My Love, Mine All Mine.

𐙚 my love, mine all mine.

— some headcanons about certain things the hsr men would do while in a relationship.

— warnings: none

— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners. this is lowkey dedicated to the stellaronhvnters <3

𐙚  AVENTURINE 

would always accompany you on your spontaneous night drives around pier point. before you can even leave your room to drag aventurine to his car, he’s already leaning on your doorframe, his car keys in hand as he flashes you a smile; not the gambler like smile he shows to his enemies but a child-like one filled with uncontained excitement and wonder. 

its half past midnight and your both in your pajamas (he insisted that you both wear matching ones) as he rolls down the roof of his very expensive car to let the wind flow with your hair. your phone connected to the speakers as you blasted your shared playlist. loud enough to satisfy your needs to have a mini carpool karaoke session but quiet enough you won’t disturb any civilians trying to sleep the night away.

aventurine shakes his head in fondness and amusement when you scold him as he skipped a song he didn’t particularly like. the pout on your lips would soon fade as he reached to pull you by the chin and give you a peck on the lips. your nagging turned into panic as you hit him in the arms for not keeping his eyes on the road.

𐙚 VERITAS RATIO

always comes home exhausted. even in his tired and slightly dazed state, he always comes home at exactly 7 pm and each time his arms wouldn’t fail to snake around your waist and his lips press a soft kiss on your neck in greeting.

when you ask about his day, the doctor just grumbles and complains about his students. but you knew deep down he was proud of them after they finally managed to solve this one particular problem he gave them without his help. they’ve been making fast progress, he once stated, making a smile bloom on your face when he checks their papers.

you chuckle under your breath as ratio continues to chatter away about his students' progress. your back flushed into his sturdy chest while arms kept a steady hold of you – tight enough that you could feel his muscles but still be able to move around the kitchen. a melody starts to fall from your lips as you hummed and swayed, and ratio follows with his own humming as you both start a pseudo dance in the middle of making dinner.

𐙚 BOOTHILL

date nights with boothill usually consisted of going bar hopping and hiding away in a dark alley as the IPC passed by. you’ve grown fond of the excitement as your lover drags you out the bar with officers high on your tails. it never fails to rip out an uncharacteristic laugh from you and cherry grin from him.

tonight was a lot tamer than other nights. sitting in a bar counter, a cup of whiskey boothill had asked you to hold while he gets another bounty for the both of you. he knows you wouldn’t take a single sip of his drink, your alcohol tolerance was nonexistent he says making you roll your eyes. your peaceful night was disturbed when a new face popped out from seemingly nowhere, taking the seat your lover once occupied as the man tried to buy you a drink

boothill always had impeccable timing. just as the man was about to take a hold of your – his – glass, a cold arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. you try to look up but a familiar hat was instead placed over your eyes as the glass in your hand was taken. the liquid disappeared in a flash as boothill downs it in one go. just to prove his point, he gingerly lifts his hat over your face and press a kiss at the corner of your lips, making it known to the man that you were with him.

𐙚 SUNDAY

not many would believe you if you told them the stories of how easily flustered the head of the oak family. everyone would picture him as a full package gentleman – opening doors for you, pulling back your seat, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, etc. – but what they don’t know is that, in your relationship, the one being worshiped wasn’t you.

without a doubt, you were the one who always opened the door to his office for him, offering to carry his things even if he protested, even going to one knee to tie the laces of his shoes. sunday was always in competition when it came to being a gentleman and he always loses to you every time. and he doesn’t make any effort to make you stop despite his embarrassment; one drag of your knuckles under his eyes when he’s overworked and tired and he’s putty in your hands.

how could he resist your pampering when you always take off his gloves when it's just you two in his office, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles and whispering sweet nothings to him. admiring the writing calluses on his right hand as you talk about your day. 

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

— losing dog. ft. gallagher

— warnings: angst (still LMAOO), mentions of using cigarettes

— author's note: little miss loves to write angst lol enjoy :3

siobhan’s bar is as lively as ever. her mixing drinks as the flashing lights never ceased. she made conversation with customers like how a fallen leaf would cascade down a stream – graceful and effortless.

you’re snapped out of your stupor when the strange combination of tobacco and sweet candy invaded your senses. you could sense him just by the way his feet struck the ground. like how lightning would strike down a poor tree in its rage; you would recognize even in his ugliest form and still call him beautiful.

“fancy seeing you here, [name].” his voice was as suave as ever. a cheeky and teasing smile as he took the seat beside you. “you haven’t been drinking without me, have you?” you only shook your head in amusement. siobhan had noticed his presence and quickly excused herself to attend to him.

“what drink will you order tonight boss?” she pressed a firm hand on her hip as gallagher stroked his chin in contemplation. he snapped his finger and leaned over the counter, “i’ll have a rouge era for tonight.” siobhan nodded and went straight to work leaving the two of you behind.

from the corner of your eye, you see gallagher take out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. noticing your stare, he gazed at you with a lazy smile and offered you a smoke. you gingerly took one from the freshly opened box and waited for him to hand over his lighter, but he never did.

“are you not going to let me light it?” you ask him but he only chuckled, tucking away the lighter back in his pocket. 

your eyes widened when his arm snaked behind your head and pushed it towards his. you let out a noise that was a mixture between a protest and squeak that made gallagher chuckle. he held his cigar steady his hands as he lit up yours with his own. a stream of smoke rises into the air and when yours has been lit, he casually let go of his hold on you and leaned back on his chair.

“there,” he said without a care in the world. “now it's lit.”

you take a big inhale of your cigar. the burning feeling of smoke entering your system as you exhaled deeply with a shake of your head. taking your drink that’s been sitting on the counter for too long, you take a ginger sip as you peaked at gallagher who was already looking at you.

after his drink was made, siobhan left the two of you alone. she probably noticed the tense air that sat on your shoulders so she wanted to give you two some space.

gallagher doesn’t like the silence that sat with the two of you so he took it upon himself to chatter away; talking about the sweet dream’s specialty then it was the history of syrups and soulglad. then he spoke of the secret on how to match a drink’s aroma and flavor to its drinker’s personality perfectly. 

you don’t know how long he had chartered away but it must have been a long while because siobhan is now handing him the keys to her bar as the last customers finally got up to leave. the cigar you’ve been smoking has been long finished and has been laying limplessly in your fingers as siobhan bid you two good night.

“for someone who loves to prattle about deep relationships with drinks and its drinker,” you say swishing your drink in its cup, “you don’t really make an effort to keep the relationships you make stay afloat, do you, officer?”

you needn’t explain further on what you meant. if you could recognize gallagher with the way his feet struck the ground, then he could as well. gallagher could recognize you even when blind. the way you only clink the rims of your cups together in cheers, or when you hold a cigarette in between your middle and ring finger. gallagher could recognize you even in death because you bring him to life.

“i already said sorry, didn’t i?” he knew sorry wasn’t enough but he didn’t want the mood to plummet down even further so tried to chuckle it away. “what? should i get on one knee and beg for your forgiveness now?”

maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say so he sighed deeply when you remained strained on your drink. he stood up from his seat and took hold of yours. strong arms caging you in your chair as you finally looked at him behind your bangs.

“i really am sorry, [name].”

you know he meant it. you just didn’t want to accept it.

a bitter chuckle left your lips as you cup his face with the hand that held your already used cigar. like a dog, gallagher nuzzled the side of his face into your palm, his stubble pricking your hand but it didn’t bother you. his hand came to hold yours as he pressed a kiss on your wrist – right where your pulse would be.

“i wish we could stay like this forever.” you say above whisper as you let gallagher kiss up your arm until you could his warm breath on your ear. “the streets are scary when it's night time.” 

you felt your hand slip from his face and lay limp at your side but gallagher’s own gloved hand came to hold yours in a vice grip. despite the cloth being a barrier you felt his coldness spread throughout your palm.

“don’t worry,” you felt something slip in your finger as gallagher pulled away. he gave you another cheeky smile, “i’m your guard dog aren’t i?”

you turned off all the lights and locked siobhan’s bar. double and triple checking to make sure everything was in place. shoving the keys in your coat pocket, you speed walk down the dimly lit streets, trying to keep your paranoia at bay. 

you look up at the sky remembering the story you told a pesky little dog in one of your visits. 

a man blessed by the gods would traverse the depths of hell for the return of his beloved. all he needed to do was to never look back as he held her hand. 

“would you look back?” the dog asks you. “if he didn’t look back, it would mean he loved her less, wouldn’t it?”

you laughed at the dog for his answer. but when the same fateful day comes to you, you can’t help but frown, because the dog was right.

“no one can change the ending of their story,” it never rains in the dreamscapes, it is a perfect paradise after all, but strangely enough you felt the ghost of raindrops fall on your coat and soak through your clothes like tears. “orpheus will always turn to look back at eurydice; to love is to turn around. there is no other version where orpheus doesn’t.”

and so you did. you turned to look back at the dog who lazily leaned at one of the walls as he waved you goodbye. you’ve betted on a losing dog, but you didn’t regret it; not one bit, not when that same dog got on one knee the other day with a ring pop in hand and slipped it on your finger. and that same dog who lazily waved goodbye was the same dog who slipped an actual ring on your finger a couple hours ago.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

HII I just wanna drop by and say I love the way you write🫶🫶🥹

helloooo thank you darling im glad you're enjoying!!

𐙚 my love, mine all mine.

— some headcanons about certain things the hsr men would do while in a relationship.

— warnings: none

— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners. this is lowkey dedicated to the stellaronhvnters <3

𐙚  AVENTURINE 

would always accompany you on your spontaneous night drives around pier point. before you can even leave your room to drag aventurine to his car, he’s already leaning on your doorframe, his car keys in hand as he flashes you a smile; not the gambler like smile he shows to his enemies but a child-like one filled with uncontained excitement and wonder. 

its half past midnight and your both in your pajamas (he insisted that you both wear matching ones) as he rolls down the roof of his very expensive car to let the wind flow with your hair. your phone connected to the speakers as you blasted your shared playlist. loud enough to satisfy your needs to have a mini carpool karaoke session but quiet enough you won’t disturb any civilians trying to sleep the night away.

aventurine shakes his head in fondness and amusement when you scold him as he skipped a song he didn’t particularly like. the pout on your lips would soon fade as he reached to pull you by the chin and give you a peck on the lips. your nagging turned into panic as you hit him in the arms for not keeping his eyes on the road.

𐙚 VERITAS RATIO

always comes home exhausted. even in his tired and slightly dazed state, he always comes home at exactly 7 pm and each time his arms wouldn’t fail to snake around your waist and his lips press a soft kiss on your neck in greeting.

when you ask about his day, the doctor just grumbles and complains about his students. but you knew deep down he was proud of them after they finally managed to solve this one particular problem he gave them without his help. they’ve been making fast progress, he once stated, making a smile bloom on your face when he checks their papers.

you chuckle under your breath as ratio continues to chatter away about his students' progress. your back flushed into his sturdy chest while arms kept a steady hold of you – tight enough that you could feel his muscles but still be able to move around the kitchen. a melody starts to fall from your lips as you hummed and swayed, and ratio follows with his own humming as you both start a pseudo dance in the middle of making dinner.

𐙚 BOOTHILL

date nights with boothill usually consisted of going bar hopping and hiding away in a dark alley as the IPC passed by. you’ve grown fond of the excitement as your lover drags you out the bar with officers high on your tails. it never fails to rip out an uncharacteristic laugh from you and cherry grin from him.

tonight was a lot tamer than other nights. sitting in a bar counter, a cup of whiskey boothill had asked you to hold while he gets another bounty for the both of you. he knows you wouldn’t take a single sip of his drink, your alcohol tolerance was nonexistent he says making you roll your eyes. your peaceful night was disturbed when a new face popped out from seemingly nowhere, taking the seat your lover once occupied as the man tried to buy you a drink

boothill always had impeccable timing. just as the man was about to take a hold of your – his – glass, a cold arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. you try to look up but a familiar hat was instead placed over your eyes as the glass in your hand was taken. the liquid disappeared in a flash as boothill downs it in one go. just to prove his point, he gingerly lifts his hat over your face and press a kiss at the corner of your lips, making it known to the man that you were with him.

𐙚 SUNDAY

not many would believe you if you told them the stories of how easily flustered the head of the oak family. everyone would picture him as a full package gentleman – opening doors for you, pulling back your seat, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, etc. – but what they don’t know is that, in your relationship, the one being worshiped wasn’t you.

without a doubt, you were the one who always opened the door to his office for him, offering to carry his things even if he protested, even going to one knee to tie the laces of his shoes. sunday was always in competition when it came to being a gentleman and he always loses to you every time. and he doesn’t make any effort to make you stop despite his embarrassment; one drag of your knuckles under his eyes when he’s overworked and tired and he’s putty in your hands.

how could he resist your pampering when you always take off his gloves when it's just you two in his office, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles and whispering sweet nothings to him. admiring the writing calluses on his right hand as you talk about your day. 

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

i found my people (people i can yap to about my ocs and shit)

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: you've never told sunday you loved him, but you never had to. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 787 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: vague spoilers for 2.2, mild angst (sunday hates himself lmao) ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: i remembered some random hc that halovians are sensitive to emotions and i woke up in a cold sweat idk if its canon but i like it. anyways happy sunday guys <3 ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Halovians are the prized jewels of the universe, beloved and admired by many for their elegance, beauty, and elusiveness. But as Sunday’s come to learn, being one of the revered beings isn’t what it’s made out to be.

His halo tingles, little buzzes of electricity shooting across the metal ring and flowing directly into his brain. Sunday flinches at the feeling, although it's hardly noticeable - just a little jump of the shoulders, surprise flashing over his face for a millisecond.

Then comes heat - scorching, smoldering heat that floods over him, embracing and smothering him in its intensity. Instinctively his wings move to cool him down, but the heat is all in his head - physically, he’s fine. But it’s the implication, the knowledge of just what this feeling is that sets his face ablaze.

Ever since he was but a young child, he’d discovered quickly that he could sense the emotions of those around him as if they were his own. Humans were always wearing false faces, putting up a front, but he could always see beyond the mask.

But it was overwhelming - to put it mildly - to be under this constant onslaught of clashing emotions, so eventually, he learned to tune them out, to ignore the waves that his halo received.

And yet, despite all of those years spent learning to block out the emotions of others, here he is, fighting with all his strength to not melt down into a flustered puddle as he walks by your side.

There’s no one else in the Dewlight Pavilion’s garden, so he has no doubt about it - it’s you who’s sending these… feelings his way, and that realization does little to help with his predicament - he’d even say it makes it worse. But Sunday wouldn’t be where he is if he wasn’t able to keep a straight face despite it all.

But he does wonder, how are you doing it? See, Sunday has the excuse of being trained and raised for his role in politics. But you? How could you act so casual, so unbothered, and treat him like any other despite how strongly you… love him?

It breaks a part of his mind just to admit it, but he doesn’t know what else to call it. The warmth that emits from you is the same as that that radiates off of the newly wed couples that come to Penacony for their honeymoon, except you don’t know whether or not your love is reciprocated, nor have you ever considered to ask.

A part of him wishes that you would.

“Sunday?”

He blinks back to reality. You’re smiling up at him, and the pure adoration that exudes from you has his knees weak and his heart jumping. He feels like he’s choking, his breath is caught in his throat and there’s a heavy weight on his chest - but he only smiles reassuringly at you.

“Yes?” he asks softly, taking great care to keep his voice even.

“Are you alright? You seem a little…” You trail off, not sure how to word it. “…off.”

The corner of Sunday’s lip twitches. “Off is… certainly a way to say it.”

Your brows crease further in worry, and he can’t help but laugh good-naturedly.

“Please, don’t worry yourself.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I am fine, but I’m grateful for your concern.”

“Are you sure?” you insist. Sunday smiles warmly.

He feels how much you care for him, how much you wish for him to be happy, to have the most wonderful things. But he can't help but wonder - why? Why him? The parts of you that you devote to him, someone such as himself does not deserve. Not when in his ideal dream, he is destined for a life alone in the sky.

You deserve to love someone else, someone who can properly appreciate what you give him.

Absent-mindedly, his gloved hand comes to brush a knuckle against your cheek. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest as he feels your skin warm and your heart skip a beat.

"Of course," he murmurs. "In fact, I'd say I've never been better."

“If you say so.” You don’t look convinced, but you don’t argue, instead opting to subtly lean into his hand.

Sunday’s eyes soften. Guilt gnaws at him for his indulgence. He should stop, pull away. Leading you on like this wasn’t right. He needed to wake up, and stop playing pretend. The Charmony Festival was almost here - he couldn’t afford to give himself false hope.

And yet, he lingers there, bathing in your affection for a little longer.

If this is his sweet dream, he doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

tags: @sh0jun, @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei,

@akutasoda, @naraven, @scribs-dibs, @apathicace