đà ŹÜ Í IF YOU GIVE THEM FLOWERS
PREMISE . . . In which you decide to give your lover a bouquet of flowers. ê«áȘĘ STARRING ïč lohen, tartaglia, wanderer, varka, mitya, wriothesley, venti
â ïž WARNING . . . âș sfw!!, established relationship, fluff, mild physical affection, teasing, them adoring you (pls note this is before snezhnaya was released so mitya might be ooc and the stuff i mention regarding snezhnaya is just my assumptions).
note . some of them are using irl flower names because I don't think I can look up every single flower there is in genshin and think which suits who ;; also i totally did not just slip mitya in here hihi
ââ ( đ. ) Lohen would probably be one of those people who gives affection far more naturally through acts of service and simply spending time with someone than through receiving openly sentimental gifts, which would make the sight of an entire bouquet being held out to him almost impossible for him to process at first.
The moment you offered it to him, he'd blink down at the flowers, then back at you, his expression going completely blank for a second as though he'd genuinely never considered the possibility that someone might do something like this for him. "Wait, these are for me?" He'd probably look behind himself for half a second too, as though there had to be somebody else you were actually talking to, before cautiously accepting the bouquet with both hands.
The faintest flush would creep across his ears almost immediately, especially when he realized how openly affectionate the gesture was. He'd be careful with the flowers too, instinctively adjusting his grip around the stems so none of them bent, then looking down at them with a small, almost bewildered smile.
Sunflowers, daisies, and little wildflowers would suit him particularly well, something bright and natural that felt personal rather than extravagant, and he'd probably spend a moment examining the arrangement before looking back at you. "You actually got these for me?" He'd let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as though he still couldn't quite believe it. "I wasn't expecting this at all. I mean, they're really nice. They're actually really, really nice."
He'd pause, visibly trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with himself now that the gift had left him without his usual confidence. He'd probably make some awkward attempt at a joke about how he was apparently going to have to start returning the favor, only for his smile to soften again when he looked at the flowers.
"You know you've completely caught me off guard, right?" There'd be something almost boyishly pleased about the way he'd keep glancing between you and the bouquet, clearly touched despite trying to play it off.
Then, he'd give up on finding the perfect response altogether, shift the flowers carefully into one arm, and pull you into a warm hug with his free arm, keeping the bouquet safely out of the way. "Alright, fine. I love them. Thank you." The words would come out a little quieter than usual, accompanied by a genuine smile that would make it obvious he meant every bit of it.
What would make the whole thing even more amusing would be the reaction from the other Knights afterward. Lohen walking through the headquarters carrying a bouquet would already be unusual enough, but the fact that someone had apparently given the bouquet to him would have half the room staring before they could stop themselves.
He'd notice the looks almost immediately and glance around with a slightly irritated expression, realizing that people were trying very hard not to stare while simultaneously failing miserably.
He'd probably try to walk past as though nothing unusual were happening, only for someone to eventually glance at the bouquet and then at him with an expression that practically screamed Lohen? Flowers? Someone gave Lohen flowers? The attention would make the tips of his ears turn even redder, and he'd instinctively hold the bouquet a little closer while muttering something about everyone needing to mind their own business.
Later, when he saw you again, he'd probably bring up the whole spectacle with an embarrassed laugh, telling you how everyone had stared at him as though you'd handed him a priceless artifact instead of flowers. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from the other knights, am I?"
Despite all his joking complaints about being put on display, he'd make one thing very clear, he wouldn't trade the bouquet for anything.
"Not that it matters. It's still worth it. Especially since they're from you." As he said the last part, he'd glance toward you with a small, teasing smile, clearly noticing the way your expression immediately changed. The faintest flush in your face would be far too entertaining for him to ignore, and he'd hold your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, looking quietly pleased with himself.
He'd probably raise an eyebrow when you tried to hide your embarrassment, the corner of his mouth lifting further as though he'd just discovered an entirely new way to fluster you. "What?" he'd ask innocently, despite knowing perfectly well what he was doing. "I'm just saying the truth."
ââ ( đ. ) Childe would have a huge reaction because he's naturally generous himself, and in a relationship he'd probably be the one who was constantly buying things for you without making a big deal out of it.
With his position and wealth, bringing something home for you would be almost second nature to him, he'd pass through a market and see something that reminded him of you, pick it up, and present it later with that easy grin of his, or return from a trip with some little trinket, accessory, sweet, or souvenir he'd decided you'd like.
Because of that, he'd become so accustomed to being the giver that it genuinely wouldn't occur to him that you'd turn around and do the same for him. So when you suddenly held a bouquet out to him, he'd actually freeze for a moment.
His eyes would widen, his usual confident expression falling away into unmistakable surprise as he looked at the flowers, then at you, then back at the flowers again. "For me?" He'd laugh softly, almost disbelievingly, before taking them from your hands with both of his as though he needed to make absolutely certain they were really meant for him.
He'd probably adore something bright and lively like orange lilies, chrysanthemums, red carnations, or sunflowers, flowers with rich, warm colors that suit his energetic personality rather than something overly delicate.
He'd turn the bouquet around, inspecting the arrangement with an enormous grin, occasionally glancing at you as though the fact that you'd thought about giving him something was more surprising than the flowers themselves. "Well, well. Looks like someone's decided to spoil me for once." The teasing would come naturally, but there'd be a genuine softness underneath it that would betray how touched he was.
He'd probably ask where you got them, whether you chose them yourself, and what made you pick those particular flowers, listening with a strangely attentive expression as though every little detail made the gift more special. He'd even laugh at himself when he realized just how caught off guard he'd been. "You know, I'm usually the one doing this." He'd glance down at the bouquet again, his smile becoming smaller and more sincere. "I really wasn't expecting you to get me something."
The cuteness aggression would probably hit him hardest once he fully registered that you had gone out of your way to make him happy, rather than simply buying him something because you happened to be shopping. He'd stare at you for a few seconds with that bright, almost boyish grin, looking like he was fighting the overwhelming urge to do something about how adorable he suddenly found you.
He'd shift the bouquet into one hand, lean toward you, and press a warm kiss to your lips before pulling back with a laugh, his expression still impossibly pleased. "You really surprised me, you know?" He'd probably shake his head, looking at you like you had somehow managed to turn the tables on him without warning. "I'm starting to think I might've spoiled you too much!" Yet the joke wouldn't stop him from continuing to admire the flowers.
He'd keep them somewhere prominent afterward, making absolutely no effort to hide how proud he was that you'd given them to him, and he'd probably catch himself looking at them throughout the day with a stupidly fond smile.
At one point, he'd be sitting behind his desk with a stack of paperwork spread out in front of him, his cheek resting against one hand while his other arm lay folded across the table. He'd stare blankly at the documents for a few seconds before his attention inevitably drifted toward the bouquet sitting nearby.
His expression would soften almost instantly, his eyes lingering on the flowers with quiet admiration as he propped his chin more comfortably against his palm. The paperwork would be completely forgotten.
He'd just sit there looking at the bouquet, replaying the moment you'd handed it to him and remembering the expression on your face, a small, almost yearning smile slowly appearing as he thought about how much he genuinely loved the gift.
It would take someone entering the room or calling his name to pull him out of it, and he'd immediately straighten, glance back at his paperwork, and pretend he'd been concentrating the entire time.
He'd already be thinking about what he could bring you next, not because he believed he needed to repay the gift, but because giving things to you was one of the ways he naturally showed how much he cared, and now he had even more reason to spoil you.
But when the two of you were alone, he'd probably glance down at the bouquet and then back at you, his smile turning softer. "Seriously, though thank you. I... really love them." He'd pause, looking at you for another moment before that playful grin returned. "Although I think I like the person who gave them to me even more."
ââ ( đ. ) Wanderer would be one of the most visibly conflicted because receiving flowers is exactly the sort of openly sentimental gesture he'd have absolutely no idea how to handle. You'd hold the bouquet out toward him and he'd stare at it in silence for several seconds, his expression slowly shifting from confusion to suspicion as though he were trying to determine whether this was some elaborate joke you were playing on him.
His eyes would narrow slightly, and he'd glance from the flowers to your face before looking back at them again. "What is this?" Once you explained that you'd gotten them specifically for him, he'd go quiet for another moment, clearly caught off guard despite his best attempt to appear unimpressed.
He'd prefer something simple and understated, perhaps violets, lavender, forget-me-nots, or small blue flowers, rather than an enormous romantic arrangement, because something delicate and quietly beautiful would feel much more appropriate for him. He'd eventually take the bouquet with an awkward little click of his tongue, holding it rather stiffly at first as though he hadn't quite figured out where his hands were supposed to go.
"You bought me flowers?" The question would come out almost incredulously, and he'd immediately follow it with some dismissive remark about how impractical they were, how they'd wilt eventually, and how there was no reason to spend money on something temporary.
Yet the way he'd carefully adjust his grip so none of the stems were crushed would completely undermine his argument. He'd look down at the flowers again, studying the petals with quiet curiosity, and there'd be something almost strangely gentle in the way his fingertips occasionally brushed against a stem to straighten it.
When you told him you simply wanted to give him something, he'd avert his gaze almost immediately, the faintest warmth creeping across his cheeks. "You didn't have to do this." The words would sound dismissive, but there'd be considerably less bite behind them than usual.
He'd probably mutter something about you being strange when you smiled at him, yet he wouldn't hand the bouquet back. In fact, he'd hold onto it rather carefully, occasionally glancing down at it whenever he thought you weren't watching, as though he were still trying to understand why something so simple had managed to affect him this much.
What would really betray him, however, would be everything he did once the initial embarrassment passed. Wanderer would insist that the flowers were merely flowers, but he'd still find somewhere safe to keep them, making certain they weren't left somewhere they could be knocked over or damaged.
He'd probably choose a quiet corner and arrange them himself, pretending that he was only doing it because leaving them lying around was careless. Whenever you walked past, you'd catch him occasionally looking at them, his expression softening for just a moment before he'd realize you'd noticed and immediately look away.
"What are you staring at?" he'd mutter, despite being the one caught staring at the bouquet. He'd become strangely particular about their condition too, changing the water or adjusting the stems while insisting that he wasn't doing anything special.
Once the flowers began to wilt, he'd be reluctant to throw them away. You might suggest replacing them or simply letting them go, only for him to immediately look at you with a faint frown and pull the bouquet a little closer. "It's fine, I'll decide what to do with them later." When you pointed out that he obviously cared about them, his expression would tighten with embarrassment before he'd immediately become defensive. "I care because you gave them to me. Of course I wouldn't just throw them away like that." He'd say it as though that explanation somehow made the situation less sentimental, but he'd still keep the flowers.
Eventually, even after the petals had begun to fade, he'd probably preserve one of the smallest blooms somewhere private rather than admit he couldn't quite bring himself to discard something you'd chosen specifically for him.
Giving him flowers had been a strange choice of gift, really. Something so beautiful yet so temporary, destined to last only a fraction of his already long existence, and yet somehow their presence had become quietly ingrained into his mind. He'd find himself feeling strangely at ease whenever he caught sight of them, as though the little reminder of you sitting nearby had brought a sense of warmth and familiarity he hadn't realized he'd grown attached to.
Whenever he looked at it afterward, there'd be that same quiet softness in his expression, the kind he would never willingly let you see for too long, because acknowledging that your simple gift had made him genuinely happy would be far more embarrassing to him than receiving the flowers in the first place.
ââ ( đ. ) Varka would have one of the biggest and most openly delighted reactions because he's naturally affectionate and generous, and he's the sort of person who'd be much more accustomed to giving flowers than receiving them.
He'd probably have bought bouquets for other people countless times simply because he happened to see something pretty and thought it would brighten someone's day, so having you suddenly approach him with a bouquet specifically chosen for him would genuinely catch him off guard.
The moment he realized what you were holding, his entire expression would brighten, his eyebrows lifting before that broad, unmistakable grin spread across his face. "For me?" He'd laugh warmly, reaching out almost immediately to accept them, though he'd be careful with the stems once he had them in his hands.
He'd adore sunflowers, daisies, wildflowers, or a bright mixed bouquet, especially something that looked cheerful and natural rather than overly formal or meticulously arranged. He'd lift the flowers slightly, admiring them with genuine appreciation before looking back at you, his expression becoming even warmer when he realized you'd chosen them yourself.
"Well, aren't I lucky?" He'd probably turn the bouquet around a few times, pointing out individual flowers and asking where you'd found them, whether you'd picked them because you thought they'd suit him, and how long you'd been planning the surprise.
The moment you explained that you simply wanted to give him something nice, he'd let out another pleased laugh, clearly touched by how simple and sincere the gesture was. He'd pull you into a big, warm hug almost immediately, making sure to hold the bouquet safely away from you so he didn't crush it between you.
"You really caught me off guard with this one." He'd give you an affectionate squeeze before pulling back and looking at the flowers again with a ridiculous amount of pride, already acting as though you'd handed him something far more valuable than a bouquet.
Varka absolutely wouldn't be subtle about how pleased he was afterward, finding somewhere prominent in his office to place the bouquet where the flowers could catch the light and where he'd inevitably notice them throughout the day.
He'd be in the middle of looking through reports when Aether and Paimon happened to enter, only for Paimon's attention to immediately land on the flowers sitting beside his desk. Varka would notice their staring and immediately break into a proud grin, leaning back in his chair as though he'd been waiting for someone to ask.
"Ah, those? My lover gave them to me." He'd probably pick up the bouquet carefully, holding it between his hands while admiring the flowers with an almost ridiculously fond expression. "She chose them herself, too. Pretty, aren't they?" Even while talking about the arrangement, his gaze would soften as though the flowers had somehow become a reflection of you in his mind. He'd gently turn one of the stems between his fingers, smiling to himself. "She's got good taste. Though I suppose anything would look beautiful when she gives it to you." Paimon would inevitably tease him for being so openly smitten, but Varka would only laugh, completely unashamed. "What? Can't a man admire his lover's little gift?" He'd glance down at the bouquet again, his thumb brushing lightly over one of the petals as he continued admiring it. "She saw these and thought of me. That's what makes them special." His expression would become softer for a moment, his usual boisterous demeanor giving way to genuine tenderness. "You know, I think I could stare at them all day and still find myself thinking about her." Then, almost as an afterthought, he'd smile and shake his head. "Though now I'm wondering what I can do to make her feel just as lucky as I do."
He'd remember the gesture long after the flowers began to wilt. Rather than immediately replacing them with something equally sentimental, Varka's instinct would probably be to return the affection in his own way, making sure your favorite food was waiting for you after a long day, fixing something you'd mentioned was bothering you, saving you a comfortable place beside him during a gathering, or quietly taking care of some little task before you even had the chance to ask.
It would be his way of saying that he'd noticed the thought you put into the flowers and wanted you to feel that same thoughtfulness from him. And whenever he happened to glance at the bouquet afterward, he'd probably smile to himself, remembering the look on your face when you gave them to him.
"You know," he'd eventually remark with an amused grin, turning toward you while still holding one of the flowers carefully between his fingers, "I think you've spoiled me." He'd pause, his smile widening as he added, "Not that I'm complaining."
ââ ( đŠ. ) Mitya would probably be so completely absorbed in his work that your arrival would barely register as anything more than a familiar presence in the room.
He'd be sitting on the floor among an almost chaotic spread of books, loose papers, handwritten notes, diagrams, and half-finished calculations, one book propped open beside him while another rests across his lap, his attention moving between several different pages as he quietly pieced together whatever problem he's working on.
The moment you stepped into the room, he'd notice you from the corner of his eye, lifting his head just enough to offer you a gentle, distracted smile before returning to his notes. "Ah, you're here, come in." He'd probably shift a few papers aside with his foot to make space for you without ever seeming particularly bothered by the interruption, already accustomed to your presence being part of his little world of books and scattered research.
What he wouldn't notice, however, was the bouquet in your hands. You could stand there for a while, watching him work, before finally calling his name and asking him to look at you.
He'd blink and lift his head properly this time, his violet eyes settling on you before dropping to the flowers. His hand would stop halfway through reaching for another page, and for several seconds he'd simply stare.
The surprise wouldn't be dramatic, it would be quiet and genuine, his expression gradually softening as he realized what you were holding and why you were holding it.
The pen in his fingers would stop halfway through a movement, his eyes moving from the bouquet to your face and back again as though his mind needed a moment to understand what he was seeing. "Are thoseâŠ" He'd slowly straighten from his notes, looking genuinely bewildered. "For me?"
Once you nodded, a small, bewildered smile would appear, and he'd carefully set his notes aside, standing up in front of you before accepting the flowers from you. "Sorry, I was so focused on all of this that I didn't even notice you were carrying them." He'd glance down at the bouquet again, turning it slightly in his hands with genuine curiosity, before looking back at you with that gentle, almost dreamy expression. "Where did you get them?"
The answer would initially make him smile, especially when he realized you'd gone out of your way to find flowers specifically for him, but that warmth would quickly become tempered by concern once he learned you'd traveled outside the city to pick them yourself.
His eyes would immediately lift from the bouquet to you, his expression becoming more serious as he quietly asked how far you'd gone and whether you'd been alone. The more details you gave him, the more obvious it would become that he was trying not to fuss while simultaneously worrying about every possible thing that could have happened along the way.
"You went outside the city for these?" He'd probably let out a small sigh and shake his head, gently scolding you while still holding the bouquet as carefully as though it were something precious. "You shouldn't go that far on your own just to pick flowers, especially when it's cold out there without the torch. You could've gotten hurt."
There wouldn't be any real anger behind it, only the kind of gentle concern that made it obvious he'd much rather have had you come to him safely than risk yourself for something as simple as a bouquet.
Even while he was worrying, though, his gaze would keep returning to the flowers, and eventually his expression would soften again. He'd carefully adjust the stems so they wouldn't bend, then give you a quiet, genuinely grateful smile. "Still... thank you. They're very beautiful."
He'd pause before adding, almost as though admitting it made the sentiment feel more real, "And knowing you went all that way to find them for me makes them even more special." Afterward, he'd make sure the bouquet had a proper place beside his work rather than leaving it somewhere among the papers, carefully moving his books aside to make room for it.
His attention would inevitably drift toward the flowers every so often while he worked, and whenever his eyes met yours afterward, there'd be that same soft smile waiting for you, accompanied by the faintest hint of concern whenever he remembered that you'd gone beyond the city walls just to bring them to him.
ââ ( đ. ) Wriothesley would stare at the bouquet for a moment before looking at you with an amused, slightly incredulous expression, especially because he's far more accustomed to being the one making sure you're taken care of than receiving overtly romantic gifts himself.
You'd hold the flowers out to him and he'd raise an eyebrow, looking between you and the bouquet as though he were trying to determine what had prompted this sudden change in routine. "Well, this is new."
He'd eventually take them from you with one hand, lifting the arrangement slightly while inspecting it with a quiet laugh. Dark red roses, chrysanthemums, and sturdy wildflowers, something elegant but not excessively delicate, with a little character to it.
He'd turn the bouquet around, examining the flowers with a thoughtful expression before glancing back at you with that familiar crooked smile. "Didn't know you were trying to make me sentimental." The teasing would be effortless, but the way he'd carefully handle the stems would reveal that he was taking the gift much more seriously than he was letting on. He'd probably lift the bouquet slightly, inspecting the arrangement again before asking whether you'd chosen them yourself, and the moment you confirmed that you had, his expression would soften just a little more. There'd be a quiet pause where he'd look at the flowers, then at you, as though the thought of you deliberately picking something out for him had caught him more off guard than the gift itself. He'd give you that knowing half-smile before leaning in and pressing a brief, warm kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make you smile before pulling away. "Thank you, sweetheart. They're lovely."
He'd find a proper vase for them himself, trimming the stems and arranging them so they wouldn't be crushed or forgotten among the paperwork, all while pretending this was simply the sensible thing to do. Still, he'd make sure the bouquet ended up somewhere he could easily see it from his desk.
Once the flowers were settled in his office, Wriothesley would become surprisingly protective of them. Anyone at the Fortress who came too close would receive a pointed look, especially if they seemed remotely tempted to touch them, and he'd make it perfectly clear that nobody was to mess with the bouquet.
The amusing part would be that he wouldn't actually act embarrassed about keeping them there. He'd simply carry on with his work, occasionally glancing toward the flowers between documents and meetings, his expression softening whenever he remembered that you'd chosen them specifically for him.
You'd probably catch him doing it eventually, and he'd immediately lean back in his chair with an innocent half-smile as though he'd been caught doing nothing unusual. "What? I like them." When you teased him about being sentimental, he'd give you that knowing look and lightly tap the edge of the desk.
"You gave them to me. I'm not throwing them out." And because Wriothesley's affection tends to be practical rather than overly demonstrative, he'd probably repay the gesture in his own quiet way afterward, making sure your favorite meal was prepared, taking some troublesome task off your hands, or deliberately setting aside time to sit with you when he knew you'd been busy.
The bouquet would remain in his office as a quiet reminder of you, something he'd never make a grand announcement about but would never willingly get rid of either. Long after the initial surprise had passed, he'd still occasionally glance over at the flowers with a faint smile, before returning to his paperwork as though they hadn't just become the most pleasant distraction in the entire Fortress.
ââ ( đ. ) Venti would probably have one of the most openly delighted reactions because he absolutely adores little expressions of affection, especially something as sweet and old-fashioned as a bouquet of flowers.
The moment you held them out to him, his eyes would light up and he'd lean forward with genuine surprise, his usual carefree expression immediately brightening into an enormous grin. "Oh? Are those for me?" He'd accept them with both hands, almost reverently at first, holding the bouquet close to his chest while looking from the flowers to you with such sincere delight that there'd be absolutely no mistaking how happy he'd become.
He'd adore the flowers you picked; windwheel asters, Cecilias, and a colorful collection of wildflowers, especially flowers that felt as though they'd been gathered freely from the countryside rather than carefully arranged into something excessively formal.
The little differences between each flower would immediately catch his attention, he'd turn the bouquet slowly in his hands, admiring the colors and gently separating a few of the stems to get a better look at the smaller blossoms tucked between them.
Every now and then he'd lift one closer to his face, taking in its scent before looking back at you with that bright, mischievous smile. "You picked these for me? How sweet of you!"
The realization that you'd specifically thought of him while choosing them would make his reaction even bigger, and he'd probably look at you for a moment afterward with an expression that was almost ridiculously fond, as though he were trying to memorize the sight of you standing there with the flowers you'd chosen for him.
He'd continue admiring them while walking beside you, occasionally holding the bouquet up between you both and pointing out whichever flower had caught his attention.
He'd tease you about how you'd managed to make the wandering bard feel like the luckiest man in Mondstadt, dramatically pressing the bouquet against his chest as though you'd just handed him some priceless treasure. He'd probably smell the flowers with an exaggeratedly contented sigh, then look at you over the top of them with a playful grin.
"Ahh, what a thoughtful lover I have." Rather than putting them down immediately, he'd carry them around with him for a while, proudly showing them off whenever someone happened to pass by, and he'd absolutely have no shame about telling them that you gave them to him.
If you caught him being particularly pleased with himself, he'd simply laugh and insist that he was allowed to be proud when his lover had given him such a beautiful gift.
He'd become even more playful once he noticed how happy his reaction was making you. He'd choose one of the smaller flowers from the bouquet, carefully tuck it into his hat beside his feather, and then turn toward you with an expectant little smile as though waiting for you to admire his new decoration. "Well? How do I look?" He'd already know the answer, of course, and he'd probably laugh when you told him it suited him, reaching over to lightly bump his shoulder against yours. He might even keep the flower there for the rest of the day, treating it like a tiny personal treasure simply because it came from you. At some point, he'd pluck one of the smaller wildflowers from the arrangement with exaggerated care, twirling it between his fingers before suddenly leaning toward you and tucking it somewhere near your hair. He'd pull back to admire his handiwork, his grin widening when he saw your reaction. "There! Now we're matching." He'd laugh at his own little idea before returning the flower to the bouquet, treating the entire thing like a wonderful excuse to be playful with you.
Later, he'd find somewhere safe to keep the rest of the bouquet, either beside his lyre or in a little vase near wherever he happened to settle down, making sure the flowers had enough water before wandering off to do something else. Yet he'd inevitably keep returning to them.
He might be halfway through tuning his lyre, stop when his eyes fall upon the bouquet, and smile quietly to himself before continuing. The flowers would become associated with you almost immediately, not because they're particularly rare or valuable, but because you'd looked at something beautiful and thought of him.
He'd probably tell you that sentiment matters much more than the flowers themselves, then lean closer with that familiar teasing smile and add, "Though I certainly won't complain if you decide to make a habit of spoiling me hehe." And judging by the way he'd keep one of the flowers tucked safely in his hat and the rest displayed somewhere he could see them, he'd be enjoying the gift far more than he'd ever let you forget.
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