#or part time florist across the street - to really live the au tropes

[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.

#:) #eddie gets domed by pouty dilf Steve #he doesn't know how to feel about it - but he likes it #<3 #ask #hotlunch #steddie #chubby steve harrington #tattoo artist eddie munson #and robin #i think Steve is their part time receptionist and also works at the coffee shop across the street #or part time florist across the street - to really live the au tropes #hes hot

[peerless-soshi]

Reylo + 7&36?

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.  

Florist AU + Text/Letter Fic

Rey didn’t see herself as a florist.

After all, she had grown up in a small, sandy town known for its record-breaking temperatures, got the first glimpse of green gardens thanks to picture books and killed a class plant when she had been in third grade. It’d been a cactus. Really, flower shops took the last spot on her dream jobs list. But Millenium Falcon had flexible hours, the salary was good enough for a college student as poor as a trash collector, and making bouquets turned out to be more inspiring than Rey had expected. Therefore, she was here, still surprised, trying her best, cursing and choosing flowers.

The usually blindingly bright shop was priced by red stains of afternoon, which meant that her shift was coming to an end. Rey wiped the sweat off her brow and looked down to admire the last work of her art. A mistake. Purple lavender petals looked horrible with yellow flowers, as if they were planning to bite off their neighbors’ heads. They could as well eat small insects. And she actually believed in the final result… Arranging flowers was a battle. And she was a winner. Normally, Rey would spend another half an hour changing the composition and fighting with equally ugly ribbons while receiving calls from crying brides that replaced their wedding flowers for the third time this week, but waiting for the next customer, Rey didn’t have to hurry. Mostly because the customer looked as if he bit off his neighbors’ heads, too.

There was one more thing about the flower shop, more for the benefit of Rey’s boredom than her bank account. Who knew that flowers fading on shelves would make her meet so many people? Rey didn’t like to think about it but she used to be a part of the closed world: familiar faces, familiar houses, and between them stories she had been hearing since birth. 

It was a strangely exciting sensation, that getting to know a stranger.

The young man coming to the flower shop every other Friday caught Rey’s attention from the start. He wasn’t just a person who didn’t match the flower shop; he was the most mismatched person that has got there since the invention of flower shops. Rey wasn’t entirely certain what he did for living but a leather jacket so shiny that other motorcyclists could see their reflections and hair falling across his forehead in a mess suggested something less office-like and more rebel-like. There was no way a boy with a scar on his face and contempt in his eyes could possibly buy little flowers, Rey had thought. She’d been wrong. He’d even left her a gratuity. The following Fridays Rey had kept seeing him regularly until she got used to that black pole, though her curiosity didn’t fade away. Whoever the rebel was buying flowers for, they had to bath in aromatic petals and candles and maybe honey too.

Rey looked at a card lying on the counter with the same gaze she wore when someone asked her a gross question, then quickly scribbled a note.

Lavender - devotion

Among all the words that could describe her, Rey wouldn’t choose ‘sentimental’. It didn’t meant she wasn’t sentimental  — just that she wouldn’t describe herself that way.

The bouquet wasn’t pretty but lavender would do.

She was finishing the last letter when the door slammed and the little bell above it rang. Rey raised her gaze. The man in black always slammed the door. He felt the need to make a scene and announce his arrival to everyone inside the shop and on the street. And possibly make Rey spill the ink, but she refused to leave a blob. Instead Rey’s reserved-yet-polite-how-can-I-help-you face met his reserved-and-uninterested-nice-to-see-you face.

“I would like a small bouquet of flowers,” the man said, although this clarification wasn’t necessary.

Rey pointed to the vase next to her. “Here. A modest but lasting bouquet. Can I add something?”

Extra decorations meant extra money, and Rey never sneezed at extra money. Though more important was nagging curiosity that turned the man in black into a matryoshka doll in which rattled secrets.

“No need.”

Rey served together the bill and the professional smile. “If you are buying flowers for someone then maybe that person has some special wishes? It would help me.”

The man in black didn’t reply. He raised an eyebrow without looking at her, but in the dim afternoon light pouring through the shop window Rey caught sight of restrained surprise. The light was red. Rey’s cheeks burned with embarrassment for some reason she didn’t understand. In fact, she could pin this to silence.

He dropped money onto the counter, once again more than necessary.

“It’s true that I bought them for someone. But this person is unlikely to express his opinion. He is on a cemetery.“

Now it was her turn to avoid answers. There was a weight to this silence, there was tension in her face. Perhaps it was more awkward than killing a class cactus.

“Please forgive me,” Rey said after a moment. But it was only external Rey. Internal Rey was hitting her head on a stone and wrapping herself in a blanket as a ball of shame.

“It’s all right,” he said, just a little sarcastically. He seemed to be honest.

“No, I’m really sorry, I should…”

Should what? Should mind her own business and not make people uncomfortable, and now, when she indeed made someone uncomfortable, she should keep her cool and gift him a dancing flower? Rey wouldn’t be satisfied with such an apology.

The man’s gaze was swaying over the line between annoyance and amusement. He said, “I put it badly. You didn’t say anything wrong because it wasn’t someone close to me. I didn’t even know him.”

“A distant cousin?”

“A total stranger.”

Rey’s eyes widened with suspicion. She struggled to think of reasons he could have to visit a random guy’s grave, except for participating in demonic mass, being a volunteer cleaning graves or possibly making fun of her. He looked like a solid one, though more facts were in favour of number three.

“Recently, my father died,” the man in black continued and waved his hand, silencing her. “Past is in the past. I just visit him to pay respects, but the grave next to him is always in a terrible state. It looks bad, you know?” He shrugged casually, which annoyed Rey, because she was busy being ashamed and this demonstration of nonchalance clashed with it. “My father had many friends, so his grave is full of flowers. It makes the other one look even worse then before, so every time I’m going to visit him, I buy flowers for that guy.”

Even if Rey didn’t know the truth, she could spot a lie. But there had to be something about a son not leaving flowers for a father, something private and more complicated than Rey would like to see. She let it be. Instead, she focused on the guy being number two. What a surprise.

“It’s extremely nice of you,” she said, using the tone containing half the truth and half the suspicion. “You don’t even know who it is.”

The man shrugged again. Maybe he wasn’t trying to be nonchalant and it was a fundamental part of his nonverbal communication.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Curious?” he repeated slowly.

“Who it was,” Rey explained. “You visit him every other Friday and you don’t know anything about him. If I was you, I would be curious. Maybe there’s a reason why his family doesn’t visit him.”

She shrugged it off to match the man in black, but compared to him, the gesture seemed amateurishly.

He looked at her, and there was a crease between his eyebrows. “I’m not nosy.” Unlike you, Rey read between the lines. She was ready to discuss when he added, “By the way, family doesn’t have to visit you, right? There are more important matters.”

He said There are more important matters like someone who considers it a very important matter. Rey spotted A Family Issue behind it; an important feature of having family issues was both the ability to see them and the ability to leave them without a comment.

“Of course, sir.”

“Kylo Ren.” 

Rey lowered her head with a hint of smile. “It’s just Rey.”

She felt that telling her name meant something; that sharing the story about the abandoned grave was a secret message and Kylo Ren found Rey worthy of it. The air between them filled quite uninvited understanding.

“I’ll take the flowers then,” he said, “Thanks for your advice, Rey.”

She cast a quick glance at the note, realizing that the distance between devotion and the thing he was doing was big. Still, mourning was too heavy and Rey didn’t have statice for remembrance.

“Next time I’ll choose better flowers, just as I promised.”

For now, language was open to interpretation.

The “next time” came earlier than expected.

All afternoon Rey was locked up in her flower shop, working on wedding and funeral orders — the circle of life — when a loud vehicle spat with exhaust fumes at the curb. Rey didn’t understand immediately; the man in black’s schedule has never failed her, so recognizing the flower shop as a meeting point for dark guys was more reasonable. It was a coincidence that the new bouquet was ready when the door slammed as loud as if a motorcycle parked in the window.

Kylo Ren greeted her in the door.

“Oh,” Rey muttered, little eloquently. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she added, which was one of many things she shouldn’t have said.

Kylo Ren’s gaze was between annoyance and resignation. A very not-man-in-black condition. He said, “I want to ask you for another message.”

“Message?” Rey repeated.

“Last time you left me a note in flowers, right? Then I need your help.”

Oh. Rey rubbed her fingers together, as if she was wiping non-existing ink away from them. Somehow, talking about her sentimentality didn’t seem right, but it was also difficult to explain — she did write the note, no use denying it — so she accepted the topic. “What kind of message would you like to include in flowers?”

To her surprise, Kylo Ren exaggerated a pissed sigh and crossed his arms. “Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?!” Rey snapped. No one was to insult her while she was working, especially not a client to whom she devoted so much work.

Rey was ready to punch him when Kylo Ren explained, mixing perfectly exasperation and obviousness, “I want you to make me a bouquet that says fuck you. In capital letters.”

It was an unexpected change of game.

“You’re still visiting that stranger?” Rey asked to make sure.

Very coolly, he said, “He’s not a stranger anymore.”

“Maybe some details?”

Kylo Ren looked as if he swallowed acid. “What you said earlier… I could be a little curious. Just a little.”

Corners of Rey’s lips moved up. Kylo Ren grinned in response.

“I checked his name because I wanted to learn anything,” he said, “Have you ever heard a surname like Snoke?“

“I don’t think so,” Rey answered and tilted her head.

“He was a serial killer.”

Now Rey’s lips formed a beautiful, round O. She overheard? Some things needed to be said twice, even if one understood them perfectly, and so Rey asked, “What did you say?”

And so, Kylo Ren repeated, “I said that I was leaving flowers for a murderer. For almost half a year.”

“This…” Rey paused. “This explains why nobody else left him flowers.”

“I looked like a psychopath.”

“There are worse things.”

Kylo Ren nodded, as if he agreed with her and listed all worse things. “So can I order a fuck you very much bouquet, please?”

When the first wave of shock was over, Rey felt laughter rising in her. Bringing back her professional smile, she said, “See you next Friday.”

She should decorate the bouquet with geranium. Once Rey had read that its message is foolishness.

#star wars #reylo #kylo ren #rey #my writing