It’s been a while since I’ve requested, and what better time to come than now.
Thinking about reader that is always scheming. Harmless tricks on their lover, of course.
Like, “misplacing” Sunday’s clothes to a different side of the room just when he’s turned his back. (He forgot something in the bathroom, better go get it—and oh—his clothes are now 3 feet farther than before. Great.)
Like, “misplacing” Jing Yuan’s keys to a hanger on the wall near the door. His fault, really, he turned his back to reader after putting it down on his desk.
Like, “accidentally” writing a bunch of embarrassing (lovey-dovey, basically.) doodles of reader and Veritas Ratio on his whiteboard for his students who know about reader to see.
I have more of these ideas, but 3 is good to stop myself at.
Also, can you tell how much I like colored text? - SAHSRAU apprentice Anon
A Trick of the Heart
Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Light-Hearted Mischief, Established Relationship, Affectionate Teasing, Domestic Antics, Romantic Comedy, Soft Moments, Subtle Banter, Mild Crack.
Warnings: Mild Embarrassment, Harmless Pranks, Very Light Language.
A/N: I think you like coloured texts, I'm not sure though. 🤷♀️
The room was unusually quiet for a lecture hall that had just been filled with budding intellectuals. The silence was not due to awe — not entirely — but rather from the growing smirks and stifled laughter spreading across the rows.
Ratio strode into the lecture room, white cloak billowing behind him, alabaster mask perched on the side of his desk. As usual, he swept in like a force of precision and purpose.
Until he saw the whiteboard.
At first glance, it was perfectly clean. Almost too clean. His students—sharp, almost worryingly observant as they were—kept shifting their eyes between him and the top right corner of the board. Ratio followed their gaze.
And there it was.
Drawn in permanent ink (of course it was permanent), a cartoonish version of him — eight degrees and all — holding hands with a starry-eyed version of you, surrounded by speech bubbles like:
"No, I don’t need a Genius Society membership... I already have you ♡"
“My calculations lead me to a 99.9% certainty: you’re adorable.”
He stared. Silent. Contemplative.
You, hidden just outside the door with a student accomplice, were biting your knuckle to keep from laughing. He’d scold you, surely — he had to scold you. But he’d secretly love it.
Ratio turned to the class, gaze like sharpened glass.
“Who—” he began, voice cutting, “—enabled this statistical anomaly?”
A lone cough in the corner. A stifled laugh. No one dared move.
You strolled in, twirling a marker cap between your fingers like a victory baton.
“Did you like it?” you asked, casually leaning on the desk. “I was just making abstract visualizations of your emotional regression curve. In love, I mean.”
He exhaled slowly. Then—smirked.
“Your methods are unorthodox. Borderline childish. Entirely beneath my academic standards.”
You blinked innocently.
“But effective,” he added, glancing at the board again, “in inciting affection.”
Sunday blinked.
He had definitely placed his coat on the edge of the bed. He even remembered smoothing it out.
So why was it now hanging from the back of the chair… across the room?
“...Strange,” he murmured, stepping away from the bathroom door. He adjusted the halo above his head, wings behind his ears fluttering slightly.
He approached the coat and reached for it.
And then paused.
The white scarf that had been draped on the dresser was now… not. It had mysteriously migrated to the top of a floating lamp, suspended like a prayer flag over the entire room.
He didn’t need to look. He didn’t need to ask. He knew.
"You're doing it again," he said aloud.
From the hallway, your giggle betrayed you.
Sunday turned slowly, golden eyes glinting with something between amusement and resignation.
“You know,” he said, picking his scarf off the lamp with careful grace, “for someone who insists they love me, you certainly delight in prolonging my dressing process.”
“You love the challenge,” you called, emerging from the doorway with a proud grin. “You’re all elegance and celestial grace — but let’s see you chase down a sock.”
One eyebrow arched. “You underestimate how much of my life has been spent retrieving what’s been lost. I will retrieve my dignity, too.”
As he walked past, you moved his coat again — just a few inches this time, barely noticeable. He stopped, turned around slowly, wings twitching with mock suspicion.
You smiled, coy. “Oops.”
Sunday let out a breath that was almost a laugh, the corners of his lips turning upward.
“Your spirit is incorrigible,” he murmured.
“But you adore it.”
“…Yes,” he conceded softly. “I do.”
Jing Yuan stood in the center of his office, robes draped elegantly, arms folded.
“I know I left my keys on the desk,” he muttered.
You sat on the couch nearby, feigning intense interest in a scroll that you’d picked up upside down.
“Hmm?” you asked, pretending to be engrossed in ancient Cloud Knight tactics.
“My keys,” he repeated, turning toward the desk again. “I placed them right here. Then I turned around for—what—five seconds?”
You tilted your head. “Are you sure it wasn’t ten?”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His long ponytail swayed behind him as he moved to lift up books, scrolls, even his little toy lion in the corner. Still nothing.
Then his gaze shifted… and landed on the hanger near the door.
The keys were dangling neatly from it, with the decorative tassel you had tied on them — the one that said “#1 Dozing General” in sparkling thread.
He stared. Silent. You were biting your cheek to contain the smile.
“Strange,” he murmured, strolling over with an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t suppose some mysterious spirit moved them, do you?”
“Oh, you know how sneaky those Luofu spirits are,” you said solemnly. “They’re probably after your title.”
He plucked the keys from the hanger and turned toward you.
“You know, the other Generals don’t have to deal with this kind of espionage.”
“They also don’t have someone who loves them enough to mildly inconvenience them for entertainment,” you said sweetly.
Jing Yuan walked over, leaned down, and kissed the top of your head.
“You’re lucky I enjoy your mischief.”
“You’re lucky I restrain myself from hiding all your belts.”
