#love at first sight

[navybrat817]

@targaryenvampireslayer @biteofcherry THIS. 😂

[hawkinsbnbg]

thank you, santa

prompt: santa | word count: 986 | rated: T | tags: omega verse, true mates, soulmates, love at first sight, omega Steve, runaway Steve, Steve has bad parents, alpha Eddie, implied mpreg | @steddieholidaydrabbles | ao3

Growing up, Steve had learned that Santa wasn't real. His parents had made sure to break his naïve fantasy as soon as he started asking them questions about the world.

For a long time, Steve believed them and thought his classmates were stupid to prepare milk and cookies for Santa. Still, somewhere inside his head, there was a small voice that doubted everything Richard and Dana Harrington told him in their dismissive tones, but Steve was too desperate to please them to even pause and think for himself.

But when he presented as an omega and had to endure their contempt for him, he decided they were bullshit.

———

Christmas was a cursed holiday among the Harrington. Or maybe it was just Steve who'd been a disappointment to his poor parents since his birth. Either way, it didn't matter anymore considering he'd made peace with the fact that he had shitty parents the moment he hitchhiked out of town to escape from under their thumbs.

And yet, three years later, he still wished his Christmas wasn't always so cold and lonely, wished he had a family to celebrate it with. But while Santa might be real, he knew he wasn't good enough to be granted such a thing. After all, no good omega would be abandoned by their pack or struggle at reining in their instinct—the one that always made him needy for a smidge of warmth and go haywire around children.

Fortunately, the record store didn't require his flimsy control, they only asked him to smile pretty and assist the customers as best as he could, which was a piece of cake given the omega training his parents had briefly put him through all those years ago.

Loathed at them as he might, part of the reason he excelled at his job was thanks to them. And every day, Steve tried to not think about that even though his mind tended to spiral without his consent. At this point, it was a bad habit he couldn't get rid of.

Steve grimaced as he stared at the fake pine tree on the display shelf. Even now, he could still hear his mother criticizing him for wearing the clothes he chose. He had got them from a thrift shop; the soft maroon sweater, the washout jeans that didn't try to squeeze him to death, the worn sneakers that didn't hurt to walk in. He wished—

Steve paused arranging the vinyl records to pinch the bridge of his nose. Maybe it was the holiday effect because he caught himself making more wishes lately. It didn't hurt to seek a little comfort from magic and fairytale, but he couldn't afford to delude himself anymore. Not when the last time he did, he had nearly been sold away.

Besides, it wasn't like he could just ask to see his soulmate right now even though it was already 1986—the year that his soul mark had mentioned—and Christmas was just around the corner. Because there was a fat chance they wouldn't be compatible and had to give up on each other in the end anyway. (He wondered if that was why his parents kept reminding him soulmates weren't real.)

Too lost in his thoughts, Steve didn't pick up the pinewood scent right away, but when someone cleared their throat lightly behind him, it was the first thing that his inner omega latched onto. Thinking it was a customer asking for his assistance, he turned around with a greeting on the tip of his tongue only to have the air sucked out of him.

The handsome stranger had long black curls, pale skin, big dark chocolate eyes, plump lips, and a cute nose that had turned slightly red due to the cold weather. His outfit was mostly black—a Judas Priest t-shirt, leather jacket, combat boots, and chains—except for the maroon knitted scarf tied in a half-hearted bow on his neck.

Not to mention the way he smelled— Steve breathed in deeply and felt something right just click inside him.

There he is, he sighed dreamily.

Mine, his inner omega purred.

They were clearly made for each other, and god, Steve needed to marry this man like yesterday.

Much to his giddiness, the alpha seemed equally flustered, pupils dilated and cheeks tinged pink as he took in Steve—fluffy chestnut hair, doe-like hazel eyes, rosy cheeks, and pouty lips—before blurting out with awe.

"Damn, '86 is really my year."

Steve burst into a fit of giggles, unable to believe his luck. According to the statistics, it was supposed to be one in a million, but here they were—soulmates and scent mates. All in one package.

The alpha seemed baffled by his unfettered joy at first, but then beamed at him brightly as he nodded to confirm the man's suspicion, as the sweet cocoa and vanilla started blooming in the air, joining the pinewood scent and earthy musk in a beautiful harmony.

Steve couldn't wait to listen to the songs of their bond once they officially mated. He couldn't wait to build a future with this lovely man.

Grinning so wide that his cheeks hurt, Steve threw himself into those strong arms, melting when they caught him in a warm and protective embrace.

With the enthusiasm of an eager pup opening his Christmas present, he unknotted the scarf and nuzzled his alpha's bonding gland, feeling a little lightheaded as he chirped merrily.

"Thank you, Santa."

This time, it was his alpha's turn to laugh in joy, hugging him close and pressing a tender smile to his head.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

———

December '86, Steve Munson was home.

———

September '88, Emily Munson opened her eyes with a loud cry, ready to conquer the world with her tiny fists and unruly curls.

Cradling their pup in his chest, Steve smiled tearfully and let his husband wrap them both in those loving arms.

Santa was real, after all.

[hairmetal666]

Steve goes to a gay club for the first time alone. He and Robin, they'd talked about it since moving to Chicago, but every time they made plans he got cold feet.

But on a random, rainy Saturday with Robin back home in Hawkins, he decides fuck it, puts on his sluttiest jeans and polo, and goes to the damn club. He's sick of being nervous--he's going to make out with a guy for the first time tonight.

The club is crowded, loud, sweaty, the energy a pulsing wave. He's overwhelmed immediately, but it's invigorating. He pushes towards the bar, orders a beer, then cozies himself against the nearest wall.

He sips his drink and watches beautiful men dance and kiss and play, and he wants to be part of it, get out there, find his own person to get close to but--

What if none of this is for him? He feels out of place in his clothes, with his hairstyle, an old version of himself that doesn't belong in this world.

There's a swell of sound at the bar, and he glances over, expecting drunks or fighting. Instead, he sees a guy who makes his plans to leave slip straight from his mind.

He's unlike any other person there, even within his group. Long, curly hair, visible tattoos, ripped black jeans, a faded black t-shirt under a big leather jacket. He moves with purpose and grace, obviously uncaring about fitting in.

Steve can't stop watching him, transfixed. He buys another beer, settles back against his wall. He knows it's weird, but can't bring himself to care. Not when it's helping him feel more comfortable in his own skin.

The guy, he's vibrant, the brightest spot, his laughter reaching Steve even over the pounding music.

He's beautiful.

The lights flash, illuminating his face and recognition hits Steve like a fist. It's Eddie Munson, former freak of Hawkins High.

Steve's spine straightens, chest tightening. He can't believe--I mean there were rumors about Eddie in school, but he's here, right now, in Chicago, and Steve--Steve--

He abandons the remains of his beer, rushing out the door.

---

Steve goes back the next night.

He doesn't mean to; didn't have any plans to do it, but the clock turns to 9 and he pulls on the same slutty jeans, this time with an old blue t-shirt a size too small.

It's not because Eddie could be there again, he reassures himself as he shows the bouncer his ID. It's not like he wants to see him or has been thinking about him nonstop. No, it's because tonight's the night he finally makes a move. He needed a test run to find his footing, but now--

Eddie's at the bar. His hair is pulled up, loose tendrils around his face. No jacket this time; the rolled up sleeves of his black t-shirt showing off his wiry muscles, the swirling ink of his tattoos. Something low and hot clenches in Steve's stomach.

There's no way he's going to be preoccupied with Munson tonight. He came here to flirt and dance and maybe get lucky, and he'll ignore Eddie. He will.

Steve orders a beer, sits at the bar this time, his eyes lingering on black ink and pale skin. No matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the ease and assurance Eddie moves with. He's so unafraid to take up space, it's intoxicating.

He loses track of Munson when he orders a second drink, his face no longer immediately visible in the crowd. Disappointment sinks his stomach until a voice to his left says, "You better be planning to buy me a drink, pretty boy."

The voice is low, oddly melodic, and he turns to find Eddie Munson's sparkling brown eyes gazing down at him. He's surprised, hides it, says, "Sure. What are you having?"

Eddie's mouth opens, but his eyes narrow. "Wait--Steve Harrington??"

"Um." His mouth goes dry. "Munson. Hi?"

"I--uh--wouldn't think this was your scene." Eddie shifts back, puts distance between them, and Steve hates it. Hates that Munson thinks the space is necessary, hates that he used to a person that made people feel that way.

"Yeah, well. A lot has changed since high school."

"Is that right? Surely not this much."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Eddie's eyebrow lifts, but his mouth is a tight line. "Have a cigarette with me."

Steve nods and follows him out a side door into a narrow alley. Eddie pulls out two cigarettes, hands one to Steve. There's something about the cold politeness that sends a fizzle of disappointment down his spine.

"What brings you here?" Eddie asks.

"To Chicago or to this club?"

"Don't be cute."

"Can't help it." He smirks and Eddie rolls his eyes. "I moved to Chicago three months ago with my best friend, Robin. I'm at this club trying to explore my bisexuality."

Eddie's in the middle of taking a drag, splutters on the smoke. "Holy Shit."

He shrugs, knows he's blushing. "What can I say? I've spent the last few years learning about myself."

"And one of the things was that you like dick?"

"Looks like it."

'Well, goddamn, Steve Harrington."

"Impressed?"

Eddie licks his lips, steps closer. "Maybe I am."

"I aim to please." Steve lets himself grin.

"I bet you do," Eddie's voice goes even lower, and heat dances deep in Steve's stomach. "Wanna dance?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Steve blinks up at Eddie from under his eyelashes.

They go inside and join the bodies packed on the dance floor. At first, they keep their distance, dancing and laughing with an arm's length between them, but it's not long before they're drawn together, arms twining, legs pressed together. Their eyes lock, Steve can't look away, wouldn't even if he wanted to. Eddie's hands go to his waist, pull him closer.

"You're gorgeous, Harrington," he says it with his lips pressed to Steve's ear, goosebumps spreading across his skin.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

Eddie's mouth presses closer. "I used to have the biggest crush on you in high school."

"Fuck, Eddie," he says. "That's so--"

"Weird?"

"Fucking hot, dude."

"Can I tell you another secret?" Eddie's voice is all rumble.

"Course,"

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"You could do something about it."

Eddie smiles, eyes going darker, almost predatory. He leans in, their breath mingling, Steve's hitching.

"You sure you want me to?" Eddie asks, mouth barely brushing Steve's.

"Please," and it comes out like he's been punched.

He thinks the kiss will be hard, hot, but Eddie's hand is gentle as it cups the back of his head, slowly pulls him in. It's a soft meeting of mouths, almost tender. His head is swimming, blood thrumming low and hot and sweet. He parts his lips and then all he can feel, taste, sense is Eddie.

It cracks something inside him, and his fingers dig into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, eagerly licking into his mouth. It must crack something in Eddie too, because he's hauling Steve impossibly closer until his legs have to wrap around Eddie's waist, or they're falling.

They break apart with a breathless laugh, both red cheeked and bright eyed. They don't move apart, instead they dance and make out until the music stops and the lights come up.

Eddie twines their fingers together as they walk to the exit, Steve sweaty and elated and a little head over heels.

Out on the sidewalk, basking in the cool air, Eddie stops him. "Can I--uh, take you for a drink? Or back to my place? I don't--not to assume, but I--"

"Both. Anywhere," Steve laughs. "I don't want this night to end."

Eddie's smile is brilliant, heart stopping. "Your wish is my command."

[ultravioletbrit]

“remember” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 342 words

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“You remember the exact day you fell in love with me?” Regulus ask James incredulously.

“I think I nearly know the exact minute I fell in love.” James tells him.

“Bollocks.” Regulus says and James just shrugs. “Alright. When?” Regulus challenges.

“1 September 1972. I’m going to say…” James thinks for a moment. “…about 11:08am, give or take five minutes.”

“Oh, shut up, you did not.” Regulus dismisses.

“I did.” James shrugs, but his expression is completely genuine. “I didn’t know what it was at the time. But I remember it. I felt it. And it never went away.” James says.

Regulus softens, but still looks at James skeptically. “What did you feel?” He whispers and James smiles.

“I had just met you, you scolded me for calling you Reggie, shook my hand and told me my hair was atrocious.” James says with a small chuckle. “And I remember thinking ‘what eleven-year-old shakes hands and uses the word atrocious?’ But then I felt it, while we were shaking hands my stomach did this little somersault. And I didn’t know what it was, I had never felt anything like that before and I didn’t know what to do, so…” James trails off, looking at Regulus.

“So, you laughed.” Regulus finishes.

“And you thought I was laughing at you.” James smiles softly.

“And I hated you for it.” Regulus says, with a little pout.

“Yup.” James says, popping the ‘p’, and they both chuckle. “But every time I saw you my stomach did that little somersault. It took me a few years to figure out what it meant, but it was always there.” James tells Regulus as he looks deep into his eyes. “It’s still there.”

Regulus is gazing back at James with so many emotions and trying his best to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He puts his hands on James’ cheeks and leans in so they’re only a breath apart.

“You are a sap, and I love you so much.” Regulus whispers sweetly and pulls James in for a kiss.

[secretly-a-catamount]

“So, are they love at first sight or the most devastating slow burn?”

YES

[itsaspectrumcomic]

It didn't work out

[girllblogging777]

Hiii 😊 Cinammon tinged tale for Mattheo Riddle/reader please!

How about Mattheo is a member of a band, and the reader is a journalist and they give her an interview and Mattheo is instantly head over heels.. Love at first sight

𝐴𝐿𝐿 𝐼𝑇 𝑇𝑂𝑂𝐾

↳ famous mattheo riddle x journalist reader

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0.6k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : the lead singer of the band you’re interviewing falls for you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the fluorescent hallway outside the room hums with low voices and muffled bass, a promise of the chaos waiting beyond the doors. you clutch your notebook a little tighter, running over the questions in your head for what feels like the hundredth time.

this is the biggest feature you’ve done for the paper, a full interview with the silver dominion, the band that has been skyrocketing through the rock charts lately.

you’ve done your research: lorenzo berkshire on drums, theodore nott on bass, mattheo riddle on guitar and vocals. mattheo… the name alone is enough to bring heat to your face. it’s impossible to miss his face on album covers, magazine spreads, and the endless stream of fan edits flooding your feed.

but none of that really matters right now. this is your job, you remind yourself before stepping into the room where they’re waiting.

the band is sprawled out on a couch when you walk in, the kind of casual chaos you’d expect from a group this magnetic. theo is tapping a rhythm against the armrest, enzo is looking through the setlist, but mattheo looks up the second the door opens.

and he stops.

completely.

your eyes meet, and it’s like the air shifts. his expression freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air where it was reaching for a cigarette. his dark eyes widen and for a split second, he looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“hi,” you manage, your voice steady despite the way his gaze sets your nerves alight.

“hi,” he says back, low and unsteady, like the word has weight to it.

enzo glances up from the documents, breaking the moment. “you must be the journalist.”

“that’s me,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from mattheo. you try to focus as enzo introduces himself, then theo, but you can still feel mattheo’s gaze on you, sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face.

“and that’s mattheo,” theo says, motioning toward him with a smirk.

you glance back at him, and he still hasn’t looked away. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

“nice to meet you,” you say, your voice soft.

he nods, and for a moment, his mask of cool indifference slips. something flickers in his expression, raw and disarming, before he quickly looks down, fumbling with the cigarette in his hand.

“so,” you start, clearing your throat as you sit down across from them, trying your best to look at ease. “let’s dive in.”

the interview begins, and you do your best to focus, asking theo about his influences, enzo about their songwriting process. the room fills with easy banter, laughter spilling over as theo tells a story about their disastrous first gig.

but mattheo barely speaks.

he answers when you ask, short, clipped responses that seem out of place for someone so magnetic on stage. but every time you glance up, his eyes are on you, and they’re not just looking. they’re studying.

“mattheo, how do you balance writing lyrics and playing lead guitar?” you ask, hoping to draw him into the conversation.

his lips twitch into a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “it’s not something i think about too much. it just… happens.”

enzo snorts. “he’s being modest. he’s a control freak in the studio.”

“shut up,” mattheo mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. his eyes flicker back to yours, softening. “it’s just about the feel of it, you know?”

you nod, scribbling down his response, but you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering.

“so what about you?” he asks suddenly, cutting through enzo’s attempt to steer the conversation back.

you blink. “what about me?”

“why’d you start writing?” his voice is quieter now, laced with something you can’t quite place.

“uh, i…” you falter, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “i guess i’ve always loved telling stories. finding the human side of things, the parts people don’t usually see.”

he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “and do you find it?”

“sometimes,” you say honestly, holding his gaze even though it makes your chest feel tight. “not always.”

his lips part, like he’s about to say something, but theo cuts in before he can.

“are we just gonna let him hijack the interview?” theo teases, raising a brow at mattheo. “she’s here for all of us, you know.”

“right,” mattheo mutters, sitting back, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

the rest of the interview passes in a blur. you jot down notes, ask follow-up questions, laugh along with theo’s jokes, but mattheo stays quiet, only speaking when directly addressed. and yet, his presence fills the room, drawing your attention back to him over and over.

when it’s finally over, you gather your things, feeling oddly reluctant to leave.

“thanks for your time,” you say, standing.

theo and enzo wave you off with easy grins, already diving into some argument about their setlist, but mattheo follows you to the door.

“wait,” he says, his voice low.

you turn, your pulse quickening as he steps closer.

“you’re coming to the show tonight, right?”

you nod. “i’ll be covering it.”

his gaze softens, something like relief flickering across his face. “good.” he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “can i… ask you something?”

“sure.”

he swallows, his confidence faltering for the first time. “do you… i don’t know, do you believe in things happening for a reason?”

his question catches you off guard, but there’s something so vulnerable in his expression that you can’t brush it off.

“sometimes,” you say carefully. “why?”

he shakes his head, a small, almost self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “i don’t know. it’s just… the second you walked in, it felt like…” he trails off, glancing away, then back at you. “like something shifted.”

your breath catches, the honesty in his voice cutting through every defense you have.

“mattheo—”

“sorry,” he says quickly, stepping back. “i probably sound insane. forget i said anything.”

you want to say something, anything, but the door swings open behind you, theo calling him back inside.

“i’ll see you tonight,” mattheo says, his voice softer now. and as you leave, his eyes follow you, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

and you know.

you know he felt it too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : as an aspiring journalist i wish this was me fr, thank you for this request !!! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

tell me if you wanna be added to the tag list !@redeemingvillains @leona-hawthorne @shiftingwithmars @tateshifts @rose-of-the-grave @clar2aa @iris-qt @sp7-mr @deadghosy @deadsnakey @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @shiftingwithleah @sunkissedscribbles @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @slut-for-fictional-men @romantasyreader28 @witchsrecs @mattiesgf @reidol0gy @kenjikishimotoswifey @2dloveshp

[webweabings]

EYES TALK

“In the Storm of Roses: Selected Poems ch. "Songs form an Island"”, Ingeborg Bachmann. tr by Mark Anderson; // “The Master and Margarita”, by Mikhail Bulgakov; // “The Black Art”, by Anne Sexton; // Santosh Kalwar; // “Jane Eyre”, by Charlotte Brontë; // Quote by @dumblr ; // “The Galloping Hour: French Poems. ch "I check for you in the wind"”, by Alejandra Pizarnik. tr by Patricio Ferrari and Forrest Gander; // Stephen F. Campbell; // Walt Whitman; // “The Boat in the Evening”, by Tarjei Vesaas; // “We”, by Yevgeny Zamyatin. tr Natasha Randall; // Letter to Anne Clarke, by Anne Sexton, July 3 1964; // “Memory in my Hands: The Love of Pedro Salinas. ch "The voice I owe to you"”, by Pedro Salina. tr by Ruth Katz Crispin

[saydesole]

You deserve a beautiful love story

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[ssaraexposs]

Bro's obsessed (with a guy he just met)

[ratatatastic]

"i already told the boys im keeping this one [the cup belt]" wow what a shocker matthew i couldnt have forseen any of this happening at all

"i just put one on and i rarely taken it off since" yeah WE KNOW. pictures taken on 3 seperate days....its a problem

CBS News Miami | 6.28.24 (x)

[hairmetal666]

Closing shifts at Scoops Ahoy are always boring, but Robin took off early to study and nobody is coming in for ice cream at 8pm on a school night in mid-winter. Steve's alone and has been for the last forty-five minutes, with no end in sight.

He's doing tricks with his scooper, counting how many times he can twist it through his fingers without dropping it (57 so far), when the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen, walks in. He's got long dark hair that falls in perfect curls around his shoulders; wide eyes the same deep brown of fresh, dark coffee; and the most perfect plump mouth.

Steve can't move, his head going fuzzy. His eyes catch on the man's chest--visible through the black mesh tank top he's wearing-- revealing tantalizing swirls of black ink and the glint of silver bars through each nipple. The guy also has on leather pants that cling to the line of his legs like a second skin.

Jesus. Steve just realized he's bi and the physical embodiment of his wet dreams walks into the store like it's nothing. He's going to die.

The man rushes to the counter, his eyes finally falling on Steve, and it's like his feet get caught on each other for a second before he struts forward. His face melts into this heart-stopping smile, bringing out the cutest set of dimples Steve has ever seen. This is it, Steve is done for, time of death, 8:06pm.

"Ahoy, sailor," the man says with a mischievous glint in those dark eyes.

He returns the smile and somewhere, somehow, finds the words to reply, "I think that's my line."

Steve leans towards the counter, but in doing so, drops the scooper hanging from his fingers. The metallic clatter is harsh against the tile, and blood rushes to his cheek. "Whoops," he mumbles. He ducks down to retrieve it, mentally kicking himself for his clumsiness.

The man's smile only grows, and now there's a faint flush across his pale cheeks. And fuck if Steve can't help but smile right back, to let their eye contact linger.

"What can I get you?" He asks. His voice is way too low for regular customer service, and if he flutters his eyelashes too--well, that's between him and the USS Butterscotch.

"I know this is ridiculous. It's late and it's starting to snow," the man says. He leans over the counter. "But I need a strawberry shake to go."

"Strawberry shake, good choice," Steve nods. "Coming right up."

They don't stop looking at each other or smiling as he blends up the drink, and when he hands the cup over, their fingers brush, linger, both their faces staining red.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "On the house."

"You really know how to charm a guy, sailor-boy."

"Maybe I'm hoping to see you again."

"Depends," the man says. His smile widening, his dimples getting somehow deeper.

"On?"

"How good this shake is." He winks.

Steve thinks he might burst into flame before the man can taste the drink, but then the guy glances at his watch and curses. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta run. Been a pleasure, sailor."

And with that, he runs from the store, strawberry shake clutched in his long-fingered grasp.

Steve collapses against the counter, burying his face in his hands. He's not ever gonna recover from that.

---

Eddie's guitar is in his lap, his melted strawberry shake at his side. He can't get the guy from the ice cream shop out of his head.

Fuck, he had all that perfect hair under that silly little hat; his face dotted with cute little moles and freckles; eyes that flashed from honey to gold to green flecked hazel; and the poutiest, most perfect lips ever had Eddie seen. Not to mention how he looked bent over in those itty bitty shorts. Shit, if he isn't totally done for.

He can't stop smiling.

That is until a guitar pick hits him right in the forehead, dragging his attention back to his surroundings.

"Earth to Eddie," their manager, Chrissy, says. "You go on in ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you didn't get the stupid shake." Gareth shakes his head.

"No, I got it. Not to worry."

"Then what's up with you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie can't help the huge, stupid smile that illuminates his face.

"There was a guy," Eddie sighs.

Chrissy and his bandmates share a look. "Let me guess," Gareth says. "You walked in and he was like 'Oh, Mr. Munson. Let me get you ice cream, let me suck your dick. Oooh, you're so hot. Corroded Coffin is my favorite band.'"

"C'mon, no. I don't even think he knew who I was."

At one point, that would've bothered him. But now, after five years of hooking up with dudes who were only interested in famous Eddie Munson, he likes that the guy from the ice cream parlor seemed totally oblivious. That, when his eyes lit up with interest, it was for genuine attraction and not name recognition.

"Did you get his number?" Chrissy asks.

He slumps. "No."

His friends all groan. Another guitar pick flies at him, getting caught up in his curls.

"Well, you'll go back tomorrow. Now get your head in the game, Munson! You have a sold out stadium to play!"

---

"I'm not kidding you, Robs, he was the hottest guy I've ever seen. I didn't even know dudes could be that beautiful."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You're not even listening." He jabs her in the ribs, making her squeak.

"Sorry, sorry," she bats his hands away. "Describe him again?"

And he does, leaving nothing out. Once he's done, Robin is gaping at him, gum about to fall out of her open mouth.

"What?"

She grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the store.

"Robin, what are you doing? We're supposed to be working!"

She doesn't answer, just hauls him to the record store down the hall.

"Was it this guy?" She asks. She's out of breath.

"What?"

"Steve! Was it him?" She gestures to a new release display and it's Steve's turn for speechlessness.

He's surrounded of images of the man from last night; on magazines, CDs, cassettes, on a couple posters hanging on display. He's with a couple of other guys, they're in a band called Corroded Coffin, but all Steve can see is deep brown eyes and plush lips, the bright dimples.

"Well?" Robin demands.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's him."

"Oh my god!" Robin screams. She grabs his arm and squeezes. "You flirted with Eddie Munson! Steve! You minx!"

"It was nothing," he blushes. "He's probably got someone already, anyway. I mean, look at him."

Robin makes a little face. "There are some rumors, but nothing serious."

"It was a nice dream," he says. He gives her a little smile. "Now, let's get back to work."

She loops her arm through his. "Whatever you say, dingus."

---

It's been a long day of slinging ice cream. Maybe Robin's revelation that the cute guy from the night before was an insanely famous rockstar is to blame, but Steve is exhausted.

"Hey, dingus!" Robin calls from the front.

"Yeah?" he mumbles.

"Some guy is here for you. He looks a lot like Eddie Munson."

She's not even finished with her sentence before Steve is vaulting back behind the counter, coming face-to-face with the man of his dreams.

Eddie's gorgeous, his face already flushed a faint pink. And just like the night before, Steve can't help but smile at the man before him, who dimples up immediately in return.

He forgets that Robin is there until she says, "Go get 'em, tiger," and snaps him in the chest with a towel.

With Robin gone, they still don't say anything for a second, both smiling and blushing and staring at each other.

"So, uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm back today."

"That's easy," Steve says. "It was the best strawberry milkshake you ever had."

Eddie laughs with his head back and Steve is stuck staring at the long lines of his throat.

"Well, it was the best, no question. Made me realize I was a fool not to ask for your number."

Somehow Steve's smile grows. He jots his name and number on a Scoops napkin, passing it to Eddie who does the same, before carefully ripping the paper in half.

"We're still on tour for the next three months, but I'll call you when I can?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Talk soon, sweetheart," Eddie leans into Steve's space, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve still has a hand resting on the spot when Robin re-emerges.

"Oooh, you've got it sooo bad," she sing-songs.

He's so happy, he can't even bother to shush her.

---

Corroded Coffin has a new album out. It's a huge hit, number ones across the board, a fixture on MTV. It's full of heavy metal love songs, sales bolstered by the rumors that Eddie's been in a secret relationship for years.

They're at the Grammys, nominated for Best Metal Performance. The band has moved on down the red carpet, but Eddie's still answering questions, their assistant waiting with him. The interviewer asks Eddie, "There's a lot of speculation about your romantic life because of this album. There are rumors that the song 'Sailor Boy' is in reference to how you met your lover. Will you tell fans about the person you're dating, the one who inspired the album?"

"No," Eddie smiles for the camera. "But oh, do I love the way he moans," he sings a lyric of the song in question before giving the interviewer a lascivious wink, and continuing on down the carpet.

Years later, after Eddie and Steve are comfortably out and married and Corroded Coffin has cemented themselves in metal history, the video of that interview will be uploaded to YouTube.

It's obvious, now, the way Eddie and Steve, the "assistant", gravitate towards each other. How Steve flushes a pretty crimson that spreads below the collar of his shirt as Eddie sings. The way Eddie smirks at him with a raised eyebrow. The way his hand cradles the small of Steve's back as they walk away together.

It causes a frenzy online, fans compiling blog posts and videos of moments of Steve and Eddie being totally obvious about being in love before the world knew that they were.

Eventually, Steve posts a photo to the band's webpage. It's of him and Eddie at Scoops Ahoy. He's wearing his uniform, and Eddie is in a faded Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. They stand at the counter with their arms around each other, smiling hard, eyes locked. He captions it with, "putting the sailor boy allegations to rest."

[ultravioletbrit]

“shadow” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 308 words

 

“So, you know my friend James?” Sirius says trying to sound nonchalant.  

“Ugh.” Regulus just groans as he wipes down the counter not looking at Sirius.

“Why do you always do that when I bring up James?” Sirius asks while starting to brew fresh coffee.  

“James annoys me.” Regulus tells him simply.

“You’ve never even met him.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t annoy me.”

“Well, he needs a job.” Sirius moves on to restock the fridge with the various types of milk.

“Good for him.” Regulus says sarcastically as he’s refilling the pastries.

“I got him a job here.”

“You what?” Regulus whips around to face Sirius.

“Yeah, he’s going to be here any minute, but I have to take inventory and–” Sirius starts.

“What does that mean?” Regulus cuts him off while glaring at him.

“Means you have to train him.” Sirius says.

“Nope. He’s your friend, you train him.” Regulus tells him as he hears the bell at the door. He turns around and makes eye contact with the most beautiful man he has ever seen, and he freezes.

“Hey Prongs!”

“Hey Pads!” They greet each other and Regulus has heard Sirius talk about James enough to know that “Prongs” is, in fact, James Potter.

“James, this is Regulus. Reggie, this is James.” Sirius introduces them.

“Hi Regulus!” James says brightly reaching out his hand, but Regulus remains frozen just staring at him. Eventually, James lowers his hand but doesn’t break eye contact with Regulus.  

“Right, I was going to have you shadow Reggie this morning, but he doesn’t–”  

“Go away Sirius.” Regulus interrupts him without taking his eyes off James.  

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. I’ll be in the back.” Sirius sing-songs as he’s walking away.

James continues to smile at Regulus, and he finally unfreezes and feels himself smiling back. Suddenly Regulus is not so annoyed.

[ladyredmoon13]

DCxDP prompt

Twas love at first sight.

After being crowned Ghost King. Danny begins teaching his high council and advisors how to make portals to the human realm in case of emergencies or if they ever need to talk.

Princess Dorathea was having trouble with this particular ability but she thought she was getting the hang of it. Well, she thought she was, anyway. She honestly didn't know what happened but now she was in a dark, dank city that reeked of bad intentions and death.

It was foul, disgusting, and felt all-consuming. She didn't like it. But that all changed when she caught sight of him. From down the alleyway Dora heard loud hissing before a brawl started.

Thinking that a fellow ghost might need help with ghost hunters she ran towards the fray. What she saw when she reached the mouth of the alley was not a ghost fighting back ghost hunters. She should have known, she would have sensed if there was another nearby.

Nevertheless, she was no less captivated by the man that she saw. He was, for the lack of more eloquent words, very large. 9 feet tall and broad in both chest and shoulders. His claws were sharp, his teeth pointed and his entire body was covered in scales.

He was one of the most handsome beings she had ever seen. Not to mention the bravest. Currently taking on many hunters at once and holding them back with such fierce strength.

She had to know just who that magnificent moral was. Dora could not leave till she had at least a name to put to that sculpted face.

-Dora/Killer Croc

[crrows]

From the defunct brand Cornet