#Florist Shop

[gina025]

Buying flowers is self-care

[kaito-spotted]

Spotted !! Getting flowers for a sweetheart ??? (Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Florist's Least Favorite Holiday

Steddie || wc: 1.7k || rating: T || tags: fluff, author clearly writing a self-insert story to vent about valentine's day, this is a real thing that happened to me so I wrote about it

Valentine’s day is fucking awful. It’s the worst day of the year, and this year’s no different than the last five Valentine’s days Eddie’s worked in the floral shop.

Don’t get him wrong, all holidays are chaotic. There’s centerpieces filled with sticky sap and sparkles for the winter holidays, cornicopias filled with crumbly floral foam for Thanksgiving, enough lilies for Easter to jump-start his seasonal allergies, and even mountains of red, white, and blue headstone wreaths for Memorial day.

Combine all of the holidays, and weddings and funerals together; and none of them hold a candle to the house fire that is Valentine’s day.

Prepping over a month in advance, Eddie has taken almost four hundred orders for pick-up and delivery for the tiny, backwater town of Hawkins. They’re a small shop, with only himself, Chrissy, and Vickie as permanent workers. Thankfully, this year they were able to hire some temporary helpers to blow up balloons, make candy baskets, and take deliveries. Even with the help, that still leaves everything else to the three of them.

Eddie’s stripped the thorns from over a thousand roses in the past two weeks, sorting them into buckets by color or arranging a dozen into a beautiful bouquet. The best part about his job is usually bringing a design to life, picking the perfect flowers to create an arrangement like a work of art. Yet somehow, Valentine’s day manages to sucks the life out of that too, with little to no creativity between each one-dozen red roses arranged in a fake crystal vase.

Regardless, he’s busting his ass. The newbies have left for both rounds of morning deliveries and the first round of afternoons. Chrissy’s working the counter while Vickie fields complaints. This leaves Eddie to wander the floor, helping confused husbands and boyfriends find the right pick for their spouses.

Working with customers to find something they’re happy with isn’t so bad. He likes guiding them towards answers to questions they didn’t think to ask. Questions like what their spouse wears, how their home is decorated, what their favorite color is, and how each of those are a small clue into exactly what the recipient would love. Every detail helps, and Eddie is, quite genuinely, always happy to help someone who asks– nicely.

He’s on his way back to the counter with an empty bucket in his arms when he spots a guy holding a few roses. Eddie watches, momentarily transfixed, as the man sticks his tongue out in concentration, swiping it over his lower lip. His brow’s furrowed, glancing back and forth between single-stem lavender and pink roses in the display case in front of him. 

Eddie can’t blame the guy, honestly. There’s over twenty different colored roses to choose from this year. Chrissy really went above and beyond to haggle with their suppliers. They’ve got the best of the best, truly something to brag about. 

He sets the bucket down underneath a display table so it’s out of the way as he heads over to help. And damn, the guy’s even prettier up close. There’s a light dusting of moles across his face and neck. The lights in the display case shine golden against his softly styled brown hair. 

Eddie must catch his attention, and the lights reflect the light hazel tone to his russet colored eyes. A goddamn fucking angel walked into Eddie’s shop. Except he’s wearing high-top Nike’s like the jocks used to wear, along with tight acid-washed jeans, and grey Members Only jacket. The guy screams straight, ex-jock, fuck boy, even more evident by the three separate roses in his hand. 

Still, he’s a customer in need. And Eddie is nothing if not a helpful, humble servant.

��Can I help you find something?” Eddie asks. It’s only slightly more casual and flirty than his typical customer service voice. 

The man’s lips part into a soft ‘oh’ as he just stands and stares at him. Eddie quickly glances down at himself, scanning for stray stems or petals hanging from his apron. There’s nothing there, at least nothing worth gawking at. Maybe he’s got something in his teeth? Shit, he should’ve checked first.

“Uhh–,” the man says, intelligently, interrupting Eddie’s own internal spiral– “I was just looking at, you know.” He gestures to the buckets of roses without taking his eyes off Eddie. “I need one more, and can’t decide on a color.”

“Three roses, huh?” Eddie says, the joke rolling off the tip of his tongue before his mortified brain can prune it, “One for each girlfriend, that’s sweet of you.”

Fucking Christ. He wishes he’d kept the bucket of water to drown himself in, like this day can get any worse.

This beautiful, angel of a man scoffs at the unbecoming joke and yeah, Eddie can’t blame him. For someone who not only prides himself on his customer service skills, but also his ability to charm his way into many men’s beds, this is a royally large fuck up.

The man grabs the lavender rose, holding it out to Eddie along with the two other pink and white ones already in his hand. “This,” he emphasizes with the lavender rose, “is for my best friend. This one–” he holds out the pink– “is for my adopted sister.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, before the guy cuts him off.

“And this one–” he shows off the white rose– “is for my Gran. I’m stopping by the cemetery on my way home and thought she’d like it.”

Forget drowning in a bucket of leaf water, Eddie deserves to be crushed under the weight of a million roses, thorns cutting into tiny little pieces. 

“Right,” Eddie huffs, annoyed with himself. He scrubs his hands roughly over his face, like he can erase the embarrassed flush burning up his neck to the tips of his ears. “I’m so sorry, man. I have no idea why I said that. It’s just–” Eddie waves his hand around the store– “it’s been a long day, and sometimes I think I’m funny when I’m really, really not. I’m not normally this awkward, and I’m typically much better at my job.”

At this, the guy smirks, like watching Eddie squirm is entertaining. It’s the least he can do, if his misery makes the man feel better.

“Can you ring me up?”

Eddie nods, thankful how quickly he seems to let the entire confrontation go. They make their way to the counter, Chrissy eyeing him as he asks her to switch for a second. She eyes the customer and nudges Eddie, where he notices a playful smirk on her face. Jesus, she’s nosey. He only rolls his eyes as she walks off.

Doing his best to avoid eye contact, Eddie focuses solely on wrapping up the flowers in the pretty, heart-printed paper they bought specifically for the day, and wraps a matching colored bow to each flower. He feels the unrelenting urge to fix this, unsure why it even matters to him. This guy most likely won’t even be back until next year, just like the rest of the customers he’s helped today. Eddie shouldn’t treat this one customer any differently because he’s cute.

And yet.

“I actually think you’re really sweet!” Eddie blurts, thrusting the packaged roses into the guy’s waiting arms. “Shit, I meant it’s sweet you’re buying them gifts. I didn’t mean you’re sweet. I mean, not that you’re not sweet, I mean– goddamnit.” 

He’s smiling at Eddie, like this is all an adorable spectacle and not the worst experience of every Valentine’s day Eddie’s. God, that fucking smile makes Eddie’s insides melt, blinded by pure sunshine.

“Really?” His voice is playful, if yet a little shy. Eddie buys into it, of course he does, desperate to make up for his flailing. 

“Yeah, definitely sweet– adorable, even. Positively charming.” Eddie’s on better footing now, watching a rosy blush bloom underneath tanned freckles. There’s a line of customers grumbling about the wait, but Eddie doesn’t care, not so long as he gets to keep staring at the literal angel now smiling back at him.

“I’m single, you know.” 

Eddie can’t think to respond over the roaring static in his ears, brain going into full shut-down mode. Did he just–

“What?” And Eddie’s back to being a total buffoon.

It must be cute though, because the guy laughs as he leans forward to grab one of the shop’s business cards next to the register. He writes something on it, then hands it back to Eddie who flips it around in his hands to read it.

Call me, and thanks for your help.

♥️ Steve

There’s a phone number listed below the man’s– Steve’s– name. An actual, honest to god phone number. From a man who looks like he could work in Hollywood for a living. 

Eddie can feel his own face splitting in two with how hard he’s smiling. He reads the simple note once, twice, three times before he remembers where he is and who’s still standing in front of him.

Steve looks hopeful, eyes flitting between Eddie and the note as he fiddles with the bow on one of the packaged roses. 

“Yes,” Eddie practically shouts, glee saturating his tone. “I’ll definitely call you tonight. Well–” Eddie glances around the shop, spotting the scattered empty buckets, piles of dead leaves on the ground, and the stack of unprocessed delivery tickets– “maybe I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And Steve nods, like it’s that easy, and shyly answers, “Can’t wait,” before heading out the door, sending a dorky little wave over his shoulder as he goes.

Somehow, Eddie manages to recover enough of his higher brain power to work the rest of the day. He falls back into routine: boxing vases, filing orders, dumping rotten plant water, scrubbing buckets, and organizing the back cooler. It’s almost midnight by the time he gets home, slightly earlier than he expected.

His feet ache like they always do, and he’s so emotionally drained that Eddie thinks he could go the rest of his life without talking to another customer ever again. Except he thinks, fiddling with Steve’s note, maybe there’s one customer Eddie would talk to again.

Tomorrow, though. Definitely tomorrow.

divider kudos <3

[thefreakandthehair]

mistletoe.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: mistletoe | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: alternate universe- no upside down, alternate universe- flower shop au, eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, confident!steve harrington, fluff, getting together, first kiss, background buckingham mention

It’s chaos. 

Clippings, and rogue petals, and ribbons that still need to be tied into bows as far as the eye can see. Long tables lined with crinkling plastic to protect the aged wood take up the center of the room, and somewhere off in the distance, Eddie can hear Chrissy on the phone with what sounds like a disgruntled, last-minute customer. 

“... Sir, it’s December. Most of our poinsettias have been reserved for weeks. We have two left that we can give you. You can have them, or you can—”

Eddie’s sure Chrissy’s about to kindly tell the phone stranger to go fuck himself and he couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come, really, but he loses the thread on the conversation when Steve bustles in from the back.

“How many carnations does one middle school Winter Wonderland dance need, anyways? Are there even this many kids in the town?” In his warm, forest green jacket and black beanie with wind-flushed cheeks and rosy nose, Steve exhales and sets the box of carnations down on the counter. 

“Enough to pay the rent this month with carnations alone, apparently,” Eddie jokes, tapping Steve’s jean-clad shin with the toe of his boot. “We’ll be here all night doing these ribbons, won’t we?”

He tries to make it sound like a chore, like something he hasn’t been looking forward to since Chrissy told them she had a date and couldn’t stay. Any amount of alone time with Steve is welcome, even if it means tying tiny bows on small carnations and pricking his finger a hundred times with the stupid little pins. 

“Probably, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a smile. “It’s not so bad though, right?” 

“Not at all.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. 

When Chrissy wraps up her part— invoices, confirmations, and all of the paperwork shit that Eddie and Steve are better off leaving to Chrissy— she practically skips out of the office with a wave and a smirk. 

“You do know that if she and Robin hit it off, this is gonna be a regular thing, right?” Eddie jokes, hoisting himself up to sit on one of the tables and grabbing a ribbon to wrap around another flower. 

“Robin hasn’t stopped talking about Chrissy for months. This is going to be our life, Ed. Mark my words.” Steve laughs with Eddie’s favorite crooked smile, the one that only ever seems to be targeted at him. 

He tries not to let Steve’s phrasing dig its claws too deep into his lovestruck brain, but our life wiggles its way in regardless. 

Eddie looks around and takes in all of the fine details— a half-eaten bag of plain chips, two cans of coke, carnations and ribbons strewn about in somewhat orderly piles. Chrissy left the radio on when she left, the station alternating between the top hits and classic holiday songs, and Steve bobs his head to Wham!’s Last Christmas. 

This could be their life; not just the tumultuous riptide of highs and lows, but all of the mundane minutiae in between. 

Eddie and Steve. 

EddieandSteve. 

“You okay? Stab your thumb again?” Steve asks, tearing Eddie from his reverie. 

“Yes, and actually, yes,” Eddie laughs, breathy through his nose, and wipes his thumb on his jeans. Before Steve can grab his hand and check him over, and probably push Eddie over the edge into doing something incredibly fucking stupid in the process, he brushes it off. “It’s fine. Let's get these bitches done.”

Hours pass, quickly and comfortably, and they eventually tie their last ribbon. 

“We did it, Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie celebrates, hopping off of the table and tossing the last carnation into the box. “Do you still have skin on your fingers? I don’t think I have fingerprints anymore.” 

“Now would be the time to go commit some crimes,” Steve snorts, his nose wrinkling, and Eddie wants to kiss him right on the mouth. “Before you head out though, I uh, I think we forgot one. Close your eyes for a second.” 

“What?” 

“Just close your eyes? Please?”

Eddie does as Steve asks because he’s helpless to not, his brows knitting together in confusion because closed eyes. He hears rustling and the sound of scissors snipping ribbon. What’s so special about this carnation? What’s so secretive that Eddie has to close his eyes and miss valuable alone time with Steve? Doesn’t Steve get it? Every second with his eyes closed are seconds he doesn’t get to stare. 

Steve’s stool slides against the tile floor, scraping as Eddie feels Steve standing closer. Close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against him when he says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of him is Steve Harrington, his favorite smile, and wide, hesitant eyes holding a hastily tied together bundle of mistletoe just above their heads. 

“I know it’s not Christmas yet or anything, but I couldn’t wait.” 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Eddie asks, heart clattering in his chest as hope gouges its way out of its deepest recesses. 

“Definitely not. I really like you, maybe more, and I know I didn’t have to wait for some big moment but tonight, just the two of us, it felt right. If I’m wrong, I’ll chuck this in the garbage and we can never bring it up again but—”

Eddie launches himself at Steve, both arms wrapping around Steve’s neck. 

Maybe he should’ve taken it slower— maybe their first kiss should’ve been patient, tender— but he’ll have other opportunities to show him the softness he deserves. Instead, Eddie kisses Steve just like he’s fallen in love with him: spontaneously, impulsively, urgently. Steve drops the thicket of branches and pulls him in closer, one hand balling the edge of Eddie’s shirt up in a fist by his hip and the other cupping the back of Eddie’s head, meeting his intensity wordlessly. 

Through the murky daze of Steve’s lips against his, Eddie hopes that this is their life. 

[canisalbus]

Do the boys have jobs in the modern AU?

I can see Machete possibly being a librarian or office worker. I could also see Vasco being a barista or retail worker, but I can't really imagine either in a Walmart vest.

Part of me thinks it would be adorable if they ran a tiny corner store, but I know its unlikely

I still haven't decided, sorry! ´v`'

I've gotten a lot of excellent suggestions on what Machete could be doing for a living, from high fashion to something do do with history, museums and art, but I think he's doomed to repeat his mistake and choose some kind of high-paying but soul-sucking white collar job, over what he actually wants to do. But again, I haven't decided.

Vasco comes from an upper class background in the modern au, and I've been envisioning his family owning a business that has something to do with horses. His parents might've tried to persuade him to continue in their footsteps, but Vasco probably would've had other plans. He's worked mixed jobs over the years, barista being one of them, and his adaptability and admirable people skills tend to help him to do well on every venture he embarks on. But it's entirely possible he hasn't quite figured out what his long-term calling is.

[bilosan]

buddie + flower shop au

(9-1-1 // gif prompts)

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 2 3 4 5 6 7 💐

The first time Eddie visited Harrington Floral at Starcourt Mall, it was after he’d finished band practice and had a craving for an Orange Julius. If Californians were good for one thing, it was making smoothies.

It was the mountain of flowers being assembled in the window display that caught his attention, stopping him in his tracks on his way out. Eddie stood there with his guitar case slung over his back, slurping his way through frothy orange goodness as he watched.

The florist was biting his lip as he carefully adjusted the position of a baby blue delphinium. A strand of hair fell into his eyes. The arrangement was called Take My Breath Away, according to the cue card in front of it.

Eddie’s breath certainly had been. He was completely enthralled as the florist’s huge hands expertly handled those delicate little flowers. He hadn’t bent a single petal.

The florist seemed to realize somebody was staring and glanced up—and weren’t those some of the warmest, puppy dog brown eyes Eddie had ever been caught by?

“Gorgeous,” he mouthed, winking and gesturing towards the arrangement, though he was talking about both man and flower.

The florist squinted and frowned at him, pointing at his ear and shaking his head.

Eddie grinned and shrugged. Ah, well.

A customer in the store caught the florist’s attention because he suddenly glanced behind himself, wiped his hands off on his green apron, and then left the window.

Rocking on his heels, Eddie turned to leave, but he spent the rest of the day thinking about the cute brunet and his pretty blooms.

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

[vivwritesfics]

Coffeeshop or flowershop au lestappen too

HOW ABOUT BOTH?

You looked up at the coffee shop in front of you. It had a theme, warm browns and cosiness, and it was gorgeous. Max's Coffee House. It was an independent place, all run by him.

Your eyes moved to the shop next door. Petal Leclerc. The Closed for now, but we hope to see you soon! :) sign was proudly displayed on the door. The shop was gorgeous. Well, what you could see in the window was gorgeous. Ready made bouquets in pretty vases, and dried flowers hanging around it.

The owner of Petal Leclerc was currently inside of Max's Coffee House, anxiously waiting with Max himself. They were at the only table in the café with a vase of flowers. Waiting for you.

Sucking in a breath, you pushed open the door to the coffee shop and strode inside.

The bell above the door chimed as you walked in. Both boys looked up, their eyes going wide. The three of you had been talking about this for so long, waiting for the chance to finally meet. Part of you couldn't believe that day had finally come.

Charles stood up. He scrambled for the flowers, knocking the vase over in the process. Max caught it before it could make too much off a mess, his smile endearing as he looked at Charles.

"These are you," Charles said and held the flowers out towards you. It was a gorgeous arrangement, one you could appreciate without knowing a thing about flowers. They probably had meanings, you realised, but you didn't know what they were.

"Thank you, Charles," you said and took the seat opposite them.

They already had half pints of water in front of them. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Max asked, quickly standing up. "I can get you coffee, or anything else you want."

"Coffee is fine," you answered and Max scrambled to his feet.

Things were a little awkward at first. While Max was behind the counter, making your coffee, you and Charles looked at each other. Neither of you wanted to start the conversation without Max there.

But the quiet was getting to be too much. "He's been nervous for this," Charles said quietly as he picked at the flowers, neatening them up.

"He doesn't need to be," you replied and glanced towards the counter. Max was moving around his staff, making three different coffees. He grabbed pastries, placed them on a tray and brought them over.

After a moment, conversation became easy. As soon as you complimented Max's coffee making skills, he was putty in your hands. Happily talking about any and all of his interests. You and Charles couldn't help but grin at each other.

Max became blushy when he noticed the way the two of you were looking at him. "Someone else talk," he mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck.

It was a perfect first date, at least your version of a perfect date. You left Max's Coffee House with Charles, waving to Max behind the counter as you two left. The flowers were in your arms and you could taste the coffee on your tongue.

You were so damn happy

[canthler]

Aralas Week Day 2 - Florist/Coffee Shop AU 🌿🌻

Legolas: How's the Matcha?

Aragorn: It tastes like grass.

Also Aragorn: *drinks the whole cup*

@aralas-week

[hypnogogyc]

Coffee shop/Florist au

[short-honey-badger]

Snapdragon

Dracule Mihawk x Female Reader

A Florist/Tattoo AU

Summary: Mihawk lives a peaceful life, tattooing his friends and clients until you move your business across from his. Your friends are rowdy and loud, and he thinks you are the same until you come to his side of the street to ask for a tattoo.

Part 2 -> HERE Minishot Masterlist

It's been a few weeks since the flower shop across the street opened up. It was a bright, cheery looking place with flowers lining the storefront and hanging from the front stoop. He could see the name from inside his own, dark, dreary tattoo parlor, and couldn't help but think that the name went well with the aesthetic that the owner had going. Snapdragon.

Simple, yes, but still eye-catching enough that the shop was usually bustling with customers. It was in the evenings that he despised the shop. While he has yet to meet you, your friends were a rowdy sort who showed up at the end of the day with loud calls of your name, busting into your business with an energy he only assumed you shared.

It was exhausting listening to them come and go almost every day of the week. Listening to them over the sound of the classical music that plays inside his parlor. Shanks had laughed at him and told Mihawk to lighten up and that it was a good thing that someone had come along and shaken things up a little. Mihawk had snorted and tossed his oldest friend out of the parlor, telling the redhead that he'd finish up his tattoo tomorrow since he wanted to take your side of things.

Maybe it wasn't fair to you, but Dracule couldn't help the hint of resentment that built up in his chest whenever the evening rolled around, and his peace was shattered by the sounds of loud women screaming for you. So imagine his surprise when on a day that Snapdragon is closed, he finally spots you. Crossing the road and heading straight over to his parlor.

His eyes track you all the way up until you push open the door of the parlor. Mihawk expects you to be loud and obnoxious like your friends, so it's a pleasant revelation when he hears the soft sound of hour voice.

"Ah, hello?"

Mihawk stands up from where he was hidden behind the front desk, the shaded look of his shop concealing him with ease. You jump at his sudden appearance, and Mihawk can't help but smirk meanly at your wide-eyed look, "Yes?"

He watches you lick your lips, eyes flickering to his exposed chest, the Victorian style shit he wears showing off his pectoral muscles and the curling tattoos that start on his shoulders then travel down his arms. He watches your face flush and shifts his weight, breaking you out of your revere.

"Sorry! I was curious if you had time to tattoo something something for me? It's my first one, so I don't really know how this works? I can come back at a better time?"

Mihawk considers sending you away. It was close to his closing time anyway, and he had plans to get drinks with his apprentice later, but he found himself reluctant in doing so. You weren't anything like he had expected, and he wants to know more about you now that you're here.

"Now is fine. Flip the closed sign for me, dear. You'll be my last one of the day," He says and watches you brighten in excitement and do as he says. Mihawk moves around the counter, sliding past you and locking the door with a flick of his wrist.

He hears you suck in a breath when he passes you by, glancing behind him to see you shaking your head, your hand pressed against your chest as if in disbelief. Dracule smirks to himself and grabs his sketch pad from the counter, nodding his head in the direction of one of the back rooms. He introduces himself, and you do the same after he hands over the proper forms for you to sign and date.

"What are you thinking about getting?" He asks when the two of you settle into his preferred space, taking the clipboard back onve you finish up. You fidget nervously on the bench in front of him, picking at your sleeves that cover up to your knuckles before you reach into your bag and pull out a plastic sleeve, showing it to him.

"Of course you'd want a flower," He says, tone deadpan and unimpressed as he stares down at the pressed waterlily inside the plastic sleeve. You blush, lips screwing up to defend yourself when Mihawk takes the pressed flower and holds it up to you, tilting his head to the side in thought, "But you've chosen one that suits you."

You deflate at that, shoulders dropping and a small smile touching your lips, "Thank you. It's one of the flowers that I can't safely cultivate within the shop, and this one is important to me. My grandmother watched over a flower sanctuary, and this was her favorite one. She um. She passed away couple weeks ago."

Mihawk hums and finds himself reaching out to gently squeeze your wrist, his golden eyes catching your own when you look up, "Losing a loved one is hard. You do her memory honor by getting this for her."

You smile at him, a real one, full of heartfelt thanks, "Thank you, Mihawk."

The artist squeezes your wrist one last time and then drops it to lean back in his chair, pen in hand as he begins to sketch out the flower beside him. You are quiet while he works, which he appreciates greatly. Mihawk puts his skills to use as he draws out each petal, curling them just right so the flower looks as though it is in the process of blooming. He glances up every once in a while, feeling himself soften towards you when he catches you, looking around at his work with a look of awe on your face.

"You did all this?" You ask quietly when Mihawk is close to finishing his sketch. He dips his head in a nod, and you lean forward to get a peak at the drawing he is doing, "You're very talented."

"Years of practice, dear," Miahwk drawls, and then smirks up at you, "And some natural talent."

He listens to you laugh and then gets back to finishing up the sketch, feeling lighter than he has in a while. It's not long until Dracule puts in some finishing touches and then hands the sketch pad over for you to inspect. Your eyes go wide, turning a bit misty, but you don't cry. Instead, you hand it back to him, "It's perfect."

Mihawk nods and then stands to slip on a pair of black medical gloves and get the machines ready. He prepares the ink needed and explains that he would do the outlines first and then the coloring second. Once it's all set up, he turns to you expectantly.

"Where do you want it?"

You shift, eyes flickering up to meet his own, and his brows rise in surprise when your hands go to the button on your jeans. His heart thunders in his chest when you hop off the bench, wiggling your hips to shift your pants down, exposing the boy shorts you wear under them before you hop back up and present him the outside of your right thigh, hand smoothing over the soft flesh.

"Here?"

[esmiara]

"That one florist, who is he really?"

[villetela]

Finally (and managed) to draw a y/n design properly at ONCE 😔

Their basically a photographer and loves traveling sometimes, they like reading too! Though they aren't really interested into bugs lolol, the only bugs they like is ladybugs and butterflies 😔💔

Bonus doodles:

[alyssumsun]

in celebration of surviving wedding season in the floral industry, doodle compilation for a flower shop/tattoo parlor au i’ll never get around to writing. except it’s only the flower shop part. super unglamorous and wholly self indulgent. coming to theaters near you xoxo

[2000ghosts]

february 3, 2008

[hotluncheddie]

omg I didn't realize you wanted chubby steddie asks 🙈

as much as we love the babygirlification of Steve Harrington..... I'm obsessed with boyish manly Steve who is chubby and Eddie is obsessed with him!!!! I'm thinking about your one fic with the sweaty tank top!!!!! do you have more thoughts on this??

yesssssss!!! anon yes yesssssssss!!!!!

not me being like 'yeah! sweaty task top fic nice nice' then realising i have like three different posts that have Steve in a sweaty tank top lol

thankfully @scoops-aboy86 came in clutch with a new tank top sciario <3 (and held my hand thru writing the end lmao ty pal)

but i just love an ex jock trope, i love bulk under muscle and i think big beefy hairy guys are hot - and Steve harrington deserves to be all of that, and more

and also, importantly, eddie munson deserves to have all of that too, in and around him, all the time, in the form of Steve Harrington.

-

Eddie had come to accept the wealth of things he could be into, the actual buffet of people and scenarios that could get his dick hard. He's had more than his fair share of knuckle biting orgasms over the ex chief of police Jim Hopper. Before and, maybe worse, after getting to know him.

So he knew what it was to have something of a shame wank. To enjoy a moustache or two and a paunch at a middle.

But nothing, no deep seated daddy issues or fantasy of being held down, could ever prepare him for Steve Harrington.

Post upside down, post eventual college and transition to work. Post two bed apartment with Robin, then two bed apartment with Robin and Eddie. Then actual full blow house with Eddie, and more often than not weekend guest Robin. Dating Steve for as long as has was one thing, loving Steve with everything he had was another, and being loved by Steve was something he still had nights of panic about - silent tears as fear and self doubt gripped his throat, nightmares about it all being an elaborate prank that sneak their way in even with Steves arms wrapped tight around his middle.

but Eddie had him.

Was allowed to love him, and worship Steve for all that he was worth. It was wonderful. Eddie knew that.

But it had its challenges. Nothing past Eddie could've done would help current Eddie for what he was in for.

Like how Steve had bulked up over the years, settled and filled out in a way that made those visions of Hopper, and guys from bars he really shouldn't have been at, all come surging back.

Steve was thick, and strong and still so achingly beautiful. Boyish in his actions at times but also protective and capable in a way that made Eddie swoon. Honest to god. Made him feel like a main character in one of those bodice ripper books he had seen (taken out and read) at the library.

And then Steve made it worse.

So so so much worse.

Because Steve went and got a tattoo.

Well, another tattoo. He added roses to go along with the robin and branch on his arm, adding to its greenery with red petals and thorns that Eddie knew were secretly for him. He’d said, offhandedly, that they were his favourite and he knows, because he knows Steve, that thats something he'd listen to and remember.

He’s a die hard romantic.

And now Eddie is going to die, hard.

Soon, if Steve doesn't put a proper fucking shirt on.

Steves been wearing his stupid, old, cropped, white tank top since the appointment. He's "letting the tattoo breathe", "doesn't like the feeling of the healing skin against the fabric", "wants to do it properly". "hates Eddie and wants him to die of hard dick, big-fat-ball disease."

He glares at Steve from the other end of the couch, and maybe only three of those things are something Steve's actually said, but, he thought them. All of them. Must have.

Because Steve's tank is so old it's nearly see through, the peak of his pink nipple evident and distracting. The cropped end keeps rolling up and exposing his wider bellybutton and soft sides. And, as always, with any tank top, with any tank top on Steve, hit tits are there - hairy and lovely and out.

'Steve, please.' Eddie whines, he doesn't think he can take much more.

Steve just raises his eyebrows, taking a swig of beer and not looking away from the tv. 'If I sweat too much, it'll mess with the healing.' He says.

Eddie just crosses his arms, sinks lower into the couch. ‘Can you put on a normal shirt at least? For my sanity, for that alone, please?' Not wanting to sound desperate, but he is desperate.

Steve sighs, muting the TV. 'C'mere.' He holds his arms out and Eddie crawls into his lap. Still sulking, arms still crossed. ‘Eddie, you’re the one who gave me the tattoo. I’m following your instructions.’ Steve says gently.

‘M’firing Robin for getting you to sign the info form.’ He grumbles.

Steve smiles at him, tucking some hair behind his ears. ‘You can’t fire her for doing her job baby.’

‘Maybe not’ Eddie sniffs. ‘But I’m not sharing my baby blue ink with her next time she gets one of her slutty little lady sailor pin ups booked in.’ He mumbles to himself.

Steve pulls Eddie in closer, hands on his waist as he leans in to whisper in Eddies ear. 'Aren't I being so good though? Following what you said, no strenuous activity for two days right?' His voice a little breathy, soft.

And that makes Eddie pause, makes his insides churn and his heart rate increase. 'Ye-yeah.' He rasps, eyes wide. 'So good Stevie.'

'So we have to wait until tomorrow, like you said, yeah?' Steve asks, eyes all big and sweet, lips in a little pouty.

Fuck. He's right. Eddie dug his own grave.

'Yeah.' He sighs. He can do it, for Steve.

Steve smiles sweetly at him, tapping Eddie on the ass and shifting him closer so Steve can unmute the tv and keep watching his game. 'Good boy.' Steve says, kissing Eddies temple.

…Wait. Eddie scrunches his eyebrows, half hard and confused.

But Steve just holds him closer. Eddie buries his head in Steve's neck, and whines.