the one with the mystery date || rated t || 6.2k words
a 1990s double date, in loving homage to when harry met sally and the friends episode "the one with the pediatrician"
Steve and Eddie are just old friends. At least, that's what they always tell everybody. So when Jonathan comes out to Steve and asks him to set him up with someone, someone he trusts, Steve knows just the man for the job.
What he didn't expect was the flare of jealousy, and Eddie and Jonathan's (complete lack of) chemistry.
When the last member of their disastrous double date finally arrives and sweeps Jonathan off his feet, Steve and Eddie are forced to admit what they really want from each other.
happy big boy love month fic exchange extravaganza to my beloved @fragilecapric0rnn!! i was inspired by your love of whms and friends, i couldn't resist combining them and making it 90s steddie / jargyle!! i had so much fun writing this, especially for a friend i adore so much <33 sending you the biggest cowboy kisses <33
Eden Hanazono is honestly amazing and by “amazing” I mean “amazing and also terrifying”. She has more guts than any person should be allowed to have.
Proof:
Invited all her competitors to her house and showed them her cards
Went to Ranma's house directly when he didn't show up
Asked Dadan to apologize to her and, when he refused, whipped and electrocuted him in public
Told on her friend for shoplifting (seriously who has the guts to do that)
Went to Miko's Cafe and ordered nothing!
After knowing Yuga for less than a week (or at least a very short amount of time) she asked him to use his YouTube channel to to spread her beliefs and power
Told him directly to his face that Ranma was no longer his friend
When Yuga disagreed with her, she went to go ask Ranma herself
Went to Ranma's house again; this time She flipped his recruitment offer and told him she would be his boss
Told him Yuga still considered him a friend
And was not at all phased by the increasingly angry, super powered child in front of her
Is 100% convinced she is in the right for all of this
She is legit terrifying because nothing phases her and she does not hesitate at all! I was like 100% positive she was just going to learn a lesson about friendship from Yuga and join his group, but now I wonder where her character is going.
Noticed that you haven't been posting a lot of fanfic recently (not complaining or judging because LIFE), but just lettin' you know that I love your fics and can't wait for more!
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
This made me very happy, anon! You’re right, life has been eating away at my soul as of late, and I haven’t been able to really write much (including missing out jaytimweek WAH).
I debated even sharing this, but since you inquired, here’s the opening of a fic I was working on for jaytimweek:
last chance to lose your keyssum: Tim loses his memory. Jason runs out of excuses.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tim commented quietly from his corner of the room. He watched Jason drop his leather duffle on the ugly, floral bedspread, abused springs protesting loudly under its weight. It sounded dirty, the kind of sleazy noise a person would expect to hear at a pay-by-the-hour motel.
And then Jason unzipped the bag with steady hands to pull out a shiny black handgun.
Tim’s mouth went dry.
Green-blue eyes flicked his way for only a moment before Jason scoffed, his fingers deft and skillful as they twisted in a silencer at the tip of his gun. “Yes, I did.”
The events of the past two days were still an anxious blur in Tim’s mind. He remembered few concrete details on how he ended up in Las Vegas with Jason, a gun-toting, snarky asshole with the kind of face that made Tim want to bite the back of his hand.
At least, he said his name was Jason. Tim couldn’t remember if that were true or not.
He did know some things. He knew his name was Timothy Drake-Wayne. He knew he worked at Wayne Enterprises for bleak stretches of time, attending stuffy, drawn out meetings, the Millennial mouthpiece for one playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne.
But he also knew Bruce’s secret, and he worked alongside him and others to fight crime in Gotham City as Red Robin. He could picture Dick’s sleek, acrobatic fighting style, knew the exact shade of Steph’s blonde hair, could feel the silence that followed Cass around like armour, hear the impatient tone of Damian’s voice.
But this Jason? Tim had no memory of him at all.
“You think I’m a flight risk?”
Jason ignored him, checking for ammo before snapping the clip back into place and cocking the gun with an ominous slide of metal springs. He turned away from his duffel to stalk the length of their room, which was only big enough to fit two full beds and a bulky TV from the ‘90s. When he got to the window, Jason eased back thin, ugly curtains with his gun.
“We’re more than an hour from the next town, and there’s nothing but desert and darkness between the mile markers,” Tim tried again. He already knew there was no point in arguing, but old habits made him try.
Jason laughed again, low and derisive, and flicked the curtains back into place. “Got it all figured out, huh?” He tucked the gun into the holster beneath his jacket, twisting slightly so Tim could see the strong curve of his back. “We got a regular Wonder Boy on our hands.”
The reference irked Tim, made his skin crawl thinking about the things Jason knew about him – and all the things he didn’t know about Jason. The first thing he’d done when he’d come to, soaking wet on the tiled bathroom floor in some swanky hotel room, was call Bruce.
“I’ll tell you more when you’re home,” Bruce had said, his voice placating. There was a long pause before he’d added, “You can trust him.”
“But–,” Tim had tried to argue.
“Leave it,” Bruce said, his voice more clipped than before. “You don’t need to know anything else right now.” He promised to check in on them in the morning, and then promptly hung up.
Clearly, Bruce had chose his words carefully. The reason why felt important.
“I’m just saying the probability of me trying to escape is low. I don’t think…,” he trailed off as Jason double backed toward his side of the room.
He paused at the foot of Tim’s bed and smirked. “You have a history of not thinking things through.”
There was a memory scratching at the back of Tim’s mind, the shadowy presence of Jason occupying a similar space, in another time. How many hotel rooms, how many nights spent together working some case?
The way Jason moved unnerved Tim, made him feel raw and wrong. Tim had no doubt Jason knew exactly what he was doing; he clearly had the training and experience to handle automatic weapons with precision; he knew how to lean over the front desk with hooded eyes and a low voice and to ask for a room with a view of the highway; he knew how to count the number of missing keys hanging behind the hungry-eyed clerk, how to count the steps from the manager’s office to the their room, how to keep his back to the wall and his eyes on the door at all times.
Tim’s unease went beyond Jason’s obvious confidence. There was the familiarity in which he moved around Tim that felt significant. The way Jason’s body seemed to unconsciously bend toward Tim, their bodies two blades of grass in a high wind.
How well did they really know each other?
It was noticeable when Jason hesitated, the way his jaw ticked as he studied Tim sprawled out on the bed beneath him. His eyes flicked up and over, catching on the curve of Tim’s shoulder before settling somewhere just to the left of his ear. He didn’t say anything as he moved closer, his thigh heavy against the edge of the mattress.
Tim forced himself to lie perfectly still, tilting his neck up so he could meet Jason with defiant, untrusting eyes.
In response, Jason rolled his eyes and reached behind Tim’s head quickly, flickering off the only source of light in the room. And Tim was glad for the swift darkness, the way it swept through the room like a current, hiding sudden burn on his cheeks.
“There you go again. Not thinking.”
Jason sounded far away again and Tim squinted. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that Jason had retreated back to the window without making a sound. A purple, neon glow outlined his profile as he peeled back the curtain again.
“Well, if it bothers you so much, I could keep not thinking in another room.”
Jason clicked his tongue. “Nice try, Bird Boy.”
“Just trying to figure out why you’re so intent on babysitting, is all.”
“Ohh,” Jason snorted to himself, annoyed. “Yeah, that’s me. Babysitter-for-hire with a bolo in my bag and personal penchant for leather jackets. Mommy bloggers really go for that shit.”
“Then what?” Tim grit out with a huff of frustration.
“I don’t know.” Jason’s eyes remained focused outside the window as he spoke. “Maybe it’s because we just pissed all over the cartel’s ivory carpet in Vegas not even 24 hours ago, and this motel is full of lowlife criminals just looking for someone to sell out for some quick cash or a cheap fuck.”
There was a pause, and Tim heard a car roll through the parking lot, tires crunching gravel. The red and purple neon lights cut against the sharp angles of Jason’s face.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t know you, Tim.”
Jason kept his eyes trained on the road and smiled.
driving in your car | chapter 6 | explicit | 85k | now complete (!!!)
hugest shoutout to @judasofsuburbia for beta reading this absolute beast of a chapter!! you're a rockstar, i seriously couldn't've done this without you!
He finds a literal wide spot in the road to pull over, and as soon as he kills the engine, Eddie is on him, pulling him into a heated kiss. A hand on his jaw, the other tangling in the short hair at the base of his neck. Possessive.
Little nips draw short gasps from him, pushing him forward, pulling Eddie toward him in a tug-of-war as Eddie chases the sound through his mouth and down his throat.
Until Steve has to pull away. Leans his forehead against Eddie's to catch his heaving breath and holds him by his forearms. "What was that for?"
Eddie hums, "This is a pretty great first date."
Steve pulls back with a small laugh, finally remembering he's a man on a mission. "This isn't the date."
"This isn't the date?" And he sounds actually unsure, his eyebrows drawn low over his round wide eyes as he studies Steve's face. Like Steve is speaking in code.
"Nah man, no way." Steve gives Eddie his own confused look. "Did you really think our date was just gonna be making out on the side of the road?"
Eddie shrugs, his hands rising and falling helplessly. "I thought the chances were equally good we'd wind up getting slushies at the gas station!"
Steve snorts. Like his honor, his freaking reputation isn't on the line even more now. And it hits him that as much as he hasn't dated guys before, Eddie hasn't dated anyone.
for my darlingest louseph @cheatghost who a few days ago sent me the words "pool boy steve at eddie's vampire mansion" at 6 in the morning and immediately got my brain whirring. like 0 to 60, dead asleep to wide awake and writing. so here's less than 1k words of pure ridiculous fun.
[also on ao3]
It’s not a bad gig, really. Even if it stipulates in his contract that he has to be shirtless while he’s on the property. But Steve also signed the contract in his blood so he’s not sure how legal it is.
Plus the pay is insane. He quit his other jobs, and he’s basically got free reign of the pool all day. So he takes his time with the skimmer fishing out all the leaves and dead bugs, swims laps for a while. Spends the rest of the day in a lounger before adjusting the chemicals so it’s perfect by morning.
What do vampires need with a pool anyway?
The four guys stay in the house whenever Steve comes by, but they're friendly enough and wave at him through the dark tinted windows.
One guy ogles him the whole time he works. Not that he really minds. So what if Steve gets to work early, just to put on sunscreen? Who’s gonna know if he puts some extra flex in his muscles while he works? And who cares if they’ve got the cleanest pool in all of Indiana? It’s not hurting anyone.
But Steve's drawn to him the same way he was drawn to the ad in the first place, with his long dark curly hair and unending collection of black band shirts. His crooked smile and dimples and shining brown eyes.
It's just... they've never once spoken. And Steve is dying to get to know this guy who makes the goofiest faces at him. Who was pissed when Steve laughed the first time he did, hands up like devil horns, tongue lolling and eyes crossed. Until Steve made his own face back.
This guy, who plays elaborate charades with Steve through the glass, trying and failing to do the classic walking-down-stairs bit. Who went boneless when one of the guys in his band (? coven? pod? Ask Dustin what a group of vampires is called.) dragged him away while Steve mimed crying, waving an imaginary hanky at him. This guy, who clutched his heart and fell over when Steve lowered his shades and winked at him one day.
And it's because of those shades that Steve has to drive all the way back to the mansion late one night to retrieve them from his usual chair.
When he gets there, someone’s floating in the pool. Someone, with long curly hair spilling all around their head. Someone, wearing all their clothes, and Steve can't tell from the weak pool light if they're face up or face down, but they sure as hell aren't moving.
His lifeguard training takes over between one step and the next, as he bolts for the pool, launching into the water, and throwing himself forward with broad strokes.
Except when Steve gets to him, the guy isn't drowning, he’s sputtering and swearing and pushing away from him in the water. “What are you doing here?!”
“You're not drowning...” Steve says blankly, trying to catch his breath as he treads water.
“No! And thank you for the rescue, Lancelot, but you need to get out of here.” His long hair streams over his face as he spins while Steve paddles around him to make sure he’s really alright.
“Lancelot?” he asks, just to keep the guy talking, to hear more from his honeyed voice. Better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.
“A knight in shining armor,” the guy mumbles, trying to hide his face. “A hero rescuing fair damsels and slaying vile beasts.”
Steve chuckles, but doesn’t miss the venom in his last words. He catches him by the upper arm to stop his spinning. “No, I know who Lancelot is, it’s just–”
It’s just he’s even prettier close up. It’s just his skin is freezing cold in the sun-warmed pool water. It’s just he’s looking at Steve, caught somewhere between a grimace and a grin, and his teeth are so so sharp.
“I’m Steve,” he says, moving closer. Entirely entranced by the pool light, the moonlight, the starlight, glimmering in his eyes. Steve’s hand has a mind of its own, rising out of the water to cup the guy’s cheek with a wet palm, “And you’re…”
Gently traces his lower lip, runs his thumb over the sharp canine, careful not to touch the pointed tip.
“You’re beautiful,” Steve breathes.
The guy surges forward, reeling Steve in with a hand on the back of his neck, and kisses him fiercely. Steve kisses him back just as fervently, wraps his arms around his waist and kicks out with his legs to keep them afloat, as his tongue slides past the guy’s teeth to swirl and dance with his.
It's messy and uncoordinated and they sink and bob in the water as they move against each other. The guy's fingers tangle in the shaggy hair at the base of his neck, twisting and snagging. Steve groans and stretches a broad palm up between the guy's shoulder blades, pressing further into him, drinking all of him in.
“It’s Eddie,” he says, pulling back and panting when they finally part. “I’m Eddie.”
Steve grins at Eddie and kisses him again, pushing them through the water towards the edge at the shallow end of the pool. He can think of better uses for his legs right now.
the roads lead back to you || rated m || chapter 2
a 1990s second-chance winter rom com
10000 thanks and all the love to @judasofsuburbia for beautiful beta work once again <33
[read ch2 on ao3]
Here he is, doing everything but slink back to a town that ran him off, back to the diner he got kicked out of last night, like a dog with his tail between his legs.
After running into Steve Harrington, of all people…
Steve Harrington, who's standing behind the register of what's apparently the only diner in town.
Eddie backpedals as soon as he catches a glimpse of him through the wide windows.
Again? Does he have no life?
Of course not, this is Hawkins.
Eddie creeps around the edge and presses his nose to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer in at the empty diner.
He huffs and turns away. Shoves his hands under his armpits and stamps his feet, scouring up and down the street for something, anything else. But there's nothing else around. Hawkins remains a barren fucking wasteland.
So Eddie takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and grits his teeth. Does his best to muster all his charm and prepare for battle, and pushes open the front door.
The bell greets him merrily again. Steve does not.
"We’re closed."
"Then you should lock your door," Eddie says, voice as chipper as he can manage.
the roads lead back to you || rated m || chapter 1
a 1990s second-chance winter rom com
huge shoutout, thanks, and all the love to @judasofsuburbia for beta'ing and squealing in the notes at me <33
[read on ao3]
Immediately after defeating Vecna in spring break of 1986, Eddie left Hawkins without a word and never looked back. Now, ten years later, he’s forced to come back to town, and he can’t seem to avoid the friends he left behind.
Steve has spent the past ten years putting everything he has into keeping his ragtag family together and running the local diner, with almost no time for anything else. He’s been nursing a not-so-quiet grudge against Eddie since the day he left, so when he stumbles back into Steve’s life, he dredges up all the old feelings Steve thought he left behind years ago.
In the winter of 1997, will they take another chance to start over or will the ice between them smother the spark?
snippet under the cut!
Diner Guy’s got a stately patrician nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once or twice and finally healed crooked. A jaw square enough to hang a picture off of. Stormy hazel eyes to die for, and moles dotted all over his face and neck, trailing tantalizingly down the collar of his sweater.
And there, in his right ear, a tiny golden hoop.
Eddie’s had dinner, but he always saves room for dessert.
“Hi there,” he says, leaning over the bar with a winning smile.
The guy doesn’t even look up at him, just grunts. Like actually grunts, like some sort of caveman in cable knit and keeps wiping the already spotless counter.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he tries again. “I’m Eddie.”
