Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3
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“I need you to buy me.”
Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.
Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.
“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.
“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”
Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.
“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).
“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”
“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”
“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.
“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”
Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”
“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.
“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.
Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”
“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”
“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.
“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”
“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.
“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”
“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.
“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”
Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”
“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.
“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.
“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”
“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.
“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”
“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.
“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.
“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”
“Eddie.”
“Right, sorry, continue.”
“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”
“Shocking.”
“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.
“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.
Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”
“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.
“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.
“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.
Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”
“I’m fucking poor.”
“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”
“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.
“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”
“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.
“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”
Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”
Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”
Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”
Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”
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Imagine going to the carnival with Simon.
Gender-neutral reader.
Let's say he's on leave and there's a traveling carnival heading through town so of course you drag Simon along with you, naturally. Coerce him into buying you both corndogs and lemon shake-ups and funnel cake and play all the carnival games, and he definitely gets frustrated when he can't land those god damned rings on the bottles.
But then you spot it a few pop-up stands away. A massive stuffed animal that you absolutely need to take home. And just your luck, it's one of those arcade-like shooter games, so you're turning to him with the biggest puppy eyes you can manage and asking him so sweetly to win it for you.
And ohohoooo boy, as soon as you point it out to Simon, he's on a fucking mission. Slaps the money down in front of the vendor, gets in position, and he looks so bloody attractive when he's so focused and effortlessly hitting target after target with the cheaply-made, unreliable toy rifle. He even adjusts for the off-center scope while you watch excitedly behind him.
The vendor has to stop him short before he wins the entire fucking wall of stuffed animals and pool floaties in one round, and then they get the comically large stuffed animal off the rack for you and Simon takes it and turns to you with a smug look, his dark and brooding demeanor contrasting with the cartoonish and comically large prize in his arms.
You take it from him happily as you both make your way back to his car, the silly thing taking up the entirety of the back seat.
"Hope that thing doesn't replace me in bed tonight," he grumbles, amused.
"I'd never," you say to him. (It ends up in bed with you anyway, but he's possessive enough that he'll scrap with the bloody thing to spoon with you. You'll wake up in the morning with the stuffed animal mysteriously having ended up on the other side of the room.)
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inspired by my ex-military uncle scaring that poor carnival game vendor in a shooting game at our local carnival last week winning a giant pink orca for a little girl (the same uncle who blew a giant hole in the ground with a firework on the 4th of July)
the last part's inspired by that "me and my girlfriend and her life-sized body pillow" meme that was circulating fandoms a while back
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