#embarassment

Until tonight.

The barracks at Okhema were quiet, the fires low. Mydei sat polishing his gauntlets, cape draped elegantly over his chair. You had just returned from training, sweat slick on your brow, when you spotted it. A dark little movement on the stone floor. Antenna. Chittering. Six legs skittering toward you.

A roach.

The scream that tore from your throat could have woken the Titans themselves. You leapt onto the nearest bench with a speed that would have impressed even the most seasoned scouts.

“WHAT—BY THE TITANS—” Mydei was already half risen, his eyes blazing as if preparing for a siege. “Is it an attack? A monster breach?”

“IT’S ON THE FLOOR—IT’S COMING—BY THE TITANS, IT’S COMING!” you shouted, pointing wildly at the bug.

Mydei blinked. His hand lowered slowly from his weapon. “…That?”

“Yes that!” Your voice cracked, uncharacteristic for someone who had once spat curses at a Titan’s gaping maw. You clutched the bench like it was a lifeboat in a storm. “It’s hideous—it’s crawling—it’s going to climb on me—”

The great Mydeimos, Last Prince of Kremnos, stared at you as though the black tide itself had sprouted a new absurd form. For the first time in years, he was completely speechless.

“…You do realize,” he said carefully, “that thing is smaller than your thumb.”

“I don’t care if it’s smaller than a grain of sand!” you snapped. “Kill it, Mydei. Kill it before it lays eggs or calls its friends or—by the Titans—what if it can fly?”

You heard your own voice pitching higher, panicked. Mydei’s lips pressed together, shoulders trembling—not in battle tension, but in barely contained laughter.

“You…” he finally managed, “…the warrior who charged headfirst into Nikador’s spawn without flinching… are undone by a bug?”

“It’s not just a bug—it’s a demon in disguise!” you hissed.

At that, he actually laughed. A deep, resonant sound that filled the chamber. He stood, still chuckling, and crossed the room. His hair caught the firelight, tribal markings flexing across his arms as he knelt down. With regal grace, he extended a gauntleted hand and—squish.

You made a strangled noise of relief, but Mydei straightened with an almost smug look.

“There. The mighty foe is vanquished,” he said solemnly, wiping his gauntlet. “Your honor restored.”

You scowled, still clinging to the bench. “Don’t mock me. That thing was… plotting.”

Mydei tilted his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Should I commission a statue to commemorate your victory? The Fearless Warrior Against the Cockroach of Okhema?”

“Don’t you dare.”

But he was grinning, rare and unguarded. “I should have known the great stoic [Name] had one weakness. And here I thought you untouchable.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and indignation. “You tell anyone about this, Mydei, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted smoothly, stepping closer. He leaned down, his voice low, teasing: “Shout at me from atop the bench?”

You tried to glare, but it melted under his amused smirk. He was enjoying this far too much.

Later that night, when you finally returned to your bedroll, you noticed something. Mydei had quietly shifted his cot closer to yours, his golden gauntlets resting within arm’s reach.

And when you muttered, “It might have friends,” he only chuckled and replied, “Then I’ll be here to slay them for you. Even princes must defend their comrades from such terrible foes.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, the warmth of his words stayed with you longer than your humiliation.

The training fields of Okhema buzzed with life as you sparred with Phainon. His white hair shone like flame in the sun, his eyes sharp but kind as his blade pressed against yours. Sweat slicked your brow, but you didn’t falter. You never did. Against him, you could fight ten days and nights without yielding.

Then you heard it.

A buzz. Low, insidious, growing louder.

You froze mid-parry.

Phainon tilted his head. “[Name]? You stopped. That’s not like you.”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes darted skyward, scanning—until you saw it. The devil incarnate. Black and yellow, wings shimmering, stinger glinting in the light.

A wasp.

“NOPE.” Your sword clattered to the ground as you bolted across the field, sprinting with the desperation of a hunted soul.

Phainon blinked. “…Wait. Are you—running from a wasp?”

The insect zipped after you, and your war cry became a shriek. You leapt over a fence, barreled through a line of startled recruits, and kept running. “GET IT AWAY FROM ME!”

Phainon, laughter already spilling from his lips, jogged after you. “You faced down the Titan of Strife without flinching—but this?!”

“It’s got a stinger!” you wailed, ducking behind a training dummy.

Phainon leaned on his sword, grinning ear to ear. “So did Nikador, and you stabbed him in the eye!”

“That was different!” You dove under a bench, panting. “That was war! This is personal!”

The wasp hovered menacingly above, and you scrambled out again, practically climbing onto the nearest roof to escape. Phainon followed, effortlessly vaulting up beside you.

“[Name],” he said gently, though his eyes danced with suppressed laughter. “It’s a bug. You’ve fought armies.”

“Armies don’t FLY INTO YOUR FACE!” you screeched, swatting wildly as it buzzed closer.

At that, Phainon doubled over laughing, his usually calm and noble composure shattered. He laughed so hard he had to steady himself against the tiles, tears pricking his eyes.

“You should—” he wheezed, “you should have seen your face!”

“This isn’t funny!” you snarled, but your voice cracked with panic as the wasp swooped again. You clung to Phainon’s arm like a lifeline, burying your face against his shoulder.

His laughter softened. He looked down at you, expression warming. Slowly, he raised his free hand and—flick. The wasp zipped away, vanquished by nothing more than his casual grace.

You peeked up, trembling. “…Is it gone?”

“It’s gone,” he said softly.

You sagged in relief, realizing you were still clutching him tightly. Heat flooded your face as you quickly let go, trying to reclaim some dignity. “Don’t… say anything. To anyone.”

Phainon smiled, gentle now. “Your secret’s safe. Though I admit, seeing you terrified of something so small… it’s strangely endearing.”

You gaped at him. “Endearing? I looked like an idiot!”

He shook his head. “No. You looked human. Even legends are allowed their fears.” His voice dropped, tender: “Even you.”

Your chest tightened at his sincerity. You had expected endless teasing, but instead you were met with warmth that disarmed you more than any wasp ever could.

Phainon stepped closer, his hand brushing yours. “If another comes, I’ll protect you. Not because you can’t handle it, but because I want to.”

You stared at him, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with buzzing wings. “…You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Oh, I’ll remember it. But only for myself.”

And with that, the Deliverer walked you back from the roof—your unlikely savior from the tiniest of terrors.

The day was brightened by the fact that it was Taco Tuesday at Swerves. And Drift couldn’t leave the spicy foods alone! He loved things hot- ever since that one day he managed to get a spicy meal from a kind stranger back in the Dead End, foods that packed heat just did something to him. Maybe it was how they warmed his frame on those long, cold nights? Or perhaps the memory of rare compassion shown that day influenced his taste receptors.

Drift didn’t care: if zesty food was being served, he was there.

The red and white entered, being third in command, he should attempt to mingle, even if his status of ‘Ex ‘Con’ rubbed some mechs the wrong way. Staying holed up in his habsuit wouldn’t prove to the crew that he had, indeed, changed. The bar was full, not quite packed, but a lot of mechs were enjoying the festivities.

Or the booze brought them in. Who knows.

The room was scanned, and once a table of non-intoxicated mechs was spotted, Drift steeled his nerves and walked over. First Aid and Ambulon. Safe mechs. Interesting mechs. Probably the only good thing that came out of that whole Delphi dilemma was having these two join their crew.

First Aid, while a little bubbly in nature, was kind. Ambulon was the more reserved of the two, but being an Ex Decepticon himself, he knew better to judge. Or to make a scene. In fact, the tattered medic was the first to offer Drift a seat at their table by kicking out a chair. The act is an unspoken understanding between the pair.  Drift curtly nodded and sat down.

“Hey Drift!” First Aid chirped. “Come for some grub?”

“Taco Tuesday...” Ambulon muttered.

“How is it?” Drift asked.

“Surprisingly tasty.” Aid answered, then offered a glass of yellow liquid. “Would you care for a drink?”

“...” It was polite etiquette to accept what was offered, however being ascetic from engex may give the wrong impression.

“It’s crystal lemonade.” Ambulon hinted a smile. “We are on shift later tonight. No engex.”

The clenched fist over his spark eased. He nodded his helm, and the ice cubes clinked against the glass as the liquid flowed. The sound was refreshing. Seeing the mechs at the table smile at him was comforting. Maybe getting to know mechs better wasn’t a bad idea.

“Be careful of the burritos,” the taller medic warned. “Unless you like your aft to be kicked by fire.”

“Spicey?”

“To say the least.”

“Psshhhh....” Aid waved his hand dismissively. “That didn’t stop you from eating a few.”

“I am not going to waste my credits on food and not eat it.”

“Your credits?” The younger medic balked. “You have none. I paid!”

Ambulon grinned, stifling a laugh. “My treat, Drift. Order up.”

A little datapad was pushed his way that displayed a selection of Mexican-themed foods. There were the classics: tacos loaded with cheese, shredded lettuce, onions, and crystal tomatoes. The enerbean burritos stuffed with refried beans that were seasoned with garlic and chili powder looked appetizing. But what snagged the speedster’s attention was the Camarones a la Diabla. AKA Devils shrimp.

And next to this selection were several flames.

This dish not only looked hot, being a fiery red color, but with the ingredients listed containing the hottest chiles known to mechs, it was bound to set his mouth on fire! Big, thick pieces of shrimp, roasted tomatoes, and onions floated in a thick sauce that contained ancho, Chile de árbol, and guajillo, no doubt. The dish looked like a perfect work of art! He licked his lips as his stomach grumbled in anticipation.

“Did ya find something you liked?” Aid chirped. “Order whatever you want. Amby’s treating.”

The TIC tilted his helm. “I thought you said Ambulon didn’t have any creds...”

“I got ya covered, don’t worry about it.” Aid slid out his card and smirked. “He’ll pay me back later by having to organize the dreaded junk drawer in the med bay. That one Ratchet has been grumbling about the last few days.”

Ambulon’s optics widened as his jaw dropped. “Hey!”

“As long as it’s alright.”

“I insist, Drift.” Aid’s face was serious.

“I know what I want.” His fingers danced over the screen as he made his selection. “Devil’s Shrimp.”

“Awaaaaaaa?” Both Aid and Ambulon spouted at the same time.

“Dude, are you sure?”

“That’s the hottest dish on the menu!”

Drift grinned, making a show of sipping his cold lemonade- the sweetness mixed perfectly with the tartness. “I can take the heat, unlike some.”

~~~~~~

The warning that came with the meal- and the two acquaintances- was not lying. The heat of the dish was felt even before the spoonful entered his mouth. And when his lips wrapped around the utensil and the shrimp and sauce slid onto his tongue, it was as if he ate lava straight from the erupting volcano! First Aid and Ambulon watched with optics full of wonder... but Drift simply smiled!

The shrimp was tender, squishing out fiery juice when bitten. The TIC hummed his enjoyment. The a hint of Guajillo chiles tasted amazing between the intense fiery flavor of Chile de árbo! Guajillo provided that pleasant earthy taste that contrasted the bold heat of the árbo.  The cooling side, often provided along such a hot dish, was a bed of Mexican rice.

And that first swallow resulted in that burning heat to slather down his pipes and warm his tanks nicely- just like that first time back on the streets. The lingering sting made him feel all warm and cozy, begging for yet another helping of liquid fire. And who was Drift to deny? Another mix of rice and shrimp loaded the spoon and went on the digestive tract ride.

“You weren’t kidding about takin’ the heat!” Aid spouted as if watching an amusing magic trick.

“Just because he doesn’t drench everything in ketchup like you, Aid.” Ambulon raised his brow as he poured himself another glass of lemonade.

“Well, sometimes the food here needs a little help.”

Ambulon paused mid-pour, glaring at the younger medic.

“Okay, okay. A lot of help.” Aid sat back and sighed. “What time did Ratchet say he was finishing up?”

“He didn’t,” Ambulon answered. “At least not clearly...”

The pair of medics rambled on, but the mere mention of Ratchet made Drift’s body heat up- differently than the spicy food he was consuming. Thinking of that older medic flashed comforting memories through his processor. Their first meetup... while drugged out of his mind, Drift remembered the kindness poured into his treatment. Needles pierced into his tubing, delivering meds to counteract the overdose. Iv’s delivering much-needed hydration to his frame. Advice given to make a much-needed change in his life.

Too bad he didn’t listen.

But the image of that grouchy angel never left his mind. Every sharp edge of that doctor was etched into his memory. The fact that he was a streetwalker suffering from addiction did not alter Ratchet’s respect for him as a living being, and not many mechs in Cybertron’s society could do that. He was a diamond in the rough. How many vorns had he spent lying awake at night just dreaming of that red and white mech suggested had his life taken a different path.... the path that the medic had recommended?

“Drift?” First Aid’s voice cut his memories short.

“Hmmm?” The speedster paused midbite.

“So, why did you join up on this voyage?” Aid chirped.

That was a loaded question that needed a few seconds of thought before answering. The desire to help and the longing for a second chance were reasons. Drift picked the safest answer. “Quite simply, Rodimus asked me to.” He shrugged. “He wanted to get off Cybertron. Said it was stifling him.”

“Stifling him?” Aid asked. “I mean, I know it’s going through a lot of changes recently...”

“And I think Rodimus may have some slight issues with change.” The TIC shook his helm. “But he wanted to lead a new adventure so to speak. And in the shortest terms, he needed someone to keep him in check.” More spicy food entered his mouth, searing hot warmth down his pipes and into his gurgling belly. This dish apparently bit back.

While mostly true, the second reason as to why he joined would remain a secret. There was no way he would admit to the other pair he joined because of Ratchet. Yes, as sappy as that may have sounded, when looking over the proposed roster and seeing that doctor's name in the sea of others made his spark skip a rotation. After all those years of homelessness, war, then self-healing...maybe this voyage was the opportunity to get to know the mech he desperately crushed on.

“We were rescued. Obviously.” Ambulon sipped his drink. “Thankfully.”

“I can’t imagine Delphi being great...”

“In the beginning it was.” Aid shrugged. “I mean... Pharma was a great doctor. Figured it would be a great learning experience. And it was... until...”

“Until it wasn’t.” Ambulon’s face soured as if he bit into a lemon. “I was stationed there simply because no one else would accept someone like me...”

Drift nodded, knowing that feeling all too well. “Past actions have consequences. I understand that. But one shouldn’t be judged solely on some bad choices.”

While only slight, that smile from Ambulon spoke volumes. These two understood each other.  As if sharing the same thoughts, both ex ‘Cons lifted their glasses, then clinked them together in a toast.

First Aid, late to the party, lifted his glass. His face dropped when his glass remained untouched.

“It’s an ex ‘Con thing, Aid.” Ambulon sputtered.

“How do you know I wasn’t secretly a Decepticon, hmmm?”

While the young medic was serious, both mechs optics met, then barked out fits of laughter.

“Really, Aid?” Ambulon nearly spit out his lemonade. “You couldn’t be a Decepticon if your life depended on it!”

“Wha—"

“It’s a good thing, Aid. Really.” Drift spoke softly as his stomach clenched from the laughter. Or the food.

“First Aid, you are way too kind. Caring. Compassionate.” Ambulon added. “The Decepticon army would have eaten you alive.”

“Then spat you back out.”

“And stepped on you.”

“Then get mad that you made a stain on their pedes.”

The glance the medic and the TIC shared was all-knowing, silently conveying the truth without a word. Ambulon may be new to join their ragtag team, but Drift felt a comforting aura as if he knew the mech longer. Definitely a good mech to buddy up with.

“Here,” Drift lifted his glass. “We can do another toast. To present friends...”

“To present friends!” Aid chirped, raising his glass. Ambulon smiled and followed suit. All three classes clinked together before hearty swigs were gulped.

By the time Drift’s plate was cleared, his belly was singing the blues. The meal tasted amazing. Filled his processor with sweet, comforting memories and filled his frame with fiery warmth. And gas, as his abdomen bloated painfully behind its plating. This symptom wasn’t always guaranteed to happen... but the chilies used formed the perfect storm.

“So, what time do you guys go in for your shift?” Drift asked, dabbing his lips with a napkin as he shifted in his chair. His belly gurgled, not loudly, but enough that he could feel the tickle of the gas bubbles that formed.

“Ratchet said he’ll come get us.” Ambulon shrugged. “Who knows when that will be?”

“Should be anytime now.” Aid frowned. “What could be taking him so long? He texted saying it was slow.”

The bubbles in his belly shifted, and for a second, the TIC feared them rising upward in an undignified belch. He swallowed hard a few times, and the pressure lowered, tickling further down. He sighed in relief. While burping could be seen as a compliment to the chef, he wanted to avoid the risk of embarrassing himself in front of possible new friends.

“You know how he gets.” Drift smiled.  The senior medic took pride in his work. So much so that he neglected to take care of himself at times. Oh, there is nothing he would love to do more than force that grumpy medic onto his berth and give him a full-body massage to work out all those kinks.

Nothing sexual, mind you. At least not yet.

His belly groaned again; this time, the pressure grew intense and worked its way down his digestive tract. The sensation no longer tickled, but rather felt like hot needles poking against his internals. The trapped air may not be coming out in the form of belches... but their release would be made elsewhere.

Drift pressed his lips together and planted his aft on the chair. Golly, what a predicament! The mere chance of meeting Ratchet tonight made leaving undesirable. But this buildup of gas... No sooner did he think of excusing himself (maybe he could go to the bar and get another type of non-alcoholic drink) did that pressure greet his port. And no matter how much he clenched, that pressure strained against his shutter. His frame scorched as he held his breath, fearing accidental seepage.

“Drift, you feeling alright?” Ambulon casually asked.

“Yes... Yes.” He chuckled, optics darting between the two of them. “Okay.... the dish may have been a little spicy.”

“You look a little... flustered,” Aid cooed, trying not to look smug as he made a playful jab that the TIC only half heard.

This fart was coming! With his cheeks pressed against the chair, it was bound to make noise and cause a scene! With cautious optics, Drift examined his dinner party, who resumed playful bantering back and forth. The speedster exhaled. He carefully spread his aft cheeks apart, slightly lifting one side. He relaxed his sphincter in a controlled manner. And with all the focus he could muster, he carefully let that gas slip out.

Fffffsshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......

He cleared his throat. Faked a few coughs as short bursts of hot air escaped from his aft. His cheeks felt warmed from the humid gas. His intestinal tubing deflated. His belly didn’t feel as bloated. The relief felt was instant! With each puff of wind released, he felt better. The fear of embarrassment diminished.

Until the smell hit.

The noxious odor rose from his buttocks, smelling of putrid, rotting eggs. But with each passing second, and gusts of wind from passing mechs, the smell intensified, nearly making his optics water. Now, a scent best described as moldy fish overcooked in a microwave burned his olfactory senses. He couldn’t help but stifle a cough, but nothing eased that stench!

“What’s that fraggin’ smell?” Aid all but shouted as he scrunched up his face. “Do you guys smell it?”

Ambulon took a sniff, then shook his helm no. “Perhaps it’s your upper lip?”

“Hah hah, Amby.” Aid took a big sniff, then immediately gagged. “Is it just me?”

Great. Now Ambulon was sniffing the air. Could these two get any more obnoxious?

“OOouugghhhh....” Ambulon groaned, pulling back and covering his nose as if something just bit it. “It smells like something died in here!”

“Maybe the plumbing backed up again!” This time, Aid frantically waved his servo in front of his face. One thing First Aid didn’t do was discreet. “Primus- it’s gonna make me hurl!”

“Don’t...” Drift started, hating how easily his Divine entity’s name was taken in vain.

“Ah, my bad.” Aid covered his nose and wretched. “Don’t you smell it?”

Slag, yeah, he smelt it! But he didn’t want to make a fuss. He didn’t want them to know he was the culprit! “Could be the pipes... I guess I can call someone to check on them.”

Now, all the TIC could think about was a swarm of mechs flooding this place, trying to locate the source of the smell. As silly as it may sound, he imagined mechs sniffing like bloodhounds... following the smell until it led straight to his aft.

“But who knows, it was just a one-time thing.” Drift shrugged, thinking of a way to make his great escape. “Let me check something-“

“Ahh, Ratchet!” Aid jumped up. “Just in time!”

Drift froze mid-stand. His crush had picked the worst time to make his appearance! Could his night get any worse?

The older Doctor eyed the younger one. “Are you being smart?”

“No, no...” Aid said. “Glad you made it out of the medbay!”

Another stern look.

“Anything to report?” Ambulon said, tossing his napkin on the table as he stood up.

“No patients. Hoping it stays that way.” Ratchet sighed. “The other doctor is on shift for another hour or so. I left a list of chores that can be tended to in the downtime.”

“Gotchya.” Aid said. “We’ll get right on it.”

Ambulon gave a nod. “It was nice talking with you, Drift.”

“We’ll have to meet up again!” Aid chirped as he waved, which quickly turned into fanning in front of his nose. He then pulled Ambulon along.

“Mind if I joined ya?” Ratchet asked but sat down anyway. “Looks like Taco night is a blast.”

“Y...yeah.... you could say that...” And just like that, his hopes of making a great escape fizzled. Ratchet snagged a menu and glanced over it. Any joyous plans of a chance encounter soured- just like his belly. The pressure grew again, and Drift knew what was in store. So much for a sparkfelt chat filled with admiration, appreciation, and making sure the doctor was okay after the Delphi fiasco!

“Have any recommendations?” The medic’s blue optics rose from the menu, and his lips hinted at a tired smile.

“Ahhh....Ambulon said the burritos were tasty.”

“What did you try?” Ratchet tapped the datapad, then looked up. “Hey, it ain’t gonna bother you if I grab a drink?”

“No, no, be my guest.” Drift smiled. “I had the Devil’s shrimp.”

Ratchet made a face and exhaled. “You’re gonna burn your afthole with that!”

“It wasn’t that bad.” What a flat-out lie! Well, the dish was scrumptious! But the heat was already making its way through his digestive tract. The uncomfortable bloating returned. The needle-like sensation pricked down his sides- worse than the first time. Any gurgling heard erupted from deep within his bowels.

Of all the times to suffer a bad bout of gas! There was so much he wanted to say, but the pressure built up. Steady. Forcefully. Painfully! His whole lower abdomen ached as his cabling inflated like balloon animals- complete with being twisted and turned into shapes. And it was only a matter of time before he popped.

“Just what was going on before I arrived? Aid seemed all excited over something.” Ratchet questioned, stifling a laugh. Then gently sniffed the air, his once casual face forming a slight grimace.

Drift’s cheeks felt flushed. His stomach tightened. His port fluttered. “I...ah... I dunno....”

The CMO cocked his helm. “You don’t know?”

Sweat beaded on the TIC’s brow as he licked his lips and squirmed. The queasiness rose with each clench of his aft. The pressure reached his port, pressing against the plating without a care in the world. Slag, he needed to get out of here, and fast!

“Is everything alright, Drift?” Ratchet set down his datapad and gave a good diagnosing look. “You’re looking a bit under the weather... You know, I hope there isn’t something wrong with the food... I am smelling the hint of something rotting.”

“I’m fine..AH...” His servos grasped his abdomen as his optics clenched shut. This was happening!

“You sure?”

Another loud gurgle erupted, this time loud enough for his dinner guest to hear. It started out high-pitched, then rumbled deep like thunder. His cheeks grew warm as tears welled in his optics before rolling down his cheeks. Drift opened his mouth to speak, but instead, that pressure inside him broke free. He could no longer hold back as hot air forcefully- and loudly- expelled from his aft.

His lips quirked into a knowing smile, an expression that always seemed to hint at some private joke only he was in on. You, however, were far too distracted by the softness of his lips against yours to notice the subtle shift in his gaze.

It had started as a simple kiss—innocent enough—but as time passed, the kiss deepened. His hands gently cupped your face, keeping you close as the world outside the two of you faded away.

And that’s when it happened.

A soft sound—a faint, almost involuntary hum—escaped your lips. You froze immediately, heat rushing to your cheeks as you pulled away slightly, eyes widening in embarrassment.

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, though his smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His voice was a low murmur, playful yet somehow fond. “Did you just... hum?”

You didn’t even realize it had slipped out. A quiet, almost melodic noise that was undeniably intimate in the moment. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, your face turning a shade of red that almost rivaled his red ribbon. You quickly tried to cover it up, feeling incredibly flustered. “It just... happened.”

He leaned in again, his breath warm against your skin. His hands gently traced down your arms, reassuring yet teasing. “Mm, I know. But it’s rather charming,” he murmured.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours once more, but this time, you couldn’t help but let another soft sound escape, a tiny whimper as his lips teased the corner of your mouth. You quickly pulled back again, your cheeks burning.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I keep—”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut in smoothly, his voice rich with amusement. He gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “I find it... endearing.”

Your heart skipped at the warmth in his voice. “Endearing?” you repeated, blinking up at him in confusion.

He nodded, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m not used to such an... honest response. You wear your feelings so plainly, it’s quite... refreshing.” His gaze softened, his thumb grazing your bottom lip in a gesture that made you feel both exposed and adored.

With each kiss, you felt another soft hum escape your lips—this time, it wasn’t out of embarrassment but a natural response to the overwhelming tenderness he was showing you.

It was then that you realized Jing Yuan wasn’t bothered by it. In fact, it seemed to amuse him, his lips curving into that signature smile every time you let another sound slip, like he found something genuinely endearing about your unintentional vulnerability.

“Your little noises,” he began softly, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “are like a melody I’ve grown fond of. I won’t deny it—it's hard not to be charmed by someone so unguarded.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a little breathless from the mix of nerves and warmth swirling within you. “You’re not embarrassed by it?”

His hand found its way to the back of your neck, holding you closer, but there was nothing but tenderness in his touch. “Embarrassed? Hardly.” He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper against your ear. “It’s a privilege, you know. That I get to hear your unspoken thoughts through every little sound you make.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his lips brushed your ear, and without realizing it, another soft sound escaped you—a tiny sigh this time.

He chuckled lowly, a rumbling, warm sound that made your heart flutter. “See? You’re doing it again. But this time... I think I’ll enjoy it even more.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, thoroughly embarrassed, but it only made Jing Yuan’s quiet laughter grow fonder. His arms tightened around you, a steady presence that grounded you in the moment.

There was something so reassuring in the way he embraced your every little imperfection. In that moment, you knew you didn’t need to apologize anymore.

Because, for Jing Yuan, every little noise you made wasn’t something to hide. It was just another way for him to hear you—without words.