Hsr men with quiet loving. (aventurine, Dr ratio, Dan heng, sunday, Jiaoqiu and anaxa)
Like their spouse will linger around them, either wanting attention but not letting them know (or their just staying in the same room minding their own business) and their hubby will just come by and give them a quick peck or hug or just lean against them while not stopping what they were doing (to show that they're not alone and refuse to neglect them of physical touch or even a snack X3c)
-🍮
Every Small Touch a Proof
Tags: Jiaoqiu x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Anaxa x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic, Quiet Intimacy, Mutual Affection, Established Relationship, Gentle Gestures, Slice Of Life, Subtle Romance, Comforting Presence, Mutual Understanding.
The clicking of Aventurine’s watch was nearly drowned out by the low hum of the display screens in his office. Spreadsheets, projections, and half a dozen games of chance were open at once—each spinning at the pace only his mind could keep up with.
You sat on the sofa just a few feet away, a book open on your lap, eyes flicking between the words and the man himself. You didn’t say a thing—he’d been in “full focus” mode for hours—but your quiet presence was intentional. A way to share the space without intruding.
He didn’t glance up. Not at first. Then, with the casual elegance only Aventurine could manage, he finished typing a figure, flicked the pen he’d been toying with onto the desk, and crossed the short distance to you.
Without a word, he leaned down, lips brushing your temple in a passing kiss. A faint smell of cologne lingered as he straightened, the corner of his mouth curling in that barely-there smile.
“Don’t think I don’t notice when you haunt my office, sweetheart,” he said, almost lazily, before heading back to his desk.
You were about to reply when something small landed on your book—a perfectly wrapped truffle, from the stash he pretended he didn’t keep. You looked up just in time to catch him lowering back into his chair, pretending to be absorbed in his next move.
He didn’t need to look at you to know you were smiling. And you didn’t need to ask to know the candy was his way of saying: Stay. I like you here.
The soft swish of pages turning filled the archive car of the Astral Express. Dan Heng stood at his desk, reviewing records in neat, steady strokes of ink. You were tucked into the corner bench with your own book, legs drawn up, making no sound other than the occasional shift of your weight.
You weren’t here to bother him—you just liked being where he was.
Minutes passed. Maybe more than an hour. Then, almost without warning, Dan Heng moved away from his desk. The floor was silent beneath his steps until he was right in front of you. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even make you put your book down.
He leaned over slightly, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head, the kind so brief it could almost be missed. And yet, you felt the warmth linger.
When he pulled away, his hand brushed your shoulder—gentle, reassuring—before he returned to his work. He didn’t glance back, but the rhythm of his writing was steadier now.
The touch hadn’t interrupted you, but it told you everything: I see you. I’m glad you’re here.
In the quiet glow of the Astral Express’s observation deck, you sat curled up with your notebook, tracing idle lines into the page. Sunday was by the far window, hands clasped behind his back, halo faintly glinting in the light of distant stars. He seemed miles away in thought, yet you stayed—content just to share the stillness.
You didn’t ask for his attention. You didn’t need to.
A flutter of movement caught your eye—his feathered ear-wings shifting as he glanced over his shoulder. His expression softened almost imperceptibly before he crossed the space between you.
Sunday knelt beside your chair, one hand coming to rest lightly over your knee. His eyes held yours for a heartbeat, quiet and steady, before he leaned in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek.
“Even the quietest presence,” he murmured, voice like a low chord in the air, “changes the shape of solitude.”
He stayed there for a moment longer—close, but unintrusive—then rose and returned to the window, scarf trailing behind him like an afterthought of light.
You went back to your scribbles, heart warmer than the tea beside you. He might retreat into thought, but he would never let you feel unseen.
The study smelled faintly of parchment and metal ink nibs. Ratio was perched at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his pen dancing over papers dense with equations and notes. The rhythm of his writing was sharp and decisive—one you’d grown to recognize as his “fully engaged” state.
You sat on the opposite side of the room, curled up in the corner chair with a datapad, half-reading, half-listening to the soft scratch of his pen. You weren’t after conversation—you just liked being near him.
Without looking up, Ratio set his pen down for a moment, reached across the desk, and slid a small plate toward the edge. On it rested a neatly cut slice of fruit, skin peeled with surgical precision.
“You’ve been sitting there far too still,” he said, voice matter-of-fact but softened by the faintest lilt. “Eat. A mind works better when it’s fed… and I’d rather you not fade into the upholstery.”
You took the fruit, amused at the way he went right back to annotating his manuscript, as if that tiny gesture hadn’t just warmed your chest.
Ratio didn’t glance up, but the slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth told you enough: Your presence is not just tolerated—it’s accounted for.
The faint aroma of simmering herbs and broth filled the small preparation room. Jiaoqiu stood at the counter, long fingers working with steady precision as he measured powders into a lacquered bowl. His fox ears twitched occasionally at the faint bubbling from the cauldron in the corner.
You lingered near the low table, folding small squares of paper for his ingredient packets. The work was quiet, companionable—the kind of silence you’d both grown to appreciate.
At one point, Jiaoqiu’s steps approached, soft but sure despite his unseeing eyes. He stopped beside you, fingers brushing lightly along the tabletop until they found your hand. He gave it the gentlest squeeze, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“You’ve been here the whole time,” he murmured with a small smile, tone warm but edged with quiet knowing. “The room feels… less empty because of it.”
Then, without letting go, he guided your hand toward a small dish—a neatly prepared dumpling, still warm. “For you. Don’t let it get cold.”
By the time you looked up, he’d already returned to the counter, resuming his careful work, tail swaying in a slow, content rhythm.
The workshop was scattered with parchment scrolls, alchemical glassware, and fragments of strange mechanisms whose purpose only Anaxa could explain. He stood at a tall workbench, sleeves pushed back, one hand adjusting the delicate gears of some half-completed device.
You sat on a stool nearby, absentmindedly sketching in a notebook, letting the sound of tiny clicks and the occasional scrape of metal fill the air.
Without preamble, Anaxa stepped away from his bench, crossing to you in two long strides. His hand came to rest briefly on your shoulder, the cool edge of his rings catching your skin. He leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to the crown of your head—a fleeting touch, but deliberate.
“Still here, hm?” His voice carried that wry, almost mischievous lilt he so often used when teasing. “I’d accuse you of spying on my brilliance, but… I suspect you simply like breathing the same air as me.”
He didn’t wait for your rebuttal—just straightened, adjusted the cuff of his glove, and returned to his bench. Yet the faint hum in his throat, almost a tune, told you the interruption had pleased him more than he’d admit.
Do you know my favourite thing on here? Is when you like and reblog a couple of posts or pictures from someone, maybe even just one post. And maybe you give a modest compliment, maybe you gush a little.
And then suddenly that person has come to your blog and is just excitedly showering you in love and likes and cute tags and reblogs, completely x5 the love you bestowed upon them
Nah JK, I love how creative you are when thinking up new ideas for preexisting stories and adding onto it that it fits so well, that it makes me wanna punch the writers in the throat for how easy you made it look.
I also love how your art REALLY makes it look like you create comics for a living and not just as a pastime hobby.
I hope you get the job at IDW so you can make Flannel!Sonic officially official. He will be stealing hearts if he was caught in full display with that on.
Okay so I have a partner... who listens to my needs... and then gives me what I need??? This is fucking foreign to me. I’m so used to being in a relationship with a narcissist this is a complete change for me!!
She liked him — she had liked him all the while; now anything might happen! She was ready — she had been ready always, waiting for him to speak. If he had not spoken she would have waited for ever; but when the word came she dropped like the peach from the shaken tree.
2 Peter 1:5-7 (NIV) -
For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love.
