#when i think about you oh oh oh when i think about you oh oh oh...

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1.

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

-----------------

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[evilkitten3]

#this is about naruto I'm too lazy to figure out whicc character this applies to most bc lowkey it applies to A LOT of them

this is just about everyone in naruto but to be fair some of them actually WOULD it's just that said abusers would kill themselves first bc the suicide rate in naruto is absurdly high

“this character should kill their abuser” i agree. unfortunately they wouldn’t do that.

[mamawasatesttube]

you know the plotline in funeral for a friend where lois breaks into cadmus after finding out they stole clark's body, and she's pissed and grieving and so angry that they'd desecrate him in death?

i keep thinking idly about like. some au where in that process, she not only found clark's body strapped onto a lab table and hooked up to computers for all sorts of analysis, but also... she found the results of that research.

like. she's not thinking about secret identities or how to explain her sudden acquisition of a little guy. she just saw a little guy with clark's face in a tube, after being furious beyond measure about the theft and desecration of clark's body. she wasn't thinking about next steps. she just lost her shit and acted. only stopped to think about it later...

... i.e., lois phoning up ma and pa like haha. remember how we were just talking about how ill never get to marry clark and you'll never have grandkids and all that? um. well. there may have been. a development. WHAT? no!!! im not pregnant!! it's. uhhhhh it's. a lot more complicated than that?

ma on the phone: what do you mean? can you start at the beginning, dear?

lois, panicking: What Do You Do With A Child. Teenager. Person. Guy.

anyway here's how conner lane can still win,

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[gloomwitchwrites]

How about some silliness.....reader/you is superrr drunk from a night out with friends or high from anesthesia and the guys are trying to take care of them and we are all like "get your hands off me or my husband will kick you ass!" Or "omg you're so hot are you single??"...and they are just dying laughing like "I am your husband!"

I just watched one too many tik toks of this 😂🤣

Oh, I love this. I don't think I've actually seen these videos before (at least on TT) but I do know what you're talking about. Maybe I've seen it more in other media? Like movies and television? Anyway, I understand what you're asking for, so I hope you enjoy what I've cooked up!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, established relationship, fluff, mild alcohol use, shenanigans due to drunkenness & anesthesia

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John stands beside you on the passenger side of the car. The car door is open, and all you need to do is slide inside. Instead, you’re arguing with him, insisting that you can get in yourself, and that you don’t need help.

“You just had surgery,” chides John.

“Minor surgery,” you correct.

“It’s still surgery.” John sighs, and then places his hand on your back. “Let me help you.”

“Hands off, sir. You’re not my husband.”

John does not move his hand. “I don’t remember us getting a divorce, love.”

You wave him off and John snorts. “He’ll kick your ass,” you insist. “Punch you right in the nose.”

John’s stern demeanor cracks, dissolving into a wide smile and a soft chuckle. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m your bloody husband. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“I’m serious,” you say. Turning, you attempt to jab him in the chest with your finger. Everything tilts, and you only hit air.

John sighs, exasperated. “Get in the car, love.”

“No,” you groan, pushing at his chest. You surrender to him, allowing John to help you into the front passenger seat.

“I hope you remember this after the drugs wear off.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

You’ve been out with your friends all evening, and you have no idea what times it is. It’s dark, and you didn’t leave until the bar closed, forcing you to make an exit. Someone called for a car, and you all piled in, dropping each of off one by one.

As you enter the dark bedroom, you kick off your shoes, slightly stumbling to turn on the bedside light. You turn it on, and immediately wince. Vision swimming, you rub at your eyes, and then notice the massive lump in your bed.

“Turn off the bloody light, will you?” mumbles Johnny.

A devious plan forms in your head.

You climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. Noticing, Johnny turns toward you, eyes dreary with sleep.

“What?” he asks just before you flop your entire body onto him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he deadpans.

You wiggle over him, pressing the tip of your nose against his. “You seeing anyone, handsome?”

Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something? I am your husband.”

“Lucky me.”

Johnny blows raspberries. With one good shove, he flips you onto your back on your side of the bed.

“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Your liquor-addled brain tells you to do it.

Across the bar is danger, the kind you want to play with—to sink your teeth into. Why resist temptation when it’s clear that the masked man across the bar can’t seem to take his eyes off you? Every time you glance in his direction, his gaze is focused and intense, daring you to approach him.

Which is exactly what you do.

He follows your every step, even if there is a slight sway in the way you walk. As you approach, he leans back in his chair, legs widening as if in welcome. It’s easy to reach out, to place your hand on his shoulder, to straddle his thighs, and stare into his eyes.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you slur. “Plan on going home with anyone?”

“I am,” the masked man replies.

“And who might that be?”

“My wife.”

You turn in his lap, looking around at all the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t see her.”

“Course you don’t,” he chuckles. “Because she’s sitting in my lap.”

You blink. “Is she?”

“You’re my wife,” he whispers.

“I am…aren’t I?”

He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The alcohol is an enabler. You shouldn’t have had as many drinks as you did, but this is a party, and you’re not the one driving.

Why not have a bit of fun?

“Hi.”

Kyle arches an eyebrow. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the greeting in slight confusion.

You cozy up next to him, shoulder brushing against shoulder.

“So,” you begin, head tilting toward him like you’re about to whisper all your secrets. “I’m going to be a bit bold…”

“Go on.”

“But I think you’re cute. Wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”

Kyle’s single raised eyebrow becomes two. There’s a long pause, so long that you notice the absence of conversation.

Kyle’s confusion cracks, becoming a wide smile, followed by his adorable, familiar laughter. “You’re taking the piss, love.”

“I’m not joking.”

He laughs harder, clutching his chest like he can’t breathe.

“I’m your husband,” he manages to say between wheezing breaths.

“I know,” you reply. “Just checking to make sure you’re still loyal.”

He waves his hand in the air before him. “You’ve had enough. Give me that.” He plucks your beverage right out of your hands.

“Excuse me,” you protest, but Kyle is already downing it.

taglist:

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[velvetwyrme]

now that we established vehicle prostitution and brothels in tf, WHO would go there?

OH MY GOD

hi apologies this took forever for me to reply to but hey. whatever.

part 1 - part 2 - ask that preempted this

I have Less Thoughts about this mostly because I've been busy thinking about other things and these are getting more and more specific so the numbers keep dwindling. that being said. notes under the cut.

Frenzy, Rumble, Jazz and Bumblebee were in the comic so jot them down. Thundercracker was also mentioned (implied to be the reason R&F found the dealership in the first place.) TCs there for both cars AND the humans though. Starscream would go to the Hangar version, because he wouldn't fuck a car BUT I think he'd fuck a plane.

Sideswipe is banned. Nobody has told Megatron about it but you can bet he'd be there if he knew.

Somewhere out there, in the vast multiverse theres a universe where the Scavengers star in their own TV show and I fully believe that there's an episode where they all go to a car dealership and shenanigans ensue. Misfire falls in love with a car there.

Originally the comic was going to end with Rumble and Frenzy going inside the dealership on another night (can't exactly go when there's obviously Autobots around...) only to get surprised by the one and only Optimus Prime, but then i was like. i don't actually think he'd go to one of these. (unless someone convinced him that itd be improving human-Cybertronian relations maybe sgfjfbdjdb)

Honestly if it were a more organised thing that you can Go To, I reckon you can probably add more bots to the "would they fuck a car" roster. I could list them but i'm gonna sleep actually. YOU guys can tell ME who you think would go to the dealership-slash-brothel but wouldn't go fuck a car off the street fhdmfbdmfbk

[munybagd]

NEW POST FROM @munybagd

i am going to fuck him … i have a thing for men that moan especially the ones with deep voices .. mm makes my toes sweat 😛 ( NSFW )

whimpers came out as he tried his best to talk “ mmm fuck baby p-please,” his nail dug into your hips as he helped you bounce on his cock faster. he didn’t want you to stop — oh no, he doesn’t know what he would do with himself if you stopped .. maybe he would cry or beg on his knees. honestly, he would do anything for you to keep going. “ oh yeah … don’t stop — i w-want you to make a mess of m-me ” oh he looked so pretty under you … tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked at you -sucking on your fingers .. he so nasty but you like it. LINK 1

he fucks you sooo good that he’s moaning too. “ o-oh my good girl .. my good fucking girl ” his plan is to slut you out doesn’t matter if it’s in the bed, living room, kitchen, or even the car. he wants you a moaning mess which slowly turns him into a moaning mess as well. “ yeahhh th-there you go .. mm you’re daddy’s good girl, taking my c-cock so fucking well ” It’s like a race ‘ who can tap out first ’ by the way he’s moans you would think it’s him with his heavy breathing but little do you know that this is just the beginning.. LINK 2

sensitive, dom, and a moaning mess … he is a three-in-one! gosh, you love it — the way he sharply breathes in when he strokes his cock into you, the way he moans in between words, and the way he talks dirty to you excites you. “ mm s-say it .. u-use your words, baby ” makes you wanna cum right then and there. he loves hearing you talk, even if it’s just babbling, it makes him smile, but not like you would know cause his face is pressed against your neck due to him leaving deep bite marks. LINK 3

( BOUNS )

no shame in his game . he enjoys making audios for you, especially in random places it’s his favorite thing to do and he ALWAYS sends them to you when you’re out and about. “ guess where i-i’m at baby — mm i’m in our parking g-garage ” things like this turns him on and he knows that you get to turn on hearing him slur and stutter on his words. “ i-i-i have our f-favorite toy .. fuck i wish y-you were here to use it on m-me” gosh why does he do this to you and when you come home he acts like nothing is wrong :/ LINK 4

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Kiss Tax | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N doesn't like Lando's stubble.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.2k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

Based on this request.

Lando’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, his hands cradling her face like she was something delicate, something precious. She leaned into him, her fingers sliding into his curls, tugging him closer, needing more. But then—the scrape of stubble rubbed raw against her skin. She winced, yanking her head back with a sharp inhale.

“What?” Lando froze mid-kiss, his hands still framing her face, his eyes searching hers.

“Your stupid stubble,” she hissed, rubbing the tender spot on her chin. “It’s like kissing a cheese grater. I told you I can’t stand it.”

His brows arched, a slow, defiant smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” She shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “It’s horrible. I’m not kissing you again until you shave it off.”

Lando tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Really? You’re going to deny yourself this”—he leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his voice dropping to that low, husky tone that made her stomach tighten—”because of a little stubble?”

She turned her face away, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened. “Yes. Because it’s not a *little* stubble. It’s like barbed wire.”

“Barbed wire.” He laughed, leaning back on the couch, his arms spread wide. “Dramatic much?”

“I’m serious, Lando.” Her voice was firm, but the way her lips twitched betrayed her. “I’m not putting up with it. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable.” He repeated the word slowly, as if savoring it. His eyes narrowed playfully. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re a bit of a princess when it comes to this stuff.”

“A princess?” Her voice rose, her jaw dropping. “Excuse me? I’m not the one walking around with a face like a cactus.”

“Cactus.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “First barbed wire, now cactus. What’s next? Sandpaper? A rusty knife?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she shot back, but the corners of her mouth were curving now, despite herself.

Lando leaned forward again, his face inches from hers, his smirk turning devilish. “You know, I think you secretly like it. I think you just like giving me a hard time.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes, pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I don’t secretly like anything about it. It’s scratchy, it’s irritating, and I’m not letting you near me again until you fix it.”

“Fix it, huh?” His voice dropped, a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down her spine. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer. “What if I fix it right now? What if I make it all better for you?”

She tried to hold onto her annoyance, but the look in his eyes—teasing, warm, and just a little bit dangerous—was making it impossible. “Fine,” she said, her voice softer now. “Go on, then. Fix it.”

He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before standing up. “Stay there,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Don’t move.”

“Where are you going?” she called after him, though she already knew the answer.

“To fix the cactus,” he threw over his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of water running and the faint buzz of his razor filled the quiet apartment.

Y/N leaned back on the couch, shaking her head, but the smile tugging at her lips was impossible to ignore. Lando always knew how to turn things around, how to make even their little quarrels feel like foreplay. And no matter how much she fought it, she loved him for it.

When he returned, his face clean-shaven and smooth, Lando’s gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made the air between them crackle. He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischief. "Better?" he asked, his voice a low purr, edging closer until his presence filled her space.

Her fingers reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up her arm. "Much," she admitted, her voice soft but laced with the slight teasing lilt he loved. The corners of her mouth curved, but before she could say more, his lips were on hers, hard and insistent, and the world narrowed to the feel of him.

Lando kissed her like he was memorizing her, mapping her lips with his tongue, his breath mingling with hers in a rhythm that was all theirs. His hands framed her face, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer when she thought it wasn’t possible. He loved kissing her—loved the way her lips softened under his, the way she gasped into his mouth, the way her fingers curled into his shoulders as though she couldn’t get enough of him. Each kiss felt like a revelation, something new yet familiar, like coming home after a storm.

For Y/N, kissing Lando was like diving into the ocean and forgetting how to surface. His lips were soft yet demanding, a contradiction that left her dizzy. Each time their lips met, it was like the first time—raw, electric, and achingly sweet. Fire sparked low in her belly as he nipped at her bottom lip, drawing a sound from her that he swallowed hungrily. She loved the weight of him, the pressure of his body pressing her into the couch, making her feel thoroughly claimed and utterly wanted.

Her breath hitched as one of his hands slid into her hair, tugging gently to expose her neck. The scrape of his tongue against her pulse point made her stomach clench. She slid her fingers into his curls, and he groaned when her nails dragged across his scalp. Kissing him felt like surrender, like defeat, but it wasn’t that. It was something more, something she hadn’t learned how to name yet.

Lando pulled back, barely an inch, and smirked at how breathless she was. His thumb brushed over her swollen lower lip, and he watched raptly as she exhaled sharply. "You’re beautiful like this," he said, his voice rough. He loved seeing her unravel for him, loved knowing he was the one who could make her forget everything but his touch.

"Flatterer," she teased, her voice raspy but still laced with that playful edge. Her cheeks flushed as she tried to stem the warmth radiating from her chest.

"Confident," he corrected with a low chuckle, leaning in to kiss her once more before nipping at her ear. "Always confident when it comes to you."

Before she could respond, Lando was on his knees in front of her, his hands sliding under her thighs to pull her closer to the edge of the couch. Her oversized t-shirt rode up slightly, revealing the curve of her waist, and she shivered as his fingers hooked into the lace of her underwear.

“Lando—” she started, her voice already breathless as he tugged the fabric down her legs, letting it fall to the floor. Her cheeks flushed, but his eyes—dark and hungry—held hers, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver racing through her, and when he leaned in closer, her legs instinctively parted, giving him the access he sought.

Lando’s gaze flicked up to hers, his lips curving into a smirk. “So perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. “God, I could spend hours here.” He dipped his head, his tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line up her slit, and she gasped, her hands flying to his hair.

He chuckled against her, the vibration sending a jolt straight to her core. “Tastes so fucking good,” he rasped, his tongue swirling around her clit with a rhythm that made her hips jerk. “You always react so beautifully for me.”

Her head fell back, a moan escaping her lips as his tongue worked its magic, lapping at her in long, slow strokes before flicking over her sensitive bud with precision. “Lando, oh my god,” she panted, her fingers tightening in his curls. “That feels—that’s so...”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to tease her with his breath. “But don’t stop talking. Tell me how good it feels.”

She bit her lip, her hips lifting instinctively as he dipped his tongue inside her, the sensation sending sparks shooting through her. “Please, don’t stop,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “It’s—it’s so good, Lando. I can’t...”

He hummed against her, the sound vibrating through her very core, and she gasped when he slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right. “You’re so wet,” he growled, his lips brushing her clit as he spoke. “Always so responsive for me. It drives me fucking crazy.”

His finger began to move, thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm as his tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and she could feel herself hovering on the edge, only for him to slow down, his teasing smirk evident even without her looking at him.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “I want to make you feel every second of this.”

She whimpered, her nails grazing his scalp. “Please, Lando, I need—”

“Need what?” he interrupted, his voice thick with mischief. “Tell me.”

She barely managed to form coherent words as he added a second finger, stretching her perfectly, his tongue circling her clit with maddening precision. “I need to come,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Please, baby, let me—”

“Good girl,” he whispered, and that was all it took. His lips closed around her clit, sucking hard, and she came with a cry, her body shuddering violently as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Lando didn’t let up, working her through it until she was whimpering, her body limp and trembling.

When he finally pulled back, his chin glistening, he looked up at her with a smirk that made her heart skip a beat. “So,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “Did I clean my face completely?”

She laughed breathlessly, her fingers tracing his jawline. “Yes,” she replied, her voice soft and sated. “You did.”

Lando’s lips lingered on the inside of her thigh, his breath warm against her sensitive skin, igniting another spark despite her already trembling body. He crawled up her body, slow and deliberate, his movements smooth, like a predator savoring his prey. When his face hovered just above hers, their breath mingling, he smirked—that cocky, heart-stopping smirk that always had her knees buckling.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction, before his lips crashed onto hers in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, claiming her mouth with the same intensity he’d claimed her body mere moments ago. She moaned softly into him, her hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, holding onto him as if he were the only anchor in the world.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing ragged, he gazed down at her with an intensity that made her heart pound. “Still mad about the stubble?” he teased, his thumb brushing her cheek.

She chuckled, the sound low and sated. “I think you’ve more than made up for it,” she murmured, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his back.

“Good,” he said again, his lips curving into a satisfied grin. He pressed another kiss to her lips, this one softer, slower, lingering long enough to make her sigh. Then he shifted, pulling her closer until their bodies were wrapped around each other like they were meant to be and somehow always ended up, a tangle of limbs warmth. And everything else melted away.

He reached for the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, and gently wrapped it around them. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a contented daze. For a while, they simply lay there, the silence between them thick with unspoken promises and lingering desire. And then, softly, Y/N broke the quiet.

“You know,” she started, her voice playful but with a hint of vulnerability, “you’ve made it really hard for me to stay mad at you.”

Lando chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter rumbling through her. “Good,” he said again, his fingers idly tracing shapes on her arm. “That was the plan.”

She tilted her head to look up at him, her gaze searching as she asked, “But what about me? Aren’t I supposed to be the one who keeps you in check?”

His smirk returned full force, teasing and irresistible. “Oh, I think you keep me plenty in check,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her temple. “But maybe, just maybe, even Lando Norris isn’t as in control as he’d like to believe.”

She laughed lightly, punching him softly on the chest. “Careful,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “That admission might hurt your ego.”

“For you,” he replied instantly, his voice softening as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, “it’s worth the risk.”

Y/n’s breath caught, her smile softening as she gazed at him. “You’re such a romantic,” she murmured, something in the way she said it both light and serious—warning, acceptance, warmth all rolled into one.

He grinned, pressing another affectionate kiss to her hair. “Only for you,” he whispered. “Only ever for you.”

[earthtooz]

phainon x gn!scholar reader, phainon is so in love and reader is oblivious

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

The moment Phainon’s eyes first met yours, there was a stutter in his heart, an indescribable feeling of reverence coupled with curiosity creeped into his being when he first met you.

Beautiful. That was the only word he knew at the time.

Your beauty was unparalleled, unmatched as you saunter into his view, mind not exactly present in the moment as your clothes swayed with your every hurried step. Your eyes were foggy, a testament to your dedication and work, evidenced by the tablet you held snug to your side.

He decides in that moment that he wants to know you, so he purposefully sets himself in your line of movement and waits for the moment when you bump into him, far too focused in a world that wasn’t the one you were presently in. Fate decided to be kind to him when you fall right into his schemes, allowing him to catch you with an arm secured around your waist, your tablet falling to the stone pavement with a dull smack.

“Oh my!” you exclaim. “My utmost apologies, I was not aware of where I was going-”

He smiles, for the last thing he was thinking of was your apology. Even your voice is beautiful, the words flowing into his ears like warm ichor.

“It’s alright,” he reassures with that smile of his, almost faltering when his heart skips another beat the moment your eyes flit to look at his. Phainon thinks he’s going to collapse to his knees if you glance away. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me your name.”

Unaware of his flirtatious intentions, you sound out the syllables of your name and he repeats it with much wonder. “What a lovely name. I’m Phainon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s been two years since he first met you, and you are still just as enchanting.

He learns you are a widely renowned scholar and author, which explains the tablet you held that day. Of course, you were shocked the moment he uttered his name, for the titles of the Chrysos Heirs were well known, essentially common knowledge for those that flourished in the world of academia. Phainon still cherishes the memory of your expression, keeping it in the back of his mind and musing over it in private.

If you had known he was holding that over you, you would have thrown a slew of unpretty words at him with that pretty voice of yours, and he would have cherished them the same way he does with all of your works.

Whenever Phainon hears that your most recent novel has been released, he is one of the first to scour for it, reading it from start to finish within days. Even your publications from years before have a place on his shelves, there is no book of yours that he has not purchased and proceeded to read from front to back.

He insists on meeting you whenever he can, and while you answer a question he asked, he’s trying to keep his marvelling to a minimum, trying to keep these feelings from spilling all over you as he lets you know that his undivided attention is on you.

You’re skeptical of him. You wonder why he seeks your companionship specifically, what about you entertained him enough to invite you on market walks, buy your favourite drink from your favourite stall, and then sit on a marble bench in a quiet park underneath falling leaves.

As you’re busy pondering, he jolts whenever your thigh brushes against his.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

His favourite time to admire you is when you’re deep in thought and unaware of the world around you, too focused on the wax tablet that sits on your desk.

Despite the practicality of papers, you tell him you like the sensation of writing on wax, how your pen glides along, all of your bursts of inspiration occur like this, so they hold a dear place in your heart. Soft chatter is exchanged, he tells you about his day, you share some idle musings about yours, then you let him know of the most recent developments of your work before he lets you write in peace.

Phainon tries not to stare too much, knows it’s unbecoming to do so, but he can’t help letting his eyes linger on you as your hand scrawls, occasionally taking a break here and there but never letting the train of thought end without it being recorded.

He could watch forever. He could be here forever, sitting in a comfortable chaise in the corner of your study, rendering himself invisible in your periphery as he just gets to exist with you.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s not widely known, perhaps less than a handful of people know, and it’s not because he has confessed it to them outright, but because they have caught on to the subtleties.

The company he surrounds himself with knows well enough about the scholar that has caught his heart, and how he refuses to run away. They give him teasing looks now and then whenever the prospect of romance and love is raised, and glance specifically at the light-haired when your name is mentioned in passing, not wanting to miss the softening of his bright gaze.

It’s even more entertaining because you are not aware of it.

You are not aware of Phainon’s awestruck eyes whenever he looks at you, how he leans closer whenever you speak, desperate to close the gap however he can. You are not aware of how he speaks your name so gently, as if wanting the wind to take the words away and to you so that no one else may hear. You are not aware of the little world Phainon lives in where it’s just you and him, existing together.

The rest of the Chrysos Heir hound after him relentlessly when they first discovered of your ignorance to his feelings, and now they make it their life mission to make fun of him for it, especially before you.

Phainon does not mind, well- tries not to, because he is in love.

As infuriating it is that you haven’t caught on, despite your immense intelligence, he waits patiently for the day you will.

Even though he yearns to declare it from the highest point of Amphoreus, that his very being has been seized by you, he is content with the quiet moments you share now, and he will happily take all that you give him, even if he wants more.

Phainon is in love.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sforzesco]

paris of troy! during those years he was a shepherd.

I was reading cartledge's book on thebes and every now and then the spartan focuses wrt to the pantheon of gods comes up. sparta has nothing to do with this except for where it does, but apollo karneios was discussed and that got my attention, which circled back to paris, and then I started thinking about the paris + apollo link

I also started thinking about narrative rejections bc paris has a funky absence in the iliad that's giving a kind of...a vibe. your parents shouldn't have had you, the story doesn't want you around, but oh boy are you there anyway, manifested into existence. no matter what, doom must manifest in flesh form. it's a narrative necessity, the actual incident (the judgement) is secondary.

The Judgement of Paris in Later Byzantine Literature, E. M. Jeffreys

weird! love it! almost (but not quite) reminds me of troilos' murder at achilles' hands lurking in the guts of the iliad. it's there, even when it's not. more importantly tho: sheep. I miss working on a farm with sheep and goats and cows and--

[goldfades]

HOTTEST COUPLE IN THE ROOM ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested! -> "Joe x Dallas cowboy cheerleader reader"

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | reader is kinda perceived as bitchy, and not a cookie-cutter dcc. lots of a banter, leads to relationship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | my new fav thing EVER

The bass shakes the floor beneath your heels, the scent of top-shelf liquor and expensive cologne thick in the air. The postgame party is exactly what you expected—too many people, too much noise, and a lingering sense of competition that doesn’t quite fade even after the game’s final whistle. Cowboys and Bengals players mix like oil and water, good-natured jabs tossed between sips of whiskey, the occasional laugh laced with something sharper.

You don’t want to be here.

But when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders make an appearance, it’s not optional. It’s PR. It’s “team camaraderie.” It’s smiling through gritted teeth while some dude in a suit with more money than personality tells you how impressive it is that you can do a perfect high kick in full glam.

You adjust the hem of your dress, shifting against the leather couch tucked in the VIP section. It’s not that you’re bad at playing the part. You just don’t fit the mold the way you’re supposed to. The other girls—prim, polished, always camera-ready—glide through the room like they were born for this. You, on the other hand, are already toeing the line of “too much.” Too opinionated, too unpredictable, too unwilling to be anything other than exactly who you are.

And yet, you’re still here. Because when you dance, they shut up about the rest.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” a voice drawls beside you, cutting through the music.

Your gaze shifts, locking onto the last person you expected to seek you out tonight. Joe Burrow.

His suit jacket is slung over his arm, the sleeves of his crisp white button-down rolled up just enough to give him that effortlessly put-together look. He’s got that half-smirk that’s made him a social media obsession, and yet there’s something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Amusement.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you knew who I was.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing in them. “Hard to miss the cheerleader who doesn’t play by the rules.”

You tilt your head, feigning offense. “I play by the rules.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t. You just make it look like you do.”

And there it is. The first crack in the game, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a drawn line in the sand.

It should be nothing.

But somehow, it doesn’t feel like nothing.

You lean back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other toying with the rim of the drink you don’t actually want. The ice clinks softly as you swirl it, eyes flicking back to Joe, unimpressed but not entirely disinterested.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Joe Burrow knows my reputation. I guess I can retire now.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that barely shakes his shoulders. “Just saying, you don’t blend in.”

You lift a brow. “Neither do you.”

His smirk deepens, just a little. “Difference is, I’m supposed to stand out.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you’re worse than I thought.”

Joe blinks, feigning offense. “Worse?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your head, taking him in. “I figured you’d at least let me get a word in before pulling the ‘I’m Joe Burrow’ card.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The smirk on his face falters just a fraction, like he’s recalculating his approach. He came over here thinking he’d charm you with minimal effort, just like he probably does with every other girl in this room. You can’t blame him. You’re used to guys like him—ones who assume that a few smooth lines and a good jawline will be enough to win you over. It’s exhausting, really.

Joe, to his credit, seems to pick up on it quickly. He shifts his stance, dropping the easy arrogance just a notch, watching you like he’s trying to figure out a new play mid-game.

“So, you don’t like football players,” he guesses.

“I never said that.”

“You don’t seem impressed.”

“I’m just not easily impressed.”

Joe clicks his tongue, shaking his head like he’s been personally challenged. “Tough crowd.”

You let out a short laugh, finally taking a sip of your drink. The warmth spreads through you, smoothing the edges of your already sharp tongue. “Look, I get it. You’re Joe Cool, media darling, golden boy, future Hall of Famer, blah, blah, blah. But none of that tells me who you actually are.”

Joe’s quiet for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut through the bullshit so quickly. Most people don’t.

He studies you. “You wanna know who I am?”

“I wanna know if you can hold a conversation that doesn’t involve your highlight reel.”

Joe grins, shaking his head like you’re more trouble than he bargained for—but not the kind he wants to walk away from.

“Alright,” he says, leaning in slightly. “Let’s make it fair. Since you’re so uninterested in my career, how about I ask about yours?”

You narrow your eyes. “Go for it.”

He tilts his head. “You always wanted to be a cheerleader?”

You pause for a fraction of a second. It’s not a bad question, but it’s not the usual small talk either. It’s got an edge to it, like he’s actually curious.

“No,” you admit. “I wanted to be an astronaut.”

Joe snorts. “Serious?”

“As a heart attack.” You smirk. “But apparently, NASA frowns upon people who talk back to their instructors.”

Joe laughs now, really laughs, and it does something to his face—makes it lighter, less perfectly put-together. It’s a nice look on him.

“So, you settled for the next most intense program?” he asks.

“Something like that.” You glance around the room, at the Cowboys players, the other cheerleaders, the high-profile guests all schmoozing and clinking glasses. “DCC is its own version of NASA. Just with more hairspray and stricter calorie counts.”

Joe hums, considering that. “And yet, you don’t seem the type to take orders.”

You shrug. “I don’t. But I’m really, really good at what I do.”

His gaze lingers for half a second too long. “Yeah,” he says, low and thoughtful. “I bet you are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your breath catch for just a second—not because you’re flustered, but because it feels like he actually sees you, past the sequins and forced smiles and PR obligations.

You tap your nails against your glass, breaking whatever was starting to settle between you. “Well, congrats,” you say, all light and teasing again. “You managed to hold a conversation without bringing up your own stats.”

Joe grins, lazy and triumphant. “And?”

You take a slow sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. “You’re not completely insufferable.”

Joe laughs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll take it.”

The first date wasn’t supposed to happen.

At least, not in your mind.

But Joe had this way of slipping through the cracks of your carefully built walls, catching you off guard in a way that wasn’t annoying, but intriguing. So, when he had looked at you across that crowded party and said, “One drink. No football talk,” you had rolled your eyes, but ultimately, you had agreed.

One drink turned into three. A post-midnight drive through downtown. A completely ridiculous bet over who could name more obscure 90s songs (you won, obviously). And then, somehow, a second date.

And that was the real surprise.

Because by then, you figured you had him pegged. Star quarterback, smooth operator, probably used to women falling over themselves to impress him. But the Joe you saw away from the cameras, when it was just the two of you in a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bar or sprawled out on his couch, eating takeout straight from the boxes, was different. He was easy in a way that felt familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard in years but still knew all the words to.

And he got you.

Most guys would tense up when you made some sarcastic comment, unsure if they should be amused or offended. Joe just smirked and shot one right back, quick and sharp like one of his passes. The banter was effortless, the chemistry undeniable, but it never felt forced.

It felt like you’d known him forever.

Which was dangerous.

Because you weren’t supposed to like him this much.

But a few months flew by before you could think too hard about it.

One minute, you were rolling your eyes at him in a Dallas bar. The next, you were sneaking glances at your phone in the middle of DCC rehearsals, trying not to smile at whatever nonsense he had just texted you.

Then came the flights.

You found yourself booking tickets to Cincinnati more often than you’d ever expected, trading in your Texas sunsets for the sharp chill of Ohio air, showing up in his city like you belonged there. And the crazy part? It never felt inconvenient. You had never been the type to rearrange your schedule for a guy, but with Joe, it was different. He made the effort too—catching flights to see you between games, showing up unannounced just to grab dinner, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It should’ve been overwhelming, but it wasn’t.

Because nothing about Joe was ever boring.

You’d expected the excitement in the beginning—the flirty back-and-forth, the teasing, the lingering looks that stretched longer than they should. But what you hadn’t expected was the way he made everything feel lighter. How he made you laugh when you were dead on your feet after an exhausting game day. How he somehow always knew when you needed to talk and when you just needed to sit in comfortable silence.

And yeah, the tension was there. Always.

You weren’t blind, and Joe sure as hell wasn’t either. There were moments—when his hand lingered on your lower back a second too long, when you caught him watching you with that unreadable expression, when he pulled you into a hug that felt like it meant something more.

But neither of you pushed it. Not yet.

For now, it was enough to just exist in whatever this was.

And, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t in any rush to define it.

The New York City skyline stretched high above the venue, lights twinkling like they were in on the secret that tonight was something different.

Joe didn’t hide you.

He hadn’t from the start, really, but there was a difference between showing up for each other in private and standing next to him now, his hand resting low on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress like he wanted everyone to see exactly where you belonged.

And you?

You looked good enough to ruin a man’s career.

Your dress was the kind that turned heads—sleek, with just enough edge to remind people that you weren’t the typical quarterback’s girlfriend. Joe wasn’t intimidated by it, wasn’t the type to shrink when his girl demanded attention. No, if anything, he was thriving on it. Walking into the party with you on his arm, chin high, like he knew for a fact that you were the hottest couple in the room.

And you were.

It didn’t matter that the place was full of some of the most famous athletes in the league, that models and influencers and A-listers milled around with expensive drinks in hand—no one looked as good as the two of you together.

Joe left you only once, leaning down to murmur, “Gonna get us a drink, don’t go too far.”

You weren’t worried about being left alone. You’d been in these rooms before, could handle yourself just fine.

But apparently, someone didn’t get the memo.

The moment Joe was out of earshot, a presence settled beside you—too close, too confident.

“Damn, haven’t seen you in a minute.”

You already knew you were going to hate him before you even looked.

And sure enough, when you turned, there he was. A Cowboys player, one you’d interacted with just enough to know he was exactly the type you had no patience for. Cocky in a way that wasn’t charming, self-important in a way that made your skin itch.

You barely had time to open your mouth before he bulldozed on.

“So, what, you finally got tired of playing in the kiddie pool and upgraded?” He grinned, not even waiting for you to respond. “Figured it was only a matter of time. The whole ‘untouchable cheerleader’ thing was getting old.”

You smiled. Smirked, really. Because this? This was amusing.

He thought you were flustered. Thought you were scrambling for a way out.

Like you hadn’t been shutting down men like him since the first time you ever put on that DCC uniform.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, voice smooth as silk. “Joe’s an upgrade, alright.” You tilted your head, eyes dragging over him in an exaggerated once-over. “But considering what I was working with before, it really didn’t take much.”

His smile flickered, but he was too stubborn to let it go. “C’mon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you, remember? Back when you were just another Dallas girl trying to play hard to get?”

You actually laughed at that.

Not a fake, polite one. A real one. Because this was just sad.

“Wow,” you mused. “I’ve gotta give it to you, you commit to the bit. Most guys would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You’re still going. That’s dedication.”

His jaw tensed just slightly. “I’m just saying, no need to act all high and mighty. We both know you used to—”

“Used to what?”

Your voice was still sweet, still playful, but the underlying steel was there. And when you took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim, it was clear you were letting him dig his own grave.

Before he could figure out how to claw his way out, a shadow loomed beside you.

Joe.

But not in the swooping, Oh no! My girl is in distress! way.

No, he was calm. Casual. Like he had all the time in the world. His presence alone was enough to shift the energy in the conversation, but you didn’t even acknowledge him yet. You wanted to see just how long it would take for the guy in front of you to realize he’d lost.

Turns out, not long.

Joe didn’t say anything, just leaned slightly against the bar, watching with mild interest. But the weight of his presence alone did something to your uninvited guest—made him shift uncomfortably, made his easy confidence crack just a little.

And that? That was satisfying.

“I was just catching up with your girl,” the Cowboy muttered, backtracking so fast you almost wanted to laugh.

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” He glanced at you, finally acknowledging you with a knowing smirk. “You having fun?”

You took another sip, grinning. “Oh, loads.”

The guy beside you tensed. “I was just—”

“Leaving?” you supplied helpfully.

His mouth opened. Closed. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Joe chuckled, finally handing you the drink he had left to get. “You were having way too much fun with that.”

You shrugged, taking a sip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, draping an arm lazily around your waist, pulling you in just slightly. “Guess not.”

And the night went on.

Just you and Joe. The hottest couple in the room.

[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking thoughts about husband!Simon Riley who’s the biggest fucking gossip there is. He might not talk to anyone but somehow he’s always there when people talk.

Partially because he’s that good at blending in with the shadows and minding his business, partially because until he actually makes a sound no one would notice that he’s somewhere in the corner, sipping his usual cuppa.

And he has no one at work to share the gossip with!😔 Not like he can go and share with his subordinates that he heard the hottest gossip about someone’s divorce. And not like Price himself feels like chatting about someone’s divorce when he has his own happening.

Good thing that he has you! Simon comes home and everything is exactly the way it is, the only difference being him staring at you like you are supposed to do something.

Like you are supposed to ask him.

Takes you a couple questions to fish out what’s going on with him but as soon as you are in? He’s going to spill every detail, he’s gonna walk you through entire dialogue that was happening in the rec room, he’s nodding very enthusiastically when you gush and ask questions and gasp because yeah, that’s him. He brought you the gossip, he made you have fun.

All part of his devious plan, yes, that’s right.

Simon who remembers EVERYTHING that was said, who drops bombs of conclusions he came to himself basing on what he already heard around the base. You practically shaking him by the shoulders because god, the man brings tea that’s PIPING hot.

So I’ll stand by what I said, Simon Riley is one very good gossip king who’s more than happy to have someone to discuss information with because honestly? The gall of some people to discuss certain very private things out in the open???

He’s also the hypervigilant guy, the most attentive one, he picks up on signs and mood shifts so if you get in the cab/car after the gathering you attended together and something was definitely going on there…The only thing you will need to do is say “Am I crazy or…?” and his head snaps to look at you so fast, his vertebrae makes a little snapping sound.

Because yeah, he saw that too. Also, did you see that the husband there was a little too close to his co-worker? The one in the read sweater? The one that has exactly the same bracelet the wife had?

Yeah, love, the one with blue stones. He could bet there is an affair going on and wife found out but actually…what? So wife is having an affair too? You sure, love? She was looking at WHO?

Oh, he’s having so much fun with that. I feel like he has a hobby of people watching so gossiping just makes it even funner. And he enjoys this bonding sessions you two have, splayed together on the couch — you giggling so hard he can feel how he melts.

Yeah, husband Simon is a big gossip guy. And he’s your gossip guy. Which means while you wanna hear all about his day and observations — he will tell you everything.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, FEBRUARY 15TH | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[ivyues]

Friendly Fire: Stray Kids' reactions to accidently causing their S/O a minor injury

Bang Chan

Chris gasped, immediately reaching out to steady you. "Oh my god—babe! Are you okay?" His eyes were wide with panic as he carefully looked you over. When he noticed you rubbing your arm, his expression twisted with guilt.

"I wasn’t looking—I just—ugh, I’m so stupid," he groaned, ruffling his hair in frustration. Then his gaze dropped to your arm, and he let out a dramatic sigh. "You’re gonna bruise, aren’t you? I literally just hurt my own girlfriend – what kind of boyfriend does that?"

You tried to reassure him, chuckling softly. "Chris, it’s fine. It was an accident."

But Chris, still looking at your arm, was clearly having trouble letting it go. He stepped closer, lowering his gaze with a mixture of guilt and curiosity. "No, seriously. Let me see it," he said softly, his voice suddenly tinged with concern. He gently cupped your arm and lifted it so he could inspect the spot where the small bruise was starting to form. "It looks... pretty bad, huh?"

You gave him a small smile. "It’s not that bad, really."

Over the next few days, Chris becomes obsessed with checking on the bruise. Every time you roll up your sleeves or he catches sight of it, his face immediately drops. His expression fades into one of pure regret, his brows furrowing as if he just got reminded of the worst thing he’s ever done.

"Ah... it’s still there," he mumbles, almost to himself, his lips pressing into a guilty pout.

"It’s fine, Chris," you reassure him, but he just shakes his head dramatically.

"Fine? Fine?! Look at it!" He gently takes your arm. "It’s so dark—I knew it was going to bruise badly. I swear, I have to be more careful with you…"

He sighs deeply, rubbing his face with his hands before looking at you with the saddest puppy eyes making sure he's the gentlest with you from then on.

Lee Know

You were reaching for a spoon just as Lee Know went to shut the drawer. Before either of you could react, the drawer shut on your fingers. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you quickly pulled your hand away, wincing at the sting.

Lee Know’s eyes widened in immediate shock. "Yah!" His voice was sharp, but his hands were quick, grabbing your wrist to inspect the damage. "Why would you put your hand in when I was closing it?" His brows furrowed in a mix of frustration and concern.

You pouted slightly. "I didn’t think you’d close it that fast…"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head before pulling you towards a chair. "Sit. Now." His tone was firm. He quickly went to get an ice pack, muttering to himself about how reckless you were.

Returning, he carefully pressed the cold pack against your fingers. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, softer now. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked, his voice quieter.

You shook your head. "Not too bad."

He clicked his tongue, still frowning. "Be careful next time."

After a few minutes, you tried to get up to help him again, but before you could even take a step, Lee Know placed his hands on your shoulders and firmly pushed you back down. "Nope. You’re staying there," he said, not even looking at you as he went back to what he was doing.

"But I can still—"

"No, you can’t," he cut you off. "Do I have to tape you to the chair?”

By the time he was finished, he walked over to where you were sitting and, instead of saying anything, leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder from behind.

A sigh escaped him as he relaxed against you. "You always do this," he murmured. "Getting hurt, then making me feel bad, and then acting like nothing happened."

Changbin

Changbin had always been careful with you. Always mindful of his strength, always gentle with his touches. But today, he was distracted.

You had just walked into the room, planning to give him a back hug. He was standing by the counter, completely focused on his phone.

Just as you stepped closer, he suddenly turned, his elbow swinging and catching you on the forehead.

The impact sent a sting through your skin, and your hand flying up to the spot instinctively.

His eyes widened in horror. 

“Oh my God.” His voice was already laced with panic. “No, no, no—baby, I didn’t see you!”

You winced but tried to shake it off, offering a small smile. “Ouch. I didn’t know elbows were part of your workout routine.”

But he didn’t laugh. His lips pressed into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back how upset he was.

He gently reached up, fingers brushing over the spot he had hit. His touch was featherlight, hesitant, but you still winced slightly at the pressure. The way his jaw clenched told you he noticed.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was barely above a whisper, guilt thick.

“It’s okay, Binnie,” you reassured, placing your hand over his. “I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then quickly opened the freezer to grab a small ice pack, wrapping it in a paper towel before hurrying back to you.

“Here, hold this.” He gently placed the cool pack against your forehead himself, making sure it wasn’t too cold against your skin. “It might not swell, but just in case.”

Your heart melted at the way he was looking at you – soft, regretful, completely focused on taking care of you. He sighed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple – careful, apologetic. “I still feel awful.”

“Don’t, but… can I still get the hug I originally wanted?”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin playfully snatched the paper from your hands, grinning as he held it just out of your reach. “Hey, let me see that—”

But before he could finish his sentence, the edge of the paper scraped against your finger.

You flinched, a sharp sting shooting through your skin. “Ow—”

Hyunjin’s smile vanished in an instant. His eyes widened in pure horror as he dropped the paper like it was on fire. “Oh my god—Y/N! Are you okay? Did I just—? No way, tell me I didn’t—”

You looked down at the tiny red line forming on your fingertip, letting out a small sigh. “It’s just a paper cut, Hyunjin. I’ll be fine.”

But he wasn’t convinced. He gently took your hand in his, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world. “Oh my god, I hurt you,” he mumbled, guilt heavy in his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

Without another word, he scrambled to grab a small first aid kit from the nearby table. “Give me your hand,” he muttered under his breath as he carefully placed it over your finger.

Once it was securely in place, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss over the bandaid. His warm eyes met yours, filled with so much sincerity it made your heart flutter. “That should help it heal faster,” he said softly.

You bit back a smile, warmth spreading through your chest. Unable to resist his adorableness, you playfully shook your head.

Han

Han had only meant to play around, nudging you lightly with his shoulder as you walked side by side. But he didn’t realize you weren’t standing all that stable – and before either of you could react, you stumbled, losing your balance completely and landing on the ground with a small thud.

The moment you hit the floor, Han’s playful smile vanishes. His eyes go wide with panic, and he’s crouching beside you in an instant.

“Oh my god—wait, are you okay?!” His hands hover uncertainly, torn between helping you up and checking for injuries. Then, when he sees the glint of unshed tears in your eyes, his heart clenches painfully.

“I—wait—did I actually hurt you?” His voice is laced with pure guilt. “I swear, I didn’t mean—ugh, I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head quickly, blinking away the tears before they can fall. “No, no, it’s fine. It didn’t even hurt that bad.” You sniffle, willing yourself to push past the sting of the fall. But Han clearly doesn’t buy it.

“You’re crying,” he points out, lips pressing into a worried pout. “Where does it hurt? Do you need ice? A bandage? I can carry you—should I carry you?” His panic is growing by the second, now making tears of his own form on the waterline of his eyes.

His dramatics finally crack a smile out of you, and you nudge his arm lightly. “Hey, I said I’m fine.”

He blinks, then exhales in visible relief. “Oh, thank god. You scared me, you know?”

He lets out a small whine before nuzzling his head against your shoulder, his way of silently apologizing. You huff a soft laugh and ruffle his hair affectionately. “Next time, tell me if you’re about to fall over so I can not be an idiot,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against your sleeve.

Felix

Felix had been playfully pulling you along, his warm hand wrapped tightly around yours as he led you through the bustling streets. His deep, honey-like laughter rang in your ears as he turned back to flash you one of his signature sunshine smiles.

"Come on, love! Keep up!" he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.

But in his excitement, Felix didn’t realize how fast he was going. As he quickly tugged you around a sharp corner, you barely had time to register what was happening before your shoulder slammed into the hard wall.

The impact made you stumble, a small yelp escaping your lips. Immediately, Felix froze, his grip on your hand tightening before he spun around to face you, panic overtaking his features.

“Baby!” His hands were on you in an instant, gently cupping your face, eyes darting frantically from your expression to the point of impact. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to—ahh, why am I so stupid?” He groaned, eyebrows knitting together as he carefully examined you.

You laughed lightly, rubbing your sore shoulder. “I’m fine, Lix. It’s just a little bump.”

But he wasn’t having any of it. “Nope. Not fine. I just threw my love against a wall.” He pouted, his lips forming a deep frown, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, offering him a warm smile. “Lix, really, it’s okay. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.” You gave his fingers a playful squeeze. “Just maybe don’t go full-speed next time?”

Felix sighed, but then his expression softened. This time, his grip was gentler – fingers lacing through yours with careful intently. “Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before guiding you forward at a slower, more considerate pace.

Seungmin

Seungmin’s laughter faded the second the coffee cup tipped, the warm liquid splashing onto your hand. 

“Ah—!” You flinched, quickly pulling your hand away as a sharp warmth spread across your skin. It wasn’t excruciating, but it still stung.

His eyes widened in horror as you hissed in pain, quickly pulling away to rush to the sink.

“Oh my God—Y/N—” His voice was sharper than usual, edged with panic as he followed you. He hovered beside you while you let the cold water run over the burn, his hands balled into fists like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, even though the skin was still an angry shade of red. You could already see the guilt settling into his features, his jaw tightening.

“No, you’re not,” he muttered, then exhaled sharply. “Come on, let’s go get it checked.”

You turned off the faucet and shook your head. “Seungmin, it’s just a little red. It’s not even blistering. You’re just—.”

He didn’t let you finish, gently nudging your shoulder. “Still. What if it gets worse later? What if it’s worse than it looks?” His brows furrowed, frustration laced in his concern. “Just—please, let me take you.”

You sighed, but the way he looked at you – so genuinely upset – made it impossible to refuse.

“Fine.”

Seungmin didn’t waste another second, grabbing his keys and leading you out, his hand hovering near yours like he wanted to hold it but was too afraid of hurting you again.

I.N

I.N and you were playfully messing around, laughing as you teased each other. He reached out to lightly nudge you, but he miscalculated his strength. You stumbled forward, losing your balance and falling onto the pavement with a surprised yelp.

The moment your knee made contact with the rough ground, a small sting made you wince, though thankfully, it was just a light scrape – no blood, just a little redness.

I.N's eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh my god—are you okay?!” He practically flung himself down beside you, hovering over you with frantic hands, unsure whether to help you up or check your knee first. “I— I didn’t mean to— I swear! Oh no, are you hurt?” His words tumbled out quickly.

He spotted the small scrape on your knee, and his face fell, guilt washing over him instantly. “Ahhh, I’m so sorry! I was just playing, I didn’t think—” He stopped himself, shaking his head before carefully reaching for your hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

Even as you reassured him that it was just a small scrape, he wouldn’t let it go. He dusted you off gently, his brows furrowed in worry.

Then, suddenly, he perked up as if struck with an idea. “Wait! I’ll give you a piggyback ride,” he announced, turning around and crouching slightly.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how serious he was about it. With a small sigh, you climbed onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He hoisted you up effortlessly, adjusting his grip under your thighs as he began walking.

masterlist

[qwibkwib]

Deception

Series: Promised 9 Chapter - 2

Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 Baek Jiheon (Fromis_9) X Male reader Word Count: 11.1k+

a/n: It might look inconsistent but bear with me. i omitted the reader's given name this time. Recap: After a long shift, you left your bag at the Golden Brew café and returned to retrieve it—only to stumble upon a secret gathering of nine women, some familiar, some famous. The next day, your memory was hazy, but the illusion shattered when Chaeyoung confronted you. With a veiled threat, she led you to a hotel, ensuring a sleepless night.

You stir awake to the soft rustle of fabric and the faint, lingering scent of lavender. Morning light seeps through the curtains, casting the room in a muted gold. Every muscle in your body protests as you shift beneath the tangled sheets, memories of the night before flickering like fragments of a dream.

By the window, Chaeyoung stands wrapped in a silk robe that clings to her frame like liquid. She gazes out at the city below, her expression unreadable—calm, distant, almost detached. But when she notices you stirring, a sly smile tugs at her lips.

“Finally awake?” Her voice is a low purr, amusement dancing in her eyes.

You sit up, raking a hand through your disheveled hair. “What did you mean earlier… about it being a long day?” Your voice scrapes raw, throat dry from lack of sleep.

She turns, gliding toward the bed with effortless grace. “You’ll see,” she says, deliberately vague. Her robe slips slightly off one shoulder as she leans against the bedpost, watching you.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and freeze. Shit. “What time is it?”

“Thirty minutes past your last alarm,” she replies, tracing a finger along the edge of the bedsheet.

“You looked so peaceful. I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

“Peaceful?” You groan, scrambling for your clothes strewn across the floor. “I’m late for my shift. Gyuri’s going to skin me alive.”

Chaeyoung tilts her head, her smile sharpening. “Relax. I’ll call her. Tell her you’re… detained.”

You pause mid-motion, shirt halfway over your head. “But they’ll know I remembered everything. The meeting, the Nine—”

“They already know, silly.” Her laugh is light, almost musical. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You glare at her, but she only smirks, unfazed.

As you yank your shoes on, her voice stops you at the door. “Oh, and if any of the girls ask why you were with me…” She pauses, her gaze sharpening. “Just tell them Saerom will explain.”

You frown, adjusting your bag. “Saerom? The one you called earlier? Is she your… captain?”

Chaeyoung’s lips twitch. “You could call her that. Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

You hold her gaze, searching for answers she’ll never give, before turning away. Her soft laughter follows you out like a ghost.

~~~

The bell above Golden Brew's door jingles as you slip inside, the café's warmth enveloping you—rich coffee, buttery pastries, the hum of morning chatter. But the comfort evaporates the moment Gyuri's voice slices through the noise.

"You're late."

She stands behind the counter, arms crossed, her usual warmth replaced by a frosty glare. The air around her crackles with unspoken tension.

You duck behind the counter, fumbling with your apron. "Sorry, I was—"

"With Chaeyoung?" Her tone is sharp, eyes lingering on the faint mark peeking above your collar.

Your cheeks flush, guilt and shame mingling. Of course she'd notice. "Look, I can explain—"

"Save it." She cuts you off, turning to aggressively wipe down the counter. "I trusted you to be professional. To respect this workplace."

You catch what you think is hurt in her voice, and your stomach twists. Great. Now Gyuri thinks you're fooling around with Chaeyoung instead of working. "It's not what you think. Chaeyoung, she..." You swallow hard. "She said Saerom would explain everything."

The name hits like a thunderclap. Gyuri freezes mid-motion, the rag clenched in her fist. "Saerom?" she echoes, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"That's what Chaeyoung told me," you say, watching her reaction carefully.

The anger in Gyuri's face transforms into something else entirely – fear? She sets down the rag with deliberate slowness, her hands trembling slightly. "Of course she did," she mutters, more to herself than you. When she looks back, her eyes are haunted. "She dragged you into this, didn't she?"

Your confusion grows. This isn't the reaction of a jealous boss anymore. "Into what? It's not like I had a choice—"

"You always have a choice," she snaps, then catches herself, voice softening to something almost desperate. "You could've come to me first. I could've... protected you."

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning you can't quite grasp. Your earlier assumption about jealousy crumbles, replaced by creeping unease.

"Protected me from what?" You step closer, frustration boiling over. "From them? From whatever this is? What aren't you telling me?"

Gyuri's expression shutters closed, professional mask sliding back into place. "You're a good kid," she says flatly, already turning away. "Like you said... Saerom will explain."

The dismissal stings. Before you can retort, she's already vanished into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the echo of her silence.

Your phone vibrates. Reaching into your pocket, the blue screen flashes your eyes, you find messages from a familiar name.

"Where did you sleep? I went to your dorm this morning you weren't there."

The message feels oddly natural. "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep in the dorm, something unexpected came up"

"okay I wont ask more..."

You turn back to work, focusing on the morning rush. The steam wand screams as you foam milk for a cappuccino. Another message.

"Can you grab my textbook from your place when you're done with work?"

You pause. Her textbook? Right – the calculus one she left last week when you were studying. The memory feels hazy, but it must have happened.

"Sure, which one was it again?"

The morning blurs between orders and conversations. A businessman wants his Americano extra hot. A student spills her latte. Your phone buzzes.

"The blue one! Don't tell me you're using it as a coaster again "

You smile, remembering the water ring on her– wait. When did that happen?

"I would never," you type back, uncertain why you're playing along.

The cafe fills with the lunch crowd. While preparing a sandwich, another message arrives.

"By the way, I cooked seaweed soup for you, to bad you weren't there this morning, you know the one that you kept asking me to cook?"

You blink. You were craving for some seaweed soup recently . Though you don't remember asking her for it. But there's that image – her concentrating, in the kitchen one hand om the ladle the other on her phone, trying out the recipe– No. That couldn't have happened. Could it?

"I'm sorry," you reply simply, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

More customers. More drinks. More messages that feel like pieces of a life you're not quite sure about.

"Hey, I can still stay over this weekend right? You promised." (Have you agreed for her to sleep in your dorm?)

"Don't forget your umbrella today!" (How did she know about the forecast?)

Each message slots perfectly into your day, filling gaps you didn't know existed. The strangest part is how unstrange it feels.

When lunch break arrives, you check your messages one last time:

"Let's grab dinner at the usual place? 7pm?"

You stare at the screen. The usual place. Of course – that small restaurant around the corner. The one with the red awning and the owner who always gives you extra–

You stop yourself. What usual place?

"Sounds good," you type anyway, wondering why your response feels so automatic.

You unconsciously find yourself scrolling back at your conversation, seeking comfort after the tense morning with Gyuri. The messages flow past your screen, and something warm unfurls in your chest. Of course – the usual place. That hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the engineering building where she always claims their kimchi stew tastes just like her grandmother's.

Three months ago: "Made it to Prof. Tan's seminar! Saving you a seat " Your lips curve into a smile, remembering how she'd dash across campus between classes just to sit together in Advanced Economics. The way she'd slide her coffee over when yours ran empty.

Six months ago: "Still up for study group? The midterms are killing me" The memory settles in naturally – hours in the library's third floor, her head bent over statistical models, the way she'd explain complex theories with perfectly simple analogies. That was before you picked up the cafe job, wasn't it? But the timeline feels right somehow.

A year ago: "Thanks for helping with my research paper! Dinner's on me " The quiet booth at the back of the restaurant, her excited chatter about her findings, how one dinner turned into regular study dates – everything feels right. Why were you questioning this earlier? The memories slot into place like they've always been there.

Your thumb traces over her messages, each one a reminder of shared moments between classes and coffee runs. The morning's uncertainties fade away, replaced by a gentle certainty. Of course she's worried about where you slept. Of course she checks on you. Of course she remembers which days you have back-to-back lectures.

Suddenly a hand taps on your shoulder.

"Hey, take your lunch break." Gyuri's voice carries that familiar warmth, her smile back as if your morning argument never happened.

You nod, already reaching for your phone to tell her you're heading out for lunch. How strange that you felt confused earlier. Must be the lack of exhaustion from everything that has been happening lately, you think, as you type out a quick "On break now, can't wait for dinner "

"Your on lunch break? Where?" she quickly replies.

"Probably just by the nearby konbini, by the campus, why do you want to have lunch together?" You ask her.

"I would love to, but my lecture just started" she replies.

The konbini's automatic doors slide open with a familiar chime. You grab your usual lunch combo – instant noodles, a triangle kimbap, and milk. The perfect trio. The cashier barely looks up as you pay, already familiar with your routine purchases.

Outside, you find a quiet spot on one of the concrete benches. The noodles steam in the cool air as you stir them, your phone silent now that she's in class. The sky above is a brilliant, crystal blue – the kind of blue that makes you think of clear water, of deep ocean trenches, of falling...

A peculiar heaviness settles over you as you finish the last of your milk. Your eyes drift upward again, drawn to that hypnotic blue expanse. It seems to pulse gently, like a heartbeat, like a lullaby. Your thoughts begin to blur at the edges, memories swirling like cream in coffee – the morning rush at the cafe, Gyuri's smile, messages on your phone, that familiar name, those shared memories that feel more real with each passing moment...

The empty milk carton slips from your fingers as your eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The last thing you see is that endless blue sky, beautiful and terrifying in its perfection, before darkness claims you.

~~~

You wake up with barely enough time before your shift starts. Gathering yourself, you rush back to the Golden Brew. You were already late this morning – being late again in the afternoon will definitely anger Gyuri, especially after the sour conversation you had.

As you run towards the cafe, you realize the nap left you feeling unusually refreshed, more than any normal rest could provide. The body aches you'd been expecting to endure all day have vanished. Your thoughts, heavy with recent events, now feel unexpectedly light.

Your mood lifts further as you step into the cafe. The familiar coffee scent, the cozy atmosphere, the gentle hum of the coffee machine – everything feels right.

You greet Gyuri with a smile, only to find her eyes already fixed on you. There's something different about her look, something you've seen before – her eyes sharp, searching for something.

"You're back. You seem happy." Her voice carries a concern that feels deeper than usual. "Did you meet with someone?"

"No." You smile at her specific query. "Just grabbed lunch at the konbini, got a short nap afterwards."

"Nap? At the konbini?" Gyuri doesn't look convinced. She studies you for a long second before nodding, though the furrow in her brow remains. "If you say so," she murmurs, but there's an edge in her tone that suggests she isn't letting this go.

You clock in and don your apron, moving behind the counter. Seoyeon catches your eye, still in her usual spot, focused intently on her laptop screen. You'd been about to wonder where she was – and there she is, as if summoned by the thought.

Between customers, you reach for your phone to continue your earlier conversation, but the front door's bell interrupts you. Regular customers enter – the usual trio, except they're missing someone. Your eyes automatically search for the third, and an unexpected disappointment settles in your chest.

"Good afternoon, just the two of you?" you ask as you serve their orders.

"Why, are you looking for her? Disappointed it's just us?" One of them teases as they both giggle.

You smile, unable to mask your honesty. "Yeah," you reply shyly. "Where is she?"

"She said she can't come with us, their professor doesn't want to end the class," one explains.

"Also, why are you asking us? You could ask her yourself," the other quickly adds.

"Maybe I should. Thanks," you say, taking their advice.

Back at the counter, you pull out your phone, opening the messages. 'I would love to, but my lecture just started' was the last message of your conversation.

"Hey, heard you're still in class. Your friends were just here. Have you eaten yet?"

'Seen'

The notification catches you off guard. It's not unbelievable, but it's something she rarely does.

"Jiheon?"

You message her name just to be sure.

"Sorry, I was packing up my stuff, the lecture just finished," Jiheon replies.

"I didn't have lunch yet. I'll just wait at your dorm, I'll be eating the soup I left there earlier," she continues.

"Can I?" she asks for permission.

"Of course, I'll finish my shift then go home," you reply.

"I'll be waiting," comes her final message.

“Hey…” Gyuri’s voice pulls you back to the present. “You’ve been fiddling with your phone. Is something wrong? You never do that.”

You blink, realizing you've been staring at your screen for too long.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” You bow your head slightly, but her words linger—You’ve never done this before.

You slip your phone into your pocket, exhaling softly. A warm contentment settles over you, pushing away the earlier unease—the confusion about Jiheon’s messages, the odd gaps in your shared memories, all of it dissolving like morning mist.

Of course, Jiheon would be waiting at your dorm. Of course, she'd eat the soup she made.

Of course, everything is exactly as it should be.

The afternoon light streaming through the cafe windows takes on that same crystal blue tint from your lunch break, but you hardly notice it now. You're too busy thinking about getting home.

~~~

You barely reflected on it, but now as each step brings you closer to your dorm, the weight of your guilt feels heavier.

Hesitant until the last moment, you finally knocked on your own door. No response.

“Jiheon?” You called out.

You step inside, closing the door softly behind you. Each movement feels heavy, like the air itself is resisting you. Jiheon lays there, her chest rising and falling gently, her face serene, untouched by the chaos inside you. She looks so delicate, so trusting, and it only deepens the ache in your chest.

Your thoughts swirl relentlessly as you stand frozen near the door. How could you do this? How could you betray her like that? You clench your fists, the guilt eating away at you. It wasn’t just Chaeyoung’s fault, or your inability to resist—it was you. You crossed the line, and no excuse could absolve you of that.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly walk to the edge of the bed and sit down carefully, not wanting to wake her just yet. The sight of her so peaceful and vulnerable makes it harder to hold everything in.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper under your breath, the words meant more for yourself than her.

But as if she’d heard, Jiheon stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She blinks a few times, disoriented, before her gaze lands on you. A soft smile spreads across her lips, one that feels like both a comfort and a dagger to your heart.

“You’re home,” she murmurs, her voice groggy but warm. “You okay? You look… tired.”

“I am,” you admit, though the exhaustion isn’t just physical. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yeah, I saved you some soup,” she says, stretching as she walks toward the kitchen. “I'll heat it up for you.”

As she busies herself with the soup, you watch her familiar movements—the way she hums while stirring, how effortlessly she navigates your cramped dorm. The domesticity of it all should bring you comfort, but instead, it leaves you feeling even more unsettled.

When the soup boils, she turns off the stove and brings the pot to the table, gently guiding you to sit down.

She scoops some soup with a spoon, blows on it, and holds it out to you. “Come on, eat. You've been asking for this all week,” she says with a soft smile.

“Jiheon, we need to talk,” you start, the heaviness in your chest almost unbearable.

She sits across from you, brushing her hair out of her face. “Is something wrong?” she asks, her tone light, though her eyes search yours with quiet concern.

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Her care, her worry—it makes the guilt even sharper. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

“I—” you begin, but she cuts you off, placing a hand gently over yours.

“Whatever it is,” she says softly, “it can wait. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, Jiheon.” You shake your head, pulling your hand away gently. “I need to tell you something. About last night.”

For a moment, her expression falters. A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, but she quickly forces a soft smile—one that feels more like a shield. “Last night? You mean after work?”

You nod, barely able to meet her gaze. “Something happened, and I—”

“Stop.” Her voice is gentle but firm, cutting through your confession. She leans forward, cupping your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. “I don’t need to hear it.”

“But—”

“Please.” Her voice trembles slightly, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Let’s not… let’s not talk about it, okay? Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I just need you to be here. With me.”

“I shouldn't, Jiheon. I’ve wronged you…” you begin, your voice cracking under the weight of your guilt.

“No, you could never do that, okay?” she says, her voice trembling now. “You could never wrong me.”

“Whatever happened that night, I forgive you,” she says, her panic slowly building. “Just… just forget about it, okay?”

As you glance away, the soft glow of the kitchen light catches the steam rising from the soup, refracting faintly against the walls in muted blues and silvers. For a moment, the reflection dances across your peripheral vision, subtle and natural, like a ripple in the air. Your gaze lingers, and without realizing why, you feel the tightness in your chest loosen.

It’s a fleeting, delicate moment—the kind you might’ve ignored on any other night—but it soothes you. The guilt that felt immovable now feels lighter, as though the air itself is urging you to stay, to let go of the weight pressing on your heart.

“We’ve… we’ve been through worse. We can move past this, right?” she reasons, her voice pulling you back. Her words carry the same desperate edge, but the calm from that fleeting moment lingers within you.

“You know I love you, right? Nothing’s going to change that.” Her voice cracks, and tears begin to swell in her eyes.

“No matter what happened, it’s fine. Just don’t leave me… You know I can’t live without you. Please…” she begs, her voice breaking into sobs. Your heart aches as you reach for her, pulling her into your arms.

“I’m sorry, Jiheon. I shouldn’t have thought of leaving. I’m sorry,” you whisper, realizing the mere idea of it is what hurts her most, the guilt now quieted by something warmer, more resolute.

You press a kiss to her forehead and lock eyes with her, tears pooling in your own. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, knowing it will never be enough, but hoping—praying—it can at least start to mend the cracks.

As the tension lingers in the room, Jiheon’s sobs soften, her hands clutching at your shirt as though afraid to let go. You hold her closer, your chin resting on the top of her head.

“I’m here,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm, as if trying to convince her as much as yourself.

Jiheon slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face lit with a bittersweet smile. Her gaze searches yours, still heavy with unspoken questions, but she says nothing. Instead, she cups your face with trembling hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks.

“Promise me,” she whispers, her voice raw. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

You nod, your forehead pressing against hers. “I promise.”

Her breath hitches, and before either of you can second-guess the moment, her lips find yours. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, as though she’s testing the waters. But as the seconds stretch, it deepens, her desperation and longing pouring into you.

You respond in kind, your hands slipping to her waist, pulling her closer. The room feels smaller now, the world narrowing to just the two of you. The weight of guilt and exhaustion begins to melt away, replaced by the warmth of her touch and the comfort of her presence.

Her fingers wove into your hair, tugging gently as her lips pressed against yours, moving with a hunger that made your pulse race. Her breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, mingling with yours as the kiss deepened. When you finally broke apart, just enough for air, she rested her forehead against yours, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, her half-lidded eyes brimming with emotion.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute, the words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.

“I love you, too,” you replied, the confession slipping from your lips effortlessly, as though it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

Her lips crash against yours again, fiercer this time, fueled by an unspoken urgency. Your fingers find hers, weaving together in a silent promise, gripping tighter as the intensity builds. Her soft, breathy moans are swallowed into the heat of your kiss, felt more than heard, trembling against your lips.

Your tongue slips past her parted lips, tangling with hers in a slow, deliberate exploration. Gasps mingle in the space between you, each one drawing you deeper, pulling you further into the feverish heat of her touch. The air thickens, the world beyond this moment blurring into nothing as the kiss deepens, as the fire between you ignites into something undeniable.

Then—clank.

The sound slices through the tension like a needle through silk. The cup tumbles from the table, liquid spilling in a slow, creeping pool across the floor. Jiheon’s hand, still hovering where it knocked the cup, twitches slightly—caught between embarrassment and the lingering heat of your touch.

You both flinch, startled, eyes locking in shared surprise. For a moment, the intensity lingers, crackling in the air between you. But then, Jiheon giggles—a soft, melodic sound that melts through the weight of the moment like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

That once heavy, almost unbearable atmosphere shifts. Her smile—warm, unguarded—disarms you completely. There’s no frustration, no regret, just her, basking in the moment, unbothered by the mess, as if the only thing that truly matters is you.

Her laughter is contagious. Before you know it, you’re smiling too, drawn into the simple joy of being here, of being hers.

“Bed?” you ask, your voice low, laced with something deeper.

She nods, without hesitation.

You take her hand, guiding her gently, deliberately, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit first, looking up at her, eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. Then, with a soft pull, you lead her onto your lap, her body settling perpendicular to yours, her warmth pressing firmly against you.

As the mood settles, the tension thickens once more. There’s no hesitation when your lips find hers again—no second-guessing, just the raw, undeniable pull between you.

The kiss deepens, slow yet hungry, your hands moving on instinct, fingertips grazing the soft curve of her breast. The fabric between you is a mere formality, a fleeting barrier that does little to dull the warmth of her skin beneath.

Then, suddenly, she pulls back.

Her breath is unsteady, her lips parted as she struggles with her words. “Aren’t I… aren’t I heavy?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

You don’t hesitate. “No…” The answer is quick but gentle, steady, reassuring. Your fingers tighten slightly on her waist, a silent promise that she is wanted. Still, you sense the hesitation lingering in her, the quiet vulnerability she won’t voice aloud. So, without another word, you shift.

“Here, let’s move you.”

With care, you ease her onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress beneath her. You hover for a moment, watching her, taking in the way her chest rises and falls, the way her fingers curl slightly as if unsure where to place them.

You place your hand on her breast again, fingers tracing over the soft curve, your palm molding to the warmth of her body as you knead gently. Her breath hitches, her chest rising beneath your touch. “Babe…” she calls out, her voice a little shaky, heavy with something unspoken.

You pause, your thumb circling lightly over the fabric covering her skin. “Huh… what’s the matter?” Your voice is soft, laced with concern, but you don’t pull away just yet.

Jiheon exhales deeply, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest against your shoulders. Her lips part as if to say something—but then she shakes her head.

“No… never mind… it’s nothing,” she dismisses quickly, exhaling sharply, as if trying to steady herself.

But you see it—the way her body tenses, the subtle way her fingers clutch at your shirt, like she’s caught between desire and hesitation.

You don’t ignore it. You don’t push, either. Instead, your voice drops to something softer, something meant only for her.

“We can stop if you want,” you murmur, brushing a thumb over her side. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, searching, uncertain for just a second—until she shakes her head. “No, it’s not that,” she whispers, hands coming up to cup your face. Her touch is warm, grounding, and when she smiles, it’s small but genuine.

“Please… continue,” she pleads, voice barely above a breath, yet somehow deafening in the quiet space between you. “I like it too…”

The words ignite something deep in your chest.

Your hands move, trailing down from her chest, fingers hovering just above her skin. When they finally meet her bare midriff—her top having ridden up slightly from all the movement—she shivers under your touch.

The warmth of her skin is intoxicating beneath your fingertips, soft and inviting. You pause, letting her breathe, letting her feel every second of your presence.

And when she doesn’t pull away, when she leans just a little closer, you know—she wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding under the fabric, slipping past the lace of her bra until they find her chest. You tease her nipples, feeling the way her breath hitches, her body reacting instinctively to your touch.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you lift her shirt fully, discarding it, leaving her bare beneath you.

You pause.

Your eyes drink her in, taking in every detail—the way her skin flushes under your gaze, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the vulnerability in her expression as she watches you carefully.

She hesitates. “It may not be the bigge—”

“Jiheon,” you cut her off, your voice firm but warm. You meet her gaze, letting every word sink in. “You’re already sexy as you are. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your hand continues to tease her breast, rolling her nipple between your fingers, feeling the way it hardens under your touch. At the same time, your other hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants, fingertips gliding past the last barrier of her panties.

The heat there is intoxicating, warmer than anywhere else on her body, as if this is where her desire has been pooling all along. You press gently between her thighs, fingertips brushing against her, and feel the dampness already beginning to gather.

“Ah!” she gasps, her body jolting in surprise.

Then she laughs, breathless, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You pause for a moment, watching her, feeling the way her thighs twitch beneath your touch. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she exhales shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine… continue…”

Her cuteness drives you wild—the way she bites her lip, the tremble in her voice, the way her body instinctively presses into your hand despite her shyness.

You obey, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her sensitive spot. Her warmth spreads, her womanhood gradually growing slick beneath your fingers, the dampness deepening with each stroke. She shudders, her breath catching, her moans no longer muffled but clear, soft, needy.

Then, carefully, you push one finger inside, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked onto hers, reading her every reaction.

“Mmnnngg… it’s in… your finger… you’re inside…” she mutters, her voice trembling, surprise laced in every breath as she clenches around you. The way her body reacts, instinctively drawing you in, makes your pulse quicken.

You move, easing deeper, pulling out just enough before pushing back in, curling your finger inside her, coaxing new sounds from her lips.

“Babe… it feels… weird… I… can’t—mmnngg,” she whimpers, words cut off by the moans spilling from her throat.

You can feel it—how she’s growing wetter, how her body is adjusting, how each stroke pulls another shiver from her. Slowly, you try to slide in another finger, wanting to stretch her just a little more—

But before you can fully press in, her hands fly to your arm, gripping you tightly.

“Babe… don’t… please… it’s too much… I can’t…” she pleads, her voice so small yet so desperate.

You freeze immediately. “I’m s—”

Before you can even finish apologizing, she shakes her head, stopping you with a single glance.

“Instead…” she whispers, her hands now hovering over your pants, fingers brushing against your length, feeling the heat trapped beneath the fabric.

Even through the layers, you feel the way she hesitates—curious, nervous, but undeniably wanting.

Excitement courses through you, anticipation crackling between you like static. You strip off your shirt first, then your pants, Exposing your hardness completely before reaching for her waistband. Your fingers hook into the fabric, tugging gently.

“Jiheon, lift up a little…” you murmur, your voice husky.

She nods, her breath unsteady, pushing up just enough for you to slide them down. The fabric glides over her smooth skin, peeling away inch by inch, revealing more of her bare thighs, her soft curves.

And then—there she is.

Her most intimate place bared to you, glistening with anticipation, the soft folds parting just slightly with each shallow breath she takes.

You freeze.

Your eyes drink her in, utterly captivated, completely mesmerized.

Jiheon shifts slightly, noticing your stare. “Why are you looking at it like that?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

You blink, snapping out of your trance, heat rushing to your face. “Uhm… it just looks pretty,” you confess, unable to tear your gaze away.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose as her smile bloomed, a beacon drawing you in. She reached out, her hand a soft invitation, cupping your face. Her thumbs traced gentle circles against your skin, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. Then, with a deliberate grace, her thumbs moved to your lips, gliding from the curve above to the fuller bottom, lingering there, a silent question hanging in the air.

The anticipation was a taut string, vibrating with unspoken desires. You lowered your gaze, your focus drawn to the place where your bodies met, where your tip pressed against her entrance. A low thrum of need pulsed within you.

"Jiheon…" you murmured, your voice thick with the urgency building inside. "I'm putting it in."

Her eyes, dark pools of longing, met yours. She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Slowly—" she began, her voice a breathy plea.

But the hunger was too intense, the pull too strong. Before she could complete her request, you plunged into her, your shaft claiming its rightful place within her.

"Ah—" she gasped, her body jolting, a sharp intake of breath as you entered her. Her nails dug into your shoulders, a reflex of surprise, her muscles clenching around you, a hot, tight fist gripping your throbbing flesh with an intensity that stole your breath. She held you captive.

Not fully inside, she was already breathless, on the edge. You tried pushing deeper, but her passage tightened, a stubborn resistance that made you pause.

“!… Ah… nngg… it hurts,” she yelped, a small, pained cry that vibrated against your skin. Her body trembled beneath you, a delicate tremble like a struck bell. You pulled back slightly, a slow retreat, her heat clinging to you, her inner walls pulsating.

Seeing the flicker of pain in her eyes, you decided to be gentler, teasing at the entrance.

You thrust again, a slow, deliberate slide. “Nnng…” a moan, softer this time, escaped her lips, a sound of surprised pleasure.

You pulled back again, leaving her wanting, a frustrated gasp escaping her.

“Hnngg!!”

Only to plunge deeper than before, filling her completely with a surge of heat.

“ngh…” she moaned, her head falling back, an unguarded display of pure sensation.

As you started to draw back, her hands flew to your arms, digging in this time with purpose. Her grip wasn't pushing you away, but fiercely pulling you in, demanding more.

You thrust once again, this time with more force.

“Nhhgg” she responded, eyes wide and fixed on you, her mouth agape, gasping, her body, still trembling slightly, was surrendering to the pleasure.

“Are… you okay?” You asked, a note of concern in your voice.

"Yeah... I'm okay..." Her hands tightened on your shoulders, a flicker of desire igniting in her eyes.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice husky with urgency.

You deepened your rhythm, the pace accelerating. Each thrust met with a muffled moan, her grip on you tightening with each movement.

"Babe..." she gasped, arching her back as you filled her. Your hand moved to her breast, gently caressing the taut skin. You couldn't fully enter, her body still tight with anticipation.

"Hnnnnn..." she moaned, a wave of pleasure washing over her.

You moved within her, finding the sweet spot where pleasure met comfort. It wasn't enough to cause pain, yet it was enough to send shivers down her spine. "It... hurts," she breathed, her tongue darting out to catch it. "Kiss me."

You leaned in, your tongues meeting in a passionate dance. Her moans were muffled against your mouth, but you could feel the vibrations deep within her. As you moved your hips, your tongues entwined, exploring every corner of each other's mouths. You felt her body begin to loosen, yielding to the deepening kiss. Finally, you parted, your tongues lingering for a fleeting moment before breaking free.

Your face moved to her chest, your mouth finding her erect nipples. You gently suckled on one while holding the other, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Don't suck too hard..." she whispered, her voice breathless.

You moved your mouth away from her breast, replaced by a gentle pinch.

"Nnggf..." she gasped, a shiver running through her.

"Jiheon, your breasts are beautiful," you murmured, admiring their shape.

"Haaa... Really?" she asked, a playful lilt to her voice.

Your hands began to massage her breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh. You moved them closer, teasing her nipples together, rubbing them against each other.

"Babe... I'm sensitive there..." she panted, her breath catching.

You pushed her nipples closer, feeling their sensitive tips brush against each other. Then, you lowered your head, licking them together, savoring the taste of her arousal. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, causing you to thrust harder.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out, surprised by the sudden increase in your pace.

"Jiheon, you feel so good," you groaned, lost in the moment.

Her hips arched upwards, meeting your thrusts at a new angle.

"Does it still hurt?" you asked, your voice rough with desire.

A smile spread across her face. "No... you're making me feel so good right now."

Her words were like a trigger, shattering your remaining control.

"Then... Jiheon, I'm going deeper this time," you informed her, your voice low and urgent.

"Deeper?" she asked, surprised. "You... weren't—"

You didn't wait for her to finish, plunging deep inside her. Your length was fully buried within her, her body tightening around you like a vice.

Her hands instinctively reached for the front of your pelvis, stopping you.

"Ah— Babe! I can't... please... Don't move... I can't breathe..." she wailed, her body trembling violently.

"Then... shall we stay like this while you adjust?" you offered, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping beneath her head as you pulled her closer, enveloping her in your embrace. You could feel her hot breath fanning against your neck, frantic and now slowing down as she relaxed against you.

As the room settled, you throbbed gently within her, her body embracing yours, making it feel as if you were meant to be there, a part of her. A part of you yearned to remain still, to savor this moment of perfect union.

She whispered against your ear, "Isn't this more lewd?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Us... in this... embracing each other, feeling each other's heat through our connection?"

You shifted, wanting to see her face now that the room had calmed. As you gazed down, you saw her smiling beneath you, her hair spread across the bed, some strands framing her face. Her beauty was radiant, enhanced by the sheen of sweat on her skin.

You couldn't resist leaning in to kiss her again, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened with each passing moment. As you deepened the kiss, you resumed your rhythm, your movements slow and deliberate at first, teasing her with each gentle thrust. Her body, now relaxed and receptive, met your movements with a growing eagerness.

You moved your hands to her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips. You lingered there for a moment, savoring the feel of her before continuing your exploration, your hands moving lower to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer.

"Mmm..." she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

You quickened your pace slightly, each thrust becoming a little deeper, a little more insistent. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she met your rhythm with increasing fervor. You could feel the heat rising between you, the tension building with each passing moment.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I'm ready now... take me..."

Her words were the final invitation, the key that unlocked the floodgates of your desire. You surged forward, your movements now more forceful, more demanding, as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You grasped her legs, and she slowly lifted her hips towards you, her body mirroring your own peak.

"Jiheon, I'm close..." you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I'll finish in your stomach."

"I feel weird..." she whispered, trying to maintain her composure, her words punctuated by soft moans. "I think... I'm close too."

She pulled you closer, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of shared desire and impending release. You shifted your hands to support yourself as the rest of your body surrendered to the wave of pleasure.

"Ahhhggg... Babe!!!" she cried out, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

Her body tensed, her arms tightening around your neck, her legs locking around your hips. Her core pulsed, squeezing you tightly, drawing you deeper into her embrace.

"Jiheon, I can't hold it in anymore," you groaned, your control slipping away.

You tried to pull back slightly, but as she held you close, her peak intensifying its grip, your release had no choice but to erupt within her, your fluids mingling together.

"Hmmmgg..." a moan escaped her lips as she accepted your warmth, her body filled with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Her eyes half-open, you caught a flicker in their depths – a spark of joy, of satisfaction, and a hint of mischief, as if she'd done something she shouldn't have.

You collapsed beside her, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless

For a moment, you lay intertwined, catching your breath. Jiheon was the first to recover, snuggling closer, her arms embracing you, her cheek resting against your arm.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to finish inside you," you apologized, a hint of guilt in your voice.

"Don't..." she murmured, her voice soft. "I'm more at fault. I didn't let go of you." She paused, then added reassuringly, "And it's fine... it's my safe day.”

You absently ran your fingers through her hair, but your mind was elsewhere – a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Jiheon?" you murmured, feeling her shift slightly against you.

"Mmm?" Her response was drowsy, content.

You hesitated, trying to reconcile the fragmented memories in your head. "Tonight felt... different."

She tensed almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. Had you not been so attuned to her, you might have missed it. "Different how?"

"You seemed..." You struggled to articulate the feeling, not wanting to upset her. "It felt like your first time."

Jiheon lifted her head, meeting your gaze with a soft laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you saying I'm not usually this responsive?" Her fingers traced distracting patterns on your chest.

"No, that's not—" you frowned, trying to grasp your elusive thoughts. Fleeting images flickered through your mind – your supposed first time together, other intimate moments – but they felt strangely distant, blurred, like looking through frosted glass. "You were in pain."

"Maybe you were just particularly passionate tonight," she teased, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Her voice held a practiced lightness. "Besides, it's been a while since last time."

You tried to recall your last encounter, but the memory slipped away, elusive as smoke. "I suppose..."

"You think too much," she whispered, curling closer. Her hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward hers. "Just be here with me now."

As you gazed into her eyes, the questions swirling in your mind began to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable haze. She was right – you were overthinking things. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be. Or so it seemed.

As the night deepened, your whispers faded into soft breaths, and you drifted to sleep together, the unsettling feeling lingering somewhere in the back of your mind, a secret you couldn't quite decipher.

~~~

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You wake up to the soft sound of Jiheon’s breathing beside you, her back turned slightly away. The sight of her, the way the golden light catches in her hair, makes your heart swell.

Smiling, you shift closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Good morning,” you murmur against her skin.

She stiffens, just for a second, before relaxing under your touch. “Morning,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual warmth.

You don’t notice at first. Instead, you prop yourself up on one elbow, brushing her hair away so you can see her face. “I still have time before my shift start,” you say, voice laced with affection, “We didn't get to go to our usual place last night, how about we get brunch there?”

She gives you a small smile, but something about it feels... off. “Yeah… that sounds nice.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before getting up to change clothes. Jiheon watches you from the bed, eyes clouded with something unreadable.

Your hands move, trailing down from her chest, fingers hovering just above her skin. When they finally meet her bare midriff—her top having ridden up slightly from all the movement—she shivers under your touch.

The warmth of her skin is intoxicating beneath your fingertips, soft and inviting. You pause, letting her breathe, letting her feel every second of your presence.

And when she doesn’t pull away, when she leans just a little closer, you know—she wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding under the fabric, slipping past the lace of her bra until they find her chest. You tease her nipples, feeling the way her breath hitches, her body reacting instinctively to your touch.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you lift her shirt fully, discarding it, leaving her bare beneath you.

You pause.

Your eyes drink her in, taking in every detail—the way her skin flushes under your gaze, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the vulnerability in her expression as she watches you carefully.

She hesitates. “It may not be the bigge—”

“Jiheon,” you cut her off, your voice firm but warm. You meet her gaze, letting every word sink in. “You’re already sexy as you are. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your hand continues to tease her breast, rolling her nipple between your fingers, feeling the way it hardens under your touch. At the same time, your other hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants, fingertips gliding past the last barrier of her panties.

The heat there is intoxicating, warmer than anywhere else on her body, as if this is where her desire has been pooling all along. You press gently between her thighs, fingertips brushing against her, and feel the dampness already beginning to gather.

“Ah!” she gasps, her body jolting in surprise.

Then she laughs, breathless, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You pause for a moment, watching her, feeling the way her thighs twitch beneath your touch. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she exhales shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine… continue…”

Her cuteness drives you wild—the way she bites her lip, the tremble in her voice, the way her body instinctively presses into your hand despite her shyness.

You obey, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her sensitive spot. Her warmth spreads, her womanhood gradually growing slick beneath your fingers, the dampness deepening with each stroke. She shudders, her breath catching, her moans no longer muffled but clear, soft, needy.

Then, carefully, you push one finger inside, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked onto hers, reading her every reaction.

“Mmnnngg… it’s in… your finger… you’re inside…” she mutters, her voice trembling, surprise laced in every breath as she clenches around you. The way her body reacts, instinctively drawing you in, makes your pulse quicken.

You move, easing deeper, pulling out just enough before pushing back in, curling your finger inside her, coaxing new sounds from her lips.

“Babe… it feels… weird… I… can’t—mmnngg,” she whimpers, words cut off by the moans spilling from her throat.

You can feel it—how she’s growing wetter, how her body is adjusting, how each stroke pulls another shiver from her. Slowly, you try to slide in another finger, wanting to stretch her just a little more—

But before you can fully press in, her hands fly to your arm, gripping you tightly.

“Babe… don’t… please… it’s too much… I can’t…” she pleads, her voice so small yet so desperate.

You freeze immediately. “I’m s—”

Before you can even finish apologizing, she shakes her head, stopping you with a single glance.

“Instead…” she whispers, her hands now hovering over your pants, fingers brushing against your length, feeling the heat trapped beneath the fabric.

Even through the layers, you feel the way she hesitates—curious, nervous, but undeniably wanting.

Excitement courses through you, anticipation crackling between you like static. You strip off your shirt first, then your pants, Exposing your hardness completely before reaching for her waistband. Your fingers hook into the fabric, tugging gently.

“Jiheon, lift up a little…” you murmur, your voice husky.

She nods, her breath unsteady, pushing up just enough for you to slide them down. The fabric glides over her smooth skin, peeling away inch by inch, revealing more of her bare thighs, her soft curves.

And then—there she is.

Her most intimate place bared to you, glistening with anticipation, the soft folds parting just slightly with each shallow breath she takes.

You freeze.

Your eyes drink her in, utterly captivated, completely mesmerized.

Jiheon shifts slightly, noticing your stare. “Why are you looking at it like that?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

You blink, snapping out of your trance, heat rushing to your face. “Uhm… it just looks pretty,” you confess, unable to tear your gaze away.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose as her smile bloomed, a beacon drawing you in. She reached out, her hand a soft invitation, cupping your face. Her thumbs traced gentle circles against your skin, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. Then, with a deliberate grace, her thumbs moved to your lips, gliding from the curve above to the fuller bottom, lingering there, a silent question hanging in the air.

The anticipation was a taut string, vibrating with unspoken desires. You lowered your gaze, your focus drawn to the place where your bodies met, where your tip pressed against her entrance. A low thrum of need pulsed within you.

"Jiheon…" you murmured, your voice thick with the urgency building inside. "I'm putting it in."

Her eyes, dark pools of longing, met yours. She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Slowly—" she began, her voice a breathy plea.

But the hunger was too intense, the pull too strong. Before she could complete her request, you plunged into her, your shaft claiming its rightful place within her.

"Ah—" she gasped, her body jolting, a sharp intake of breath as you entered her. Her nails dug into your shoulders, a reflex of surprise, her muscles clenching around you, a hot, tight fist gripping your throbbing flesh with an intensity that stole your breath. She held you captive.

Not fully inside, she was already breathless, on the edge. You tried pushing deeper, but her passage tightened, a stubborn resistance that made you pause.

“!… Ah… nngg… it hurts,” she yelped, a small, pained cry that vibrated against your skin. Her body trembled beneath you, a delicate tremble like a struck bell. You pulled back slightly, a slow retreat, her heat clinging to you, her inner walls pulsating.

Seeing the flicker of pain in her eyes, you decided to be gentler, teasing at the entrance.

You thrust again, a slow, deliberate slide. “Nnng…” a moan, softer this time, escaped her lips, a sound of surprised pleasure.

You pulled back again, leaving her wanting, a frustrated gasp escaping her.

“Hnngg!!”

Only to plunge deeper than before, filling her completely with a surge of heat.

“ngh…” she moaned, her head falling back, an unguarded display of pure sensation.

As you started to draw back, her hands flew to your arms, digging in this time with purpose. Her grip wasn't pushing you away, but fiercely pulling you in, demanding more.

You thrust once again, this time with more force.

“Nhhgg” she responded, eyes wide and fixed on you, her mouth agape, gasping, her body, still trembling slightly, was surrendering to the pleasure.

“Are… you okay?” You asked, a note of concern in your voice.

"Yeah... I'm okay..." Her hands tightened on your shoulders, a flicker of desire igniting in her eyes.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice husky with urgency.

You deepened your rhythm, the pace accelerating. Each thrust met with a muffled moan, her grip on you tightening with each movement.

"Babe..." she gasped, arching her back as you filled her. Your hand moved to her breast, gently caressing the taut skin. You couldn't fully enter, her body still tight with anticipation.

"Hnnnnn..." she moaned, a wave of pleasure washing over her.

You moved within her, finding the sweet spot where pleasure met comfort. It wasn't enough to cause pain, yet it was enough to send shivers down her spine. "It... hurts," she breathed, her tongue darting out to catch it. "Kiss me."

You leaned in, your tongues meeting in a passionate dance. Her moans were muffled against your mouth, but you could feel the vibrations deep within her. As you moved your hips, your tongues entwined, exploring every corner of each other's mouths. You felt her body begin to loosen, yielding to the deepening kiss. Finally, you parted, your tongues lingering for a fleeting moment before breaking free.

Your face moved to her chest, your mouth finding her erect nipples. You gently suckled on one while holding the other, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

"Don't suck too hard..." she whispered, her voice breathless.

You moved your mouth away from her breast, replaced by a gentle pinch.

"Nnggf..." she gasped, a shiver running through her.

"Jiheon, your breasts are beautiful," you murmured, admiring their shape.

"Haaa... Really?" she asked, a playful lilt to her voice.

Your hands began to massage her breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh. You moved them closer, teasing her nipples together, rubbing them against each other.

"Babe... I'm sensitive there..." she panted, her breath catching.

You pushed her nipples closer, feeling their sensitive tips brush against each other. Then, you lowered your head, licking them together, savoring the taste of her arousal. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, causing you to thrust harder.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out, surprised by the sudden increase in your pace.

"Jiheon, you feel so good," you groaned, lost in the moment.

Her hips arched upwards, meeting your thrusts at a new angle.

"Does it still hurt?" you asked, your voice rough with desire.

A smile spread across her face. "No... you're making me feel so good right now."

Her words were like a trigger, shattering your remaining control.

"Then... Jiheon, I'm going deeper this time," you informed her, your voice low and urgent.

"Deeper?" she asked, surprised. "You... weren't—"

You didn't wait for her to finish, plunging deep inside her. Your length was fully buried within her, her body tightening around you like a vice.

Her hands instinctively reached for the front of your pelvis, stopping you.

"Ah— Babe! I can't... please... Don't move... I can't breathe..." she wailed, her body trembling violently.

"Then... shall we stay like this while you adjust?" you offered, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping beneath her head as you pulled her closer, enveloping her in your embrace. You could feel her hot breath fanning against your neck, frantic and now slowing down as she relaxed against you.

As the room settled, you throbbed gently within her, her body embracing yours, making it feel as if you were meant to be there, a part of her. A part of you yearned to remain still, to savor this moment of perfect union.

She whispered against your ear, "Isn't this more lewd?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Us... in this... embracing each other, feeling each other's heat through our connection?"

You shifted, wanting to see her face now that the room had calmed. As you gazed down, you saw her smiling beneath you, her hair spread across the bed, some strands framing her face. Her beauty was radiant, enhanced by the sheen of sweat on her skin.

You couldn't resist leaning in to kiss her again, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened with each passing moment. As you deepened the kiss, you resumed your rhythm, your movements slow and deliberate at first, teasing her with each gentle thrust. Her body, now relaxed and receptive, met your movements with a growing eagerness.

You moved your hands to her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips. You lingered there for a moment, savoring the feel of her before continuing your exploration, your hands moving lower to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer.

"Mmm..." she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

You quickened your pace slightly, each thrust becoming a little deeper, a little more insistent. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she met your rhythm with increasing fervor. You could feel the heat rising between you, the tension building with each passing moment.

"Please... continue," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I'm ready now... take me..."

Her words were the final invitation, the key that unlocked the floodgates of your desire. You surged forward, your movements now more forceful, more demanding, as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You grasped her legs, and she slowly lifted her hips towards you, her body mirroring your own peak.

"Jiheon, I'm close..." you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I'll finish in your stomach."

"I feel weird..." she whispered, trying to maintain her composure, her words punctuated by soft moans. "I think... I'm close too."

She pulled you closer, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of shared desire and impending release. You shifted your hands to support yourself as the rest of your body surrendered to the wave of pleasure.

"Ahhhggg... Babe!!!" she cried out, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

Her body tensed, her arms tightening around your neck, her legs locking around your hips. Her core pulsed, squeezing you tightly, drawing you deeper into her embrace.

"Jiheon, I can't hold it in anymore," you groaned, your control slipping away.

You tried to pull back slightly, but as she held you close, her peak intensifying its grip, your release had no choice but to erupt within her, your fluids mingling together.

"Hmmmgg..." a moan escaped her lips as she accepted your warmth, her body filled with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Her eyes half-open, you caught a flicker in their depths – a spark of joy, of satisfaction, and a hint of mischief, as if she'd done something she shouldn't have.

You collapsed beside her, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless

For a moment, you lay intertwined, catching your breath. Jiheon was the first to recover, snuggling closer, her arms embracing you, her cheek resting against your arm.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to finish inside you," you apologized, a hint of guilt in your voice.

"Don't..." she murmured, her voice soft. "I'm more at fault. I didn't let go of you." She paused, then added reassuringly, "And it's fine... it's my safe day.”

You absently ran your fingers through her hair, but your mind was elsewhere – a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Jiheon?" you murmured, feeling her shift slightly against you.

"Mmm?" Her response was drowsy, content.

You hesitated, trying to reconcile the fragmented memories in your head. "Tonight felt... different."

She tensed almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. Had you not been so attuned to her, you might have missed it. "Different how?"

"You seemed..." You struggled to articulate the feeling, not wanting to upset her. "It felt like your first time."

Jiheon lifted her head, meeting your gaze with a soft laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you saying I'm not usually this responsive?" Her fingers traced distracting patterns on your chest.

"No, that's not—" you frowned, trying to grasp your elusive thoughts. Fleeting images flickered through your mind – your supposed first time together, other intimate moments – but they felt strangely distant, blurred, like looking through frosted glass. "You were in pain."

"Maybe you were just particularly passionate tonight," she teased, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Her voice held a practiced lightness. "Besides, it's been a while since last time."

You tried to recall your last encounter, but the memory slipped away, elusive as smoke. "I suppose..."

"You think too much," she whispered, curling closer. Her hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward hers. "Just be here with me now."

As you gazed into her eyes, the questions swirling in your mind began to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable haze. She was right – you were overthinking things. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be. Or so it seemed.

As the night deepened, your whispers faded into soft breaths, and you drifted to sleep together, the unsettling feeling lingering somewhere in the back of your mind, a secret you couldn't quite decipher.

~~~

Entering The Golden Brew, your steps feel heavy, weighed down by lingering worries.

“Hey… I’m sorry about yesterday,” Gyuri says softly, approaching as you prepare for your shift. “You seem really down. Is it because of what happened?”

“No, it’s not that…” you reply, though your voice lacks conviction.

She studies you for a moment before pressing on. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you sure everything’s okay? You’ve been acting strange—especially after your lunch at the konbini.”

Her words hang in the air, but before you can find an answer, the front door bell chimes—customers waiting at the counter.

The afternoon drags on, each minute stretching endlessly, yet somehow, before you realize it, night has already fallen.

“Hey… I’ll head out first. You can close up, right?” Gyuri asks, slipping off her apron.

You nod, offering her a faint smile. “Yeah, I got it.”

She returns your smile, though it’s laced with concern, before stepping through the door and disappearing into the night.

You step out of The Golden Brew, locking the door behind you with a quiet click.

A flash of light catches the edge of your vision. You turn—and there it is. The same sleek, sapphire-blue Porsche, parked just a short distance away.

Chaeyoung.

Your breath tightens in your chest. You know why she’s here. You know what you need to do.

Pushing down your hesitation, you walk toward the car, your footsteps firm, determined. You have to end this—end the guilt that clings to you like a shadow.

You rap your knuckles against the tinted window. Before you can tell her to get out, the glass slides down smoothly.

“Get in,” she says, smiling.

You sit in the front passenger seat, slamming the door closed, refusing to face her as your gaze fixes straight ahead through the windshield.

Her smile is wide enough to reflect in the window. "Miss me?" She asks teasingly. "You're not even going to look at me? I've been waiting ever since Gyuri left."

"Why are you here?" Your voice comes out stern, cold.

"I think you know why." Her hand moves to your thigh, rubbing through your pants, slowly inching upward.

You grip her arm, trying to stop her advance. Surprised at first, she battles against your resistance as you try to push her hand away.

"Aw... is our pretty boy shy?" She teases, pushing harder against your grip. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle this time."

"I can't betray her any further..." The words come out strained as you struggle against her persistence.

"Who's 'her'? Do you have a girlfriend or something?" Her movements slow slightly, but don't stop.

Your silence speaks volumes.

Her strength wavers. You finally overpower her, swatting her hand away as you turn to face her. Her smile fades slowly. "This was a mistake," you say firmly. "This... entering this car... it was a mistake then, and it's still a mistake now."

"You actually have a girlfriend?" Disbelief colors her voice, confusion twisting her features. "Gyuri told me you never had one..." Her expression shifts to panic. "You were supposed to have no attachments!"

You exhale sharply. "Whatever this was… it’s over."

Your hand reaches for the door, but she grips your arm with surprising strength. Her face now shows clear desperation.

"No, it's fine. It's okay." The words seem more to reassure herself than you. "You— you could just break up with her... you— just forget about her..." Her words stumble over each other.

"This has to end. That night was a mistake, one I won't repeat." You stand, opening the car door.

She pulls you back into the seat, eyes flashing with anger. "Mistake? Let me make something clear – that wasn't just some simple one-night stand. I warned you, and you still continued. You cannot just back out. It's too late to regret it now. You agreed to it—"

"Whatever game you think this is, I’m done playing it." You meet her gaze, unflinching. "I won’t hurt her like this."

You step out of the car. Behind you, the driver’s door slams shut, heels clicking rapidly on the pavement as she follows. Her voice is sharper now, edged with something you don’t want to name.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing. This isn’t something you can just walk away from."

"How great is she?" The words drip with venom. "You made a promise—to me, to us. Aren’t you a man? Then keep your word." She’s throwing anything she can now, anything to make you stop. Then, her voice shifts, silk over steel. "Who is she?"

You don’t answer.

She stops in her tracks, watching you, a slow smirk forming. "Tell me, or I’ll find out myself."

You hesitate. That smirk—she’s toying with you, and you know it. But you also know she’s not bluffing.

"...Jiheon," you say at last.

Something flickers in her expression. "Jiheon?" she repeats, almost to herself. Then, realization dawns. "You said you only met her the day before—" She cuts herself off, as if she’s said too much.

Your stomach tightens.

When she looks back at you, the panic is gone. The desperation wiped clean. That smirk returns, sharper than ever.

She closes the distance between you, fingertips grazing your jaw, trailing lightly down your neck. "Jiheon, huh?" she muses, voice dipped in honey. "Would she really mind? You've already done it once… what’s one more time?"

There’s something else beneath her teasing—something darker, something she shouldn’t know.

You step back, gently pushing her hand away. "Enough."

Her smile doesn’t falter. "Are you sure?" she murmurs.

"I wasn’t in my right mind that night." You turn away.

Her laugh follows you, light and knowing. "What makes you think you’re in your right mind now?"

The words freeze you mid-step. There’s something in the way she says it—casual, amused, but laced with certainty.

Before you can turn back, before you can demand what she means, her heels click against the pavement, the Porsche’s engine purring to life. And then—she’s gone.

But the chill she leaves behind lingers.

Your dorm room feels different when you return—heavier, somehow. Jiheon is already there, perched on the edge of your bed, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. The moment you step inside, she looks up, and something in her eyes makes your chest tighten.

"I was worried," she says softly, but she doesn’t move to embrace you like she usually would.

You sense it immediately—something isn’t right. But the silence between you feels fragile, and you hesitate to break it.

"Did you have dinner yet?" you ask.

"No. I... I cooked for you."

"Jiheon—"

Before you can say another word, she’s in front of you, pressing her lips to yours. The kiss is desperate, almost frantic. Her hands clutch at your shirt as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You pull back, startled by her intensity. "Jiheon, what’s—"

Her breath ghosts against your lips, warm and pleading, fingers curling into your shoulders as she tries to draw you back in. But you resist—just long enough to watch the frustration flicker through Jiheon’s dark eyes, her lips parting with a needy little whimper. A flicker of something else, too, something that looked suspiciously like guilt, crossed her face before she masked it with a determined set to her jaw.

“Please,” she whispers, voice trembling with want. “Just let me…”

Before you can answer, she’s already moving, trailing a line of feverish kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, until her mouth finds its way lower. Her touch is both tentative and daring, fingertips skimming down your torso, tracing the hard lines of muscle, the sensitive dip just above your hips. It felt almost… rehearsed, you thought vaguely, as if she were following a well-worn script.

You feel her breath against your stomach, hot and uneven, as she kneels between your legs. Her eyes flick up to yours, smoldering beneath those thick lashes, seeking permission she doesn’t really need. Her hand wraps around the base of your cock, firm yet soft, squeezing just enough to make you throb against her palm.

“Let me make you feel good,” she murmurs, her voice sultry, dripping with desire. But there’s a slight edge to it, an almost desperate undertone that makes you wonder what she’s trying to prove.

Her lips brush over the tip, soft as a whisper, before her tongue darts out, flicking across the sensitive head, tasting you. You can’t help the low groan that escapes you, hands sliding into her hair, gripping gently—not to guide, just to feel that silky texture between your fingers.

“Fuck, Jiheon…” you breathe, the words spilling out before you can catch them.

She grins, a wicked glint flashing in her eyes before she sinks lower, taking you into the wet heat of her mouth. Her lips stretch around you, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her tongue pressing firm against the underside, tracing every vein, every ridge. She starts slow, savoring each inch as she takes you deeper, her throat relaxing, her breath hot against your skin. There’s a frantic edge to her movements, as if she’s trying to erase something, or perhaps prove something to herself.

“Just like that,” you murmur, voice rough. “Take it all.”

She moans around you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Her hands find their rhythm, one pumping slowly at the base while the other grazes up your thigh, nails dragging lightly, making you shiver. Her touch is almost too much, too insistent, as if she’s trying to compensate for something unspoken.

She pulls back just enough to catch her breath, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your glistening cock. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she leans in again, her tongue swirling around the tip before she plunges down, faster this time, her head bobbing as she builds a steady, relentless rhythm.

“God, Jiheon,” you gasp, your hips bucking slightly, pushing deeper into her eager mouth. Her eyes flutter shut, a blush creeping over her cheeks as she takes you even further, her throat flexing around you. The sensation is intoxicating, the wet, tight heat pulling you closer to the edge. But even in the throes of pleasure, a small part of you can’t shake the feeling that something is off, that Jiheon’s intensity is driven by something more than just desire.

You can feel yourself teetering there, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. Your grip in her hair tightens, and she responds by sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue working you mercilessly.

“Jiheon, I’m close,” you warn, voice strained. But she doesn’t slow. Instead, she takes you deeper still, her nose brushing against your abdomen, her throat swallowing around you as she hums in encouragement. The vibration tips you over the edge, a shuddering groan tearing from your chest as you spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

She holds steady, swallowing every drop, her tongue still moving, milking you for everything you have. Only when your grip loosens does she pull back, licking her lips, a satisfied smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“Mmm,” she purrs, her voice husky, eyes gleaming with pride. “You taste so good.” But the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and the pride seems… forced. She wipes a stray drop from the corner of her mouth with her thumb, popping it into her mouth with a mischievous little grin. It feels almost… practiced, you realize.

“Did I do good?” she teases, her gaze challenging, playful. But beneath the surface, you detect a hint of vulnerability, a desperate need for reassurance. You can’t help but chuckle, breathless and dazed. “You did more than good, Jiheon.”

She crawls back up your body, pressing herself against you, her lips finding yours in a slow, heated kiss that tastes faintly of you. As she pulls away, her smile softens, a hint of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

“should we continue in bed?,” she whispers, resting her head against your chest, the steady beat of your heart beneath her ear. “I just want to make you feel good.” The words hang in the air, both a promise and a confession. You realize, with a growing sense of unease, that she’s trying to make up for something, trying to assuage a guilt she hasn’t yet voiced.

But something clicks in your mind—the desperation in her kiss, the sudden intimacy, the guilt in her eyes all day.

"This isn’t about what happened with Chaeyoung, is it?"

She flinches.

"I thought you were acting strange because you hadn’t forgiven me," you continue, watching her reaction carefully. "But that’s not it, is it? There’s something else."

Something shifts. Like a puzzle snapping into place, memories sharpen—and unravel.

Your first kiss. It had been perfect, hadn’t it? Too perfect. Like something scripted, a scene from a movie playing out exactly as it should.

And then, fragments resurface:

"You’ve been fiddling with your phone. Is something wrong? You never do that."

"You’ve been acting strange—especially after your lunch at the konbini."

"Girlfriend? Gyuri told me you never had one..."

"You said you only met Jiheon the day before—"

"What makes you think you’re in your right mind now?"

Your head throbs, a sharp, pulsing ache as if something inside you is trying to fight back—trying to correct itself. Memories overlap and distort, tangled in contradictions. You stagger, gripping your temples, struggling to stay on your feet.

Jiheon catches you, hands cupping your face. "Stop," she chokes out. "Please don’t—"

Her eyes flash that strange cyan again. And this time, you don’t dismiss it.

"What did you do to my memories?" The question comes out softer than you expect, more hurt than anger.

Jiheon breaks. "I’m sorry," she sobs, reaching for your hand. Her touch feels both familiar and foreign now. "I never meant... it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just a trick—I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t myself."

You pull your hand away. "How much of it is real?"

Her silence is answer enough.

Your breath catches. "The past year..." You step back, needing distance as the artificial memories begin to fracture. "Our first meeting by the fountain. The late-night study sessions. Our first kiss in the rain. None of it happened, did it?"

"I’m sorry. I don’t— I didn’t know what I was thinking," she pleads, rising to follow you. "Let me explain. I know I did wrong, but I never meant to hurt you. I just... I can’t lose you, please—"

A pulse of cyan light flickers in her eyes, and suddenly, the fog starts creeping back in. That familiar haze.

The same blue that flashed across your screen. The same brilliant sky over the konbini. The same refracted light on your kitchen wall. The same color that flickered in her eyes the night before.

But this time, you recognize it for what it is—

Manipulation. Magic. A violation.

"STOP!"

The word erupts from you with unexpected force, reverberating through the room. The haze in your mind shatters, retreating like a receding tide, leaving you clearer than you’ve felt in… how long?

Jiheon stumbles backward as if struck. "I didn't— I couldn't control it," she gasps, tears spilling down her face. "I… I succumbed to myself. I was… overcome by my emotions."

"The konbini," you say, your thoughts falling into place like tumbling dominos. "The blue light I saw there… that was you?"

She nods miserably, arms wrapping tightly around herself. "I thought… I thought it would be interesting if I became your girlfriend." Her voice wavers. "I didn’t mean to toy with you…"

"Interesting?" The word tastes bitter in your mouth. "Didn’t mean to?" Your voice rises, fury breaking through the lingering fog. "You think that’s an excuse? You didn’t just toy with me—you rewrote my life. How many of my memories have you…?" The sentence fractures before you can finish it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, reaching for you again. "Please, let me stay. I’ll tell you everything, I’ll—"

"No." You step back, widening the distance between you. "I need you to leave."

"Please," she begs, her voice breaking. The cyan light flickers weakly in her eyes, uncertain now. "I know I can’t fix this, but—"

"Jiheon." Your voice is firm despite the chaos roaring in your mind. "You’re the last person I can trust right now."

The words land between you like a final blow.

She stands there, trembling, her tears falling silently. For a moment, you think she’ll fight, refuse to go. But then she nods, turning toward the door with slow, heavy steps.

At the threshold, she hesitates. "Will you…?" The question remains unfinished, hanging in the air like an unresolved note.

You close your eyes, unable to look at her. "I don’t know. Just… go."

The door clicks shut softly behind her.

When you open your eyes, you are alone—with a head full of memories you can no longer trust and the lingering cyan glow of betrayal still burning behind your eyelids.

a/n: As always, any feed back is welcome (needed/ preferred :))Chapter 4 coming...