#how the hell do you spell chauffeur | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

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Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in.

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash.

He's skeptical.

Steve looks back at the house.

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off.

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him.

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step.

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house.

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first.

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous.

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?"

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans.

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries.

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now."

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers.

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside.

Holy shit.

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two.

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different.

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter.

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day.

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs.

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction.

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles.

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says.

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house."

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos."

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?"

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus.

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel."

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?"

No.

"Him?"

No.

"Him?"

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of.

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks.

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says.

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes.

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today."

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time."

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically.

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here.

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing.

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual.

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time.

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb.

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says.

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None.

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify.

He doesn't belong here.

He takes one last look at Eddie.

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car.

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows.

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets.

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does.

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns.

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes.

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

#a stranger summer #week fifteen #prompt: modern au #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #wayne munson #stranger things fic #robin buckley #stranger things 4 #steddie #platonic stobin #steve x eddie #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: a stranger summer

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