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i-am-church-the-cat · 8 days

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I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

#my writing #wip #is it a wip? im not sure #i still have more in my head but im sleepy so here #loscar #maxiel #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 rpf #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #alternate universe

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honeylashofficial · 3 months

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Imagine with me.

A Flower-ranchers trio AU where Jimmy is the receptionist to the Bad Boys Tattoo Parlor, Scott is a self-starter flower shop owner, and Tango serves at a local coffee shop. They all work on the same street, and through a series of events probably involving some mixed up order of sorts, they stir up a bit of business chaos between their companies, but still manage to meet and become great friends at the end of all of it.

Tango is often looked upon as the toughest of the three and is sometimes avoided by wary people, but he’s also the most gentle and tender hearted of the three. Jimmy absolutely hates needles, yet his brothers Joel and Grian somehow still roped him into the family business. Scott is a dream chaser who doesn’t let anyone get in his way when he wants something. Even if it means being lonely in his endeavors.

Once they’re friends, they enjoy breakfast together at the Ranch Hand Cafe before departing for their individual work days. Tango convinced his boss to purchase small bouquets from Scott’s flower shop, named Dual Dependence, as part of their cafe table setups. Scott joins Jimmy for lunch every day so that he can have a small break and distraction from being surrounded by needles all day long. The session sign-ins for the tattoo parlor close earlier than the cafe, so most days, Jimmy goes back to the cafe to spend the last hour or so with Tango as he begins the cleanup process from the long shift.

Just an idea.

#mcyt #life series #life series smp #flower husbands #rancher duo #flower ranchers #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #tangotek #life series au #tattoo artist au #flower shop au #coffee shop au

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charlclerc · 29 days

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Harlow Street

Lando Norris/ Oscar Piastri - Chapter 1/?

“Hello.” An accented voice came from behind Lando.

“Hello,” Lando responded meekly, like a child caught drawing on the walls. He didn’t turn around just yet, already eager to plan his escape before the unknown figure could see his face.

“It doesn’t bite, by the way- the bike, that is- although, it was entertaining to watch you jump a mile. It won’t hurt you.” He recognised the accent immediately; there was only so much hanging around Daniel you could do before you became accustomed to an Australian’s way of language.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando scoffed. “That orange is enough to scar someone’s eyes. Someone could probably claim against that.”

“I don’t know about that, but sure.” The man gave a small laugh.

Or,

Lando is a florist in Harlow Street, a close community town, and Oscar is the new tattoo artist that caught his attention.

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sthormiiii · 5 months

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today i offer you:

viravos flowershop au !!! 💐

kim'dael has a tattoo shop nextdoor bc i lovee the idea of them being besties !! (also bc im such a lesbian and needed to draw her in a pretty outfit...)

i want to make this au a fanfiction so badd, but I don't have enough free time😕😕

#tdp aaravos #aaravos #tdp #the dragon prince #lesbian #tdp viren #viren #viren x aaravos #viravos #kimdael #flowershop #flower shop au #tattoo shop au #my art #art #digital art

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willsimpforanyone · 1 year

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hey !! i absolutely adore your account. your writing is just amazing!!! i was wondering if you could do more leo valdez smuts!?

ahhhh thank you so much i'm glad you like my writing!!

this will have obligatory spanish pet names in it because i am cringe and proud k thanks also it's a flower shop/tattoo shop au because that's the best trope i don't make the rules

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There was a tap on my shop door.

"Knock knock, chica, where you at?"

I rolled my eyes but grinned. "In the back," I yelled back. "Gimme a sec."

The door opened and closed, the little bell dinging, and I stripped off my black gloves. "Okay, all done! How'd you like it?"

Nico nodded approvingly at his new tarot card tattoo - Death, of course. "Looks awesome, how much do I owe you?"

"£180, because you're my favourite." I winked at him as I led him out the room.

He shook his head. "You know that's not the right price." Nico took out an envelope of cash and slid it across the counter. "£200, plus tip, don't even think about it."

He caught me before I could protest, and made to leave. "Hey Valdez."

From the sofa, Leo grinned up at him. "Hey dude, whatcha get?"

Nico pulled up his shirt sleeve to show off his new tattoo. Leo nodded approvingly. "Looks sick, Will's gonna love it." Nico coloured slightly but gave a small smile, nodded and left.

I leaned forward on the counter. "So, Valdez, what brings you to my dark corner of the world?"

He brandished the small collection of blooms he held. "Thought I'd bring it a little bit of colour." Beelining to where I had a wilting bunch of flowers in a vase, Leo swapped them out. I leant on my hand and smiled- he was right, the studio could use a little colour now and then.

"Is today the day I get to ink you?" I tapped my fingers on the wooden surface, fingers buzzing slightly from the tattoo gun.

Leo grinned. "Oh, you wish you could make your mark on this." He gestured down to himself, and I allowed myself to rake my eyes over him. His loose grey shirt was faintly patterned with roses, and his jeans clung to his legs appealingly.

"You have no idea, honey." I winked at him and got the pleasure of seeing his tan skin tinge with red.

He coughed lightly. "I don't think I'd suit tattoos, anyway." He shrugged. "Probably not, anyway."

I slipped out from behind the counter to face him. "Oh, I don't know, I wouldn't say that." I considered him carefully, as an art piece rather than a person. "Tattoos are for everyone, as long as they get something they love."

Leo shifted slightly and I reached out for his arm. He let me take it. "See, I'd do a flowering vine-" I ran my fingers down his left forearm. "-along here, delicate but thick enough not to get lost in your skin."

"Oh yeah?"

I nodded, reaching up to his shoulder. "Perhaps your favourite flower, or a flower of significance, resting on your shoulder." Carefully, carefully coming to rest a finger on his chest. "A little something here, anything you'd like, just for you."

Leo had frozen, deep brown eyes fixed on my face. I took a step back, not missing where Leo swayed towards me just slightly.

"Of course, it's up to you." Just for the hell of it, I decided to push my luck. "I have a few other ideas of how I could mark you, should you be interested."

I heard him let out a shaky breath and push dark curls behind his ears. Silently, I prayed that I didn't push it too far and scare him off. The crush I'd been harbouring for the past two months squeezed my heart.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, god I hope I'm not wrong, but we're very much not talking about tattoos anymore, are we?"

I turned round to see Leo with his hands clenched by his side and his lip being worried between his teeth. Slowly, I shook my head.

"No, not tattoos. Or rather, the kind that would fade in a couple days and are made with my mouth against your neck."

"Oh thank fuck." Leo relaxed and reached out, pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine.

Instantly my arms were wrapped around his neck and I was grinning like an idiot. For a brief moment I wondered if I had any more clients today but a quick glance at the clock told me it was past 6pm, closing time. Regretfully I pulled away from Leo and he pouted.

"What's wrong?"

I disentangled myself from his arms, racing to the door to lock it and turn the 'open' sign to 'closed' before returning to pull Leo's face down to mine. "Absolutely nothing, hermoso, nothing at all."

Leo let out a throaty groan and looped his fingers in my belt loops to pull me closer. "Woman, you are driving me insane." He kissed me hard, hips pressing againt mine and I felt heat flame in my stomach, looping and curling.

"Hey-" In between kisses, I tried to talk. "-I live-" Kiss. "-literally right upstairs-" Kiss. "-if you want to-" Kiss. "-take this further."

Leo pulled back this time, massive grin on his flushed face, already looking a mess. "Oh hell yeah, lead the way."

It took only moments to take his hand and lead him through my studio, up the stairs and into the flat I owned above my shop. I shut the door behind us and pinned Leo to it, fingers twisting and gently tugging at his hair. He whined and slipped his hands under my shirt, smoothing them along my stomach. "Do I get to see your tattoos?" He panted, eyes dark with want.

"Maybe, if you ask nicely." I winked at him. "But I believe I was going to give you a few."

"As many as you want, mi amor, whatever you want." Oh, this was going to be fun.

I pulled him away from the door and practically dragged him to my bedroom. I pointed to the pillows. "Sit."

He did it without question and I got a thrill of satisfaction. I crawled over to him, throwing a thigh over his lap and settling into his lap. Serious time for a moment. "If you want to stop at any point, let me know, okay?"

Leo nodded. "Same goes for you."

Cute. I pressed my lips to his gently, softly, a small thank you for being receptive. I shifted myself forward a little, until my hips were almost against his. My lips ghosted over his lips one last time before I swept along his jawline. I felt his hands hovering over my waist, my hips, my thighs, before I took his wrists and settled him on the tops of my thighs. "I'm not fragile, baby."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not, but if we keep going like this, I might be."

I rested my hands on his chest. "I'll try not to break you." Leaning in closer, I kissed just below his ear. "At least, not this time."

He whimpered, fingers digging into my flesh beneath my jeans.

I dragged my mouth along the planes of his neck, skin warm and heartbeat pounding beneath it. Finding his pulse point, I gave it a gentle suck, feeling Leo inhale sharply. "Good?"

He let out a shuddery breath. "Very good."

That was all the encouragement I needed. I nipped hard up and down his neck, leaving a trail of blossoming red in my wake. I bit purple roses and violets, tattooing the little moans and gasps from him into his skin. His collarbone was decorated with faint teeth marks, each one marked with the memory of a twist of his hips.

I pulled back briefly to tug at his button-down and he nodded emphatically, practically ripping it off so I could continue to kiss and bite and suck at his overheated skin.

"Hey," he breathed, tapping my thigh. "I made a questioning noise, still buried in his neck. "Hey, if you don't stop we're gonna have a problem that can only be solved with doing laundry and I don't think you have jeans my size."

"So what? I think that's sexy as fuck." I continued to work on the large brand I was sucking into his skin.

"My point still stands." He ran his hand up my back and into my hair, gently tugging to pull me away. I let a moan slip before I could catch it and Leo raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up," I poked at a hickey and he hissed. "You look like you got too enthusiastic with watercolour paints."

He rolled his eyes and before I could register the action, he flipped us round so he was hovering above me, elbows supporting him. "You've had your fun, reducing me to a whimpery mess, now it's my turn."

I bit my lip at the look in his eyes, suddenly feeling that I was wearing far too many clothes.

Waiting for any indication that he should stop, Leo dragged my shirt over my head as best he could, leaving me in a bra and my jeans. He caught his breath as he saw my tattoos. I was covered in them, an art gallery of my favourite things done by some of my favourite people. Reverently, he traced a finger over the lines and I shivered, goosebumps mottling my skin.

"Holy shit, you're gorgeous."

I gave a breathy laugh. "What, only just noticed?"

Leo shook his head, deadly serious. "No, you're always gorgeous, this is just... a new part of the gorgeous that I've never seen before."

My cheeks felt hot and I wriggled under him at the compliments. "You gonna do something about it, or?"

His eyes flicked up to mine. "What, you don't think I'd fuck you into next week if I had the chance?"

I didn't have a chance to formulate a retort. He deftly undid the fastening on my jeans and dipped his hand into them. I arched my back at the contact and Leo swore. "God, you're soaked, hermosa, glad to see I'm not the only one on the edge."

My hand made weak contact with his arm and he laughed. "Very much not a bad thing, very much a 'sexy as fuck' thing."

"Just fuckin' touch me, Valdez."

"As you wish."

He slipped a finger inside my pussy, and my eyes rolled back. Marking him up may have affected me more than I let on. "M-more, Leo, I need more."

Obediently, he added another finger, and another, curling all three so deliciously inside me. My hands were clutching at his shoulders, at the pillows, the bedspread, I was sure I looked a mess but Leo looked at me like I'd hung the stars in the damn sky.

"So fucking pretty, so beautiful, I'm gonna take you out on a proper date tomorrow, I swear." He muttered promises and affections and it was all I could do to not come right there, impaled on his fingers and whining desperately.

When his hand pulled away I nearly sobbed before he was kissing my face, murmuring reassurances. "I know, I know, but I gotta get your jeans and panties off, okay? You want me to fuck you, right?"

That gave me a little clarity, and I allowed him to tug off the rough demin both from me and from him. I threw myself to the side, rummaging around in my bedside table before triumphantly producing a foil packet.

Leo accepted the gift and I got to see him slip on the condom and bite his lip to not come from the contact.

"Leo." He looked up at me, curls a mess, lips slightly swollen.

"Fuck me into next week."

He pounced on me, hands grasping at my hips to pull me flush against him. The pads of his fingers tightened and I allowed myself a moment to imagine the bruises they would leave after this.

He guided his cock in between my thighs, pausing right at the entrance. "You all good?"

I smiled. "So very good."

He pushed into me with one swift motion and I cried out, feeling so full and so good. Leo pounded into me, looking as desperate as I felt. He buried his face into my neck. "Okay, super lame but I am not gonna last long."

"Super not lame." My voice sounded wrecked. "Super fucking hot that I got you that worked up. You are super welcome to come whenever you want."

I felt him smile against my skin. "You first."

His hand reached down in a feat of strength with how hard he was thrusting into me, and he began pushing circles into my clit. My head tilted back and Leo pressed sharp kisses into the exposed flesh.

The sensations were too much and would never ever be enough and I tilted my hips just right so he was hitting just right inside me and the thin line keeping me tethered snapped.

My nails dug into his shoulders and I came hard, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and excitement and with just enough clarity I felt Leo's hips stutter as my pussy clamped down on his dick as I came. His swearing was muffled into my skin but he pushed into me as much as he could, coming with almost a shout.

There was a moment of quiet, the two of us remembering how to breathe and enjoying the feeling of being connected. It was with simultaneous groans that Leo pulled out of me, flopping to my side and pressing absent kisses to my shoulder.

"Well," he breathed. "How do my new tattoos looks?"

I ran my fingers over my masterpiece. "I'd say they look pretty good, if I do say so myself."

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yes i did get carried away lol hope you enjoyed and thank you for requesting!

#leo valdez #leo x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez imagine #leo imagine #leo valdez smut #leo valdez x reader smut #florist!leo #tattoo artist!reader #tattoo shop au #flower shop au

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seeker-of-stories19 · 4 months

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Simon who hates every scar on his body, from his top surgery scars to the Glasgow smile and every other mark between. He doesn’t wear them with honor like so many of the soldiers he knows- doesn’t even feel the slightest bit of pride in what he’s survived.

No his sense of masculinity and self worth was so damaged by his dad that he views each mark on his body as a failure. Too stupid, too weak, too slow, unable to save his mom, unable to save Tommy, unable to save his team from Roba, unable to save himself- even the matching crescents under his pecs that Gaz and Soap had been shocked to learn were quite old, so old it was a miracle he found someone to do the operation at all, don’t bring any kind of positive feeling to him it’s just another reminder of his body fucking failing him.

It breaks Johnny’s heart that he’s so deeply distraught by the marks on his body and he spends a ridiculous amount of time kissing them gently and reminding Simon how beautiful he is. He thinks of the scars completely differently to Simon- a constant reminder that he survived what no one else could.

He hates that someone so precious could’ve been hurt so much but throughout his entire life he survived every one of the horrible violent marks on his body, lived long enough to find him. Sometimes when they’re in bed and Simons in a particularly forgiving mood he kisses the painful pink smile carved crudely into his cheeks and tells him how good he is for waiting for him, for not giving up before they could find each other- tells him he’s brave for surviving everything just so they could meet.

It definitely makes Simon very emotional even if he doesn’t agree.

One day when they’re lounging around Johnny asks him if he has any scars he doesn’t hate and Ghost immediately points to a fairly fresh bullet scar on the outside of his thigh Soap is baffled as to why a random bullet wound, and particularly one that annoyingly knocked him out of commission for a couple weeks, would mean more to him than any of the more significant wounds he’s survived.

Simon just says that he likes it because it was for Johnny and he just sits frozen as Simon adds on that he likes all the scars he got protecting Johnny- those are the only ones that mean anything to him.

It’s something he thinks about a lot in the following months but he never expects that after Makarov he’ll wake up in a civilian hospital with Ghost pressed against his side, cradling his head as gently as possible and pressing kisses against his bandaged temple as he cries, apologizing profusely the whole time for not being fast enough.

Apologizing for not taking the bullet for Soap.

Soap can’t talk and can barely move at the time but he doesn’t forget those words even when everything else from that period blurs together.

When he’s finally released and honorably discharged with various medals he’s shocked when Simon tentatively brings up the incident with Makarov and asks him if he can forgive him, if he’ll still have him even though he couldn’t protect him. It’s absolutely insane to him that Ghost could even ask because they all know what they signed up for but the last thing Simon has ever done is not protect him.

Throughout his entire recovery the man was with him every day, his family had visited often as had Price and Gaz but no one had protected him like Simon. From the pity and discouragement and from himself. When the doctors said he’d never walk again he’d been crushed but Simon had just rolled his eyes and given him a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’ And it had been walking toward him clutching the rails for dear life in the PT room that he took his first steps into this new life.

Last night when he’d whispered into the dark of the hospital room his deepest insecurities that he’ll never be the same, that he might need help for the rest of his life Ghost hadn’t even hesitated before shrugging that it didn’t matter if he needed help because he would always be there if he did.

And now he was asking permission to rest after a lifetime spent in the trenches he was asking for gentleness and a life with him- most people would never understand the significance of that moment but from Simon it means more than a proposal ever could.

When they go home to his Glasgow flat together he sits on the couch while Ghost does the heavily lifting moving his things in alone and it takes everything in him not to cry when he pulls his shirt off to wipe some sweat away from his eyes with a tired smile before going back to work, pale skin flexing in the light, scars as much a sign of strength as his massive muscles.

When he’s done he makes them both coffee and settles into his side while Soap contemplates how to approach the idea he’s been mulling over for the last hour. Instead of bringing it up he reaches for the pen on the coffee table and starts sketching a slightly messy arrangement of flowers onto Simons upper arm opposite the tattoo sleeve.

He tries to pour all his affection and gratitude and love into each shaky stroke and line of the pen against his partners skin. Simon just hums contentedly, it’s not the first time they’ve done it and it won’t be the last but this is different than the little bar of soap and the Scottish thistle and little stars he’d sketched along the top of the unfinished sleeve Simon had got tattooed so long ago.

“S’ looks nice Johnny, spending a lot of time on it” he murmurs and Soap just bites his lip in concentration as he nods “Want this one to last” he admits as he adds another detail to one of the leaves in response as Simon lets out a surprised grunt. Sure he’s got several of Johnnys little doodles inked onto him permanently but it’s all random stuff and he’s certainly never asked Simon for this before or designed anything with the intention of it being a tattoo.

“Why this?” Simon asks confusedly and he briefly pauses with the pen “Cause you like the scars from saving me,” he blurts out like it hadn’t been an offhand conversation over a year ago “and in the hospital you apologized for not taking this bullet for me but you were wrong because you saved me from it in every way that coulda mattered- did so well mo ghràidh, you deserve a reminder- something pretty for doing so well.”

He’s half embarrassed to have said it and worried he’s overstepping but Simon just shudders and lets out a choked noise he thinks is his name before slumping shakily into his side as he finishes.

He does get it tattooed the next day and his big brown eyes tear up when Johnny kisses the saniderm and tells him again how good and strong and brave he was for protecting him.

It’s nearly a month later that Simon works up the courage to ask Johnny if he can decorate some of the other scars he got for him- to make them pretty. Since Simon is super into the meaning of different flowers and that’s the theme Johnny choose for the first tattoo he sticks with it for all the smaller ones, picking a flower that’s symbolic to how he got each scar.

He’s very careful not to cover the puckered skin at all, instead creating little rings of flowers around bullet holes and Simon gets each of them tattooed. It’s not many compared to the sheer amount of scars he has but the little flashes of color never fail to make Simon blush when he looks in the mirror and Johnny absolutely melts because he never could’ve imagined something so simple could keep Simon from flinching at his reflection.

Of course it reaches a point where all the scars Ghost has from protecting Soap are done, each having their matching flowers and he thinks it’s over.

But then he cuts his finger opening a jar for Soap who’s hands shake slightly and who’s grip is too weak to loosen the lid and when it heals into a thin white line Soap draws a single stem next to it.

And the same happens when he pushes an angry chihuahua off a terrified Soap and the dog doesn’t like his skull half mask, biting his ankle.

The tattoos draw attention to the scars Simon doesn’t hate and they stand out from the black and grey ones he’d had done in the military.

One day a few years into their marriage when Simon is working at his flower shop while Soap paints in the studio upstairs a young woman buying flowers for her friend asks him about the ring of small blue forget me nots looped around a circle of puckered pink flesh on his bicep where his shirt has ridden up. He proudly tells her that the scar is where he took a bullet for his husband and that Soap had drawn the flowers around each of the scars he got protecting him.

The woman tears up a bit at the story but it’s nothing to how Soap dissolves into silent tears in the stairway when he hears Simon share the story behind the markings with pride in his voice because he hadn’t ever though that was in the cards for him with how he talked about himself prior to the tattoos.

And it just hits him in that moment that they truly made it out in a way that so many who make it out on paper never manage. They’ve built this life together from the ashes of something difficult to even think about and it doesn’t fix any of the horrible things that were done to Simon but they made it out and they were safe now.

Most importantly he has made something Simon thinks is beautiful not only out of their life but out of the mess of gnarled scars on his skin.

He did that.

And Simon is a little confused by his clinginess that night but he absolutely melts into it as Johnny kisses each cluster of brightly colored flowers decorating his skin.

#call of duty #trans ghost #soapghost headcannons #mw3 #soap cod #cod #soapghost #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #tattoo and flower shop au #scars

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lilac-cat-draws · 1 year

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Drew this after my AU poll had concluded, and the Genshin AU won, so I did a quick draw of them. I plan on rendering this into a full drawing once I’m no longer lazy again

I’m surprised that the poll was almost a 50 50 split, I assumed the genshin one will win by a landslide

#Also for those who had voted for the Tattoo and Flower Shop AU #I will return to this AU one day but for now the Genshin AU will be my main focus for the time being #bungou stray dogs #genshin impact #bsd #Genshin #genshin au #atsushi nakajima #bsd ryunosuke #Dazai Osamu #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #shin soukoku

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

nice to meet you, where you been? (steddie tattoo shop au)

🌷 read part 1 here (or on ao3) | T – 2/3 – 12k 🌷

part 2: started with a spark, now we're on fire (| 4.5k)

Eddie spends the entire way home processing what the fuck just happened. Because there’s no way that what he thinks has happened is what actually, truly happened. He’s in such a tango of dazed and freaking out that he can’t even text Chrissy; every time he pulls out his phone to yell at her, the words kind of escape him. It’s frustrating.

What’s even more frustrating is that he has Blank Space stuck in his head. Of all songs, Steve! Of all songs!

Steve. Damn. That really happened, didn’t it?

Steve Harrington with the perfect hair and the perfect smile and the perfect lighting in his stupid perfect tattoo parlour that might not be so horrible on second thought.

Traitor! Eddie curses himself. It is horrible. Just like Steve’s taste in music.

Nice to meet you, where’ve you been — “Fucking dammit!”

A woman tuts when she passes him with a delighted looking child in tow, and while she looks royally pissed off, the kid looks up at Eddie with a hint of wonder and excitement. He grins at the kid and does a little wave, but before they can respond, their mother demands their attention again.

Eddie continues on his way home with a grin on his face that Harrington has nothing to do with. Well, almost nothing, but that’s close enough for Eddie right now.

As if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on him, he opens the door to the apartment he shares with Chrissy only to be assaulted with more Taylor Swift. In fact, just when he got rid of Blank Space playing on loop inside his head, he’s hit with that stupidly upbeat song on full volume from Chrissy’s room.

“Son of a…” he sighs, slamming the door shut to announce his presence.

The only reaction he gets is Chrissy singing along even louder, and Eddie is in such a good mood that he laughs as he walks over to her room.

“So it’s gonna be forever!” she sings — shouts, the menace —, lying on her bed, legs up in the air against the wall, head halfway off the mattress. A shit eating grin on her face because she knows Eddie hates this song, knows he hates everything indie and flowery and minimalist and touched with gentle golden light to match his personality— ah fuck. She totally planned this. All of this!

“I hate you!” Eddie exclaims over the music, but Chrissy doesn’t care, hardly even hears him with how loud she’s singing along — or trying, around her smile. “I hate you, Christine!”

“And you love the game!”

Her arms are flailing now, and she somehow makes even that look good. Eddie huffs and throws himself onto her bed, his legs against the wall right beside Chrissy’s, though he refuses to move his feet along to the cursed song.

She takes his hand and keeps singing, the mattress bouncing underneath them, and Eddie soaks up the whole moment. Chrissy is not metal, far from it, but the chaos is unmatched and that Taylor of it all is so worth it. Just don’t tell Chrissy that.

“So,” she says at last when the song is over and a new one starts, quieter this time, and Eddie doesn’t care enough to know what it is. He’s been around too much indie pop and normal pop music today, it’s enough to last a lifetime. Or at least until the end of the week. “How was your tattoo appointment?”

“It wasn’t a tattoo appointment, I just wanted to go check out this place you refused to shut up about, Christus.”

He lifts their joined hands into the air because he loves the feeling of blood rushing down towards his shoulder, his hands growing cold and then flushed with warmth once he lowers his hands again. Chrissy lets him.

“I hate you, by the way.”

“Why?” she says, and the grin turns into a look of careful worry. “Was he an ass about it?”

“Huh? Oh! No, he was… God, he was perfect about it. And ridiculously golden. And pretty. And, Jesus, I hate him for it. Like, how dare he?”

“How dare he be pretty and kind and accepting and really fucking talented?”

“Yeah!” Eddie agrees. “How dare he! He’s got all that, and for what? “ He groans and dramatically throws their joined hands onto the bed again in a pathetic excuse of swooning. “Do you know what he said to me, Chris? It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. Like it’s nothing! Like it’s not my whole entire life that he just… God! And his smile? Like, there’s something real about it now. It was gorgeous in high school, I’ll give him that, but now it’s… It’s like. Like an ‘I’ve seen some shit in life but I choose to be kind about it’ kinda smile. Disgusting! Makes me wanna throw up.”

Chrissy just chuckles and turns properly to face him. “What else?”

Eddie sighs and turns towards her, too, their knees touching, shoving at each other playfully. “He remembered the name. Corroded Coffin. Said, and I quote, it’s a rad fucking name.”

“So, obviously, you’re in love now.”

“Obviously!” he exclaims, followed with another dramatic sigh, throwing his arm across his face to hide his misery from the world. “How dare he?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says, playing with the fingers of the hand thrown across his face.

“He called me a wild card,” Eddie continues, quieter now, a smile on his lips. “Remembered me from high school and all he had to say is, fucking wild card you were. Not the… The girl stuff. Or the name stuff. Just. Just a wild card. Chrissy. Like somehow, to Steeeve Harrington, it’s all just… Like it’s all just whatever. But in the good way. God, I’m not even making sense. I want to punch him in his stupid face.”

“With your lips?”

“And tongue!”

Chrissy laughs gently and continues to play with Eddie’s hair while he hangs off his thoughts of Steve. It’s still so fucking wild, so fucking unbelievable. Everything about today just leaves Eddie with a feeling he’s not entirely familiar with. It tingles in his arms, in his chest, flutters there for a second before moving to his head, to his thoughts.

And then he’s thinking about Steve. About taking his hand and making him smile again, about bullying him for his music taste before dancing with him to The 1975 or some shit.

Steve is probably the kind of person who listens to Sweater Weather unironically. Ridiculous man.

Eddie can’t wait to see him again.

~*~

Tuesday can’t arrive quickly enough for Eddie. He’s been extra jittery all week, going on Chrissy’s last nerve and even all those extra ones she reserves only for him. She rolls her eyes with exasperated fondness and kisses his cheek before shoving him into the wall or smushing his face into her, his, their pillows. Eddie just laughs and grumbles and tackles her right back, pretending he stands a chance against his jocky best friend.

She even lets him win sometimes. That’s how he knows that she knows that he’s got it bad. He makes a mental note to get her some flowers tomorrow, or stock up on her safe foods secretly for her to discover at some point when she won’t pester him about his little crush.

And it’s not a crush. It’s just that no one will listen to reason — not even the butterflies that seem so insistent to stay inside his stomach and bug him, quite literally, all the way down the street to Steve’s shop. Only now does he read the sign above the door and frowns a little.

Ink-redible Dingus

Eddie snorts, a bit bewildered, a lot amused, an even lotter really kind of endeared. Silly man. Really hot silly man. Absolutely kind, pretty awesome, totally sweet, kind of golden Really Hot Silly Man.

Jesus, get a fucking grip, Munson. Incidentally, the grip comes the moment he opens the door and hears another indie pop or whatever-song assaulting his ears. Sounds a lot like The Neighbourhood, and he’s ready to hate crime Chrissy the second he’s out of here for making him even know that shit, let alone recognise it. He wouldn’t put it past her to send Steve her playlist actually, just to torment Eddie. Steve would, he thinks. Oh, he definitely would.

He huffs, smiling before the door even falls shut behind him, and Steve whirls around from where he was pouring over his iPad.

“Eddie!”

Steve sounds surprised. Happy. Excited. But Eddie is a little bit stuck on the surprised part, on the way Steve gets up immediately, his eyes wide, his smile wider, and he briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving the country, because this can only end horribly. He would do unspeakable things if it makes Steve smile at him like this.

But, apparently, all it takes is for him to actually show up.

“Don’t tell me you forget about our little—“ Don’t say date! “—appointment, Harrington.” He tuts dramatically, ignoring the way his heart beats inside his throat or the way his own lips are tucking up into a smile before he can stop them.

Steve comes to a stop in front of him, shoves his hands into his pockets and has the gall to give him a sheepish little look that does not at all quench Eddie’s desire to punch him in the dace with his lips.

“I didn’t forget,” Steve starts, a bit hesitant in the way he doesn’t really meet Eddie’s eyes. “I was a little worried, actually. That I had somehow, like… Offended you? Said something wrong, I don’t know. I’m very good at that, you know, saying the wrong thing.”

Eddie stares at him for a second, fully aware that he’s blinking a bit owlishly, but he shall not be blamed, because… Steve can’t be serious. He can’t be serious. Can he be serious?

“What?” Steve asks after a second of Eddie’s staring, and he blinks out of it quickly, tries to go for nonchalant and runs his hand along the wooden counter instead of reaching for Steve.

“I hope you’re kidding, Harrington, because it would be pretty idiotic if you weren’t.” He shrugs and then finally looks up, earnestly. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Stevie. In fact, you were kinda perfect, actually.”

Two seconds is exactly how long it takes Eddie to realise just what exactly he just said, and then there he is, blushing profusely in the most polished tattoo parlour he’s ever set foot in. Twice.

But Steve is grinning, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle and breathe deeply, like there’s a laugh ready to bubble out of him any second now. It’s almost worth the humiliation of telling him he’s perfect.

“Glad to hear that, man,” is all he says, but Eddie knows he wants to say more. Wants to tease. It’s written in the dimples on his cheeks, in the line of his shoulders or the way he shoves his hands even deeper into his light blue jeans. Eddie almost wants him to tease. Wants to flirt. Wants to get the feeling that Steve reserves his grin for his eyes only, wants to experience the Harrington Charm just one more time.

Wants to travel back in time to his teenage self explain to them that he’ll be fine, everything will be fine, and Steve Harrington will flirt with you in his stupid tattoo shop ten years down the line, wearing a silly pair of bright blue jeans and a yellow sweater vest over a white shirt in a way that shouldn’t look good, but he pulls it off somehow. Oh, and there will be a ridiculous amount of soft pop music. Because of course.

“Anyway, I, uh, I’m glad you came.” Hang on for just one second, is Steve blushing?

Oh shit, he is blushing. Eddie’s going to faint. Die. Be slain. Lain to rest. Because Steve Harrington is blushing at him.

“Of course,” Eddie says lamely, and then there’s silence between them for a moment, a heaviness in the air between them that Eddie can’t quite make sense of. Not that he’s particularly trying to make sense of it, not with the way Steve is still blushing, looking anywhere but at him.

It’s kind of cute. Makes Eddie aware of the picture they’re making: Himself in his black ripped jeans and Metallica shirt, a black denim jacket adorned with patches of really old bands, good old classic metal ones. Steve, on the other hand, the polar opposite of Eddie’s all-black look. He’s preppy, colourful, really fucking bright in a way Eddie can’t quite but his finger on, and his hair once again makes Eddie want to reach out and run his fingers through it. It’s almost golden in the way it catches the light, and Eddie both loves and hates that it wasn’t a lie his brain told him last week, Steve really is golden in this kind of light.

Disgusting.

He wants to hold him forever.

“So, uh,” Steve catches himself at some point, fumbling a bit, and Eddie just watches him for a bit, inclining his head like that will reveal more of Steve to him, like it will make him look up again.

It does. Eddie’s heart is doing several somersaults at the way Steve falters with a half-smile on his lips.

“Yeah, uh, what kinda tattoo are we thinking? I don’t mind doing it right now if you have, like, an idea or something, or we could brainstorm and do a few designs? I don’t have another costumer coming up for today, so…” Steve trails off and shrugs, makes it looks so casual and nonchalant that Eddie can’t really believe he’s real. “I’ve got time, is what I’m saying.”

“Uh,” Eddie says intelligently. They’re both really on their a-game today, huh? But the thing is, Eddie has given this a lot of thought. Just, well, not as many words. “I’m thinking weird. I’m ready to enter my Weird Era.”

It’s a test, of sorts. Make Steve Harrington be weird, unhinged, see what’s under that golden pastel shimmer. See what hides behind those crinkling eyes.

Those very same eyes that are now squinting at him. “Is that a Taylor reference? From the one and only Eddie Edward Edwin Munson?”

“Hey, that’s a hate crime actually.”

“What, fake-full naming you?”

“Nah, man, saying I make Taylor references. I’m not a pastel preppy sunshine boy who probably listens to her way too much.”

Steve shakes his head, hiding one of those smiles that makes his eyes crinkle. Eddie wants more of that. It’s a good look on him.

Also, are they flirting? It feels a bit like they’re flirting, but maybe they’re both just weird and compatible in it. Either way, it’s a bit of a win.

“Right, tattoos,” the pastel preppy sunshine boy says before Eddie’s thoughts can travel too far and wax poetic about that smile and sunshine and something something Stevie. “You want it weird?”

“Let’s make it weird, pretty boy!”

Steve just cackles before turning around to grab a black binder. Eddie watches with interest, because the last thing a pretty boy should be doing when a weirdo requests weirdness from him is to turn around and grab a binder labelled Upside Down. It’s full of— oh.

Oh yes. This is the kind of weirdness that Eddie’s talking about! Funky lines all over the place in a way that would make Picasso green in the face with jealousy. Monsters and mushrooms with too many eyes, skulls and anatomically morphed hearts with leaves growing or weird slime flowing out of them. They’re uncanny. Tarot cards with a touch of horror to them. Disintegrating ands holding weirdly detailed, realistic cigarettes.

Steve Harrington is a Weirdo!

He is also, most definitely, queer. No straight guy looks like this and draws like that, Eddie decides.

“Most people bring their own designs, obviously, and not everyone is on the… the supernatural kinda grind, but most of these are actually some wanna-do’s of mine. Kinda itching to eternalise those.”

Eddie is quiet, staring at the designs, and maybe he’s taking too long without moving on to the next page, maybe he’s too quiet for too long, but Steve seems to take his silence for bewilderment. Confusion. Disgust, probably. Rejection, definitely.

“We don’t have to do them, it’s, uh, I know they’re weird, it’s totally cool if it’s not your kind of—“

“I need all of these, actually,” Eddie interrupts Steve’s rambles.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Eddie snorts, going back a few pages to the design that caught his eye the most and instantly. “Imagine how I’m feeling here. Steve Harrington, preppy pastel guy, the most normie to ever norm, everyone’s high school sweetheart, is secretly a weirdo. It’s a lot to take in, man.”

Steve snickers and crosses his hands in front of his chest. “So, what, you get to be a weirdo but I can’t?”

“Got it in one, pretty boy.” God, Eddie really should stop calling him that. But he can’t, not when there both being like this and it’s fine, because Steve might be weird but he’s not weirded out. And Eddie is a bit breathless with it.

“That’s so homophobic,” Steve grumbles, and, okay, maybe Eddie’s entire world has just stopped. Because… No. No. No way. Steve being secretly weird and Munson-detected queer was one thing, but him admitting to it in Eddie’s face with that adorable little pout while they’re flirting? Boy, oh boy, that is a whole other thing.

So much so that Eddie drops the binder. But sue him. Holding onto things is a bit overrated when Steve Harrington looks at you with that cheeky grin because he knows what kinda effect he has on you. Because you keep calling him pretty boy. Because he knows.

Oh shit.

“Uh.”

“Yup,” Steve snickers again, crouching down to grab the binder, finding the page Eddie’s been fixated on. “Thought I’d level the playing field a bit, y’know.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, a bit too loud, too cheerful, a bit too delighted at the expression of absolute glee and mirth and mischief on Steve’s face. Gods, he might be a bit in love. “You’re a weirdo.”

“It’s about time you catch up, Eds. Can’t associate with the people that I do without being a bit weird.”

Tell me about your people. Tell me everything. Your entire biography. Their entire biographies. Your thoughts. Your weird, weird design ideas.

They’re approaching dangerous territory of having Eddie put his chin on his hands, kicking his legs and asking Steve all those question with hearts for eyes. But they can’t. He can’t be falling deeper, not yet, not before he got a weird fucking tattoo from the prettiest boy he knows. Even if he has to do it to the tune of some whiny voice from the speakers announcing that ‘This is for Mathilda.’

“So, I’m thinking this one,” he says instead, pointing at the little creature that captivated him from the beginning.

Steve’s eyes light up in an instant, like they’re wont to do. “Oh, excellent choice. It’s Robbie’s favourite, actually, and she made me promise to tell her the very second it gets claimed. It has a name, too, you know? You’ll never guess, though.”

Eddie looks away from Steve and down at the… thing. It looks a bit familiar but he can’t quite recall where he’s seen that before.

“It’s an ofan, or a galgal” Steve explains. “From the book of Ezekiel. An angel, kind of. Most of those angels dubbed biblically accurate aren’t actually from the Christian bible, y’know? Robbie’s Jewish, so she sometimes makes me draw these things with my own twists. See, they don’t actually have that many eyes, nor are they melting or disintegrating,” Steve chuckles, a bit sheepish, and Eddie’s breath gets stuck in his throat. “If you’re bothered by religious imagery on your body, though, we can find something else for you, it’s no biggie.”

Eddie gives him a bit of A Look before pulling down his shirt to reveal the upside down pentagram adorned with a pretty awesome looking devil with his tongue out. He just barely resist the urge to mirror the devil’s face at Steve like he does every time he reveals this tat to an unsuspecting soul.

But Steve just grins and nods.

“And anyway, religion is what you make of it, isn’t it? And if getting that little ofan buddy tattooed so I an lecture people about how saying ‘biblically accurate angel’ is wrong, then it’s a win for everyone, don’t you think?”

They talk about the design for a moment, Steve asking if Eddie wants any changes to it, and the only one he has is for there to be more eyes. Steve grins as he edits it on his iPad, showing Eddie as he works. But Eddie is mostly staring at the way Steve’s hair keeps falling into his eyes. It’s adorable. He hates it.

“Where’d you want it?”

“I was thinking here,” Eddie says and points at the biceps of his right arm, right where his sleeve ends so the ofan will always peek out. “Do I, uh, do I need to take off my shirt?”

“Nah, we’ll just tape the sleeve up, no problem.”

Yeah, he kind of needs to marry this guy and his dignity-saving tape.

And then that’s how Eddie finds himself sitting rather comfortably in an adjacent room. It’s just as clean, the decor just as minimalistic but horrendously tasteful that Eddie sort of wants to lie down on the floor for a moment. It looks very inviting, dark wood and all.

Before he can think about how to explain the want for Floor Time because he’s a bit nervous, he’s having his arm shaved while Steve hums along to yet another Taylor song. Eddie wants to throw up.

“You okay there, Eds?” Steve asks like he knows exactly what his problem is. “You look a little green.”

“I hate you,” he grumbles, no heat behind it. And Steve, the little shit, miraculously makes the music just a touch louder. “I’m getting a discount for this, I hope you know.”

Steve laughs and Eddie is pretty sure the next one is actually a gentle touch, even through the gloves. It make his heart flutter. Good choice for his first tattoo, the little buddy has eight mismatched, slowly melting wings, it can do the fluttering when this is over.

The worst thing is that they keep flirting while Steve inks him, he stops every now and then not only to wipe away ink and blood but also to give Eddie a dead-pan kinda look that Eddie wants to kiss away. Or shove away and tell Steve to focus and not mess up his little angel friend. Steve just huffs.

At some point, Steve gives him a little squishy ball. A fidget toy, because maybe his nerves were showing more than he noticed, and he already has the apology on the tip of his tongue when Steve says, “Helps me sometimes, I figured you could need it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, squishing and relishing at the feel of it. It does kind of help. “Does it have a name you won’t tell me, too?”

“Nope, only Upside Down tattoos get names.”

“So you’re saying those other designs have names, too?”

A shrug, a wipe, a smile. “Maybe.”

“Weirdo.”

“Pot, kettle.”

“Steve,” Eddie gasps, dramatically. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mr Kettle?”

“Mr Kettle?” An adorable frown appears between those brows and Eddie really is in the kicking feet, giggling territory now. Shit.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head and keep tattooing me, if you will.”

“Diva.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Eddie exclaims, utterly delighted, and they both have to take a break then, the flirting a bit too much. Steve laughs, relaxes his hands, and almost shoves him out of the chair, earning another laugh from Eddie.

“Just so you know, Munson, you’re paying extra! You don’t just cost me time, material and creativity, but also all my fucking nerves. See if I’ll ask you out on that date if you keep that up.”

Eddie’s breath hitches, but he’s never been one to know when to leave well enough alone — and apparently, neither is Steve. “Is that a challenge, Harrington?”

A moment passes between them, intense stares getting deeper by the second before Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, I think it is.”

Eddie cackles but vows to behave at least so much so that Steve can continue.

It doesn’t take too long all things considered, 90 minutes and Eddie has a new buddy on his arm. He can’t stop staring at it, really kind of enamoured with Steve’s technique. There are so many details that can only be spotted on second glance, and he can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s all healed up. But Steve is good. Really, really good.

And Eddie is crushing. Really, really hard.

He wants to stay, he really does, especially since Steve’s closing up in half an hour anyway, and there’s nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do, because Chrissy won’t be home until ten tonight. But the thing is, if he stays any longer, he’ll actually do something stupid like kissing Steve on his stupid lips or asking him on a date.

He talks big game, but Eddie is a little chicken when it comes to doing the real things.

So he lets Steve clean him up, apply the fancy transparent film to protect the tattoo and support the healing process. The amounts of times Eddie’s been left with plastic wrap or tinfoil, this feels like genuine luxury. Everything abut Steve’s shop kinda does, but not in the tacky manner. More in the I care about your comfort and have the means to provide it kinda way. Eddie’s learning to appreciate that, actually.

Steve doesn’t overcharge him in the end. He pays a fair price for his ofan with the secret name and is ready to turn on his heel and run out of here, the bubble of the tattoo room has burst, they’re back to being Steve and Eddie, not pot and kettle.

But just as he reaches the door, Steve calls for him.

“Hey, Eds? Do you wanna go out some time?”

He blinks, swallows. Thinks he’s dreaming. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, sure.”

And if they stare at each other for a second too long, smiling, caught in each other’s eyes, well. Then that’s that.

---

tagging: @inmoonywetrust @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @vampireinthesun @ajamlessbaby @momotonescreaming @zerokrox-blog @hotluncheddie @saganarojanaolt

🌷 read part 3 here

#steddie fanfic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #tattoo shop au #trans eddie munson #uh hi hello to my audience of... nine people :D it only took me a month to update this lmaoo #dio words #my disaster children are back and flirty as ever #sorry if i forgot to tag anyone or y'all dont care kjsfhs have a flower for your troubles 🌷

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