#rockstar husbands

[hitlikehammers]

take the call

rating: t ♥️ cw: off-screen car accident (but EVERYTHING IS FINE), hurt/comfort, softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, married steddie, hurt/comfort, rockstar Eddie/teacher Steve, Steve's heart of gold is very possibly going to be Eddie's undoing one of these days, well-worn-soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: Love is terrifying (@starryeyedjanai)

set in the 00s, with Steve and Eddie having two decades of loving under their belts, now ♥️

Eddie isn’t expecting a call, any call, really; he’s in the studio, like, if he gets a call someone takes a message or whatever.

And in fairness, Eddie doesn’t get the call.

He gets a message.

“Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth.

“Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.”

He’s not thoughtless at all about the way he clocks the tension in Jeff’s voice even across the speaker system; it’s entirely automatic how he freezes, how he looks up and locks eyes with his friend through the glass and sucks in a sharp breath for the look on his face: pained.

Maybe, maybe scared.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere near his knees, but beats there so fucking hard.

“This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but—

“She, um,” Jeff’s voice is filtering through again, and Eddie clocks that there’s…there’s something more to it, more than his brain’s willing to grasp just yet but his body’s apparently picked up on because he thinks the slightest breeze would knock him over and shatter him into pieces, for the tightness in his body; he’s not focused enough to count the separate beats of his pulse but he can tell it’s quick enough already, still weighed down near his feet, that counting would be kinda hard, would take effort:

“She found the phone at a car crash?”

So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew.

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

“Sounded kinda like, uh, like it could have been Steve’s phone,” Jeff is trying to tell him, and part of Eddie hears it, part of him does but most of him is white noise, is pins-and-needles, is underwater and drowning and not even fucking thinking of fighting the pull because he can’t, he’s heavy at the legs and his lungs are seizing and there’s, he’s—

“Because it, umm, she found the card because the case was broken?” and just last night Eddie’d watched Steve pop off the case and slide the cards behind with a laugh and a promise to take them with him not today—because it’s one of those federal holidays that only schools notice happening, like the post office is still open—but definitely tomorrow, never knew which of the kiddos at the Rich People School might be a budding metalhead underneath their uniforms—

“And she said the case was, um, like bright—“

Green.

Electric lime neon fuckin’ green because after three times of Eddie taking Steve’s phone by accident he’d come home with that endearing eyesore, and a kiss to the bridge of Eddie’s nose and a soft hard to confuse that, babe nuzzled against him and—

“It could maybe have just been a coincide—“ Jeff’s talking but Eddie can’t fucking hear it, not really, not when he’s letting the door slam behind him and ripping off his headphones to drop to the groundnut when he’s gasping hard enough to crack a rib, not when the floor’s gone out from underneath him and his vision’s tunneled and nothing seems real, and everything feels too real, every world ending possibility shuddering through his foggy mind alongside every heartbreakingly perfect memory blossoming up unbidden just to serve as a reminder, an underscoring of what he stands to lose, what maybe he’s already fucking lost—

He meets Jeff’s eyes without the glass between them as he grabs his keys from his jacket on the couch and makes himself take the breath that’ll fuel the voice, that’ll give him words, just one word, he needs, he fucking needs—

“Where?”

_______________________

Eddie shouldn’t have driven himself, he knows that.

Like, on some other plane of existing, he’s sure he knows that.

But on this plane, he rips past his bandmates, all the extra people with them for recording, jams the close-door button before anyone can follow him into the elevator because he happens to know this one’s quicker than the stairs even on a good day, and this—

Eddie’s shaking so goddamn hard he can barely get one foot in front of the other, he really doesn’t think he can manage ten fucking flights of steps.

He burns rubber on the way out of the parking lot, and the nearest hospital to where Steve would have been—on his day off, because holiday, he’d have bene close to home, he mentioned food shopping, he thought he might make stir-fry but he wasn’t sure, they hadn’t made a vegetable haul from the Asian market downtown in a couple weeks and they need to, they need to but Steve wasn’t feeling like going on his own, because he might not say it out loud but they both know he enjoys Eddie’s excitability when new items hit the shelves and he can’t read the language they’re labelled in so he guesses frantically until the man who owns the place takes pity, only laughs a little and explains what this spice is for, or that that crazy looking thing’s a fruit, and they ultimately buy whatever it is because Eddie wants to try it now, because he got invested and—

Eddie should pull off the fucking road; his head’s a mess, he can’t see for the way his eyes are welling, streaming, the way he’s shaking with sobs that don’t exactly burst forth, just leak from his lashes as he trembles horrifically because…

Because they were maybe gonna have stir-fry, tonight. Even without the good vegetables.

They were—

Eddie thinks it’s fucking cruel, kind of unbearably so, that his brain’s dead-set on still processing the mundane little perfections of his life as if every single one of them might be dashed to pieces, might be hanging by a thread, might be entirely fucking gone, and he, he…

He can’t. He just, he fucking can’t.

Because that the thing, isn’t it: the scenarios he’s imagining aren’t hypothetical—they’re all memories, too. Steve bloodied, Steve bruised, Steve’s bones broken and flesh torn. Steve still, too still; Steve’s skin under Eddie’s hands when he can’t find a pulse because Eddie’s shaking, same as now how Eddie is fucking shaking—

Eddie knows all those things. They’re so long ago, now, so distant but his fucking cells will never forget every single moment he saw the man he loves bigger than his own goddamn life hurt like that; be risked like that. Be lost like—

And that’s the difference. That’s what is unravelling him as he speeds through the streets quicker than he should, probably breaking more laws than he could count and definitely more than he gives a shit to notice: it’s the losing.

Because the first times, even the times that came after Steve was his: they didn’t come with the loss of so much time, so much of themselves, so much glorious life that they’d built between them, the struggles and the triumphs, the hard choices and the easy things that weren’t choices at all: everything hand-in-hand, every night spent curled around each other, all of them, all of him, inside that chest since he was twenty fucking year old, and Eddie doesn’t just not know how to be outside of what he shares with Steve.

Eddie doesn’t think his own heart can survive, if if Steve’s isn’t next to him.

Eddie’s damn fucking sure no part of him would want to.

It takes him a minute to steady himself enough to get out of the car, once he finally reaches the ER. Steady his body, but more his fucking soul because the whole of him is shaking, is crying out, is wailing unfettered and breaking because he’s terrified, he is goddamn terrified of what he’s going to find when he walks in but he has to, he has to because whatever awaits him, that’s his husband, that is the love of his whole goddamn life and if the worst is going to come for him he’ll face it like he’s faced everything else: at Steve Harrington’s side.

If the worst comes for one of them, then it came for them both.

So he’s stumbling, shuddering, but resolute in his chest when he flies through the sliding doors, eyes still swimming, unfocused but he makes himself take a deep breath—it takes a few tries, and he doesn’t quite succeed, it’s still a tremorous thing and his lungs are still in revolt, but it’s something, and he’ll take something; he has to to take something—

“Eddie?”

He almost doesn’t register it, the voice from the sick-spiral of his memories, all the love on the table to be forfeit—

He almost doesn’t register that his name’s not coming from inside his head.

“Oh my god, what happened?” There’s a flurry over motion in front of him, and he blinks rapidly to try and pin it down because it looks familiar, it smells familiar, it aches familiar in his chest but:

“What is it, what’s wrong?” and fuck, it feels familiar when a hand reaches for his cheek where it’s still damp, tacky for the tears; when another hand slides itself into Eddie’s and draws him in, a hand that fits like no other hand in this world or any other, ever—

“Are you okay?”

And the hand on his cheek turns him and follows his eyes and it takes that long for him to clear his vision properly, but now he’s just blinking so much because that, that can’t be, even if it feels in every goddamn way like it really is, but it can’t…

It can’t be Steve here, whole and on his feet and looking at Eddie with so much worry, so much heart as he tilts Eddie’s chin a little this way, that way, squints to try and see…something.

Eddie’s breath tears out of him in a wet fucking gasp;

“Am I okay?”

Because Eddie’s really not the one to fucking worry about here, Steve had—

“You’re in a hospital, Eds, that’s not usually where you go when you’re okay,” Steve’s eyes widen as he he slides both hands now to Steve’s head, holding him still and assessing…something, maybe, Jesus: Eddie doesn’t know, but he does know that the touch on him now makes his…makes his heart feel safe and he’d been fucking terrified he’d never feel that again.

“Fuck, what happened, baby, did you hit your,” and fingers are dancing gentle across points on Eddie’s skull, so delicate and careful and he can’t fucking help it—

“Are you real?”

Because he needs to know, he needs to know with words because this feels…this feels right and warm and impossible but also true, so.

He needs to know. “Am I…?” Steve’s lips part and his brow furrows before his jaw clenches in that dependable way he has of squaring up to the monster at hand, no matter the kind.

“Shit,” he breathes out slow but then he nods: resolved; “shit, okay. Okay, let’s find—“

“You are real,” and it turns out Eddie didn’t actually need him to say it. He just needed to see the flash in Steve’s eyes when he was ready to take on the world for the sake of love, the way he positions himself a little different in front of Eddie as he keeps one hand at Eddie’s cheek but then slides to brace more at his neck, purposeful, like he’s splinting a wound or something, and then a hand grabs for Eddie’s own again and: oh.

Oh yes. That is Steve Harrington, living and breathing and solid and real, because no one else protects like this.

No one.

Eddie’s heart stumbles, jackrabbits around a little, almost like a reset: like it knows as the implications sink in to Eddie’s mind that it’s not destined to break anymore.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees too easily, distracted as he tugs the gentlest bit at Eddie’s hand, toward the nurse’s station; “yeah, and we should—“

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugs it off, but Eddie…Eddie’s vision is clearing. His pulse is settling. He can hear above the static and his limbs are getting lighter.

“You’re one-hundred-percent okay, not a scratch on you, not a single thing wrong,” he needs to make sure, like, so fucking sure.

“I am fine, Eddie,” Steve turns to look him straight on, exasperated and anxious and vibrant with it, so alive in it; “but you’re—“

Eddie’s hand moves almost without his conscious consent, definitely without a plan to grab at Steve’s arm and pinch his skin because Eddie was vaguely toying with the idea of pinches himself, and maybe with poking Steve a few extra times to make sure he didn’t disappear, but apparently his brain landed on: pinch Steve, avoid confirmation bias if your head wants to lie enough to make him real just you you, because you need him that bad.

Steve startles, and turns those beautiful brilliant bronze eyes on Eddie, stretches wide as he gapes a little at his husband.

Eddie…Eddie is here, in front of his living-breathing-gorgeously-aghast husband.

“Okay, oww,” Steve drops Eddie’s hand and pulls back, leaving Eddie’s head to its own devices as he looks a little shocked, shooting just shy of a glare Eddie’s way: full of questions.

Eddie—now that the biggest one’s solved, and solved so perfect, so gentle and sure and he doesn’t have to bury the soul of him; he doesn’t have to bury his soul—but now?

Eddie also has some fucking questions.

“Where’s your phone?” seems the most relevant to start with.

Steve blinks, frowns a little:

“It got lost in the crash—“

“Crash?” Eddie’s tone pitches up to squeak a little because: Steve’s here and whole in from of him, yes. But fuck, there was still a crash? He was—

“Not mine, my car’s still parked at fucking Jiffy Lube,” Steve adds with a huff; “I saw it happen so I stopped and—“

And Eddie knows his husband. He knows his husband better than he knows himself, and Eddie’s kinda made it a point of pride for how self-aware he’s grown to be these days, in living this life and loving Steve beyond the bounds of living at all. But he knows his Steve, and so he knows damn well what happened.

Car runs into car. Steve sees it and jumps out to help. Because Steve Harrington is a protector. Steve Harrington is a helper. Steve Harrington is the best man Eddie’s ever known.

Soon as he jumped into the fray, he wouldn’t have thought once about a fucking phone.

And Eddie, Eddie just, he needs to—

He grabs Steve’s hands and wraps them around his own waist, lets them go and then pulls Steve tight to his chest and buries his face in Steve’s shoulder as Eddie winds his way around his husband, feels him breathing, feels the tickle of his hair.

“You’re gonna kill me, Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, that going tight now all over again:

“You’ve got the biggest heart of fucking gold the world’s ever seen,” he moans into Steve’s collar; “and you’re going to fucking kill me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his hands move up to rub Eddie’s back, rote and learned and he might not wholly get, yet, what Eddie’s putting together, and where Eddie’s head’s been, what his heart’s been through, but the first thing he knows, and does like clockwork, is to love of his partner, to soothe him even if he doesn’t know what for.

“Someone found your phone, and they, umm,” Eddie licks his lips, takes a suffering breath and tries to straighten but he’s not ready, not yet: he slumps right back onto Steve’s shoulder:

“They called the studio.”

“Shit,” Steve hisses, bunches his hands in Eddie’s shirt and draws him tighter to his chest: “shit, they interrupted,” and oh, fuck no, fuck regretting the interruption—

“They told me they found it at a crash site,” Eddie grits out, the hurt of it still raw, like just saying the words no matter where they landed in trust, just recalling those minutes that felt like full nightmarish lifetimes, reopens the tender wounds it’d left in hims; “they found it with the case broken,” and Steve leans back, then, eyes saucers as he meets Eddie’s gaze, breath catches harsh.

“Oh,” Steve whispers, eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s, taking the whole of him in and then he exhales so heavy:

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, fucking mournful before he takes his hands and links them behind the base of Eddies’ skull and draws him in to the center of his chest, envelopes him there whole: “come here.”

And Eddie falls into that chest—rising-falling-living—he falls into Steve so fucking fast

“I am totally fine, I promise you,” Steve breathes again Eddie’s ear, close and dear and real: “car’s fine—“

“I don’t fucking care about the car—“ Eddie tenses up, appalled at the implication that he gave one single goddamn thought to the car— “No, like, as proof,” Steve’s quick to correct him, to ease the hackles on him; “I wasn’t in the crash, but it was pretty bad and,” Steve shrugs a little then adds soft: “I keep my first aid certs up to date for a reason, I figure, right?”

Jesus; yes, okay. Steve’s savior complex had largely mellowed to a non-interdimensional-threat level with time but he’s meticulous about keeping every skillset he’d gone out of his way to learn from professionals before they’d gone up against the Upside Down for the last time sharp and at the ready for anything: even now.

Fuck, but this beautiful, brilliant, impossible man.

“I was helping, best I could, until the EMTs got there,” Steve tells him softly, fills in the gaps because he knows Eddie’s mind, all the pictures it paints for itself, and in times like these it’s always the worst possible pictures—he knows Eddie needs the slate wiped clean with the truths, blessedly softer, in this:

“Police wanted me to stick around for a statement but the girl who was driving the first car, she was so panicked and she didn’t want to go alone so, umm,” Steve huffs a little, shifts against Eddie gentle and solid and here: “she said she knew me, she was pretty desperate I think, so I rode here with her,” and of course he did, of course he did because he’s Steve; “now I’m just waiting to make sure she gets out of surgery okay,” he squeezes Eddie then, like a punctuation, and it feels so, so fucking good; “also still have to give the goddamn statement, but fuck knows that’s just hurry-up-and-wait,” he turns, and he kisses Eddie’s hair then and Eddie feels something snap in him, give way and the lingering tension spill from his frame as he gasp a little on a breathy exhale:

“I love you so much,” and he does, god: god, but how much he loves this man.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve mouths against his head and Eddie closes his eyes and nuzzles his a little closer as he puts it into words, because it feels like he needs to, it feels like in Steve’s arms like this, pressed up close to him to feel this undeniable life in him: it feels like the coast is clear enough to risk it, to confess:

“I was so fucking scared,” and the words only break a little, and that’s more than Eddie honestly expected.

“I am so sorry,” Steve bows his chin down to graze lips against Eddie’s hairline, delicate and intimate and shivery, trembly down Eddie’s spin for the best of reasons, now.

“Not your fault,” Eddie’s quite to counter, to make clear, because: “shit, you didn’t do anything, I just…”

Eddie makes himself pull back and meet Steve’s eyes, reaches out to frame his face, dear and desperate:

“I can’t lose you,” he moans a little, begs a little, says it with a bare line of something primal echoing in it, scraped straight from his bones: “I cannot ever lose you.”

“I know,” Steve turns and kisses one of his palms, and those two words hold the promise of five more they’ve said so many times, and held so true between them for so many year, through so fucking much:

It’s the same for me.

And to be loved the same as he loves is a fucking privilege; it’s heady and it’s wonderful and Eddie needs it, needs Steve, more than goddamn air.

“Sit with me?” Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his at his cheeks, and nods a little toward the blessedly-quiet collection of chairs by the windows; “while I wait?”

“Nowhere else I’d go,” Eddie says it like the given that it is, and pulls Steve close to kiss him full, to press his lips to Steve’s and drink his warmth, his breath, to feel it sink int past his heart and pump through his veins:

“Not ever, Stevie,” he speaks against Steve’s lips, all of him in it, every vow inside it:

“Not ever.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[whathehonestfuk]

Steve taking the party to a corroded coffin concert and Dustin finally holds up the sign he made and was very careful not to let Steve see

The sign proudly declares "my brother is bi and single" with an arrow pointing to where he has made sure Steve is, Dustin is not above using the fact everyone thinks Steve is hot to get his favorite rockstars attention

Eddie catches sight of the sign and laughs at it because of the sheer audacity, once the laughter dies down and he gets a proper look at Steve whose watching him with mild concern do to his random laughter out break and asks "he might be bi and single but is he interested" with a wink

[hawkinsbnbg]

Rockstar Eddie Munson had a youtube channel where he uploaded short vlogs about him and his husband.

Sometimes it was an inside joke they shared, Eddie would say “elegante” in a perfect Spanish accent and Steve would giggle until his face turned red, leaving their audience confused.

Today, it was Steve recording their video. He did his little wave at the camera and then aimed it at Eddie who was lounging on the couch, reading a thick book with glasses.

Steve: Babe,

Eddie, tilting his head slightly: Yeah?

Steve: I’m always right, isn’t it?

Eddie, still unaware he’s being recorded: Depends on the context. *pauses for 3 seconds and blinks* Actually, I think you’ll be right in any context.

Steve, laughing behind the camera: Then what if I say ABBA is superior to Black Sabbath?

Eddie, finally looking up from his book and staring at the camera dead in the eyes: That's not context. That’s blasphemy.

Steve, turning the camera back to himself: See? All men do is lie.

Eddie, in the background: I always love you, sweetheart, but there got to be a limit—

The video ended before Steve’s response could be heard. But everyone knew it was all fine, because the next day, Eddie Munson and his husband were spotted happily making eyes over a milkshake in some random diner.

[yovrnewromantic]

ex husband! eddie who still loves you. who still brings you and the kids donuts every sunday. who gives you additional child support for you “to get something nice for yourself.” who sends postcards from his tours, saying he wished you were there. who still wrote songs about you, even including your name so you can’t even pretend to be oblivious. eddie ,who asks the kids to talk about him a little more, just to get on your nerves. who looks like a kicked puppy whenever you flip him off after dropping off the kids at his house. who “kidnaps” your kids randomly in the week, charging kisses as ransom. who brings you flowers when he drops the kids off. ex husband! eddie who’s working on not being your ex.

[morganbritton132]

A fan posts to their socials a video of them whispering about how Eddie Munson is in the same store as them and, “Do I go say hi? People says he’s nice but I don’t want to bother him, and he’s on the phone. What do I do???”

Then in the background, you can faintly hear Eddie say into his phone, “Saturday? Yeah, I’m free.”

Followed by a louder voice that sounds like it’s right next to the camera because it is, Steve says, “No, you’re not! Ozzy has a birthday party.”

“You were serious about that?”

“No, Ed. I just put in the calendar for no reason,” Steve says, eye roll present in his voice. “Also, this girl wants a picture with you.”

[drulalovescas]

Cas:

Dean 5 minutes later:

[voidstifyinq]

the party ended six months ago and I’m still here

Also out of context draw pile ft. friend art

[siobhans-world]

Rockstar Crowley 🖤🤘

Lovely Marnie asked me to draw this and gift it to @feraltuxedo for their fanfic Intermezzo. I don't really do commissions but I HAD to do this, because Intermezzo is fantastic. If you haven't read it yet, bookmark it:

[trans-rockstar-art]

cags!!!!!

@askcupsandcasinos

[rocketqueen1989x]

Mr rock n’ roll

[hitlikehammers]

safe under you

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, writing vows, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day nineteen: Love is the comfort of quiet moments  (@tboygareth)

the rockstar husbands are back on their soft-sleepy-romantic bullshit idk ♥️ maybe I'll get around to writing the ACTUAL VOWS next time

“You’re so quiet.”

Which meant Eddie should have heard his husband approaching but: as it stands he really, really didn’t, and he jumps hard when Steve whispers from behind his shoulder over the back of the couch.

Steve laughs at the glare Eddie shoots him—a half-hearted one at best but there—as he reaches to start rubbing at the crook of his neck, up and down on either side and the glaring goes away instantly because: Steve Harrington?

Has magical hands.

“Whatcha doing?” he murmurs close to Eddie’s ear and Eddie hums a little as he gathers himself from going immediately-boneless under Steve’s touch, the kneading of his palm against Eddie’s strained muscles because he’s been down here…not too long, he doesn’t think. They’d gone to bed together at normal time, and he’d fallen asleep, too; he’d just been restless when he woke up, and knew it was the kind of thing he wouldn’t get more rest out of unless he did something about it, so he’d kissed Steve’s head and rolled out of bed, regretful for it but hopeful, too, that if he gave in to the nagging at the back of his head, he’d quiet it enough to be able to slip back in next to his beloved, and lean against the mattress just so, so that Steve’s arms could curl around him as they always did: soft and sweet and waiting to hold him.

Eddie just hasn’t…managed to get there, yet.

“Writing,” Eddie sighs, and then whines a little as Steve’s hands leave their place on his shoulders, and he turns to look because where’s Steve going, Steve shouldn’t go anywhere, Steve should stay right—

Here.

And look at that: Steve’s plopping himself down on the sofa next to Eddie, a little too far but then he’s scooting further, and Eddie opens his mouth to protest but then Steve’s dropping down, draping his body over Eddie’s lap and laying against him, looking up at him with still-half-sleepy eyes and just…

He’s just so fucking beautiful, y’know?

“You’re never quiet when you’re writing,” Steve says, head tilted up, eyes closed as he leans back against the armrest where Eddie’s got his notebook, his face so soft. His mouth so soft—

“Campaign, you mumble to yourself,” Steve continues on, his voice syrupy, still only half-committed to waking; “lyrics, you hum if you don’t have a guitar,” and then he reaches down toward Eddie’s knee and taps rhythmic there:

“And you drum your fingers,” and Steve smiles as his fingers dance for a few languid moments before he eases his lashes open and meets Eddie’s gaze, because Eddie’s gaze has been on his since he settled in his lap.

Because: duh.

“Looks like it’s hard, too,” Steve sucks his lower lip between his teeth, face still soft but mouth quirked just a little downward, still a little dream-soaked and Eddie love that part, but: never the downturn of that mouth.

“Hmm?” Eddie rumbles low so Steve’ll maybe feel it a little where he’s pressed; the little hazy giggle Steve lets out as he nuzzles into Eddie’s middle just that tiny bit: he felt.

Eddie likes to think he’s never been so in love, but he doesn’t…he doesn’t believe he’s ever not loved Steve with all of his everything.

He’s just wholly convinced that his everything grows with ever moment beside this man, every heartbeat lived together: it stretches him wider, broader every day for the singular purpose of holding the all of his love ever-bigger.

“Whatever you’re working on,” Steve murmurs, just short of sleep-slurred; “you’ve got this,” and he reaches, bats a little around Eddie’s face before he lands between his eyebrows and smooths the skin there which, okay, fine, had been all wrinkled-up.

“Means you’re concentrating too hard,” Steve comments sagely, patting Eddie’s cheek a little blind as he settles wholly back in Eddie’s lap.

“This happens to be very important,” Eddie counters with a tiny flick to Steve’s ear, which is met with a little squeak that warms his insides so delicate, so thorough and full.

“Doubtful,” Steve manages to scoff, like he’s tipping closer to wakefulness but not there yet; “not important enough to make you,” and Steve’s the one flicking now, light at Eddie’s forearm in emphasis:

“Quiet and frowny.”

He’s so…he’s fucking edible he’s so adorable, that’s what he is—Jesus.

“Not frowny,” Eddie lets a little at Steve’s hair, all tousled from the bed; “invested.”

Steve purses his lips and tries—fails, but tries—to peek at the notebook on level with his temple.

“What’s got you so invested, then?” he finally gives up trying to turn and read where Eddie’s hasn’t even bothered trying to hide, not least because there is nothing there, and just asks. And Eddie could dodge it. Steve would respect it if he did.

But he…he doesn’t. Generally speaking he doesn’t hide anything from Steve. Big or small. Their life is a shared thing from top to bottom and Eddie loves that about them so fucking fierce, so. He just sighs and admit it.

“My vows.”

Because that’s what’s been keeping him up, that’s what drove him out of the soft joy of their bed, that’s what amounted to scribbles and cross-outs alone on the page in front of him and it should be this hard, Eddie’s a decent enough lyricist, not to mention most of his songs all this time are for, or inspired by, or just about, generally, all-encompassingly: Steve. It’s always Steve.

Which makes it that much more unbearable that he can’t seem to fucking write his goddamn vows.

Then, though, just then; the most unexpected thing happens. Or starts.

Steve starts shaking against him and there a half-second he’s worried—does it hurt his sweetheart, that he can’t get the words down, does it make him sad, is he cryi—

No.

No: it only takes half-a-second for the anxiety to fade and the sound to register alongside the trembling: Beautiful. Radiant. Still wholly unexpected.

Steve’s laughing.

“That’s silly,” Steve finally tells him, looking up at him with genuine north in his eyes and yes, he’s still a little sleepy-drunk, but the feeling is wholly present and…

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with it—wants to just wrap himself inside it and savor but: his vows…laughable?

Silly?

“What?”

“You’ve already made your vows,” Steve grins up at him, all brightness; “like, three times,” and, okay.

Okay, that’s not exactly wrong, though he could probably try to argue that it was more three proposals’ worth of vows, and are those actually vows, if it’s just a proposal—

“Proposals fucking count,” Steve waves his wrist definitively and…Eddie isn’t sure if he said any of that out loud?

Then: probably wouldn’t make a difference either way. They know each other.

“The first one was legitimately with the twisty-tie from a loaf of Home Pride,” Eddie points out because: because that…that’s probably not as important—

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, and lifts his left hand: there’s a simple ring on his left hand, pricey for their budget when they’d gathered their family and committed to always in front of them under a temperate Indiana summer’s sky, bonfire and barbecue lively in the background: but that ring wasn’t smooth; it had a long-worn-bare stick of metal wrapped around it and soldered, one that used to be covered in bright paper to stick out against a plastic bread bag:

“I remember well,” and Steve sounds so soft, so blissfully taken in by the memory of that first time Eddie had proposed and, fuck.

Fuck, the butterflies never go away, do they? That effervescent joy stays fresh and vivacious forever.

Thank fuck; he wants no less of this; for them. The love they have deserves no less.

“Still want to melt down the Ring Pop,” Steve says as he plays with his ring; “make it match,” and that’d been the second time: Steve had bought Eddie a ring at a ren faire, and Eddie’d been beside himself to reciprocate, immediately, because Steve deserved no less, and that was how the bum-end of a long-licked Ring Pop came to live eternally on Steve’s keys.

To be eyed for melting into a full-hoop shape for years, now, but Eddie kinda thinks it’s loved and treasured plenty, just as it already is.

“I love you so fucking much,” Steve tells him, apropos of nothing, and that’s…that’s kind of exactly how they work, yeah. They just love.

So fucking much.

Eddie’s pulse kinda skips with it, bounces like pigtails hopscotching along, all unbridled glee. He draws Steve hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles.

“Aren’t you,” Eddie swallows as he lifts his blank notebook and shakes it around a little: “aren’t you stressing over them?”

Because it doesn’t sound like he is, and that’s…sure, they’ve done this before, if not with a license in hand like they will this time. But Steve’s always been more prone to worry over stuff like this. So while Eddie doesn’t want the man he loves to be anxious, he is…kinda wondering, is all.

“Not writing any,” Steve shrugs and lets the motion turn him a little against Eddie’s lap, to look up more straight-on.

“You know I’m not great with words,” Steve tells him simply; “like, planning them out, I’ll fuck it up in the moment and then I’ll just be more flustered.”

And, yeah: okay. That’s a fair point.

Then there’s a hand slipping up his jaw, and crawling his cheek, and turning him down to look at Steve closer:

“Figured I can just look at you, and I’ll,” Steve’s pupils get bigger as he exhales, as he takes in Eddie’s face and beams at him, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb.

“The most important things are always right there,” Steve breathes warm: “so I’ll just say what’s already waiting.”

And shit. The man says he’s bad at words.

“You’re the light of life, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, contorting himself to lean and Steve sees, arches up to press their lips as Eddie mouths against him: “the song in my soul,” and fuck: he means it so many times over he could never count it, could never pin a number to it. It’s too vast.

“See, look at you,” Steve taps his cheek playfully, but so soaked up with love; “you’ve already got all your words, so,” and then he lets his hand slide off Eddie’ face, and he sits up just to grab at Eddie’s legs, swing them up onto the couch and settles himself between them, tugging Eddie from the calves further down until he’s propping himself up by his palms.

“C’mon,” Steve coaxes, and uses his back to ease Eddie down and: oh. Oh, he wants them laid out on the cushions.

And well: Eddie could, would, will only ever oblige, if the question is do you want to lay down with your husband thrice-almost-four-times-over?

Because again: duh. If they were really in the market for silly ideas.

Steve sighs so happily, so airy and bright even as Eddie reaches to flick the light off, and wraps his arms to rest around Steve, sure and close where he holds him to his chest, folds him in where he already nuzzles deeper and:

It’s how safe my heart feels under the weight of your head.

Well, fuck him.

Maybe he does know his vows already.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Ok brain worm time

Rockstar AU where Aziraphale and Crowley both play in rivaling bands. Aziraphale's band is an indie band called Celestial Harmonies. Crowley is a singer in a metal band called Hellish Rebuke, but they both get kicked out for different reasons.

Aziraphale, whose family is against his Rockstar life anyways, is about to quit music and go work a boring ass job. Crowley convinces him to start a two-man band because he has a bunch of songs written (which are all, coincidentally, secretly, about Aziraphale, who he has crushed on for years, of course) which the other members of Hellish Rebuke trashed because they were 'too soft' for the genre. Aziraphale is reluctant at first, but he also has a mad crush on Crowley, so he agrees. And so the unlikely duo start their journey to fame...

Sneakily tagging my writer friends @moonyinpisces and @kotias gnehehehee

[tiannasfanfic]

White Wedding

Eddie Munson x Reader (Smut)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: After your wedding, Eddie takes full advantage of having you alone during the limo ride to the reception.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab reader, they/them pronouns (if any), no Y/N, no Vecna AU. Not specifically mentioned in story that Eddie is a Rockstar, that’s just how I imagine this version of Eddie. Reader wears a white wedding dress and lingerie, and has their hair and makeup done, so implied femme leaning Reader (at least for their wedding). No other descriptions of the dress, hair or makeup. Filthy newlywed smut ahead!

CW: Kinda Perv!Eddie and Perv!Reader; Smut (p in v, f recieving oral, fingering, spit for lube); exhibitionism (sex in a moving limo); mild corruption kink (Eddie).

Word Count: 1,953

After you and Eddie get married, the first time you have any alone time together as husband and wife is in the limousine on the way to the hotel for your reception.

Eddie hasn’t been able to stop staring since he first laid eyes on you as you walked down the aisle towards him. You look so breathtaking and ethereal in your wedding dress, with your soft makeup and hair done in a way that compliments your facial features.

Not long after you get on the road, he leans forward to tell the driver to take you on a small circle around the city and keep driving around until he says otherwise. The driver is paid by the hour, so he doesn’t care.

When the privacy divider is once again closed, Eddie’s slides down onto his knees in front of you. His lips devour yours in a passionate kiss as his hands travel up under the skirt of your wedding dress, pushing the fabric up along the way. Once all the fabric of your skirt is bunched up around your waist, he pulls back a little to take a good look at you and groans deeply at the sight before him. Even though he was expecting some sort of lingerie under your dress, nothing could have prepared him for the ensemble when he sees it. It was all in white to match your dress, there was absolutely nothing virginal or pure about it aside from the color.

Covering your legs were a pair of thigh high stockings, each one held securely in place by tiny straps belonging to the garter belt that circling your waist. Your panties were little more than a simple triangle of lace held together with a few strings, the weave of the lace loose enough to tease him with the barest glimpse of what was underneath. Letting his gaze travel lower, he can’t help but follow the line of your panties with his eyes to fully take in the sight of your lace clad pussy…and he nearly chokes on his own spit when he realizes they are crotchless.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” Eddie groans, licking his lips as his hands spreads your thighs wider so he can get a better look. “You wrapped her up all nice and pretty for me, didn’t you?”

You slowly rolled your hips off the seat and up towards him, giving him a better view between your legs for a moment before settling back down. The result was another groan from Eddie, and he moved his hand so he could start softly rubbing your clit with his thumb. A soft moan leaves your lips and Eddie shivers.

“Want play with your present now or later?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes with an innocent smile.

He doesn’t bother answering verbally, instead he ducks his face down to your pussy to run his tongue through your folds. The moan that leaves his mouth at your taste makes his lips vibrate against you and you moan rises from your throat in response. One of your hands comes to rest on the back of his head, fingers gripping into his curls and giving them a soft tug in that way he loves, making Eddie groan again.

He brings the fingers of his free hand down spread you open, giving him better access to your wet core so he can dip his tongue inside. With his tongue flicking in and out of you and his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the feeling makes you start grinding your hips up off the seat against his mouth.

“God, baby,” you moan, head thrown back against the backrest of the seat. “Feels so good.” Your hips continue to rock up into his face and he starts timing the motions of his tongue with the motions of your hips. “Always so good to me, baby. Always taking care of me.”

“Always will, sweetheart,” he groans into your pussy, your breathless praise going straight to his cock and making his own hips rut forward into the empty air. Then looks up at you to watch your face as he slowly sinks his middle finger into you. “My pretty little wife deserves only the best.”

As he starts fingering you, his lips make their way to your clit, where he starts kissing over it and around it. Your hips arch up higher, pushing yourself up into his face. He makes a sound of pleasure at this, then begins rapidly flicking his tongue around your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out with a gasp, gripping his hair harder.

Your thighs are already trembling on either side of his head, a sure sign your orgasm was approaching. Eddie felt his ego soar. He always took pride in how fast he could make you cum, but this had to be a new record.

He rocked his fingers into you twice more, feeling you get closer and closer to the edge with each one, and then pulled them out of you without warning. The needy gasp that left your mouth made his cock throb painfully as he rose onto his knees between your legs.

“Eddie, please,” you whined softly, reaching out for him and grasping at his shirt to pull him closer as he started working open the front of his belt. “Need you so much, baby.”

It only takes a moment to get his pants open and pushed down below his ass along with his boxers. He quickly slots himself between your legs, then grasps the base of his cock to guide the head to your center and starts to sink himself into you.

The sounds that leave you both are loud, probably loud enough to be heard over the driver’s music, but you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t seem to either. He only gave you both a few seconds to adjust before setting a quick pace that had you moaning even louder than before.

“Mm, this pussy is officially mine now,” Eddie grunted out, then groaned as you clenched around him at his words. “Legally mine even. Mine to do whatever I want to it.”

You clench around him again and he curses before slowing his thrusting down. As much as his balls were aching to release in you, he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. You felt like a dream right now, looked like a dream right now. You are perfect. So perfect that part of him is sure he’s going wake up as soon as he cums and discover it all really was just a dream after all, and he’s not ready to risk that just yet.

After he’s given himself a few seconds to calm down, Eddie slides a hand under one of your thighs to lift your leg up, bringing it up to hook around his waist. You moan deeply as the head of his cock pushes deeper into you, this new angle opening you up to him even more.

With your one foot that was still free, you push down against the floor for leverage and start rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching your movements with his so your bodies are perfectly in sync. His head drops down and his eyes close, responding to your sounds with loud groans of his own.

His lips once again seek out yours in a heated kiss and you respond eagerly. You both lose track of everything around you, forgetting where you were and even what you were doing before his cock was inside you. Even though he kept that same steady pace that was slower than he normally goes, it wasn’t long before he pulled back from your lips just enough to speak.

“Not gonna - fuck!” he groaned, his thrusting stuttering for a few seconds before resuming the previous pace. “N-not gonna last much longer, sweetheart.”

“Cum in me, baby,” you moaned against his lips, feeling your own orgasm close. “Want you to me up.”

Eddie’s whole body nearly convulsed at your words, and he fought the urge to start slamming into you without mercy. He manages to maintain the same pace as before, but his thighs shake with the effort.

“Yeah?” he pants, gripping onto your thigh even tighter, as if it’s helping him hold onto the last of his composure. “Want me leaking out of you all night?”

You bite your lip as you grin up at him.

“Yeah, want my- fuck!” you said, and moaned as he aimed a sharp thrust into you. “Want my pussy dripping when you’re done.”

Eddie started pounding into you hard and deep. He could feel you were close, but not as close as he was, and he needed to change that fast. Pulling his upper body off you, he leaned back so he could once again see his cock disappearing inside you. The sight always made his cock twitch, but he didn’t enjoy the view for long. He slowed down his pace just long enough to he could spit down onto your pussy, aiming for you your clit.

The feeling of his warm saliva hitting directly on your sensitive nub made a small shiver travel through your legs. Before that feeling can fully fade, Eddie makes another jolt go through them when he starts to rub the pad of his thumb over your clit, making quick circles around it as he resumes pounding into you.

Your moans are nearly a scream once you tip over the edge, his name leaves your mouth almost sounding like a wail as you cry it out towards the ceiling. A sound close primal growl erupts from Eddie. His fingers dig into your thigh so hard it’s right on the edge of pleasurable pain and unpleasant. There will be a bruise later, but you know that’s not the only mark you’re going to have after the wedding night and honeymoon.

Eddie thrusts into you harder, making you gasp and cry out at the sharpness before he finally stills, his hips twitching as cum spurts from the tip of his cock, filling you just like you wanted.

You are both still for a few moments, just lying there with Eddie halfway on top of you, his head buried in your neck with his cock still inside you. But then, once you both came down from your highs, it seemed to hit you both at the same time exactly what just happened, and the two of you simultaneously erupted into giggling fits.

The marriage was consummated, and you both just fucked in the back of a limo.

By the time you and Eddie arrived at the reception, you were nearly thirty minutes late. Both of you were prepared to get yelled at, but no one batted an eye once you walked in.

As it turns out, due to some unforeseen issues that came up with the room, the hotel was late in getting the reception hall ready. It was almost another half hour before you all could go in and get things started.

The reception starting late was the only snag to happen during your wedding. Once it got started, the wait was forgotten, and everyone had an amazing time. Nearly all your friends and the family you wanted there were able to attend, and that thrilled you both. The night was filled until the wee morning hours with dancing, laughter, good food and good drinks.

But, about halfway through, you managed to pull Eddie away from all the fun into a broom closet. Between how happy you were and how sexy he looked in the suit he chose for the event, you were desperate for a refill, and he was all too happy to oblige.

[jqmalikhsgib]

ynhopper

Liked by eddiemunson and 589,000 others

ynhopper baby daddy got a haircut <3 @corrodedcoffin

View all 12,000 comments

imgmodels he looks amazing

corrodedcoffin oh, no!

eddiemunson still crying

ccoffin wait, eddie munson is married?!?!

coffincorroded @ccoffin naw…i think they have a kid together or something

eddiescoffin @ccoffin @coffincorroded oh, but it’s more than that. yn and eddie have six kids and they’re engaged

egjdcoffcorr eddie’s girlfriend is so pretty!

harrington bout time he shaved that thing he called hair off his head

eddiemunson @harrington okay mister steve hair harrington

dustyhen not the hair!!!

eddiemunson @dustyhen i know, right?!?! 🥺

robinrobss yes! been waiting for this one!

eddiemunson @robinrobss hahaha

[fanfictionroxs]

Welcome back Justin Bieber

[aziraphales-library]

this is going to sound slightly stupid i’m begging you to bear with me

you know those fanfics from like 2013, the rpf’s that (usually) were about musicians like harry styles or brenden urie?

they’d go something along the lines of, ‘not-like-other-girls’ sitting in the crowd of a concert her friend dragged her out to, but she just doesn’t care about the music it’s so not her thing so she reads a book during the concert (cue the groans). then the lead singer sees her and is totally taken by her uniqueness and calls her out from the stage or asks to see her after the show yada yada.

anyway, i saw some fan art of rockstar!crowley and normie!aziraphale, and i thought it’d be fun to see if there’s anything similar to those kinds of rpf’s but instead for crowley and aziraphale!

We have a #famous crowley tag you can check out. Here are some fics in which Crowley is famous and Aziraphale is not...

A rockstar's love by The_boxhead (G)

Crowley had a lot of problems finding someone to have a relationship with as the famous rockstar that he is. But that day when he entered that coffee shop and saw that blond haired man behind the counter, he didn’t want more than to get to know that beautiful angel with that cute smile.

Star Crossed by AppleSeeds (T)

When Crowley, the lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Sixth Circle, agrees to take part in a radio show discussion feature, the last thing he expects is to come away from it completely smitten with a man who must be the world's most adorable magician. Crowley's uncharacteristic behaviour towards Aziraphale during the show doesn't go unnoticed by the listeners, with speculation soon running rife online. Only one thing for it - Crowley just needs to engineer an opportunity to see Aziraphale again. All in the name of generating publicity, of course.

Never Too Late by AppleSeeds (T)

It's been thirty-five years since the height of Aziraphale's enormous crush on rockstar Anthony Crowley, but when he sees that Anthony is still performing, Aziraphale feels he owes it to his younger self not to pass up the opportunity to finally hear him sing live. The last thing he expects is for Anthony to actually approach him once the concert is over, extending an invitation that surpasses every fantasy Aziraphale harboured about him as a young man and resulting in the most memorable night of his life.

The Only One I Still Know How to See by Furuba_Fangirl (E)

Aziraphale has been an admirer of Anthony J. Crowley for years. However, the gap between audience member and stage actor begins to thin when they are given the chance to officially meet.

Soho by Lurlur (E)

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages. One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Find the Light by klikandtuna (E)

I saw a collection of gifs on tumblr combining David Tennant as a rock star and Michael Sheen as a school headmaster (see the notes of Chapter 1 for a link to the post!) and someone said that it ought to be a fic, sooooo I've made it a fic. Here's a heapin' helping of rock-star Crowley and headmaster Aziraphale! Now with shiny new cover art, also by me!

Win a Date With Anthony J. Crowley! by Caedmon (E)

Crowley is a world-famous rock star who sells out arenas. His name is synonymous with 'rock-n-roll', and he thrives on the spotlight. When he agrees to raffle off a date with himself for charity, he's expecting to meet an overzealous fan that wants to wear his skin and very well might try to roofie him. What he's not expecting is to be instantly attracted to the quiet man with the unusual name who shows up for the date at the Ritz... and he's certainly not expecting for Aziraphale to have no clue who he is...

- Mod D