Tecchou's #1 Wife

☆23☆ Judas, call me Judy !! | Mainblog -> @mixxdpunch I don't take shit seriously [Requests are OPEN, send in the pookies]

[judasgot-it]

Masterlist ☆

Link to my AO3 here

RULES <-

Valentine's Event 2024

Bungo Stray Dogs

Clogging their toilet

Bsd men when their GF queefs

Bsd men who could/nt handle a long-term long-distance low-commitment casual girlfriend

Most likely to show their dick on a live stream (twitch streamer AU)

Viagra

Leftovers

most to least likely to sell you crypto/NFTs

Top 5 scared of women

Telling them you're gay

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Hunting Dogs

ADA

Special Abilities Division

DOA

Port Mafia

The Guild

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Honkai Star Rail

Queef

Dr. Ratio

You cant do basic algebra

Drunk Talks

University AU 2 3 4 5

Dad! Ratio

Imitating him on social media

Getting back together

Post-breakup moment

Aventurine

Holding out for a hero

Avgin! Reader

Sunday

Reunion

Jujutsu Kaisen

Gojo

Sugardaddy!Gojo kicks you out of his apartment after he reunites with his BF Geto

Nanami

Stalking Nanami in an attempt to make him your sugar daddy (yeah idk)

Magic and Muscles

Kaldo Gehenna

Second Chances [Valentine's Event 2024]

Happy Birthday

Can I kiss you?

There was only one bed [Valentine's Event 2024]

Pregnancy Cravings

Everybody talks

Orter Madl

There was only one bed [Valentine's Event 2024]

[falsetactic]

how it feels to read self insert/xreader fics of any media that follow the canon plot line

[khship910]

Sorry I took months to reply to your comment, I was saving my reply for a day when I really needed to reread it 💖

[astersz]

gonna be a bit pretentious for a sec. i reallyyyy don't think aventurine would spoil his partner with lavish gifts. not in the sense that he just throws luxury gifts and money out of nowhere, anyway. showering people in luxury is something he does when he's trying to get something out of them, because money is often the only leverage he has. i think he would early relationship, when he's still scared to get close to you, when he needs control, when he pushes down his genuine feelings, when he thinks he has to try to get you to stay. but i think as he dates someone longer and longer, he realizes that he doesn't need to do that to keep someone. and so he does it less, shows his love through cooking or cleaning the house or drawing you a bath. you know you've won him over when he buys you that fruit you've been wanting to try, instead of a luxury handbag.

[notesfromthemirror]

Is it alright to have if I could ask for cozy reading night in (maybe rainy maybe snowed in) with ratio and his snack daughters?

-🦉

Bookmark Behavior Under Novel Conditions (Dr. Ratio x Reader)

A/N: Hi 🦉 anon! :) Thank you for the request and for your patience. Writing Ratio makes me a little nervous, but this idea was far too cute to resist. :)

I tried to keep him true to himself here. He’s just softened a little by familiarity and domesticity. Hope you’ll enjoy!

Tags: Family Fluff. Dad Ratio. Rainy Day Vibes. Established Relationship. Soft Dr Ratio. Dr Ratio Being Dr Ratio. Children. Slice of Life. Bedtime Stories.

Word count: 842

⋆ ✦ ⋆

Rain taps steadily against the windows.

It’s been at it since mid-afternoon. The lamps are on. Someone has dragged every spare cushion in the house to the living room floor, for reasons that made sense to your daughters and were not fully explained to anyone else.

The result is something between a nest and a minor structural project, and both girls are very satisfied with it.

The younger one is sprawled across the carpet with a blanket around her shoulders, dramatically upside down against the couch cushions in a position that looks profoundly uncomfortable and apparently isn’t.

The older sits cross-legged beside the coffee table surrounded by half-finished snacks and a notebook she’d insisted on bringing “for observations,” the nature of which she has not yet seen fit to specify.

Ratio sits in the armchair nearest the lamp, a book open in one hand.

It had been a different book an hour ago.

The first had been a comprehensive introduction to theoretical cartography that he had, in his considered opinion, selected reasonably. It covered exploration, discovery, the relationship between observation and recorded knowledge. Entirely appropriate.

“This is boring,” the younger one had announced, approximately four minutes in.

“Learning frequently is.”

“The sentences are too long.”

“Complex ideas require complex sentences.”

“Father.” The older one had looked up from her notebook. “We are nine and seven.”

A pause.

“The next chapter involves a stellar expedition,” he had tried.

“Does anyone get eaten?”

“Navigators are not typically—” He’d stopped. Looked at their faces. Closed the book with quiet dignity. “I’ll find something else.”

The current volume is an adventure, morally instructive, and the girls are significantly more engaged, which Ratio would never describe as a victory but which registers as one nonetheless.

“You skipped a page,” the younger one accuses.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Ratio huffs. “An extraordinary claim. Present evidence.”

“The hero was in the cave and then suddenly outside the cave.”

“A transition of location does not inherently imply missing content.”

“It implies suspicious narration.”

“…That,” Ratio concedes, “is a defensible argument.”

Your younger daughter looks extraordinarily smug. The older one makes a note in her notebook without looking up.

“What are you writing?” Ratio asks.

“Observations.”

“On?”

“Father being wrong.”

Ratio gives her a look that has, in professional settings, caused grown adults to reconsider their life choices. She meets it with perfect equanimity, having apparently developed an immunity at some point in the last year.

He turns back to the book.

You step quietly into the room carrying fresh tea, pausing for a moment in the doorway.

The scene settles into you immediately—the rain against the glass, the warm pool of lamplight, the cushion-nest on the floor, the notebook-observations, the open book in Ratio’s hand.

Ratio looks up first.

The shift in his expression is subtle enough that the girls likely miss it entirely. You don’t. The faint easing around his eyes. The immediate, undemonstrated awareness of you.

“You’re still awake,” he says.

“You say that like you aren’t.”

“I’m correcting papers after this.”

Both girls groan in theatrical unison.

“Father,” the older one says, with the measured disappointment of someone twice her age, “you are ruining the atmosphere.”

“The atmosphere,” he replies, “was already compromised when you attempted to feed biscuit crumbs to the bookmark.”

“That happened once.”

“Once is sufficient.”

“It was an experiment.”

“In what?”

She consults her notebook. “Bookmark behavior under novel conditions.”

Ratio stares at her for a moment with an expression that is doing several things at once. Then he turns back to the book with great deliberateness.

You laugh softly and move toward the couch.

As you pass his chair he catches your wrist and draws you close enough that the kiss he presses to your forehead is unhurried and unself-conscious. Then he releases you and turns back to his page as though nothing has happened at all.

Your younger daughter’s hand shoots up immediately.

“Bias.”

Ratio does not look up. “Correct.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is. Pay attention. The hero is about to do something inadvisable.”

She subsides. The older one makes another note.

You settle into the corner of the couch with your tea, pulling a blanket across your legs.

You listen to the rain and his voice and the occasional scratch of a pencil, and think that some evenings simply ask nothing of you except to be present in them.

Ratio reads on.

When he reaches the end of the chapter, the younger one is mostly asleep, blanket pulled to her chin, one hand still curled loosely around the edge of her cushion. The older is still writing with great concentration.

“What now?” she asks, without looking up.

Ratio glances at her notebook. Then at you.

“One more chapter,” he says. “For the sake of completion.”

She looks up then. Something in her expression that is very much his. The faint, private satisfaction of someone getting what they wanted without having asked for it directly.

“Mm,” she says, and turns to a fresh page.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Masterlist.

[ipc-shareholder]

The Catcake Problem

Pairing: Aventurine x fem!reader

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff mostly, established newish relationship, brought to you by: cats who always choose the person avoiding them to latch onto, idk something about cat!dad aven is so funny to me

Summary: He had sourced their imported silk beds, their hand-carved puzzle feeders, their toys with the little bells that rattled when batted across marble floors at three in the morning. He had done all of this willingly, even cheerfully, and had considered it a reasonable investment in domestic harmony.

What he had not accounted for, despite his innate sense for business, was that the return on that investment would go entirely sideways.

Because the catcakes would, quite decisively, forget all about Aventurine the moment she entered the equation.

masterlist

Aventurine, on principle, often did things on impulse.

This was not a character flaw, in his opinion. It was a strategy, just pattern recognition moving faster than conscious thought, the hand that reaches for a card before the mind has finished counting. He had built a career on it. He had, at various points, also aquired several other things on it: an ultra rare watch, one of only two in the entire universe, commissioned just because. A penthouse in a city he visited twice a year, when he remembered. A starskiff he had purchased during a negotiation because the seller mentioned offhand that it was for sale and Aventurine had thought why not and signed before the ink on the actual contract was dry. It lived in a dock somewhere. He had been on it once.

He was aware of the pattern. He found it, on balance, more amusing than not.

But the most notable, and the most impulsive, decision he had ever made happened to be the addition of the three catcakes into his daily life.

The three catcakes which, as it turned out, happened to have opinions. And very strong ones, at that.

And Aventurine had funded their opinions, shamelessly. He had sourced their imported silk beds, their hand-carved puzzle feeders, their toys with the little bells that rattled when batted across marble floors at three in the morning. He had done all of this willingly, even cheerfully, and had considered it a reasonable investment in domestic harmony.

What he had not accounted for, despite his innate sense for business, was that the return on that investment would go entirely sideways.

Because the catcakes would, quite decisively, forget all about Aventurine the moment she entered the equation.

They could spend an entire afternoon draped across furniture like decorative afterthought— soft, idle things, barely stirring as he worked in his study, the quiet broken only by the occasional shift of fabric or the faintest puff of a sleepy sigh.

And then...

The soft, precise click of the latch easing open, followed by the familiar cadence of her steps.

Two seconds.

That was all it took.

From the hallway came the sudden chaos of movement: light thuds, the frantic patter of paws, and then the unmistakable jingle of bells as the toy mouse was unceremoniously knocked from its place on the entryway shelf in reckless enthusiasm.

Then a soft, delighted sound from her.

Aventurine waited.

He would not go check. He was a man of considerable dignity who was stronger than a few overexcited creatures who, moments ago, had shown no such urgency in his presence.

He lasted approximately forty-five seconds before leaning back far enough in his chair to see through the study doorway.

Exactly as expected.

All three of them had claimed her.

The largest had secured the prime position, draped comfortably across her shoulder as though it had always belonged there, tail flicking with smug contentment. The smallest had somehow, impossibly, embedded itself halfway into her bag before she’d even had the chance to set it down, peeking out as if it had discovered buried treasure. And the middle one— traitor of traitors— was weaving intricate figure-eights around her ankles with a devotion it had never once shown him.

Aventurine narrowed his eyes.

The traitors.

He had, on multiple occasions, attempted to elicit even a fraction of that enthusiasm, unsuccessfully.

She looked up and caught him staring.

“Hi,” she said, like she hadn’t just been ambushed by a small, disloyal army.

“They were sleeping,” he replied smoothly, tilting his head just slightly. “Thirty seconds ago, they were all asleep.”

"I can tell." She finally managed to unhook her bag from her shoulder, though not without resistance. The smallest catcake tumbled out, landed with an indignant little puff, and immediately began its ascent back toward her as though deeply offended by gravity itself. “Were they bothering you?”

“They were ignoring me,” he corrected, one brow lifting with quiet precision. “Unlike someone else, I suppose.”

They both knew there was no real accusation in it.

........................

The second incident, he had to admit, was personal.

Aventurine had a routine. After late calls— the ones that ran past midnight with Jade or Opal, who had no concept of time zones and even less concept of mercy— he'd come home and pour himself something worth drinking. He would sit, gazing at the city view, one arm draped along the backrest, glass balanced loosely in hand, not quite thinking, not quite not thinking either.

Some might have called it brooding.

He liked to think he was still above that, even in those moments.

It was, perhaps, the closest he ever came to acknowledging that some days demanded more of him than others.

The catcakes had somehow always known this.

The largest, especially, had a preternatural sense for it, and would appear within minutes, weight warm and substantial against his side, doing absolutely nothing useful, which was exactly the point. He had not told anyone this was something he actually looked forward to. It was an arrangement between himself and the catcakes, private and unspoken, and it had never needed to be anything else.

Then she fell asleep on the couch one night, waiting for him.

And, quite abruptly, everything changed.

He came home to find her curled on the couch, light still on, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting loosely at her side, breath slow and even in sleep. And all three catcakes had draped themselves across her with impressive efficiency.

The largest had claimed her chest, settled there, rising and falling faintly with each breath she took. The middle one had stretched itself comfortably along her legs, tail flicking once in vague satisfaction before going still again. And the smallest...

The smallest had wedged itself into the crook of her neck, tucked so close it bordered on possessive, with an intimacy that Aventurine, frankly, had earned more than it.

He stood in the entryway for a long moment, looking at the sight, debating whether to wake her (which he wasn't going to do) and whether there was any remaining couch space for him to settle onto (which there wasn't) and whether the armchair across the room counted as a dignified alternative (which it didn't).

Finally, after who knows how long, he grabbed the blanket from the couch, draped it over her and the entire catcake situation without disturbing anyone. He lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Then he stepped back.

The armchair received him with all the dignity it could muster, which was to say, not enough, but sufficient for the circumstances. He settled into it regardless, and gazed at them, something in him thawing at the scene.

Then the middle catcake opened one eye at him from across the room. It regarded him from its position along her legs, unimpressed, entirely aware.

"Not a word," he said.

It sniffed indignantly, and closed its eyes again.

Peace, apparently, had been restored.

He remained there longer than he intended.

Long enough for the drink in his hand to sit untouched. Long enough for the silence to settle into something steady. Long enough for something inside of him to loosen.

After that, they never came to him when she was there.

Not once.

The arrangement, it seemed, had been renegotiated without his consent.

........................

The third incident he brought on himself which, naturally, he would never admit.

Because, after a period of careful observation, and a frankly insulting amount of empirical evidence, Aventurine had come to a conclusion: This was a matter of attention economy.

The catcakes’ behavior was not random. It was a skewed distribution of interest toward a newly introduced variable— her— whose novelty had yet to pass.

The solution, logically, was to increase his own engagement. More direct interaction, or quality time, if one insisted on phrasing it so inelegantly.

So he set aside an afternoon.

Cleared his schedule.

And, in what he considered a gesture of considerable magnitude, he sat on the floor of the living room, adjusted his sleeves once, then reached into a carefully selected bag and produced his chosen instrument:

A wand toy.

But not just any toy. The feathers were imported, ethically sourced, meticulously crafted and expensive. They caught the light when he lifted it, iridescent in a way that suggested quality. The small bells attached to it chimed softly with the slightest movement.

Aventurine gave it a precise flick of the wrist.

The largest catcake looked at it, almost in deliberation, then walked past him into the bedroom without looking back.

He shook the toy again, slightly harder this time.

The middle catcake approached, sniffed the feathers with a polite sort of curiosity, then after what could only be described as a token effort, bit them once and left.

The smallest catcake, at least, offered something resembling participation. It batted at the feathers once, twice, before losing interest in favor of the now-empty bag at his side.

Aventurine remained seated on the floor, wand toy in hand, surrounded by the unmistakable quiet of failure. He was still on the floor when she arrived twenty minutes later.

“…What are you doing?”

Aventurine lifted his gaze.

She was looking at him with something between surprise and poorly concealed amusement, eyes flicking from his position on the floor, to the wand toy still held loosely in his hand, to the smallest catcake asleep in the bag beside him.

The closest any of them had come to sustained engagement.

"I'm bonding," he said, smoothly.

"With the bag?"

“With it,” he corrected, indicating the smallest catcake with a subtle tilt of the wand. “It's in the bag. I’m near the bag. We’re in proximity.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly restraining something that was very clearly laughter, and crossed the room before lowering herself to the floor beside him, which immediately summoned all three catcakes from wherever they had dispersed to. It was a migration so swift and unanimous that it was almost insulting. The largest climbed directly into her lap. The middle pressed against her side. The smallest abandoned the bag entirely in favor of her ankle.

Aventurine watched this happen in real time with morbid fascination.

"I have had it for months," Aventurine said, pointing at the smallest catcake almost accusingly. "It hid from me for the first three weeks. But you just come in, and they're all over you."

She was visibly trying not to laugh, which required effort. "Maybe it has a type?"

"I have never been disrespected more in my entire life," he said, gravely. "I'm just furniture."

"You're not furniture," she said quickly, though the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her.

"I'm a very well-dressed surface they occasionally walk across on their way to you."

She finally laughed, and the sound of it made the largest catcake knead her knee in approval, which was, somehow, the final insult.

She took the wand toy from his hand gently, shook it once, and all three catcakes launched into motion at once, ricocheting off the couch and each other and both of them, filling the room with bell sounds and patter as they played with her.

It would be impressive, if it wasn't sad.

Aventurine did not move from where he sat, hands resting loosely against his knees now, gaze following the arc of motion, when a sudden weight landed in his lap.

He blinked.

The smallest catcake had, in the chaos, made a miscalculation and landed fully on Aventurine's lap and couldn't be bothered to relocate.

He didn't move. He was very still, in fact, in case it noticed. Even his breathing slowed, measured unconsciously to avoid disturbing the small, warm weight settled against him.

The catcake gave a faint, content huff and snuggled more into him.

After a moment, despite himself, he smiled.

........................

By now her presence had become something of a fixed feature of the relationship— her arrival in the evening, the instant affection of all three catcakes, her staying for dinner, and then, as it happened with increasing regularity, staying the night.

Aventurine had no complaints about this. He had, in fact, engineered it to some degree: the imported tea she liked, restocked last week; the second drawer in the bathroom, quietly cleared for her things. There were small adjustments throughout the apartment, subtle shifts that made space for her without ever announcing themselves as such.

He was not subtle about wanting her around, he simply preferred not to remark on it directly.

The catcakes, apparently, had no such preference for subtlety when she stayed over.

And the ensuing bed situation was, by far, the most egregious offense.

The first time, he allowed for coincidence.

He had come to bed late, later than her, which meant she was already warm and half-asleep when he settled beside her, and there was a specific quality to her like that that he found... the word distracting was not quite right. Compelling was closer.

She shifted when the mattress dipped, a quiet, instinctive movement, and turned toward him. Her hand found his sleeve first, before settling, fingers curling faintly against the fabric.

“…You’re late,” she murmured.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied softly.

His gaze lingered, drawn to her lips.

Her palm grazed his cheek lightly, then she rose a little, and he met her halfway, one hand lifting almost absently to steady against the mattress near her shoulder. The distance between them narrowed to something precarious, lips ghosting over each other, suspended just at the edge of more.

And then—

The largest catcake landed squarely on his chest.

Directly on his sternum, with full confidence. The force of it startled both of them apart instantly, whatever fragile moment had been forming snapping cleanly in two as the catcake adjusted its weight and settled more into him with absolute disregard for context.

It kneaded once, twice, found the position satisfactory, and began to purr at a volume he found inappropriate for the circumstances.

Aventurine lay very still, staring up at the ceiling as though it might offer some form of explanation.

"Move," he said.

The large catcake opened one eye. Then closed it.

She made a sound muffled into his shoulder that was unmistakably laughter. "It missed you."

It only purred louder.

"I missed it, too," he said, with considerable patience, "just not right now."

She laughed again, properly this time, which was the only thing that made the situation even slightly acceptable, and the largest catcake settled in for what appeared to be the long term, which meant the moment was gone, and Aventurine looked at the ceiling and conducted a brief internal audit of his life choices.

He couldn't prove it, but he knew it was on purpose.

........................

Next time, he was prepared to take action.

The action he had decided on was simply waiting them out. The catcakes slept deeply, they had routines. There was a window, he had observed, between approximately eleven and midnight, when all three were reliably unconscious and the apartment was quiet and the bed was just the two of them, which was all he had ever wanted from the bed, truly, in the grand scheme of things.

He had communicated none of this to her, of course, on the grounds that saying I have scheduled a window in the catcakes' sleep cycle out loud would require a level of self-reflection he wasn't prepared to perform.

He had simply suggested, at half past ten, that she should probably head to bed, citing a long day.

She had looked at him with the expression that meant she was aware something was happening and found it entertaining. "It's early," she said.

"It's been a long week."

"For you?"

"For both of us."

"Mmhm." But she had gone to bed, and the catcakes had been distributed across the apartment in the deep and motionless sleep of the innocent, and he had given it twenty minutes to be safe before settling beside her, and the room was quiet, and she was looking at him with something warm and hungry in the low light, and he had his hand at her waist and her fingers had found the collar of his shirt, and everything was going entirely according to plan —

A small, deliberate weight landed on the mattress.

Aventurine froze.

The smallest catcake, who had never once, in all the months he had her, been awake past eleven, climbed the length of the bed, walked directly across him, and wedged itself into the exact warm hollow he usually occupied, perfectly positioned to claim any proximity that might otherwise have been his.

He counted to five.

She bit her lip not to laugh.

"It's never awake at this hour," he said.

"Must've sensed the energy," she said, muffled slightly by catcake.

"What energy?"

"The energy," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He moved the smallest catcake, firmly, to the foot of the bed. It returned immediately. He moved it again. It sat on his pillow and watched him with round, unblinking eyes that contained no comprehension of what it had interrupted and no remorse.

"I," he said, carefully, "am going to lose my mind."

She petted its head. "It just wants to be included."

"It's not invited."

"It doesn't know that."

He lay back. The smallest catcake took this as an opportunity. It walked onto his chest, turned a circle, and settled.

"This," he said, to the ceiling, "is a coordinated effort."

"They love you," she said.

"They are sabotaging me."

"Same thing, probably."

He looked at the smallest catcake. It purred, which proved nothing and which he was choosing not to find endearing. And then, as if summoned by some unspoken signal, the other catcakes choose exactly that moment to join the fray, as well.

The large one spread across his pillow as though asserting ownership, effectively pushing him further toward the edge of the bed. The middle one wedged itself neatly into the space between them, occupying far more territory than its size justified.

"I'm being evicted from my own bed," Aventurine said, with great clarity. "In my own home. By animals that I feed."

She laughed. "You have space."

"I have twelve inches of mattress and someone's tail in my face."

He glared at the catcake on his pillow, affectionately. It looked back at him with eyes that contained no guilt whatsoever, and made no effort to move from the pillow. He tried to move it, gently, which it tolerated with profound sufferance before immediately resettling back on the pillow.

He laid back next to it in outmost offense, and looked at the ceiling.

She shifted, sliding closer to him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her in his space, in his apartment, in the bed that was technically his even if everyone else was pretending otherwise.

"You're jealous," she said, into the dark, "of the catcakes."

"I'm establishing boundaries."

"You're jealous." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I provide for them. I source their enrichment. I have read—" he paused for emphasis— "two separate guides on catcake development. And I'm still getting sabotaged."

"Mmhm."

"It's my apartment, and I'm simply noticing," he continued, voice gaining the faintest edge of whining, "that there is a glaring distribution problem occurring, and that as the primary investor in this household, I am not seeing adequate returns on—"

"Aventurine."

"—what is objectively a significant emotional—"

"Aventurine."

"What?"

The largest catcake was lifted, very carefully, off the pillow and moved to the foot of the bed, where it settled with mild outrage. Then she shifted again, closing the distance fully as she tucked herself against his side, which rearranged the whole layout of the bed and displaced the middle catcake and fixed, in a single movement, the distribution problem he had been circling for three paragraphs.

And just like that, the problem was solved.

Aventurine went quiet.

"There," she said. "Are you happy?"

He was, though he would not admit it.

The smallest catcake migrated up again, and settled on his other side, which he suspected was an accident on her part but was choosing to count anyway.

"I'm locking the bedroom door tomorrow," he said.

"You won't."

"I will. Watch me."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him in the dim light. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room settled.

"You know," she said, "they only come to me because you spoil them so much they've gotten picky."

He considered this. "That is most certainly not true."

"It is," she admitted. "And you know it."

He did. He didn't say so.

What he did do, was tuck his arm around her, pulling her closer and disturbing the largest catcake, which it registered as a personal grievance before resettling on top of his feet with tremendous passive aggression.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Door. Locked."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"Sure."

He didn't lock the door the next day. But he did acquire, from a specialty importer, a fourth silk bed— smaller, placed strategically on the nightstand on his side— and said nothing about it to anyone, which he felt was a reasonable compromise between dignity and honesty.

The catcakes never used it.

He had put a warming pad in it. The catcakes had evaluated it with great seriousness for several days and then resumed sleeping in his spot without comment.

She saw it and said nothing.

He appreciated that more than he would ever say.

[magikcheese3]

You're here

Phainon x reader, Mydei x reader, Aventurine x reader

Warnings: just fluff

Synopsis: How a few honkai star rail men react to their child finally being born. Also the pronoun of the baby changes based on if I think they're a girl dad or a boy dad(Tbh phainon feels like both)

I wrote this cause I saw a man holding his baby ｡◕‿◕｡

Also I woke up today with a bug bite on my neck that looked like a hickey. Like at least ask me out to dinner first 😒

Phainon:

Phainon told himself he wouldn't cry - he couldn't. Not when you were crying out in front of him, sweaty palms gripped around his tightly he thought it was enough to stop blood circulation. But the moment the first cry rang out in the small hospital room, the rest of the nurses rushing around to get supplies for the baby. He felt his heart drop straight to his stomach, panic blooming in his chest.

You laughed in relief with your forehead resting against him, but Phainon couldn't move. His eyes never strayed from the doctor holding the bundle of joy that was soon to be in his. His breath getting caught in his lungs.

"She's beautiful," said the nurse who carefully handed her over to him. The moment she was in his arms - her warmth lingering on his skin - his eyes began to blur. Biting on his lip as he looked down - she was finally here. The life you and him created, your love in human form. He didn't expect such a small thing to be so precious, how his heart already ached. And it didn't help how she looked exactly like you - his world.

"Phai, are you crying?" you teased from the hospital bed, your breath still a little shaken. Your voice snapping him back into reality.

Phainon shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. "No... no I'm not - " then your baby stirred, her small fingers resting on his chest. In an instant he couldn't control himself anymore, body trembling as hot tears started to stream down his face. He finally broke.

You didn't say anything, but your gaze softened. A smile spreading across your face as you looked at your husband like this. His sobs melting your heart. "Come here," you breathed, arms reaching out for him. And slowly but surely, he lowered himself into your embrace. Whispering 'I love you' over and over through the tears. And you just stayed there, holding both your babies.

Mydei:

He couldn't believe she was here, his heart stopping in his chest as her cries echoed throughout the room. His hand tightening around yours without realizing. He told himself he was prepared, that he was ready, but he felt how his body began to tremble. His composure starting to crack under the weight of everything he felt.

But the moment she was in his arms, her tears stopping in the presence of her father - a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The room fading away with his precious bundle being the center of it all. A warmth he didn't know could exist blooming in his chest, as he continued to watch the rise and fall of her chest. This was his daughter, small yet incredibly strong. Exactly like you.

And when Mydei finally looked up - golden eyes meeting yours, expectant and tired - he didn't hesitate to lower himself onto one knee to be at your level. Leaning against the bedside as he slowly lifted his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered, voice low, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You are so strong, stronger than I'll ever be." He noticed how your body began to shake because of his words, a quiet sob escaping your lips. So, he just stays there. Your daughter in one hand, and the other running up and down your back as your head falls into the crook of his neck. In that moment, he promised himself that no matter what happened, he'd protect you.

The both of you.

Forever.

Aventurine:

He didn't move, didn't breathe. Not when his son was right there, mere inches away from him.

When the nurse asked if he wanted to hold him, Aventurine didn't know how to respond. His usual confidence faltered, replaced by something uncertain, almost fragile. With a slow, cautious nod, he finally reached out. His breath hitching the moment he was in his arms, looking down at his small form.

It was his son. Not a stranger's, not the nurse's. He was his, and that terrified him to the core.

Not in a million years did he think he was capable of finding the love of his life, or being able to have a child to call his own. But when he saw your gaze, how it softened at the sight of him holding your son, he knew he wasn't alone.

Glancing back as he watched five little fingers wrapping around his own, his heart skipping a beat in his chest.

"Hello there," he whispered, eyes never straying from him as he began to grin from ear to ear. "I'm your father, that person over there," he said looking up at you with a sense of pride flashing in his eyes. Finishing with his voice a little louder, enough for you to hear: "Is your mother, the most beautiful person I know."

And when you three finally got back home - weeks passing by - you couldn't help but smile at the stories from his coworkers. About how he was always boasting about your son, saying things like: "He clenched his fists for the first time today," or "He smiles every time I'm in the room," or even showing the countless photos he had taken on his phone.

Aventurine truly loved you and your son. And you couldn't ask for anyone better.

Mad respect for those writers who write literal series. like writing for three characters already has me drained 😔

Divider credits: @diviniyae

[mixxdpunch]

Aventurine headcannon that he actually didnt get a synthesia beacon until he was already a few years into his IPC career

Why? Because he just has an uncanny ability to pick up spoken languages. As a kid he already picked up different sigonian dialects and some common galactic, and during his time in slavery he had been able to pick up enough words to get by. While his reading ability could use some work, he could get by with what he knew.

I think that no one would actually realize that he didnt have a synthesia beacon until he met Dr. Ratio. Most planets he went too used common galactic as a common language, or their languages had grammar similar enough that he could figure it out after watching a few movies.

And for others its no problem. Aventurine could speak any language and it would be translated for people by their synthesia beacon, so any mistakes he makes is usually overruled by the technology. It was him who had to learn what people were saying, and he learned that buisness words like statistics and analytics were common in most languages.

When he meets Dr ratio for the first time though, hes stumped. I believe that Dr ratio doesnt use his synethesia beacon often (likely because hes also a polygot and isnt around non academics enough to require it often) so he instantly picks up on grammatical mistakes that most would never have heard.

Aventurine misuses verds and tenses, will occasionally miss articles (i honestly assume sigonian is similar to a Slavic language) and will take just a few seconds too long to understand what ratio is saying.

I think thats also the moment where ratio respects aventurines intelligence a lot. Because most people would never bother learning another language when they have a built in translator, meanwhile aventurine learned to speak dozens based purely on his own merit.

[judasgot-it]

Sigh I need these lines in an academic rivals to lovers fic

[judasgot-it]

Oh and also this ridiculous scene too. This scene needs to be in a fic stat yall

[judasgot-it]

Sigh I need these lines in an academic rivals to lovers fic

[judasgot-it]

I have no one else to yap about this with but omfggggg

my nerdy scholarly husband is here im gooning so fucking hard to him LOOK AT HIMFJAHFISAUFHIA

[judasgot-it]

How I know its you

Scenario: Jing Yuan had lost you centuries ago. He had always hoped that you would come back.

Jing Yuan quite frankly despised immortality. Not the kind of despise that had him boiling in anger. It was more akin to a sort of depression.

He slept all day just so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the reality that he lived in. He loved many people there, but in his dreams he could almost pretend that the centuries of loss wasn't real. That his friends were alive, not stricken by mara. And for one, that you were alive.

After he had lost his friends, the one person he had was you. At least he thought he did. You were also supposed to be immortal, the one pillar that he had relied on in his time of mourning.

Until you too perished. Because despite being immortal, it seemed that no amount of time would stop the endless war the xianzhou alliance fought. That the cosmos would ever truly see an era peace.

One of his most selfish and hopeful thoughts was that he would see you again. That somehow you would come back. He believed that the random daises that grew in his garden were signs from you, that every loose change he found on the street was a sign that you were smiling down on him.

You were the sound of the fountain in the center, one that you had designed yourself so many years ago. It was one of the last things touched by your hands, and it seemingly haunted him all this time.

He truly and utterly believed that you could control the weather of each planet he went too, that made the storms so he could remember how you loved the sound of rain, and would bring in the sun of each star so he could remember the warmth your body gave him.

After so much time after your death, he had learned that there were only so many faces humanoid species could create. There were many times where he thought he saw you - halovians with you eyes, humans with your nose, foxians with your smile....of course, they were not you.

With all of this time passing him by, peoples faces had started to blur in together. In humans he was aware of the condition called dementia, where old age would take away the ability to remember things or to think clearly. He worried sometimes that he might be experiencing the same.

Standing in one of the carts of the astral express, Jing Yuan felt that maybe Welt would have something to share about this condition. The man was considerably old for a human, and while he was no medical professional, Jing Yuan liked to believe that personal experience was more helpful.

"Hello trailblazers."

Looking at the members faces, and he could easily conjure up the image of people he had met centuries before. Although instead of their modern clothes, they would be warriors, bakers, business men and fortune tellers. Oh how time has passed him by.

The one he really knew was Dan Heng, given the history he had with the mans last carnation. But he was different now, and he could not get back that friendship he once had.

Currently he was sitting beside a new member.

"This is Jing Yuan, he is a general of the Xianzhou alliance. A good friend of the astral express."

"I see you have some new members." Whoever was sitting beside Dan Heng was a near carbon copy of you. The same hair, the same eyes and that same mischievous smile. Hell, even down to the way they sat on the couch was exactly like yours.

Never had he seen in all of his years such a close copy to you.

"This here is Y/n, back there is Sunday." Dan Heng took the role of introducing everyone. Which Jing Yuan needed, because you both had the same name for heavens sake. Was this the universe insulting him?

He didn't let it show. Here he was not a foolish boy, but a general. An old one at that.

Your carbon copy smiled, and clearly spoke before thinking:

"Whaddap Jingle balls"

With a raised hand, you said the same stupid nickname that passed your lips centuries ago. One that he had hated until it had grown onto him like moss on a forest floor.

"Jingle balls?" You never once called him general. Only a dumb name like that, even in important meetings.

"...I'm so sorry. I have no idea why I just fucking said that."

"Please don't be so profane." Dan Heng looked scared, embarassed. His eyes were wide, whole body pleading as if time could turn back and prevent you from saying such a word.

Jing Yuan couldn't help but smile wide. He moved closer, sitting on the same couch as you. Getting comfortable, he found that the table was a little too low to make a proper arm rest, but the best option he had.

"Y/n is quite an odd name. Is it after the fountain?" Your name had fallen out of fashion a long time ago. The only people who still had it were as old as he was, which was not many.

As you adjusted, face still pink after the slip up, you smiled and got more comfortable. You were never one to be shy when around strangers, as like a child, you had never learned that you needed to be.

Not stupid. But he loved how low your social boundaries were.

"It sounds quite elegant doesn't it?"

"Yes, quite." Jing Yuan found that he was not tired for once. Right now, as he sat on the couch and listened to you begin to talk his ear off about the fountains you oh so adored, he couldn't help but feel enraptured.

It felt as if he was truly awake for once. You were the morning cup of coffee, keeping him in his seat as he observed you.

Deep in his heart and his soul, he felt it. This was you.

You had to have returned back, after so many centuries. Back to him.

Lowkey became a bit yandere esq at the end but yolo. Never wrote for Jing Yuan before so im sorry if this is very OOC. It just only works for characters that live a long time, so I chose him.

[grunklebongrip]

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

[signalfirefly]

#he wouldn't fucking say that but i'm getting kind of attached to the guy you invented who did say that

[geneeste]

@mrv3000 telling truths in the tags:

[sugiliteful]

btw Veritas Ratio would never truly be opposed to the idea of reading you to sleep, especially if you struggle with insomnia. i’m sorry to break it to you, it’s just a fact that he’s a little too in love with the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest while he reads—turning page after page in the dim lamplight of your shared bedroom until he feels your breathing slow.

[judasgot-it]

I have exams almost every single week of april dawg....

[idk-lolol]

More ratio stuff I drew disguised as studying

Some “reader” characters I’ve designed, normally I’d draw them without features but I miss character design and drawing cute girls (guys too ig…)

Also made ratio in BG3 with my friends, we worked with what we got 💔💔

[captain-redacted]

I see too many Anaxa x reader fics or Ratio x reader fics with them being super forward and reader being flustered(or sometimes the other way around). Where are the fics of them being an autistic power couple

[opulent-valkyrie]

I'm crying the autistic power couple fic was right above this

[judasgot-it]

Hold up which fic I need to read them being autistic together 😭🙏