Going flower picking with Sebek, Vil, and Rook, seperately please, headcanons or just a drabble is fine! gn reader :3
Flower-Picking the Heart
Characters; Sebek Zigvolt, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Rollo Flamme
Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings
Word Count; 1.4 K (headcanon format)
Author's Note; I included Rollo since you mentioned that you also wanted to include him. I included some of the symbolism behind the flowers, but may miss some; so do be mindful of that! Also deviated a bit, but still stayed on prompt!
Do not put my work into AI.
If you would like to read more of my work, please see my masterlist
Sebek Zigvolt
Sebek was standing by your side in the flower garden; this was supposed to be a relaxed day with no duties or responsibilities demanding your attention. Yet, his back was as straight as ever as the both of you slowly made your way through the botanical garden.
You nudged him in the arm, trying to get his attention, only to garner him giving you the side eye and letting out a quiet grunt.
“Hey, you were the one that wanted to come to the botanical garden,” you offer, giving him your own side eye to rival the one he was sending you.
Sebek sighed, silently questioning why Lilia recommended the garden as a hang-out spot (no, it wasn’t a date as Lilia taunted, that’s what Sebek told himself anyway).
“I don’t need to explain myself,” he said in a clipped tone, but he was eyeing the floral displays.
For today they could pick a single bloom, and he was set on getting the best flower for the dorm; a rose that could belong back at the queen’s rose garden! That’s what Sebek had originally thought he was going to do.
That was until you went over to one of the displays and plucked a flower, and gave it to him with an expectant look.
“What is this for,” he nearly shouted, paying mind to control his voice since others were also attending the showcase and he didn’t want to bring prying eyes to this situation.
You tucked a bright blue bloom into his chest pocket, a bright, cheery, contrast against the black of his jacket. A single morning glory blossom.
You hummed, “No reason. It just spoke to me is all.”
A simple honest answer. But why did it cause his ears to burn?
A favour. I cannot owe them a favour for this! So he did the same, looking among the vast amount of blooms until he chose a pale pink peony, shoving it into your hands.
You eyed the flower, and put it into your chest pocket, to match with him. “Alright then, where to now?” Where will we go? Will we continue in this or will we grow into something else?
Flower Language
- Morning glory; willful promise, affection
- Peony; bravery, bashful, happy life, shame
Vil Schoenheit
Vil had received flowers countless times before, so many times that he had honestly lost count. He was also versed in both flower and overall plant toxicology, but also flower language itself.
This flower-picking trip was originally supposed to be for him to restock for both the school (since Professor Crewel trusted him) and his own stock for potions.
And you just so happened to be there, giving him a small wave from where you were collecting your own flowers.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Vil offered, walking over to where you were. “Hard at work I see.”
Vil took note of the flowers in your basket, as well as the dirt on your hands; it was charming. Daffodils and pansies? That’s odd, I didn’t take them as the sort to make poison… Hopefully, they do remember that daffodils are toxic and pansies are fine—
“Good to see you too,” you chirped, dusting off your hands from the dry dirt. You took note of his own basket and patted the ground next to you. “Come on then, join me.”
Vil looked at you and without much thought or other prompting, he knelt beside you in the sea of yellow daffodils. “What are you planning to do with those,” he asked, gently clipping a yellow bloom from its stalk.
You paused, a white flower in your hand. “I was going to give them to someone special to me,” you said quietly, deciding to be honest.
“Hm, you must hold this person in high regard then,” Vil eyed you curiously since the long stalks of the daffodils looked quite awkward next to the pansies. “Respect, regard, unequalled love,” he said, holding a daffodil. “Thoughtful and caring,” he looked at the pansies, before looking to you.
“I do, and he is,” you answered, hoping that he hadn’t caught on to your little plan.
Well, he didn’t until he came back to the dorm to find the flowers in a vase. For Vil; I suppose you already know what these mean. And he did.
Flower Language
- Daffodil; respect, regard, unequalled love
- Pansy; thoughtful, caring
Rook Hunt
“Rook, where exactly are you taking me,” you asked him, facing in his direction (or at least you hoped you were facing his direction since he had handed you a blindfold to “make the surprise be meaningful”).
Rook just gave you the answer he had given you the entire way, “You’ll see soon, Trickster.”
Eventually, the two of you did stop and Rook took off the blindfold.
Flowers, flowers everywhere. Of every shape and colour. They were blooming everywhere.
You were silent for a few moments, just taking everything in. The slight irritation that you were blindfolded slipped to the back of your brain (you could be annoyed with him later) and you watched hummingbirds and fat bees flit from flower to flower.
“What do you think,” Rook asked you quietly, not wanting to break the spell you seemed to be under.
You looked back at him, and a breathy chuckle left your lips. “What do I think? It’s stunning,” you say in awe.
Rook smiled brightly; either at your reaction or that he was correct in that he thought you would enjoy this.
He didn’t say anything though, and just watched you go about the flower field. Even though he wanted to say so many things, he found that he was for once, speechless.
Looking down for a moment something caught his eye; violets. Next to the gardenias, most would not pay them much mind; but Rook gently plucked a few, alongside a gardenia.
“Rook!” Your shouting snapped him out of his own thoughts, and he looked up. “Am I allowed to pick some?”
He blinked before regaining his usual cheery mask. “Oui, but only a few.”
He eyed the flowers he held in his hands before ultimately setting them back down. For although they spoke the truth, Rook wasn’t yet ready to lay his heart bare; not yet.
Flower Language
- Gardenia; you're lovely, secret love
- Violet; honesty, watchfulness, modesty, faithfulness
Rollo Flamme
Rollo hated that he could feel his heart beat like a bird trying to escape a cage, yet he found himself next to you again, the very person who caused the anomaly; like a moth to flame.
You were taking a path on the outskirts of the city, silent. And while Rollo was often used to the quiet, it only heightened his nerves, causing his heart to beat faster.
“Why did you invite me along,” you asked, breaking the silence.
Rollo faltered in his step before regaining his composure. “While the city is our main attraction, I do find the quiet walkways to be more enjoyable.”
You hummed, eyeing one of the numerous hydrangea bushes that lined the walkway, separating it from a lavender field. “It is rather nice, thank you. Although you can stop your sales pitch on your city.”
Rollo blinked at you, brow slightly furrowed. “Sales pitch?”
“Yeah, like selling all the good points? … Damn, I’ve been spending too much time around some people, sorry.” You felt embarrassed, that you had distrusted him when he was most likely just being proud of his city.
“Hmm,” was all he said, moving along. The silence returned, as Rollo was not the type to make simple small talk or force a conversation where one wasn’t needed.
“Pft,” your sudden outburst of near-silent laughter caught his attention and he stopped, turning to you with a curious look.
“What seems to be funny?” He meant it in a genuine manner, but you just started laughing more which only made him more perplexed. Perhaps the fresh air can do you some harm?
You got a hold of yourself, eyes watering from the wind and your little chuckle fest. “Fleur City, your city is literally flower city, and look what we’re surrounded by; flowers.”
Rollo looked at the flowers and then at you. “It is a bit on the nose, I guess.”
You plucked a hydrangea cluster from the nearest bush and tucked it behind his ear. “But it’s fitting nonetheless.”
If his heart was beating fast before, now his face was sure to be red, and not from the brisk breeze.
Flower Language
- Hydrangea; pride, gratitude for being understood, frigidity and heartlessness
- Lavender; faithful, distrust
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couple of small thoughts about the narnia boys cuz it's wintertime and I need to make up for the depressing lack of snow here so-
Moon calls you jackalope and nightingale, as well as stardust, nightlight, doll, lamb, magpie, and cricket.
Sun calls you his Angel for the most part, though he occasionally refers to you as Tesoro or something else related to light and treasure.)
After a couple more meetings with Sun, you decide to do something that you've wanted to ever since you set foot in Narnia. Soft, powdery snow with little glints of light are just begging you to do what such a cold blanket is best for: snow angels.
Sun is absolutely confused when you randomly fall on your back into the snow. At first he thinks something's wrong and you got hurt and had he hurt you, oh you were so fragile he knew he shouldn't have let you out of the cave-
But then you laugh and smile so brightly that it overtakes all the shadows and it's all okay again. You explain to him that you're sorry, you didn't mean to startle him, the snow was just so soft and you couldn't resist, and when he asks what on earth your talking about, you stare at him blankly, and for a moment he thinks he did actually break you until you grab him by the hand and yank him down into the snow. He takes a moment to register the fact that he's on the ground, turning to you in surprise that dies on his tongue as you toss him another dazzling smile and explain that these are snow angels, and it's legally obligatory to make them whenever it snows like this, and did he really not know about this, how come he hasn't tried it before?
He just shrugs and lets you push him back down and show him how to make snow angels, prattling on and on about all the fun things you could do, and how maybe next time you could bring something you called a 'sled' (what that is he isn't sure, but you had spoken of riding it...perhaps a horse of some sort? No, no, horses were few and far between nowadays, all of the centaurs had rushed off before Afton's rise to power, and there was no way you could manage to reign such a beast in through the snow and your War-drobe...), and he lays beside you, watching in awe and fascination at the simple purity you possess, turning something as cold and cruel as this eternal frost and winter into a miraculous wonderland. How precious you were. How lucky he is, to have such a wonderful treasure such as you, sweet and bright and warm, a true angel in the snow just for him.
You run into Moon not a few days later, greeting him with the wave of a hand as he hangs off the lamppost curiously, offering no acknowledgment aside from a slight tilt of the hand and a jingle of his faded cap.
He accompanies you on your walk as always, listening to you ramble on about your dwelling and boxes you had to sift through in your garage (his ears twitch at this, but he says nothing, spending a short amount of time attempting to figure out what that is before giving up) for a 'sled' to help Sun with something. He makes an attempt to try to formulate the words to ask about how Sun is doing before you spring up with a surprised 'Oh!' and a new light in your eyes, and soon enough you're dragging him along the path with a bright determination.
He can't get over how small your hand is in his.
You lead him over to a little clearing, dropping to your knees and grabbing handfuls of snow before packing them into a rough ball and patting it down with more. The snow is less fluffy now, more compact and easy to shape. It clings to the wool of your gloves, but you're to wrapped up in the mission to notice that, or the fact that you haven't even explained to Moon what on earth you're doing.
You turn around after realizing he's just been standing there and proceed to simply state that you're building a 'snowman', which only seems to confuse him further. How can a man be made of snow? He's seen men of stone, dozens of them, hundreds, even, but never a man of snow.
You decide he's due for a proper education on snow's true purpose.
You rummage around in your pockets for some magically placed coal lumps or a carrot. You scrounge up a piece of charcoal (why is that in there anyways?) and a button, adding Moon's scarf and cap after begging him to hand them over (he learns then and there that he unfortunately can't say no to you) before proudly admiring your work. A stick takes the place of a carrot (apparently Moon didn't grow those in his garden, because at your remark he had tilted his head and squinted slightly, remaining silent as you sighed and moved on), with two branches for arms on either side.
Moon stands beside you, staring at the man of snow. It sits there with its arms spread out in a gesture of embrace, a wide smile of little pebbles planted on its face as it beams up at him. He has never seen a statue of this sort before, and in spite of its frigid material, it somehow manages to convey a feeling of sweet warmth and innocence, the like of which he hasn’t known since he met…you.
Perhaps the reason this creation has such a heart-melting presence is because you were the one to make it. How sweet you were, proudly grinning at the feat of something so simple. How easy you were to please and excite, how little it took to make you happy. A delicate thing like you, no doubt, was the only one who could take pleasure in such a simple act of a man of snow, who could appreciate a cold, lifeless being and let its existence touch your heart.
And then you turn and smile at him-him!- and thank him for his help, and he wants to tell you that he’ll do anything to see you smile like that, anything to have your warm hand tucked in his as you share this tender moment with him, but all he can manage is a small quirk of the lips and a nod.
That’s all it takes for you to laugh and grin harder, snatching his hat off the snowman and leaving its head bare as you take your prized possessions and run off. You need not wait for him for but a moment before he’s right at your heels again as you assure him that you’ll return it once you fix it up for him.
He wishes he could thank you in more ways than one.
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