#gentle teasing

"...This sounds unsanitary."

"But fun," you teased, leaning in with the wrapped lollipop. "Or are you scared you'll get flustered?"

That did it.

He took the candy into his mouth, his expression unreadable. Quiet confidence masked the nervous flutter in his chest. As you leaned closer, his gaze locked with yours. No blink. No smirk. Just pure eye contact, intense enough to melt sugar.

As he began to move the lollipop, teeth grazing it slightly to keep it stable, you were suddenly very aware of how close he was. His breath was warm, lips just inches away, and you could hear your own pulse.

When the candy finally passed between your mouths—smooth and silent—he didn’t pull away immediately.

“…Still think it’s just fun?” he murmured, voice low.

Your face? On fire.

Dan Heng’s smirk? Barely there—but victorious.

“You’re quite creative,” Welt said, raising an amused brow as you explained the rules.

“I’m just saying, it’s not technically kissing,” you winked. “Unless you mess up.”

Welt chuckled softly. “Then I’ll make sure not to.”

He took the lollipop calmly, settling it between his lips. His eyes crinkled with mischief as he leaned toward you, maintaining eye contact with such affection it made your heart ache.

Your lips brushed for just a moment as the candy exchanged hands—or mouths—and you froze. But he didn’t move, just watching you, smiling faintly.

“You look more flustered than I expected,” he murmured. “Should we play again?”

You nodded, dizzy, and he chuckled. “For science, of course.”

“Oh, this sounds adorable!” Phainon beamed, already unwrapping the lollipop like a child handed a party favor. “Wait—do I also have to look at you the whole time?”

You nodded.

He blinked dramatically. “Oh no… you’re going to ruin me.”

Phainon leaned in slowly, candy in mouth, lips quirking into a smile that melted every nerve you had. His eyes never left yours. He giggled as your cheeks burned pink.

“Okay, I’m gonna hand it off now,” he whispered, voice playfully soft.

The candy passed—awkward, sweet, and a little clumsy.

You accidentally touched noses.

You both burst out laughing.

Then he pulled you into a tight hug, still chuckling. “We’re terrible at this. But I’m so glad I get to be silly with you.”

He didn’t understand the rules. “Why would one pass candy with their mouth?”

“…It’s a game. Romantic tension and all.”

Mydei blinked slowly. “I already know how I feel. Do I need a candy to prove it?”

Yet, somehow, he still took the lollipop.

He didn’t fumble or smile—he simply leaned in like a warrior stepping into battle. Golden eyes stared directly into yours, unwavering. The moment the lollipop passed to your mouth, you felt your knees weaken.

He lingered.

“…If this is a ritual of affection,” he whispered, “I would gladly lose to you every time.”

Your brain? Short-circuited.

Your heart? Definitely left your body.

“Ohhh? Lollipop instead of a pocky stick?” Aventurine’s grin was positively criminal. “Baby, if you wanted an excuse to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.”

He practically waltzed over, lollipop already in place. “Ready to gamble?”

You had no time to respond before he leaned in, closer than necessary, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

He teased you, drawing it out. Halfway through the hand-off, he stopped, lips still close. “Oops,” he said, voice a breath against your cheek. “Dropped the candy. Guess you’ll have to kiss me after all.”

And he absolutely won the game—with your flustered face as the prize.

You had to coax him into playing. “Is this really necessary?” he asked, flushed before it even began.

“C’mon, Captain. It’s just candy,” you teased.

“…This is so against Silvermane Guard protocol,” he muttered—but still took the lollipop.

Gepard stared at you like he was about to charge into battle. He was so serious about doing it right, the tension became unbearable.

When the candy passed between your mouths, he jumped back like he'd touched fire.

“I—sorry! Was that too close? Did I—”

You burst out laughing.

He turned red all the way up to his ears. “…Please don’t tell Serval.”

Later, though, he pulled you aside, still red, and said quietly, “...We could try again. Privately.”

You blink, mid-yawn, as Aventurine dramatically drapes himself over the edge of the bed like a swooning socialite in a stage play. His tousled hair fans out across the pillow.

You kneel beside him, one brow raised. “Your stomach hurts because you had three chili cocktails and cheesecake for dinner, you idiot.”

He groans, dragging a hand across his face. “I calculated the risk.”

“Poorly.”

“You’re not being nearly sympathetic enough.”

With a sigh that’s more fond than frustrated, you gently press your palm to his stomach and begin slow, circular motions. He flinches at first, then melts into the touch, muffling a moan of relief.

“Water?” you ask.

“No.”

You grab the bottle anyway. “Hydrate, Kakavasha. I'm not rubbing your stomach and calling emergency medical just because you're a gambler and dehydrated.”

He takes the bottle begrudgingly. “You know, if you’re going to bully me, at least let me die in peace on your lap.”

And with that, he shifts dramatically, laying his head across your thighs. Within minutes, the tension in his brow eases. His breathing evens out. A soft, near-whimper escapes his lips as your fingers trail through his hair.

“Mm… warm hands… love you,” he mumbles, half-asleep.

You smile softly. “Love you too, drama queen.”

“It’s… simply a malfunction of the digestive tract,” Ratio says, lying rigid on the couch like a Victorian gentleman with a case of the vapors. “Nothing worthy of alarm. Just... unfortunate.”

“Uh huh,” you say, perched beside him with the bottle of antacids. “You mean you ate half a pie because you wanted to test whether human cravings override metabolic capacity?”

“It was scientific inquiry!”

“It was blueberry pie, Ratio. Not a lab experiment.”

He grumbles but takes the medicine anyway, looking pointedly away like a scolded schoolboy. You shift closer and rest your hand over his stomach, rubbing in small, calming circles.

His breath hitches. “…That’s oddly effective.”

You smile. “It’s called basic care. You should try it sometime instead of writing 3,000-word manifestos on lactose.”

He glares without heat, then his expression softens. “…I don’t dislike this.”

You glance down — his lashes flutter, his body relaxing inch by inch. His fingers sneak toward your hand and cling there, surprisingly tender.

“Do not analyze this later,” you whisper as he drifts off.

“I make no promises,” he murmurs, half-conscious. “But… thank you.”

Sunday doesn’t complain. He simply sits curled at the edge of the bed, halo glowing faintly, a hand on his stomach and his wings twitching behind his ears.

“You okay?” you ask, kneeling in front of him.

“…It’s nothing. A discomfort. Temporary.”

You frown. “Did you eat today?”

“I… may have forgotten.” His voice is soft, full of guilt. “I was occupied with the Astral Express acquires and—”

You cut him off with a sigh, already retrieving a warm compress and a bottle of gentle herbal tea.

“Sunday,” you say, pressing your hand lightly to his stomach. “You're not immortal. Your body needs care, too. Not just your soul.”

He breathes out, the corners of his mouth quivering. “I do not know how to rest without guilt.”

“You don’t have to earn rest, love.”

His eyes soften as you rub his stomach in smooth, soothing motions. His scarf trails over your wrist as he leans forward, forehead resting against your shoulder.

“This… feels safe,” he murmurs.

“It is,” you whisper. “You are.”

And when he finally drifts off on your lap, wings fluttering softly and the faint glow of his halo dimming to a peaceful lull, you don’t move an inch.

You find Robin curled in a cozy blanket on the lounge couch, a pained expression flickering across her elegant face. She presses a hand lightly to her stomach, breathing carefully.

“Robin?” you say softly. “You okay?”

She nods faintly, but it’s clearly a lie.

“…Tea, please,” she whispers. “And maybe… a lullaby?”

You chuckle, returning moments later with warm tea and medicine. “You mean you want a lullaby? You’re the singer here.”

She gives a breathy smile. “Tonight, I just want to be the audience.”

You settle beside her, setting down the tea, and begin gently massaging her stomach through the silk of her nightgown. She closes her eyes, lashes brushing her cheeks.

“You always forget to eat when you’re nervous,” you murmur. “Your body deserves better.”

“I know,” she breathes. “But I wanted the performance to be perfect.”

“It already was. You always are.”

Her lips part in soft surprise, and a blush blooms gently across her cheeks. She doesn’t argue. Instead, she rests her head against your chest, your hand still rubbing slow circles over her abdomen.

The couch is quiet. The room, warm. And as she slips into sleep, your free hand brushing her lilac curls from her face, she hums—just once—a half-lullaby, before falling silent in your arms.

You were supposed to be here for a supply inventory. You told yourself that several times. You even brought a scroll. Ink pot. Everything. But none of that could compete with the divine chaos currently stretching in the sun-drenched courtyard ahead.

Mydei.

Not just shirtless.

Gloriously shirtless.

You didn’t mean to stare—but gods, who wouldn’t? The tribal markings on his chest and arms looked carved by flame itself. Every muscle tensed like a battle hymn in motion, golden gauntlets flashing as he twisted through a sequence of strikes. His long, fire-touched hair trailed behind him like smoke from some sacred forge.

He was the kind of beautiful that wasn’t fair. Or legal. Or safe.

And he’d definitely caught you watching.

Again.

“Are you taking inventory of my form, little rabbit?” came that voice—low, smooth, and oh-so-amused. “Or do the supplies now come with commentary?”

You flinched like you’d been shot with an arrow. “I—I was just checking the… uh… balance of the supply crates. One of them leaned. Slightly. It leaned.”

He stepped closer, bare chest absolutely not helping. His cape swung as he approached, black and red, regal and dramatic, because of course it did. Of course he did.

“And that requires looking at me like I’ve stolen the stars from the sky?”

“I wasn’t looking at you like that!” you blurted, nearly dropping your scroll. “I was—I was thinking about balance! Center of gravity! You—you’re distracting, that’s all!”

He cocked his head. “Am I?”

“Yes. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible. Like a hazard. A beautiful hazard. Dangerous. Like... a very sharp chandelier.”

Mydei blinked once, then actually laughed. It was warm, rough around the edges, like a sound he rarely allowed himself. “A sharp chandelier,” he repeated, voice touched with wonder. “That is the first time I’ve ever been compared to home decor.”

You made a noise akin to a dying kettle. “Please forget I said that.”

“Impossible,” he said, stepping just close enough that the sun hit the gold of his necklace. “You’re very... memorable.”

Oh no.

You took a full step back, nearly tripping over your own feet, and he had the audacity to smile with a softness that only made everything worse. You were overheating. Flustered. There was probably steam coming out of your ears.

He studied you carefully, not mocking, but curious—like you were a puzzle he didn’t know he wanted to solve.

“Why do you always retreat when I come near?” he asked, gentler now.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re... overwhelming.”

“In a bad way?”

“In a half-naked warrior prince with fire eyes and a destiny to save the world kind of way.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, quietly: “You don’t need to run from me.”

“I’m not running. I’m strategically avoiding cardiac arrest.”

That made him laugh again—quieter, this time. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You forgot to breathe.

“You’re not like the others,” he said, almost more to himself. “They either fear me for what I’ve done, or worship what I might become. But you—” his golden eyes locked with yours, “—you look like you feel something.”

“I’m feeling a lot of things,” you said helplessly.

“Fear?”

“...Butterflies.”

He smiled then, real and unguarded. “Then we’re even.”

You blinked. “You have butterflies?”

“I’ve faced gods, monsters, traitors... but you, little rabbit—blushing like dawn just because I breathe near you? That unnerves me.”

You couldn’t form words. Not coherent ones, anyway.

So instead, you stared up at him, still very shirtless, very close, and entirely too beautiful for your poor heart. And when his fingers brushed your hand—barely there, barely real—you let them stay.

But Aventurine? Oh, he was amused.

So, instead of calling you out immediately, he played along.

"Chess, darling?" he suggested with a charming smirk, setting up the board on the velvet-clad table in your shared suite. His magenta and cyan eyes gleamed with mischief. "Unless, of course, you're afraid I'll completely outmaneuver you again."

You scoffed, masking a sniffle behind a hand. "As if. This time, I'm winning."

Aventurine leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm. "Big words for someone who lost in ten moves last time. But by all means—let's make this interesting."

You rolled your eyes and made the first move. Pawn to e4. Classic. Aventurine countered smoothly, watching you carefully as you played.

You were good. Not brilliant, but good enough to make him take his time, even if he didn't need to. Yet, as the game progressed, he noted how you rubbed your temples when you thought too hard, how your fingers trembled just a bit when you moved a piece, and how your breaths came shallower with each passing turn.

Still, you fought—both in the game and against the exhaustion weighing down on you.

At some point, Aventurine decided to drag things out, throwing in unnecessary gambits just to watch your brows furrow in concentration. It was adorable, really.

Finally, you slumped back with a groan. "You win," you admitted, rubbing your eyes. "Again."

Aventurine leaned forward, flicking your forehead gently. "Not surprising, but that’s not the point. The point is—" He suddenly scooped you up, ignoring your squeak of protest as he carried you bridal-style toward the plush bed.

"Aventurine—!"

"You thought you could fool me?" His grin was all smug amusement, but there was a softness beneath it. "Darling, I read people for a living. You didn’t stand a chance."

He placed you onto the bed with an exaggerated flourish, tucking you in before pressing the cool back of his hand against your forehead. "Mmm. I’d say you're about two moves away from collapsing entirely."

You pouted. "I wanted to spend time with you."

Aventurine chuckled, his gloved fingers brushing against your cheek. "And you will. In my arms, while you rest." He slipped beside you, his warmth enveloping you as he massaged slow, soothing circles into your aching shoulders.

"Sleep, love," he murmured against your temple. "I’ll be right here when you wake up. And don’t worry—next time, I’ll let you win."

"You never let me win," you mumbled sleepily.

Aventurine smirked. "Exactly."

"You’re awful at chess."

Ratio’s voice was calm, neutral, but the amused glint in his eyes gave him away.

You huffed, sitting cross-legged across from him on the floor of your shared study. "I’m learning."

"Learning implies progress," he replied smoothly, moving his knight with an air of practiced ease. "And yet, your moves remain just as questionable as they were fifteen minutes ago."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Bishop to d3.

He didn’t respond right away, instead observing you carefully. You were too still, save for the occasional sniffle. Your hands, usually steady, trembled slightly each time you reached for a piece.

Ratio knew. He had known from the moment you insisted on playing chess tonight, despite the slight rasp in your voice and the subtle exhaustion in your eyes.

But he humored you.

For now.

"I'll give you one last chance to rethink your strategy," he said, voice light but firm.

You scoffed. "What, you’re coaching me now?"

His lips curled into the faintest smile. "I would, but you look about five minutes away from falling over."

You froze.

Ratio sighed, reaching forward and flicking your forehead. "The cat’s been out of the bag for a while now. You honestly thought you could hide it from me?"

"...Yes?"

Ratio gave you a look before standing and effortlessly lifting you into his arms. You yelped, instinctively clinging to him as he carried you toward the couch.

"This is humiliating," you muttered.

"This is necessary," he corrected, placing you down with meticulous care. "Your body needs rest. Even the brightest minds require maintenance."

You pouted. "But—"

"No buts." He draped a blanket over you, then sat beside you, pulling you into his arms. One hand gently massaged the tense muscles in your back while the other threaded through your hair, fingertips cool against your fevered skin.

Ratio sighed as he adjusted you into a more comfortable position. "Next time, try not to challenge me while hiding an illness. Your loss is inevitable either way."

You let out a small, tired laugh. "You’re so arrogant."

"And you’re a terrible liar," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Now rest."

Harumasa leaned back against the couch, arms lazily draped over the backrest. He watched as you agonized over your next move, your brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"You’re stalling," he drawled, lips twitching in amusement.

"I’m thinking," you shot back, voice slightly hoarse.

He hummed. "I dunno. Thinking usually involves some kind of logic."

You glared at him. Harumasa merely smirked, fingers tapping idly against his knee.

He had known you were sick the moment you refused to nap after dinner. You were sluggish, blinking more than necessary, and every few minutes, you subtly wiped your nose when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Still, he let you play. Because you looked happy.

Eventually, though, your exhaustion won. You moved your queen right into danger.

Harumasa immediately took it.

"Checkmate." He grinned. "Easiest win of my life."

You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. "I hate you."

"Lies," he teased, ruffling your hair. "C’mon, game’s over. Time for bed."

You started to protest, but Harumasa had already gathered you into his arms, carrying you to bed with ease.

"Cheater," you mumbled against his shoulder.

He huffed a laugh. "Pretty sure you were the one cheating—y'know, trying to act fine when you’re clearly running on fumes."

Harumasa set you down, pulling the blankets over you before crawling in beside you. Without hesitation, he tucked you against his chest, warm and solid and safe.

"Sleep," he murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You sighed, sinking into his warmth. "...Fine."

Harumasa smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. "That’s my win."

And this time, you didn’t argue.

You’re sitting by the window, a cup of tea warming your hands, when you feel the sofa dip beside you. Aventurine slides in, his arms draped casually over the back, wearing that playful smirk that always gives him away.

“I see my favorite winter hibernator is hard at work,” he teases, eyes glinting with mischief as he wraps his arm around you, gently pulling you closer. “Tell me, love—if you despise the cold so much, why insist on being born in winter?”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Believe me, if I had a say, I would’ve picked a sunnier season.”

He chuckles, his voice rich with amusement. “Consider it fate, then. The chill just had to bring something warm to this world.”

You blush slightly at the compliment, nestling further into his side, the warmth of his presence seeping through the layers of blankets. Aventurine tilts his head back thoughtfully, as if considering some new scheme. With him, everything is a game, even these cozy moments, where he skillfully makes you forget the dreariness of the season.

“Since you refuse to step out,” he continues with a dramatic sigh, “it looks like I’ll have to bring the entertainment to you. How does a little winter wager sound?”

“A wager?” You raise an eyebrow. “What are we betting on this time?”

He pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, shuffling it with practiced grace. “A simple game of chance. If you win, I’ll stay in and play the dutiful winter companion. If I win, you’ll have to endure a brief winter stroll with me—nothing too far, just enough to get a bit of rosy color in those cheeks.”

You laugh, knowing full well he’ll somehow manage to twist the game in his favor. Still, you agree, because with Aventurine, even a losing hand feels like a victory.

In the end, after a series of close calls and playful accusations of cheating, you “lose,” as expected. But as you bundle up reluctantly, Aventurine takes your hand and leads you to the balcony instead of out into the cold streets. You pause, looking up at him, confusion etched on your face.

“I thought you’d try to drag me outside.” you say, shivering slightly as a gust of cold air swirls around you.

“True,” he replies, slipping an arm around you to pull you closer. “But I couldn’t make you too uncomfortable, could I? Besides, this way, you get your fresh air, and I get to keep you right where I like you—next to me, warm and cozy.”

Aventurine’s warmth, combined with the gentle embrace, makes the winter seem almost bearable. His presence is all you need, a reminder that even the coldest days can be filled with warmth as long as he’s by your side.

You, a half-animal with the keen senses of a dog, lay curled up on the couch, your soft ears twitching every so often, though you were relaxed, basking in the warmth of the room. Beside you, Kaveh, with his majestic golden mane, sprawled out comfortably. He always had a way of filling the space, his gentle yet powerful presence as unmistakable as his scent, a mix of wood, smoke, and something floral that reminded you of far-off spring meadows. He always managed to make his love for beauty feel tangible, as if his very existence was a masterpiece in itself.

Ratio, the owl-headed genius with violet waves of hair, had just finished his research for the evening and was now perched on his favorite chair—one that seemed far too small for his sharp intellect, but he always claimed it was just right. His gaze scanned over his notes, but he couldn't help but glance at you both now and then, his lips curving slightly in something close to a smile.

"Really, Kaveh," Ratio spoke up, his tone smooth as silk, but with an unmistakable edge of amusement. "Must you always make everything so… extravagant?" He gestured toward the remnants of Kaveh’s earlier creation, the little architectural drawings scattered across the coffee table, even as you laid there, content to listen. Ratio’s sharp mind could never ignore a challenge, even when it wasn’t directly aimed at him. His fingers delicately traced the edge of his glasses, his posture still full of grace as he leaned forward slightly.

Kaveh's sharp eyes flicked over, his lips twitching in a playful grin. He sat up, stretching his long legs and rolling his shoulders before giving Ratio a cheeky look. "What can I say? I believe beauty belongs everywhere—especially when you’re surrounded by such company."

At that, Kaveh’s hand shifted toward Ratio. You could sense his movements, the subtle tug at your heartstrings as he drew near. As if drawn by some invisible force, Kaveh leaned forward to press a kiss to Ratio's temple, the warmth of his breath making Ratio’s skin tingle.

Before Ratio could properly respond with his usual dignified retort, Kaveh’s hand gently brushed his face, fingers lightly catching on a stray feather at Ratio's collar. It was a playful gesture—something Kaveh had come to do when the two were together, a rare but warm form of intimacy that both he and Ratio shared.

Ratio blinked at Kaveh for a moment, a slight surprise registering in his usually composed expression. But then, something unexpected happened. As if caught in the moment, Kaveh let out a playful, flirtatious chuckle and kissed Ratio’s cheek, before playfully licking it—a gesture he knew would make Ratio twitch.

The outcome, however, was not what Kaveh had anticipated. A feather—an elegant and long one—caught in his throat, and suddenly, the lion-man was choking, coughing in an exaggerated manner as his hand instinctively reached to his throat.

“Kaveh!” you barked, concerned, instantly sitting up and running to him.

Kaveh’s eyes watered in surprise as he gasped for air, and for a moment, you thought you might have to jump in to help, but then Ratio’s swift hand reached for Kaveh’s shoulder, holding him still.

“Foolish lion…” Ratio whispered with a quiet but amused coo. “You never learn, do you?” He pressed a hand to Kaveh’s back, giving him a few calming pats. His soft cooing was a bit of an odd comfort, something you found oddly endearing—almost like he was a motherly figure in that moment.

Eventually, Kaveh gasped out a breath, his face flushed, and he wiped his mouth in embarrassment. “I… It was the feathers… they shouldn’t be this… they’re so long!” He managed between breaths, still unable to stop coughing lightly.

Ratio, now fully entertained, leaned back in his seat, fingers stroking his chin. His gaze softened as he observed the two of you. “Perhaps next time, I’ll wear fewer feathers,” he mused, his tone a bit more teasing, before his eyes shifted to you.

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Kaveh, who was still recovering, and the way Ratio’s sharp intellect and playful demeanor seemed to complement the lion's free-spirited and occasionally reckless nature. The three of you were an odd match, but somehow, it felt perfect in its own chaotic way.

With the moment passed, Kaveh sat back against the couch, glancing toward you with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, I got a little carried away. You know, Ratio always looks so elegant, and I can’t help but… appreciate him.”

You playfully nudged Kaveh’s shoulder, wagging your tail—a feature you hadn’t even realized had started to sway—at the spontaneous tenderness Kaveh always offered. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Kaveh,” you teased with a soft laugh. "But, seriously, we need to keep the feathers in check next time."

Ratio raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your playful banter. His cool, sharp demeanor didn't deter the warmth that radiated between the three of you. “I suppose I’ll accept that as a lesson,” he said, before standing and offering Kaveh a hand. “Next time, let’s make sure to avoid… unfortunate accidents.” His voice held an unspoken invitation as he helped Kaveh to his feet.

With Kaveh’s arm around your shoulders and Ratio standing just behind you, you felt a quiet sense of comfort. You couldn’t imagine a better evening, one filled with laughter, banter, and the undeniable bond between the three of you. It was a strange, beautiful kind of love—a mixture of intellect, compassion, and all the little things that made your hearts beat just a little faster when you were together.

And so, the night went on, the three of you finding peace in each other’s company—whether it was a thoughtful gesture, a shared laugh, or the gentle reassurance of knowing you were never truly alone.

Even if it involved the occasional feather-related mishap.