#gallagher hsr

[skudarik]

[mistycals]

"What a lovely couple you’d make" (1)

Featuring: Phainon, Castorice, Jing Yuan, Blade, Dr. Ratio, Gallagher, Robin, Caelus (Trailblazer), March 7th x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance, Slice-of-Life

Word Count: 2.67k

✦ Phainon

“You know,” an old vendor said, eyes crinkling, “you two make a lovely couple.”

Phainon froze mid-laugh. You were holding a half-melted starberry gelato. Neither of you had said anything remotely romantic in the last five minutes—you’d been arguing about whether mini cactus pets were a scam or the best investment a person could make.

So why was this vendor suddenly saying—

“A couple?” Phainon echoed, smile faltering just a millimeter.

You shot him a look. He was still grinning, warm and sunshine-eyed, but you’d traveled with him long enough to spot the shift—the way his fingers twitched slightly at his side, or the flicker of unease that passed through his cyan gaze like a faint fracture in glass.

Still, he leaned on the counter, and his golden grin was back. “A couple of troublemakers, maybe.”

“Trouble looks good on you,” the vendor said warmly.

Phainon laughed—a little too quickly. “Oh, no, no. We’re just—uh—friends. Great friends. Excellent at platonic proximity. No romance here, nope.”

He turned to you, still smiling, but his ears were pink. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no.

Later, in the quiet of your shared cabin, you both stood by the single bed like it was some sort of challenge. Neither of you said a word. But when you lay down that night, his hand found yours—armor and all, warm and careful. Not by accident. Not in passing. And maybe that was enough for now.

(Bonus, according to the shopkeeper:)

The next day, Phainon stormed back in. “You knew.”

The vendor didn’t even look up. “You shared one blanket and argued about cactuses like a married couple. I’m not blind. Also… the gelato was buy-one-get-one for couples. You’re welcome.”

✦ Castorice

The marketplace smelled faintly of candied flowers, their sugar-dusted petals catching the light as you and Castorice browsed. She walked beside you with that careful, deliberate grace — always aware of her surroundings, always making sure no one brushed against her by accident.

You slowed your pace to match hers. “Find anything you like yet?” you asked, scanning the stalls.

Her lilac eyes softened. “Not yet. I’m mostly just enjoying the walk.”

An elderly vendor with a wiry beard leaned over his table of violet candies and called out, “You two make such a fine couple! A perfect match, eh?”

You choked back a laugh. “Oh? Hear that, Castorice? We’re a perfect match.”

Her lips curved into the faintest, almost shy smile. “Mm… I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad.”

The words were so quiet you almost missed them, but she didn’t seem embarrassed — just thoughtful. You didn’t push her for more. Instead, you reached for one of the violet candies, paid for it, and offered it to her.

She accepted it without touching your hand, a quiet gratitude in her gaze. And the two of you kept walking, the vendor’s words lingering in the air like the scent of sugared flowers.

✦ Jing Yuan

The training yard buzzed with activity, Cloud Knights sparring and drilling under the afternoon sun. You and Jing Yuan stood beneath one of the old trees at the edge of the grounds, its shade casting dappled light over his white hair. Yanqing lingered beside you both, arms folded, his eyes fixed firmly on the sparring Cloud Knights in the field.

Jing Yuan, of course, looked like he could have dozed off at any second—though the faint upward curve of his lips said otherwise.

“General Jing Yuan!” a young knight’s voice rang out from the field. Gao, wooden practice spear in hand, had stopped mid-drill, a grin on his face. “Your partner—what’s their name again?”

“Focus on your drills, Gao,” Jing Yuan said, voice smooth but sharp enough to make a few heads turn.

Gao pressed on anyway. “No, seriously! You two… you’d make a lovely couple, sir!”

Yanqing’s head whipped toward him, brows knitting. “Watch how you speak to the General,” he said, voice sharp for his age. But his glare was wasted—Gao was already shuffling awkwardly under the weight of it.

Jing Yuan let out a quiet hum. “Relax, Yanqing. Gao meant no harm.” His golden eyes flicked to you, and there was a glint there—amusement, yes, but something warmer too. “Besides… he’s not wrong.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “We’re not—! I mean, that’s—”

“You should get back to practice, Gao,” Jing Yuan continued smoothly, ignoring your sputtering entirely. “Before your lieutenant notices you slacking.”

Gao mumbled an apology and jogged off. Yanqing muttered under his breath—just loud enough for you to hear—“I hate adults,” and angled himself further toward the training ground as if sheer willpower could block out your presence.

The moment stretched, the sounds of sparring filling the quiet. Then Jing Yuan leaned the slightest bit closer to you, his voice low enough for only you to catch.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your smile.”

You met his gaze, pulse quickening, but before you could say a word, he was looking away again, watching the yard with that serene, unreadable expression.

✦ Blade

You were bandaging his hand after yet another reckless fight, hands steady despite the streaks of dried blood. He didn’t move, watching your every motion in silence—unblinking, unreadable.

A little old lady selling flowers passed by, glancing your way with a sweet smile.

“You two make such a lovely couple.”

Your hands froze. Blade’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was low, cold.

“People say stupid things.”

You paused.

You tried to play it off with a small smile. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

He finally looked up, expression unreadable. “They’re wrong.”

The words cut sharper than expected. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a chuckle, looking back down at the bandage. “Ouch.”

There was a long pause. Then, his voice dropped lower.

“‘Lovely’ implies I’m capable of something good.”

He looked at you. “I’m not.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to hug him. Instead, you reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes.

“You are. You just refuse to believe it.”

For a heartbeat, his mouth almost curved—then it was gone. Blade said nothing.

A few days later, you walked past the same florist’s stand.

The elderly woman smiled and pointed to a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, already wrapped.

“Your boyfriend picked these up earlier. Said to give them to you.”

You almost laughed—first “lovely,” now “boyfriend.” The world seemed intent on misnaming him.

You stared at the bouquet, pulse quickening.

“...He’s not my—” You stopped yourself, lips curling despite it all.

“Yeah. That sounds like him.”

✦ Dr. Ratio

You were sitting with Ratio in a quiet teahouse, steam curling up from the cups between you. He had his plaster mask off for once, tucked neatly at his side. A rare sight. He was already mid-lecture, gesturing faintly with his hand.

“Once again, your assumption ignores the most fundamental principle of logic,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “It’s almost impressive how consistently you arrive at the wrong conclusion.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping your tea. “Translation: you hate being wrong, so you call it logic.”

“I don’t hate being wrong. I simply never am.”

The waiter arrived then, setting down a plate of pastries. He glanced between you, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“You two argue like an old married couple. Very sweet.”

Ratio inhaled, already drawing breath for what was sure to be a dissertation-length correction. You cut him off with a lazy wave of your fork.

“Careful. If you argue with everyone, people really will start assuming you’re taken.”

That silenced him. The waiter chuckled, and walked away.

You leaned back, brow raised. “You could’ve just laughed it off.”

“And encourage false assumptions?” His tone was flat.

“So it does bother you.”

Ratio finally looked up from his tea, gaze sharp. “What bothers me is humanity’s incessant need for shortcuts. Two people share a table and suddenly the world scripts a romance? Predictable.”

But then—almost too soft to catch, he added under his breath: “…Besides, if I were to choose someone, I wouldn’t want it mistaken for idle speculation.”

You blinked. “…That’s either the rudest compliment I’ve ever heard, or the sweetest insult.”

“Neither. It was criticism.” He lifted his cup again with crisp finality.

You leaned your chin on your hand, smiling despite yourself. “Mm. Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear.”

Ratio’s head snapped up like you’d just committed a logical fallacy in front of him.“…Did you just—” His eyes narrowed. “No. Absolutely not.”

You raised your cup innocently. “What? It fits. Don’t tell me you’re above pet names.”

“I am far above them,” he said flatly. “In fact, I can’t think of a single term more reductive.”

You stirred your tea lazily, eyes on him. “By your own rules, you know, silence counts as agreement.”

The clink of porcelain on wood rang sharper than it should have. “…That was coincidence. Nothing more.”

✦ Gallagher

Gallagher leaned against the bar, idly cleaning a glass while sipping from his own flask. His tie was crooked, his vest wrinkled, and yet he looked perfectly at home—like the seat had been waiting for him.

“Rough day?” you asked, sliding into the chair across from him.

He tipped his flask toward you. “Every day’s rough. That’s why they invented this stuff.”

You gestured at the drink. “Pretty sure that’s not the original purpose.”

“Eh, depends who you ask.” He swirled the glass, watching the amber fizz catch the light. “People aren’t that different.”

Before you could respond, the bartender leaned in, setting down another glass. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, amused.

“You two look good together. Been long?”

You blinked. The words hung in the air like the last swirl of smoke from a half-lit cigarette.

Gallagher didn’t even look up from where he was nursing a glass of SoulGlad. The amber fizz caught the warm lighting like an old photograph, all washed-out hues and a feeling you couldn’t name.

“You gonna start makin’ jokes like that now?” he asked, his voice dry. “Thought you were smarter than the usual dream-dazed crowd.”

The bartender gave a quiet chuckle, like she knew something you didn’t. “Just sayin’. Y’look like you fit together. Even got the matching tired eyes.”

Gallagher’s gaze finally shifted to you then, and it hit like a freight train. Not because he was handsome—though he was, in that ragged, unshaven, what-the-hell-happened-to-you kind of way. No, it was because he saw you. Really saw you. That kind of look that strips away whatever polite version of yourself you tried to put on today.

“You think we’d make a lovely couple?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Tch. Can't say there's much lovely in bein’ with someone who’s more shadow than man.”

You could’ve answered him—reassured him, joked back, flirted, left — but instead, you said:

“I didn’t say I thought that. She did.”

Gallagher’s eye twitched—barely. He leaned back with a cynical huff. “Mm. Then I guess she’s got the wrong idea… or the right one. Never really could tell the difference.”

He refilled your glass without asking, pushing it across the table with that same practiced hand.

And then, just as your fingers brushed the glass, he spoke—soft, almost offhand.

“For what it’s worth… I don’t mind the idea.”

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t even a compliment. But the way his voice dropped just then, like he wasn’t sure if he meant it or was just throwing it out there…

Your heart skipped anyway.

✦ Robin

You were helping Robin warm up before her Charmony Festival performance—adjusting her mic, steadying the edge of her flowing violet-white gown. Her voice, melodic even in rehearsal, had always been something you admired.

“You’re going to do great out there,” you reassured her, giving her a quick pep talk.

Robin’s lips curved in a serene smile, though her fingers brushed nervously over the rhinestones under her eye. “Thanks. I just hope the crowd’s ready for me tonight.”

Her halo caught the backstage light as she inhaled, steadying herself. Even now, when she was supposed to be the picture of composure, you could feel the tremor of her doubts beneath the calm.

A stagehand passed by with a smirk. “You two would make a lovely couple.”

Robin froze, wings behind her ears giving the faintest flutter. Then she turned to you with a quiet laugh, soft but curious. “Do you think so?”

Your throat went dry, but you nodded anyway. “Well… yeah. I mean—if we were, I wouldn’t mind.”

Her green eyes softened, gaze lingering. For a heartbeat, the festival, the crowd, the expectations—all of it fell away. “What if I said I already think of us that way?” she asked gently. “Would that be okay?”

The roar of the audience began to swell on the other side of the curtain. You had no time to give her a proper answer so you squeezed her hand instead. “Then let’s give them a performance worth remembering.”

Robin’s smile brightened, fragile doubt melting into quiet conviction. She stepped onto the stage, halo gleaming, wings fluttering softly behind her ears as warmth washed over her—as if she’d finally remembered she wasn’t carrying the sky alone.

And when her voice rose, radiant and resonant, you felt the air fill with Harmony as it rippled through the hall, through every heart listening, and through yours most of all.

✦ Caelus

The market was loud, hawkers waving so fiercely it felt like even the air was bargaining. You had barely stopped to glance at a trinket before the shopkeeper leaned over his stall with a too-wide grin.

“What a lovely couple you’d make,” he said, as if words alone could seal a deal.”

You opened your mouth, ready to correct him, but Caelus was faster. He deadpanned, without missing a beat, “Tragic, isn’t it? I was aiming for terrifying duo, not picture-perfect lovers.”

His tone was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. He picked up the trinket, turned it in his hand like it was worth more than the awkwardness in the air. A hawker’s shouted bargain echoed nearby, clanging coins punctuating the chaos, but neither of you noticed.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “So what’s next, letting them handle our wedding invitations?”

"…Free branding. Could be worse,” he muttered at last, eyes flicking sideways toward you. You huffed in exasperation, and his gaze lingered on you just long enough to catch your reaction before darting away.

“Do we get a certificate or something?” you fired back, intending to play along, though part of you couldn’t believe you just said that. “Maybe matching shirts?”

He set the trinket down as if nothing had happened, already moving on — except for the faint, telltale flush creeping up the tips of his ears.

✦ March 7th

You and March were going through photos from your last mission—half of them are just selfies she took while you were unconscious in the background.

“You were asleep for like five minutes,” she said defensively. “It was so cute!”

Then Pom-Pom waddled past, squinting at the two of you giggling and leaning into each other. Pom-Pom immediately deadpanned, “What a disgustingly adorable couple you’d make.” Then they waddled off with a tray of snacks.

March's eyes widened, cheeks flaring up pink. “Y-You hear that?! Even Pom-Pom ships us!”

You grimaced. “Please don’t say ‘Pom-Pom ships us.’”

March’s hands tightened on the photos, eyes darting to you. “I-I didn’t mean… I mean, it’s not like I care what Pom-Pom thinks! But… okay, maybe they're not entirely wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not entirely wrong?”

Her cheeks puffed up as she tried to hide a grin, then broke into a bright, nervous laugh. “Ugh… fine! Maybe we do look cute together! But it’s only because you make me smile like an idiot!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. And for a moment, her flustered grin was all the warmth you needed.

[pawnyao]

[SPOILER HSR MAIN QUEST]

early april fool because today is sunday

[ghostlude]

my epic team where boothill gets hard carried by beautiful women

[urujsj1886]

Genshin and HSR men getting jealous over their lovers' pet wolf

characters: Varka, Wriothesley, Blade, and Gallagher

Varka

Varka, the legendary Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, is a man who usually fills a room with his booming laughter and sheer presence. He’s used to being the center of attention—not out of vanity, but because he’s simply huge and hard to miss.

Coming home after a long trek across Mondstadt’s borders, he’s ready for your usual warm greeting. Instead, he finds you sitting on the rug, completely preoccupied with the thick, silver fur of your pet wolf.

"I'm back!" he bellows, tossing his heavy claymore aside.

"Hi, Varka," you murmur, your fingers buried deep in the wolf's scruff. "How was your day?"

He stops mid-stride. Your eyes haven't left the animal. The wolf, sensing the shift in the room, lets out a smug little huff and leans its head further into your palm.

Varka doesn't get "angry" jealous; he gets competitive. He stands there for a moment, hands on his hips, towering over the scene. He waits for you to look up, but when you just keep scratching behind the wolf's ears, he lets out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh.

"My day? Oh, you know," he says, his voice dropping an octave to get your attention. "Just fought off a few ruin guards, negotiated with some grumpy Harbingers... barely kept my head on my shoulders. A hero’s work is never done."

He starts pacing the room—clomp, clomp, clomp—his heavy boots vibrating the floorboards. It’s a tactical maneuver to disrupt the wolf’s peace.

Inside, his ego is taking a comical bruising. He’s the "Knight of Boreas," for Barbatos' sake! He has a spiritual connection to wolves, yet here is a literal wolf stealing his thunder. He feels a ridiculous twinge of envy toward a creature that spends half its day eating raw meat and the other half sleeping. He’s not actually mad at you, but he’s definitely offended that he’s currently ranked second-best in the "things to pet" category.

Seeing that "hero talk" isn't working, Varka decides to take matters into his own hands. He doesn't pull you away; instead, he drops down to the floor next to you. The floorboards groan under his weight.

"That's enough for the beast, don't you think?" he rumbles.

Before you can protest, he reaches out with a hand twice the size of the wolf’s head and starts "petting" the wolf too—but it’s more of a vigorous, ruffling shake that sends the wolf scrambling away in confusion.

With the wolf gone, Varka immediately takes up the vacated space, leaning his massive shoulder against yours so you’re forced to look at him.

"Now," he says, a mischievous, lopsided grin appearing through his rugged beard. "Ask me about my day again. This time, try looking at the man who actually brought home the groceries."

He won't admit it, but he won't leave your side for the rest of the night, making sure he's always positioned between you and that "four-legged rival" of his.

Wriothesley

The Duke of Meropide was used to silence, but the specific kind of silence currently occupying his office was grating. Usually, when you visited, the room was filled with the clinking of tea sets and lighthearted banter. Today, the only sound was the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a tail hitting the floor and your soft, cooing praises.

"Who’s a good boy? You are! Yes, you are," you whispered, buried chin-deep in the silver-grey fur of your pet wolf.

Wriothesley sat behind his desk, a document held in front of his face. He hadn't turned the page in ten minutes. His icy blue eyes peered over the rim of the paper, watching as you scratched that specific spot behind the wolf's ears—a spot he’d noted you often reached for on his own neck during quieter, more intimate moments.

Internally, he’s annoyed by how "un-Duke-like" he feels. It’s a ridiculous thing to be jealous of—an animal. But there’s a primal, territorial itch under his skin. He’s used to being the center of your world when you’re in the Fortress. Seeing you give that much affection to something else makes his chest feel tight. He feels a strange competitive streak rising; he wants those smiles directed at him, not at something that spends its day eating raw meat and rolling in the dirt.

He doesn't throw a tantrum. Instead, he leans into a subtle, performative brooding. He sets his tea cup down with a slightly-too-loud clack.

"You know," Wriothesley started, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that usually commanded an entire cafeteria of prisoners to go silent. "I heard wolves of that breed are notoriously fickle. They’ll take your treats and run the moment a better offer comes along."

You looked up, blinking. "Oh, not this one. He’s loyal to a fault. Right, buddy?"

The wolf let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, leaning its entire weight against your legs. Wriothesley’s eyes narrowed. The beast was gloating. He was sure of it.

He stood up, rounding the desk with a slow, predatory grace. He didn't go to you; he went to the tea cabinet.

"I’m making a new blend. Extremely rare leaves from Chenyu Vale," he said, his back to you. "It requires... quite a bit of focus to get the temperature right. I was hoping you’d help me taste it, but I suppose you’re occupied with the 'good boy.'"

He turned slightly, catching your eye. He didn't look angry; he looked wanting. He leaned against the counter, crossing his massive, scarred arms over his chest, looking every bit the lone wolf himself.

"Come here," he murmured, his tone shifting from the Duke to just Wriothesley. "The wolf can handle five minutes without a head scratch. I, however, am much less patient."

When you finally stood up and walked toward him, the wolf let out a small whine. Wriothesley reached out, sliding a gloved hand around your waist to pull you flush against him. He shot a single, triumphant glance over your shoulder at the dog.

"Go find a bone, pal," he muttered under his breath, finally satisfied as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck. "This one's mine."

Blade

The wolf’s head was heavy on your lap, its steady breathing the only sound in the room until the floorboards creaked behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know it was him; the air always grew colder when Blade entered, smelling faintly of incense and old steel.

"You're back early," you murmured, scratching the wolf behind its ears. The animal let out a soft huff of contentment.

Blade didn't answer. He stood by the window, the moonlight catching the gold embroidery of his coat and the white of his bandages. He watched your hand move—the way your fingers buried themselves in the thick fur, the way you smiled at a creature that knew nothing of "scripts" or eternal debts.

"It's just a beast," he said finally, his voice like gravel. "It lives, it hunts, and eventually, it will rot. Why waste your warmth on it?"

You looked up, surprised by the edge in his tone. "He's loyal, Blade. He doesn't ask for anything but to be near me."

Blade’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. To him, the wolf was a thief. It stole the attention he didn't know how to ask for and occupied the space he felt too "unclean" to take. He was jealous of the wolf’s simplicity—the fact that it could love you without the weight of a thousand years of trauma.

He walked over, his shadow falling over both you and the pet. The wolf growled, sensing the sudden spike of animosity, but Blade didn't flinch. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering near your shoulder before he pulled it back, as if afraid his touch would leave a mark.

"If you crave loyalty," he muttered, his eyes dark and swirling with the first hints of Mara, "it is a debt I have already paid in blood. Look at me, not the dog."

He didn't wait for a response. He simply sat on the floor a few feet away, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes, a silent, brooding sentinel demanding your presence through sheer, suffocating gravity.

Gallagher

The lounge was dim, the air thick with the scent of tobacco and the faint, sweet sting of SoulGlad. You were sitting on the floor, your fingers buried deep in the thick, silver fur of your pet wolf. The creature leaned into your touch, letting out a low, contented rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

Behind the bar, Gallagher moved with his usual sluggish grace. He polished a silver cup until it gleamed, his eyes—red and heavy with years of "truthful lies"—flickering toward you every few seconds.

"You're going to wear a hole in its head if you keep that up," he said, his voice a gravelly drawl. He didn't look up, but the rhythm of his polishing slowed.

"He's just soft, Gallagher," you laughed, scratching a particularly good spot behind the wolf's ears. "Everyone needs a little affection."

The cloth in Gallagher’s hand stopped moving. He leaned his elbows on the scarred wood of the bar, a crooked, melancholy smile tugging at his stubbled face. "Affection, huh? Funny thing. Some of us spend thirteen years trying to look the part of a loyal hound, and here comes a stray with a tail and a coat of fur who steals the spotlight in five minutes".

He reached for a bottle, pouring a dark, amber liquid into a glass. He didn't add the usual fizzy mixers; the mood was "heavy" tonight.

"Are you jealous of a wolf?" you teased, looking up.

Gallagher let out a huff of a laugh, the sound rough like sandpaper. He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze trailing to the wolf, then back to you. "Jealous? Now why would a seasoned officer of the Bloodhounds be jealous of a animal that actually has its claws?".

He sighed, the smoke from his cigarette curling around his wrinkled vest. For a second, the mask of the "indolent mixologist" slipped, revealing the profound emptiness he usually kept hidden.

"Just... don't get too lost in the dream, Trailblazer," he muttered, sliding a second glass—something sweet, tempered with a hint of bitter syrup—across the bar toward you. "When you're done playing with the real thing, remember there's a 'truthful lie' over here who's still on the clock. And I don't shed nearly as much."

He went back to his cups, the silver clinking softly in the quiet bar, a lone hound waiting for the person who might one day see past his most beautiful lie.

[enesfwee]

he loves to hate him

[unowers]

2.1

[ftzbzbzbz]

You're an angel, I'm a dog