#mild teasing

You glance at the folder, not three feet away from him. His smirk deepens as he watches you think.

“That’ll be three kisses,” you say flatly, crossing your arms.

The corner of his lip twitches upward. “Three? For a simple folder?”

“Yes.” You nod solemnly, like you’re running a strict business. “Prices have gone up. Inflation, you know.”

Aventurine chuckles, low and dangerous, like he’s considering whether this game is worth the gamble. “You drive a hard bargain, darling. Are you sure three is the going rate? I’m fairly certain you gave me that same folder for just one kiss yesterday.”

“And yesterday,” you say, walking toward him with mock gravity, “was a sale.”

You snatch the folder and hold it behind your back. “No kisses, no folder.”

Aventurine tilts his head, peacock feather earring swaying. “I could just…take it.” He lunges halfheartedly, but you dodge, clutching the folder tighter. His eyes glint with delight. He loves this — the game, the push and pull, the wager of affection.

“Ah, but then you’d be stealing,” you sing-song. “And thieves pay double.”

He narrows his eyes in mock exasperation. “Five kisses, then? You’re going to bankrupt me.”

You arch a brow. “Oh no, Mr. High-Ranking Executive, whatever will you do? Declare romantic bankruptcy?”

His laugh bursts free, sharp and genuine, before he leans closer, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. “You’re dangerous,” he says, tone dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Almost more dangerous than me.”

“Almost?”

“Almost,” he repeats with a grin.

You finally hand over the folder, and true to his word, he pulls you gently into his lap and kisses you once, twice, thrice… then pauses, lips grazing your cheek. “Hmm. That was three. But you’re still holding out for interest, aren’t you?”

You smirk, triumphant. “Now you’re learning how the system works.”

So he pays the rest, each kiss slow and lingering, until you’ve forgotten the price and he’s long since decided that for once, he doesn’t mind losing a game.

The sun filters lazily through the windows of the general’s office. Scrolls and paperwork pile high, but Jing Yuan is, predictably, leaned back in his chair, golden eyes half-lidded in content drowsiness.

“Could you pour me some tea?” he asks, voice soft as silk.

You lift the teapot, but then pause. “…That will be one kiss.”

One golden eye opens to peer at you, amused. “One kiss for a cup of tea?”

“Two if you want it sweetened,” you say crisply.

He chuckles — that rich, slow laugh that always feels like he has all the time in the world. “Is that so? And how many for breakfast this morning? I noticed the plate waiting for me when I woke.”

“Five,” you reply without missing a beat.

Jing Yuan sits up, resting his chin in his palm, watching you with the indulgent patience of a cat humoring its favorite person. “You drive a steeper bargain than the Commission’s tax collectors.”

“Knowledge of the market is a skill,” you retort, pouring the tea at last. “And I am very skilled.”

He accepts the cup, fingers brushing yours deliberately, and takes a sip. “Mmm. Exquisite. Worth every kiss, I’m sure.”

“Well? Pay up.”

He sets the cup down, stands, and steps into your space with deliberate slowness. “You’ll ruin me, you know. If I pay you in full each time, I’ll never have the energy left to lead the Cloud Knights.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” you murmur, heart quickening as his lips brush your forehead.

“One…” he whispers, moving lower. “Two…” a kiss to your temple. “Three…” a feather-light brush against your cheek.

You’re practically leaning into him by the time he finally claims your lips for the fourth and fifth, slow and lingering. He pulls back, golden eyes warm with amusement. “And there we are. Paid in full.”

You pout. “Interest rates are higher after sundown.”

He chuckles, pulling you into his chest, hand cradling the back of your head. “Then I’ll simply have to stay awake a little longer tonight.”

You’re perched on the stone steps of Okhema’s watchtower, polishing Phainon’s armguard while the warrior himself sharpens his sword nearby. The faint glow of his Coreflame flickers across his features, giving him that almost mythical glow he always carries.

“There,” you sigh, holding up the gleaming metal. “Good as new. That’ll be three kisses.”

Phainon blinks at you, eyes wide with startled amusement. “Three?” he repeats. His voice is soft, almost disbelieving, like the concept of charging him at all is foreign.

“Yes,” you insist. “Polishing armor isn’t free labor, you know. Times are hard.”

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. He sets his sword aside and strides toward you, tall frame casting you in shadow. “My dearest… I fear you may one day bleed me dry of affection.”

You smirk, standing your ground. “That’s the plan.”

He kneels before you, reverent as a knight before royalty. “Then who am I to refuse payment?” His lips brush yours once, twice, three times, each one gentle but carrying the unspoken weight of vows and eternity.

When he pulls back, you sigh. “Armor polish used to cost one kiss. You’re lucky I didn’t charge more.”

Phainon tilts his head, smile faint. “And yet, were you to charge me a thousand kisses, I would gladly surrender them.”

That makes your heart stutter. “Careful, I might actually raise the rates.”

“Then raise them.” His voice is steady, sure. “If affection is the currency you demand, then I am already wealthy beyond measure.”

You throw your hands up. “Ugh, stop being so noble about it, you’re ruining my scam.”

He laughs, bright and unrestrained, and gathers you into a crushing hug. “Then allow me this: consider me an eager customer, happy to be swindled.”

Ratio adjusts his spectacles, his hair falling across his eyes as he flips through a stack of notes. His expression is sharp, unimpressed, as always.

“Pass me that book, will you?” he says, not looking up.

You grab the heavy tome, then hold it just out of reach. “That’ll be two kisses.”

He finally looks at you, his eyes narrowing. “Two? For the mere act of handing me a book?”

“Yes.”

He scoffs. “Absurd. Utterly absurd. That’s not even a remotely proportional exchange.”

You shrug. “Supply and demand. You want the book, I demand kisses. Simple economics.”

Ratio pinches the bridge of his nose like you’ve just committed a crime against logic. “You do realize that in this transaction, I hold all the power? I could simply retrieve the book myself.”

“Then you’ll waste valuable research time,” you shoot back. “Efficiency, Doctor. Think of the efficiency.”

His eye twitches. He hates that you’re using his own logic against him. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, he leans forward. “Fine. Two kisses.”

You grin, leaning down to claim your prize. He kisses you quickly, brusque, like he’s trying to get it over with. “There. Happy?”

“Very,” you say sweetly, plopping the book into his hands.

He grumbles, flipping it open. But later, when you fetch him a cup of tea and casually demand five kisses, he doesn’t argue. He just stands, cups your cheek, and kisses you slow enough that you almost forget you’re supposed to be keeping count.

When he pulls away, you whisper, “That was… four.”

His lips curl in a smug half-smile. “Consider it interest. I’ll pay the fifth later.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes glittering with rare warmth. “I’m simply investing wisely.”

“Could you knock next time?” he muttered without opening his eyes.

“I did.” you replied, crossing your arms and flicking an ear. He opened his eyes, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Did you now? I didn’t hear a thing.”

You rolled your eyes and sat next to him. “So, what’s the mission?”

“There’s no mission.” His gaze softened ever so slightly. “I called you here… because I wanted to talk.”

Your ears perked up, curiosity winning over. Blade wasn’t exactly one for casual conversation. “About?”

“I was wondering,” he started, his gaze flickering to the tips of your ears, “how you manage to find calm so easily. You seem… at peace, while I struggle to find it.”

You smiled, stretching out and curling your tail around yourself. “It’s easier when you stop fighting yourself. I accept my instincts, even if they’re different.” You flicked his bandaged hand playfully. “Maybe you should do the same. There’s a balance you haven’t found yet.”

His eyes narrowed, yet he didn’t pull his hand back. “Balance, huh? Maybe one day…” He trailed off, but the look in his eyes told you that perhaps, for the first time, he was willing to try.

The Xianzhou Yaoqing’s training grounds were empty, save for the rustle of your tail as you crouched, preparing for a sparring match with Feixiao. She stood across from you, her hands on her hips, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Think you can keep up with a General, kitty?” she teased, flicking her fox ears.

You narrowed your eyes, playful determination sparking in your gaze. “Only one way to find out, General.”

The sparring session started with a rush of speed. Feixiao was fast—faster than anyone you’d trained with—but your natural agility as a cat hybrid gave you an edge. Dodging her strikes, you twirled around her, even managing a quick swipe at her coat.

“Impressive!” she laughed, sounding genuinely delighted. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” She moved with ferocity, her eyes focused entirely on you.

You felt a sense of pride bubbling up as you narrowly avoided another strike, purring softly despite the intensity of the match. In one daring move, you swerved and managed to knock her slightly off-balance. She chuckled as she stumbled, finally calling a truce.

“Not bad. If we weren’t sparring, I’d be considering you for the Cloud Knights,” she said, offering a hand to pull you up. “Though next time, don’t hold back.”

Your grin widened. “Only if you promise not to either, General.”

It was a quiet night in Belobog’s Underworld when you found yourself wandering into Sampo’s hideout. You’d just slipped in silently when he called out, “Is that my favorite cat?” His voice held a teasing lilt, and he looked up with a wide grin.

“How did you know I was here?” you asked, tail flicking in surprise.

“Please, I always know when there’s a silent visitor,” he laughed, stepping closer with that ever-charming smirk. “Besides, you practically smell of curiosity.”

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe you just can’t resist sneaking up on everyone.”

He chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind your ear. To your surprise, it actually felt… nice. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting out a soft purr.

“See? I’ve got the magic touch,” he said, clearly delighted. You playfully swatted his hand away, and he pretended to look hurt. “Alright, alright, no need to claw me.”

His voice dropped, taking on a softer tone as he met your eyes. “Hey, thanks for stopping by, though. It's been a while since I’ve had good company that wasn’t trying to rob me or arrest me.”

A warmth filled you at his words, and you smirked, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “Guess even Sampo Koski has his soft spots.”

“Only for the right company,” he replied, giving you a wink that made your ears twitch as your heart skipped a beat.

He had dropped by unannounced, as usual, claiming he was “bored” and that you were “marginally more entertaining than watching stocks fluctuate.” Now he was watching you instead, glasses sliding slightly down his nose, those eyes glimmering with intrigue.

“I don’t see the thrill in these games,” he mused, tilting his head toward your screen. “A gacha system is just a glorified casino, isn’t it?”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “And besides, it’s just one pull. Nothing's gonna—”

The golden starburst on the screen made you freeze mid-sentence. Your heart skipped a beat as the wish animation unfolded, slow and cinematic. The weapon materialized before your eyes, its jade-green glow undeniable.

Primordial Jade Winged-Spear.

Silence.

You stared. Aventurine hummed.

Then the realization hit you like a runaway freight train.

“WHAT—?!”

You nearly dropped your device in your rush to process what just happened. Your brain short-circuited, your hands trembled, and before you knew it, you had thrown yourself at Aventurine, knocking the wind out of him as you crashed into his lap.

“You lucky, conniving, magnificent bastard!” you practically shrieked, your arms winding around his neck in an ecstatic hug. “How—? I—? I just pulled a five-star after getting a different five-star—do you have any idea how insane that is?!”

Aventurine blinked, his lips parting in bemusement. His free hand hovered awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to return the embrace.

“I… didn't do anything,” he pointed out, though there was an unmistakable flicker of amusement in his tone.

“Yes, you did! Your ridiculous ‘luck’ did this! You just standing here tilted the odds in my favor, I swear!”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, still grasping the lapels of his dark blazer like you were trying to absorb some of his luck through sheer proximity. Your eyes were wide with gratitude, pure joy radiating from you in waves. Then, impulsively, you surged forward and planted a quick, breathless kiss against his cheek.

Aventurine went very, very still.

His expression didn't immediately shift—he still wore that ever-present, unreadable smile—but the faintest trace of color crept up his neck, vanishing beneath his high-collared shirt.

“My, my,” he murmured, voice a shade lower than before. “If I had known I’d get such lavish thanks for something I didn’t even do, I might have charged a fee.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Just let me have this moment.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, ever so slowly, Aventurine let his hand settle against your back, fingers splayed with casual ease.

“Well,” he mused, tilting his head, “if you’re that pleased, perhaps I should stick around. Who knows? Maybe my presence will land you another five-star.”

You gave him a playful shove, and he chuckled—low and knowing, like he had won some secret gamble you weren’t even aware of.

And maybe, just maybe, he had.

"Alright, watch and learn," she said, spinning the pistol in her fingers before smoothly clicking it into place. She didn’t have to be this flashy, but, well... this was Hyuna.

She raised the gun with practiced ease, eyes narrowing as she lined up her shot. A split second later, the air split with gunfire—each shot landing perfectly within the bullseye. When she was done, she blew on the muzzle, grinning. "Not bad, right?"

You gave an appreciative nod. "Yeah, you're good."

"Good?" she repeated, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d wounded her pride. "Come on, at least say ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible.’ I don’t show off for just anyone, you know."

You frowned slightly, missing the teasing glint in her eyes. "I mean, I’d rather focus on learning than hyping you up."

Hyuna sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky you're cute."

Before you could process that, she stepped behind you, her warmth radiating against your back as she guided your arms into position. "First off, your stance is all wrong. Widen your legs a little—no, not that much. There, that’s better."

Her hands lingered on your waist as she nudged you into place. You didn’t think much of it, too focused on maintaining balance. Hyuna, on the other hand, was fighting the urge to smirk.

"Grip the gun like this," she murmured, fingers wrapping over yours. "Firm, but not tense. You want control, not a death grip."

"Right, control," you repeated, adjusting accordingly.

She tilted her head, lips curving into a slow smile. "And don’t forget to breathe."

You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how close she was. She chuckled. "Relax. It’s just me."

You ignored the way your pulse spiked, instead focusing on the target ahead. You took a deep breath, steadied your grip, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the edge of the target—far from perfect but at least on the board. You felt Hyuna hum in approval beside you. "Not bad for a beginner. Do it again."

You did, each shot improving with her whispered corrections and occasional—completely unnecessary—hand adjustments. Every time you tensed, she was there, a quiet reassurance at your side.

When you finally emptied the clip, she leaned in, her lips near your ear. "See? Told you I’m a good teacher."

You turned to her, unaware of the weight behind her gaze. "Yeah. Thanks, Hyuna."

Her eyes flickered, a mix of exasperation and amusement. She bumped her forehead lightly against yours before pulling away. "Hopeless," she muttered with a grin.

You weren’t sure what she meant. But as she handed you another clip and told you to go again, you got the feeling this training session wasn’t just about shooting.

And, somehow, you were still missing the point.

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“A snowman,” you repeat, crouching to scoop up a handful of snow. “You’ve seriously never built one?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “And I don’t see why we should start now.”

“Because it’s fun,” you say, tossing the snow lightly into the air and catching it. “When’s the last time you did something just for fun?”

Zuko exhales sharply, his brow furrowing. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, stepping closer. “What would Aang say if he saw you refusing to enjoy the snow? He’d probably call it a crime against nature or something.”

That earns you a dry glare, but after a moment, Zuko sighs. “Fine. But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me look stupid…”

“Too late,” you quip, grabbing a handful of snow and starting to roll it into a ball. Zuko mutters something under his breath but crouches beside you.

At first, he watches as you roll the snowball across the ground, the base growing larger with each pass. “You’re just rolling it?” he asks, his tone skeptical.

“That’s how you start,” you say, grinning. “Then you pack it tight.”

Zuko hesitates before scooping up a handful of snow. His movements are stiff and cautious, as if he’s handling something explosive. “Like this?”

“Yeah, but more pressure,” you instruct. “It’s snow, not glass.”

He huffs and presses his hands into the snow, his brow furrowed in concentration. For someone who regularly wields fire, he’s surprisingly meticulous about packing the snow. It’s kind of endearing.

After a while, the two of you manage to stack three uneven snowballs atop one another. Zuko steps back, frowning critically. “It’s… lopsided.”

“It’s perfect,” you counter, brushing snow off your gloves. “Now it just needs a face.”

You gather pebbles for eyes and a crooked twig for a nose, then start sticking them onto the snowman. Zuko watches with his arms crossed again, his skepticism palpable. “This is what people do for fun?”

“Yep,” you say, sticking on the snowman’s mouth with a flourish. “And now… it needs something extra.”

You step back, tilting your head as you study your creation. The curved base, the round body—it reminds you of something. Or someone.

“It looks like Appa,” you declare, grinning.

Zuko snorts softly. “Appa? Really?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t see it.” You point to the snowman’s round shape. “All it needs are some horns and a tail.”

Zuko mutters something about wasting time but crouches to help anyway. He shapes a stubby tail at the back while you add twigs for horns. His hands are sure and steady, and you’re struck by how much effort he’s putting into something so simple.

When you’re done, you step back together to admire your work. The snowman—Appa, you’ve decided—looks ridiculous but lovable, with its lopsided body and crooked grin.

“It’s not terrible,” Zuko admits grudgingly, his golden eyes scanning the snowman. “For a snow bison.”

You grin and nudge his arm. “See? You’ve got a hidden creative side.”

“I don’t have a creative side,” he replies, though the faintest smirk tugs at his lips. “I just followed your instructions.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, laughing. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Majesty of Snow Sculpting.”

He huffs, but his ears turn red—not from the cold, you’re certain. The two of you stand in companionable silence for a moment, watching as snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, catching on your snowman’s horns.

When you glance at Zuko, his gaze isn’t on the snowman anymore—it’s on you. The usual intensity in his eyes has softened, replaced by something warmer, quieter. It makes your chest feel lighter, like maybe, just maybe, you’re chipping away at his icy exterior.

“Thanks,” you say softly, nudging his arm again. “For helping.”

Zuko shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts in that almost smile you’re starting to recognize. “It wasn’t terrible.”