I can be your one time baby
I can be your little dairy queen
I don't wanna care tonight, I don't wanna fight
You don't have to give me anything
Just put your sweet kiss, kiss on my lips now, baby
- Meet me in the pale moonlight by Lana Del Rey
This set was submitted to the “floral shorts” challenge on shoplook hosted by user @/sarahcornflake
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love’s lethal bouquet
concept: in which the floral shop boss is in love with you—and isn’t a human.
—momster
—a/n: well i havent posted in ages because of how bad my writers block was :( and i’m vvvvv iffy about this one. this is much more subtle and tamer than my usual too, but at least its something for the valentine’s day?
anyway, ima try and tackle a commission i owe next so please take care yall<3
—tw / tags: gn reader, implied drugging intention, implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.
—featured character(s): the floral shop boss / plant monster (implied)
Valentine's Day proves to be one of the busiest days at the floral shop where you work. Breathing in the heady floral scents that permeate the store, you find yourself in continuous motion, assembling bouquets of pink roses, carnations, violets, and every red flower known to man into the van. With your back straining from the constant lifting, you absently listen to the gentle voice of your boss reassuring an irritated customer about their belated delivery—
and you wince.
Although you should be in a rush taking care of the deliveries, you tiptoe inside the back of the shop to avoid interrupting your boss—
But he merely hangs up the phone upon seeing your flustered face.
“S, sorry—” You begin.
He shakes his head with a gentle smile playing on his thinly bearded lips and says, “Don’t worry about it, love.”
The way he addresses you as ‘love’ used to bother you. It always seemed so…formal, old-fashioned, but coming from him—your boss—he somehow makes it work without needing to force the romantic undertone. Perhaps it is because he is on the older side and being a foreigner in this little town of yours.
The town lies deep within the trench of an endless forest, and you wonder how your boss had found his way here.
His arrival several years ago stirred many gossips about him, with him keeping his lips sealed about his past, but everyone slowly warmed up to him. His succulent blooms, never seen before even in the gardening magazines, certainly helped. Now, your boss is a familiar face among the townspeople, with very few not knowing who he is. And, of course, his handsome and charming demeanor won the hearts of many too.
“But I would’ve made the deliveries on time if I didn’t eat brea—” you try.
His piercing green eyes soften as you nervously fixing your rolled sleeves. You halt when he suddenly leans in.
“Boss—?” You rasp at the new weights on your shoulders, trying to pay no mind to the strange dark strains on his thick fingers.
The way he held you was almost…fond—
And he pushes you outside to the doorway. “Go finish the deliveries, won’t you?”
“Really?” You huff, trying to ignore the red tinge to your cheeks and the heavy thumping of your heart.
Your boss smiles that damnable handsome smile of his and pats you on your head, saying, “Get to it. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can give you your little Valentine’s Day bonuses for working so hard.”
While giving his employees gifts during holidays and special events is not new to your boss, you still perk up in eagerness and reward him with the biggest smile you can muster. As you dart away with a confident promise to complete the deliveries, he watches you scurry to the van, inhaling sharply,
“Soon.”
Your boss murmurs, rubbing his knuckle with his other hand—as if to hide the sudden green spot on it. Tiny vines emerge briefly, before he rubs them away and pivots back to his cash register where his impatient customers have started to queue. Flashing them with a dazzling smile to reassure frustrated customers with a wordless apology, your boss absently peers over to his office.
There, on his desk, is the special bouquet he prepared for you and only you.
Imagining you burying your face into the fragrant cluster of your favorite flowers, oblivious to the true intention of its purpose, the toxic drugging qualities meant to lure you into his arms—into his ivies and his binds of vines and creepers—had him biting back a shudder. Restraining himself before the antsy crowd, your boss rings up a customer with an invisible countdown ticking in his head.
A countdown to have you.
The blooms nearby writhe and shudder, with most dismissing it as mere breezes from the air conditioner.
It was not.
—end…?
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