#ranunculus pattern when i fucking GET YOU <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[10-dutchies-12-bicycles]

other ppl: i dyed my yarn beautiful colors with natural dyes!!!!

me, generally a BIG proponent of working with all natural materials: god thats SO cool. wish i could do that! unforchies all my favorite colors are ridiculously bright neon eye sores

[clydeloganisababe]

What I Wouldn’t Do (1/3)

Sometimes, you just need to write the incredibly niche, indulgent smut you wish to see in the world. So, in honor of Adam��s latest SNL appearance, please allow me to present a flower shop ABO au featuring the one, the only, the king, Robbie the Biscutie.

The whole thing is going to be 3 chapters, with the third chapter being a no holds barred smut-fest. Chapter 1 is the meet-cute, Chapter 2 is the date, Chapter 3 is the heat/rut.  Now on AO3.

I’d love to dedicate this fic to other writers whose work has sustained and nourished me over the years and to other Robbie enthusiasts, especially @theweddingofthefoxes. Let me know if you want to be removed or added to any updates! 

Author’s note: Robbie has a girlfriend at the start of this mess, but there’s no cheating.

And now, without further ado:

~~~~~

Many customers, regardless of their designations, liked the sweet smell of the shop. Actual product varied by day but there were almost always roses and lilies in stock, which incidentally were among the most fragrant flowers. When customers weren’t looking for floral arrangements they could also sample the various soaps, diffusers, oils, candles, and perfumes that littered the store front. The barrage of scents was almost overwhelming, but that was how you wanted it. You took great care to hide your own scent, but it was still difficult to hide the odor of an unmated omega without a little extra help. Working in a fragrant shop made it that much easier to blend in, and for that you were grateful. Decorum, and at times your safety, depended on it.

There was an enormous wedding this weekend so by Tuesday you were already in pre-production. You were in the middle of taping floral foam to a tray when you heard the tell tale tinkle of the door bell.

“Welcome! Come on in, I’ll be right with you!” you called, drying your hands on a nearby towel. You were almost to the front when it hit you: the unmistakable musk of alpha pheromones. You whipped around, trying to find the source.

Striding up to the counter was an absolute beast of a man. His navy suit draped attractively against his broad frame, but his languid strides revealed rippling muscles underneath the wool. The first button of his brightly patterned shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a flash of gold at his throat. His messy black waves were pulled back into a knot at the back of his head. You typically thought that man buns were silly, but this guy was pulling it off.

The rational part of your brain said that he looked like a bad New York stereotype. But the secret, primal part of you whispered he’s big and broad and smells like sandalwood and cinnamon, he’d give you healthy pups and a big fat knot.

How could you smell him this clearly? You were on very strong suppressants and shouldn’t be able to smell him, let alone separate the notes of his scent. Maybe he wasn’t on blockers? He looked like the type.

As you slipped behind the counter, his dark gaze finally found yours and a ripple of understanding passed between you both. There you are. Judging by the look on his face he could clearly smell you too.

“Hi, do you need some help today or are you just browsing?” It’s easy to slip into the friendly, customer service persona, even when you are beginning to tremble at his proximity.

“Yeah, I need something for my girl.” His voice is a deep, rough rumble. Fuck. Of course he has a girlfriend. You sniff delicately, trying to be subtle. He’s got a girl, but you can’t smell anything lingering on him. Beta.

You go over all the details as professionally as you can: he needs the bouquet tonight, she likes roses, money’s not a problem because my girl deserves the best. “I wanna pick it up at 5 o’clock sharp. I’m surprising her at dinner and I wanna to be on time.” He’s going on about his girlfriend, but his dark eyes linger over your form. He feels it too.

“Of course! I’ll have the bouquet ready for you right at 5.” It’s an innocuous statement, but his eyes darken at your quick obedience. He pays with a shiny black card.

“Thanks sweetheart, I’ll see you at 5.” He turns to leave and you can’t help but watch his thick thighs as he slips out the door, bell chiming in his wake. You want to be mad about the pet name, but you aren’t. You hope he’ll say it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 pm rolls around and the hot alpha from before is punctual. His credit card had the name Robert on it, but you don’t think it suits him. Robert sounds much too formal. Does he go by Bob? Maybe Rob?

As promised, his rose bouquet is waiting for him on the counter, spilling out from a delicate crystal vase. You chose pink and white roses, but added some burgundy ranunculus and white anemones for texture, framing everything with eucalyptus, salal, and seeded eucalyptus. The effect is soft and romantic.

“I wanted you to see it before I wrapped it up for you,” you explain. He remains silent, inspecting the bouquet. “Do you like it?” You shift nervously. He’s taking a long time to answer.

“It’s perfect,” he finally announces. “Better than I imagined. She’s gonna love it.” She’s gonna love it. Right.

“Excellent! I’ll wrap that up for you.” You snap to work, trying not to waste anymore time.

“Did you make that?” he asks, leaning against the counter. You catch another whiff of his sweet, spicy scent and you stifle a whimper.

“I did!” you offer, topping off the plastic wrap with a cream ribbon. He whistles lowly. “Stunning work, sweetheart.” He takes the vase from you, his hands engulfing yours for the briefest moment. “I’ll have to remember this place for next time.” You practically gulp. “Please do! I’d be happy to make you something else.” He holds your gaze for just a moment too long, then turns and slinks out the door, off to a date with his girlfriend. Goddammit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life moves on and you try to forget about the hot alpha with the incredible scent, who pinned you with his gaze and complimented your work. Until the next week when the store bell tinkles and the warm telltale notes of sandalwood drift through the shop. Your gland itches and you snap to attention.

“Welcome back!” you call to him as he swaggers confidently up to the counter.

“You remember me?” he teases.

“I do. You’re very memorable,” you admit, blushing. He smirks, pleased with himself. Your gland prickles and you clench your fists, resisting the urge to scratch it in front of him. “So what can I get you this time?”

“I need something classy. Elegant.” He looks at you expectantly, like you know exactly what that means.

“Of course. What’s the occasion?” You hope your probing isn’t too obvious.

“I wanna surprise my girl. She’s been going through a rough time lately.” He briefly looks away and seems momentarily embarrassed. Trouble in paradise? You suddenly feel bad for flirting with him.

“Absolutely. Would she prefer pastels or jewel tones?”

“Whichever one, just make it real pretty.” Fair.

“You got it. What’s your budget?” You hate this question, but it’s necessary.

He smirks. “Money’s not an issue.”

“Alright. Do you want to pick up your arrangement or should I have it delivered?”

“I’ll come by around 5.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you then!” You flash him a winning customer service smile and he extends his hand. “I’m Robbie, by the way.”

Robbie. His hand is huge and warm. You give him your name and unable to resist, you overextend your hand, slipping a finger outside of his grip to brush the gland at his wrist. His scent spikes with arousal, flooding your nose with his intoxicating scent. He growls softly, sending a shiver through you. You know you’re playing with fire, but you can’t let go. Don’t leave me, alpha. He finally releases your hand and stalks out of the shop, leaving you an itchy, unsatisfied mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fall into a routine. Robbie comes in every Friday, orders an arrangement for his girlfriend, you both flirt, then he leaves. You look forward to it. You know it’s not going anywhere, that he’s just the hot alpha customer and you’re just the cute omega shop girl, but seeing him still makes your day.

In fact, he’s due any minute to pick up his arrangement. The bell tinkles and you immediately perk up. But the scent is off, it’s a little too woodsy. It’s another alpha.

“Welcome, how can I he-“

He cuts you off. “Hi, do you have any yellow roses?”

“I don’t believe so, but let me check.” You scan the back room and peer through the coolers. You’ve got a handful of spray roses, but you can tell that’s not really what he’s looking for.

“I’m so sorry, we only have small spray roses, were you interested in an-“

“Well, do you have anything yellow?” he huffs. His smell is bitter.

“I’m sorry, we really don’t.”

“You really don’t? What kind of florist doesn’t have yellow flowers?” You miss the tinkling of the shop bell, but it’s impossible to miss a sudden waft of sandalwood.

“I’d be happy to order some for you, I could get them by tom-“

“My anniversary is tonight! What good does that do me?” You fumble for an answer, but Robbie doesn’t.

“The fuck you say to her? Is that how you talk to a lady?” Robbie barks from across the shop. He barrels towards the front and the other alpha visibly shrinks before him, his damp scent souring with fear.

“This is so unprofessional,” the other alpha whines. Robbie starts to crowd him but he immediately backs away.

“Then find another florist before I throw you out myself,” Robbie growls. The other alpha shoots you one last glare, but slinks out of the shop with his tail between his legs.

Robbie finally turns to look at you and you exhale a shaky breath that you didn’t realize you where holding. “Robbie, you didn’t have to do that,” you insist weakly.

“Yes I did,” he comes behind the counter and wraps you in his arms. “I couldn’t let him talk to you like that,” You bury your face into his chest and he purrs, a deep rumble. A shudder ripples through you. “Thank you for saving me,” you murmur, running your hand along his spine. “Any time, doll,” he chuffs.

You linger against him, much longer than is appropriate, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You nuzzle into his chest, soothed by his purring. Robbie’s hands wander up your back and one settles between your shoulder blades, fingertips just shy of your mating gland. You tremble at its proximity. The other snakes its way along your ribcage, just shy of your breast.

The shop bell tinkles and you break away from him, the moment shattered. ‘I’ll be right back with your arrangement,” you murmur. You hand him the flowers and he fixes you with one last smoldering look.

“Have a nice dinner,” you offer weakly. It breaks the spell and he finally looks away. “Right,” he grumbles, taking the vase. He moves towards the door but he stops, looking back. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone,” he calls. You smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Robbie.” He gives you one last lingering smirk, but then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week drags by slowly. Robbie hasn’t placed an order yet, which is odd, and you wonder if you’ll ever see him again. Maybe your obvious connection is too much, too inappropriate. He has a girlfriend and that should be the end of it, you begrudgingly remind yourself. But you’ve been itchy and antsy all week, and you’re worried that you’ve started something out of your control. Like your heat. You should have another month or so to go, but the close proximity of a compatible partner can still mess with even the best suppressants.

The shop phone rings and it’s a welcome distraction. “Hey, doll,” he rumbles through the receiver. Both relief and anticipation shudder through you.

“Hey, I was beginning to wonder if I would hear from you this week,” even you can hear the needy whine in your voice. “What can I get you this time?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that.” You can hear him shifting on the other end of the line. “I want you to make something that you would like. Can be anything you want, big or small, any budget, I just want you to make something that you would want.”

“Really? I’m surprised you are letting me decide, you always seem to know exactly what you want.” You can’t help but tease him. Designer’s choice was always a popular option, but it’s odd coming from someone as decisive as Robbie.

“Oh, I do babydoll, make no mistake about that,” he growls. “When do you get off work on Friday?” You gulp. “Usually around 6 unless there’s an event. Nothing this week though.”

“Good. I’ll pick it up at 6.”

“Sounds great, see you then, Robbie”

“Bye, babe.” You both linger on the line, but you finally disconnect the call. It’s not weird, Robbie just likes your designs, you reason. It’s expected that a floral designer should design an arrangement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately for Robbie, you have expensive taste. You lose yourself in the creation of the handtied that you are making, an asymmetrical bouquet spilling over with greens, black baccara roses, plush dahlias, ranunculus, anemones, queen anne’s lace, and thistle. It’s wild but soft, dark and deep. You throw in some carnations for a pop of color. You have no idea if Robbie’s girl will like this, carnations can be controversial, but you like it, and that is what Robbie had asked for. That thought makes you smile to yourself.

You are a little nervous to see Robbie when he rolls in at 6 pm on the dot. “I wanted you to see it before I wrapped it up,” you explain, handing him the bouquet. He’s silent, inspecting it on all sides. His thorough examination puts you on edge. “I can change it, if you want, that’s not a problem,” you can hear yourself blabbering, but you can’t stop yourself. “It’s unexpected,” he finally offers, looking over and pinning you with his dark stare. “But so were you. This is perfect.” He leans closer and you instinctively inch towards him.

“I got a confession. These ain’t for Sophie. We broke up a week ago,” he pauses, scanning your face for a reaction. “If you want ‘em, they’re yours. If you don’t want ‘em, then I’ll keep ‘em to remember you by. But I hope you want ‘em.” You are stunned into silence. No one has ever done something like this for you before. You gape up at him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” the sour taste of nerves invades your senses and he begins to back away. “I can be pushy, I’m sorry if I-“

“Robbie,” you reach up and rub the glands on his neck and he moans openly. “Is that a yes, baby doll?” he rumbles. Taking the bouquet, you reach up on your tiptoes and gently press your lips to his.

“That is definitely a yes, Alpha.” He groans, scooping you up and burying his face in your neck. You shiver at the hot swipe of his tongue against your gland. You can feel the gentle rumble of a purr beginning in his chest and you clench around nothing.

“I’m taking you to dinner.” He presses his lips to your neck, eliciting a soft gasp from you. “And then after that, I’m taking you to bed.” He draws back, tilting your chin so you look into his eyes. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”