A/N: Thank you so much for the kiiiiind support, Eliaaaan. I hope you enjoy this one! It's been a hot minute since I wrote Otayuri and it made me what to watch yoi again ehehehe. Also big thank you for being patient with me!
Summary: a lot of things and discoveries can happen during the off-season
Words: 3k
The off-season was strange for Yuri, even stressful.
No screaming coaches, no lights, no constant push to be the very best. Just… relaxation. Silence that stretched for days, weeks and months until he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
Otabek was the only one that made all that time bearable.
He'd flown in from Kazakhstan to spend a few weeks in St. Petersburg for "training", or at least that was what he and Yuri had planned. They didn't train much, however. They mostly slept in, wandered around the city, Yuri showing him cool places and not so cool places that he enjoyed very much. They even tried making their own version of Katsudon that ended in a kitchen almost burning to crisp and a horrible food that they still had to eat.
They had a good time together. They'd been friends for a couple of years now, but recently… things had started to change. Not suddenly, but gradually, so that even someone as dense and stubborn as Yuri could notice. In the way Otabek's fingers brushed against his when he handed him a cup. Or in the way they stared into each other's eyes for longer than they should have before turning away, cheeks flushed, their hearts fluttering against their ribs.
Somewhere in the breakfasts they shared and the late-night chats, their friendship had turned into something warmer. Something that made Yuri's stomach fill with butterflies when Otabek smiled at him when he caught him staring.
They never mentioned it out loud; there really was no need. They had both silently accepted that they had fallen madly for each other.
They spent almost every afternoon in Yuri's apartment, sprawled on the couch, Otabek on his computer and Yuri on his phone, checking social media and uploading stories when Otabek wasn't noticing: his fingers typing on the keyboard, or his profile while sipping from his steaming cup of cocoa.
Sometimes Yuri would end up pressed against Otabek's side without releasing, or so he thought himself. Otabek would drape an arm lazily over the back of the couch, his fingers sometimes moving, unintentionally, to rest on Yuri's shoulder, his side, the back of his ribs, even his waist. Light touches that made Yuri squirm a little every single time.
He tried to hide it, of course. He tried to act nonchalant, but those fingers seemed to find the exact spot no matter what.
And Otabek noticed. He always noticed.
The first few times, he didn't say anything. He even thought it was his imagination and that Yuri was just trying to get more comfortable against him. After all, for a figure skater, Yuri was always cold, even when Otabek felt like he was on fire. So he forgot about it... Yet it kept happening. Every accidental brush, every small touch, provoked the same reaction: a sharp intake of breath, a small flinch, and adorable fair cheeks blushing like apples.
And, eventually, Otabek couldn't ignore it anymore, but silently stored the information in a reserved place in his brain that was all about Yuri.
One afternoon, they were watching a movie. Yuri rested his legs on Otabek's lap, his head on his shoulder. Neither of them felt shy about showing affection like that anymore; sometimes Otabek would even place Yuri's feet or legs on his lap and gently massage the muscles without asking.
Yuri shifted slightly, snuggling closer to Otabek because he could and wanted to. Otabek adjusted the blanket over them as a gust of autumn wind blew through the window, his hand brushing against Yuri's waist in the process.
That was all it took.
Yuri jerked under his touch, a small, surprised laugh escaping before he could press his lips together. He turned away, his face flushed. Otabek blinked; it had all happened so fast, his brain could barely process it. Then he smiled, slow and knowing.
"Yura?" he asked in a playful tone that made Yuri's shoulders tense.
"What?" he barked, avoiding his gaze at all costs.
"Did you just laugh?"
"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."
Otabek hummed, clearly unconvinced, after all he had heard it as clear as day. His eyes remained on Yuri's face, calm but bright with amusement.
"Are you ticklish?"
Yuri froze, his blush creeping to his ears. "Of course not."
"Of course." Otabek's tone was too soft, and Yuri finally narrowed his eyes at him.
"Don't even think about it," he warned, and Otabek laughed lightly.
"I didn't say anything," Otabek said with a goofy grin.
"But you're thinking it!"
Otabek laughed again, but said nothing more, turning back to watch the movie. Yuri could only groan, shoving his shoulder, but Otabek just laughed once more and didn't look at him.
The movie continued, but neither of them paid attention to it. Yuri tried to refocus, but he could feel Otabek's eyes on him, and that alone made his skin tingle with anticipation. He shifted again, pulling the blanket higher as if that would protect him. Otabek's hand moved with it, without thinking, and his fingertips gently stroked Yuri's side.
The reaction was instantaneous. Yuri let out a squeak, jerking heavily. They were both startled, and for a moment there was only silence, and then Otabek laughed, his eyes shining.
"So you really are ticklish."
Yuri's face turned red. "No! That was— That was—the movie!"
"The movie?" Otabek asked, trying not to laugh.
"Yes!"
"Are you really sure?"
"Absolutely!"
Otabek chuckled under his breath and nodded, leaning back. He didn't insist, not yet, but the sly smile on his lips said it all. Yuri burrowed deeper under the blanket, grumbling while Otabek just took another sip of his hot chocolate, as if nothing had happened.
But his fingers had already accidentally sprung into action, tapping against Yuri's waist lightly. It was only casual and innocent... or not... because each tap was more deliberate than the last and Yuri twitched each time, making Otabek's smile widen.
"Stop doing that!" Yuri hissed, swatting Otabek's hand away.
"Do what?" Otabek asked with feigned innocence.
"That!"
"You mean this?" Otabek squeezed Yuri's waist, making him jump and kick a little.
"Altin! Don't!"
"Why not?"
"Because it tickl-" He cut himself off too late, and Otabek's smile was pure mischief now.
"It what, Yura?"
Yuri's glare was fierce, or at least as fierce as it could be when he was curled against Otabek's side with his blanket half-over his legs and his cheeks turning pink. "I swear to God, if you dare tickle me, I'll cut your hands off and then- AHAHA!"
"You were saying?" Otabek asked with a chuckle as his hands latched to Yuri's waist, squeezing the delicate curve gently but precisely.
Yuri writhed around, laughing, trying to kick Otabek and hit him with his hands, but Otabek somehow managed to dodge all the blows and continue tickling Yuri until the blond ended up with his back on the couch and his hands around Otabek's wrists.
"I- I hahahate you! Stop! Stop nohohohow!" Yuri laughed with flushed cheeks and a smile so big Otabek's brain nearly shut down.
He had never seen or heard Yuri laugh like that, and the way it made his heart race made him think he might have a cardiac arrest any moment.
"See? I told you you were ticklish," Otabek murmured, looking down at him.
"I'm nohohot!" Yuri said through giggles as his waist kept being under the ticklish attack. "Bekahaha! St-Stohohop!"
Otabek chuckled, quiet and warm, leaning close so his face was near Yuri's pink ear. "Now, how long have you been concealing this information from your... partner?"
The word made them both blush and a warm feeling like hot honey spread through their chests.
"I- I d-dihihidn't- I dohohon't- Ahahaha! Stop it!"
A smile curved Otabek's lips as he placed a soft kiss on Yuri's ear and pulled back again so he could see his face.
"Not only are you denying that you didn't keep this information from me, but also that you're extremely ticklish," he said as his hands moved down to Yuri's stomach. The blond arched his back, letting out giggles like a kid. "Are you going to deny the allegations that you're incredibly ticklish?"
Yuri nodded, trying to push Otabek's hips with his feet while laughing. "I'm nohohot tihihick- AHAHA! NOHOHO!"
He didn't get to finish his lie before Otabek tickled his hips, his thumbs digging into the sensitive skin. "I don't know, Yura. All that laughing makes me think otherwise. Should we continue with the demonstration? Or would you rather tell me where your ticklish spot is? Maybe I'll leave you alone if you do," he said in a serious tone, almost as if he were bored with what he was doing, but his smile was playful, small, and warm, and his fingers moved as if they had a life of their own.
Yuri shook his head, tears of laughter glistening on his long eyelashes.
"You look like a prince," Otabek said softly, his eyes full of love and adoration. Yuri didn't seem to hear him, but that was okay. He could tell him later.
"Ahahare you crahahazy?! Why would I tehehell you--"
"Aha! So you're admitting you're ticklish!"
"NOHOHO!"
Otabek chuckled and shifted a little, stopping the tickling for a moment as he straddled Yuri's waist and pinned one of his arms above his head almost too easily. Yuri began to shake his head and beg desperately as giggles of anticipation escaped his lips.
His armpits were dangerous territory—not that Otabek knew this information, of course—but Yuri immediately jerked when Otabek's fingers finally made contact with the spot. Laughter spilled out uncontrollably.
"NAHAHA! AHAHALTIHIHIN!"
"This one seems like a very good spot, but—tch, this pesky hand." Otabek paused only for a second to tuck Yuri's free hand under his knee, pinning it there to continue tickling the poor exposed armpit. "Like I was saying... it's a good spot, but I have a feeling it's not the spot. Do you have something to say, Yuri?"
Yuri was sure he'd never heard Otabek talk as much as he did at that moment. Especially not in that playful, amused tone of voice, and he couldn't help but feel his heart leap in his chest. He squealed, arching his back and kicking behind Otabek, futilely trying to free himself from his boyfriend's grasp
"Ready to confess, or are you going to let me find out for myself?"
Yuri gasped between laughs, squirming beneath him, but Otabek's hands, though making him laugh like a madman, were gentle. Teasing, but not hurting.
"I'm nohohot—I'm not tehehelling you! Lehehet me fuhuhucking go!" Yuri hated that he was having fun and prayed that Otabek couldn't tell.
"That's fine, don't worry. I've got you covered," he said with a smirk as his hand moved methodically, his fingers carefully exploring, searching for the tickliest spot on Yuri's body.
He continued to play with his armpit for a moment before moving to the small space between his neck and shoulder, causing Yuri to snort and tuck his chin into his chest, trying to stop Otabek's fingers. That spot wasn't anything special, not even when he tickled him under his chin; in fact, Yuri looked like he was about to purr like a kitten.
He moved, then, back to Yuri's stomach, his fingers clawing and poking at the sides of Yuri's abdomen and around his navel. That spot made him squeal and laugh out loud, but compared to his armpits, it left a lot to be desired.
He tickled his hips again, finding the perfect rhythm to nearly drive Yuri to hysterics.
"AHAHAHA! BEKA! I CAHAHAN'T!"
"Oh, I'm sure you can," Otabek said over Yuri's laughter, pinching the sensitive skin of Yuri's right hip between his thumb and forefinger, making Yuri squeal, tears of mirth running down his flushed cheeks. "Besides, I think I know your weakest point."
Yuri's laughter caught in his throat when Otabek stopped for a moment and leaned close to his ear again.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice anything, Yuri?" he whispered, his warm, soft voice sending a shiver down Yuri's spine. "I notice everything, especially if it's about you, Yura."
Yuri nearly choked. The warmth of Otabek's voice and the closeness of his body almost made him melt on the couch. He tried to protest, but before he could even open his mouth, Otabek's fingers came back to life and Yuri's eyes widened as he felt the terrible tickling on his most ticklish spot: his ribs.
His reaction was charming, at least to Otabek. Yuri screamed so loudly that Otabek's ears went deaf for a few seconds before they were filled with Yuri's thunderous laughter again.
"AHAHA! NOT THERE! NOT THEHERE!" he begged, arching his back so much that he almost threw Otabek off him.
Otabek had to put a little more weight on Yuri's hand under his knee and a little more force around Yuri's wrist above his head. His fingers slid up and down each of Yuri's ribs on both sides. His thumb rubbed in the front and the rest of his fingers wriggled in the back. Yuri was on the verge of madness, laughing hysterically, unable to form words as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Well, I told you I knew where it was, didn't I?" Otabek said with a soft laugh. "Should I stop?"
Yuri nodded slowly, jerking heavily as Otabek's fingers concentrated on the highest ribs, the ones closest to his armpits.
"Okay, just for a moment." His hands stopped, and Yuri slumped against the couch, still laughing with residual tickling that seemed to make his ribs and the surrounding nerves vibrate. Otabek laughed again. "Oh no, you'll never stop laughing?"
Yuri eventually stopped, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. His hair stuck to the sweaty skin on his forehead, his eyes shining with a mixture of embarrassment and relief, and a little amusement, though he wanted to deny it.
"Y-Yohou- You're... you're the worst..." he muttered, but it came out more as a soft chuckle.
Otabek let go of his arms and helped him settle properly against the back of the couch again. His arms wrapped around him, placing Yuri's legs on top of his lap, just as they had been before.
"Is that so? I think you're the worst for trying to keep this secret from me," he said, kissing the top of Yuri's head.
Yuri buried his face against Otabek's shoulder, muttering incomprehensible things about how mean Otabek was and how unfair it was that he had tickled his ribs.
Otabek let out a soft laugh that made Yuri snuggle even closer to him.
The tranquility after the laughter was almost as intimate as the teasing itself. Yuri could feel Otabek's steady heartbeat, the warmth of his body, his hand gently massaging the back of his head, and his lips leaving small kisses against his nose that made him blush terribly, but he was relaxing, almost becoming a puddle against Otabek.
"It's nice to see you like this," Otabek said suddenly, his voice no more than a whisper. "You looked... really beautiful laughing just now."
Yuri's cheeks reddened even more, but for some reason, he didn't feel embarrassed, but rather— he gulped and realized there was no turning back. He was in love.
Yuri looked up, a small pout on his lips. "Don't think you're going to get away with this," he said, and before Otabek could say anything, Yuri leaned in and planted a soft kiss against his lips.
Otabek's eyes widened, but he immediately leaned in to kiss Yuri back— throwing his head back with a laugh as Yuri's hands shoved under Otabek's arms, tickling his armpits.
His fingers wiggled and dug into the warm skin, and Otabek squirmed and laughed like a madman. Yuri giggled, and he understood why Otabek liked tickling him so much just a moment ago.
"Did you really think I wouldn't return your stupid game?" Yuri whispered in Otabek's ear and laughed when he tried to escape, but Yuri's legs tightened on his lap, preventing him from getting up. "You set your own trap up," he giggled.
"Oh, are you serious now? I was very serious when I— your ear is ticklish, huh?" Yuri smirked, catching Otabek's earlobe between his lips and nipping at it gently.
Otabek let out another loud shriek as uncontrollable laughter poured out of him. His shoulders hunched up, trying to protect his ticklish ear, but Yuri was merciless and relentless.
And why lie? Yes, they were both loving every second of this ridiculous game.
"NOHOHO!" Otabek begged as Yuri shifted positions, straddling Otabek's lap as he pushed one of the Kazakh's arms over his head, pinning it against the back of the chair while his free hand wiggled its fingers against the hollow of Otabek's armpit.
The poor man was already crying with laughter, unable to bear the tickling in such a sensitive place. His other hand tried to push Yuri away, but Yuri placed his hand under his knee to prevent him from stopping him.
"UNFAHAHAIR!"
"Says the most unfair person in the world. Oh, look, you have a dimple," Yuri commented, staring almost adoringly at the small indentation in Otabek's cheek. "Were you hiding it from me?" He teased with a smirk.
Otabek shook his head desperately, laughing so hard his voice wouldn't come out.
Yuri chuckled, the sound so warm and tender that he was almost surprised it had come from his own lips, but it was impossible not to react that way when Otabek was laughing like that.
His cheeks were flushed, his cheek sinking into that small dimple that Yuri struggled not to kiss and bite.
"What's wrong? You don't like tickling?" He teased again. "Since you were having so much fun torturing me, I thought you wanted me to tickle you too! Was I wrong?" Otabek shook his head, but then nodded, and Yuri laughed. "Which is it?"
Yuri finally took mercy and stopped, ridiculously slow, letting go of Otabek's hands. His arms wrapped around Otabek's neck, barely giving him room to catch his breath. His body pressed against the other's.
Otabek, his head resting against the backrest, breathing heavily, moved his hands to Yuri's waist, pulling him closer.
Silence reigned again. Yuri looked at him with tender eyes as he tried to recover, and when he finally did, they both looked at each other and giggled like two fools. The tips of their noses nuzzled each other before they kissed almost shyly. Again and again and again.
They stayed snuggled together until the sun set outside the window, the room filled with the silence after laughter, soft sighs, and the knowledge that they were right where they belonged.
A/N: I'm glad to present my very first collab with Mia (@ticklygiggles)! I've been wanting to write something with her for a looong time and I was really excited when she agreed to my request. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did! ~
Summary: After a night together with Kazuha, Scaramouche finds leaving the samurai in the next morning to be harder than he expected it to be.
Word count: 3539 words
He could barely stand the look on Kazuha's eyes. That fondness and love overflowing from his pupils made Scaramouche want to hide under a rock. The vulnerability that it brought him to feel those cold hands touching his body and his warm lips kissing his cheeks or brushing against his ears as words of love were whispered into his ears, it was all so overwhelming... but so nice at the same time.
It wasn’t long since he had the chance to meet this member of the Kaedahara clan, but the pace in which he got… fond of him was worrisome, to say the least. Unlike other people he met through the years, there was something different about the wandering samurai that made Scaramouche feel strange. The balladeer wasn’t sure himself why - or how - but before he could he take his actions in account, he found himself lying down in the middle of a pile of blankets and pillows, with a kimono that barely covered his skin and, on top of all that, in a room that wasn’t his own, but Kazuha’s.
Resting his head on Kazuha’s bare chest, Scaramouche looked up, still denying the most obvious explanation. The other had a peaceful, content expression in his sleep.
Against his better judgment, Scaramouche remembered last night and hated to feel his cheeks turning red, the heat traveling to his ears.
Yesterday, when Kazuha suddenly said that the night was perfect for taking a walk together in the Chinju Forest, (a place they both often went for privacy), Scaramouche, although he looked reluctant and sullen, followed the samurai who gently took his hand and intertwined his fingers with his.
Every step he took felt like he was floating, like Kazuha's hand in his was the only thing keeping him going. That was a sensation he often felt when he was with his partner, his senses becoming numb as he felt surrounded by Kazuha's presence. The only thing he could hear was Kazuha's voice; the only thing he could feel was Kazuha's cold hands; the only thing he could smell was the maple scent of Kazuha's skin; the only thing he could see was Kazuha's beautiful face; and the only thing he could taste were the kisses that Kazuha planted on his lips as they went deeper into the forest, leaving him breathless and with trembling legs.
They hadn't done much, they were both reserved people so they usually didn't talk and if they did, Kazuha had to corkscrew the words out of Scaramouche and it seemed like it was something he enjoyed doing.
It had been a quiet walk, stopping occasionally to enjoy the views and to share a kiss that Scaramouche complained about, but he always closed his eyes softly when he saw Kazuha approaching and opened his mouth slightly.
Scaramouche wasn't sure how or when it had happened, but suddenly he found himself in Kazuha's room, the samurai tugging at his clothes to make him wear something more comfortable. In the blink of an eye, both of them were in the same place where Scaramouche had woken up. Kazuha's arms wrapped around Scaramouche's body, snuggling happily against him.
“Hnng… Kuni?” A groan escaped Kazuha’s lips when Scaramouche decided to sit up, pushing the samurai away and bothering his slumber in the process. The fatui harbinger looked over his shoulder, feeling how the other guy pried at the back of his clothes, as if to pull him back to bed. “Good morning…” Kazuha sighed, smiling lazily at him. Damn it.
Scaramouche couldn’t stand that look in his eyes, the affection, the care, the- the care those eyes carried. Avoiding looking back, he turned his head away. “Morning, Kaedahara,” he muttered sharply, trying to keep his tone cold, uninterested, putting his best efforts to keep up with that sweet lie.
Feeling his hopes that those would be the only words they would exchange, Scaramouche felt a stronger tug at his back, noticing how Kazuha closed his palm around the hem of his kimono. “Where are you going? It’s too early…”
Scaramouche tsked, pressing his left hand on his forehead while trying to organize his thoughts. Don’t give it away, don’t give it away, he told himself repeatedly inside his head. “I have things to do, you can sleep all you want.”
“But we-”
“I was just bored and you kept me company and entertained me for the night, that’s all. Don’t get wrong ideas,” he replied sharply, already expecting to bring an end to those interactions that messed with his heart and mind. However, as a soft chuckle reached his ears, he couldn’t help but to turn around to face Kazuha.
The samurai rested his head on one arm, while the other remained stretched, tugging at Scaramouche’s clothes. He had a handsom- ahem, annoying grin on his lips. “So it was entertaining, Kuni?”
The sultry voice tone made heat reach Scaramouche’s cheeks at unmatchable speed, making the harbinger sink his teeth on his lower lip to restrain himself from squealing at that exact moment. He fought the urge to retort, only because he knew he was going to stutter like a fucking idiot and Kaedehara Kazuha would laugh at him, but did it really matter? As soon as he had opened his mouth to finally say something back, Kazuha let out a playful laugh, his eyes shining with mischief.
Scaramouche's breath hitched and he started to move again, "I'm leaving."
"Ah, Kuni!" The samurai complained, pulling at the fabric of Scaramouche’s kimono to make him stay between the warm pillows and blankets. "What's wrong, Kuni? I can entertain you a lot longer, if you want. Wouldn’t that be good?”
Scaramouche steadfastly refused to turn his head and see Kazuha straight in the face; he could hear that handsom- annoying smile on his lips and he was sure he wouldn't be able to contain himself if he saw it. What could he do if he saw Kazuha smiling at him sweetly and mischievously at the same time? He'd probably have red cheeks and, damn it, that pretty smile!
"Why are you so annoying? Do you think I have nothing better to do than waste my time here with you? Let me go this instant or you'll see what- K-Kaedehara!"
An offended gasp escaped Scaramuche's lips as Kazuha wrapped his arm around his waist. The balladeer tensed, but he turned his head to see Kazuha's face and instantly regretted it, his heart skipping a beat.
Kazuha was smiling widely. He seemed to be having so much fun despite Scaramouche's threats and harsh words. “That’s not fair,” the samurai complained lightheartedly, palming at the balladeer’s waist. “You always leave me like this, Kuni, and I never get to know when I’ll see you again.”
“You- ugh…” He felt a shiver run up his spine when Kazuha’s fingers brushed and stroked that spot, instinctively leaning away from the touch and - following the samurai’s plan - closer to Kazuha. Scaramouche tugged at the other’s arms with both of his hands, trying to pry it off his body while keeping his reactions down. “Don’t t-touch me so cahasually, Kaedahara,” he hissed, gritting his teeth as he felt another pull on the back of his clothes.
“But you like it, Kuni,” Kazuha was grinning even more than before, continuing to lightly stroke Scaramouche’s waist, grazing his fingers over the thin clothing that covered his skin. “Promise me you will stay longer… please…,” the samurai mumbled playfully, managing to drag the balladeer into an embrace despite his squirming.
Before the fatui harbinger could figure his way out, he was already laying back next to Kazuha, with one of his arms wrapped around his back and the other holding him by his waist. “Your hair smells so nice…” Kazuha whispered, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of Scaramouche’s perfume, kissing the shell of his ear before burying his face in the crook of his bare neck - which made his partner gasp lovingly.
It was hard to decide what he should focus on: Kazuha’s legs intertwining with his, the feeling of Kazuha’s lips against his skin or how awfully ticklish Kazuha’s hands felt while resting over his ribs and waist. That damned samurai, Scaramouche thought, leaning his head in the opposite direction. “You shahameless b-bastard,” he groaned as giggles threatened to pour from his lips, making his heartbeat increase in panic.
Scaramouche clenched one of the blankets around them with his free hand, grasping it tightly to try to make the other’s teasing more bearable. Meanwhile, he used his other limb in an attempt to push Kazuha away.
His foot kicked, planting his heel into the futon as the sensation was slowly overwhelming all his senses, making it hard to continue with any reasoning - did reasoning ever worked with Kazuha?
Kazuha giggled against his neck. "You look so nice dressed like this, Kuni," he said, taking a deep breath, continuing to inhale more Scaramouche's scent. "I want to eat you whole."
"Sh-Shahaha-meless!" Scaramouche repeated, pushing Kazuha harder and refusing to open his mouth once more because he knew those stupid giggles would spill out at any second.
"You keep calling me that, Kuni," Kazuha whined and Scaramouche shivered, shutting his eyes tightly when he felt the brush of Kazuha's lips against the fair skin of his neck. "Can't you be a little gentler with me?"
Scaramouche knew perfectly well that Kazuha was just acting hurt. It pained Scaramouche to admit that the samurai had grown immune to his snarky comments and mean words. If anything, it made him laugh every time he heard Scaramouche angrily yell at him, but what hurt him the most was the fact that he had already gotten so used to Kazuha that he knew that his words didn't come out with the same venom. He knew his words didn't have the effect they had on everyone else; he did not cause fear, but tenderness in Kazuha's eyes.
"What's the matter? Did the mouse eat your tongue, Kuni?"
He really couldn't stand that sweet but mischievous voice of Kazuha. It made his blood boil with anger, how dare this little samurai disrespect him like that?! However, at the same time, that playful tone caused something heavy, warm, and sticky to pour into his chest, his stomach filling with that feeling of wings fluttering. Disgusting!
"Kuni~," Kazuha sang, and Scaramouche jolted with a strangled noise when the hand on his waist lightly traced that curve over his kimono. "Kuni, can't you talk anymore? Won't you tell me I need to know my place?" Scaramouche felt his lips trembling, a stupid smile threatening to appear as he felt fingernails lightly scratching at the back of his ribs. "Won't you call me shameless again? Could it be that you are enjoying yourself?"
Not only was his face on fire, he also felt the heat of embarrassment going all the way down to his chest and his ears and even the back of his neck. He wanted to disappear! “Shuhu- agh, s-shut it, Kaehedahara!” He growled, trying to sound angry through a stream of adorable giggles.
He hated (but not really) how easily Kazuha handled him, having him just where he wanted to toy with his sensitive body as much as he pleased. Fingers stroking his ribs at a spot awfully close to his underarm and a hand squeezing and pinching his waist restlessly. Scaramouche felt weak, if he wasn’t already laid down, his knees would probably be at the verge of giving up - all thanks to that stupid samurai.
“Why?” Kazuha asked innocently, nuzzling against the balladeer’s cheeks and making an embarrassing squeal leave his lips when soft strands of his hair brushed against his ear. “I like when you smile like that, Kuni.”
“Y-you bastahahard, lehet go!” He protested, feeling how Kazuha only pulled him closer, even pressing him against his own body in retaliation to the constant pushing.
If there was anything that was making the fatui harbinger even more flustered was the fact that how effortlessly Kazuha made it look: the way he held him down, the way he rested comfortably by his side without a pinch of fear and even the way he could easily reduce Scaramouche to a puddle of sweet laughter. How utterly embarrassing, he thought.
But, (un)fortunately, he couldn’t pay much attention to this voice inside his head thanks to a new, electric sensation that ran across his body. Before Scaramouche could notice, Kazuha pushed the hem of the kimono away, having free access to scratch and tickle the delicate skin of his bare middle and sides, circling his navel in an awfully ticklish manner that made him want to crawl up the walls, not to mention how terribly effective the scratching on his sides were.
“I could spend all day playing like this, Kuni,” Kazuha breathed into his ear, making the balladeer jerk his head away in another fit of soft, but angry, laughter. “I could even let you play with me if you wanted,” he chuckled softly, amusing himself with Scaramouche’s reactions while his fingers drummed between his ribs. “So why must you leave me, hm?”
‘Red’ was an understatement to describe how Scaramouche’s face looked at that moment. “Stohohop it ahAHalready, yohohou l-lowly idihihiot!” He laughed through gritted teeth, not sounding as intimidating as he wanted. Kazuha smiled, as if those words passed through some sort of filter inside his head.
Actually, did Kazuha actually have some kind of filter for Scaramouche's words? Could it be that he was hearing the opposite of what Scaramouche was telling him? He didn't doubt it was like that, otherwise, how was it possible that his skillful little fingers kept digging into his ribs and squeezing his waist?!
"AHAHA! Ka-Kahahazuha!" Scaramouche complained between laughs, no longer feeling strong enough to contain all those embarrassing noises that Kazuha was forcing him to make. "I dohoHOHOn't wahahant to stahahay w-wihihith you- stahahap tihihickling mehehe!"
"Oh? Tickling? That's what I'm doing?" Kazuha teased, grinning widely against Scaramouche's cheek. "Is Kuni really ticklish?"
Oh he was enjoying every second of it: turning Scaramouche into a flustered mess, tickling him like this, gently but so maddening at the same time; Scaramouche knew Kazuha was enjoying all of it. He just wanted to make Scaramouche become a stuttering, laughing mess!
And Scaramouche hated how well it was working.
"Is my Kuni really ticklish?" Kazuha repeated and Scaramouche couldn't help but squeak when he felt cool air being blown into his ear, making him giggle like a kid. "Right here in this ear of him? Or all the way down to his ribs?" Scaramouche laughed brightly when he felt fingers clawing at his ribs, forcing him to lean closer to Kazuha's body. "Maybe his hips too?"
"Kahahazuhahaha!!" Scaramouche cackled loudly, throwing his head back as the electric, ticklish sensations washed over his body in mind. It was overwhelming, overwhelmingly… nice. No, no! What was he thinking? Kazuha- no, Kaedahara was an idiot for daring to touch him like that! “G-get yohohour hahAHAhands ohohoff mehehe!”
“But your skin feels so nice, Kuni,” Kazuha cooed, looking down to his own hands as he continued to tickle Scaramouche without a break, chuckling amused when he saw the way his partner reacted to each and every touch. “And I just found out it’s so sensitive, can’t you let me play a little longer?”
“F-fuhuhucking bahahastard!” Scaramouche cursed, pressing his arms tightly against his torso when the samurai threatened to move his hand a little higher. For some reason, it never got better: Kazuha’s caresses and touches only tickled more and more, as if his body couldn’t ever get used to it - as if the samurai knew just what buttons he needed to push to make the balladeer laugh like a little boy. “Yohou ahAHAlreheady knehehw it!!”
“Did I? Archons,” Kazuha gasped, feigning surprise before nestling his face close to Scaramouche’s, of course, without letting the tickling up. “Maybe it’s been so long that I forgot, Kuni,” he cooed, “and since you want to leave me so bad… maybe I should make sure I will remember it next time, hm?”
The fatui harbinger let out an ungodly howl when the samurai scratched his stomach with his short, blunt nails. It was definitely different from before, as if Kazuha wanted to show him what actual tickling felt like or, maybe, as if he wanted to tickle something out of him. Scaramouche tried to suck his stomach in as he laughed and squirmed inside the other’s grasp, but his fruitless attempts didn’t reward him any break from the assault - only more restless tickles on his middle and ribs.
“Unless, Kuni,” Kazuha resumed talking, not even sure if Scaramouche could bother himself to pay attention to his words when he was laughing so hard, “you decided to stay a little longer.”
“If you could spare this poor bastard some more of your precious time, it would be easier for me to remember such details about you, don’t you think?” The teasing, but stern voice tone Kazuha used felt more threatening than any of Scaramouche’s words.
Scaramouche knew he wouldn't be able to fight Kazuha's tickling anymore. His touches felt like electricity rushing through his whole body and the laughter wouldn't stop pouring from his lips. It all was driving him crazy and he absolutely hated it, he loathed that he was actually not hating this too much.
What had he become?
"So what do you say, Kuni?" Kazuha purred, so close to Scaramouche's lips. "Are you going to stay here with me?"
Scaramouche shook his head, "I wohohuld nehehever- OKAHAHAY! OHOHOKAY!" Scaramouche jerked heavily when he felt Kazuha's fingers clawing at his stomach, his other hand finally finding its way under one of his arms, making him howl in nearly hysterics. "FIHIHINE! I'll stahahay with yohohou, dahahahammit!"
"Will you? How do I know you won't flee away as soon as I stop, Kuni?"
Scaramouche shook his head, shrieking with laughter and feeling tears rushing down his cheeks. Was Kazuha trying to kill him right now? Or did he just want to drive him crazy?
"I wohoHOHOn't!"
"You promise?"
"Dahahammit, KAHAHAZUHA! Fuhuhcking stahahap! I prohohomise!"
As quickly as it had started, Kazuha finally stopped. His hands rested flat against Scaramouche's stomach and side, gently rubbing them to make the sensation fade away.
Scaramouche was breathless. He gulped on sweet air, trying to calm himself down as residual giggles still made their way out, his body twitching slightly. He felt stupidly light and tired after having laughed like a maniac; he thought maybe he could actually flee away after all, but Kazuha was smiling fondly at him and his arms were tightening around Scaramouche's body, embracing him in warmth. Kazuha's lips were also pressing kisses to his cheeks and his nose and his forehead and lips. And he was being annoyingly clingy, but Scaramouche was being annoyingly stupid and didn't push Kazuha away because he couldn't and didn't want to.
"You're so annoying," Scaramouche mumbled, closing his eyes when Kazuha pressed a kiss against his cheekbone. "Why are you all over me? Give me some space, I'm suffocating," he said, but didn't move an inch away from Kazuha.
Kazuha chuckled, now kissing the corner of Scaramouche's lips. "Are you now? I thought you had stopped laughing." Scaramouche rolled his eyes and he fought back a yawn that turned into a squeak when Kazuha poked his tummy. "Is my Kuni sleepy?"
"This is your fault, Kaedehara. Who was the annoyi-hihing- okahahay! Okay!"
Kazuha giggled and he held Scaramouche impossibly close to him, making his head rest against his chest and intertwining their legs together. The warmth and comfort of another body against his was something Scaramouche learned to appreciate after meeting Kazuha. Sleeping peacefully and resting properly was foreign to him, but now he could do that almost nightly.
All thanks to this stupidly clingy samurai.
"Sleep, Kuni," Kazuha said above him, his chin resting against Scaramouche's head. "Let's sleep a bit more."
"... Don't tell me what to do, Kaedehara."
Kazuha chuckled happily and kissed the top of Scaramouche's head before he fell into a peaceful slumber. Scaramouche heard Kazuha's breath slowing down and then heard him snoring softly, but his embrace never went weak.
Who would have thought that he would find himself in the arms of a Kaedehara like this after all. Something felt tight in his chest, it made him feel bad, but good at the same time. The butterflies in his stomach had not stopped for a second and now that he was doing nothing, he could feel their wings fluttering more strongly.
He sighed heavily and with his cheeks burning, angled his head to press a kiss on the hollow at the base of Kazuha's throat. His head was spinning, so it would be best to take a nap together with Kazuha, after all, when he woke up, he would still be in the samurai's arms and his lips would be on him all over again, even his fingers wanting to draw more of his laughter; so until then, he might as well take a rest with the only person he could really rest with.
Sylus was… amused.
He had accepted to do this because, well, how could he ever deny anything to his kitten? But he never imagined that she would enjoy this so much.
He smirked, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest when the pretty hunter, in her newst uniform, straddled his lap. Her legs pressed against his hips and her chest was flush against his.
Sylus, for his part, was handcuffed to the chair, his hands relaxed behind the backrest. His ankles cuffed to the chair legs.
She grinned, her eyes twinkling with something that made Sylus' stomach flutter. "Well, well, well. We finally got you, Onychinus Leader~"
She traced his sharp jawline with her gun. He had asked if it was necessary to use the real thing, she had said it'd make this whole 'roleplaying' thing more serious.
"Someone is enjoying herself too much," he purred, his eyes halflidded as he looked into hers.
She groaned quietly. "Play along, Sylus!"
He chuckled, but nodded softly. "Oh~? And what makes you think I didn't let you catch me on purpose, miss hunter?"
That seemed to please her. She grabbed his collar and pulled, making their noses touch, lips barely brushing against each others.
"Don't try to be a smartass with me, Onychinus Leader. You're the most wanted villian in all Linkon, and the Hunter Association finally got a hand on you. Your criminal days are over."
His smirk widened. If he didn't know better, he would've thought she actually held a grudge against him.
She tilted his chin up with her gun, the tips of their noses touching and her grin widening. "What? Out of clever comebacks already?"
Sylus tilted his head, that dangerous smile curling his lips. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see what you'll do with me, little miss hunter. Surely you won't shoot, right?"
She huffed and Sylus could barely contain his amusement. She let the gun aside, and before he could react, her fingers darted to his ribs.
Sylus jerked violently against the cuffs, his deep laugh bursting out unrestrained. “W–wait! Ki-Kihihitten, th-that’s not—ahaha! Fair!”
“Confess your crimes, villain!” she demanded, her hands merciless as they squeezed up his sides towards his ribs.
Sylus growled, trying to hold back his laughter, but she knew exactly where to touch to drive him absolutely crazy. However, he wasn't going to back down, at least not yet.
“I’ll… n-nehehever… confess—!” he gasped, throwing his head back in helpless laughter when her hands found their way under his arms, his wrists straining in the cuffs.
“Oh, then I’ll just keep going until the mighty Onychinus Leader begs for mercy,” she teased, her lips brushing against his jaw as she dug in again.
Ah, the things he gets into to please her...
A/N: last one of my commission batch. As always, big big thank you for the kind support and for being so patient with this awful writer. I hope you enjoy this one! 💕
Summary: You think you can hide anything from Solomon? Think again!
Words: 1.5k
Bath time had quickly become your favorite part of the day—or at least, one of them. The routine had settled so seamlessly into your evenings that it almost felt natural. After the chaos of classes and a long day at the House of Lamentation, there was a quiet, soothing ritual that always left you in a state of peaceful contentment.
You would always end up here—between Solomon’s legs, your back resting against his chest, surrounded by warm water. The gentle scent of lavender and chamomile filled the air, mingling with the steam to form a calming atmosphere that calmed every tense muscle in your body.
You think you can hide anything from Solomon? Think again.
Solomon’s arms would always find their way around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. It was as though he wanted to meld you with him completely, as if there was no distinction between where his body ended and yours began. His chin would rest against your shoulder, nuzzling gently, rubbing his head against yours like a kitten. The action never failed to make you smile, and you often found yourself laughing softly, running your fingers through his damp hair.
It was always the best part of your day—the most peaceful and intimate.
One evening, as you let the water lull you into a dazed state, you felt Solomon’s arms tighten around you.
“You know?” His voice broke the comfortable silence, startling you slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone amused. “Simeon told me today that you’ve been hiding something from me.”
You frowned, fluttering your eyes open. “Hiding something from you?” You felt a soft nod from behind you.
Solomon’s lips curled into a slow, teasing grin. “He told me that you're ticklish. Ridiculously so.”
You froze, your face flushing as your body stiffened.
His smirk grew, knowing he’d caught you off guard. “And I had no idea. All this time, and you’ve never once let me know.”
You tried to feign nonchalance, but the nervousness in your voice was impossible to hide. “Simeon must have been mistaken,” you said quickly, hoping to downplay it. “I’m not—"
Before you could finish, Solomon's fingers slid effortlessly across your stomach. It was slow at first, just a gentle graze of his fingertips over your skin, but it was enough to make you squirm. You flinched, already betraying yourself.
“Ah, I see,” he purred. “You are ticklish.”
You tried to pull away, but Solomon's grip on you tightened, pulling you back against him as his fingers began to explore your sides more eagerly. Every time you tried to escape, his hands followed, pressing lightly into your waist, coaxing laughter out of you.
“Nohoho! Wahahait!” you gasped between giggles as you twisted in his arms, desperately trying to pull away. “Sohohol! Lihihisten!”
“Oh? Stop?” Solomon’s voice was low and teasing, just the way he knew drove you crazy. “But I’m just getting started. Let's find the spot that makes you laugh the most, yes?”
Your giggles turned into helpless laughter, your body wriggling beneath his touch as he worked his fingers into your ribs, playing with each bone meticulously. Not limiting his touch to simply poking, but he also clawed and dug and vibrated his fingers in as his life depended on it.
You were kicking out, flailing your arms like a mad man as water spilled from every edge of the tub.
Solomon chuckled in your ear. “Simeon is not gonna be happy with the mess we're causing— from one to ten how ticklish would you say your ribs are?” He teased, humming when he found a set of ribs that nearly sent you to hysterics. “I'd say an eight.”
He then skittered his tickles to your belly, fluttering them at the sensitive sides and the middle of your stomach, circling just in the skin between your hip bones.
Talking about hip bones, they didn't go unnoticed by him. He latched to them and pinched and squeezed the bones with terrifying precision, nearly making you see stars as you positively screamed with laughter. It was simply unbearable.
“Stomach, eight. Hips, nine. But where is the weakest spot, my dear?” He asked, giggling to himself as he saw you squirming like a fish out of water as he kept tickling your hips to oblivion.
“AHAHAH! Sohohoholomohohon, plehehehase!” You shrieked in ticklish desperation, kicking your feet against the tub.
Your hands useless clawed at his in an attempt to stop him, but it was as if they were glued to your ticklish spots.
“Oh, c'mon, my love,” he purred, nibbling on your ear. “It's not that terrible, is it?”
He slowed down, but you barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled your arms over your head, pinning them with one of his.
You took a deep breath, finally opening your teary eyes only to be startled by the scene in front of you.
“W-Why are there floating sponges?” You asked, starting to squirm, trying to break free from his hold. “A-And why are they circling like sh-sharks?! S-Soholomon, plehehease don't!”
Solomon chuckled mischievously. “Oh, that? Just a bit of enchanting cleaning. Very efficient.”
Your eyes widened and before you could say anything, he snapped his fingers.
The shriek that left your mouth was inhumane and it echoed around the whole bathroom as the soapy sponges launched towards you.
They settled under each arm, scrubbing your armpits viciously, but not harshly, so ticklishly gentle it was driving you absolutely insane. Solomon wouldn't let you move your arms at all, keeping you well exposed for those sponges cleaning your armpits profusely.
“Yohou're weheheaponihihizing bahahath tohohools!” You yelled through hysterical laughter.
“Magical efficiency,” he said sweetly. “Now, hold still.”
You did not hold still.
The scrubbing was so gentle it was unbearable. Sending you spiraling into a ticklish torment that you couldn't escape and didn't exactly want to escape either. You shrieked, laughter bursting out like fireworks, your legs kicking, splashing wildly as you arched your back and desperately tried to bring your arms down.
But Solomon held you fast, arms like steel, his own fingers joining in, squeezing and clawing at your ribcage and hip in perfect rhythm, absolutely destroying you. Your laughter turned high and broken, almost sounding like soft sobs as tears of mirth streamed down your flushed cheeks while the sponges zeroed in the middle of your armpits like they'd been trained to tickle.
“Too much?” he murmured behind your ear, even as he kept going.
You couldn’t even answer. You were laughing silently now, air gone, body trembling.
“Hmm,” he hummed, “I’ll take that as ‘don’t stop’”
He whispered another spell and six bath brushes materialized, quickly diving into the water, easily finding your feet. They settled under your toes, tickling the sensitive and tender skin under and in between them as one pair on each foot brushed and scrubbed the tender sides of your feet.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Brush. Brush. Brush. It didn't end.
Your face was red from laughing so much, your stomach was already aching and a thin layer of sweat covered your forehead as not only your foamy tormentors tickled your sweet spots, but also a smug sorcerer, delighted in your helpless hysterical cackling.
“S-SOAHAHA! I- AHAHAHA!” You tried to beg, but the laughter kept coming and going, one moment loud and crazed, the next cackly but silent.
Solomon hummed with a chuckle. “I wonder how Simeon found out you were ticklish while I didn't know,” he said nonchalantly as if his fingers weren't nearly dissolving your right hip away. “Should I feel jealous?”
You shook your head. Of course he shouldn't feel jealous, but mostly, you just were in a desperate state, your laughter didn't sound like yours anymore, too hysterical in your ticklish insanity.
“Ah,” Solomon sighed, making you shriek when he moved his fingers to tickle your tummy next. “I think I should stop soon, your face is too red.”
Chuckling to himself, he finally relented, only because you were fully melted and hiccuping in his arms. He released your arms and kissed the top of your head, making the brushes and sponges vanish with a flick of his wrist.
“That was so much fun, wasn't it?” He said, sounding way too proud, the smirk still present in his lips.
Meanwhile, you were trying to catch your breath, your body twitching as you whimpered. “Y-You're a m-mehenace.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re like this,” Solomon murmured, brushing your wet hair back from your face with a gentle hand and pressing a loving kiss to your neck. “How long were you planning to keep that little secret from me, hmm? I don't think it was fair to hide it.”
You could only respond with a breathless chuckle, your face flushed with both laughter and embarrassment.
“Why do you think I didn't tell you before?”
“Every night now,” Solomon continued, almost like he didn't hear you as he pulled you closer, “I think I’ll remind you how ticklish you are. A little extra fun to look forward to after a long day.”
You groaned in defeat. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But you love me.”
Whatever he can do, I can do it better | Xavier x Reader
A/N: (3/4) @lovelynim mwah ♥
Summary: you don't need a neighbor baker when you have a jealous boyfriend.
Words: 1.1k
Your nose woke up before the rest of your body.
An aroma began to fill the room. Sweet and buttery. The scent was unmistakable; someone was baking something delicious. It lingered in the air, gentle yet insistent, making its way into your dreams until your brows furrowed and you stirred beneath the covers.
You open your eyes to pale light filtering through the curtains, the room bathed in soft gold. The spot beside you was empty, sheets slightly rumpled and already cooling.
For a moment, you lay there, listening to the silence and tranquility.
No alarms, no rush. Just winter break.
Then, faintly, you heard sounds of movement in the kitchen. A cupboard opening, and the low hum of the oven.
You smiled, getting out of bed and feeling a shiver run through your body as your bare feet touched the cool floor. You followed the scent down the hallway to the kitchen.
Xavier was standing at the counter.
He was still wearing his pajamas, or at least part of them. His pants hung low on his hips, and his torso was covered only by an apron with a shooting star sewn across the chest. There was flour on his fingers and a tiny bit on the tip of his nose that he clearly hadn't noticed yet. He looked focused, careful, reading something on his phone as if it were all the answers of the universe.
For a few seconds you stared at him, and your gaze wandered without your permission, following the gentle lines of the muscles beneath his skin, the way his shoulders shifted as he moved. There was even a speck of flour on his side, and you found yourself mesmerized by the scene before you.
Your body moved then, pulled by his very presence, until your arms were around his waist, and you were trying to see what he was looking at over his shoulder.
He didn't even flinch. Xavier glanced at you over his shoulder, a soft smile grazing his lips. "Good morning," he said in a soft voice. "And Merry Christmas."
You chuckled softly. "Merry Christmas, Xavier… What are you making?"
He hesitated, just a fraction. "A surprise," he said gently.
You hummed and took a long breath, inhaling the delicious aroma filling the kitchen. "It smells delicious. I didn't know you were such a good baker," you said with a smile, kissing the back of his ear.
His ear turned red, and he cleared his throat. "Well, we don't need any silly baker, do we?"
You furrowed your brow gently; you recognized that tone, but why—turning to the table, you noticed a basket full of bread, adorned with a red ribbon. You raised your eyebrows, surprised.
"And what's that?" you asked curiously.
Xavier drummed his fingers on the counter, glancing at the basket for two seconds before turning away again, shrugging.
"Charlie came by early to drop that off. A Christmas present or something," he explained, as if it were the most insignificant thing in the world. "I insisted it wasn't necessary, but he was stubborn."
You hummed, unwrapping your arms from around his waist, but he stopped you, wrapping them again around him. "You don't need to look at them... they're bad."
"Bad?" You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
Xavier nodded. "Mhmm. They smell strange and are... hard. We need to get rid of them soon."
You almost laughed, but stopped yourself just in time, nodding gently. "Ah, I see. So that's how it is," you said, looking at Xavier's profile. "So, you decided to bake bread yourself?"
He smiled and nodded. "That's right. Nothing like freshly baked bread, don't you think?"
"Wasn't Charlie's bread freshly baked too—"
"So, what time will we open the presents?" Xavier interrupted. "After breakfast?"
You chuckled. "You're changing the subject."
Xavier removed some flour from his apron, his expression calm... too calm. "Me?"
You chuckled, leaning into him as your hands slipped through the openings of his apron. Your fingers moved absentmindedly against his stomach as you hummed softly, tracing small lines against his skin.
Xavier inhaled sharply, sucking on his stomach and you smirked, pausing your hands momentarily.
"Xavier, Xavi... could it be that you are... jealous of Charlie?"
"That's ridiculous," he replied instantly, almost like a petulant child. "Why would I be jealous of Charlie?"
You giggled. "That's what I'd like to know," you said softly as your fingers retraced every curve of his abs and the rim of his navel until your fingers suddenly dug into his ribs, clawing at the spot.
Xavier flinched and squealed, helpless laughter slipping free before he could stop it. He tried to trap your hands as he bent over the counter, but he couldn't get them out from under his apron.
"Wahahait!" he laughed, squeezing his arms to his sides as best he could to prevent you from going any further up his ribs. "Tihihihi- Tihihickling is nohohot fahahair!"
"It is fair if you are being irrationally jealous over a baker," you said with a smirk, your fingers moving viciously against his ribs.
"I- I ahaham n-nohohot- ahahaha!"
You chuckled. "It's Christmas, Xavier... you can't lie."
"Ihihit's ChrihihstmaAHAhas!" He talked back. "B-Behehe Mehehercifuhul!"
That made you laugh. "Nah, sorry. I will tickle you until all the jealousy is out of your body—ah, an opening!"
"STAHAHAP!" Xavier cackled when your hands were suddenly under his arms, fingers wiggling against the creases of his armpits. "Plehehease! I cahahan't!"
"You can't what~?" you teased, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "C'mon, just admit that you are jealous... but I might keep tickling you if you are, you know?"
Xavier was nearly in hysterics as you kept tickling his armpits, he tried to escape, but no one could escape Linkon's number one hunter.
"Slohohow dohohown! It's too muhuhuch, I-"
You both jumped when you heard the oven alarm. You stopped tickling Xavier with a pout and gave him some space to check the bread.
The poor man approached the oven, trembling slightly and breathing heavily, his lips still quivering in a small smile as he took the bread out.
The aroma was exquisite, and the bread looked so fluffy it almost seemed unreal. The golden crust made your mouth water and your stomach rumble.
"That looks so good," you said, peeking out from behind him.
"It does," Xavier replied, placing it on the counter. "I told you we didn't need a baker."
You laughed behind him. "And I told you you were jealous."
Xavier turned around, his eyes warm and amused. His arms wrapped around you, his nose touching yours.
"Hmm... maybe just a little," he admitted, giving you a kiss on the lips.
Christmas morning, you think, couldn't get any better than this.
"This… is definitely harder than using my sword," you mumbled as the tip of the divine arrow refused to stay in place and instead, kept falling off, slipping off your hand comically.
"Is this harder than carrying your heavy sword?" Zayne chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he helped fix your position again. "Stop moving your finger from here."
"It moves on its own!" You protested, pressing your finger on the spot he mentioned. "My arms are too short. And the arrow is too long! And the string is too tight!"
"And your mouth is too whiney."
"Zayne!" You gasped out.
He chuckled again, gently placing himself behind you and helping you fix your stance. His strong chest pressed behind you as he leaned close to your ear, his breath making your hair move slightly.
"Lift your elbow a bit more. Your chin as well... very good. Now, your hips are supposed to be aligned— why are you laughing?"
You erupted in a fit if giggles, jerking away from his hand resting against your hip. "It's tihihicklish!" You squealed, shimmying softly.
Zayne rolled his eyes fondly, huffing a little. "This is a serious training, you know? Stop giggling yourself silly and get in position," he scolded, but his voice was gentle and playful.
You took a deep breath and lifted the bow again.
"Good. Now, use your thumb, forefinger and middle finger to pull back the string… harder. Don't let go of the arrow, lift your elbow a little more and—"
Another burst of giggles interrupted him and he sighed, shaking his head before his hands started to really tickle you. You immediately dropped the arrow and bow and wrapped your hands around his wrists as he tickled your waist with quick squeezes.
"Ahahaha! Nohoho, plehehease!" You giggled brightly, squirming from side to side, trying to escape his grip. "Nohohot tihihihickling!"
Zayne was smiling softly behind you, his eyes warm as he leaned down to speak into your ear, his lip brushing against the sensitive skin, making you squeal and hunch up your shoulders.
"If you keep messing up, I'm going to tickle you until you learn how to do it properly," he teased with a smirk, his finger quickly crawling up towards your ribs.
"Thihihis is so unfahair— AHAHAHA, fihihine! Fine! I gehehet it! I'll dohoho it prohoperly!"
"Good. But I'll keep tickling you for a few more moments as punishment."
A/N: Thank you very much for your kind support one more time! As always, it was a lovely to work together with @ppyspsps again! We hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Kyle has officially become an Emperor, and things aren't as easy as he thought they would. Especially with someone as Joe around him.
Words: 4k
Kyle had always known what becoming emperor entailed. It wasn't just wearing gold-embroidered clothing and waving his quill from side to side, pretending to work when in reality he was thinking about lying on his bed and having someone feed him grapes.
Being emperor meant that his personal problems had taken a back seat, and what he should always worry about was that each and every person in the empire was living well. It was a heavy burden, but one that he had agreed to carry.
However, he couldn't help but overthink. Would he do a good job as emperor? What if something went wrong? What if all the effort, not only his, but of all those who helped him get to where he was, had been in vain? Would he be able to solve even the smallest problem in the empire?
He had to force those thoughts to the back of his brain, for the ink continued to flow as he signed documents that shaped the future. He had imagined himself sitting right there, and now it wasn't his imagination anymore. It was real.
The office was quieter than he had ever thought. Sitting behind that massive desk, Kyle couldn't help but feel strangely small.
He sat up straight in the emperor's chair. His chair. His shoulders squared from tension rather than pride and confidence, his eyes fixed on the parchment placed before him, tracing the same sentence for what seemed like the tenth time. The words blurred together, as if they were suddenly in a language Kyle couldn't understand. A pile of decisions to make. One mistake and it would be the end of everything.
His fingers tightened around the quill. Was this the way an emperor should feel?
Kyle leaned back slightly and exhaled slowly, as if he wanted to expel all the stress in one breath. His fingers, a little stained with dried black ink, pressed against his temples, massaging them with force, perhaps more than necessary.
Across the room, Joe was watching him. Of course she was.
She had claimed a chair against the wall, near Kyle's desk. Her legs dangled casually from one of the armrests, and swung back and forth gently as she played with her sword. She tapped it with her fingernail and the jingle barely managed to fill the deathly silence of the room.
Kyle looked at her without really thinking, like when someone is distracted by a sudden movement—or like when you remember that someone else is with you. His eyes returned to the paper in front of him, trying to understand any of the lines on it.
Joe didn't speak, which would have surprised Kyle if he weren't so focused on that document. In general, Joe knew how to behave when Kyle was reviewing his documents. She just stayed there, accompanying him. She had known him long before anyone called him Your Majesty. She had met him long before, in another universe and in another life.
Kyle's jaw and shoulders tensed even more as he read the document over and over and over again. His fingers drummed against the desk, the soft dull sound almost driving him mad. The ink container rested close to his hand, his fingers pushing against it a little, as if even that was causing him some kind of claustrophobia.
Joe sheathed her sword again, her head tilting to the side a little, her eyes narrowing just a touch as she studied him—not the emperor, not the symbol of the empire's future, but Kyle. Her Kyle. Her little angel, her canary, the person she loved most in the whole world.
She rose from the chair silently, her steps barely making a sound against the polished floor.
Kyle didn't notice her. It was a miracle that he noticed anything besides the document in front of his nose, his eyebrows were furrowed, as if his gaze was daring those words to make a bit of sense.
Joe crossed the room at a slow pace, her hands crossed behind her back, a familiar spark of mischief already beginning to form in her eyes.
Yes, she decided. He's been looking at that document for too long and it still kept winning. Honestly, someone had to do something about it.
She stopped right behind him, a wicked smile curling her lips as she leaned over Kyle's shoulder, just a little, to see what was written on that paper. She squinted, focusing until the words made sense.
"Your Majesty Kyle:
I hope this letter finds you in good health. The reason for this letter is to inform you that the West Wing is in urgent need of repair.
It seems that, somehow, there is a leak in the ceiling during rainy days that is damaging not only the fine wood furniture, but also--"
Joe raised an eyebrow. Seriously? That's what's got Kyle so worried? Goddess Turga… this man really needed a break.
Kyle sighed again, though now it sounded more like a grunt as he leaned his elbows back on the desk and rested his head in his hands.
"A lot of work?" she asked suddenly, but Kyle didn't flinch. He simply answered with a soft grunt. "It's late... have you eaten yet?" Another grunt that sounded like a negative. "And you're not hungry?"
Kyle didn't answer that question. He picked up the document again and held it so close to his face that Joe almost laughed.
Well, it was official. This required her intervention, and no one was better qualified to distract Kyle than herself, of course. That silly document could wait, but her little canary wasn't going to suffer a headache during her surveillance just for no reason.
Joe moved a little closer to Kyle from behind just as Kyle shifted in his chair, rolling his shoulders once, and letting out a long and tired sigh.
She watched him for just a second longer and darted her hands forward, just enough so her fingers could slip under Kyle's arms and wiggle to tickle him gently, just a flutter.
"Hey—!"
Kyle squealed, jolting violently and pressing his arms to his sides, but Joe managed to pull her hands out before they got trapped underneath. He twisted in his chair, shooting her a glare over his shoulder, the fair skin of his cheeks slightly rosy.
Joe had already stepped away, her hands clasped behind her, face perfectly innocent. Too innocent.
Kyle frowned. "… What was that?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but then turned back to his desk with a huff. "I'm working. Stop playing around."
Stop playing around? Oh, that was just simply impossible for Joe.
He dipped the quill into the ink again, he didn't need to, but he still did. He tried to refocus his attention back onto the document. He read the first line. The second, and half way through the third one, another sudden flutter of fingers brushed the side of his neck.
Kyle sucked in a sharp breath and a startled, high-pitched laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, his shoulders jerking up towards his ears. "J-Johohoe!"
She was gone again when he twisted around, pacing casually towards the window as if she was just checking the room around. "Hmm?" She hummed, looking up at him with a curious glance, as if she did not know what was happening.
Kyle stared at her, not believing her nonchalant acting. "Do not start," he warned, but an emperor with flushed cheeks and trembled lips could barely be taken seriously.
Joe glanced at him, tilting her head to the side like a curious fox. "Start what?" she asked, her voice soft.
"This," he said, gesturing vaguely at his own sides. "Whatever this silly game you're playing is. I. Am. Busy."
She raised her brows, clearly amused, but pretending to be offended. "Silly game? You sure you're not just… too jumpy today, Your Majesty~?"
He huffed again, brushing his hair back in exasperation. "Behave."
"I always behave, Your Majesty," she declared with a grin.
Kyle sighed, shaking his head and turning back to the desk again, trying very, very hard to ignore the way his skin still felt too aware of her proximity. His nerves buzzed where she had touched him. He leaned forward, rolling his shoulders one more time as he exhaled.
Focus, he reminded himself.
And he did… for a whole twelve seconds.
Joe had moved behind him again and her fingers had darted out, this time she squeezed at his ribs quickly, and was gone before he could even process it.
Kyle burst into laughter, a breathless sound, his chair scraping slightly as he jerked to the side. "Joe! I'm seherious! Stop right now!"
She did not. Where was the fun in that? Instead, she circled him like a bored cat cornering a poor, trembling mouse—or in her case—a cute canary. She delivered brief, infuriating attacks: a wiggle of fingers under his arms, a poke at his side, a flutter of fingers at the back of his neck, a squeeze at his hips. Each one lasted no more than a heartbeat, just long enough to break his concentration completely.
Kyle, oh poor Kyle, he tried to keep working through it. He really did, but every time he started to settle, every time his laughter had died down or a squeal had vanished in the room, she struck again with unpredictable motions.
"Joe!" He gasped, arching his back when Joe traced a single finger down his spine. "I mean to—ahaha!" He laughed, words breaking apart as another touch landed under his arms. "I h-hahave to— I'm trying t-to—"
"Trying to what?" she asked, grinning mischievously as she delivered a quick poke to his side.
Kyle jolted with a giggle, his body jerking away from the playful touch. "Rehehead!"
"Oh? Read?" She leaned over his shoulder, peering down on the document with a smirk. "It's the same one you've been reading forever."
Kyle tensed. "That's- That's not—ah!" He let out another laugh as her fingers wiggled against his ribs again. "Thihis is u-unfahair!"
Joe smirked even more. "Oh? Is it now?"
Kyle's shoulders were drawn up tightly, his arms wrapping his torso. The anticipation was almost worse than the actual tickling. Every time he heard her taking a step, or breathing too close, his body would freeze, expecting another tickle.
"Joe," he warned weakly, although it sounded more like a plea, laughter still clinging to his voice. "I am serious."
She hummed thoughtfully, but didn't say anything. Kyle tensed, closing his eyes tightly, expecting another surprise attack, but as seconds ticked by and nothing happened, he exhaled, relaxing just a friction.
"See? That's better. Now, let me finish this and then—"
Joe lunged in again, this time with more intent, both her hands attacking his sides at once with quick squeezes that moved from his hips up to his armpits.
Kyle yelped and doubled over, laughter spilling out of him uncontrollably as his quill slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the desk. "Johohoe! Stahahap!"
She quickly retreated again, laughing too, clearly pleased. "Eh~? Were you really expecting me to stop? Not a chance, Kyle~"
Kyle pressed his arms to his sides, chest heaving as he tried, and failed, to pull himself together. "You… You are impossible!"
"Hmm~ Maybe I am~," she agreed cheerfully.
Kyle sighed, shaking his head as he reached for the quill again, fingers shaking just a little. "I swear, if you do that again, I will have to—AH!"
A light poke to his neck made him squeak. "Thaha- That's it!" He giggled helplessly, shoulders shaking as he tried to glare back at her. "I'm- I'm— You! You'll have to wait for me outside and—AHAHA!" He doubled over again, his forehead almost touching the desk as Joe tickled his hips.
He squirmed in his chair, arms flailing as he twisted and laughed, still half turned towards Joe with breathless protests, until his elbow touched the side of the ink container and knocked it off. The impact was small, of course. A simply hollow sound against the desk. Barely anything, really, but the damage was big.
Time seemed to stop just enough for Kyle to register what had happened. To feel the faint brush of glass against his sleeve and see the ink spilling all over his documents.
Oh no.
It flowed across the desk in a sudden, unstoppable wave, soaking straight into the parchment he'd been hovering over for the last hour. Elegant lettering disappearing under the stains. A few thick drops splashed onto his hand, his cuff, the edge of his sleeve.
Kyle froze, the laughter dying in his throat as abruptly as it had started. For one heartbeat, the room was utterly silent.
He stared down at the desk, eyes wide, mind blank as he took in the damage, before he came to his senses and lifted the container to prevent more ink from spilling out, but when he grabbed it, he felt it was almost empty.
He gritted his teeth and his fingers curled slowly against the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.
Joe leaned in, peering over his shoulder. "Oh…," she said, letting out a soft whistle.
Kyle did not move. Did not breathe.
Joe tilted her head, studying the messed up document with casual curiosity, as if this were a mildly interesting mess rather than the result of her last five minutes of mischief.
Then, without thinking, without even a hint or remorse or apology in her voice, she added, "well… at least it wasn't an important one."
The words sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Kyle's head lifted slowly, very slowly, and looked at her. Joe blinked, looking almost confused as to what was happening.
Something in his expression finally made her notice, though. Too calm, too still… the laughter gone so completely it was unsettling. The air around him felt different now, his jaw tense.
"… Joe," he said quietly.
Uh-oh. She recognized that face, she recognized that voice. She recognized this… oppressing aura. Joe gulped.
She straightened at once. "I mean…" she waved a hand vaguely. "Important important. Like… Like world-ending important, you know? You know what I mean? I- I know you do… Kyle?"
Kyle stood slowly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, the sound sharp in the silence, making Joe cringe slightly. Ink dripped from his sleeve onto the carpet, dark spots appearing at his feet.
Joe took an instinctive step back, hands up in some kind of useless shield.
"Wait, wait!" She said quickly. "M-Maybe I didn't use the right words. It came out wrong! U-Uh… y-you- you know how I am, right, Kyle?"
Kyle didn't respond. He looked at the mess of a desk, picking up the ruined document, staring at it for a few seconds, and then setting it down with deliberate care. His shoulders were rigid.
Joe swallowed. "I- I think it's better if I just… go… for now…" she decided and turned on her heels, bolting for the door.
Kyle reacted instantly. "Joe," he said, his voice a low grumble, but Joe could hear him clearly. She didn't stop. Joe opened the wooden door and made it about a foot outside the doorway before strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.
"Kyle," she squeaked as the floor vanished beneath her feet, her momentum cut off completely. Kyle scooped her up without effort, throwing her unceremoniously over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all. Like she was a simple sack of potatoes.
"I said—ack! I said I was sorry!" Joe protested, already laughing despite herself as she squirmed, knowing her laughter would only fuel Kyle even more.
Kyle turned back toward the office, terrifyingly calm. He closed the door behind them and even locked it before both his hands moved to Joe's waist and started squeezing the spot.
Joe squeaked again, bright giggles spurting out of her mouth as she squirmed on his shoulder. "I'm- I'm sohohorry! I'm sorry!"
"Oh," Kyle said, carrying her towards the desk with steady steps as he keeps tickling her, "you will be."
His fingers worked into her ribs with ruthless precision, quick and relentless, even as he continued walking. Joe's legs kicked uselessly, boots swinging a few inches above the floor as she wriggled and laughed herself breathless.
"That—ahahaha! That- That wahahas an a-ahahaccident!" she gasped. "I swehehear!"
"Mhmm," Kyle replied calmly.
His tone was even, not matching his actions at all. He adjusted his grip slightly, just enough to keep her from slipping off his shoulder, and dug in again.
Joe laughed louder, fists uselessly banging against Kyle's back as she squirmed. "Plehehease! I sahahaid- I said I w-was- I ahaham sohohorry!"
Kyle hummed. "You also said it wasn't important."
Joe whined mid-laugh. "Okay! Okahahay! I take it back! I dihihidn't mean it lihihike thahat!" Kyle's fingers slid briefly under her arm and she howled. "NAHAHA!" She kicked again, nearly hitting his crotch. "Kyle, plehehease! Your Mahahajesty!"
Kyle suddenly stopped walking, he stilled his tickling hands too. For half a second, Joe dared to hope Kyle was going to show her mercy, but then he tickled her again. Joe shrieked with laughter, the sound bouncing off the walls as Kyle wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her secure over his shoulder, and the other tickled her side and ribs mercilessly.
"Thihihs is nohohot fahahair!" She accused between giggles and laughs.
Kyle's mouth twitched. "Is it not?"
He finally lowered her back on the floor once they were fully inside the office. Joe's boots touched down unsteadily, knees wobbling as she tried to regain her balance. Still laughing, she stumbled backwards, bumping into the edge of the desk with a soft thud. Before she could straighten, Kyle stepped in, hands already reaching for her again.
Joe squealed. "Kyle, wait! Kyle, please, please lihihisten! Listen!" She tried, but Kyle didn't wait nor listen.
He cornered her just enough that retreat was impossible, and his fingers dug into her sides again with renewed determination. Joe collapsed back against the desk, laughter exploding out of her as her hands flew up, pushing Kyle's shoulders as if that could save her from her fate.
"PLEHEHEASE!" she cackled, feeling the fresh ink all over the desk dampening her clothes as she squirmed, looking like nothing less than a rag trying to clean up the mess she herself had caused, even if that wasn't her initial intention. "I wahahas johohoking!"
Kyle leaned in slightly, pressing her even more against the desk, his voice was low and unmistakably amused now. "Your jokes are poor and annoying," he chuckled, his thumbs rubbing maddening circles right beneath Joe's ribs.
Joe shook her head, arching her back as she laughed herself breathless. "I- I tahahake- take bahahack my apolohohogy!"
That was a huge mistake Joe immediately regretted. She really didn't know when to shut that big mouth of hers, did she?
"O-Oh… Oh noho… wahahit!" she wheezed as his hands went everywhere: her ribs, her sides, a brief, devastating wiggle under her arms—it all made her lose what little composure she had left.
She shrieked with laughter, tossing her head back in nearly hysteria as a deep blush spread across her cheeks. "KYLE! KYHAHALE, PLEHEHEASE!" she begged as her hands tried to capture his and she failed to squirm away. "I'M SOHOHORRY! I a-ahaham sohohorry agahahain!"
She laughed so hard she could barely recognize her own voice, especially when Kyle decided to really go for her armpits. His fingers dug right against the creases, wiggling so fast and so ticklishly that Joe thought she was going to pass out.
She wondered if that would have been better than laughing her head off with her clothes ruined with ink, and an revengeful emperor all over her.
"KYHAHALE!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Tohoo muhuhuch! It's too muhuhuch—AHAHA! Plehehease, not thehere!"
Kyle chuckled, a bit breathless himself too. "Is it?" he purred with a smirk. "Not here? Oh, but I think this is just the perfect spot, Joe."
His irritation still stung beneath his skin, vividly recalling how the ink had bled across his entire document. One second of carelessness and an official document had been reduced to trash.
As he tickled her, his eyes caught a glimpse of the stain on his sleeve, he remembered Joe was laying on top of the document, practically wiping the desk with her back, and he felt like growling. But, all things considered, if he truly tried to ignore the situation from a few minutes ago, Joe's laughter echoing off the walls was a welcome respite for his body and heart.
She could barely move, her arms uselessly trying to push her up, but failing miserably as she tried to crush Kyle's hands under her arms to stop his fingers from wiggling, of course everything she did was useless. His fingers were ruthless and so very annoyingly ticklish.
"I'm—AHAHA! I'm c-cahahalling thihihis a-ahahaha! Abuse of p-pohohower!" she managed to gasp out. "NO MOHOHORE!"
Kyle snorted despite himself. "Ah, now you recognize my authority?" he asked with a smirk and an arched eyebrow. "I remember you clearly not obeying me earlier. I'm sure you remember too, that's the reason why we are in this situation after all."
Joe shook her head, dissolving into laughter before she could speak up again, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "Ihihihi- I n-nehehever said I r-rehehecognize yohohour—AHAHAHA! NO! I DOHOHO! I DOHOHO!"
She screamed with laughter as his hands quickly shifted, moving to the back of her ribs to dig his fingers in. "PLEAHAHASE! Thihihis is n-not fahahair!"
Kyle could feel the knot in his chest loosing the more he listened to her laughter. The pressure easing, even if it was just a fraction. The stress slowly dissolving as his fingers made Joe laugh her pretty head off.
"You ruined my document," he reminded her, although his tone has softened.
"I s-sahahaid I wahahas s-sohohorry!" she protested weakly, barely able to form coherent words.
"And then you took it back," he added, hands moving to her stomach, causing her to shriek, "you took it back and said you weren't sorry anymore."
"I LIHIHIED!" she laughed. "Nohot my tuhuhummy!" She clutched at his sleeves, she knew it'd be impossible to stop him right now, but she needed to anchor herself as the tickling overwhelmed her. "KYAHAHALY!" she gasped, her cheeks and sides aching. "I c-cahahan't! AHAHAHA! I c-cahahan't a-anymohohore!"
Kyle stopped as fast as he had started. The sound of her laughter had changed. It was softer now, breathless and weak, nearly turning completely silent as her strength finally gave up and she was overcame by the tickles.
He pulled his hands away from her body slowly, pressing his palms against the desk on each side of Joe's head, caging her as he observed her. Joe went limp, chest rising and falling rapidly, her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were flushed red.
"Okahahay," she giggled breathlessly, smiling up at him with half-lidded eyes. "I am truhuhuly s-sohorry."
Kyle chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to her slightly damp forehead before he stepped back, giving her space to sit up, his hands went to her waist to steady her.
"You're impossible," he said, but he was smiling warmly at her again. "And you always make big messes."
Joe glanced up at him, eyes bright and unapologetic despite saying she was sorry. "And yet… you keep me around, hmm?"
Kyle rolled his eyes fondly, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "I might rethink that decision."
Joe giggled as she slid off the desk, her feet finding the floor with a small wobble. Kyle reacted without thinking, reaching out to hug her waist and press her against him. She leaned into him immediately.
"You okay?" she asked suddenly, and he blinked in confusion, but then he understood and smiled with a little nod.
"Yeah… I feel better now." He glanced past her at the desk and the mess left behind. Somehow, it didn't feel as catastrophic anymore.
Joe followed his gaze. "I'll get you a copy of that one," she smirked, looking up at him. "And… I could potentially promise not to cause a mess anymore.
Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. "Potentially…"
Joe's eyes softened and she hugged his waist tightly. "Let's change, Kyle… and ask someone to clean this mess," she said with a soft, mischievous giggle, and this time, he joined her.
"Yeah, let's go."
His responsibilities were still waiting, and his desk was still a mess, but for the moment, Kyle couldn't care less because right now he only needed Joe to feel like himself again.
A/N: Merry Christmas, @lovelynim!! I love you very much, you are the best beta reader and I love talking to you!! Wishing you the best always, fabifabi!
Summary: Aventurine wakes up to a mouthful of feather and a Halovian on his bed.
Words: 1.1k
Aventurine thought he was dreaming.
For starters, his bed was warm, too warm, and his body couldn't help but move closer to that heat source. Besides, a bunch of... feathers kept hitting his nose.
The sensation was strange. The feathers tickled his nose, but at the same time, they stung slightly. After all, even such small wings had bones, didn't they?
Such small wings... Aventurine slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light and groaning a little as he rubbed his face with one hand, moving the tiny wing away with his other one.
Beside him, a beautiful Halovian lay with his back to him, his body completely naked beneath the sheets, his torso moving slightly with each soft breath. Aventurine couldn't suppress the smile that was beginning to widen his lips.
Had he really convinced Sunday to spend the night with him? Aventurine let out a small laugh, his arms wrapping around Sunday's waist, pulling him closer until his back was pressed against Aventurine's bare chest.
It was true that Aventurine didn't hide his intense attraction to the Halovian. Somehow, every time they met, Aventurine had something prepared for Sunday. Gifts that usually consisted of pastries, especially, of course, pudding tarts.
Aventurine wasn't even sure if that was enough to attract him, but he noticed how Sunday blushed more, how he stared at Aventurine for longer periods, and how he always ended up sitting next to him at any gathering, like last night's.
Aventurine found Sunday, of course, stuffing himself with pastries in the Party Car while a Christmas gathering was taking place around them. Everything came back to him in fragments: the soft music, the lights, maybe too much liquor, the almost unreal laughter escaping his mouth, and then—
Aventurine exhaled, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Well," he whispered, "I guess I really did win this time."
Sunday was really there. In his bed. In his arms. His hair slightly tousled, his pale skin marked by Aventurine's kisses and bites. His neck, his back, his shoulders, his waist—wherever he looked, he could find his mark on the Halovian, and that brought him more happiness than it should.
Careful not to wake him, Aventurine moved impossibly closer, his lips brushing the base of one of the wings emerging from behind his head.
The wing twitched. Then it shook.
Sunday hummed in his sleep, tossing and turning, his wings flexing reflexively, and Aventurine raised an eyebrow as a dangerous smile spread across his lips.
"Oh~?" he purred, rubbing his nose against the wings before his fingers slid along the base of one of them, very close to where they sprouted from his head.
Sunday gasped. A sharp inhalation, followed by an immediate attempt to move away.
Aventurine tensed his arms around him, letting out a silly chuckle as his legs also intertwined with Sunday's beneath the covers. Had he just made the discovery of the century?
"How interesting~," he murmured happily.
Sunday had already woken up by now. He turned his head enough to see Aventurine, his expression carefully neutral, except for the faint blush rising across his cheeks.
"You're awake, Mr. Aventurine," Sunday said, his voice heavy and a little hoarse after sleep.
Aventurine huffed, rolling his eyes gently. "Mhm. Thanks to your wing," he retorted. "If my mouth had been open, I might have swallowed it, you know?"
Sunday rolled his eyes too. "You're a—ah!"
Aventurine's mouth closed against the base of the wing that had hit him a few minutes earlier, and Sunday let out a squeal, his body tensing completely.
Aventurine chuckled softly, "Just like that," he said, his lips brushing the wing with each word, his breath making the feathers move.
Sunday trembled in Aventurine's arms, and the gambler laughed. "You're very sensitive here?"
"I'm not—hah!" Sunday tried to deny it, but before he could, Aventurine's fingers wiggled against the base again, and Sunday let out a giggle.
It escaped before he could stop it. Soft, breathless, and ridiculously high-pitched. His face turned red with embarrassment.
Aventurine blinked, then grinned.
"Well, well. Really sensitive, huh?" he whispered close to Sunday's ear. "Does it tickle? Are your wings ticklish? Who would have thought..."
Sunday tried to sit up, to recover some of his dignity after that stupid giggle. "Mr. Aventurine, I didn't—!"
But Aventurine was already getting into action, his voice low and delighted as his nose brushed against the wing and his fingers tickled it lightly.
"Hmm~? You didn't,what, Sunday?" he asked gently, tightening his free arm around Sunday to prevent him from escaping.
Sunday began to giggle, squirming in Aventurine's embrace as his wings flapped wildly, fluttering around Aventurine's face, hitting his cheeks.
Aventurine laughed, his fingers easily attacking the small appendage, gently scratching and stroking it while alternating small kisses between the two wings.
"Stohohop ihihit!" Sunday laughed, hunching his shoulders up as if that would help him stop Aventurine, but of course, it didn't. "N-Noho mohohore! Mr. Aventurine! This isn't—hahaha! Stop it!"
"Wow, I didn't think you were so ticklish... Here too?" Aventurine asked as his other hand began tickling Sunday's ribs.
Sunday squealed, his laughter growing louder as he felt another part of himself being tickled. He squirmed and tried to push Aventurine's hands away from his ribs and wings, but he couldn't.
"I c-cahaha! I c-cahahan't!" Sunday giggled, trying to press his arms against his sides to at least stop the tickling in his ribs. "It's too early!"
"Nah. It's the perfect time," Aventurine whispered, kissing the edge of one of Sunday's wings as he continued tickling it with his hand. "Right now when you're weaker, softer, and... still so sensitive after last night—ack!"
This time the blow to his face was firmer and more deliberate. A warning from Sunday to watch his words, but he wasn't in a position to give warnings at that moment.
"AHAHAHA! N-NO! N-No, please!" Sunday squealed, laughter pouring out freely as Aventurine's hands slid beneath his arms, finger mercilessly tickling his armpits. "I-I'm sohohorry! I'm sorry! N-Not thehehere, please!" Sunday begged, kicking his legs like a madman as tears of laughter streamed down his cheeks.
Aventurine only smirked, unrepentant. "Oh, what a shame," he mumbled, leaning in to press soft, teasing kisses along Sunday's wings. "There's exactly where I want to tickle you."
Watching Sunday like this—unguarded, breathless, laughing without restraint—felt unreal. Aventurine held him there, driving him to hysterics, half-expecting the moment to dissolve if he blinked.
It had to be a dream.
And if it was, Aventurine decided he wasn't waking up.
