Summary: Ratio finds himself in an unexpectedly vulnerable moment when his signature yearning pose in his swivel chair leads to a dramatic fall. As you enter his study just in time to catch him, a playful exchange ensues, revealing a rare, softer side of the great intellectual. The two of you share a moment of connection that hints at something deeper beneath Ratio's confident exterior.
Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Lighthearted, Intellectual Romance, Playful Interaction, Falling Chair, Slight Embarrassment.
[Based on by @teabutmakeitazure, thank you for giving me permission to write this đź¤đź«¶]
The grand library buzzed with the faint hum of activity. Rows of glowing tomes and data crystals lined the walls, bathing the space in a soft, multicolored glow. At the center of it all, Ratio sat in his private study, draped in his signature intellectual splendor. The room smelled faintly of ink, paper, and the electric hum of wisdom encapsulated in holographic displays.
You had been tasked with delivering a particularly rare manuscript to him—a task that simultaneously thrilled and terrified you. Everyone knew about Ratio’s brilliance and, of course, his ego. But for all his sharp words and commanding demeanor, there was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at the strings of your heart in ways you struggled to admit.
As you approached the door to his study, your steps slowed. You raised a hand to knock but froze at the faint sound of a deep, dramatic sigh from within.
Curiosity piqued, you leaned in closer, peeking through the slightly ajar door.
There he was, leaning back in his elegant swivel chair, his wavy hair cascading over the backrest. His forearm draped over his forehead in a theatrical pose of longing, his eyes closed, and his lips pressed into a thoughtful frown. His shoulders rose and fell with the weight of his sigh, and for a moment, you wondered if he had fallen into some intellectual reverie.
Or perhaps... was he thinking about you?
You shook your head, dismissing the idea as ridiculous. But as you watched, his chair creaked ever so slightly. It tilted further back with each sigh, and you realized with growing alarm that the chair was dangerously close to tipping over.
You stepped into the room just as his chair gave an ominous groan.
"Dr. Ratio—!" you called out, your voice breaking the heavy silence.
His eyes shot open in surprise, the yellow rings around his pupils gleaming like molten gold.
The sudden movement only accelerated the inevitable. The chair tilted back too far, and for a brief, glorious moment, he was suspended in midair, the epitome of grace and chaos.
And then—
CRASH!
Ratio landed in an undignified heap, his outfit slightly askew, his dramatic yearning replaced by sheer disbelief. For a moment, silence filled the room as he processed what had just happened.
You hurried over, struggling to stifle your laughter. “Are you all right, Doctor?” you asked, extending a hand.
He glanced up at you, his expression a mixture of mortification and irritation. But as his eyes met yours, the irritation softened, replaced by something warmer.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice laced with dignity, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him. He took your hand, and you pulled him to his feet, noticing how his grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” he added, straightening his vest and glancing at the fallen chair. “It appears even the great Dr. Ratio is not immune to the whims of faulty furniture.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, and to your surprise, he smiled—a rare, genuine expression that made your heart skip a beat.
“If I may say,” you teased, “perhaps next time, you should avoid leaning so... yearningly.”
His smile widened, and for a moment, the brilliant, self-assured Ratio seemed almost human.
“Noted,” he said, his tone playful. “Though, if I’m honest, I was merely... contemplating a certain individual who has been occupying my thoughts as of late.”
Your heart fluttered. Was he—?
Before you could respond, he straightened, his confident demeanor returning like a cloak. “Now,” he said, gesturing to the manuscript in your hands. “Shall we get to work?”
As the two of you settled into the study, you couldn’t help but feel that perhaps, just perhaps, the great Ratio’s yearning thoughts weren’t entirely lost in abstraction.
So the cutie likes to sit on me and hold me down and tickle me all the time. He did that about 4 times tonight and later asks me if I hate when he does that. Without thinking or hesitation I say no (because I think it's cute) and he just goes "ohh, so you're into that kinky shit huh?", which is a running joke of ours. I don't know what point this post had other than to say I goofed up a little.
