Never Forgotten But...never Finished.

Never forgotten but...never finished.

sunday x reader - halovian courtship

warning: no spoilers, gn! reader, pining/soft sunday, Sunday info dumping as usual

summary: where Sunday will do everything except confess, and you just think he’s emotionally stunted.

a/n: i read about birds for this

halovian courting rituals

1. Gift giving. Like their close bird companions, Halovians participate in 'nuptial gifts,' a form of gift giving to a potential partner.

You were walking into the Oak Family Headquarters, Dewlight Pavilion, sent to deliver some letters. Although, you’ve been here before, it was still a bit nerve wracking to be in such a place, undetached from your usual position as a lower end employee.

The entrance to Oak Family Head’s office was right in front of you. You bite your lip, shifting the documents to your other arm and knock.

“Nightingale Famil-“

The door swings open. The family head holding the door stands to the side.

“Ah,” Sunday says your name, “it’s you.”

Your eyes widen, blinking a couple times. He remembers me?

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again Mr. Sunday. I’ve come with documents from the Nightingale family detailing a new plan for the dreamscape.”

He looks a bit disappointed?

He chuckles, then calls out to a lone employee, “you’re dismissed for today, I’ll take care of the rest.”

The Oak employee dips his head and leaves. Watching him leave fills a pit in your stomach.

“Mr. Sunday, is something wrong?”

Sunday sits up suddenly, “Oh, no. Not at all.” It’s that movement that makes you realize that he’s been fidgeting with something in his lap…Is he always like this?

“I guess I was just a bit surprised,” he smiles, looking down to the side. You caught him.

“Surprised? To see me?” Although Sunday and you have met a few times. It was always business, just like now—well maybe he did stare a bit intently at you before, but something really was different this time!

He looks up and sheepishly slides a box across the table. “Take it as…being a good part of The Family.”

For a few moments, your eyes set upon him. What is he planning? It’s a small box. Almost nothing could fit in there. You lift the top up.

You gasp. Earrings worth more than your entire life’s salary. You slam it shut.

“M-Mr. Sunday. This really isn’t necessary. I just—“ you ramble on. Sunday places his gloved hand on yours.

“Please, take it.”

Looking into his eyes, you realize that putting up a fight with the Oak Head won’t get you anywhere. You reluctantly take the box.

2. Preening. Similar to nature, touching a Halovian's wings is an intimate gesture to show one's interest in a romantic partner. Someone should never touch a Halovian's wings without asking!

Soon after, you come across Sunday again. This time at the Nightingale Family’s institution. You were putting away blueprints, plans and documents your coworkers left laying around haphazardly. When a familiar voice calls out to you.

“Good evening. Working hard, I see.”

“Mr. Sunday?”

He approached you, then looked around the room. He seemed to realize the situation you were in and scorned your coworkers. He mumbled something about you and moving to the “Oak Family.” As he spoke his wings were fluttering. They looked smooth and soft.

“You’ve been staring at my wings. Do they interest you that much?” He chuckles.

“Well, they are very pretty but—“

“Would you like to touch them?” A light blush spreads across his face. Despite that, he seemed perfectly poised. His hands clasped behind his back, standing straight and looking right at you.

“I-is that alright?” tumbles from your lips. You hesitantly reach out.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

Upon touching them, Sunday’s wings twitched away from you before settling down. The feathers are soft and plush. Some are darker in color while others are more pale. They’re surprisingly fluffy. A bit like fur but more delicate.

The blush darkened, his gaze shifted off to the wall. His composure utterly broken, his hands fidgeted behind his back.

“Did you know that birds groom each other as a social activity? It occurs between…ma-members of a flock.” He sputters. What is he saying?

Your fingers stroking his feathers create a flutter within his stomach. He leans into the touch. Taking that as a sign to continue, you reach farther up, a light brush into the coverts of his feathers. Sunday gasps and pulls away.

“…You must take good care of them. Are all Halovian wings soft like yours?”

He wishes that moment would never end.

3. Song. During courtship rituals many birds of different species tend to sing and dance. While that is popular among Halovian people, some may chose show affection through instruments instead.

One day, a notice appears at your door. Upon examining it you realize it’s an invitation from Sunday, instructing you to his office within the Dewlight Pavilion.

Could it be about the documents you sent him last time? You wrack your brain for any possible explanation. He had been acting weirder than usual.

Heat build up in your face upon recalling Sunday’s recent appreciation for you. The earrings that are far too expensive to wear anywhere, and even worse—you bury your face into your hands. In a profound display of unprofessionalism, he let you touch his wings.

Still, every muscle in your body jittered with excitement, even though it shouldn’t.

♫ ♬ ♩

Suddenly, the closer you got, the more the hallway echoed with the sound of a violin. Slowly, you carefully stepped towards the sound, till you found its source.

Sunday was playing the violin. You couldn’t help but freeze where you were and watch him. He truly did look like angel. As he drew his bow across the strings, the light from the window shined down on him. His hair reflected the light appearing almost white. Was he always this beautiful?

Abruptly, he stands up, “You’re early. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you closed the door behind you, “I didn’t know you could play. What song was it?”

He places the violin down on his table and approached you, “It’s ‘Salut d’amor,’ one of the first pieces I learned how to play,” Sunday put his hand behind his back, “the dream master was the one that taught me.”

“It was very pretty, I can tell you’ve been playing for a long time.”

“Thank you.” A light blush spreads onto his cheeks, but it’s gone before you can realize it.

A loud silence sweeps the room. The two of you avert your eyes. This side of Sunday feels so different from what you’ve been told. He always maintains a professional barrier. But if so, what was this?

Sunday calls your name, “how do you feel about me?”

“What?” The question is so out of the blue, you must’ve heard wrong, “I think you’re a nice guy—“

“I meant as a partner, I thought you knew. Was I not obvious enough?” He mumbles over the last sentence.

“I—well—“ you stumble over your words. He was serious. The earrings, the wing touching, the invitation. You dismissed it as him buttering you up. The ‘most handsome man in Penacony’ as delegated by the latest magazines, had feelings for you?

Your face felt so hot, you felt as if you could combust into flames at any moment, “I feel the same.”

His expression softened. “That’s a relief, I don’t have to cancel those reservations then.”

“Reservations?! Mr. Sunday-“

“Just Sunday. I’ll pick you up later then,” he smiled, then placed his hand near your ear, as if looking for something, “Oh, but this time remember to wear those earrings.”

a/n #2: soft Sunday is real, did u see how protective he was of Robin in the quest? i need more hoyo. feed my delusion

— 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.

raaaaaaaaa this was so cute (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

🏷️ — @lowkeyren @tragedy-of-commons @milksnake-tea @harque no pressure ofc!! + anyone who would like to join 🫶

UWAHHH i found this super cute picrew so i had to start a lil tag chain !! ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

tags <3 ( no pressure )

@dira333 @lowkeyremi @verahella @y2kuromi @lu-naes @omitea @sweetfushi + anyone else who would like to join !!

omg wait im like 2 days late because i forgot to post this but thanks for tagging me!!

1. listening to music + reading

2. thinking of plots for fanfic or just daydreaming

3. watching and rewatching new animes

4. coffee !! coffee !! coffee !!

5. talking to my friends about anything and everything (bonus if we jump from one topic to another and we still don't grow tired)

🏷️ — @kararisa @harque @aviiarie @tragedy-of-commons + anyone who would like to join!!

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers :)

Making art

Playing tennis

Listening to the same playlist an unhealthy amount of times

Interacting with my mutuals like you!!

Walking into the school bus and seeing some of my favourite people on the planet. (@kaiserkisser yes you)

Tagging my last 10 reboggers - @siimplyapril @cyanide-sodapop @punkisntdeadandneitherami @0zaniest0 @darthvadersinhaler @cloudwastewater @sweet-mango-child @hubba-hubba1 @birdsdieatmydoor @somethingaboutelvis

(I might not interact with all of you that often but your love doesn’t go unnoticed 💕💕)

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.