to help but i'm not sure about this either LOL and i've been kinda vanished from the fandom a bit as well alksdjskf

the most I can do is answer the ask and hopefully someone will see it and help! if nobody answers i'll ask around on the discord that i'm still technically in 😂😂😭😭 and hopefully that'll help! just give it a bit of time 🙏

anyway guys help a friend out pls!!!

[ent-is-indecisive]

id : a digital painting of steve dressed as a mermaid along the side of an aquarium tank and eddie, outside of it, dressed as a pirate. steve has a long blue tail, ribbons, pearl and coral jewellry, and blue makeup. eddie has a curbed sword, a white pirate shirt, and a lot of silver and red jewellry, with a red strip of fabric braided into his hair. they are looking at each other and smiling slightly, eddie, apparently mid sentence, is signing the word "cute" in asl. /end id

saw this post and got haunted by merman steve and his coworker pirate eddie so here's, like, this